evelyns-envy

[evelyns-envy]

me when im reading a fic and see my reflection on the screen

[evelyns-envy]

“Jason has no character” “Leo is canonically unattractive” “Percabeth has no chemistry”

did we read the same franchise or…

[evelyns-envy]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[evelyns-envy]

[evelyns-envy]

❝ Awkward is Right... right? ❞ ― j. grace

warnings: cuddling. bf ! jason. kind of awkward jason. reader's pov. it’s actually fluff with sexual/awkward tension. camp jupiter.

words count: 1108. short.

WE HADN'T PLANNED TO fall asleep like this. Honestly, I wasn’t sure Jason ever planned to fall asleep around anyone—especially not curled up on a couch that was way too small for his broad shoulders, blankets tangled around us, the fire in the hearth throwing shadows across the room.

It had been a long week. Being praetor looked good on him—gold armor, Roman discipline, the weight of expectations—but it was exhausting too. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but I saw it in the way his shoulders stayed tense even when he laughed, the way his eyes always scanned for danger even in moments of quiet.

So when he showed up at my door, hair wind-tousled and eyelids heavy, mumbling something about just needing a minute, I didn’t ask questions. I just let him in. Small talk, kissing and two shared blankets later, he was half-asleep behind me, body relaxed in a way it never was during the day.

I tried not to move. I really did. But my arm was dead asleep and my leg was at that weird angle that felt like it was seconds from cramping, so I shifted—just a little.

Bad idea.

The moment I pressed back into him, I realized how close we actually were. His arm was draped over my waist, his chest warm against my back, and now my hips were—oh gods—pressed right up against his.

I froze.

So did he.

For a second, all I could hear was his breathing, soft and slow against the back of my neck. Then a tiny, almost imperceptible gasp slipped from him, like his body had registered the contact before his brain had. His grip on my waist tightened reflexively, and his face nuzzled deeper into the curve where my neck met my shoulder, like he was trying to hide. Or pretend this wasn’t happening.

“Um,” he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep, lips brushing my skin accidentally—or maybe not entirely accidentally. “You, uh... you good?”

I wasn’t sure if he meant physically or emotionally, but neither answer was simple.

I tried to shift again, awkwardly trying to create space, but he groaned—actually groaned—and muttered, “Stop squirming.” His voice was muffled against my skin, low and scratchy and a little too intimate for someone who definitely did not mean to sound that intimate.

“Or I’m gonna—” he cut himself off, jaw tensing. “Just. Don’t move, okay?”

His whole body was stiff behind me now, in every possible way, and I knew—knew—he was very awake.

So was I.

And neither of us knew what to do about it.

The silence stretched between us, thick and a little too loud, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the thudding of my heart. I wasn’t breathing normally. I couldn’t. Not with the feel of his hand still splayed on my waist like he didn’t know where else to put it. Not with how his nose was still tucked against my neck, and I could feel—feel—his breath catch every few seconds like he was overthinking even that.

I should’ve said something. Moved. Laughed it off. Anything.

But instead, I just lay there, entirely still, hyper-aware of every inch of contact between us, waiting to see if he’d pretend to fall asleep again.

He didn’t.

“Okay,” he blurted, voice still low but absolutely panicked now. “Okay, that—that wasn’t on purpose.”

I blinked. “You sure?”

His hand jerked back from my waist like I’d burned him. He nearly rolled off the cot trying to put space between us, knocking into the edge of the wooden bunk behind him with a dull thud.

“Yeah! I mean—no! I mean, I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to...” He trailed off, running a hand through his mess of blond hair, eyes wide and horrified like he’d just committed a war crime instead of accidentally spooning me too enthusiastically.

I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, mostly to avoid the awkward stare we’d inevitably have to share. “It’s fine, Jason. I didn’t think you were, like... assaulting me.”

His eyes went even wider. “Gods, no! I—of course not—I would never—”

“I know!” I said quickly, trying not to laugh. “I was joking. Relax.”

He stared at me, mouth open, a soft pink flush creeping up the back of his neck. Then, finally, he let out a long breath and dropped his head into his hands.

“Can I go back to pretending I’m asleep?” he muttered through his fingers.

I bit back a smile. “Only if you promise not to threaten me again.”

“I didn’t mean to threaten you,” he groaned. “I was tired.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Stop squirming or I’m gonna—’ and then you just left it there.” I tilted my head. “What exactly were you gonna do, Grace?”

He made a strangled noise, then dramatically flopped back down on the cot, arm thrown over his eyes like the most dramatic Roman demigod in existence.

“Please let lightning strike me,” he mumbled to the ceiling. “Right now. Just—boom. Gone.”

I lay back beside him, careful to leave a bit of space this time, but not too much. Close enough that our shoulders still brushed, and I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“You could just say you like cuddling, you know,” I offered gently. “It’s not illegal. Even for praetors.”

He groaned again. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between us. “Be... normal. Close. Not completely weird about it.”

I turned my head, watching him through the firelight. His cheeks were still flushed, hair sticking out in about six different directions, shirt rumpled from sleep and nerves. But his eyes—when he finally looked at me again—were warm, and unsure, and honest in that Jason Grace kind of way.

