#started working on it literally two days ago
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brattyspence · 2 days ago
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virginia is for lovers | s.reid
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summary: model!reader accidentally exposes their relationship through a soft launch instagram post
tags: model!reader x spencer, penelope included <3, smau
a/n: this is kinda short n pointless but i wanted a reason to write reader tweeting abt spencer and its been in my drafts for weeks so
word count: 1.1k
masterlist
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Spencer had worked hard to keep you a secret. 
Not because he wasn’t thrilled to be in your life, because he really, really was. Historically, things had a tendency to go south as soon as word got out, especially when it came to his personal life. 
You had met in a bookstore. It was a short interaction; you were busy debating which translation of The Stranger was most appropriate to read. You must have been standing in the aisle of the bookstore a little too long, holding two copies side by side, when he had offered his two cents on the matter.
Typically, you weren’t one to entertain conversation in public. Nine times out of ten, you’d get one word in before the inevitable “Please can I take a picture? I love your blog so much!”, but this was different. You weren’t even sure he had even seen your face before he started talking to you. He wasn’t initially trying to hit on you, either. He was genuinely excited that someone was willing to listen to him ramble about the differences between the Ward and Guilbert translations, so when you responded in such a way that asked him to continue on, he was surprised. 
That day, you’d left the store with four more books than intended, and a single bookmark where he had written his phone number after you asked for it.  He had asked you for your name; a confirmation that he actually had no idea who you were. 
The rest was history. You saw him whenever possible, spent nights on the phone together, and flew across the country often just to see him. You loved having a relationship that didn’t need to be public, but you were also excited to share bits of it with the world.
It was late at night, and he was sitting at his desk in the bullpen, trying to finish the last of the paperwork he’d been assigned, when he heard commotion from Penelope’s office. He figured it was nothing new; probably just some news about the royal family or one of the real housewives again, but she’d thrown her door open in such a way that it garnered attention from everyone in the office.
“Spencer Reid,” She gripped her phone and rushed across the room with determination. “Do you have something you want to share with me?”
He looked up from his paperwork, furrowing his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”
“Why are you on my Instagram feed?” She placed her phone on his desk in front of him. 
“I’m not on instagram,” he replied. 
“Oh, but you are,” she said. “You are such a little liar. I can’t wait to tell Derek about this.”
She pushed his paperwork aside, plopping her phone down in front of him. It was a slideshow on instagram. A photo of the most recent bouquet he bought for you. A few from the museum you’d visited together, including several where his hands or shoes were visible, but nothing that really pointed to him. He could almost make the argument Penelope was mistaken, until the last photo, which included just enough of his apartment to confirm her questioning.
“You said you were seeing someone and I thought… someone from a chess tournament, or maybe… oh, I don't know. Literally anyone else? But you bagged a model?” 
“I-” he sighed. “How did you find her?”
“I didn’t find her, Spencer. I’ve followed her for years! I see her posts all the time. I can’t believe you.”
He scrolled down.
liked by @jjareau and others
@yourusername: virginia is for lovers :)                                              posted 12 hours ago
↪ @randomuser1: GIRL STOP TEASING WHO IS HE
↪ @randomuser3: i’ve been trying to figure it out since that tweet last month 😞
↪ @randomuser2: this is the sweetest soft launch i’ve ever seen <3
↪ 12k comments
He clicked onto your profile. 
@yourusername 
5.2M Followers
Followed by @jjareau, @emp.sergio and more
“You’ve got to see her Twitter, lover boy. She’s been gushing about you.”
“Oh, god,” he groans. So much for privacy. He lets her take the phone back, redirecting his attention to your Twitter page. She scrolls back to June before handing it over, letting him read in chronological order.
June 10
@yourusername: hot girl summer is officially over. just asked a man for HIS number.
June 25
@yourusername: is it offensive to men if you call them pretty? bc this man is rlly pretty 
@yourusername: update: apparently it is not :)
July 30:
@yourusername: good morning text + picture of a dog that he claims reminded him of me???? gonna ask for his hand in marriage
August 15
@yourusername: up til 2 bc hes explaining quantum mechanics to me 🧚🏻
@yourusername: embarrassed to say that form of dirty talk worked on me 
August 20
@yourusername: oh btw im a girlfriend now!
↪@yourfan1: look u long enough wtf girl
↪@yourusername: dw im locking him down 🫡
↪@yourfan2: thats OUR man now 💘
“Oh, wow.”
She takes the phone back. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Or me? Oh, this is great news. You’re bringing her to Rossi’s next, week, right?”
“I- Pen, I have no idea.” He laughs. He watches her type away on the device aggressively. “Are you texting everyone?”
“Yuh-huh. I need to call JJ, like… yesterday. And this isn't the end of this conversation!” She darted back into her office quickly, letting the door fall shut behind her.
He decided his remaining paperwork could wait. He packed his things up in a hurry, and decided to head out of the office, dialing your number on the way out. 
You picked up on the first ring. 
“Hey,” you started. “How was work? Are you heading out?”
“Yeah,” He started. He pushed through the glass doors of the office, staring towards the stairwell. “It was… busy. I just had a really interesting conversation with my coworker.”
“Mhm…” You had been lounging in your hotel room waiting for his call. “About..?”
“You, actually.” He replied. “She follows you on instagram. Apparently most of the office does. She showed me your post today.”
“Oh,” you replied. “Oh god, Spence. I’m sorry. I didn’t think… anyone would be able to tell who you were.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well… I work with some… characters. It’s totally fine, though.”
“Are you sure?” You ask, anxiously.
“Yeah. It was cute,” he replied, smiling to himself as he exited the building. “Tasteful.”
“That's what I wanted,” You reply.
“I thought Twitter was much more interesting, though.”
You froze, cringing. “Oh, god. Tell me you didn't read all of it.
He chuckles. “I skimmed it.”
You groan. 
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ktownshizzle · 1 day ago
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Love & Lullabies | Part 1 of 2
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Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader
Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)
Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie
Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.
Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af
Word count: almost 6k
Posting date: November 12, 2024
Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼
Part One | Part Two | Masterlist
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Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look. 
It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer. 
You still did it, though. Both times. 
Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.
Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.
Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)
When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.
“So, you know Yoongi, right?”
You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”
“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”
Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”
He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something. 
You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag. 
God you’re literally already about to break. 
“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”
He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”
The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”
Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction. 
Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.
