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“Today’s lecture is on end of life. Death. Passing. However you want to refer to it, it’s about the process of a human being who was here, not being here anymore. And it’s particularly about your role in helping them go peacefully.”

Indy swallowed hard. 

The wound was still fresh. It didn’t matter that it was May. Bekah’s funeral could have been just yesterday. She could see the wood grain of the podium she’d delivered the eulogy at in front of her if she closed her eyes for a few seconds too long. 

Instead, she looked forward, found her professor in the front of the lecture hall. Dr. Ginn. A quirky woman, who seemed determined to live up to Indy’s first impression as she climbed onto her desk and sat with her clicker in her hand, legs criss-cross. 

“Now. Doctors and death, they don’t mix. If I had to guess, a doctor’s worst fear is death. They spend their whole lives fighting it. But nurses? We’re different.”

Indy liked the sound of we.

“For us, the priorities shift. As nurses, your job is just as much to push epi as it is to hold someone’s hand. And you are the one that makes that call. You are the last comfort that a lot of people have in their lives. You are the backbone for the family, for the friends who are there to say goodbye. And you are there to make sure your patient goes as peacefully as they can. That is the most important part of your job, hands down. And if that’s not something you can see yourself doing, then you need to rethink and probably change your career.”

The hall was silent apart from the clicking of laptop keys.

“Now. On that lovely note, let’s get started. A code blue, or as I call it, an ‘oh shit’…” 

A message notification appeared on the right corner of Indy’s screen as she opened her notes.

Coffee after class?

Indy smiled, and in lieu of listening for a moment, she let her mind wander back to February…

Summary: [10k words] To everyone who meets Grayson Dolan, they believe he has a perfect family, perfect job, perfect life, but it’s really not the case. Grayson struggles to balance his work life, his two daughters and his wife, Yasmin. As he takes on a murder case, stress takes over him and his family. [italics indicate flashbacks]

WARNINGS: mentions of a bad childhood, brief mentions of an open murder case, abortion, miscarriages and affairs.

A/N: this took me a long while to write. ever since being put in lockdown it has took a toll on my mental health and i have been struggling to stay motivated, happy and healthy. i would really appreciate it if you could show this three part series all the love you have, by reblogging and giving me feedback. i love you all and thank you for the support <3

A perfect marriage is what almost every couple in the world admires to have. It’s the stabilizer for a happy family. And when 17-year-old Yasmin met Grayson Dolan, she knew he was that conjoining stabilizer that she needed to create the thing both of them have had countless dreams about. And 10 years later she has that. Well, that is what everyone seems to think.

“Gray, your coffee is getting cold,” Yasmin yells out to him, seconds later hearing the clank of his shoes against the kitchen tiles.

Yasmin feels his warm arms sneak around her waist as he litters small and sweet kisses along the back of her neck. Yasmin begins to feel warm all over, her cheeks heating and goosebumps rising on her arms. “Grayson,” she warns him, reaching back to playfully slap his shoulder. “Stop the kids will be here any second.” She giggles playfully.

“They’re brushing their teeth. We’ve got two minutes.” Grayson giggles, reaching for his coffee and taking a small sip of it, eyebrows scrunching at the temperature of the bitter drink. “You’re right, my coffee is cold.”

“When am I not right?” She smirks, trapped between the counter and his large, broad body. “What are your plans for today?” She asks, spinning around to face him.

“Work, have to meet with a client today who has a DUI, maybe hit the gym after.” He mentions, squeezing her hip.

Yasmin is quick to stop his plan right there with a firm shake of the head. “Uh, uh! It’s Aurora’s dance recital tonight.” She protests, pushing a finger against his clothed chest, the white-button up shirt clinging to every curve, doing his abs justice.

“Oh fuck. What time?” He asks.

“4:30.” She responds.

Grayson nods at her and hears the pitter-patter of tiny feet against the hardwood floor, alerting him from admiring the way her golden skin glows under the bright kitchen lights, the way her freckles are splattered along the center of her face, like subtle brown paint and the way her gorgeous brown locks frame her face, he will never get bored of the gorgeous sight. 

“Daddy, I’m ready to go now!” He turns to see his daughter’s large grin and glowing cheeks, looking exactly like her mother. 

He rolls his eyes and switches his weight onto one foot, crossing his arms. “That was not two minutes.” He tells her. 

Arabella huffs and stomps in reply to her father. “Yes, it was!” 

“No, it most definitely was not, now come on.” Grayson gently turns his daughter and pushes against her back to guide her out of the door. “And your sister better be dressed and ready to go.” 

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Indiana’s mental health class was in her first semester in the pre-med program. Abnormal Psychology, PSY 249, in a stuffy room in a building on the far side of campus. She’d hated it. College was supposed to be challenging, her program was supposed to be the most rigorous, and yet the class was a breeze. They went through condition after condition - depression, PTSD, anxiety, schizophrenia. The inner workings of the brain, the chemical imbalances, the medications that would help people come back to themselves. She passed the class with a 101%, stowed the knowledge in a seperate folder in her brain for safe keeping, and moved on at the end of the course. But she kept one piece of paper out, one piece of knowledge that didn’t make sense.

Voluntary Emotional Detachment. It was a relatively new idea in the world of psychology, seeing that many of its characteristics could fall under depression. That wasn’t what confused Indy. No, that came when her professor lectured on the voluntary portion. 

“Emotional Detachment is a useful tool sometimes, when it’s used purposefully. For example, if you have a toxic family member in your life, you may voluntarily emotionally detach yourself from them. It’s a defense mechanism, especially during times of trauma. You’ll find yourself numb, unable to feel even if you wanted to. It happens with loss sometimes as well, where you can’t feel the gravity of what you’re losing. Your mind knows what it can withstand, and sometimes, it pulls back. It shields you from the cruel world we live in. It protects.”

Indy had scoffed in her seat, so loud that her professor looked at her and frowned, which was enough to have her blushing red and keeping her head down as she scribbled notes for the rest of the class.

It was the one time she’d ever been reprimanded by an academic authority. Professor Upton pulled her aside before she could escape out of the lecture hall doors. 

“Ms. Cross. You seem like a bright girl, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect.”

“I’m very sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” Indiana had practically stumbled over the words to get them out, her palms sweaty on her backpack strap as she held it on her shoulder.

Indy had a million explanations, but she knew that her professor didn’t care to hear them. And they were lies anyway. The true reason she’d scoffed was something she didn’t want to share.

It was because her professor had made it seem so easy, to just turn it off. Emotionally pull the plug, to sever your ties to someone.

She’d scoffed because if her brain had the capability, and it hadn’t moved to protect her when her mother died, shielded her from the aftermath of unimaginable pain that she’d endured, she wasn’t so sure that she was at all intelligent after all. 

But she understood why now. 

It was because her mother dying had made sense.

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Indiana’s mental health class was in her first semester in the pre-med program. Abnormal Psychology, PSY 249, in a stuffy room in a building on the far side of campus. She’d hated it. College was supposed to be challenging, her program was supposed to be the most rigorous, and yet the class was a breeze. They went through condition after condition - depression, PTSD, anxiety, schizophrenia. The inner workings of the brain, the chemical imbalances, the medications that would help people come back to themselves. She passed the class with a 101%, stowed the knowledge in a seperate folder in her brain for safe keeping, and moved on at the end of the course. But she kept one piece of paper out, one piece of knowledge that didn’t make sense.

Voluntary Emotional Detachment. It was a relatively new idea in the world of psychology, seeing that many of its characteristics could fall under depression. That wasn’t what confused Indy. No, that came when her professor lectured on the voluntary portion. 

“Emotional Detachment is a useful tool sometimes, when it’s used purposefully. For example, if you have a toxic family member in your life, you may voluntarily emotionally detach yourself from them. It’s a defense mechanism, especially during times of trauma. You’ll find yourself numb, unable to feel even if you wanted to. It happens with loss sometimes as well, where you can’t feel the gravity of what you’re losing. Your mind knows what it can withstand, and sometimes, it pulls back. It shields you from the cruel world we live in. It protects.”

Indy had scoffed in her seat, so loud that her professor looked at her and frowned, which was enough to have her blushing red and keeping her head down as she scribbled notes for the rest of the class.

It was the one time she’d ever been reprimanded by an academic authority. Professor Upton pulled her aside before she could escape out of the lecture hall doors. 

“Ms. Cross. You seem like a bright girl, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect.”

“I’m very sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” Indiana had practically stumbled over the words to get them out, her palms sweaty on her backpack strap as she held it on her shoulder.

Indy had a million explanations, but she knew that her professor didn’t care to hear them. And they were lies anyway. The true reason she’d scoffed was something she didn’t want to share.

It was because her professor had made it seem so easy, to just turn it off. Emotionally pull the plug, to sever your ties to someone.

She’d scoffed because if her brain had the capability, and it hadn’t moved to protect her when her mother died, shielded her from the aftermath of unimaginable pain that she’d endured, she wasn’t so sure that she was at all intelligent after all. 

But she understood why now. 

It was because her mother dying had made sense.

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Eden arrived in New York in the biggest coat she could find in a store in Los Angeles, which came equipped with a furry hood and enough stuffing in it to make her resemble the michelin man when she climbed into the car. 

She leaned back against the headrest of the seat with a sigh, an iced coffee in each hand. Her eyes closed for a minute, like she was trying to find her inner peace, and then she sat up and passed a cup to Indy in the driver’s seat.

“Vanilla, oatmilk right?”

“Always,” Indy laughed, taking a sip before putting it in the cupholder. “So uh, I love you and all, but are you finally gonna tell me why you changed your flight and made it so much earlier?”

“Drive to your place, and I’ll explain.”

Eden waited until she got out of the majority of the traffic.

“So, I had my original ticket and I was just gonna rent a car and show up, you know this, we planned it. But then I had the brilliant idea to come early and kidnap you,” she grinned, sipping her coffee.

“You’re kidnapping me?”

“Kinda. Well, reverse kidnapping I guess cause I’m forcing you to host me. You told the boys you were Christmas shopping like I said right? So you’re clear for a few hours?”

“Yeah.”

“Well good, cause we’re having a girls moment, because you need me.”

“I need you?” Indy laughed. She could never imagine possessing the confidence that Eden manifested every day, but she hoped one day she could have a fraction of it. 

“Yeah, because you’re surrounded by Dolan twins, not Dolan twins girlfriends. And I’m sure neither of them have shut the fuck up about everything going on, right?”

After dealing with a lifetime of insecurities, Winnie Walker finally gets the courage to pursue her dreams, with a few bumps along the way. But that confidence may not carry over when it comes to a certain hazel-eyed football player who’s had her attention for much too long.

A/N: this was a random inspo that hit me out of nowhere a while ago and I was gonna make it an epic oneshot, but I think I’ll just break it into parts instead. So, hence, this is part one. Hopefully you like it enough for it to be even worth posting more.

warnings: none yet, other than this is def gonna be as cheesy as you think it is

***

Winnie Walker has always considered herself an enigma. Not in that annoying, ‘I’m so cute and quirky’ type of way — no. The kind that procrastinates everything she does, only for the perfectionist inside her to have a complete breakdown. The kind that’s naturally aloof and borderline shy with others until she finds the right people to come out of her shell with. The kind perfected by years of self doubt, an emotionally distant mother, and the random ebb and flow of confidences and insecurities that always helps her remember that she is, in fact, perfectly unextraordinary.

Her face is too round, but she’s always been called pretty. Her personality is a little too dry for most of her female friendships to last, but she fits in well with the boys. And she has a penchant for being the last one to talk about anything she might be feeling until she puts a pen to paper and speaks through the mouths of others.

So at 18, when she decided to major in journalism at USC with a focus on sports media, Winnie felt sure about something for the first time in her life. She grew up in her dad’s man cave with all of his friends, cheering on their team of choice for whatever sport was on, discussing heatedly what plays should or shouldn’t have taken place. Her chances of getting the volleyball scholarship she had been focused on for years — let alone the D1 offer from USC that had so nearly been in writing — had been ruined by a career-ending knee injury. It played into her literary skills. And she liked the idea of branching out from what everyone expected of her, for once.

Until she told her mother. Dahlia Walker very much scoffed in the face of her quiet, introverted, hopeful daughter sitting across the kitchen island while she scrubbed at the dishes from dinner.

“Winona, sweetie, you refused to even speak at your sister’s wedding as the maid of honor, and you want to be on TV? With all those... men?”

Winnie cringed a little bit and rolled her eyes at the slightly far-off look on her mother’s face as she no doubt started imagining the sweaty athletes the reporters would stand next to post-game.

“You don’t think I could do it?” she asked flatly, flicking a chip of her nail polish off her finger so it flew across the otherwise spotless granite — her mom hated when she did that.

Dahlia’s hands picked up their pace again in the suds, slowed down by whatever middle-aged fantasy was going on in her mind. She shook her head, the highlights in her perfectly styled blonde bob shifting under the recessed lights.

“The girls who do that are just so bouncy. Friendly. They curl their hair.”

Winnie bit her lip. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. “I knew I could count on you to be supportive.”

“Oh honey, I’m just trying to be realistic with you,” her mother said dismissively. Like she didn’t realize the pang her words caused to spread in Winnie’s chest; it should have been be all-too familiar by then, but the sting was never weakened with age or predictability. “And California? Are you really ready to be so far from home? You hardly ever even leave your room.”

It had taken everything in Winnie to hold back the open scoff she longed to throw at her mother; instead, she just stood up and left the kitchen, along with any childish hope that Dahlia might ever make an effort to really know her middle daughter.

Because anyone that knew Winona Elle Walker could predict just how much she would thrive in California. In the persistent sunshine that never quite reached the peak of being too hot for very long, unlike the nearly six months of 90 and 100-plus degree days of summer she knew so well in Texas. Within close proximity to a beach that didn’t have swamp-colored water washing ashore.

In a place well over a thousand miles away from Dahlia.

And that’s exactly how Winnie found herself in LA: thriving. She made friends easily, enjoyed life on the USC campus while she studied the exact major she had set out for the day she sat down in her Navigating News in the Digital Age class, and it was a relatively cheap flight home if she ever missed it too much. Winnie started feeling less like an enigma, and more like someone whose quirks were becoming more of a benefit to her success than she could have ever imagined.

By the time she was in her senior year, nearly 22 and set to graduate in only a few months time, she was finally up for the position of being the prime time student reporter at the biggest sporting events of the school’s entire athletic program — the Trojan football games. Reporting at football games was a job always reserved for seniors, and she had driven her roommate — and best friend in California — Naomi crazy all summer prepping for the spot’s audition.

“Winnie, babe, you know the plays backwards and forwards. You’ve understood more about the rules of football since you were a kid than I’ll ever know as a grown woman. You have all the key players’ and coaches’ names and numbers memorized. You couldn’t be any more prepared,” she smiled, good-natured irritation clear in her eyes and behind the blinding smile that shone from her mocha-colored skin.

It softened some when Winnie stood from the couch, and Naomi reached over and slapped her retreating ass just hard enough to make Winnie yelp and giggle. “Not to mention those squats are paying off big time, bitch. You’re gonna kill it.”

Winnie rolled her eyes and continued to make her way to the kitchen to refill her wine glass. “The camera won’t see my ass, but thanks.”

Naomi winked. “No. But Grayson Dolan might.”

Grayson Dolan — the walk-on that had stunned everyone when he was thrown into a game his freshman year after two of the starting tight ends had become injured on two consecutive plays. Now a senior himself, he’s led the team ever since in receiving yards, receptions, and TD’s, and is a clear prospect for the NFL in the coming months.

He also happens to be the player Winnie had drunkenly admitted she had a crush on during a girls night last year, and her friends have yet to let her live it down. She had felt ridiculous saying she had a crush as a 20 year-old, but that’s really all it was; he was hot, an extremely talented player, and she barely knew him beyond that one time he had spilled a drink on her at a frat party, and the rather interesting reputation that followed him around campus. There was nothing more to it.

Even if her attraction to him hadn’t died down in the passing time.

Winnie only blushed and poured herself a little extra, blaming the Maison No. 9 when Naomi threw her head back with a cackle and called out the matching pink in her cheeks.

The morning of her audition, a mere two weeks into her semester, Winnie had butterflies fluttering madly in the pit of her belly. Her truer nature of being somewhat shy and timid in these situations had never left, always flaring up in moments of self-doubt and unpredictability. Undoubtedly, however, this audition deserved all the nerves; it was a clear stepping stone into network broadcasting, and would almost guarantee her a spot as an intern at FOX Sports next semester.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, silently urging herself to get her shit together, and took a deep breath before eyeing Naomi’s curling iron plugged in by the sink adjacent to her own.

Winnie hadn’t curled her hair once in the nearly four years she’d been in LA. Not for nights out, or auditions, or even a date. A brief moment of madness overtook her as she stood there staring at the metal device, her hand starting to reach out as words that should be long forgotten rang loud and clear in her head. For a second, the pale beige paint of her apartment bathroom turned the light blue and grey color scheme of her childhood one. Her mom had ‘surprised’ her with the the renovation one year when she decided to redecorate the house while Winnie was at volleyball camp, insisting she had chosen Winnie’s favorite colors, when in reality it simply matched the rest of the monotone suburban house that Winnie secretly couldn’t stand. It was boring, and typical, and...stuck, despite its relative newness.

With that, the fog cleared as quickly as it had come, and she set her jaw determinedly. She hadn’t let Dahlia psych her out for this long; she wasn’t about to let now be the first time.

And maybe Naomi was right. Maybe she’d catch a certain tight end’s eye with a tight end of her own, after all.

The nausea suddenly returned as she shook her head and reached for her straightener instead, flicking it on before sectioning off her hair.

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“Left or right?”

“Don’t look at me, I never fucking graduated.”

“Right, then you move it to the left,” Lisa offered, attempting to get past Grayson. He was having none of it, sticking out his tongue a bit while he focused on getting Indy’s cap arranged correctly, making sure her tassel was in the right spot. 

Indy had passed her finals with flying colors, which came as no surprise to anyone who knew her. Top of the class, which was enough for her to feel a tiny bit proud of herself. The Dolan’s on the other hand, we’re over the moon, ready to celebrate her as if it was the greatest achievement anyone could accomplish. Grayson had picked her up from her last final, coaxing her to take a nap in the truck while he drove them out to Jersey, her head in his lap as she was finally able to relax after so many days of stress. He was glad - he wanted her energy to be high when she got to the house, considering he’d planned out a big family dinner as a surprise. He’d even caved and bought her her favorite non-vegan ice cream. She was so surprised that she cried as soon as she went in and saw Ethan and Lisa in the kitchen with little fake graduation cap headbands on.

Even though surprises weren’t her favorite, he hoped he could sneak in another, considering the real one wasn’t until the next day, and it’s arrival came as a text that buzzed in Grayson’s pocket.

Here!

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*contains smut*

When Nicole died, Indiana convinced herself that someone was holding down a fast forward button on her life. Some greater power with a universal remote, carelessly keeping a finger shoved down on the little button with the double arrows, with no regard to the fleeting few days she had left with her most important person.

History seemed to be repeating itself, with the best physical representation being the very quickly evolving tiny homes.

The first thing on Grayson’s agenda when they’d made it back to NYC was to decorate the property for Halloween. It hadn’t seemed like the most sound plan to Indy, considering last time they were out in the field it was just raw building materials, a platform and lots of grass. But when she climbed off the back of the quad, away from Grayson’s warmth and into the chilly air, she was standing in front of a house, or at least the bones of one, with the beginnings of the loft and stairs formed inside. It wasn’t polished yet - in fact, there wasn’t even a front door to hang the spider wreath that he had bought at Home Depot. But there was a house, and it stood as a reminder that time was passing quickly.

Despite how over the top the Dolan’s were about it, Halloween was a blink. Ethan was still in California, spending a few more days with Eden, but they facetimed in their costumes anyways - Indy had been convinced into dressing up at the last minute, which resulted in a witch costume that consisted of black leggings and a black bodysuit, which got covered up by a spare hoodie of Grayson’s early in the evening, brought on by the ever-dropping Jersey temperatures. But they celebrated with Lisa, and with E squared across the miles with a bonfire and too many pieces of candy, and Indy realized at the end of the night that it was the first holiday she’d had with family in years. It filled a vacant room in a back hallway of her heart that she didn’t realize had been abandoned, and as soon as the calendar turned to November, she was determined.

“Thanksgiving. Me, you, Lisa, Ethan, Eden, Cam, Charlie and Devin. Thoughts, opinions?”

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“Okay so let me get this straight. You have a boyfriend. Your boyfriend is famous. You’re flying to LA with said boyfriend. And you’re staying at his house? Cause he’s 20 and has a fucking house.” 

“Uh yeah, that pretty much covers it.” 

“Jesus, I move across the country and then you decide to start getting interesting.”

Indy flipped her grilled cheese over in the skillet, and then flipped off the camera, getting an eye roll from Charlie that she felt through the facetime call.

“You gonna be okay on the plane?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” she grumbled, trying to push the nagging thoughts from her mind. 

“Indiana. You’ve gotta tell him before you get on that plane. If you can even get on the plane that is.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Just drop it, okay?”

Her list of distractions was dwindling as she finished all the work that had been piled on her before fall break, which was really only a long four day weekend. All she had left was an exam that afternoon, and then it would be time to go. 

Grayson had insisted that they take Beks advice, take a trip out of the city to somewhere other than Jersey. It had been an interesting conversation to say the least.

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*contains smut*

It took two nights for Grayson to officially give in and admit that Indiana’s bed was more comfortable than his. Although he wasn’t exactly utilizing the space the way he wanted to at that moment, considering he was criss cross on top of the comforter in front of his very stressed out girlfriend, holding out a water bottle like it was a toy for a toddler.

“Hey. You need to drink some of this.”

“Mhmm, yeah,” she mumbled as a response, blowing him off as she had been all evening, one finger tracing over her notes. He resisted the urge to pull them out of her hands, knowing he might rip them on accident.

“Dee. Stop. Drink.”

“Yeah, just gimme a sec.”

“No, cause you said that five minutes ago. Drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“Holy shit.” He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and held it over her notes, blocking her view. “Drink it or I’m pouring it.”

That got her attention enough, and when she looked up her gaze was icier than he’d ever seen it.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” He tilted it just barely.

“You’re annoying,” she grumbled, grabbing the bottle and taking a quick swig before trying to hand it off again.

“And you’re stubborn. Three more drinks, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“You know, I’m two months away from a college degree, not a two year old.”

“Then you should know how important water is,” he countered, not budging an inch. She gave in to appease him, taking three long swallows before she passed it back to him, licking her lips slowly as she moved back down to her papers.

As if he wasn’t already worked up enough.

welcome to mixtape, the b-sides! these are little blurbs/bonus content related to mixtape, which you can read here. these little snippets are just for fun, and you don’t have to read them to follow the story! but, if you want to see all of them in one place, check them out here

track: wildfire by ben rector

Author’s Note: this is gray and indy’s first morning in jersey :’) andddd it’s dedicated to the wonderful mar, aka @sunshineforgray because her sweet words actually broke me out of my writers block hope you enjoy!!

Indiana hadn’t slept in many beds with many boys. It wasn’t that she was opposed to it - the opportunity just hadn’t really risen. She was usually ‘married to her books’ as her dad always said, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a few high school flings that fizzled out. But not before she managed to sneak them into her house at least once for some nerve-ridden nights under the sheets.

But damn if she didn’t know that she was ruined for any boy that dared come after Grayson Bailey Dolan as soon as she woke up. It took her a minute to orient to where she was as she looked around - unfamiliar walls, a tan dresser, a shirt. Grayson’s. She was in Jersey.

It clicked then, and she remembered the night before, coming inside from their sweet moment on the swing to a quiet house, her shower, climbing into bed with him. 

They’d made it under the covers at some point and fallen asleep - her hoodie had ridden up around her chest, Grayson’s warm arm wrapped around her entirely, holding it in place. His hand was tucked under her ribs to hold her against him, which made it difficult, but not impossible to twist around to face him.

“We’re trending. Number 3 so far.” Ethan slides his phone across the kitchen island on his way to the fridge to grab a Celsius can. 

Grayson catches it, smiling down at the screen as he confirms that their latest vlog, titled One Year of Posie and featured more content including Marisol and Mariposa than their vlogs usually did, as Grayson’s life for the last week involved getting everything set and in place for his daughter’s first birthday celebration. It had truly been a beautiful video, with party planning, fun banter with Marisol, family moments, and a segment Ethan suggested where each of the most important people in Mariposa’s life recorded a short message for her to see when she was older. 

It had been an instant hit. The twin’s subscribers lived for family content, and were extremely intrigued to have even a little bit of insight into how Grayson managed to juggle fatherhood on top of all the other projects he tackled with Ethan and their businesses. Any video featuring the women in the twins’ lives– be it Cassie, Marisol, or now, little Posie–did well. This one was no exceptions, and the twins’ team projected the video would hit #1 on trending in no time. 

Still, it’s not long before Grayson’s frowning. He’s scrolling through the comments on the video as Marisol enters, bouncing her fussy baby on her hip as Posie whimpers and scratches at her gums. Ethan pouts at his niece, and then pouts even harder when he offers to carry her but Mariposa just turns and buries her face into her mother’s neck. 

Marisol huffs. “Don’t take it personal. Her teeth are coming in, and they’re kicking her ass. Can you hand me the teething toys in the freezer?” 

Ethan does, and it’s not long before Mariposa is chomping on the relieving cold of her gummies, making her mother sigh in relief. Ethan smiles at them both, nudging Marisol with a wink. “Last vlog is trending, by the way. Top 3.” 

“No way,” Marisol gasps. She chuckles. “They’re finally getting baby content from you guys, no wonder.” 

“Mariposa’s a superstar.” Ethan says, wiggling his fingers at his niece when she turns those big eyes on him. Marisol kisses her head with a giggle. 

“And that’s all without showing her face.” 

“That’s literally all people are talking about,” Grayson complains from the counter. Marisol and Ethan look over at him, and he just rolls his eyes as he sets Ethan’s phone down, tipping back the rest of the ice at the bottom of his coffee cup to chomp down on it in frustration. “This is ridiculous. Have you checked twitter?” 

“Do I want to?” Ethan says. 

Grayson opens his app up for good measure, reading through his timeline unhappily. “’It’s been a year I just want to know what this baby looks like.’ ‘ Don’t be shy Grayson show us your kid.’ ‘I bet they won’t show her face because she’s ugly or has some weird defect’ ‘I bet that baby came out–’ what the fuck, now that’s just fucking disgusting and rude.” 

Marisol’s eye twitches. Visibly fuming, she hands her daughter over to Grayson, who holds Mariposa on his lap but holds his phone out of reach for his girlfriend. She groans. “Papo.” 

“No,” he shakes his head, and locks the phone. “It’s not worth it.” 

“They cross the line by calling my baby ugly. She’s not ugly.” 

“She sure as hell isn’t.”

“No baby is ugly,” Ethan says. “They’re just trolling you.” 

“It’s annoying,” Grayson grumbles, playing with Mariposa’s fingers. She’s such a good little baby, leaning back on his chest and sucking on her gummy calmly while her parents and uncle converse, big eyes just following whoever’s talking. She smells like her baby shampoo from the bath Marisol just gave her, it’s calming to Grayson. He leans down to sniff the top fo her head to settle his anxiety. “I don’t know how many times we have to have this discussion. So much of our life is public, and we chose it. Mari chose it to. But Pos didn’t. I just wanna give her a chance.” 

“And that’s fine. People have to respect that.” 

“Not everyone does,” Marisol exhales. “Pisses me off.” 

“We’ve done a really good job of protecting her identity this far,” Ethan says. “We just keep doing what we doing. We’re in control of what we share.” 

Marisol and Grayson glance at each other, and then share a sigh as they nod.

*** 

Spend enough time in the spotlight, and people learn things about you. Where you like to eat and shop, who you like to hang around, what you like to wear, etc. 

Make yourself and your life your business, and people now know a lot about you, and make it their business to exploit it. 

And when it came to celebrity makeup artist and influencer, Marisol Ocasio’s child with Wakeheart CEO and Youtube sensation Grayson Dolan, getting a picture of something as simple as her face could guarantee a good paycheck for those who made it their business to violate privacy. 

Living in Hollywood had worked out well for Grayson and his tiny family. Up in their house on the hill in Encino, close to his brother and closest friends. they’d agree they’d raise Mariposa in California since both of them had well-off careers in Los Angeles. And their neighborhood was a good one. People kept to themselves. There were both implicit and explicit understandings. In the year since Mariposa was born, both Marisol and Grayson had made it plainly obvious that they wanted to make sure she could live as normally as she could. 

Literally, Grayson said it on a podcast: 

“So have you thought about how this is all going to work,” Ryan asked him. “As far as raising a family in LA?” 

“You mean like how much exposure she’ll get and stuff?” Grayson clarified. “Mar and I talked about it. Basically we just want her to feel like a normal kid. I guess, she’s not, but it’s not like she chose to have all these people watching her and stuff.” 

“Bro, it’s weird for us when we get stopped and shit in public,” Ethan said. “Imagine how confusing it would be for a little kid, all these strangers who know you but you don’t know.” 

“Yeah exactly. No. Absolutely not. I’d– I’d go insane if I found my daughter in a situation like that. Especially so little. No.” 

“So baby pictures?” Ryan asked. “Videos and vlogs? Are you gonna show her?” 

“Not for a bit,” Grayson said. “Just cover her face, not show full on shots of her, for the time being. Like we did with Mando. We just… I just think it’s the best way to go for now. There’s just some things I want to keep private.” 

“Like how fucking adorable my niece is,” Ethan said. 

Like many instances, there were those that weren’t happy with this information. And those that lacked the common sense and decency to respect those wishes, making it their personal mission to try to figure out what the hell Mariposa Dolan-Ocasio looked like. Zooming into pictures, taking calculated screenshots. The Dolans and anyone who knew them became experts at blocking camera angles when it came to being in public with Mariposa. Marisol had a carrier she’d tuck her baby into that made it easy to walk around, Ethan and Cassie loved shutting the stroller, even Rudy made a game with his niece where he’d give her a funny hat to wear and they’d both giggle their way past any possible snooping eyes. 

But see, Grayson is a hands-on, protective father. He doesn’t like carriers, doesn’t like strollers, because he likes being close to his little girl. And with arms and strength like his, he could carry her around all the time. It was also her favorite place to be, tucked right into her father’s arms, no matter where they went. Whether it was shopping, or going on a walk around the town, or heading out for a meal, or hanging out with friends, Mariposa was content when she was being carried by Grayson. 

It didn’t take long for the masses to catch on, until the one evening that Marisol, Grayson, and Mariposa were coming out of the damn grocery store and straight into a swarm of photographers and cameras. There weren’t many, only about three max, Hollywood Fix among them, as flashes went off and absolute, complete strangers started to call to a one-year-old Mariposa as if she might know who they are. 

She didn’t. Gasping, clamping her hands over her face as the flash hurt her eyes. Marisol grit her teeth. “How in the world did you guys even get here?” 

“Marisol! Marisol!” a voice called from behind a camera. “You’re looking well after giving birth. Drop the workout routine.” 

She was more than grateful for the bulky sunglasses that hid half her face. Grayson, however, was absolutely seething, and didn’t have sunglasses to hide his expression of pure rage. Even the hood over his head did little to disguise him in full protective father mode as he held his daughter’s face to his chest, speeding up and cursing having parked on the curb around the corner. 

“Mari,” he murmured to his girlfriend. “Take the baby. I’ll take care of them.” 

It was his tone that gave him away, and the fact she could see his jaw flexing under his skin. Last time she saw and heard him like that, she’d picked him up in a police station, and she wasn’t about to do it again, or traumatize her child further by forcing her to watch her father black out and pummel three paps’ faces in. “No. You hold her. We’re almost there.” 

“Marisol.” 

“Grayson.” 

He took a breath, and flinched away from one of the men that followed them unashamedly. He held an arm out protectively, his tone deadly. “Yo, man, back the fuck up.” 

“We just want to know if she looks more like you or mar–” 

“I said back up, man. She’s just a kid. You’re scaring her.” 

“Mariposa! Mariposa, sweetie, look here! Hey!” 

“Don’t talk to my daughter,” Grayson said sharply. “Don’t address her.” 

“Does she know about stranger danger yet?” Mr. Hollywood Fix laughed. 

Grayson took a deep breath, tucking his nose into Mariposa’s curls. He felt her little fists tighten on the strands of his hoodie, and heard her little “Papi…” in his ear that really set him off. If he wasn’t physically holding her, he’d be throwing fists. He’s grateful for her though, his little anchor through any storm. His arm tightened around her, squeezing her and kissing her forehead. 

“I’m here, babe. Papi’s here. Just ignore them ok?” 

They followed the family all way to the car, cameras flashing even as Grayson set his daughter in her carseat and helped hi girlfriend load what little groceries they had: diapers and formula and vegetables. Grayson stood protectively and strategically as he closed the door to the Tesla, keeping his daughter’s identity intact through the extremely tinted windows she sat behind. Marisol got in the car too, but Grayson paused, turning to the sources with a hard face. 

“Grayson–” 

“Listen to me,” Grayson’s voice was calm, but deadly. Anyone that knew him knew that was dangerous. “My daughter is absolutely off limits. I don’t want to see you near her, or near me, or my girlfriend, trying to violate our decision to keep her identity private, ever again.” 

“we just–” 

“when we’re ready, we’ll do what we need to do. But I swear to god, don’t ever do this again.”  “Or what?” Hollywood fix asked, zooming in on the father, who just smiled at him. That kind of frozen smile that sets you on edge. 

Grayson just smiled at them. “Don’t be cute.” 

And with that, he got in his car and drove away, glancing back at his daughter in her carseat over and over again while she played with her toys. Marisol took his hand, kissing his knuckles. “Papo.” 

“If you would’ve taken her, I would’ve knocked some skulls together.” 

“I know,” she said. “that’s why I didn’t take her.” 

“I swear–” 

“Shh,” she smiled, kissing his wrist. “we’re fine. She’s fine.” 

“She got scared.” 

“Posie, mi amor,” Marisol craned her neck back for a good look at her. Mariposa just blinked big eyes at her mom, and gave her a little smile. “You okay, princess?” 

Mariposa offered her the makeshift rattle Marisol had put together using a sealed sippy cups and some extra almonds she had in her purse on a particularly difficult day. “Mama.” 

Marisol chuckles, reaching back to squeeze her daughter’s little foot before looking back at Grayson. “See? She’s fine.” 

Grayson takes another breath, just for good measure. Marisol assists by rubbing a hand across his shoulders, massaging the back of his neck, leaning forward to kiss his arm. She smirked into his skin. “You’re sexy when you go all protective papi on people.” 

That draws a breathless laugh from Grayson, who’s shoulders relax as he raises an eyebrow at her. His hand finally falls on her thigh where it belongs, and he squeezes her knee, before sliding his hand up higher to squeeze her upper thigh. “you’re going to go insane when you read my twitter rant about this tonight, then.” 

“Where’s your phone?” she chuckled. “let’s call Ry and E over. I wanna watch you rage on the podcast.” she licked her lips. “warm you up.” 

“you’re something else,” he laughed, but leaned over to kiss her anyway. He glanced back at mariposa one more time. She gave him a big, dopy smile, four little teeth on display. He beamed. “And you? What are you?” 

Part 4 of Hate You Too!

A/N - Surprise!!!!! I know I haven’t been active at all, and I’m sorry for that but here’s the final part of hyt!!!!! She’s here, she’s ready (if you missed pt 3 click here), and I hope you enjoy! Lmk thoughts!

Word Count - 10k (jinkers)

Warnings - a good ole pull at the heart strings, that’s it!

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

“Hey! No headshots!” 

“Then no moving your head into my shot! Cheater!” Bekah stuck out her tongue. It looked a bit paler than usual. 

“Aye, I don’t cheat!” 

It was quite the sight, Indy was sure. A small 15 year old versus a much larger 20 year old, ducking behind anything they could in the hospital room - curtains, the bed, the large cabinet door, even going as far as climbing under the sink to avoid each other’s paper airplanes. The first few times she’d protested their swiping of her blank index cards, knowing she would need them eventually for another study session in the future. But Bekah’s giggles were enough for her to give in, taking on her role of judge to ensure no one cheated and even folding a few extras for them. 

They kept it up for a while until Bekah started to breathe a bit heavier, wincing some as she tried to throw hers at an ever moving Grayson. Indy caught on first, furrowing her brow and offering up a ‘take it easy’, but the look she gave Grayson was a bit more serious, and he nodded, scrambling for another idea that wouldn’t make it too obvious that he’d noticed Bekah’s struggle. In a moment of insight he grabbed the bedpan, sitting it at the end of the bed and moving to sit towards the top, leaving plenty of space.

“Beks, come sit down, we’ll see who’s really got better aim.”

She was grateful, her exhaustion obvious as she leaned back against the pillows, landing a few good ones before Jennifer came in with that look that had her groaning.

“It’s 8 guys, time to roll out.” 

“Can’t they stay just a little longer Mrs. Jennifer? Please?” She put on her best pleading voice, but it was futile. Even if they weren’t being told to go, Indiana wasn’t going to push it that night - she didn’t like the way that Bekah’s skin didn’t have it’s usual deep richness. She looked small. Jennifer shook her head.

“Not tonight kiddo, maybe next week.”

Indiana checked her phone - it was only 7:50, and Jennifer never pulled them out early.

Unless…

eight. | masterlist.

word count: 6k+

Summary: [10.2k words] Valencia and Grayson have been in an on and off relationship for a year now. Everyone in the whole entire school knows how toxic they are, but both of them refuse to admit it, continuing to let their envy get the best of them and try their hardest to make each other jealous, but not everything is that simple. 

Warnings: smut all throughout the fic. abuse is mentioned. includes violence and underage drinking. slight mentions of a neglective childhood and parental issues. in no way shape or form is this fic trying to glorify a toxic relationship.

[gif credits to @vintagedolan​ , to check out her writing click here, she is amazingly talented]

If there is one thing a year relationship with Grayson Bailey Dolan has taught Valencia Athena Indigo, it’s that she will always love him no matter what he does. And as for Grayson, he wouldn’t say the things he said if he loved her, he wouldn’t do the things he does, but he’s adamant that she is his forever. 

Valencia only started taking an interest in Grayson at around the start of junior year. They didn’t even know each other existed until Valencia joined the cheer team. Grayson felt the wind knock out of his stomach when he caught her eye at the side of the pitch, wearing that small little green cheerleading outfit. Both of them clicked instantly, and within two weeks, they were dating. And that’s what made them toxic. 

Both barely knew each other. Valencia and Grayson both didn’t take the time on their ‘dates’ to speak about their interests, their hobbies, what they like and dislike. Instead, most dates ended up in them fucking in a restaurant bathroom, or the backseat of his car or back in his room, which often had Valencia biting down on Grayson’s fist to keep herself quiet. 

As much as they were the prettiest couple in school and was such a gorgeous sight to stare at, it only took a month for the couple to be known as that couple. You know, the ones who argue in the corridors, have screaming matches in the middle of the cafeteria, one of them ending up punching someone or something and the other crying in a dark janitor’s closet. Yeah, they were that couple.

The thing with the two is that they never seem to be able to break apart from each other, they’ll take a break for around a month and then get back together when their hormones are high, or their jealousy is bursting through the roof. 

Two months away from graduating, and the last time Athena even touched Grayson was around a month ago. Both have shared their fair amount of eye-fucking, but Valencia is determined to keep his number blocked this time. 

Both Valencia’s hands clutch onto the lunch tray as she slips onto the simple table where all of her friends are sitting, giving them a friendly smile as she does so. 

All of them can’t help but stare at her. The way that lavender two-piece hugs her body perfectly. One thing no one can deny is that Valencia suits anything and can make anyone jealous of the way she rocks it. So that lavender cropped zip-up hoodie paired with that lavender mini skirt has everyone looking over at her. 

“I know you’re trying to get Dolan’s attention, but you’re giving me a boner,” Maya tells her, her tongue poking out to jokingly wrap around her straw seductively. 

seven. | masterlist.

word count: 8.4k+