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rootedinrevisions · 29 days ago

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Through the Wreckage

SUMMARY: When a devastating tornado tears through town, Tyler Owens faces his worst nightmare: the woman he loves is missing. Tyler is thrust into a desperate search through the wreckage to find her. As the storm's aftermath unfolds, it forces him to confront his fears, regrets, and hopes for the future.

A/N: So got inspired for this after watching Twisters earlier today. Just the anguish that we saw from Tyler when he realized Kate was driving into the tornado made me wonder what would happen if the person he loved was missing or in danger. Hence where we ended up here.

WARNINGS: Destruction (ie: a tornado hit so damaged buildings, smoke, dust, sparks, etc.), Blood, Minor Injuries.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The tires screeched as Tyler pulled up to the scene, gravel crunching beneath his truck. He barely shifted into park before throwing the door open and jumping out. His boots hit the ground with a thud, and the first thing his eyes locked on was the building—partially collapsed, its front wall completely gone. The inside was exposed like a broken shell, with beams hanging at jagged angles and smoke or dust curling into the air from where drywall and bricks had crumbled. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. This wasn’t good.

Behind him, Boone’s truck came to a stop, followed by Dani, Dexter, and Lily piling out of their vehicles. Tyler barely registered the sound of their voices calling his name as they ran toward him. His world had narrowed to the destruction in front of him, and one thought pounded in his mind: She’s in there.

Pulling his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, Tyler checked the last location pinged from your phone. His stomach twisted. It matched this address. He swallowed hard, the weight of dread pressing down on him as his eyes scanned the crowd of people that had been pulled from the building and huddled together on the other side of the street. His pulse quickened as he searched for you, desperate for even a glimpse of your face. But you weren’t there.

“Tyler, man, slow down,” Boone said, gripping his shoulder as he came up beside him. “Let’s figure out what’s going on—”

“She’s not out here,” Tyler cut him off, his voice tight and raw. “She’s not with them.” He gestured toward the crowd of people being tended to by paramedics.

His chest heaved as the realization hit him like a freight train: You were still inside.

Without another word, he turned and made a beeline toward the first responders standing near the edge of the debris. His strides were long and determined, his jaw set in grim determination as he ignored Boone’s calls to slow down.

The closer he got, the more chaos surrounded him. The air smelled of smoke and damp concrete, and the sound of crackling debris mixed with shouts from firefighters. But none of it mattered.

“Did everyone get out?” Tyler shouted, his voice hoarse as he reached the nearest firefighter. “Did you see a woman—about this tall, light hair?” He motioned frantically, his green eyes darting around.

He already knew the answer from their hesitant expressions, but he refused to accept it.

“Sir,” one of them started, stepping forward, “it’s not safe—we weren’t able to get to everyone.”

“Where. Is. She?” Tyler growled, his frustration boiling over. His voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation. “Her phone’s still pinging from here! I need to know if she made it out!”

Another firefighter shook his head grimly. “We’re still doing sweeps, but the building’s unstable. Most of the front wall came down in the collapse. We can’t risk—”

“Bullshit!” Tyler snapped, cutting him off as he took a step toward the wreckage.

Boone and Dexter were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms to hold him back.

“Tyler, don’t,” Boone urged, his voice low and firm. “You can’t go in there, man. It’s not safe. They’ll handle it.”

“She’s in there!” Tyler shouted, wrenching free from their grip. His voice cracked as he pointed toward the ruined building. “I know she is, Boone! I’m not waiting around while they do their sweeps!” His voice was shaking now, and for a moment, the raw emotion broke through his resolve. His chest heaved, his shoulders trembling as he ran a hand over his face, trying to block out the fear clawing at his mind.

The building groaned, a deep, unsettling sound that warned of further collapse. Tyler’s eyes darted toward it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.

If you were inside, he wasn’t about to stand by and let the clock run out.

“I’m going in,” he muttered under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he broke into a sprint toward the wreckage.

“Sir! Stop! You can’t go in there!” a firefighter yelled, his voice sharp with authority.

Another called out, “It’s too dangerous! The structure’s not stable!”

But Tyler didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. The sound of boots pounding behind him told him Boone or Dexter was probably trying to catch him, but he didn’t care. All he could see was the shattered entrance ahead, the gaping maw of destruction that had swallowed you whole.

As he crossed the threshold, the air inside hit him like a wall—thick with dust and smoke, making it hard to breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, squinting to see through the haze. The floor was littered with debris—chunks of drywall, splintered wood, and jagged shards of glass. Wires hung loose from the ceiling, some sparking as they dangled.

The creak of shifting metal echoed through the space, and Tyler froze for a moment, his eyes darting upward. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to give way. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to move, stepping carefully over a fallen section of wall.

“Darlin’,” he shouted, his voice hoarse and strained. “Where are you?”

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the wreckage, his eyes darting from one pile of debris to the next. The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional crackle of sparks or the distant shouts of first responders outside.

“Come on, darlin’. Give me something,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He tried to focus, to ignore the dread clawing at the edges of his mind.

Tyler’s boot crunched on something, and he looked down to see a broken picture frame, the glass shattered across the floor. Around it were scattered papers, children’s drawings, and a few books covered in dust. He swallowed hard, the small remnants of normal life a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

Pushing forward, he weaved through the destruction, stepping over overturned chairs and avoiding the sharp edges of broken furniture. The air grew hotter the deeper he went, the faint smell of something burning making his stomach churn.

And then he saw it.

A shoe.

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized it—your shoe, half-buried beneath a pile of rubble. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as his shaking hands reached for it.

“Sweetheart?” he called, his voice breaking. He tossed aside chunks of drywall and splintered wood, the sharp edges cutting into his palms. Blood smeared across the debris as he worked, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to you.

Finally, he uncovered your leg, and his heart seized. You were pinned beneath the debris, your body motionless. Dust and grime streaked your face, and your hair was tangled with bits of plaster.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers were gentle, but his hands shook uncontrollably.

Leaning closer, he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, searching desperately for a pulse. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. And then he felt it—a faint, fragile beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief flooded him, and a choked sob escaped his lips.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred faintly, your head shifting against the debris that cradled it. The faintest groan escaped your lips, so quiet he almost missed it. Tyler froze, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes shot to your face.

“Darlin’?” He said, his voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear. He cupped your face with one dirt-streaked hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s me. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, and your lips moved, though no sound came out at first. He leaned closer, his ear inches from your face.

“Ty...” The broken syllable fell from your lips like a lifeline, and his chest ached at the sound of it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered weakly, just barely cracking open, but it was enough. Enough to send relief crashing over him in a wave so powerful it left him dizzy.

“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He squeezed it gently, willing his strength into you. “Stay with me. Keep those eyes on me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

You tried to say something else, your voice a faint whisper he couldn’t quite make out. He shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he crouched lower to meet your gaze.

“Don’t try to talk,” he urged softly. “Just save your strength, darlin’. I’m getting you out of here. Just stay with me, okay? That’s all I need you to do. Stay with me.”

The faintest flicker of a nod came from you, but it was enough to shatter the fragile composure he’d been clinging to. His free hand pressed to his mouth as he choked back a sob, his chest heaving with the weight of his fear and relief.

