#it sure wasn’t because I was crying off and on for six hours from waking

[hippopotomi]

This is why I hate telling people when I’m struggling bc all of a sudden everyone’s got a fucking opinion about everything I’m doing wrong and starts treating me like they think im a child that is just acting out because she needs discipline

[classyrbf]

THE MAN I USED TO KNOW! — GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS...you’ve noticed suguru has changed, his attitude, his demeanor, he isn’t the same anymore. his coldness towards you won’t change and it breaks your heart

INFO...geto x fem!reader, angst (no seriously), arguments, yelling, break up, cheating, crying, cursing, no comfort, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

The metal scraped against the ceramic plate as Geto played around with the food you had made for him. His face stoic as he sits there and stares at it. Your eyes flicker up to his fingers, taking a bite of your food. He hasn’t said a word to you since he’s walked through the door, completely ignoring your presence and advances. He didn’t even respond when you said hi.

He’s been acting cold towards you for months know, not responding to your texts, coming home late, always tired, shrugging you off when you try and show him affection. You didn’t want to overthink it, knowing that he does go through phases where he’d rather be by himself. But this, this was different. Usually he’d talk to you, explain what he’s feeling, and now he can’t even do that. He treats you like a stranger, like you’re a roommate rather than his girlfriend. As you sat there in your bed late at night, staring at his sleeping figure, you began to wonder if your once loving boyfriend was cheating on you.

The thought of it broke your heart in two, made you sick to your stomach and put an empty feeling in your chest. You’d walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind you to cry, hoping you don’t wake him up. The man who was sitting across from you right now wasn’t the man you fell in love with.

“Not hungry?” You broke the silence, placing your fork down on the plate.

“No,” he bluntly answered, tossing his fork down. A long sigh left his lips, pushing the plate of food away from him. “I already ate.”

“At work?” You asked, puzzled. He didn’t come home until nine at night, six hours after he was supposed to leave work.

“Yep,” he plainly replied.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, looking back down at your plate as Geto sat there, arms folded across his chest. You weren’t sure what to say to him anymore. Anytime you tried sparking up a conversation he never showed interest, completely shutting you down. He was pushing you to your breaking point, leaving you nothing left but to lash out on him about his behavior towards you.

“You really shouldn’t have waited up for me.” Yet another sigh leaves his lips, like he was annoyed with the fact you were present in his life. Your brows furrowed, his words not sitting right with you. He’s made you feel useless, unwanted, like you were nothing but a placeholder in his life.

“Well, I wanted to. We never spend time together anymore.” You grab your cup, taking a sip of your water in hopes to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“We do,” he quickly said.

“We don’t.” You avert your gaze, unable to look at him.

“What is your problem?” He asks, voice sharp.

You found it in yourself to meet his gaze, taken by surprise from his question. You scoffed, almost laughing in his face. “What is wrong with me?” You ask.

“Yeah!” He shrugs his shoulders.

“What is wrong with you, Suguru? You come home and ignore me, can’t even find it within yourself to say hi. You come home late every single night, walking right past me like you have something to hide. You don’t even eat the food I cook for you anymore even if it’s your favorite! You can’t even hold a conversation with me! And we haven’t even said I love you to each other in I don’t know how long!” You’ve reached your breaking point, all the months of holding everything back now unleashing.

“Because I am too tired! What don’t you understand?!” He yells, a scowl on his face.

“Too tired?! Too tired! You stay six hours later than you need to every fucking day doing who knows what! That’s your own fault! I’m your girlfriend, Suguru, sorry that I have to remind you! I’m not some damn roommate of yours that helps pay the bills! You’ve been treating me like some stranger for the last few months!” You quickly respond, tears brimming your eyes. You stand up from your seat at the table, letting out shaky breath as you turn to look away from him. The room becomes silent. All that could be heard were your broken sobs. Suguru looks at you, chest heaving up and down as he tries to control his breathing.

“It’s hurts,” you whimper, sniffling. “I love you so much and I don’t even think you feel the same way anymore.” You turn to look at him. “What happened to the man I used to know?” A frown forms on your face as you try so hard to hold back your tears. “What are we?”

He stares at you for an unreasonably long time, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know,” he answers after what feels like hours. His words make you sob even harder, embarrassed that it’s come to this.

“Are you seeing someone else?” You have your back turned towards him, heart beating rapidly in your chest. It feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest as you wait for him to answer you. You can’t bear to look into his empty eyes, knowing that the love he had for you is no longer there. He’s an empty man. Anxiously, you bite on your nails, leg bouncing up and down. Your dinner was cold, and so was the room. Everything seemed cold.

“Yes.” He almost sounds ashamed when he answers. Tears pour down your face upon hearing that singular word. You knew it all along. Suguru is still sitting there, holding his head in his hands before dragging them down his face.

The room is spinning and your chest hurts. You feel nauseous, the food you just ate threatening to come back up. Though your knees are weak, you find the strength to walk towards your shared bedroom, tears blurring your vision as you pull your suitcase from the closet, tossing whatever clothes you had in, not bothering to fold them. Anger flows through you, remembering all the times you desperately tried to fight for his affection and love, all the times when you cried to yourself as you sat alone with your thoughts. He didn’t care.

You hear footsteps approach from behind you as you angrily rip your clothes off of the hanger and from the drawers, throwing them to the floor. You can’t stop crying no matter how hard you try. He doesn’t deserve your tears. “I’m sorry.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, slowly turning to look at him. “Now you’re sorry?!” You inch your way towards his brooding figure. “Why did you even stay?! Did you get enjoyment from me trying to get your attention, huh? You’re a fucking joke.” You stare up at him with hatred, venom lining your tone. “Fuck you!” You push him causing him to stumble backwards. “I hate you!” Your voice cracks as more tears well up in your eyes. “I really hate you!”

“I know.” He stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

You shake your head at him, returning back to packing your things. Suguru doesn’t know what he expected, he can’t seem to find an explanation for why he did what he did. You were perfect, loving, beautiful, caring, and he took all that away from you in a span of five minutes. He took it away from you his hands touched that other woman. He knew you’d catch on, you weren’t stupid. He felt guilty, but couldn’t stop himself from indulging in the attention of others—the woman.

“Who is it?” You ask, sitting on the floor as you hold your crumpled up shirt in your hand. As much as it would hurt to know, you needed some type of closure.

“I met her the night we had that argument.” He bit the inside of his cheek. It was a petty argument the two of you had, something about him leaving his clothes all over the floor. It escalated into a full blown fight, yelling at each other about that things that had zero correlation with what you first started fighting about in the first place. Hurtful things were said and he left to blow off some steam, finding himself at a club while you were at home texting and calling him, wondering where he was. That’s where he met her. Declining your calls while he was entertaining another woman. That entertainment shortly turned into him ending up at her place, their clothes discarded on the floor and his lips on hers, sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

After she fell asleep, he checked his phone to see you had texted him over ten times and called him over five, concerned for his safety. When he came back home, he found you sleeping on the couch, no blanket, no pillow. You fell asleep while waiting for him. It spiraled down from there.

A sob raked through your body as you remembered the argument he was talking about. “You were fucking her while I was here…waiting for you to come back home.” You felt sick, hands shaking as the thought formed an image in your head. “I can’t even look at you. I don’t know who you are anymore,” you said with disgust. Zipping up your suitcase, you stood to your feet and bumped shoulders with Suguru as you walked towards the front door to grab your coat and put on your shoes.

You left the house key on the small stand by the door before walking out, slamming the door shut behind you. The house stood silent, Suguru standing in the hallway as he stared at the front door. Remnants of your perfume filled the air, the dinner you had made still left on the two plates, the gifts he had got you were left behind, your side of the bed still messy from where you slept this morning, your towel still hanging in the bathroom along with your shampoo and conditioner.

He understands how much of a shitty person he is. He knows that he deserves a life without you as he casted you aside. As to why he stayed? Suguru was unsure of that himself. He questioned it multiple times when he heard you crying in the bathrooms all those nights. He hurt you deeply. Maybe he was waiting for the moment you broke up with him, afraid of doing it himself for whatever reason. He feels a sort of emptiness as well now, standing as silence consumed him. He was unsure of how to feel or react. Is he broken in a way? Is that why he did what he did?

His phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him away from his thoughts. He slowly pulls it out, staring at the name on the screen. It was her. He sucked in a breath, thumb hovering over the screen.

He declined the call.

Part 2

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[rbfclassy]

THE MAN I USED TO KNOW! — GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS...you’ve noticed suguru has changed, his attitude, his demeanor, he isn’t the same anymore. his coldness towards you won’t change and it breaks your heart

INFO...geto x fem!reader, angst (no seriously), arguments, yelling, break up, cheating, crying, cursing, no comfort, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

The metal scraped against the ceramic plate as Geto played around with the food you had made for him. His face stoic as he sits there and stares at it. Your eyes flicker up to his fingers, taking a bite of your food. He hasn’t said a word to you since he’s walked through the door, completely ignoring your presence and advances. He didn’t even respond when you said hi.

He’s been acting cold towards you for months now, not responding to your texts, coming home late, always tired, shrugging you off when you try and show him affection. You didn’t want to overthink it, knowing that he does go through phases where he’d rather be by himself. But this, this was different. Usually he’d talk to you, explain what he’s feeling, and now he can’t even do that. He treats you like a stranger, like you’re a roommate rather than his girlfriend. As you sat there in your bed late at night, staring at his sleeping figure, you began to wonder if your once loving boyfriend was cheating on you.

The thought of it broke your heart in two, made you sick to your stomach and put an empty feeling in your chest. You’d walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind you to cry, hoping you don’t wake him up. The man who was sitting across from you right now wasn’t the man you fell in love with.

“Not hungry?” You broke the silence, placing your fork down on the plate.

“No,” he bluntly answered, tossing his fork down. A long sigh left his lips, pushing the plate of food away from him. “I already ate.”

“At work?” You asked, puzzled. He didn’t come home until nine at night, six hours after he was supposed to leave work.

“Yep,” he plainly replied.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, looking back down at your plate as Geto sat there, arms folded across his chest. You weren’t sure what to say to him anymore. Anytime you tried sparking up a conversation he never showed interest, completely shutting you down. He was pushing you to your breaking point, leaving you nothing left but to lash out on him about his behavior towards you.

“You really shouldn’t have waited up for me.” Yet another sigh leaves his lips, like he was annoyed with the fact you were present in his life. Your brows furrowed, his words not sitting right with you. He’s made you feel useless, unwanted, like you were nothing but a placeholder in his life.

“Well, I wanted to. We never spend time together anymore.” You grab your cup, taking a sip of your water in hopes to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“We do,” he quickly said.

“We don’t.” You avert your gaze, unable to look at him.

“What is your problem?” He asks, voice sharp.

You found it in yourself to meet his gaze, taken by surprise from his question. You scoffed, almost laughing in his face. “What is wrong with me?” You ask.

“Yeah!” He shrugs his shoulders.

“What is wrong with you, Suguru? You come home and ignore me, can’t even find it within yourself to say hi. You come home late every single night, walking right past me like you have something to hide. You don’t even eat the food I cook for you anymore even if it’s your favorite! You can’t even hold a conversation with me! And we haven’t even said I love you to each other in I don’t know how long!” You’ve reached your breaking point, all the months of holding everything back now unleashing.

“Because I am too tired! What don’t you understand?!” He yells, a scowl on his face.

“Too tired?! Too tired! You stay six hours later than you need to every fucking day doing who knows what! That’s your own fault! I’m your girlfriend, Suguru, sorry that I have to remind you! I’m not some damn roommate of yours that helps pay the bills! You’ve been treating me like some stranger for the last few months!” You quickly respond, tears brimming your eyes. You stand up from your seat at the table, letting out shaky breath as you turn to look away from him. The room becomes silent. All that could be heard were your broken sobs. Suguru looks at you, chest heaving up and down as he tries to control his breathing.

“It’s hurts,” you whimper, sniffling. “I love you so much and I don’t even think you feel the same way anymore.” You turn to look at him. “What happened to the man I used to know?” A frown forms on your face as you try so hard to hold back your tears. “What are we?”

He stares at you for an unreasonably long time, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know,” he answers after what feels like hours. His words make you sob even harder, embarrassed that it’s come to this.

“Are you seeing someone else?” You have your back turned towards him, heart beating rapidly in your chest. It feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest as you wait for him to answer you. You can’t bear to look into his empty eyes, knowing that the love he had for you is no longer there. He’s an empty man. Anxiously, you bite on your nails, leg bouncing up and down. Your dinner was cold, and so was the room. Everything seemed cold.

“Yes.” He almost sounds ashamed when he answers. Tears pour down your face upon hearing that singular word. You knew it all along. Suguru is still sitting there, holding his head in his hands before dragging them down his face.

The room is spinning and your chest hurts. You feel nauseous, the food you just ate threatening to come back up. Though your knees are weak, you find the strength to walk towards your shared bedroom, tears blurring your vision as you pull your suitcase from the closet, tossing whatever clothes you had in it, not bothering to fold them. Anger flows through you, remembering all the times you desperately tried to fight for his affection and love, all the times when you cried to yourself as you sat alone with your thoughts. He didn’t care.

You hear footsteps approach from behind you as you angrily rip your clothes off of the hanger and from the drawers, throwing them to the floor. You can’t stop crying no matter how hard you try. He doesn’t deserve your tears. “I’m sorry.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, slowly turning to look at him. “Now you’re sorry?!” You inch your way towards his brooding figure. “Why did you even stay?! Did you get enjoyment from me trying to get your attention, huh? You’re a fucking joke.” You stare up at him with hatred, venom lining your tone. “Fuck you!” You push him causing him to stumble backwards. “I hate you!” Your voice cracks as more tears well up in your eyes. “I really hate you!”

“I know.” He stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

You shake your head at him, returning back to packing your things. Suguru doesn’t know what he expected, he can’t seem to find an explanation for why he did what he did. You were perfect, loving, beautiful, caring, and he took all that away from you in a span of five minutes. He took it away from you his hands touched that other woman. He knew you’d catch on, you weren’t stupid. He felt guilty, but couldn’t stop himself from indulging in the attention of others—the woman.

“Who is it?” You ask, sitting on the floor as you hold your crumpled up shirt in your hand. As much as it would hurt to know, you needed some type of closure.

“I met her the night we had that argument.” He bit the inside of his cheek. It was a petty argument the two of you had, something about him leaving his clothes all over the floor. It escalated into a full blown fight, yelling at each other about that things that had zero correlation with what you first started fighting about in the first place. Hurtful things were said and he left to blow off some steam, finding himself at a club while you were at home texting and calling him, wondering where he was. That’s where he met her. Declining your calls while he was entertaining another woman. That entertainment shortly turned into him ending up at her place, their clothes discarded on the floor and his lips on hers, sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

After she fell asleep, he checked his phone to see you had texted him over ten times and called him over five, concerned for his safety. When he came back home, he found you sleeping on the couch, no blanket, no pillow. You fell asleep while waiting for him. It spiraled down from there.

A sob raked through your body as you remembered the argument he was talking about. “You were fucking her while I was here…waiting for you to come back home. Worried something happened to you.” You felt sick, hands shaking as the thought formed an image in your head. “I can’t even look at you. I don’t know who you are anymore,” you said with disgust. Zipping up your suitcase, you stood to your feet and bumped shoulders with Suguru as you walked towards the front door to grab your coat and put on your shoes.

You left the house key on the small stand by the door before walking out, slamming the door shut behind you. The house stood silent, Suguru standing in the hallway as he stared at the front door. Remnants of your perfume filled the air, the dinner you had made still left on the two plates, the gifts he had got you were left behind, your side of the bed still messy from where you slept this morning, your towel still hanging in the bathroom along with your shampoo and conditioner.

He understands how much of a shitty person he is. He knows that he deserves a life without you as he casted you aside. As to why he stayed? Suguru was unsure of that himself. He questioned it multiple times when he heard you crying in the bathrooms all those nights. He hurt you deeply. Maybe he was waiting for the moment you broke up with him, afraid of doing it himself for whatever reason. He feels a sort of emptiness as well now, standing as silence consumed him. He was unsure of how to feel or react. Is he broken in a way? Is that why he did what he did?

His phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him away from his thoughts. He slowly pulls it out, staring at the name on the screen. It was her. He sucked in a breath, thumb hovering over the screen.

He declined the call.

repost from my old account

[finelinefae]

my darling

synopsis: a love triangle

word count: 10.8k

contains: angst angst angst, love triangle, mfm, best friends to lovers, boarding school, violence, unrequited love,

a/n: i wrote this for wattpad during the My Policeman era. I wanted to post it here after re-reading it. I remember this being one of the first pieces of fanfic i felt super proud of !! warning it is pretty sad

. . .

Then — 1996

Dear Diary,

Today we moved into our new home in Halton. It’s small, quaint, and quiet—very quiet. The kind of place where everyone seems set in their routines, the same patterns repeating every day. I already miss London. Mum says this will be good for us, though. Good to get away from the drama. Good to get away from Dad.

The house isn’t as big as our old one. I have to share a room with Delilah now, but it’s fine—I’ll be off to boarding school by the end of the summer. Mum says I’ll enjoy it since she went to the same school at my age, but I think she’s just trying to make me feel better. Who actually enjoys living at school?

It’s a three-hour drive from Halton, which feels like a world away. I’m nervous, excited, sad, and happy all at once. The feelings are so overwhelming they all blur together into something I can only describe as... heavy. Like my life is a snow globe someone’s just shaken up, glitter falling everywhere. It looks magical at first, but the reality is you’re stuck cleaning it up for weeks, finding it in the oddest places long after.

I miss my dog. I never got to say goodbye.

Dad cried when we left. I’ve never seen him cry before. He told me it wasn’t goodbye, just a "see you later." Mum always says Dad’s a good liar, but I don’t think he was lying this time. Maybe it was the tears—they don’t suit him.

-

Dear Diary,

Today I moved into my dorm at Southend Park School.

Mum was annoyed we had to wake up before seven to pack the car and drive me down, even though this was all her idea. She’s probably just tired—or maybe something else. I have a suspicion she’s met someone. I’m not sure how she moved on from Dad so quickly. Did she ever really love him?

My dorm has six girls, including me. I’ve mostly been talking to Ellis, who’s in the room next door. She’s fourteen, older than the rest of us, but only because her birthday is the 1st of September. Today’s the third, so her advantage is technical, but she likes to remind us.

Being alone here scares me, but it’s nothing new. Delilah always had loads of friends, and Dad was always working. Mum was usually out socializing, too.

Mum cried as we finished unpacking, promising she’d pick me up for half-term or that I could come home anytime. But I don’t want to go home. I hate it there.

Tomorrow is a full day of inductions, and I’m worried about making friends. Southend Park is a mixed school, and boys make me nervous. I’d rather have no friends at all than feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

I still feel like I’m picking up glitter from months ago. I wonder when it will finally stop.

-

Dear Diary,

I made two friends. You’ll never guess—they’re boys!

Their names are Harry and Dylan. They’re both thirteen, like me, but they feel older somehow. They even live in the same dorm and invited me over this weekend.

We met during lunch in the courtyard. I was sitting alone when Dylan walked up first, chatting easily and cracking jokes. Harry followed behind, much quieter. Dylan has blond hair and a small scar on his eyebrow from climbing trees back in Morston. Harry’s hair is thick and curly—I wanted to touch it but stopped myself because, well, that would’ve been weird.

Harry didn’t say much at first, though I noticed him glancing at me. When I met his gaze, he blushed and looked down at his extra-polished school shoes.

We didn’t talk much again until the end of the day, on the way back to the dorms. That’s when we compared timetables and realized we share four classes, including English Literature. It’s just Harry and me in that one, though.

I never thought I’d be friends with boys, but I like it. It feels different from being friends with girls—less pressure to act outgoing or girly. I hope we stay friends. I like them both a lot.

. . .

Then — 2000

“Hey, Harry,” Y/N called, running across the field toward the headmaster’s office where Harry stood, focused on his Nokia flip phone.

Harry glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. He tucked the phone into his pocket and waved her over. Despite the end-of-day chaos, both were still dressed in their school uniforms. “Hey, baby.” He greeted her with a quick kiss, pulling her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. He loved how perfectly she fit against him, as though they were made for each other.

“What’s going on? Aren’t we meeting Dylan to go to Ellis’ dorm?” Y/N asked, frowning slightly as she looked around for their other best friend.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “We are, but Dylan got caught passing notes to Casey Becker in geometry. He’s stuck with thirty minutes in the headmaster’s office to make amends.”

Y/N chuckled, her laugh warm and familiar. “Again? He’s going to get himself expelled if he’s not careful.” She slid her hands under Harry’s blazer, warming them against his torso.

Harry brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his thumb linger on her cheekbone. “How was your day?” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“It was fine,” Y/N replied. “I scored three points in netball, and Tessa Riley gave me daggers in the changing room.” She giggled, leaning into him.

Harry smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes. “That’s m’girl.” He bent down and kissed her forehead gently.

“Oh, please, don’t make me sick,” a familiar voice drawled, breaking the moment.

“Hi, Dylan.” Y/N turned to see him strolling down the stone steps, his blazer slung over his shoulder and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. She leaned back against Harry, crossing her arms.

“Hello, my darling Y/N,” Dylan teased, his tone playful as he lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

“Seriously, Dylan?” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you really need another detention?”

“Don’t you smoke, Styles?” Dylan shot back, grinning. “Besides, Mary would love to see me again after our chat earlier. She’s got a soft spot for me.” He smirked, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping away from Harry’s warmth. She was long used to Dylan’s antics—four and a half years of friendship had left little room for surprises.

The three of them had been inseparable since their first days at Southend Park Boarding School. Despite their differences in personality, they were like a family unit, supporting one another through the highs and lows of adolescence.

Dylan, the loudest of the trio, was notorious for his sharp wit and knack for trouble. Teachers despaired over his behavior, but students were drawn to his charm—especially the girls, who fell for his rebellious streak and the ever-present cigarette.

Harry, by contrast, was the golden boy: smart, polite, and beloved by staff. He balanced his role as student ambassador with captaining the football team, a position that made him one of the most popular boys in school. Dylan teasingly called him a “teacher’s pet,” but Harry wore the label without shame.

Y/N was the quietest of the three, rarely seeking the spotlight. She volunteered in the school library every Tuesday and spent her free time with her dorm mates. Still, Harry and Dylan were fiercely protective of her, and she often marveled at how lucky she was to have them.

The trio walked out of the school gates toward the housing blocks, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon sun. Harry carried Y/N’s backpack on one shoulder, his free hand clasping hers. Dylan trailed behind, typing on his phone with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Ellis doesn’t want you bringing anything to the party this time, Dylan,” Y/N warned, glancing over her shoulder. “You know what happened last time. If you pull that again, you’re getting kicked out of school.”

“My darling Y/N,” Dylan began with exaggerated sincerity, pausing for effect, “only for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

When they reached her dorm, Y/N kissed Harry on the cheek and took her bag from his shoulder. “I’ll see you both later?” she asked, her eyes bright.

Dylan saluted her without looking up from his phone, while Harry smiled warmly. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Harry,” she replied before disappearing inside.

Harry and Dylan walked in silence toward their dorm. The tension was palpable, Dylan unusually quiet as Harry’s mind churned with unspoken thoughts.

“We’re going to have to tell her at some point,” Dylan murmured, his voice low as the setting sun bathed the path in a golden glow.

Harry’s heart tightened. “No, we don’t.”

“Harry—”

“Shut up, Dylan. Nothing happened.” Harry’s voice was sharp, cutting Dylan off before he could continue.

They stopped, staring at each other, the air between them heavy. Harry’s frustration burned in his eyes, while Dylan’s sadness hung like a weight on his shoulders.

“I love her,” Harry finally said, his voice trembling. “I’ll never love anyone else as much as I love Y/N.”

Without another word, he turned and stormed into their dormitory, leaving Dylan alone on the pavement. Dylan exhaled shakily, the ache in his chest unbearable.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Diary,

It’s been a month since my fifteenth birthday, and Harry finally asked me out on a date. It feels like a dream, the kind where everything is so perfect you fear waking up to find it never happened.

To be honest, I think I’m already in love with him. He’s always been so kind to me, much more than Dylan. Harry carries my bag to class when I have netball, and sometimes, during English Literature, I catch him staring at me. There’s something about the way his gaze lingers that makes me feel seen.

In art class, he taught me how to use watercolors for the first time, his thumb brushing against mine as he guided me. Little moments like that remind me how much I care for him—so much that the thought of being without him feels unbearable. Is that dramatic? Probably. But I can’t help it if it’s true.

Even when I’m talking to Ellis during lunch or before bed, my mind wanders back to Harry—his smile, his eyes, the way he laughs at my jokes even when they aren’t funny, and how he hugs me differently from everyone else.

It feels strange to be fifteen and falling so deeply. What do I know about love at this age? How much further can I fall?

I think I’m going to love him forever. I hope he loves me forever too.

-

Dear Diary,

Harry kissed me today. My first kiss—with the boy I love most in the entire world.

I knew it was going to happen. We’d just finished dinner in the dining hall when he asked if I wanted to take a walk in the gardens. Dylan wanted to come along, but Harry shook his head, saying he wanted it to be just the two of us.

I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked back and saw Dylan standing there, his expression heavy as he watched us leave. He kept staring at Harry, even as we walked past the window overlooking the gardens.

Harry brought me to the tulips because he knows they’re my favorite. He said my braid looked pretty today, and that’s when I knew—I truly, completely loved him. It was the worst braid I’ve ever done, but he still thought it was beautiful.

We sat on a swinging bench, listening to birds returning to their nests. When he said my name, it sounded magical, like it had been made for his lips alone. I turned to look at him, and that’s when he leaned in and kissed me.

It felt like a scene from a movie.

No one ever tells you what it’s like to kiss someone for the first time. The way their breath mingles with yours, the world fading away as you close your eyes and step into a place so tender it consumes you. It makes you wonder if you’ve ever been truly loved before.

We only stopped because we heard a rustling in the bushes. We looked around but didn’t find anything, so Harry walked me back to my dorm. He kissed me again outside the door, and I floated through the rest of the night, humming to myself as I got ready for bed.

But when I think back to that moment, I could swear I saw a tuft of blond hair sticking out from behind a bush.

. . .

Now — 2000

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of the mirror on Ellis’ floor, carefully applying mascara as Fiona Apple played softly in the background. Ellis sat nearby, painting her nails a deep red.

“I’m just saying,” Ellis began, waving the brush for emphasis, “you and Harry have been dating for two years, and you haven’t done the deed yet?”

Y/N flushed at the mention of sex, shifting uncomfortably. She hated talking about it, even with Harry. Maybe it was because she didn’t know much about it or because she’d never had a safe space to ask questions, but every time the topic came up—whether in conversation or during truth or dare—she wanted to run for cover.

“We’re waiting for the right time,” Y/N said evenly, her voice robotic as she repeated the well-rehearsed answer.

“The right time?” Ellis scoffed. “I’ve never seen a couple more in love—it’s nauseating.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind drifting to moments when she’d wanted to take things further with Harry. But he always stopped before it went too far. Sometimes it made her feel like she wasn’t enough—pretty enough, desirable enough—but then he’d kiss her softly and remind her how beautiful she was, stroking her cheek as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve done... things, but not that.”

“Is Harry religious or something?” Ellis asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Y/N replied with a frown. “He’s never mentioned it.”

“Maybe he’s waiting until marriage,” Ellis mused.

The thought of marrying Harry made Y/N’s heart swell. She’d dreamed of it ever since their first kiss in the gardens—walking down the aisle in a white dress, Harry waiting for her at the end, tears in his eyes. Maybe they’d both cry.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Y/N said, her voice soft but certain. “I love him enough to wait as long as he needs me to.”

Ellis groaned, grabbing a bottle of vodka from her bedside table. “You can’t say stuff like that when I haven’t had a single drink.” She poured herself a shot and downed it in one go. “Okay, continue.”

Y/N laughed and turned back to her reflection, humming Queen’s Love of My Life as her thoughts drifted back to Harry.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Harry,

Today we went to the beach—the three of us. Me, you, and Y/N. I know in most situations it’s you, Y/N, then me, but in these letters, it will always be me and you.

We’d been planning this trip for weeks. It’s a three-hour drive to the coast from school, and Y/N had been complaining about the journey the entire time. I didn’t mind. Is it wrong of me to want to sit next to you on a bus full of people not one of them knowing who we are for three whole hours? Our knees touching for three whole hours? Sand on your feet and your hair salty from the sea, inhaling your scent and wanting your hand to touch my thigh for three whole hours?

When we got there, the morning was overcast, but by the time we hit the sand, the sun broke through the clouds. It was perfect. The light caught your skin, making it glisten, and your eyes shone with that impossible sea-glass green. I wanted to look into them forever, but you were too busy looking at Y/N.

I tried to catch your attention—touching your shoulder as I passed by, reaching for the beach bag at the same time as you, brushing my fingers against yours. But it didn’t matter. You only had eyes for her, and I only had eyes for you.

When you kissed her in the gardens, a part of me died. I had been pining for you for so long, silently hoping you’d see me, but it was always her. I felt stupid, running miles afterward, the wind howling in my ears: You fool, you idiot, how could he ever love you?

I didn’t want to feel this way, Harry. I tried to bury it, to pretend it wasn’t real, but when I met you, everything I’d hidden about myself unraveled.

The day wasn’t without its drama. Y/N, distracted, stepped into the road thinking the approaching van was the bus. You moved so fast, grabbing her and pulling her back before the van could hit her. I watched the terror flash across your face, the way you held her afterward as she cried. You kissed her forehead, comforted her, showed her the kind of love I’d only ever dreamed of.

And I hated her for it.

I feel terrible admitting this because I do love Y/N. I truly do. But most days, I hate her, and only because she has you.

When we finally got to the beach, the three of us ran toward the waves, shedding our clothes as we went, laughing like we were carefree children. For a moment, we were. We left our troubles behind in the sand.

You swung Y/N over your shoulder as you splashed into the water, and I couldn’t help but admire the way your muscles flexed. You were a work of art, Harry, something meant to be admired in a gallery. And I was nothing more than an observer, longing for what I could never have.

Later, Y/N went to get ice cream. Before she left, she asked for your order, and I already knew what you’d say—mint chocolate chip. The way she looked surprised made me feel smug for a second, but that quickly disappeared when she said it was her favorite too.

While she was gone, I felt a cramp in my shoulder. “Let me,” you murmured, and before I could answer, your fingertips ghosted over my shoulder, pressing into the tight muscle.

I couldn’t breathe, Harry. You were so close, your breath warm against my neck. For a split second, I thought if I just turned my head, I could kiss you.

I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Even if you do.

. . .

Now — 2000

Dylan and Harry were in their dorm room, preparing for the party. Harry stood in front of the mirror, anxiously gelling his hair back.

“I think I’m going to do it,” Harry said suddenly, turning to face Dylan. “I’m going to go all the way with Y/N.”

Dylan froze, his heart sinking. He lit a cigarette, trying to appear nonchalant as he perched on the windowsill. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His voice betrayed him, tinged with irritation and jealousy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m just saying, are you sure it’s the right time to sleep with her? After... what happened?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Nothing happened. It was a mistake.”

“You keep saying that,” Dylan said, standing now, his voice rising. “Like you’re trying to gaslight me into thinking I imagined it. But I’ve imagined kissing you enough times to know what’s real and what’s not.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching. “I was drunk, and you took advantage of me.”

The words hit Dylan like a slap, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Don’t try that with me, Harry. It might work in your petty arguments with Y/N, but it won’t work on me. You’re the one twisting the truth to fit your narrative.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Harry snapped. “I only care about Y/N. And if you can’t handle that, maybe you need to step away—from both of us.”

“Step away?” Dylan said incredulously, his voice breaking. “You want me to walk away from the only two people who’ve ever cared about me? You want me to walk away from you?”

Harry hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “You know how I feel about Y/N. I love her. I’m in love with her. Even if I felt something for you, it would never compare.”

“You’re lying,” Dylan whispered, his eyes glassy. “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.”

“You don’t know anything!” Harry exploded, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you know what would happen if someone found out? What it would do to Y/N? To us? I felt nothing! It was a mistake!”

“Harry—”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “Whatever feelings you have, whatever intentions, you need to get over them.”

“That’s not as easy as you think—”

“You have to.” Harry’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Dylan stared at him, shattered, as Harry turned and stormed out.

He left Dylan standing there, broken, feeling like Harry had taken his very soul with him.

. . .

Then — 1999

Dear Harry,

We’ve been assigned as partners in media class, and now we have to make a music video. Naturally, you asked Y/N if she’d star in it. You told her she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen and that she’d be perfect for it. She blushed, of course, and said yes. Then you kissed her—so long and so deeply that I had to look away.

I imagined myself in her place, wondering what it would be like to kiss you in public, to have the world see how much I adored you. If it were allowed, I don’t think I’d ever stop kissing you.

Today, we filmed the music video. You wanted it to feel like a coming-of-age story. I’d wanted something more abstract, but I agreed to your ideas, nodding eagerly at every suggestion, whether it was brilliant or terrible.

We filmed in the gardens—my least favorite place in the entire school. That’s where you kissed Y/N for the first time, and if I could erase that night from my memory, I would in a heartbeat.

The sun was shining as you whispered into Y/N’s ear while I set up the camera. I tried to block out the sound of your laughter, the sight of her hand on your shoulder.

“Are we ready?” I called, my voice louder than I intended. You straightened up immediately.

“Dylan, why don’t you be in the video with me?” Y/N smiled warmly. She had that rare ability to make everyone feel seen, like she was radiating sunshine. It was impossible not to smile back.

“My darling, you know I’m not nearly as perfect as you,” I teased, watching her blush.

I don’t even remember when I started calling her “my darling.” The first time, I remember catching the flash of jealousy in your eyes. I liked that. I liked seeing you react to me, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. You’re used to it now, but sometimes, when I say it, I still see a flicker of something in your gaze.

The music video took all day to shoot. Every time Y/N nailed a scene, you rewarded her with a kiss. I worked hard too, Harry. Shouldn’t I have been rewarded in some way?

When Y/N left for her library shift that evening, it was just the two of us. You wanted to capture the soft glow of the sunset, so we stayed behind to get more footage.

“My mother wants me to go into politics,” you said as we sat cross-legged on the grass, the camera between us. “But I’d love to do this—be a director. I’ve always wanted to be an artist of some kind. It’s a silly dream, but I think about it all the time.”

I could imagine it. You had a way of leading people, commanding attention without being arrogant. You cared so deeply—for the art, for the people—that it would probably destroy you someday.

“It’s not silly,” I said. “It’s never silly to dream. My God, Harry, we only live once. Might as well do everything we can to feel something in the little time we have.”

You looked at me then, really looked at me. For the first time, I thought you might be feeling a fraction of what I felt every day. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Y/N knows.”

“It’ll be our secret,” I whispered. And for a moment, I could’ve sworn you glanced at my lips.

Then, just as quickly, you diverted the topic. Grabbing the camera, you aimed it at me lying in the grass. “Looks like Y/N’s not the only model anymore,” you teased.

I tried to act indifferent, but I would’ve stayed there all night if it meant seeing you laugh like that.

It makes me wonder, Harry—do you know how much power you have over your friends? Do you know that you have two people who worship the ground you walk on? How does it feel to be desired? How does it feel to have a choice in who you love?

. . .

Now — 2000

“You’re here!” Y/N beamed, running into Harry’s arms and wrapping her hands around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, kissing her temple before setting her down.

The party was already in full swing. Students from across campus had crammed into Ellis’ dorm, the air thick with music, laughter, and the faint smell of alcohol.

“Hi, Dylan,” Y/N greeted, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re dressed pretty smart. Planning on impressing anyone tonight?”

“Only you, darling,” Dylan replied, forcing a wink and a smirk despite the ache in his chest. Harry’s words from earlier still rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside.

Harry’s eyes darted to the cup in Y/N’s hand. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, his tone light but concerned.

“It’s water,” she whispered with a smile. Harry relaxed. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and he knew that.

“You look so pretty,” he said, marvelling at her dress. It was the one she wore for special occasions—one he had once told her was his favourite. A pang of guilt pricked at his heart as she looked back at him, her doe eyes filled with love.

“Come dance with me!” she said, pulling him toward the living room. “Both of you! My boys!”

Harry and Dylan followed her to the dance floor. The song Love My Way blared through the speakers, and Y/N moved between them, carefree and radiant.

At first, Harry danced with her, his focus entirely on Y/N. But then his gaze shifted to Dylan, who was swaying along with the music. Something unspoken passed between them, an invisible thread pulling them closer.

Harry laughed when Dylan moved towards him and for a moment they had forgotten everything around them. Dylan was just Dylan and Harry was just Harry, two boys who felt something they weren’t allowed to feel in the eyes of everyone else.

Harry was so close, their faces almost touching and for a moment Dylan thought they might kiss. But the blissful moment was broken as Harry stepped away, shaking his head, “N-No.” He whispered, “No, No, No.” He shook his head, his eyes frantic in search of Y/N.

“O-Oh, Harry,” Y/N yelped as he grabbed hold of her hand and lead her out of Ellis’ dorm and over to her own, three doors down from where the party was happening.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?” She cups his face in her hands and he exhales, trying to regain composure. This was the girl he loved, the only girl he could ever love and being in her hands felt like home. Didn’t it?

“Y-Y/N, I-I think I’m ready.” He presses his forehead against hers, kissing her bottom lip. “I’m ready.”

Her lips part in shock. She hadn’t been expecting this tonight and she wasn’t sure where Harry’s sudden desperation was coming from. He kissed down her neck as she tried to speak to him, “H-Harry, a-are you sure?” He nodded, his mouth leaving open mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

“I love you Y/N.” He looked into her eyes and she saw the sincerity behind them but also a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite place.

He started to peel her clothing off, his fingertips gently brushing against her soft skin. She tried to steady her breathing but her chest caved in and out as the oxygen in the room seemed to be escaping as he moved down her body. “Harry,” She whispered and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers together.

Y/N was stripped down to her bra and underwear. This was the most skin she had revealed to anybody but she trusted Harry with everything in her, he was her best friend. He blew warm air over the thin material of her bra and her nipples hardened, an overwhelming sense of desire and lust flooding her insides. It was so new and overwhelming, her hands shaking as she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on the roots.

“Baby,” He whispered, his hands cupping her thighs as he pressed kisses down her body.

“Harry, wait.” She murmured, his eyes looking up from where he was laying between her legs, “You’re still dressed.” She sat up and tugged on the hem of his sweater.

He laughed softly, as she struggled to pull the sweater over his head. She marvelled at the sound and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled her onto his lap and she grinded her hips against his, “God look at you.” He whispered. “Don’t leave me Y/N. You can never leave me.”

“I’m never going to.” She said it like it was a promise.

His hands hooked the straps of her bra and he gently pulled them down, her breath hitching as the pad of his thumb brushed against the side of her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in tightly, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he inhaled her.

This was going to be perfect, she thought, nothing could go wrong.

She grinded her hips against him again, a groan eliciting from his lip and a name escaping past the lips he had kissed her with so many times.

“Dylan.” Y/N froze. Her blood ran cold, and she pulled away as though Harry’s touch burned her.

“What did you say?” She pulled away, suddenly being naked in front of him didn’t feel right, being in a space alone with him didn’t feel right, everything she had ever felt for him before this moment didn’t feel right.

“Y/N,” He reached for her but she slipped away from him, slipped out of his touch, a touch she begged for just moments ago.

Harry’s heart no longer existed, wherever it was it had abandoned him and left him here in this terrible moment to fend for himself. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he watched Y/N try to pick up her discarded clothes. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, she was suppose to be picking up his clothes after a night making love to each other.

“Y-You said his name.” Y/N whimpered, she was panicking and Harry could do nothing but watch.

“Baby I-”

“NO.” She spat, “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Harry watched as she turned around and clutched at her head, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. She sobbed and sobbed, his hear wrenching at the sound of it. He had never heard a sound so painful in his life and he wanted to die in this very moment.

“No, No, No, No.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Y/N please just let me explain.” Harry tried, crouching down in front of her and trying to place a hand on her now clothed shoulder.

“NO.” She pushed him away and leaped back, her back hitting the wall.

Harry was broken. He was truly broken. This was something well out of his reach in fixing and nothing he could do or say could make up for the fact that he had hurt the two people he loved and cherished the most in this world, in the span of one night.

“Get out of my room!” She began to scream, “Get out of here!”

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

“Hey, you guys in there?” Dylan’s voice called from the hallway.

Before Harry could respond, Y/N lunged for the door, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Get out of my room!” she screamed, her voice raw with betrayal.

Harry caught her before she reached Dylan, her fists pounding against his chest. “I’m broken,” she whimpered, her strength fading. “You broke me.”

And for the first time, Harry knew what it felt like to be utterly powerless.

. . .

Then — 2000

Dear Diary,

You know those secrets so big they feel like they could swallow you whole? The kind you promise never to tell a soul for as long as you live? At first, they consume you, taking over every thought and breath. But over time, they settle into the corners of your mind, a quiet part of you that only stirs when something triggers it.

Well, today I made one of those secrets.

It was a Tuesday, the day I volunteer in the library after school. There’s something peaceful about wandering the empty halls when no one else is around—a stark contrast to the chaos between periods. Mrs. Ableton asked me to deliver a stack of books to the English Literature cupboard. Our copies of The Catcher in the Rye were practically falling apart, so we’d ordered replacements.

As I walked through the hall, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye near the classroom where Harry and I have English together. Curious, I paused, almost dropping the books in my hands.

Harry was leaning against a desk, and Dylan stood in front of him. At first, I thought nothing of it and smiled, reaching for the door handle to make myself known. But then Dylan stepped closer, touched Harry’s hand, and kissed him.

I froze.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The same lips that had kissed mine were now kissing the lips of my best friend.

I wanted to cry, but I was too shocked to do anything but stand there, watching. A part of me hoped I was trapped in a nightmare—that I’d wake up, call Harry, and laugh about how silly it all was. But when Dylan pulled back, Harry grabbed his arm and kissed him again.

That time, I couldn’t watch.

I backed away, the tears finally falling. My mind raced as I searched for somewhere—anywhere—I could cry louder, scream even, because this wasn’t something I could cry about quietly.

Harry was mine. But he was also Dylan’s.

By the time I went to bed, I’d convinced myself I would confront them. I’d tell them I saw what happened and ask if we could move on, pretend it never happened. But as the hours stretched on, I realized I didn’t want to speak about it. Talking about it would mean reliving it, over and over.

I didn’t want to remember.

I just wanted Harry.

So, this is a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’ll never tell a soul I watched Harry kiss Dylan in a way he never kissed me.

Even if it breaks me.

. . .

Now — 2000

“What happened?” Dylan asked. They were back in his dorm now, Harry pacing the room like a caged animal.

“She knows,” Harry muttered, his fingers pulling at his hair—a habit whenever he was upset. “She knows about us, what we did.”

Dylan collapsed onto the bed, his face pale. “How?”

Harry stopped and turned to him, shame written all over his face. “I said your name.”

Dylan’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands. Images of Y/N, broken and sobbing on her bedroom floor, flashed through his mind. She had begged them to fix her, but they were the ones who broke her.

“It’s fine,” Harry rambled, his voice shaking. “I-I’ll give her some time, however long she needs. Then I’ll explain. I’ll explain it was a misunderstanding.”

“Harry,” Dylan said gently, standing to take Harry’s hands in his own. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for Y/N to get over this.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and a sob escaped him as he crumpled into Dylan’s arms. Dylan ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, resting his cheek against Harry’s head. “It’s okay, love,” he whispered. “Everything will be alright.”

“I hurt her so bad, Dylan,” Harry cried. “I love her, and I hurt her.”

“She was always going to find out,” Dylan said softly, the truth cutting deeper than any lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Harry whispered.

Dylan sighed. “Why do you always talk about how things are meant to be? You act like your life was mapped out before you left the womb. Was it ‘meant to be’ that the three of us became inseparable? That you fell in love with both of us because you care so deeply? That I fell in love with you because you see art in everything? None of this was ‘meant to be,’ Harry. It just happened. And now we deal with it.”

Harry pulled back, tears streaking his face. “You still love me? Even after I pushed you away?”

Dylan smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Harry’s cheek. “I love you despite everything.”

Harry’s lips ghosted over Dylan’s, and for a moment, it felt like all their pain had been lifted. “Dylan,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as he said the name again and again, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You can say my name as much as you want, love,” Dylan murmured. “I’ll always be here.”

. . .

Three weeks passed and the friends were no longer talking to each other, instead they acted as though they didn’t know each other as they passed each other in the hallway.

Harry had to try and not flinch when he saw Y/N scurry pass him, her eyes red and bloodshot as Ellis comforted her, glaring at Harry as they did. He wanted to speak to her but he was never given the chance to, rightly so considering what he had done to her.

Dylan and Harry, mostly Harry, thought it would best to keep their distance for a while. It killed them both to not be around each other but for the sake of their friendship with Y/N, they shared small moments of brief eye contact and touches throughout the day. Neither of them knew what was to come for the both of them but this limbo was enough for now.

Dylan ate lunch alone and as he did, he listened to the conversations of everyone around him. He wondered what it felt like for them to go about their day feeling like they belong in their own skin and not feel ashamed over who they love. He had never felt so alienated and so out of touch with himself.

He had been given an after school detention for an hour with Mr Henley after calling him sexist in front of the class. No one was around when he left the classroom until he saw a group of girls walking across the field.

At the end of the line was Y/N, wearing her netball uniform.

She must have caught sight of him because the next thing he knew, she was walking up to him. He had to check behind him to see he was seeing correctly.

“Hi Dylan,” She keeps her distance for reasons unknown to him but being around her again made him relax, he missed the friendship he shared right at the very beginning when they were thirteen and picking each other up from class to go to the sweet shop after school.

“Hey Y/N.” He offers her a smile.

“How are you doing?” He didn’t miss the way she gripped her bag like she was trying to stop herself from saying anything she really wanted to.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Y/N huffs, “I’ve had better days.” “Y/N-”

“Just tell me this,” She starts, “H-How long?”

Dylan decided he would be as honest and as straight to the point as he could be, it was what she deserved at least.

“Y/N the only thing we did was kiss one time. Harry stopped it because he’s in love with you.”

“And you’re in love with him.”

“Y-Yes.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, “We could never just be three best friends could we? It was always going to be complicated.”

“We could still be best friends Y/N.”

“But it’s not the same now is it?” She bit back and Dylan realised he needed to be careful with what he said. “Is he sad?”

“Terribly. Sometimes I hear him crying in his room at night.”

A silence fell between them which was strange. Y/N and Dylan has always had a brother-sister relationship, Dylan was always one to tease Y/N and make her laugh but right now it seemed all he was doing was making her upset.

“I’m moving schools.” Y/N confessed, “At the end of the term, I’m moving to Bridgewater. Mum’s moving in with her fiancee, and she wants me to be closer.”

“When were you going to tell us?” Dylan was shocked.

“I was given the choice. I could stay here or move to another school but if I stayed I’d have to stay at my dad’s during the holidays and I’m not in the mood to be lectured during my time away from school.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t fathom the three of them not being together for such a long period of time. “I know what you’re thinking. I know I need to tell him but if we are going to have a shot at being friends again, I need to be away from you both.”

“Y/N,” Dylan shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to be like this,”

“You know I saw you when you kissed each other in the English Literature classroom?” She confessed, Dylan’s lips parting. “He kissed you in a way that he never kissed me. Everytime we kissed afterwards all I could think about was how different it was, how I desperately wanted him to kiss me the way I had seen him kiss you. I used to write in my diary about how I would die if I didn’t have him near me. I thought he would be the end of me but I didn’t realise you would be too.”

“I know he loves you Dylan and... I’m happy for you but I’m not selfless enough to stand beside you both and watch you fall in love when I so desperately love him too.”

“Y/N,” Dylan reaches out for her hand and takes it, “I’m sorry.” “I know Dylan, I know.”

. . .

Now — 2000

Harry’s leg wouldn’t stop jittering as he sat outside the school library on a Tuesday evening. He’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, replaying it over and over in his mind. He had spent countless hours rehearsing his apology to Y/N until it became a permanent loop in his thoughts.

When the library door swung open, he shot up immediately, brushing down his school trousers and running a hand through his hair. Y/N stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

She looked better than she had in weeks, and Harry’s heart ached at the sight of her. He would have carried her bag for her if they were still together.

Her expression changed when she saw him, her voice barely above a whisper. “H-Harry.”

“I came,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I-I couldn’t believe it when I got your text. I’d have waited here for hours if you hadn’t shown up.”

Her face softened briefly, but she walked past him. “Follow me,” she said simply.

He trailed behind her as she led him to the gardens—the place where they’d shared their first kiss and filmed the music video for his and Dylan’s project. It was a space filled with memories of the three of them: Y/N doing homework, Dylan reading, and Harry strumming his guitar.

They sat down on the swinging bench, a familiar seat now heavy with unspoken tension. Harry noticed she kept her distance, and though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her close, he knew it wasn’t the right time.

“Who gave you those?” Harry finally asked, nodding at the flowers in her hand. A flicker of hope crossed his face.

“Debbie,” she said, referring to the school librarian. “It’s my last day working at the library.”

“You quit?” Harry frowned, his gaze flicking from the flowers to her face.

Y/N inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m leaving, Harry.”

The wind seemed to leave him. “N-No,” he stammered, shaking his head. “You—you can’t. You can’t just leave. I won’t let you—”

“Harry,” she interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently in her lap. “It’s what’s best.”

“How can you say that?” he asked, trying to pull his hand away, though her warmth made it impossible. “How can you say it’s what’s best? The three of us—we’re supposed to be together.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. He looked thinner, more tired than she’d ever seen him, but she couldn’t help him—not anymore.

“Y/N, the thing with Dylan...” Harry began, his voice cracking. “I-I never meant for it to happen. We were just alone, I was stressed, and my emotions got the better of me. But I don’t feel the same way about him as I do about you.”

She shook her head softly. “Maybe that’s true, but not in the way you think. Dylan has always been there for you, Harry, in ways I never could. The way you look at him... it’s like he hung the stars in the sky just for you, like he tilted the sun so it would never blind you but still brighten your world.

“Maybe you do love me,” she continued, her voice trembling, “but love isn’t just about taking care of someone. It’s not carrying my backpack because it’s too heavy or doing my homework when I’m too tired after netball. Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about being taken care of, about laughing and crying and feeling like your heart is burning, and nothing can put it out.

“Now tell me, Harry. Did you ever feel that way with me? Were you ever vulnerable with me?”

Harry’s heart cracked. He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

“Please, Y/N,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I can’t be without you.”

“You have Dylan,” she said, trying to be the bigger person even though it shattered her inside. “It was never going to be me, Harry. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for him?”

Harry looked down at the ground, his silence all the confirmation she needed.

Her heart broke all over again, but she forced herself to stay strong. “Why do you have to go?” he asked, tears streaming down his face.

“Because, Harry,” she said gently, “what good would it do for the three of us if I stayed? You need to find out who you are, and so do I. Before me, it was you and Dylan. Now, it will end that way - with you and Dylan.”

“And what about you?” he asked desperately. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m grateful for what I’ve had. You and Dylan will always be a part of me. I hope one day we’ll forget this pain, and everything will be okay again.”

She reached out, brushing his hair back the way she used to. “I love you, Harry. I love you so much, I feel like I could burst.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. For the first time, he meant it in a way that felt true—not as a lover, but as a best friend.

“Be brave,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And tell him you love him.”

Harry nodded as the tears fell freely, clinging to her like a child who didn’t want to let go.

She was going to love him forever. She now knew he wouldn’t.

. . .

“She’s gone,” Dylan said softly from the doorway of Harry’s bedroom.

Harry sat at his desk, a pen still in his hand though it hovered, unmoving, above the page. “Was she alright?” he murmured.

“She was better than we probably thought,” Dylan admitted, realizing how much they’d underestimated Y/N’s strength. They’d always thought it was their job to protect her, but she’d always been stronger than the two of them combined.

“Right,” Harry muttered, his voice hollow.

Dylan moved to sit on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. “I was thinking we could have the leftover soup for dinner instead of going to the dining hall.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry replied—a rare admission from someone who was always hungry.

Dylan frowned. “How long are you going to wallow in this? Can’t you see we’re both trying to do the right thing for your benefit?”

Harry turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. “And what exactly are you doing?”

“I’ve been keeping my distance,” Dylan snapped. “Acting like we’re strangers when we’re the complete opposite. Do you know how much it kills me to not be near you? To have to hide from myself?”

Harry stood abruptly. “And you think I’m not struggling? You think I haven’t been grappling with everything I feel?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Dylan shouted, standing to meet Harry’s gaze. “You had someone who loved you for two whole years. You have everything, Harry—loving parents, the best grades, popularity. And you act like it’s all been taken from you because I kissed you!”

“Y/N is gone because of us!” Harry yelled back.

“No,” Dylan said fiercely, his voice rising. “She’s gone because of you! Because you’re too afraid to be honest about who you are! Because you care too much about what everyone else thinks. That’s why she’s gone!”

Their faces were inches apart, their anger radiating in the small space between them.

“How dare you? Can’t you see this is difficult for me to accept?” Harry shouted, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

“What is?” Dylan snapped back, stepping closer. “What is so difficult, Harry? What’s so hard that you have to sit in the dark and ignore the only two people who’ve ever truly cared about you? Huh? What is it? Tell me. TELL ME.”

“I am in love with you!” Harry yelled, the words ripping out of him like they had been clawing to escape for years. “I am a fool, and I am in love with you.”

Dylan froze, stunned. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of Harry’s confession settled over him. The words he had dreamed of hearing for years hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

“What?” Dylan managed, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you,” Harry said, his voice softer now but no less raw. “And it’s been killing me every day since. I think of you—daily, nightly, every moment in between—and it tears me apart. Kissing you was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and denying it afterward made me a coward. But here I am now, standing in front of you, a man stupidly, hopelessly in love with his best friend.”

Harry’s eyes were red and glassy, the weight of years of unspoken emotion etched into his every feature.

Dylan stared at him, speechless. He had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was real, the depth of Harry’s vulnerability left him breathless.

“Kiss me,” Dylan whispered, his voice breaking. “Kiss me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping Dylan’s face in his hands as though it had been crafted to fit perfectly in his palms. Then he kissed him—fervent and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that singular moment.

Dylan’s world ignited. A piece of him that had been dormant for years finally came alive. His heart and mind, long at odds, now burned in harmony as Harry’s lips moved against his. He felt consumed, but in the most beautiful way, as if he could lose himself in Harry forever and never once regret it.

“I love you too, Harry,” Dylan whispered when they finally parted, their foreheads resting together.

“I bloody well hope so,” Harry murmured, a small laugh escaping his lips as tears spilled down his cheeks.

. . .

Now

Dear Harry,

I’d like to tell you a story that will more than likely make you happy.

One day, I was sat in a café, only a twenty-minute walk away from Southend Park School, which is closed down now and turned into a factory to fix airplanes. I bought my usual order of a decaf cappuccino and a slice of toffee apple cake. On this particular day, they added more sugar to my cappuccino, so I knew it would be a good day.

Across from me, a woman sat, her dog lying down at her feet as she read The Catcher in the Rye whilst sipping on a fruit tea. I didn’t think much of it, but I found it interesting the way she would read something and then shakily jot something down in the little notebook on the table.

Anyway, I had originally come to the café so I could write about our trip to Brighton. You were still complaining about the sand in your clothes just last night despite the fact that Brighton has no sand.

“It’s alright, love,” I comforted you, helping you put your pyjamas on.

“It bothers me, Dylan.” You responded, coughing into your handkerchief.

We don’t leave our small bungalow very often because you don’t like to leave the dogs and I don’t like change, but this trip to Brighton was one we had been planning for a year or so, so we didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

We spent a lot of time sat on the beach in the evenings whilst we were there, a blanket wrapped around the both of us as we fed the seagulls. I remember you saying you liked the sound of the ocean because it made you feel like we were seventeen again, running into the ocean without a care in the world.

You then proceeded to mention how worried you are about our Y/N, “I hope she’s doing alright, our Y/N.” You said and then went back to talking about a programme you watched the night before.

You had always worried about Y/N in the years after she left, always asking where she was or what she was up to despite the fact we never got in contact with her again. I also wonder whether or not she is okay, and I knew that if I were to see her again, I would thank her for allowing us the space to fall in love.

It was awfully difficult those months after we kissed in your bedroom. We were constantly berated by people we had never spoken to before, and I knew it bothered you for a while, but we overcame it just like we did every other obstacle in our lives... together.

Anyway, as I continued to write about our trip, the door to the café opened again and three middle-aged people walked over to the elderly lady in the corner. “Come on Mum, we’ve got to say goodbye to Dad now,” the man spoke to her, and she swatted him away. Something about that small action gave me a strong sense of déjà vu.

“Give me a moment,” the woman responded, and the three children sat at the table in the chairs around her.

Eventually, they managed to get her standing up. One of them placed her coat around her shoulders, and another handed her her walking stick. When she turned to look at me, I saw a familiar set of eyes looking straight at me.

The three people aiding her walked to the door and held it open for her. As she was about to step out the door, her walking stick fell out of her shaky hands and right at my feet. I quickly picked it up and handed it to her, her face brightening at the sight of me.

“Thank you.” Her voice still sounded the same all that time ago.

“No... Thank you, my darling.”

[aliaology]

MAROON

summary: being a planner meant your life was organized. but not everything goes according to plan.

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, mentions of sex (riding), shattered glass.

you were losing it, officially. it wasn’t supposed to go this way. no, not at all. your life was not supposed to turn upside down in one hour. your life was not supposed to change. no, no, no it couldn’t, not when you had it all planned out.

you planned it perfectly. wake up, work, come home to your loving boyfriend. you were supposed to get married in july. a peaceful, small wedding. you didn’t want a big one.

quinn hughes didn’t want a big one either, but he made a big mistake. you were supposed to go to greece for your honeymoon.

you were not supposed to be standing in the doorway of your apartment. glass shattered on the floor, some still in your hand. burgundy liquid stained the white carpet and your gray shirt.

clothes that were not yours were not supposed to be strewn along your bedroom floor. heels that were not yours were not supposed to be by the bed.

your soon to be husband was not supposed to be in bed with another woman that was not you.

blood rushed to your cheeks, but not from being flustered, from being angry. you turned around dropping the rest of the glass onto the floor.

“y/n!” you heard. the audacity of a man to call for you after having sex with another woman was a slap in the face.

the audacity to sleep with another woman in your shared bed was disgusting. you stormed your way to the door, sliding your work shoes right back on.

you heard footsteps and a few hisses of pain here and there. “y/n, please!”

you turned around, looking at your soon to be ex-fiancé in the eye. your face was red, and stained from tears as you cried, but you kept your composure.

“was she good, quinn? was she fucking worth it? worth your entire fucking six year relationship, because lord i sure hope she was!” you yelled, putting your coat on.

“baby—“

“i am not your baby anymore, quinn. no, we are fucking done! i don’t care if you needed stress relieved, or if you are drunk, i dont give a fuck! you fucked another woman in our bed, our bed.”

quinn had a pained look on his face as he stood in front of you, only in his boxers.

“and dont say you’re sorry because you aren’t. you’re sorry because you were caught.” you glared at him, grabbing your keys.

“y/n—“

“will you just stop? stop trying, quinn! you did this. you ruined this! you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants for thirty minutes. maybe i haven’t been giving you attention or maybe you were unhappy but that will never— should’ve never given you the fucking right.” you scoffed out.

you turned to the door and opened it. before stepping out, you pulled your ring off of your finger and threw it to the ground. you then walked out and slammed the door behind you.

you skipped the elevator and went for the stairwell instead.

you were going crazy. messages after messages. no matter what, he was near you all the time. trying to apologize by giving you gifts, or talking to you, he kept trying.

quinn hughes was not a quitter. but he was a cheater. so in some ways, he quit your relationship once cheating.

you groaned in frustration, slamming the phone in your office down as you heard the receptionist tell you that quinn was waiting for you, yet again. you groaned even more when he came waltzing through your office door.

“what are you doing here, quinn?” you asked, drained. you leaned back in your chair in frustration.

his lips parted. lips you used to call home. your gaze fixated on them for a moment as he started to talk. your eyes shifted back to his.

“i want to fix us, y/n.” he spoke, voice raspy.

he took the seat in front of your desk and inched in closer. his eyes were red from crying. his lips were red in irritation, they were chapped.

“you very well made your mind up of where we were once that lady was in your bed.” you spit out.

your cheeks grew pink from irritation. quinn rubbed his face before his hands came together and rested under his chin.

“it was a mistake, y/n. i— i wasn’t thinking straight.” he stuttered out.

his eyes caught on the wilted flowers on your window sill. carnations. he accidentally bought them thinking they were roses, your favorite, but gave them to you anyways.

you scoffed, eyes narrowing as you looked at him. “and having her ride you was a mistake too right? putting her in your favorite position? real mistake.” you spoke, harshly.

“y/n please—“ he tried to plead.

“go home, quinn.” you sighed out.

you awoke with a cold sweat. the feeling of sadness and anger rushed over you as you sat up in a bed that wasn’t yours. you breathed heavily, hearing footsteps near your door before the knob turned and opened.

elias stood in the doorway. “everything okay?” he asked.

you were in elias pettersson’s place. in his guest room. you watched his girlfriend walk in behind him.

you nodded, wiping your forehead. “yeah— yeah im alright.” you whispered.

you weren’t. you woke with the memory of quinn over you. the feeling of him was enough to wake you up in such a way you hated it.

he left a real fucking mark on you, and you didn’t want it permanent.

you did not plan to be in elias petterssons house. you did not plan to be cancelling your wedding. you did not plan to be here. maybe you would stop planning from here on.

you looked outside. the sky was maroon. your face was red from blood rushing to your cheeks. everything was maroon.

tags (perm!): @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @outrunangelss , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @p3nislawd , @queenmendes , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot ,

[theflowerrooms]

dad spencer headcannons PLEASE

THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVED DOING THIS SO MUCH

Lowkey wanna write more dad!spencer

Spencer was always loving and caring, always doting on you. But since you’d gotten pregnant, he’s done nothing but take excellent care of you, doing everything in his power to make sure you’re not overexerting yourself, and making sure you’re comfortable and healthy.

Spencer started off having pre-parental panic for the first three months of your pregnancy. He read countless amounts of books on parenting and pregnancy, he knew everything from what you should eat to what what you should watch on tv in order to have the happiest, healthiest pregnancy.

Picking the name was a hassle, you would constantly blank, not thinking of a single name you liked, and Spencer would suggest names like Mildred, Earl, or something from a different language that, while it would have a beautiful meaning, you struggled to pronounce.

When you found out you were having a boy, you both eventually decided to name the baby after people you cared about, and when he was born, he was given the name Jason David Reid. It was beyond important to Spencer that you’d named him after Gideon.

Your birth wasn’t nearly as hard as your pregnancy, and all of it was worth it when your baby was cleaned up and in your arms.

It felt even more worth it when they placed him in Spencer’s, seeing a father hold his son for the first time. You’d seen Spencer cry, a few times. But you’d never seen him cry like this, tears of love and enchantment, tears for you, tears for your baby, and tears for your family.

Spencer was the only one in the room during your birth, at your request. It wasn’t until afterward that they let people in, and of course, the team who’d been waiting at the hospital for six hours crowded into the room, washing their hands at Spencer’s request.

You both cried again, watching your baby be passed around between these people that you loved like family. Penelope had been crying since a nurse informed her that your baby boy had been born healthy and happy. Jj cried the first time she saw him, Emily cried the second he was in her arms. Rossi sobbed when he heard his name for the first time.

Your first night home from the hospital was hard. The baby slept so good, he hardly cried, he was such a happy baby. But you and Spencer were so nervous. He’d read every book and website he could get his hands on, spoken to so many seasoned parents and paediatricians. But still you both were nervous.

That quickly faded, and you got used to having a new baby. You’d gotten used to waking up to change or feed him, gotten used to the weight of a baby in your arms.

He wasn’t a big baby, still very healthy and happy, just a little guy. And he already looked like Spencer, button nose and a full head of hair, just a shade darker than his father’s.

The baby went through a series of nicknames. Because Jason’s a lovely name, just not a baby name, and David felt worse. You went from calling him Jay, to JJ, which was confusing, to JD, which is what stuck. Baby JD, JD Reid.

JD was happy and content almost all the time, but what calmed him down fastest was the sound of Spencer’s voice. So Spencer would spend hours talking to JD, explaining the history of Hallows Eve, or telling him about different types of plants.

When JD was around 10 months, he said his first word which was bird. He loved birds, his mobile had handmade birds sewn by Penelope, his wallpaper had little blue birds just below the trim, He saw them a lot outside in the yard. Spencer cried the first time he said it, from how cute it was, from the fact that Gideon loved birds before he passed.

As JD grew, he proved himself to be very intelligent, which Spencer took great pride in. He was speaking full sentences before he turned two, he could identify many different types of dinosaurs, which became his new obsession after birds.

Spencer would read to him often, the first book being ‘Goodnight Moon’, the second being ‘The Narrative of John Smith.” JD was able to remember nearly all of the words to the books that Spencer would read to him, but he struggled to read and he was diagnosed with Dyslexia when he was almost 5.

Being a dad and husband is the most important thing to Spencer. He happily spends less time working and more time with JD and you.

Neither you nor Spencer had cried so much until you became parents, he’d cry over how cute you looked holding JD in your arms as he slept, he’d cry over how sweet JD’s voice was as he told him he loved him, He’d cry watching JD and Hank play pirates together. And he broke down in tears of love when JD ran to hug him when he got home, wearing a shirt that read “big brother”

[pebblepathblog]

Tiktoker DEPORTS Her Ex For Cheating On Her…| Justice or Cruelty?

The Breakup Revenge That Broke the Internet | A woman’s viral revenge has everyone questioning if she went too far

When it comes to breakups, some people cry, some binge watch The Notebook, and some hit the gym with a vengeance. But one Texas woman decided to deal with her breakup in a way that has left the internet stunned. Instead of the usual tears and block-button drama, she decided to get even, by deporting her cheating boyfriend back to Mexico.

Yes, you read that right. Deported.

This isn’t just your regular “he left the toilet seat up, so I ghosted him” kind of breakup revenge. This is the “pack your bags, buddy, because we’re going on a one-way trip” level of petty. This TikToker’s heartbreak turned revenge story has racked up over 34 million views, with the internet split between cheering her on and clutching their pearls.

Let’s rewind to how it all started.

It all began when she discovered his dirty little secret. She was innocently transferring photos from his phone after a vacation probably reminiscing about their happy times when, BAM. There it was, messages from another woman. Flirty, shady messages. Her world cracked open.

She did what many of us would do, locked herself in the bathroom to cry. But as her tears dried, her mind shifted from heartbreak to strategy. Should she confront him? Kick him out? Key his car? But no. This woman wasn’t about to settle for cliché breakup theatrics. She wanted justice. And justice, in this case, involved a very creative interpretation of “deportation services.”

And then, inspiration struck. If she could bring him to the U.S., she could certainly send him back.

The plan? bold, almost cinematic-level diabolical. She sweetly suggested a spontaneous trip to Six Flags in San Antonio. “It’s just two hours away,” she told him with the kind of smile that hides a storm. He, blissfully unaware, agreed.

Here’s where things get spicy. Before hitting the road, she made sure he was well-fed and emptied his bladder. Why? Because this wasn’t a trip to Six Flags, it was a one-way ticket to the Mexican border. She couldn’t risk him waking up mid-drive and figuring out the plot. Let’s be real, her attention to detail deserves an Oscar.

With him snoozing in the passenger seat, she had two hours alone with her thoughts. Part of her wondered if she was going too far. Was this too much? Would people judge her? But then she remembered the texts. That woman. Those messages. And just like that, her anger reignited. She turned up her music and told herself, ‘I brought him, I will return him’. She said in her video, unapologetic about her actions.

When they reached the border, he was still blissfully snoring. But Mexican customs agents flagged her car for a secondary inspection, and that’s when he woke up. Confused, groggy, and probably wondering, “Why does this Six Flags have barbed wire?”

The confrontation was swift and savage. She told him she knew everything, and his face, according to her, went pale. “You want to be a bastard? Fine. Be a bastard. But you’re starting from scratch,” she spat. She handed him $50 (a generous farewell gift, honestly) and told him to get out of her car. And just like that, she drove off, leaving him and his cheating ways in the rearview mirror.

TikTok? Absolutely ate it up.

The video racked up millions of views, with people either calling her a hero or clutching their pearls in horror. “Best breakup story of all time!” one commenter declared. Others joked, “Girl, you should’ve gone to Six Flags after and posted selfies with a churro!”. Another chimed in, “Immigration needs to hire this woman”.

But not everyone was laughing. Critics were quick to point out that her revenge was less “queen energy” and more “questionably legal.” Legal experts weighed in, warning that what she did could be classified as kidnapping or even human trafficking. And while she jokes in later videos that no one wants to go to Six Flags with her anymore, the ethical debate is hard to ignore.

And here’s the twist, her ex somehow managed to return to the U.S. She claims she doesn’t know how and doesn’t care. “To this day, I don’t regret it,” she said in one of her videos.

Let’s not sugarcoat it, getting cheated on is soul crushing. It makes you question everything, your judgment, your self worth, your WiFi password sharing policy. But weaponizing someone’s immigration status as a form of payback? That’s not just petty, it’s dangerous.

Undocumented immigrants live with constant fear and anxiety, every day is a tightrope walk. The possibility of deportation looms over them like a shadow, and for someone to exploit that vulnerability, even out of heartbreak, raises ethical questions. Was this revenge, justice, or something darker?

The internet is divided, and honestly, maybe that’s the point. This story isn’t just about a cheating boyfriend and a scorned girlfriend, it’s about how we handle pain, betrayal, and power dynamics in relationships.

One thing’s for sure, This TikToker’s story is unforgettable. Whether you see her as a hero or a cautionary tale, she’s left an impression. And while she might have driven away with her head held high, the moral complexities of her actions still linger in the air!

But let’s end on this note, heartbreak can make us irrational. It can make us mean. But it’s important to remember that our actions, even in our worst moments, can have consequences bigger than we imagine. Revenge might feel sweet in the moment, but it rarely leaves you with a clean conscience or a clean legal record.

Enjoyed this story? If you love thought provoking stories like this one, make sure to follow for more! From heartwarming tales to controversial debates, we’ll keep you entertained and leave you with plenty to think about.

Don’t miss out, hit that follow button now!

[superblysubpar]

potentially very silly thought that’s been on my mind for forever so feel free to ignore! but stevie has glasses right? but he never wears them bc he doesn’t like how they look/doesn’t believe he really needs them (spoiler: he does). imagine dad!steve’s little baby comin back from the doctor and needing specs :( and his kid is all sad bc they think they’ll get bullied and that they look silly, but dad!steve puts on his like “see? glasses are cool, bud!” and they wear them together <3

dad!steve harrington x mom!fem! reader

a How Sweet It Is story

summary: steve's kiddo doesn't want to get glasses | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

1.7kwords

Spring, 1993:

Steve rubbed at his forehead as he stirred the spaghetti sauce on the stove. Grace had fought him for hours, screaming and crying and throwing toys at him. He knew that all she needed was a nap but she refused, insisted that she wasn’t tired and wailed with a set of lungs that gave her Uncle Eddie a run for their money. He’s used to headaches by now though - too many hits to the head over the years and what felt like a constant squint to see things clearer, toddler tantrums were nothing when it came to the things that caused him headaches. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted her to wake up anytime soon. So when the loud crack of the front door handle hitting the wall pulled him from his thoughts he rushed out of the kitchen, hushing loudly. Whisper-shouting to you and your oldest, “Hey, hey, Grace is finally asleep!”

Nora kicked the wall as she tried to take off her shoes and coat at the same time, a flourish and frenzy of tiny grunts and zippers clicking together. Yellow dots on her sneakers lighting up and the yellow of her rain coat a fast moving blur - yellow was the color, or so he’s been told repeatedly by her in the last two weeks. He looked past his yellow blob of movement to see you slowly following her up the steps, rubbing your temple. 

Oh boy.

Nora was six. Opinionated and strong and curious. Sometimes she shocked them with her big ideas and her logic-searching questions, but every once in a while they were reminded she was in fact, a kid. A tiny human with too big of feelings and not always the right words to describe them. Right now, he’d bet money on some very large feelings bubbling up inside of her, and he just didn’t know if he could handle another tantrum. Her brown curls a mess like she’d run her hands through them too many times (a habit you’ve pointed out she picked up from him before she could walk), her face flushed and her jaw clenched, tiny hands trying to get her coat off too quickly and a furrow between her brows when it wouldn’t cooperate. 

Steve bent down to her level, hands reaching out towards her, "Hey cutie, slow down. Let me help-"

"No! I can do it myself!" tiny hands forming fists and a fury behind her eyes that would be alarming if she wasn't so small and cute. This was another new development - dad yellow is the color of the moment and oh by the way I’m a big girl now. It’s a lot for a dad to wrap his head around. 

Steve raised his hands up in surrender, "Okay, sure."

As you closed the door softly, Steve looked up and mouthed, "What happened?"

You gestured to your eyes, forming glasses with your fingers as you mouthed the word at the same time. 

His brow furrowed because why in the world would she be so upset about glasses? Heart breaking that she’s obviously incredibly worked up about something that isn’t really an argument if she needs them. 

As she flung her coat to the ground and went to stomp around it he snaked his arm around her waist, "Oh no you don't,” she huffed and crossed her arms as he squeezed her waist, “Nora, what's wrong?"

"I don't want them!" she cried out, stomping her foot against his thigh as he stood up holding her.

Steve pushed a stray curl from her forehead, faking obliviousness, "Don't want what? You gotta catch dad up here."

Her chin wobbled as she looked anywhere but at his face and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. How can she hate glasses so much? She’s six! 

Nora clings to his neck as he goes back to the kitchen, the heat turned down and stirring it once more as they sat in silence, her little huffs of frustration mixing with the bubbling sauce. He’d wait patiently until she wanted to tell him. You followed wordlessly behind, pulling down a cup for water and setting it across from him. Steve’s arm supported under her butt and he leaned against the counter to face you. 

Nora spoke finally, quietly and forced out of her pouting lips, "Glasses."

Steve rubbed her back with one hand, cheek resting on top of her head and sighed. She was way too big to hold like this anymore, and he missed it. 

"Baby, why don't you want glasses, huh? Lots of people wear glasses,” you questioned softly from your spot at the otherside of the counter. 

Nora mumbled into his neck, "Daddy doesn’t like them. People make fun of glasses."

Steve made eye contact with you over the top of her head, swallowing harshly and blinking away tears. A small and sad smile rested on your lips. You leaned your chin into your palm and sighed, raising your eyebrows at him. 

His heart dropped into his stomach as he set her down on the counter and cleared his throat, “I love my glasses, what are you talking about?”

Nora shook her head quickly, curls flying everywhere, a deep breath as crocodile tears fell down her cheeks. Voice wobbly and on the cusp of some big sobs ready to break as she spoke rushed and loudly, “No. No you do-n’t. Mommy, you, y-you told Mommy that…that…” she hiccuped but pushed on, “Losers wear glasses. And, and Jacob…hims said…he…people who wear glasses are weird and, and…”

As Nora kept going Steve clenched his fists against the counter. He’d take back any and every thought he’d had about glasses if he could. He could throw up from the guilt swirling in his stomach, that he was somehow a part of the reason his little girl was so worked up about something she needed. Something so tiny and materialistic. He’d fix this. He had to fix this. 

“Woah, woah, who’s this Jacob kid and what does he know, huh?” He kissed the top of her head, pushing curls from her face that clung to her wet cheeks.

“Jacob, daddy,” she sighed his name out, bored and exasperated like Steve should know while she hiccuped again.

Steve nodded, face serious as he snapped his fingers and you smiled from behind her, “Right, that Jacob. Okay, but babe, Jacob doesn’t know what he's talking about. He doesn't know the super special secret."

Nora's hands swiped at her cheeks, "Secret?"

Nodding he chucked the side of his knuckle under her chin and handed her the glass of water, "Super special secret."

Nora's eyes went wide above the rim of the cup and you bit the inside of your cheek as Steve nodded and leaned in, "Only people who wear glasses get to know the super special secret," he glanced at you, “Oh, and mommy’s.” 

"Tell me," Nora whined, fidgeting and tugging at his shirt.

"Well, the secret is, is that people who wear glasses are super duper crazy awesome. They can see better, like superhero vision,” the small white lies building as her smile grew and he spoke with his hands, “And because they can see better they can read faster and get smarter. They can see so good with their glasses that they can sneak into the kitchen in the dark for late night snacks and-"

You made a disgruntled noise from the back of your throat and shook your head, mouthing the word no, but tried to hide your smile. 

Steve grinned wider at you but Nora frowned, not buying it. Too smart for her own good as she countered, "But, daddy, you don't wear your glasses. And you said lose-"

"You're right, I did say that,” he bit the inside of his cheek and ran his hand through his hair before waving them around, “But that's because I didn't want anyone to know how cool the super special secret is. But now," he leaned in and kissed her forehead, "I can wear mine all the time because I'm not alone! We can be crazy awesome together."

"Really?" Nora looked up at him, wide eyed and hopeful and he had to blink back tears again. 

"Really, really," he brushed the last stray tear slipping down her cheek, "Go grab mine for me and we can head to the store and pick out yours together."

He lifted her and set her down and she raced away. Steve fell forward onto the counter, moaning as he pressed his forehead to the cold tile. 

He listened as you stood, holding his breath until he felt your arms wrapping around his waist. A kiss between his shoulder blades before he spun to face you. 

He pressed his nose into your cheek as you whispered, “Good job, dad.”

He huffed, not unsimilar to his daughter and mumbled, "I hate my glasses."

You hummed, running your hands up his back before speaking, "I love your glasses,” you laughed and kissed his jaw, voice laced with fake shock and wonder, “And why would you hate them? Didn't you hear the super special secret, Steve?"

Moved to your neck, he grumbled, "Ugh, I'm gonna punch that Jacob in the face."

A laugh bubbled out of you as you squeezed his waist, a kiss to his temple as you reminded him, "He's six, Steve."

"Right. Well. Maybe his dad then," he kissed your neck and removed himself as tiny feet raced back down the hall.

"Woah! You're right daddy! I can see crazy awesome!"

He stood up fully to see Nora zooming around the corner with his glasses on her face too big and dangerously close to falling completely off and you covered your smile with your hand.

He swiped the glasses from Nora and slid them up his own nose. Picking her up he smiled and asked, "Should we go pick out yours now?"

Nora nodded excitedly and bounced up and down once her feet were back on the floor, energy radiating off of her as he tied her shoes and zipped her coat. 

When they returned home, she nearly broke his arm, she was tugging so hard, "Mommy! Mommy! Look, look, look!"

You came around the corner holding his sleepy toddler and grinned, "Woah! Yellow! Crazy awesome!"

As he turned to close the door Nora beamed and shouted, "Daddy said the yellow was even more super special because yellow would help me see the cookies waay on the top shelf better."

Steve bit his lip as he spun to face you shaking your head, a smile twitching on your lips. He shrugged and stole Grace out of your arms with a kiss to your cheek as he mumbled, “Yellow is the best color, mom.”

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

[letmeapologise]

can i request a dad!erling imagine in which him and the reader have a baby boy and he’s all over the moon with everything he does and the reader is all 🥹 because their baby is a carbon copy of erling in every way!

❝ 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 ❞

.ೃ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ! 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰 𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐟 𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ✰ ´ˎ˗

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⌇ 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ੈ✩‧₊˚

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⌇ 𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

ೄྀ࿐ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⌇ 𝟐.𝟎𝐤 !

↳ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ೃ⁀➷ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐎𝐋. 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 "𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝😭" 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 !

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE TWO FULL DAYS, but in reality was a couple of hours, you pushed your first baby out. A baby boy. You and Erling had both decided on a name weeks, if not months, in advance; so after he had doted on you, ensuring you had a drink, food, making sure you weren’t in any pain, and anything else that you may have needed or was on your mind. He brought in the paperwork for you to sign to say you confirmed the name, Emil. It was like a switch flicked when he was born, you saw glimpses of his frown looking back and forth at him by your side and the nurse by your legs comforting and motivating you to push. 

His face after he was born turned from one of concern to that of awe and admiration, the same look he would give you while fondling your pregnant stomach, but amplified tenfold more. His mouth slightly agape, in shock, you swore he was almost crying when he held him for the first time; watching his sleeping face resting on his palm, his son’s head smaller than it.

He tucked his bottom lip in, likely trying to compose himself in front of you seeing as you wouldn’t want to do anymore crying after two hours’ worth of labour. You had already held him, of course, but seeing Erling holding your son made you want to tear up even more.

You breathed in deeply, wiping your face with your hand as a nurse kindly passed you five or six tissues as you thanked her groggily, rolling one up and pressing it against your nose and face. You slipped out of the side of the hospital bed, two nurses immediately offered to help you to the bathroom but Erling waved them off politely, insisting he would, leaving the baby in a cot to be overseen by the nurses accompanying you momentarily.

“At least wanna do something,” he had said, you scoffed, laughing and teasing him. “You did do something, you helped make this baby in the first place!” he rolled his eyes and glared at you, helping you down to the toilet while he held the door shut from the outside in case you struggled with the lock.

While he held the door shut from prying eyes, he couldn’t help but stare at his newborn son, it didn’t seem real. He couldn’t believe there was a baby lying around nine feet away from him that was a combination of both himself and you. He felt as if he would wake up tomorrow and he would be gone, he just dreamed it up. He panicked for a split second, what if he hurt him? What if he couldn’t raise him properly? What if he couldn’t spend time with his son due to work?

His mind was racing with possibilities, but you lightly tapping on the door the other side woke him out of it.

The door swung open and he smiled at you. This was a team effort, and at least he wasn’t raising him alone. You, the embodiment of perfection and kindness would surely set your son off on the right path; he just wanted to help you in any way shape or form while you did so, you helping their baby while he helped his. He walked you back towards your baby, spread out in its crib, quietly cooing to itself.

“Should I get the car seat?” Erling asked you, you just nodded, sitting down next to the crib and simply watching your baby. Your baby, you could say that now. He was here. He was real. He walked back in with the car seat, adjusting it and balancing it against a chair opposite yours and gently picked up Emil, cradling him in his arms and placing him – all swaddled up in blankets, a matching hat, and complimentary nappy – as if he was a fine piece of china about to smash into a million pieces, into the car seat.

He strapped him up and then held in sideways so he remained lying down for good measure, and you both walked your way to the car, you slowly hobbling while complaining about stomach pains.

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen when we get home, yeah?” he had said, but his eyes never broke off of the baby’s, and you didn’t blame him. It was around this time that Erling started mumbling to himself about parking the car closer to the emergency room entrance, you however just laughed as Emil started kicking his legs in the air.

“He’s gonna be a footballer just like daddy,” Erling just grinned at you, not expressing the way he imagined kicking a ball about in your garden with his son. He hadn’t even considered that before, the fact that his son might continue on in his footsteps as he did with his.

You continued cooing at the baby until you finally reached the car, the cold air nipping at your cheeks and nose until they bloomed a red colour. You tightened the blankets around Emil, tucking his beanie over his ears so he doesn’t get too chilly, and then fastened him up in the passenger seat next to Erling, then you went to the back. “I’m not used to this,” you had confessed, chuckling to yourself and doing up your own seatbelt, hearing the click and soon after Erling’s.

He turned to face you in the backseat, eyes wrinkling up. “Having a baby?” he joked. “Do you have experience in that sector?” you waved him off, rolling his eyes. “Sitting in the back, not next to you. Guess I’m gonna have to get used to it,” he scoffed. “Jealous of a baby born half an hour ago?” you narrowed your eyes at him interrogatively, furrowing your brows and he raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Watch yourself or I’m gonna start saying some things the baby won’t wanna be hearing,” he laughed, then turned the engine on. “Don’t think he can understand anything yet, can you?” he cooed at his son, reversing out of the parking spot and checking behind him in the car mirror.

“What do you think his first word is gonna be?” you asked. “Hope it’s mama and not dada,” you added, Erling scoffed, making a turn down the road and away from the hospital. “You’re gonna have to get used to crying, Erl. You’re gonna be doing a lot of it now he’s here,” you admitted, recollecting his tearful eyes threatening to spill out and wet his cheeks earlier on.

“I know,” he murmured. “Imagine his first day of school,” you gasped. “I won’t be able to cope for the whole week, you’ll have to get me a bucket to cry into before I wave him off.” He looked at you, frowning through the car mirror. “He’s only just been born, babe. You’re still stuck changing nappies for the next three years.”

You huffed, glaring at him and jabbing an accusatory finger at him while staring at the car mirror.

“You mean you?” he met your eyes through the mirror, grinning. “I’ll be the one breastfeeding. So you better put your shift in, just ‘cause you’re doing football doesn’t mean you won’t be changing nappies and feeding him at three am. Let me have my beauty sleep, Mr. Haaland,” he laughed, mumbling something out the car window as he rolled it down just a bit, placing the smaller side of his palm against Emil’s head to check his temperature, softly pulling into the driveway and picking up Emil, still in the baby car seat, taking him into the house and creaking up the stairs – internally cursing himself as the noise threatened to wake Emil up – and placing him down in the bassinet next to yours and his shared bed.

The car seat was now left abandoned in the corner of the room, both of you huddled around your son’s crib.

That’s where he remained for the majority of the first couple of weeks, if you were being brutally honest, aside from midnight nappy runs in which Erling partook in, you just rocked him back and forth in your arms and whispered nursery rhymes to him. Baa-baa black sheep was his favourite so far, most likely due to your passionate attempts at mimicking sheep noises that he giggled and clapped his hands at. You had recorded his first laugh as Erling missed it, he returned home having watched the video grumbling to himself and persisting that he wanted to make him laugh.

Which then evolved into a challenge between you both on who could make Emil laugh the most. At his teammate’s wedding he wasn't paying attention to the procession, and kept telling you that he was sure Emil was going to laugh at him any second now, just cupping his hands over his face and exclaiming peek-a-boo in the worst possible moments. Yet he stayed adamant – he was going to laugh any second now – despite it being two or three more months of ‘any second now’ he finally laughed.

Erling practically sprinted to you while you were having a nap, shaking your shoulders. “Baby, baby. He laughed!” he repeated, you looked up at him groggily, unable to process what he was saying to you in your sleep induced state. “He laughed!” you whipped your head round, rubbing your eyes and then widening them, racing him back to your baby as he followed after you with gleaming eyes and smile lines up to his ears.

Emil on the other hand was utterly oblivious to your smiles, just throwing his blocks around and bubbling to himself. He watched as you both sat down in front of him, you resting on your knees and Erling cross-legged looking expectantly at his four month year old son. He imitated what he did earlier, grabbing a pillow from beside you and popping his head around it, Emil smiled at him with his chubby cheeks, big brown eyes batting his eyelashes at his dad, but he didn’t smile.

Erling groaned and his face dropped. “He did laugh, I believe you, babe,” you rubbed his arm comfortingly.

“Hey, do you wanna go outside with dada and play football?” you nodded up and down at your son, rising back to your feet with your hands resting on your thighs. “Yeah? Go in the garden with dada?” he nodded, Erling already making his way into the garden upon hearing your suggestion, a small inflatable ball in his hand. “Dada,” Emil imitated and your mouth fell agape, eyes widened. Erling dropped the ball, snapping his neck around and running to his son, lifting him in the air and spinning him around. “I knew it! I knew it!” he laughed, you covered your mouth with your hand, his first word.

You should have been celebrating, you were, but it was dada, not mama. 

He was definitely rubbing that in later, but for now you simply congratulated your son and yourself. “I said it, he said it ‘cause I said it,” you shrugged, trying to relieve yourself. “He said dada,” he beamed at you, carefully placing your son back on the floor and giving him a small hug, ruffling his hair.

“You better be celebrating this much when he says mama,” you grumbled, Erling huffed with laughter at you. You faked a frown at your son. “Why do you have to be his biggest fan? Is he your favourite parent?” you teased, gasping at your son in an attempt for him to copy you and make him imitate your facial expression.

Erling chuckled to himself, phone in hand likely texting a friend about the milestone achievement. “Go and grab the ball, Emil. Go get it!” you encouraged, grinning at him. Erling rolled the ball over as your son crawled towards it, half-slapping it and grabbing it with both hands. Erling picked him up with the ball still in his hands. “Yeah, go play football with dada. You Haaland clone,” you teased, groaning to yourself. “Carried you for nine months ‘n’ this is how you repay me!” you started chasing after Erling, both of you giggling as Emil squealed in his hands.

“I’m gonna get you!”

୨୧ @𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ୨୧

[fiction-is-life]

Congrats on 500 babe! You deserve every single one of them and so many more 🤍 Can’t wait to see you continue to grow and flourish 🦋 love you so much

Can I please request an angsty but fluffy blurb based on this prompt “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” with Rafey baby? I will cry 🥹

Need You

Author's Note: Aww, thank you so much!!! You are too sweet! Thank you for always commenting/reblogging my fics, you seriously don't know how much it means to me! I hope you like this one, I almost cried making it! 💕

Summary: Rafe is lost without you.

Warnings: Pregnancy/labor complications, mention of surgery, depiction of a coma, possibly unrealistic depiction of pregnancy/labor complications

~

It had been over a week.  Eight days, thirteen hours, and forty-six minutes to be exact.  

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  For the past seven and a half months, your pregnancy had gone off without a hitch.  Every sonogram, every little kick, was a source of joy for both you and Rafe.

Sure, you were young, practically still kids, but you knew you were meant to be.   You had been planning your life after college for years, even before you had started to date.  You were just doing things a little out of order.

But then you had gone into labor early - six weeks too early to be precise.  The doctors said you were lucky to be alive, let alone fortunate that the baby had survived.  They had said that it was a condition called placenta previa, but Rafe hadn’t been listening.  He was still looking at your seemingly lifeless body on the operating table as they handed him the baby, asking for a name.

But he couldn’t even bring himself to name the baby.  He knew it was a boy, but it didn’t feel right to do something so monumental while you were still not awake.  He let his dad and Rose handle everything else, let them make him eat and listen to the doctors say they didn’t have much hope.

Rafe hadn’t even let himself cry - he was still too stunned to do so.  He just sat at your side, watching you.  On the eighth day he broke down, exhausted and drained, and he started to talk to you.

“He’s healthy, you know,” he said, his voice raspy from disuse.  “He’s perfect.  Ten fingers, ten toes.”  He took a shaky breath - the only kind he knew how to take these days.  “He’s got your eyes.  Rose says he has my smirk, though, so I don’t know if that is a good thing,” he chuckled.

He paused and took your hand, gently caressing it.  He sniffed.  “The nurses keep telling me all the stuff I’m going to have to do for the baby.  I know we took those classes, but I feel so overwhelmed.  I just can’t mess anything up for him, you know?  I thought I was going to have you to help me.  You have always been there, (Y/N/N), ever since we were kids.  Always so level-headed, getting us out of trouble wherever we found it.”

Tears started to roll down his face, slowly, but he couldn’t feel them.  “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” he sobbed, finally letting himself feel the emotions that had been pent up for over a week.  He buried his head in your hand, kissing it and covering it in tears in equal measure.  

He sat there for what seemed like forever, simply expelling all of the grief and terror from his body.  When he finally looked up, he gasped and started crying anew.

You were awake.  Rafe leapt out of his seat to kiss your beautiful lips carefully, his trembling on top of yours.  When he pulled back, his heart caught in his throat, and all he could manage to say was a small, “Hey.”

You giggled lightly, still tired.  “Hey,” you replied, also lost for words as Rafe once again took your hand to kiss it reverently.

Rafe smiled, his eyes shining with love as they always did when they looked at you.  He took a deep breath and swallowed before licking his lips as he always did when nervous.  “Would you like to meet our son?”

You just smiled, and Rafe knew that everything was finally going to be alright.

~

My Masterlist

Celebrate with me!

Taglist: @adventuresinobx @bradleybeachbabe @starkeyobx @penny4yourthoughts @hjvkcygtrtxvuoui @topperscumslut @drewbooooo @honeybear-yammy @gillybear17 @hoebx @arsonistthornton @fangirlfree @get0ut0fmyr00m @poppet05 @graywrites20 @yellowbitchs-blog @laneyy003 @hydraironcaptian @honeybuzzzzzz​ @strokesofstokes @ietts

[sunkissedandseraphic]

My Guardian Angel is Crying: Chapter 1

Story Summary: When Rick and Michonne watched Judith walk onto the school bus, calling out a small "I love you!" before the doors closed behind her, they smiled, knowing their family had welcomed another good day. But merely hours later, they receive a call that shatters their world: while going back to the classroom after their time on the playground, someone had managed to kidnap Judith, and there was no trace of who took her and where she was now. Desperate to find their little girl, Rick and Michonne were determined to get to the bottom of this, even if that meant supporting each other and their son in the midst of their own breakdowns. They had to find her, because if they didn't, they'd crumble into pieces too small to put back together

Chapter Summary: Everything had started so normal for the Grimes family: they shared their tender morning moments before the kids left for school and Rick left for work, but eventually, all the joy the morning brought would soon be shattered within seconds

Warnings: Kidnapping/child abduction

A/N: I am working on requests! Due to school I have not written much new, so I'm posting some work already on my ao3, but trust I will get to requests!

The day had kicked off just like it always did, the routine becoming something the family could find structure in: Rick woke up to his alarm at the crack of dawn– or what King County liked to call six in the morning, and as he tried to head for the shower, Michonne’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him back under the covers. Maybe he could use another five minutes in bed.

After finally being released from his wife’s grasp, Rick headed for the bathroom to get ready for work while Michonne went down the hall to wake Carl up for school and start on breakfast; god knows Rick Grimes was no chef. While Michonne was busy downstairs, Rick would shower, put on his uniform, and quietly make his way into Judith’s room to get her up and ready for school; it was their system, and it worked just right for their family.

But, if you had told Rick and Michonne that morning when they hugged their little girl goodbye as she walked onto the school bus, it could have been the last time they would ever hear her voice or hold her in their arms again, they would have called you insane. 

Although, bad things happen to good people every day. 

After kissing Michonne and Carl goodbye, Rick was quick to hop into his patrol car and head down to the station. He knew he’d have a long day ahead of him; after recently busting a drug ring case he had been assigned to, Rick had piles of paperwork awaiting him at his desk, ready to just swallow him whole. He had warned Michonne and his kids that he would likely be home late tonight again, and that those late nights would hopefully start to dwindle now that the case had been closed.

When he finally got to work, the hours blurred together. The paperwork was long and extensive, and to make sure it was done right, Rick needed a lot of patience he was rapidly running out of. Between looking back at records and reports, his desk had turned into a sea of paper, making Rick feel like he was drowning underneath a tidal wave. It wasn’t until his phone started ringing in his back pocket that he snapped out of his focus and realized just how long he had been at this, and how much he really needed to clean his office. 

He fished his phone out, groaning, and answered when he saw Michonne’s contact pop up on the screen. “Michonne, can I call you back? I’m buried under–”

“Rick, she’s gone.”

Michonne’s panicked, wavering voice caught Rick off guard. What was she talking about? Fear surged through his body like lightning, and his heart started to race so fast he could hear it in his eardrums. “What? What are you talking about? Who? Who’s gone?” 

“The school just called, they… they can’t find her! She– She was on the playground and now they just… they can’t–”

The horror in her tone sent a shiver down his spine. In the years he’d known her, Rick had never once heard Michonne sound so upset, so genuinely terrified. Her words came out so fast and so frantic that he could barely process anything she was trying to say. 

“Michonne, honey, slow down, I-I can’t understand you. What are you saying?” He asked, attempting to ignore the anxiety rising in his throat, making his stomach churn. This wasn’t normal; something was not right. 

There was a pause on the other line, the only sound being Michonne’s shaky breathing, followed closely by a sob. Rick’s heart dropped into his stomach, but before he could ask any more questions, he heard his wife’s broken voice say the worst three words the man could have ever heard.

“Judith is missing.”

Rick’s whole world seemed to stop spinning at that moment. His little girl, his daughter, his life, was missing? 

Nausea washed over him instantly, and it was a miracle that Rick could sift through the brain fog and sudden ringing in his ears fast enough to form a coherent response to what he had just heard. “Where are you?” God, he felt like he was suffocating; how did he deserve to breathe when his baby was gone?

“I-I’m heading down to the school now. Carol… Carol is picking up Carl when she picks up Henry and Sophia, but the school needs us down there. Now.” Rick went to nod, barely able to recognize that Michonne couldn’t see him, taking a minute before he was able to speak again– his mouth felt like a desert, when did that happen? When did he seemingly forget how to talk?

“I… I’m on my way…”

Rick felt like his mind was on autopilot as he hung up the call. His hands were trembling as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, staring out into space before slamming his fists down on the mess of papers, sending a few stragglers flying off the desk. Cursing under his breath, he reached for his jacket and threw it on, practically running out of his office and down the hall to his captain’s. 

Knocking on the door, a voice called for him to enter, and soon, Rick zoned back in to find himself standing in front of his captain, Deanna Monroe, who seemed to be awaiting what he had come into her office to discuss.

He struggled to swallow against the lump in his throat, causing tears to start blurring his vision. Rick quickly reached up to wipe his eyes before clearing his throat, knowing he needed to get out of this building and be with his family. “Captain, my wife just called me: our daughter, Judith, is, uh… she’s missing. The school needs us down there, I need to– I need to be there,”

The more Rick talked, the more strained his voice became until it eventually cracked at the end. He watched as his captain’s face transformed into a horrified expression as she quickly sat up in her chair, eyes wide with sympathy.

“Shit, Rick, go, alright? I’ll get someone to cover the rest of the paperwork for that case, just go,” Deanna was immediate to assure Rick, dismissing the man as she stood and walked towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Rick couldn’t help it as his head dropped, letting a tear finally roll down his cheek at the small touch. “Thank you,” he nodded, sniffling as he rushed out of the room and out to the parking lot.

The entire drive over to the school, Rick was numb. He couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t hear the radio blasting at full volume over the sudden return of the tinnitus that now plagued him. He couldn’t see anything except for what was directly in front of him, the world elsewhere seeming to go fuzzy. He couldn’t think, feeling as if somebody else was in control of his actions. 

The next thing Rick knew, he was bursting into the principal's office at Judith’s school. He scanned the room: he saw Michonne sitting in one of the chairs, eyes stained red and puffy, Judith’s kindergarten teacher and her classroom aid, a detective that he recognized from his own station— Dwight was his name, Rick remembered being on a case or two with him— and he saw Paul Rovia, the principal, sitting behind his desk in front of him.

He couldn’t contain himself anymore. His breathing was ragged as he struggled to stay focused on the scene in front of him, his chest constricting more and more every second.

“Where is she?!”

Rick snapped, adrenaline running rampant through him. He could feel his shoulders shaking– from fear or fury he could not tell– as he tried to keep himself grounded, but as the principal stood up from his chair to greet him, Rick barely allowed him to get a word in. “Mr. Grimes, thank you for coming–”

“Where is she? Where is my daughter?” His eyes narrowed at the man standing in front of him as demands left his lips, volume rising with every word. The officer was in no mood for pity condolences and reassurances; he wanted answers, and he wanted them now. 

Paul shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to ease his agitation before attempting to calm Rick enough to get him to sit down for just five minutes. “Mr. Grimes, if you’ll please–” he started to say, gesturing to the empty seat beside Michonne, but Rick wouldn’t let him say another thing. He let out a huff as his head dropped, the deadly mix of dread and outrage finally boiling over. “No! I need you to tell me where she is!”

“Rick.”  

Then just like that, in an instant, Rick’s anger seemingly dissipated. The sound of Michonne’s voice, the feeling of her hand resting gently on his arm: it was like a siren song to him. Pulled out of his trance of rage, Rick looked down to meet her tearful gaze, and it left him heartbroken to see his love look so destroyed.

Obeying her pleading stare, Rick lowered himself into the chair beside her, weaving his hand tightly into hers as tears welled up in his eyes. He paused to collect himself; run his thumb over the tops of Michonne’s knuckles, take some deep breaths, and find his way back to a sane mindset, where he could be fully present in a conversation that made him want to be sick.

“What… What happened? Where’s our Judy?”

The room fell silent as the couple waited for an answer, and with every moment they didn’t receive one, an ill feeling slowly crept higher into their chests. Judith’s teacher was the last one to see Judith and the first one to finally speak up with her story. “Judith was out at recess this afternoon with the rest of us and as I was bringing them back inside to our classroom, I did a headcount as I’m supposed to and she was there; everyone was accounted for. I lead the class back inside and we get ready for our math lesson. A few minutes later I realize that Judith isn’t in the room,”

The two lovers hung onto every word they heard, trying to find any shred of hope in this nightmare. Feeling her fingers shaking, Rick squeezed Michonne’s hand, praying that small touch would give her some comfort– not that he could blame her if it didn’t. The only thing that could make any of this better was seeing their sweet girl, being chased around the house by Carl, giggling like a madman as she ran off with the cowboy hat she had once again stolen from her older brother’s room.

What Rick and Michonne wouldn’t do to see her smile again.

“I asked my students if anyone had seen her and when nobody could give me an answer, I asked the teacher in the next room to take my class so myself and a few other staff members could try and locate her. We looked in every room in the building and did a sweep of the grounds outside but nobody could find her anywhere. Even after dismissal, we searched again to see if we had missed her, but with the building empty we still couldn’t find Judith anywhere, and it would be pretty easy to see a missing student after everyone had gone home. All of her belongings are still in her classroom cubby,”

“We fully believe this to be a kidnapping,” Dwight said, straightening his stance as he spoke, leaning against the corner wall in the office. “We’ve retained the security camera footage from the last time Judith was seen on school grounds and we have video of a woman loading your daughter into her car and driving off. I had Tara run the license plate number down at the station; Mr. and Mrs. Grimes, do either of you have any connection to a Mrs. Lori Walsh?”

If it wasn’t sickening enough already, then this was just the cherry on top.

Hearing that name was like a punch in the gut to Rick. As Michonne gasped, Rick pulled away from his wife’s grasp and buried his head in his hands, a string of swears coming out before he could even process what he was saying. Of all the people in the world, of all the sick, cruel people to do something like this, Lori Walsh would have never been on the top of his list; hell, he doesn’t even know if she’d be on the list at all. 

“No, no, that’s…” Michonne started to argue, but trailed off, too in shock to finish her thought.

“Goddamnit! Fuck!” Rick’s fists slammed on his knee, a tear finally falling down his cheek. He felt like throwing up. He couldn’t take this anymore. Sighing, he nodded, mentally preparing himself for where this conversation was going to go. “That… That woman is my ex-wife.”

“Is there any reason you could think of that would cause your ex-wife to do this?” Paul asked, leaning forward, starting to fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket, immediately followed up by a question from Dwight. “Does Mrs. Walsh have custody or parental rights over Judith? Any kind of legal claim over her?”

“No. That woman has no kind of claim on our daughter.” Michonne answered instantly, a sharpness in her words that could cut glass. All gazes moved to Rick, who hadn’t looked up from a speck of dust on the rug since Lori’s name had been mentioned. It took some time for him to find the words, but once he did, every detail just poured out of him. 

“Lori and I were married right after we graduated college, and not long after we had a son together. I’m a deputy for the King County Sheriff’s Department, and my partner was her current husband: Shane Walsh. When Lori told me she was pregnant, I-I didn’t know she had been having an affair with him for a few months. She wasn’t sure who the father was, and I didn’t find out until I caught them when Judith was about two years old. I filed for divorce, Shane moved stations, and Lori and I shared custody of our son and Judith. It wasn’t until a little less than a year after our divorce was finalized did I realize that I… I didn’t want my kids, our kids,” Rick reached over and grabbed onto Michonne, almost as if her hold was grounding him, giving him the strength to go on, “living with those two. Ever. I… I couldn’t trust her around either of them. So, we contacted my attorney and fought to revoke custody and terminate her parental rights to both of our children,”

“And what was your ex-wife’s reaction, Mr. Grimes?”

“She put up one hell of a fight, I will say that much– both of them did.” He scoffed, cocking his head. He hated having to be reminded of this time in his life; a time where he was tossed around in a whirl of guilt, heartache, and anger, born from a need to keep his kids safe. “Shane may be Judith’s biological father, but that is my little girl.”

The next few minutes were filled with legal questions that Rick had been anticipating since he’d arrived. He knew how this whole thing worked, he knew he could trust his station to find Judith, but that knowledge didn’t provide him with as much security as he would have liked. He and Michonne answered Dwight's questions about Judith’s appearance and description, recent information on Lori and Shane, all the stereotypical things needed for arrest warrants and news stories.

“Do either of you have the last known residence of Mr. and Mrs. Walsh?”

“Yeah, but if they took Judith they wouldn’t be there. Shane’s a cop, he’s smart; knows all the ways to get around the law, and how to stay out of trouble. But Lori? Lori doesn’t know shit. She’ll do whatever Shane tells her to. Without him, she’d be clueless,”

Even though they knew Rick was likely correct in his assumption, the couple gave Dwight the information regardless, knowing anything at this point could help find Judith. 

Not long later, Principal Rovia was spewing apologies and promises to the two parents, and as Dwight walked them out, he could see the evident despair on their faces. He couldn’t blame them, of course, how else were they supposed to react? 

Before they could leave, Dwight clamped his hand comfortingly onto Rick’s back, offering a sympathetic smile. “We will find her, I promise,” Dwight whispered, earning an appreciative nod from Rick, and a tearful grin from Michonne. 

As Dwight grabbed his walkie from his belt, holding down the button and muttering something neither one of them could hear into the radio, Rick turned to Michonne. He couldn’t recall a time when she looked so hopeless, defeated; it caused his soul to shatter. With no hesitation, Rick took her into his arms, stroking her hair as he felt her bury her head into his jacket.

“They’re… They’re gonna find her, alright?”

He assured her, but in reality, he could barely force himself to believe it. In response, Michonne said nothing at first, only gripping onto her husband with all the strength she could muster as a sob ripped from her throat. She had already lost her Andre, years before her beautiful life with Rick and Carl and Judith, and she couldn’t handle losing another one of her babies. She wouldn’t accept that.

“I want our Judith back…”

The words were barely above a whisper, but Rick’s ears picked up every one, her quivering breath only making him hold her closer. He had nothing he could tell her anymore; Judith was gone, and their world was crashing down around them.

[kendallroydefender]

Somewhere only we know - Chapter 13 (Kendall Roy x Reader)

Masterlist

Series summary: You met Kendall when you were six years old. You have spent every summer together and now years later you and him are still just as close. This story follows Kendall and his best friend through their lives. Will they realize their feelings for each other before it’s too late?

Chapter summary: While the Roys are at their mothers wedding you get a phone call that is turning your world upside down. Following the events he makes a decision that could change his life for the better and yours too.

Authors Notes: We’re so so close to an confession!! I hope you like this chapter! Much love to everyone who’s still keeping up with the story! 🤍

Wordcount: 3.1K

You hear you’re phone ring. The caller ID says Connor wich makes you furrow your brows. Why would Connor call you from Caroline’s wedding? You accept the call, with a weird feeling spreading in your stomach, remembering last time you got a call from a Roy family member that wasn’t Kendall while they were out of the country.

”Hello?“ You ask slightly wary. He says your name in a somber tone before telling you ”Something happened.“ You take a deep breath the dark feeling starting to grow.

”It’s about Kendall. There was an accident and he, yeah, he almost drowned.“ He says and your breathing stops

”He fell off a pool float, he was drunk. We don’t know if it was an accident or..“ Tears gather in your eyes ”Is he..?“ You ask even if you’re afraid of the answer of how bad it is. If he died you don’t know how you would cope. ”He is stable, they’re keeping him til tomorrow.“ You close your eyes and exhale a shaky breath ”Can you send me the name of the hospital? I will be there as soon as possible.“ You ask him. ”Y/n you don’t have to-“

”No. Con, I need to.“

He mumbles an okay and take care, you tell him you’ll be in contact with him and if there’s any news about Kendall he should call or text you.

While organizing a jet you get a suitcase out and throw in anything you can catch. It feels like you’re almost in some kind of trance, you’re almost too calm. In less than 15 minutes you are out of your apartment and on the way to the airport.

You board your families jet, Connor has send you the name and address of the hospital Kendall was admitted to. You have also texted with Jess and Roman. You haven’t contacted Kendall himself, maybe you’re scared he will tell you not to come and because he was still not awake when Connor called you. You aren’t even sure if he knows that you’ve been told about what happened.

You know you should use the next hours to sleep but how are you supposed to when you don’t know what happened to your best friend, the man who you are in love with. You open your phone and go to the folder with all the pictures you have of him. There are funny ones of the two of you together and others where you attended galas and dinners together. You stop when you reach one where Kendall is sleeping. He looks so peaceful and carefree. You’ve taken it a year ago when he fell asleep on your couch while watching some movie. You wonder when it all went so wrong, you remember when he carried you all the way home on his back to your parents summer house after you cut your foot at the beach. Or when he rapped along to his new favorite song on your dorm bed. The way you two danced through the night in Shanghai’s clubs. All these memories rush through your head and you can’t stop yourself from crying.

You arrive at the hospital after an exhausting 10 hour flight and a taxi ride. You had slept for about an hour before waking again, too anxious to drift off again. You knew Kendall wasn’t doing well but you hadn’t thought it was this bad. You feel like you should have noticed how bad he was doing.

You ask to see Kendall but you really haven’t thought this through because you’re met with an ”I’m sorry signora, we can’t let unauthorized people to him. Only family.“ you nod, turning around contemplating what to do. Connor told you they weren’t going to the hospital but will see him after he’s released. You see Comfry on her phone. Jackpot.

You walk over to the blonde woman who smiles at you and gives a little wave. After she hangs up, she brings you to Kendall’s room. She stops outside to tell you about what happened, when and how he was found, that he’s mostly fine now but they kept him overnight to be sure.

You open the door to his room, he is resting on the bed, awake and looking out of the window. ”Kenny.“ you get out before tears come to your eyes. His head snaps towards you fast, he’s shocked to see you here. Who told you? Why did you come? It reminds him of the press conference where you appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He knows it was Roman who told you what was going on but still it feels like you always know when he needs you most by his side.

He says you name and you walk towards his bed, crushing him in a hug. He strokes your hair and after minutes you let him go. ”Sorry, sorry.“ you say wiping your tears. ”It’s okay, please don’t cry.“ he tells you cupping the side of your face. ”You shouldn’t have come, nothing happend. I’m fine, really.“ Kendall tells you to wich you shake your head. ”Kendall. No - of course.“ you tell him. Did he really thought you wouldn’t come after you heard what happened? ”Connor called me and I knew I had to get here. I just needed to see you.“

You don’t pry him about the situation knowing he will talk to you on his own terms. You just lay with him on the hospital bed. Pressing kisses onto his shaven head. ”My Dad- Uh, he won’t let me leave.“ Kendall says to you in a low distant sounding voice. ”What?“ you ask confused, since you’ve read the birthday card where he offered it. ”We had dinner yesterday. I wanted out but he- yeah, he said no.“ Kendall answers you and you feel like you swallowed a hot stone, you’re so mad at his father. Logan’s constant psychological abuse of his children. ”God. Kenny.“ is all you get out and just from that the man knows you’re mad. ”It’s okay.“ he assures you and you turn so you face him. ”No it’s really not. God i hate him so much.“ you can’t help yourself ”I’m so sorry Kendall. You don’t deserve being treated like that. You deserve so, so much better.“ he feels tears well up and he blinks fast, tries to swallow all these feelings again.

Instead he asks you if you’ll come with him to his mothers wedding and of course you say yes.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Comfry comes into the room a few hours later with one of the doctors, Kendall is being released. A car is already waiting outside.

You arrive at the house his family has rented. You catch Sophies eyes and give her a small wave and a smile. She smiles back, happy to see you. You eye Logan warily who sits next to the kids. Suddenly acting like a grandfather, you fight the urge to scoff. He looks at you but you avert your eyes quickly, turning toward the siblings who sit around a table playing monopoly. They make some jokes about Kendall’s accident slash attempt and you roll your eyes, wich Connor catches. But you don’t care, you’re here for Kendall. Connor sounded worried yesterday when he called you, you don’t understand how they can act like that now, not even a day later.

”Kids! Come on we’re leaving!“ Kendall shouts and you wrap your arm around Iverson. ”What are you doing here?“ Sophie asks with a mischievous grin. She’s not opposed to you and her father dating. She was old enough when her parents divorced to know it was better that way, she heard them fighting. Iverson took the break up harder and you can’t blame him. ”What? can’t I just go to the wedding of my best friend mother?“ you say to her jokingly.

”But you weren’t here yesterday?“ Iverson asks ”Y/n had a work thing she had to attend, that’s why she’s late.“ Kendall says quickly. He loves how well you get along with his kids, even if that means having Sophie asking him questions about you two later.

While Kendall is off to a meeting with his siblings, wich unbeknownst to you is an intervention, you and Comfry go to find you a dress to wear for the festivities. You have grown to like the woman even though your relationship with her is definitely not as deep as yours and Jess.

You buy a dress that fits you perfectly and is fitting for Carolines wedding.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You attend the wedding alongside Kendall. You give your congrats to Caroline and her soon to be husband, who’s name you already forgot. You’re sitting with Willa and Connor. Kendall wanted you to sit with him at the family table but you assured him you’re fine. He argued that you would be his plus one for this event but you declined. Your eyes find each other’s during the speeches multiple times, sending small smiles across the lawn.

When the eating part is over you and Kendall stay close to each other, holding hands the entire time, his arm around you. It just feels natural and you both just want to keep physical contact after everything that had happened who wouldn’t try to seek some comfort.

Maybe it’s the fact that he could have died but you just need him close to you, to feel that he’s alive. And he feels the same, he doesn’t want to get away from you. He doesn’t care about all the guest around, not really keen on striking up a conversation with anyone that isn’t his best friend.

You’re leaning into his shoulder while he smokes when Shiv and Roman come and ask to talk to him. He shrugs and tells them that he’s not interested but they are consistent and it seems like it’s urgent, so he relents and excuses himself from you for a moment. He kisses the side of your head goodbye and you hear Shiv ask ”So what? Are you together now?“ as they walk away.

The next time you’re hearing from Kendall is while you’re with Connor and he tells you about his upcoming campaign when you get an incoming call from Kendall. You excuse yourself for a moment and walk a bit away from the other guests before you answer the call. ”Y/n! We had to leave the party. We’re going to kill dad.“ he says and you furrow your brows ”Metaphorically speaking of course.“ he adds ”Wait- what? Who?“ you stammer, still confused on what is going on ”Me and the sibs.“ then he explains their plan before telling you, you can’t tell anyone about this but you wouldn’t anyway. Before hanging up he promises to call you as soon as he can and you promise him to stay with his kids until then. You stay at the ceremony, sitting with his children, you talk to Willa about her engagement and Connor reminisce about your childhood. You dance with Sophie and Iverson and briefly talk to Greg who tells you about his Comfry / Duchess dilemma and you laugh at his words. ”Nooo Greg, you can’t treat Comfry like that. She’s so nice to you“ you tell him honestly.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

”How did killing Logan went?“ you ask once Kendall comes back into the house he’s staying in. It’s late and Sophie and Iverson are already in bed. You had texted Rava earlier that you had taken the kids back to the house. You knew she was feeling better if you looked after them then when Logan did, after all he had hit iverson before. She had called to talk to the kids and you had spoken to her afterwards.

You’re sitting on the couch, skipping through the tv channels when he comes back. You glance at him as he steps into the living room and you can tell it didn’t went down smoothly. ”Tom fucked us.“ he says and your eyebrows shoot up „Are you serious?“ he sits down next to you, his head leaning back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling ”Yeah he told him about our plan.“ you would have not thought Tom would go like this against his wife. ”But the sibs and me, we’re gonna do our thing. Without dad.“ he tells you before saying ”I told them about uh, Shivs wedding.“ you know instantly what he’s referring to.

”It’s funny, Roman said the same thing you did.“ he says and you turn, so that you’re facing him ”It’s the truth Ken. It was an accident.“ you say and he looks at you, nodding a little, it’s really faint and you could have easily missed it.

”Are you hungry? The chefs already left but I got some leftovers in the fridge for you.“ he thinks then that he doesn’t deserve how much you care about him. You flew here as soon as you heard about what happened to him and now you make sure he eats. He loves you. More than a friend and he has known this for some months now. Your love is the purest most unconditional kind of love he has ever been given and he knows he needs you in his life, you make him a real person. You don’t see him as an extension of his Dad, or some famous douchebag, a Roy. You don’t see him as a killer. You see him. Kenny. Kendall. And he thinks he would like to come home to you every day. He wouldn’t dread his apartment anymore. Maybe it’s the fact that he could have died that day but he feels like he needs to get better and to confess his feelings to you finally. He can’t let this chance you two have go away again. Not if it could be everything he wanted for a long time.

"Thank you.“ he says then and you know that he’s not only talking about leftovers. "No need to, Kendall.“ you scratch his buzzed head. "I appreciate it, really. It uh it means a lot.“ he says and you answer him "Well you mean a lot to me.“ and he can’t help the smile forming on his lips. While you put the food into the microwave Kendall goes to say goodnight to his Kids. He eats on the couch next to you and after you watch some tv show you go to sleep. There are like thousand rooms in this house but it’s not a question that you are sharing a bed.

You’re laying on your side and Kendall rests on his back when he starts speaking

”I know things are difficult right now, uh with me and I know im putting a lot on you too.“ Kendall admits and you know this is hard for him. ”Its okay, Kendall. I know you’re going through some things at the moment and that’s not your fault.“ you tell him before adding

”And you don’t need to apologize, its beyond your control and of course im there for you. Like you’ve been with me when I was going through hard times.“

”Yeah but I feel like its my fault with the-“ he clears his throat ”With my relapse.“ He finally says and you swallow. Its progress that he can admit that he’s struggling again instead of telling you its fine.

”I feel like, I- I- am maybe at my breaking point.“

He turns on his side, facing you now.

”I think I need to, I need to get better. For my siblings. For you.“ you take his hand in yours ”For me, uh for me too.“ he says at last

”I think that’s a good plan, Ken.“

You whisper "I love you.“ as he drifts off to sleep and he lets himself feel a shimmer of hope that everything could get better.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You flip through the papers Jess had dropped off at Kendall’s earlier. They’re rehab facilities he could go to. Its a few days later and you’re glad he’s still planning to go.

”Do you already know wich one you’re going to?“ you ask

”I think the one in Denmark sounds good. It has an eight week programm.“ he answers and you flip to the clinic he meant.

Reading over the text it does sound nice and the pictures look good too.

”When will you go?“

”They have a spot in two days open.“ you nod

”Do you want me to come with you?“

”To Denmark? You don’t have to.“

You give him a smile ”Yeah, but that’s not what I’ve asked.“

He takes a breath looking at you sincerely

”Of course I would like you to come but I, uh, I can’t let you do that. You’ve already done so much for me.“

You shrug now

”When does the jet leave?“

••••••••••••••••••••••••

He takes his shirt you’ve worn the night before with him. It smells like you and he needs something that reminds him of you. He doesn’t tell you, but you’ve seen him put it in the suitcase. But you don’t care, you kept one of his too and there are still multiple ones around your apartment. And two months is a long time for you two to be apart.

”What happens to us if I go now?“ he asks when you’re in bed that night. His fingers drawing shapes onto your arm.

”We’ll have all the time in the world when you come back. But now you need to focus on yourself.“ you tell him cupping his face. It’s the truth but it’s also a promise. You are aware that whatever is going on between you isn’t purely platonic anymore and more than just a crush now. It’s seems like it’s always on the brink of spilling over. You hope that you can talk about it once he returns, but he needs to be clean for that so you can be sure it’s what he really wants.

”I’ll be right here.“ another promise, he won’t come back to find you in a relationship.

You’ve waited such a long time these few months won’t matter.

”I’ll be back soon.“ he says

”Take as much time as you need.“

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

There are a few photographers and you’re glad for the darkened windows of the car. You arrived In Denmark yesterday evening and spent last night in a shared hotel room.

His hand is still in yours. Since it’s a private clinic with high privacy values you’re being driven through big gates that close behind you. You give him a long hug

”I’m really proud of you.“

He holds you a little tighter.

”I love you.“ he answers

”I love you too, Kenny. So much.“

”Thank you. For, uh for everything.“

”Always.“

You sit for a few more minutes holding each other before he knows it’s time to leave. He releases his arms from around you

”Goodbye Kendall.“

”Goodbye Y/n.“ he tells you and you press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 74: Alone

TWs in the tags

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You feel safe when you’re alone.

You didn’t, for a while. It wasn’t a conscious thing, but if Puppy or Kitty weren’t around, they couldn’t protect you if Jane decided to hurt you. And you used to feel like if Diya or Ray weren’t nearby it would be easier for Barron to hurt you. But slowly, without you realizing, you’ve gotten more and more comfortable with being alone, and now it doesn’t scare you at all.

It’s not like you avoided being alone before. You even specifically asked Diya to let you go on walks alone. Though that was before you really trusted em…

Really, you didn’t feel safe alone or with other people, and now both feel safe. You don’t worry about people hurting you when you’re hanging out with them, and you don’t worry about being unprotected when you’re alone.

You worry that you’re wrong, sometimes. Because you thought you were safe with Jane and you were wrong. But… that’s not exactly how it happened, is it? You suspected something was off. That’s why you went into the basement in the first place. Really, the only reason you fell for it at all was because you wanted it to be true.

And you want this safety to be true, too. But you don’t let that keep you from being alert, and even as you’ve looked for evidence that you weren’t actually safe, you’ve found very little.

You’ve gotten a lot better at handling flashbacks and panic attacks and nightmares alone, too. It’s easier with help, of course, but you know that if you get triggered and no one’s around, you’ll be okay. You’re okay alone and you’re okay with people around and you’re just… okay. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.

Alone time is fairly rare in the cabin, and that’s fine too. Once you’ve saved Kitty and Puppy it’ll be even more crowded.

You guess that once Jane is dead, some of you will have to move out. You don’t think Barron or Diya or Ray would ever kick you out, but six people is a lot in a two bedroom one bathroom cabin, and it’s a lot of people for Barron to support on one income.

Ray said you could stay if you wanted, but maybe it’d be nice to have a place with your own room. You’re… not sure how you would achieve that, but it would be nice.

You really should start thinking about how things will be once Jane is dead…

But it’s a nice day. You think you’ll go for a walk and try to make a fancy meal for everyone for dinner. Yes, that sounds nice. Or maybe you could start getting into baking and try to make brownies or something.

You don’t have to worry too much. When the time comes to figure out real life things, you won’t have to figure it out alone.

~~

Diya would prefer literally anything to being alone, ever.

It’s not the healthiest, but Ray, Barron, and now Liam are always there for em, so ey doesn’t have to learn to be okay alone. Ey doesn’t have to be alone at all if ey doesn’t want to.

Still, when they wake up in the middle of the night and find that Ray’s not by eir side, ey always panics, and Ray always is back within a few minutes to reassure them.

I was just going to the bathroom.

I was just getting a drink of water.

I just heard someone crying and went to help.

Where else would I even go? I’m always here

I love you, Diya

Ey knows it’s stupid, and ey can handle it when someone’s separated from em by a few walls during the day. But at night, when ey’s only half awake, it’s as terrifying as if ey woke up back in eir little cell in Irving’s home.

Having Liam around has helped. Now if Barron is at work and Ray wants some alone time, Diya doesn’t have to remind emself over and over and over again that Ray didn’t leave em, they’re just in the other room, it’s okay. Ey can just hang out with Liam! Liam’s great.

Ey knows ey should probably find some activity that ey only does alone, so ey has something to associate with being alone besides hours and hours in a little concrete cell with nothing to do, or with waiting outside doing nothing but watching for 7 hours because she said she’d come back and if ey goes anywhere else she might just assume ey’s forgotten her-

Diya knows being alone doesn’t have to mean being abandoned, but it still feels that way, and building new associations is hard.

Diya is fine with living a life where ey never has to confront being alone. Ey can have one unhealthy coping skill, right? Not even that, really, just one issue ey isn’t ready to work on yet. Ey can have that. Ey can have that because ey isn’t alone.

~~

Master taking Kitty, and then Bunny, is the best thing that’s ever happened to Puppy. Which sucks, because it’s the worst thing that ever happened to either of them. They’d be better off dead.

This, Puppy has learned, is the price of her happiness. Every reward she’s given, every moment of mercy, comes at the cost of someone else. Master only feels merciful when she’s been unceasingly violent for hours before. Master only gives rewards to condition her and the others, and her conditioning has and will always lead to other people getting hurt.

When Bunny gets taken back, it will be the same way. Puppy will have someone else, someone who brings her joy, and every moment of that joy and gratitude will mean pain for him.

Kitty’s been more compliant lately. This makes Puppy happy, because she knows she won’t have to listen to Kitty keep getting punished over and over again, but she knows it’s bad for them. She holds them and tries to whistle through her muzzle while they come down from Master’s drugs, and they cry and cry and cry, asking who they are and where they are and why this is happening over and over and over again. It’s bad for them, but Puppy would rather see them cry than see them covered in blood.

The only thing Puppy has to hold onto are these little joys. Not being alone, seeing someone get hurt less, having someone to hug that won’t pull out a knife. This is how she comforts herself, because every life is hard and this is the one she has to live so she might as well find joy in it. But she can’t ignore that most of the time, when she has found something to be happy about, she is happy alone.

~~

I can’t connect to people the way mortals can. That full, unrestrained love that comes when you can age together with someone, when you share in the risks mortality brings. I can’t have that.

I can’t connect with other immortals either. I don’t fully know why, but I can guess. Immortals in general are very stingy with affection, having watched loved ones die and rot more times than mortals can even imagine. So I can’t connect with mortals because they are nothing like me, and I can’t connect with immortals because they’re fucking cowards.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. Sitting and ‘resting’ for an hour like Peyton recommended, even after I proved to her it wouldn’t work. It just leads to thinking too much, which sometimes helps with things like realizing my pet never gave me that key back, but mostly just makes me even more miserable.

Connections are stupid anyway. Just another way to hurt people.

Maybe I’d feel better if I killed someone’s family in front of them, leaving them just as alone as me. It’s worth a shot.

…After I finish my hour of rest. I don’t know why I’m doing this.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else! Literally nothing happens in this chapter but if you preferred plot progression to meandering through a character’s thoughts you wouldn’t be on chapter 74 of Jane’s Pets lol

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 21 - Surgery

I finally finished up the rest of the filing and stretched my neck, reaching the nurse’s station.

‘That’s it, I’m done for the day.’ I said to Sophia who was just starting her shift.

‘You want me to check them for you?’ She said with a raised eyebrow, making me laugh.

‘Probably a good idea.’ I admitted. ‘One week and I will be back with a brand new shoulder.’

‘Well good luck, we’re all rooting for you.’ Sophia took the files and I still didn’t leave.

‘Call if it’s urgent.’ I reminded her. ‘I can consult from home.’

‘We’re under strict orders not to call for any reason.’ Sophia grinned, but I didn’t get it.

‘Cuddy?’ I guessed, frowning.

‘Dr House.’ She said, making my heart drop. ‘He said he’d be around to take any case that comes in, he’d do the filing, the paperwork, everything.’

‘And you believed him?’ I smirked, surely she hadn’t fallen for that.

‘I asked him why he was doing it and he said because it was the least he could do.’ That was unexpected. ‘What’s going on? You two back together?’

I shook my head, no longer interested in the conversation. I headed straight for the lift and with everything I could, I resisted the temptation to go to House’s office.

Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to avoid him completely. He was waiting for me in the lobby.

‘I just had the most awesome case with a priest.’ He said, trying not to say anything too heavy. ‘The preachy God part sucked, but he was a paedophile, then he wasn’t, then he had aids, then he didn’t. It was cool.’

I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded and went to walk past him, but I could hear the sounds of his cane catching up to me in the car park.

‘Why are you following me?’ I turned around just as we reached my car.

‘Because I wanna talk to you about your surgery tomorrow.’ He said it plainly and simply.

‘Really?’ I folded my arms, hating the fact that it was snowing.

‘It’ll be two hours long, they’ll go in remove the shrapnel that is about to start causing real problems and then recovery will take a relatively short amount of time with physiotherapy lasting for up to six months.’ He said it like he was talking to a medical student and I suddenly remembered Wilson’s words.

‘Why did you put yourself on call for my department?’ I asked, not wanting to play games.

‘I figured you’d want someone competent to make sure it runs smoothly while you’re recovering.’

‘I have other doctors in my department who could do that.’ I countered.

‘They might make a mistake.’

‘And you won’t?’ It was only then that I realised I was crying.

‘I won’t make a mistake.’ He said, seriously. ‘I’ll follow protocol, I’ll file and do the paperwork.’

‘But why?’ I was getting frustrated.

‘Because you’re terrified and I want to help.’

Wilson was right, he really didn’t know how to process any of this.

‘House, I am scared that I am going to be put under and not wake up.’ I explained. ‘It is a rational fear to have and stranger things have happened. I don’t need someone to help with what happens afterwards, I need someone to help me get into the OR feeling optimistic.’

It was like talking in a foreign language. I gave up, it just wasn’t worth it anymore. I went to get my keys out of my bag to unlock my car.

‘I can do that.’ He said, quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.

‘It’s not your job-‘

‘I know.’ He cut me off. ‘It’s also not my job to take over your patients, but… I want to do it.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘No, you’re right I don’t!’ He snapped, catching the attention of a few people around us. ‘I don’t want to deal with paperwork or boring cases like evident heart disease in obese idiots. But I want you to love me again!’ He seemed to run out of patience and I didn’t know what to do. ‘I don’t know how to do this. You have to show me how to do this.’ I thought he might have cried. ‘Please.’

I honestly didn’t know what to do. ‘I didn’t stop loving you.’ I nodded, feeling my cheeks burn with the tears that had already fallen. ‘I just…’

‘What?’ House took a step toward me and I both couldn’t stand being so close and hated he was still so far away.

‘I just didn’t think I’d miss you so much.’ I confessed. ‘We’re not warm and fuzzy people, we’re practical and rational and that has worked for us, but you wanted to change the terms of that agreement and I still don’t know what it is you really want.’

‘I want you.’ He tried to say it like it was obvious.

‘Beyond that. What do you want?’

‘Why does there have to be a beyond?’ He said, frustrated. ‘Why can’t this be it?’ I didn’t know how to answer. ‘What do you want?’

That was the magic phrase to make me start to cry a little more. ‘God, Greg, I want to go home. I want to sleep. I don’t want to be in pain anymore and I don’t want to feel like I’m some poor broken soldier. I want to have a real life where I can do the things that make me happy. I just want to sleep again.’

I took a long moment to breathe and stop crying, looking anywhere that wasn’t at him and wiping away my tears.

‘Sleep with me.’ He said and I just looked at him, not being able to believe he just said that. ‘I don’t mean like that.’ He corrected himself. ‘I mean actually sleep in a bed with me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you sleep better when I’m there.’ He gave a half smile and I was once again getting sucked in by those eyes. ‘You should get some rest before the surgery and you should use whatever means necessary to do that.’

‘You’re saying I should use you.’

‘I’m saying I’m volunteering to help.’ He sighed. ‘In whatever way I can.’

There was something in his expression that told me if I refused him now then I’d never have a chance to find out what he really wanted with me, what future he saw. I reasoned with myself that the full nights sleep would do me good and maybe I should be selfish for a while.

I drove us both to my place in silence. It was a little awkward but it was better than being stood in the snow arguing. We had a quick drink, but soon ended up in bed facing each other.

‘You know you’re not going to die tomorrow.’ He said, his blue eyes scanning my face in the dim light.

‘I might, the anaesthesia might have a weird effect on me and I might not wake up.’ I reasoned, but instead of arguing, House just watched me.

‘Well, if this is the last night you have on this Earth, what would you want to do most?’

I thought about it and I realised that I’d rather be in bed with him, staring at each other, talking about nothing, than anything else I could think of.

‘This.’ I whispered and again watched him process the information.

‘Can I kiss you?’ House’s eyes darkened and I couldn’t do anything but let my gaze drop to his mouth.

House softly pressed his lips to mine, it was gentle and slow, like we were committing everything to memory, but never pushing for anymore. We spent the time tensing before I fell asleep, kissing softly and staring at each other trying to figure out what to do next.

‘Everything’s going to be okay.’ He breathed as my eyes closed, unable to keep them open anymore.

House was in the viewing gallery when she was being put under, he gave her a wink as her eyes began closing. She would be fine.

Wilson was waiting outside the surgery, he wasn’t expecting that.

‘Are you going to take her home?’

House didn’t answer he just walked past Wilson and headed to his office.

‘Were you with her last night?’ He asked, he was becoming more and more irritating by the minute. ‘House, you gotta give me something.’

He went into his office and began getting on with work.

The surgery went well, all the shrapnel was removed, she didn’t die or even present with any infection or issues afterwards. Anna would be perfectly fine. He took her home when she was ready to go and stayed with her for the week. He didn’t give her any updates on her department, he let her rest and relax while she had the chance.

‘You’re painting again?’ He asked, seeing a mark on her arm.

‘Oh, yeah just a little practising.’ She lied.

‘Why are you lying? If I go in your spare room, am I going to find a naked man?’ He teased, making her laugh. ‘Seriously, what’s going on?’

Anna gave in and went into her spare room, he saw a small canvas with a partially finished canvas, it was him, an almost photographic image of his face. She was good.

‘I thought, I had the time to practice so I’d give it a go again.’ She defended weakly. ‘It’s not finished or anything, I’m a little rusty.’

‘It’s perfect.’ He said. ‘You gave up painting to become a doctor.’

‘I didn’t consciously give it up, I just got busy.’ She said, standing next to him. ‘We done in here?’

‘Sure.’ House said and decided not to push her on it.

He played the piano for her while she ate and made sure she took her medication when she needed to. But at some point he knew they needed to have a proper conversation.

‘I like this.’ He said, watching her lay on the sofa, her eyes growing heavy. ‘I like being here, I mean the stairs are a pain, but I like being here… with you.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying we should be together.’ House knew this would be hard. ‘I’m saying I’m in love with you and we should be together.’ He waited for a few minutes for her response, but she didn’t say anything. ‘Do you have anything you want to say?’

Anna inhaled deeply and he watched a tear fall from the corner of her eye. ‘What does more mean for you?’

The one question he didn’t know how to answer. The one question she needed answered. If he could just figure it out, he had a chance to make this work.

‘It means whatever you want it to mean.’ He thought about it. ‘I don’t care what that is.’

Anna didn’t say anything, she just watched him and eventually he began playing the piano again. She fell asleep on the sofa and a part of him didn’t want to wake her up, but she would be in pain if she stayed there. He got her into bed and asked if he could stay, she smiled and nodded and finally he felt like they might have been on the right track.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : ten

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, mentions of abuse (physical, sexual, mental but no details). If you’ve read this series you know

Author’s Note: she’s here

[ S E R I E S M A S T E R L I S T ] 

OCTOBER EIGHTH — DAY FIVE

Santi knows his hair has to be completely disgusting — he hasn’t been home, hasn’t left the hospital for even a second and doesn’t plan to either and he’s more than thankful that he doesn’t have to ask Jay to grab him what he needs from the apartment, he just does.

Jay’s been bringing Santi clothes and chargers, food and books and other shit and now he has his shampoo and conditioner since he finally convinced one of the nurses to give Santi access to the locker rooms. He even grabbed her products that had been sitting in the shower next to Santi’s, partially because he wanted her to be able to use her own things when she finally could but also because he’s seen the empty bottles in the trash once or twice in the last year. He knows Santi’s gone through more of her soaps than he has of his own, knows he’s had to replace hers while his are the same ones that had been knocked to the shower floor when Nathan-

Jay stops himself and physically shakes his head to put his mind somewhere else, honestly anywhere else.

He walks into her room once he feels like he’s collected himself enough and stops in the doorway almost immediately, blinking a few times just to make sure that what he’s seeing isn’t a trick of the light or something else.

Santiago’s holding her hand. He’s fast asleep with his hand in hers, his head resting against her thigh and part of him wonders if this was just something he’d done in his sleep, if he’s even aware that he’s touching her but when Jay sets the bag down, his eyes snap open at the small sound.

“Sorry,” Jay mumbles, quietly moving to the chair on the other side of her bed. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Santi doesn’t say anything. He just nods a little bit and closes his eyes again, and Jay takes a moment to assess him.

Yeah, his hair is a total mess and he looks tired, so fucking tired and his eyes are swollen from crying — honestly? It’s not much different from how he’s looked for the entire last year.

A shower, even though Jay knows it’ll be a quick one, should definitely do him some good.

“I’ll stay with her,” Jay says softly, not wanting to chance waking her. “You go clean up.”

For a moment, Jay thinks Santi’s ignoring him because he definitely doesn’t acknowledge him, but after a few seconds he watches Santi swallow and shake his head, the action so small he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking.

“I don’t want her to wake up while I’m gone.”

He didn’t want her to wake up and him not be there.

As badly as he knew he needed to shower and probably shave, it wasn’t worth the risk of her waking up without him by her side.

“Take ten minutes,” Jay prompted, holding up the bag he’d brought. “Baby wipes and deodorant can only go so far.”

Ten minutes, Santi thinks. So much could happen in ten minutes.

But he knows Jay is right and he knows Jay will stay with her, won’t let anything happen to her. So he grabs the bag from Jay and all but jogs to the locker rooms, his hand that had been holding hers all night feeling absolutely numb but not because he hadn’t moved it in hours.

Because it was empty.

He pulls his clothes off and hops into the stall, not even waiting for the water to heat up properly before wetting his hair and working her shampoo into it — he hasn’t taken a shower this quick since he was in the army, honestly probably since basic. He forgets a towel and dries himself off with his old shirt before getting dressed again, and shaving isn’t something he even considers. When he makes it back to her room, only nine minutes have passed and she’s still asleep.

Taking her hand back into his is so easy this time.

OCTOBER NINTH — DAY SIX

She manages to stay awake for a while longer.

She doesn’t talk, really she doesn’t look away from Santi at all but he gets to see those eyes he loves so much for a little longer each time she wakes up from a nap. He gets to feel her fingers flex in his hand, gets to watch as she’s quicker to realize that she isn’t dreaming.

OCTOBER TENTH — DAY SEVEN

Graves wants to talk to her. That’s the last thing Santi fucking wants.

“She isn’t ready.”

“The more details we can get from her, the sooner we can find Nathan.”

“You really think you’re going to find him now? You couldn’t find him for a fucking year, when he had her.”

“Because we didn’t have anything to go off of. Now we have her.”

Santi laughs. He actually fucking laughs and shakes his head. “You have nothing. She’s hardly said anything in seven days, she’s not going to sit there and answer your fuckin’ questions for the twenty minutes she’s awake.”

He wouldn’t let him put her in that position, not until Santi thought she was ready. He turns around to head back into her room but Graves’ voice stops him.

“The longer we wait, the further away Nathan gets. We’ll never find him if we don’t get her to talk.”

Santi doesn’t tell him that he doesn’t want them to find Nathan.

He doesn’t tell him that he still wants to be the one to hunt him down.

That he wants to make Nathan play his game.

OCTOBER ELEVENTH — DAY EIGHT

“You haven’t left.”

Her voice shocks Santi, if he’s being completely honest, because he wasn’t expecting to hear it. It’s the first time she’s said anything that hasn’t been prompted by a question or clouded in delirium.

It makes him smile, just a little bit.

“You expectin’ me to go somewhere kid?” he hums, resting his chin on the guardrail along the bed as he adjusts his hand in hers.

She looks down at their hands, tentatively wiggles her fingers in his, like she needs to make sure that what she’s really feeling — his skin against hers — is real.

“You don’t want to go home and sleep in…”

She hesitates, and it kills Santi because he immediately knows why.

She doesn’t know if she can still call it their bed, she’s not sure if she still shares it with him or not. He quickly realizes that she’s probably not even sure if they still share a home or if she even has one once she leaves the hospital.

“I’d rather be here with you than in our bed by myself,” he mumbles.

Santi feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about the girls he’s brought home, the ones he’s fucked in their bed, on the same mattress they’d bought when they first moved in together.

He makes a promise to himself to burn it and buy a new one, and he’s so full of guilt he almost can’t bring himself to crawl into the too-small hospital bed when she uses all of her energy to scoot over and make room for him next to her.

Almost.

He’s not sure if he’s crying because of his sin or if he’s crying because he’s holding her for the first time in a year.

OCTOBER TWELFTH — DAY NINE

She sleeps most of the night, but through her bouts of consciousness they whisper quietly to each other.

It reminds him of how it all was before. For just a few fleeting moments here and there, he can pretend before a beeping monitor pulls him back into reality.

While she sleeps, he plots all of the ways he’s going to make Nathan suffer for doing this to them. To her.

OCTOBER THIRTEENTH — DAY TEN

The fog finally lifts and as soon as it looks like she’ll be able to remember things a little clearer, Graves is insistent that he talk to her, and Santi finally relents.

“As soon as I tell you to stop, you’re going to stop, understood?” he tells the agent, his jaw set — honestly? He still doesn’t think she’s ready to talk but he knows Graves is right to some degree. She needs to, and Santi can only try to protect her for so long.

Graves just nods and doesn’t really look at Santi. There’s part of him that doesn’t want to have to do this either.

Santi heads back into the room before Graves, watching from the doorway as Jay quietly talks to her. He’s sure he’s explaining what’s about to happen, and where Santi thought she’d panic, she remains calm. He figures she’d been expecting this at some point. He hates it for her, he hates it all so much but he just tries to keep himself calm and crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his once again.

Graves is gentle as he introduces himself to her, and Santi is grateful for that, that much he can admit but he still has that bitter taste in the back of his throat. He’s just worried that bringing up the trauma is going to push her backwards instead of forwards.

“Do you remember what happened the night you were abducted?”

Santi flinches, and she hesitates, almost like she’s trying to rationalize that yeah, that’s what happened. She’d been taken, kidnapped, whatever you want to call it.

“I…I was in the shower,” she says, pulling the blanket tighter around her legs.

Graves nods slowly. He’s not writing notes, not letting his attention divert from her for even a second and it’s another thing Santi is grateful for.

“I heard something in the bedroom and I thought it was Santi.”

“But it wasn’t?”

Santiago knows he’s just doing his job but the question makes him want to hit the other man.

“No,” she says immediately, shaking her head, seemingly just as appalled by the question. “I called his name but he never answered me. I was getting ready to get out and check on him when I heard the showercurtain open.”

Graves nods again. “Who stepped into the shower with you?”

“Nathan Graham.” She says his name with such venom in her tone, Santi hates himself for the small wave of pride that shoots through him at her resilience.

“Your ex boyfriend, correct?”

She nods and her grip on Santi’s hand tightens just slightly, barely. “He had a gun but I knew he wouldn’t shoot me, so I fought back.”

Another wave of pride that makes Santi feel sick, just like it did a year before when he’d seen the damage done to the bathroom and instantly knew she’d put up a fight.

“And then he bashed my head into the mirror and…when I woke up I was tied up and…sore.”

Everyone knows what she means without having to ask. Santi’s blood boils and he really does think he’s going to vomit.

She tells Graves everything — about the videos Nathan would film and the time he shot her in the thigh, about The Game. How she was rarely given food or water and how she’d go days without a shower, weeks without seeing sunlight. No heat in the winter and no AC in the summer. Bruises and cuts that had turned into scars — the one in her eyebrow hurts Santi the most because it was the first.

Her heart rate starts to spike when she starts going into detail about The Game, and a nurse comes in shortly after to usher Graves out of the room. Santi waits until she’s asleep again to run to the sink and throw up.

[sukirichi]

the morning after – gojo satoru ver!

warnings: slight dirty talk and suggestive content, like the yuuji one, nothing too explicit! Oh and a teasing, cheeky gojo :>

masterlist ! (photo not mine)

It doesn’t hit you until you’re whacked by an arm in the face. Literally.

You whine and push the foreign weight away that smushed your nose at the impact, less than pleased because you’re having the best of your life, but someone had to ruin it. Nevertheless, you refuse to open your eyes and settle into the warmth that encases you in that moment. It reminds you of your precious unicorn plushie you left back at your apartment; cuddly, precious, keeps the nightmares away, but the best part about this human teddy bear is that he’s all firm muscles and body heat instead of fur cotton.

Wait, what? Human?

It’s when you hear the man stirring above you with a husky groan that you freeze in your spot, eyes snapping wide open your vision blurs for a split second. The first thing you see is smooth skin and firm pecs, followed by a slender, strong neck and a sharp jawline – oh god.

So last night wasn’t a dream.

Clenching your teeth and even biting the inside of your cheeks to stop squealing – more out of embarrassment and shame than happiness, really – you slowly reach up between your squished bodies to pinch your cheeks, bringing blood and feeling back into them. No wonder you’ve slept so well last night, and as someone who prefers pulling an all-nighter until you pass out in the middle of an anime series, it’s quite rare to find a good eight hour sleep.

It’s not like you had much...activities performed that would take up too much energy. Until Gojo Satoru came, the teacher from the Tokyo school, and also the notoriously infamous “strongest jujutsu sorcerer.”

You’ve had a crush on him the moment you’ve started working as a teacher in the Kyoto school. Utahime, who was closer to him, was incredibly appalled when you told her one day about your raging crush on the white-haired man who looked absolutely breathtaking with his blindfold, but without them?

Just the thought of having seen them last night, when he was between your legs, no less, has you inwardly groaning and cringing so hard you feel so shameful that you can’t even look him in the eye. Satoru is fast asleep above you, one of his strong arms lazily draped over the curve of your waist and his fingers brushing against your bum. When you shift a little to give you both space, his fingers begin to hover dangerously close to a sensitive area and you let out a tiny squeak, muffling it with the back of your fist before he awakens.

This man had the Six Eyes – the last thing you wanted was for him to sense and notice the little things and wake up. No, you had to leave before he even gets the chance to move.

The chances of not waking him up was pretty slim, but you’ve always been proud of your sneaky movements that you try anyway. Fortunately, Satoru doesn’t seem to be a hardcore cuddler because he doesn’t pull you back when you finally slip past the sheets.

You freeze for a moment at the edge of the bed, still in disbelief that you actually slept with him. No, no, that’s wrong, you’d have slept with him anytime if he allowed it but – he actually slept with you. It’s not that you’re looking down on yourself because you’re also a special grade sorcerer and could stand your own ground confidently, but your powers when it comes to exorcising and your social skills are two different things that don’t even come close together.

You’re not worried that a special grade curse would kill you and take away your privilege of finishing that new manga you bought in your day off because you know you could handle it easily, but as a person, there’s a stark difference between you and Satoru.

True, he wasn’t exactly liked by everyone because he refused to be limited by rules and regulations, always claiming that one should not be hindered by the narrow-mindedness of the others, but it was something you really admired about him because you’re not like that. You’re old school, sticking by the book, much like his co-worker Nanami Kento who equally hates overtime, and while Gojo Satoru was loud and confident, you’re more of the person who stays by a corner during a party.

Which is exactly what happened last night at Utahime’s birthday party – aka the old wrinkly principal isn’t here so let’s get wasted type of party.

You’re not surprised that Gojo Satoru walked in, but when he did, you had to clutch your spirit water and drink it in haste because he’s got you feeling thirstier than you did last night – and you drink your water plenty. But how could you remain sane when he looked so gorgeous in just his uniform and his laughter has butterflies erupting in your stomach?

Truth was, you’re satisfied watching him from afar. It’s not like you ever plan on asking him out or being his friend because you’re sure Satoru has better things to do and prettier people to talk to, so when he sits next to you in the desolate leather couch, legs crossed over one another and his arm right behind you (although not touching, he respects your space) you nearly pass out.

One thing leads to another, and you find yourself writhing under his arms, shamelessly crying his name over and over again until the dead hours of the night that has his ego inflating.

You don’t remember how or exactly why it happened, but definitely, alcohol had to be involved. There’s no way Gojo Satoru would actually notice you, much less sleep with you, when he’s completely sober, which is why you scramble around the room with the blanket covering your bare body as you look for your discarded clothes.

If he wakes up and sees you, he’ll probably regret everything that happened last night, if he remembers any of it, anyway.

But you’re most definitely mostly sober through the whole thing, so you remember how good he was in making you feel like a goddess. The way he sucked on your neck, licking a stripe at your burning skin while his large hands groped your breasts possessively, all the while rutting in that perfect spot that has your eyes rolling at the back of your head with your nails running down his back – you shiver just thinking about it.

Gojo Satoru really has that effect on people.

You hide your flustered state and quickly pull on your undergarments, about to slip the sweater over your head, only to die on the inside because you realize you’re wearing those full cotton panties instead of sexy lingerie. With a groan, you fight back the urge to cry. But then again, who could blame yourself for not dressing sexily? It’s not like you had any idea that this would happen.

You’re halfway through your jeans when Gojo’s husky morning voice breaks through the silence. “Leaving already?” you hear him smile, although your back is turned to him, face completely morphed into terror. “Such a shame. I was actually thinking shower sex sounds nice – if you’re into that, of course.”

“Satoru,” you greet lamely with a bow, avoiding the way his stunning eyes raked over your form with an unreadable dark expression. “Uh, you’re awake, and...good morning, I guess.”

Gojo smirks at your flushed cheeks, and it takes everything not to stare at the way his biceps strain from the way he supports his head, hair sticking in every direction and looking absolutely sexy in the morning light. “Good morning to you too, Y/N,” your breath stifles, because he knows your name? “Although it would be an ever better morning if you weren’t such in a rush to leave,” he chuckles, “It makes me feel like maybe you regret what happened last night.”

Your head snaps up at his words as you shakily wiggle your arms, “No, that’s not true, I loved every second of it! It was...it was the best night of my life,” your cheeks tinge a shade darker when Gojo beams at your words, chest almost puffing out proudly. Shyly, you turn away from him and fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I just...I didn’t think you’d still want me here around, because you were drunk last night and all and I thought maybe you’ll regret it, which I don’t want to happen so yeah, I just thought I’d leave before I get to...” you clear your throat awkwardly, “...be rejected like that.”

“Y/N,” his voice falls an octave lower, the thoughts in your head growing so loud you don’t even hear that he’s already left the bed, and now he’s cradling your chin until you’re forced to witness the galaxies burning in his eyes. “You thought I was drunk last night and did it because I was just horny? That I would regret it and forget all about it?”

His proximity has your breath stuttering, your eyelashes slapping your cheeks as you blink rapidly. “Well, uhm, I’m not really your type, so I think it was safe to assume that.”

Gojo hums at your words, his calloused thumb running over your lips. A small smile flits across his face when he remembers how much of a good girl you were for him last night, obediently opening those lips up and letting him bask in the warmth of your wet cavern before swallowing all he has to give. Funnily enough, Gojo isn’t the best with his words, so he just tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before sighing.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he finally admits. The confession has you slipping from his grasp, but Gojo snakes his arm around the small of your back to pull you to him, the warmth of his bare skin seeping into your clothes. However, it’s nothing compared to the lust and adoration burning in his eyes – one you can’t properly fathom in this clouded state. “Tipsy, sure, but I assure you I was aware and sober for every little part,” his lips hover at your ear, one of his hands coming at the back of your neck to tilt your head to the side, granting him access to the hickeys he’d purposely left.

Just the sight of his markings on your perfect body has a tent growing in his pants. You feel his erection rub at the pad of your jeans, eliciting a small whine from you, and this makes Gojo resist the urge to bend you over right then and there. But he doesn’t do that, because he knows your body is too tired from his ministrations, and he’s nice enough to give you a break – even if that’s not exactly what your burning core wants at that moment.

“Like the way you clenched around my cock when I hit that sensitive spot of yours,” he laughs when you shiver at the way his breath tickles you, “Or how pretty you look when you cream around my cock, begging me to go harder because you can take it, and baby, I promise you, I loved it just as much as you did.”

Finally, Gojo pulls back, and he’s extremely satisfied when he sees how small and innocent you look just like that, as if he hadn’t just folded you in half to watch the way your pretty pussy welcome him and take him better than anyone else just hours ago.

“But,” he continues, “I think I enjoyed it a lot more, considering I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time now,” at his words, you furrow your brows, and that’s when he realizes his mistake. Gojo reverts back to his usual lighthearted self and fans his hand out almost comically with his hands on his hips. “I mean, not just the sex, though it is amazing, but having you close is what I meant. Like holding your hand or getting to kiss you,” he sighs dreamily as if you’re not in the same room as him.

“Uh,” you awkwardly begin, unsure of what to say. “Are you saying you like me?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, which shouldn’t have been such a sexy look on him, but because he’s Gojo, it was. “But Utahime said she’d cut my balls off if I even get near you. Thank goodness she was too drunk last night to ever see it, but I’m glad I talked to you. I’m just ashamed I’m only saying this after the sex but...would you like to go out with me?”

Thanks to his Six Eyes ability, Gojo is blessed with the privilege of seeing you malfunction before him as you try to find your words.