#not knowing of the answers and not even knowing if he wants the truth or not or if he's good just daydreaming it

[niwaart]

FAMILY WITHOUT LIGHT

[#part1 #part2 #part3]

Dick panicked, he gripped his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

《This number is unreachable, please try again later.》

Dick let out a scream of anger and impatience, he had been trying to call Y/N for over 5 hours, just to get an answer. Why did she leave the house?… All this happened when he was in his Nightwing costume doing a normal nighttime mission after tying up criminals, a newspaper with Bruce’s picture caught his attention, Dick wondered what new drama the journalists were talking about this time, as soon as he grabbed the newspaper he felt like the air was being sucked out of him. It took him over a minute to process what was being said…

##Bruce Wayne and Y/N Wayne divorced after more than 15 years.##

No... that's a lie, just another rumor, it can't be true, maybe Bruce doesn't care about Y/N but Y/N wouldn't leave the house... after all he saw her love for Damian and Tim, and how she cared for them... so this is just a rumor... right?....

Dick took the newspaper with him and quickly ran to his apartment... He needed to make sure.. He had to get to his apartment to call Y/N.. She would tell him the truth, reassure him, tell him that everything was okay.... As soon as he got to his apartment window, he opened it and entered after entering the access code. His dog Haley approached him, he gave her a few pats before he reached his phone and called Y/N... But she didn't answer his calls.... He tried and tried and tried... But no answer... Could it be true?... Did Y/N leave the house?... Why?....

He was going to call Bruce but he was mad at him for not stopping Y/N from leaving and that he might be the reason Y/N left. So he decided to call Alfred who immediately answered, "Mr. Dick, how may I help you?" "Hello Alfred... Sorry to bother you now... The thing is... I..." Dick hesitated... He was afraid to hear the answer...

“I just called Y/N and she didn’t answer… so I was wondering if everything was okay…” Dick answered, praying with all his might that there was an excuse other than the divorce… “Oh… Mr. Dick… I don’t know how to tell you this… but… Y/N and Bruce have been divorced for three months now…” Alfred’s answer was like a knife slicing into his chest… well maybe deep down he knew the divorce was real… but… three months ago?… and no one told him?… “How… why?… why the divorce, and why didn’t anyone tell me?” Dick’s voice was muffled, he tried not to cry, he tried to control himself a little… “I’m sorry Mr. Dick… it was such a shock to everyone that I forgot to tell you… as for the divorce, Y/N chose that herself… unfortunately…” Alfred’s voice was filled with pain, making it even harder for Dick to hold back his tears… Y/N had left them… she had left them…

Dick hung up the phone after thanking Alfred and collapsed on the floor crying… His dog Haley was beside him trying to comfort him… But it didn’t work… It took Dick maybe half an hour to calm himself down… He tried to take deep breaths in and out… Then he hugged his dog Haley who had already settled happily in his lap. Dick was sitting on the floor leaning his head on the bed behind him while looking at the ceiling of his apartment. He couldn’t help but remember all the memories with Y/N. Dick may not have said it out loud before, but he considered Y/N as his mother… She always took care of him, he still remembers the first time he came to Wayne Manor after his parents died, he was full of anger and wanted revenge, Bruce was trying to channel his anger in a good way to fight the bad guys, but Y/N allowed him to vent his anger, by crying and getting all his feelings out and not holding them in, he remembers that he was mean to her at first, thinking that she was trying to be his mother, but after a while, it turned out that she was just trying to help him, she helped him decorate his parents' grave, buy new things, and when he fought with Bruce she took his side… and even now she still against Bruce and side with Damian, he loved the stories she told, she helped him and encouraged him to speak his mind and thoughts and not hold them in… even when he had a big fight with Bruce and decided to leave the house to be independent… She called him every night, asking him how he was, and if he tried to lie she would know and ask him to tell the truth, which he actually couldn't resistance, so he was always honest with her, Dick was used to being a leader and a good big brother, everyone depended on him… and Y/N was the one he could count on, she was the light of his life, she was family, until recently she used to call him and check on him, now he knew why she hadn't called in three months… He sighed and looked down to see that Haley was asleep, he picked her up and put her in her bed. Even if Y/N had left the house, she still loved them, he was sure, maybe if he went back to Gotham and talked to her he would understand, yeah, maybe she had left the house, but she wouldn't leave them, she still loved them. He was sure

In Gotham... specifically at Wayne Manor, Tim was suffering from a headache and back pain, he was lying in his bed... well maybe not his bed, but in Y/N's bed and room. His work and the pile of papers were almost competing with the towering mountains... when did paperwork become so stressful and tiring? He didn't remember this ever being a problem for him, he wouldn't lie to himself, he knew that Y/N's departure was the reason for the work to be doubled, the sleep to be less, and the pain to be more, Y/N used to do almost all the work for him, so he could rest, but now he couldn't balance his sleeping time, eating, doing all the work, solving cases, and becoming Red Robin, it was too much, Y/N was managing it so well, she did his work, made sure he ate and drank enough before she literally dragged him from the Batcave to the palace to sleep against his will, she always carried him like a baby, he always wondered how she could carry him so easily, okay he'd admit that when he first came to the palace he was a very skinny baby, but he grew up and became muscular, maybe not like Duck or Jason but he sure wasn't light, anyway that didn't concern him now... The problem here is that he hasn't slept in... two days? He doesn't know, maybe it's been three days... He hates that Y/N used to carry him to his room and stay by his side until he fell asleep, and he hated that she knew that sometimes he pretended to sleep, so she wouldn't leave until Tim was completely asleep... Sometimes Tim couldn't sleep easily, like when there was a mission or a case on his mind but Y/N carried him to his room before he could finish it, so he would complain and sometimes beg Y/N to finish the case, that it wouldn't take long, but Y/N always refused... And he couldn't sleep because of the case that consumed his mind, so Y/N would sometimes tell him stories... And it worked to make him sleep... He wondered if Y/N's stories were real, because they didn't seem imaginary at all, her stories were strangely realistic, to the point that all Tim's attention was only on the story until he fell asleep. And so Tim became forced to sleep because of Y/N, food and water, when he should take a break and when he should finish the case, Y/N was organizing his life, he didn't remember getting tired or exhausted from this organization, on the contrary, he was getting enough sleep and food to renew his energy, and even after he came back from his break he would come back with more energy and his solving of cases was at an amazingly higher rate than before, it was very useful, Y/N was the only one who knew how to organize him amazingly with all the work he had. But Y/N wasn't just organizing his life, she even hid his mistakes. Sometimes he would come back from missions with some wounds. Tim didn't like to say that he was injured, it made him weak, and he didn't want to be weak, but Y/N would discover every wound he had, even if it was hidden. The good thing was that she never told Bruce about the injuries, and if the injuries were serious, she would make an excuse for Tim not to go on the next mission. She would cover up all his failures and mistakes in silence... and he was grateful to her. He still remembered when Damian first came and took the Robin costume from him, she would comfort him and stay by his side and tell him that Robin wasn't the one wearing the costume, Robin was the one who protected the children of this city.

It really helped him… he remembered when he asked her advice about his new costume and name, and she encouraged him… she was proud of him, he saw it in her eyes, and when Batman disappeared and everyone thought he was dead and Dick was about to put him in Arkham, Y/N was the first to protest and the first to hit Dick… well that problem was solved a while ago and Y/N was so mad at Dick, it took Dick over three weeks to try to get her to forgive him… it was funny to Tim. She got mad for him. For him… he missed her… she was his whole life, now he couldn’t sleep or work, even his appetite was gone… he could barely survive on coffee now. That’s why he moved into her room a few weeks after she left, he wouldn’t say he slept well, but at least he did, now her scent, her warmth, even her voice and her look at him were gone. When he moved into her room he had a fight with Damian about it, that was the first and last fight they had since Y/N left. Damian wouldn't like it if Tim was the one taking over Y/N's room, and it was a long, tiring fight, in which Damian gave in for the first time ever, letting Tim sleep in Y/N's room. Tim knew very well why Damian was angry, that he missed Y/N too, Damian had changed dramatically after her departure, he barely spoke inside the house, and even on missions he didn't have the same enthusiasm as usual, and he didn't blame Damian for that, he missed her himself... but he had to thank his position as CEO of WE for that which helped him see Y/N a lot, he had multiple meetings with Y/N's family company under the pretext of resuming relations again, just to see Y/N, and one of the meetings was always cancelled due to circumstances, whether from his side or Y/N's, and the first meeting that finally happened was last night, and after more than three months he saw Y/N again, when she entered the meeting room she automatically patted him on the head and asked him how he was and that his appearance looked bad and he should eat and sleep well... Tim was silent, he felt a lump in his throat, if there weren't other people in the room he would have collapsed and hugged her and asked her to come back, but he remained silent looking down Trying to breathe slowly, after the meeting ended he wanted to catch up with her, and talk to her alone and tell her that he needed her back, he hadn't slept in a long time, but because of some old businessmen that Tim was planning to throw out who blocked his way with some questions, invitations and failed offers that caused Tim to be late to catch up with Y/N, but it's okay, he will have another meeting with her, and he will ask her to go home.

Tim sighed as he tried to sleep for the sixth time and was about to fall asleep this time but the knocking on the door woke him up. He grumbled and cursed under his breath at the person at the door unless that person was Alfred, Tim got up lazily and opened the door to be surprised by Damian standing at the door... "Oh? Damian? What's wrong?" Tim noticed Damian's eyes were puffy from crying, he wasn't surprised, ever since Y/N left Damian had been crying a lot, not that anyone would tell him that was obvious. "I want you to find me two people, they're from my school, and they call Y/N my aunt." Damian said calmly without any arrogance. Tim looked at him in confusion for a while, could it be that Damian was after Y/N now? "And before you say anything I know that you're trying to get Y/N back through the meetings you request from her family's company." Damian continued crossing his arms. Tim tensed for a moment, he didn't know that it was obvious, then sighed in surrender. "Okay, come in."

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[halfmoonaria]

change of plans

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara was going to take care of it—end things for good—but nothing went the way she planned.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: dark themes, murder intent, violence, strong language, intrusive thoughts, implied stalking.

Tara didn't think she was a jealous person.

She was sure of it, actually.

Jealousy wasn't something she dealt with, at least not in the same way other people did. She told herself she wasn't the type to stew over what someone else had or waste time feeling resentful.

But looking back, there were moments—small, fleeting ones—that didn't quite fit the version of herself she liked to believe in.

When she was little, the first spark of that unfamiliar emotion would hit when someone snatched a toy out of her hands. It wasn't sadness or disappointment—it was sharper, hotter, and before she even realized what she was doing, she'd yank the toy back, sometimes with enough force to send the other kid stumbling.

She didn't mean to hurt them, not really, but the instinct to make things fair—or at least fair by her standards—was too strong to ignore.

Her teachers called it "trouble controlling her temper." Her mom called it a "phase." But it kept happening.

There was the time in first grade when another girl in her class got to play the fairy princess during dress-up. Tara had been stuck with the frog costume.

She'd sulked in the corner, watching the other girl twirl around in sparkly wings, until something inside her snapped. The girl didn't see it coming when Tara stomped up, grabbed the glittery wand, and broke it clean in two.

She didn't even regret it until she was sitting in the principal's office with her mom glaring at her from across the room.

By the time she was nine, Tara had lost count of how many times she'd been dragged to the teacher's office. Sometimes it was for yanking a classmate's hair after they showed off a new toy she didn't have. Other times, it was for shoving someone too hard during recess when she thought they were bragging about something they shouldn't have.

Her teachers always asked the same question: "Why did you do it, Tara?"

She never had a good answer.

Her mom tried everything—calming techniques, time-outs, grounding her from TV or playdates—but none of it worked.

The truth was, Tara didn't know why it bothered her so much when someone else got what she wanted. All she knew was that the feeling burned in her chest, hot and heavy, until she had to do something to let it out.

She couldn't pinpoint what the feeling was, not even as she got older—when she was supposed to be able to handle her emotions better, to control the bursts of anger and the bubbling rage that seemed to come out of nowhere.

It wasn't jealousy though. She was sure of that.

Jealousy felt petty, childish, like something people dealt with in middle school when they saw someone else wearing the same pair of shoes but in a better color. Tara wasn't petty, and she definitely wasn't childish. At least, that's what she told herself every time the heat rose to her face, her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms, and her vision blurred with that same fiery haze she'd felt since kindergarten.

It didn't make sense to call it jealousy. Jealousy implied weakness, didn't it? Like you couldn't be happy for someone else because you wanted what they had. Tara didn't think she wanted what anyone else had—she just hated the idea that they had it at all.

She didn't think it was anywhere close to jealousy—not until Chad broke up with her.

At first, all she felt was heartbreak, raw and overwhelming, the kind of sadness that made her chest feel hollow and heavy all at once. There was anger too, bubbling beneath the surface, but she pushed it down, unwilling to let him see that part of her. Tara told herself that staying calm was the only way to keep control of the situation, even as she listened to him try to explain himself.

He had said he didn't feel the same anymore, that something between them had changed. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he no longer felt the love they once had. His voice had been quiet, hesitant, as if he didn't want to hurt her more than he already was. He told her it wasn't her fault, that she'd been a great girlfriend and that he still cared about her.

The words sounded like they should've been comforting, but they weren't. They only made her feel worse. Love didn't just disappear, did it? And if it did, what did that say about her? She couldn't wrap her head around how everything could change so quickly, how something that had seemed so solid could slip through her fingers without warning.

For days after the breakup, she replayed his words in her mind, searching for some clue, some sign she might have missed. The sadness lingered, a constant ache she couldn't shake, and when the anger flared, she shoved it back down where it belonged. It wouldn't change anything, and it wouldn't bring him back.

At first, she thought heartbreak was all she'd have to contend with. But then, as the days stretched into weeks, another feeling began to creep in—something darker, sharper, and impossible to ignore.

That dark, sharper, and impossible-to-ignore feeling had only grown worse. In fact, it had become unbearable when she saw Chad a few weeks later.

With you.

She hadn't been prepared for it. In hindsight, maybe she should've been. They had gone to the same school—it had only been a matter of time before she ran into him again. But Tara hadn't expected him to look so... fine. Like nothing had happened. Like breaking up with her hadn't fazed him in the slightest. And she especially hadn't expected to see him with someone else.

You had been standing next to him near the lockers, your body slightly turned toward his as you spoke. She hadn't been able to hear what you were saying, but whatever it had been, it had made him laugh. That same, familiar laugh that had once been hers to hear.

Her chest had tightened, the weight of it pressing down on her like a physical force. It had been the first time she had seen him since the breakup, and heartbreak hadn't been what she had felt then. No, it had been something else entirely. It had been hot and all-consuming, curling its way through her like wildfire.

Her gaze had locked on the way you had reached out, your fingers briefly brushing his arm as you spoke. It had been such a casual, effortless gesture, but to Tara, it had felt deliberate. She had clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she had struggled to steady her breathing.

She hadn't wanted to look at you. She hadn't wanted to acknowledge the way your presence, your closeness to Chad, had made her feel. But she hadn't been able to tear her eyes away.

It hadn't been fair. Chad wasn't supposed to move on so quickly. He wasn't supposed to look this happy, not when she had still been trying to piece herself back together. And you—God, you hadn't been supposed to be so... perfect. So at ease, standing there with him like you had belonged.

Tara's stomach had churned, a bitter taste rising in her throat. The feeling bubbling inside her had been almost painfully familiar, a twisted echo of the jealousy she had felt as a child.

She could still remember the heat of it, the way it had burned through her tiny body when someone had gotten the last cookie in class or taken the swing she had wanted on the playground.

Back then, her jealousy had been wild and unrestrained, often spilling out as anger—pushing, hitting, shouting until someone had intervened.

But this hadn't been the same. She wasn't a kid anymore, and she had known better than to lash out. And yet, the anger had simmered beneath the surface, waiting for her to slip, to let it spill over.

Her jaw had tightened as she had forced herself to look away, her fists clenching at her sides. Chad hadn't been hers anymore, she had reminded herself, no matter how much she had wanted him to be.

She hadn't had the right to feel this way, to be so consumed by jealousy over someone who had clearly moved on.

But knowing that hadn't made it stop. The jealousy had still been there, sharp and unrelenting, twisting inside her like a knife.

It had dug in deeper with every passing day, lodging itself in a part of her she didn't know how to reach, let alone remove.

It didn't help that Tara knew exactly who you were. Of course she did—everyone in Woodsboro seemed to know everyone.

The town was too small for anyone to go unnoticed, their business too easily whispered about or pieced together.

She had known who you were since kindergarten, though, in moments like these, it felt like a cruel twist of fate that you hadn't been one of the kids she'd shoved in a fit of childish rage.

Maybe if you had been, she wouldn't feel so powerless now. She could have at least claimed to have gotten her frustration out once, a long time ago. But no. You had been one of the few to escape her younger wrath, and somehow that made this worse.

It wasn't just that, though. Tara couldn't think about you without hearing her mother's voice in the back of her mind, muttering something about how she wished Tara were "more like you."

Her mother said things like that about plenty of kids, especially when Tara landed herself in trouble at school. But the way she spoke about you had always felt different—like she meant it.

You were polite, diligent, the kind of kid parents liked to hold up as an example. Tara had hated it back then, hearing those comparisons tossed her way whenever she acted out. Now, remembering it made her blood boil.

You weren't a stranger to her. Not really. How could you be when Wes had spent all of middle school hopelessly infatuated with you? His crush had been embarrassingly obvious, even to people who weren't paying attention.

Tara remembered the way he'd stumble through his sentences whenever you so much as glanced in his direction. How he'd linger near your locker as though working up the courage to say something, only to turn red and scurry off when Amber caught him at it.

Amber had loved teasing him for it. She'd nudge his arm and whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, calling him love-struck and pitiful. And Tara? She'd roll her eyes and laugh right along with her.

She hadn't understood the appeal back then. Sure, you were nice. Polite, from what people said. But to Tara, you'd just been another person in the hallways, someone she could name but not care much about. Wes's hopeless pining had been little more than background noise to her.

