#so should we be calling them the Parents too????

[demonic0angel]

Jack and Maddie try to introduce their girlfriend Talia to living like a normal person. Of course, they're both insane, so this has mixed results.

“So… you have no servants?” Talia asked, trailing a finger along the edge of a cabinet and then pulling away to look at the dust that accumulated, an eyebrow rising on her face. “How do you keep things clean?”

“We have Jazz and Danny do them as chores,” Maddie said with a smile. “It teaches children responsibility, discipline, and necessary life skills.”

Talia nodded slowly. “I see.”

Jack pulled Talia via a hand to her waist as he also said cheerfully, “We also teach them how to clean up their weapons and any accidents! This way, they’ll know what to do if they kill a ghost!”

Both of Talia’s eyebrows rose and she looked at Maddie, who pressed against her other side. “Is that normal? Teaching children to clean up after their killings?”

“‘Killings’ sound so illegal,” Maddie chided. “We call it exterminations. And of course! Any child should know how to clean up after an accident they made!”

Talia nodded to herself again, muttering, “I knew Bruce was wrong…” she looked at her two lovers and asked, “What else do you two teach your children?”

“We teach them a variety of martial arts, weaponry, machinery, and much more! It’s important that they know how to defend themselves if a ghost attacks them! Jazz was able to learn almost every single weapon we have in our arsenal since she was 5! Danny knows over 22 forms of martial arts and he’s still learning. You should’ve seen it when he was young,” Maddie sniffed. “He used to try and fail to flip Jack over and now he’s kicking his father in the face!”

Jack also sniffled, wiping away a tear. “I’m so proud!”

Talia beamed. She loved how proud her partners were of their children’s fighting prowess. After all, she felt the same way. “I agree. My dear son is also the same. He learned since he was very young and now he is quite proficient with a sword. What weapons do you two teach?”

“Everything!” Jack grinned. “Staffs, swords, guns, ribbons, fans, frying pans, waffle irons, a beach toy— you name it! I can promise you that Jazz and Danny will be the best ghost exterminators in the world when they’re older!”

Talia seemed to almost swell with delight. For once, her cold and haughty demeanor broke as she smiled brightly. “So you agree? That teaching your children to be the strongest is the ultimate life goal?”

Maddie and Jack shared a look and then nodded at Talia in agreement. “But of course,” Jack said, trying to sound wise, “It’s also important that they learn to have fun! That’s why we let them drive the car whenever we go out exterminating for ghosts! And we also make sure that they bond with others and have friends— that way, more people can be on the watch out for ghosts and help us hunt them down!”

Talia smiled. “I will take your advice in mind. Oh, it would be wonderful if my beloved son could meet you too. He’s only learned the basics: over 10 forms of martial arts, several swords, a mastery of basic melee weapons, and he knows how to use a staff, but I believe that your training can join our families together and make our children even stronger!”

Maddie blushed bright red. “Oh, Tally!” She cooed and then drew in their girlfriend for a kiss.

Jack beamed and said, “I can’t wait for our kids to meet yours! We can be one big, happy, normal family!”

From a distance, Jazz and Damian shared a bewildered and almost frightened look.

How on earth did their parents find someone who was almost as crazy as them….??

And how on earth did they all share the same murderous braincell??

[writer-of-fandoms-4321]

Sometimes Danny felt that the universe (more specifically the Observants) loved to use his life as a Ancient Damned Soap Opera. While he had managed to get the needed time off from ghosting to meet up with Dick and his Wife.

However, he needed a valid excuse to miss on the next couple days of school, they had agreed to meet up to talk for a few hours, Danny would pick the kids up from daycare, drop Dan and Ellie off at the house, and take Mar'i and his wallet to arguable the best waffle house he'd ever had the joy of finding, and hopefully, after explaining the situation and how Mar'i got from Gotham New Jersey to the middle of fucking nowhere Illinois, and why he did it, and his suspicions, they might stick around or leave, Danny didn't really care for the stress of making sure his rogue behave for a ful.

Which lead him to his current delema.

How to ease into the 'hey, I may or may not be your son, so I'm half dead, and I was able to summon Mar'i to keep her safe because my family instinctTM said to.'

Tucker had been no help. He had just laughed, Sam had patted his shoulder, and left to deal with something her parent wanted her to do.

He took a deep breath, and dialed the number.

It rang two times before it picked up.

"Hey Danny!" Richard's voice was cheerful, if not a little stressed, Danny would be too, if he was ironing out the detail on comign to retrieve his children from a place a portal took them "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you to call again tonight."

Danny took a deep breath. He would go for the most straight forward

"Yeah, well it occured to me that I ought to say something about my...unique biology."

"Oh?"

That wasn't Dick.

"Erm, are you with someone?"

"My wife, Kori."

"Hello."

"Hey, so due to Amity Park being a natural thin spot between the veils of the earth and afterlife, and being a raised here, I would like to say straight up that... there are some weird things that happen, some ghosts pop up from time to time, we'll be meeting outside city limits though, so we should be fine."

"...Okay. Is that all?"

Danny stalled.

"Yeah."

"Alright!" Kori again, he was on speaker phone then. "Thank you for the heads up"

Danny bid them goodnight, again, and after hanging up a sigh came from the doorway.

"Do I have to drag you're dumbass butt up to bed tonight or..."

"In all fairness Sam, you chose to date me and Tucker's dumbass butts."

"Yes, and hopefully marry them, but that does not mean I support poor sleeping schedules. More specifcally your poor sleeping schedule. Bed."

"So bossy."

"Bed or couch your choice."

"Alright I'm coming Sam ,don't worry."

This would work. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Hmmm

I'm on a Danny is Dick's child kick rn so I'm making more.

But lets add in some Ghost King Danny!, Dad to a deaged Ellie and Dan! And toddler Mar'i Grayson.

Danny was conceived during Dick's amnesia year when he was Ric and the woman couldn't find him to tell him (or maybe the Owls caught wind of the pregnancy and took her) and he ended up somehow (hmmm maybe a meddling time keeper?) with the Fentons.

Danny grows as a Fenton, he knows he was adopted btw, then becomes Phantom, protects Amity, becomes the Ghost King and things seem to be going okay between Amity Parkers and the Infinite Realms since they took care of the GIW problem, AND has been a good doting teen dad to his deaged 'cousins/clones' turned kids.

Danny was going to go pick his kids up from daycare one day when CHAOS happens. Just as he wrangles Ellie onto his shoulders, cause she wants to be tall today, and about to take Dan's hand cause he's and I quote "A big boy and not a baby like Ellie, Dad!" he suddenly feels the tug of his family being in danger.

Thing is, its a blood related danger. Meaning someone blood related to him was in grave danger, and by the emotions he can feel, its someone young, way younger than him.

Problem.

The only people Danny knows with his blood in their veins and are young enough for the feeling are with him.

So who?

But due to Danny being a protector spirit AND knowing the feeling is from someone as young as his own kids, Danny decides to use his Ghost King Powers to summon said person from the danger to him.

Danny opens his free arms out just as a tiny toddler with black hair like his own but with bright green eyes, even the sclera were green, in a ruined party dress drops from the sky from the summoning circle that had opened above him.

Danny stares at the terrified child, whose hands are tied by rope and was crying, and takes notes of certain traits she had that he saw every time in the mirror or on his own kids, same eye shape and cheekbones. He can tell his ghost core has claimed her as family but not as his kid though.

No the connection that formed was almost like his connection with Jazz but a bit stronger.

This kid, was his sister. His blood related one.

-Meanwhile-

Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, and his family were freaking the fuck out.

Dick was already panicked when his daughter Mar'i had gotten kidnapped just a few hours ago by the Joker.

Now he was feeling pure dread when his daughter, who was about to be killed, was suddenly pulled into a strange glowing circle at the last minute and disappeared into thin air.

[baepsays]

Domesticity is a privilege, and privilege is attracted to Gojo Satoru.

Wait we might need to reiterate that. Because if privilege is attracted to Satoru, and being domestic with the love your life is a privilege — how come he hasn't attracted that wishful life yet!?

I mean he's already privileged (in capitalistic and aesthetic sense), he is hopelessly in love with you, so by default next outcome in this equation must be—you, him, and your cats, chilling in your bed. Just watching the rerun of your overwatched favourite show while the cats cuddle up to you two.

Now the only problem is despite being capitally and aesthetically blessed by default, the whole wooing the love of your life thing doesn't happen by staring at them from a distance while making up little scenarios in your head —how your first date would go, your first kiss, what if you met back in high school, meeting the parents, getting their blessings, getting married, and adopting two cats.

You might call him pathetic, but do not worry his friends do not shy away from voicing that fact out every two seconds. Because every two seconds he's letting out a big sigh and going "y/n would like that." or,

"y/n should try this."

"y/n"-

You get the gist of it. Really- thoughtful of him.

So this brings us here, THE Gojo Satoru sitting on the curb of the sidewalk infront of your building. With a bouquet in his hands, decked up in a three piece (probably Italian) custom suit, tie is tied rather not how a tie should be tied. But it works for him. Everything works for him.

Now do not take him for a creep! He's a gentleman of the highest stature. Gojo is actually waiting here for you for that date he secured with you after graciously asking you (practically begging you and with the help of Geto Suguru who made the dire mistake of introducing you to him in the first place).

"Satoru? What are you doing here?"

That is a valid question to have, to walk up to your building, exhausted after work and to see your date sitting outside your building, on the sidewalk nonetheless. Isn't he loaded? Where is his car even?

"Oh I was waiting for you! What are you doing out so late?" At this point he got up to stand face to face with you (took a lot of courage for him to do that!).

"I had to do overtime and, no, wait. Why are you waiting for me at 2 AM?

"Oh you know to pick you up for our date!"

"Satoru. That is tomorrow. I am supposed to see you at 4 PM tomorrow. Were you planning on to camp out here all night? where is your car??" (my concern as well)

"First of all- I got too excited and I couldn't sleep. sooooo-" he stretches it on, what's about to come next couldn't possibly be any better.

"So I thought I'd put on the suit I bought for our date! Then I thought hmm well now if I sleep in this it'll get creases and I won't have much time to get it ironed. Then I saw the flowers, I was growing to give you, sort of wilting away. And I couldn't possibly give you dead flowers for our first date! And I was waiting in my car, then it got towed away, and-"

"STOP."

What do you even do in this situation? Tell him to go home? How is he going to do that with practically no public transport working at this hour and his car gone. Even you barely caught the last train home. I mean any other individual would get weirded out, get angry, and upset. But you, well,

"How about instant ramen and a movie for a first date, on my couch?"

I suppose you are attracted to Gojo Satoru just as much as privilege is attracted to him. And oh what a privilege it is to be loved and to be wanted like that one soft blanket you just want to snuggle up into at the end of the day.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Hey, idk if you're taking requests in more "dark" topics. But i was wondering if you could do this one.

A year ago i attempted su!c!de, a few weeks later i started self-harming. And even before all that, i had developed an eating disorder.

I never told anyone about the sh and the ed, my parents found out my theirselves. When i attempted tho, i asked for help, cause as a teenage girl, i was scared. A week after my attempted i had already gotten a therapist and a lot of support, but i still hid parts of my struggle (ed and sh).

I was wondering if you could do a WandaNat x reader daughter, based on my "experience".

It doesn't have to be exactly like it, but "based" on it.

I'm starting to struggle again and i just needed some kind words.

Tyy x

Fly, birdie, Fly

Note: This story will feature heavy topics based on the ask above. If you find any of these triggering please do not read this. However, I am so proud of you for being here today. You are so important. Like Natasha and Peter say in this story, the whole you leave will be impossible to fill.

Warnings: mention of past abuse, poor mental health, eating disorder, self harm, suicide ideation, reader was with HYDRA and needs a hug, good parents Wanda and Natasha, Peter is a great friend.