You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”
“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”
“And his wife?”
Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”
“Baby mama?”
“Out of the picture.”
You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”
Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”
You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.
“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”
You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.
Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.
But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?
It’s probably a terrible idea. 
Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on… 
You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.
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The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.
You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.
Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.
Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi. 
He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.
It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.
Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.
You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.
“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.
Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”
You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”
Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.
You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.
When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude. 
“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.
“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.
The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.
“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.
From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.
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The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.
“Oh, hi.”
There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”
You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”
The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”
You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”
And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.
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The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect. 
After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.
“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.
You offer him a smile. “Hey.”
He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.
The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.
This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him. 
Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.
But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.
“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets. 
“You haven’t told me his name.”
“Haneul.”
“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.
He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.”
He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”
He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.
You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities. 
While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.
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For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?
You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.
On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.
“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.
You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”
He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”
As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.
After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.
Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.
“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.
“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”
“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.
You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.
“Silver moon?” you asked.
He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”
Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.
“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”
“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”
“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”
“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.
The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.
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The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.
As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.
On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul. 
One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.
“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.
You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”
The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen. 
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A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.
Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.
Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)
There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.
Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.
“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.
You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.
Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.
You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.
And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.
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When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.
God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.
Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.
You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.
Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.
You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.
Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…
Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.
You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.
But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.
At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.
Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.
But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.
Your tummy suddenly feels funny.
You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.
Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg  Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it? 
You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.
You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted
That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.
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After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.
And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.
And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious. 
You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.
You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.
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What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?
You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers. 
What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service… 
Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.
Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.
“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.
“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”
There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”
“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”
Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”
“Yes. That. Care to explain?”
“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”
“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”
Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”
You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”
“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”
You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”
Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”
“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.
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You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.
“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”
“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.
Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.
You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi—whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.
“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.
“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”
You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.
You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl
His response is instant.
Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.
This asshole.
You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”
Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”
“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.
“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.
“There. Now we can eat.”
Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.
It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.
“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.
“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”
He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.
“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”
“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”
“Hell no.”
“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”
“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.
Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”
“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”
He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.
“Yoongi?”
He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”
“Oh my god.”
“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.
“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”
“Done.”
“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”
He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”
You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”
You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”
Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.
“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.
“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.
“All the members?”
“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.
“Including you?”
He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.
“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.
“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.
Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.
“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”
He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.
“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.
His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.
“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”
He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”
“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”
As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.
You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:
If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth: 
You were not Namjoon’s girl.
And he actually had a chance with you.
Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.
But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.
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Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!
Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.
Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333
Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼
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itsrlymine · 20 hours ago
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Manifesting and Why Feelings Don’t Matter. They Never Did.
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Some of you care way too much about your feelings for me and honestly…. It’s annoying. Feelings got y’all in a chokehold yet they have nothing to do with you getting your desires. Your feelings didn’t stop your sp from coming back and treating how you wanted them to. Your feelings didn’t change the fact that you got the house/apartment you have always wanted. Your feelings didn’t change the fact that you still reconciled with an old friend from years ago who barely even remembers the disagreement. Whether positive or not, it’s all about the meaning you give them. 
“I want to manifest sp back but I don’t feel like—.“
“I want to make money without working but I feel guilty and—.“
“I know I can manifest whatever I want but what if I feel uncomfort—.“
SHUT UP AND JUST KNOW YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT. KNOW IT NOW
No matter how you "feel", you are still the creator of your experience. 
If you are feeling nervous about getting a certain desire, who cares? It’s yours anyways.
If you are feeling scared about something not happening, who cares? You got it and it happened anyways.
If you are feeling like you don’t know how to manifest and create your reality, who cares? You are still creating even if it’s something you don’t want. Just change your perspective. 
Your feelings aren’t your enemies but they are also not your God. At all. You are and you can dictate whether or not the “feelings” you have matter. They don’t but you can also use them to your advantage. I’ve been angry about tons of things before and instead of focusing that anger on the situation at hand, I focused it towards what I wanted to happen instead. 
“F*ck this! I’m literally getting what I want. I have that sh*it right now what am I even talking about “getting” for???? That sh*t is in my freakin face!!” 
If you want to feel anything, feel peace. When I say feel, I don’t mean create or conjure up an emotion within yourself. By feeling, just still your thoughts and mind. There you will find peace— your true essence. Be comfortable there whether it’s for two seconds or two hours. From that peace is where all creation springs. Remind yourself of who you are and know it will never change. You are still in control. 
What you say goes, not what you feel. You can experience all the human emotions —energies in motion— you want or don’t want but at the end of the day none of that matters. Why? Because you create. You choose. Not your feelings. Not your emotions. Even physical sensations don’t hold any power until you give them power. I’ve healed myself a number of times from different pains whether it was cramps, headaches, stomachaches or toothaches and even healing my second ACL faster than the first by thinking as the person who doesn’t feel pain anymore/is healed. It is truly easier said than done because it’s done and easy asf to say. Be so serious. Divorce your feelings, take your ring back and decide who you are in spite of them! 
And don’t let me get started on y’all that let the 3d make you feel a certain way. You are allowing that the 3d to dictate how you feel and keeping yourself in a perpetual cycle you don’t want to be in. Stop it. Get help. Help yourself. 
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1toreyouapart · 2 days ago
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The Lies We Tell
***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***
Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.
CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.
Just Friends
It's funny how life works sometimes. Someone can tell you they love you in one breath and in the very next shatter your entire reality. One wrong move while driving down the road can alter yours and another person's life forever. A brief conversation with a stranger over a drink and exchanged phone numbers can bring people into your life that you now can't imagine life without them. The latter was exactly how Quinn now found herself in this house, surrounded by the best friends she could have ever hoped for, their banter in the living room bringing a smile to her lips as she dumped snacks into bowls.
The boys had all gotten home from tour a couple days ago, and as always, they had to have a movie night. It sort of became tradition even before Noah had invited her to move in with them. After every tour there was a big family dinner, followed by a movie night where none of them actually paid attention to the movies they chose, too caught up in catching up on everything that happened while they were gone.
"Quinn! Hurry your ass up! I'm starving here!" Folio hollered from the living room.
"Untwist your panties! You're welcome to come help, ya know!" She hollered back.
Truthfully, she should have had someone come help her. The downside to living in this particular house full of guys was that they all were much taller than her. Well, all of them that actually lived there. Which meant everything was up high and she had to climb to reach most things. Meaning it took her longer to get even just snacks together.
