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undercoverpena · 1 year

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arepas

javier peña x f!reader

summary: when you’re single, it’s complicated. messy. he can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him.

an: dedicated to the wonderful, the amazing @halfmoth-halfman - i told you that i'd write you something, and here it is. I hope it makes you smile as much as you make me smile. word count: 9.3k (sorry, not sorry) warnings: developing feelings, slow burn -> colleagues to friends to lovers. usual jo angst, but with lots of banter. fingering, p in v, angst, sweet ending, spoilers for narcos season two.

friend noun /frɛnd/ a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. "she's a friend of mine."

It starts in Bogotá.

His eyes rake over you—the new pretty secretary who won't meet his eyes as though you’d heard all about him.

It's why he waits. Biding his time before gracing your desk. A file in hand, leaning down—forcing your eyes to meet his. Javi's smirk almost eclipses his face, only doing so when you lift your chin and he finds your lips have slid so far up one side as you stare at his hand.

Agent Pe— I know who you are, Peña. Your reputation precedes you. Good things, I hope? Depends on who you ask.

You call him Peña all the time. Even as days slip into weeks, even if he insists you call him Javier or Javi. The tension building, thickening—just like a dish left on a hob.

He’s used to the whispers, but he’s not used to the ignorance. The way you don’t look at him like the others, instead always trying to find out what he needs from you, rather than what he wants.

It allows him the chance to study, to watch. Noticing the way you work, the way you converse easily with others and how you walk around the office like you barely notice him.

It wasn’t through a lack of trying why he hadn’t worsened his reputation. It wasn’t fear of fucking you, of muddying his place of work further—his focus, mission, objective wasn’t to keep the piece inside crumbling Colombian walls. It was more that the fact his usual tactics weren’t working even when his intention was there, clear as the sky on a sunny morning.

You seemed stressed. Aren’t we all, Peña? I know how to get around that… I’ve heard.

It’s not that your tongue is quick or icy—it’s that you do it all without looking at him. You bite back without lifting your eyes or turning to him when he stands beside you. An indifference he had usually woven under in the time you’ve been here, but finding troublesome with you.

So, he tries smiling when smoke swirls around the ceiling fan, and you drop a file off; he drops his voice when he bumps into you by the water machine, holding your sight—commanding it. Which is why he notices the irritation simmering in yours. Growing, and grating more so by his mere breath, never mind his words.

You don’t like me much. I don’t know you. You could. Know me. What would be the point, Peña? You don’t listen, you interrupt everyone, you fuck everything with a pulse— Tell me how you really feel, hermosa. I’m trying, but once again, you’re only half listening.

Determined—that’s how he was often described.

It was, for this reason, that he has poured so many of his years into catching Escobar. Why he’d looked for whores to get information, not banking on caring and emotions. It’s why he hadn’t looked for anything outside of a quick fuck, a friend, or a sense of belonging—he didn’t have another ounce left in him. It was all spent on the reason he was here: narcos.

There had been others, naturally. Not all bent to his charm, even if the majority did. He should add you to the list, to the small pile that had amassed through the building and beyond.

Javi doesn’t.

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working.

Purposefully, you’re a bag of mixed messages. Not because you decline him but because he cannot find a rational reason as to why. You’ve begun moving his paperwork up, but you flirt back. Flimsy, thin excuses find your tongue quicker when he invites you to drinks, not even just with him.

You’re confusing. A brand of difficult he hadn’t had the opportunity to circle before, something which bothers the shit out of him.

Which is why he’s coating his throat in whiskey—getting through his pack of Marlboro’s quicker than he usually would be in a bar like this.

Because, while he doesn’t get you, he hates work functions more. Despising with each growing minute that he’s at one.

He prefers to choose his company—paid or unpaid. And the sole reason he’d even gone in the first place was to get you to stop calling him Peña—and to keep the CIA away from you.

He ends up being successful at one of those things. It’s not that he wasn’t sure how to befriend women, just that he usually chooses not to. He ruins any possibility of it by turning on the charm, having their blouse in his fingers and his hand stuffed in their lace. Even for all his charm, it is hard to get them back on his side when he doesn’t call them, or mistakenly calls out the wrong name or avoids them.

It’s why he knows his name is dirt amongst several secretaries. He’s aware of how gossip spreads like wildfire amongst the secretaries, receptionists, file room assistants, watching it happen as their eyes glisten when he walks past, their whispers dropping an octave when he is within ears reach.

You don’t partake in it. Digging your pretty eyes into him rather than fluttering your eyelashes. You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas. You can wait like everyone else. Chin lifting at the last second, smothering him in stifled stress and a please-don't-push-me-look. It’s how he learnt you were going for drinks with the CIA, how he discovered the bar and time.

Why he went in the first place.

It crossed his mind this could be the night. He could keep you company, find a way in when your wall was down because of the liquor on your tongue. The moment fizzled when he chose to be a gentleman—helping you into his car, guiding you into your place. Even holding your hair back as you vomited the contents of your stomach out. Maybe he should have warned you about doing shots with Jacoby in the first place, but then, he wouldn’t be alone with you.

See the way you put your weapons down and looked at him pitifully when you couldn’t get the key in your door.

I’ve got you, Bonita. Bet you say—hiccup—that to all the whores. You’re not a whore. No. No, I’m not.

He’d expected you to push him, fight him once inside your place, but you were silent. Occasionally frowning with glossed-over eyes as he continued to help you. You even allow him to help you to bed—without so much as removing his clothes. He’d been almost out of your bedroom door when he heard it:

Still gonna call you Peña, Peña. I know, bonita. There’s a glass of water on your table.

It played on his mind.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be chivalrous, just that it was rare. Stuffed down into his tight jeans and under layers of Colombian grief. While he cares about the people in his life, even the ones at arms reach—the ones he pays and the ones he takes home from a hard day—he doesn’t show it. Keeping it tightly wrapped and away, not willing to let simple and futile emotions blur the lines of why he was here.

So it surprises him when you leave him a thank you.

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros.

Still think you’re an asshole, Peña.

It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit.

What he did know is that the window of sleeping with you was growing smaller, only fully shutting on him when he uncapped the bottle and poured you a glass when you knocked on his door for his signature. The small office he resided in—all dark, simmering with disappointment and failure after another dead end. Not that you commented on it—even if your eyes narrowed and your lips spread thin.

You were polite like that. Didn’t call into question or hold a mirror up to him. Just let him be. Tapping your glass against his, his eyes watching as you take a sip—not hissing, not flinching as the taste slides down your throat. Not even when it collects somewhere in your stomach. If anything, you smile.

Running his hand along his chin, letting his eyes roam as you take in the walls—the files. Your glass teetering on your bottom lip, painted in a shade he wanted staining on various parts of his body—

“Surprised you’re having a drink with me, Peña,” you say, all airy and light—glancing over your shoulder, shining him in mischievous twinkles. “Especially when you could be… paying for better company.”

He snorts at that, lets a laugh escape—puncture the air. “You know, you bring it up so often, bonita. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”

“Not in the slightest—I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Two night stands?” He muses.

And you smirk. Gloriously. Wide and large, the closest he’s gotten you to smile. “If it’s good enough to go back again, why stop at twice?”

He struggles for a retort, the acidic nature of it being swallowed by whiskey as he raises his glass to his lips.

Then it shifts the conversation. Returns to normal, safer topics, finding he snorts a few more times as the drinks flow. Even finding you pull a rich laugh from him—one that erases some of the tension, unknots his shoulders from his ears.

It isn’t until he hears the sweetness of your laugh that he finds that a quarter of the bottle has gone. The paper you’d come in to have signed, still at the top of a forgotten pile.

You weren't looking, having already turned your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall—the little pins and photos. Allowing him to run his eyes along your back, to your clothe-covered hips and the curves that had been front and centre of his thoughts when he fucked his fist. Your name has been simmering on his tongue for weeks, since you’d been introduced.

Something stopping him from acting on his thoughts, from standing up and coming up behind you. That very thing being the foundation of what he’d been after from the start.

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet.

You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.”

“It’s cheaper.” “Cheaper?” You groan, and he slides his hand over his face to hide his smile. “Fine, Peña—“ “Javi. Come on, bonita. We made progress.” Glaring, you straighten your spine. “Javi, I wanna eat greasy food in a baggy t-shirt and watch shit TV that I can only partially keep up with. Do you want to do that with me?” How could he say no? “Do I have to eat greasy food?” “Yes. It’s the law.” Snorting, he picks up the file, tapping the end of your desk. “I’ll be there around nine.”

You’re everywhere.

He begins finding you at his favourite food stand, conversing with the owner, grin so large it hits your eyes. Another time, you’re at the shop on the corner near his place, brown bag in hand, a knowing nod sent his way when you pass.

It throws him off, continuing to do so until it changes, and he comes to expect you. Doesn’t brace or freeze, but welcomes you. Leaning into it that you’re there, everywhere he doesn’t expect you to be. Slowly, bleeding across his life, planting yourself in the soil he hadn’t known surrounded him.

Your name falls from his lips with simplicity, you call him Javi as though it’s all you’ve ever called him.

Things shifting, changing just like the temperature in Bogotá. He chooses to sit beside you when he spots you at the bar, and not close to the table who were giggling and whispering at his arrival. He opts to ask you for help, over the secretary who has been giving him heart-shaped eyes since she heard something or another.

Javi is smart, and isn't an idiot. He knows it has shifted. Changed.

For the better, he isn’t entirely sure.

He finds comfort in you in a way he doesn’t usually pay for. The desire to fuck you because you were attractive lessening, and rather because, on some level, he suspected he actually liked you. Especially when you invited him for drinks at yours, instead of a bar.

It was easier not to question it. To not change. To not ask and ruin it. He went round to yours, or you to his. A gap forming, welcomed and strong. Javi fucked who he wanted to fuck, and sought companionship (fully clothed, a glass of liquor variation in hand) from you. The contents of it shifted depending entirely on the situation. Sometimes, it was accompanied by home-cooked food, and sometimes he brought warm trays in a bag that you groaned in appreciation upon arrival.

Javi told himself you reminded him of Laredo. Of high-school friends and easy laughter. You reminded him of girls who never became more than friends, the ones he’d grown apart from when they settled and married, and he ran as far away as possible.

That and he just liked your company. You made it easy. You were his… Friend.

You were something different than what he had with Carillo. Something other than the partnership he was now bedding in with Murphy.

You had embedded yourself as much in work as you were out of it. As time ticked on, his brain slowly filled with useless information about likes and dislikes in a drawer in his mind, he marked just for you. They weren’t things he usually didn’t care to know about anyone. Not since he’d been in Colombia. Not since he’d been in Laredo, where he’d never been short of a friend to two.

Being your friend became a thing he suddenly wanted to cling to. Not wanting to lose it—lose you, not wanting to fuck it up.

So, he didn’t.

Even if you looked at him with pretty eyes, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip. Even if sometimes the silenced humming with something different, something less friendly.

He cared.

Really cared. He found himself annoyed if you seemed a little off, and found himself wanting to make you smile. The two of you spread past the line into an area out of his usual wheelhouse. Friendship. A relationship that had him around your place so many nights a week, tucking into spirits and beer you’d begun keeping just for him. It was normal. Nice.

Or it was, until you curled into one side of the sofa, him on the other. Your foot isn’t close to his thigh, no leg draped over his—your behaviour not like normal.

He’d put it down to another shit date. One he’d been tortured with hearing about—the only downside to the arrangement, the friendship.

But, as you wrap your fingers around your calf, he realises it isn’t the date, the bad food or the day.

“Being your friend is kinda hard.”

Frowning, he sits up a little more. “Why?”

You shrug. He doesn’t like it when you do. You have answers, usually quick ones. A shrug meaning you don’t or you’re afraid of speaking them—letting them ball and fester in your throat.

“‘Cause you do thoughtful shit, and it makes me think things.”

He bites his smirk, and savours it. Knowing and understanding more than he can acknowledge as he folds his arms. “Not a smart move, thinking about me, hermosa.”

“Don’t I know it.”

"Bonita...."

"Why'd you call me that?"

You don't ask it rudely, more questionably. Brows knitting together in confusion as you watch him.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not in the slightest."

He smirks, letting out a sharp laugh. "Go get another drink, bonita."

“So, the two of you haven’t… you know?” Leaning in the chair, he stares at him. “No. We haven’t.” “I don’t believe you?” Smirking, he shifts his hips. “Go ask her. She’ll say the same.” He snorts. “You’re telling me you go round her place, have fun, laugh, and leave—I don’t believe it.” “Believe it, Murphy.”

It’s hard not to call back to the words spoken that night.

Let them loop around and around, wrap themselves around other phrases—micro-expressions and bothersome avoidance.

Your eyes were dark, chin resting on your knee, looking at him as though you wanted to burn everything to the ground. He’d swallowed, and hesitated—two things he never did.

But with you, he wasn’t exactly himself.

You had found a way to unlock a part of him he kept away from everyone else. He was still an asshole, still selfish and cocky. But he also bit back more around you and found ways to annoy you playfully, rather than to piss you off.

“Here.”

“You bought me a book?”

He smirks, gripping his arms as he watches you turn it over, “You like reading.”

Smirking, you scan the blurb, your brain trying to translate it quickly. “What gave you that impression?”

Shrugging, he trails a finger across his bottom lip. The signature smirk started growing, spreading, eclipsing whatever was there previously.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hermosa. I see you reading on your lunch.” He looks you up and down. “Thought you could do with some fresh material.”

“So you bought me a romance book.”

Dropping his arms, he rolls his lips. “Everyone needs a little romance in their life, don’t they?”

“Well, you’re the expert. I hear you’ve been getting some “romance” nightly,” you smirk, placing the book down.

He had.

Almost determined to do so. Needing to bury himself to the hilt in others to distract him from you. Secretly thinking of you, trying to imagine the way your skin would feel under his calloused palms.

“Jealous, bonita?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “Why? I’ve got a romance book.”

He tries to tell himself he’s not affected by you.

That it’s protectiveness why he sits at the bar in the restaurant you’re in. Why he chooses a seat where he can see the reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, able to see you without watching you.

He tells himself it’s to ensure you’re okay. Nothing else. The convincing goes well until your finger taps him on the shoulder, practically dragging him outside by his elbow.

The cooler temperature bites his skin, but your eyes full of fire keep him warm. Digging into him, inflicting flames that lick at muscle and bone.

“Why are you here, Peña?”

He masks a shudder. “Don’t… don’t call me, Peña—“

“—you fucked all the whores?”

“I was drinking.”

Raising your brow, you fold your arms. “You’re ruining my date.”

He lets his eyes drop. Knowing he is. He knew he would when he scrunched the piece of paper in his hand as he overheard you talking about some black dress and little heels for it.

The same ones you’re standing in front of him in, looking nothing short of radiant—the slightest shiver misting over you.

“You deserve better.”

Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?”

He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, the shiver more obvious. So much so, he removes his jacket, considering draping it over you, but instead hands it to you.

“Look, I know I ruined your date, but he’s an asshole.”

Swallowing, you let out a heavy breath. “I’m mad at you, but… he really is awful.”

He smothers his relief. Ensures his tone is normal as he murmurs, “Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Can you… could y—“

“Go get your bag, hermosa.”

It’s quiet, the car ride.

