#Tilt Sensor

[tomsonelectronics-blog]

Buy Magic Cup Tilt Switch Module Online (KY-027)

Shop the Magic Cup Tilt Switch Module online (KY-027) for precise tilt detection. Perfect for electronics projects, durable, and easy to integrate. Order now!

[robustcornhusk]

atrociously sticky adhesive, gone, due to the powers of a heat gun and goo-gone

[sirfrogsworth]

The short answer is... a tilt-shift lens.

The slightly more complicated answer is... Mister Rogers.

Depth of field is the area in front and behind your chosen focus point that remains in focus and then slowly gets blurry as you get farther away.

Shallow depth of field only has a narrow slice of the image in focus and gets blurry super quick. This is caused by a large lens aperture and being close to the subject.

Deep depth of field can extend through the entire picture if your aperture is small and you are super far away.

Usually the depth of field lines up with the image sensor of your camera. So if it is tilted forward, the plane of focus matches.

The stuff outside the green area would be blurry. The edges of the green would be slightly blurry. And the dashed green line would be the sharpest area of the photo.

But the tilt-shift lens allows you to create chaos with your plane of focus. In most cases, you would use this to flatten the depth of field so you can get a 2D plane entirely in focus.

If you were to use a normal lens, the bottom left and top right would be blurry.

But with a tilt-shift lens you can do this.

The green area is taking a little nap on the floor.

However, there is an unintended side effect created by this lens. (The "Scheimpflug intersection" if you want to go down the rabbit hole.) You can choose absolutely wacky planes of focus that create a very narrow depth of field over a geographically large area.

Believe it or not, this is when psychology comes into play.

And possibly Mister Rogers.

Our only reference for such a large area having a shallow depth of field is our memories of miniatures on TV. So Mister Rogers and Thomas the Tank Engine trained our brains to see this effect as... small.

Depth of field shrinks the closer you are to something. And when filming miniatures, you are placing the lens close to the scene. But the scene represents something big in our minds. We buy the effect, but not 100%. That blurriness wouldn't be there at a regular scale. So our subconscious remembers we are watching small things pretending to be big. It just files that away in the back of our mind.

And then when we see something like this...

Our brain is all, "Look at all that tiny shit!"

Without Mister Rogers, our brains may have never made these connections and tilt-shift photography may just make us wonder why everything is all blurry. That connection to past experience is vital for this effect to be convincing.

Brains are neat.

[dhirajmarketresearch]

[clumsypuppy]

moar of them

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[marketresearchtrendsandinsights]

Tilt Sensors Market: Global Demand Analysis & Opportunity Outlook 2036

https://www.researchnester.com/reports/tilt-sensor-market/5623

[mcrdvcks]

— sex concept

summary: You and Matt have wanted to take things to the next level, but every time you try to get intimate, something, or someone, interrupts.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: at this point, i think i need to make a series masterlist for these two, lol. here's the third installment - and here are the first two: goodnight n go and love language

also, sex concept is one of my favorite songs, and it's by sofia isella. i recommend you go check her out!

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, making out, peter parker, mention of other marvel characters, matt's a little shit, smut, oral (f!receiving), brief handjob, unprotected piv, creampie

matt murdock masterlist

It wasn’t like you and Matt hadn’t been alone since you started dating. But somehow, every single attempt at finally taking things further kept getting inconveniently interrupted.

Like now, for instance.

Matt’s lips skimmed along your neck, his fingers tracing patterns along your waist. You sighed softly, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Matty," you whispered.

He hummed against your skin, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Yeah?"

"Can we—"

Your sentence was abruptly cut short by the shrill ringing of your phone.

Matt paused, a quiet groan muffled against your collarbone. "Ignore it."

You hesitated. "But what if—"

"It’s probably nothing," he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. "Leave it."

It kept ringing. You sighed, gently pushing at his shoulders. "It’ll only take a second. Just let me silence it."

Matt exhaled sharply, moving back slightly as you reached over and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Glancing at the screen, you rolled your eyes.

"Work," you muttered, annoyed. You answered quickly. "This better be an emergency."

"Y/N," Levi’s voice crackled through the line, anxious. "I’m so sorry—"

"What happened?"

"Uh... you know how we were testing the new phase-array sensors tonight?"

"Levi."

"Well, it shorted. Everything’s offline. And the readings are… weird."

You groaned softly, pressing your fingers to your forehead. "I’ll be there in half an hour." You hung up, sighing again as you tossed your phone onto the bed.

Matt shifted beside you. "You’re leaving?"

"I’m sorry," you muttered. "It’s—"

"Work," Matt finished gently. He tilted his head, clearly amused. "You know, I think Stark Industries has a personal vendetta against us."

You huffed, tugging your shirt back into place. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."

Matt leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours quickly. "You better."

You rolled your eyes, reluctantly climbing off the bed. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Matt fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, his smirk unmistakable. "I'll hold you to that, angel."

---

A few days later, Matt had just managed to maneuver you against the kitchen counter, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

Then, abruptly, a loud knock at his apartment door broke the silence. Matt froze, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a frustrated exhale.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.

"Ignore it," he whispered, kissing your neck gently.

The knocking grew louder.

"Murdock!" Foggy's muffled voice echoed through the wood. "Come on, man, open up! I know you're home!"

Matt sighed heavily, pulling away. "He'll keep going until I answer."

You slumped against the counter dramatically. "I swear he has a sixth sense."

Matt smiled apologetically. "This'll be quick."

You folded your arms, watching as Matt made his way to the door, cracking it open just enough to speak. "Foggy. Bad timing."

"Yeah, sorry, I lost the deposition file," Foggy admitted sheepishly. "I need your copy."

Matt sighed, turning his head toward you slightly. "Give me a minute."

You threw your hands up, shooting him a pointed glare. Matt smiled, mouthing sorry before slipping out the door.

---

It had almost become a joke at this point. Every single time the two of you finally got a moment alone, something managed to interrupt.

You and Karen were at Josie’s, waiting for Matt and Foggy to arrive.

“Wanna tell me why you seem so pent up?” Karen asked, taking a drink of her beer.

You sighed, swirling your drink in the glass. "Because apparently, the universe hates me."

Karen raised a brow, amused. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"No, I'm serious," you insisted, leaning closer. "Every single time Matt and I are about to—" You paused, realizing you'd almost said too much. "Spend any sort of actual alone time together, something always interrupts."

Karen smirked knowingly, taking another sip. "Oh. That kind of pent up."

You glared at her. "Shut up."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just funny. You two spend practically all your time together. I'm surprised you even have that problem."

"Yeah, well, apparently work, Foggy, and fate itself have formed an alliance against us," you muttered bitterly.

"Have you tried just… telling people not to bother you?" Karen teased.

You scoffed. "We tried that. Believe me, it doesn't work."

Karen hummed sympathetically. "Well, if it's any consolation, I promise to never intentionally interrupt your... alone time."

"Thanks," you replied dryly, "that’s very generous."

She grinned. "Hey, I do what I can."

Just then, the bar door swung open, and Foggy walked in, Matt close behind him. You caught Matt’s slight smile as he tilted his head toward you, making his way through the crowd.

Karen nudged you playfully. "Better luck tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop a small smile. "I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism."

Matt stepped up beside you, his hand automatically finding your waist. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Sorry we're late."

You sighed dramatically. "Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm used to it."

Matt chuckled softly, squeezing your side. "Tonight'll be different. Promise."

Karen snorted into her drink. "Good luck with that."

You glared at her again, and she raised her hands innocently.

Matt's brow furrowed, sensing the tension. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing at all," Karen said, grinning widely. "Y/N was just filling me in on your streak of bad luck."

Matt’s lips quirked upward. "Oh. That."

Foggy looked between the three of you, utterly lost. "Am I missing something here?"

You shook your head, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "Trust me, Fog. You're better off not knowing."

---

Matt’s apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. The blinds were drawn shut, the place cloaked in comfortable darkness. You dropped your keys onto the entry table, taking off your jacket and hanging it beside Matt’s familiar black coat.

"Matty?" you called softly, stepping further into the apartment.

"Bedroom," came his muffled reply.

You kicked off your shoes, padding down the hall until you reached his room. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a clean shirt. He looked relaxed, freshly showered, hair still damp and slightly messy. He tilted his head in your direction, lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Hey," he said softly.

You smiled, stepping toward him. "Hi."

Matt reached for you, fingers easily catching your wrist and tugging you closer, his hands settling comfortably at your hips. "How was work?"

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "The usual Stark chaos. Nothing new."

His lips twitched. "So no interruptions planned tonight?"

You laughed quietly, your fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Not that I know of. Unless Foggy’s about to burst through the door."

Matt smiled, tilting his head slightly into your palm. "Not tonight. He and Karen have dinner plans."

"Thank God," you muttered.

Matt chuckled softly, pulling you gently closer so you were standing between his legs. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. "You hungry?"

You shook your head slightly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his. "Not really."

"Good," Matt whispered, voice low and warm. "Me either."

You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips over the curve of his jaw. His hands slid beneath your shirt, settling warmly against your lower back. You inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he guided your lips down to his own.

The kiss was gentle at first, soft and unhurried. Matt’s lips brushed yours slowly, carefully, as if savoring every moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer.

Matt sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you down until you settled comfortably across his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders, your bodies pressed close enough that you could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"Matt," you whispered breathlessly against his lips, smiling faintly. "If my phone rings, I swear—"

Matt’s quiet laughter cut you off, his mouth skimming along your jaw. "I’ll throw it out the window myself."

You huffed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Promises, promises, Murdock."

Matt smirked against your skin, his voice low and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."

You laughed quietly, tangling your fingers in his hair again and pulling him back to your lips. For the first time in weeks, there were no interruptions—just you, Matt, and the steady, comforting quiet of his apartment.

But, of course, it could never be that easy.

A knock rattled on a window in the living room.

Matt froze, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me."

You groaned, your fingers tangling into his hair. "I swear, this is a cosmic joke at this point."

The knocking grew louder, quicker, more urgent. Matt sighed, lifting his head reluctantly. "Who even—"

A muffled voice called from outside, high-pitched and apologetic. "Uh... Mister Murdock? It’s—it's me, Peter. Spider-Man? Sorry, I just—I kinda need help."

You raised a brow. "Spider-Man knocks now?"

Matt sighed deeply. "Apparently."

You stood up from Matt’s lap, fixing your shirt as Matt slowly stood beside you, annoyance radiating off him.

Peter tapped again, more sheepishly this time. "Hello? Uh—Matt?"

"Coming," Matt called, moving toward the window with a heavy sigh.

You followed behind, crossing your arms as Matt slid the window open. Peter awkwardly crawled inside, tugging off his mask with a nervous grimace.

"Hey, Mr. Murdock," he mumbled, turning to you. "Hey, Y/N. Sorry if this is a bad time, but—"

"Is the city actively on fire?" Matt cut in, voice flat.

Peter hesitated. "Well, no, but—"

"Is anyone dying?" Matt continued.

Peter shifted nervously. "No, but I—"

Matt folded his arms, visibly unimpressed. "Is Stark Tower currently collapsing into a giant sinkhole?"

Peter blinked. "What? No."

Matt nodded slowly. "Then this probably could’ve waited."

Peter flushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it could’ve. But I, uh... I kinda panicked.”

You sighed, stepping toward Peter. "What happened, Pete?"

Peter winced, holding up his web-shooter. "It, um... jammed. And I can’t get it off."

Matt tilted his head, incredulous. "You came to me—at my apartment—at night—because your web-shooter jammed?"

Peter swallowed nervously. "I tried everyone else, Mr. Murdock. Literally everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everyone?"

