#puzzle riders

[asteroidarts555]

"Missing piece"

[tokumon]

Hatena Bugster is a puzzle game monster from Kamen Rider Ex-Aid

[wrathful-reptile]

Some dragons I've drawn recently! (in order of drawing them, left to right) They are Lazarus, Hurim, Zahara, and Cloud Chaser!

These dragons are from the discontinued interactive novel/game series "Riders of Abauruth" by @13leaguestories

Click the images for better quality!

[windblume-violet]

Me: I'll do the main story now

Also me: oh! Chests! Oh! Echos to fight! Oh! Side quests fun! Oh, sonocasket gotta get that! Oooo puzzles, puzzles go brr especially the kanoodle ones!!!

[riderart]

Puzzle

[i-still-hate-spitelout-jorgenson]

Guys I know we've agreed we're not excited for the live action remake but at least we'll probably get a videogame

[holy-shit-comics]

[iristial]

Jin 🤝 Michinaga

Fourth most important Takahashi Rider in their respective stories who briefly died in episode 16, came back a little wrong, got an outfit change and I love them but my gosh are their goals to take down one of the bigger threats well-meaning yet shortsighted in these mid-thirties episodes

[ticosanchezz]

I just want to Marvel vs Capcom Puzzle Fighter edition

[2030kamenriders]

Just realized Kamen Rider Blade turns 20 this year

[keruworld]

IDK aren't the things you listed about Buffa mere justifications for the atrocities he has committed? Yes, it's part of a game, there's no question about that.

But it's part of a game he at least has a hand in designing if we assume this is Beroba's game and not Buffa's game. Way, I see it, those "casualties" didn't need to be casualties if their aim was Niram's Vision Driver.

He could have just made a game where the only ones affected were the remaining Riders, but no, he still went with what Beroba designed because girl needs to have her daily dose of human misery.

While I don't exactly want Michinaga to have the "death by redemption" trope or anything related, but I want that redemption earned. I want there to be distrust toward him.

I want him to atone, I want him to try and regain the trust of the people he's hurt the most.

I want him to work hard for that redemption, but as things are now he'd get away with his actions scot-free, especially considering he's just going to forget everything once all of this is over, as per DGP rules.

You say Keiwa's a hypocrite, maybe it's true but I don't see it that way. Keiwa' to me hasn't trampled on anyone, he certainly hasn't sabotaged anyone for the competition, in fact, he has sabotaged himself for trying to be fair. The only act of sabotage I see him do was when Sara was in danger and he stole Sae's buckle, but that was because he values his sister's life over anything else.

You say Buffa hates himself for the casualties, but are we so sure about that, is that even canon, or is that your interpretation of what happened?

Sure he may not have made a victory dance when he killed Ace, Keiwa, or Niram, but he nonetheless gloated about his victory over Keiwa, a victory he got after attacking the man who just witnessed a world-shattering view of the girl he saved pushing a man to his death.

"You said you would be happy if everyone's happy. Why don't you become fuel for my wishes?" *proceeds to throw Keiwa into the hole on the ground.

What atrocities I wonder? The kill of Ace and Keiwa? I know Im taking theirs deaths as nothing... but come on, why do you think that Ace was not angry to Michi when he revived? Why he didnt say: HEY YOU MOTHERFUCKER, YOU KILLED ME!! Because if you are in the game, you know what are the possibilities. And Ace of all the people know this very well.

To whom he has to atone? To whom he has to regain trust? To Ace? To Keiwa? To Neon? To all the casualities? Why? Because he won and made everyone miserable? He wished for that? That's truly evil!! X,D (sorry, im being sarcastic here)

"You say Keiwa's a hypocrite, maybe it's true but I don't see it that way." When I said that everyone is hypocrite and add Keiwa too... is because Keiwa hides his pain of the lost of his parents behind being the nice guy, and it's ok, and may be you could have the best wish for win the DGP like "end world famine", but in a rooted game like the DGP, that is rooted to it's core, if you want to fight for the most good wish, you can't be good, you have to get your hands dirty. Keiwa was just naive, and that's good, Buffa was there to get the dirt on himself. The script have been protecting Keiwa like a baby... sadly... because of all characters... he havent had much development. But I hope now he gets the development that he needs. I think he's adorable. (that's why deep down inside I think he and Michinaga could be best friends)

"You say Buffa hates himself for the casualties, but are we so sure about that, is that even canon, or is that your interpretation of what happened?" You know... a character dont need or have to say it directly, especialy someone like Michinaga. Of course is my interpretation by watching his expressions. Always serious, unhappy, pissed. May be my interpretation is wrong... But this exactly scene where he have just killed Tycoon and all that was left was Geats, the boy was almost in tears saying his dialogue to Ace. It was the most saddest expression of all. If this was not repent for just killed Keiwa, to just have got his hands dirty… I dont know what it is. He didnt wanted to, but he had to.

"You said you would be happy if everyone's happy. Why don't you become fuel for my wishes?" *proceeds to throw Keiwa into the hole on the ground. This scene was sooooo good. Because Buffa... was totally a bitch, he played the bad guy to the end. And I know he did bad... but come on he was right of what he said to Tycoon. I could bet that Keiwa is not angry with him too. X,D

I know it looks like Buffa have gotted his way out like nothing, like he had his redemtion like nothing... but if you carefull watch I think is not like that, he have suffered and almost break. Again... yeah... almost all of this is my perception, my interpretation that the stupid and evil bull is a good boy in the inside. I too couldnt defend him like this some chapters ago... I haven been puzzled too, is he good? is he bad? why are you doing this? how you will end this? But this is exactly why Geats have been so fun... at least for me.

[cloversovertime]

parado stimboard because I love him

(FLASH WARNING)

[wrathful-reptile]

i hate that i am in a small, dead fandom where basically there's source material (with a canceled sequel/continuation) BUT no one's out there making fan content. The fanartists haven't drawn anything in years. There is no fanfic.

If I want to read about it, I must write it myself.

But I am bad at finishing stories so I never get the endings.

If I want to view fanart, I have to see the art I've viewed 1000 times or draw it myself. I don't draw humans. (it has dragon characters and I have drawn those but sometimes? I want the other characters in my life too)

It's like playing with OCs BUT like... with a glimmer of hope that something might pop up eventually.

[just-some-user-hunny]

The Cannibal bonded with a bastard targaryen reader ...

This is heavily inspired by @mangled-parasite writings on their yandere hotd stuff. I wanted to go more in depth about the relationship a bastard princess reader would have with the cannibal, because the dynamics could be so diverse and interesting. The cannibal is a really interesting dragon to me as well, he's not been tames nor shows any interest in it, so I always wonder what he'd be like with a rider!

(fem! Bastard princess reader X the cannibal)

. If you are bonded to him, he would be ruthlessly protective over you. He can feel every flicker of distress and discomfort from you, and he bares his teeth like a guard dog at whoever draws too close. Once he had decided that you were his, and he was yours, his fury when it comes to protecting you rivals hellfire. You will never have to feel fear again, nothing can even dream of touching you- lest they want to experience the nightmarish wrath of the Cannibal. It matters little to him if this threat is human, or dragon. In fact he almost welcomes it. He loves the rush of destroying whatever threatens you, the pride that fills him when he charres their remains and feasts upon them In front you- because look princess. Look how mighty he is, look how well he can fight and protect you. After his gory feast, he'll lower himself close to your little form for his praise- purring till your blood fizzles as he enjoys your pets and attention.

. Cannibal has never been a tame or passive dragon, but around you, he'll make an effort to behave. He'll stave away his urges to salivate when he captures glimpses of the smaller dragons, if it makes you happy. He'll heed your voice, your words, if only to amuse you and keep you content. However, he still has a temper- and although he may not engulf everything with wildfire, he will surely growl and roar to make people bend their knee in your presence. His bond to you is tightly knitted, so he can pick up those who are irking you or upsetting you. He shares your hatred for your father, often bearing his frightening jagged teeth at the pale man who can only endure the monstrosity of his daughter's dragon. It'll take only your word to engulf him in burning emerald flames, so for once, your father will hold his tongue.

