#twisters x reader

Scott pushed off the truck so fast Javi actually muttered, “What the hell—?” as he jogged past.

“Jesus Christ. You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scott said when he reached you, his voice tight with disbelief. His eyes dropped immediately to your stomach, then back up to your face, storm-blue with worry. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled nervously, tugging on one strap of your overalls. “Surprising you. Thought it’d be nice.”

“Nice?” His voice pitched higher, his hands flying up in disbelief before he ran them through his hair. “You’re pregnant. You came to Oklahoma—in the middle of storm season—to surprise me?”

“I missed you,” you said simply, shrugging like that explained everything. “Weeks on end with nothing but phone calls wasn’t cutting it. I wanted to see you.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing as if he wanted to reach for you and hold you still at the same time. “You’re—” He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. “You’re pregnant. With my child. And you thought the best idea was to walk straight into tornado country?”

Your smile softened, even as you stepped closer. “I thought the best idea was being with my husband. You’re out here every day risking your life, and I’m supposed to just sit at home counting the hours? No. I needed to see you. Needed you.”

That last part cracked through his armor. His shoulders slumped, and he dragged a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like unbelievable. When he looked at you again, the irritation had shifted into something more raw—fear stitched with affection.

“You know I’m glad to see you,” he admitted, quieter now. “More than glad. But I can’t have you anywhere near a storm. Not now. Not with the baby.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I just want to be nearby. To see you. To remind myself why we’re doing this, why we put up with all the distance.”

For a long moment, Scott just looked at you. The storm-light reflected in his eyes, blue and unsettled, but his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a gesture that betrayed the truth—he’d missed you just as fiercely.

Finally, he exhaled, conceding. “Fine. You stay in town, at the hotel, or with the locals if we’re stationed here. Nowhere near the field. You don’t argue, you don’t negotiate. If I find out you’ve even thought about stepping foot into a chase zone—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You’ll make me lose my damn mind.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Deal.”

Javi’s excited yells of your name broke you apart from Scott, who sighed before tilting his head towards the team, “Come on,” he pressed a hand to the small of your back, guiding you.

-

Kate was still getting her bearings with StormPar. She’d only been with the team a short while, and though she admired their skill, she couldn’t quite figure Scott Miller out. He was brilliant, sure, and his instincts were sharp—but he was also blunt to the point of arrogance, a man who treated downtime as wasted time and carried himself like the storms bent to his will.

So when she stepped out of the diner with a coffee in hand and saw you standing by the convoy, chatting animatedly with Javi, her brain almost short-circuited.

You were nothing like the picture she’d built in her head of “Scott Miller’s other half.” She didn’t even know that Scott had another half. You were warm, laughing easily, your overalls stretched comfortably around your belly. You nudged Javi with your elbow after some joke, earning one of his rare grins, and then teased him about being the only one responsible enough to keep the equipment dry during lunch.

Kate blinked, staring between you and Scott, who was lurking a few feet away by his SUV, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking constantly in your direction like he expected a tornado to materialize beside you at any second.

“You okay?” Kate asked him carefully.

Scott gave her a look like she’d asked if water was wet. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Kate tilted her head. “She seems fine to me.”

“She’s pregnant,” he said flatly, his eyes narrowing as you tipped your head back in laughter at something Javi muttered. “Pregnant. In the middle of Oklahoma. During storm season.”

Kate raised her brows. “And you’re letting her hang around the convoy?”

Scott’s scowl deepened. “I didn’t let her. She showed up.” He ran a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “Drove halfway across the damn state just to ‘surprise’ me.”

Kate hid a smile behind her coffee. “You don’t sound very surprised. More… rattled.”

Scott cut her a sharp glare, but she noticed the way his shoulders eased slightly when you turned and caught his eye. You waved at him, bright and unapologetic. He shook his head, but his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

When you finally crossed the lot to join him, Scott straightened immediately, arms uncrossing as if to make room for you. You slipped easily under his arm, your hand finding its way to his chest.

“Did you eat?” you asked, tilting your head up at him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, though Kate noticed how his voice softened in a way she hadn’t heard before. “You?”

“Half a burger.” You grinned. “Baby’s been hogging all the space.”

Scott huffed out a laugh—an actual laugh—and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before glancing down at your belly. “Figures.”

Kate stared. She couldn’t reconcile it. This was the same Scott who, hours earlier, had snapped at her to recalibrate the radar faster, who hadn’t cracked a single joke since she joined the team. And yet here he was, letting you tease him, letting you lean into him, letting his edges soften like it was second nature.

When you looked over and caught Kate staring, you smiled wide and waved her over. “You must be Kate! I’ve heard about you. Come on, tell me everything. How’s Scott as a boss? Brutal?”

Scott groaned under his breath. “Don’t encourage her.”

Kate couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Oh, I think she already knows the answer to that.”

You winked. “Oh, I know. I just like hearing it from someone else.”

-

Tyler Owens’ trucks came skidding into the lot like they were pulling up for a rock concert instead of storm chasing. His crew piled out—laughing, loud, hyped up on adrenaline and caffeine. Tyler himself hopped down from the driver’s seat, sunglasses on even though the sun was dipping low, grin as wide as the horizon.

You were sitting on the tailgate of Javi’s truck, sipping water and stretching your legs. Overalls on, hair a bit windswept, hand absently resting on your belly. You didn’t think much of the new arrivals—until Tyler’s eyes landed on you.

“Well, hello there,” he drawled, striding over with all the confidence of a man who had never once been told no. “Didn’t realize this town came with its own welcome wagon.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… what?”

He leaned one arm against the truck beside you, giving you his best smolder. “Local girl, right? Figured someone as gorgeous as you wouldn’t let us outsiders just blow through without saying hi.”

For a beat, you just stared. Then you glanced down at yourself—at your very obvious baby bump pressing against your overalls—and then back at him. Surely he had to notice.

“…I’m pregnant,” you said, deadpan.

That only made Tyler’s grin widen. “Hey, I don’t discriminate. Beautiful is beautiful.”

Before you could come up with a response—because your brain had short-circuited at the sheer audacity—you noticed the sudden drop in temperature around you. Not from the weather. From the shadow that fell across both of you.

Scott.

He was standing there, arms crossed, jaw set, looking every inch the brooding storm chaser who’d sooner wrestle a tornado barehanded than let Tyler Owens breathe the same air as you. He didn’t say anything at first—just stared at Tyler with an intensity that made even Tyler falter.

“Uh…” Tyler cleared his throat, shifting slightly under the weight of that glare. “So, uh, this your…?”

“My wife,” Scott said flatly.

The words landed like a thunderclap.

Your lips twitched, fighting a laugh at the way Tyler actually leaned back, like the revelation had physically shoved him. “Wife,” he repeated, the cocky edge in his voice wobbling.

Scott stepped closer, close enough that Tyler had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. He was taller, broader, radiating a quiet, simmering possessiveness that said more than any threat could. “She’s not a local. She’s not interested. And if you ever so much as look at her again like that, I’ll—”

“—buy me a coffee and call it even?” Tyler cut in quickly, his grin snapping back on, though it wavered under Scott’s glare. “Got it. Loud and clear, big guy. Congratulations on the kid.”

With that, he backed away fast, practically jogging to rejoin his crew.

Scott exhaled slowly through his nose, his arm sliding automatically around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. You could feel the tension humming through him, the possessiveness that had spiked the second he’d seen Tyler lean in.

“You okay?” he asked you quietly, his thumb brushing over your arm.

You tilted your head up at him, fighting a smile. “I think I should be asking you that. You looked about ready to flatten him.”

Scott didn’t deny it. His eyes still tracked Tyler across the lot, like he half-expected the man to circle back. “He’s lucky he stopped when he did.”

You snorted, nudging him. “Scott Miller, storm chaser, baby-on-board bodyguard.”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but he shook his head. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” you teased.

“Not funny,” he insisted again, though his arm tightened around you as he steered you back toward the SUV. “And for the record, you’re not talking to him again.”

You laughed outright at that. “Jealous much?”

Scott didn’t answer, but the glare he shot Tyler’s way spoke volumes.

-

The diner lot had transformed into chaos. Radios crackled, gear clanged, engines roared to life—StormPar in full launch mode. The radar lit up with a cell just a few miles west, and Scott was in his element, pacing between vehicles like a general on the battlefield, barking orders with that clipped, no-nonsense tone.

He was so focused, so commanding, that you knew now was your moment.

While Scott stalked toward his SUV, you casually strolled in the opposite direction, aiming for one of the trucks. You even whistled innocently as you went, like you were just stretching your legs. Nobody questioned it; they were too busy scrambling.

You swung the door open, grinning as you climbed—well, waddled—into the passenger seat. The bump made it a bit awkward, but you got there, strapping yourself in like you belonged.

“Perfect,” you murmured. “Front-row seat to science.”

“Alright, Mike, you’re with me! Javi, take the east road with—” Scott turned, scanning the line of vehicles, and his words died mid-sentence.

Because there you were. Sitting like a queen on her throne, buckled in, already reaching for the glovebox like you belonged there.

For a second, Scott just… stared. His jaw worked, no sound coming out. Then his face went red, ears and all, and he stormed across the lot like a thunderhead about to burst.

Unfortunately, you’d barely started rummaging the glovebox for snacks before the shadow fell across the window. A very large shadow.

You froze. Slowly, you turned your head.

Scott.

He stood outside the truck, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight you were surprised his molars didn’t shatter. The vein in his temple pulsed like it had its own heartbeat.

“…hi, honey,” you said sweetly, giving him your best innocent smile.

“What,” he bit out, yanking the door open so hard it nearly swung off its hinges, “do you think you’re doing?”

You batted your eyelashes at him. “Going storm chasing, obviously. Thought I’d keep you company.”

“Absolutely not.” His voice jumped an octave, his hand braced on the frame of the door. “Out. Now.”

“But Scotty…” you whined, patting your bump for emphasis. “Baby and I want adventure. We can’t just sit around eating diner pie all day.”

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like blood pressure, through the roof, gonna kill me early. He reached for your seatbelt, being very careful with your baby bump.

“Oh, come on,” you pleaded, clinging dramatically to the seatbelt. “I just want to observe!”

Scott unbuckled you with one swift, practiced motion. “You are not observing anything except the Weather Channel in a safe, stationary building.”

Then he leaned in, practically scooping you under the arms like you weighed nothing at all.

You squealed dramatically as he hauled you out of the seat. “Scott! You can’t just manhandle a pregnant woman!”

“Watch me,” he gritted, setting you down firmly on the gravel.

“Scott—!”

“No.” He crouched slightly so you couldn’t miss the fire in his eyes. “You think this is funny? That storm could eat this town in ten minutes. You are pregnant. You are not stepping foot in a chase vehicle.”

You crossed your arms, sticking your chin out. “So you’re saying I can’t come.”

“I’m saying you absolutely cannot come,” he snapped, exasperated. “Not now, not later, not ever. End of discussion.”