"Fucking tall ass motherfuckers," she grumbled, climbing up on the counter to reach some more bowls. She probably should have actually counted how much she needed before starting. Her fault, really. A long tattooed arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her off the counter.
"I swear to God, Quinn. You're going to break your fucking neck one of these days. What do you need?" Noah's voice behind her, somewhat panicked, almost made her giggle.
"Well, if you didn't put shit up so high I wouldn't have to climb to get it! And some more bowls."
Noah shook his head, chuckling. Her best friend and roommate. The person that found her in that bar seven years ago, drinking away the pain of her boyfriend at the time breaking up with her, and somehow took all those broken pieces and put her back together.
When Noah was home they quite literally did everything together. From rock climbing to going to gigs for small local bands. Movie nights up in his room, just the two of them. Shoot, when he was home she barely slept in her own room. Every night, without fail they would fall asleep in his room. It was enough that Jolly had asked them more than once if there was something else going on. And was never satisfied when they told him that they were just friends.
"You could also use the step stool I bought you."
"Step stools are for old people and children. I happen to be neither."
"You're impossible."
"You love me!"
Noah glanced down at her with a smirk as he grabbed some of the filled bowls. Quinn ignored the way her stomach flipped as his dark eyes met hers. Ignored the way her heart began to race. He was her best friend. That she definitely had a crush on. But he could never know that. It would make things weird, and she was happy with the way things were. Truly.
"Come on, my little terror pixie."
Huffing she followed him into the living room. Noah had called her a terror pixie from the night they met. However, the calling her his little terror pixie was something new. And she absolutely hated how warm and fuzzy it made her feel inside. Best friends weren't supposed to feel like that towards the other.
"Fuck off, Bigfoot."
With fake indignation she found her spot on the floor with him, settled right between his legs. Long arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against him, settling loosely around her waist. Quinn didn't miss the look everyone shared, or the way Jolly smirked at them. Like they all knew something she didn't. Or maybe they were, once again, reading too much into the way her and Noah were together.
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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 2 days ago
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the world (it burns through me)
Chapter 7
Ao3 | 2.7k Words | Darlin's POV
Milo is a drill Sergeant. Darlin' gets some emails. Angel washes dishes. Quinn is the type of asshole that flirts with teenagers.
TW: Stalking, threatening behavior, vomit.
“You’ve gotta put on some weight.” Milo tutted, his hands resting on his trim waist. Even two years later, Milo was a picture of petty tension. He hadn’t grown, despite the fact that he claimed people could grow into their mid twenties. He had built up a good deal of muscle in his back and chest, which served to make him look just a little bigger. He still had an air about him that made him seem two feet taller, even when you stared purposefully past the top of his head to piss him off.
Milo had started working you out as soon as Sam had given you the all clear, after you gave up on trying to avoid him. He was faster than you when he wanted to be, and staying away from him was so much less fun than just giving in to the familiarity of your quiet, playful arguments. 
The workouts started slow; annoying, silent yoga, something his partner had gotten him into that left you infuriatingly loose and relaxed afterwards. Once you could do that without panting and twitching with pain, he moved up. Light cardio and weights. You’d managed alright with that. Your stamina was shot but you were strong. Now, Milo had moved on to C.P.A.T. specifics. 
You’d passed the Candidate Physical Ability Test with flying colors the last time you’d taken it, but that felt like a lifetime ago. You were younger, stronger, fitter. What came to you naturally at eighteen made you wheeze at twenty-seven. Milo cast his gaze across the practice course before cutting those clever eyes back to you and your sorry state.
“There aren’t any weight class requirements for the physical.” You snapped. 
“No,” Milo replied, “but you’re not gonna get through the endurance test like this. You’re gonna fall out.” 
“I guarantee you I won’t.”
“Put your money where your mouth is, doll.” 
“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out.” 
“Twenty?”
“Fifty.”
You won, just barely. Milo had a point, though. Running that course in full turnouts, hauling that ladder, scaling it, finding the hidden dummies in the fake building’s facade and hauling them back down, dragging the dummies and the ladder back the safe distance requirements; it was nearly too much for you. By the time you’d finished the run, you were gasping for breath, gripping at your protesting ribs, and dumping the dummies at your feet without a care for their ‘wellbeing.’ That part wasn’t new. It was a habit from your days as a probie you couldn’t shake. This time, though, it was done with some extra disdain. 
Milo clapped a fifty in your hand and let you catch your breath before he tugged off your turnouts, up your tank top, and pressed his thin, clever fingers into your flesh to check your ribs. 
“You’re gonna make me blush.” You gasped. Milo sneered. 
“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you don’t give your body what you need. You have to eat to heal.” He shook his head, dark curls bouncing this way and that. You patted him on the head the way you knew he hated. 
“You’re preaching to the choir. David’s already working on me.” 
“He’s got the patience of a Saint.” 
“No, he’s just force feeding me.” 
“Good.” 
You were eating three square meals a day, all packed with protein and healthy fats and carbs. Whenever David wasn’t putting out fires, both literal and figurative, he was cooking. He put more plates in front of you than you could manage in a day. It was the biggest bulk you’d experienced in your life, and even it was falling short of what your body needed. To be completely fair to David’s efforts, your body had always run on fumes. There had never been enough to go around. You had gotten used to making that work. 
David surrounded you with abundance. The tension of your sort-of-fight had eased. He had started asking you questions. They were uncomfortable, and you were finding it harder and harder to dodge them. 
You were going to spill your guts soon. You could feel it crawling up and out of you. You were going to lay down your load at David’s feet, unburden yourself through clenched teeth and let him take the weight. You’d done it with Gabe. David looked so much like him. 
You hit the showers, scrubbing the sweat from your skin. The cold tile made your toes curl. The lines of your tattoos were raised with cold and irritation from the cheap body wash that was stocked in all of the shower stalls. You ran ghost-soft touch over all of them before moving on to your scars. The one over your side, the newest one, was still pink and new. If you pressed hard enough on the two inches of clean, stitched skin, it still hurt. 
David caught you in the locker room as you slipped a D.F.D sweatshirt over your head. You’d slowly moved your meager belongings from your shitty studio to the last locker in the row at the 10-19. David had offered you plenty of his own clothes, but you didn’t like to wear them. Not the way that his spouse did, anyway. The little Shaw slid one of his giant tee-shirts over their head and wore it like a badge of honor, like a mark of ownership. You didn’t own David. You certainly didn’t plan on letting him own you. As it stood, the majority of your wardrobe was either covered in blood or stolen pieces from the D.F.D.’s lost and found. 
