#i swear to god i just wanted to add another tab to a page.

[astrolotte]

using toyhouse reminding me of why I'm not a coder

[xoxoemynn]

Was tagged by @wistfulcynic to share my writing process, fun! Tagging @abigailpents, @red-sky-in-mourning, @montygreen, @gayhoediaz, aaaaand....I think I've already seen all my writer mutals active on Tumblr tagged in this BUT if you have not been, please consider yourself tagged.

Do you write in order? I do. I have to. I will happily tell other people that if they're stuck, they should skip the scene and come back later, but when I try to do it, I fail. My brain just won't let me proceed with the next until I know exactly what happens in the moments leading up to it, because WHAT IF SCENE A INFLUENCES SCENE B? I do wish I could jump around, but I can't.

How fully formed does your writing come out the first try? Pretty damn finished. I may go back in and add some flourishes, but overall, I'd say it's about 95% there.

How many drafts do you go through? Depends if it's a one shot or something like WTDB. One shots usually it's first draft, possibly pass it off to a beta reader, revised draft, and then I do another round of editing once I upload to AO3 because I swear I always find new things to fix once I see it in a totally new format, bringing us to a total of three. WTBD? Depending on the chapter, but usually looking at five or six.

Tell me about your process. I've realized I have two non-negotiables. The first is music. Sometimes I don't have music on because I feel like I need to Focus and it turns out I just don't write anything. I created a writing playlist for WTDB that basically just became my writing playlist, period, because my brain now associates it with writing. Other non-negotiable is an outline. I need one. Even if it's just bullet points. Every time I try to pants it I just end up spinning my wheels until I give in and jot at least a few notes down.

Again, I'd say one shots are different than a longer piece like WTDB. One shot I come up with an idea, write down the gist of the idea and maybe key lines/details I want to include because my memory is shit and I WILL forget. Then I just open up the ole Google doc and get going. I'm a simple lady.

WTDB was a totally different ballgame. I used Scrivener for that, and I can't imagine writing something of that length without it. I had a tab for each character, as well as pages for key settings, descriptions, references, etc. before I officially started writing. Especially with the intro character background stories, I was often shimmying sections around, and Scrivener made it really easy to do that. Then I'd write a chapter, immediately send it off to @margotandthefox for a pulse check off "does this make sense, does this work, does anything stand out to you as off?" Get it back, make edits. Once I had a nice chonk together, I'd send off to @monksofthescrew to beta that entire section of chapters. I'd then do some initial revisions, then another round when it's actually time for the chapter to go up, and a final one on AO3. (Although with ch. 5 I skipped AO3 because I had already been looking at it so much and it was weirdly liberating.)

Also I'd be remiss if I didn't mention I'd be lost without @margotandthefox, who frequently lets me just throw half-baked ideas at her, sometimes via rambling text, sometimes rambling audio message, and work through areas when I'm stuck. Highly, highly recommend you get a friend like that. 💕

Only other note I thought I'd share is I read my writing out loud as I edit, which was a trick I learned from my days as a writing tutor. And when I read along in my head, the voice narrating WTDB, especially the intro scenes, is the voice of God/the narrator from Good Omens. Now you know.

[ackerfics]

levi x reader in anastasia au i've got so many thoughts.......

levi and erwin as dmitry and vlad bc the revolution's got them in a financially disadvantaged position

levi stumbling upon reader singing in the empty ballroom, dancing away to forgotten memories

(it is then and there that he falls for her, but he doesn't believe in love at first sight so he doesn't realise it yet)

erwin chuckling at the banter between levi and reader, keeping track of who's bested who in a notebook like vlad in the movie

levi with the words he can't say lodged in his throat as he watches reader glide down the stairway of the opera house, draped in a dress whose magnificence rivals the night sky

levi and reader having a moment when they realise "it was you all along" like in in a crowd of thousands from the musical

just. levi x reader in anastasia au.

cel, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS <33 i can't help but add little things here and there as well oh my God :<<

levi and erwin as dmitry and vlad is just so perfect. after hearing that there's a huge sum of money being offered if the real princess is found, they had to take that opportunity. with levi's background as a thief and conman and erwin's smooth way of talking people until he convinces them, these two are the best duo to ever exist.

after another day of seeing poor imitations of the real princess, levi finds reader in the old palace of the royal family, twirling in the ballroom with perfect and elegant steps only the nobility teaches to their children. he swears he sees people dancing alongside her, as if the night is meant for a celebration of grandeur and sparkling gowns. the song she's singing, too, is so hauntingly beautiful that levi can't help but feel lured into every word. it's most likely she's searching for a lost memory but it's so out of reach. it's safe to say that levi accidentally finds himself getting enchanted with the unknown young woman doing a one-sided waltz in the ballroom.

and erwin being this little shit who tallies every single point in his little journal. he keeps this page a secret from levi because if his best friend knows about him keeping tabs on their amusing bickering, levi would rip that specific page off, and erwin will start over again. because he's been levi's partner in crime since they were fifteen, he knows that levi's snarky replies are far from irritation (unlike other arguments he had with infuriating people) so erwin concludes that his best friend enjoys the never-ending back and forth internally. erwin is definitely on reader's side the whole time, never tell levi this fact though.

levi finding himself mesmerized with every thing reader does. like how she carries herself like an heiress of a noble fortune. or how she effortlessly executes every lesson erwin assigns to her in preparation for the dowager empress's evaluation. or the way she reminds him of the princess he admires from afar, the princess she's playing for them to get the money from the empress. because of the reminder that they (him and erwin) are somewhat using reader, the budding feelings he once felt for the lost princess die down, replaced by an overwhelming wave of guilt. however, when she smiles at him in that dress erwin makes her wear on the boat to paris, he's officially shrouded in a pink haze. the feelings he suppressed the past days overrules his infatuation for the lost princess.

meanwhile, erwin knows this won't end well as he watches levi and reader dance on the deck of the ship. it's the first time he sees levi with that look on his face. erwin is the one who teases them about their tension but he never expects it will develop this grandly. of course, he supports this but knowing that levi told him that they'll never share the prize money with reader before embarking on this journey, he knows levi is screwed.

can i just say that anya's midnight blue gown is one of the prettiest gowns i've ever seen [screams]. and levi agrees. reader in that breathtaking dress is the show of the night for him. the whole time the opera is unfolding in front of them, levi can't seem to concentrate on the singers expressing their emotions through song. instead, he carefully glances at reader, who's so immersed in the opera that it's safe for him to linger his stare for a moment longer. as if his stare calls for her, reader turns her head to find levi staring at her with the most adoring eyes. she only smiles, which leaves levi in a wide-eyed, blushing mess that she chuckles at. she even tells him that he's being adorable, to which he responds that it's her fault for turning him into this mess.

again, levi, you can't flirt to save your life and please, your feelings are showing, sweetie.

CEL, THAT SONG HOLY SHIT IT'S SO HEART-WRENCHING :<<

after having a nightmare about the mysterious people telling her to remember, reader finds herself in the company of levi. which leads to their revelation that they already fell in love with each other way before any of this happened.

it started with levi telling her a story of his first love, the lost princess, where he's walking along the palace gardens (because his mother is one of the help) and he sees her enjoying her cup of tea in the gazebo. he then encourages reader to fill in the story since he personally believes she's the lost princess (feelings aside -- which is an excuse). it's going well, with reader describing the weather and how she feels hot because of her dress. until she says that there was a boy who offered her a flower from the garden, a boy who's smaller than her yet handed her a carnation with a determined face. she also laughs a little when she adds that the boy then realized he was in front of royalty so he bowed the lowest bow she's ever seen in her life. levi is astounded at this because he never mentions this little detail to anyone but reader easily puts this out there. one can tell from the look in her eyes that she's not just filling in the gaps, she's reliving it the memory or watching it play around her.

then they nearly kiss but levi splashes cold water on himself by going on one knee and saying, "your highness". give this man a break please. he only wants to show reader how much he loves her but no can do.

ah, fated lovers and their love for each other that transcends time.

JUST LEVI X READER IN AN ANASTASIA AU. JUST THEM LOVING EACH OTHER IN THIS UNIVERSE.

[nev3rfound]

daydreams : b.b

there’s always been something between you and bucky. but when it comes to telling him, you’re left wishing for a daydream that’ll never be. (inspired by the song daydream by maisie peters)  (2.2k)

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

“Mornin’ Y/n,” Your ears perk up as Bucky strolls into the kitchen with a tired smile, one that never fails to warm your heart.

Natasha resists the urge to chuckle at your lovesick state as you try to subtly watch Bucky make his morning coffee. “Sleep well, Barnes?” Natasha asks, seeing your eyes widen out of the corner of your eyes. If only Wanda were here, she’d love to know what you’re thinking about.

“Not really, I’ve been finding it hard to fall asleep.” Bucky explains, now leaning against the kitchen counter as he blows on his coffee, unaware of the near heart palpations you’re having at the sight of his pursed lips. “A lot on my mind, but nothing at the same time.”

“I get that,” You speak up, now catching Bucky’s attention. “you wish your brain had an off switch, god knows I need one.” You chuckle into your cereal and hear Bucky laugh softly to himself.

“Well, maybe Tony will make one for us someday, doll.” Bucky jokes as he winks to you and nods to Natasha before exiting the kitchen.

Natasha raises a brow to you as you try and avoid choking on your cereal. “Huh, doll?” Natasha quips, causing you nearly splutter your coffee all over the counter.

“Oh stop,” You nudge her lightly. “it’s nothing really. Bucky calls all of us doll.”

“I don’t think so,” Natasha comments. “I think you’re the only one he calls doll, Y/n.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Nah, I swear I’ve heard him call Wanda doll before.” You trail off, trying to think deeply if you’ve actually heard him call anyone by the nickname, or if in fact, it has only been you.

Picking up her coffee, Natasha simply mumbles into it. “Whatever helps you get through the day, Y/n.”

*

Yawning, you couldn’t help but feel your eyes drooping as you stare at the screen.

“We keeping you up, Y/n?” Steve jokes as you curl up on one end of the sofa whilst Bucky remains on the other.

“Nope, I’m good.” You comment, giving Steve a thumbs up.

“And you call us old, huh?” Bucky adds, feeling you kick his foot off the sofa playfully as you pick up a cushion and hug it tightly.

Within a matter of minutes, you give in to the desire to fall asleep. At first, neither men notice the lack of comments or shuffling from you. But when you subconsciously dip towards Bucky, his reflexes aren’t what they once were.

Bucky looks down to see you lying on his metal arm, still hugging the cushion as your breathing deeply, lost in a heavy sleep. “Oh, Y/n.” He chuckles quietly as he lifts his arm up and wraps it around you, holding you close as the film carries on.

Yet, Steve tears his eyes from the screen to observe the rare sight. Bucky allowing himself to fully unwind and enjoy the moment he’s in.

“Quit staring, Steve.” Bucky speaks up, snapping Steve out of it and reverts his attention to the film whilst Bucky smiles to himself, running his fingers along your arm soothingly before he tugs on the blanket draped over your feet, bringing it further up to stop you shivering. “There you go, doll.” He whispers as you curl up closer into Bucky’s embrace.

*

Natasha stands behind you as she helps secure your dress. “We good?” You ask, turning your head as Natasha steps back and smiles to Wanda.

“Oh we’re more than good,” Wanda comments, crossing her arms as she looks you up and down whilst Natasha holds back her wolf whistle. “Bucky Barnes won’t know what’s hit him when he sees you in there.”

Rolling your eyes, you walk over toward you mirror, catching sight of the black silk dress, hugging you in all the right places. “Who knows.” You mutter, not wanting to get your hopes up too high.

“Only one way to find out.” Natasha reminds you as she walks over to your door, opening it. “Come on girls,” She holds her hand out as Wanda takes yours before grabbing Natasha’s. “we’ve got a party to get to.”

As you near the open living space the sound of music intensifies. Wanda squeezes your hand as you pause for a second, feeling your nerves starting to get the better of you.

“We’re all here, Y/n. It’s okay.” Wanda reminds you as the three of you reach the doors to the party.

“Now or never, huh?” You chuckle as you push the door open and glance around at the transformation Pepper has been able to pull off with less than a weeks notice. “Wow.” You breathe out, oblivious to the blue eyes watching you from the bar, having had the same reaction.

Besides Wanda and Natasha, you walk down the stairs and head straight towards the bar.

“What can I get for you ladies?” The bartender asks as your eyes wander across the various drinks available.

“Three beers, please.” Natasha asks as the bartender places the three bottles in front of you.

“Add it to my tab, thanks.” Bucky comments as he moves closer, standing beside you as he nurses his own bottle. “Ladies,” He smiles to the three of you. “may I say you’re all looking beautiful this evening.”

You smile shyly, lowering your head at his comment. “I’m loving the suit, Barnes. Black really is your colour.” Natasha raises her beer to him.

“Looks like you two coordinated this.” Sam pipes in from behind Bucky. “Y/n,” Sam steps away from Bucky as he takes a hold of your hands and whistles. “damn girl, you gotta dress up more often.”

Laughing happily, you roll your eyes in response. “Oh Sam, always know how to charm a girl, huh?” You pick up your beer, taking a sip as you glance over to Bucky, just as a new song begins to play through the speakers.

“Come on, Y/n, wanna dance?” Sam asks you, raising a brow.

“Not this one Sam,” You tell him as you pat his shoulder. “but, I think there’s someone over there who might.” Turning him around, you push him in the direction of Natasha before reverting your attention to your beer.

“Saving yourself for someone, doll?” Bucky questions, swigging the last of his beer as he looks out at everyone dancing to the upbeat song. “I still don’t get it, what happened to just dancing?”

“This is dancing, Bucky.” You remind him. “Things change over the years, but your style of dancing still exists, don’t you worry.”

“Y/n!” Wanda calls for you from the dance floor as her shoes now absent. “Come on over!” She waves her hand repeatedly.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve got much choice, Y/n.” Bucky chuckles as you push yourself away from the bar.

Yet, you pause and turn back to Bucky with a mischievous smile. “Yeah, neither do you.” You tell him, taking a hold of his hand and drag him with you, not taking no for an answer.

It takes a few seconds for Bucky to loosen up, and he tries to blend in as you dance freely with the others.

“Loosen up, Buck!” You shout over the music. “You dance like my dead grandpa.” You laugh, and Bucky grumbles to himself as he tries to copy Sams moves.

“Barnes has moves?!” Wanda shouts as the three of you dance (or attempt to in Bucky’s case.)

Just as Bucky gets the hang of it, the song fades out into a slow song, one you don’t recognise. “I know this song.” Bucky states as his eyes wander to Steve who is perched at the bar with Natasha who nods to him.

“Wanna dance, Bucky?” You ask, holding your hand out.

“Of course.” He answers, taking your hand as he twirls you into his embrace before resting his metal hand on your waist as you sway together.

“So, this is what you had in mind when you said dancing then?” You ask as Bucky smiles to you, perfectly content. “I see why you like it so much, everything just melts away.”

Bucky hums as he holds your hand up, allowing you to twirl along to the song before bringing you closer once more. “A world without worries for four minutes.” Bucky mutters.

“God, I think I might just love you, Bucky.” You mumble under your breath as you close your eyes for a moment, unaware that Bucky heard every word that just left your lips.

His grip on your waist loosens as his fingers slip out from yours. “Y/n,” Bucky starts, looking down as you open your eyes and stare up at him with blind panic.

“Shit, Bucky, I, I’m sorry, just ignore me.” You ramble, hoping he’d just forget it, but Bucky steps closer.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” He sighs, lifting his hand to your face as he brushes your hair out from your eyes. “I, I can’t.” The words leave his lips and all you can do is nod. “I care about you, Y/n, you know that. But I can’t.” He repeats the words, chipping away at your heart.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” You mutter. “I, I’ve got to go.” You excuse yourself, turning away and walk quickly past the bar, ignoring Natasha calling your name.

Steve rises to his feet, staring at Bucky stood alone on the dance floor as you close the doors at the top of the stairs behind you, hoping no one can hear you cry as you rush to your room.

“What the hell was that?!” Natasha tries to reframe from shouting as Bucky walks towards her and Steve, hanging his head in shame.

“Y/n said she loves me.” Bucky states, looking up at the pair who act like it’s nothing new. “You, you knew?”

Natasha scoffs as she glances up at Steve. “Of course we knew, Barnes. What did you say to her?”

Bucky sighs as disappointment lines Steve’s expression. “I, I told her I can’t ever love her like that.” Bucky tells the pair, hearing Steve sigh heavily before Natasha slaps Bucky across the face.

Holding his cheek, Bucky knows he deserves it as Natasha stares at him with pure rage. “How dare you, Bucky.” Natasha seethes as she walks off, heading in search of you.

“Damn,” Bucky mutters as his cheek burns and picks up the beer bottle, rolling it along his cheekbone. “I deserved that.”

“How could you, Bucky?” Steve asks.

“I’ll only end up hurting her, Steve.” Bucky explains. “I can’t put her through that.”

“And you think she isn’t hurt now?” Steve retorts coldly. “God, Buck, I really thought you loved her.” Steve sighs as he walks away from his oldest friend, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Lowering the beer, Bucky takes a seat at the bar with his back to everyone else. “I do,” Bucky mutters to himself. “and that’s what hurts the most.”

*

It had been almost a month and Bucky hadn’t seen you since the night of the party. He had tried to run into you after you locked your floor from him accessing it with FRIDAY’s help. All he wanted to do was apologise first and foremost, and if you’d let him, have the chance to explain himself.

With a heavy heart, Bucky walks into the kitchen to see Steve stood over the counter, reading the newspaper. “Hey, Steve,” Bucky calls out.

“Buck.” Steve answers as his eyes remain trained on the paper as he turns the page.

“Fancy going for a run this afternoon?” Bucky asks as he pours himself a mug of coffee, walking around the counter to the other side to face his friend. “Meant to be good weather, least that’s what FRIDAY said.”

“I said I’d help Y/n train.” Steve responds, now looking up as Bucky tenses upon hearing your name. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Turning around, Bucky places his mug down, resting his hands on the counter. “How, how is she?” He asks. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve comments. “she’s strong, Bucky but you’ve got to give her time, that’s all.” Steve explains as he walks around the counter, heading toward the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the compound grounds.

“I just miss her.” Bucky admits, walking to stand beside Steve as he notices two figures emerging below and the faint sound of laughter echoing.

“She misses you too, Bucky.” Steve states as he smiles softly to Bucky.

Focusing on the two figures, Bucky looks closer seeing it’s you. He exhales shakily at the sight of you, a bright smile on your face as you walk alongside someone he can’t quite place.

“Who-”

“Peter.” Steve answers before Bucky can even finish his question. “Or Spiderman if that’s any easier.” Steve shrugs, watching you playfully shove Peter as you laugh happily with him.

“She looks happy.” Bucky mutters as Peter wraps his arm around your shoulder and you rest your arm around his waist. “That’s good.” He lies to himself as he steps away.

“Bucky,” Steve trails off as Bucky walks away from the window, heading back to the lift with a heavy heart at the sight of you happy with someone else, someone he’ll never be except in his daydreams.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)

@biss-stuff @psychicforest  @lourightm @mywinterwolf   @justsomedreaming @stanlux17 @smokeandnailz @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx @courtneychicken @marvelsangels @supraveng @tommy-lee-81 @smilexcaptainx  @fandom-princess-forevermore @sarge-barnes-sir @pleasantlysecretdream  @decaffeinated–fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo @florencxs  @eldahae @handmesomecoffee @hi-my-name-is-riley  @dev1lbella @thanossexual @alissaginger @sambucky8 @notbrooklynsblog @scallisonbaby @adoreyou976 @nikkixostan  @sarcasticallywitty15

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Risk

Summary: Chris couldn’t believe he was finally meeting you and you were even more more perfect than what he’d seen in your music videos.

Pairings: Chris Evans x Black!Pop Star!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Smut, Daddy Kink, Face Riding, Oral (female receiving), Girl on Top, Missionary, brief doggy style

(A/N: this has been sitting in my WIPs for a minute so it’s kind of a relief to finally put it out. Anyway, like, comment, or reblog.)

Tagged: @titty-teetee, @harrysthiccthighss, @iam-laiya, @mariahthelioness29, @night-of-the-living-shred, @liquorlaughslove, @blackmissfrizzle, @whiskey-cokenfanfic, @olyvoyl, @zaddychris

There was no way Chris could have possibly focused on the interviewer’s questions when you were so close. Your tight shirt showed off your tits so well it was distracting. As you laughed, they jiggled and he couldn’t help the half smile that came on his face as he couldn’t help himself, but to take a glance.

What was fucked up was that this was for a charity. You were a pop star that was very involved in investing in programs to protect the arts. He coming from a family of theatre nerds was of course interested in the same thing. The two of you got paired up for an interview. Only meeting for the first time today as there’d been a fundraiser event. Though Chris had been obsessing over you since he’d found out your name.

The first thing that struck him about you was how goddamn gorgeous you were in person. All of the pictures of you online didn’t even do you justice. He’d went through all your albums surprising himself with how much he actually liked them. You sounded like an angel yet your lyrics could be downright filthy sometimes. When he’d watched your most recent music video, he found himself growing hard seeing you in that tiny outfit and shaking your ass.

He’d seen your music videos. Watched a few live performances. Maybe clicked on a few interviews because he needed to know how your voice sounded. None of it prepared him for reality.

Those eyes and your lips. Fuck he could kiss the fuck out of your lips. You looked like you’d just walked straight out of his fantasies.

Nothing prepared him for how your ass looked in those jeans. His hand twitched as he managed to fight off the urge to just grab it. Then there were those perfect tits. Perfectly swelled under your t-shirt. Being distracting.

His eyes raked up and down your body another time. This time you’d laughed at something he had said. He wasn’t prepared for how giggly you were. How bubbly you were.

It honestly felt like he’d known you for years with how comfortable he found himself. Like you two were old friends catching up instead of strangers. As he made a shitty attempt to respond to something the interviewer had said your head turned as you listened. “Well, the arts have always been important to me,” his voice low and raspy like he’d just woken up. “My family was insanely involved in theatre when I was growing up and I jumped around from piano to tap dancing. I even did ballet for a little.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading on your face when he’d said that. “Really?” You perked up. “I did ballet.”

Of course, he knew that already because he’d taken a look at your Wikipedia page. “Really? How long?”

“I did it for,” you drew out the last word as you thought, “ten years, I think.”

He nodded almost losing himself as he looked into your eyes. “Wow that’s a long time. You must have loved it.”

“I did.” You smiled. “It was such an important part of my life growing up. All the friends I made. The things I learned and discipline. It’s also why I’m so flexible.” You giggled looking over at him again with this look in your eyes.

Were you flirting with him?

He quirked an eyebrow also grinning. His eyes darting from your eyes to your lips then back. How were you so goddamn pretty?

The interview moved forward with you sending signals that you were definitely flirting with him. You giggled at everything he said. Had played with your hair making you crane your neck to the side. The way your tits were fucking jiggling anytime he said anything mildly amusing. How you’d positioned yourself so they were perked up towards him.

Once everything had wrapped up, the both of you had been whisked away by your respective teams. He got one last good view of you walking away before being told to move onto the next thing.

It took two hours before your paths would cross again. This time at the panel the two of you were part of. You were once again seated beside each other. You were once again giggling at everything he said, while fixing your hair craning your neck to the side, and perking your tits in his direction. His hand twitched again as he fought the urge to grab your hand when you touched his bicep playfully to add onto something he’d just said.

This time when this had come to an end he’d manage to avoid being whisked away by his team. Getting off of stage fast enough to where they didn’t even see him. You lingered behind sort of blending in with the crowd as you managed to slip away.

The two of you bumped into each other smiles immediately spreading over your faces. “Hey.” The two of you said at the same time.

You bit your lip as the corners of your mouth were turned up. He let out a sigh before swallowing. “And here I thought I’d found the perfect hiding spot,” he said. 

“Actually, I’ve been eyeing this spot since we got here so I think I found it.” You joked back.

“Mmm, I don’t know. Maybe we should wrestle over it.”

You shook your head with a pout. “Sorry I can’t do that. I’m a lover not a fighter. “

He chuckled. Fuck you were cute. “Could I be a lover and a fighter?”

“Ohhh I don’t know. I feel like that’s cheating.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes you have to play dirty to win.”

That fucking giggle. Those goddamn jiggling tits. That goddamn hair. That fucking neck. And you perking your tits out. Except this time, you gave him a pretty generous glimpse down your shirt.

“You busy after this?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Does catching up on Netflix count?”

He laughed. “Yes, but well I was thinking of going out for dinner after this thing,” he said, trying to suppress whatever urge he was constantly getting to touch you. “And, I didn’t want to look like a dick and eat alone.”

At this point we got the point of how you were trying to convey your flirty ness with him. “And?”

“And,” he started, “I was wondering if you’d wanna join me.”

You nodded. “Where we going?”

He shrugged. “Wherever you want, Honey.”