“Wow.” You gasped theatrically. “My husband, the tyrant. Crushing my dreams of scientific discovery.”

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose like he was begging some higher power for patience. Behind him, Javi and Kate were openly watching, biting back grins.

“Don’t encourage her!” Scott barked at them without looking.

“I wasn’t,” Javi deadpanned, though his shoulders shook.

Kate muttered, “I mean, points for effort,” earning herself a death glare.

You smirked up at Scott, deliberately baiting him. “You know, I read somewhere that stress is bad for pregnant women. Maybe if you just let me come along, my blood pressure would be lower.”

Scott groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He jabbed a finger at you. “Inside. Motel. Now. Or so help me, I’ll tie you to the bedpost.”

Your eyes widened. “Kinky threat. Noted.”

He choked, sputtering, and you laughed all the way back to the motel while the rest of StormPar looked like they might collapse trying not to laugh themselves.

Behind you, you heard Javi mutter to Scott, “You’re doomed.”

And Scott’s immediate snarl, “Shut it!”

-

The convoy thundered down a back road, dust pluming behind the tires, storm clouds rolling like bruises overhead. Radios chattered, Javi rattled off radar readings from the passenger seat, but Scott’s grip on the wheel was… murderous. Knuckles white, jaw set, every tendon in his forearm straining.

Javi glanced sideways, waiting. Scott didn’t say anything for a solid thirty seconds, and then it all came out like a dam breaking.

“She’s doing it on purpose,” he growled, eyes fixed on the road. “She knows she can’t come with us. She knows how dangerous this is. And what does she do? Sneaks into the damn truck. Straps herself in like she’s about to go joyriding into a tornado. Do you know what that did to my blood pressure?!”

Javi, ever calm, just marked something on the tablet. “Oh, absolutely. She’s doing it on purpose.”

Scott snapped his head toward him. “Thank you! Finally, someone sees it. She’s baiting me, I swear.” He swung the truck around a bend, tires spitting gravel. “She sits there with that little smile, acting like she’s innocent, but I know. I know she’s laughing in her head.”

“She was laughing out loud, actually,” Javi corrected smoothly.

Scott’s nostrils flared. “Exactly. She thinks it’s funny. She—she actually accused me of being a tyrant! In front of the whole team!”

“Mm-hmm.” Javi didn’t look up from the radar.

“And then—” Scott’s voice pitched higher, halfway between outrage and disbelief. “Then she said I was being kinky! Kinky, Javi!”

That was too much. Javi slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

Scott glared. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Javi failed spectacularly, snorting into his hand. “You—pfft—you’re killing me, man.”

Scott groaned and thumped the steering wheel. “This isn’t funny. I can’t—I cannot chase storms and babysit my pregnant wife at the same time. She’s gonna give me a heart attack before the baby even gets here.”

“Mm,” Javi said, finally pulling himself together, still smiling. “Or maybe she just missed you so much she’d rather risk tornadoes than be away from you.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue. Closed it. Swore under his breath. His ears went red.

Javi smirked knowingly, jotting down another reading. “Thought so.”

Scott muttered, “She’s still never getting near a chase vehicle again.”

“Of course not,” Javi said, voice light. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

-

The storm had burned itself out by the time StormPar rolled back into town, their convoy pulling into the motel lot like a caravan of the world’s most exhausted warriors. Engines cut off one by one, doors slammed, boots scuffed over gravel. Everyone looked wrecked—windblown, damp, hair sticking in odd directions from hours of chasing down dirt roads.

Scott was the last to climb out of his truck. He rolled his shoulders, exhaustion pressing into him like a weight, but his mind was already on one thing: you.

He walked the narrow hall to your room, keyed open the door, and—

His chest tightened.

There you were, sprawled in the middle of the motel bed like you owned the place, hair mussed from napping, a paperback open but forgotten at your side. Your overalls were unbuttoned at the top for comfort, your baby bump rounding the thin motel blanket. The lamp cast you in warm light, softening the edges of a day that had been nothing but chaos.

You looked up when the door clicked, your face brightening instantly. “Scott!”

You shoved the book aside, bracing your hands to push yourself up—but the bump got in the way. You rolled once, twice, tried to leverage a pillow. Nothing. You made a sound halfway between a grunt and a growl. “Oh, come on—”

Scott leaned against the doorframe, biting back a laugh as he watched you struggle like a turtle flipped on its back. His lips twitched, and then the chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.

You froze, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not,” he lied, voice rough with fatigue but warm with amusement. “I swear I’m not.” Another laugh broke free. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Scott Miller,” you huffed, flopping dramatically back onto the mattress, “you’re supposed to help your poor, immobile wife. Not stand there laughing at her suffering.”

He pushed off the frame and crossed to you, that faint smile lingering as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re not suffering,” he said gently, slipping a hand under your back to help ease you upright. “You’re just… adorable.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Adorable?”

Scott bent down, pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your bump. “Yeah. Adorable.” His voice softened even more. “And mine.”

You melted into him, arms circling his neck. “Fine. You’re forgiven. But only because you look like you’ve been wrestling with tornadoes all day.”

“Funny,” he murmured against your hair. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”

When you finally managed to sit upright, he stayed close, one hand absently rubbing over your bump, the other tugging you against his side. For the first time all day, his shoulders loosened.

“Stay put,” he ordered softly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’ll get cleaned up and then come back. Don’t you dare try sneaking into a truck again.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Would I do that?”

low-pressure stretching thin in the air like pulled taffy, wind curling sharp over the fields. and boone’s shouting over comms from the van behind you, yelling for “more goddamn speed” while you hang half out the passenger side window with your arm raised like a rodeo queen.

“hell yeah,” you yell back at the sky. “she’s droppin’!”

you’re laughing too loud, chewing gum like it’s oxygen, and the sky’s turning bruise-dark with streaks of yellow-green—the kind of color that makes sane people get under something heavy. but you chase it like it owes you money.

“go, go, go!” someone barks from the radio. you twist the dial and reply with a cackle, spitting your gum into the wind just to pop a fresh piece in. you’ve got three more in your pocket. you always keep extras—habit you picked up just to piss off the man you’re about to pass on the left.

and speak of the devil.

storm par’s rig comes into view just ahead—sleek, branded, smug-looking in the way only government-funded science toys can be. you’d recognize the boxy shape of it anywhere, even under a sky like this.

you lean your whole body out the window to wave and flash the crew a grin as you drive past.

javi doesn’t react. he’s too busy talking on comms, probably trying to warn his people to stick to the grid.

but scott?

scott fucking miller clocks you instantly.

driver’s seat, sunglasses pushed up, window cracked. chewing gum like it’s your name in his mouth. he glares—not even a regular glare, but that dry, infuriated you again look he always saves just for you.

you blow him a kiss, then a bubble, then snap it loud enough to cut through wind and engine.

he rolls his eyes.

“right back atcha, sweetheart,” you mutter with a grin, settling back into your seat as the van jolts forward. “try not to choke on your data while we bag this one.”

“you’re gonna make him stroke out one of these days,” tyler laughs from the driver’s seat. “swear to god, he turns purple when he sees you.”

“then i’m doin’ god’s work.”

the radio crackles. tornado’s touchdown confirmed six miles out. you all slam into motion like kicked-up gravel—every van, every radar reader, every hungover intern suddenly wide awake. the sirens finally start up in the distance, and that means you’re close. real close.

storm par might have the fancy gear, but your crew’s got instinct—and a lead foot.

and you’ve got a hard-on for adrenaline and a man who looks at you like he wants to shove you up against a motel sink and shut you up with something worse than a gum wrapper.

you tap your fingers against the open window, glance at the mirror, and catch scott’s rig gaining on you.

“god, he’s so annoying,” you say, chewing fast now, snapping loud. “i hope he eats shit in a ditch.”

but the way your thighs press together when he gets closer says otherwise.

the storm’s long gone by the time you're back, but your body still feels like thunder.

scott’s got you folded damn near in half on the creaky mattress, springs screaming every time his hips snap forward. his cock drags slow on the way out, thick and slick, then slams back in hard enough to punch the breath out of you. 

the motel room smells like sweat and rain and sex.

his hand is braced beside your head, forearm flexed, veins standing out while the other grips your thigh, fingers digging into soft flesh like he’s marking where you belong. 

you choke on a gasp when he pushes in deep again, cock grinding against the mess he’s already made between your legs.

“ah—fuck—scott—”

your voice breaks when his cock hits deep, tip kissing that spot that makes your toes curl and your thighs clamp around his waist. 

he groans at the way your pussy squeezes him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as his breath stutters hot against your neck.

“yeah?” he pants, voice wrecked, low and strained. sweat drips from his hair, streaking down his temple, landing on your chest. “you’re the one who opened the door, sweetheart. don’t act surprised.”

you had. barely ten minutes after the chase ended. the whole crew had scattered across the shitty roadside motel lot, bragging over cheap beers and replaying footage. you’d barely made it through a cold shower when there was a knock at the door, loud and sharp and familiar.

you’d opened it wearing nothing but a towel, gum wrapper stuck to the carpet. scott hadn’t said anything, just stared—that same glare he always gave you before he did something stupid.

next thing you knew, your back hit the mattress and his mouth was between your legs, tongue mean and fingers worse, muttering shit like “you gonna keep running your mouth now?” as you came on his face.

now he’s fucking you like he’s still mad about it.

“you’re—such a dick—” you gasp, fingers curling into the pillow behind your head as his hips start snapping harder, faster. the bed bangs the wall with every brutal thrust.

he laughs breathlessly. “is that why you keep letting me in?”

your answer comes out as a broken sound, half whimper, half moan, because his grip tightens and he angles his cock just right, grinding deep, pelvis rubbing against your swollen clit every time he bottoms out.

“this why you run your mouth on every chase?” he growls, teeth grit. “just trying to get me worked up? huh?”

“no—” you lie, hips lifting to meet his.

his thrusts get meaner and the mattress bangs the wall.

“liar.”

you claw down his back, nails dragging red lines through sweat and freckles. he hisses, jaw tightening, cock twitching inside you—but he doesn’t stop. if anything, he fucks you harder, rutting into you like he’s chasing something feral.

this isn’t the first time.

hell, it’s not even the third.

every time you pass his rig on the road, every time he chews gum like he wishes it was you, every time you get a little too close at the diner or the bar or in line for gas—it ends like this. motel rooms, mouths slick with spit, his fingers buried inside you under your shorts, your teeth on his neck, one of you saying fuck it first.

you don’t even remember how this started. only that once it did, neither of you could stop.

when he presses down harder on your thigh, angling your hips up to take him deeper, your eyes roll back.

“fuck,” he growls, voice ragged. “this pussy’s been drivin’ me fucking crazy all week.”

you whimper his name, thighs trembling.

“you get off on pissing me off, don’t you?” he mutters, bending low to bite at your jaw. “always so loud… you want everyone to know who’s fucking you?”

“shut up—”

“can’t. not when you’re taking me like this.”

you dig your nails into his shoulder and drag him down harder. his pace stutters and he groans.

“god, you’re such a problem.”

you grab his face, force him down, mouths crashing together—wet, sloppy, all teeth and breath and moans swallowed between kisses.

“then fix me,” you breathe against his lips, daring him.

his grip tightens.

he slams back in, balls heavy against your ass, cock pulsing deep inside you, and then his hand drops.

two fingers slide between your bodies, slick instantly, circling your clit slow at first, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and hates himself for it.

your breath stutters, hips jolting up without permission, a sharp sound tearing out of your throat.

“jesus fucking—” he hisses, voice cracking. “you—god—”

his thumb presses harder, tighter circles, rough and unrelenting, and you’re gone in seconds—back arching, cunt clamping down hard around him as your orgasm hits you full-force.

you cry out, loud and broken like you don’t care who hears.

your pussy spasms around his cock, slick and tight and greedy, and that’s what does it.

he ruts in deep, grinding instead of thrusting, losing all control as he groans like it physically hurts to hold back.

“don’t—fuck—don’t do that—”

you do it again anyway. roll your hips up, clench hard, ride the aftershocks while he keeps circling your clit through it.

his whole body stutters.

“fuck—fuck, i’m—”

he tries to pull back, tries to slow down, but it’s too late.

his cock kicks inside you, thick and twitching, and he lets out a strangled groan as he spills deep—a full-body jolt that punches the breath out of him. one hand flies to your hip, gripping hard, keeping you pressed against him while he loses it.

“ohh—fuck, baby—”

you’ve never heard him call you that.

his mouth hangs open, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight—and he keeps thrusting through it, desperate, sloppy, panting into your neck like it’s all your fault.

“shit—i was trying—”

his hips jerk, cock still twitching as he pumps the last few strokes into you, balls pulled up tight, breath gone. the way he groans through it, long and low, sends heat all the way up your spine.

his fingers dig in like he can push it deeper.

“you’re always running that mouth, and then—jesus,” he pants, still buried inside you, still twitching. “gonna kill me.”

he finally stills, chest heaving, forehead pressed to your collarbone, breath ragged.

you don’t say anything.

you just smile slow, smug, your cunt still fluttering around him.

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that's an embarassing, scary thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ending this would be a lot harder than you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He slams the door of his truck, approaching his crew in the gas station parking lot with a look on his face that’s so completely un-Tyler that it makes them all shift uneasily.

“Where’s…who?” Boone tries weakly, unsuccessful in his attempt to play dumb. Lily rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare.

Tyler clenches his jaw, for once not in the mood for his friends’ antics. “You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

They all exchange glances, his uncharacteristic demeanor both surprising and concerning. This isn’t the calm, charismatic frontman of the Tornado Wranglers they’re used to.

“She’s in the RV, but I don’t think-” Dani begins, but he’s already beelining for the camper before they can finish. He can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he nearly bursts through the door, finding her sitting at the small table in the back with her head in her hands.

Her gaze snaps up at the sound of his entrance into the RV, and her face immediately drops when she sees him practically fuming. “Tyler-” she says urgently, instantly on her feet as he approaches as if she’s about to defend herself. But he isn’t having any of it.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking out there?” He seethes, suddenly towering over her with his jaw clenched and hands on his hips. She swallows thickly, nervous around this version of him. Terrified to have upset him, disappointed him.

“Tyler, I promise, I was just trying to do the right thing-” she starts again, her tone practically pleading, but he just scoffs. 

“The right thing?” He questions in disbelief, cutting her off with a shake of his head. “You call nearly getting yourself killed in the field ‘doing the right thing’?”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the reminder of what she’d done, at the venom in his voice that’s ordinarily so gentle when directed at her. Memories of what had transpired nearly 20 minutes ago flood her mind and she feels a lump forming in her throat.

“I couldn’t let our data get lost,” she whispers weakly, her gaze glued to the floor in shame. “Bullshit,” he mutters, jaw clenched as his breath picks up. His eyes search her face, grasping to understand why the hell she had risked her life the way she had.

“You don’t run into the path of an incoming EF3 to recover some stupid equipment for our disruption research,” he practically spits, his voice growing louder, more emotional.

“That equipment is completely replaceable. You sure as hell aren’t. So I want to know why on god’s green earth you thought it was a good idea to run headfirst into danger like that.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes welling up with unshed tears at the reminder of her brashness. She feels ashamed and almost embarrassed as Tyler practically berates her.

They were best friends, a pair that the rest of the team liked to call the “dynamic duo.” With a shared passion for tornadoes and a taste for danger, they had instantly clicked from the moment they met during a chase a few years ago, becoming inseparable. Which is why Tyler’s harsh reminder of her stupidity stung so painfully.

She wasn’t used to hearing him so upset, so emotional in the worst way. With her, his tone was always soft, teasing, sometimes so overtly flirty that it would leave her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed.

But this was different. Now his gaze was harsh, curses unnaturally tumbling from his lips as she struggled to explain herself. And she hated every moment of his scrutinizing stare.

“You’ve worked so hard on putting together the equipment for the disruption research. I didn’t want you to have to start from scratch…not after all the effort you went through,” she explains pathetically, her voice cracking slightly as her emotions begin to shine through.

Tyler shakes his head, stepping even closer into her space. “And you thought it was worth risking your life for?” He grits out, his furrowed brow and downturned lips looking so unnatural on his normally smiling face.

Another shuddering breath escapes her as she catches herself from revealing the true reason she’d been so careless, from baring her soul and telling him that she’d run into the path of an incoming tornado because she loved him more than anything. That the thought of his disappointed face, his devastation over months of work lost to an unpredictably large tornado, hurt her so much that she would have done anything to save that equipment.

Anything to make him happy, to be the hero that he was to her.

“I- I didn’t get hurt, I knew I had time to get at least some of it-” she stammers, but she can’t get the words out.

“You didn’t have time!” He practically yells, gripping her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. His eyes are wide, his gaze burning as he stares down at her.

“If Boone hadn’t been close by with his truck, you could’ve easily not made it. You could’ve died,” he chokes out, his grip on her tightening. His eyes are watering now, his anger fizzling out into something more desperate, more panicked.

Tyler still remembers the pure, unadulterated fear he’d felt as she slipped out of the safety of his truck before he could stop her, sprinting out into the open field where the winds and torrential rain were getting worse by the second.

He remembers the devastated scream of her name that had ripped itself from his chest, lost to the howling winds.

He sure as hell can’t forget the feeling of overwhelming fear and helplessness that overtook him when the rain became so intense that he could not longer see her, no longer assure himself that she hadn’t been sucked up into the raging funnel or hurt by the flying debris.

It was only when he got radio confirmation from Boone five minutes later, stating that she was safe in their truck with some of the equipment intact, that he even knew she was alive.

It had been the most hopeless, terrifying five minutes of his life.

“Don’t you understand what you mean to everyone? What you mean to me?” He rasps, his voice quieter now, more broken. “Some stupid equipment for an experiment isn’t worth your life, Y/N. Not in the least.”

His eyes are tender now as they rake over her face, scanning the scrapes and cuts littering her cheeks, the patch of dried blood clinging to her temple. His heart aches at the thought of her getting hurt, even if the injuries are small.

She notices that nearly all of his anger has left his body, replaced by the emotion that had truly been brewing beneath the surface: crippling fear at the possibility of losing her.

A silent tear runs down her face at his softer, more vulnerable words, her heart breaking as she realizes the effect her thoughtless actions have had on the man she loves. He’s quick to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on her cheek as he gazes at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she chokes back a sob. In an instant, he’s enveloping her in his tight, comforting hold, cradling her head to his chest and pulling her so close to him that their bodies are practically molded together.

“Shhh…it’s alright, sweetheart,” he gently hushes, his hand stroking through her hair as she cries softly against him. He’s back to himself now, all anger and frustration long abandoned in favor of his naturally calm, caring demeanor. Through her tears, she feels herself flushing slightly at his term of endearment.

“I’m the sorry one. I shouldn’t have yelled at ya, you didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs into her ear, his arms tightening around her.

He internally berates himself for defaulting to anger when she had also probably been scared and upset. But thinking she had died in that tornado just for attempting to recover his equipment had struck something so deep within him that his brain had reacted irrationally.

He stews in his remorse for a moment longer before admitting a truth that might be a little too vulnerable, a little too revealing of his deep and unwavering love for her, but he has to get it off his chest.

“…You just scared me half to death, darlin’. I can’t lose you...I can’t. It would tear me apart worse than a damn tornado ever could.” His whispered words are so raw and tinged with devastation that her breath hitches against his chest.

Slowly, she peels herself away from his comforting embrace to get a good look at him, and what she finds makes her heart clench in her chest. 

His eyes are red and glassy, obvious signs that he’d been crying. His muscles are taught with anxiety, like every fiber in his body had been tense ever since she fled his truck. His hair is slightly tousled and she instantly knows he’d been running his hand through it the way he does when he’s stressed.

The thought that she could cause him this much worry, this much pain, sucks the breath from her lungs and makes her feel dizzy.

“I only tried to save the equipment because I knew how important the research was to you,” she whispers, her voice still shaky but full of sincerity.

“I know how much it means to you, finding a way to keep these tornadoes from causing so much damage to innocent lives. I just- I wanted to do something brave and selfless for you, the way you always have for me,” she admits softly, swallowing as she meets his gaze.

His lips part slightly at her admission, the reverence in her words staggering. Hearing that she cares for him, finds him brave and selfless, wants to return the way he makes her feel, fills his heart with a love so deep he feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Y/N, you’re-” he rasps, pausing to clear his throat when he hears how raw and weak his voice sounds.

“You’re so damn sweet. Your heart is so big. That’s what I love about you. But please, don’t be as stupid as me. I throw myself headfirst into danger so much because I don’t think first…my judgement gets clouded by the thought of helping someone and I get tunnel vision. Which has put me in one too many potentially life-ending scenarios,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing her slightly as they rest on her shoulders.

“I can’t- I won’t let you be that careless. You mean too much to me.”

Her eyes widen at the tenderness in his voice, the affection and worry dripping from every word. It feels like their conversation is breaching on something deeper, something much more vulnerable and terrifying.

Her mind is hung up on his soft that’s what I love about you. Even hearing the word love directed at her from the mouth of Tyler Owens makes her head spin and her face heat up, and she’s unsure if she’s even breathing anymore.

“Tyler…” she manages, her voice threatening to break with the overwhelming swirl of emotions running through her. She can’t help herself, knows that she’s finally going to put it out there, tell him how she feels no matter how scary it might be.

“I love-” his lips are on hers before she can even finish. The sensation of Tyler kissing her is unlike anything she’s ever felt, and she’s damn sure she never wants him to stop.