Word count: 3.3k

There was something about the night sky that you found freeing. The vast darkness combined with the twinkle of stars created a stillness. It was quiet. Peaceful. You sat on the roof of a random New York City apartment. You weren’t sure who lived here as your feet dangled above the city street. The coldness pricked at your skin. You liked to run your fingers over the goosebumps that formed. “There you are,” you followed the voice and saw Peter. He took off his mask and walked over to you. “Your moms are almost home. You need to get back to the tower.”

Peter was a good friend. He deserved better than you, but you gave him upgrades to his suit. On nights when the noise in your head got too loud and you needed to escape the tower, he made sure you were back before anyone found out.

Slowly, you stood up and walked to the edge of the roof. Your arms outstretched to keep your balance. “Birdie, this isn’t funny. Get down. We need to go.”

Birdie. It was the nickname the Avengers called you. When they found you, you were being experimented on by HYDRA scientists. They implanted wings into your back - white like an angel. Ironically, they gave you wings to the girl who wanted to fall. Sighing, you jumped off and onto the roof. Your ankles tingled from the impact. “Did FRIDAY report any injuries?” You asked as Peter slipped his mask back on, and you both climbed down the fire escape.

“None,” Peter answered. They were able to save the hostages.” That was good. You knew the mission was going to be difficult, but like always, they saved the day.

“Thanks for the save, Spiderman,” you smiled. You tried to give him a genuine smile, but it was hard these days. See you later.”

“Bye, birdie,” he took off, and you were alone. With a sigh, you pulled up your hoodie and started the walk back to the tower.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You managed to beat them back to the tower and start cooking. Your moms always liked to eat when they got back from a mission. Most of the time, they were too tired or hurt to cook. Cooking for them was the least you could do. Your attention got pulled away from the stovetop to the elevator. “It smells good, angel,” Natasha said.

“It should be ready soon,” you drained the pasta water and saved a little of it for the sauce. Wanda walked over to you and kissed the side of your head. “How was the mission?” It was the longest you’ve been separated from them since they adopted you. They always tried to have one of them stay behind. This mission was extensive, and the team couldn’t afford to leave one of them at the tower. They were gone for a week, and you hated how much you missed them.

“Good,” Natasha kissed the opposite side. “Tiring. I could sleep for 12 years,” you chuckled and looked over your shoulder. Natasha leaned heavily on Wanda’s back, her chin resting on her girlfriend’s shoulder. They tried to mask it, but you saw the signs of fatigue.

“Why don’t you go shower, and we can eat this in our rooms?” It was a way for you to make an easy escape, but Wanda shot that idea down with a quick shake of her head.

“We always have dinner together,” she gently patted Natasha, and the Black Widow grumbled but let go of Wanda. I’ll set up for a movie night,” there was no changing her mind when it was set to something. So you filled your bowl with as little as possible that wouldn’t draw their suspicion. By the end of the movie, your bowl was still full.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It felt like a gift and a curse with the wings you were given. They allowed you to fly above the clouds and see the world uniquely. Then there was the cruse. The pain was unbearable when you kept your wings hidden for to long. But it was the nightmares that were the worst. Some nights, you woke up covered in sweat with a scream barely leaving your lips.

Tonight was not a nightmare that woke you up but the pain in your back. You buried your face in the pillow and bite your lip to stop the pained scream. The last thing you wanted was to wake up Natasha and Wanda. They were so tired, but the pain was awful. Silent tears raced down your cheeks as a pained whimper left your lips.

Suddenly, a gentle hand was placed in the middle of your back. You flinched away from the contact. “Sh, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Wanda’s soothing voice pierced through the pain. “You’re safe. We are right here,” you whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut.

“When was the last time you let them out?” You heard the sound of scissors cutting your shirt. Luckily, it was one of Natasha’s old SHIELD shirts. But the Black Widow asked you a question. You squeezed the blanket in your hand.

“Long,” you managed to squeak out. You could feel blood in your mouth from the wound you created on your lip. Natasha let out a disappointing sigh. You hated the sound. You hated that you were such a disappointment. “Not safe. Not safe,” you repeated. The process left you disorientated. Vulnerable. Even though you felt release from your wings being free, letting them free was almost worse. It was why you hadn’t joined the team on missions until Tony could figure out a way to lessen the pain.

“You are safe,” Wanda managed to sit you up, but the fabric of your shirt fell. She sat in front of you, and her forehead rested against yours. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” you cried. This time, it was Natasha’s hand on your back. Hers were colder and rougher than Wanda’s.

“Yes,” the Black Widow kissed the side of your head. “But it will only be for a moment then it will feel better.” You gritted your teeth, the searing heat building between your shoulder blades. After so many times, you learned to block out the noise that came with this.

The first sharp crack was followed by the pain. It felt as if your spine was being torn apart. Then, another crack. You felt the warmth of your blood from the new wounds on your back. In your pain-hazed mind, you were afraid that you were going to hurt Wanda for how hard you were squeezing her.

When it was done, your body slumped against Wanda as she whispered gently reassurances in your ear. Then you heard it—the gentle flap of your wings. Natasha touched the feathers, and you felt them twitch. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I forgot how sensitive they are, but I’ll never forget how beautiful they are.”

You never found them beautiful. They were a constant reminder of the pain you endured and the choices made of you. “How are you feeling?” Wanda asked. You felt the bed shift as Natasha stood up and headed for the bathroom. You rubbed your forehead against her shoulder.

“Tired,” you mumbled. “Sore but better.” There was a weight lifted off your shoulders. It felt easier to breathe.

“You can go back to sleep once your mom cleans you up,” you nodded, and the bed shifted again, signaling Natasha’s return.

“I’ll be gentle,” she whispered, and the warm cloth was pressed against your back. It was instant relief. Your muscles relax more. “I think keeping them out for a few days is a good idea. Allow your body some relief.” Natasha scrubbed the dried blood off your skin.

“Okay,” you mumbled, too tired to protest.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Since that night, the couple were watching you closely. They ensured you ate full meals and your wings were out for an appropriate amount of time. In some ways, you were the healthiest you’ve ever been and hated every moment of it.

The voices in your head were getting too loud. Pain was the only way to quiet them and push away the darkness. It seemed logical to spend your time in the bathroom after you ate, throwing up the food you just ate. Or drag a blade against your skin in places they wouldn’t see.

You felt dirty, weak, and guilty. Wanda and Natasha were giving you a second chance, and you were throwing it back in their faces. It was so hard to deliver that you were deserving of their love and the safety they gave you. There was a sadness in their eyes when they looked at you that they tried to hide. But you saw it. Maybe it was better if you left, saving them the pain of watching you slip away.

Once again, you found yourself atop a New York City apartment. This one was tall. Tall enough that if you kept your wings enclosed, death would be insistent. You took one step forward and-

“Woah, woah,” Peter said behind you, and you pulled your foot back. “I need you to get off the ledge, birdie.”

“Go away, Peter,” you told him without looking away from the sidewalk below you. “Go back to the tower and forget about me.”

“I can’t do that because your moms are losing their minds because they don’t know where you are. Someone disabled FRIDAY so as not to track you,” it was easy to hack into Tony’s AI system. You left a note in the mess of a lab on how you did it so he could fix the problem. “I promised them I’d find you and bring you home.”

“Why?” You asked. He was silent as you heard his footsteps walking over to you.

“Because I’ve been silent for too long. I’ve seen you hurt, and I’ve said nothing,” you closed your eyes, wobbling slightly as you lost your balance. There was so much guilt in his voice, and you hated it. You were the cause of it. It would be easier for everyone if you were gone. “You are my friend. You are one of my best friends. I know you think leaving us would cause less pain, but that’s not true. The whole you would leave would be impossible to fill.” Slowly, you turned around. He wasn’t wearing his suit, which meant he rushed over here in a hurry and put himself at risk of someone’s knowing the true identity of Spiderman. He put himself at risk for you.

Next, you noticed that his hand was outstretched as he waited for you to take it. “Please,” Peter pleaded. We all care about you. We can’t lose you.”

It seemed cliche as if he read it in one of those mental health pamphlets in the health office. But you wanted to believe him. “Peter, I-” Then it happened. It was an accident; you swore by it. Your foot slipped. The world tilted violently as your arms failed to reach for anything. A scream ripped from your throat as gravity claimed you, but Peter grabbed onto your wrist.

“I got you,” he said as he pulled you back onto the roof. Your entire body was shaking as the adrenaline ran through your veins. “I got you,” he repeated and pulled you into a hug. His heart was pounding in his ribs. “I got her,” You weren’t sure when he pulled out his phone, but he told whoever he was speaking with where you were, but it all turned fuzzy. Peter saved you, but you wished he hadn’t.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The ride back to the tower was silent. Natasha drove, Peter was in the passenger seat, and Wanda sat next to you in the back. She brought a blanket with her, and it was tightly around your shoulders. You hadn’t stopped shaking, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. Wanda held your hand tightly in hers, afraid you’d slip out of her grasp.

The contact left your skin burning. You wanted to rip your hand from her, open the car door, and run. But you stayed. They deserved that much.

Natasha parked the car in the tower garage. “Thank you, Peter,” the Black Widow said. “I’ll come and talk to you later.” Your friend nodded and said his goodbyes, but his eyes locked with yours. They pleaded with you to be honest, stay, and fight. You had no energy to smile back.

Now, the car was suffocating. It was claustrophobic, as if the car doors were closing on you, and all the air was ripped from your lungs. “Sometimes,” you found your voice. “I wish I died on the operating table you found me on,” you admitted. “Death seems easier than living.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Wanda whispered. You kept your eyes trained on the center console. You couldn’t stomach it if you looked at them.

“I know you both love me. I know the team cares about me. I have a place here in all this, but I’m just-”

“Tired,” Natasha finished your sentence when your voice failed you. Finally, you looked at the redhead. Her green eyes were glossy, and a sad smile was on her face. You hated that you were the cause of the pain. She reached for your face and placed a gentle hand on your cheek. Even when you flinched, her smile never faded. “Our words won’t reach you with those negative thoughts racing through your read, but your mother and I are going to fight for you and remind you every day how much you are needed here.”

Peter said something similar. The hole you would leave would be impossible to fill. How blind were you to the impact you had on their lives? “Mama,” you whimpered.

“It’s okay, dorogoy,” Wanda whispered. Your face turned into the crock of her neck and your tears stained the fabric of her shirt. Your quiet cries turned to heartbreaking sobs that shook your body. But Wanda held you strong, steady. Her heart remained constant even when you felt the slight hitch of her breathing.

“I’m - I’m scared,” you cried. “I wanna die.” With your confession, Wanda held you tighter.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Natasha wasn’t sure if the emotional outburst or the usage of her girlfriend’s powers helped you fall asleep. But you were out against Wanda, your hands twisted in the fabric of her shirt. “Let’s get her to our room,” the Black Widow spoke softly. Wanda only nodded. Her eyes were unable to look away from you. By the grace of a higher power, Natasha managed to lift you out of the back seat. You were lighter in her arms. She knew you were limiting your potions, and now she was kicking herself for not saying something sooner. The Black Widow was so scared to push you away. Now, she feared she was too late.

Thankfully, she made it to their room without alerting the rest of the team. She gently laid you down on the bed. “Should we change her out of these clothes?” Natasha asked as she looked at Wanda. Her girlfriend was quiet and gently sat on the bed’s edge to avoid disturbing you. “Hey,” she squeezed her shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“I feel like if I take my eyes off of her, she’s going to disappear,” Wanda huffed. “I’m a mind reader. How did I not see this?” Natasha sighed and moved to stand behind her. Wanda’s back was flushed against her front.

“Maybe we did see it, and we didn’t want to accept it.” Again, Wanda was quiet. There wasn’t a good way to respond to this. “Stay with her,” Natasha kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to go check on Peter.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Wanda sighed deeply when Natasha left. A crushing weight lay across her chest. Every breath she took hurt. It felt similar to when she first arrived at the tower while grieving for her brother and country. Grief was suffocating her—grief for a little girl that she loved so much and was hurting.

