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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 1 month ago

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AHHHHH THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL!!! 🥰

Don't Wait for the Sky to Clear | t.o.

Tyler Owens x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Descriptions of tornadoes. Blood. Little bit of angst but there's a happy ending.

Author's Note: This can be read as a sequel to Come in With the Rain or it can be read on its own :) Dedicated to my fellow cowboy lover @loveroftoomanyfandoms

Talk to Me! | AO3

Tyler’s never been good at slowing down.

The closest he ever got was the lull between storms –just long enough to patch a tire, repack the truck, and cram half a granola bar into his mouth before peeling off after whatever cell was tightening on the horizon. Rest, to him, had always felt like stillness masquerading as failure. Like momentum lost. Like maybe the storm would get away if he didn’t keep moving.

But this morning, the truck hasn’t moved in hours. And neither has he.

He’s sitting in a faded plastic chair by the motel window, elbows on knees, notebook balanced in one hand, pen forgotten in the other. The sky outside is a deep, even blue –wide open and quiet. No threat on the radar. Not for another twenty-four hours at least. She calls it a “breather day,” and the name is fitting in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Behind him, she’s asleep in the center of the bed, curled around the soft leather journal she practically lives inside of. One arm sprawled across it, her breathing slow and steady, tangled up in the sheets and the oversized shirt he threw her two nights ago. Her hair’s a mess. Sunlight filters through the thin curtains, catching on her cheekbones, her eyelashes, the line of her shoulder.

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The thought comes uninvited –quiet and automatic, like muscle memory. Like breath. Not something he questions anymore. It just is.

His pen hasn’t touched the paper in twenty minutes. Every time he tries to focus, his eyes drift back to her. The room is still except for the low buzz of the wall unit beneath the window and the occasional creak of the old mattress springs when she shifts in her sleep. It should be peaceful. It is peaceful. And yet something inside him thrums with a tension he can’t name.

It’s been a year.

A year since she climbed into the passenger seat of his truck and never really got out. A year of split motel beds and shared sunrises, of storms that nearly tore them apart and moments that stitched them closer than he ever expected. She knows the road like he does now. Knows the rhythm of the chase. Knows how to read the tired in his voice even when he swears he’s fine.

She started therapy again in the spring –virtual sessions on Tuesdays when they can find a strong enough signal. She never misses one, even when they’re in the middle of nowhere, even when she has to park herself on the motel stairs to get reception. She’s still working through Sanibel –still trying to make peace with the wreckage the hurricane left behind. But something in her has begun to settle. To rebuild. Tyler can see it in the way she smiles more, the way she lets herself fall asleep with the lights off now.

And lately, she’s been looking at him the way he used to look at her. Like she’s seeing past the storm and into whatever’s been quietly unraveling inside him.

Because Tyler’s tired. And not the kind of tired a day off can fix.

He doesn’t say it out loud –not to the team, not to her. He’s too used to carrying the weight of things without dropping them. Too good at pushing through. There’s always another system brewing. Another town to warn. Another funnel cloud to document before it disappears. And if he slows down, what happens to the people who count on him? What happens to her?

The thought of disappointing her…that’s the part that sticks.

She stirs then, mumbling something into the pillow. Tyler glances over just in time to see her stretch and roll onto her other side, one hand curling loosely against the edge of the bedspread. She’s still half asleep, but her voice is dry and amused when she says, “You’re staring again.”

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He pushes up from the chair, tosses the unused notebook onto the table, and sinks onto the mattress beside her.

“You’re distractin’,” he says, leaning in to kiss her temple.

“I’m sleeping,” she mutters, blinking up at him now. Her voice is rough with sleep, but her eyes are sharper than they should be. She sits up on one elbow, glancing toward the clock. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten. Boone’s editin’. Kate’s out. Javi’s glued to the radar,” he says. “Everyone’s workin’ but you.”

“And you?” she asks, brow raised.

“Makin’ sure my girl gets to sleep in,” he says with a grin, “and doesn’t get woken up by Boone yellin’ about clickbait titles.”

That gets a laugh out of her, soft and warm. But it fades quickly, replaced by something gentler. More thoughtful. She watches him for a long beat, head tilted, sleepy curiosity giving way to something sharper. Her voice is quiet but cutting –deliberate in the way it always is when she’s not letting something slide.

“You doing okay?”

Her voice is quiet, but not soft. Not sleepy, either. He hadn’t meant to wake her. Tyler doesn’t look up from the window. Just leans a little heavier into the sill, like maybe the sunlight will ground him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just thinking.”

Behind him, the sheets rustle. She shifts, sits up maybe. He can feel her watching him.

“How long have you been up?”

He glances at the clock. 10:03. The motel’s still, the lot outside quiet. Too quiet. That rare and uncomfortable silence between systems.

“Not long,” he lies.

He hears her hum, not quite believing him.

“You been writing?”

Tyler’s jaw ticks. “A little.”

His notebook’s still open on the table. Blank page, pen uncapped. Mocking him. He feels the weight of her attention more than he hears it. That quiet alertness she gets when she’s trying to read him. Most days, he can dodge it. Not today.

“You didn’t eat dinner last night,” she says finally. “Did you have breakfast?”

Tyler sighs through his nose. “You my doctor now?” It comes out meaner than he means to, but he doesn’t take it back.

“No,” she says, “Just someone who loves you and wants you to be at your best.”

That lands heavier than he expects. He turns, finally, to look at her. Her hair’s a mess, sleep still clinging to her, but her eyes are clear. Calm. Familiar in a way that makes his chest ache.

“I’m fine,” he says again, and this time it feels paper-thin. “I just don’t sleep well when it’s quiet. You know that.”

She nods. Slowly. “It’s been quiet a lot lately.”

He doesn’t answer that.

Because it’s true, and he hates that it’s true. The stillness, the in-between –it always creeps in and coils up in his gut. He knows it’s not sustainable. Knows the exhaustion’s catching up. But if he says it out loud, it becomes real. She watches him for a beat, then shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, blanket wrapped around her hips. Her voice stays low.

“Boone said you almost passed out last night.”

Tyler exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Jesus –he’s dramatic.”

“Is he lying?”

He doesn’t respond. She stands, bare feet on the worn carpet, and crosses to him. Not confrontational. Just...close. She leans against the other side of the window, shoulder brushing his.

“You’re tired.”

“I’m not –,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“You are,” she continues, “And I think it’s more than just not sleeping.”

Tyler goes still. Swallows hard. He doesn’t know how to tell her that momentum is the only thing that’s kept him upright lately. That stopping feels like failure. That slowing down feels like admitting he’s not enough.

“You knew what this job was when you got in the truck,” he murmurs. “You knew what this life was gonna be.”

“I did,” she promises. “And I still do.”

She reaches out, fingers brushing his wrist then linking her fingers with his gently. Grounding him in a way that makes everything hurt more. They stand like that for a long moment. Her hand in his, warm and sure. The room is quiet around them. Tyler doesn’t know what to do with the stillness. It feels heavier than the silence outside. More pointed. More personal.

He wants to say something –to make a joke, shift the weight off his chest –but nothing comes. Just her eyes on him, steady and knowing. The kind of knowing that scares him more than any funnel cloud ever has.

There’s a knock on the door. Three quick raps.

Javi’s voice follows. “Ty? We’ve got something east of Tulsa. Rotation’s tight and moving fast.”

Tyler’s hand slips from hers like instinct. He moves. Boots. Keys. Motion, because motion is all he knows when things get quiet like this. She doesn’t move. He’s halfway laced up when he notices. Glances back.

She’s still by the window, watching him. Not sad. Not angry. Just...watching.

“You comin’?” he asks, keeping his voice easy. Lighter than it feels in his throat.

She doesn’t answer right away. Doesn’t rush. Instead, she folds her arms loosely across her chest, tilts her head slightly, and says, “I think I’ll stay back this time.”

Tyler freezes. The words aren’t cruel. They aren’t laced with anything sharp. But they hit anyway. Clean and unexpected.

“What?”

“I’ve got some research to finish up,” she says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Some writing to catch up on too.”

He stares at her. “Since when?”

She just gives him a small, unreadable smile. “Since now.”

And he knows. Knows it’s not about research or writing. Knows it’s not about her. It’s about him.

“Right,” he says, standing slowly. “You sure?”

“I am.”

She says it easily, but the air between them hums with everything she’s not saying.

Tyler nods, jaw tight.

“Alright,” he mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll be here.”

And she will. That’s the part that stings, for some reason. She’s not pulling away. Not storming out. Not making it a statement. She’s just...not getting in the truck.

And for the first time in a long time, Tyler’s not sure who that says more about –her, or him.

He lingers at the door a second longer than he should. Waiting, maybe, for her to change her mind. To say it isn’t about him.

But she doesn’t. And he doesn’t stay.

The motel lobby coffee is even worse than usual.

She grimaces as she takes another sip, standing just outside the glass doors with her notebook tucked under one arm. The team’s been gone maybe an hour, chasing a tight rotation out near Tulsa. The radar had been clear this direction –blue skies and a breezy eighty-three. A quiet afternoon to finish her edits. To breathe.

But the air feels...wrong.

