#i hope you all are having a good sunday ���

[cherryxbooo]

Chosen

Summary: You feel dragged around by Oscar, always sidelined in favor of his friend group with no say in their or his plans. But what happens when the bucket finally overflows?

Note: Hey everyone I'm back, and this time with the long-awaited Oscar fic. I just wanted to let all of you know that the second semester of uni has started, so I want to apologize in advance for my inactivity. I hope you enjoy this one! 🌸

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: fluff/angst

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and the sun was just starting to dip behind the clouds, casting a soft glow through the windows.

Oscar and I were sprawled out on the couch, his arm wrapped around me, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my arm.

The TV was on, but neither of us was paying much attention to it. We were content, enjoying the stillness of the moment, the quiet of our own little world.

"I’m glad we’re finally having a day to ourselves," Oscar murmured, his voice low and warm, sending a shiver down my spine.

He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his touch so gentle it almost felt like a caress.

"Me too," I whispered, leaning into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the soft musk of his skin.

"It feels like it’s been forever."

His laugh rumbled through his chest.

"I know. Feels like we’ve barely had time to just... be."

We sat in silence for a moment, the kind of comfortable silence that only comes from being with someone you truly care about.

I felt safe here with him, like I could stay wrapped in this moment forever, untouched by the outside world.

It was these small, quiet moments that made everything feel okay.

Oscar shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me.

"Hey babe, so, my friends are meeting up later. You know Jack and the others—"

I blinked up at him, already sensing where this was going.

"We’re going to meet up with them?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, but it was a little harder than usual.

"Yeah, just for a drink," he said, his expression brightening, clearly excited about it.

"You’ll come, right?"

I smiled, but it was more of a reflex than anything.

"Sure, of course."

Oscar didn’t seem to notice my hesitation.

"Awesome. I know everyone will be happy to see you."

He leaned in to kiss my forehead, and I held my breath for just a second, trying to push down the tightness that had suddenly crept into my chest.

But I couldn’t help it. Inside, I felt... different.

I should’ve been excited, right? After all, meeting up with friends was supposed to be a good thing.

It was supposed to be something I looked forward to.

But instead, there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a knot tightening in my stomach.

The truth was, I didn’t feel like I was part of his world when we went out with his friends.

Not really. Not like I belonged, at least. They weren’t unkind, it was just like I was an outsider.

I tried to insert myself into conversations, but they always slipped back into their own comfortable rhythm, talking about racing, about sim racing, about things I just didn’t have the same connection to.

I wasn’t part of that world, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite bridge the gap.

And it always seemed like they didn't want me to be part of their conversations either.

But I couldn’t tell Oscar that. He loved his friends. And I loved him.

So I went along with it, even though it made me feel more like an accessory than a partner sometimes.

I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want to be the girlfriend who said no when he asked her to join him.

I didn’t want to be the one who got in the way of his friendships. If I didn’t go, they’d talk behind my back.

I knew they would. And I didn’t want to be that girl. The one who held him back or made him feel like he had to choose.

So I smiled, nodded, and said, "Sure, of course," even if it wasn’t how I felt.

Oscar’s voice broke through my thoughts. "You’re quiet. Everything okay?"

I blinked up at him, forcing my smile to stay in place. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking."

He smiled back, completely unaware of the turmoil inside me.

"Alright, then. I’m looking forward to it."

I nodded, but my thoughts wandered again. There was always this underlying feeling that I wasn’t really meant to be there.

When Oscar wasn’t around, I could feel the silence in the air, like I was standing on the outside of their inside jokes, and no matter how much I tried to join in, it was always just a little too late.

It was easier when Oscar was right there beside me, talking to me, pulling me into the conversation.

But the second he was distracted, even for a moment, it was like I was invisible.

And no one noticed. Not even him. It was like only his friends existed and I didn't have any.

The worst part? It wasn’t just this one time.

It was every time. It was a routine, something that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

I had tried. God, I had tried so many times to get him to come out with my friends.

Tried to bring it up casually, to suggest that maybe, just maybe, I could spend time with my own group for a change.

But it always got brushed off, like my friends didn’t really matter as much.

"Oh, babe, I thought you wanted to hang out with me," he’d say,

always with that playful grin, as if the suggestion that I might want a night out with my friends was absurd.

"Come on, you don’t want to miss out on the guys." And before I could even reply, he'd already be dragging me into some new conversation with his friends or making plans for something with them.

At first, I thought maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe one night with his friends wouldn’t hurt.

But then it happened again. And again.

And each time, my attempt to spend time with my own friends was met with that same dismissive ease, as if it wasn’t even an option.

I couldn’t tell him how much it stung. I didn’t want to cause tension or make him feel bad.

He was just... excited to be with his friends. And I was happy for him, really, I was.

But the more I gave in, the more I realized how much I was missing out on my own life, my own connections.

But I could never say it. Not out loud. Because I didn’t want to disappoint him.

I didn’t want him to think I didn’t care about his friendships, or worse—be seen as the girlfriend who couldn’t handle being around his friends.

I kept telling myself I was being unreasonable, that it was normal to spend so much time with his group. But deep down, I knew I was giving up something of myself every time.

And still, I went along with it. Like I always did.

"Alright, I’ll get ready," I said, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in my chest.

"Let’s go meet them."

Oscar grinned, clearly happy to see me gearing up for the night.

"I knew you’d come through," he said, giving me a quick, playful kiss on the cheek.

I returned his smile, but inside, I was already bracing myself for the evening.

For the smiles and the jokes, for the moments where I’d try to laugh along, to fit in, to make it through the night without feeling like I was losing myself a little more with each passing second.

I could do this. For him. Always for him.

But as I stepped into the bedroom to change, I couldn’t help but sigh.

Oscar and I arrived at the pub just as the evening sky darkened, the neon signs casting a warm glow against the wet pavement.

The usual buzz of London nightlife was already in full swing, and I could feel the energy in the air, but it felt so far removed from me.

I could hear the laughter and chatter before we even stepped inside.

Oscar grinned, pulling me by the hand toward the door, and I followed him through the dimly lit space, the noise growing louder with each step.

Inside, the group was already gathered around a corner booth, half of them already in animated conversation.

Mark waved enthusiastically when he saw us, and Max glanced up from his phone with a nod.

The others—Jake, Sam, and Alex—were busy talking, their voices overlapping in that easy camaraderie they all shared.

Oscar, being Oscar, was immediately pulled into the conversation, his friends already excitedly discussing whatever they were talking about.

Probably something related to their latest weekend plans or their favorite shows.

He easily fell into the rhythm of their group, nodding along and laughing, without even sparing a glance at me.

It felt like I was invisible, sitting on the edge of this conversation I didn’t quite belong to.

"Hey, Y/n!" Mark said with a grin, leaning over to give me a fist bump.

"How’s it going?"

"Good, good," I mumbled, trying to smile. "Just... chilling."

I took the seat beside Oscar, settling into the booth but immediately feeling the weight of the conversation happening around me.

Oscar was already in a deep conversation with Mark and Max, nodding along and laughing at something one of them had said.

His arm was draped over the back of my chair, but he wasn’t really looking at me.

His attention was all on them. And for some reason, tonight, it felt more obvious than usual.

I glanced at the table, at the half-empty drinks, the clinking of glasses as the guys cheered each other on.

And there I was, on the edge of it all, nursing my drink, my eyes flickering around the room but never really landing anywhere.

Tonight, I wasn’t even trying to engage anymore. It felt pointless.

I wasn’t sure if I had given up or if I was just... tired.

Tired of trying to fit into a space that didn’t feel like mine.

At some point, the conversation shifted, and I overheard Mark suggesting that they should all go snowboarding for the weekend.

The thought of a weekend away, filled with snow and action, was enough to make their voices rise a little louder, their enthusiasm palpable.

But what caught my attention wasn’t the idea itself—it was how quickly Oscar jumped on board.

"Yeah, that sounds awesome," he said, nodding without missing a beat.

"We can go that weekend. It’s perfect."

And just like that, the plan was made.

Everyone agreed, and the group easily fell into the flow of arranging details.

But what made my chest tighten was how Oscar didn’t even hesitate.

Not even a moment's thought. He was already locked in with them.

But worse—he didn’t even ask me.

He didn’t even look at me to see if I had plans or if I had something I wanted to do.

He just assumed, and what hit me harder was when he added, without a second thought, "Y/n will come with us, too."

Like I was an afterthought. Like my opinion didn’t even matter.

I froze, my stomach twisting.

That weekend was the same weekend I had planned to hang out with my own friends.

The same friends I hadn’t seen in forever, the ones I was constantly sidelining to go to Oscar’s hangouts.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Oscar’s friends—I did, in my own way.

But the more this happened, the more I realized just how much I missed my own group.

I missed their jokes, the way we could just talk about anything and everything without the weight of racing and sim setups hovering over us.

I missed me—the version of myself that wasn’t always Oscar’s girlfriend, the one who had her own life too.

I was getting tired of always saying "yes," of always being the one who dropped whatever I had planned to follow him into his world.

But when I looked at Oscar, when I saw how excited he was to go snowboarding with his friends, I knew he wouldn’t understand.

He wouldn’t get why it bothered me that he didn’t ask, that he just assumed I’d follow him wherever he went.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I needed to say something.

I should say something.

"Hey, Osc," I started, my voice just a little too tight.

"I had plans that weekend, actually... with my friends."

He didn’t even look at me.

He was still talking to Mark, leaning forward, already discussing the finer points of the snowboarding trip.

"Oh, you’ll be fine," he said with a wave of his hand. "It’ll be fun. Everyone’s going, right?"

He didn’t hear me. Didn’t even try to.

He just waved me off, like my plans didn’t matter.

I opened my mouth to say something, to try again, but before I could, Oscar’s attention was already back on Mark, and he was talking to Max about which resort to go to.

I felt the words catch in my throat, lost amidst the noise, as he dismissed me without even realizing it.

"Just wait, okay?" Oscar added his voice light, distracted.

"We’ll talk about it later, but let’s figure this out first."

And just like that, the conversation moved on.

I closed my mouth, my shoulders sinking.

I could feel the old familiar wave of frustration building up inside me, usually, I would just bite my tongue and swallow my pride.

But this time, something inside me snapped.

I was fed up. This was the last straw.

It wasn’t just the snowboarding weekend—it was everything.

The constant pushing aside of my feelings, my plans, my life outside of his world.

The way he always assumed my presence without ever considering what I wanted.

The way he took me for granted, not even realizing how much it hurt.

I couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.

I couldn’t keep swallowing my frustration just to keep the peace.

I didn’t want to be the girlfriend who was always there, who always said yes, who always smiled and nodded.

I was done.

Done pretending.

Done sacrificing my own happiness for his.

Done being an afterthought in my own relationship.

It was time for me to finally say something.

After hours of the guys planning their trip, talking and laughing— it was finally time to wrap it up.

I couldn't be more relieved but there was still one thing on my mind and that was confronting Oscar.

We sat in the car as Oscar drove us back home.

The car ride home was silent.

Oscar drove with his usual relaxed demeanor, one hand on the wheel, the other resting absentmindedly on my thigh.

Usually, that gesture made my heart flutter, but tonight it felt more like a formality, a habit.

Something that no longer had the warmth it used to.

I stared out the window, watching the blur of city lights pass by.

My jaw was clenched so tightly I was starting to feel the ache in my teeth, but I didn’t care.

The frustration, the hurt, all of it was bubbling up inside me.

I knew I couldn’t go to bed tonight without getting it out. I had to say something.

So I did.

“Oscar.”

He hummed in response, eyes focused on the road ahead, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel.

I hesitated, just for a moment.

But the frustration couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Why do we always hang out with your friends?”

His brow furrowed, and his eyes flicked toward me briefly before returning to the road.

“What do you mean love?”

I turned in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest, fighting the tightening in my throat.

“I mean every single time we go out, it’s always with your group. I never get to see my friends. You never let me make plans with them. Just yours.”

My voice wavered a little. “I always have to tag along.”

Oscar’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly, and he sighed. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” I said, my voice sharp.

“You always say ‘next time,’ but next time never comes. And when I bring it up, it’s like I’m asking for the world. I sit there with your friends, feeling like I don’t even exist, and you’re too busy to notice.”

His eyes flicked to me again, then back to the road.

“Y/n, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

I blinked, stunned by his response. “Are you serious?”

“What?” He shot me a quick look, confusion flickering in his eyes.

“You’re acting like I’m forcing you.”

“You do force me, Oscar,” I snapped, my voice rising.

“You never ask. You just expect me to go along with whatever you’re doing. And the one time I try to suggest something for me—something with my friends—you brush it off, or you convince me I don’t need them.”

My eyes stung with frustration.

“I’m not your accessory, Oscar. I’m not just supposed to be there when it’s convenient for you.”

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s not how it is. You’re making this into something it’s not.”

I shook my head, eyes staring out the window.

“Then explain it to me. Explain why it’s always you and your friends. Why it’s always your plans, your world, and I’m just... here. When’s the last time we did something you didn’t drag me into?”

There was a long pause, the only sound the hum of the tires against the road.

Oscar’s jaw clenched, and I could feel the shift in his energy like he was gearing up to defend himself. But nothing came.

Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re being selfish, Y/n. I don’t ask you to come every time. If you didn’t want to, you could just... not come. But you don’t, so don’t act like I’m forcing you to be there.”

My stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice tight.

“Why do you care so much? It’s not like they don’t like you.”

“That’s not the point, Oscar!” I practically shouted.

“The point is, you don’t make the same effort for me! You know, the person you’re supposed to care about? I follow you around like some lost puppy. I sit through conversations I don’t even understand, I pretend everything is fine, and every time I try to tell you how I feel, it’s like you don’t hear me. You don’t see me. It’s always about your plans, your life.”

Oscar glanced at me, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, a vein popping in his neck.

“I’m not saying it’s perfect. But it’s not like I’m ignoring you, Y/n.”

“Then why do I feel so damn invisible?” I shot back, my voice trembling now.

“I’m not asking for the world. I’m just asking for a little bit of effort. Just a little bit of balance, maybe, where my life matters too.”

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his voice dropping with a sigh.

“God, Y/n, it’s not a big deal. I don’t understand why you’re making this such a huge issue.”

“Not a big deal?” I let out a bitter laugh.

“You don’t get it. You never get it.”

Oscar’s frustration boiled over.

“You’re being unreasonable. I can’t change everything just because you’re suddenly upset about it. You're such a drama queen.”

His words stung, but I wasn’t backing down. I was done pretending.

I was done giving in.

“No, you can’t change everything overnight, Oscar. But you can start by acknowledging that I’m not just here for your convenience. I’m not just your plus-one to every single thing. I’m me. And I have my own life, my own friends, and I need you to care about that, too.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and thick. Oscar’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles white against the wheel.

The air was thick with the weight of our words, of all the things we’d said that hadn’t been said before.

He didn’t respond at first. Just kept his eyes on the road, the car humming beneath us.

And I could feel the tension in the car, the space between us growing wider, like a chasm I wasn’t sure we could cross.

But I wasn’t going to back down.

“I’m not asking for everything, Oscar,” I whispered, almost to myself.

“I’m just asking to not feel like I’m invisible anymore.”

Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive.

The night felt colder than it had before.

The drive home felt endless.

By the time we pulled up to our apartment building, the weight of everything hung thick in the air between us.

Oscar turned off the engine, his hand moving from the wheel to rest at his side, but he didn’t look at me.

He didn’t say anything.

The silence was louder than the car’s engine had ever been.

I sat there for a moment, my heart racing, my mind buzzing. I had hoped he would say something, anything.

An apology, an explanation. But he didn’t.

He didn’t even seem to want to acknowledge the fight we’d just had, the frustration and hurt I’d tried to lay out for him.

I wasn’t going to let this fester. Not again.

I took a deep breath, unclipping my seatbelt. Oscar still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t looked at me.

I reached for my bag, not even bothering to look his way.

His silence felt like the final nail in the coffin.

“I’m going to my best friend’s,” I said, my voice steady but cold.

Oscar’s gaze flickered toward me briefly, but his lips stayed pressed together, the weight of his pride holding him back from speaking.

I didn’t need to hear him say it; I already knew.

He was too stubborn, too set in his ways to admit he’d messed up.

I didn’t look back.

I grabbed my things and slammed the door behind me, making my way away from him.

It was truly a blessing that my bestie only lived 10 minutes away from us.

So I started walking, not even glancing back as I didn't want to see him anymore.

I didn’t know if I was more angry or heartbroken.

I should have known.

Oscar had always been more about his pride than admitting his wrongs.

He wouldn’t change, not now, not when I needed him to.

When I finally arrived at my best friend’s place, I knocked on the door with urgency.

As soon as she saw me, she opened it wide, pulling me inside without a word.

I collapsed into her arms, my body shaking as the tears I had been holding back for so long finally broke free.

“Hey, hey,” she murmured, her voice full of concern.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” I sobbed, wiping my eyes.

“It’s Oscar. He doesn’t… he doesn’t listen. I’m not important to him, not the way he’s important to me.”

Her expression softened, and she guided me to the couch, sitting beside me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I began to pour everything out.

“I feel like I’m just... a shadow in his life. I don’t exist in the way he does with his friends. We’re always with his group, and my friends are pushed aside. Every time I try to make plans, he shuts them down. And tonight… tonight, it was the last straw. I tried to tell him, but he just didn’t get it. He didn’t care. He just sat there, not even apologizing or acknowledging how hurt I was. I... I’m so tired of being invisible.”

She listened intently, not interrupting me, just offering a comforting presence as I vented.

When I finally fell silent, she pulled me into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” she whispered.

“You don’t deserve to feel like that. You’re worth so much more than how he’s treating you.”

I closed my eyes, letting myself relax in her arms for a moment.

I wasn’t ready to be okay, but at least here, I didn’t feel alone.

After a long while, she pulled back slightly, her gaze soft but serious.

“You know... everyone has missed you. We’ve all been wondering why you’ve been so distant lately. We haven’t seen you in forever. It’s like you’ve disappeared, and no one knew what to say.”

I sniffled, guilt crashing over me.

“I didn’t mean to shut everyone out. I just… I don’t know. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I’ve been so wrapped up in him. I should’ve been better.”

She shook her head, her expression softening.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. But you do need to come out with us tomorrow. You need to make it up to yourself, too. And to us. We miss you, Y/n. You need to have fun again, and be around people who actually appreciate you for you.”

I wiped my eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“You’re right. I’ve been so caught up in all of this that I forgot how to just... live. Yeah, I’ll go out tomorrow. I think I need it.”

She smiled warmly.

“Good. It’s time to get back to the things that make you happy. And if Oscar isn’t seeing that right now, then maybe it’s time for you to remind yourself of what really matters.”

I nodded, feeling a weight lifting off my shoulders.

I wasn’t okay yet, but for the first time tonight, I felt like maybe I could be.

I wasn’t alone in this. And tomorrow—tomorrow, I would take a step back into my own world. For me.

As we talked about the plans for tomorrow, I could feel the tension in my chest easing, replaced by a tiny flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, I could start finding my way back to who I was before all of this.

Maybe it was time to stop losing myself.