But now... now that memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Not that she'd ever had a real problem with you. If anything, she'd been indifferent toward you all these years. You were nice, she supposed. Everyone said so, and it wasn't hard to believe.

You dressed well enough to stand out without trying too hard, cared enough about your grades to keep them respectable, and generally managed to avoid any kind of trouble. There wasn't much about you that people could complain about.

Tara hadn't spoken to you much. Maybe a couple of times, when group projects forced you together or when politeness demanded it. But it had never gone beyond that, never lingered in a way that mattered. You were a passing presence, just one of the many faces she'd seen over the years, easily forgotten once you were out of sight.

At least, that was how it used to be.

Now, it felt like you were everywhere. And worse, you weren't just a face in the crowd anymore. You were always laughing, always smiling, always looking so damn perfect. And you weren't alone. You were with Chad. His arm slung around your shoulders like you were his.

And that, Tara couldn't ignore.

You were with her Chad. Her boyfriend.

Or at least, that's what her mind insisted on calling him, despite the breakup. Despite everything. He was still hers. He had to be. There was no way he wasn't, not when she could still feel the ghost of his hand in hers, not when her chest tightened every time she thought about him laughing at something you said. It wasn't right. It didn't feel right.

You didn't belong under his arm like that. You didn't belong anywhere near him.

Tara's jaw clenched as the image burned itself deeper into her memory: the way his arm had draped over your shoulders so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't. It couldn't be. That spot was hers—had been hers for so long that seeing anyone else there made her stomach twist with something jagged and unbearable.

And it didn't help that you didn't even look good there. Not to her, anyway. You didn't fit the way she did. You didn't mold into his side like you belonged there, not like she had. Chad was tall, broad-shouldered, and Tara had always thought they looked balanced together. She'd fit neatly under his arm, a perfect complement to his size and presence. You? You just looked... wrong.

At least, that's what she told herself as her eyes lingered on you for too long, darting between the way you smiled at him and the way he smiled back at you.

Her chest tightened further, the edges of her jealousy sharpening with every second.

She tried to tell herself not to care. Really, she did. She told herself that it didn't matter anymore, that Chad wasn't hers, that this—whatever this was—wasn't her business. He had every right to move on. She even tried repeating it in her head, like some kind of mantra: It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

But it didn't work. It never worked.

It wasn't just the jealousy, though that was certainly the loudest emotion screaming in her chest. It was the helplessness that came with it. The same helplessness she'd felt back in kindergarten, when that dark, fiery feeling had bubbled up inside her and she hadn't known what to do with it. Back then, she'd pushed people, shoved them, let her rage and frustration spill out in any way it could.

Now? Now she was older. Supposedly more mature. She was supposed to be able to handle her emotions, wasn't she? But standing there, watching Chad lean into you, laugh at something you said like it was the funniest thing in the world, Tara felt that same fiery frustration rise in her chest.

She didn't shove people anymore—didn't let that dark feeling spill out like she used to—but that didn't mean it wasn't still there, simmering just below the surface. And now, as she stood frozen in the hallway, all of it—every last ounce of it—was directed at you.

Because you didn't belong there.

You didn't belong with Chad.

You didn't belong in the picture she still couldn't stop replaying in her head: you laughing at something he said, him pulling you closer, the two of you looking... happy.

Tara bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste blood. She told herself to turn away, to stop looking, to let it go. But it was impossible. Just like it had been when she was five years old, that feeling burned too brightly, clawed at her too viciously to ignore.

And now, as she stared at you from across the hallway, she realized she didn't know how to make it stop.

She couldn't stop seeing it—couldn't stop feeling it. You and him. It was burned into her mind, an image so vivid it felt like it had been seared there with a branding iron. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there. You and Chad. Laughing together. Holding hands. Kissing.

Tara's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She hated it. She hated you.

She hated the way you were always smiling, like you didn't have a care in the world. She hated the way you stood so close to him every day, the way his arm so casually rested on your shoulders. She hated the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you. Like you were the only person in the room. Like you were perfect.

You weren't even that cute. That's what she tried to tell herself, over and over again. You weren't anything special. There were plenty of other girls in Woodsboro prettier than you, smarter than you, more interesting than you.

But it was a lie.

Because you were beautiful.

You were effortlessly beautiful in a way that made Tara's stomach churn. She hated the fact that she couldn't use your looks as an excuse. She hated how good you looked with Chad, how perfect you seemed together, how easy it was to see why he'd chosen you.

And that made her hatred burn even brighter.

Most nights, she couldn't sleep. The second her head hit the pillow, her mind would start spinning, and the thoughts would creep in—dark, ugly thoughts that wrapped around her like a vice. She could see it so clearly, almost like it was happening right in front of her.

You touching him in places she was supposed to touch. You undressing him, his hands roaming over your body instead of hers. You kissing him, making him moan, sitting on top of him—doing all the things she was supposed to do.

It made her blood boil. It made her want to scream.

The images were relentless, vivid and visceral, and every one of them felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest. Sometimes, the anger was so sharp it made her want to claw at her own skin, like she could rip the feeling out of herself if she just tried hard enough.

But no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to push the thoughts away, they always came back. They stayed with her, haunting her like a ghost she couldn't escape.

And every time, the hatred burned hotter.

It wasn't fair. You weren't supposed to have him. You weren't supposed to be in his arms, weren't supposed to hear his laugh up close, weren't supposed to know what his lips felt like. You didn't deserve any of it. You didn't deserve him.

He was hers. He'd always been hers.

But now, he wasn't.

And it was all because of you.

And this wasn't like any other time. Not even close.

Tara had always known her temper was a problem. She'd been told that enough times growing up—by her teachers, by her mom, by anyone who'd had the misfortune of crossing her when she was angry. But this? This was different.

She'd never felt this way before.

She'd tried everything to stop it, to keep herself from unraveling. Everything her mom had suggested back when she'd first started noticing how intense Tara's outbursts could be. Taking deep breaths, counting to ten, picturing a happy place—none of it worked. It never had.

And when her mom's suggestions fell flat, Tara had turned to the internet, searching desperately for anything that might help. Techniques to control anger, ways to keep herself calm, tips to avoid losing her temper. She'd read every article she could find, watched every video, tried every trick. Not because she cared about managing her emotions—no, she just wanted to avoid her mom forcing her into some anger management program or therapy session she'd be stuck in for months.

But now? Now, she couldn't even pretend to have control. Nothing worked. Nothing.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin prickled with heat, and the jealousy burned so hot and sharp that she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was something else entirely, something darker and more consuming.

Tara felt insane.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to push it down or ignore it, the feeling wouldn't go away. It wrapped around her like a second skin, suffocating and unbearable, until there was only one thought left in her mind:

She had to get rid of you.

It wasn't even a question anymore. It was a fact, plain and simple. There was no other way to fix this, no other way to make the feelings stop. You had to go.

At first, Tara thought about spreading a rumor or two. Nothing big, just enough to make you and Chad fight. Enough to plant a seed of doubt, to tear apart whatever connection you had with him. It sounded perfect at first—until she realized how easily it could blow up in her face.

Chad would figure it out eventually. He'd find out Tara was behind it, and then she'd lose any chance of getting him back.

She thought about telling you to leave, to move away, to go anywhere but here. But that was ridiculous. You'd never listen.

She thought about kidnapping you.

The thought came and went so quickly it almost startled her. For a split second, her mind flickered to the idea of forcing you out of the picture entirely, taking control in a way that left no room for argument.

But no. That was insane.

...Wasn't it?

Tara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to hurt. She was spiraling. She knew it. But she couldn't stop.

Nothing else would work. Nothing except you being gone.

She didn't know how, she didn't know when, but Tara knew one thing with absolute certainty:

You couldn't stay.

You didn't belong here. You didn't belong with Chad. You didn't belong anywhere near him, near her, near this town.

You didn't belong anywhere.

And Tara? Tara was going to make sure of it.

She toyed with possibilities. But none of them seemed right.

Kidnapping you crossed her mind more than once though. Briefly.

But it was stupid, insane.

Because what would she do when she had you?

Just keep you there?

It seemed suiting, but it wouldn't work out.

But she couldn't help thinking it—if only because she was running out of options.

And then, the thought hit her. It came out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, like a knife to the gut.

She could kill you.

At first, the thought had hit her like a slap to the face, sharp and jarring in its absurdity. It had seemed insane. Because it was insane. What kind of person even thought something like that, let alone seriously considered it?

But as the days dragged on, the idea didn't fade. If anything, it took root. The more Tara thought about it, the less insane it seemed. Her anger, that relentless, boiling rage, started to simmer. It didn't disappear entirely—not even close—but it

lessened.

For the first time in weeks, she could breathe.

The idea itself was enough at first. She didn't need to act on it. Just thinking about it was enough to bring her some semblance of peace. She let the fantasy play out in her mind like a sick little movie: you, out of the picture, gone forever. It didn't matter how or when—just that it happened.

And for a few days, she was happy with just that. She let herself exist in that space, in the calm that came with imagining a world where you didn't exist. A weekend of relative peace, of daydreams that made her anger feel manageable.

But then Monday came.

And Tara saw you again.

You were standing in the hallway, smiling up at Chad like he was the only person in the world. His arm was slung casually around your shoulders, his head tilted toward yours in that stupid, familiar way that made Tara's stomach twist.

It was like being set on fire all over again.

Her chest burned, her vision blurred, and that fleeting peace she'd found over the weekend vanished in an instant. The rage came roaring back, hotter and more vicious than ever, tearing through her like a wildfire.

Because the thought of you being gone wasn't enough anymore. Not when you were right there, so close, so perfect, so fucking smug without even trying.

Tara's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms until they left crescent-shaped indents. Her jaw tightened, her teeth grinding as she stared at you, as she watched you.

You didn't belong there. You didn't belong under his arm. You didn't belong anywhere near him.

And now? Now, Tara knew what she had to do.

It wasn't a matter of if anymore. It was a matter of when.

Because just thinking about it wasn't enough. Not anymore.

She was going to kill you.

And she was going to feel better for it.

___

Tara had everything prepared.

The thought of it had consumed her, growing like a rock inside her chest, feeding off her every waking moment until it was impossible to ignore.

And now, it was time.

She had spent days balancing on the edge of dread and longing, torn between the weight of what she was about to do and the twisted satisfaction she knew it would bring. It wasn't something she wanted—not really. But it was something she had to do. The only way to end the torment that had been eating away at her since the moment she saw you with him.

So Tara had done her research, gathering every scrap of information she could. She watched you closely—closer than ever. She had listened, observed, bided her time until the perfect opportunity revealed itself.

And it had.

It had been math class on Monday afternoon, and Tara had been lucky enough to snag a seat directly behind you and your friends. Normally, she would've tuned out your conversation entirely, drowning it in her thoughts. But this time, she had leaned in, careful to catch every word.

You'd been talking about the upcoming math test, about how you'd be studying for it Wednesday afternoon. Alone.

Your parents were going to be at some lame work conference, and they'd decided to take your younger brother along to make a trip out of it. You'd rolled your eyes as you explained how stupid it all sounded, but Tara hadn't cared about your opinion.

All she cared about was the opening.

You'd be home. Alone.

It was perfect.

Tara's pencil had hovered over her notebook as she pretended to take notes, but her mind wasn't on algebra. It was spinning with possibilities, with plans, with the kind of clarity that had eluded her for weeks.

When the bell rang and you left the room with your friends, Tara sat frozen in her seat for a moment, her fists clenched around the edge of her desk. The pounding in her chest felt louder than the shuffle of students leaving the classroom, louder than the voices in the hallway.

Because now, it wasn't just an idea.

It was a plan.

Wednesday. After school. It would be done.

And finally, finally, she would feel better.

Wednesday came, and Tara felt something she hadn't in weeks. Happiness.

It wasn't the fleeting, muted kind that came and went without leaving a trace. No, this was sharp, visceral, alive. She could feel it buzzing beneath her skin, coiling around her chest like a warm, electric current.

She didn't remember the last time she'd woken up this excited. It was like every nerve in her body had been lit aflame, pushing her through the motions of her morning routine with a sense of purpose she hadn't felt in so long.

Because today was the day.

Every second that ticked by brought her closer to it. To you. To the end of the endless cycle of rage and jealousy that had consumed her. She could picture it already—vivid, perfect, satisfying.

You'd be scared, of course. How could you not be? She imagined the way your eyes would widen, the way you'd stammer out a pathetic plea. You'd try to push her off, scramble for an escape, but it wouldn't work.

It wouldn't work because you were weak. You weren't like her. You didn't know what it meant to fight, to claw your way through something until you got what you wanted. You'd crumble like paper.

And then you'd be gone.

She could see the aftermath so clearly it almost felt real. Chad, walking through the school corridors alone, his shoulders slumped with the weight of grief. His face twisted in pain as he thought about you.

And then—then he'd come back to her. He had to. It was inevitable, wasn't it? He'd remember how good things were with her, how much better they could be now that you were out of the picture. He'd pull himself to her, broken but needing her to put him back together.

It was all Tara could think about.

The entire day felt like a blur, her mind too preoccupied to focus on anything else. Teachers droned on and on about tests and essays, classmates chatted about meaningless things, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except what was waiting for her after school.

And yet, the anger was still there.

It simmered beneath the surface, coiled tight in her chest, a constant reminder that nothing was done yet. You were still there, still laughing and smiling and making her blood boil with every second that passed.

In English class, she caught sight of you leaning over Chad's desk, your voice low as you explained something to him. Grammar, maybe. Whatever it was, Tara didn't care.

What she cared about was the way he was looking at you. That stupid, soft smile, the same one he used to give her.

It made her stomach turn.

You didn’t even know what you were doing, she thought bitterly, her fists clenching beneath her desk. You didn't know him. You didn't know how to help him, not like she did. You weren't supposed to be there, leaning over his shoulder, pointing at his textbook like you had any idea what you were doing.

Tara's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together as she stared at the two of you.

But it was fine. It wouldn't matter soon enough.

By the time the final bell rang, she was practically buzzing with anticipation, her hands trembling as she shoved her books into her bag.

Because today was the day.

And by the time it was over, you'd be gone. Forever.

By the time last period rolled around, Tara could barely contain herself. She was bouncing her leg under the desk, the rapid up-and-down movement making the surface wobble slightly. It wasn't stress, though. Not even close.

It was excitement.

Because in just a few hours, everything would be different. You'd be gone.

She'd spent the entire day anticipating this moment, and now that it was so close, she could hardly breathe. Her chest felt tight, but not in the way it used to when the anger consumed her. This was something else—something electric, like a firework waiting to explode.

When the bell finally rang for the last time that day, Tara practically shot out of her seat. Her heart was pounding, her pulse thrumming in her ears as she sprinted to her locker, dodging through the crowded hallway like her life depended on it.

She grabbed her things in a flurry, barely paying attention to what she was stuffing into her bag. The details didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting out of there as quickly as possible.

The walk home was a blur. She couldn't even remember the route she took, but she knew it was fast because she'd gotten there in record time. She practically burst through the door of the apartment, slamming it shut behind her with a force that rattled the frame.

The space was empty, just as she'd hoped. Sam wasn't home, probably still at the café down the street where she worked long shifts most afternoons.

Tara didn't waste any time. She stormed into her room, yanking her bag off her shoulder and dumping its contents onto the bed. Books, hair ties, pens, and random scraps of paper spilled out in a messy heap. She didn't bother organizing any of it, her focus locked on what came next.

She started packing what she'd need instead.

First came the basics: a pair of gloves she'd swiped from the closet, a small hand towel, and a few cleaning supplies she'd found under the sink. Just in case.

Then there was the book. She'd borrowed it from the library earlier that day, an afterthought at the time, but now it served a purpose. If anyone asked what she'd been doing when you turned up dead, she'd have an alibi.

And then there was the knife.

Tara headed to the kitchen, her hands trembling slightly as she opened the drawer where Sam kept the cutlery. She stared at the knives for a moment, her breathing shallow as she considered her options.

Finally, she picked one.

It wasn't the largest or the sharpest, but it felt solid in her grip. Familiar, almost.

She held it for a moment, staring down at the blade as it caught the light. Her reflection stared back at her, warped and fragmented in the metal, but she didn't flinch.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself before tucking the knife into her bag.

This was it.

She was ready.

Tara zipped her bag shut and slung it over her shoulder, not even sparing a second thought for the knife or the other incriminating items inside. Evidence of what was about to happen was tucked away in plain sight, but the thought didn't concern her. Why would it? She wasn't going to get caught.

She paused in the doorway of the apartment, pulling out her phone to double-check the address one last time. It was burned into her memory by now, but a quick glance wouldn't hurt. She'd found it easily enough a week ago, scouring the school directory that had been left out in the counselor's office during one of her "mandatory check-ins." Your address had been listed next to your emergency contacts, all neatly typed out.

Perfect.

Satisfied, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and stepped out into the hallway. The stairwell echoed with her footsteps as she made her way down, each step slow and deliberate. She wasn't in a rush. Not yet.

The walk to your house wasn't short, but it wasn't unbearably long either. Just far enough to give her plenty of time to think, to imagine, to savor the anticipation building in her chest like a drug.

Tara was thrilled.

Not just because of what she was about to do, but because of how clever she'd been about it. The idea had struck her like lightning, and the more she thought about it, the more genius it seemed. She wasn't just solving a problem—she was removing it, erasing it entirely.

As she walked, her thoughts grew darker, more vivid. She pictured you in front of her, on your knees, crying and begging her to stop. But she wouldn't stop. She'd pin you down with a strength you couldn't fight against, her hands steady, her resolve unshakable.

Her gaze flicked down to her white Converse, and she pictured them splattered with red. Blood staining the canvas, dripping onto the pavement, marking every step she took.

She imagined your blood on her hands, warm and slick, streaked across her fingers like war paint. She pictured your face as she hovered over you, the way your eyes would widen with fear, the way your mouth would open to scream—only to be silenced.

The image sent a thrill through her, a jolt of satisfaction that made her grin.

To anyone else, these thoughts would be horrifying. Disturbing. Insane.

But to Tara, they were... liberating.

She couldn't wait.

Tara had dreamt about this moment. Every detail had been mapped out in her mind, as vivid and meticulous as if it had already happened. She hadn't missed a single thing while planning it.

She knew exactly how it would go.

You'd answer the door, your steps light as they always seemed to be. When the door swung open, you'd greet her with that confused little smile, the one that would tug at the corner of your lips as you tried to figure out what she was doing there.

She could already imagine the polite mask you'd pull on, hiding the confusion behind your soft smile as you asked—probably in that gentle, saccharine voice Chad loved so much—what she was doing at your house.

And Tara would match your politeness, feigning a warm, almost apologetic smile as she began to speak. She'd tell you that you'd left the classroom before the teacher had a chance to hand you a paper—a makeup assignment for the math test you were apparently struggling with. She'd tell you how she'd volunteered to bring it to you, mentioning offhandedly that your house was "on the way" to hers.

It wasn't.

But you were probably stupid enough to believe it.

Tara could almost see the way you'd nod, your suspicion melting away as you stepped aside to let her in. And that's when she'd set her plan into motion.

She'd unzip her bag slowly, her movements deliberate, casual, as if she really were pulling out a sheet of paper. She'd even keep talking, her voice calm, explaining how the assignment wasn't that difficult, just a review of material you should already know.

But when her hand came out of the bag, it wouldn't be holding any paper.

It would be holding the knife.

The image was so clear in her mind, so vivid that it felt real. She could see the shock on your face, the way your smile would drop, the way your eyes would widen. She'd let you stand there, frozen and clueless, for just a moment before she lunged.

The first stab would be quick, precise. She'd aim for your stomach, the blade plunging in before you had a chance to react. And as you stumbled back, clutching at the wound, she'd step inside, closing the door behind her with her free hand.

It wouldn't stop there. It couldn't.

She'd keep going, stabbing again and again, her movements frenzied but deliberate, each strike fueled by the rage that had been festering inside her for weeks.

By the time you hit the floor, Tara would already be kneeling over you, her knife rising and falling with a terrifying rhythm.

She'd finish it. Completely.

Tara found herself smirking at the thought, her steps quickening as she neared your street. The plan played out in her head like a movie she'd already watched a hundred times, each scene perfectly clear, perfectly executed.

The thought of it all—the fear in your eyes, the blood on her hands, the peace that would finally follow—was almost enough to make her laugh.

By the time she reached your street, her smirk had settled into something more fixed, more certain. The weight of the knife in her bag wasn't something she second-guessed. There was no hesitation in her steps, no flicker of doubt in her mind. She had played this moment over so many times that it felt inevitable, like she was simply walking through a prewritten script.

And then she saw your house.

That perfect, suburban home—one of those places that looked like it had been plucked from a family sitcom. The kind of house where nothing bad was ever supposed to happen. The driveway was empty, just like it was supposed to be. No parents home. No witnesses. But that didn't matter.

What mattered was that you had all of this.

Tara felt her stomach twist in something that wasn't quite anger, wasn't quite jealousy, but a poisonous mix of both. The house itself was nice—not a mansion, but big enough that she knew you had space that was yours. No sharing. No constantly moving from one place to another. You had stability. The porch light was already on despite the sun still clinging to the sky, because you had parents who actually cared if you got home in the dark.

Parents who were probably normal.

Not like hers.

And it wasn't just the house. It was everything. The car parked on the curb—the one that she knew was yours and not some shared family vehicle. The way your front yard was neatly kept, the way there was a welcome mat in front of the door, the way it all screamed a life she never had.

It made her hate you even more.

But that hate only made her more certain. Because soon, none of it would matter. Your perfect house, your caring parents, your stupid little car—they would all be meaningless.

Soon, the only thing you'd have was a gravestone with your name carved into it.

And that made her happy.

Tara forced herself to relax as she walked up the front steps, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She let out a slow breath, schooling her expression into something neutral. She wasn't just about to commit murder—no, she was just a classmate doing a favor, dropping off an assignment.

The thought almost made her laugh.

She reached the front door, lifting a fist and knocking twice against the wood.

The house was quiet. Peaceful.

But soon, Tara imagined, it would be fuller.

Fuller with screams.

And then—she heard it.

A soft, thoughtless hum from the other side of the door. Light, airy, clueless.

Her hands twitched at her sides, damp with sweat before she even realized it. A sick, twisted heat pooled in her stomach, curling around her ribs like a vice, because for the first time all day, something foreign crawled up her spine.

Nerves.

Real, undeniable, nerves.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

No. No. That wasn't right. She had waited for this.

She had planned, dreamed, prepared for this exact moment. She was supposed to feel good. Excited.

Not like this.

Not like her body had turned against her.

Tara's jaw tightened, anger sparking white-hot beneath her skin, because that was your fault, too.

Of course, it was.

You were the one who made her feel this way. You were the reason her mind had been tangled in knots for weeks, the reason she couldn't breathe without choking on the thought of you, the reason everything felt so wrong.

And that was why she was here.

She sucked in a sharp breath, planting her feet firmly on the doorstep, pushing the shaking from her hands, the sweat from her palms.

Because it didn't matter.

It didn't matter that her heart was hammering against her ribs. It didn't matter that her mind was racing.

All that mattered was that you were coming.

And then—

A quiet shuffle of footsteps.

Closer.

Tara's stomach twisted.

Another step.

And another.

The shadow of movement from behind the glass.

And then—

The door clicked as the lock turned.

The handle shifted.

And Tara stopped breathing.

The door swung open.

And there you were.

Tara didn't know what she had expected. She had run through this moment in her head too many times to count, had pictured every detail—the way you'd react, the way she'd feel, the way it would finally happen. But none of those versions had prepared her for the real thing.

Because the real thing was you—standing there, so normal, so alive in a way that made something tighten in her chest.

You hadn't even looked to see who it was before your lips curled into a soft, polite smile, like answering the door and finding someone waiting for you was just another part of your evening. Like she was just another part of your evening.

And Tara—

Tara froze.

Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag, fingers stiff, nails pressing into her palm. The weight of it suddenly felt too heavy, dragging her down, pinning her in place.

You weren't looking at her yet, not fully, but she could see the moment it registered. The way your eyes flickered, widening just a little before settling, before you adjusted.

Tara swallowed hard, throat dry.

She hadn't planned for this—for the way time seemed to slow, for the way her pulse slammed against her ribs, not in anger but in something else, something unreadable. She had prepared for every possible scenario, had thought through every single step. She knew exactly what she had to do.

So why the fuck wasn't she doing it?

Why was she standing there, frozen, when this was exactly what she had been waiting for?

Her stomach twisted, a sick, sudden nausea creeping in.

She had to say something.

She had to move.

But she just stood there, staring.

It was like her body had short-circuited, her mind blanking out in a way it never did. She had pictured this moment a hundred times, had mapped it out in her head with a precision so sharp it felt real—but now? Now, standing in front of you, with your stupid soft smile and your wide, expectant eyes, everything felt wrong.

She was supposed to have control.

She was supposed to speak first.

But before she could force a single word out of her mouth—

"Oh my God, Tara!"

Your voice hit her like a slap to the face.

Not just because of the voice—bright, warm, too friendly for what this moment was meant to be—but because of how you said her name.

Wrong.

You stretched out the A like it belonged there, like you had never even considered the right way to say it.

Tara's stomach twisted, her nose scrunching slightly before she could stop it.

She hated when people did that.

It wasn't even complicated. It wasn't hard.

Tara. Short. Sharp. Simple.

Why the fuck would it be anything else?

But then—before she could even say anything, before she could snap at you the way she wanted to—you noticed.

Not in the way most people did.

You didn't fumble over yourself, didn't look nervous, didn't react like someone who had just made a mistake in front of the wrong person.

No.

You just... realized.

"Oh—sorry. It's Tara, right?"

And this time, you said it right.

Tara felt something hot crawl up her spine.

You didn't wait for her to correct you.

You didn’t need her to tell you you were wrong.

You figured it out on your own.

And yet, you still smiled.

"I'm sorry, I totally suck at names," you added, your voice easy, a small, amused sigh slipping through a quiet giggle.

A giggle.

Like this was nothing.

Like you weren't standing in your doorway, staring at someone who had come here to kill you.

Tara's grip on her bag tightened.

You weren't nervous.

Not even a little.

Why weren't you nervous?

You were supposed to be. Yet she was the one that was.

Tara didn't know what the fuck was happening to her.

This wasn't right.

She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to be sharp, precise, already halfway inside your house by now, setting her plan into motion.

But instead, she stood there.

Frozen.

Silent.

She couldn't speak.

Her body acted before her mind caught up, lips pressing together in something barely resembling a smile. Thin. Tense. Fake.

"It's fine," she mumbled, her voice lower than she intended.

It wasn't fine.

Nothing about this was fine.

And yet, you still didn't ask her what she was doing here.

You didn't look suspicious. You didn't hesitate. You didn't ask.

Tara could feel something bubbling in her chest, frustration twisting in with something else, something hotter, sharper.

Why weren't you asking?

Why weren't you wary?

Why weren't you treating her like a stranger who had no reason to be on your doorstep?

But before she could dwell on it for too long, your face lit up even more—

And you started talking.

"I've actually been wanting to speak to you for a while."

Your voice was too warm. Too light.

Tara's jaw clenched.

"This whole thing with Chad..."

You trailed off, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear, tilting your head ever so slightly as your eyes flicked to her face—

Waiting.

Waiting to see if she reacted to his name.

And fuck, she did.

She hated that she did.

But you didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe you did, but you didn't care.

You just continued, words spilling out like you had been holding them in for too long.

"I wanted to ask if you guys were fine before... yeah, you know."

Tara didn't need you to finish that sentence.

She knew exactly what you meant.

Before you.

Before Chad moved on.

Before you ruined everything.

Her nails dug into the strap of her bag.

And still, you didn't stop talking.

"I know we're not friends and barely know each other," you admitted, still looking at her with that same softness. That genuine fucking softness that made her stomach twist in ways it shouldn't.

"But you're really nice," you went on.

Tara almost laughed at that.

Nice.

You thought she was nice.

And then—

"I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable or, you know... secretly hate me."

The way you said it was almost casual, like it was just a thought, something light, something small—

But Tara felt her heartbeat slam against her ribs.

You didn't know.

You had no idea.

And for the first time since she got here, she felt a flicker of something close to panic.

You didn't hate her.

You weren't afraid of her.

You thought she was nice.

What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

Tara tried to reason with herself.

If she just did it now, everything would be fine.

If she just said what she planned to say, if she reached for her bag, if she pulled out the knife instead—

It would be over.

It would be done.

You would be nothing but a mess on the floor, and Chad would be devastated, and he would come crawling back, and everything would go back to how it was supposed to be.

So why wasn't she moving?

Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag, but her body stayed rooted to the spot.

She wanted to.

Oh, how she wanted to.

She had dreamed about this moment.

Had imagined the way you'd look at her—terrified, confused, realizing too late what was about to happen.

She had longed for it.

And yet—

She couldn't.

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, she couldn't.

Something in her wouldn't let her.

What the fuck was she even thinking earlier?

Why did she think this would be easy?

Why did she think she could just walk up here and do it like it was nothing?

Her head felt too full, a war raging behind her eyes, pushing, pulling, twisting.

She wasn't supposed to hesitate.

She wasn't supposed to second-guess herself.

She was supposed to kill you.

So why was it suddenly feeling impossible?

You studied her face as she stood there, silent.

To you, it probably looked like she was still hurt over Chad.

Like she was standing here, struggling to find the right words, caught up in old feelings she hadn't moved past yet.

And when she didn't answer, you didn't take it the way you should have.

You didn't question why she was just standing there.

You didn't wonder why she was looking at you like that, like something wasn't clicking in her head.

Instead—you invited her in.

You stepped back, opening the door a little wider, glancing at her with the same warm expression you had greeted her with.

"Do you want to come inside?"

Tara blinked.

For a second, she thought she misheard you.

But you weren't kidding.

You were actually letting her in.

You, the person she had been planning to kill, were offering to welcome her into your home.

You didn't even know her.

And when she didn't immediately respond, you just smiled a little and added, "Only if you want to."

That was it.

No hesitation. No suspicion. No fear.

Why weren't you scared of her?

Why weren't you acting like someone who was about to die?

Her fingers clenched tighter around the strap of her bag.

She should leave.

She should end this.

She should do what she came here to do.

And yet—

Almost without thinking, she found herself nodding.

Slowly, stiffly.

And then she was stepping inside.

Her body was acting on its own, ignoring the part of her mind still screaming at her to just fucking do it already.

She heard you close the door behind her.

She stood there, fists tightening at her sides, eyes flickering around your house—your nice, warm, safe house that made her sick.

And then you were talking again, so casually, so easily.

"I'm trying to study for the math test, but it's not going really well."

You let out a small, light laugh, like this was nothing.

Like she was just a friend stopping by instead of a fucking killer in your home.

Tara didn't know why she followed you.

Why her feet carried her further inside instead of turning around and doing what she was supposed to do.

She barely processed the way you walked ahead of her, leading her through the house like she belonged there.

Like she wasn't holding a knife in her bag.

Like she wasn't planning to use it.

Her fingers curled tighter around the strap, knuckles aching from the pressure, but she still didn't stop.

She stepped past the entryway, eyes flickering over everything she could see—the framed artwork on the walls, the coat rack near the door, the way the house smelled warm, lived in. There was something painfully normal about all of it. Too normal. It made her stomach turn.

And then her gaze landed on it.

The photo sitting neatly on the shelf above the couch.

She didn't mean to stop. Didn't mean to let her focus linger. But she did.

It was you.

Your family.

Your mom, your dad, your little brother.

All of you smiling, arms wrapped around each other like you had never known anything but happiness.

Her throat burned.

Her chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped their hands around her ribs and squeezed.

She didn't know why.

She didn't fucking know why.

All she knew was that she hated that picture.

Hated the way you had that.

Hated the way she couldn't even imagine a photo like that of her own family.

Most definitely not framed in the living room.

Her mouth pressed into a hard line, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag.

The weight of the knife sat heavy inside, like it was taunting her.

She should reach for it.

She should pull it out and remind herself why she was here.

But her body still wouldn't move.

And that made her furious.

Why the fuck was she just standing here?

Why wasn't she doing anything?

It would be so easy.

A few steps. A flick of her wrist.

Blood against the perfect little life you had.

A stain.

A reminder that nothing was ever really safe.

So why couldn't she do it?

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else—until your voice cut through the haze.

"Tara?"

She blinked.

Snapped back to the moment.

You were looking at her now, head slightly tilted, waiting for her to follow you further inside.

She forced her jaw to unclench, tearing her eyes away from the photo and moving again.

She followed you into the living room.

And that was when she saw the mess of notes and open notebooks spread out across the coffee table.

Pens scattered. Pages half-filled with numbers and formulas. Homework left abandoned mid-thought.

She stared.

She didn't even know why.

Maybe it was because it was so normal.

Like you had no idea what was standing right in front of you.

Like she wasn't supposed to be anything other than some classmate stopping by with an assignment.

Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag.

Maybe if she just—

Your voice cut through the silence again, still light, still unbothered.

"You can sit down if you want."

You motioned toward the couch, as if this was just normal.

As if she wasn't standing in your house, her heart hammering, her mind completely unraveling.

Tara swallowed hard, forcing her feet forward.

One step.

Then another.

She made it halfway across the room before stopping again, her breath catching somewhere in her throat.

She shouldn't be here.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She should just grab the knife, should just do what she fucking came here to do.

But she couldn't.

And she didn’t know why.

[thedixonsteele]

Embrace the Mystery: The Path to Deeper Truth

We live in a world that craves certainty. We want clear answers, definitive explanations, and predictable outcomes. Whether in faith, science, or daily life, we are taught that knowledge equals control, and control equals security. But what if the deepest truths are not found in certainty, but in mystery?

Throughout history, the greatest thinkers, sages, and spiritual teachers have pointed us toward the unknown as the birthplace of wisdom. The moment we believe we have everything figured out, we stop growing. But when we embrace the mystery, we open ourselves to a higher level of understanding, transformation, and connection.

I. Mystery as the Gateway to Truth

Mystery is not ignorance—it is an invitation. In the biblical tradition, we see this in Jesus’ use of parables:

“To you it has been given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but for others they are in parables, so that ‘seeing they may not see, and hearing they may not understand.’” (Luke 8:10)

Why would Jesus teach in a way that conceals truth rather than making it obvious? Because mystery forces engagement. It calls the listener to seek, question, and wrestle with meaning rather than passively accept dogma.

The same principle applies to science and philosophy. The greatest discoveries have come from those who were willing to step into the unknown, challenging old assumptions and embracing new possibilities. Einstein, Jung, and even Socrates all recognized that the more they knew, the more they realized how much remained unknown.

Mystery is not a wall—it is a door.

II. The Problem with Certainty

Certainty feels safe. It gives us the illusion that we have control over life, that we understand how things work, and that we are secure in our beliefs. But there are three major dangers to certainty:

1. It Closes the Mind

When we believe we have all the answers, we stop questioning.

Many religious traditions have stagnated not because they lack wisdom, but because they refuse to evolve beyond rigid interpretations.

The same happens in science, philosophy, and personal growth—when we assume we know everything, we cease to explore.

2. It Breeds Division

Wars, conflicts, and ideological battles often arise from the belief that one side owns the truth while others are misguided.

The wisest people recognize that truth is multifaceted, and mystery allows for different perspectives to coexist.

3. It Blocks Spiritual Growth

In esoteric wisdom, growth comes from the unknown.

If we hold too tightly to certainty, we reject the deeper symbolic meanings in scripture, nature, and life itself.

Many of the greatest spiritual and intellectual breakthroughs come not when we have answers, but when we ask better questions.

III. Mystery in Scripture and Spirituality

The Bible is filled with hidden meanings and symbols that point beyond the literal. In esoteric traditions, these are understood as veiled teachings meant to initiate seekers into deeper wisdom.

1. The Mystery of Creation

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” (Genesis 1:1)

The act of creation itself is a mystery. Science attempts to explain it with theories of the Big Bang, while religion speaks of divine will. But what if both are simply different languages for the same mystery?

In mystical traditions, creation is not just a past event—it is ongoing. The universe is continually expanding, just as our consciousness is meant to expand when we embrace mystery rather than demand certainty.

2. The Mystery of Christ

“Great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh.” (1 Timothy 3:16)

The life, death, and resurrection of Christ are layered with meaning. Was Jesus simply a historical figure? Was He a divine incarnation? Or was He a symbol of the inner journey we must all take—from suffering (crucifixion) to transformation (resurrection)?

The Gospels are written in symbolic language, filled with parables and hidden meanings that challenge the reader to look beyond the surface. Those who approach Christ with rigid certainty miss the deeper message—that His life is a map for inner awakening.

3. The Mystery of the Kingdom of God

“The kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17:21)

If the kingdom of God is within us, then why do so many look for it outside—in institutions, doctrines, or political systems?

This is one of the greatest spiritual mysteries. The divine is not somewhere out there—it is here, now, within. But only those willing to seek, question, and explore will uncover this truth for themselves.

Mystery is what keeps faith alive. Without it, religion becomes just another system of rules rather than a path to transformation.

IV. Mystery in Our Own Lives

We do not just encounter mystery in spiritual texts—we experience it in everyday life.

1. The Mystery of Suffering

Why do good people suffer? Why do hardships exist?

No religious or scientific explanation fully satisfies this question.

But mystery allows us to transform suffering—not as a curse, but as part of the process of growth.

2. The Mystery of Love

Love defies logic. It can lift us up or break us apart.

It cannot be measured or fully explained, yet it is the most powerful force we know.

The moment we try to define or control love, it loses its magic—but when we embrace its mystery, it deepens.

3. The Mystery of Death and Beyond

Every religion, philosophy, and science has its theories on what happens after death.

But the mystery itself is what makes life meaningful—we must live fully, knowing we do not have all the answers.

V. Learning to Embrace the Mystery

So how do we become comfortable with the unknown?

1. Shift from Answers to Questions

Instead of asking “What is the truth?” ask “What does this mean for me?”

Instead of demanding certainty, seek understanding.

2. Study, but Stay Open

Read scripture, philosophy, and science—but don’t cling to rigid interpretations.

Allow multiple perspectives to exist without needing to choose one absolute truth.

3. Live in Wonder

Spend time in nature and recognize that the universe is bigger than us.

Recognize that life itself is a mystery, and that’s what makes it beautiful.

4. See Faith as a Journey, Not a Destination

Faith does not mean having all the answers—it means trusting the process even when answers are unclear.

The most spiritual people are often the ones who admit they don’t know everything.

VI. Mystery is the Path to Wisdom

Mystery is not something to fear or reject—it is something to embrace.

It is in the unknown that we grow.

It is in the questions that we awaken.

It is in the seeking that we find.

As Jesus, the mystics, and the greatest thinkers have taught us:

Truth is not handed to us—it is uncovered in the depths of mystery.

So the next time you find yourself wrestling with the unknown, remember:

You are exactly where you are meant to be.

[sailorsoons]

On the Clock | Teaser (c.hs)

Pairing: Vernon x f. reader

Summary: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the bookstore as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 

Word Count: TBD

Genre: Faking dating, Coworkers to Lovers, Romcom

Type: Smut, some fluff and crack

 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Full fic warnings TBD but general warnings include explicit language, explicit sexual content, a little bit of a miscom trope, a hint of angst, a whole lotta stupid!

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab by @camandemstudios

Masterlist | Ask | Join Tag List

COMING FRIDAY, FEB. 14

“Well,” Vernon (from IT) eventually says. “No harm done once you tell everyone we’re not dating.”

“Once I what?” 

“Well you’ll have to-”

“No way.”

“What?” 

“Do you know how embarrassing that would be?” 

He raises a brow. “More embarrassing than grabbing some dude in the bookstore and claiming he’s your boyfriend.” 

The air leaves your lungs and you melt into the seat, your misery showing. “I already said sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell everyone you broke up with me.” You snort. 

“No one would believe that.” 

“Why?” 

Instead of answering him immediately, you busy yourself unraveling silverware. It’s a hard question to answer, not because you don’t know the answer but because you don’t want to tell him. Vernon (from IT) is quiet, though. Patient. 

He doesn’t press you for an answer, happy to wait you out until you’ve folded your napkin and placed it on your lap, and once again drained the rest of your water. It does nothing for your nerves as you fixate on a spot atop the table. 

“I don’t… date.” 

“You dated Minho.”

“Yeah. That’s uh… it. It’s kind of a running joke that I am undateable.”

He frowns at that. “Respectfully, I find that incredibly hard to believe.” 

“Thanks. I think.” You pick at a string in the tablecloth. “Anyway, no one would buy that I ended the first relationship I’ve had since Minho. I didn’t even end the last one and sort of clung to it in a way that was sort of embarrassing.” 

“I see.”

You’re unsure if he really does. When Minho had broken up with you, you’d attempt to make arguments to keep him around. Offered less work hours, even said you’d go to therapy to talk about your insane need for success. He hadn’t wanted any of it, and you’d eventually realized that he just… didn’t want you. 

They never did, when people realized what dating you entails. Everyone wants a woman who works hard. They like the illusion of it, the woman who gets up early in the morning and goes to workout before going to her corporate job and girl bossing all day long. They desire the woman who dresses fashionably, who wears designer tags and commands a room all day before coming home to make an effortless dinner followed by a luxurious night routine. 

And you get it. You want to be that too. But the truth is most days you wake up past your alarm and rush to the office wearing shoes that don’t match, and sometimes you come home so late and burned out from your job that you eat a handful of shredded cheese over the sink with a stick of beef jerky, only to do it all again the next day.

That wasn’t what anyone wanted. At least, not in your experience. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “You’re right, or whatever. I should just tell them I lied. I’ve given worse news. Just you know - less personal.” 

For a few minutes, Vernon (from IT) is quiet. You don’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead you watch the ice cubes in your glass melt, little beads of condensation zigzagging down the curve of your glass. 

A sigh makes you look up at Vernon (from IT). “What if we dated for like a month or something?” 

“What?”

“I don’t mean really date,” he offers quickly, sensing your surprise. For some reason, that stings a little. You swallow it down past the knot forming in your throat. “It’ll get people off your back or whatever and we can just mutually end things.” 

“Really? You’d do that.” 

He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess, yeah.”

“You can break up with me,” you promise eagerly, leaning forward with the new promise of a solution to your problem. “Everyone will believe it. Just say I work too much and I’m too obsessed with my career.” 

An uneasy gaze flickers in Vernon (from IT)’s eyes. “It can be mutual,” he says firmly. “That way it ends nicely.”

“Fine. Everyone will think one thing anyway, you’ll get out without a scratch, trust me. Are you sure you’re willing to do this? I can… suck it up and tell everyone I made it up.”

“Do you really want to?” 

“No,” you admit.

“Then it’s settled.” He shrugs, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you a month and then we can mutually end things.” 

Sticking your hand over the table, you offer it for Vernon (from IT) to shake. His mouth twitches a little as he smiles, leaning forward to take your hand. His is warm and softer than you imagined, enveloping yours firmly as he shakes. 

“Deal,” you smile, feeling a glimmer of hope. 

Just like that, Vernon (from IT) becomes Vernon (your boyfriend). 

Sort of.

[isaadore]

MEMORIES JACK HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing jack hughes x reader

SUMMARY three months after your breakup, a late-night call leads you back to jack’s doorstep. old wounds reopen when he finally asks the question he never did before: why? the love is still there, but so is the pain. when you walk away for the last time, he doesn’t stop you. some memories refuse to fade, and jack will always be the one you can never forget. inspired by “memories” by conan gray. word count 1.1k

warning heavy angst, unresolved feelings, longing, mentions of alcohol, no happy ending, cussing

note i felt mean today

JH86 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

THE LAST THING you expected was for him to answer.

Not because he didn’t have every right to ignore your call. He did. But because it was late, and three months had passed without a word between you. And yet, before you could second-guess yourself, before you could even consider hanging up, his voice crackled through the speaker.

“…Hello?”

It was quiet, hesitant, as if he didn’t believe it was really you.

Your breath caught.

You should have said something. Told him this was a mistake, that you didn’t mean to dial his number, that you hadn’t had one too many glasses of wine and ended up outside his apartment building, staring up at the window you used to call home.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled softly, barely above a whisper.

“Hey, Jack.”

Silence.

And then, a sharp breath.

“Where are you?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around your phone. The truth sat heavy in your chest, pressing against your ribs, but saying it out loud felt like stepping onto a ledge you couldn’t come back from.

Still, you forced yourself to answer.

“I’m outside.”

The line went dead.

Your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe he wouldn’t even let you up. You should have left before you made this worse, before you made a fool of yourself for the guy who had every reason to hate you.

But then, before you could turn away, the lobby buzzer rang.

You stared at it, heart pounding.

He had just let you in.

And you didn’t know if that made this better or so much worse.

The apartment looked the same.

It shouldn’t have. You expected something to be different, maybe new furniture or at the very least, the absence of all the little things you left behind. But they were still there. The blanket you always curled up in, still thrown over the couch. The candle you bought last fall burned halfway. The framed photo of the two of you that used to sit in the hallway, gone, but its outline lingered against the wall.

Jack stood across the room, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“You look good.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Okay.”

More silence.

He exhaled sharply. “Why are you here?”

It was a fair question. One you didn’t know how to answer.

“I don’t know.”

Jack laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Right.”

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. “I just…” You trailed off, glancing around the apartment again. “I thought I’d be okay.”

Jack’s eyes darkened. “And you’re not?”

Your throat tightened.

You wanted to lie. Tell him you were fine, that you’d moved on, that this wasn’t some pathetic attempt to hold on to something that was already gone.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because standing there, with him looking at you like you still meant something, like you still held a place in his life even after everything…

You realized you didn’t know how to live in a world where he was just a memory.

You exhaled shakily. “No. I’m not.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, letting out a rough breath. “Then why the hell did you leave?”

Your heart clenched.

He had never asked before.

Not that night, when you packed your things with shaking hands. Not when you left your key on the counter, or when you walked out of this apartment, knowing you’d never be able to come back.

But now, when it was too late, he wanted to know.

You blinked back tears. “You know why.”

Jack shook his head, stepping closer. “No, I don’t.” His voice was raw, strained. “I know you were unhappy, but you never gave me a chance to fix it. You just—” He exhaled sharply. “You just walked away.”

Your chest tightened. “Because it wasn’t something you could fix, Jack.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not.” Your voice wavered, but you pressed on. “You loved me, Jack. I know that. But I was never going to be your priority.”

He flinched. “That’s not—”

“Yes, it is.” You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I spent so much time convincing myself that it was okay, that I could handle being second, that I could live with you being out late and missing dates and the fact that you never let me in, not really.” Your voice broke. “But I couldn’t. And I hated myself for it.”

Jack stared at you, breathing heavily. “I never meant to make you feel like that.”

“I know.”

“But I—” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you were that unhappy.”

You looked away. “That’s the problem, Jack. You didn’t even notice.”

The words landed like a blow, knocking the air from his lungs.

Jack’s breathing was uneven now, his eyes shining in the dim light. “So, what?” His voice was hoarse. “You just gave up on us?”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t give up.” You blinked back tears. “I just—I got tired of fighting for something that only ever felt one-sided.”

Jack inhaled sharply, like you just confirmed his worst fear.

“I loved you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I know.”

Jack took another step forward, close enough now that you could see the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

“You’re still the only thing I think about,” he confessed. “Every fucking day.”

A choked breath escaped you. “Jack—”

“Do you miss me?” His voice was quiet, but the desperation was unmistakable.

Your heart shattered. “Every day.”

Jack exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief second before looking at you again, and for the first time, you saw it: the cracks in his foundation, the pressure of everything he had been carrying since the night you left.

“I don’t know how to let you go,” he admitted.

And God, you wished he didn’t say that.

Because neither did you.

But you had to.

You stepped back, blinking rapidly. “You already did.”

Jack’s face crumpled, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t fight.

And that was how you knew it was really over.

You took another step back, then another. Jack watched you go, his expression unreadable, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

But this time, when you walked out the door, he didn’t follow.

When you finally stepped onto the street, the cold air biting at your skin, you realized something:

You would spend the rest of your life trying to forget Jack.

But he would always be the one memory you could never erase.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ JH86 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[hypnomcfox]

The Simple Commands

Convincing beach bros to undergo hypnosis is very easy. Offer them some money, make it sound fun, and they’ll let you put them under. “You’re not going to turn me into a chicken, are you?” The man asked half-jokingly. I laughed and replied, “Don’t give me ideas. Now, let’s get this started.”

With some basic inductions I had this man sleeping and ready for instructions. “From now on,” I said, “Anything I tell you will be the absolute truth to you. If it conflicts with any of your past memories, what I tell you will take the place of those memories. Nod if you understand.” The man weakly nods. “Good, now open your eyes.” The man’s eyes flutter open before remembering where he was.

“You’re so happy to see me,” I told him. Immediately he greeted me with a big smile and said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I smiled and pat his arm. I shrug and say, “You’ve always known me for your entire life because I make you so horny.” A groan and a tent bulging from his shorts indicated that my words had had an effect on him.

“Don’t you want to fuck me? It’s what you love doing.” There was some resistance to the comment but it wasn’t even a fight. “Absolutely. Let me just tell my girlfriend where I’m going, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Your girlfriend? No, you’ve only ever loved me. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” The man shakes his head and says, “Man, I really don’t know what got into me. Lead the way.” On the way to my apartment, I reached my hand behind his back, holding him possessively, which made him tense up. “You crave my touch, what’s up?” Immediately he leaned into my touch and shrugged. “Guess I’m just excited,” he answered. “I would be too,” I said. “Especially since you really love me. In fact, you’re obsessed with me.“

It took nearly every ounce of his will to not publicly make out with me. It’s been that way for years. Even when his girlfriend tried contacting him, he didn’t recognize her. It’s the simple commands that stick. Even when he saw me bring in other guys, I just convinced him that he loved being part of my harem.

[ivoyzzz]

for cheol

synopsis: you work at the childrens home where Cheol lives and he takes a liking to you going as far as introducing you to his sister. what happens when the stoic girl begins to see why her little brother likes you so much?

warnings: mention of kids picking on Cheol.

a/n: thought this was so cute bc they deserve happiness !! also … are for your name!!

saebyeok liked routine. she would pick-pocket all day and then she would go see cheol. she didn’t let people into her life, she was okay with the way things were. just her and cheol.

it was like everyday. saebyeok pick-pocketed then walked to the children’s home cheol lived. she checked in then sat away from all the other kids waiting for cheol. she had expected cheol to walk out happy to see her but not as happy as a child his age should be. what she hadn’t expect was for cheol to walk out dragging a girl out.

saebyeok immediately tensed up when she saw cheol walk out with some girl who worked at the children’s home. cheol had a smile on his face as he held onto your wrist and walked over to saebyeok. “noona, remeber i told you about her.” cheol said smiling happy to introduce you to his sister.

when you agreed that you would meet cheol’s infamous sister you weren’t really expecting her. the way cheol described her and insisted that you become friends with her, you weren’t expecting a tall girl who glared at you not even giving you a half smile.

“noona, this is miss … , she teaches us games and how to draw.” cheol said smiling. saebyeok looked over you, her gaze making you feel like your tiniest movements were being judged by the stoic girl. you smiled softly at saebyeok at saebyeok and she gave you nothing but a small hum.

“i’ll let you talk with your sister. nice to meet you.” you say giving them both a small wave and walking back inside the children’s home. saebyeok’s gaze follows you back inside, then she looks back at cheol sensing this wasn’t the reaction he wanted. saebyeok ignores this focusing on the bandage on his chin. saebyeok mutters a small. “what happened?”

“i fell.” cheol answers a little too quickly. saebyeok looks at him tilting her head towards him wanting the truth. “i got pushed.” cheol sighs, but quickly adds. “the boy got in trouble by miss … , and she put the bandage on “ saebyeok eyebrows furrow, was cheol really so fond of you? the rest of the visit when on like normal cheol chatting her ear off and saebyeok asking questions.

the next visit, saebyeok checks in like normal and goes to the outside area where all the kids are. but instead of them playing like normal, your teaching them how to draw an animal. all are giggling and laughing as you make jokes about the duck your drawing. saebyeok takes notice of the way you easily make a child stop crying and put a smile on their face. she also takes notice of the way you spot her sitting and you walk over to cheol pointing to her with a smile of your face and he runs over to her. you send saebyeok a small wave which all you get in return is her barley there smile when she sees cheol.

saebyeok stops by everyday finding herself looking forward to her visits in more then one way. they go like normal you pointing towards her and cheol running towards her. you, like always wave and smile and she has started to give you a small and slight nod. maybe your making progress with her?

one night saebyeok goes to visit cheol before visiting hours are over. she walks into the office and instead of seeing the receptionist like normal she sees you sweeping the floor and cleaning a focused smile on your face. saebyeok stands there not knowing what to do, she hasn’t spoken a word to you ever. saebyeok settles on clearing her throat making you turn around smiling as you see her. “i’ll get cheol.”

when you come back with cheol, you give them their space sitting behind the desk and organizing one of the desk drawers. you can’t help but smile as you see saebyeoks face soften at the sight of her younger brother.

“hi noona.” cheol greets sitting next to saebyeok. saebyeok reaches over and ruffles his hair. “i drew you something.” cheol says softly pulling something out of his jacket pocket handing it to saebyeok. saebyeok takes it a rare smile on her face. she opens it and it’s a picture of her and cheol. “it’s really good.” saebyeok says softly to the boy. “thanks miss … helped me” cheol says proudly feeling a sense of pride after his sisters compliment. saebyeok looks over at you, where your seated at the desk. she can’t help but think feel a weary sense of confusion and content. she was confused as to what kind of person you were to kept cheol, a shy kid to open up to you. she was content that when she couldn’t there was someone who would look out for cheol.

after about 20 minutes you had walked cheol back into the building. when you walked back into the office you were surprised to see saebyeok still seated there. from what you had picked up about saebyeok she really wasn’t much of a talker so you kept the comfortable silence. “i wanted to thank you.” saebyeok muttered her sharp features moving to look at you.

”for what?” you said softly looking at saebyeok. even though saebyeok felt vulnerable in this moment your tone didn’t hold an ounce of a judgment. “for taking care of cheol.” she replied back her gaze on the wall.

“he’s a good kid, talks about you a lot. i’m happy to do it.” you say really looking at saebyeok. the way she made sure her face didn’t show what she was feeling. or maybe the way her eyes would flick over to you before returning them to the wall. “goodnight.” you smile softly as she stands up ready to leave. “night.” she says so very quietly and leaves with that.

your helping cheol tie his shoes. “..then you put this bunny over the other okay?” you say trying to put it in a way that would make sense. “that’s what my sister tried to tell me but i still don’t understand.” the little boy whines clearly getting upset that he doesn’t get it. “you can’t achieve something in one day if you want to be good at it. things take time and this is one of those things okay?” you say sitting down next to cheol. he sulks but nods and goes off to play again.

you then see saebyeok and instead of like normal calling cheol over to her you walk over instead. saebyeok looks at you as she sees you approach. her gaze is stoic but not uninviting. you take a cautious seat next to her leaving a good bit of distance between the two of you.

before you can say anything she begins. “Why are you always working?” saebyeok says looking at you with a genuine look of curiosity. there hasn’t been a time that’s she came and you haven’t been here. don’t you have off days? “I like working. i come in as often as i can.” you say with a small laugh.

“your good with kids.” saebyeok mutters her gaze on cheol happy to see him with kids his age playing and laughing. “my trick is to think like a kid.” you say raising your eyebrows with a smile. saebyeok glances at you before looking back at cheol. “cheol told me he introduced us so i could have a friend my own age.” you laugh shaking your head. cheol wasn’t clueless. you were a girl who never left her job and spent her whole day with kids, so of course your socializing skills weren’t the best. saebyeok was focused and didn’t like talking to people or people in general.

the corner of saebyeok’s lips turned upward for a second. cheol had always been a very observant kid. “what time do you get off of work tonight?” saebyeok asked causally her face not showing what was she was thinking. “i get off at 7 tonight.” you say not thinking much of it as cheol spots the both of you and walks over after finishing his game. “i’ll take you out to eat after you get off work tonight.” saebyeok said looking at you her face as stoic as ever. “okay.” you mumbled standing up not trusting yourself to say anything else. cheol ran over smiling, happy to see the both of you together.

saebyeok had convinced herself that she was doing this for cheol. cheol wanted you two to be friends and you had been good to cheol. this was nothing but a thank you and so cheol didn’t worry for her.

saebyeok waited outside the children’s home for you. you walked out spotting the girl waving and walking over to her. “where we going?” you asked smiling. “wherever you want.” she mumbled back. “there are some night markets with good food?” you shrugged to which she nodded falling in step with you.

“what do you do for work?” you asked looking up at her curiously. saebyeok of course wasn’t going to tell you that she stole for a living so she went with something simple. “i work at a cafe.” saebyeok muttered to which you nodded.

when you two arrived at the market you two had decided on a place that sells kimpap. you two took a seat at a small table. “i don’t really go out often so thank you.” you let out a small laugh. saebyeok likes the way you laugh, she’s never noticed the way a person laughed before. “me either.” she nods in agreement. “do you like art?” saebyeok mutters at you chewing her food. you look up at her with a smile. “when i was younger i wanted to be an artist.”

“do you still want to?” she follows up looking at you. “no, i like what i do. what about you, what is something you’d like to do?” saebyeok thought for a second. no one had ever really asked her questions about herself where she had to think about it. she settles for, “not really.”

an old woman walking by had dropped, her whole wallet. you saw this and picked it up standing up and handing it back to the woman with a smile. the old lady thanked you. “thank you, young ma’am. i don’t know what I would’ve done if i lost this“ the woman opens her wallet trying to hand you twenty thousand won. you shake your head not accepting the money. “it’s no problem keep your money have a good day.” you smile sitting back down.

saebyeok had watched this whole interaction in shock. if it had been her she would have pocketed the wallet. but you picked it up that thought not even crossing your mind and handed it back. then when the lady had tried to give you money you declined. you did everything saebyeok wouldn’t and it only made her more curious about you.

saebyeok lost in her thoughts picks around her food. you understood that saebyeok preferred not to talk and you were fine with silence. “that was nice.” saebyeok broke the quiet bubble around the two of you. you give her a soft smile shaking your head eating your food. “don’t give me too much credit.” saebyeok just stares at you, your not like anyone she’s ever met.

after you two finish eating and are walking back to both of your apartments. saebyeok realized you didn’t live far from her and decided to walk you home. you two walked close, arms brushing close. “i had a good time.” you say quietly. saebyeok mutters a small “me too.”

saebyeok’s previous mindset that this had only been for cheol had slowly begun to vanish. saebyeok felt the way your hands brushed every so often. the way that both of you seemed to gravitate closer to each other. it numbed her to everything else going on. saebyeok haven’t even realized it but she was slowly slipping her cold hand into yours. it felt like it was only the two of you right now, just walking down the street hand in hand. saebyeok didn’t look at you, but her hand was enough to confirm that maybe this wasn’t as friendly as cheol had intended. that maybe cheol played matchmaker. cheol had helped two girls who were each deserving of love find each other. and right now in this moment it was enough.

[dear-satan]

Falling Without a Sound

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 871

★ CW: no squid game events, fem!reader, mention of suicide, death, drugs and debts

★ Summary: the salesman didn't show up and Thanos jumped off a bridge

★ author's note: the story contains the theme of suicide, it does not urge ANYONE to do something similar!! if you are struggling, similar thinking please contact your family or loved ones. remember - you are a wonderful person and you are NEVER alone <3

The world had a habit of taking things from you without warning. You didn’t expect him to come back. Not like this. Not this way.

Outside the window, the city pulsed with its own rhythm—neon lights flickering, footsteps echoing, voices rising and falling, none of them belonging to you. Somewhere in that noise, someone laughed the way he used to. Someone sang his song, completely unaware that its author was now lying several floors above the ground, bound to white sheets and his own shadow.

And you were here. You slipped through the crowd like a ghost no one could see—though everyone wanted to.

The elevator carried you to the second floor, every second stretching into eternity. Sterile walls, the scent of disinfectants, and a silence worse than screams.

You stopped in front of door number 230. You couldn’t breathe.

Your hand hovered over the handle, and in your mind, the memories returned: his laughter when he first heard his song on the radio. The excitement in his eyes as he counted the growing views on streaming platforms. The fire in his heart that fueled his dreams. And then…

A phone call at 2 a.m.

Passersby who saw his silhouette on the bridge railing.

Cold water swallowing him before anyone could react.

He was lucky.. Or maybe he wasn’t.

You clenched your teeth and stepped inside. A hospital bed by the window. A heart monitor beeping in a steady, rhythmic beep, beep, beep. An IV drip, its clear liquid falling slowly, like time being measured drop by drop.

And him - he was a shadow of himself.

Purple hair, still damp, staining the pillow. A pale face, dark circles under hollow eyes, skin stretched over sharp bones. The blanket was too big, or maybe he had become too small. His hands lay still at his sides, but you saw them—the needle marks, the scabs, the veins pierced too many times.

You were afraid to touch him. Afraid he might break.

“Su-bong?” you whispered, as if his name could bring him back to life.

His jaw tightened. He held his breath.

But he didn’t look at you.

You pulled a chair closer, sitting beside him. “Look at me.”

Silence.

A shiver ran down your spine as you saw his hands clench the sheets.

“Su-bong.”

Slowly, as if forcing himself into each movement, he turned his head.

And that’s when you saw it - his eyes were empty. There was no light in them, not even sadness.. Just exhaustion.

“Hey.” his voice was hoarse, quiet, breaking at the edges.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “That’s all you have to say to me? Just ‘hey’?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze wandered over the walls, as if trying to find in them the answers to questions you hadn’t yet asked.

“I want to understand.” Your fingers curled into the fabric of your pants. “I want to understand why this happened. Why…” You couldn’t finish.

But he did it for you. “Why I jumped?”

Silence

“It’s simple.” He gave a bitter smile, but it was broken. “I had nothing left to lose.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw something more than exhaustion.

Pain. Collapse. Loss.

“You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice shook. “To wake up in the morning and know you’re worth less than nothing. That your bank account is empty, and the only time your phone rings is when someone wants money you don’t have.”

You swallowed hard. “Su-bong…”

“My contract was terminated.” His fingers gripped the sheets. “ ‘You’ve spent too long in the dark, Mr. Thanos. It’s time for someone new.’ ” a hollow laugh. “Do you know how much my debt was? 1.19 billion.” something inside you froze “I owed them more than my life was worth.” he exhaled, a sound filled with quiet defeat. “So I figured the simplest solution was… to stop existing.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “You had no right-”

“I had no choice.” his eyes - those dull, empty eyes - finally filled with tears. “I was a burden. To the company. To my family. To the world.”

“Not to me.” he blinked, as if your words were the last thing he expected to hear.

You didn’t let him look away. Your hand reached for his cheek, warm skin meeting his cold one. “I won’t let you go.”

His fingers trembled, then tears—silent, uncontrollable—began falling, one after another, like raindrops against glass.

“I don’t know how…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to-”

“You don’t have to know.” you ran your fingers through his hair, gently, as if he were made of porcelain. “Just let me be here.”

For a moment, he hesitated in silence.

Then his fingers, the same ones that had clung so tightly to nothingness, tightened around your hand.

Not hard, but enough.

Enough to know that you hadn’t lost him yet. Enough to know he was still here. Enough to know he still wanted to stay.

And that was enough.

This time, even if everything else crumbled, you wouldn’t let him disappear.

You wouldn’t let him fall.

[f1daydreamer]

Shattered Reflections – Part 1

Pairing: George Russell x Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, heartbreak, (I am not good at warnings 😅)

Summary: The love you thought was unbreakable now feels like glass—cracking under the weight of unspoken words and hidden truths. You see the shift in George, the distance in his touch, the silence that lingers where laughter used to be. And when the truth comes out, it cuts deeper than you ever imagined.

---

The hotel room was suffocating, the air thick with something unspoken, something bitter and painful. The city lights cast long shadows against the walls, flickering like ghosts of memories you weren’t ready to let go of. You sat on the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the hem of your sweater, fingers digging into the fabric as if grounding yourself in something—anything—before you lost control.

George stood near the window, his back to you, hands shoved into his pockets. He hadn’t looked at you properly in days, maybe weeks. You used to be his home, the person he always turned to, the one he sought comfort in. Now? You felt like a stranger in your own relationship, a ghost haunting a love that had already died without you realizing it.

"Are you going to say something, or are we just going to sit here pretending everything’s fine?" Your voice broke on the last word, your throat tight, raw from the unshed tears burning behind your eyes.

George inhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing. "I don’t want to fight."

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, now you don’t want to fight? That’s funny, because for weeks, you’ve been acting like I don’t even exist, George. You come home late, you barely talk to me, and when you do, it’s like you’re not even here."

His head dipped slightly, as if he hated hearing the truth out loud. "It’s just—things have been stressful. The season, the pressure, everything. I didn’t mean to shut you out."

"Bullshit," you spat, standing up so fast that the mattress shifted beneath you. "I was there for you when things were stressful, George. I have always been there. So don’t you dare use that as an excuse for why you’re pulling away from me."

He finally turned to face you, and the look in his eyes sent a cold shiver through you. Regret. Guilt. But worst of all—resignation. Like he had already made up his mind.

"You deserve better than this," he said softly, almost too soft, like he didn’t want the words to hurt as much as they did.

Your stomach dropped. A deep, aching kind of dread settled in your bones. "What the hell does that mean?"

George ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "It means I don’t think this is working anymore."

Silence. Deafening. Crushing.

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, slicing through your chest like a knife. You felt your hands tremble, your vision blur with tears, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet.

"You’re breaking up with me," you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

George swallowed, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want to hurt you."

A bitter laugh bubbled from your throat, sharp and jagged. "Too late for that."

Your hands curled into fists, your nails digging into your palms as the pain—God, the pain—became unbearable. "Why now? Why are you doing this? Just tell me the fucking truth, George."

He hesitated, and that hesitation was all you needed to know.

"There’s someone else, isn’t there?"

His silence was your answer.

It felt like the ground beneath you gave way, like the air had been sucked from your lungs. The tears came then, hot and fast, blurring everything until all you could see was his face—his guilty, tortured face. The same face you had loved so fiercely, so wholly, and now it was the face of the person breaking you into pieces.

"Who is she?" your voice cracked, but you needed to know. Needed to hear it.

"Y/N—"

"Who the fuck is she, George?" you screamed, your voice shattering between you like glass.

He closed his eyes, exhaling like he was carrying the weight of the world. "It’s not like that. I didn’t mean for this to happen."

"You didn’t mean for it to happen?" A sob tore through you, your chest heaving. "Do you hear yourself? Do you even realize what you’ve done?"

George stepped forward, reaching for you, but you flinched back, your entire body recoiling from his touch. "Don’t. Don’t you dare touch me."

He looked broken, but you didn’t care. He didn’t get to be broken. Not when he was the one who did this.

"You were my everything," you choked out. "And you just threw it all away like it was nothing."

Tears streamed down your face, but you didn’t wipe them away. Let him see the damage. Let him see exactly what he had done.

George took a deep breath, his own eyes glassy, but his expression was firm. "I’m sorry."

You let out a shaky, humorless laugh. "No, you’re not. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done this in the first place."

And with that, you turned away, because if you looked at him for even a second longer, you would break beyond repair.

But the truth was, you already had.

---

To be continued…

------

A Note from Me to You:

I wanted to take a moment to share something personal with you all. A close friend of mine recently went through a heartbreaking experience, and it’s been weighing on me. She was in a relationship for four years, a relationship she thought was built on trust and love. Unfortunately, she found out that her boyfriend had been cheating on her, and the truth cut deeper than anything she could have imagined.

What makes this situation even more complicated is that the other girl involved had no idea he was in a relationship either. It's painful to see two people hurt by someone’s betrayal—two people who never deserved any of this. It's a situation filled with hurt, confusion, and regret, and it’s been hard to watch my friend go through such an emotional storm.

To anyone who has been through something similar, know this: You are not alone. Betrayal leaves scars, but it also brings the strength to rise again, even when it feels impossible. The pain is real, and it’s valid, but you don’t have to go through it alone.

I’m sharing this not to draw attention to the hurt, but to remind us all of the importance of love, honesty, and the value of knowing our worth. If you’ve been through something like this, take time for yourself, lean on those who care for you, and always remember that your value is never determined by someone else’s actions.

This is for my friend and for anyone who’s had their trust broken. You will heal, and brighter days are ahead.

[remina-mina]

First years and how they ended up at Ramshackle (Pomefiore)

Epel

"It's not like you to zone out in potions class." "... Vil just has been working me to bone recently, don't worry" "I wasn't worried but.. a good sleep schedule is important to maintain a good performance in classes"

If someone asked Epel when he started sleeping over at Ramshackle he'd tell'em to mind their business. But if he was feeling generous he'd lie and tell them it started during the VDC but even he knows thats not quite the whole truth.

The pristine walls of Pomefiore are beautiful, undeniably so, nevertheless after his adventure to STYX and Yuu and Grim's return to Ramshackle he can't help the sickness in his stomach as he wanders the halls.

This sickness is different from the resigned annoyance he'd felt at the start of the year. Different from loneliness that would grasp onto his bones and twist itself until he found himself awake the next morning. No, this was more dangerous and thorny than that.

His feet carry him to the Pomefiore gardens where he'd spent the past couple nights reciting his unique magic and practicing until dawn. He needs to be ready for whatever may come. He needs to be stronger or else...

If he practices just a couple more times then surely, surely, the mangled unnatural limbs of phantoms will leave his nightmares, the sound of screams will leave him. If he tires himself out then his nights will no longer be sleepless. Just one more time-

"Epel... You are aware that curfew was 4 hours ago" A stern voice cuts through the garden. "Vil-san... I.. woke up to get water" Epel mumbles. He can't even bring himself to look Vil in the eye. Epel doesn't even know what he's saying. Does he even care anymore? "Water from the garden hose?" He doesn't even need to look at Vil to imagine the way his brows furrow just enough to convey his disappointment while avoiding wrinkles. "Follow me." Vil doesn't give Epel the chance to respond before dragging him along the path out of Pomefiore. Soon they are standing in front of the gate to Ramshackle. "Why did'ja bring me here?" Epel turns to Vil and looks at him for the first time that night. He realizes that he let his accent slip and braces himself for the lecture, but no lecture comes. "I am simply fulfilling a request."

Before he can question him, Yuu steps out from Ramshackle and calls out to him. When he turns to say goodnight to Vil, he finds him already walking back to the dorm and takes that as a sign to head into Ramshackle.

To his shock he finds Ace, Deuce, and Jack already inside, sitting on makeshift beds on the lounge floor. There was already a bed set up for him too.

He half-expects them to force him to answer questions, like why was he awake but no questions come. When he finally gets a good look at everyone he sees a burning, they all want to be stronger, they all want to conquer the fears that grapple them.

Deuce hands him a fresh cup of tea and in the warmth, he finds himself tearing up. If anyone notices the stray tears that fall, they don't comment.

Even though the lounge silent, there is so much said, and in those unspoken words he finds a temporary medicine to the sickness that'd grappled him for weeks. And his sleep is dreamless.

honestly I see Epel as someone whose very stubborn and can get very tunnel visioned just like Deuce and end up beating themself up with their impatience and put themselves in a spiral. that's partially why I decided to have Deuce be the one to give him tea, it's almost like a silent message of we can work to be stronger together just like we promised on the beach. I had a feeling Yuu would notice that Epel hasn't been sleeping while they were staying at Pomefiore, especially since they'd gotten so close through the STYX incident. Maybe as one last thank you to Vil for letting them stay they tip him off about Epel's night practices. Epel craves strength but not as a tool to dominate but rather as a way to protect other people. of course because he is an NRC student is a side of him where he finds his place in the world and orients his relation with those around him based on strength but I feel we see a bit of this fall away as he experiences more deadly situations. anyway I can ramble for hours about Epel.

Ace / Deuce / Jack / Epel

[itsnesss]

I don't know if you take requests, but since I like your writing language very much, I would love you to write something like this. It seems like something like the reader saying she wants to get pregnant while making love after noticing Hwan Jun Ho's interest in children would be nice.

𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | intimacy (implicit/not overly graphic), emotional vulnerability, discussions of parenthood

word count | 1.5 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

Moonlight filters through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the dimly lit room. Outside, the city continues its course, indifferent, but here, within these four walls, everything feels different. There are no rushes, no worries. It’s just the two of you, trapped in a moment that seems suspended in time.

You feel the weight of his body over yours, his warmth surrounding you, the brush of his skin against yours in a slow, deliberate dance. Every touch, every kiss, every shared breath carries the weight of everything you’ve built together. It’s not just desire, not just need—it’s something deeper, something more meaningful. Something that goes beyond the fleeting passion of a single night.

Your fingers trace down his back, following the contours of his muscles with a light, almost reverent touch. You know that Junho isn’t a man who allows himself to be vulnerable easily, but here, with you, he lets all his walls down. The way he holds you, how he brushes his nose against yours before kissing you again, how he intertwines his fingers with yours as he moves above you—it tells you more than any words ever could.

And then, like a whisper among your thoughts, like a truth that has been waiting to be spoken, the words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

"I want to have a child with you."

Junho tenses slightly but doesn’t stop. His gaze meets yours in the dim light, and in his eyes, there’s more than just surprise. There’s curiosity, tenderness… something you can’t quite decipher.

"Really?" His voice is low, almost a murmur against your skin, as if he doesn’t want to break the atmosphere surrounding you.

You take a breath, feeling your chest rise against his. There’s no doubt in you. It’s something you’ve been feeling for a long time, but only now have you found the words to express it.

"Yes," you answer firmly. "I’ve thought about it a lot. I’ve seen you with children… how you look at them, how you care about them without even realizing it."

He blinks, surprised, but says nothing. You know he’s listening, that he’s processing what you’ve just said.

"When you see a child on the street, you always pause a second longer than necessary," you continue. "When we’re at the park, your attention always drifts toward them. And when you talk about your brother…"

You hesitate because you know mentioning his brother touches a sensitive part of him. But it’s part of what makes him who he is. Part of what has led you to realize what you truly want.

"I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about it," you add softly. "But if you ever wanted to… if you ever desired it, I’d want it to be with you."

Junho exhales, closing his eyes for a moment before resting his forehead against yours. His breath is warm, unsteady, and his hands tighten around your waist.

"I wasn’t expecting to hear something like that tonight," he admits with a low chuckle—not one of mockery, but of disbelief. As if he finds it hard to believe this is real.

"I didn’t plan it," you respond, smiling too. "I just… felt it."

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. His fingers trace slow circles on your skin, as if memorizing every detail of you. Then, without saying anything else, he kisses you. It’s a different kiss than before: deeper, more meaningful, more devoted.

And in that kiss, you find your answer.

Time seems to dissolve as you remain wrapped in each other’s warmth. Junho never stops touching you, holding you with the same delicacy one would hold something fragile, precious. Every movement of his carries a new purpose, as if your words have shifted something inside him. As if something has settled in his heart.

His face is partially hidden in the curve of your neck when he murmurs, his voice husky, "I never thought of myself as a father."

You slide your hands into his hair, running your fingers through his dark strands with tenderness.

"And now?"

He sighs, his lips brushing against your collarbone before lifting his gaze to meet yours.

"I don’t know," he admits. "But if it ever happens… I can’t imagine anyone but you."

Your heart pounds at his words. It’s not an absolute statement, not an immediate promise, but you understand. Junho isn’t someone who rushes into things. He needs time to process, to internalize. But the fact that he hasn’t rejected the idea, that he’s considering it, means more than you can express in this moment.

"That’s enough for me," you whisper.

He gives a small, lopsided smile, and with one last kiss to your forehead, he lets your bodies find that shared rhythm again, allowing the moment to envelop you completely.

Later, when sleep begins to claim you and Junho still holds you in his embrace, you break the silence once more.

"If we had a child… what name would you like to give them?"

You feel his chest shake with a low, drowsy chuckle.

"Are we already picking names?"

"I’m just curious."

He stays quiet for a moment, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

"If it’s a girl… I’d like her to have a strong name. Something that makes her stand out."

"And if it’s a boy?"

Junho falls silent, and for a moment, you think he has fallen asleep. But then, his voice comes in a whisper, as if he’s testing the sound of the idea in his own mind.

"Maybe something in honor of my brother."

Your chest tightens with a mix of emotion and tenderness. You don’t push him to say more—you don’t want to force him to keep talking if he doesn’t want to. Instead, you snuggle closer against him, letting the warmth of his body envelop you.

And as sleep finally pulls you under, a soft smile graces your lips. Because even though the future is still uncertain, even though Junho needs time to process everything you talked about tonight, there is one thing you know with absolute certainty:

If that moment ever comes… he would be an incredible father.

And there’s no one else in the world you’d rather share that future with.

[damn-stark]

Dae-ho tic where him and reader always sabotage each others relationships/talking stages with other people because they want each other but are afraid to say it

4 attempts

Kang Dae-ho (player 388) x fem!reader

A/N- I giggled writing this!

Warning- Angst and fluff!!

————

1st attempt-

This first sabotage was as simple as breathing. Maybe Dae-ho is being cocky, or your possible boyfriend was insecure, but it truly was a simple task. Dae-ho happened to catch that you were going to hang out at your house and he came stumbling by at your door.

“Dae-ho,” you stammer with surprise as you see him outside your door.

Said man smiles his charming smile and holds your gaze. “Hey, sorry for not calling beforehand but I was in the neighborhood and I had this,” he says as he shows off one of your favorite desserts, replacing your annoyance with temptation.

“You’re not going out right?” He follows his comment with a question he knows the answer to.

“No, but I have someone over. A date. Potential boyfriend,” you reveal, but it doesn’t bring him any surprise, he pretends to be shocked but he knows that too.

“Well I am your best friend,” he points out. “I need to meet him anyway. What harm can it bring?”

You contemplate his comment and also glance at the bag in his hand as if that delicious dessert is what is winning you over, but the truth is a part of you is relieved he’s here, interrupting this moment. You don’t let yourself accept that but you are and that part of yourself that is steps back to open the door wider so he may walk in.

When you close the door behind him your date interjects with a question as he walks over. “Who was it?”

When he makes it to the entrance of the house he comes to a sudden halt and straightens up as he sees Dae-ho at your side with a small smile that was too smug rather than friendly.

“Kang Dae-ho, her best friend,” he introduces himself and then gets closer to your date to offer him his hand.

Your date glances at his hand with his breath caught in his throat and then looks over at you with uncertainty before drawing out a deep breath and taking Dae-ho’s hand without meeting his eye.

“I am sorry for intruding,” Dae-ho doesn’t fail to be respectful as he makes himself at home right away and walks to the dining table to set his stuff down. “But I was in the neighborhood and bought some of her favorite dessert and well what friend would I be if I didn’t share?” Dae-ho says as you quickly join him while your date follows behind slowly, catching your eagerness that you failed to show him.

“However, I am sorry that I didn’t bring you any. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” your date quickly assures him as he finally reaches the table.

Dae-ho flashes him a faint smile before he reaches in the bag and pulls out a small box and napkin and hands it to you. He doesn’t finish there though, he pulls out a drink kept inside the bag and as if expecting it, you take it without so much as looking, letting your date know for certain what he needs to do.

So by morning, just as Dae-ho wanted, your date cut all communication with you with a blunt text.

——

2nd attempt-

Failing is hardly something you did. Sure you do fail from time to time, you are only human, but it’s not something you let slide often, but today…today was one of those days. You failed horribly.

“You’re his best friend, you know him more than anyone could so tell me honestly what he's like,” Dae-ho’s date tries to interrogate you out of genuine curiosity. With no ill intent. You recognize that with the way she carries herself, the way she acts, and the way she looks at him with genuine interest and affection. Maybe that’s what makes you fail or maybe it’s what she says next

”I really like him,” she says. “I just want to know if I'm wasting my time and getting my hopes up to later get them crushed.”

Your stomach twists and irritation rushes through your veins. You don’t even take time to question yourself if you want to shatter her feelings and stomp on her illusions, that irritation takes over before you know it.

“He may be my friend but,” you pause and take a step closer to her. “I have to be honest because no one else will,” you speak with a honey-laced voice. “He’s not particularly loyal. It may seem like that now but in a couple weeks he will be texting other girls. It happened last time.”

The girl’s lashes bat as she deals with the disappoint you just hit her with and steps away as she ducks her head.

“If only I warned you before you came,” you say as you reach over and pat her hand. “Just don’t tell him I told you so.”

You finish with a sweet smile and stroke her hand before you walk out a bit too overzealous, but how could you not be?

You might have failed at containing your…burning feelings, but what you told Dae-ho’s date worked because by the next day she asked him out for coffee and ended things with him.

——

3rd attempt-

Maybe it’s the men you date, or maybe men in particular happen to be more jealous than women but don’t dare to admit it. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Dae-ho stepping over the line. Again.

Whether he meant to or not it didn’t matter. You were at the concert of your favorite artist and Dae-ho happened to be there too. It was on purpose, he happened to like that artist too so why would he miss it?

Now you were at two separate sides of the stadium, but when it came down to it, when you were drunk off the excitement, Dae-ho made his way to you and there was no stopping either of you now.

You both sang at the top of your lungs, jumped, and danced like no one was watching when someone was. Your boyfriend. He was next to you, but with Dae-ho there and stepping over the line, singing with you, and dancing too close for comfort, it’s like your boyfriend didn’t exist. He didn’t even feel like a third wheel because he felt invisible.

Or you just didn’t care about him when it came to Dae-ho. Maybe Dae-ho is all you need. He’s all you care about—no, he’s the one person you care about most in this world so no one else can even be at his level.

It was easy to see, and it was even more obvious that Dae-ho recuperated those feelings with the way he looked at you so affectionately and beamed at you so brightly. He laughs at the little things you say and can never keep his eyes off you; it’s like he’s making sure nothing or no one causes you any harm.

He may be charming and look like he could not harm a fly, but anyone could see how protective Dae-ho was without having to even bare his teeth.

Yet that’s not what sent your boyfriend fleeing, it was a smaller fact. A gesture that could mean nothing but can also mean the world. You shared a drink. You had finished yours so Dae-ho said you could drink from his cup, and that’s what hurt your boyfriend the most because he looked down at his own cup and it was still halfway full, making it just enough to share with you, but you didn’t even look his way. Not even to ask to buy some more, so when he could, he broke up with you, giving Dae-ho a win.

——

Last attempt-

If things were simple you would be able to accept your feelings. You would be happy with the person you think about the most. The one person you love more than life itself, but here you are, with makeup running down your cheeks in a restaurant after a man you hardly liked confessed to cheating on you.

Maybe you should’ve expected it. It’s karma after what you’ve done to sabotage Dae-ho’s relationship, but it didn’t stop it from hurting.

As to why your boyfriend told you in a restaurant of all places? You don’t know, but it made it worse; knowing all the people are staring, and listening in to the drama that unfolded before them.

Yet your embarrassment is not what sends you fleeing. You could have walked out when you were collected and no longer had makeup staining your cheeks, but you can’t handle the pain, you can’t contain the ball of emotions that keeps growing and makes your throat and eyes burn, so you swiftly grab all your belongings and storm out of the restaurant. In doing so, on your way out, you bump into none other than your best friend Dae-ho.

At first, he didn’t recognize you, but it does hit him once you’re out the door that it was you. So with a quick dismissive comment over his shoulder to his date, he runs after you.

Dae-ho calls out to you as you storm away with your arms wrapped around your body to keep as much warmth as possible on this winter night, but you don’t stop, so without so much as thinking about his date, he runs after you to catch up. Once he’s close enough he grabs your shoulder before you can take another step and turns you around.

When you look him in the eye and realize it’s not your boyfriend but Dae-ho, you break down into a sob. “Dae-ho,” you mewl.

Said man looks at you like he’s been wounded and grabs your shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He quickly bombards you with questions.

You sniffle and part your lips. “My boyfriend, he—he.” You can’t even finish what you’re going to say because of how choked up you get, and he doesn’t wait or pester you to finish. He immediately wraps his arms around you and hugs you against him, basking you in his warmth and comfort.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he tries to soothe you as he rubs your back. “You’re going to be okay.”

You let out another shaky sob and grip onto him so he wouldn’t let go. Neither of you proceed to utter a thing, you stand under the falling snow and let the bitterness nip at any exposed skin it can reach.

It’s only once your shoulders stop shaking and Dae-ho’s date is long gone after being forgotten, that you pull away, but he doesn’t let you stray far, he cups your jaw and holds your gaze with tenderness.

“He cheated on me,” you whisper hoarsely, making him sigh with pity.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he strokes your cheeks with the tip of his cold fingers. “He’s an asshole.”

You nod gently and sniffle again. “I don’t even know why I dated him. I didn’t even like him, but I thought maybe…just maybe it would help.”

Dae-ho blinks with confusion and he quickly he follows up on your question. “Help what?”

You avert your gaze and sniffle. Your pause lasts for a moment. It’s only when his hand falls on your shoulder and the other falls at his side that you speak up.

“Forget my feelings for you.”

A cloud of Dae-ho’s breath forms in the space past his lips as he can’t help but gasp.

“I went into that relationship knowing what I felt, but I also know that you don’t feel the same and I can’t possibly live with that so I had to forget, but he…” you trail off and slowly lift your gaze, meeting his bewildered eyes.

“Who,” he stammers and you lose all contact with him as he pulls his hand off your shoulder. “Why…why would you think I don’t have the same feeling you do? I love you,” he admits, stealing your breath and making you feel as if you’re out of this world.

“All this time,” he adds as he watches you work through your disbelief. “I was just…scared that it would ruin us. If I had known—all those dates I’ve been on…” he trails off and grabs your shoulders so you can look him in the eyes as he then continues firmly. “…If it’s true that you feel what I do, tell me and I will stop wasting my time with nobodies.”

You blink in disbelief and your lips part because of the same feelings.

It’s hard to process the fact that he shares the same love you have for him, but that fear of letting him know no longer exists. You’re just hesitant because you’re still caught in disbelief.

“I…I do,” you confess slowly, making him beam at you before he presses his forehead against yours.

“I was going to kiss you, but I think it would be wrong considering…” he doesn’t finish saying but you know he’s referring to your situation.

“Hm,” you hum and grab his face this time to press a light kiss on his lips. “For warmth.” You giggle.

He can’t stop smiling. His smile brightens as he keeps you close with the intention to not let you stray from him anymore.

[hoetachi]

HAPPINESS OVER EVERYTHING (H.O.E) — J. TODD

suggestive themes

I hope she don't think, that I think that she's some kind of hoe

A SOFT KNOCK graced the dark oak and he already knew whom it would be. without words being exchanged, he heard the chambers turned followed by a slight creak. there you were… in your newest ‘outfit’. off the record, this was your skimpiest outfit by far (which he loved a little too much by the slight tent in his slacks) and just knew you were getting tipped well for it.

jason relaxed a bit in the chair, umbrella twisting lazily between his fingers whilst keeping his shielded eyes on your figure. a mischievous smirk graced your glossed lips as you pressed your back to his door, which he picked up on the chambers turning again. you locked it.

time for your scheduled ‘cat & mouse’ game.

you pressed yourself free off the oak and switched your hips towards his desk. “5th time this week, doll” he pointed out as you inched closer. you now was right before him leaning over, pushing your breast together slightly whilst your perfume invaded his senses. sweet as ever, a scent he’ll never get a enough of.

“they say you pickin’ favorites mista hood” you finally spoke, your hair falling over your shoulders while you stared at him doed eyes. he always liked how you said ‘mista hood’ with your slightly hidden brooklyn accent. you don’t know it, but you’re the only one who’s allowed to refer to him as that. for everyone else it’s either ‘boss’ or ‘sir’

he exhaled, “i don’t do the favoritism bullshit.”

“then what do you do?” you asked, circling his desk. ghosting your hand over the nape of his neck, if he didn’t achieved the self control he currently had, he would’ve shuddered from the ghost of your touch without hesitation. he sees why bruce stayed up on those rooftops now, the mere thought about going against your own code for desire was a thrilling experience

“i treat people how they deserve to be treated” he stated curtly. he was never the one to sugarcoat the truth, that’s what most of the staff secretly disliked about him.

if he wanted to say ‘fuck off and rot in ditch’ he had nothing holding back, absolutely no remorse. he knew everything about everyone who worked under him and knew majority of them weren’t kind people in their day to day, so why would he treat them how he would like to be treated if they were mere scum?

“so if they wanna act like gossiping schoolgirls, i wouldn’t take their comments seriously”

“is this why you’re lingering in my office instead of… displaying your talents?”

you finally made it back before and leaned again on his desk. you pretended to think about for second. how cute you are “maybe… maybe not” another cheshire smirk graced your lips

“so.. how do i deserve to be treated, mista hood?”

“i’m letting you avoid working right now for one. two between you and i, i pay you more than your coworkers out there, even though you’re here less” he chuckled at your face at the little jab towards your absence around the lounge

“you know why though” you rolled your eyes at the jab. he loved to push your buttons, your reactions were just the cutest thing to him plus he knew you couldn’t really stay mad at him.

“how’d your exam go?”

“i feel that i definitely scored the lowest on it. im way too over my head with this veterinarian thing”

he used the hook of the umbrella he’s been twirling with to pull the strap of your bikini top and snapped it back, causing a yelp from you. you dropped your head and pouted as you rubbed the suddenly aching spot between your breast, however the same hook tilted your head up.

you were meant with crimson lens and from the looks of it, he wasn’t too happy with your comment. “don’t say that. do i look like i hire idiots?” he questioned coldly, you parted your lips to answer but realized it was a rhetorical question and thought best to not say anything. “you passed that entrance exam with flying colors, which is amazing considering there’s an 9% acceptance rate so don’t dare discredit that mind of yours”

“are you intelligent!?” he raised his voice, causing you to straighten your back with a flinch before nodding your head rapidly, “say it y/n!” he raised his voice again, “i’m intelligent” you said rapidly, making you stand up straight with your gaze falling to your feet. he mentally scolded himself for his outburst. he knew better to always watch his tone with you knowing you already get enough shit while on the clock from the others. “im sorry for yelling,” he apologized

“it’s okay, mista hood” you reassured, giving him a sheepish smile. “i just don’t ever want to catch you beating up yourself. you’re a good woman” he complimented with a much softer tone

“hmph, some woman i am” you huffed, twirling the end of your hair between your fingers unamused

his brows knitted at your comment, “what did i just say, y/n?” he scolded

“i know i know im sorry, but cmon mista hood. look where i work at?”

“it’s a fixer upper… i see potential still” the last part more for himself than the actual lounge. he’ll give credit to cobblepot, he took good care for the place but it was better under jason’s ownership.

“no man wants a woman who flirts their way into their pockets” you whispered whilst looking out the tinted window towards the vip section. the urge to cup that pretty face of yours and have those hypnotized eyes on him and him only came in droves. the fight with temptation around you could make him weak than any fight with the toughest rogues in gotham.

“speed dating ain’t workin’ out for you?”

“after the compliments and pleasantries, they don’t quite stick around once the question of what i do shows face” you joked half heartedly. no matter how much of a front you put on, he knew you wanted someone to take care of you and not just try to take you home for night

“doesn’t sound like men to me”

“then what does it sound like?”

“boys trying to play big man. someone’s way of paying the bills shouldn’t define them, so don’t let them define you. this is temporary, y/n just like those boys”

“you definitely know how to flatter a lady mista hood” you smiled softly, walking around his desk and he scooted back some to make some space for you to hop up on his desk to sit

he shrugged, feeling a bit more relaxed with you closer to him. “i’m just telling the truth”

“or maybe the truth is, you’re a really good ladies man..” there was a sudden glint in your eyes and he knew it was finally time to test how strong-willed he was against his own desire

“y/n…” he warned once you brushed your leg against his

“am i toeing the line?” your voice dripping in playfulness and your eyes shadowed with seduction, he was more than thankful for the tints on goggles how he had to close them to control his urges. how did the old bat do it with the cat for so long is all he could think about. you two barely even touched and he already so bothered

disregarding his caution, you continued your pursuit of him. “i would expect you of all people to love a bit of risk every once in a while”

“don’t start something you can’t finish” that was his second warning for you

“you see, mista hood, that’s the problem”

“you won’t let me finish. got me thinkin’ you may be into edging” you moaned, pulling in your bottom lip. he almost put together how sweet the actual melody of your moans would sound and that alone practically put him closer to the edge

“i don’t mix business with pleasure”

“it didn’t seem like a problem with liz and all the other girls” he watched again as you tried to your best not to roll your eyes at the name. liz wasn’t nothing to him nor others, if he had a rough night, he knew they’ll do anything to get even a smudge of the attention that he gives you

“they throw themselves”

a pout formed on your face and god, he could’ve been putty right in your hands. “am i not throwing myself hard enough?” you batted your lashes towards him.

“you’re better than that, doll”

you giggled as you placed a hand over your chest dramatically being flattered, “you think too highly of me, mista hood”

“i do, but who can blame me of thinking of you”

“and that’s your other problem too” he watched as you smirked. pushing yourself off of the desk, you moved the umbrella aside and decided to find a more comfortable spot to sit. you slowly sat yourself on his lap, making sure he had the perfect view of your arched back before looking over your shoulder with an innocent expression. “is this spot taken by chance?” throwing your legs over his knee, really settling against his tailored suit. you were going to be his second death for sure

he exhausted exaggeratedly, you’re the only woman he has set of rules for himself.

he can’t touch you. you can comb your fingers through his hair, acrylics scratching his scalp comfortingly and he has to fight the urge to nozzle into your touch.

he can’t taste you. he’s tempted every time you leave a glossy kiss on the corner of his mouth because knowing your love for toeing the line, he’s just curious how’d you react if one day he just captured those plump lips and explored that sweet mouth of yours and pull a moan from the depths of your core

you’re completely right

you’re his biggest problem

part 2?

[xoxorealitygalore]

Plan B 4

Jey Uso x Afro-Brazilian OC

Summary: In her thirties and single after a breakup, Hamisa decides she wants to become a mother, despite her friends' and family's objections. Unable to wait any longer, she chooses to have a baby on her own. However, she unknowingly ends up using her ex-boyfriend sperm after he drunkenly swapped her donor’s sample for his own. As Hamisa raises her child, she starts noticing striking similarities between her ex-boyfriend and her baby, leading to questions about the true origins of her child's conception.

Plan B Masterlist

Taglist: @xbriexx @christinabae @blackchickinthedesert @princess-saki1 @skyesthebomb @raya-hunter01 @theusotwinzcom @yana3sworld

Previous

Joshua’s hand trembled as he held the envelope, the heavy weight of uncertainty pressing against his chest. It had been three long days since he submitted his DNA test, seeking the truth he wasn’t quite ready to face. The envelope before him, with the crisp official stamp of DNA Diagnostics Center (DDC), seemed to taunt him with its potential to change everything. He had spent the past few days replaying the possibilities in his mind, but he already knew, deep down, what the answer would be.

His thoughts drifted to Jhream, the eight-month-old baby girl whose tiny face had stolen his heart at first sight. She had come into his life under unexpected circumstances, and now, a part of him was bracing for confirmation of his fatherhood. Despite his certainty, the paper in his hand felt like a lifeline that could either confirm his role in her life or pull it away entirely. He had always suspected that the baby’s striking features mirrored his own, from the dark curls that framed her face to the sharp glint in her eyes that reminded him so much of his own. But confirmation, that solid, irrefutable truth was what he needed now.

His mind buzzed with an unnerving cocktail of emotions: anxiety, excitement, and fear. He had to open it. He had to know. Without wasting another moment, he tore open the envelope, his fingers running over the cold, official seal like an anchor holding him in place. As he unfolded the paper, his breath hitched.

There it was, in black-and-white: the statement from DDC. It was not an exclusion; it was confirmation. “The alleged father is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child,” it read. “There is a 99.9 percent probability that Joshua S. Fatu is the biological father of Jhream M. Woo.” A wave of overwhelming relief and excitement surged through him, settling deep in his chest like a comfort he hadn’t even known he needed. His heart raced, and a smile tugged at his lips. He was her father. It was official.

With a new burst of energy, he grabbed his phone and dialed Hamisa’s number. The phone rang once, then twice, before she answered. Before she could say a word, Joshua’s voice rushed through the phone, carrying an excitement he couldn’t contain.

“Hamisa, you need to change her last name to Fatu,” he said, the words almost spilling out in his haste. There was no hesitation in his voice, no second-guessing the decision. This was it, he was all in.

On the other end of the line, Hamisa’s exasperated sigh could be heard before she burst into laughter. “You’re bold! I can't believe I have to share a child with you!” she screamed into the phone, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. Joshua could hear the frustration laced in her tone. She had never quite forgiven him for the circumstances that had brought them together, but they were bound by a common thread now. Jhream was their child.

Joshua’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. “I know you're upset, but we have to make this work for our daughter. We’re in this together now,” he said, his voice softer, more earnest. This was a turning point. There was no turning back now, not for him, not for Hamisa, and certainly not for Jhream.

But before he could say more, there was a click. Hamisa had hung up. Joshua chuckled, a small, bemused laugh escaping his lips as he stared at his phone. As he expected, a message from Hamisa popped up almost immediately. It was short, witty, and just a touch sarcastic: Jhream Woo Fatu has a nice ring to it.

Joshua read the message and laughed again, shaking his head. It was as if the tension had momentarily dissolved, leaving only the playful exchange that seemed to define their relationship. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions that had come with the situation, there was a connection between them, one that would forever be tied to the little girl they had both brought into the world.

As he put his phone down, his thoughts shifted to his twin brother, Jonathan. The news had to be shared with him, too, he had been there through everything, the good and the bad. Jonathan, ever the supportive sibling, would want to know that the paternity test had confirmed what they both had suspected all along. Joshua tapped Jonathan’s number into his phone with a sense of urgency. The call rang twice before Jonathan answered.

“What’s up, man?” Jonathan’s voice was warm, full of that familiar tone of brotherly comfort that Joshua had come to rely on.

“I’m the father,” Joshua said, his voice steady, though the excitement was still apparent in his tone. “It’s official. I’m Jhream’s dad.”

Jonathan paused, a beat of silence hanging between them. Then, as if the words had sunk in, Jonathan’s voice came through, full of genuine happiness for his brother. “I’m happy for you, man. But let me tell you, this better be the last time you ever hijack somebody’s sperm and do some BS like this again.” Jonathan’s playful teasing followed by a chuckle made Joshua roll his eyes. Even as an adult, his twin brother was never short of words when it came to poking fun.

Joshua rolled his eyes in return, even though Jonathan couldn’t see him. “I was drunk,” Joshua muttered, shaking his head in mock disbelief at himself. There were no excuses for the situation, but in a way, it didn’t matter. What mattered now was that they had a daughter, his daughter. And that was all that mattered to him.

As Joshua sat there, leaning against the cold elevator wall, the weight of his decision finally began to settle in. This was his life now. But Joshua also knew that this was only the beginning. The road ahead would be complicated. The dynamics between him and Hamisa had always been tense, and now, with the added responsibility of parenthood, it was only going to get more complicated. He could already hear Hamisa’s voice in his head, accusing him of meddling too much, of not thinking things through, of being reckless in a way that only he could be. But as much as they clashed, they were bound by their daughter. And he was determined to make this work, for her.

He thought about his upbringing, how different it had been, how fractured his relationship with his father was. He didn’t want that for Jhream. He didn’t want her to grow up in a world where she wondered who her father was, or whether he cared. He would show her, day in and day out, that he was there. His past would not be hers.

After hanging up with Jonathan, Joshua stood up straighter, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like a mantle. He had to be the man he had never quite figured out how to be, someone who was present, responsible, and most of all, reliable. For Jhream, he had to change. He had to become more than he had ever been, and there was no question in his mind that he was ready for the challenge.

His fingers brushed the edge of the envelope again, feeling the smooth paper against his skin. His life had just shifted. There was no going back. But despite the unknowns, despite the complexities that lay ahead, there was an undeniable certainty in his heart. He was her father, and nothing could change that.

uceyjucey 2h

Joshua scrolled through his phone in the quiet of the morning, the sun just beginning to pierce through the blinds. The notifications were relentless. His name and Hamisa’s were trending on social media. He had become accustomed to the digital frenzy that sometimes swirled around his life, but today was different.

The usual noise felt louder, more intrusive.

It wasn’t just him but Hamisa was caught in the web of scrutiny too, and it was all because of their daughter, Jhream. A photo he had posted hours ago, a simple one of his baby girl picking something off the floor, was the spark that set everything ablaze.

Joshua’s fingers hovered over the screen as he read the comments, some questioning the paternity of Jhream, others spewing venom about Hamisa. He didn’t care about the shots people took at him, he had weathered that for years. But when it came to the people he loved, his daughter, the woman he shared a child with, that was something entirely different. He couldn’t stand idly by while people trashed Hamisa or tried to cast doubt on the paternity of his child.

The article that had sparked the fire had been ridiculous, full of assumptions and idle speculation. It had suggested the most absurd scenarios, each more damaging than the last. Joshua wasn’t about to let them tarnish his family’s reputation. He posted a new photo of Jhream, one where you couldn’t quite see her face, but you could tell it was her, just barely.

A quiet statement of “this is my child,” it was enough to make the internet jump to conclusions, immediately speculating that Joshua was indeed the father, and just like that, the narrative was set.

Was it messy? Absolutely. Did he care? Not in the slightest. He had spent the last few months adjusting to his new role as a father, learning about the precious little girl who had come into his life and made everything brighter. He was protective of her, of Hamisa, and of their relationship. He would stand by them, no matter what the world had to say. No one was going to get away with dragging his family through the mud.

As he set his phone down, his screen buzzing again, he glanced across the room, his mind still racing. It was Hamisa calling. Her voice was sharp but familiar when he answered.

“Why would you do that?” she asked, sounding more tired than angry. “You couldn’t just ignore it, could you?”

Joshua let out a deep breath. He was prepared for this conversation. “Hamisa, that’s my daughter. I don’t care what the tabloids are saying, I wasn’t going to just let them insinuate anything about you or Jhream. You know I’m not going to stand by and let people disrespect my family.”

Hamisa fell silent for a moment. He could hear her breathing on the other end, the frustration settling into something softer. “I get it, I do. But you didn’t have to make it public like that.”

He wasn’t going to back down, though. “It wasn’t just public, it was necessary. You and Jhream are mine, and no one is going to try to rewrite that story. Not while I’m breathing.”

The quiet stretch between them felt like it lasted an eternity. Finally, Hamisa spoke again, her voice quieter. “I know. But still, you didn’t even let the ink dry on her name change before you started acting like this.”

Joshua chuckled softly. “I’m not going to apologize for claiming my own child.”

There was a pause on the line before she spoke again, a resigned chuckle escaping her lips. “Okay, okay. Just... don’t make it worse, alright? I’m already trying to handle everything on my end.”

Joshua couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “I’m just getting started. Jeyce is setting up a whole photoshoot for her right now. We're about to have a Daddy-Daughter photoshoot in here.”

“I can’t wait to see that,” Hamisa said, a laugh in her voice. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joshua hung up, but he wasn’t fazed by the tension in her words. This was his family, and he was committed to making sure the world knew exactly who they were. He turned back to the living room, his gaze settling on his daughter. She was sitting on the floor, babbling happily, her tiny hands swatting at her toys as she looked up at Jeyce, who was busy arranging the makeshift photoshoot setup. Joshua walked over, snapping a few pictures as he did.

Just as he was about to adjust the camera, the front door opened, and in walked his cousin Joe, followed by his twin brother, Jonathan. They both entered with the easy familiarity of family, grinning at the scene in front of them.

“Uce got him a daughter now, and he don’t know how to act,” Jonathan teased, smirking as he watched Joshua play with Jhream.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, I thought Hamisa would’ve put up more of a fight before letting you have her like this. She’s a mama bear, you know?”

Joshua shrugged, his attention still on Jhream. “She knows how I am with my sons. Why wouldn’t she trust me with our daughter?”

Jhream let out a squeal, reaching out to Joshua. He scooped her up, holding her carefully in his arms, and both Joe and Jonathan smiled at the sight.

“Hi, niecey pooh,” Joe cooed, speaking to the baby in a baby voice. “You’re trending on Twitter because your big-headed Daddy had to make sure everyone knew you belonged to him.”

Jhream started babbling, furiously.

Joshua smirked at Joe. “I think she’s cursing you out, uce. She doesn’t like that you called her daddy’s head big when yours is even bigger.”

Jeyce, still standing off to the side, rolled his eyes. “All of your heads are big.”

Jonathan feigned offense. “I have you know that I have an average-sized head.”

Jeyce snickered. “All of you have big heads. It’s just a fact.”

As Joshua playfully bounced Jhream in his arms, she reached out toward Joe, making loud baby noises. Joe grinned and gently grabbed her, holding her close.

“She makes me want to have another one,” Joe remarked, his voice light and full of humor.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “Five ain’t enough for you?”

Joe shrugged. “I think I got one more in me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan said, glancing at Joe. “One more, and watch you end up with triplets.”

The room erupted in laughter, but just as the mood lightened, Jeyce walked over and showed his father something on his phone. Joshua took a moment to read the headline of the article on the screen: Jhream’s birth certificate, obtained by PEOPLE, reveals Jey Uso listed as the father.

“Damn,” Jonathan muttered, looking over Joshua’s shoulder. “When did the name change happen?”

“Two days ago,” Joshua said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “How did they get this stuff so quickly?”

“Who knows,” Jonathan replied, shaking his head. “People have ways of getting what they want.”

Jeyce, still looking at his phone, showed his dad the next part of the article, which read: Jhream Musa Woo Fatu was born on June 14, 2024, according to the birth certificate, at South Miami Hospital in Miami, Florida, at 6:14 a.m.

“Well, damn,” Joe muttered. “That’s some serious info right there. How did they get it?”

Joshua shook his head. “I don’t know. But that’s not the point. What’s important is that people know that Jhream is mine, and I’m not going to let anyone say otherwise.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “How does Hamisa feel about you claiming her so publicly?”

“I think she has mixed feelings about it,” Joshua admitted. “She’s just trying to keep things calm, and I get that. But this isn’t something I can just ignore.”

Joe nodded. “Understandable, but you’re right. It’s better that the truth comes out now instead of later, you know?”

Joshua looked down at his daughter, who was now giggling and reaching for her toys again, oblivious to the storm brewing around her. “Yeah. I’m not going to let anyone question her. Not now, not ever.”

Jonathan cleared his throat, bringing them back to the present. “Anyway, moving on, Pam Pam and Trin are planning to throw Hamisa a birthday party on Saturday. Since her birthday’s on the 14th, and you know that's Valentine’s Day, they figured it’d be easier to do it on Saturday.”

Joshua smiled. “We’re going to spoil her. She deserves it.”

Jeyce, with a playful grin, piped up from the couch. “I got enough money for a Pandora charm bracelet.”

Joe chuckled. “Okay, nephew. Ice her out.”

Joshua laughed, shaking his head.

Liked by belmirawoo, itsmebayley, dreamdoll, and 2,102,623 others

hamisawoo Happy Birthday to my beautiful big sister, my Aquarius twin, the one who knows me better than anyone else!

