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intheorangebedroom · 3 months

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 2

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

Two months have passed since your first time at the motel with Frankie. What has changed, what hasn't. Who are you now?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 How are you all? Gentle reminder that our Reader is an OFC. In this chapter, we get to know her better, and there are indirect physical descriptions of her. Sincerest apologies to anyone who knows Tampa. I did a lot of research, but I'm afraid my ignorance will still show… I swear I did my best. Raul is real, though. He's a friend of a very dear friend and he lives in Paris.

@frannyzooey my love, as always, I am in your debt. Thank you for your help. I love you more than words 🧡

I hope you enjoy this one, Orange besties, it made me sweat blood, @dreamymyrrh and @pedrit0-pascalit0 had to listen to my constant whining to put me on life support. Ily 🧡

Word count: 8.6k

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Chapter 2: Closer

The traffic is dense, but you spot Ava’s red Toyota as soon as it turns into E 7th avenue.

On any given Saturday, the upbeat neighborhood is bustling with cheerful crowds of leisured weekenders and hip thirty-something. On this particular Saturday, the first after Thanksgiving, the streets are a vision from hell.

There’s a constant ballet of cars pulling in and out along the curbs. On each side of the avenue, the sidewalks are swarming with jittery shoppers, frenetically prospecting for good deals on potential Christmas gifts. You’re willing to bet that most of them will stretch their budget thin on useless, meaningless knickknacks. Generic trinkets without soul nor purpose but that will, for the first half hour of ownership at least, fill the void in their consumers’ existence.

The traditional Christmas tree of unholy proportions is up and sparkling. Wrapped around the iron porch columns, electrical garlands blink in rapid sequences like luminescent spasmodic snakes. Storefronts are decorated with more or less taste. The temperature has dropped twice below 70. It’s that time of the year.

The merry season usually finds you adding a generous helping of anxiolytics to your daily cocktail of little helpers. This year, however, you haven’t popped a pill in days, and everything feels… more. Louder, too vivid, more oppressive. Sensations magnified and emotions amplified. Which is, after all, what you were aiming at when you unilaterally decided to taper off your intake.

Ava miraculously secures a free spot on the other side of the avenue, about a hundred yards in front of yours. You watch her parallel park, the maneuver surprisingly sloppy, given the parking assist technology the brand-new hybrid car is equipped with, and you wonder if you really needed to spend that much money on it.

In front of your own parked car, pedestrians agglutinate at the crosswalk. When the light turns green, they move as one, like flocks of extras on a movie set, coming to life on cue when the director yells “action!”

They’re not extras, however, each one of them is the main character in the movie of their life. Together they form a constellation of individual and interconnected stories, while you stand at the margin, forever exhausted, willfully forlorn. At best, a supporting part in Ava’s fantastic tale of eccentric adventures, but more likely a backdrop in your father’s gripping success story.

Although, your narrative has changed drastically over the past two months. You now got a part in your own right, unfolding in between takes.

You wait until Ava gets out of her vehicle before you exit yours, reluctant to leave the hushed safety of your old sedan’s cab, even for the few minutes it’ll take you to meet with her and step into the coffee place.

You wave at her from across the busy street until she sees you, but when she proceeds to jaywalk over to you, reckless and entirely indifferent to your pleading expression, you have to avert your eyes. There’s a crosswalk right in front of you, god dammit.

She levels up with you and pecks a kiss on your cheek, hitting your cheekbone with force, more headbutt than demonstration of affection.

“Hey,” she says, barely stopping in her tracks before she pushes open the glass door to the coffee shop.

“Hello, pup,” you answer fondly, your words lost to the street’s bustle.

Inside, the artificial air instantly pulls at your skin. The atmosphere is cool but dry, saturated with the smell of freshly grounded coffee beans and greasy-sweet pastries. The high-ceiling, cement floor, wide open-space is packed. The brick walls reverberate the ambient noises, and the late morning sun beams brightly through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, evenly spaced along the lateral walls. People sit in small parties around the white designer tables, sipping iced coffees from tall red paper cups with white snowflakes, large shopping bags at their feet.

Trying your best not to shrink and shrivel from the multiple overwhelming stimuli, you focus on Ava’s back, walking behind her as she leads the way to a free table at the rear of the coffee shop, between the counter and one of the windows. There’s a regal quality to her gait and the way she carries herself, not unlike your father, the resemblance enhanced by her preference for masculine clothing, and you have to love the irony, given how much she hates the man. She has your mother’s beauty, though. The same luxurious dark hair, fair, flawless skin, and wide green eyes, her frame tall, her figure athletic. She’s the masterpiece. Next to her, you look like a clumsy first draft, with blurry edges and hesitant features.

She throws her jean jacket on the back of her chair and collapses on her seat with a theatrical sigh.

Across from her, you sit down gingerly on the edge of the hard wooden chair, balancing your weight around the sore and delicious ghost sensation of Frankie between your hips.

“You look good,” you start.

“Yeah, you too!” she exclaims, like it’s unexpected, “tired but like, good. Are you getting any sleep?”

You smile, waving your hand dismissively.

“Don’t we have to go to the counter to order?”

“No, it’s fine,” she answers, “they serve at the table. I’m having an oat milk matte, what do you want?”

“An espresso, I think.”

Right on cue, a young woman dressed in a black cropped top and black skinny jeans presents herself at your table and proceeds to tap in your order on a rectangular electronic device. Her long acrylic nails hit the screen with a rapid succession of click-click-click. The sound brings you back to your parents' dining-room, the large table standing like an angular island on the shiny square of reflective tiles, in the middle of a shag carpet ocean. Your mother’s nails, painted in Revlon Desirable #150, rattling impatiently over the lacquered surface of the dining table near her untouched plate and a glass of G&T sweating with condensation. She never ate her food. She drank even when she was pregnant.

Your fingers find the back of your knee and pinch the thin skin there, so hard you flinch.

The waitress waltzes off, and Ava returns her full attention to you.

“I’m happy to see you,” she offers, and you smile softly at her uncustomary expression of affection. Your chest expends. “It’s been a while.”

There’s no reproach in her tone, but you are usually the one expressing ill-concealed concern over her long silences, and the reversal in your dynamic throws you off. Guilts gnaws at you. You choose defense.

“You were away.”

“Yeah, but like, I came back three weeks ago.”

Three weeks. Your smile fades and you slump in your chair, running a quick mental calculation.

Time has never been an easy concept for you to grasp, but until recently, you’ve managed to remain afloat and functioning, on a practical level at least, amidst a society that revolves around schedules and timetables. The watch on your wrist, yearly organizers, recently and reluctantly replaced by the iCal app on your phone, sticky notes, tin boxes filled with tickets stubs… All clutches to your failing memory, anything to keep you tethered against an overpowering and primal instinct to escape, let go, drift away. And perhaps, most of your exhaustion stems from this endless swimming-race against the current.

Lately, your inability to remember appointments, to navigate time and hold an effective grasp on reality has reached a new high. For the past two months, your life has revolved around Friday nights and the sound of a red pickup truck pulling in and out of a decrepit motel’s parking, tires screeching on the gravel. Inside this timeframe, your entire life is contained. Around it, the days stretch, spiral, and blend. And you’ve lost all motivation and interest in any counter-current swimming.

You frown slightly, scanning her face, but she doesn’t let on anything out of the ordinary. After all, if she genuinely worried, if she so badly needed to see you, she could have given you a call. You were the one to reach out and ask to see her this morning.

Something’s different about her, in the way she holds herself straighter on her seat, with her legs crossed and her head tilted to the side, exposing the undercut she got before the summer. You’re still not entirely sure if this was the bold fashion statement she claimed it to be, rather than a dramatic reaction to her girlfriend moving back to New York. With Ava, it could be both. She’s not wearing any makeup today, her face looks disarmingly young, and the concern she’s expressed, however subtle, churns your insides with guilt and affection.

You plaster a polite smile on your face.

“Well, I’m here now. It’s good to see you, too. Tell me, how was New York? How’s Polly?”

The waitress returns with the pastries and beverages you ordered, and Ava begins to narrate her two-week trip to the big city. She speaks fast, punctuating her words with large gestures to describe the cultural buoyancy, the hip neighborhoods and her thrifts finds, the street food and the refined, cutting-edge restaurants, how everything is bigger there, faster and better, how she fell safe walking hand in hand with Polly, the clubs, the galleries, the weather, crisp air and chilly winds from the north, a refreshing, comforting seasonality to pace the existence.

“I was fucking crying when I boarded the plane back, you have no idea.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You don’t miss her too much?”

She doesn’t answer, and something in the way she avoids your gaze makes you frown again.

Polly and you have always gotten along well. You genuinely appreciate her solar personality and her worldly conversation. Their encounter four years ago had been the silver-lining in an otherwise horrendous year. The happy, coincidental consequence of a chain of events that had been years in the making.

When Ava dropped out of college halfway through her freshman year, it provided your father with the excuse he had been waiting for to kick his own child out of his house. You had seen it coming. In fact, you had spent your entire adult life shielding Ava from the paternal discontent, investing all your strength into becoming the son and successor he had wished for, and that neither of you could ever be.

Ava, however, had never put in the effort. She didn’t fit into the family portrait. She never had. You didn’t want her to, and she simply couldn’t. Too rebellious, decidedly unconventional, and, well, queer, to boot. Your father had spent years formatting you and there she was, standing proud, strengthened by your unconditional support, a glaring highlight of your diverging values, a breathing reminder of his failure with you both.

In the aftermath of the fall-out, Adrian had refused to take her in, and she had spent days out of your sight, sleeping god knows where. Eventually, you’d dug your heels in, as you only ever did when Ava was concerned and her wellbeing on the line, and obtained that she move in with you. The cohabitation hadn’t gone smoothly in the least. As usual, Adrian was more concerned about potentially upsetting your father than making you happy. You were once again caught between crossed fires.

The strained situation with your fiancé notwithstanding, Ava couldn't spend her time sitting idly at home. You had pleaded with her for weeks before she agreed to resume her studies. Only this time, it had to be with your funding. The realization that you didn’t have any consequential money of your own had been brutal, even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise: you lived in Adrian’s apartment, and were employed by your father, who refused point-blank to let you sell some of your company shares, knowing the money would go to his estranged daughter.

All you could afford was Hillsborough Community College, but things had eventually taken a turn for the better when Ava and Polly had met. Polly was teaching psychology, waiting for a tenure that she would never be granted. Because of the 20-year age gap between them, she insisted Ava graduate with her BA before they started properly dating. And when they did, the improvement in your sister’s mental state and overall balance was immediately noticeable.

Calm and collected, affectionate and thoughtful, Polly grounds your young sibling. She eases her anger and channels her energy into creative and fruitful endeavors, without snuffing her rebellious temper.

And now, despite Ava being almost fully independent, with a job and a place of her own, you don’t know what you’d do if they were to break up. If one of them were to decide that a long-distance relationship is not what she wants.

You lean forward, your hand coming to rest over hers, warm and smooth. “Hey pup, what’s up? Is everything ok between you two?”

“Oh yes,” she quickly assures you, withdrawing her hand, “and by the way, she sends you her best.”

Understanding downs on you like a bucket of ice. You suddenly feel stupid, pathetically naive, forever one step behind. Leaning back in your chair, you let out a short, soundless huff. What you’re facing is not a breakup, but the likely possibility that Ava will soon move out of town to follow Polly to New York.

Ava is talking again, about New York you’re guessing, but you can’t focus on her words. Behind your impassive eyes and your attentive smile, your mind reels and wrestles with a downpour of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Pride flares in your chest at the prospect of your baby sister setting roots in a city as intimidating as New York, but it tugs at something else, something you’re too scared to consider, and an ugly feeling you’re reluctant to acknowledge.

Would she hesitate before leaving you behind, after you’ve prioritized her freedom over yours? After you stayed so she could fly away? And wouldn’t it be the point?

Your eyes travel up along the trail of small tattoos adorning her forearms. Dominos, tea cups, a white rabbit with round glasses, a flamingo, several thin arrows, a broken heart in flames.

What’s your purpose, if she’s not here anymore? If someone else is looking after her? If your sacrifice is no longer necessary nor justified?

“How was Thanksgiving dinner? Did you have fun talking about politics with Richard?”

You wince involuntarily at your father’s name. She never refers to them as “mom” and “dad.” She hasn’t for a long while. But today the sarcasm doesn’t fool you, no more than her feigned indifference.

She’s not truly asking if you had to bite your tongue and smile through conversations that make you nauseous. She knows well enough you’ve got just enough political convictions to carry you to the voting poll, but hardly a step further. Listening to him is painful, but you get by, and your shameful silence buys you necessary peace.

No, what she wants to know is if your family inquired about her. And you don’t have it in you to answer that no, no one has, not last Thursday, not for the past four years, not ever. Not your indifferent father, nor your inebriated mother. Not your bigot grandparents, not your egotistic aunt and her gold-digging husband, not even the housekeeping staff.

You shrug noncommittally.

“Who were the guests of honor, this year?”

The question makes you groan and briefly close your eyes at the memory.

“Adrian’s parents.”

“No?! Fuck! They really want this marriage to happen, don’t they? Looks like you’re not gonna be able to dodge much longer.”

She smacks her hand over her thigh, letting out a short staccato of a chuckle, as if the subject of your confinement through marriage was a laughing matter. You glare at her, crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest, but the shifting in your demeanor goes unnoticed.

Suddenly, her levity riles you up. She got away. You didn’t. And the only thing that carried you through this year’s Thanksgiving dinner is the perspective of being fucked senseless by a stranger on a dirty motel floor the following night.

For a brief moment, you’re tempted to bite, and retort that, contrary to her, you didn't spend the holiday on your own. But the truth is that you envy her the privilege, and she knows it.

Taking a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to calm your growing nerves, you stir the conversation towards another topic, finding neutral ground with her job. You’re stalling, and you’re not even good at it. You sit restless on that damn hard chair, squirming uncomfortably, sweat prickling under your armpits in the chill artificial air, eyes flicking down to your watch every other second.

“Do you have to be somewhere, or something?”

Your head shoots up. Again, you have no idea what she’s talking about, or how long she’s been rambling for. This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous.

“Listen, Ava, I have to ask you something. A favor. I have to ask you a favor.”

Her eyes widen at your sudden change of tone but she nods. “Hit me.”

“I need you to… I need to be able to tell Adrian that I spend… that I spend Friday nights at your place. Actually, I’ve already been doing it for a while. He thinks we see each other on Friday evenings. I just… I need more time. I need the night.” You grip your shin with both hands and dig your nails in. “It really doesn’t matter anyway, he’s not home on Fridays, he plays poker and he never comes back until like, 3 or 4am, and I just need— I need to be able to come home after him. Not, like, every week. Or yes, maybe every week. Just in case. If ever. You know?”

She remains completely still and silent as you wrestle your words out of your throat. Her face hardens, her wide, green eyes strained on you. She gauges you in silence for another moment, while you rub your clammy palms on your jeans under the table. Above the table, you do your very best to maintain a casual air.

“And what exactly is it that you do, on Friday nights?”

You anticipated the question, of course you did. You swallow around the sharp stone stuck in your throat. Your eyes dart down to your espresso cup. It’s empty.

“I’m just taking a bit of time off for myself.”

More time, to commit his body and his face to your long-term memory after he’s left you, depriving you of his heat. The tiny bits of him that add up to form the formidable sum of the man he is. The locks that curl around his ears. The dip in his collarbone. The little target tattooed on his hand. You’re never sure which hand it’s on, you need more time, that’s all. And you won’t lie to her, not exactly. You set your mind on that early on. But you will not tell her the whole story.

A large shit-eating grin slowly parts her plump lips.

“Are you telling me that Richard’s favorite daughter is getting some side dick on a weekly fucking basis?”

“Jesus, Ava, why do you always have to be so crude?”

“But you are? Right? You are getting dicked down, every fucking Friday night? Right? Are you on Tinder, or something?”

“I’m not—” you start, but her excitement is louder than your exasperation. She uncrosses her legs to lean toward you, propping her elbows on the table and threading her fingers together, talking over you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? For once that something cool–”

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” you retort through clenched teeth, raising your voice. Her mouth hangs open in shock. You don’t give her time to recover. “And look, if you don’t want to do that for me, it’s fine, it’s not like anyone is going to call you to ask if I’m with you.”

She takes the blow, leaning back in her chair. “Wow. You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, shame and anger burning your cheeks.

“Why you’re telling me now, then?”

“Like I said. In case.”

“I case what? In case I find myself on a Friday evening in the same place Adrian takes his cuntsluts?”

You steel yourself and stare at her.

“Something like that, yes.”

—

Two months.

Two months of lies and deception, shoving your bright secret deep down inside you, shrouded under a veil of routine and normalcy.

Nine weeks, split into six days of stretched out hours, swirling languid and excruciating, like smoke from a cigarette stub in a room without air, and one day of counting. The minutes, your steps, your breaths, your heartbeats.

Saturdays, worn-out, appeased, pleasantly aching. Sundays rising slow like a lurking threat. Mondays-Tuesdays-Wednesdays merging, dragging and useless. People talking to you, expecting words, when your mind is filled with two glistening bodies entwined in golden hues. A tremor on Thursdays, the nearing promise, and by Friday morning you’re all frayed nerves and aching want, tapping into your pent-up emptiness for focus and patience.

Friday evenings sliced up into a ritualized sequence of actions.

At 6pm, you leave your office and head toward the employees' underground parking. There are 37 steps from your desk to the two silver-doors elevators on the landing. Seventeen stories down, including 2 underground levels, and 58 steps from the elevators to your designated parking place. It is crucial that you don’t allow the pace of your steps to catch up with the racing thumps of your heart.

From downtown Tampa, it’s an hour and thirty-six minutes drive north on the 589, before you reach the motel. An hour and fifty minutes, two hours top, if the traffic’s bad. There might be faster alternative routes, but you don’t use the GPS, so you don’t know about them.

Once you’re there, you park in front of room number 7, the one with the missing brass number. You stuff your phone into your purse, which you slide under your seat.

You exit your car and walk towards the reception in short, hurried strides, cursing the tight skirt that hinders your steps and gives your posture a subdued aspect, which is probably why your father imposes the garment on his female employees.

The reception is a square room with an old humming AC unit, dark-brown fabric wallpaper, yellowing popcorn ceiling and a counter behind which sits Raul, the night clerk. Raul is a short man in his mid-60s. His dark eyes are reshaped into tiny concentric boot buttons by the thick lenses of his small, round glasses. His light brown, straight hair is styled in a bowl cut. He only wears beige Henley’s with rolled-up sleeves and indigo painter overalls. You’ve never seen his shoes.

Every week, Raul hands you the key to room number 2 without lifting his boot-button eyes from the charcoal drawing he busies himself over behind the counter, and tells you in a thick accent that “everything has already been taken care of.”

Every week, you thank Raul, grab the key from his stretched out left hand, and chance a glance over the counter to see what he’s drawing. Mountains, infallibly, week after week, the scenery only varying in shape and shades of anthracite.

And every week, as you exit the reception, you feel Raul’s boot-button eyes strained on your back through his round glasses.

When you step inside room number 2, you flick up the two toggle switches by the door, turning on the lights and the overhead fan, and you go to the bathroom to wash your hands and check your reflection in the antique black-edged mirror.

Then, you return to the room and you sit on the bed. That’s where you wait for him.

You don’t undress, you don’t lie down, you don’t undo the bed.

You know what he’ll do to your clothes. Anticipation trickles down along your spine all the way to the ripe heat between your thighs, and it travels right back up to tug up at the corners of your lips, but you press them together, lips and thighs, as you wait.

He comes in after dark, preceded by the sound of tires on gravel and that of his boots stomping on the porch and he’s here, Frankie’s here, the rush of night air from outside when he storms into the room wafting over your face.

He greets you with a hoarse voice, like he hasn’t used it all week, and he takes a couple of long strides towards the desk, where he sets down his cap. You peer at his reflection in the framed mirror when he combs his fingers through his dark curls, tense jaw, creased brow. You study his broad shoulders, the rippling muscles of his strong back, when he takes off his jacket and drapes it on the back of the chair, swift, precise gestures. It’s his own ceremonial, you let him have it, his transition into this world that you share. The confine of this room. Brown carpet, yellow curtains.