The building groaned again, a deep, ominous sound that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he didn’t have much time. He slid his arms beneath you, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

With you in his arms, Tyler turned toward the exit, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around him. All that mattered was getting you out of here alive.

Tyler adjusted his grip on you, holding you closer as he stepped carefully over the uneven ground. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The air inside the building was suffocating. Smoke and dust hung thick like a heavy fog, clawing at his lungs with every breath. His throat burned, and each inhale felt like dragging sandpaper across raw skin. He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them open again. He couldn’t lose focus—not now.

Sparks rained down from a severed electrical wire overhead, the sharp sting biting into the exposed skin of his arms. He flinched, gritting his teeth as the acrid smell of singed fabric filled the air.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and desperate as he looked down at you. “We’re almost out of here.”

Your body shifted slightly in his arms, and a soft, raspy cough escaped your lips. Tyler’s heart jumped at the sound. Panic surged through him, as he saw how shallow your breathing was.

“You still with me?” He called, his voice cracking. “Hey, can you hear me? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You coughed again, your eyelids fluttering briefly but not opening. A weak, almost inaudible groan escaped you.

“That’s it,” Tyler said, his tone urgent but soft like he was coaxing you back to him. “You’re doing good. Just keep breathing for me, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

He stumbled slightly as the ground beneath him shifted—a section of flooring sagging under the weight of the debris. Tyler’s knees buckled for a moment, and he tightened his grip on you, his heart racing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, steadying himself before pressing forward.

The building groaned around him, the sound of metal twisting and concrete cracking growing louder. He could feel time running out.

Another section of ceiling collapsed behind him, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air. Tyler ducked instinctively, shielding you as debris rained down. A sharp edge grazed the back of his neck, and he winced, but he didn’t stop moving.

The exit was just ahead—a faint sliver of light visible through the haze. Tyler pushed toward it, his legs trembling with exertion. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the lack of clean air began to take its toll.

His steps faltered, and he coughed violently, nearly doubling over. For a moment, he thought his legs might give out, but then he felt a small, trembling hand against his chest. Your hand gripped weakly at his shirt, your head lolling slightly against his shoulder.

“T-Tyler...” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep moving.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just hang on.”

The exit grew closer, but the smoke thickened, clawing at his throat and lungs. Tyler stumbled again, his knees hitting the floor as his body screamed for oxygen.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head as he clutched you tighter. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the way his legs trembled beneath him.

The light from the exit grew brighter, and he could hear the distant shouts of first responders outside. They sounded muffled like he was underwater, but it gave him just enough hope to keep going.

Sparks rained down again, burning his exposed arms and neck, but Tyler turned his body to shield you, hunching over as he pushed through the final stretch. His back felt like it was on fire, the fabric of his shirt sticking to blistering skin, but he didn’t slow down.

Finally, he broke through the haze, stumbling out onto the pavement. The fresh air hit him like a punch to the chest, and he gasped, his knees giving out as he sank to the ground.

“Help! Somebody—” he coughed violently, his voice raw and barely audible. “Somebody help her!”

Paramedics rushed toward him, but Tyler’s focus was on you. Your face was pale, streaked with dust and sweat, but your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He reached up to brush a trembling hand against your cheek, his fingers stained with soot and blood.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” He whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes.

Tyler cradled you in his arms, his knees rooted to the pavement as the chaos of the world around him blurred into background noise. His only focus was you.

Your head lolled weakly against his chest, and your breaths were growing more shallow and uneven by the minute. A fresh wave of panic crashed over him as your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice trembling. “No, no, darlin’, stay with me. Look at me.”

Your eyes opened slightly, your gaze unfocused as you struggled to lift your head.

“I… can’t,” you murmured, the words barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” he said, his tone firm but full of emotion. “You’re not quittin’ on me now, you hear me?”

You coughed softly, your body trembling in his arms. Tyler adjusted his grip, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the pain and the fear.

“We have plans, remember?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes. “Dinner tonight, just you and me. You told me you wanted to get dressed up, and said I needed to wear that tie you like. I’m not lettin’ you out of that, sweetheart. You still owe me a dance.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it quickly faded as your eyelids grew heavier.

“And the church,” he continued, desperation lacing his words. “The little church your parents got married in. We’ll get married there, just like you’ve always wanted. You can wear that lace dress you talked about, the one you saw at the boutique last spring.”

You made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and your fingers twitched weakly against his chest.

“And kids,” Tyler added, his voice breaking completely now. “Two–hell, however many you want. We’ll give ‘em the best damn life, I promise you that. Just… just stay with me, darlin’. Please.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, glassy but fixed on him.

“Three or four?” you rasped, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Tyler let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him like a flood. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt from your cheek.

“Yeah, three or four is perfect, darlin’,,” he said, his forehead pressing against yours as his tears mingled with the soot on his face. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just tell me the names you’ve got picked out, and I’ll make it happen.”

You gave a weak, tired smile, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of your chest against his. But your body still felt too limp, too fragile in his arms.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your gaze flickered once more, but before he could plead again, the paramedics swarmed around you.

“Sir, we need to take her now,” one of them said urgently, but Tyler’s arms tightened instinctively around you.

“I’m not leavin’ her,” he said fiercely, his eyes wild as he looked up at them.

“We need space to help her,” the paramedic insisted, their tone gentle but firm.

Tyler hesitated, his heart warring with his head as he realized he had no choice. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You hang on, you hear me?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Reluctantly, he let them take you from his arms, his hands trembling as he watched them load you onto the stretcher. His heart clenched painfully as he saw your pale, dust-streaked face disappear behind the blur of paramedics working to save you.

* * * *

The waiting room of the hospital felt like a void. Time moved differently here, stretching out each second into an eternity. Tyler sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. Boone, Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat nearby, their voices low and subdued as they tried to offer support. But Tyler didn’t hear them. His mind was stuck in the chaos of the collapsed building, the sound of your ragged breaths, the weight of your fragile body in his arms.

He stared at the double doors down the hallway, willing someone to come through them with news. Good news. Any news. His burned skin throbbed beneath the bandages the ER nurses had wrapped around him, but he didn’t care. The only pain that mattered was the fear clawing at his chest. The fear of losing you.

“T,” Boone said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. She’s gonna pull through.”

Tyler nodded absently, his throat too tight to respond. He wanted to believe Boone, but the image of you lying so still, your face pale and streaked with dust, was seared into his mind.

The doors finally swung open, and a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Tyler shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Tyler Owens?” the doctor asked, glancing around the room.

“That’s me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The doctor smiled softly, and Tyler’s knees nearly buckled with relief.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She inhaled a lot of smoke, and there’s some bruising from the debris, but no major injuries. She’s going to be okay.”

Tyler exhaled a shaky breath, his hands dragging down his face as the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

“Can I see her?” Tyler asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “She’s awake, but she’s still weak. Try to keep it short for now.”

Tyler nodded, barely hearing the last part as he followed the doctor down the hallway. His boots echoed on the tile floor, the sound somehow both grounding and surreal.

When he stepped into your room, his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were propped up in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask resting lightly over your nose and mouth. The faint beeping of the monitors was a comforting reminder that you were still here, still breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him, and despite the exhaustion etched into your face, you managed a small smile.

“Hey, cowboy,” you whispered, your voice muffled by the mask.

Tyler’s lips curved into a smile, and he pulled a chair up to your bedside, sitting down with a sigh of relief. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“I’ll try,” you teased weakly, your fingers giving his hand the faintest squeeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Tyler’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes drinking in the sight of you as if to convince himself you were really okay.

“I meant what I said out there,” he finally murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

You frowned slightly in confusion. “What part?”

“All of it,” he said. “The church, the kids, everything. I want it all with you, darlin’. I want to marry you, and I’ll wear whatever you tell me to.”

You laughed softly, the sound raspy but real, and Tyler’s heart swelled.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your smile softening as tears welled in your eyes. “I want it all too, Tyler. I always have.”

Tyler leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s start with dinner,” he said. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m takin’ you to the nicest place in town. No storms, no distractions, just you and me.”

Your fingers tightened around his as you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Deal. Can we have Italian?”

For the first time in hours, Tyler let himself relax, a small smile playing on his lips as he whispered, “Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction

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mockerycrow · 2 years ago

Note

Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

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drdemonprince · 21 days ago

Text

For the last eighteen years (the entirety of my adult life), I have never lived in a place longer than twenty-four months.

If you’re a renter, you know the deal: one apartment has leaks coming from the ceiling, thanks to a bathtub upstairs that the landlord never sealed up; in the next, you can hear skittering in the walls. I get a new job, so I have to head a mile south to find a commute that is tolerable. The relatively affordable one-bedroom on the corner where the ambulances are always blaring gets bought out, so the rent shoots from $900 to $1200 per month. Over and over the leaf blower of economic progress has expelled the flimsy debris of my life from the corners where it has settled.

There were less prosaic reasons for the many moves, too, like the 55-year-old roommate who would bang on my door at six in the morning accusing me of sampling her milk and let her dog shit on my rug. Or the boyfriend who stalked me after we broke up in graduate school, who would sit in the parking lot outside my window curled up into an angry, devastated ball, shrieking and crying until somebody came out the back exit and he could rush in to get me. I left the rug behind when I moved, because it had gotten stained. And when I escaped from the boyfriend, I left behind all the books from graduate school that reminded me of him, too.

As a renter (especially one with a limited income) you never have any control over your surroundings. Where you live, how much space you have, what pests reside there, what works in the building and what doesn’t, how things get fixed, if things get fixed — it’s all determined by market forces and landlord whims. Nothing is permanent, and everything is uncomfortable, so you learn to keep your life light and ready to be picked up and dashed away with at the first sign of trouble.

I never really learned to settle down into a place and let my weight expand gently all over it. It was better not to count on anything. Every time that I moved, I culled my possessions: the vintage exercise bike that I brought with me from Ohio got left behind when I darted from a depressing, windowless spot in Roger’s Park to a tiny studio in Lakeview. When the studio in Lakeview had cockroaches crawling up the bathtub drain, I found a dupe of a subletter and left behind my desk and half my kitchen items, and used a $40 folding table from Aldi as my counter, dining room table, and workstation for the next five years.

That’s one thing that people don’t talk about, when they complain about landlords: how much disregard for your surroundings that renting breeds in you. It’s not only that the owner of your building never cleans the pipes. It’s also that you have no reason to feel invested in the pipes’ long-term functioning, and every reason to feel bitter about the thousands of dollars you’re already wasting on a broken building each year.

And so you buy the Drain-o, even knowing it does damage. You don’t invest in a hair trap, because it shouldn’t be your job. Maybe you even flush kitty litter down the toilet, as one neighbor of mine did, because why the fuck shouldn’t you? It almost feels like revenge to wreck a place that was never yours, even though the only people who will suffer the consequences are the poor broke renters who come after you.

There is no gratitude, no sense of continuity — only a steady march of expenses and breakdowns that never stop, until you’re kicked back on the street again.

But this June, after almost twenty years and fifteen moves across various apartments and sublets, I have finally arrived at a place where I might be able to stay a long time. I’m no longer paying a landlord’s bills with my wages. I have become, as Eula Biss puts it, the husband of a space. This home is my duty to protect, to build up into something that might last for me and everyone else who passes through it.

Suddenly I can see the consequences of my actions: A stick of incense left burning on the bathroom counter leaves three small, orange marks I have to buff out with a scrubbing sponge and a layer of Barkeeper’s Friend. When I ignore a leak from the hot water spigot that runs over the side of the tub, the liner swells up with moisture and has to be cut out and replaced. Life is no longer lived in pay periods, but in years. Unattended problems only get worse over time, and everything is riding on me.

I wrote about making a home, adopting a cat, and learning to let my life have weight. You can read the full essay for free (or have it narrated to you by the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com

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reasonsforhope · 3 months ago

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The loss of life and impact on the communities in Helene’s path is unfathomable — and both the immediate and long-term needs are vast.

If you’re reading this, it’s likely because you want to help and care about making a difference for those who’ve been impacted by Hurricane Helene.

You’re in the right place. When we see tragedy like this happen in the news, it’s important to not tune it out. Instead, pay attention and truly feel the heartbreak of it — then, look for and be inspired by the people stepping in to help, and use that energy to make a difference ourselves.

Looking for the helpers

Instead of turning away from tragic events like the devastation from Hurricane Helene — we look closer for people stepping in using what they have, where they are, to make a difference for others.

Inspired by Mister Rogers’ famous quote, we call them the “helpers,” — and they’re usually found wherever there’s bad news in the world. Hurricane Helene is no different. Here are some people, businesses, and organizations helping right now:

Chef José Andrés and World Central Kitchen teams are serving thousands of meals to communities in need — from Mexico, and the Big Bend of Florida, and into Appalachia.

Volunteer pilots with the Port City Aviators Flying Club are flying supplies to storm victims in western North Carolina.

The national Disaster Distress Helpline is providing free multilingual crisis counseling to those in need.

Southern Smoke Foundation, an organization that supports food & beverage workers in crisis, is providing financial support for groceries, medical bills, lost wages, and more.

Volunteers with veteran-led disaster response organization Team Rubicon are on the ground in Greenwood, South Carolina clearing roads of trees and debris.

A local library branch in Asheville, North Carolina served as a hub for community members in need of internet service.

Workers at Waffle House were “unlikely heroes” providing food to people in need.

A local Fox News correspondent stopped his live broadcast to help rescue a woman trapped in her car in rising floodwaters.

Emergency response teams rescued more than 50 staff, patients, and caregivers from the roof of a hospital in Erwin, Tennessee.

The SPCA of Brevard rescued 20 animals from Hurricane Helene’s path — and it’s now helping them get adopted.

‍

How to make a difference

After we’ve allowed ourselves to feel the weight of the pain and heartbreak associated with bad news, and look for hope and helpers in the midst of it — we always have the opportunity to join in and make a difference, too.

Here are some ways to help — whether you’re local or far away:

Donate to national organizations

Here are just a few large-scale organizations that have helpers on the ground in the region.

American Red Cross

World Central Kitchen

Feeding America

United Way

Salvation Army

CARE

Donate to local organizations

Local organizations, recovery funds, and mutual aid groups have been deployed across the states impacted by Helene. Find donation links and updates below:

All States:

GoFundMe Hub for Hurricane Helene Relief

Mutual Aid Disaster Relief

Southeast Climate & Energy Network

Convoy of Hope

Appalachia Funders Network

Americares

Organizing Resilience

The National Voluntary Organizations Active in Disaster

Tennessee:

East Tennessee Foundation

First Aid Collective Knoxville

RISE Erwin

Second Harvest Food Bank of East Tennessee

North Carolina:

North Carolina Community Foundation

Hearts With Hands

Manna Foodbank

BeLoved Asheville

Foothills Food Hub

Haywood Christian Ministry

Samaritan’s Purse

Forsyth Humane Society

Hope Mill

‍

Volunteer locally

Organizations in the affected area are seeking volunteers to help distribute resources and support crucial aid efforts. While many of us are not local to the region, those who are nearby are encouraged to join in a myriad of volunteer opportunities.

(Note: If you aren't in the area, the best way you can help is by supporting local efforts with a donation. Keeping roads clear for rescue crews and local relief agents is vital in maintaining safety in these already devastated regions).

For local volunteers, check out:

World Central Kitchen

Operation BBQ Relief

Marco Patriots

Operation Airdrop

Baptists on Mission

‍

Contact your elected officials and ask them to take climate action

Climate scientists agree, the intensity and extent of the devastation brought by Hurricane Helene was made worse by climate change.

While we can’t go back in time and burn less fossil fuels — we can make a difference now to secure a safer future and prevent future climate disasters.

In addition to talking about how this disaster is connected to climate change in our own conversations and holding media outlets accountable for how they talk about climate change — this is a great time to tell your elected officials that you want them to take meaningful climate action.

We’re making incredible progress in the U.S. and globally in reducing emissions, but we need to work even faster — and incorporate climate mitigation efforts into our plans — to limit the most severe impacts of global warming.

#united states #hurricane #hurricane helene #carolina hurricanes #hurricane season #natural disaster #disaster aid #appalachia #psa #volunteer #today is posting about hurricane helene day for me apparently

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levans44 · 1 month ago

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what’s it gonna take to break your heart?

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary:

He vows to keep his distance, tells himself it's wrong—you're too new, too young, too good—and he's your commanding officer.

But whichever way he bends the truth, he just can't seem to keep you away.

warnings: angst, slow build, inside the tortured mind™ of steven grant rogers, mention of age difference, light mention of blood/injury

word count: 1k

a/n: thought i'd write something from steve's pov, for a change. pt. 1 of my mini series: what's it gonna take? all parts can be read as stand-alone pieces. title by FINNEAS

One of these days, you’re gonna be what does him in.

You’re a wildfire, a blaze barely contained. Too young, too bright, too intense for someone like him. Next to you, he's just a smoldering ember, tempered by decades of ash.

Fresh-faced, barely in your mid-20s, yet hand-selected by Fury from the newest round of Avengers recruits. It didn't take long for the rest of the group to catch onto your talent and grit—started calling you their wildcard, the Ace.

Still, there’s no denying your age. Leagues younger than everyone else, with a certain vibrance in your eyes that sets you apart.

Too young to devote the rest of your life to this kind of work.

And far too young for him to be feeling the way he does about you.

So he does everything he can to keep you at arm’s length, swallowing down every sidelong glance, every quick-witted comment and smile that eats away at his resolve.

But then you actualize the worst of his fears during a routine operation, throwing yourself head-first into a burning building, just moments away from collapsing.

You, with a life teeming with potential, nearly taken in a heartbeat.

And Steve snaps.

The Quinjet is barely off the ground when he strides through the haze of desert debris, making a beeline for you. Doesn’t spare you a second to catch your breath, dragging you by the arm to the rear of the cargo deck, raised eyebrows from the rest of the crew be damned.

By the time he releases his ironclad grip, cornering you against a stack of weapon crates, he’s scanned you for injuries at least three times over.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, chest heaving like he’s the one who’s just sprinted across a collapsing rooftop and leapt onto an airborne vehicle.

“What do you mean?”

You cock your head earnestly, arms crossed as you stare up at him.

And he swears, he could end it all right then and there.

Face covered in soot, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—and you have the audacity to smile. The sharp corners of your lips pierce into smooth, rounded cheeks, still flushed red with exertion. As stunning as the day he first saw you, even with all the grime, sweat, and blood staining your skin.

Steve’s jaw clenches, concealing the tightness in his stomach with a gruff sigh.

“You know exactly what. I ordered you not to engage.”

Not a flicker of hesitation when you fire back:

“She had kids. I didn’t have a choice.”

Directives and protocols gone by the wayside, earpiece tossed behind your shoulder as you head straight for a family trapped on the top floor—his orders to wait for the Quinjet buried in the dust.

And he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

He breathes through his nostrils, eyes fluttering shut, but all he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears.

But you did have a choice, he wants to argue. You don’t have to bear it all on your own.

Why must you always be the one to rush to the frontlines?

But the words that come out are cold and detached, bypassing the part of his brain that wants to reach out and gently wipe the soot off your cheek:

“That’s not the point. If the building had collapsed, you would have only added to the casualty count.”

“Maybe. But the Quinjet wasn’t gonna get there in time. I had to take the risk.”

A quiet sigh, gloved fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Agent, we don’t gamble with lives like that.”

Your sharp laugh cuts through the air, piercing his ears. Too sharp against the soft outline of your jaw, the smooth contours of your neck. You shoot him a look, the clarity in your irises reflecting his hypocrisy.

“Funny coming from you, isn’t it Cap?”

There it was, that derision in your tone, a sneer on your pretty lips as you spit out his title like a a dirty word.

And damn him for wanting to taste it off your tongue, hear you gasp it into his neck as he presses you against the cold, steel-plated wall behind you.

Leather gloves creak under his grip as he balls his fists, eyes darting to the wound on your upper arm when he can't formulate a quick enough response. A large glass shrapnel from the window you’d crashed through—a steady trail of dark crimson trickling down your forearm all the way to your dirt-laden fingertips, where it hits the floor in slow drips.

“Just… go get that patched up.”

Lips curling over bright teeth, you salute him with your injured arm without so much as blinking, a line of blood running back down your wrist.

“Yessir.”

For the entire 7-hour ride from Lagos to base camp, he stays glued to a seat in the back of the Quinjet, head bowed over a tablet as he busies himself with sorting through gathered intel. Desperately ignores your animated banter with Natasha and Sam from the other side of the cabin, where you drown out the steady drone of the engine with your bright laughter.

When a sudden shriek sounds from your direction, he spares a quick glance, finding you with your arms over your head, laughing and swatting the air as Redwing circles teasingly above you. Nearly snaps his tablet in half the moment you suddenly bend over, the stretch of your tactical suit clinging to your hips as you reach for the drone control panel on Sam’s wrist.

As soon as the wheels screech down on the tarmac, Steve gets to unloading the jet, hauling crate after crate of equipment just to avoid meeting your gaze.

Hours later, when the paperwork’s taken care of and everyone’s retreated to their quarters, he drags himself to the training room on base.

Throws his fists against a punching bag, each strike a desperate attempt to sweat out the impure thoughts. Praying he can free himself of the images in his head—images of you—he doesn’t let up until the first rays of sunlight hit the gym. The skin over his knuckles start to split after a while, but he doesn’t bother wrapping them. They’ll heal soon enough.

And when neither the 4-hour gym session nor the scalding hot shower afterward washes you away from his thoughts, burning brightly as ever in the back of his mind, he sinks into bed, fuming.

You’re too new, too young.

It’s a breach of protocol, he’s technically your commanding officer.

You don't think of him in that way.

Yet, whichever way he bends it, there’s no escaping the truth.

It’s a sharp, exquisite kind of ache, one that wraps around his chest, tightening with every breath, until it’s the only thing he can feel.

And damn it, it’s a torture sweeter than anything he's ever known.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #reader insert #mcu #mcu marvel #mcu fic #captain america #captain america fic #captain america fanfiction #angst #slow burn

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perseephoneee · 22 days ago

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frostbite [ficmas 2024] [steve rogers]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

@allthegoodbobdylanlyricsaretaken : Merry (early) Christmas! Can I get a Steve Rogers x Female!Reader for frostbite? :D ❄️❄️

warnings: body insecurities, perky nipples, mission debauchery

author's note: ho ho ho it is ficmas day 1 and folks am i excited. i actually did a lot of editing with this one bc you guys deserve quality and i love youuu

playlist:

white winter hymnal -- fleet foxes

winter wonderland -- laufey

that moon song -- gregory alan isakov

“This mission fucking sucks.”

“Language,” Cap chastised over the com, earning a grumble from you as you adjusted your crouch behind one of the many trees in the forests of Sokovia. This was supposed to be a simple mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. In many ways, it was still simple, but it was also cold. It was so cold that you were losing feeling in your fingers and toes despite the gear you had on you. Stark had ensured that “his” employees were well-outfitted for whatever climate. It didn’t help you from feeling like a popsicle.

“Hey, you were a human popsicle. How did you survive? Asking for a friend,” you said over the com, rolling even more into a ball as you attempted to find warmth.

“You’re hilarious,” Steve drawled, no hint of humor in his voice. Sometimes, you felt like he could lighten up, actually have a laugh instead of playing adult all the time. This was one of those moments you wished he would play along with you. Plus, you enjoyed the sound of his laugh.

“Any movement?” you sighed, still peering around your perch. It was an overseas operation using Sokovia as a meeting ground to smuggle illicit goods to other fascist organizations, which would be considered a big deal operation if your days weren’t often full of handling aliens. Oh, the joys of joining S.H.I.E.L.D. and not the FBI or CIA.

Steve said something over the com, but you didn’t hear it as you heard voices coming from down below. You had found purchase on a ledge that overlooked a snowy courtyard, one of the many places you and Steve thought might hold the promise of a meeting. You were right, as two of the guilty individuals came out of the woodwork without noticing your presence. As you crept down, you pulled your hood farther up your head, trying to stay low to the ground. You were excited to wear the white get-up, especially with the furry hood. Steve was in his Captain America gear. It struck more fear than if he had looked like an Arctic fox.

You forced your breathing to become shallow as you slowly slid down the ledge, ending up about thirty feet away from them. Still hidden by the snow, still not alerting them of your presence. Before getting up, you searched the ground for any potential debris that would snap and let them know you were there. Initially, you planned to attack first and ask questions later. Until you saw the contents of what they were lugging, which was much different from what the initial mission specs reported. You let them walk farther away and let the wind carry your voice in the opposite direction before speaking to Cap.

“Something’s off. I’m going to follow them.”

“Wait for me,” Steve spoke, rustling sounds signaling he was already moving.

“No time, I’m going in.”

“Y/N–” you cut Steve off, turning off your com in case they heard as you trailed after them. You didn’t have to focus on the cold as much as you tried to slow your breaths and quiet your movements. About a hundred feet later, they met up with the rest of their party and a large, conspicuous truck. They had more bags of whatever they were smuggling, and you waited until only two men were outside before moving.

You were trained well, dispatching them without much of a problem. You left them unconscious outside as you crawled inside the truck, looking through the bags in the dim light. The material wasn’t what you initially thought…it appeared to be of alien origin. Considering the organization you were chasing, you assumed they could be used in weapon production. Can’t these guys ever think of more creative ways to dominate the world? You thought as you closed up one bag to check all the others. What about targeting the market on Magic the Gathering cards?

A thud alerted you that you weren’t alone, and you immediately ducked as a shot was fired from your assailant. You pushed his arm to the side, holding his gun hand against the wall as you swept his foot out from under him. Twisting his arm back at an unnatural angle, he cried out as he dropped the weapon, and you grabbed it from him. You didn’t have a chance to use it as a second man jumped in and knocked you cold.

Chaos greeted you as you woke up.

Your hands and feet were numb as you regained consciousness; looking around to see, you noticed you were still in the back of the truck. Fighting was happening outside, and considering the men's yells, you knew it was Steve doing the fighting. He was the only soldier you had seen strike that much fear. Panic overtook you as you struggled to move your limbs. It reminded you of every time you had sleep paralysis and you wanted to scream. You sucked in your core and forced yourself to sit up, forcing your fingers to flex in the process. You stifled a yelp at the pain as you used your forearms on a crate box to drag yourself up. Blood started rushing through your body again as you shuffled towards the entrance, watching in a trance as Steve dispatched man after man. They just kept coming, though, and you knew Steve, despite his talents, wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever. You turned to look around the back of the truck, locating the gun that you grabbed earlier. The idiot who knocked you out didn’t even bother to grab it for himself.

You clenched your teeth and shuffled towards the gun, minimal feeling returning to your limbs as you slid to the ground, grabbing it between your numb fingers. You knew that you were in deep shit if you didn’t get warm soon, but you didn’t have time to worry about that. Instead, you took a deep breath and took your shot. Director Fury had once compared your shooting skills to that of Clint “Hawkeye” Barton, and it showed. Even in your frozen state, you knocked out bad guy after bad guy until Steve had the upper hand. The fight was over in less than five minutes, with both of you combined. The second the last guy dropped, the gun slipped from your fingers, and you slunk against the wall. Steve ran over to you immediately.

“What happened?” Steve asked, kneeling before you and looking for any visible injuries.

“F-Frostbite,” you bit out, head already feeling hazy. Steve, Mr. “Language,” swore under his breath and picked you up under your knees and shoulders. You cried out from the pain, everything in you frozen from the climate and being knocked unconscious. Your camp wasn’t too far away, and with Steve running at full-super-soldier speed, it didn’t take too long to get there. Your plane was parked next to the fully insulated tent you both had pitched up for the night-long mission. Instead of taking you to the tent and your bed, though, Steve rushed you into the plane. He put you on the floor and ran to the cockpit to turn on the aircraft. All the controls turned on, and heat started to pump through the airways. The plane had the only working bathroom (Tony was still working on transporting an entire modern plumbing system on the go), and Steve took you there, turning on the water. He looked at you and started blushing.

“I-I need to take off your clothes,” Steve mumbled.

“Then fucki-ing do it,” you stuttered. Steve, fortunately, didn’t hesitate. He undid your boots, removing your jacket, pants, and shirt, leaving you in a tank top and underwear. Your skin was red and purple, and you hissed as he put you into the water. Steve closed the door to the bathroom, shoving towels under the crack and doing his best to create a sauna. The steam started fogging up the mirror as you felt the ice in your bones begin to crack. Steve looked around the bathroom and, not finding what he was hoping for, elected to start taking off his uniform. You were too cold to say anything, and even if you did enjoy Captain America shirtless in a steamy room, the only thing you felt was confusion. He took off his undershirt (still in a tank top and pants) and wet it in the hot water, bringing it to your head as he attempted to get the parts of you not covered in the tub.

You both sat there for a while, your breaths coming out slower and slower as you felt yourself warm up and your muscles relax. Steve was sweating from all the heat in the room, but he didn’t complain. He was too focused on making sure you were okay.

“You must be dying,” you breathed, tilting your head to look up at him. He was pretty, something you knew but never processed. His eyes had a hint of green, and he had light freckles dusting his cheekbones. Even as a scrawny kid, he must’ve still been cute. You would’ve thought he was cute if you were a 1940s girl. The muscles that came with the title were just a bonus.

“I’ll manage. I’m more worried about you,” Steve smiled, getting his makeshift towel wet again and laying it over your head.

“I still have my limbs; that’s pretty good,” you chuckled. “I’m sorry I rushed in.”

“You followed a hunch, even if you were reckless.” You rolled your eyes, very used to the classic Steve Rogers lecture. “Still, you saved my ass at the end there.”

“Language, Cap,” you chuckled. You wiggled a bit in the tub, thankful to feel your limbs working. No longer paralyzed like they were on the truck. Steve looked away, throat bobbing. Looking down, you realized that being left in the water with nothing but your tank top and underwear had made your nipples more visible. You covered your chest, sinking lower into the water to hide yourself. God knows you didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face at your body. “Would you mind grabbing me some of my clothes? I’d prefer to be in something dry.”

Steve nodded, leaving you in the steamy bathtub by yourself. You looked at your fingers, grimacing at the blisters forming on the skin. You knew they’d scab over as merely superficial wounds, but you might’ve lost a finger or two if Steve hadn't gotten to you. You spent some time sitting in the tub, flexing your fingers as a reminder to yourself. Steve returned a moment later, helping you out of the tub and immediately wrapping you in a warm towel. You had to bat him away with your hand because of how much he was fluttering around, but you secretly didn’t mind it. You got dressed as quickly as possible, getting a glance of yourself in the mirror and wincing.

The steam was dissipating, and the reflection in the mirror was one of a tired, frostbitten agent. Your nose was slightly purple and red, with a bruise forming over your left temple. Your body had seen better days. You can’t even imagine what Captain America was thinking while looking at you. You just looked away and finished getting dressed, trying to ignore all the thoughts swarming in your head.

Steve was waiting outside the bathroom when you exited, having changed into something not covered in snow, mud, and blood. He frowned when he saw your face, and you felt your stomach sink. After the day you’d been having, you didn’t need to be reminded of your inadequacy.

“Did you call in the bust to leadership?” you asked, wanting to ensure you didn’t fail your job or your expectations. Steve nodded.

“All taken care of; we’ll be out first thing tomorrow.”

You probably shouldn’t be surprised that he was on top of it. He was still frowning at your face, his brows furrowed in concern. His hand reached up, his thumb brushing over your nose. You tried to hide the pain from flitting across your face, but he noticed how you tensed up anyway.

“There’s some ointment in the tent that can help with that.”

“I got it covered,” you grimaced. “No need to worry about me.”

“Let me help you,” Steve furrowed his brows. “Please?”

It was hard to say no to those puppy dog eyes.

You followed Steve back to the tent, sighing in relief when you escaped the ten feet of cold and found solace in the heated room. The tent had a table in the middle, a cooler for food rations, a heater, and two cots where you both slept. It was definitely fancier than most camping trips but not cozy enough to make you want to take a vacation there. Steve made you sit down at the table and grabbed you a hot cup of tea, which he must’ve started brewing when he went to grab your clothes. You wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, letting it seep into your bones as you watched him fuss around with the first aid kit and return with an ointment. He took the chair across from you, spinning it around so he could straddle it as he leaned forward to apply the ointment on your nose. It was honestly one of the hottest things you’d ever seen, a tidbit you kept to yourself. He also took your hands, putting the same ointment on your fingertips and knuckles. You liked the feeling of his hands in yours, the firmness and surety. You took your hands back when he was done, insecurities swirling in your stomach. Steve was observant, much more observant than any man should be, and narrowed his eyes at you.

“What’s wrong?” he sighed. “And don’t say nothing because you’ve been distant since we returned.” You glared at him, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get out of answering.

“I’m just sorry you had to care for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“Someone stupid who got herself frostbite a-and is scarred and r-rough around the edges,” you stammered, crossing your arms and curling into yourself. “I’m not as pretty as Romanoff or elegant like Maria.” The last part you mumbled to yourself, but Steve still heard, and suddenly his expression softened. He got out of his seat, kneeling in front of you. You would’ve crawled away to safety if you thought you could make it.

“Coming from a guy who spent most of his life not thinking he was good enough, I’ll tell you right now I understand where you’re coming from,” Steve sighed. “But you aren’t stupid, Y/N. You want to do the right thing, and you react in the moment. It’s what makes you a good agent. And scars? We all have them. Especially Romanoff.” He smiled at the last bit, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“The only pretty girl I care about is you,” he murmured, a flush coating his cheeks. “You’re quite the knockout.”

“Knockout? Get some updated verbiage, Rogers,” you teased, even though your heart was racing and you couldn’t stop thinking of him saying, ‘the only pretty girl I care about is you.’ His hand came up to your knee, his thumb brushing back and forth over it as he searched your face.

“I’m old school, okay? Just…believe me. I’m still getting the hang of talking to women.”

You were hyper-focused on the way his hand rested on your leg, on the thought that it could climb up, up, up. You shifted focus to Steve, on how he looked at you. Looking back, he was always respectful and kind. But he was panicked when he saw you were in danger; he cared enough about whether you lived or died. Your hand instinctively came up to his face, brushing over those freckles you couldn’t stop thinking about. He closed his eyes at your touch, and you smiled.

“I think you’re a knockout too, Steve,” you whispered, wanting him to look into your eyes and see your sincerity. He opened his eyes and looked at you, his hand still on your knee, still having contact as you both met in the middle. His lips were soft but unsure, your hand on the nape of his neck being the thing that encouraged him to deepen the kiss. Both his hands rested on your thighs as if he was rising to meet you. When you both parted, he kept those hands there just as you rested your forehead against his.

“What’s your policy on dating co-workers?” you chuckled.

“I can make a moral allowance for it. Might want to let HR know.”

“Jesus Christ, you know how to ruin a moment,” you laughed, as Steve sat up and pulled you with him. You fell against him as he held you there, just the two of you in a tent in the middle of Sokovia. You forgot about the moment before as he kissed you again, tethering you there to that single moment until you weren’t icy anymore.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #chris evans #chris evans x reader #marvel #marvel fic #my writing #ficmas 2024 #ficmas

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cytryndor · 1 year ago

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in my delulu timeline, the producers actually happened and oliver's first musical - that made him fall in love with the theater - was springtime

youtube

oliver getting the idea to make death rattle a musical

#i've like three or more musicals involved in this universe #and i am still believing it's canon #im delulu #no but does anyone want to hear about this??? cause id love to share #okay now normal tags #oliver putnam #roger debris #the producers #only murders hulu

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submissivefeminist · 11 months ago

Note

what's your favourite type of gag (if you like being gagged)

Honestly I wanna say this one but I have yet to do one scene with it. Part of me really wanted to save it for Mean Friend, because he has a special connection to instruments and hysterical sadism.

1 Dirty Ask = 1 Vape Hit 🌿

#roger-elizabeth-debris #Mean Friend #hit taken

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meidui · 2 months ago

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to the point of invention

for @robertdowneyjjr

There are four quiet years after Tony Stark's infamous press conference as stock prices climb back up the vine and Stark Industries earns its reputation back. Iron Man is, among other things, good crisis management. For four years, Stark Industries grew its branches in robotics and microtech and slowly but steadily puts down new roots in clean energy. Four years is long enough for thinkpieces on the slumber of Stark Industries to get old.

Then, all of a sudden, new inventions begin flying out the doors of that tower again, every patent hot off the press, a renaissance of when Tony was too young to run the company and just young enough to be called a wunderkind. What's different is that this time, his designs land in civilian hands.

First comes Everglass, a nearly indestructible glass that self-repairs. They're installed on the windshields of people's cars, mostly. Then come the StarkVision glasses, which are contracted in bulk to underground mines and fire departments. There's MyJarvis, an AI home assistant that nursing homes love.

Tony Stark does an interview, his first public media appearance in two years, and the interviewer wants to know where he gets his inspiration from these days.

He smiles a little, not at the camera and barely even at the interviewer, and then says, "I've got this friend. He's pretty accident-prone. I guess that's my inspiration."

There are four busy years after the press conference that still gives Pepper a headache. Tony shores up the company on one shoulder and the world on the other, and this is his chance to do something good, so he doubles the size of his robotics and microtech divisions and doubles them again and starts in clean energy. He spends four years with his head down, making up for the last twenty, and sometimes he wonders what the hell he's going to make next, if the only thing he's good for is weapons.

Then Steve Rogers comes crashing into his life like a comet, and in the wreckage he makes, Tony thinks, I can do better than weapons.

Tony watches him stumble off the Quinjet, glass shards in his hands and a gash on his forehead where a bit of debris blew through the broken window, and after he sits through medical with him, he disappears into his lab and comes out two days later with a prototype: a panel of glass that's nearly indestructible and self-repairing if it does break.

They're busting a black market bunker when the lights crash out and the pipes burst, and Tony's got his HUD, but there's panic in Steve's voice because he can't see in the pitch black and the water is getting higher and higher. That night, with one hand still wrapped in a mitt of bandages, Tony fits Steve for a pair of specialised glasses.

In a moment of vulnerability, Steve says that he likes JARVIS because he's been easy to understand since the beginning. It was the first thing about the Tower that made him feel safe, and Tony realises just how many people JARVIS is capable of helping.

Tony accepts an interview request for the first time in four years. It's a live taping and he gives Steve a VIP pass to it.

"This is for me?" Steve asks, lighting up, and Tony smiles at him, resisting the urge to tell him, it's all for you.

#stony #stevetony #*

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curvykittyyssmutfics · 1 year ago

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My fare kitty, I would love to request where Steve Rogers and his teammate, reader had suffered a sex pollen. The only solution is sex 🤭

My fair kitty.. I just love that! Totally moved your request to the front. Made me smile waaaay too much. 🙂

FILE 999V

Steve and you root around the abandoned lab in comfortable silence for the file you were tasked with collecting. The room was dirty and dim, and broken glass scattered the dusty floor. Boards block the windows, except the one you and Steve entered through due to the door being blocked with cement blocks and debri. The whole building looked like it was in the verge of collaspe, this room especially. You were just glad you both had enough light to search through the drawers, cabinets and rubble around the room.

Intel reported it had be stashed before the previous employees deserted. So far no luck. You were hoping that this wasnt some needless mission. You guys needed a win and what was inside this file was supposed to be it.

You kick the filing drawer closed with your hefty ass black combat boot, standing and stretching, missing the way your partners eyes roam over you. Steve secretly takes in every inch of you, licking his lips at the sight of your snug ass fit huggin your curves. He's has to mentally scold himself to get back to the task at hand.

When you turn around, you observe an odd sight in the corner of the room. Glancing at Steve who's a few feet away, head first into a metal bin, searching its contents attentively. You don't wanna disturb his concentration so you quietly make your way over to it.

It's.. A very alien looking plant shimmering in the dingy light of the room. Its on the smaller side, still, you can't believe you over looked it. The stem and leaves are almost translucent and pull you in closer as you study it. The blooming petals were an angry red; thin tendrils extended from the middle of the flower, surrounding it protectively. There's something so damn familiar about. Had you seen it before somewhere else?

You reach up to gently stroke it as Steve stands and turns to see if you've made any progress.

"Y/n, Don't touch, get away-" Steve starts from behind you, hand outstretched to grab the back your uniform but its too late.

Your hand snatches back from stroking the leaf of the unique looking plant. The root of it, growing from a crack in the floor, gives a small wiggle as a bulge quickly forms at the base. Whatever it was quickly swims up the stem and explodes out the center of the plant in a glittery sunset colored dust.

It's almost like smoke the way it spreads in the air across the entire room. It's pretty, almost mesmerizing but it chokes you and makes it hard to breathe. Stumbling backwards, you and Steve try to avoid sucking it in but it's pointless.

And it's effects are instantaneous. Your body temperature rises, skin hot to the touch. Its hard to contain the whimper in your throat from your nipples stiffening and rubbing against your bra. The air in room feels electrified, like static swirling in the air, and you feel the dampness in your panties. Not realizing your breathing has accelerated a bit, you feel goosebumps across your skin in waves. What. The. Fuck.

With dilated eyes, you turn to Steve. He's already looking at you, his own eyes set with a piercing gaze and a clenched jaw. You observe the flush on his cheeks and the way his adam apple bobs nervously on a hard swallow as he backs away. You can't understand why but you mourn as he puts space between the two of you. He turns his back without a single word, able to readjust his hardening dick without you noticing before speaking into his comm.

"R-requesting evac. NOW." His tone low but demanding has your pussy clenching rapidly.

He waits only moment, before responding.

"That won't work, we need it immediately. We've been doused with.. Something.. And we need Stark." Steve's becoming frustrated, his hand coming up to yank at the tips of his soft blonde hair.

"Fine. You have our location. Hurry up." His tense dismissal has you reluctant to speak. But it's clear he knows what the hell that damn plant is.

"Rogers, what's going on? Why are we evacuating?" You ask like you're not rubbing your thighs together for any kind of small pressure on your throbbing center.

"We need Tony to analyze us, see if he can make an antidote." He explains turning back to me. His nostrils expand like he smells something and you pretend to not notice the hungry ass look in his eye.

"Yeah, but why? What the fuck was that?" You're pointing to the corner of the room, frowning at the source of this debacle.

"Language, woman." Steve says curtly.

He's quiet for a moment, tense shoulders flexing. His silence makes you apprehensive. What the fuck is going on here??

"You remember file 999v?" He finally asks with a raised brow.

You have to think.. You've read alotta fucking files and have to scower your brain for what he's talking about. Your not exactly a straight A soldier and don't read every brief before a mission.

"Uh... yeah.. I think. Sex poll-" you stop dead in you tracks.

Seriously?? You can't believe your luck! The findings and report of the plant being an aphrodisiac run through your mind in a loop. What are the fuckin odds you would get doused with this shit while accompanied by the only man you ever wanted to fuck you till you dropped. The look in your wide eyes is nothing short of panic. What the hells gonna happen if you guys don't comply?! You were really starting to wish you read that file more thoroughly.

"Listen, y/n, the teams on their way. Only an hour and a half out."

"How the hell are we supposed to wait that long?" You hope you don't sound hysterical but Steves always been perceptive. He hears the panic in your voice.

Walking over on long toned legs that carry him over in just a few steps, he tries to comfort you. Strong hands come up cup your cheeks, fingertips caressing, and his voice loses all hardness as he speaks.

"Honey, you can't get riled like this. The symptoms only get worse with time, please calm down. I don't want you accelerating the negative effects."

Fuuuck his touch was intoxicating. You barely hear his words as you lean into his hand. Warmth sparks from his touch, traveling all over your body in sparks. The smell of Steve made you want taste him, run your tongue on every inch of his body. Hear all the pretty sounds he'd make as you'd get to his dick. Shit, why were you sweating so much?

Through all the arousal, your stomach suddenly lurches with nausea and your knees go weak. You almost crash to the floor as Steve catches you with super human reflexes. He's talking but you don't hear him as you blink dizzily.

Steve shakes you a bit but your becoming unresponsive, conscious but unable to sort out his words. Your burning hot to the palms of his hands, your arms wrap around his neck as he tries get you to comprehend. You're beyond coherence in an instant. All you can do is let out a small pained while you press your hips forward, your clothed mound humping at the bulge in his pants as he holds you up.

Steve groans lowly at the pressure you're putting on his dick, hips unconsciously lifting towards yours to give the access you need. He knows your running outta time, realizes the team won't get here fast enough. Doesn't know why everything's happening so fast. You were getting worse by the second. He was gonna have to decide: Fuck you or let the plant's effects kill you.

Looking down at the wet spot forming on his dark gray tactical pants from your desperate movements, he tries to concentrate. Steve doesn't think you've ever been prettier, y/e/c eyes dazed as shit, looking so fucked out as you try to find your release. Your mumbling and moaning incoherently, hips working frantically against his as your fever spikes. The skin of your arms and his neck are so hot together it almost felt like you both could burn up everything around you. Decision made. He wouldn't let you suffer a moment longer.

Laying you on the ground with more haste than he meant to, Steve tries to explain the plant to you again. He stresses you on what your signing up for, needs you to know this ends with that hidden little gem of yours filled to the brim with his cum, but Steve's words fall on deaf ears. Jumbled, broken sentences fall from your lips as you feebly paw at his zipper.

Fuck he knew he shouldn't be so eager but couldn't help it. His dick is constantly perking up when your around, no matter where you two are. Your uniform generously hugs your curves enticingly. He's never met woman as pretty or witty as you. Plus that fuckin mouth.. Half the nasty ass shit that comes outta it always has him turning away, hopelessly pressing his dick down to calm it.

Steves gets both his and your bottoms and shoes off in record time. Pulling his comm from his ear and setting it next to his clothes, he doesn't realize his shoes tip over onto the small disc shaped object as he leans over you. You still look like you're in stupor but your legs upon wide for him as you lift your hips.

Thanks to that damn plant, your pussy drips to the filthy floor, a small wet puddle forming underneath you as Steve stares unashamed. He fist his dickly slowly as he wonder what you taste like. With a swipe of his finger he finds out and his animalistic groan fills the room. He can't stall anymore. His semen the only thing to alleviate the effects you're experiencing, he really didn't wanna bust before he got inside you.

Steve lines up with your fluttering core and pushes the tip of his fat cock in swiftly with a stuttering huff. You arch upwards harshly, nails scratching down his back, his strength thankfully keeping from bucking him off you as you let out a high pitched keen. He grits his teeth against your reaction, having to avert his gaze to keep from nuttin in you right away.

The super soldier stares intently at the cracked, crumbling wall in front of him, breathing harshly through his nose, as he pulls back and strokes inside you halfway this time. Your legs cage and squeeze his hips as your body shakes wildly underneath him. The motion makes your breast flop up and down uncontrollably under your shirt. Your pussy tries to strangle his cock, grippin Steve so fuckin snuggly.

When he pulls back and pushes in the third time, it's to the hilt and you fucking lose it. Your hands reach up to grab onto something, anything, as your gushing pussy releases a strong jet against the dick sittin your guts. You feel Steve's blonde silky strands against your fingertips and unconsciously grab a handful in each palm as you pull HARD, his head yanking back vigorously. He's moans like a whore at your rough treatmeant but you dont hear. The puddle under you grows as you squirt again, streams of your cream weeping out around his twitchin dick. Your soaking wet little puss can't stop trying to milk him for all he's worth.

"Steeeeeeeve, uhh uhh hhh, St- aaaah!" His name is the only word he's able to make out through your gasping sobs.

Steve Roger's might be super human but he was still a man. Between your unexpected orgasm, coupled with the way you were shuddering and wailing, all bets were off. He no longer avoids looking at your beautiful body. Steve grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. He wordlessly pulls his dick out to inspect your release before serving you deep, rapid, jerky strokes. Your head thrashes side to side as he pipes you down. You're gasping in gleeful gratification, as his cock stick and stirs you thoroughly. SMACK SMACK, SMACK SMACK, SMACK SMACK. The sounds of your intense fucking and heavy breathing are loud in Steve's ears.

His pelvis smashes into your juicy ass, forcing you quivering body to accept penetrating thrusts. The nut he's about to release is as sudden as yours, barreling through him like a freight train. He snatches your wrist together in one big hand while the other firmly grasps your chin, leaning down to connect your lips in a feral wet kiss. Your mind is so cloudy but you try with all your might to return the kiss.

"Oh Sh-.. Daaammit! Hah! Ahhhhh, fuh-.. S-such a good giiirrll." Steve moans into your mouth as his cum surges into you in an outpour.

Hot liquid cascades against your delicate little pusses quivering walls, immediately helping to clear the fog in your head just a bit. With each thrust inside, his throbbing girth splashes your inside and fills you up. Steve's head lowers, mouth near your ear, as he huffs out low groans and cums so fuckin much that it begins to spill from your insides like a river. Even after the 5th pump of cum, his fat cock keeps draining itself into you.

You can finally think a little as your head falls to the side limply. Your chest rises up and down rapidly as you try catch your breath, the smell of sex in the air. Steves head is buried in your neck as he does the same when your eyes fall on Steve's pants and shoes. Your eyes wide as saucers at the un-fuckin-believable sight right in front of you.

"Roger's, your boot is pressing on the dam comm!!"

#steve rogers #steve rodgers x reader #smut #sex pollen #dubious consent

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