She stood up and walked into her bathroom. When the water from the sink warmed up, she splashed it on her face. All she wanted to do was scream and cry, but she needed to push all that down to be there for you.

Wanda was the one to find you. During her time at HYDRA, she heard whispers of other facilities that were experimenting on other kids. The Avengers were working on stopping them. A lot of them were abandoned. Until they arrived at the facility when you were held captive. The security put up a fight, but they were able to secure the building. Wanda found you strapped down to a table. Bloody and bruised and barely conscious. You flat-lined a few times on the way back to the tower, but Bruce was able to bring you back. All Wanda wanted to do was protect you.

When Ross discovered what you could do, he threatened to send you to the RAFT. Everyone was scared of the wings, but not her or Natasha. The couple saw you as a scared girl, and adopting and protecting you made sense.

Once her face was dried, she returned to the room. “Oh,” she jumped when she saw you were awake and staring at her. “You scared me. I didn’t expect you to be up.” She hoped her magic would keep you asleep until the morning.

“Nightmare,” your voice was raw and rough. “Why am I here?”

“Your mom and I wanted to keep you close,” she said, closing the distance and sitting on the bed next to you. Do you want to go back to your room?” The idea of being away from you terrified her, but it was your choice. So much of your autonomy was taken; she never wanted to force you.

“Wanna stay,” Wanda smiled, and you took her hand. Sometimes, Wanda forgets how young you are. You acted so much older, hardened by the horrible circumstances you had to endure. Now, you looked smaller, younger than only 17.

There was so much she wanted to say to you to convince you to stay and fight. But Wanda understood that pain as well. Living seemed so hard; death seemed easier. With death, you would never see how much your life meant to them. “I get it,” Wanda spoke softly. You looked away from her hands to look into her eyes. “The feeling of dread that just follows you. Like a blanket. It can be suffocating,” you nodded. “I’ve learned to let others help hold the weight. It makes it easier to breathe.” You frown and bite your lip. You habitually pitted your lip so hard it would draw blood. Wanda gently used her thumb and touched your chin to get you to stop.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “What if I’m broken and I can’t be fixed?”

“You are not broken, sweetheart,” Wanda squeezed your hand. “You are healing, and healing isn’t always linear. There will be ups and downs, and sometimes you will fall. But your mom and I will always catch you. When tears fell down your cheeks, Wanda pushed them away, and she expected you to flinch. Instead, you leaned into her touch. Progress was good. “However, you need to want to be helped. All your choices have been made for you; you must make this one.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together as you thought it over in your head. It felt like an eternity until you sighed. “Help me,” you pleaded. “Save me like you saved me from those monsters.”

“Always.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Again, you sat on a roof. This time, it was on top of the Avenger tower, and you weren’t alone. There was music, laughter, and a warmth that filled your chest. Peter sat next to you and handed you a root beer bottle. “Alright, birdie?”

“Yeah,” you clicked the bottle against his. “Alright.”

You weren’t afraid of falling anymore because there would be someone to catch you.

[snail-squasher]

Billie Bossa Nova

'i'm not sentimental, but there's something 'bout the way you look tonight'-billie ellish

word ct. - 1.5k

warnings - fem!reader, SMUT SMUT SMUT, cussing, brothers bsf ;)

Family dinners always had a special place in your heart - not a very bright one that is, but still a spot. The uncomfortable smiles and intrusive questions from relatives; “So no grandkids yet?” you were hoping you could escape this one. “No, Mom. I’m not even seeing someone.” “I’m just saying! None of us are getting any younger.” You reply with a small hum hoping the conversation would shift so you can sneak away to your room. 

“Don’t you think you should leave the alcoholism for a non-family thing?” It’s one thing after another. Sukuna, your older brother, always finds a way to call you out infront of everyone. “Don’t you think you could stop being a dick-” “Hey! You,” a finger pointed at you,” watch your language. And you,” one to the right of you, “stop messing with your sister. She can drink all she wants.” 

You stick your tongue out in Sukuna’s direction. “I don’t get how Uraume can stand you all the time, must be pay them a lot huh?” “Why you little-” a slam across from the table stops everyone, “Your mother just said to stop. So stop.” Both of you settle down muttering apologies, but not before you catch a glimpse at Uraume. The way they look up at your brother while pulling him down makes you feel something. You’re not sure when they got so attractive, when their skin and lips started so look kissable; but it’s been pissing you off. 

“I should make Uraume sit between you two.” Worst timing ever. You’re thinking of swapping spit with your brother’s bestfriend while they’re swapping seats. It gets worse when you notice the wetness inbetween your legs when you and Uraume’s knees brush. The way they look up makes you want to have a self-quickie in the bathroom. “Sorry,” their voice even got softer; you’re wondering what else of them might be softer. So you decide to find out. 

You slowly move your right hand to glide onto their knee. Just testing. No harm done; if they show they don’t want it, and you’ll back off. But they don’t even react, not until you try to pull your hand away. The grip on your wrist sends shivers down your spine. They place your hand back but higher up. You’ve managed to move half up their thigh in less than 30 seconds. 

You’re head starts to feel fuzzy - not in the usual champagne fuzzy but in a ‘i can feel this in places I shouldn’t’ fuzzy. Slowly moving your hand up more until you can feel their right thigh on the back of your hand. Is this real? Am I dreaming? How long has Uraume wanted to do this? You have so many questions but they keep unanswered as Uraume spreads their legs more. 

“Seperating you two has started to make a lovely night,” your mother says, “we finally get some peace and quiet.” Your father hums with a nod. You’re too focused on finding an excuse for Uraume to go to your room to make a comment back. That’s when you get a great idea - act too drunk to walk. Hopefully Uraume will get the hint and offer to help you back, if not this is a total waste. 

Pulling your hand away from the inside of their thigh, you stand up a little wobbly and say in a small slurred speech “I’m going to bed, goodnight,” not before fake tripping and grabbing the chair next to you. “Here let me help.” Jackpot. “Oh, we can’t possibly let a guest do that,” you pray that Sukuna makes a stupid comment to distract your parents but instead your met with a smooth voice and warm breath near your ear, “Oh it’s really no problem, I’m surprised you guys consider me a guest with how much I visit,” this causes a giggle from your mother, “Well I guess your right dear, just don’t let her give you a hard time.”  “I doubt it’ll be a problem.” Uraume replies with a small smile. 

They grab onto your left arm to ‘help’ keep you balanced. Their fingers are so soft yet to cold, the contrast causes you to shiver. Once you two are behind a corner and out of sight you quickly pick yourself up and speed walk to your room, Uraume dragging behind with the same grip on your wrist. 

Before you even make in it the door, your lips are locked. Shoving the door open and stumbling to the bed they pull away. “Are you okay?” you smile, “You’re always so considerate,” you purr, “but we should probably close the door.” The turn their head and let out a cuss.

You sarcastically gasp as they close the door, “Did the Uraume just cuss,” cupping their face in both you’re hands, “I’ve corrupted you already.” “I’m not as innocent as you think.” This sparks something. Instectivly, you go to rub your legs together but Uraume is ontop of you, blocking the action. “Don’t tell me that has you getting shy. What happened to the girl touching be under the table?” Oh. Oh wow. This was not what you had expected. 

“Black box in the closet. Grab it. Please.” Confusion washes over Uraume’s face, they follow your lead anyways. The sound of the lid falling to the ground plus a sharp inhale makes you giggle, “What? Never used one?” They move their fingers over the rough harness material, eyes trailing to the silicon attached at the middle. They look back at you. “You wanna find out.” 

5 minutes later, both sets of clothes thrown around the room, the harness attached to Uraumes body, hugging their hips and upper legs, hurried kissing and the feeling of their now warm hands spreading your legs open has you dizzy. “You okay? We can stop.” This knocks you out of your trance. “No, no, I’m okay. I’ve just been wanting this for so long,” the last part barley a whisper, they smirk a little, “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.” This earns them a little smack on their arm. 

They look in your eyes, stroking your cheek a little, “You ready?” You nod, “Yes,” They move their hands down to your hips and lift you a little, “Okay, I got you. Just relax for me.” God their words and voice. So smooth and soft, you could probably get off on them just whispering to you. “Oh-!” Your thoughts cut off by the toy slipping past your slit, Uraume reaches down and rubs your clit in small circles, “There you go,” your mouth falls open and your breath picks up. 

“Uraume, please. I want more, please-” they shush you quietly, “I got you, I got you. We have to be a little quiet, your family is down the hall, remember?” Of course you remembered the family gathering a few doors away. If you had it your way, you’d both be a loud mess right now.

Uraume picks up the pace, starts pushing their hips deepers, starts to get more and more aggressive with their finger still attached to your bud. There’s just more and more of them everywhere you’ve been needing them. So many wet dreams, so many daydreams, and so many failed hook ups has led you here. 

The heavy feeling in your stomach starts to spread, “Ume, please-,” you’d be shocked if no one could tell what was happening in your bed. The wet smacks and practically yells coming from your mouth were gross. Uraume hurridy pulls their fingers away from you clit, and before you could protest and get louder, two fingers slip their way into your mouth. 

“You need to be quiet,” they whisper, “We can’t risk it.” Your back arches from how close they get to you - or rather how close you are. When you think it’s fully too much they curl their hips just right making you bite their fingers. A whimper. They like biters. “Yeah? Give it to me,” they frantically ramble, “give it to me baby, come on. You got it, let go, come on it baby.” 

That's all it took for you to snap in half. Between your legs gets impossibly louder and the grip your mouth on Uraume’s fingers is deadly. What’s killing you though, is the thrusts. You never fully got the term ‘putting you into the mattress’ until now. Not only are you staining your bed but also creating a permanent indention in the middle of it. 

“There you go, so good baby, oh you’re making a mess,” Uraume moans. “Oh… fuck, yesyesyesyes, ooooohhh….” you ride out your high - back arched, mouth open, and eyes rolled back - pure bliss. 

Once you’re fully finish, Uraume slowly pulls out of you and undoes the tight harness around their hips. All you hear is a sigh and then in less than a second they flop on top of you. “To answer your question from earlier, no, I haven't done this.” You snort and roll them over, “Well you're a natural then.” you reply as you get bundled up with them in the warm blankets. “So…” you trail off, “want me to return the favor?” 

i said this was coming out like, 4 months ago... oops, BUT IT'S HERE NOW!!!!! but fr, sorry this took forever

also first time writing full smut, I hope its good, as always tips and pointers are welcome and I love it!!!!!

[magicshopaholic]

Late Night Call

Summary: Chaeyoung helps Hoseok in a vulnerable moment. In the dead of night, Miso and Yoongi finally have a long overdue conversation.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC, Hoseok x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 11.2 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of a panic attack, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of blood and violence

A/N: It's been a long time since I've posted - in the k-pop world, this might be known as a comeback. But I kid. Thank you for being patient and I hope this fic is worth it. This fic is set around two or three months after Interlude: Hyung Line.

Tagging: @bbl32 @ quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive  @faearchives @margopinkerton  @dreaming-with-happiness  @confessionsofamarshlily  @purpleseoul7 @sumzysworld @jihopesjoint @xjoonchildx @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids

Listen to: "just the two of us" by kauai45 and sweet cocoa

yoongi masterlist | hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

Yoongi pours a large pint of beer into two glasses and takes them out to the dining table. He places one in front of Hoseok with a soft thud, making him jump slightly.

“Cheers,” offers Yoongi, raising his own glass.

“To what?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A night off. Your album launch?” He nods when Hoseok exhales heavily and drops his face into his hands. “Headlining Lolla? That’s a huge fucking deal, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he mumbles, voice muffled in his hands. “Huge deal. Huge set list, huge crowd, huge risk of it sucking.”

