NAVIGATION -> PART I • PART II • PART III
favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi, but when the wind picks up you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other • 18+ | ( 3.0k – TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )
H A N G O N T I G H T, B A B Y • P A R T O N E
🎶 devil always made me think twice, chris stapleton
Clouds stretched overhead, lazy liked pulled taffy as the sun beat down on you in the midday heat. You’d been up since the first fingers of light had crept up over the horizon, dew still clinging to the long stalks of wheat in the early morning, but as the day spun on summer made sure to remind you what it was capable of.
That June in Oklahoma wasn’t anything to mess with.
Sweat beading across your forehead, you had half a mind to toss your hat over the corral fence but it was the only thing keeping you from getting sunburned. Pushing at your windswept hair with a gloved hand you tucked the flyaways out of your face and clicked your tongue at your horse, Tilly, to get back into position.
“C’mon, girl. One more run and then we’ll call it,” you coaxed, readjusting your grip on the saddle horn and giving her neck a pat. Tilly snorted, her hooves stamping in the dirt, anxious to take off again around the three wooden barrels dotting across your little makeshift arena. “That’s it, easy…” you murmured.
Barrel racing horses were built different, like they were brought into the world locked and loaded with a fire burning in them – they lived to ride like this. A black flash of muscle and tension set loose like a snapped rubber band and honestly? You lived for it too.
Tucking your chest tight against her mane, you knotted your fingers in the reigns, sucked in a breath and held it steady in your lungs. Three…two…one…
“Yah!” you kicked your heels to Tilly’s flanks and she took off like a gunshot. Hooves thundering across the ground, winding a tight circle around the first barrel in a blur as you ticked off the seconds in your head.
Seven, eight, nine – you rounded the second barrel – ten, eleven – you approached the third – twelve – and then you heard it. A blast of drums and twangy guitar riffs, a Chris Stapleton track followed by a loud engine backfire and it threw both you and Tilly off track.
Your booted foot smashed into the side of the last barrel and you yelped, Tilly kicking her back legs in a start with a high pitched whinny.
“Whoa, whoa–easy!” Pulling back on the reigns you soothed her, hands smoothing down her mane. Shh, s’alright girl, and she slowly calmed, cantering to a stop just at the edge of the corral where you could finally see who’d come tearing up the driveway.
Tyler Owens.
“Well hey, sweet stuff. Damn, you were lookin’ good for a minute – what happened there at the end?” he hollered out his open cab window and it made your hands ball into fists.
Brows pinched together and lips twisting into a deep scowl, you tugged at Tilly to head back to the gate, “I told you not to call me that, Owens.”
“What? Sweet stuff? What’s wrong with that?” you could hear the grin in his tone, saw him in your head without even having to look. Stupid smirk, stupid aviators, stupid toothpick and stupid belt buckle.
“I ain’t sweet,” you shot back and it pulled a chuckle out of him, a low, rough sound that put a flicker of heat between your ribs.
He cut the engine on his truck, boots shuffling in the grass as he hopped out, and the heavy slam of his door told you today just wasn’t gonna be your day.
Tyler tutted at you, teasing. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Sawyer?” and that snagged your attention.
Dismounting faster than he could blink, you were out of the saddle and marching across the corral to kick at the fence board his boot was resting on. He stumbled back at the force of it and laughed again, flicking his toothpick off into the wheel ruts of the driveway.
“Alright, alright,” he held his hands up in defense and took his sunglasses off, tongue running along his bottom lip, “Didn’t come here to get my ass kicked.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” you snarked, pulling your hat off to fan at your face, “You know I’m trainin’ right now.”
“Mmhm,” he agreed, notching his foot back between the fence boards and leaning his elbows lazy on top, “But I also know it’s pushin' a hundred degrees and the humidity’s sittin’ at 50%. You been drinkin’ water?”
You swallowed, mouth dry — No — and rolled your eyes before turning to walk Tilly back to the gate, “I’m fine.”
He pushed off the fence and chased a line around the corral, hollering after you, “Betcha didn’t know I’m almost as good at chasing bullshit as I am tornados!”
You groaned, dumbass, and reached the gate with Tilly in tow, but Tyler’s hand was on the latch before you could get to it.
“So. I call bullshit,” he said again, a little out of breath and eyes stuck on the way your lips twitched against a smile. “What d'you say we go get an iced tea or something,” he opened the gate and somehow you managed to pass through without so much as a glance in his direction.
Stick to your guns.
“No, Tyler.”
“Ah, c’mon,” he insisted as you pushed past him to the stable, “You and I both know it’s too hot to be out here. So does Tilly.”
But you ignored him, walked Tilly into her stall and even though you couldn’t see him, you knew Tyler had propped himself up on the other side. Arms folded over the top of the gate and hat tipped back just a little, but you went to work anyway undoing Tilly’s bridle, moving easily down to work at the buckle on the saddle and heaved it off her back.
“Least make yourself useful,” you huffed, saddle in hand and shoving it over the gate into Tyler’s chest.
“Shit–” he grunted, fingers scrambling to grab hold of it. A frown tugged down at the corners of his mouth, but he walked the saddle to the tack room anyway and came back with a renewed sense of purpose. “C’mon, Sawyer. Just a nice cold iced tea between friends?”