When he turns to face you, at last, it’s always with a heavy, grating sigh, a sound so rough and primitive to express his relief, his hunger, the limit of his patience. You stand up slowly, unfurling in slow motion from your sitting position on the edge of the bed, eyes on him, forever and always. His want radiates from him in colorful angry waves, like a tangible, virulent aura, black eyes boring into your skin and you welcome it as it pours out of him and creeps up to you like thick fumes.

You stand tall in the charged stillness of the motel room, offered, but not quite yet within reach, waiting for him to come and seize you.

“Take off your clothes,” he says as he comes closer, tilting up his chin. The command rumbles low and guttural from his throat, and those words are your cue. You clamber out of your statuesque stillness, twisting your ankles out of your pumps while he tugs at your blouse, as he crashes his lips onto yours.

His first kiss is voracious, unescapable, your face trapped between his cupped hands, and you’re engulfed in the taste of him, drowning in the scent of him, leather and soap and musk. And something metallic you have no name for. It’s intoxicating, you’re floating, losing both bearings and balance, like when you were thirteen, and you’d sneak to the downstairs pantry to drink your mother’s gin before dinner.

On some Friday nights, you’ve already made it back to your glass prison when you notice a tear in the seam of your shirt, or a missing button. “Take off those fucking clothes, I wanna feel your skin.”

“Yes,” you answer with parted lips, parted heart, parted life, jaunty fingers working your skirt open.

Beyond that point, neither of you talks much.

It’s his name –Frankie– falling from your lips, a long but quiet whimper when you come, a whine of pleasure-plain when he inches into you, a moan when you plead for more, a whisper when you promise you can take it all.

It’s his clipped orders, sharp and short.

Open up

Push back into it

Let me hear you

I want you to come on it

And two words, always the same since that first time in the parking lot.

Stop me.

Stop me when he pins your hands above your head or folds your arms in the small of your back, his fingers like shackles around your wrists, and he lines himself up. Stop me before his saliva drips down his tongue in fat drops between your breasts, and he straddles your chest. Stop me, when he closes a fist in your hair and slides you down along his hard length, your chest caving in under your gag reflex, beads of tears like precious shiny diamonds clinging to your lashes. Stop me when he angles your spine backwards with a sudden tug on your hair, when he bands an arm across your belly and ragdolls you to the floor to fuck you harder and deeper. Stop me when he ties your wrists to your ankles with the black zip ties that bite into your flesh.

Stop me with the flat of his hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, Stop me with his thumb teasing your tight ring, Stop me with your legs around his neck.

Those two words, a beacon guiding you through the week that precedes.

Sometimes, when you’re alone, you repeat them to yourself.

“Stop me,” you say, low and quiet, facing the mirror when you're applying makeup, staring straight into your eyes, so intently it twists your reflection.

“Stop me.” A whisper, and a slow-spreading, carnivorous smile that splits your face in two because someone, at last, wants you beyond reason.

Stop me. You will never stop him.

He fucks you twice, three times a night, before he leaves you covered in him, sated and sprawled on the rumpled bed around 2am, with a nod and a husked, “I’ll see you next Friday.” He sounds calm at last. Drained.

Once he’s gone, in the rumbling of the pickup’s engine and the screeching of the tires, your mental countdown to the next Friday is reset. You crouch into the narrow bathtub of dubious cleanliness, and ruefully wash him away in the trickle of hot water. You try to hold on to the thought of him, even more so than to the feeling of his touch. That’s what the soreness is for. It will stay with you until Monday at least.

But in your memory, his face is blurred. Only his sad angry eyes stand out, dreamlike, entrancing.

There's a conflicting distance beyond his hunger. An underlying restraint beyond his roughness. Withheld intimacy. A reluctance to give into your softest touches, when his forehead briefly rests on the plane of your chest, and you circle his neck, or carefully run your fingers through his sweat-soaked curls.

It doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to understand that if he wasn’t in here with you, he’d be somewhere else, doing something worse.

Some weeks, you go through strings of sleepless nights and restless days of anguish, your mind spiraling to the agonizing thought that you are nothing more to him than an empty and interchangeable vessel into which he can fuck his rage.

With masochistic thoroughness, you pull taut a red woolen thread to connect the clues of your insignificance.

He doesn’t name you. There are no sweet names, no terms of endearment, and he certainly never calls you Marion. The sounds he produces when he’s inside you, that’s your reward. Deep guttural grunts, and if you’re lucky enough, they resonate through your whole body when he holds you tight and close.

He never comes inside you. Where do you want it? he pants, when his hips start to fall out of pace. “Mouth,” you quickly answer, always, a greedy match for his gritty ways. And most times, he obliges. Flips you around or scoot over you and shoves his pulsating cock into your warm, wanton mouth.

But sometimes, he doesn’t. The thick pearly white ropes of his spend spurt over your back, your belly, your chest. That’s when he’s got a mind to rub it into your skin. That’s when you want to believe he might have chosen you to be here with him.

In those scarce instances, you are tempted to rely on your instinctual understanding of your relationship. Far from the toxic codependency that, according to Ava, you feed into with Adrian, what you share with Frankie is elsewhere entirely. Week after week, he presents himself before you, visibly wounded, willing to offer exactly as much as he needs to receive. The balance is perfect. No travesty, complete equality. The purest form of interaction. The most honest transaction you’ve ever taken part in.

And thus, no matter how remote he may seem on some nights, no matter how dark his eyes, how clouded his gaze, or how brutal his hold, you can’t help but feel safe.

The feeling thrums underneath your skin and finds an echo in his bloodstream. You hear it in your shared silence, when you lie side by side on the bed and stare emptily at the ceiling, chests heaving, bodies cooling off. When a shiver rakes through you, he gets up and turns off the overhead fan. Walks over to the bathroom to bring you a glass of water.

He’s given you everything you wanted and didn’t know how to ask for.

And when he looks you in the eyes, he doesn’t blink.

Stop me, he says, and what you hear is, Trust me.

He’s been quick to learn your body, and he’s greedy with your highs. He keeps you pinned down onto the threadbare linen with his mouth fastened around your cunt until your legs tremble and your throat is hoarse with your repeated high-pitched moans, the stubble on his cheeks scraping the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Bestowing pleasure, drinking it right back.

Your body expands into new sensations, after years of a dormant existence, curled up within your outer shell into the tightest ball, the smallest possible shape. You’re spreading, stretching into your limbs, filling them in. Growing nerve endings that shoot farther along your extremities with each fiery kiss, each starving touch, each orgasm, like trees rooting in beautiful, intricate ramifications.

The wild creature nestled between your lungs has a mind of its own. You’re developing emotions unknown to you until now.

The tranquil contentment he leaves you with when he steps back into the night and closes the door behind him rapidly fades over the following days. By Sunday evening, there’s nothing left of it, and you find yourself shivering, deprived of his heat, unsettled, agitated.

Your mind wanders to her. The faceless, nameless woman he drives back to after you’ve fucked each other free of your pain.

Envy, tinged with hatred, pours ugly inside your chest, pressing against your rib cage, hindering your breathing, its heavy particles tainting your oxygen.

Does he handle her with reverence? Does he use sweet names to beckon her into his embrace? Does he spit in her mouth, does she beg him to? Does he rub his spend into her skin, or does he stuff her pussy full of his seed?

Whenever you loosen the grip on your thoughts, you’re brought back to a large reception room on the last floor of another glass prison, stilettos wounding your feet, strangers with empty smiles and cruel eyes drinking from crystal champagne glasses. The excruciating misery of having to interact with Adrian’s colleagues, laughing at golf jokes you did not understand, desperate to fit in. Fighting your survival instinct, to tether yourself and not present a blank stare to those people you were supposed to impress. As Adrian’s fiancée. As your father’s daughter.

The effort seemed worth it, then. You were in love. Or so you thought. In hindsight, you’re not certain anymore. Reinterpreting your past is a temptation you try not to succumb to. In more then one way, you still love him.

There was a hushed tremor in the faceless assembly of tuxedos and cocktail dresses, and you saw her entering the room, parting the crowd. Slender, swaying, lush honey blonde locks and incandescent hazel eyes. Junior partner at Adrian’s firm, quickly climbing the ranks, flawless makeup and oozing self-confidence, she smoked Vogue cigarettes and when your gaze returned to Adrian, everything fell into place. You knew with a chilling certainty that this formidable young woman was fucking your boyfriend.

Adrian had had a couple of flings in the past, but this one was different. He fell for her hard, a grown man in a teenage-like trance. Your blood left your face when you realized everyone else in the penthouse, and most likely in the firm, could see what you were seeing.

You decided then and there that you were never going to marry him, regardless of what he or your father would threaten you with.

But even then, what you had experienced wasn’t jealousy. You’d felt trapped, and yes, betrayed. Wounded, in what little self-esteem you possessed. Thoroughly defeated. But you did not feel jealous.

You understand it now, and every time you think of Frankie’s touch grazing the faceless woman. Every time you torture yourself into considering the nature of their bond and the depth of their attachment.

Would Frankie look at you the way Adrian looked at her? With blunt desire, unabashed, irrepressible thirst? With belonging? Would people around you know? Would they identify you as lovers?

After all, a single glance had been enough for him to take you from a bar, to a parking lot, to a motel. To make you desperate to mean something to him.

Does he miss you outside your shared time? Does he think of you? Does his mind wander to your skin in the blue morning hours, does he try to name your scent?

Deep down, you are no fool. If there’s one thing you’ve always known in this life, it’s your place.

But some Friday nights are more dangerous. They give you too much hope. Prompting you to call your sister, for instance, and risk your little secret so you can spend more time in the small room with the yellow curtains. Wrap yourself in the dirty sheets that bear his musky scent, instead of jumping into the shower. Linger into that breach of your life’s continuum. Extend the delusion.

Last Friday, he buried his face into your core and drew violent waves of release that he kissed back into you, swirling his tongue into your mouth to coat it with your taste.

His face was shiny with your slick and his body glistening with sweat in the soft yellow hues from the bedside lamps, when he got up to the desk and slid his belt out of the loops of his pants.

Your eyes grew wide, but not with fear.

He placed you face down on the bed, with your arms along your chest, and he trapped your body with the belt. You accompanied his movements, docile, curious, without apprehension. The metal buckle was cool on your feverish skin, and the leather smelled like him.

Stop me. He was hard and thick, and he fucked into you in long, thorough strokes, dragging the round tip of his cock along your clenching walls, slamming his hips into the swell of your ass. With his thumb pushing into your asshole and his hand around the belt to keep you where he needed you to lie still.

You came in seismic tides that quaked along your body in concentric ripples, from your wrung out core to the extremities of your fingers and toes. The sound that came out of your throat was unrecognizable, and perhaps it was his. Your mind tipped over into unconsciousness. When you resurfaced, his cock was rubbing in the cleft of your cheeks, his come leaking down the curve of your back, mixing in with your combined sweat, his chest pressing down onto your shoulder blades.

You felt his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, hot breath searing his choked up words into your soul.

“You’re a good girl. Say it. Say you’re a good girl.”

“I’m— I’m—“

“That’s it, say it for me.”

He was lying heavy on top of you, sinking you into the mattress, his belt buckle digging into your side. This was going to leave a mark.

“I’m a good girl.”

“You’re my good girl.”

You will never stop him.

—

Sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back straight and your ankles crossed, you wait. Eyes on the yellow curtains, darting beyond the dusty fabric into the warm December night. It’s yours. All of it. Yours until morning.

There’s the faintest hint of a bad taste sitting on the back of your tongue. Coppery, bloodlike. It comes in waves every time you remember how you twisted your baby sister’s arm into covering for you. But the night is yours. You swallow hard, force a smile. You want to be guiltless, for once.

“Polly says you’re overly secretive. That you like to live ‘hidden between the folds of life’, as she puts it. Something about culpability being a coping mechanism…”

The words, delivered flatly after you’d stubbornly diverted and defused all her questions, had cut through the most tender parts of your flesh.

“Is that her professional opinion?” you had retorted, your chin tilted up as if you were not bleeding inside.

You swallow hard again. If you close your eyes, if you concentrate, you can almost hear it. The pickup’s engine, bolting down the asphalt, bringing him into your needy arms. You can feel the heat radiating from his solid chest and seeping into your body through your palms, resting empty and upwards on your lap. Your tongue tingles with his tangy taste, a trail of goosebumps breaks across your skin, anticipating his caress.

Frankie.

The daydream that carries you through the week, carries you through that very last stretch.

Until the man himself storms into the room like bad weather. Dark, electric, a standing threat.

One look at his face and you know. It’s going to be one of these nights that make you doubt everything.

At first, the change in the script is barely perceptible. There is no gentle acclimatization, no ceremonial, no tacitly shared ritual. He doesn’t face away to let you observe his reflection in the mirror. But he looks like he hasn’t slept since last Friday. The crease in his brow is forbidding, his eyes are too bright, too clouded, circled in black and you’re dizzy with the distance you find there. Tension rolls out from his taut muscles underneath his clothes and you stand up, alert, if not entirely ready.

“Get naked,” he growls, tugging his gray t-shirt over his head, his trucker hat falling to the floor and tonight, you miss your cue.

Instead, you come closer, extending your hands towards him. You call him in a murmur, Frankie, but the wild thumping of his heart under your trembling palms cuts you short.

The light flickers in his eyes, so you hang in brave, hang onto the thread of your touch, sliding your hands up his burning chest. He stills. His gaze focuses on you for the first time since he came in. Your fingertips brush lightly along his collarbone, to the dip at the base of his neck, where they linger, underlining the hollow shape of it, skating around his neck to his nape. His brow shifts, his jaw ticks, and you draw him in for a kiss.

He jolts when your lips meet his. His hands grip your hips, rough and desperate. This is the part where you melt into him, surrender to his touch, but tonight the balance is tipped off. He licks into your mouth with a pained, muffled whimper, and your eyes remain open.

You’re powerless, powerless to get to him and bring him back to you from wherever the hell he may be. And his distance settles between your two bodies, an invisible partition. It stands erect and opaque, projecting its shadow over you when he lies you down on the synthetic quilt and dives between your hips. His ministrations are detached, performative, mechanical. There’s no contained urgency in his handling of you. Empty touches, empty silence, and you orgasm weakly, the sensation floating on the surface of you.

You can sense him, trapped behind his black eyes and this damn crease that splits his face above them, only you can’t reach him. He won’t let you. For every one of your attempts at a caress, at tenderness, is rejected by a shrug, a push of his hand, a shake of his head.

Sweat breaks on his forehead and dampens his curls as he becomes restless, showing none of the familiar signs of the relief he finds in your release, when he hums softly into you, lapping at your entrance to capture what you offer him, what he drew from you. Impatience and desperation roughen his grip on you. He shoves you to the head of the bed and you scramble, sliding on the slippery quilt, curled on your side, until you’re caged between his rigid body and the headboard.

There’s no warning, no Stop me, when he lines himself up with a stifled groan. You bury your face into the pillow and bite down on it to muffle the pain when he splits you open. He starts rutting into you with unrestrained strength, forcing through the vice grip of your tight cunt around his hard length. You try to relax into it. That’s all you ever want, for him to fill you up, to be inside you and around you, but that’s the thing: he’s not touching you. Not really.

Instead of gripping the curve of your hips, or kneading your breast, or lying between your shoulder blades, his hands are clenched on the headboard, white knuckled. His bent knee doesn’t quite touch your folded legs, his hips don’t even slap against the swell of your cheeks.

“Frankie,” you try, but your voice comes out thin as a ripping thread. It’s immediately drowned under the sounds filling the room, the creaking of the bed, his strained breathing.

“Frankie,” you call again, louder this time, reaching to the side to grab his thigh.

He jerks at the contact, sliding out of you with a hiss like you just burned him with a red-hot iron. You grab the side of the headboard to haul yourself up. Behind you, you feel him falling back on his knees. For a few seconds, you can’t bring yourself to move. You remain hunched over, fingers wrapped so tightly on the hardboard, your nails digging into the cheap, tender wood.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and you turn around to face him.

Your heart sinks and chatters at the sight of him, of his glassy, pleading eyes that won’t meet yours. His chest heaves with exertion, and the weight of something else. He grazes a palm over his face, tilting his head down.

“I hurt you. I fucking hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tonight, this is it. These words are your cue.

“No,” you start, scooting closer to him as he shakes his head, exhausted, isolated. The gesture no longer carries the warning it did as he was about to succumb. It’s a measure of his failure, of the depth of his defeat, and it chills you to the bones.

“No,” you repeat, stronger, and you offer him the only lifeline you know.

Closing the physical distance, you straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. When his body stiffens, you harden your hold.

“Frankie… Frankie…” you coo, again and again, like his name holds the solution, and all of your devotion. You say it as you press your forehead to his, as you rub your cheek against his stubble, as you nuzzle the sharp edge of his nose, and trace his plush lips with yours.

Until his shoulders sag under your embrace, until you feel the choked up breath that quakes his chest, you keep repeating his name. A few minutes, or an infinity of seconds, time doesn’t matter anymore. The night is yours, your skins are glued together in the soft yellow light.

His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first, but you encourage him, raking your fingers through his hair, twining them into his soft curls. He lets you, he gives in, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales you there, raising the soft hair on your nape. His voice is broken when he speaks.

“I’m not–”

“Frankie don’t, please don’t,” you cut in.

You know the words that are piling bitter and desperate on his tongue, know them on an instinctual level. You feel them swirling, black and hopeless inside his head, you’ve known them from the very beginning, recognized them in the sadness of his angry stare. And you won’t let him pronounce them inside this room you share, you won’t let him give them any kind of substantiality. Not between your arms, not against your skin.

“I’m not hurt,” you begin, pulling back to see his face, to look into his eyes and sink your words of hope and faith into him, past the barrier of remorse and regret, “I want everything you–” but his brow furrows deeper as he clenches his eyes shut, and you trail off.

Panic briefly floods your brain. You’re acutely aware of your shortcomings and limitations, of all the things you’ve never been taught growing up. How to translate feelings into words, how to express compassion, how to care for others. How to be heard.

You take a deep, shaky breath, your breasts pushing into his chest.

“Look at me, Frankie baby. Look at me. Let me–”

Let me in. Let me be yours. Let me mean something.

Your plea dies on your tongue when his eyes shoot open. They shine with unshed tears, pierced by a ray of light from the bedside table, and for the first time, you see that they’re not black. They were never black. His eyes are brown, a deep, rich, precious mahogany brown. The color paints your vision, it flows into your bloodstream and courses along your veins. It spreads into your heart, gets tangled in your soul. Around you, the whole world disappears, along with everyone in it. There is only him, his mahogany eyes brimming with tears, and the feeling of his hot, damp skin against yours.

His arms wrap tighter around your back, his warmth seeps into your bones. His hands find purchase on your curves, drawing you closer.

“I want you so badly to be real,” he whispers, quiet and pained, like he can’t ask you this much, but you know that, for him, you’re willing to be.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again.

Swallowing down the tremor in your throat, you give him a tender smile, tinted with gratitude, colored with praise. You cup his face, fingernails scratching at the heart-shaped patch on his jawline. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you give him what he needs, leaning in to press them to his.

Underneath you, his length throbs with unreleased hunger, and you sway your hips over it. He moans against your lips, the vibration trails down to your core like hot, liquid amber. His tongue peaks out, and you open up for him, like you always have, like you always will. A grating sound comes out of his throat, an echo of your gratitude, a mirror of your pain, a reflection of your loneliness.

He breaks the kiss to lift you up gently, helping you find friction with his cock sliding between your folds, where it pulsates hard and thick against your clit. Your limbs turn to molasses, toffee soft and sticky, but your hips lock into a slow, languid rhythm, slick pooling down on him as you stroke him between your two bodies. His right hand skates up flat along your spine, to settle on your nape.

He draws you in closer, closer than you’ve ever been. His heart beats inside your chest, enveloping the purring wild creature you still can’t name or tame.

“Make us come, baby.”

A dry sob undulates up to your throat. Your eyes fill with hot tears, they spill against his temple. Mahogany explodes inside your brain. The night is yours.

“Yes, Frankie.”

“Make us come together.”

****

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @your-voice-is-mellifluous @mylostloversbookmarks @readingiskeepingmegoing @lovesbiggerthanpride @youandmeand5bucks-blog @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @southernbe @blackvelveteen1339 @anoverwhelmingdin @casa-boiardi @nandan11 @jessthebaker @pedroshotwifey @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @noisynightmarepoetry @missladym1981 @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @survivingandenduring @jeewrites

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reasonsforhope · 1 month

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"In cities across the country, people of color, many of them low income, live in neighborhoods criss-crossed by major thoroughfares and highways.