A few weeks had passed, and I could feel myself slowly beginning to piece my life back together.

It wasn’t easy, but with the help of my best friend and some distance from Oscar, I was starting to remember who I was.

I was going out with my friends again, laughing and enjoying moments I had let slip away.

I even started picking up some old hobbies I had abandoned—reading, painting, and just spending time on myself.

I had a sense of peace that had been missing for a while.

But, despite all that, there was still something—or rather, someone—missing.

Oscar.

He’d tried reaching out to me multiple times, sending texts, calling, but I wasn’t ready to face him, not yet.

I couldn’t just pick up where we left off.

Not without feeling like I was compromising a part of myself again.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always there, lingering on the edge of my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried to focus on myself.

I tried not to think about him too much.

One afternoon, I was standing in the grocery store, trying to figure out if I was in the mood for pasta or a salad for dinner, when I turned a corner and nearly ran into someone.

“Oof!” I exclaimed, stumbling back a bit.

I looked up, ready to apologize, but then my words caught in my throat.

It was Oscar.

For a moment, neither of us moved. I was frozen, staring at him, and he was doing the same.

He looked… different. Tired, maybe? But still, unmistakably him.

The way his eyes locked onto mine, the way he hesitated for just a second as if he was unsure how to approach me after everything.

It hit me harder than I expected.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Hey. Uh… wow. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I forced a smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes.

“Yeah. Small world, huh?”

We both stood there for a beat, unsure of what to say next.

I could feel the tension in the air, thick with the unspoken words between us.

“How… how have you been?” he asked, his voice tentative, like he was testing the waters.

“I’m good,” I said, my tone a little stiff.

“Just been… figuring things out, you know?”

His eyes softened, and he looked like he wanted to say something more, but then I spoke again, cutting him off.

“What about that snowboarding trip? Didn’t you and your friends plan that?” I asked, my voice holding a bit more edge than I meant.

Oscar’s expression faltered, his gaze dropping for a moment.

When he met my eyes again, there was guilt written all over his face.

“I didn’t go,” he said quietly, almost as if it was a confession.

“I felt… I don’t know. I felt guilty. About everything. How I treated you. The way I didn’t listen.”

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond.

He hadn’t gone? I hadn’t expected that.

But then again, I couldn’t tell if it was because he truly felt bad or if it was more out of obligation.

I didn’t know if I was ready to hear more.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“We can’t have this conversation here,” I said, glancing around at the busy store.

I wasn’t ready to talk in front of strangers, especially not with all the emotion bubbling just under the surface.

Oscar nodded, clearly understanding.

“I get it. Um... we could talk at our- I mean my place? If you’re up for it.”

I hesitated. My first instinct was to say no, to walk away and continue living my life without him.

But something about his tone—something about the way he looked at me—made me pause.

“I… I need to think about it first,” I said, my voice softer this time.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“I understand,” he replied, his voice low.

“Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving.

It felt like the world had stopped for just a second, and I had to remind myself that we couldn’t go back to the way things were.

But then, with one last look, I turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the middle of the aisle.

When I arrived back at my best friend’s place, I was still in a daze.

I walked into the living room, where she was sitting on the couch, and collapsed next to her.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked, looking up from her phone.

But as soon as she saw my face, her eyes softened with concern. “Wait. What happened?”

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of the encounter with Oscar finally hitting me.

“I ran into him. In the store. We… we talked.”

She raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter.

“And? What happened?”

I recounted everything—the awkwardness, his apology, the way he hadn’t gone on the trip, the way he still seemed so... unsure of what to do with me.

I told her how he asked if we could talk later, and how I had told him I needed time to think about it.

When I finished, she sat quietly for a moment, processing.

“So, what do you think? Do you want to talk to him?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“I’m still so confused. Part of me wants to just leave it behind, but another part of me… I don’t know. I think he really does feel bad. He didn’t go on the trip because of me.”

She nodded slowly, considering my words.

“Y/n, you have to do what feels right for you. But, maybe, just hear him out? I know how much he loves you. And if he’s changed, if he’s willing to try, maybe it’s worth it.”

I let her words sit in the air for a moment, and they resonated in ways I hadn’t expected.

She was right. I needed to make the decision for myself—not based on fear, or anger, but on what I truly wanted.

“Okay,” I said, my voice a little steadier now.

“I’ll think about it. I’ll hear him out. But I’m not going back unless I know things are different.”

She smiled, a glint of understanding in her eyes.

“You’re strong, Y/n. Do what’s best for you. You deserve that.”

I nodded, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.

Tomorrow, I would take that step.

Whatever happened after that, at least I knew I was doing it for me.

And if Oscar was willing to change, then maybe we could find a way forward.

The next day, after spending the night talking with my best friend and sorting through my feelings, I knew what I had to do.

I couldn’t keep avoiding the conversation with Oscar, not if I ever wanted closure—or if there was even a chance at rebuilding what we once had.

It wasn’t going to be easy, and I wasn’t going to go easy on him.

But I owed it to myself to at least hear him out, to see if he was really ready to change, or if he was just another disappointment I’d have to swallow.

I arrived at his place in the late afternoon, my nerves tangled in my stomach like a thousand knots.

I stood in front of his door for a long moment, my hand hovering over the doorbell.

I hadn’t been here in weeks, and it felt strange—like I didn’t belong in this space anymore.

But I pressed the button anyway, and soon enough, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side.

I stood there for a moment, after he opened the door, taking him in.

His eyes widened in shock, his mouth parting like he couldn’t believe I was actually standing there.

But I wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily.

“You came,” he said, a mix of surprise and something else—hope, maybe.

But I wasn’t about to let that sway me.

I nodded, stepping inside, and closed the door behind me with a soft click.

We stood in silence for a few seconds, an awkwardness hanging between us, but I wasn’t about to give in to it.

Not tonight.

I folded my arms across my chest, my posture stiff but determined.

“Yeah. I came. But don’t get too comfortable, Oscar. I’m not here to joke around. We need to talk.”

His eyes flickered, but he didn’t interrupt. Good.

He knew I wasn’t messing around. We both made our way to the couch, and when I sat down, he hesitated for just a second before sitting across from me.

The tension was palpable.

I could feel the familiar walls between us, the ones that had started to form before I even realized they were there.

I stared at him, holding his gaze with a quiet intensity.

“So. You’ve had time to think. I hope.”

Oscar shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the situation.

But that wasn’t my problem anymore.

“Y/n, I... I didn’t know how to start. I’m sorry for what I did. I know I messed up.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Sorry? Is that all you’ve got?”

His eyes widened. “What do you mean? I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I didn’t care about his apology. I needed to know why he acted like he didn’t give a damn about me.

It wasn’t just about what he did—it was about how he never listened, never even saw how I was feeling. And that? That was unforgivable.

“You’re sorry?” I repeated, my voice dripping with disbelief.

“Really? Oscar, you’ve said that so many times, but you never change. Do you know why? Because you think that saying sorry is enough. You think you can just say the words and expect me to forget how you treated me. But it’s not enough. Not anymore. Not after everything.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t let him.

“You dragged me to hangouts with your friends, never once asking if I was comfortable. You assumed I was fine when I was literally choking on my discomfort, just sitting there, trying not to be invisible. I tried to make it work, Oscar. I really did. I made the effort to be part of your world, even though it never felt like I belonged there. But when I tried to introduce you to my friends? You dismissed it. Over and over again.”

Oscar’s face softened, and for the first time, I saw the guilt settle in his eyes.

He opened his mouth again, but I cut him off.

“No, listen. You don’t get to just apologize and think that’s it,” I continued, my voice firm, unrelenting.

“I gave up my time for you. I sacrificed things that mattered to me, and you never even bothered to try and meet me halfway. When I tried to tell you how I was feeling, you brushed it off like it didn’t matter. It was never about me, Oscar. It was always about you, and that... that’s what broke me.”

His gaze dropped to the floor, shame painting his features. I could see how much it was hurting him to hear this, but that didn’t matter.

He needed to hear it. He needed to understand exactly how much he’d messed up.

“I want to believe you, Oscar. I really do,” I went on, my voice softer now, but no less strong.

“But you’ve got to do better. I’m not some backup plan that you can string along when it’s convenient for you. I’m not going to be okay with you shutting me out and only letting me into your world when you feel like it. I need to see that you’re willing to change. I need to see that I matter to you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt mixing in his expression.

“I do care about you, Y/n. I never meant to make you feel that way. I was just... I was caught up in my own thing, and I didn’t notice how much I was neglecting you. I get it now. I understand. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, unwilling to let him off the hook that easily.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix everything. You can’t just say ‘I’m sorry’ and think that erases the hurt. You have to show me that you mean it, that you’re actually going to put in the work. And no, I’m not just talking about saying the right things. I want to see it. I want to see actions. I want to see you make my world as important as yours. I want to feel like I matter, too. Like I’m chosen, not just tolerated.”

Oscar looked at me for a long time, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words.

I could tell he was genuinely sorry, but he also needed to do a hell of a lot more than apologize.

“I understand,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve been selfish. I’ve been an idiot. I’ll do better. I’ll show you. I’ll prove it. I don’t want to lose you, Y/n.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions.

“You’ve got one chance, Oscar. One. If you really want this, you’re going to have to fight for it. And I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I’ll fight for you. I swear I will. I don’t want to lose what we had.”

I stared at him for another moment, weighing his words. This wasn’t going to be easy.

It wasn’t going to be a quick fix, but something in me—something deep inside—felt a flicker of hope.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice a little more calm now.

“We’ll try again. But it’s on my terms. You have to show me that you can be the partner I deserve. No more half-assed efforts.”

He nodded quickly, relief flooding his face. “I will. I swear.”

I looked at him, trying to read him.

After everything, after all the hurt, there was a part of me that wanted to believe he’d actually changed.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to open my heart completely again, but I was willing to give him the chance to prove himself.

“I’m not going to wait around forever, Oscar,” I added, my voice steady.

“If you screw this up again, I’m out. No second chances.”

“I understand,” he said softly.

“And I’ll do everything I can to make sure I don’t mess it up.”

We sat there, in that tense silence, for a few moments.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even close.

But for the first time in a while, I felt like we had a chance.

Maybe that was enough—for now.

The next few days with Oscar were... different.

I wasn’t expecting everything to change overnight, but I could see that he was genuinely trying.

It wasn’t just about words anymore; he was backing them up with actions..

And little by little, I started to see the man I had fallen for, the one who cared about me as much as I cared about him.

The first time I noticed it was when I came home from work one evening to find the apartment filled with the smell of my favorite dinner.

Oscar was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, humming softly to himself as he cooked.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a soft smile.

He turned around with a grin, his face lighting up when he saw me.

“I know, but I wanted to. I’ve been thinking a lot about everything we talked about, and... I want to show you that I can do better. So, I thought I’d start with cooking your favorite meal.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure you didn’t burn anything?”

“Not this time,” he said, giving me a teasing wink.

“I’m learning. Slowly.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

It was little things like this, him taking the time to make something for me, that made me realize he wasn’t just doing it to make up for what happened.

He was doing it because he wanted to.

Because he was present.

Another evening, we were sitting on the couch watching a movie, and Oscar—without being asked—grabbed my favorite blanket and draped it over me, making sure I was cozy.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was thoughtful.

It was him, paying attention to what made me feel comfortable and cared for.

And then came the first big test.

Oscar’s friends invited us out for drinks, and usually, it would have been a given.

He would have agreed without even asking me what I wanted to do.

But this time, as he was texting them back, he turned to me, his expression serious.

“Hey love,” he said, his voice soft but sincere.

“My friends are asking if we want to go out tonight, but I wanted to check with you first. Do you have any plans? What do you want to do?”

I blinked, surprised. “Wait, you’re asking me?”

He nodded, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Yeah, I want to make sure you’re happy too. So, if you want to do something else tonight, we can. I don’t want to just drag you along with them if you’d rather spend time with me.”

My heart melted. It was such a simple question, but it meant everything. smh the bare minimum.

He was considering me, truly thinking about what I wanted for once.

It was the moment I realized he had changed—he wasn’t just saying the right things anymore; he was actually acting on them.

I smiled, feeling the warmth in my chest spread.

“Well, actually, I’ve been wanting to go to that new café downtown. We could grab a coffee and walk around a bit, if you’re up for it.”

Oscar’s face broke into a grin, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness.

“That sounds perfect. Let’s do it.”

As we got ready to leave, he grabbed my hand, squeezing it gently, as if to remind me that he was here, with me.

I wasn’t just an afterthought anymore; I was chosen. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like we were in this together.

The evening was exactly what I needed—a quiet, peaceful time with Oscar.

No distractions, no pressure. Just us, enjoying each other’s company.

And as we walked hand in hand down the street, I realized that I had never felt more at ease with him.

The old Oscar, the one who would disappear into his world without a second thought, was gone.

And in his place, there was someone who truly cared about us, about building something that could last.

I knew it wasn’t perfect, and there would still be bumps along the way, but as we shared a quiet laugh and a moment of ease, I couldn’t help but believe that we were getting there.

That night, as we walked back home, he pulled me closer, his arm around my waist.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he said quietly, his breath warm against my ear.

“Me too,” I replied, looking up at him with a smile.

“I think this is the start of something really good.”

And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed it.

The end

[mooosicaldreamz]

follow the signs (supercorp)

this is for @ekingston's crazy prompt-a-whirl thingy. i got fluff + fake dating + forced to share a cab + fortune cookie which was very lucky in my opinion. and they all start with f! wow. anyway here it is, sitting at EXACTLY 1K. here's the thingy if you want to do it too.

Kara is waiting for a cab. It is midnight in Jacksonville, Florida. She’s here for a wedding she’d planned to avoid, but then Mon-El had called her and Kara had lied out her butt and said yes, me and my girlfriend will be there. And it hadn’t even been grammatically correct, let alone true.

Kara didn’t have a girlfriend. She had a career and hopes for a puppy. She and Mon-El had broken up a year ago and that’d been her last romance.

Lena had been a random choice for her fake girlfriend, the only person Kara could think of who she was close enough to ask to participate in this harebrained scheme, but also someone who had never met Mon-El. She and Lena had met at a press conference when Kara had cornered Lena in a hallway and been tased by Lena’s security guards.

Lena had been less than pleased with their actions and had offered Kara a one-on-one interview, and it’d been off to the races from there. It was nice to have a new, different kind of friend - Lena was rich, too smart for her own good, and indulged Kara more than others might advise. Case in point: they are sitting on a bench outside Jacksonville International at midnight.

“I’m starving,” Kara laments, digging through her bag in the hopes that she’ll unearth something.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call a chauffeur?” Lena asks.

“No, the cab should be here soon,” Kara sighs. “I’m sorry for this mess, Lena. I know this probably isn’t how you like to travel.”

“I don’t mind,” Lena shrugs. “Flights get delayed whether they’re private or not, and it’s not as though commercial domestic first class is terrible. I think you’re overestimating my need for fancy things.”

“Tell that to your Balenciaga sweatshirt,” Kara says. Lena smacks at her lazily. She’s so pretty, is the thing. Kara could have gone out and got a real girlfriend, or asked someone Mon-El hadn’t known well, but when she’d settled down a few weeks ago and convinced herself to go through with her nonsensical lie, Lena had been the only option in her mind. She’d been the only option she even wanted to consider.

“Is that them?” Lena asks, nodding as a bright orange cab pulls up. Kara jumps up excitedly - and then stalls as the driver climbs out of the car and comes sprinting around the hood directly at her.

“Kara!” Mon-El yells.

“Frick,” Kara mutters as he pulls her into a hug. She looks over at Lena with wide eyes and makes sure to enunciate: “Mon-El, it’s so good to see you!”

She watches as Lena raises one eyebrow and then sighs loudly with an incredible amount of boredom. It distracts Mon-El enough that Kara can withdraw from his cloying hug. He’s sweating. It’s gross.

“Hi, you must be Kara’s girlfriend!” he says enthusiastically. Lena shuffles closer to Kara’s side until she can grip Kara’s whole elbow in her fingers in a vaguely possessive way. 

“Yes, this is Lena,” Kara says, nearly swallowing her tongue. She and Lena are not really touchy, which is not how Kara would prefer it, but Lena is sometimes shy and unsure and one time Kara had hugged her in greeting and Lena had almost cried, so Kara’s been taking it slow. This is the fourth time they’ve touched with this amount of intention today alone. It’s a new record. Maybe Jacksonville wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mon-El,” he grins, looking happy. “Just making a little extra cash before the big day this Sunday. Did you guys just get in?”

“Yeah,” Kara says, grabbing Lena’s suitcase as well as her own and starting to wheel them over to the curb. Mon-El had always hated when she did things that were, per his understanding of the world, things the guy does, which she had on rare occasions found sweet.

It doesn’t matter now, because Kara is swiftly and decisively entering Lena Luthor girlfriend mode. And that includes putting the suitcases in the back of the cab, despite the fact that Lena’s is tagged overweight and nearly breaks her wrist.

When she turns back after shutting the trunk, Lena is smiling at her, and Kara is pretty sure that Jacksonville might really be alright. She takes Lena Luthor girlfriend mode a step further, opening the passenger side door for Lena and waiting gallantly for her to slide in before closing it. 

Mon-El looks giddy when they meet face-to-face at the driver’s side. He points subtly down at the cab and goes, “Dude. Hell yeah.” And then he raises up his hand for a high-five.

When Mon-El hadn’t been the most infuriating boyfriend possible, Kara had liked him. This was one of the reasons why. She smacks her palm into his and then slides into the car, smiling probably dopily over at Lena, who smiles back before digging into her leather tote purse thing and extends, out of nowhere, a fortune cookie.

“I think this is from when we got Chinese last week,” Lena says, shrugging. “If you’re still hungry.”

“I am so hungry, you are the best,” Kara gasps. Lena laughs at her as she pulls the package open and the cab pulls away from the curb. When she cracks it in half, she shoves half of it in her mouth and unfurls the paper. She laughs at what she reads. “It is time you ask that special someone on a date.”

She watches as Lena’s cheeks go a little pink in the lights beginning to whiz by. She’s pretty.

“Oh, Mr. Fortune Cookie, Kara’s already there,” Mon-El says. Lena laughs quietly. Kara reaches out to grasp her hand where it’s clutched in the supple leather of her bag, initiating their fifth consequential touch of the day. Lena looks at her for a long second before she moves to lace their fingers together. 

Jacksonville is gonna be so good. She can feel it.

[lologoinsolo]

A continuation of this post! Tw: the word Daddy is mentioned but not in a sexual way!

A week passed since that guy came in. You hope that the kitten's okay, the guy seems much better than you thought him to be. You did wonder if that was blood on the bills he gave when your manager had counted the register for the night. It looked a lil too red for your taste. But everyone has their secrets and you’re not about to ask that tank of a man if he killed someone or just happened to prick his finger. Still though you hope Bailey is faring much better with him than in the could and… you hope he comes back.

Sunday’s the worst but you managed to persuade your coworker to take over your register. Truck had just came in with so many things for the store and your managers are scrambling to get it all on the sales floor.

Humming along to the song from your earphones. The perks about stocking is that you hardly get bothered by your coworkers. No one likes to restock the numerous bedding and litter and pet clothing so you jumped at the chance to do it. Gives you some peace and quiet save for when the customers will tap at your shoulder. You’ll plaster a smile and use your “customer voice” to point them to where they need a certain item and then get back to stocking. You really should find a way to just work with animals. Maybe you can talk to your manager to see if you can try grooming instead of—

“Girl!”

You jerk and nearly ruin the stack of dog cans you had just put up when someone grabs your arm. “Jesus, Jess,” glaring at your manager when you give her a scathing glare. Coincidentally this one’s the grooming manager. “What’s the matter?” Normally she wouldn’t be out of the grooming salon but the stores been short staffed and cutting corners. She’s been running around having to manage the store floor and hers.

“What’s the matter,” she scoffs, “the matter is your boyfriend is asking for you.” Boyfriend? “He’s a real asshole, ya know. We paged you twice over the intercom. Did you not— are you wearing headphones?” You wince when her voice gets screechy. You pull on your earphones and sigh, it’s an unspoken rule to not wear earphones but that literally never stops her groomers from wearing them.

“Jess, I don’t have a boyfriend.” Rolling your eyes as you give her a once over. Her hands land on her hips and you inwardly sigh. “What does he even look like? Did he say my name?” A little hopeful and also very worried because why is there a man claiming to be your boyfriend and why did your manager come get you for this? “I’m sure he’s one of the customers that’s been bitching lately. The fish tanks aren’t on sale anymore maybe he—“

“He’s not here for fish.” Cutting you off, “he asked for you. I thought he was your boyfriend cause he knew you were working right now.” The alarms start going off in your head. “Look, just go see what he wants.”

“Jess, I don’t know who this man is. Why didn’t you tell him I was like— I don’t know, not working?!”

“Because he’s refusing to fucking leave and he looks like he’s apart of the goddamn mafia!” She yells and you blink at her. Your anger boils to a simmer when she mentions what he looks like.

“Wait, wait… is he wearing a black mask? The ones people wore during COVID?” She nods and you pinch your nose hard. This motherfucker, “okay… I know him. He found a kitten a week ago. I told him to come find me. I didn’t think he’d remember my name because my name tag is so small.” Sighing loudly and stepping around her. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Good, he’s given us all a fright and I really don’t need this right now. Bella bit the shit out of Felix and now I’m down a groomer.”

“Okay,” nodding as she tells you her woes. It’s been hard all around cause there’s not many workers but you’ll take a mask wearing customer over a shih tzu that’s known to bite. Fixing your shirt and putting on a smile when the figure that’s haunting the grooming salon takes one look at you and starts walking to you— quickly. “Evening, good to see you again. How can I—“

“She’s not eating any of the shit you told me to buy.” He cuts you off and you wonder if you’re actually just made of paper with how everyone cuts you off. There’s a black scarf he’s wearing and you notice a little bit of movement. This guy seems to favor black considering the matching jacket and pants color scheme.

You pull a face and turn to your side when he steps right in front of you. Jesus, he’s tall. Craning your neck to look up at him. “Sir, you have a weeks worth of three different foods?” Is she refusing to eat all of them? “It’s only been a week. Are you sure she’s—“

“Gave her a different one each day and she ain’t eating.” He tilts his head down, “why?” You swallow a bit when he glares at you. You wonder if whoever pisses him off gets to see this last before they get knocked the fuck out.

“You?” Shriveling up slightly, “wait,” once it runs through what he says it starts to click in your head. “You gave her a different one each day. You’re not supposed to do that.” Now it’s your turn to glare at him, “you’re supposed to ease her out into a new one before letting her try it suddenly.” You gave him the kitten version of chicken, beef, and salmon. You had a feeling that she was probably eating literal garbage and wanted her to try the chicken first. It’s your usual go to for new kittens.

“News to me,” he crosses his heavy arms over his chest. “Should’ve told me that.”

“I did tell you…” you start to trail off when you realize that you in fact did NOT tell him that. You just assumed he would know that. Goddamnit. “Okay,” he cocks an expectant brow, “maybe I forgot to mention but you didn’t ask. I thought you knew.” A measly form of an apology and taht doesn’t seem to settle him

“I told you I need things for the little shit. You made me buy those things,” he takes a step forward, “expensive things and now she’s waking me up all hours of the damn night because she’s hungry.” Your throat must be very dry from how hard you swallow. “What you didn’t tell was how to feed her.” His hands ball and flex.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you realize that maybe you are more in the wrong than your pride wishes to admit. “Look I,” taking a breath, “I’m sorry. It’s on me, I should’ve told you. I would’ve given you one of those first time pamphlets but we ran out.” Feeling like how a bug feels under a boot with how you tremble out an apology. “Was there one that she seemed interested in the most? Some cats like the chicken more while others prefer the salmon.” Maybe you can give him some wet cans to entice his little pet. A small thing like her shouldn’t be without food and you start to feel worse.

“She sniffed more at the salmon.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Perking up and you turn on your heel. “Come on, I’ll buy you some wet cans.” Before he can even protest you cut him off finally. “Look, I feel horrible, it’s the least I can do. Plus I get discounts.” Giving him a wink and he doesn’t give you anything other than a curt nod. You grab the salmon wet cans, the kitten ones, and you pray to the gods that Bailey will eat it so her dad won’t kill you. “Try the wet cans, see if that’ll work. If not then you’ll have to try for a different one. There’s a brand here that sells rabbit and turkey, a bit expensive.” You laugh shortly, “but cats have sensitive stomachs. They don’t mean to be picky.”

“Might not be picky but she sure as hell like to run my money.”

You huff a small laugh at his expense, “you should see the bills I’ve seen that get racked up here.” You skip the line to head to your register. Ringing it up and usually you’re not supposed to use your own discount for others but you’re not willing to risk mafia guy’s anger. Bagging it and passing it to him for him but he doesn’t grab it right away “Is there… is there something else you need?” You ask and he takes the bag from you finally.

He mulls over your words for a second and then says. “Need a collar,” he tilts his head to the side and out pokes Bailey’s itty bitty head from his scarf. You nearly scream when you see her but manage to bite your tongue on time. “Here,” he pulls her out and she lets out a disgruntled meow. He plops her down in your waiting arms. “Scratched up my neck.” He grumbles under his breath when he fixes his scarf back up. The kitten simply purrs in your arms when you coo and run from her nose to head. A glutton for love and you readily give it to her. “Find something for her.” He waves offhandedly once his scarf looks decent around his neck once more.

“Do have a specific—“ you trail off again when his eyes squint down at you. Right… he doesn’t really care. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He grunts an acknowledgment and you walk off with the cutest little baby. She keeps pulling at your chest, seems eager to get to your shoulders and you wonder if she does that to her dad all the time. “Hmmmm,” looking from all the collars that the store sells. “You’re too tiny,” you hold her up like the monkey did the lion cub, a little sad that there’s not much that’ll fit her. “But,” noticing a small blue collar that shines slightly, “this could fit. It’ll give you enough room to grow into as well.” It’s a cat collar designed to unclasp if it gets snagged hard onto something. And knowing this curios kitten, she’ll need it.

Bailey doesn’t seem to mind when you let her sniff at it till the collar comes on and then she’s desperate to figure out what’s around her neck. Her back legs kicking at the edge of the collar and you cup her so she won’t tug it off. “Your daddy wants you wearing that so you gotta get used to it.” He could train her to walk on a harness later but that does take a good amount of training and

“Daddy, huh?”

You jolt from your thoughts and squeeze a little too tight around Bailey. She lets out a little hiss and you blubber an apology. “I didn’t— that’s not what I—“ the ‘daddy’ in question seems far too amused with how you stutter. “I uh… I thought you were at the front?” Coughing to push past your embarrassment. Petting Bailey as an apology on her sides and under her chin. She doesn’t forgive easily as she gives you a well deserved nips. You murmur a sorry to her and she squints up at you.

“Thought you got lost.” He comes around and pulls his kitten from your hands, he took a little longer to get her out but maybe you’re thinking too hard. You were taking a bit down the aisle but you wanted her to have a nice collar that fit her well. The heat from his fingers though makes your own cheeks warm slightly. When did he get that close and also why didn’t you hear him walking up? “Looks good,” he holds Bailey up and moves her around like she’s a little jewel. “Blue suits her.” He pushes her back inside his scarf and you can faintly hear her little purrs. A slight movement of the fabric before she settles right up against his neck.

Clearing your throat slightly, some strands of hair falls a bit forward but you’re still a bit squirmy to fix it. “I knew she would look good in blue. It matches her, I can buy it for you as well. I don’t min—“ your eyes widen when he moves his hand to tuck those loose strands back behind your ear. You stare up wide at him and he stares down at you. Nothing in his eyes give away an ounce of an emotion despite how you look. To his credit, he may have not meant to do that with how quickly he puts his hand down. “Uh… I— sir?” You manage to squeak out and his mask twitches slightly.

He flexes his hand that touched you and leaves you standing there bewildered, confused and your cheeks burning up so much that you might consider it to be a fever. You don’t follow him when he took off without giving an answer but you do touch your ear. The phantom feeling of his fingers makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “What the fuck?” You murmur under your breath.

…

The next day you manage to get to work with little sleep from how you tossed and turned. You sorta waited more around your register to see if the man would come back but to your disappointment… he doesn’t. You take it in stride and continue about your day. Just as you’re about to clock out a man with a charming smile and model worthy appearance comes in holding a kitten in his hands and says, “I was told by my friend to ask you for help with cats. Can you help me, love?”

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 5: "The one with the red lights" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Despite your reluctance, you find yourself at Santi’s house for dinner. But Frankie presses too hard, pulling things out of you that you’d rather keep buried—until all that’s left is the worst version of yourself. WC: 10.1k

A/N: Hope you enjoy this one 🤍 and don't forget to let me know what you think! I looove reading your comments <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

The white ceiling stretched above you, blank and unfeeling, while your mind filled in the emptiness with shapes that weren’t really there. Faces, maybe. Or memories, distorted at the edges. You knew you were indulging in unnecessary pessimism, but you let yourself sink into it anyway. Surely you were entitled to a day like this every once in a while—one where grief sat heavy on your chest and refused to move. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that you had chosen it; no one ever does. You don’t get to decide when your heart shatters for the second time, or when the pieces that were already broken fracture further, splintering into something even smaller, even harder to hold.

The day before, Frankie had left without much ceremony, tossing out a casual see you tomorrow as he passed you. You hadn’t answered. You’d been too consumed, too wrapped up in your own head, and he hadn’t pressed you on it. Just walked out the door like it was any other day. After that, the ghost of him lingered in the space he’d occupied, his scent still woven into the fabric of the couch where he’d slept. You hated it. Hated that it made your stomach twist, that it pulled you toward something you didn’t want to name. You forced yourself upright, inhaling sharply as if that could steady you.

Because, really, what was it about him? What had changed? He’d always made you uneasy—before, because you were simply too different, two puzzle pieces that would never click together. And now… now it was something else. Something worse. It had to do with the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to understand exactly what was happening inside your head without you having to say a word. As if he could see right through you, past all the sharp edges you put up to keep people from doing exactly that. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Because the last person you wanted to be understood by was Francisco. The person who irritated you most, who had always known exactly how to push your buttons. And now, somehow, he had figured out where your soft spots were too.

And after he left, you did your best to pull yourself together. You pushed yourself up from the couch, stretching limbs that felt heavier than they should, and searched for something to fill the space. A book, a movie—something to quiet the restless ache in your chest. But nothing worked. The feeling stayed, creeping up the way it always did, slow and insidious, like ink bleeding through paper. A dull, familiar ache, resurfacing in waves, catching you off guard just when you thought you’d distracted yourself enough to forget.  

Eventually, you gave up. Skipped dinner, still drained from friday’s birthday and the weight of everything you were carrying. You crawled into bed early, exhaustion settling into your bones, hoping—without much conviction—that sleep would make things better. That maybe sunday would arrive with something softer, something easier to hold.

And now, it was sunday, and you had promised yourself—firmly, resolutely—that you wouldn’t do this again. That you wouldn’t let yourself spiral down this particular rabbit hole. But somehow, your phone was already in your hand, your thumb moving over the screen with quiet urgency, scanning for details, for scraps of information, anything that might offer some insight into this world that was no longer yours. That had never truly been yours to begin with.

Harry.

Harry looked happy, the kind of happiness that came easily to people who knew exactly where they were going. His profile was filled with snapshots of motion, of departure, of a life that never stayed still—deep blue lakes, endless seas, rivers cutting through valleys, mountains rising against wide open skies. He had always loved to travel. He had asked you to go with him, more than once, throwing out invitations like they were simple, effortless things. But you had always said no. Too much to do. The bookstore, your finances, some minor health concern—a cold, a flu, a vague sense of exhaustion that never seemed to lift.

Now, Harry traveled with Lisa. They stood together in front of massive cliffs, on balconies bathed in golden light. She fit so easily into the spaces you never stepped into, the spaces you had let slip through your fingers. In one photo, a caption read:

"I would recognize you in the dark. Always you. There I belong."

The words blurred almost instantly. Your vision swam, the sting of tears creeping in before you could stop them. You set the phone down beside you, face down on the mattress, as if that could somehow soften the blow. Then you pulled the covers over your head, curling into yourself, as if hiding could protect you from any of this. As if it could make any of it hurt less.

Then your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

Santi: Be here at seven. I got that cake you’re obsessed with, so don’t even think about bailing.

A grimace—something between a smirk and a scowl—tugged at the corner of your mouth as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed:

You: Eat it yourself.

Silence. Then the three little dots appeared, pulsing like a tiny, judgmental heartbeat.

You let out a sharp exhale, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Santi: No

Santi: Don’t make me come drag you here

Santi: Consider yourself warned

His reply came almost instantly. He’d been expecting this.

You: I look terrible dude I’ll see you another day

You: Tell Yov I’m sorry

Santi: Too late, she’s already setting everything up 

You shut your eyes and pressed the phone against your chest, as if that might somehow shield you from the conversation happening in real time.

You: I’m serious

You locked your phone and let it drop onto the bed beside you, exhaling sharply as you rolled onto your side. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your eyes shut, as if squeezing them closed hard enough might make everything disappear.    

Santi: And so am I

Santi: Get. Out. Of. Bed.

Now what? Were you really supposed to drag yourself to Santi’s house and pretend everything was fine? Sit there, smiling, making small talk, acting like you weren’t unraveling from the inside out? And worse—look Frankie in the eye, knowing that just yesterday he had been prying into the most private corners of your mind?  

And how much had he read, exactly?  

Not that it mattered. Not in the sense that would be humiliating. Because Frankie wasn’t someone you were interested in impressing. If anything, he was the last person whose opinion you gave a damn about. You had spent years not caring what he thought of you, what he assumed about you, what conclusions he might have drawn from the glimpses he caught of your life.  

But then again.  

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what kind of man he was—sharp, perceptive, the kind who could take something small, something insignificant, and wield it like a weapon if he wanted to. He had the power to tear you apart if he ever felt like it.    

And the truth was, you’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

The cab rolled away behind you, tires humming against the pavement, as you climbed the steps to Santi’s porch. You had wanted to look decent—you had tried. A long, scalding shower, ages spent drying and combing your hair, a careful hand smoothing makeup over tired skin. Just enough to bring some life back into your face, to soften the edges of the bruises that still clung stubbornly to your lips. The swelling had gone down, but the mark was still there, a smear of purple at the curve of your mouth. A fresh bruise was blooming just above your upper lip, darker now, more noticeable.

The summer dress you’d chosen hit just above your knees. Light, effortless. You hoped it would be enough to make you look put-together. Unbothered. As if there was nothing clawing at your insides, nothing unsettled under your skin.

Behind you, the sound of a car door shutting made your breath hitch. You knew before you turned. Of course you did.

You pressed the doorbell, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slow. Behind you, footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Then, close—too close—you felt him at your back.

“You gave me a black eye,” Frankie said, his voice easy, almost conversational. He stepped up beside you, watching you the way someone watches an oncoming storm—half amused, half waiting to see how bad it’ll get.

From inside, Santi’s voice called, distant over the low thrum of music. “Coming!”

You gave in, looking at Frankie. Couldn’t help yourself. And yes, there it was—proof of your handiwork. The deep violet shadow blooming under his eye, the cut along the bridge of his nose, healing but still raw. No more swelling, but unmistakable evidence that, at some point, your phone had connected with his face.

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“Hi, Francisco,” you said, saccharine-sweet. “Nice to see you. How are you? Do people not greet each other anymore?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You and I are way past formalities, don’t you think?”

Before you could fire back, the door swung open.

Santi’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement quickly giving way to confusion.

“What the—” His brows drew together. “What the fuck happened to you two? Are you okay?”

You stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you as you leaned in to press a kiss to Santi’s cheek, neatly sidestepping his question. The air smelled incredible and that, more than whatever interrogation he was preparing, held your attention.

Behind you, Frankie pulled Santi into a brief hug, murmuring something low enough that you couldn’t quite catch it. Not that you cared. Whatever was said between them didn’t concern you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Santi asked again, falling into step beside you as you made your way toward the kitchen.

Before you could answer, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hallway, her bright, welcoming smile instantly faltering when she caught sight of you. Her gaze flicked from your face to Frankie’s, concern replacing confusion.

“What the hell happened?”

You wrapped her in a hug, squeezing tight. Behind you, Frankie greeted her too, though his hug was more polite, restrained, as if wary of how much space he was allowed to take up here. Yovanna pulled back just enough to get another look at him, her expression shifting toward something almost amused.

“Damn,” she said, tilting her head. “You got the worst of it, huh?”

“Yeah, we got into a fight,” you lied breezily, propping yourself against the wall.

Santi shot you a look, eyebrows knitting together.

“With some drunks,” you elaborated. “Not that it means much, considering we were drunk too. Weren’t we, Francisco?”

Frankie turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, his hands settling on his hips like he was about to demand an explanation for whatever this was. His face was all curiosity and mild disbelief.

“I—”

“It was after the wedding,” you steamrolled on. “At a gas station. God, you should’ve seen us, it was ridiculous—”

“Oh, shut up,” Santi cut in, waving a dismissive hand.

Frankie bit back a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“Actually,” he said, as if suddenly feeling generous with the truth, “she hit me.”

Santi and Yovanna blinked at him.

“Right here,” he added, gesturing in a small circle beneath his bruised eye.

You let out an incredulous scoff, crossing your arms.

“I was naked,” you announced, tone scandalized, “and this pervert was just standing in my living room when he’d told me the night before that he was leaving.”

Santi looked between the two of you, his exasperation deepening.

“Stop it,” Frankie muttered, shaking his head.

“No, Santi should know,” you pressed on. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the whole going through my stuff thing? I swear to God, I’m sure—”

“Okay, enough,” Santi interrupted, slashing his hand through the air like a referee calling time-out. Yovanna, beside him, was practically vibrating with amusement.

“I’m hungry,” Santi continued, voice firm. “And you’re already late. Save the drama for later.”