Sawyer. The nickname he’d gifted you when you’d moved in next door, a nod to your home town – Sawyer, Oklahoma. The home you’d left. The one you tried to forget. The place that held too many memories, too much hurt, and made your chest ache every time you thought about it.
You stopped brushing Tilly and let her get after a much needed drink of water, heaving a sigh from your lungs. It was cooler in the stable and without the sun beating down on you, you didn’t need your button down anymore. Fingers moving to undo the damp, long-sleeved, shirt clinging to your skin, it sighed with relief as the fabric shifted to let the breeze sweep over you.
“Tyler. I need to focus on training,” you grumbled glancing up at him, but it was mistake.
Without his sunglasses, you could see him tracking the movement of your hands. The buttons as they slipped through the loops one at a time. The heady mix of your sweat and shampoo a sweet scent lingering in the air between you and it made you feel dizzy. Made you want something you knew you shouldn’t have. Tyler knew it too as he swallowed thick, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, jaw ticking as he bit down on the feeling flickering in his chest.
“Promise I won’t ask you again if you still hate me in an hour,” he said, tone a little strangled, and your lips betrayed you, the corner of your mouth tugging up in the world’s tiniest smile.
“Honest?” you challenged, quirking a skeptical brow and he winked.
“Cross my heart, hope to die,” he traced his fingers over his chest and you swore right then and there you’d be the one to kill him if he put even one toe out of line.
❝ THE MINUTE THAT I SAW YOU WALKIN’ OVER,
I FIGURED I WAS DIGGIN’ MY GRAVE.
AND YOU HAD THE SHOVEL, I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE,
BUT YOU’RE JUST THE KIND OF TROUBLE I CRAVE. ❞
Your property was a few miles out of town, a small farmhouse with an old horse stable on seventy-eight acres you rented to the Calhoun brothers for their fescue. It was a lot of work. The house badly needed updating, but it was all you could afford with your winnings from nationals last year and in the end, it didn’t matter – if you hadn't gotten a fresh start you’d have suffocated.
So, a little over a year ago when you’d pulled up the dirt drive in your red Ford pickup, Tilly’s trailer in tow, you felt like you could breathe again. Felt like this little patch of earth there on the outskirts of Tulsa was just what you needed, but when you started hauling boxes out of the truck bed you heard the one thing you didn’t need coming up the road.
Your neighbor.
Tyler Owens.
Renowned twister chaser and resident hot air balloon with an ass that could make even the most beat up pair of Wranglers look good. You knew before he even opened his mouth that he was trouble, but he was easy on the eyes and – surprisingly – pretty helpful.
When your roof sprung a leak during a particularly bad downpour he came over. Climbed up the ladder with a hammer and nails hanging off the tool belt on his hips and had it patched in twenty minutes.
When your chickens got loose and took off into the Calhoun’s fescue he and his horse Banjo helped corral them back up and into the coop before they did too much damage to the crops.
And when he’d found you at the Tin Bucket last year, too many drinks deep after losing at the Fourth of July rodeo, he drove you home. Held your hair out of your face while you puked and cried and spilled your guts to him in a muddled mess and didn’t say anything after. Kept your secrets just that, secret.
“Still with me, Sawyer?”
Tyler’s voice cut into your thoughts and you blinked over at him from the other side of the truck bench.
“What?”
“You’re not here,” he chuckled, brows pinched with just the smallest bit of worry. “You’re somewhere else.”
“Oh,” you felt your cheeks grow hot and tossed your gaze out your window, “Just thinkin’ about Friday. Adeline Stout got a 13:20 last weekend, I gotta beat that to qualify for nationals.”
“Hm,” he hummed, thumbs tapping on the steering wheel, “Seems like you had it earlier.”
“Yeah, ’til you drove up.”
Tyler huffed a laugh under his breath and clicked his tongue, “Sorry. Should’a called first.”
Silence settled in the cab and the air between you buzzed, felt like static, charged and pulling taut with something loaded until the truck bumped over the curb of the parking lot and shattered it in an instant.
You couldn’t jump out of his rig fast enough and didn’t wait for him as you cut a path over the asphalt and into the dingy little diner, the bell overhead tinkling happily.
“Howdy, sugar!” Dot greeted you with her big, friendly smile, cowboy hats dangling from her earrings as she gave the man at the counter a refill on his coffee.
“Hey, Dot,” you couldn’t help smiling back, the bell on the door jingling again letting you know Tyler had finally caught up.
“Dottie, you are lookin’ fine as ever,” Tyler grinned, smooth like butter and the older woman chuckled, hand on her hip as she watched him pick out a booth.
“And you’re lucky I’m pushin’ seventy,” she teased back with a wink.
“Age is just a number!” Tyler played along and you rolled your eyes.
“We’ll take a couple iced teas, please,” you cut in, Dottie giving you a knowing smile and it made your cheeks flush again.
“And fries,” Tyler added, sliding into a booth by the window and you followed suit, sitting across from him on the glittering red plastic of the seat.
“You got it, hoss,” Dot nodded, hollering the order back over her shoulder to the kitchen and pouring two big glasses of her famous sweet iced tea.