“Hey,” you mumbled, pushing your still-wet hair away from your face, “are you done, do we need to go?” 
“No,” David shook his head. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “I’ve got a few more hours. Look, I reactivated your D.F.D. email account. There’s a form in there for the next C.P.A.T.. Fill it out sometime today.” 
“Okay.” You nodded. “When is it?” 
“Three weeks.” David said. “I can get you back on the job within forty-eight hours if you pass it.” 
“If?” You grinned. “I recall holding a record with my last one.” 
“Yeah well,” David shrugged, “you were a spring chicken then. We’ve gotten old.”
“Speak for yourself, Shaw.” You flashed teeth. “I could still kick your ass.” 
“Email. Form. Today.” David barked. You could tell, somewhere in your gut, that he was joking just as much as you were. 
“Yes, Captain, sorry, Captain.” You clicked your heels together in a salute as he rolled his eyes and retreated down the hallway towards his office. A smile slid over your face as he left you alone in the cold, quiet locker room. 
You D.F.D. email had two-thousand-and-seventy-three unread messages waiting for you once you’d managed to remember the password. You flopped down on a couch in the bunk room and sighed as you clicked into the newest one, skimming the form to sign up for the C.P.A.T.. Something about filling out that form, going to that test, made your chest hurt. It made all of it, being back here at the 10-19 feel… real. That was a dangerous thing for you. You couldn’t explain why. 
November was drawing towards a close. The cold had long settled over Dahlia and into your blown, shitty joints. You could do the C.P.A.T., you could not do it. December would come on either way. 
You clicked out of the form, out of the email, and back to your inbox. Maybe you’d feel more inclined to carry on with your future when all of the spam messages were gone. 
Spam. Advertisement. Debt collector. Spam. Medical bill. Spam. 
You almost swiped it right into your archives when your eyes caught on the subject line of a message from an email address consisting entirely of scrambled numbers and letters. That was usually enough for you to chuck the whole thing as bullshit. The subject, though, made your heart squeeze. You sat up on the couch, your feet hitting the ground. You needed your boots flat on the floor. You needed your legs under you when you read this. You might need to run. 
Back home so soon, Precious? 
Bile rose up in your throat, acidic and cutting. You swallowed hard and clicked on the address’s icon. Copy, paste, the address went into your search bar and twenty-odd unopened messages popped up. 
California state employees’ email addresses all followed the same formula. Last name, first initial. It would be so easy for Quinn to find it. 
You scrolled down to the earliest message and opened it up. The subject line made your hands shake; I’m never far behind, you know.
It was a picture of you from sometime in September. You were still black and blue from the fight you two had devolved into. You were standing in a gas station somewhere in Washington, staring at two different, overpriced painkiller options. You’d killed that bottle in less than a week. 
You’d known, in your gut, that Quinn would follow you when you ran. You hadn’t noticed him. You thought for sure, if he was that close, you’d have noticed. 
It was more of that. A picture of you in a diner, flirting with the waitress who gave you free pie. A shot of the back of your head in a Greyhound bus heading for California. You through the stained, narrow windows of your shitty apartment. 
Sam and his EMT’s leaving the night you’d been stabbed. 
Sam’s truck in the firehouse parking lot. 
Sam at lunch in a plush restaurant with a handsome man in his mid-forties. 
Sam sitting on the porch of his cabin, coffee cup in his hand. He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed and head tilted back against his rocking chair. 
Vincent in his fancy car, kissing who you assumed to be his partner in a school parking lot. He’d mentioned that they worked in an elementary school. 
Sam’s Probie walking towards a nightclub, their arm linked with a drop-dead-gorgeous man, surrounded by friends. 
David outside of a fire, smudged with soot, directing the scene like a conductor. 
Little Shaw standing at the sink, scrubbing the remnants of dinner from a plate, taken through the slots in the pantry door. 
He had been inside David’s house. He had stood three feet away from them and taken that picture. He was close enough to hear the little songs they hummed to themself whenever it got too quiet. 
You locked your phone, stuffed it into your pocket, and moved. You barely made it to the bathroom before you lost your lunch. 
He could get inside the house. He had gotten inside the house. There was no telling how long he’d stayed there. He could be there right now, waiting in the shadows for somebody to pass by and make an example out of. You had to tell David. You had to make them leave, had to put them both somewhere safe and torch the fucking place. It was tainted. He’d been in there, and it would never be safe again. 
Hands shaking, you replied to that last picture, staring at their tiny frame and estimating how long it would take Quinn to subdue them. Seconds. He could kill them in seconds. 
What do you want? 
The response was almost instant. 
You. 
He attached an address. You didn’t need to punch it in anywhere to know it. Max’s was familiar ground. The house ordered from there more than anywhere else, and Gabe’s accident had been just down the road. 
It got dark early this time of year, and by the time you emerged from the bathroom, the sun had set and night shift had invaded the building. You could smell dinner on the stove and hear the chatter of the house through the walls. If you hung a left, you’d be surrounded by them. You could find David, ask him to talk. He would know what to do about Quinn. He would handle it. 
Quinn was dangerous. David could handle himself, but Quinn fought dirty. David couldn’t win against him, not playing by the rules. 
No, you had to handle this yourself. David was already in danger, his spouse too. Quinn liked to aim for the weakest link. He liked to strike where it was easy to do real damage without taking any injuries himself. That’s where he’d hit you. The only way you’d learned to make him back off was to hit him head on, to not even give him the chance to find your weak point. 
He knew you just about as well as you knew him, of course. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t call your bluff. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t smell the terror rolling off of you in waves. 
You retreated away from the noise, from the sounds of your house, and towards the ambulance bay. You could sneak out the backdoor, have it out with Quinn, and be back before David was any the wiser. You gripped your hand into a fist as you shrugged on your jacket and shouldered open the back door. 
“Darlin’,” Sam’s voice called from inside. You stilled, boots just barely on the icy sidewalk outside. You turned, your hands still fists at your sides. Sam’s uniform collar was unbuttoned. He must have been getting off shift. “Where ‘ya running off to?” 
“Mother hen.” You muttered bitterly. Sam smiled anyway, seeming almost… bashful. “Just going on. Meeting somebody. Shouldn’t be long.” 