Your knee nervously bounces, the fabric of your dress rising up your thigh as you do.

He’s being tested. He’s sure of it. Adamantly so when he pulls up outside yours, and you invite him in. It’s confirmed when you tell him to help himself while you change, stepping into your room.

A version of him wanting to follow. To place his hand on the back of your neck, the other tilting your chin up, kissing the name of your date tonight. Pulling your body close, making it forget it ever shivered from anything less than pleasure.

He thinks about it as he fills his glass, and keeps yours empty. Javi thinks it as his jeans become tight and his pulse quickens, wondering if you sprayed your perfume anywhere other than your neck and wrist—whether you’d taste as sweetly as you say his name. Whether you’d dig your nails in when he stuffed you full of him—

“Not pouring me one?”

Blinking, you’re in his T-shirt and some leggings.

The former is something you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on your blouse. A band tee, one from a concert when he was younger and happier, and less confused what the fuck all of this meant.

He hadn’t realised how much he had been holding himself back until you sank onto your sofa, looking serious—brows and forehead creasing.

It made him want to nurse it out of you, find a solution to stop you from worrying or overthinking.

“You’ve never tried to sleep with me.”

He scoffs, loud and undignified. The sentence catches and cuts through the air. All the letters of it punctuated by a thin silence, lightly chopped—not allowing interjection or regret.

You're waiting.

Nervously. Plucking your bottom lip between your white teeth like you’re picking guitar strings.

He considers telling you the truth. That fucking you had been the sole and only intention for a long time. Seeing if you could bend in two, what noises you would make—see if he could get you to chant his name.

That had been his goal… until it wasn’t.

Javi drains his glass, knowing you’re astute. That you work with agents of all kinds—you hold your fucking own around all sorts of them. So you know (of course you know) when someone is lying—so he offers something else entirely.

A slither of truth, an offering of it—if that.

“Didn’t wanna fuck this up, bonita.”

You take a sip of your own, not smiling, not smirking. Silence thumps between the two of you as you likely process the information, both in word form and in heavy silence. Then you land your eyes on him, something blossoming in them, spreading and taking over as they seemingly darken like the sky before a storm.

“That because you don’t think you could make me come, Peña?”

He spreads his palm against his jeans, resting the glass against his other as he drags his eyes to the floor. Biting the inside of his cheek. Wondering to himself why he’d stopped trying so quickly, knowing he was usually much more persistent. His perseverance was why he was still here, hunting Escobar. Yet, he’d folded like a piece of fucking paper when it came to you.

“Fine,” you commented, placing your glass down. “If we… don’t want to fuck this up. I think we need a codeword. An unsexy one. One that sorta tells the other to stop doing whatever they’re fucking doing….”

“Because…?”

You give him a look, a sharp one with soft edges. “Because we’re friends, right?”

He nods.

“So, as friends, I need a word to shout at you when you’re… Peñaring.” Frowning, he watches you smirk. “Javi, you’re handsome. And I spend… I spend more time with you than anyone else. The whole time I was on that date, I was thinking of you—and then there you fucking were. Being my friend.”

No. He thinks.

Knowing inside of him he wasn’t there to be your friend, but something he can’t quite acknowledge. A thing which vibrates inside of him, that gallops when you’re around and worsens when you’re not.

A thing he cannot give into. Not with what he does.

Not with what happened to Helena…

The remembrance, the horrid wake-up call that continues to paralyse him. The larger need to keep you safe.

“You like whores and quick-fucks. I like fucking one person who will only fuck me while they’re fucking me. And, I need the word—a word—because we spend a lot of time together, and you look like you do.”

His lip twitches, his moustache moving as he drags his eyes back to you. Unsure how you haven’t thrown it out there that you looking the way you do is also a problem.

As though you’re ignoring how fucking sinful you always look—especially in his fucking clothes.

He doesn’t because, if anything, he doesn’t hate the idea. Not immediately. Somewhat struggling to hide the way you make his cock twitch when you flirt, when you lean on his desk, the top two buttons undone on your blouse. That he sometimes fucks and wishes it was you and not the woman he’s chosen.

The two of you toeing the line of being friends to the point it sometimes makes his head hurt and his cock throb.

“What you got in mind?”

“Apuñalarme?”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’d thought of a word. Always methodical, always thinking ahead.

“Thinkin’ that one could be taken the wrong way.”

Frowning, you reach forward for some of the leftovers. “How?”

He stares, and then he swallows. “Well, I could stab you with my co—“

“OKAY. Fine. Who knew it would be so hard to pick a word to keep our friendship intact? What about… arepa?”

Taking a sip of his drink, his brow slowly arched.

“Well, it’s food—“

“Food can be sexy, bonita.”

“Yes, but if I said arepas, I don’t think: fuck me, Peña—I think fuck I could really eat some stuffed arepas with my friend Peña. Plus, we can then use it around people, ‘cause they’ll just think I’m after food.”

He plays with the glass, staring at your coffee table as he takes it in. Considering it. Finding it plausible—a good enough excuse. A thing to say other than ‘I don’t wanna hear about you going on a date, bonita’—probably around the same as you don’t wanna hear about his conquests.

You’re nervous, teeth picking at your skin.

Something blooming in his chest, smothering warmth across his heart and skin. You want to be his friend—you want him in your life.

“Alright, bonita, let’s give it a go.”

You pout, sighing. “You driving me home?” “Arepas.” “Funny, Peña. So funny.” “You made the rule, bonita.” Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.” “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone. “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it. Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

It became complicated in Medellín.

The routine, the lines—the friendship.

Everyone is forced all under one roof. The closer proximity means he has to listen to how the others talk to you, how you smile, and how you laugh with every single person. He can’t avoid your laugh—especially the ones you force from bad jokes. Javi has to listen to how others talk about you and how they describe the way they look at you.

He also has to deal with how your perfume simmers in the air here, how it lingers and clings, even if he does his best to drown it out with smoke.

In truth, he knows he is just annoyed that you’re even there, to begin with. And, not in Bogotá—where you would have been safer.

And, as annoying as he finds it, Javi supposes you must suffer through your fair share. His eyes catch yours when someone has called for him, his voice low, a smirk halfway up his face until he sees you ducking your head.

At the end of the first few days, he realises he misses his evenings with you back in Bogotá. Now, he has to share you in the open office space or hope you’re both free to go to one of the shitty bare rooms you’d both been given.

Yours at least was more private, Messina having fought for you to have your own as soon as you were relocated to her.

“Jealous, Peña?” “Yes, hermosa. You don’t have to share with Murphy.”

It worsens when he learns you’re single again.

You populate his thoughts all over again, having previously stifled them when he knew you were taken. Now that the few month-long situation-ship with someone from the president's building had ended, he found you half a bottle of wine down in your room with several sad Spanish songs.

When you’re single, it’s complicated. Messy.

He can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him. Before, he could convince himself that flirting is just how the two of you talk. He could comment slyly how he could give you a reason to be silent or him unable to tear his eyes off you when you bend down to get him something from the bottom shelf.

Even if you’re taken, he thinks arepas repeatedly as you look up at him with wide eyes and gloss-covered lips. But, it’s harmless when you’re unavailable—a foundation of who the two of you were. Now it was confusing again.

Especially when you begin wearing tight jeans. And you wait until Murphy leaves to pull his chair across and place a bottle on his desk.

“I need to get drunk.”

Blowing into a spare mug, Javi slams it down next to the bottle. “We can’t leave the base.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Any reason as to why you wanna get drunk?”

You uncap the bottle, glaring at him as you clamp your lips together. The sound of alcohol sloshing into the mug before you begin pouring him one.

“Hermosa…”

You take a mouthful from the mug, flicking your eyes to him as he leans back, whispering your name.

“I’m frustrated.”

“Messina busting your—“

“Not like that, Javi.”

It takes him a second.

A second too long for him, and then he almost chokes on his drink. “Arepas.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in Murphy’s chair. “You asked.”

His thoughts run ahead of him. The idea of pressing you against the desk, hooking a finger in a belt loop as he tugs your tight jeans to your thighs. The way you’d moan his name—not Javier, Javi. Your hands splayed across his desk, taking everything he—

“—so I need to get drunk because otherwise, I’m going to jump someone, because this job is stressful, and I miss my place, my… privacy, and I also miss food truck nights.”

Swallowing, he places his mug down.

“I need to have sex—“

“—Arepas—“

“But by someone who won’t lord it over me.”

You stare at your mug, swirling it—biting the bottom of your lip as you do.

And he’s all set to tell you that you drive him crazy, that he’d make you feel good—you just have to ask. His hand slides across the desk, all set to tug your hand closer as he mumbles it.

Then fucking Murphy arrives.

Him slamming a mug down next to the bottle, muttering about crashing the party as he massages his temple and slides back into his chair.

It consumes him. The thoughts which he has let run free in the brief moment with you. How he’d fill you and make you hiss his name and make you come undone until you had no thoughts left.

If he thinks he’s alone, you show your cards when he’s helping you move your bed.

Your eyes are on him as he leans against the metal frame, staring off as he processes how he will have to move it. He doesn’t notice that the edge of his tan shirt has risen until he feels your eyes on him.

“Arepas!”

He flinches, ripped from his thoughts as he blinks, turning to look at you, watching you shift on the spot, a slow realisation coming to him as to why you shouted it. A smirk so large spreading, not even trying to hide it.

“I haven’t… I haven’t even fuckin’ done anything.”

You fold your arms, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks, the pulse in your ears. “Yes, well… I’ll move the bed myself.”

“Bonita?”

“—I gotta go—“

“This is your room.”

But you’re already heading to the door, flustered. He calls your name, but you’re gone—leaving him with only your scent and the last trailing sound of your voice.

For a second, staring at the empty doorway, not hating it for one minute, all of it evidenced by the growing smirk on his face.

The one not easily rid, even by the end of the day.

“Your room is…. nice?” He sniggers, grabbing his jacket as you stand awkwardly. “Y’alright, bonita?” Swallowing, you narrow your eyes when they land on him. Not cutting, but assessing. “Why have I heard from two separate people that they’ve been warned from me?” Shrugging his shoulders, he slides his arms into his jacket, frowning—painting it on thickly, maybe even by too much. “Javi.” “What?” You look at him, challenging him. Looking every bit like the secretary he met in Bogotá and less like the friend he’s come to know you as. “Did you warn people from asking me out?” Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.”

Javi knows many things about you.

Some he has learnt against his will, others he’s learnt from watching you. One thing he knows, more than anything else, is that you’re never late. Not even if the world was on fire.

It’s why it coils inside him when he’s standing at the stairwell waiting for you. It chills him, prickles something inside. And then, it knots as his watch ticks on ripples out as more seconds become minutes.

He must shift, stress rolling off of him as he finds Steve’s brow raised, flicking his eyes up at him before shaking his head.

“Go on. I’ll let Messina know you’re both on your way.”

He doesn’t thank him, even if he makes a note to do so later. His feet taking the steps two at a time. Palm brushes over people as he moves them so he can get to your door quicker.

It’s his sole thing, a crystallising focus that glimmers like a goal, a light around your door as he makes a beeline for it. For you. Not slowing or stopping until he’s outside of it, his knuckles hammering into it.

He tries not to smirk at the expletives he hears, the mix of English and Spanish coming from the other side. The beautiful blend he’s heard so often when you’ve dropped food, wine or burnt yourself.

“One minute—“

“It’s me, bonita.”

He expects to hear a noise. Javi doesn’t expect a pause. A lengthy one.

“Oh.”

Oh? He thinks.

“Um, Javi, just gimme….”

It bubbles.

It fucking roars. It produces steam and fire—all of it feeling a lot like jealousy. Because: do you have someone in there with you? His jaw tightens at the idea, almost snapping into pieces, hammering against his feet. He hears a loud crash to the floor, shattering. His mind conjures images of two pairs of feet (at best), two awkward souls trying to move around one another littered by a sea of expletives and hisses.

“Bonita… open the f—door.”

He doesn’t mean to use a tone. Unable to cage it, the fury which doubles and triples inside of him. Only just about managed to stifle the word fucking from being in the sentence.

Javi regrets it when you rip open your door, standing with more skin on show than he’s ever seen. Your privacy is covered by the thinnest pieces of black lace possible—lace that would be easy to snap, to rip from you as he drags his eyes up and down.

Unable to think; unable to process—

“I overslept.”

“…Bonita…”

“I am running late.”

“I can see that.”

You jab him, light, making your body twist as you do. Something he can’t tear his eyes from, least of all when you turn, his feet following. It’s autopilot as he shuts your door behind him, not hearing another person—the anger and jealousy simmering at knowing you’re alone.

You’re just… in your underwear.

Around him.

“Arepas.”

“What?” you call out, bending down, grabbing clothes as he averts his eyes.

His brain forces his feet to come to a stop, his hand adjusting himself as he tries to swallow. Because whatever he’d imagined you’d look like, has just been beaten—you’re… fucking gorgeous.

“Nothing,” he manages, staring around your place. Finding a bottle of half-drunk wine on the desk—sat beside one glass. “You had a fun night without me?”

You laugh, turning to face you, finding you with trousers on. “I… I’m struggling to sleep… here.”

He can relate.

“How was Gabby?”

He pulls a face, wiping a hand over his face. “Yeah—she’s fine.”

You fasten your blouse, moving towards him, closer and closer, until you’re in front of him, and his mind is fucking blank.

“You’re standing over my shoes, Javi.”

It shouldn’t stick to him—your words. But they do. How they’re sickly sweet, how they clag and cling to the edges of his mind as he tries to concentrate. He’s typing, and then he’ll replay it, fingers pausing on the heavy keys of the typewriter.

Fuck.

Not able to tear his fucking eyes off of you. Not that you have noticed. You barely look his way with the mountain of shit Messina’s given you to do in one day. Hammering down on you, reminding them all they can’t make mistakes—more so since the toilet debacle. The heaviness of how close they’d been weighed on them. All of them.

So close.

He watches you stand up, calling after someone as you do a little run in your heels until there’s none of you left to watch. Staring at where you’d been, somehow still flickering between seeing you the way he saw you this morning and the well-put-together version just in here.

“What’s up with you?

“Nothing.”

Steve snorts, leaning against the wall. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘cause you look like—“

“She answered the door in her fuckin’ underwear.”

Steve widens his eyes, pulling out his cigarettes. “And that’s something you’ve not seen before?”

He glares. Chewing a retort as he furiously stubs out his cigarette.

“Alright, so, now what?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Your word come in use?”

He shoots another glare, watching his partner hold his hands up.

“Not fucking helping, Murphy.”

“The fuck you mean she was sent to take some papers?” Him storming out of the building, hearing Murphy close behind. Not thinking. Thumb brushes over his fingers as something surges through him. Thumping. Building. Pushing past people, moving out of the way from the ones he comes into contact with, stepping out into the warm air as he sees hell. Men bleeding, carried by other men. His heart in his throat, furiously pounding, unsure where to start, where to go— Then he sees you. Time slows, people coming to a halt as he watches you and his feet begin to move. His hands guide him past people, walking and walking until he pulls you close—not caring for the blood on his shirt from your head, or the way you whimper when you crash into him. He meets your eyes, staring into them, finding his throat dry as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Arepas.” “Arepas…” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

When it rains, it pours.