Picking at the peeling vinyl table top, your knee bounced, a silent protest at having to be still for a minute.
You always made sure to keep yourself busy. To keep your mind from wandering off back home and everything that came with it, and sitting across from Tyler Owens at the quiet little diner while Dolly Parton sang overhead about working nine to five wasn’t doing you any favors.
“So,” Tyler started, dragging out the ‘o’ and lifting his brows at you, “How’re the girls?”
The girls. The chickens.
You deadpanned him and shook your head, propped your chin in your hand with your elbow on the table.
“They’re fine.”
“Good, good. And the Calhouns?”
“Also fine,” you shot him a look, a side-eye glance, but he only smiled.
“And did you get your boots worked in for Friday?”
“Tyler,” you firmed, turning finally to look at him straight on and his smile faded.
“What?”
“All this–this small talk and being chummy and whatever, it’s just–”
“Just what?” he asked, leaning forward on the table toward you and your heart stuttered in your chest.
“What’s your game?” you leveled, meeting his gaze despite the way he had your pulse fluttering against your neck and his lips curved up.
“No game. Just bein’ a good neighbor.”
You narrowed your eyes at him and leaned forward just a little more. “Thought you said you were good at chasin’ bullshit,” you pushed and he burned, a flush of red from the collar of his white t-shirt all the way up to his cheeks.
“Alright, two iced teas and some fries. You need anything else, peaches?” Dot cut right between the two of you with a couple of glasses and a red plastic basket piled high with shoestring french fries.
“Thank you, thank you,” Tyler recovered, thankful for the out and took the basket from Dot. “Think that’ll do it for now.”
“Mmhm,” Dot murmured, clicking her long pink nails on the table top. “You two be good.”
“Yes, ma’am,” fell out of Tyler’s mouth automatically as she left you it.
You picked up a bottle of ketchup and squeezed some into the corner of the basket, swirling a fry around in it and lifting it to your lips to take a bite. Maybe you should be nicer to Tyler, should give him a chance, the benefit of the doubt, but you weren’t about to be made a fool again. Weren’t ready to put your walls down yet even if he was mostly sweet and only a little sour – the fun kind – but maybe it wasn’t fair.
“Gonna be outta town on Tuesday,” Tyler started, looking over at you through the long sweep of his lashes, green eyes meeting yours across the table. “In case you punch a hole through your wall or something.”
“Ha, ha. Should do stand up.”
He grinned. “You wanna come with me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“With you?”
“Yeah, I gotta go pick up a case of rockets for our next video series.”
You scoffed, half-laugh half-nerves, but didn’t say no and his grin widened, eyes narrowed and almost closed with the way he was smiling so big.
“Pick you up at six,” he grabbed a bunch of fries and shoved them into his mouth, “Includes complimentary coffee.”
And something in you melted with the way he was looking at you. The way you could hear the tease in his tone softening and shifting more sincere and you cracked and finally gave him a real, honest-to-god smile.
“Fine,” you surrendered as he slapped a hand on the table and made you jump.
“Hell yeah,” he buzzed and you laughed, dropping your gaze to your lap so he couldn’t see you blushing.
“Keep your pants on,” you chided and the laugh that pushed from his lungs was hard enough to made his head tip back on the seat, but then you felt a buzz in your pocket.
You weren’t expecting a call.
Then Tyler’s buzzed on the table top.
And Dot’s from back behind the counter.
And the farmer’s at the booth behind you and when the siren sounded from down the street your stomach dropped.
“Shit,” Tyler breathed.
Jolting up from the table he pressed a hand to the window and looked out across the plains stretching out ahead of you. Cotton candy clouds turned dark and heavy, curling in on themselves and tinged in an eerie yellow and when he finally turned to look back at you, the feeling in your stomach twisted into something more ominous.
A storm was coming.
[ NOTE -> THIS IS PART 1 OF A 3 PART SERIES – STAY TUNED FOR THE LAST INSTALLMENT! ]
crappymixtape™ • tyler owens / twisters masterlist to come! ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️
Been thinking a lot about this guy these months but finally I'm trying to cook up a new design for her; the last one looked so stiff and awkward plus didn't even have any tornado related stuff with the design so i had to change a few things !
"My heart is like a puppy chasing a tornado.. young, dumb, and full of love. I always wonder why they run away when they come, I never seem to think of what would happen when I finally catch one.. "
NAVIGATION -> PART I • PART II • PART III
favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi, but when the wind picks up you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other • 18+ | ( 2k – TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )
H A N G O N T I G H T, B A B Y • P A R T T H R E E
🎶 think i'm in love with you, chris stapleton
The radio in Tyler's truck scratched low and soft under all the bumps in the road as you made your way home, passing downed power lines and oak trees ripped at the root. Tyler had definitely seen worse in all his time chasing, but you both knew that didn't make the cleanup any easier.
Aside from Chris Stapleton playing through the speakers, the only other sound was Tyler whisper-singing along as he expertly wove through the mess. Usually, you'd cut the silence with a witty, almost-bratty quip, but your concussion had you stuck and wobbling through a haze, and the headache didn't help.
You could feel his eyes on you every few minutes, checking in, making sure you were okay – if she throws up, she needs to be seen again, but after that, she should be in the clear – only 47 hours to go.