The housing there is often cheaper — it’s not considered particularly desirable to wake up amid traffic fumes and fall asleep to the rumble of vehicles over asphalt.

But the price of living there is steep: Exhaust from all those cars and trucks leads to higher rates of childhood asthma, cancer, cardiovascular disease, and pulmonary ailments. Many people die younger than they otherwise would have, and the medical costs and time lost to illness contributes to their poverty.

Imagine if none of those cars and trucks emitted any fumes at all, running instead on an electric charge. That would make a staggering difference in the trajectory, quality, and length of millions of lives, particularly those of young people growing up near freeways and other sources of air pollution, according to a study from the American Lung Association.

The study, released [February 28, 2024], found that a widespread transition to EVs could avoid nearly 3 million asthma attacks and hundreds of infant deaths, in addition to millions of lower and upper respiratory ailments...

Prior research by the American Lung Association found that 120 million people in the U.S. breathe unhealthy air daily, and 72 million live near a major trucking route — though, Barret added, there’s no safe threshold for air pollution. It affects everyone.

Bipartisan efforts to strengthen clean air standards have already made a difference across the country. In California, which, under the Clean Air Act, can set state rules stronger than national standards, 100 percent of new cars sold there must be zero emission by 2035.

[Note: The article doesn't explain this, but that is actually a much bigger deal than just California. Basically, due to historically extra terrible pollution, California is the only state that's allowed to allowed to set stronger emissions rules than the US government sets. However, one of the rules in the Clean Air Act is that any other state can choose to follow California's standards instead of the US government's. And California by itself is the world's fifth largest economy - ahead of all but four countries. So, between those two things, when California sets stricter standards for cars, they effects ripple outward massively, far beyond the state's borders.]

Truck manufacturers are, according to the state’s Air Resources Board, already exceeding anticipated zero-emissions truck sales, putting them two years ahead of schedule...

Other states have begun to take action, too, often reaching across partisan lines to do so. Maryland, Colorado, New Mexico, and Rhode Island adopted zero-emissions standards as of the end of 2023.

The Biden administration is taking similar steps, though it has slowed its progress after automakers and United Auto Workers pressured the administration to relax some of its more stringent EV transition requirements.

While Barret finds efforts to support the electrification of passenger vehicles exciting, he said the greatest culprits are diesel trucks. “These are 5 to 10 percent of the vehicles on the road, but they’re generating the majority of smog-forming emissions of ozone and nitrogen,” Barret said...

Lately, there’s been significant progress on truck decarbonization. The Biden administration has made promises to ensure that 30 percent of all big rigs sold are electric by 2030...

Such measures, combined with an increase in public EV charging stations, vehicle tax credits, and other incentives, could change American highways, not to mention health, for good."

-via GoodGoodGood, February 28, 2024

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luv4fandoms · 5 months

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Best Christmas ever! (Dwayne x Fem!Reader)

I'M BAAAAAAAACK!!

So this idea hit me when I read these prompts and I couldn't resist writing it. It seems I am a sucker for Christmas themed stories with Dwayne and Laddie lol. This is kinda in the same universe as "When you're unaware" since it mentions a brother who owns a truck

late night drives to see all the christmas lights in the neighborhood

Pairing: Dwayne x Fem!Reader

Word count: 885

Warnings: Overload of cuteness

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Ko-Fi

"The Carter's still got the biggest light display back home?" Your brother asked as you walked down the boardwalk to meet up with the boys, it had only been about five months since you had met them and already you couldn't picture your life without the rowdy group.

"Oh yeah, every year Jenny is adding something new. I think now it's a competition between them and the Gonzalez family that moved in down at the old Jackson place, they go all out too"

"I remember how pissed George used to get when mom would get dad to decorate"

"Yeah times that by a hundred and you now know the first Christmas after the Gonzalez's moved in" you laughed just as you caught sight of the boys.

"Y/N!" Laddie called, running down the boardwalk to hug you.

"Hey sweetie! Having fun so far?"

"Paul took me on the rollercoaster and Dwayne got me cotton candy" he smiled up at you.

"Hopefully in that order right?" You laughed.

"Paul knows better" Dwayne nodded earning a 'Hey!' from the blonde vamp.

"So what were you two discussing?" David asked while Paul passed a blunt to your brother.

"The families that go all out for Christmas back home"

"Should have seen this one, I swear they must spend a grand a day in electric with how many lights they have" your brother told them.

"Whoa really?" Laddie asked, now invested in the conversation.

"Oh yeah, think of like every light on the boardwalk but on just one house" you laughed.

"Paired with light up animatronics of Santa, reindeer, and snowmen" your brother finished.

"That is so cool!"

"It really was" your brother nodded.

"It definitely made Christmas" you smiled

"That it did"

"I will admit, I'm gonna miss not seeing it this year...I feel like it's not Christmas time until you see the lights"

"Yeah I know what you mean, it's childhood"

"But I get to spend this Christmas with you so I'm happy!" You smiled, leaning down and grabbing Laddie in a bear hug, listening to the smallest vampire laugh, unknown of the eyes that were watching the scene unfold with a soft smile, and a plan forming in his head.

It had been a couple weeks since then, the boardwalk had decked itself out even more for the Christmas season with various lights and window displays, but that wasn't what Dwayne wanted you to see that night when he pulled up to your house. He parked his bike in the garage, Laddie jumping off the back to go get you while he grabbed the keys to your brother's truck. He had already told him his plan, so he had offered his vehicle since it would be able to fit the three of you, and because he kept it at your house instead of at the cave near the ocean air. He watched you stumble out, quite literally, due to Laddie dragging you, he may only be half vamp but he was still stronger than a human. A bag of homemade cookies in one hand and a smile on your face as you gained your balance.

"I have been retrieved" you laughed, making your way over to him.

"I also come baring goods, but please kind sir, why have I been fetched from my kitchen?"

"Because fair maiden, we are going for a drive" he smiled, holding up your brother's keys, which caused you to raise an eyebrow.

"Come on!" Laddie cheered, pulling you towards the old truck before you could say anything, you laughed as you helped him up into the cab, before getting in once he settled in the middle of the bench seat, Dwayne soon getting in and starting up the old girl. You weren't sure what he had in mind, but you knew he wouldn't do anything reckless, not only was he not that type, but he also had Laddie in the vehicle, your brother's vehicle at that. He drove for a while before you found yourself in a more populated part of town, but not as populated as the boardwalk area, more of the suburban type of place...And that's when you saw them.

Lights were strung up on just about every house, in ever color, and every shape. Some houses had full blown Christmas trees out front while others had the wire reindeers. Some had Santa on the roof while others had the classic blowmolds that looked like they had been passed down for generations.

It was Christmas.

Dwayne smiled as he watched you and Laddie stare in awe at the houses, the radio softly playing a Christmas station while he drove slowly. Laddie had already dug into your cookies as he offered them both one with a smile.

"This is so...magical" you smiled.

"This street continues on into the next town, they do this every year. I always take Laddie to see it" he explained.

"It's my favorite part of Christmas! When we heard you talking about missing the lights Dwayne wanted to show you too!" Laddie spoke around a mouthful of cookie. You tried not to tear up as you looked over at the man who held a soft smile while looking at the two of you, his two favorite people he concluded.

"Thank you, this is the best Christmas ever" you spoke softly. He simply nodded as he watched Laddie curl up against you, pointing excitedly to his favorite displays. He couldn't agree more.

'Best Christmas ever'

I'm so happy with how this came out! Short but sweet lol. I really do lean towards Dwayne and Laddie for Christmas stories 😂. I hope everyone enjoyed it!

#the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #dwayne tlb #the lost boys dwayne #laddie the lost boys #laddie thompson #laddie tlb #dwayne x reader #christmas story #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys oneshot #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x y/n #dwayne x y/n

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workersolidarity · 2 months

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[ 📹 The father of a slain Palestinian bears witness to the crime of Zionist tanks firing on innocent civilians, resulting in dozens of dead and wounded, as Israeli crimes against humanity continue unabated.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏡💥🚑 🚨

💥ISRAELI SLAUGHTER OF INNOCENT CIVILIANS IN THE GAZA STRIP CONTINUES ON DAY 142💥

For the 142nd day, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 7 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of at least 86 Palestinians and wounding another 131 others over the previous 24-hours.

Israeli occupation forces withdrew today from Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis, announcing the arrest of 200 Palestinians from the hospital. However, Gaza's Ministry of Health says that Israeli forces continue to besiege the neighborhood around the hospital complex.

According to the report, staff and patients from the hospital are still without food, water, electricity, oxygen services and other energy-dependent services and treatments at Nasser, but medical teams were finally able to bury the bodies of 13 martyrs from the complex.

Meanwhile, IOF warplanes and artillery renewed its shelling of the western sections of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, leading to the deaths of several Palestinian civilians, and also renewed its shelling of the Al-Sabra neighborhood of Gaza City.

In the north of Gaza, an Israeli airstrike targeting a residential home in the Shaaf neighborhood east of Gaza City resulted in the death of at least one Palestinian and wounded several others.

Simultaneously, occupation drones opened fire in the eastern neighborhoods of Gaza City, while at the same time, occupation artillery shelling also targeted the same area.

Several large explosions were also reported coming from the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, south of Gaza City, where Zionist tanks and armored vehicles continued with their ground invasion in the same area after partially withdrawing some forces.

Local sources are also reporting intense artillery shelling across the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood which targeted Al-Mustafa street, south of Gaza City, resulting in dozens of casualties among Palestinian civilians.

Large explosions have also been reported coming from the Juhr al-Dik neighborhood, south of Gaza City, while no less than 10 civilians were killed and 50 others wounded after intense occupation shelling and bombing of civilian residences by Zionist warplanes across Gaza City, with a focus on the Al-Zaytoun and Al-Sabra neighborhoods.

In another Zionist crime, a number of civilians were killed and several others wounded after occupation warplanes bombed a group of civilians near the entrance to Sheikh Radwan clinic in Gaza City.

At the same time, occupation warplanes and artillery shelling targeted a gathering of civilians waiting for food aid at the Nabulsi Junction, west of Gaza City, in the north of Gaza, resulting in the martyrdom of 10 Palestinians and wounding a number of others.

Similarly, an additional civilian was killed and another wounded after occupation jets bombed the area of Baghdad street, east of the Al-Shujaiya neighborhood of Gaza City.

Also in the north of the Palestinian enclave, occupation artillery shelled a civilian home in Beit Lahia, after which the corpse of a civilian was pulled from the rubble, while several others remain missing in the strike.

Occupation artillery continues to bombard civilians attempting to cultivate lands north of Beit Lahia, in the northern Gaza Strip, killing at least two Palestinians.

Zionist artillery also shelled the Al-Shati Refugee Camp, west of Gaza City yesterday evening, resulting in the death of a civilian and wounding four others.

Elsewhere, Civil Defense personnel managed to retrieve the bodies of 8 Palestinians from the Al-Satar neighborhood, east of Khan Yunis, in the south of the enclave.

Meanwhile, Zionist warplanes and artillery continues to hammer the eastern neighborhoods of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip. At least one civilian was killed when Zionist fighter jets bombed the village of Al-Qarara, located to the north of Khan Yunis, in south-central Gaza.

The body another civilian, Rasmi Fawzi Al-Najjar was also recovered 50 days after going missing in an occupation airstrike on the Rumaydah neighborhood in Bani Suhaila, east of Khan Yunis where 10 civilians were wounded by occupation gunfire and shelling.

As a result of Israel's war of genocide against the Palestinian people of the Gaza Strip, more than 29'692 civilians have been killed, the majority of which being women and children, while another 69'879 Palestinians have been injured by Israel's ongoing attacks since October 7th, 2023.

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#source5

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

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eretzyisrael · 6 months

Text

by John Podhoretz

A day after Jewish college kids found it necessary to barricade themselves inside a library in the center of Greenwich Village while a mob of repugnant terrorist-lovers banged on the locked doors trying to get at them, the message is being broadcast that, on this Sabbath, Jews in Brooklyn had better remain at home.

Stay inside.

Lock the doors.

A pro-Palestinian protest is scheduled for 3 p.m. Saturday in front of the Brooklyn Museum.

That’s a mile from 770 Eastern Parkway, the headquarters of the largest ultra-Orthodox sect in the world, the Lubavitch Hasidim.

Roughly 20,000 observant Jews live around 770, in the neighborhood called Crown Heights.

“Jews should definitely avoid the area,” an ultra-Orthodox news site called COLlive.com said a “security source” had advised them and the Shmira, the local Jewish self-defense association.

“There’s no intel at this time in which direction the protest will head. Locals should definitely stay away from Eastern Parkway in that area.”

The Jews of Brooklyn feel they are at risk, and — this is the implicit corollary — they cannot be protected.

On the Sabbath, observant Jews do not use electricity or vehicles or screens of any kind.

To pass the time on a Sabbath afternoon, they often go on a long walk.

Not this weekend.

As the security source said, after all, who knows which direction the mob will go?

Better for the Jews to stay inside.

Just as it became a matter of life and death for them to stay inside back in 1991, in the very same neighborhood.

What everyone is afraid of is a repeat of August 1991.

In Crown Heights that year, a three-day anti-Jewish riot followed a tragic automobile accident that took the life of a 7-year-old black child after he was hit by a car being driven by a Hasidic Jew.

Not only were 38 Jews beaten, seven Jewish-owned businesses were looted and burned to the ground.

“Let’s go get a Jew,” a mob chanted, and then they did — they murdered an Australian doctoral student named Yankel Rosenbaum, stabbing him and smashing in his skull.

#new york #brooklyn #pogrom #sabbath #observant jews #brooklyn museum

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yoongsisbae · 1 year

Text

V is for Villain 2/3

What does it mean to be a villain? What does it really mean to be a vigilante? A vanquisher of evil or a victor for the good? Stories praise the fall of devils, cheer at the marvels of the virtuous, and forget the victorious tell a version conveniently veiling their own atrocities. Evilness was once the brightest star in heaven. And goodness, well, morality can so often be contentious. This time, there is the hero with the strength of a hundred men, there is the villain that can vanish his vulnerabilities in a very instant, and then there’s you.

PART 1 HERE. Superhero/Super Villain AU. Taehyung x y/n x Namjoon love triangle (or rhombus if you wanna count Yoongi :P) Continuation to Your Friendly Neighborhood Superhero, RM.

Warnings: love-hate relationship, soft yandere tae, smut, dubcon, exhibitionism, oral, shower sex, rough sex, police brutality, attempted SA, violence, unhinged y/n

Word Count: 17.8k

---

You look down at the ground quickly approaching. Namjoon isn’t going to reach you. You smile, just knowing he tried was enough.

Namjoon screams your name. He will always be your hero no matter what.

You look up in his direction again and hold out your hand, manipulating the air in an attempt to slow him down, all the times he produced craters when trying for a soft landing replaying in your mind, but the super powered hero is flying too quickly, cutting right through your efforts, desperate to get to you.

You shut your eyes.

This is going to hurt.

Jungkook side swipes you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you disappear right before Namjoon’s eyes.

How many craters has it been? Add one more to the tally.

---

You catch your breath, finally sitting up. “Is V not coming?” Jungkook hopped you immediately to Yoongi and Jin, the four of you all falling to the ground like bowling pins at the impact. Jungkook has a knack for strikes.

“He needs an alibi, he is going to be answering questions with the press.”

You huff, Taehyung should be here too, it’s his damn narrative. “Ready?” Yoongi asks the group, his eyes narrowing in on you.

Yoongi reveals his cell, showing off a map with a dozen large dots moving through the streets. “I don’t know if I can take anymore of this,” Jungkook whines wearily.

“You know, all this ended up being perfect practice for hopping into a moving location, yeah?” All three men glare at you. “Err no?”

Jungkook psyches himself up, jumping up and down. “Argh okay!”

“After that, a speeding vehicle can’t be that hard. Just don’t hop us inside of anyone,” Jin teases, grabbing onto the teleporter.

“WHAT. That’s a thing?! He’s done that?” you ask, horrified, pulling your hand back, unwilling to grab onto Jungkook.

“No!” Jungkook yells. “Okay, well, it wasn’t a person. I-I was a kid. Dammit, why did you have to remind me, Jin!”

You gag. A doe-eyed young Jungkook covered from head-to-toe in animal carcass like some tiny serial killer was not something you wanted to imagine at all. Jin laughs at you.

“Jungkook, c’mon, me and y/n got you,” Yoongi reassures as Jungkook concentrates on the map, anxiety and strain clearly present on his features.

“Me too!” Jin says. You grab Jin’s hand and place your other hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Yeah bunny, let’s hop, we got you,” you repeat, winking as you and Yoongi send energy into your teleporting friend.

Jungkook focuses, imagines the streets, the cars, the very exact target rolling down the highway, passing an intersection. With Jin’s help and his powers tapping into the target’s mind, and Jungkook’s overactive imagination, Jungkook can visualize everything so perfectly. It takes only a few seconds to really see…feel the differences between here and there, now and then.

So much in the world to see yet Jungkook can’t be in two places at a time, however two places at a moment's notice? That, he is excellent at!

There’s so much energy whirling around your group, Jungkook vanishes you all in a crackle of electricity.

‘What have you gotten yourself into, y/n.’ Namjoon thinks, zooming to your location.

He found you just in time to see you vanish. And then, like a lightning bolt himself, RM flies into the sky.

---

“Ahh!”

You couldn’t blame their frightful fits, four hooded figures appearing out of thin air like a demon quartet inside the politician’s special armored vehicle would make even the most hardened armed guards yell out of surprise.

“Pull over!” he yells to his driver.

“I c-can’t!” his driver yells back, desperately pulling on the steering wheel that’s locked into position, stomping on brakes that have no more give. Yoongi smirks, in the passenger’s seat. He runs his fingers over the car’s dash, revving the engine. “The car is not going to listen to you.”

Guns are drawn, but the triggers have already been locked by you.

Click.

Click Click Click.

This is the most uncomfortable ride of your life sans murder attempt, you’re squished in between Jungkook and Jin, practically in their laps. “I’m just gonna-” you wiggle your fingers in front of you and everyone’s weapons land in the laps of the men beside you, who each grab their favorite and put the safety switches back off, smirking.

His secretary tries to dial the emergency number on her cell but thanks to Yoongi, the cell tower has decided not to respond. You freeze everyone’s limbs in the caravan, making things easier.

“I heard rumors of this city, but I can’t believe it's real,” the mayor stutters, body locked and his eyes bulging.

“Rumors, what kind?” you ask, intrigued.

“Super…villains.”

“Eh?!”

“Get it done,” Yoongi grunts, watching the other dots on his cell move throughout the city.

“Hello Mayor,” Jin speaks. “I’m glad I could catch an audience with you before you left our beautiful city. Seeing as we both share an invested interest in our neighboring habitats, as you demonstrated at today’s rally,” he says, landing a hand on his shoulder and the politician’s eyes glaze over, “this will only take a moment.”

Everyone else stares at your group like the undead, it creeps you out. so you shut their eyes, pulling off your hood. “This thing is itchy, I hate it.”

“We should wear eye masks instead,” Jungkook suggests.

“No masks!” You and Yoongi speak in unison.

“All good!” Jin says cheerfully as he removes his hand.

“He’s pissing himself.” Jungkook complains.

“Ew!” you groan, the smell of pee filling the confined space.

“They do that most of the time, don’t they?” Yoongi grimaces.

“These guys are so old it's amazing they have any control of their bladders,” Seokjin huffs.

“Can’t you, like, stop it,” Jungkook whines at you.

“Ew! No way!” you retort back. “What did you do to him?” you ask, the politician’s eyes still look unfocused and scared, shell-shocked.

“Just had a nice long chat,” Jin says, which didn’t make any sense to you, barely a minute had passed, but you guess it was another one of Jin’s mind games he likes to play. “We worked out a great deal! Right?” Jin warns. The petrified man in front of you can’t really move without your permission, but he squeaks out a small sound of agreement.

“Like I explained, we don’t want to hurt you. We just want your support,” he says, patting the politician’s knee. “But we can hurt you.”

You tighten his tie with your powers, constricting the politician's throat with his own party colors.

“And find you, wherever you go.” Jin’s voice drops to a lower register and it has a terrifying effect.