Yoongi sits across from him and frowns, clinking his glass with Hoseok’s which is still sitting untouched in front of him. “Since when? You were practically giddy during the meeting about it earlier.”

Hoseok gives him a look. “I can’t be negative about it in front of them,” he says with a grimace. Catching the look on Yoongi’s face, he hurries to continue. “Not that I’m negative… exactly. It’s just… everything’s going to be different now.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking a large sip of his beer. Hoseok isn’t buzzed enough for his feelings to tumble out freely, but Yoongi suspects he isn’t referring just to their solo ventures.

“It’ll be good for us,” he says eventually, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah? You think?” 

“Sure.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, evidently expecting a more emphatic response. “So you’re not worried about your tour at all? Because I got to tell you: sneaking shots backstage before performing as a group was fun. Doing it yourself is just… depressing.”

“You underestimate me,” mutters Yoongi, but flashes him a smile to let him know he’s joking… kind of. “You should be less nervous, though. Your album release was a success. Sales-wise and PR-wise, especially after the listening party.”

Hoseok hums, drinking his beer. It’s unusual for him, Yoongi reflects, to seem this anxious, almost as though he’s lost. Somehow, aside from Namjoon’s responsibilities as leader and Seokjin’s general disposition to look out for them, if there’s anyone who’s level-headed and goal-oriented to the point of being a co-leader of the group, it’s usually Hoseok.

“If anything, you’ve given the rest of us the confidence that people will care about our music even if we aren't together,” says Yoongi after a moment, hoping it will encourage the younger member.

Hoseok nods, although he seems far away. “There’s too much at stake,” he murmurs. “It can make or break the rest of our careers.”

Yoongi frowns slightly, for he's not wrong. But before he can join Hoseok down this rabbit hole, Yoongi hastens to bring him out of it. “Everything you did for the listening party worked. It was a hit. And you seemed to be having fun with Chaeyoung.”

He'd added that last detail as casually as possible, but it catches Hoseok's attention. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Hoseok stays silent for a few seconds. “Do you think it's weird that I invited her?” he asks suddenly, his tone different and his torso leaning forward slightly.

“No,” answers Yoongi. “Why? Do you?”

“No. I don't know.” He clicks his tongue, looking deep in thought. “I think she did. But I can't be sure.” 

“Did she say something?”

“She seemed a little surprised, I guess.” Hoseok shrugs uncertainly. “It's hard to tell. We're not in a very… forthcoming place right now.”

“So why don't you say something to her?”

“I did,” he reminds him forcefully. “On Sooah's birthday. I told her it was a bad idea and we couldn't be together but we were still hanging out and… eventually hooking up again,” he adds, a bit abashedly, “but after what I said, I don't know how to move forward without making a mess of everything.”

Yoongi, not one to pry, waits for Hoseok to reveal more information, for he certainly isn’t going to ask. “You guys seemed close at the party,” he remarks.

“Yeah. We always have fun together. Not that kind of fun,” he adds with a face, as Yoongi chuckles behind his glass. “Not just that kind of fun,” he amends, his ears reddening slightly.

“But you're hooking up,” he confirms seriously.

“We haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking,” informs Hoseok, a little defensively. “If it's anything serious… she deserves better than an awkward friend-relationship for that,” he admits in a mutter.

Yoongi doesn't reply except to lightly clink his glass with Hoseok’s. He's certain his friend doesn't know this, but Hoseok in love is a predictable machine. The last time this had happened was when they were still trainees; that entire situation had had the distinct desperation and immaturity of teenage hormones and insatiable hunger. 

Now, with the wisdom that age is bound to bring, Hoseok is more restrained and thoughtful, but still the same nevertheless. The emphasis on fun (a baseline requirement for him), the overthinking about whether she felt comfortable or weird about something, the subtle ways he kept her on a pedestal - they’re all classic signs. Had it been a simpler situation, such as one where Hoseok had no lifelong loyalty to her older brother, Chaeyoung would be the most affectionately courted young woman in Seoul right now.

As it is, Hoseok is staring into nothing, a frown between his eyebrows. “There's just… way too much on my mind right now. Even sleep is hard to come by sometimes. I don't know - what do people do when they’re stressed? What does Namjoon do?”

“Wallows, mostly,” says Yoongi. “When he's in a productive space, though, he goes to the gym.” He shrugs. “We could go to the gym.”

There's a pause before both of them snort.

“Feels good to laugh,” chuckles Hoseok, chugging a quarter of his beer before abandoning the rest. “I'm driving,” he adds, “but I wouldn't mind a snack, honestly.”

Yoongi makes a face but doesn't argue, pouring the remaining into his own mug as Hoseok stands up and shuffles into the kitchen. As he hears the cabinets opening and closing, the doorbell rings. Not quite expecting anyone except an Amazon package that usually gets delivered to the lobby downstairs, Yoongi peers through the peephole first. He frowns - for his eyes have to be deceiving him - and opens the door, an incredulous expression on his face that fades when he takes in her appearance.

Kang Chanel pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, her shoulders hunching. “You said I wasn't a project, right?” she reminds him lightly, as though she's referring to an argument about ramen toppings. “Well, here's your chance to prove it.”

Yoongi stares. It's probably rude that he hasn't invited her in yet but he can't help it. Her clothes are wet - he realises now that it's raining outside - and as she pulls down the hood of her sweatshirt and shakes out her wet hair, he notices at once that it's shorter than before.

But that isn't even what he's looking at.

“What - what happened to you?” he murmurs hoarsely, before snapping out of it and standing aside to let her in. She takes a couple of steps and stops, droplets of water pooling around her feet on his clean, tiled floors.

“Well, it's raining,” she answers, making a fuss of wiping her wet hair off her neck and retrieving her phone from her hoodie pocket, clutched tightly in her hand, all the while averting her eyes from his. “It was a drizzle when I left but I didn't think it would get so bad -”

“That's not what I'm talking about,” he interrupts her. She pauses, clearly aware, but doesn't elaborate and doesn't quite meet his eyes either. “What happened to your face?”

Miso takes a deep breath and looks up at him, and he can almost make out the wheels turning in her mind as she evaluates how to answer this. At that moment, however, Hoseok appears in the hall with an energy bar in his hand.

“Is someone at the - oh.”

Miso's eyes widen. “Oh, I didn't realise you had company. I'm sorry, I should've called, I guess,” she mutters, turning her face away slightly, Yoongi knows, to hide the gash from Hoseok's view. 

“It's fine, he was just leaving.” Yoongi meets Hoseok's horrified gaze and gives him an imploring look, hoping he will understand. To his credit, despite knowing nothing about Miso's background, the kindest person Yoongi knows nods wordlessly, the opened energy bar in his hand forgotten.

Both he and Miso stay silent as Hoseok hurriedly pulls on his shoes and moves to the door. “Is - is there anything I can do?” he asks when he's at the doorway.

Yoongi glances at Miso before turning back. “I don't think so,” he says. “But, Hobi -” He pauses as Hoseok meets his eyes again, and this time Yoongi shakes his head a miniscule amount.

Hoseok nods. “Of course,” he says in a small voice, before closing the door behind him.

Just the two of them now, Yoongi turns to Miso, ready to speak more freely now. But she beats him to it.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asks quickly. “I’m freezing. I mean, I know it's unexpected. We're… colleagues. Like, I know it would be weird for sure if I showed up at Donghyuk's and asked to shower -” She breaks off when she catches sight of his expression, unmoving. Her words are tumbling out of her mouth, her tone jerky and her shoulders still hunched, as though expecting to be caught at any second.

Yoongi has so many questions, but if there's ever been a time when she's seemed more like a hunted animal, he can’t think of it.

“Bathroom is down the hall to the right,” he says at last, noting how she nods in barely masked relief. “Fresh towels are on the rack. I'll, uh… get you some clothes.”

Miso nods. Her mouth trembles slightly; whether it's the cold or something else, he can't tell, but when she wipes her face with her hand and winces upon touching the cut, smearing blood further across her pale cheek, any further words die in his throat.

He waits in the living room until he hears the door to the en suite in his room close and the shower start. He rummages in his closet to find dry clothes for her, a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, all the while trying not to let his mind wander down dark paths, for he will learn what happened soon enough. There’s no point, he thinks stoically, as he yanks a hoodie from its hanger with force, of imagining something that may very well have not transpired at all.

The shower is still running when he knocks softly at the door. “Miso,” he calls, as gently as he can. “I'm leaving some clothes on the bed. I'll be outside, in the kitchen,” he adds after a moment. “The door will be closed. The bedroom door, that is.” Cringing at himself, he turns to leave when he hears her voice from inside, unmistakable even through the water.

“Come in.”

He freezes, for surely he must have heard her incorrectly. “Um -” He clears his throat and cranes his neck so his ear is to the door. “What - what did you say?”

“Come in.”

There it is. It's muffled through the water but the words sound exactly the same. “It's - it's Yoongi. Uh, Min Yoongi,” he adds for good measure.

“Yoongi,” she states, but he can’t make out tone or mood. “Come in.”

It occurs to Yoongi that she’s said it three times now; any more and he becomes the Neanderthal who can’t follow a simple request. Hesitating a little, he opens the door to the en suite and steps in, unexpectedly relieved that the glass door to the shower is still closed and fogged with steam.

He places his folded clothes on the basin slab and turns towards the shower, not moving a muscle. For some reason, his palms and the soles of his feet feel tingly, almost as though they’re bracing themselves for stimulation. But it feels wrong, too, and Yoongi wishes Miso would tell him clearly what to do.

“You can come in.” 

Her voice is softer now, as though she knows he’s closer. The steam rises from above the glass door and it takes a certain effort for Yoongi’s feet to leave the floor. His stomach leaping, completely off rhythm with his steps, he places his hand on the handle. Wildly, for a moment, he wonders if he should take off his clothes, but immediately dismisses the thought. Tonight doesn’t seem like that kind of night.

Yoongi opens the door slowly, his heart slowing when he doesn’t see Miso where he was expecting - standing in the middle of the shower - and instead spots her on the floor, sitting under the stream of water, fully clothed and hugging her knees to her chest. She looks up when she sees him.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “The hot water felt really good.”

Still in the doorway of the shower, droplets splashing onto his t-shirt, Yoongi debates what to do. Miso doesn’t say any more but the fact that she’d asked him not once, but thrice, to come in tugs at his heart. She’s never looked more alone; part of him wonders if she’s testing him, to see what he will do next. 

The steam is starting to make him sweat now. After a moment, he slips out of his sliders and steps into the shower as well, sitting on the floor opposite her. The water is scalding; he hisses as it hits the back of his neck and shuffles on the floor until he’s sideways with his back to the wall, the water now mostly hitting his track pants. He looks up to see her mouth twitching slightly at this spectacle, but doesn’t comment on it.

Yoongi can’t hold it in any longer. “What happened, Miso?” he asks quietly.

Miso sighs and runs a hand over her wet hair, causing it to stick to one side of her neck. “My mother had one of her… meltdowns, I guess you could call it. My father is abroad on a business trip and she started drinking a little earlier than usual today and couldn’t find one of the thousand pills she takes…” She trails off and shakes her head, but Yoongi isn’t about to let this conversation end.

“What kind of pills?”

“Just pills.” She shrugs and continues, a deliberate nonchalance in her tone this time. “And she was suddenly convinced that I’d hidden them from her and when I denied it, she accused me of lying and said I was ungrateful after all she did for me, hiding my colour blindness from my father…” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Then she started throwing things.”

She says it with a note of finality, as though that’s all there is to say. Yoongi reaches up and touches her cheek with his knuckle, where the blood has been washed off and the cut is now just a thin red line. He hesitates before making contact as gently as he can, light as a feather. Miso closes her eyes momentarily at his touch before opening them again.