"Tyler, I'm fine," you finally grumbled, glancing over and catching him looking as you bumped over the cattle guard across your driveway.
"I know," he recovered quickly, eyes flicking back to look out the windshield.
"Then why're you lookin' at me like some kind of porcelain doll?"
He cut the engine at the end of the drive and fixed you with a dubious look, his brow quirked. "You serious right now?"
"Does it sound like I'm joking?" you scoffed.
Shoving your door open, you turned your back to him, anything to hide the flush that crept across your cheeks, burning pink and warm at his question. At what you knew it implied. Tyler came after you in a tornado, and that either made him crazy or – the reality – he actually cared about you.
"Whoa! Hold up–" came out strangled as he chased around the truck and grabbed at the frame, caging you in on one side, "–not so fast, sweet stuff."
The flush on your cheeks deepened at the nickname, a scowl twisting across your face as you tried to climb down and shoulder past him. "How many times do I have to tell you–"
But then he pressed his free hand to your palm to steady you, the words dying in your throat at how easily it enveloped yours; wide, warm, safe.
"I know, I know, don't call you sweet stuff," he dismissed with a click of his tongue, completely unaware of how you were looking at him, as if any sudden movement would make him take it all back. Turn him into the version of Tyler Owens you saw on the news. "You can't just jump outta my rig like that. You're concussed, remember? Now c'mon, nice n' easy."
But you stayed where you were, sat sideways on the bench seat, your boots brushing at Tyler's belt buckle, his hand wrapped around yours.
"Why're you doin' this?" you asked, voice low, almost a whisper, and a pinch gathered between his brows.
"What, makin' sure you don't ralph all over my rig?" It was a weak joke, said through a half-grin, the weight of your words drawing a flush up from his neck to his ears, but he kept going. "We gotta get you inside," came out softer, his eyes flicking up to look at yours, all big and blue, long blonde lashes fanning over his cheeks.
And you didn't fight him on it, the uncertainty settling at the pit of your stomach shifting into something warmer as he helped you down, hand still pressed to yours and the other at the small of your back.
"Good girl," he teased gently, but the lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth told you more – thank God, thank God you're okay, thank God you're still here – and you couldn't help but smile back.
❝ I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, I DIDN'T KNOW IT AT THE TIME,
I KNOW WHAT I WANNA DO, IT'S MAKIN' ME LOSE MY MIND. ❞
Once Tyler was sure you were settled safely on the couch, he busied himself with cleaning up the house. Ran the dishwasher, swept up the mudroom, hung up your riding jacket, and lined your boots up by the door. Every time you protested, he shushed you, insisted he didn't have anything else to do, even though he hadn't gone home to check on his own stuff. You'd tell him he was full of shit, and he'd just laugh; I'm not the only one, sweet stuff.
The sun slowly crept down the horizon, washing the living room in gold, tiny dust motes swimming in the long rays of light. Your headache subsided after Tyler forced a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol on you from the hallway cabinet, and every couple of minutes, he'd holler through the house, "You still awake?" You'd snark after him, tell him you were thinking about going for a ride with Tilly, and he'd bark back a laugh.
When the front door creaked, you looked up to see him come in from checking on The Girls, toeing his boots off next to yours. When he hung his hat on the coat rack, something flickered in your chest: a muddied mixture of bewildered adoration.
So this is what it was like to have someone care.
"Alright, Girls are fed," he assessed, running a hand through his messed, blonde locks before looking over at you on the couch. "Still dizzy?"
"Maybe," you dismissed.
"Sawyer."
His tone pulled your gaze, and when you glanced over at him, you found a stern expression tugging at his features, a hand propped on his hip.
"Fine," you muttered, "A little."
"Okay, well–lemme know when that stops–er somethin'," he rambled, grabbing the folded-up newspaper wordsearch from your coffee table and scribbling a note in the margin.
"What're you writing?" you mumbled through another drink of water, craning your neck to see better.
"Symptoms," he replied, distracted, still focused on his note.
"Tyler, I'm fi–"
"Dammit," he fisted the paper in his hand, and you bristled.
"What? You don't owe me anything, Owens. You're not stuck here. I can handle myself. Go home," you insisted, angry, pushing and shoving at the way being cared for had you feeling things again.
"Go home? You're hurt! And anyway, it ain't about that," he countered, waving a hand at the wide living room window. "D'you know how serious that could've been?" he asked, voice a low rasp, choked in his throat as reality served you a gut punch.
You, both of you, could've died.
Maybe you would've if not for him.
"Of course, I know," came out of you, flustered as he moved to take the other spot on the couch.
"I just–" he sucked in a deep breath, head tipped down, and hands tangled in his mess of sandy blonde hair, "–I know you think I'm an idiot." Lifting his gaze to you, he loosed a sigh, expression drawn down, sad, "But I've seen folks have their whole lives ripped outta their hands and–shit–when I saw you on the floor of that post office, I really thought you were…"
Your heart stuttered in your chest, pulse fluttering at your neck as you watched his frame shrink, watched his features change, his confidence flattened and vulnerable, looking at you like you were his to lose.