Terrifying and sexy, you think. The mind reader rarely acts this serious. It’s a hot look on him. You truly hope Jin is too busy to pay attention to your next thoughts. Jin leans back and puts his arm over your shoulder, dashing your hopes.

“Ready?” Jungkook asks, turning around to peer at Yoongi’s map once more.

The car stops abruptly. So abruptly everyone is thrown forward and backward, but you have the forethought to catch your bodies before any damage happens.

You turn around, ready to yell at Yoongi for the abrupt stop and see dark brown eyes, a determined scowl, and RM standing with his hands on the front hood.

“I know we can count on your support,” Jin warns.

“How the hell did he find us?”

“Your damn earrings!” Yoongi yells.

“Don’t blame me!” you pout. “You said you took out the trackers!”

“I did! So why is there one in there?!” Yoongi yells back, realizing the new devices installed.

“Maybe RM put them back in during one of your little sleep overs,” Seokjin whispers in your ear.

“Your what?”

“J-Jungkook now!” you yell.

In a coordinated effort you all reach for one another, hands interlocking and disappearing right as RM crashes his fist into the windshield.

The chase is on.

Roads are backed up, city traffic is worse than usual while everyone tries to leave the arena, and driving a couple blocks is taking five times longer than usual.

But RM can fly.

And JK can move through space and time.

It takes mere minutes between targets. Though, the time you experience dreading RM causing another commotion while waiting on Jin really feels like an eternity.

Ugh, you wish Namjoon didn’t have to wreck every car he managed to track you guys to. He’s really blowing the whole point of this plot, discreetness has gone out the window, or rather his fist is going through the window, and the convoy of police vehicles already surrounding the rather important politician is realizing the enemy had already snuck inside their barrier, turning their sights and guns to the scene.

What will the media say this time? No one was supposed to see you guys or know what you were up to! That was the whole point of this crazy plan, but with RM plans rarely go smoothly. At least part of your plans are succeeding, you think, as the man in front of you agrees over and over again he will be cooperative to Jin.

You pull your hood down lower, concealing your eyes.

“This is the last one, isn’t it? Still need me?” you whisper to Jungkook.

“Uhh yeah, you’re kind of crucial to us not being killed,” Jungkook whispers back.

“You have the guns, though,” you retort.

On cue RM pulls the car door off its hinges, grabbing the closest hooded figure out of the car.

Unfortunately, it’s Jungkook, and the teleporter hops out of his clothes, a new trick he’s learned after dealing with RM.

A very bare chested Jungkook appears right back where he was, hair disheveled and only a mask covering his mouth and identity now. Thank god for Yoongi no cameras are able to catch any identifying tattoos, and you are surprised to see the young teleporter has a lot.

You all reach for him in unison, hands landing on his skin. You and Jin have the same idea, both grabbing a handful of pec...and squeezing.

But RM is not to be underestimated! He wanted to stop you all, but more than that, he wanted to catch you...red-handed.

A small little device was all it took. Namjoon; who has studied up and read every book he could find on electricity, using his intellect instead of his power to try to defeat you this time, with his newfound alone time he started to make devices that might finally help him counter-attack your friends’ infuriating powers; he sets off one of those devices right inside the vehicle.

Jungkook is stunned, quite literally unable to move through the currents shocking his system.

Yoongi is overwhelmed, and by the time it is going to take him to figure out a translation to the new handmade device, with every shockwave he is experiencing, it might be too late!

You, however, could see a solution even if every shock clouded your vision.

You can’t speak, you can barely move, the stunning was impressively strong. You might have been shocked into a stupor, but in your mind, communication with Jin was perfect.

‘Jungkook!’

‘Hey…JUNGKOOK.’

At a time like this Jungkook didn’t know whether he should be grateful or cursing the fact that all he could think about was Jin’s voice instead of his friends and family and everyone he was about to let down getting so publicly arrested.

‘Jungkookie, hop us!’

‘DO YOU THINK I WASN’T TRYING?!’ Jungkook thinks back. But due to the untouchable electricity Jungkook couldn’t concentrate on even hopping himself, much less everyone else.

‘No, hop everything! Hop the entire damn car!’

THE CAR THAT WAS CURRENTLY FUCKING UP HIS POWERS? Jin wants Jungkook to bring it along for the ride, err well make it the ride? Hasn’t Jungkook done enough?! The teleporter’s inner monologue rivals the self-pity of a Greek Tragedy hero.

There is a pretty blue glow all around him, the electricity taking on a familiar trait.

Yoongi’s.

Jungkook can hear strained cries coming from you. The shocks multiplying to a painfully strong degree as the device is supercharged.

Actually it doesn't really hurt, it kind of feels like a massage, all the energy is making Jungkook feel good...powerful.

“SHIT!” Hoseok yells.

Jimin cries out, falling off his chair.

The device in the car goes haywire for a second, before completely dudding out.

You all topple out of the vehicle, reorienting yourselves with the help of Hoseok and Jimin. You grab Jungkook, stumbling with him to the rear of the caravan.

“You h-have to take it back. The caravan!”

“I can’t,” Jungkook groans, feeling sick.

You lean against his back, hugging him tightly, exhausted from using your powers to such magnitudes, and even still doing so to keep the targets frozen. “You have to,” you squeeze Jungkook, healing and powering up the teleporter one last time-

Namjoon blinks. ‘It’s invisible? Did V- No, it’s gone.’

Oh, now it’s back.

He circles the vehicle, finding you and Jungkook sprawled on the ground.

You’re lying face down, passed out over the teleporter, who shifts and tries to kick his feet away from the advancing and furious superhero. Red lasers land on Jungkook’s bare chest-

The tires deflate, hit by the bullets that would have gone through you and Jungkook if the teleporter hadn’t disappeared at that exact moment-

Namjoon stands frozen. ‘S-She’s not dead, Jungkook teleported before she could have gotten hit,’ he thinks.

You’re not dead...you’re not dead...you wouldn’t dare...

He recollects himself, focusing back on the caravan as police descend around him. He looks inside the vehicle, where a group of scared personnel and one positively petrified politician sit...and no one else. “Are you okay?! Tell me what they did to you, I can try and help-”

“Nothing! N-Nothing, they didn’t do anything,” he swallows.

The neighboring city’s mayor stumbles out of the car, screeching at his confused security. “Goddammit, what do I pay you all for?!” Namjoon watches him berate everyone, trying to gain the power he had momentarily been stripped of.

“I can help you,” Namjoon says slow and reassuringly as if her were talking to a temper tantrum-ing child. “If you explain what happened, I can stop them.” Namjoon was frustratingly hitting dead ends as no politician would let him in on what your group was doing, and if there was no crime to report...

“Mayor! Please listen-”

“I-If you’re gonna stop them, then s-stop them! Otherwise leave m-me out of it!”

Namjoon clenches his jaw, eyeing one security guard who looks like he’s on the verge of quitting...

---

“Today is the worst day of my life.”

“What about that time you teleported your hand through a fence and we had to take you to the hospital?”

“Or the time you teleported to that volcano?”

“It was inactive,” Hoseok reminds Jimin.

“Excuse me, the worst day of your life? Did you get shot?” you grunt. Jungkook holds up his arm angrily. “That’s just a graze.”

“Yours is just a graze.”

“Mine is deeper,” you pull Hoseok’s hand away, and blood gushes out from the cut across your hip. “Ow ow ow! See!”

“Can’t you heal it?” Hoseok asks, holding the compress to your side.

“God, I have to do everything around here!” you whine. “I’m tired!” You would still be passed out if you hadn’t woken up from the excruciating pain.

“Should we take them to a doctor?” Yoongi asks Jin.

“Ehh they seem to be okay?” The two oldest watch as the others dote on you and Jungkook, the both of you making convincing arguments as to why you need to be carried in Hoseok’s arms to the couch and why Jungkook needs Jimin to hand-feed him food.

---

You stretch, waking up from your nap, delicately removing yourself from Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s embrace, and finding the teleporter eating his third bowl of ramen. “Jungkook, hop me to RM!”

“What? Are you crazy? That last time he looked ready to kill me!”

“I will actually kill you if you d-”

“Y/n, I need to debrief with you,” Taehyung calls out to you, entering the quarters.

Oh there he is, so untraumatized from the whole day’s ordeal, you can’t help but glare at him. “Can’t Jin-”

“No,” Taehyung says sternly, “You, y/n.”

You cross your arms, deciding in which direction you should hurl Taehyung away from you. He crosses his arms too, standing tall, stepping into your space.

“Alright,” you huff, rolling your eyes. He’s lucky you find the authoritative look so hot. You glance at the mind reader, he better not be listening to you. You bump Taehyung’s shoulder as you head for his room, not wanting to wake the others.

“What I don’t understand is how RM found you all so fast?” he asks rhetorically, leaning against his work desk after you explained everything (well, clearly not everything), the two of you alone in his old small office quarters. You stay quiet. “What did I say about wearing those earrings on missions-”

“‘Y/n, don’t wear those earrings on missions,’” you lower your voice as low as you can, mimicking Taehyung’s deep timber.

Taehyung’s eyebrow twitches. You cross your arms. “I didn’t know! If you’re going to blame someone, blame Yoongi! Tech is his specialty, is it not?”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you and Jungkook almost died, because of RM. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if Jungkook had waited only a second longer-”

You wanted to argue with him, tell him people almost die all the time. That technically it wasn’t RM’s fault, it was Taehyung’s fault for making you all do this in the first place, and that Taehyung has no right to look at you with those accusing eyes of his, just because you weren’t going to stop wearing the present Namjoon gave you. How were you supposed to know he was going to put the trackers back in while you were sleeping, it was kind of impressive actually-

“Everything could have been ruined-”

“You have the support,” you argue. “What more do you want?”

Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, glancing over at you...you, he wants to say. But the way his eyes refuse to look away says enough, making you feel guilty. You decide to change the subject.

“They are catching on though...” you murmur, moving closer to him. “About our powers. We all have to be even more careful.”

“Let them talk, they should feel a little fear. It’s all rumors still. Nothing will hit the news circuit, I will make sure of it.”

“And what if it does come back to you, dear Mayor,” you cross your arms, spitting out the title. “Isn’t that what you have been trying to avoid, by making us do all the dirty work?”

Taehyung smiles at you rather than matching your ire. He pulls off his tie and jacket, removing the stuffy formal clothes. “I appreciate that you help me...us...that you do this for us. Even if you are...compromised,” he says begrudgingly. “You kept my friends alive, and that means more to me...”

‘If he thinks touching your cheek like that and giving you those eyes is going to smooth things over, he’s wrong!’ you think, annoyed and flustered from the attention. You smack his hand away. “My money? You also owe me for fixing the floor...and the table,” you add, looking over at the newly cleaned hide out space after the “car crash” that happened inside.

“Done.” You turn to leave but Taehyung pulls you back. “Before you go running off into the night…” He stops, holding your attention, “...I wanted to show you something.”

He goes over to his desk, pulling out a file, and showing you a bunch of complicated diagrams, but you get the gist of it. Compared to all the other cities, recycling is up, pollution is down, renewable energy use is up, violent crime is down, it's all very impressive data for such a big industrial city. “I just wanted to remind you...why we had to do that...we are doing good-”

“I know that,” you frown, sighing. “I’m not the one you have to convince.”

You don’t have to say his name, Taehyung already knows who you’re talking about. You won’t seem let it go...him go. You desperately want RM on your side.

Taehyung sighs. You sit in his leather chair, putting your feet up on his desk, looking through the figures again, humming. It does make you happy to see the city so drastically improving, Taehyung doesn't have to know that though (you threaten Seokjin just in case he’s listening).

“How are you and Yoongi?” You catch Taehyung looking at your legs.

“Me and Yoongi? I am great, Yoongi is great. Why don’t you ask Yoongi?” You stiffen. Actually, he seemed pretty upset at you...

Taehyung laughs, “Funny, he said basically the same thing.”

“Well, he’s my favorite for a reason,” you speak apathetically, worried Taehyung will try to use him against you like he does with everything else.

Taehyung smirks down at you knowingly. You cross your arms, wheeling your chair around “Is there anything else before I go, Mayor?”

Taehyung scoffs, leaning over you until you’re caged in, his hands pressing down on the chair’s armrests. He looks down at you, serious, no sly smile or hint of playfulness anymore.

“You really like throwing that in my face. You know, when The Mayor died, because of you by the way, we all decided I was going to run,” he gestures to the cracked door, where you can hear the others argue over...food? Again?! “Do you think I enjoy being in the limelight like this, every little thing I do being scrutinized for everyone to see?”

His face is too close to you, his eyes watch you like he’s peering through you…inside you. “I think you do, and so what? You’re good at it.” You compliment him to smooth down the tension. It's also true, Taehyung is ridiculously charismatic when he wants to be, and great at convincing people to do what he wants, he convinced you...and maybe you hold it against him, the way you always seem to help him get exactly what he wants. Especially when he says things like...

“I feel like you hate me now...” he laughs, unable to hide his sadness and making you feel guilty in the process. “Is it because I keep beating your superhero?”

You break eye contact first, scoffing, following the lines of his jaw down, the top two buttons of Taehyung’s shirt now undone, giving you a glimpse of his chest. By now you are used to everyone else being in your personal space, but not Taehyung.

It feels...different when he gets so close to you. It feels forbidden.

Maybe Joon’s disdain for V affects you more than you want to admit-

“I don’t hate you...” you swallow, leaning back as he gets closer. “I...I...just don’t like you.” You decide it’s easier to keep Taehyung at a distance, so you lie. You don’t trust him, or yourself, when you’re around him.

Taehyung stares at you in surprise. “You liar!” he laughs.

“Go ask Jin then!” you challenge, you know Jin is going to tell him you’re lying, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t made it confusing. Taehyung huffs, and then vanishes before your eyes. You barely caught a glimpse of the anger in his expression, now unsure whether you witnessed it at all.

You try to stand up but Taehyung hasn't actually left, and you bump into him. “You want to know why I don’t like you?” you ask, pushing against his chest. “I know you have Yoongi keeping tabs on me, Jungkook watching me, even Jimin following me acting like a stray, like it’s a crime to want to leave, like I’m not allowed to be on my own. Taehyung…I am never ever going to stop wanting to see my friend!”

You feel Taehyung’s hot breath against the shell of your ear when he whispers, “I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt, y/n. Namjoon is going to hurt you. He always hurts you. It may not always be like today, where we can see it,” you can feel his hand nudge carefully against your healing scar, “but we can all tell you’re hurting...”

Somehow that last part stings worse than your injury.

His invisibility powers makes Taehyung more confident, daring, adding, “I would never hurt you like that.”

“You say that now…but your powers can’t show the future,” you say quietly. “I-I just want to take my money and go-”

“Go where, to Kim Namjoon?! Dammit y/n, you think he’s going to be happy to see you after today…”

“Why are you being like this?!”

“Because I can’t stop! I can’t stop worrying about you…thinking about you…caring about you...” You feel something soft graze your jaw.

You stay quiet, biting your tongue. You can’t see Taehyung, but it’s like you can feel him everywhere. The chair tilts as he moves himself against you, your arms and legs bumping into his body as you try to balance yourself. You’re not sure what you’re touching but it’s hard and muscled and warm and makes your breath hitch.

You knew Taehyung had grown a particular liking to you for your powers, and you also knew he was a big flirt, but sometimes his honeyed words would catch you off guard, make you wonder if the sweetness oozing from his lips was genuine, and you would have to catch yourself from wanting a taste.

“I’m okay, Taehyung,” you say under your breath, “You don’t have to worry.”

Taehyung appears right in front of you, startling you how close he really was to you, lips right next to yours. “No, ‘Mayor’? Looks like we’re making progress, y/n.” He smirks, his smirk quickly turning into a smile.

You scoff. “You are such a little brat. What do you really want from me, Kim Taehyung?”

“What I’ve always wanted,” he glances down at your lips. “Just you.” The back of his fingers run along your chin. “For once, don’t go to him and stay with me tonight?”

Namjoon liked to tell you how ruthless, how dangerous and evil Taehyung is. Part of you wanted to believe Namjoon…to actually hate Taehyung, it would make things so much easier if you could see what Namjoon sees. But you don’t. So what if he’s opportunistic and vengeful, or willing to do anything to win? Taehyung is a lot like you.

---

You finish showering, wiping the condensation off your mirror. Scalding water felt the best, and tonight, you needed the hot steam and soothing lavender soap to calm you down.

“Jimin! I forgot my towel!”

Jimin brings you a towel in his mouth, having shifted into a small brown dachshund. He shakes his tail happily at you. You know your roommate only stays with you so Taehyung can keep tabs on you, but Jimin is so damn cute when he transforms! You don’t even mind it! He barks twice before leaving, ugh, he’s adorable!

You went home after talking with Taehyung, deciding you wanted to have a night to yourself after all, feeling confused and worst of all, guilty for passing out at the most inconvenient time and almost getting the teleporter seriously injured.

You pull on a satin pair of pajamas, a lacy trimmed tank top and shorts, turning on your tea kettle to make Jimin and you some hot tea.

You sigh, looking down at dachshund Jimin, “Some watch dog you are,” you mutter, picking him up. He licks your face. “I don’t forgive you, traitor,” you accuse, before dropping him down again.

“I know you’re here, I can feel you,” you yell into your empty apartment. You close your eyes, it’s easier to concentrate that way. Was he by your couch, no, where did that sneak move to?

“What do you think? If I tear your body to pieces while you’re like this do they reanimate or will you just be invisible forever so they’ll never find you?” you threaten.

A loud knock at the door stops your thoughts and you whip your head around. You knew who it was, unfortunately. There was no mistaking the size and strength of the particular grouping of molecules that made up the superhero shaped figure stalking around your door. You definitely had to smooth things out with the tech talker so he could remove the earring tracker again.

Jimin growls behind your back, transformed into the largest Doberman you’ve ever seen. “Oh now you wanna guard me? Go to your room, Jimin!” you hiss.

“And don’t fucking move! Wherever you are!” You whisper at your uninvited guest.

Moving to the door, you open it up to a not so friendly face. Joon stands tall in a sweater and jeans, an annoyed glare behind thick frames.

You look him up and down stopping at his new glasses, “Break another pair?”

He stares at you blankly. Did he come all this way to give you the silent treatment?

You step into the hallway with him, shivering. If there wasn’t a certain moppy headed menace in your new apartment with a vendetta against your ex friend you would have pulled Namjoon in by now, but you couldn’t risk it.

“Were you- Are you okay?” he asks, getting his concerns out of the way.

“I was grazed by a bullet,” you smile meekly.

“What?” Namjoon falters, concern spreading over his features.

“Oh, it was bad,” you tease. “I’m lucky I’m alive.”

“Don’t joke-”

You laugh softly, feeling a little less unburdened over his anger at you. “Well I’m fine now, so don't worry,” you smile. “Did you hurt yourself when you landed?” you reach out to touch his shoulder.

Namjoon grabs your hand before you can touch him, back to business. “I need you to come with me-”

“Are you asking me out?” you joke.

“I need you to come with me and tell every one of those people you hurt that when they go to vote next session, they can vote freely without any fear something will happen to them or their families-”

“We wouldn’t hurt their families...”

“Y/n!”

“If you want me to go with you, I will, but it won’t change their minds,” you argue. “You know it too. Just let this one go, Joon, we beat you this time.”

‘We,’ the way you say it breaks Joon. He shakes his head no, holding your wrist tighter.

The tea kettle starts to whistle. “Did you want some tea?”

“Seriously? You can act like nothing happened, after what they did, what you did to-”

You sigh defeatedly, massaging your brow to stop the forming headache. Why does Taehyung always have to be right, it can be so damn infuriating…

“But you don’t mind when I’m helping you, when you’re using me to undermine The Mayor? Suddenly, it’s okay to be around someone you find so despicable, right?!” you yell, your anger getting the best of you.

Namjoon touches your cheek, turning you to meet his eyes again, letting all the words he wants to say sit on his tongue.

‘I don't think that,’ ‘Do you know how worried I was about you?’ ‘I was losing my mind,’ ‘Please, just stop what you're doing, I will forgive you if you just! stop!’ “Y/n...”

Namjoon grabs your arms, pushing you back inside your apartment. “I know he’s in here with you.”

Well, he was, but not for any weird reason Namjoon was currently processing through right now. “I saw the kettle move. V!”

You look over your shoulder at the silenced kettle. Idiot. But you knew Taehyung was no idiot. You knew he did it on purpose, and that pissed you off even more.

“No-” Namjoon presses, pushing past you. You move in front to stop him, using more than your physical strength to match his own. “It w-was Jimin!”

On cue, a very human Jimin walks out in his boxers, glaring at the superhero. “Y/n, do you need my help?”

“N-No! G-Go put on a shirt!” you hiss, embarrassed at his lack of clothes. You turn back around to face Joon, who is preoccupied, eyes scanning your home for any movement. “Joon...”

Ugh, you just wanted to relax tonight! Screw this! “You know what?! If you want to get back at V, don’t try to change their minds, just make sure they can’t vote.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jimin calls out your name in warning, scanning the room slowly.

You look around your apartment, trying to pinpoint Taehyung, walking around the superhero who follows your movement. “Why do you think we could blackmail them? They’re corrupt, obviously. Expose them if you really want to try and stop us. Get them arre-”

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Namjoon.” Jimin warns, his eyes flashing an intense yellow, pupils shifting into slits, resembling a cat’s eyes.

“Bring her back, V,” Namjoon growls, reaching out to where you just stood, touching only air.

Taehyung’s hand covers your mouth, your kitchen knife held to your throat. You put your hand over his, pulling at his fingers slowly so you can speak.

“Joon, I’m fine, listen to Jimin-”

“Show me!” Namjoon tries to pinpoint where he heard your voice. And to your surprise, Taehyung reveals the pair of you before hiding you once again.

“You really want to piss him off, huh?” you whisper under your breath to Taehyung, laughing bitterly as Namjoon’s shocked expression turns into fury.

“You did it, you compromised us for what? A nod of approval from someone who only ‘uses you’ to undermine me...your words!” He hisses back.

“You use me, you asshole. And maybe I’m tired of being used, so screw you both!”

“Y/N!” Namjoon roars.

Taehyung pushes you into the superhero, letting him see you. “Y-You’re bleeding!” Namjoon looks over your body for any other marks. Jimin’s eyes go wide in surprise, darkening back to his usual color.

“Oh. Yeah,” you wipe the small line of blood off your neck, healing yourself quickly. “See, I’m fine.”

Namjoon holds you tightly. “You’re coming with me-”

“You won’t win that way-”

“W-Well, I’m not leaving you alone with them!”

You laugh, a sudden warmth in your chest returning at the frightful concern in his eyes, “I’ll be okay Joon, trust me,” you hug him suddenly, whispering into his ear, “Go, you’re going to need to work fast if you want to beat us, right?”

‘Us’ again, Namjoon thinks bitterly. Namjoon holds your head in his large hands, rubbing away the smudged blood from your neck. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he might have kissed you in that moment.

You glare at the spot over Namjoon’s shoulder, lifting your hand away from Joon, a knife reanimates and flies into the kitchen, clanking to the ground close to Jimin, making the shapeshifter yelp. Namjoon tries to punch V, only swinging at air, “I can take care of myself,” you reiterate, shoving Joon away and closing the door shut with your mind as he escapes.

“Okay okay, you can’t blame me for trying to kill him,” Taehyung reanimates in front of you, an apologetic smile on his annoying face.

“You are insufferable. I can’t stand you. You’re the worst-”

“Jimin, wake up Jungkook and tell him he needs to have eyes and ears on our new friends until I can get my bill passed, now it’s going to be out of our jurisdiction so he needs to be careful-”

“-All that bullshit before about being worried about me-”

“-Then in the morning let Yoongi know he needs to monitor any new police record requests-”

Jimin clears his throat. “Y/n, are you okay?” Jimin asks you wearily before Taehyung goes any further.

“Like I said, I’m fine,” you glare at Taehyung when you say it, finally nodding at Jimin and giving him a weak smile to let him know you’re okay. “So what now, asshole? Gonna try and stab me in the back next?”

“Like you did to us? But I know you’ll stop me before anything really happens to you,” Taehyung says a matter-of-factly. “C’mon, you weren’t in any real danger. I would never actually hurt you, obviously.”

You have half a mind to just let him brutally maim you out of spite. The way Jimin ignored him meant he wasn’t too impressed with what Taehyung did to you either, could you turn him against Taehyung for you?

A hawk lands on your shoulder, Jimin’s beak knocking against your jaw, “I’m okay,” you laugh, “He wasn’t actually pressing hard.” Hawk Jimin lands on Taehyung’s shoulder next, ruffling his feathers, listening to the rest of his instructions before leaving out the window.

“Y/n, I’m sorry-”

“I just took a shower,” you whine.

Taehyung wets a wash cloth, cleaning the dried blood off your skin. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “But I had to think fast, and you left me with little options.”

“And your first thought just had to be kidnapping with a deadly weapon? You drive me crazy.”

Taehyung chuckles, deep, soft, comforting, his fingers delicately working to help you now that Namjoon was gone. Taehyung’s specific type of comfort wasn’t what you really wanted, but it was better than nothing. You glance over at him as he silently works to clean you up.

“I’m not sorry,” you mutter, sulking.

“Oh I know damn well you’re not,” Taehyung mutters too.

“Why did you come here in the first place? I promised you, didn’t I?”

“Looks like it happened anyways...I know I said I would give you space...I...couldn't stay away.” Taehyung looks lost, unsure about what to say next, there’s no confident banter you’re used to from him.

“So needy...” you raise your eyebrow at him. You said it lightly, only teasing him, seeing if you could get him to crack a smile after the intense show down. And he does.

“...and we’re not even dating.”

“Not yet,” he smirks.

“Funny, how about we go a day without trying to kill each other first?”

“I can do that,” he says confidently.

---

Jimin is purring, cuddled against your head as an orange tabby cat. You scratch his ears and he purrs even louder. “Where are we?” This bed is huge and definitely not yours. Jimin stretches his cat body and jumps off the bed, hiding away because he knows you’re going to be mad at the answer.

You quickly put two and two together, noticing the opulence in the room, the only other place you could be was at Mayor Kim’s mansion.

“Where is Jungkook?” you find Taehyung in his study.

“Out cleaning up your mess, why?”

“Because I promised him I would break his fingers if he hopped me without my permission again.”

“I asked him to, so-” Taehyung holds out his palm to you, continuing to write down notes with his other hand.

You should. You really really want to.

“And why did you do that?”

“Because I needed to work.”

You try not to raise your voice with your next question, “And why am I here?”

“Until the bill is passed, you’ll stay with me,” he states, going back to his note taking.

“And why would I agree to that?!” You scream, poise and restraint now long gone.

Taehyung crosses his arms. “Because I can say with a hundred percent certainty you will somehow find a way to mess this up even more if I let you out of my sight.”

His desk begins to shake, the pictures in his office tilting askew. “You think you can keep me here?”

“You’ll do what I say, because I’ll tell the others what you did and as much as you like to pretend you don’t care about what they think of you-”

“Shh.” You hold up a finger, shutting Taehyung’s mouth with your powers.

You look around his office. The decor is tasteful and elegant, expensive antiques and gold finishing. Taehyung fits right in with his dignified demeanor. But you don’t belong here…and you don’t want to.

“Mayor Kim…” you step closer to your immobilized cohort, circling his desk. “You could have just asked nicely.” You take a seat on said desk, crunching the paper under you. You grab the tip of his tie wrapping it one, two, three times around your palm, pulling him closer to you.

“I’ve played along, haven’t I? Don’t make me your enemy.” You finally let your telekinetic hold on Taehyung go.

“RM is the enemy,” he swallows.

“Joon is not my enemy-”

“But he is though, y/n. You can’t be so naïve-” You yank his tie to the side, his head pressing painfully on the wood next to you. He breathes through his teeth, glaring up at you.

“And you’re so wise? Then choose your next words wisely, Taehyung.”

Taehyung grunts, palm flat on your thigh, pressing down as he tries to lift himself up unsuccessfully.

There is really only one man strong enough to fight your power.

His fingers curl into the flesh of your thigh, catching you off guard. “Did you forget our promise to each other?”

You roll your eyes, letting his tie go and crossing your arms. “You’re making it very hard for me to even like you-”

“Not that promise,” he says, fingers still gripping at your thigh. “The one we made to each other the day you asked me to help you kill The Mayor.”

-VOWS-

“Have you ever killed someone before?” Taehyung crosses his arms, looking you up and down. You would have normally faltered under his scrutinizing gaze, but you had let go of your shame in your desperation.

Should you lie? Make him believe you had no reservations. You had a feeling he would be able to see right through your lies even without Seokjin’s assistance. “No.”

Taehyung’s office had high windows and bad lighting, but the moon was full and the blinds were broken. Streaks of moonlight covered the walls of Taehyung’s office, striping the shadows where he stood.

It took you all day to build up the courage to ask Seokjin to take you to see Taehyung. You knew it was going to be no easy task to convince Taehyung and the others with the way Seokjin’s normally cocky demeanor darkened when your initial shock wore off and your intentions were clear.

Taehyung shakes his head. “We’re all going to have targets on our backs if we do this and he doesn’t die. Also, if we do go through with what you want… Y/n, you’re asking us to become murderers-”

“I’m not asking you to! I’m asking you to help me… You help me do this, and I’ll help you.”

“With what?”

“With anything,” you swallow, resolute. “I have to do this. He’s going to…he’s going to hurt Joon if I don’t do something!”

“I know.” Taehyung says impassively, “You know, that would solve all my problems, I won’t have to worry about RM anymore. So what do I even get out of helping you? What is worth putting all of us in danger to save Kim Namjoon?”

You look at him in disbelief. You want to tell Taehyung to go to hell, but you have no idea how to stop The Mayor on your own without getting caught. You need his help. “You brought me here! Why would you kidnap me, have Seokjin show me those things-”

“You’re not listening, so let me ask you again, what will you do for me-”

“What! What do you want?! I said I’d do anything!” Your eyes sting as you blink away tears in your frustration. “Taehyung, please,” you cry.

“Everything. Not anything, from now on, I want you to help us with everything.” He grips your shoulders tight. “Then, I will kill The Mayor for you myself if I have to.”

You swallow, mentally working through Taehyung’s conditions and confession. The way he said it so ardently, you wonder…if Taehyung has killed before. “No, I’ll do it.”

For Namjoon, to protect him, you would do the absolute worst without any regrets.

---

You look down at Taehyung’s long slender fingers, splayed across your thigh, resigning to his touch. “I haven’t forgotten.” You lie back, stretching out your arms, sighing. You are very aware you are making a mess of his carefully stacked memos and you don’t care. “What if I promise to be a good girl from now on? Cross my heart.” You wink, using your powers to move Taehyung’s fingers in an X across your thigh.

He licks his lips, watching as his fingers trace along your skin. “Oh but I know you’re not” Taehyung’s eyes narrow on your sly smile, his fingers moving higher up your thigh. “You like to play the part, but you always end up being…” he coughs, “bad.”

“Maybe,” you say flippantly. “Or maybe you don’t give me much of a choice.” You glare at him.

He leans over his desk and over you, caging you in. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it. I’ve watched you torturing people with a smile on your face.”

You sigh, giving up again. “People. People or monsters?”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, y/n. That’s why we make a good team,” he smiles, gripping your knee instead and shaking your leg reassuringly. You grind your teeth, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“I don’t mean to upset you, but…do you think Namjoon would ever give you the same grace? I wish you would see what’s in front of you…”

His hand moves to your cheek, holding you gently. His lips touch yours so softly and leave so quickly the act could barely qualify as a kiss.

Taehyung had been so gentle with you, which made the following brutality hurt even worse.

“If Namjoon knew how you really were, would he think you were a monster? If he saw what I saw that night, and what you did in that room over there,” Taehyung turns your chin so you have to look. The door to the adjoining room is shut and locked. Taehyung keeps the small study room closed, because even he can barely stomach the memory. “Would he touch you like this?” his lips press against your cheek.

“Jimin,” you grunt, cuddling the napping feline close to you. “Turn back into a human, please, I...need you.” Jimin transforms, his limbs tangling around yours, pulling you into an embrace.

“You know Tae is not as bad as you think he is, he’s helped me so many times, give him a chance to prove himself-”

“Bad…good…I don’t care, right now he’s being a pain in my ass,” you mumble, burying your head in Jimin’s chest where it’s warm and cozy and his steady heartbeat calms you down.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Jimin chuckles.

“If I hated him, would I still be here?” you mumble, resting against him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jimin holds you tighter when you shake, breath catching in your throat. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you don’t want to think about it and confirm your worst fears. “Can I ask you something?” you ask, looking for a distraction, perhaps some blackmail. Jimin turns his head, waiting. “Why V?”

“Why do we follow V?”

“No.” You remember the purple spray paint etched across the bank door, back when you and Namjoon were inseparable. “Why the name, V?”

Jimin laughs, sighing, “Well-”

“How’s it back home?” Taehyung asks as Jungkook and Yoongi reappear with a week’s supply of homemade food in their arms, a gift from Jungkook’s mother.

“It’s getting worse,” Yoongi sighs. “Some parts can’t even cook with it.”

‘It,’ being their town’s water supply. Yoongi and Jungkook just finished their weekly trip to drop off cases of water to their families and friends. “And if that new bill goes through…I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well, you are thinking about it, quite loudly,” Seokjin interjects, rubbing his eyes.

The group sits quietly together. “Should we try another petition?” Hoseok suggests, optimistic.

Everyone knows it won’t work. They all knew what had to be done, but Taehyung was the only one courageous enough to say it.

“No…” Taehyung sighs, glancing over at Jin, knowing he could see the idea he had in mind. “We’ve tried it their way, now let’s do it our way.”

Jungkook cracks his knuckles. “What did you have in mind?”

Suddenly Seokjin laughs, gathering everyone’s attention. “This guy not only wants us to kidnap The Mayor, he wants us to rob a bank and blow up the courthouse.”

“Blow it up?!”

“Wait, rob a bank? Like…bank robbers?”

“Me and Jungkook have discussed it before,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “We can do it…with your help, Yoongi.” Taehyung turns to the tech talker, who seems to be mulling the idea over.

“But The Mayor, you really think we can get away with it? It’s-”

“Dangerous.” Seokjin finishes Jungkook’s thought.

“Dangerous and high-profile. I thought we are supposed to be keeping a low-profile,” Jimin reminds them.

“We’ve tried everything else,” Taehyung interjects. “Haven’t we? Maybe it’s time we make a scene.”

“And if we get caught….you’re asking us to commit about seven different felonies,” Seokjin says.

“The Mayor is too risky,” Jimin interjects again.

“We can do this! Jin?” he asks Seokjin, hoping for backup.

“I’m definitely not The Mayor’s biggest fan, but this…”

“You’ve looked through his mind, tell me if there is another way to convince him.” Jin rubs his jaw, stretching his neck, thinking it over. “This is for our families too, not just us this time. This is a chance to really make a difference. A huge difference!” Taehyung tries to convince him.

“If anything goes wrong-”

“Then Jungkook and I will get you out, no matter what, right?” Taehyung catches the youngest’s gaze and he nods.

He looks around the group, adding. “Just like any other time. We can do this.”

“This is not like any other time,” Jimin whines.

“We were almost arrested at the last protest.” Taehyung says bitterly. “They want us to be criminals so badly, so why don’t we?”

Hoseok crosses his arms. “You’re asking us to be a little more than criminals-”

“I’m in.” Yoongi speaks first, surprising everyone.

“I’m in,” Seokjin adds immediately after, coughing. “I try not to hold people’s thoughts against them, but…” He looks around the room, “Taehyung’s right, The Mayor only cares about money, he’s not going to change his mind.”

Taehyung tries to hide his smile unsuccessfully. “They think they have all the power. But the six of us here? We have real power, we just have to be willing to use it against them.”

“You forget…RM…” Jimin adds. “What if he gets involved?”

“Against all of us? Six against one? He’ll never see us coming!”

“But he’s a superhero,” Jungkook says with a mixture of awe and worry. “How are we supposed to beat him?”

“We’ll we’re– uh,” Taehyung falters. “We have super powers too, don’t we?” Taehyung sighs. “RM and The Mayor have control of this city, but they don’t know it like us, we’re in the streets every day.”

“What are you saying?”

Seokjin laughs quietly, breaking the silence, “...I’m not wearing a cape.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, “You want us to be superheroes?”

“No,” Seokjin says, staring at Taehyung.

“No,” Taehyung says. “They’ll never see us as heroes.” He sighs, leaning back.

Hoseok frowns. Jungkook nervously taps his foot and Yoongi crosses his arms. Jimin looks around the room at everyone’s solemn expressions and Seokjin laughs, breaking the tension.

“We’re going to be super-”

“-Villains.” Seokjin finishes.

“I’ll be their villain. I’ll be, V.” Taehyung adds, “So will you help me?”

Seokjin tsks, “RM vs. V? I’ll put some money on that. But I guess first we’re gonna have to steal it.”

“Tell us your plan, then, V.” Hoseok crosses his arms.

“Yeah, V.” Jungkook chimes in, laughing. And everything goes back to normal for the time being.

“Hmmm.” You play with Jimin’s fingers, “Not super subtle, is it? And you all just agreed?”

“Yeah, we all agreed eventually, wouldn’t you?” he smiles.

You roll your eyes. Well knowing what you know now about The Mayor, it wasn’t even a question! But…

“You’re loyal,” you look at Jimin, watching as his eyes slowly shift colors. “I can respect that.” You add, “Do you ever regret it?”

“Hmm,” Jimin stretches, crossing his arms behind his head. “Nah. We all…had a difficult time growing up. Now I’m sleeping in the Mayor’s mansion with a pretty girl next to me,” he jokes. “Even if this all blows up in our faces, it was worth it.”

“You don’t mind the whole world seeing you as a ‘villain’?” you ask, trying to keep your own anxious feelings down.

“The people I love don’t see me like that.”

You frown. You wish you could say the same thing…

Jimin realizes his mistake. “We all think you’re pretty badass. I’m glad you’re on our side,” he soothes. “Listen…” He sighs, wondering if he should mention the superhero, eventually deciding to continue, “I think Namjoon will eventually-”

You scoff, “I don’t wanna talk about him, just...don’t let go.” You move closer into Jimin’s arms.

You didn’t want to think about Taehyung or Namjoon or anyone right now. You just wanted to be hugged.

“This is a panic room, not a lounge.”

“Well, you’re keeping me here like a damn prisoner, I thought I should play the part,” you dismiss, looking over the multiple camera displays with an idealistic hope you might catch a glimpse of your superhero in the sky.

“I brought in a private chef the other day-”

“I have work, you know-”

“You are always complaining about wanting a vacation!”

“Yeah, to like, The Bahamas!” you whine.

Taehyung sighs. You sigh even louder.

“How about this, I’ll take you out, I’ve been so busy with drafting proposals, I haven’t had a chance to get out either. We could go out for drinks?”

“Aren’t you worried about being recognized?”

Taehyung smiles.

You know Taehyung has to hold your hand so his powers could make you invisible too, but it still feels like his fingers interlocked with yours means something more…

You did however enjoy the feeling of weaving through bodies undetected, walking down the street together completely undetectable to the naked eye.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

“I could do this all night,” he smiles, looking in your direction. You stifle a laugh. “Seriously, lately I haven’t had a chance to use my powers. Before, I used to be invisible all the time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I felt more myself when I was.”

You guess you could relate in some ways. Growing up, you would avoid your powers like a plague, constantly afraid Namjoon would notice or that you might even lose control. But now that you freely use your powers, it feels like a relief, like you had been holding your breath all this time and you can finally fully breathe.

You still have those anxious thoughts every now and then, but it’s gotten better the longer you’ve been around Taehyung’s group.

“Saw that.”

“What?” you play coy, eating the fried dough you swiped from the food cart you and Taehyung just passed by. Taehyung sighs, stopping and pulling out some bills, dropping the money under the cart.

“Look at you,” you eye him, “Is this the same man who stole an entire suitcase full of jewelry?” you rib.

“That’s different, to someone like him, the value of losing a sale is worth more and I can afford to pay him.”

You stuff the remaining fried dough in your mouth. “Mhmm, not to that jeweler. Let’s go look at the lights!” You pull Taehyung along, running towards the water, a place in the city that has a nightly light display to music.

You want to get closer, but the crowd makes it impossible, it’s already hard enough to dodge people without causing a disturbance and freaking out the people around you. Taehyung holds you from behind as you reluctantly move further away to avoid suspicion. “Should I unmask us so you can see?”

“Hmm I could use my powers and-” You use your powers to defy gravity, as you and Taehyung’s body start to rise.

His grip around you tightens, “Ahh no no.”

You laugh, letting your powers waiver so your heels drop back down. “What, scared of flying?”

“Scared of heights,” Taehyung winces.

“Ooh, now I know one of your weaknesses,” you tease.

Taehyung scoffs, “Here, get that for me,” Taehyung gestures to a man standing close, looking at his hat, which at the precise moment blows away in the “wind.” You catch it easily as the man looks around for his missing hat. Taehyung thanks you and puts the cap on and pulls it down over his eyes before revealing himself and you.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He pulls you this time, guiding you into the crowd so you can see the lights better.

“Are you sure this is okay? What if someone recognizes you?” you whisper.

He leans in closer to you, head over your shoulder. “I’m not worried, I have a more than capable bodyguard right here.

You laugh, “Alright, if you say so,” you smile, letting him hug you from behind. This is the closest you and him have ever been, and even though you have the perfect view of the lights, it’s hard to pay attention with Taehyung wrapped around you so tightly, his hot breath hitting your cheek.

“You okay?” Of course Taehyung wouldn’t give you the luxury of ignoring your body’s traitorous responses. “Your heart is pounding.” His arms move up higher against your torso, pressing up against your breasts. “Excited?” he says teasingly.

“I haven’t seen the lights in awhile, so yeah,” you dismiss, turning your head upwards to the sky.

Taehyung chuckles, enjoying the moment.

“Y/n, I like you,” Taehyung whispers in your ear.

“Do you say that to all the girls that help you overthrow an election?”

“I liked you way before that.”

“Sure, you did,” you dismiss.

“Do you even remember when we were in school?”

“Of course I remember you.”

“No you really don’t. You were always too busy with Namjoon to notice anyone else.” Taehyung sighs. “Maybe you would have noticed I liked you then.”

“What? Don’t lie to me.”

“I did!” he defends himself, “You really don’t remember, do you?”

It was true Taehyung never bullied you like your other classmates, but he was just being kind, wasn’t he?

“You were like me, different. Even before our powers. And I liked the way you never backed down to others. I wanted to be like you. I tried to be your friend-”

“That’s not true,” you turn around, forgetting about the lights.

“Ask Jimin and Jungkook. Namjoon was like your human shield.” He runs his hand along your jawline. “And I was…not brave enough then,” he looks down.

Can you believe him? Back in school you remember Taehyung was well-liked and popular, a little eccentric sometimes and acted like a goofball with his friends, but…

You try to think back to any interactions you might have had with him-

A group of popular girls had knocked your books out of your hands. You yelled at them as they had walked away laughing. You wanted desperately to throw them down the stairs with your powers, but you calmed yourself before acting rashly, knowing you probably would have miscalculated and fatally hurt one of them…as if they didn’t deserve it!

But before you could work yourself back up again, your classmate Taehyung came and picked up your books for you, apologizing on their behalf.

God, you wish you could remember more. When you thought more about that day, you only remembered how Namjoon came bounding to you, worriedly looked you over, vowing to tell the teachers, which only made you hit him with your books before making him promise to let it go, cause no one liked a snitch!

Taehyung’s hand firm against your cheek brought your thoughts back into the moment, to his face so close to yours and his determined eyes staring down at you. You tried to find another memory, something to confirm his words, but you couldn’t. You felt glued to him in this moment, lost in his deep brown eyes, so pleadingly looking at you to believe him.

You feel so shocked you can’t move, even when his lips press against yours.

-FIVE DAYS LATER-

You and Jimin wore sunglasses and the same tight-fitted black suit, standing on both sides of the mind reader, you all really looked the part of Taehyung’s entourage.

“I’m not taking a bullet for that man,” you mutter under your breath at Yoongi, who pushes his sunglasses down to stare at you.

“I like you in a pant suit.”

“Yeah? Well cause I look better than all of you.”

“Not better than me!” Seokjin announces.

“That’s debatable,” Jimin laughs.

“Jimin, I would die for you!” You smile, and remembering security is supposed to be stoic, go back to glaring at anyone who looks in Taehyung’s direction.

There is so much controversy surrounding the bill now, every political figure is on high alert. Taehyung has to keep appearances, lest they suspect him.

“So what’s the tally now?” you ask Yoongi.

“He’s got one on a pretty damning domestic violence charge, his ex wife was all over social media accusing him, but RM finally got the DA to charge him...but he’s out on bail.”

“He can still work?!”

“Well yeah, he’s not convicted yet. Innocent until proven guilty!” Jin says sarcastically.

“What about the embezzlement guy?” Jimin asks. “The one all over the news now.”

“Oh we lost that one, looks you can beat your wife but not the feds.”

You groan. “And I guess I’m not allowed to hurt Mr. Wife Beater until the bill is passed?”

“Correct,” Taehyung says, looking over his shoulder at you. You roll your eyes.

“See you in a bit,” you whisper to Yoongi.

“See ya, don’t enjoy yourself too much,” he whispers back, hooking your pinkies together.

“Oh but I will,” you wink, teasing him before you, Jin, and Hoseok veer away from the group.

“I was kind of digging the pants suit,” you say as Hoseok hands you a backpack full of new clothes. The three of you are in one bathroom stall, changing into clothes that look less like security and more like Taehyung’s attire, a dress and suits fit for someone of elite status.

“If you peek I’ll know,” Jin says, unbuttoning his shirt.

You turn your back to him, doing the same. “Not interested,” you scoff.

“That’s a lie,” Jin says.

“Okay, human lie detector,” you groan, unbuttoning your pants.

Hoseok’s bare shoulder rubs against your naked body as he pulls on a new pair of pants.

“Hoseok, please control your thoughts,” Jin whines.

“What?” Hoseok squeaks as you step into your dress.

“Can you zip it up for me?” you turn around. Hoseok’s suit is white, a relaxed loose fit that looks perfect on him. Seokjin’s suit is devilishly red, buttoned tight around his waist, showing off his lean and tall frame. It makes perfect sense to you, their choices, an angel and devil, who would you choose to listen to tonight?

“W-Where are your clothes!”

“What do you mean?” you look down at your own dress, long, black and velvet, with sheer detailing, and a very very very high slit.

“It’s see through!”

“Whatever, it’s covering the important bits.” You fasten a diamond necklace around your neck and decide you will not be returning this ensemble to Taehyung at the end of the night. “Zip it!” Jin does it for you, teasingly slow, of course, that devil.

“Ready to play your parts?” Jin asks. You and Hoseok both nod and then you scatter into the crowd inside the art museum.

The life of the party. Hoseok chats everyone up, learning who is who, and who the important people are. Of course there is Mayor Kim tonight, a fan of art, visiting the city Museum during its charity event. There is a slew of socialites, daughters of rich men, flirting and offering Hoseok their thoughts on the artist. There is a high profile collector in attendance, and a lastly, a few lovers of art, who would have guessed?

The gaucho. Jin is loud, condescending, the worst kind of art critic. Oh, you haven’t heard of him? That sounds like a you problem. He’s the type that can sway a whole crowd with his views. A pat on the back, to look at the piece again, and suddenly they can see it too. He strategically thins the crowds around certain art pieces.

And you are, the provocateur.

“Joon!” The challenge. He looks cute, so out of place in his sweater and long coat, but somehow fitting in perfectly between the art pieces.

“Y/n, w-what are you doing here?”

“Oh, well...” you move to his side, hooking your arm under his, “I am...going to steal that,” you nod to the large art piece against the farthest wall.

Namjoon scans the area, seeing if anyone heard you. “You’re being serious?” he says in disbelief, “Are you insane? Do you think I’m going to let you?”

You lean against him. “No,” you smile. “I intend to steal it and get caught doing it. It’s a fake, Namjoon,“ you whisper, laughing, as if it were obvious.

“What?” he peers over at the painting, holding himself back from getting closer. “How can you tell?”

“Well you can’t really, that’s the point. Which I guess begs the question, what makes that one so worthless?”

“The original holds the artist’s idea...” You two walk around the room, looking at another art piece. “It just can’t be compared.”

“But, if the copy is flawless in every way, the effort it took to paint is still there...the brush strokes, the paint, the time, all add up. Yet the original is just...always better? You can’t even tell the difference!”

“The artist who painted it can tell.”

“The artist is dead, and you know what? I bet he couldn’t, I bet I could convince him that that one was the original, just like everyone else here is convinced.”

“Then it’s selling a lie.”

“So you agree then, I should take it? Expose the truth!” you tease.

“Where’s the real one?” Namjoon asks, ignoring your question with one of his own.

“Probably in some old guy’s home collecting dust and being used to launder money. Taehyung wants to expose the fake and the art gallery’s shady dealings, maybe even get the original back...”

“Why would he go to all this trouble?”

“That’s just his style,” you joke. “You should know by now. So will you let me steal it?”

“How do I know you just didn’t make all this up right now?”

You sigh. “I guess we can’t all have Jin’s assuredness, huh?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon frowns, watching the man in question walk to another painting with a large crowd in tow, ready to hear his thoughts on the next piece.

“Well, I’m still stealing it,” you declare. “But we have time until then, so want to show me around? Or leave me to my own evil devices?” you tease, “Or take me someplace where we can be alone?” you bite you lip, eyeing him up and down.

Namjoon swallows, trying to think of anything other than the way your body is so on display in your sheer dress, your curves rivaling the beauty of the three dimensional art pieces around you. He tries not to think about you in his arms, twisting you as he pleases, the translucent nylon stretching and showing more of you until he forgets to breathe. “Why do I get the feeling you are trying to distract me?”

“Well it’s true I want all your attention,” you stare at him, daring him to look away. “I have to remind you though, now that I told you, if you do let me steal it...you’ll be an accomplice.”

Namjoon laughs a little too loud and people stare at the pair of you.

“Joon...” you say softly, “I miss you.”

“You have lots of friends now to keep you company.” He fixes the gems of your necklace, fingers lingering on your cheek. “Which one of them stole this for you?”

You resist the urge to frown and roll your eyes, turning to the still life painting in front of you instead. “Go ahead and confiscate it if you want, might as well take the dress off of me too,” you challenge.

Namjoon drags you to the next art piece, defiantly silent.

“I hoped you might have felt the same,” you sigh, “I guess that’s stupid of me, to hope you missed me too.”

Namjoon clenches his jaw, eyes focused on the large painting. “You know how I feel about you-”

“I don’t know,” you argue, wanting to hear him say it.

“What I feel doesn’t matter, actions matter.”

Goddamn him. “I don’t want to argue with you tonight. Can’t we enjoy the art, like we used to?”

“The red lines in this painting, notice how you can follow through to this one, and this?”

You nod, holding his arm tighter. He pulls you closer to the last painting, turning your body to look at all three, so you can see how the overlapping lines connect across each piece. “Red for blood, representing the strings of fate.” Namjoon’s arm naturally wraps around your waist, his jaw against your cheek as he gently guides your eye line.

“You see all that?” you smile, you could listen to him pick apart art all day long.

Namjoon’s finger taps the plaque next to you, titled “Moirai.” The three fates. You tilt your head to look behind you, where his frame towers. His eyes sparkle with passion for the art. You think it’s the art, but your heart hopes it’s something more...

“I…want to kiss you so badly...”

Namjoon looks at you, his heart jumping in his chest-

“There you are! I was wondering where you went off to. You don't mind if I steal your friend away, right?”

Taehyung. This was not part of the plan!

Cameras are suddenly around you, a handful of photographers that have been shadowing The Mayor. Namjoon has no choice but to offer him a tight lipped smile, nodding. “She’s all yours, for now,” he adds under his breath.

Taehyung holds his hand out to you and you don’t miss a beat, placing your fingers in his palm. He kisses your knuckles and the cameras love it, a dozen flashes going off in unison.

“You look familiar. Have we met before?” Mayor Kim addresses Namjoon. Taehyung is clearly out for blood, playing coy and using his status against him.

“Namjoon is an art history expert,” you say proudly, “and he is a collector of art!”

“No I am not,” Namjoon mutters, ears reddening.

“You are!” you still remember how he saved up for months to buy a particular painting he adored. When he first moved in, you helped him frame all the drawings he has collected over the years. “His home looks like an art gallery.”

“Ahhh,” Taehyung fakes intrigue. “One more photo, guys!” He turns to the cameras, “Please, let me have some time to myself to enjoy...the art,” he grins in your direction.

Taehyung pulls you to his side, and you’re forced to fake a smile for the cameras, the flashes nearly blinding you. How does Taehyung do this all the time, and seem to enjoy it?

Taehyung smiles wide. His arm is over your shoulder, fingers tickling your arm. Cameras flash.

His arm moves lower, stopping around your waist. Flash. He quickly pulls you closer, turns his head and nuzzles your neck. Flash. You can’t help but giggle uncontrollably and cameras flash two times faster. Flash Flash Flash. You’re going to have to have a talk with Yoongi to make sure none of those photos end up online.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Taehyung says after photographers have scurried away. He peers over at Namjoon who has managed to keep himself from ripping Taehyung's arms off of you up until this point, his restraint now wavering to dangerous levels.

Namjoon nods in agreement, staring at you as you become increasingly more uncomfortable with whatever game Taehyung is playing. “Mayor Kim, have you been drinking?”

“Yes, there’s an open bar,” he reminds you, “but I am still more than capable of-” he turns to Namjoon, whispering, “stealing that painting.”

You step in between both men as Namjoon advances, running into Namjoon’s arms instead before The Mayor’s security descends. You hadn’t expected Namjoon to wrap his arms around you. “I would love that. I would love for you to try, instead of making my friend act like a criminal.”

Taehyung tilts his head at the pair of you, “It’s no act.”

“Joon, show me your favorite art piece here, will you?” You try to move the headstrong pair away from each other.

Namjoon looks between you and the Mayor. He can’t figure it out, the plan you have both concocted, and it is infuriating. “And what if I leave and take you with me right now.” He interlocks his arms around your frame, looking at you, testing your reaction. You want to tell him to take you, more than anything-

“Hmm I’d let you have her for tonight to keep you out of my hair.”

“Taehyung!” you hiss as Namjoon pushes against you to get closer to the Mayor, a huge mistake that has what’s left of his security coming to stop Joon. Why is he ruining his own goddamn plan?! Unless...

“Is there a problem, Sir?” Jimin speaks up, halting your argument. You glare at-

The mastermind. It was all Taehyung’s idea to do this. Even though Taehyung had an appreciation for the craftmanship of modern art, he despised the art scene, the overinflated prices, the elitism of it all, the very culture often being critiqued gathering together to inflate their own egos rather than to show any real appreciation for what it took to create such magnificence. Which is why Taehyung wanted to expose all of it for the sham it was. And, perhaps, get the real art piece somewhere where it will be appreciated, like in his study...

But the plan was to distract Namjoon while the others work to switch the original with a fake, not piss him off so much he was going to get you all kicked out before you could do anything!

There was something Taehyung was keeping from you...

Is there no honor amongst thieves?!

“Yes, Jimin, can you please escort Mr...Kim Namjoon, was it? Mr. Kim Namjoon out before he does something he regrets.”

“No. No!” You hold onto Namjoon. You didn’t want your time with him to be cut so short.

“Don’t make a scene, darling.” Taehyung pulls you to him quickly.

“You’re the one making a fucking scene,” you whisper, unwilling to part from Joon, wanting to cry at this unfair treatment. You knew how much Namjoon loved art and how much he wanted to be here.

Namjoon watched as you abated your breath and held in your tears, and the sight kept him from charging through security to get to Taehyung, even when the young politician put his arm around your shoulder arrogantly.

“I’ll be back…as RM,” he threatens.

“We’re counting on it,” Taehyung smiles.

“Why would you do that? We said he would stay!”

“He has to believe it. That’s the plan, right, my damsel?”

“He will,” you swallow, worried you’ve gone too far. No…this will work. Even though you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach over Taehyung’s enthusiastic cooperation.

“And will you give me some damn space?” you threaten, acutely aware of how Taehyung has himself pressed up against you, leaning into you like a lover would.

He wraps his arms around your waist. “Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?”

“You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

Taehyung chuckles, head knocking into yours. “I want to kiss you.”

You look around, surprised no one has noticed his antics. “You’re going to kiss me? In front of all these people and cameras?” you laugh.

“No. Because,” he holds your waist tightly, “They don’t see us.” He moves you closer to a vase on display. You peer down at the shiny surface, your reflections missing. “They haven’t for awhile now.”

“Huh? Damn, I didn’t even notice.”

“It’s nice right? We could do anything we wanted, and they wouldn’t know.” He moves you further away from the crowds. “I could kiss you...I fuck you right here, and they wouldn’t be the wiser,” he teases, “That is...if you can keep quiet.” You wore the perfect outfit, his hand travels down to your exposed thigh.

“You drunken idiot.”

“If I kiss you, would you stop me?”

“Find out,” you challenge.

“The mission first.” He pulls away from you. You realize your hand had absentmindedly snaked its way around Taehyung’s neck when he removes it and places your palm on the wall next to you.

“You’re giving me mixed signals, Mayor.”

“Knock down all the paintings on this wall.”

You sigh, running your finger along the wall. “Fine.” The row of paintings fall when you point down earning frightened yelps from those in attendance who are closest.

“You could destroy this whole museum without even trying,” he whispers, shamelessly eyeing you up and down. “So fucking hot.”

Taehyung holds your shoulders, pushing you against the newly bare museum wall and then kisses you, devouring your lips so roughly your head knocks against it, hands wrapping back around your waist until you’re pressed so tightly together you’re melting into his embrace and Taehyung knows you’ve stopped thinking about your damned superhero.

The remaining three walls suddenly become bare when Taehyung presses his knee up between your legs. “Shit,” you manage to calm yourself down as the Museum’s curator goes into hysterics.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, his head buried in your neck. Everyone is ushered into the adjoining room. “We should help,” you stutter.

“They got it handled, isn’t this more fun?”

Once the room is cleared, only staff remain, frantically trying to figure out what to do. That’s when you see him, the wide eyed teleporter in a fancy black suit similar to other staff members. He works quickly and discreetly, switching out real paintings with fakes. Everyone was so tense and focused on their task, no one even noticed the slight changes in his stance. You watched mesmerized, watching Jungkook work was like watching a video skipping frames, a real time glitch in person.

“How many originals are you taking?”

“What if I took all of them?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes. It is true that there have been shady dealings, but Taehyung hadn’t quite figured out which paintings were fakes, his solution? Steal them all, make them all forgeries.

“He’s lurking outside of the South entrance.” You can feel Namjoon, it is…nice to think about him. Sometimes you wonder if he can sense when you do this, if he can feel your presence as if you were holding him. “Now?” you ask Taehyung, ready for action.

“No, change of plans-”

“What?” you hiss.

“Relax, you’ll still get what you want-”

“You know I don’t like being left out!”

“Ohoho, when you begged me to leave the others out of-”

You grab a nice chunk of Taehyung’s hair and yank. “That is different.”

“Yes, yes, it’s different...” You watch his Adam’s apple jump up as he swallows, his long neck outstetched and very enticing to lick, the sight makes you lessen your grip only slightly.

“What change?”

“Sorry love, we won’t be stealing anything-”

Taehyung has to be joking. You made a deal and if Taehyung goes back on it now, you’ll make him regret everything. “I have to get arrested-”

“Oh you definitely will.” You frown because he’s not making any sense.

“I know you hate it when we drag you into our politics. If I told you everything you were just going to be a brat about it,” he says. You blink, taking a deep breath, disappointed and annoyed. “It will still have the same effect! When they clean the paintings they’ll realize they are fakes.”

Huh? You groan, you reliaze exactly what Taehyung...no, V and the rest of those ecoterrorists want to do. “This new plan is fucking lame. You know this kind of shit goes right over people’s heads?” You have heard of this happening to other museums. Defacing art in the name of the environment definitely gets people talking, but you have to wonder if it actually changes minds?

“As long as they are talking about it, it keeps my clean energy proposal relevant, that’s what matters. If anything my proposal will look so much more reasonable in comparison, don't you think? Hoseok will do all the talking, you just have to make sure your aim hits.”

“I’m tired of being used as a pawn.” You glare at him, and then against his will, his fingers move of your own accord.