Yoongi’s mind races, thinking of knives, daggers, mirrors, shards of glass flying through the air -

“Diamonds,” she says, and Yoongi knows she’s guessed the direction of his thoughts. “She usually has these episodes when my father gets distant. More distant,” she amends as he lowers his hand. “She flung a hundred carat necklace in her anger and it hit me. She didn’t intend to do… this.”

Yoongi stays silent. He isn’t sure what he might say if he opens his mouth, and the last thing he wants is to put her on the defensive and start a fight - or worse, for her to leave.

“You need to get dry,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “There’s ramen - or whiskey. Whichever warms you up faster. I can put your clothes in the dryer,” he offers. 

Miso nods, her eyes flickering to the floor. But she gets to her feet and Yoongi mirrors her, holding her hand to make sure she doesn’t slip. She peels off her drenched hoodie, her t-shirt rising slightly and sticking to her pale torso. She adjusts it with a slender arm and raises her eyebrows at him.

“I’m going to take my clothes off now,” she says. “So unless you want to watch…”

Hoping the heat on his face is only due to the steam and nothing else, he returns her wry hint of a smile and holds his hand out for her sweatshirt. “I’ll be outside,” he confirms. “Possibly checking myself for a couple of second degree burns.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be in here. Not drowning myself,” she clarifies.

Despite the situation, Yoongi can’t help but chuckle. Stepping out of the shower and closing the door behind him, he exhales. He needs to change his clothes, too; without thinking, he takes off his wet t-shirt and shakes out his hair. Hearing a movement behind him, he turns to see her jeans thrown over the top of the door, followed by her t-shirt. Another, almost inaudible movement occurs inside, but no more clothes appear.

Mouth feeling a little dry, Yoongi reaches up and tugs lightly at her jeans. “They should be dry in an hour, probably.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Taking that as assent, he pulls her clothes down. He should leave; it’s too fucking weird to be standing out here while she’s inside, naked and bathing. But he doesn’t move and she doesn’t ask him to either. The door is still opaque with steam; he isn’t even sure if the vague silhouette he’s seeing is real or if he’s imagining it.

“Yoongi?”

He moves closer to the door, automatically. Her voice is soft again, barely audible over the shower. If he thinks about it, they can’t be more than two feet apart, at best. But something tells him they’re even closer. Hesitating, he touches his fingertips to the door, careful not to wipe away any steam, waiting with bated breath to hear her voice again. A droplet of water falls from the ends of his hair and trickles down his bare chest as he stays there, his heart thumping against his rib cage. 

“I…” Her voice is definitely closer than it was before. “I’ll have a whiskey,” she murmurs eventually, but it’s enough for Yoongi. Nodding wordlessly, he steps away and leaves the en suite, giving her her privacy.

—

Hoseok drives through the cold, misty streets of Seoul, the image of Kang Miso, pale and drenched, in Yoongi’s hallway. He’d had an inkling that Miso wasn’t just any colleague in Yoongi’s orbit at Big Hit, but evidently they were far closer than any of them knew.

It occurs to him only about ten minutes into the drive that he doesn’t have a destination in mind… but somehow, he’s found himself on a familiar route, one he’s come to associate with anticipation, excitement and a not unpleasant fluttering in his stomach.

Predictably, it returns the moment he begins thinking about it, about her. He hadn’t been lying to Yoongi; it was genuinely getting harder and harder to stay away from Chaeyoung. It was easy with her, easier than he’d ever thought possible because she was like a fairy: a cute, fun fairy who made his day better just by existing and had the softest skin and smelled like berries. In fact, there had been more than a few moments over the last couple of months where he’d seriously considered whether it was worth forcing this distance that was basically just for name’s sake at this point, and whether his friendship with Chanyeol was strong enough to survive it if he decided to take the next step. 

Hoseok parks across the street from her building in his usual spot; just far enough away to not lead any stray cameras or phones to Chaeyoung’s residence (Kaya’s incident last year had shook them all to some level). Chanyeol. It’s the only part of this whole situation that turns the pleasant fluttering into an uncomfortable mess of twitching and flapping. As if on cue, his mind goes to the only thing worse than Chanyeol finding out, which is Chaeyoung eventually deciding that this state of limbo is too much for her and walks out of his life.

He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them. It’s been a busy, stressful few months, with his album recording, the release, the music videos getting filmed and rehearsing for his appearance at Lollapalooza. Chaeyoung had been there through all of it, but it isn’t over. He appreciates Yoongi’s attempt at trying to make him feel better but Yoongi hasn’t reached that juncture yet, the one where, suddenly, there aren’t six other members to ride and die with on stage but just him, alone and exposed. Every crack in his voice, every glitch in the sound system, every off-beat step will be glaring, and anyone who had ever said, all the way back before he’d debuted, that the group would be better off without him would be proven right.

Where would he go from there? If it was proven, beyond doubt, that his solo music and his solo performances were subpar and that everything he was - everything he is - is just because of the handsome, talented people he’s surrounded himself with, then where would he go? How would he ever show his face to the world again? To his family, his friends, his members who would look at him with pity and comfort the lagging member? 

After all these years of travelling and performing and working constantly, he can feel his chest and shoulders and back physically ache at the thought of it all culminating in the clarity that he shouldn’t be here at all. The exhaustion makes his lungs constrict, his heart beating so rapidly that it’s starting to hurt now. Hoseok clutches the sides of his seat, his vision starting to blur and his breathing reduced to dry, uneven gasps.

Even as the blood rushes to his face and his arms go hot and then go cold, as though his skin isn’t even connected to his body anymore, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to him that he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in a long while but he also hasn’t been here in a long while, in a place where the future is so uncertain and the stakes are so high and all the decisions are his and his alone and there’s no room for error because if he messes this up then where would he go?

He’s trembling now, he can feel it. A loud sound almost makes his heart stop but then he turns his head slightly in the direction of the sound to see Chaeyoung outside his window, waving at him with an angelic smile. She’s saying something but he can barely hear her; there’s a roaring in his ears like waves crashing and he can’t breathe. The thought makes him panic but his limbs won’t move. Outside, Chaeyoung is knocking on the window again and her voice is higher now, more worried and he forces himself to turn to her, registering her wide eyes and her palms banging against the door and pointing frantically to something below.

It’s almost euphoric when he realises he understands her; with one shaking hand, he unlocks the car door and hears the click. A moment later, a blast of cold hits him like a freight train but is almost immediately blocked when Chaeyoung peers inside the car.

“Oh, shit! Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, sounding a bit frenzied. “Oh, God - okay - wait, take this off -” She leans over him and clicks unbuckles his seatbelt, returning to her original position. “Okay, oppa? Hobi - can you hear me?” 

Hoseok meets her eyes and nods vigorously, so relieved she’s here with her presence of mind and her sweet-smelling hair. She takes his face in her hands and he almost cries at being able to feel something, and tries to focus all his energy on her cold, slim fingers on his cheeks.

“Hobi? Breathe. Breathe,” she repeats calmly, keeping her big eyes locked on his. “Breathe,” she says again, inhaling slowly. He tries to copy her, his breath still coming in jerks and getting stuck in his throat. But he hangs on to her voice, telling him to breathe, breathe, breathe.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, nodding in encouragement. Placing her knee on the seat between his legs, she hitches herself up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Keep breathing,” she continues, rubbing his back, her voice like honey in his ear.

Hoseok nods, feeling his chest start to expand with oxygen. The panic he was feeling starts to fade and he clutches the bottom of her tan sweater in his fist and presses his face to his shoulder. Breathe, she say  and he obeys, breathing in her scent. Focus, and he does, on the only tangible thing in the world right now, anchoring him to the very ground. 

As his breathing starts to normalise, he closes his eyes, because the question that had sent him spiralling - where would he go? - seems like it might have an answer.

—

Hoseok taps his foot on the floor as he sits on Chaeyoung’s sofa, waiting for her to freshen up and return. Now, with a clearer head and calmer breathing, he’s starting to feel a bit silly. Stress was something he’d learnt over time to manage over time, be it in private or public. But he wasn’t expecting it to crash over him like this out of the blue - and he definitely wasn’t intending to get caught.

Chaeyoung appears from inside her room, now in a hoodie and joggers instead of the sweater and jeans she’d been wearing earlier. She gestures at him to continue sitting when he notices that she’s on the phone.

“I know, Dad, I am,” she says, giving him a look as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. He hears a cabinet opening and closing, sounds interspersed with more murmurs, mostly “yes, Dad”s and “I know, Dad”s. He hears her say goodbye to him after a couple of minutes after which she enters the living room again, holding a tall glass of water and a spherical object wrapped in gold foil. She hands him the glass and waits until he takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You’re welcome.” Chaeyoung takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table and crosses one leg over the other, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder. With all her perfectly subtle make-up wiped off, she looks younger all of a sudden. No, not younger - unencumbered. 

Hoseok finishes the water and places the glass down and it’s only then that Chaeyoung holds up the foil-wrapped chocolate.

“Here. Sugar is good for you,” she adds when he hesitates. “Especially if you’re feeling light-headed.”

He observes it for a moment, then unwraps it. “Split it with me?”

To his surprise, Chaeyoung nods immediately. “I wanted it, too, but… I can’t justify eating an entire one myself,” she says matter-of-factly as she pops her half into her mouth.

Hoseok frowns slightly, although the chocolate feels comforting and creamy. “You don’t need to diet,” he tells her.

Chaeyoung licks the tips of her fingers, finishing the last of the chocolate, before looking at him. Their knees brush against each other as she leans forward slightly. “Are you okay?”

He sighs and nods. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

She shrugs, but her eyes soften. “I just recognised your car.” She pauses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later? I’m just… stressed. About a lot of things.”

“The album?” she guesses.

“Yeah.”

“And Lolla?”

“That, too.”

“Enlistment?”

He looks up at her and tilts his head, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. “Am I that transparent or have I just been talking about myself that much lately?”

She smiles. “Maybe a bit of the first. And maybe a third option, which is just that I know you that well.”

“That’s probably true.” Wrapping his hands around her calves, he jokingly tugs her a little closer. “You’re the smartest person I know, caterpillar.”

“And you’re the happiest person I know, oppa,” she counters, pinching his cheek. She lets go but her fingers stay and she gently smooths the side of his hair before lowering her hand.

There are words on the tip of his tongue he hasn’t said in a long time, but he reins it in. Leaning forward, he kisses her. Her lips are soft as always, shy at first, and he discovers the stomach flutters are back. He brushes her hair back as they continue kissing until she pulls away, biting her lip with two light pink spots on her cheeks.

“I love you.”

It’s the way her eyes widen, like a deer’s, and her smile fades slightly that he realises he’s said the words out loud. Aside from the realisation that hadn’t been able to rein it in for quite as long as he thought, Hoseok searches for something else: panic, regret, annoyance. But he finds none of them.

“I mean it,” he says softly, before he can talk himself out of it. “I don't know where I'd be without you.”

He searches her face this time for a clue, but his heart sinks slightly when she leans away and sits back. “Why?”

“Why?”

“I mean… why are you telling me?” She purses her lips before shrugging slowly, deliberately. “I don't mean that in a bad way, but…” His expression must tip her off about something, for she quickly shakes her head. “Like… I get it. I love you, too, I guess. We're practically family.”

Hoseok's heart seems to settle somewhere around his abdomen. Before he can respond, a sound startles him and they both turn towards the door with a jerk. It opens to reveal Sooah and Jimin entering the house with shopping bags and a large transparent glass each with a straw, sipping matcha tea together. Hoseok uses the few seconds of chaos in greetings to quickly shake it off and breathe in, trying to swallow the lump threatening to creep into his throat.

Sooah immediately begins showing Chaeyoung the things she bought and Jimin joins in as well, and the moment is gone. Somewhere in the middle of it, Chaeyoung's eyes meet Hoseok's eyes briefly and he holds her gaze until she looks away.