"You're a firecracker, a live-wire," he shook his head, eyes on yours. "Gimme more than eight seconds and I still don't think I could hold onto you."
A small laugh pushed itself from your lungs, and he gave you a tiny smile.
"Sawyer, I knew I was a goner the second you moved in next door," he admitted quietly, his smile fading with his confession, "But I didn't know how bad it was until I thought I'd lost you."
You were trembling now, breaths falling quickly from your lips as you fought the way he'd so expertly put a crack in your wall. It was like drowning and gasping for air at the same time, able, but not wanting to keep him at arm's length anymore. Turning to face him fully, you wobbled at the sudden change in position, but Tyler had you in an instant, one hand steady at your waist and the other tangled up with yours.
"Easy," he murmured, softly chastising.
And you were close enough now to see the flecks of gold swimming in the deep, blue pools of his eyes. The freckles that dotted over his nose and cheeks. The scar above his left brow and the stubble over his jaw. The small, fading line where his hat once rested against his hairline.
"Where you goin'?" he whispered.
"I don't know," you admitted, squeezing his hand as if to make sure he was real. You searched his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or the urge to run, but didn't find any. "Don't you hurt me, Tyler Owens," you whispered, and he shook his head, mouth dropped open in surprise.
"Never."
The heat from his chest radiated between you, warm, safe, steady, the feeling of his hand in yours chasing through your veins, and squeezing at your heart.
Never.
"Will you kiss me?" came out quietly, and his lips parted, uncertain, waiting, wanting.
"You sure that isn't the concussion talking?" he tried to joke, but you doubled down, leaned closer.
"I'm sure."
Your breath warmed over his cheek, blowing his pupils wide, and his gaze dropped to the seam of your lips. Lifting a hand to your jaw, he gently pressed the pad of his thumb at the corner of your mouth, brows knitted together in an almost pained expression.
"D'you know how beautiful you are?" he whispered, "Y'so beautiful."
"Tyler…"
"Shh, I got you."
Slipping his palm over your cheek, his fingers threaded through your hair, easing you closer, closer, closer until finally, he kissed you.
It was soft, slow, tender, intentional, like he was committing every little bit of you to memory. Like time had stopped completely, and all that existed in that moment was this. This feeling of surrender, a white flag waving between long streaks of gold, cherry red, and tangerine, the sun's final protest giving way to the glittering stars that had started appearing in the sky.
He pulled away and you made a tiny sound of protest, Come back, and when you opened your eyes, you found him giving you a lazy smile.
"What's wrong?" he teased, "I did what you told me."
You narrowed your eyes, a flicker of a grin playing across your lips.
"There's somethin' you gotta know about me," you started, an expectant look on his face, "I can be a little greedy."
Tyler swallowed down the groan teasing at the back of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. "Huh, well, that makes two of us," he grunted low, leaning back in to catch your lips between his and when you grinned against him, a satisfied hum rumbled in his chest.
"You're stuck here for at least another 24 hours," you mumbled into his mouth and then it was his turn to grin.
"Good, gotta make up for lost time."
"You're a menace, Tyler Owens," you snarked.
He tugged at your waist, and you let him pull you into his lap, his hands slipping into the back pockets of your jeans as he countered, "I'm misunderstood."
Easing back, you met his gaze, a smile playing on your lips, his eyes big and blue. "I can figure you out," you murmured.
"Know you can, sweet stuff," he grinned, and then you kissed him again, and again, and again, and again…
❝ I THOUGHT ABOUT THINKIN' IT THROUGH AND EVERY TIME I DO,
I FIND I WANNA MAKE YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE.
I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU. ❞
crappymixtape™ • tyler owens / twisters masterlist!
♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️
NAVIGATION -> PART I • PART II • PART III
favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi, but when the wind picks up you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other • 18+ | ( 3.1k – TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )
H A N G O N T I G H T, B A B Y • P A R T T W O
🎶 parachute, chris stapleton
White noise buzzed in your ears, a scratchy static that closed in around you tight and suffocating and you couldn’t move. Stuck to the glittering red plastic bench seat and staring out the window at the thin twist of cloud pulling closer and closer to the ground until a hand pressed firm into yours.
“Sawyer, you with me? C’mon, we gotta move!”
Tyler’s eyes were wild, sea glass turned stormy with adrenaline, and the way his thumb flexed against your palm pulled you back to the present.
“Wha–oh–shit,” a string of curses fell from your lips and you pushed yourself from the booth.
“Dot! You got a basement?” Tyler called over the loud drone of the siren blaring outside, but the old woman was already ushering her patrons through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Honey, I’ve done this enough times I could do it with my eyes closed! You go kick those folks out there into gear,” she shoved the last of the diner guests out the door and waved a hand toward the lot where Tyler’s rig was parked.
You hadn’t quite made it all the way into downtown, just on the outskirts, but there had been plenty of people milling around before the warnings started. The post office across the street was filling up with panicked folks and Matty’s Mechanic just around the corner was sure to have people in it too.
“Alright, listen to me,” Tyler took hold of your shoulders and stooped down so that his gaze met yours, setting fire to the flicker in your chest. Steady, sure, safe. “I’m gonna go around to Matty’s, think you can check the post office?” he was nodding at you – you can do this – reassuring, but your heart was hammering against your ribcage so hard you were sure it was going to crack.