His large hand tenderly cups her cheek while the other snakes into her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands as he pulls her even closer. She gasps softly as his grip tightens, his lips moving against her own with an almost feral desperation.

The salt from her tears mixes with his sweet taste – something like honey and peppermint – and she melts further into him and his warmth. She can feel him pour every ounce of his turbulent, pent-up emotions into the kiss, and it leaves her completely breathless.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, and after thinking he’d lost her today, he’d be content to just kiss her like this for the rest of time. Reassuring himself that’s she’s still there, that she’s his. Showing her what she means to him.

Finally getting a grip on his emotions, Tyler pulls away for a moment, wanting to make sure he hasn’t misread the signs, misinterpreted what he’d felt brewing between them for so long.

But a wide, disbelieving grin spreads across her face as she fights to catch her breath, and he suddenly has no doubt that she’s been his all along.

“I’ve been waiting for that for- well, I don’t even know how long,” she laughs breathlessly, slightly woozy from his intoxicating taste.

He huffs a laugh in return, his eyes shining with an overwhelming adoration for the woman before him. “Yeah…I think Boone might owe Dexter and Lily some money,” he jokes softly, his thumb gently brushing her rain-soaked hair away from her face.

His eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her muddy clothes, her scraped up hands, the shallow cut on her temple. Regret courses through him at the way he’d raised his voice at her, even if it had been out of fear of losing her.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” He murmurs, his voice lower and more serious than before. She gently nods, her hand moving to rest on top of his own as it cups her face.

“I’m ok, promise. It’s just a little scrape from slipping in the mud,” she reassures him, sensing his lingering gaze on her slightly bloodied face. She can practically feel the apprehension in his stare, his constant worry for her well-being so endearing that she just wants to kiss him again and again.

“I promise, Ty. And I swear, I won’t do anything like that again. I just got lost in the moment and didn’t think before acting.” He nods slowly, letting the sincerity in her voice wash over her and comfort his racing mind. 

“You’d better not,” he teases softly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “If we’re doing this thing, no more running headfirst into tornadoes, you hear? Can’t have my girl acting like an irrational daredevil like me. I’ve been told she’s smarter than that.”

She feels herself blushing as he calls her his girl, the title rolling off his tongue so naturally that it makes her heart skip a beat. Tyler watches as a hearty laugh escapes her and she leans into his touch, his own smile growing wider.

Suddenly nothing else has ever mattered beyond this moment of her in his arms, blushing and laughing like he’s the funniest damn man in the world.

“Ok, alright,” she giggles with feigned exasperation. “No more running into tornado paths, I swear. Wrangler’s honor. But you have to swear it too. You’re an adrenaline junkie and a trouble maker, even more than I am.”

He chuckles at her playful jab, his body feeling lighter than it has all day as he finally lets the tension within him fade. She’s safe, he tells himself over and over. She’s alive, she’s teasing him like she always does, and she’s got him smiling like a damn fool.

“Baby,” he mutters with that teasing glint in his eye, “you need to get my head checked if I ever run away from you and into a tornado. No man in his right mind would leave a gorgeous thing like you for some wind.”

Before she can reply to his ridiculous comment, he captures her lips once more with his own, relishing in the way she smiles against him as he pulls her closer.

This is all Tyler’s ever wanted - all he’s ever needed. Just her, safe and sound, loving him in all his flaws and worry for her.

As Boone’s younger sister you’ve obviously met Tyler countless times before, although you’ve always been a little too shy when it comes to him almost as if you’re trying to keep your distance from him. But you practically *begged* your brother to take you along this tornado season even if it meant being cramped in a car with Tyler for countless hours on end. 

You’ve been trying to make it as a photographer and capturing a storm is a beautiful opportunity. You keep your attention trained on everything but him, desperate to keep your infatuation with him a secret. 

Tyler has become restless when it comes to you, ever since he’s met you he has been overly flirtatious and yet you seem immune to his advances. While on the road he figured he would finally have his opportunity to make a move on you, but you’re still not budging. 

As you sit in the backseat of his truck his eyes are constantly shifting from you and the road, Boone shoots him a knowing grin. His shoulder brushes Tyler as he warns him to keep his eyes on the road. 

Tyler glances at you one more time, taking in your beauty before returning his eyes to the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter and giving a quick side eye to Boone.

He was a fairly impatient guy and the fact that a beautiful girl was sitting in the seat behind him and he hadn’t gotten her to look at him twice is beginning to frustrate him. You flip through the pictures you took earlier, gaze trained on the camera, oblivious to his gaze. 

“Hey,” Boone waves his hand in front of your face, catching your attention. 

“Yeah? What's up?” you look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. Tyler’s body tenses when he hears you speak. A simple and basic sentence but it sounds absolutely angelic coming from you. His eyes glanced up into the rear view mirror, watching your soft smile.

He didn’t know why he cared so much about getting your attention but he did. He just wanted to hear you speak again, the sound of your voice already making his heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna trade seats with me?” he smirks in Tylers direction. “You can get a better view of the sky up front.” you nod in response, a soft tinge of pink painting your cheeks at the thought of sitting next to Tyler. 

Tyler’s ears perked up at Boone’s words. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought of having you sitting right next to him. He could already imagine the look on your face as you gushed over the beauty of a fresh storm in the distance.

“Good idea.” He replied, his eyes once again locking with Boone’s in the mirror. He could tell his friend was up to something but at the moment Tyler couldn’t care less. He pulls over at the gas station so he can get more fuel and so you can switch seats. 

You settle down in the passenger seat as Tyler fills up his tank, camera equipment set on the floor next to your feet. “Boone?” you glance back at your brother. “Are you up to something?” 

Boone turns to look at you from the backseat, a smirk plastered on his face. “Me? Up to something?” He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, knowing full well what he was doing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He teased. He leaned back in his seat again, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself for the drunk confession where you told him how you felt about his best friend. Your crush on Tyler has kept you more reserved and silent this whole trip because everytime he talks to you it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Tyler hops back in the driver's seat, starting the ignition. Tyler notices the conflicted look on your face as he buckles his seatbelt. He raises an eyebrow at you, curious about what you were thinking about so intently.

As he starts the engine again, he steals a quick glance at you, his eyes roving over your form. He couldn’t help it, you were just so damn pretty.

“Everything alright?” He asks in a soft tone, trying not to be overly flirty just yet.

“Mhm.” you glance out the window, reaching for your camera to flip through your pictures once again. Tyler’s eyes remain on you as he begins to drive. There’s a brief silence in the car, broken only by the sound of Boone’s music playing softly through the speakers.

Finally, Tyler breaks the silence with a question. “Can I see the pictures you’ve taken so far? I’m curious.”

“You're driving.” you brush him off almost effortlessly, eyes still glued to the device. Tyler bites his tongue, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t tell if you were completely ignoring him on purpose or if you were too obsessed with your camera.

“You can just pass it to me, ya’ know doll.” He says, trying to hide the slight annoyance in his tone. You shake your head, setting the camera in your lap, words caught in your throat at the pet name. 

“I.. I can show you later.” you murmur, eyes wandering out the window. His lips curled into a smirk as he saw your reaction to the nickname. He knew he was getting close to his desired goal of unraveling you.

He let out a sigh as you once again dismissed him. “Later, huh?” He glanced over his shoulder to look at Boone, who looked amused by the interaction.

As the day comes to an end, Tyler stops in front of the motel. You both watch as Boone quickly exits the truck, leaving the two of you alone in the cab. Tyler watches as Boone leaves the car, a smirk on his face when he realizes his friend purposely left the two of you alone.

He turns back, eyes locking onto you again. The atmosphere in the car suddenly felt heavy, the silence almost deafening.

“You never showed me those pictures, doll.” His voice was low and a hint of mockery laced his tone.

“Oh, right.” your hands tremble slightly as you lean to him, showing him the camera. “I got a few good shots..” He leaned in closer as you held the camera up for him to see. A flicker of excitement shone in his eyes as he looked through the pictures sending a rush of desire down your spine.

“These are pretty good.” He said, and he was being honest. Not that he knew much about photography, but the photos looked great to him. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, watching you take your full bottom lip between your teeth in a manner that’s more tempting than you realize.

He tears his gaze away from your lips and back to the camera, making it very apparent that he was trying to stay focused on the pictures.

As he continues to try to flirt with you, you feel your heart sinking into your stomach. It feels like he’s unknowingly teasing you, leaning into your fantasy of him wanting you the way you want him. 

“You’re..” you trail off, eyes falling to your lap. “Tyler stop messing with me please, you’re starting to hurt my feelings” you *knew* he was just being friendly but he was giving you false hope. His frown deepens as you say that and his eyes widen in surprise. 

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You really thought that he was just messing around with you, that he didn’t have actual feelings for you.

“Dammit woman, can’t you see how much I want you?” his hand cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. 

He moves your face gently, using his thumb to tilt you up towards him. He can’t help but notice how soft your skin is under his touch and he almost sighs at just how right you feel in his hands.

His voice comes out as a gentle whisper, his eyes searching your face. “What do I have to do to make you understand?” You notice the desperation in his eyes, finally realizing that he's *always* been trying to flirt with you.

“Oh,” you practically gasp out the word, reaching out to pull him to you by the collar of his shirt, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

He nearly groans at the sensation of your lips against his. The feeling he had been so desperate for was finally becoming a reality. He responds to your gentle kiss immediately, his hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you so you’re almost in his lap. 

His lips move hungrily against yours, needing you to understand just how truly desperate he was for you. He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste more of you. He feels like a starving man trying to get as much as he can. You move to straddle his hips, hands going to his shoulders as you settle on him. 

He groans at your change in position, his hands immediately moving to your hips to keep you in place. He had to bite back another moan as you settled down onto his lap, the feeling of you being so close to him was almost too much to handle, his hips shifting up against yours.

“Doll..” He pants out against your lips. “Finally starting to understand now?” you nod, leaning in for another kiss intoxicated by his taste. He eagerly returns it, his tongue running against your bottom lip, searching for entrance. 

He wanted more, needed more.

He pulled you tighter against him, his hands gripping your hips almost possessively. He could feel himself growing hard with you sitting on his lap, he had to force himself not to moan at the feeling.

He nipped your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he spoke. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this.” you moan, hands sliding down his chest as you look at him dazed. 

He lets out a low, guttural growl at the sound of your moan, the noise was like music to his ears. Hearing you make those sounds for him was the best thing he had ever experienced.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

He leaned forward, attaching his lips to the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting gently. He wanted to leave his mark, wanted anyone to know that you were his. You moan again at the feeling of him leaving soft hickeys on your neck, head leaning back to give him better access. 

“Tyler,” you whine his name, hips moving against his in desperation to feel more of him. He growls again, the sound low and guttural as he feels your hips grinding down against him. It was all too much.

His hands move from your hips to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. He can’t help it as his hips roll up, desperate to feel you against him.