“You’re doing fine,” I said softly.

He blinked.

“You’re awkward, yeah,” I added. “But endearingly so. Very Roman. Very noble.”

“I think that was an insult.”

“It was not.”

Jason stared at me a beat longer. Then, very slowly, he shifted back onto his side and reached out—hesitantly, carefully—resting his hand just barely on my arm.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m, uh... going back to sleep now. For real this time.”

“Mhm,” I hummed, turning my face into the pillow to hide the grin spreading across my lips. “Sure you are.”

And this time, when he settled behind me again, face pressed against my neck and breath slow and steady, I didn’t move.

And neither did he.

STORMY: sooo, weekly comeback? just jason fluff featuring him being an awkward boyfriend because I love him, like... he’s so dreamy *giggles*. Oh, and a poor attempt at reader pov lol.

masterlist. here reqs info. here

[evelyns-envy]

I cannot brat at all I'm too starved of praise and affirmation that I'm being good and doing good I will literally follow any command given to me if it means I'll get that rush from the praise I'm given

[evelyns-envy]

percy jackson is the type of guy to whimper while you’re riding him….. like in such a pathetic loverboy kinda way if you catch my drift. and he’ll guide your hips with his oh-so calloused hands, grinding you down against him and literally melting at the mere sight of you on top of him……….

[evelyns-envy]

“why don’t you read all of the books you already own before going out and buying new ones” why don’t you eat all the food in your house first before going grocery shopping, hmm? get off my back

[evelyns-envy]

Mattheo Riddle, except when you guys first started dating he was so nervous to have sex. Despite his whole infamous playboy reputation, because he didn’t care about those late night stands or hookups. They didn’t mean anything to him, but you? You mean the world to him. Scratch that, you are his world. Back to the nervous part, he’d be so insecure of his scars and other blemishes he has. So when he finally does get naked, he’s oddly quiet and seems tense. However, when you start to compliment and kiss his skin? He meltssss into you. All his past worries and concerns? Gone. Out the window, like they didn’t even exist and all that’s left on his mind is you.

[evelyns-envy]

Grayson fluff is such a need like I am gonna die without some 😔

“I have a surprise for you, grayson hawthorne, pick a hand!”

you tuck both of your hands swiftly behind your back before he has the chance to see either or the contents in one of them.

grayson darts his eyes to your waist from his seated position before you, attempting to catch a glimpse of what you’re holding.

“why do I have to pick?”

you scowl. “because it’s fun. are you against fun, grayson hawthorne?”

“stop using my last name.”

you huff. “procrastination isn’t healthy, gray. pick a hand.”

grayson sighs and meets your eyes from below you. you withhold a scolding glance. his eyes slowly trail down the expanse of your body until they reach your hips where they remain.

“right.”

“why? because you’re left handed. did you pick the opposite to feel special? because more people on the planet are actually right handed. I guess that means you’re special actually…”

“sweetheart—”

“shhhh.”

you remove your empty right hand from behind your back and use it to place your index over grayson’s mouth.

diligently, you take your left hand out from behind your back as well, revealing a small duckling.

grayson meets your eyes again. “where did you get that from?”

you squeal and hold the small duck to your chest happily. “nash! the twins wanted pet ducks so he decided to get one for all of us! he said you wouldn’t want one but I told him that’s nonsense. I want you to keep him so your duck and my duck can have baby ducklings together!”

he looks down at the duckling in your hold. “is it clean?”

“yep! wanna hold her?”

your expression is far too blissful for grayson to possibly ever say no. he takes the duckling into his own hands and pets its small head.

“does she have a name?”

you nod quickly. “elizabeth.”

“and where is your duckling?”

“oh!” you hold up your index, scurry to the kitchen and back within two minutes. you return with your duck. “this is mr. darcy.”

grayson stares blankly at you for a moment, deep in thought before he responds. “I take it you named them?”

“I did!” you flop down on the bed right beside him. you place mr. darcy on your lap and beckon grayson to do the same with elizabeth.

he does because you asked him to.

“aren’t they cute?”

“indubitably.” he pets his duck again. “where are we keeping these?”

“outside. there’s a cage thingy.”

“a cage?”

“yes. but it has stairs and stuff. it’s, like, a two story house. they’re living luxuriously.” you nod eagerly.

“a coop?”

“yes!” you snap your fingers. “that’s the word! you’re a genius, grayson hawthorne!”

with excitement, you cup grayson’s cheeks and press a wet kiss to his lips ending with a mwah! for theatrics.

and for this once, he didn’t complain about the last name.

[evelyns-envy]

emma watson was the most perfect live action belle I could’ve ever asked for

[evelyns-envy]

“my daughter is completely fine!”

ma’am your daughter has to read fanfics about fictional characters just to maintain a healthy mental state

[evelyns-envy]

𝓒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝓑𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 — 𝓱.

𝓖𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 : ; doing the "current boyfriend" trend with the 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒.

𝓒ONTENTS : : influencer!fem!reader. idk. chaotic. silly. fluff. grammatical errors. ooc(???????). very short...

REQUESTED ; SUGGESTED : : no !!