She tries to ignore it. Tells herself it’s residual tension, leftover from the way Tyler wouldn’t quite meet her eyes this morning. From the way his voice went flat when she said she was staying behind. From the way she could feel him pulling further away, even when he was standing three feet in front of her.

She doesn’t regret staying. But it doesn’t make the silence between them easier.

A gust of wind lifts the hem of her t-shirt. Not just a breeze. It’s colder than it should be. Sharper. She glances up. The clouds are wrong. Too low. Too fast. Swirling where they shouldn’t be. Her stomach drops. She fumbles for her phone. Nothing on radar. No alerts.

The sky’s changed.

What had been a bright, easy blue an hour ago has turned murky –clouds stacking low and fast over the western tree line like bruises spreading. Her stomach sinks.

She pulls out her phone. The signal stutters, slow. No alerts. No radar pings. But her instincts –the ones she’s earned, not inherited –tell her otherwise.

She types out a quick message to Tyler: Sky’s shifting. You seeing this?

No response. Probably in a dead zone, but she doesn’t panic. Not yet.

Another gust cuts across the lot, harder this time. Her coffee sloshes, and she drops it from the surprise of the heat. Gravel skitters against the pavement. Somewhere across the road, a truck door slams open, abandoned. Then the sirens scream.

She grabs her bag and bolts, no questions asked. A trash can tumbles past her, hits the curb and splits open with a sharp metallic crack. She’s not going to make it. She sees the station clerk just as the wind hits again –full force now, like a freight train coming sideways. A flash of movement. A scream –hers? Someone else’s?

Then pain.

White-hot and immediate as something strikes her shoulder –a loose signboard or panel or maybe just the edge of the metal doorframe she didn’t clear fast enough. Her balance shifts, legs tangling, and the ground comes up fast. Concrete and bone.

She hits hard. Her ribs scream. So does her arm. The taste of blood bursts hot in her mouth as her chin slams into the sidewalk. The world spins, then narrows. Everything howls. She crawls, or tries to. Head low, trying to remember everything Tyler had taught her about getting stuck without safety. Her bag is gone, and she doesn’t know where but she doesn’t care. The wind won’t stop screaming, and her ears ring with it –that awful frequency between a siren and a memory. Sanibel flickers at the edges of her brain, but she shoves it back.

Not now. Not here.

The glass doors to the gas station finally fly open –a blur of movement, someone reaching out –and then she’s dragged inside just as another blast hits the storefront, slamming the doors shut behind her.

Then darkness.

Then…nothing.

---

She wakes up on the floor. Back room. Tile under her cheek. Cold air humming. Someone’s pressing a towel to her face. Her shoulder feels like fire. Her ribs –bruised, maybe cracked and her mouth tastes like pennies.

“Hey –hey, don’t move too fast,” the voice says. It’s the kid from behind the counter. “You went down hard.”

She blinks. Her vision wavers but steadies as she tries to take in her surroundings. The cooler door is closed; the lights are out. Someone has a flashlight angled low. Outside, the wind is still wild, but it’s moving off. The worst has passed –for now.

She coughs, feeling where she busted the inside of her lip when she hit the ground. “How long?”

“Fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty,” he says. “You scared the hell outta me.”

She tries to sit up and regrets it instantly. Her ribs won’t let her forget. She searches for her phone, but like her bag –and her laptop and her journal –it’s gone. And the thought that Tyler isn’t able to get a hold of her only makes the tightness in her chest worse.

The motel’s not just…damaged.

It’s shredded.

Tyler slams the truck into park so hard it jerks, gravel pinging off the undercarriage. He’s already out the door before Javi finishes barking coordinates over the radio. Kate’s calling something behind him, but it’s distant. Drowned out by the sound in his chest –that rushing, blood-hot pressure that’s been building since her messages stopped.

Two missed calls.

Four.

Eight.

And then nothing.

The second he saw that cell spin up west of Tulsa –a last-minute rotation no one predicted –something in his gut cracked. That quiet, knowing voice that had been whispering for months you’re stretched too thin had finally screamed. And she isn’t answering.

Room 207 is the first thing he checks. The door’s been blown inward. Drywall shredded. The bed flipped. His notebook –the blue leather one she gave him for their six month anniversary –is soaked through and flayed open across the dresser. Her bag is missing, but their clothes are strown around what’s left of the room.

“Shit,” Tyler breathes, backing out of the room like it’s a crime scene. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He stumbles down the steps, calling her name. He tries her phone again but it’s straight to voicemail.

Sorry I missed your call, I’m probably out wrangling a tornado or wrangling a cowboy. Leave a message after the beep!

His brain starts filling in the blanks –and every version ends with her crumpled under debris or pinned somewhere he didn’t get to fast enough. Because he wasn’t here. Because he was too far, too late, and too wrapped up in chasing something that never really outran him –his burnout, his pride, his fear of slowing down long enough to admit he can’t do this forever.

He should’ve stayed. He knew she was pulling back this morning. Not away from him –but from the version of him that wouldn’t stop long enough to see she was worried. That something was fraying under the surface.

And now maybe she’s –,

No. No, don’t go there. He can’t go there. He rounds the side of the building, skidding on loose gravel, about to shout again when he catches movement across the road.

A person. Not the team. Not a neighbor. Not a ghost.

Her.

She’s standing –barely –inside the gas station, one hand braced on the counter, face pale and bruised, blood dried at the corner of her mouth. A clerk’s holding her elbow, saying something to her. She’s nodding, moving slow. But she’s upright. Alive.

Tyler doesn’t remember crossing the road. Doesn’t remember pushing the door open so fast the bell snaps off. Doesn’t remember saying her name until she’s turning to look at him, eyes wide and glassy like she’s still catching up to the moment.

His heart splits clean down the center.

“Hey,” she says, like nothing happened. Like she didn’t just go silent for an hour while the storm tried to rip the roof off their world.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re –,”

She gives a faint nod and winces. “Bit scraped up.”

He’s already in front of her. Hands hovering –too scared to touch her until he knows what hurts. Her right arm’s tucked tight against her ribs, which means they probably took most of the hit. Her shirt’s torn. Her legs are scraped raw beneath the knees. Her lip’s split, with blood dried against her skin.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, voice sharp with panic he can’t swallow. “You didn’t answer, and the motel –,” He stops. Swallows hard. “I thought you were under it.”

She blinks at him, and he can tell she’s a bit dazed from the shock. “My phone…I don’t know where it went. And I hit the ground hard. Took me a while to get vertical again.”

He exhales, but it doesn't help. The panic hasn’t left. He doesn't think it’s not to.

“I thought you were gone,” he says quietly. “I thought –I was thinking about what it would mean if you were gone, and I couldn’t even breathe.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just watches him, like she’s the one that’s supposed to be calm and not the other way around. Finally though, he caves into every instinct and pulls her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. Thanking God that she’s alive, whispering apologies into her hair as he tries to keep himself from crying.

He doesn’t let go of her for a long time.

She’s breathing, upright, warm in his arms –and yet Tyler’s still waiting for her to vanish. Like maybe this is just a trick of adrenaline and grief. Like maybe she was under that roof, and this is what his mind conjured to survive it. But her hand is curled in his shirt and he can feel as her pulse thuds against his ribs.

She’s real. And she’s alive, and she’s his.

Eventually, the clerk gives them space. Javi pokes his head in once, gets a look at Tyler’s face, and backs off without a word. After several minutes, they step outside together. Slowly. Her arm is still pressed tight to her side, and Tyler keeps his hands around her waist like if he lets go, the wind might carry her off.

The rain comes back before they’re halfway across the parking lot –slow at first, then heavier. Warm and relentless, drumming down from the torn-up sky. Thunder rolls deep in the distance, like the earth itself is exhaling. They stop under what’s left of the motel awning. Or what was the awning –it’s mostly just a bent-over hunk of aluminum siding now, sagging in the middle. The downpour doesn’t care. It soaks through Tyler’s shirt in seconds, plasters her hair to her face. Neither of them move.

She closes her eyes and tilts her face up into it, breathing deep. Tyler watches her; watches the rain roll over her bruises, how her mouth twitch in the smallest smile like, somehow, she’s still glad to be here.

And something inside him breaks open –clean and loud. He steps back, eyes on her still. Then he’s dropping to his knees, in the gravel, in the rain. In front of Mother Nature and thunder and wreckage.

Her eyes snap open. “Tyler?”

Her mouth parts in disbelief, and for the first time in a year, Tyler Owens feels certain about something.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says. “I don’t want to.”

She just stares at him, chest rising and falling like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob.

“You scared the hell outta me today,” he continues, voice hoarse. “And I know I’ve been pullin’ away. I know I haven’t said half the things I should’ve.” Tyler swallows hard, staring up at her like she’s the only force of nature that can wreck him. “You’re right. I gotta…I gotta know when to step back. It’s okay to. I know that.

“But it’s hard for me; I know I don’t need to carry everythin’. But there’s one thing I’ve been carryin’ every damn day since December and if I don’t say it now, I’m gonna regret it for the rest of my life.”

He reaches into his pocket, fingers sliding over the box –the same one he’s touched a hundred times in a hundred towns without pulling it out, but this time, he does. The box is damp, soaked through from the rain and his jeans. His hands are shaking, but when he flips it open, the ring is still there. Steady. Solid.