—

Yoongi smells his own shower gel and lotion wafting into the open kitchen but stays where he is, by the bar and on his phone, wanting to give Miso a chance to come to him on her own time. It proves to be a good decision because after a few minutes, when she doesn’t, he peers out to see her in the balcony, sitting on the sofa with her knees to her chest. 

He wonders if she’s cold - she must be - but also somewhere understands the appeal of the freezing wind, with its unique ability to numb. She’d asked for whiskey; taking an executive call, he takes two bottles in one hand and two glasses in the other and joins her.

The air is as biting as he’d expected, but something  about the way she’s wrapped himself in his hoodie, her hands pulled into the sleeves and the hood pulled over her head, makes his heart float. He sits next to her, noting that her hair is mercifully dry and pours himself a drink while leaving her glass untouched.

“Is that rum?” Miso asks.

“Yep. Great for cold nights.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs in satisfaction. “You can try it if you want. Or there's whiskey, as you asked,” he reminds her, pointing to the other bottle.

She holds out her hand for his glass, her fingers warm as they brush his, and takes a sip. “Wow,” she says, coughing a little. “That's -”

“Too strong?”

“Sweet,” she finishes, returning the glass to him. “I wasn't expecting it. But it actually seems to be working.” She frowns, looking disproportionately subscribed. “What is this and why have I never heard of it?” she mutters, reaching for the bottle to read the label. “Old Monk?”

“Mhm. A friend gave it to me, last time I saw her.” Yoongi takes another loud sip as Miso begins making a glass for herself. “She always buys it from the duty free section, but she let me have a bottle to try. Namjoon hated it,” he adds as a side note.

“It's nice.” She takes a longer sip and sits back on the sofa, looking decidedly more comfortable. Yoongi decides he can finally ask her something that’s been on his mind since she turned up an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tenses automatically. “What?”

“I don’t mean this to sound weird or like you can’t come over or something - because you can, whenever you want - but just out of curiosity -“

“You’re rambling, Min Suga.”

He pauses abruptly. “Guess you just bring it out in me.”

She raises her eyebrows and half-chuckles. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. How, uh… how do you know where I live?”

“Oh.” Miso looks down at her glass a little guiltily. “Well… I asked Donghyuk. But technically, you gave it to me, a long time ago,” she reminds him quickly. “It just got deleted from my phone. Remember your new year party last year?”

“Of course. The one you didn’t attend?”

“The one you only invited me to because you couldn’t leave out just one person in the team,” she corrects him pointedly, but he simply nods sheepishly. “Having said that… I’m sorry I barged in on your night. And I'll apologise to Hoseok as well. I just - I didn't know where else to go.”

Yoongi bites his tongue, trying to think of the right thing to say because there is so much he wants to say. Finally, he shakes his head gently. “Don't be.”

“I won’t make a habit of it. I mean, I can’t,” Miso shrugs when he gives her a curious look. “It's a lot easier to leave the house when my father is abroad and I'm nowhere on his mind. But it is good to know that Seungkwan has no actual personal interest in where I go,” she adds.

“Did it really get that bad?”

Miso bites her lip. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to evade the question or just not answer but he wonders if anyone has ever asked her this in the first place, point blank. But she came here, he reasons with himself. Why would she if she didn’t feel safer here than in her own house? 

He waits it out, though. Finally, after finishing her drink and placing the empty glass on the table, Miso sits back and hugs her knees again.

“My mother hasn't had one of these episodes in a long time,” she says, not properly meeting his eyes. “But I guess a lot of things came together this time… Father’s on a business trip and I think they had a fight before he left, one of her socialite friends insinuated that he’s having an affair which he probably is, she and I got into an argument about when I’m going to get married and not embarrass her anymore, I told her I have a actual career and she flipped out…”

Yoongi doesn’t interrupt her, although he has so many questions. How many times has this happened? How did she get hurt? What does she mean by episodes? He tries to picture Kang Sera, always the picture of elegance and finery, unraveling while she screams at her daughter. Finally, he prompts her gently. “You fought?”

“That’s an understatement. She accused me of stealing the last of her pills, I told her to go get a life, she called me ungrateful -“ She shakes her head and exhales tiredly. “If I’d known my colour blindness was a thing she was going to use as an argument for the rest of my life, I would’ve foregone the contact lenses. She acts like she fucking saved my life.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” argues Yoongi. “She’s your mother - it’s her job to take care of you. She hurt you, Miso,” he reminds her, unable to keep it in anymore and hearing the hardness in his own voice. “All because she’s insecure about herself and is imagining that you stole from her?”

“But I did,” she admits, surprising him. “I did steal her last pills because she was getting on my last fucking nerve. And they aren’t even prescription,” she clarifies immediately, defensive. “I was just really pissed off. Maybe it was petty.” She looks straight ahead, eyes far away, and Yoongi wonders if she’s seeing a diamond necklace fly towards her face. “I guess in a way I deserve this,” she says, pointing to her face.

“No, you don’t. What are you -“ Yoongi breaks off to keep his glass on the table and scoots closer to her. He needs her, so badly, to hear this that he wishes he could grab her shoulders and make her face him. “You don’t seriously believe that.”

“You know what - forget it,” she says, shaking her head and turning away. “It’s complicated and we don’t need to talk about -”

Fuck. “No, no - wait. I’m sorry,” he interrupts, grabbing her arm to make her turn to him. “I’m not judging, I promise. You’re right, it is complicated. But I want to listen, if you want to talk about it,” he says, his voice softer now. He touches her cut again with his thumb, hoping he isn’t hurting her. “Do you want a band aid or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. But… look, I know my parents are awful. And being around that my whole life… it’s - it’s completely fucked with how I interact with them now. My mother is a shrew who hates me but - but in a way, she’s even more trapped than I am. Her parents never let her work a day in her life, she didn’t really get a choice in who she married, her kid is nothing like she wanted  and now she’s stuck with my monster of a father who -” Her voice breaks and Yoongi knows for certain that she’s never said it out loud before because the loathing in her voice is transparent. “I feel bad for her sometimes. How weak of a person am I?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

Yoongi doesn’t reply for a few seconds. He raises his hand slightly again and even though she doesn’t back away, he lowers it before he can touch her . “Miso,” he says quietly, bowing his head. “I’m sorry about what I said in that motel. I’ve felt so shitty about it because… you’re nothing like him.”

She gives him a look. “I just told you I stole a pill from my mother.”

“From what you’re telling me, I would’ve done the same thing,” he clarifies. “And it’s really none of my business if you’re taking over his company one day. I’m sure you’ll do a great -”

Miso shakes her head. “I’m not taking over his company, Yoongi,” she interrupts. 

“I thought you said -”

“Yeah, I know what I said. That’s the official party line, that I’m his heir.” She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “But I don’t think he’s ever giving me his company. And to be honest, I don’t want it. I mean, I worked for him for a year after I returned from Australia and it was… God, I hated everything about it. The way it was built, the way he was running it, the culture, the clear… monotony of it all. There was nothing there, they weren’t working for anything, or creating anything. It was just money and power and being ruthless about everything.”

Yoongi bites his lip, for he wasn’t expecting this. “But… you haven’t told him all this.” The moment he says it, he realises how stupid it sounds.

Miso scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a conversation that would go down well. But I don’t even think he’s going to give it to me. He keeps me so far away from it, he’s completely okay with me working for a company he’s invested in on the side… I don’t think he has any intention of having me take over.”

“Then why does he keep calling you his heir? Why hasn’t he just told you either way?”

She shrugs, palms facing up. “Maybe he wants to sell the family-owned business, chaebol image. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be certain so he can continue using it as leverage whenever he wants. I don’t know - why does he do anything?” She runs her hands through her hair, the shorter length seeming to surprise her for a moment. 

“I don’t care anymore, Yoongi,” she murmurs, sounding defeated. “I just can’t care. I can’t…” She takes a deep breath and Yoongi realises with a start when she sniffs that her eyes are wet. “I’m just so tired. I hate waking up in the mornings. Every time I open my eyes, I… I just want to go back to sleep. I’m so tired,” she finishes, her voice barely even a whisper anymore.

At the same time that she moves towards him, he does the same and wraps an arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, and Yoongi wishes helplessly that he could make this easier, that it didn’t need to take a blow-up with her mother for her to end up here.

They stay there for a while, neither of them saying anything. Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of her head; he feels at a loss to do anything for her. Aside from a shower and a drink, is there really nothing else he can do for her, to help her escape her family? 

He fingers the ends of her hair on her other shoulder and he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but Miso relaxes into his side. “Your hair is shorter,” he remarks. “Is there a story there?”

“Um…” Her tone is slightly different. “I tried to cut my hair into layers,” she confesses, sitting up straight and rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why, I’ve always sucked at it. But then I had to correct it and I ended up cutting more of it… are you seriously laughing at me?”

Yoongi purses his lips and shakes his head, but he’s restraining himself. “I’m not laughing. I’m amused,” he allows, his arm still around her for he’s not ready to let go just yet. “It’s just not something I pictured you doing. I always imagined you got fancy overpriced haircuts at those luxury salons in Gangnam or something.”

“Not all of us have personal stylists, Min Suga,” she reminds him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the Chanel lavender and rose hips lotion you have in your bathroom. You’re fancier than I am.”

“That was a gift,” he points out. “And I can smell it on you so don’t pretend you didn’t use it as well,” he adds, realising only when she stiffens next to him what he’s said. He wants to slap himself, but Miso doesn’t seem uncomfortable.

“I did use it,” she admits after a moment, shifting slightly next to him. “It’s nice. I like how it smells.”

Yoongi nods. It shouldn’t, but his mind immediately pictures her stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and peering at his lotion, possibly snickering to herself before applying it on herself. His shower. Something warm courses through him that he hopes is the Old Monk; it’s occurring to him now just how close in proximity they were to each other while wet and partially naked. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut; his body should not be reacting right now.

“It may have been worth it, though,” she continues wryly. “My mother saw my hair and freaked. It would’ve been kind of funny if it wasn’t so deranged.”

Yoongi is glad to hear her chuckle; even if she doesn’t mean it, he’ll take anything that improves her mood even slightly right now. “I like it,” he tells her, smiling when she half-scoffs and half-laughs before sighing hugely.

“We’ve been talking about me for a while,” she says, looking up at him. She doesn’t usually look like she wears much make-up but with her bare face right now and her short choppy hair, she looks strangely vulnerable and otherworldly, almost androgynous, and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.

“I don’t mind,” he manages to say. 

But she begins sitting up and, to his regret, moves away a little so she can tilt her body towards him. “How’s it going with you?”

“Uh…” Yoongi shrugs. His problems of fame and living his dream don’t seem appropriate to bring up right now. “It’s okay. The usual.”

“The usual?” Miso raises her eyebrows. “I heard the company got a huge cash infusion which they’re using to fund your tour.”

“Yeah - how did you know that?”

“I work for the same company you do, Min Suga.” She taps his knee with the back of her hand. “Are you looking forward to it? Oh, have they set a release date for your album? They’ll have to give it at least a month between -”

But her voice gets fainter, for a wonderful idea has occurred to Yoongi.

“Come with me,” he says abruptly. “On tour. Come with me.”

Miso, who looked a little miffed at being cut off, now falls silent. “You’re asking me to -”

“Come on tour, yeah. We’re both producers, part of the same teams,” he reminds her. “It won’t even look out of place. I can - I can talk to the management, get you on the team and we can just… you can get away, from everything. Just for a while. Just… travel around the world, come to the shows, work on music…” 

Miso’s eyes soften. “That… that sounds amazing. Honestly.”

“Then do it,” he says immediately, quickly, because he can already feel it slipping away. “Come.” With me.

“Um… I can’t, though.”