“Well, I’m off.” Sam reached inside to grab his jacket off the rack. “Let me drive you. It’s cold as all hell.”
“I’m fine.” You shook your head and stepped back. “Really.” You did not want to introduce Sam to Quinn. You didn’t want Quinn to make any assumptions. You didn’t want Sam to hear the things he was going to say to you, about you. Whatever you were, whatever parts of you Quinn had broken, whatever parts of you had always been broken, Sam didn’t know about them. You didn’t want him to see you and all of your broken parts in the naked light.
“Is it… um… are you going to see him?” Sam squinted at you, his jacket still in his hands. You swallowed. Your poker face crumbled. You’d never been a good liar. 
“Sam,” you started, hands clenching and unclenching. 
“I’ll take you.” He said decisively. You blinked, surprised. You were expecting him to try and talk you out of it. 
“You… you’ll take me?” 
“I’m sure as shit not letting you go alone.” Sam grinned like it was such a ridiculous notion that it was funny. “Come on, we can talk on the ride.” 
You were quiet for most of it, your throat constricting over all of the warnings and defenses you desperately wanted to spew. Instead, you answered each of Sam’s questions steadily, one word at a time. 
“How’d he reach you?” 
“Email.” 
“And he followed you here?” 
“Yeah.” 
“So he knows where to find ‘ya if you don’t go to him.” 
“Yeah.” 
“He’s liable to start a fight?”
“If not him, then me.” 
“And he fights dirty?” 
“He brings guns to knife fights, let’s put it that way.” 
“I understand.” 
“Do you?” You turned to him from the passenger seat, your face pinched and twisted in concern. Your teeth worried over the scar on your top lip. Sam’s eyes caught yours, brown gone red with the street light. 
“I do.” His shaking fingers tapped against the steering wheel in an awkward, unsteady rhythm. “Better than I can put into words.” 
The parking lot outside of Max’s was full this time of night, so Sam parked across the street. You spotted him through the wide, bright windows. Quinn had taken up a booth at the back of the small restaurant. His feet were kicked up on the table, shitty, worn boots smearing dirt across the clean surface. He was flirting with the teenage server who was refilling his coke. She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The guy behind the counter was eyeing the two of them nervously. Anybody who had ever known an asshole before could see right through Quinn if they tried hard enough. That was why he had to flirt with teenagers. 
Quinn turned suddenly, stiff and aware. His bright, blue eyes caught yours through the window. His face split out into a terrible, toothy grin as he beckoned you inside.
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greenwitchfromthewoods · 6 hours ago
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redemption : resignation letter. l Javi Gutierrez
❤️‍ broken hearts seek redemption ❤️‍
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Summary:  when he came home and he wasn't alone
Warnings:  a little bit of angst, but mainly fluff, one small kiss
A/N:
your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes
first part is here >>resignation letter<<
a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]
broken hearts seek redemption [masterlist]
You weren't expecting any guests that day. It was a rainy, cloudy day. The small apartment you had been renting for a few weeks was your new haven, although you hadn't quite settled in yet.
When you heard the doorbell ring, you dragged yourself in that direction, a little surprised.
"Good morning!" a young guy grinned at you "I have something for you, ma'am."
"For me?" but before you could say anything more, the guy handed you a large bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry, but this must be a mistake..."
The delivery guy pulled a note out of the bouquet and handed it to you. It was your name, you couldn't deny it. Before you could ask anything, the guy bowed and quickly ran down the stairs.
"Strange..." you mumbled to yourself, closing the door.
You didn't have a vase, so you filled a jug with water and put them in there. The bouquet was beautiful, and the sweet and fresh scent quickly began to spread around the room. 
There was nothing more on the note, that you were still holding in your hand, than your name. It was weird...
However, you didn't have time to think about it for long. Another bell made you jump. 
This time another man stood behind the door, a little older than the previous one, and the large bouquet of flowers in his hands looked impressive.
"Morning!" he greeted you "I have something for you, ma'am."
"That's a mistake!" you said quickly "I already got the bouquet. A moment ago, there was a young guy here and he..."
The man reached for the note attached to the delivery and showed it to you. Again, you saw your name written in nice handwriting.
"I think everything is correct. It's for you!"
More flowers were placed on your table, this time in one of the pots. You wondered if you should go to the store for some vases, but again you heard the bell.
And again you saw, already a different man, who insisted that the flowers he brought were for you. Within an hour you lost all the pots and two large mugs that served as vases.
Your apartment was starting to resemble a flower shop, and you counted almost fifteen bouquets. All of them were impressive and beautiful, all of them had your name on the tag.
You started to jump nervously at every sound of the doorbell, and you literally snatched the bouquet out of the last courier's hand saying "Yes, I know! For me!"
A loud "Fuck!" escaped your lips with another knock on the door. But you didn't expect that person to be there.
Javi Gutierrez. 
He stood right in front of you, with an elegant shirt slightly unbuttoned at the neck, his hair combed, and his devilishly beautiful eyes staring at you.
"Hi, hermosa." he greeted uncertainly.
"Javi..." you mumbled, folding your arms across your chest and leaning against the door frame. "I figured it was you..."
"Really?" he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Since when?"
"About the fourth bouquet, but I was sure by the sixth." The shy smile of a child caught in mischief appeared on his lips. "What are you doing here? How did you even find me?"
"I have friends who are good at finding people, hermosa. Besides, it's Thursday." You raised your eyebrows. "Thursday Movie Night? Don't tell me you forgot. I already brought popcorn and wine, and your favorite ice cream and..."
Despite your heart beating like crazy at the sight of him, your mind wouldn't give up. You shifted from foot to foot and cleared your throat.
"Javi... I don't work for you anymore. You know that, right? I left you my resignation." you said. He grimaced as if you reminded him of a dentist appointment.
"I know, but... I canceled it!" he stated, and you widened your eyes at him.
"You can't do that! It was a formal letter."
"I know you didn't really want to do it. I know you, hermosa! And you know me better than anyone else. Let's just say you took an extended vacation." You rolled your eyes. "Will you let me in? I'd like to talk to you, but the hallway isn't the right place for that."
You wondered for a moment if you should do that, but Javi was staring at you so pleadingly that you finally moved over to make room for him.
"Just be careful. Someone decided to make a botanical garden in my apartment." You mumbled.
"Wow! I didn't expect that." he laughed quietly looking around the room.
"Me neither."
He handed you a box of ice cream and with a sigh you went to put it in the freezer. His footsteps indicated that he was walking around your apartment, it was a strange feeling to see him again. You told yourself that you had cured yourself of what you felt for him, but your heart clearly thought otherwise.
"Veronica knows you're here?" you called into the apartment and closed your eyes waiting for an answer.
The footsteps stopped.
"Hermosa..."
There was more to that description than the sweet nickname Javi gave you. Longing and guilt, all of that could be felt in his tone of voice.
You took a deep breath. You were already sure that he sent you those flowers and showed up at your door because he definitely wanted to invite you to the wedding, and Veronica would certainly be a beautiful bride.
"I have so much to explain to you..." he said as you walked out of the kitchen, your arms tightly wrapped around your chest, "I have to explain and apologize."
And then Javi started talking, the words pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall. He told you about Lucas, about Nicolas Cage, about some FBI or other agents, about the kidnapping, about the scenario and about the arrest that took place later... 
Your eyes widened more and more. You waited for the moment when he finally said "I was joking, hermosa!", but Javi was so involved in his story that it had to be true.
"And Veronica?" you asked when he finally let you speak.
"Lucas knew that you were very close to me, closer than anyone else, and that I cared about you, and...and..." he swallowed loudly. "I couldn't risk, hermosa... Veronica was supposed to help me. I wanted him to believe that you meant nothing to me."
"She was fucking convincing." you muttered under your breath.
"Right? She was the one who suggested that you go away for a while."
"Javi, I resigned from work. Was that part of your brilliant plan?"
"I don't think so..." he replied, a bit confused "Your letter was really depressing."
"It was formal. Professional."
"So emotionless! That wasn't you, hermosa!"
In a few long steps and small maneuvers between the bouquets standing on the ground, Javi stood in front of you. He seemed so unnatural in this apartment and with such nasty weather outside. Skin kissed by the sun, curly hair and sweet brown puppy eyes staring at you. He kept pulling at all your strings, you couldn't kid yourself that it was different...
"I left because I felt hurt." You said quietly, you wanted him to understand you, to feel what you felt "You were always close to me and I fell in love with you. And you... I knew I had no chance with Veronica. She was beautiful and a perfect match for you."
"She's a very nice girl." Javi shrugged "But she has one flaw." You raised your eyebrows waiting "She's not you. And you are... You are everything, hermosa! I wanted to protect you from Lucas, I didn't want to hurt you. You know I'll never..."
You knew that. Javi would never hurt you on purpose.
"This is all madness..." you mumbled, shaking your head in disbelief.
"Listen..." Javi stepped even closer, his large, warm hands smoothing your shoulders. "You know I never... You're really important to me. Not as an employee, although you do that brilliantly. But you're also my friend, my soulmate... I think that..."
"Stop here." Your hand on his chest stopped what he was about to say. "This is too much, Javi. I know you meant well, but... You hurt me."
"Then let me fix this, please. Come back with me, go back to your job and let me win your heart like you deserve..."
Your head was a mess, but your heart had already made up its mind. You saw the relief in Javi's gaze as you finally nodded. A huge smile appeared on his lips.
In an instant his arms wrapped around you in a tight hug, he kissed you on the cheek and picked you up spinning you around.
"Hermosa! You won't regret it."
"Javi! You're crushing me!"
"Sorry!" he put you down clearly embarrassed "I'm just so happy! I'll help you pack or I'll have someone else do it and you..."
"Thursday Movie Night." Your words tore him from his train of thought "Javi, we can't miss this, can we?"
He frowned, thinking about it. On the one hand, he wanted to take you home right away, but he didn't want to overwhelm you again. Finally, he nodded.
"Si, we wouldn't want to miss this."
You made some popcorn and you both sat down on the couch, Javi chose a movie for you. It was nice. Having him next to you again, feeling the warmth of his body, hearing his chuckles or funny comments. When you snuggled into his side, your eyelids getting really heavy, he kissed your forehead lightly.
You were already asleep when he could finally say what you were holding him back from saying.
"Te amo, hermosa... You're everything."
☆☆☆☆☆
Thank you for your time.
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nouveaumoon · 5 months ago
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yet another oc i never posted which is a Shame because he is so beautiful. introducing vice 💔
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bicheetopuff · 11 days ago
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I have a love-hate relationship with being a fic writer sometimes… on one hand, I’ll have an idea and I’ll love writing it and I’ll love the responses I get when I post it, but then on the other hand I’ll end up with new ideas which means new wips and a lot of older unfinished wips that I committed to but don’t really enjoy writing anymore.
Like I have so many new things that I’ve started about adult bkdk that I wanna post but at the same time I have three unfinished ongoing fics that I’m bored of writing and I don’t wanna post new stuff until I finish the old stuff UGH. You see my dilemma??
#my three ongoing ones are about bkdk as teens#and I’m so tired of writing them as teens😭#two of them I started while I was still a teenager so it felt a little more relatable. I had just graduated high school and I was 18-19#but I’m 21 now and now they’re canonically 25-26 which feels more relatable and I want to write them as adults more#I have three wips that I haven’t posted yet about them as adults AND I WANNA WORK ON THEM SO BAD#BUT THEN I FEEL GUILTY FOR NOT FINISHING THE FICS THAT I ALREADH STARTED#AHHHHHH#I think about abandoning them and then think to myself ‘Deku would never abandon an unfinished fic’#and then I write on the old stuff for a few hours before getting bored again#and I’m torturing myself cuz once a nerd only has three chapters left and I can knock it out in a day if I really wanted to#and h!imyh has like 5-6 chapters left at most but I honestly think I wrote myself into a corner#well not really… I just don’t really remember the original ending I had planned cuz I started it so long ago#and then chrysanthemum is literally just a rewrite of canon and I have project it having like 50 more chapters and it’s just intimidating#Hori why’d you have to make mha so longggggg#anyways#bnha#bakudeku#bkdk#midoriya izuku#bakugou katsuki#puff speaks#bnha fanfic#puff writes#it’s harder to feel motivated to write things I don’t feel like writing when I’m busy all the time as well#but when it’s something I wanna write I’ll literally drop 10k words within a few hours cuz I’m a certified yapper#puff vents
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beaversatemygrandma · 4 months ago
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Interview. Interview. Oh Another interview. Interview. Interview. Guess what's next? An interview that a manager is like "Today at 2pm sound good?" which I took bc yeah, it was good...