“Don’t tell me that. I can be expensive,” you seemed to purr. Everything about you was making him feel like he was fifteen again and waking up from a wet dream.

He nodded eyes drifting down to your lips. “You’d be worth every penny. Gimme your number so I can find you after?”

You nodded. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah,” his mouth twitched as you walked away from him. He eyed you up and down as your backside was to him. Damn your ass looked good in those jeans.

—

It’d been a pretty long day, but finally it was over. Like promised through text, you and Chris managed to get away from your teams in order to be whisked away in a town car to a bar he said was great.

The two of you talked on your way over. This time you were a little more subdued. Your voice was lower, sensual. It made him feel like someone had hugged his heart and dick at the same time.

He was sitting so close as he’d managed to get the most private booth in the place so the two of you could talk. He was so damn close to you and you hadn’t moved the whole time his arm was around you. In fact, you seemed even closer than before.

He wanted to kiss you so damn bad. “You gotta man?” He asked, before taking a sip of his beer.

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ in the word.“You gotta girlfriend?”

“Nah,” he sighed. “Been single for a minute.”

You nodded. “Oh damn. You poor thing.” You rested your hand on his thigh.

“Yeah? How long you been single?” He asked grabbing your hand and playing with your fingers. That twitch in his hand had finally won. Your skin was just as soft as it looked like it’d be.

You shrugged. “For like a year,” you answered. Liking the feel of his rougher hand against yours. “I get so busy I don’t even think about it.”

“Yeah, same.” He somehow managed to scoot you closer to him. “Then sometimes you meet a cute stranger and then maybe you end up taking them home to smoke.”

You chuckled. “How do you know I smoke?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone in this town smoke?”

You nodded shrugging your shoulders. “True.” You smiled. “Fine.”

 After calling another town car and him paying the tab you were on his way to his place. Chris was still finding ways to touch you. Not that you were complaining that you were sitting so close.

Now the joint was resting between his lip as the television played in the background. Chris let out a big puff of smoke.

You were still sitting way to close. As he grabbed your hand again. Running his thumb across your knuckles. You were telling him a story about this photo shoot you had a few weeks ago that just so happened to be with you in lingerie. Then in turn he told you about a photo shoot he had to do for a free weeks ago where he just so happened to be shirtless the whole time.

Then you started talking about your favorite movies. To him telling you stories about all the shit that went down behind the scenes. Which led to you telling him stories about being on tour. Then you talked about music and he felt someone tug at his heart strings with the way your face lit up when talking about your favorite musicians.

He had to kiss you.

With the joint in between his fingers he leaned down to finally brush his lips against yours. “God, you’re fucking beautiful,” his voice once again at that low tone, raspy like he’d just woken up.

“You think so?” You looked up at him so innocently, peering up at him through those lashes.

He took another hit of the joint before leaned back down to your mouth. He blew the smoke into your mouth before kissing you again.

You started to make out deep. Stroking his cheek with your thumb. His tongue slid against yours as he pulled you onto his lap. You moaned into his mouth suddenly feeling all airy. If Chris wasn’t holding onto you, you may have drifted away.

He leaned to the side so he could put out the joint. When both of his hands were free, he put them under your ass so he could get handfuls of each cheek in each hand. Then making it jiggle.

You broke away from him so you could finally pull that top over your head. “Fuck,” he hissed seeing the tops of your breasts. You quickly reconnected your lips. One of his hands grabbed at you through your lacy white bra.

You let out a whimper that was like music to his ears. His mouth trailed down to your neck hoping to kiss you in a spot where you’d be forced to make that noise again. You shivered as his lips left hot opened mouth kisses on your skin.

Then it was time for Chris to pull his own shirt over his head, exposing his muscular physique. You put your hands on his shoulders as you kissed him more. He reached behind you to undo your bra. Your nipples all sensitive as they were exposed to the night air. Your body felt all fuzzy as you giggled when he smacked your ass.

His hands reached up to play with them. Fuck it was better than any thought he’d had about them since you’d met. Rubbing your nipples with his thumbs and making you moan.

You got off of him so you could undo your jeans. Except before you could even pull them off, he made you lay on the couch as he slid them off of you. He kissed along your stomach at first. Then he proceeded to take off your jeans and panties at the same time.

When you were finally completely exposed to him, he kissed you again. Then his mouth started practically worshipping your breasts. He licked your nipples with the tip of his tongue. He came to suck it wanting to hear that goddamn whimper again and then reeling at the other little noises you were making. “Fuck,” you moaned. He gave your other boob similar treatment before kissing a trail down to your lower half.

He could have died and gone to heaven after seeing that pretty pussy. He flicked his tongue over your clit loving the taste of your arousal. He’d pushed your thighs up so he could properly feast on you. Fuck you were so wet for him.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs so he could get as deep as possible. You were moaning so much for him. The noises you were making were fucking pornographic.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whined.

He stopped to kiss up your body so he could kiss your lips again. You could taste yourself on his lips. His fingers stayed on your pussy as he kissed you again. You gasped against him, throwing your head back.

His moved to your tits again. His tongue was craving to suck on them again as he finger fucked you. As you exploded around his fingers he decided to rub your clit to draw it out.

“Daddy!” You screamed.

“What’d you just call me, Baby?” He asked still rubbing your clit as you clung to him.

“I- I,” you stuttered, but it was hard to talk when he was doing that to you. “Ugh, Daddy!”

“That’s a good girl,” he kissed you again.

 He finally carried you off to his bedroom with your legs wrapped around his waist. He’d taken you apart so easily. Like he’d done this to you so many times before. Instead he’d just been thinking about it so much he didn’t want to fuck it up.

He sat down with you still wrapped around him. His jeans were still on, but you could feel him through his jeans and fuck. He felt so huge against you as he moved you right over it.

His fingers reached between you two so he could rub your clit again. Chris wasn’t your usual type, but you couldn’t deny that he was fine as fuck. Or that he was dangerously charming.

When he’d finally taken off his jeans and underwear, he sat you back in his lap so you were straddling him. He was holding you tight against him so even when you tried to sink down onto him because fuck you wanted to so bad, he wouldn’t let you. Like he needed you to know who was in control.

“Ride my face,” he said, slapping your ass.

You giggled. “Really?”

“Yeah you taste fucking delicious.”

You looked down at him as you could see his eyes peeking out. From underneath you. He really was eating you up like you’d be his last meal.

He felt like he was in heaven with his head between your legs. Like you were sweeter than any candy he could ever eat. Better than jelly beans. “Oh my god,” you breathed out a moan.

You moved your hips trying to ride his tongue, but it was almost too much. His beard was burning your thighs only adding to how good it felt. You grabbed at his hair while he smacked your ass again, palming it in his large hand.

He felt like he could taste your orgasm. The way you leaked out into his mouth. He didn’t even care that you were making such a big mess on his face. “Daddy, yes!” You gasped. You put your hands on the headboard to brace yourself because as your stomach started to tighten you could tell this one was going to be much more powerful. “I’mgonnacum,” you rattled off.

He chuckled into you pushing his fingers into you again making it so you had to ride his hand, too. How the fuck was this man able to get you like this and you hadn’t even taken his dick yet. Fuck you needed to take it.

He didn’t even let up when it happened. It was like he wanted more of you. He was drinking you up. Wanting to have you at his mercy. Like this was the last chance he’d get to feel your pussy on his tongue and he needed to take advantage.

It took two more orgasms for him to finally let you up. You fell down onto the bed completely spent. He didn’t even care as he kissed you hungrily. Quickly pushed you onto your back, wrapping his arms around your thighs and didn’t even give you time to realize what was happening before he slammed into you.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to feel you around his dick. And fuck did it feel perfect. You were so tight. So wet. So damn sexy with the way your mouth formed into an O because how was he moving his hips like that.

It should have been illegal for him to fuck you like this. For him to leave your pussy craving more from him. How the hell were you supposed to come back from this.

He fucked into your spot like he already knew where it was. Like the two of you had done this so many times before. All you could do was take it. All you wanted to do was take it and take it and never stop taking it.

You were everything he’d thought you’d be since he’d saw that first fucking music video. Your sparkly acrylic nails scratched his back. “Fuck me, Chris.”

He slapped your ass. “You call me Daddy,” he growled into your ear.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you buried your face into his neck. He should have not been able to fuck you this well. You bit your lip, as he put his forehead against yours.

The burn from the way he split you open was so good. This couldn’t have been the last time the two of you did this. Not when he was this deep inside of you.

The first time you came around him he pulled out of you so he could lay beside you. Then because he didn’t give a fuck about how it was too much or whatever you kept saying he made you sink down on his dick.

Your pussy creamed down his length. You kept telling yourself that you couldn’t take it even though you were riding his dick like such a good girl. The bed was shaking so hard you were scared you might break something.

This was about to be a long night.

—

Chris couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this fucked out. It was like when he thought he had enough you’d pounce on him and when you thought you’d had enough he’d do the same to you. Until finally the two of you passed out with his arms wrapped around you and you buried into his chest.

He kissed your forehead, nuzzling your face with his nose. He felt content for the first time in a long time with you there. Like you were meant to be there in his arms. You’d barely gone to bed at four in the morning so it was no wonder you were still asleep at ten a.m.

When he realized the time, he groaned because he was so late. He reached for his phone seeing the tons of missed called. “Baby?” He shook you gently.

“Mmm,” you hummed as you finally peeked up at him. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Ten thirty,” he answered.

“Fuck,” you groaned, but didn’t even attempt to move. “My managers gonna kill me.”

He grinned because you looked so cute half asleep. “Same.” He pecked your lips. “Good morning, though.”

“Good morning,” you replied saying fuck it in your head as you stayed where you were. You were too comfortable to move. 

“We should do this again sometime,” he said, tracing patterns into your skin.

“I’d like that,” you replied.

“You busy tomorrow?”

“I have some stuff to do in the morning, but I’m free after nine.”

“Perfect. How about a late dinner?”

You smiled. “Like a date?”

He chuckled. “Of course.” His phone went off right when he was about to kiss you and he groaned because as much as he’d prefer spending time with you, he did have obligations to get to. “Hello?”

“Chris!” His managers voice boomed. “Where the hell have you been! Have you seen Twitter today?”

“No, I just woke up,” he said with a frown on his face. You looked up at him noticing the change in his tone.

“Well, you’re trending. They posted the interview online and fans are going insane.”

“What?” He said. “Hold on let me look.”

It wasn’t just him trending on Twitter. So were you. Together. He shook you so you could look before clicking on the thread.

Damn Chris was looking at her like she was a whole meal.

And at that moment Chris Jamal Evans was ready to risk it all

He over here just eye fucking her

There were a lot. Plus, all the memes people had posted. He hadn’t realized he made it that obvious. You started giggling not being able to stop yourself as he scrolled. “Wait is that her? Is she there?” The faint voice of his manager came through the phone.

“I gotta call you back,” he said before hanging up. “I am so sorry.”

You were still laughing as you grabbed your own phone so you could read through more. “It’s okay. Just glad I didn’t make it obvious that I was doing the same.”

“I knew it!” He laughed before tickling your side.

You tried to push his hand away and all that lead to was a wrestling match where he pinned you down. “Daddy!” You squealed which again music to his ears.

You struggled against him until you finally broke your hand away so you could reach forward to grab at his dick that seemed to awaken immediately under your touch. “That’s cheating!” He protested with a laugh.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“You better not start something you can’t finish.”

You smirked. “Oh, I can finish it.”

“You know, I can afford to take the day off,” he noted realizing he was not letting you out of this bed anytime soon.

“Me, too.”

He leaned forward capturing your lips with his. Not even caring about morning breath. Just needing to feel you. As he turned you over so he could fuck you from behind he realized that it was true. He was ready to risk it all for you.

And it was pretty funny to watch you laugh at all the memes afterwards.

[master-sass-blast]

Out With the Old, In With the New, Part One: The Worst Monsters are Men...

MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW (april 5th)!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEE!!!!!

Summary: A few days into a mission, your husband goes missing. Along Wade, Nathan, and Neena. When the X-Men refuse to help you, you decide to take things into your own hands --and wind up making an unexpected ally along the way.

Rating: T for gun violence, regular violence, ableism, and abduction. And also swear words.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Set after "It's Truly Magical" but before "Children of the Gods, Part One."

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things

It happens without warning.

Your husband goes on a mission. And then he doesn’t come back.

Your stomach churns anxiously as you wait for your cellphone to chime –for any sign of life from Piotr, really. Baby, where are you? Please come home to me.

*** 

Talking to the official person in charge of the duty roster does no good.

Chiefly because that person is Scott Summers.

“Look, Y/N, I know you’re concerned—”

“It’s been three days, Scott! Piotr was supposed to be back by now.”

“He requested a mission extension,” Scott says –lies, because Scott Summers is a horrifically bad liar, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

(Not even those damn sunglasses he wears all the time helps conceal it.)

“If we don’t hear from him by tomorrow, we’ll start the retrieval protocol.”

You raise an eyebrow at Scott. “Piotr requested an extension.”

“Ye—”

“Without telling me he was requesting an extension.”

“He may have not wanted to worry you—”

“He texts me good night and good morning every day he’s gone, Scott. He hasn’t done that for three days. So, do you really want to keep going down this route, or do you want to tell me the truth?”

“Are you accusing me of—”

“Show me the extension request, Scott. I know those have to be filed in the mission logs.”

Scott goes pale, swallows hard, but ultimately holds his ground. “If we don’t hear from him in another twenty-four hours, we’ll start the retrieval protocol.”

You roll your eyes at his back as he quickly retreats away from you, then stalk out of the training room. “Fuck you. I’ll handle this myself. Idiot.”

***

 You call Wade first. Nathan doesn’t always keep his phone charged if he gets into a work hole, meaning that Wade’s the best bet to get ahold of your ‘somehow knows everything’ dad.

Except you can’t get ahold of Wade. Or Nate. Or Neena, when you decide to try her. Countless texts, phone calls, emails, and face-time requests –which, under normal circumstances, would be downright sociopathic to pull without making sure the recipient is available first, but these are desperate times—go unanswered.

Towards the end of the day, in what can only be described as a burst of mass anxiety and paranoia, you call your uncle.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, punk. How’s it going?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You collapse into the nearest chair, relief surging through you. “They didn’t get you, too.”

“What?” Your uncle’s voice goes from warm and friendly to all business –and a little panicked—in a split second. “Who didn’t get me? What’s going on? Punk, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, but –Piotr’s missing. And Dad. And Wade. And Neena. Piotr went on a mission, but stopped checking in on me three days ago, and then when I tried to call the rest of my family, I couldn’t reach anyone. I’ve been trying all day, and then I thought that maybe someone’s targeting my family, so I decided to call you.”

“Shit,” your uncle mutters. “You’re sure Nathan and Wade are in town, right? And Neena? They don’t have any hits to fill or silent missions they’re running?”

“Wade and I were talking on Snapchat last night,” you answer, panic rising in your chest. “And I saw Nathan during call. And Neena always lets me know if she’ll be out of touch for a job or something.”

Your uncle exhales heavily into the speaker. “Fuck. Yeah, that doesn’t bode well. Did you talk to Charles?”

“He’s out of town for a conference. I had to deal with Scott, and he just shot me down.”

“Asshole.”

“Pretty much.”

“Talk to Scott one more time. I know it probably won’t help,” he adds when you start protesting, “but it’ll give me time to put my ear to the ground, see what I can find. After you try Scott, go over his head. I’ll help you however I can.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, punk. Now, get moving. Time’s of the essence here.”

“Right.” You make a quick goodbye, then run out of yours and Piotr’s home and fly towards the mansion.

***

 By the time you reach Scott’s room, Russell, Ellie, and Yukio are already there, arguing with him.

“We aren’t responsible for Wade—”

“He’s my legal guardian, asshole,” Russell insists indignantly. “Isn’t there a bunch of legal shit you guys have to do if he dies or goes missing?”

“We—”

“And you are responsible for Colossus,” Ellie adds, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s my mentor and an X-Man. And he’s missing, too.”

“How did you—”

“He texts her to see how she’s doing,” Yukio pipes up, looking nowhere near as pissed as Ellie and Russell given her pink hair and soft, fluffy sweater, but frustration still reads plain in her voice. “And he stopped three days ago.”

“Which is the same time he stopped texting me,” you speak up, joining the fray. “Are you actually going to take this seriously now? Because if that’s not enough, Nathan and Neena are missing, too.”

A brief flicker of frustration crosses Scott’s face, but he masks it quickly. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve tried to reach them all day!”

“Maybe they’re just busy. Could you be overthinking it? Did you remember to take your medication today?”

“Are you shitting me?” Ellie snaps, eyes widening with outrage.

“Easy,” you murmur, putting an arm around her small shoulders before staring Scott down. “So, just so we’re clear, it is your intention to not pursue any of this further even though you have multiple complaints from different residents?”

Scott’s face twitches, but his resolve remains strong. “We have a protocol.”

“Yeah, just like that protocol of logging mission extension requests that you can’t show me right now.” You flash him a fake smile. “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

The three teens follow after you as you storm off.

“What do we do now?” Russell asks.

“Are Cable and Domino really missing as well?” Yukio adds.

“Should we call the Professor?” Ellie suggests.

“The Professor probably wouldn’t be able to do anything, since Scott’s still the man in charge,” you say as you hurry down the main flight of stairs.

“He could make Cyclops toe the line,” Ellie points out.

“It’s still Scott. He’d do the bare minimum just to shut us up, then go back to jerking off –or whatever it he does for fun. And, yes, Neena and Nathan are missing, too. As far as I can tell, at least. As far as what we do now, we go over Scott’s head. I mean, I—” you turn around and look at the three teens staring at you “—go over Scott’s head. Not ‘we.’ You three should stay out of trouble.”

“But Wade’s my guardian!” Russell argues.

“And Piotr’s my mentor.”

“And Scott’s a pain in the ass,” Yukio adds.

“While all those things are true,” you agree, “that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t bring you three into this. Things could get dangerous. You’re all trainees. You’re not cleared for this kind of stuff.”

Ellie glances at Russell and her girlfriend, then crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step towards you. “Well, the way I see it, you can either bring the three of us in and have some idea of what we’re doing, or you can keep us out of it and we’ll just go over your head. Which means we could accidentally get caught in the middle of whatever you wind up doing and get hurt.”

You narrow your eyes at your husband’s mentee. “You are such a Slytherin, and I’m so proud of you, but also how dare you.” You sigh heavily. “Fine. You guys can come with. But if I get in trouble, I’m taking you all down with me.”

***

 Fun fact: attached to every suit worn by X-Men and trainees are little GPS trackers that, in addition to letting you know where the wearer of the suit is, also keeps tabs on their vitals.

“Why didn’t you just try this to begin with?” Ellie asks as you pull up the interface that tracks the suits.

“Because it makes a pinging noise to alert the wearer that their location is being monitored,” you explain. “If they’re on a stealth mission, it could alert an enemy agent. I didn’t want to do that in case Piotr had needed to go silent for some reason.”

“Do you think he could’ve?” Russell asks.

“Considering that, as his spouse, I would’ve been notified by the mission board –not to mention he would’ve at least let Ellie or I know himself—and the fact that Wade, Nathan, and Neena are missing, to, I don’t think so.” As much of a pain in the ass as Scott is, if Piotr had actually gone silent, he wouldn’t have just not told you.

“I thought the mission board and Professor Xavier were the only ones with access to the trackers,” Yukio interjects.

“I have spousal permissions for Piotr’s suit.” You pull up the page that lets you enter a password so you can access the tracker, then turn around and face the teens. “I’ve got to enter the password. No peeking.” You wait until they all cover their eyes, then type in the password and hit enter.

“It’s ‘myshka,’” Ellie says without uncovering her eyes.

You whirl around to stare at her. “Hey!”

“You hit seven keys, one of which was the enter button.”

“You really should talk to Colossus about better password security,” Yukio says with an earnest nod.

You sigh (they’re not wrong), then focus on the computer screen.

The good news: your husband’s tracker is still on and still registering his vitals –which look healthy, as far as you can tell.

The bad news: it’s out in the middle of nowhere in Upstate New York. No nearby roads, no registered address, just a couple of GPS coordinates.

“Where the hell is that?” Russell asks as he peers at the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“A couple hours from here,” you say as you write down the coordinates and the nearest identifiable landmarks. “I’m gonna go check it out. You guys stay here—”

“We’re helping whether you like it or not,” Ellie interrupts, expression comically stern given her round face and rounder eyes.

“Yes, you are, but I can’t carry all of you with me,” you say. “Besides, I need you three here to collect information.”

Russell’s brow furrows. “What information?”

You send a quick text to your uncle to let him know you’re leaving the phone with Russell, Ellie, and Yukio, then hand it to Ellie. “I called my uncle when I realized Wade, Nathan, and Neena were missing, too. He’s looking into all of it for me. If he calls with any information, I’ll need you guys to take it down and possibly do some –computer only—research on it.”

“Won’t you need the burner phone, just in case you get captured?” Yukio asks.

You shake your head. “Can’t risk his number getting in the wrong hands. I’ll have my phone on me, and I’ll wear my suit so you can keep track of me. If I’m gone longer than six hours, or if my suit goes offline, call my uncle immediately. Not the Professor, not Scott, but my uncle. Okay?”

The three teens give you equally scared looks, but all nod anyway.

You hug each of them before flying upstairs to get changed and pack a small bag with some supplies. Hang on, honey. I’m coming.

***

 The coordinates turn out to be home to the middle of a massive, matte black warehouse with virtually no windows in the middle of a dense forest. There’s only one road leading in or out, which is cut off from the warehouse itself by towering concrete walls topped with razor wire, a hulking gate with multiple guards, and several armed men patrolling the perimeter as well.

Definitely not suspicious at all. Definitely does not read as “hidden government or evildoers base” whatsoever.

Scott Summers, you are so full of shit, you think to yourself as you peer down at the warehouse through a pair of electronic binoculars (a Christmas gift from Alexandra). Requested an extension, my ass. You frown as you watch a large, but otherwise non-descript van get waved through the gate. Piotr, baby, what did you do to wind up in here?

Your mind flashes to images of Piotr, bound against his well, likely being experimented on by various nefarious, white lab coat and nerd glasses wearing scientists. Your teeth grit together, and you steady yourself with a deep breath. Just hang in there, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out.

You crawl forward a little further, hoping to get a better look at the lot surrounding the warehouse—

And you wind up bumping into a large, muscular woman, wearing all black –like you—with black hair cut into an angled bob, dark eyes, and—

Angel Dust.

Your eyes widen when the description connects with the stories Wade’s told you, and you quickly shove her away from you with a blast of air. “You fucking traitor! Helping lock up your own kind for a fucking bullshit paycheck! I’m gonna beat your ass—”

“What the fuck –stop it!” She whips a rock the size of a small child at you, narrowly missing your head. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re working with them!” You jerk your head towards the warehouse.

“The fuck I am!” She finally notes your suit, and her mouth twists into a grimace. “Oh. You’re X-Men.”

“Damn right. Now, give me one good reason not to bounce you down this hill like a beach ball!”

Angel Dust smirks. “You’re a little rougher around the edges than most of them…” The smirk fades just as quickly as it appeared, and the color seems to drain from her face. “Fuck, you’re Wilson’s sister, aren’t you?”

“Ding-ding-ding, bitch!” you hiss. “And if you aren’t here to work for those cockwipes, then what the fuck are you doing on this hill?”

“I could ask you the fucking same—”

“Look, unlike my brother, I don’t have to get close to you to hit you. So, unless you want to go through that line of trees, I suggest you start talking.”

She rolls her eyes, but relents. “I’m here to rescue my daughter.”

“Daughter?” Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Wade didn’t say anything about you having a daughter.”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t fucking know!”

“I suppose that’s fair –considering you helped torture him and almost killed him, then helped kidnap his girlfriend!”

“Fuck’s sake –the fuck do you want from me?”

“Proving you have a daughter and that you aren’t lying might be a good start.”

She glowers at you, then begrudgingly takes a wallet out of her pocket and pulls out a few pictures. “Here. Proof enough?”

The pictures show Angel Dust holding a young girl –first as a baby, then a couple shots of them at a park when the girl looks about to be three, one of them eating ice cream together when the kid looks about five, and a school photo headshot dated from this year, in which the girl looks to be around seven.

Granted, she could be lying, but the pictures look real enough. Besides, if she really was working with the warehouse people, she probably wouldn’t have tried to convince you otherwise in the first place.

“What’s her name?” you ask, stiffly hanging back the pictures.

“Madeline. Maddie, for short. Why are you here?”

“They have my husband.”

“He an X-Man, too?”

“Yeah. Colossus. The big metal guy that you punched in the dick.”

She smirks. “Oh, yeah. Good brawler. Kinda sweet. He refused to ogle me when one of my tits fell out of my shirt.”

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “That’d be him.”

Tense silence falls around the two of you as you regard each other warily.

“Far be it from me to suggest we team up,” you start.

Angel Dust cuts you off with a sardonic snort. “What makes you think I need –want—your help?”

“You won’t make it through there alone. They’ve basically got an army guarding that place. You’re strong, but you’re not bulletproof. Or, worse, you’ll wind up captured. Besides, I have backup.”

She raises an incredulous eyebrow. “What, the X-Men? Pass.”

“No,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “The schedule master didn’t want to get off his ass, so I’m working without them for this.”

“Sounds like you don’t have backup, then.”

You bite down on the urge to sneer at her. “I have more resources than the X-Men.” Asshole.

“Such as?”

“Such as the kind that don’t mind using real guns.” When Angel Dust’s eyebrows spike towards her hairline, you continue. “Look, I get my husband and my other people out, you get your daughter out, everyone goes home happy and hopefully we never have to speak to each other again. Deal?”

“Fine,” she says after a minute. “So, if we’re not breaking in right now, what’s next?”

“I’ve got some people looking into this place. They should have some proper information by now. We head back to my place, learn what we can, then make plans to bust into here later tonight.”

Angel Dust considers for a moment, then concedes with a nod. “Fine. Wait… how’d you get out here?”

You shrug. “Flew.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “Of course. We’ll take my car back.”

 ***

 You text Yukio once you’re safely in Angel Dust’s car—

“Do you have a name?”

“Fuck kind of question is that?”

“I only know you as Angel Dust,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “So, unless you want me to refer to you as ‘Angel Dust’ all the time, having a name to use would be handy.”

She sighs heavily. Rolls her eyes. “Christina.”

You blink. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting, honestly. “Cool. I’m Y/N.”

“Great. Glad we’re fucking best friends now,” Christina grumbles under her breath as she starts her car and pulls away from the thicket of bushes she’d parked her car behind.

You text Yukio, letting her know that you’re on your way back, that you’ve picked up some help, and that if you aren’t back in three hours to call your uncle. You pocket your phone once Yukio replies, then steal a quick glance at Christina.

All in all, you don’t know much about her. You heard about her and her whole involvement with Ajax –Francis, whatever—from Wade, and you’ve heard a little bit from Piotr about her other criminal escapades –car-jacking, fighting rings, blackmailing—but beyond that, Angel Dust –Christina—is a complete mystery to you.

“How’d your daughter wind up in there?” you ask, breaking the thick silence that had settled around the two of you.

Her jaw clenches tighter, and her hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that –for a moment—you’re worried that she might break it. “My ex.”

“You had a kid with Francis?”

Her hands grip the wheel tighter. “No. I was married before I met Ajax. Long time before. Had Maddie. Got divorced. Met Ajax a little while later.”

“Riveting,” you snark, which gets a murderous glare shot your way. “So, what, your ex-husband decided to do a ‘take your daughter to work day’ and it ended poorly?”

“He doesn’t like mutants. Part of why we divorced.”

Pain strikes your chest as you put the pieces together. “Wait a second. He… he sent his own child to a testing facility?”

“Like I said,” Christina growls as she presses down harder on the gas pedal, “there’s a reason he’s my ex.”

 ***

 Ellie goes from hunched over your laptop to standing bolt upright, fists clenched and energy swirling around her the second Christina follows you through the door—

And, yeah, okay, you definitely should’ve given more warning about the “help” that you were bringing back.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Ellie snaps.

Christina just smirks. “Good to see you again, short stack.”

“Ellie, please don’t obliterate my house,” you say quickly, stepping between Ellie and Christina before Ellie does something rash –albeit probably deserved. “She’s helping us.”

“Why is she—” Ellie jerks her chin towards Christina “—helping us? She’s a criminal!”

“She has someone that was captured, too,” you explain, doing your best to stay calm. “The more innocent lives we can save in all of this, the better.”

“Fucking Christ,” Christina grumbles under her breath. “It’s like the fucking boyscouts.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Icebox?” Ellie snaps, still glaring down Christina –albeit without the energy charge-up, which you’re grateful for.

“I wasn’t deemed ‘dangerous enough’ for ‘removal from society.’”

“You kidnapped an innocent woman and nearly killed Colossus!”

She shrugs, blasé. “Paycheck’s a paycheck.”

“You fucking bitch—”

“Okay!” You shove Ellie back, and give her the sternest look you can muster at the moment –which, in reality, probably looks more desperate than anything else. “I know you’re mad, but we have a job to do. Can you…” You sigh when Ellie raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, and your expression is definitely desperate now. “Please, Ellie-bell. We need to get Piotr and Wade and Nate and Neena and anyone else they might have locked up out of there. Please.”

Ellie sighs heavily, but relents with a nod. “Fine. But if she—” she points at Christina, who smirks “—does anything out of line, I’m blasting her through a wall.”

“I’d comment, but I know you’re more than capable,” Christina mutters as she sizes up Yukio and Russell. “Also, if this was the back up you’re talking about—”

“It’s part of it, but they’re strictly the research team,” you interject quickly. “We’re bringing someone else along for the actual rescue mission.”

“Who?” Russell asks.

You shoot him a warning, incredibly desperate look to ‘please, for the love of Cthulhu, shut it’ because you haven’t actually figured that part out yet—

And then Yukio comes to your rescue. “Your uncle called while you were gone. He said he wanted you to call him as soon as you were back.”

“He also gave us a lot of information about the warehouse,” Russell adds, having caught on to your ‘please help me bullshit my through this.’ “Covered by ten different teams of armed men that work on five different shifts—”

You glance over your shoulder at Christina. “You mind looking through what we already have while I make the call?”

She sighs, rolls her eyes, but ultimately sits down at the dining room table. “Fine.”

You take your phone from Yukio, then step into the living room so you can talk to your uncle while also keeping an eye on Christina.

He answers on the first ring. “Who am I talking to this time?”

“It’s me. I’m safe.”

“Punk.” Your uncle lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, I told Ellie everything I could fine, but listen to me. You cannot try to crack this place open, okay? The person running this operation is far too dangerous to mess with. I’m sending some people in to help, and I’ll fly in as soon as I can; just let the professionals handle this, okay?”

You grimace. “I can’t do that.”

“Okay, look, I know you’re worried about Piotr—”

“There’s a kid involved,” you say quietly, watching Christina intently. “A little girl. She was dumped at the holding center. I… I can’t wait. Not with a child’s safety on the line.”

Your uncle swears, then sighs. “…Okay. Just… take some heavier ammunition with you. Please. I’ll get there as fast as I can to help back you up.”

“Alright. I can do that.” You make a quick good-bye, then head back into the dining room. “Alright, what are we looking at?”

“Nothing good,” Christina says heavily. “You were right about not being able to break into this place. We’ll need an army to do just that.”

“…I might just be able to get us one.”

 ***

 The new offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page come with countless new amenities –one of which being that it’s not located inside a deli.

There’s also a dedicated “back entrance” for clients that don’t want to be –or shouldn’t be—seen by the public.

Which, as fortune would have it, is where you find Frank Castle.

He’s wearing all black, carrying a bouquet of violets, and looks extremely startled when you all but shout his name. “What the fuck?”

“I need your help,” you say by way of greeting as you jog over to him. “Kidnappers, mutant experimentation, guys with lots of guns… yeah.”

“What the—” Christina yanks you aside with more strength than strictly necessarily, eyes so big they look like they’re about to pop out of her sockets. “How do you know the fucking Punisher?”

“Will you let go?” You wrench your arm out of her grasp. “I’m getting us an army. Chill the fuck out!”

“Do I get to know what’s going on here?” Frank interjects, looking equal parts confused, startled, and annoyed.

“There’s a warehouse two and a half hours from here,” you explain. “Heavily guarded. Piotr was kidnapped and taken there, as was her daughter.” You nod to Christina. “Wade, Nathan, and Neena are missing, too, and I’m willing to bet they’re there as well –along with who knows how many other people. The X-Men aren’t getting off their ass for this one, and the two of us—” you gesture between you and Christina “—aren’t enough to break in and get everyone out. We need help.” You take a breath, then shoot Frank a desperate look and add, “Please.”

He exhales heavily, then nods before gesturing at the door with the flowers. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

***

 Karen, fortunately, gives her blessing for you to borrow her boyfriend for a potential suicide mission without too much fuss. Frank steps back into the alley a few minutes later, grabs a few duffels from his “murder van,” then directs you to where he keeps the rest of his weapons stash before you drive him and Christina back to your home.

From there, two things happen right away.

One: Frank is immediately able to make more sense of the information your uncle had sent, which makes developing a plan so much easier.

Two: Russell, Ellie, and Yukio all refuse to stay behind while you, Frank, and Christina head to the warehouse.

“For the last time,” you grit out, on the verge of ripping out your hair. “I cannot take you three with me. You’re all trainees! You’re not cleared for something like this. Besides, if Piotr doesn’t kill me, Scott definitely will!”

“You could take Scott in a fight,” Yukio says with an earnest nod.

“That’s not the point!”

“The point is we want to help.” Russell crosses his arms over his chest. “Wade’s my friend and guardian, Colossus is one of our teachers, and Cable and Domino are part of the X-Force. They’re our friends. Why shouldn’t we help?”

“I really don’t know how to explain to you that you’re a minor.”

“Yukio and I aren’t,” Ellie pipes up, voice deadly calm. “We’re both adults. We can do whatever we want with this. And I have a license and access to a car.”

“Ellie—”

“Look, either we’re in on the plan and how to handle all of this, or we drive up on our own and insert ourselves into the situation.” She raises an eyebrow at you when you start sputtering. “What? What are you going to do? Duct tape us to the walls so we can’t leave?”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I’m seriously tempted to. There is such a thing as ‘being in over you head,’ and –make no mistake—this is one of those situations.”

Ellie’s jaw tenses. “We’re not staying behind.”

“For what it’s worth,” Frank interjects from where he’s been sitting at your dining room table, pouring over all the data your uncle was able to collect, “if they can help us, we could definitely use their help. We’re pretty damn outnumbered.”

“See!” Russell chimes in. “You need us!”

“That’s not the point!” you snap, nerves finally fraying enough to let your stress show through.

“It’s exactly the point!” Ellie argues. “You need extra help, we want to help!”

“That’s not the point Y/N is trying to make,” Yukio says when you grip your hair in frustration. “It may be the point of the mission, but it’s not what she’s focused on.”

You exhale heavily as silence finally falls, then lean wearily against the dining room table. “It’s not that we don’t need your help. We do. But… you’re just kids.”

“Yukio and I are eighteen,” Ellie points out.

“You are an infant and you will accept it!” you fire back. “This… this isn’t fighting Magneto or a few punk frat boys who just realized they have superpowers. These are trained assassins with guns and who knows what else and… you guys still deserve to be young. You deserve more time before you have to face that.”

The space goes suffocatingly silent as your words hang in the air, bitter and desperate.

Because, really, you all already know what’s going to happen.

“We’re ready,” Yukio says, quiet but confident. She squares her shoulders and gives you a smile. “This is what we’ve trained to do.”

“You already know what my stance is,” Ellie says when you look over to her.

Russell seems a little more pensive when you check with him, but he doesn’t waver, either. He swallows hard, then nods. “I want to help Wade. He’s my guardian… my friend.”

You sigh, heavy and with finality, then plop down into the nearest chair. “Alright. Let’s make a plan.”

***

 The plan is simple enough.

Your uncle had managed to dig up a plethora of information –including the policy for dealing with “captured individuals.” Anyone caught snooping around the warehouse was taken, searched for weapons, then taken to a room that was labelled “primary containment area.”

You’re willing to bet that Piotr and everyone will be there as well.

So, you and Christina will pose as a couple of amateur activists, attempting to get some film of what seemed to be a “secret military base” that was undoubtedly propagating violence, war culture, etcetera. You two will get yourselves captured, get inside the base, ditch whoever brought you in, find your missing people, then get out.

And, just for good measure, while the two of you were inside, Frank, Russell, Ellie, and Yukio will create a distraction outside, thus increasing your odds of success.

Frank also had one of his friends –who was some type of tech wizard, apparently—hack into the base and put the cameras on a loop, so that the two of you wouldn’t be caught out right away.

Is it the most sophisticated plan? No.

Is it the most likely to succeed, considering the circumstances? Also no.

Is it the best you all could do, considering the time and personnel constraints? Yes.

“If we die,” Christina growls –she’d been none too fond of the plan, but hadn’t had a better counteroffer—as the two of you cut through the woods, “I’m killing you before these dipshits get a chance.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” you grumble back, pulling a camera –which had a busted release mechanism for the SD card and was therefore useless—out of your bag. “Ready?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The two of you skulk around the perimeter, pretending to take film of the place –which, granted, you are, but it’s not like you’re planning on using any of it—and talking in stage whispers about angles, lighting, and framing. When that doesn’t work, you move in closer to the entry –where the guards are stationed—and start taking photos with the flash on.

It gets their attention pretty quick.

“Hey! Stop!”

The two of you feign making a run for it as the armed guards rush towards you, then switch to fake pleas and promise to “give up the footage” in exchange for being let go when you’re caught.

“Look, this is just for a school project,” Christina babbles –and, you have to give her credit, she’s a good actress.

Though, that could just be the guns the guards are carrying providing a proper incentive.

“We’ll give you the camera,” you add, faking desperation. “Just, like, please let us go.”

“Take them inside,” one of the older looking guards says. “Search them, then take them to the main containment center.”

You and Christina pretend to resist and struggle, but ultimately let the men march you past the wall and towards the compound.

***

 The search goes well enough. The two of you had made a point to not carry any weapons –or any IDs, just in case. Your phones –fakes—are tossed, as is the camera, but other than that the guards don’t find anything particularly interesting.

Being taken to the main containment area, however, doesn’t go as well.

Mostly because your people aren’t there.

“Shit,” Christina swears when you’re marched into what’s essentially a windowless, metal box.

“Search the base?” you ask.

“We have to.”

You slam the guards against the nearest wall with a gust of wind, knocking them out.

The two of you quickly handcuff the guards with their hands behind their backs, careful to interlock the sets of cuffs to make it harder for them to move or escape once they come to.

You strip off one of their tac vest and quickly adjust it to your body, while Christina pulls out their phones and walkie talkies and crushes them. “I’m guessing neither of them are carrying a map?”

“Wouldn’t that be our lucky day.”

You pull out an ear piece that you’d hidden in your bra, then turn it on and tuck it in your ear. “Ellie, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Slight problem. Containment area’s empty. Is there a lab or something labelled on the blueprints my uncle sent us?”

“…Yeah. Left from the entrance to the containment room, take a right at the second doorway, then all the way down the hall to the back. Do you need us to go now?”

You eye the hallway outside the containment room, then grimace when you see several guards patrolling the space. “Yeah. We’re pretty boxed in otherwise.”

“Alright. Give us five minutes.”

The two of you wait –then, sure enough, the building shudders as a loud explosion echoes outside.

You flash Christina a somewhat manic grin. “Shall we?”

“You’re just as crazy as Wilson.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

 ***

 The lab is straight out of some cheesy action-flick style evil lair. There’s a massive –practically floor to ceiling—screen that looks like someone lifted it from a movie theatre that’s framed by a wall to wall bank of computer keys, buttons, smaller inset display screens, dials, and sliders. The center of the room boasts a particularly sinister tilted metal table with arm and ankle restraints on the sides, an operation room light at the top, and various trays of syringes, surgical equipment, and other tools. Towards the back, there’s several rows of tables with various beakers, test tubes, and other items straight out of chemistry textbook.

And, on the wall opposite the door, there are a series of cylindrical, glass holding containers –which are currently housing your husband, Nate, Wade, Neena, and a young, dark haired girl that must be Madeline.

Madeline and Piotr don’t look too much worse for wear. A little bruised and a little tired, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed.

Neena’s face is fixed in a tight grimace. You don’t see any visible signs of harm on her, but that doesn’t mean that she’s okay.

Wade looks sick. He has a repression collar on, just like everyone else in the holding tanks, so there’s no doubt that his cancer is giving him hell.

Nathan looks tense. He’s sat on the floor of his tank, leaned back against the glass, gaze fixed in a pensive thousand mile stare. There’s no visible signs of the virus having spread, but you know he can’t be feeling too comfortable, either.

Madeline visibly perks up when you and Christina enter the lab, then jumps to the feet and presses her tiny body against the glass of her tank. “Mommy!”

“Mom—oh fuck.” Wade glares at Christina. “What is she doing here? And since when did you have a kid with Francis?”

Christina, predictably, ignores Wade. She sprints over to her daughter’s containment tube, pressing her hands flat against the glass. “Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?”

Madeline’s face crumples, and she starts crying. “I want to go home, Mommy. I want to go home—”

“Don’t!” Neena exclaimed when Christina moved to rip off the door on her daughter’s containment cell. “The guy running the tests said there was a different lock on her door.” She pointed to the keypad on the side of Madeline’s containment tube. “He said that if the cell was tampered with, it’d release a toxin gas.”

Christina shot a desperate look at you over her shoulder. “Can you diffuse the gas?”

“I don’t want to risk it,” you said. “Look, Ellie can probably figure out to get it open safely, and if she can’t, we’ve got other people who definitely can. Bottom line, she’s not staying in there for long.”

Piotr shoot you a sharp look. “Why is NTW here?”

You flounder, before shrugging sheepishly. “I got out-voted?”

“It’s going to be okay, sweet girl.” Christina knelt in front of her daughter’s tube, smiling reassuringly. “We’re going to get you out, okay?”

“Can you get the doors off the other cells?” you ask upon checking to make sure that the same locking mechanisms aren’t on the other containment tubes. “If we get everyone else out, I can get the repression collars off, and then we can shut this thing down and focus on getting Maddie out.”

Christina shoots you a look –most likely annoyed by being taken away from her daughter—but rises and walks down the row of cells, ripping the doors off as she goes and chucking them out of the way.

You help Wade out of his cell and get him situated on a chair—

And then Piotr sweeps you into his arms and presses his lips against yours.

He smells a little ripe, his breath isn’t much better, he has a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, and his hair is a mess.

He’s perfect.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, cupping his face when the kiss ends.

“I am now.” He kisses your forehead. “How did you find me?”

“Went over Scott’s head, used the tracker on your suit, and asked my uncle for help.” You lay your head against his chest, and close your eyes for a moment as you listen to the steady thud of his heartbeat.

He’s safe. He’s alive.

***

 Getting the collars off is a cinch. They’re basic model collars with keypads. You’ve taken shit like this apart in your sleep.

The building rumbles ominously while you work on defusing the collars, and the sounds of gunfire and death are rapidly approaching the lab.

Piotr eyes the door warily. “What all is going on?”

“Uh… kinda asked Frank for some help.”

Your husband’s eyes damn near bug out of his head. “Frank Castle?”

“Ooh, Frankie’s here!” Wade chirps, perking up now that his collar’s off and his healing factor is kicking back in. “Did he bring any grenades?”

“Why did you ask Frank Castle for help?” Piotr interjects, sounding aghast.

“What else was I going to do?” you exclaim. “Scott literally wouldn’t get off his ass to check in on things. It was either do it alone, or get what help I could!”

Piotr looks like he’s about to drop it –then his eyes widen with horror. “You�� you left trainees with him.”

Fucking shit on an ass cracker— “Look, I will be very happy to discuss this with you later, but for now can we just focus on—”

A door at the far end of the lab sweeps open –not the one you and Christina came in through—and a man wearing a lab coat walks in.

A man that, though it takes you a moment, you recognize.

Mostly because you slammed his head into a table and threatened to rip off his balls if he ever hurt your husband again.

Rage floods your system. “You!”

Dwight Bard –stupid fucking nickname “Rogue”—jerks when he sees all of you, then pales when recognition hits his system. “Oh shit—”

You don���t give him a chance to finish his sentence, much less escape or do anything else. You hit him in the back with a blast of wind, bouncing him across the floor of the lab and smacking him against the metal table. You dash over, secure one of his arms in one of the restraints before he can get up, then grab the first thing you find on the tool tray –which happens to be a scalpel—and aim it at him. “I fucking warned you, you son of a bitch. I’m gonna gut you like a fucking catfish—”

“Myshka!” Piotr plucks you up and sets you away from the table before physically putting himself between you and Dwight. “Stop!”

You take one look at your husband’s horrified expression and shrink in on yourself, ashamed. “I’m not—” You try to gesture with your hand, forgetting that you have the scalpel, and nearly nick Piotr with it. You flounder as you try to find a place to set the utensil, then ultimately hand it over to Piotr so he can set back on the instrument tray. “He’s—”

“No killing,” Piotr says, voice soft but firm. “Ever. Under any circumstances.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to find the words to explain your headspace.

That Dwight isn’t worth saving because he’s perverted and hasn’t stopped the track he’s on despite having the chance to change and more than enough incentive –can anyone say ‘staying out of prison,’ much—to do so. That killing people recklessly and without thought is bad, but that defending those who can’t defend themselves is another category. That you weren’t even intending to really do anything, but he helped hurt the people you love, that he’s hurt your husband –the most important person in your life—over and over and over again, and you can’t live in a world knowing that person is out there and could hurt him again.

Ultimately, you shrug helplessly and say, “He hurt you.”

An emotion settles on Piotr’s face that you can’t identify. (Grief? Anguish? Fear? A combination of all three, or maybe none of them at all?) He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, then gently takes you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. “I do not want you killing for me.”

You nestle against his chest –then break away when Dwight starts trying to get the restraint off his wrist. “Oh, no, no, no. Just because I’m not force-feeding you your balls doesn’t mean you get a free pass.” You finish restraining his arms and legs, then flip the overhead light on so he has to keep his eyes closed for good measure. “You can just stay right there until we’re ready to drag you out of here and back to jail.”

The door that you and Christina originally entered through opens, and Ellie, Russell, Yukio, and Frank walk through.

You nod at Madeline’s containment cell. “There’s a special lock on this one. Can you get it open?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ellie says, checking over the locking mechanism before walking over to the bank of computers.

“Building’s clear,” Frank says, momentarily eyeing Dwight before turning his attention to Madeline and Christina. “What’s going on there?”

“Special lock,” you explain, paraphrasing what Neena told you. “Improperly opening the chamber releases a neurotoxin gas.”

Frank’s lip curls into a menacing sneer as he stalks towards Dwight. “You think that’s fun? Putting a little girl’s life in the balance?”

“It wasn’t me!” Dwight panics, trying –and failing—to edge himself away from Frank. “I’m just –look, I’m just a scientist, I had no idea—”

“You’ve got a kid a tube!” Frank shouts. “It doesn’t get more fucking obvious!”

“Okay, okay, just –look. The building’s not clear yet.”

“The hell it isn’t—”

“They had teams on standby, down the road, in case the place was stormed.”

The lights flicker, then turn off before flipping back on—

And then an explosion goes off outside, making the building shake and the windows rattle in their settings.

Frank tenses, then swears under his breath when more explosions sound outside. “Shit.”

“Sounds like we’ve got company,” Wade comments as he stretches lazily (the movement is accompanied by a grimace, though, which is how you know he’s still not feeling good). “Got a gun I can borrow?”

“Best move right now is to handle the team outside,” Nathan agrees as Frank hands them both spare pistols. “You three stay back here.” He nods to the teens. “Get the kid out. The rest of us will hold the base.”

Madeline bursts into tears when Christina takes a reluctant step away from her daughter’s containment cell. “Mommy, I want you to stay! I’m scared!”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Christina reassures her quickly. “It’s okay—”

“Stay with her,” you decide. “We don’t have enough weapons for you to use, which means your strength won’t be an advantage out there.”

Christina mouths a grateful “thank you” at you, then sits at the base of her daughter’s cell. “It’s going to be okay, Maddie. Mommy’s right here.”

“What about Neena?” Russell asks as the rest of you prepare to head out. “She doesn’t have a gun.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about finding one,” Neena quips, flashing Russell a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You want to take her aside, ask her if she’s okay –the explosions are still ongoing, meaning that right now, you’ve got more important things to do.

Frank reloads his rifle, then strides towards the main lab door. “Let’s go.”

 ***

 The lot of you make swift progress through the base. Frank and Nate lead you all with military-like precision –go figure—and before you know it, you’re at the main entrance.

The explosions are still going, rocking and rattling the building with each shockwave. The lights flicker ominously overhead each time; a few fall out and shatter against the floor.

Piotr shields you with his body when one lands near the two of you. “What now?”

“You know how many people are out there?” Frank asks Nathan.

Your dad shakes his head. “The number of psychic signatures keeps changing. Maybe… twenty-five? Thirty? They keep bouncing around the lot.”

“We’ve handled worse,” Neena decides as she loads her shotgun (which, true to form, she’d stumbled across while you’d all navigated the base).

“Wait, wait –Natey, hold on a second.” Wade grabs his boyfriend’s arm, holding Nathan back from moving (even though Nate stopped the first time Wade asked him to wait). “Do you not hear what I’m not hearing?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank grumbles under his breath.

Nathan cocks his head to the side though, gaze darting back and forth while he listens. “Gunfire. Voices.”

“Exactly!”

Frank’s expression sharpens as he catches the same lack of gunfire and people talking. “They could be trying to draw us out. We’ve got a chokepoint here.”

“Yeah, but why would they be bombing the parking lot they’re standing in?” Neena fires back.

“Should one of us go out?” Wade asks, looking between Frank, Nate, and Neena. “Scope things out?”

“If there are people waiting out there, we’ll get shot to pieces!” Neena exclaims.

“Okay, I can heal!” Wade fires back. “So, if you hear swearing and sounds of carnage—”

“No, no, we are not using you as a fucking guinea pig,” Nathan growls.

“Well, what would you recommend—”

“I’ll go,” Piotr interjects.

“What?” You blink rapidly as he kisses your forehead, then reach for him when he stands and steps away so he can armor up. “No! No—”

“It’s okay.” Your dad puts an arm around your shoulder, equal parts comforting and restraining. “He’ll be okay.”

Piotr ducks around the corner and strides towards the entrance –stooping over so he doesn’t bang his head on the ceiling. The sound of his heavy footsteps clank against the floor, barely audible over the explosions outside.

You listen to your husband’s step retreat away from you, scarcely daring to breathe. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…

There’s a moment where the explosions stop, and the ensuing silence stretches out, unending and horrible—

“No one is out here.”

You let out a breath, nearly collapsing with relief when you hear Piotr’s voice—

And then what he said hits you.

Frank stalks out, rifle at the ready in case shit goes sideways. He’s quiet for a moment, then shouts out an “all clear.”

You shadow the others out, mindful that you don’t have a gun or near as much combat experience. You sidle up next to your husband, one hand clutching at the material of his X-Men suit.

The explosions, at least, were real. The lot looked scorched, pitted with craters and dotted with debris and chunks of concrete.

That’s where the legitimacy of Dwight’s claims seem to end, though. There’s no sign of any opposition, armed, dangerous, or otherwise.

“Was he wrong?” you ask as Frank, Wade, Nate, and Neena carefully scope out the lot. “Maybe… maybe there’s no back up.”

“There is car coming,” Piotr announces, quickly tucking you behind his back.

The others hop to, taking up different positions around the lot to set up the best spread of gunfire possible.

You peek around your husband’s side as much as you dare, trying to get a read on the situation.

A lone SUV rolls up to the gate of the compound. It doesn’t seem armored, much less like it could hold the amount of guys your dad was initially sensing in the lot…

The SUV parks just inside the gate, and then the driver’s door opens and Mikhail Rasputin steps out. He grins laconically at Piotr, and lifts a hand in greeting. “Poves'te desyat', mladshiy brat!”

Piotr gapes as his mother exits the front passenger side of the SUV, whilst Mikhail ambles around to the back of the car to open the trunk. “Matushka?”

She’s decked out in black tactical gear and combat boots, and looks ready to kill.

(Granted, Alexandra always looks ready to kill, but the expression is more literal than figurative this time around.)

She graces her son with a brief, greeting smile, but quickly steps into scanning the surrounding environment for potential threats. Alex eyes the craters in the lot with a critical eye, one brow arching as she takes it all in. “Big fight?”

“Not really,” Wade says with a shrug. “Lots of explosions, but when we got out here there was no one around.”

You frown, stepping out from behind Piotr. “What are you two doing here?”

“Sent by uncle,” Mikhail says, nodding at you with a smile that’s entirely too relaxed for the scope of the situation. “To help.”

“Well, I think we’ve got it under control,” Wade says, gesturing at the parking lot.

“For now,” Alex tacks on as she eyes the building. “Man running this place is highly dangerous. Sooner we leave, the better. Is this everyone?”

“There are others inside,” Piotr says, eyes widening with realization. “Ellie, and Yukio, and Russell, and—”

The ground shakes again, and then there’s an explosion that sends chunks of concrete wall flying from the back side of the compound.

You stare at the plume of fire and smoke that billows into the sky, heart sinking. Shit.

***

 The lab, once you arrive, is in complete and utter chaos. Tables are strewn everywhere, glass equipment lies shattered on the floor, and a gaping hole gashes through one of the internal walls.

At the far end of the lab is Dwight –who, somehow, has managed to free himself and is grinning as he hovers above the ground. He extends his hand towards the opposite side of the room, flinging several heavy work tables that are deflected by Christina and Ellie.

“He’s a mutant!” Ellie shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Dwight before dodging more flying debris. “He has to be! He undid his restraints without even touching them!”

“Sorry for the deception,” Dwight says, grinning nastily—

And then his body ripples, changing size and form until he’s several inches taller and nowhere near as gangly. His face morphs hideously, hair going from tight auburn curls to slicked back black tresses. His eyes change from hazel to gray, his jawline sharpens, and by the end of it he looks less like some sort of computer tech pervert and more like a rugged assassin.

“Someone fucking promise me we’re not about to go down another ‘it was Mystique the whole time’ writing hole,” Wade groans as he skids to a stop, then ducks to avoid shards of flying glass. “Because I can’t handle another plot headache like that.”

“Name’s Nathaniel. Nathaniel Essex.” Nathaniel tosses Dwight’s glasses aside, smirking laconically. “So, no, no Mystique storyline here. Though, that might’ve been better for the rest of you.”

“How you figure, Captain Chameleon?” Wade fires back. “Don’t know if you forgot how to count, but there are…” Wade starts counting, then gets fed up with the process and settles for cocking his gun and aiming it at Nathaniel. “You’re fucking outnumbered, shit for brains! Best surrender now, and maybe I won’t fuck your ass with the business end of this gun!”

“You do, you’re buying me a new one, Wilson!” Frank snaps.

“Do you accept stolen?”

“The way I see it, my odds are just fine.” Nathaniel smirks, and several pieces of broken tables and twisted metal start floating around him. “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep from hurting you too bad.” He hurls the objects across the lab—

Only for them to freeze halfway across.

Nathaniel’s face goes slack with shock. “What the—”

Alexandra steps out from behind Piotr, eyes glowing gold as she stares down Nathaniel. “Care to try again, tupitsa?”

Nathaniel grits his teeth and tries to fling more carnage across the lab, but to no avail. “Go fuck yourself, bitch.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. “Have it your way.”

And then the items floating in the air zip across the lab. Those that don’t bounce of the telekinetic shield Nathaniel erects around himself embed themselves in the opposing wall.

“We need to get Maddie out of here!” you shout. “Ellie, can’t you disarm the pod?”

“I couldn’t find anything that disables the gas system!”

You’re starting to think that the supposed “toxic gas” attached to Maddie’s containment tube was a lie as well –but, best not to take chances.

“We’ll figure it out once we take down Essex,” you shout before darting towards where Alex and Nathaniel are scuffling with each other.

Nathaniel lets out a pained grunt when Alex throws him against one of the walls hard enough to crack the concrete, then yanks his sleeves back and starts pressing buttons on a wrist-mounted console. He taps at the display screen between dodging various attacks—

And then security drones fly out from hatches in the ceiling and start raining down Gatling gunfire on all of you.

“Get down!” Frank bellows as he dives behind one of the upended, heavy, metal lab tables.

Neena, Mikhail, and Nate join him, opening fire at the various drones.

You dive tackle Yukio, practically throwing her and yourself underneath one of the computer desks. You tuck her underneath you, doing your best to shield her from flying glass shards and stray chunks of metal.

Wade grabs Russell and Ellie, yanking them into a nearby alcove and shoving them behind him so he can take shots at the drones. “Since when did this go from a redux of my first movie to a redux of Terminator? We don’t have that kind of budget!”

Madeline shrieks when some of the rounds fired by the drones bounce off her containment cell. She drops to the floor of the tube, curling into a ball and sobbing hysterically. “Mommy!”

“Maddie!” Christina wholesale throws an operation table at one of the drones, cleaving it in half, before sprinting across the lab to reach her daughter’s cell. “Maddie!”

The whole building shakes like it’s about to come down. You hold tighter onto Yukio, getting what glimpses you can of the battle from under your table.

Alex and Nathaniel are caught up in a fraught telekinetic tango. They’re both reaching out towards each other –Nathaniel with both hands, red-faced and straining, and Alex with one hand, expression grim but determined—and their stand off seems to be what’s ripping the lab apart.

What happens when there are two unstoppable forces and two immovable objects, and each person has one?

Mikhail pops out of nowhere, landing next to Nathaniel. He lets out a burst of maniacal laughter, hits Nathaniel upside the head with the butt of his rifle, then disappears again.

Nathaniel stumbles, dazed –and it’s enough. He shrieks as he whizzes past you, bouncing off the ground before slamming into the computer station near the main entrance to the lab.

The remaining windows in the lab shatter, along with the lights. Glass rains down on the floor in tiny shards. Smoke and dust billow from one of the destroyed computer terminals, mixing with the glass into a lethal fog.

Your husband grabs Christina before quickly shielding her, Frank, Neena, and Nathan from the worst of the falling glass.

At the lab’s entrance, Wade and a newly reappeared Mikhail shield Russell and Ellie with their bodies.

For a moment, everything goes quiet, save for Essex’s labored groaning, Maddie’s terrified sobbing, and the tinkling sound of the glass making contact with the floor.

And then, not unlike a phoenix, Alex emerges from a cloud of smoke, head held high and eyes glowing menacingly. “Still want to do this, podonok?”

Nathaniel bares his teeth in a snarl before pushing up the sleeve on his jacket, revealing a time travel device like Nathan’s. “Fuck you.” He slaps a button on the device, then winks out of view in a flash of green light.

Alex snorts disdainfully. “Coward.”

Everything goes silent again. Relief slowly starts to sink in, now that the worst of it is over.

And then there’s an ominous whirring noise, and Madeline’s tube starts sinking into the lab floor.

She panics, shrieking and pounding on the glass. “Mommy!”

Christina bolts towards her daughter, equally as terror-stricken. “Maddie!”

The tube sinks fully into the ground, locking into place with a sickening click.

Christina freezes for a moment, staring at the place where her daughter used to be. Then, she lets out an anguished shriek and makes to rip the containment tube out of the ground.

“Don’t!” you shout, batting her away from the tube with a blast of air. “The neurotoxin!”

“I have to save her!”

“She’s already gone,” Nathan says, voice ragged. “He had a teleportation device attached to her cell. It would’ve activated seconds after he left.”

“Fuck you!”

Alex steps between Christina and the cell, keeping her from yanking it back up. “Easy, easy. We will still find your daughter.”

Christina snarls, then punches Alex straight in the face.

She doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she raises an eyebrow at the aggrieved woman, then lifts her own fist. “My turn? Or are we done?”

Christina gapes up at Alex for a moment, shocked, then resumes her efforts to try and get to the tube. “Maddie –I have to save her—”

“She is not there,” Alex insists, grunting as she bodily lifts Christina away from the cell. “Our best bet is to find Nathaniel.”

“He could be anywhere!”

“He used a short-range teleporter,” Nathan pipes up. “He’ll be close by. The sooner we start tracking him, the better.”

“Well, that would be our cue,” Alex says, firmly ushering Christina towards the door. “Let’s head back to house. We can plan from there.”

“What about this place?” Yukio asks as she follows after Alex.

“We burn it.”

“We –we can’t do that,” Piotr protests, staring at his mother’s back. “Criminals need to be held responsible for—”

“And, what, we just leave evidence of our involvement? Of your connections to criminal underworld?” Alex snaps, whirling to face her son. “Nyet! We destroy this place and keep ourselves in the clear.”

“And what about the people connected to this place. Without evidence, they will never be held accountable!”

“Justice has many forms, medvezhonok. They’ll get theirs.”

“Come on.” You tug on your husband’s hand when he frowns after his mother. “We need to go, either way. The cops aren’t gonna be able to help us with this, not the way we really need help.”

Piotr’s grimace deepens –but, he ultimately falls into step next to you.

[stressedasalways]

Not Like The Movies (2/8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 4.1K

Summary: Today was just a bad day.  The simple mission had gone south. What started as an easy data extraction ended with you clutching your side trying not to bleed out.  And who should come to your rescue but the reclusive Avenger himself.

Warning(s): swearing, mentions of blood. All the Fluff

AO3 Link  

Tumblr Links: Masterlist  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7 Part 8

A/N - Can I just say THANK YOU.  The love, comments, messages, follows, kudos, likes....THEY BLEW ME AWAY.  I never expected my little one shot to get so much attention and all the responses fueled me to just write write write this week.  I am already working on part 4/5 currently, and plan a few more after that. So please, keep the love coming.  It fuels my writing monster <3

Since you were still stuck to a form of a sponge wash - gross - to avoid your stitches for a few more days, you were still in the bathroom trying to feel a semblance of normal. A whole two hours after you had come in originally. You felt you were working out more of a sweat then you were actually cleaning off yourself.

“Agent L/N. Sergeant Barnes is at your door.” F.R.I.D.A.Y seemed to cheerfully tell you. You knew it had to be your imagination but the AI seemed almost as excited as you.

“Let him in. Just let him know I'm just finishing up in the shower and will be right out.”

“Of course.”

You could feel your heartbeat racing. Even though he had just been here last night when you got discharged you were beyond excited he had taken you up on your offer for another hang out session today.

You threw your hair up, there was not much you could do for it. There was really no sense in trying too hard. You were in sweats and a t shirt anyway, and the man had literally seen you bleeding on the floor. Anything above that was an improvement.

You quickly opened the bathroom door and jumped out. Seemingly trying to catch him snooping around your apartment. But he was just standing in the living room with his eyebrows raised at your dramatic entrance.

“What was that?” he looked at you like you were crazy.

“I was trying to catch you in the act of snooping around.” you answered as if it was the most obvious answer.

“So let me get this straight. You thought by jumping out of the bathroom where I already knew you were. You would catch me. A spy. No…. THE spy in the act of spying.” you could see the twinkle in his eyes and nothing gave you more joy than knowing you were the cause.

“Well when you say it that way…” you trailed off as you made your way to the couch.

He was quick to follow suit and sit down right beside you.

“So how was your Avenger filled day?” you asked giving him your full undivided attention.

He snickered but still entertained your request. “Pretty quiet actually. Nothing on my docket so spent most of the day just working out.”

“Okay. Question time. Where? I mean I admit I was never a gym fiend even before my untimely shooting. But no one ever saw you at the gym.”

“You keeping tabs on me doll?”. God it killed you when he called you that. The charm just oozed off of him and you wanted nothing more than to soak it all in.

“Are you going to pretend you didn't use your Avenger or spy powers to look into my file?” His smug face cracked for only a second but you saw it. “Oh my god! You did didn't you?”

“Well I mean I had to do all the paperwork...So it required added notes to your file, and maybe I glanced at a few sections.” he tried to rationalize but you both knew he was full of it.

“We are adding that to the bargaining list!” you pointed at him with fake anger.

“I feel like I'm always going to owe you on that list.” he snickered.

“Your instincts are accurate. But for now. You at the very least owe me an answer since I don't have access to spy on your records to get it.”

He put up both hands in defeat. “Yeah yeah. I tend to workout in the smaller gym that's upstairs. Sometimes when I can't sleep I may go down to the main gym when I know it's empty.”

So again the gossip and rumours had been true.

“But why?”

“Y/N, you are amazing. Your optimism is contagious. I wish everyone in this compound was like you.”

You could feel your face twisting into confusion. You really didn't understand where he was going with this.

“I'm the Winter Soldier. A lot of people still aren't comfortable with that.”

“Were the winter solider " you corrected, "But you're an Avenger. This is the Avengers compound. I mean if anything you have more right to be here than almost everyone here. And why should you have to use the smaller shittier gym. I mean maybe it's not shittier. I wouldn’t know since I’m not worthy of seeing it. But since even you called it smaller it's obviously not the better gym, and if anyone needs to keep up his strength its the freaking super soldier.” you were rambling but you couldn't help it.

He smiled at you, “It’s okay. I have things I need to atone for. Using the smaller gym is a very small price to pay.”

“Is that why you’re not really around? I mean people only see you at work things. Never outside of them.” He shrugged in response. “Isn’t that lonely?” you whispered.

“I choose my circle carefully. And I am quite happy with the people I have chosen.” He made sure to make direct eye contact with you then. You still weren’t sure how getting shot had somehow led you to being in his orbit. But god dammit you were so happy it had. You gave him your best smile while trying to not let you eyes water.

“So what did you do with your paid leave day?” he asked giving you both the out you needed from the seriousness that had overtaken the room.

“Well...I slept in which was pretty damn glorious if I do say so myself. I had a rainbow bagel droned in fresh from the city for breakfast. Still warm I may add. Stark does have amazing machines at work-”

“- he is going to freak out when he realizes.” he laughed, his hand covering his mouth.

“I resent that accusation! I am merely taking advantage of the gift he offered me.” You grabbed your tablet off the coffee table in front of you, quickly unlocking it and handing it to Bucky. “That’s Buzzfeed’s list of 100 foods you must have in NYC.”

“And you have handed me this list why?”

“Because this is what you and me must conquer.”

As Bucky quickly scrolled down the page he saw the rainbow bagel you had mentioned. Suddenly what you were saying became crystal clear.

“You aren’t?” he laughed

“This is no laughing matter Bucky. This is what will make me feel better and will make my life easier. I already ordered dinner for us from the steakhouse at number 78 and the cheesecake from number 34. It should be here in the next 10ish minutes”

“I can’t help but notice you said for us?”

“Well of course. It’s no fun to eat alone. This also makes me feel better.”

“And?” Bucky asked, seeing the mischievous light in your eyes.

“And…” you continued with a devilish smirk on your face. “If Stark were to find out and disagree with my reasoning that this is all needed for my health and well being. It would help to have an Avenger on my side.” you raised your eyebrow at him, “We are bargaining here Bucky.”

Bucky could not hold in his laughter. It came from so deep within his chest that he had to hold his flesh hand to his stomach to help from doubling over. Your smile only grew wider in response.

As if on perfect cue two drones flew in from your open window, depositing bags on your kitchen counter before leaving from the window they came in from.

“So? What do you say? Added to the list?”

When Bucky looked back at this moment he would always remember it as the time he knew he was putty in your hands. But at the time he managed to keep his cool.

“Added, only cause these foods look really good, and quite honestly I think you’d give Stark a run for his money and probably won’t even need me.”

“Excellent. F.R.I.D.A.Y can you please add that to mine and Bucky’s list.” you said with a wide smile as you got up to open the bags of food. “Can you please list the current agreements”

“Of course. One - Sergeant Barnes will do the life crushing paperwork since you got shot. Which by all accounts has been completed in full. Two - You will get to take advantage of Sergeant Barnes’ jacuzzi when medically cleared. Three - Sergeant Barnes will join you in your quest to eat Buzzfeed’s 100 top NYC eats. Three-point-one. Sergeant Barnes will protect you from Mr Stark if and when he finds out and gets upset.” F.R.I.D.A.Y quickly rattled off the current list.

“You. Did. Not. Just. Do. That” Bucky was in shock beside you. He had gotten up to help set up dinner but had stopped dead in his tracks as the AI had said the list out loud.

“Oh, Bucky. You have so much to learn about me.” and for once you could not help yourself and booped his nose with a smile before moving your eyes and solely focusing on putting out the dinner so you couldn't see his reaction.

________________________********************************________________________

This was how the next few days went. Bucky would do whatever it was that Bucky did during his days. But after work he would show up at your apartment, you’d laugh, joke, flirt and eat ridiculous food while watching something equally as silly on the TV.

Bucky had a list of TV shows and movies he had wanted to see, and you were more than happy to join him for some of them. At least the ones you deemed not boring anyway.

You had been discharged from the medbay for a week and today the nurse was joined by the doctor.

“Everything is looking great. I’ve put some fresh steri-strips on your wounds but that's me just being extra cautious. I can clear you for normal showers and away from full rest. We won’t start PT for a little while yet. But it’s time for you to start walking around, stretching out and getting your energy levels back up.”

You jumped up and hugged Dr. Reynolds. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He laughed and awkwardly loosened you from around his neck. “Drop by in a week so we can take another look and see how you are feeling. Of course we are always here if you need anything, but I think we are done here.”

As soon as the Doctor and the nurse left you blasted your music, you couldn’t wait to shower...no walk...no shower...it was all just too exciting.

You looked at the clock, it was still early. So a shower it was. And oh my god real clothes. You couldn’t wait.

Bucky showed up at your apartment as usual and the AI now just unlocked the door for him. It was really insane how quickly you had integrated into each others lives.

When he walked in he stopped dead in his tracks. You were just a few feet away, posing for him with your hands on your hips and a goofy smile. You were wearing fitted jeans and a top that hit just the right places. Your hair was finally washed properly and styled how you usually liked it. You’d even taken the time to throw on some simple makeup. You did a ridiculous twirl.

“Look Bucky! I’m not the shot blob anymore. I am a clean dressed human being ready to spread her wings and see the world!” you cheered.

“And where in the world would you be wanting to spread those wings to this evening?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, if you don’t mind.”

“Agent L/N has added item number four to the list if Sergeant Barnes agrees.” The AI spoke to them both.

“I really don’t understand why you keep this all so official doll.” He laughed

“Because if it's not official then it's not official Bucky.” you state as you motion for him to let the AI continue.

He sighed at your silliness but as always gave in. “And what is item number four F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Y/N would like and I quote ‘to be given a tour of the golden magical restricted areas the cool kids aka the Avengers hide that the little people are never allowed to see’ end quote.”

You quirked your eyebrows at him. “I got the all clear from the doc to start walking around, and since I haven't been given the all clear for being submerged in the jacuzzi I figured this would be fun. Besides you already know all about how I live, I think it’s only fair you return the favour.”

“You are absolutely ridiculous you know?” he said with a laugh. But coming from him it was always filled with the emotion of a much deeper confession.

“I know.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y I accept item number four...Shall we?” and he held his right arm out for you to wrap your arm through.

“Always such a gentlemen Barnes.” you smiled as you jumped over and quickly linked your arm with his.

You skipped. Actually skipped as you pulled him along to where the Avengers private access elevator was.

“I think you may be thinking way too highly about what you are walking into here.” he laughed as he elongated his strides to not be dragged by your bouncy steps.

“Impossible. I don't believe for a second the area where Tony Stark has a room when he’s here is anything less than the amazingness I am picturing in my head.”

You finally let go of Bucky’s arm when you got to the elevator. You stopped in front of it mimicking the opening of the door with your hands while you looked to him to do whatever he needed to do to make the door open.

But he didn’t do anything. You looked around in confusion as the doors opened all on their own.

“But...wait...huh?”

He snickered at your response as he lightly pushed you in.

“Where’s the retinal scan, the voice scan, the DNA scan, the laser beam verification? Are you saying I could have just come on up at anytime?”

“When we are not in any jeopardy and at a low security level F.R.I.D.A.Y is in charge of access. So since she knows I am here, she opened the door.”

The ride was quick, and as the doors opened you were still going on about the security.

“So your saying I could have hid behind say a planter and just waited for an Avenger to walk by and the door would have opened and I could have just snuck on up?”

“No. Definitely not. You know F.R.I.D.A.Y better than that.” he laughed as you now walked into the Avengers common room.

It took you a second to get out the jokes you were sending Bucky’s way and realize you were in the oh so secretive golden floor. It was exactly as you expected it to be. Grand and glorious.

“You are a dirty liar Barnes.” you smirked as you skipped off to the open concept kitchen that was closest to where you were.

You opened up the fridge and freezer making comments on everything you saw. No cupboard or pantry went unchecked and commented on and Bucky just followed you with a goofy grin on his face.

You came across a machine you had never seen before. The top was digital but below it looked like a beverage dispenser.

“What is this?” you started clicking on the display when it became clear it was a full service beverage maker. Smoothies, frappuccinos, specialty coffees and teas, mixed cocktails. It could do it all.

You looked back at Bucky with your jaw practically on the floor.

“I want to marry this machine Bucky.”

“I don’t think the world is ready for the machine/human relationship doll. But feel free to make yourself a drink.”

You dramatically placed your hands on your cheeks, your mouth wide open. “So many choices.”

“Well I’m sure you can work your way through them”

“Are you saying this is not a one time invitation to the golden floor?” you asked innocently.

“I would certainly hope not.” he whispered back.

You bit your lip, this flirting game was always pushing you to the edge. But in the end you knew you had to let him lead this. But damn he made it feel like flirting warfare.

“Can I make you something?” you asked him.

“I can make my own, you don’t need to serve me.”

“But I want to push the buttons Bucky. Don’t take away my fun!”

And just like that the unspoken tension was broken by his laughter.

Next you ran over to the common living area. It had a huge sectional couch along with very comfy recliners all facing towards an obnoxiously large TV.

“Oh my god! Why were we watching movies on my tiny TV when you had this?”

“Because you were on strict rest. And when I even joked about getting you a wheelchair to leave the room you threatened me with bodily harm.” he laughed.

“Well that's just unfair. I didn’t have all the information.” You pouted as you took turns sitting in every seat.

Once you had tested every seat and ‘oooh’d’ and ‘awww’d’ you got up and rubbed your hands together. “Where next?”

He led you down one of the hallways. There was a door in the middle as well as at the very end. He walked to the very end and the door opened automatically.

He let you in first as you took in the space. It was a very gorgeous living room. There were pictures and art on all the walls. It was not what you had been expecting at all. The whole compound was very modern, but this, this felt like a home. You quickly looked at him for permission but saw nothing but encouragement in his eyes.

You walked to the closest wall taking in what was in the frames. There were older pictures, faded and discolored around the edges. But the faces were impossible to miss. They were old pictures of Bucky and Steve.

“Look at you two.” you whispered to no one in particular as you went from picture to picture. There was something so pure and innocent. You could see it in his eyes. Pre war, pre serum, pre soldier.

Before you could move on you were interrupted by the sound of the main door opening and Steve Rogers walking in.

“Hey Buck…..oh….I’m sorry didn’t know we had company.” he stopped in his tracks when he saw you.

You looked to Bucky and then back to Steve. You felt like a literal idiot because you had no idea what to address him as.

“Cap?” you squeaked out

He smiled at you, “Steve is just fine. Nice to see you up and about Y/N.”

“Of course. Steve. Yeah I just got the all clear to do some walking around today, so Bucky was gracious enough to offer - “

“-forced.” Bucky said behind a fake cough.

You looked at Bucky with complete shock. “Offered.” you again challenged as he snickered before you turned back to Steve. “As I was saying, offered to show me around and get me moving. I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal space. We only just got here so my tour guide had yet to mention you guys lived together.”

“You could never intrude. Any friend,“ you heard Steve stutter on the f word but you all pretended to not notice. “of Bucky’s is more than welcome to our place. From what I’ve heard he’s made himself quite at home at your place. So it's only fair for us to return the favour.”

“Is that an official invitation Steve?” you asked and Steve could sense the private joke between you and Bucky.

“Be careful Stevie, she takes her official things very officially.” Bucky chuckled.

Steve smirked at the two of you, “Yeah, that’s an official invitation.”

“Excellent.” you smiled. “Steve, did you have any plans for dinner tonight? I was just getting ready to order in.”

“Oh,” Steve looked at Bucky, “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your guys plans.”

You cut in before Bucky could respond. “Absolutely not. Besides I have a feeling you will really enjoy what I have in mind.”

An hour later the drones arrived.

“No” Steve whispered is disbelief. “I know that smell.”

You smiled at the two friends as you went to open up the massive bags.

“Are these from Coney Island?” Bucky asked hopefully.

“Of course. Only the best for my friends and for my health.” you snickered

“Your health?” Steve asked as he started to help unloading the large amounts of food.

“Oh Steve, it's probably better if you don’t ask. It just makes you an accomplice like me. But doll.“ He paused, looking at the food. You had clearly ordered with two super soldiers in mind. There were dozens of hot dogs and corn dogs along with crinkle cut fries and who knows what else, “There is no way he’s not gonna notice this.”

You raised your eyebrows and mouthed ‘worth it’ as you watched Steve’s face light up with his first mouthful. Bucky smiled before jumping in himself.

Dinner had been amazing. You could sit and listen to Steve and Bucky talk about their childhoods forever. There was so much history and love there. It now made total sense why the two of them had chosen to share a common space rather than be completely separated.

You had seen Bucky be light and carefree. But this...this was just another level.

“Geez Louise look how late it is.” Steve suddenly said taking you out of your thoughts.

“Geez Louise?” you mocked right back at him.

“Hey now, its not nice to mock an 100 year old man.” he shot back at you.

“But that's literally my entire relationship with Bucky, what else would we talk about?” you laughed. Bucky lightly flicked your arm while briefly sticking out his tongue.

Steve shook his head, “Well regardless this old man needs to hit the sack. But feel free to stay up. You don’t have to head down on my accord.”

“I appreciate that Steve, but honestly I’m a bit tired myself. Hole through my body and all. Today was a pretty exciting day and I’m starting to feel it.”

“Well have a great night. And thank you. For….well all of this. I haven't had this much fun talking about the past in a while.”

“You’re very welcome. I can't wait to do it again.” You smiled as he gave you a larger smile in return. He slapped Bucky on the shoulder roughly before making his way to what you assumed was his room.

“Come on doll, I’ll walk you back to your place.” Bucky said as he got up and helped pull your chair out.

He held out his arm again and just like hours before you linked yourself to him. Although this time you were no longer skipping, but hugging him tight to your side, the exhaustion from the day starting to hit.

“I never got to see your room or the shitty gym or the famous tub.” you jokingly whined as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Well that's what next time is for.” he whispered back as you made your way out to the Avengers common area.

As you walked by you didn’t see that Sam and Natasha were watching from the living room as you two made your way to the elevator.

By time you made it to your door you literally could not wait to hit your pillow. Your heart suddenly began to flutter. This was a moment. You were standing outside your door. It was so cliche, but damn….This would be the perfect time for him to give you a goodnight kiss.

“Thank you for a great night Bucky.”

“I always feel like I should be thanking you more than you should be thanking me.”

“Agree to disagree then.” you smiled.

This was it. You could feel it. He hesitated a moment before leaning in and...giving you a big hug.

You squeezed tight. For now this would just have to be enough. The hug went on a bit longer than it probably should have, but when you let go there didn’t seem to be any awkwardness there.

“Hangout again tomorrow?” you asked, only slightly embarrassed how your voice gave away some of your desperation.

“Of course. But make sure you rest up. I think we may have done too much today.”

“I promise. Night Bucky.”

“Night Doll.”

And there it was, that doll that always made your knees go weak. Whispered seductively just before you headed to bed. Damn you Bucky Barnes.

Part 3

TAGS:  @waaaaaaitwhat  @i-think-i-am-adorable  @quierdoofthestars

[kpopfanfictrash]

Chem Miss

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributors: @daegusoftboys (her moodboards for the series are perfection)

Pairing: Reader / Jimin

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex, dirty talk)

Word Count: 12,807

Summary: “You’re my TA. I’m in your class. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your Saturday night talking to me about biochem.”

Jimin appears amused by this. “Who’s to say that I don’t? Also,” he leans in, a slight smile on his lips. “Who says we have to talk about Chemistry?”

It is never an easy thing, to be the only woman in the room.

From the second you chose your major, you knew you’d deal with this often. It’s intimidating to be the only one of anything in a place; to walk through the doors, see a sea of suits staring back and realize no one else is wearing a skirt. Eyes glancing up, scanning your frame and knowing with near-certainty most of them are assessing you on a binary scale. Would, or would not, fuck.

Most of the time you let their gazes pass. Most of the time, you don’t even notice but today it’s hard because today, the lights of the class are like beacons, shining from above making your way down the aisle. In every class before this one, you make it a point to sit in the first row; it’s something you’ve done since freshman year of Undergraduate.

Some people see this as being a kiss-ass but to you, it means you’re the first person noticed. The first one to be recognized, the one that people remember and that’s the spot that you want. Especially in a field as competitive as yours, biophysics: the understanding of biological functions in terms of chemical and physical principles. You’ve just begun your first year of graduate school, which means some of your courses still overlap with other fields and specializations.

This certainly explains the words on the chalkboard as you walk down the rows: Modern Chemistry for Innovation, I. The continuation of chemistry is necessary in your profession, since biochem and biophysics often overlap. You take a lot of the same seminars, end up trying to answer a lot of the same questions, it’s just that the method of achieving said answer is different. One focuses on chemical compounds and the other observes how said structures interact with one another, according to physics. There are many fields your major can lead to, but your passion is nanotechnology; nanomedicine specifically, or the creation of biological machines.

Which is why you’re excited for today. The Professor for Modern Chemistry for Innovation, I, Doctor Stephens, is a leading researcher of medical chemistry. He and his team lead the field in biomimicry and medicine and you’re excited to discuss the overlap between this and biophysics, especially given the increased emphasis in the community on environmental ramifications.

That’s another passion you hold – responsible science and in your free time you run a blog, with what little free time remains. By day you’re Y/N – graduate biophysics student, struggling to get by but by night you’re Chem Miss – a blog dedicated to real life problems, rooted in science. The name is a bit of a misnomer, since you’re currently studying biophysics but when you first began undergraduate, you thought your major would be Chemistry. Hiding the tab on your laptop, you know you can’t think about the blog until later. There are more than a few unanswered asks in your inbox, but you’re not very good at multitasking.

Instead, you pull up a blank page, flipping back to last night’s reading and readying yourself to take notes. While you’re busying yourself with peparations, a man enters the front of the room. He emerges from the door to the right of the chalkboard and at first, you think nothing of this. Continuing to skim the articles before you, you continue to read until he stops at the blackboard. He pauses there for so long, you eventually look up.

For a moment you’re speechless, thrown by how handsome he is. That is definitely not Professor Stephens; you know Professor Stephens, have read his work multiple times over. You’ve seen the dust jackets of his works and know Professor Stephens is older, in his late forties with graying hair and a Romanesque nose. The man at the front of the classroom can’t be much older than you are.

Early to mid-twenties, blonde hair pushed casually back from his forehead, there are square, black glasses perched on the end of his nose while he stares nervously down at the paper before him. His lips move, though no noise comes out, as though he’s repeating something to himself, over and over. Gaze flickering up, he quickly looks down, meeting the eyes of no one here before turning to write something on the board.

Assistant Professor, Park Jimin.

Jimin wipes both hands on his jeans, leaving chalk stains before he moves to the podium. Bending down, he plugs in his laptop into the power strip, tinking with wires before shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

When you realize you’re staring, you quickly look down. Your pulse is still racing though, hammering between breaths because holy hell, is this man gorgeous. With dark eyes, slanted cheekbones and a jawline you swear you’ve only seen in magazines – Jimin is beautiful and when he reaches up to tug down the projector, you get an excellent shot of his perfect rear end.

Shit. Fingers tapping at your keyboard, you debate whether to Google him or not before deciding, what the hell? Park Jimin, you type, adding, biochemistry at the end. Biochemistry is Professor Stephens’ field of research, which makes it logical to assume his assistant is the same. As soon as you press enter, there are hits.

Holy shit. You lean forward, nose inches away from the screen while you take in the headlines.

Park Jimin, Child Prodigy Attends Stanford University at Age 16

Stanford University Undergraduate Brings in Large Grant Money for Continued Research

Park Jimin, Rhodes Scholar, to Study Chemistry at Oxford

Stanford University Alumnus, Park Jimin to Join Research Team of George Stephens at Bangtan University

The articles are never-ending – a constant stream of achievements which makes your head spin because you thought you were accomplished, you were successful. To have made it thus far in this program, holding the scholarships you do – you thought you were doing great.

Park Jimin, it appears, is a different story. Your gaze slowly lifts up.

He’s looking away from you, staring intently at the board. Studying his handwriting with a frown, as though unsatisfied with the product. Jimin walks forward quietly, fingertip hovering for a moment before wiping away the dot on his last “i.” You watch, eyebrows raised as Jimin rewrites, drawing a small, perfect circle before taking a step back.

Jimin turns around, surprised to find thirty eyes looking back. He blinks, slightly owlishly before clearing his throat. “Hello,” he nods. “I am Park Jimin, I’ll be assisting Professor Stephens in Modern Chemistry for Innovation, I.” He glances up at the clock. “Since it’s now 9:00 AM, let’s begin.”

When he turns to face the board, someone slides into the seat beside you. “Wow,” your roommate, Liz’s hair falls crazily over one eye. “Who is that?”

Blushing, you lower in your seat while hoping, praying Jimin can’t hear. “That’s the TA,” you mutter, still not looking her way. “And shh – we’re in the front row.”

“Well, whose fault it that?” Liz grumbles, pulling open her binder. She turns to a blank page, sticking a pen in her mouth. “I would have preferred to sit in the back.”

Jimin turns, zeroing in on your roommate. “Introductions,” he announces, raising a brow. “You, you seem to have a lot to say. Stand, please,” he announces, waving a hand to pull up Excel on his computer. “Name?”

Liz blinks but stands, slowly lowering her backpack to the ground. “Elizabeth Castor,” she announces. “Biochemistry.”

“Mm,” Jimin quickly highlights and bolds Liz’s name. He’s not using the mouse – god, who is this guy? Here he is, standing at the front of a science course, using Excel like a business major. “Your major isn’t necessary, just your name will suffice. Next,” Jimin drones, turning to the next seat – which happens to be you.

It might be your imagination, but it seems like Jimin’s expression falters. He recovers quickly, but there’s a brief moment where your pulse flutters in response. A mere second where his lips part expectantly, and you realize you haven’t stood up.

“Y/N,” you shoot to your feet, struggling to right your laptop with one hand. “I’m biophysics – I mean, shit, I’m sorry. You don’t care about my speciality – I’m Y/N.”

Just the corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “That’s alright,” he nods, allowing a brief pause before turning to the guy right behind you. “Next?”

Slowly, you sink back to your seat, lowering your gaze to control your pulse. This is so unlike you, to be flustered by a look, caught off guard by a smile. You’re the solid one, the logical one; your reaction must just be because Park Jimin is so accomplished. He’s so worldly, incredibly successful at such a young age; it’s led to an aspirational crush, nothing more.

It’s just as you think this, Liz slides you a note.

So. When do you think office hours start?

Nearly snorting in response, you catch yourself just in time.

I didn’t know you were so anxious to meet with Professor Stephens.

Liz frowns, yanking her pen from her mouth to scribble.

Not him. Look at the ASS on Jimin, I’d love nothing more than to bite –

“Liz!” you gasp, crushing all evidence of the note in your fist. Liz starts to giggle and you blush, staring down at your desk as Park Jimin clears his throat.

“Everyone is here. Almost everyone is on time,” he adds, with a pointed glance at Liz, “so, let’s begin. Professor Stephens will unfortunately not be in attendance today. He will return for Wednesday’s class. My name is Park Jimin,” Jimin announces, pointing to his name on the board. “As I said previously, I will be assisting Professor Stephens this semester. Office hours are Wednesday and Friday from 4:00 to 6:00 PM, but feel free to reach out to me at any time for private tutoring. I am always available – my contact information is on the back of the syllabus sheet.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Liz trying not to laugh. Jimin looks down, seemingly having no idea of how his words have affected the class. For such an intelligent person, he doesn’t have much self-awareness. Curiously, you wonder if he even realizes how hot he is, how every female gaze is trained on his body. In response, every male gaze is sulking, sensing that they’re missing out on some prime opportunity.

Jimin flicks his wrist, moving on to the slides. “Biomimicry,” he announces, looking up from the screen. “An emerging field, one of the most promising of the twenty-first century. Applicable to all areas of science, biomimicry is a concept of innovation. It’s the idea of taking solutions found in nature and applying them to artificial substances.”

Flipping onto the next, Jimin points up at a shark and a wetsuit. “There are millions of successful demonstrations of biomimicry. This example in particular, is that of the skin of a shark, which is made up of overlapping scales called dermal denticles. These scales serve a dual purpose; the first reduces drag time in the water but they also discourage the growth of bacteria. By taking this concept and applying this to a modern wetsuit, we can increase the speed of humans in the water.”

Jimin pauses, flipping again. “Going back to the other function of dermal denticles though – bacteria doesn’t easily grab onto its surface. Which means that the presence of both bacteria and disease are significantly reduced by this texture.” Jimin arches a brow, flipping to a new picture. “Some of you are probably wondering what relevancy this has to you. Here,” Jimin allows, pointing up at a picture of a hospital. “By creating tools with a similar scale structure, we can reduce the rate of infection in hospitals.”

There’s a general shifting, murmuring through the class. “This next example is a sandcastle worm,” Jimin announces. “They create a natural, strong adhesive from the tiniest particles of sand. What if we applied this concept to say, shattered bone fractures?”

When he speaks, Jimin’s eyes brighten because he clearly loves to talk about this, is enthused by it’s possibilities. He’s passionate because he’s right – biomimicry can be applied anywhere. It’s exciting to consider applying this concept to nanotech.

You’re so absorbed in Jimin’s lecture that when he reaches the end of the presentation, you’re surprised. Jimin clicks next to display a black screen with The End, shutting his laptop and clearing his throat.

“We have three minutes remaining,” Jimin announces, surveying the class. “Are there any questions?” He looks at the back, noticing a hand raised in the air. “Yes?”

“What’s it like, being so young and on Dr. Stephens’ research team?” a female voice asks, dissolving into giggles when her friend tugs her lower.

Jimin flushes, looking down at the counter. “Humbling,” he admits, looking back up. “Any other questions? No? Then we’ll reconvene on Wednesday. Have a good day.”  

The classroom comes to life, conversation and the scraping of chairs filling the room. You move to stand, Liz grabbing the pen from her mouth as she sticks the cap back on. “Well,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder while the two of you climb the stairs. “That was interesting.”

“Oh?” you ask.  “How so?”

Liz glances again at the boards before turning back around. “Well for one,” she grins, lowering her voice. “Park Jimin can’t stop staring at your ass.”

You whirl around, meaning to look but Jimin is looking studiously down at his notes.

“Well, not anymore,” Liz corrects, as you turn back to face her.

“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, pulling on your jacket. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you, Liz.” Grinning, you ignore Liz’s noise of protest while you exit the room.

Later that night, you sit in front of your laptop, flicking through tabs while drinking a glass of wine. Scanning your blog, you find the post you made last night, skimming the entry to note a few thousand notes at the bottom.

Chem Miss: On Responsibility

Perhaps a concept not discussed enough is the intersection between scientific research and scientific responsibility. Too often we confuse genius with integrity when mostly, the two seem mutually exclusive. When one discovers a new principle, a new science, a new formula and so on – who decides how science is utilized? Who decides the implementation, its rules, the method, the time? I argue it should be the scientist. I argue its our job not just to further humanity, but improve it. To guide our species towards not just a more sophisticated future, but a better one. Looking over my student course book, I find countless courses on innovation, principle, theory and research but it’s a rare thing indeed, to find one on humanity.

Odd, right – how the very people tasked with saving humanity, seem to be furthest from it?

Not everyone agrees, it seems. Scrolling through comments, you wince at some of the very flagrant remarks. You’re called childish, immature, unseeing, overbroad but for every negative comment, there are good ones. You perk up at this, reading more, scanning tags before moving your cursor to the message box.

24 new messages. Shit.

Most are a summarization of comments. People agreeing with you, disagreeing, picking apart your words and dissecting them. You answer each ask carefully, taking sips of your wine until your glass is finished and you hastily fill another, continuing until your head is hung so low, it’s nearly hitting the keyboard. Clicking on the last message, you barely register the URL before reading.

From: Mr.Ree

Alright, Chem Miss. What’s the solution, then? If what you say is true and the science community is far too consumed by their own glory to see the plight of the average human – how do you propose we change this? Whoops. As I type, I realize my words might come across aggressive – I didn’t mean it like that. You seem a bright, intelligent and kind person. I’m genuinely interested in hearing what you have to say.

You stare at this message for a while, unsure how to respond. You get a lot of messages a lot of input from a lot of different people but this is the first one in a long while that’s made you think. You sit back and stare at the screen, carefully outlining your response. What is your recommendation?

It takes a while to type and by the time you press post, you’re fairly certain Mr.Ree has gone to sleep.

Hi, Mr.Ree.

First off – lol at the URL. Punny. To answer your question – I don’t have a singular answer, I have many. I think the first step is, as always, education. I think Universities need to place as great an emphasis on ethical science as practical and from there, I think it becomes more complicated. It is in our nature to search, not because we need to but because we want to. As long as we have questions, we will seek answers – but as to how these answers are applied, there must be greater input. We must reach out to the voices of many – many backgrounds, many cultures, many ideologies to provide a balance of ethical decision making. Off to top of my head, maybe even the implementation of scientific whistle-blowing communities would assist in doing this. Overall, I preach awareness. It is a lonely sphere at the top. Who is there to police the head, but the head himself?

Without waiting for a response, you shut your laptop and go to sleep.

You’re eating dinner the following Saturday when your phone suddenly vibrates on the table.

Liz: The new girl who works in the library invited me to a party. Which means she invited us to a party. You’re coming with me, non-negotiable. [7:02 PM]

Y/N: Ahhhh… but I really wanted to watch Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt and drink myself to sleep [7:04 PM]

Liz: You waited five months to watch the second season, it can wait another night. Pick out something hot, something that shows off your butt [7:06 PM]

Y/N: it’s starting to get cold, though! Also – I just ate Chipotle and have a food baby [7:07 PM]

Liz: Don’t forget to shave your legs, I’ll be home at 10:00 PM, be ready to leave [7:08 PM]

Despite your grumbling, you shove the rest of your Chipotle into the refrigerator and wander into your room to stare at your closet. Three hours pass in a whirl of steam and curling irons and before you know what’s happening, you stand on a doorstep. Arms firmly crossed, shivering while you wait for Liz’s headlights to swing into the driveway.

“You wore a dress!” she cheers, watching you enter the passenger seat.

Scowling, you slam her door shut. “And I’m freezing, because of it.”

“Who cares?” Liz grins, putting the car in reverse. “You look great.”

Despite rolling of your eyes, you can’t help but laugh. “Where are we going?” you ask, as Liz turns on the end of the street.

“Not far,” is all she responds, turning up the music.

‘Not far’ ends up being a couple blocks over, as Liz pulls to a stop outside a non-descript apartment building. It’s beige on the exterior, beige on the interior and Liz stops at the valet to hand over her keys and enter the revolving doors. “Hi,” she chirps towards the doorman, leaning one arm on his counter. “We’re here to visit Apartment 2908. Min Yoongi.”

The man nods and picks up his phone, speaking to someone on the other end before setting back down. “All clear,” he nods, waving you on. “Elevators are on the far left.”

The apartment you enter is noisy, lights dim, smoke drifting in from the balcony where you see several people hanging out through glass doors. Music thumps in the background while a smaller, dark-haired someone stalks in from the hall. “Hey!” the man yells, scowling out at the porch. “Shut my fucking door, you assholes – it’s freezing!”

Then he turns around, spotting Liz. “Liz!” he grins, holding up a cup. “Sorry about that,” he exhale, walking forward. “This is why I hate throwing parties.”

Liz squints past. “No need to worry, Yoongi. It looks like your girlfriend has things under control.”

Yoongi glances sideways, to where a girl sullenly returns a megaphone to a shelf. He laughs, pushing hair back from his forehead. “She’s something else,” Yoongi agrees, glancing at you. “Who’s this?”

Flushing, you stick out your hand. “Y/N, I’m Liz’s roommate, I’m a graduate student studying biophysics at Bangtan University.”

“Ah,” Yoongi’s eyes light up. “Min Yoongi, Library Services. If you’re in biophysics, you must know my old roommate. Hey,” he calls, leaning around the corner. “Jimin! GET OVER HERE!”

You and Liz exchange a look when Park Jimin walks in. He’s holding a red solo cup in one hand, adjusting his glasses with the other; though when he sees the two of you, he stops. His gaze slides quickly over Yoongi and Liz to land on your face.

You stare back at him. “Hi,” you wave, wincing at how dull you must sound.

Jimin nods, looking at Yoongi. “Yeah?” he asks. “You called?”

Yoongi waves towards you both. “Y/N and Liz are studying biophysics and biology, respectively. Thought you might know them.”

Jimin’s brow furrows but before he can respond that he doesn’t, you interrupt. “We’re in your Modern Chemistry for Innovation, I class, Assistant Professor.”

A smile flits over Jimin’s lips, as Yoongi laughs. “Wow,” he grins, clapping Jimin on the back. “Assistant Professor – way to crack that whip, Park.” Yoongi’s eyes dance, searching the room. “Anyways, need to get back to you-know-who. See you all later, enjoy the party!”

Once Yoongi disappears, it’s just you, Liz and Jimin left. Then Liz spots someone and waves, nudging you forward with her elbow. “Got to go say hi to Javie,” she announces, waltzing past. “Come find me when you want to go, Y/N!”

When she leaves, you stare, mouth slightly ajar. Stomach sinking, thoughts scrambling, you try and combat your nausea by looking at Jimin. It has the opposite effect.  “Hi,” you repeat, wishing you had something more interesting to say.

To your surprise, Jimin’s smile widens. He doesn’t seem as nervous, outside the classroom – perhaps this has something to do with the half-finished drink in his hand. “Hey,” Jimin responds, not looking away. “You can just call me Jimin outside of class, you know.”

“Right,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “Jimin. I’m Y/N.”

He arches a brow. “I know.”

This throws you, somehwat. “You know?”

Jimin nods once more, taking a sip of his drink. “You were sitting in the front row. Easily noticeable.”

“Right,” you exhale, somewhat deflated. You look past him, to where Liz has disappeared onto the porch. “I think I’m going to get a drink.”

Jimin’s hand stops you, when you move past to leave. His hand slides to your elbow while your gaze meets and Jimin’s lips part, as though surprised by the gesture. “What would you like to drink?” he asks, clearing his throat.  

You blink. “If they have wine – then wine.”

Jimin’s lips quirk, and he nods. “Alright.”

He disappears then, heading straight towards the kitchen while you awkwardly lean a shoulder to the wall. Staring after him, the the door opens behind you and a group of people walk in, prompting you move. The living room is more crowded than the hall, which makes you wrap your arms tightly around yourself and wince.

This is why you hate parties. This is why, when Liz asks you out, you rarely agree. You’d rather be at home, talking with friends in an environment you choose and pulling your phone from your pocket, you scroll through your notifications. The message icon on your blog blinks and your finger hovers over the screen, about to open when –

“Your drink,” Jimin interrupts, soft.

He holds out a glass of red wine, one you gratefully accept. “Thanks,” you say, sliding your phone in your pocket. “You don’t have to talk to me, you know,” you hear yourself saying. When Jimin raises both eyebrows, you continue, “You’re my TA, I’m in your class. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your Saturday night talking to me about biochem.”

Jimin appears amused. “Who’s to say that I don’t? Also,” he leans in, slight smile on his lips. “Who says we have to talk about Chemistry?”

You stare back, momentarily unsure. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear Jimin was flirting with you. Then he pulls away, lifting his glass and turning sideways towards the room. The sleeves of his sweater are long, hanging down past the tips of his fingers to reach the black of his jeans. Jeans which hug his legs so tightly, you can’t help but wonder where Jimin is hiding his wallet.

“Well,” you manage, bringing his gaze back to yours. “What do you want to talk about?”

Jimin opens his mouth but before he can speak, someone bangs into him from behind. Jimin pitches forward, right hand finding the wall at your head and you suck in a breath, startled by the proximity. Jimin’s eyes are wide, staring at you. He seems as shocked by this as you are, hand trembling slightly around the width of his cup. You only notice this because you, yourself don’t know where else to look.

Jimin clears his throat, pushing backwards. “We could talk about – well,” he pauses, searching the room. “TV shows?”

You arch an eyebrow. “TV shows?”

Jimin nods. “What have you been watching?”

Shrugging genteely, you take a small sip of your wine. “Black Mirror.”

Something in Jimin brightens. “Really? Same! It’s fascinating to think about one tweak of technology or circumstance, bringing us to face similar paradoxes. Makes you realize how volatile everything is, really. Hm,” Jimin allows, thumb trailing the edge of his cup. “Wouldn’t it be fascinating, if we’re one of those universes? If somewhere out there is an alternate timeline, far better than our own – and we’re an episode of a TV show for them. One they point at and laugh.”

You nod, grinning. “Yes! That’s exactly what I love it,” you grin. “Like the episode on social media – it could so easily be true. We already somewhat allow the quantification of people. It brings so many interesting questions to light. Especially for the scientific community,“ you say – cutting yourself off at the expression on his face.

“Ah,” Jimin smirks, shaking his head. “I thought we weren’t talking about science tonight?”

Smiling back at him, you lean against the wall. “Oh, who was I kidding? We’re scientists, it’s how we see the world. Some people speak in rhyme, we speak in reason.”

Jimin’s eyes glint. “I’ve always found science to be more like poetry than anything else.”

“Oh?” You try, and fail, to curb your interest. “In what way?”

Jimin takes a sip from his drink, looking up at the room. Up until now, you’ve felt as though you were talking to just some guy. It’s now you remind yourself who Jimin is. It’s hard to remember that, when he’s looking at you that way. It’s hard to remember you’re not just two people meeting, two people flirting – Jimin is brilliant, and he’s entirely off limits. Knowing this doesn’t help though, not when your heart beats faster at just the tilt of his head.

“Maybe that’s the wrong phrasing,” Jimin admits. “Rather, I find art and science to be more alike than anything else. It’s the same question, answered in different languages, right? One captures our purpose through light, colors and shapes. The other captures our questions through math, logic, reasoning. Science seeks to understand who we are, what we are – what’s more artistic than that?”

You fall silent, just looking at him. Hearing your thoughts voiced aloud, it’s hard not to lean in, hard not to agree with everything Jimin says. There’s a moment of silence, as Jimin’s gaze falls to your lips and you need to respond, need to say something to stop him – but nothing comes to mind.

“Hey,” Liz appears out of nowhere, draping an arm around your shoulder. “There’s this guy on the porch – he saw you walk in, and was asking about you. Want to meet him?”

Glancing back at her, you make the abrupt decision. As your TA, Jimin is untouchable.  “Sure,” you announce, not letting yourself look in the direction of Jimin. “Why not?”

You don’t let yourself see him because you know if you do, you’ll stay and you know if you stay, you’ll talk for much longer and this crush on him will only grow. It’s barely enough it as is, you can hardly sit in the front row of his class and listen to him speak without wanting to jump his bones.

Because of this and many smiliar reasons, you turn reluctantly away. “Bye, Jimin,” you call out, allowing Liz to pull you onwards. The entire walk through the room and onto the porch, you force yourself not to look.

Since you’re not looking, you don’t see Jimin put down his drink. Since you’re not looking, you don’t see him place this on the counter and head straight out the door.  

Later, you are more than a little drunk. Collapsing in front of your laptop, you finally check the blinking message from earlier. Your heart beats faster, seeing the familiar URL.

From: Mr.Ree

I like your answer, Chem Miss. Education is the root, and all things stem from that. Humans will never stop searching – and isn’t that a beautiful thing? – but if we have conscious searchers, perhaps real change can be accomplished. P.S. your writing style is lovely, do you write for anything other than this blog?

Pulse racing, you type out a response.

Hello, Mr.Ree

Do you mean to ask if I write poetry? Not at the moment, no – but perhaps I can be persuaded. I often feel science is a kind of poetry, anyways…

You slam your laptop shut, unsure what you’re doing. Writing to some mystery sender, there’s only one face in the back of your mind: Jimin. Park Jimin, with his glasses and too-big sweater and hesitant smile. This, coupled with a cocky way of speaking and bright flush of his cheeks. It was such a struggle tonight not to kiss him, not to touch him and admit how you’re falling for him. Groaning out loud, you slide down low in your chair.

You need sleep. Setting half-drunk wine aside, you scoot away from your table and stumble into your bathroom. After your nightly regimen, you collapse face-first on your bed and fall asleep like that, practically before your face even hits the pillow.

If you dream of Jimin, you don’t remember.

Weeks pass in this manner.

When you enter the class that next Monday, Jimin blatantly ignores you. Or rather, he doesn’t ignore you – he just acts ike he doesn’t know you. Which is worse, you haven’t decided. Sitting down in the front row, you watch his gaze slip right over you, as though he didn’t even see you at that party. As though he didn’t speak to you, of poetry.

When he acts this way, you tell yourself it’s for the best. This is fine, because Jimin is your TA and htat’s why you left, after all – you left before you could find out more about Jimin and fall any furhter. Before he endeared himself to you more and you became thoroughly, and totally screwed.

It’s hard, though. Hard to watch him, week in and week out and not like him more. Sometimes Jimin lectures but more often, he just sits off to the side.  Legs spread while slumping low in his chair, chewing on the end of a pencil as he makes red notes in the margins.

You try not to look at him but it’s hard, when just the sight of Jimin is so damn distracting. His scent so intoxicating, it’s near-enough for you to drown in. This fact becomes apparent, one Wednesday in class when Jimin is passing out papers.

He’s informing you of something, you know he must be but all you can see is the movement of his lips. Dimly, you hear him informing that the last office hours before midterms are today and you nod, barely understanding the words.

He pulls back, going on to the next person but before he leaves, he gives you a look you can’t quite decipher. With your grades being near perfect, Jimin can’t possibly be asking you to attend for tutorial. Maybe he needs you to put in more face time, you reason. Perhaps Professor Stephens is the kind of guy who marks down how often each student attends, and Jimin is trying to help you pass.

Watching him travel the room, Jimin doesn’t appear to give the same warning to everyone. He passes back papers and notes, saying little to anyone but you and when he reaches the last, he looks up, gaze landing briefly on yours. His gaze is strangely dark, turning away.

Heart pounding, you place your laptop in your bag at the end of class. “Are you going to office hours?” you ask Liz, climbing the steps.

Liz nods, pushing both hands through the sleeves of her coat. “Yeah,” she sighs. “I have to. Got to make sure I pass the midterm.”

Making a noise of agreement, you fall into step beside her. “I think I’ll go, too.”

Liz looks up in surprise. “Okay. Sounds good – I’ll save you a seat.”

At 4:00 pm, you walk into room 112. You’re not sure what you expected, but the room is mostly quiet. Students are spread throughout the rows, quietly comparing notes and practice problems, with Jimin at the front, halfway bent over the desk of a girl you don’t recognize.

He’s pointing at her paper, explaining quietly despite her not looking anywhere near the problem. No, instead she stares at his lips, his jaw, that perfect piece of hair falling into his eyes and stomach tightening, you yank your bag higher and walk over to Liz.

“Hey,” she greets, scooting sideways.

"Hey,” you nod, sliding into the empty seat beside her. “What now?” you whisper, glancing up at the board. “Do we just… do homework for two hours?”

Liz taps her pen on the paper. “Review problems for the midterm,” she shrugs. “Or, you can outline your course paper, research the essay section. Anything you want,” she nods, pulling out her laptop as well. “Jimin is really great with helping out.”

Ignoring this information, you pull out your practice questions. As time passes and 6:00 draws nearer, Jimin never makes it up to your aisle. You watch him from the corner of your eye, while he moves down the rows but he never looks back, or if he does – you never see.

You wonder why he asked you to come, then, if he’s not even going to speak to you.

At 6:05 PM, Jimin looks up from his row. He’s seated beside Jackson, helping him work through a difficult case study and glancng down at his watch, Jimin clears his throat. “It’s five past six students, which means we have to vacate the room. If I didn’t make it to your table,” he announces, gaze faltering before meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry. If you need help before next week’s midterm, reach out to me privately and we can set up an outside study session.”

You look down. Pushing books into your waiting bookbag, you stand. “Come on,” you grunt, watching Liz stand as well. “Do you have anything more you need Jimin’s help with?”

Liz shakes her head, already scrolling through her phone. “Nah, I think I’m set. I’m going to run and get dinner, want to come?”

You’re about to say yes when, from the corner of your eye, you see Jimin raise a hand. He’s looking your way, making a gesture as though he wants you to stay. It’s so different from the way he’s been treating you, it’s hard not to be curious about what he wants. Hovering halfway from your seat, you debate with yourself. “Ah, no,” you sigh, glancing at Liz. “I just remembered something I wanted to ask Jimin. You go ahead.”

Liz shrugs and then leaves, calling out to text if you want anything. Most of the other students leave, too, just Jackson finishing packing up in the back. When he stands he smiles, waving once in your direction before turning away.

Now, it is just you and Jimin in the room.

Jimin looks up from his seated position; waiting, watching you walk closer.

“Yes?” you ask, reaching the side of his desk. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Jimin opens his mouth to respond – and then shuts it. “Are you going to apply for Dr. Stephens’ open research position next semester?” he asks bluntly.

Blinking back at him, you find yourself unnerved when Jimin pushes himself to stand. “I –,” you stop, shaking your head. “I don’t know. Isn’t it a biochemistry position?”

Jimin shrugs. “Biophysics can apply as well. Dr. Stephens’ research delves into both fields. You’d be a good fit,” he muses.

“Do you?” Staring down at his fingertips, which tap the edge of his computer bag, you frown. “Why?”

Jimin doesn’t seem thrown by the question, pushing his glasses higher. “You’re smart, intelligent and yes, most people here are but you were the only one who completed the extra credit on the last homework assignment. Not just that,” Jimin adds, seeing your response, “but your idea was a good one. Dr. Stephens thought so.”

“Did he?” you muse, gaze lifting to his. Unsure what you’re doing, you take an unsteady step closer. “And what about you? Did you think it was a good idea as well?”

This close to Jimin he smells like sage and sea salt; you get barely a whiff before he tugs on his coat. “I thought your response was brilliant,” he says softly.

The sincerity, the compliment to his words gives you pause. “Thank you.”

Jimin nods briskly. “I’m being honest, not kind.”

“Yes,” you allow. “That’s why I’m thanking you.”

Jimin’s gaze softens, mid-way through tugging on his gloves. He opens his mouth and you think he will say something more, something unrelated to chemistry and the thought makes you dizzy. Heat pours into your veins, renders you molten when he takes another step forward – one past you, out the door.

Jimin’s shoulder brushes yours, and you think that he shivers. “You should apply,” he reiterates, not looking back. “It would be nice working together in an outside environment… one where I’m not the one grading you.”

Turning to stare at his back, your insides twist contemplating the intent of his words. You wonder if Jimin is also interested, but too moral to act on it. If he’s too dedicated to education to ever make you feel compromised. You appreciate that, if that’s so and you understand Jimin’s hesitancy, yet –  your hands curl into fists at your sides. You want nothing more than to press your body to his and kiss him wildly, willingly. The need races through you, increasing with each second he stands silent.

Slowly, you nod. “I’ll consider it.”

Jimin exhales. “Alright,” he allows, tugging on his beanie with one hand and wrapping his scarf over his neck. Then he leaves, leaving you standing there in an empty room.

Empty, expect for your thoughts.

Empty, except for the lingering, maddening presence of him.

The midterm comes and goes.

You pass, Liz passes – nearly everyone in the class passes, thanks to Jimin. Dr. Stephens goes so far as to say it’s the highest cumulative average in all his years of teaching. Jimin sits by quietly when this is said, smiling and accepting none of the praise.

You watch Jimin, like you always do, watch him without meaning to since your gaze always drifts sideways, body shifts slightly. You’re attuned his presence and this fact drives you crazy, but you continue to push these feelings away because Jimin never looks back. He stares everywhere but you, helps everyone but you – you try and tell yourself you’re just being crazy.

It’s your imagination that he’s ignoring you, it must be.

It’s mid-November though, when Liz catches onto your crush. Not that this is earth-shattering news, by any means, since most of the people in the department have a large crush on Jimin. It’s hard not to, him being so handsome, smart and successful. Not just that, he’s a genuinely good person and wants to save the world. The week a girl in your class found Jimin’s profile in the Bangtan University brochure, things went a little crazy.

The pamphlet was passed around for a few days, your classrooms racked with giggles and whispers like you’d gone back to high school. Everyone was talking about how dreamy Park Jimin was but it was the quote beside the glossy photograph that was the kicker, really.                      

“The thing about science is – it’s also an art form. You stare at the canvas, hold your paintbrush and ask yourself how to make others see. How to bring light to the darkest of questions. Questions which, once answered, amount to the very essence of humanity. I guess that’s what I’m searching for in my lab – humanity.”

His words hit so close to what the two of you discussed at the party, you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to learn more about him, so you stalked him a bit on the internet. It was while you were scanning an article about Jimin’s time at Oxford, when Liz happened to peek over your shoulder.

That was at the beginning of November and despite it now being Thanksgiving, Liz refuses to let it go. “So,” she grins, keeping her voice down in the library. “What are you researching now? The slender curve of Park Jimin’s neck?”

You flush, glancing around. “Liz,” you hiss. “Stop it, I don’t even like him!”

“Ri-ght,” Liz snorts, twirling her pen in one hand. “Sure, you don’t. You just have a normal amount of educational respect for our brilliant teaching assistant.”

“Yes,” you say, busying yourself with copying over your notes. “Exactly.”

“Just a healthy appreciation for his work.”

“True.”

“Understandable gratitude, for the large amount of time he’s given us.”

“Yep.”

“And  the inability to look away from how fine his ass looks in those jeans.”

“Well, I – no, what,” your head jerks up. “No!”

Liz giggles, trying and failing to keep quiet. Suddenly you’re laughing as well, unable to stop yourself as the students from the next table glare.

“Sorry,” Liz whispers, raising her eyebrows. “She’s ovulating.”

You nearly choke, smacking her sharp on the arm. “Liz!”

You’re laughing so hard then, you don’t even notice him enter. All you see is Liz straightening, gaze zeroing in on someone behind you. “What?” you grin, turning halfway around.

That smile disappears when you recognize Jimin, deep in conversation with Yoongi. He’s smiling, running a hand through his hair and all your previous assertions to Liz fly straight out the window. Now that he’s here, with his crinkled eyes, wide smile – it’s impossible to deny your attraction. Your fingertips dig into the tabletop and before you can stop her – Liz waves a hand.

“Assistant Professor!” she calls, forcing Jimin’s head up. “Assistant Professor, Park Jimin!”

His gaze finds yours; only for a moment, before sliding to Liz. He pauses mid-stride, seeming to struggle while Yoongi glares angrily in your direction. It’s a silent promise to end Liz, should she yell in his library again. Your roommate winces, mouthing an apology and Jimin touches Yoongi’s shoulder, turning your way. Making his way through the library, he pulls of his hat to hold in his hands.

“Yes?” Jimin asks, reaching your table and studiously avoiding eye contact.

Liz smiles. “Y/N was just wondering what you’re doing over Christmas.”

“I – I wasn’t,” you hasten, suddenly flustered. “That’s not true,” you insist, voice ending in a squeak. You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing – the speak, or what Liz just said.

Jimin finally looks at you though, expression seeming as though he’s trying not to laugh.

Liz does laugh, though softly. “I’m kidding, that’s not what Y/N asked. We were just talking about bioinspired molecular machines and,” your roommate points at her screen. “Did you read this article? We were wondering what you thought of the research currently happening at Tohoku University?”

Jimin’s expression flattens, looking where her finger points. “Right,” he exhales, shaking his head.

When he starts to answer, you look away. Flipping open the tab you’ve kept hidden and re-reading the messages you’ve recently received. You and Mr.Ree have been talking since the start of the semester and at some point, you moved on to private messenger.

You’re not sure when the conversation became about things other than science but it did, and there’s no turning back from that now.

Mr.Ree: You have a sister, right?

Chem Miss: Two sisters, actually. One older, one younger

Mr.Ree: Are you close?

Chem Miss: Yes. My younger more than my older, I think

Mr.Ree: Ah, that must be nice

Chem Miss: Can I ask why?

Mr.Ree: I was just thinking about my sister. I haven’t really seen her in two years. Haven’t really talked to her in longer.

Chem Miss: Why’s that?

Mr.Ree: I’m not sure. I think I’ve been doing the science thing for so long, the research thing for so long – it’s hard to identify with normal life. With normal things. It’s not that I don’t want to… I just don’t know how, anymore. It’s why your blog post caught my interest

You stare at his words because with each message you get from Mr.Ree, it’s harder and harder not to want to meet him. This guy is witty, funny, smart and by now – you talk almost every day. That’s more than most people you see in real life and tapping your fingers against your keyboard, you lose yourself in a strange train of thought.

“What are you looking at?”

Liz’s question makes you realize both her and Jimin have gone silent. Their conversation is finished, both heads turned in your direction. “Nothing,” you snap, much too quickly.

Liz’s eyes narrow, then widen. “Ah! Is it him - mystery guy?”

Flushing, you slam your laptop shut. “It’s no one.”

Jimin looks at you curiously. “Mystery guy?”

“Yeah,” Liz nods, leaning back in your seat. “Y/N has been talking to this guy and –”

“Liz,” you interrupt, through gritted teeth. You don’t want to tell Jimin about him, don’t want him to know about your internet romance. You don’t want to say that you’re falling for someone you’ve never met. Not with Jimin here, so perfect and wonderful and entirely real.

Perfectly untouchable, but for different reasons.

“Interesting.” Jimin stares for a moment. “If you like him, who cares if you met online? Just tell him you like him and meet him. Well,” he pauses, looking thoughtful. “Under safe conditions.”

Liz grins. “Unless there’s someone in your real life, what’s holding you back?” she asks, somewhat suggestively.

You glare daggers at your best friend. “No.”

Jimin is already pulling on his hat though, adjusting his computer bag across the panes of his chest. “I have to go,” he apologizes, gaze flicking to you. “Good luck, Y/N.”

Then he’s gone, winding his way through tables and striding out library doors.

“Thanks a lot,” you groan, lowering your head to your hands.

Liz exhales, the noise gentle. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry about that – it just kind of… came out.”

You peer at her through your fingers. “Ass.”

Liz cracks a hopeful smile. “You still love me, right?”

Groaning, you slide down further in your chair. “I guess. But you owe me big – Chipotle,” you announce, lowering your hands to the wood. “And guacamole.”

Thanksgiving comes and goes.

It’s startling, the speed with which winter vacation arrives. One moment it’s November and you’re relaxing, thinking you have an entire month before the semester ends. Then you’re back from break and it’s the second of December and somehow there are only two weeks before final exams. You hole up in various study locations – the library, your apartment, the third to last table in the dining hall. Anyplace you can find, for some peace and quiet.

You would be stressed, would be freaking out if it weren’t for your mystery man’s messages at the end of each day.

Mr.Ree: I just want to say – I’m not always serious.

Lips quirking, you set down your pencil in the dining hall.

Chem Miss: Oh? Tell me a joke, then

Mr.Ree: On the spot?

Chem Miss: I’m waiting

Mr.Ree: Okay. Did you hear about the man cooled to absolute zero?

Chem Miss: …

Mr.Ree: He’s 0K now

Chem Miss: dear lord

Mr.Ree: Ahem. Do you know any jokes about sodium?

Chem Miss: Na

Mr.Ree: Okay, you knew that one. But why do chemists like nitrates so much?

Chem Miss: Idk, you’ve got me there

Mr.Ree: because they’re cheaper than day rates!

Chem Miss: hahahah

Chem Miss: okay, fine that was funny

Mr.Ree: see, I told you. I’m hilarious. Tell me how funny I am

Chem Miss: You’re soooo funny. You should have your own show, book, a web series even.

Paused in your typing, you lean away from the screen to rub at your temples and wonder what you’re doing. You don’t know how this happened; it’s hard to concentrate on studying, when you keep glancing at your screen every five minutes. Then you look at your phone, iPad – anywhere for his messages, his words.

You don’t even know him and yet – somehow you do? It’s odd. Odd, falling for someone you’ve never even seen and yet, here you are. Seated on a bench in the dining hall, attention equally divided between an unsubstantiated person online and an unattainable one in real life.

The last class of the semester, it is Jimin who lectures. There is no new material to teach, just a general review and questions but Jimin stands at the podium, fingers tapping the edge of the wood.

“No,” he answers, shaking his head at someone in the back of the classroom. “It is not enough to give a solution on the matter. You must also offer guidance to its execution.”

Your head snaps upwards, recognizing the topic.

The guy who asked the question seems peeved. “But why?” he complains, shifting around in his seat. “The point of this class is innovation, right? Why isn’t it enough to create the solution and allow others to practicalize?”

“Because,” Jimin leans in, eyes narrowing. “What kind of responsibility do you hold for your own research? In the lab, you’ll discover many things – some on purpose, some will not. When you come across something which could change the world – isn’t it your duty to ensure it’s a better one?”

The classroom becomes still, barely anyone moves as Jimin surveys the lot of you. “You must include implementation along with a solution, or your final grade will show it.” Gathering his papers on the podium, Jimin refuses to make eye contact. “Are there any more questions?”

The class is nearly over and when no one raises a hand, Jimin looks up. “Good. Don’t forget to send in professor evaluations before the end of next week. You’ll receive one point of extra credit on the exam for each review.”

Excited murmurs follow this statement as you push to stand. You glance backwards when you leave, but Jimin doesn’t look your way. He’s concentrated on his work, and you eventually you just look ahead.

For a moment, his words almost sounded like yours. It sounded like that post on your blog and for a second, you consider the idea that he may have read it. You brush this thought aside immediately, though. There are so many people in this world, so many people on the internet that logically, statistically – there’s no way Jimin read your blog.

Logically, there is just no way.

The final exam is as difficult as you thought it’d be; two and a half hours full of questions, essays and practical application. You feel slightly dizzy turning in your test at the end of the alloted time, handing Jimin your paper and completely ignoring the smile he gives.

You’re not the last one to finish, meaning Jimin is forced to stay put. He gathers the exams on his desk and stares at the clock. Drumming his fingers against wood and wishing time would move faster. He wishes this semester would be over, because then – he’ll be free.

You and Liz celebrate Friday by getting drunk. A bottle of wine each, dancing in your living room and eventually moving your dancing to the bars. It’s the firsttime you can remembering dancing – actually dancing – for the first time in a while, that carefree, fuck-it-all kind of letting loose you did back in undergrad. Now that your degree is underway, you can finally start doing the research you imagined. You can finally start helping the world and its people in the way you imagined.

When you arrive home, you’re more than a little tipsy; wiping your face free of makeup to collapse on top of your pillows. Yanking out your laptop, you scroll through YouTube, scan through your blog and realize Mr.Ree hasn’t responded. It’s been a couple days since you last heard from him, so you shoot him a message.

Chem Miss: hey?? U okay?

Then you exit, blushing when you see the evidence of your iMessages to Liz.

Liz: But like, I’m so sad the class is over [10:02 PM]

Y/N: what? Why? LOL [10:03 PM]

Liz: I never got to tell Jimin exactly what I wanted to do to that body of his. It’s a shame [10:04 PM]

Y/N: LIZ [10:05 PM]

Liz: PLEASE, LIKE U WOULDN’T HIT THAT. LIKE YOU WOULDN’T GET ON YOUR KNEES [10:06 PM]

Y/N: fuck. No. I mean, maybe. [10:07 PM]

Y/N: I mean, maybe I’d let him spank me and tell me what a good girl I am. [10:07 PM]

Y/N: but that doesn’t mean I like him [10:08 PM]

Liz: LMFAO, oh my god you must be drunk. [10:09 PM]

Liz: ok that’s it, that’s the sign we should head to the bars [10:09 PM]

Your face heats up re-reading it. Thinking about Jimin in that way, his lower lip between his teeth while his hands slide up your body. Before you can stop yourself, you’re closing out of the tab, staring blankly when you see the half-filled performance evaluation before your eyes.

At the top, in bold red letters it reads:

THIS EVALUATION IS ENTIRELY ANONYMOUS.

You glance behind you. The room spins slightly, shifting shift your weight on your bed to move the cursor towards comments. You filled everything else out earlier, this is the only thing left because at the time, you didn’t have the faintest idea what to write.

Slowly, you start typing.

Park Jimin has, without a doubt, the best ass I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing. It’s a truly incredible feat of nature but it’s only my second favorite thing about him. I love the way he talks about science – it’s hot af. There was this one day, when he was discussing the potential for artificial cell membranes in the creation of molecular systems and I swear, there’s never been anything sexier. Every sentence from his lips is poetry – and that’s what science is, isn’t it?  Back to Park Jimin’s lips. I couldn’t see him behind that podium without imagining fucking him on it. Hands sliding up my chest, head between my legs – I guess what I’m trying to say is you need a different TA. One who isn’t as gorgeous, smart and witty as Park Jimin – because I honestly couldn’t concentrate the entire semester.

*I still can’t concentrate.

Pulling back, you stare at your own words on the screen. Blinking, some of your drunken haze clears and you realize there’s no way this can be sent. Absolutely not – when you move to erase, your thumb accidentally brushes enter.

“Oh my god,” you inhale, staring in panic while the cursor turns to a spinning wheel. “No. No. No!”

But then – sent. The completed page blinks back at you, mocking in its simplicity. You stare at this for a long moment before breathing, “Shit.”

The next ten minutes are spent frantically combing through Google, searching for a way to retract the survey, but there’s none. Once the survey is sent – that’s it. Pushing your laptop aside, you lower your face to your pillows and silently scream, resigning yourself to complete and utter embarrassment.

The one comfort you have is the survey is anonymous. There’s no reason for Jimin to think it was you and, slightly cheered by this thought, you manage to asleep.

Hoefully once you wake, things will have magically fixed themselves.

They haven’t.

The next morning you bolt upright, head spinning when you remember what you’ve done. Stumbling from bed, you head into the bathroom and brush your face and teeth, staring into the mirror as you reign in your emotions. The survey is anonymous, Jimin can’t know it was you. Except – you can’t remember all that you said. What if you wrote something which gave yourself away?

You can’t stand it – you need to know. You need to get that survey back.

It takes the rest of the morning to feel well enough to leave the apartment. You exit into your living room, grateful Liz hasn’t ventured outside of her room because the less witnesses to your humiliation – the better.

Pulling on a coat, you exit the building and begin the short walk to Jimin’s apartment. He said it was in Yoongi’s apartment building, so that’s what you’re banking on. You plan on lying, plan on telling him someone submitted a joke review in your name and see if he can throw it out without reading. You just can’t handle Jimin thinking it was you because he’s never once expressed that kind of interest – Jimin would probably be appalled, if he read the submission you sent.

Groaning out loud, you hasten into the cold. The night of Yoongi’s party, Jimin mentioned living in the same building. He also mentioned his apartment number, due to a story about a rather unfortunate mailbox mix-up. This probably wasn’t what he intended you use that information for when he told you but oh, well.

There’s no one present when you enter the lobby. Instead of waiting for the doorman, you head straight towards the elevators and ride to the fifteenth floor only to pause on the landing. You pace back and forth outside Jimin’s apartment before finally gathering the courage to knock.

There’s a long pause. A horrible moment where you wonder if Jimin is even home; maybe he already left for Christmas or – you nearly groan at the thought – maybe he has a girlfriend, or something. You never thought to ask. Maybe Jimin is at her place right now, laughing about some love-obsessed review he got in –

The door swings open. Jimin stands in the entrance, dressed in a navy sweater and jeans. His hair looks tousled, eyes going wide when he recognizes your face. “Y/N?” he asks, looking past you to the hall. “What are you doing here?”

You glance down at the ground, shifting your weight on your heels. “I – uh. Can I come in?”

Jimin raises his eyebrows but nods, opening his door further to allow you entrance. “Sure.”

Stepping inside, you’re not sure what you expected. Jimin’s place is – well, a kind word for it would be messy. Your eyes widen because you thought someone as articulate, as put together as Jimin is, would have his apartment in order as well. Gingerly, you set your purse down on his counter to face him.

Crossing both arms, Jimin leans against his now-closed door. “What’s up?”

It’s hard not to smile, since you’ve never heard Jimin be so informal. “Well,” you stop, shaking your head. “Fuck. This is going to sound stupid.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “From you? I doubt it.”

“No,” you mumble, looking down to where your fingers press anxiously together. “It will.”

A long moment passes, as Jimin steps away from his door. “Would you like some water?” he asks, moving into the kitchen. “It might help with whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

You nod, watching him walk past. Jimin is barefoot, his sweater not tucked into his jeans and he pulls a glass from a cabinet, sticking it under the faucet. “For you,” he offers, handing it over.

“Thanks.”

Unsure what else to do, you sit down on his stool and take a long sip of water to avoid meeting his gaze. It’s the first time you and Jimin have been alone since office hours, the first time he’s really looked at you since the party.

Jimin leans his elbows to the counter. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Your review,” you blurt out, surprising Jimin. “My review was hacked,” you mumble, grip tightening on the glass. “I know they’re anonymous but someone submitted mine and uh, I don’t know all that they wrote but it wasn’t entirely appropriate.”

Jimin’s eyebrows arch higher. “No?” he asks, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was amused. “But,” Jimin postures, blinking innocently. “If you don’t know what they said, how would you know it wasn’t appropriate?”

Your mouth goes suddenly dry. “I – well, they said that it wasn’t.”

“Hm.” The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts, pulling out his phone. “How nice of them, to prank you and then give a heads-up.”

You shift awkwardly in your seat and while Jimin is searching, you glance down at your phone. Anything – anything to distract you from this moment. There’s blinding silence between you, while he looks for your survey. When you look at your screen, you see an icon blink in the corner – it’s a message from your blog.

Mr.Ree: I’m sorry I was MIA! I’m alright, just busy, it was exam week for the class I assistant professor for. Had a lot of exams to grade.

As you read this, you pulse slows. You stare at the message, unsure if you’re seeing things, staring at the words and trying to comprehend but – there’s no way. It must be a coincidence; has to be, since this can’t be Jimin.

Suddenly unsure though, you type slowly back.

Chem Miss: I like your sweater. The color really brings out your eyes    

You press send.

Almost immediately, Jimin’s phone chimes and he looks down, frowning – before freezing in place. Jimin stares at his phone for a while before slowly, lifting his gaze to yours.

“You,” he breathes, glancing back at the app. “It’s… you?”

Nodding, you’re unable to think of a response; unable to think of anything, really, beyond Jimin. Jimin – Mr.Ree – are the same person. This whole semester, you thought you were falling for two people and really, you were falling for the same.

Slowly, you let your phone fall to the counter. “It’s me,” you whisper, nodding in response. “I’m Chem Miss.”

Jimin looks up, blinking rapidly. “You’re – fuck,” he exhales, dragging both hands through his hair. “I’ve been crushing on you all semester,” Jimin blurts, meeting your gaze. “From the second I walked into class, then at the party – I just barely stopped myself from kissing you. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life but I stopped myself. I took a step back and tried not to know you. I stopped finding excuses to be around you but, oh god,” Jimin groans, head lowering to his hands. “I was so bad at it, so transparent. Could you really not see?” he demands, lowering his hands now to look at you.

Jimin’s expression is pained, out of control. It’s nothing like the calm man you’ve known all semester and mutely, you shake your head.

“I almost told you,” Jimin confesses, voice hoarse. “So many times, but – your education, your class. I couldn’t do that to you, couldn’t tell you I wanted you because I needed to remain impartial.”

“But,” you struggle to understand. “You’re also Mr.Ree? How?”

Jimin shakes his head, dazed. “Coincidence. I know that’s a crappy answer, but it’s the only one I have. I’ve been following your blog for some time and that day, that post – I just had to message you. I,” Jimin sighs, smile breaking out over his face. “I just can’t believe that it’s you.”

His words. His words are everything you feel, crashing over. His words are dragging you under, dashing you against rocks only to pull you back to the surface. Barely aware of what’s happening, you slide down from his stool.

“You,” you pause, struggling to hide your smile. “You should probably know I was the one who submitted that review. I was drunk and it was stupid, but I was the one who submitted it.”

Jimin’s eyes darken, sliding a finger over his lock button. “I know,” he admits, looking back down. “I already read it this morning. Tell me,” Jimin adds, voice dropping a notch. “Did you really mean what you wrote?”

“Which part?” you ask, just as quietly.

Jimin’s fingers search for the part he’s looking for. “Did you really,” he murmurs, suddenly tense. “Think about fucking me on that podium?”

Your throat dries. “I –”

When Jimin looks up, his smile is wicked. “I’m afraid I don’t have a podium in my apartment,”  he responds, taking a step around the counter. Then another, walking until he’s before you. You nod – just once, for his hands to push into your hair, lips dropping to graze the edge of your cheek.

“Jimin,” you exhale, arms finding his neck. You can’t believe it’s him, can’t believe he’s here, finally touching you. Jimin’s teeth lightly skim your jaw, hands tilting your head carefully to the side. “Yes,” you groan, when he presses you to his counter. “Every day I thought about it – fuck.”

Jimin chuckles before pulling away. “I don’t know what to say,” he confesses. “I’ve spent so long falling for you, now that you’re here, I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” you murmur, lifting to press your lips to his. The moment is brief, sweet; enough to take your breath away. “Just kiss me.”

Jimin’s mouth opens, lips searing as he pulls you into him. His hands find your hair, pushing this backwards while his teeth catch your bottom lip between his. Jimin’s touch is near-painful before he releases you, hands roaming your backside to cup you rough from behind. His hips press to your pelvis, relishing the sudden noise that you make.

His thighs nudge aside your own, pushing your legs apart while shoving the coat from your shoulders. “No,” Jimin murmurs, brushing a kiss to your collarbone. “This, off.” His hands slide underneath your sweater, pushing it up and overhead. “This, too.”

Jimin stares, hands sliding to your ribcage. He cups your breasts in his palms, teasing until your nipples are hard and erect. “Jimin,” you moan, legs pressed together.

Jimin looks up. “Wet, already?” he murmurs, hand sliding to your legs. You’re still wearing your jeans so Jimin’s fingers slide backwards, tracing circles over your sex before he bends, trailing kisses along your collarbone. His lips are bruising, tongue and teeth sure to mark but you find you don’t mind, moaning at each sensation he brings – it’s already too much, and he’s barely begun. Jimin’s hand finds your jeans, deftly undoing a button, then another before pushing them down your legs.

His sweater is next, but you barely have time to appreciate before he’s bending to grip your thighs. Jimin lifts you quickly, your core sliding over his stomach as he moans, biting down on your ear. “Fuck,” he hisses, walking the two of you backwards. “I can feel how wet you are.”

Your legs hook over the curve of his ass, hands sliding into his hair while you kiss him. “It’s been a very long semester,” you murmur, groaning when Jimin shifts your weight. “I told you that in my review, didn’t I? I’ve been staring at your ass for a while.”

Jimin grins, shoving open the door to his room. “What do you want?” he murmurs, hands gripping your thighs.

Your gaze moves lower, to where his front meets your body. “Sit on the edge of the bed,” you instruct, voice soft.

Jimin obeys, sliding you until you’re standing before him. He turns, gracefully depositing himself on the edge of his mattress. “What now?” he asks, leaning back on his hands.

“Jeans off,” you demands, watching him slide his belt free of the loops. He drops this sideways, pushing his jeans past his hips as you stare, at the sight of Jimin in boxer-briefs and nothing more. He sits spread on his bed, as you walk carefully forward.

Reaching the bed, you kneel first one knee, then the other over his lap. Balancing your hands on Jimin’s shoulders, you slowly sit to grip his arms tight. Shifting your weight, you smile at the intake of breath he makes. Jimin’s hands slide to your waist for balance – and then you move, rolling your hips as the length of his cock gradually harden.

“Ah,” you groan, grinding harder against his thighs. “You’re so hard,” you whisper, brushing your lips to his neck. “Just imagine what you’ll feel like inside me.”

“Imagine?” Jimin bites down on your collarbone, finger sliding between your legs. He pulls aside your underwear, gently stroking over your sex. “Why imagine?”

When his finger enters, you gasp, arching upwards to allow him better access. He pushes up while you ride him, one finger sliding in and out as Jimin’s thumb brushes your clit.

You grind harder, panting slightly when Jimin pulls back and you whimper at the loss, until Jimin flips you onto the bed. “Spread your legs,” he commands.

Obeying, you push your legs to either side for Jimin to kiss the top of your thigh. His fingers slide beneath your panties, dragging down your legs to throw on the ground. Jimin sits back, openly staring at your naked body before him. “You have such a pretty cunt,” Jimin murmurs, lowering himself to his elbows. He pauses. “Do you like dirty talk?”

Nodding, your excitement grows at the thought.

“Good,” Jimin exhales, sliding his lips up your leg. “Because you’re so fucking wet, it’s driving me crazy. Your pussy looks so tight,” he murmurs, two fingers sliding between the folds of your sex. He edges you gently, two fingers teasing just the edge of your clit. It’s enough that you moan, pushing your pelvis up into the palm of his hand.

Jimin takes his time, fingers sliding back down. He dips into your wetness, tracing circles for you to open further beneath him. “Jimin,” you moan, hands fisting in his sheets. “Please.”

“Please?” Jimin smirks. “No. Raise your hands over your head.”

You do as commanded.

“Now arch your back,” Jimin exhales, watching your breasts rise. “Ah, fuck. Good girl,” he smiles, resuming circling your clit. “Do you want my mouth? I can’t wait any longer to taste you.”

When you nod, Jimin’s head disappears between your thighs. His lips close over your sex as he sucks, sliding one finger back while your hips arch up in response. He enters you again, licking a slow circle around your clit. Your entire body tenses, grinding messily upwards as Jimin tugs your clit between his lips. He traces his tongue over you harshly before adding a second finger.

“Fuck,” you moan, as the relentless pleasure continues. “Ji-min,” you gasp out his name.

“I’m not done yet,” he mutters, biting down on his lip. “So fucking sweet, I swear.”

He resumes his motion, paying attention to your clit; treating it delicately, and then not at all. He spreads you, licks in slow circles before flattening his tongue and dragging upwards. The entire time he fucks you with his fingers, curling them up and in with each tease.

Your chest rises, arching while Jimin pulls back to look at you. His hands slide up your body, unhooking your bra to toss this aside. Jimin moves until his lips find your nipple, flicking lightly while his hand reaching between your thighs and spreads your legs. Somewhat breathless, you yank his face upwards, kissing him eagerly while your hands wander his body. As you push his shorts past his ass, Jimin moans in approval.

He shoves them the rest of the way off, dropping between your legs as his hair falls into his eyes. Reaching down for his cock, you find him hard and erect against your stomach. You tease your thumb over the tip, gathering precum before sliding this back down his shaft. Jimin’s eyelids flutter at the motion, lips parting in response.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, voice taut. “Your hands are so perfect, fuck. Touch yourself,” he breathes, opening his eyes to watch your hand slip between your legs.

“Like this?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yes, Y/N,” Jimin nods, catching your lower lip with his own. He pushes his cock into you, hitting your stomach. “Please, let me fuck you. I want to be inside you so badly.”

Nodding eagerly, you pull back long enough for Jimin to grab a condom. He rolls this onto himself, keeping his gaze on you while you look at his hands, stroking over his cock. It’s hard to stop the noise you make and Jimin slides his hands from your ankles to thighs, finding your center and aligning his member. He pulls your hips forward, barely pausing a moment before sinking inside.

Inch by inch, your legs widen as Jimin enters. His cock is hard, thick in a way which fills every need that you have. Jimin gathers you to him, burying himself further and when he finally stops, it’s hard to gather a response. He fits so perfectly inside, his hips aligned to your own.

“Oh,” Jimin moans, lips tracing your jaw to your neck. “Your pussy is so fucking tight. So wet. Ah, I’ve never had a cunt as good as yours, Y/N.”

You exhale needily. “Fuck, Jimin,” you groan, as he slowly withdraws, “You’ll make me come, if you keep talking like that.”

He smirks, sliding back in, rolling his hips to hit a new spot. Then another and, hearing the noise that you make – Jimin keeps going. He buries himself in you again and again, thrusting until you’re biting his shoulder to keep from screaming.

“Please, Jimin,” you moan, snapping your hips upwards. “Faster.”

Jimin withdraws, slamming in and making you grunt. His speed becomes a punishing, relentless thing while he lifts your legs to drape over his shoulders. Jimin moves even faster, gaze darkening when he sees himself disappearing inside you. He enters you over and over, reaching down to lazily stroke a finger against your sex.

“Come for me, baby,” Jimin murmurs, fucking you harder; deeper, as his fingers circle your clit. “I want to see your face when you come, god – I’ve thought about that for so long.”

You arch upwards, as his fingertips slide against you.  You’re so wet, tight and when he bends to take a nipple in his mouth, everything tightens around him. “Jimin,” you gasp, pulling him closer, “Fuck – Jimin.”

The force of your orgasm makes you see stars, darkness dancing on the edge of your vision while you surrender to him. Jimin continues thrusting, hard and fast until he comes as well. Body collapsing on the sheets, his chest curves over yours until you both catch your breath.

Gently, Jimin pulls himself from your body; removing the condom, to drop this into the can. “Come here,” he murmurs, falling beside you. Jimin’s hair is messy, chest entirely bare and you curl yourself eagerly into him. He wraps his arms around your waist, pressing lips to your forehead in response.

After a moment, you look up. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”

“Ah, no,” Jimin mumbles, rolling over to grab them from his bedside. He pulls back triumphantly, sliding them onto his nose. “On the weekends, sometimes I don’t wear them at all.” Jimin smiles at you, pulling you close. “There.”

His leg slips between yours, sheets cool while your breathing slows to match his. “You really liked me this whole time?” you ask him, fingers intertwining.

Jimin nods. “For so long,” he whispers, lips pressing to yours. “And now that you’re here, you’re not leaving.”

You giggle in response, kissing his nose. “What about food, and stuff?” Jimin growls in response and though you laugh, your smile quickly fades. “But what about the course, Jimin? What about my grades?”

Jimin’s shrugs, thumb sliding over your side. “The course is now over,” he informs. “I handed in my grading to Dr. Stephens yesterday. You’re not under my tutelage anymore.”

“Ah,” you smile, pressing closer. “Then there’s nothing stopping me from staying here, is there?”

“Nothing,” Jimin murmurs, nuzzling his face to your neck. “So, will you?” he asks, body tensing. “Will you stay with me?”

You’ve never been more certain of an answer before. “Yes.”

© kpopfanfictrash, 2017. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[princehcmlet]

Hi Guppy! I'm May, an Admin for CHVRCHESrp. Would you be willing to give us an opinion? Thank you for your consideration!

I’d be glad to give you an opinion, May! DISCLAIMER - everything said in this is just an opinion, if something seems insensitive I’m just trying to give my opinion honestly. Alright, let’s start with the icon (which I can see as the favicon on the blog). From what I can make out it is a wing with text over it. I think that you could take out the overlaying bar of text, and just write the initial of “churches” as a “C” in a dark colored, bold text over the wing. This would make icon much more simple and clear up what it is. Now for the main theme, I like how simple it is, but the detail of the church in the header, and the white, gray, red color scheme makes it feel heavenly or even hellish with the red. The only thing that bothers me is the embossed stroke effect and the transparent red. I would prefer, personally, for it to be a darker, straight, non-embossed stroke that is closer to the maroon you have set as an incorporation of you color scheme already. Red is such a difficult color to work with in graphics, and it looks a lot more professional and beautiful (to me at least) when it is a darker maroon/deep red, and when it is not embossed out. Otherwise, the theme is very organized, I think you could shorten your timeline (even though it does show each of the milestones of the story, maybe there could be a better location where they’re listed?), this also applies for the event dates, because it goes all the way back to 2016, which it’s always nice to update and keep things tidy with spring cleaning. You could always create an archive sideblog that has a page of events and what occured, the progression of the storyline, and leave the main to the most current updates and upcoming/past events? 

For now I’ll be talking more about the plot of the rp, the organization of information, and pages that contribute to that. Your navigation is very well put together, and I think all the links are very fitting. It allows players to click through links for every step of the rp. Now to touch on the plot, which I love that you’ve separated it into seasons. It gives a full detail of what has happened, and lets new players in on what’s happened in the past. While the plot is very interesting and full of details, it does feel a bit diluted. By that, I mean that there are so many details and characters to keep track of that by the end I had more questions than answers. I think maybe before the plot (in another tab section) you could have a list of terms, people, and character information that is important to understand the plot. For example, it would’ve helped to clear up if Lucifer and Satan were the same person because I did not understand that well. And also, because the characters were very specific to the group, it would have been helpful to add their descriptions beforehand so I wouldn’t have to go searching through the blog for their information/bios/players. Another question I had was about the Church of Saints and Sinners. I’m guessing from the names that the Saints revere the God that died from illness/angels and that the Sinners revere Satan/Lucifer/demons, but this is something that is not made clear in the plot. Or if it was made clear I missed it. You have something really good going for yourself because the plot is very original, but I feel like it was a little confusing to follow or understand some points that are not gone over in much depth. I should be able to understand most if not all the rps components without having to go onto several different pages. However, your powers page helped me gain a lot more understanding with each of the character types and how they fit into the story line. I still think it would be worth it to add short summaries at the beginning of the plot, so if you happen to click the plot first, like I did, you won’t be confused continuing to go through the links. Similar to the power types page, the churches page gives more information, but still I want to know if they worship a specific deity in each of the churches, that is still unclear to me at least. Continuing on, I love this unique style of Events and Tasks you’ve created, as well as the way you’ve developed your point system. I’ve never seen this done before, and I applaud the admins on this idea. Nothing bad to say there. Your page for characters is also very organized and easy to get around. I like the way the page is set up so that the players will have plenty of open opportunity to develop their character because there is no full restricting bio, but the characters still have pieces that make them standout! I can say nothing bad about the characters. I like your use of diversity in faceclaims, both underused and frequently used. 

Let’s talk about the rules and the application. I’ll start with the application, which . For your rules, I think that you should move this rule “Once accepted, please adhere to game canon, including bios, posted information, and your accepted application,” into it’s own bullet point. It doesn’t quite relate to the section before about the OOC blog. I also think it would be nice to move the OOC rules you have on the checklist over to the main rules page anyways (that way it’s note broken up and if it’s left in the checklist it’s just an important restatement of the rules). If more of the OOC rules were on the main rule page, I think it would feel a lot more complete, otherwise all your rules are very clear and helpful to players. I think the application is fine, too, it’s in basic form! 

I’ll wrap this up with the other pages and sidenotes. As for the checklist, it was very nice to include all the needed links. It’s also very organized, but I still think that the OOC rules (and even maybe the IC rules) should just be on the main rule page. That way it keeps everything a bit more organized and, unless you’re restating important information to the players, makes it feel like less information to sort through. This is more of a sidenote, but I see that your main tag to track is just “chvrchesrp”, which makes sense to keep everything in one place, but it’s a personal thought that it might get cluttered with starters, tasks, activities, admin posts, etc., and therefore get very hard to sort through. So, it might be nice and more organized to develop separate tags for specific information. And let me know if I just missed the other tracked tags, but I swear I went through your navigation several times for a page! Otherwise, checklist looks good. I really love the cohesive themes from each of the pages, I think that the locations page is really lovely, the way you set up your masterlist is wonderful, too, and I like the admins page which gives us more detail into you as admins. The only page that I take issue with is the weather page, which while an important detail seems insignificant and like something I, as a player, wouldn’t want to have to go into the navigation to look for it. I’d suggest replacing that page with something else, and just adding another sidebar place with widgets you can just incorporate into your theme. If you end up going through with this idea of moving the widget to another section of the main theme, I can suggest a few websites for that. Otherwise, the worldbuilding you’ve created is relevant (especially with the other blogs of the radio, the musing blog, and so on). This is just another personal sidenote, I think you should call the “customs” tab on the navigation “custom roles”, take it off when the roles are all filled, move the link to the top of the application/rules, or possibly something else? When I first read it I thought it might be some kind of etiquette or traditions section of the blog, but I was surprised to find out that it was actually targeted towards player-created characters.

So, before signing off, I’ll give my final thoughts. I think that this roleplay is fixed up with extremely dedicated admins who have most likely spent days and restless hours trying to formulate each piece of this roleplay. For that, I commend you and congratulate you for keeping a roleplay open for this long and for creating a unique property. The main points I struggled with when going through the blog is just how complicated it seemed and how much information there was. I am the kind of person who gets overwhelmed as a new player if I join in the game a bit late, or it there is already a lot that has happened. So, I think that the plot and the terms and keeping track of all the pages did become a bit engulfing and overpowering. So, I think it would be very, very helpful, if you as admins kept the main page as organized and tidy as possible, it would help new players feel more comforted in joining and allow old players to more easily look through past accomplishments. I had so much that I really didn’t get to talk about in this opinion, but I hope what I focused on helped to organize my thoughts a bit more and got through to the admins.

[loudest-subtext-in-tv]

Sherlock, EMP theory, and What Dreams May Come

[I have to preface this by making clear that I believe the BFI screening was fake – faker than it seems most people are considering. I don’t think they would give away any big reveals, including any of the following: TJLC, whether Mary or Moriarty are alive or dead, whether Mycroft was being strong-armed by Moriarty, whether Rosie was ever born, or whether EMP is the case. If EMP is the case, it’s intrinsically tied to Johnlock and all the rest so they have to film a separate plot. And yes, I do believe they would go so far as filming many scenes for a different plot line just to protect the reveal of all the big secrets they’ve kept for six years. For what it’s worth, out of all the things I listed this meta is almost entirely just dealing with Johnlock and EMP. So please don’t dismiss the parallels in this meta out of hand because of “spoilers” you may have heard.]

EMP theory (extended mind palace theory) argues that everything around the time Mary shot Sherlock through at least the beginning of TFP will have taken place in Sherlock’s mind while he lays dying in the hospital. Here is a link to the origins of the theory, which became an idea in January. I didn’t pay the theory much attention until T6T aired, when it suddenly seemed like the only explanation of all the facts.

In my opinion, one of the strongest arguments for EMP theory is the movie/novel What Dreams May Come. I haven’t read the novel so I’m doing this meta off the movie alone. 

To start:

Gatiss admires the writer, Richard Matheson, as @skulls-and-tea notes with this Tweet Gatiss made:

What’s the plot of What Dreams May Come? The protagonist is a married guy. He dies in a brutal car accident, and goes to heaven… but his wife, in her grief, kills herself and goes to hell. The protagonist then goes to hell to save his spouse. 

Remember when Sherlock was in this heavenly room that we know is not what Ella’s office actually looks like, wondering what to do about John?

And then, seemingly in answer to this question just afterwards, we see Sherlock watch the Miss Me? DVD, where Mary tells him what to do about John?

And how does one do that?

What exactly is hell, anyway? As @skulls-and-tea quotes Matheson in What Dreams May Come at the link above:

“Everyone’s Hell is different. It’s not all fire and pain. The real Hell is your life gone wrong.”

Sounds a lot like the plot of The Six Thatchers and The Lying Detective from Sherlock’s perspective: John clearly isn’t really into Mary and clearly wants to cheat with someone… but would rather be with anyone but Sherlock, even some rando from the bus; Sherlock can’t keep his vow to protect Mary or John; John blames Sherlock for failing to protect Mary and Sherlock thinks it’s deserved; Sherlock is so oblivious he fails to protect John from Sherlock’s own sister, etc.

Towards the beginning of What Dreams May Come, right before the car accident happens, the protagonist reflects in voice-over narration about the phone call he’d just had with his wife:

“I said, ‘I love you…’ I’ll always remember that. At least I got to say it.” 

But our story is a little different: Sherlock hasn’t gotten to tell John he loves him. If Sherlock were dying in a hospital, struggling to return back to the living to stop John from killing himself over Sherlock’s death, what thought just might wake Sherlock up?

The parallels I’m about to describe between BBC Sherlock and What Dreams May Come are pretty specific and insane. 

Do I have your attention yet?

What Dreams May Come begins with a brief section about Chris and Annie meeting, getting married, having two kids… and then their two kids die in a car accident. For four years, Chris and Annie support one another through their depression.

One day, on the anniversary of their kids’ death, Chris and Annie speak on the phone and he tells her he loves her. On the way home from work, he gets in an awful car accident while trying to save someone else. 

He makes it to the hospital, just like Sherlock…

But Chris dies in surgery because only the power of gay love can restart one’s heart. Sad, but it is what it is. :(

While dying, Chris thinks of his kids’ dog that got put down:

Remind you of anyone else who thought of a beloved dog being put down as he lay dying?

One of the first things Chris learns about being dead is that “dreams don’t deal in time. Time doesn’t count.” That’s why events just sort of float back and forth once he’s dead.

You know, just like how time gets all fucky once Sherlock gets shot. We start jumping months forwards and backwards in HLV after he gets shot; TAB jumps all over the place; so do T6T and TLD. And in the episodes that are supposed to be real, T6T and TLD, none of the time seems to add up coherently. For example, Sherlock’s birthday is supposed to be in January yet we know for a fact that at least a few months had to have passed since the Christmas Sherlock shot CAM… but certainly nowhere near a year (we’d have missed an entire Christmas, if so).

It’s also worth noting that Inception, another movie about dreams (and dreams within dreams) which seems to have been an influence on a Doctor Who Christmas special that Moffat wrote, posits the same thing: mere minutes in real life time can be hours, days, months, years in dream time.

Moving on. 

Remember that shot of Ella’s office from earlier?

Check out the stained glass imagery from Chris attending his own funeral:

Dying helps Chris see himself and lose his fear.

If EMPers are right, that’s exactly the purpose of Sherlock dying during all these episodes, and why it’s necessary for Sherlock to send himself to mind palace therapy. While people like to complain that “it was all a dream” would somehow make all the recent episodes pointless, that’s only the case when the writing is shitty and the writers are using a dream as a previously-unplanned excuse to escape from a dumb corner they’ve written themselves into.

That obviously wouldn’t be the least bit true for BBC Sherlock if you give it a thought: 1) this was planned since HLV (which I’ll get into in my big EMP meta), and 2) it’s because Sherlock is stuck inside his own head that Sherlock is enduring huge psychological struggles and coming out of them with real character growth. Not only will all that growth be present and necessary to the plot once Sherlock finally wakes up, it will probably be the reason he wakes up.

The entire point of having whole episodes in Sherlock’s head is for Sherlock to see himself clearly, for Sherlock and the audience to see plainly what he fears and how much he fears it. How else could we ever get a clear picture of a man who doesn’t allow himself to show much emotion, who keeps backing away from John because he thinks that’s what would make John happiest? Everyone agrees that Sherlock restarting his heart for John in his mind palace in HLV is a fantastic way to show Sherlock’s heart and character… but somehow several episodes of Sherlock fighting and succeeding to stay a good, selfless person even as his inner demons rip him apart is cheap and bad? What? 

Do people really think the mind of Sherlock Holmes, and the fears that plague his heart, would be simple enough to resolve in an episode or two? If so, I issue you a challenge: go write a story where you resolve your own issues with depression and intimacy in a 90 minute runtime. If you can do that, I trust you feel much better now and life should be splendid for you going forward. If not, then surely you see my point. We’re told Sherlock has demons, and we know from TAB that his mind is exceedingly complex.

Not to mention the audience gets to see the lengths Sherlock would go to for John, even when it’s unfair to himself. “Nicer than anyone,” indeed. How could anyone watch HLV, TAB, T6T, and TLD and come away thinking Sherlock is a sociopath? How could anyone watch Sherlock go through all that in his head and decide the romance is gross and evil because it’s gay? Have we ever seen that level of self-sacrifice and devotion from any other character in the history of literature, queer or otherwise?

Anyway.

After Chris sees Annie at his funeral, everything drifts along and he’s suddenly at their house. He looks at a painting Annie made of where they would retire one day, and I swear to god this next image is a painting of the character Chris from What Dreams May Come and not the result of John’s obsession with Sherlock bleeding into John’s art at one of those paint-and-drink-wine classes folks attend nowadays:

Dark hair, long coat billowing out behind him while he looks mysteriously into the distance. Again, that’s Chris.

Then Chris watches Annie write in her diary:

“Dear diary, I am writing in your bullshit pages because my shrink is crazier than I am. He thinks you’re therapy… He’s so stupid. He’s so stupid he thinks he pulled me through the breakdown when it was only Christy. Always. Only Chris.”

Remind you of John, Ella, and his blog? John was never happy writing his blog until Sherlock came along. And after Sherlock died, the way John coped was continuing to write about Sherlock. And then Sherlock came back from the dead, and John kept writing about him. 

Did the therapy ever really do anything for John? You don’t have to tell TJLCers that of course it didn’t. What made John happier was Sherlock. Otherwise, Ella’s assignment would have just had John writing about all the nothing that was going on in his life.

Chris tries to talk to Annie, but when she senses he’s there it fills her with intense grief. So he realizes that he’s got to leave her alone and go. He leaves her sobbing at his grave and goes toward the light.

Chris ends up in heaven, which looks like one of his wife’s beautiful paintings. You know, just like Sherlock’s mind palace when he was dying in HLV looked like the place where John shot the cabbie for Sherlock, other parts looked like the home he shared with John at 221b, etc.

And Chris’s dog – apparently a different dog from when he was a child – is there! He even jokes to himself that he screwed up and he’s in dog heaven. Oh, here’s a familiar shot:

Chris soon finds out that he’s creating all the things around him:

You know, just like EMPers allege Sherlock is doing, and just like we know for a fact was happening in TAB.

The person telling Chris this is Albert, an old friend who, like Chris, used to be a doctor. Check out one of the first lessons Chris has to absorb, after they discuss what part of a person defines them:

That’s right: dying is a way that Chris learns there’s more to what defines him than his brain. If EMPers are right, that’s the point of Sherlock being stuck in a coma for several episodes: he’s got to reassess his priorities, and confront his fear of embracing things other than pure rationality.

And look what happens next! Albert shows him that Chris’s house, in this place, can do all sorts of weird shit:

Remind you of any promo pics? Like… nearly all of the ones in the countdown to S4 had backgrounds of the wall of 221b crumbling? To save space, here’s one for the upcoming The Final Problem:

Meanwhile, in real life Annie is painting things and feeling like Chris can still hear her and see her paintings. And it’s true, those things do bleed into Chris’s experience of heaven. He sees Annie and a purple tree she just painted:

We know from TAB that the “real world” can bleed into Sherlock’s mind palace as well – though of course EMPers say even those parts of TAB aren’t real:

This bleed-through mechanic is why I suggested after T6T that John was not crying over Mary’s death, but crying over Sherlock’s bedside in real life when he thought Sherlock was going to die. That’s why he says, “Don’t you dare, you made a vow, you swore it.” Not because John absurdly blames Sherlock for Mary’s death, but because on John’s wedding day Sherlock made a vow to always be there for John. John’s angry and desperate because Sherlock is dying.

After all, as @tjlcisthenewsexy, @doomsteady, and @impatient14 discuss here, the Samarra story that bookends T6T seems to actually be about Sherlock trying to rewrite his own death after getting shot by Mary, not just Sherlock trying to stop Mary’s life from catching up with her. When Norbury shoots at Sherlock, it’s a lot like when Mary shoots at him, and Norbury is a mirror for Mary – plus as @themanandthemachine points out, she even uses the same gun as Mary.

Anyway, back to the field with the purple tree and Annie. How does Chris get back to her? By jumping off a waterfall, of course:

The parallel to ACD seems like a good candidate for why Mofftiss would think to incorporate What Dreams May Come into Sherlock, just like the poison scene from The Princess Bride is an ACD allusion in a story about a guy surprising the love of his life by revealing he didn’t actually die.

Anyway.

Once Chris gets to where Annie had been standing, she’s gone. So he has this exchange with Albert:

Albert: “You and Annie… a long courtship?” 

Chris: “No, actually. From the very first moment, it was like–”

Albert: “Soulmates. It’s extremely rare, but it exists. Sort of like twin souls, tuned in to each other.

Sounds a lot like how TJLCers read John and Sherlock’s first couple of days together.

Later, Chris wakes up in a place with some couches and chairs, flooded with water:

Kind of like this promo shot:

Soon it’s revealed that Chris’s dead daughter has been masquerading around in heaven as an adult East Asian woman with an entirely different name. She says things his daughter would know and say. You know, just like EMPers say that Sherlock is imagining people like Faith and Norbury and Culverton etc. representing other characters in Sherlock’s real life, saying things that those people would know and say.

The biggest mindfuck is that later Albert is revealed to actually be Chris’s son Ian, even though Chris really did know Albert in real life. Truly, the things EMPers suggest, such as Mary representing parts of Sherlock and so on, are not that strange compared to this movie Moffat and Gatiss have certainly seen.

Soon, we’re back with Annie, who’s working her way up to suicide. Here’s the self-harm marks:

Remember how Euros-as-Faith in TLD was a John mirror, with her walking stick and gun, coming to Sherlock’s flat saying Sherlock was her last hope? I argued that John’s suicidal attitude over Sherlock not waking up was bleeding into Sherlock’s mind, a reminder that he can’t give up on his own life and has to come back and save John.

Well, Sherlock observed that Faith was self-harming:

Sherlock doesn’t want her to kill herself, so he leaves the flat for the first time in weeks for a stranger that reminds him of John. He continues to freak out about suicide throughout the episode.

Annie kills herself, and Chris finds out that means she’s gone to hell. Albert tries to talk him out of it, but Chris insists on finding Annie.

Chris has to literally revisit sore memories in his psyche to get to Annie, just like Sherlock is having to do with Euros/Sherrinford. It’s part of going through hell.

There are lots of visuals of being doused in water on the journey, just like all the rain in Sherlock:

A guide in a boat tells Chris that the real danger of hell is “losing your mind.” Which corresponds pretty well with like, all of TLD.

Early into hell is when Albert is revealed to be Chris’s dead son Ian. Ian says he chose to be Albert to remind Chris to think about what he said to Annie to “bring her back” when Ian and his sister had died.

Perhaps Sherlock had to imagine Mary caring deeply for John simply because she’s the one in his memories who said, “Save John Watson" in TEH.

Later, in one of Chris’s memories, Annie says, “That’s my role: to bring adventure to your life.” A very John-and-Sherlock kind of relationship foundation.

Once they’re deep in hell, there’s a crumbling version of the home Chris and Annie shared together:

Consider again the promo shots with 221b crumbling. 

Then Chris’s guide says:

“Suicides can get pretty tortured, pretty committed to punishing themselves.” 

Recall Sherlock letting John beat the shit out of him in the morgue in TLD. Now, Sherlock’s not precisely a suicide given that he’s been shot, but he’s been coded as a suicide risk since the first episode. The EMP read on TLD is that Sherlock is dying in bed and trying to decide whether he wants to let go or not, hence the scenes with Sherlock saying, “I don’t want to die,” while in a hospital bed, and his ranting that suicides hurt the people who love you.

Chris’s guide, an old white dude, tells him that Annie is in the house, and what Chris must do is go open his heart to her and say what he needs to say. But then, in yet another mindfuck, the guide reveals that he’s the real Albert.

So, yeah: EMP theory is not very weird at all. Matheson did all this shit decades ago. Characters can stand-in for characters that already exist.

The inside of their old house is filled with water, again just like the promo pics of 221b for Sherlock:

The scene with Annie has some possibly relevant stuff. One quote that sticks out to me is this, which Chris says of himself:

“He pushed away the pain so hard, he disconnected himself from the person he loved the most.”

Definitely fits as commentary on Sherlock’s fear of sentiment and opening up.

Chris can’t totally get through to Annie, so instead he decides to stay with her in hell. He says, “Good people end up in hell because they can’t forgive themselves. I know I can’t.” Annie can’t forgive herself because she unreasonably blames herself for the death of Chris and their children both. Kind of like Sherlock blaming himself unreasonably for Mary’s death.

Annie finally accepts that Chris is there with her, some stuff happens, and eventually they both wake up in heaven together. They make out. Their dog and kids are there. They discuss being reborn and finding each other again, and they do. This stuff’s not really relevant, just heart-wrenching in a weirdly happy way.

The end.

[scouringsaucepans-blog]

Would You Just... Clean the Grill?

I am about to do something unconventional, radical, perhaps even heroic. I am about to clean the grill.

I know.

I hate cleaning the grill. I have always hated cleaning the grill. I remember childhood as one long uninterrupted stretch of wonder and joy, pretty much because I spent it never having to clean any grills.

At 15 I could be found in the kitchen of my family home, staring at the grill with tilted head, silently, like that dinosaur trying to comprehend existence in Tree of Life. Cleaning that grill must be a nightmare, I began to think. I’m glad that has nothing whatsoever to do with me.

At university I was appropriately adequate in many ways. I finished my assignments on time and washed my pots and only occasionally maxed-out my overdraft. But the grill was just not my domain. I found if I left it long enough someone else would get angry and clean it for me – and that person’s anger was always infinitely preferable to actually doing the grill myself.

But then university was over and I was living back at home, pretending I didn’t need a job because I was going to be the next Jack Kerouac, and suddenly my mother had decided the rules had changed.

She would return from work and I would hastily tab out of World of Warcraft, back to the Word document in which had been scrawled the same lousy four paragraphs for weeks, and my mother would come upstairs and ask how the writing was going, and I would squint at my lousy four paragraphs and say, Yes, good thanks, yes. And my mother would put her arm on my chair, and I wouldn’t say anything. And she would peer out of the window, and I wouldn’t say anything. And she would walk back towards the door, and my fingers would be hovering over the alt and tab keys, and she would be at the door, through it, gone – and then she would turn around, like fucking Colombo, and offhandedly ask if I would mind quickly cleaning the grill.

And I would stomp downstairs, muttering how the grill wasn’t even dirty, I hadn’t even used it, that Jack Kerouac never would have finished On the Road if he had been perpetually forced to clean grills like this, and I would get to the grill, and in fairness it would look like the back seat of the car in that scene in Pulp Fiction when John Travolta accidentally shoots Marvin in the face.

But I had meandering poetic romans-à-clef to be writing – or at least night elf druids to be levelling up – so I would do with that grill what Harvey Keitel had the mobsters do with that car in Pulp Fiction: I would gather up all the sodden old tin foil and throw it away, and then basically ensconce the grill pan and all the crumbs and congealed fat and bits of crisped bacon in new foil, so that if someone peered close the subterfuge would not hold, but from a distance any mum-cops in the area might be fooled. And then I would make cheese on toast and go back to World of Warcraft.

***

Of course now, a decade later, I’m a proper adult, which means I don’t even change the foil in the grill. I just leave it all and hope that, like hair, it will eventually start regulating itself.

Except the roguishly deprecating tone I’ve engendered here belies the truth of the situation, which is that I am miserable. My girlfriend will come in from her exhausting job as a pub manager – which job provides the flat in which we both reside – and I’ll hastily tab away from, I don’t know, a Wikipedia page detailing Captain America’s role in the 1982 Marvel comic book cross-over event Contest of Champions, say, back to the Blogger draft in which has been scrawled the same lousy four paragraphs for an eternity, and she, my girlfriend, will ask how the writing is going, and I will squint at my lousy four paragraphs and mutter, Yes, good thanks, yes.

And it’s all fucked. I don’t know what to write. If I’m not up for work or something that will let anyone but myself down then I’ll just stay in bed all day, and the flat is a tip, and I’ve got no clean socks, and I keep reading the first page of books and then throwing them aside, and there’s this weight pressing down on my chest that has been pressing down in some form or another for as long as I can remember, and it’s like everything is too heavy, I can’t lift any of it off, it’s all fucked…

And then here I am in the kitchen one day looking at all the dishes feeling the weight pressing down, and sort of slowly yet all at once it strikes me that although I can’t lift off the heavier weights, the ones about my career and my future and the apparent inexorability of my failure, there are smaller, more manageable weights that I could lift off, if I actually so desired, and one of these, perhaps the smallest, so small that it would almost be more ridiculous to not do it, is cleaning the grill.

So I am going to clean the grill.

***

And immediately I find I can breathe easier. Although, yes, only a minuscule weight, it is the first time anything has been lifted off rather than added in aeons, and it fills me with hope. Life is not so bad. You do little bits and they add up to big bits, and eventually you are free. The trick is to go slowly, and go easy on yourself. The grill today, then later I will watch Netflix, maybe have a beer, and I’ll be prepared to tackle more tomorrow.

But what will I watch on Netflix? Do they have Aliens on Netflix? I love Aliens so much. It’s not got the majesty of the original Alien, of course – what does? – but it is basically schlocky 80s B-movie as apotheosis. I tell you what, when you’re having a beer, a few beers, and watching Aliens – when those marines are running around in their bandanas, and Bill Paxton is shouting “Game over man, whoah man, we’re toast man,” and Michael Biehn is being Michael Biehn – when the alien queen detaches from her flaming egg sack – when that reveal comes of Ripley in her mech suit…

… Or is it Bill Pullman? Bill Paxton and Bill Pullman are similar, no? Is this a thing? Do people know about this?

I continue with such thoughts for about half an hour, until I realise I’ve spent all the reward from cleaning the grill but have as of yet not actually cleaned the grill, and that there is nothing left to do but go and clean the grill, and I instantly start feeling miserable again.

I motivate myself all over again, and head into the kitchen. To the cupboard where we keep the tin foil. There is no tin foil.

What the Paxton?

I swear, every time I try to drag myself out of this pit, God comes and puts some insurmountable obstacle in my way, like he doesn’t want me to succeed, like he wants me to stay suffering here forever. How are you supposed to fight against God?

No, Rob. Stop inventing deities to blame for your inability to complete basic household chores. Just go to the shop for more tin foil.

I go to the shop. Outside it is balmy, warm, wonderful, and everything feels great. I’m moving, life is happening, we can do this.

My cheeriness lasts for two and a half minutes, until I arrive at the shop and the lady points me to the wrong aisle for tin foil, and I decide the best course of action is to stand there pretending to choose from what is actually a selection of tinned goods until she disappears and I can go looking myself – except then the lady realises her mistake and comes jogging back, and I have to yell at her that It’s fine, it’s absolutely fine, I wanted butter beans anyway. Which I definitely didn’t.

Then at the counter I put my basket down before the woman in front has finished paying, and I don’t know what to do, whether to draw attention to the awkwardness by picking the basket up again, so I just hover there too close while the woman buys lottery tickets and chats to the cashier. I’m invading this chat, I think. My arms hang at my side like repugnant flippers. I can’t for the life of me remember how people are supposed to stand.

Finally, eight years later, it is my turn. I act too northern with the cashier to mask my embarrassment, but it comes off weird and I know she can tell I’m from the posh end of Sheffield, that I don’t belong here. All walk home I am distressed, gloomy. I think of others my age, struggling with promotions and babies and marriages, and here I am struggling to buy tin foil from a shop. I am wretched.

But the only thing more wretched, I decide as I return, would be to use my self-pity as an excuse to not clean the grill. I really am going to have to clean this grill.

So I get started – by planning out what I’ll do. First the dishes in the sink will need washing to make room. Which means actually first I’ll have to put the dry dishes away. I hate that this is a thing. Why don’t we just build kitchens with huge draining boards instead of cupboards, and then we could store dishes where they dry, thus removing a pointless and mundane job from existence? The same with clothes. Replace wardrobes with massive clothes horses, then we’d never again have to stress over folding t-shirts and the sides not being even and having to shake them out and try again, and finding pairs for all the socks, and staring at the wall as the light fades and the evening draws in, wondering whether it’s even worth being alive in such a bourgeois existence that apparently consists of nothing but putting possessions in drawers and then taking them out again, over and over, until death comes for us hunched and–

–Oh, that’s the dishes put away. Wasn’t so bad.

I wash the dishes in the sink. I wash the big roasting pan that we inexplicably store on top of the grill where it gets covered in dust and grease. I bet that was my girlfriend’s idea, I think. I find a better home for the roasting pan, on top of the highest cupboard where neither of us can reach.

Finally it is the grill’s turn. The old tin foil wilts in my hands. Underneath is a fatty pool of despair. I scrape out the pool with a spatula. I attack the grill pan with wire wool, green scourer, sponge. I attack the grill rack with same. I put it to dry.

I rinse out the empty wine bottles, the empty milk carton. I clean the hobs, the front of the oven, the kitchen tiles. I look around, panting. I do inside the sink, the back of the sink, wash out the cutlery tub with all the pond water in the bottom. I take out the recycling. I empty the cat’s litter tray, take the bins out, sweep the floor. I get it all done, do it all.

***

It is later. We’re watching Netflix. I tell my girlfriend I’m making a brew. I go to the kitchen, stand in the middle of the room, look around. The grill is gleaming. Everything is gleaming.

This will be easy, I think. All I have to do is apply today’s technique to every issue in my life that I’ve allowed to get on top of me over the past decade, and continue applying it every day for the rest of my life. Yes, I think. Easy.