An hour later, your plate sat in front of you, half-eaten, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. The conversation had drifted, as it inevitably would, to your brother’s wedding. Across the table, Yovanna was talking animatedly about the preparations, her hands moving as she spoke, while Santi just stared at her like she’d personally hung the moon. He had that ridiculous, soft expression—the one that made you roll your eyes but also kind of want to cry because, well, love like that wasn’t exactly common.

Beside you, Frankie was quiet, his own glass in his hand, his plate already cleared. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel him there, as much a presence as the wine in your bloodstream.

“We were lucky we didn’t completely lose our minds,” Yovanna was saying, shooting a knowing glance at Santi, who nodded in agreement. “You know what they say—wedding planning is a trial for a couple. If you can’t survive that…” She shook her head, lips pressing together in mock seriousness.

“That’s true,” Santi agreed, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made you want to gag.

“Uh-huh,” Yovanna hummed, her eyes flicking from her fiancé to you and Frankie. Her expression shifted, just slightly, her amusement sharpening. “But, I mean, parties in general can be… intense. And I think you two might know something about that by now, don’t you?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up.”

Yovanna just lifted a shoulder, clearly entertained. “Can you blame us?”

“No, she can't,” Santi chimed in. “And trust me, I have so many questions. Number one—what the fuck happened to your faces?”

“She hit me,” Frankie said immediately, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal.

Santi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Frankie’s grin widened. “She thought I was an intruder or something and threw her phone at my face.”

Santi turned to you, eyebrows raised in pure curiosity. Yovanna, beside him, stayed quiet, her gaze bouncing between the three of you like she was watching an increasingly ridiculous play unfold.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, throwing Frankie a glare. “Okay, let me explain this properly.”

Frankie made a gesture like please, go ahead.

“So, after the wedding, we went to my place, and we were… kind of drunk—”

Santi raised a hand, cutting you off. “You both went to your place?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, and then I fell out of the car, which is why my mouth is messed up. Frankie helped me inside, and then I went to sleep—”

“You fell?”

You huffed. “Yeah. He gave me slippers that were way too big, and when I stepped out of the Uber, I tripped.”

Santi looked between you and Frankie, biting back a smile. “Well, you were also drunk, right? That might’ve been a factor.”

You rolled your eyes, and beside you, Frankie let out a small, knowing huff.

“She doesn’t look where she’s walking,” he said, like he had just uncovered some deep truth about you. “She just moves and expects the world to accommodate her, her eyes always on the clouds. I noticed that last night. That’s why she fell, not the slippers.”

You turned your head slowly, squinting at him. “Francisco. If I hadn’t been wearing those slippers, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

Frankie exhaled dramatically. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to help with the fact that your feet were literally almost bleeding from your shoes. Would you have preferred that? Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yovanna muttered under her breath, shooting a glance at Santi, who just shook his head, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You sighed and turned back to them. “Anyway. I fell, got hurt, my dress was ruined, so we went upstairs, Frankie helped me clean up, and then he said he was going to leave—”

“I was going to leave,” Frankie interjected. “But I fell asleep on the couch before I could even order an Uber.”

“Right. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up, went to shower, and when I got out, I couldn’t find my phone. So I went to the living room, and there it was. And I was naked—”

“She had a towel on,” Frankie groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Naked,” you repeated stubbornly, “and suddenly someone speaks behind me, and obviously I panicked! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t think, I just reacted, and my phone happened to be in my hand, so I threw it.”

Silence.

And then: “Well, I get it,” Yovanna said, tilting her head like she was weighing the situation. “You freaked out.”

“Of course I freaked out! But he doesn’t get it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Frankie cut in, shaking his head, holding up a hand like he could physically block the accusation. “I never said I didn’t get it. Obviously, I do. But the way you’re telling it makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I was out to terrify you.”

“And how do I know you weren’t?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Santiago snorted. “Okay, this is getting weird,” he said, rubbing his temple, amusement flickering in his expression. “Can we move on? I just want to hear about the party. Helena called me yesterday.”

Frankie straightened. “What? What did she say?”

You glanced at him, but he was already looking at your brother, his posture suddenly tense, like he was bracing for impact. His eyes were curious but edged with something else too. Concern.

“She sounded... happy. Surprised, mostly,” Santi said, dragging out the words for effect. “Asked a bunch of questions—what I thought, how I found out, if I saw it coming. A lot of questions, actually. Oh, and she also said she’s thrilled for me. That I have a beautiful, lovely sister.” He shot you a look, grinning. “And, well, I can’t lie. I may have gotten a little carried away. Told her I was also delighted about this whole ‘union made in heaven’ situation. And Frankie, man, you were already my brother before, but now… now it’s official. We are so much more.”

“Oh my God, Santi,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Yovanna burst out laughing, lightly smacking your brother’s arm as he gave her a knowing smile.

Beside you, Frankie flushed. A deep, irritated pink creeping up his neck as he ran a hand over it—a nervous habit you’d noticed, one he did when he was overwhelmed.

“Of course not,” Santi said, his grin widening. “If you two get to have fun, why can’t I?”

“Fun?” Frankie scoffed, straightening up. “You think this is fun? We’ve been seeing each other for two days, and we’ve already collected enough bruises and near-death experiences to last a lifetime. That’s plenty.” So exaggerated.

Santiago just shrugged, barely suppressing a laugh at the absolute fury on his best friend’s face.

“Yeah. You’re matching.”

“Oh, cut it out, let them be,” Yovanna said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Santi said, his voice easy, casual, like he wasn’t dropping the weight of someone else’s curiosity into the conversation. “Helena asked about you guys. Wanted my opinion. I told her you were fine, that you—” he glanced at Frankie, leveling him with a look—“were doing well. That she didn’t need to worry, and that I’d come visit her soon.”

Frankie exhaled, sharp and short. “Good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean it. Even if you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Santi scoffed. “No worries. You know I wouldn’t screw with you about this.” He leaned back, tilting his glass slightly in his hand. “Now, are you gonna tell me how the party went?”

Yovanna’s lips curled at the edges, her eyes gleaming with something decidedly un-serious. “Did you guys kiss?”

The question landed between you and Frankie like a slow-falling coin. You turned your head toward him, almost on instinct, and he was already looking at you, his expression caught somewhere between apprehension and amusement. His face was still faintly flushed, like the conversation had warmed the room a degree too much.

Santi’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and his expression sharpened. “You better not be method acting with my sister.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Never. It’s platonic between us, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” you said smoothly, returning the smile. “I’d call it the opposite of method acting, really. This is professionalism at its peak.”

Santi raised his eyebrows, his signature I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day expression settling in. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call a situation involving towels and black eyes professional, but hey, who am I to judge?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as Santi took a slow sip of his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Yovanna, undeterred, steered the conversation back. “So? The party?”

This time, you forced yourself to give a proper answer. Frankie took the lead, his voice steady as he laid out the sequence of events with his usual matter-of-fact efficiency. You filled in the gaps, adding details here and there, but skirting around certain parts—the encounter with Frankie’s cousin, the kisses that followed. Frankie didn’t mention them either. You weren’t sure if that was a conscious decision or if he simply preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened. Either way, it felt like an unspoken agreement, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it.

From an outside perspective, everything had gone well. No disasters, no humiliating slip-ups. Just two people executing a plan. Yovanna seemed delighted by the entire ordeal, laughing at all the right moments, nudging you when Frankie said something particularly dry or sarcastic. Even your brother, despite his usual talent for being infuriating, had to admit you’d done a good job. In fact, too good.

“Helena was a little too excited when I talked to her,” Santi admitted eventually, his brow furrowing like the realization had only just settled in. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, after a pause, he added, “How exactly are you two planning to break up?”

There was a beat of silence. You glanced at Frankie, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat.

“We could say it just… didn’t work out,” he offered, his voice slow, careful. “Or that the feeling just faded.”

It was an answer, technically. But not the right one. Because the issue wasn’t how to break up—it was what was going to happen after that.

What was going to happen when Helena found out about the breakup, when the excitement wore off and disappointment took its place? Had either of you even considered that?

The questions started to wear on you, pressing down like a weight you hadn’t noticed until now.

You needed air. You stood up, murmuring something about stretching your legs, and Yovanna followed you outside.

The backyard was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and something faintly floral. Yovanna lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the railing. You stood beside her, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you.

For a while, the conversation stayed light—frivolous even. You talked about inconsequential things, things that had nothing to do with your fake relationship or her wedding or anything remotely demanding. It was a relief, an escape, and you let yourself sink into it.

But just as you were about to suggest going back inside, she stopped you with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, turning to face you more fully. “You okay tonight? You seem a little off.”

You sighed, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the city glow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. This whole thing is fun, I guess, but exhausting.”

She nodded like she understood, like she’d already known that was what you’d say.

“Are you guys going to Harry’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” you admitted, shifting your weight against the wall by the back door. “To be honest, things get kind of chaotic when I’m around Francisco, and I don’t know if I want to put myself through that again.”

Yovanna exhaled another slow drag of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just... we shouldn’t be around each other. It’s not good for either of us.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you two are fun. And I think you should admit that you like the chaos a little. You like the fighting. The drama. The making scenes.” She glanced at you knowingly. “I have eyes. I can tell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes. The rest of the time? He just makes me feel bad. Really bad. It’s fun until he says something horrible or pushes the wrong button, and then I want to kill him.”

Yovanna gave you a long, thoughtful look. “What happened between you two? I’ve asked Santi, but he never has a real answer.”

“Nothing,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out before you had time to reconsider it. You thought about the first thing Frankie ever said about you, the way it had stung in a place you hadn’t known was raw. “We’re just not compatible. That’s all.”

Yovanna raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“You and Santi, for example,” you continued, “you just work. It’s easy, it’s natural. You get along.” You paused. “Frankie and I are the same, but the opposite. We repel each other. It’s like we were designed to be at odds.”

Yovanna tilted her head, eyes sparking with something suspiciously amused. “That’s kind of romantic.”

You groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Time started moving faster once you were back inside. Conversations drifted toward things you didn’t care about, but you let them happen around you, nodding occasionally, offering a well-timed laugh when necessary. Santi was in a good mood—you could tell by the way he gestured when he spoke, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the way his voice lifted at the end of sentences like everything was lighter than usual. He was happy. And that pleased you.

Because he deserved it.

The girl, the house, the family, the quiet sense of certainty about his life. He deserved all of it.

But inevitably, like clockwork, the moment you found yourself comfortable on the couch, your thoughts took a familiar turn. The same restless tide pulling you under. You thought about earlier in the night, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly until you landed on pictures you hadn’t meant to see—your ex, his fiancée. Smiling, glowing, happy. Their future stretched out in front of them like a neatly paved road, no cracks in sight.

And then—

“So how are you getting home?” Frankie’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and secretive, like a question meant just for you. You blinked, turning slightly to find him beside you, arms folded, his body angled toward yours. His face was close—too close.

You glanced around. Santi and Yovanna were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Frankie said, reading your mind. “What are you thinking about now?”

You hesitated. Held his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

“I’m thinking,” you started, pausing as you searched for an easy answer. “I’m thinking I want to go to sleep.”

Frankie made a quiet sound in his throat, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I’m sleepy?” You lifted an eyebrow, trying for something light. “I drank three glasses of wine.”

“No,” he said, watching you too closely. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re really thinking.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “And what do you think I’m thinking, then?”

He smirked slightly. “Something self-destructive, probably. I can see it in your crazy eyes.”

You huffed out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t have crazy eyes.”

Frankie just smiled, slow and knowing.

“But you are thinking self-destructive things,” he pressed. “Right?”

“Why?” You leaned in slightly, matching his tone. “Are you enjoying it?”

His smirk faltered just a little, barely enough to notice. His brows pulled together, the amusement in his face dimming.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?”

You let out a short laugh, crossing your arms. “I can’t wait to break up with you.”

He arched an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, your voice taking on an exaggerated lilt. “I’m going to prance around like Nicole Kidman in that photo.” You threw your arms in the air in a triumphant gesture.

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “So what are we doing about custody?” he asked, shifting to face you more fully. “I want Santi during the week.”

You scoffed. “No chance. I get the weeks. You can have him on weekends.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact you, Francisco.” You turned your face away, lifting your chin dramatically. “This is not the place or the time.”

Frankie leaned in again, his voice conspiratorial. “You always say that,” he whispered. “You’re always so busy when I want to talk about the important things.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh.

“First you take my dignity,” he continued, “and now Santiago. What’s next, Darcy?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That’s my son. Don’t confuse things.”

Frankie gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “But he loves me.”

“He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he wants.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You bribed him, that’s all. He’s not yours.”

Frankie straightened, looking properly wounded. “I don’t care that I’m not his biological father,” he declared. “I love him—”

“What the hell are you guys talking about now?”

Santi’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade, rough with exhaustion but tinged with something closer to amusement than actual curiosity. He stood at the end of the hall, watching you and Frankie from beneath slightly furrowed brows. In his hands, he held two Tupperware containers, their lids sealed shut like he was offering contraband instead of home-cooked leftovers.

You straightened your posture, turning to face him with complete and utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry but this is private.” You shook your head solemnly.

Beside you, Frankie stifled a laugh, turning his face slightly like that might somehow disguise it.

Santi rolled his eyes, moving toward you with a slow, unimpressed gait.

“Sure. Well,” he said, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table with an air of finality. “We made these for you.”

You reached for one immediately, lifting it to your nose and inhaling dramatically.

“I love you,” you murmured, then added, with more fervor, “I love you.”

Santi smirked, shaking his head. Before he could respond, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hall, her presence as effortless as ever. She moved toward the couch and perched herself on the armrest beside you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Are you taking an Uber, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and unbothered.

“Yeah, I was just about to—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frankie interrupted, already getting to his feet. He grabbed his own Tupperware with the same efficiency as someone collecting evidence. 

You narrowed your eyes.

“What macabre plan do you have, Francisco?” You stood, crossing your arms. “Get rid of me so you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself? It’s not going to work.”

Frankie ignored you, patting his pockets, searching for his car keys with the quiet urgency of someone trying to make a smooth exit. He found them and then—casually, effortlessly—reached out to clap Santi on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, like they were in some kind of silent agreement.

You watched them step outside, Frankie’s posture relaxed, Santi following with the sluggish reluctance of someone who had just endured an entire evening of unnecessary theatrics.

You turned to Yovanna, hoping for an ally. Instead, she just lifted her shoulders, gave you a half-hearted grimace that barely lasted a second before shifting into a knowing smile.

“I think your car is waiting for you,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the door where Santi and Frankie had already disappeared outside.

With no real choice in the matter, you stepped outside too, the night air cool against your skin. Your brother and Frankie were by the car, standing close, heads tilted toward each other in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, they were both engaged—gesturing, murmuring, nodding. The way Frankie’s brow furrowed and Santi rubbed at his jaw made it look like something actually interesting. Your curiosity sparked, but before you could linger too long, Yovanna’s voice cut in beside you.

“Okay,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Don’t take too long to visit again, alright?”

You turned to her, nodding. “Of course not. Are you free this coming week?”

“For you? Always.”

You smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Good, let’s get coffee.”

“Or a drink,” she amended, sighing dramatically. “I need it.”

You laughed, shifting your bag in your shoulder and the Tupperware in your arms to hug her, the container pressing awkwardly between your bodies. She smelled like perfume and warmth and something familiar.

When you pulled away, you started toward the car with her, trying—subtly—to catch fragments of whatever Santi and Frankie were talking about. It was something about Will and a car he’d just bought. Frankie was in the middle of saying something about the clutch, his voice low and even, when he abruptly stopped mid-sentence and turned to you.

“Ready?”

The word felt heavier than it should have, settling between your ribs. You glanced at your brother, mouth parting slightly, not sure what answer you were searching for. Yes?

Santi didn’t wait for you to say anything. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, kissed your cheek. His warmth was familiar, grounding, the kind of comfort you’d had your entire life.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured near your temple. “I’ll come see you in the week.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When you pulled away, Frankie was already holding the passenger door open for you. That threw you off for a second. He wasn’t usually this polite. You hesitated, glancing at him, but he just raised an eyebrow like, What? Get in.

So you did.

You waved to Yovanna as you settled into the seat, and she smiled, giving you a little salute in return before stepping back toward the house.

Then, with a quiet thunk, Frankie shut the door.

For a couple of strange, suspended seconds, you were alone in the silence of the car, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. You bit the inside of your cheek and carefully dropped your Tupperware in the backseat, watching as Frankie rounded the hood, slipping into the driver’s seat with an ease that made your stomach feel unsteady.

He turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the speakers crackling softly before Red light by The Strokes filtered through the space.

You rolled down the window slightly, letting the night air in, watching the house disappear as he pulled onto the road.

“So, how’s that list of yours coming along?” Frankie asked abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, eyeing him.

“Are you asking if I’ve made any progress? I doubt it. In the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t gone clubbing, I haven’t camped in the woods, and I definitely haven’t gone skinny dipping. If that’s what you were hoping for.”

He hummed, hands steady on the wheel. “Well, you could cross off ‘kicking someone’s ass,’ if you count giving me a black eye.”

You exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “That was an accident. Get over it.”

“But are you actually planning on kicking someone’s ass?” He glanced at you, curious now. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I didn’t say ‘kicking.’ I wrote ‘learn to.’ As in, learn to defend myself.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Were you even paying attention when you were spying on my diary?”

Frankie snorted. “Spying?”

“You barely even listen to me anymore,” you said, feigning exasperation. “We should break up.”

His laugh caught in his throat, rough and amused. “Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I could set you up with someone else. A real girlfriend.” You straightened, only half-joking. “I actually know a couple of women you might like.”

“I told you—I’m not dating anyone,” he said, glancing at you like he was waiting for you to drop it. “Who are you now, my mother? I’m not going on one more date. With anyone.”

You smirked. “I could make you a Tinder profile. Craft it to perfection. I bet I could make you a success story.”

He shook his head, lips twitching toward a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’d be fun,” you insisted, already forming a mental plan. Good photos. A witty but slightly mysterious bio. He was a pilot, for God’s sake—women ate that up, didn’t they?

“I tried it once,” he admitted, like he regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth.

You gasped, delighted. “No way. You were one of those guys, weren’t you? The ones who post a group photo, making women guess which one they’re supposed to be interested in.”

He shot you a look. “Sounds like you have some experience with that.”

“I bet you had a picture holding a giant fish,” you said, grinning wider as he made a face that all but confirmed it. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s typical.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, if you have so many opinions on dating apps, why don’t you make yourself a profile? I really think you could use the 'going out' thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the window, arms crossed. “What makes you think I need it?”

Frankie hesitated. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, like he was trying to decide if this was an argument worth having.

“Well,” he said carefully. “If I’m being honest—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, raising a hand between you. “I have a faint idea of what you’re about to tell me, and trust me, I already know. So spare me the speech. I’m not in the mood to fight with you tonight.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Frankie eased the car to a stop at the red light, using the pause as an opportunity to look at you—really look at you. His brows pulled together, the sharpness of his gaze pressing against your skin. “And you don’t actually know what I was going to say.”

You let out a breath, short and sharp.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” You could hear the irritation threading through your own voice, but you didn’t bother softening it. “And yes, Francisco, I do know what you were going to say.”