I'm tired.
Now will ANY OF THEM ACTUALLY Call Me Back???
#taks speaks#literally woke up to an email from a place that interviewed me two days ago saying i wasn't selected for an interview#like??? What???#YOU JUST INTERVIEWED ME#there's one of them that i'm hoping for bc it has the lovely 8-5 hours. not per shift. just being open#and it's a tourist trap#that has good health benefits and gets me into other tourist traps around town For Free +3 guests max#like hello. dad can visit. bring both sisters. we're going touristing#and sea world at 50% off which is pretty damn cool#i'm gonna start harassing them daily on the phone as of wednesday#if that gas station food prep job doesn't get back#which pays a touch more with a 10% discount on GAS#BUT they're the ones who sent that weird email this morning saying i didn't make it to the interview stage which um#why? what? you talked to me twice?#I'm QUALIFIED? It's the same damn job i previously had but for a gas station. i mean come on#ugh. my lowest quality options are part time at a busier and more annoying tourist trap#or *sighs* dominos.#at least dominos gets good tips tho#everyday for like. the last week has been interviews#except yesterday which tbh i slept most of it#i need a fuckin job dude. come on#i have also created a list of managers i would rather be interviewed by#at the bottom of the list is intimidating older woman. next is slightly younger than that woman who thinks i don't look local enough#somewhere in the middle is that really chill old lady who gave me advice about chafing in the heat. great lady#and top is black man in his 20s. very chill. easy to talk to. i've been interviewed by two and the first one was younger than me#and i intimidated him. bc i knew more about interviewing laws than he did. whoops. missed out on the job but he was nice#today's though? KNEW HIS SHIT. Perfect manager. I'd want to work for him. Chill. easy to talk to and understood the laws well#...just realized the bar is that low. wow.#sadly he's the dominos guy and that job is second to last on my preferred list#i have most definitely noticed that the person interviewing you sets the daily tone for the job
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hauntingblue · 3 months ago
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Will I ever get over garp's scottish accent....
#i also think its kinda funny how they do a close up of zoro when they enter the baratie and its like he can sense sanji being there already#he can smell his pheromones....#nvm its because some people there seem to know him... like sanji knew him before he met him....#zoro sitting with the swords like that akdhaj that was funny#he literally has taken them off his waist before but some people looked at him funny and hes now on high alert#fullbody... your wig....#i cant with this sanji i need to stop every 30 seconds... it makes me retract from the screen#and he is SPANISH#mihawk has such a cunty voice akdhaj#and he is wearing cowboy boots....#zoro looking away when sanji gets the bill ajdhakshsksjsks he can't stand him!!!#zeff saying OIOIOIOIOI ajdjqjwk#why is nami spilling ajdhajshska girl....#also patty looks so good akdhskns#you know what i really appreciate zoro and nami moments my guy zoro cant talk with luffy about his grandpa but sees nami weird and#CANNOT leave it alone.... damn#also garps backstory must be really fucking devastating for me to even accept what he does like damn. not even related to opla just thinking#like forcing his son and grandsons into it and being SO HELLBENT ON IT YOU LET YOUR OTHER GRANDSON TO DIE#and still be kinda rogue from the marines like damn how does this work. not that that started before ace but....#imagine being zoro rn... half drunk just had an open feelings session with this girl you met a week ago and here comes your other#friend you met two days ago who is full on drunk and he brings fucking mihawk best swordsman in the world with him. imagine.#and now you have no option but to fight him and die. like that just hit him#also this being another instance of zoro protecting luffy akdhaksj. that is so good#but luffy washing plates and not breaking all of them is OOC!!!!!!!#nami trying to stop him bc they are bffs now..... yeah.....#netflix i hope this dynamic DOESN'T FUCKING DISAPPEAR. FIRST WARNING#look at this fake cynic. i saw you worrying about zoro before you made your bag to get out of there akdhaksjsk#how much time do you think mihawk stood there#he likes luffys hat.... GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL#watching opla
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seilon · 3 months ago
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shouldn’t have checked my bank account as expected my mother has taken thousands more dollars from my savings and has almost run me dry more or less. Cool!
#I’m going to fucking call the bank and ask about a second checking account because she’s never going to make her own fucking account#it’s been like a year since she said she would and it’s just not gonna happen#she owes me thousands of dollars via me paying her fucking overdraft fees and she always says ‘what you think I won’t pay you back?’ no!!!!!#no I don’t!!!!!!! because you literally never have!!!!!!!!!!!#and where the fuck are you going to get like 8000 dollars anyway. because that’s what she owes me at the very least#even if you want to factor in like. paying her monthly for the groceries she buys and cat food and whatever that’s still. thousands of#dollars. and the worst part about it is I just have no safety net anymore#because my savings is basically nothing at this point. like nothing that can help in a dire situation anymore.#I keep thinking about whatever im going to have to end up paying for top surgery and I WOULD have a significant amount saved up to#contribute to that but haha! no I don’t! it’s fucking gone!#and I’ve been getting paid basically fucking nothing lately because of how few hours they’re scheduling me so that does not fucking help#my last paycheck was literally like half of what I should be getting. I made like 1K in the past two paychecks. that’s fucking depressing#anyway I’ve given myself a headache#I’ve been avoiding looking at my bank account because I knew it would be bad and it’d stress me the fuck out but I also have been anxious#not knowing and my mother making a few vague comments that implied she must have fucked me over. so I checked today and yeah she sure did#if I don’t make a new checking account that she can’t access i am actually going to be broke within the nenxt few months at this rate#my head hurts and I am so upset I am so upset I work so fucking hard and it doesn’t even matter i just lose money constantly#I get nothing I just pay her fucking fees and pay for my tuition and pay for everything else of any significance#and I am not exaggerating I work my ass off. I am the only person I know at my job who begs to work holidays and extra days and stay as late#as possible and it . doesn’t even matter#im going to kill myself I swear to god. there’s shit I need to buy. what am I supposed to do.#kibumblabs#vent#like shit I need to buy for WORK. my manager is getting on me about not having proper shoes for example and yeah I can get a discount#through shoes for crews but I still dont have the fucking money for anything anymore#not unless I want to run myself into the fucking ground#I need a new binder badly. I need new black pants also for work since mine are so faded at this point.#I only have one fitted sheet that doesn’t have giant holes in it#I can’t stop thinking about my last paycheck it was literally the worst I’ve seen since starting this job a year ago. fucking infuriating
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muchmossymess · 3 months ago
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I need to stop sleeping all day its giving me wild as fuck dreams