“Uh, ye–yeah–”
“Hey. You got this, okay? Okay?” he squeezed your shoulder. “We meet back here in two minutes tops. Right? And if I’m not here you get to Dot’s cellar.”
“What? Without yo–”
“I’m gonna be here, but I’m sayin’ so cos I know you like a good, organized plan,” he tried a small, half-hearted grin, but it fell at the edges and you thought for a minute, maybe he was just as scared as you were.
“Fine. Two minutes,” you breathed and when his hands left your shoulders the hammering in your chest gave way to an ache you’d been pushing back on since the first time you laid eyes on Tyler.
Come back.
“Two minutes. Now giddy-up,” and with that he was already out the door and down the street to Matty’s.
You watched him disappear around the corner just as the sky opened up. Split in two and heaved buckets of rain down onto the pavement, the wind picking up strong enough to start shredding the flag on the pole in the lot.
This wasn’t your first tornado and it sure as hell wouldn’t be your last, but it never failed to scare the shit out of you when the sirens wailed over the howl of the wind. Tyler was right though, there were people across the street that needed help, needed a shove back to reality and you could do it.
You could do it.
Shoving the door open against a gust of wind, it nearly pushed you back into the diner, but you shouldered into it and stumbled out into the parking lot. Rain drenched you within seconds, droplets the size of quarters, too warm and carrying with it the promise of destruction.
Boots splashing through the puddles, you sprinted across the street and into the post office only to find it was full of people – wall-to-wall and standing room only. Your heart stopped for a second, where in the hell were they all gonna go? And then you saw the post master.
“Hey! Hey!” you shouted at him over the cries of children and adults alike. “You got a basement or a cellar?”
He looked like a ghost, white as a sheet, like a deer in the headlights and you shoved through the crowd to get to him. Gripped his shirt in your hands and shook him.
“A cellar, basement, anything!”
“I don’t–s’my first day–what are we gonna do??” he shouted at you and you tossed your gaze out the bay of windows to the street. Diner, empty office space, abandoned gas station–
“There!” you pointed, the wind screaming outside now and pulling all kinds of debris and branches through town. “That gas station has a cellar, I’ve seen it. Get these people over there now! Hurry!”
You watched as your words cut through his panic, his expression steeling against the fear swelling in him and he hollered over the sound of the storm.
“Everyone! Hold hands! We’re gonna get across the street to that gas station over there, alright? Buddy system! Hold ‘em tight!”
A small smile flickered at the corners of your mouth — ‘atta boy — and one at a time people nodded, murmured okay, we got this, let’s go.
Leveraging the door open with every bit of strength you could muster, you held it against the gales as they ripped through the street, making sure every single person made it out. The post master did his duty too, running the line of people and shepherding them along before kicking open the old cellar doors at the gas station and giving you a thumbs up.
Safe.
Now it was your turn, and you were definitely sure it’d been more than two minutes. Your eyes flicked up to Dot’s and saw Tyler running back to the lot through the wind and rain, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.
“Tyler!” you shouted against the storm, but it was loud now, the sky inky black as that tiny twist of cloud turned giant finally connected with the dirt and began swallowing everything in its path. Growing bigger and bigger by the second.
You knew you were out of time.
❝ I KNOW EVERY SINGLE FENCE POST,
EVERY ROCK TO GO AROUND.
I’VE BEEN STARIN’ AT THE RED OAK, WHERE I KNOW THEY’LL LAY ME DOWN. ❞
“Sawyer! Sawyer!” Tyler felt like he was gonna be sick. It’d been more than two minutes and you were no where to be found, but you had to get back to Dot’s, otherwise you’d–
“Tyler!”
His head whipped to the side at the sound of your voice carried somehow by the wind and when he caught sight of you holding open the door to the post office he heaved a sigh of relief. Thank, God.
“C’mon! Get outta there, we gotta go!” he shouted, waving an arm at the diner, but when you moved to come back out into the storm a heavy gust whipped down the street and slammed the door shut, throwing you back inside with it. “Sawyer!”
Tyler didn’t hesitate, not even one second as he tore across the parking lot to you despite the danger he was putting himself in – staring death down for you. It took every ounce of strength he had to pull the post office door open against the wind, but he got it cracked just enough to slip inside, breaths falling heavy from his lips.
And then he saw you. Sprawled out on the floor with your head propped against the wall of P.O. boxes and chin lolled down to your chest. The sight gripped him tight like a vice spinning shut, crushing his chest and squeezing his heart so hard he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“Oh, God–shit–no, no, no–”
Clambering down onto the tiled floor he ghosted a hand over your forehead, wanted to sweep the hair from your eyes, but didn’t. Not now. Right now he needed to make sure you were okay. Checked for signs of blood or broken bones and when he didn’t find any, felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. He pressed his head to your chest for a heartbeat – thud, thud, thud – and that was all he needed. Scooping you up, an arm around your back and the other tucked under the crook of your knees, he lifted you from the ground.
“You with me, sweet stuff?” he asked and when you groaned he let out a shaky laugh. “Damn, Sawyer, you sure know how to scare a fella,” he teased weakly, gaze flicking up to see the tornado ripping through the buildings just two streets over. “Hang on, I’m gonna get us outta here,” he promised.
The wind outside the building was howling so loud he could barely hear himself think. The windows flexed, creaking and whining at the pressure building on the other side, and Tyler’s mind started to race.
Where the hell were you gonna go?
Dot’s was out of the question, too far now, and he’d seen all those people go to the gas station, it’d be full, but then a memory struck him like lightning.
He couldn’t have been more than seven, at this very post office with his granny to mail a package to his uncle Jasper when the sirens started wailing. The old post master had ushered them around the back of the counter and if you hadn’t known where to look you would’ve missed it – the thin outline of a square in the floor with a tiny handle and latch, a bunker.
Now this was years ago, and there wasn’t any guarantee it was still there, but he was willing to take his chances. Bumping the low swing door at the counter with his hip, Tyler pushed you both back to the post master’s desk, eyes frantically mapping the floor.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, the roof overhead beginning to rattle and shake. It was bound to be overhead any second and then he spotted it, dirt caught in the grooves and faint, but it was there.
“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to set you down as gently as he could in a hurry, and yanked at the handle.
A high pitched whistle filled the room, the air getting sucked out of every nook and cranny, and an explosion sounded outside – propane tanks or Matty’s garage – and Tyler flinched.
“C’mon, you son of a bitch!” he yelled at the door and gave it one last yank until it flew open in a cloud of dust. It wasn’t very big, but more than enough room for the both of you, and he let the breath he was holding go just as a piece of the roof ripped off and spun up into the angry swirl above him.
No time.
Grabbing hold of you, he tossed you over his shoulder and practically fell down the ladder into the bunker just as the rest of the roof gave way, debris tumbling down into the hole after you.
“Shit–hang on!” he called out to you, shielding your body with his, and the feeling of his chest pressed to your back pulled you out of your daze.
Eyes fluttering open you blinked against the dark, the small space illuminated in a flash every time lightning split the sky in two, and you sucked in a gasp. Where were you? Your hands scrambled for purchase and found the piping running along the wall Tyler had huddled you both against.
“Tyler!” you cried and he freed a hand from the old rusty pipes to grab hold of your waist, his palm wide and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
“Hang on, just hang on!” he yelled.
The howl of the wind was deafening now, an unyielding roar overhead ripping and tearing and shredding everything in its path. Distant booms and crashes telling you this was bigger than any EF-1 or 2. Tears welled up at your lash line, head pounding where you’d hit the mailboxes upstairs, and you squeezed your eyes shut against it all, pressing your hand into Tyler’s.
Please, please, please, you prayed silently to whatever god might be listening, Tyler’s chest heaving against yours, his heart hammering heavy in his chest until finally the roar began to dull. Slowed and stretched to a low growl, breathed its last breath and then plunged everything into silence.
❝ SUN COMES UP AND GOES BACK DOWN, AND
FALLING FEELS LIKE FLYIN’ ‘TIL YOU HIT THE GROUND.
SAY THE WORD AND I’LL BE THERE FOR YOU – BABY, I WILL BE YOUR PARACHUTE. ❞
You opened your eyes to slivers of bright light chasing across the dirt floor of the bunker, the sounds of sirens and emergency vehicles dipping down through the tattered door overhead, Tyler’s hand wide and warm still pressed to your waist.
A shaky breath fell from your mouth.
Alive.
“You okay?” Tyler asked, panted breaths fanning over your hair and it sounded small, vulnerable – no hot air or bravado. A side of Tyler you didn’t know. A glimpse of the fact that he was human just like you. That he felt fear just like you. That there was more to him than you’d wanted to accept and a tiny pang of guilt pinched in your chest.
“I think so,” your voice wobbled as you swallowed down the bile that had crept up your throat upon the sick realization that: had that bunker not been there, you wouldn’t be here and neither would Tyler.
Slowly straightening up, Tyler stooped just a little in the cramped space and kept his hand on your waist, his other reaching to take hold of yours.
“Slow, slow,” he eased, pulling you to your feet, coaxing you up from the dirt, quiet encouragement and then…your name.
Your actual God-given name.
Not Sawyer, not sweet stuff, not honey and it wrapped you up in a soft haze. Sounded like heaven and earth and the moon hung lazy among the stars in the sky and when you lifted your gaze to meet his, your breath caught in your throat.
Green eyes, sea glass, the long sweep of his lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, brows knitted together with worry and something else, something warmer, and you wished you could figure it out. Wished you could swim in that soft sea green searching for what it was. Closer, closer, closer–
“Tulsa fire department!”
A voice rang out above you and you both startled.
“Oh–hey! Down here!” Tyler called up and a shadowed face appeared at the bunker entry.
“I’ve got two!” the man shouted over his shoulder before turning back to you, “Are you alright? Any injuries?”
Thinking felt like wading through molasses and you couldn’t put words to the man’s question. A beam of light flicked on, flooding the bunker and when Tyler stole a glance at you out of the corner of his eye he watched as your pupils stayed dilated.
“Damn,” he started, quiet, worried. “Yeah—er–yes. Possible concussion,” he told the EMT and the man nodded.