I can’t even begin to put into words how much I cherish our bond, and today I’m especially reflecting on all the love, laughter, and memories we’ve shared over the years. From childhood to adulthood, you’ve been my constant, always there through every high, every low, and every crazy dream I’ve had. I will never take for granted how you’ve supported me through it all.

I’ll never forget the joy of being pregnant at the same time as you. It was such a magical experience to go through that journey together. The excitement, the struggles, and the shared moments of wonder, it felt like we were living parallel lives in the best possible way. Now, seeing our girls, I can only hope that they grow up with the same kind of bond we share. The kind that is unbreakable, deep, and full of unconditional love.

Thank you, xuxuzinho, for being my rock. For believing in me, supporting my wildest goals, and accepting my craziness with open arms. You have always been my biggest cheerleader, and I am forever grateful.

Today is all about celebrating you, your heart, your spirit, and the amazing woman you are. May this year bring you as much happiness, love, and joy as you’ve brought into my life. Happy Birthday, @belmirawoo. I love you to the moon and back, forever and always.

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Hamisa stood in awe of the scene before her, her heart swelling with pride. She had been planning this day for weeks, and it was finally coming to life. The backyard, which on any other day would have been a humble stretch of grass, was now transformed into a dazzling, extravagant celebration fit for royalty. It was her older sister Belmira’s 38th birthday, and Hamisa was determined to make it an unforgettable super-luxe, super-orange-themed soirée that would leave everyone talking for years to come.

Guests were welcomed through a grand entrance beneath a glowing neon sign that read “BELMIRA” in a giant, eye-catching orange scrawl. The sign pulsed with energy, lighting up the evening air like an electric heartbeat. It was impossible to ignore. As the guests walked beneath it, they were immediately transported into a world that felt like a dream. The scene that awaited them was nothing short of magical.

The entire backyard had been transformed into a lavish oasis where every detail was bathed in shades of orange, the birthday girl's favorite color. Strings of vibrant orange flowers cascaded from the ceiling like a floral chandelier, adding a touch of whimsy to the atmosphere.

The flowers hung over an array of plush chairs and couches, all dressed in throw pillows and blankets in varying hues of orange. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms, mingling perfectly with the warm, inviting aroma of the gourmet food stations that dotted the space.

The drinks were served in sleek orange cups emblazoned with "Belmira 38" in shimmering gold letters, while paper straws topped with glamorous selfies of Belmira herself added a playful touch to each beverage.

Nearby, neon signs flashed with witty quotes from Belmira, illuminating the space and reminding everyone of her signature humor and radiant personality. Each one seemed to reflect her, from the clever quips about life and love to the bold declarations of self-confidence. The atmosphere was electric, vibrant, exuberant, and undeniably Belmira.

The dancefloor was a light-up spectacle, the lights shifting in time with the rhythm of the music, calling guests to step up and show off their best moves. Everywhere Hamisa looked, she saw smiling faces, her family, friends, and loved ones all gathered to celebrate the incredible woman who had shaped so much of her life. But the true star of the night, of course, was Belmira, and Hamisa couldn’t help but beam with pride at the sight of her sister.

Belmira stood near the center of the party, her energy infectious as she chatted with friends and family, radiating a warmth that could light up an entire room. She wore a stunning dress that shimmered with every movement, the perfect balance of glamour and sophistication. Hamisa couldn’t help but admire her. Belmira was, without a doubt, the queen of the evening. And yet, even amid all the attention, Belmira never lost her sense of humor or her down-to-earth charm.

As Hamisa surveyed the scene, she noticed Jhream crawling along the floor, laughing, dancing, and babbling as if she were the life of the party. The sight of her daughter’s joyful squeals made Hamisa’s heart swell with love. Jhream was so full of life, a true delight to everyone around her. Hamisa’s gaze shifted back to her sister.

“I can't wait for Neusa to start crawling,” Belmira said, watching Jhream with a fond smile.

Hamisa chuckled softly. “Until she starts getting into everything in the house, then you’ll wish she wasn’t crawling anymore.”

As if on cue, Jhream let out a squeal of excitement, clapping her hands in delight. At that moment, Joshua walked in, his presence unmistakable as he approached the two sisters.

“Baby girl knows how to make her daddy feel special,” Joshua said with a grin, bending down to pick up Jhream, who immediately melted into his arms with a happy coo.

Hamisa watched them fondly, her eyes softening as she observed the bond between father and daughter. It wasn’t always easy to navigate the complexities of family dynamics, especially with Joshua, but for Jhream’s sake, they were all trying to make it work.

“Happy Birthday, sis,” Joshua said, handing Belmira a gift bag with a smile.

Belmira raised an eyebrow playfully, pretending to hesitate before accepting the bag. “I don’t know if I like you again just yet,” she teased, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Hamisa rolled her eyes at the exchange. She knew that there was still some lingering tension within the family, especially between Joshua and some of the other relatives. But tonight was about celebrating Belmira, and they would all do their best to keep the peace.

“I gotta fight for my number one spot in the family again, I get it,” Joshua said, a teasing grin on his face.

“You were never number one, tell him, babe,” Belmira’s husband, Breno, chimed in with a mock glare. He had been married to Belmira for six years now.

“Now y’all both know y’all ain’t number one,” Caio, Hamisa’s older brother, added with a laugh. He always had a knack for stirring up fun chaos within the family.

“Do we like him again?” Carlacia, Breno’s ten-year-old daughter, asked, looking up at Joshua with a curious expression.

“He’s on probation,” Breno answered with a smirk, a playful warning in his voice.

“Thank you for the gift, Joshua,” Belmira said, finally accepting it with a gracious smile. She knew how to navigate the complexities of family, always keeping the atmosphere light and full of laughter, no matter the tensions.

Joshua smiled, his eyes softening as he watched Jhream rest her head on his shoulder, her small form relaxed and content.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice warm.

Just as the moment seemed to settle into peaceful harmony, Jhream yawned, her little eyes closing as she drifted off to sleep in her father’s arms.

“Okay, let’s go put her down for a nap,” Hamisa said softly, her tone gentle as she reached for Joshua’s hand.

Joshua nodded, his smile never fading as he followed Hamisa inside the house. His gaze lingered on her, a teasing grin forming on his lips.

“Thank you, Jhream, for mommy’s new curves,” he said, his voice filled with lighthearted humor.

Hamisa shot him a look over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Shut up,” she muttered, her lips twitching as if she were trying not to smile.

Joshua chuckled, his gaze still lingering on her. “Once we put her down, you gotta show me how that ass moves,” he added, his voice low and playful.

Hamisa couldn’t help but laugh as she shook her head. “You’re insufferable.”

Together, they walked into the house, placing Jhream gently in Neusa’s crib, where the two babies would sleep side by side. The peaceful scene was a brief moment of calm before the whirlwind of the party resumed.

“Come on,” Joshua urged with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Let’s go back to the party.”

They stepped back out into the backyard, just as the bass of the music began to pulse through the air. The song “Deadly” by Stefflon Don and Victony blasted from the speakers, the upbeat rhythm filling the space with energy. Hamisa couldn’t resist. She moved to the beat, swaying and dancing against Joshua, the music becoming a thread that wove them together. He gripped her waist, his movements matching hers as they danced in perfect sync.

Hermione, Hamisa’s younger sister, couldn’t resist capturing the moment. She pulled out her phone, laughing as she pointed the camera at the couple. “Get this on film! Oh, they ain’t gonna believe this,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she recorded them dancing together.

Hamisa and Joshua continued to move together, lost in the rhythm of the music, the moment feeling like a perfect blend of love, laughter, and family. The world outside their bubble seemed to fade, and for that brief moment, it was just the two of them, their connection as undeniable as the music that surrounded them.

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hamisawoo The birthday countdown begins! ✨🎉 This Valentine’s Day baby is turning 36, and I’m feeling all kinds of grateful for the journey that got me here. 🌹💖

35 was a year full of growth, transformation, and so many beautiful moments. I became a mom (a role I cherish deeply) and discovered a new level of self-love and acceptance that I never knew was possible. It’s amazing how life can surprise you when you open your heart to change and embrace every new chapter with open arms. 🌸

This past year taught me that it’s never too late to reinvent yourself, to pour into your own happiness, and to find joy in the everyday. 35 was kind to me, and now I’m ready to take on 36 with even more purpose, passion, and a whole lot of love for the person I’ve become. 💫

I can’t wait to see what this next chapter has in store. Here’s to more growth, more adventures, and more moments that make my heart full. Cheers to 36 and everything it will bring! 🎂💕

#BirthdayCountdown #ValentineBaby #SelfLove #NewBeginnings #GratefulHeart

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Next

[cyberesc]

BEST ENEMY. (1/3)

ft. Prohero!Midoriya x Villain(?)Reader

synopsis: He's the Number One Hero, you're his greatest enemy, and yet no matter how much blood stains your hands, Izuku can't bring himself to stop loving you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ tags & warnings: heavy angst, mentions of blood/violence, mentions of alcoholism, morally grey themes, self-loathing, "if things were different" vibes, unresolved tension

note: I was in the mood for some angst, i wrote this drabble listening to //Ma Meilleure Ennemie// and was inspired by Ekko and Jinxs' relationship

part 2 | part 3

A melody plays in the background as Izuku polishes the armor of his suit, careful with each groove and scratch. His hands are methodical, just like they were the night before when they had closed around your throat.

He’s spent years mastering his self-control, but every time he fights you, it unravels. You make him reckless. Sloppy.

The melody plays on repeat in the dim silence of his apartment, a relic of simpler times. Homecoming. Your hand in his, guiding him through a dance neither of you were particularly good at, but it didn’t matter. You laughed at his awkward footwork, and he swore he’d never felt so warm.

He should stop listening to the song, stop scrubbing away phantom blood that will never truly wash off, stop thinking about the way you smiled at him as he nearly killed you.

You always did have a way of twisting a knife in his heart and making it feel like a lover’s embrace.

Izuku has been in love with you for as long as he’s known what love is.

It was an innocent thing, once. Snot-nosed kids whispering dreams in the dark, two outcasts clinging to each other like lifelines. He wanted to be a hero. You never did.

But you humored him.

You encouraged his dreams, smiled and cheered for him when no one else would, cleaned his wounds when Bakugo shoved him into the dirt. He thought, maybe, if he became strong enough, if he became the kind of hero you could believe in, you wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

He was wrong.

He knows the way your mind works, the cynicism carved into your bones long before you had the words to explain it. Even as a child, you saw the cracks in the system, the hypocrisy in the heroes you were supposed to admire. He wonders if you ever truly believed in him, or if you just didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

He should hate you.

He wants to hate you.

But when you’re standing across from him, bloodied and grinning, taunting him, all he sees is the person who held him together when he was falling apart.

And that’s why it has to be him.

You both know it.

If you ever go down, it’ll be by his hands.

And if anyone is going to break him beyond repair, it’ll be by yours.

You tilt your head, watching him. He feels stripped bare under your gaze, as if you can see the cracks forming in his resolve.

“You tried to kill me.” Your grin widens, something cruel curling at the edges. “How does it feel?”

His stomach churns. You talk about your near death as if it was a good thing, like his fingers hadn’t trembled around your throat, like you hadn’t looked up at him with relief as he nearly ended you.

He turns on his heel.

“Running away so soon?” you call after him, voice laced with disappointment.

Izuku doesn’t answer. If he stays, he’ll do something reckless again. And he’s already drowning in enough guilt to kill him.

He drowns it the only way he knows how.

The burn of alcohol is nothing compared to the memory of you.

Izuku doesn’t drink often, not really. He knows it’s a bad habit, knows he’s letting you win every time he lets himself spiral. But after that night, after nearly killing you...

He needed something to shut you out.

His fingers tighten around his glass, knuckles white. He wonders, bitterly, if you’d laugh at him for this. If you’d be proud of yourself for breaking the Number One Hero down to this.

Somewhere between his third and fourth drink, he stops wondering.

The next morning, he wakes up with a stranger in his bed, someone whose eyes are the wrong color and hair the wrong shade. He feels bad waking them up but not bad enough to let them stay.

You meet again in the ruins of a battlefield, smoke curling in the air, blood staining the ground.

Izuku is breathing hard, hands shaking from exhaustion. You’re grinning like you haven’t just barely escaped death.

He should say something. Should demand answers, should beg you to stop this.

“I hate you,” he breathes instead.

You laugh, head tilting as if he just said something endearing. “I know."

His jaw clenches. “I wish I never met you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, cleaning your knifes on the ledge of the building.

Izuku stares at you with a raw ache in his chest. He should finish this. Right here, right now.

He stares at you for a few moments, watching your fingers clean the metal of your blade. A chill runs down his spine at the familiar routine.

He shouldn’t be happy that you’d kept an eye on him, that you couldn’t stay away even if you tried.

After a long pause of silence, you look up at him with furrowed brows at his inaction, mouth in a firm line. You were giving him a chance. He missed it, again.

You look down at the road below you, not bothering to spare him a glance as you jumped from the ledge.

“See you soon, hero.”

And then you’re gone, disappearing into the foggy night.

Izuku is left standing there, the weight of his own heart suffocating him.

He wants to hate you.

But he never will.

© property of cyberesc 2025. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works and do not repost/copy onto any other sites.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Valentine's Day Pt. 2 (MFLs)

See also: Valentine's Day 2024

Hey all!

Well, haven't been asked this year for a new Valentine's list, and since I didn't have a list ready this weekend, I decided to take it upon myself to throw together this list of fics from my Marked for Later offline list and post it for today!

As always, if you have a Valentine's fic you're writing or have read, PLEASE suggest it for the reblog! Enjoy!

Conversation Hearts by rsong912 (M, 1,382 w., 1 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Valentine's Day, One Shot, Bed Sharing, Fluff Without Plot, First Kiss) – This little one-shot is in honor of Valentine's Day and the boys. I got the idea by reading about the origin of those little conversation heart candies, once manufactured by Necco and now by Spangler Candy Co, which have apparently been in production with only a few years of a break since 1902. They usually have a theme every year, in addition to the classic hearts. I've used the prompt of the classic hearts to come up with the theme for this little fic: Will U B Mine?

Hope is sweet by Lock_John_Silver (T, 2,977 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Parentlock with Rosie, Valentine’s Day, Developing Relationship, Pet Names, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Classical Music, Idiots in Love, Endearments, POV Sherlock) - Sherlock wants to be more than John’s best friend. Has wanted it for ages, truth be told. So, when Molly comes up with an idea, that to some extent involves three year old Rosie, Sherlock doesn’t hesitate.

Worth Its Weight by philalethia (E, 2,986 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || PWP, Daddy Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Service Domination, Gift Giving, Unsafe Sex, Sex Toys) – “Remember,” John said, “when we talked about you not buying me extravagant things?” Basically: a little bit of Valentine's Day daddy kink. Part 2 of All the Rest 'Verse

The Importance of February 14th by cypress_tree (T, 3,156 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Valentine’s Day) – Sherlock was born on Valentine's Day. John doesn't know this and invites him out on a date. Sherlock assumes it's a birthday celebration and believes so right up until the moment John kisses him.

Dinner and a Murder by vintagelilacs (T, 4,210 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Valentine’s Day, Online Dating, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Getting Together, POV John, Oblivious John) – Reluctant to spend Valentine’s Day alone, John joins a dating app only to realize he’s already living with the closest thing to a soulmate he’s ever going to get.

Love, In Five Acts by unicornpoe (T, 4,443 w. 1 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Valentine's Day, Ballet, Romance, Pining, Wooing, Gifts) – Somebody is wooing Sherlock Holmes—only he doesn't think it's the person he wants it to be.

The Best Idea by SatanDrankMyCoffee (T, 7,252 w.,  5 Ch. || Valentine's Day, Bubble Bath, Hair Washing, People-Watching, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff/Bliss, Texting) – Gift giving is something Sherlock is usually quite good at but when the parameters change, he becomes unsure of himself. Which gift idea is the best idea? Part 3 of A Year in Occasions

Daddy's Darling by distantstarlight (E, 7,747 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Daddy Kink, Valentine’s Day, Smut, First Time) – Disguises are part of the package when you work as detectives, there was nothing new about that but one day Sherlock goes undercover with his best friend and they discover more than the answer to the crime.

Valentine’s Night Out by CarmillaCarmine (E, 10,120 w., 5 Ch. || ASiB Canon Divergence, Valentine’s Day, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Breath Play, Butt Plugs, Deep Throating, Humour, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Anal Sex) – John and Sherlock have been invited to join their friends at a pub for Valentine's Day. Sherlock has plans to spice the evening up a bit. Part 4 of the The Johnlock Holidays and Celebrations Series

The Heart of the Matter by prettysailorsoldier (T, 13,427 w., 1 Ch. || Teenager AU || Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Texting, Valentine’s Day, Fluff) – It's the annual Valentine's Week fundraiser, carnations, conversation hearts, and singing telegrams (oh my!) making their way around the school corridors, and Sherlock Holmes has quite happily never received any of them. So, when he gets a box of conversation hearts containing a message from a secret admirer, his first instinct is that it's an elaborate practical joke, but, as he and his mystery suitor begin texting, he starts to wonder if there might be something to this Valentine's Day lark after all. There is, however, the entirely unrelated problem of one John Watson to contend with before he can be sure. Part 3 of 221B Mine

Not this year by Imjohnlocked87 (E, 16,293 w., 4 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting ||  Friends to Lovers, Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Smut, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Sex, Wall Sex, Angst with Happy Ending) – One month after leaving the rehabilitation centre, when Donovan asks Sherlock if he will be alone on Valentine's Day this year too, he replies he will be spending it with someone special.The only problem is that this someone doesn't exist.Because who would want to have Valentine's date with Sherlock Holmes? 

Quo Fata Vocant by prettysailorsoldier (E, 18,115 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock / Teenlock ||  Librarians, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Time, Tattoos, Valentine’s Day, Secret Admirer, Matchmaker) – Sherlock is enamored with one of the employees at the university library, wiling away hours of his days just to catch a glimpse of the dynamic John Watson: captain of the rugby team, event manager for the LGBT society, and third-year medical student. Of course, being only a first-year, it's unlikely John will ever notice him. At least, until fate (and a little well-intentioned meddling) intervenes.