ᨦ𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ : : my first ever tig fic,,,, SO EXPECT IT TO BE NOT GOOD. i don't even know if it's in character of them or not.. I AM SORR SORRY💔 im new to the fandom too,, so my uh,, experience,, is,, low📉📉📉 @yeoniverseee 's & @laufeysgoddess ' r in the lives bc i was talking to them for four days,,,, ( 4!!!) while making this. oh & it's yh,,, in random order. ( jameson , grayson , nash , xander ). i also added some comments,,, bc,,, idk,,,,,,,,,, i usually do that when i write for a new fandom.. ,, for the first time.. & i tried to make this as funny as i coul 💔💔 inspo by that uh,, one dc fic . also, i need a gawdam layout for them dammit. there r like.. comments at the end,, of each,,,

₊˚✧꒰ JAMESON HAWTHORNE ꒱:

it's a sunny thursday afternoon when you come up with the idea. the "my current boyfriend" trend is all over your fyp. every influencer couple, every softboy-girlfriend pair, god, even a couple who surprised you. it's stupid. it's hilarious. it's great.

especially for a hawthorne.

& to be more specific? jameson.

jameson winchester hawthorne. a.k.a #bestboyfriendrever ( according to him )

so you wait until you're out. not on one of his dare-you-to-sail-up-the-roof days. no. nu-uh. it's one of the lowkey rare ones.( every date with jameson is rare. i mean. it's mr-this-is-risky-as-fuck-hell-yeah ) just the two of you, strolling along a cobblestone street in town, cold brew to hand, a languid sort of heat settling between your shoulders. he's describing a conspiracy he read on reddit that contains the illuminati, a cult of penguins, & an unexplained shortage of spoons in the hawthorne house dishwasher. yeah.

mrs-im-fucking-with-mr-risk-here-and-im-taking-the-risk-gracie-abrams-who is on the case.

so you raise your phone, start the live, & smile.

"hey guys! just out with my current boyfriend━━"

& jameson stops walking.

full stop.

legit.

he stares at you, wide-eyed, like you just told him you're leaving him for grayson( i'm sorry. ) or something worse. like you replaced all his protein bars with carrot sticks.

"current?"

his voice cracks.

you try not to laugh. really, you do.

"you━━" he gazes at the camera, into your heart, into the whole internet waiting to see this play out. "you're telling me. me. me. the love of your life. the guy who gave you a houseplant & named it after our ship name. i'm your current━━current boyfriend now?"

"yep," you say kindly. "for now."

jameson grabs his chest like you stabbed him.

"not the for now!" god. this man.

he whips suddenly around to a pair of people walking their dog down the street. "did you hear that?! she said for now!"

the dog barked in agreement. i'm so sorry, owner.

he whips back toward you, scowling in feigned outrage… dramatically. "this is a coup. this is slander. insulting. i demand an appeal."

"it's a tiktok trend, jamie."

"it's a crime," he insists. "punishable by excessive cuddles. prepare yourself."

he tackles. you cry out & attempt to flee, but he catches you, arms wrapped around your waist, twirling you in a crazed circle as your phone smacks against your leg. it hurts like a son of a gun. thank god you didn't fall.

"i'm cementing the eternal in eternal boyfriend," he shouts over his shoulder. "record that." you didn't even turn off the live..

he puts you down. you're both panting, laughing.

"okay, okay," you wheeze. "what do you say to the vlog, mr. eternal boyfriend?"

he gently takes the phone.

"hi, internet. it's me. your beloved hawthorne. if you're seeing this, know that i'm not some temporary something. i'm permanent. i'm forever. like glitter. or that one taylor swift line about hearts & sharpies."

he smiles. "also, if she ever refers to me as her current boyfriend again, i'm going to rename her contact to 'future ex-girlfriend.' you've been warned." he won't.

"say goodbye, jameson," you say, still panting. wheezing.

"goodbye," he says. then smiles again. "unless you're substituting me. then unfollow her straight away."

@/yeoniverseee: what the sigma. no.

@/averyismygf: so fucking close to a marriage proposal KMAOAAOOAOA 😭😭

@/needthatdihnow: why is your dishwasher broken

@/jamieynengame: THIS IS LOVE. THIS IS FILM. THIS IS LIFE. HOLY PEAK

@/laufeysgoddess: 😭😭 atp we should. dude looked like he aged 10 years alr.

‧₊˚✧꒰ GRAYSON HAWTHORNE ꒱:

you're careful. subtle.

because you know grayson. & grayson is the sort of fellow who always observes. even when he acts as if he does not. he's cool, measured, the walking embodiment of composed, he can predict. but you've caught the glint in his eyes when you rag him. the twitch of his lip when you make some outlandish( woah, big word, vi ) remark.

today, you're wearing something a little bit cuter, just because. you're getting lunch, nothing special( he let you decide, of course ). you're waiting for the food, the two of you sitting at a tiny bistro table. he's reading his emails. you're adjusting your angles.

camera on. mission: current boyfriend-zone grayson davenport hawthorne.

"hey guys," you say softly, looking up at him. "just having lunch with my current boyfriend."

he stops.

slowly.

on purpose.

like those creepy cartoon characters. but handsome edition.

sets down his phone.

"your what boyfriend?"

you blink innocently. "current boyfriend?"

he leans his head to one side, fingers interlaced beneath his chin. "interesting choice of word."

"don't you like it?"

he shifts forward a fraction. "is there… a waiting list?"

you chuckle. "wouldn't you like to know."

his face doesn't change, though his foot nudges yours beneath the table.

"i'm just curious," he says. "should i be planning my exit interview? scheduling, retooling my resume?"

"depends," you hum, taking a sip of your drink. "how well do you deal with clingy exes?"

the smirk finally shows. it's small, just there. oh, holy mango shake.

"i don't have exes," he states. ( jump if you disagree /j )

"bold of you."

"i have you," he corrects. "& if you think you're taking my place, you're going to need a whole legal team." is he talking to a hypothetical future boyfriend that you didn't even mention? damn.

he reaches over, taking your phone lightly.

"to all her followers," he says, "i’m the permanent installment. your ‘current boyfriend’ has a five-year plan & a backup spreadsheet."

you whistle. "is that a threat?"

he grins. "it’s a promise."

well, fuck yeah.

@/freaklia: i'm crying real tears. grayson said NOT TODAY

@/libxmecanonbitch: i'm calling my lawyer for him

@/laufeysgoddess: I FUCKINH NEED NEED MEEDD UGHH being rich is just a bonus here tbh

@/graysondefensehehewtf: he handled that like a man planning a wedding

‧₊˚✧꒰ NASH HAWTHORNE ꒱:

okay, so perhaps nash isn't necessarily really into being recorded. he doesn't care for cameras. but he does adore you. love you. & he loves it when you do stupid little trends because they make you smile. so today, when you two are driving out to a taco truck you adore, you decide to try it.( you know the drill. )

you're sitting passenger, phone held just so.

"hey guys," you say. "my current boyfriend & i are heading to taco heaven."

nash never even takes his eyes off the road.

"current, huh?"

you grin. "that's right."

he nods slowly. "huh. should i just drop you off at your ex's then?"

"nash!"

he laughs. "just sayin'. if i'm on a timer, maybe you should get some variety in."

"oh my god."

he looks at the camera finally, raises an eyebrow. "she's lying. she already chose the wedding playlist."

"you promised you'd forget that!"

"not when you include 'marry me' by train in the top ten."

“don't take advantage of drunk me!”

he leans over at a red light & kisses your temple.

"no such thing as a current boyfriend here," he informs me. "you're stuck with me."

well, thank god. you wouldn't wanna be stuck with a shrek looking man, anyway. ( who. )

@heireessavry: this is the softest chaos i've ever seen.

@/laufeysgoddess: NOT DRUNK 😭😭

@/nashxreadermwa: TACO TRUCK LOVE SUPREMACY ‼️‼️

@/hawthornegirlies: he's 100% done. & in love. help

@/yeoniversee: #needthat 😛😛

‧₊˚✧꒰ XANDER HAWTHORNE ꒱:

you should've known xander would take it too far.

he's sitting in your room, surrounded by wires & screens, messing around with his latest creation━━a talking plant pot. ( don't ask. )

you creep up, phone in hand. live on.

"hey guys," you whisper. "just hanging with my current boyfriend━━"

xander looks up. blinks.

"error," he declares. "statement invalid."

"huh?" what the fuck?

he takes out his phone. begins typing. a robotic voice from the plant pot.

"correction: i am the forever boyfriend. system update complete."

xander turns to you. "try again."

"okay, okay. hey guys, just hanging out with my forever boyfriend."

he beams. "much better."

then he kisses you on the cheek & says, "glad we cleared that up.”

lord, bless you.

@xanderlovebot: HE PROGRAMMED THE POT 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

@sombrisaneed: is this love or a black mirror episode KMAOAAOAOAO little einsteins but with a love story

@/laufeysgoddess: someone stop him. or don't. actually don't

@/yeoniverseee: DOLMAOAON DAMMIT.

𐔌 ౨ৎ © spcherryygirl ━━ ❪ all rights reserved to me. these works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. luv u, cherry pies ! xoxo ❫

[evelyns-envy]

genuinely sobbing

A Hand in the Dark

Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane

Warnings: Panic attack, emotional vulnerability, anxiety, dissociation, references to pressure/stress, comfort, slow-burn tenderness, soft physical contact (hand-holding, forehead touches), canon-compliant with The Grandest Game timeline

Synopsis: The Grandest Game is pressure on all sides—but when Grayson spirals and no one notices, Lyra finds him in time to remind him he doesn’t have to carry the weight alone.

Word Count: 1,350

The air in Hawthorne House was never quiet. Even in its silences, it echoed with the ghosts of deals and promises and secrets sealed behind mahogany doors.

Grayson sat alone in one of the library’s side rooms—where the old windows rattled, and the moonlight fell in slanted angles across the carpet. A fire burned low in the corner, more for illusion than warmth, casting long shadows against the spines of books he wasn’t reading.

He could hear them downstairs—contestants, family, press. He had smiled at them all. Spoken to them all. Shaken hands. Kept his head up. Played the part.

But it was a part.

And it was breaking.

He didn’t know when the tightness in his chest had started—maybe hours ago. Maybe days. Maybe it had never gone away.

But now, alone, the illusion began to slip.

His tie was too tight. The walls were too close. The air was too thin. He tried to breathe, but it felt like his lungs were shrinking in on themselves, like every inhale caught halfway up his throat and dissolved into a thousand static thoughts.

She’s watching you.

They’re all watching you.

You have to be perfect. You always have to be perfect.

Grayson dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp like they could anchor him to something solid. But even that hurt. The pressure. The everything. His heart was beating too fast now—pounding, loud, erratic. His suit felt like a cage. His skin itched. The edges of the room were blurring.

He stood, staggering back from the armchair, colliding with a table. A photo frame fell—his grandfather, cool and composed. He flinched as the glass cracked, slicing through the memory.

His breath came faster. Ragged. Shallow. His hands trembled, one pressed over his chest, the other gripping the edge of the mantel.

No one knew. No one ever knew.

He always made sure of it.

Grayson staggered toward the wall, bracing his palm against the cold wood paneling as his vision spun and dimmed. He squeezed his eyes shut. Fought it. Fought the pressure rising in his throat, the burn behind his eyes. He had to stop this. Had to stop this. He couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not ever.

But he was slipping.

He sank to his knees, unable to stand. The library spun. The shadows stretched. His lungs refused to obey.

I can’t—

I can’t breathe.

He didn’t hear the door creak open.

He didn’t hear the soft footsteps cross the room.

He didn’t hear her speak—not at first.

“Grayson?”

Lyra’s voice cracked through the fog in his head like the first breath after drowning. Her silhouette was backlit by the hall light, soft and golden and human.

She said his name again—softer this time.

“Grayson, hey…”

He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even lift his head.

But he felt it—her kneeling in front of him, her hand hovering near his arm but not touching. Respecting the space. Waiting for permission.

“Okay,” she said gently, trying not to spook him. “You’re okay. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

He wanted to tell her to go. That she shouldn’t see him like this. That no one should.

But he was too far gone.

And Lyra… she stayed anyway.

“You’re having a panic attack,” she said quietly. “I know it feels like you’re dying, but you’re not. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Her voice was steady. Kind. Like a lighthouse through the storm.

“I’m going to put my hand near yours, alright? Just near.”

Her fingers rested close to his, not touching yet—but he could feel the warmth of her skin.

“If you want me to hold it, just move your pinky toward mine. That’s all.”

A minute passed.

Two.

Then, barely—just barely—Grayson shifted his hand.

Her fingers curled around his.

“Good,” she whispered, like it meant everything. “You’re doing so good.”

The room was still spinning, but slower now.

Her voice guided him through it. Her presence pulled him back. She helped him match his breath to hers, counting low and quiet, like a song only they could hear.

He didn’t know how long it took before he could breathe again. Really breathe. Before the fog began to lift, and the fire felt warm again instead of sharp.

And when he finally opened his eyes, Lyra was still there. Kneeling in front of him. Her hand in his. Her gaze steady.

“Why are you here?” he rasped, voice hoarse.

Lyra tilted her head, a hint of a smile ghosting across her lips. “Because you looked like someone who needed to be found.”

And in that moment, he didn’t feel like a Hawthorne.

He just felt human.

And seen.

And so, so tired.

She didn’t move—not even when the worst of it passed.

Her hand stayed in his. Her presence didn’t shrink back once he opened his eyes. She just… remained. Like she always knew what to do with silence.

Grayson was slouched against the wall now, legs bent and arms heavy, his breathing ragged but finally even. The pressure behind his ribs had lessened, but he still felt like he’d been wrung out and dropped. His fingers ached from gripping the wood. His chest still fluttered like his body hadn’t quite realized it wasn’t dying anymore.

And Lyra—

She knelt quietly beside him, their hands still linked between them. Her thumb ran slow, rhythmic lines over his knuckles, grounding him without a word.

“I didn’t mean for you to see that,” he murmured, throat raw.

She shook her head. “I know.”

Grayson turned his face away, looking anywhere but her. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here. Not now. Not—” His voice cracked. “Not to me.”

“You’re not immune to being human, Grayson.”

Her words should’ve sounded patronizing. But they didn’t. They were just… true. Gentle and real and laced with the kind of sincerity that stripped his defenses bare.

He closed his eyes. “They can’t see this. The others. My family. Anyone.”

“They won’t,” Lyra promised. “It’s just me.”

And it was.

Just her. In this room that still smelled faintly of old paper and expensive polish, where the fire was dying low and the wind whispered against the panes. Just Lyra. Sitting on the floor beside the golden boy of the Hawthorne name, like he wasn’t something untouchable. Like she never believed he was.

Grayson felt her shift closer. “Can I…?”

She didn’t finish the question. Just left it hanging in the air between them.

But he nodded.

She sat beside him fully now, shoulder to shoulder, their sides brushing. Her free hand tugged his jacket open, loosening it with care, and then undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

A breath escaped him at the sudden space—at the kindness of it. No one ever did that. No one ever took care of him like this.

Like he wasn’t just a symbol, or a soldier in someone else’s game.

Like he was someone worth protecting.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he whispered, the truth dragging itself out of his chest like splinters.

Lyra leaned her head gently against his shoulder. “You’re carrying too much alone.”

“I have to.”

“No,” she said, soft but firm. “You don’t.”

He swallowed. The air between them hummed with something fragile and intimate.

“I haven’t…” He paused, brow furrowing. “I haven’t let anyone in like this before.”

“I know.” Lyra lifted her head just enough to look at him. “And I won’t use it against you. You don’t have to explain anything. Not tonight.”

The quiet was comforting now—not cold, not crushing. Just still. Just safe.

His hand was still in hers. And maybe he should’ve let go. Maybe he would tomorrow.

But not now.

Not tonight.

“You could’ve walked away,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. “Most people would’ve.”

“I’m not most people.”

He turned to her, eyes searching.

“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the pressure in his chest wasn’t panic. It wasn’t fear.

It was relief.

It was gratitude.

It was her.

[evelyns-envy]

Not Tonight, Darling

Grayson Hawthorne x Reader

Warnings: mentions of exhaustion, illness (fever), mild anxiety, fluff, mild family tension, comforting, soft moments, physical touch (forehead kisses, cuddling)

Synopsis: Grayson Hawthorne is known for his composure, but when a long night of obligations catches up to him, it’s up to you to help him through it, showing him there’s always time to rest, even when the world won’t slow down.

Word Count: 1,194

The ballroom was too loud. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—it all felt distant, muffled, as if it was happening on the other side of a glass wall, and Grayson was struggling to stay in the present.

He hadn’t wanted to come. The gala was a public affair, something his family insisted on—another event in a long line of obligations that stretched endlessly into the future. But tonight, something felt off. Grayson was never one to complain, to show weakness, but there was something in the way he kept looking over his shoulder, his eyes heavy with fatigue, that made you worried.

The moment you caught sight of him, standing stiff and silent by the edge of the room, your stomach sank. He wasn’t looking well. His usually sharp features were drawn, his jaw tense, and his posture—normally so perfect—was slouched slightly, as though he couldn’t hold himself upright. He hadn’t looked like this all evening, but now, with the flashing lights and the endless parade of strangers around him, it was like everything was finally catching up to him.

You took a step toward him, feeling the pull of concern tighten in your chest. You knew Grayson, and you knew that he wasn’t the type to let anyone see him in this state. He was the image of poise and confidence, someone who kept his composure even when everything else felt out of control. But tonight, he seemed… tired.

“Grayson?” you said softly, your voice cutting through the noise as you reached his side.

He turned his head slowly, offering a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey,” he greeted, but his voice was quieter than usual, a little more strained.

“Are you okay?” You couldn’t keep the worry out of your tone. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He flinched, just for a moment, before his eyes softened.

“I’m fine,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing. “Just… a long night.”

But there was something in his eyes, something that told you he was far from fine. He wasn’t just exhausted—there was a deep weariness in him, the kind that didn’t come from a few late nights or too many meetings. It was something deeper, a weight he’d been carrying for too long.

“You’re not fine,” you said quietly, stepping a little closer. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You need some rest.”

He hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the dance floor where his family mingled, exchanging pleasantries with guests. He was supposed to be the life of this event, the charming, perfectly poised Hawthorne heir everyone adored. But right now, all he wanted was to leave. You could see it in the way he clenched his fists at his sides, the way his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“I can’t just leave,” he muttered, but there was a hint of frustration in his voice. “I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to…”

“You’re supposed to take care of yourself,” you interrupted softly, pressing your hand against his arm once more. His eyes flickered to yours, and for the first time all night, he seemed to lose some of that defensive barrier.

He sighed, looking down, the weight of it all becoming too much for him to hide. He didn’t want to admit it—he never did—but you could tell that everything was starting to fall apart at the seams.

“Grayson,” you said, your voice softer this time, “I don’t want you to push through this. You don’t have to do everything for everyone else. It’s okay to rest.”

He exhaled sharply, glancing over at the grand staircase that led to the exit. “I… I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, stepping closer. “Let me help you. We can sneak out, just for a little while. No one will even notice.”

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you were unsure if he would agree. But then, after a long pause, he nodded.

“Okay. Just… for a bit,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, relieved. “Thank you.”

You guided him through the crowd, your hand still on his arm, offering support. As you passed through the entrance and into the cooler, quieter air of the hallway, you could almost hear him breathe a little easier, like the weight of the event had been lifted from his shoulders.

It wasn’t much, just a brief escape, but you knew it would help.

When you finally reached the door to the private hallway, Grayson’s steps faltered, and he stopped, suddenly looking more drained than before. You could see the exhaustion written in the slump of his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey,” you said gently, stepping in front of him. “Why don’t we sit down for a moment? You need to take a breath.”

He nodded, but when he moved to sit, he was so slow and deliberate that you worried he might collapse. You quickly grabbed a nearby chair and guided him into it, before sitting next to him, your hand still on his.

“Grayson, you’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” you said, voice soft but firm. “I know you think you have to be perfect, but you don’t. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to take a break.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as though weighing your words. “I just… there’s always something more to do. Always more people to please, more expectations to meet.” His voice cracked just slightly, and he cleared his throat quickly, trying to push through the rawness of it. “I hate letting people down.”

“You’re not letting anyone down,” you assured him, squeezing his hand. “The only person you’re letting down right now is yourself. You can’t keep running at full speed all the time, Grayson. You need to take care of you, too.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to know how to stop right now,” you said gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Just… let me take care of you, okay? Let’s get you back home where you can relax.”

Grayson nodded, a quiet breath escaping him as he leaned into the chair. “I don’t deserve this…”

“You do,” you said firmly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “You’re allowed to have someone take care of you, Grayson. Especially when you’ve been taking care of everyone else for so long.”

He met your eyes again, and this time, there was a little more peace in his expression, a little more trust. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

You smiled softly, standing to help him up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

As the two of you left the event behind, stepping out into the cool night air, you could see the tension starting to melt from his posture. The weight was still there, but it wasn’t as heavy. With you by his side, Grayson knew he didn’t have to carry it all alone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

[evelyns-envy]

tangled in love, stuck by you - grayson hawthorne x reader

summary: slow mornings with grayson !! bits of playful banter and grayson being an annyoying loveable tease warnings: nothing just fluff !! probably too much ur teeth may fall out wc: 1.6k

he woke up at 5:30. you woke up in his shirt. 

you were aware of the alarm, but you kept your eyes shut and kept your head on grayson’s chest. you tried to ignore the noise and continue sleeping, but it was proving very difficult.

like always, you were expecting him to gently lift your arm off of him, get out of bed as silently as he could to not wake you, and press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. every week day.

then… with a soft exhale grayson lifted his arm, and surprisingly enough, only moved the slightest bit to turn the alarm off. 

despite his minimal stirring and attempts to not disturb the moment of peace between you, you sat up just as he turned the alarm off. 

lifting your head off of his chest while rubbing your eyes, you mumbled, “god… what time is it?”

“half past 5,” grayson was quick to smooth a hand over your hair, beckoning you back. “but that doesn’t matter. come back to sleep, sweetheart.”

you hummed, and you didn’t go back to sleep. 

you barely even registered his words — you realized you were clearly not a morning person — and you sat up fully in your drowsy state, slowly blinked, then looked down at your watch and saw the way-too-early time. “shit,” you mumbled, “don’t you have to go?” 

“no,” he answered, “ i don’t particularly … care right now,”, his voice was gravelly and still laced with sleep. then, he tried one last time to get your head back on his chest and linger in this moment of serenity for a little while longer. 

you hummed contently in answer, then purposefully put your head on the pillow next to his instead. “that’s a lie.” you smiled sleepily as you lay on your side, “you care about everything ever.”

“not everything,” you two were laying on your sides face to face, and grayson smiled back at you— that type of smile that was just the barest upwards flicker of his lips. “only a select few that matter.” 

“yeah?” you prodded teasingly, a dry chuckle leaving your lips, “like what?”

you adjusted the way you were laying down, putting your hand under your face, and it seemed that his gaze never tore off you. 

“you.” he answered simply, his grey eyes boring into yours with a sort of comforting intensity. 

“and here i was,” you let your lips by break into a grin, “thinking you were going to say your suits.”

graysons lips slid into a teasing, full smile. “oh, i was just getting to them, don’t you worry.” 

you managed an eye roll, but the fake look of annoyance dissipated into a laugh, which was soon shared by him too.

after another second of looking at each other,  a tired, amused scoff left your lips   before turning onto your back and looking at the ceiling. “you should probably wake up. i should probably wake up.” 

grayson moved closer to you, moving up so his chin rested atop your head. “we’re awake,” he murmured. 

“yeah,” a laugh escaped you as you turned to lay on your side, “barely.” 

you adjusted the way you lay, so you and grayson were face to face once again. 

he looked at you with an odd softness in his eyes— or maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the curtains that made him look soft. 

either way, you felt like you couldn’t look away. “hi,” the word escaped your lips, a mere murmur. there was a small smile growing on your lips. 

“hi,” he echoed, tiredness and some sort of amusement laced in his voice.  

you looked at each other for another moment, his gaze every so delicately trailing over your face, like he was trying to memorize the details — you recognized the look, because you felt yourself doing the same when you looked at him. 

regardless, you have never felt butterflies erupt in your stomach faster. 

“okay,” you laughed a little at absurdity of the moment, “thats it, i’m getting up now.” you pushed yourself up with an exhale, and made your way to the bathroom a few feet away. 

you stopped at the door, turned around and looked at grayson who was still in bed. 

he was propped up on his elbows, watching you make your way to the bathroom with that same little look in his eyes. 

“what are you looking at?” you tilted your head, wondering what had him looking at you like that, all silent.

he narrowed his eyes jokingly back at you, before answering. “happy,  that’s all.” 

now your eyes were narrowing, your laugh threatening to spill through your words. “what,” a slight shake of your head, “happy you’re sleeping in?” 

his lips turned downwards in consideration of your answer with a small shrug, “i suppose, yes.” his smile was borderline teasing now, “among other reasons.”

his head tilted slightly, shooting you a gryou’re so corny.”

grayson shrugged, running a hand through his messy morning hair that you adored and then looking at you with a lazy smile. “if that’s what you’d like to call me, so be it.” so long as it’s coming from you.”

you realized your face was heating up, “you’re only proving my point,” you laughed, and then you huffed when you realised grayson’s smile only widened. 

“i need to shower,” you put a hand on the door handle, taking a slow step back, “i’ll just be a few minutes.” 

────୨ৎ────

a few minutes turned out to be an hour. 

when you left the shower, grayson was already downstairs by then, changed into brown trousers and white linen shirt with the few top buttons undone lazily— but nothing looked lazy about it. 

you slid into a chair at the small table that sat in kitchen, two seats, just for you two, as you muttered your good mornings to each other.

“oh gray, you know, my shower was the best ever,” you sighed as you shut your eyes for a moment, holding your face in your hands. 

you heard grayson hum in response for you to go on, flipping a pancake as he did so. 

you opened your eyes and looked at his back, in some sort of admiration-trance as he cooked your pancakes, then you finally began rambling. 

“well, the water was boiling, and there was so much steam; it felt like i was about to fall asleep in the best way.” you kept talking with your face laying in your hands, then when you finished, you sat up straight and brought your cup of water to your lips.

“perhaps, you might have truly fallen asleep,” he started, then turning to you as he placed a plate of pancakes on the table, “seeing as you took took so long.” 

“oh. very funny.” you jokingly glared at him, not taking your eyes off of him as you finished your drink and put the cup down. you laughed despite yourself, “stop acting like your showers aren’t either 2 minutes or 2 hours long.” 

grayson pulled his chair out and sat in the seat across you, laughing quietly. he said, “2 hours is quite the stretch. maybe 1 and a half seems more fitting.”

“i was being very graceful with 2 hours, actually.” you retorted, raising your brows. 

“and i am very lucky to be receiving of that grace from you.” 

grayson leaned back in his chair, reaching lazily for his coffee as he gave you a once-over — not flirtatious, just quietly content. it reminded you of that look he’d given you before you got in the shower.

you glanced at him as you brought your coffee mug to your lips. the corners of your eyes crinkled, “okay, what are you looking at now?”

“i’m thinking about how i like my mornings better when you’re in them.” he said earnestly, without really answering your question as he looked away to stir his coffee. 

you were just about to respond with something heartfelt, then he took his gaze up to you. he made an act of looking at his watch, “even if they start late.”

you glared at him an unamusedly. though,  the flush you felt from his first comment was still creeping up on your face. 

you huffed in what you hoped looked like annoyance, then bit back a smile. “just shut up eat your pancakes already.”

grayson smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling also. “right. of course,” he cut a piece of his pancake, then brought his fork to his mouth as he looked at you, amusement in his features.

you rolled your eyes jokingly. he shut up. he ate his pancakes. 

“even if they start late,” you mimicked in a high pitched voice under your breath, cutting your pancakes into pieces, “he says at 7 in the morning,” you added snappily, murmuring absentmindedly to yourself as you cut your pancakes into even smaller pieces. 

the plate you were staring at did not reply. 

you huffed, then brought your fork to your mouth and finally looked up at grayson.

he was looking at you silently, holding back what seemed to be a huge laugh. 

his eyes slightly crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together in an attempt to hold his smile back. and the second you made eye contact— your fork still in the air, you both burst into laughter. 

you set your fork down, trying to compose yourself before you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

“surely,” grayson managed, his words coming through a chuckle. “i don’t sound like that,” he furrowed his brows, pointing a finger at you

“oh,” you laughed at him, finally picking the  fork you’d abandoned up again, and pointing at him with it, “but you really do.”

quiet laughter and chatter filled the living room as you finished your breakfast together, back and forth playful banter and stories randomly popping into your mind as the morning went on. 

by the time you were both putting the dishes away, your face nearly hurt from laughing so much. 

you weren’t a morning person, but you realized you definitely liked mornings better with grayson in them.

a/n: sorry ive been soooo m.i.a with the fics recently!! buuuut summer is soon so hopefully that'll change because i miss writing fics

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

[evelyns-envy]

Thinking about sleepy Grayson Hawthorne...

Sleepy Grayson is a rare sight, but when you catch him half-awake, it’s adorable. His usually perfect hair is tousled, his sharp suit traded for an old T-shirt and sweatpants, and his voice? Low, raspy, and his words are almost childlike with exhaustion.

He’s the type to mumble incoherent things when he’s half-asleep, pulling you closer with a lazy arm draped around your waist. “Five more minutes,” he’ll whisper, even if you weren’t trying to leave.

Grayson isn’t a morning person when he’s with you. He’ll bury his face into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, sleepy kisses to your skin, murmuring, “Stay a little longer... please.”

And when he finally wakes up? He’ll groan dramatically, rubbing at his eyes, but he’ll melt the second you tease him. “You’re cute when you’re half-asleep, you know.”

He’ll roll his eyes, but you’ll catch that tiny smile he can’t hide. And somehow, you’ll always find yourself trapped in bed for a little longer because sleepy Grayson is impossible to say no to.