"Doctor Strange yelled at me for disturbing his 'cosmic meditation,' Happy sent me straight to voicemail, Mr. Wilson laughed for a full two minutes before hanging up, and Pepper’s voicemail said she’s out of town." Peter said quickly. "You two were my last option."

You glanced at Matt, suppressing a smile at his annoyed expression. "Alright, fine," you sighed. "Let me see it."

Peter held his arm out gratefully, relaxing as you started examining the device. Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You realize I’m blind, right?"

Peter flushed deeper. "Well, yeah, but you're like... you're Daredevil."

Matt’s jaw ticked slightly. "And?"

"And," Peter swallowed, voice small, "and I’m really, really sorry for interrupting your night. Again."

Matt sighed heavily, shaking his head as you fiddled with the shooter.

"Got it," you finally announced, popping the jammed cartridge free and handing it back to him. "All fixed."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Thank you so much. Really, I—"

"Pete," Matt interrupted gently. "Go home."

Peter nodded quickly, already halfway back out the window. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Goodnight Mr. Murdock, Y/N."

He vanished just as fast as he’d appeared, leaving silence behind him.

Matt tilted his head back toward you, annoyance fading into amusement. "How much do you think it'd cost to soundproof these windows?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him again. "Worth every penny, honestly."

Matt smiled, tugging you back toward him, fingertips brushing your waist. "Where were we?"

You grimaced. “Actually… Peter’s webshooter’s reminded me of—”

“—Ramen.” Matt cut in.

Your eyebrows raised, “how’d you know?”

Matt chuckled softly, his fingertips brushing your hip gently. "Because anytime Peter shows up, it means your brain starts spinning with work and you always end up craving ramen afterward."

You huffed, poking his chest lightly. "You make me sound predictable."

He tilted his head, amused. "Am I wrong?"

"No," you muttered begrudgingly. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it."

Matt's lips twitched into a smirk. "Can't help it."

You sighed, stepping back slightly. "Come on, let's go get ramen before they close."

"Alright," Matt conceded, grabbing his coat. "But you're buying, since it's your fault."

"My fault?" you repeated incredulously as you slipped on your shoes.

"Your spider-friend, your problem," Matt teased lightly, holding the door open for you.

You rolled your eyes fondly. "He's everyone's spider-friend, Matty."

"Well, everyone doesn't get their evening interrupted like we do."

You linked your arm through his as you stepped outside. "Sounds like someone's still bitter."

Matt hummed softly. "Just hungry."

"Whatever you say, devil boy," you said with a smirk.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your arm lightly. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

---

It had taken another two weeks, three false alarms, and one very apologetic Spider-Man before you and Matt finally managed to find yourselves completely alone, no distractions in sight.

"Door?" Matt asked, murmuring against your lips, his voice husky and quiet.

"Locked," you whispered back.

"Phone?"

"On silent."

Matt smiled against your mouth. "Windows?"

You sighed, pulling back slightly. "Closed. Matt, relax. Everything’s handled."

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you back in. "Just making sure."

You smiled, sliding your arms around his neck and playing with the soft hair at his nape. "At this point, I think we've earned tonight."

Matt hummed quietly, brushing his lips gently along your jaw. "I’m not letting anyone interrupt us tonight, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched slightly, your fingers tightening gently in his hair. "Good. Because I might actually murder whoever tries."

He laughed softly, nudging your nose lightly with his own. "Noted."

You tugged gently at his shirt, pulling him backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sat down slowly, smiling as Matt followed you without hesitation, settling himself carefully above you.

"You’re sure no spider-kid’s gonna come tapping at the window tonight?" you teased softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling down at you. "I might actually lose my patience with him if he does."

You laughed quietly, hooking your legs around his hips and tugging him closer. "So fierce, devil boy."

Matt leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Only for you."

Warmth pooled in your stomach at the softness in his voice, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

His lips moved carefully, tenderly, hands slipping beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin, tracing gentle circles along your waist. You sighed softly against his lips, your fingertips trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt.

Matt pulled back slightly, just enough to let you pull his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. His lips found yours again immediately, kissing you with renewed urgency, his skin warm under your hands.

"Still good?" he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, breath catching. "Better than."

His hands slid slowly up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin until he reached the hem and pulled it up and off you. The second it hit the floor, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Tongue slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak.

"Lie back for me, angel."

You obeyed without hesitation, stretching across the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows as Matt’s hands found your thighs. He knelt between them, head tilted, his expression unreadable but focused. You could feel the weight of his attention even without his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I can feel every little shift in your breathing, hear your heartbeat changing every time I touch you. You're driving me insane."

Your breath caught as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle. He leaned in slowly, trailing soft kisses along the inside of your knee, up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You gasped quietly when he nuzzled higher, the stubble on his jaw catching against your skin. One of his hands gripped your thigh, the other pressing a warm palm flat against your stomach, grounding.

"You want this?" he asked softly, mouth brushing right against the waistband of your underwear.

"Yes," you breathed, eyes fluttering. "Matty, please."

That was all it took. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, dragging the fabric down your legs with excruciating slowness, kissing each new inch of skin he exposed. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs like he belonged there.

You squirmed, breathless already. Matt’s hands eased your thighs wider, lips brushing the softest kisses down the crease of your hip. Then lower.

His tongue flicked out, teasing, and you gasped, head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck," you whispered.

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, the sound warm against your skin. "That good already, sweetheart?"

Then he buried his mouth between your thighs. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat and tongue and pressure that had your back arching off the bed.

"Ah—Matty," you choked out, hands scrambling for his hair, needing something to hold onto as his tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

He groaned like he tasted the sound you made, hands anchoring you, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs as he worked.

You were already dripping for him, and he didn’t let up, tongue pressing and curling in ways that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to read you—the way your hips twitched, the way your moans caught, the way your breath stuttered when he sucked just right.

Your thighs started to shake.

"Matty—oh god—please don’t stop," you gasped, one hand flying to muffle your mouth, the other tangled in his messy hair.

He didn't stop.

He doubled down.

His mouth moved faster, tongue fucking into you before flattening and dragging slow, greedy circles over your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna—" Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping, and Matt growled against you, holding you open, not letting you go anywhere.

"Let go," he murmured against your soaked skin. "Come on, angel. Come for me."

You shattered.

It hit hard, sharp and overwhelming, your hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets, breath breaking as your body shook.

Matt held you through every second of it, mouth softening but never leaving you, licking you through the aftershocks with slow, lazy strokes until you finally whimpered, pushing weakly at his head.

He kissed your inner thigh one last time before crawling back up, settling his weight gently over you, mouth slick and smile smug.

"Hi," he murmured.

You huffed a laugh, dazed and breathless. "You’re such a menace."

"You love it," he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

"Maybe," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Come here."

He kissed you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His body pressed heavy and warm against yours, one hand slipping down to cradle your thigh, the other bracing next to your head.

You wrapped your legs around him, tugging him closer.

"Your turn, devil boy."

Matt's breath caught. His body stilled above yours, tension rolling through his shoulders like a current. He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel him—feel the way he honed in on every shift of your breath, the thump of your pulse, the way your thighs clenched around his hips.

"Say it again," he murmured.

You smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his spine. "Your turn."

Matt groaned softly, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere primal. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he leaned in, voice rough. "Tell me if anything's too much."

"Matty," you whispered, hips rolling up against the bulge still trapped in his pants, "I want all of it."

His mouth crashed back onto yours—hot, open, desperate. You tasted yourself on his lips, still slick and wet from where he’d had his mouth on you, and it made something in your gut twist up tight.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your throat. Always so fucking careful, even when he was losing control. Even now, his fingers trembled where they gripped your hip.

"Take 'em off," you whispered against his mouth, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his knees, hands fumbling at his belt. You watched him—bare chest rising with each shaky breath, flushed, lips red from kissing you senseless, hair sticking up like you’d dragged your fingers through it one too many times. The second he shoved his pants low, you saw the outline of him, thick and hard, the head already leaking.

You bit your lip. "God, Matty."

He huffed a breathless laugh, cocky but a little shaky. "You looking at me like that isn’t helping."

"I like what I see."

Matt didn’t answer—just leaned in again, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He stroked slow, base to tip, teasing himself while he hovered over you, breath hot against your cheek.

You reached down, fingertips grazing his wrist. "Let me."

He let you take over, groaning softly when your hand wrapped around him. You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his jaw flexed.

"You feel so fucking good," you whispered.

Matt's voice was strangled. "You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before it starts."

You laughed softly, but let go, guiding him instead—his hips nudging between your legs, cock heavy and hot, head sliding wet over your slit. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers curling in his hair. "Matty, please."

He pushed in slow. The stretch was deep, thick, dragging your walls open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shaky groan.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your throat. "You feel... Jesus."

You were gasping, clinging to his shoulders, your body trying to adjust around him. It wasn’t your first time. Wasn’t his either. But it was your first time together. And it was already better than anything you'd felt before.

Matt didn’t move right away. He just held there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand braced by your head and the other gripping your thigh like it grounded him.

"Matty," you whispered. "Move. Please."

He did.

A slow pull, then a push, dragging back in with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for you. He moaned into your neck, his voice thick with want. "So fucking tight—"

Your nails bit into his skin as he picked up pace, shallow thrusts turning deeper, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene. You couldn't stop the noises leaving your mouth, couldn't quiet the little cries every time he hit that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

"You’re perfect," he panted. "Every sound you make—fuck, I can feel them. Hear 'em in your throat, in your chest—"

"Matt—"

"I’ve wanted this," he groaned, fucking into you harder now, the bed creaking beneath both of you. "You. For years. Always thought about you. Touching you. Making you come on my cock."

Your breath stuttered. "Holy fuck, Matty—"

"Come for me," he growled, his thumb finding your clit and circling, firm and fast. "Right now. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart."

You didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm hit hard, sudden, crashing through you with a strangled cry, your legs tightening around his waist.

Matt cursed, fucking you through it, hips stuttering as he groaned, low and wrecked. "Shit—gonna come—fuck—"

He slammed in deep and came with a gasp, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling as his whole body trembled above you. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

"Jesus," you whispered, still shaking.

Matt laughed, soft and breathless. "Yeah. That about covers it."

You grinned, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. "Worth the wait."

His lips found yours again, soft now, lingering.

"Every second."

And for once, nothing interrupted.

if you have any requests with these two, don't be afraid to send in an ask!!

[electronalytics]

Tilt Sensors Market

[tomsonelectronics-blog]

Buy KY-020 Tilt Switch Module Online

Shop KY-020 Tilt Switch Module online at Tomson Electronics. High-quality sensor module for precise motion detection. Fast delivery and great prices!

[kannady]

v i a g r a

pairing: sylus x reader

summary: you worked in a pharmaceutical company that had recently developed a libido-enhancing drug. however, it had only been tested on the average people. it needed to be tested on someone with an already high libido. who could be a better test subject than your boyfriend?

an: i dont knowwwww. this is my first time writing smut. lemme know if you feel the knot-in-your-stomach typa feeling. bet you cant tell this was inspired by innocent birdcage ;). and btw this is NOT related to my other sylus fic im working on, its a oneshot.

genre: sylus, love and deepspace, smut, p in v, cunnilingus, creampie, reader is a researcher, established relationship, slight degradation, 18+ content

The lab was quiet at this hour, the glow of screens illuminating the sterile surfaces. You tapped a finger over the data pad as you scrolled through the latest results. Perfect efficiency, zero side effects. Your company had managed to create a libido-enhancing formula that promised to provide pleasure and only pleasure—nothing else. However, there was one small issue. The formula had only been tested on ordinary people, and there was still one variable left untested: the effects of the revolutionary drug on someone already with a high libido.

And that was how Sylus ended up sprawled across your exam table, looking far too pleased with himself. “Remind me again why I’m the ideal subject?” He knew exactly why, but he needed to hear it from your lips. Again.

“We needed someone with a high baseline stamina, rigor, and elevated natural response,” you replied confidently, refusing to let your voice waver.

He smirked at your response and repeated the word elevated like it was an inside joke, stretching just enough to make the fabric of his shirt rise, revealing his toned abs. Not now. But you couldn’t help yourself and stole another glimpse. He was truly beautiful everywhere.

He noticed your gaze. “Like what you see, kitten? Or should I say doctor?” You ignored that—or at least tried. But he knew exactly what he did to you. You adjusted the sensors on his wrist and walked to the monitor to check his vitals. His pulse was steady, strong. Like he knew where this was going.

“Administering the dose now,” you said, handing him the pill with your gloved hand. Sylus took it slowly, his fingertips brushing yours with deliberate intent before popping it into his mouth. He swallowed, never breaking eye contact.

“How long until it kicks in?”

“Approximately twenty minutes.” You turned back to the monitors, determined to focus on the numbers and not the way he was watching you.

“So, we’ve got time to kill.” His voice was a low purr. You knew what he meant. Knew exactly where this was going. But professionalism was a flimsy shield against Sylus when he got like this.

The first alert chimed on the monitor. Elevated heart rate. Pupil dilation. You didn’t need the screens to tell you what you could already see—the way his breath deepened, the way his fingers flexed against the table like he was holding himself back.

“Interesting,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “This feels faster than usual.” His gaze dropped to your lips. You caught him wetting his own, you weren’t mistaken.

“You should take notes, doctor.”

Oh, right. You hastily reached for your journal and started scribbling. You needed to record the exact time the dose was administered and when the effects began. But your attention snapped back to the monitor when it buzzed. You frowned. The sensors were going wild. Panic set in as you turned to Sylus, and the sight alarmed you. His face was flushed, bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat. He was panting.

“Oh, shit! Shit!” You ran to him and placed your hands on his shoulders, but his body heat seared through the fabric. The drug had worked fine for everyone else, but this was the first time you’d seen this. You racked your brain. You’d studied for this. Now was not the time to panic. Apply the knowledge!

Okay, follow the protocol. You dashed to the cabinet for diazepam. He needed sedation and close monitoring. Just before you could inject him, he grabbed your wrist. Just enough to make your breath hitch and sat upright.

“You’ve been so thorough with your research.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “But don’t you think it’s time for a more hands-on approach, doctor?”

You opened your mouth to protest—this was supposed to be professional, controlled, but his lips grazed your neck, and the words dissolved into a gasp. His hands slid down your hips, gripping hard as he lifted you onto the exam table, knocking aside vials with a careless sweep.

“Won’t you help me, kitten?” His eyes flashed with feral hunger. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he closed the scant distance between you.

He kissed you like a man starved. His lips molded against yours in a hot, demanding kiss, tongue delving into your mouth to claim it. One hand fisted in your hair, holding you in place, while the other gripped your hip, yanking your body flush against his. He nipped your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue before diving back in.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned against your lips. His hands slid down to palm your ass, squeezing as he pulled you tighter. You could feel his thick, rigid length straining against his jeans. The sensation made you moan into the kiss.

He released your hair, grabbed your hand, and pressed it against his hardening bulge. “You feel that, kitten? You made me so fucking hard.” He lightly bit your lip. “Been thinking about how good I’d fuck you, make you come all over my cock.”

His words were filthy, incredibly arousing. You couldn’t help but imagine him taking you raw, making you feel so good. But he’d read your thoughts.

“You want it too, right? Say it, kitten. Beg me to fuck you like the little slut you are. Hmm?”

All he’d done was kiss you, but you felt like you were floating. You didn’t care about the experiment anymore—you just wanted him.

“P-Please, Sylus…”

“Please what? Use your words, kitten.” He rocked into you, letting you feel how much he wanted you, how hard he was already.

“I want-want you to f-fuck me, Sylus.”

“Good girl.”

His hand slid under your shirt, calloused fingers skimming your stomach. He paused at the underside of your breast, thumb teasing the edge of your bra. “You wanted data? Let me show you exactly what your little experiment does to me.”

He yanked your top off and latched onto your neck, pressing sloppy kisses and bites into the sensitive skin, marks that would linger. The drug’s effects were evident in his movements: impatient, relentless. The monitors were a mess of erratic beeps, but neither of you cared.

With an expert flick, he unhooked your bra and latched onto your breast, his free hand sliding down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath your skirt to tease the wet heat between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he growled against your chest, voice dripping with lust. “Already soaked for me, kitten?”

You gasped as his fingers pressed against your clit, circling just enough to make your hips jerk.

“S-Sylus—the experiment—”

“Oh, we’re still experimenting,” he purred before kissing up your throat and capturing your lips again. His tongue plunged deep, mimicking the filthy rhythm of his fingers as they slid inside you, curling just right to make you cry out. “Maybe not in the way you planned.”

Without warning, he plunged three fingers into your dripping cunt, making you gasp and arch off the table.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pumping his fingers in and out. “So fucking ready for me.”

Sylus knelt, his tongue lapping at your clit as his fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot that made your toes curl. He suckled hard, fingers speeding up, fucking you with ruthless intensity.

“That’s it, baby. Soak my fingers. I want to feel you dripping all over my cock when I split you open.” His voice was a filthy growl against your skin.

You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, your body tensing as you neared the edge.

“Come for me, sweetie. Come all over my fingers like the desperate little slut you are.”

His thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing tight circles as he finger-fucked you wildly. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room. His eyes met yours, wicked gleam in their depths as he waited for you to shatter.

The orgasm crashed over you, your back arching as Sylus wrung every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body. Your thighs clamped around his head, fingers tangled in his hair.

But Sylus wasn’t done. He licked you clean until you were a squirming, overstimulated mess.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your thigh, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin before pulling away. His lips glistened with your arousal, and he licked them slowly, savoring the taste. “So fucking delicious.”

You were still catching your breath when he stood, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. His eyes never left yours, dark with hunger.

“Now, where were we?”

The leather slid free, and your pulse jumped. He smirked, letting the belt drop before popping the buttons of his jeans. The denim slid down, revealing his thick, straining cock, already leaking at the tip. He palmed himself with a groan, stroking slowly as he watched you.

“I hope you’re taking notes, doctor.”

Your mouth went dry. The drug had amplified everything. His scent, the heat rolling off him, the way his muscles flexed. Professionalism was long forgotten.

Sylus stepped forward, yanking your hips to the edge of the table. His cock brushed your soaked folds, making you shudder.

“Tell me you want it,” he hissed. “Tell me you need me to fuck you.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I need it. Please, Sylus-”

He didn’t make you beg again.

With one brutal thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, filling you to the brim, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. He was huge, stretching you impossibly full.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed.

For a moment, neither of you moved, overwhelmed. Then Sylus pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a relentless pace. The exam table rattled, monitors beeping wildly, but the only sounds that mattered were the filthy slap of skin and your ragged gasps.

Sylus’s hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he drove into you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot.

“That’s it. Take it,” he growled, voice strained. “Take every fucking inch.”

You could feel another orgasm coiling fast. Sylus sensed it too, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he angled his hips just right.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock like a good little slut.”

The command shattered you. Your walls clenched around him, pleasure erupting as you came with a broken cry. Sylus fucked you through it, his control fraying, thrusts turning erratic.

“Fuck, you’re milking me so good,” he snarled, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “Gonna fill you up, kitten. Pump you so full of cum you’ll feel me dripping out for days.”

The filthy promise sent another wave of heat through you. Sylus’s rhythm stuttered, his cock twitching as his release tore through him. With a guttural groan, he slammed into you one last time, hilting himself deep as hot ropes of cum painted your walls.

You whimpered at the sensation, oversensitive body pulsing weakly around him.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the wet slide of Sylus’s cock still lazily thrusting, spreading his release. His forehead dropped against yours, breath uneven.

“Fuck,” he panted, lips brushing yours. “That was-”

The monitor let out a shrill beep. Sylus didn’t flinch.

“Turn it off,” he growled, nipping your lip.

You slapped at the buttons until the noise stopped. Sylus chuckled darkly, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your stiff nipples.

“Good girl.”

His cock was still hard inside you. You gasped as he rolled his hips, dragging against your sensitive walls.

“S-Sylus--”

“Mmm, not done yet,” he murmured, lips trailing down your throat. “That little drug of yours? It’s got me fucking insatiable.”

His teeth grazed your collarbone. “And you’re not walking out of here until I’ve had my fill.”

Before you could process the threat, he flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up until your ass pressed flush against him. One hand tangled in your hair, forcing your head back as the other guided his cock back to your soaked entrance.

“Can you take it?” he demanded, voice dripping with lust.

You whimpered, already aching.

“Y-Yes--”

Sylus didn’t wait. He slammed into you in one brutal stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, fingers scrambling for purchase as he set a punishing pace.

“That’s it,” he growled, grip tightening in your hair. “Take it like the fucking slut you are.”

The filthy praise sent sparks through you, your body responding eagerly even as pleasure bordered on pain. His free hand found your clit, rubbing rough, relentless circles.

“Gonna make you come again,” he promised, voice dark and sinful. “Gonna make you scream so loud they hear you in the next lab.”

You couldn’t hold back the broken moan as his fingers worked you in time with his thrusts, the dual stimulation pushing you toward another dizzying peak.

“Sylus-!”

“Say my name like that when you come,” he ordered, hips snapping forward hard enough to make the table creak. “Let me fucking hear you.”

You shattered with a cry, body clamping around him as pleasure ripped through you. Sylus swore, rhythm faltering as your tight heat milked him through his own release. He buried himself deep, grinding into you as he came, groan muffled against your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your heavy breaths and the soft drip of sweat and cum onto the floor.

Sylus finally pulled out, hands smoothing over your trembling thighs.

“Well, doctor,” he purred, pressing a kiss to the small of your back. “I’d say your experiment was successful.”

You collapsed onto the table, boneless and utterly ruined.

You looked around. The lab was a disaster.

Sylus chuckled lowly, taking in the wreckage—overturned vials, scattered papers, blinking monitors. His gaze drifted to you, still sprawled and trembling. A smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes held something softer.

“Looks like we made a mess, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand from your forehead.

You groaned, weakly swatting his hand. “You think?”

Sylus laughed, offering his hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hesitated, but his fingers curled around yours, warm and steady. Your legs wobbled, and he didn’t miss your wince as your feet touched the floor. Without a word, he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You wanted to protest, but your knees threatened to give out. So you let him guide you to the sink, where he wet a cloth and gently wiped away the sweat and stickiness.

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, thumb tracing your jaw. “Just let me take care of you.”

No teasing, no smugness. Just quiet sincerity.

Once you were steady, Sylus turned to the lab, righting equipment and gathering papers with surprising efficiency.

You watched, lips quirking. “Since when are you so domestic?”

He shot you a smirk. “I have hidden depths, sweetie.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt strangely warm.

By the time the worst was cleaned, exhaustion weighed on you. Sylus noticed immediately, his arm slipping around your waist again.

“Let’s get you home,” he murmured.

You leaned into him, too tired to argue. “You’re not carrying me.”

Sylus grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Wouldn’t dream of it, doctor."

[piratesexmachine420]

When you think about the modern computer mouse is such a bizarre hodgepodge of inputs.

an x/y optical sensor

a linear wheel

two big buttons

a third secret button when you click the aforementioned wheel

and, if you're lucky:

two small buttons used almost exclusively for navigating forward and backward in webpages

a left/right tilt switch for the wheel

There's basically nothing in common between most of these "canonical" features. Some of them have to do with the cursor, but that's mostly just the optical sensor and the LMB. Everything else is basically just a slightly more convenient hotkey.

It's like a pure, distilled monument to the past fifty years of human interface design. Every element is a reaction or a response to the others, or to sea changes in the broader tech sphere.

I dunno what else to really say, I just find this all very interesting.

[tinyshyteacup]

• Words of Command •

Tw: Cussing, angst, mentions of blood and grime.

Words of Command - Part 1

The lobby of Stark Tower gleamed with too much glass and not enough warmth for your taste. Sunlight pooled through the towering windows, hitting the polished marble floors and refracting off the chrome detailing of the modern decor.

You sat behind the main reception desk, perched on a tall stool with your legs swinging slightly.

The desk itself was a sleek black curve, embedded with holographic displays and a touchpad that still didn’t always respond when you tapped it with freshly moisturized fingers.

A nameplate identified you only by your first name, the letters tastefully etched in a clean serif font.

At the moment, you were staring at the printer behind you like it had personally offended you. It made a soft whirring noise—then stopped.

A flicker of smoke puffed up from the feeder tray. You yelped.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., I swear, I didn’t even touch it this time!”

"Miss, respectfully, you did attempt to print a double-sided image from an incompatible file format.”

You scowled at the ceiling. “You’re not even here physically. How would you know?”

“I am connected to over 2,000 sensors in this room. Shall I list the ones currently monitoring your error?”

“Rude,” you muttered, grabbing the paper that had jammed mid-print.

You shook it like it was a bad dog chewing your shoes. “This is sabotage. You're trying to make me look bad in front of Mr Stark.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Stark has been made aware of your printer challenges. He found it... 'endearing.’”

Your cheeks flushed.

The sarcasm was biting, but the thought that Tony Stark had discussed you at all—even mockingly—made your stomach flutter in a way you weren’t proud of.

The lobby doors hissed open with that smooth mechanical slide, and you looked up automatically.

When Captain Rogers walked into a room, it was like watching someone pull the '40s into the present. He was tall, and looked slightly rumpled in civilian clothes—a dark blue hoodie stretched over broad shoulders and a plain T-shirt underneath.

He wore jeans like he didn't know what to do with them.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice gentle but somehow carrying in the echoey lobby. “You’re the receptionist, right, the wizz with phones ?”

You nodded quickly and smiled. “Y-Yes, Captain Rogers. Morning.”

He returned the smile, slower, steadier, as if trying to ease your nervous energy. “Please, call me Steve.”

Right. Like that would help.

You stood, still barely reaching his chest, and smoothed down the front of your cardigan. “What can I help you with?”

He stepped up to the desk, pulled something from the pocket of his jeans, and placed it on the counter. A Stark-Phone. One of the newer ones Stark had issued.

You tilted your head, eyebrows lifting.

“I, uh…” Steve scratched the back of his neck, clearly sheepish. “I pressed something and now it’s speaking Korean. I think.”

You gently picked up the phone and pressed the home button. “Oh. You activated the language cycle shortcut. Happens if you triple tap the lock screen.”

You tapped through the settings with practiced ease. “There. Back to English.”

Steve watched you like you were performing magic. “I don’t know how any of you keep up with this tech.”

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze with more courage this time. “Honestly? I mostly argue with the printer. J.A.R.V.I.S. does everything else.”

Steve chuckled, a warm, earnest sound that made your heart thump faster. “Well, you seem to be holding your own.”

As he turned to leave, he paused. “I like your necklace, by the way. It suits you.”

You looked down, brushing a finger across the tiny pendant resting at your collarbone. “Oh. Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.”

He nodded like that meant something to him.

“Thanks,” he says, when you’re done. Then adds, almost sheepishly, “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m going to throw a shield at them.”

You laugh nervously. “You’re... not that scary.”

His grin is warm, boyish. You find yourself smiling back, unexpectedly grounded.

The elevator dings, and in breezes Tony Stark like a whirlwind in thousand-dollar shoes.

He’s on a call, two steps ahead of his own thoughts, sunglasses on indoors because of course they are.

"Yeah, just tell Fury he can bite me. In Morse code. Bye."

Phone snapped off, sunglasses up, and he zeroes in on you. “Sweetheart. You jammed the printer again.”

“I did not jam the printer,” you say quickly. “Jarvis is just being dramatic.”

“Jarvis is always dramatic, but in this case? He’s right.”

Tony leans on the desk, eyes squinting slightly. “Do you intentionally make the tech hate you? Is this like your rebellion arc Thumbelina? First it's the printer, then you’re reprogramming him to swear in Gaelic.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you murmur, looking down. Then pause. “Wait... JARVIS can swear?”

Tony smirks. “Atta girl. Knew there was a fire in there somewhere.”

He straightens up, hands in pockets, a half-laugh escaping him as he walks toward the elevator. “Keep her, Rogers!” he shouts over his shoulder. “She’s the only one who’s not afraid to talk back to Jarvis.”

You blink.

Captain Rogers is still standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with something between amusement and... curiosity.

Maybe even admiration.

The city never sleeps, but it sighs in the early hours of morning—hushed traffic, glimmering reflections on wet pavement, a lull between the pulse of nightlife and the rise of commuters.

Neon lights flicker overhead, buzzing faintly, casting long shadows that cling to him like a second skin.

He moves like he’s not sure he’s real.

Each footfall is heavy but hesitant, like the ground might reject him. His hair is a tangled mess, matted and unwashed, sticking to his face and jaw.

The stubble on his cheeks is rough, uneven, and clings to him like dirt. His clothes are soaked in sweat, grime, and old blood—some of it his, some of it not.

His left arm is bare and gleaming beneath a tattered coat sleeve, metal fingers twitching involuntarily, as though searching for a rifle that isn’t there.

He doesn’t remember where he’s been.

Only fragments, screams, commands in harsh syllables, red flashing lights. A corridor. Restraints. Cold.

Oh God that biting cold.

He walks past windows and glass doors, catching glimpses of himself in reflections—a shadow, a haunted smear of what used to be a man.

He doesn’t know his name.

Not truly.

Not right now.

But somewhere, deep under the static in his brain, there’s something.

Maybe he had a name.

And then he looks up.

It rises above him like a monument, gleaming even in the grey blue of pre-dawn. STARK in large, defiant letters. The light at the top pulses. He stops walking, just… stands there.

His breath fogs the cold air, erratic.

His chest heaves, ribs visible through the threadbare shirt beneath the jacket. His boots are worn to the sole.

Everything about him screams survival, but there’s a flicker in his eyes now—recognition.

Stark.

Mission report.

Howard.

December.

Blood.

Sixteen.

Comply.

1991.

Zimniy Soldat.

Soldat.

The words slam into him like gunfire, and he stumbles forward, metal hand clenching hard enough to groan under its own pressure.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He only knows the building is important.

And maybe... maybe someone inside can make the noise stop.

The automatic doors whisper open, parting slowly to let him step into the warmth of Stark Tower’s front lobby. Inside, the polished floors shine, reflecting the subtle glow of the early-morning lighting.

The scent of fresh polish, faint coffee, and recycled air fills the space. It’s clean. Too clean. Sterile like a medical wing, like some place where experiments happened.

He hesitates in the doorway.

The light overhead flickers slightly, casting a quick stutter of shadow across his face—an echo of something dark beneath the skin.

You stand behind the front desk, holding your phone in one hand, uncertain. His body is massive in the entrance, his shoulders squared like a soldier preparing for a threat. That left arm, slick and inhuman, gleams under the overhead light, fingers twitching like they have a mind of their own.

He takes two steps forward.

You don’t move, but your fingers close slowly around the base of your mug—some deep instinct reaching for something solid, something real.

"Hi… I—I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here," you say softly, trying not to let the nervous quiver in your voice show.

He tilts his head.

Not sharply. Not mechanically. Like a man trying to understand.

His lips part. You can tell it’s painful. His throat works around something—speech, maybe, or just the ghost of it. His voice comes like gravel, dry and shredded.

“Pomohgeet-yeh…"  Help.

Your brows knit. You don’t understand the words. But the way he says them makes your chest hurt.

He tries again.

“Gde… eta?"  Where… is this?

The effort it takes him to speak is visible.

He trembles.

Not with fear, but exhaustion. His whole body is strung tight like a stretched wire, ready to snap. One wrong move and he could bolt. Or lash out. Or break down.

You hold both hands up in that gentle, universal please-don’t-run gesture. “I—I don’t know what you’re saying. But I want to help. I can call someone. Or—I can get Mr. Stark if you want, or—”

At the name, something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Stark.

He flinches like you’ve slapped him.

Suddenly, he shifts—too fast. That metal arm raises slightly, just a fraction. You freeze. Not because you think he’s going to hurt you—but because for a moment, he doesn’t look like a man anymore.

He looks like a ghost wrapped in combat training, forged in violence.

His eyes dart around the lobby—scanning exits, angles, security cameras.

His stance changes subtly, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet, as though he’s ready to take someone down.

And you—you’re just standing there.

He opens his mouth again, lips cracked and barely moving.

“Ne khochu… drat’sya." I don’t want… to fight.

You still don’t understand the words.

But you understand the tone.

Soft. Strained. Pleading.

“uh-huh,” you whisper.

You take a slow step around the desk. Not too close. But enough that he can see your hands, see your face.

You keep your voice low. “You look like you need help. Food? Water?”

He doesn’t answer. But his eyes track your hand as you slowly lift your bottle and offer it to him.

He reaches for it with his metal hand—but stops. There’s shame in the hesitation.

Holy Shit, is that metal ?

The faintest flicker of emotion across his dirt-streaked face. He switches to his right hand and takes it.

He drinks.

Not quickly. Like every swallow might be a mistake. Like he doesn’t trust it not to hurt.

As he drinks, you take him in quietly.

He looks... wrong in this space. The marble floor, the sleek design, the soft hum of Jarvis’ systems in the walls—it makes him look like something out of time. Like a soldier in a museum.

And then it hits you.

There’s something familiar about him. Not just the metal arm. Not just the way he looked at the building. But something in the jawline. The eyes.

You move slowly back to your desk, heart thudding as you open a file of security images.

"Who are you?" you whisper to yourself.

He doesn't answer.

He just watches you.

You move quietly to the comm panel, still keeping one eye on the man sitting stiffly in the chair near the lobby’s edge.

Tony had given you a comms piece to use in emergencies, is this a emergency ?

Stranger, built like a fridge, with a metal arm ?

Definitely.

The stranger in question hasn’t spoken since you gave him the bottle of water. His fingers—bare and bruised on one hand, cold steel on the other—grip it like it might disappear. He hasn’t drunk again. Just stares at the wall like he's trying to make sense of what a wall is.

Your voice is hushed as you speak into the receiver.

“Captain Rogers? I—I’m sorry to bother you. But there’s someone in the lobby. A man. I don’t know who he is, but I think… I think you should come down ... please.”

You don’t say that he’s filthy, trembling, starved.

You don’t say you’re afraid of how quiet he is.

You don’t say that even Jarvis, hasn’t spoken a word since he arrived.

As though the building itself is holding its breath.

You hear him before you see him—the heavy, purposeful footfalls of combat boots against tile. The automatic doors open with a whoosh, and Captain Steve Rogers steps into the lobby like a storm arriving with restraint.

He stops dead in his tracks.

You watch the expression on his face collapse.

From soldier to friend.

From Avenger to broken-hearted brother.

“...Bucky?” he breathes.

The name falls into the room like a thunderclap.

But the man in the chair doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, stepping forward slowly, cautiously, as though any sudden movement might spook him.

The man’s eyes track Steve—but only briefly. Recognition doesn’t register.

No emotion flickers. Just calculation.

The Winter Soldier, watches Steve Rogers like he’s a possible threat. Like a target.

You step back instinctively, not out of fear, but because the air has changed. Thickened.

Like the moment before a fight. Or before someone remembers something too painful to hold.