“Marry me,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the thunder. “Not because the world’s endin’, and not because I’m scared. But because I love you. Because I know that you’re it for me. And I want to make a life that isn’t just…survivin’ the next storm. I want to come home with you. I want to build somethin’. With you.”

She’s quiet, blinking the rain out of her eyes as she stares down at him. He can see her breathing hard, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s in pain or she’s in shock.

“Sunshine,” he whispers, “Please. You gotta…you gotta say somethin’.”

She exhales a laugh –shaky, sharp, breathless. Then sinks to her knees in front of him, wincing as her bruised ribs protest. Her forehead drops to his.

Her laugh –sharp, breathless, a little broken –knocks the air out of him. Then she’s nodding, eyes glassy, voice catching.

“Of course, yes –yes, absolutely.”

Tyler can’t breathe for a second. Not because he’s overwhelmed –though God, he is –but because something inside him lets go. Like a cord he didn’t know was straining just snapped, and now he’s freefalling into something bigger than fear, bigger than the storm, bigger than anything he’s ever tried to outrun.

He laughs –choked and shaking –and before he can even think, he’s kissing her.

It’s messy. Uncoordinated. She’s still holding herself carefully, ribs clearly screaming at her, but her hand is tangling in his shirt, pulling him in like she doesn’t care what hurts, as long as it’s him. His palms find her face, thumbs skimming her cheekbones, the rain slick between them but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even feel it. All he feels is her –warm and real and alive in his hands.

It’s not the kiss he imagined –not the quiet, planned-out thing he’d thought about a hundred nights on the road. It’s frantic. Unpolished. Desperate. Her lips taste like blood and rain and salt, and his own heart is hammering so loud he swears she can feel it against her chest. But it’s real. And it’s theirs.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until she slows it –her fingers sliding up the back of his neck, grounding him with that steady calm that’s always disarmed him more than any funnel cloud ever could. He leans into her, forehead to hers, trying to catch his breath.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, voice raw. He can barely get the words out. “I thought –I thought you were under it.”

Her eyes are steady on his, even with the rain blurring everything else.

“You didn’t,” she says, quiet but sure.

And Tyler –still on his knees, drenched and aching and more certain than he’s ever been –kisses her again.

Softer this time. Slower. Like a promise he intends to keep.

#fic rec #tyler owens x reader #twisters #tyler owens fic #lotmf's talented moots

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 2 months ago

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Tyler Owens, you hot tornado wrangling cowboy, you...

This was so good!

Come in With the Rain | t.o.

Tyler Owens x fem!reader

“Two weeks and several tornadoes will definitely make you fall in love."

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Descriptions of panic attacks, tornado wrangling, hurricane descriptions. Making out but nothing too much tbh.

Author's Note: I've been working on this for WEEEEEEEKS and I've finally got it. I have the full article I wrote for this if anyone is interested LOL

Talk to Me! | Coffee?

She’s sitting on the curb of the motel parking lot, staring at the sky.

Javi is reading a weather report out loud, explaining that there’s two cells forming just north of where they’re parked. She’s not Kate; she doesn’t know when a storm is coming just by looking at the sky or noticing how the wind shifts. Not that she’s comparing herself to Kate –she loves Kate and they’ve known each other long enough to know they both have skills that balance each other out. Kate’s skills were in the field and her skills were translating those skills into accessible reports for the public and the government.

However, when the sky is tinted that ominous green, it’s not like it’s not obvious that something is coming.

The rest of the Tornado Wranglers haven’t quite figured out who she is, or why she’s there. She’s pretty sure most of them think she’s a groupie, only there to be entertained or flirt with the blonde cowboy who is working on his truck.

“Which one are we going after?” Javi asks, looking to Kate who is walking back towards the Wranglers.

“The one going west is actually going to form,” Kate explains, pointing out towards the west. The journalist is jotting down notes as Kate speaks.

“Hey, Kate –you gonna tell us who your friend is?” Dani asks suddenly, kicking the curb beside her and causing her to jump some.

Kate motions to her, as if to say introduce yourself. She shuts her journal and points her pen at Kate, smiling. “Kate asked me to join –I’m here to do a write up on the impact storm chasers like you guys have on the communities being impacted.”

That catches Tyler’s attention, and he sits up against the truck, looking down at her with a grin. “I didn’t realize you were a reporter.”

“Not technically,” she offers, pushing herself off the ground. Her knees pop, and she makes a face before shrugging a little bit. “I used to be the PA specialist for the NOAA. But I shifted away from that and now I do independent freelance writing on anything related to ocean, climate, space and weather policies that the government implements –or wants to implement.”

“She acts like she’s not an award-winning journalist that’s been published in several scientific journals,” Kate tacks on for good measure, linking their arms with a grin.

She just shrugs sheepishly, but there’s a proud grin tugging at the corner of her lips. As Tyler is about to say something else –because he seems much more interested in her now –he’s interrupted by Dexter yelling something, then practically jumping out of the RV.

“I’ve read your work!” Dexter exclaims, holding a journal that’s definitely a few years old. “You wrote about how ENSO patterns affect hurricane behavior in the U.S. –you used historical data from the NOAA to support your –,”

“Damn, Dex,” Dani teases, interrupting the older man with a smirk. “Didn’t know you were a fanboy.”

“I take it that’s how you two met,” Tyler says, motioning between her and Kate now. He’s got a teasing grin on his face, and she thinks it’s far more charming than it has any right to be. “Did Sapulpa here get you to watch our channel then, or were you a fan before she joined?”

“Remember that whole ‘I write about anything related to ocean, climate, space and weather policies’ spiel? You’ve been around –so I’ve known about you guys for a hot minute.”

And that’s the honest to God truth.

It’s not like she’s an active follower of their channel, but when they do things that actually have some scientific research to them, she’ll watch it. She appreciates anyone that makes science and education accessible to the general public, especially in a way that’s both entertaining and engaging. And she’ll take notes on what they do and how they do it, if anything because she’s interested in the methods. Though, she would also argue that their methods are absolutely insane, considering they actively drive into the storms with their rigged-to-hell-and-back truck and cowboy hats.

“Ah, okay –you can admit you’re the president of the fan club,” he chuckles, shutting the hood of the truck. “Or vice president –I think Javi is our president now.”

“Fuck off, Owens,” Javi laughs, shaking his head.

Kate is elbowing her some as Tyler watches the journalist for a moment. She doesn’t back down, eyeing him back with a quirked smirk on her face. The moment is only interrupted because Lily says something about the storm, and she looks towards the drone controller with interest. But a sneaking glance back at Tyler shows him still watching her, and just as she’s about to ask him what he wants –he winks at her and turns away.

Okay, so he’s kind of cute. In the same way the guys in romance novels are cute; look but can’t touch kind of cute.

Later that evening, she stares at the start of her article, then at the eleven tabs she has open regarding the Wranglers. The funny thing is that the Tornado Wranglers have their own wiki for their fanbase –of which she’s certain is updated by the team themselves (based solely on Boone’s personality description as “a fun, adventurous guy”). Truthfully, she probably doesn’t need to read the Wranglers’ page either since they’re sitting outside the motel they’re all staying at, playing music and enjoying their evening.

With a hum, she closes her laptop and unplugs it, slipping out of her room with it tucked under her arm. Standing in front of the railing, she scans the parking lot: Kate is talking to Javi in the bed of their truck. Tyler is sitting on the top of his truck, seemingly reinforcing something on the roof of it. His team is gathered around a little grill, paying him no mind as they laugh and chat.

“You gonna keep starin’ at us or you gonna come down here and chat?” Tyler suddenly calls up to her, leaning against his leg as he smirks up at her.

“I’m debating that very question,” she counters, but she’s walking down the stairs nonetheless with her laptop in hand so she supposes she’s made her decision.

Tyler jumps down into the bed of his truck then onto the ground, wiping his hands on his jeans. “How’s that article comin’, darlin’?”

“Oh, real good, cowboy,” she grins, holding her laptop up some as she takes a seat on the tailgate. “I’ve got most of the introduction written, but good writing takes time and I haven’t even seen you in action yet.”

As she settles into her seat, Lily offers her a plate with a burger and chips, and she takes it with a grateful smile. Dexter hands her a beer, looking at her computer like he’s debating stealing it from her. Tyler drops down beside her, taking it and opening it up. Then he waits for her to unlock it.

“You’re welcome to review it,” she finally offers, unlocking the computer for him.

However, it’s Boone that takes the computer from Tyler, who gives him a pointed look. The videographer takes the computer carefully, making sure to hold it with both hands. She thinks, for a moment, that’s a nice thing for him to do –a bit surprising too, given how rough everyone always seems in the videos. She takes a bite of her burger, looking around at the group of people surrounding her.

But then Boone starts reading out loud, and she turns her attention back to the Wranglers, feeling herself flush some. It doesn’t matter how many awards she’s gotten or how well she knows she writes –hearing her words read is always cringey.

