#sick!grayson hawthorne x reader

[adddddiiii]

can you write a Grayson Hawthorne sick fic pleaseeeee

Under The Weather

Contents: sick!Grayson Hawthorne x reader

Grayson Hawthorne was not the type to get sick. At least, that’s what he told himself. He prided himself on being composed, responsible, and in control — none of which applied when he was currently curled up on his couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, feeling absolutely miserable.

You stood in the doorway of his penthouse, arms crossed, watching as he tried (and failed) to pretend he was fine. His usually sharp eyes were glassy with fever, his perfectly styled hair was a mess, and there was a half-drunk cup of tea sitting on the coffee table next to a pile of tissues.

“You look awful,” you teased, setting down the bag of groceries you brought.

Grayson let out a weak scoff. “Charming as ever.” His voice was hoarse and he barely managed to lift his head before flopping back against the couch.

You shook your head, walking over to him. “You didn’t even tell me you were sick. I had to hear it from Xander.”

Grayson groaned. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. He was burning up. “You’re not a bother, Grayson. You’re my boyfriend.”

At that, his expression softened. He blinked up at you, tired but still him. “I know,” he murmured.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead—he sighed, closing his eyes at the warmth. Then you pulled away, much to his disappointment.

“Alright, I’m making you soup,” you announced and headed toward the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that,” he rasped, though he made no effort to move.

“Too bad,” you called back. “I already bought everything. Sit there and look pretty.”

Grayson let out a breathy chuckle, but it turned into a cough. You were at his side instantly, rubbing his back until it passed. He looked at you with gratitude, and something else — something softer.

“You take such good care of me,” he mumbled, his voice quieter now.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Someone has to. You’re the worst sick person ever.”

“I am not,” he protested weakly.

You smirked. “Really? Because I think Xander mentioned you almost passed out in the shower this morning.”

Grayson scowled. “I was fine.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Grayson.”

“…Okay, maybe I was slightly dizzy,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Exactly,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair again. “So let me take care of you, alright?”

Grayson exhaled, his body finally relaxing as he leaned into your touch. “Alright.”

And for once, he let himself be taken care of.

[inmyheaddd]

when you're close to me - grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: trying to get grayson hawthorne to have a reset day— lots of laughs... lots of kisses... not much of the reset day actually taking place... wc: 1.2k

grayson stood in front of you, hands resting on your waist as you sat on top of the sink counter and held his chin with one hand, the other carefully applying a facemark on his forehead with a brush. you focused on your task, determined to make it look perfect.

you had ordered him to close his eyes so you could put the mask on, even though he didn’t need to— not in any sense that was practical— but it was simply because his gaze was making you far too flustered to focus on the task at hand. the fact that he was this close only made it more difficult. 

“i don’t see why this is necessary,” grayson mumbled, his eyes still shut as you let go of his chin to hold his hair back.

“because,” you reasoned with a hum in your voice, “it just is.” you paused for a moment, “this is how reset days work. you’ve been so caught up in work, so let me just… do this for you.” you mumbled, evening out the shape of the grey mask on his forehead.

“i don’t need a reset day,” he countered calmly, “i’m fine.”

you almost let out a snort. “you most definitely do need a reset day.” 

grayson let out a slow exhale. “i’ve handled the past 20 years of my life without one. but, thank you for your consideration.”

you rolled your eyes affectionately, though he couldnt even see you. 

“thank you for your consideration,” you mumbled under your breath in mockery of his words. you huffed, “i’m going to kill you.” you were still muttering to yourself, to which you heard him laugh and open his eyes at. 

grayson tilted his head to the side, raising one of his brows up at you before he asked, “i’m sorry?”

“you heard me,” you responded, lowering your voice to add to the effect, “i know people…” you were happy to see his eyes again and see how they glittered with humour in this moment, but you couldn’t help but chide him for disrupting your ever-so-important endeavour of applying his facemask. “and, stop moving.” you continued as you pressed a thumb under his jaw, turning his face toward you again.

grayson ignored your ominous and extremely serious threat and closed his eyes again with the barest hint of a smile on his face. 

he stilled for a long moment, and you were getting along quite nicely with the mask, and you were even about to move to the rest of his face. that was until he furrowed his brows again. “may i just ask, what is in this?”

your hand dropped down to your sides with a huff. 

“oh my god,” you shut him up with a laugh as you shut your eyes for a quick moment, “grayson!”

grayson opened his eyes. the corners of his lips flickered up into a smile. 

for a moment, you stayed looking at eachother, feeling your own lips twitch as you held back a smile. it instantly became impossible for the both of you to hold back your laughter anymore. 

usually, you thought perfection was impossible. but it was here, it was effortless with grayson—his head tilted back slightly, grey eyes crinkled, and his usual composure slipping for just a second — beaming with that smile of his that was rare to everyone but you. you wanted to simply kiss his face all over until you were both sick of it. 

clearly, he must’ve been thinking the same thing, as he looked at you with affection swirling behind those icy grey eyes of his. 

a laugh escaped him while he shook his head amusedly, with one of his hands that were previously on your waist moved to cup your cheek, “i deeply apologise, sweetheart.” he murmured lowly, his lips sliding into a coy smile. “i understand your face mask duties hold a lot of importance.”

you yourself were still smiling, “oh shut up, you.” you muttered back, your faces inches apart.  

his gaze flickered to your lips right before you wordlessly leaned in to a kiss. 

at first, you giggled against his lips. that was before melting into the kiss with a lingering smile between you, 

you hopped down from the counter, and wrapped your arms around his neck as his other hand moved to your face. the gentleness of his touch and the kiss sent a swarm of butterflies right to your stomach. 

you felt light on your toes as his lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, and you could still feel the slight smile on his lips against you. 

his fingers curled at your waist, not pulling you closer, just resting there, like he liked the feeling of you this close.

and you—god, you could barely think. you just felt. the warmth of his touch, the soft pressure of his lips, the slight tilt of his head as he kept leaning in, deepening the kiss until—

you shrieked. 

you felt something cool, slightly tacky on your forehead…

it was near comical, the way grayson’s brows furrowed so quickly when you pulled back, and just as quickly smoothed over when he saw the laugh on your face.

he was still confused, clearly, but the smile you held soothed his worries. 

he tilted his head, trying to understand. “love,” he searched your eyes fore any hint of explanation, unable to hold back a little smile because of your own laughter. “what’s the matter?”

you covered your mouth, dissolving into a giggling mess. "your forehead," you choked out, wiping your own forehead that was touching his with the back of your hand. “it’s.. it’s wet.”

his expression blanked, a single brow raising in that oh so grayson way of his. and then, realization dawned.

the face mask.

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he ran a hand down his face. “that’s enough of this," he muttered, moving past you and turning on the sink.

you were a laughing mess, and you stumbled backwards, leaning against the back wall. you watched him roll his sleeves up and lean over the sink while he washed his face haphazardly— and dried it just as quickly. 

“grayson!” you managed to get out with your little laughs. “why did you wash it off?,” you were the one complaining now, though it was all jokes. you fake pouted, “that was expensive.”

he turned back, and his expression was half amused and half exasperated.

he ran a hand through his hair as he looked at you before he started walking to you. “i washed it off,” he started lowly as he got to you in two strides, “so i’d be able to do this.”

you fought back a smile, and kept your eyes on him as he got to you.  those same butterflies erupted in your stomach tenfold when his hands went to your waist, pulling you into him before his lips pressed into yours. 

just moments before, you were smiling because of laughter, but this time you were unable to stop the grin on your face because you simply felt so.. peaceful. fulfilled, even. you doubted you could ever get sick of being like this with him.

one hand moved to hold where your jaw met your neck, pulling you closer. 

no interruptions this time.

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem@jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities @thechildofshadows

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel PART 5 (finale)

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: a forbidden kiss, a fallout, a drunken secret and a broken girl… it all comes down to this

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: what a journey!! who knew this whole series could come from one request!! thank you @emelia07, I owe this all to you my love!! and thank you for everyone who has read along and been anticipating this part, your support and love has been AMAZINGGGG

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses @book-nerd-emi @peppapigsposts

YOUR POV

Light streams through the window and my head thumps, a constant monotonous banging. I groan, wincing slightly as I try to roll over into a more comfortable position to re-enter sleep. I feel like I’ve just been hit by a bus, my limbs ached and weighed heavy against the rest of my body. Even my mattress feels uncomfortable, it’s much stiffer than it usually is.

I don’t open my eyes, I prefer the solace I’m finding darkness at the moment. With a pounding head and sore body all I want to do is go back to sleep but it seems my overactive brain has other ideas. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with a flash of memories. Last night rushes through my brain in jerky disconnected moments. Grayson kissed Lyra. I had gone clubbing with Avery. Gigi was missing. The bottle of alcohol I’d snagged to drown everything out, the crying, the running, the ocean and Grayson in my room.

Oh. Shit.

I suddenly realise I can smell him all over me. My mouth grows sour. I struggle to open my eyes, they feel velcro-ed shut but I manage to pry them open. Everything’s a little hazy, though once my vision clears I realise why my mattress feels so funny. Beneath me isn’t a mattress at all. It’s a man I never wish to see again.

I sit up suddenly, jerking away from him as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I know it’s not the alcohol, I don’t get sick from it. It’s the realisation, the dread pooling the deepest pit of my stomach. This couldn’t be happening.

Scenes replay in my head, like a twisted sort of horror movie where I am the main character who walks into the room the audience knows the killer is in, the same audience who is screaming at their television screens that I shouldn’t walk into that room alone with no weapons. But that’s the thing, you can’t change a film but screaming at the tv. What’s done is done.

Everything I said, I remember it so clearly. I’d told him everything. The truth. The truth that I’d planned to bury alive until it died naturally. It was never meant to have a voice again but of course under alcohol my brain was persuaded much more easily.

“I love you,” I’d mumbled, the words tumbling out in my drunken phase.

I’d admitted to still loving him at least three times and that was how many times in remembered. I feel a little more queasy at the thought.

I dare to glance to my left. Half of his face is buried in the pillow, golden hair spilling over the other. His eyes are closed and his face looks calm, peaceful, beautiful. How dare he look like that.

Panic seizes in my throat. I don’t know what to do. Wake him, yell at him, kick him out, kiss him, leave the room and tell him it was all a dream if he questioned it. My head spins and my heart thumps. I can barely see straight, overwhelmed with a sea of emotion. I’m angry and I’m upset and I’m desperate and I’m confused.

His eyes flicker of open before I have the chance to decide my best move. He immediately meets my eye and sits up in the bed. He’s frozen, half way between going to say something and saying nothing at all. Any lingering tiredness dissipates into panic.

“What are you doing here?” I yelp, before he even has the chance to plead innocent, “why are you in my bed?”

“You were drunk,” he blurts out suddenly, arms defensive over his naked torso.

“And that’s why you’re in my bed,” I cry out incredulously, widening my eyes.

He rolls his, “you wanted me to stay, I couldn’t leave you alone on that state.”

“I was only in that state because I was trying to forget about you,” I snap back, climbing off of the mattress to pull my shoes on.

“Forget about me?” he murmurs, almost in some sort of daze as he shifts his weight on the bed.

I glance up, not accustomed to the vulnerability of his tone when we were arguing. Of course I don’t want to forget about him, I’d wanted to forget that I’d been stupid enough to give someone my heart.

But he didn’t have to know that.

He looks delicate, just sat there, his features soft and mellow. I want nothing more than to reach out and cup his face in my palms and kiss all his pain away, all his built up fear and uncertainty. To run tender fingertips across his shirtless chest, to his collarbone and neck, only for them to get lost in the golden halo of hair that sat atop his head.

My own cravings and desperation annoy me. Why am I still drawn to someone who caused me so much hurt? My head spins. I always make the same mistakes, you’d think I would’ve learnt by now. I just decide in the flash of a moment that I need to see this through, whatever this is now, it needs to be over.

“Oh,” I tusk, rolling my eyes, “don’t sound like such a hurt bird.”

“I don’t I-“

He stands up and attempts to make his way over to me. I move away.

“Just shut up and get out,” I groan, cutting him off, pressing my cold fingertips to my temples, “I’ve got a banging headache and I just want to be alone.”

I sound like a bitch but he’s not exactly making this easy for me not to. I’m hungover and heartbroken, not the best mix.

He looks at me, eyes scanning over me too tenderly. I want to melt back into his arms and fall asleep with the comfort of his soft breathing. When his eyes roam me like that I feel vulnerable, like he can see all of the things that are hurting me most. I don’t like it, he shouldn’t have that right, not anymore.

“Let me help you,” he says quietly and twinge of desperation in his throat.

My insides are screaming at me to just collide with his mouth and accept anything that he says. I look him up and down and discard this moment, these feelings and whatever happened last night. I remember who he really is and what he really did. The part of him I can’t sugarcoat.

I scoff, tightening my arms across my chest., “I think you’ve helped enough.”

He look even more hurt as he steps closer, “please let me-“

A tingle runs down my spine at the familiar position we’re in. I can’t do this.

“Grayson,” I say sharply, “leave.”

And so he does.

He turns his back and walks out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. Part of me wishes he fought harder and part of me is glad. I sink down to the floor my head in my hands. I wait for the tears that are bound to fall but the tease me and make me wait that little bit longer to cry.

Head pounding, heavy with exhaustion and all I want is his touch back, I want his voice back, I want him back but I can’t afford to want anything like that. Not anymore I suppose.

***

GRAYSONS POV

“Grayson,” the way she says my name sends a sort of electrical shock through me, her tone is so attacking and bitter I almost wince, “leave.”

Leave. Last night I was supposed to leave but she asked me to stay, this time she’s asking me to leave but all I want to do is stay.

But I turn my back and walk out of the door. I owe her this and so much more, I can’t deny her of anything else, I can’t be selfish enough to stay. My token of selfishness ran out last night or maybe even long before that.

I feel numb. Through my veins courses an icy silver liquid, my brain is a void of empty blackness lacking thoughts or emotion and my heart can’t seem to beat. Everything is gone. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to meet my death, I’ll never know when it’s coming or who caused it but I’m contented, maybe even intrigued with the possibility.