Steve is trying. You can see it.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve. Steve Rogers. Brooklyn. 40s. We grew up together.” His voice cracks.

But there’s nothing behind those eyes. Not the kind of nothing that comes from confusion.

The kind that’s been scraped clean.

Programmed.

Buried.

The man’s body tenses. A tic in the jaw. A breath held too long.

His fingers flex on the water bottle, crack—plastic gives under his grip.

Then, that guttural voice “Ne znayu tebya." I don’t know you.

Steve flinches. Not physically. Not visibly.

But you feel the break.

He kneels in front of him, ignoring the metal arm, the set jaw, the violence in his posture. His voice lowers to a whisper, so raw and aching it doesn't feel meant for anyone else to hear.

“I thought I lost you. I never stopped looking.”

The soldier’s gaze doesn’t soften.

His eyes scan Steve like he’s a file to be decrypted. A puzzle, not a person.

He shifts in the chair.

Not toward Steve—but away. Just a few inches. Enough to feel like a rejection.

The lobby is quiet again. Bucky? Or The soldier?—or the shell of him—sits in the corner like a statue draped in rags. His posture stiff, eyes half-lidded but never soft.

Like a soldier awaiting deployment, tension simmering beneath his skin.

Steve touches your arm gently and gestures toward the hallway off the reception desk. His voice is low, heavy with something that feels like grief soaked in guilt.

“That’s Bucky,” he says. “James Barnes. We grew up together. He enlisted before me.”

You blink up at him, trying to marry the image of the blank, cold-eyed man in the lobby with the idea of someone’s best friend.

Steve swallows hard. “But… that’s not who he is now. Hydra got to him. They—”

He stops. The words taste wrong in his mouth.

“They erased him. Broke him down and rebuilt him into something else. A ghost with a gun. They called him ‘The Winter Soldier.’”

A pause. His jaw tightens.

“They didn’t use his name. They called him Soldat." Steve whispers, making sure only you hear.

You murmur the word aloud without thinking, testing it, you feel disgust claw at your spine at the idea of someone being stripped so bare.

“Soldat…?”

The sound barely leaves your lips. Just a sound.

But across the lobby—the man moves.

Fast.

Sudden.

Mechanical.

The chair clatters backwards as he rises in one sharp, fluid motion. Spine straight, feet planted.

His metal arm clenches, whirring softly. His eyes, once clouded with the fog of confusion, snap into unnatural focus.

Like a trigger has been pulled.

His gaze lands on you.

Not Steve.

You.

Then, in that same guttural, rasping Russian:

“Gotov k vypolneniyu." Ready to comply.

Your heart lurches. You don’t know what he said—but the tone tells you enough.

Cold.

Obedient.

Trained.

Steve steps forward sharply, hand raised. “Bucky—no! She’s not—”

But Bucky isn’t listening. His head turns ever so slightly toward you, chin dipped in rigid respect, but eyes locked like a weapon sighting a command post.

Then, another word in Russian.

“Rukovoditel’" Handler.

Shit. SHIT

You freeze, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as you stare at the man before you.

He’s taller than you by what feels like a foot, broad-shouldered and imposing, hair tangled, blood on his temple not yet dried. But it’s not his appearance that terrifies you.

It’s how still he is now. How controlled. How conditioned.

Like someone flipped a switch inside him.

Steve’s hand is on your shoulder suddenly, protective, grounding.

“He thinks you’re his handler,” Steve says softly. His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to remain calm. “Hydra trained him to respond to words 'Soldat' must have triggered it.”

You glance at the Soldier—and feel a cold chill crawl down your spine.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just waits.

As if he’s expecting you to give him an order.

You whisper, almost afraid of your own voice, “What do I do?”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give him commands. Don’t say anything that sounds like one. We’ll get Bruce or Tony down here, maybe they can—”

The sound of polished leather shoes and the hiss of elevator doors heralds Tony Stark’s arrival.

He strides into the lobby like he owns every inch of it—which, of course, he does. A tailored charcoal suit, sunglasses he doesn’t need indoors, and a cup of coffee he’s already bored with. His tone, dry as ever.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Tin Man himself.”

Tony stops a few paces from the soldier, surveying him like a potential weapon. Or worse, a ticking bomb.

“You gonna sing ‘If I Only Had a Brain,’ or…?”

No response.

The Soldier—still as a statue—doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stands in that unnatural way. Tense. Straight-backed. Alert. His metal hand twitches faintly at his side, barely noticeable unless you’re watching for it.

And you definitely are now.

You stand just behind Steve, hands clasped nervously in front of you like you’re trying to shrink into the floor. But you feel the weight of his stare. Not Tony’s. Not Steve’s.

His.

The Soldier.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, are pinned on you.

Tony raises an eyebrow and leans toward Steve. “So this is the guy you were willing to punch me in the face over?” He eyes the torn tactical gear and matted hair. “Charming.”

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait. His voice is firm but quiet. “He’s not well. Hydra programmed him. We think he… believes she's his handler”

Tony turns toward you, glancing you up and down, not rudely, just… curious. “She gets winded carrying a bag of flour.”

You open your mouth to protest, but then The Soldier moves.

Not toward Tony.

Not toward Steve.

Just… a slight shift. He angles his body protectively between you and Stark.

And then he speaks. Russian again.

“Rukovoditel"

His voice is hoarse, barely a growl.

Tony snorts. “Let me guess. That means ‘fearless leader’?”

Steve sighs. “It means ‘handler.’ I told you Tony, he thinks she’s his handler.”

Tony takes off his sunglasses, eyes narrowing. “Oh, great. We’ve got a murder machine who’s latched onto Thumbelina.”

He turns back to The Soldier, then tries his best Stark-brand sarcasm. “Hey, RoboCop. You like shawarma? Puppies? The Bee Gees?”

The Soldier doesn’t react.

His gaze stays locked on you. Like Stark isn’t even in the room.

“Gotov k vypolneniyu" Ready to comply.

Tony paces a bit, muttering to himself.

“Okay, okay… Steve brings in a half-feral Hydra brain bomb who only listens to the human equivalent of a cupcake, and I’m just supposed to—what—build him a bunkbed?”

Steve steps between them, voice low and serious. “He’s not dangerous to her. You saw that.”

“Oh yeah, I saw it,” Tony shoots back. “Saw him zero in on her like a guided missile with a crush. Only she’s not trained. She doesn’t even speak Russian. What happens if she says the wrong thing?”

You flinch a little at that, the weight of it finally settling in your chest.

Tony softens for a half-second. Just a breath. His eyes flick to you. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a lovely hostage.”

Then, toward The Soldier again. “You got anything else in that scrambled brain of yours? English? Stark tech? The weather?”

The Soldier’s only movement is the subtle tightening of his jaw. The slight widening of his stance—defensive. Watching Tony too closely now. Like he’s assessing threat levels.

But then… his eyes return to you.

You whisper, half to yourself, “He’s waiting.”

Tony raises a brow. “For what?”

You shrug helplessly. “An order. I think.”

The lobby feels heavier. Like a suspended moment, stretched too tight.

Tony watches the two of you, something calculative slipping into his expression.

“This is a problem,” he murmurs. “Because if she’s his focus, and we can’t get through to him otherwise—he’s not just broken. He’s tethered.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Then we don’t break the tether. We use it. Let her anchor him.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh, sure. Let’s just traumatize a receptionist, make her the sole translator for Hydra’s favorite murder puppet. What could go wrong?”

But even he can’t ignore the truth, the Winter Soldier isn’t reacting to threats, or commands, or charm.

Only you.

Fuck.

[popp1n]

GHOSTING THE GOVERNMENT

|masterpost| ao3

Chap 1: A Not-so-Ghostly Getaway.

Pt 1

The diplomas, still crisp and smelling faintly of the school auditorium's mothball-esque stale air, lay forgotten in the storage pocket of the back seat. Outside, the oppressive silence of Amity Park clung to the humid night like a shroud. Under the sliver of a waning moon, three figures moved with struggling efficiency, their hushed whispers swallowed by the darkness, only interrupted by the thump and tumble of packing a small car's trunk full to the brim.

Sam wrestled a lumpy duffel bag into the cramped trunk of Jazz’s beat-up Corolla, its faded paint a familar reflection to the scuffed and chipped state of Amity Park's buildings and roads. Tucker carefully slid a disassembled and altered shortwave radio beneath a pile of old blankets, his knuckles pale as he adhered it to the floor with heavy-duty tape. In the driver's seat, Jazz checked the rearview mirror for the tenth time, her gaze flicking nervously towards the omnipresent, unblinking lenses mounted on nearly every lamppost, but most importantly those fastened to her childhood home.

This morning, Danny and his friends walked across that stage, officially free in the eyes of the State. Tonight, they were taking that freedom for themselves, one clandestine mile and issue at a time.

Sam finally managed to cram their luggage into place and successfully close the trunk without unnecessary noise. She slid into the backseat beside Tucker, who was checking the camera feeds again.

"The loop is still set, and I have my program ready to intercept feeds as we drive," Tucker sighed, lowering his computer screen and minimizing the glow, "All that's left is for Danny to finish and we can get out of here."

It was at that moment that they could hear keys jangling near the FentonWorks's front door. Danny made himself present and quickly hurried over to the open passenger side door.

The Corolla’s suspension groaned as Danny shoved a final ratty backpack crammed with scavenged ghost tech and blueprints onto the back seat, causing Sam to give a small indignant squawk at it landing in her lap before shoving it into place between her and Tucker. He slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and buckled in a series of swift movements. Danny, ever the pragmatist, double-checked the rearview mirror, while Jazz gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white.

“Okay, everyone set?” Jazz’s voice was a low murmur, barely audible above the thrum of the engine.

Tucker huffed an affirmative, his gaze flicking to the other small, palm-sized device he’d carefully placed on the dashboard. It pulsed with a faint, stolen green light. “Just need to power that baby up once we’re a few miles out.”

Jazz reached over and squeezed Danny's arm. “Danny, are you sure about this? Leaving everything…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy in the air.

“Positive,” Danny said, meeting her gaze. “Staying means… well, you know.” He glanced at Tucker, who offered a tight nod of agreement.

“So, portal us out of here then, speed demon,” Jazz said, a nervous edge to her usual teasing tone. “Last I checked, you could blink us to Gotham City before they even noticed we were gone.”

Danny sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “That’s the thing. I can’t.”

Jazz tilted her head to him, eyes on the road and confusion etched on her face. “What do you mean, you can’t?” She asked, her brow furrowed. “Are you… are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Danny insisted. “Physically, anyway. But remember those ‘rural-urban wellness initiatives’ the government rolled out last year? The ones that supposedly monitored for earth quakes and groundwater?”

Jazz's eyes widened. “You think…?”

Tucker nodded grimly. “They weren’t just mapping out tremors and underground streams. They were mapping ectoplasm fluctuations...at least the sensors in town are. Every portal, even natural ones, creates a ripple. A pretty significant one, apparently.” He pointed towards the stolen and modified device on the dash. “This little beauty confirms it. They’ve got localized sensors all over Amity Park, calibrated specifically to detect any paranormal distortions. If Danny tried to portal us out now, it’ll be like setting off a silent alarm directly to GIW headquarters.”

A heavy silence descended upon the car. Jazz’s shoulders slumped slightly. “So, all those times they ‘randomly’ stopped by the house for ‘routine checks’ after you seemed a little… restless…”

Danny’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. They knew something. They’ve been watching. Waiting.” He sighed, "They probably wrote it off so far as interference from the lab portal and whatnot, but that isn't a foolproof defense."

Sam leaned forward in her seat. “This is the only way. Old-fashioned, on the ground, under the radar. Once we’re far enough out, past that massive ghost shield they're building, then maybe… maybe Danny can risk it. But not here. Not now.”

The weight of their words settled in the small car, replacing their initial surge of post-graduation hope with a stark dose of reality. It was a harsh reminder that their lives were nowhere close to normal. This was not a regular carpool to their shared college pick; although, it was no less emotional than the standard fair.

Tucker was excited for opportunities with the biggest technology conglomerate in the world. He and Danny managed to score scholarships along with paid internships with their practical demonstrations. Sam was interested in the gothic architecture and ecology courses that their destination had to offer. Danny was intrigued by the rumored curses around the city. Jazz was looking forward to finishing her psychology degree and potentially working in Arkham.

But home is home, no matter how strained it has become in recent years.

Emotions were complicated, and many a tear were shed by the teens as they pulled out of the neighborhood and headed towards city limits. Jazz offered each of them a blanket and bid them to rest.

Next>

[megalony]

This Was No Accident

This is a new Buddie imagine, based on a lovely request from @neonkiwi I hope you will all like it.

Feedback is always much appreciated.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005

Buddie Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: While Eddie is at work, (Y/n) and Evan go to a school reunion. But (Y/n)'s diabetes causes a bad turn and a familiar face brings conflict.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Need a hand?"

Shivers rolled down (Y/n)'s spine and she quickly turned her head to cast her eyes over her shoulder even though she knew who it was standing behind her. Her features softened into a bashful smile and she dipped her head down, looking to her hands rather than up at Eddie.

She felt him closing the distance between them until he was stood in front of her and his hands reached out to rest on her hips, gently nudging her back until her lower back was pressing into the kitchen counter.

"Want some help?" He asked again while his lips hovered over the shell of (Y/n)'s ear and his thumbs scraped across her hips.

It didn't take Eddie long to figure out what she was doing when he walked into the kitchen. (Y/n) had her shirt rolled up towards her bra, the waistband of her leggings turned down and her Dexcom device in her hand. She was switching out the sensor.

With (Y/n) being diabetic, it was much easier to have a Dexcom which was a small square device stuck to her skin with a needle probing beneath the skin. It would take continuous readings of her sugar levels so (Y/n) didn't have to keep pricking her finger for blood samples and it was a lot easier to know when her levels were changing and when she needed to boost or reduce her sugar intake.

But the devices didn't last too long, they had to be switched out and each time they were replaced, (Y/n) had to move the sensor to another patch of skin so she didn't get any build up or resiliance.

A quiet "Please," murmured past (Y/n)'s lips as she finally lifted her head to look up at Eddie through her lashes. She almost felt her knees giving way when he looked down at her with that bright smile that flashed his teeth and made his eyes crease at the corners.

She could do it on her own, (Y/n) had been doing this for a while now, but it was always easier if one of the boys helped her.

Eddie's hands gave her hips a squeeze and he ducked his head down, nudging his nose against hers to tilt her head back to let him steal a kiss. Then another, and another until he was taking what little air (Y/n) had left in her lungs and her mind started to turn to fog.

When their lips finally parted, Eddie reached a hand up to take the old sensor from (Y/n)'s hand and he set it down on the counter out the way.

"Okay," He breathed against her lips before he tilted his chest back so he was standing up straight again. "Where'd you want it?"

(Y/n) took a moment to look down and observe where the last one had been. On her lower waist in line with her hip, and the one before that had been on the left side of her waist, since they had to be moved and rotated regularly.

Shifting around a little, (Y/n) turned so her side was facing Eddie and she rolled her top back down to present him with her arm. She hadn't had one in her arm for a while, and it was often easier to have them there. (Y/n) didn't bash them or see them as much there and it didn't get in the way when she was getting changed or bending down or moving things about.

Eddie nodded and shifted closer so his chest was pressing into her arm so he could lean around her. He took the time to press a kiss to the back of her neck as he reached for the small zip up case which held her spares.

Both Eddie and Evan were accustomed to helping (Y/n) with her diabetes now. They had the app on their phones too so they could get alerts and know if she wasn't well, they knew how to give her insulin injections or glucose powder if she was in a hypo. They knew what foods and drinks to avoid and which ones to stock up on and give if (Y/n)'s levels were uneven. This was part of their lives, their routines now.

He began to hum quietly as he dragged an antiseptic wipe across the back of (Y/n)'s arm and got the large plaster in place and stuck over her skin. Once that was in place, Eddie reached out for the small device that would clip the Dexcom into her arm and inject the needle into place.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

(Y/n)'s head angled to the left and she found herself staring into space while she waited. She could feel one of Eddie's hands bracing her shoulder before the snap and the slight sting jabbed into the back of her right arm. She waited a moment for Eddie to check that it was properly in place and all set up before she let her arm relax.

She couldn't help but tilt her head back when she felt Eddie's lips attaching to her neck and his arms circled around her waist, reeling her into him so her back was glued up against his chest.

"So, what time are you two going later?" Eddie tucked his chin into the crook of (Y/n)'s shoulder until she squirmed at the ticklish feeling. He felt her nuzzling her nose into his hair while her hands reached down to hold onto his wrists.

"We're getting there around five I think."

"You still nervous?"

(Y/n) stayed quiet, but the subtle nod of her head was enough for Eddie to tighten his arms around her waist and sigh into her neck as he kissed her skin again.

He knew she would be. He and Evan knew their girlfriend was getting worried about this afternoon, even though she didn't have any reason to be.

It was (Y/n)'s school reunion this afternoon and ever since she'd agreed to go, she had been regretting her decision. It wasn't so much the thought about going out to the event as much as she was worried about seeing the people she used to know.

(Y/n) hadn't been friends with everyone at school and there were just some people she would rather not bump into again. And there was one particular person that (Y/n) really didn't want to see again. She didn't know if he had been invited to the reunion or if he had agreed to go, but she suspected he would turn up. This was the kind of venue he would go to, somewhere he could see all the people he used to hang around with. She dreaded to think what that particular person would be like if he saw her again.

"It's gonna be fine, you'll have fun amor. And if you don't, you just come back home."

(Y/n) muttered a soft "I know," and twisted her head so she could tuck her face into Eddie's neck instead of being the other way around. It would be an interesting night, whatever happened. And if it didn't seem to go well, all she had to do was tell Evan that she'd had enough and that would be the end of the night.

"Besides, Buck and parties always equal fun." A smirk flooded Eddie's face when he watched their partner walk into the kitchen, clearly catching the last part of their conversation.

Evan dragged his fingers through his damp hair and rose a brow at Eddie. He wasn't sure if his boyfriend was being nice or subtly trying to insult him.

"Why do I think there's an insult hiding in there somewhere?" Evan pressed a kiss to (Y/n)'s temple and one to Eddie's cheek as he weaved behind Eddie to reach the fridge for a drink.

"No idea babe."

(Y/n) slowly turned so her back was against the counter again and both hands reached behind her to hold onto the counter. She lifted her head to look at both of them while Eddie leaned around her to flick the kettle on and Evan turned to face them both, with a water bottle in hand.

"What if he's there?" Her voice was quiet and she couldn't bring herself to look at them as she spoke. She felt like she was being silly and paranoid, but she couldn't help the slight niggling of worry in the back of her head.

With a deep breath, Evan rolled his lips together and set his drink down on the side while he cosied up to (Y/n)'s side. He looped his arm around her middle and tilted his head to one side so he was able to look down at her.

It didn't take much to figure out who she was talking about. She had told them about the guy she used to know in school, Connor. He had a thing for (Y/n) which gradually turned into an obsession. He would take pictures of her, follow her home, call her at all hours of the day and night and show up anywhere (Y/n) went.

For all intents and purposes he had become a stalker and (Y/n) had been his obsession throughout school. The teachers knew, she had to be taken out of any classes they previously shared, her classes were changed and her dad had threatened to go to the police.

(Y/n) moved out of town as soon as she finished school and so far for the last few years, she hadn't seen Connor around or bumped into him at all. But there was always a chance he would be there. He would have been invited and (Y/n) had a feeling he would be there.

Looking to the right, Evan shared a look with Eddie. This had been something they had spoken about last week.

"If you see him you tell me. He won't get near you, I promise." Evan attached his lips to (Y/n)'s temple while Eddie poured a black coffee into his flask.

"No one will mess with Mr muscles over here, you'll have a good time, mi amor." Eddie dipped his head in Evan's direction before he glanced down to his watch.

He sincerely doubted Connor or any other unsettling people would get too near (Y/n) when she would have Evan by her side. He was a walking defence mechanism, he looked frightening like a bodyguard even though he was actually a teddy bear. Evan wouldn't let Connor get within five feet of (Y/n).

"I gotta drop Chris off now. I love you both, have a great time."

Eddie brushed his thumb across (Y/n)'s cheek and tilted her head up so he could kiss her. He wanted to stay a bit longer and make sure she was calm and happy and eager to go, but he had to take Chris and then head to work.

He grinned when Evan looped an arm around the back of his neck when Eddie moved over to kiss him too, and it was like a silent exchange passed between them. Evan knew if they needed anything or if it didn't go well tonight to call Eddie, but he hoped that wouldn't be the case. They would be fine.

Eddie wished he was going with them. He wanted to, but Evan was already off shift today and they had two other people off shift as well, Eddie couldn't take the day off. So he was stuck at work and Carla was going to have Chris for the evening when (Y/n) and Evan went out to the reunion.

They were going to have a good time.

***

(Y/n) tried to keep a bright smile on her face as she looped her hands around Evan's arm and glued herself up into his side.

She let her eyes drag up and down his frame for what had to be the hundredth time since they got ready and came down to the reunion. He was wearing a pair of black trousers paired with a black and white striped shirt. The first three buttons were undone and the sleeves were neatly rolled up to his elbows, exposing his tattooed forearms.

(Y/n) had wondered earlier if Evan had grabbed one of Eddie's shirts by mistake because it seemed a little tight around the shoulders, but it still looked good. If anything, it looked better being that little bit tighter.

"Wanna get a drink?" Evan's voice snapped her out of her thoughts and (Y/n) nodded, aiming towards the main hall of the venue.

His head angled down to look at (Y/n) and he couldn't help but smile at how close to his side she was right now. If she pressed up any closer they would merge into one being and walk in tandem.

"Sure, I can have one alcoholic drink, then it's zero sugar time."

"Better make this one count then."

If (Y/n) wanted to drink alcohol, she had to measure, count and adjust her carbohydrates in food and watch her sugar intake and adjust her meds so she didn't get too much or too little insulin. Needless to say she didn't drink alcohol often. It was easier not to and it wasn't something (Y/n) was crazy about anyway so it didn't really matter.

But tonight was an event, it was supposed to be fun and (Y/n) had seen the bottles of beer floating around and the cocktails being handed out. She could have one to join in and feel included, then she would have to check the rest of her drinks and make sure she didn't have too much sugar.

Plus, she and Evan had already eaten before they came out so (Y/n) knew her levels would be fine. It was easier to stick to a diet and eat at regular times, mostly the same times each day to help her body stay adjusted and controlled. And they had no idea what food would be on the buffet here so it was safer not to try anything here and stick to what they knew and liked at home.

They took a detour once they were in the main venue hall with a cocktail in hand and (Y/n) spoke to one or two people she felt comfortable around and hadn't spoken to in a while.

She found it rather amusing when she bumped into one of the older girls she didn't used to get along with. Aubrey looked as stuck up as ever, and it was clear the only reason she approached (Y/n) was because she had set her sights on Evan.

When the words "Is this your boyfriend?" passed Aubrey's lips almost like a sneer, (Y/n) felt like she was back in school.

She lifted her head and did her best to smile as she leaned against Evan's arm and nodded.

"Yeah, one of them."

"Our boyfriend's at work." Evan grinned a smile that reached his eyes and nodded over at the person he figured hadn't been so kind to (Y/n) when they had been in school. He wouldn't waste time trying to be civil to someone that didn't deserve the time of day and who they wouldn't be seeing again after tonight.

(Y/n) was glad when Evan steered them in another direction, leaving Aubrey behind them with a gaping expression and an upturned nose.

But she clenched her hands around his arm and nudged him to the left, pausing his stride and wherever he thought he was steering them towards. She pressed herself into his chest, taking him by surprise as she reached up to loop her arms around his neck instead, but the next words that passed her lips made a cold shiver run down Evan's spine.

"Connor's here." (Y/n) tilted her head down until her nose was pressing against Evan's sternum through his shirt and she felt his hands reach down to clench around her hips.

"Who? Which one?" There was a sense of urgency in Evan's voice as he darted his eyes from left to right, trying to work out which person it could be. Now he knew why (Y/n) was facing him with her back to the rest of the room, she didn't want Connor to spot her.

"Blue shirt, shaggy hair, glasses."

Evan clocked him quickly, but he was relieved the other guy- who Evan had imagined many times but never seen until now- was aiming in a different direction. He hadn't seen them.

"He's going out, we should be okay. You alright?" He tilted his head down to attach his lips to (Y/n)'s forehead when she nodded. As long as he hadn't seen her and wasn't aiming her way, then (Y/n) would try and stay for a while and hope they didn't run into him.

Evan kept an eye out when they began walking again, but he didn't spot Connor anywhere. He prayed the other man would just wander around and leave or find someone else to pester.

The evening was turning out much how (Y/n) expected, she was happy to be around the three close friends she had kept in contact with, and talk to a few others who she hadn't seen in a while. And it was as if they were all teenagers again because they stayed within their old friendship circles, barely moving to talk to others they didn't know well. They were all still desperate to interact with their own peers and the people they felt most comfortable with.

After a while of circulating and trying to make polite chat, (Y/n) and Evan headed towards a table and finally took a seat next to Rose, one of (Y/n)'s friends she had stayed in touch with since leaving school.

"You good?" Evan pressed his lips against the side of (Y/n)'s head and leaned in close while he reached his hand out beneath the table to curl around her knee.

"Yeah," (Y/n) hummed and leaned into him, grinning just as a tray of drinks came crashing down onto the table. Jake unloaded the drinks he had gone to fetch for their table, causing a few glasses to clash together and spill a mixture of gin, beer and soft drinks down the tray and across the table.

"Which one is which?" (Y/n) kept her voice low before she perched her chin on Evan's shoulder and curled one hand around his bicep again.

No one had actually said what each drink was, they were just placed down where they thought they should be.

Evan scanned around the glasses that had been set down and he took one of the glasses of beer which was clearly for him. He circled his index finger around the selection of glasses before he stopped on one that looked like very flat coke. That would be (Y/n)'s as everyone else had picked alcohol or full fat pepsi or soda.

(Y/n) watched him take a gulp and subsequently cringe before he handed it over to her. Evan didn't like drinks with zero sugar, he needed the sugar to keep his brain working and the caffeine helped with his ADHD. He rubbed his fingers together before taking his thumb between his lips to lick off the excess syrup that spilt down onto his hand.

"It's rather sweet, but it's definitely yours, no sugar."

"Thank you,"

He was right, there was more syrup than soda in her coke and it was rather flat but it was definitely sugar free, Evan was the expert at testing drinks and knowing from one small sip whether it had sugar or not. He was an expert in sending drinks back when it didn't have the sugar he craved, or indeed if it had sugar which (Y/n) didn't want.

Evan raised a brow but curved his lips into a smile when (Y/n) downed it in one like it was a race and if it had been a cocktail or beer, he would have been even more impressed.

"Thirsty?"

"Hm, very." (Y/n) felt like she could drink three or four more glasses, her throat was so dry and that coke didn't help at all.

"Don't think I've ever seen you drink so much." It was good, Evan couldn't remember the last time he'd seen (Y/n) have so many drinks and they'd been here less than two hours. She'd had a cocktail with him and then switched to coke and their table was bulk ordering drinks so they didn't have to wait.

But it was good, they were laughing, joking and the energy was alive, it was a good atmosphere and Evan was glad. He knew (Y/n) had been worried about coming here but she seemed a lot calmer than he anticipated which was a good thing.

After a little while and a few jokes being passed around the table, (Y/n) twisted in her seat so she could lean into Evan a bit more. She laid her cheek on his shoulder and cosied up into his side with her hand on his thigh and her eyes closed for a few minutes.

She could feel him mumbling the lyrics to whatever song was playing in the background. He was muttering them into her hair like a secret love language no one else could hear or understand.

When she tilted her head back just a little and opened her eyes again, (Y/n) found herself staring up at Evan and those big ocean blue eyes. With how close they were, it was easy for (Y/n) to tickle her nose against his and dance her lips across his, causing his tongue to reach out and wet his lips that were desperate for more.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight."

"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart."

She could feel his lips on hers, his lips along her jaw and then his hand sliding around her waist and lower back and she knew where his hand would go if they weren't sitting down right now. She could sense her mind starting to wander and she leaned into Evan a little bit more like she needed him to hold her up and keep her grounded.

Then she realised she was still thirsty; achingly so. It was causing her throat to tighten and her stomach was burning but she couldn't understand why when she'd already drank so much.

Whatever Evan murmured into her neck caused vibrations to run through (Y/n)'s skin, but she couldn't make out what he'd said. But then they both suddenly sensed it.

The shaking.

Her fingers were trembling against Evan's thigh and when her other hand curled around his bicep, the jittering caused Evan to rattle along with her.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Just a little dizzy, don't let me go."

Evan hummed, but he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that answer. Usually when (Y/n) started to shake it meant her sugar levels weren't quite right. And this wasn't the place to be starting to go into a hypo.

"Seizure dizzy or sugar dizzy?" His lips pressed against the side of her head and his nose tickled against her hair but it was soothing. It was good to feel him breathing against her hair and mumbling words into her skin like this as Evan began to glide his hand up and down her waist.

"Not sure,"

"Then we need to check your blood, sweetheart." Evan sensed that (Y/n) was starting to feel dizzy when she seemed to sway and lean against him even more and she had to close her eyes.

He leaned back in his seat and switched to wrap his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist. While his left hand rummaged around in his pocket to find his phone. Both he and Eddie had (Y/n)'s Dexcom app on their phones so they could help check her blood sugar and see any notifications. And Evan knew if her levels started to drop and Eddie had the chance to check his phone, he would start to panic and he would call Evan to see what was going on.

Just as Evan got his phone out, he paused and looked down at (Y/n) when she tightened her hand around his thigh.

"I just need the bathroom, if- if I need some insulin I'll do it in there." (Y/n) rose her head up from Evan's shoulder and held her breath to settle the dizziness that took over her.

She needed the toilet, she needed to go somewhere private in case she threw up. And it would be better to do an insulin shot in the toilet rather than here where everyone could see and observe her.

"You sure?"

"Hm." With a nod of her head, (Y/n) used Evan's thigh to push herself up and she grabbed her bag from the floor before she set off in the direction of the hall where the toilets would be.

Evan leant his elbow on the table and moved his hand to run along his mouth and jaw.

He didn't like this. (Y/n) didn't look well, her body was tilting to one side like she couldn't find her sense of balance and he watched her swipe at her forehead as she walked off. She was sweating and shaking, clearly her sugar levels weren't right and Evan didn't want to just sit here and wait for her if she wasn't well.

His teeth sank down into his lower lip as he unlocked his phone and scrolled along for the Dexcom app. But the moment he opened it up and looked through the notifications, Evan froze.

Her levels were dropping. Dramatically.

She was already in a hypoglycaemic state and with the way her levels were shooting down, she was going to be in a dangerous zone in a matter of minutes. Evan couldn't understand how. She had one cocktail which hadn't been that strong, it had been more juice than vodka, and she hadn't had any other fruit juice which usually held a lot of sugar. She had soft drinks with zero sugar or caffeine. And she hadn't eaten anything here; why were her levels this bad?

"Shit."

Evan pushed up from his seat, not bothering to excuse himself to anyone sitting at the table. He set off on a mission, aiming in (Y/n)'s direction to try and catch up to her.

(Y/n) realised she made a mistake walking away from Evan when she reached the women's toilets.

She had to reach out for the wall to steady herself when her sense of balance kept aiming towards the left and her body followed. She knew she must have looked drunk to anyone passing by, but no one said anything or tried to ask if she was okay.

Her head felt like it was turning to slush when she slammed open the door took a few wobbling steps into the toilets.

But a whimper escaped (Y/n)'s lips when she stumbled towards the sinks and her blurring eyes set on a face she never wanted to see again.

Connor.

"N-no…"

Shaking her head only made the sickness rise within (Y/n) and she groaned as she tried to turn around and head back out the door, but her legs were fumbling beneath her. They weren't under her control anymore. Her feet weren't properly planted on the floor, they were bending and wavering and getting ready to let her drop to the floor.

"Finally, it took that drink long enough to work."

As soon as his hands were on her, (Y/n) tried to scream but all that came out was a muffled groan mingled with a cough.

(Y/n) tried to shimmy, she tried to bash her elbows out behind her but she couldn't do anything. Her body was overheating. Sweat was glistening on her skin, she was creating enough heat to rival the sun and the shaking was so bad (Y/n) looked like she was doing some strange kind of dance.

When her head lolled forward, (Y/n)'s body followed suit and she flagged, dropping forward with only Connor's wandering hands holding her up.

For a moment, Evan wasn't sure what he had walked into or what was going on when he reached the women's toilets. He slowed down his fast jog and peered his head around since the door was wide open, but what he saw set his blood alight.

Connor. The guy (Y/n) had pointed out to Evan earlier, he was doubled over in the doorway with (Y/n) in his arms who was clearly unconscious because Connor couldn't keep hold of her. He practically dropped her to the floor and stood leering over her and Evan didn't want to think what his intentions were or what he was about to do.

Evan didn't give him the chance. He stepped forward, rammed his hand into Connor's shoulder and shoved him back.

"Get the Hell away from her before I break you."

When Connor just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights with his wide eyes expanding through his glasses and his mouth agape, it infuriated the fire burning within Evan. He reached out and grabbed the collar of Connor's shirt and dragged him towards the door.

"Hey- no I know her she just-"

"I don't give a fuck what you think you're doing. Get away from my girlfriend, Connor." The way his name passed through Evan's lips was menacing and the snarl on his lips was enough to frighten the younger man.

He didn't ask how Evan knew his name or who he was, he could see that he was getting himself into trouble and staying was only going to make it worse so he scuttled out the way.

As soon as he was out the room, Evan kicked the door with his heel before he crashed down to his knees beside (Y/n).

"Baby, baby?" Panic flooded Evan's voice as he reached out and gently but firmly cupped (Y/n)'s face in his hands. His thumbs brushed across her cheeks and he tilted her head in his direction, but she wasn't conscious. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head, she was shaking violently and her breaths were shallow and rapid.

He fumbled to get his phone out his pocket and he opened the app up again to find her levels had dropped twice since he'd left the table. This wasn't good. She was on red alerts now but she was unconscious, Evan couldn't get any sugar into her system if she couldn't eat or drink.

But before Evan could try and assess her properly or gather his thoughts and decide what to do, (Y/n) started to move.

Evan felt his heart jumping up into his throat as he thought for a second that she was coming back around again. That wasn't what was happening. She was starting to jerk, her arms bashed out into Evan's thighs and her legs kicked out against the floor as her head angled backwards, pushing her throat out.

"No, no baby- shit!"

She was seizing. Her levels were bad enough that she was starting to have a seizure. This had never happened before.

He needed to call 911.

What was happening to her?

***

"Okay, can you tell me what's happening?"