His teeth graze over your neck, leaving a trail of dark marks as he sucks gently. “Doll.. you’re torturing me.” His voice is a low, desperate moan against your neck. Your hands move to his belt, pulling it away, working to free him from his jeans. 

“Ty, I want you..” your eyes are darkened with desire as you kiss his lips hungrily. 

He nearly moans at the feeling of your fingers on his belt. Hearing you call him ‘Ty’ in that desperate tone was driving him crazy.

He can’t help himself as his fingers dig into the soft skin of your thighs, his grip almost bruising. He knew he was going to leave marks but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Say it again..” His voice is a low rumble against your lips, hips moving to press up against you. He was coming undone under your desperate touch. 

“Ty, please..” You slip out of your panties, your skirt bunched up at your hips as you pull his jeans down. He moans again at the sound of you begging in that desperate, needy tone that he loves. 

He could barely focus through the fog of lust and desire as he watched you move. “God-“ His hips bucked up involuntarily against you as he groaned out your name, “-you need to stop doing this to me.”

You slide his erection out of his boxers, thumb sliding over his tip, spreading his precum around. ”What am I doing?” you feign innocence, loving the way he's just as desperate as you are. He could barely speak, your soft thumb against him had him writhing in pleasure. The feeling of you wrapped around him was almost too much.

He groans out a curse as his hips buck upwards once again. “You know exactly what you’re doing..” He manages to say in a strained tone, “Don’t act all innocent.” he groans. 

Tyler’s eyes flutter shut at the exquisite sensation of your hand wrapping around him, his breath hitching as you stroke him with a gentle, teasing touch. “Fuck, doll...” he murmurs against your ear, his voice thick with need. 

His hands tighten on your thighs, urging you closer as he feels the warmth of your body surrounding him. The way you touch him is like a sweet torment, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through his veins. His hips buck up into your soft hand, his body begging for more. 

With a groan of pure desire, Tyler’s hands guide your hips to his, aligning himself with your slick entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, the intensity of the moment setting every nerve in his body alight. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowers you onto his throbbing length, watching with rapt attention as your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. The sensation of you taking him in, inch by inch, sends waves of pleasure crashing through him, and he has to fight the urge to slam you down and claim you fully. 

Instead, he lets you set the pace, savoring every moment as your warmth envelopes him. The truck's cabin feels like it's on fire, the air thick with lust as you both hover on the precipice of release. 

Each time you move down, the pressure builds, and he can feel the head of his cock stretching you, filling you up in a way he’s dreamed of for so long. His eyes never leave you, the connection between you palpable as you both begin to rock in a silent symphony of passion, the leather seats of the truck creaking in rhythm with your muffled moans and his labored breaths.

With a whimper of need, your head falls to Tyler's shoulder, your body trembling with each gentle movement. His fingers dig into your thighs, urging you on as he feels your inner walls tightening around him. Your breath is hot against his neck, silently begging him to take over. 

Tyler understands the unspoken plea, his own need burning like a wildfire within him. He takes control, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you up and down his length with a rhythm that makes you gasp. 

His kisses turn fiercer, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "Ride me, doll. Show me how much you want this." Your nails bite into his shoulders as you obey, the pressure building with each stroke. 

The tightness in your stomach coils tighter, your moans growing louder as you chase the release that seems just out of reach. Tyler's grip on you is like steel, his hips meeting yours with a force that speaks of his own desperation. 

He can feel your body tensing, the sweet tremble of your thighs telling him you're close. "Come for me," he groans, his voice a rough command that sends you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, making your body convulse as you cry out his name. 

He follows you, his own release hot and powerful, his hips jerking upwards as he empties himself into you. Your bodies come to a rest, hearts pounding in unison, the storm outside forgotten in the intensity of the one you've just weathered together.

As the aftershocks of your shared climax subside, you bury your face into Tyler's neck, gasping for air as the pleasure washes over you in warm, delicious waves. His hands are gentle on your skin, stroking and caressing as he holds you closer, savoring the feeling of your body against his. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a wild drumbeat echoing the passion that still thrums through your veins. The storm outside seems to have quieted, as if it too has been sated by the electricity that crackled between the two of you. 

Tyler's grip on your hips loosens slightly, but he makes no move to let you go, his arms instead wrapping around your waist to keep you nestled in his embrace. 

His breathing is ragged, matching the erratic rhythm of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he whispers, "God, I've wanted this for so long." The admission sends a shiver down your spine, making you realize that maybe, just maybe, this isn't just a fleeting moment of passion. 

Maybe there's something more here, something that could last longer than the brief, fiery lifespan of a tornado. But for now, you're content to simply exist in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the man who has held your heart hostage for far too long.

With a gentle yet firm grip, Tyler pulls you off his lap and sets you back in the passenger seat, his own breathing still ragged from the intensity of the moment. You watch, slightly dazed, as he tucks himself away, your own body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. 

He turns to you, his eyes dark with desire, and whispers in a gruff voice, "Come back to my room with me?" The question lingers in the air, thick with unspoken promises of more passionate moments to come. 

You nod, your cheeks flushed with excitement and anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he opens the door and helps you out, his hand firmly grasping yours. The rain patters against the pavement, mimicking the pounding of your heart as you walk towards the motel room, ready to explore the depths of your desires together.

Once inside the motel room, Tyler's hunger for you only grows stronger. He tugs you into the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours as he impatiently strips away the layers of clothing separating your skin from his. 

Each article that falls to the floor feels like a barrier shattering, revealing more of your beauty to his eager gaze. When you're both bare, he takes a moment to drink you in, his eyes raking over every inch of your naked body. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, and his mouth follows the trail of kisses down your neck to your collarbone. 

You whimper under his touch, your body arching into his as he whispers sweet nothings that feel like poetry against your skin. The heat of his touch is a stark contrast to the coolness of the tiles beneath your feet, but it's a delicious sensation that makes you crave more, he pulls away quickly stripping out of his clothes. 

With the shower now a steamy cocoon of warmth, Tyler guides you inside, the hot spray cascading down your bodies, mingling with the warmth of your shared passion. He kneels before you, his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger that mirrors the way your heart races in your chest. 

His kisses begin at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you as he worships every inch of your body. His tongue traces a path upwards, his teeth gently grazing the soft flesh, until he reaches your stomach, where he places feather-light kisses that make you quiver with anticipation. 

He cups your breasts in his hands, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making them peak and your breath hitch in pleasure. Then, his mouth is back on yours, the water rushing over your entwined forms as he kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours. 

With a gentle yet firm push, he pins you against the tiles, the heat of the water a stark contrast to the coolness of the wall, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. His touch is demanding, his body pressing into yours, leaving no doubt about the depth of his desire. 

With a growl of need, Tyler lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His erection presses against you, the intensity of his desire unmistakable as he pins you against the tiles. His mouth claims yours in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue delving deep as if he can't get enough of your taste. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is electric, sending bolts of pleasure through your body with every touch. Your fingers dig into his hair as you kiss him back with an urgency that matches his own, your legs tightening around his hips, silently begging for more. 

His cock nudges at your entrance, the promise of what's to come making you whimper with anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he lowers you, inch by inch, onto his thick length, the sensation of being filled by him once again sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

The water streams down your faces, mingling with the sweat of passion as you both gasp and moan, lost in the throes of a desire that seems to have no end. Your movements become more frantic, your hips rolling and grinding against his, the need for release building like a storm ready to break. 

Tyler’s hands grip your ass, guiding your rhythm, his own hips driving into you with a fierce need that makes you feel wanted and cherished in a way you never have before. The sound of the water and your muffled cries fill the small bathroom, a symphony of passion that seems to echo the tempest raging outside.

Tyler's grip on your ass tightens as he lifts you slightly, his hips driving into you with a fervent need to feel you come apart in his arms once more. His movements are powerful and relentless, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your nails dig into his shoulders. 

The water from the showerhead cascades down your bodies, creating a steamy haze that obscures the rest of the world outside of your entwined forms. His eyes never leave yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze as your moans grow louder, your breaths coming in shorter gasps. 

He whispers filthy encouragement into your ear, his voice a gruff growl that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the strain of his muscles as he holds you up, fucking you with a passion that's as intense as the storms he chases. 

His strokes become faster, deeper, until you're riding the edge of a second orgasm, your body begging for release. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, your walls clench around him, and you scream out his name as you shatter into a million pieces, your climax sending waves of pleasure crashing through you like a tempest. 

Tyler's eyes darken as he feels your contractions around his cock, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows you over the edge, filling you up with his hot cum, his body shaking with the force of his own release. 

The only sound in the room is the steady patter of rain against the window and the harsh beating of your hearts, a testament to the intensity of the moment that has forever changed the dynamic between you and Boone's best friend.

As your orgasm subsides, Tyler carefully pulls out of you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. He holds you by the waist, keeping you steady as your legs threaten to give out beneath the weight of the passion that's just overtaken you. 

The water from the showerhead runs in rivulets down your bodies, mixing with the remnants of your shared release. He turns you around, placing you under the warm spray, and begins to wash you, his touches gentle and full of love. 

His soapy hands glide over your skin, washing away the sweat and passion as if he's trying to cleanse you of the barriers that once stood between you. He lingers on your breasts, his thumbs caressing your sensitive nipples with a tender touch that makes you shiver anew. 

His hands travel down your body, over your hips and thighs, his gentle strokes feeling like a declaration of adoration. You lean into him, letting him support your trembling body as he worships you with his hands, his eyes never leaving yours in the steamy embrace of the shower.

It's a moment of pure connection, a silent promise that this isn't just a fleeting affair but the start of something beautifully tumultuous, a gentle, loving rain that nurtures the newfound bond between you. The world outside the motel room seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the water and the heat of your love.

With trembling hands, you turn around to face Tyler, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest, which is heaving with the aftermath of your shared passion. His skin is warm and slick from the shower, his heart thundering beneath your lips. 

As you reach for the soap, your eyes meet his in the steamy haze, and you see the love and adoration reflected in his gaze. He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body. You begin to wash him too, your hands gliding over his defined muscles. 

Each stroke feels like a declaration of your own desire, a silent promise that you're in this together. His eyes never leave you, his own hands coming up to cup your face, holding you in place as if he's afraid you might disappear. 

The water runs over his body, washing away the soap, but the connection between you remains unbroken, as strong as the storm that brought you together. The intimacy of this moment is more potent than any kiss, more profound than any touch. 

It's a silent confession of feelings that have been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. And as you stand there, naked and vulnerable in the warm embrace of the shower, you realize that no matter what the future holds, this night has changed everything.

The steam from the shower clings to your bodies as you both step out, the cooler air of the motel room sending a shiver down your spine. Tyler takes a towel, wrapping it around his waist before approaching you, his eyes dark with desire. 

He takes another towel and gently begins to dry your skin, his touch lingering on your curves, as if committing every inch of you to memory. His eyes never stray from yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race anew. Once you're both sufficiently dried, he takes your hand, leading you out of the bathroom and to the king-sized bed that seems to call out to you both. 

He pulls back the covers with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours, and guides you to straddle him as he lays back, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath his weight. Your legs are on either side of his hips, and you feel his erection pressing against your thigh. 

The warmth of his skin against yours sends a thrill through your body as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His eyes are locked onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is the same fiery need reflected in your gaze. With a soft smile, he pulls you down, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that's as gentle as it is demanding. 

The passion that burned so fiercely in the shower is now a slow, simmering heat that promises to consume you both as you begin to explore each other once again, the storm outside now a gentle reminder of the tempest you've just ridden together.

With a seductive arch of his eyebrows, Tyler silently begs you to ride him again, his thumbs brushing into your hip bones, urging you to take control. The tender touch sends a shiver of anticipation through your body, making you eager to comply. 

You lean down to kiss him, your breasts pressing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. With a knowing smile, you straddle him once more, feeling his erection nudge against your folds. His eyes never leave yours as you position yourself, the connection between you palpable and intense. 

As you sink down onto him, Tyler's eyes roll back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips. Your bodies meld together as if they were made for this very moment, his thickness filling you completely. The storm outside seems to echo the passion that swells within the confines of the motel room, the thunder a testament to the power of your desire. 

The rain taps a gentle rhythm on the window, setting the pace for your lovemaking as you rock your hips against his, both of you lost in the symphony of pleasure that you've created together. Each movement sends a jolt of electricity through Tyler, his eyes never leaving yours as you set the tempo, grinding down on him with a need that matches his own. 

His hands glide up your body, caressing your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure to your core. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hips rise to meet yours, the friction building into an unbearable crescendo. 

With a gasp, you arch your back, pushing your breasts towards the ceiling as you take Tyler's length fully inside you. Your hips bounce with an increasing tempo, each movement sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. Your hair cascades down your back, sticking to your skin with the heat of the room. 

Tyler’s eyes are glued to the sight of you, his jaw clenched as he watches you ride him. He can’t believe this is happening, that you’re finally his, that you want him just as much as he’s always wanted you. His hands glide up your torso, supporting your weight as you move faster and faster, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing in the room. 

His eyes darkened with lust as you lean back, giving him an unobstructed view of your bouncing breasts, the pink tips of your nipples peaked with desire. He can feel himself getting closer to the edge, his body tensing beneath yours. 

But he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to savor every second, every touch, every moan that escapes your lips. So he grips your hips, holding you steady, and thrusts upwards to meet you, pushing deeper, harder, driving you both closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back with each of Tyler's deep, powerful thrusts, your moans growing louder and more desperate as his thumb finds that sweet spot between your legs. He circles your clit with a gentle yet insistent pressure, expertly building the tension within you. 

Each touch feels like a spark igniting the flames of your desire, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release. Your hips rock against his hand, matching the rhythm of his strokes, the friction driving you wild. His eyes never leave yours, watching as the pleasure overtakes you, a smug smile playing on his lips as he feels your walls tighten around him. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your passion, the storm outside seemingly in sync with your shared ecstasy. Tyler's breathing grows ragged, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you getting closer to yours. He whispers your name in a gruff voice, urging you on, his eyes filled with a fiery need that sends shivers down your spine. 

Tyler’s thumb continues to circle your clit, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches the ecstasy build in your expression. Your breath hitches, your body tightening around him, and with a final, powerful thrust, you cum hard, your muscles spasming as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

Your orgasm seems to trigger his own, and with a guttural groan, he fills you up with his warmth, his body stiffening beneath yours. The sound of the rain beating against the window is the only thing that pierces the quiet of the room, the only indication that there’s anything in the world beyond the two of you.

With your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax, you collapse onto Tyler’s chest, your heart racing in time with his. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him as if he’s afraid to let go. 

There’s something strange in his tone of voice, but when you look at him again, there’s nothing in his face to give away the reason. 

“I wasn’t,” you huff. “It’s just that I see your giant red truck everywhere when I’m trying to get good photos of the tornadoes and it’s quite obvious when you’re not there.” 

Tyler smiles to himself. “Why don’t you come chasing with us one day, then? My truck won’t end up in your photos if you’re taking photos from inside it.”

You laugh. “That is the last thing I would want to do.” A lie. You’ve thought about it several times in the past.

“Sure, sure. You keep telling yourself that and one day you might actually believe it.”

You narrow your eyes at him but make no move to walk away from him. Your team are still filming and you’d rather stay away until they’re finished, even if it means standing with Tyler Owens until they are. 

“You guys gonna stop by the rodeo tomorrow night?” Tyler breaks the silence. 

You shrug your shoulders. “Depends on how tomorrow goes. You?”

He nods. “Yeah, we probably will, even if tomorrow doesn’t go to plan. You know my team. We love a night out.”

The weather tomorrow was predicted to be a good one for storm chasers – thunderstorms with heavy rain and likely a tornado as well, if the conditions were good enough. You were all hoping that they were. 

“My guys are less likely to go if they know your team is going, you know?” You look at Tyler, noticing the way that he’s watching your team, who are now laughing at something that Ally had said for the video. “We are still rivals.” 

“Did you think I needed a reminder?” He chuckles.

“Why? Am I being too nice to you?”

Tyler grins, one of those ones that makes you feel a little funny in your stomach. Like butterflies – but you don’t get butterflies from people you dislike. 

“Oh, darlin', you’re always a delight.”

You roll your eyes. “Want me to get you a shovel so you can start digging yourself a hole?” 

He holds up his hands in mock surrender and laughs. “Sorry, sorry,” he grins. “You wanna grab one for yourself so you can help me? I’d love the company.”

You open your mouth to reply about how much you’d love to help just as you catch Robbie’s eye. He’s quick to call out your name, beckoning you over, and you have no choice but to listen to him and leave Tyler. You’ve already stood here talking to him long enough and the last thing you want is your team thinking that you’re colluding with the Tornado Wranglers. 

“Gotta go,” you nod your head towards your group. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Tyler bids you good luck as well and watches as you head over towards your group, all of them eyeing him as you reach them. He tips his hat at Robbie, who is watching him with judging eyes, and turns on his heel, heading back to his own team to get a well needed beer.

—

When Tyler gets back to his team, he realises that they were all watching him. They all give him questioning looks as he grabs a beer out of the cooler. 

“What? I got something on my face?”

“Yeah, it sure is written all over your face,” Boone says.

Tyler frowns. “What is?”

“Oh, don’t try and lie to us, Ty,” Dani adds.

He shakes his head and takes a seat on one of the fold up chairs beside his truck. He’s smart enough to see what they’re getting at – the way he’d been there talking with you for so long. His friends are smart too. But hopefully not smart enough to see through the facade Tyler puts up to try and convince them that he still dislikes you. 

“Her, Ty? Really? She’s from the Thunder Team.” Boone stares Tyler down.

Tyler has no choice. “Okay, no,” he sighs and takes a long swig of his beer. “We were just talking, and I was just messing around with her.” He was also trying to get the courage to ask you to the rodeo, just the two of you, but he’d chickened out at the last second. “She definitely still hates us, judging by her reaction.”

Truth is, Tyler Owens has been harbouring a secret crush on you for the better part of a year now. It had snuck up on him. He’d hated you at first, thought you were just another stuck up storm chasing student, especially when he found out you were studying for your PhD. But after spending so much time around you, something had changed and all of a sudden, you had a hold over him that you didn’t even realise you had. 

It drives Tyler insane. 

The way he feels when he looks at you is definitely not the way he should be feeling about anyone, letalone the leader of a rival storm chasing team. But here he is. 

The passion he’d seen in your eyes when you’d been chasing storms. The way you talked about them in your captions on social media when you posted photos you’d taken. Even the way you made time to learn more about them through school while being on the road so often.

He was well aware that he was supposed to hate you. And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to do it anymore.

“You sure that’s all it was?” 

“A hundred percent, Boone.”

He’s thankful when the conversation moves away from you and the Thunder Team. It lets him sit in his own thoughts for a few minutes until he’ll undoubtedly be brought back into the conversation for one reason or another. 

He’s unable to stop his eyes from drifting over to you and your team. You’ve taken a seat on the back of a truck, watching safely from behind the camera as Robbie films Ally again. He tries hard not to smile at the look on your face as you watch your friends, laughing along with the others. The last thing he needs right now is for one of his team to catch him grinning at you like an idiot, especially after convincing them that there’s nothing going on.  

He realises, then, that he’s already in way too deep.

—

The last thing you expect when you wake up the next morning is to find out that your team made a bet with the Tornado Wranglers when you had gone to bed. 

It’d been raining for most of the night, the ground covered in mud and puddles. The sky was dark and you could just feel that the conditions were perfect for a tornado. You had a good feeling that today would be the day.

Until you learnt about the bet.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you guys alone.”

Robbie laughs, nearly choking on the piece of bacon he’d been eating. You’ve all come to a nearby diner to fuel up on both food and gas for your cars before what was supposed to be a long day of storm chasing. You have a feeling that it won’t be now that the bet exists.

“Okay, technically it was their fault,” Ally offers.

“Explain.”

“So, we’d had a few drinks, and they had clearly also been drinking, and Harry and I were heading over to the bathrooms to clean up before going to bed – because dental hygiene is important!” Ally begins, forgetting all about her half eaten plate of food. “We were almost there when they called out to us – I forget their names. The blond guy and the one with the mustache, the cute one. Anyway, they suggested a bet. Whoever could hold their liquor the best gets to choose which direction the other team chases in today.”

You stare at Ally. “And you said yes.”

She winces, and then shovels a fork full of eggs into her mouth, nodding so she doesn’t have to give you a proper answer. 

Your team is usually quite well behaved. But even the best of people could get taken advantage of, and you’ve seen it many times first hand with the Tornado Wranglers.  They can hold their liquor very well and wake up the next day with very little consequences from doing so. You’re honestly surprised Ally is even functioning. Harry, on the other hand, you haven’t seen all morning. Unsurprisingly, your team had obviously lost.

“Which direction are we going, then?”

“That’s the catch,” Robbie interjects. “They choose for us before we go. They get to look at the radar first and decide which way is going to be best. And naturally, they’re going to send us in the direction far away from the best chance.” 

You groan and let your head fall into your hands, beginning to ponder your options. You can either deal with the bet and get sent in the entirely wrong direction, or…

Without a second thought, you’re pushing yourself up from the table and heading towards the door of the diner.

“Where are you going!?” Robbie calls after you.

“I’m going to fix this mess!” 

—

Tyler greets you with a smile that is way too cheerful for both the time of the morning that it is and the situation.

“To what do I owe the pleasure on this fine morning, darlin'?” He asks, leaning up against his truck. He’s holding a coffee in one hand. Good to know he’s human. You’re not surprised that he doesn’t look hungover at all. The man practically resembles a God. 

“Wouldn’t call it a pleasure, honey,” you sigh, deciding to use a nickname just like he always uses for you. You cross your arms over your chest as you stop in front of him. “This bet you made with my team last night. I want it called off.”

Tyler’s breath catches in his throat at the sound of the word honey coming out of your mouth, directed at him. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the way it feels to hear you calling him that. “No can do, I’m afraid. We Tornado Wranglers don’t back down on bets.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “I’m asking nicely.”

“I think you can ask a little nicer. Maybe throw a please in there,” he says. “You know it wouldn’t look good for your team, though, right? Half the other teams know about the bet.”

For a few moments, you simply just stare at him, hoping he’ll budge. He doesn’t. He stands there staring at you, too, leaning against his truck in an effortlessly attractive way, smiling at you in that same way he always does. It’s like he reserves this specific smile just for you. 

You take a step towards him, testing the waters, and notice the way his breath hitches this time at your close proximity. Did he dislike you that much that you getting this close to him set him on edge? Or was it something else?

“Nothing can change your mind?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I already told you. We don’t back down on our bets.”

“Tyler.” It’s a rare occasion where you call him by his first name, but you figure it can’t hurt to try it. You can see his eyes soften a little at the sound of it. “If you do this, you’re going to send us right off the trail and ruin our chase.”

“Who said I’d send you in the wrong direction?” 

“I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”

“I don’t know, darlin'. I give you a fair bit of credit for being a genius,” he took a sip of his coffee. “You’re the one with the PhD. I didn’t study that much.”

Something about hearing those words sets off that feeling inside your stomach again. You push it down. “I don’t have my PhD yet.”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “But you’re close, aren’t you? That’s more than most people around here can say regarding their education on these things.” He points a finger towards the sky, which is rapidly darkening. 

You sigh. He’s right about that. You are close to finishing your PhD, and not many of the other storm chasers around you could say the same. 

“Just tell me which direction we’re going in, Owens.”

He looks at you for a moment. “I’ll give you a choice,” he says, and for a moment hope sparks in your chest that you’ll get to choose your direction – until he continues speaking. “I’ll let this bet go if you make another one with me.”

“What sort of bet?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Not regarding our teams. Just you and me.”

You’re about to respond when you hear the sound of the van, playing music rather loudly – Harry’s choice – pulling into the motel parking lot behind you. You sigh and turn around to look at them, irritated that this is the second time in less than 24 hours that they’ve interrupted you and Tyler. 

“No luck?” Ally calls out from the passenger seat. 

Behind them, Robbie pulls up in his truck. 

You shake your head and turn back around to face Tyler. There’s no time to make another bet with him now that your team is here and they’re all ready to go. 

“East or west, Owens?”

Tyler turns around and looks at the sky around you. You figure he’s already done his research on the conditions in every direction and that he’s just messing with you, pretending to decide on the spot. Any good storm chaser would have been watching the radars all morning – which you had been, before you found out about the bet. 

“East.” He says, turning back around to face you. “There are two possible formations, so let’s see which one develops. Or, you can ditch your team and come join us for the day. My passenger seat practically has your name on it, darlin’.” 

A small part of you finds yourself wanting to say yes to him. To tell him that you’d love nothing more than to get in his truck and see what a day with the Tornado Wranglers is like. But the reasonable part of you wins out. 

“You’re going to regret making this bet with my team, Owens,” you take a step back from him, giving him his space again. 

“I gave you the choice of another option, but you didn’t take it.”

You ignore him and turn around, heading towards the passenger side of Robbie’s truck – your usual spot when storm chasing. Tyler laughs at your reaction and then gets into his own truck before pressing his hand to the horn, making you jump at the sound, obviously using it to call his team from inside. You shoot him a look over your shoulder and in return, he sends a wink your way.

“May the best team win,” Tyler flashes a grin.

“Oh, we will!”

—

As much as Tyler hates to admit it, he had sent you in the wrong direction. There were two possible formations, that was true. But it looked very clear that the one to the east wasn’t actually going to develop into anything, and he was sure you would’ve figured that out once you got on the road and actually checked the conditions yourself.

He hates disappointing you. He saw the look on your face as you tried to convince him to call off the bet, the way you wanted to make sure today was a good one for your team. But it isn’t entirely out of competition that he sent you in the wrong direction.

Subconsciously, he did it to try and keep you safe.

If you’re out of the way of the tornado, then it’s a weight off of Tyler’s chest. He wouldn’t admit that to his team, but it felt good to think about himself. That you’d be safe. Besides, he had tried to get you out of it by making another bet with you, but he knew that you wouldn’t humour him the second he saw your team arrive. 

He presses his foot down on the accelerator, watching the clouds ahead of them. Something is going to form. He knows it. He just hopes it’s a good one, something worth chasing. 

In the passenger seat, Boone is keeping a good eye on the clouds to the east. He’s filming as well, live streaming as usual. 

“You were right, Ty,” Boone says, pointing the camera out the window towards the east. “That one’s gonna give us nothing. It’s already disappearing.”

Tyler lets out a breath of relief. You’re out of harms way and even though he knows you’d be annoyed at him if you ever found out, he can’t seem to find it in himself to feel bad about the fact. He had felt bad about the bet when you’d been talking to him, but now he realises that keeping the bet was a good idea.

“This one’s gonna be a good one, I can feel it,” he says, eyeing the clouds above them. 

Then, it happens – the tornado forms right in front of them. It’s already huge, bigger than any tornado Tyler has seen in the past few months.

Boone whoops in the seat beside him, moving the camera to film the tornado through the windshield. 

“Just look at that beauty!” He exclaims. 

Tyler can’t keep the smile off of his face as they drive closer to it. He stops the car once they get close enough, anchoring it to the ground as usual, watching as it gets closer and closer to the truck. 

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Tyler yells, straight to the camera that Boone is holding in his face. “Let’s do this!”

It’s only a split second later that his heart drops to his stomach. He watches as the tornado, once coming right towards them, veers off course. It’s heading east. And it’s growing in size. 

He looks out of the passenger window and in the distance, he can see your truck. It’s white, so bright under the dark sky. You’re going to be right in its path.

He sent you in the wrong direction to try and get you out of harms way, and instead he’s sent you in the exact direction the tornado is heading. There’s no way you can get out of its path in time. 

Tyler suddenly feels like he can barely breathe.

“Turn the camera off, Boone,” he commands, and then he’s removing the anchors from the ground and pressing his foot down onto the accelerator before he can even really think about it, even though there’s no way he can reach you in time with how quickly the tornado is moving towards you.

Boone, thankfully, listens, ending the stream, putting the camera down and picking up the radio to try and reach you. He’s realised what’s happening. Tyler tries to ignore the panic he feels when there’s no answer.

He can’t lose you like this. Not now. Not when he never really even had you. Not when you didn’t even know the way he felt about you. He’d been an asshole, a fool, making that bet. If he hadn’t, none of this would have happened.

“Please be okay, please be okay.” He mutters it under his breath like it’s a mantra. He doesn’t care what Boone thinks. If he says it enough, maybe he can make it come true.

—

You’ve seen tornadoes before. You’ve been close to them before. But you’ve never had one quite this size coming straight at you. You hadn’t expected this. 

When Tyler sent you east, Robbie had checked the radar and noticed that the cells out here were much less likely to form a tornado compared to the ones west. You’d gone anyway, figuring you’d try your chances, leaving Ally, Harry and the rest of your team a little further back, trying to get as close as you could before you realised your tornado was going to amount to nothing at all.

You and Robbie had been watching the tornado forming west of you, wishing you had been able to chase that one rather than do what the Tornado Wranglers told you. 

And then, it changed course.

“Get out of the car! We need to run!” Robbie undoes his seatbelt as he speaks and it doesn’t take you long to follow suit, undoing your own and jumping out of the truck.

He takes off at a run ahead of you just as the rain begins.

Your heart is beating faster in your chest than you think it ever has before. Your legs burn at the pace you’re running, your feet sinking into and skidding through the muddy paddock thanks to the heavy rain last night and the rain growing even heavier now. It slows you down, but your adrenaline pushes you faster. You can’t stop, not now. Not when there’s a possible EF4 on your tail, getting closer to you with every breath you take.

You make a mistake, then, deciding to look back at it. 

The sight of it only makes you run faster, but when you turn back, fear strikes through your system as you realise you can’t see Robbie anymore. 

The wind isn’t strong enough to have pulled him back into it, not when he was running ahead of you, but you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenario as your gaze narrows in on a gully just ahead of you. Maybe he made it there before you and now he’s just waiting.

The wind from the tornado picks up trees and branches and other debris, sending things spinning through the air. You feel something slice across your leg and cry out at the sudden pain, but there’s no time to inspect the damage as you slide down the small hill into the gully, the mud going everywhere as you hit the bottom. 

You don’t even have time to scan for Robbie as you press yourself down onto the ground of the gully, covering your head with your hands and pressing your face into the ground. You try to ignore the feeling of the mud and dirt on your skin, the throbbing pain in your leg, the rain pelting down on your back, soaking you to the bone, and try to keep breathing steadily despite being out of breath from the run and the adrenaline. 

You can’t panic now. If you panic now, you’re dead. 

The tornado gets closer and you can hear it. Hear the wind rushing through the air, hear the sound of trees being ripped out of the ground. Hear the crashing sound of the truck being picked up and thrown by it. 

Everything is okay,  you tell yourself, like a mantra. Everything is going to be okay. Because if you tell yourself enough, maybe it will come true.

—

By the time Tyler gets to the place where your truck had been, the tornado is gone and so is your truck. He barely even has time to put his own truck into park before he’s jumping out of it and calling your name. 

Boone is quick to follow him.

Tyler’s eyes narrow in on something in the distance – the remnants of your truck. It’s sitting upside down, the cab crushed in and all the glass broken. Even some of the wheels are missing. His heart almost stops.

No, you would have been smart enough to get out. You wouldn’t have stayed in the truck. He knows that. He believes that. It was one of the first things any storm chaser learnt – never stay in your car, it’s better to take your chances outside of it.

He stops in the middle of the field and takes a long, deep breath to try and calm himself down when he hears the sound of someone yelling out.

“Hey, I need some help over here!”

It’s a male voice, not belonging to you, which is the first sign that makes Tyler realise something is wrong. He recognises Robbie immediately, even though he’s drenched in rain and covered in mud and blood.

Boone runs off towards him and Tyler follows.

“Where is she?” He cuts in as Boone begins asking Robbie where he’s been hurt. “Were you with her? Where is she?” 

He knows he’s being a little irrational. He should be kinder, especially when he’s the reason Robbie was even in this tornado in the first place, but his mind is narrowed in on you, on making sure you’re okay. He’s never been more terrified that he’s lost you in his life.

“I don’t know,” Robbie shakes his head. “She was behind me, and then I jumped down into this little dam and she never came in after me.” 

Tyler doesn’t let him say anything else before he takes off running. He knows Boone can handle Robbie. His only concern is finding you. He calls out your name again and again and again, willing you to respond to just one of them.

He only hears silence.

—

The second you wake up, you push yourself up, getting your face out of the mud and opening your eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden brightness now that the tornado has disappeared. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of someone calling out your name, but it sounds fuzzy, far away. Your head is spinning and you’re pretty sure you could be imagining it.

You put a hand up to the side of your face, feeling the sticky sensation of blood on your hands. Something must have hit your head and knocked you out during the tornado. You can only remember something hitting your leg as you’d slid down into the gully. How long have you been lying here? Minutes? Hours? Days, even?

Looking around, you can see the devastation caused by the tornado. There are trees and branches everywhere, and with the rain, it’s made it even muddier – and probably impossible to climb out of, especially with your injuries. You finally allow yourself to inspect your leg, noticing a deep cut across your shin, ripping your jeans. Your leg starts to throb as you finally allow yourself to recognise the pain. 

With a deep breath, you try and push yourself to your feet. It’s slippery down here thanks to all the mud and rain, and you manage to stand for just a second before your leg buckles and sends you crashing back down. At least it’s a fairly soft landing.

You curse under your breath just as you hear movement above you. Your eyes flicker towards the direction of the sound, and when you see Tyler Owens appear at the edge of the gully just to the right of you, you nearly feel like you could cry.

“Tyler!” You manage to call out to him, though your voice is weak.

His head spins towards your voice, eyes widening as he sees you. You must look like a mess, covered in all the blood and dirt, but you knows he doesn’t care. Especially with the way he slides down into the gully and stumbles towards you, getting covered in mud himself in the process.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He falls to his knees in front of you, his hands moving to cup your cheeks and move your head from side to side. He’s quick to check the wound on your head where the blood is coming from. “You’re okay, darlin’, it doesn’t look too deep.”

You can see the panic in his eyes as he scans you, scans your whole body looking for injuries. You can also tell from the look on his face when he looks at your shin that your injury there is worrisome. 

“It’s my fault,” Tyler shakes his head, refusing to move his hands from your cheeks. It’s as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. “I shouldn’t have told you to go east. I was just trying to get you out of the way of the tornado cause I felt that yours wasn’t gonna develop, but then ours changed course and it was heading straight towards you and I couldn’t get here fast enough and god, the idea of losing you, of never seeing you again, of never asking–”

“Tyler!” 

He stops talking, having not even realised that he had let the situation get the better of him and had been rambling on. When he meets your eyes, you’re shocked to see that there are tears in his. 

“You never call me by my first name.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to get your attention if I didn’t.”

Your reach up and take one of his hands off of your face and weave your fingers between his. You don’t really know what you’re doing, exactly, but all you know is you need to comfort him. That and you’re shaking like a leaf and the feeling of holding his hand is like an anchor to the world. A reminder that you’re alive. 

“I’m still here, Tyler. I’m all right.”

“You’re not,” he shakes his head. “You’re hurt, and it’s because of me–”

You take him by surprise as you reach up and place your own hand on his cheek. It’s only when you touch his face that you remember your hand is covered in blood and mud, but when you try and take it away, Tyler places his hand over the top of it. His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a long breath that feels to you that it’s something like relief.

The two of you stay there like that for what feels like an eternity but is really just a few minutes, soaking in the feeling of each others skin and coming to terms with the realisation that you’re alive. 

“It’s not your fault, Tyler,” you mutter softly. “You couldn’t have known that tornado was going to change course and head straight for us. Just because that bet ended up landing us in the path of a probable EF4 doesn’t mean you’re the one to blame for it. I don’t blame you.”

He blinks his eyes open and stares at yours for a moment. 

“Now, what were you saying about asking me something?” You try to change the subject.

There’s a look of something in Tyler’s eyes that you can’t quite place, but it drops off of his face instantly at your words and he lets out an awkward laugh. “I don’t think now’s the right time, darlin’,” he says. “Some other time, when you’re not bleeding and injured. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital.”

You shake your head, ignoring the fact that the movement makes you a little dizzy. “I could have just died and I would have never known what it is you wanted to ask me. So I want to know what it is right now.” You’re surprised at how strong your voice sounds, even though you don’t feel strong at all right now.

Tyler sighs and you can see by the look on his face that he’s giving in to you. “I was trying to get the courage to ask you out, was trying last night actually but I chickened out. You can be quite intimidating sometimes, you know that?”

For a moment, you just stare at Tyler. 

“I thought I was the one who hit my head. Did you hit yours too?”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Something like that.”

“You need another reminder that we’re supposed to hate each other?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I think I’ve had enough reminders to last me a lifetime. But I’m done with pretending to hate you. With trying to convince my team that I dislike you so much. I know they know the truth. It doesn’t matter, even though you can’t stand me.” 

You meet Tyler’s eyes and in them, you can see that he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t hate you, nor dislike you, nor anything similar. With the way he’s looking at you, the way he was calling your name, the way he panicked so much when he thought you were seriously hurt… he really was trying to ask you out. Just the thought of it makes that feeling rise in your stomach again, and for the first time you recognise the feeling for what it truly is – butterflies. You don’t get butterflies from people you hate.

“I don’t hate you, Tyler.”

You can see the surprise flash across his eyes.

“You don’t hate me?”

“You annoy the hell out of me and you drive me insane sometimes. But no. You fascinate me, and you make me laugh, and even though every member of my team hates you and your stupid red truck, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be in the passenger seat with you, driving head first into a tornado, and I nearly said yes when you asked me earlier.”

Tyler chuckles. “My truck is not stupid.”

“Does your passenger seat really have my name on it?”

“Embroidered it myself.”

You laugh, then, a real, full laugh, and Tyler can’t help but laugh as well at the absurdity of the situation. You’ve just survived a devastating tornado, you’re injured in more ways than one, Tyler Owens has just told you he likes you and you’ve come to the realisation that you like the fact that he does. And maybe, you like him a little bit too.

“We’re not gonna make it to that rodeo tonight, are we?” You ask, once the laughs subside.

Tyler shakes his head. “Rain check for the next one?”

“That’s how you’re asking me out?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply before you both hear your names being called and look up just as Boone and Robbie appear at the top of the gully. Tyler turns around to look at them. They look relieved to have found you both, and you feel just as relieved to see that Robbie is alive and well, only a little battered just like you are. Even if you’re a little disappointed that your moment with Tyler was interrupted. It seems that happens more often than not lately.

“Is she okay?” Boone asks Tyler.

He nods. “Yeah, but she’s injured. We’re gonna need a hand out of here.”

“We got you,” Boone says.

—

“So, when are you asking me out properly, Owens?” You ask.

It’s been a week since the tornado and a week since you found out that Tyler Owens had been wanting to ask you out for months. Boone had stayed true to his word that day, using a rope and Tyler’s truck to pull you both up out of the gully.

Tyler had barely left your side since – even in the truck ride to the hospital. He usually hated letting anyone drive his truck other than himself, but that day he’d thrown the keys to Boone so he didn’t have to take any of his attention off of you. He’d stayed with you in the hospital as well, even when the rest of your team turned up to check on you and Robbie.

You were surprised at how quickly your teams had dropped their rivalry after the tornado. They’d clearly seen the way you and Tyler acted around each other, how things had changed after the tornado, even though both of you refused to give them details on what had happened when Tyler had found you in the gully. 

It was something both of you were glad for.

“You can’t just ask me that,” Tyler says, kicking his legs up on the desk in the small motel room. Luckily, he’d taken off his muddy boots when he’d come inside to check on you. He had insisted you go back home to recover from your leg injury, but you’d refused. 

“I can’t?” You ask from your spot on the bed, resting your leg up on some pillows. It had luckily not been too bad of an injury, just a reasonably deep cut that needed stitching and wrapping. You still had to be careful not to rip the stitches, which meant no storm chasing and only resting for the time being. 

Tyler nods. “You made me admit the truth to you while we were both covered in mud and blood in the bottom of a wet, muddy gully. I’m not going to ask you out while you’re sitting on a motel room bed with an injured leg and stitches in your forehead. I’m classier than that.”

You snort. “You, classy?”

“From time to time,” he shrugs a shoulder.

You jokingly roll your eyes at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it. You know, you never actually explained what the other bet you wanted to make with me that day was. Was that something to do with asking me out as well?”

Tyler’s face broke out into a grin. “Maybe.”

“Of course,” you can’t help but laugh at the silly look on his face. “Are you at least going to ask me before I get swept up in another tornado?”

“Darlin’,” Tyler stands up and crosses the room until he’s standing right beside you. One of his hands reaches down and picks up yours, weaving his fingers in-between yours. “If you get swept up in a tornado, I’m going to be right beside you. I’m gonna be beside you for as long as you let me. For as long as I get. As long as I get, okay?”

Filling you to the hilt again. Stretching you over and over like your pussy was made for it. 

Made to take Tyler’s thick cock until your legs were shaking around his thighs, and you have made a mess of both of you. Staining the front of his jeans with your juices, and come.

And he just watches you. 

He watched you when you took off his hat and placed it atop your head at the bar with the crew. The corners of his mouth turning up, towering over you, a finger in the loop of your denim shorts. 

“I’ll meet you in the truck.” His palm smacking your ass when you turn and head towards the door, while he turns in the other direction to tell the guys you’re calling it an early night. 

His eyes follow you out the door and through the window, only diverting his gaze when you’ve hopped up in his truck. 

He’s always watching you, like you’re some prized possession. Like you’re the town celebrity, when really all you are is his. 

His girl. 

“You gonna come again, baby?” His teeth bite at your collarbones. His fingers digging into your hips, his thumbs pressed into the bone when he grips them harder and angles you in the position he knows will have his tip hitting that spot inside you that makes you spasm against him. Your nails dig into the shirt still covering his shoulders. 

Your eyes closed and mouth pulled down in a loud moan as your head lulled. 

A strong hand at the back of your neck stops it. Stops you from completely crumpling against him. Never letting his view be taken away from him. 

His eyes transfixed on the way your breasts heave. The way you try to bite your lip to stop from being any louder, as if there was anyone out here to hear you besides wildlife. 

“Come on, ride it.” He’s grunting against your skin. His hips snapping up as much as they can, enough to start your legs shaking. “That’s it, that’s it, take it, baby.” 

His name tumbles from your lips like the only prayer you’ve ever been willing to plead on your knees for. The only prayer that has meaning. That can make you feel so good, loved. 

He breathes into your open mouth. Pushes your neck so your mouth is against his. The tip of his hat bumping into his forehead as it still sits atop your head. His lips rough with desire, but gentle in the way they kiss you until you can breathe normally again. “How I’ve lasted this long is one of the many wonders of the world.” His thumb moves from your hip, up your side, and to your boob. Running the pad of his thumb against your nipple. “Never seen anything as beautiful as you comin’ on my cock, baby.” 

You smile against his lips, your body shuddering against him. Your hips still moving languid and slow, your insides still fluttering. “You know all the right words to say to win a girl's heart, huh?”