I wanted nothing more than to fight for her, stay there and demand she didn’t let me go. I want her to know how much again, how sorry I am, but what good is an apology when you’ve destroyed someone’s heart?

The numbness floods away and it hits me out of nowhere that this time I’m leaving for good. The realisation attacks me hard in the chest, bullets raining on my skin, making it a little difficult for me to breathe. A tightness constricts my upper body and I feel hazy.

I’m not going anywhere in particular, I just let my feet carry me away. Where is there to go without her? I’m an idiot. Why did I think this morning it would be any different? I’d brainwashed myself into thinking she still actually wanted me because she’d said it when she was drunk. Deep down I knew this would happen and I still stayed.

I’m a selfish bastard. Just like my grandfather.

Where to go from here? I’m alone, sat on a slab of ebony rock, staring out to sea. Usually a practice like this would calm me enough to get me to think straight but today it’s a different story.

Slowly I strip my blazer coat from my back and disgusts the shirt I’d rushed on only moments ago and trousers. I leave them folded on the black rock and make my way to the ocean. I come to the edge, the waves coming to shore lapping my bare feet and ankles.

Then I dive.

As far out as possible into the waters, until I’m out of my depth. Whilst treading waters I analyse how far out I am and the seven best possible ways to get help if I come into danger before I begin to swim.

I’ve spent so much of my life swimming, I know when I’ve hit twenty five meters and then fifty. My body is used to how it feels. So I just do it over and over and over and over. I can feel my brain becoming a blank canvas. Swimming helps me think.

Though, I’ve never enjoyed swimming the ocean, not properly swimming anyway. But I suppose that’s not what the ocean was made for. A pool is reliable. There’s no current, no salt burning your eyes, no creatures lurking beneath the surface. As I swim, I’m constantly thrown off course by the waves, that only seem to grow in size. But maybe that’s a good thing, I have to work that much harder to reach my goal.

Suddenly I stop and make my way to shore, breathing heavily as I sit on the edge where the sand meets the sea. I know what I need to do and my chest feels hollow before I even do it.

LYRAS POV

My chest heaves in and out, rising up and down as I gulp in the oxygen that dance had just stolen. I stay on the floor, toe pointed, arms poised. I don’t know how long I’m there for but eventually I will myself to stand up. I’ve danced, my feelings should be processed, but oddly enough they don’t seem to be. Not like they usually are.

I feel someone’s eyes on me, a prickling sensation creeping down the back of my neck. I turn and face the my unwanted visitor. Perfected blonde hair though seemingly a little damp, mellow gray eyes and a suit. He’s here, of course he’s here. He can’t leave anyone or anything alone, he has to have it all. My peace, my freedom, my expression and his shadow bears weight over it all.

Fury courses through my veins, like lightning ready to strike. It crackles and hisses impatient to put a deadly shock through someone. I feel my expression morph into a scowl, my eyes narrow into sharp slits and despite my previously open body language through my routine I now tuck myself in and away from his prying eyes. I force myself up, legs still a little shaky from the adrenaline of the routine. I stand still, if he wants to talk, he can walk to me.

“Lyra-“ he begins, stepping inwards.

“You,” I spit, a bitter venom coating my tongue, acidic and sharp.

Something flickers across his face. Is that fear I sense? Good. I’m ready for a fight, for a battle, maybe even a war.

“Look-“ he tries to begin again.

I don’t give him the chance to continue. He doesn’t deserve to plead his apologies, I won’t be swayed with empty words.

“You are a horrible man,” I seethe, fire in my belly, “if you can even call yourself a man, I’ve got several other less polite words for it.”

“Please you do not need to list them,” he replies dryly.

I bark out a surprised laugh, “still arrogant, still full of yourself, after everything you’ve done and the people you’ve hurt you have the audacity to-“

“I’m sorry-“ he interrupts me with an earnest look in his eyes I can’t ignore. Maybe just maybe he really is sorry… or maybe he’s the fantastic actor he’s always been.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I tell him coldly.

His desperate eyes dare to find mine, “hear me out-“

“No,” I shake my head, “I’m done with listening to you and your lies.”

He winces as if I’ve struck him across the face, “Lyra I didn’t mean to-“

“You did. And you won’t make that mistake again,” I say, an uninvited rawness in my voice, “not with me.”

“Lyra please-“

“Beg all you want,” I cut him off again. I know the lines he’s rehearsed, I’ve heard them said by other men. I don’t give in to excuses, not from a man like him, “get on your knees I don’t care there’s nothing you can say to save yourself now and who’s fault is that?”

“Mine,” he barely murmurs, looking like a scorned child.

“Funny,” I say, dropping my voice low, “it’s so convenient now is the time you take responsibly for your actions, maybe you should’ve thought about them before-“

“I made a mistake,” Grayson bursts, the action so sudden and out of character I wonder if it’s really him talking or some deranged drunken version.

I check his eyes. He’s sober. And yet here he is standing in front of me, admiting he’s wrong and actually looking apologetic for it.

“That much is evident,” I scoff, still I can’t trust any word that comes out of his mouth, any look in his eyes, “but you did worse than that. You hurt me, you hurt the girl who loved you, who gave you everything but still wasn’t enough to satisfy your egotistical, spoilt desires,” I seethe, “you didn’t only do that but you made me into someone I’m not and you of all people don’t get to do that. I write my own story, paint my own picture, dance to my own tune. You don’t get to decide who I am and you have, you’ve made me the slut who goes around kissing other people’s boyfriends.”

“She knows you didnt know,” he replies, almost softly.

“And what’s it to me now?” I ask with a crisp laugh, “What’s done is done and everything is ruined.”

“You’re right,” he mumble miserably.

“You know if I’d even thought for a fraction of a second there was someone else I wouldn’t have even looked in your direction,” I tell him.

It’s more than true, I could never do that to someone, not on purpose. It isn’t me.

“I know,” Grayson says, “you’re a good person.”

“I don’t need you of all people to tell me that,” I snap, keeping up every wall I could. He will never get past them again.

“You intrigued me,” he admits, as if it makes the situation better.

“Men are led by greedy eyes and tiny dicks,” I spit, such fury in my voice I almost don’t recognise myself.

He can’t stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards in surprise.

“The first half of that sentence was true,” he murmurs.

“Protecting your pride still,” I sneer, as if any man wouldn’t have, “how can you come here and look me in the eye to plead for forgiveness after what you’ve done.”

He looks pained, “I don’t know.”

“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. One final time.

“I know,” he sighs.

I’ve never seen a man that held himself with such composure look so defeated. I don’t enjoy this, making anyone feel like this, even if it’s him. He may have hurt people but it doesn’t make him immune to feeling hurt himself.

Still, that didn’t kill the pure anger within me, the burning ferocity for someone who had done me wrong. And maybe I’m a fool for being blinded by such an explosive emotion but I don’t care. I can’t afford to care.

So I almost smile, “I hope she doesn’t still love you, in fact I hope she hates you for the rest of your life and you spend your days torturing yourself over this.”

“I’m sorry I kissed you Lyra, I’m sorry I played with your heart,” he says solemnly.

“You didn’t play with anything,” I laugh, “if you think you got remotely close to my heart you’d be gravely mistaken.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you then,” he replied calmly, “and I’m sorry I painted you in a bad light.”

“But you’ll win this game in the end won’t you,” I say with a shrug, my voice softens, “of course you will.”

“There’s no game here Lyra,” he responds, a vulnerability in his tone, “just a stupid man and two angry women.”

“She doesn’t deserve you,” I reply, looking him up and down.

“I know that,” Grayson admits, “she never has.”

“And you proved that to her,” I remind him, salt in his wounds, I want them to burn as much as her heart does.

“I know that too,” he says, his voice soft and quiet.

He looks too agonised and suddenly I can’t bear to look at him.

“I want you to leave,” I tell him quickly, “and don’t look back.”

He nods silently, “I’m sorry, truly.”

I stare, waiting for him to leave. I would not run from a man, he should do the walk of shame out.

“Don’t even think about coming anywhere near me after this,” I call out, “this is a forever goodbye, Hawthorne. Stay out of my life.”

He doesn’t respond, only gives a second nod before he turns his back and walks off slowly. I exhale softly and hit play on the music to start a second routine with a now cleared head.

***

YOUR POV

The bathroom tiles are cold under my thighs but they’ve almost gone as numb as the rest of me. I’ve been sat here for who knows how long recounting last nights events over and over, all the parts I didn’t want to remember and maybe some parts that I won’t admit I do. This is one of the reasons I don’t drink, but of course I’d break that rule for him, betraying my own morals again for the same stupid man. I’m exhausted, physically exhausted by it all. I tip my head back and rest it on the edge of the bathtub, a chill runs down my neck reminding me of what his touch to me.

‘But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me.’

Of all the things to say I really did have to spill everything didn’t I? There’s no way of taking back, even twisting it into something it’s not. What I said was too raw to be lied about. Denial seems like my new best friend. If I pretend for long enough I never said it, maybe I’ll fool myself into believing it too.

‘And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working.’

Even my drunken tongue had lied, I’d realised before the alcohol even had the pleasure of burning its way down my throat that it wouldn’t work. I’d just convinced myself it might attack the pain receptors in my body.

‘It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name.’

Did his heart beat mine? His replies are hazier than my memory of what I’d said. My stupidity is woven deep into my brain, his hit the hardest when he’s kissed her so any other stupid things past that were more forgettable. My stomach rolls at the thought of all I’d admitted to last night. I groan wishing for the floor to swallow me whole and softly drown me into an eternal darkness.

But I can’t keep walking through this endlessness, whatever feelings I had left for him I had to leave behind. I’m good at tricking my mind and that is my plan now, trick my mind into thinking I don’t love, I can’t love. Maybe next time I won’t be so hurt. I stand up and gaze at the girl in the mirror, finally silencing the voice that was picking out all the features Lyra had that I didn’t. I inhale and exhale deeply. All my feelings would be discarded, here and now I decide. The moment I step from this bathroom and close the door, I’m closing off connection to him.

I walk slowly towards the door, my legs a little more shaky and a little less numb. I can’t tell which I prefer. I breathe deeply as I step out, taking in our happy memories for one last time, before this mess of a relationship it has become. And finally, finally I shut the bathroom door.

He’s out of my mind and I’m focussed on something else. I want to find Gigi, then I want to have a good nights sleep and then I want to go and find a career I love and cut this Hawthorne part of my life out completely. To truly lose him, I needed to lose everything close to him too. I can’t afford to be drawn back again.

I leave the room I’d slept in the night before and walk, fast paced and strong steps that leave me slightly breathless after a while. The island is bigger than it looks with many different pathways to walk.

I pick the one that seems the longest. I need to clear my head and focus on where Gigi could possibly be. I feel consumed with guilt that I hadn’t been trying harder to find her, instead I’ve been wrapped up in my own problems. She could be dead, dying or something worse that I didn’t even want to start imagining. All I know is, we have to work harder to find her and it starts here and now.

I need to gather all the information. When. When did she go missing? Exact time stamps of everything to calculate how swiftly any of this happened. Where. Where was she taken? We needed to revisit all the places she could be or could’ve been taken from. How. How was she taken? Did it leave any evidence? Would that give us a clue to who it might have been? Why. Why would someone want her? What’s the motive behind it all? What. What did they want? Surely they wanted something right? Who. The big question mark and blank face. Who in the world would want to kidnap Juliet Grayson?

A hand touches my shoulder and I flinch, immediately going into fight or flight. Unfortunately for the other person I choose to fight, twisting their arm quickly. They clearly aren’t expecting it as they cry out and don’t react fast enough. When I hear the sound of her voice I immediately drop the tight grasp I’d had on her and repeat apologies.

“I am so sorry,” I exhale, “I was thinking deeply about Gigi and I thought you might be a kidnapper.”

“It’s okay,” Avery says, hiding her wince quite well as she adjusted her arm, “you totally would’ve kicked ass if I had been a kidnapper.”

I try to smile but can only manage a half grimace, “thanks.”

She tilts her head as our eyes meet.

“You okay?” Avery asks, looking pitiful.

I hate it. I hate to think she feels sorry for me. What’s done is done, we all just need to forget and move on and her pity is only making me remember. I run a hand over my face to break eye contact. Clearly I look worse than I thought I did despite trying to hide my tired eyes and hollow cheeks with makeup.

“Fine,” I respond with a small shrug, as we begin a slow walk down.

She hesitates, I can tell she’d unsure to carry on the conversation, but she does anyway, “you don’t seem fine.”

I chew my bottom lip trying to come up with some sort of plausible excuse, “rough sleep,” I manage, my throat a little dry.

The silence between us feels thick and heavy, not the way it usually might. The paranoia in me thinks she knows something.

She stares at me for a moment and then sighs, saying what’s really on her mind, “why did Grayson walk out of your room this morning?”

And for once the paranoia is right.

I don’t say anything at first because I don’t know what to say. I’m trying to forget about him but slowly I’m learning every second I’m here I’ll be reminded. As soon as I can I’ll leave for good this time.

“Long story,” I murmur.

“Care to share?” she asks. Avery isn’t one to push, if I told her to drop it now she would immediately. But part of her knows what I don’t want to admit to. I need to talk about this, get it off of my chest. Burying it alive doesn’t mean it’ll die immediately. Maybe I need to kill it first.

“I got drunk,” I explain, more ashamed now because saying something out loud always makes it more real, “and said some things I shouldn’t have and he stayed… because I asked him to.”

She winced, unable to hold it back this time.

“Oh wait,” I laugh, through some pain, “it gets worse.”

Avery bites her lip, “please no,” she begs in a small voice.

I sigh and meet her eyes directly, “And then, like the idiot that I am, I told him I still loved him.”

She gasps, air caught in her throat. She stills in her sheer surprise of it all.

“Yeah,” I grimace, with an awkward cough, “so if you’re wondering why I look like crap that may or may not have something to do with it.”

“Rewind,” she says, “do you?”

“What?”

“Still love him,” she clarifies.

“Of course,” I murmur. If I’m going to keep lying to myself from now on I want the last person I tell the truth to to be someone who I can truly trust, “but he’s not supposed to know that.”

“This is tricky,” Avery says, tapping her fingers at her sides.

“You’re telling me,” I blow out a breath, “I have no idea what to do.”

“Did he tell you?” she asks curiously, “that you told him you loved him I mean?”

“No, that’s the weird thing,” I reply slowly, “he hasn’t said a thing about it.”

I hadn’t really thought of it until now. Why wouldn’t he use that against me? It’s perfect. Too perfect. He could’ve easily just explained the whole conversation and my only defence, I was drunk, which when thinking about it isn’t even a defence.

Avery’s eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head confused, “so how do you know you said that?”

“I remember everything,” I blurt out, “every single second.”

“But he hasn’t referenced it?” she clarifies.

“He doesn’t know I remember,” I say slowly, “and I’m keeping it that way.”

She nods in understanding but I can see part of her is wondering why.

“I can’t afford to love him Avery because I love too hard,” I admit, each word killing me softly, “I trust too much.”

“I understand,” she purses her lips, “but doesn’t it mean something, that he hasn’t said anything.”

I tilt my head to the side, “how do you mean?”

“He knows what he’s done is beyond wrong,” she begins, “and he also knows you still love him, but he also knows you don’t want to be with him, so maybe he’s trying to make it easier for you to leave, to just forget.”

I chew my lips, “I suppose.”

We fall into a silence of pondering. Maybe he is really trying to let me do what I want to. Maybe he is helping me leave because I asked him to. Maybe he knows if he asks me to stay, I will, so he’s not asking at all.

“I’m sorry,” Avery says quietly, wrapping as arm around my shoulder and pulling me into her.

“What are you sorry for?” I sniff, suddenly aware of a dampness on my cheeks, “none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not you either,” she whispers tentatively.

I don’t know how she knows but she knows I need to hear this. I keep trying to find the flaws in myself, all the things that I’d done to cause this to happen. And as much as I hate to think I would do that for a guy, it’s what I am doing.

I look up at her, glossy eyed.

“No,” she says firmly, “don’t you dare start blaming yourself.”

“Too late,” I smile sadly, a tidal wave of emotion hitting me hard. If I hadn’t been a problem, if there wasn’t something wrong with me, then why kiss another?

“Oh sweetheart,” she says tenderly, hugging me tighter, closer.

“Maybe I wasn’t good enough Avery, maybe if I was smarter, maybe if I was prettier, if I could dance like her…” I trail off, “I know I’m a lot, I know I’m hard to deal with but I just thought… I really thought I’d found someone who understood that and embraced it. I thought he loved every part of me, that he’s never feel like that for anyone but me. I was stupid enough to think for once I was the special one but I was wrong. I’m the girl I’ve always been, I’m not enough Avery.”

“Look at me, look at me right now,” she says with a fierce love, “you are enough. In fact you’re more than enough. You’re so kind and lovely and sweet, you light up a whole room when you walk into it, you’re constantly putting others before yourself. You’re brave and you’re beautiful and he’s letting all of that go. You are everything and don’t let him make you forget it because I’m not going to sit here and let a stupid boy make you think you’re not enough.”

I force a laugh, my throat so hoarse so the sound of scrapes and scratches.

“And I’m not even just saying this,” she says, once again proving that she can read minds, “you know me, I’m an honest girl and I wouldn’t lie to one of my best friends. He’s not worth you, he let you down, he hurt you and that’s on him, that’s a reflection of him. It has nothing to do with you, okay?”

I nod snivelling, “god I love you Ave.”

“I love you too,” she smiles through her own tears now.

We hug again and even thought I’d thought it was impossible to get ourselves any closer, we still managed.

“I can’t believe I’m crying over a boy right now,” I laugh through my tears.

She laughs too, wiping them from my cheeks, “it’s okay, I’ve been there one too many times.” I beam at her and slowly loosen my arms around nee to let her go.

“Avery,” I say carefully.

She hums in reply, brushing my hair behind my ears.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

She looks at me, almost knowing what’s coming yet still replies, “sure,” in such a way that made me more than comfortable to even ask.

I inhale deeply, “what would you do if Jameson did this to you?”

A sudden sadness coats her hazel eyes.

“Honestly,” she sighs, “I don’t even know, I wouldn’t know what to do. I know that’s the last thing you probably wanted to hear.”

I shrug, “it’s okay. I don’t really know what I expected you to say.”

***

GRAYSONS POV

My pride is wounded two times over. Good. Maybe that’ll teach it.

Ever since I was a child I had been raised to be a proud man, someone who held their head high no matter what they’d done or in some cases what they hadn’t. I could blame my grandfather for the way I turned out, the man who bred me to be such a foul and malicious creature or maybe my neglectful mother, absent father or a smiling red headed girl who pitched herself off of a cliff edge. But what good I blaming someone when I’m still stuck as myself?

I find myself back at the beach. A place that is both achingly familiar and distant all at the same time. I wonder if the salt in the water will cleanse me of what I have done. As I close my eyes and inhale, I remember pulling her between my legs, telling her she was the only one our first night on this island. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Why is nothing ever enough for me? I don’t know when to stop, when to feel satisfied, when to recognise I have more than I want. Why am I the way I am? My head is a swirling mess of antagonising thoughts and strangling voices all on top of one another.

Though one is the loudest, one shows me the most.

I hurt her more than I could ever imagine and it’s killing me. Pieces of me are eroding away in the acid coursing through my veins. I can feel myself slipping away, everything growing heavier by the smallest fractions that build up over time until everything just crumbles one day and you look back and wonder what the hell happened.

I have hatred for a lot of people but my most loathed enemy is the man who looks me in the eye every day in my bathroom mirror, the man who shares my name and my blood and my mind. I hate him for hurting her. I want to destroy him for making a single tear slip. I wish nothing but an agonising life for him.

I feel someone sit beside me and I already know who it is. It isn’t the way she moves that gives her away, nor the smell of her perfume or sound of her breathing. I just know. Like I’ve always just known. She sits by my side and stares out to sea, not meeting my eye when I turn to look at her.

“I’m done with this,” she says, her voice stone, cold, “the tension, the arguing, all of it. I’m done with you Grayson. I want to make it clear. When I say stay away from me, you will stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

She’s still looking out, every weighted word is said towards the ocean and still I feel every jab just a heavy on my chest.

She’s so beautiful, too beautiful. I’m selfish in this moment for almost being glad she came, just so I could look at her, really look at her one last time. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, as well as her nose slightly pinkish. Long thick lashes curl up to almost touch her eyebrows. Her lips only taunt me in their perfection, rounded and red, making my desire to take them into my own that little bit more violent.

I understand what she wants, but I don’t want her to want it. But I have to give her this, if I truly love her, I have to let her go. But if this is the last conversation we ever have, I don’t want it to end here.

“What do you remember from last night?” the question escapes my lips before I can filter it.

Still she does not meet my eye, “are you not listening to me?” she’s agitated, annoyed and desperately trying not to glare at me in fear of making eye contact.

“I will do whatever you ask,” I tell her, praying she could hear my earnestness, thick in my throat, “I promise you-“

She scoffs cutting me off, “yeah because promises went far last time.”

A pang of shame attacks my heart, it aches and pulsates in agony. It’s my own fault and part of me is guilty it isn’t writhing more, I suppose it’s still holding out for some false hope.

“I swear it on my life and yours,” I say, slowly, “I’ll do whatever you ask. But please, please tell me. What do you remember from last night?”

“Nothing,” her voice almost softens, it’s not as harsh as before but not as sweet as I remembered.

It stings. Reality usually does, but I don’t think I’ve felt it this strongly since Emily died. I’d thought maybe somewhere there would’ve been part of her that remembered her confession, part of her that believed it. All I know for sure is I’m not going to say a word about it, I owe her far more than that and despite how much I want her, crave her, need her, I can’t do this to her.

“Absolutely nothing?” I murmur, wondering if words were even being processed by my brain anymore because I don’t remember thinking them.

“I drank a load of alcohol and then went to my room,” she replies briskly, her frostiness returning like an icy sheet on a winters day, “next thing I know I wake up with you next to me.”

“So you don’t remember anything you said?” I push, testing the waters.

If this truly is our last conversation, I need to know for sure that she doesn’t remember anything, that I should forget like she’s already forgotten.

“No and quite frankly I don’t care Grayson,” she groans, eyes blazing with a fury I wasn’t used to, “I’m tired of this vicious circle. You messed up and no amount of apologising is going to save you now.”

“I love you,” I blurt out.

I can’t help it. She’s everything to me and she needs to know it, even if she doesn’t believe it.

She shakes her head, almost sadly, “and clearly that’s not enough.”

“It is enough,” I say desperately.

I understand why she can’t see this like I do. I understand why she won’t consider it. I understand I’ve hurt her beyond her limit.

“This is what I mean by a vicious circle,” she chokes out, “we’re back to the same place again. You tell me you love me, then I ask why you did what you did, you say you don’t know and I can’t forgive and forget it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I tell her, “but you know it as well as I do, we’ll go crazy without each other. I’m already losing it and so are you-“

“Oh thanks,” she scoffs, sarcasm clinging to her tone, “good way to win me back there, telling me I’m a mental case, real attractive.”

I wince then regain composure.

“You don’t drink,” I say, “you’ve never been a heavy drinker and now what? You suddenly are.”

“I’m allowed to do what I want,” she spits back, “habitual or not.”

Something about the way she is so defensive about being so reckless makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to be the reason she destroys her health.

“So you expect me to sit back and watch you hurt yourself!” I yell, suddenly angry, more with myself than ever at her.

“Well you’ve had no problem hurting me before,” she snaps, her voice almost acidic.

I fall silent. What is there left to say? She’s right. She has me backed into a corner of speechlessness. I’ve run out of defences to plead.

“You know what Grayson, it’s fine,” she says bitterly, harshly wiping away tears, “people move on I get it but couldn’t you have just said it to my face before you went behind my back? You knew, you knew I was insecure about her and you still went ahead and kissed her. What kind of sick person does that?”

She looks like she’s physically in pain, it agonises me to even watch her, let alone realise that I’m the one who caused this. Guilt consumed me so long ago and yet it feels like my first taste all over again.

“I don’t know how to tell you this again,” I fumble over my words, my hands shaking, “it meant nothing, I felt nothing.”

“Then what made you do it?” she sobs, “what made you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I ramble, “she was there and she was upset and I felt bad and I’d just spent the last 24 hours with her and she reminded me of you and so I got confused-“

“Confused.” she says darkly, she looks livid, “Confused? We’re completely different fucking people, Grayson. Please don’t try and feed me that excuse because it won’t wash with me!”

“I don’t know, I really don’t then,” I reply, holding my hands up to surrender, “I don’t know why this happened or how, all I know is that I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” she snaps, “as you should, now are you done here?”

I look at her longingly, my eyes latching to her body. I don’t want this to be goodbye but if it has to be then I want to remember every inch of her.

“If you promise me you’ll be careful,” I murmur, barely audible.

Her face scrunches up, “don’t tell me what to do.”

“You scared me last night,” I admit, softening my voice.

“I’m a grown woman Grayson,” she sneers, saying my name so coldly I feel it burn in my chest, “I can do what I like, I don’t care if it scared you, get your big boy pants on and get over it.”

“That wasn’t you,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” she laughs gently with a bitterness caught in her throat, “and I thought this wasn’t you but I was wrong too.”

“I don’t want you to waste away because of me,” I tell her.

“Oh, you do like to flatter yourself,” she shakes her head with a sad smile, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

I look at her as earnestly as I can, “I’m serious.”

“Grayson if I scared you so much,” she states simply, folding her arms across her chest and taking a dangerous step closer, “then why not just leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” I reply with the truth because I’ve lied far too much.

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” my voice cracks, “and no matter how much you scare me that fact doesn’t change.”

“You should’ve left,” she replies coldly, staring dead at me, like she’s trying to keep her emotions in check to defy the glistening tear stains on her cheeks.

“I know,” I respond quietly, “and I tried but you asked me to stay.”

“I was drunk,” she exclaims, raising her voice, “and being an idiot, I didn’t know what I was saying!”

“And if I’d left would you be any happier?” I shoot back, anger taking hold for that split second.

She falters, “no because the bottom line is you’ve hurt me more than I know I could hurt, so nothing you do can be worse.”

My heart throbs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing the word will never be enough.

“That’s meaningless to me,” she shakes her head.

“I know but I’ll still say it until I’m blue in the face,” I shrug.

“Be my guest,” she replies, stepping backwards, “it’ll still be meaningless.”

She’s stepping away, she wants this to come to an end, she’s scared it won’t. I don’t want to let her go but I will. I ask myself if this is our last conversation. If so, I have to take the gamble.

“Being away from you is torturing me,” I say.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you had your lips on hers,” she only shrugs in reply, opting for her stony tone, unsympathetic eyes meeting my own pleading ones.

“I know it’s torturing you too,” I whisper.

The world comes to a standstill for a moment and I feel like I’m in a place between life and death. A surreal sort of slowed experience where it doesn’t feel quite real but not quite synthetic either. Waiting for her to reply sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

“Of course it is, you idiot,” she groans, “I’ve got double the torture because not only am I now alone, I was betrayed by someone who I thought loved me.”

“I do love you,” I tell her.

I hope she can hear the emotion in my throat. She knows me well enough to know I could hide it, but I don’t want to. I want her to know that I feel more for her than I’ve ever felt for anyone else on this planet. I need her to know that she is everything to me.

“Empty words Grayson, all of them,” she replies. It’s what happens when you hurt someone so pure too many times, you ruin them. “The ones you said before and the ones you’re saying now, they’re meaningless to me,” she shrug.

It feels like it’s the end and it is consolidated as so when she walks away from me. She’s finished, she’s done. War is over.

But selfish me can’t let her do that, selfish me is still fighting, selfish me is taking over my brain and selfish me needs to try one last thing, as awful as it is, he has to.

“No they’re not,” I say loudly.

She stops, frozen in place. Her head whips around, fast, “are you seriously doing this?”

Her eyes blaze with the purest of fury. I begin to think I’ve done the wrong thing, but there’s no turning back now.

“You told me you loved me last night,” I blurt out.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I hadn’t wanted it to but I don’t feel regret. I can’t hide this from her too.

She stares me dead in the eye, “I know.”

The wave of shock almost knocks me flat.

“You know?” I gape, jaw dropping. This whole time she knew and she just didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” she tusks, rolling her eyes, “I said the stupid words.”

“But you said-“

“I lied,” she snaps sharply cutting me off.

My eyebrows furrow, “why?”

“This reason,” she points to the both of us as my eyebrows draw together even tighter, “to avoid this.”

“What is this?” I ask. I need to clarity, I need to know what’s going on inside her head.

“This conversation,” she says, “I don’t want it.”

“Why?” I ask again, the painstaking monotony of the word making me feel like a petulant child.

“Because,” she meets my eye and her voice wavers for a moment, “I don’t want to look you in the eye and tell you it’s over again, because this time I don’t think I’ll cope.”

“Then don’t tell me it’s over,” I blurt out.

I never think straight when she’s involved, it’s always this mess of chaos in my brain and I say and do things without thought, without fear, without overthinking,

“But it is Grayson,” she replies, pain ripping through her voice, “it was over the moment you put your lips on hers.”

“I don’t love her,” I tell her again, she’ll never hear it enough but if I stop saying it I fear she’ll believe I do.

She shakes her head and her bottom like trembles, “that doesn’t change what happened.”

“How can I prove it to you?” I ask, trying to reach out for her in my desperation, “what can I do?”

She moves away so my hands can’t clasp hers. I’ll beg her in my hands and knees if I must.

“Grayson you have to understand that I can’t trust you anymore,” she explains, “and how can I be in a relationship with you if I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, “but we could try, you could rebuild the trust.”

She pauses for a long while, not moving, barely breathing. She limbs rest still as she analyses me, her eyes trailing up and down me slowly until they finally meet my eye and stop themselves from wondering. I can only hope she sees how much I mean it, the eyes are the window to the soul, she once told me. How clear is that window now?

She takes one step in, a single tear glistening as it rolls down her cheeks, “how do I know you don’t love her,” she whispers.

I take her face into my palms and I kiss her, deeply, smoothly. I say a thousand words without uttering a sound and I already know she feels every single one of them before we’ve stopped.

We break away naturally, “because I didn’t kiss her like that,” I say breathlessly.

“I won’t forgive you with just a kiss,” she shakes her head, pushing me away gently, “you can’t win me over with sweet talk.”

“I know,” I murmur, fingertips lingering like a ghost touch on her hips.

“And if we’re going to be us again it’s going to take time,” she responds, taking a step away so my hands fall from her body and we’re just two people looking at each other, “a long time.”

“I’m fine with waiting,” I tell her, “I’ll wait forever just to be with you.”

Every word is the truth, every word I mean.

She looks at me and I can’t quite read her, though she looks in deep thought, “you have the next stage of the game now,” she reminds me quietly.

“I don’t care,” I shrug.

And I don’t. This stupid game has caused me nothing but misery and I don’t want any part of it anymore.

“Go,” she whispers with a smile that still looked sadder than usual, “I need time.”

My heart clenches.

“Forever, I’ll wait forever.”

a/n: ahhh it’s so bittersweet to end this series!! I can’t believe how much it grew, starting from that one little fic to this whole story I somehow created?! special shout-out to @inmyheaddd and @midiosaamor for being my biggest cheerleaders 💘💘 I love you with all of my heart and thank you so much, but also thank you so so so INSANELY much to anyone else who had liked, commented or read this fic, it means more than anything to me

okay so this is PROBABLY a controversial ending because she doesn’t get back with him but she doesn’t not get back with him, I’ll leave the decision to you guys… (I know it leans towards she probably will BUTTTT hear me out: this is fiction and I wanted the main character to end with with grayson and I think it’s not like she just got back with him, she has conditions, she’s being cautious, but her love is so overwhelming that she still wants to be with him even though he brain is telling her no)

ANYWAYS i hope you enjoyed this final part, a little bit of me is scared it’s too underwhelming but I liked it :)) thank you all again <33

TIG masterlist

[angelmurmur]

helloooooo can you write something where grayson is overworked and exhausted and gets sick cuz the foundation was very demanding. Then reader takes care of him!

— take a break

warnings: none!

pairing(s): grayson hawthorne x reader

a/n: love this request, i hope u like it !!

grayson pinches his brow, his eyes dry from the hours and hours of looking at and reviewing documents for the hawthorne foundation. he doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting at his desk for, as the hours started blending together. he moves his gaze from the stacked papers to the computer screen in front of him, hoping that he’ll concentrate better. the screen blurs, sharpens, and blurs again. he sighs out of annoyance and exhaustion, running a hand through his hair.

not only is he exhausted, but an irritating cough is beginning to take over. it’s been persistent and it’s clear it’s not going away any time soon. nevertheless, he’s ignoring it—just like he’s ignoring his aching eyes and sluggish feeling in his limbs. he’s fine, like he always is. like he always should be. he has to be.

as for you, you haven’t seen grayson all day today and you decide to go looking for him. honestly, it didn’t take much looking as you knew exactly where he’d be. he hasn’t moved from his office all day. on your way towards the door, you brace yourself for the sight you’ll see.

you carefully creak open the door and his heavy-lidded eyes look up to see you, yet he continues his typing. his usually perfectly styled hair is messy, the blond strands going in different directions. truthfully, you can’t help but notice how good he looks despite his current state.

“gray,” you began softly. “you need to rest. you’re working yourself too hard.” you step closer until you’re in front of his desk. you rest your hands on the edge of the desk, looking at him with concerned eyes.

“there’s no need, love. i’m fine.” he knows it’s a lie, and he’s aware that you know too. however, on the slight chance that you don’t know, he tried to alleviate your concern.

obviously, you’re aware of his worsening state and he realizes that once you arch a brow at him. he can’t stop the corners of his lips from lazily turning up in amusement as you use his trademark brow raise against him.

“really, i’m—“ his reassurance is cut off by a harsh cough, almost like it wants to prove him wrong. he sighs, “i’m alright.”

your brows furrow at the sound of his cough and your worry skyrockets. you give him an incredulous look. “‘alright’?” you repeat. “you basically just coughed up a lung, gray. you’re getting sick as well.”

he looks at you for a moment, his gaze softening as he takes in your worry for him. “i need to finish today’s work, sweetheart.”

you sigh and step around his desk, stopping in front of him with folded arms. “you can finish later. the foundation won’t crumble if you don’t finish everything in a singular day. what you need to do is rest,” you say quietly but your words are firm.

he looks up at you from the desk chair and, god, is it a sight to behold. he sighs once he realizes you won’t let this go. slowly, he stands up with a soft grunt. your eyes follow his, now looking up at him.

“and if i told you i didn’t need rest?” he asks, trying his luck.

“i wouldn’t believe you for a second,” you answer immediately. a fond smile graces his face, but is quickly wiped away with another cough.

you take his wrist gently and turn, exiting his office and heading for his room as he follows behind. “you’re gonna relax while i get you medicine, okay? let me take care of you.”

grayson loathes the idea of laying on his bed, helpless and miserable from his sickness. what he hates even more is being ordered, when it should be the other way around. however, he doesn’t object. if you’re the one ordering him, he’ll listen. he always will.

so, when you two reach his room, he reluctantly makes his way inside and gets on the bed. meanwhile, you head to the kitchen to grab his medicine.

when you get back to his room with a container of pills and a bottle of water, you see him sitting on his bed, his back against the headboard. he’d figured that he’d sit up instead of fully laying down because at least that way he’d feel less defenseless.

you sigh and place the items on his nightstand. “i said lay down, gray,” you say with a pointed look.

he arches a brow at you. it’s a sight you’ve seen many times, but it never fails to make your stomach do flips. “what you said, love, was relax,” he corrects you gently, his words laced with subtle amusement.

you roll your eyes and walk to the other side of the bed to get in next to him. “same thing,” you retort.

“not quite,” he murmurs, a tired smile playing on his lips.

you roll your eyes in response, yet a breath of a laugh escapes your lips. in a moment of worry, you bring up your hand to his forehead. “you’re burning up,” you say, the concern in your voice clear. you gently brush a strand of hair away from his forehead.

“‘burning up’ is quite the exaggeration, sweetheart. i’m just a little warm. nothing to worry about,” he says, his voice hoarse.

you swear you could strangle this man for the amount of times he’s denied his sickness. though, even when sick, his voice is so soothing and ever so gentle that you’d listen to him talk for hours—even if it’s him denying his worsening state.

“‘nothing to worry about’?” you repeat. “gray, you’re overworked, exhausted, coughing, and running a fever. there are plenty of things to worry about,” you correct him while counting off his problems with your fingers.

he smiles and just reaches out to take your hand that’s holding up the number four from the list you’ve just made. he intertwines his fingers with yours. they fit together perfectly, like the final two pieces of a puzzle. “i’ll be alright,” he reassures you softly.

you sigh and shift so that you’re now laying down facing him and he does the same. with his free hand, he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. despite his reluctance and denial, an immense feeling of gratefulness washes over him. if you hadn’t dragged him out of his office, he’d probably be face down on his keyboard right now.

“i love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. his blue grey eyes gaze into yours with adoration and a softness reserved only for you.

you smile softly. “i love you, too. just rest, gray. i’ll be right here when you wake up,” you whisper.

almost immediately, he drifts off to sleep and his breathing evens out. you smile and close your eyes as well. honestly, you don’t even care that you could get sick. your only concern was for him. peacefully, you two sleep, your bodies wrapped in the other’s embrace and your breathing in sync.

[f4iry-bell]

CHANGE MY MIND

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: grayson pushed reader away sm that he lost her.

tagging: @unnoodles @never-enough-novels @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @elysianwayy77 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07

warning: angst

a/n: inspired by @daystarpoet 's cai 🤭pls do check it out, it's amazing.

masterlist

He does it again, he has been pushing her away for the past week, not telling how he really feels. Whenever she asks him, it's always “I'm fine” , the obvious lie. It was so frustrating for both of them as Grayson just won't tell her what is up, and she can't just watch him go through something alone, without understanding.

Grayson was currently driving her to this event they're supposed to go to, something that's hosted by the heiress for charity. The problem is the drive was filled with Graysons lonely suffering, he wanted to be alone at the moment, especially with her constantly asking what's wrong. He was a patient person but he needed her to stop it, without thinking he snapped.

“Will you ever stop? I said I'm fine.” He gripped the steering wheel.

“I'm just trying to under—”

“No, you're trying to be annoying.” The words stung her heart. She didn't expect him to ever use such a word on her.

She looked at him with slightly teary eyes but she didn't want him to see her, so she turned her face towards the window, and kept quiet the entire ride.

Grayson, realising what he has done, gently put his hands on her knees to show her he didn't mean it, but she barely acknowledged his touch or him. She completely ignored him. It hurts Grayson that she ignored him, but he knew he deserved it. After all, he led her to this.

After the teacher held the event, she didn't wait for Grayson to open her door, she immediately got out and started walking to the event. Grayson, given his speed, caught up to her quickly. Once they were in he put his hands on the small of her back as he led her through the crowd, they met some new people, he introduced her to them as his girlfriend as if nothing is going on between them right. She slipped away from him for a while, while he was thinking about the situation, and his habit of isolation, distancing himself. She came back to where she left him, and spoke.

“Avery invited me to stay over at her place. You can leave if you wish to, I'll be going riding with her and Jameson.” She said, her face was flushed a bit.

“Oh.” He wasn't processing what she said at first. “You don't have to leave with them.” He gathered himself.

“I should.”

“No, you're doing this on purpose.”

“So?”

He hated how calm her tone sounded, but he knew her body language said otherwise.

“So you're being childish. We have an argument, and you don't want to face the aftermath.” He pointed.

“No, Grayson I don't. And it's rich coming from you because you don't face anything! You don't face me when you're feeling like—I have no clue what— and I have to sit here, and watch you go through it alone!” She snapped.

The words hit him, he knew it was true, and he hated it. When she noticed the lack of reply she shook her head, and walked away but Grayson caught her arm, gentle yet firm.

“Don't walk away from me.”

“Why? I thought I was annoying.”

“Don't— you're being difficult.”

“No, it's easy. You push me away, and now I'm going away. It's as simple as that.”

“No, you're being stubborn.”

“And you're not?” She scoffed.

“I'm sick of this, always arguing with you, always asking for answers that I can't give you. I'm sick of it.”

“Then let me go.”

He loosened his grip on her hand.

“No, Grayson, I meant let me go. Out of your life.” Her shoulders relaxed when she finished her sentence. Grayson's stiffened.

“I…You don't mean that.”

“I do. You either let me in or let me go.”

Grayson looked down, and shook his head. “You can't put me in this position.”

“No. I'm not, if you can't be vulnerable, if you still feel not comfortable enough to be vulnerable with me after six months of dating, then I don't think I'm the right person for you, Grayson.” It hurted her to say the last part. She really thought they were going to last forever when they started dating.

He was awfully quiet, he was deciding what to say. He knew what his problem was, but he just couldn't tell her. This is the right thing.

“Maybe you're right.” She knew what she said but hearing it from him was worse.

She nodded her head. “I'll take a cab home, and move out tomorrow.”

Grayson helped her with the cab. He wanted to be close to her at the last moment, because he was never going to get her back. After everything he did, and said she'll never take him back.

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

its okay, im okay

pairing: yang jeongin x mafia/cold!reader

summary: you're parents are the leaders of one of the biggest mafia organizations there are. the yoons are feared, reasonably so. over the years you've lost too many friends, too many to count. one day you have to let go of jeongin, and it all comes crumbling down.

tags/warnings: mentions of mafia in this chapter, chris pops up, jeongin is sad, reader is sick, reader's mother is a pure b**ch, it gives grayson hawthorne, mentions of a dead character, reader's last name is yoon

a/n: yall i am so sick rn i nearly passed out in the shower....forgive me if this doesn't sound right :DD (ill get the skz ot8 reaction soonnnn)

masterlist pt. 1 ---> pt 2

Your head leans back against the wall, your eyes close, and darkness quickly fills your vision. Every breath you take is labored, like there is a weight attached to your lungs. It stops you from breathing freely.

Your head pounds with each intake of breath, piercing through the darkness that you felt was slowly taking over you. Another person might say, "Y/N, you're being overdramatic, you're just sick, its not like you're dying." But they didn't know what it is like to lose a sister to sickness. They didn't know what its like to not be allowed to not be okay.

Yoon's were never anything short of okay.

The door flies open and your mother steps in. As she opens the door, you quickly sit up and look down at the homework that lays across your lap.

You're fine.

She scans you silently, her sharp eyes roaming over your calm face. It's too calm, apparently, because she steps closer.

The hand that she places on your shoulder does nothing to soften the blow of her words. "I hope you're not sick, Y/N. How are you supposed to get prepared?"

Your eyes fly to hers as she withdraws her hand. Who does she think she is? She's a b-

You cut over your own thoughts. "I'm fine, Mother." She nods. "Good."

Anger rises up in your throat, threathening to be released. What type of person doesn't take care of their child when their sick?

You swallow down the fury. It slowly slides back down your throat, to the dark, murky depths of your soul. She doesn't care, and you know it. All she cares about is you inheriting the family name, but all you care about is Jeongin.

She scans your room and decides to drop the subject. Instead, she says sharply, "Clean up this room. It's a mess."

You nod, diverting your eyes. You know better than to talk back.

At the door, your mother stops again. "Oh, and Y/N?" She turns, her sharp eyes landing on you. "You're not allowed to see Jeongin anymore." The words hit you. Hard. You freeze and force yourself to take a deep breath, holding in the cough the develops from it.

Yoon's are never anything short of okay.

A muscle in your jaw flexes, which is your only tell, but you force yourself to nod. She sees you purposefully stepping down and gives you a satisfied look before closing the door briskly.

As soon as she leaves, you grit your teeth, but immediately regret it when doing so causes your head to ache more than it already was. What was the reason? You understood that your family was mafia, yes, but what harm did he do?

You blink and find yourself in your bathroom. Your long, brown hair tied in a braid, your normally confident face pale from your sickness. Your eyes land on your form in the mirror. Maybe she's right, you think.

Jeongin doesn't need to be involved in this.

You step back and put back on your cold, forceful mask.

Yoon's are never anything short of okay.

It was for the best.

That night, you block him on your phone, delete your messages, block him on socials. Better yet, delete the socials. Change your phone number.

He didn't need to get potentially murdered from this.

It wasn't like you weren't used to this. You'd grown up your whole life having to push away friends, potential or not.

You shove down the guilt you feel when he knocks on your door the next morning.

He doesn't need to be apart of this.

You somehow manage to force yourself to go to school the next day, like every breath you take doesn't cause your head to feel like it was being split open or for your throat to close, like everything you do doesn't cause a wave of fresh pain to go through you.

You go to school, and this time, you let yourself watch the hurt in his eyes melt away to pure pain. You watch as his friend, Chris, wraps an arm around him and leads him away, but not before giving you a hard glare.

For a brief second, you can almost hear yourself yell out his name as he and Chris walk away from you. You can almost see yourself pulling him into a hug, talking to him, spending the rest of your day with him.

But then, you blink, and the image is gone, and all there is is you standing in a full hallway, students walking around you. You've never felt so lonely amongst so many people.

You let it hurt. But then, you straighten your shoulders and sigh, letting the pain from your sickness come before pushing that away, as well.

As you walk away, an icy chill comes over you again, and you only know one thing.

Yoon's were never anything short of okay.

hope u enjoyed <33

today's writing playlist....

the sound of my own coughs by yours truly, double take by dhruv, i.f.l.y by bazzi, denial is a river by doechii, collision by stray kids, killer queen by mad tsai, red wine supernova by chappell roan

*bold is explicit*

my playlist

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

[luna-and-la-estrellas]

ALLERGIES - G.D.H

: ̗̀➛ pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

: ̗̀➛ genre: fluff

: ̗̀➛ summary: your boyfriend had bought you flowers that contained pollen. being allergic to pollen, you obviously get sick, and feeling guilty, gray is there to take care of you

author's note: i have writer's block so welcome to part three of me trying to get out of it while fighting my inner demons. if you don't have allergies, i envy you (as someone who is allergic to everything but food)

GRAYSON felt terrible. he didn't know that those daisies he bought you contained something you were allergic to. now, due to his mistake, you lied on the bed with pink, watering eyes while sniffling.

the blond boy begun apologizing for what seemed like the twentieth time today, and you murmured, "it's not your fault, gray, it's those stupid flowers..." though, your words didn't quite calm the poor pacing boy.

"libby once sent me recipes to make herbal tea," he said, "i'll make you a cup of tea, maybe that'll help...?" grayson went to make tea, soon coming back up to serve it to you. by then, you sneezed into a tissue.

with care, grayson put the small cup on the bedside table and murmured, "you should really take your medicine." you didn't reply as you used eyedrops, blinking away and hoping that it will reduce the redness of your eyes. you thank him for the tea.

he watched you and felt a pang of guilt once again. not long after, you take tea and your medicine in one go before saying, "gray, do you know what will make me feel better?"

he arched a brow. you said, "if you get into this before and hug me i'm pretty sure i'd feel better." the boy huffed a light laugh before obliging.

you grinned softly in victory as he wrapped his arms around you and pecked your forehead. "how are you feeling, princess?"

"i'm feeling better, maybe you need to keep pecking my forehead and hugging me."

[tangledlcve]

𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭

synopsis: grayson davenport hawthorne is sick. luckily his beloved girlfriend is there to help him.

pairing: grayson x reader (implied f!)

content (genre and warnings): reader's gender is not specified but 'girlfriend' is used once, fluff 100% fluff, banter, sickfic, grayson folds for reader, just grayson getting the love he deserves

word count: 0.5 k

"Gray?", you called out sleepily, half awake, but fully aware of the warm, shirtless body beside you. Grayson's hand was firmly wrapped around your waist, pulling your back even closer to his chest, if that was possible.

"You feel hot", you continued, propping on your elbows to look at his face properly. His normally perfect hair was dishevelled, but he still managed to look perfect. The kind of perfection which gave you butterflies.

"I know you find me hot, darling, but it isn't a reason to break our peaceful slumber in the middle of the night, is it?", Grayson answered, half annoyed, half amused, his voice even deeper than usual. He opened his eyes to look at you properly, running his hand through his hair.

"Not like that!", you gasped, as your cheeks burned red. "I'm saying, I think you have a fever."

"What?", your boyfriend asked with pure confusion painted all over his face. He looked absolutely adorable; it was an extremely rare sight.

"A Hawthorne doesn't get sick", he scoffed, as if you had told a dad joke. He was now fully awake and fully annoyed.

"Being a Hawthorne doesn't mean you're immune to diseases", you countered, exasperated, which was justified due to his utterly ridiculous statement. "Unless your sadistic psychopathic grandpa altered your genes to make you immune. Wouldn't be surprising, actually."

Grayson threw you a look and you rolled your eyes. You put your palm flat on his forehead and flinched back.

"You're burning!", you said, concerned, lines etching on your forehead. You stood up and rummaged through the bed-side table, and retrieved a thermometer with a victorious smile.

"Here", you tossed it to him. "Take your temperature, I'll be right back with some medicine."

You quickly ran and brought the paracetamol with a glass of water. He protested, but swallowed it once you glared at him. Yes, the all feared Grayson Hawthorne folded at your one glance.

"Now rest up", you ordered, getting into bed beside him, sitting up against the headboard. He took your hand and patted his head. You sighed, moving his head onto your lap, running your fingers through his hair, just how he liked it.

"Who would think that Grayson Davenport Hawthorne cannot sleep without his girlfriend playing with his hair", you giggled and he blushed from embarrassment. Oh, how you wanted to snap a picture right there and then, and then trade it with Jameson or Xander for some "Hawthorne gossip".

"Oh shut it", he mumbled as he snuggled closer to you, drifting asleep.

©reyna-obsessed | Not to be reposted, translated or copied on any platform

tags: @reminiscentreader @shuhuaspookie @loife1m @that-multi-fandom-hijabi @moondust-on-the-hijabi

[artstatues]

Let me help, love. - g.h × reader.

wc : 407

pairings : grayson hawthorne x fem!reader, from the inheritance games.

synopsis : you're usually very happy, or bubbly, in grayson's words. but being on your period changed your personality entirely.

warnings : reader is on her period, messy ass writing, quality of this can gth

a/n : i hate this sm but i had to finish a req so i might take another century long break before writing again bc lately mt writing aint it.

taglist : @lxvebelle, @urbanflorals, @reyna-obsessed, @reminiscentreader, @never-enough-novels, @kozumesphone, @shuhuaspookie, @off-to-the-r4ces.

“Love?” Your boyfriend called out, slowly entering the room. You didn’t respond. You didn’t want to, not that you were mad at him or anything, but it felt like you didn’t want to see anyone right now. “Love,” Grayson set his belongings on the chair before walking over towards your wrapped body. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? – Are you sick?” He asked a parade of questions before you could even think about an answer. You only groaned into your pillow in answer. Grayson’s eyebrows were furrowed, confused. “Oh. Are you on your–?” He silently gasped before realizing. A small, bitter “mhm” came out of your mouth before he went into the bathroom, changed out of his suit and quickly snuggled in the bed with you. You shifted your body closer so your head would be laying on his chest, warmth immediately rushing through your body. His entire body tensed up at the contact, he slightly sat up straighter, but it only caused a whine from you. “Do you need anything?” Grayson asked, his tone soft while he played with your hair. “No.” you grumbled into his chest.

As soon as you fell asleep, Grayson gently placed your head on a pillow and left for the kitchen to make dinner. He had no idea what he was going to cook, causing him to frantically open his phone and check his notes app to scroll through the millions of recipes Libby had given him once. Pasta. His thumb stopped. He’d remember your mutters of loving pasta. Perfect, then. He placed his phone on the kitchen counter while gathering the ingredients and equipment.

Some time after lots of clangs and other noises, there was a neatly presented plate of pasta on the dining table. Grayson walked over towards your shared bedroom, careful to not cause any noise. He knocked on the door before softly stepping closer to your sleeping, blanketed body. He tapped on your shoulder and crouched down, attempting to wake you up without angering you. “Sweetheart? I made dinner.” He gave a small smile. You groaned into the pillow before opening your eyes and rubbing them. “I don’t wanna eat yet.” You mumbled, arms finding Gray’s neck. You pulled him closer to the bed before he finally gave in and laid back down with you. You looked up to him with a small smile while he playfully rolled his eyes. “Just let me help sometimes, love.”

[adddddiiii]

Unexpected Encounters

Contents: Boss!Grayson Hawthorne x employee!reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, one use of y/l/n

Your first day working at Hawthorne Foundation had been nothing short of overwhelming. Between the flurry of introductions, navigating the massive building, and figuring out how to keep up with your enigmatic new boss, Grayson Hawthorne, you were utterly spent.

Grayson had been... commanding to say the least. Polished and poised, he seemed to glide through the office like he owned the very air inside it. You'd hardly gotten through your introduction before he'd handed you a file and said, "I need this checked and organised by tomorrow. Don't fail me."

The weight of his words stayed with you all day. By the time you'd left the Foundation, you decided you needed a drink — and maybe a loud, crowded space to drown out your thoughts.

Which is how you ended up at a club downtown with a couple of friends. The music was pulsing, neon lights casting shadows and colours across the packed dance floor. You were nursing a cocktail at the bar, finally starting to unwind, when you felt it: the unmistakable sensation of someone's gaze on you.

Turning slightly, your eyes locked with a pair of familiar steel-gray ones.

Grayson Hawthorne.

Your stomach dropped. What the hell was he doing here?

He was leaning casually against the bar a few feet away, dressed sharply in a black button-up and dark slacks. If he'd noticed your panic, he didn't show it. Instead, he stared at you expressionlessly, lifting his drink in a silent toast before pushing off the bar and walking toward you.

"Miss y/l/n," his was voice was smooth and low and somehow audible over the music. "I didn't expect the see you here."

You blinked. Your gripped tightened around your glass. "Mr Hawthorne," you replied, doing your best to sound composed. "I could say the same."

"Grayson," he corrected. "We're not at work now."

Outside of the sterile walls of the office, he seemed different. More relaxed, though still uptight.

"I didn't think you were the clubbing type." You raised an eyebrow at him.

His lips twitched into a slight smirk. "I could say the same."

You felt your cheeks heat. "It's been a long day. I needed a break."

"First days can be exhausting," he said, his tone lighter than expected. "But from what I saw, you handled yourself well."

The compliment caught you off guard. "Thanks."

Grayson tilted his head and studied you like you were a particularly interesting puzzle. "You're unlike most people I work with."

"How so?"

"You're not afraid to look me in the eye." He took a sip of his drink. "Most people avoid it. Intimidation, I suppose."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Believe me, you're still intimidating."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Noted."

For a moment, the two of you stood there. The chaotic energy of the club continued on around you and the weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear, yet you couldn't look away.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and intrigue. "Are you serious?"

"Completely."

You hesitated for only a moment before setting your drink on the bar and taking his outstretched hand.

As he led you to the dance floor, you wondered if this night was the beginning of something you'd never see coming — and maybe something you couldn't resist.

[inmyheaddd]

as long as you're next to me - grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: grayson is sick, and you won't let him go another day trying to act like nothing is wrong. wc: 1.5k

grayson hawthorne was many things—disciplined, composed, insufferably stubborn times—but he was not, under any circumstances, the kind of man who got sick and let it bother him.

it started with the small things. the way he rolled his shoulders a little too often, like he couldn’t quite shake off the tension. the way he'd sleep in a little longer. the way he opted for hot tea in the morning rather than his usual coffee. the way he didn't go for his swims.

he had been working all day, buried in contracts and numbers, refusing to acknowledge the way his body was practically begging him to stop.

you had watched him from the doorway, arms crossed, biting your lip as he powered through another set of emails with the kind of determination that would’ve been admirable if it weren’t so ridiculously self-destructive.

"grayson," you finally said, stepping into the room. "you need to take a break."

he cleared his throat, ceasing his typing for a moment. "i'm fine, sweetheart," he muttered, looking up from his screen momentarily, as if to assure you.

you sighed, walking up behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder. he was warm. too warm. but he barely reacted, just tensed slightly beneath your touch.

"just for a second," you tried again, softer this time. "please?"

he hesitated, then shut his laptop closed and got out of his chair, standing up and turning to meet you.

your eyes flickered all over his face— to his eyes that seemed heavier, and to his hair that he had clearly run his hands through many times.

you felt yourself frown as you brought the back of your hand up to his forehead, and felt that frown only deepen when you felt how high his temperature was.

"i promise you," he started upon seeing your evident worry. his voice was low, slightly hoarse, "i'm quite alright."

you ignored his claims, bringing your hand to your forehead just for good measure, seeing the difference. his brows furrowed as he watched you.

you went to put your hand back on his forehead, and it only confirmed your thoughts— he was definitely sick.

"oh my god, gray," you mumbled, your hand moving to one side of his cheek. "you're burning up. this is bad."

the corners of graysons lips turned up slightly, his expression softening.

he brought his own hand ontop of yours and took it off his face, but stayed holding it. "i admire your concern, truly." he said, raising his brows for a moment to emphasise it. "but, my love, i'm fine."

"oh shut up," you rolled your eyes, your hands going back to your sides as you huffed. "you and your ''i'm alright''s and "im fine"s. stop lying."

"sweetheart," he said through a chuckle, a hand moving to stroke your hair momentarily.

a plan— a test, suddenly went off in your mind.

you wrapped your arms around his neck. instinctively, his hands found your waist, but his brows knitted together ever so slightly. you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't so close.

"alright then." you mumbled, "you're fine, it's not that bad, and you're not sick." you tiptoed, leaning in to kiss him, and your lips were nearly touching — until he inhaled sharply and pulled away, turning his head to the side.

your test was working.

your pulled your face away from his again, eyes narrowed, a slow smile creeping onto your face. "grayson, why are you pulling away?"

grayson exhaled sharply through his nose, shutting his eyes like he was already regretting the decision. "because," he gritted out, "i can't kiss you."

you tilted your head to the side, biting back a laugh. "and why is that?"

his jaw tensed. you could practically see the internal battle, the way he was debating whether or not to keep up the facade.

ultimately, he sighed, resignation settling into his features. "...because," he started begrudgingly, one hand coming off of your waist and running it over his face. "i'm sick, and i don't want to spread it to you."

he studied your expression, and couldn't help but smile at the tiny proud grin on your face.

regardless, he didn't want to bother you with a little cold. perhaps it was more than a little, as he'd been sick for almost a week now, but you didn't need to know that.

he had things to do, work to get done, and he simply didn't want to be a burden to the person he loved so much. he shook his head slightly, "it's not—"

"—if you say 'it's not that bad' i will actually fight you." you told him, your expression ever-so-serious as you pointed at him. then a laugh escaped your lips when you saw his amused expression. "and you, grayson hawthorne, are in no condition to fight back."

his lips parted like he wanted to argue, but then you turned around, one hand holding his, and dragged him behind you. his body betrayed him and his internal protests completely and he followed you, because quite frankly, he didn't want to let go of your hand.

you made your way to your room, and grayson was now caught up with you and walking by your side. still, your hands were intertwined.

you stopped in front of the door, turning meet his gaze, your own filled with something undeniably fond. "i'm going to get you some tea and antihistamines, while you change, get in bed and rest." your other hand ran up and down his arm, and you looked back up at his face.

he still looked incredibly handsome - unfair, you looked like a zombie when you were sick - and you found yourself wishing he wasn't sick, not only because you didn't want him to hurt, but because you wanted to kiss the damn boy until you were sick of it.

but, as you proved, he would absolutely not kiss you if he was sick. even now, he was trying to keep his distance and stepped back when he found himself involuntarily stepping even closer to you.

his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, "i can help you with that." he suggested earnestly, his gaze fixed on yours.

"i won't let you." you answered back, laughing a little.

"love, i'd hate to lay idly." he tried to bargain, in all of his hawthorne manner. his voice was a low murmur as he pleaded, "let me stay with you in the kitchen, let me do something."

another soft chuckle left your lips, "i'll be five minutes, at most. just relax a little, let me do this for you."

his lips rolled inwards, and you knew he was hating the idea of being the one taken care of.

you rolled your eyes affectionately, before sighing. "gray, i know you've been sick for a while. i know you like to handle stuff like this by yourself, but with all due respect, you're not doing a very good job at it." you shook your head softly, "sitting infront of a computer and stressing yourself out and barely eating isn't going to make you feel better. so please, just let me make you the tea while you change."

for a moment, grayson was silent, and you knew he was going over your words in his head. his eyes searched yours, flickered down to your lips for a moment, then back to your eyes.

"i really do love you." he finally murmured after that silence, his thumb stopping those circles on the back of your hand and simply holding it tight.

butterflies erupted in your stomach at the sound of his voice, and the words themselves nearly made you melt on the spot. "i love you too, grayson."

"more than you know." he continued. his eyes were heavy with intent, "i'm endlessly lucky to have you."

you bit back a large smile, feeling those butterflies once again. you wished you could hide your flush, your face feeling as hot as grayson's forehead earlier.

you 1 : grayson 0.

"so don't push your luck by not listening to me." you managed to joke softly, surprised you found the words; you felt as if you could simply stand there in admiration of him.

"oh, i'm listening." grayson returned right back, the corners of his lips turning up teasingly as he took hold of your other hand. affection swirled and gleamed in those silver eyes of his.

you rolled your eyes and smiled softly, then reached up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"i'll be right back." you told him as you pulled back, a little smile, and let go of his hands. "oh, and pick a good movie!" you quickly added, pointing at him as you took slow steps backwards. "you're banned from your work for the rest of today."

as stubborn as he was, he nodded at you, watching you go before he finally went in the room, and did as you asked.

even he couldn’t deny that resting—especially with you curled up beside him with a good movie on—didn’t sound all that bad.

a/n: walk him like a dog!! sorry if theres spag errors i wrote this in the dead of night taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem@jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities @thechildofshadows

[inmyheaddd]

walkin' out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part 7

⤷ “pour your glass of wine // mitchell told me i should be just fine,”

summary: you and grayson haven’t talked in a while, and things stir up in the world around you and in your mind. luckily, you have the best best friend by your side. wc: 2.0k a/n: hey siri.. play two people by gracie abrams… (said sadly) series masterlist — other parts

previously on part 6…

“he looked at you like he didn’t know what to say, his mouth opening and closing before he finally settled on just staying silent.

you still felt like there was a million unspoken words that needed to be said, but you turned and walked away. 

for once, you didn’t wait to see if he’d try again.

you willed your feet to move and not think about how he looked behind you, because if you did, even for a second, you had a feeling you’d turn right back.”

—

it had been a few weeks since you and grayson stopped talking. yeah— weeks. that was the longest you had gone without talking to him since you’ve known him. isn’t that strange?

it was driving you crazy, the amount of times you saw something that reminded you of him, or your friendship, and you wanted to send it to him, only to remember you couldn’t. you weren’t friends, and you had him blocked on basically everything.

or the amount of times you saw something only the two of you would understand, something that would’ve made you laugh, and just feel saddened by it. it felt like your memories were split between the two of you. 

there was a thing that was even stranger, though— he had started seeing someone. 

at least that’s what it looked like, with the posts she’d put on her social media. she had posted a picture of the back of a blonde head you could recognize anywhere in-front of the sunset, and one of her walking with someone holding her shopping bags— and the hand had the faintest scar on it’s thumb, it was almost impossible to notice. and it was a scar that only you knew the backstory to. 

there was that— and the countless paparazzi photos online— ‘grayson hawthorne’s possible new girlfriend? the mysterious blonde hawthorne has a new hot date! grayson and his interesting new friend ella spotted in…’ it was sickening. 

he would go to extreme lengths to never have paparazzi find you back when you hung out. always in quiet, secluded areas. you never thought much of it before, but now it looked like it had a whole new meaning.

was he embarrassed? did he not want to be seen with you? did he— you off your thoughts before you spiraled.

she was gorgeous, you couldn’t deny it.

and the worst part? she was an absolute sweetheart. there wasn’t a single reason to hate her.

you hated yourself more for even looking for a reason to. 

the thing is though, he was never yours. sure, he wiped the tears off of your cheeks when you cried, gave you the kisses you could only dream of, confided in you about things he didn’t tell his family, and he was your best friend. but he was never simply just yours.

besides, you were the one who made sure that any chance of you happening was gone permanently. he asked to talk, and you talked. then you went home crying. 

this was grayson you were talking about: if he wanted something, he found a way to get it. that being said, if he wanted to be with you, or even just still be your friend, he would’ve said something. 

he didn’t. 

if ella was what he wanted, then you just had to deal with it.

you weren’t ever like this, you promised yourself you would never be that girl. green and sick with jealousy, questioning her own self worth. 

but hey, you promised each other you’d be there for each other always, did you not? seems like promises didn’t mean all that much anymore. 

—

“you don’t get it, gigi.” you exclaimed frustratedly as you wiped your angry tears away. 

you had just stormed out of a club you were at with your friends. the bustling music and bright flashing lights stopped again as the door shut behind gigi, after she ran after you. the music could still be heard slightly, but it was muffled heavily behind the door.

your friends wanted you to go kiss random guys, drink until you couldn’t feel anything, and for a few days, you did. and it almost worked, but it just made you feel horrible now. a few of them even made crude jokes about grayson and ella.

you didn’t feel like yourself— you didn’t even like yourself. how could you ever expect grayson to?

“he just doesn’t care if i look pretty, or if i’m doing better, or any of these other things.” you pointed out exaggeratedly, knowing you were taking it out on the wrong person, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“you know what?” you said through a cruel chuckle. “the worst part is that he would probably be happy for me that i’m moving on, or looking better, being myself, or whatever the hell you guys say i should do.” 

you gestured to the door of the buildings where the rest of your friends sat, frustration running all the way to your fingertips.

“he wouldn’t get jealous.” you said, angry at yourself that you got jealous. “he’s a good person, and that’s why it hurts so much. that’s why i’m ‘not over it in 2 weeks like i usually am.’” you continued, almost choking on your words by now. 

you were so angry that all your friends expected you to just get over it. they don’t know what its like to feel that kind of love one day, and find out the other person didn’t even think of you like that.

to find out that he thought of someone else like that. 

and somehow, even through the pounding of your ears and burning throat, you had even more to say. 

“he’s surrounded by pretty girls every day, gigi, the only difference is he actually wants to be with one, and it’s not me. and that’s fine.” you put on your most level voice, and after a moment added, “it has to be fine.” 

you sniffled, and decided from then on you were not going to let grayson hawthorne, or more so the lack of him, dictate your life for a second longer.

gigi stood there wide eyes, her mouth opening to speak, then shutting. then opening again, then shutting. “i…” she managed, and your heart almost tore as you noticed her eyes were glossy now. 

fuck, you messed up. 

“geeg,” you took a tentative step towards her, the nickname coming out before you could even think. you held out a hand as if to stop her from moving, “wait, gigi—“

“— no, i’m sorry. i messed everything up.” she shook her head apologetically as she looked at you, her voice breaking, and in turn breaking your heart. “i— you guys were perfect friends before. and i, i— i ruined it all by trying to play matchmaker.” 

“what?” you breathed out, rapidly shaking your head. “no no no, none of this is your fault. you didn’t do anything, i was stupid, and he kissed me. those were our choices, you didn’t force anything— i didn’t mean to take it out on you. you did nothing wrong gigi,”

“stop,” she said through a forced laugh, bringing herself to smile. you knew it was a fake one, and she knew you knew. but she kept on smiling anyway. 

“it’s okay, you don’t have to say that.” she spoke through a laugh, a bleak contrast to the pained expression on her face. it was tearing your soul by the second. she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand harshly. 

“i should’ve just left everything alone.” gigi tore here eyes away from you, and to the ground. “why do i never leave anything alone?“ she exhaled through a sad laugh. you noticed she started to talk faster, and more so speaking to herself. you picked up on her hands fiddling with themselves, then she toyed with the hem of her shirt. 

“no, gigi, look at me.” you waited until her wide blue eyes locked on yours, her wet lashes clumped together. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“i did though, and now gray isn’t acting like himself, you’re not okay, and i’m the worst best friend and sister in the world.” 

“gigi,” you gave her a sympathetic look as your shoulders sagged. you couldn’t begin to think about how you could express how much you loved her.

you pulled her into a hug, and her arms stayed glued to her sides for a moment, before finally hugging you back 10x harder. 

you screwed your eyes shut as you felt her cry on your shoulder. 

“geeg, you have no idea how light my life got the second you entered it,” you mumbled into the hug. “and, i mean— so what if me and grayson aren’t friends anymore? that doesn’t matter, not as much as your friendship matters.”

gigis breathing slowed, and she was sniffling now. the thing that mattered was that she wasn’t crying. 

you continued, “he’s not the one i dance with late at night and watch shitty reality tv with in bed the next morning. he’s not the one who i laugh wicker the stupidest things with for hours on end. he’s not the person i text first when something happens. he’s not my best friend.” 

not anymore, and he probably never would be ever again.

you felt gigi laugh sadly through a sniffle, still on your shoulder. she was silent for a long moment. then she mumbled, “we’re pretty damn amazing, aren’t we?” she lifted her head and looked at you. 

“yeah, we sort of are.” you smiled at her, watching as she wiped her tears and took a deep breath in. 

“you know,” she mumbled, “i really really hate my brother.” she said as she straightened her clothes, exhaling a long breath as she shook her head. 

“yeah,” you sighed, lying straight through your teeth. “me and you both.” 

you more so hated him because you couldn’t really hate him. not fully hate him, anyway. 

gigi let the lie slide straight through, changing the subject with a laugh as she leaned forward and fluffed up your hair. 

“let’s get inside before we get hypothermia.” she took your hand and led you to the door, “our outfits are not built for the cold.” 

“oh, yeah. i know that’s for sure.” you laughed, faking shivering and clattering your teeth. you followed gigi into the doors of the music and bright lights.

for once, you actually looking forward to the night you had ahead of you. 

because, you knew you and gigi would grab your purses and go straight home, rewatch your favorite movies until sunrise, and then spend the day dancing to your favorite songs with your favorite person. and repeat until you ran out of baked goods and coffee. 

that was what healing was. to you at least.

—

“okay but like,” gigi said, before popping another marshmallow in her mouth. 

“have you seen yourself? it’s like, your eyes like— hold the secrets to the universe in them.” she swore solemnly, raising her eyebrows for added effect. “i could look in them forever and eveeerrrrr.”

she tilted her head, eyes widening as she dragged the last word; looking like she was in a hypnotized state.

“gigi, stop.” you laughed as you felt your face redden, pushing her shoulder away.

“sorry,” she didn’t let her act slip up for a single second. “i’m just a little mesmerized right now.” 

“you’re not funny,” the laugh threatening to break out said otherwise. 

“just give me a moment. i’m just committing this scene to memory so i’ll see you in my dreams,” her voice was all robot-like, she always knew how to cheer you up in the most ridiculous ways. “the day isn’t enough time—“

“shut up,” you giggled, hiding your face as gigi leaned back, throwing her head back in laughter.

you shook your head, rubbing your eyes as you continued to chuckle. once you’d both settled down, gigi spoke again, more serious this time.

she leaned her head back on the couch, looking at you fondly. “i’m sorry my brother is a d1 douche bag. if he had a dollar every time he was literally the worst person ever, he’d be richer than his granddad.” 

you managed a small laugh. “tell me about it,” you said, then after a moment of giggles, you spoke again. “i love you more, geeg. way more than you know.”

—

it was bordering between late night and early morning when you woke up. gigi’s limbs were strewn across the king-sized bed you lay on. you could hear her soft snores. 

you turned over and gave her a glance, and her hair was all over the place in the most endearing, gigi way. 

she’s going to struggle with that tomorrow, you thought. you laughed to yourself, before reaching over blindly for your phone, the notifications of which you forgot to silence, being the whole reason you were awake now. 

2:32 the time read, and you scrolled down to read your notifications. 

your smile faded faster than you could ever imagine. there was a crater in your chest, and a hole in your stomach.

earlier notifications:

**A blocked number wants to message you. Accept?**

— I’m sorry. — I’ve made many mistakes in my life. I can’t let losing you be another. 

**Tap here to delete this message, and all previous conversation.**

part 8

a/n: gigi my girl ☹️ sorry for the recent influx of angst help idk what happened taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07

@midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

@clarissaweasley-10  @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams

@hermesenthusiast @moonnsstruckksworld @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm 

@goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel part 2

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: lyra kane is closer to your boyfriend than ever seen as grayson has just been put of her team in the grandest game and it’s making you a little nervous, you don’t trust her and you don’t want her too close to him

parts: part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5

warnings: mild swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: I had quite a few requests for a part 2, so here she is… trying to get into my productive era right now (fake it till you make it right??)

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234

RECAP

“Whose team is he on?” I say quickly.

“Odette Morales and Lyra Kane.”

***

Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. The name rattles around my brain, echoing off of my skull, only to replay in my mind again. Of course it just has to be Lyra Kane that he’s on a team with. That breathtaking woman with beauty that shouldn’t be possible for a human. Yeah, that Lyra Kane. I feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, so I express nothing instead. Why did it have to be her? Out of all of the players.

I’m not jealous, I try to convince myself, I’m just concerned. Yes, that’s it. Except it isn’t and the only person I’m lying to is pathetic little old me. I am ferociously jealous. It scolds me torturously, raging from the pit of my stomach, crawling under my skin to settle comfortably.

Grayson loves me, I know this. I felt the kisses we’d shared on the beach moments before he’d gone into the stupid house. They still linger on my lips now, I could taste him slightly, I’d heard him say he loved me, only me and yet I can’t get the feeling out of my system. The jealousy always manages to seep its way back in. I’m sick with a disease called envy.

I don’t want to be the jealous girl, the possessive one that people roll their eyes at or avoid. That’s not me. I didn’t want it to be me. But deep down I’m petrified that that’s who I’m becoming. I sigh, realising I was just going to have to swallow it. What could I do about it now? Besides I know Grayson, I trust Grayson. He wouldn’t let her try anything on, would he?

***

Hours of waiting and not watching. We couldn’t see the players at all. Or hear them. Anxiety is killing me slowly from the inside out, gnawing happily at my organs. I spin the ring on my middle finger as my leg jigs up and down, counting down the seconds until sunrise, four-thousand one-hundred and eight-two to go.

“You know you don’t have to look so panicked all the time,” Nash sighs, slumping down beside me.

“I’m not panicked,” I say, forcing a laugh.

“Sure darlin’,” he says, “my name’s Roger and I have a pet turtle.”

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to smile, “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“It’s completely safe in there, we designed it that way,” he explains slowly, soothingly, “no one’s going to get hurt and there’s an emergency button just in case.”

“Okay,” I nod, exhaling.

I don’t believe him and his words don’t offer me much comfort. My overthinking brain is currently listing all of the ways Grayson could possibly die in the next ten minutes. But Nash is trying and I’m thankful to have him.

“At least pretend you’re convinced,” he drawls, a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I’m not convinced that everything’s going to be fine but I am convinced Nash has a sixth sense called ‘big brother knows all’ because for some reason he always knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings, even when they were trying to hide it. Either that or he’s a mind reader.

“I am,” I tell him, as convincingly as I could muster, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“Shit!” Jameson yells from across the room, perfect timing as per usual.

“What?” I hear Avery ask quickly.

“The powers gone out,” he says, smacking the table so hard I didn’t know how he didn’t break a bone.

“What do you mean the powers gone out?” I say, standing up and walking over.

“I mean they have no light, no heaters and they ate completely locked in by the mechanisms,” he explains, gesturing to the blank screens.

“We’ve lost all connection to them as well,” Xander murmurs, eyes darting from left to right at each and every screen.

“Everything?” I exclaim, trying not to get over-anxious and failing miserably.

“Yes,” Jameson confirms.

“You’re panicking her,” Nash scolds him.

“Well she asked I’m not going to lie,” he defends.

“Not the time to argue guys,” Avery rolls her eyes, getting back to the computer. Jameson follows her lead, trying to reconnect the lost signals.

“Shit shit shit,” he groans as more things shut off. He slams his hands down on the keyboard and starts guessing random buttons, “Xand help me out here,”

“Don’t you worry, dearest brother,” Xander replies calmly, “I’m working on it.”

Silence hits us like the dead. We’re all intently staring up the layers and layers of code coming up on the several screens. I can’t understand any of it.

“This is Python,” Jameson points at one of the scenes.

“Yeah and this is Java,” Xander nods, “but I have no clue what this is.”

“Shit,” Jameson curses, running a hand through his hair, reminding me of Grayson when he was overstimulated.

“Not yet,” he replies, turning to the other Hawthorne brother present, “Nash do you remember when I was in fifth grade-“

“The de-coder book?” he says before Xander even finishes.

“Please,” he nods sharply.

“Got it,” he replies, rushing out of the room.

“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” I whisper to Avery

“Absolutely none,” she shrugs, looking as clueless as me offering me some comfort.

“Who would even cut the power?” Jameson asks to nobody in particular.

Avery and I share a look. I already know we’re thinking the same thing.

“Grayson is in there, does she know that?” I ask quickly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, chewing the inside of her cheek

“She?” Jameson interrupts. We both ignore him.

“Don’t you think he’ll be her prime target,” I say, the worry warping my tone a little in a way that made me sound a little too vulnerable for my liking.

“Target?” Jameson says. We ignore him, again.

“Most likely, if it is her,” Avery sighs, tapping her bottom lip melodically.

Jameson looks at Xander, baffled, “are they speaking in code?”

“I’m kind of concentrating right now Jamie, please don’t talk to me,” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the computer screens as he attempts to decode.

“Who are you talking about?” Jameson raises his voice a little, forcing me and Avery to address his question.

“This could be Eve,” Avery says softly.

“Eve?” Xander says, freezing mid-type and actually lifting his head up.

“No surely not,” Jameson shakes his head in denial.

“Think about it,” I say, “who else can you think that would want go sabotage this game?”

“Anyone who fancies a good bit of money,” he states, “and it could be nothing at all.”

“A power cut isn’t nothing,” I argue.

“I hate to agree the circumstance,” Avery exhales, “but it’s true, this feels like a threat of sorts.”

“And we can’t contact the players meaning anything could happen right now,” I say, worry bleeding into my voice.

Jameson’s face softens.

“But they’re locked in,” Nash points out, sauntering back in, “no one is getting in or out, that means they can’t be hurt.”

He hands the decoding book to Xander who frantically flips through the pages to find something in particular.

“Windows can be smashed,” I point out.

“You think whoever this is would risk smashing a window,” Nash asks, with his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know how these people work,” I snap, throwing my hands up in the arm.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

I look up to see my shaking limbs. Immediately they drop to my sides and I desperately try to still them, “no I’m not-“

“Breathe a little okay, Gray will be fine,” he reassures me, his tone placid, as he delicately takes my shaking hands between his.

“Look as long as they all stay put no one should get hurt,” Avery says calmly, “the glass on the windows are double glazed and harder to smash than the average window, that is if they’re going to risk that.”

“Besides Xander’s on it,” Jameson adds.

Xander sticks a thumb into the air, still audibly tapping the keyboard with the other, “whoever did this is incredibly skilled at hacking and annoyingly so,” he mutters in reply.

No one talks. We are all just stood in silence, barely daring to breathe not wanting to break Xander’s concentration. Mine and Avery’s hands are intertwined, gripping the others so tightly that our fingers are white. Xander is frantic. He’s practically sweating as he types quickly and clicks buttons I didn’t even know existed. And just when it seemed like he might be getting somewhere more and more boxes of undeciphered code popped up. I’m close to being hopeless when Xander leans back in his seat.

“We’re back up and running,” Xander announces, “lights, buttons, connections, locks, everything.”

Avery and I squeal, hugging each other tightly. Relief floods through my body and I’m giddy with it. Xander stands up and breathes out slowly.

I kiss his cheek in affection and gratitude, platonically, “thank you Xander.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“I owe you a scone,” Jameson tells with a slap on the back.

“That, you do,” he nods with a wide grin.

“What do we tell the players?” Nash asks, reminding us that the game is still going and the players will be wondering what the hell just went on.

“Do we tell them the truth?” Xander asks.

“We don’t even know the truth,” Jameson tells him.

“Then we tell them what we know,” Avery says, “Nash?”

“You got it kid,” he nods.

Xander slides an arms around me.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks,” Nash drawls through the microphone, “brief technical snafu on our end, but we’re back. You still have sixty three minutes until dawn. As long as at least one team makes it down to the dock by the deadline, the rules still stand.”

It’s fine, everything will be fine. Three thousand seven hundred and eighty seconds left. I rest my head on Xander’s shoulder and he puts his head on mine. I think he’s the only thing that’s holding me up at the moment. If he weren’t I’m pretty sure my body would be some sort of odd shaped puddle of consumed thoughts on the carpet. Only one sentence goes through my head, over and over and over. I can’t wait to have my arms around Grayson again.

***

It’s almost sunrise when we make our way to the dock so we’ll be there for when the players make it out. If they make it out. I walk in between Xander and Nash, trying to keep up with their obscenely large leg strides. Avery and Jameson lead the way holding hands. My heart squeezes, it won’t be too long before I see Grayson again. I know it seemed stupid, we had only been apart for a few hours, but those hours had felt like weeks given all of the events that had taken place. Not to mentioned the long prolonging wait of which I couldn’t see or hear him.

And there was still something going around in my head. Something about him being with Lyra Kane for this long in such close proximity. It was grating at me, but I push the feelings down and bury them under a mound that I’m trying to ignore.

“Want to have a bet?” Xander ruffles my hair, stealing me from being consumed by my own thoughts.

I slap him away, “I’ve heard it’s dangerous to wager with a Hawthorne.”

“What’s my brother been telling you?” he asks.

“Mum’s the word,” I wink back, tapping my nose.

“What’s your bet on little brother?” Nash asks.

“What team will make it first,” Xander grins, mischievous glint in his eye.

His brotehr grins towards the sky, “had a feeling it might be.”

“I’m bias then,” I scoff.

“Okay so your Hearts,” Xander says.

“Hang on I never agreed to this bet,” I exclaim, holding my hands up to surrender.

“Whoever wins gets a scone,” he bribes me.

“That only benefits you,” Nash points out.

“Actually I would also benefit, I like scones,” I smile sheepishly,

“See? Who are you voting Nash?” Xander asks.

“I’ll go with Clubs, I’m rooting for Gigi,” Nash shrugs.

Xander nods, “that means I’m going with Diamonds.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him.

“Yes I do, otherwise it’s uneven,” he says. I wasn’t going to argue.

“Who would your original vote gone to?” I ask.

He smiles at me, a cheeky glint in his eyes, “no one shall ever know.”

“What are you three wittering about,” Jameson says, interrupting the train of conversation as he turns around.

“Probably something better than the lovesick whispers you two are sharing,” Xander teases.

“Xand-“

The thumping of footsteps cut him off. It’s a race. Hearts and Diamonds are out. Savannah is the fastest, Rohan hot on her heels. Though Lyra takes them both over in a matter of seconds. She must be a runner. Would explain the to-die-for figure. Grayson is close behind her thought Odette trailed behind slightly, but for a woman of her age she’s doing remarkably well. They all arrive within milliseconds of each other, breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“Congratulations Diamonds and Hearts, you’ve made it,” Avery smiles.

“Where’s Clubs?” Savannah asks, its only then I notice how her longs blonde hair has been chopped off unevenly. It makes her look even colder than before, sending a chill down my spine

“Still playing,” Jameson says.

“Gray,” I breathe in relief, as he takes me into his arms.

Something about the hug feels unnatural maybe even slightly uncomfortable, but I brush it off. We’d both been awake for far too long. I couldn’t trust my judgement on this little sleep.

“You okay?” I murmur into his shoulder.

“Fine,” he replies, so only I can hear him.

“Good.”

It hit sunrise and something sinks in my stomach. Clubs haven’t made it. Gigi is out of the game. This is going to destroy her. We all wait in silence. All knowing Clubs have failed, all knowing the disappointment we’d have to see on their faces. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, I can hear it in my ears. I grip onto Grayson’s hand tightly. I catch Lyra’s honey golden eyes. She looks me up and down as I narrow my eyes at her. I can’t read her body language towards me, it was difficult to make out what she was thinking or feelings. I turn away and try not to think too much of it.

There’s sound coming from the left of us and in the distance there are three figures. Everyone’s eyes snap to the three remaining players who’s hearts are probably all sinking in realisation that they were nit longer players in this game. Then I notice what’s in Knox’s arms or rather who… Knox is carrying a bleeding Gigi. My stomach twists. Grayson freezes beside me.

“Put her down,” Grayson says sternly, his voice commanding authority.

Immediately Knox gently places Gigi down, making sure she was stable before he completely let go. We rush to her side immediately. Grayson putting a protective arm around her shoulder, his eyes flitting between the gash on her head and her face.

“Oh god Gigi,” I murmur tentatively touching her bloodied head to assess how severe it is.

“I’m fine,” she winces, blinking back tears.

“You are not,” Grayson says, his voice hard almost empty, “you’re injured Gigi.”

“Who among us is not occasionally concussed?” she says happily.

“Our team is out of the game, go ahead say it we’be been eliminated,” Knox says turning to Avery.

She ignores him and approaches Gigi, “are you okay?”

She nodded with a smile laced with the pain he thought she could hide. Maybe it was invisible to the others, but not to me. I’ve been under the same mask she’s trying to hide behind now. I understand. Grayson keeps his arm around her and I keep my hand in hers. She squeezes my palm and I squeeze hers back. I’m here, I wanted to scream, I’m here for you.

“Diamonds and Hearts, you’re onto the next phase of the game. Clubs… there’s always next year,” Avery finally brings herself to say.

“Once a player, always a player,” Jameson adds.

***

I don’t leave Gigi’s side until Nash has patched her up properly. ‘Stay with her, please,’ Grayson had murmured after we’d shared a quick kiss. He’d had something to discuss back at the dock with Odette. And Lyra. So I did, I stayed by Gigi’s side through every wince, every hand squeeze, every stitch.

“All patch up darlin’,” Nash nods, tipping his cowboy hat towards her slightly.

“Thanks,” she smiles brightly, it’s an unnatural fluorescent brightness that she radiated. Too bright, too artificial.

“You feeling okay?” I make sure, looking at her head.

“Fine,” she replied, gently feeling over her stitches.

Before anyone can say anything else there is a sharp knock at the door interrupting the thread of conversation. Nash answers. Brady walks in. Something was off about that guy. I got a bad feeling when I was around that guy. Nash gets up to leave and as much as I want to stay, it’s not my place to and I know that.

“Holler if you need anything,” Nash tells Gigi.

“We’re not going far,” I reassure her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she beams up at me, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “really I’m fine.”

“I think we both know that’s a lie,” I say, my voice so low I’m not sure if she can hear me.

The way her eyes soften, revealing an ounce of vulnerability, indicates she has, “can we talk later? Maybe on the boat back?”

“Of course we can,” I say, squeezing her hand in mine one last time, before standing up to leave her to talk to Brady.

She nods with a small smile which I return, then turn to follow Nash who’s holding eye contact with Brady intensely. As soon as we’re out of the room and a few paces down the corridor Nash blurts out, “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” I grimace, at least someone else had picked up on Brady’s sketchy vibes, “he gives me a weird feeling.”

“Same here kid,” he nods in reply, then pauses slightly before saying, “you go and find Gray, I’ll be close by if she needs me.”

I fumble over my words. How did he know again? He has to be some sort of mind reader. I make a mental note to discuss it with Xander.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sure,” he says, placing a brotherly hand in my shoulder, “I know you’re still worried, you’re horrible at hiding it.”

“Thanks Nash,” I chuckle, brushing hair out of my face,

“No worries kid,” he says, shooting me a lopsided grin as I rush off to reunite with Grayson.

***

The boat left for the mainland at noon, that was when Gigi, Knox and now Odette were leaving, as she traded her place for Brady’s. But the players had been told to try and get some rest before the next phase. I’d also been up all night and could feel myself growing tired, so Grayson and I were currently laying on our bed in each other’s arms. It feels nice to finally breathe a little. I don’t feel the weight of stress from my jealousy or guilt or worry, I just feel normal.

“Do you think Gigi will be okay,” I murmur into Grayson.

“Nash is used to patching up our ailments,” he responds, his tone a little distant. It made me iffy.

“Yeah but I mean after being cast out of the game,” I reply, “I know I wouldn’t feel great if I were in her position.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, blowing out a short breath.

“I’m worried about her,” I say quietly.

“Me too,” he whispers, “I’m really worried about her.”

“I think we’re going to talk later,” I tell him, hoping it might provide himnwith some sort of solace.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, “I hope she might get whatever it is that’s hurting her off of her chest.”

“Make sure she’s okay for me, okay?” he makes sure, “no matter what.”

“Of course,” I say, a little confused. Why had he said it like that? Like something bad might happen? Like I might lose him? I brush off the feeling. I put it down to overreacting, as usual.

We fall into a long silence as I trace different shapes on chest with my finger tip. I slowly drag it along, with no specific shape in mind. A blank expression is present on his face and I can see he’s deep in thought. There’s something on his mind and I have a horrible feeling it has something to do with the unseen, unheard happenings of the grandest game.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask him, doe-eyed.

“Hmmm nothing,” he says, refusing to look me in the eye.

“You sure?” I press on.

“I’m sure,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

The kiss was off and I could see something was bothering him but he didn’t want to tell me, I’d wait until he was ready. Even if it were forever.

“What was it like in there?” I ask, attempting to change the subject, “the game.”

“It really was the grandest game,” he whispers, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Really?”

“They outdid themselves thoroughly,” he says.

“I bet,” I nod, nuzzling further into him affectionately.

“You really couldn’t hear or see anything the whole time?” he asks, a hint of worry delicately woven into his tone. It was so brief you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him. But I know Gray.

“Nothing, it was like hell,” I say with a small tired laugh, “it was killing me that I had no clue if you were okay.”

“I was fine,” he replied quickly, almost curtly.

“Well I know that now,” I yawn and feel my eyes begin to close slowly but I fight to keep them open.

“You’re tired,” Grayson says, the ghost of a smile faintly touching his lips.

I shake my head in denial, “no I’m not,” I protest, “not even a little bit.”

“Go the sleep love,” he whispers.

“I want to talk to you though,” I pout, rubbing my eyes.

“We‘ll have plenty of time tomorrow,” he says, playing with my hair.

“Okay,” I murmur, letting myself fall into a dimension of much needed sleep, finally with my love back in my arms.

***

I wake up in the middle of darkness, though there is light desperately trying to make it through the black out blinds. I wonder how long I’d been asleep for, it couldn’t be past noon though. I’m aware of the coldness on the other side of the bed. Grayson wasn’t there. It wasn’t exactly uncommon. Usually when we were home, if it were the early hours he would either be swimming or having a wander and a read to make himself tired again.

I hear the door handle turn slowly and the sound of his all too familiar footsteps hitting the floor. I crawl out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, as I make my way toward him. Though as I do he stands still, frozen, like he can’t move. Concern latches onto my throat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, tentatively touching his arm.

He recoils away quickly, like I’ve hit a tender nerve or a bruise of sorts.

“Are you hurt?” I ask worriedly

“No,” he murmurs, his voice stone cold.

It hurts a little more than it should, he’s never usually so blunt, so cutthroat. Not with me anyway.

“Where have you been?” I say, fishing for an honest reply.

He meets my eyes for the first time. Swimming in endless pools of grey is a mournful sorrow, “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks. Grayson’s voice never cracks.

“Gray?” I say in a ghost of the whisper, the word not even feeling real once it is said. My pulse quickens suddenly and a large lump that I cannot swallow forms in my throat.

He’s pale, his face is regretful. Hollow. Lifeless. My heart sinks. I already know.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice shaking nearly breaking like weak houses in an earthquake.

He shakes his head glossy eyed, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” I grit through my teeth trying to prevent the thick emotion building up in my chest from overflowing.

There is a long pause. A deadly silence that seemed to last for days.

He parts his lips and utters the words, “I kissed her.”

It’s like a masked killer has dragged me from the comfort and safety of my own bed in the middle of the night, taken me into the thick of the wood where the vegetation is overgrown and no one will ever hear you scream. The part where it’s hard to see the sky or tell day from night and where no birds sing. And once we’re there, he takes a sharpened knife, laced with the most excruciating poison and slowly opens the left side of my chest, carefully ripping out my beating heart full of blood to destroy in his hands at his leisure. Grinning as her leaves my broken body to bleed out, dying heartless and lifeless. It’s like the person under that mask is Grayson. The one person I put all of my love and trust into. The one person who I thought would saved me from the masked killer is the masked killer. What a fucking joke.

“Who?” I ask, my tone low, dangerous, angry, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

“I kissed Lyra,” he whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks, a state I’d never witnessed him in before. But right now I’m too broken to care.

My heart shatters into a million pieces on the spot. And then I am numb with agony.

a/n: so that was a fun ending :) hope you enjoyed part 2 my loves <33 and thanks to everyone who requested it, I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it

NOTE I DONT THINK GRAYSON IS A CHEATER!! LIKE AT ALL. MY BABY WOULD NEVER!! but I thought I’d spice things up a bit yk, for the ✨drama✨

ALSO the de-coding thingy when the power went out if probs completely wrong on my part but I was allowed to drop computer science last year and I did ;) so I was just waffling, I know nothing about computers other than they can type, play music and they provide me with google and amazon

TIG masterlist

[f4iry-bell]

Could I request a Grayson piece in which the reader,for whom he has feelings for, faints for some reason (maybe due to a hot day?) and he is immediately rushing to her side and looking after her? Just being an worried sick about her? Thank you!

HOT DAYS

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: reader faints

tagging: @unnoodles @nqds @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @never-enough-novels @elysianwayy77 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @cassie6392

warning: fainting

a/n: sorry for the late response anon😭😭this is highkeybad

masterlist

“It is such a lovely day.” Grayson commented as she and he walked holding hands in the park. It was Grayson’s decision to take a walk because no one should stay at home during this type of weather.

“Yeah.” She was sweating and stuttering as she spoke. Grayson assumed it was because of the heat, and ignored it.

“We should get ice cream or something cool, your ch—” 

She could barely hear his words, her hearing was slowly fading as her sight started to blur. She lost her balance once her head felt light as a feather, once her eyes closed she completely lost her consciousness. Grayson’s hand held onto her tightly as his other hand landed on her waist to hold her.

“Hey, hey. Wake up.” Grayson said, but she wasn't waking up. He immediately carried her back to his car, laid her on the passenger seat, and turned on the AC. He was worried to the point that he started sweating on his own. She was lying unconscious, he felt like fainting himself.

To his luck she opened her eyes slowly after calling her name multiple times. He wanted to pull her into an embrace but he held himself back as she just gained her consciousness.

He handed her a water bottle that he had in his car. He helped her drink it. “Take it slow.” He whispered.

After she fully gained her consciousness he sighed. “God, you scared me.”

She wanted to speak but she was slowly recalling what happened. “I fainted.”

“You did. Did you have something to eat?”

“Yeah, just a little. It is probably because of the heat.”

“Just a little? You should have a full breakfast before stepping out of the house.” 

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay, come here.” he pulled her into a hug as he caressed her back. “Let's go get something to eat, you can have anything you want. My treat, and no arguing about it.”

[f4iry-bell]

• grayson hawthorne x desi! reader series

• girl dad grayson

• two seats for one (series)

• gray x sunshine reader

• late night kisses

• sick grayson | sick reader hc

• grayson x shy!reader hc

• grayson's quirks hc

• book boquet

• period comfort hc

• grayson x genz!reader

> (text) | part 2 (one shot)

• grayson x girl jameson reader

• world was meant for two

• hurt/ comfort

• casual fling [part 2]

• grayson x pregnant!reader

[inmyheaddd]

hii js wanted to ask which reqs ur working on rn and which ones oyu have left?

hiii ofc ofc!!

in terms of requests im currently writing:

boarding school au percy (2 fics)

averyjameson fic about jameson getting baby fever

hawthorne brothers & nash and libby kids

grayson x ice skater

grayson fic where he falls sick and reader cares for him

grayson fic where reader accidentally gets herself in the ER and grayson freaks out

percy x child of athena (also some platonic bestie/sister annabeth in it) where reader feels like she isn’t as smart as annabeth and percy nudges her to talk to annabeth, and is all sweet about it

jameson hawthorne comforting reader after/during a panic attack

in terms of my own fics that arent reqs:

leo valdez x reader fic

averyjameson fic (another one set before they were officially together/ in thl and AWHSHX my babieiesisisi)

part 9 & 10 of the grayson series