It takes all of Yoongi’s strength to not to say yes, you can. Instead, he grabs her hands, slender and ice cold. “I’ll speak to whoever is needed. I know I can get you on the team. Last year, we invented a position on the team for Jimin’s girlfriend to come along to a show so I know that I can -”

“No, I can’t, Yoongi,” she interrupts gently, retrieving her hands and squeezing his. “I can’t because… my father has my passport.”

A few moments of silence pass, during which Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t immediately understand why; he just knows how his own passport is a constant accessory, almost always on his person. 

He stares at her. “He… what?”

She nods. “He has all our passports, under lock and key. I’m pretty sure I know which lock exactly, too, in his study, but…” She bites her lip, all traces of humour wiped off her face. “Yeah. Could be problematic.”

No shit. Yoongi tries to process this, every single instance of him telling her to leave and to live her own life coming back to him in vivid detail, along with a sense of frustration and regret because he sees now that he had no idea how confined she really is.

“Is this how he’s keeping you here?” he chokes out. “Because… I mean, how can he do this? I’m pretty sure it’s not even legal to keep your own documents from you. How - how is he -” But he breaks off, unable to find enough words.

Miso winces thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s initially what he intended… butit’s probably an added bonus. A few years ago - the year I worked for him, actually - someone hacked the Kang Industries internal network,” she explains, folding her legs. “They even attempted identity theft but thankfully, it didn’t work. But it completely shattered my father. He was… outraged. Someone caught him by surprise and almost took everything he’d built away… he became completely paranoid after that. It’s only just started getting better, but… yeah, that’s when he locked up all our documents.” She shrugs, her eyes falling to her feet. “Too bad it’s limited our options in the process.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise that by “we”, she’s referring to herself and her mother. “He still doesn’t have any right to keep it from you,” he says eventually. “You’re an adult. You’re - you’re a person. I know he’s beyond normal human emotion but this is… God, what the fuck, Miso?”

Miso nods calmly, which only infuriates him more. But he can’t let it show, not any more than he already has. Not tonight. Not if there’s a risk of her leaving again.

“Look, the thing with my father is… he doesn’t look at it like that,” she begins, then pauses. She’s concentrating, and Yoongi guesses she’s working this out as well. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as though trying to find a good metaphor to explain a maths problem to a teenager. 

“Look, for him… I am no different than any other twenty-nine year old woman in Seoul,” she states, her eyes blank. “He doesn’t care that I’m his daughter, there’s no specific attachment there. He just doesn’t understand that. He cares about money and power and control. Those are the things he knows. And I’m not saying this to defend him,” she adds, almost knowingly. “I’m saying this because I have spent years trying to figure out how to get to him and I realised, finally, that… there’s nothing parental there. The only thing that separates me from everyone else is that I have his name and his blood. It’s fact, it’s ink - and he’s in control.”

Yoongi doesn’t care much for a psychoanalysis of Kang Jaesung right now. He swallows, trying to quash the rising feeling of defeat in his stomach. She feels so far out of reach again, like he’s zooming out and seeing her for where she is, far and small in the distance.

“So… what? You’re stuck here forever?” he asks, trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “He’ll never admit to that. The last time I needed to go abroad, I asked him for my passport and he gave it to me. Granted, I was travelling with him,” she adds after a moment, looking down.

It’s late, probably around the same time of the night that he and Miso had yelled at each other in the motel while it poured outside. It was raining earlier tonight, too, but it was nowhere near as bad. It felt peaceful and hopeful for a bit and Yoongi struggles to find it again.

“Yoongi.” Her hand eases up his thigh until it reaches his own, and she squeezes his hand. She’s trying to comfort him, he realises, and it seems absurd. But he lets her because, as he discovers soon enough, he could use it.

“I can still ask,” she says after a moment. “It’s work, technically. It’s an artist tour, it’s publicity, it’s…” She trails off.

“It’s my tour.” By the look on her face, he knows he’s said what they’re both thinking. 

“That’s the tough detail.” Miso gives him a small, hollow smile. “After the last stunt you pulled in front of him, my father may not be so agreeable.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to recall; despite knowing exactly what she’s talking about, he can’t remember actually making the decision to come in between her and her father. It had been entirely instinctual, but he wonders now if it may have been the wrong move.

His heart skips a beat when she leans forward suddenly. The scent of his own shower gel gets stronger as she presses a kiss to his cheek, slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for asking,” she says softly, sitting back. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing on stage. A force to be reckoned with.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to that. It just occurs to him that he’s leaving for three months - three whole months during which he’ll be away and she will be here, still in the clutches of her father and her life, too far away for him to do anything about it.

She rubs her eyes and looks away. “It’s late.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “The guest room is ready. And�� fun fact, but it’s actually bigger than the master bedroom.”

The moment he hears it out loud, he thinks it probably sounds extremely stupid. But if it does to Miso, she doesn’t react. She simply nods and stands up, allowing Yoongi to lead her to the guest room.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says just before she closes the door. He’s finally seeing her properly in the light; his clothes seem to fit Miso strangely well. They're just loose enough that her shape isn’t quite visible, but not so much that she looks like she's in donated clothes. 

Most importantly, she looks comfortable. He’s about to offer her an additional jacket or something but before he can, she mutters a “good night” and begins closing the door.

It’s a complicated scenario. He potters around for a while after, cleaning the kitchen counter, returning some emails and folding the clothes from the dryer, all the while with the sinking feeling that he’s disappointing her somehow. Maybe it’s his inability to be of any help in her circumstances, or the way he seems to be misreading signs and situations in context.

Finally, he retires to his room, changing into pajamas and getting ready for a sleepless night staring at his ceiling when there’s a knock at the door. Figuring it can be only one person, he scrambles out of bed to open the door.

“Hey,” he says, hearing himself sound strangely breathless. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” answers Miso, running a hand through her short, choppy hair. “I was taking out my contacts-” She holds up her hand to show him a small and thin white box “- and I was just thinking, uh… maybe I will take that band aid.”

Yoongi nods and beckons her inside. She stands awkwardly by a dresser while he rummages around in a different cabinet before finding the first aid box. He goes up to her and hands her the band aid.

“Do you need any help with it?” he asks.

“I don’t think so…” Miso tears it open and peels off the sticker, holding the band aid up to her face. “Hang on, do you have a -”

Yoongi steps forward and takes the band aid from her, cleanly and gently placing it on the thin red line on her cheek. The solitary lamp on the other side of the bedroom barely illuminates her face, but he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sight of the cut on her face, dripping blood as she came to him in the middle of the night.

He knows it’s happening before it actually happens, but the moment he covers the cut, his hands still on their way off her face, Miso leans up and kisses him. It’s instinctive and immediate and Yoongi also knows that despite the hellish night she has had, he kisses her, too. He does. He pulls her in just as much as she grips his t-shirt and he tangles his hand in her hair just as much as she presses herself up against him.

“Miso -” He breaks away for a moment, his heart racing and body reacting. “I can’t -”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, and she sounds fearful. “Not tonight, not -” She shakes her head and reaches up to kiss him once more.

He lets her, just for a moment, but then gently pushes her away again. “I’m sorry. Miso… it’s been a hard night and - and I wouldn’t feel right if I…”

She licks her lips but drops her hands to her sides. “You think you might be taking advantage of me?” she asks.

“I don’t want it to even be a question.” He moves his hands down her shoulders until her hands are in his. “I want this, too.” You have no idea how much. “But not at a time where there’s even the slightest chance you may regret it tomorrow.”

Miso looks away and for a moment Yoongi is afraid, terrified that she will leave again. Then her shoulders fall and she sighs. “Wow,” she mutters wryly, but there’s a tremble underneath, buried deep. “You’re a good one.”

He waits a moment, then two, then steps forward to wrap his arms around her. She lets him, her body initially stiff until, slowly, she relaxes against him, shaking silently. 

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs against her hair. “You don’t have to be.”

He intends to stay there, exactly like that, for as long as she needs. Eventually they separate, Miso’s face slightly redder but her eyes dry once again, softening when he pulls her in by the hand to press a kiss to her forehead. Under the covers, they lie next to each other.

“How did you do it?” she asks after a while in the darkness, almost in wonder. “Somehow, despite my best efforts to keep you out of this, how did you manage to creep into my life?” There’s a movement and he sees her silhouette move to face him. “How did I end up here?”

Yoongi brushes her uneven bangs out of her eyes. “I can be pretty persistent. Although it’s not something I’m really known for,” he points out. “So I’m not sure. I tried to stay out of it, if that helps.”

Miso scoffs. “Not very hard.”

“No,” he agrees. “There’s something about you, I guess.”

“All that privilege and nepotism probably.”

“Not that,” he disagrees, a little guiltily. “I liked how you were a different person during our nights in the studio,” he says after a moment. “I liked that person.”

“I liked that person, too,” she murmurs. She exhales softly and turns back to look at the ceiling. Her features are sharp in the darkness, but her presence is light and fresh, almost like his bedroom was far too big and empty before she set foot in it. 

He wishes he could’ve let her kiss go further. He doesn’t regret stopping it, but for a moment he lets himself imagine a world where she wasn’t hurting, where she was free to kiss a man she was attracted to with no baggage attached and he was free to kiss her back without wondering if he was contributing to her trauma or enabling it in any way.

When she shifts to get comfortable and turns onto her side, facing away from him, Yoongi scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her again, loosely at first. But she stays and so does he; pressing a kiss to her shoulder, on his own t-shirt that she’s wearing, he holds her close and hopes that tomorrow morning, at least, may be a better one for her.

—

Settled on the couch with a pillow and a purple blanket from Chaeyoung’s closet (which smells of her floral fabric softener, but he won’t think about that), Hoseok stares at the ceiling in the darkness. Next to the blank television, the light from the wifi router glows red and there’s a dim strip of blue underneath Chaeyoung’s door which he knows is a nightlight she can’t sleep without.

He can’t quite believe he’s sleeping over at her apartment. But Jimin and Sooah had been fully enthusiastic about hanging out as a foursome, and the former had peer pressured Hoseok to try a large glass of sparkling wine he’d bought which was strong enough to render him incapable of driving home safely. Later, Chaeyoung had awkwardly provided him with sleeping arrangements on the sofa before disappearing into her room, signalling the end of the night.

Jimin and Sooah had successfully interrupted one of the most revelatory moments of his life but in hindsight, Hoseok wonders if they had done him a favour. Chaeyoung’s response had been disappointing on every level and he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to remain around her if those two hadn’t barged in, full of stories about their eventful day. After Chaeyoung and then Sooah had left, Jimin seemed to notice that something seemed to be bothering the older member, but Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. He’d caught himself off guard with his impulsive confession; he can’t imagine she would’ve been much more prepared with a response.

It’s late now, but Hoseok can’t sleep. He briefly considers waking Jimin from Sooah’s room or calling Namjoon, but he doesn’t think he can handle words of encouragement from them now, especially since Jimin’s will surely be accompanied by his Cheshire cat grin at being proven right about his year-long hunch regarding him and Chaeyoung. No, not Namjoon and definitely not Jimin. If Hoseok is being honest with himself, there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now.

Chaeyoung [01:15] Are you awake?

Hoseok almost jumps out of skin when the phone buzzes next to him. Heart racing, he stares at her message.

Hoseok [01:16] Yeah. You?

Chaeyoung [01:16] It would be really weird if I wasn’t, oppa.

Hoseok [01:17] You know that when I said what I said, I didn’t mean it as family, right?

Chaeyoung [01:18] I know.

Hoseok [01:19] I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.

Chaeyoung [01:20] You didn’t.

Chaeyoung [01:21] I’m just not sure why you said it.

Hoseok [01:22] It wasn’t planned, honestly. But I meant it. Is that not what you’re asking?

Chaeyoung [01:23] It isn’t.  I don’t know how to put this

Hoseok frowns at his screen, rolling over onto his stomach and staring at it with bated breath. He pictures her inside her room in a similar position, brows furrowed and biting her lip, trying to talk to him.