The team followed Bobby into the venue where there was a member of staff waiting at the doors to guide them inside to the problem. Dispatch hadn't told them what was going on, all they knew was that someone had collapsed and needed medical assistance. And the 118 had been the closest team to dispatch as they had just finished another call.

Eddie hitched the medic bag higher on his shoulder while he followed alongside Bobby. It felt strange not to have Evan here and hear his boyfriend's loud footsteps crashing alongside him or feeling his energy radiating through them all.

He could hear Hen and Chimney hovering a few feet behind since they were trying to hurry with the gurney between them.

"Someone's collapsed in the toilets, there's a first responder in there but he said it's bad." The young woman was shaking her hands as she spoke and was clearly running on adrenaline as she guided them all down the corridor.

It was clear where the situation was happening because there was a crowd of people gathering near the doorway. Some looked concerned, others looked like they were trying to help but then there were people with phones out and some clearly wanting to get some gossip.

"Alright people, clear out and make room please. Don't crowd round, go back to whatever you were doing." Bobby wouldn't have anyone filming someone in distress, that was just cruel and he wouldn't have them all hovering around like flies for gossip.

He motioned for them to move and Chimney started to nudge a few people back until they finally got the hint and started to head back towards the hall.

"Okay, LAFD can…" Whatever words were on the tip of Eddie's tongue all fizzled and died out when he turned the corner into the ladies toilets.

His eyes scanned around and the bag fell from his shoulder as he stumbled back a step until his back hit the door frame. This was where (Y/n)'s school reunion was being held? Why was (Y/n) the subject of their call? Why didn't Evan call Eddie and tell him what was happening or give him a heads up? What the Hell was happening to her?

"Buck- Jesus, what happened?" Eddie dropped down to his knees opposite his boyfriend who looked like he was at the end of his tether.

Evan was close to tears, red in the face with blown pupils and deep ragged breaths. He had (Y/n) laid on her side in front of him so her back was facing him and his knees were pressing into her back to keep her on her side. He had clearly tried his best to stretch (Y/n)'s arms out in front of her but with the way she was seizing, they kept moving of their own volition in every direction.

She had been sick. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. She wasn't conscious. She was starting to run a fever by the looks of things, and Eddie could see Evan's phone was open on the Dexcom app which showed (Y/n) was in a state of distress.

Eddie's phone was in the truck. He hadn't seen the alerts. He would of called Evan if he had seen the notifications and known that something wasn't right.

Evan dragged his hand through his hair, ruffling his already ragged hair that looked like he had just woken up with curls askew in every direction. His lips parted, but he didn't speak for a few seconds as he tried to gather his thoughts and calm himself down. While his right hand stayed pressed against the back of (Y/n)'s neck to keep her head forward, just in case she threw up again.

"She had one drink, I swear just one."

Eddie had to believe him. (Y/n) wasn't a big drinker but Evan had kept an eye on her, she had one small cocktail and some sugar free drinks, she hadn't had anything that would cause a severe reaction like this. Evan had no idea what was happening.

Bobby and Chimney stepped into the room while Hen stayed in the doorway with the stretcher and made sure no one else peered in or tried to barge their way into the room.

Crouching down, Chimney started to open the medic bag that Eddie had dropped and he muttered Evan's name with a frown as he looked up at Bobby. They didn't know Evan would be here, and they didn't know the girl laid on the floor either.

"Is she epileptic?"

"No, diabetic but- but one drink and she's usually fine. She was stumbling and she didn't feel well… Eddie, that creep's here. I found him in here when she collapsed. What if he did something to one of her drinks?"

"He's here? Connor?" Eddie looked towards the doorway as if Connor would magically appear, as if Eddie would know him as soon as he saw him despite never laying eyes on him before.

He could feel his blood boiling over at the thought of Connor seeing and trying to interact with (Y/n) and it made a growl vibrate in his chest. But Eddie shook his head and tried to make (Y/n) his focus.

His hands reached out to cup her neck and he leant forward, narrowing his eyes as he felt her airways and tried to check her pulse. At least she was breathing, she wasn't choking or struggling for air which was a relief.

"Who?"

"A guy (Y/n) used to know, he stalked her for months and he's here tonight." Evan barely lifted his eyes to look up at Bobby before his focus was back on (Y/n).

They didn't have to find and talk to Connor right now, they could call Athena and get her to scope him out once they'd gotten (Y/n) down to the hospital and stabilised. She was their priority right now.

"Okay, baby can you hear me?" Eddie tried tilting (Y/n)'s head back but it didn't help when she started to froff and gurgle through her breaths. He ended up angling her head back down on the off chance that she threw up again.

She wasn't the least bit conscious, she was fully out of it with this seizure taking hold of every one of her senses. Eddie had never seen her suffer a seizure before, especially not one related to her diabetes. She had never had such a bad hypo like this before.

"Oh, she- she's your girlfriend?" A confused frown pulled at Chimney's lips as he pointed and leaned closer to Eddie.

If she was his girlfriend then what was she doing here at an event with Evan? Were they all good friends?

He received no response from either Eddie or Evan, and Chimney took that as a strange sign, but he didn't question it. He handed over a blood pressure cuff since (Y/n)'s arms were locked straight, they might be able to get a reading.

It took some effort for Eddie to get the cuff up (Y/n)'s arm but he didn't like the reading he got. Her blood pressure was fluctuating but it was staying well above the normal limit. And when Eddie took the oxygen clip he was handed and clipped it onto (Y/n)'s finger, he found that she was barely intaking oxygen either.

"Eddie her levels are dropping again."

Eddie tilted his head back and held his breath when Evan practically thrust his phone into his face to show him the app on his phone where (Y/n)'s sugar levels were dropping again.

"Alright, alright babe it's okay." Leaning across, Eddie pressed a chaste kiss to Evan's cheek to try and calm him down.

The action didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team who shared a few glances, but didn't dare say anything. This wasn't the time nor the place to bring this up. They all knew Eddie and Evan were close, and that they had said one or two times they they had a partner each. But none of them expected the three of them to be in a relationship together.

"Chim, give her diazepam to try and stop the seizing." Eddie nudged Chimney's elbow to get him to move quickly before he looked over at Evan. "Does she have any glucose sachets in her bag?"

Evan found his hands were shaking when he looked around for (Y/n)'s bag and started to rummage through. He saw the little black case that contained her insulin injections, he found her phone, her purse and a few other little bits and pieces. He opened the small zipper and breathed in relief when he saw the thin silver sachets for emergencies like this.

He ripped it open before handing it over to Eddie because they both knew that Eddie would be better at doing this than Evan would. Eddie was the medic, he had more experience with seizures and giving meds to someone in this state. Eddie had had the training for this kind of emergency.

As carefully as he could, Eddie managed to loosen (Y/n)'s jaw and once he had some glucose powder on his finger, he dabbed it along the inside of her cheeks. It would absorb quickly with saliva and hopefully perk up her bloods and get these effects to stop. He used all of the powder in the sachet and looked over at Chimney who injected another shot of diazepam into (Y/n)'s elbow.

Evan had hold of the back of her neck while Eddie ran his hand up and down her arm and kept checking her pulse. Relief swarmed over all of them like a tidal wave when the shaking and violent jerks finally ceased into light trembles and (Y/n) seemed to breathe this time rather than gasp and pant shallow breaths.

"How long was she seizing?" Eddie looked up at Evan while he waved his hand towards Hen who was still in the doorway with the gurney. They needed to move her. They needed to get (Y/n) down to the hospital before she went into another seizure or her levels got any worse. Eddie already had a feeling that he would be giving her another glucose sachet on the way to the hospital.

"Since I called 911, close to ten minutes."

"Jesus. We need to get her down to the hospital and on an IV once we're in the ambulance."

"If she was drugged, that could mess with her levels and cause them to plummet. The doctor will have to run a toxin screen." Chimney packed their things back into the medic bag and stepped back to let Evan and Eddie ease (Y/n) up onto the stretcher.

If she had been given something or something had been put in her drink, that could explain why her levels had plummeted so fast when she hadn't eaten or drank anything different. They would have to get the doctors to take bloods once they'd gotten her levels equalled out.

Once (Y/n) was laid on her side on the stretcher, Eddie took a step back and turned towards Bobby. He kept his voice low, but the deep gritty tone to his voice gave away just how infuriated he was.

"Can you call Athena? This was no accident."

[hederasgarden]

Preview: On the Horizon

Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has.

Paring: Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader)

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, smut, flirting and asshole!Scott A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary. Hoping to have this fic out next weekend!

You brush the sweat from your brow as you surreptitiously watch Scott work beside you. He doesn't seem bothered by the heat, typing away on his computer despite the stagnant air. It makes you long for the cool labs you used to work in before Javi recruited you. Although he'd likely tell you this weather was perfect for a storm, you're miserable. Meteorology wasn't even your field; you were here for your engineering expertise to handle the specialized equipment the team needed to gather their data.

From your vantage point on the tailgate of the truck, you observe the other storm chasers gather around Tyler Owens' red truck. The man in question emerges with a brilliant smile, and beside you, Scott scoffs, annoyed. He hates Tyler, and you're pretty sure the feeling is mutual from the brief interactions you've observed.

"Ass," Scott mutters, returning his attention to his computer.

When you look up again Tyler's gaze falls on you. He grins and winks, pulling down the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Before you can react, he's turned to speak to one of the young women on his team, giving her his full attention. A hand rests casually on her shoulder.

You wish Scott would acknowledge you like that. You thought things would be different after the night you shared weeks ago, but he'd been quick to dash those hopes the next morning, ignoring you completely. He only seemed to look at you when he needed your tech skills or when you made a mistake. Your cheeks still burn from his last reprimand in front of the team.

Clearing your throat, his eyes briefly land on you before returning to the screen in front of him. "What?" he demands.

"Oh. I was going to get something to eat. Do you want something?”

"Yeah, you know what I like," he says dismissively. When it's clear that's all you're getting from him, you push off the truck onto the dusty road with a soft exhale and head into the gas station.

The air conditioning inside practically makes you groan with relief, and you take a moment to appreciate the cool air.

"You're not melting on us, are you, city girl?" You jump at the unexpected voice, surprised to see it belongs to Tyler. "MIT got you all wound up, huh?” He questions, amused. 

"What?"

"Your boss," he clarifies. 

"Oh, he's um... he's not my boss. Javi is."

"No?" he questions, brows raised. "Well, he certainly barks at you like he is."

Heat rushes to your face as you realize Tyler must have overheard Scott reprimand you yesterday after you miscalibrated one of the sensors.

"If you worked with my team, I'd be a lot nicer," he says.

You stare at him, unsure how to respond to his comment or the flirty tone. Before today you’d hardly spoken, he mostly interacted with Javi or Scott.  You’re saved from answering when the bell on the door jingles and someone calls your name. 

It’s Scott. 

"Owens," he bites out, surprising you when he rests a hand on your shoulder and stands close enough that you feel his shirt brush your arm. Your lips part and your lashes flutter in response. 

Tyler's gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face with a knowing smile.  "Well, I enjoyed our chat," he tells you, not bothering to acknowledge Scott. "We should do this again, sweetheart."

"What did he want?" Scott demands, move to stand in front of you after Tyler’s gone.

"Oh, nothing. Just... saying hi."

Scott's jaw tenses, and he steps into your space, cupping your elbow. "You shouldn't talk to him," he advises.

When he tilts his head to stare down at you, something flickers in his dark brown eyes that looks an awful lot like jealousy. You glance over your shoulder at Tyler, only to have Scott say your name again, more forcefully. When you turn back around your suspicions are confirmed. For the first time since that night in the hotel room, you have Scott’s full attention and that sends a thrill of excitement through you.

You bite your lip, the beginning of an idea coming together.

Part 1 is now out!