“Not a pawn,” Taehyung grunts, unsuccessfully fighting against your powers. “You’re a Queen…a Queen...”

“Queen huh,” Taehyung’s body goes rigid as he moves against his own will.

His head rests on your shoulder, then in between your breasts, moving down the front of your body, falling to his knees, head resting against your hip bone. This kind of tortuous play Taehyung could get used to.

You notice Mr. Art Critic and double agent 006 sense in the art curator’s ear, no doubt whispering persuasive white lies to further the plan along. Eventually you’ll move to the other room, where everyone left will be the perfect captive audience.

You could have sworn Seokjin looked right at you at one point, as if he can see you and his friend kneeling at your feet.

You lean against the wall, letting your anger subside. Eventually, you allow Taehyung to look up at you.

Sometimes you wondered who you were looking at, which version of Taehyung was staring back at you. This kind of occupation fractured people, or perhaps you all became broken that night in the forest, who you were supposed to be and who you became were shattered fragments held together by unimaginable power.

You run your hand through his hair, fixing the strands you messed up back in place. “You’re very frustrating.”

“Have I ever not given you what you wanted? This plan will work, you’ll get your white knight back as a black knight.”

You swallow, your will to fight against Taehyung diminishing less and less until you let go of your mind hold on him all together.

This little plan of yours might be drastic, but the gentle approach when dealing with RM never works. But unlike Taehyung, you don’t need Namjoon to turn dark, just...understand you. You can do this, play this game you and Taehyung have set up. You just have to push Joon just a bit, but not let him be captured by your side. A Queen can move anywhere across the board after all, the Queen is more powerful than the King.

“You don’t have to stay on your knees,” you eye the very handsome man caressing your legs.

“We have plenty of time,” Taehyung’s lips graze your exposed thigh.

“Fuck,” you murmur, looking around. No one even looks in your direction. You look down at the man in between your legs, so willing to stay on his knees for you. You should focus on the mission. You need to make yourself available, but all you could focus on were the small electrical currents of pleasure caused by Taehyung’s slow and determined caresses.

His fingers are a shock to your system when he drags his hand under your dress, pressing into your heat suddenly.

This is the last time, the last time Taehyung will have any power over you.

You hoped.

---

“RM, hey! My kid’s a big fan, do you think I can get an autograph.”

“Err yeah sure, what’s going on-”

“Can I get an autograph too?”

“Did I say you could speak? Shut your goddamn mouth,” the officer yells at you and you pout, flinching when he reaches for you.

“What happened? The museum, there was an event, right?” Namjoon tries to remain calm, grabbing the officer’s attention again, purposely making sure he doesn’t touch you. Namjoon had been preoccupied, distracted by an accident that had nothing to do with your plans but worked in your favor, a family that needed urgent medical attention after a car crash, as RM was quicker than any ambulance and stronger than the jaws of life, he saved them just in time.

“These two lunatics crashed it.” He gestures to you and Hoseok, sitting handcuffed on the ground, your dress torn at the slit and across the collar at your resisted arrest and Hoseok with a busted lip. “Not only that, once they realized they were cornered they defaced everything with paint-”

“It was actually gazpacho,” you interject.

“Yeah yeah, and that’s called a felony charge,” he reminds you and you roll your eyes. “His name is Daniel, you can put Danny, he’d love that.” He hands Namjoon a piece of paper. “You can take this one,” he tells his partner, pointing at Hoseok, “I’ll take her in.”

The officer looks down at you, eyes zoning in on your cleavage, and Hoseok makes himself heavy on purpose when his partner grabs at him, unwilling to leave you alone. You try to wrap your legs around his calf when he is pulled away, neither of you able to grab on to each other with your hands handcuffed.

“Goddammit!” the officer yanks you up by the elbow causing you to cry out in pain. Namjoon holds you up, unable to stop himself from interfering. “Don’t worry, RM, I got it handled,” the officer says, trying to grab you again. “That’s two counts resisting arrest already,” he yells in your ear, “Do you want to add a third?!”

“Why yes, officer, I would,” you mock, trying to twist your arm out of his hold.

You scream as he pushes you against the side of his patrol car.

Namjoon’s chest feels tight, his teeth hurting from how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

Again RM steps in, “Shouldn’t you be more gentle on her-”

“She’s overreacting, these girls love to cry crocodile tears, don’t fall for it,” he dismisses. You cry louder, rattling the superhero to his core.

The officer shoves you in the back of his vehicle, slamming the door shut, and you stomp your heel into his window, cracking it on impact, something that should have been physically impossible to do on bullet proof glass, but remarkably easy with your powers.

“What the hell! Crazy bitch,” he mutters under his breath. “That's another charge! Vandalism to a police vehicle!” he bangs on the window with his fist, cursing.

“I should go with you, in case something goes wrong,” Namjoon hands back his hastily scribbled signature.

“What could go wrong?” he laughs. “Nah, it’s gonna take me some time,” Namjoon tries not to think the worst when the officer mumbles out a convoluted excuse, “Anyways, you can fly! What wouldn’t I give to be able to fly-”

“I’ll follow behind your car.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says curtly. “Like I said, we’re good here, RM. You wouldn’t want people to suspect anything like tampering with police proceedings, right?” The officer makes it a point to emphasize his thinly veiled threat. You sit up when he starts the car, looking at the superhero with pleading eyes.

Of course Namjoon followed you.

The superhero stayed high in the air, right above the police cruiser.

Namjoon knew you could get out of this. So why weren’t you! You were really going to let yourself get caught just like you told him? Fuck, why were you letting it really happen?

Namjoon, an annual pass holder to the museum, had built a nice friendship with many of the older women curators as such a regular visitor. So they would sometimes offer him discounted tickets on nights like tonight where he could get to see newly curated artwork before the general public, an opportunity the art enthusiast could rarely pass up on, even if the tickets did cost a small fortune.

Namjoon had, however, not anticipated this kind of event would be taken over by V and he surely had not expected the sight of you. But you had a knack for dropping back into his life and leaving him reeling. You had a knack for confusing him too, making him question himself and his actions over and over again, and all those agonizing questions he had were about to be answered...

Namjoon tails the police cruiser turns down an alley, watching as the headlights turns off and the engine stops as he parks.

You could escape now, it would be the perfect time, Namjoon thinks. The driver door opens and the officer circles the vehicle, pulling out his firearm.

You need to escape, you have to. This wasn’t about the paintings anymore, this was wrong.

Jungkook was going to come, right? Hop you away from punishment like he always did. Where was he? Or any one of them?

They should be protecting you! Namjoon didn’t think he could despise V any more, but the fact that he couldn’t even properly safeguard you when his plans went awry made Namjoon’s blood boil.

Yet, he found himself desperately wishing Taehyung would reveal himself.

Right now. Right now!

Namjoon clenches his fist.

He watches as the officer opens the back door, pistol aimed right at you, crawling into the backseat and on top of you.

---

You wash Namjoon’s hands under cold water silently until the bleeding stops.

“I was going to kill him.”

“No, you weren’t,” you remind him, holding his hand as you work to heal his knuckles.

“If you hadn’t stopped me-”

“I didn’t do much,” you laugh solemnly.

“I should...turn myself in,” Namjoon says dejectedly.

“Are you crazy? So you can go to jail with every criminal you put away?! Everyone will know your identity, what if they go after your family- No, if you even dare try something so stupid, then I’ll…run a rampage in the city!” you threaten, serious even if it sounded ridiculous.

Namjoon looks up at you, eyes softening. “We have to tell the Chief of Police. They should know…what he was going to do to you…” Namjoon couldn’t even say it, disgusted all over again, his anger rising.

“You saved me before he did,” you mumble. “They protect their own, you know that,” you sigh, “If we do that I’ll just end up getting arrested again, probably by one of his friends. Don’t worry, Joon. Jin will get to him, alter his memories so we don’t have to deal with them again, he’s gotten pretty good at it.”

Seokjin...Namjoon felt a bitter taste in his mouth that it was Jin who was going to deal with that bastard and not himself. You can see the torment raging in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you...do something?”

You flick him on the forehead. “You know, if I didn’t have my powers-”

“You do, you do! You could have-”

“What? Escaped? Were you planning on capturing me to hand me over to the police yourself?” you try to lighten the mood.

Joon rests his head on your shoulder. “...I would have let you go.” Namjoon scoffs, sighing. “You...weaken me. I was going to kill him, I-I still...” Namjoon has to calm down, he has to be better. But all he could think about was seeing that officer over you, rage filling inside him so quickly he reacted before even thinking. He yanked the door off its hinges and grabbed the officer with all intent to stop him from ever doing that to anyone ever again.

There was so much blood.

You lean your head against his. “I’m sorry. The way things are…going against them, it doesn't make you a bad person. Sometimes justice is unlawful…”

Namjoon didn’t know what to say.

“Joon?”

“Yeah?”

You pause. “Now…can you try to understand…why…I…” you take a deep breath, “...why I killed The Mayor? He was going to do something…horrible to you. How could I not protect you? Can’t you forgive me? Please?”

“And everything else you’ve done since then?” Namjoon can’t meet your eyes, clenching his jaw.

“I admit, yes, I’ve made some…bad decisions since then. Killing the Mayor was not one of them.”

You admitted your wrongdoings, that was something Namjoon could cling to for now. “You can use my shower, to clean up.” he whispers, looking down at your torn dress. “I’ll bring you one of my shirts.”

“Can I ask a um favor?” You look around his small bathroom, thinking about the last time you had been in his home, feeling the pain in your chest become sharper.

“I don’t want him to be the last person who kissed me, so-” Namjoon pounds his fist on the bathroom sink, breaking the marble. “Yah!” You grab his hand again. “I just fixed your hand!”

He hugs you close to him, letting the scent of you calm him down. The smell of your hair, the remnants of your lotion, even the salty scent of your unwashed skin, he likes. He almost resists when you pull his head away, not wanting to stop breathing you in.

He looks into your pleading eyes, your awaiting lips, your abated breath, you have always been his weakness.

His mouth captures yours, letting his lips mold together with yours. You pull him in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you up into his arms.

“Don’t stop, please,” you say desperately, wrapping your legs around his torso, reaching for the shower curtain and pulling it open.

He steps inside the bath as you attempt to unzip the back of your torn dress. Namjoon lets you stand, helping you pull the tight dress off your shoulders. You run your lips across his neck, kissing his jaw, his cheek, any part of him you could reach, needing to leave your mark on him.

The water runs red as the showerhead washes the blood off RM’s suit. You reach around his back, removing the offending material. Namjoon kisses your exposed shoulder, the warm water relaxing his tense muscles. He wishes he could forget tonight and remember only this moment with you.

The more he touches you, the quicker the hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach is replaced with a desperate ache to have you. Your soft moans extinguish the white hot anger inside of him, simmering it down so he can only feel the heat of your bodies, the steam of the shower and the wetness of your slick mixed with water.

He caresses your skin, memorizing the lines of your face and the fullness of your cheeks, the specks in your irises. It's been too long, he curses his forgetfulness.

“Joon?” you look at him worriedly, he looks like he’s about to cry, and you can’t be sure he wasn’t already, wondering if the shower water running down his face might be concealing his tears.

You should feel guilty, you should feel ashamed, but fuck...he’s here with you, you have him, Namjoon was what really made you feel less broken. But if you were breaking him in the process...Fuck, fuck! You’ll find a way to fix it!

He crashes his lips against yours once again, refusing to let you go until you’re both gasping for air.

You laugh when he slips, using your powers to catch him and press his body to yours.

He hikes up your leg, moving quickly, needy and desperate, with an urgency like he needs to prove something to you, to himself. He holds you too tight, ruts into you so hard, fingers digging into your legs painfully, crushing you against tile.

You grind your teeth, keeping your mewls silent as his thick cock stretches you out. He pulls you closer to him, thrusting in so deep and hard you know you’re going to be sore, and you want it to never end.

You hold onto his shoulders, nails digging into his back, hoping you’ll leave marks, something that will make him think of this moment and want you all over again.

You lean your head back, pull him in by the neck, leading his mouth to your throat, tightening against him when he sucks on the sensitive skin under your jaw.

It feels too good, it feels too right, you quiet your worries, you silence your doubts, hold him tighter.

He’s close, you can feel him swell inside you, his head bumping into yours as his rhythm picks up. You moan out his name encouragingly, wanting more.

You’re shivering and feverish all at once, chasing your release with him, goosebumps blooming over your wet skin, the aching inside your chest turning into molten lava, flowing straight down and spreading warmth across your stomach, the place your bodies connect throbbing until you can’t think straight.

You snap into a million burning sparks, all ignited by Namjoon.

He slips again, falling with you.

“You’re so clumsy,” you smile, holding your bodies up a few centimeters above Namjoon’s tub as the superhero catches his breath, head buried in your neck, his body tightly wrapped around yours.

---

“Y/n!” Seokjin runs to you first, “Are you okay?! What happened?!” He grabs your head, running through your thoughts.

“W-Well…” Aish, you did not want to remember all of that! And you felt a little embarrassed as the rest of the night replayed in your head. Seokjin doesn’t seem too angry or bothered, hugging you close.

“You weren’t there. And the scene we found was…” Jin falters, “troublesome.”

“Jin went a little ballistic,” Jungkook adds, hugging you next. “We all thought something terrible happened to you.”

“His thoughts…I could barely make sense of them, he seemed to have suffered some brain damage. I thought he…never mind.”

Hoseok hugs you next. He notices the bruises on your legs, “Shit, he fucking hurt you.”

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” you stutter, glancing over to Jin who stays quiet, thankfully not outing what really happened to you. “I’ll fix that, okay?” You wince at his busted lip. “Sorry for disappearing,” you say sheepishly, “Were you able to ‘change’ his mind?”

“Well, I don’t think he is going to be doing much on the police force…or much of anything.”

“Damn, what did you do?!”

Seokjin stays uncharacteristically silent. “The guy wouldn’t stop screaming, and Jin wouldn’t let go of him,” Jungkook speaks up. “Taehyung wants me to take you to him. He said as soon as you came back-”

“I can’t go right now. I have to heal Hoseok and also, I don't want to,” you add.

“She’s not going,” Yoongi says, holding your cheek as he looks you over. Jungkook has no choice but to relent.

“I’m fine, nothing actually happened-”

“I watched the cameras...the way RM reacted...Jin was pretty convinced-”

“You think I can’t handle some creep? There was no way he was going to get away with that, okay? So don’t look at me like that…please, it makes me feel pathetic,” you whine, running your hand over his furrowed brow.

“We have another problem,” Yoongi says, pulling your hand away.

He holds up his phone. “Oh what the fuck.”

“It’s every trending topic on local news.”

Fuck! You knew you forgot something. Pictures of Taehyung and you were reposted over and over, with headlines like, ‘The Mayor’s Mysterious New Girlfriend.’ Even pictures of you together at night looking at the lights…

Oh no…

Yoongi scrolls through blurry pictures of you kissing Taehyung.

Oh shit…

“Can’t you erase it?!”

“If it had been only one or two sites, maybe. Now that it's all over the net, it's impossible.”

“I am not ‘The Mayor’s girlfriend,’” you plead to Yoongi.

But it had always been the plan. Yoongi knew it had always been what Taehyung wanted, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “You look good together.”

“No we don't! I can’t stand him, I don’t like him, Yoongi.” You wanted to say you liked him instead, but the words caught in your throat at his next question.

“And Namjoon?”

“What?”

“Where were you all night?”

You keep your mouth shut tightly, looking away.

“When Seokjin said Namjoon took you, I was relieved. After what happened to you, I knew you would want to be with Joon most of all. Still, I was hoping you might come back. I was hoping I could have been enough,” he holds your cheek one last time.

You want to scream and cry, ask Yoongi for forgiveness, but you knew you didn’t deserve it. Even ‘I’m sorry’ feels like a hollow gesture. “Don’t look at me like that,” he sighs, mustering up a smile, “It makes me feel pathetic.”

‘Vandals Escape after Destroying Museum Full of Art.’

‘Art Under Attack! Environmentalists Ask What is Worth More, Your Future or Your Art?

‘Mysterious Crater found on City Outskirts, Aliens?’

‘Art Gallery Embroiled in Forgery Allegations.’

‘Controversial Energy Bill Set to be Approved.’

‘Mayor Kim’s Mysterious First Lady.’

“When asked about the ‘new woman’ in his life, Mayor Kim acts impartial for the first time in his political career. Though, he hints they may be more than an item, adding next election there might be a first lady by his side.” You read the article to Taehyung, fuming. “Why in the hell would you say something like that? I am never going to be your girlfriend, in fact, I am beginning to despise you.” You want to throw your phone at Taehyung’s head.

Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning back on his office chair. “I just need you for a couple public appearances here and there, it’s not the end of the world to be seen with me, you know.”

“No-”

“You owe me,” he lowers his voice, anger contained to the few slowly spoken syllables.

“This is not what I had in mind,” you argue, surprised at his demeanor.

“No, but it is what I want. I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? You even have my friends worrying about you. Did you enjoy all the attention?”

“Fuck you. It wasn’t like that.”

“I’m not judging! I’m impressed. Your twisted plan worked. You even turned me into the bad guy, everyone is still mad at me for what happened to you,” he says, clicking his tongue. For the first time in years Taehyung feels the tight bonds around his friendships loosening and he doesn’t like it at all.

Intentionally or not, you had weaved yourself in their lives, loosened the strings yourself. It was your fault and he was going to tie you to him one way or another, and he was going to make it suffocatingly tight, make you depend on him to breathe.

“You are the bad guy,” you whisper.

“Yeah…” he puts his hands in his pockets, looking down at you. “You’re really evil, then. Don’t you think we’d make the perfect pair?” It’s not in a teasing manner. He’s serious. He doesn’t shy away from you, only watches you slowly fall apart in front of him.

Tahyung’s happy encouraging smile makes your insides twist. You ruined a man. In your opinion, he dug his own grave, but you gave him the shovel, placed him atop his plot. But he did it! So why did you feel so dirty?

Were you really the evil one?

Taehyung thought so. The way he looks at you, relishing in the fact you did something so twisted, it makes your skin crawl. Maybe you were where you should be, in the dirt, in Taehyung’s arms.

“I changed the plan for you, y/n. I would do anything for you.”

“No...you knew this would happen, that’s why you let me go with Joon, right?” Fuck, it had been your idea, so why did it not feel like you had any control?

His lips on the crook of your neck made you feel helpless.

When Taehyung explained the plan to you, you saw an opportunity. Steal the paintings, get arrested, escape before reaching the police station. Taehyung told you Namjoon would be in attendance.

Taehyung wanted you to distract him. You resented becoming the decoy. You asked the question, “What if RM becomes my escape?” It intrigued Taehyung, so you continued. Taehyung hated RM’s annoying altruism, you also wanted Namjoon to make a selfish decision, one for you, two birds struck with one stone. “Find me a cop with a history...”

You were never in any real danger, you could have stopped him yourself easily, but you begged Taehyung to make sure the others left you alone. He made them believe it was his mistake, a miscommunication between him and you.

You knew Namjoon would free you if he had a good reason. Was it so bad to want him to see how not everything can be solved by the books? If he could just understand that, understand where you were coming from…

Hoseok was hurt because of you, you still feel guilty about it. Namjoon and Seokjin almost killed a man because of you! Sure, that man ultimately decided to abuse his power over you, but you egged him on in the back seat, did everything you could to make him snap. You wanted him to snap.

You wanted destruction.

And perhaps some part of you deep, deep down wanted Namjoon to kill for you like you did for him. You just missed him so damn much, felt so small and unsure of your place in his heart. But in the end you stopped him, you couldn’t let him become like you, ignoring that horribleness growing inside of you.

“Night events only,” you concede. Grabbing him by the collar, you add, “Don’t expect me to be on your damn campaign trail.”

V smirks. “That’s my girl.”

---

IT'S GETTING MESSY. Team V or Team RM?

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #Taehyung smut #namjoon smut #bts fantasy au #bts superhero au #bts supernatural au #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x you #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you

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eddie-sweetheart · 2 years

Text

Dream Blunt Rotation

Eddie Munson sells weed. Occasionally, he consumes it too - and, when he does, he makes sure to find the best blunt rotation companions that Hawkins can offer.

Or, your boyfriend Eddie is hiding at Hopper’s cabin and you find him getting high with Jonathan and Argyle.

Tropes: Eddie x female reader, smoking weed, Eddie being high.