“Fairview, OK

“Tornado chasers, often seen racing toward storms that others flee from, play a vital role in advancing meteorological science. By collecting real-time data on wind speeds, pressure changes, and storm formation, these scientists and enthusiasts help improve early warning systems and deepen our understanding of tornado behavior. Their high-risk pursuit contributes directly to saving lives and refining the models that predict severe weather, turning adrenaline-fueled missions into invaluable scientific contributions.

“There are many teams of chasers whose ultimate goal is to determine how these storms form and use that data to help slow or weaken the storms. The research study will focus on one specific team: the Tornado Wranglers.

“The Tornado Wranglers are a seasoned team of storm chasers known for their fearless, up-close approach to tracking tornadoes. Led by Tyler Owens, the team consists of rugged field scientists and veteran storm chasers who rely on custom-modified vehicles and years of hands-on experience to pursue some of the most dangerous storms in the country. Unlike more tech-heavy operations, the Tornado Wranglers specialize in close-range observation, often intercepting storms directly to capture real-time footage and collect critical atmospheric measurements from inside the tornado's path.

“Their work plays a vital role in improving early warning systems and deepening scientific understanding of tornado behavior. The high-risk data they collect often becomes some of the first and most valuable material available during severe weather events. Driven by passion and a commitment to public safety, the Tornado Wranglers transform their adrenaline-fueled missions into meaningful contributions to meteorological science.

“Despite their reputation as ‘reckless,’ the Tornado Wranglers share the same goal as any team of storm chasers: to uncover the hidden mechanisms that drive tornado formation and ultimately contribute knowledge that could mitigate future storm damage. Their combined efforts represent the critical intersection of passion, science, and public safety.”

There’s a low whistle from someone –she’s not sure who –but Tyler is giving her an appraising look. Like he’s pleasantly surprised by what she’s written; like maybe he expected something much more scathing than what she’s got on the page. She can’t look at him because there’s something about feeling his eyes on her that’s making her feel hotter than she should.

“You gonna send us a copy of that when you’re done?” He asks, lifting his beer to his lips. “I’m dyin’ to know how it’ll change.”

“If I have to subscribe to watch your videos, you have to subscribe to read my work,” she counters with a smirk.

“Y’know what –that’s fair enough.”

He takes her laptop from Boone, and as she’s about to take it from him, he shoos her hand away and types something onto her document. Then, he closes the laptop and hands it back to her with a grin. She’s tempted to open the computer and see what he did, but Kate and Javi are walking back over with motel keys and gas station bags full of snacks.

“You ready to get some rest?” Kate asks, looking between her and Tyler for a second. There’s a knowing look in her friend’s eyes and the journalist tries to ignore it. “You’ve got a hell of a day ahead of you tomorrow and you’ll want to be rested.”

“Sapulpa,” he greets, finishing off his beer. “So you’re bring us a city girl and you can’t even let us get to know her?” He teases, and Kate rolls her eyes at him as he looks back down at the journalist. “You got any superpowers we should be listenin’ to?

“Kate is the one with the tornado spidey-sense,” she teases, shaking her head. Then she holds up her computer again. “I just listen to what she says and write it down. And I’m not a city girl.”

“Oh yeah? I thought you were from New York?”

“Born and raised in the sunshine state,” she offers as if it’s something to be proud of. It’s really not, though.

“Well damn; out here makin’ assumptions when I should have been askin’ the real questions.”

She’s about to ask where he’s from when she hears Javi complaining about wanting to get a shower in before they steal the hot water. With an eye roll, she runs her tongue over her teeth. Kate rolls her eyes and tells her to hurry up, then heads off to get upstairs.

She watches Kate for a moment, before she turns back to the group who have gone back to talking amongst each other. Tyler, however, is watching her with that same grin on his face. Like he knows something she doesn’t, but he’s not going to tell her. And while she’s very interested in trying to figure out just what’s going on behind those pretty green eyes, she knows she really does need to get some rest.

“Goodnight, Tyler,” she finally says, running a hand over her hair with a sigh. “It was nice chatting –and thanks for the burger.”

“You’re welcome to join us any time you want, darlin’,” he offers, and she can tell he means every word. “Chases, dinner, whatever you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And she will. Because she has to in order to finish her work. And not because Tyler Owens is far more charming than she expected him to be. Or because he’s really hot and keeps smiling at her. Nope. That’s definitely not why she’s going to bug them again tomorrow.

Once she’s back in her shared room with Kate, she opens up her laptop finally to see what Tyler put on her document. But the blush she feels in her cheeks and the smile she’s biting back is a dead giveaway for Kate to peer over her shoulder and elbow her.

He wrote his number, with a little note next to it:

Send me the link to wherever you’re published –I want to read it all.

The next morning, she wakes before Kate and Javi –the sun hasn’t even come up yet and she’s certain she’s going to regret being up before her alarm. But if she goes back to sleep now, she’s going to regret that even more, so she gets dressed and slips out the door with her backpack and hopes to find decent coffee.

The parking lot is full of storm chasers, and the sun is just peeking over the horizon as she takes the stairs two at a time. As she hits the ground floor, Tyler rounds the corner with a cup in hand and bed disheveled hair. He’s a little less put together right now –plain white t-shirt and definitely the jeans from yesterday from the dirt stains. And yet somehow, he still looks too hot for someone up at five in the morning.

For a moment, she considers just sliding past him and letting him wake up more, but he has coffee and she really wants a cup.

“Where’d you find that?” She asks, and he looks up through tired eyes then smiles at her.

“Motel lobby –not great, but it’s better than what’s in the room,” he explains, then he turns around to join her. “You always up this early?”

“Oh, god no –I think my brain was too wired to sleep anymore though,” she laughs as he opens the lobby door for her.

“That excited, huh?” He teases as he leans back against the wall, watching as she adds probably too much creamer and too much sugar to the coffee.

“I am, honestly,” she admits as she takes a sip. She makes a face at the coffee, but she’s a little too desperate to put it down. He’s right; it’s not great. “I think I saw a diner down the street –definitely walking distance. Probably has food and better coffee –you in?”

Tyler studies her for a second, then nods with a grin on his face. She shoots Kate a text, telling her what she’s up to and asking if she wants anything. It’ll be a little while before they’re up –their alarms were set for seven, but Kate warned that Javi won’t be up until at least eight.

When they arrive at the diner, there’s a handful of truckers inside but plenty of little booths by the window. The only waitress working tells them to sit wherever and she’d be over in a second, so they slide into a table without question. As she lifts up the menu, she holds back a sigh, realizing that she’s starving –and hashbrowns and runny eggs sound so good right now. The waitress wastes no time getting them coffee and their orders in.

“So what’s the plan, Owens?” She asks, brow raised after she orders half the menu it feels like.

Tyler laughs, shaking his head as the waitress pours them their coffee. “A woman after my own heart –orders half the menu and doesn’t bat an eye.”

He thanks her with a smile, then hands the journalist a handful of creamer and sugar packets. She’s surprised that he noticed how sweet she likes her coffee, especially after only seeing her drink it once. But neither of them say anything; they simply smile at one another and enjoy the momentary silence as they sip the coffee that’s so much better than the motel’s.

She thinks Tyler is more than he lets on. Not that she thought too low of him in the first place; on the surface, he’s polite and a little rowdy. But he’s sweet, and he’s funny. Clearly, he’s smart and observant as well. But there’s more to him than he’s telling anyone else, and she thinks she wants to know more about him outside of storm chasing.

Until her article is done, though, she can’t cross that line.

Momentarily, she’s distracted by the smell of bacon, eggs and grease –smells like a Sunday morning after a night out. “Goddamn, this looks good.”

He chuckles, and she looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t take you as a greasy diner kinda girl.”

“Diner food will always be the best breakfast at the crack ass of dawn,” she argues, using her fork to point at him accusingly. “You can’t argue with that.”

“I’m not arguin’,” he says, putting his hands up. The smile hasn’t left his face as she cuts up her eggs and mixes the yolk into her hashbrowns. Then he looks offended. “That I am arguin’ against –what the hell are you doin’ to those potatoes? Drownin’ them?”

“I’m making them delicious,” she defends, reaching for the salt now. As if the meal needed any more of it. “C’mon, you’re telling me you don’t mix your eggs and hashbrowns?”

“Not like that I don’t,” he points out, motioning to her plate. “You cook’em like that –it’s called piggybackin’. What you’re doin’ is called a goddamn mess.”

“Well, it’s a delicious mess,” she settles on saying, taking a bite of her meal and sighing in content. There really is something about greasy diner food that makes the heart happy. Probably all the cholesterol. “Back to the question though, cowboy –what’s the plan for today? Are you actually going to take me into a storm?”

“Is that what you really wanna do?” He counters, leaning his elbows on the table and looking her over now. Like he’s trying to get a feel for what she actually wants –or doesn’t want, maybe. “It’s okay if you’d rather hang back with Dexter and Dani in the RV –no shame in that.”

Taking another bite of her meal, she weighs the two options. Staying back gives her a better chance to document what’s going on around her. She can see the wide angle, and everything that goes into a famous Tyler Owens storm chase. On the other hand, though, doing the chase herself, in his truck, gives her first hand experience as to what he does. But also on that hand, he’s an absolute maniac who drives headfirst into tornadoes –so there’s an inherent danger there.

Something tells her that Tyler wouldn’t let her get hurt though –not if he has any say in it, at least. Especially if he’s giving her an out to sit back today.

“I’ll ride with you, Boone and Kate, if that’s alright,” she finally decides, setting her fork down.

“You got different shoes?” Tyler asks, kicking her feet with his boots.

She glances down at her beat up red Toms, shaking her head. “Oh, no –I don’t.”

“We’ll need to get you some boots then –something a little more sturdy. Just in case.”

“Excuse you,” she grins, bumping his shin with the toe of her shoe. “My Toms are peak performance.”

“Maybe for writin’ from afar,” he counters, pointing at the horizon with the hand that’s not holding his coffee cup like it’s going to disappear. Storm clouds are gathering, and she knows that he’s probably right. “But not for what we’re gonna be doin’.”

“You act like I’ve never been in a tornado before,” she teases, pointing her fork at him again with a small grin.

“Oh yeah? What’s the worst you’ve been through?”

“Tornado-wise? Probably an EF2. But it’s not the tornadoes you have to worry about.” She stirs her eggs and hashbrowns some more, a way to distract herself from the memories that are settling in her stomach. “Remember Hurricane Ian?”

“Took out a good chunk of the Florida Southwest in 2022, right?”

“Yessir,” she nods, pulling her backpack into her lap and rifling through it. She pulls out a beat up journal and flips to the first few pages. Then she holds it up, where there’s numbers and diagrams drawn. “My dad lived over the Sanibel Causeway –the one that collapsed. We were trapped on the island for two weeks before anyone could come get us or send help. For about two days, we had to hunker down and hope the eye passed so we could see the damage, then we had to wait for it to entirely pass.”

She points at a diagram of the bridge, showing where the surge did the most damage. “Tornadoes are terrifying –but they’ll be gone sooner rather than later. Hurricanes –those can last days. And when the bridges are out, and the waters are too rough to navigate –that’s when the damage gets the worst. Have you ever sat through a hurricane?”

“Not like that,” he admits, taking her journal and reading over her notes like they’re the most important thing he’s ever been given. “Your dad okay?”

Watching him for a second –watching his eyes scan over the notes and the drawings –she thinks he genuinely is interested in what she writes. Not that she didn’t think he would be –she sent him links to the journals she’s published in, like he’d asked –but the way his eyes are glued to her chicken scratch handwriting makes her heart twist in her chest.

When he looks up, and catches her staring, she shakes her head some. “No,” she admits, reaching over and turning the page a few times before she lands on a little calendar she made. “After the storm passed, we had enough supplies to last maybe seven days. We had no service though, and couldn’t get in touch with anyone. FEMA didn’t show until almost the end of the week, and even then there wasn’t a lot they could do.

“The house was totaled; all the windows shattered, and the roof wasn’t meant to withstand a direct hit,” she explains with a sigh. “Lost pretty much everything. But if you’ve ever met old people in Florida, they don’t listen until it’s too late.”

Tyler is silent, leaning on his elbows as he watches her with an intensity she’s never seen before. Not from anyone, let alone a handsome cowboy who might as well be a celebrity.

“I was only down there to try to convince my dad to evacuate. He’s on a million types of medications that he didn’t have enough of because he…just never got them filled on time. By the time he realized we needed to, it was too late. By the time rescue had gotten to us, he’d gone four days without beta-blockers –the stress from the storm was too much.”

She leaves out the part where she had to sit with her father’s body for two extra days, waiting for rescue to bring in body bags. Leaves out that she refused to let him be alone, sitting in a makeshift medical tent that’s overrun and out of power. And how she still hasn’t quite recovered from the longest two weeks of her life; both physically and emotionally.

No, she leaves out the worst details, because Tyler doesn’t need to look at her any differently than he probably already is.

Silence lingers for a few minutes. Neither of them touch their food or coffee, and she wonders for a moment if trauma dumping at six in the morning is really what she should be doing. Especially as she wipes the stray tear that’s running down her cheek. It’s not the first time she’s told this story, and she’s sure it won’t be the last but it never gets easier. Watching her father waste away after losing everything else will always be something that she has to live with.

But as she considers how to lessen the tension, Tyler reaches over and puts his hand over hers.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. There’s no pity in his voice. No over the top sympathy or anything like that. Just…genuine empathy behind green eyes and a furrowed brow.

She flips her palm up and squeezes his hand in thanks, giving him a sad but grateful smile. “I want to say it’s okay, but it’s not –but it will be one day. Thank you for…listening to me, though.”

“Any time.”

And he means it. Somehow, she knows he does.

When they return to the motel, Kate and Javi are already setting up with Boone and Lily, and the four of them give the two of them curious looks. But neither Tyler nor her seem to notice as they walk up, enjoying whatever comfortable silence they’ve found themselves in. Kate pries her away from him though, giving her a small grin as Tyler joins Dexter in the RV.

“Where have you two been?” Kate asks, nudging her shoulder as they return to Javi, who is looking over his tablet now.

“We just got breakfast,” she explains with a shrug, though she knows that Kate isn’t going to stop until she gets a better answer. “Seriously, I woke up early, needed coffee. We just ended up at the diner down the street.”

“That why he keeps looking at you?” Javi interjects, smirking at her as he glances towards where Tyler is standing with Boone and Dexter.

Following Javi’s gaze, she immediately catches Tyler’s eye and he grins at her with a nod as he slips his cowboy hat on. Looking away, she feels a blush creeping up her neck and she gives Javi a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he argues but he’s got a shit eating grin on his face. “He’s coming over now, if you need to clean yourself up.”

“Kate, I’m gonna kill your friend –,”

Tyler interrupts her as he approaches, holding up a pair of boots. “Dani’s gonna let you borrow these today; she’s the closest to your size.”

Taking them, she looks over at Dani, holding the boots up with a smile. The other woman shoots her a thumbs up and a grin.

After lacing up the boots and making sure she has all her materials for the day, Tyler opens the passenger door for her with a grin and his hand held out. Boone and Kate climb into the backseat as she takes Tyler’s hand and gets in. Then he tugs on the harness behind her, pointing out that it’s there for her safety and when he says to put it on, she’s going to need to listen.

Then he’s pulling the harness over her shoulders, the straps lying close against her chest as he fits them carefully into place. He talks her through each step –how it fastens, where it should rest, how she’ll need to do it herself next time –but his voice is softer now, slower. His fingers brush over her collarbone, just beneath her jaw as he adjusts the final strap, and she swallows hard.

His hands pause just briefly, not enough to be obvious, but long enough that she knows he felt the shift too. When their eyes meet, she’s certain that he can feel her heart beating in her chest, threatening to break through her ribcage the longer they stare at each other.

Just as quickly as the moment starts, it’s over and he clears his throat, finishes the adjustment, then tells her she can take it off until he tells her. Then he’s shutting the door and getting into the truck himself. Kate is sitting behind her, and she kicks the front seat to get the journalist’s attention.

The look she’s being given says that none of that moment was private.

Luckily, either Boone is completely unaware of what just happened or genuinely doesn’t care. Because he’s flipping the camera on and pushing himself between her and Tyler.

“You don’t mind bein’ on camera right?” He asks, patting her shoulder as he points the camera directly in her face. “‘Cause, y’know, that’s our whole thing.”

She pushes the camera a little further away with a laugh and a nod, promising she doesn’t mind as he turns it to Tyler. The cowboy persona is dialed up –not a lot, she notes, as she takes out her notebook. Whoever Tyler Owens is in front of the camera seems to be the same as whoever he is in behind the camera. Maybe a little extra, but not by much.

“Alright, guys,” he says, pointing at the camera with an bright smile. “We’ve got a special guest –why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Boone turns the camera to her, and she awkwardly waves and laughs, introducing herself –though Tyler insists she explains who she really is.

“I’m a freelance journalist,” she explains, holding up her notebook. “My job today is to determine just how much of an impact your favorite chasers have on the study of these storms.”

“And it’s her first time runnin’ headfirst into a storm,” Tyler adds on, turning the camera back to himself. “We’ve got a real good one for all of y'all today –it’s lookin’ like there might be an EF2 formin’ about ten miles west of Fairview. Nothin’ we can’t handle, but good for a girl’s first time.”

“Miss Sunshine State here is gonna lose her mind,” Boone adds from behind the camera, clearly delighted.

She scoffs but doesn’t look away from the window. “If I throw up, you’re cleaning it.”

Boone just cackles.

Tyler shifts gears, eyes cutting to the horizon where the clouds are folding in on themselves –dark, heavy, beautiful in a terrifying way. “That EF2’s droppin’ in the next five. We’ll get in ahead of it. Put that harness on.”

There’s a tone shift in his voice –not performative, not cowboy-charming. Just serious. The same shift she hears in scientists who know exactly what they’re doing and are already twenty steps ahead. And she follows his orders without question. Kate’s got the radar pulled up in the backseat, and Boone has the camera, already live-streaming something to the Wranglers’ fanbase. She can hear him narrating between seatbelt clicks and the rattle of gear in the back.

The truck jerks as the anchors deploy, hydraulics hissing beneath their feet like a dragon exhaling under pressure. She doesn’t need to ask what it means. She’s watched this part in their videos before –Tyler Owens and his unstoppable truck bracing against the worst nature can throw. It’s one thing to observe it through a screen, from the safety of her apartment though. It’s another entirely to be inside it.

The storm hits before her breath can catch.

Then it’s like…the world unzips.

Wind tears across the field with a violence that feels personal, slamming into the truck with enough force to make the reinforced frame creak and shudder. The air thickens with dirt, stray pieces of brush, debris –things too twisted and fast to identify. The roar outside is so loud, so impossibly deep, it sinks into her teeth. Into her bones. It’s soaking into her very being as she grips the handle above her head until her knuckles turn white.

She’s pinned in place –not by her seatbelt, but by the sheer weight of the moment. Her fingers curl tight around the edge of the seat, then tighter still when something –a trash can? a road sign? –ricochets off the side of the truck with a metal-on-metal shriek. Kate mutters something in the backseat, low and steady, reading off numbers, but the wind steals most of it away.

And then she sees it.

The tornado is there. Just outside the glass. Towering and lean, the color of bruised earth and ash. It moves like it’s alive, like it’s hunting –shifting its weight back and forth across the open field, brushing so close that she swears she can see individual stalks of wheat being pulled up and swallowed into its center.

A sharp, involuntary breath leaves her lips. Her entire body goes still. Not frozen in fear –but braced. Braced against memory.

It’s not the tornado itself that steals the reality out of her.

It’s the sound of it. The pressure. The way the light dims like the sun’s been torn out of the sky. All of it wraps around her; a storm surge climbing higher and higher, until she’s no longer in the truck. She’s back on Sanibel Island, hands pressed against broken glass, waiting for the water to reach the ceiling. Waiting for the surge to swallow the house whole as she scrambles to get to dry land and pull her father with her.

Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t cry, not here. Not now. But her chest clenches like it’s caught in a vice.

And then –quietly, without a word –Tyler takes her hand.

It’s sudden, and unannounced. His eyes are still forward, still trained on the storm, but his fingers slide into hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

The grip is steady. Calloused palm warm against hers. No tension. No squeeze. Just…there.

She holds on like it’s the only real thing in the truck.

The storm wails around them, furious and unrelenting. The truck groans again as the funnel shifts direction –spiraling just close enough that she can see its rotation brush across the top of a fence line, tearing through wooden posts like matchsticks. Boone yells something behind them –he might be filming, or laughing, or both –but none of it breaks through.

Because all she feels is his hand.

All she hears is the sound of the storm, and the echo of another one.

But she stays grounded.

Anchored –not just by the steel driven into the earth beneath the truck, but by this strange, steady feeling between her and the cowboy beside her. This storm-chasing cowboy with green eyes and dirt under his fingernails who doesn’t look at her, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t try to fix it.

Just offers her silent reassurance as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.

Eventually, the wind begins to fall away. Not all at once, but like an exhale. The roar softens. The sky begins to lighten at the edges. The funnel moves on, lifting into the sky in that eerie, effortless way storms do –leaving behind wreckage, silence, and awe.

For a long moment, no one says anything.

Only when the last gust passes does Tyler finally shift his gaze. His hand is still wrapped around hers when he turns to her.

“You still with me?”

She nods, voice caught somewhere in her throat. Her heart is pounding, her skin is flushed, and her fingers are trembling just slightly against his.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I’m here.”

His smile isn’t big. It isn’t charming. It’s quiet –like he doesn’t want to spook the stillness between them. Like he knows that there’s something going on behind her eyes that he can’t fix, but wants to soothe.

“Good,” he says softly, finally letting go.

She’s about to say something –thank him, apologize, something –but Boone is yelling in her ear as he jumps out of the truck. With a wince, she looks over at the videographer before undoing her harness and freeing herself. Tyler is slipping out of the truck, looking over the aftermath of the field. When she gets out of the truck, her knees wobble a little –like it’s the first time she’s stood on solid land in days –and Kate quickly catches her with furrowed brows.

“Hey, you good?” She asks, looking over the journalist with concern.

But she just nods, feeling Tyler’s eyes on her as she stands up straight. “I’m good. I think the adrenaline is wearing off, that’s all.”

Kate gives her a once over, then when she determines that her friend is okay, joins Tyler as they stand and look over the skies. While one storm has passed, the radar is calling for more, Boone explains, showing her the tablet. But she’s watching Kate and Tyler, with whatever superpowers they seem to possess, as they scan the skies. Boone comes to stand at her side, camera still rolling, as he speaks.

“What y’all are seeing here is a genuine connection to nature,” he explains, voice filled with awe and excitement. “I don’t know what it is these two got in their blood, but goddamn is it impressive. Right, Sunshine State?”

He points the camera to her next, and she nods some in agreement, smiling at the camera. “Yeah…yeah, it really is.”

The next motel they check into is much smaller than the last, and has less rooms available. Dani and Dexter choose to sleep in the RV. Javi and Boone room up and take a room without too much argument. But Lily and Kate are sharing a look that suggests that they’re up to something –then immediately part to the room they’re sharing suddenly.

There’s one room left, and the journalist and Tyler are the only two without a roommate.

She makes a mental note to kick Kate’s ass later on.

“Feel like they’re settin’ us up,” he jokes, grabbing her backpack from the passenger side of the truck. When she tries to take it from him, he shakes his head. “I got it, don’t you worry, sunshine.”

“It’s because they definitely are,” she confirms, rolling her eyes at the nickname as she follows him up the stairs to the room. “Did you see their faces? They did it on purpose.”

“Gotta love’em for tryin’.”

The motel room door creaks like it’s been waiting all year to be opened. She steps inside first, and it’s everything she expected from the outside and maybe just a little worse –aged wallpaper with water stains bleeding through the corners, a single bed covered in a quilt that looks like it hasn’t been replaced in at least a decade, and one lamp that casts more shadow than light.

The mattress sinks low in the middle. A small table stands in the corner, supporting a microwave she wouldn’t trust with popcorn. The A/C unit beneath the window hums like a dying bee, sputtering cool air in erratic bursts. There’s one chair. No couch. And most notably, no second bed.

She lets out a breath and tries not to make a face. Behind her, Tyler steps in and immediately drops her bag gently by the door, his presence filling the too small space in a way that makes it feel even more narrow. She crosses the room and presses a hand to the mattress. The dip in the middle is dramatic, but manageable if they stick to their respective sides. She glances at the thin barrier of decorative pillows and thinks, not for the first time, that she’s absolutely in over her head with this entire week.

Tyler moves behind her, quiet, until she hears the rustle of fabric and turns –only to realize he’s already shed his shirt, tossing it casually onto his duffel. Her mouth goes dry. She pretends to look anywhere else.

His chest is exactly what she’d imagined it would be, and she hates that she’s imagined it at all. Strong, sun-worn, peppered with a few old scars. One on his shoulder, one along his side. Every inch of him says field work and recklessness and heat.

She grabs her sleep shirt from her bag and turns sharply for the bathroom. “I’ll change in here.”

“Take your time,” he says, and it sounds like he’s trying not to sound smug, but fails.

Behind the flimsy bathroom door, she splashes cool water on her face and stares at herself in the mirror.

She can handle this, she tells her reflection. It’s just one night. He’s just a guy.

A ridiculously attractive guy with bright green eyes who held her hand through a tornado without her asking him to. But a guy nonetheless.

She changes quickly, pulling on a worn t-shirt and sleep shorts, then returns to the room with her arms folded tight. Tyler’s already pulled the quilt back and settled on the right side of the bed –bare chested, legs tangled under the covers, one arm folded behind his head as he scrolls through something on his phone.

He looks up as she walks in, and then –to his credit –sits up straighter.

“I can take the floor,” he offers. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“No, don’t,” she says quickly, waving a hand. “It’s fine. We’re both adults. Just stay on your side.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of cross crossin’ enemy lines.”

She huffs out a breath that’s half a laugh and half nerves, then slides under the covers as delicately as possible –like the mattress might register her heartbeat if she lets it. It dips toward him immediately, and she has to brace her elbow against the edge to keep from rolling into the middle.

They lie there in silence for a few beats, the hum of the window unit filling the space where her thoughts are trying not to go. She should be thinking about her notes. About the article. About how getting too close –too personal –might color the objectivity she’s spent the last five years building like armor.

But all she can think about is the weight of his hand over hers in the truck. The way his eyes stayed steady on the storm, but his fingers never flinched.

Tyler clears his throat beside her, voice softer than earlier. “You sure you’re alright?”

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “From earlier?”

“Yeah.”

She exhales, then shakes her head a bit. She shifts to her side, looking up at him as he sets his phone aside. “It felt like drowning. For a second. The sound, the pressure. It brought everything back.”

“The hurricane.”

She nods, eyes closing for a second. “I could smell the salt in the air again. The mildew. I could feel the tile under my knees.” Her throat tightens, but she pushes through, opening her eyes again to look at him. “And then your hand was just...there.”

Tyler doesn’t say anything right away. But when he does, it’s low. Honest. “Didn’t think about it. Just reached for you.”

“I’m glad you did,” she says before she can stop herself.

Silence again. But it’s changed shape now. Not awkward. Not afraid. She glances over –he’s lying on his back, one arm still behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, fingers tapping out some unconscious rhythm.

“I thought about letting go,” she admits quietly. “In the truck.”

He turns to look at her, eyes searching. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I can’t. Not…not if I’m going to keep doing my job well. Not if I want to continue being respected in the field.”

His smile is sad and soft, just visible in the lamp’s glow as he lays on his side to face her. “Being respected doesn’t mean you can’t let go, y’know. And I think you’re doin’ a damn good job, if it’s any consolation. Not many people can say they drove headfirst into a tornado willingly –especially not for an article that didn’t really need that done. You can, though.”

The honesty in his voice knocks something loose in her chest. A strange heat creeps up her spine, but not in the way she expected. It’s not lust. It’s…safety.

Slowly, carefully, she reaches across the gap between them –not very far, now that the mattress has conspired to tilt them together –and lets her fingers brush his hand.

Tyler doesn’t hesitate. He threads their fingers together like it’s instinct. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She shifts slightly to face him more fully, their hands resting in the middle of the bed now, the space between them warm in the way only honest proximity can be.

For a while, neither of them say anything.

The silence is thick, but not heavy. More like a pause in the world. The kind that only happens late at night, when the air feels slower and your thoughts feel louder –but somehow safer to say out loud. She traces a thumb over his knuckle, surprised by the calluses there. Not rough, exactly, but lived-in. Real.

There’s a stillness that follows –not hesitation; not quite. More like a breath the world is holding, waiting to see what she’ll do.

She lifts her eyes to meet his. They’re closer now. She hadn’t noticed the shift, but maybe the bed did most of the work for them. Maybe it was inevitable. His gaze drops to her mouth for a second –just a flicker –and then back to her eyes. But he doesn’t lean in, not yet.

So she doesn’t overthink it.

She leans forward slowly, her hand tightening around his. Her nose brushes his, soft and deliberate, and then she kisses him. Their lips meet softly –no rush, no need to prove anything. Just the quiet kind of kiss that asks, Are you here with me? And answers, Yes. I am.

It’s gentle. Careful. Like something neither of them wants to break. His free hand rises to her cheek, steadying her like he did in the truck –fingertips warm, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. There’s no urgency in the way he touches her. Just presence. Assurance. The kind of touch that says, I’ve got you, even if neither of them is ready to say the words out loud.

Her hand curls against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. It grounds her more than anything else has in days. He tastes faintly like spearmint and motel coffee, and something simpler, something warm –like how a summer day smells right after rain.

The kiss deepens slightly, still quiet, still tentative. Like a secret shared between a storm and the silence that follows it. There’s no desperation in it, only the slow unfolding of something that’s been building for days. Something fragile, but real.

He tilts his head just a bit, pulling her closer without closing the space completely –like he’s inviting her in, but only if she wants to be there. She does. And for a few seconds, the world falls away. There’s no motel room. No creaky bed. No article. No storm. Just this: the soft press of lips, the warmth of skin, the low exhale between them that sounds like relief.

When they finally pull back, foreheads resting together, she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her eyes flutter open, and his are already there –watching her like she’s something worth holding on to.

“I didn’t expect you,” she says quietly, and she’s not even sure what she means until it’s out.

Tyler tilts his head slightly, watching her in the dim lamplight. “Didn’t expect me to what?”

“To be like this,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I assumed you’d just be…all YouTube persona and fake. Cowboy hat and charm. But then…,”

She trails off, but he’s already smiling –not the wide grin he gives the camera, not the cocky smirk he throws at Boone. This smile is small. Private. For her, and not an audience.

“Then?”

She meets his gaze. “Then you proved me wrong, and you kissed me just now like you meant it.” She pauses a moment, then takes his hand. “I’m glad I was wrong. I like who you are –on and off camera, but especially off camera.”

He shifts some, then she’s being pulled against his chest. Tyler’s arm wraps around her shoulders, and presses his lips to her hair.

“I did mean it,” he says. Promises. Like he needs her to know that.

She swallows. Her voice catches a little, but she nods into his chest. “I know.”

And she does. God, she does. She felt it in the truck. In the way he didn’t look at her when he reached for her, like it wasn’t about watching her fall apart –just about being there in case she did.

Her arm settles around his waist, cheek pressed against where his heart is beating in his chest.

“My article just became biased,” she sighs, but it’s one of contentment.

“I think it’s been biased the entire time,” he counters with a chuckle, fingers trailing down her spine softly.

She studies him for a long moment –the soft edges of him in the glow of the bedside lamp, the relaxed way he lies beside her like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, the quiet strength in how he’s holding her. Not possessive. Not careful.

Just steady.

“Yeah,” she admits with a nod. “I think you’re right.”

The quiet stretches again, but this time it’s full of everything unsaid –everything neither of them needs to rush. She’s not sure how long they lie there like that, but it’s not unwelcome by any means. Tyler is warm, and soft in all the right places, even if he’s built for hard work and reckless chases.

And when sleep finally comes, it comes easy –like maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, she’s safe.

Sometime after three in the morning, she’s forced awake by alarms blaring outside the window and banging on the motel door. For a moment, she doesn’t realize what’s going on –all she knows is Tyler’s got her wrapped up against his chest and she doesn’t want to move from this spot. He’s warm, and solid, and the feel of him under her fingertips is nothing short of tempting.

But then Kate is yelling her name, and it finally registers what’s happening. Then she’s yanking herself out of his arms, shaking him awake in a panic. She throws on her jeans and boots once he’s awake.

As soon as he hears the alarms and the banging though, he’s alert and up, yanking on his shirt. Then they’re grabbing their backpacks and scrambling out the door, the wind already howling like a warning down the motel corridor. The sky is pitch black, but not in the way night should be –it’s bruised and pulsing, every flash of lightning revealing the twisted silhouette of a storm that’s already far too close.

Kate’s voice cuts through it like a blade. “There’s a basement under the front office –back corner! Move!”

Tyler doesn’t wait. He grabs her hand and takes off, tugging her alongside him as the wind rips at their clothes and sends gravel skittering across the lot like shrapnel. She can’t hear much beyond the rising shriek of the sirens and the slap of her boots on wet concrete, but she sees it when Kate and Javi split off –pounding on doors, shouting for the other motel guests to get up, get out, get moving. Dani’s already banging on windows.

They’re not leaving anyone behind.

And yet –Tyler hasn’t let go of her hand once.

“This way,” he says, sharp but steady, steering her toward the cracked wooden door tucked behind the front office. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. “We’ll get it open.”

“I’ve never been in a basement,” she says, which sounds like the dumbest thing she’s ever said out loud.

Tyler shoots her a look –equal parts disbelief and concern –before yanking the door open with a grunt and guiding her down the steps. “Well, welcome to your first. Congrats.”

The air that hits her is damp and old, full of mildew and dust. The stairs are narrow, steep, and pitch black. She stumbles once, barely catching herself –but Tyler’s hand is at her back, keeping her steady.

“Stay down here,” he says, voice low, commanding. “I’ll be right back.”

She grabs his arm. “You can’t go out there again –,”

He just looks at her, and something in that look is so calm, so him, it shuts her right up.

“I’m not leavin’ anyone up there. Not while we’ve got time.”

Then he’s gone –back up the stairs and into the night.

She stands frozen at the bottom of the steps, back pressed against the cool wall, heart hammering in her chest. She’s never been underground like this. Never trusted her safety to four concrete walls and blind faith. It feels claustrophobic and wrong and far too quiet without him in it.

Footsteps slam overhead. The door groans open again and the flood begins.

Javi stumbles in first, waving people down –an older couple from one of the back rooms, a woman carrying a crying toddler, a man holding a dog leash with no dog attached yet. Then Dani comes down with two teenagers. Dexter and Boone come down next, arms full of emergency kits, while Kate and Lily are ushering a handful of kids and parents down the stairs.

And then –Tyler.

He’s soaked to the bone, dirt smudged across his face, hair plastered to his forehead. And when he sees her still standing there in the dark, eyes wide, he’s focused on her and her alone. Straight to her. Steady hands on her shoulders.

“You okay?”

She nods, swallowing hard. “I just…I’ve never sheltered like this before. Usually it's a closet, or a bathroom without windows. It’s…weird being underground.”

He manages a small, breathless laugh. “Kinda the whole point, sunshine.”

There’s a groaning sound from above –pipes creaking then metal scraping against metal. She flinches at the noises, trying to ignore the kids crying and the parents trying to console them. Tries to tune out the wind that’s threatening to rip the basement door off its hinges just fifteen feet away.

Tyler turns his head, listening. Then –like he does with storms, with people, with her –he reads the moment for what it is and doesn’t try to fix it. Just squeezes her shoulder once. “C’mon. Sit with me.”

They hunker down in a far corner, backs against the cement. The wind above sounds like it’s trying to tear the motel off the foundation. The lights flicker once –then die entirely. She presses her hands to her ears as the roar builds. Not just wind now –but the storm. The tornado. It’s right on top of them.

Tyler’s hand finds hers.

Again.

“Breathe,” he says, soft but firm. “I’m right here with you.”

The pressure shifts. Her ears pop. The baby cries louder. Then something hits the building above with enough force to make the pipes overhead shudder. Dust rains down. Someone near the stairs curses. She presses her forehead to her knees. Tries to breathe through it.

The sound is unbearable. It’s like she’s back on Sanibel again; back sitting in her father’s house, listening to the roof peel off the foundation. Watching the windows shatter, and the house flooding. The only difference is that there is no flood, no glass –not underground, at least.

Tyler’s arm wraps around her shoulders, and he tucks her close to his side. She doesn’t care how it looks, or if this makes her pathetic –she clings to him, fingers tangled in his shirt as she closes her eyes. His voice is soft in her ear, promising her that she’s safe; he’s got her. There’s not enough in her to confirm that she hears him, but she thinks her fist tightening against his stomach tells him anyway.

Then slowly –inch by inch –the worst of the wind passes. The shaking stops. The roar fades to a howl. Then to a whistle. Then to nothing but the heavy, stunned silence of survivors in the dark.

Kate’s voice breaks it, relief dripping through her tone. “That’s it. It’s moved on.”

Slowly, everyone files out of the basement. The kids are still crying, but it’s quieter, more subdued. The adults are breathing sighs of relief as they get out into the night air again. Boone says something to Tyler, but her ears are ringing and she doesn’t catch it –but she sees the team following the others out.

Tyler squeezes her shoulder gently, and he loosens his hold but he doesn’t push her away. When she finally looks up, his eyes are already on her. Checking. Steady. Slowly, she lets go of his shirt and takes a deep breath. It’s shaky, and trembling, but she manages to inhale and exhale fully once –twice.

“You alright?” He asks, his voice soft as he pushes a stray hair out of her face.

“I…didn’t need to be so scared,” she admits, feeling ridiculous as she finally pulls away entirely. She stands, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye. “I’m sorry –I don��t know –,”

“Hey, hey, no,” Tyler interrupts, pushing himself off the ground and reaching out to her. One hand pulls her wrist away from her face and the other is taking her hand. “You’re allowed to be scared. There’s no shame in that, you understand me?”

“How do you do this every day?” She asks, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. She hates that she’s crying; hates that the fear and the anxiety have finally bubbled up enough inside her that crying is the only way to get it out. “I’ve watched your videos, Tyler. I’ve seen the crazy shit you do, but I guess I never…I never realized how genuinely insane you guys are for doing this kind of stuff.”

That earns a huffed out laugh, and he let’s go of her as she pulls back and wipes her eyes. “‘Insane’ is the nicest thing I think I’ve been called,” he admits. Then he reaches up –hesitating just a moment but it's like he decides he’s allowed to touch her again –and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “I was eight when I saw my first storm. Drivin’ with my aunt, sirens are goin’ off all around us. All of a sudden, this…vortex just lowers right down in front of us. Center of the road. I was just…mesmerized. Then I looked at my aunt and she just…she’s got this look on her face. And I realized at that moment, I was supposed to be scared.”

Her brow furrows as she looks up at him, blinking away her tears. “Were you?”

He nods, and he smiles down at her softly as he wipes another tear away. “Yeah. I was. But you know that quote ‘the only thing to fear is fear itself?’” She nods and so does he. “Fear is the reason we do it. If you don’t face your fears, then you let’em win. And you can’t let the fear win.”

She exhales a laugh –sharp, watery, not quite steady –and shakes her head like she’s trying to knock the vulnerability loose. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he says, voice lower now, less certain and more real. “It’s never simple. You think I don’t get scared still? Every time I go out, I wonder if this’ll be the one that wins.”

She looks up at him again, and something in her gaze has steadied –still glassy at the edges, still fragile, but clearer now. Like maybe the storm shook something loose in her too, but left behind something stronger.

“And if it is?” she asks quietly.

Tyler’s mouth twitches into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I hope someone like you is around to write it down. So it’s not just wreckage and memory.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. So she doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she steps forward –slow, deliberate –and he’s already there to meet her.

Tyler doesn’t wait this time.

He reaches for her with the kind of certainty that comes from knowing exactly what he wants. One hand finds her waist, the other lifts to the side of her neck, fingers brushing her jaw with a certainty that she wishes she had had last night; but it doesn’t matter now. His touch is sure, steady –not rushed, not hesitant –just right.

And then he kisses her.

Like it’s been decided.

Like the storm is over and this – like she –is what he’s holding onto in the quiet after.

She exhales against his mouth, not from surprise, but from relief. From recognition. Her hands find his chest, then slide up around his neck, anchoring herself there like she’s done it a hundred times. The kiss deepens –full of something that’s been building between them since the moment she stepped into his orbit.

When they part, it’s only because they have to breathe.

Tyler doesn’t step back. Doesn’t smile or crack a joke to break the moment. He just stays close, eyes on hers, thumb still brushing the edge of her cheek.

“You okay?” he asks, quiet but direct.

She nods. “Yeah. You?”

His gaze doesn’t waver, and now he’s giving her a smile that could light up a room. “Never been better.”

They stay like that for a long moment. Just breathing.

When she finally pulls back, there’s a small smile on her face. Tired, but genuine.

“I’m still terrified,” she admits.

“Good,” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Means you know it’s real. Means you’re smart. Means you’re still here.”

She doesn’t argue with him. Doesn’t deflect. Just nods.

He glances toward the stairs. “C’mon. Let’s get you some air.”

By the end of the week, her article is finished but she hasn’t finalized publication yet. The journal that wants the article is waiting, but she keeps rereading it over and over again, trying to decide how biased it sounds now. She wants to think it’s not all that biased; everything she’s written is true. Especially in the aftermath of the storm earlier that week, when she experiences what the Wrangler’s don’t show in their videos.

That’s what the article is really about, she decides. Not the research, no matter how important it might be. But the real impact.

“While the Tornado Wranglers are perhaps best known for their close-proximity intercepts and high-risk data collection methods, a less publicized yet equally significant aspect of their work emerges in the aftermath of the storm. Following each severe weather event, the team transitions from storm chasers to first responders, providing on-the-ground assistance to affected populations in rural and suburban areas where access to formal aid is often delayed.

“This transition is neither incidental nor performative. Rather, it reflects a broader ethos among field operatives who recognize the intersection between research, public service, and human impact. In the hours following a tornado, members of the Wranglers can frequently be observed conducting door-to-door welfare checks, distributing bottled water, food, and hygiene supplies, and offering communication support via satellite phones and portable charging stations. In several instances, the team has also aided in locating missing persons, clearing debris from public access roads, and assisting local emergency management personnel with situational awareness in otherwise inaccessible zones.”

“You coming down or what?” Javi asks suddenly, poking his head into the motel room with his brow raised. “Owens is waiting for you –think he wants to take you to the airport.”

“Tell him my flight got cancelled,” she says, shutting her laptop and standing up. Javi gives her a smirk and disappears back downstairs, no doubt telling Tyler the news.

Kate steps out of the bathroom, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “Wait, did it?”

But the journalist just gives her a friend a knowing grin, shrugging noncommittally. Kate immediately picks up on it and practically jumps on her in a hug, squealing in excitement. “You’re staying! I knew you’d want to!”

“I will not be driving into anymore storms,” she laughs, hugging her friend back. “But I think there’s more to the story than what you guys show the public.”

Kate scoffs, pulling back. “And you’re in love.”

“I am not in love –I’ve known him two weeks,” she counters, rolling her eyes.

“Two weeks and several tornadoes will definitely make you fall in love,” Kate argues as Tyler knocks on their open door.

He looks like he’s trying to hide excitement, but his eyes and smile give him away. “Hope I’m not interruptin’ anything.”

“Nope,” Kate says, grabbing her bag and slipping out the door with a playful wink. The journalist rolls her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Javi said your flight got cancelled,” Tyler says, and there’s a hopeful undertone as he steps towards her.

“Yeah,” she nods, biting back her smile as she looks up at him. “I guess it was smart to get the refundable ticket.”

For a moment, he looks down at her with furrowed brows and confusion. But then it clicks, and the smile that breaks out over his face makes her knees weak.

“How long you stickin’ around?” But he’s reaching for her, hands settling on her hips as he pulls her closer to him.

She gives another noncommittal shrug as she wraps her arms around his neck. “I guess however long you want me around.”

“Darlin’,” he replies, leaning down just enough for her to feel his breath against her lips. “You’re gonna be here for a long time if that’s the case.”

He doesn’t give her time to say anything else.

His mouth finds hers in a kiss that’s all heat and gravity, like everything that had been building between them –every look, every touch, every word unsaid –crashes into this one moment. Her fingers tighten in his hair, anchoring herself as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head just enough to taste the curve of her smile.

She presses herself against him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms, and for a second it’s like the world narrows to nothing but this: the scratch of his stubble against her skin, the way his hands slide up her back like he’s memorizing the shape of her, the low sound he makes when she kisses him harder.

It’s not hurried. It’s not hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss that says finally and don’t you dare go anywhere in the same breath.

And when they finally pull apart, barely, he rests his forehead against hers, grinning like he’s found something he’s been looking for his entire life.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” she whispers, breathless.

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “That’s exactly where I want you.”

#fic rec #tyler owens x reader #twisters #lotmf's talented moots

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