#literally had a dream that i was a 14yr old mexican boy who was kidnapped by a crime boss and worked for him#making my way up the ladders until i was his right hand man#until one day i got in an accident and the paramedic who found me stuck by me while the cops questioned me#bc like who is this kid why is he so malnourished who is meant to tale care of you#and then they were restraining me in the back of an ambulance and i was crying and trying to breathe my way out of a panic#attack and then managed to calm down and the paramedic (who looked like that guy from disco elysium. the one you play as)#started asking me questions about my life and i talked about how johnny was in charge and he wore half a black rabbit mask but upside down#so the singular ear ran down his throat. and i talked about other thing idk but then CRASH the ambulance is suddenly gone#(OH I REMEMBER. i talked about how there were these women (prostitutes) who were nice to me and would give me food and drink#that i wasnt supposed to have and they wouldnt let me drink what the men were having but thats okay it tasted nasty anyway#and how on my last mission i was shot in the leg and it delayed me a day and johnny punished me by locking me up#and i couldnt leave and i nearly starved to death that week but the women snuck me small amounts of food and drink#even tho they would have been killed if they were caught. anyway that was like two weeks ago and my leg still hadnt healed)#im tied up under the clothesline at the top of the stairs of my irl house while the paramedic is tied to a chair by the front door#johnny comes in and starts asking questions but upon receiving no answers he grabs a metal bat and breaks the paramedics knee#and im just crying and screaming for it all to stop scared out of my life and johnny asks if i want the beating instead#and the paramedic says “dont you lay a finger on him. (name) look away i dont want you seeing this”#and then johnny starts torturing him amd all i hear is his screams even tho im blocking my ears and squeezing my eyes shut#and then im in johnnys room three years later and hes turned me into a dog but also an axolotl and ive forgotten my human roots#....like literally what the FUCK was that????#moss' madness#its called vague posting FOR A REASON
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miabrown007 · 2 years ago
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a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take
#my google calendar and Carl bot (and my friends) have been kind enough to inform me today was the estimated posting date of heist au#suffice to say that is not happening#it would have been rad to make a habit out of the co-occurrence of starting a new job and starting to post a finished WIP but alas#that will not be happening for a while longer#I have no idea when will I find the time for writing between two jobs and the big bang but. we'll work something out.#but hey it's good to give your projects breathing space so your brain can do the work in the background and solve the problems for you#I'll probably need to go back and revamp the whole last chapter I've been working on#but I'm still too sick and jet lagged and sick to be thinking about that so I'll consume some more media in the meantime#and complain about how bad the fic I'm listening to is. like god it's supposed to be so romantic and cute and he's literally#depriving her bodily autonomy and her friends support him I want to leave a strongly worded comment so bad#I will not be doing that but god it's so awful I should have stopped listening to this fic long ago. so that's a lesson learned.#put the fucking fic down there's plenty of stuff that's going to be better#hot take I sure no one saw coming sometimes things that are popular are actually bad#anyway have some stream of fucking consciousness /ref to another fic I'm fighting hard to keep discontinued#I know I won't like it why is this so hard#heist au should have been posted today based on maths btw. maths I did wrong for the first time which means it should have been posted#a year ago really#not like I have the proper structure to do a heist au daily#but it would have been fun to post the first chapter on the exact day it takes place. idk just for flavour#does all this make any sense? hardly. this is a diary entry and my two braincells are firing random thoughts at each other#that's fine though. it's all fine. here have some popcorn to go with all this nonsense 🍿🍿🍿 <3#(and also all the drama in the new shadow and bone season. ugh it's so good I love Wesper SO. MUCH. or just Waylan. and Nikolai.#he's my blorbo assigned at first relevant information. relavant information: he's my friend's blorbo#but gods he's so my type it's scary. of course I'll have him as my blorbo. of course of course!#*puts him on a shelf next to Adrien Draco and Hunter*#*steps back to think before putting Waylan there too and sitting Zuko on the far end*#war crimes look so good on them :3#miaing#heist au
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guinevereslancelot · 7 months ago
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the best thing about teaching toddlers is that the kids take a two hour nap in the middle of the day right after lunch and i get to spend most of that time doing nothing on my phone <3
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rosicheeks · 7 months ago
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😓🤬
#I fucking hate doctors and the medical field so much#I was FINALLY starting to get on the right path#called a php place and think I know where I’m going#have a therapist I’ve been talking to here and there#I’ve been trying to get into a psych evaluation right?#called 5+ places the other day and they all had 5-8 month long waitlists#I need to get most of this shit done before June#so that ain’t gonna work#called the psych place my doctor referred me to#(would like to add that I did call this same place right after my doctor visit a few months ago and they never called me back)#so I had no hope they were even going to pick up#I was shocked when I heard someone picked up and even more shocked when they said they had an opening for fucking Wednesday#literally I felt like everything was finally aligning#I scheduled the appt for a zoom meeting at 10am#then I get a bunch of random emails saying my appointment was changed#now I have two different appointments- Wednesday and Thursday both at 9am and with a totally different doctor#so I was like???? ok guessing something happened but I didn’t think much of it - called to figure out what day it actually is#when I called to confirm they told me that I can’t be tested until I get an internal referral#I told them I did get a referral???#they looked at it and it was just a referral for depression not adhd or anything else#but then when they looked more into it they found in the notes she wanted me to get adhd testing#SO she just forgot to add it to my referral#I get people make mistakes#but this is like the 4th time something like this has happened lately#I’m just trying to be healthy#and it is fucking RIDICULOUS how incredibly hard it is to find the proper help#also the girl yesterday when I made the appointment said yes to all my questions but sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s talking about#was like ‘does this test for adhd and autism?’ ‘yeah for sure’ and then I find out they don’t even test for autism#so now I have to find a totally different person to either do both or just test for autism#either way I feel incredibly disheartened and overwhelmed and sad
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lesbiacnh · 1 year ago
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when i really needed a day off for mental health (two weeks ago) (after a family members funeral) i COULDNT take off. now that things have calmed down (at home and at work) my boss was like omg do you still need a day off
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