It’s what he thinks as he sinks another glass, elbowing digging into the desk, all set to shout at Messina to leave him alone, suspecting she had returned.

But then, he’d seen you.

Face lit up by the yellowing light, a softness to your features and a shyness to your frame.

Javi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Whether the guilt would shift at the sight of you, whether the sadness would stop laying on thickly.

For a second, nothing happens.

He doesn’t move. You don’t move.

And then he’s standing, and you’re crossing the room, pulling him close, hands around him as you keep him close. It’s friendly, he thinks—suspects. A simple hug. Something the two of you have done only a handful of times, but twice so recently.

In the fog of regret and alcohol, he can barely convince himself, his grip on it lost when you’re in his lap. His face in your neck, bathed in you—the distinct scent which clings to some of his clothes, the warmth he feels when he knows he shouldn’t.

It’s easy, simple—and also everything.

Shards of himself held in place by your grip on him, his own hand placing the glass down so he can clutch you that much tighter.

It isn’t him. A thing he’s acutely aware of, yet he buries his face into your neck. Breath dancing along your neck, feeling you still, wondering if you’re thinking the word as he is when you pull back, eyes meeting his.

“Oh, Javi…”

He chews his tongue, lessening his hold on you. Allowing you to move—giving you free rein to leave.

“Messina send you?”

You stand, tilting the bottle beside the glass, staring at the label. Your silence fills the gaps, finding the cracks of regret and guilt, layering itself thickly in it.

Answer me, he thinks. Almost wanting to command it.

“Boni—“

“No,” you say, curt, sharp.

Your eyes dig in, taking a step back, running the back of your hand over your forehead.

“Didn’t… I haven’t even seen her.”

He could speak, but it would be useless. No words can conjure that would make any of it okay—heaviness adding in bulk to his shoulders as he stands. Making his legs feel like jelly and his spine wanting to bend.

And then, he’s walking towards you, your back meeting a wall as he presses you against the wall, keeping you close. Just like you were minutes ago.

He traces the tip of his nose against your cheek, catching the scent of your perfume. Your eyes are on him, watching his movements as he places his hand on your hip.

“Arepas…”

He snorts, pressing his forehead softly against yours. “You want me to stop, bonita?”

Your lips twitch, eyes flicking.

A thousand thoughts dashing and darting in the shades he has memorised. Then you’re moving closer, mouth delicately pressing against his—testing, teasing. Saying no wordlessly.

It’s easy to return it, to give in—to kiss you like he has thought about since your name fell from your lips. A thousand missed moments and building will-they-won’t-they slamming into the both of you.

It’s why it shifts, his mouth not being gentle, his grip more desperate. His tongue sliding past your teeth, your hips flush against his as you curl your fingers into his hair.

He’s on fire. Scorched. Changed.

Flashes of you standing in the doorway in your underwear blending with the feel of you right now, how your lips move against his like the two are you well-versed in kissing one another.

“Dreamt about you, bonita.”

You murmur at his words, whimpering at his teeth, latching on the space under your lobe and neck.

“Thought of the sounds I’d make you make….”

“Fuck, Javi...”

Your nails dig into his neck, pulling and twisting him so you can marry your lips back to his. You kiss him like you want to conquer him, and own him. Something you’ve done since the moment you met—something he responds with how he licks into your mouth. Just pausing at your moan, tasting it—capturing it.

Your lips part as you clutch his cheek, breath ghosting as he lets dark brown wash over you. “I’m here. I’m here, Javi.”

He knows what you mean, what you’re implying: I’m here, you need someone, I’m yours.

The sound of him swallowing sounds louder, sharper—even against his ears as he flicks his sight over you. You’re better than it, better than him. You’re too good, too perfect—something he doesn’t want to break, snap or ruin.

Sometimes, you’re the only thing that feels untouched, unblemished. You were the one who saw him after he’d gotten back from the brothel. When Carillo…

He blinks, finding your fingers still on his cheek, eyes still on him—but he’s unsure if he’s misheard you. Misunderstood.

You don’t do quick fucks.

But you’re clever. You’re always fucking clever. Kissing him, hooking a finger in a belt loop, pulling him flush. As you show him that you mean it.

“Need you, Javi. Just you.”

He growls, moving you to push you down on the awkward, creaking bed. He watches dumbfounded as your fingers begin to aid the removal of your clothes. Exposing skin, inch by inch, to him—looking every bit inviting as you have done since the first day he fucking met you.

Throwing your trousers to some distant corner, he parts your knees with his waist, pushing the damp green lace to the side, as he coats his finger in your want.

“Javi…”

“You suit green, bonita.”

He eases a finger in, watching your mouth part as he does.

“But, I can’t stop picturing that black set.”

“Like it, did you?”

It’s breathy, desperate. Your lips ghost over his as he stiffens, pausing his ministrations, needing to look you in the eyes.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since, bonita.”

Leaning over, he captures your moan, sliding in another finger as his name vibrates against his lips. Your eyes are so full of adoration, lust and want—it almost shatters him—but it’s the desperation that coils around him. The neediness which is falling from your lips makes him want more.

He’s thorough, listening to your whines, finding each place inside you that makes you twitch and moan. He’s learning you, studying every inch, so he can please you from the get-go—if he ever gets the chance again.

It’s his knuckle that undoes you the first time, rolling quick circles around the bundle of nerves which has fingers in his hair and your breath against his cheek.

Javi, fuck—you, Javi, you.

His breathing is shallow when you come down, feeling your hands—shaky but determined—tugging him to join you in being naked, his hand grabbing the one thing he needs outside of you.

“Wanna taste you, but need to fuck you, bonita. Can I? Can I fuck your pretty pussy?”

You groan, kissing his jaw and his neck. A chorus of yes and pleases bless his skin as his teeth rip the wrapper, fingers expertly sliding it over his length to not waste time.

And then, your fingers leave bruises as you tug on his chin, pulling his eyes to you. A thought rolls, building; Tell me I’ve not ruined this. That I’ve not fucked up another thing.

“Yours, Javi. I’m yours.”

His hand clutches your cheek, fingers pressing against your ear and hairline as you nod. His mouth smothers yours, stealing a moan, air and whatever thoughts were trying to populate. He does so as he lines himself up with you, when you wrap him in warm bliss.

Your fingers on his shoulders, digging in, please move, Javi. And then, his hips move with yours, something swelling inside of him, a thing which makes it hard to stop kissing you, to ever want to stop being between your thighs—

He doesn’t usually fuck like this.

It starts that way, but never ends that way—and yet here he is. Never with them on their backs, eye to eye, lip to lip. But then, you’ve never been them. You’re nothing like them.

And he won’t move, can’t. He slides his tongue past your teeth and grips your hip that bit tighter as he feels your walls grip him desperately.

“Feel so good, Javi—y’fuck me so good.”

He knows.

Knows because you’re fucking heavenly—perfection sent just for him. Something he whispers into your lips, lets you taste it as he feels you getting closer and closer.

Then he just hears you. And the sound is prettier than his mind could ever conjure.

Just feels you. And it's better than he ever thought it could feel.

Then, there's nothing else, until he feels pleasure—until it’s white light and your name spluttering from his lips. Your hands in his hair, hips slowing with his as his lips sloppily find yours.

“We should talk.” You frown, looking over your desk as he leans both palms down. “Bonita… we had sex.” “A few times, if I recall.” “You… you seem rather calm about this?” You smirk, lifting your mug to your lips. “Should I not be?” He’s silent, uncharacteristically so. Never short of words, not with you. “Javi, I almost fucking died… then Carrillo… I-I needed… I just needed you.” “Bonita…” “I don’t need pity. Do not worry. I’m not expecting anything, I know you, I’m not complicating this, and I’m not asking to change you. I like you as you are, and I know for you, last night for you was just a one-night thing—” He whispers your name, wrapped in confusion and surprise— Your hand pats his chest, “—and I’m off to the funeral. Please try not to drown yourself in whiskey while I’m gone.” “You know I’m not going...” Smiling, you let your fingers linger on his shirt button, twisting it. “You don’t do funerals—it was one of the first things you told me.” Letting your hand drop before you walk away, leaving him with his thoughts.

It unravels.

Looking every bit like the day he’d been running around the ranch, knocking into the table beside his momma’s armchair, watching in horror as spools of cotton spread out. They ran uncontrollably away, undoing in a fit of rainbow shades and mess. It had taken him an age to fix, fingers raw from cotton against his fingers.

That’s what it was like now—except he wasn’t sure he could fix it.

If anything, he knows he can't.

He realises it when he tells you. A wave of disappointment ascended and crashed in your eyes until you looked at him with an expression painted in worry. It makes him want to kiss it from you, but your hand brushes his cheek—keeping him where he was, close but not too close.

Don’t… What? Worry about you? Yeah, I don’t… I don’t deserve it. Tough, Javi. I’ve worried about you since the moment you bought me food truck food and told me I had sauce on my chin. Why's that? You just seemed like someone who I needed to worry about.

He wanted to kiss you differently then. Softly—gently. Almost greedily. Show you the words he wishes he could say easily. Let you feel how much he adores you, how much he cares, that he even wants to…

Javi doesn’t.

His brain too quick to remind him that you deserve solid truths, not hopeful lies. Tells himself that he’s anything with him will end in ruin, evidenced by the way things keep crumbling, the grip on helping having become closer to hurting.

He tries to build walls to keep you out, ones you chip out with more force than he bargained for. Your nails pulling at bricks, eyes burning through gaps: Do not keep me out, Peña.

So he stops. The energy wasted, even if he wants nothing but to protect you. Doing poorly at it—so much so he doesn’t realise you’re even swept up in it. Not in the moments where he comes find you for a moment of reprieve in the swirling hurricane he created.

You look like shit. Tell me how you really feel, bonita. Javi... I'm fine. You're not. No, I'm not.

He could kick himself when he realises it.

Only seeing it when he returns to the base, stopping short of your desk and finds it bare. No mug. No papers. No little notes you write yourself so you never forget a thing.

Bare. Empty.

There's no scent of your perfume and the air is absent of your laugh.

You had always found him, whether in his room, in a cupboard, at his desk. But, he hadn't thought to look for you today. Just put it aside, suspecting he'd find you later.

"Shit."

Sweat pools at the base of his back as he heads to Messina's. Hating himself, wondering if you'd been questioned. He'd never even tried to make sure you were okay with the knowledge of what he had done, what he continued to do in an effort to fix it.

I’m here, Javi. I'm yours, Javi.

He knows you are a part of the fallout when he sees Stechner behind Messina's desk.

It confirming it. Almost wanting to cut him off from saying your name—not wanting to hear it from his lips. Stechner says it anyway, as though knowing. Purposefully adding more poison to it and accompanying it with a cold smirk. One which almost makes him grip the man by the arm and land his fist in his teeth.

You should have stayed in your lane…

Everything tightened inside of him. While everything around him crumbled, slowly crashing down: the walls, the ceiling—the pretence.

It makes his blood run cold, his heart crack right in the centre.

Ambassador wants to see you. Get your passport.

Tightening his jaw, he hammers his feet up the stairs, taking them two by two. Needing his room, needing a moment.

His hand rubbing over his face, mind populated with memories—ones both good and bad. Your voice swirling around them. Your smile, your laugh, all appearing before they burst, showering him in a mess of confetti he’ll never be able to clean. One he doesn’t want to, if they all he has left of you.

He tries to think of his passport. Where it could be. The location of it in the mess of his room—trying not to wonder, worry or think about where you are. What his mess has done to you.

Opening the door, he comes to a halt when he finds both standing in the centre of the room.

Time comes to a stop. His heart pausing mid-slam into his ribs, the pain rippling out, as he takes you in. Watching your fingers and hand slowly rise, holding not one, but two passports, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Hi.”

He lets the door shut behind him, suddenly able to breathe. The weight, the one crushing him for ages, finally stepping up from him, allowing air to fill his lungs, allowing his chest to rise and fall as you softly smile.

“Bonita… what… how?”

“I handed my notice in… Messina, she knew about—she advised me, said it would buy me more time. It did—has. Stechner—”

It takes three strides—three—and even those felt long before his lips crashed into yours, silencing you, not wanting your pretty lips to ever mouth his name. Feeling your hand, the one clutching the passports, against his shoulder and the other on his hip. Pulling him in, wanting him—even still.

He feels like he’s dreaming, until you bite his lip. Smirking against his lips as the two of you part. The feel of it bringing him back to earth, trying not to overthink it and let the moment ruin.

Javi just holds you—like he should have done earlier this morning when he'd seen you, and from the very beginning.

Pulling you close as he humanly can, for as long as he’s able to. Doing so selfishly until both of you are just staring at one another, the gap so thin between you, you’re not all in focus.

“Ask me.”

His knuckles slide along your cheek, knowing what you’re implying. Something coiling at what you’re suggesting—something he’d thought about days ago. Regretted not asking minutes ago…

“Javi.” Your fingers wrapping around his chin. “Ask me or let me go….”

Clearing his throat and licking his lips—sighing.

Wanting to. Nothing compelled him more. But the wounded part, the one which is sore and raw, tells him not to. To put distance, space, time—and fucking everything else—between you both.

To protect you. To love you from afar.

“Be with me.”

Smiling, you whisper, “Please?”

“Please,” he adds, a light smirk threatening to spill.

You let your fingers slide over it, the little crease at the end of the hair on his upper lip. “I’m yours, Javi. All yours.”

“You have to know what that means, bo—”

“I already know,” you cut him off, fingers dancing along his cheek. "I don't care."

an: thank you for reading, feel i should apologise for the length ha!

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the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis · 11 months

Text

what can Bella Swan actually cook?

armed with LegalTM pdfs, control f, and my theory that Bella doesn't actually like cooking she was just written by a mormon housewife, I have determined every specifically named meal Bella cooks in the Twilight Saga!

In summary:

15 total named meals (7 in Twilight, 3 each in New Moon/Eclipse, and 2 in Breaking Dawn)

13 unique meals (lasagna & fried chicken repeat across books)

Presumably she's also cooking literally every other day (when they aren't ordering pizza, which is apparently the only takeout Charlie ever gets), but it's not relevant to her narrative.

my main conclusion is that she eats way too much cereal, but for the purposes of this i've decided that cereal doesn't count as cooking.

Bella Swan canonically knows how to cook:

Twilight:

Steak and potatoes, plus salad (pg 15)

White people enchiladas (p.36)

Fish (marinated), with “salad and bread left over from the night before” (p.68)

Cold-cut sandwiches (p.70)

Grilled cheese (with tomato) (p.111)

Lasagna (p.118)

Fish, using Harry Clearwater’s fish fry (p.169)

New Moon:

Fried chicken (p.70)

Lasagna (p.82)

Casserole (p.197)

Eclipse:

Spaghetti, (rescued from Charlie)

Grandma Swan’s stroganoff recipe (p.29)

Hamburger (p.43)

Breaking Dawn:

Sunny-side up eggs (p.75)

Damn rancid chicken Fried chicken (p.80)

#my meta #bella swan #so i guess she can cook but uh...#this is. very boring. lmao #at one point she says that renee likes to 'experiment' and sometimes it's inedible...#DO YOU MEAN RENEE MAKES FOOD WITH FLAVOR #BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THAT JUST MEANS RENEE MAKES FOOD WITH FLAVOR.#sorry not to be a renee apologist in the tags #but also this specific search made me SO MAD at charlie so #eclipse is really the worst book. character assassination for EVERYONE #also oh my god she eats so much cereal #you guys? you guys #are there people out there who eat that much cereal???#that can't be good for you!!!#she eats cereal every day!!!#except for the first when charlie makes her bacon and eggs and she asks to take over the cooking #bella!!!#i think she must not like eggs #(ignoring how many she eats in breaking dawn shh it's fine)#page numbers are all from my pdfs but hopefully they at least kinda map onto the actual books

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starstruck-if · 1 month

Text

You weren't supposed to be here. Why were you here? You know full and damn well that you setting foot on this planet could spell catastrophe for any unfortunate form of life that lived there if you were ever to be found.

But it's not as though you had a choice. Where else would you go? So, you did what any other terrified being did. You fled. That fate-sealing choice was what brought you here.

What brought you to her.

You had fallen from the sky and into some poor, unsuspecting woman's territory. She had been holding a glowing box-shaped object in her hand, staring at you with those mesmerizing scarlet red eyes of hers. She didn't seem bothered at all, albeit a little shocked.

Crouching down to your trembling form, she tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear, quirking a brow at you. A strange, playful grin stretched across her pretty face.

"Who the hell are you?"

ST☆RSTRUCK is a (probably) upcoming 18+ dark fiction interactive novel where you play as a runaway alien from a different galaxy, find refuge on a planet called Earth, and befriend a worldwide famous girl while also trying to fit into society and avoid getting caught by the cosmic gods.

DEMO: TBA

Play as an otherwordly being! Choose between male, female, and anything in between. You'll be able to change pronouns whenever you see fit.

Romance from a choice of characters. I see characters as having their own identity as a human would, so some RO's are gender-specific.

Try to blend into human society! You'll be able to shape the Star's (MC) personality through choices.

Customize your Star's alien appearance and human form!

Choose a special ability: telekinesis, empath, mind reading, super strength, teleportation, mind control, necromancy, light manipulation, and more!

Make allies if you choose to tell others about being an eldtrich monster! Watch your back, though. It would be wise to not be too trusting.

Uncover dark secrets about characters, the universe, and yourself as you go. Some things aren't as they seem.

Decide whether or not you belong on Earth, or if your place is within the universe.

Save humanity! Or destroy it. You do you.

...Fight a space kitten?

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Embry Harrison (F) || The Popst☆r

The young human that found you — probably because you literally crashed into her backyard. She's the only person who knows what you are. Embry is fun, not to mention she's drop-dead gorgeous. Playful, free spirited, mischevious, she's also your best friend who happens to be a worldwide famous popstar, actress, and model. She's just the person you need when it comes to knowing how to hide yourself under a facade...or perhaps she's the worst if you'd like to keep a low profile, due to her constantly being stalked and bombarded with crazed fans.

Could she be hiding something beneath that smile?

"Ah, I keep forgetting you're from a different planet or whatever. Okay, check it out! This is what we mortals call a phone..."

Special: Poly Option with Shade or Love Triangle

Trope: Best Friends to Lovers or Unrequited Love/Idolization

Shade "Prince" James (M) || The Prince

A childhood close friend of Embry's. He's the eldest son of a billionare CEO and the heir to the company. He also seems to hate your guts, for some reason. You've never been able to work out why. Standing at 6 foot 3 with an attractive face and more money than he knows to do with, Shade could get anything he wanted and any woman he asked for. However, that sour attitude and introverted nature drew everyone away, much to his appreciation. The only people he seems to truly care about are his siblings and the very few true friends that he has.

"What do you want?"

Gender-Locked: Female/Male MC's

Special: Poly Option with Embry or Love Triangle

Trope: Enemies/Frenemies to Lovers

Axel James (M) || The Eclipse

Axel was used to being ignored, it was expected. His older brother was made to take over in their father's place eventually; he was just a backup. Always coming second, desperately wanting his parent's attention. He never held it against Shade, though. He loved his brother. He was used to finding out his friends weren't actually his friends, or his crushes were merely there to get closer to Shade. He felt pathetic, being in the spotlight but having no one you could truly rely on. Did anyone truly care? If he just disappeared, would anyone bother to look for him? Those thoughts plagued his mind for years and years, and every passing moment, he started to believe they were true.

...Well. Until he met you.

"...Hey. Uh, I'm — shit, okay — sorry. Thanks for...well, being here, I guess."

Trope: Friends to Lovers or Unrequited Love

Epiphany "Pip" James (F) || The Sun

Could she even be counted as a true 'James'? She was the result of an affair an unfaithful Mr. James had. Once Mrs. James had found out of this, she forbid her from speaking to her half-brothers.

Did she let that stop her? Hell no.

In secret, the trio of siblings texted and called and met up. They were close, all three of them. It was amazing, really; how someone who had been shunned by society and harassed daily managed to stay so positive, bringing energy wherever she went. She was the personification of sunshine and rainbows.

Or so you think.

"Oh, hey! Listen, listen! I found this SUPER cute café yesterday and - huh? Oh, it's okay. I don't care what everyone else thinks as long as you like me."

Gender-Locked: Female/NB MC's

Trope: Friends to Lovers

Astro (Selectable Gender) || The Supern☆va

You remember this person vaguely. They have the same name, the same voice, the same mannerisms as someone you knew long ago.

But that couldn't be possible.

They were dead.

"I missed you."

Trope: ??? to Lovers

"Khaos" (M) || ???

No...no. He couldn't have found you. You hid so well. You're just imagining things. Yeah, that's it. There's no way you just saw [REDACTED]'s haunting gaze boring into your mind — you were overthinking this; playing tricks on yourself because you were stressed.

...That had to be it. He's not here.

He'snotherehe'snotherehe'snotherehe'snotherehe'snot—

"Found you."

Trope: ??? to Lovers

#starstruck if #interactive fiction #twine if #twine interactive fiction #twine wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #interactive novel #to be updated

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wesstars · 6 months

Text

can't rely on my heart

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: are people more likely to tell the truth while they’re drunk? wc: 800 tags: all characters involved are 18+. AU, they’re in some big city. wednesday and reader are childhood ‘friends.’ unresolved tension!!! a/n: i miss y’all 😭hope everyone is doing well!! welcome to another wednesday wednesday with the most amazing @evilwednesday. special good morning to @mindyswhore. @melrodrigo told me to hurry up haha. (let’s just ignore how I missed last week okay)

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1:28 am

come get your bitch.

Wednesday frowned at Yoko’s text. She wondered, briefly, who “your bitch” could ever be—unbidden, your grinning face came to mind, shining bright as a dying star. Wednesday hated it. It was stuff like this, knowing that your friends would ask Wednesday, of all people, to come pick you up, that was intolerable. Always popular yet with a genuine charm, you commanded attention wherever you were, so warm and dazzling that you eclipsed everything around you. You consistently crossed the line with Wednesday, since you really never knew when to stop. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her car keys.

***

You were giggling. It was insufferable: it had already been enough to go to the bar—a place with sticky floors that Wednesday turned her nose up at—and it was excruciating to have dragged you out, catching you from rolling your ankle on the pavement, so your glittering laugh really was the worst torture Wednesday was willing to endure. Yoko had pushed you unceremoniously into Wednesday, while Enid sent her a sympathetic glance and a promise to text. Wednesday was torn between keeping her distance, so you wouldn’t throw up on her shoes, and holding you upright so you wouldn’t cause a scene, but you made her decision for her.

“You’re so—sloppy,” Wednesday hissed, grabbing your elbow to stop you from careening into a pedestrian. You’d always been a lightweight, since your university days, where you’d always show up, drunk as a dog, knocking at Wednesday and Enid’s place. You would claim that you lost your address. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be over there at all, every little quirk you had being memorized by the apartment: your mug, your spare key, your book on how the biggest planets are made of the very same things that humans are.

“Wednesday,” you said, leaning on her shoulder. She wrinkled her nose. “Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday…

She scoffed. “Just be quiet.”

“I don’t want to,” you whined, being the absolute child that Wednesday thought you were. She let go of your arm, stalking towards her car without you. While she definitely thought of you as someone she could do without babysitting, she still looked back to make sure you were following. You were tracing your crooked path on the sidewalk, scuffing your shoes as you trailed your fingers on every streetlight and sign pole that you passed. Something licked its way through Wednesday’s veins, destructive like fire.

“You…” Wednesday ignored you. Why had she parked so far? The sooner you crashed on her couch, the sooner you’d leave her alone.

“You, with that beautiful smile—” gods, just how many drinks did you have?—“Hold on.”

“I don’t smile.” Wednesday waited, for some reason, as you stumbled forward, catching up to her while the drinks caught up to you.

Ignoring her, you whispered, “I have something to say to you,” showing all your teeth in a dopey smile. When you leaned in, Wednesday saw how the shine of the streetlights caught on your rosy cheeks, glowing.

“You’re even prettier when you’re all the way here, with me, not just in my head.”

Wednesday felt her dead, still heart jolt with an artificial electricity, as if you’d pressed both hands to her chest and yelled clear! It was a startlingly alive experience, being touched by such a startlingly alive person. Every breath was hard to take, as you looked down. The streetlight cast a warm glow, lighting up your outline. You smelled too much like alcohol for such an admission, one where she could feel the cold metal of your arrow, Apollo ablaze, press up against her ribs.

It was weird, how one never really does know the answer to an unspoken question until it was right in front of them, burning.

“You’re not going to remember this,” Wednesday said quietly. “I’m telling you now, so you can understand why.” She looked into your eyes; they were surprisingly clear for someone so inebriated.

Your voice was a whisper, nearly drowned out by a car rushing past. “Why what?”

Wednesday looked up at you. You’d stopped right in front of her car, an accuracy unbecoming of how drunk you seemed to be. She placed a hand on you, your shoulder this time, and yanked you down to her height. You were so close, now, your nose brushing hers, and she felt you take a breath. “Why I don’t mind you being this close.” She hoped you could smell the jasmine perfume she wore. “Why I don’t mind when you cross the line.” Your hair fell into your eyes. “Why I’m driving you home.”

She stepped back, opening the car door and shoving you in. You leaned your temple on the seat, head tilted back to meet her eyes.

“I know, Wednesday.”

a/n cont'd: something something yearning something something

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

Text

all i need is you

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: following the morning after matt's run in with elektra, you have a lot of decisions to make about your future together.

warnings: swearing, angst, explicit sexual content (minors pls dni), mentions of pregnancy

word count: 8.2k

a/n: y'all have been requesting a sequel to please don't be mad for almost 6 months now, & I apologize it's coming so late. there were a lot of things y'all wanted to see happen in the sequel, & I took all of that feedback to heart & incorporated as much as I could in a way that made sense to me. i've been working on this for months, & it was really important to me to create something you guys would really love & be happy with. thank you to everyone that even wanted a sequel, & for being so patient. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[part one]

It was almost crazy to think that just over a year ago, you thought your relationship with Matt Murdock was over for good.

When you had awoken that following morning by his side, head clear of the rage and lust induced haze you had been captured in, all that was lingering was a heart heavy with hurt and stinging with betrayal. You had silently collected all of your belongings, pressed one last kiss to Matt’s lips, and granted his peaceful sleeping form one final glance before leaving your spare key on his entry table and disappearing into the twilight.

All of his words still echoed in the back of your mind, but so did his actions. The promise of marriage was eclipsed by the cherry lip stain on his collar. The prospect of a family was diluted by the scent of an expensive perfume that didn’t belong to you. The vow of faith and love was broken by yet another lie.

You loved Matt, more than you had ever loved anyone, and more than you ever thought you could love another person. You knew deep down that he was a good man. You tried to believe that he would never intentionally hurt you. But it had gotten to the point where you couldn’t ignore the ache he left in your chest.

You needed time to try to forgive him. You weren’t even sure if you could forgive him at all. The cut he’d made ran deep, and you couldn’t decide if it was because he’d made it with her blade, or if it was simply his own that had been slicing away at the same spot over and over and over. Regardless, you needed time. Time away from him; to heal, to think, to decide.

But Matt Murdock had never been a man of patience.

For two endless weeks your phone constantly lit up with his name, filling up with messages containing apologies and desperate pleas. You started arriving early to work and left later than usual to throw him off your schedule. You had the receptionist bypass all his calls and made security aware that he was not welcome in your office. You ignored all the usual spots that he knew you frequented, and especially the ones you went to together. For the first time in over a year, you locked all your windows to ensure he couldn’t slip through in the middle of the night. You blasted music through your headphones so you didn’t have to hear the pain in his voice as he called out your name, fist banging away at your front door so hard you were certain he was going to actually break it down.

It was torture. Even though he had been the one to wrong you, a piece of you felt guilty. You could hear the terror and remorse in his voice when he stood outside your door, begging for forgiveness, chanting your name over and over as if you were the deity he worshiped and needed absolution from. It left a bitter taste in your mouth to be yet another person to turn your back on him, but through the wave of your sadness came the tide of anger, reminding you that he had done this. He had forced your hand. He made a choice, and you had to make yours.

The guilt from also having to ignore Karen and Foggy weighed heavily on your chest. They knew what had happened. You had just as many sympathetic voicemails and unanswered texts from them asking if you were okay, and if you wanted to talk. You hated not being able to lean on them when you were at your most vulnerable. They were your family just as much as Matt was, but you couldn’t talk to them or be around them. They just reminded you of him. A huge part of you resented him for that, for making you feel like you couldn’t go to the two other people you loved most in this world for comfort because of what he did. You had spent the past few years building your entire life around Matt, and he had selfishly sent it crashing to the ground, leaving you completely isolated beneath the debris.

For two long weeks, you felt trapped beneath a heavy blanket of depression you couldn’t seem to find your way out from.

And then she happened.

How Elektra had managed to break into your apartment when Matt couldn’t, you weren’t sure, but the day you came home to find her in your living room with a bag of your things packed by her feet, you were stunned silent.

“I need you to come with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Matthew is an idiot and he’s put you in danger. We need to go. Now.”

She didn’t even give you a chance to hesitate, gripping your overnight bag into one hand, and forcing you out your door with the other. The ding of the elevator dropping you to the lobby seemed to wake you out of whatever trance she had put you in, and you stared at her in confusion as you stood firmly outside the metal doors.

“I don’t understand. What are you doing here? Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain when we get there. We need to move.”

“I don’t-“

“Listen. You don’t know me. You’ve got no reason to trust me. But right now, I am trying to save your life. So if you’ll please-“

“Why?”

Elektra paused for a moment as she looked at you. The annoyance on her perfect features vanished slowly, taking in the pain and confusion that were clearly plastered on yours.

“Because you’re important to Matthew, which means you’re important to me.”

Elektra filled you in on everything the moment she had secured you away in a penthouse uptown that was registered under an alias. What she and Matt thought were the Yakuza had ended up being a much older and sinister organization called The Hand. They were into some freaky cult shit that you didn’t quite understand, but you got the gist that they were powerful, and extremely dangerous. They were also everywhere. They had tracked her and Matt, and a man named Stick that had trained the two of them, back to Matt’s apartment the night after the gala. They had been tracking him ever since, and because he had continuously been going to your office and apartment, they knew all about you.

She even told you the truth about how she had met Matt, and how it had all been a set up by Stick to bring him back to their side; to fight the war that he had been warning them both about.

“I don’t know what Matthew has told you about me. Probably nothing good. But I need you to know…I did love him. That’s why I left. I realized…he wasn’t like us. He would never be like us. He was too…good. He didn’t belong with Stick and I. I didn’t want to be the one to put that light out inside of him. I didn’t want anyone to. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble between the two of you the night of the gala. I wasn’t aware that he hadn’t told you that I was in town, or what we were doing. I swear I was only trying to protect him.”

There was a glimmer of regret dancing along Elektra’s waterline, and you could see her own pain shadowing the faint smile on her lips.

“You weren’t the one that lied to me.”

Elektra blew out a breath as she took a seat in front of you, dragging her teeth along her bottom lip as she nodded.

“Matthew always has pure intentions. I know that. But for someone who is incredibly intelligent, he’s also a complete dumbass. He tries so hard to do the right thing…but he doesn’t stop to think about if he’s doing it the right way. Look I don’t…I don’t know anything about the two of you, and I’m not telling you what to do, but I can tell you that he is absolutely in love with you.”

“So…you didn’t come back to New York for him?”

“For his help, yes. To rekindle whatever we had, no. But for the record, even if I had, I wouldn’t have stood a chance in Heaven or Hell against you.”

There was something oddly comforting about Elektra’s words and the timid smile on her lips. It eased some of the tension pent up in your body, and you felt a little lighter as you let a deep exhale out through your parted lips. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you glanced over at her as you anxiously twisted a ring around your index finger.

“I…thank you. You…you didn’t have to…do all of this. I hate to even ask anything of you when you’re already doing so much for me but…can you just…not tell Matt I’m here? I’m not ready to talk to him yet.”

Elektra flashed you a pitiful smile as she gave a slight nod of her head.

“Of course. It’ll be our little secret.”

It only took Matt three days to figure out that Elektra had been hiding you, and as he burst through the front door of her penthouse, he was absolutely incandescent.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. You’ll have a sleepover with her, but you won’t talk to me?”

“Watch your tone, Matthew.”

Elektra glared over at Matt, tightening her grip on the knife in her hand that was hovering over a cutting board filled with various ingredients.

Matt furiously tore off his glasses as he angrily pointed his finger in her direction, the top of his lip curling up into a menacing snarl.

“I don’t want to hear shit from you after you-“

“I protected her because you led the Hand right to her. You’re fucking welcome by the way.”

Elektra let out a deep angry exhale as she turned to face you with a sour pout on her lips. She gestured her head in Matt’s direction with a quirk of her brow.

“I can get rid of him if you’d like.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Matthew.”

Sighing heavily as you let go of the whisk in your hand, you pushed the large bowl of batter forward on the kitchen island and wiped your hands off on a small towel. Rubbing your hands over your tired eyes, you waved your hand dismissively towards Elektra.

“It’s…it’s fine, Ellie. I’ll deal with him.”

Elektra eyed you for a moment before shooting another glare in Matt’s direction. She dropped the knife onto the cutting board, wiping her hands off on the same towel before clasping them together loudly.

“Right, well, I’ll leave the knife out just in case. Remember the three main areas I taught you to stab. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

After you watched Elektra disappear upstairs into her bedroom, you turned around to face Matt. His eyes were absolutely wild with rage and his face was morphed into complete disbelief as he blanched at you.

“Ellie? Since when the hell is she Ellie?”

“Since she’s the only one around here that tells me the truth about what the fuck is going on.”

Matt clenched his fists at his sides as he stared blankly over at you, and you watched as a muscle feathered in his jaw.

“What did she tell you?”

“Everything you didn’t.”

You could practically feel the anger radiating off of him in waves, but you had more of a right to be pissed off than he did. Matt shoved his hand into his pocket, producing a shiny silver object that he held out in front of him between his thumb and index finger.

“What is this?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you arched one of your brows as you looked at him.

“A key.”

Your key.

Matt’s nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw, quickly crossing the distance between you to stand directly in front of you.

“Don’t get smart with me. Do you have any idea how it felt to wake up that next morning and you were gone? All of you, your things, everything gone? And to find this on the table? Not even-“

“I’d imagine it was as shitty as you coming home covered in red lipstick and smelling like your ex lover's perfume. Or as shitty as finding out you lied about where you were and who you were with, and that you kissed her and lied about that too.”

Matt ran his hand through his hair quickly in annoyance before dragging it roughly down his jaw, shaking his head as he flung his arms up in the air with frustration.

“Goddamnit Y/N, we talked about that! We worked through it. Then you just…disappeared and ignored me for weeks. You won’t return any of my calls, you won’t open the door, I can’t even-“

“We didn’t talk about anything, Matt! You kept trying to justify your actions and completely ignored how I was feeling. We didn’t work through anything. You manipulated me and we fucked. That is not working through it.”

Matt sighed with exasperation as he stared at you incredulously.

“I did not manipulate you. Fuck, I told you that I wanted to marry you and have a family witn you-“

“In the middle of sex, Matthew! I don’t know if you even meant that, or if it was a heat of the moment thing. And don’t you dare say you didn’t manipulate me. You took advantage of the fact that I was frustrated and that you hadn’t touched me in weeks. You knew I would give into you. How do you think that makes me feel? That you completely ignored my feelings, manipulated me into sex for forgiveness, and filled my head with all those promises knowing that our relationship was in a bad spot. I can’t trust a word that you say because you can’t seem to stop lying to me.”

Matt’s anger evaporated the second he tasted the salt of your tears in the air. He hung his head between his shoulders in shame, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the severity of your words nestled in the silence. Letting out a soft sigh, Matt’s tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips.

“You’re right.”

His hazel eyes were more clear without the cloud of vexation, and you could see the way they glistened with regret. Matt’s plump lips fell into a frown, and guilt seemed to tug the rest of his features down like gravity.

“I’m sorry. I swore to you that I wouldn’t lie after I told you the truth about me. I broke my promise to you, I betrayed your trust, and I disrespected our relationship. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never, ever meant to hurt you. I didn’t want you to get mad that I was working with Elektra. I didn’t think…I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t considering your feelings. I shouldn’t have kissed her. I could’ve come up with another diversion. All of this could’ve been avoided if…if I had just told you the truth.”

Matt let out a shaky breath as his blank eyes glanced upwards, closing for a moment as he clenched his fists by his sides. A stray tear slipped past his lashes when he opened his eyes again, slowly lowering himself onto his knees before you as he reached for one of your hands to hold.

“I have been…absolutely fucking miserable these past few weeks, and that’s my own fault. I know that. I have hated not getting to feel your touch, or hear your voice, or be able to tell you how much I love you. I am so fucking sorry if I ever made you question how I feel about you, but Y/N I meant every word that night. You are the love of my life. You do belong with me. I do want to marry you and start a family. I swear to God, I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust back and your forgiveness. Just tell me what I have to do sweetheart, and I’ll do it.”

It broke your heart to see Matt look so distraught. It stung even more than he was on his knees begging for forgiveness instead of asking you to spend the rest of your lives together, but there was an undeniable conviction in his voice. It soothed the pang in your chest slightly to finally hear him acknowledge his fuck up, and apologize for it instead of getting defensive. Elektra had melted away the insecurity you had felt with her confession, and the frightened look that shattered Matt’s face showed you just how scared he was to lose you.

There was still a lot of work to be done on your relationship. It wasn’t going to be fixed overnight, and Matt was going to have to put in a lot of effort to earn your trust back, and prove to you just how much your relationship mattered to him. But you were in love with him, and you knew there was no one else for you but him.

“You can start by taking care of this…”Hand” shit. I’m not loving the fact that I’m being hunted by zombie ninjas because of my idiot boyfriend.”

Matt’s ears instantly perked up, and a lopsided hopeful grin stretched across his lips.

“I’m still your boyfriend?”

“For now. You’re dangerously close to being replaced by Elektra, though. She’s always bluntly honest, and her bed is way nicer.”

You never in a million years thought that your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend would fight just as hard as he would to keep you safe, but Elektra had. She protected you from The Hand just as fiercely as Matt did, nearly giving her life for you both, and now she was securing the last button on the back of your wedding dress and staring at you in the mirror with a knowing smirk.

The morning you slipped out of Matt’s apartment heartbroken and desolate seemed like a lifetime ago as you prepared yourself to meet him at the altar in just under an hour.

“What’s on your mind, little dove? Got cold feet?”

Elektra quirked one of her dark brows as she stared at your reflection with her signature smirk. Karen had left the two of you alone to go check on Matt and Foggy, and she was helping you with your finishing touches.

After helping save New York, Elektra had stuck around, and to both of your surprises, and certainly to Matt’s, you two had become very close. The more you got to know the more vulnerable side of her, the more you felt for her. She wasn’t the villain that everyone had painted her out to be. She had been a scared little girl, manipulated with a promise of something resembling a family, only to be broken down and molded into something to orchestrate death and destruction instead. It wasn’t unlike what Stick had done to Matt. As a matter of fact, it was worse.

“If I said yes?”

Elektra hummed quietly as she moved your hair off your shoulder, leaning in to rest her chin on it as she wrapped you up in a hug from behind with a grin on her lips.

“Ever been to Paris this time of year? It’s beautiful. We could be at a private air strip before anyone even knew what happened. Matthew is fast, but he can’t outrun a Maserati.”

A grin broke out across your lips as you giggled, squeezing onto Elektra’s arms when she winked. You had never been more sure of anything in your life than you were sure that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Matt Murdock. Both of you knew that. But you also both knew he was eavesdropping just on the other side of the church, and it was incredibly easy to rile him up.

As if on cue, Foggy suddenly burst through the door and pointed a finger at Elektra with an expression of pure irritation on his face.

“Whatever you’re telling her, knock it off. You’re scaring the shit out of him, and he’s already convinced enough as it is that she's not gonna walk down that aisle.”

“Oh relax, Franklin. Girls got to have their fun, yeah? Besides, I thought they called him the man without fear.”

Foggy rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind him, walking over to shoo Elektra away as he stood behind you and adjusted your veil down your back.

“Yeah, until it comes to her. Go head to head with the Punisher who's notorious for using automatic weapons with sticks? Sure. Take on a weird cult of ninjas that can’t die and like to use really sharp swords also only with sticks? Why not. Fuck it, let’s use every goddamn tall building in Hell’s Kitchen for parkour practice. But ask the woman I’m ridiculously in love with to marry me and put up with my shit for the rest of our lives? That’s where the devil seems to tuck his tail between his legs.”

Matt had been an absolute nervous wreck the night he proposed to you. He had brought you to the same restaurant that he had taken you to for dinner on your first date, and was fidgety the whole time. Every time you asked if he was okay, he swore up and down that he was, and you figured there was just something overwhelming one or several of his senses. But then you noticed that despite it being mid November, he was sweating as you walked hand in hand through Central Park, and his hand kept nearly slipping from yours. Finally, you stopped and turned to face him, placing your hand on his chest to steady him.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?”

“N-Nothing, I’m fine. Let’s keep-”

“No, you aren’t. You’ve been acting strange all night. You’ve been anxious and fidgety, and now you’re sweating.”

“It’s hot-”

“It’s November, Matthew.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly as he went to protest, but nothing came out. He was usually good at coming up with excuses on the spot, but whatever was going on with him had seemed to completely take over his mind. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as he averted his gaze to the ground, watching as he clenched his fist by his side. You took a step forward to place your hands gently on his cheeks to cradle his face.

“Matty, please talk to me. Is something wrong?”

“No, no nothing…nothing is wrong.”

“Then what is going on? What’s got you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up-”

“Matthew.”

Matt let out a sigh of defeat hearing the tone in your voice, his tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips as he attempted to flash you a reassuring smile.

“Can we just keep walking please? There’s something I wanna show you.”

There was evident excitement in Matt’s voice, but it didn’t resonate with you. The way he kept dodging your questions was beginning to put you in a sour mood, conjuring up a bitter taste of realization that he was on the cusp of breaking an oath he had sworn to keep. Dropping your hands quickly from his face, you shook your head in frustration as you turned around swiftly to walk ahead without him.

“You promised me you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

You only made it two steps forward before Matt blurted out a confession laced with full blown panic.

“I’m in love with you.”

Immediately pausing, you turned around to look at him in complete confusion.

“I know that, Matt.”

Matt let out a heavy exhale as he rushed forward and took your hand into his, scrunching up his nose as he shook his head quickly.

“No, I…I mean…that I’m…fuck, this isn’t going right.”

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose as his lips pursed into a frown, and you eyed him curiously as you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“What isn’t going right? What are you talking about?”

“Will you just…come with me? Please? I really need to show you something.”

Matt’s face was twisted in what looked like agony, and the desperation in his voice made you nervous. You didn’t think you had ever seen him look so…terrified, not even that night at Elektra’s when he thought you were going to leave him for good. You allowed Matt to guide you further through the park, venturing off down a path only he seemed to know, and stopping once you reached a gate that was covered in ivy. He pulled a key from his pocket to unlock it, and pushed it open with a slight creak, gesturing for you to enter first with a timid smile.

A shocked gasp flew past your lips as you stepped inside. It was an isolated garden, completely closed in by ivy covered walls, lit up only with various strings of white twinkle lights and the glow of the moon. To your delight, there were several plants and flowers in full bloom, and the whole scene looked like a vibrant painting you would hang on your wall.

“I hear this place is beautiful.”

Turning around to face Matt, you noticed that he had taken off his glasses, and was apprehensively turning them over in his hands over and over. The timid smile was still plastered on his lips, but his eyes were nearly blown open with distress.

“I…it’s…I don’t even know how to describe it. How…how did you find this?”

“Karen did. It’s technically private property owned by the city, but Brett owed me a favor.”

The puzzlement on your face only grew as you stared at Matt, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you gestured around.

“Is this why you’ve been acting so weird? You didn’t think I’d like the surprise?”

Matt’s eyes darted back and forth blankly as he dragged his teeth along his bottom lip, swallowing thickly as he placed his glasses into his jacket pocket and took a few cautious steps forward.

“I…I hoped that you’d like it.”

“Matty, I love it. It’s so beautiful. But you didn’t have to be so nervous to show me this. You could’ve taken me to a random alley and I still would’ve loved it.”

Matt let out a breathless laugh as he shook his head, clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he smiled softly.

“Then it wouldn’t have been special.”

A furrow formed between your brows as you looked at him, trying to decipher all the cryptic pieces he was laying in front of you.

“What wouldn’t have?”

Matt was silent for a moment as he fixed his gaze on your face, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly as he studied you. Finally letting out a deep breath, he reached out to take one of your hands, brushing his thumb delicately over your knuckles as a slow smile spread over his lips.

“I told you, I’m in love with you.”

“And I’m in love with you, Matty.”

Matt took a step closer as he brought his other hand up to cradle your face, a tender smile on his lips as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over your cheek. You couldn’t tell if it was the reflection of the lights in his eyes, but they looked glossy, almost as if he was about to cry, and it made you squeeze onto his hand tighter.

“You…are the first person that has ever truly understood me. The first that’s ever accepted and loved both sides of me. You’ve never shied away from one, or favored the other, or asked me to choose. You haven’t given up on me, even when I’ve given you plenty of reasons to. You are the best part of my day. I can’t tell you how…how happy it makes me to know that when I come home at night, you’re there waiting for me. And no matter what kind of day I’ve had, or how rough of a night it was, it…it doesn’t matter, because you’re there. You give me a reason to make it home. I can’t tell you how much I love that I get to fall asleep holding you and listening to your heartbeat, and start every day hearing your voice and kissing your lips. I have never felt as…happy…and light as I do with you. I want to spend the rest of my life feeling this way. I want to spend the rest of my life ending every night with you and starting every morning with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So-”

Matt let out a shaky breath as he slowly dropped his hand from your face and tightly held onto your hand. You were already in tears from Matt’s words before, but the moment he dropped down onto one knee before you, the floodgates opened and a choked sob caught in your throat as your other hand flew up to cover your mouth.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

“Oh my God, Matty…yes…yes!”

Matt blew out a shaky breath of relief as he closed his eyes for a moment, the tension in his shoulders evaporating right in front of your eyes as he let his head drop. You couldn’t help but laugh as you stared down at him in perplexity.

“Did you think I was going to say no?”

Matt rubbed his hand down his face to wipe away his own tears, letting out another breathless laugh and sniffling as he looked up at you with a goofy grin on his lips.

“Figured I had a fifty-fifty shot.”

Lips splitting into the biggest smile you had ever seen, Matt quickly rose to his feet and grabbed your face, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss as you gripped onto his jacket to hold him close. All of a sudden he quickly pulled away and shoved his hand down into his pocket.

“Oh shit, uh…sorry…I…here.”

Matt laughed nervously as he pulled a small velvet black box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring inside. Your mouth fell open as a gasp escaped, and you gripped onto Matt’s forearm as fresh tears welled in your eyes.

“Matty…”

“Do…do you like it?”

“I…I love it. It’s…it’s perfect. How did you-”

“I had some help.”

Glancing up at Matt through your teary eyes, you watched as a bashful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pulling the ring from the box, Matt gently grabbed onto your wrist with a shaky hand, and carefully slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit absolutely perfectly, and you stared down at it in awe as it dazzled beneath the lights. You were overwhelmed with so many emotions, and you didn’t know what to do other than grab Matt’s face and pull him down for a searing kiss.

The two of you gripped onto each other as if you were afraid the other might disappear if you loosened your grasp even the slightest. You were a flurry of lips and teeth, trying to devour the other’s desire, consuming the taste of happiness together. Matt laid you down in the soft grass of the garden floor and made love to you right there, intertwining his hand with yours that wore the symbol of his love and promise to you.

A burst of laughter ripped through your chest at that memory of Matt’s nervousness as you covered your mouth, staring at Foggy knowingly in the reflection of the mirror. Elektra’s mouth split into a huge grin as she rolled her eyes, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and giving Foggy’s shoulder a squeeze on her way to the door.

“Alright, alright. Let me go do damage control. I’ll see you both out there. Oh, and Y/N, darling?”

You turned your head to look over at her as she paused in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

A warm smile tugged at the corners of Elektra’s mouth as she stared over at you, leaning her head briefly against the door.

“You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

You pursed your lips slightly as your face twisted up faintly into an expression of gratitude, returning her smile with one of your own.

“Thank you, Ellie.”

Elektra flashed you a quick wink, closing the door behind her to leave you alone with Foggy.

“She’s right, you know. You do look beautiful.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth as you looked at Foggy in the mirror, arching one of your brows quizzically.

“Did you just agree with her?”

“That stays between us. This is a one time thing.”

Laughing softly, you turned around to pull Foggy into a tight hug, sighing in relaxation as his arms came around you to hold you securely to his chest. There didn’t seem to be anything that a hug from Foggy Nelson couldn’t fix. All of the pent up nerves seemed to dissipate from the warmth of his embrace, and you suddenly felt a million times lighter.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for.”

“I have everything to thank you for.”

“Well in that case, I think Foggy would be a great name for your future kid.”

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest as you giggled, pulling back slightly to peer up at him with a grin.

“I’ll put in a good word.”

After Foggy left you alone to go rejoin Matt and the others, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your dress for the millionth time. A part of you was still in disbelief that today was the day you were marrying your best friend. Matt had sworn to not take the second chance you had given him for granted, and had been treating it as if it were sacred. He opened up to you about everything now, even the rough nights that plagued his thoughts, and the horrors he desperately wanted to protect you from. There wasn’t a single thought or emotion he hid anymore, and he’d even gotten better about finding balance between each of his lives. That wasn’t to say that you both didn’t struggle from time to time still, but your relationship was the healthiest it had ever been.

A knock against the door tore you from your thoughts, and a smile quickly spread across your lips at the sight of the figure leaning against the doorway.

“Hey big guy.”

Frank’s mouth split into a grin as he looked at you, giving a slight nod of his head in your direction.

“Hey darlin’.”

Turning away from the mirror to face him fully, you swallowed thickly as you smoothed your trembling hands down the sides of your dress and gestured to it.

“I look okay?”

Frank cocked his head to the side as he smirked, taking you in with his eyes as he took a few steps forward to stand in front of you.

“You kiddin’? You’re gonna knock Red on his ass.”

You didn’t hardly have any family outside of the chosen one you had made with Matt, Foggy, Karen, Elektra, and Frank. When you’d let it slip to him that you would be walking down the aisle alone, Frank instantly offered to be the one to walk you. He confessed that it would probably be the closest he would ever get to walking his own daughter down the aisle, and you graciously accepted without hesitation.

A smirk curled at the corner of your mouth as you let your eyes wander over his large figure, finally meeting his deep brown curious eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…”

“Dressed up, yeah yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

“I was gonna say not covered in blood.”

Frank let out a deep chuckle as he shook his head slowly, looking down at you with a dazzling grin on his lips.

“Figured I could behave for a few days so I didn’t mess up your pretty dress, yeah?”

“How generous of you.”

As the processional music started to play, the nerves you felt earlier returned full force, and you gripped onto Frank’s arm tightly as the reality of the situation started to sink in. This was actually happening. Matt was waiting for you on the other side of these doors, and in just a few moments, he would finally be your husband. Tears started to form in the corners of your eyes as your emotions started to catch up with you, thinking about everything the two of you had gone through together, and how it had all led up to this moment. Frank’s lips brushed against your cheek as he bent down to whisper into your ear.

“You say the word, and I’ll get you outta here. No questions asked, yeah?”

Gripping a little tighter onto his arm, you leaned into Frank’s embrace as a shaky breath left your lips.

“Where would we go?”

“Wherever you want, darlin’. I could hide you places even he couldn’t find.”

You swore you heard Matt groan loudly on the other side of the door, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you dipped your head back to look up at Frank. Taking a deep breath in, you exhaled slowly through your parted lips and nodded with a soft smile.

“I’m ready.”

Frank gave a slight nod as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, dropping his left eye in a wink as he smiled.

“Attagirl.”

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Don’t let me fall, please.”

Frank wrapped his right arm tightly around your waist, holding onto your hand with his left one as he squeezed it gently.

“Never.”

»»———　　———««

“As absolutely beautiful as you are in this dress, it’s time for it to come off.”

“You don’t wanna leave it on?”

“I’d love to, sweetheart, but it’s kind of in my way. Besides, it’s so pretty, I’d hate to ruin it with all the things I wanna do to you, Mrs. Murdock.”

A soft gasp left your lips as Matt gently sucked on that sensitive spot on your neck below your ear, and you could feel him grin against your skin when your heart skipped. He had taken every opportunity throughout the evening to call you that, or refer to you as his wife. Every time it hit your ears, a buzz of serotonin flooded your bloodstream and left you hazy.

“And what, exactly, is it that you wanna do to me, Mr. Murdock?”

Matt’s fingertips brushed lightly along the exposed skin of your bare back, causing a shudder to course through you while his nimble fingers delicately tugged the zipper of your dress agonizingly slow down your back. His stubble tickled against your cheek as he nuzzled your jaw, inhaling your scent deeply while leaving open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck.

“Fuck a baby into you.”

Gripping tightly onto his suit jacket, you were suddenly taken back to that night over a year ago when he’d first made that promise, and his words from that night flowed through your ears.

I’m gonna marry you someday, Y/N.

I will put a ring on your finger tomorrow.

I will put a baby in you tonight.

A fresh wave of mixed emotions glossed over your eyes, and Matt slowly pulled back to stare blankly down at your face with an expression of concern as he cradled your face in his hand.

“What is it, angel?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Matt tilted his head to the side slightly as his honey hazel eyes gazed down at you, tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips before they pulled into a timid smile.

“Was it the wedding you always wanted?”

Bringing your own hand up to cup Matt’s jaw, you pulled him in closer to touch your foreheads together as you whispered softly.

“Of course it was, Matty. You were the groom.”

Matt had been continuously asking you the same question all night, wanting to make sure you were absolutely happy with the biggest day of your lives. Honestly, it had been perfect. Karen had taken over as your unofficial wedding planner, and between her, Marci, and Elektra, you’d hardly had to lift a finger. Getting married in a church wasn’t a huge deal for you since you weren’t religious, but you knew how much it meant to Matt, and you offered to marry him in his church where his parents would’ve married. It was small and intimate, exactly what you both wanted.

The second you stepped through the open doors with Frank, Matt immediately started to cry. You were only a second behind him as soon as you saw him, the two of you gripping onto each other’s hands as Father Lantom led the ceremony, bringing everyone in attendance to tears as you exchanged your heartfelt vows. Matt had captured your lips in a deep kiss as soon as Father Lantom uttered his name, and he lightly smacked him over the back of the head with his bible to remind him that he was in church when the kiss started getting a little too heated for the house of God. Maggie had simply laughed, reminding Father Lantom that Matthew was indeed Jack Murdock’s son.

The reception was held at Josie’s where you had first met Matt over two years ago, courtesy of Karen. Foggy had drunkenly climbed onto the bar to deliver his best man speech which only drew further tears out of everyone from laughter by telling the most embarrassing story he could conjure about Matt from college, and also from the passionate gratitude he showered you in for making his best friend the happiest he had ever seen him.

Matt told me once he thought you were an angel created by God himself, and sent down from Heaven just for him, exactly when he needed you. I believe that’s true. There’s no other explanation for how perfect you are for him. Thank you for bringing my brother the happiness he’s always deserved. I love you both.

Karen could hardly contain her own tears as she spoke fondly about you and Matt, bringing even Frank and Jessica to tears with her sweet words.

I knew the night you met Matt that you loved him. I could see it in your eyes. Thank you for loving him the way that you do. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me as your best friend for you to end up with someone like Matt. Because I know he will take care of you, and protect you, and love you with everything he’s got, and I know you’ll do the same for him. I’m just so happy my two favorite people found each other.

“Today was the happiest day of my life. A day I never honestly thought would come, but I’m so happy it did, and I’m so happy it was with you. I wouldn’t change anything about it. I mean…apart from everyone offering to help you runaway, but.”

A loud laugh slipped past your ears at the annoyed look on Matt’s face, countered by the smirk that was threatening to spill across his lips. You gently squeezed his cheeks to purse his lips into a pout, leaning in to kiss them softly.

“You know they were joking.”

“No, Frank and Elektra were serious. They were actually gonna smuggle you out.”

Giggling softly, you shook your head as you leaned in to press your lips against Matt’s softly once more.

“Well I didn’t run, did I?”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose, shaking his head slowly as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“No. Still not sure why you didn’t.”

“There was cake.”

Matt rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up above you, and you giggled uncontrollably as you grabbed onto his tie to pull him back down towards you.

“I’m kidding! You know someone has to keep the Devil in line.”

Matt clicked his tongue against his cheek, narrowing his eyes slightly as he cocked his head to the side and stared down at you with a light smirk.

“That the only reason, then? Because you’re the only one that can?”

“I can think of a few more. Now, I thought you were helping me out of this dress?”

“I was.”

“Then be a good husband, Matthew, and help your wife.”

Matt’s eyes darkened considerably at the sultry tone of your voice, and a devilish grin took over his mouth as your beloved dimples settled in his inner cheeks. He was careful as he slipped the silk gown down your body, laying it carefully over the dresser before attacking your body with kisses once again. You frantically clawed at his jacket and dress shirt, blindly making quick work of his belt, already panting just from the idea of having your husband inside of you. There seemed to be a silent understanding between the two of you that neither of you had the patience for foreplay tonight, and all you both wanted in that moment was to be absolutely consumed by one another.

As Matt settled between your spread thighs, a wash of nerves made you shiver, and you found yourself placing your shaky palm on his chest over his heart to get his attention.

“Matty…did you…are we…you really want a baby with me? Right now?”

Matt tilted his head in confusion as he let his eyes blankly wander over you, placing his palm flat on the pillow by your head as he leaned in closer towards you. You and Matt had been talking more seriously about starting a family after you got engaged, and you stopped taking birth control a few months before the wedding to make sure it was fully out of your system for when you two were ready to actually start trying.

“Of course I do. Why? Did you change your mind?”

“No! No no, it’s not that. I just…you aren’t going to miss it? I mean…the city means so much to you, Matty, and-”

“Hey, you mean the most to me. You’re the love of my life, sweetheart.”

You wrapped your fingers around Matt’s wrist as he held your face, nibbling at your bottom lip as you let out a shaky breath.

“I know, baby. I just…I know how much you need that part of yourself-”

“Not anymore. All I need is you. I’m still protecting the city, and the people in it, everyday. I’m still helping people. But New York doesn’t really need Daredevil anymore. It has people to protect it, like Luke and Jessica. And Colleen, Danny, even Frank and Elektra. You need me. And the one thing I care more about protecting and keeping safe is you, and our family.”

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and regret hanging up the suit, or feel any kind of resentment-”

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I could never regret anything with you. How could I feel even an ounce of resentment when you’re offering to give me the greatest gift in the world that I’ll never be able to repay you for, hm?”

Matt carefully wiped a stray tear away from your eye as you reached up to gently grab onto the back of his neck, pulling him down so that his chest was flush to yours as you whispered softly.

“I just want to make you happy, Matty.”

“You do, angel. Everyday. You are my happiness. Now, can I please make love to my wife?”

Matt took his time as he entered you, peppering kisses on every inch of your body he could find, moving his hips lazily as he fucked into you slowly to ensure you both felt everything. Interlacing your fingers together, he held your hands above your head and squeezed them tightly, repeatedly whispering into your ear how much he loved you, how beautiful and perfect you were for him, and how badly he wanted you to give him a baby. Matt pulled your legs tightly around his waist, angling your hips to reach the most delicious depths within you, spilling his seed into the deepest layer of your garden to plant the foundation for the family you both so desperately wanted together.

Neither of you could get enough, and Matt fucked you sweetly and slowly several more times into the early hours of the night until your bodies simply couldn’t take anymore. He refused to withdraw himself from you, keeping his soft cock nestled within you, preventing any ounce of your future he had emptied into you from slipping out as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Matt placed his palm over your lower belly, absentmindedly stroking his thumb in slow circles over the first home your child would have.

“I love you so much, angel.”

“I love you so much, Matty.”

Matt was here. Matt loved you. Matt was yours.

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @thychuvaluswife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil smut #frank castle #elektra natchios #foggy nelson #karen page

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btsmosphere · 15 days

Text

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 1: the Light Dies

masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.6k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, it’s sorta like a mafia au but they have superpowers lmao 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, minor character death, attempted murder, injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: I have to say thank you to @casuallyimagining and @bluewhale52 for betaing this chapter, although this might come as a surprise to them since that was maybe 3 years ago now?😅I'm really not sure how much my writing had changed since then, but you guys can be the judge of that as the future chapters unfold! In the meantime, enjoy! If you want more supercharged in your life, you can also search my supercharged tag to find some musings, rambling, gifsets and visuals etc that inspired me and kept me going while I lost my mind over this story!

Lastly, I present the supercharged playlist✨ I had a lot of fun making this – several songs align with plot events, while some of them are there for the title, the vibe, or even a single line! Feel free to guess which are which or come and chat with me about it👀

An ear-splitting roar was barely contained behind shuddering steel doors. Just down the corridor, your fingers still clicked away, unperturbed, at your keyboard.

Tapping your foot, you looked impatiently up at the clock as another thunderous bellow assaulted the air. If the full-length windows weren’t reinforced by your boss, Kuyang’s own design, they would be rattling in their frames.

Blowing to rid your face of a strand of hair, you returned to your work, not even sparing a glance towards the source of the racket. It was only around half an hour until you could leave work for the weekend.

Finishing your task, you turned to filing the correspondence on your desk as a few yells carried through the air, mingled with the monster’s uproar. Bills and business deals the lot of them, you tucked them away in their respective places to be dealt with next week – only to stop on the very last one. How many times had the postman ignored the very clear sign for no newspapers?

You supposed the city felt the need to remind everyone that there was some semblance of central control – not really of much concern in a workplace such as yours, mind. Glancing across the front page, you realised why. You didn’t have a tv at home, but you would have to live under a rock not to recognise your city’s most celebrated superhero. Bolt, the media’s beloved, had claimed another victory against some crazy start-up trying to build their own bombs downtown.

The hero’s blue-masked face grinned confidently up at you from the desk, while police led what looked to be two scruffy teenagers into the back of their van. But Bolt’s vivid presence eclipsed them in his suit that matched his bright eyes.

Not bothering to read further, you pushed the paper into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Just as you were tucking away the final bits of paper, your boss emerged, wiping his brow on a cloth that looked as dirty as his face. Smiling pleasantly despite his ruffled state, you rotated on your chair to face him.

“Frank’s all good and sleepy now,” he said, “if you could get him sent up to the chamber.”

“Sure,” you nodded, already getting up and straightening your jacket.

With nothing more than a weary nod of appreciation, he left for his private laboratory. This was through a series more armoured doors, to which only you and a small number of lab workers knew the codes.

He was a scientist. And you were sure he was unhinged, but the job paid well, so that was all you concerned yourself with.

In fact, you had got very lucky. You had been surprised when such a good position had become available and quickly given to someone as ill-qualified as you, with no references to give. But your lack of connections seemed of no concern, and here you were, finally making ends meet and no longer in fear of being turned out of your run-down apartment at the edge of town.

So you did your job as well as you could, worrying yourself over nothing except pleasing the odd man that was Kuyang.

Even so, it was still a little daunting each time you had to come face-to-face with one of his experiments.

Reaching the steel doors that had not long ago been seriously threatening their hinges, you took a breath. Holding your thumb over a scanner by the door, you plastered a confident smile on your face as you walked inside.

Affectionately dubbed ‘Frank’, a great lump of teeth and dark furry flesh several times bigger than you was sleeping in a pod at the centre of the room. Surrounding this were multitudes of screens showing graphs and readings you couldn’t hope to understand.

At the edges of the room, a smattering of other workers were slumped against the stainless steel lab walls, almost as rumpled as their boss had been.

A hulking guard, Taeyeon, stood near the entrance, and you quietly confirmed with her that Frank was under and secure. Nodding, you gestured to Taeyeon’s team, another man and woman with the same uniform and intimidating stature.

Together, you assembled in front of the tank that held Frank, Taeyeon typing authorisation into one of the computers. The others locked down the external doors, just in case.

Though it was a familiar sight by now, the opening of the pod always prompted you to run through your training. If you hadn’t read it in the documents you dealt with, you would not have known Frank was also known as Necrus X, a new prototype Kuyang was working on, although you could not imagine what for.

Kuyang had been sure to tell you how to knock out the creature if it ever came to it, though. There was a spot behind his ear, which was more of a ridge at the side of his enormous head.

With the pod open, a panel rose from the floor, taking Frank rotating upwards. You caught sight of the patch behind its ear, zeroing in on it. Just in case.

The smooth expanse of ceiling split then, a hole revealing itself as the roof shrunk away into the walls, leaving a clear path for Frank to rise to the next floor, where he was stored.

As effortlessly as the ceiling retreating, a smooth steel staircase emerged from the walls. You and Taeyeon climbed it, spiralling around the edges of the circular space until you drew level with Frank, now snoring on the upper floor. Here, the space was wide open like an empty art gallery, half the walls comprised of expansive windows, no lab equipment to be seen.

The floor closed up beneath you both and you walked around Frank, opening a secret panel in the wall. As before, you raised your thumb to a blank scanner – but got no further.

A deafening smash sent you crouching to the ground in panic. Livid blue painted all the walls in the space as shattered glass skidded across the floor.

You had thought that glass to be unbreakable. At least that was the intention. But when you turned, you were forced to believe your ears: the central panel of glass was completely blown in, all the others down the row cracked from the force.

At the same moment the glass had shattered, you could suddenly hear what before had been hidden behind soundproofing. Outside, there were shouts, screams, car horns and alarms blaring from every angle – and above all, sirens. Sirens wailing through the air like disembodied banshees, descending, apparently, on your building.

Shuffling along the floor, you peered past the sleeping mass that was Frank in front of you. Walking across the room was a man in a tight blue suit, the same hue crackling in the air around his hands.

Bolt.

Mind short-circuiting, you were frozen. What should you do?

What was Bolt doing here? Was there some kind of threat? The image of him should have brought you relief, even though you knew nothing of what the danger was, but you hesitated.

Only having the presence of mind to shrink back silently behind Frank, you looked between the beast and the control panel you had abandoned. But you had no more chance to move before a fearsome crack ripped through the air, another flash of blue, sending the hairs on your arms bolting upright.

Spinning back to face Frank, you were met with a thump. A body, falling onto the floor.

Though she was mostly obscured by Frank’s sleeping form, you stared in unbelieving horror at Taeyeon where she lay, unmoving. Breath accelerating in your throat, you moved at last, scooting yourself back and away. Closer to the wall.

First you lunged to sound the alarm, mounted inside the wall panel, which instantly lit the room up in throbbing red, blaring loud enough to drown out the sirens outside. Then your hand was fumbling across the scanner. You had to get Frank locked away.

The walls of the pod which safely contained Frank overnight began to descend, much too slowly for your liking. Whirling to face the room, your heart seized in your chest when the imposing figure of Bolt, now shaded purple by the red light, met your eyes.

A glance up at the descending walls. They were halfway to the ground by now, but you still had to enter the code to lock them down.

Bolt yelled for you to stop, barely audible over the dizzying noise of the warning siren.

As he strode towards you, you could only watch, pressing yourself desperately against the wall as if it could swallow you up.

Bright light cut through the imposing red as the heavy door at the opposite end of the room was thrown open. Bolt stopped, both of you turning to see Kuyang enter. His hair was still sticking up from earlier, a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before.

Paying no mind to the maniacal smile that had no place on Kuyang’s face, you took the moment of distraction to scramble for the code lock.

Without a sound, the gap between the floor and Frank’s pod closed, and your fingers were already leaping to action, typing the numbers behind your back at lightning speed.

Kuyang was running now, a direct path towards Bolt. But Bolt turned back towards you.

You were nearly done, but his hand was raising towards you…

In a split second, your fingertip met the final key of the code. Almost instantly, it was ripped away as shocking blue light cut through the air. You felt the impact before you could even notice that it was aimed at you.

Hitting you square in the chest, white hot pain scorched through your every nerve as your body was flung backwards, powerless as a ragdoll sailing through the air. The collision with the cracked window behind was almost lost on you. More intense pain was writhing its way down each limb, making you cry out, uncaring about the rain-spattered wind that whipped about your face now.

But you could see shards of glass as they fell along with you, like daggers aimed at the ground.

Biting wind rushed in your ears, the sound crashing over you like waves. And just as a pan sizzles down off the heat, the ferocious attack of pain seemed to reduce just as fast as it had invaded you.

Your heartbeat was the loudest thing, booming over the insistent web of sirens and whistling air.

Breathing choppily, you screwed your eyes nearly closed, suddenly aware of the tempest around you as you fell. Above, the already darkening winter night was illuminated with flashes of that awful blue.

You were falling.

It hit you then, as if you hadn’t been falling all this time. But it was only now that your senses caught up with themselves. You worked on a very high floor of the skyscraper, but as you were tossed around in the air, you saw the ground rapidly approaching.

A horror gripped your chest like nothing you had ever felt before.

Below you, and rushing towards you at terrifying speed, a skip sat surrounded by heaps of trash on the street. Unable to think, you could only shield your face with your hands, stretched out in front of you as if to stop the inevitable collision.

Though your eyes fell closed, you felt the jerk that flung your whole body backwards.

That wasn’t what you had expected.

Eyes snapping open in confusion, you found your vision lit with blue. In front of your face, blue light was shooting from your palms, pushing you up and away from the ground.

Your mouth fell open. Gaping in shock, you did nothing as the light died and you slowed again in the air.

Though you began falling much slower this time, you barely had time to notice your surroundings – much nearer the ground – before you were plummeting again, and this time nothing could stop you.

Your eyes weren’t even open when you felt your body slide off something. Not a second later, you were crumpling onto hard concrete which grazed your cheek.

You groaned.

It was dark. High above, any flashes of light didn’t reach you here, having landed in a thin alley beside the building. And though this shielded you from the commotion on the main streets out front, sirens still pierced the air, each one feeling like a stab to your head.

You clutched it as you maneuvered to sit. It took you a few tries, groping for a wall or something to lean against as you regained your balance.

Eyes cracking open, you waited patiently for the dark splotches to dispel before looking around.

Right next to you was a car which blocked you from view of the road beyond this alley. Evident from the dent that caved in its bonnet, that was what you had landed on.

Turning your head, you had to squint even more as light assaulted your sensitive eyes.

Among a blazing light, you could make out the vague shapes of rubbish bags and an overflowing skip that you recognised. Out of these, a vibrant fire was now burning. The correlation was too strong for you to ignore.

Breath shallow, you turned your horrified gaze to your hands.

They had done this… but how? They looked totally normal now.

Frowning, you brought them up closer to your face, so that your nose was practically buried in your palms.

No difference.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined that blue light which saved you earlier. Was there a way to make it come back?

While you were puzzling, you lowered your hands again, still staring intently as you rotated them in your lap.

Then, quick as a blink, a blue flash darted from them again. So fast, in fact, that you had no time to react before one of the bolts was fired directly into your opposite arm.

Snatching it away reflexively, you hissed in pain as a burning sensation crawled, tingling, over your skin there.

Despite the pain, the blue light didn't cease shooting from your hands. They tingled, a strangely uncomfortable sensation. It was as if something warm was wriggling its way up your veins and spilling from your fingertips.

“Stop! Stop!” you whispered in panic.

You turned them outwards, aiming away from you, but if they kept at it for much longer you were sure to draw attention.

Moving your hands around jerkily, the beams of light shook along with you, but did not go out. With each unsuccessful movement, panic made you more frantic until the glowing rays jerked erratically around the small space.

Straying too far, the light came into contact with a post at the alley’s entrance. You could only watch, helpless, as light like blue snakes skittered up it and latched around the wires it supported.

To your relief, the strange current seemed to have found an outlet, and only remained a second longer before cutting out. You were left blinking in the relative darkness. Panting heavily, you stared down at your hands, although you did not bring them too close anymore.

Once again, they appeared utterly innocent. There was nothing to suggest they had just channelled lightning through them.

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. The fire still burned at the other end of the alley, or you would have been left totally blind. In the building behind you, in the street, all the lights had gone out.

Almost instantly following the blackout, screaming rose again in the air.

Gulping, your eyes travelled to the blackened post at the corner, which you had accidentally electrocuted.

This was bad. Your head was spinning, both from your short, hard fall and from the whirlwind of events that had happened in what could only have been minutes. Surrounded by darkness, with the wail of the city and a fire for company, you could only see one course of action.

Run.

You had to get away from here. It wasn’t safe. You had little idea where was safe, but you couldn’t be here anymore.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to call who would care enough to come and pick you up. Nor did you have the money to try a hospital, though you felt as if you may need it.

But especially with electricity shooting from your hands at the drop of a hat, it probably wasn’t best to be anywhere around people.

The dizziness from your unfortunate landing on the car had worn off while you were sitting, but the world swayed anew the moment you made to stand. Pushing determinedly against the wall, you struggled on anyway, brand new dark spots in your vision offset by the brightness of the fire you walked towards.

This end of the alleyway led out through smaller streets, away from the city centre and furore of sirens.

On reaching the opening, you cautiously assessed the road stretching away either side. Empty. And if there was anyone there, they wouldn’t see you in this darkness.

Shoving your hands beneath your armpits on some misguided hope of keeping them from causing problems, you lowered your head and ran. It was more of a jog, considering everything, but you still moved as quickly as you could beneath the dead streetlamps.

Head throbbing more with movement, you stumbled a few times as you went. The pavement tilted around you.

You had made it a few roads before you felt that awful tingling in your arms again. It itched, like something fighting its way out of your skin.

Nausea rolled in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real.

Slowing down and stopping beneath a signpost, you drew your shaking hands out in front of you. The world careened on its axis, revolving around the sight of your palms as a faint blue glow grew in them.

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it.

You wanted it to stop.

A few flickers of blue darted down the veins in your wrist. Towards your fingertips. Sparks leapt from them, small tendrils of lightning crackling between your fingers like webbing.

At last, you gave in to the rising horror mixed with a sick feeling. The floor’s spinning became too much, your hands turning to a bright blur in the centre of your vision.

You passed out on the spot.

Lights were turning on again around the city. Television sets flickering back to life to announce Bolt’s victory against the beast that had attacked earlier that evening.

But not on the street where you still lay.

The return of light only reached neighbouring roads, dim glow snuffed out before it could penetrate the middle of this street. A white-haired young man stepped forwards, but his face was totally obscured in darkness.

“Here,” he spoke to the silence.

The next moment, a deep red glowed in the middle of the road, though it brought little light. The red bounced off a signpost before it was gone, replaced by another man, seemingly from nowhere.

The newest arrival stood there, looking down at your figure, unconscious by the sign. Then he disappeared again, leaving total darkness behind as if he had never been there at all.

A few more moments passed, you and the hidden man the only beings on the dark road.

Not very long after, a car’s engine rumbled and sputtered into earshot. The bright beam of headlights rounded the corner, growing larger and shedding light on your form as it drew closer.

Pulling up next to you, the engine died along with the lights. Two doors opened and slammed shut.

As two pairs of feet stepped nearer to join the one remaining beside you, the streetlamp directly overhead began to glow. The faint glimmer grew until it illuminated the scene. Still no other lights joined it, leaving the small group of you lit up as if by spotlight.

“It’s her?”

The man crouching beside you asked the question without looking up, and the shadowed man answered.

“Pretty sure.”

“She’s breathing?”

“Yes.”

The crouching man hummed. Moving to kneel instead, his eyes roved over your somewhat battered face, dark hair obscuring his own.

“Namjoon?” he asked then, turning to the other man from the car. It was the same man who had momentarily appeared in the street earlier.

Taking his cue, the tall man, Namjoon, walked forwards and bent to lift your hands by the wrists. In just moments he was placing them carefully back, nodding.

“No doubt.”

“Okay then.”

“Can she travel, Jin?”

“Give me a moment.”

Producing a small object, he pressed a button and a small light sprung from the end. Carefully lifting one of your eyelids, he shone the light into it, observing like a doctor.

The first you became aware of was the far away sound of voices being quietly exchanged. But with the cloudiness in your head, identifying them didn’t seem very urgent. You were preoccupied with the swirling feeling that made the world swim around you, even though it was dark.

But as dim awareness was returning to you, the process of regaining your senses was violently accelerated as a blinding light was thrust into your vision.

You flinched, and as Jin pulled away he saw you blink, eyelids screwing shut in protest. His eyebrows raised in slight concern as he watched your first groggy movements.

Blinking around at the dimly lit figures over you, your eyes widened. The nearest man held the illuminated light stick. Was he a doctor?

Next, your eyes darted to the tall man standing behind him. You recognised neither.

Some strange feeling told you someone else was standing there too, but when you looked to your other side you were faced with nothing but empty shadow.

“Can you sit?”

The first man’s question was gentle, his hands ready to support you.

Nodding timidly, you heaved yourself up with his help. It embarrassed you to be panting after just that much movement.

“What happened?” came the next question.

As you replayed the events, you avoided their eyes. You could not let them know what happened, what you had become. They were helping you, and yet you might hurt them-

Fists clenching subconsciously, you stuttered in panic.

“I-I can’t pay,” you told them, but before you could say more a new voice was speaking. The standing man stepped forwards, his voice calm and surprisingly friendly.

“There’s no need to pay. We can help you. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t, uh, I-I-“

His eyes travelled towards your hands, which you were trying to tuck behind you.

“You gained powers, didn’t you?”

You froze.

“I have them too,” he smiled, “I know what it’s like to be scared. But you can work with this and learn to control them. I’m Namjoon, and this is Jin. We’ve been through this before, we can help you.”

At your sides, your hands relaxed. Tension lifted from your tightly hunched shoulders. Wordless, you looked between the men who were watching you, ready to move, but only on your word.

Swallowing, a light frown creased your brow.

“What do you want-”

Namjoon’s smile dimmed into something kinder.

“At least let us check you over.”

Your hands fretted together. It was strange, you couldn’t feel anything there. Surely they should feel different? How would you know if these… powers, Namjoon had said, were to come back?

“You won’t hurt us, don’t worry,” he seemed to anticipate your thoughts as he watched you, “we can protect ourselves.”

“You were unconscious,” Jin spoke, drawing your perplexed gaze back to him, “did you hit your head?”

You blinked, but found yourself answering.

“I think so.”

Nodding, Jin shuffled at your side. He leaned a bit closer.

“I need to shine this light in your eyes again. You may have a concussion.”

Complying, you sat through the eye-watering brightness. He asked you things, like a doctor would, except he was working in the middle of an empty street in the middle of the night.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“I did. I think still, a little.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yeah… but maybe because of the…” you gestured to your hands.

Jin sat back, taking the light with him. Namjoon shot you a sympathetic smile at that. You supposed he had been through the same thing, from the sounds of it.

Jin looked up at Namjoon.

“It looks pretty rough. Definitely a concussion, and she needs patching up, but in the long run she’ll be fine.”

“I-I’m serious,” you interjected, “I don’t have the money for hospital…”

Your voice faltered. You half thought of asking to just go home, but you were hardly sure of even making it there by yourself. And if you got there, then what? The prospect of burning down the place with these errant powers didn’t fill you with comfort.

“Good thing we’re not going to bring you there, then,” Namjoon said, “but I meant it when I said we could help. We can take you home, if you want… but you can stay with us, too.”

You stared at him wordlessly. Was it crazy that you were considering this?

“Just for a bit, if you need,” Jin added softly, “it’s just… now might not be the smartest time to be alone.”

You chewed your cheek. But your head was pounding too much to think very hard, and this seemed like the most straightforward option. The people in this city kept surprising you, after your first stroke of luck with Kuyang's generosity.

“Sure…” you spoke quietly, not quite able to look them in the eyes, “yes please.”

“Okay,” Namjoon took it in stride, “but let’s get moving.”

“Just one moment – we should wrap that.”

Gesturing towards your arm, Jin stood and went back to the car. On his return, he knelt again and began to secure cling film around the angry red blotch blistering your skin, where you had caught yourself with your own beam.

“We’ll sort it out properly when we get back,” he told you, “but Namjoon’s right, we should be going.”

You followed his gaze which seemed to dart up and down the street. However, nothing was there.

Jin helped you stand, still looking around. Sure enough, the dizziness from before hadn’t quite left you yet. Biting down on your lip, you focussed hard on getting the short distance to the car. You were led to the passenger seat and crumpled gratefully into it.

But just as Jin closed the door, you felt an uncomfortable prickling clutch your forearms again. Namjoon slid into the back seat in time to hear your gasp, noticing the way your fingers flexed in panic. Digging in his pockets, he produced a pair of thin black gloves and held them out to you just as the first trickles of blue appeared in your veins again. He watched with a studious frown as you pushed your hands into the gloves.

“Those will help,” he said, still looking at your wrists, “they can contain the powers. But you shouldn’t keep them on for too long.”

Jin was seating himself in the driver’s side as you frowned over at Namjoon. At first you had been relieved to have a solution to your erratic lightning problem, but that was ripped away at his last addition.

“Why not? It will keep you safe,” you questioned, but kept your voice quiet.

“Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of handling anything you could throw at us,” he laughed, “but you can keep them on in here. Best not to bottle up your powers forever, though.”

Resigned, you turned back to face front. The moment Jin stepped on the gas, all the lights in the road sparked to life at once. Startled, you blinked, looking around. On the pavement you were just pulling away from, a man was walking away, unidentifiable behind a hoodie.

Slumping back in your seat, you breathed a short, dry laugh. This mysterious happening was just the latest in this crazy night. You had no choice but to accept it.

The car ride was fairly short, but you were too tired and distracted to take in exactly where you were going. Streets seemed to blur together, aware only that you were heading out of town.

The itching in your arms had persisted for a while, but as promised, the gloves seemed to work. No fiery blue burst out of your palms, and, eventually, whatever it was decided to give it up, subsiding again by the time the car pulled up.

But no one got out yet. Jin had stopped at the end of a small road, big enough for only one vehicle, directly facing an expanse of crumbling and graffitied brick.

Curiosity woke you up from your daze, and you watched as Jin reached to tap something on his dashboard. Almost instantly, a groaning reached your ears from over the whirring of the engine. The wall ahead shook before shifting, sliding sideways until it tucked itself behind a dented dustbin, unveiling a space beyond.

Leaving you little more time to wonder, Jin started the car again and you rolled downwards through a plain, dark entrance. It reminded you of those multi-storey car parks formed with ugly blocks of concrete. It was considerably smaller than those, however, Jin pullingup into a space alongside about a dozen other vehicles, beyond which the place seemed entirely deserted.

Jin came around to open your door, but you were able to stand by yourself. It was still a bit of a struggle, your limbs sluggish and the world dull around you – although that may have just been the low underground light.

Namjoon led you, Jin staying close by your side. Blinking at the space as you moved through it, your eyes traced over the various car roofs, some cleaner than others. A larger four-by-four was particularly beaten up, with a large crease in one of the metal wheel arches.

Your eyes rested longest on what was probably the most pristine: a motorbike, at first hidden by the cars either side of it.

Soon enough, you were past them. Stopping as Namjoon did, you watched him expectantly. However, he did not turn around, instead standing face-to-face with a plain concrete wall. Except… now a low rumble announced the movement of a panel which slid away, revealing a wide doorway which had previously blended seamlessly with the flat wall.

Your eyebrows raised at the touch that was reminiscent of Kuyang’s lab. Without time for you to dwell on this, your small group moved up a dingy staircase that lay beyond the doorway.

At the top, you emerged into a new space, notably lighter than before. You assumed you were back on ground level, perhaps above. It was hard to be sure, disoriented as you still were in the whirlwind that had overtaken your day.

Bizarrely, the space appeared to be someone’s home. There was a large and coffee-stained table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a kitchen behind it littered with mugs and pot plants. Still, beyond the lived-in array of things lying around, it was big. You imagined it must be miles more expensive than the shoddy apartment you stayed in.

It was open plan, and you followed Namjoon past the dining table towards an area filled with two enormous sofas.

The back of a blond head was visible over the sofa, and now the person turned towards you.

“Guys!” a loud exclamation rang out as he leapt up. A dazzling smile spread across his mouth.

When his eyes fell on you, wincing at his sudden volume, the smile dimmed a little.

“Not so loud, Hope-ah,” Jin spoke gently from behind you.

“Sorry,” he dipped his head, smile remaining on his lips.

Jin’s hands came lightly to your back, steering you over to a sofa. As you sunk into it with relief, the blond man sat across from you, tilting his head to catch your eye.

“I’m Hope,” he smiled, “I’m glad we found you. You’ll be right in no time!”

Frowning, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over the damage on your face. Averting your gaze, you chewed your lip absently.

What did he mean? I’m glad we found you…

Had they been looking for you? You still weren’t sure if it was a lucky coincidence they found you, but perhaps it was something more.

The lingering ache in your head forced you to push the issue away. You missed Namjoon’s stern look at Hoseok as he hovered behind your seat.

Jin pulled a pack from a cupboard and set it beside you. You let him lift your arm and unwrap the burn, your unfocussed eyes dragging across the room while he applied something cold over it. Next came stinging, scattered over your face as he wiped at the small cuts and grazes with an apologetic grimace you barely saw.

You only forced the world back into focus when someone else entered your sight. Emerging from behind you, a gentle, friendly smile was directed your way from a man with pale pink hair. Swallowing, you never managed to smile back before he was turning away.

The pink-haired man reached a hand out to someone you couldn’t see. Another man appeared, walking towards him, but he never looked at you. Or if he did, it was obscured behind the black hair that fell to his eyes.

The two new people left towards the kitchen, though not without another smile from the pink one.

Who were all these people?

Frowning after them, you were interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from Jin.

“We’ll talk more in the morning. You need to rest.”

Looking around, you had half a mind to protest, but were overruled by the shakiness taking over your frame. Body too fatigued to allow you much say, you meekly followed Jin.

Beyond the living space, a thinner corridor led away, several closed doors along its walls.

Further you went, until a door just ahead opened. Another person walked out.

When he stopped to face you, his posture remained stiff. Tall and muscular, he was clad all in black except for a towel slung over his shoulder. Damp hair fell messily around his head. But you had little time to take this in, as his eyes fixed themselves fiercely on yours, rendering you unable to look away.

Mouth remaining in a hard line, his expression only twitched further into a frown.

Then his gaze flicked abruptly away, travelling to Jin just beyond you.

“Kook-“

Jin never got further than that before the man strode forwards, marching sharply past you and away with a scowl. Turning after him in surprise, you watched his tense shoulders disappear behind Namjoon, who you hadn’t noticed hovering.

Namjoon stared sternly after him, but the man seemed to avoid his gaze.

Jin sighed, sending an apologetic glance at you.

“That’s just Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, ushering you all further along the hallway, “don’t pay him any attention.”

“Why was…”

You trailed off, unsure of what exactly to ask. Neither of them made an attempt to answer.

You had no idea a wordless encounter could leech so much hostility into the atmosphere. Picturing Jungkook’s glowering face, you blindly followed the others through a different door.

“You can sleep in here.”

“Hm?”

Shaking yourself, you looked around the new room. There wasn’t much to see. Beside a low bed, there was a mirror, a wooden closet and nothing more. Looking up, you didn’t even find a light in the ceiling. The only light leaked through from the hallway.

Clearly reading your gaping mouth and furrowing brow, Namjoon moved in front of you.

“Don’t worry, this is just a place to sleep, nothing more. But since you’re going to have to take those gloves off, we can’t have you in a space with any electricals.”

Stepping back defensively, your fingers pressed tightly together. Having the gloves on had let you almost imagine that nothing life-changing had happened. Like gaining unpredictable powers, for instance.

Namjoon watched patiently, holding out a hand.

“You don’t need them…”

He realised he had never asked your name, and let his sentence trail expectantly. Telling him your name, he relaxed into a smile.

“You don’t need them, Y/N,” he repeated, not that you believed him for a second, “you’ll be perfectly safe. And so will we.”

Only the yearning to collapse onto the bed persuaded you to hand over the gloves. The instant they were in his hand, you swore you could feel a shock go up your arm. Immediately tense again, your breathing became shallower, with no idea how to try and stop power shooting from your hands any moment.

But Namjoon and Jin seemed content. Before you could gather your thoughts, they had left, closing the door and drenching your room in near total darkness.

Stumbling to the bed and virtually falling into it, you wiped sweating palms against the fabric. Your mouth was dry with fear.

This couldn’t have happened.

Alone for the first time since your initial panic, it didn’t take long for your mind to wrap itself in circles again. Only hours ago, you had been sitting happily in your bright office, going through the motions…

One split-second decision from a powerful man had changed that.

You knew full well he had intended for you to die. But he was Bolt...

He had probably forgotten about it already. The guard he sent lifeless to the floor, the secretary he threw from the building.

Itching feeling returning, you swallowed desperately and raised your hands. Sure enough, against the darkness, blue pierced your vision, darting its way up-

Turning your face away, you flinched as the outburst came. Your eyes screwed shut, you pressed your cheek into fabric, not wanting to see the deathly lightning that shot through the room. Shuddering breaths broke into your lungs when at last it subsided.

Letting them fall, limp, to your sides, your hands fisted the covers tightly.

You were almost afraid to open your eyes, knowing it would only show you the empty room, confirmation that this was real. You were dangerous, shut in a safe room where you could hurt no one. Would you ever get out? Succeed in controlling this, like Namjoon had said?

With no idea where you were, barely any idea who the people here were, you wanted to block it out. But even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t escape.

The memory of Jungkook’s suspicious face made your heart sink. Perhaps people should be afraid of you, now. As much as you may want to, there was no getting away from this.

Pushing yourself to sit, you surveyed the room. Eyes accustomed to the blackness a little more, you could make out vague shapes. Your breath fell alone in the silence. This really was the safest place you could be right now, even if it was a nightmare.

As your head turned, you suddenly came level with your eyes in the mirror, and a shock of light.

For an extended moment, you could only stare.

Then all at once you were rushing forwards, tripping from the end of the bed. Bracing your arms against the wall either side of the mirror, you gaped at your reflection.

As you watched, an angular bolt of blue shot across your irises, which were already dimly glowing.

You gulped against the thick feeling crawling up your throat. Faced with this, you could no longer have any hope of denying it.

This was really happening.

Thank you for reading!! Please please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, comments make it all worthwhile!💜💜

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