Friendly Neighborhood Queer

The title says it all, but I'm Aliya and this is a side blog so I can't follow folks back, sorry! I'm gonna write from prompts but will probably have a running storyline for my OCs.

[randomwordprompts]

I have so much to catch up on 😭 we'll try to start with these old prompts in my asks (if I can remember what they're for)

[logray]

GET OUT (2017) dir. Jordan Peele SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[synkcity]

created by the only 2 Black filmmakers to win Best Original Screenplay 👑👑

[wakandas-vibranium]

Now idk who keep coming up here on Beyonce's internet telling my unruly cousin that her writing is bad during Black History Month but y'all some fucking haters and liars. All tofu turtles to the BYKE 🗣

TOFU TURTLES HAS ME WHEEZING RN PLEASEEEEEEEE

Love youuuu 💖💖

[randomwordprompts]

AND I STAND ON THAT TOO

Love youuuu 💜

[wakandas-vibranium]

The Parent Trap (Ch. 4)

Summary: Modern AU — Elijah and Elias were separated as toddlers following their parents' traumatic divorce and conditioned to believe they were the only child. Decades later, they've established successful lives on opposite ends of the country, without ever knowing the truth. When Stack travels south for work, a bizarre encounter at a local grocery store disrupts all they thought they knew. As buried lies emerge and family secrets come to light, the twins are forced to confront the past that was stolen from them.

Pairings: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!reader and Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Annie

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, use of the n-word, family dynamics, uncovered secrets, angst, hurt/comfort, family trauma, parental lies, emotional distress, sibling separation

(ch. 1), (ch. 2), (ch. 3)

Stack sat in the rental car across the street from Sunrise Athletics and told himself—very calmly, very professionally—not to be dramatic.

He really tried to listen to himself, but his knee bounced anyway. He stopped it with the heel of his palm, like the motion itself had offended him.

Through the windshield, the gym’s front windows glinted with late afternoon light. This place had presence, unlike the polished, sterile facilities he’d seen in glossy magazines or luxury high-rises. Silver and blue lettering. The building boasted a clean facade, devoid of any unnecessary attention-grabbing elements. Inside, silhouettes moved with purpose: people on treadmills, people stretching, and someone walking past the front desk with a gallon jug like hydration was a religious routine. It was the kind of building you only open if you can keep the lights on.

Stack felt compelled to buy a membership even though he didn’t live here.

“My brother owns a gym,” he whispered, as if saying it softly would keep his heart from punching through his ribs.

He’d been awake since dawn, though he hadn’t needed to be. He’d stared at the ceiling in the Airbnb, watching the fan rotate in slow circles while his mind played the same moment on loop: the aisle at Chow’s Market, the voice, the beard, the name—Elijah—and the way his body had moved before his brain had even given permission.

"Come here," Smoke had said.

And Stack had gone. That still haunted him the tiniest bit—how instinct could overshadow pride in a matter of seconds. His feet had made a decision that his mind was still considering.

He rested his forearms on the steering wheel and tried to breathe like he was just walking into a normal monthly meeting.

He’d ventured into plenty of rooms with men who wanted to eat him alive. Men who looked at him saw youth, arrogance, and a Black man who wasn’t supposed to have this much power this early. He’d dealt with that. He knew how to smile, shake hands, and take control with nothing but eye contact, timing and a pinch of charisma.

This time was different. He was way out of his element.

Across the street, that gym wasn’t just a building. It was evidence that somewhere else—somewhere he was purposely kept away from—someone had built a life with the same hands he had. It was just as much of an empire as the modeling agency he built back in Chicago.

Stack’s phone buzzed, and the screen flashed with your name.

You: Remember you don’t have to perform today, honey. Just show up.

His throat tightened as he typed back.

Stack: I’m good.

He stared at the message and corrected himself before you could call him out on his little white lie.

Stack: Alright, I’m a lil nervous. But I’m still going in.

You: Good. Just breathe and remember—he’s probably just as nervous. You’re not walking into a stranger’s space. You’re walking into family.

Family.

The word still felt foreign in his mouth, like biting down on a molar that was recently filled.

He gawked at the name of the building again and let himself really see it.

Sunrise.

The name was catchy and deliberate. Like somebody had been walking through the dark long enough to know firsthand that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Stack leaned back in the seat and exhaled slowly through his nose.

This is what he built while I was in Chicago, assuming I didn’t have anyone else.

It wasn’t exactly envy Stack was feeling, but more pride, which was too complicated and heavy to ponder for too long.

His agency was clean lines, contracts, and polished headshots. Meetings that started on time. Elevator rides with good-feeling music. Black talent was packaged and protected and pushed into rooms that were hellbent on keeping them out.

Smoke’s world was slightly different. More sweat and discipline. Bodies learning their own power. People were coming to him because they wanted to feel strong again.

Two different lanes, created by the same blood.

Stack adjusted his watch out of habit, then huffed at himself. He looked good—he always did—but he wasn’t there to sell anything. He was there to find out what exactly he’d been robbed of.

He turned the engine off and sat there for another second, one hand fiddling with the keys and the other resting on his thigh, grounding himself. He inhaled deeply through his nose one last time before he opened the door.

The Mississippi air hit him warm and thick, like the sky had weight. He crossed the street with measured steps, shoulders squared. Not because he wanted to intimidate anyone, but because his body needed structure.

At the front of the gym, the glass door reflected him for a moment—sharp haircut, clean-shaven jaw, outfit that screamed Chicago without meaning to. A man built out of ambition and control.

He reached for the handle, his hand pausing.

This is the moment, he thought.

Not meeting Smoke yesterday. Not seeing his own face. This. Because yesterday had been accident and shock. Today was nothing but choice and determination.

Stack pulled the door open, and a bell chimed softly above him. Cool air, energetic music and rubber mats rolled over him in a wave. The smell was disinfectant layered over sweat and metal. A soundscape of life: treadmills humming, weights clinking, and someone grunting near the rack of kettlebells.

At the front desk, a light skinned woman with the silkiest press looked up with a polite smile. “Hey, bossman.” Then her expression shifted slightly as she took him in—sharp, scrutinizing. “Didn’t you have a beard ten minutes ago—oh, you the brother!”

Stack opened his mouth, but before he could get a word in, a familiar voice cut through the gym.

“Two more reps. You got it, Lamar. C'mon, finish strong!”

Stack’s stomach dropped and his pulse thumped harder. He turned toward the new yet familiar voice, and there his brother was.

Smoke stood near the free weights, towel draped over his shoulder, forearms flexed as he adjusted a bar like the metal had offended him. He was in typical gym gear—a black tee and shorts, legs grounded like he had a right to occupy the earth. There was a light sheen of sweat caught on his skin. His beard was trimmed, and his eyes were sharp.

He looked up, and the whole gym went quiet in Stack’s head. Not because the room actually fell silent—a college student fought for her life on the stairmaster, and a middle-aged man counted reps louder than necessary—but because Stack’s mind turned the volume down on everything except the man staring at him.

Smoke didn’t smile. Stack figured his twin didn’t find amusement in many things too often. He just looked at Stack like he was trying to memorize him. Stack swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

For a second, neither of them moved. This wasn’t the grocery store aisle. This was Smoke’s element, and Stack realized something that surprised him. Smoke looked… composed in a way Stack hadn’t seen yesterday. Like being here, in his own space, gave him footing.

Smoke wiped his hands on the towel and then started walking. People shifted out of his way automatically. Clearly he owned the room without trying.

Stack didn’t step forward, and he didn’t retreat. His feet remained planted—heart pounding, face neutral, pride climbing to the backseat where it belonged.

Smoke stopped a few feet away. Up close, the similarities were borderline violent. They shared the same cheekbones, nose, and eyes. Different life experience behind those brown irises.

Smoke’s gaze flicked over Stack—his clothes, his posture, the clean shave. Like he was reading him the way you read a man who’s been trained to win rooms.

Then Smoke nodded once. “You came.”

Stack’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You told me to.”

Smoke huffed, the closest thing to amusement. “Yeah. I did.”

Another beat passed before Stack forced himself to say something.

“I’m Elias,” Stack said quietly, because introducing himself felt ridiculous but necessary. “But…people call me Stack.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. I heard.”

Stack nodded. “And you’re Elijah. Smoke.”

Smoke’s jaw worked. “That’s what they call me.”

Stack glanced around the gym, then back at him. “This place is…impressive.”

Smoke’s eyes flicked away for half a second, like compliments made him itch.

“It’s work,” the older twin muttered.

“Still,” Stack pointed out, voice more sincere now. “It’s yours.”

Smoke looked back at him, and something in his expression softened. Recognition, perhaps.

“Follow me to my office.” Smoke instructed abruptly.

Stack blinked. “What?”

Smoke jerked his chin toward the back hallway. “My office. I mean—you ready to talk? Or you need a minute?”

Stack’s chest tightened at the question because it wasn’t what he expected. Smoke wasn’t posturing or testing him. Smoke was simply…giving him an option.

Stack inhaled slowly and said, “I’m ready.”

Smoke studied him again, like he was searching for the lie in his voice.

When he didn’t find it he nodded. “Come on, then.”

Stack followed right behind him. As they walked through the gym, heads turned subtly in curiosity. People noticed how much Stack did and didn’t look like Smoke. They noticed the way the older brother moved with purpose next to him. They noticed the energy.

In the back corridor, Smoke pushed open a door and motioned for Stack to step inside first.

It wasn’t a luxury office. It was more on the practical side—desk, chair, a couple of framed photos of gym openings on the wall, a whiteboard with training schedules. The smell of coffee lingered faintly, mixed with disinfectant.

Smoke shut the door, and the click sounded like a boundary getting ready to form.

The twins stood there for a second, the air too charged to sit immediately.

Smoke leaned back against his desk, muscled arms crossing. Stack remained standing, hands hanging at his sides like a man trying not to show how badly he wanted something he’d never had.

Smoke exhaled and said. “You got questions.”

Stack’s laugh came out quiet and disbelief-tinged. “I got a lifetime of questions.”

“Same.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds, then Smoke’s gaze sharpened.

“First thing,” Smoke began, voice low. “You really from Chicago?”

Stack nodded. “Yeah.”

Smoke’s jaw clenched. “All your life?”

“Yes,” Stack answered, then hesitated. “Since I was three. That’s what Mom told me.”

Smoke’s eyes flashed, and Stack saw anger, controlled and burning, like Smoke had been carrying it since boyhood without knowing what to call it.

Stack cleared his throat. “I want you to know something,” he said carefully. “I promise I’m not…here to take anything from you or disrupt your life.”

Smoke stared at him like Stack had suddenly grown two more noses.

“Man,” Smoke muttered, voice rougher now, “you ain’t disrupt nothin’. Our parents did this shit to us.”

That tugged on Stack’s heartstrings. He nodded once, eyes stinging.

Smoke uncrossed his arms slowly, then did something Stack didn’t really expect. He stepped closer as if he couldn’t help it.

Smoke’s eyes searched Stack’s face with something almost protective—like his body had already decided this is mine to look after.

“You look just like me,” Smoke observed, the incredulity heavy in his tone.

Stack’s mouth tightened, emotions catching in his throat. “You’re my twin. My big brother.”

Smoke hesitated, then lifted a hand and almost reverently touched Stack’s shoulder, as if he was verifying his little brother was real.

Stack didn’t flinch because his chest warmed in a way that terrified him. He’d spent his whole life being the man other people leaned on, and suddenly, standing in front of Smoke, he realized what it felt like to have someone else’s steadiness offered to him.

Smoke’s hand fell back to his side when he cleared his throat, as if to shake off the moment.

“Sit,” Smoke instructed gruffly.

Stack sat down, and Smoke remained standing for another second, then finally dropped into the chair across from him, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight like he was holding himself together.

“Okay,” Smoke exhaled sharply as he leaned back slightly in his chair, jaw set. “Tell me what she—Mama—told you.”

Stack swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. He stared at his hands for a moment first, long fingers clasped together like he was bracing himself for impact.

“Mom’s name is Eve,” he began quietly. “Eve Moore. We lived in Chicago. She always said the pregnancy was hard on her. That I almost didn’t make it.”

Smoke’s head lifted. “That’s what Daddy said too.”

“She told me I was born around five in the morning,” Stack recalled. “Said I was stubborn even then. Didn’t want to come out.”

Smoke let out a humorless huff. “You was.”

Stack blinked. “What?”

Smoke’s eyes flicked up. “I was born at four forty-five.”

Silence fell between them. Stack stared at him. Smoke stared right back.

Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen goddamn minutes had split their lives in half in more ways than one.

“Mom said…” Stack hesitated. “She said Dad died when I was little. Some kind of accident. Never gave details. Just said it was tragic.”

Smoke’s jaw tightened. “He told me Mama died,” Smoke remembered. “Said it almost broke him, and it was just me after that.”

They both sat there, absorbing it. Two different lies sharing the same level of cruelty.

Stack shook his head slowly. “She never even let me ask questions, Smoke. Any time I brought it up, she’d say, ‘Why you digging up pain?’ Like I was wrong for being curious.”

Smoke’s voice dropped. “He did the same, and sometimes he’d beat me for askin’.”

Stack let out a breath that sounded like it hurt.

“So…they coordinated,” he accepted. “Or at least…they both decided we didn’t deserve the truth.”

Smoke’s fists clenched. “They decided we didn’t deserve each other.”

That sentence landed like a brick. Stack pressed his lips together, eyes burning with unshed tears. He looked away first. His gaze drifted across the office—over the whiteboard, the framed gym photos, and the stacks of paperwork—until it snagged on something sitting on Smoke’s desk.

A picture frame. He hadn’t noticed it before. He leaned forward slightly without thinking. Inside the frame was Smoke looking more relaxed and happy than he thought possible. He was sitting on a couch, arm slung around a beautiful woman with warm eyes and a soft smile. In his lap sat a little girl with beaded braids and missing teeth, laughing so hard her eyes were closed. They were glowing like a real family.

Stack’s chest tightened.

“Is that…” His voice cracked unexpectedly. He had to clear his throat twice. “Is that your family?”

Smoke followed his gaze.

“Oh,” he hummed softly. “Yeah.”

He reached over and picked up the frame without ceremony, but there was reverence in the way he held it.

“That’s Annie,” he said. “My wife. And that’s our daughter Elisa.”

Stack forgot how to blink.

“Elisa,” he repeated.

Smoke nodded, not catching on to the devastated look on his brother's face. “Four years old. Runs the whole damn house.”

A corner of his mouth lifted like he was reliving a memory. “Bosses me and her Mama around every chance she get.”

Stack chuckled weakly, then a rush of emotions hit him hard.

“You, uh…you have a kid,” Stack whispered.

Smoke frowned slightly. “Yeah.”

Stack’s eyes remained glued to the photo.

“I got a niece,” he shook his head in disbelief.

Smoke froze as his brother’s words finally hit him. They weren’t dramatic, but they undoubtedly cracked something open in his mind.

“I got a whole niece,” Stack repeated, voice trembling and vision blurring. “And she don’t even know me.”

Smoke straightened slowly. “Stack—”

“I missed it,” Stack grumbled suddenly. His voice finally broke completely. “I missed…everything.”

His hands came up to his face, pressing against his eyes like he could physically keep himself from spiraling.

“I missed her first steps. First words. First day of school. I missed you becoming a dad. I missed you becoming a husband.” His shoulders started shaking. “I didn’t even know you existed,” he choked. “And you built this whole life without me.”

Smoke stood up and crossed the room in three long strides.

“Hey,” he coaxed. “Look at me, Stack.”

Stack just couldn’t. Tears slipped free, hot and furious and humiliating.

“I spent my whole life thinking it was just me,” Stack whispered. “Thinking I had nobody ahead of me. Nobody watching my back.”

He laughed brokenly. “And whole time…you were right here.”

Smoke crouched in front of him, meeting him where he was.

“I was lost too,” Smoke admitted. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Stack shook his head. “But you got a family. You got something solid.”

“You got Y/N and you got me now,” Smoke replied immediately.

The words surprised them both. They hung there in the air loud and truthful as ever.

Stack finally looked up, eyes red, lashes wet and pride stripped bare.

“You really mean that?” he asked.

“I mean it,” he said. “That’s my daughter. That’s your blood. You her uncle whether you ready or not.”

Stack let out a shaky laugh through tears. “I don’t even know how to be that.”

Smoke’s hand came down on his shoulder, firm. “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Together.”

Stack inhaled sharply, and before pride or fear got the best of him, he stood and pulled Smoke into a hug.

It wasn’t smooth at all. Their shoulders knocked sharply. Stack’s arm caught awkwardly around Smoke’s back, and his forehead brushed Smoke’s collarbone for half a second. It was messy and unplanned but real. Stack held on too tight. If he loosened his grip even the tiniest bit, he feared that his brother and this moment might disappear forever.

For a split second, Smoke froze. Instinct and walls flaring up first as always. Then he felt the tremor in Stack’s chest and the uneven puffs of air against his shoulder. The quiet, broken sound Stack hadn’t even realized he was making was what finally made something deep inside Smoke shatter.

He wrapped his arms around his brother hard. Carefulness was thrown away and replaced with protectiveness. Like he was anchoring himself to the only person in the world who truly understood this level of betrayal.

Stack sagged into him. All that control, all that polish, all that Chicago swagger melted away like hot wax. His hands fisted into the back of Smoke’s shirt.

They both cried, but Stack’s tears were mournful and vociferous, whereas Smoke’s tears were more resentful and reticent.

Smoke didn’t let go for a while. He only loosened his grip when Stack’s breathing finally evened out—when the shaking in his shoulders slowed, when the storm passed enough for him to stand upright again.

Stack wiped his face quickly with the heel of his hand, embarrassed now that the wave of emotions had passed.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t, uh—I’m not usually—”

Smoke cut him off. “Don’t apologize.”

Stack looked up, brown eyes red-rimmed.

“For feeling,” Smoke added. “That’s normal. Healthy.”

Stack huffed softly. “You always talk like you older.”

Smoke snorted. “I am older, nigga. By fifteen minutes.”

“Man, that don’t count,” Stack countered.

“It do,” Smoke quipped.

That earned a genuine smile from his twin.

Smoke stepped back toward the desk and leaned against it, folding his arms loosely while he gathered his thoughts.

“So,” he said. “Let me ask you something.”

Stack straightened a little. “What’s up?”

“So what you and your girl doing all the way in Mississippi?” Smoke asked. “Y’all live in Chicago, right? This ain’t exactly a vacation spot.”

Stack nodded slowly. “Yeah. Nah, we’re here for work.”

Smoke lifted a brow. “Figures.”

Stack sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully.

“I run a modeling agency,” he began. “Y/N is a contract lawyer. We specialize in Black talent. High fashion, commercial, campaigns, runway—everything. I don’t just sign pretty faces. I sign people with longevity.”

Smoke studied him with even more interest now.

“Chicago’s saturated,” Stack continued. “New York too. L.A. been overcrowded, but the South? There’s raw talent everywhere. People just don’t know how to access it.”

Smoke nodded proudly. “Facts.”

“So I’ve been traveling,” Stack explained. “Scouting. Networking. Looking for the next big thing.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Actually…there’s one person in particular.”

Smoke’s posture shifted slightly. “Who?”

Stack met his eyes. “Sammie Moore. You heard of him?”

The room filled with a dead silence before Smoke laughed. Not to be cruel or mock his brother, but he was just in a constant state of disbelief.

“Man,” he uttered, shaking his head. “You serious?”

Stack raised a curious eyebrow. “What?”

Smoke pushed off the desk, pacing once before stopping in front of Stack again.

“That’s our cousin,” Smoke stated.

Stack froze. “…What?”

“Sammie Moore,” Smoke repeated. “That’s my uncle’s son. Our daddy’s big brother.”

Stack’s mouth fell open. “Stop fucking with me."

"I’m dead serious.”

Stack stared at him.

“That big ass Pentecostal church you passed on the way here? That’s our uncle’s. He the pastor.”

Stack stared at him some more.

“Hold on,” Stack pondered. “So…I come down here looking for a random rising star…”

“…And find family,” Smoke finished. “…again.”

They blinked at each other and then both laughed harder than ever. The kind of laugh that came from emotional overload—when your brain didn’t know whether to cry or scream, so it chose chaos.

“You gotta be fuckin' kidding me,” Stack wheezed, rubbing his face. “This is insane.”

Smoke chuckled. “Welcome to your new life.”

Stack shook his head. “So not only do I got a twin brother…I got a cousin I was trying to recruit.”

“Yep.”

“Who lives near you?”

“Yep.”

“Who you’ve known my whole life.”

“Yep.”

Stack leaned back dramatically. “I’m living in a goddamn Tyler Perry script.”

Smoke laughed louder at that because Annie despised that silver wig-wearing man. Smoke put on one of the plays as background noise a few years ago, and not even ten minutes later his wife was going on a rant about the rancid way he writes Black women.

For a moment, things felt light. They felt almost normal.

Smoke’s expression sobered again as he studied Stack carefully before bringing the matter at hand back up.

“Aight,” he cleared his throat. “One more thing.”

Stack straightened. “Yeah?”

“What you thinkin’ about saying to our parents?”

Stack’s smile faded, and the air shifted.

“I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday,” Stack admitted. “Nonstop.”

“Me too.”

Stack rubbed his hands together, gaze distant. “I don’t know if I wanna walk up to Mom and scream,” he said. “Or ask her why I wasn’t worth the truth.”

Smoke clenched his jaw. “I wanna know why Daddy let me grow up thinking my mama was dead,” he muttered. “Why he stole my chance to know her and you.”

They sat with that for a second. Two grown men physically but deep down two boys who’d been split in two by lies.

Smoke exhaled. “You think we should do this together or separate?”

Stack looked up. “Confront them?”

“Mmhmm."

He thought long and hard. “Together,” Stack decided.

Smoke’s brows lifted slightly. “Why come?”

“Because they divided us once,” Stack replied. “I’m not letting them do it again.”

Something fierce lit in Smoke’s eyes.

“Damn,” he sighed. “You startin’ to sound like me.”

Stack smirked. “Nigga, I am you. Just fifteen minutes younger—you know CP Time or whatever.”

Smoke snorted, but he still nodded his head in agreement. “Together.”

The younger twin reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Give me your real number.”

Smoke grinned. “Imma block yo ass if you send too many memes.”

“I’ll limit it to two a day,” Stack said. “But I’m not losing touch with you ever again if I can help it.”

Smoke called out the digits and Stack recited it once more before saving the contact as Big Brother.

Then Smoke handed his phone over.

“Mine,” he said. “Personal. Not the business one.”

Stack took it carefully and typed his number in before handing it back. Smoke checked the contact name and chuckled.

Lil (only by 15 mins) Brother

They looked at each other with genuine smiles on their faces. Their shoulders less tense now that they have a plan.

“Tomorrow night,” Smoke proposed. “We start setting shit straight. We’ll go see Daddy together. Him and Sammie gon’ be playing at Club Juke.”

Stack nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Smoke extended his hand, and Stack gripped it, shaking firmly.

“You got something important to do, or do you want a tour of the place?”

“Nah, spending more time with you is important, man. Show me everything.”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the Mississippi sky, and for the first time in nearly three decades, Elijah and Elias Moore were facing the future side by side instead of hundreds of miles apart.

[randomwordprompts]

Ohhh this is getting goodt!

[uceyliyahh]

TRIGGERED

summary: Yasmin and Jimmy are tied together by history, daughters, and a co-parenting arrangement that looks peaceful from the outside but is fueled by resentment, jealousy, and unfinished business. They swear they can keep it about the kids, until new partners enter the picture and old wounds get pressed on purpose.

Jimmy flaunts his girlfriend to prove he’s moved on. Yasmin dates a man who’s supposed to be better… but turns out to be worse. Every interaction becomes a trigger. Pick-ups feel like confrontations. Small comments hit like grenades. And while Yasmin insists she hates Jimmy, the truth is messier, the love never left, it just hardened. As her new relationship grows darker and Jimmy’s possessiveness resurfaces, the line between protection and control blurs.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings contain: none

word count: 8.k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Yasmin

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title love her downnn 🫶🏽

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @empressdede @biancasreign @piinkbenjamins @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @trippiexlove @wisteria-bae @wrestlingprincess80 @jeyseyes @liv4jey @shanthefemalerapper

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @dreamgirljey @spiicii @mikaelsonharem7 @magnificentbouquetmusic @antanamobay @yourleogf @keenagurl @ambersinterlude @amazinggirlsstuff @randomwordprompts @jeyusosqueen @uceyjucey

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chapter eight

Pensacola, Florida - 5:30PM.

Milani reset quickly, her sneakers squeaking softly against the polished gym floor as she shifted into position. The opposite team managed to recover this time, sending the ball sailing back over the net in a high arc. Milani's eyes tracked it immediately, her body reacting before her mind could even catch up.

"Mine!" she called out, loud and clear.

She dropped low, knees bent, arms locked together as the ball came down fast. It smacked cleanly against her wrists, popping up into the air with control instead of panic. The pass wasn't perfect, but it was solid—exactly what her coach had drilled into her.

"Good bump!" someone shouted from the sideline.

Her teammate rushed under it, setting the ball high toward the middle. Milani didn't hesitate. She pushed off the floor and moved forward, sliding into the front of the net, fingers flexing as she got ready. Her breathing slowed, shoulders relaxed, eyes laser-focused on the ball floating above her.

Yasmin held her breath again, nails digging lightly into her palm as she watched the play unfold. She knew that look on Milani's face—that quiet determination, the way she shut everything else out. Jimmy noticed it too, his posture straightening as pride swelled in his chest.

"There you go," he muttered. "That's you."

The set dropped just right.

Milani timed it perfectly, jumping with both feet, arm swinging back before snapping forward. She struck the ball with force, sending it straight down toward the open space on the other side of the court. The opposing team scrambled, one girl diving late, fingertips barely grazing it—but not enough.

The ball hit the floor.

Point.

The whistle blew, and the crowd clapped again, cheers rippling through the gym. Milani landed and pumped her fist once, a quick, subtle celebration before turning to her teammates. They swarmed her immediately, hyping her up, patting her back, telling her "good hit" and "keep going."

Miyori was practically bouncing out of her seat now. "She did it again!" she yelled, tugging on Yasmin's sleeve.

Yasmin laughed softly, wrapping an arm around her youngest. "That's your sister," she said proudly. "She's locked in today."

Jimmy glanced at Yasmin, catching the pride in her voice, the glow on her face. "She really is," he said quietly. "She's grown so much."

For a brief moment, the tension of everything else—Ciara's presence, the complicated emotions, the unfinished conversations—faded into the background. All that mattered was the court, their daughter shining under the gym lights, and the shared pride that neither of them could deny.

On the court, Milani wiped her hands on her shorts, rolled her shoulders, and got back into position, ready for whatever came next. She wasn't nervous anymore.

She was in her zone.

The referee signaled for a substitution, and one of the players jogged off the court as Miyori stepped forward, helmet of nerves and excitement written all over her face. She tugged at the hem of her jersey, glanced toward the bleachers, and immediately locked eyes with Yasmin. Yasmin lifted both hands and gave her a reassuring nod, mouthing, "You got this." 

Jimmy stood a little straighter beside her, his jaw tightening with focus as his youngest took the floor.

Miyori moved into position next to Milani, the sisters exchanging a quick look and a subtle fist bump—something they had clearly practiced together at home. 

Milani leaned in just enough to whisper something encouraging, and Miyori's shoulders visibly relaxed. Whatever jitters she had were replaced by determination.

The whistle blew, and the serve came flying over the net. Miyori reacted a split second late but corrected quickly, shuffling her feet and lowering her stance. The ball came straight toward her zone. She swallowed, locked her arms, and bumped it up. It wasn't perfect, but it stayed in play.

"Good save!" the coach called out.

Miyori's eyes lit up at the praise, confidence building with every second. The rally continued, the ball moving back and forth as both teams fought to control the pace. 

Milani stayed vocal, calling out plays, directing traffic like a natural leader. Miyori followed her cues closely, mirroring her movements, trusting her sister completely.

Another serve came over, faster this time. Miyori anticipated it better, stepping into the ball and passing it cleanly to the setter. 

The play flowed smoothly from there—set, spike, scramble. When the opposing team sent the ball back, Miyori was ready again, knees bent, eyes sharp.

In the stands, Yasmin clasped her hands together, barely blinking. Seeing both her girls out there together did something to her chest—pride, nerves, love all tangled up at once. Jimmy noticed, his arm brushing lightly against hers as if grounding both of them in the moment.

"They're really working together," he said quietly. "Look at them."

Yasmin nodded. "They always do."

The point ended in their favor, and Miyori let out a small smile, clapping along with her teammates. Milani reached over and squeezed her hand briefly before jogging back into position. It was a simple gesture, but it said everything.

The game pressed on, momentum building. Miyori grew more comfortable with each play, her movements less hesitant, her voice louder as she called for the ball. By the time the next whistle blew, she looked like she had been on that court all season.

From the sidelines, Ciara watched too, her expression unreadable as the crowd cheered again. But for Yasmin and Jimmy, the rest of the gym blurred away.

 All they saw were their daughters—focused, confident, and shining together under the bright lights—proving, play by play, that they belonged right where they were.

The referee raised her hand and blew the whistle, signaling the rotation. The girls shuffled into their new positions, sneakers squeaking softly against the polished gym floor. Miyori took a deep breath when she realized it was her turn to serve. She walked back toward the baseline, clutching the ball a little tighter than before.

From the bleachers, Yasmin felt her heart quicken. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, eyes locked on her youngest. Jimmy stood beside her now, arms crossed, his attention fully focused on the court. He didn't say anything, but the pride was written all over his face.

Miyori bounced the ball once. Twice. Three times.

The noise of the gym seemed to fade as she centered herself, remembering everything she'd practiced—feet planted, shoulders squared, eyes on the target. She glanced up briefly, scanning the opposite side of the court, then brought her gaze back down to the ball in her hands.

The whistle echoed again.

Miyori tossed the ball into the air, her arm swinging back before snapping forward. Her hand connected solidly, and the ball sailed over the net in a clean arc. It wasn't rushed, not hesitant either—just controlled.

The ball dropped into the back corner of the opposing team's court, forcing one of their players to scramble. She barely got her arms under it, popping it up awkwardly.

"Let's go, Miyori!" someone shouted from the stands.

The opposing team managed to send the ball back over, but it came over messy and off-balance. Milani was already moving, calling out loudly, "Mine!" She bumped it up cleanly, and the setter followed through smoothly.

Miyori hustled forward, staying light on her feet, ready for whatever came next. The ball went up, and one of their teammates spiked it, sending it back hard. The other team dove for it but couldn't recover in time.

The referee blew the whistle.

Point.

Miyori's face lit up instantly. She clapped her hands together, a wide smile spreading across her face as her teammates rushed in to congratulate her. Milani wrapped an arm around her shoulders briefly, saying something that made Miyori laugh.

In the stands, Yasmin let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She smiled so hard her cheeks hurt, pride swelling in her chest.

"That's my baby," she murmured.

Jimmy nodded, a small grin tugging at his lips. "She did that."

The girls reset for the next serve, and Miyori walked back to the line again, posture straighter now, confidence radiating from her. 

This time, there was no hesitation in her movements—just focus, determination, and the quiet thrill of knowing she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

The game continued at a steady pace, the gym filled with the constant rhythm of whistles, sneakers, and parents calling out encouragement. 

When Yasmin glanced up at the scoreboard and saw that the girls' school was still in the lead, a small smile tugged at her lips. She stood up from the bleachers, grabbing her purse.

"I'm about to hit the concession stand real quick," she murmured, mostly to herself.

Jimmy looked over at her immediately. "I'll walk with you."

He didn't wait for an answer before standing, and the two of them slipped out of the bleacher row together. Ciara stayed seated, her jaw tightening slightly as she watched them walk off side by side, but neither Yasmin nor Jimmy looked back.

The hallway outside the gym was noticeably quieter, the noise of the game muffled behind the closed doors. The smell of popcorn and nachos hung in the air as they walked toward the concession stand, their steps naturally falling into sync like they'd done this a thousand times before.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Jimmy broke the silence first. "They're doing good out there," he said, nodding back toward the gym.

"They really are," Yasmin replied softly. "They've been practicing so hard. I'm proud of them."

"I know you are," he said, glancing at her. "You always show up for them."

She felt that familiar warmth in her chest at his words, the kind that made her both comforted and unsettled. They reached the concession stand, and Yasmin ordered herself a water and a small bag of chips. Jimmy paid without asking, sliding his card across the counter before she could protest.

"Jimmy—" she started.

"Don't," he said quietly, already taking the drinks from the volunteer. "It's nothing."

They stepped off to the side, leaning against the wall near a trophy case filled with old plaques and dusty awards. The hallway light reflected faintly off the glass, casting a soft glow around them.

This close, it felt different. Intimate. Private.

Jimmy turned toward her, lowering his voice. "You good?" he asked, eyes searching her face like he was really asking more than just that.

Yasmin nodded, then hesitated. "Yeah... I think so. It's just a lot sometimes."

"I know," he said immediately. "You don't gotta explain that to me."

That made her look up at him. Their eyes met, and for a second the world outside that hallway felt like it disappeared. No Ciara. No Derrick. No complications. Just them.

"You don't have to do all this," she said quietly. "Following me around, checking in on me... I'm fine."

Jimmy let out a soft breath, a half-smile pulling at his lips. "You say that every time. And every time, I still wanna make sure."

She shook her head slightly, trying not to smile back. "You're impossible."

"And you love that about me," he countered, just as quietly.

The way he said it wasn't cocky—it was familiar. Certain.

Yasmin shifted her weight, clutching her water a little tighter. "You know people are watching," she murmured, eyes flicking briefly toward the gym doors.

"I know," he said. "That's why I'm standing right here, not touching you."

The words shouldn't have meant anything, but they did. Her heart thumped harder than it needed to.

Jimmy leaned in just a fraction, close enough that only she could hear him. "But don't get it twisted," he added. "If this was anywhere else... I'd be doing a lot more than just talking."

Her breath caught for half a second before she masked it, rolling her eyes lightly. "You really don't know how to chill."

He chuckled under his breath. "Not when it comes to you."

The gym doors suddenly opened, letting a wave of noise spill back into the hallway—cheering, clapping, the referee's whistle. The moment cracked but didn't fully disappear.

Jimmy straightened, taking a small step back, giving her space. "We should head back in. Don't wanna miss anything."

"Yeah," she agreed, though part of her didn't want to move just yet.

They walked back toward the gym together, side by side once more. As they reached the doors, Jimmy glanced at her again, his voice low and sincere.

"I meant what I said earlier," he told her. "I'm here. Always."

Yasmin nodded, unable to find the right words, so she just said, "I know."

And somehow, that was enough—for now. Before they could step back through the gym doors, Jimmy's hand came out almost instinctively, settling at her waist. It wasn't rough or possessive—just firm enough to stop her for half a second. Yasmin barely had time to react before he leaned down and pressed a quick, soft peck to her lips.

It was brief. Barely there.

But it felt heavy.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as she looked up at him, her heart instantly racing like she'd just been caught doing something she knew she shouldn't. Jimmy pulled back just as quickly, his forehead almost brushing hers, his thumb lingering at her waist for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he dropped his hand.

"Jimmy," she whispered, half warning, half breathless.

He smirked slightly, but there was something earnest in his eyes too. "Couldn't help myself."

She glanced around immediately, checking the hallway, the concession stand, the open gym doors—anywhere someone could've seen them. Her nerves were buzzing, not from fear, but from how easily he still unraveled her.

"You're wild," she muttered, shaking her head, though her lips were still warm from his.

"And you love it," he replied quietly.

She didn't answer that. She couldn't—not without admitting too much.

The gym doors opened again as a group of parents walked out, snapping them both back into reality. Jimmy straightened fully, slipping his hands into his pockets like nothing had happened, his expression shifting back into neutral calm. Yasmin adjusted her purse on her shoulder, smoothing her top as if she needed something to ground herself.

They walked back inside together, but this time there was a small space between them—necessary, intentional. The bleachers came back into view, along with the familiar sounds of the game continuing. Milani was back on the court, focused and locked in, Miyori cheering from the sidelines.

Yasmin slid back into her seat, taking a sip of her water to cool herself down. Her heart was still pounding, her thoughts scattered, replaying that split second over and over in her head.

Jimmy sat a row behind her this time, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes on the court like nothing had happened. But every now and then, she could feel his gaze flicker toward her, quick and subtle.

Ciara noticed.

She always did.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she glanced between them, sensing the shift—the closeness, the ease, the unspoken thing sitting in the air. 

She pressed her lips together, clapping when the crowd clapped, but the tension in her shoulders was unmistakable.

Yasmin tried to focus on the game, on her daughters, on the way Milani moved confidently across the court and how Miyori bounced on her toes, ready to jump back in. But her mind kept drifting back to that kiss.

So small.

So simple.

So dangerous.

Because it reminded her of how easy it was for them to slip right back into each other—no effort, no hesitation—like nothing had ever broken them apart in the first place.

✎𓂃

The energy in the gym shifted as the game picked up speed, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor mixing with whistles, clapping, and parents calling out encouragement from the bleachers. Milani and Miyori were locked in now—completely in sync with each other and their teammates, moving like they'd been doing this together forever.

"Mine!" Milani shouted, her voice clear and confident as she darted to the left, arms out, bumping the ball cleanly into the air. Her eyes immediately flicked toward the front of the net where Miyori was already in position, knees bent, hands ready, eyes sharp.

"Up! Up!" Miyori called, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

Milani didn't hesitate. She adjusted her footing, pushed the ball upward with precision, setting it perfectly. The ball arced just high enough, just right.

Miyori jumped.

For a split second, everything felt slow. Her small body lifted off the ground, ponytail flying as she swung her arm back and then forward with all the confidence she could muster. Her palm connected with the ball, sending it flying over the net and slamming down onto the other side of the court.

The gym erupted.

"Yes!" Yasmin jumped to her feet instinctively, clapping hard, pride flooding her chest. "That's my baby!"

Jimmy was already on his feet too, a wide grin breaking across his face as he pumped his fist. "That's what I'm talkin' about! Let's go!"

Jey whistled loudly from a few rows down, Roman laughing as he shook his head. "They really out here cookin'," he said proudly.

Even Mama Fatu stood up, hands clasped, beaming as she called out their names with a proud, almost emotional smile.

Milani and Miyori shared a quick look across the court—just a second—but it said everything. Miyori pointed at Milani with a grin, Milani nodding back like, I got you. 

Their teammates rushed in, giving them quick high-fives before scrambling back into position as the referee blew the whistle again.

Yasmin felt her chest tighten, but in the best way. Moments like this made everything else feel smaller—the stress, the confusion, the mess of adult feelings she'd been drowning in lately. Watching her girls thrive, work together, trust each other—it grounded her.

She glanced over her shoulder briefly, catching Jimmy's eye. He was still smiling, pride written all over his face, his gaze fixed on the girls as if nothing else in the room mattered. When their eyes met, there was a quiet understanding there—no words, no touching, just shared pride.

Ciara noticed that too.

She crossed her arms, clapping politely, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with how natural it all looked—the way Yasmin and Jimmy existed in the same space without effort, without tension showing on the surface.

On the court, the opposing team served the ball back, and the rally continued. Milani dove low to keep it alive, sliding slightly on the floor as she popped it back up. Another teammate sent it across, only for it to come right back over the net.

"Back! Back!" Milani yelled.

Miyori moved fast, adjusting her stance, bumping the ball toward another teammate before resetting herself at the net again, ready for whatever came next. They were communicating constantly, voices overlapping, trusting each other completely.

The scoreboard ticked up another point in their favor.

Yasmin exhaled slowly, hands clasped together, whispering, "They're really doing so good."

Jimmy leaned forward slightly, his voice low but warm. "They always do. They get that from you."

She didn't respond right away, but her lips curved into a small smile as she looked back toward the court, her heart full watching her daughters shine—together.

Ciara saw it out of the corner of her eye at first—so subtle she almost questioned whether she imagined it. Jimmy's hand rested lightly on Yasmin's thigh, not bold, not exaggerated, just... familiar. Casual. Protective. Like it belonged there.

Her jaw tightened.

She shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing as she watched the way his thumb moved just slightly, not rubbing, not squeezing—just there. Present. The kind of touch you didn't think about when it meant nothing, but couldn't ignore when it meant everything.

Yasmin didn't react right away. She was focused on the court, eyes locked on Milani as she repositioned herself, calling out to her teammates. But after a second, Yasmin glanced down, noticed Jimmy's hand, and instead of pulling away, she relaxed into it. Her posture softened, her knee angling just a little toward him like it was instinctive.

That did something to Ciara's chest she didn't like.

She forced herself to clap when the crowd did, the sound sharp against her palms. Her smile stayed in place, but it was stiff now, rehearsed. She looked around the gym, suddenly hyperaware of everything—the noise, the people, the way Jimmy didn't even look at her once.

Jimmy's attention was split only two ways: the girls on the court and Yasmin beside him.

Roman leaned forward a bit, eyes flicking between Jimmy's hand and Ciara's expression, then back to the game like he hadn't seen a thing. Jey caught it too, biting back a smirk as he focused very hard on the scoreboard.

On the court, Miyori rotated back, getting ready for the next serve. Milani shot a quick look toward the bleachers, spotting her parents. Her face lit up when she saw them both watching, and she gave a small, confident nod before turning back to the game.

Jimmy leaned in slightly toward Yasmin, his voice low. "They killing it today."

Yasmin nodded, smiling. "They really are."

His hand stayed where it was.

Ciara crossed her legs, adjusting her jacket, trying to remind herself she was supposed to be here for the girls, not whatever this quiet, unspoken thing was between the two people sitting a seat away from her. But the truth sat heavy in her stomach.

This didn't look like co-parenting.

It looked like history.

It looked like comfort.

It looked like something that never really left.

The teams rotated to opposite sides of the court for the second set, sneakers squeaking loudly against the polished gym floor as the girls reset their positions. The referee blew the whistle, and the opposing team's server bounced the ball twice before sending it sailing over the net.

"Mine!" Milani called out immediately, her voice clear and confident.

She planted her feet, knees bent, eyes tracking the ball as it dropped. With a clean bump off her forearms, she sent it high and controlled toward the center of the court.

"Here!" Miyori called back, already moving.

Miyori slid into position smoothly, hands up, fingers spread, eyes sharp. She adjusted under the ball and pushed it up with precision, setting it perfectly near the net. The timing was clean—muscle memory and practice working exactly as they were supposed to.

"Good set!" one of their teammates shouted.

The hitter rushed forward and spiked the ball over, forcing the other team to scramble. The crowd reacted instantly—parents leaning forward, voices rising, claps echoing through the gym.

Yasmin sat up straighter, hands clasped together now, eyes glued to the play. Jimmy leaned forward too, focus intense, his jaw tight in that familiar way he got when he was locked in.

"Talk to each other," he muttered under his breath, like they could hear him.

The opposing team managed to get the ball back over, but it wasn't clean. Milani was already moving again, calling it out, guiding her teammates with quick hand signals. Miyori stayed light on her feet, tracking every movement, ready to adjust.

They were in sync.

Another pass. Another set. The rhythm of the game picked up, back-and-forth, the score creeping higher on the board. Every time the sisters connected, the bench erupted, and Mama Fatu clapped proudly, calling their names from the stands.

Ciara watched too, but her attention kept drifting—not to the court, but to the way Jimmy reacted every time the girls made a good play. The pride on his face was unmistakable. Raw. Unfiltered.

On the court, Miyori rotated back again as the whistle blew, the point going in their favor. She flashed Milani a quick grin, and Milani grinned right back.

They were locked in.

Focused.

Winning.

And from the stands, everyone could feel it—this second set was going to be a good one.

Yasmin glanced up at the scoreboard, the bright red numbers glowing against the wall. Their daughter's school was clearly in the lead now, the gap wide enough to make her chest swell with pride. A small smile tugged at her lips before she leaned slightly toward Jimmy, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

"They really doing their thing out there," she whispered, eyes still on the court. "I told you all that extra practice was gonna pay off."

Jimmy let out a quiet chuckle, nodding as his gaze followed Milani moving confidently across the floor. "Yeah," he murmured back, just as low. "They locked in. You can tell."

His arm rested casually along the back of the bleachers behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence without him fully touching her. When Miyori made a clean save near the net and the crowd cheered again, Jimmy leaned in a little more.

"That's all you," he added softly. "You the one stay on them about discipline and fundamentals."

Yasmin shook her head slightly, smiling. "It's both of us. They get that fire from you."

For a brief second, their eyes met—one of those quiet looks loaded with history, pride, and something unspoken. Then the whistle blew again, pulling their attention back to the game as Milani rotated into position, ready for the next play.

The moment passed just as quickly as it came, but the energy between them lingered, warm and familiar, as the gym buzzed with cheers and the girls continued to dominate the court.

Ciara caught it immediately.

The way Jimmy leaned closer to Yasmin, their shoulders nearly touching. The way his body angled toward her without him even realizing it. It wasn't loud. It wasn't obvious. But it was intimate in the quietest, most dangerous way—and Ciara felt it like a slap to the chest.

She scoffed under her breath, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms tighter over her chest.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, jaw clenching.

A few rows down, Jey noticed too. He followed Ciara's line of sight, then glanced back at Jimmy and Yasmin, lips twitching as Roman leaned over beside him.

"Yeah," Roman murmured low, eyes fixed on the scene. "That ain't just co-parenting."

Jey shook his head slowly, a knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. "Man been cooked. He don't even see it."

On the court, the whistle blew again and the girls reset, Milani clapping her hands and calling out positions while Miyori adjusted her stance near the net. The crowd buzzed, parents cheering, sneakers squeaking against the gym floor—but Ciara wasn't watching the game anymore.

She was watching Jimmy.

Watching how he laughed softly at something Yasmin said.

Watching how his knee angled toward hers.

Watching how comfortable he looked—too comfortable.

Her fingers curled into her palm as jealousy simmered just beneath the surface. She had come here to make a point. To show she belonged next to him. Instead, she felt like an outsider watching a family moment she wasn't part of.

Jimmy, for his part, stayed focused on the court—but every now and then, his attention drifted back to Yasmin without effort, without thought. It felt natural. Easy. Like muscle memory.

And Jey and Roman? They clocked all of it.

Roman leaned back, folding his arms. "She mad-mad."

Jey exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. And this game ain't even over yet."

As Milani served again and the crowd erupted, tension settled thick over the bleachers—unspoken, undeniable—while Ciara sat there simmering, realizing that no matter how hard she tried, she was competing with history.

✎𓂃

The whistle blew sharply, echoing through the gym as the referee signaled a timeout. The girls jogged toward their bench, breathing hard, ponytails swinging as the coach immediately started talking—hands moving, voice firm but encouraging. Milani leaned forward with her hands on her knees, listening closely, while Miyori nodded along, eyes focused, absorbing every word about coverage and communication.

In the bleachers, the energy shifted.

Yasmin exhaled slowly and leaned back against the seat, pulling her phone from her purse. She scrolled absentmindedly at first—notifications, a few unread messages—though her attention wasn't really on the screen. Her eyes kept drifting back to the court, watching her girls huddle up, pride swelling in her chest despite the nerves.

Beside her, Jimmy mirrored the motion, leaning back too, phone in hand but barely looking at it. His jaw tightened slightly as he tracked the score in his head. He hated when momentum shifted against his kids' team—it put him on edge in a way he couldn't explain.

That's when he noticed Ciara.

She stood abruptly from the bench a few seats away, phone clutched in her hand, face tight and unreadable. She didn't say anything—just turned and walked toward the exit leading to the bathrooms, heels clicking sharply against the gym floor.

Jimmy's eyes followed her for a second longer than necessary.

Before he could say anything, Jey leaned forward and tapped him firmly on the shoulder.

"Twin," Jey said low, his tone serious now, none of the teasing from earlier. "You see that?"

Jimmy glanced at him. "Yeah. She went to the bathroom."

Jey shook his head slowly. "Nah. That wasn't just a bathroom trip."

Roman leaned in from the other side, arms crossed over his chest, eyes still tracking the direction Ciara disappeared in. "She heated," he added bluntly. "Been watching you all game, bro. And not the kids."

Jimmy exhaled through his nose and ran a hand over his face, irritation flickering across his features. "Man, I told her this was about the girls."

Jey raised an eyebrow. "You told her. But your body language telling a whole different story."

Jimmy shot him a look, but it lacked real bite. He glanced back at Yasmin without thinking—how she sat there calm but tense, leg bouncing slightly, eyes locked on the court like nothing else mattered.

That right there was the problem.

Roman tilted his head. "You gon' check on her?"

Jimmy hesitated. Just a second too long.

"Nah," he finally said. "Not right now. Game ain't over."

Jey let out a low chuckle. "That answer tells me everything."

On the court, the coach clapped her hands, calling the girls back in. The timeout ended, sneakers squeaking as the teams reset. Milani glanced up briefly, eyes scanning the bleachers until she spotted Jimmy and Yasmin—her face breaking into a quick smile before she got back into position.

Yasmin locked eyes with her daughter and gave her an encouraging nod, mouthing, You got this.

Jimmy leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, focus snapping back to the game—but the tension lingered. Ciara hadn't come back yet. And everyone in that section of the bleachers could feel it.

This wasn't just about volleyball anymore as Jimmy's hand settled at her waist so naturally that it startled her.

Yasmin inhaled sharply and turned her head toward him, brows lifting in quiet surprise. His palm was warm and firm against her side, fingers resting just above her hip like they belonged there—like they had every right to be there. For a split second, neither of them said anything.

"What you doing?" she murmured, keeping her voice low even though the gym was loud with whistles and sneakers squeaking.

Jimmy didn't move his hand. If anything, his thumb pressed in slightly, grounding. He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers as his gaze stayed fixed on the court. "Relax," he said under his breath. "I'm just watching my kids."

She scoffed softly, though there was no real heat behind it. "With your hand on me?"

He finally turned his head to look at her then—really look at her. His almond-brown eyes softened, the intensity easing just enough to make her stomach flip.

"Didn't hear you tell me to move it," he replied quietly.

Yasmin swallowed, her eyes flickering down to his hand and then back up to his face. The truth was, she hadn't told him to move because a part of her didn't want him to. Being this close, feeling his touch in public like it was the most normal thing in the world, made her chest ache in a way she hated admitting.

"You don't care who see?" she asked, nodding subtly toward the bleachers.

Jimmy shrugged, unapologetic. "Let 'em see. I ain't doing nothing wrong."

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue—but the whistle blew again, drawing their attention back to the game. The girls were back in formation, Miyori crouched low, Milani calling out positions.

Jimmy leaned in just enough that only she could hear him. "They winning," he said. "That's all that matter right now."

Yasmin nodded, forcing herself to refocus. "Yeah. They playing good."

His hand stayed right where it was.

Across the gym, Roman clocked the whole thing and shook his head with a knowing smirk. Jey leaned over, whispering something under his breath, clearly amused.

And when Yasmin glanced up toward the bench out of instinct, her heart dropped just a little—because Ciara had returned.

She was standing now, not sitting, eyes locked directly on Jimmy's hand at Yasmin's waist. Her jaw tightened, lips pressed thin, jealousy written all over her face.

Yasmin looked back at Jimmy. "She staring," she whispered.

Jimmy didn't even turn around this time. "Let her."

That confidence—so careless, so sure—sent another rush through her. She shook her head slightly, muttering, "You really don't help situations."

He leaned closer again, voice low and steady. "I help where I need to."

On the court, Milani served the ball clean, the crowd erupting in cheers as the opposing team fumbled the return.

Yasmin jumped up instinctively, clapping and cheering, forgetting everything else for a moment. Jimmy stood with her, his hand finally slipping from her waist to grab her hand instead, lifting it in celebration.

Their fingers stayed intertwined longer than necessary.

And neither of them pulled away.

The gym grew louder as the scoreboard ticked over—tied game. The tension was immediate and thick, like everyone in the building collectively held their breath.

Yasmin slowly sat back down on the bleachers, eyes locked on the court. Jimmy followed, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. This time, neither of them acknowledged it. 

The girls on the court were huddled briefly with their coach, hands on knees, sweat glistening under the gym lights as they listened intently.

"Last set," Yasmin whispered, more to herself than to him.

Jimmy nodded, jaw tight. "They got this."

The whistle blew, sharp and final, slicing through the noise. The ball went up.

The opposing team served first—hard and fast. Milani called it immediately, voice cutting through the chaos as she bumped it cleanly toward the middle. 

Miyori moved without hesitation, setting it perfectly. Their teammate went up for the spike, but the other team barely managed to save it, sending the ball back over the net in a scramble.

Yasmin leaned forward, fingers gripping the edge of the bleacher. "Come on, babies..."

Jimmy's focus was laser sharp, eyes tracking every movement. His foot bounced once, then stilled.

The rally stretched on—back and forth, neither team willing to give an inch. Shoes squeaked. The ball smacked against wrists and palms. Parents shouted encouragement from every direction.

"Mine!" Milani yelled, diving low.

She popped the ball up just enough.

"Miyo!" she called.

Miyori didn't hesitate. She sprinted forward, timed it perfectly, and jumped—small body, big confidence. Her arm swung down, striking the ball with everything she had.

Point.

The gym erupted.

Yasmin shot to her feet with a gasp, hands flying to her mouth before she started clapping wildly, tears stinging her eyes. "Oh my God—did you see that?!"

Jimmy let out a sharp laugh, pride written all over his face as he stood too. "That's my kids," he said firmly. "That's all them."

On the court, Milani ran straight to her sister, the two colliding in a tight hug before scrambling back into position. Their teammates joined in, hyped and loud, confidence surging.

Across the bleachers, Ciara remained standing—but her attention wasn't fully on the game anymore. Her eyes flicked between Jimmy and Yasmin, catching how close they were, how easily they moved together. Her arms folded tightly across her chest.

Roman leaned over toward Jey. "She mad mad," he muttered.

Jey snorted quietly. "She should be watching the game like everybody else."

The whistle blew again. Match point.

Yasmin felt Jimmy's shoulder brush hers as he leaned in. "No matter what," he said quietly, "they did their thing."

She nodded, voice thick. "I'm so proud of them."

The serve came in again—this time sloppy. Milani intercepted, passed it clean. Miyori set it high.

The ball hung in the air for just a second too long.

Milani moved.

She jumped, arm swinging down with precision and confidence beyond her years.

The ball hit the floor on the other side.

Game.

For a half-second, there was silence—then the gym exploded with cheers.

Yasmin cried out, laughter and tears mixing as she covered her face. "They won. Jimmy—they won."

He didn't even think about it. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, holding her close as they watched their daughters celebrate on the court, jumping and hugging their teammates.

"I told you," he murmured. "They got it in them."

She didn't pull away right away. She let herself lean into him, let herself feel that familiar strength, that shared pride. For a moment, everything else faded—the tension, the complications, the people watching.

Then reality crept back in.

She felt it when his arm loosened slightly. When she straightened. When she remembered where they were.

Across the gym, Ciara turned sharply and grabbed her bag, irritation flashing across her face as she headed toward the exit without a word.

Jey watched her go, then glanced back at Jimmy. "She gone," he said under his breath.

Jimmy exhaled slowly, eyes still on the court where Milani and Miyori were being congratulated by their coach. "Aight."

Yasmin looked up at him. "You good?"

He met her gaze, expression unreadable but steady. "Yeah. I'm where I'm supposed to be."

The girls finally spotted them in the crowd and waved wildly, grinning ear to ear.

Yasmin waved back, heart full.

Whatever this was between her and Jimmy—unfinished, complicated, undeniable—it wasn't going away, and right now, standing in a loud gym with their daughters celebrating a hard-earned win, it felt like the one thing that made sense.

Milani and Miyori came sprinting off the court the second the whistle officially ended, ponytails flying, faces flushed and glowing with excitement. They didn't even slow down—just barreled straight toward Yasmin and Jimmy.

"WE WON!" Milani shouted, practically leaping into Yasmin's arms.

Yasmin barely had time to brace herself before she was crouching down, arms wrapped tight around both girls, laughing through happy tears. "I know! I saw it! Y'all were amazing out there."

Miyori squeezed in too, hugging Yasmin around the neck before twisting to grab Jimmy's hand. "Papa, did you see my serve? I didn't mess it up this time!"

Jimmy dropped down to one knee instantly, pulling her in against his chest. "I saw everything," he said proudly. "You was locked in. Both of y'all."

Milani puffed her chest out. "Me and Miyo was communicating. Coach said that's why we won."

"That's what teamwork do," Jimmy replied, tapping her forehead gently. "I'm proud of y'all for real."

Around them, parents were clapping, teammates celebrating, coaches giving high-fives. The gym buzzed with post-game energy—laughter, chatter, sneakers squeaking against the floor.

Mama Fatu came walking over next, arms wide. "Come give Grandma some sugar," she said, pulling the girls into another hug. "I been telling everybody, my grandbabies don't play."

Roman laughed. "They was cooking out there."

Jey leaned down toward Milani. "That spike? Yeah, that was nasty work."

Milani grinned. "Uncle Jey, you saw that too?"

"Clear as day," he said. "I might need to start repping y'all team."

Yasmin stood back up, wiping her cheeks, heart feeling so full it almost hurt. She glanced at Jimmy without meaning to—and caught him already looking at her. Not loud. Not obvious. Just that quiet look he got when something mattered to him.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Jimmy broke it, voice low. "You did good with them," he said. "They listen to you."

She shrugged softly. "They listen to you too."

Milani suddenly grabbed both of their hands, one small hand in each. "Can we get ice cream now? Mama said maybe."

Jimmy raised a brow, looking at Yasmin. "Did you?"

She smiled despite herself. "I said after the game, yeah."

"Say less," Jimmy said. "Ice cream on me. Championship rules."

The girls cheered again, already arguing about flavors as they tugged them both toward the exit.

Behind them, Jey muttered to Roman, "Yeah... this look like a family if I ever seen one."

Roman nodded. "Mm-hmm. Ciara picked the wrong day to come prove a point."

Out in the parking lot, the sun was starting to dip, casting everything in warm gold. Jimmy opened the car doors while Yasmin helped the girls with their bags, the routine natural—too natural.

As Milani climbed in, she looked between them with a knowing little smile. "Y'all was sitting real close today."

Yasmin froze. "Girl—"

Jimmy laughed. "Mind your business and buckle up."

Milani giggled, snapping her seatbelt in place.

Yasmin shook her head, amused, then turned toward Jimmy as he closed the trunk. Their eyes met again, the noise of the day settling into something quieter.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly.

"Wasn't nowhere else I was gonna be," he replied just as quietly.

And as they pulled out of the school parking lot—two proud parents, two sleepy champions in the backseat—it was clear that whatever they were trying to avoid, whatever lines they kept pretending weren't blurred...

...life kept pushing them right back together.

✎𓂃

After the ice cream stop, the girls were quiet in the backseat—sticky fingers wiped clean, bellies full, heads already starting to nod as the sugar crash set in. Jimmy pulled into Yasmin's driveway smoothly, the engine idling for a moment as the house lights came into view. He glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling faintly when he saw Milani leaning against Miyori, both half-asleep.

He cut the engine and turned toward Yasmin, resting his arm casually against the center console. "I gotta head to the shop in a minute," he said, voice relaxed but his eyes stayed on her a beat longer than necessary. "We got a late lock-in tonight. Some prep for tomorrow."

She nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Yeah, I figured. You been busy."

He tilted his head slightly. "What you got planned later?"

She hesitated—not because she didn't know, but because of the way he asked. Like he cared. Like he wanted to be included, even if he wouldn't say it outright. "Honestly? Nothin' major," she replied. "Probably put the girls down, shower, try to relax. It's been a long day."

Jimmy hummed softly, eyes drifting to her lips for half a second before he checked himself. "You deserve that. Today was a lot."

Milani suddenly stirred, rubbing her eyes. "Mama... are we home?"

"Yeah, baby," Yasmin said gently, turning to help her. "Come on."

Jimmy was already out of the car, opening the back door before Yasmin could even reach for the handle. He scooped Miyori up carefully, cradling her against his chest like it was second nature. Yasmin watched him for a moment too long, heart tugging at the familiar sight.

Inside, the house was quiet. Jimmy walked the girls to their room, set them down softly, and helped Yasmin get them settled—shoes off, lights dimmed, stuffed animals found. Milani murmured something about winning again next week before drifting off completely.

Once the door was closed, Jimmy lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets. "They did real good today," he said quietly. "You should be proud."

"I am," Yasmin replied. "Thank you for being there. For everything."

He met her gaze, something unspoken hanging between them. "Always," he said simply.

At the door, he paused, turning back to her. "Text me when you lock in for the night," he added. "Just so I know you good."

She raised a brow slightly. "You still checking up on me?"

A corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah. I am."

She didn't argue.

He stepped out into the evening air, then looked back once more before heading to his car. "I'll see you later," he said—soft, certain, like it wasn't a question.

As his taillights disappeared down the street, Yasmin stood there a moment longer than necessary, heart steady but heavy, knowing the night wasn't nearly as quiet as she'd told herself it would be.

She finished rinsing the last bit of soap from her skin, stepping out of the shower with a deep exhale, as if she were washing the weight of the entire day down the drain. The bathroom filled with steam as she patted herself dry, slipped into one of Jimmy's old oversized T-shirts she still had tucked away, and wrapped her hair up neatly in her bonnet.

The routine calmed her—lotion rubbed into her arms and legs until her skin glowed, toner and moisturizer pressed gently into her face, her lashes carefully cleaned and returned to their case. Everything slow. Intentional. Quiet. Exactly how she needed it.

Once she was done, she turned off the bathroom light and padded into her bedroom, slipping under the covers and letting her head sink into the pillow. Tomorrow was another day off. No rushing. No alarms. Just her and whatever peace she could hold onto.

Her phone buzzed against the mattress.

She frowned slightly, reaching for it, already knowing who it was before the screen even lit up.

1 message from BigJim🍆🍃

BigJim🍆🍃:  You good?

She stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, her thumb hovering over the screen. Another vibration followed almost immediately.

BigJim🍆🍃:  Girls knocked out?

A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Minks💗: Yeah. Both of them. Out like lights. I just got out the shower.

On the other end of the city, Jimmy was still wide awake, sprawled back on his couch, phone in hand, a faint grin pulling at his mouth when her message came through.

BigJim🍆🍃: I could tell. You sound tired.

She rolled onto her side, pulling the covers up higher around her shoulders.

Minks💗: Long day. But... it was a good one.

There was a pause—just long enough for her to wonder what he was thinking—before her phone buzzed again.

BigJim🍆🍃:  I liked seeing you today. Liked seeing us like that.

Her chest tightened slightly at the word us. She glanced at the ceiling, then back at her screen.

Minks💗:  I did too. The girls were so happy.

BigJim🍆🍃:  So was I.

Silence settled between messages, not uncomfortable—just heavy with everything neither of them was saying out loud. Her phone buzzed once more.  

BigJim🍆🍃:  I know today was... a lot. Ciara. Derrick. All that extra shit. But I meant what I told you earlier.

Yasmin swallowed.

Minks💗: I know. That's what makes it hard.

Another pause.  

BigJim🍆🍃:  You don't gotta figure everything out tonight. Just rest. I'll handle what I need to handle.

She closed her eyes briefly, letting those words wash over her. Handle it. Protect her peace. Be present—things she had needed for a long time.

Minks💗:  Thank you. For today. For the girls.

 BigJim🍆🍃:  Always.

Her phone buzzed again, softer this time.

 BigJim🍆🍃:  Get some sleep, minks I'll see you soon. 

She smiled fully now, typing back with a lighter heart than she'd had all evening.

Minks💗:  Goodnight, Jonathan.

She set her phone face down on the nightstand, turned onto her side, and pulled the blanket close. The house was quiet. Her girls were safe. Tomorrow was hers.

And for the first time in a long while, sleep came easily. 

TRIGGERED.

a/n: ngl can't wait to see what Ciara gotta say about all of this.

NO YEET.

previous chapter

chapter nine

[randomwordprompts]

I can't wait for Ciara to get her walking papers and Derrick to get his teeth knocked out. Another great read!!

[uceyliyahh]

I Care 4 U

summary: Kyomi moves to San Francisco for a fresh start, new city, new apartment overlooking the bay, and a new job working late nights behind the bar. She doesn’t plan on getting involved with anybody, especially not her neighbor. But her neighbor is Jimmy Uso. Laidback, cocky, tatted up and beautifully nonchalant. Jimmy lives with his twin brother Jey and their cousin Zilla, turning the apartment next door into a revolving door of music, ink, and temptation. Kyomi tries to mind her business… until business comes knocking. Literally.

One late night changes the distance between their doors. And when she finds the man behind the attitude nursing his own wounds, she hears something familiar in his silence.

“Hey, my baby, why you lookin’ so down? Seems like you need a lovin’… Baby, you need a girl like me around.” Kyomi never meant to comfort him. But Jimmy lets her see beneath the tattoos and bravado, just enough for her to understand the ache he refuses to name.

“Can I talk to you? Comfort you? Let you know I care for you…” She didn’t come to San Francisco to fall for anybody. And he swears he doesn’t need saving. But sometimes two people in transition collide at the right time, one learning how to care, and the other learning how to receive it.

fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings: explicit content, angst

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Kyomi

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the summary 🫶🏽

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @sharmelasworld @spiicii @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @trippiexlove @wisteria-bae @yourleogf @wrestlingprincess80 @jeyseyes @liv4jey @uceyjucey @mikaelsonharem7

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @dreamgirljey @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @antanamobay @keenagurl @spiicii @lovelyjay45 @episodes-ff @randomwordprompts

@charmed-dreamssss @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @luuvprincess @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @sheaabuttaababyy @myleelovesfood @shes2real @violetmuses @xnightmarexpunkx @sualeo

Introductions ৎ୭

Kyomi Knight - Yomi, Kyo | 25

single | bartender

traits - soft, observant, feminine, emotionally, intelligent.

calm but not passive

introvert until she’s around her friends

anti-clingy but loyal

IG | yomisdairy

IMESSAGE | yomi 💓

best friend - lash legend

Jonathan Fatu - Jon, Big Jim, Jimmy | 30

single | tattoo artist

traits - laidback, hyper-observant, confident, low-key sentimental, ex-lover boy, emotionally cautious, creative, loyal, independent

hilarious without trying

the odd nigga

he does tend to get jealous when his cousin tries to talk to her whenever she was around.

IG | jonathanfatu

IMESSAGE | jim 🌀

Joshua Fatu - Josh, Joshy, Jey | 30

single | tattoo artist

traits - hot-headed, cocky, emotional, fuck boy, blunt, protective, loyal.

lil bro syndrome

will swing first and ask questions later

Loud ass hell

jimmy’s other half

IG | uceyjucey

IMESSAGE | josh 🤷🏽‍♂️

Lash Legend - Lash | 28

taken | influencer

traits - chaotic, honest, caring, protective

she’s overprotective of Kyomi

IG | lashlegendwwe

IMESSAGE | lash 💅🏾

best friend - Kyomi

Isayah Fatu - Zilla | 28

single | tattoo artist

traits - serial player, flirty, hypersensitive, messy, networker(knows a ton of shit of people.), nonchalant

uses humor to defuse real emotions

Jimmy and Jey’s cousin

IG | zillafatu

IMESSAGE | isayah 🏋🏽

welcome to my new mini series ৎ୭

EP1

[mamasturn]

I want y’all to see the discrepancies below, then ponder on if this is a reason why your favorite writer: A) doesn’t write anymore, B) rarely publishes, C) doesn’t fulfill requests, or D) deletes their blog.

Exhibits A through D.

Do you not understand how much time, effort, and overall brain power it takes to even write a paragraph, let alone 1k+ words of dialogue, plot development, and overall execution? Just for an author to get 6 comments and 16 reblogs (because likes don’t push a creator’s posts onto other dashboards, by the way), despite 297 likes.

So before you berate an author, I hope you’ve liked, commented, AND reblogged their work…consistently.

[uceyliyahh]

TRIGGERED

summary: Yasmin and Jimmy are tied together by history, daughters, and a co-parenting arrangement that looks peaceful from the outside but is fueled by resentment, jealousy, and unfinished business. They swear they can keep it about the kids, until new partners enter the picture and old wounds get pressed on purpose.

Jimmy flaunts his girlfriend to prove he’s moved on. Yasmin dates a man who’s supposed to be better… but turns out to be worse. Every interaction becomes a trigger. Pick-ups feel like confrontations. Small comments hit like grenades. And while Yasmin insists she hates Jimmy, the truth is messier, the love never left, it just hardened. As her new relationship grows darker and Jimmy’s possessiveness resurfaces, the line between protection and control blurs.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings contain: solo-masturbaiting.

word count: 9.7k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Yasmin

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title love her downnn 🫶🏽

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @empressdede @biancasreign @piinkbenjamins @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @trippiexlove @wisteria-bae @wrestlingprincess80 @jeyseyes @liv4jey @shanthefemalerapper

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @dreamgirljey @spiicii @mikaelsonharem7 @magnificentbouquetmusic @antanamobay @yourleogf @keenagurl @ambersinterlude @amazinggirlsstuff @randomwordprompts @jeyusosqueen @uceyjucey

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @xbriexx @sualeo @luuvprincess @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @myleelovesfood @shes2real @episodes-ff @lovelyjay45 @violetmuses

chapter seven

Pensacola, Florida Yasmin's house - 7:45AM.

Yasmin froze mid-step, hand on the doorknob, feeling her stomach tighten. Derrick's voice came from the living room, sharp and accusing. 

"What the hell's he doing touching you like that? Thinking he can waltz in and—"

She rolled her eyes, forcing calm into her voice as she turned toward him. 

"Derrick, that's none of your business. Stop acting like you run my life."

He scoffed, leaning back on the couch with that smug, self-satisfied smirk that always made her skin crawl. "Oh, I'm just saying. Seems like your baby daddy's got a lot of feelings for you, huh? Can't blame him though..."

Yasmin gritted her teeth, clenching her fists at her sides. "I said don't. It's over. We were handling things for the girls. That's it."

Derrick snorted, shaking his head. "Uh-huh. Sure. Just handling things, right?" His tone dripped with mockery as he crossed his arms. "I've seen the way he looks at you. You think I don't notice?"

She ignored him, focusing on her reflection in the bathroom mirror instead, brushing her curls out of her face. "I don't have time for your games today, Derrick. I've got a lot to do, and you're not one of them."

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice into a dangerous whisper. "You think you can just act all calm and forget what he does to you... but I see it, Yasmin. I see how he's all up on you, like he owns you."

Yasmin clenched her jaw, swallowing the rising panic and frustration. "I told you, it's not about him owning me. He's just... he's here for the girls, and I'm not going to explain myself to you. Not today, not ever."

She moved past him quickly, ignoring the lingering tension in the air, and shut the bathroom door behind her. Locking it, she took a deep breath, letting the warm air from the shower help settle her nerves. Her heart was still racing from Jimmy's touch, from the memory of last night, and now Derrick's taunting only made it worse.

As she dried her hair, she whispered to herself, trying to reclaim some control: Focus on the day. Focus on the girls. Nothing else matters right now.

But even as she said it, her mind couldn't stop drifting back to Jimmy—his hands, his lips, his eyes. Derrick could say whatever he wanted, but he couldn't erase what had just happened, and deep down, she knew she didn't want him to.

Carefully ran the comb through her hair one last time, making sure every strand was sleek and in place. She leaned slightly forward, inspecting her reflection in the mirror, tucking a few loose pieces behind her ears. Satisfied, she unplugged the flat iron and set it onto the counter, sliding it into its designated spot with deliberate care.

Her movements were calm and methodical, a contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. Last night with Jimmy replayed in vivid detail—the way his hands had felt on her, the softness of his lips, the way her body had reacted despite her resolve. She shook her head slightly, trying to push the memory aside, knowing she had to focus on getting the girls ready and staying composed around Derrick.

Taking a deep breath, Yasmin picked up her hairbrush and ran it once more through her straightened locks, letting the morning sun streaming through the windows highlight the shine. With her hair finally settled, she grabbed her bag, ready to tackle the day, mentally steeling herself for the volleyball game and whatever confrontations might come with Derrick—or with her own racing thoughts about Jimmy.

She sat at her vanity, taking a deep breath as she began her makeup routine. She opted for a natural beat today—nothing too dramatic, just enough to highlight her features and keep her feeling polished without drawing too much attention. She gently applied a light foundation, blending it seamlessly into her skin, then a soft sweep of bronzer to warm her complexion.

Next, she focused on her eyes, curling her lash clusters carefully, making sure each one was perfectly separated and lifted. She added just a touch of mascara to blend her natural lashes with the clusters, giving her eyes a subtle, fluttery effect. Her brow pencil was light but precise, filling in sparse areas to frame her almond-shaped eyes beautifully.

Once she stepped back to inspect her reflection, Yasmin felt a small sense of satisfaction. Everything looked effortless yet put together. She allowed herself a quiet smile, knowing that despite the chaos of the morning and the tension that always seemed to linger around Jimmy and Derrick, she had taken this moment for herself—her small act of control in an otherwise unpredictable day.

 Glancing down at her phone one last time, noting she had just enough time to make it to her nail appointment without rushing. She grabbed her purse and keys from the counter, slinging the bag over her shoulder, and took a deep breath as she headed toward the door. The crisp morning air greeted her as she stepped outside, the gentle warmth of the sun brushing against her skin.

She paused for a moment at her car, taking in the quiet of the neighborhood before sliding into the driver's seat. As she started the engine, her mind drifted to the events of the past night—the lingering heat from Jimmy's touches, the intensity of their conversation, and the undeniable pull she still felt toward him. Shaking her head slightly, she reminded herself that today was about her.

Driving through the streets, she let the music on her playlist fill the car, feeling some semblance of calm as she navigated her way to the nail salon. It wasn't just about getting her nails done—it was a small, deliberate act of reclaiming a sense of normalcy and focus in a life that had been anything but simple lately.

1 picture from BigJim🍆🍃

Yasmin's eyes softened as she glanced at the photo Jimmy had sent. Milani and Miyori were laughing, their little arms wrapped around each other, looking so much like him it almost hurt. She could feel her chest tighten and a small smile tug at her lips despite herself. It was moments like these—innocent, fleeting, unfiltered—that reminded her why she still cared so much about him, why it hurt to feel so drawn to someone she insisted she shouldn't want.

She carefully typed a quick reply while waiting at the red light, fingers hovering over the screen as if the wrong word could give away too much.

Minks💗: They look so cute.

She hesitated, then added a little heart emoji before setting her phone down, realizing how much that simple picture had made her day better.

The light turned green, and she pressed the accelerator, Bryson Tiller's smooth voice filling the car as her thoughts swirled between the girls' innocence, Jimmy's attention, and the unresolved tension lingering between them. The drive to the nail salon felt both short and endless as her mind replayed the last night repeatedly, mixing anticipation with a touch of nerves about what the day might bring.

✎𓂃

Stepping out of her car, the warm morning sun warmed her skin as she grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. She paused briefly, taking a deep breath to steady herself, letting the hum of the city and the faint music from her car fade into the background. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she headed toward the salon, each step making her feel more composed and in control of the day ahead.

She pushed open the glass door, the familiar scent of nail polish and lavender greeting her, and a small bell chimed overhead. The receptionist looked up and gave her a bright smile. "Good morning! You're right on time."

Yasmin returned a polite smile, sliding her purse strap further onto her shoulder. "Morning. Yeah, just got here."

She followed the receptionist to her station, glancing around at the other clients and nail techs, the atmosphere calm and inviting. Settling into the chair, she placed her purse beside her and ran her fingers over the smooth leather, still thinking about the photo Jimmy had sent earlier. A small, private smile curved her lips as she pictured her girls laughing together, and for a moment, all the tension from the morning melted away. Today, at least, was hers — to be pampered, to take care of herself, and maybe, just maybe, to feel a little closer to the balance she had been craving.

She propped her elbow on the armrest of the nail chair, carefully scrolling through her phone with her free hand while the nail tech worked on her other hand. Her eyes flicked through Michin and B-Fab's stories, catching up on their antics and updates, when something on Jimmy's story caught her attention.

He and his brother Jey, along with Roman, were at the gym, sweat dripping from their brows as they pushed through sets. Yasmin's lips pressed into a thin line, her chest tightening slightly. Even through the casual clip, she could feel the intensity he carried—focused, determined, and somehow magnetic. She scrolled back a little, watching his movements, the way he wiped the sweat from his brow, the quick smirk he gave the camera.

A small part of her heart fluttered as memories from last night surfaced uninvited. The way he held her, how his lips had lingered against hers, and the warmth of his arms around her—all felt so vivid and impossible to ignore. She lightly shook her head, trying to refocus and remind herself to stay present while the nail tech carefully painted each nail. But even as the polish dried under the UV light, her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to his story, and to that familiar ache she couldn't quite shake.

Yasmin tilted her phone slightly, snapping a quick picture of the nail station—her freshly painted nails resting on the cushioned handrest, the soft hum of the UV lamp in the background. She added a simple caption: "Getting my nails done💅🏽", keeping it casual, nothing too flashy.

As she posted it to her story, she watched it appear briefly, reflecting on how small, everyday moments like this made her feel somewhat normal again. Her thumb hovered over the screen, tempted to include a wink emoji or a quick shoutout to the nail tech, but she chose not to. Sometimes, she just wanted these little moments of her day to remain her own, without anyone else's interpretation—particularly Jimmy's.

Yet, in the back of her mind, she knew he would probably see it eventually, and that tiny thought made her stomach flip in a way she wasn't entirely ready to admit.

She leaned back slightly in the chair, her freshly polished nails drying under the soft UV light as she absentmindedly scrolled through her timeline. Stories from Michin and B-Fab popped up first—flashes of brunches, shopping hauls, and random memes that made her smirk. She tapped through them, sending a quick laugh reaction here and a heart there, keeping it casual.

Every so often, she chatted lightly with her nail tech, commenting on the polish color or asking if the next layer was ready. The conversation was easy, low-pressure, and helped her shift her mind away from the whirlwind of thoughts about Jimmy and Derrick. She let herself be in the moment, enjoying the little routine of pampering herself, while her thumb flicked through posts that made her forget—just for a little while—how complicated everything else in her life had gotten.

Yasmin's phone buzzed against the table, pulling her attention away from her scrolling. She glanced down to see Jimmy's message lighting up the screen.

1 message from BigJim🍆🍃

BigJim🍆🍃:  Send me pics when you're done with your nails.

She questioned why he wanted to see her nails as a small smile tugged at her lips as she quickly typed back, keeping it casual but playful.

Minks💗: Why you need a picture of my nails for?

He texted back.

BigJim🍆🍃: Tryna see what I'm working with rn.

She raised her eyebrow for a second, rereading his message.

the fuck did he mean by that??

Her thumb began typing away.

Minks💗: Wym??

BigJim🍆🍃: don't worry about it just send em.

She took several rapid photos of her newly manicured nails, ensuring that the polish and her cuticles appeared flawless beneath the salon lights, before dispatching them to him. 

Almost immediately, her phone vibrated once more, and she prepared herself for his reply, a blend of thrill and anxiety swirling in her chest.

1 message from BigJim🍆🍃

BigJim🍆🍃: Wish your pretty hands were wrapped around my neck... and me.

Yasmin's eyes widened, heat creeping up her cheeks as a shiver ran down her spine. She blinked rapidly, trying to process the boldness of his words. 

Her heart raced, a mix of shock, desire, and that familiar pull she always felt with him. 

She could feel her body reacting before her mind could even catch up, and for a moment, she just sat there, staring at the screen, breath uneven, trying to steady herself.

Part of her wanted to ignore it, to act unaffected—but the other part, the part that had never truly let go, felt the old ache of longing stirring inside her. 

She knew that just one reply could start a chain reaction she wasn't sure she was ready for—but the pull to respond was almost magnetic.

She quickly typed back, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to keep her tone playful but firm.

Minks💗: Jonathan you cannot be saying shit like that knowing that I am I public rn do I gotta remind you?

He texted her back.

BigJim🍆🍃: remind me? Baby don't forget who you talkin to.

She rolled her eyes at his message.

Minks💗: I didn't forget I'm just saying you have a girlfriend that's down your throat about where your attention is at.

BigJim🍆🍃: and I told you last night that she's not important rn Yasmin. You and my girls are important yall have all of my attention including you.

Her breath caught for a second as she read it. Not because she hadn't heard him say similar things before—but because of how sure he sounded. No games. No jokes. Just truth laid out plain.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering, heart doing that stupid, traitorous flutter all over again. Part of her wanted to check him, remind him of reality, remind him of Ciara, remind herself why she was supposed to keep boundaries.

But another part of her—the softer, tired part—felt seen. Chosen. Important.

She locked her phone and set it face down on her lap as the nail tech reached for her hand again, but her mind was already far away.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Jimmy wasn't just talking.

He meant that shit.

She shifted in the chair, watching her nails slowly take shape under the nail tech's precise hands, but her mind was miles away. Every buzz of the file and click of the lamp seemed to fade into the background as Jimmy's words replayed in her head: "You and my girls are important... including you."

She tried to tell herself she should hate it, that she should be mad at him for stirring up everything she was trying to keep buried. But no matter how much she fought it, her heart betrayed her, warming at the memory of his deep voice, his hands, the way he had looked at her last night, as if she were the only thing that mattered.

Her fingers twitched slightly, almost subconsciously reaching for her phone before she caught herself. She didn't want to fall into his orbit again so quickly—not when logic screamed to protect herself. Yet, her brain and her heart were at war, neither willing to concede. She hated that she wanted him as much as she did, hated that she had missed him so much, hated the ache his attention brought, and yet... she couldn't stop thinking about him.

The nail tech hummed softly, snapping Yasmin out of her thoughts, but the tension in her chest didn't ease. She kept replaying their conversation, the way he had cradled her, the way he had spoken with such raw, unfiltered honesty. And even though she was trying, fighting, she realized that a part of her didn't want to hate it at all.

She glanced down at her phone, seeing the time flash on the screen. Her nails were almost done, the final touches being carefully placed by the nail tech, but the buzzing in her pocket made her pulse skip—another message from Jimmy.

1 message from BigJim🍆🍃

She hesitated before unlocking her phone, heart fluttering as she read his name across the screen. Every message from him pulled her attention like gravity, making it impossible to focus on anything else—even the soft hum of the salon or the subtle scent of acetone and lotion around her.

Her eyes flicked between the meticulous work on her nails and the screen in her hand. 

She knew she should ignore it, let the moment pass, focus on herself—but she couldn't. The combination of her freshly pampered hands and Jimmy's persistent messages made her fingers itch to respond.

Her thumb hovered over the screen as she weighed her options, the soft buzz of her phone punctuating the tension in the air. Every fiber of her being wanted to read, to respond, to feel his presence again, even if it was just through words. The nail tech added the final flourish—a slight, glittering accent on her ring finger—but Yasmin barely noticed. Her thoughts were already consumed, caught between excitement, guilt, and the undeniable pull she felt toward him.

She lifted her phone, using the face scan to unlock it quickly, her heart thudding in her chest as the screen came to life. Jimmy's message stared back at her, and just seeing his name made a flush creep across her cheeks.

Her eyes skimmed the words, and she couldn't help the small inhale she took, a mix of nerves and anticipation curling in her stomach. It was like a magnet pulling her attention, making it impossible to focus on anything else around her. The nail tech's hands hovered over her fingers, waiting for her to shift, but Yasmin barely noticed.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she debated whether to reply, rereading the message. Each word from him made her heart race, reminding her of last night—the conversation, the closeness, the lingering tension that refused to fade. She could feel the ache of longing in her chest, the push and pull of wanting to hate it but loving every second of the connection they still shared.

Her eyes flicked down at her nails, the perfect polish and tiny glitter accent now seeming almost secondary to the screen glowing in her hand. The salon noise faded to a dull hum as she focused entirely on Jimmy's words, the mix of desire, care, and intensity in his tone making her pulse spike.

 Slipped her phone and purse into her bag, her freshly done nails catching the light as she flexed her fingers and admired the smooth polish and the little sparkles that shimmered under the salon lights. She couldn't help but smile, a small sense of satisfaction bubbling up despite the swirl of thoughts about Jimmy still lingering in her mind.

She tapped her phone one more time, glancing at the message from him again, feeling that familiar mix of excitement and nerves twist in her stomach. 

With a deep breath, she zipped up her purse, gave a nod of thanks to the nail tech, and stepped out of the salon into the warm sunlight, letting the slight breeze hit her face. Her nails looked perfect, her hair and makeup on point, but more than that, she felt the tension of the past few days pressing gently at the back of her mind, reminding her that Jimmy—and everything they hadn't resolved—was still very much there.

Sliding into her car, she placed her bag on the passenger seat and started the engine, the hum of the vehicle filling the quiet moment as she scrolled through her phone one last time. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, debating whether to reply to Jimmy now or wait, knowing any message she sent could ignite the same storm of feelings that had been brewing between them since last night.

Yasmin tapped the steering wheel lightly as she merged onto the main road. Her mind was still buzzing from the conversation and the tension of last night, and she needed a little normalcy before diving back into that emotional storm.

He can wait for his text message; it shouldn't be that important.  She thought to herself.

She pulled into the familiar Starbucks drive-thru, the aroma of coffee and pastries wafting through the air as she rolled down her window. "A grande caramel Frappuccino, please," she said, giving a small smile to the barista who already knew her order by heart. While waiting, she glanced out at the cars passing by, letting the warm sunlight hit her face and trying to shake the lingering thoughts of Jimmy from her mind—though she knew it was a losing battle.

Once she grabbed her drink, she made her way to the mall, weaving through traffic with a careful eye on the clock. Parking in her favorite spot near the entrance, she stepped out of her car, the cool breeze brushing against her skin. Her Frappuccino in hand, she inhaled deeply, allowing herself this small indulgence. Shopping would be her distraction for the next hour or so—nails done, hair and makeup on point, and now some time to herself to scroll through stores, try on clothes, and maybe even pick up a little something just for her.

Yet, even as she strolled through the mall, Yasmin couldn't completely ignore the way her chest tightened at the thought of Jimmy. Every time her phone buzzed, she jumped slightly, half-expecting another message from him. She sipped her Frappuccino, telling herself firmly, he can wait. But deep down, she knew that no amount of shopping or distractions would fully push him out of her mind.

✎𓂃

Jimmy's house.

Jimmy groaned, dropping onto the couch beside Jey and running a hand through his hair, already anticipating what was coming.

"Man, don't even start," he muttered, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

Jey wasn't about to let him off easy. "Bruh, I seen it! Your lips all red and shit. Don't even try to front like nothing happened. I know Yasmin got them hands on you," he teased, leaning back with a grin.

Roman chuckled from across the room, shaking his head. "Yeah, twin, you got played... I mean, not 'played'... but damn, she had you like that, huh?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the slight curve of a smile. "Y'all wildin'. That's my business. And I ain't saying nothing,"

Jey leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Nah, for real though, Jimmy. Look at you—acting all tough in front of Ciara and the rest, but we see it. You still got it bad for her."

Jimmy exhaled slowly, glancing toward the TV to avoid their teasing stares. "Yeah, whatever. Ain't nothing to talk about. Y'all always making shit ten times bigger than it is."

Roman shook his head, smirking. "Nah man, we just stating facts. You love that girl, ain't no point hiding it from us."

Jimmy leaned back, crossing his arms, letting the teasing roll off him. Deep down, though, he couldn't deny it. Every memory from last night—her laugh, her scent, the way she looked at him—was still playing vividly in his mind. And no matter how much he tried to focus on Ciara or the gym, Yasmin always lingered.

That's when Jey had asked, "Now, why the hell is Ciara coming? when she don't know a damn thing about Volleyball?"

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his temple as he muttered, "That's exactly what I been tryna figure out, bro. She don't need to be there. Ain't her place."

Jey shook his head, smirking. "Man, she always gotta be up in everybody's business. Look at her, wildin' over you checkin' in with Yasmin and the girls. Ain't nobody else's business but yours and hers."

Roman chimed in from the other couch, "Facts. She really tryna flex like she the queen of the game or somethin'—like the girls care who's sittin' in the stands. They just wanna see their dad play and have fun."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tightening. "I ain't even trippin' about me. I don't care if she mad at me. But these girls? Nah. They ain't supposed to be stuck in the middle of her drama. That's why I told Yasmin to text me if anything happens, just so I can handle it before it gets messy."

Jey smirked, shaking his head. "Man, you soft for her though. You love that girl more than you wanna admit. Ain't no hiding it from us. Ciara can hate all she wants, but we see it. And don't even front—she got you twisted from last night too."

He let out a low sigh, staring at the TV but not really seeing it. "Yeah... I know, bro. I just gotta make sure it don't get messy in front of the girls. That's the only thing that matters right now."

Roman nudged Jey, grinning. "See? Told ya. Ain't no hiding that love, man. Ciara gonna have to deal."

Jimmy just shook his head, half amused, half frustrated. "Y'all funny... but yeah, I ain't denying it. She's mine. And I ain't letting anybody mess that up, not even her or Derrick."

His hand ran over his face, leaning back into the couch. "Look, Jey... Ciara? She just wants to prove a point to Yasmin. That's all this is about. She tryna flex like she got me all to herself, like Yasmin ain't even in the picture. But nah... that ain't how it works."

Jey raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Man, she wildin' then. Ain't nobody got time for that. You know how this gon' end if she keep pushin'."

He nodded, jaw tightening. "Exactly. I ain't gonna let her mess with what's mine, especially when it comes to Yasmin and the girls. She can try all she wants, but she ain't changing shit. I ain't about to let her manipulate the situation just to prove some dumb point."

Roman leaned back with a grin. "Facts. Ciara gotta understand—y'all got history, she wasn't even there for the girls from the start. This is bigger than her feelings, bro. That's why you gotta stay focused."

Jimmy exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah... and she'll figure that out soon enough. But for now, I just gotta make sure nothing crazy goes down at the game. Yasmin, the girls... that's my priority."

Jey shook his head, exhaling sharply. "For real though, what point she tryna prove? Other than bein' insecure as hell?"

 Staring at the TV, thinking of Yasmin and the girls as he responded. "Exactly, bro. That's all it is. She sees me even thinkin' about Yasmin, or doin' anything for the girls, and it eats her up inside. She wants to flex, act like she got some kinda hold on me—but she don't. Not when it comes to what really matters."

"Man, she really out here playin' herself. Ain't nothing she do gon' change how you feel about Yasmin and them girls. You know that."

"I know, I know. I just... I gotta stay focused. Keep everything smooth at the game today. Don't need her or nobody else startin' drama when it ain't none of their business."

Jey smirked. "Facts. Let her stew. She ain't got nothin' on what's real."

Jimmy nodded, eyes flickering with a mix of frustration and determination. "Exactly. Ain't nobody changing what matters. Yasmin, the girls... that's all that matters right now."

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as he grabbed it, seeing a message from Yasmin that had a few attachments.

1 message and 3 attachments from Minks💗

Minks💗: Which one would look better? Y'know how picky I am.

He sensed the warmth surging through him, his arousal pushing awkwardly against the material of his shorts.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and desire. Damn... she knows exactly what she's doing.

His thumb lingered above the screen, torn between the urge to playfully respond or simply provide a direct answer, as that familiar tension twisted in his stomach—the kind that quickened his thoughts and accelerated his heartbeat whenever she was involved. Every fiber of his being signaled that she still had him entirely enchanted, and the manner in which she sent that picture? Oh yes... that was intentional.

He leaned back on the couch, trying to steady himself, but the image burned in his mind. This girl... she's impossible to ignore.

Jimmy's fingers hovered over his phone for a moment before he finally typed back, his thumb tapping with deliberate slowness.

BigJim🍆🍃: Damn, Minks... you really tryna get me in trouble with this one? You know the answer already, don't play.

He stared at the screen for a second, smirking to himself, feeling that familiar heat spike in his chest. 

His mind was racing with thoughts of her—the curve of her smile, the way she moved, that little mischievous glint in her eyes that always made him lose focus.

Then, just to tease her a little more, he added.

BigJim🍆🍃: But you know what... I think I need to see it in person before I decide. You know, to be sure.

He sent the message, leaning back on the couch, knowing full well the effect it would have on her—and loving it.

Jimmy muttered a curse under his breath, acutely aware of the pressure in his shorts. His hand instinctively moved to the bulge, attempting to adjust himself as he grumbled, "Damn, Minks..." to no one in particular.

He cast a quick look at Jey and Roman, who were already exchanging knowing smirks, before he stood up. 

"I'll be back," Jimmy said, his voice laced with both frustration and anticipation, and made his way upstairs toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, granting him a brief moment to gather his thoughts and try to regain some control over the heat that was intensifying between his legs.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, quietly cursing as he pulled down his shorts and took in the sight of his arousal. The thought of Yasmin—her playful text, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she moved—had him feeling this way, and his heart was racing.

 He ran a hand along his length, shaking his head in disbelief at how she still evoked these feelings in him despite everything that had transpired. Every memory from the night before, every secret glance, every soft moan replayed in his mind, leaving him tense and restless.

At first, His hand moved slowly, teasing himself while his thoughts were focused on Yasmin. Every memory of her—the way she wore his hoodie, the touch of her small hands in his, the gentle sound of her voice saying his nickname—intensified the feelings growing inside him. 

His breathing became heavier, and his heart raced as he continued, each movement matching the mental pictures of her. The longing surged through him, and every feeling reminded him of how much he still desired her, regardless of everything else happening in his life.

"Oh shit..." he moaned.

Jimmy moved faster, his hand sliding up and down with increasing urgency as tension built in his body. His mind was filled with thoughts of Yasmin—the shape of her lips, the warmth of her body against his, the way her hair framed her face perfectly. 

Each stroke made his heart race, his breathing uneven as he concentrated solely on the memory of her and the desire that wouldn't go away. The quicker he moved, the more he sensed he was losing control, each action bringing him closer to the brink.

He let out low, rough moans, whispering Yasmin's name as if she were right there with him, even though she wasn't. His body tightened with desire, his mind painting every detail—the way she gazed at him, the shape of her body, the gentle sounds she made when he caressed her. 

Each time he whispered her name, it sent chills down his spine, pushing him to stroke faster and more urgently as the longing between his legs became overwhelming.

"Oh my god....fuck..."

A deep, almost instinctual groan escaped from Jimmy's throat, resonating within him as his pleasure intensified. His body trembled slightly at the force, each motion growing more pronounced and urgent, his mind filled with thoughts of Yasmin—the way she moved, her fragrance, the memory of her gentle moans. Even when he was by himself, hearing his own voice utter her name sent waves of warmth through him, making it impossible to hold back.

His thoughts raced, creating clear pictures of Yasmin's gentle hands on him, the heat of her touch sending chills down his spine. He envisioned her soft, playful grip, the way she would gaze up at him with those almond-shaped eyes brimming with mischief and longing, her lips parting as she softly spoke his name. 

Each imagined movement of her hands made his own actions quicker, more urgent, as if her mere presence could drive him to the brink.

He moaned her name softly, "Fuck Yasmin... baby..."

He moved faster, his thumb pressing and rubbing against the sensitive tip of his dick, each stroke sending intense waves of pleasure through him.

Jimmy arched his back and threw his head back, releasing a deep, guttural moan of her name. Each syllable shook in his throat, raw with desperation, echoing off the walls as his hand kept its frantic pace, fueling the fantasy of her presence that engulfed him.

He gripped the edge of the bathroom counter tightly, his knuckles turning pale as his legs shook uncontrollably. Every touch sent chills through him, his body tense as he held onto the memory of her, immersed in the moment's intensity.

"S-shit..." Jimmy moaned out breathlessly.

His muscles tightened and flexed with every movement, his biceps and shoulders straining as he leaned slightly over, holding onto the edge of the counter for support. 

Jaw was clenched, teeth biting into his lower lip, the heat of his arousal causing his skin to flush.

With each quick, deliberate stroke, his breathing became uneven, and his moans grew louder, raw, and desperate, each one punctuated by her name like a chant.

"mm-hm fuck yasmin...fuck..." His mind was entirely focused on her—the curve of her lips, the warmth of her body, the way she made him feel alive—and every thought of Ciara was completely wiped away.

He could sense the tremor building in his legs, his thighs shaking as the tension tightened in his lower body, and the heat between them only grew stronger.

The room felt smaller, almost stifling in the intensity of the moment, with nothing existing outside of her memory and the desire flowing through him

His thumb continued to circle the tip of his erection, sending waves of heat through his body. 

It caused his hips to twitch slightly, his legs trembling under the pressure as he breathed in short, sharp gasps. The friction increased, causing his heart to race, and he sensed his stomach tighten with every motion. 

"Ohh, shit...ohh shit.." He whimpered and moaned desperately, calling her name repeatedly, each sound filled with longing.

His chest rose and fell violently, his breathing uneven as waves of heat and tension surged through him. Every touch of his hand sent sharp waves of pleasure up his spine, causing his muscles to tense and flex uncontrollably.

The way he said her name was almost a plea, as if he could draw her into the moment with him, each moan becoming more urgent and ragged.

His legs trembled beneath him, and his jaw was clenched tightly, his entire body aflame with memories of her, lost in the intense, consuming desire for her.

His eyes rolled back as heat and tension surged through him, envisioning her lips around him, her tongue teasing him, driving him crazy.

 Each stroke of his hand sent electric waves of pleasure throughout his body, each one fueling the fantasy even more.

 His jaw clenched, and a deep groan escaped him as he imagined her soft, wet mouth on him, taking him in slowly, making him shiver and quiver with longing. His hands tightened their grip, his body arching as if trying to draw her into the moment, lost in the depth of his desire and the clarity of the thought.

"Oh baby..." he sighed, his voice heavy with desire, barely above a whisper yet filled with yearning. 

His grip on himself grew firmer; the feeling of his hand gliding over his length, combined with the vivid picture of her lips on him, caused his stomach to twist and his heart to race. Each stroke, every imagined caress of her hand, sent chills down his spine, his thighs quivering as warmth gathered between them. 

He sensed his body straining, his muscles tightening with tension, and his breath coming in uneven gasps as he softly uttered her name again, low and filled with longing, picturing how she would react, how she would gaze at him with that blend of annoyance and desire that always drove him wild.

 His thoughts were filled with the memory of her touch, the smoothness of her skin, the heat of her body against his, and the idea of her allowing him to take control made a deep, primal moan escape him, his body arching instinctively as he envisioned her moaning his name in return.

The pulse of his dick sent waves of heat through his body, causing his grip to tighten instinctively.He could feel it twitching with every imagined touch of her, every flicker of her lips in his mind, his body responding as if she were right there with him.

His thighs shook, and his breathing became uneven as his heart raced, every nerve ending alive with desire.

The mix of memory and longing made his hand move quicker, stroking with more urgency as he whispered her name, his voice thick and hoarse, the feeling so strong it made his back arch and his chest rise and fall with shallow, desperate breaths.

Each throb in his length brought him closer to the brink, his body quivering under the heat of his own yearning. 

"Oh my god...I'm about to nut...fuckk I am about to nut."

His body tensed sharply as pleasure overwhelmed him, his eyes rolling back. At the same time, a deep, guttural groan escaped his throat. 

As he could feel his warm seeds shooting out ropes after ropes, every nerve felt alive, electricity coursing through him as he shuddered with each wave. 

He sensed his thighs quivering, his back arching uncontrollably, and his chest heaving as ragged breaths escaped him.

Making the moment feel like a fire consuming him from within. Even as his body started to relax, his muscles still twitched from the aftershocks, leaving him soaked in sweat, gasping her name like a prayer he couldn't stop murmuring.

He rested against the bathroom counter, his chest rising and falling as he attempted to calm his breathing, sweat glistening on his skin. Gradually, he pulled his shorts back up, his fingers still shaking slightly from the intensity of what had just occurred, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

His mind was still foggy with thoughts of her—the sensation of her, the sound of her name on his lips—making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

 He took several deep breaths, pressing his forehead against the cool tile for a moment, allowing his body to come down from the high, his heart still racing as he tried to regain some control. 

 as he stood up straight and adjusted himself in the mirror, the memory of her remained, vivid and intoxicating, reminding him that last night was not something he could easily forget.

Jimmy had come downstairs. Jey and Roman had looked at him, seeing his face all flushed, as they both had a smirk appearing on their lips.

"You just got done beating yo' meat huh?" Jey teased.

Jimmy chuckled while shaking his head as he a hand over the back of his neck, still trying to catch his breath as a sheepish grin tugged at his lips. 

"Man, damn," he muttered. shaking his head, "y'all wild." 

Jey and Roman both laughed, clearly enjoying the rare glimpse into his private moment. Jey leaned back in his chair, smirking.

 "Bruh, ain't gotta hide nothin', we know how it go."

Roman nodded, chuckling, "Yeah, we seen that look before. Girl got you all types of worked up, huh?"

Jimmy just rolled his eyes, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed him, and he muttered.

"Aight, aight, y'all funny. Let's just keep it movin'."

Even as he talked, his thoughts were partly on her—her touch, her voice, and how last night had made him uneasy. He filled a glass with water, attempting to cool down the warmth inside him, fully aware that it wouldn't fade away quickly.

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, phone in hand, squinting at the screen. "Three o'clock," he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Two more hours before the girls' volleyball game. Plenty of time to chill, but not enough to stop his mind from wandering back to last night and Yasmin. 

He could still feel the heat from their closeness, her soft hands in his, the way she looked at him—it made his chest tighten and his stomach twist in a mix of desire and guilt.

He ran a hand over his jaw, thinking about how different things were with her compared to Ciara. It wasn't just physical; it was the way she made him feel seen, understood, even when they were just sitting together or teasing each other.

Jey and Roman, noticing him zoning out, exchanged knowing looks. 

Jey nudged him lightly. "Yo, you good, big bro? You look like you got a whole movie playing in your head." 

Jimmy smirked, shaking his head. "Nah, man, just thinking about the girls' game. Gotta be there for them, you know?"

Roman chuckled, smirking. "Sure, sure. Thinking about the girls, huh? We get it, man. Don't worry, we won't say nothin'." Jimmy rolled his eyes, tucking his phone into his pocket, still feeling the pulse of anticipation building as the clock ticked closer to game time.

The guys shifted gears easily, the tension easing as the conversation naturally drifted to business. Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees, talking through ideas like he always did when he was serious. He brought up the tattoo shop—how tomorrow was supposed to be a soft opening, just them and a few regulars, nothing too crazy. Still, he wanted everything to be tight.

"We gotta be there early," Roman said, ticking points off on his fingers. "Make sure the stations are clean, supplies stocked, artists comfortable. First impressions matter, even if it's lowkey."

Jey nodded, already mentally running through what needed to be done. "Facts. I told the artists to pull up by ten. We gotta check the books, make sure the deposits from today cleared too." He glanced at Jimmy. "You still good to stop by after the girls' game?"

Jimmy exhaled slowly, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. "Yeah, I'll swing through after. Family first, business right after. You know how I move." His voice was calm, but his mind was still split—half on the shop, half on Yasmin, and the rest on his daughters.

They began discussing numbers next—rent, supplies, and marketing ideas. Roman suggested running a limited deal for the first week to attract people, while Jey discussed posting more behind-the-scenes content on their social media. Jimmy listened, chiming in here and there, offering grounded input. Business was the one place where his head stayed clear.

Still, every few minutes his phone would buzz on the table beside him, lighting up the screen. He didn't pick it up right away, but his eyes kept drifting to it. Jey noticed and smirked.

"You gon' check that or keep pretending you not distracted?"

Jimmy shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

"Man, shut up." He finally grabbed the phone, seeing it was nothing urgent—just a notification—but the habit stuck. He rechecked the time—still a little while before they had to head to the school.

He stood up, pacing once, then twice, like he always did when his energy got restless. "Aight," he said finally, clapping his hands once. "I'ma shower and change before we head out. Don't wanna smell like straight gym at my kids' game."

Roman laughed. "Look at you, father of the year."

Jimmy smirked over his shoulder as he headed down the hall. "Always been."

But even as he disappeared toward the bathroom, his thoughts circled back—unfinished business, unspoken truths, and a feeling deep in his chest that whatever was happening between him and Yasmin wasn't done... not by a long shot.

✎𓂃

Yasmin stepped inside and gently shut the door behind her, the soft click of the lock echoing through the quiet house. She stood there for a second, keys still in her hand, just listening. No TV blaring. No game sounds. No Derrick running his mouth. Just silence. Peaceful, rare silence. It felt so unfamiliar that she had to breathe it in for a moment, like she was afraid it might disappear if she moved too fast.

She slid her shoes off by the door and walked further inside, setting her purse down on the entryway table. The house felt lighter without his presence, like the walls weren't closing in on her chest for once. She glanced toward the living room—empty. The couch was untouched, his controller gone. Good, she thought. Let him stay gone.

She exhaled deeply, the tension she'd been carrying in her shoulders slowly easing. She headed into the kitchen first, setting her Starbucks cup on the counter and placing the few shopping bags she'd picked up at the mall beside it. Nothing crazy—just a couple of things for herself, something she hadn't really been doing much lately. Taking care of everyone else always came first. Today, she'd finally done something just for her.

She leaned against the counter, phone in hand, rechecking the time. A little after three. Still enough time before the volleyball game. Her mind immediately drifted to Jimmy—him being there, the girls spotting him in the crowd, the way his face lit up whenever they played. She shook her head slightly, annoyed at herself for smiling at the thought.

"Get it together, Yasmin," she muttered under her breath.

She walked upstairs, changing into something more comfortable—leggings and a fitted tee—before letting her hair down from the loose clip she'd thrown it in earlier. Her nails caught her eye as she moved, glossy and fresh. She held her hand up, tilting it in the light, a small satisfied smile tugging at her lips. At least something felt good today.

Her phone buzzed on the bed behind her. She already knew who it was before she even picked it up.

Jimmy.

She unlocked her phone, her expression softening despite herself as she read his message. Something simple, checking in, telling her what time they'd head to the school. She typed back quickly, keeping it short, even though her fingers wanted to say more than she let them.

Downstairs, the quiet remained undisturbed, and for the first time in a long while, Yasmin didn't feel like she was walking on eggshells in her own home. Whatever storm was brewing—between Derrick, Jimmy, Ciara, all of it—this moment of calm felt earned.

She grabbed her bag and keys again, pausing at the mirror by the door. She studied her reflection: tired eyes, yes, but stronger than she gave herself credit for. A mother. A woman trying to heal. Someone standing at the edge of something unfinished.

"Alright," she whispered to herself. "One thing at a time."

With that, she locked up behind her and headed back out, ready to show up for her girls—no matter what waited on the other side of that gym door.

They all pulled up to the school within minutes of each other, the parking lot already buzzing with activity—parents walking toward the entrance, kids running around in jerseys, the faint echo of whistles coming from inside the gym. Yasmin parked a few spaces away from the entrance and turned her engine off, sitting there for a brief second to collect herself.

She grabbed her phone and purse, stepped out of the car, and closed the door behind her. As soon as she looked up, her eyes landed on Jimmy's car a few rows over.

Of course he's already here.

Her stomach flipped before she could stop it. She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and scanned the lot, spotting him stepping out of his car at the same time—fresh hoodie, sweats, chain catching the sunlight. He looked comfortable here, like this was exactly where he belonged. Which, truthfully, it was.

Their eyes met almost instantly.

Jimmy paused for half a second, his face softening when he saw her, that familiar look crossing his features like muscle memory. The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile—not cocky, not teasing—just real. The kind that made her chest ache.

Yasmin looked away first, shaking her head slightly as if to snap herself out of it, but not before she felt his gaze linger on her back as she started walking toward the entrance.

Mama Fatu's car pulled in shortly after, followed by Roman and Jey. The girls spotted Yasmin and immediately started calling her name, running up to her with excitement spilling out of them.

"Mama!"

"We're playing second today!"

"Papa said we gotta focus!"

Yasmin laughed, crouching down to hug them both at once, smoothing their hair and kissing their foreheads. "I know, I know. Just have fun, okay? That's all I want."

Jimmy stepped closer, standing just behind them, his presence warm and solid. "Y'all ready?" he asked the girls, pride evident in his voice.

They nodded eagerly, grabbing their water bottles and volleyball bags before a coach ushered them inside.

As the girls ran ahead, Yasmin straightened up—and suddenly it was just her and Jimmy standing there, the noise of the parking lot fading into the background.

"You made it," he said quietly, like he wasn't sure she would.

"Of course I did," she replied, just as softly. "I wouldn't miss this."

Their eyes held for a moment too long, the air between them thick with everything they hadn't said yet. Then footsteps approached.

Ciara.

Yasmin felt the shift before she even turned around. Ciara walked up beside Jimmy, linking her arm through his like it was second nature, her eyes immediately flicking toward Yasmin—measuring, territorial.

"Hey," Ciara said, voice sweet but sharp underneath. "Didn't know you were coming."

Yasmin kept her expression calm. "Why wouldn't I be? Those are my kids."

Jimmy subtly pulled his arm free, clearing his throat. "Alright, let's go inside. Game's about to start."

The tension didn't break, but it paused—held in check by the sound of the gym doors opening and the echo of cheering inside.

As they walked in together, Yasmin felt it deep in her bones: this wasn't just about volleyball. Not tonight. Not anymore.

Something had already shifted—and everyone in that parking lot could feel it.

They all walked inside the gym together, the doors swinging open to a rush of noise—sneakers squeaking against polished floors, parents shouting encouragement, a whistle cutting through the air every few seconds. The bleachers were already filling up, the energy loud and restless, as if the building itself were buzzing.

Yasmin stayed close to the girls as they headed toward their team area, making sure their bags were set down correctly, water bottles lined up just the way they liked. She kissed the tops of their heads one more time before they joined their teammates, reminding them to listen to their coach and have fun. Once they ran off, she finally exhaled.

Jimmy hovered nearby, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving the court. He looked proud—focused in that quiet way of his that always came out when it came to his daughters. Yasmin noticed it without trying to, the same way she always saw him.

Behind them, Ciara took a seat on the bleachers, crossing her legs and setting her purse beside her. From the moment they walked in, her eyes kept drifting back to Yasmin—quick looks at first, then longer ones she didn't bother hiding. She hated that she noticed how good Yasmin looked. Natural. Effortless. Comfortable in this space. Comfortable around Jimmy.

Ciara's jaw tightened.

She couldn't stand how close they were—how easy the conversation between them seemed, how Jimmy leaned slightly toward Yasmin whenever they spoke, like his body remembered where it belonged even if his mouth said otherwise. 

And what bothered her most was the silence. Jimmy hadn't been texting her the way he used to. Short replies. Hours in between. No good-morning text. No check-ins. Nothing.

Her mind raced with ugly assumptions.

They rekindled.

They never stopped.

I'm the placeholder.

Ciara glanced over again, this time catching Jimmy smiling at something Yasmin whispered to him about the girls' lineup. That did it. Her fingers curled into her palm as jealousy settled heavily in her chest.

Yasmin felt the stare before she saw it. When she looked up, Ciara didn't look away this time.

 Their eyes met—Yasmin's calm, unreadable; Ciara's sharp, defensive. Yasmin didn't smirk. Didn't roll her eyes. She turned back toward the court, unbothered, and that somehow made it worse.

Jimmy shifted, sensing the tension, though he pretended not to. He stepped a little closer to Yasmin, their shoulders nearly brushing as the referee blew the whistle to start warm-ups.

"Look at them," he said quietly, nodding toward the girls. "They been practicing hard."

Yasmin smiled, genuinely this time. "I know. They're excited."

Ciara watched the exchange, her insecurity morphing into resentment. She could feel it in her bones now—whatever she thought she had with Jimmy was slipping. And Yasmin didn't even have to try.

As the game began and the crowd erupted into cheers, Ciara sat stiffly on the bleachers, eyes flicking between the court and the two people she felt were slowly leaving her behind.

Because one thing was becoming painfully clear:

Yasmin wasn't just the baby mama.

She was the history.

The bond.

The problem Ciara didn't know how to compete with.

All eyes were on the court as Milani stepped back to the service line, the ball tucked confidently in her hands. The gym quieted just a little—not silent, but attentive—the kind of hush that comes when everyone knows something big is about to happen.

Milani bounced the ball once.

Twice.

Three times.

Her face was serious now, brows slightly furrowed the way she always did when she was locked in. Yasmin leaned forward on the bleachers without realizing it, elbows resting on her knees, heart thumping with a familiar mix of nerves and pride. Jimmy stood just behind her, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight as he watched his daughter line herself up.

"Come on, baby," he muttered under his breath.

Milani took off in a quick run-up, tossing the ball into the air with precision. Her body moved on instinct—feet planted, arm swinging back—and then she jumped, small frame lifting higher than anyone expected. Her hand connected with the ball in a sharp, clean motion.

Smack.

The sound echoed through the gym as the ball flew over the net with speed and purpose, slamming down into the opposite court before the other team could even react.

For half a second, there was stunned silence.

Then the gym erupted.

"That's my baby!" Jimmy shouted without thinking, clapping hard as a grin split across his face.

Yasmin shot to her feet too, hands flying to her mouth before she laughed and cheered, eyes shining. "That's what I'm talking about, Lani!"

Milani's teammates rushed toward her, jumping and yelling, giving her high-fives as she smiled widely, a little proud, a bit shocked at herself. 

She glanced toward the bleachers instinctively, her eyes finding her parents immediately. When she saw them both standing, both cheering, her smile grew even bigger.

Miyori bounced on the bench with the rest of the team, clapping wildly. "That's my sister!" she yelled, voice high and excited.

Ciara sat frozen for a moment, watching the scene unfold. She saw the way Jimmy and Yasmin shared that look—brief, unspoken, full of pride and shared history. It wasn't romantic in an obvious way, but it was intimate in a way that made Ciara's chest tighten. This was their rhythm. Their family moment. And she felt like an outsider watching through glass.

Jimmy finally sat back down, still smiling, shaking his head in disbelief. "She been practicing that all week," he said, half to himself.

Yasmin glanced at him, soft but proud. "She gets that confidence from you."

Their eyes met again—just for a second—but it was enough. Something warm passed between them, something familiar and dangerous all at once.

On the court, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the next play. Milani retook her position, shoulders back, confidence boosted. Yasmin clasped her hands together, whispering a quick prayer under her breath, while Jimmy leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, fully locked in.

The game was on. And so were all the emotions sitting in those bleachers.

TRIGGERED.

a/n: yeah Ciara atp girl...you can't really do much.

NO YEET.

prev chapter

chapter eight

[randomwordprompts]

I'M SO DAMN SICK OF CIARA AND DERRICK IDK WHAT TO DO

[uceyliyahh]

TRIGGERED

summary: Yasmin and Jimmy are tied together by history, daughters, and a co-parenting arrangement that looks peaceful from the outside but is fueled by resentment, jealousy, and unfinished business. They swear they can keep it about the kids, until new partners enter the picture and old wounds get pressed on purpose.

Jimmy flaunts his girlfriend to prove he’s moved on. Yasmin dates a man who’s supposed to be better… but turns out to be worse. Every interaction becomes a trigger. Pick-ups feel like confrontations. Small comments hit like grenades. And while Yasmin insists she hates Jimmy, the truth is messier, the love never left, it just hardened. As her new relationship grows darker and Jimmy’s possessiveness resurfaces, the line between protection and control blurs.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings contain: none

word count: 9.3k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Yasmin

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title love her downnn 🫶🏽

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chapter three

omniscient

Pensacola, Florida - 8:30PM

Jimmy and Jey didn't say anything to each other when they had drove back to they mama's house after leaving Yasmin's house, Jimmy had brushed his bruised knuckles with his thumb as they were throbbing as it was silent in the car.

He didn't like the fact that Derrick had a lot to say about his parenting when he didn't know a damn thing on how to be a parent trying to tell him what to do with his girls and it pissed him off.

Jey had parked the car in the driveway while he stopped to turn the ignition off before taking the keys out from the car, once they both got out of car together shutting the door behind them they both went inside of the house together.

Once they entered the house with the door clicked shut behind them him and Jey went inside of the kitchen together grabbing something to drink as they heard Roman say something to them seeing a faint bruise on Jimmy's face.

"What happened? Did y'all handle it?" Roman asked.

Him and Jimmy looked each other then their gaze flickered back at Roman.

"You should be asking him that, he's the one with a bruise on his face." Jey pointed out.

Roman's gaze flickered at Jimmy tilting his head, "you fought him did you?"

Jimmy smacked his lips, "yeah I did, he got me good but I defended myself and for my girls."

He had shook his head knowing that Jimmy only knew how to confrontation than to talk especially when it came to his daughters and Yasmin if he didn't want to admit it and he just did that tonight.

"Did you at least tell confront him about the Milani said before whopping his ass?"

Jimmy nodded his head. "Yeah, but he had a lot to say is what got his ass whooped."

He had looked down at his bruised up knuckles as he didn't bother to ice them up the skin on his knuckles were already darkening and swelling. Jey had noticed it too and stepped closer whenever he was wound tight.

Ciara was in the living room leaning forward on the couch eyes narrowing down at his hands before her mouth curled before she could even get the words out.

"So you fighting niggas for her now Jonathan?" She said loud enough so everyone out hear her. "That's what we doing now?"

Jey had cursed underneath his breath while leaning his arm against the counter. "Here she go yall."

Jimmy's jaw tightened.

Ciara wasn't done.

"No it's not here I go, I'm questioning why you out here fighting niggas for a bitch that's not even yours anymore? She only doing this because she still has feelings for you and—"

"Ci, watch yo' mouth for real."

Roman's voice cut through the kitchen.

She turned towards him looking at him like he was crazy questioning who was he talking to folding her arms in the process.

"What we not finna do is disrespect the mother their kids." He said. "Not in this house."

She scoffed, "oh please Roman give me a fucking break, I can see what she is doing I'm not dumb and I'm not fucking with it."

Jimmy finally looked at then.

His eyes were dark, with an unreadable expression on his face the same look he had earlier that night like someone had crossed the line and Ciara had crossed that line.

"You don't know a damn thing, so I would advise you to stop talking." Jimmy said softly.

Ciara laughed, sharp and humorless. "So correct me if I'm wrong you went to house to beat up her nigga and show up here with bruises on her knuckles? Buuut this doesn't have anything to do with her?"

Jey chimed in before Jimmy could get a word in.

"This is about his girls who are sleeping inside of the bedroom down the hallway." Jey said calmly. "That's it."

She had rolled her eyes. "Right. Sure like imma believe that bullshit. Her problems. Her drama."

That's when Roman had stepped in once again.

"Yo' ass need to handle your insecurities real quick instead of projecting onto someone you barely know." Roman said calmly.

Ciara's mouth began to open but closed it immediately.

His gaze flickered back at Jimmy. "You aight?"

Jimmy nodded his head, slower this time. "Yeah, I'm straight."

Roman knew that he wasn't straight studying him with his eyes lingering on his hands, on his shoulders that were tensed. He already knew but didn't say nothing as he grabbed his keys from the bowl.

"A'ight, well imma see yall in the morning we gotta hit the gym and yall better not be late."

Him and Roman had dabbed each other up before pulling into a hug as he did the same thing with Jey before heading out for tonight.

Ciara had pushed herself off the couch with a huff. "I'm goin' outside."

Nobody didn't stop her, not even Jimmy he didn't need to when he was already going through enough tonight.

And when the door shut behind her, the house finally seem to calm down and less tension.

Jey had shook his head sighing. "Shorty out of pocket twin."

Jimmy glanced at him. "Trust me I know."

"You wanna talk about it or later?"

Jimmy stared down at his knuckles, flexing his fingers once, feeling the ache seeping in.

"Later." He said. "I need a drink."

"A'ight. Well i'ma head out to the shop to get some weed and some snacks I'll be back."

He nodded his head while leaning against the counter that was behind him, opening the fridge to get him a cold beer opening it without hesitation as he took a sip of it letting it go down his throat.

He felt something heavy in his chest.

As Ciara was loud and wrong about a lot of shit but not about one thing.

Yasmin still mattered even if she and him had some unfinished business with each other or she hated him for what he did.

She still mattered to him.

And whatever what was going on right now, or whatever got him walking up to her house tonight he just knew that this wasn't over.

Not even a little bit.

✎𓂃

Back at Yasmin's House.

Yasmin was sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone glowing in the darkness of her room. While the house grew quite a little too quiet for her liking but that didn't matter much as she didn't have to deal with Derrick trying to integrate her. As he retreated downstairs to play on that dumbass game of his as the sound of his game was bleeding through the floor.

Like nothing happened, like he didn't just get rocked in his face earlier when Jimmy was here. Like he hadn't turned everything inside out then pointing the finger at her.

Blaming her like it was her fault when she didn't even know that Jimmy was coming.

She stared at the group chat for a moment before texting the girls back.

Baddies Club 😝

Minks💗: can I be honest with yall?

The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.

Michin🧪: yeah what's up?

B-Fab📌: yeah you can tell us anything girl

She swallowed.

Minks💗: I swear Derrick was gon' be better than Jimmy yk? I thought I could move on and forget about him.

She continued to type.

Minks💗: I thought Derrick was gonna give me that calm, healing nature but no he didn't it only became worse more dangerous than how Jimmy was.

There was a pause. Not because they didn't have anything to say—but because they were letting her talk.

Michin🧪: I'm proud that you're seeing this

B-Fab📌: girrrl I've been knowing from the jump that Derrick was weird asf ngl but I didn't want to say anything yk?

She had leaned her back against the cool sheets of her bed as she could feel her eyes sting.

Minks💗: what fucks me up so bad is that I hate Jimmy bro like I hate this nigga so much but...

She stopped. Then typed.

Minks💗: but I love him at the same time those feelings that I thought were gone for him were still there for him. Allat love I  have for him outweighs the hate and I don't even want to.

Michin🧪: that doesn't disappear just because you say it should

B-Fab📌: especially since yall are tied down together bc of the girls and then yall got history together at that with unfinished business.

She let out a shaky breath.

Minks💗: it feels like that like me and him got this unfinished business together like something between us never closed. Like the chapter never ended between us.

She continued.

Minks💗: but it shouldn't matter anymore bc he's with someone new and prettier than me.

The girls responded instantly.

B-Fab📌: don't do that Yasmin you know you the baddies bitch and out.

Michin🧪: prettier don't mean better and it definitely doesn't mean irreplaceable

Yasmin had pressed her lips together.

Minks💗: I hate feeling like this it's so fucking stupid. Michin🧪: it's not stupid that you're being honest with yourself

B-Fab📌: and don't get it twisted Jimmy don't be beating up niggas over a women that he didn't care about.

That one landed home.

Hard.

She didn't respond right away only remembering how Jimmy looked when he was at her front door, eyes dark, jaw locked and tight. Already made up his mind.

Minks💗: that's the thing when he looked at me like that...it kinda scared me bc it looked too familiar way too familiar. Michin🧪: familiar don't always mean safe

B-Fab📌: but it does mean real

She closed her eyes, letting a tear slide down her cheek sighing deeply.

Minks💗: I'm so lost like I don't even know what to do yall. Michin🧪: first off just breathe for tonight and figure out the rest later so you won't make decisions while you're hurt.

B-Fab📌: and worry about your girls and fuck that bitch ass nigga Derrick fr bestie we gon' get him away from you TRUST.

She let out a small chuckle at B-Fab's last message.

Minks💗: this is why I love you guys so much Michin🧪: we love you too girly

B-Fab📌: and we got you always 

Yasmin had locked her phone and was holding it over her chest. She sighed deeply, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of her room. She tried to remind herself that Jimmy had a girlfriend and that Derrick was downstairs, yet there was something heavy in her heart that she couldn't shake off.

The danger wasn't just in choosing the wrong man, but in what would happen when the right one refused to let her go.

Meanwhile, back at Mama Fatu's house, Jimmy leaned against the kitchen counter, one foot hooked over the other. He took a sip from his beer can, which rested coolly in his hand, but he barely tasted it.

With his thumb brushing over his bruised knuckles, the ache was now dull, settling deep in his bones. Yet, it wasn't the pain that had him replaying the moment over and over again like a movie.

It was a restraint.

Derrick's mouth

His tone

The way he had looked at Yasmin like she was something to be corrected instead of protected.

He felt like he could've done more damage to him, he knew that in the back of his head. He wanted to put him through the floor make him bleed out but he didn't.

For sake of Yasmin.

He kept his composure for Yasmin instead of going insane like he didn't have no self control over himself.

But that didn't mean that the anger within him didn't settle down. It was still running deep inside of him like wildfire but kept it under control.

Jimmy's fingers dragged over his knuckles again, feeling his jaw tightening again. He had never stopped loving Yasmin. That was the truth he's been trying to avoid a lot for the longest even to himself alone.

Yasmin wasn't just someone from his past—that was his baby for real if he was being honest with himself. The mother of his daughters. The women who knew him before the wrestling life got to him and changed him into something different. Before mistakes stacked up too high to ignore.

And of course he knew that they had unfinished business together He'd felt it every time they stood too close at pick-ups, every time a slick comment slipped out sharp enough to draw blood. What looked like co-parenting on the outside felt like a constant test underneath—who was stronger, who was more healed, who cared less.

And every interaction they had—shit felt like a trigger every single time.

He hated that part about himself.

Jimmy took another sip of his beer, swallowing it slowly letting it settle down his throat as he tried to move on, tried to convince himself that he didn't love that girl when he was with someone new or that having Ciara clinging onto him meant he was doing something right, being responsible.

But that wasn't the case.

Ciara brought him noise, and not peace with a lot of pressure. A constant reminder to prove that he was present or there, committed, over Yasmin. And the more he tried to force that in his brain it really did make things clearer. That happiness wasn't something that you can fake into existence like it could magically appear.

He knew why him and Yasmin broke up in the first place it wasn't just the crazy scheduling but he wasn't blind of his own faults, his bad temper, his pride getting the best of him.

It felt like life was pulling them in all types of different directions and situations before either of them could or knew how to navigate for the same one. But knowing the reasons didn't make the loss any easier to live with.

Jimmy stared down at his hands.

Every single part of him wanted to go back over there just to make sure that she was good, make sure she was okay, to make sure that Derrick wasn't on that type of timing.

Whether she wanted to hear it or not, she didn't have to deal with this all by herself and alone. But instead he was in his mama's house inside of her kitchen with beer going warm in his hand, daughters were asleep down the hall. Pretending that control meant peace.

But the control didn't stop the truth that was feeling heavy on his chest, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he moved on with every single version of life that didn't include Yasmin felt wrong.

And that truth and realization was killing him more slowly than any fight ever could.

"Fuck man..."

That's when he had heard the door shut as he had seen Ciara coming back inside of the house quietly. He didn't turn away, but he did feel her presence but also could feel the shift change in the air with the tension pulling tight.

When he finally looked up, she was leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed over her chest, eyes fixed on him like she'd already decided what story she was going to tell herself.

He waited

And she scoffed at him.

"You know what's embarrassing?" Ciara said.

"Enlightening me Ci." Jimmy replied.

"You over here doing all of this for her just to be Mr Captain Save A Hoe."

Jimmy straightened slowly.

His face didn't change, but his eyes hardened. He took another sip of his beer, set the can down on the counter with deliberate calm, then looked at her fully.

"First of all." He said evenly. "This don't got nun to do with her and it was about the kids our kids let's get that straight."

Ciara rolled her eyes. "Here we go."

"Secondly, we ain't finna talk about this in my mama's crib." Jimmy continued.

She laughed, sharp and offended. "So I can't express my feelings?"

"You can say whatever you want." he replied. "Keep it respectful."

Ciara pushed off the counter, stepping closer. "You don't understand how weird this shit looks Jon? Whenever it comes to her here you come running to her like a lost puppy. Then your knuckles are bruised up."

Jimmy exhaled through his nose, patience thinning. "Why you tryna make this about you Ci? When it's not?"

"Because that's the fucking problem Jon." She snapped. "It's always about her, always been her like she got yo' ass wrapped around her fingers."

Jimmy's jaw tightened. "It's about my kids."

"And that bitch just happens to be attached to them." Ciara shot back. "Very fucking embarrassing."

He shook his head once. "It's not fucking embarrassing."

Ciara stared at him, searching his face for something—guilt, reassurance, anything she could grab onto. What she found instead was distance.

"I ain't arguing with you tonight ion got time." Jimmy said. "Or the patience to deal with allat."

"So what, I'm supposed to let this slide and let her take you away from me?" She asked.

"She's not taking me away from you." He replied. "But talkin crazy about the mother of my kids it's not gonna sit right with me so cool it Ci."

Silence stretched between them.

Ciara's lips pressed into a thin line. "Oh I see what this is...you still in love with her ass."

He didn't answer and that silence was an answer itself.

He picked up his beer again, turning slightly away from her, signaling the conversation was over. Ciara stood there a moment longer, pride wounded, jealousy simmering, before finally huffing under her breath and walking out of the kitchen.

Jimmy stared at the counter, the weight in his chest heavier than before.

He wasn't trying to save no one.

But he wasn't going to pretend that he didn't love the girl but didn't want to admit it because of his pride and trying to convince himself that he was with Ciara.

✎𓂃

The door had opened, hearing footsteps coming in the kitchen as Jey had come back inside the house with snacks and weed, along with a rolled-up blunt he had made before coming inside the house, as his gaze flickered at his twin brother.

He could tell that his shoulders were tensed and his eyes unfocused like he'd been fighting a whole war inside of his head which he didn't ask what happened because he didn't need to.

He sat the bag down on the counter and studied his twin brother for a moment. "You look like yo' ass been fighting a whole war right now." He said calmly.

Jimmy let out a breath through his nose, rubbing his hand over his face. "Fucking feels like it twin."

Jey reached up, pulled the blunt from behind his ear, and held it up slightly. "You wanna hit this blunt with me out back and talk about it?"

Jimmy didn't hesitate. He nodded once. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I need that."

They slipped out the back door, careful not to make noise, the night air cool and still compared to the tension inside the house. Jey lit the blunt, took the first pull, then passed it over without a word.

Jimmy took it, inhaled deep, held it longer than usual, then exhaled slowly. His shoulders dropped just a fraction.

They sat on the steps in silence for a moment, the porch light casting soft shadows across the yard.

"It's Ciara again?" Jey asked eventually.

Jimmy huffed a quiet laugh. "Of course."

Jey nodded. "She pokin'"

"More than pokin'" Jimmy corrected. "Saying a whole bunch of bullshit you know?"

Jey took the blunt back, smoke curling around his face. "I mean if we being honest twin, she ain't wrong about one thing."

Jimmy glanced at him.

"You still love Yasmin uce." Jey said plainly.

Jimmy didn't argue. Didn't deflect. He stared out into the dark yard, jaw tight. "I never stopped that's the thing." He admitted. "But you know how that went down between us."

Jey was quiet, letting that sit.

"I've been tellin' myself that I don't love that girl anymore and moved on with Ciara and that this was only about the girls." Jimmy continued. "The whole co-parenting doing it right by them But every time I see her, it feel like we back at the same place—sayin' slick shit, testin' each other, actin' like we don't care when we care too damn much."

He shook his head. "But fuck man...it's killin' me."

Jey passed him the blunt again. "Then why you with Ciara then if you feeling this way about Yas?"

Jimmy took a pull, slower this time. "Because leavin' feels like admitin' I failed twice," he said. "Once with Yasmin... and once with myself."

Jey leaned back on his hands. "Or maybe stayin' is you punishin' yourself."

Jimmy didn't respond right away.

"Look twin." Jey continued. "I'm not saying get back with Yasmin tomorrow or nun but yo' ass can't keep pretending yo' heart somewhere where it don't wanna be and that shit is gonna bleed on everyone including them girls twin."

Jimmy swallowed hard.

"And Dirty Derrick." Jey added. "I don't like his ass and I feel like Yasmin hiding something that she's not ready to tell."

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah."

"Then you gotta decide," Jey said, meeting his eyes, "are you protectin' from a distance... or are you avoidin' what you know need to be dealt with?"

Jimmy looked back toward the house, where his daughters slept, where Ciara sat stewing in jealousy, where everything felt tight and wrong.

He took one last pull and handed the blunt back.

"I don't know how to fix this," he admitted.

Jey clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You don't gotta fix it tonight," he said. "Just don't lie to yourself about what's broken."

Jimmy nodded slowly.

For the first time that night, he didn't feel alone in it.

But the truth Jey had spoken sat heavy in his chest—because deep down, Jimmy knew this wasn't just about feelings.

It was something more than that and he didn't know what.

The blunt burned down slow between them, the cherry glowing brighter with each pull. Smoke curled into the night air, easing the edge just enough to let the truth breathe without exploding.

Jey flicked the ash off and glanced sideways at Jimmy. "You should text her."

Jimmy exhaled, eyes still fixed on the yard. "Text who?"

Jey gave him a look. "Don't play with me. Yasmin. Just check if she good. Ain't gotta be deep."

Jimmy hesitated, then pulled his phone out anyway. His thumb hovered over her name.

Minks💗

He hadn't changed it since they were together. Never found a reason strong enough to.

Jey nodded toward the screen. "See? Even your phone know."

Jimmy huffed quietly, took one more pull, then typed.

BigJim🍆🍃: you straight?

He stared at the message after it sent, chest tightening immediately. No follow-up. No explanation. Just enough to let her know he was thinking about her without crossing a line.

Jey leaned back, satisfied. "That's all she need right now."

They sat in silence again, finishing off the blunt, the smoke doing its job—slowing things down, not fixing anything, just making it bearable.

Jey checked his phone and groaned. "Roman texted me earlier."

Jimmy glanced over. "What he say?"

"He tryin' to hit the gym early as hell," Jey said. "Said if we don't pull up, he gon' cuss us out."

Jimmy cracked a small smile for the first time that night. "Figures."

Jey stood up, stretching. "We'll go. Clear your head a little."

Jimmy nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket, already feeling the weight settle back in his chest. He didn't know if Yasmin would respond. He didn't know what that response would do to him if she did.

But at least now she knew he was there.

And somehow, that felt like both relief and danger all at once.

✎𓂃

Yasmin was curled in her bed with the blanket over her body as the soft glow of the TV was shining through her face as Bridgerton was playing in the background filling up the room—more letting it play as background noise as she wasn't fully watching it being caught up in her thoughts.

That's when she felt her phone buzzed next to her.

She reached for it assuming that it was group chat until she had froze for a second when she had seen his name pop up on her screen.

1 message from BigJim🍆🍃

Her chest tightened.

BigJim🍆🍃: you straight?

Two words. Simple. Careful. And somehow heavier than a paragraph would've been.

Yasmin let the phone rest in her palm, thumb hovering over the screen. Her heart picked up, annoyance and warmth crashing into each other all at once.

Of course he checking on me, she thought. Of course.

She locked the phone without responding and tossed it back onto the bed like it might burn her. Her eyes went back to the TV, but the dialogue blurred, the characters' voices fading into noise.

Why now?

She hated how fast her body reacted to him. How a single text could pull her right out of herself, undoing hours of convincing herself she didn't need him. She hated that part of her wanted to answer immediately—wanted to say no, I'm not straight or thank you for asking or even why do you care?

Because he did care. That was the problem. When he shouldn't care in the first place.

Yasmin rolled onto her side, staring at the wall. He had a girlfriend. A pretty one. One who was probably sitting in that same house right now, thinking she was the problem. Thinking she was still trying to pull him back in.

Maybe I am, she admitted quietly to herself.

Her phone buzzed again—not a new message, just the screen lighting up as if reminding her it was still there. Still waiting.

She picked it up again, unlocked it, reread the message. The concern felt genuine. No attitude. No accusation. Just Jimmy being Jimmy in the only way he knew how.

Yasmin sighed softly.

Responding would open a door she wasn't sure she was ready to walk through. Not responding felt like lying—to him and to herself.

She typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted that too.

Her fingers finally stilled as she stared at the screen, caught between protecting her peace and admitting that, even now, he still mattered more than she wanted him to.

And for a long moment, she just sat there—phone glowing in her hand, heart divided, unsure which choice would hurt less.

"Fuck." Yasmin muttered under her breath.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then opened them like she was bracing herself for impact. Just text him back, she told herself. Say you're okay. Nothing else. Don't open the door.

Her thumbs moved before she could overthink it again.

Minks💗: I'm straight Jimmy.

Three words. Clean. Controlled.

She stared at the message for a beat, then hit send before fear could talk her out of it.

The phone felt heavier in her hand afterward, like she'd just crossed an invisible line. She locked the screen and set it face-down on the bed, exhaling slowly.

"That's it," she whispered to herself. "That's all."

She turned her attention back to the TV, forcing her eyes to focus, forcing herself to listen to the dialogue instead of the echo of her heartbeat. But her body stayed tense, waiting—anticipating the familiar buzz that always came when Jimmy decided he wasn't done.

Because he knew her too well and she hated that shit—hated it so much.

And deep down, Yasmin knew that even though she told herself she'd leave it there...the hardest part wasn't responding.

It was pretending that meant nothing, pretending that it didn't matter when it did.

She felt her phone buzzing again as she sighed deeply.

Yasmin's breath caught this time—sharp, immediate—before she could stop it. She reached for the phone too quickly, like her body had already decided before her mind could argue.

1 message from BigJim🍆🍃

She unlocked it.

BigJim🍆🍃: you sure u straight?

That was it. Four words. No pressure on the surface, but she knew Jimmy well enough to hear everything underneath them. Concern. Doubt. The unspoken I don't believe you.

Yasmin leaned back against the headboard, lips pressing together as she stared at the screen. Of course he wasn't satisfied with okay. He never had been. He always needed confirmation, reassurance, something solid to hold onto.

Her heart thumped harder than it should have.

You don't owe him anything, she reminded herself. He got a girlfriend.

Still... he had come to her house. He had fought for her kids. He had walked away when he could've gone further—for her sake.

She typed.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Paused.

Finally, she sent the truth—trimmed down, guarded, but real enough to pass as safe.

Minks💗: I'm sure just tired.

She set the phone down beside her this time instead of face-down, eyes drifting back to the TV. The music swelled on screen, romantic and dramatic, but all Yasmin could hear was the echo of Jimmy's voice in her head—the way he always knew when something was off, the way he never let things end neatly.

She hugged the blanket closer around herself, chest tight.

Because if he kept asking...she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to keep answering halfway.

BigJim🍆🍃: call me

Her stomach flipped.

She sat up straighter, back pressing into the headboard, heart suddenly racing like she'd been caught doing something wrong—even though she hadn't done anything at all. Yet.

Her thumbs hovered, hesitation heavy. Then she typed back, choosing caution over impulse.

Minks💗: Jonathan...your girlfriend would not like that shit.

Bubbles appeared as the message sat there for half a second before the reply came through.

BigJim🍆🍃: I don't care about Ciara rn

Yasmin closed her eyes.

That was the line. The one that shifted everything.

Her chest tightened, a mix of frustration, validation, and fear colliding all at once. She hated how quickly those words settled into her bones. Hated how a part of her felt chosen in a way she hadn't in a long time—and hated herself even more for feeling that way.

This is exactly why I shouldn't do this, she thought.

She looked at the ceiling, exhaled slowly, then glanced back down at the phone. His name glowed on the screen like a dare.

She typed. Stopped. Deleted. Typed again.

Minks💗: you shouldn't be saying shit like that.

The typing bubbles appeared instantly.

BigJim🍆🍃: I'm tellin' the truth idc I just want to hear your voice just for a minute.

Her throat tightened. She pressed her lips together, eyes stinging. She could almost hear him—low, steady, concerned in that way that always made her feel seen even when she didn't want to be.

This was how it always started.

A check-in. A boundary. Then a crack.

Yasmin stared at the call button, thumb hovering over it, pulse loud in her ears. Logic told her to protect herself. To protect him, even. To not add another layer of mess to an already fragile situation.

But her heart whispered something else entirely.

That maybe some things were unfinished because they were never meant to be buried in the first place.

She didn't press call yet.

But she didn't lock the phone either.

And in that small pause—between restraint and surrender—Yasmin realized the tension between them wasn't just still there.

It was alive.

✎𓂃

Yasmin stared at the screen until her eyes burned.

The call button sat there, bright and patient, like it wasn't about to change everything once she pressed it. Her thumb hovered, then pulled back. Hovered again.

What are we even gonna talk about? she thought. What is he gonna say?

She already knew how Jimmy sounded when he was worried—low, steady, trying to be calm while everything underneath him was on edge. She knew how he asked questions that weren't really questions, how silence from him meant more than words ever did.

And that scared her.

Because if she called him, it wouldn't just be about checking in. It wouldn't just be about the fight, or the kids, or whether she was "straight." It would be about everything they kept circling and never touching. About what went wrong. About what still hurt. About what never really ended.

Yasmin swallowed, her chest tightening.

What if he says something I'm not ready to hear? What if I say something I can't take back?

She hugged the blanket closer around herself, phone resting in her palm like a weight. Calling him felt like stepping onto a ledge without knowing how far the drop was—or whether he'd catch her or let her fall.

And then there was Ciara. Always Ciara. Sitting somewhere in his life like a reminder of all the reasons this was a bad idea. A reminder that whatever was happening between her and Jimmy lived in the gray, not the clear.

Yasmin exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.

You don't owe him a call, she told herself. You already said you're okay.

But another truth pressed just as hard: if she didn't call him, she'd lie awake all night wondering what he would've said.

Her phone buzzed lightly in her hand—not a new message, just the screen dimming, waiting. Waiting on her.

Yasmin closed her eyes, heart pounding, caught between protecting the walls she'd built and answering the one person who still knew how to knock on them the right way.

She didn't call him yet.

But she didn't put the phone down either.

And that indecision—heavy, familiar, unresolved—told her everything she was afraid to admit. Whatever Jimmy wanted to say, part of her needed to hear it. The phone started ringing before she could talk herself out of it.

Yasmin froze, breath caught in her chest as BigJim🍆🍃 lit up her screen. For a split second, she considered letting it ring out—letting it go to voicemail, preserving what little control she still had.

"Shit," she whispered.

Before her nerves could win, she answered.

"Hello?"

Her voice came out soft. Too soft.

And then she heard him.

"Yas."

That rich, deep voice slid straight through her, warm and familiar, settling somewhere it had no business being anymore. Her stomach flipped in a way she hated—and loved—at the same damn time.

She closed her eyes briefly, pressing her head back against the headboard. Dummy, she thought to herself. You knew this would happen.

"Hey," she replied, trying to sound normal, casual, unaffected. She failed.

There was a pause on the other end, like he was grounding himself.

"You sure you okay?" Jimmy asked quietly.

The concern in his voice cracked something in her chest. Not aggressive. Not interrogating. Just... there. Present. The way he always was when it mattered.

"I told you I'm fine," she said, but it didn't carry much weight.

Jimmy exhaled slowly. "You don't sound fine."

Yasmin let out a soft, humorless breath. "You called me to argue with me?"

"Nah," he said. "I called 'cause I needed to hear you."

That did it.

Her grip tightened on the phone, fingers curling into the blanket. She hated how easily he still got to her. How one sentence could undo hours of self-talk and distance.

"Well," she said carefully, "you hear me."

"Yeah," Jimmy replied, voice low. "I do."

Another pause. Comfortable. Dangerous.

"I shouldn't have let it get that far tonight," he added. "But I wasn't gon' stand there and let him talk about my kids like that. Or you."

Her throat tightened. "Jimmy..."

"I know," he cut in gently. "I know you don't wanna hear it. I ain't callin' to start nothin'. I just—" He stopped himself, then said more quietly, "I needed to know you was good."

Yasmin stared at the ceiling, blinking fast. The truth pressed against her ribs, begging to be let out, but she swallowed it down.

"I'm still here," she said instead. "That's all I got right now."

"That's enough," he replied without hesitation.

The certainty in his voice made her chest ache.

They fell into silence again, neither of them rushing to fill it. Outside her bedroom door, the house remained quiet. No kids. No chaos. Just two people on opposite ends of a line they kept pretending didn't exist.

Yasmin swallowed. "Jimmy... this isn't a good idea."

"I know," he said softly.

"But you called anyway," she whispered.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I did."

Her heart thudded hard against her chest. She hated how right it felt. How natural. How unfinished.

And as she lay there listening to his breathing on the other end of the phone, Yasmin realized the part she feared most wasn't that she'd answered.

It was that, no matter how much time passed, his voice still felt like home. Yasmin swallowed, fingers tightening around the phone.

"Jimmy... Ciara wouldn't like this," she said quietly. "You already know that."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a slow exhale. Not annoyed—tired.

"Don't remind me," he said. "She already down my throat about it."

Yasmin's brows knit together. "Then why are you—"

"Because I don't care right now," Jimmy cut in, firm but not harsh. "And I need you to hear that."

Her chest tightened.

"I'm dealin' with her," he continued, voice dropping lower. "But that ain't what matters to me in this moment."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

"My main concern is you," he said, slower now, deliberate. "And my baby girls. That's it. That's all I'm thinkin' about."

Yasmin closed her eyes.

"You shouldn't be puttin' yourself last to make everybody else comfortable," Jimmy added. "Not for him. Not for me. Not for nobody."

Her breath hitched despite her trying to keep it steady. "You don't get to say that like you don't still have a whole girlfriend," she whispered.

"I'm not pretendin' I don't," he replied. "I'm sayin' where my priorities at."

That honesty scared her more than anything else he could've said.

"You always do this," Yasmin murmured. "You come in when things already messed up and make it harder for me to keep my walls up."

Jimmy was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice softened.

"I ain't tryin' to tear your walls down," he said. "I just don't like seein' you hurt behind 'em."

Her eyes burned. She shifted on the bed, pulling the blanket closer like armor.

"I got this," she said, more to convince herself than him.

"I know you do," Jimmy replied immediately. "You always do. That don't mean you supposed to do it alone."

Yasmin pressed her lips together, fighting the emotion rising in her throat. This—this was the Jimmy she remembered. Not loud. Not defensive. Just present. Steady. Dangerous in the quiet way.

"You can't save me," she said softly.

"I ain't tryin' to," he answered. "I'm just standin' right here in case you need backup."

The words settled into her chest, warm and unsettling all at once.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Just breathing. Just existing on the same line, in the same emotional space they'd never really left.

And Yasmin hated how safe it felt—because safety with Jimmy had always come with consequences, She shifted on the bed, the blanket sliding down slightly as she sat up straighter. Her voice was quieter now, but firmer.

"Why do you even care, Jimmy?" she asked. "You got Ciara. You should be focused on her—on her alone. Especially when you know she don't like me."

There it was. The question she'd been circling all night.

On the other end of the line, Jimmy let out a breath that sounded like restraint snapping—not anger, just frustration mixed with truth.

"Stop sayin' that," he said immediately. "You know that ain't how this works."

Yasmin frowned. "It should be."

"It can't be," Jimmy replied. "And it never will be."

She went quiet.

"I can't just cut you off like you some ex I used to mess with," he continued, voice steady, grounded. "You the mother of my daughters. That don't change just because I'm with somebody else."

Yasmin swallowed. "But—"

"And I told Ciara the same thing," Jimmy added before she could finish. "Straight up. Let her know exactly what it is."

Her heart skipped. "You told her... what?"

"That me and you tied together," he said plainly. "For life. Because of the girls."

Yasmin's chest tightened, emotion pressing hard against her ribs.

"So yeah," Jimmy went on, not raising his voice, not softening it either. "Of course I'm gon' give a fuck about you. That's not negotiable. That's not somethin' I can turn off to make somebody else feel better."

She looked down at her hands, fingers twisting into the fabric of the blanket.

"That don't mean I'm crossin' lines," he said. "It mean I know my responsibilities. And one of them is makin' sure you good—because when you good, my kids good."

Yasmin exhaled slowly, the logic making sense even as it stirred something deeper she wasn't ready to name.

"You always make it sound so simple," she murmured.

"It ain't simple," Jimmy replied quietly. "It's just real."

Silence settled between them again, heavier now, layered with understanding and everything left unsaid. Yasmin hated how comforting his words felt—how they soothed parts of her she'd worked so hard to numb.

"Jimmy..." she started, then stopped.

"I know," he said softly.

And in that moment, Yasmin realized the hardest part wasn't Ciara's jealousy or Derrick's control or even the chaos of their past.

It was this truth they both kept circling:

No matter who either of them dated, no matter how much they pretended otherwise, they were still connected—and neither of them knew how to cut a tie that had been sealed by love, history, and two little girls sleeping peacefully miles away.

There was a long pause on the line, the kind of silence that carried weight, heavy enough to press against her chest.

Then Jimmy's voice came, low and deliberate, a hint of fire burning underneath.

"That bitch Derrick," he said, voice tight, "needs to let it be known... me and you? We tied together. Like it or not. Don't matter what he thinks."

Yasmin felt her stomach twist, heat rising in her cheeks despite the darkness of her room.

"He doesn't get to decide that for us," Jimmy continued. "Nobody does. You my baby mama. The girls? They my world. And that means I'm not just gonna stand back while somebody tries to act like they can control you—or them."

She swallowed, heart racing, pulse thundering in her ears. Part of her wanted to protest, to remind him about Ciara, to tell him this wasn't his fight anymore.

But another part—the part she hated and loved equally—just wanted to hear more. Wanted him to say it again, to make it real.

"I... I don't know what to say," she admitted quietly, voice tight.

"You don't gotta say nothing," Jimmy replied. "Just hear me. That's enough. And if Derrick—or anybody else—thinks otherwise, they better be ready to deal."

Yasmin pressed the phone to her chest, closing her eyes.

It was infuriating. Dangerous. Reckless. And entirely Jimmy.

And as much as she hated to admit it, a small, undeniable part of her wanted him to be exactly that Yasmin's grip on the phone tightened, her jaw setting as her emotions finally pushed past the lump in her throat.

"Jimmy... you can't say things like that," she said, firmer now. "You can't."

There was an edge to her voice he hadn't heard in a while—the kind that meant she was serious, not teasing, not deflecting.

"That's the exact reason why we broke up in the first place," she continued. "You never knew how to talk. You always let your temper, your pride—your need to control everything—take over."

On the other end of the line, Jimmy went quiet.

"You think I don't remember?" Yasmin asked, her voice lowering. "You think I don't feel it every time you get like that?"

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "Beating somebody's ass is not always the answer, Jimmy. And every time I see you like that—angry, ready to snap—it scars me. You don't even realize how much."

His breathing shifted, heavier now.

"I know you think you protecting me," she said softly. "But sometimes it feels like you don't trust me to handle my own life. Like you gotta come in and bulldoze everything."

"That ain't—" Jimmy started, then stopped himself.

She heard it then—the restraint. The effort.

"I don't need you fighting everybody for me," Yasmin added. "I need you to listen. I need you to think before you react."

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. When Jimmy finally spoke, his voice was different—lower, stripped of bravado.

"I ain't never wanted to scare you," he said quietly. "Not once."

"But you did," she replied, honest. "And sometimes... you still do."

That landed.

Jimmy exhaled slowly, like he was forcing himself to stay still. "I'm not proud of how I get," he admitted. "And I know that shit cost me us."

Yasmin closed her eyes, her chest aching at the sound of accountability in his voice.

"I loved you," she said, barely above a whisper. "But loving you felt like always bracing for impact."

Another pause.

"I'm tryin' to be better," Jimmy said. "I don't always get it right—but I hear you. Tonight included."

Her shoulders sagged slightly, tension loosening just a bit.

"I don't want my girls thinking that anger is strength," Yasmin added. "Or that love looks like fear."

"Neither do I," he said immediately. "I promise you that."

They sat in that truth together—raw, uncomfortable, necessary.

And for the first time that night, it wasn't the unfinished business or the jealousy or the possessiveness filling the space between them.

It was the thing they never mastered when they were together:

Honesty, without shouting, or bickering down each other's throats all the time just full throttle. It was calm and peaceful in a way.

✎𓂃

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, filled only by the faint sound of Bridgerton still playing in the background. Yasmin hadn't even realized it was on anymore.

Then Jimmy spoke again.

"I don't like that bitch," he said, voice low, controlled but tight around the edges. "I don't like his bitch ass tryna play step daddy. Disciplinin' my kids like he got a say."

Yasmin closed her eyes, already knowing where this was headed.

"That's why I had to beat his ass," Jimmy continued. "That was just a taste. 'Cause if he fuck around and find out again—"

"Jimmy," she cut in quickly. "I know. I get it. I really do."

Her voice softened but stayed firm. "But you gotta keep your temper under control. You have to."

There was a pause, shorter this time.

"You know I don't play about that shit," Jimmy said, quieter now, but more dangerous in how certain he sounded. "When it come to Milani and Miyori? Nah. He already crossed a line. Fuckin' with me like that... he done met his maker."

Yasmin's chest tightened. Not from doubt—but from familiarity.

"And that right there," she said gently, "is what scares me."

Jimmy didn't interrupt.

"I don't need you going to jail," she continued. "I don't need my girls growin' up watchin' their daddy lose himself to anger. They need you. Present. Free. Alive."

His breath came through the phone, slow and heavy.

"I hear you," he said finally. "I do. But I won't apologize for protectin' mine."

"I'm not askin' you to," Yasmin replied. "I'm askin' you to protect them the right way."

Another pause. This one felt different—less volatile, more thoughtful.

"I'll chill," Jimmy said after a moment. "For you. For them."

Yasmin leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion settling into her bones. "That's all I'm askin'."

They stayed on the line, neither of them rushing to hang up. The tension hadn't disappeared—but it had shifted, softened by boundaries spoken out loud instead of crossed.

And even though Yasmin knew this situation was complicated, dangerous, unfinished—She also knew one thing for certain.

When it came to Milani and Miyori, Jimmy wasn't just reacting.

He was terrified of losing them. And somehow, that scared him just as much as it scared her. The line was quiet for a moment, filled only with their slow breathing. Then Jimmy spoke, voice low and deliberate, heavy with something he could no longer hold back.

"I still love you, Yas."

Yasmin felt her chest tighten. She shook her head slightly, biting back the lump in her throat. "Jimmy... don't."

But he cut her off immediately, shaking his head so hard she could almost hear it through the phone. "No. Listen to me. I still love you. I never stopped. Even with Ciara... that don't change the truth."

She swallowed hard, the words hitting her like a punch she didn't want but couldn't dodge.

"I know I fucked up," he continued, voice thick with regret. "My flaws, my temper, my pride... I know I fucked up with you. I know that."

Yasmin hesitated, then whispered, "Jonathan..."

The name did something to him. Something sharp. He exhaled slowly, swallowing hard.

"Listen to me," he said firmly. "You hear me? I love you. I love the fuck outta you. You never did me wrong, Yasmin. Never. Not once."

She closed her eyes, tears threatening to spill, because it was the truth she'd buried deep. She had felt it before, always, even when she tried to convince herself otherwise.

"I'm not pressuring you to fix anything," Jimmy said, voice dropping softer now, almost reverent. "I don't want you to feel that way. I just... wanted you to know. You're sacred to me, Yasmin. You always have been. And I can't pretend that I don't still feel that."

Her heart raced. She wanted to argue, to push back, to tell him that words couldn't erase the past—but she didn't. She couldn't.

And in that quiet moment, with the TV humming softly in the background and the world outside her bedroom door continuing as if nothing mattered, Yasmin felt something raw and undeniable settle over her.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it complicated everything.

Even if it was dangerous.

She still loved him too—though saying it aloud felt impossible.

And somehow, that truth—their truth—hung between them, fragile, unbroken, and more alive than either of them were ready to admit.

"I hate feeling like this," Yasmin whispered, her voice breaking despite her trying to keep it together. "I hate it. I hate you. I hate you, Jimmy."

There was no offense taken on the other end. No defensiveness.

Just understanding.

In that rich, velvet-deep voice of his—the one that always undid her no matter how much she fought it—he answered softly, "I know you hate me, baby. I know you do."

That word.

Baby.

It slid straight through her defenses, warm and familiar, and she melted deeper into her blankets before she could stop herself. It had been so long since she'd heard it from him—said like that, like it belonged to her.

Jimmy continued, calm and steady, not rushing her.

"I ain't sayin' this to confuse you," he said. "I'm tellin' you what it is and what it ain't."

She listened, heart pounding.

"It is love," he said plainly. "Real love. The kind that don't disappear just 'cause shit went left or people got hurt."

"And it ain't me askin' you to come back," he added. "It ain't me tryin' to pull you into somethin' you not ready for. It ain't me crossin' lines."

Yasmin's throat tightened.

"I just needed you to know the truth," Jimmy continued. "So you don't think I'm out here playin' pretend. Or that everything we had didn't mean nothin'. It meant everything to me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping out despite her best effort.

"You don't get to say things like that and then disappear," she murmured.

"I'm not disappearin'," he replied immediately. "I'm just bein' honest and givin' you space at the same time."

Another pause. Gentle. Heavy.

"You can hate me," Jimmy said softly. "I'll carry that. But don't ever think for a second that I didn't love you right—or that I don't still love you now."

Yasmin pressed her phone against her chest, breathing uneven.

She hated how safe his voice felt.She hated how real it sounded.She hated that no matter how much time passed, he still knew exactly how to reach her without even trying.

And maybe that was the worst part of all:

Even wrapped in anger, resentment, and distance, his love still sounded like home. Yasmin's voice shook as she buried herself deeper into her blankets, repeating the words over and over like a mantra to keep herself safe.

"I hate you... I hate you... I hate you..."

"I know, baby," Jimmy replied softly, his voice calm, patient, almost reverent. "I can take that. I fucked up. I know that."

Her chest tightened at his honesty, but it wasn't the words that cut deepest. It was what came next.

"I... I missed you," he admitted quietly, almost like it hurt him to say it.

Yasmin's stomach flipped violently. Her heart wasn't just reacting—it was doing backflips, racing like a drumline in her chest. She hadn't expected that, and yet, somehow, she had.

Her throat tightened as she finally let herself whisper the truth, the words coming slower this time, almost like a confession she hadn't allowed herself before.

"I... I miss you too," she admitted, voice trembling.

There was a long pause, just breathing and the quiet hum of the TV from her bedroom.

"But Jimmy," she added, swallowing hard, trying to steady her racing heart, "it wouldn't work... your ways... everything about us, it wouldn't work."

"I don't think you know that," he said gently, almost like a whisper into her chest. "None of us know that. Let faith decide, baby. Let it play out how it's supposed to."

Her heart stuttered at his words. Faith. Not force. Not pressure. Not logic.

She wanted to argue, to remind him why it wouldn't work, but deep down, she knew he was right. They hadn't been ready before. Maybe they weren't now. But faith... faith didn't lie.

"I don't know if I can trust that," she murmured.

"You don't have to," he said, voice steady, low, unwavering. "You just have to trust me right now... that I'm telling the truth. I love you, Yasmin. Always have. Always will."

Her chest ached. She wanted to hate him, wanted to push him away, wanted to hold her walls up like she always did.

But in the silence that followed, with his words echoing against her heart, she realized that some things weren't about hate.

Some things were about love—messy, impossible, unfinished love—that refused to die. Jimmy's voice softened, losing its edge, settling into something steadier.

"I know we got unfinished business," he said. "I ain't blind to that. And we'll work on it—eventually. But right now, we gotta focus on our girls. That's the priority."

Yasmin closed her eyes, listening.

"And for what it's worth," he added, "I'm here for you. Even if you hate me. Even if you don't wanna talk. I'm still here."

Her chest tightened.

"Everything felt off when you stopped comin' to Sunday dinners," Jimmy continued. "Mama noticed. I noticed. The house ain't felt the same without you there."

Yasmin swallowed hard, fingers curling into the blanket.

"If you ever wanna talk to me about anything," he said gently, "I'm right here. You don't gotta carry shit by yourself."

There it was. The opening. The moment where she could tell him everything—about Derrick, about the fear, about why she couldn't step foot in that house anymore pretending everything was fine.

Her lips parted.

And then she stopped herself.

Not now.

She knew Jimmy. She knew exactly what would happen if she told him tonight. His temper would flare. His restraint would snap. And Derrick wouldn't just get checked—he'd get hurt. Badly.

And she couldn't live with that.

"I hear you," Yasmin said instead, her voice quiet but sincere. "I do."

"That's all I need," Jimmy replied. "No pressure."

Silence settled again, but this time it felt different—less heavy, more cautious. Like two people standing on opposite sides of a truth they both sensed but weren't ready to cross.

Yasmin stared at the ceiling, her heart aching with everything left unsaid.

There were so many reasons she stopped coming. So many things she wanted to explain.

But tonight wasn't the night.

Because loving Jimmy still meant knowing when to protect him—from others, and from himself His voice came again, steady and calm, carrying the weight of responsibility he always wore like armor.

"Look, I'll drop the girls off at school tomorrow," he said. "And I'll pick them up from volleyball practice too. Just lettin' you know."

Yasmin's chest tightened at the thought of him handling everything—managing their daughters, bridging the gap between them.

"I'll drop them off at your crib after practice," he added. "No fuss. Just makin' sure everything's smooth for you."

She exhaled slowly, relief and nerves tangled together. "Okay... I appreciate that," she murmured, her voice quiet.

Jimmy didn't respond immediately, just let the moment hang—a promise made without expectation, a presence offered without pressure.

"I'm just makin' sure they're taken care of," he finally said softly. "And that you're good too. That's it."

Yasmin's thumb brushed the phone screen instinctively, unsure if she should say more. She wanted to thank him. Wanted to tell him how much it mattered that he was still showing up—not just for the girls, but for her too.

But the words caught in her throat.

Instead, she whispered, "Thanks, Jimmy."

"That's all I need," he said, and she could hear the faint smile in his voice.

For a moment, the heaviness lifted, just enough for her to remember that no matter the chaos outside, no matter the history or the hurt, there was one thing undeniable: he was still there.

And for now, that had to be enough. Jimmy's voice softened, calm and gentle now, like he was lowering the walls around them both.

"I'm gonna let you go for tonight," he said. "I know you gotta get up early for work nurse Yasmin."

Yasmin chuckled softly, the sound quiet and warm. "Nurse Yasmin, huh?" she teased.

He laughed lightly on the other end, rich and familiar. "Yeah... couldn't resist," he replied, the corners of his voice smiling.

There was a pause, heavy with unsaid words. Then he added, steady and sincere, "I love you, Yasmin. Don't forget that."

Her heart thumped, despite herself. "I... I know," she whispered, voice soft.

"Good," he said, letting the word linger. "Goodnight for tonight, minks."

"Goodnight, Jimmy," she replied, pressing the phone to her chest.

As the line went quiet, Yasmin lay back against her pillows, blankets tugged up around her. The words and warmth of his voice lingered, wrapping around her like a dangerous, comforting embrace.

And though she knew tomorrow would bring its own chaos, its own challenges with Derrick and their complicated lives, for this night... she let herself just breathe.

Just for a moment, everything felt... okay.

TRIGGERED.

a/n: sighhh decision, decision chat.

NO YEET.

prev chapter

chapter four

[randomwordprompts]

I had to take a break after chapter one because I got a little triggered (no pun intended) but NOW THAT I'M CAUGHT UP?!?!

[cherryjennn-deactivated20260727]

Victor frankenstein wasn't surprised when the creature spoke perfect English because deep down he knew the creature is more than capable of speaking and being intelligent, it was always about control, deep down Victor knew the creature has the capacity for intelligence thats why he locked him away ,because he didn't want to face him and the idea that the thing he created is a whole life he is now responsible for. He wanted to live in a world where the creature was just dumb and not a full life ,thats why he never even bothered to actually teach.

[randomwordprompts]

Alright, y’all.

I wrote this fix that was supposed to be posted for Christmas but I was late finishing it. Should I still post it up? It’s not explicitly about the holidays, just set during that time.

[artisticestheticreads]

Under Their Roof (MasterList)

In the bustling charm of the 1930s, a young woman takes a job with the Moore family as a house helper and nanny—only to discover that her duties may reach far beyond what she ever expected.

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | SEVEN.2 | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | ELEVEN.TWO | TWELVE | THIRTEEN | FINALE

-Sweet Babies-

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-mongerv @girlsneedlovingfanfics @desire4ella @mogul93 @d1gitalb4rbie @underated345-blog @woahthatshitfat @fiercedeception @gold-3 @empressdede @harleycativy @adultinginheels @heartgirllover @transparentphantomface @cchampangemammii @brownskincheyenne @zunibugsiren @mimi2618 @amor33 @swatson06 @lovesbysblog @dollys-world224 @mbjswife @l-u-xwrites @itsspixiedusst56 @loveabledovee

[randomwordprompts]

The way I sped through reading all of this and am in love! This was so good!!!!

[uceyliyahh]

PRETTY PRESSURE

summary: Kemani wasn’t quick to trust anymore. After an emotionally abusive ex and a mother who tried to run her life, she finally packed her bags and left it all behind. Orlando became her fresh start — training at the WWE Performance Center by day and doing hair on the side to keep her passion alive. When she started promoting her styles on Instagram, everything shifted. Her page blew up… and that’s when she caught the attention of Jimmy Uso himself.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings: none

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

word count: 4k.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Kemani

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title love my girl downn🫶🏽

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @sharmelasworld @spiicii @keenagurl @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @sharmelasworld @jeyusosqueen @jeyseyes @piinkbenjamins @lovelyjay45

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @mjonthetrack @jimslvrr @randomwordprompts @amazinggirlsstuff

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @yourleogf @sualeo @luuvprincess @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @dreamgirljey @dpriestxripleysgirl

1

omniscient

Chicago, Illinois.

Kemani had spent most of her life feeling like she was living someone else’s script — her mother’s voice writing the lines, her ex-boyfriend directing the scenes, and her own wants pushed so far into the background she wasn’t even sure what they sounded like anymore.

Being the oldest of three meant she was the built-in babysitter, the mediator, the responsible one. But lately, it also meant she was the one held on the tightest leash.

“Where you going?” her mother would ask the moment she grabbed her keys. “Why you need that?” “I don’t like you talking to those people.” “You need to be focused on the right things.”

The right things always meant her things. Never Kemani’s.

Meanwhile her siblings — the younger two who got away with murder — came and went, made messes, lived loud, and were praised for “finding themselves.” But when Kemani even breathed about wanting space, or a day to herself, it was a problem.

It had been this way for years. But after the past eight months with Kentrell, it felt unbearable.

Not physically. That would’ve been too obvious, too easy to label as wrong.

He was the kind of man who hurt with his words first — little cuts meant to sink deep.

“You’re too sensitive.” “Nobody else gon’ want you.” “I’m the only one who understands you.” “Don’t wear that, you look attention-hungry.”

Some days he was sweet. Most days he was sharp.

The emotional swings left her dizzy, always apologizing for things she hadn’t done, always dimming her light so he wouldn’t accuse her of “trying to impress somebody.”

But the night everything changed was simple, quiet.

Too quiet.

He had picked another argument out of nowhere — accusing her of cheating because she spent two hours braiding her sister’s hair and didn’t answer her phone.

He called her selfish. Ungrateful. Stuck-up. A problem he had “saved” from a worse life.

And then, when she didn’t break down the way he expected, he laughed at her.

That laugh stayed in her chest for days.

She wasn’t staying in this house. She wasn’t staying in this relationship. She wasn’t staying in this life.

While her mother nagged her about chores and her siblings ran wild in the hallway, Kemani sat on the edge of her bed with her heart beating loud and her phone open to bus tickets.

Her hands trembled, but they didn’t stop.

She typed it out in her notes first, like saying it silently to herself:

“I’m moving to Orlando.” “I’m choosing myself this time.” “I’m done letting people control me.”

She didn’t know exactly what waited for her out there — only that it had to be better than this. Better than feeling trapped.  Better than feeling unseen. Better than being loved only conditionally.

And deep down, she’d always wanted to train.  Always wanted to step into a WWE ring and feel that rush in her chest.  Always wanted a life that was hers.

Packed her bags at three.

And by six, she had her suitcase zipped, her pillow under her arm, and tears running down her face — not from sadness, but from the wild, overwhelming realization that she was finally doing something for her.

Her mother yelled.  Kentrell blew up her phone.  Her siblings begged her to stay. But Kemani kept moving. Through the hallway.  Out the door.  Into the fresh air where she could finally breathe. She didn’t look back.

—

The airport felt colder than she expected. Not the temperature — the feeling. That unfamiliar mix of freedom and fear settling under her skin as automatic doors slid shut behind her, separating her from everything she was finally walking away from.

Her suitcase rattled across the tile as she made her way through the crowds, hoodie up, headphones on, heart pounding like she was doing something illegal. The intercom announcements echoed overhead, people rushing past her with backpacks, families, coffee cups… everyone moving forward.

It hit her:

She was moving forward too. For the first time in years. But her phone wouldn’t let her forget what she’d left.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Kemani didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Her mother. Again.

And again.

And again.

The notifications stacked so quickly her screen lit up like a strobe light. Each call came in quicker than the last. She turned her phone over on her lap as she sat near her gate, refusing to let those vibrations shake her decision.

She exhaled slowly. She wasn’t going back. Not this time.

The calls stopped…and the texts rolled in like a storm.

“Where you at?” “Answer your phone.” “I know you not tryna play me like this.” “Come back so we can talk like adults.” “U really acting childish right now.” “I’m the only one who care about you for real.”

Kemani clenched her jaw, locking her phone without responding.

She refused to fall for the same cycle — the manipulation disguised as concern, the fake softness meant to make her second-guess herself. Her therapist once called it “emotional whiplash.” Kemani called it exhausting.

Another call buzzed. Another. And another.

She switched her phone to Do Not Disturb, shoved it deep into her bag, and stood up before her nerves could talk her out of it.

“Now boarding: Flight 1827 to Orlando, Florida.”

Her breath hitched.

This was real.

This was happening.

She tightened her grip on her suitcase handle and stepped into the boarding line, feeling her heart climb into her throat. For a moment, she thought about everything she was leaving behind — the house, the chaos, the expectations, the guilt… and then she thought about what she was walking toward.

Her own place.  Her own schedule.  Her own dreams.  Herself.

The line moved, and she followed with it, one slow, determined step after another. She scanned her ticket.  Walked down the jet bridge.  Found her seat near the window.

The engine hummed beneath her feet as passengers settled in around her. Someone placed luggage overhead. A baby fussed in the next row. A flight attendant clicked her seatbelt shut.

But Kemani was locked inside her own silence — a silent promise she made as she pressed her forehead to the cool window:

“I’m choosing me.”

And as the plane began to taxi down the runway, her phone vibrated one last time — a message preview flashing Kentrell’s name before disappearing when the wheels lifted off the ground.

She didn’t reach for it. She didn’t need to. Kemani was already gone.

—

Orlando, Florida, Orlando International Airport.

Touching down felt like exhaling for the first time in years.

The second Kemani stepped off the plane and into Orlando International Airport, the atmosphere hit her — warm, bright, buzzing with energy in a way Chicago never was. Chicago felt heavy, cold, familiar in a suffocating way. Orlando felt… open.

The wide glass windows let the sun spill across the floor, and palm trees lined the walkways outside like they were welcoming her personally. Even the air smelled different — cleaner, warmer, full of that humid Florida sweetness she’d only read about.

She adjusted her AirPods, her playlist shifting into one of her favorite songs as she joined the stream of passengers heading toward baggage claim. Her hoodie was slightly too warm now, but she didn’t care. The music steadied her heartbeat.

Her life had officially changed zip codes.

People around her moved fast — families hurrying with strollers, tourists dragging oversized suitcases, airport workers calling out directions. It was chaotic, but it was the good kind of chaos. The kind that reminded her she wasn’t stuck anymore.

She pulled her phone out, switching it back on long enough to see:

37 missed calls. 15 voicemails. 52 unread texts.

She locked it instantly, sliding it back into her tote bag.

Not today. Not right now. Not when she was finally breathing.

Her name rolled down the carousel screen, letting her know which belt her luggage would be on. She made her way over, the wheels of her carry-on clicking rhythmically against the tile. The carousel whirred to life, bags thumping onto it one by one. Her heart picked up when she spotted her own — the light pink suitcase with the tiny scratch near the corner from last year’s family trip.

She grabbed it off the belt with both hands, the weight solid in her grip. Real. Tangible. A piece of her old life, but also everything she’d chosen to take into her new one.

Her music shifted tracks.

A slow, calming beat. A song that reminded her of peace.

She exhaled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, rolling her suitcase toward the exit signs, toward the automatic doors, toward a city she didn’t know yet — but was ready to learn.

Sunshine flooded through the glass as she approached the front entrance. For a moment, she paused and looked up, letting the light hit her face.

This was it. A new start.  A new city.  A new Kemani.

She stepped forward, letting the warm Florida air wrap around her like a welcome. She didn’t look back.

The Lyft ride to her new apartment felt unreal — like she was watching someone else’s life happen in the reflection of the car window. Orlando’s streets were lined with palm trees, bright murals, and sunlight that kissed everything it touched. Even the breeze through the cracked window smelled warm and alive.

Kemani leaned her head against the seat, music still playing softly in her AirPods. The driver made small talk — asked if she was new to the city, if she was visiting or moving — and she nodded, offering small smiles, too caught up in her own thoughts to say much more.

This was really happening. She was really here.

When the Lyft finally slowed to a stop, she sat up straighter. Her studio apartment building was small, modern, and quiet — the kind of place tucked away from the noise but still close enough to feel connected to the world. Soft beige walls, clean landscaping, a little walkway lined with plants someone clearly took pride in.

It wasn’t Chicago.

It was better.

“Here you go!” the driver said cheerfully.

Kemani thanked him and stepped out, grabbing the handle of her pink suitcase. The sun hit her immediately, warm on her skin, and she closed her eyes for one slow breath before circling around to the trunk. With a small grunt, she lifted her second bag — heavier than she remembered — and set it beside her.

The Lyft pulled away, leaving her in this quiet moment that felt bigger than she expected.

Just her. Her luggage.  Her new life waiting behind one door.

She reached into her hoodie pocket, fingers brushing the envelope the landlord had given her at signing. Inside were her keys — her own keys. Not borrowed, not temporary, not to a house where she felt like a guest.

Hers.

She fumbled for the one with the small orange tag, finding the apartment number written neatly in marker. Her hands trembled just a little as she walked toward the stairwell, dragging her suitcase behind her. The hallway was cool, a soft hum from overhead lights guiding her to her unit.

When she found the door with her number, she paused.

This door meant freedom. Independence. A reset.

She put the key into the lock, released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and turned it slowly.

Click.

The latch shifted.

The door pushed open.

And the first thing that hit her wasn’t the space — it was the silence. Not tense silence.  Not angry silence.  Not “somebody’s waiting to argue” silence.

It was peace.

She stepped inside, dragging her suitcase over the threshold. The hardwood floors gleamed. The single window let sunlight pour across the open layout. It wasn’t big, but it was cozy, and it was hers. A kitchenette, a small closet, a bathroom with spotless tile. Just enough room to grow. Just enough room to start over.

Kemani set her bags down in the center of the room and stood there, taking it all in.

The quiet. The emptiness. The freedom.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.

The quiet. The emptiness. The freedom.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.

She wasn’t sad. She was proud.

She was free.

—-

Kemani couldn’t sit still. The moment the front door closed behind her, she felt this rush — a mix of excitement and nerves that had her moving around the apartment in slow circles, planning everything in her head.

She kicked off her shoes and rolled her suitcase toward the wall, opening cabinets, checking outlets, measuring corners with her eyes. She already knew where the mini hair studio would go — right by the window where the light was perfect. Her new ring light would fit next to it. Her products could go on floating shelves. Her mannequin heads could stack on that little counter space by the fridge.

She didn’t have much yet, but that was the fun part.

She grabbed a pen and the back of an old envelope, jotting down everything she needed:

shower curtain

• hangers

• cleaning supplies

• bedding

• small table

• laundry basket

• hair studio cart

• ring-light bulbs

• groceries

• candles (a lot of them)

She was halfway through scribbling “trash bags” when her phone lit up.

Lash  – FaceTime Video.

Kemani smiled before she even tapped it.

The moment the call connected, Lash’s loud, dramatic voice filled the empty apartment:

“GIRL—don’t play with me—did you really move to Florida without telling me first?!”

Kemani laughed, letting the phone rest on her kitchen counter. “Lash, I told you. You just didn’t believe me.”

“No, no, no.” Lash leaned closer to the screen, her lashes dramatic as ever. “You said you might move. You did not say you were about to hop on a plane like a thief in the night!”

“I needed to leave,” Kemani said softly, glancing around her new place. “I… I just needed a fresh start.”

Lash’s expression softened instantly. “Yeah, I know, baby. And I’m proud of you. For real.”

There was a beat of silence — the good kind — before Lash’s eyes widened again.

“Okay, show me!” she demanded, clapping her hands. “Gimme the tour! Let me see my god-niece’s future room. Yes, I said god-niece. I’m speaking life early.”

“Lash—” Kemani groaned laughing, already lifting the phone to walk her through the studio.

The room was empty, but Lash reacted like she was touring a mansion.

“Oh my gosh, look at those FLOORS!” “That window? Baby, the natural light? Your hairstyles finna eat.” “Is that your kitchen? It’s giving ‘I burn water but still cute.’” “Bathroom clean! Hallelujah!”

When they finished the walk-through, Kemani set the phone down again.

“I’m gonna go shopping in a bit,” she said. “Get everything I need.”

Lash nodded. “Good. And tomorrow I’m FaceTiming you again so I can help you set it up. Don’t play with me. And when I get my off-day? I’m pulling up. I wanna see it in person.”

Kemani felt her heart warm. “Thank you. Really.”

“Girl, you don’t gotta thank me. This is what best friends do.” Lash paused dramatically. “Now… did you block Kentrell yet or should I send you the step-by-step tutorial?”

Kemani snorted. “I put him on Do Not Disturb.”

“Not enough,” Lash snapped instantly. “BLOCK. HIM.”

Kemani only smiled. “I will.”

“You better. Now go get your stuff. And text me if you need help picking decor, because you know you be choosing the saddest colors.”

“I do not!”

“Girl… yes you do.”

They both burst into laughter.

And when the call ended, the apartment didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt lived in. It felt safe.

It felt like a beginning. Kemani grabbed her keys, her list, slipped her AirPods in, and headed back out the door — ready to build this new life piece by piece.

—

The Florida sun was beginning to set by the time Kemani reached the shopping plaza, casting a warm orange glow over the parking lot. The air smelled faintly of hibiscus and asphalt as she stepped out of her Lyft, smoothing her hoodie and grabbing her list from her pocket.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t rushing for anyone. She wasn’t buying things for her siblings. She wasn’t following her mother’s rules. She wasn’t trying to avoid another one of Kentrell’s mood swings.

Everything in this moment — this cart, this store, this money — was for her.

Inside the bright aisles, she grabbed a shopping cart and let out a quiet breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She’d been saving for months — scrimping every dollar, hiding cash, tucking away bits whenever she could. Money she couldn’t tell anyone about, money that Kentrell couldn’t talk her out of.

Money meant for this exact day.

She started in home essentials. Hangers. Cleaning supplies. A soft beige comforter that made her smile just touching it. A white shower curtain with little gold accents that felt like luxury compared to her old life.

Her cart rolled steadily as she wandered through aisles she used to rush through back home. She paused at the kitchen section.

Plates. Bowls. A cheap-but-cute silverware set. She held a pastel blue dish towel against her chest for a moment.

She was buying things for her own place.

Not her mother’s. Not Kentrell’s. Hers.

The thought warmed her from the inside.

A rolling salon cart? Straight in the cart.  Two mannequin heads? In the cart. A fresh set of combs, edge brushes, clips? Absolutely.  A rose-gold blow dryer she’d been eyeing online for months?  …She hesitated.  Checked the price.

Checked her budget. And then she put it in the cart anyway. “I deserve nice things too,” she whispered to herself.

Small candles — vanilla, amber, and lavender. A faux plant for her window. A soft rug for beside her bed. A little photo frame for a picture she didn’t have yet, but knew she would.

She rolled up to the register with a full cart and a nervous flutter in her stomach. But when the total flashed on the screen, it didn’t scare her like she thought it would.

She had saved long enough. Suffered long enough. Worked long enough.

This was the moment all that patience paid off.

As she tapped her card, a smile broke across her face.

Not a tiny smile. A real one. The first in what felt like forever.

The cashier bagged her items, chatting politely, but Kemani barely heard him. She was too busy imagining her apartment coming to life.

Her colors. Her comfort. Her peace.

She wheeled her bags out to the curb, waiting for her next Lyft with a warm breeze touching her skin.

She felt lighter. Braver. Free.

When the car pulled up, she loaded everything inside with a soft laugh — her first real taste of freedom filling the backseat.

“New place?” the driver asked kindly.

Kemani nodded, watching the bags settle beside her.

“Yeah,” she said, voice soft but steady.  “New everything.”

By the time Kemani got back to her apartment, the sky outside had faded into a soft blue-gray. She kicked the door shut with her foot, arms full of shopping bags, and let out a breathless laugh at the sight of everything she’d bought stacked in the doorway.

It looked like chaos. But to her?

It looked like freedom.

She dragged the bags into the center of the room and rolled her sleeves up. She wasn’t waiting—not for tomorrow, not for help, not for anything. This was her space, and she wanted to make it feel like home tonight.

First came the cleaning—wiping down counters, sweeping corners, opening windows to let in the warm Florida night breeze. Then she ripped open the bedding packages, shaking out the comforter with a soft sigh at how plush it felt. The simple act of spreading it across her mattress felt symbolic. Like she was smoothing out a new chapter.

The small vanity table from Target arrived in too many pieces. The directions were a puzzle of little arrows and screws that all looked the same.

Kemani squinted. Tilting her head didn’t help. Neither did switching the page.

“Girl…” she groaned under her breath.

Right on cue, her phone buzzed.

Lash  – FaceTime Video

Kemani answered and set the phone against a stack of folded towels.

Lash’s face appeared instantly, eyebrows raised dramatically.

“Okay, let me see what you got! It look like you moved into IKEA headquarters or what?”

Kemani laughed, dropping into a cross-legged position on the floor. “Don’t judge me. I’m trying.”

“Oh, I am judging,” Lash said, zooming in theatrically at the scattered screws. “You opened ONE box and it already looks like a murder scene. Girl, where the directions at?”

Kemani held them up.

“Burn them,” Lash said flatly. “Just burn ’em.”

They both burst out laughing

—

“Okay, babe, that part right there? That connects to the leg. No—no, the other leg. Yes, that. Good. Look at you! Bob the Builder who?”

“Shut up,” Kemani giggled, tightening the screw with her mini tool kit.

“Oh, and put your hair up,” Lash instructed. “You look stressed.”

Kemani tied her curls into a bun, wiped her forehead, and kept going.

Little by little, the vanity came together.

The small salon cart came next—six drawers for clips, curlers, gels, all the things she’d use to build her side hustle into something real. She wheeled it into the corner by the window, where the natural light poured in.

Then she set up her ring light.  Hung her floating shelves.  Arranged her products neatly.  Propped her mannequin heads on the counter.  Laid her combs and brushes with care.

Lash watched proudly the whole time.

“Oh, this corner is CUTE,” she praised. “Like, you finna have all the NXT girls begging you to do their hair. Mark my words.”

Kemani stood back, hands on her hips, taking in the space. It wasn’t perfect.  It wasn’t finished. But it was hers.

Her little creative bubble.  Her safe space.  Her dream in progress.

A soft rug laid beneath her bed.  Candles on the windowsill flickering warm gold.  A faux plant adding some life in the corner.  Her clothes hung neatly in the closet.  Her kitchen stocked just enough for breakfast.

Piece by piece, she built a home. And by the time she sank onto her bed, breathless and smiling, Lash let out a soft gasp.

“Girl… look at your place,” she said, voice warm. “It looks like you’ve been here for weeks already.”

“It feels good,” Kemani whispered, looking around. “Really good.”

Lash blew her a kiss. “And tomorrow? You start the next chapter. But for tonight?”

Kemani nodded slowly, her heart full.

“For tonight, I’m finally home.”

By the time Kemani finished setting up the last candle on her windowsill, the sky outside had turned deep blue, dotted with the faintest stars. Orlando nights were different — warmer, quieter, filled with a peaceful hum instead of the constant city tension she grew up with.

She slipped her phone onto the charger and turned off her ring light. The apartment dimmed into a soft amber glow from the flickering candle flames. For once, the silence didn’t feel heavy.

It felt healing.

Kemani changed into an oversized T-shirt and brushed her teeth in the little bathroom, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked… tired, yes. But lighter. Her eyes weren’t weighed down by stress or fear. Her shoulders weren’t clenched. Her breath came easier.

She walked back to her bed — neatly made with the new beige comforter she’d bought earlier. It felt plush and warm when she slipped under it, pulling the fabric up to her chin.

The mattress dipped softly beneath her weight. The candlelight flickered slow shadows across the walls. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the room with a steady rhythm.

For the first time in years, Kemani didn’t have to brace herself for anyone’s mood. She didn’t have to worry about a voice shouting from the hallway. She didn’t have to shrink herself to keep the peace.

It was just her.

She reached for her phone briefly, scrolling through the messages she still hadn’t opened — dozens from her mother, from Kentrell, from numbers she didn’t care to check. She didn’t click any of them. She simply silenced her notifications and placed the phone face-down on the nightstand.

No more guilt. No more pressure. No more chaos.

She curled on her side, hugging her pillow as the scent of vanilla candles filled the air. Her eyes grew heavy, but she stayed awake long enough to let the moment sink in:

She did it.

She left.  She made it.  She survived everything they said she couldn’t.

A soft tear rolled down her cheek — not from sadness, but from relief. She wiped it quickly and let out a shaky little laugh.

“Thank you,” she whispered to no one in particular. To the universe, maybe. To herself. To the girl she used to be who kept holding on even when it hurt.

The warmth of the room wrapped around her like a blanket of its own.  Her lids fluttered closed.  Her breathing slowed.

And there, in her own bed, in her own apartment, in a city where no one controlled her but herself…Kemani drifted off to sleep — peacefully, fully, and safely — for the first time in a very long time.

PRETTY PRESSURE.

a/n: back with another storyyyy how are we feeling? And yes it’s gonna be messy.

NO YEET.

introductions

chapter two

[trippiexlove]

Serendipity

ser·en·dip·i·ty /ˌserənˈdipədē/ noun

an unplanned fortunate discovery.

Characters

Parts

Ch. 1. Ch.2. Ch.3. Ch.4. Ch. 5. Ch. 6. Ch.7. Ch.8. Ch.9. Ch.10. Ch.11. Ch.12. Ch.13. Ch.14. Ch.15. Ch.16. Ch.17. Ch.18. Ch.19. Ch.20. Ch.21. Ch.22. Ch.23. Ch.24. Ch.25. Ch.26. Ch.27. Ch.28. Ch.29. Ch.30. Ch.31. Ch.32. Ch.33. Ch.34. Ch.35. Ch.36 (finale).

[uceyliyahh]

CAUGHT UP

summary: Janiya and her co-worker Jimmy Uso were supposed to keep things simple — friends with benefits, no feelings, no attachment, and definitely no getting caught. But secrets get messy when chemistry turns into comfort, and Jimmy’s cold nature begins to melt only for her. What started as something casual becomes the one thing neither of them can walk away from… and Janiya realizes she’s fallen for the man who swore he couldn’t love again.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings: age gap, drinking

word: count: 9.k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Janiya

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title 🫶🏽

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @keenagurl @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @sharmelasworld @jeyusosqueen @jeyseyes @piinkbenjamins @lovelyjay45 @amazinggirlsstuff

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @mjonthetrack @jimslvrr @bratzzzdoll @bossbitch-25

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @yourleogf @sualeo @luuvprincess @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @dreamgirljey @dpriestxripleysgirl

𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣

omniscient

Phoenix, Arizona -  8:30PM now playing ‘Find Your Love By Drake.

Jimmy had gone past tipsy.  Past drunk.  Straight into that dangerous haze of alcohol and heartbreak where everything hurts and nothing makes sense. He sat slouched on the bed, bottles scattered across the nightstand, shirt damp, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes swollen and glossy.

His phone lay in his palm. Her name on the screen. He stared at it for a long time — chest painfully tight, throat burning — before he finally hit the voice message button.

beep

His voice cracked immediately.

“Ni…ya… please… I know you ain’t gonna answer. I know you don’t wanna hear me talk but… but I gotta say somethin’.”

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling shakily.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t— I swear to God I ain’t mean for NONE of this to happen.”

beep — message sent

He sent another.

beep

“You gotta know I ain’t touch Kayla. You gotta know I ain’t want her. I ain’t want nobody but—”

He stopped himself. Breathed hard.

“What happened with her… that was me bein’ stupid. Scared. I was messed up. I was hurt. You ain’t answerin’ me— it fucked with my head.”

beep — message sent

He sent a third one.

More desperate.

More broken.

beep

“I can’t stand thinkin’ you don’t wanna see me again. I can’t— Niya please— please don’t shut me out forever.”

His voice cracked on the word please.

beep — message sent

Jimmy dropped his head into his hand.

Another message.

beep

“I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry I— fuck— I’m so sorry you got hurt because of me. I hate myself for that. I hate myself so bad right now.”

He sniffed, wiping his face.

“I’d trade places with you if it meant you ain’t hurtin’ right now.”

A long breath.

Almost a sob.

“I miss you. I miss you so bad it’s makin’ me sick.”

beep — message sent

Another.

beep

“You heard me out there, didn’t you? I ain’t mean to go off like that… but they wouldn’t let me in. I needed to see you. Needed to know you was breathin’. Needed to hear your voice.”

His voice cracked deeply.

“I needed you.”

beep — message sent

The hotel door swung open hard enough to shake the walls. Jey froze in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight, Jimmy half-slumped on the bed, bottles everywhere, phone dangling in his hand, voice messages still recording and sending.

“Aw, hell nah,” Jey muttered, stepping inside fast. “Twin. What the hell is this?”

Jimmy didn’t look up.  Didn’t stop recording.

He just mumbled into the phone:

“Ni…ya… I— I’m sorry, baby, please—”

Jey snatched the phone out of his hand.

Jimmy lunged forward.  “HEY—!”

“No.” Jey held it out of reach. “You done. That’s ENOUGH.”

Jimmy’s voice broke.  “Give it back—”

“NO.”  Jey snapped.  “You drunk as hell and makin’ this whole thing worse. She don’t need twenty drunk voicemails. She need you to chill the fuck out.”

Jimmy ran his hands through his hair, tears spilling out again.

“I can’t lose her, Jey. I can’t— I can’t—”

Jey grabbed his shoulders.

“TWIN. Listen to me— you ain’t gettin’ her back like this. Not like this.”

Jimmy’s breathing quickened as he shook his head.

“I don’t care— I gotta talk to her, I gotta tell her—”

“You gotta SOBER UP first,” Jey barked. “THAT’S what you gotta do.”

Jimmy collapsed back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. Jey took a deep breath, pocketing Jimmy’s phone.

“I’m takin’ your bottles,” Jey said. “All of ‘em. You ain’t drinkin’ no more tonight.”

Jimmy didn’t fight him this time.

He just whispered:

“…she’s never gonna want me again.”

Jey paused.

Then sighed.

“That depends on what you do from here.”

—

Bianca had settled in beside her, sitting cross-legged on top of the hospital bed, playing with Janiya’s curls to keep her calm.

But then—Bzzzz.

Bzzzz.

Bzzzz.

Janiya’s phone lit up again. Bianca grabbed it off the nightstand. Her eyes widened.

“Girl… he’s blowing your phone UP.”

Janiya’s stomach flipped.  “What… what is he sending?”

Bianca exhaled.

“Voicemails. Like… a lot.”

Janiya’s breath caught in her chest. Her fingers trembled. She didn’t ask to play them. She didn’t need to.

Every buzz delivered the truth she was afraid to face: Jimmy wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t out with Kayla. He was breaking down alone, drunk, voice shaking in her inbox. Liv walked in with a cup of water and stilled when she saw Bianca’s face.

“Oh no,” Liv muttered. “Is he—?”

“Yeah,” Bianca sighed. “He’s sending voice messages.”

Liv groaned.  “That man is in full meltdown mode.”

Janiya pulled the blanket closer to her chest, whispering.   “…why does he sound so hurt?”

Bianca looked at her with soft, sad eyes.

“Because, baby… you’re the only one who can break him like that.”

Janiya swallowed thickly. Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t look.

She just whispered, “…I don’t know whether to cry or scream.”

Liv squeezed her shoulder.

“You don’t gotta do either right now. Just heal.”

But deep down, in her bruised, exhausted heart—It meant something. It meant something big. Jimmy wasn’t letting go. Even when she pushed him away.

—

Jey had dragged every bottle out of the room and dumped them in the hallway trash.  Then he came back inside and found his twin completely passed out on the bed.

Shoes still on.  Clothes still damp from the shower.  Tear stains on his cheeks. Jimmy’s arm hung off the edge, phone lying on the carpet beside his fingers.

Jey sighed hard, rubbing his temples.

“Jesus, Twin…”

He bent down, picked up the phone, and saw the screen lit up with a whole chain of outgoing voice messages. Some short.  Some long.  Some sent less than a minute apart.

All to Janiya.

Jey’s chest tightened. He paced once. Twice. Debated putting the phone down.

He didn’t want to invade privacy.

Didn’t want to cross that line.

But then Jimmy let out a broken, half-asleep whimper.

“…Niya… please…”

And Jey made a choice.

He clicked on one voicemail.

A long one.

Jimmy’s voice crackled through the speaker — slurred, emotional, trembling.

“Niya… baby… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I ain’t mean to hurt you. I ain’t mean to scare you. I can’t— I can’t breathe knowin’ you in that hospital ‘cause of me…”

Jey froze. The heartbreak in Jimmy’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

Jimmy inhaled shakily in the recording.

“You think I wanted her? I ain’t want Kayla. I ain’t want nobody but—”

He stopped abruptly.  Like he caught himself.  Then started again, voice cracking:

“I can’t lose you. I’m losin’ my mind over you. Please don’t hate me. Just— just tell me you okay. Please.”

Jey’s hand lowered slowly. His eyes softened with something he rarely felt:

Sympathy.

Heartbreak.

Understanding.

“…damn, Twin,” he whispered, looking at his brother passed out on the bed.  “Why you wait this long to feel all this?”

He sat down heavily in the chair across from him, still holding the phone. For the first time, he realized:

This wasn’t casual. This wasn’t lust. This wasn’t FWB gone wrong.

Jimmy was in love. Deep, raw, terrifying love. And it was eating him alive.

—

Bianca had crawled up onto the bed with Janiya, sitting beside her, letting her lean against her shoulder while Liv watched from the chair.

Janiya’s phone buzzed again. Another voicemail. Another slice of pain she wasn’t ready to touch. She stared at the screen for a long, trembling moment.

Then she whispered:

“B…”

Bianca looked down at her gently.  “Yeah, baby?”

Janiya swallowed, fingers shaking as she held her phone.

“Should I… should I listen to one?”

Liv’s head snapped up.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT—”

Bianca held up a hand, silencing her.

“Hold on,” she said softly. “Let her talk.”

Janiya’s eyes filled with tears again.

“I don’t know if hearing his voice will make it better… or make it worse.”

Bianca brushed her thumb along Janiya’s arm.

“It’ll do SOMETHING,” she said honestly. “But the question is… are you ready for that right now?”

Janiya looked down at the phone. Her heart pounded. On the screen were six unheard voicemails. All from him. All sent within the last thirty minutes. 

Her voice came out whispered and broken,  “What if he says something that hurts worse?”

Liv leaned forward, voice softening for the first time in hours.

“Baby… he’s drunk. Emotional. Spiraling. Anything he’s saying right now is raw. Real. Messy. And probably the closest thing to the truth he’s ever said.”

Janiya blinked slowly.

“Doesn’t that scare you?” Liv added.

Janiya nodded.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It scares me a lot.”

Bianca rubbed her back tenderly.

“You don’t gotta listen to them tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever.”

Janiya’s breath shook.

“But do you WANT to?”

Janiya closed her eyes.

Pressed the phone to her chest.

And whispered:

“…part of me does.”

Bianca nodded.

“Then it’s okay.”

Liv exhaled, leaning back.

“Just not alone,” she said. “You don’t listen to anything from him unless we’re both right here.”

Janiya nodded slowly.

“…okay.”

Her thumb hovered over the first voicemail. Her heart raced. Her breathing trembled. Bianca held her tighter. Liv steadied herself in the chair. And just before Janiya could press play—Her phone buzzed again.

Another voicemail.

Janiya’s breath hitched.

And she whispered.  “…why does he sound so broken…?”

Bianca kissed her temple gently.

“Because, baby… Jimmy didn’t just hurt you.”

She cupped her cheek softly.

“He broke himself too.”

Janiya sat upright in the hospital bed, blanket pulled to her chin, hands trembling around her phone. Liv sat on her left, Bianca on her right — both holding onto her like anchors.

The room felt too still. Too quiet. Like even the air knew something heavy was about to break open. Janiya stared at the screen. Six voicemails. Six chances to reopen the wound.

She whispered,  “…I’m scared.”

Bianca kissed her shoulder.  “We’re right here, baby.”

Liv nodded.  “You don’t gotta go through this alone.”

Janiya inhaled shakily and tapped Voicemail #1.

The message began with a soft click — then Jimmy’s voice spilled through the speaker.

Raw. Slurred. Broken.

“Ni…ya… please…”

Janiya’s breath hitched instantly.

“I know you ain’t gonna answer. I know you don’t wanna hear me talk but… but I gotta say somethin’.”

His voice cracked on the word gotta. Bianca gently squeezed Janiya’s hand.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t— I swear to God I ain’t mean for NONE of this to happen.”

Janiya covered her mouth with her free hand as her eyes filled. Liv scooted closer, brushing her thumb against her leg.

“You gotta know I ain’t touch Kayla. You gotta know I ain’t want her. I ain’t want nobody but—”

He cut himself off — the sentence incomplete, heavy, telling without words. Janiya whispered, barely breathing.

“…but who?”

Liv wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Baby… you know who.”

Then Jimmy’s voice came again, desperate.

“What happened with her… that was me bein’ stupid. Scared. I was messed up. I was hurt. You ain’t answerin’ me— it fucked with my head.”

Janiya’s tears fell harder.

She shook her head.  “He’s drunk…”

“Yeah,” Liv agreed. “But this is sober truth he never said out loud.”

Bianca nodded.

“This is the stuff he hides even from himself.”

The voicemail continued:

“I can’t stand thinkin’ you don’t wanna see me again. I can’t— Niya please— please don’t shut me out forever.”

Janiya pressed the phone to her chest, choking on a sob. Bianca wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into her side.  Liv rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles.

Janiya whispered into Bianca’s shoulder,

“He sounds… so broken.”

Bianca kissed the top of her head.

“Because he is.”

Liv added softly. “And he’s terrified.”

Janiya wiped her face with shaking fingers, whispering:

“I didn’t know he felt like this…”

Bianca hugged her tighter.

“He didn’t either. Not until he almost lost you.”

Janiya swallowed hard.

“…should I listen to the next one?”

Liv answered gently, “Not tonight. Your heart’s already bleeding.”

Bianca nodded.

“Baby, one truth at a time.”

Janiya curled into Bianca, exhausted, hurting, overwhelmed. Her phone rested in her lap, still glowing with the remaining voicemails. But she didn’t touch it again.

Not yet.

Instead, she whispered. “…I don’t know what to do with this.”

Bianca held her close.

“You don’t have to decide tonight.”

Liv brushed hair from her face, soft but firm:

“All you gotta do is breathe.”

Janiya nodded, letting herself finally exhale.

And for the first time since everything fell apart—She didn’t feel alone in the aftermath.

—

The lights in the hospital room had dimmed again.  Bianca had slid down beside her on the bed.  Liv sat curled in the chair, watching like a protective hawk. The first voicemail still echoed in Janiya’s chest long after the audio stopped.

Jimmy’s broken voice. His apologies.  His fear.  His pain. It lingered.

Too close. Too heavy. Too real.

Janiya wiped her cheeks again, staring down at her phone — at the five remaining unheard voicemails, glowing softly in the dark like tiny landmines.

 Bianca watched her carefully.

“You don’t have to open the rest,” she whispered.

Liv nodded.  “Not tonight. Not in this state.”

Janiya’s fingers hovered over the screen. She hesitated.

Then she whispered the truth she hadn’t been ready to admit.

“…I need space.”

Liv exhaled softly, relieved.

Bianca rubbed her back. “That’s okay, baby.”

Janiya blinked slow, gazing at the phone as if it were both lifeline and poison.

“I can’t… I can’t let him do this to me again,” she said, voice soft but trembling. “Not right now. Not while I’m like this.”

Liv leaned forward, tone gentle.

“What do you want, Niya? Not what he wants. Not what we think. What do YOU want?”

A long moment passed.

Janiya took a small breath.

“I want peace,” she whispered. “I want to breathe again. Without hearing his voice in my head. Without feeling like I’m breaking.”

Bianca nodded, encouraging.

“So what does peace look like?”

Janiya swallowed.

Looked at the phone again.

And finally said it:

“…blocking him.”

Liv didn’t argue.  Bianca didn’t flinch.

They both nodded like they’d been waiting for her to reach that decision on her own. Janiya’s thumb hovered over Jimmy’s contact. Her chest ached so hard she pressed her palm against it.

Bianca whispered, “You’re not shutting the door forever. You’re just giving yourself room.”

Liv added,  “And when you’re ready — when YOU choose — you can unblock him and talk.”

Janiya’s eyes filled again, but this time the tears were quieter. Not heartbreak. Not panic. Just… tiredness.

She whispered,  “I need this… for me.”

And with one trembling, decisive motion—she blocked his number.

No more calls. No more voicemails.  No more buzzing, shaking, spiraling.

Silence.

Her own silence.

Her own space.

Her own timeline.

Janiya let out a shaky exhale and leaned back against the pillows, exhausted from the emotional weight of everything. Bianca hugged her gently.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered.

Liv kissed her forehead.

“You didn’t pick the easy choice. You picked the healthy one.”

Janiya closed her eyes.

For the first time since the night everything shattered—She felt like she had control again.

Like she chose herself.

Her peace.

Her healing.

And when she whispered into the quiet room.  “…I’ll talk to him one day. When I’m ready. When my heart isn’t in pieces.”

Liv and Bianca smiled softly.

“That’s all that matters,” Bianca said.

“Your timeline,” Liv added.  “Not his.”

And Janiya nodded.

Finally — finally — putting herself first.

The sunlight through the blinds was soft, warm, and gentle — the complete opposite of the storm Janiya had survived the night before. Bianca had fallen asleep in the chair.  Liv stretched on the small couch, arms crossed over her chest like she was guarding the room even unconscious.

Janiya woke slowly, blinking against the quiet morning light. Her chest felt lighter.  Her breathing steadier. Her mind clearer.

Not healed. Not fixed.

But stable. That was enough. A soft knock sounded before the door opened. Dr. Patel walked in with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Janiya. How are you feeling today?”

Janiya sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes.

“Better,” she said softly. “Still tired… but better.”

The doctor checked her vitals, scanned her chart, and nodded approvingly.

“Well, your breathing has stabilized. Heart rate looks normal. And you got some good sleep.”  She smiled kindly.  “I think you’re ready to go home today.”

Bianca and Liv both stirred awake instantly.

Bianca jumped up. “She’s cleared?!”

Dr. Patel nodded.

“Yes. Just rest, hydrate, and stay away from emotional triggers for a bit.”

Bianca and Liv exchanged a look — a look that said Jimmy is enemy number one right now.

Dr. Patel added softly,  “And if you need a referral for anxiety support or therapy, we can set that up before you leave.”

Janiya nodded, thankful. “I… I think I might.”

Bianca hugged her gently.  Liv rubbed her shoulder. The doctor left paperwork on the tray and exited with a smile.

As the door clicked shut, Janiya whispered, “I feel… lighter.”

Bianca smiled softly.  “You gave yourself space. That’s why.”

—

Jimmy woke up with the worst pounding headache of his life. His throat was dry.  His eyes were swollen.  His clothes were still damp from the shower. He lifted his head slowly, wincing at the sunlight slicing through the window.

“What the…?”

Then everything hit him. The hospital.  The security.  Her fainting.  Her calls unanswered.  His voicemails.  His crying.  His panic.

His chest squeezed.

“Shit…”

He scrambled for his phone on the nightstand — hands still trembling from alcohol and anxiety.

He opened his messages.

Typed:

Jimmy👅: Niya, please tell me you’re okay.

He hit send. A second passed.

Two.

Then—Not Delivered.

His stomach dropped.

He tried again.

Jimmy👅: Please… just tell me you good. Please.

Not Delivered. His heart stuttered.

His chest tightened.

“No… no, no, no—”

He sat up straight, knuckles white as he typed again.

Jimmy👅: Niya, baby, please answer.

Not Delivered.

His breath hitched. His vision blurred.

He whispered,  “…she blocked me.”

Panic surged through him — hot and sharp — like someone had punched a hole straight through his lungs. He tried to call her.

The phone beeped once.

Then:

Call Failed.

Jimmy dropped the phone onto the bed and pressed both hands to his face. A broken sound tore from his throat.

“Fuck…”

He stood up suddenly, pacing the room in frantic, unsteady steps.

“No… she didn’t— she wouldn’t— Niya, please—”

He grabbed the phone again and tried one more time.

Not Delivered.

Jimmy sank onto the floor beside the bed, hands shaking uncontrollably.

He whispered into the empty room:

“…I lost her.”

His chest rose and fell too fast. His eyes filled again.

His voice cracked,  “She really blocked me… she really done with me…”

He curled forward, elbows on his knees, gripping his hair as the reality hit him full force:

For the first time since they started…Jimmy had no access to her.

No voice. No messages. No way in.

And it terrified him.

—

The sunlight in the hospital room softened every edge — warm, gentle, nothing like the harsh fluorescent lights from last night. Bianca had gone to grab breakfast.  Liv was fixing paperwork at the small table.

And Janiya…She stood slowly from the bed, her legs steady for the first time. She gathered her things from the hospital chair:

Her hoodie. Her sneakers. Her lip gloss. Her charger.

Every movement was slow. Peaceful. Measured. She didn’t feel healed.  But she felt… still. A strange, surprising kind of calm.

Liv noticed it immediately.

“You okay, Niya?” she asked softly.

Janiya folded her hoodie neatly into her bag.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think… I think I’m okay.”

Not perfect. Not whole.  But okay enough to stand.  Okay enough to breathe. Blocking him last night had created silence — a silence her heart desperately needed.

“It feels… quiet,” she whispered, surprising even herself.

Liv nodded with a proud, gentle smile.

“That’s the sound of peace.”

Janiya zipped her bag and took one last look around the hospital room.

“This felt like the end of a storm.”

Liv stepped closer, squeezing her hand.

“And the beginning of you putting yourself first.”

Janiya took a slow breath, releasing the tightness in her chest she’d been holding for days.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m ready to go home.”

—

The door to Jimmy and Jey’s hotel room clicked open with the keycard. Jey walked in, bracing himself. He already expected a disaster. But he wasn’t prepared for what he actually saw: Jimmy sitting on the floor beside the bed, shirtless, hair messy, eyes red and swollen, phone clutched in his shaking hands.

Breathing fast.  Chest rising too quickly.  Shoulders trembling. Panic written all over his face.

Jey froze.

“…damn.”

Jimmy didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge him.

Just whispered, “She blocked me, Jey…”

His voice was cracked. Hoarse. Devastated.

“I tried to text. Tried to call. It says ‘Not Delivered’ every time. She blocked me. She really— really done with me…”

Jey shut the door softly and walked toward him.

“Twin…”

Jimmy shook his head, eyes wild and glassy.

“I lost her. I fucking lost her—”

“You didn’t lose her,” Jey said firmly.

Jimmy snapped.

“YES I DID! She BLOCKED me! She don’t wanna hear my voice— she don’t wanna see me— she don’t wanna talk to me—”

He slammed his fist into the carpet.

“I fucked up everything.”

Jey knelt down in front of him, grabbing Jimmy’s face in both hands to force him to look at him.

“Listen to me,” Jey said sharply. “You messed up. Bad. Real bad.”

Jimmy’s eyes filled again.  He nodded shakily.

“But you didn’t lose her,” Jey repeated. “She needs time. She needs space. And you need to get your shit TOGETHER.”

Jimmy’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I scared her, Jey… I scared her so bad she ended up in the hospital.”

Jey swallowed hard.

“She scared herself too,” he said. “It wasn’t just you.”

Jimmy shook his head.

“No… I did this.”

Jey didn’t lie.

“Yeah. You did.”

Jimmy’s breath stuttered.

Jey grabbed his wrists firmly.

“But she’s not gone. She blocked you because she needs peace. You give her that peace, you hear me?”

Jimmy nodded weakly.

Jey added,  “And you get clean. No more drinking. No more voicemails. No more drunk spirals. You want her back? You start by getting your ass up.”

Jimmy closed his eyes, tears falling silently.

“…I don’t know if I can.”

Jey squeezed harder.

“Then I’ll help you. But you gotta try, Twin.”

Jimmy pressed his forehead to Jey’s, voice breaking:

“I love her, Jey…”

Jey froze.

Because that was the first time Jimmy ever said it out loud.

Softly, he replied:

“I know.”

—

The sliding doors whooshed open as Janiya stepped outside with Liv and Bianca on either side of her. The morning sun warmed her skin, a gentle contrast to the cold fluorescent lights she’d spent the night under.

For the first time in days… Her hands weren’t trembling.  Her breathing wasn’t uneven.  Her mind wasn’t spiraling.

She felt grounded. Tired, yes.  Sore, definitely.

But stable.

Liv glanced over at her, making sure she was still okay.

“You good to walk?” she asked softly.

Janiya nodded. “Yeah. It feels… nice out here.”

Bianca smiled and tucked Janiya’s bag into the backseat of the SUV they’d borrowed from talent relations.

“Well, we getting you home. No stress, no drama, no Jimmy.”

Janiya inhaled and exhaled slowly, letting the statement settle.

“Good,” she whispered. “I need quiet.”

Liv nodded with full agreement.

But just as Liv opened the driver’s door—Her phone buzzed.

Twice.

Three times.

She froze.

Bianca noticed instantly. “Who is it?”

Liv’s jaw clenched.

“Jey.”

Janiya stiffened.

Her stomach twisted.

“…he’s calling?” she whispered.

Liv nodded, thumb hovering over the answer button but not moving.

Janiya looked down, voice small.  “He’s only calling because Jimmy wants him to.”

Bianca crossed her arms.  “Then he can wait.”

Liv’s phone buzzed again. Another call. Then a text. Then another.

Joshua: Liv, please. Just give me an update. He’s spiraling. I’m trying to calm him down. Just tell me if she’s okay. That’s all. Please.

Liv exhaled sharply. Her eyes softened.

“Damn…” she whispered.

Janiya watched her nervously.  “You don’t have to tell him anything,” she said quietly. “I don’t want Jimmy to freak out again.”

Liv nodded slowly.

“I know, baby. I know.”

But she also knew Jey.  Knew his heart.  Knew he was stuck in the middle, trying to keep his brother from falling apart completely.

Bianca walked around the SUV and stood next to Liv, arms crossed.

“Liv. Don’t do it,” she said firmly. “Her peace comes first.”

Janiya looked away, chewing her lip, torn.

“I don’t want him worrying… but I also… I don’t want any contact right now.”

Liv put a hand on Janiya’s back.  “You don’t owe him clarity today. Not one bit.”

Another buzz. Another message. Then another.

Joshua: Liv… come on. Just tell me if she’s out of the hospital. He’s losing it. I’m trying to keep him sane.

Liv sighed heavily.

Her heart was tugged in two directions:

Protect Janiya’s peace or Ease Jey’s burden.

But only one person had just fainted.  Only one person was healing.  Only one person needed shielding right now. Liv finally locked her phone, placed it face down on the dashboard, and made her choice.

“No updates,” she said.

Janiya exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Bianca nodded firmly.  “Good.”

Liv settled into the driver’s seat and glanced back at Janiya.

“Your peace comes before everybody’s feelings. His. Jey’s. Even mine.”

Janiya leaned her head back, eyes soft.

“Thank you.”

Liv started the engine.

“And when—if—you decide you want to talk to Jimmy,” Liv added, “it’ll be because YOU chose it. Not because someone pushed you.”

Janiya nodded slowly.

“That’s how it has to be.”

Bianca climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up with a determined sigh.

“Alright. Let’s get Niya home. No calls. No updates. No drama.”

Liv shifted the car into drive.

And as they pulled away from the hospital…Liv’s phone buzzed again.

But this time?

She didn’t even look at it.

Because protecting Janiya’s peace meant choosing silence—Even when the world on the other side was begging for answers.

—

Jey stood in the doorway of their hotel room, phone in his hand, breathing slow like he was preparing himself. Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes bloodshot and desperate.

The minute Jey walked in, Jimmy leapt up.

“Did she answer?! Did Liv pick up? What did she say? Is Niya okay?”

His voice cracked on her name. Jey didn’t answer right away. And that silence alone made Jimmy’s chest cave in.

“Jey…” he whispered.  “Tell me something. Please.”

Jey sighed hard, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She didn’t answer, Twin.”

Jimmy blinked.

“Did you call again?”

“Yeah.”

“And she didn’t—?”

“No, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s breath stuttered, panic already returning.

“Well—text her then. Ask her if— if Niya’s home. If she’s safe. If—”

“I did,” Jey said quietly. “Couple times.”

“And—?”

Jey finally looked him in the eyes.

“They’re not giving updates. To anybody.”

Jimmy froze.

His throat tightened.

His eyes glossed over.

“…so she blocked me… AND everyone else?”

Jey shook his head.

“No. She didn’t block me or Liv. They’re just not answering. They ain’t talkin’ to nobody.”

The truth hit Jimmy like a punch.

He grabbed his hair with both hands, stepping back until he hit the wall.

“She don’t want ANYTHING to do with me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “She don’t even want me to know she okay—she hates me—”

“TWIN!” Jey snapped, grabbing his shoulders. “Stop. She doesn’t hate you. She’s healin’. She’s protectin’ herself.”

Jimmy shook his head violently.

“No… she blocked me. She cut me off. She—she can’t even stand the thought of me. I did that. I did that to her.”

Jey didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Yeah. You did.”

Jimmy let out a sound— raw, small, heartbroken. He slid down the wall until he hit the floor, burying his face in his hands.

“I lost her,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I really lost her…”

Jey knelt beside him.

“You ain’t lost her. But you ain’t gettin’ her back until you get YOURSELF back.”

Jimmy whispered:

“What if she never forgives me?”

Jey said softly,  “Then you learn how to live with that.”

And Jimmy cried harder. 

—

Liv pulled up to the hotel entrance. Bianca opened the back door, helping Janiya step out carefully. She was still tired, still weak, but grounded. A security guard helped carry her bag.

Janiya stared up at the hotel, taking a slow breath. This was the same building she collapsed in. But her heart didn’t race this time. Her phone didn’t buzz. Her body didn’t shake. She felt steady.

Liv and Bianca flanked her closely, walking her inside like she was royalty.

Once in her room, Janiya kicked off her shoes and stretched on the bed, letting the quiet wash over her.

“I’m gonna text Paul,” she whispered, grabbing her phone. “He needs to know what happened.”

Liv nodded.  “He’ll want details for medical clearance.”

Janiya typed out a concise message:

To: Paul (Triple H) Hey. I was in the hospital last night. Panic attack + fainting. The doctor cleared me this morning. I’ll send paperwork soon.

She hesitated, then added:

I just need a day or two to reset. Thank you.

She hit send.

Once the message left her phone, relief slid through her body.

She turned to Liv & Bianca.

“I feel… better,” she whispered. “Still hurting. But better.”

Bianca kissed her head.  “That’s what healing feels like.”

Janiya curled up under the blanket.

Within minutes, she was asleep — real sleep, peaceful sleep — for the first time in days. Liv and Bianca stepped quietly out into the hallway so she could rest. Bianca leaned against the wall.  Liv crossed her arms.

They exchanged a look.

“We gotta keep Jimmy the hell away,” Liv said immediately.

Bianca nodded. “Agreed. He’s unstable right now.”

“Emotionally,” Liv added, “and physically. That man is a heartbreak tsunami.”

Bianca tilted her head.

“What’s the plan then?”

Liv took a breath.

“Number one — we do NOT give Jey any updates unless Niya approves.”

Bianca raised a finger.

“Number two — we make sure the company knows she’s not cleared to be around him yet.”

Liv nodded.

“Number three — we check her phone daily so she’s not blindsided if she decides to unblock him.”

Bianca added:

“Number four — we keep her OUT of the arena until that man gets himself together.”

Liv smirked slightly.

“Number five — if Jimmy shows up at her door again, I’m dragging him by his curls.”

Bianca laughed quietly.

“Liv…”

Liv shrugged.  “I’m serious.”

Bianca softened.

“She just needs time, Liv.”

“I know,” Liv said. “And she’s gonna get it. Because we’re making sure she does.”

They both looked toward Janiya’s closed hotel door — protecting their friend like sisters, like shields, like the family she chose.

Bianca whispered:

“She’s gonna come out of this stronger.”

Liv nodded.

“And when she’s ready to face Jimmy… it’ll be on HER terms. Nobody else’s.”

And they meant it.

—

Janiya’s phone buzzed softly on the nightstand while she slept peacefully, finally breathing evenly under the white hotel blankets. Liv, sitting quietly in the chair, reached over to check it — just in case it was something she needed to filter.

The message flashed on the screen:

Paul Levesque: Janiya, thank you for letting me know. I’m really sorry you went through that. Your health comes first. Take as much time as you need — a few days, a week, whatever it takes. I’ll inform the team and adjust the card.

Another bubble popped up:

Please send the hospital paperwork when you can. And if you need a private doctor, mental health support, or space away from certain individuals, we will make it happen.

And then:

Rest. We’ve got you.

Liv softened at the words.  It wasn’t corporate. It wasn’t formal.

It was concern. Real concern. She locked the phone and let Janiya continue resting.

---

Jimmy had finally showered, pulled on a hoodie, and was sitting on the edge of the bed staring blankly at the wall. His eyes were swollen.  His head throbbed. His chest hurt.

Jey had stepped out to grab food — leaving him alone for ten minutes. Ten minutes too long. Jimmy picked up his phone again.

No texts. No calls. No way through.

He opened Instagram out of habit — scrolling mindlessly through the feed.

And then—Her username popped up.

A new Story. His breath caught. His thumb froze. The quiet hotel suddenly felt loud. He tapped it instantly.

It was a picture from Bianca’s phone:

 Janiya’s hand holding a cup of hotel tea  A cozy blanket over her lap  A caption in soft lettering:  “resting & healing 🤍 no stress.” Jimmy’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t alone.  She had support.  She had comfort.

And it wasn’t his. He clicked to the next slide. A mirror selfie of Liv and Bianca doing stupid poses in the hotel room, tagged: “Protecting our girl until further notice 🖤🔒 #NoDramaZone”

Jimmy’s eyes burned. His fingers tightened around the phone.

He whispered,  “…she really don’t want me near her.”

Another Story loaded.

Just a small clip,  Janiya asleep, peaceful, hair spread out over the pillow.

Caption: “Finally resting. She deserves the world.”

Jimmy’s vision blurred instantly. He shut off the phone, pressing it to his forehead, breathing sharp and shallow. His heart ached so violently he doubled over.

He whispered, voice cracking,  “…that was supposed to be me takin’ care of her.”

He covered his face with both hands.

Images of the night before flashed: Her collapsing.  Her shaking.  Her tears.  His drunk voicemails. His panic. Her blocking him.

He whispered again, weaker,  “I did this… I did this…”

A shaky sob slipped out before he could swallow it down. He curled forward, elbows on his knees, phone clutched to his chest like it was the only piece of her he had left.

And he broke again. Completely. 

Silently. Violently. Alone.

Jey stopped in the hallway with takeout bags in his hands when he heard the muffled sound from inside the room. He closed his eyes. Jimmy was breaking again.’

.And this time?

Jey knew the truth, It wasn’t because he lost control. It was because he was realizing — piece by painful piece —he might’ve just lost the person he loved the most.

—

Janiya blinked awake slowly, stretching under the warm hotel blankets. Her body felt heavy but peaceful — deeply rested for the first time in what felt like forever.

She reached for her phone. Two new messages. She tapped them open.

Paul Levesque: Janiya, thank you for letting me know. I’m genuinely sorry you went through that. Your health comes first. Take as much time as you need — days, a week, whatever feels right. I’ll adjust bookings on my end.

Another message followed:

If you need medical support, time off, or space away from anyone causing stress, we will arrange it immediately. Your well-being matters to us.

Janiya stared at the words. Her throat tightened — not from anxiety this time, but from gratitude. He didn’t question her.  Didn’t push.  Didn’t minimize what happened.

He believed her.

She whispered to herself. “…thank you.”

She typed a gentle reply.

Janiya: Thank you so much. I’ll send the paperwork soon. I’m resting today.

When she locked her phone, her chest felt lighter than it had in days.

—

Liv slipped into the room with a mug of steaming tea. Bianca followed behind with honey and a warm towel. They looked like two protective aunties on a mission.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Bianca whispered.

Liv set the tea on the nightstand.  “Made chamomile. Extra honey. Doctor’s orders.”

Janiya sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes.

“You didn’t have to—”

Liv cut her off immediately.  “Shh. We’re spoiling you today.”

Bianca nodded dramatically.  “All day. No arguments.”

Janiya felt a tiny smile pull at her lips.

“You guys are too good to me.”

Liv brushed her curls back gently.

“We love you. And you scared the hell out of us.”

Bianca climbed onto the bed beside her.

“So we’re staying with you. Period. All day. All night if you need.”

Janiya exhaled softly. For the first time… she felt safe. Not because of Jimmy.  Not because of distraction. But because she had people who showed up for her.

She sipped her tea, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

Liv kissed her forehead.  “Rest, Niya. We got everything.”

—

Jimmy wiped his swollen eyes and unlocked his phone again, desperate for any sign of her. He went straight to Instagram. Straight to her profile. Straight to the DM button.

He typed:

jonathanfatu: Niya… please. Just let me know you’re okay. You ain’t gotta answer. Just… just let me say sorry.

He hit send.

The message stayed on the screen.

But instead of “Seen,”  or even “Delivered,”

he saw one tiny notification.

You can’t message this account.

Jimmy’s heart stopped.

“What…?”

He tried again.

Typed anything.

jonathanfatu: Niya please—

Message Failed to Send.

His brows pulled together. He refreshed the page. Refreshed again.

Then he saw it.

She restricted him.

Not blocked. But walled off. He could see her posts.  See her stories. See her life.

But he couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t break through.

His voice cracked out loud in the empty room. “…she don’t wanna hear me anywhere.”

His chest tightened painfully. His breathing picked up again. He grabbed his hair with both hands.

“No… no, Niya… please don’t do this—”

He tried to reload her page again, desperate for a loophole. Nothing changed.

No messages. No voice notes. No apologies. No contact.

She had shut every door. Except the one he had broken. Jimmy sank back onto the floor, curling forward, forehead against his knees.

A soft, broken whisper left him. “…she really done with me…”

But deep, deep down…He knew the truth: She wasn’t done. She was hurt.  Healing.  Protecting herself. Exactly like she deserved.

And that was the part that hurt him most—Because she learned to protect herself from him.

—

Paul stood at the front of the room, glasses on, tablet in hand, speaking to the gathered talent relations staff, writers, and PR reps. Everyone expected a normal rundown of tonight’s show.

But Paul cleared his throat and said firmly,  “Before anything else — update on Janiya.”

The room quieted. Kayla, sitting near the front, perked up with interest she didn’t bother hiding.

Paul continued, “She experienced a medical emergency last night. Panic-induced fainting. She was hospitalized. She’s stable and resting now.”

Murmurs spread across the table. Paul raised a hand, silencing them.

“She will not be on the road this week. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not for any appearances. Her health comes first.”

He emphasized it.

Strong. Protective. Unshakeable.

Some nodded in concern. Others whispered quietly. And then Kayla crossed her arms and said under her breath— loud enough for half the table to hear:

“Well… maybe if she wasn’t so dramatic all the time—”

Paul froze mid-scroll. The entire room stiffened. Every head turned toward her.

Paul slowly looked up.

“Kayla,” he said calmly, “do you have something you want to say?”

Kayla blinked, realizing too late that she had said it out loud.

“Oh—Um. I didn’t mean— I’m just saying, it’s not like she wrestled last night, so fainting seems—”

Paul cut her off.

“Watch your tone.”

Kayla swallowed hard.

Paul placed the tablet on the table, leaned forward slightly, and spoke with the level of authority that made everyone sit up straighter.

“You clearly don’t understand mental health,” he said. “And you clearly don’t understand professionalism.”

Kayla shifted uncomfortably.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

Paul’s eyes hardened.

“A talent had a panic-induced collapse. That is not ‘dramatic.’ That is a medical emergency.”

A few people nodded.

“And the last thing she needs,” Paul continued, “is someone minimizing what she went through.”

Kayla shrank in her chair.

He wasn’t done.

“One more comment like that,” he said low and firm, “and I will personally remove you from tonight’s broadcast.”

Gasps.

Kayla’s eyes widened.

“I—yes, sir. Sorry.”

Paul didn’t look away.

“Be better.”

He moved on with the meeting as if nothing had happened.

But everyone was suddenly very, very quiet.

—

Jey returned to the room after the talent meeting, his expression tight.  Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie on, elbows on his knees — looking like he hadn’t slept in months, not hours.

The minute the door opened, Jimmy looked up.

“Jey… what happened? Someone say something? Did Liv text back? Did she—”

Jey didn’t speak right away.

That alone made Jimmy’s chest seize.

“Twin…” Jey said quietly, “you need to sit down.”

Jimmy’s stomach flipped.

“I am sitting down,” he said, voice cracking. “Just— just tell me.”

Jey exhaled, ran a hand down his face, and delivered the blow:

“Paul told everybody this morning… Niya ain’t on the road this week.”

Jimmy froze. His face paled. His breathing stopped.

“W–what…?”

“She’s takin’ time off,” Jey said gently. “Medical time. Mental health time. She ain’t comin’ back ’til she’s ready.”

Jimmy’s throat closed.

He stood up too fast, grabbing the sides of his head.

“No— no, no, no— she’s not here? She’s not— she’s not even in the building— she’s not—”

Jey stepped toward him. “Twin—”

Jimmy backed up, shaking.

“She left. She left ’cause of me. She ain’t even on the road. She— she’s avoiding me—”

“Jimmy—”

“She’s gone,” he whispered, breath spiraling. “She don’t wanna see me. She don’t even wanna exist near me.”

His vision blurred. His chest tightened painfully.

He whispered again,  “I ran her off the road… I made her leave…”

Jey grabbed him by the shoulders firmly.

“TWIN. Stop. She didn’t leave because of you. She left because she needs to get her mind right.”

Jimmy shook his head violently.

“No… I did this. I pushed her too far. I hurt her so bad she had to run.”

His voice cracked — small, terrified, broken.

“…what if she never comes back?”

Jey swallowed hard. Because for once, he didn’t have an answer. 

—

In the quiet hotel room, Liv was doing Janiya’s hair while she rested against the pillows. Janiya was calm.  Soft. Healing. Bianca, on the other hand, was pacing — restless, alert, protective.

Her phone buzzed. She checked it casually……and her entire expression changed instantly.

The text read,

Staffer (Tina): Girl… heads up. Kayla is running her mouth again backstage. Saying “if Janiya took a week off over something small, she must not be built for this life.” Paul heard part of it. He looked PISSED.

Bianca’s jaw DROPPED. Then clenched. Her spine straightened.

“Liv…” Bianca said, voice sharp.

Liv looked up.

“What happened?”

Bianca held out the phone.

Liv read it.

“…this bitch.”

Liv put down the comb slowly.

“Oh no. No, no, no— she is not playing with us today.”

Janiya glanced between them, confused.

“What? What’s going on?”

Bianca took a calming breath — or tried to.

“Niya… baby… nothing you gotta worry about right now. But this heffa Kayla is talking out her NECK again.”

Liv crossed her arms.

“I thought Paul shut that mess down this morning.”

“He did,” Bianca snapped. “And she STILL talking.”

Janiya sank back into her pillows, exhausted.

“Please… don’t fight her.”

Bianca lifted her chin.

“I’m not fighting her. I’m educating her.”

Liv added:

“With hands.”

“And scripture,” Bianca clarified.

“Hands,” Liv repeated.

Janiya sighed, covering her face. But a small smile crept onto her lips despite herself. Because she wasn’t alone. Not for a second. Not in any room.  Not in any situation.

She had an army. A loud, protective, ride-or-die army. Bianca cracked her knuckles.

“Let’s just say… if Kayla wants smoke? We got fog machines.”

Liv nodded.

“We got the whole entrance pyro.”

Bianca had been pacing for a good minute, hands on her hips, curls bouncing with every step. Liv sat on the arm of the chair with her arms crossed, nodding like Bianca was preaching gospel.

Janiya watched them both from her spot on the bed, sipping her tea, exhausted but trying not to laugh.

Finally, Bianca stopped and pointed a finger at Janiya.

“Let me tell you somethin’, Niya.”

Janiya blinked.  “…okay?”

Bianca inhaled dramatically.

“If that girl Kayla say ONE more slick thing out her mouth about you—”  She snapped her fingers.  “—I promise you, I’m knockin’ her head clean off. CLEAN off.”

Liv nodded like a hype man.  “POP. Gone.”

Bianca paced again.

“Who she think she is? Walkin’ around talkin’ like she run things? Like she built this company? Baby… she barely built her segment.”

Liv snorted.  “She runnin’ her mouth more than she run interviews.”

Bianca stopped again and leaned closer to Janiya.

“And talkin’ about you? YOU? Sweet, quiet, mind-your-business Janiya? Saying you’re dramatic? That you not ‘built for this life’?”

Bianca put her hand over her chest.

“Oh no, baby. Not today.”

Janiya rubbed her forehead.  “B… don’t fight her.”

Bianca lifted her brows slow.

“Who said fight? I said knock her head off. Two DIFFERENT things.”

Liv held up a hand.  “Let the record show: Bianca is willing to go to jail, and honestly? I support it.”

Janiya groaned softly into her hands.  “You guys… please… I’m tired.”

Bianca softened but didn’t step back. She sat on the edge of the bed and cupped Janiya’s chin lightly.

“Listen to me, baby. You worried about Jimmy. You worried about the job. You worried about what people think.”

She tapped her cheek gently.

“But PLEASE understand: nobody talks crazy about you when I’m in the building. Nobody.”

Liv snapped her fingers.  “Tell her again.”

Bianca smoothed Janiya’s hair.

“Kayla walk around like she that girl,” she scoffed. “But let me tell you something—”

She leaned in.

“—she ain’t NEVER gonna be the girl who gonna outshine or outwork YOU.”

Janiya’s eyes softened.  “…thank you.”

Bianca nodded.

“You healing. You protecting your peace. You taking care of you. That’s grown woman moves.”

Liv added.

“And anybody who got a problem with that can come see US.”

Janiya relaxed into the pillows, the tea warm in her hands.

She finally whispered:

“…I don’t want Jimmy or Kayla near me right now.”

Liv placed her hand over hers.

“Then they won’t be.”

Bianca stood up with a stretch, rolling her shoulders.

“And if Kayla try it again? I’ll make sure she remembers her place.”

Liv smirked.

“And I’ll help.”

Janiya let out a small laugh — the first real one since everything happened.

She whispered:

“…y’all are crazy.”

Bianca winked.

“Crazy about you, baby.”

—

The hotel room was quiet again. Bianca had finally settled down (for the moment), sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed.  Liv rested on the couch, scrolling through her phone but keeping one protective eye on Janiya.

Janiya sat with her tea cupped in both hands, staring into the steam like it held the words she needed.

She swallowed once. Twice.

Then she finally whispered. “…I don’t want to see him. Not for a while.”

Both women froze. Bianca sat up straighter.  Liv lowered her phone immediately.

Janiya took a shaky breath.

“I’m not saying never,” she said softly. “I’m not saying I don’t care about him. Or that I don’t… still feel things.”

She blinked slowly, chest rising and falling with the weight of her own honesty.

“I just… need to heal first.”

Liv walked over and sat beside her, rubbing her back gently.

“That’s fair, Niya. That’s more than fair.”

Bianca nodded.  “You’re not shutting the door. You’re just not ready to open it.”

Janiya clenched her jaw, looking down at her hands.

“I don’t want to talk to him right now. I don’t want to hear his voice. I don’t want to be pulled back into the mess when I’m barely steady.”

Bianca squeezed her knee.

“Baby… nobody’s gonna make you.”

Janiya exhaled shakily.

“When I’m ready… when my chest doesn’t tighten when I think about him… when I can breathe without breaking…”

She paused.

“…then maybe we can talk.”

Liv nodded slowly, respectfully.

“And when that time comes, it’ll be on your terms. In your space. When you feel strong enough.”

Janiya wiped her cheek.

“I don’t hate him. I’m just… hurt. So hurt. And I need to put myself back together before I even think about giving him access again.”

Bianca placed her hands gently on both of Janiya’s shoulders.

“You hear me?” she said softly.  “You don’t owe him a damn thing right now—not words, not explanations, not conversation.”

Janiya nodded.

“I know.”

Liv added, firm but warm:

“And if the day comes when you do want to talk to him? We’ll make sure he’s calm. Sober. Respectful. And ready to listen.”

Bianca chimed in,

“And if he’s NOT any of those things, I’ll personally drag him out the room by his earlobe.”

Janiya cracked a tiny smile.

“…thank you. Both of you.”

Liv hugged her from the side.

“Your healing comes first. Always.”

Bianca nudged her gently.

“And trust me baby, when you are ready to talk? Jimmy gon’ be thanking God you gave him another chance to breathe the same air as you.”

Janiya blushed a little, shaking her head.

“I just… need time.”

Liv kissed her forehead.

“And you’re gonna get all the time you need.”

Bianca leaned back, crossing her arms proudly.

“Exactly. Jimmy can wait. If he really cares… he WILL wait.”

And deep down?

Janiya believed that part too.

Even if it scared her.

—

The hotel room felt too small. Too dark.  Too loud, even in silence. Jey had stepped out again to grab fresh clothes from laundry, leaving Jimmy alone — a dangerous thing considering the state he was in.

His phone lay on the nightstand, screen dim, locked, mocking him with every quiet second.

No messages. No calls. No notifications.

Janiya had cut him off entirely. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His chest tightened again — the same painful squeeze he felt outside the hospital when security dragged him away.

He grabbed his phone. His hands shook so hard he almost dropped it. He clicked Contacts. Scrolled past everyone. Stopped on one name.

Roman.

The Tribal Chief.  The head of the table.  The one person whose disappointment actually meant something. But right now?  Jimmy needed guidance.  Needed grounding. Needed someone who could talk him down before he did something stupid.

He pressed call.

The line rang twice.

“Yeah?” Roman’s voice came through — calm, steady, commanding.

Jimmy inhaled sharply.  “Uce…”

Roman immediately picked up on the tremor in his voice.

“What happened?”

Jimmy sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, voice breaking.

“She— she blocked me, Uce.”

Roman paused.

“Who?”

“Janiya…” Jimmy whispered, choking on the last syllable. “She blocked me. From everything. Calls. Texts. Instagram. All of it.”

Roman exhaled through his nose — slow, measured.

“And why you think she did that?”

Jimmy dragged a hand down his face.

“Because I fucked up… because I hurt her… because I scared her…”  His voice cracked harder.  “She ended up in the hospital, Uce. She fainted— she couldn’t breathe— and it was because of me.”

Roman’s voice tightened.

“She fainted?”

Jimmy nodded even though Roman couldn’t see it.

“I tried to get to her but they— they pulled me out— I was screaming— she heard me cry— she— she heard everything—”

His breath hitched.

Roman stayed silent for a moment.

Then he said softly:

“Slow down, Uce. Breathe.”

Jimmy sucked in a shaking breath.

“She not on the road this week,” he whispered. “Paul sent her home early. And she don’t want me near her. Not even updates.”

Roman closed his eyes on the other end.

“Okay. Okay. Listen to me.”

Jimmy wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Roman’s tone shifted — calm, serious, firm.

“First thing: you gotta stop spiraling. You hear me? You can’t fix nothing like this.”

Jimmy swallowed.

“Uce… I love her.”

Roman didn’t sound surprised.

“I know.”

Jimmy let out a broken exhale.

“I didn’t mean for things to go like this— I didn’t mean to— to push her that far— I didn’t mean to make her feel like she wasn’t enough—”

Roman cut in firmly.

“You didn’t mean it, but you DID it. And now you gotta live with that.”

Jimmy’s forehead dropped into his hands.

“I don’t know if she’ll ever talk to me again…”

“Not today,” Roman said. “Not tomorrow. Maybe not for a while.”

Jimmy’s breath stuttered.

“But when she’s ready? She’ll talk. She just needs space. And you need to respect that.”

Jimmy stayed silent, trying to steady his breathing.

Roman continued:

“And when she DOES let you talk again? You better be a different man. Not the confused one. Not the scared one. Not the one who lets alcohol do his talking.”

Jimmy nodded weakly.

“I’m trying…”

Roman softened.

“I know. And I got you. Jey got you. But you gotta meet us halfway.”

Jimmy sniffed.

“What do I do now?”

Roman answered without hesitation:

“You let her heal. And you work on yourself. Not for show. For real.”

Jimmy’s eyes filled again.

“…I don’t wanna lose her.”

Roman replied gently:

“Then don’t. But don’t chase her right now. Don’t force this. She blocked you to protect herself.”

Jimmy whispered:

“Am I a bad guy, Uce?”

Roman answered immediately.

“No. You’re a man who made a mistake… a big one. But you can come back from this.”

Jimmy wiped his cheeks.

“Will she forgive me?”

Roman paused.

Then said:

“That’s up to her. But what YOU can control? Who you choose to be when she’s ready.”

Jimmy nodded slowly.

“I just… I miss her.”

Roman exhaled.

“I know. And that’s how you know it’s real.”

Jimmy closed his eyes.

“I’ll give her space… I’ll— I’ll wait.”

Roman’s voice softened.

“That’s all you CAN do. And when the time comes? You show up the right way.”

Jimmy breathed shakily.

“…okay.”

Roman added:

“And Jimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you for calling. That’s the first step.”

Jimmy nodded, tears falling silently.

“…thanks, Uce.”

“Anytime.”

The line clicked off.

Jimmy sat there in the quiet room, phone on his lap, tears drying on his cheeks…A little steadier.  Still hurting. Still broken. But finally —not alone.

CAUGHT UP

a/n: that's first step to healing for the both of them.

𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖

[randomwordprompts]

I was gonna wait till after my period to read this chapter but I couldn't wait lol. I'm so glad she blocked that man for her own mental health. Now I need this Samoan to get it together and I need Kayla to get that had knocked off like Bianca said because BITCH WHO TF-

Ok, let me calm back down. This series is great and I'm enjoying the read!

[mooniejournal-deactivated202512]

Million-Dollar Girlfriend, chapter one

Would you sign a contract to fake date a troubled athlete?

jey uso x black oc

5k words

divider from @//chrisredfieldsfattie

warnings will be added for each chapter

prelude

“Okay, let’s not bullshit ourselves,” Brooke says, closing the office door like she’s about to hand out a medical diagnosis. “This is bad.”

I sink deeper into the leather couch, arms folded across my chest, jaw tight.

“It’s not my fault,” I fire back. “I took a fuckin’ picture. That’s it.”

“That’s not what the internet thinks,” Caleb adds from behind his desk. His voice is too calm. Calm means he’s pissed. Calm means I fucked up, but the thing is I really didn’t do shit this time. 

I look between the two of them, waiting for someone to crack a smile.

No one does.

“Y’all can’t be serious,” I scoff. “You KNOW I didn’t touch that damn girl.”

Brooke lets out a breath that sounds like she’s been holding it since sunrise.

“We know. But the public doesn’t. They see you, her, and drugs in the same article, and suddenly you’re a threat to women everywhere.”

“That’s stupid as hell.”

I run a hand down my face, my pulse kicking up again. “I wasn’t with her. I wasn’t anywhere near the fuckin’ bathroom.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb says simply. “You were at the same party. She posted a selfie with you hours before she passed out. Her friends said you were with her the whole night. Now she’s implying you gave her something. That’s all people need.”

I sit up straight. “Y’all know that girl lying on me though.”

Brooke nods. “We know.”

She leans forward, elbows on her knees.

“But this is starting to trend as an abuse narrative. The ‘playboy athlete preys on younger women’ angle is picking up steam. You’ve had two club incidents this year already. People are adding dots that don’t even connect.”

I laugh, annoyed, exhausted.

“This some bullshit,” I say shaking my head. “So what I gotta go online now and give some fake ass apology ‘Hey guys, promise I don’t drug women’? Y’all know I don’t do that corny PR bullshit.”

“You’re going to have to do something,” Caleb says.

“And fast.”

My eyes lock on his. “Like what?”

He pauses.

Brooke doesn’t.

“You need stability. A new image. Something… grounding.”

I blink at her.

“Grounding?” I repeat like the word personally offended me. “What the fuck that mean?”

“It means,” she starts slowly, “we need to show people you’re not who they think you are. We want them to see that  you’re maturing, you’re responsible, focused, and settled. 

I laugh again — louder, this time. “Man I’m twenty-nine, not seventy-nine. I go to clubs and shit. I’m allowed to have fun.”

“Fun doesn’t trend on ESPN,” Caleb says dryly. “Accusations do.”

I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand.

“Josh… you’re one scandal away from sponsors pulling out. You know how fast the league drops a headache. I’m not losing a hundred-million-dollar contract because of one drunk girl and your damn nightlife.”

The room goes quiet.

“Tell him,” Caleb says to Brooke.

She hesitates for half a second, then stands straighter.

“We think the best route is… a relationship.”

I stare at her. Then at him. Then back at her.

“A WHAT?”

“A relationship,” Caleb repeats. “A real-looking one.”

“Hell nah,” I sit forward, shaking my head. "The fuck I look like babysitting some random woman to make random people online feel comfortable.”

Brooke folds her arms.

“It’ll shut down the narrative instantly. A girlfriend with a stable life, clean reputation, not tied to the party scene? Someone grounded? It changes everything.”

“Yeah?” I snap. “So what y’all bout to find me a damn nun? Who y'all gonna find to clean my image, and how long it gonna take y'all to find the perfect girl?”

They share a look. My stomach drops.

“Oh, y’all already got somebody,” I say slowly.

Of course they do.

Caleb doesn’t deny it. He just leans back and says:

“Her name is Sabrina James. And she’s exactly what you need.”

And just like that, I know my life is about to get real stupid, real fast.

If someone had told me last night that my day would start with a cute outfit and end with a life changing offer from a cousin I barely talk to, I would’ve rolled over and gone right back to sleep.

But here I am, brushing edge control around the front of my braids, doing my makeup for a simple lunch, completely unaware that Brooke — the “corporate cousin” from my daddy’s side — is about to toss my whole life into a blender.

My braids are fresh, long, and neat down my back.

I slip into my outfit:

Black leather skinny pants

Deep red sweater that falls off one shoulder just enough

Black ankle boots

Gold hoops

My favorite black handbag

Simple. Grown. Cute.

Before I leave, I set up my tripod in the corner next to my plant.

“Okay, let’s see,” I mumble, hitting record.

I walk into frame, turn, give a soft smile. Swipe the bag over my shoulder.

Close-ups of my hair, nails, the sweater texture.

Three takes. Done. Draft saved.

Which should’ve been my first warning — when my content cooperates early in the day, chaos is waiting.

The drive to Uptown isn’t bad, just ten minutes.

Brooke texts me twice:

Brooke: Got a table by the window. Brooke: Wearing blue blazer so you see me.

Dramatic as hell, but on brand.

She stands when I walk in, smiling wide.

“Sabrina! Oh my gosh, it’s been forever.”

We hug — polite, stiff, that “we’re family but not close” type hug.

“You look so good!” she says, sitting back down.

“You too. Your hair looks really good.” I reply, and it does.

Bone straight, silky, probably costs more than my whole outfit.

The waiter drops off menus and water.

We settle in.

“So what’s new?” she asks.

A loaded question, considering we only see each other at funerals and the occasional holiday cookout.

I take a sip of water.

“Not much… working, paying bills, trying to not lose my mind in tech.”

She laughs.

“Oh girl, tech? You’re brave. My job stresses me out, but I’d never survive debugging anything.”

“It’s not that bad,” I say. “Mostly testing. Finding bugs. Pretending I know what the developers are talking about half the time.”

She grins. “That sounds like half my meetings.”

“How’s work for you?” I ask.

She lets out a long sigh.

“Busy. I’m flying back and forth between Dallas and L.A. constantly. One client is filming something, another is in the middle of a brand deal negotiation. My sleep schedule is nonexistent. But the check is cute, so I’m here.”

“Sounds… exhausting.”

“It is.”

She sips her drink. “But I can’t complain. I like the chaos. It keeps me on my toes.”

We talk about family next.

She asks about my mom — I update her.

I ask about her dad — she updates me.

She mentions a cousin I barely remember — apparently she just had twins.

I mention my little sister — apparently she watches Brooke’s TikToks.

The conversation is… fine.

Warm-ish.

Surface-level.

A little awkward.

Honestly?

It feels like we’re both pretending to be closer than we really are.

After the waiter brings our food, the conversation fizzles into silence.

Not uncomfortable — just obvious.

And that’s when I put my fork down, lean back, and give her a small smile.

“Okay,” I say gently. “Cut the bullshit. Why am I really here?”

Her eyes widen — caught.

“You don’t waste time, huh?”

“I don't have time for guessing games.”

Brooke laughs, places her napkin in her lap, and straightens her blazer like she’s about to pitch a Shark Tank presentation.

“Alright. Fair.”

She leans in. “I’m gonna be blunt. One of my clients is in trouble. Big trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that goes viral before breakfast.”

I raise a brow.

She continues, slower now.

“He needs help with his image. Something stable. Something believable. Something that calms people down.”

“Okay… and what does that have to do with me?”

Brooke takes a breath.

“We want you to pretend to date him.”

I blink. Then blink again.

“…Pretend?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“A year.”

I laugh — loud, sharp.

“A YEAR? Brooke, absolutely not. No. What—girl, what?”

“Just listen.”

“No! A whole year? I don’t even date men I actually like for that long.”

“Sabrina—”

“And I’m supposed to fake it for some random celebrity?”

“He’s not random.”

I fold my arms. “Then who?”

Brooke hesitates.

Then:

“Josh Fatu.”

My brain short-circuits.

“THE football player? The scandal magnet? That man who made ESPN because his ex keyed his car at a strip club?”

Brooke winces. “Okay, that story wasn’t exactly true—”

“Brooke.”

She takes another breath.

“That girl at the party? The one who was found unconscious? People think he gave her drugs. They think he partied with her. They think he’s dangerous. It’s spiraling. Fast.”

I rub my temple.

“And you want me to… what? Fix him?”

“We want you to help change the narrative.”

She leans forward. “You’re grounded. You’re normal. You’re relatable. You work in tech. You’re beautiful. You’re not in the nightlife scene. You look like someone a man settles down with.”

I stare at her.

“So y’all want me to be his… what? His rehab girlfriend? His emotional support human?”

“His PR relationship.”

I shake my head.

“No. I’m not doing this. I have a job. A life. I can’t—”

“Sabrina.” Her voice softens. “You’d be compensated.”

I narrow my eyes. “How much?”

Her lips curve slowly — like she knows she’s about to ruin my life.

“One million dollars.”

I swear the restaurant tilts.

“A… what?”

“Net. After taxes. Paid in installments. A signing bonus. Monthly compensation. A completion bonus. One year. One million dollars.”

I try to breathe normally.

One.

Million.

Dollars.

Not 10K.

Not 50K.

Not “a little something.”

A whole seven figures.

Brooke reaches out, touches my hand.

“I’m not telling you to say yes. Just think about it.”

I don’t say yes.

I don’t say no.

I just sit there, staring at my cousin, while the entire axis of my life shifts beneath me.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll… think about it.”

But deep down?

I already know:

Whatever decision I make next

is going to change everything.

By the time I get home, my head is pounding.

Not a little headache.

A “why did God invent choices” headache.

I kick off my boots, drop my handbag on the couch, and just stand there for a second staring at my apartment like it’s suddenly too small for all the thoughts in my brain.

A million dollars.

A whole million.

Brooke said it so casually, like it was a Groupon code.

I sit on the couch, elbows on my knees, fingers pressed to my temples.

“Girl… what is your LIFE right now,” I whisper, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

My phone sits on the coffee table.

I stare at it.

It stares back.

I fight myself for maybe another thirty seconds before I finally grab it.

I call my mama.

Because if anyone will give me wisdom without judgement?

It’s her.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hey baby,” she says, voice warm, always warm. 

I close my eyes, letting the sound of her voice settle me a little.

“Ma… I need to talk to you about something.”

She hums — the interested hum, the “alright, what’s going on” hum.

“I’m listening.”

I sink into the couch deeper.

“I had lunch with Brooke today.”

“Brooke? Wait, your cousin Brooke?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh wow… y’all haven’t seen each other in a minute. How was that?”

“Weird,” I admit. “Nice. But weird.”

“Mhm.”

Silence for a beat.

Then I say, “She… offered me something. Or… asked me to consider something.”

Her voice softens in that way moms do when they know the next sentence is going to be messy.

“Okay, baby. Tell me.”

I exhale slowly.

“Ma, don’t freak out.”

“Sabrina.”

Her voice sharpens just a little, warning me.

“Okay, okay,” I whisper. “Ma… they want me to pretend to date someone.”

There’s a pause.

A pause SO LONG I pull the phone from my ear to check if she hung up.

“…Pretend?” she repeats finally.

“Yes.”

“As in… fake?”

“Yes.”

“As in… lie?”

I wince. “Well—”

“Sabrina James.”

I close my eyes again.

I knew that tone was coming.

“It’s for PR,” I rush out. “Like a business thing. For his reputation. A scandal happened and they want someone grounded to help repair his image.”

She’s quiet again, but this time it’s a “processing” quiet.

“Who is he?” she asks eventually.

I hesitate.

Because even SAYING the name feels illegal.

“…Josh Fatu.”

She doesn’t gasp. She scoffs.

“Oh no. Uh uh. That football boy?”

“Ma—”

“That boy that stay in the blogs ‘cause he don’t know how to act?”

“Ma—”

“That boy who got his car keyed because he thought he was cute in the club—”

“Oh my GOD who told you that?!”

“I read, Sabrina. I got eyes and a TikTack.”

I smack my forehead.

Wonderful.

My mother is on the gossip side of TikTok.

“Okay, but listen,” I say, trying not to laugh. “He’s in some trouble. And Brooke thinks this could… help him. And help me.”

“Help you how?”

I swallow.

“They’re offering… a lot of money.”

“How much.”

Her voice is steady but I know she’s sitting up in her recliner right now, eyebrows raised, glasses at the tip of her nose.

I whisper it.

“One million dollars.”

She goes silent.

Then:

“…Come again?”

“One million dollars.”

“For REAL?”

“Yes.”

She says absolutely nothing for a full ten seconds.

Then:

“Well… damn. You should've said that first."

I laugh.

“Ma, I— I don’t know what to do. I don’t wanna feel like I’m selling my soul for money. But I also… you know I want to own a home one day. I want stability. I’m tired of working my ass off and feeling like I don’t have anything to show for it.”

My voice cracks a little.

Just a little.

“And it’s not prostitution or anything crazy,” I continue. “It’s just appearances. Some photos. Showing up places. Looking like we’re together. But… I don’t know. A whole year? That’s a long time. That’s a lot of lying. And I don’t wanna lose myself over money.”

My mom sighs softly. “Baby.” Her voice turns gentle, warm, grounding. “You’re not selling your soul. Souls don’t come with million-dollar price tags.”

I nod my head, even though she can’t see me. 

“You’re not crazy for considering it. You’re not greedy. You’re not wrong. You’re a 28-year-old Black woman trying to build a life, and the world makes that hard. You’ve been responsible your whole life. You’ve worked hard. You don’t ask for handouts. So if someone is offering you something that could change your future? It’s okay to think about it.”

Tears prick my eyes.

“But,” she adds, “don’t say yes because of the money alone. Say yes only if you can do this without losing your peace. Without losing yourself. Without feeling like you’re compromising your integrity. A million dollars is a lot… but you’re worth more than that.”

I swallow hard.

“Ma… what would you do?”

She doesn’t hesitate.

“I’d pray. And then I’d ask myself one question: Does this decision move me forward… or trap me? If it moves you forward, baby, it’s worth considering. If it traps you? Walk away.”

I wipe my cheek.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. Thank you. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome, baby. And listen…” Her voice gets playful. “…I am NOT saying to do it. BUT… if they’re giving out million-dollar contracts for keeping a man out of trouble? You might wanna at least see that paperwork.”

I burst out laughing, the tension breaking in two.

“Ma!”

“And you better give them your demands because you’re not selling your body for any amount of money!”

“Ma.” I groan.

“I’m just saying,” she laughs. “But seriously. Pray on it. Sit with it. Don’t rush. And whatever you decide? I’m proud of you.”

My chest loosens, just a little.

“I love you, Ma.”

“I love you more. Now go eat something. Your voice sounds empty.”

I hang up feeling a little lighter and stare out at my quiet apartment.

The life I’ve built.

The life I’ve been scraping together slowly, carefully, piece by piece.

A million dollars.

And all I have to do is pretend for a year.

I lean back into the couch, exhale deeply.

“Lord… I don’t know what your trying to tell me … but 1 million dollars don’t come around too often.

I pick up my phone and pull up the text thread from Brooke.

Sabrina: When do you want to meet to go over the contract? I have a few non-negotiables.

By the time I pull into the parking garage of Brooke’s company, my nerves feel like live wires.

It's been two days since our lunch and I still don't know if me even considering this is right.

Marshall’s SUV pulls in behind mine, smooth and quiet like he really is the Secret Service for middle-class millennials.

He parks beside me and steps out adjusting his tie — navy blue, crisp, clean.

Professional.

Then he leans across his hood and whispers, loud enough for the garage to hear:

“Girl… a million dollars?? Are you kidding me? AND you didn’t call me IMMEDIATELY?”

I close my car door, lock it, and sigh.

“I called you right after I texted Brooke!”

“That was forty-five minutes too late,” he says, scoffing. “Sabrina, I nearly crashed my car when you told me that man’s name.”

I snort.

We walk toward the elevator together, heels clicking, his dress shoes echoing.

“If we see paparazzi, let me know,” he mutters.

“Marshall, please.”

“I’m serious. I didn’t moisturize for TMZ today.”

The elevator dings open.

He straightens, clears his throat, lowers his voice.

“So let me get this out before we walk in…”

He faces me fully.

“If you do this — which is still a big IF — you will NOT be disrespected, underpaid, overworked, exploited, or put in danger. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You will NOT be talked down to because you’re not a celebrity.”

“Yes.”

“You will NOT let that man or his messy lifestyle ruin your credit score or your mental health.”

“Marshall.”

“And you will NOT—”

I step inside the elevator.

“Marshall.”

He follows, still talking.

“—let them use you like some discount rehab plan.”

I crack a smile.

He softens.

“Okay. Let’s go. Professional mode: ON.”

The doors open to a modern hallway — glass walls, gold accents, quiet money everywhere.

We check in with the receptionist, then follow her to a conference room.

When she opens the door, Brooke stands immediately, her smile dropping a little when she sees I'm not alone.

She was NOT expecting Marshall.

“Oh! Sabrina! Hi! And… um—?”

Marshall steps forward, handshake perfect.

“Marshall Lyons. Contract attorney. I’ll be reviewing the terms today.”

Brooke freezes for half a second — just enough for me to catch.

She hadn’t expected me to bring backup.

Me and Marshall have been friends since college, I never thought I would have to use him but once I sent that text to Brooke I thought it would be best to have someone just on my side.

Caleb — who’s sitting at the table in a charcoal suit — raises an appreciative brow.

“Good to meet you,” he says smoothly.

We sit.

I take a seat next to Marshall.

He opens his leather folio, clicks his pen, and becomes a whole new person.

Brooke clears her throat. “Okay, so… thank you both for coming.”

Caleb leans forward.

“Sabrina, we’re glad you’re considering this. Before we show you anything, we want to walk you through expectations, commitments, and protections.”

“Perfect,” Marshall says.

“Let’s begin.”

Brooke slides a folder forward.

“This is a preliminary outline. Nothing binding yet.”

Marshall doesn’t touch it. He waits for explanations.

Caleb starts:

“The contract would run one year. You’d be expected to attend certain public events with Josh — games, charity appearances, red carpet events if needed, and occasional social media posts.”

Marshall nods.

“Define ‘occasional.’”

Caleb blinks.

“Um… once every two to three weeks.”

Marshall writes it down.

Brooke jumps in.

“You wouldn’t have to post anything you’re not comfortable with. We want authenticity.”

Marshall: “Define authenticity.”

Brooke stutters lightly, then recovers.

“Nothing too scripted. Nothing out of character for her.”

“Good,” he says.

Caleb continues.

“You’d also have security. A dedicated driver when attending joint events. Media training if you want it.”

“Will she be required to lie?” Marshall asks flat-out.

“No,” Brooke says quickly.

Caleb nods. “You’ll never be asked to make statements about anything illegal. The relationship is performative but not deceptive — it’s image-focused.”

Marshall writes again.

I listen quietly, taking it all in.

Brooke sits straighter.

“There is an NDA, of course. No discussing internal matters, private conversations, or details of the arrangement. But you’re allowed to tell your immediate family you’re seeing someone, without specifics.”

“So my mom would know something,” I say softly.

“Yes,” Caleb says. “She just wouldn’t know the contractual portion.”

Marshall glances at me.

I nod — I expected that.

Brooke takes a breath.

“Now… compensation.”

She slides another sheet forward.

Marshall reaches first.

He reads silently, eyebrows lifting a fraction.

Then he hands it to me so I can see too.

“One million dollars,” Brooke says evenly.

“$200,000 upfront. $60,000 monthly. $80,000 upon completion.”

I exhale, long and slow.

Marshall whistles — quietly, through his teeth — then immediately snaps back into professionalism.

Caleb continues, “It’s not hush money. It’s compensation for time, privacy, emotional labor, and disruption to your life.”

Marshall nods.

“This number is appropriate for a public figure of his status during a reputational crisis.”

Brooke looks relieved.

Caleb looks smug.

Marshall, however, leans back.

“Now let’s discuss her terms.”

Marshall opens a second page.

“These are Ms. James’s initial expectations based on what we discussed.”

Brooke shifts.

I can tell she didn’t expect me to come with pre-written terms, she didn’t expect any of this.

Caleb sits forward, interested.

Marshall lists them clearly:

“Non-negotiable #1: No private physical intimacy. Public affection only when explicitly required.”

Brooke nods.

“Non-negotiable #2: No surprise events. She must receive a schedule weekly.”

Caleb writes that down.

“Non-negotiable #3: If Mr. Fatu enters another scandal, she reserves the right to exit the contract with prorated compensation.”

Brooke’s jaw tenses — that one stings.

But Caleb nods.

“That’s fair,” he says.

Marshall continues: “Non-negotiable #4: She retains full control of her personal social media. All joint posts require her approval.”

“Of course,” Brooke says quickly.

“Non-negotiable #5: Her actual job comes first. She will not jeopardize her career.”

Caleb nods again.

“That won’t be a problem.”

“And lastly,” Marshall finishes,

“Non-negotiable #6: She cannot be portrayed as a fan, groupie, clout chaser, or opportunist. All messaging must be respectful. Once the contract ends if he talks about her it must be with respect. If the breakup is mentioned it must be talked about as a mutual breakup and he must say that he respects her and wants nothing but the best for her, no talking down about her or encouraging his fans to do it either."

Brooke swallows. “That is absolutely reasonable.”

Caleb looks straight at me. “Anything else you want to add, Sabrina?”

I take a breath.

“Yes.”

All eyes shift to me.

“I’m not doing this to save him,” I say quietly.

“I’m doing this because it could change my life. But if anyone… anyone tries to make me look foolish, naïve, desperate, or replaceable, I will walk.”

Caleb nods with a seriousness I didn’t expect.

“Noted.”

Brooke gives a tiny smile — half impressed, half intimidated.

Caleb pushes the full contract toward me.

“Take this home. Read it thoroughly. Talk it over with Marshall. We’re not rushing you.”

I nod, gathering my things.

And then we leave.

The moment the elevator door closes, Marshall grabs my forearm.

“Bitch.”

I burst out laughing — loud.

He shakes my shoulder.

“Do you know what you just DID? You walked in there on your Beyoncé shit. They didn’t know whether to hire you or kneel.”

“I was nervous!” I say.

“You didn’t look nervous. You looked like you had stock in the company.”

We step into the garage.

The tension finally leaves my shoulders.

Marshall unlocks his SUV but turns to face me.

“So… what are you thinking?”

I hold the folder to my chest.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “This is insane.”

He nods.

“It is. But insane doesn’t mean wrong.”

I exhale slowly, thinking.

Then he adds, softer:

“But if you say yes? I’ll have your back the whole way. Contracts, statements, loopholes, everything. And if he ever disrespects you…”

He cracks his knuckles.

“I’ll happily ruin a millionaire’s life.”

I laugh, shaking my head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Professionally ridiculous,” he corrects.

We stand there a moment.

Me with my future in my hands.

Marshall watching me carefully.

And my heart?

Doing gymnastics.

“You’ll read it tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll call me after?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles.

“Good. Because girl… you might be fake dating a damn Cowboy.”

I groan and walk to my car.

He calls after me:

“And wear something cute if you agree! You can’t start a million-dollar contract in a hoodie!”

“MARSHALL!”

He cackles.

And I close my car door, staring at the folder on my lap, wondering what the hell I’m about to get myself into.

The conference room looks different today — warmer lighting, bigger windows, a long wooden table that smells faintly like polished citrus. Someone dimmed the overheads so the sunlight could spill in naturally.

It feels intentional.

Like they’re trying to soften the blow.

I arrived ten minutes early, because my mama raised me with manners and Marshall told me being first is a power move.

I smooth my jean skirt as I sit, the white top hugs my waist just right, and my braids — pulled into a high ponytail — fall down my back like a rope of confidence.

I cross my legs in my brown riding boots and place my brown crossbody next to the chair.

My heart is doing thump-thump-thump gymnastics, but my face stays calm.

Brooke walks in first, smiling too wide.

“Hey, Sabrina! Thanks for being early.”

“No problem,” I say, keeping my tone steady.

She takes a seat beside me.

“Okay, we’re just waiting on—”

The door opens behind us.

My spine straightens.

It’s him.

Josh Fatu.

He’s taller than he looks on TV.

Broad shoulders.

Arms like he lifts cars for fun.

Curly mullet — ridiculous but somehow working for him.

White tee stretched across his chest, black jeans sitting low on his waist.

Cuban link catching the sunlight.

Black and white Jordans that look fresh out the box.

Arms covered in tattoos.

Neck ink peeking just above his collar.

He looks like trouble with a birth certificate.

And I would be lying — lying through my teeth — if I said he wasn’t fine.

But fine men are everywhere. Fine men with sense are rare.

And from what I know about him? He has some growing up to do.

His eyes land on me first. Surprise flickers across his face.

He looks confused at first but then curious, like he wasn’t expecting me.

Good.

He shuts the door behind him and gives a short nod. “Morning.”

His voice is deeper than I imagined.

Brooke beams. “Josh, this is Sabrina. Sabrina, this is—”

“I know who he is,” I say politely.

His mouth twitches — almost a smile, almost smug, but not quite.

He takes the seat across from me.

Caleb slides in beside him.

Brooke claps her hands together.

“Alright! So today is just about chemistry, expectations, and comfort. We’re not pushing anything—”

“Comfort?” I say, raising a brow.

Her smile stutters.

Caleb clears his throat.

“Let’s run through the rollout plan.”

The meeting starts. We talk of public appearances, game nights, charity events, photo ops, media “sightings”, and soft-launch ideas.

Josh leans back in his chair, arms folded, jaw tight. He doesn’t interrupt. But he doesn’t look happy about this.

He looks annoyed.

Brooke flips to another page.

“For joint posts, we’ll prepare captions for you, Sabrina, so everything aligns with Josh’s brand—”

I sit up slightly. “I think I can handle my own captions,” I say calmly.

Brooke blinks. “Oh—of course, but we just thought—”

“I’ll take some media training but I think I can handle most of that. I’m not an accessory, I do have a personality you don’t have to make one for me.”

Brooke nods her head, “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” I say gently. “But I’m saying it plainly so we don’t have misunderstandings later.”

The room goes quiet for half a second.

Josh’s eyes lift to me. He looks… impressed.

A tiny smirk tugs at his mouth before he looks back down at the table.

Caleb coughs into his fist, hiding a smile.

Brooke shifts awkwardly and moves on.

We discuss boundaries, schedules, security, her NDA reminders.

Eventually Brooke says,

“Okay, I’m going to grab the printed schedules. Give you two a moment to talk.”

And then she and Caleb leave.

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

Josh rests his forearms on the table, hands clasped.

He studies me. 

“So,” he says slowly, “you really brought a lawyer.”

I lift a shoulder. “Yeah, I’m not going in blind or signing anything just because y’all tell me to.”

He nods, almost approving. “Good.”

He looks away for a second, then back. “You nervous?”

“Should I be?”

His eyes crinkle just a little — the closest he’s come to smiling.

“No,” he says quietly. “Not with me.” Something soft touches his voice, just for a second.

But then it’s gone.

The door opens.

Brooke and Caleb return.

We wrap up the meeting and they thank me. 

Josh gives me a nod — a real one this time.

I must’ve earned some respect.

Good, I leave with my head held high and my heart pounding.

Josh’s pov …

I wait until the door shuts behind her before I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

Caleb leans back in his chair.

“Well?”

I ignore him still staring at the door.

I wasn’t expecting… her.

I was expecting someone who talks too much, stares too long, giggles every time I breathe.

Instead she was calm and held her own.

She looked good and she wasn’t trying too hard. 

She checked Brooke without even raising her voice.

She didn’t fawn over me and she wasn’t scared. 

She stood ten toes down.

I liked that.

Caleb tries again, “So you think you two can make this work?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I mean…” I shrug, trying to play it off. “She’s cool.”

But that’s not the whole truth. She’s more than cool.

She’s trouble, the quiet kind.

The kind you don’t see coming. The kind that makes you sit up straighter without knowing why.

Brooke gathers her papers. “She wasn’t what you expected, huh?”

I scoff. “Not even close.”

And for the first time since this mess started…

I’m not annoyed.

I’m curious, which might not be a good thing.

hope you like ... please leave some comments

[randomwordprompts]

Oh I'm excited for this!!

[uceyliyahh]

CAUGHT UP

summary: Janiya and her co-worker Jimmy Uso were supposed to keep things simple — friends with benefits, no feelings, no attachment, and definitely no getting caught. But secrets get messy when chemistry turns into comfort, and Jimmy’s cold nature begins to melt only for her. What started as something casual becomes the one thing neither of them can walk away from… and Janiya realizes she’s fallen for the man who swore he couldn’t love again.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings: age gap, mentioned of panic attack, limped body.

word: count: 9.7k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Janiya

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title 🫶🏽

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @keenagurl @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @sharmelasworld @jeyusosqueen @jeyseyes @piinkbenjamins @lovelyjay45 @amazinggirlsstuff

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic @mjonthetrack @jimslvrr @bratzzzdoll @bossbitch-25

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @yourleogf @sualeo @luuvprincess @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage @dreamgirljey @dpriestxripleysgirl

𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖

omniscient

Phoenix, Arizona  - 6:30AM now playing ‘2 You’ By Mariah The Scientist.

The early-morning sun spilled across the airport tarmac as the roster filtered out of the plane and toward the private shuttles waiting to take them to the new city. Another day. Another show.  Another city pretending to offer a fresh start.

Janiya walked down the steps with her gear bag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses covering her swollen eyes, hoodie pulled tight even though it wasn’t cold. Her expression was calm.  Her posture relaxed.  Her steps are steady. Anyone watching would think she was fine.

But Liv and Bianca weren’t “anyone.”

Liv walked behind her, chewing her gum slow, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Bianca walked beside her, arms crossed, glancing at her like she was reading a silent diary.

Janiya stretched her arms casually above her head. “So… what’s the schedule like today? We got rehearsals before call time or—?”

“Girl, stop acting,” Liv cut in bluntly.

Janiya paused mid-step. “Acting?”

Bianca snorted. “Please. You walkin’ around here like a Target mannequin.”

“I’m literally just walking,” Janiya said, adjusting her bag.

Liv walked around in front of her, forcing her to stop. “You’re walking like your heart ain’t in pieces. That’s fake-walking.”

Janiya let out a breath. “I told y’all, I’m fine.”

Bianca stared at her like she was lying on each syllable. “Your eyes still swollen.”

“It’s allergies,” Janiya replied quickly.

Liv raised a brow. “Allergic to what? Disappointment?”

Bianca burst out laughing so hard she had to hold onto her suitcase handle.

Janiya glared behind her shades. “Seriously?”

Liv stepped closer, her tone softening. “Look… I know you’re trying to be strong. I know you don’t wanna let him see he got to you. I get that.”

Bianca nodded gently. “But don’t lie to us. We the last people you gotta pretend with.”

Janiya inhaled slowly and kept walking toward the shuttle.

“I’m not pretending,” she insisted quietly. “I’m just… moving on. That’s all.”

Liv jogged up behind her. “You can’t move on if you’re still hurt.”

Janiya didn’t answer.

Bianca added softly, “You don’t have to be okay today. Just don’t carry it alone.”

Janiya blinked behind the sunglasses, her throat tightening.  She wasn’t going to cry here.  Not on a sidewalk.  Not at a new airport.  Not in front of them. So she forced a smile she didn’t feel and climbed into the shuttle.

Liv sat beside her.  Bianca sat behind her.

They didn’t say another word.

They didn’t need to.

Because the silence said everything.

Janiya was pretending.

And they knew.

The shuttle door slid open, the air shifting as more of the roster boarded.  Janiya kept her eyes facing forward, sunglasses on, body perfectly still. She had trained herself to breathe evenly, sit calmly, and pretend — pretend she hadn’t cried herself to sleep, pretend she wasn’t hurting, pretend today was just another day.

Liv sat to her right.  Bianca to her left.  Both watching her like hawks. The shuttle filled slowly. Then the last two people she wanted to see stepped aboard.

Jimmy. And Kayla.

Janiya’s heart didn’t drop.

It fell through the floor.

Jimmy walked in first, hat low, curls messy, eyes still a little red from last night’s drinks and decisions. He looked tired.  He looked tense. But what hit Janiya like a slap weren’t his eyes.

It was the dark hickies scattered faintly along the side of his neck — half-hidden but not enough.

Her stomach knotted.

Her throat burned.

Her fingers curled into her hoodie sleeves so tight her knuckles went white. Kayla walked in behind him, smiling, still glued to his arm like a woman who thought she had claimed something.

But Janiya forced herself to stay still.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. She didn’t shift. She didn’t drop her jaw in shock. She didn’t let one emotion touch her face.

Not one. Liv and Bianca both snapped their heads toward her in panic — ready to grab her if she broke. But she didn’t. She held that same calm, flat expression she’d worn all morning.

Jimmy glanced her way.

Just once.

And stopped walking.

Dead.

His breath hitched.  His shoulders tensed. His eyes locked onto her face behind those sunglasses……searching for something. Any reaction.  Any sign that she cared.

But she gave him nothing.

She looked right past him like she hadn’t even noticed him board. Like she hadn’t seen the hickies.  Like she hadn’t seen Kayla clinging to his side.  Like she hadn’t heard them last night.  Like she hadn’t spent the night crying over him.

Kayla’s fingers squeezed Jimmy’s arm playfully.

“Babe, there’s an empty seat back there—”

Jimmy didn’t hear her. His eyes were glued to Janiya.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Hurting.

But she kept her gaze fixed on the window ahead, body calm, expression cold. Like he was a stranger. Like she didn’t even know him.

Jey slapped Jimmy on the back. “C’mon, man. Move.”

Jimmy finally blinked, jaw tightening, and let himself be pulled down the aisle. Kayla dragged him into the seat behind them.

Liv leaned close to whisper in Janiya’s ear. “You good?”

Janiya nodded, voice steady — heartbreak hidden perfectly:

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Bianca squeezed her hand gently.

But Janiya?

She sat still.

Silent.

Composed.

And inside, her heart whispered one last truth.

If he wanted me to hurt… he got what he wanted.

The shuttle hadn’t even left the airport yet. People were settling in, adjusting bags, talking in low voices. And then Kayla opened her mouth.

Loud.

Too loud.

“Girl, last night was crazy,” she said to another interviewer sitting beside her, voice carrying through half the bus. “Me and Jimmy had the BEST time.”

Janiya’s entire body stiffened. She didn’t turn her head.  She didn’t look back. But she heard every damn word.

Kayla giggled, tossing her hair dramatically.  “He was SO drunk, oh my God. Like totally gone. But we still ended up back at his room—”

Liv froze.  Bianca’s hand clenched into a fist.

Janiya kept her face neutral.

Still. Cold. Unbothered.

But Liv saw her fingers tighten around her hoodie sleeve. Bianca saw her throat flex like she swallowed something sharp. Kayla kept going, loud enough for everyone — including Jimmy — to hear.

“He couldn’t keep his hands off me. That man is something else, let me tell you—”

Jimmy snapped his head around.

Eyes wide. Face tense. Jaw locked.

“Kayla,” he hissed under his breath. “Stop.”

“Oh relax,” she laughed. “Everyone knows something happened. You didn’t exactly hide it.”

Jey whipped around from the seat in front of Jimmy. His eyes zeroed in on Jimmy’s neck.

On the hickies.

His mouth dropped open.

“Oh HELL no.”

He stood up, grabbed Jimmy by the arm, and FORCED him into the aisle.

“Twin—”

“Shut up.”  Jey’s voice was low and furious.  “What the fuck is that?” He jabbed a finger at Jimmy’s neck. “Don’t tell me you slept with her.”

Jimmy’s face twisted. “I didn’t.”

Kayla blinked dramatically. “Didn’t what? Don’t lie now, baby—”

Jimmy shot her a death glare. “Kayla, stop talking.”

Kayla rolled her eyes and turned back to her seat, smirking as she had already decided the story she wanted people to hear. Jey dragged Jimmy toward the back of the shuttle, away from the others.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Jey whispered harshly. “Bro. Tell me you DID NOT sleep with Kayla.”

Jimmy scrubbed a hand down his face. “I didn’t. I swear— I didn’t sleep with her.”

“What the hell is all over your neck then?”

Jimmy groaned. “She was drunk, I was drunk, she got grabby. I didn’t— I wasn’t— nothing happened. I passed out on the damn couch.”

Jey stared at him for a long second.

Then he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So you let her mark you up like that… after everything with Janiya?”

Jimmy’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t respond.

Jey shook his head.  “Twin… that girl is up there acting like nothing’s wrong because she don’t wanna fall apart again. And you—”  He slapped Jimmy’s arm.  “—you out here letting Kayla claim you like she won a damn raffle.”

Jimmy’s fists tightened at his sides.

His voice cracked low.

“I didn’t want any of that. I just— I wanted to forget. She wasn’t answering me.”

Jey stared at him.

“SO YOU GOT DRUNK AND LET ANOTHER WOMAN MESS ON YOU?”

Jimmy flinched.

Jey pointed toward the front of the bus where Janiya sat stiff as a board.

“Look at her, Twin. Look at what you did.”

Jimmy looked. Really looked.

At the back of Janiya’s head.  At how still she sat.  At how her shoulders were rigid.  At how Liv was whispering something soft to her.  At how Bianca kept a hand on her knee.

She wasn’t okay. She wasn’t close to okay. And she was pretending so hard it broke something inside him.

Jimmy whispered, barely audible.

“…I messed up.”

Jey didn’t sugarcoat it.

“You didn’t just mess up.”  He leaned in, voice low, dangerous.  “You broke her.”

—

The shuttle rolled onto the highway toward the new hotel, humming with small conversations and morning exhaustion. Janiya sat perfectly still between Liv and Bianca, back straight, chin up, sunglasses hiding every emotion her eyes wanted to spill.

She talked. She laughed.  She made small jokes.  She asked about breakfast.  She scrolled on her phone like nothing was wrong. It was a flawless performance. If she didn’t speak so steadily, anyone would think she was fine.

But Liv and Bianca weren’t fooled for a second.

Liv leaned closer, whispering, “You good?”

Janiya gave a small shrug. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Bianca raised a brow. “Liar.”

“I’m fine,” Janiya repeated calmly, like the words were armor.

Liv glanced at Jimmy’s neck again — at the dark hickies, the way he kept adjusting his hoodie to try to hide them.

She looked back at Janiya.

“How you feelin’?” Liv asked softly.

“I’m good,” Janiya said with a small smile. “It’s whatever.”

Bianca looked at her like she could see right through the lie.

“You sure?” Bianca asked gently. “You saw it, right?”

Janiya adjusted her hood, kept her voice cool and even.

“Saw what?”

Liv scoffed under her breath.  “Girl. Don’t gaslight yourself.”

Janiya’s jaw tightened for a split second — a tiny crack in her mask — before she answered:

“I didn’t see anything.”

Bianca leaned forward. “Janiya… his whole damn neck looks like a crime scene.”

Liv added, “CSI: Kayla Edition.”

Janiya let out a tiny breath of a laugh — barely — before brushing it off.

“It’s not my business.”

Bianca’s eyes softened. “Yeah… but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

Janiya’s fingers tightened around her phone.  Just slightly.  Just enough for them to notice. But her face stayed blank.

Calm.

Controlled.

“He can do what he wants,” she said. “We weren’t together. It didn’t faze me.”

Liv snorted. “Girl, your shoulders shot up to your ears the second she started braggin’.”

Janiya didn’t look at either of them.

She kept her gaze glued out the window.

“I’m fine.”

Bianca reached over, gently covering her hand.  “Baby… you don’t gotta lie.”

Silence.

Then—Janiya’s voice dropped to a whisper only they could hear.

“I wish it didn’t bother me… but it does.”

Liv’s expression softened instantly. Bianca squeezed her hand. Janiya swallowed hard and straightened her hoodie, pretending her heart wasn’t cracking all over again.

“Let’s just not talk about him,” she said quietly. “Not right now.”

Liv nodded. Bianca nodded.

But both saw the truth: Janiya wasn’t okay. She wasn’t close to okay. And the more she pretended, the more it was destroying her from the inside out.

The shuttle rolled to a stop in front of the new hotel, brakes hissing softly.  Everyone stood, stretching, grabbing their bags, filing out one by one.

Janiya rose from her seat slowly, exhaustion hanging off her like a second skin.  Liv stood close beside her. Bianca grabbed her duffel for her without asking.

Janiya didn’t complain. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. She just kept moving.

But Jimmy…He finally stood up from the back of the bus, eyes glued to her like she was the only thing in the world he could see.

Kayla tried to link his arm again. He shook her off.

Hard.

She blinked in surprise as he pushed past her.

He stepped into the aisle fast, eyes desperate, ready to reach her before she got too far ahead.

“Janiya—”

He didn’t get another word out.

Because Liv stepped in front of him so fast the whole shuttle froze.

Her palm shot out, flat against his chest.

“NOPE.”

Jimmy blinked. “Liv—”

“No,” she said loudly, firmly, and with a glare that could kill a man twice her size. “Not today.”

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “I just wanna talk—”

Liv stepped closer, chin lifted, refusing to back down.

“And she doesn’t want to talk to YOU.”

Bianca, standing behind Janiya, stared Jimmy down too — silent backup with pure protective energy. Janiya kept walking toward the exit, shoulders tense but moving steadily.

Jimmy took a step to go around Liv.

Liv moved with him.

“Move, Liv,” he said low.

“No,” Liv repeated. “Not now. Not after last night. Not after this morning.”  She jabbed a finger toward his neck. “Not after THAT.”

Jimmy’s cheeks flushed with shame.

Liv lowered her voice, eyes burning. 

“You don’t get to hurt my friend, break her heart, get drunk with that hoe Kayla hanging all over you, come back with hickies like a damn trophy—”

She pushed his chest lightly.  “—and then act confused why she doesn’t wanna talk.”

Jimmy’s breath hitched. “I messed up, alright—”

“Oh, REALLY?” Liv mock-gasped. “Because I thought this was your professional hickey collection.”

A few Superstars nearby stifled laughs.

Jimmy clenched his fists. “Liv—just let me talk to her.”

Liv’s eyes went cold.

“No. Not today.”  She pointed sharply toward Kayla, who was now pretending she wasn’t watching.  “Go be with that hoe you picked over her.”

Jimmy froze.

Actually froze.

The words hit too close, too true, too sharp.

Kayla’s eyes widened in offense. “Excuse me?—”

Liv didn’t even look at her.  Not once. Her eyes stayed locked on Jimmy.

“You don’t get to chase Janiya after choosing someone else last night,” Liv said, voice low and deadly calm. “You made your decision.”

Jimmy swallowed, chest tight. “She didn’t answer me, Liv—”

“That doesn’t mean you run to the first bitch who calls your phone.”

Jimmy went silent. Liv stepped even closer, her forehead almost touching his chest, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper:

“You hurt her. You broke her. And now you need to leave her alone.”

Jimmy’s throat flexed. He didn’t fight. Didn’t push back.

Couldn’t.

Because Liv was right.  All of it was right. He watched as Janiya walked off the shuttle, head high, pretending she didn’t hear any of this. Pretending she didn’t care. But her shoulders were trembling — barely, but enough for Jimmy to notice. Liv followed after her, giving him one last warning glare.

“Back off, Uso. And go deal with the mess you made.”

Then she disappeared into the hotel lobby with Janiya. Leaving Jimmy standing there motionless.

Jaw tight. Heart sinking.  Regret crawling up his throat. Kayla tried to touch his arm again. Jimmy pulled away instantly. And for the first time since last night…He realized he might have truly, truly lost Janiya.

The second Liv walked off the shuttle with Janiya, Jimmy moved.

Instinct. Heart first. Head nowhere.

He stepped off the bus fast, eyes locked on the lobby doors where Janiya disappeared.

“I’m goin’ after her,” he muttered under his breath, already halfway there.

He barely made it two steps. A hand grabbed his arm.

Hard.

“Don’t.”

Jimmy jerked around.  “Jey, move.”

Jey tightened his grip.  Shook his head slowly, eyes tired and serious.

“No. Not today.”

Jimmy glared. “Man, let me go—”

“NO.”  Jey stepped in front of him.  “Twin, listen to me.”

Jimmy’s chest rose and fell too fast.  He looked like a man two seconds from sprinting straight into her heartbreak. Jey grabbed both his shoulders, grounding him.

“Let. Her. Be.”

Jimmy shook his head violently. “You didn’t see her face— I gotta—”

“I DID see her face,” Jey snapped. “And that’s exactly why you ain’t goin’ over there.”

Jimmy froze.

Jey lowered his voice.

“She needs space, Twin. She needs time. You show up right now? You’ll just make it worse.”

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, eyes burning with frustration and regret.  “I can’t just do nothin’. I can’t.”

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’,” Jey said. “You givin’ her room to breathe. That’s respect.”

Jimmy swallowed hard.

Jey continued,  “And we got our tag match tonight against The Street Profits. You ain’t gonna survive that ring if your head somewhere else.”

Jimmy looked away, pain tightening his expression.

“And SHE,” Jey added, “has her own match tonight. You stress her out more? She gon’ crumble. And that’s on you.”

Jimmy closed his eyes.

He hated it. He hated how right Jey was. He hated that he caused all this.

Jey squeezed the back of his neck.

“Twin… just let her be today. One day. That’s all.”

Jimmy took a shaky breath and finally nodded, even though it tore something inside him.

—

The room was beautiful. Neutral tones.  Soft lighting.  Big window overlooking the city. But Janiya saw none of it. She barely made it inside before the mask fell off.

The door clicked shut—And she folded.

Completely. Her bag dropped to the ground.  Her knees buckled.  Her hand grabbed the desk for support. Her breathing came in short, sharp waves — too fast, too shallow.

She stumbled toward the bed and sat down, fingers pressing into her thighs as she tried to steady herself. But her body was shaking. Her chest hurt so bad she pressed her palm to it. Her breaths turned uneven.

Her throat tight.

Her vision blurry.

Everything she held in all day slammed into her at once: Jimmy on the shuttle, hickies on his neck.  Kayla was bragging loudly enough for everyone to hear.  Liv blocking him.  Her pretending not to care.  She pretended she didn’t see.  Her pretending she wasn’t shattered.

Janiya covered her mouth to muffle the sob that tore out of her.

Then another.

Then another.

Her shoulders trembled as she cried into her hands — raw, broken, shaking so hard she could barely sit upright.

“Why does this hurt so bad?” she whispered between gasps. “Why can’t I just stop caring?”

Another sob ripped from her.

“I didn’t want to fall for him. I didn’t want this.”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, face buried in her palms as her tears dripped onto the carpet. Her breathing hitched again — uneven, panicked — like she was fighting her own chest for air.

She pressed both hands over her heart, trying desperately to calm it.

“It’s too much,” she whispered. “It’s too much…”

Her body trembled against the storm of emotions she’d been holding back.

And alone in that room…She let herself break.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Janiya sat hunched over on the edge of the hotel bed, her elbows digging into her knees, her hands trembling so violently she could barely grip them together.

Her breath came jagged. Shallow. Fast.

Too fast.

Her heartbeat thudded unevenly in her chest like it was trying to escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears dripping down her cheeks as she whispered to herself in a strained, cracking voice:

“It’s okay… you’re okay, Niya… you’re okay… breathe… just breathe…” But the words didn’t help. Not this time. Her chest tightened more.  Her ribs felt like they were closing in on her.  Her throat burned with air that refused to go down smoothly. Her vision flickered. Then blurred.

Like the room was tilting.  Like the walls were inching forward.  Like everything was moving too fast around her.

“No… no, no, please…” she whispered, pressing a shaking hand to her forehead. “Not right now… not—please.”

Her breathing quickened even more.  Small, sharp, panicked gasps. Her other hand clutched her chest as she doubled over, her body trembling uncontrollably. The room swayed in and out of focus.

Her eyes darted around like she couldn’t steady what she was seeing. Her thoughts raced too fast to catch.

Jimmy. Kayla. The hickies. The loud bragging. The shuttle. Him ignoring her texts. Him drunk. Her alone. Her heart cracked open. Her trying to be okay. Her failing.

She grabbed the blanket on the bed to keep from collapsing entirely.

“Breathe… breathe…” she whispered, voice barely rising above a whimper.

But she wasn’t breathing right. The more she tried, the worse it got. More tears spilled as her vision continued to blur, swimming at the edges, her ears ringing faintly. She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to force the world to stop spinning.

She clutched her chest harder, whispering in a small, terrified voice, “Niya… please… calm down… calm down…”

But her body wouldn’t listen. Her hands shook violently.  Her breaths came too fast, too shallow.  Her head felt light, dizzy, disconnected. She leaned forward, forehead nearly hitting her knees as her vision washed out in gray edges.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her throat tightened again. She wasn’t just crying now.

She was spiraling.

Breaking.

Panicking.

And alone.

So alone.

The room blurred again— Then went slightly dark around the edges— And her hands slipped from the blanket as her whole body trembled uncontrollably.

She whispered one last shaky plea before another wave of panic hit her chest.

“Please… someone… help…”

But no one heard. And her vision flickered again—Harder this time. Her breathing stuttered. Her grip loosened. And she felt herself slipping. Janiya’s breathing was no longer breathing.

It was shallow gasps, sharp and uneven, her chest rising in tiny, frightened bursts that weren’t pulling in enough air.  Her vision flickered again—then again—each time darker than before.

She clutched the side of the bed, fingers slipping against the sheets. Her body shook violently. Her heartbeat thundered out of rhythm. Her ears rang.And then— Everything tilted.

Hard.

Janiya felt the floor move even though it didn’t. Her knees buckled. Her grip loosened.

And before she could whisper another “it’s okay” to herself—Her body gave out. She collapsed sideways off the bed, hitting the carpet with a soft, lifeless thud.

Her vision went white. Then gray. Then nothing.

The room spun into silence. Her chest barely lifted with each uneven breath. Her fingers twitched once. Then went still.

—

Ten minutes later, the hallway outside buzzed faintly—the roster checking into rooms, luggage wheels rolling, scattered chatter.

Then—A gentle knock.

“Janiya? You in here? It’s me.”

Bianca.

She waited for a second. No answer. She frowned.

Knocked again, louder this time.

“Niya? You good? I brought you water—open up.”

Still no answer.

A heavy pause.

Then Bianca’s instincts kicked in hard. She tried the door handle—Unlocked. Her stomach dropped. She pushed the door open fast.

“Janiya?”

Silence.

Her eyes scanned the room quickly—Then she saw it.

Janiya’s body on the floor beside the bed, curled slightly, limp, unmoving.

Bianca gasped, dropping the water bottle instantly.

“Oh—oh my God—Niya!”

She rushed across the room, sliding to her knees beside her.

“Baby, hey—hey, can you hear me? Janiya?”

Janiya didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Her breaths were short and uneven, her skin pale, her hands ice-cold. Bianca’s heart slammed into her ribs.

“NO—no, no, no—Niya, come on—” She tapped her cheek gently but urgently. “Open your eyes for me. Please.”

Nothing. Bianca’s voice cracked. She grabbed her phone with shaking hands and dialed Liv.

“Liv—GET IN HERE. NOW. It’s Niya—she’s on the floor—she fainted—she’s not waking up—”

Bianca dropped the phone and cupped Janiya’s face with both hands.

“Niya, baby, breathe for me—please—”

She brushed the hair from her forehead, tears filling her own eyes as she whispered:

“Don’t scare me like this… please…”

And for the first time since this whole situation began—Janiya wasn’t just heartbroken.

She was in danger.

—

Bianca knelt on the hotel room floor, hands shaking as she tried to gently lift Janiya’s head into her lap.  Janiya’s skin was clammy.  Her breaths shallow.  Her eyelashes barely fluttered.

“Come on, baby… c’mon, wake up…” Bianca whispered, fear tightening her voice.

Then—FOOTSTEPS. FAST.

The door slammed open wider as Liv BURST in, eyes wide, breathing hard.

“Where is she—Niya?!”

Liv dropped to her knees beside them so fast she scraped her skin on the carpet.

“Oh my GOD—WHAT HAPPENED?” Liv cried, grabbing Janiya’s cold hand.

Bianca shook her head, tears streaking down her face.  “I don’t—I don’t know! I came up here and found her LIKE THIS!”

Liv’s hands trembled as she tapped Janiya’s cheek lightly.  “Niya—Niya, baby, wake up! You’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe—please breathe—”

Janiya’s body didn’t respond.  Her chest rose and fell in tiny, uneven jerks. Fear slammed through Liv like lightning.

“Oh hell NO—we need help—we need to call someone—”

Bianca nodded frantically. “I already called down to the front desk; they’re sending medical—she won’t wake up! She won’t—”

Before she could finish—LOUD SHOUTING echoed from the hallway.

Male voices.

Sharp. Confused. Panicked.

Liv and Bianca froze. Jey’s voice rang out first, loud enough to shake the whole damn hallway:

“YO! WHAT THE FUCK? Somebody said they heard Bianca screaming—WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Jimmy’s voice followed, slightly behind him but growing closer. “Jey—what’s goin’ on? Why you yellin’?!”

Another shout from Jey.

“AYE! SOMEBODY CALL MEDICAL!”

Liv’s head whipped toward the open door.

Oh fuck.

She knew what was about to happen.

Bianca whispered, “Liv… they’re coming—”

Liv swallowed, eye wide. “Do NOT let him panic her even more—”

Too late.

Jey appeared in the doorway first, eyes wild, scanning the room.

“What—WHO—”  Then he saw her.

His whole face dropped.

“Ah fuck… not Niya—”

He stepped inside fast, heart pounding.

Behind him—Jimmy stopped dead in the doorway.

His chest rose sharply.

His eyes widened.

His face went pale.

“…Niya?”

He didn’t move at first.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

He stared at Janiya on the floor—limp, unconscious, barely breathing—and the color drained from his face. Liv jumped up instantly, blocking him with both hands.

“NO! Nope—no, no, no—BACK UP!”

Jimmy blinked like he was waking from a nightmare.

“What—what happened to her? What’s wrong with her? Why is she—”

Liv shoved him back harder.

“NO. You don’t get to come in here right now!”

Jimmy tried to push past her anyway. “Move, Liv—MOVE—I need to see her!”

Liv screamed.

“YOU DID THIS!”

Jimmy froze mid-step.

“What—?!”

Bianca looked up, tears streaming, voice cracking:  “She fainted! She wasn’t breathing right—she panicked so bad she passed out—!”

Jimmy’s stomach DROP-KICKED itself. His throat closed. His heart slammed against his ribs. Jey stepped in front of Jimmy now, grabbing his chest to stop him from rushing forward.

“Twin—CHILL. Let them handle her—let them—”

“I’m not LEAVING—” Jimmy growled, voice breaking. “I’m not—move—”

Liv screamed back.

“YOU CAN’T HELP HER! SHE CAN’T EVEN SEE YOU RIGHT NOW!”

Jimmy looked at Janiya—small, fragile, broken on the hotel floor—and something shattered inside him.

“Please…” he whispered, voice shaking. “Please let me—”

But Liv shook her head, tears falling too.

“NO. Not after last night. Not after Kayla. Not with those hickies on your neck. Not after what you put her through.”

Jimmy’s eyes burned. He looked down at his hands—shaking. He looked at Janiya—unconscious. And his voice cracked apart completely.

“…I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Jey gripped his shoulder tighter, whispering fast:

“Twin… you gotta step back before you make it worse. Let medical get here. Let her breathe.”

Jimmy’s eyes stayed glued to her as he backed up slowly, heart ripping in his chest.

“Niya…” he whispered, voice breaking with guilt and fear.

Janiya didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Didn’t wake up. And Jimmy felt every inch of the pain he caused. The hallway filled with frantic footsteps and the crackle of radios as the medical team rushed in, rolling a stretcher between them.

“Where is she?”

“In here—” Bianca called out, voice breaking.

Two EMTs knelt beside Janiya immediately.

Jimmy pressed himself against the wall, hands shaking so violently that Jey had to grab both of his wrists to stop him from collapsing.

“Female, mid-20s, shallow breathing, possible fainting episode—”

“Pulse is irregular.”

“She’s shaking—looks like panic-induced collapse.”

“Get the oxygen ready.”

They lifted her gently, placing an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth.

Janiya didn’t react.

Didn’t wake up.

Didn’t even flinch.

The sight nearly sent Jimmy to his knees. He tried to step forward—Jey snatched him back by the front of his hoodie.

“STOP. Twin—STOP. You can’t go near her right now.”

Jimmy’s voice cracked, raw and desperate,  “She’s not breathing right—Jey she’s not—she’s—what if something—what if—”

Jey grabbed his face with both hands.

“Look at me, look at me—Niya’s gonna be okay. But you can’t lose it right now. Not here. Not when she needs calm.”

Jimmy blinked hard, chest heaving.

Calm?

He was seconds from breaking.

One EMT shouted,  “We’re taking her to County General—who’s riding with her?”

Liv didn’t hesitate.

“ME.”

Bianca nodded, stepping back. “Go. Go with her.”

Jimmy stepped forward fast.

“I’m going too.”

Liv spun around.

“No. Absolutely NOT.”

Jimmy’s breath caught.  “What? Liv—I gotta—let me see her—let me go with her—”

Liv practically shoved him back with her whole body weight.

“NO. You don’t get to traumatize her more.”

Jimmy shook his head violently. “I’m not— I’m not tryin’ to— I just need to—”

“She DOESN’T want you right now!” Liv fired back.  “She doesn’t need you right now! And she sure as hell can’t wake up in a panic and see YOU standing over her.”

Jimmy’s face crumbled. He looked at Janiya—her limp body strapped to the stretcher, oxygen mask covering half her face, tears still dried on her cheeks.

It destroyed him.

“I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered, voice shaking.

Liv’s eyes softened for half a second—Then hardened again. “Intent doesn’t matter when the damage is done.”

They started wheeling the stretcher out. Jimmy stepped forward again. Jey grabbed him around the torso, holding him back as if he were restraining a wild animal.

“Twin—STOP!” Jey yelled, voice shaking with the effort.

Jimmy struggled, breath ragged, trying to break free.

“I can’t let her go like that—Jey let me go—LET ME GO—”

“YOU’RE MAKIN’ IT WORSE!” Jey roared.

Jimmy froze. The truth hit him so hard it broke his resistance. He let Jey hold him. Let himself sag against the wall. Let the panic swallow him. Because Jey was right.

The EMTs loaded Janiya into the ambulance. Liv climbed in behind her immediately. Before the doors closed, she looked at Jimmy— anger, heartbreak, protection all mixing in her gaze.

“Stay away, Jimmy. Let her breathe.” He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

The doors slammed.

The ambulance sped away, sirens wailing through the night. Jimmy took two steps toward the road like he was going to run after it—But his legs gave out.

Jey caught him by the shoulders.

Jimmy whispered, voice broken and small:

“…I did this, Uce. I did this to her.”

Jey pulled him into his chest, holding him steady.

“Yeah,” Jey whispered.  “You did.”

Jimmy’s voice cracked, “I’m scared, Jey…”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose her.”

“I know.”

“She won’t even look at me.”

“I know.”

“Jey, what do I do?”

Jey exhaled shakily, squeezing his shoulder.

“First? You let her breathe.  For real this time.”

“And second?”

Jey looked him dead in the eyes.

“Second… you pray she lets you fix this.”

—

Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Janiya’s eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy and stinging like she’d been crying for hours — because she had. The world came back to her in blurry pieces: white ceiling tiles, the faint beeping of monitors, the sterile smell of disinfectant. 

Her chest tightened in confusion. Where… Where was she? Her breath hitched, fear rising fast.

“Hey… hey, Niya… it’s okay. You’re okay.”

The familiar voice cut through the panic like a warm blanket.

Janiya’s eyes shifted to the side —Liv.

Sitting in the chair next to the hospital bed.  Makeup smudged from crying.  Her hand already reaching for Janiya’s, her lips parted shakily.  Her voice cracked as she whispered.

“Liv…?”

Liv squeezed her hand tight, forcing a smile — soft, but pained.

“I’m right here, baby. You’re okay.”

Janiya swallowed, throat dry and raw.

“Where… where am I?”

“The hospital,” Liv said gently. “You fainted. Anxiety attack. You weren’t breathing right. We got scared.”

Janiya blinked several times as the memories slammed into her — her chest tightening, her vision blurring, the floor rushing up—Her breath stuttered again.

Liv sat up straighter.

“No, no, hey — don’t panic. You’re good. You’re safe.”

A small tear rolled down Janiya’s cheek, and she wiped it quickly with shaky fingers.

“I… I fainted?”

“Hard,” Liv said honestly. “Bianca found you on the floor. You scared the hell out of us.”

Janiya covered her mouth with her hand as tears spilled again.

“Oh my God…”

Liv leaned closer, brushing the hair from her face.

“Baby, it wasn’t your fault. You’ve been holding in WAY too much.”

Janiya bit her lip, trying so hard not to cry — trying to be strong — but it wasn’t working.

“Did Jimmy…?” she whispered, voice barely audible.

Liv’s expression shifted.

Softened.

 Then hardened.

“Don’t worry about him right now,” Liv said. “He’s not here.”

Janiya’s eyes widened in relief and fear at the same time.

“He—he didn’t come?”

Liv exhaled through her nose.

“Oh, he tried. Trust me. He tried like a damn maniac. Jey and I had to hold him back. But you didn’t need that energy anywhere near you.”

Janiya closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. Everything hurt.

“He caused this,” she whispered, finally letting the truth out. “I know he didn’t mean to… but he did.”

Liv tightened her grip on her hand.

“And that’s exactly why you don’t need to see him right now.”

More tears slid down Janiya’s cheeks.

“I just wanted to pretend I was okay…”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Liv said softly. “Not anymore. Not after this.”

Janiya wiped her face again, trying to calm her breathing.

“Where’s Bianca?”

“She’s on her way. They’re letting us come in one at a time.”

Janiya nodded weakly, staring down at the IV in her arm. Then her voice cracked with real vulnerability — the kind she never let out:

“Liv… am I stupid for hurting this much?”

Liv scooted her chair closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

“No, baby,” she whispered. “You’re human.”

Janiya closed her eyes again, her shoulders shaking lightly.

Liv rubbed her hand over Janiya’s arm gently.

“You’re safe now. Just rest. I’m not leaving.”

And for the first time in days — maybe weeks — Janiya felt the smallest flicker of safety.

Not because she was okay.

But because she wasn’t alone.

—

The door to the hospital room opened slowly after Liv stepped out for a moment.  Bianca walked in with a soft smile, carrying a small cup of ice water and a blanket draped over her arm.

“Hey, sweetheart…” she said gently.

Janiya looked up, eyes tired and swollen but calmer now.  “B…”

Bianca’s face softened immediately.  She set the blanket over Janiya’s legs and cupped her cheek with both hands.

“Oh, baby… you scared us,” Bianca whispered, voice cracking. “You scared me bad.”

Janiya’s eyes watered again, but Bianca pressed her forehead to hers, grounding her.

“Hey. You’re okay. You’re right here. You’re breathing.”

Janiya sucked in a shaky inhale, letting Bianca’s presence soothe her spiraling nerves.

“You fainted,” Bianca explained softly. “Your body shut down. You’ve been carrying too much… too quietly.”

Janiya nodded weakly.  “I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

Bianca shook her head slowly.  “Honey, your heart was drowning. We had to pull you out.”

She gently ran a hand through Janiya’s hair like she was comforting a younger sister.

“You’re strong… but you’re not made of steel. You’re allowed to break.”

Janiya wiped a tear.  “It just hurt so much.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to care about him.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have fallen for him.”

Bianca kissed her forehead.  “Baby… heartbreak doesn’t follow rules.”

Janiya sniffled, leaning into her friend’s hands.

Then— they heard it.

A loud thud.  Then a raised voice.  Then another. Bianca’s head snapped toward the door.

“What the hell…?”

Janiya stiffened instantly. Her breathing hitched.  Her pulse jumped.

And then—Jimmy’s voice echoed down the hallway, panicked and angry.

“LET ME IN—THAT’S MY—LET ME SEE HER!”

Security’s voice followed, firmer:

“Sir, you cannot go inside unless you’re immediate family—”

“I DON’T CARE! OPEN THE DOOR!”

Janiya’s entire body froze.

Her grip tightened on the bedsheets.

Bianca’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, hell no…”

Jimmy continued shouting:

“I KNOW SHE’S IN THERE—MOVE! LET ME SEE HER—JUST LET ME TALK TO HER—”

A crash echoed— like he shoved a chair or hit the wall.

Bianca stood up fast.

Liv ran back into the room, breathless.

“He’s losing his damn mind out there,” Liv said. “Security’s holding him back.”

Janiya’s breathing grew sharp again.

“No—no, no, no— I can’t—please— I can’t see him—Liv—B…”

Bianca immediately took her face in both hands.

“Hey. Look at me. RIGHT HERE. Breathe. You’re okay. You don’t have to see him.”

Liv pressed a hand on her shoulder.  “You’re safe. He’s not stepping foot in here.”

But the shouting grew louder.

“PLEASE—JUST ONE MINUTE—LET ME SEE HER—I NEED TO—”

Security again:

“Sir, step back before you are escorted out.”

Janiya’s lip trembled.  Tears spilled down her cheeks again.

“Why is he doing this…?” she whispered.

Because he was scared.  Because he felt guilty.  Because he loved her and didn’t know how to admit it.

But Bianca stayed honest and gentle.

“Because he messed up,” she said softly. “And now he’s realizing what he’s about to lose.”

Janiya closed her eyes tightly, chest aching all over again.

Liv stroked her hair.

“Baby… do you want him anywhere near you?”

Janiya shook her head instantly.

“No. Not right now. Please, no.”

Bianca nodded.  “Then we won’t let him.”

Outside, Jimmy yelled her name again:

“JANIYA—PLEASE—LET ME IN—”

His voice cracked. But inside the room, Janiya curled into the bed, clutching the blanket as Bianca rubbed her back and Liv held her hand.

“You’re safe,” Bianca whispered. “He can’t hurt you right now.”

And despite the chaos in the hallway…For the first time today—Janiya believed it.

Jimmy’s shouting echoed down the hallway long before the doors burst open again.

“GET OFF ME—LET ME GO! I NEED TO SEE HER!”

Two security guards held him by the arms, struggling to keep him contained as he thrashed and pulled.

“Sir, CALM DOWN—”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Jimmy roared, eyes wild, voice cracking. “LET ME TALK TO HER—PLEASE—”

They tightened their grip.

“Sir—stop resisting—”

“I AIN’T LEAVIN’ WITHOUT SEEIN’ HER!”

He jerked forward again, but the guards braced themselves and forced him back toward the elevators.

Jey sprinted down the hallway, grabbing Jimmy’s arm from behind.

“BRO! CUT IT OUT—STOP!”

Jimmy shook him off, voice breaking.

“She needs me—Jey, LET ME GO!”

“NO!” Jey yelled, louder than him. “What she needs is space!”

Jimmy’s breathing was ragged, panicked, like he couldn’t get enough air.

“I CAN’T LEAVE HER—NOT LIKE THIS—I CAN’T—”

“YOU DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!” Jey snapped, grabbing his face with both hands to force eye contact. “You’re EMBARRASSING yourself. And you’re makin’ this WORSE.”

Jimmy froze mid-struggle. His chest heaved. His eyes glistened.

Jey shook him once, hard.

“Twin… listen to me. She fainted. She had a full anxiety attack. She is TERRIFIED right now. The last thing she needs is you bustin’ in there screamin’ her name.”

Jimmy swallowed hard, voice small and broken.

“I just… I just wanna make sure she’s okay…”

Jey’s expression softened—just for a moment.

“I know. But barging in there like a wild dog ain’t helpin’ nobody. You gotta STOP.”

Jimmy blinked away a tear.

“But what if she—what if she don’t ever wanna see me again?”

Jey exhaled sharply and squeezed his shoulders.

“Then you take that. Because you caused it. But first—you let her breathe. LET her heal a little.”

Security tugged again.

“Sir, we need to escort you out.”

Jimmy looked at the hospital doors one last time, chest collapsing inward. Then he nodded weakly and let them drag him toward the exit, his body going limp from defeat.

Jey followed behind, muttering.

“Damn, Twin… you really fucked this up…”

Janiya sat upright in the hospital bed, clutching the blanket to her chest as the muffled chaos finally began to fade.

But his voice?

His cries?

His pleas?

They lingered in her mind like they were still vibrating through the walls.

“LET ME SEE HER—PLEASE—DON’T DO THIS—”

She flinched.

Hard.

Her breathing quickened again, but Liv immediately grabbed her hand.

“No no no—hey—look at me, Niya. Don’t let him put you back in a panic. He’s gone now. Security took him out.”

Bianca rubbed her arm softly.  “He’s not coming in here. You’re safe.”

But Janiya’s voice cracked as she whispered.

“I heard him crying…”

Liv swallowed, eyes softening.

“I know. But baby… his pain can’t matter more than yours right now.”

Janiya nodded, though her jaw trembled uncontrollably.

Then the door opened. A doctor in light blue scrubs entered with a calm, practiced smile.

“Hello, Janiya. I’m Dr. Patel. I’m going to check your vitals, okay?”

Bianca moved aside so she could access the machines. The doctor gently lifted Janiya’s wrist, taking her pulse.

“You gave your system quite a scare,” she said softly. “Extreme panic can cause fainting, especially when you haven’t slept or eaten much.”

Janiya blinked at that. Had she eaten? Had she slept properly? She couldn’t remember. The doctor took her blood pressure, adjusted the oxygen, and clicked through the monitor screen.

Her voice stayed soft. “We’re going to keep you for a little while to make sure your levels stabilize. You’re safe here, alright?”

Janiya nodded shakily.

Liv squeezed her hand again.

“See? You’re being looked after. You’re okay.”

But the truth? Janiya wasn’t okay. Not even close. Because even as the doctor worked…Her heart replayed the sound of Jimmy’s voice breaking in the hallway.

“PLEASE—LET ME SEE HER—”

And it hurt in ways she didn’t want to admit.

—

The rain had started by the time security pushed Jimmy out the front doors. Not a heavy, dramatic storm — just a light drizzle that soaked through clothes quietly, the kind that made the world feel softer and crueler at the same time.

Jimmy sat on the curb near the parking lot, hoodie drenched, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his legs. He hadn’t spoken since they forced him out.

Not one word.

His breaths came shallow. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground.  His entire body looked stripped of its usual confidence — like he’d been hollowed out. Jey stood a few feet away, phone in hand, pacing as he dialed Liv’s number.

He glanced at his twin. Jimmy didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t wipe the rain tears off his face. Just stared at the pavement like it held all the answers to how badly he fucked up.

Jey sighed and pressed call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then Liv answered sharply.

“What?!”

Jey jumped.  “Damn, Liv—chill, it’s me.”

Liv exhaled through the phone, still tense.  “Sorry. Everything okay out there?”

Jey glanced at Jimmy again. He was still frozen.  Still silent.

“Define ‘okay’…” Jey muttered.

Liv lowered her voice.  “She’s stable. She woke up. She’s talking. They’re keeping her for a bit.”

Jimmy’s head lifted.  Barely.  Like he wasn’t allowed to hope.

Jey swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Okay, good.”

Liv continued, calmer now:

“She fainted from panic and exhaustion. But she’s conscious. She’s scared. We got her.”

Jey nodded again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Does she… does she wanna see anybody?”

Liv’s pause was telling.

“…Not him.”

Jimmy closed his eyes. Hard. His breath hitched. A small, wounded sound escaped him — almost silent, but Jey heard it.

Liv added, gentler.

“She’s still shaking, Jey. She’s torn up. Seeing him right now would put her right back into another episode.”

Jey looked at Jimmy again.

His twin sat still as a statue, rainwater dripping from his curls, fists tightening slowly at his sides.

“Yeah,” Jey murmured. “Yeah, I figured.”

Liv exhaled tiredly.  “She kept asking if he came to the hospital.”

Jimmy’s eyes snapped open.

Jey froze.

“…and what did you tell her?” he asked.

“I told her the truth,” Liv said. “That he was screaming at security trying to get in. That he was losing his mind.”

Jimmy bowed his head, shoulders shaking once.

Liv continued softly, “But right now? She’s terrified. She needs calm, not chaos.”

“I hear you,” Jey said. “And what about—?”

Before he could finish, Liv cut in:

“Tell Jimmy to give her space. Please. For her sake. And his.”

Jey looked over at his brother again. Jimmy was staring at nothing — eyes glassy, lips parted like he couldn’t remember how to breathe.

Jey’s voice softened.

“I’ll tell him.”

Liv spoke once more, voice cracking with fatigue and emotion:

“And Jey… tell him she heard him crying.”

Jey’s stomach dropped. Jimmy’s head snapped up again — a sharp, involuntary movement — like someone yanked the air out of his lungs.

“…she heard me?” he whispered, voice barely audible.

Liv confirmed, quietly devastated.

“She heard everything.”

The phone call ended.

Jey lowered the phone slowly, rain dripping off his fingertips.

Jimmy finally spoke, voice tiny and broken:

“She heard me cry…?”

Jey nodded.

Jimmy swallowed hard, breath shaky.

“…then she knows,” he whispered.  His voice cracked.  “She knows I didn’t want none of this… she knows I lose it over her…”

Jey put a hand on his shoulder.

“You ain’t losin’ her today,” he said softly. “But you gotta let her heal.”

Jimmy’s eyes filled — not wild panic this time.

Just heartbreak.

“…I didn’t mean to hurt her this bad.”

Jey squeezed tighter.

“I know, Twin.”

Jimmy finally looked up at the hospital windows, rain streaking down his face like silent tears.

“I just want her safe,” he whispered.

“She is,” Jey said. “And right now, that means stayin’ away.”

Jimmy nodded weakly. But his eyes never left the hospital. As if his heart was still somewhere inside.

—

The doctor left the room with a quiet promise to check back in soon.  The door clicked softly behind her, leaving the room dim, calm, and heavy with emotions no one knew how to name yet.

Janiya lay back against the pillows, eyes still glossy, chest rising and falling slowly beneath the thin hospital blanket.

Liv sat in the chair beside her, scrolling absently on her phone — mostly to give Janiya space, partly to distract herself from the adrenaline still rushing through her veins.

A long moment passed.

Then Janiya’s soft, trembling voice broke the silence.

“Liv…?”

Liv looked up immediately.  “Yeah, baby?”

Janiya swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling.

“My head feels… heavy,” she whispered. “Like I’m missing something.”

Liv scooted closer.  “You fainted. You had a panic episode. It’s normal to feel foggy.”

Janiya nodded slowly. But then her voice got even quieter. More fragile.

“But… why was he… why was Jimmy acting like that?”

Liv froze.

Janiya blinked up at her, tears gathering again.

“He sounded… broken,” she said shakily. “Like he was in pain or something.”

Liv exhaled slowly, her heart twisting.

She didn’t want to lie.  But she also didn’t want to reopen wounds that hadn’t even started healing. Still, Janiya deserved honesty.

Liv spoke softly:

“Because he WAS broken.”

Janiya’s eyebrows creased.

“What do you mean…?”

Liv took her hand gently, choosing her words with care.

“When security pushed him out of the room… he lost it, Niya. Completely. He was yelling, fighting the guards, trying to get in here. Jey had to hold him back.”

Janiya’s breath hitched.

“He was crying,” Liv continued. “For you. Because he thought he hurt you so bad you couldn’t even stand to look at him.”

Janiya blinked fast, trying to make sense of it through the ache in her chest.

“But… why?” she whispered. “Why would he care that much? He made his choice. He picked her. He made it clear.”

Liv shook her head firmly.

“That boy didn’t pick Kayla. He picked self-destruction.”

Janiya went still.

Liv scooted even closer, brushing her knuckles against Janiya’s hand.

“He wasn’t with her because he wanted her,” Liv said. “He was drunk, hurt, and confused because you weren’t answering him. He spiraled. It wasn’t about her.”

Janiya looked away, tears slipping silently.

“But he had hickies…” she whispered.

Liv nodded gently.  “Yeah, he did. And girl, I’m not excusing that — it was stupid. And it hurt you. But he didn’t sleep with her.”

Janiya’s breath caught.  “…he didn’t?”

“No,” Liv said quietly. “He told Jey. And Bianca overheard. He passed out on the couch. Kayla was doing most of the… marking.”

Janiya closed her eyes, shoulders trembling.

Liv squeezed her hand again.

“And the way he screamed your name in that hallway? The way he was begging security to let him in? I’ve never seen him like that. Not even after matches where he got hurt.”

Janiya opened her eyes slowly, voice cracking:

“Why… why would he cry like that for me?”

Liv softened completely.

“Because losing you scares him more than anything.”

Janiya’s breath stuttered again, and she pressed a hand to her chest.

“But I’m not his,” she whispered.

Liv shook her head sadly.

“That might’ve been true yesterday… but today? After what I saw? Niya… you’re the only one who can break him like that.”

Janiya turned her face away as quiet tears slid down her cheeks. Liv brushed them gently with her thumb.

“I’m not saying take him back. I’m not saying forgive him right now. I’m saying… he cares. More than he knows how to handle.”

Janiya whispered,  “Then why did he hurt me like that?”

Liv sighed, looking at her tenderly.

“Because people who are scared of their feelings make the dumbest, most painful choices.”

Janiya wiped her eyes.

Liv leaned closer, voice gentle but honest.

“Baby… you didn’t hear a man who didn’t care. You heard a man realizing he was losing the one thing he wanted but didn’t know how to protect.”

Janiya’s lips trembled.

“…I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Liv squeezed her hand again.

“You don’t have to decide right now. Just breathe. Heal. Rest. Let tomorrow come tomorrow.”

And for the first time since waking up, Janiya felt something soften in her chest—Not forgiveness.

Not reconciliation.

Just the truth settling in: Jimmy wasn’t indifferent. He was breaking too.

—

The hotel room was silent when Jey finally got him back upstairs.  Too silent. Jimmy didn’t speak when the door clicked shut. He didn’t turn on the lights.  He didn’t take off his shoes at first. 

He just stood there in the dark, breathing too fast, staring at the floor like the weight of the whole night had finally crushed him.

Then—He moved.

Slowly.

Like every step hurt. He walked to the bathroom. Closed the door behind him. Turned on the shower without even waiting for it to warm.

And stepped in fully clothed.

Water soaked through his hoodie, his joggers, his socks, everything.  It plastered to his skin, cold at first, then warm — but none of it mattered.

Jimmy braced both hands against the tile wall, head hanging low, water running down his face—Then the first sob tore out of him.

A raw, strangled sound he couldn’t hold back.

Another followed. Then another. And then it all broke loose.

Jimmy pressed his forehead against the wall, his shoulders shaking with deep, painful sobs that echoed in the small shower stall.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Niya… I swear I didn’t…”

But the water drowned out his words.

He choked on his breath, gripping the wall harder as he replayed everything: Janiya walking past him without looking.  Her stiff shoulders in the shuttle.  The hurt in her voice the night before.  

Her collapsing on that hotel floor.  The sight of her limp body.  The oxygen mask.  Liv telling him NO. Bianca screaming his name in terror.  Security dragging him away.  Her hearing him cry.

The guilt crushed him. His knees buckled as he slid down the tile wall, curling into himself under the spray.

His voice cracked into the water,  “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

He didn’t know if he was praying, confessing, or begging.

Maybe all three.

He stayed like that — fully dressed, sobbing under the water — until his body was exhausted, until the water ran cold, until the shaking in his chest softened into quiet, broken breathing.

And when he finally turned the water off…He didn’t feel any lighter.

Just empty.

Jey didn’t tell Jimmy where he was going.

He just grabbed his keys quietly, slipped out of the hotel room, and drove back to the hospital with his hoodie up and his head down.

He wasn’t allowed in Janiya’s room — and he didn’t want to overwhelm her anyway — but he needed to know she was okay.

Needed to see it with his own eyes.

He walked through the hospital halls quietly until he reached the right floor.  He spotted Liv leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes tired but alert.

She looked up when she saw him.

“…Jey?”

He lifted a hand in greeting and walked over.

“How she doin’?” he asked, voice low.

Liv exhaled softly.  “She’s awake. She’s calm now. Scared… but calm.”

Jey nodded, jaw clenching with relief.

“Good,” he murmured.

Liv stepped closer.

“How’s your brother?”

Jey rubbed a hand over his face.

“Hurting. Breaking down. Blamin’ himself for all of it.”

Liv sighed, leaning back against the wall.  “This whole thing is a mess.”

“Yeah,” Jey agreed. “And it ain’t over.”

He looked toward the closed hospital room door — not daring to go in, just needing to see it.

Liv softened a bit.

“You want me to tell her you came?” she asked.

Jey shook his head immediately.

“Nah… don’t. Last thing she need is more pressure. I just… wanted to make sure she safe.”

Liv nodded.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” she asked quietly.

Jey looked down at his shoes, hands in his pockets.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But if they wanna fix it… they gon’ have to work harder than they ever did in that ring.”

He pushed off the wall.

“I’m gonna head back. Keep an eye on him.”

Liv nodded.  “Thank you, Jey.”

He offered her a small, tired smile.

Then turned and walked back down the hallway, leaving quietly, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace inside Janiya’s room.

But before he rounded the corner…He paused.

Turned back.

And whispered under his breath:

“Please be okay, Niya…”

Then he left.

The room had settled into a calm stillness.  The monitors beeped softly.  The lights were dimmed.

Bianca sat on the edge of the bed now, gently rubbing circles on Janiya’s back while Liv leaned against the wall, watching carefully for any sign of another panic spike.

Janiya stayed quiet for a long time.  Too long.

Bianca glanced at her.  “You okay, baby?”

Janiya swallowed, fingers twisting the hospital blanket.

“B… can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Janiya looked down, voice small and fragile.

“Did Jimmy really… try to fight them? The security?”

Liv and Bianca exchanged a look.

Liv tilted her head toward Bianca, silently giving her permission to decide how much truth to reveal. Bianca sighed softly and tucked a curl of hair behind Janiya’s ear.

“Yes,” she said gently. “He did.”

Janiya’s breath hitched.

Bianca continued softly, rubbing her arm.

“He fought damn hard. Tried to push past them. Yelled at them. Begged them. He was… out of control.”

Janiya stared at her blanket, fingers shaking.

“Why?”

Bianca exhaled.

“Because when he saw you on that floor… something broke in him, Niya. I’ve never seen his face like that. He looked—”

She searched for the right word.

“—scared. Terrified. Like he thought he lost you.”

Janiya blinked quickly, trying to process it.

Trying not to feel it too deeply.

Liv added from the side:

“And when they dragged him out? He was still screaming your name. Loud enough the whole floor heard it.”

Janiya pressed a hand to her chest as more tears welled up.

“Why would he act like that… if I’m just a friend with benefits?” she whispered.

Bianca’s fingertips brushed away one of her tears.

“Because you were never just that to him,” she said softly. “Not really.”

Janiya’s throat tightened as she whispered:

“Then why’d he hurt me like this…?”

Liv crossed her arms, her tone firm but compassionate.

“Because he’s emotionally stupid. And scared. And self-sabotaging. And too damn proud to admit he cares.”

Janiya let out a shaky breath, wiping her face. She didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

Her heart didn’t know what to do with this information. Jimmy sat alone in his dark hotel room, still in the clothes he had showered in, hair dripping onto the carpet. He stared at the table in front of him where room service had just dropped off too many bottles.

Tequila. Whiskey. Vodka.

A destructive lineup. He didn’t want to get drunk. He wanted to forget. He unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and took a long, burning swallow.

His throat lit up.  His eyes burned.  His body sagged back into the chair like he’d been hit. He took another swallow.  Then another. A small tear slid down his cheek.

He didn’t wipe it. He grabbed the tequila next. His voice cracked into the darkness:

“I’m sorry… Niya… I’m so sorry…”

He took another drink.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t stop replaying the image of her unconscious.

The oxygen mask. Her limp hand.  Her pale face. And then the sound of her crying on the shuttle.  Her ignoring him.  Her stiff shoulders.  Her shaking in the hallway.

He ran both hands down his face, gripping his head.

“I did this,” he whispered to himself. “I did this to her…”

Another drink.

Another.

His vision blurred.

His heart twisted.

And somewhere in the middle of the alcohol and regret…He realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to admit before: He wasn’t just sorry. He was in love with her. And he was terrified he had just thrown that away.

CAUGHT UP

a/n: phew yeah this is goin' to be more crazy don't worry Jimmy gonna get his shit together but for rn Imma let him suffer.

𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣

[randomwordprompts]

Whew the way my chest got TIGHT-

Jimmy gone have to slide down more walls for this shit here!!