. He is not an obedient dog, more like a feral alley cat who's taken a warming to you. There's not a force in heaven or hell that can convince him to confide anywhere near the dragon pits, not to mention his monstrous size cannot even imagine squeezing itself into that little ditch. He'll take to sleeping upon the beach, preferably away from vhager, if he wants to remain close to you. However he is known to fly off and disappear for days on end, returning when you least expect it. He is a wild dragon at heart.

. He may not melt into a big passive puppy, but he will surely let you know he likes the attention you give him. He'll croon with his snarling scarred grin, his eyes glinting as you speak to him and stay close. The attitude he has around you is stark like night and day- with others he glares ferociously and mean, but with you, he's bound by your heels.

When you approach him upon the sand of the tide, he'll lower his head to gaze upon you. he'll feel content as he looks you over, appearing docile and calm in your presence.

Your family find it terrifyingly odd whenever you approach him with so much casualty, and he simply looks at you so fondly. The dragon who has devoured oh so many wannabe dragon tamers is now treating you like a precious little treasure, and it's both awe-inspiring, and frightening. His striking emerald green eyes focus on you as you speak sweetly and softly to him, his purrs can be heard from the dragonstone gates.

. The cannibal is an ancient dragon with many years of experience, so to him, you are little more than a child in his eyes. His child.

If anything, he is more of a loving father to you than Daemon could ever be.

It's puzzling to him, at first. He has never possessed a single maternal bone in his body, having no objection to devouring unhatched eggs and even young hatched dragons to satiate his hunger- but perhaps he sees a part of him in you. That wildness to stray, the desperation to free yourself from the thorns of the targarians that dig deep into you. You may be a little gentle weepy thing, but the fact still stands. You want to be free. He can grant that.

As you claim him as a child, he'll watch you grow. Watch your face and hands become weary from the anxiety and ache of constantly being caged. You'll gradually become more and more beautiful, dripping in gems and jewellery and ornate gowns, but the sadness in your eyes hasn't changed since you were a tearful little child. He sees what they are doing- trying to keep you satiated with material desires, but he understands you deep down that nothing of that matters. You want to be anywhere else but here...

. He is an old dragon, and has a temper to him. His hunger for flesh and fire has not made him weary, and although he is scarred and withered, he is still towering in all his obsideon scaled glory. Emerald flames engulfing the sky as you ride upon his back, soaring above the clouds as pride and glory consumes him. He always despises the idea of being 'claimed' and ridden like some show pony, but he finds himself enjoying the company of his little human experiencing the rush of gliding through the heavens. He can feel your thundering heart, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as he dips and soars between terrific heights, and he can't help but grin a scarred and twisted smile, egged on by your delight of the views and freedom. Yes! This is freedom, my little princess. Let us not be chained by those targarians, this is what living is!

He certainly likes challenging you, obviously not to the point he puts you in any danger of course- but he'll dive at gut churning speeds to see what'll make you shriek. It's almost like He finds amusement out of it, perhaps getting a little kick out of challenging his rider. Once he has landed however with you safely back on the ground, he'll look at you with his gnarled smirk and expect just a little push from you. Don't take it to heart though, his princess. You'll get gently prodded and nudged by his snout to check on you to make sure you're alright. He is still protective over you, after all. His cruelty will not extend to your pain. Besides, you are more often than not riding him bareback, so he would never fly so recklessly that you'd get bucked off. Most of the time he's holding back, really.

. That is not to say that each time you climb upon his back that you will endure terror, because that is surely not the case. He loves flying with you, loves feeling your awe and wonder. It fills him with unbridled pride and ego. You can both feel freedom, and freedom is all he wants for himself and his rider alike.

. As his rider, you have a good chance of escaping the talons of your family. Who is to stop you? The mad prince, Daemon, and his blood wyrm? Cannibal could laugh at the mere thought of this deranged man challenging him with his little red pest. Even the one eyed prince and his ancient she-dragon, Vhagar, will be a welcomed challenge. When it comes to you, he'd do anything.

[familyvideostevie]

time you will not spend alone

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf, ellie cameo cause i can't do a damn thing without her, tommy gets some page time here too, smut (riding, unprotected p in v sex, some finger sucking lol), tenderness, gift giving | 5.7k a/n: i think this is the last part of the just and just as series for the foreseeable future. thank you for reading about this little au and these two lovebirds! i adore them. thank you @frannyzooey and @macfrog for your eyes and support on this. and thank you everyone else for being patient. <3

Spring sweeps into the valley seemingly overnight. The peaks remain snow-capped but the bare branches of trees between the evergreens begin to bud. Chilly mornings lose their bite and frost turns to dew and every day there is more light.

You've always thought Jackson looks its best in winter, but it's a damn sight to see as life and color return. And the latter is your favorite part -- the rolling hills outside the walls and the forest patrol paths are dotted and then overflowing with flowers.

It makes you feel more alive. Patrol isn't a freezing ordeal anymore -- it's an opportunity to see the remaining beauty in the world.

Today's shift is short and easy but you find yourself lingering, running your hands through pine needles and turning your face to the sun. Your horse is happy to munch on a patch of grass in a clearing just off the main trail, but your patrol partner is less than impressed.

"Are you serious?" Ellie moans. "You're stopping again? What the fuuuuuuuuck."

She sags in the saddle. The pout on her lips makes her look like a kid sent to bed without supper rather than an almost-twenty-year-old forced to spend some extra minutes in the fresh air. Shimmer has no problem chewing on some weeds despite her rider's moaning.

"Let me enjoy the sun," you say. "When you get older you'll appreciate the little things, too."

You hop off your horse and Ellie sighs loudly.

"Jesus, you're not that old," she mutters. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

You sweep your arms around you, gesturing at the meadow. "These flowers are nice," you tell her, pointedly. She adjusts the rifle slung over her shoulder. "I think I'm going to pick some and bring them home."

She snorts. "Oh, is Joel suddenly into flowers?"

You ignore her bait and crouch, gaze sweeping over the array of colors in front of you. You tried to learn the names of flowers years ago when you found a book on them in an old bookstore but they never stuck. Purples, pinks, and yellows, large petals and small ones, delicate yet hardy to survive the world past its end.

Joel isn't a fussy man. Young fathers don't get to be, and anyone alive these days sheds that impulse just as quickly. He's happy to wake up every day with you by his side, his kid in the garage out back and walls around everything he loves, keeping it all safe.

It makes it both easy and hard to please him -- you want to give him everything but he seems to want nothing. A perfect paradox, a puzzle to solve. 

God, you love him. You love spring, you love Joel. Everything feels good.

So, you start to gather stems, snapping them at their bases, humming as you work.

"How do you choose which ones to pick?"

"Fuck," you gasp, careening forward onto one palm and looking over your shoulder. Ellie is off her horse and much closer than before, standing directly behind you. "Jesus, you're stealthy."

She shrugs, her smirk a pleased slash across her face. "You're oblivious as fuck."

You roll your eyes at her.

"Seriously," Ellie says, crossing her arms. She jerks her chin at the small bouquet you've got in one hand. "How do you make it look so nice?"

"Oh, so we've moved on from the making-fun-of-me part of this?"

She crouches next to you, elbows on her knees.

"I, uh -- " Her cheeks go pink, freckles standing out against her blush. "Dina likes flowers."

You bump her shoulder with yours. "I'm going to be so nice and not tease you."

"Fuck off," she scoffs, tucking her smile into her shoulder.

It's quick work. Ellie follows your lead, balances out the blooms she picks with some leafy weeds. She ties them together with one of the minimum four spare hairbands she has on her person at all times -- bits of cloth, occasionally a rare unused elastic from before if she's found some on patrol.

"Isn't it kinda shitty?" she muses, nimble fingers turning her bouquet this way and that to admire it. "We're killing them. The flowers, I mean."

"Little late to have a conscience about killing," you say lightly. The two rabbits she pulled from Jackson snares hang from her saddle. You've seen her in action, too -- gun raised, hands steady, blood splattered across her cheek. It's not an accusation, far from it. Violence is a language you both speak, one she's known for most of her still-short life.