“Is this about Harry?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, your hands slapping down against your thighs. Of course. Of course, he had to ask. He couldn’t just drive like before, couldn’t just let the silence stretch between you like a neutral space. When he’d come to pick you up in Dallas, the air had been thick with unsaid things, but at least he’d let you sit with them. Now, though—now he was prodding, poking, pressing in on a bruise that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just asking why—”

“What do you want me to say?” you cut in, turning toward him, exasperation spilling out of you. “Apparently, you already know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp now, defensive. “What are you talking about?”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head.

“I hate it when you do that.” You turned your face toward the window, resting your chin in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door.

Frankie didn’t ask again. He just sat there, hands flexing against the wheel, his knee bouncing the slightest bit. But you could feel it, the weight of his attention, the questions hanging in the air between you. He was waiting for you to give in. To spill something you didn’t want to. And it bothered him—you could tell. The uncertainty, the not-knowing.

But in the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Because the way he looked at you, the way his eyes kept flicking toward your face, said enough. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

And when you turned back to him, catching the way his jaw tensed, something in your chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t going to let it go.

He wasn’t just going to drive you home, drop you off, and pretend none of this had happened. No, he was going to sit with it, turn it over, keep pulling at the thread until it unraveled completely. He was going to ask and ask and ask until he got the version of the truth he wanted. And the worst part was, he’d disguise it as concern—like this was about you, when really, it was about something else. Something that would probably hurt.

“I hate it when you act like this,” you said finally, voice quieter now, but no less pointed. Your eyes glowed in the reflection of the windshield, catching the red of the traffic light. “Like you’re above it all. Like you don’t already know I feel like shit about Harry. But you ask anyway, just to make me say it out loud.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said, softer now, shifting slightly in his seat. His right hand twitched off the steering wheel, hovering like he wanted to reach for you. But then, at the last second, he pulled back, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his thigh. Like he’d thought better of it.

“You don’t act like it,” you said, your voice unsteady, throat tight. “You act like someone who enjoys figuring out my weak spots just so you can shove them in my face at the worst possible moment.” You swallowed hard, staring ahead. “Can you just take me home?”

Frankie’s jaw tensed, his hands gripping the wheel. The green light flickered on, casting a dull glow over the inside of the car. He didn’t hit the gas right away, just exhaled through his nose, long and frustrated.

“I was supposed to call a car,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “Is that why you insisted on driving me home yourself? So you could dig around in my life a little more?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes locked on the road as he finally pressed the gas.

Silence stretched between you.

A few blocks passed before he spoke again, voice tight.

“I know you’re upset about the wedding.” His fingers flexed over the wheel, his knuckles pale. “But I’m not going to assume things unless you actually tell me.”

You scoffed under your breath, gaze fixed on the window, on the streetlights smearing past. “Yeah. Sure.”

Home wasn’t far now.

“I don’t like this,” you said after a moment.

Frankie glanced at you. “What?”

“This.” You gestured between you, your expression hardening. “Everything was better when we didn’t talk. When we just ignored each other and kept our distance.”

“I think the same thing,” he said immediately, no hesitation. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to look at you before shifting his eyes back to the road. “Because talking to you is so hard all the fucking time. You know that?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was such a strange thing to hear, like he’d just told you the sky had turned green.

“When in your life have you ever tried to talk to me, Francisco?”

“Yesterday. Now. Probably sometime friday,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation, shaking his head like he hated that he was even engaging in this conversation.

Another red light.

The street was empty, quiet. The glow of the signal reflected off the pavement, casting red against the buildings you knew so well—the café on the corner, the park where you went on morning walks. Your house was just a few blocks away.

You turned in your seat, facing him directly. The car’s dim interior light barely caught the sheen in your eyes, the warmth in your flushed cheeks.

“That’s not how this works,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You can’t treat me like shit for years and then expect me to just—what? Open up to you? Tell you about the worst parts of my life? We’re not friends, Frankie.”

“Of course not,��� he shot back. “But I’ve seen you get small today. Yesterday too.” His voice wavered slightly, but not enough to make him sound soft. He wasn’t soft. He was pressing in, hard and insistent, like he was trying to carve something out of you. “You pretend really well in front of other people, and they buy it. But I don’t. And it fucking bothers me.”

Your fingers curled into fists in your lap. “Oh, it bothers you?”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperated now. “It bothers me because you don’t do anything about it. You just let it all pile on, and I—I get it, okay? I get it. The guy broke your fucking heart, but you let him keep doing it. Over and over again.”

His voice rose, his hands waving slightly as he spoke, his frustration sharp and cutting. His eyes burned into you, filled with something you didn’t want to name.

“And no,” he went on, “maybe he’s not the villain in this. Maybe he couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. But I don’t buy for a second that he didn’t know exactly how you felt. And that makes him a fucking asshole.”

Your breath hitched.

Frankie leaned in slightly, voice lower now, but no less intense. “And you’re so mean to me, aren’t you? Doesn’t take you a second to snap back, to bite my head off. So why don’t you use some of that energy and tell Harry to fuck off already?”

Your eyes stung. You blinked, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

The weight in your chest was unbearable, like something pushing down from the inside out, something clawing its way up your throat. You felt transparent, like every single bone and muscle in your body was on display, like he could see straight through you.

“I never told him I loved him,” you whispered.

Frankie stared at you for several seconds, his gaze unwavering, scanning your face like he was searching for the lie, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “He knows.”

You shook your head. Your eyes dropped to your hands, resting limp in your lap, one over the other like you were trying to steady yourself.

“He knows,” Frankie repeated, shifting slightly toward you. “Because it’s obvious. Because you wear every single thought on your face, whether you want to or not. Because it’s all right there in your eyes. If he doesn’t know, then he’s either blind or an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

A frustrated breath left your lips. You lifted your hands, exasperated, only to let them fall back onto your thighs with a muted slap. Your eyes, glossy and burning, locked onto his, frustration rippling beneath the surface.

“So then what?” you said, voice tight. “He knew I loved him, and he still left me overnight to commit to someone else? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you it’s fucking cruel to break someone’s heart and then send them a wedding invitation like nothing happened.” His voice was sharp, laced with something close to anger. “And that day, the way he acted so happy to see you, like you were just two old friends running into each other—does his fiancée even know what happened between you?”

You didn’t answer, but something must have flickered across your face because Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We didn’t have anything serious, Francisco,” you said, your voice quiet, trembling but stubborn. “We were friends and—”

The traffic light turned green, but Frankie didn’t move.

You swallowed, waiting for him to break eye contact, to turn his attention back to the road. But he didn’t.

“Don’t give me that excuse,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “Even you don’t believe it.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled through you, but it came tangled with something else—something hotter, heavier. You straightened up, shifting toward him, closing the space between you, and you felt more than saw the moment he registered the tears slipping down your face.

“Why do you care about it?” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “What do you want me to say, huh? That even if Harry knew I loved him, he still didn’t choose me?”

“Yes!” Frankie snapped. “That’s life! He didn’t choose you, he broke your heart. Well, fuck him! Get over it!” His hands lifted in frustration, his voice pitched higher, sharper. “The sooner you do, the better.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, like a slap to the chest, like something clawing its way up from the inside.

A sound broke from your throat—something half a sob, half a breathless, wounded laugh—and before you even knew what you were doing, your fingers curled around the handle, and you shoved the door open.

The night air hit your skin, cool against the heat burning in your face, and you were out of the car in seconds, walking fast, heart pounding against your ribs.

You heard Frankie behind you, his voice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming shut. But you didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.

“Get back in the car,” he said, breathless but firm.

“My house is three blocks away.”

“I don’t care.” His hand brushed against yours, an attempt to stop you, but you jerked away from his touch like it burned. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“Oh no,” you said, your voice wobbling with emotion, “why? Because Santi’s going to be mad?”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just reached for you again, this time more deliberately. His fingers curled around your arm, not rough, but firm enough that you felt the weight of his concern.

“Please—”

“God, just leave me alone!” You wrenched your arm away, shoving both hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Your breath came fast, shaky, fury and heartbreak tangled together in your throat. “Fuck you, Francisco! Get the fuck out of here! Why are you still here? Why the fuck are you still here? Why won’t you just leave me alone? I’m so tired of you, just go away!”

You stepped forward again, your hands pushing against his chest, but this time, Frankie didn’t budge. He just lifted his hands, fingers brushing against your wrists, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. The contact sent a shiver up your arms, and you recoiled, jerking your hands away as if you’d been burned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said quickly. “Just let me take you home.” His voice was tight, strained with something he wasn’t willing to name. He was trying to sound firm, but the way his eyes moved over your face—restless, searching—gave him away. “It’s late, and it’s dark.”

You shook your head, blinking against the tears threatening to spill over again. Your face felt hot, your throat raw.

“Stop pretending you care,” you said. “About me, about what happens to me. I don’t need this. I don’t need you talking to me like you’re some kind of—some kind of fucking therapist.”

Frankie exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say anything else about Harry after this—”

You spun on your heel, turning your back to him, walking away.

A noise of frustration caught in his throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and before you could get any further, he was in front of you again, moving easily, stepping into your path. You stopped short, barely avoiding a collision.

Your breath came fast, uneven. You could feel how blotchy your face must be, your lips swollen, the bruise on your mouth sharper in contrast. Frankie's gaze flicked to it, and you saw the exact second he felt something close to regret—the slight pull of his brows, the way his mouth parted like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

“You have to accept what happened,” he said finally, voice steady, though his jaw twitched. “For what it was. Don’t turn Harry into some tragic hero who hurt you by accident. That’s not what this is. It just—” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t choose you. So what?”

Your stomach twisted.

“You have no idea how I feel,” you snapped, your voice trembling, sharp with the effort of keeping it together. You dragged a hand down your face. “And why do you even care? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know how you feel. That’s why I’m trying—”

“Trying what?” You stepped closer, looking at him fully now. “To fix it? You can’t. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need your pity, your useless advice. I know how this works. I know how people work. I’m good enough until the real thing comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

His expression changed then—his eyes darkening, his mouth pressing into a line.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Francisco.” You said his name like it hurt. Like it was something you needed to spit out. “Because I’m always missing something. Because there’s always something I don’t have. And I know, I know that’s just life, that’s how it is, someone always gets left behind, someone always gets hurt. But why does it always have to be me?” Your throat ached from the force of your words, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded wrecked, on the verge of giving out. “Why do I always have to be the one to accept things as they are? Why am I the one who has to be mature, move on, be fine?”

Frankie exhaled, slow, measured. “You’re letting this define you.”

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “I’m letting this define me?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He wasn’t for you—”

“It does mean something.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does! And you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me or what I feel or what—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed steady. “You’re just—numb. You think no one’s ever going to choose you because you’re in a bad place right now—”

“Shut up.” Your hands pressed against his chest again, lighter this time.

“I understand,” he said. “I do—”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t.

“Somebody’s going to!”

"Or maybe not!"

Frankie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. He glanced to the side, then back at you, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into every line of his face. His eyes were dark with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay," he said. "So what, then? You gonna spend the rest of your life wallowing? Feeling sorry for yourself forever?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

"You must have a lot of experience with that sort of thing, don't you?" The words sliced out of you, unfiltered, sharp enough to wound. Something ugly stirred in your chest, something raw and aching. The pain wasn’t his fault, not really, but he had pulled it to the surface, made it unbearable. And for some reason, you wanted him to feel it too. Even just a fraction of it.

"Feeling bad about yourself," you continued, your voice quiet but cutting. "Drowning in your own misery. Being a complete fucking loser."

Frankie didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice flat, like he was stating an obvious fact. He was looking at you as if he was waiting for more, like he could take whatever else you threw at him. Like he wanted you to.

"Then why should I listen to you?" You took a step forward, closing the space between you. "Why should I care about anything you have to say?" Your head tilted up, and from this close, you caught every micro-expression—his eyes widening, his brow tensing, his mouth parting just slightly, like he was about to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

"I take things as they come from people who matter," you said, voice low but unwavering. "And you? You’re nothing to me, Francisco. Just an inconvenience I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try."

His throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

"This whole thing," you went on, gesturing between the two of you, "this back and forth, this—whatever the fuck it is—it’s pointless. Because no matter how hard we pretend to be something we’re not, it doesn’t change reality."

You exhaled, your pulse hammering.

"And the reality is," you said, looking him dead in the eye, "you're nothing but a failure."

Frankie exhaled, but he didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you, unmoving, like he was bracing for something. His expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest sheen in his eyes, catching the dim light. He blinked once, hard, and when he opened them again, the gloss was gone.

Then, suddenly, as if some invisible thread had snapped, he took a step back. It was abrupt, almost involuntary, like his body needed distance from you before his mind could catch up. But he didn’t say anything. His mouth pressed downward for a second, his gaze dropping to the ground.

When he looked at you again, his eyes met yours—just for a moment, like he was memorizing something. Or maybe letting something go.

And then he turned.

No hesitation, no last words, just the quiet sound of his shoes on pavement as he walked back to his car. His shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You watched him go, your arms folding tightly across your chest, trying to hold everything in. The rising ache, the anger that curled at the edges of your grief, the way your throat burned with unshed tears.

He didn’t look back.

You waited until he was nearly at the car before you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs felt heavy as you walked, like you were dragging some unseen weight behind you. Your breath came too fast, your ribs constricting painfully. All you wanted was to disappear inside your bed, to sleep until your body forgot how it felt to be this exhausted.

When you reached home, Mr. Darcy was there, waiting. He brushed against your legs, his tail sweeping across your calf, his little face tilting up as if he could sense something unsettled in you.

You dropped to the floor.

The second you sat down, your shoulders caved in. Mr. Darcy curled into your lap, his soft purring vibrating against your hands, but it didn’t soothe you the way it usually did. You pressed your face into his fur, and the sobs that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, shaking your whole frame.

Your words echoed in your head, bitter on your tongue, and you hated the way they tasted. Because you knew you had been cruel.

But it didn’t matter.

He had been cruel too.

And maybe—finally—he would leave you alone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue

[redrose10]

Hey, i’m fairly new to this so idk if I‘m doing this correctly but can I make a request for a story? Yoongi is quite shy with affection so how about an angst/fluff oneshot where the reader is very clingy and affectionate but he doesn’t play into it, because he’s shy and shows his love for them in a different way (acts of service, etc.) They’re together and reader feels hurt/grows distant, thinking they’re making him uncomfortable, but it has a fluffy ending. You can do what you want from this, but I just had that in mind for quite some time:)

Thanks for the request. I hope you like it!

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi’s cheeks have magical healing powers, but you feel too guilty to use them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, panic attacks

*******************************************************

“Yeah I know they’re driving me crazy any more. They’re always touching me and grabbing me and pulling me in different directions. I think they squeezed my cheeks like twelve times in a span of ten minutes. I know….yeah I know…this was a mistake. I just wish they would back off a little you know. Sometimes I regret ever getting involved with them.”

That conversation you had accidentally overheard your boyfriend having with his brother on the phone haunted you for the last month. Overthinking every little movement became the new normal for you.

Yoongi would come home from work. Normally you would run and jump into his arms peppering kisses all over his cheeks. But as you replayed those moments in your head you realized he rarely ever kissed you back, you would hardly even call it a hug. It was more of a way to hold you there just so you didn’t end up dropping to the floor. So now when he came home you would simply greet him with a smile, maybe a light shoulder squeeze if he seemed in a particularly good mood.

While cooking dinner you always had your arms wrapped around his waist. Sometimes you would talk about your day. Most times you would just sway along to a melody he hummed. Now you were suddenly aware of how he’d flinch every time you snaked your arms around him. He’d stand tense until finally giving in and relaxing under your touch. Now he was standing at the stove tending to a steak so you focused on keeping up with the dishes and setting the table instead of holding him close.

Gone were the days of holding hands. There were no more goodbye kisses. No good morning kisses followed by jokes about your horrible morning breath. No massages, no cuddles, no running your fingers through his hair.

But every morning your coffee was made and your lunch was packed. At night when you got out of the shower your towel had been in the dryer and was neatly folded on the counter and still warm while your pajamas were laid out on the bed. Every Sunday there was a fresh bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table. One day you forgot your umbrella at home and of course it started pouring. The office secretary placed it on your desk saying Yoongi dropped it off in a rush so he couldn’t stay to talk, but he still got it there. When you texted Yoongi asking if there were any painkillers in the cabinet for your headache so you knew if you needed to stop on your way home he said there was a bottle. When you got home there was a cup of tea, the painkillers, and your favorite dinner waiting on the kitchen counter, a receipt for the medicine just purchased today was in the trash. But there was still something that didn’t feel quite right between the two of you.

The worst of it was always at night. For the last three years you had been together you had grown accustomed to falling asleep safe and warm and comfy in his arms. It all started a year into your relationship when one night you had a particularly bad panic attack. The first one he had witnessed. Softly he pulled you close against him whispering comforting words while stroking the top of your head. It was the fastest you had ever been able to recover from an attack. Over time the panic attacks slowly subsided. So that became your favorite way to fall asleep. You never really asked him. You just always managed to squeeze your way into his arms. Of course he never fought it. He wasn’t that type of person. Three weeks ago he mentioned getting the best sleep he had in a long time. That was the first night you had forced yourself not to crawl into his arms. You felt guilty for causing him so many restless nights of sleep before that.

Then tonight as you laid in bed facing the opposite way from him you couldn’t help but start to feel terrible about everything. You had been selfish. You knew from the start that Yoongi was not super affectionate in a physical sense. He didn’t mind a kiss here or there or some hand holding to help you get through a crowd, but you were definitely more into physical affection than he was. The more you thought about it you started to feel awful because you had been forcing it on him all these years. Thinking that since you were in a long term relationship that it was okay even if it wasn’t like him.

But it wasn’t okay and judging by the phone call with his brother he was getting tired of it..tired of you.

So you need to apologize…

But what if it’s too late…

What if he’s completely done with you…

He’s going to break up with you…

It’s all your fault…

He hates you…

You ruined this relationship…

The room felt like it was spinning and your heart was beating too fast. You couldn’t catch your breath and you could feel tears begin to fall. You tried to shake the thoughts, but they kept coming and getting more intense. This was normally the time you would snuggle in closer to Yoongi and he would reluctantly squeeze you tight and remind you of your breathing exercises. But he was fast asleep unaware of the turmoil you were going through. Not wanting to wake him you gently scooted out of the bed and headed for the kitchen. But once there it all became too much. You started crying and shaking, hyperventilating. The simple task of warming up some milk all of a sudden seemed like moving mountains. So instead you sat at the kitchen table trying to control your breathing. You focused on the cars driving by on the street below, counting them as they went as a way of distraction.

You were on only on your seventh car when Yoongi walked into the kitchen. His hair ruffled and tshirt loosely hanging off his shoulder. He flipped the switch on the wall and squinted at the bright lights. Silently he got to work warming up a cup of milk. Once it was the perfect temperature he poured it into your favorite mug. It had a picture of a cat playing the piano. It reminded you of Yoongi. You started to cry harder again.

He sat in the chair next to you without saying anything. He took your hands and placed them on his cheeks encouraging you to squish them like your own personal stress balls. One of the very few and very rare things he did to initiate physical touch between you two. He saved it for moments like this when he knew you were really struggling. You told him once that his cheeks had magical powers or something because they always brightened your day.

But for the first time you didn’t follow through on the action. You couldn’t. You cringed thinking about all the times you had made him uncomfortable by doing things like that.

“Y/N, talk to me. Please.”, he whispered setting your hands down, but not letting go.

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I’m so sorry for being selfish.”, you sniffled.

He chuckled, “I’m gonna need more of an explanation than that.”

Finally you looked up at him and you could see the tenderness in his eyes, but it was also mixed with fear.

“I’m sorry I’m so annoying. I’m sorry I’m always hanging on you and touching you and squishing your cheeks. I can change. Please give me a chance. Please don’t leave me.”, you cried.

“Y/N”, he sighed, “Is this…Is this why you’ve been so distant lately?”

You nodded feeling another round of tears forming.

Yoongi grabbed your hands pulling you onto his lap, something he’d never done before.

“Y/N, I’m not the most affectionate person. I never have be and even though I try I probably never will be. I prefer to show you how much I love you through words or by my actions. But I know that you are very much a touchy kind of person and that is okay. I love that about you. If I didn’t I wouldn’t have spent the last three years madly in love with you. I look forward to coming home and you running into my arms. Sometimes I’m not sure who is more excited to see me, you or Holly.”, he chuckled, “I love when we cook together and my favorite time is at night when you’re wrapped in my arms and I know that that you’re warm and comfy and safe. I don’t want any of that to change. I don’t want you to change Y/N. I love you just how you are and the last month has been killing me, but I knew you’d either work it out on your own or come to me when you were ready. I didn’t want to rush you.

It was too much to hold off any more and you wrapped your arms around his neck instantly melting into him.

“I’m so sorry Yoongi. I overheard you telling your brother how you were tired of me and you regretted getting together with me and I panicked, but I should’ve talked to you first instead of getting in my head.”

“What? Conversation with my brother? I never said anything about ooohhhhh.”, he said before his eyes widen at the realization. He helped you up and started dragging you to the bedroom, “Don’t worry about that. It will all make sense soon.”

Two weeks later it was your anniversary. You had just walked into the living room expecting to find Yoongi in the kitchen or maybe his studio after not hearing from him for the last few hours, but instead he was in the middle of the room surrounded by roses while down on one knee and with a slightly shaky hand he was holding open a small black velvet box. “Y/N, I love you more than I ever thought possible. I didn’t know love like this could even really exist. I want this forever and ever and ever. I want all the kisses and hugs and affection from you. Will you marry me?”, he asked. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”, you exclaimed bouncing up and down before pulling him up off of the floor and into a kiss. He slipped the ring on your finger watching you admire the sparkle.

“Do you like it?”, he asked and you nodded, “Of course! It’s gorgeous.”

“Good because uh this was what I was talking to my brother about that day.” You looked up at him confused. He continued, “A few months ago I asked my mom for help picking out a ring. She got really excited and wanted to make sure you got the perfect one you deserved so she took me to every single jewelry store she could find and was constantly grabbing me and pulling me to look at different rings. Then she got my Aunt involved and then they got your mom to come along and then your Aunt was there and then they asked your best friend. Next thing I knew I had a whole group of people grabbing me and dragging me all over the stores. One saying look at this one. Then another one saying no get this one. My mom kept squishing my cheeks asking if I was planning to look like a boiled dumpling on my wedding day. It was a lot.”, he sighed, “So that day on the phone I was complaining to my brother about it. He gave me the number to his jeweler and I just bought the ring that way. I couldn’t go to one more store with them. I know they meant well, but I was going to loose it if my cheeks got squished one more time in the middle of a mall somewhere.”

The relief you felt was immense.

“Yeah, but your dumpling cheeks are just so cute though.”, you giggled already happily squishing them together. He feigned annoyance, but when you tried to pull away he quickly grabbed your hands placing them back on his cheeks so you could continue.

“This is the life you’ve chosen.”, you laughed pointing at the ring on your finger.

His smile grew, “Yep, these cheeks are yours forever and ever babe.”

[amorchai]

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 400 notes. formally known as a morning filled with kisses.

pairing(s): draco malfoy x reader

words: 410

warnings/tags: just draco fluff.

sunday mornings had to be the favourite part to draco’s week. tired after spending the saturday with you at hogsmeade, hands intertwined while feet walk along the pebbled streets, quiet conversations while gazing in the shop windows before cooped in the small café for a hot drink. never a doubt that quick kisses would be stolen in the corner while keeping each other company.

saturday nights returning to his dorm to cuddle underneath the duvet after a tired day spent together. the cold dungeon of the slytherin rooms lost beyond his warm bed and embrace.

waking up the next day, draco was always in his element, a small smile always adorning his face when he notes your arm draped across his torso, head tucked into his bare neck with small but deep breaths only making him pull you closer and closer.

the water of the black lake upon his window would have his eyes trace over the view before inevitably turning to adorn your features in an impatient attempt to let his love rest and hold back from waking you from slumber.

your mouth is open in as heavy breaths scan his skin, sleepy skin looking soft and traceable in the mornings but draco wasn’t sure if it was just because he was in love, but it invites his calloused fingers to run over your shoulder and bare arm anyway.

the tickling feeling awakes you slowly, squirming in his arm with a tired giggle, eyes still closed when draco’s lips adorn your shoulder and collarbone. the sleepy and dazed smile that covers your expression is one draco is able to match when you stretch your aching bones and press a quick kiss to his light stubbled jaw.

“good morning, my love,” draco says, arm tightening to pull you closer into his side – not willing to get up and back to the world just yet, enjoying the quiet and slow mornings together instead.

you hum in reply, your hand wandering to his clothed chest as you tuck into his body once again in hopes to fall back asleep before breakfast, pressing lazy kisses to his neck as draco sighs in contentment.

“have i ever told you how pretty you look?” draco asks as you nearly fall back asleep, a quick smile covering your lips, “every day.” your response allowing draco to close his eyes and rest his head atop of yours, willing himself to fall back asleep, “good, just making sure.”

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 25 (The End)

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains violence, harsh/foul language, age gap relationships, violence, underage drinking,

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 25: Forever Young (The End)

August 30th 1998

Sunday morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting thin golden lines across my bedroom floor. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by an array of neatly wrapped gift bags, their glossy surfaces reflecting the light. Jey’s gifts. My fingers hesitated over the handles of one before I reached in and pulled out a small box. Inside lay a pair of red heels, their delicate straps glistening under the morning sun. They were stunning. My breath hitched as I realized they matched the dress I had picked for my party perfectly.

Jey had been paying attention.

Each bag held something I had casually mentioned in passing—perfume, jewelry, even a new journal with my initials engraved in the corner. My hands shook slightly as I reached for the last bag, feeling the weight of it settle in my lap. Nestled under the tissue paper was another pair of shoes I wanted and a white envelope with my name scrawled across it in familiar, uneven handwriting. My pulse quickened.

Tugging it open, a folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. I reached for it, carefully unfolding the letter inside.

Jey’s words sprawled across the page in black ink.

"Nyeya, I don’t know how to say this right, so I’ma just say it. I never learned how to love somebody the way they needed to be loved. I only knew how to take. To claim. To control. Because that’s what was done to me. That’s what I was taught. You know my dad wasn’t around unless it benefited him. My mom tried her best, but I found love in the streets first. The streets taught me how to be a man before anybody else did."

I swallowed hard, blinking away the burn creeping into my eyes.

"I wanted to be like my older cousin. He was everything I thought a man should be. Tough. Respected. Feared. He handled business, and he handled his women the same way. I followed that blueprint. I thought that’s how it was supposed to be. But you… you showed me something different. You made me want to unlearn everything I thought I knew. And I’m sorry, baby. I really am."

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks as I kept reading.

"I should’ve treated you better. I should’ve let you breathe instead of making you feel like you belonged to me in a way that wasn’t love. I don’t know if I can fix that, but I swear to you, I’m going to try. You want space? I’ma give you some. But I need you to know something: I ain’t letting you go. I love you too much. I need you too much. I can’t see myself living in this world without you in it."

My hands trembled as I clutched the letter to my chest. My breath shuddered out of me, my heart beating out a rhythm of confusion and longing.

I had spent days trying to convince myself I was over him. That I was done. That I could move on. But now, holding this letter, reading his words, feeling his pain woven between the ink and paper—I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Images flickered through my mind, moments frozen in time. The first time I met him. The way he looked at me like I was something worth having. The way he made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world when he was good to me. But then, the fights. The control. The possessiveness. The way he took and took without realizing I was running out of pieces to give.

I reached for the phone before I could talk myself out of it.

Jey answered on the second ring.

"Hey, baby," he said, voice low and rough like he had just woken up.

I tried to steady myself, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. "I just read your letter," I whispered.

Jey was quiet for a beat. Then, softer, "You good?"

I wiped at my damp cheeks. "I don’t know. I—" My voice broke.

Jey exhaled into the receiver. "Ask me anything. Whatever you wanna know, I’ma tell you."

I knew he meant it.

I thought about the dozens of questions swirling in my mind. About us. About him. About everything we had been through and everything we might still face. But I didn’t want to do this over the phone.

"Can we talk in person?" I asked.

Jey didn’t hesitate. "Yeah. Let’s go to the lake. Just me and you."

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. "Okay."

"I’ll be there soon, baby. Just wait for me."

The call ended, but my heart kept racing. I set the phone down beside me, staring at Jey’s letter still clutched in my hands.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I was walking right back into something I wouldn’t be able to escape from. But maybe, just maybe, this was something I needed. A final answer to the question that had been eating at me for weeks.

Did I really want to let him go?

---

The car ride to the lake was wrapped in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was the kind of quiet that felt heavy with meaning, with thoughts neither of us could put into words just yet. The soft hum of the radio played a song I barely registered, and the steady rhythm of the road beneath us was almost hypnotic.

Jey kept one hand on the wheel, his other resting absentmindedly on my thigh. He wasn’t gripping it possessively, wasn’t trying to stake his claim—he was just… there. Present. And for once, it felt like he wasn’t trying to control the moment.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time we reached the lake, casting a warm, golden hue over the still water. The sight of it made my chest tighten. This place had always been peaceful to me, a sanctuary. A place where things made sense, even when my world felt like it was spiraling.

Jey parked and cut the engine. Without a word, we got out and walked towards a tree-covered spot, the soft crunch of grass under our sneakers filling the space between us. The air smelled fresh, tinged with the scent of water and pine, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, taking it in.

Jey sat down first, leaning back against the thick trunk of the tree, stretching his legs out in front of him. I sat beside him, pulling my knees up, wrapping my arms around them.

I started with small questions, ones that felt safe.

"What were you like as a kid?"

Jey exhaled through his nose, a half-laugh that held no humor. "Curious. Hardheaded. Always into shit."

"Tell me something I don’t know," I lightly chuckled.

Jey was quiet for a beat, then he spoke, his voice lower, softer. "I loved my mama more than anything. She was everything to me. She still is. But my pops… he wasn’t there unless he needed something. A favor, money, whatever. And when he was around, he acted like I was just some little dude that wasn’t worth his time."

I turned my head slightly, watching his profile. His jaw was tense, his hands clasped together between his knees.

"I spent most of my time looking for something to hold on to. Something that felt like…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don’t know. Stability? Control? Belonging?"

I nodded, letting him know I was listening, really listening.

"I found that in my cousin," Jey continued. "He was everything I wanted to be. Respected. Feared. Untouchable. When he walked into a room, people moved. They listened. I wanted that. I thought that was the only way to be a man."

His voice was laced with something I couldn’t quite place. Regret? Bitterness? A little of both?

"When he went to jail, everything changed. Me and Jimmy had to step up. People were looking at us to run things, to make sure we didn’t fall apart. But you know what? Nobody thought I could do it."

Jey let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"They thought Jimmy would hold shit together. Not me. They said I was too soft. I wasn’t built for this life."

His hands clenched into fists against his thighs.

"That shit ate me up. My own people, the same ones I broke bread with, laughed with, called family—they ain’t believe in me. Not until I started proving myself."

I felt a lump form in my throat, but I stayed quiet, letting him get it all out.

"So, I did what I had to do," Jey said, his voice rising slightly, like the weight of his past was crashing down on him all at once. "I made moves. I took care of problems. I did shit that made people respect me. But it never felt like enough."

His breathing turned shallow. His shoulders were tense, his whole body rigid like he was trying to hold something in.

"I had to kill so many people, Nyeya," he whispered, and my blood ran cold. "So many."

He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze was locked onto the water, but his eyes were distant, unfocused. Like he was seeing ghosts from his past.

"Every time, it got easier. Until it didn’t. Until it started eating at me. Until I started wondering if I was even a person anymore or just some monster they created."

Jey’s voice broke on the last word, and my heart shattered right along with it.

"I got so much blood on my hands," he murmured, his head falling forward. "I don’t even know who I am anymore."

He kept apologizing, over and over, like he was in some kind of daze. Like he wasn’t even talking to me anymore, but to the ghosts that haunted him.

I couldn’t take it. I reached for him, grabbing his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me.

"Hey," I whispered. "Look at me, Jey."

His eyes flickered up to mine, and I saw it. The pain. The weight. The fear.

"You are enough." My voice was firm, unwavering. "No matter what’s happened, no matter what you’ve done, you are enough."

Jey’s lip trembled.

"You hear me?" I asked, my thumbs brushing against his cheeks.

He nodded slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he wanted to.

"You’re not that little boy trying to prove himself anymore. You don’t have to fight for respect. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. You are enough, Jey."

Tears welled in his eyes, and for the first time, he let them fall.

I held him. I let him cry.

I poured into him, telling him all the things I wished someone had told him before he had to become the man he was today. I told him he wasn’t just his mistakes. That he wasn’t just the blood on his hands. That he still had time to figure out who he wanted to be.

I didn’t know if he believed me. But I needed him to hear it. We stayed there until the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky painted in streaks of pink and orange.

By the time Jey dropped me off at home, I was emotionally drained. As I lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, one thought lingered in my mind. I was starting to have a change of heart.

But could I really love someone who was this broken?

---

August 31st 1998

The late morning sunbathed the campus in a golden hue as I stepped into the community college, the crisp scent of freshly printed brochures mixing with the faint aroma of coffee from the nearby student lounge. The place buzzed with quiet energy—students moving between offices, advisors speaking in hushed but enthusiastic tones, the occasional burst of laughter from the hallway.

I had never really pictured myself here, sitting in a stiff chair across from an advisor, filling out enrollment forms, trying to piece together a future that felt so uncertain. But now, as I tapped my pen against the edge of the desk, waiting for the next question, something inside me stirred—maybe this was where I was supposed to be.

The advisor, a middle-aged woman with kind brown eyes and a welcoming smile, glanced up from her papers. “So, Miss Green, do you have any idea what you’d like to major in? Or maybe a career path you’re interested in?”

I hesitated for a moment, letting the question settle. It was something I had been thinking about but hadn’t quite voiced out loud. The idea had been lingering at the back of my mind, like a quiet whisper waiting to be acknowledged.

“I think I want to be a psychologist,” I finally said, my voice stronger than I expected.

The advisor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s a great field. What made you choose that?”

I took a breath, feeling the weight of my answer before speaking. “Because I want to help people heal… people who think they’re too far gone. I want them to see that they don’t have to stay broken, that they can still turn things around and be good people.”

The advisor studied me for a moment before smiling warmly. “I like that answer. The world needs more people who think like you.”

I smiled back, but inside, I felt something shift—a sense of purpose settling deep in my chest.

After finalizing my paperwork and getting my class schedule, I walked out of the building feeling lighter, like I was finally taking a step toward something bigger than myself. I had spent so much time being wrapped up in Jey’s world, in Prada Boi business, in chaos and uncertainty. But this? This felt like a decision I made for me.

That high lasted until I pulled up to my building and spotted a familiar car parked out front.

Him.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I approached. He leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was wearing a white tank top that showed off his tattoos, and for once, he didn’t look tense—he looked… calm. Relaxed. Less like the Jey who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I stopped in front of him, tilting my head. “What brings you by?”

Jey smirked, pulling out his keys and twirling them around his finger. “I wanted Waffle House. Thought I’d see if you wanted to roll with me.” His eyes skimmed over me with something unreadable. “Plus, I wanna hear how things went at the college.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, surprised by the interest. But I wasn’t about to turn down free food. “Alright,” I said, slipping into the passenger seat.

The ride was smooth, easy. Jey listened as I told him about my advisor, about choosing psychology, about what I wanted to do with it. He nodded along, actually paying attention, which caught me off guard.

“That’s real,” he said after I finished. “I can see you doing that. You got the heart for it.”

His words caught me off guard. I turned to look at him, but he was focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He had said it so casually, but it felt genuine.

At Waffle House, we slid into a booth, the scent of bacon and coffee thick in the air. It felt… normal. No tension, no drama, just two people eating and talking. It reminded me of the times we were good, when things between us weren’t so complicated.

For once, Jey wasn’t pretending, wasn’t looking over his shoulder, wasn’t distracted. He just listened. And when he wasn’t listening, he was making me laugh with some story about Jimmy getting too high and eating three whole boxes of dry ass cereal in one sitting. For the first time in a long time, I felt like we were actually moving in the right direction.

Then his phone rang.

I watched as his entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His muscles tensed, his jaw locked, and the lightness in his eyes disappeared. He let it ring for a few seconds before answering, keeping his voice low. I couldn’t hear who was on the other line, but whatever was being said wasn’t good.

When he hung up, I knew before he even spoke.

“Gotta wrap this up,” he muttered, pulling out some cash and tossing it on the table. “I got some business to handle, mamas.”

I didn’t press. I knew better. The ride back was quiet, not in the comfortable way it had been earlier, but in the kind of way that made me nervous. Jey gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, his mind obviously elsewhere. I wanted to ask, but I also didn’t.

I was done being in Prada Boi business. When he pulled up to my building, I leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Call me later?”

Jey exhaled through his nose, nodding. “Yeah. I will.”

The rest of my night was slow, spent flipping through TV channels and listening to the radio. I tried not to think about Jey, but my gut told me something was amiss. When my phone rang, I sat up quickly, expecting his name to flash across the screen. It wasn’t him. It was Kiyah.

I answered, and before I could even get a word out, she launched into her gossip.

“Bitch, tell me why the Prada Bois are beefing with some old associates over drugs and money?”

My stomach tightened. I stayed quiet, and Kiyah took that as her cue to keep talking. “You remember that dude Damian got into it with at Tama’s party when they we're at the bar?”

I thought back for a second, vaguely recalling the altercation. “I guess,” I said slowly.

All I could remember from that night was that kiss from Damian. A kiss I was wanting to forget.

“Well,” Kiyah huffed. “Jacob told me that dude was brought in by Jey to handle a deal with some new buyer. But the deal went south, and now both crews are blaming each other. Prada Bois lost money and product. And you know what that means.”

I swallowed hard. “It might turn into an all-out war.”

“Exactly,” Kiyah said, clicking her tongue. “And we both know Jey or the others ain’t the type to let that slide.”

I sat back against my pillows, my fingers tightening around the phone. My gut had been right. Something was definitely wrong. Kiyah kept talking, but my mind was elsewhere. Jey had been tense. Distracted. And now, knowing what I did, I understood why.

I should’ve pressed. I should’ve asked him what was going on. Because when Jey didn’t call me that night like he said he would, I knew—things were worse than we all realized.

---

The phone rang, cutting through the silence of the apartment. I grabbed it quickly, hoping it was Jey, but my stomach dropped when I saw Damian's number on the screen instead. Something told me this wasn’t just a casual call like last time. I hesitated for a second before answering.

"Hello?"

"You need to cancel the party, Nye," Damian said, getting straight to the point.

I frowned, sitting up straighter. "What? Why?"

"Too much attention," he explained. "No matter what Jey tells you, this party don’t need to happen. Things are getting too hot right now, and the last thing anybody needs is a big-ass event putting a target on our back especially when we’re all together.”

I exhaled, rubbing my forehead. "Damian, you know that’s not my decision. Jey’s already set everything up. He paid for everything. He’s gonna do whatever the hell he wants."

"Then you need to convince him, mami." Damian said firmly.

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. "Tell me why you feel this way. What exactly do you think is gonna happen?"

There was a long pause before he finally answered. "I don’t know," he admitted. "But I got a bad feeling, and Jey ain’t listening to nobody right now. He thinks he’s untouchable."

I swallowed, my throat tight. "I’ll try… but you know how he is."

"Just do your best, muñeca (doll)," Damian said before hanging up.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at the phone for a moment before tossing it back onto the receiver.

I was alone again. Michael was off somewhere with his friends, and my mama was spending the night with Reggie. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty, and it made my thoughts even louder.

I left my room, feeling like walls were closing on me after awhile. Eventually after flipping through channels on the tv in the living room, I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes, but before I could fully relax, there was a knock at the door. My heart jumped as I stood up, my mind already knowing who it was before I even checked.

Jey stood on the other side of the door. I wasn’t surprised, but I also wasn’t expecting him. He hadn’t called since he dropped me off the other day. His face was neutral, his posture relaxed, but I knew better. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Still, I stepped aside and let him in.

He walked past me, his presence immediately filling the space like he owned it. He smelled like cologne and a tinge of alcohol, a scent I’d come to associate with him. He sat on the couch, stretching his arms over the back of it like he belonged there, like nothing had changed between us. I studied him carefully. He looked calm, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a stiffness in his movements. He was hiding something.

I sat next to him, waiting. If he wanted to tell me, he would. The TV played in the background, filling the silence between us. Jey’s hand found my thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. Normally, it would’ve made me relax, but tonight, it only made me more aware of the tension in the air.

After a few minutes, I finally spoke. "What’s wrong?"

Jey didn’t even hesitate. "Nothing, baby. Nothing, I can’t handle."

I scoffed. A lie. Shit was bad and probably getting worse by the minute. I wanted to press him, but I also knew that with Jey, timing was everything. If I pushed too hard, he’d shut down completely. So, I tried a different approach.

"The party," I said casually. "You excited?"

Jey’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Hell yeah. I think I did a good job."

I forced a small smile, nodding like I believed him. But I didn’t. Not really. His excitement didn’t feel real. Something was weighing on him, something he was refusing to say aloud or admit. I should’ve kept going. Should’ve r him of Damian’s warning, should’ve tried harder to convince him to call it off. But then Jey pulled me into his lap, his lips grazing my neck, his hands firm and demanding as they traveled my body.

I knew what this was. A distraction. He always did this. And I let him have it. I could admit that I missed his touch as it had the ability to take me beyond the stars.

I melted into him. Jey always knew how to make me forget. Forget my doubts, forget my worries, forget everything except him. Lust took over, and before I could stop myself, we were in my room, tangled in sheets, in each other. By the time Jey was getting dressed, his phone rang. He grabbed it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before looking back at me.

"You coming Saturday, right?"

I was still caught up in the wild session we just had, still floating somewhere between reality and whatever spell he had cast over me. I nodded without thinking.

"Yeah."

Jey smirked, stepping toward me and pressing a slow, deep kiss to my lips. "I’ll pick you up at nine."

I watched as he walked out, phone to his ear, voice low as he disappeared into the night. The moment the door shut. Damian’s warning came flooding back. I had completely forgotten about it. And now, I just prayed nothing went wrong.

---

September 4th 1998

My Friday was spent at the nail salon with Kiyah and Natasha. The smell of acrylic and fresh polish filled the air as the three of us sat side by side, picking out colors for our nails and toes. Nataya was off somewhere looking at houses with Jimmy, leaving Natasha in a quiet, contemplative mood. The buzzing of the electric nail file hummed in the background as I glanced over at her, remembering the look she gave Taya and Jimmy at the bowling alley.

I turned toward her, voice soft but direct. “How do you feel about Taya moving in with Jimmy?”

Natasha sighed, watching as the nail tech shaped her almond-shaped tips. “I’m not happy about it,” she admitted. “I just don’t believe Jimmy is as good to Taya as she says he is. I think he’s pressuring her into moving, keeping the baby, and basically altering her whole life for him.”

I nodded, understanding her frustration. She had always been protective over Nataya, and now that her sister was wrapped up with Jimmy, it made sense that Natasha would be wary.

“I love my sister,” she continued, “but I have to let her make her own mistakes.”

Kiyah scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, I don’t blame you. But you know how Taya is. Once her mind is made up, it’s made up.”

Natasha sighed again, running a hand over her face before her expression softened. “At least I know Sami’s one of the good ones. Like I get what he do for money but outside of that he just a good guy.”

Kiyah grinned, leaning forward in her chair with a teasing smirk. “I’m shocked you into white meat.”

We all burst into laughter, Natasha rolling her eyes but unable to hide her grin. “Trust me, I’m surprised too,” she admitted. “But I really do like him.”

Kiyah wiggled her brows. “Uh-huh. You sure it ain’t just a phase? ‘Cause I seen the way he looks at you, and that ain’t no casual thing.”

Natasha tried to play it cool, but I could tell by the slight blush on her cheeks that she was starting to fall for Sami more than she let on.

After a few more minutes of teasing, Kiyah turned her attention to me. “So… what’s up with all those big ass passion marks on your neck?” she asked, smirking as she tilted her head toward me.

I pretended to be shy, lowering my gaze with a little smile. “Me and Jey are in a good place right now,” I admitted. “Not saying we back together. Just saying that I’m enjoying his company it while it lasts.”

Kiyah and Natasha exchanged a knowing look before Natasha shook her head. “Girl, please. That’s your man. You ain’t going nowhere. And he not letting you go nowhere.”

I sighed dramatically, holding up my freshly polished nails as if they were the most important thing in the world. “I swear, the moment he acts up, I’m out.”

Kiyah snorted. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that.”

---

Once we left the nail salon, I headed back home, feeling light from the girl talk but also exhausted from the past few days. The house was quiet when I walked in, the scent of fresh laundry filling the air. My mama was curled up on the couch, flipping through channels, but when she saw me, she patted the spot next to her.

Without hesitation, I slid in beside her, resting my head against her shoulder as she clicked on a movie. A Time to Kill played on the screen, the familiar voices of Samuel L. Jackson and Matthew McConaughey filling the room. We watched in comfortable silence, eating popcorn and occasionally commenting on the movie.

I loved nights like this. Nights where I could just exist, where I didn’t have to think too hard about anything. Where I felt safe.

My mother glanced at me with warmth in her eyes. She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear before speaking. “I used to want you to stay my little girl forever,” she murmured. “So, I could keep you with me, always. But I see now that no matter how old you get, we’ll always be close.”

Her words made my chest tighten with emotion. I turned to her, gripping her hand in mine. “We will, Mama. I promise.”

She smiled, squeezing my hand before leaning back against the couch. The weight of the moment settled over us, filling the space with a quiet kind of love. And just like that, we fell asleep together, fingers intertwined, the movie still playing softly in the background.

---

September 5th 1998

Saturday arrived with rain coming down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windowpane. I sat up in bed, watching the storm through the glass, wondering if it was some sort of sign. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure. The dark gray sky made the morning drag, stretching time like a slow-moving tide.

Michael came strolling out of his room and peeked into mine, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “So… you think me and my boys can slide to the party tonight?”

I gave him a sharp look, not even entertaining the idea. “You know damn well y’all can’t come.”

He rolled his eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Man, that’s some bullshit. If we can’t come, then you and your little broke friends shouldn’t be able to go either.”

My eyes widened before I jumped up, shoving him out of my room. “Boy, get the hell on with that! Broke where?” I called after him as he laughed, dodging into his room before I could throw something at him. He always knew how to get under my skin.

The morning passed agonizingly slow. I busied myself around the house, doing small tasks to keep my mind occupied. Anything to make time move faster. By the time the early evening rolled around, Kiyah and Natasha arrived, bringing their usual energy and chaos.

“Taya ain’t coming?” I asked as Natasha set down her purse.

She shook her head. “Nah, she’s been feeling off all day. I told her to rest and meet us there later.”

I nodded, understanding. Things had been weird between them since Jimmy came into the picture. Natasha got to work on my hair, carefully styling it into a sleek updo, while Kiyah sat beside me, drinking one of the wine coolers she smuggled from her house. “I’m tryna get a lil’ tipsy before we leave,” she admitted, taking another sip.

“Same,” Natasha added, popping her gum.

As Natasha finished up my hair, she moved on to Kiyah’s while I started on my makeup. Kiyah added the finishing touch, carefully placing small adhesive gems around my eyes to enhance the look. The three of us danced to the music playing from my stereo, singing along, laughing, and letting the wine coolers warm our veins. Slowly but surely, excitement began to creep into my chest.

When the time finally came, Kiyah and Natasha helped me into my dress. The fabric hugged my body in all the right places, the shimmer of the gems catching the light beautifully. I turned toward the mirror, momentarily stunned.

I looked like a princess. I ran my hands down the gown, taking in the way it fit, the way my makeup and hair pulled the entire look together. My heart swelled.

“Bitch, you look good,” Kiyah hyped me up, adjusting the straps on my dress.

“Grown as hell,” Natasha added, smirking.

I held back the sudden swell of emotion, refusing to ruin Kiyah’s hard work. “Y’all gon’ make me cry,” I admitted, fanning my face.

“Don’t start, ‘cause if you cry, I’ma cry,” Kiyah warned, and we all laughed.

---

By 9, we were stepping out of the apartment, heels clicking against the pavement. A limo sat at the curb, its sleek black frame glistening under the streetlights.

We all froze.

“No fucking way,” Natasha whispered.

Kiyah’s mouth dropped. “Bitch.”

The driver stepped forward, opening the door, and out stepped Jey, Jacob, and Sami, all dressed to impress. Jey smirked, dressed in a crisp suit, his chain catching the light. Jacob adjusted his watch, while Sami shoved his hands into his pockets, his usual cool demeanor faltering slightly.

I nearly squealed. I hadn’t even ridden in a limo for prom. Kiyah, Natasha, and I ran straight to our dates, grins stretching across our faces. I wrapped my arms around Jey’s neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. Kiyah threw her arms around Jacob, and Natasha—without hesitation—grabbed Sami by the collar and kissed him, shocking everyone, including Sami himself.

The group erupted into laughter and cheers, teasing the two of them as Natasha shrugged it off like it was nothing. Inside the limo, we kept the energy going. Music blasted from the speakers as we danced and sang along, the excitement thick in the air.

I leaned into Jey’s side, whispering, “Thank you.”

He looked down at me, brushing a loose curl from my face. “You deserve nothing but the best, baby.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

---

The limo pulled up to the front of the nightclub, and even before we stepped out, I could feel the energy buzzing through the air. The bass from the music inside vibrated through the pavement, the muffled voices of the crowd merging with the beat. Excitement stirred in my belly, but so did something else—something I couldn’t quite name.

Jey stepped out first, fixing his suit before extending his hand to me. I took it, and the second my heels hit the pavement, the doors to the club swung open. A rush of warmth and flashing lights washed over me as the crowd inside erupted in cheers.

A smile stretched across my face so wide that my cheeks ached. Inside, the entire nightclub was decorated in deep shades of red, black, and gold. Prada Boi colors. Balloons lined the ceiling, the tables were draped in silk cloths, and trays of food were set against the walls. Bodies filled the space, moving in rhythm to the beat the DJ was spinning.

This was my night. The night I imagined when I first started talking to Jey. It had arrived and I was going to enjoy it fully.

As we walked through the crowd, the love was instant. People showered me with compliments, hugs, and laughter. Bronson’s wife pulled me into a hug, whispering how beautiful I looked. Nataya nearly crushed my ribs with how tight she held me.

“You look like a damn queen, bitch,” she squealed.

I giggled, feeling warmth spread through me. “You tryna kill me before I even get to enjoy the night?”

She finally let me go, grinning. “Maybe.”

I made my rounds, speaking to everyone, soaking in the attention and love. Every time I glanced over my shoulder, Jey was watching me. But he wasn’t hovering, wasn’t clinging to me like he usually would. He stood back, letting me shine. Maybe he really was trying to change.

The night unfolded beautifully. Laughter, dancing, drinking, eating— I was having the time of my life. I felt weightless, free. At some point, I pulled Jey away from the crowd, wrapping my arms around his neck, placing my forehead against his. His hands slid to my waist, his grip firm but gentle.

"Again, thank you," I whispered, my voice barely heard over the music.

Jey’s eyes softened as he looked at me, his thumb rubbing slow circles on my hip. “You don’t gotta thank me, baby. I love you.”

His words sent warmth all through my body, but before I could respond, someone called his name from across the room. Jey sighed, kissing my forehead before pulling away. “I’ll be right back, a’ight?”

I nodded, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

I found Kiyah and Natasha on the dance floor just as Biggie’s "Hypnotize" blasted through the speakers.

"Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see? Sometimes your words just hypnotize me..."

The three of us belted out the lyrics, moving in sync with each other, hands in the air, hips swaying. The whole club was alive, the energy electric. Tonight felt good. I caught a glimpse of Damian sliding into the club, Dulce tucked under his arm. If Damian was here—with Dulce no less—then maybe the threats had passed. Maybe things really were cooling down.

I exhaled, letting my shoulders relax. As the night deepened, I found myself curled up in Jey’s lap, a plate of food in my hands as I listened to him, Jimmy, Tonga, and Solo trade stories. The four of them laughed loudly, their voices full of ease.

No one seemed tense.

No one seemed on edge.

For the first time in a long time, things felt normal. It felt like nothing could go wrong.

---

The bass from the speakers thumped through my chest as I swayed to the music, a half-empty glass in my hand. I had a buzz, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the emotions swirling inside me. My heels had been abandoned under the table, my feet sore from dancing. I sat in one of the plush bar chairs by myself, watching the scene unfold around me.

Kiyah and Jacob were in the middle of the dance floor, moving in sync like they had been doing this for years. Natasha was wrapped up in Sami, her hands resting against his chest as she whispered something in his ear that made him grin. Nataya and Jimmy dance in corner, his face buried in neck.

I should have been out there with them. I should have been soaking up every moment of this party that Jey had put together just for me. But instead, I was sitting here, lost in my own head. Having the Prada Bois as family could be fun. They were wild, unpredictable, and full of love in their own way. They looked out for each other. Protected what was theirs. I had grown to love them; despite all the things I knew about them. Despite knowing what they were capable of. Despite knowing what Jey was capable of.

Before I could spiral any further, I felt a familiar warmth slide over me, a solid presence pressing against my back as Jey settled into the chair, pulling me onto his lap. I melted into his embrace, letting him hold me like he always did.

“You enjoyin’ yourself, baby?” His voice was low, thick with something I couldn’t quite place.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah... I’m having the time of my life.”

Jey leaned in, pressing a kiss against my bare shoulder, his lips lingering. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna live this life without you. I wanna create more memories like this with you… only you.”

His words sent a chill through me, and I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were soft, too soft, like he was seeing me for the first time.

“You make me better,” he continued, his fingers tracing circles against my thigh. “I ain’t never done nothin’ like this for no other woman. Only one I ever really did for was my mama... until you.”

Something in my chest tightened, my throat threatening to close. Jey made me feel special. Like I was everything. Like I was the one thing he needed in this world.

I kissed him. The kiss never deepened. It never got the chance.

A loud crash echoed from outside the club, glass shattering, followed by the sharp rise of angry voices. The energy in the room shifted instantly. The bass of the music still pulsed through the speakers, but the tension in the air became thick enough to choke on.

Jey stiffened against me, his head turning toward the entrance. My stomach dropped as I saw the Prada Bois move in unison, heading toward the source of the commotion. Jey's grip on my waist tightened for a split second before he turned to me. His eyes were hard, voice sharp.

“Stay inside.”

I barely had time to react before he let me go and disappeared into the crowd pressing toward the doors. The uneasy feeling in my gut twisted as I watched them go. My feet felt frozen in place, my body telling me to listen, but my mind already screaming no. The doors flew open before the Prada Bois could even reach them. Several men stormed inside, their presence turning the already tense atmosphere into something dangerous.

The air shifted again. This time, it was electric. The music still played, but it might as well have been silent. Everything slowed for a split second before it all imploded.

Yelling.

Shoving.

A punch thrown, then another.

A full-on brawl broke out in seconds before my eyes.

My breath hitched as fists flew, bodies shoved each other, people knocked over tables, and glass shattered against the floor. I scanned the chaos, desperate to find Jey. My heart pounded when I finally spotted him locked in a struggle with a man I knew I had seen before, but my mind refused to place him.

I called Jey’s name. Once. Twice. My voice was swallowed by the chaos. I needed to get closer. I pushed forward, dodging people running in every direction. Every time I thought I had a clear path, I got shoved back, my frustration growing with each failed attempt. My pulse pounded in my ears as I lost sight of Jey again.

I turned quickly, spotting Kiyah, Nataya, and Natasha in the far corner. Relief flooded me, my instinct telling me to get to them, to get safe. I didn’t even get the chance to take the first step.

The first gunshot rang out.

Then another.

And another.

Panic erupted like a bomb going off in the middle of the room. Screams tore through the air as people scrambled, running in all directions. The music cut off, but my ears still rang from the shots.

I turned to run.

A sharp, searing pain shot through my arm. It felt like fire had been injected into my bloodstream, burning through me so fast that my body barely had time to register what had happened before—

Another shot.

My side exploded in white-hot agony. The force knocked the air from my lungs, my knees buckling beneath me.

I fell.

The floor felt so far away.

I could hear screams, glass breaking, the heavy thud of bodies crashing into tables, but everything was starting to sound distant. My vision blurred, the edges darkening as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

Shapes moved around me, voices rising, but my body wouldn’t respond.

Through the chaos, I heard one voice.

Frantic. Desperate. Calling my name.

It was Jey’s.

I tried to hold onto that voice, tried to focus, to respond, to move, but my limbs were heavy, my eyelids even heavier.

Someone was crying. Sirens wailed in the distance.

I needed to hold on. I had to.

But I was slipping.

Everything started to fade.

And then—

Darkness.

---

Epilogue

The night was a blur of flashing red and blue lights, sirens screaming through the air, and the sharp scent of gunpowder clinging to the pavement outside the club. The scene was chaos—people crying, bodies scattered, and the Prada Bois standing in tense clusters, their clothes stained with blood, their eyes flickering with something between rage and grief.

Jey was on his knees in the middle of it all, his hands coated in her blood.

He rocked slightly, his grip tightening around Nyeya’s limp body as he pressed his forehead against hers. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving with each uneven inhale, but his voice was clear—desperate, commanding.

“Stay with me, baby. You hear me? Stay with me.”

Her head lolled slightly, her skin look lifeless under the flashing red lights. Jey shook her gently, his grip firm but careful, as if he could anchor her here with him.

Damian was beside him, his face unreadable but his hands steady as they helped apply pressure to the wound in her side. His jaw was clenched tight, his usual detachment gone.

“She’s losing too much blood,” he muttered. His voice was sharp, urgent, the kind of voice that didn’t deal in hope, only facts.

Jey barely heard him. His eyes never left her.

“Nyeya, you hold on. You ain’t done. You ain’t done, you hear me?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t above begging. Not for her.

Somewhere behind them, Kiyah was sobbing, held back by Jacob as she tried to push forward. Natasha and Nataya were both crying, their hands clasped together, whispering prayers between broken sobs.

The paramedics arrived, pushing Jey aside despite his resistance. He fought against the hands pulling him away, his body lunging forward, but Damian gripped the back of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Let them work, bro.”

Jey’s heart hammered against his ribcage as he watched them lift Nyeya onto a stretcher, voices barking out orders, someone checking her pulse, someone pressing a mask to her face.

When they moved to close the doors, Jey snapped out of his daze.

“I’m ridin’ with her,” he announced.

The paramedic hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Get in.”

Jey climbed into the ambulance without a second thought, sitting beside her, his fingers gripping the edge of the gurney like he could hold her here.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, and the sirens wailed as they sped off.

Behind them, the others didn’t wait.

Jimmy and Damian jumped into their cars, peeling off in pursuit. Kiyah, Natasha, and Nataya piled into Jacob’s car. Sami followed close behind.

No one spoke.

The only sound was the hum of engines pushing toward the unknown.

Toward whatever fate waited for Nyeya.

Jey didn’t pray. He never had.

But tonight, in that ambulance, as he clutched Nyeya’s cold fingers and watched the heart monitor beep too slowly for his liking—he prayed.

And he wasn’t sure if anyone was listening.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and darkness, and all Jey could do was hold on.

To her.

To hope.

And to the fear that, for the first time in his life, he might be powerless to stop what was coming.

-----

AN: This is the end, bebe's. Whew... I'm trying not to cry! This book has been so fun to write and it's the first story I've completed... ever. When I started this book I always knew the ending would end like this. But what I didn't know was how in love I would fall with these characters. This may not be the end. I'm debating on it. I think these characters have so much left to do and learn. What you think?

And to the readers who been reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting, I APPRECIATE YOU! Thank you so much. All the love truly gave me the motivation to keep writing. I love you ꨄ

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[iconoclast-infidels]

No time frame of reference was given. He wasn't getting much out of Dmitry, but by the sounds of it he wasn't beaten or tortured cruelly and horrifically this time. Surely, surely, he wouldn't hide that from him if he had. He seemed so calm like all was a okay.

His heart rate began to deescalate. Though the failed halfling would remain displeased with himself he would relax immensely. For as much of a doomsday mentality as Nico could have, he also had a live in the moment personality too. That one slowly started to seep in and take back over. It was tapering in.

Maybe it was the kiss. Maybe it was the side of his head against his chest, but everything was actually okay again. He might as well roll with it now. He put his arms around him.

"Yeah, we're okay." He couldn't dispute that.

When Dmitry looked up again he might have been noticing the corpse, but Nico was only admiring his partner. He had him back. The time away or how long the Hell-space-time felt seemed most important to him to ask about because they'd just spent four years away from each other. Time and energy were the two things Nico knew were the most valuable commodities. He used up all his own energy trying to get Dmitry back to him. He didn't want to lose him in the mess of time in another realm of reality. Time is where people grew, evolved. That wasn't always a good thing. People could grow cold, distant, and disconnect in absences. He understood their heart connection, but he understood bitterness just as well if he ever failed again. To him it was still day one. Dmitry arrived and they talked it all out and acted on those feelings like the fools in love they always were.

"More than okay. We got a whole new life to live again now."

For once Nico sounded hopeful instead of like an Eeyore with a missing tail.

"What do you want to do first?"

Then he noticed where Dmitry's eyes had roamed.

"Oh, right. Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He spoke of the corpse. He couldn't seem to call it him. "I'll take care of you this afternoon and by this evening we'll be free for all your suggestions. Er-unless you don't mind keeping you around a bit? I don't mind. You're so pretty there. I think it's sort of nice seeing how peaceful you look when I know you're okay. Not like we ever get visitors out here. You're not hurting anything over there. You look like you're enjoying yourself actually, now that I'm calm and can really take notice. We should probably put you in your final resting place before Mom comes back on the weekend. She's been out. She'll be here after church though. Sunday meals are a thing. I mean unless it bothers you having you there? What do you think?"

"You let me know. I'll do whatever you want. Now or later?"

Familiar as it was, Nico's inner turmoil was still turbulent as ever, boiling under the surface threatening to explode at any moment.

Still, it was Nico.

Dmitry stepped closer, standing in Nico's personal space, his space too because they were lovers, and reached to tenderly hold the halfling's face in his hands. He allowed Nico to speak his anxieties out with no interruption, listening carefully. Then, before answering, he gently placed a kiss on Nico's lips to greet and to reassure him.

Heels raised to meet the other's height, Dmitry stayed close, resting foreheads together. "I'm back. I was sleeping. You were sleeping too, it's not your fault you were tired after all that. I was asleep in your arms and you kept me safe and you kept me company. I wouldn't want it any other way," he spoke softly and sincerely. "I'm okay. I'm here with you. Time... doesn't make sense, dead. It's weird. I don't think they're too happy with having to let me go, either. But I'm okay, and I'm here with you, and we're okay."

After speaking, his gazed trailed toward the corpse on the couch. It didn't shock him anymore — he'd seen enough of his own corpses, preserved or mutilated, varying degrees of decomposed. Still, the recognition had a tendency to tug at his feelings in some way or other, like mourning but with the acknowledgement that it wasn't really over and it would likely never be.

He noticed immediately that the corpse was carefully laid, tucked in, and he instinctively held Nico close for warmth and for comfort. Something of the cold emptiness of death still lingered, and Nico —alive and warm— was home. Nico, his Nico, had taken the time to tuck the corpse in. It was a gesture of love and it did not go unnoticed. Dmitry rested his ear against Nico's chest for a moment, listening to the beating of Nico's heart, his heart in Nico's chest, steady and undying, and fancied he could hear in it little love notes like paper slips handed to and from each other like schoolchildren in the middle of class, or like flowers sent by courier, or...

He smiled in secret, knowing Nico wouldn't be able to see. Then he pulled back a little, only just enough to see Nico's face again. There, unspoken, he knew and kept something else: the corpse had been tucked in — the Corpse Cradler loved and doted even on the dead remains of his love. Dmitry knew the body had not only been tucked in, but that also it must have been held gent5, carefully, lovingly. He couldn't expect any less from his Nico.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Hi Bex! This is so exciting for me since this is my first time requesting something in the few years that I've been a follower! 😍TBABTO was a GAME-changer for me! So fucking good! 😭🫠 IDK how you are able to do it, honestly. As a slasher/horror fan, your blog is one of my all-time faves. On that note... For your Valentine's Day Ask Game I would like a snippet of Poly!Ghostface x AFAB! Reader. NSFW because let's be real, these freaks go 0 to 100 real quick 😘 The scenario: the boys are best friends with reader and she gets stood up by her boyfriend of two years on Valentine's Day for someone else! Reader is feeling humiliated and depressed...little does she know the boys aren't gunna take that sitting down (and are pretty grateful for the chance to show her just how much she means to them and to get rid of that tool she was dating) I trust you know what to do from there! No rush either! ❤️

Thanks for being awesome,

- T🌙

Okay, oh my God, T, hi! I love, adore, am obsessed with this ask and prompt! First off, thank you! TBABTO was really a huge deal, I still adore that fic and consider it one of my very best pieces of writing ever. The fact you have been around for years, and that fic is still getting love, warms my heart! I hope this meets your expectations and gives you exactly what you want. NFSW indeed, hope the gore is gory enough for you. I appreciate the patience, I took Sunday off and yesterday was the Canadian holiday of Family Day so I was busy, but I wrote this up at work today!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.8K. Poly!Ghostface X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Upset Reader. Crying Reader. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Obviously They Are Gonna Scoop You Up While You Are In The Process Of Grieving. 

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What Must We Do?

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You feel like a complete idiot. Pouring hours into making and buying presents, into your appearance, Hell into the entire relationship for the love of fuck, for two years, and for what? A guy who is a totally pathetic coward.

Here is how it happened, you showed up to the agreed upon place, presents in tow, only to be left hanging for nearly an hour, a friend saw you waiting and told you that they saw your piece of shit, now obviously EX boyfriend, was on a very cozy and romantic looking date with someone else. He stood you up? Un-fucking-believable. 

What are you supposed to do with yourself now? The thought of renting a tape and dragging yourself home has appeal, get out of your nice date clothes, into something much more comfortable and concern yourself with snacks and losing yourself in the fictional events blaring from your TV screen until you are exhausted enough for sleep to claim you.

So you make your way, soon find yourself in the video rental store, trying to ignore anyone staring at you so dressed up. The romance section has been picked clean, not like you want that right now anyway, you beeline for the horror section which still has a surprising good few tapes left, you are debating on getting two or three when you hear a very familiar voice pipe up, “What are you doing dressed up like that in a dump like this?” 

Your head turns to see Stu Macher approaching you, a tape of his own in his left hand, he has that grin that is so classic him plastered on his face, you don’t answer him, but you do greet him, a heavy sigh, “Hey Stu.”

As soon as he was in front of you, he spots the bags by your feet. His smile falters, brow creases, and his original question is followed up with a different one, accompanied by a point to the items, “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be on your Valentines date right now?”

Your head tips forward, shoulders slumping, “I was supposed to be yes.” 

The lack of explanation is all the explanation needed, he knew who was at fault, just didn’t have the information on what he did yet. You don’t need to see his face to know he is wearing a much harder expression, his voice further tells on how he must be looking, “What did he do?”

Raising your head you look sideways towards him and tell him, “Stood me up, took someone else out today instead of me, didn’t even have the balls to end it with me first.” 

“Oh so he is a cheating asshole now instead of just the garden verity kind, fantastic.” He leans against the shelves and asks, “Are you okay?” 

“Decidedly not. I just want to watch some movies, turn my brain off, you know?” 

“We can do that, pick what you want and meet me at the front.” Stu started digging into his pocket, and you ask, “Okay, but what do you mean by we?”

“Who do you think? I’m gonna go call him.” Stu had his phone in his hand now, he gives you a grin over his shoulder and starts walking away, typing in the number, and you think this is what you need, fuck being alone when you could be with your best friends instead. 

Billy picks up on the second ring, “Do you really need help deciding on what to watch? Thought you could handle that much on your own-” 

Stu cuts him off, “Shut up man, I’m calling for a different reason, you’ll never guess who I ran into at the video store, she just got stood up by her shithead boyfriend and is feeling lonely and vulnerable, AND she wants a movie night, do you understand?”

Billy had to bark out a laugh before responded, “Stop, really?! He fucked up THAT badly? God, she’s forgiven some shit, but no way is she gonna take him back after this.” 

“Exactly, she’s picking out some movies, meet at her place, it is up to us to cheer her up.” Stu unceremoniously hung up the phone now that Billy was on the same page and on board. 

After the movies had been rented, snacks bought, you went back to your place, finding Billy already waiting, comfortably seated on his usual chair on your front porch. He hopped up immediately on your approach, “Hey, Stu called me and I came over, he told me what happened, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too, honestly, sorry I wasted so much time on that fucking idiot.” You are pulling out your key, unlocking your door and letting you and them inside. There was much venting to be done, camp was going to be made in your bedroom for maximum comfort, bags hauled upstairs, the boys following behind and in agreement, Billy starting, “He is a fucking idiot, who the Hell would he rather be spending time with?”

Stu following with, “Seriously, dude screams brain-dead.” 

Once in your room, you drop your stuff and tell them, “Make yourselves at home, I am gonna pick out some more comfortable clothes and get changed.” 

You dig through your drawers and find what you were hoping for, leaving the boys behind on your bed, digging through bags and unpacking stuff. In your absence, the pair of them start talking quietly, “So how about that chucklefuck?”

“Jeeeeesus, right? We gotta do something about it.” Billy sighs and Stu responds, “I remember just where we stashed our stuff, wouldn’t be hard to get to it.”

A beat of silence before Billy asks, “So this is our chance, right? To get king clown is out of the picture.”

Stu looks over at his friend and confirms, “We gotta show some care with this, but I think so.”

By the time you were back in the room and the first movie was going, you felt a bit more comfortable, the extra amounts of blankets and pillows on the bed and floor making a really comfortable place to relax. You were doing your best to focus on the screen but it was hard, the sadness was creeping in, you felt rather pathetic, and so in a quieter moment you spoke up and asked, “Is there something wrong with me?”

That had Stu sitting up from his comfortably reclined position and Billy stopping the handful of popcorn that was midway to his mouth, “What?”

The course of that single word from the pair might have made you laugh if you weren’t seconds away from crying, “I know it’s fucking stupid, but I am just sitting here running over everything in my mind and all I can think is that it’s my fault, like the common denominator is me.”

“That is stupid.” Stu nods and Bill backs him up, “Very stupid, that you are doubting yourself for even a minute because of that jerk! You didn’t do shit, it is all him, he is an insecure bitch.”

Stu pipes up with, “He is the problem, and it isn’t YOUR loss, it’s his!”

You wipe under your eyes and sniff, “Whatever, you are both just saying that-”

Billy laughs and Stu says, “Yeah cuz in the entire time you have known us, we have been so sensitive to saving people’s feelings and lie about shit like that.”

“Mmhmm, that is us, alright. If it wasn’t true, we wouldn’t be saying it, we’d be honest, even if it was harsh and you? Are wayyyy out of his league.” Billy was leaning closer to you and Stu was getting up onto the bed, on the opposite side of you, he says, “You are funnier, smarter, seriously don’t cry over that piece of shit.”

Billy hands you a tissue, and you wipe your face, a sharp inhale, and you try to reign it in, trying to listen, joking, “You two ever think of becoming professional hype men?”

Stu snickers and Billy asks, “What do we have to do to get you to believe us?”

Strong hands rest on your shoulders, he starts to rub, and you immediately begin to melt into the touch, eyes falling closed as Stu speaks, “I think I know just what we should do, stop worrying about that asshole, something tells me he is gonna get what he deserves.”

Of course, you say yes to that. They stay with you, by the end of the three movies, the snacks all eaten, your mood is lifted, and you are asleep in bed. They turn off the TV and quietly let themselves out, both well aware of what needed to happen.

That night, they plan, excited and giddy to make this guys last night on Earth total Hell. He was going to die afraid and alone, in immense pain. 

The following night, they execute. 

They revel, do all they can to make it hurt, thankfully they had been planning this for a good long while.

Isolating him was frighteningly easy, and that is how they got into this current position, they had cut open his abdominal cavity and were making him hold his hands tight to hold his intestines in, a small cut to each Achilles tendon and an order to run. “If you make it far enough without spilling your guts or fully ripping your tendons, we might let you live.”

There was of course no intention of actually allowing him to survive, but watching him struggle was going to be fun.

The forest is cold, it’s dark as fuck, he has no sense of direction, the ground uneven and slick from the earlier rain on top of that. In their dark robes they can menuver around him easily, take swips and shallow stabs at him, disorienting him further.

He didn’t make it more than five minutes until he was on the ground, he started to slip, and one hand is thrown out to a tree to steady himself and the first few loops of intestines nearly shoot out, he can’t halt his forward momentum soon enough and well.

Have you ever stepped your full weight onto your own guts? He has, and it sends him careening to the ground, slick organs wrapped around his legs, his tendon tears audibly, right knee hitting a rock on the way down and the crunch and crack of bone is stomach turning.

He is collapsed, heaving and sobbing, the pair descend onto him, ready to finish the job. Stu steps on the blood and mud coated intestinal protrusion and your ex gags, another wave of pain making him cry out, he looks down at him and grins the heel of his boot down harder, “Fucking pathetic, am I right?”

“Beyond pathetic.” His masked compatriot agrees. 

There is a weak sound, a stupid as shit question, “Why?”

They share a look and a laugh, before an answer is given, “Cuz you don’t deserve to breathe, why else?”

The body can handle a lot before dying, they rip his blood soaked hands away and then tear from the inside out, once more of him was on the outside than in, a modicum of mercy is shown. His throat is slashed, and he is permitted to drown in his own blood. 

Your ex’s body is found in the woods a week later, and after a few more rains, when the news spread your two best friends simply tell you, one after the other, “Told you he’d get what was coming to him.”

“Yeah, clearly he just pissed off the wrong people.” 

You supposed he did.

[somegrumpynerd]

One whole year of Pigeon my friend Pigeon!! :D

@pigeonstab you're so funny and cool and I've never had a bad time talking to you and I'm super duper glad we're friends <3

Also get bear hugged >:3c

[copia]

top tip for new gif people because i've seen a few recently (which is really cool) - tumblr will compress your gif to a width of 540px when you upload it. this compression won't retain as much quality as if you just resize it to 540px across in photoshop/whatever program you use. tumblr will suck the life out of your beautiful crisp 1080px gif whereas photoshop will do its best not to (resizing in vapoursynth or similar is ideal but that's not necessary and often too much effort for adults with real lives)

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Running into a dating dilemma issue I have not encountered in quite some time. Starting talking to two different people on an app at around the same time, went on a date with one of them last Saturday. It went surprisingly well, even fooled around a little for the first time in a long while. We have a second date at an arcade planned for this Sunday.

Other person was a little slower on the draw (not as timely with responses) and has offered to meet up this Friday. They seem nice enough, but now I'm kind of focused on the first person- but obviously that connection is also still in the exploratory stages and there are no guarantees that anything else will happen with them. I'm not great at dividing my attention when I'm interested in someone but I also don't want to count any chickens before they hatch (the chickens in this case being a meaningful or at least ongoing sexual relationship 🐣)

So the dilemma is: do I still go on the date with person #2? The way I see it I have three options- agree to the date and see where it goes, decline the date, or put it off until next week and see how I feel after the second date with the guy that I already met. I feel like I should make a choice soon but I truly don't know which one 😬

[accio-victuuri]

so who’s gonna tell them? 😂😂😂

[sarastuss]

me every time i am forced to open tumblr on my laptop :

[jakeperalta]

my period literally ruins my life I can't believe half the population never have to experience it like imagine how free it would feel to live without that constant burden

[dumbbunnii]

♡(>ᴗ•)