“Let’s get her up to the rig for an assessment,” and then he backed up to give you room to crawl out.
“Okay, you,” Tyler murmured, trying for his teasing tone and working overtime to quell the worried whispers in his head, “Up we go.”
Taking both of your hands he helped you gain footing on the ladder, nudging your boots onto the rungs with his own and curling your fingers around each hand hold.
“I’m right behind you,” he reassured as you started to shake, shock digging its hooks into you, “Easy, slow and steady.”
You took it one step at a time like he said, slow and steady, your frame trembling as you went. Tyler kept a hand on the small of your back the whole way, silent encouragement, up, up, up until the EMT grabbed hold of you and pulled you out.
Wincing at the sharp light from the sun, you buried your face into the crook of your elbow and let the man guide you toward the ambulance.
“Possible concussion here, pupils unresponsive to light, but no visible external wounds. Her partner here says he’s fine.”
The voices of the paramedics blurred together as you let them guide you to sit at the edge of the ambulance – the press of a stethoscope to your chest, your back, fingers feeling at your wrist for your pulse, a bright light blinding you for a fraction of a second and leaving behind little neon dots in your vision.
“Alright, seems minor, but she needs to be monitored for 48 hours,” the EMT said and you didn’t realize who he was talking to until you blinked away the pinpoints of light and Tyler swam into focus, “Are you her husband?”
That same flush from earlier bloomed across Tyler’s chest and up, up, up to his cheeks and all the way to his ears.
“Oh, n–no, I’m just–”
“He’s a friend,” you finished for him, rescued him from any further embarrassment and felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips.
“Do you live alone?” the EMT asked you and the smile faded.
“Yes,” your turn to blush.
“Well, I’m right next door,” Tyler cut in, “I can check on her.”
The man flicked his eyes from you, to Tyler, and then back to you – unimpressed with whatever this was.
“Sure. Well, friend, she can’t be left alone at all for that duration. No sleep for the next 6-8 hours and if she throws up she needs to be seen again. After that she should be in the clear,” he jotted something down on a pad of paper, the two of you staring holes into the ground, like you were sitting in the principle's office or something. “48 hours, right? Right. Take care now,” the EMT leveled you both with a look then took off around the rig to help with the next injury.
Clearing his throat, Tyler rubbed at the back of his neck and closed the gap between you, the toes of his boots almost brushing with yours.
“My truck’s still here,” he thumbed over his shoulder at Dot’s, which was still standing in one piece and his big, red, pickup sitting in the lot. “Thought we were gonna have to walk,” a weak laugh pushed itself from his lungs, but his heart wasn’t in it. Crouching down, Tyler dropped to your eye-level and put a hand over the toe of your boot, “Let’s get you home.”
Taking your hand in his he supported your balance, his other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. Walked you to the truck and eased you onto the bench. Gently buckled you in and drove carefully around all the debris and wreckage back down the road and in that moment he became more than just your obnoxious neighbor. Became more than a face on a t-shirt. More than his stupid catchphrase.
He was Tyler Owens and he just saved your life.
[ NOTE -> THIS IS PART 2 OF A 3 PART SERIES – STAY TUNED FOR THE LAST INSTALLMENT! ]
crappymixtape™ • tyler owens / twisters masterlist to come! ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️
y'all, my country is gonna show on this one – you can take the girl outta the country, but you can't take the country outta the girl LOL
UPDATE -> PART ONE HERE • PART TWO HERE!— favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi – but when the wind picks up? you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other | ( TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own stupid way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )
The engine on his truck cut out, his boots shuffling in the grass as he hopped out, and the heavy slam of his door told you today just wasn’t your day.
Walking up on you he tutted, teasing. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin', sweetheart?” and that snagged your attention.
Dismounting faster than he could blink, you were out of your saddle and marching across the corral to kick at the fence board his boot was resting on. The force of it made him stumble backward and he laughed again, flicking his toothpick off into the wheel ruts of your driveway.
“Alright, alright,” he held his hands up in defense and took his sunglasses off, tongue running along his bottom lip and still grinning like an idiot, “Didn’t come here to get my ass kicked.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” you snarked, pulling your hat off to fan at your face, “You know I’m trainin’ right now.”
“Mmhm,” he agreed, notching his foot back between the fence boards and leaning his elbows lazy at the top, “But I also know it’s near a hundred degrees and the humidity’s sittin’ at 50%. You been drinkin’ water?”
You swallowed, mouth dry, and rolled your eyes at him before turning your back to walk to the gate, “I’m fine.”
He pushed off the fence and chased a line around the corral, hands on the latch before you could get to it.
"What d'you say we go get an iced tea or something,” he offered, opening the gate for you, but you passed through without so much as a glance in his direction.
“No, Tyler.”
“Ah, c’mon. You and I both know it’s too hot to be out here. Tilly does too,” and when you started walking away he jogged ahead, back peddling his steps so that he could look at you. “C’mon, Sawyer. Just a nice cold iced tea between friends?”
Sawyer. The nickname he’d gifted you when you’d moved in next door, a nod to your hometown – Sawyer, Oklahoma.
crappymixtape™ • tyler owens / twisters masterlist to come!
♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️