She rolls her eyes, every bit a teenager. "Whatever."

You sigh. "You're right, though," you say. "There were whole shops dedicated to this before. Selling flowers, making bouquets and centerpieces and all that shit."

She probably knows this, but she lets you describe it. Ellie soaks up bits of the old world like it will materialize before her if she listens hard enough. Joel says it was much worse when she was younger, right after they settled into Jackson. She wanted details about everything and watched every movie she could get her hands on. You think she was satisfying her curiosity, sure, but also that she was trying to understand him better -- but didn't know how to say so.

"Weird," she mutters. "And you just...bought them for other people?"

"Or yourself." You pat her shoulder and stand. Your horse tries to nibble on your flowers before you haul yourself back in the saddle. "It was just a nice thing to do, I guess."

"Killing something to make someone else happy," Ellie says with a dry laugh. She tucks her bouquet in the crook of her arm once she's back in the saddle. "I guess everyone does that these days."

It's absurd when she puts it that way, but it's true. You've all got blood on your hands. You would kill for this girl, for Joel, for pretty much anyone in Jackson. And you have.

The flowers are for Joel, they're for your house, they're for you. Something beautiful to bring home alongside your dirt stains and scarred hands, your haunted eyes and nightmares. No one is spared those.

It's only mid-morning by the time you get back to the wall. You and Ellie left at dawn, short sticks drawn for the early shift. She leaves you in the stables with a mock salute and a shout of thanks, practically jogging to Dina's to give her the flowers.

You're untacking your horse when you hear familiar laughter, a deep chuckle and Ellie's faint indignant protest.

"Mornin'," Joel says from behind you. "Was hopin' to catch you at the gate."

"Can you hold these?"

You blindly extend the hand with the flowers. His fingers carefully extract the bouquet and you return to brushing out your horse.

"Does this have somethin' to do with Ellie runnin' out of her with flowers of her own?"

"Never let anyone say you're unobservant, Joel Miller."

He snickers. You leave your horse with a final pat on the neck and thanks for a job well done.

When you face Joel, he looks tired -- he's been pulling extra long days replacing windows and roof tiles after the winter's damage. God knows that man never seems fully rested, but it's a little worse when the seasons change.

He's told you time and time again that standing two stories off the ground is a hell of a lot safer than fighting some Infected on patrol, but you still worry. Just like you know he worries about you beyond the walls, how he's a little tenser whenever you're not in sight, whenever he hasn't seen Ellie for a few days ‘cause they're both busy. It's just how he loves. It's how you both love.

You make no move to take the flowers from him, instead brushing some sawdust from his shoulder.

"Did you have a job already?" you ask.

"Small one. Fixin' a crooked over mailbox." He looks pointedly at his full fist. "You gonna explain now?"

"They're for you."

Joel blinks once, twice, brows furrowing like you're speaking a different language. Maybe a few years ago you'd start to feel self-conscious, unsure of your romantic gesture and insecure in his reaction. But now, as fully in love and connected to this man as you are, you lean in.

"If you're too manly to carry flowers through town --"

You make to take them from him but he snaps out of his daze and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest in a smooth motion.

He also holds the bouquet in the air and out of reach.

"Hey, now," he says. "Hands off. These ain't your flowers."

"I picked 'em," you remind him, poking him in the ribs for good measure. 

He flinches just a little but doesn't move. His embrace is warm and familiar and you sink into it. "Gettin' romantic," he mutters and brings the flowers back down to eye level to examine them.

"I'm just trying to catch up to you," you say into his jacket. He huffs and his palm rubs a slow line up and down your arm.

You wiggle out of his embrace to shoulder your pack.

"I am pretty romantic," he muses.

It's true. Even if he's joking and even if no one but you gets to see it, Joel has always made sure you feel loved. Courtship and romance look different these days, but it still comes naturally to him -- loving. Dinner dates, jewelry, and trips to the airport have become a battered paperback, a sharpened knife, and bloody knuckles, but it rings just as true. He loves you and he loves his family the best way he knows how – by keeping you all safe.

And you do your best to convey the same thing. You tell him, of course, but you also mend his shirts and chop wood when his back is acting up, and you look after his kid like she's your own.

Joel deserves to know that he can receive all that he gives, too – the protection, the tenderness, the beauty. Moments of softness and rest where he knows he’s taken care of, thought of, that he matters beyond the things he can do for everyone else.

So, you also do things like bring him flowers.

Sometimes you feel like it will never be enough. You will never have enough time to show him how much he means to you, how he's saved you, how important and cherished and loved he is. How good he is.

Joel reaches for your face with his free hand. He traces the line of your cheekbone with his thumb and smirks when you inhale sharply. Another patrol returns and the stables are suddenly louder and more crowded than before. If you're both free for the rest of the day, you want to drag him up to your bedroom and spend the hours there. You want to show him, for the millionth time, how much you love him.

"Okay, Mr. Pretty Romantic," you say, grabbing his hand and tangling your fingers together. "Let's go home."

___

Joel is hiding something from you.

The flowers last for a week and you watch him eye them and smile every time he enters the kitchen.

But after they droop and go in the compost pile, something shifts. Something subtle, sure, but you spend most of your waking hours looking for or at Joel, so you notice.

He starts keeping his workshop door closed. Normally you'll sit and watch him work, or he'll teach you a few chords here and there on the guitars he's making, but your lessons move to the porch and the upstairs hallway loses the scent of wood glue and stain.

In fact, he actively steers you away from the room altogether. He's all just needs a deep clean and it's messy, is all. It's not rocket science -- he's making something for you, clearly. But giving him a hard time is too fun to pass up.

One night, you and Ellie wait at the bottom of the stairs. There's a dinner and movie night in the old church and you're taking the opportunity to make it a family outing.

"You coming?" you holler up the stairs. You hear the door creak open.

"Gimme a second," he calls back down.

"Jesus," you mutter. You tap the side of Ellie’s sneaker with your boot. "You know anything about that?"

Honesty is important between all of you, but you know Joel and Ellie need to have their secrets. There is too much tangled history between them for you to understand it all. It's important to you that they have a relationship all their own, even if it means they scheme.

Ellie is examining her switchblade with intense focus. "I might," she says with a smirk. "He's a lovesick loser, I'll tell you that."

You lean on the banister and raise your eyebrows. "Do you remember when you asked me how to embroider so you could put Dina's name on her jacket?"

The knife swings closed with a snick and she rolls her eyes at you, cheeks pink.

"Shit, dude," she says. "Why do I tell you anything?"

"She liked the flowers, though, didn't she?"

Ellie crosses her arms and smiles at whatever memory she's seeing in her mind. "Yeah," she says. "She did. Jesse gave me so much shit, though --"

The door upstairs closes and Joel's heavy footfalls cut her off.

"Finally," you grumble. He trods down the stairs, arms half in his jacket when he catches sight of the two of you. "Are you hiding state secrets in there?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ellie asks.

"Might be," is all he says. He's got that twinkle in his eye that means mischief but he looks proud of himself. You can let him have this, whatever this is. You trust him and you'll find out eventually.

"Alright," you say, pushing off the banister and heading for the door. "You're going to breathe toxic fumes with the door closed."

"No, seriously," Ellie says. "What kind of secrets would a state be keeping?"

"Ain't nothin' toxic in there," he says lightly. He bumps Ellie's shoulder with his. "C'mon."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You know, it's shitty when you ignore me."

"Did you hear somethin'?" Joel says to you.

You shake your head, swallowing your laughter. "No," you say. "Nothing."

"Assholes." She pushes past you and down the steps onto the street. "I'm going to make sure there are no mashed potatoes left when you get there."

__

You don't mind letting Joel do whatever he's up to in all of his spare moments. It does mean you have more time to yourself, so you pick up some extra wall shifts.

And when one of those shifts is with Tommy? Well, you can't help but needle him a little bit about it all.

"Do you know what your brother is up to?" you ask him.

The wind today carries some lingering winter bite, so you've got the collar of your coat pulled up around your ears. Tommy’s hair whips around his face when he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he says. "My brother is always up to some shit."

"I think he'd say the same thing about you."

Tommy laughs. He's got the reputation for being the more easy-going of the Millers, but you know he's more a match for Joel than most think. Out in the world, they work as one, silent and deadly, always in step when it counts. They still speak a language all their own with just a look and you see so much of them in each other when you pay attention.

"Well, I learned it all from him," he says. He adjusts his grip on the rifle and sighs. "I happen to know what you're talkin' 'bout, though."

"Is he just telling everyone but me?"

"Nah," Tommy scoffs. "Asked me and Ellie for help, s'all. And you know he tells that girl everythin'."

You both smile for a moment at your fondness for them.

Tommy clears his throat. "Does it bother you? Him keepin' a secret?"

You know Tommy won't let your answer get back to Joel. He's asking as your friend, as your kind-of brother. He's asking because he cares.

A patrol crests the hill, green flag waving in the air. They whistle and shout for the gate to be opened. 

You step closer to Tommy so he can hear you. "No," you say. "I just like to gossip."

"Don't I know it," he chuckles. "You two are the eyes and ears of this damn town. Knowin' everything."

"Except what happens in my own home," you tease. 

He shrugs. "You'll like it, if that helps," he adds.

"I know I will."

You look out at the world beyond the wall and smile to yourself. 

Joel has made you a few things over the years. He works wonders with his hands all the time: Beautiful, intricate carvings for the house, for Ellie, for new babies in town. The wall of guitars, not to mention the ones he's made for kids to learn on in school. You're better at sewing than he is, but he's pretty damn good – fixing up pillowcases and blankets and clothes of all kinds. Joel is a craftsman.

Hands that hold you can also pull a trigger, punch until there's nothing left, and craft a work of art.

And he knows you. He pays attention -- there is a reason behind everything he does. If he's making you something, you know you'll love it.

"Strange, ain’t it?" Tommy says. You turn to him, a question on your face. "World ended and here we all are, happy. Makin' shit for each other. Gosspin'."

You sigh. “Took a lot to get here.”

“Damn right,” he says with a long whistle. “Lotta shit behind us.”

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. 

Tommy considers your words. You two talk plenty, but you’ve never really spoken about the past. Joel tells you whatever you want to hear about the years before you knew him, so you’ve got a pretty good picture of their lives after the outbreak.

"Can I tell you somethin’?” Tommy asks. You nod. "Alright. I – I never thought I'd see my brother this happy again. And I wish every damn day that Sarah was here to see it. To know him this way, to meet Maria. To know you and Ellie."

Joel has said the same thing before and it’s an honor greater than you can ever explain.

"When I saw him and that girl a few years ago, I thought --" Tommy clears his throat. "I thought maybe he’d made it through all the shit we did. And I was right. She brought him through it. And now he’s here, doin’ stable life shit we dreamed about before."

"Ellie is a force," you say, a little surprised to find your voice watery. The love between Ellie and Joel is fierce and powerful, evident to anyone who witnesses it. They would do anything for each other, even though they're mending.

"She is," he says. "And so are you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I don’t know where I’m goin’ with this. Point is – seein' him love you, too, shows me he’s through it. He's alive again, you know? And I’d do all the shit we did over again just to get us all here. So, no. I don’t regret it."

It’s nothing you haven’t thought before, but the words work their way into your heart and sit there, heavy and warm.

“Damn,” you say. You swallow and give him a wide smile. "If you keep going, Tommy Miller, I will start crying and that would embarrass us both."

He laughs and blinks a few times. You join in, wiping your eyes.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "Jesus, all you did was ask what he's doin' in that workshop."

You clap him on the shoulder. "I won't tell anyone you started blubbering on duty."

He snorts. "Ain't that generous of you.”

__

Days pass. A week. You almost forget about Joel's project because he spends less and less time in the workshop and more on tasks around town as the days get longer. You're both busy -- chopping wood, planting bulbs for the fall, helping de-shed the horses. There's always work to be done.

After a particularly long day on your feet, you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find he's gotten home while you were in the shower.

"Hey, stranger," you say. You're mostly dry but some water drips down your back and you shiver. Joel is leaning against the headboard on top of the sheets without his shirt, reading whatever book he's onto now.

"Didn't hear me come in?" he asks. He sets his volume aside and pulls off his glasses.

"I was too busy coming back to life under some hot water." He probably heard you singing off-key to some long-lost song stuck in your head for the millionth time. "And you're quiet as hell, Joel."

He shrugs.

You just look at each other, the intimate gaze of two people who know every inch of each other and never tire of it.

The sleep pants he wears to bed this time of year are lightweight, thin enough that you can see the outline of him from here. His stomach is soft where he's bent at the waist and the trail of hair above his waistband is dark, darker than the rest of what's on his chest.

The golden expanse of his skin just begs to be touched, so you make your way over to him in your towel. He makes room for you to perch on the edge of the bed, the bare skin of your thigh pressing into his pants. His palm rests on your knee.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," you say softly. "’Cause of that damn thing you're working on."

His fingers press into your skin.

"Ain't patience a virtue, or something like that?"

"Whatever magic you're working better be worth waiting for," you tease.

Joel's hand resumes its path up your leg and he smirks.

"I can work some magic right now," he says.

You laugh, throwing your head back as his fingertips edge under the towel.

"That was awful," you say. "I should get dressed in all of my layers right now and go sleep on the couch."

You pull away from his touch so you can straddle him, your towel only held on by one hand at your breasts.

Joel snickers. "But then I wouldn't be able to do this."

Nimble fingers find your cunt between your spread legs and you gasp a laugh, one hand on his shoulder to balance you in his lap.

"Smooth," you manage. His other hand tugs on the towel and you release it, your slightly damp skin breaking out into goosebumps in the air of the bedroom.

Joel drags his lips between your breasts and you feel his smile.

"Christ," he says. "You comin' outta there in just a towel and you expect me to go to sleep?"

He pulls his fingers from you and frames your face with both hands to drag it down to his in a lazy, thorough kiss, like he's savoring each moment.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you let him in readily, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you grind down on the hardness you can feel through his pants.

"I've missed you," you say, dragging your tongue along down his jaw. His fingertips press into your bare hips hard enough to bruise, but it's a grounding touch rather than an urgent one. You want to take your time because you have missed him, and you think he feels the same way.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Joel groans, dragging your lips back to his. "It'll be worth it."

You pull back to look him in the eyes. The hazel-grey is almost totally taken over by his pupil, but his gaze softens when you cup his cheek and smile.

"I know," you say, and mean it. Naked in his lap in your bedroom, you mean it. You always mean it. You always trust him.

Joel kisses you once, twice, and you pull on his lower lip with your teeth when he pulls away. His nostrils flare and before you can tug his cock from his pants, he holds two fingers out to you.

You laugh, circling his wrist and bringing the digits past your lips. You swirl your tongue around them and really take your time with it, laving at his knuckles before releasing them with a pop.

His cock twitches beneath you and he huffs.

"You're an easy man to please, Joel Miller," you tell him, tugging down his pants and letting his shaft spring free. You stroke him root to tip and he hisses.

"Nah," he manages. "It's ‘cause it's you."

He follows his words with a circle of your clit from his spit-slick fingers.

"See?" you gasp. "Romantic."

It's a bit crowded, his hand rubbing your clit and yours slowly jerking him, but neither of you rush it. You pant together, dotting lazy kisses on any piece of bare skin you can reach. You breathe him in, the combination of sweat and gun oil and fresh detergent that's just Joel. A rush of tenderness hits you so suddenly your nose stings.

"Joel," you say, a bit ragged. "Joel, can you --"

A gentle hand on your face brings your foreheads together, his eyes on yours.

"Whatever you want," he groans. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

You can't help it -- you laugh. Brightly and happily, almost in disbelief that this man is yours. Real and solid under you right now, beside you every night. Yours to love and cherish and all the rest.

"You laughin' at me?" he grumbles, though you can tell he's fighting a smile.

"I just love you, is all," you say. You probably don't say it enough. You and Joel show each other every day, so much so that you can't imagine he doesn't know. As it is, you feel loved by him with every move he makes, every time he looks in your direction, every time he says your name.

"And I want you to fuck me," you add.

It's Joel's turn to laugh.

"Now who's the romantic one?" he says. 

You rise from his lap and settle onto your back on the other side of the bed, stretching with your hands above your head.

His eyes follow the line of your bare body, fondness and hunger recognizable in his gaze.

"Always so damn pretty," he grumbles. "Prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"Flirt," you tease.

He rises to his knees and pumps his cock a few times with his fist. You spread your legs for him, knees bent up against your chest.

He settles between your knees and you lock them around his hips. Joel honest-to-god winks at you before dragging two fingers through your folds to make sure you're slick enough.

"Ready?"

You nod. He enters you in one practiced move and you groan in unison as you adjust. It takes some shuffling but he finds a position he can hold, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Joel fucks you slow and deep. Each drag of his cock against your walls curls your toes and drags whines from both of your throats. He keeps up his usual babel -- doin' so good, feel like a dream, so damn tight, cunt's a fuckin' miracle -- and you press your hands into his bare back like he's a life raft.

Sweat beats on your brow, your chest, everywhere, and you suck bruises into his neck as his thrusts get a little frantic. Your own orgasm sneaks up on you, the pressure building and building and building until it snaps without warning.

"Joel -- Joel, fuck, I --"

You clench around him and he chants your name, that's it, baby, come on my cock, and buries himself to the hilt to finish inside you.

He hovers above you on trembling arms long enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips before rolling off of you.

"Now I'm ready for bed," you say, panting.

You fling a hand out lazily and it lands on his chest. He intertwines your fingers and his gaze finds yours. You smile as you get your breathing under control.

Joel smooths your brow with a thumb. "Don't forget to --"

"I know, I know," you say. "C'mon, you know this isn't my first rodeo." You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.

"You sayin' I'm a bull?" Joel calls after you.

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" you holler back, cleaning yourself up. "Didn't people used to say that?"

Joel doesn't answer you but you laugh at your own joke. You make your way back to the bed in old pyjamas and find him back in his sweatpants, feet flat on the floor like he's about to get up and go somewhere.

"Joel?"

He sighs, his shoulders moving up and down like he's bracing himself.

"It's done," he says. "Your surprise."

The confession stops you in your tracks.

"Oh?"

You know Joel better than mosty, but sometimes he's still a puzzle. The hesitation, the slight air of anxiety about him as he says it confuses you. Because Joel is good at taking care of people, and he has to know it -- those years he and Ellie didn't speak you know he left her things, know that he took care of her from afar as much as she would let him. It's just what he does, he uses his hands to beat and shoot and bloody – but also to carve and hold and love.

They're the same thing, really.

And he's made you something – one of countless gifts he's given you, tangible and not, throughout your relationship.

But he's nervous. As if you wouldn't love anything he made, anything he does. As if you're not gone over every part of him.

"Hm," he says. "Yeah. Let me --"

Joel gets up from the bed and pads over to the dresser to rummage around in a drawer. You meet him back on the bed and he's holding a square-ish parcel wrapped in cloth.

You gingerly take it from him.

"This is what you've been working on?" you ask softly. He nods.

You unwrap the cloth and find yourself holding leather-bound journal. The hide is smooth under your fingertips, scraped clean by hand and tanned a dark chestnut.The spine is about an inch wide, the whole thing swen together with neat stitches of what can only be catgut. A thinner strip of leather is wrapped around the cover and tucked into itself carefully. It must have taken him ages to make. 

"Joel," you gasp. "It's...god, it's beautiful."

He tells you how he found it on patrol a few weeks ago. The cover was fucked but the paper was somehow fine, so he dried out the pages and rebound it with a hide he tanned himself. You run your hands over it again almost like you can feel his fingerprints all over it, the hours he poured into the pages.

The inside cover falls open easily when you undo the tie and you see letters in the bottom left corner of it. Your eyes sting.

Joel has carefully burned your name into the leather, each letter perfectly lined up with the next. You haven't had something with your name on it in years.

He clears his throat. "Ellie said she'd give you some of her pens. Show you how to refill 'em."

You look up from your gift and find so much love on his face you can hardly stand it. He was inside you not that long ago and somehow this is more intimate. You surge forward into his space and wrap an arm around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

"I don't know what to say," you confess. "Just -- thank you."

He runs his hand along your spine.

"S'nothin'," he says. "Just saw it and thought of you, is all."

You release him and shake your head in disbelief. This man.

"What should I write in it?"

Joel's cheeks darken a little. Of course he's thought of everything.

"Figured you could write about...all this." He waves a hand in the air like that explains anything.

"All what?"

He shrugs one bare shoulder.

"Life," he says. "Jackson. Folks here. Might be nice, havin' the memories."

You scoot closer to him so you're almost in his lap again.

"You want me to write down the gossip?" You mean it as a joke but Joel nods.

"You pay attention," he explains. "Someone's gotta."

You're not much of a writer anymore, haven't had cause to be in twenty years. But you do like to tell stories. You both do. 

The pages are soft under your fingertips as you flip through them again. You're going to fill them with stories -- about this town, about Joel and Ellie and Tommy and the people you love. The people you've lost, too. The memories that hurt like bruises, like fresh wounds. But the good stuff, too. The gossip, the love stories, the plants in the yard and the flowers on the trails.

Joel has given you the ability to record your lives.

You reach over him to set the journal on the nightstand before you frame his face with both of your hands.

"I'm going to write pages and pages about you, Joel Miller," you whisper.

He huffs, cheeks warm under your palms. "That's borin'."

You shake your head and lean in until your lips brush and your eyes flutter shut.

"That's the story," you say. "That's my life. This is my life. You are."

“I love you,” he breathes. “So damn much. Y’know that?”

How could you not? You say so and kiss him firmly but without hurry. You’ve got lots of time. You’ve got forever.

[callsigns-haze]

tyler owens one shot idea: he’s your ex and now your forced to see him again while working with storm parr. and then one drunken night you guys end up hooking up.

Not so past

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Tyler and Y/N reunite in a heated, emotional encounter, reigniting their past passion and unresolved feelings during a late-night moment by his truck.

Chapter Warning: Contains explicit sexual content, strong language, and themes of intense emotional conflict.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the dusty road as Tyler Owens’ team bustled around their truck, preparing for the day ahead. The sky above was a mix of blue and grey, the calm before the inevitable storm—a fitting backdrop for the storm chasers. Dani was securing the last of the equipment, while Dexter double-checked the weather data on his tablet. Javi and Kate, the newest members of the team, exchanged excited glances as they packed away supplies with Lilly and Boone.

As the sound of laughter and banter filled the air, a distant roar of an engine grew louder, capturing everyone’s attention. A sleek motorcycle, its chrome glinting in the sun, pulled up beside the truck. The rider was dressed in a black leather jacket, the emblem of Storm Par emblazoned on the back—a rival storm chasing group.

The team watched as Scott, a burly member of Storm Par, stepped off his own bike and approached the rider. He helped her remove her helmet, revealing a woman with windswept hair and a determined expression. Her eyes scanned the area, seemingly indifferent to the curious stares she was receiving from Tyler's squad.

Tyler, who had been tightening a strap on the truck, froze as he recognized the woman. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Memories flooded back—late nights, shared laughter, heated arguments, and the bitter end that had left them both scarred.

“Y/N...” Tyler muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

Boone, noticing Tyler's reaction, stepped closer to Javi and Kate, who were both watching the scene unfold with puzzled expressions.

"What's going on?" Kate whispered, glancing at Boone for answers.

Boone sighed, crossing his arms as he kept his eyes on Y/N. "That’s Tyler's ex," he explained quietly, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. "They broke up two years ago, and it wasn’t pretty. They’ve got a lot of rough history between them."

Javi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No kidding? That explains the tension.”

“Yeah,” Boone continued, his tone sombre. “They were together for a while, practically inseparable at one point. But the work... chasing storms, it’s not exactly easy on relationships. Things went south, and they both went their separate ways. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since.”

Tyler, still staring at Y/N, took a deep breath and forced himself to look away. He needed a moment, a chance to gather his thoughts. “Excuse me,” he muttered to the group, his voice strained. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked briskly away from the truck, disappearing behind a nearby trailer.

Dani shot Boone a questioning look, but Boone just shook his head, silently signalling that now wasn’t the time to press for details. The mood among the team shifted, the earlier excitement dampened by the sudden tension.

Y/N handed her helmet to Scott and exchanged a few words with him before turning her attention back to the truck. Her gaze swept over the squad, and she could sense the curiosity and unease. But her eyes didn’t linger on them for long. She knew who she was looking for.

Tyler’s absence didn’t go unnoticed. A flicker of something—regret, sadness, maybe even a touch of anger—crossed her face before she schooled her features into a neutral expression. She had a job to do, just like him. Whatever happened between them was in the past. At least, that’s what she told herself as she turned back to Scott and continued their conversation.

Back at the truck, Boone exchanged a glance with Dani, both of them silently acknowledging the unspoken tension that had settled over the team. "Well," Boone said quietly, “looks like things just got a whole lot more complicated.”

Kate nodded, her curiosity piqued despite the awkwardness. “What do we do now?”

Boone shrugged, his expression grim. “We keep working. Storm’s coming whether we’re ready or not.”

Javi looked at Kate, who gave him a small nod. The two of them resumed their tasks, though the atmosphere was noticeably heavier now. As they worked, they couldn’t help but glance occasionally in the direction Tyler had gone, wondering what this unexpected reunion would mean for the team—and for Tyler himself.

The energy around the truck had shifted from excitement to a more subdued, contemplative mood after Tyler’s unexpected encounter with Y/N.

Javi and Kate were sitting by the cooler, their conversation hushed but animated. The air was filled with the scent of gasoline and the distant rumble of thunder as a storm began to brew. Boone had just finished up some last-minute checks on the equipment, and Dani had gone off to finalize a few details with the weather service.

Kate glanced over at Boone, her curiosity clearly getting the better of her. “Hey Boone,” she said, leaning in slightly, “we were just wondering... What’s the story with Tyler and Y/N?”

Javi nodded in agreement, his gaze focused intently on Boone. “Yeah, what’s the deal? They seem like they’ve got a pretty complicated history. We saw how Tyler reacted when he saw her, and it seemed pretty intense.”

Boone, who had been busy organizing some gear, stopped and let out a long sigh. He wiped his hands on a rag and looked at the two younger team members. There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke, the weight of the past evident in his eyes.

“Alright, I’ll fill you in,” Boone said quietly, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “But it’s a long story. Tyler and Y/N were together for a few years. Two storm chasers who were on the same wavelength, both professionally and personally.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “So, what went wrong? They seem like they were a perfect match.”

Boone nodded, a hint of a smile crossing his lips at the memory. “They were a great team. But chasing storms isn’t exactly a regular 9-to-5 job. The long hours, the travel, the constant danger—it puts a lot of strain on relationships. And that’s what happened with them. The job took its toll.”

Javi leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “Was it just the job that caused the problems, or was there more to it?”

Boone’s expression grew more serious. “It wasn’t just the job. There were personal differences, too. They had different priorities, different visions for their futures. And, of course, there were other issues—trust, jealousy, the usual complications when you’re working and living together.”

Kate nodded thoughtfully. “So, they broke up, and now she’s with Storm Par. That must have been a tough transition for Tyler.”

“Yeah, it was rough,” Boone agreed. “They broke up about two years ago. It wasn’t pretty—lots of arguments, a lot of hurt feelings. Tyler took it pretty hard. And then, she just... moved on. Got involved with Storm Par, who are our rivals in a sense. It’s like a double whammy for him.”

Javi frowned, trying to piece everything together. “So, Tyler seeing her with Storm Par... that must have hit him pretty hard. It’s like a reminder of everything he lost and the fact that she’s now on the other side.”

Boone nodded, his expression softening. “Exactly. It’s not just seeing her again after all this time—it’s seeing her in a place where she’s almost a symbol of everything he’s been struggling to move past. It’s a blow to his pride and his heart.”

Kate sighed, her gaze shifting towards where Tyler had retreated earlier. “I feel for him. That kind of history, it doesn’t just disappear. It lingers.”

Boone’s eyes softened with understanding. “Yeah, it does. And Tyler’s a tough guy, but he’s still human. This is something he’s going to have to work through. It’s not just about dealing with Y/N being with a rival team; it’s about confronting a lot of unresolved feelings and past regrets.”

Javi nodded, the seriousness of the situation sinking in. “I guess we’ll just have to give him space and be there if he needs us.”

Boone’s gaze flicked back to the truck, where Tyler had reappeared, his demeanour more composed but still carrying an air of subdued tension. “That’s the best we can do. Just be supportive and give him time. He’s a strong guy, but even the strongest need a hand sometimes.”

---

The temperature had begun to climb as the afternoon wore on, and Tyler knew they’d need more ice to keep their supplies cold. After taking a moment to gather himself, he walked towards the cooler beside the truck. The familiar crunch of gravel under his boots brought him some solace, but his mind was still reeling from seeing Y/N after all this time.

As he approached the cooler, Tyler spotted someone already there, bent over and digging through the ice with a small scoop. The sight of her familiar figure, the way she held herself—confident, yet focused—sent a jolt through him. For a moment, he considered turning around and leaving, but it was too late. Y/N had already sensed his presence.

She straightened up, holding a bag of ice in one hand, and turned to face him. The air between them seemed to thicken as their eyes met. Tyler froze, the usual easy confidence he carried evaporating in an instant.

“Tyler,” Y/N acknowledged him, her voice neutral, but there was an undercurrent of tension that he didn’t miss.

He swallowed hard, searching for words that wouldn’t come. This close, he could see the subtle changes in her—new lines of stress that hadn’t been there before, a more guarded expression in her eyes. But she was still Y/N, the woman who had once known him better than anyone.

“Y/N,” Tyler finally managed, his voice tight. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Especially... with them.” His eyes flicked to the Storm Par logo on her jacket.

Y/N arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?”

Tyler clenched his jaw, the words “full of surprises” echoing in his mind. He wasn’t sure which stung more—the fact that she was here, or that she was working with Storm Par, the competition, the so-called enemy. He could still remember their arguments about rival teams, the fiery debates they’d had about who was in it for the science and who was in it for the glory.

“Storm Par, though?” he asked, his tone carrying a mix of disbelief and disappointment. “You always said they were in it for the wrong reasons. What happened to that?”

Y/N’s expression hardened, the brief moment of softness in her eyes vanishing. “People change, Tyler. Circumstances change. Sometimes you have to take what you can get.”

He didn’t miss the bitterness in her voice, nor the hint of something deeper—resentment, maybe? Regret? It was hard to tell. But it cut him nonetheless.

“Is that what this is? Just... taking what you can get?” Tyler asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

Y/N sighed, shifting the bag of ice in her hand. She glanced away for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When she looked back at him, her gaze was steady, though the fire that had once been there was now a cold, smoldering ember.

“It’s a job, Tyler. It’s what I’m good at,” she said flatly. “Just like you. I’m doing what I have to do. If that means working with Storm Par, then so be it.”

Tyler felt a pang of something deep in his chest—anger, sadness, maybe even guilt. They had been a team once, a damn good one. But those days were gone, and it was clear she had moved on in ways he hadn’t expected. Or maybe in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to think about.

He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said quietly. “After everything that happened...”

Y/N flinched, just slightly, but she quickly masked it. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with an expression that was hard to read. “You’re right, Tyler. You shouldn’t be surprised. We both made choices. We’re living with them now.”

The weight of her words hung between them, and for a moment, the only sound was the crunching of ice as she tightened her grip on the bag.

Tyler opened his mouth to say something—an apology, maybe, or a plea to just talk things out—but the words caught in his throat. The history between them was too complicated, too painful to unpack in a casual conversation by a cooler.

Instead, he nodded stiffly, his expression guarded. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

Y/N held his gaze for a moment longer, then broke it, turning back to the cooler to grab another bag of ice. She handed it to him without a word, her touch brief, almost impersonal. Tyler took the bag, the cold seeping through his gloves, grounding him in the present.

“Take care, Tyler,” Y/N said quietly, her voice carrying a finality that made his heart sink.

He nodded, unable to find the right response. “You too, Y/N.”

---

The storm had finally passed, leaving behind a sky streaked with the deep purples and pinks of twilight. The day had been intense, with the team pushing their limits to capture every bit of data they could. As the adrenaline began to fade, exhaustion crept in, the weight of the day settling heavily on Tyler's shoulders.

The team was packing up, their voices quieter now, the earlier excitement replaced by a tired, satisfied calm. Tyler finished securing the last piece of equipment to the truck, his mind replaying the events of the day—especially his brief, tense encounters with Y/N. He could still feel the sting of their words, the unresolved tension gnawing at him like a dull ache.

He needed to clear his head, and a hot shower sounded like the perfect remedy.

Tyler grabbed a fresh change of clothes from his bag and made his way to the small, makeshift shower area they had set up nearby. The water pressure was weak, but it didn’t matter. As soon as the lukewarm water hit his skin, he felt the tension begin to melt away, the dirt and grime of the day washing down the drain along with some of the stress.

He stood under the stream, letting the water run over his face, his mind drifting. The cold splash of reality was as sharp as the water was warm—he was going to have to face Y/N again, probably sooner rather than later. The thought of her working with Storm Par still gnawed at him, a bitter reminder of how much things had changed between them.

Tyler leaned forward, bracing his hands against the wall of the shower stall, and closed his eyes. The heat of the water pounded against his back, loosening the knots in his muscles. He needed to let it go, at least for tonight. The last thing he wanted was to drag the team down with his personal issues, especially after they had all worked so hard today.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus on the present—on the here and now. There was nothing he could do about the past, but he could control how he handled the future, even if that meant swallowing his pride and finding a way to coexist with Y/N. For the sake of the job, and for his own sanity.

After what felt like an eternity, Tyler finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The cool evening air hit his damp skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth he had just felt. He quickly towelled off and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt, the familiar scent of his soap helping to ground him.

As he finished getting ready, Tyler caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror. His hair was still slightly damp, and his eyes held a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. But there was also determination there, a resolve to push forward despite the lingering shadows of his past.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out, the sounds of laughter and conversation guiding him toward the rest of the team. They had set up a small gathering spot near the truck, a cooler filled with drinks and a few fold-out chairs arranged in a loose circle. The mood was relaxed, a stark contrast to the tension of the day, and Tyler could hear Boone’s deep, rumbling laugh as he told a story to Javi and Kate.

“Hey, you finally made it,” Dani called out as she spotted Tyler approaching. She raised her drink in a mock salute, a grin spreading across her face. “We were starting to think you’d fallen asleep in there.”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head as he took a seat in one of the chairs. “Nah, just needed to cool off for a bit.”

Lilly tossed him a cold beer from the cooler, which he caught with ease. He cracked it open, the first sip a welcome relief after the long day. The cold liquid slid down his throat, soothing and refreshing.

“Hell of a chase today,” Boone said, raising his own drink in agreement. “We got some damn good footage.”

“Damn right we did,” Tyler replied, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. The thrill of the chase had always been a constant in his life, something that never failed to ignite his passion, no matter what else was going on.

Javi leaned forward, his eyes wide with excitement. “I still can’t believe we were that close. The footage is going to be amazing.”

“It will be,” Tyler agreed, his tone more relaxed now. He took another sip of his beer, letting himself enjoy the camaraderie. “It was a good day, all things considered.”

Kate, who had been quietly listening, glanced at Tyler with a small, thoughtful smile. “Glad to have you with us, Tyler. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Tyler nodded, appreciating the sentiment. The team had his back, and he had theirs—that was something he could always count on. “Same goes for all of you. We make a damn good team.”

The night had grown quiet as the teams gradually retreated to their tents and vehicles, exhausted from the day’s intense storm chase. The hum of conversation and the clinking of bottles had faded, leaving behind only the occasional rustle of the wind and the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon. The stars were beginning to peek through the clouds, casting a dim, silvery light over the makeshift camp.

Tyler sat alone by the dying embers of the fire, nursing the last of his beer. The warmth of the earlier camaraderie lingered, but now it was just him and the night, the solitude giving him time to reflect. His thoughts, however, were far from peaceful—still tangled up in the events of the day, and more specifically, the reappearance of Y/N.

He stared into the darkness, his mind replaying their earlier encounters. Despite his best efforts to shake it off, the memories of their past and the unresolved tension between them gnawed at him. The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel broke his reverie. He looked up, his body tensing instinctively as he recognized the familiar figure approaching from the direction of the Storm Par camp.

Y/N was stumbling slightly, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from her hand. Her usual composed demeanour was gone, replaced by the loose, carefree gait of someone who had had a few too many drinks. Her hair was slightly tousled, and there was a flush to her cheeks that could have been from the alcohol or the lingering effects of the day’s adrenaline.

“Tyler,” she called out, her voice carrying a slurred edge as she made her way toward him. There was a smile on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which were glassy and unfocused.

Tyler felt a mix of emotions—concern, annoyance, and a pang of something deeper, more painful. He stood up as she neared, his brow furrowing as he took in her unsteady state. “Y/N,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm. “What are you doing out here?”

She waved the beer bottle in the air, nearly losing her balance in the process. “Celebrating,” she replied with a laugh that didn’t quite sound genuine. “Big day, right? We caught a hell of a storm.”

Tyler couldn’t help but notice the bitterness in her tone, the way she was trying to mask whatever was really going on behind a façade of drunken cheerfulness. He took a step closer, ready to catch her if she stumbled again. “Yeah, it was a big day,” he agreed, his voice cautious. “But it’s late. You should head back.”

Y/N ignored his suggestion, instead taking a long swig from the bottle before looking up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you always so serious, Tyler? You were always like that... Always the responsible one.” She punctuated the last words with a playful poke to his chest, but there was a sadness in her eyes that belied her actions.

Tyler’s jaw tightened as he looked down at her, his concern deepening. “Someone had to be,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both frustration and care. “And right now, you need to get some rest.”

Y/N took a step back, swaying slightly as she studied him, her expression shifting to something more sombre. “You’re always trying to fix things, Tyler. But not everything can be fixed, you know?” She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping as the bravado started to fade. “Not everything’s your responsibility.”

Tyler felt a pang of guilt at her words. There was truth in what she said—he had always tried to shoulder the burden, to keep everything in order, even when things were falling apart between them. “I know,” he replied quietly, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “But I can’t just stand by when I see someone I care about struggling.”

Y/N’s expression softened, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find something in his words. The tension between them shifted, becoming something more electric, more charged. She took a step closer, her breath brushing against his neck as she looked up at him, her gaze lingering on his lips.

Without thinking, Tyler reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. The moment felt suspended in time, the air around them thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Then, as if pulled by a force neither of them could resist, their lips crashed together in a heated, desperate kiss.

Y/N responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed herself against him. Tyler’s hands roamed down her back, pulling her closer, feeling the familiar heat between them reignite. It was like no time had passed at all—their bodies remembering the connection they once had, the intensity that had always simmered just beneath the surface.

He broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his voice husky as he whispered against her lips, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

Without hesitation, Y/N did as he asked, her legs encircling his waist as he lifted her effortlessly. Tyler's hands gripped her thighs, his lips finding hers again as he carried her toward his truck. They moved together in perfect sync, not breaking the kiss as he maneuverer through the darkness, the urgency of their need driving them forward.

When they reached the truck, Tyler pressed her back against the cool metal, the contrast of the cold against the heat of their bodies sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine. He deepened the kiss, his hands gripping her hips tightly, as if afraid to let her go again. She responded with equal fervour, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him as close as possible.

The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the moment, in the passion that had been buried for so long. The unresolved tension, the pain, the love—they all collided in that kiss, in the way their bodies moved together, as if trying to reclaim something they had lost.

Finally, Tyler pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavily. His eyes were dark with desire, but there was also a flicker of something deeper—an emotion that went beyond the physical, something that had been lying dormant for years.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

She looked up at him, her expression mirroring his own, a mix of longing, regret, and something more profound. “Tyler,” she breathed, her voice trembling.

The night air felt cooler against their heated skin as they stood there, wrapped up in each other’s arms beside Tyler's truck. The world outside the small bubble they’d created was forgotten, leaving only the two of them, bound together by years of unresolved passion and lingering tension.

Tyler's hands slid from Y/N's waist to the hem of her shirt, his fingers brushing against her skin as he began to lift it. His eyes never left hers, watching the way her breath hitched in anticipation. He pulled the fabric over her head and tossed it aside, his gaze roaming over her exposed skin with a mixture of desire and affection.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His hands traced the curves of her body, fingers grazing over the sensitive spots he knew so well.

Y/N shivered under his touch, her breath quickening as she felt the familiar heat spreading through her. But before she could respond, Tyler leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Still so vocal, aren’t you?”

The words sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped her lips. Tyler chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, vibrating through her as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration. His hands slipped to the clasp of her bra, fingers working with practiced ease as he unhooked it and let it fall away.

He leaned back slightly, just enough to take her in, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of her bare chest. “You always did like to make noise,” he teased, his tone playful but laced with a deeper intensity. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, drawing another gasp from her.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to hold back the sounds of pleasure that threatened to escape, but Tyler wasn’t having any of it. He lowered his head, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck, trailing down to her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her whimper.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I want to hear you.”

His words broke through her resolve, and she let out a breathy moan, her hands gripping his shoulders as she arched into him. Tyler grinned against her skin, his lips trailing down to her breast, where he took one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before giving a gentle tug with his teeth.

Y/N cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugged him closer, the sensation overwhelming. “Tyler,” she gasped, her voice thick with need.

He pulled back, just enough to look up at her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at how easily he could unravel her. “That’s more like it,” he said, his tone full of teasing triumph. “You always did love it when I made you scream.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and arousal, but she couldn’t deny the truth in his words. There was something about the way Tyler touched her, the way he knew exactly what buttons to push, that always left her breathless and wanting more.

Tyler’s hands moved to the waistband of her jeans, fingers slipping beneath the fabric as he began to work them down her hips. He took his time, enjoying the way her breath hitched with every inch of skin he exposed. When he finally got them off, he stepped back just a bit, his gaze raking over her with unabashed desire.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and longing.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the sincerity in his words, but before she could respond, Tyler was on her again, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss. His hands roamed over her now nearly naked body, his touch both possessive and tender.

As the kiss deepened, Tyler's fingers found the edge of her panties, teasingly sliding them down her legs as his lips trailed back to her ear. “I’ve missed hearing those little noises you make,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “And I’m going to make sure I hear a lot more of them tonight.”

Y/N could only moan in response, her mind clouded with need as Tyler’s hands explored every inch of her, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He was relentless in his teasing, drawing out every gasp, every moan, until she was trembling with anticipation.

Finally, when she was completely undressed and laid bare before him, Tyler stepped back just enough to admire his work, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice full of genuine admiration.

Y/N’s heart raced, her body aching for him to close the distance between them again. “Tyler, please,” she whispered, the need in her voice unmistakable.

Tyler grinned, loving the way she was already begging for him. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, “Oh, I’m not done with you yet. I want to hear you lose control.”

And with that, he claimed her mouth again, his hands roaming over her body with renewed fervor, each touch designed to drive her wild, to push her closer to the edge. Y/N responded with equal intensity, her own hands moving to undress him, desperate to feel his skin against hers.

Tyler’s breath was heavy as he felt Y/N’s hands on him, their fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. She was desperate to feel his skin against hers, to close the distance that had been too wide for too long. As she finally pushed his shirt off his shoulders, revealing the toned muscles beneath, she ran her hands over his chest, savouring the warmth and solidity of him.

Tyler groaned at her touch, his own hands sliding down her back to pull her closer. Their mouths met again, a clash of hunger and need as they devoured each other. Every kiss, every touch, was laced with the urgency of all the time they’d lost, the years of separation making this reunion even more intense.

As her hands moved down to unbuckle his belt, Tyler couldn’t help the low growl that escaped him. He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering over hers as he whispered, “You’re so eager, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s response was a breathless moan as she finally managed to undo his belt, her hands working quickly to free him from his jeans. “I can’t wait any longer,” she murmured, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Tyler chuckled softly, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Good,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Because neither can I.”

With a quick, deft motion, Tyler helped her push his jeans and boxers down, kicking them off to the side. The cool night air hit his skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from the woman in his arms. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him, and they both gasped at the sensation of their bare skin touching, the connection between them electric and undeniable.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt him, hard and ready against her. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, but Tyler seemed to delight in drawing it out, taking his time as he ran his hands over her body, memorizing every curve, every shiver.

“Tyler,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she clung to him, her need for him overwhelming.

He smiled against her lips, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, lifting her slightly. “Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed, his tone low and commanding.

Without hesitation, Y/N obeyed, wrapping her legs around his waist and feeling his strong arms supporting her. The feeling of being held by him, of being completely at his mercy, sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped her lips.

Tyler grinned, loving the sound of her surrender. “There’s that voice I love,” he teased, his tone playful even as his desire for her surged. He shifted her slightly in his arms, positioning her perfectly against him as he pressed her back against the side of the truck. The cold metal was a stark contrast to the heat between them, and Y/N gasped at the sensation.

“Tyler,” she breathed, her hands gripping his shoulders as she looked into his eyes, her own dark with need.

He held her gaze, his expression intense as he slowly, deliberately, pressed his hips forward, teasing her with just the tip. The sensation was almost too much, and Y/N let out a cry, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to pull him closer, but he held back, his control infuriatingly steady.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough with the effort of holding himself back. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Y/N’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with the need to feel him completely. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Tyler, I need you.”

Tyler’s control wavered at the sound of her begging, and with a low growl, he gave her what she wanted, thrusting into her in one smooth motion. The sensation of him filling her completely tore a loud, wanton moan from her lips, and she clung to him as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“That’s it,” Tyler groaned, his voice strained as he began to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, driving her wild with the intensity. “I knew you’d sound just like this.”

Y/N was lost in the sensation, her head thrown back as he set a rhythm that had her gasping for breath, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge. The combination of his teasing words and the way he moved inside her was driving her mad, and she could do nothing but hold on to him, her legs tightening around his waist as he drove her higher and higher.

“Tyler,” she cried out, her voice filled with desperation and desire. “I can’t... I can’t...”

He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath hot and ragged as he increased the pace, pushing them both closer to the brink. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “I want to hear you come for me.”

His words sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her, and Y/N could feel the tension inside her coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. She was so close, her body trembling with the effort to hold on, but Tyler wasn’t done with her yet.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark and velvety as he pressed deep inside her, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between them. The combination of his relentless thrusts and the pressure on her clit was too much, and with a strangled cry, Y/N’s body exploded in pleasure, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her breathless.

Tyler watched her come apart in his arms, the sight of her in ecstasy driving him to the edge. With a few more powerful thrusts, he followed her over the brink, his release crashing over him with a raw intensity that left him trembling.

For a moment, they stayed like that, clinging to each other as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. The night was silent around them, the only sound the heavy, ragged breathing as they slowly came back to themselves.

Finally, Tyler gently lowered her legs, letting her feet touch the ground as he held her close, their foreheads still pressed together. His hands ran soothingly up and down her back, grounding them both in the aftermath of their passion.

“Damn,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty. “Tyler...”

But before she could say anything more, Tyler kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that hadn’t been there before. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken feelings between them, the things they hadn’t been able to say.

When they finally pulled back, Tyler rested his forehead against hers, his hands still holding her close. “We need to talk,” he said softly, his voice full of the weight of everything that had just happened.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding as she looked into his eyes, knowing that this was just the beginning of a much-needed conversation. “Yeah,” she agreed, her voice just as soft. “We do.”

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial