#but i do have an unofficial phd in it

[metamehta]

Me. Every time I engage in ship discourse

[fireinmoonshot]

death wish love | tyler owens x fem!reader

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary: As members of rival storm chasing groups, you and Tyler Owens have hated each other since the start – well, you were supposed to. Little do you know, Tyler has been head over heels for you for months, and it's only when he nearly loses you that he realises he's done with pretending to hate you. Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, tornadoes (of course), Tyler is actually painfully obvious with his crush but thinks he's not at all. Word Count: 6.7k (I don't know how that happened) A/N: I had this idea for a fic a few days ago and when I was listening to the Twisters soundtrack as I wrote, I realised that the song Death Wish Love fits it perfectly. I did not intend for this to be so long, but it somehow just happened. It's probably one of the longest things I've written on this blog, so I hope anyone that reads it really enjoys it. I had so much fun writing it and playing around in the Twisters universe! I will definitely be writing more for Tyler.

One of these days, Tyler Owens was going to get his shit together and ask you out. There were, however, several things in the way. The most pressing being the fact that your storm chasing groups were rivals and had been for years.

The fact that you hated his guts would be the second. 

He was unaware that you didn’t hate him quite as much as you made out to, though. It was just that you had a reputation to uphold. Being the unofficial leader of The Thunder Team, your friends and fellow storm chasers all expected you to dislike the Tornado Wranglers just as much as they did.

And you had – in the start. 

You were just beginning your PhD, fairly fresh in the world of storm chasing and the rivalry between your teams had been there from the very beginning. To your team, the Tornado Wranglers were nothing more than a bunch of stupid kids who didn’t even have the correct knowledge to be chasing these tornadoes.

To you, they had slowly become something of a wonder. You didn’t think it was necessary to have a PhD or education under your belt in order to storm chase. As long as you loved it, that was enough. And you never doubted the love that the Tornado Wranglers had for it. 

But still, the rivalry continued. It was always a competition. Who could get to the tornado first? Who could get closer? Who had better instincts when it came to choosing which one to chase? Who could get more attention on social media with their photos and videos?

The Tornado Wranglers had an advantage on that one.

That never stopped your team trying, though. Which is exactly what they’re doing as you walk towards them from where you’ve just parked your car. They’re all crowded around the van in the motel parking lot. Robbie, one of your closest friends, is filming Ally talking about something, probably regarding the EF1 tornado you’d chased today. 

You stop far enough away that you aren’t going to end up in the background of the video, and that’s when Tyler Owens sidles up beside you, arms crossed over his chest.

“Not interested in going viral?”

You glance up at him and notice he’s already looking at you with a cocky grin on his irritatingly handsome face. “No, figured I’d leave that to you and your team. Shoot any fireworks up a tornado today? I didn’t see you out there.”

“I didn’t realise you were looking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? Am I being too nice to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“What? I got something on my face?”

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

Tyler frowns. “What is?”

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

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

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

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

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

It drives Tyler insane. 

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

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

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

“You sure that’s all it was?” 

“A hundred percent, Boone.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

Until you learnt about the bet.

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

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

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

“Explain.”

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

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

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

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

“Which direction are we going, then?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to fix this mess!” 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing can change your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind them, Robbie pulls up in his truck. 

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

“East or west, Owens?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, we will!”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just look at that beauty!” He exclaims. 

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

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

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

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

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

Tyler suddenly feels like he can barely breathe.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

And then, it changed course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Boone is quick to follow him.

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

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

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

“Hey, I need some help over here!”

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

Boone runs off towards him and Tyler follows.

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

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

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

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

He only hears silence.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He falls to his knees in front of you, his hands moving to cup your cheeks and move your head from side to side. He’s quick to check the wound on your head where the blood is coming from. “You’re okay, darlin’, it doesn’t look too deep.”

You can see the panic in his eyes as he scans you, scans your whole body looking for injuries. You can also tell from the look on his face when he looks at your shin that your injury there is worrisome. 

“It’s my fault,” Tyler shakes his head, refusing to move his hands from your cheeks. It’s as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. “I shouldn’t have told you to go east. I was just trying to get you out of the way of the tornado cause I felt that yours wasn’t gonna develop, but then ours changed course and it was heading straight towards you and I couldn’t get here fast enough and god, the idea of losing you, of never seeing you again, of never asking–”

“Tyler!” 

He stops talking, having not even realised that he had let the situation get the better of him and had been rambling on. When he meets your eyes, you’re shocked to see that there are tears in his. 

“You never call me by my first name.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to get your attention if I didn’t.”

Your reach up and take one of his hands off of your face and weave your fingers between his. You don’t really know what you’re doing, exactly, but all you know is you need to comfort him. That and you’re shaking like a leaf and the feeling of holding his hand is like an anchor to the world. A reminder that you’re alive. 

“I’m still here, Tyler. I’m all right.”

“You’re not,” he shakes his head. “You’re hurt, and it’s because of me–”

You take him by surprise as you reach up and place your own hand on his cheek. It’s only when you touch his face that you remember your hand is covered in blood and mud, but when you try and take it away, Tyler places his hand over the top of it. His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a long breath that feels to you that it’s something like relief.

The two of you stay there like that for what feels like an eternity but is really just a few minutes, soaking in the feeling of each others skin and coming to terms with the realisation that you’re alive. 

“It’s not your fault, Tyler,” you mutter softly. “You couldn’t have known that tornado was going to change course and head straight for us. Just because that bet ended up landing us in the path of a probable EF4 doesn’t mean you’re the one to blame for it. I don’t blame you.”

He blinks his eyes open and stares at yours for a moment. 

“Now, what were you saying about asking me something?” You try to change the subject.

There’s a look of something in Tyler’s eyes that you can’t quite place, but it drops off of his face instantly at your words and he lets out an awkward laugh. “I don’t think now’s the right time, darlin’,” he says. “Some other time, when you’re not bleeding and injured. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital.”

You shake your head, ignoring the fact that the movement makes you a little dizzy. “I could have just died and I would have never known what it is you wanted to ask me. So I want to know what it is right now.” You’re surprised at how strong your voice sounds, even though you don’t feel strong at all right now.

Tyler sighs and you can see by the look on his face that he’s giving in to you. “I was trying to get the courage to ask you out, was trying last night actually but I chickened out. You can be quite intimidating sometimes, you know that?”

For a moment, you just stare at Tyler. 

“I thought I was the one who hit my head. Did you hit yours too?”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Something like that.”

“You need another reminder that we’re supposed to hate each other?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I think I’ve had enough reminders to last me a lifetime. But I’m done with pretending to hate you. With trying to convince my team that I dislike you so much. I know they know the truth. It doesn’t matter, even though you can’t stand me.” 

You meet Tyler’s eyes and in them, you can see that he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t hate you, nor dislike you, nor anything similar. With the way he’s looking at you, the way he was calling your name, the way he panicked so much when he thought you were seriously hurt… he really was trying to ask you out. Just the thought of it makes that feeling rise in your stomach again, and for the first time you recognise the feeling for what it truly is – butterflies. You don’t get butterflies from people you hate.

“I don’t hate you, Tyler.”

You can see the surprise flash across his eyes.

“You don’t hate me?”

“You annoy the hell out of me and you drive me insane sometimes. But no. You fascinate me, and you make me laugh, and even though every member of my team hates you and your stupid red truck, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be in the passenger seat with you, driving head first into a tornado, and I nearly said yes when you asked me earlier.”

Tyler chuckles. “My truck is not stupid.”

“Does your passenger seat really have my name on it?”

“Embroidered it myself.”

You laugh, then, a real, full laugh, and Tyler can’t help but laugh as well at the absurdity of the situation. You’ve just survived a devastating tornado, you’re injured in more ways than one, Tyler Owens has just told you he likes you and you’ve come to the realisation that you like the fact that he does. And maybe, you like him a little bit too.

“We’re not gonna make it to that rodeo tonight, are we?” You ask, once the laughs subside.

Tyler shakes his head. “Rain check for the next one?”

“That’s how you’re asking me out?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply before you both hear your names being called and look up just as Boone and Robbie appear at the top of the gully. Tyler turns around to look at them. They look relieved to have found you both, and you feel just as relieved to see that Robbie is alive and well, only a little battered just like you are. Even if you’re a little disappointed that your moment with Tyler was interrupted. It seems that happens more often than not lately.

“Is she okay?” Boone asks Tyler.

He nods. “Yeah, but she’s injured. We’re gonna need a hand out of here.”

“We got you,” Boone says.

—

“So, when are you asking me out properly, Owens?” You ask.

It’s been a week since the tornado and a week since you found out that Tyler Owens had been wanting to ask you out for months. Boone had stayed true to his word that day, using a rope and Tyler’s truck to pull you both up out of the gully.

Tyler had barely left your side since – even in the truck ride to the hospital. He usually hated letting anyone drive his truck other than himself, but that day he’d thrown the keys to Boone so he didn’t have to take any of his attention off of you. He’d stayed with you in the hospital as well, even when the rest of your team turned up to check on you and Robbie.

You were surprised at how quickly your teams had dropped their rivalry after the tornado. They’d clearly seen the way you and Tyler acted around each other, how things had changed after the tornado, even though both of you refused to give them details on what had happened when Tyler had found you in the gully. 

It was something both of you were glad for.

“You can’t just ask me that,” Tyler says, kicking his legs up on the desk in the small motel room. Luckily, he’d taken off his muddy boots when he’d come inside to check on you. He had insisted you go back home to recover from your leg injury, but you’d refused. 

“I can’t?” You ask from your spot on the bed, resting your leg up on some pillows. It had luckily not been too bad of an injury, just a reasonably deep cut that needed stitching and wrapping. You still had to be careful not to rip the stitches, which meant no storm chasing and only resting for the time being. 

Tyler nods. “You made me admit the truth to you while we were both covered in mud and blood in the bottom of a wet, muddy gully. I’m not going to ask you out while you’re sitting on a motel room bed with an injured leg and stitches in your forehead. I’m classier than that.”

You snort. “You, classy?”

“From time to time,” he shrugs a shoulder.

You jokingly roll your eyes at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it. You know, you never actually explained what the other bet you wanted to make with me that day was. Was that something to do with asking me out as well?”

Tyler’s face broke out into a grin. “Maybe.”

“Of course,” you can’t help but laugh at the silly look on his face. “Are you at least going to ask me before I get swept up in another tornado?”

“Darlin’,” Tyler stands up and crosses the room until he’s standing right beside you. One of his hands reaches down and picks up yours, weaving his fingers in-between yours. “If you get swept up in a tornado, I’m going to be right beside you. I’m gonna be beside you for as long as you let me. For as long as I get. As long as I get, okay?”

He repeats it like a mantra. Because if he says it enough, he’s certain it will come true.

[pumpkinpaix]

You have questions! We might have answers.

What is this collection?

As Maria puts it: this collection is a critical look at some of the things that we, the editors, think have made CQL such a hit around the world. Of course, part of that success comes from the webnovel MDZS and the show CQL themselves—we love the characters, the mystery, and the drama, who doesn’t?! However, the authors in our book also look at topics like translating danmei (both officially and unofficially), adapting danmei for new audiences, and interacting with fandoms and fanworks. The larger argument of the book is that all of these things played a huge role in CQL’s visibility and success, and we wanted to start making those moving pieces visible, especially for audiences who mainly watched CQL in translation.

You keep using the word “academic”—what does that mean, exactly? 

Maria: Ok, not to get pedantic here, but this actually touches on some things that I’m really excited about for the book. Traditionally, academic work is written by people who have a deep expertise in the subject (signified by having a PhD and doing specific kinds of research), and then the work itself is peer-reviewed (i.e., sent to other experts in the field for them to evaluate whether it’s sound, original, and interesting enough to publish, without knowing who wrote it). And both of these things are true about our book—our authors have deep knowledge and the book was peer reviewed—but also. We specifically asked for chapters from younger scholars and from fans who also have deep knowledge about topics that academia doesn’t always know or value enough, and we include an interview from the fan-translator K. who did the Exiled Rebels translation. So the hope is that: this book is academic, and also—more!

Who are you? 

Yue studies adaptation, fantasy, and popular culture texts using a feminist lens. She wrote an early, influential article about danmei adaptations and also has a book about feminist adaptations of Chinese fantasy.

Maria studies fanworks, contemporary fantasy, and genre literature. She’s scrambling to finish her dissertation right now.

How were the chapter spotlights chosen?

Voluntarily! The concept of a small social media promo was kicked around by some of the contributors and those interested in the idea filled out a short interview with what they wanted to share. We'll be posting about 2 introductions and 2 spotlights a day for the next week or so!

Who's running this social media campaign anyway?

Not the publishers! A few enthusiastic collection contributors got together and, with the assistance of the editors, have put this promotion together. We do not in any way represent Peter Lang in an official capacity! We just worked hard and wanted to share. :)

Are you making any money off of royalties from this book? 

LOL not even remotely

What about this promotion?

also no. alas

Where can I find this book? 

You can find our listing on Peter Lang’s website here. As for other retailers, a quick search should turn us up!  

How can I access this book if I cannot buy it from Peter Lang / [book retailer of choice]?

As collection editors and contributors who signed a legal agreement with Peter Lang, we have granted Peter Lang exclusive right and license to edit, adapt, publish, reproduce, distribute, display, and store our contributions, and we must cooperate fully with the Publisher if the Publisher believes a third party is infringing or is likely to infringe copyright in the contribution. 

That being said, these are academic papers, which means that contributors may make copies of the contribution for classroom teaching use! (These copies may not be included in course pack material for onward sale by libraries and institutions). Of course, any linking, collection or aggregation of chapters from the same volume is strictly prohibited.

(FAQ may be updated periodically!) (all posts on Catching Chen Qing Ling)

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNOFFICIAL

A/N: i know, it's still not the 3rd part of one summer BUT at least it's something new! it is also based on a dream i had about my work crush lol

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: You and Harry are in a temporary phase of bein unofficial, but you don't mind it, especially the tiny moments you share when no one is looking.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The pub is buzzing as always, the atmosphere is lively, warm, loud but not too much, most of the tables are occupied by the same usual people, glasses, ful, half full and empty are scattered all over every surface. The bartenders are working relentlessly behind the bar, one drink after the other lands on the counter.  It’s not exactly the hottest spot in town, but there’s a core circle that knows and loves the personality of this place and it brings them back every week.

Your group is part of those people, you’ve been spending Friday nights here for as long as you’ve been working at the university, which has been for over two years now. You were fresh out of your PHD studies, very excited to start teaching as a professor finally and who you are lucky enough to call your friends now welcomed you at the school with open arms. 

Sarah was the first one you connected with, women in STEM have a deep, instant bond, especially in a male dominant field such as physics. She invited you out for lunch on your first day and introduced you to the rest of the group. Mitch, the quiet but loving husband, Jeff who speaks enough for Mitch and himself as well, Pauli, the energy bomb and then there’s Harry.

It still makes you smile when you think of the first few months of knowing Harry. You were convinced he didn’t like you, because he seemed timid and tense in your presence, almost avoiding having even the simplest conversation with you. One night when the two of you ended up sharing a cab home from the pub and you had just one too many beers you questioned if you’d done anything to upset him.

He looked shocked and explained that he’s just a bit slow to open up to new people and he was also a bit taken aback by you and how extroverted and bubbly you were. He apologized if it all came off wrong, you laughed about it and it was already forgotten.

Since then, you’ve gotten the closest to him. In every way. 

Sarah is telling you about a funny encounter she had with a student this week, she always has the weirdest stories, you’re listening to her, but your sixth sense also kicks in and as the door of the pub opens you know it’s Harry even before looking there. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he looks around, his glasses fogging up a bit in the hot air of the place after the crispy, chilly october evening he has walked through. He was supposed to leave with all of you but he had to do a last minute consultation with a student, so he just told you to go ahead and he would join you later. 

You’re already smiling when he finally spots you and slaloming between the groups of people he finally reaches your table.

“Man, I thought we would have to go back and drag you out of your office,” Jeff teases him as he shrugs his coat off and takes the last empty seat by the table that’s right next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, your eyes meet and you force yourself not to turn into a giggling mess.

You and Harry have been dancing in a kind of a gray, unofficial zone for a while now. After the rocky start your friendship bloomed easily, but since last semester it’s been more than that. You have no idea when or how, but slowly, you just knew you were more than friends. It started with meeting without the rest of the group, having lunch or dinner, making plans, just the two of you, endless conversations, building a connection you’ve probably never had with anyone before. Secret glances, small touches, you fell for him without even realizing. 

The past month it’s been intensifying, but you still haven’t talked about it, not even after you kissed a few weeks ago. It happened at your place, so naturally and smoothly, you were cooking together, he had opened a bottle of wine and you were just having a good time, moving around each other in your small kitchen until you ended up pressed up together, noses brushing and he just leaned in and kissed you. It was soft and tender, warm and familiar even though it was a first. Like you were meant to be kissing all along. 

Then you just went back to cooking, had dinner and later that night when he left he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth and that was it. Neither of you felt the need to talk about it, but it’s been definitely hanging there between the two of you, you just haven’t had that last nudge to finally fall over the edge and right into this new adventure.

“Sorry, tried to be as quick as possible,” Harry chuckles as he looks around, his eyes settling on you last and you see a bit of sparkle in his eyes that definitely has your heart skipping a beat. 

With Harry’s arrival the group is finally complete and another fun Friday evening starts. You ventilate about work and students, then the boys play darts for a bit, Pauli wins as always and then Jeff challenges Sarah and Mitch to play foosball and see who’s the better player and the rest of you are watching their battle. The place is pretty packed, you’re standing by the foosball table and Harry is right behind you, nursing his second beer of the night. People are passing by towards the toilets and back to the bar, it’s noisy in there, but not too much. Harry’s presence behind you is warm and calming, his chest touches your back whenever someone walks past behind him, but he always pulls back, though you wish he would just stay. 

A guy chooses to squeeze past between you and the table, making you move back, bumping against Harry and his hand gently grabs onto your waist, the touch of his palm instantly spreading a buzzing warmth in your body. You fit his front so perfectly and you want to stay like this, but you can already feel his hand moving away, but you grab it and pull it back.

There’s just a split moment of hesitation in him before his whole presence softens and he melts against you, his hand resting on your hip as if it belongs there. 

You can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips, especially when he shuffles a bit behind you, his nose brushing into your hair and maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you feel him kiss the back of your head.

Across the table Pauli just smirks as he catches what’s happening while the Rowlands are playing so determinedly like never before, but he keeps his mouth shut and returns to the game without a word. 

Harry’s fingers are gently moving, stroking you as you stay like that, until the end of the game, which Sarah wins. You want to pout when Harry lets go of you because you all move back to your table, but you swallow it back. After the ruthless game Sarah offers to buy a drink for Mitch so they head over to the bar and Pauli soon stands up as well.

“Jeff, come out for a smoke with me,” Pauli pats his shoulders.

“I’m good,” Jeff nods at him, oblivious to the fact that Pauli is trying to give you and Harry some alone time.

“No, you need to come. I wanna talk to you about something.”

You just laugh under your breath as you hear Jeff asking Pauli what’s so important as they make their way outside, leaving you and Harry alone at the table. Neither of you dares to look at the other, not because it would be weird but because you know the pull would be way too strong. 

Instead, Harry reaches over, his hand finds yours in your lap and he laces his fingers through yours, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. For some reason you feel the urge to finally try to address it for the first time.

“Is it still something unofficial?” you ask and dare to look at him. 

“We can make it official,” he shrugs with a tiny smirk and you just want to climb over and kiss him stupid when he is being so cheesy.

“I kind of like it being unofficial. Because… it’s just ours for now,” you admit. 

There’s nothing you want more than to explore whatever it is that’s between you and Harry, but this phase is so comfortable and only yours, you want to be selfish just for a little bit more and keep it to yourself.

Keep Harry to yourself.

“Unofficial it is,” he chuckles and ignoring the buzzing crowd around, he pulls your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it before letting go of it as Sarah and Mitch approach the table. 

For the rest of the night, it’s all just stolen glances, tiny touches underneath the table and no one comments on just how close the two of you are sitting. It’s kind of funny how obvious it is to all of your friends, but they let you stay in your little unofficial bubble just a little longer. 

You share a cab home and Harry kisses you on your doorstep before getting back into the car. In the morning he texts you if you want to have dinner together and of course you do. You spend the weekend in your bubble, but soon enough, you slowly dance out of the unofficial phase and by the end of the semester everyone knows that you’re a couple.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[stellar-solar-flare]

Volatile | Chapter 2/3 | Steve Rogers x Reader

Explicit - 18+ only - Minors DNI.

Steve Rogers returns from a mission only to be immediately alerted about a medical emergency: you, the Avengers Initiative's leading science expert, have been hit by a potent, unknown aphrodisiac on your own mission. Pressed for time and out of options, he has to, together with the AI's medical department, figure out a solution.

Mutual pining, smut with feelings, eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, non-consensual exposal to sex pollen, dubious consent because Reader is under the influence of an aphrodisiac (but all sex is very much mutually wanted), protective & possessive Steve Rogers, Captain kink, praise kink, very light dom/sub elements, dirty talk, pet names, thigh riding, finger sucking, mention of non-con.

Reader specifics: She/her. Works as a science specialist in AI under codename Dr. Chiral for her chemistry proficiency. Six times PhD, an Avenger. Late twenties, no description of appearance given.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

FIC MASTERLIST | AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AO3

<< Previous chapter

Chapter 2: Flammable

Chapter notes: This is just smut with some feelings thrown in. Read the content warnings before divign in, please, and do not proceed if any of that isn't for you.

6,198 words.

As Steve stepped through the airlock into the dim-lit containment room, you untangled yourself from the tangled sheets on the king size bed. The air condition was blasting but despite that, the only thing you had on was a white, thin t-shirt type hospital gown that was not doing a damn thing to hide your peaking nipples. It fell onto your mid-thigh, and while under some other circumstances, it might’ve been reasonably modest, right now it clung onto your damp skin tighter than a bathing suit as you moved to sit on your knees on the bed. There was a feverish glaze clouding your eyes as Steve locked the airlock door behind himself. Other than the bed and a small desk with a chair, there was a table loaded with water bottles and some fruit and protein bars you had obviously not even touched. The muted color scheme – a neutral combination of blues, greys and whites made the room feel like a hotel room or a set in a movie. The bed you sat on was a small ocean of tangled satin sheets, and the thought of you rolling in those in feverish wanton need…

“Steve,” you said, your throat dry.

His eyes raked over you, ever so slowly, and as he did, he saw your breath quicken. You didn’t seem to really believe that he was there. Maybe you had fantasized about this before he had stepped in. Maybe you had fantasized about him. Even with everything you’d said on the tape, all the things you wanted him to do to you that were now playing on repeat in his head, he just wasn’t quite sure he could believe that it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac talking.

But whether you wanted him for anything beyond this room or for just this moment, it was clear you trusted him. You trusted him to help you out in this situation, with something this incredibly intimate and volatile and vulnerable, and there was no force in the universe that would’ve made him deny you. Especially when that meant that he could touch you. There was no other reasonable solution to this. That choice had been taken away from him, and that meant he could let go. And maybe… Just maybe…

I was too much of a coward to tell you in Verona. That made two of you. And this certainly wasn’t the way he had envisioned this going down but he would be lying if he said that whatever that was coming was a task he was reluctant to take on. His eyes stayed on your naked, glistening thighs like he’d been possessed. The room reeked of you, the pheromones of your arousal whispering sweet invitation to him, and Steve gathered every last shred of his self-control as he reached for a water bottle on the table with one hand and put the shield down to lean against the wall with the other.

“Hey, Ace,” Steve whispered. “You asked for me.”

You blinked at the sound of his voice and scooted to the edge of the bed, standing up. It could’ve been a hallucination conjured up by your feverish brain. And you could’ve hallucinated a lot worse than Steve stepping through the airlock of the room in the stealth suit of all things. But his voice sounded familiar – it echoed through your hazed state like a beacon in the night. You had been aching for him, for his touch, every last bit of your soul and body calling out for him. And he had heard. He had come to you.

“Are you here?” you whispered back, trying to make sense of it.

He hadn’t been there in the lab. There had been only Bucky, and Sam, and both had smelled wrong. Both had been wrong. You wanted just Steve; you had always wanted just him. Verona. Moonlight. Words that seemed to have no bearing to anything that was happening now when the only thing your throbbing blood was saying was Steve. You weren’t sure if you had been waiting for him for hours or for days or for centuries or for seconds, lying on the bed and floating in the half-delusional myriad of fantasies, touching yourself to the images of him but feeling no relief to the burning.

“I am, doll,” Steve said. “I’m yours if you want me. And only if you want me. The second you tell me to stop, I will.”

No. You absolutely weren’t going to do that. No chance in hell, when you finally had him.

Even in the small room, walking up to him seemed to take an eternity. His scent was faintly of musk and leather, mixed with something and something that might’ve been blood. It blended seamlessly into the deep, masculine note of the sandalwood-based cologne he always wore, blended with cedar and cypress and rosewood; a fresh forest smell that made your mouth water. In stealth suit, fresh from a mission. Shoulders accentuated by the uniform cut, wide chest above a flat stomach, strong thighs, large hands. He was the epitome of the masculine V shape, and he was yours. In the stealth suit.

By the time you reached him, you were barely able to hold yourself upright on your shaking legs. But Steve would’ve never let you fall. Before your legs could give underneath you, his free arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to rest against his body. The pleasantly cool, smooth Kevlar-like material of his suit felt like heaven against your body as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. He was looking at you, studying the fever burning in your eyes as you shivered upon the contact. Without letting go of you, he opened the water bottle.

“I need you to drink,” he murmured. “Your vitals said you’re dehydrated. You’ll need your strength.”

Obediently, you turned your head to the side and allowed him to lift the bottle to your lips. You hadn’t felt thirsty until you actually tasted the cool water Steve carefully held for you, but after the first sip, you greedily chugged the whole bottle. Steve’s eyes stayed fixated on your lips as you did, and he didn’t turn his gaze even as he put the empty bottle on the table and grabbed another.

“Still thirsty?” he asked.

The whole length of your body was pressed against his, and his thigh had slipped between yours to stabilize you further. Even through the fabric, he could feel against his palm how hot your skin was. You had come to him, out of your free will – as free as it could be under the influence of the aphrodisiac – and you were there, now, rising to your tiptoes and pressing your face against the crook of his neck before drawing a deep breath in. Just the scent and the presence of him seemed to calm you down, and maybe that meant he shouldn’t –

Your tongue licked a long, languid stripe over the side of Steve’s neck, tasting the salt of his skin and the musk that was simply Steve. As you did, your hips – the bare, soaking wet, burning apex of your thighs – rolled against his thigh, and the high whimper that left your mouth made every single thought empty from his head. He barely registered the drizzle of cool water that hit his cheek as the water bottle he had been holding had exploded in his flexing hand. As you lifted your head to look at him, not even noticing the water that had also hit you, Steve dropped the crushed remnants of the bottle and raised his hand to cup your cheek. Every single cell in his body was alight, painfully aware that you were still rocking yourself against his thigh, slight graceful movements of your hips chasing that delicious friction.

“Tell me you want me,” Steve whispered, looking into your eyes. “I need to hear it one more time. Tell me you want this.”

You looked into his eyes, and for a second, Steve felt like you saw everything, every single last fantasy he’d conjured in the darkness of his bedroom over the last few months, every thought of his that screamed how much he wanted this. But then, as his name left your lips in a desperate whimper that came combined with you pressing even tighter against his body, he realized that was all your lust. Heightened by the aphrodisiac but yours.

“Steve. I want you. I need you. Steve, please.”

His lips came down on yours, rough, greedy, claiming, and your body caught fire with that taste of his, that control and command that laced the kiss. Lust so violent that nothing you had felt during previous hours or ever in your life could compare slammed into you, crumbling into beautiful, empty whiteness everything except Steve. Your hands clawed on the suit, desperately trying to figure out how to get the damn thing off and have all that warm, masculine skin against yours. With his every single brain cell consumed by the kiss, Steve’s hand moved on muscle memory as he released the suit’s cleverly hidden clasps, the arm draped across your back never leaving its position. It was you, just you, your taste and your warmth and the delicious, tiny sounds you were breathing into the kiss as his mouth pressed against yours and his tongue ran over the pout lower lip he had stared more than he should’ve during all the meetings, his head running off with fantasies of just bending you over the damn briefing table and having his way.

His. You were his.

As the clasps opened, you yanked the suit almost violently down to bundle around Steve’s trim waist, and then finally, finally you could get your hands on all that muscle covered by silky skin. Had your lust-shorting brain had any remnant of control, you would’ve thought that it was almost ridiculous how he looked like a Greek god, how it was not possible for a human to be this chiseled artwork but frankly, you weren’t too concerned by that. He broke the kiss only to look at you, a large palm grabbing hold of your gown and yanking, and as the fabric gave like butter, he tossed it aside. It was his turn to get his hands everywhere, running over every curve of yours as you arched in his touch. Your hips rocked back and forth against the strong thigh between yours, and as he tensed the muscles, you whimpered. The fabric, smooth as it was, was almost too much in your overwired state and yet, you couldn’t imagine moving an inch as Steve’s dark gaze was fixed on your face.

“That’s my thigh, honey. Does that feel good?” he rasped, his hands moving to cup your butt for added stability as your own thighs trembled.

In response, you yanked his mouth down back on yours, delirious for the taste of him.  Steve’s skin was warm and you had an inkling it should’ve been feeling like it was overheating you even more but instead it seemed to help you concentrate onto something other than your burning. Every thought was emptying from your head as the coil was tightening in your belly, heat pooling down down down and sizzling with a promise of a climax that might finally bring at least a drop of relief. God, he smelled gorgeous. He was still fresh home from a mission, and there was that hint of pure peak of man in his scent that made you whine as you chased the peak.

“Steve… Feels so good…” you moaned to his lips.

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss onto your jawline and ghosting his lips down to whisper straight into your ear. “I’m going to make you come for me until it’s all out. I’ve got you now, honey. Let me take care of you. Let me see you come undone.”

Coming on his thigh, with those words falling into your ear like dark warm sugar, had sometime in the past felt like a filthy fantasy, and it was filthy, but it was exactly the right kind of filthy. The climax, coaxed further by his words, struck like a lightning, finally giving you a hint of shade when you had been lying on the desert sand. It was nowhere near enough, and the moment you stopped trembling and opened your eyes, the heat was already creeping back up. You needed more.

Good thing that Steve was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

I’m yours if you want me.

Keeping your eyes in his, still panting for air, you pressed your palm flat against the washboard of his stomach and slid your hand down, past the bundled suit on his waist, past the waistline of his boxers. Your fingers brushed tentatively over the base of his cock and then wrapped around it as you swallowed at the sensation of the size of him. He was burning hot in your hand and despite all his self-control that bordered on superhuman, he was breathing in ragged pants as your hand slowly caressed him.

“I need you,” you whispered.

And oh, he would give. The next thing you knew, you were being backed against the wall of the room as he tore the suit completely off and kicked his boots away, and then yes, all of him slamming you against the wall, all that glorious godlike physique yours to…

keep?

The thought circled somewhere around the edges of your scattered brain that was more concerned by the fact that you were being hauled up to the wall and his fingers were brushing up your thighs and –

“Oh fuck, honey,” he groaned as his calloused hand slid over your soaking wet core. “Oh jesus.”

All those times he’d fantasized about you. All those pictures he’d conjured in the darkness of his bedroom, all those ways he had imagined he would make you sing. All within his grasp. His lips were ghosting your ear, a gentle tug of teeth here and there and you both never wanted this to stop and needed it to stop because you wanted more, more, more, everything he could and wanted to give you. Steve’s voice was low and strained as he carefully slid a finger inside you:

“So wet for me,” he whispered. “So greedy.”

He was easily holding you up on the wall by one arm slipped under your butt as his other hand worked your core, the heel of his palm rubbing gently against your clit. Even as you were sensitive from the drug, it was a different kind of sensitive, something that made you whine and wither on his touch not out of discomfort but out of pleasure you hadn’t quite imagined possible. The chase for that primal satisfaction had you shameless; coming for him just minutes before had been a sip of cooling water but what raged inside you was a wildfire that had evaporated the relief almost as soon as the last wave had washed over you.

You needed more than his fingers. You needed to be full of him.

“Steve… Just fuck me, please.”

Steve Rogers was a strong man, but there was no possibility that he could’ve resisted the feverish plea that fell from your lips, you calling out to him, you asking to…  He wasn’t even thinking about resisting, no, the second the words had left your mouth he was shifting your weight in his hands.

“Don’t worry, doll, I said I’m yours,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I will. That’s what you asked me to do, didn’t you? To fuck you against the wall like this, with my cock deep inside you?”

You barely recalled the words, the message you had sent, and it mattered fuck all now that he was here, lining up to finally, finally, finally give you what you wanted.

“That was a question, doll,” he rasped, his forehead pressed against yours and sweat sprinkling on it from the effort of trying to maintain at least an inkling of composure.

“Yes. Yes. I need you. I need you to fuck me and I need you to come for me; I need you to come inside me.”

You were so needy for him that he slid inside the second he pushed against you but despite the wetness, despite the burning, it was still a sensation that made your head drop back against the wall as you adjusted to his size. God, yes. This sensation of being full of him, precisely him and not just anyone, had been something you had craved from the second the sweet vapor had floated into your system.

The feeling of you wrapped around his cock slammed into Steve’s brain, the force of the impact pushing out anything and everything except for the feral, primal animalistic need to keep doing precisely what he was doing. You were helplessly pressed between him and the wall, squeezing him, and with his hands full of your body and his ears full of your sweet moans, he was certain he was approaching some sort of ascension.

“Good girl,” his low, hoarse voice filled your ears like warm syrup. “You’re being so good for me.”

The feeling of your walls clenching even harder around his cock made him chuckle against the skin of your neck. He was throbbing inside you at the feeling, wanting this to last and wanting to chase the release he knew would be out of this world. You were burning hot in his hand, clawing at his back, incoherent at the feeling of him pressed against you and sheathed to the hilt inside you, his hips rocking with torturously slow pace that was pushing you towards the edge again.

“You like that, don’t you? You like me telling you how perfect you are for me, how well you’re taking my cock, doll?”

You were so close, so so so close again, and this time, it was going to be even better than it had been coming on his thigh. He had you, just like he always had you back on the field, that’s what you loved about him among many other things, the control, the command… And he had asked you a question. Before you could think, the words fell out of your mouth:

“Yes, Captain.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. In that second, someone poured a gallon of gasoline over Steve and threw a lit match to follow. Your words scorched every last cell in his body, the way his title rolled off your tongue making his head spin. His eyes flared into a blue inferno and his body slammed tighter against you as he lost his rhythm for a moment before stalling. You met his eyes and swallowed, because something had changed. Steve Rogers had dipped into Captain America, and you had seen that gaze of a hunting predator in his eyes on the field but had never imagined it in a context like this.

Truth be told, you had. But you had never imagined it would one day stare at you in the eye, his cock deep inside you. He had stopped, and you were barely coherent, swaying right there on the edge for him.

“Is that so, doll?” he chuckled, smiling like a shark that had smelled blood. “You want your captain to take the reins? You want to just focus on being a good girl and doing what you’re told?”

Your brain ways beyond being able to form anything resembling a sentence, you faced his gaze and nodded. You did trust him, from the bottom of your heart – you had known the moment you had started succumbing to this that if there was one person you trusted to get you out of this, it was Steve Rogers.

Your Captain.

The second your head moved in agreement, he slammed his mouth on yours, his hips moving to retreat almost completely out of you and then right back in with force that told you he had been holding back. And you wanted, needed, had to have everything of his. You buried your nails to his back as he ravaged you, his pace almost inhumanly fast but not for a second hurting. He would never. The climax that had been building itself up by coiling your entire body tighter and tighter was almost on the edge of snapping, almost almost almost –

“So fucking wet for me. So perfect for your captain. Come on my cock, honey. Let me have it.”

“STEVE!”

The fire that washed over you rivaled a supernova and you could feel your muscles clamp down on Steve’s cock almost desperately, and the combination of that and his name ripping from your throat in a desperate sob was too much for Steve, too. With one final thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could and came, your core fluttering around him in a way that awakened some deep, deep hunger inside him. He knew how you felt now, he knew how his name sounded dripping from your lust-crazed lips, he knew how wet you were for him.

He was so utterly, utterly ruined.

During the momentary lapse back to reason, he ran a hand over your hot cheek, looking into your eyes. You both were breathing in gulps of air as Steve slowly slid you down the wall, sliding out of you and pulling you to him. His hands landed possessively over your hips, and you hummed in pleasure, positively drunk over the feeling of being his, completely unashamed of anything as he kissed you.

“You did so well, honey. So good for me. I’ve got you; we’ll get through this,” he murmured against your mouth.

He wasn’t done with you – not for himself, and not for you. Not by a long shot. He could feel the burning on your skin, and when he mouthed the pulse point on your neck, he could still tell that your heart was beating like a hummingbird. And the second your hand dived between your bodies and wrapped around his cock again, he was hard for you.

God bless the serum and the heightened testosterone that followed. Even as his plans for you sat firmly in the realm of unholy.

The second you touched him, his palm covered the nape of your neck, grabbing it firmly to make you look up to his eyes. The climax wasn’t the relief you had been hoping for, not yet, it was something worse and something better, a tease, a promise of eventual one but not yet, not before you would come for Steve again and again and again. As of now, you were burning, burning still. Burning for him.

“The bed. On your hands and knees,” he growled, and you obeyed.

Of course you did. When he said it like that, just like he did on missions, it was a sign that he had the control and you could trust him. It was alright. You could let go. You could forget everything and let him lead, and there was freedom in that. The surrender was a cherry on the top of the lust boiling in your body, and when you felt him kneel on the bed behind you, his large palms caressing over your thighs and hips, you shivered. He leaned over you, above you, and you could more sense than feel his broad shoulders shadowing you as he kissed the back of your neck. You were trembling in anticipation as you felt him position himself against you, almost pushing into you but not quite. Not yet.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, his voice a dark whisper on your neck. “So good at following orders.”

“Yes, Captain. Please, I need… Please.”

Steve chuckled, and his teeth carefully nibbed your shoulder before he talked again:

“Good girls get rewarded.”

Any chance of you forming a reply to the words was gone the second he pushed himself back inside you, and the angle had him brushing against every single perfect spot inside you. He was so deep, even deeper than he had been and you threw your head back in crazed whimper. He was still draped over your back, and his left hand slipped under your body, pulling you tighter against him.

“Up, honey,” he rasped into your ear.

It was more a warning than an order, because in the next second, he had shifted on the bed to sit on his heels, pulling you flush against his chest as you straddled his thighs. He was all hard muscle and musky masculinity behind and underneath you. He positioned an arm between your breasts so that you were almost caged in his grip, his palm spreading possessively over your collarbone as his breath tickled your ear. Instinctively, you moved in his lap, arching back and grabbing the back of his neck for support even as his arm held you in place with ease. His bicep felt impossibly wide as it pressed against your side but you were far more focused on the fact that he was deep enough in you that he was hitting places you weren’t aware had existed. You flexed your thighs to cradle his in between, and god, those thighs were like two tree-trunks. The curve of your butt was pressed against the washboard of his stomach, and you felt his free hand caress the side of your hip before it roamed to your inner thigh. He still wasn’t moving, even as you were slightly rocking yourself back and forth, his patience almost impossible.

“Easy, doll. We’ve got all night,” he said, but contrary to his words, he pressed two fingers to draw small circles over your clit as he finally, finally moved. “We’ve got as long as you need.”

“Steve…” you whined as he rolled his hips.

He moved his hips and your entire body with such ease that you could feel electricity crackling on your skin. It was this apex of a man buried deep inside you, this impossible demigod that was so under your spell that he was already panting against your neck.

“I’m right here, honey. Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said. “Squeezing me so good.”

His far too teasing fingers brushed over your clit in time of his rubbing thrusts, and you were being wound tighter and tighter, another climax already building inside you and the peak was building higher than you had ever felt it, preparing for the collapse that was as inevitable as it had been to end up right here.

“I’m yours.”

“Oh yes you are, doll. All mine. Looking so pretty on my cock.”

Steve was mouthing the side of your neck, grazing with his teeth until he found a spot that made you whimper and latched onto that, sucking firm enough to leave a mark. You pushed your hips forward against his fingers, trying to get more pressure, trying to get him to move faster. The second you did, he pulled you back tighter against himself, preventing you from moving on your own but continuing to move both of your bodies himself.

“You’re going to let me, doll,” he growled. “You wanted to let go. So let go. Relax. Let your captain take care of you.”

He brought his fingers up from between your legs to your lips and you let your jaw drop open without a thought at all to taste the salty, tangy combination of you and him. As your mouth closed around his fingers in wet, warm softness, Steve moaned a strained curse against the your shoulder and picked up the pace.

You were gone. You were floating somewhere beyond all reality, somewhere where the only thing that existed was the man behind you and inside you and the burning in your veins that craved. Him, this, anything he could and would give you.

The feeling of you sucking on his fingers and your soaked core trying to desperately keep him from retreating as he moved his hips, your muscles clenching around his cock, was beyond Steve’s wildest fantasies. He was beyond any conscious thought whatsoever, his brain focused only on thought of spending the rest of his life buried deep inside you, pulling a peak after peak after peak from you until you were all spent and all his. With a lewd, wet sound, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth despite your whiny protest and pressed them again at your core to continue touching you in sync with his movements. You were almost there, strung tight with desire in his lap, your core slick and burning around his cock. He mouthed a path from your neck to your earlobe and teased it with his teeth, his breath hot and filthy and dripping with sin in your ear as you whimpered.

“You’re going to come for me, love. You’re going to come for your captain,” he rasped, the authority unquestionable. “That’s an order.”

His words pushed you right over the edge, collapsing the mountain that had been rising from the sea within you and the earthquake that came did Steve in, too. You could hear him moan your name into your ear as he came, the feeling of you irresistible as you came undone for him. It was an explosion that scorched through you, a heat that consumed the previous burn that had been in you, swallowed it whole like an exploding supernova swallowed a galaxy. Whole, and without mercy. It sent you falling back into what felt like a cooling pool of water after you had been catching fire, after a whole day spent in the scorching sun.

The whiteness that came after was still and absolute for a second or two and then you felt Steve’s chest rumble behind your limp body, his cock still buried deep inside you and his hands holding you so close.

“Better?” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Yes,” you whispered.

It was. You were starting to feel like you weren’t going to spontaneously combust but even as it was the case, you were far from exhausted, and Steve chuckled again as he felt your core flutter around him.

“Not done?”

You shook your head and he retreated back, kissing your temple and then whispering into your ear:

“Good. Cause I’m far from being done with you, too.”

In the late night, you descended back into your body from somewhere between fever dream and consciousness to find yourself comfortable in bed. A shape like a warm rock wall was pressed against your back, and you were being held in strong arms: safe. So safe. At some point during the night, when you had been finally feeling like you could sleep, Steve had carried you to the shower and spent long minutes washing your body. And of course, you had returned the favor, and gotten a taste of him. And of course, Steve had been able to take only so much of you kneeling on the shower floor with his cock in between your plush lips before he had had to haul you up and slowly, almost languorously have you against the tiled wall. And of course, you had come for him one more time even as you had been forced to consider that the next climax might be the one to shut your brain off completely.

There were worse ways to go.

In the dark room, wrapped in satin sheets that would probably have to be burned after this, you stirred once more. A gentle breath tickled the back of your neck, and even half asleep, you felt your lust wake, heat pooling into the bottom of your stomach and tingling all over your skin. The past few hours seemed like a pleasant, hazy dream that still caressed your body.

More. More more more more.

The greediness of your hindbrain coaxed you back to life. You rocked your hips back against the man that was spooning you, and drowsily whispered his name, still unsure which part of you actually knew it was him.

“Steve.”

The answer to your whimper was a dark chuckle and a slightly sleepy kiss onto your earlobe.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Do you need me again?”

“Need you. Want you,” you whined, rocking your hips again, satisfied to feel that he was already hard.

Wanting you as much as you wanted him. One of the hands that held you slid down to grab your hips and roll you onto your back, and in the next second, he leaned over you to kiss you even as his hand slid down your stomach. Your renewed desire had you already wet for him again, and he groaned as he parted your folds to feel it.

“God, doll, how do you ever expect me to get enough of you when you feel like this?”

He positioned himself over you again, trailing slow, teasing kisses down your stomach as you tried to rock up to coax him on. His hands were roaming up and down your body, caressing your skin with the lightest of touches and stopping to squeeze every now and then.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”

That lit a fire. Steve let out a harsh, ragged breath and moved down to sink his face in between your legs. There was no tentativeness to it this time, not after he’d spent the last twelve or so hours thoroughly exploring you, making note of every way you reacted to his touch. He knew what to do, and a proud shiver, like a predator shaking its fur dry, shot down his spine.

His. You were his.

He was absolutely merciless, his tongue never letting up even as your whimpers of his name grew louder with every movement. He was holding you down by your hipbones, your thighs resting on his shoulders, not letting you move an inch. The burning blue flames of his eyes looked at you as you writhed and whined and moaned his name for him, and a reminder of his eidetic memory crossed your mind. He would remember this, and the way he was looking at you, he was making sure that he would get every single detail. As he gently buried two fingers inside you, you were certain that you would’ve jumped on the bed had his arm not been firmly resting on top of your hips.

“I want to wake you up like this every day,” he whispered hoarsely, his head still in between your thighs. “I want the first thing you feel in the morning to be coming apart on my tongue, and I want to go out into the world with your sweet voice moaning my name echoing in my ears.”

Yes. Yes. Yes, please.

“Fuck, Steve…”

He cursed at the sensation of you clamping down on his fingers, desperate for the sensation of being full again because you were ruined, ruined, utterly ruined by him. There would not be going back from this, not after being loved and worshipped and fucked like this by someone who was closer to a god than a man.  

“Come for me, love,” he whispered against you, command and a plea at the same time.

What was there to do but obey as his fingers curled up, brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and the endearment fell from Steve’s lips like a confession you had been waiting for?

The minute you returned to your senses, the self-satisfied chuckle that rumbled from between your legs gave you no other option than to beg for him to fill you? And with how wrapped around your finger he had already been for months, you could’ve asked Steve to fetch you the moon and the stars, and he would’ve obeyed without question. To sheathe himself inside you was certainly not a tall order, especially not with how you wrapped your limbs around him, trying to get him as close as possible.

It was love. It had to be, wrapped into the scarlet-red silks of lust as it now was.

When it finally settled down again, your voice hoarse from screaming his name into the dim room that was luckily very well soundproofed, he still wanted to hold you close. His fingers traced lazy patterns over your back.

“God, I should’ve said something in Verona,” he rasped into your hair as your warm weight rested against his chest. “About how much of an embarrassing crush I had on you.”

You shifted closer, soaking in the comfort of being cherished and wanted and protected like this, and when you smiled against his skin, you were already halfway back in a dream. It certainly was an unconventional beginning, and as the aphrodisiac was almost out of you, one sardonic part of your brain was wondering how you’d spin the beginning of this love story for the press. Which would certainly be foaming at the mouth when it found out two Avengers were dating.

“Maybe you should say that tomorrow, then,” you whispered.   

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

Next Chapter >>

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt I

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: No Beta readers for any of my fics, so apologies for spelling mistakes. I wrote this originally on AO3, and it's still a work in progress. As with my other fics, I'll be uploading here and there when I get inspo

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 2

-----------------------

Your mind trails off to the strangest of things when you’re nervous. You’re staring out the window pane, and there’s a small robin, hopping from branch to branch. It’s entrancing in a way. Do robins have little bird interviews for their little bird jobs? Or does everyone simply know what their role is, without having to apply for it? Collect the sticks, eat some bugs, and raise the young. Simple little bird jobs for simple little birds.

But then the woman in front of you clears her throat and you snap back to reality. Lisa Cuddy stares at you, but it’s not coldly like some interviewers may have. She smiles and you are flashed with her rows of perfect, white and straight teeth. Across from her, you feel underdressed, and not only in the literal sense. Some light makeup, to hide the fact that you hadn’t slept the previous night due to nerves, form-fitting but very obviously last-season pants, and a coat that you had quickly folded onto the chair beside you, to hide the tea stain down its front. But outside of that, she held a certain properness and professionalism you hadn’t mastered yet.

Despite that, she had beamed across your resume, congratulated you on your achievements, and told you that the job was almost ‘as good as yours’. She did, however, warn you. You would have another, more unofficial, interview to complete with your team leader before you began work. With the infamous Gregory House.

She inhaled, and it whistled through her nose. “Now, can I trust you to give you the very blunt run down of House, without you screaming and running for the hills? Because I think you need to know, while this job is incredibly hard and taxing…You may find he’s the worst part of it.”

You laughed politely. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. I once had a boss who had me make him coffee and lunch for three weeks straight after I had completed my PhD. He said it was a ‘chance for me to relax’,” You gesture air quotes, “before I got into serious work.”

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. As condescending as that is, House is worse than that.”

She must have seen your eyes widen because she quickly waves her hands in front of herself. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant, and, don’t pass this on to him, one of the best doctors you will ever work with. But…He can be rude. Egotistical. Infuriating. There are some days when he will make you feel pathetic and exhausted and other days when he will make you feel like you’ve discovered the secret to medicine. I’m not saying this to scare you, but rather I think you need to know that the people who are able to manage House and manage to work under him, do so with a lot of patience, humour, and resilience.”

You nod your head, and your brow furrows in seriousness. “I understand. Regardless of how he treats me, this is honestly an opportunity that I can’t pass up. I’m not going to let someone else ruin that for me.”

She beams at you. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smile back at her, and she begins to shuffle papers on her desk and sort them into a stack. When they’re ordered into a neat pile, she looks back to you. “Rather than an interview, House will see this as a test. He will try to push your buttons. Make you nervous; worried. Don’t let him. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re smart,” You find yourself flushing at the honesty she seems to hold in her words. Cuddy was genuine and seemed like someone you could trust. That would be important if House was as bad as she made him out to be. “And he will try to make you all the more miserable for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh. “At least I’ll have time to prepare myself. What day would you like me to come in next?”

She winces and hands you the stack of papers (perhaps some miscellaneous files and formalities that you’ll investigate later, in private). “There won’t be another day, I’m afraid. He’ll be expecting you by his office following this.”

You breathe out, but afraid to seem well…Afraid, in front of Cuddy, you grit out a smile. “That’s perfectly fine. Sometimes it’s better to rip the bandaid off sooner, rather than later. Can you please direct me to his office?”

—--------

You feel your stomach plummet when you leave the elevator and begin walking down the hallway, clutching at your files as you do so.

Your short heels still manage to clack against the tiled floor as you walk. You pause and peer into a glass office. Sure enough, beside the door is a small plaque reading Dr G.House. Your hands reach for the doorknob, but it’s locked and you can’t push through. You peer into the office and see an empty desk, among other things.

It appeared the G.House was not home. So much for Cuddy’s warning that he would be waiting for you.

You breathe in deeply and scan around you. There are four or so chairs across from you, lining the side of the hallway, and sprawled across one of them is a man, staring right at you. You smile, half out of politeness and half out of awkwardness, and move to sit on the furthest seat. You settle down your papers, but when you look back, the man is turned and still staring. He has cropped, greying hair and steely blue eyes, and you quickly skim over him. Worn out jeans. A shirt with some sort of stain on it. A scuffed, dark cane resting beside him. Ratty trainers. At least he didn’t have the professionalism or poise that Cuddy carried around.

You realise you’ve stared a second past the respectful amount and you smile, fully out of awkwardness. “I don’t suppose you’re waiting for Dr House too?”

“Me?,” He raises an eyebrow, “Noo, I just like to wait outside his office as a pastime. See if I can conjure him through my psychic powers alone.”

You snort and raise your hands to your face quickly. “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

The man clicks his tongue. “Not at all. He doesn’t seem to care at all for punctuality, especially for…Who are you? A new hire?”

You tilt your head at him. “How’d you guess?”

He mimics you, tilting his head in the same direction. “You don’t look sick enough to be a patient, or tired enough to be a worker. Then there’s only the patient's family, new hire, or hooker to choose from. And no offence,” He trails his eyes down your form. “You don’t dress the part for the last option.”

You bark out a laugh at his incredulous words, shocked. “God. I’d hate to see the new hire who does.”

You’re happy to turn from the man and count the minutes until the infamous House appears, but the man draws your attention back to him with a question. “Why do you want to work with him?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And why do you want to know? Weren’t you the one to say that sitting here means you’re sick, a worker, a new hire, or a hooker?”

He nods, and his eyes appear calculating for a second. But then they’re masked and replaced with a forced smile “Yes, I did. As you can tell from my wicked cane, I’m a cripple hooker. I charge $200 for the hour, by the way. $300 and I’ll bring out the wheelchair.”

You can’t help but smile. Its funny, in a very twisted way. But you breathe deeply and try to compose yourself. You had never met someone as strange or bold as this man, but you supposed hospitals were the perfect place to find such specimens. The perfect mix of medicine, death and life, and you were produced with nutjobs.

“I’ve heard he’s a brilliant doctor-”

“And incredibly rude. I saw him the other week for the pain in my leg, and he just shoved a Vicodin bottle in my hand and called me an addict.”

You sighed. “You’re the second person to tell me that today. While I’m sorry to hear of his bedside manner, there are certain things I’m willing to go without in trade for working with him. I’ll deal with any rudeness or arrogance if it means I’m able to learn from him and contribute to his team.”

Now it’s the man who snorts out a laugh. “You’ll deal with being disrespected and abused just so you can be the ‘teacher's pet’ of medicine?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No! Obviously, I’m going to stand up for myself and my own morals. But I think to some degree, people are set in their ways; if he is, I’ll learn to work around it, rather than break through it.” You huff, “And I won’t be a ‘teacher’s pet’. Been there, done that; it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

The man says nothing, and you turn to him, waiting for a witty reply or another snarky hooker joke, but then another man strolls up to the two of you. He has tousled brown hair, dark eyes and a strikingly white lab coat. House.

You stand up quickly and offer your hand. He shakes it, and you introduce yourself.

He smiles at you, with a sincereness that nearly startles you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’re the new hire? I’m James Wilson, head of Oncology here.”

Oh. So not House.

You stutter for a moment but compose yourself. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were Dr House. Let me know if this is completely out of your ballpark then, but we’ve,” You gesture over your shoulder to the man still sitting down, “been waiting here for Dr House. Could you please point me in the right direction? He wasn’t in his office.”

The man raises his eyebrows at you, and you’re worried you said something to offend him -not like you made a hooker comment about him- but then he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way Cuddy did. “House, would you like to introduce yourself to your new hire?”

Your eyebrows narrow. “I’m sorry, what?” Who was he talking to?

But then there’s the slight tap of a cane against the floor, and the man beside you rises to his full height.

You turn to him, perplexed, and he mockingly widens his eyes and raises his free hand to his mouth in faux shock. “Whoops! I forgot I transferred from being a Cripple Hooker to being a doctor. Don’t worry, I still charge the same rate.”

He shuffles past you, limping, and into his office. Wilson remains beside you, and he shakes his head, eyes cast upwards. “You’ll get used to him. Just don’t let him hassle you too much or he’ll get used to that.”

You turn to thank him for the warning, but House clears his throat loudly from within his office, and sits down at the wooden desk as if to say ‘well hurry up then’. Meekly, you gather your notes, tell Dr Wilson it was nice to meet him, and walk into the office to sit across from House

He stares at you, the same way he stared at you out in the hallway, and you find yourself prompted to speak first. “So, Dr House. While it’s nice to formally meet you, I’m wondering if it wasn’t for Dr Wilson, were we just going to sit outside and trade hooker jokes for the next few hours?”

His eyebrows narrow. “You don’t need to lie.”

“What?”

“It’s not nice to meet me.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve met me before. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

He runs his hands down his worn face and continues to speak. “I have your resume. Your, quite frankly, startling long list of academic achievements and medical mumbo jumbo. I could give less of a hoot about those things; they won’t help you here. Awards and experience and acting like you give a shit is Cuddy’s forte, not mine.”

You find yourself puzzled about how to reply, but he saves you the effort and continues speaking, first drawing out your last name in a long drawl. “You seem intelligent and as if you lack a backbone. Both are necessary things for my team. But,” He stares intently at you, “Why do you want to work here? With me? On this team?”

You suck in air. “Well, as I said earlier, you’re brilliant. I know your cases and I know the work you’ve done. To put it blatantly, you’ve saved lives where others would have prepped the morgue. I want to know how to do that, and how to become the best doctor I can be.”

He laughs. “Being a suck-up isn’t a requirement for being a good doctor.”

“Neither is being an arsehole, but you seem to have that covered.”

Shit. Shit. Did you really just say that? To your boss? God, he was infuriating yes, and rude and-Oh. This was what Cuddy was warning you about. Losing your cool in face of his taunts and remarks. Well, low and behold, you lost your cool.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward to rest his head on his steepled hands. “Do you usually call people names during interviews or just the ones where you don’t want the job?”

You huff, exasperated. “I want this job. Hell, I need this job.”

“Everyone needs a job. Everyone has bills. But you’re avoiding the question.”

Your jaw clenches. “Well, not everyone has tenure. And, to answer your question, I only call people names during interviews because you made an incorrect assumption about me; I do have a backbone.”

He leans back in his chair and studies you. “Snarkiness isn’t a backbone. It’s a defence mechanism, sure, but a backbone would be walking out of here and knowing that your worth as a doctor means you shouldn’t be disrespected like that.”

Staring into his icy eyes, you speak. “You’ve got to ask me question after question. Am I a hooker? Why do I want to work with you? Now, I’m going to ask you a question. Why are we doing this?”

“Well sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this amazing thing, but there’s an interview you have before you start a job to see if you’re suited to-”

“No. I mean why are you ‘interviewing’ me if you’ve already made up your mind?”

At that, he stays silent. Confirmation. You get the sense that if he hadn’t made his decision even before you saw him, he made it the second you sat down outside. Maybe it was the way you walked, or the awkward smile you passed to him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give less of a shit about your credentials; or you.

You nod and gather your things again. “Thank you for your time, Dr House. Please pass my regards to Cuddy.”

You reach the door before he speaks again. “You didn’t ask me what my decision was.”

You huff. “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear.”

“You’re hired.”

Oh.

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

Welcome!

This is your official-unofficial source for all things SVSSS fanon-debunking! As a veteran reader of MXTX's least popular novel and someone with a PhD in SVSSS literature, I have taken on the arduous task of separating fact from fiction... or well, specifically, canon from fanon.

《 Disclaimer: The purpose of this blog is textual analysis, not to tell people what fanon or canon material to use or not to use in their fanworks, or to make moral judgments on the way people interpret the text. Please see my faq and psa tags for more about my views on the matter. 》

There is a significant affliction within this fandom, where fanon ideas are assumed to be canonical facts-- to the point where sometimes fanon will even end up on the official SVSSS wiki 😱😱😱!!!

I've met quite a lot of people who are surprised to find out that something they think is canon is actually fanon, and even a few that are the other way around, so I've decided to start this blog to help people sort it out!

My credentials and qualifications are as follows:

PhD in SVSSS literature (awarded to me by a disgruntled SJ apologist).

A good minimum of 50-75% of available brain-space devoted to SVSSS at all times

Consummate knowledge of minute lore details

Near-memorization of a good portion of the novel, with the added ability to find any quote within 10 minutes of searching (in both EN and CN)

Author of a fic that is currently over 300k words long and counting, which was originally written out of spite for fanon portrayals of certain characters and themes

The ability to write 5k+ rants about any given topic in the space of an afternoon

--------------------

How this blog works:

You, dear reader, send in a suspected fanon topic to my askbox. Or perhaps it's something you suspect to be canon, but would like confirmation on.

I will then write a post on this topic (on no set schedule, I go as the wind takes me~), first applying a rating (more details below), then adding further information as needed. Topics with either support or rebuttal in canon will have quoted evidence presented, those without either of those things will simply have a brief explanation.

I will also add some analysis or potential interpretations and readings but I will do my best not to add my pure opinions to these posts-- this blog is about textual evidence! So, do not reblog my posts to argue with me based on your headcanons! If you want to argue against one of my posts, provide a quoted source from the novel!

Otherwise, I will most likely block you :>

Any hateful content or attempts to start fandom wank on my posts or in my inbox will get deleted and blocked. Anyone who provides textual evidence that changes my rating or analysis will be very much appreciated and receive the Golden Cucumber Award.

At the end of the day, this blog is entirely about canonical textual analysis and has no bearing whatsoever on what people want to headcanon or use in their fics. It's fandom. Do Whatever You Want Forever. Who am I to say you can't use a certain headcanon?

Just please treat headcanons as headcanons. No matter how deeply-entrenched into fanon they may be, they're still not canon and shouldn't be treated as such.

If you're of the mind that you'll still do whatever you want without regards for canon, then you're probably not the intended audience for this blog. If you're someone who wants to clarify whether a popular idea has a basis in canon or not, then read on to learn more about the rating system and see already-discussed topics!

--------------------

Rating System

WHAT DO I CONSIDER CANON? (please read before commenting)

Each exposed fanon or canon will receive a rating and analysis. The ratings are interpreted as follows:

CANON - This fact is directly or indirectly supported by the text! If you want to stay true to canon, this should be treated as fact.

FANON - SUPPORTED - Though the text doesn't directly state this is true, it is a very likely interpretation based on various factors including historical precedent and cultural norms, genre tropes, and the occam's razor principle.

FANON - NEUTRAL - The text neither confirms or denies this. It may be true or it may be false, and the matter is entirely up for interpretation. Many fanon will likely fall into this category, and whether you adopt it or not won't affect how true to canon your interpretations are.

FANON - UNSUPPORTED - While the text may not be directly against this headcanon, it is still an unlikely interpretation based on various factors including historical precedent and cultural norms, genre tropes, and the occam's razor principle.

FANON - CONFLICTING - The text goes directly against this interpretation, and there are quotes that prove it to be incorrect. If you wish to stay true to canon, it's best not to include this idea.

--------------------

Awards:

I will give out three awards on this blog for those who assist me in keeping fanon and canon separate!

The Bronze Cucumber Award will be given to anyone who reblogs my post and adds significant additional context in support of/explaining my analysis. This may be textual context or "support" context (cultural norms/historical precedence/genre tropes/etc.). Since this fandom likes to analyze, I will only be giving out this award to those who specifically add details and ideas that are not rooted in my original analysis (such as, a quote from a completely different part of the book, or a linguistic explanation that provides context), rather than those who simply expand on what I already wrote.

The Silver Cucumber Award will be given to those who reblog one of my analysis posts with a source telling the origin of a particular fanon idea. This is wonderful for archival purposes-- just as it's good to see where canon ideas come from, it can also be helpful to know where a fanon idea originated, in order to have proper context. Only the first responder to provide a fanon origin will receive the award (so that this blog doesn't get too clogged up).

The Golden Cucumber Award will be given to those who reblog one of my posts with a debunking of my analysis-- as long as they provide directly-quoted evidence that disproves my points. This evidence should be based on the text of the novel itself, and I should be able to look it up in my own copy. I will be more selective with giving out golden cucumbers to reblogs that debunk on the basis of "support" elements (cultural norms/historical precedence/genre tropes, etc.) because many of those topics can be somewhat subjective.

--------------------

Previously-Tackled Concepts

(See below the cut for a full list)

CANON

CQMS Twelve Peaks' have Color-Coded Uniforms

Shen Yuan has a Younger Sister

Mobei-jun has Blue Eyes

Shen Yuan is a Monster Nerd

Airplane was a Child of Divorced Parents

Ning Yingying is Younger than Luo Binghe

FANON - SUPPORTED

Shen Jiu Only Goes to Brothels to Sleep, Not to Have Sex

Mobei-jun and Shang Qinghua Eventually Get Married

FANON - NEUTRAL

Shen Qingqiu is Banned from Xian Shu Peak

Shen Qingqiu Wears a Cinnabar Mark on his Forehead

Shen Yuan Wore Glasses in his Previous Life

FANON - UNSUPPORTED

Shen Yuan was Chronically/Terminally Ill in his First Life

Shen Yuan was a Socially Awkward, Introverted Shut-In By Nature

Luo Binghe has Curly Hair

Aphrodisiac-Producing Plants are an Ever-Present Danger in the World of PIDW

FANON - CONFLICTING

Ming Fan was Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak

Luo Binghe Received Both Scars from the Abyss Scene

Qiu Haitang has More than One Older Brother

Shen Qingqiu has Green Eyes

All Demons Naturally have Forehead Marks

Luo Binghe has a "Stereotypically Masculine" Appearance

Xuan Su is a Large, Broad, Imposing-Looking Sword

Shen Yuan's Original Body Closely Resembled Shen Qingqiu's

Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu were Meant to End Up Together in the Original Draft of PIDW

CANON EXAMINED

Shen Yuan's PIDW-Reading Timeline

Cang Qiong Mountain Sect Hierarchy (tag)

The Pre-Canon Timeline and Character Ages

[billietherock]

There was no Weirdmageddon (pt9)

By: Billietherock

Chapter 3 (pt3)-Stanley

Stanley Pines is a crook and a conman, that is what everyone knows him as. A gambler, a criminal and a playboy. He unofficially separated with his fifth wife recently ,this one he had a young son with barely a year old. At the moment he was hotel hopping, just hoping to win big, so he could go back to the family that left him out on the street and rub it in their faces.

The woman he was with, he didn’t even know her name, answered the ringing phone. He smokes a cigar as she talks with the person on the other line. She seemed confused, Stanley looked over when she was on the phone for a little too long starting to listen in.

“No no… you’ve… okay Mr I’m telling you that you have the wrong number.” She pauses,” there isn’t a Stanley Pines here. Sir please…” she looks at Stanley helplessly.

He walks over and takes the phone, motioning for her to relax,” Hello, you messin with my girl. Listen you little freak I-“

Stanley is cut off by Fiddleford,” Stanford Pines is your brother right?!”

Stanley pauses, he glances around,” who wants to know?”

Fiddleford takes a breath of relief,” Stanley, okay. I’m his lab assistant Fiddleford Mcucket!”

Stanley chuckles,” from the nerd school?”

“Y-yes from the nerd school. Look, your brother needs your help. Something went wrong and-“ this time it’s Fiddleford’s turn to get cut off by Stanley.

“Listen, say I’m this Stanley Pines. Why can’t my brother fix this problem himself? He’s so smart it shouldn’t even be a problem for Sixer.”

Fiddleford growls in frustration, especially after Stanley laughs him off,” I'M AFRAID HE’S GOING TO DIE.”

This got Stanley’s attention, if he thought Fiddleford was lying he was one hell of an actor, which made him come to the conclusion that he wasn’t.

“Talk to me. What’s going on with Ford?”

The woman looks at Stanley in concern but he motions for her to calm down. Although after hearing that his brother’s life may be on the line, he wasn’t to calm himself. Last time he saw Ford he was looking up at him from the street, as their father kicked Stanley out for destroying Ford’s future, and just being a general screw up.

Last time he talked to Ford, he was telling Stanley in a letter that he was accepted into some university out in California. It’s been about ten years since Ford even bothered to contact him. Yet Stanley still cared deeply for his brother.

Fiddleford however was trying to calm himself down, what he was about explain to Stanley was confusing, and he didn’t have time reexplain much. He knew that while Ford had multiple PHDs, Stanley had never graduated High School, he was going to have to simplify this so that Stanley wouldn’t think they were both crazy.

“Okay, your brother was working on finding… Gouls, Ghosts, all things weird and unexplained, and trying to explain them. Soon he found that all the weirdness was coming from Gravity Falls, a small town in Oregon. I’ll tell you where that is later. What’s more pressing is that he summoned a demon.”

Stanley raises his eyebrow,” a… demon… like… hold on, he actually summoned something? He didn’t just go hunting for it like some monster hunter?”

“Yes, that's pretty much it. The demon gave him knowledge and recently, the demon disappeared and your brother isn’t taking it well.”

Stanley leans against the wall,” how bad is bad?”

Fiddleford sighs,” he hasn’t eaten in days or showered in weeks. I can’t make him do anything and… I have a wife and kid out of state, I can’t take care of him. If you’re willing, I was hoping you would?”

Stanley ponders this for a moment he looks at the map he has mounted on the wall,” Gravity Falls… in Oregon you said?”

“Yes.” Fiddleford says, a little on the desperate side.

There isn’t an answer from the other side for a good minute. Fiddleford began to feel stupid. Why did he think Stanford’s estranged brother would want to do anything for him?

“How long can you stay?”

Fiddleford jumps,” uh… three days at the most.”

Stanley grabs his keys and hands the woman his hotel key, “ give me about 2 and a half and we’re Golden.”

Fiddleford audibly squeals,” Thank you so much! I promise you I’ll take care of him best I can before you get here.”

There isn’t a response as the line goes dead but there didn’t need to be one.

Stanley Pines was coming to Gravity Falls.

[itsasooz]

Another @ocmonthly post!

I did not realize it but I apparently have two multiracial undead hunting ladies with freckles.

Meet Dr. Tiffany Nevaeh Kikuchi. (She goes by "Nevaeh") Linguistic PhD, daughter of a vampire hunter and a former vampire gang member, bubbly socialite in the night life of her city, and possessor of an uncomfortable attraction toward middle aged men who are entirely too sensible and mature to want anything to do with her.

She works in a paramilitary group dedicated to protecting humanity from woogety woo bad guys, and woogety good guys from human bad guys. She also serves as an unofficial but appreciated bouncer in her main club, being inhumanly strong and heavily trained in combat by her mother.

As an extremely social person, Neveah "knows a guy" in just about every facet of life in the city.

[thricedead]

I don't know what your sources on ORV are but I'd recommend giving it a read or looking into it at all before calling it an "amateur webnovel"... It's very much not amateurishly written and intentionally borrows from the world of amateur self published web novels because it's in a way a parody of the genre. The english translations available online are all unofficial fan translations, and those definitely do not help make it pass as good quality literature but writing it off as poor a quality amateur novel on account of the translations being clunky is ignorant at best... The person defending its worth as a "real novel" was being very inarticulate in doing so but ORV very much does get often written off as shallow or low quality writing by being mislabeled as "amateur self published korean bl" so what point are you even trying to make about it beside this person not being good at arguing their points...

SOURCE: I personally read thru the majority of orv and I did not like it or find much more in the way of value in it. Everything it says has been said better before and after. This doesn't make it embarrassing wrong to enjoy ORV - I have a collection of danmei erotica worth 450€ that I read for fun lol - but it doesn't make it an exemplary work of literature. It's a scifi webnovel that many find entertaining. That's all. Parodying a genre doesn't mean a work is exempt from criticisms reserved for the genre either, SVSSS is a parody of isekai danmei but it significantly fed into the very tropes it aimed to "parody" and spread teacher student rape fantasies worldwide and it's also really poorly articulated amateur writing of a college student. My opinion on ORV is not influenced by its country of origin or fandom. This is my opinion as a literary theory student aiming to write a phd thesis specifically on the reader-writer-character triangle of relationships (that many claim ORV does wonders for) and I wanna say, from the bottom of my heart, pick up some theory books, some classics, some fiction from established Korean authors (if i can find then in a library in Buttfuck Croatia so can you for sure) All in all being so upset about somebody being indifferent to you favorite media to the point where this trivial-to-grasp conversation is being held across multiple inboxes is honestly embarrassing. You can enjoy most anything, but adopt certain standards of quality for discussions abour literature. Seriously I'll hook you up with This is the Canon or The Demon of Theory any day *_*

[envysparkler]

First, I just want to start off by saying that I adore every piece of writing you have!! If you were to ever write and publish a book, I would be the first one to buy it! (Although I also love the multiple book lengths of fics you have put up and those are more than enough to sustain me!)

Also, as someone who is applying to phd schools soon, at least hopefully, and saw your other asks and answers...is it worth it? 😭 I just look at how much people say their papers are rejected and it seems like it's so difficult to deal with mentally and time wise. I feel like so often people talk about the good parts, but then you always hear about the horrors of grad school and it's all so confusing so I will take any nuggets from someone who's in grad school and is almost on the other side!

If I ever end up publishing a book, I will certainly let you know!

Is a PhD worth it? That entirely depends on what you want out of it.

In my opinion, a PhD is worth it if and only if it is a requirement of the job you're looking for. And if that job is academia, be advised that academia means you need to be passionate about your research and your field and be so for the rest of your life. I'm not kidding. You have to be the biggest cheerleader of your work because no one else is going to be, no one is going to tell you what to do next, and no one is going to tell you that you should be doing more. Everything in academia stems from your own motivation. If you are not someone who is particularly self-motivated, I would advise against it. You will have to argue and defend your work against everyone else for your entire life and if you don't believe in yourself, no one else will either.

If you're just doing it because you don't know what to do next: no. Go get a real job. PhD stipends are not worth it, the degree takes an average of six years to finish and 50% of people who start drop out. Those are not great odds. Don't get a phd to defer adulting, I promise you the stress isn't worth it. Also, you'll end up back in the same spot, hunting through the job market, only now you're overqualified and underqualified.

If you're doing it because you realize you hate your bachelors and want to switch fields: get a masters and get out. If no one will accept you for a masters/the masters isn't paid for, apply for a PhD, get in, and master out. If you enter a PhD and decide you don't like it, master out. You don't need to prove anything to anyone. You can walk away. Don't sunk cost fallacy yourself.

If you're still interested in doing a PhD: good luck! Also, when you get in, make sure you find good mentors. Find older PhD students in your field who will show you the ropes. Understand what is 'officially' expected of you and what is 'unofficially' expected of you. There is a shit ton of things to do that no one tells you until it's too late because they expected you to be doing it all along, and it varies depending on what field you're in. Form support groups with other PhD students in your year. Lean on each other. Build community. A PhD is a uniquely isolating experience--graduating means you are essentially the only person in the world who knows your research--and most universities will not provide the social scaffolding necessary to survive it with your sanity intact. (Gotham is a fantastic example.)

I hope that helps!

[the-void-writes]

For Riley!! 🎮📚🩹🎶🔺🌈🍎💔💘😊!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH 😁💖 I’M SO HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT THIS KID

Here’s some references for Riley. Credit to Wervty and Naylissah on Picrew for the images

🎮 What are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

Riley loves guitar and wants to learn how to play it. He also likes exercise, even if Rio’s training gets ridiculous or excessive. To everyone’s surprise, he shows a lot of interest in studying health and medicine. Avery makes him his unofficial apprentice.

📚 What level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)?

Vesely has a school program for patients, so technically Riley is still getting a high-school education. The last official schooling he had was in junior-high.

🩹 Does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

I’m not sure if it counts, but since his powers generate large amounts of electricity, it scars his arms and damages the nerves. Too much use of it also starts to affect his heart.

That’s why Riley and Thomas work so well together. Thomas’ phasing means that when they touch him, the electricity can move through his body without hurting him, but he also had less control over it.

🎶 What type of music does your oc like? Do they listen to music very often?

Lots of alternative rock, stuff he can turn on during training and headbang to. He also loves the older rock that Jason listens to like Venus Wonder (the Freaks-universe equivalent of the band Queen).

🔺 Does your oc know how to use any weapons?

Aside from his powers, which generate strands of electricity, Rio teaches him how to use a staff as a conduit while he fights.

🌈 What is your oc's sexual orientation/gender identity? What pronouns do they use?

Riley is bisexual and transgender, the latter of which he is very defensive about. He won’t tolerate being called anything other than “he/him.”

🍎 Where was your oc born? Do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? How do they feel about their birthplace?

Riley was born in a small town somewhere around Preston (I haven’t come up with a name lol). He hates everything about that town, from the school that bullied him, to the church that called him a demon, to the childhood home where his mother called him horrible names and forced him to wear dresses and regularly called the cops to have someone take this kid away. Thankfully, Jason and Rio were the ones to rescue him, and he’ll never have to see that town again.

💔 What are three of your oc's negative traits?

Riley is incredibly defensive to the point where he starts fights that aren’t necessary. He’s so used to pain and having his heart broken that he lashes out the minute he thinks someone is going to hurt him.

He can be grumpy, even with friends. Kevin lives and breathes to pester him, and though their banter is mostly playful, there are times where Riley says something hurtful. He always apologizes later.

He has little respect for grown-ups or authority figures. There have been days where this highly-powerful and rightfully-angry teenage boy has hospitalized trained officers by electrocuting them. The only adults he trusts are Jason and Henry, and eventually his adoptive parents (Avery gets a pass because he’s still technically a college graduate).

💘 What and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

His friends are the most important things in his life. They welcomed him, supported him, and loved him when his family refused to. He says he would kill a man for them, even though he doesn’t really want to.

This also becomes true for his adoptive family. He doesn’t trust them to stay, at first, but he grows to love them dearly.

😊 What are your oc's career/general life desires? What do they want to get the most out of life?

Riley wants to be a doctor. Ever since Jason mentioned it as an option, ever since he showed faith that Riley could help people, Riley’s wanted to follow that path. He never thought he was capable of anything other than destruction, and now he wants to live up to the hope that Jason gave him.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Little game for you today...

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged from you! 🧡(if you want)

ooh I love a good game and this is such a sweet one!

In no particular order!

Fictional Men! - I feel like this is super obvious but creating these alternative universes and putting our faves into them is one of my favourite things to do because its so comforting and fun to explore different assets of that character in different contexts!

Sims 4 - I recently gotten back into Sims 4 and quite often play it for a couple hours every evening, I've basically started an unofficial CE generation challenge where if they have a son I'm gonna name it after a CE character and try and make it live as much like the character as possible, I've got Cole, Ari and Colin so far!

my mutuals and followers - honestly Tumblr is a bit of a shit show and engagement is so bad at the moment but it's my mutual and followers that engage that keep bringing me back, otherwise, I probably would have left a long time ago

my friends and family - Spending time with them always makes me happy, I went out for a meal with my parent last week for my birthday and I spent the entire evening laughing, they're also all really supportive with my struggles with anxiety and its nice to have a good safety net to fall into as I start therapy and try and improve my mental health

my career - Ever since starting my PhD last month I've been so excited about my career prospects and it feels like my dreams are within reach even if I have to wait a few more years. My supervisor has some amazing contact with one of the best conservation research facilities in the UK and I'm excited to hopefully work with them in the future!

[solisaureus]

Do u have any idea when ur gonna update ur Bianca-lives-nico-dies fic ???

i don’t mean to put any pressure on u there are just not updated (that i can find) and i really hope u haven’t just stoped working on it T^T

hi!!! thank you for the interest!! i’m sorry it’s taking me such a long time!! i promise i haven’t given up on it, and I’m going to see this project to the end no matter how long it takes. It’s unofficially on hiatus right now because i am writing a scientific literature review for my phd and so all of my writing energy is going towards that until it’s done. i won’t be able to work on personal writing projects until december at least, so i’m afraid it’ll be a while longer before the fic updates.

thank you so much for your patience!!

[elfpen]

Hi!!! So, this is going to be a weird (and probably invasive) question to ask a stranger on the internet but. um.

So I saw your add-on to the post about historical remedies and such and it FASCINATED me. The cross between historical and scientific study was just... so cool!

And I'm in High school, right now, and I'm still trying to decide what I want to major in. So I wanted to ask--

What major did you write that thesis for? How did you get into that major (like, what kind of credits/ background/grades did you need to get accepted)?

And-- this one you don't have to answer at all, bc I don't want to pressure you into doxxing yourself or anything, but-- What college/colleges did you go to/ consider going to that had good programs for said major? (I live in America, if that helps?)

Sorry for the random (and a lil' aggressive) questioning on major details of your life is uncalled for-- which it probably is. I just!!! Your research was really cool and it felt like something I'd want to consider pursuing!!!

TY for your time <3

No worries! None of those questions are what I would consider really invasive, and I don't mind talking about the basics.

That thesis was one that I wrote for my Master's degree. My major in undergrad was history—no specific area of history because it wasn't an option at my school—just history. While there were some classes I was required to take, whenever I was able to choose my own classes, I took classes that dealt with medieval history, which was something that interested me. Most of my large writing projects in undergrad I wrote on medieval topics. My uni didn't even have that many of those classes, but I basically found ways to work those subjects into my work anyway lol. In topics as broad as history, you have to carve out your own space.

I graduated with good grades and went straight into graduate school. I'm not sure I would recommend going straight into grad school after undergrad, but I knew myself and knew that if I didn't do it right away, I would not go back.

At the graduate level, no matter where you go, if you study history you will pick an area/region of history to study in depth. I chose medieval history, and within that carved out an unofficial specialization on early medieval British history. My advisor wasn't even an expert in that topic, but she was supportive, and connected me with other academics who knew more about it. I was a bit of an oddity in the department because I was one of the few students who was getting only a masters degree, rather than going for a PhD. The only reason I did this was because I was also studying for another degree which was more relevant for my desired career path; I chose to study history as in addition for the broadened experience and also because it really interested me.

Now, I know you're in high school still and this kind of decision is a long ways off, but for the sake of my on conscience I am going to pause here to say that you should not get a masters in history unless you are either going on for a PhD and are committed to a career in academia, or if you have another solid career path open to you (like having another degree or other experience). Studying history can give you a lot of great skills and experience and insight that will make you compatible for a lot of jobs, however, if you already have a bachelors, a masters degree in something like history will generally not increase your marketability, and can be very expensive. Alright, you didn't ask for career advice, but I couldn't not say it.

But yeah! As far as prerequisites and such, it's a fairly straightforward matter of keeping up your grades, which may sound kinda lame. The harder and more vital part of pursuing the research you want is to define your goals, communicate those with your professors, and foster relationships with professors who can help connect you with opportunities to present your research and meet others in the field. If you have the chance to present at an undergrad conference, do it. If your professor has office hours, talk to them not only about the current assignments, but about the kinds of things you're interested in. By the time you're a senior in college, having positive relationships with one or more professors will help you find connections beyond college.

This has turned into career advice, I'm sorry if that's not what you were after! I hope that helps.

[stellar-solar-flare]

Volatile | Chapter 1/3 | Steve Rogers x Reader

Explicit - 18+ only - Minors DNI.

Steve Rogers returns from a mission only to be immediately alerted about a medical emergency: you, the Avengers Initiative's leading science expert, have been hit by a potent, unknown aphrodisiac on your own mission. Pressed for time and out of options, he has to, together with the AI's medical department, figure out a solution.

Mutual pining, smut with feelings, eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, non-consensual exposal to sex pollen, dubious consent because Reader is under the influence of an aphrodisiac (but all sex is very much mutually wanted), protective & possessive Steve Rogers, Captain kink, praise kink, very light dom/sub elements, dirty talk, pet names, thigh riding, finger sucking, mention of non-con.

Reader specifics: She/her. Works as a science specialist in AI under codename Dr. Chiral for her chemistry proficiency. Six times PhD, an Avenger. Late twenties, no description of appearance given.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

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Chapter 1: Verona

Chapter notes: Dr. Carolina Vinterberg is my original character, a regular face in my fics. Background Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanoff.

3,179 words.

Over his years on Earth, and occasionally in space, Steve Rogers had seen a lot of things that had bordered on impossible and occasionally crossed well into it – his own existence not being the least. Aliens? Superweapons? Computer programs turned into sentient robots married to an actual witch? His best friend resurrected seventy years after his death and sporting a mechanical arm that could rip steering wheels out of cars? Sure. All fine. He could roll with it.

But this. This was close to taking the cake. He swallowed and folded his hands very carefully to rest behind his back as he was standing in the office of Avengers Initiative’s Head of Medicine, Dr. Carolina Vinterberg. He had been summoned the minute his jet had landed, not having had even the time to change out of the stealth suit. The shield sat strapped onto his back.

“Could you repeat that?” he said.

The doctor regarded him with her ever-calm, icy blue eyes and something about that neutral expression and neat blonde braid she always sported was so absurd, considering the situation at hand, that Steve wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both. She was cradling a StarkPad on her arm and standing in front of a large screen that was showing toxicity profiles.

“A foreign aphrodisiac, Captain Rogers,” she stated. “Possibly of interstellar origin. Presumably affecting the hormonal levels of those who are subjected to it, resulting in heightened drive to pursue venereal gratification.”

The words made sense individually but as they were strung together, they didn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. Or rather – they did, but Steve’s head was screaming for any other explanation than the one he was deciphering. Anything but this.

“Horny,” Sam groaned from where he was sitting. “What the doc here is saying is that they both got really horny. I’m considering buying Tony a bottle of champagne for all that noise-cancelling tech. Would’ve been a long ride home otherwise.”

Steve closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, this whole nightmare would’ve vanished. God, he wasn’t looking forward to writing the strategic guidelines for future occasions of this one. Instead, when he opened his eyes, Dr. Vinterberg was regarding him as unfazed as she had been earlier.

“Sergeant Wilson is correct. Both agents subjected to the substance reached a heightened state of arousal within minutes of the exposure.”

Steve wasn’t going to think about it. He wasn’t. That wasn’t the priority right now.

“Did…” he coughed, even as he could tell from Sam’s expression that the answer was going to be no. “Did that result to any violations of physical kind? Anything non-consensual?”

Vinterberg shook her head, consulting the tablet as if she was reading routine blood-test results to Steve.

“It appears that the substance amplifies existing affections instead of creating them. Neither Sergeant Barnes nor Dr. Chiral expressed any interest in each other or in Sergeant Wilson, or in the medical staff that handled their quarantine, for the matter.”

“And thank god for that,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Considering she and Sergeant Barnes were exposed to the substance simultaneously while they were investigating the laboratory, it is reasonable to assume that if it had been just a simple pheromone attack, they would’ve expressed interest in each other,” Dr. Vinterberg explained. “But that has not been the case.”

Alright. He could deal with that. The carnal nature of the substance aside, it did sound like a standard exposure to a foreign pathogen. It was a good thing that he was informed of the incident, but it seemed like both Bucky and you were still… indisposed. And Vinterberg certainly wasn’t the person to try to ease him into bad news – she would’ve led with them, if there had been any.

“So, what happened out there?” Steve asked, forcing the tone of his voice stay even.

Sam looked at him, clearly as excited to have this conversation as Steve himself was, but they both realized the need to be professionals, especially around such a delicate topic.

“We went into the laboratory and Chiral and Barnes were examining the backroom where they kept this stuff. There must’ve been some kind of invisible trigger that broke a couple of the bottles, releasing the vapor in the air. They both exited immediately and activated the quarantine protocols, but I can only assume they both got a good whiff.”

The quarantine protocols. Steve might get his own bottle of champagne for Banner and Stark for that one. All the mission Quinjets were supplied with a FRIDAY-controlled system that would, upon an agent requesting it, release a large bulletproof-glass cylinder that would surround the subject much like the Hulk Containment Field had done. With thrusters in the bottom, the cylinders would automatically float into a separate containment area on the back of the jet. They allowed for radio transmission to and from the cylinder but filtered out everything, keeping both the one subjected to a substance and other agents safe. Alright. So, that meant that Sam had probably gotten an earful once he’d gone to check on you and Bucky but otherwise, it seemed like the team had gotten off easy.

Wrong expression for the situation. Wrong. Steve nodded at Sam, absorbing the information, and turned to Vinterberg.

“Even with the mission immediately aborted, by the time the Quinjet was here, both Dr. Chiral and Sergeant Barnes were under the influence of the substance to the point that they weren’t able to act or express themselves coherently,” she said. “Considering the previously existing physical relationship between Sergeant Barnes and Agent Romanoff and the consent form signed by Agent Romanoff, I decided that the best course of treatment in Barnes’ case is to, as the idiom goes, let them ride it out. They’re currently in containment room 2A, and we’re monitoring Barnes’ vitals via the wireless sensor system but otherwise giving them privacy, unless either of them activates FRIDAY’s emergency protocols.”

Containment room. That was good news – those rooms were more hotel rooms than hospital ones, designed for quarantining the ones that needed to be quarantined but who didn’t need any further medical care. Dr. Vinterberg had the necessary authority to greenlight a decision that was, even if unconventional, clearly a treatment of a medical condition and if Nat and Bucky wanted to bang it out, good for them – that definitely didn’t need Steve’s involvement. Vinterberg sat down behind her desk and put her pad down. She didn’t look even remotely fazed as she met Steve’s eyes.

“However, Dr. Chiral’s case is much more complicated.”

No. No. No. Not you. Not this way. Not when Steve hadn’t been there to protect you. He had had a schedule conflict, another mission that had required him and Tony specifically and that old Hydra lab he’d sent you should’ve been a routine data extraction, all the intelligence information had pointed towards it... With difficulty, he reeled his spiraling thoughts back in.

“She doesn’t have a romantic, or otherwise physical, partner listed in her file. Considering her diligence with her medical paperwork and the pre-mission information updating protocols you yourself have implemented, Captain Rogers, we can safely assume that to be an accurate assessment of the situation,” Vinterberg said. “Any standard treatment option for cases like this has had no effect so far – the substance, presumably to maintain an optimal physical state for continued sexual activity, has sped up her metabolism and overclocked her entire system. She is burning all sedatives out faster than we can safely administer them, and we have legitimate medical concern for how long her heart and brain can take this. It also appears that simply achieving a climax isn’t enough to offset the effects of the substance. When comparing the data of Dr. Chiral and Sergeant Barnes, it appears that the presence of a partner is crucial.”

In any other situation, the simple image of you writhing on your bed, moaning, fingers buried in between your legs would’ve required Steve to dump a bucket of cold water on his head but now, his head was only focusing on the fact that you were in danger. Because of a mission he’d greenlit you to go to.

“Especially with no medical precedent, we are concerned that if continued, this could be fatal for Dr. Chiral,” Vinterberg said. “Which is the only reason I’m willing to relay you the information that she has, exclusively and rather explicitly, asked for you, Captain Rogers.”

For a second, Steve’s brain flashed into white static. He was pretty certain his mouth had dropped open.

“Asked me to… What exactly?”

“Participate in sexual activity with her,” Vinterberg replied, and Steve thanked all the gods that watched over universe for her robotic demeanor as a million thoughts flooded into his brain.

You wanted him. At least, some part of you wanted him. He had had his hopes, his fantasies, and he had been so close to asking you out but backed off at the last second, afraid of possible rejection affecting your working relationship. You weren’t his subordinate – as a leading science expert of the AI, you ranked as high as he did – but with the intensity of the line of work you’d chosen, there was no room for any kind of personal bad blood.

Showing aside the image of his name falling out of your lips like a feverish prayer took every last drop of Steve’s willpower. He straightened up to remind himself of the position he was in and cleared his throat.

“Even if Dr. Chiral has asked that, that’s not consent. She’s under the effects of what appears to be a drug that heavily alters consciousness. She is unable to give proper consent.”

Dr. Vinterberg nodded.

“I agree. Again, this is an unorthodox approach and from a medical standpoint, her current consent isn’t a valid one. However, with the limited timeframe and limited options, I am forced to bring this option to the table,” she said. “Sergeant Wilson is here because Dr. Chiral gave him a message to relay just prior to, effectively, losing consciousness. It was meant for you, Captain Rogers. I’d like you to listen to what he has to say before he leaves the room as we go into more detail regarding Dr. Chiral’s medical information.”

Vinterberg nodded at Sam, who turned in his chair to look Steve properly. His shoulders were tight.

“Yeah, Cap, believe me that after this I’ll be out of here before I lose the last ability to look any of you in the eye,” Sam gave him a dry laugh. “But Chiral told me to tell you – if I understood it correctly since she was shouting it through the containment chamber glass and on the verge of losing it – that she remembers the moonlight in Verona. I don’t know what that –“

“I do,” Steve said, his mouth getting drier.

Your fifth mission together, for the first time just the two of you. The moonlight dripping through the stained-glass windows in a church in Verona, the gunshot still ringing in Steve’s eyes and his palms extending over your bleeding thigh. He was had been trying so hard to not focus on the widening pool of blood underneath you that had stained the marble floor, instead looking into your eyes and counting seconds for an extraction team.

Just focus, Ace, alright. Stay with me. Look at the moonlight. Look how pretty it is. I need you to stay with me.

The look in your eyes, the softness of your face even through the pain that had had to be excruciating. Your hand, still holding the glass vial that had gotten you shot but that would also later be the downfall of an international drug operation.

I’m not scared, Steve. You’ve got me. I trust you.

In the present, both Dr. Vinterberg’s and Sam’s expectant gazes were on Steve.

“It seems to imply that she knew what she would be asking. That she wanted me to know that she trusts me.”

Dr. Vinterberg nodded. She didn’t ask further questions – she clearly understood it meant a lot to Steve but didn’t really seem to consider the details her business.

“That would be in line with the fact that in her medical file, she has granted you the power of attorney over her medical care, should she be incapacitated. There is an obvious conflict of interest here, rendering the document itself null and void, but it does highlight the trust she has. And there was a recording on her StarkWatch,” Dr. Vinterberg said. “I took a look at it, as the time it had been made coincided with the mission.”

“As is your right under the Medical Emergency Breach Protocol,” Steve nodded. “Is the recording relevant?”

“That’s for you to decide. It appears that Dr. Chiral meant to send it to you,” she said, turning to look at Sam. “Unfortunately, Sergeant Wilson, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Any further details of Dr. Chirals medical state and the recording –“

“I understand, Doc. Trust me, I got more than enough details when we started sorting this mess out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go find a tub of holy water to sink myself into.” 

Sam headed out, patting still-stunned Steve on the shoulder as he did. As soon as the door closed after him, Vinterberg tapped the buttons of her pad, and the StarkWatch on Steve’s wrist vibrated as it received a message.

“Take a look.”

Steve pressed the button on the watch to project the 4K hologram display above it. When starting the recording, you had managed to deploy the camera drone from your device, but it floated almost uncomfortably close to your face. The glass containment chamber surrounding you was so well lit that he could see every detail of your face, the drops of sweat on your temples, the sweaty sheen on your cheeks. You were drawing air in like you were drowning, your chest rising and falling with your rapid pants for air. You writhed in the skintight mission environmental protection suit that clung to your every sweet curve. It was just you, as the section you were in was separated from the one that held Bucky, for security and privacy that had proved itself to be a wise choice with this incident.

“Steve, oh, fuck, Steve, something is happening to me and I think… Oh god, I need you, I need you, please, just please…”

Steve kept his calm but only just barely. The whimpering tone of yours shot right into his veins, and a part of him was already ready to give you everything you asked, but he needed to focus. In the message, your eyes cleared up for a moment.

“Hell, I really hope this is transmitting but Steve, I think… Bucky was already asking about Nat and that probably means this isn’t mindless, that it’ll be you I’ll be asking to…” your eyes glazed back over and you ripped the zipper of your suit down, revealing a thin tank top, “Fuck, these clothes, I’m so hot, Steve, please, make the burning stop, I need you, I need you to –“

Thankful for the camera angle that blocked most of what was happening in your containment chamber, Steve kept his focus on your face as you tore the suit off and struggled with the clearly constricting bra underneath the tank top. It didn’t do him much, since the feverish, wanton look in your eyes, your mouth parted in gasps, then your teeth biting down on your lower lip as your hands cupped your own chest felt plenty indecent. He saw you try to battle for control for a few more seconds and in a feat of the same self-discipline that had made you PhD times six, you won.

“Steve, I want you. Regardless of whatever this is. I’ve wanted you since Verona and oh fuck, your hands, your big strong hands on my thigh… Steve, I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want me, they’ll find a way that doesn’t involve… you fucking me until I can’t walk, until I can’t see straight, god, if your hands are that big I wonder how big –“ you panted, then shook your head and managed to continue, speaking as fast as you could to make use of the little time you knew you had left, “I was too much of a coward to tell you in Verona and afterwards but I’ve wanted you for a long time and I really didn’t want you to find out this way but I want you, in other ways too and not just… you deep inside me, your body covering me completely as you press me against the wall, fuck, it’s so hot in here, Steve, oh, fuck, I want you to –“

The transmission cut off. Dr. Vinterberg’s poker face hadn’t even flinched. She looked at Steve.

“It only went into more and more explicit detail of her fantasies from there,” she said. “I consider this, together with the message she gave Sergeant Wilson and the fact that she has demonstrated trust in you, to be acceptable grounds to greenlight this approach, should you yourself give your consent to this, Captain Rogers. Especially when weighed against the possibility of permanent damage to Dr. Chiral’s body. It is a volatile, unpredictable situation but such is the nature of this line of work.”

You had begged for him. You had begged for him. You had wanted him since Verona, since almost six months ago, and you wanted him still. Wanted him now. Needed him.

I’m not scared, Steve. You’ve got me. I trust you.

Somewhere far away underneath the sound of blood rushing in Steve’s body, Dr. Vinterberg was talking about how both of you had been tested negative for any STDs and you were on birth control, how the sensors on your wrists would continue to measure your vitals and the medical team would be given an alert if something dangerous was happening in your system, but other than that, you would be given complete privacy. But there was only one thought in Steve’s mind anymore, pushing all others out.

“Where is she?” Steve asked.

“Containment room 2B,” Dr. Vinterberg answered, staring at your vitals on the pad. “Considering there wasn’t much we could do, we wanted her to be as comfortable as –“

As the door closed behind Steve, Vinterberg realized she was talking to an empty room. Her expression unchanged, she nodded to herself and tapped her pad to authorize Steve’s access into Containment room 2B and activate the protocol that would shut off all surveillance from the room, save for the emergency system that would keep monitoring your vitals and allow either of you to evoke safety protocols. With that done, she made a few short notes onto your file and Steve’s file, jotting down the fact that consent had been established as extensively as was possible in current circumstances. Finally, she ordered herself a latte from FRIDAY’s system and pulled up the notes for her newest research paper, slipping back into blessedly calm world of meiotic recombination.

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