Warnings: Drug use (duh), swearing, fluffiness. Minors DNI!

Word count: 4.2 k

Author’s notes: This was surprisingly hard to write - I had the concept very clear in my mind, so it all came down to figuring out how to write the interactions, reactions and personalities of the characters and I was afraid to fuck it up lol but here it is! Hope you like it!!

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

August, 1986. Indiana is scorched by one of the most intense heatwaves of the decade. People are spending most of the time locked inside their houses, half-dressed in front of electric fans set on full speed, or soaking their sweaty bodies in large suburban pools, whose water is never fresh or clean enough, but it really doesn’t matter. Anything is better than enduring the unusual heat that’s been plaguing the whole state for weeks now.

And that’s good news. With everyone finding refuge from the hot weather either inside or near any body of water they can find, all the streets are mostly empty, except for the occasional car driving towards the nearest ice seller in the neighborhood - and the same is true for the small town of Hawkins. Sure, no one’s really been casually going out and about since spring break and the strange earthquake that has ripped the ground open, but the heatwave has managed to discourage anyone who hasn’t left or moved somewhere else from venturing outside and risking a bad case of insolation.

With the streets empty and deserted, you and Nancy Wheeler can easily take the road that leads to the woods without being seen or recognized. Keeping Nancy’s Station Wagon windows rolled down doesn’t help much - whatever slow, summer breeze is blowing outside, it doesn’t cool down the inside of the car, which feels like a burning oven. However, with the AC broken and no mechanic left in Hawkins to fix it, feeling the air blow it’s an illusion of freshness worth keeping.

The car finally slows down as you reach the beginning of the path leading into the trees, the roaring engine falling silent after some mechanical sputtering. You and Nancy get out and around the vehicle, shiny rivulets of sweat running down the sides of your reddened cheeks as you lift the trunk cover.

Two big, brown paper bags are crumpled up in the small space. They feel heavy as you both lift them up, holding them close to your chests so that they won’t break under the weight of their content.

“Got it, Nance?” You ask your friend as she slams the trunk closed with one hand, balancing the bag in her other arm.

“Sure, thanks” Nancy smiles, throwing one last look at the empty road behind you to make sure no one’s seeing you. “Shall we go?”

You nod happily, and you both head into the woods. The first fallen leaves that are scattered on the earthy ground crunch under your shoes as you walk along the path, the hot sun rays filtering through the branches of the trees above you. It’s cooler here, in the shade of the forest, but the weight of the bags and the long walk makes you sweat anyways - as soon as you’ll reach Hopper’s cabin, you think, you’re going to get rid of the button-down shirt you’ve so stupidly worn over your top.

You and Nancy keep walking for another ten minutes or so, exchanging only a few, almost-whispered words in order not to attract any eventual passer-by’s attention and to stay alert to your surroundings, each crack or movement making your head snap around.

Once you get off the beaten trail, tall, wild weeds start caressing the skin of your naked legs, the occasional spiky branch grazing the hem of your tennis skirt. Luckily, no harm comes to you (except one little scratch on your left thigh) by the time you finally catch a glimpse of the small wooden cabin through the thick trunks.

“About time” Nancy groans as you make your way up the short set of rotting stairs - the only part of the building that you and your friends still haven’t fixed despite your efforts to make the place livable once again. “I’m literally melting here”.

She waits patiently behind you as you fumble with the door handle. Once you manage to get a hold of it without letting anything spill from the bag, you fling the wooden door open - and a gust of a strong, herbal scent hits your nostrils as soon as you step foot into the room.

Hopper’s Cabin has undergone a lot of changes in the past few years. From a barely livable shed mostly used to store boxes full of old, random things, to a small, two-room home where Eleven spent most of her time watching tv and eating Eggos, to an abandoned building with a few holes in the ceiling after the mind flayer attack, it transformed and adapted to what you and your friends needed, without ever losing its main function: being a safe space.

And it was exactly the safety of it that made Hopper’s cabin the most reasonable choice when it came to deciding where to hide Eddie Munson.

Resident metalhead and guitarist, super senior, soft drugs dealer, Dungeon Master, alleged murderer and most wanted man in Hawkins, Eddie sure had a lot on his plate after the whole Vecna thing, whose unexpected and terrifying events (cue Chrissy’s murder, the satanic panic frenzy, the double trip to the Upside-Down, the earthquake) still haunt you and your friends to this day. Thankfully, now that Jim Hopper is back from the dead and working with the authorities, the chances of Eddie being able to prove his innocence in the matter of the Spring Break killings have drastically improved - but you all agreed that in this case an angry, unknowing mob could be more dangerous than a special forces squad that has been informed about what’s really going on beneath Hawkins’ surface.

This means that Eddie has spent the last few months surrounded by the same four wooden walls, which yes, is totally boring and “fucking exhausting”, as he usually says - but it also means that for a while he doesn’t have to worry about the plethora of labels that have been stuck to him. Except for one, which luckily happens to be his favorite: your boyfriend.

You and Eddie love each other to bits. It started long before Vecna, in the Hawkins High corridors and noisy cafeteria, in the woods behind the school and on long walks at sunset in the suburbs. It was a love that bloomed naturally and intensely, a love that was blind to prejudice and the cruel social conventions that ruled the microcosm that is high school - a love that the latest events have only made stronger and more resilient. Sure, you have your differences and arguments like any other healthy couple, but yours is a special bond that inevitably makes butterflies flutter in your stomach every time you’re about to see him - just as it’s happening right now.

You’ve been meeting Eddie at the cabin every day since he moved there, sometimes with one or two of your friends to help you with the groceries refill - this week, it was Nancy who offered to come. These daily visits have turned out to be a great excuse to have some alone quality time together, in spite of it being a forced stay; your company and weed are the only things keeping Eddie sane right now, as he likes to remind you almost all the time, and judging by the strong smell and faint layer of smoke that are pervading the living room as you and Nancy step inside, today is a lucky day, as he’s getting them both.

However, you soon realize that the company might actually be already covered.

“Eddie, we’re here!” You call out as Nancy closes the door behind you, but your eyes widen in surprise once you notice that, indeed, he’s not alone.

“Argyle?”

“Yoooo y/n, ‘sup?” Argyle replies with a wide, red-eyed smile from the old, tattered sofa, where he’s sprawled next to a definitely stoned Eddie.

Eddie turns his head around and once his gaze meets yours, a loved-up grin slowly creeps up on his lips. If his pupils were dilated before you entered his vision, now they have turned to two dark pools the size of coat buttons.

“Sweetheart” he says, throwing one arm over the backrest of the sofa, his metal rings catching the sunlight that’s peering through the curtains as he moves his hand towards you, “c’mere. I missed you”.

Even if Argyle’s presence definitely took you by surprise, you can’t help doing a double take at Eddie, a faint blush arising on your cheeks as you catch a glimpse of him from behind the sofa. The fan that’s moving back and forth in the corner of the room doesn’t help much with the high temperatures of late summer, which are making Eddie’s skin glisten with a faint layer of perspiration, somehow defining the muscles of his arms and torso exposed by his favorite Metallica t-shirt - whose sleeves have been replaced by two giant holes cut by Eddie himself, just as he did with the short sweatpants he’s wearing.

His hair is slightly damp, probably from a recent shower, and it tickles your cheek lightly as you lean down to him to plant a soft kiss on his open lips, briefly tasting and smelling the weed - which brings your focus back on Argyle, your mind trying to do the math: if today is Tuesday, wasn’t he supposed to take the flight back to California with-

“Jonathan?” Nancy echoes you as soon as she notices her own boyfriend emerging from the kitchen on your right, barely balancing a small plate filled with chips and a bowl of eerily brownish guacamole.

“Nance!” He exclaims, almost losing his balance as he stumbles towards her and clumsily places a soft kiss on her cheek over the grocery bag she’s still holding. “Surprise! I’m still here!”

You and Nancy exchange a stunned, speechless look before she snaps back to reality and starts throwing a million questions at Jonathan, who has now taken his place back on the sofa, next to Argyle.

“Why aren’t you at the airport?” Nancy interrogates him as she places the paper bag on the kitchen counter before standing in front of the three of them, hands on her hips as she blocks the sight of whatever TV program they were watching. “You’re going to be late, and you’re going to miss the flight, and then what will Joyce-“

“Dude” Argyle warmly interrupts her, palms up as he keeps smiling at her, “you can totally chill. My man here is not catching any planes aaaany time soon”.

You place your own bag on the kitchen counter and get rid of the sweaty button-down on top of your t-shirt in silence as you and Nancy try to make sense of what Argyle has just said - while you also wonder why he’s just referred to Nancy as “dude”.

“Nance” Jonathan intervenes, throwing a mouthful of chips and guacamole in his mouth, “we’re staying. My mom doesn’t want to leave Hopper, and El and Will hate the school in Lenora, plus there’s the whole earthquake thing… so, yeah, we’re staying”.

Nancy looks bewildered for a second, then her expression finally relaxes and warms up. “Really?”

“Really” Eddie, Argyle and Jonathan exclaim in unison as rivulets of thick smoke curl up in the air from a huge joint sitting in the ashtray on the coffee table.

“I, uh- that’s great” Nancy says with an unexpectedly timid smile, taking a few steps towards Jonathan and leaning down to carefully kiss him back on the cheek, trying to avoid all the chip crumbles that are scattered on his lips. “I was kind of hoping for it”.

“And guess what, Wheeler” Eddie adds, slapping his palms on his naked thighs and interrupting the fond gaze between Jonathan and Nancy, “our friend Argyle here is staying, too” he declares, placing one hand on Argyle’s shoulder, an unhinged grin plastered on his lips as he shakes the long-haired guy back and forth.

“Sure I am” Argyle confirms, nodding just a few too many times as he grabs the joint from the ashtray and takes a long drag, “My mission is to convince my boss to open a Surfer Boy Pizza here in Hawkins”.

“Good luck with that” Nancy replies, heading back towards the kitchen to help you put away the groceries; by now you’ve both realized that it’d be useless to ask the others to collaborate.

“What’s the difference between this Surfer Boy Pizza and normal pizza?” Eddie asks, gesturing wildly with one hand while he grabs the blunt Argyle is offering him with the other.

“Dude, are you kidding?” Jonathan replies, passing his weird-looking snacks over to Argyle, “you’ve never had a Surfer Boy Pizza?”

“Never been to California, man” Eddie states, his voice a little hoarse as he puffs out some smoke.

“They have it in Nevada too, my dude. You’re welcome to any state, just say your old friend Argyle sent you - I’m sure there must be a discount or shit. And be ready to taste the most amazing pineapple pizza you’ve ever had in your life” Argyle explains, “and if you want it at home, we deliver it hot to your door”.

Eddie nods enchanted, his curly and now almost completely dry hair bobbing up and down as he passes the joint over to Jonathan.

“And the vans, man” Jonathan adds with a dream-like tone, “the vans are incredible. They are so big inside, and run faster than you think. And the surfboard on top? You can see it coming from a mile away”.

Back in the kitchen, you and Nancy exchange a startled look.

“Guys” you exclaim, unintentionally slamming the cupboard closed with a bang, “how exactly did you get here?”

Three heads spin around and three pairs of reddened eyes look at you two with wonder.

“We drove” Argyle replies, his wide smile still glued to his lips.

“We walked” Jonathan says at the same time, throwing a confused look at his friend.

“Multitasking. Shit, that’s crazy” Eddie absentmindedly exclaims, crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back on the couch, his shirt slightly riding up and exposing his happy trail.

You take your eyes off of him (not without some degree of difficulty) and you address the other two with a worried look, mirrored by Nancy.

“Guys” you slowly begin, making sure that they understand your every word, “did you drive here with the pizza van? Because if you did and someone saw you, we might be compromised”.

Eddie almost jumps up from his seat then, going from a relaxed resting moment to hissing a million “shit shit shit” as he frantically looks back and forth between Jonathan and Argyle - but Argyle himself interrupts him immediately.

“Chill, dude” he explains, adjusting his baseball cap backward, “we obviously thought of that, so I came up with a great idea”

Jonathan nods enthusiastically, a single drop of sweat glistening on his forehead - whether it’s from the tension or the summer heat, you will never know. “Great idea, yes. Genius, really” he chips in, apologetically smiling at Nancy.

“We drove the van into the woods” Argyle explains, now directing his grin at you, “then left it among the trees, veeeery well hidden, and we walked the rest of the way”.

Silence fills the cabin once again as you quizzically look at the stoned trio. Eddie slumps back into the sofa with a relieved sigh, accepting the blunt Jonathan is handing back to him and taking another long drag, while Argyle is still smiling at an undefined spot somewhere between you and Nancy.

“You better hope it worked” Nancy finally states, pointing a finger at the boys before turning around and going back to the groceries, shaking her head in amusement and surrender.

“Jesus” you sigh, grabbing the last items from your bag and putting them in the old fridge, “those three together are a real menace”.

“You bet” Nancy replies, “but there’s not much we can do except keep them as they are. And minimize the damage, of course” she concludes with a smile, neatly folding the two paper bags and putting them away in a drawer.

“Got to agree here” you reply, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter after grabbing a round carton box you’ve left out on the table and two big spoons. “Ice cream?”

Nancy flashes a big smile at you, taking one of the spoons you’re offering and leaning against the counter beside you. “Yes, please” she exclaims as you open up the box. You both start eating, occasionally eavesdropping on the conversation that’s being held a few feet away.

“I’ve just had an idea” Eddie exclaims, dropping the half-smoked blunt in the ashtray and sitting up straight as if he’s about to make a whole speech. “If you leave the pizza van here in the woods, we could be… neighbors” he tells Argyle, who slowly nods in appreciation.

“Yeah, dude, that’d be so cool” Argyle replies in awe, “we could renovate the whole thing, put on some fairy lights…”.

You and Nancy hold back your giggle at the thought of Argyle setting up twinkling lights in his pizza van.

“And we could put the old sofa we have in our garage out in the front” Jonathan adds, stealing the last chips from the bowl still sitting in Argyle’s lap.

“Shit, that’s perfect” Eddie exclaims, his mischievous smirk back on his lips as he looks at the other two with a gaze full of complicity, “we could spend the nights out in the woods, with a fire and shit. Smoke, maybe, and play D&D”.

“When did you become such an outdoor person?” You call out at Eddie with a smirk after a spoonful of ice cream.

Eddie slaps one hand on his chest, right over his heart, looking at you with a wounded grimace from the couch. “You wound me, princess” he exclaims with a pout, “you know I miss the fresh air”.

“Fair point, sweetheart” you concede, and his smile immediately comes back to light up his face at the nickname you used.

“What’s D&D?” Argyle asks, and you, Nancy and Jonathan immediately roll your eyes.

“Heeere we go” you mutter, going back to your ice cream, but you can’t help a smile from creeping up on your lips as you catch a glimpse of Eddie’s passionate and excited gaze at the mention of his favorite game.

“It’s like, the best game ever, man” Eddie states before solemnly clearing his voice. “Dungeons and Dragons. A game for brave adventurers, for those with unbounded imagination, a world of fantasy and magic that will turn you into a heroical knight, or a cunning thief, or an evil wizard”.

Argyle stares at him in awe, his eyes dreamily following each movement of Eddie’s hands. Even Jonathan has stopped eating, his mouth agape and his attention completely grabbed by Eddie’s theatrical recounting of the game’s rules.

“Shit, dude” Argyle eventually exclaims, elbowing Jonathan in the side once Eddie’s finished explaining how a campaign works with a satisfied final declaration of D&D’s many qualities, “you’ve never told me about this stuff. It’s sick as fuck, dude”.

“That’s because I don’t play” Jonathan simply replies, “but Will and Mike do”.

Argyle shakes his head in disbelief before addressing Eddie again. “Dude, we have to play” he eagerly proposes, “when the van is set. It’s perfect, man, and we could set the mood with some of my special Purple Palm Tree Delight. Shit, that would be so incredibly cool.”

“I’m in, man” Eddie agrees, offering his hand and grabbing Argyle’s in a tight shake. “We need to start thinking about the campaign”.

“You could go for aliens this time” Nancy jokingly suggests as she places her spoon in the sink, “change it up a bit”.

“Woooah” Argyle laughs in surprise, “aliens? We can do that?”

Eddie solemnly nods. “Sure as hell. We can do whatever we like. We can have aliens, or dragons, or ghosts even. Maybe” he continues, standing up and starting to pace around the room, making you almost see the little gears in his brain running and working, “we could have a village that needs to be saved from monsters coming from the sky. Nobody knows what they are, or why they are there, and maybe there’s a princess hidden in a tower that knows the secret to fight them” he explains, and slowly his gaze moves in your direction as he continues the story he’s creating.

“A princess whose hair catches all the sunlight and the moonshine, whose eyes are the color of the forest, whose voice is heard singing every day at sunset, and whose heart is made of all things sweet and golden”.

He utters and mumbles all those words with his reddened, watery eyes locked on yours, and once he stops talking everyone is looking at you as well. You blush lightly and try to casually look away as you climb down the counter and wash the ice cream stickiness off of your hands in the sink.

“Dude” Argyle says, his brows furrowed as he moves his gaze back and forth between you and Eddie, “did you just describe your girlfriend?”

Eddie’s face suddenly turns purple, and as you try to hold back a chuckle - the result of a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment - he starts stammering with no sense whatsoever.

“No!” he exclaims, but he bites the word back as soon as it’s out. “No, I mean, yes, but uh, not really - like, shit, yeah she might be a little similar to y/n but uuuuh… god, okay!” He finally admits, surrendering to Nancy’s unimpressed stare, “okay, yes, y/n is my muse. I admit it. She’s beautiful, and inspiring, and I love her very fucking much.” He admits, and his unease slowly turns into… pride?

“I mean” Eddie adds, moving slowly across the room towards you, wavering a bit as he walks, “have you guys seen her?”

You blush timidly as he leans against the counter beside you, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, for this little one right here” Eddie states, his loved-up, big eyes staring down at you, “I could plan a thousand campaigns and write a million stories”.

In spite of the summer heat that’s pervading the cabin, you shiver at the touch of Eddie’s skin on yours. Feeling his body beside you never fails to make your own feel a certain kind of way, and you try your best to hide it behind a casual expression - without much success, however, as you can't help but stare back at Eddie and get lost in his eyes, the strong scent of weed now close, intoxicating and… exciting.

“Okay, guys” Jonathan awkwardly intervenes with a cough as he, not without difficulty, stands up from the couch, “I think it’s best if we go now”.

“Yeah, uh, right” Argyle echoes him, getting up as well and making his way towards the door while mumbling his goodbyes.

“Not so fast” Nancy interjects, quickly putting herself between them and the door. “Keys, please. I’m driving you two home”.

Argyle looks at her, confusion clouding his face. “But isn’t the van home? Like, next door?”

You chuckle out loud this time, and even if Nancy is trying to stay as serious as she can, you can spot the same laughter behind the curve of her lips.

“Not yet, dude, sorry” she replies, extending her hand and flexing it twice, motioning to Jonathan to hand her the keys to the pizza van.

After a few tries, as he first hands her his headphones and then a battered lighter, she finally gets a hold of them and turns towards you for one last time.

“Behave, you two” she half-jokingly states as she points a menacing finger at you, but the flicker in her eyes and her soft smile easily chase away whatever seriousness is left in her for today. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n?”

“Sure. Thanks for helping me with the groceries, Nance” you reply with a single nod and a grin, leaning just a little more into Eddie’s side.

With a final goodbye, your friends leave the cabin, Argyle throwing one last wink in your direction as he closes the door behind him - and now, you’re left alone with Eddie. Finally, you might even say.

“Sooo” he begins, cornering you as he turns to face you, his arms at your sides with his hands flat on the warm surface of the counter, “we should behave, huh?” He asks you with a smirk, his long hair tickling your neck as he leans down to kiss your exposed collarbone.

“Yeah, I think so” you reply, your voice already strained as his lips move up to meet yours in another sweet, sloppy kiss.

“I guess that Wheeler won’t mind us not wasting the good stuff then, right?” He then continues, almost in a low whisper as he nods to the now smaller joint that’s been left in the ashtray.

“I think that’s quite responsible, yes” you nod in agreement, matching his mischievous smile as he scoops you up with a swift motion and brings you to the couch, ready to spend the rest of the day with his dream blunt rotation - you.

—♥︎—

Hope you enjoyed this one shot :) Feedback is always welcome!

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