Hoseok [01:25] It’s okay Take your time

Chaeyoung [01:26] I guess I don’t know the point of bringing it up

Hoseok [01:26] The point? I mean… I wanted to tell you how I feel

Chaeyoung [01:27] You just said you didn’t plan it

Hoseok [01:27] I didn’t, but in that moment, that’s how I felt I was spiraling and you were there for me. You helped me feel better. I always feel better when I’m with you

Chaeyoung [01:28] But that’s about how you feel

Hoseok [01:29] I’m hoping you enjoy my company too, since we hang out together a fair bit But I understand. You don’t have to feel the same way, Chae. I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable

Chaeyoung [01:30] Stop saying that, Hobi

Hoseok [01:30] I mean it, though

Chaeyoung [01:31] I’m sure you’ve meant everything you’ve said tonight But it’s not going to change anything. Right?

Hoseok [01:32] Chae You know why I said that

Chaeyoung [01:33] Sure But that’s why I don’t understand why you would bring this up now. If it’s not going to change anything, then what’s the point?

Hoseok [01:34] Do you really want things to change?

Chaeyoung [01:34] I’m not sure it makes a difference

Hoseok [01:35] Of course it does!

Chaeyoung [01:35] Really? Because you didn’t even ask me what I thought when you made that decision. This isn’t about me at all, Hoseok. This is all you.

Hoseok [01:36] I didn’t mean to make you mad, Chae

Chaeyoung [01:36] I’m not mad I heard you and I didn’t expect anything from you But you can’t do this. It’s not fair

Hoseok [01:37] I’m sorry

Hoseok [01:39] You’re right. You’re absolutely right.

Hoseok [01:40] Chae?

Chaeyoung [01:41] I’m here Your friendship means a lot to me, Hobi But I’ve been down this road before and I don’t want to be in this position So if you make a decision, like nothing is going to change, then I need you to stick to it

Chaeyoung [01:42] I’m not mad at you Ish But I’m going to sleep now

Hoseok watches her go offline, his heart sinking slowly. He types out a half-hearted “good night” but he can’t be sure if she’s seen it. She’s right, of course, about everything. He drops his face onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and half-wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth today.

—

The next morning when Chaeyoung wakes up, the sun has barely come up. She slips on a hoodie and brushes her teeth before heading to her bedroom door, taking a deep breath, and opening it just a crack. Her heart stutters for a moment when she sees the pillow and comforter neatly folded on the sofa, the rest of the living room clearly empty. But then she exhales in relief and heads to the kitchen, deciding it’s far too early in the morning to be rehashing the events of last night.

The events of last night. Despite how her night had finally ended, the words, the memory of him saying those words, makes her stomach flip. Chaeyoung lets herself enjoy it for a couple of minutes while she makes her morning smoothie, the euphoria of having an answer to his actions during their dalliance, the victory of having him say it first. She pours the mauve coloured drink into a tall glass and sticks a wide straw in it, taking a long and hearty sip of fruity goodness before dragging her mind away from the good part about last night.

“Nope, it’s too early,” she mutters to herself, setting the glass down and tying her long hair into a high ponytail. She has the rest of the day to dwell on it, to feel hurt and annoyed and wonder if she’d overreacted. Grabbing her glass, she heads back towards her room, when she does a double take.

Hesitating, she steps forward and closes her bedroom door before lightly fingering the two post-its on the door. They’re both from the tiny stationery box on the cabinet in between both bedrooms, set up by Chaeyoung herself, with coloured pens and stickers. The orange one is on top and has a message she’d expected to see at some point today: Went home, didn’t want to wake you.

The second one, a green one, is the one she takes off the door to read.

Can I take you to dinner tonight? Call me if it’s a yes. Actually, call me even if it’s a no.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[cas-edspace]

why the hell not:

Random Hermit Headcanons

———

Everyone is completely comfortable with being in hybrid form with Tango.

Anyone who normally hides it, just lets out the ears, wings, etc with Tango. He isn’t aware that not everyone has seen Etho’s face, ears, or that no one realizes that there are two vampires on the server. He also makes sure they eat, (dad) (acts of service) (and the vamps do not feed on Tango, because that gotta taste like lava or an equivalent)

—

…Just realized that I planned on adding someone to this random hc hc listing and he’s not even in Hermitcraft but who cares: Here’s one for Scott;

He’s a shapeshifter, and no one seemed to caught onto that yet. Not the floating crystals in Last Life or the fact he was suddenly half fish in Limited Life.

—

Doc and Martyn are jokingly “fighting” over Ren, but the guy somehow doesn’t realize? The pup is just rping as pirates, pirate rats, and his ears apparently doesn’t pick up “He’s mine” comments.

Zero braincells <3

—

Etho keeps thinking about the family dynamic from Limited Life, because Scar randomly calls Cleo Mom still and… gave himself a step parent? And reassigned Etho’s role?

(This is based off of the Hungry Hermit conversation:

Scar: I wanna see mom and dad play!

Tango: Yeah, sure, I’ll play

.

.

Etho: Who’s mom?

Tango: Does the answer change if you’ll play or not?

Etho: I’ll play (don’t remember exact line)

(^This actually happened, so did this v)

Scar lost his permits

Tango: *sighs* I’m going to sound like a total dad here, but where did you last have them? Retrace your steps.

Scar: (something something, doing this from memory is great, it is 2am) Alright, dads come over here

Etho and Tango follow

. . .

Etho is asking himself about the complexity of the dynamics, does Bdubs know about the new step parent? Did Scar tell him or is he supposed to- Is he overthinking the bit? Absolutely, and should he just forget it? Yes, but it creeps back up

—

Impulse is a dragon hybrid (not demon), which means he can talk to Jean, the Ender Dragon. And he does!

Doesn’t stop her from trying to kill him, though

Rest of ZITS make fun of him for this.

—

Speaking of Z, Zedaph wasn’t always a pink sheep hybrid

Cue stereotypical (cliche but I do like em) Lab experiment trauma- jk, no, he did that to himself. With science! …and not with using dyes, like he most definitely should’ve done. No one knows what other side effects that the experiments had may have caused him, but Zed is happy because he’s pink.

—

All older hermits have killed Watchers

Grian doesn’t know this.

Hermitcraft has proved itself again and again to not be easy pickings. There are reasons that the server is lasting.

—

Joel misses his wife- wait that’s just normal Joel-

—

Gem is Ares in God Games, in EPIC the Musical

Change my mind

—

Boogeyman kills leave permanently deep scars on the slain.

Bdubs once saw Tango without his shirt and… Seeing those long, jagged, deep as the day he got them scars that goes from his right shoulder to just above his left hip…

Bdubs now struggle sleeping through the night, seeing the marks he left…? The Boogeyman curse is not forgiving and makes it impossible to hold back. And Tango’s back proves it.

—

Doc can cheer…leading? He is a cheerleader. But not for the Dallas Cowboy ifykyk

—

Cub somehow cannot be trolled. we don’t know how he does it

—

When Pearl zones out, she’ll float upwards. Her dogs are trained to go get someone to help Pearl before she zones back in and falls to her (not) death. Being a ghost on a server is hard

—

Wild Life powers doesn’t fully go away. I’ll elaborate on a different post

Because this is too long, and it is 2:30 am now and I should sleep

[pocket-goat]

when and why did people start calling the Ancients "benefactors" instead??? did someone see that one line from Pebbles and decided it was a better name????? im so confused.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 84

Amity Park absolutely adores her little ghostling, her little Gatekeeper who was of her own ectoplasm, reborn from her own blood in the center of her new heart. She absolutely adores her baby, practically a newborn, being only a year dead! 

So of course she had to gush and boast about her little phantom to the other city spirits! They all got together to gossip sometimes after all. And both Smallville and Fawcett started to gush about their own little ones back! 

Gosh they should set up a playdate at some point, her little phantom could use some friends in the mortal realm. Well some more friends, three is obviously not enough. Oh, Gotham and Bludhaven have come over as well! It’s a playdate then! 

Now if only each of their world’s timelines were synced up, but at least everyone is around the same age! 

[freddyloyd]

bro your parents just died 💀

[oceanwithouthermoon]

unpopular opinion for this area of tumblr, beware+also abuse talk warning

admittedly, all the super casual bashing of saikis dad makes me really uncomfortable, like i dont totally disagree but i wish we didnt just all do it in the middle of other completely innocent headcanoning 😭 its never tagged or warned..

my personal opinions on kuniharu are not as extreme as some are on here, like i think he sucks but i dont think hes a genuinely bad person, he was just thrown into a situation he didnt know how to handle.. he reminds me of those parents who prepare to have a baby and get pregnant on purpose, but then the baby has a disability and suddenly, everything changes.. because they didnt prepare for this unlikely scenario, but it happened anyway, and now they have to figure out where to go from here.. kurumi and kuniharu BOTH made mistakes and didnt handle their genius/psychic kids in ways they shouldve, but its because they werent prepared for it

[rabbithaver]

every so often i will see a post from a leftist on this website that is so egregiously ableist that i remember that like. oh yeah the userbase of leftists on this website is violently anti-disabled people and will jump at any chance to demonize any of us for any reason. i just forget that fact because i'm extremely dedicated to curating my space

i'm paraphrasing here but i saw a post that said, "every time i see an American [disabled person] mention being scared about the election because they're afraid of losing their benefits i have to laugh. anybody who wants blood-soaked money from the US government deserves to starve" which. like. goodness that's a lot to unpack. i think we should burn the whole suitcase instead !

[dreamieparadise]

Can- can I ask about the Somali pirates?

Hi hi, Lili! Yes, of course. Tbh I shouldn't have called them "pirates" they are known as such and treated like villains, but they're more like unofficial naval guard! The official naval guard was disbanded in the 90's due to the civil war that broke out [btw this civil war is why I'm diaspora! My maternal family fled to Djibouti or elsewhere. My dad came to Canada due to it.] Anyway! Other nations took advantage of this as they tended to do and started fishing illegally in the waters! Somali citizens rely on fishing to live [also farming and agriculture bc I also recall there was a drought and famine going on] so they turned to "piracy" to stop these thieves from stealing from them! Of course, these outsiders didn't like it and called it "piracy." they shouldn't be there in the first place!!!

BFJRKRKRKR I TALKED IM THE TAGS AND REACHED THE LIMIT I AM SO SORRY LMAOOOOO

Other than Puntland there is also Jubbaland ok lol I love talking about my people's history too much

[mazojo]

And when I say I was disappointed Benji opened that door instead of Rahim start season 3 then what

[chimericchaos]

You know I see these posts about how maturity should be the standard and i start to agree untill i realize just how many fucking conversations ive had about maturity not even being a real thing??

Like people will believe what they will but i have times even niw as a fully grown adult that i recognize i am absolutely not fucking mature at all. And i stop myself then and ask what the hell maturity is, and every time i look it up because i want a source that isnt just my brain, i get a completely different answer. It really depends if you get it from merriam webster or this one guy on quora. One maybe be far more credible, but its not just one guy on quora. Ots a whole lot of people saying very different things to the actual definition of what mature is. This indicates that either education globally is fucking awful (which may not be wrong tbf) or that possibly what we understand to be matuity is a complex and nuanced thing that is unmeasurable and is probably sonething else actually

Like i dont know what fucking metric you want to use for "if this person consents to having medical bills" or whatever but if it isnt age then maybe something more concrete and physically measurable than maturity? Or maybe if we *cannot* have sonething concrete and measurable because that thing doesnt exist somehow, then perhaps we can say "to each their own" and just go with what the person fucking says they want?

I dont know about yall but i feel like im saying and not saying so much here. But like. Maybe let people make their own choices. Their own mistakes. And help them so that those mistakes are reversible. Other than that i dont feel like i should get a say in what someone else does. Just. End of story.

[girlivealwaysbean]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg