#the inheritance games x reader

[cherrycrvsh]

꣑ৎ GRUMP AND JUMP ୧ featuring : GRAYSON HAWTHORNE . ━━━━━⠀⠀.⠀ est. relationship.

୧ ׅ 𝙳ear readers ⊹ ۫ . 🕯️ ♡ ׂ  ۪ ੭ needed a distraction. made a possibly ooc grayson hawthorne smau,,,, hi., two more later ( it's not grayson tho )

p.s ━━ ❪ all rights reserved to cherrycrvsh. these works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. mwah ! ❫

[wonnieluvr]

softly, won't you love me?

pairing -> grayson hawthorne x fem!reader

summary -> when you wake up alone what else can you do other than search for your boyfriend?

warnings -> toothrotting fluff :)

a/n -> idk if gray's a bit ooc but i love him :(

when you woke that morning, your hand reached out for your loving boyfriend only to find his side of the bed cold.

your hand recoiled into your warmth before you could even properly process his absence.

when the fog over your mind finally lifted you blinked harshly at the empty sheets, trying to wake yourself up enough to look for him.

reluctantly, you slipped on one of his jumpers, one you wore more than he did, considering his array of suits but it didn't bother you much when he always accepted your requests to make sure it smelt of him again.

you softly walked down the hallway of his wing, eyes on the lookout for your boyfriend's tall figure. it was early, earlier than you would have liked to be out of bed, as you held a hand to your eyes, shielding them from the bright sunlight coming in through the windows.

you opened door after door, sleepy frown deepening the longer you looked.

you wanted to go back to bed.

"gray?" your voice was croaky, sleepiness still evident as you finally reached his study. he sat at his desk, fingers typing away and entirely focused on whatever was keeping him so occupied. his eyebrows were furrowed together, a sign of his deep concentration and probably a bit of frustration too.

you pouted slightly, stepping into the room when he didn't acknowledge your presence.

"grayson" your hand slid over his shoulder, gently pushing down on the muscles in his neck, urging him to relax a little. he paused, fingers stilling and head turning your way.

"darling? what are you doing out of bed?" he allowed his eyes to slip closed for a moment, focusing on your hands tenderly massaging at his shoulders. eventually, your fingers grew tired and your hands wandered down his chest, to wrap around his shoulders.

"want you to come back to bed" you whispered into the quiet space between you, face burying in his neck. you leaned into him, laying most of your weight on his shoulders, payback for leaving you so early.

"you didn't have to get up" he clicked his tongue, scolding you playfully as his eyes watched you lovingly. "i'm coming, i promise. one more email"

"no more emails" you whined, squeezing him just a bit harder. he breathed out a laugh, gently laying his head on yours. his hands still hovered over the keyboard of his computer, mid email.

"one more, i promise" he reached up to pry your arms from his neck, turning around in his chair to face you. "come here, love"

you pouted at him, knowing he was getting his way. you debated your options though, he was too stubborn and you could sit in his lap or go back to bed without him.

bastard, you grumbled quietly as you sat yourself down, arms finding their rightful spot around his neck again, breath tickling his warm skin as you cuddled into him.

"one more" you agreed quietly, mind filled with only him and the feel of his lips pressing to your jaw, then your neck.

you were lulled back to sleep by the soft sounds of his typing again.

when you did wake up again, it was to his soft voice, calling your name. his hands gently pressed into your side, waking you with such care.

"hi, love" he cooed, a tone he saved for moments like these, when you were alone and wrapped in a blanket of comfort. "let's go back to bed now. we can stay there for as long as you want. i'm sorry for waking you"

"you should be" you pressed a finger to his cheek, pushing his face from yours as you stood, trying to hide your blushing cheeks. you crossed your arms as you waited for him to rise too.

"come on" he bit back a cheeky smile, holding his hand out to you. you chewed on your lip as you took it, fighting your own smile. you were trying to be mad at him after all. but how could you? how could you possibly be mad with him?

"i love you" as he led you down the hallway, he glanced back to murmur his endearment.

"i know. i love you too" you didn't fight the grin this time.

[cant-see-sam]

better arms than promises;

for this request!!

(i infact did not get right on it)

snow fluttered down from the gray colorado sky as the early morning light streamed through the curtains. the smell of fresh bread (libby’s doing, most definitely) wafted into your room, enticing you to come downstairs and join the inevitable chaos that seemed to travel with the hawthorne brothers. it was peaceful, quiet, even.

too quiet.

you checked your phone, seeing a message from grayson:

I’m out with Xander; I promise I’ll be back for lunch.

groaning, you peeled off the tasseled blanket you had managed to bind yourself in sleep, only to be hit with the cabin's frigid air. fourty-six point two billion dollars, and avery would still refrain from too much heating. you grimaced as you tugged on a pair of socks and one of grayson’s sweatshirts, before padding down the stairs and into the kitchen. there, libby hurried around in a flutter.

“look alive, kid.” you weren’t aware of what nash was referring to until libby bumped into you, almost dropping the pan she was carrying. the eldest hawthorne brother sat on the counter, a lazy but adoring smile on his face as he watched his girlfriend. he had his usual cowboy hat on. a black one with a skull and lace detailing sat beside him, indicating another one of his attempts at getting libby to wear one. It was around eleven-thirty, yet the unusual couple seemed the only company in true north. 

you took a muffin from a cooling rack, picked off a piece of the top, and asked, “where’s everyone else?”

“avery’s out looking for some birthday gifts for rebbeca, and i think jameson is with her.” She posed the last part as a question, “xander and grayson are skiing… said something about ‘a drop?’” she made quotation marks with her hands.

at that, nash groaned. “those dumbasses are gonna get themselves killed.” 

“what’s drop?” you asked as you set down the muffin. you knew grayson and his brothers liked to make various games, some more exotic than others, but he had never mentioned this one.

 as if on cue, nash’s phone rang. chris stapleton’s “tennesee whisky” blared from the speakers. he looked at it, rolling his eyes and bringing the phone to his ear, “xander?” he asked. xander’s voice on the other end was muffled. still, you could make out ‘accident,’ ‘grayson,’ and ‘ER.’ nash’s face twisted into something like concern, mumbling, “i’m on my way,” before hopping down from the counter, kissing libby’s forehead and grabbing the keys to the prius.

you spoke before thinking about it: “I’m coming with.” you could hear your heart pumping, and you wondered if the others could, too.

nash turned to face you, “come on then.”

the tension in the car was so palpable that someone cut it with a knife. nash’s knuckles were white as he drove. you chewed on your nails as music played softly in the background. it was too quiet, but neither of you attempted to break the silence.

worry drummed harder in your mind the closer you got to the assigned room. inside, xander sat on an armchair, his leg bouncing. he was still wearing snow pants, but his jacket had been thrown off to the side, revealing a thick fleece. he popped up when he saw his oldest brother, going into a flurry of explanation. “we were just messing around and i thought it would be fun to go higher and grayson- i didn’t think he was gonna get hurt-”

you cut him off, stepping to stand beside nash. “where is he now?”

“the doctor just came by and took him. she said they’re going to wrap his arm.” xander grimaced and motioned for you and nash to sit. the only other spot in the room was the bed, and while nash went to sit with his brother on the arm of the sofa, you hopped up on the side of the mattress.

around thirty minutes later, grayson trudged into the room, looking a little worse for wear. Like xander, he wore snow pants but a white t-shirt underneath the straps instead of something warmer. a cast adorned his left arm, bright blue and ugly. He seemed a little loopy, no doubt an effect of some sort of pain medication he was given.

ignoring his brothers, grayson walked straight towards you and settled himself infront of you. he wrapped his right arm around you, tucking you into his chest. “hey, sweet girl.” he mumbled from above you.

behind him, you could hear nash make some excuse about wanting to speak to a doctor, and then xander’s protests as he was dragged out of the room. 

looking up at grayson, you could see the exhaustion that lined his face. “you gave everyone quite the scare,” you told him.

he hummed thoughtfully, “it’s a very hawthorne thing to do,” he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, admiring it, “i’ll be okay.”

“i know you will, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying,” you grimaced.

grayson sighed, seemingly deciding to table that conversation. he kissed your forehead and asked, "have you eaten lunch yet?” You had that muffin, but it was around noon, and you were starting to get hungry again. you shook your head, and he continued, “didn’t i promise i’d see you before lunch? i wasn’t planning on breaking that.”

with a playful scoff, you peel away from him, “yet you still had to break something… didn’t you?”

-----------------

note: RAHHH TAKE THAT WRITERS BLOCK

anyways!! this was my first fic in about two years so hopefully it wasn't terrible lmao

[fizziedoodle]

dating jameson hawthorne pt.2

[iamthemain-character]

Masterlist of all Masterlists

my inbox is open, so feel free to send an ask! i’m shifting my writing to do so more creatively so don’t take offense if i don’t do it.

welcome to my own personal writing library. below are all the fandoms i have written for, including ones that i now consider my "archive", or are no longer writing for. feel free to browse around according to your whims, and happy reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Baldur's Gate 3

BBC Merlin

Bridgerton

Dune

Fourth Wing

Harry Potter Universe

Hobbit & Lord of the Rings

Inheritance Games

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Narnia

Miscellaneous (Arthur Morgan, D&D Movie, Sherlock Holmes (Henry))

Writing Prompts

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Archived

Avatar: The Last Airbender

BBC Sherlock

Shadow & Bone

Star Trek

Star Wars

Miscellaneous (Tobias Eaton/Four)

[soulofapatrick]

Enchanted Pages - Jameson Hawthorne x Reader

Summary: Jameson joins you in the Hawthorne estate library

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: none

Notes: I hope the anon requesting Jameson likes this! It was fun to write!!

Y/N's POV

The Hawthorne mansion library is a sanctum of wisdom, a hallowed ground where the scent of aged paper and the soft whisper of turning pages permeate the air. The room is vast, its shelves towering like ancient sentinels guarding the knowledge within. The mahogany bookcases stretch from floor to ceiling, each shelf adorned with leather-bound tomes that seem to hold the secrets of centuries.

I sit settled in a plush armchair, my fingers delicately tracing the embossed spine of a weathered classic. The soft glow of antique lamps casts a warm hue on the room, highlighting the ornate patterns of the Persian rug beneath my feet. The crackling fire in the hearth adds a touch of comfort, its flickering dance a silent companion to the tales contained in the countless volumes that surround me.

My gaze sweeps over the library, absorbing the grandeur of literature that spans genres and eras. Shakespeare stands shoulder to shoulder with Austen, while the poetry of Frost beckons from a distant corner. History whispers from dusty tomes, and the works of philosophers, both ancient and modern, share space on these sacred shelves.

The sheer magnitude of knowledge captivates me, and a sense of awe settles in my chest. Here, in this haven of words, I feel a connection to the countless souls who sought solace, inspiration, and escape within the pages of these books. It's as if each volume holds the echo of the minds that once dared to dream, to question, to imagine.

I had choosen a book at random, its spine cracked but well-loved. As I open its pages, the scent of history mingles with the musky perfume of aged paper. The words transport me to another world, a realm where time is fluid, and reality is shaped by the strokes of a writer's pen.

Before I can really get into it, the rhythmic click of polished shoes on the library's hardwood floor interrupts the quiet symphony of the written word. A familiar scent wafts towards me, a subtle blend of cedarwood and a trace of old books—Jameson's unmistakable fragrance. Without looking up, I feel the magnetic pull of his presence drawing near. The rustle of pages and the soft creak of the chair next to me signal his arrival. Jameson, with his tall and lean silhouette, leans against the bookshelf. His dark eyes, reflecting the wisdom accumulated through countless narratives, are fixed on the pages before me. 

”Finding solace in the tales of the past?" he inquires, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His voice, a velvety timbre, resonates with the same richness as the literary treasures that surround us. 

I glance up, meeting his gaze, and invite him to join me with a nod. Jameson gracefully moves to the arm of my chair, a place that feels both familiar and intimate. His fingers, cool and elegant, find a stray strand of my hair, wrapping it around his digits absentmindedly. It's a subtle gesture, one that transcends the boundaries of mere physical touch. Each twirl of my hair seems to weave a connection between us, binding us in a shared moment within the tapestry of the library. 

As he sits beside me, the warmth of his presence envelops like the embrace of a well-told story. The characters in the book come to life, their struggles and triumphs mirrored in the unspoken understanding between Jameson and me. The juxtaposition of the fictional world and the reality of his touch creates a beautiful paradox—a seamless blend of imagination and tangible connection.

Jameson's fingers, light as a whisper, move to ghost over my cheek. A shiver courses through me, a response to the delicate caress that seems to bridge the gap between fiction and reality. The characters in the book, once mere ink on paper, now witness a narrative unfolding before them—the story of two souls drawn together by the invisible threads of connection. His touch deepens, his fingers hooking under my chin with a gentle insistence that demands my attention. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lifts my gaze, and suddenly, I find myself ensnared by his eyes—dark, fathomless pools of green that hold the weight of a thousand stories. Time seems to stretch, and the distance between our faces becomes negligible.

My breath hitches, caught in the delicate dance of anticipation. The paradox of our connection intensifies—the very real presence of Jameson Hawthorne and the fictional worlds we explore converge in this suspended moment. In his eyes, I see reflections of characters who have loved, lost, and found redemption, mirroring the silent tale unfolding between us. 

As our faces draw closer, the boundary between reader and character blurs, and I become a protagonist in a story that transcends the pages of the books that surround us. The library, once a haven of literature, transforms into a stage where the chapters of our own narrative unfold.

In the charged atmosphere of the transformed library, Jameson's voice, low and laden with an emotion I can't quite decipher, breaks the silence. "You don't know what you do to me," he confesses, his words hanging between us like a promise written in invisible ink. His fingers, delicately holding my chin, tighten ever so slightly, an anchor in this moment. In the depth of those fathomless green eyes, I sense vulnerability, a rare glimpse of the man behind the enigmatic exterior. 

The anticipation lingers, and then, with a tenderness that defies the rough edges of his life, Jameson leans in. His lips brush against mine, a touch so gentle it's as if he's unraveling the layers of his guarded self. The kiss is a revelation, a tapestry of emotions woven with threads of longing and a touch of sweetness that catches me off guard. 

I taste the rich complexity of him, a blend of desire and restraint, as if every stolen moment has led to this, a communion of souls beneath the watchful gaze of literary giants. His kiss tells a story—a story of passion restrained, of emotions laid bare in the quiet expanse of a library transformed into a stage for our intimate narrative. 

As our lips continue their passionate dance, each touch becomes a stanza in a poem of desire. The flame ignited by our connection dances through the chambers of my heart, casting a warm glow that reverberates through every beat. In this stolen moment, I become a keeper of Jameson's story, feeling the weight of the untold chapters that reside in the recesses of his being. The dance of tongues is a language of its own, a symphony of whispers and sighs that transcends the limitations of words. In the quiet library, our connection becomes a narrative, written not in ink but in the shared breaths and lingering echoes of our kisses. 

Then, with a tantalising slowness, Jameson pulls away. The separation is a breathless pause, and in that moment, I catch a glimpse of a blush colouring his cheeks—a rare vulnerability that adds another layer to the enigma that is Jameson Hawthorne. His eyes, still reflecting the fire of our shared passion, hold a depth that defies easy explanation. 

A tender smile curves his lips as he leans down to kiss the crown of my head. His lips press into my hair, a silent promise and a gesture that speaks volumes. The library, once a stage for the intensity of desire, now becomes a sanctuary of shared intimacy. 

He settles back next to me, the warmth of his presence a comforting embrace. A smile lingers on his lips as he presses them into my hair, and I feel the echo of our shared moment lingering in the air like the fading notes of a beautiful melody. The pages of the book in my hands wait patiently, as if knowing that our own narrative has become a story worth telling—a love story written in the quiet corners of a library that has witnessed the blending of passion, literature, and the tender moments that make life extraordinary.

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

The Inheritance Games Masterlist

[pookiebearnancy]

"I want to wear his initial round a chain round' my neck"

Could you please post grayson x reader dating headcanons?

Grayson Hawthorne dating Headcanons

word count: 0.8k

warnings: ooc!grayson, one Taylor swift reference but none besides that, I'm pretty sure (let me know if I missed any!)

a/n: English isn't my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes

Masterlist

His love language his quality time and gift giving

you'd have a sleep over every few weeks

you would stay up late and do different activities like reading, watching movies or just gossip and talk about everything

he would always do many little different things that show that he cares about you

they would be little things like always keeping your favorite pillow fluffy or always having your favorite drinks and snacks in stock

he would annotate books for you and write a two page review on it

he would read your favorite books immediately after you read them so you have someone to talk about the book

he'll always have your favorite book/your current read on him on road trips incase you get bored and forget it

he spoils you ROTTEN

he'd buy you your favorite things, whatever you desire be it vinyls, books or plushies

he takes you on shopping trips where you drag him into the book store

he'll listen to your rambling about your favorite books, and books that you want to read

he secretly takes a picture of every book that you look at so he can gift them to you

he'll buy you the call it what you want necklace <33

"not because I own you but 'cause I really know you"

you MELTED on the spot

you'd get him a polaroid camera and he would always gift you hs favorite photos

you somehow convince him to post some of his photos on Pinterest

he does it anonymously tho

his Pinterest page would blow up and all the booktok girlies would use his pictures in one of these "convincing you to read this book by its aesthetic"

most of his pictures that he publishes on Pinterest are candids of you tho

dancing together<33

he would also teach you how to take professional pictures, if you don't know how to

every time you want a photo of you for your instagram account or just because you like how your outfit looks right now, he'll be ready to make a whole photoshoot on the street

he always take the most perfect pictures of you and you have so many perfect photos of yourself

he would love to teach you how to dance, if you don't know how to

he is a perfectionist so It could be a bit hard to learn it with him

"not like this, you stepped on my foot for the second time already"

"I guess your teaching skills are just really bad"

"or you're just a really bad student"

he'd love to teach you things and you would teach him skills that you are good at in reward

he would also teach you how to fight with a sword because why not

you would teach him things in reward that you are good at and he isn't

for example if you are good at crochet you would teach him that

"no, you have to hold your fingers like this"

"but I AM holding my fingers like you are holding yours"

but he eventually figures out how to do it after an hour or so

he immediately is perfect in it after he figured it out and he is able to crochet a perfect sweater after only TWO DAYS of learning it

one day you go to built a bear and make a bear that always reminds you of each other

you guys also use this function where you can take a audio

you record an audio of each other and put it in the bear of the other one

every time you are aways from each other and miss you, you listen to it

sneaking out to the pool at night together<33

he has a soft spot for you so when his brothers find out who gets him smiling at his phone like that they immediately want to meet you

this is very important for Grayson because his family is such a important thing in his life and he just wants you do get along but is scared because his brothers can be big idiots sometimes

but his worries are not coming real

you get super well along with his brothers and become besties

you get along the best besides Grayson of course with Xander

he's just amazing and makes a "welcoming karaoke" as he calls it

you and Grayson sing a duet

you two would also pull pranks at this brothers

taking morning walks together <33

you would always pick tiny flowers from the garden and put them in his hair

HE LOOKS ADORABLE WITH THEM

building lego flowers is not a rare activity for you guys

you would always meet for the afternoon and plan the rest of the whole day for the building of lego flowers

you guys whole room is full of lego flowers

you also would also play chess together

he definitely has a goodreads account

you are his only friend on there because he refuses to accept any other people

he's the first one to like your updates and reviews

in overall dating Grayson would be like the cutest things in the whole world<33

[m0nnypie]

I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: Just the pov of Finnick loving you over the years, and remembering everything about you

Warnings: cute but with a bit of angst on Finn's part. Other than that, all happiness and love.

a/n: Well, excuse any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language. And I tried my best to make it as much like Finnick as I could, but this is my first fic of his lol. Anyway, I hope you like it and enjoy <3

Words: 1.8k

Finnick remembers the first time he saw you. He was eight and you were only six. Your father had gone to see his for some reason Finnick can't remember — not least because he hadn't been paying attention to them. What he does remember is you glaring at him. It made him laugh, which only deepened your frown.

He imagines it was because you didn't like him very much at the time. He didn’t blame you. With your older brother constantly saying that no boy was any good, it was hard to be friends with anyone he was always badmouthing. Finnick didn’t blame your brother either — in a world like theirs, any protection, even unnecessary, was better than none. Still, nothing changed how cute and funny he had found you at the time. After that day, you never met in person again.

The time he considers the second was when his name was called at the reaping. He remembers your eyes glued to him; you were twelve, and he was fourteen. He could feel your pity seeping through his skin. He didn’t blame you — after all, like it or not, it was still the Hunger Games. But knowing that you were looking at him made it almost funny to him, and it was with that thought in mind that he entered the arena.

The third time was when he returned home victorious. Of course, there were lots of people congratulating him — his relieved family and everyone else — but the only thing he saw was you, walking toward him. He didn't think it was of his own volition, considering you was with your father and brother, but as soon as you approached, you wore the best, most beautiful smile he had ever seen you give. And for the first time in years, you spoke to him.

"Congratulations on winning, Finnick. I'm glad you're back... well, we're glad."

He could see the smile on your father’s face, though he couldn’t say the same for your brother. Not that he minded. So he just smiled back at you — not the smile he reserved for the Capitol, but a real smile.

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you too."

He saw you get embarrassed, and he wanted to laugh at that. But he wouldn’t — not in front of your father. Not yet.

For the rest of the day, he listened to his father talk about how much your father complained about you, because you wouldn't stop talking about Finnick. His father laughed as he ruffled his hair affectionately. And it’s not like Finnick was going to complain.

Everyone said it was normal for girls to have a little crush on boys who won at something — at least, that’s what the people he knew told him. Maybe that’s why, two months later, it was as if Finnick no longer existed to you. You were back in your own world, with your friends, without him. Not that it bothered him — not really.

The next time he really saw you, you were sixteen, and he was eighteen. He was a mentor now, and when your name was called at the reaping, he could see on your face how much you hated it. Most people didn't care or thought that a dead kid from District 4 wouldn't make much difference, since you wasn’t a Career or someone important. Finnick hated it — but he would never say so.

He also remembers how, for whatever reason, you didn't put any effort into your training. He thought it was because of what everyone thought of you as a tribute, or maybe you just didn't give a damn about dying in the arena. He didn't admit it at the time, but he had been terrified that you wouldn't make it out of the arena alive. He also remembers how surprised everyone was by your training score — including him. It was a ten. He remembers it clearly, and you didn't seem to mind.

On the day of the Games, all you did was say goodbye to your stylists. You didn't look in anyone else's direction, but he didn't blame you. If you were going to become one of the last survivors, there would come a point when you would have to kill someone. It wasn't something everyone wanted to face.

He remembers seeing you in the arena — you did well. For the first few days, you kept to yourself, hiding and trying to survive. But at some point — he can't say exactly when — things changed. Perhaps it was when the male tribute from your district was killed, or when you saw a pair of boys, just twelve years old, die.

It wasn't a change that anyone on Capitol had noticed. But Finnick knew you well enough to say that the deaths of people you barely knew had affected you. He still remembers when one of the tributes from District 4 was a twelve-year-old boy - you didn't know him, but you still went to say goodbye. You were only fourteen.

And at that very moment, you had just thrown an axe into the head of the boy from District 3 who had killed the twelve-year-olds. You hadn't thought — you had just acted. Obviously, this had a positive consequence for you in the Capitol's eyes, because a while later, you were sent food that would last for about four days.

He remembers the exact moment you won. He wanted to say he was relieved, but that wouldn't be fair to you. Until you left for District 4, you didn't say a single word to him. Perhaps because no one was looking at you with such high expectations anymore, you felt confident enough to speak.

"Do you regret killing those people to survive?"

"No."

He had to be honest; he couldn't lie. But after that, he didn't hear your voice again for the rest of the journey — you didn't even look at him. Still, when you arrived in District 4, you acted as if you were fine, as if you didn’t care.

He also remembers when you became friends. It was a good thing — a big step, considering that before, you wouldn’t even look him in the face. Now he understood why. Even though it hadn't seemed like it before, you had lots of friends. You were funny, entertaining, and you cooked extremely well. Finnick admitted that he envied your food — and he couldn’t lie about that.

He obviously remembers the following year, when the two of you were mentors. You were only seventeen, but you didn't seem bothered about directing two people toward a possible death. He saw how hard you worked not to get attached to either of the tributes, because if they didn't come back, you wouldn't feel guilty. But when Annie returned, alive and safe, he also saw you break down. You hugged her as if she were going to disappear. And he didn’t blame you for that either. Over the next year, no one ever brought up the subject of Annie becoming a mentor.

When you were nineteen, things went to another level. Once ignored, now he was kissed when no one was watching — well, that was a breakthrough. He remembers every kiss, every smile. He also remembers when you woke him up at dawn to help Annie. He didn't mind; he was spending time with you and helping a friend.

While he was making tea, if he looked over his shoulder, he could see you hugging her, whispering what sounded like a lullaby — the kind you sing to babies when they can't stop crying. He could see how much you loved and cared for Annie, and that always made him fall in love with you a little more, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

He certainly remembers the time he told you he loved you. You had just turned twenty-one. You said it back. And you held each other for the rest of the night.

He also remembers the 74th Hunger Games. He saw your relief when those two young people, madly in love — though he didn't believe in that farce — survived together. You didn’t know them, but you were obviously happy for them.

He also — sadly — remembers the Quarter Quell. When his name was called, he had imagined it would happen. But that day, once again, he saw you. Annie had been called, and before Mags could volunteer, you did. He saw you hugging Annie, comforting her as he heard her whisper "sorry," but you just smiled at her. And as you hugged, he heard you say:

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to her again."

"I know..."

He didn’t know. No — actually, he did. He just didn’t want to admit it, because admitting it meant facing the reality that this year, he’d be going into the arena with you. And he didn’t even want to think about that.

In the arena, he did everything he could to protect you, Katniss, and Peeta. He really wanted the plan to work. He believed that you would be fine if they separated. But when he woke up, you weren’t there with him. You were in the Capitol with the others. For the first time in years, he wished he had died in that arena when he was fourteen.

He felt it the moment he got you back — you weren’t really there. He spoke to you, but you didn’t listen. And if he tried to touch you, he saw you despair, screaming as if he had hurt you. And he felt that way — he felt guilty for letting the Capitol lay even a single finger on you. They told him to take it easy. He wanted to tell everyone to fuck off, but when he looked at you, he knew they were right.

At that very moment, he was keeping you company, obviously giving you space — he didn’t want you to get hurt. But when he heard you calling him, he admitted he was desperate; you hadn’t even looked him in the face for days. So probably, if you had asked him to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, he would have — even if he didn’t need to. But he held back.

"Finnick?"

"Yes, dear? Do you need anything?"

"I'm sorry..." It came out as a whisper.

"Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for? You have nothing to apologize for."

"I..." You didn’t manage to finish before tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, please don’t cry..." He tried his best to comfort you without having to touch you. But before he could decide what to do, you hugged him — a little hesitantly, but you hugged him. And at that moment, he collapsed. He shouldn’t have cried — not when you were in such a fragile moment — but he couldn’t help it.

For a moment in his life, he had thought he had lost you, that he would never see you again. And at that moment, he decided he would never let go of you — not with the possibility of losing you again. He would never let that happen. He would always see you now.

[inmyheaddd]

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

[xoxochb]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ big shoutout to my favorite book boyfriends!

[redr0sewrites]

THIS IS SO DELICIOUS I LOVE GRAYSON SM URGHHHH

maybe i will write for the inheritance games

Good Friends

Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content, PiV sex, tigh riding, cockwarming, Grayson Hawthorne bites

   Another week passes before Skye contacts the lawyers about a will reading. I’m working on my manuscript in the solarium, legs draped across Grayson’s lap while he reads, when Skye bursts in, “Who is Avery Kylie Grambs?”

   The hand caressing my knee freezes and he takes a steadying breath before answering, “I’ve never heard of them.”

   Skye marches around, so she is standing in front of us, “according to the lawyers, my father requires the presence of certain people at the reading or it will not be read at all. One of these people is some Avery Kylie Grambs. Someone that none of us has heard of.”

   Then as if she just notices me, “oh hello sweetie! Xander said you were working on a new book. Will it be a little more….lighthearted?”

   “You could call it a romanticism revival,” I say, tousling Gray’s hair.

   “I have a soft spot for love stories. Especially, your love stories,” she gives us a knowing smile, before sweeping out of the room. 

   Grayson tosses my notebook on the coffee table, “you know Mary Shelly invented the horror genre during the romanticism movement, don’t you?”

   I shift so I’m sitting across his lap, “I’m familiar with the Romanticism Movement,” still playing with his hair, “I did convince you to sign up for ages of art and literature with me junior year.”

   Grayson laughs, hands resting on my hips, “Convinced? You begged me, Davis” 

   I close the space between us, “I don’t beg, Hawthorne,” moving to get up.

   He’s quick to stop me, practically throwing me into the plush cushions. Giggling, I try to unsuccessfully slip from his grasp; trapped beneath him. Barely containing a grin, I begin a new strategy, sliding my fingers around his sides, until I find the spot that makes him jump. Gray stifles his laugh as best he can, “Flower, what do you think you’re doing?”

   Instead of answering, I concentrate on that one spot. When he can’t hold back, the most wonderful sound bursts forth. Eyes squeezed shut, head ducked forward, squirming, and I find myself laughing with him. 

   “Please,” Gray gasps, trying and failing to find a ticklish spot of mine.

   His contagious laughter is a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. Desperate for it to continue, I dodge his hands blindly grasping for my wrists. 

   “Enough,” he holds my arms above my head, last remnants of laughter shake his form, “you’re done.”

   My laughing fit ceases when I look up. Grayson, drenched in sunlight, the honey and gold of his hair illuminated by the evening sky. Eyes smokey, almost haunting, and totally–

   “Exquisite,” I breathe

   “What’s ex–” 

   Raising my head, I connect our lips.Grayson relaxes into it, pushing my hands farther into the seat and settling himself against me. The world is reduced to nothing as I lose myself in his intoxicating kiss. He leaves slow kisses on my neck, a hand squeezing along my thigh to wrap around his. I try to reach out, to tangle my  hands in his hair, cradle his face, anything. Each time I’m met with a strong, gentle push to keep my hands still. My frustrated huff is met with Gray’s breathy chuckle before his lips are back on mine, hungry. Whining as he bites at my bottom lip. Legs around his waist, I try to pull him closer, rolling my hips up in search of something to ease my now growing frustration. A groan rumbles through his chest, his own need evident. When I grind upwards again, Grayson has my hips in a vice grip holding them still against the sofa.

   “Careful, my flower,” his face deadly serious.

   I sit up, “or what?”

   Grayson blinks, brows furrowed. His hands never leave their place tracing the skin along the waist of my shorts. I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth then along his jaw, his breaths heavy. 

   “Did you hear me, little prince,” I coo, rolling my hips again.

   He sighs, hands trailing up my spine, fingers digging slightly when I nip his jaw. “Tell me what’s gonna happen, little prince,” I mumble against his neck, working to loosen his tie. 

   “I want you go–,” Gayson licks his lips, averting his eyes.

   The beginnings of that word make my heart pound, “say it.”

   He meets my gaze, “I want you, goddess.”

   He stands without warning and leads me through one of the many hidden corridors in the house. Pressing him against the wall, I leave a trail of hot kisses to the spot behind his ear that makes him shiver. Grayson tangles his hands in my hair, tugging lightly. He whines when I step back, unbuttoning his shirt.

   “Off.” 

   He responds without hesitation, harshly pulling his arms out of the long sleeved button-down. My hands slip under the plain undershirt, his stomach muscles tensing at my touch, the fabric bunching together as it slides upward, quickly followed by my own top. He pulls me flush against him for another needy kiss, before picking me up. Grayson walks slowly towards his bed, squeezing my ass as I pepper kisses along his jaw. He turns, so I’m straddling him when he sits. He pulls my hips forward, grinding me against him, my breath hitches. Desire taking over, I rock against him, breathy moans escaping.

   “Someone’s needy,” Grayson breathes against my ear, hands running along the band of my bra,  “I wanna see you, all of you. Please.”

   The sweetness in his request pulls me back to reality, heat rising in my face when I stand, shimming out of my shorts and panties. Grayson kisses up my stomach, before pulling me to straddle his thigh. He nips at my collarbones, unclasping my bra, fingertips trailing down my arms and tossing it aside. Grayson sits back appreciating my bare form grinding against his slacks, his mouth slightly agape. 

   His hands grip my hips tightly, guiding my movements, “this feel good, flower?”

   “Mmhmm,” my mind clouds with building pleasure.

   I rest my head against his, cupping his face in my hands, eyes fluttering shut with each grind. Every motion, every thought consumed by the yearning for more; more of him. I let one hand slide down to stroke him through his slacks making him buck against me. Grayson’s fingers ghost along my soft flesh and my breath hitches when he brushes my nipple. I shudder under his touch, sighing from the combined sensations. My head falls back when he takes one into his mouth, moaning as he licks the peaked bud. I rake my hands through his hair, tugging harshly, approaching bliss. My hips stutter, elastic band tightening in my abdomen, “Grayson,” I whine. 

   Grayson’s eyes snap back to mine, dark, “say it again.” 

   Hands finding my hips again, he flexes the muscles of his thigh making me cry out from the added pressure; his name falling from my lips like a prayer. My breath comes in short gasps, catching in my throat when the band finally snaps, in blinding pleasure. Grayson pulls my hips against him, drawing it out as my thighs shake until I lean heavily against his shoulder, breathless. 

   He presses a kiss to my temple, “that was exquisite.” 

   I reach between us, feeling the shape of him. Grayson bucks his hips against my hand, before forcing himself still. I lean back to look at him, taking him by the shoulders, “we can stop, little prince.”

   “I want this. It’s just….been a minute.”

    I press a kiss to his forehead, “do you have something?”

   He smirks and we break apart for a moment. Grayson discards his boxers and fumbles through the table by his bed. My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I let myself slowly sink onto his length. 

   “Oh fuck,” Grayson moans. 

   He kisses down my chest, as I move on his length. He bites my lip, silencing the moan when he brings his thumb to circle my clit. Nibbling along my jaw and pushing me against the mattress. Mesmerized watching this abs tense and relax as he pounds into me, my hands wander over the taut planes. I nearly miss the adoration in Gray’s eyes when he lifts my chin, staring at me. He leans down for a messy kiss, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Grayson slows, groaning, suddenly rolling his hips at an agonizingly slow rhythm, a loud whine escapes me. Blond hair sticks to his forehead when he tucks his face against my neck, chuckling darkly. I push my hips upward, trying to meet his thrusts. He growls, sitting back and lifting them in a bruising grip. The perfect angle lets him thrust deeper until he hits the spot that has me seeing stars, gasping and grabbing at his forearms.

   Pressing my head back into the pillows, moaning, “so close, Gray.”

   My nails rake down his arms when I come undone, breath catching in a silent scream. Graysons nails dig into my waist, swearing as he loses himself in bliss, eyebrows scrunched. His hips jerk with shallow thrusts before finally stilling. “Can I just stay like this for a bit? I like how you feel around me.”

   I nod, still breathless and pull him to rest against my chest.

   “You’re perfection, little prince,” I pant, carding my fingers through his hair.

   Grayson hums in reply, tracing patterns on my chest. We lay there in silence until long after dark, before sliding apart. He catches my arm as I move to get up, light eyes pleading.

   “I’m not going far Gray,” I coo.

   Hesitantly, he lets go, watching my every move as I walk into his en suite and fill the tub. I stand in front of him, taking his hands in mine, “I’ll never leave you Grayson.”

   “Promise,” he asks.

   “Promise,” I press a kiss to his hand before leading him to sit behind me in the steaming water. 

   I lean back on his shoulder, caressing his arms wrapped loosely around mine. Savoring the closeness, Grayson presses kisses to the top of my head, murmuring sweet praises. When the water starts to cool, he wraps us in fluffy towels. Grayson reaches into the cupboard before having me sit on the edge of the tub. Vanilla and brown sugar invade my senses as he gently rubs lotion up my calf, periodically kissing along my leg.

  “Grayson, why do you have my favorite lotion in your bathroom,” I look at him expectantly.

   He moves to the other leg and slowly massages each arm, “Because I can, my flower.” He moves to pick me up, I wince when his hands graze my hips. Grayson cradles my face in his hands, panicked eyes searching mine, “Did I hurt you?”

   I grab his wrists, leaning back to see his full face, “I’m not made of glass, little prince.” 

   Satisfied, he scoops me up, pulling the covers back and unceremoniously dropping me in bed. I giggle, scooting over arms outstretched to him as he tucks the blankets around me, strong arms pulling me into his chest. “Sometimes,” I yawn, “I wish other people could see this side of you.”

 “You better not let anyone know I have a heart, flower,” Grayson kisses my forehead.

   I slowly drift to sleep, in the place where I was always meant to. No longer ships in the night, no more endless questions, just Grayson and I tangled in one another. Maybe Nash was right, in a sense, we weren’t good friends, we were home.

[wonnieluvr]

thinking of you

pairing -> grayson hawthorne x fem!reader

summary -> grayson can’t get you off his mind even years after your messy breakup. do you still think about him too?

warnings -> angst again lol 😭 i tried to make it a happy ending but idk yet

a/n -> pt.2 to this fic but can be read as a standalone :) this one is long, woo 😮‍💨 i also dk if gray is a bit ooc, i tried..

you had been grayson's first love. and sometimes, he believed you were the only one he had truly loved.

you were perfect. and you knew him so well. it had never been difficult with you.

he had never been as happy as he was with you. he hadn't even imagined a world where the two of you broke up.

and yet... you were standing there, across the room.

and you weren't his anymore. how could he have ever let you go?

he could feel his chest tightening, it was becoming harder to breath.

all he could think of was you, you were right there. could he really see you again? he knew in his heart that he still loved you, he could feel the painful twinge in his heart at the thought of you leaving again. leaving without even saying goodbye, without even trying to make this right.

"gray? what are you doing?" he barely registered jameson’s voice, his brother nudging his side to get him to focus. they were meant to be taking photos for the paparazzi and all grayson could do was stare at you.

jameson posed for him, wrapping his arm around grayson’s neck to pull his attention away long enough for a good photo. or at least, one that wouldn’t spark any rumours.

grayson’s scowl was a normal sight, normal enough to please the paparazzi.

“gray” jameson hissed as they moved away to a further less crowded area of the gala. “what the hell are you doing?”

“she’s here jamie..” grayson’s tone was airy, filled with unresolved emotion. he didn’t sound anything like himself. that immediately set off warnings in jameson’s mind.

“who’s here?” jameson was as inconspicuous as grayson had been, head wildly swinging around the room to find who his brother could possibly be talking about.

that seemed to snap enough sense back into grayson. “stop it” he snarled, pulling on jameson’s shoulder in an effort to stop him. “you look stupid, come on”

jameson finally turned back, frowning in offence. “rude. so you’re allowed to act weird and i’m not?” he huffed, subtly glancing around the room this time. “can you just tell me who we’re talking about now?”

“y/n”

jameson froze, eyes widening. “what?”

grayson didn’t reply for a moment, too busy looking for you again. he had almost given up, you probably weren't even here anymore.

had you seen him? had you left at the sight of him? he sucked in a sharp breath at that thought, trying to believe you wouldn't but he knew you would. you would turn and leave the minute you saw him.. it was his fault, after all.

jameson was staring at him, trying to decipher what he was thinking. "look, i don't think this is going to go well.." he begun, the look of disapproval an unusual one for the younger brother. "but, if you're going to talk to her, take it somewhere private"

grayson blankly stared at him back for a moment, struggling to believe that his brother was really encouraging this.

"what?" jameson raised an eyebrow at him. "we all knew how much she meant to you gray, you were never the same after she left" he shook his head, "i don't know if you, or we deserve a second chance but you should try"

"thank you.." grayson's shoulders dropped their stiff posture slightly, grateful for his family for once. not his mother, his aunt, his grandfather but his brothers.

"go on, i've got distraction" he didn't like the look of jameson's proud grin but he could care less what jamie was up to this time. he needed to see you.

he caught sight of your dress first, across the ballroom. he made an immediate dart line for you, weaving between people and looking over their heads to keep track of where you were. you were moving again when he finally reached out, fingers clasping around your wrist.

"y/n"

he could feel himself at a loss for words, his breath even leaving him when you turned. you looked as beautiful as you had back then. even more so, maybe.

you were confused but that quickly turned to a look he knew all too well, one that didn't suit you at all. the sadness, the melancholy, the pain.

"gray.. what are you doing?" your voice. oh, how he had missed hearing you say his name. your beautiful voice.

"y/n i-" he could feel his throat tightening. "i need to speak to you. please"

grayson hawthorne was not a man who said please. not to anyone. but you, he would plead on his knees until you came back to him. if you came back to him.

you looked unsure, but eventually you agreed, pulling him along casually as though you were just talking like anyone else. but you weren't anyone else. not to him.

he couldn't help the way his eyes stayed glued to your figure, taking in everything that had changed. you still managed to leave him breathless, even after all these years.

when you were out in one of the more secluded corridors you finally parted from him, dropping his hand and taking a step back. even the way your arms tightened around your waist broke his heart, you were protecting yourself. from him.

"what did you want to talk about?" you were trying to be assertive, short. you wanted this over with.

he winced slightly. "i'm sorry" he had never said that to you as desperately as he did now. he should have.. "i should have defended you, i should have stopped them, i should have- i should have done a lot of things. and i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, y/n. please, you have to understand-"

"i do understand, gray. but you never came after me" your voice was meek and full of emotion. you were trying not to cry. he had hurt you. badly. "you never called, you never texted, you never spoke to me again. what was i supposed to think then? was i just a game? did even really want me? or was i just a fun summer fling? someone you could let go of when you're done messing around with them?"

you were getting angry.

"i can't let you go!" he snapped, his voice loudly echoing down the hall. he didn't even notice, didn't care. you had to understand. "i can't stop thinking about you. you never left my mind. i see you everywhere i go. i kept all of our pictures in the foundation, i can't go anywhere without thinking about you! i never wanted anyone else. i just wanted you and i was stupid and stuck up and i left you! i loved you"

you stayed silent as he breathed heavily, running his hands through his hair. he couldn't look at you, not after that.

"i'm sorry, i shouldn't bother you-" he begun, voice quiet. he was ashamed. he was the solid hawthorne, he never broke. but you weren't a hawthorne game, a mystery. you were not what he was used to and as much as he hated feeling like this, you were worth it.

you cut him off, "stop it" he looked up now as your voice cracked. you were crying. his hand raised, instinctually, ready to hold you but paused as he remembered you weren't his. "stop it" you repeated, turning away from him and fiercely attempting to wipe away your tears.

you hated him, you hated the way he made you feel. you hated that you loved him.

he stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. was this it? were you telling him to leave, to never talk to you again. you stepped towards him again, eyes narrowed and trying to keep up the angry facade.

"i hate you so much, grayson hawthorne" he could practically feel his heart break the minute those words left your lips. "you're so-" you threw your hands up, unable to voice just how frustrated you were. "how dare you come here? how dare you come back to me now? you're so annoying! i hate you! i hate how much i think about you. i hate that you're always on my mind. i hate that i can't stop watching your interviews, that i can't stop looking up whether you have a girlfriend. i hate you so much.." you trailed off, hands clutching at his suit jacket as you teared up again.

"i loved you, gray.. i love you so much" he didn't know if it was a mistake that you had changed the tense of that sentence but he wasn't going to question it. not now that you were in his arms. he gently embraced you, head pressing into your neck, breathing in your familiar perfume. you were so beautiful.

"y/n?" a voice called from down the hall, confused. "i heard yelling, are you okay?"

you froze in his arms, slowly pulling back and patting your face dry. you looked just as you had when you'd led him down the corridor. beautiful. "everything's fine, darling. we were just catching up"

darling. grayson's heart twisted in a painful way at the word leaving you mouth. his eyes narrowed coldly at the man standing at the end of the corridor. "gray, this is my date.." you gently introduced the two, frowning slightly. unnoticeable to your date but he knew.

as you went to leave again, you took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "gray" you whispered, your eyes shining. "wait for me, please? please, i can't lose you again" he almost couldn't speak, stunned. he nodded, dumbly. hand chasing yours as you disappeared.

his hand may have been cold, but his heart was warm. for you, he would wait forever.

tags 🫶 @pockyyasii

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

bella PLEWSDE WRITE A GRAYSON HAWTHORNE BLURB OR WHAYEVER WITH READER WITH LOW IRON AND LIKE SHE ALMOST FAINTS BECAUSE THERES LITERALLY ZERO. ZERO FICS THAY HAVE THE READER WITH LOW IRON SO PPELAPSPESLLEPWDLEEL

AHHHHHH BELLE LET ME JUST BEGIN WITH AN APOLOGY BECAUSE I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY THIS FIC HAS TAKEN ME THREE BILLION YEARS TO GET AROUND TO WRITING!! THANK YOU FOR YOU REQUEST AND I PRAYYYY THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED…. (if not I will redo)

title: I’m fine

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: a story where ‘I’m fine’ means ‘I’m totally not fine but I’m not going to admit that’

warnings: dizziness, fainting

a/n: dedicating this to the beautiful @midiosaamor 💖💖 ily <33

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 @foreverwinter22

It only started as a headache, not bad enough to be classed as a migraine but bad enough to be considered more than your average headache. Still, I carried on typing the words out on my computer, my brain pulsating in pain.

I didn’t have time to rest off a headache, there was too much to do. I’d only started working four hours ago and if I didn’t get this done by tonight then my boss would not be happy. I mean it wasn’t exactly my fault she decided set me an assignment with a deadline on the same day but still, I had to work it all out and push through.

The tasks seemed endless, I typed word after word, in a state of not really registering what I was writing, just making the robotic movements to write. Clicking the keys and forming coherent sentences without anything being properly processed. It wasn’t unusual, I was used to my brain working faster than my body sometimes.

Still, my head throbbed on. For a second, I stopped the incessant tapping on my keyboard and pressed two fingertips softly to each temple. My hands were ice cold. I breathed in and out deeply a few times with my eyes shut before beginning to work again, praying a tiny reset would be what I needed. I knew I was lying to myself, I knew it would take more than that to soothe any pain but I carried on like I didn’t.

“Are you alright?”

As small gasp escaped my lips as I looked up to see Grayson standing in the doorframe, one hand at the top taking most of his weight. I wondered how long he’d been stood there and I hadn’t noticed.

“Mmmm,” I hummed in reply, going back to finish the sentence I was typing before I lost my train of thought. Then I looked back up at him again, “why?”

He walked in slowly looking at my face intently, “you look a little pale.”

He took my face into his palms and rubbed my cheek with his thumb. Small, gentle, long strokes, that made me lean into him further. I wanted to just curl up in his arms and sleep, but my work clearly had other ideas.

“Just a headache,” I brushed it off, pulling away from his touch reluctantly, “is there any aspirin?”

“There is,” he nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together in concern, “but I really think you ought to lay down if it’s this bad.”

“I don’t need to,” I shook my head stubbornly, standing up to look him dead in the eye, “I’m fine.”

What a lie.

“You don’t look fine,” he told me softly, the anxiety rippling across his perfected features. His hands curved around the small of my back and I tried to enjoy it instead of thinking about the throbbing of my head.

So despite my ache, I smiled, “well I feel fine.”

Sometimes I lied so easily and so well it worried me. I shouldn’t be this good at something so cruel. But maybe more than him, I was lying to myself to convince a part of me that I wasn’t as feeling as bad as I thought I felt.

Grayson gave me another worried glance, thumb running up and down the base of my spine rhythmically, the softness of his touch sending a chill through it.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked me, the tingling up my back dying down.

“Earlier,” I nodded, my eyes flicking the time in the bottom corner of my screen realising my ‘earlier’ actually meant six hours ago. On cue, my stomach seized in a hungry protest, sending a tight knot like sensation across my abdomen. I prayed it wouldn’t grumble, betraying my lies to Gray.

“I haven’t seen you eat or-“

“Stop the fussing,” I grinned to bear it, “I’m fine, just need a tablet and some water.”

“Maybe lay off the work then,” he suggested, cocking his head towards my computer screen.

“Grayson I need to get this done,” I sighed gently, “a little headache can’t stop me.”

“Okay…” he said unsurely, hesitating for a few seconds.

“Stop worrying,” I forced a laugh through my searing brain, glancing up at him and looking through those truth-reeling gray eyes.

“I’m not,” his right hand twitches at my side. Liar. “Sit down and I’ll go and get you the aspirin, okay?”

“Okay then,” I nodded, sitting down. Another chill ran through my spine, though this time it was because of the empty place left where his hands had just been.

I took a few more deep breaths, feeling a little out of it all of a sudden. It was like I was in the room but I wasn’t at the same time. I closed my eyes and let the weight of my skull fall into my palms, breathing even deeper, heavier.

I let myself hang, like a lifeless marionette forgotten by her puppeteer, everything leaden and dopey. When I heard Grayson coming back and quickly opened my eyes and sat up a little bit straighter. If he saw me like that he’d get stressed and that’s the last he needed. It was only a headache after all.

Just a really bad headache.

“Thank you,” I kissed him on the cheek as he passed me the aspirin pill and a glass of water.

He cupped my face in his hands, “you promise me you’re fine?”

“I promise promise promise you,” I whispered, feigning another smile. My jaw was starting to ache. I don’t know it’s it from the guilt of lying or the forceful action of smiling or maybe it was just the headache transferring.

I took the tablet between my fingertips and put it at the back of my mouth before swallowing it quickly with water. I shivered afterwards. I hate taking tablets.

Grayson squeezed my shoulders softly, “do you want me to stay here?”

“Didn’t I just ‘promise promise promise’ you I was fine?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

He looked at me and sighed. Worry ran riot across his eyes, swirling anxious thoughts into pools of grey. How bad did I look?

“I haven’t got much work left to do, okay?” I said, “I just need to get through this.”

He took his time walking out and although I didn’t look at him I was convinced he kept looking back every through steps to check on me. Finally he left and I downed the glass of water.

I sat still for a moment, analysing how I felt. I didn’t think it was possible but my head had worsened. I internally groaned as dread filled my body. It wasn’t supposed to worsen. I prayed the tablet would kick in, after all I hadn’t really given it a chance.

I took a long breath out and continued tapping away at the keypad. After a while the continuous clicking and clacking was beginning to irritate me. Like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. My already pounding head felt pounded with the small noises over and over like they were making a mockery of it. Still I continued, there wasn’t much left now and if I could just finish it l, all would be okay.

After about a billion spell checks - seriously why does psychology have a ‘p’ and ‘h’ in it, it’s so irrelevant - I thought I might be ready to finish when I realised I’d missed a whole section.

By now my head was almost unbearable. Torturous agony was creeping up behind my eye now as well as the front of my head. A whole section felt like it would be the death of me. And I’d noticed something weirdly unnatural about my breathing. Every breath in didn’t feel like enough oxygen. So I began to breathe more deeply and when that wasn’t working, more quickly.

That only fuelled my rising panic about the weird nature of these symptoms. They were familiar. Why couldn’t I breathe normally? What was wrong? Maybe it was more than a headache? Questions raced through my head faster than it had time to process them all.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

My head pounded on and like the idiot that I am, I carried on writing. My vision blurred out for a fraction of a second then cleared shortly after. I rubbed my eyes. It was just the screen. Just the screen.

It happened a few more times, so I cleaned my glasses with the bottom of my jumper for good measure. More notes, more notes, more notes, more notes. I quickly hit save in the document for fear if my computer crashed I would lose it all. I sighed as I then went to drink from my water glass only to realise it was empty.

“Gray!” I yelled, “could you grab me another glass of water please?”

I barely registered his reply, my only focus being the stupid piece of work. ‘I can last a little longer’ I repeated over and over in my mind. Until I was bored. Until I was delirious. Until I was too brain dead to care.

I could hear Grayson approaching so got up to meet him at the door. I wanted a ten second break from staring straight at the glowing screen. Suddenly, mid step, I stumbled. Straight away Grayson had one hand around the small of my back gripping tightly and the another on my upper arm, steadying me. I try to laugh it off as a I mistake but even that sounded weak.

“Woah sweetheart,” he said, his hold firmer as he set me straight, “what’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged, trying to get back to my chair, my legs feeling too much like jelly for my liking.

I could see he didn’t believe me completely, he didn’t have to say a word. Grayson, instead, took me in his arms. I couldn’t ask to sit down after that, then I’d be admitting that something was wrong. So I stayed standing, my body against his. The only thing holding me up was him.

He looked at me, tender eyed and consumed with concern, “you’re clearly not my love.”

“Gray, I just tripped,” I said smoothly, praying he’d let me twist the truth as I tried to stop my legs from shaking.

“Don’t lie to me,” he murmured in a low voice, curling his other arm around my waist for support.

“I’m not lying,” I shrugged, continuing to be in denial as I gripped to his shirt so tightly my knuckles went white, “I’m fine.”

As soon as the words left my lips everything spun. I closed my eyes and pressed my head against his chest, hoping it would all just go away. My feet swayed a little and panic seized my throat at the unsteadiness. I made a choked sound, halfway between a gasp and a silent scream.

“It’s okay,” Grayson whispered softly, “I’ve got you.” He brought a hand up through the back of my hair and gently held onto the back of my head to steady it.

“Dizzy,” I murmured into him, my voice slurred and slowed. I felt so out of it.

We stayed like that for I don’t know how long. My concept of time was as hazy as my vision. I just remembered staying very still, Grayson’s hands not leaving my body and how hard my forehead was pressed against him.

After a while, I tried to stand back on my own, thinking the dizzy spell was over but as soon as I did the room became a whirlpool of colours and blob-ish shapes. I felt myself lose my footing completely and before I knew it was falling backwards.

Strong arms tensed around my torso and quickly caught me, “oh sweetheart,” I heard Grayson say as he safely lowered me to the ground.

My legs became lifeless pieces of flesh, heavy as led but weak as a flimsy childhood doll. My head felt heavy in his lap as it pounded on. I sewed my eyes shut, it helped a little with the dizziness. His cold fingers tentatively touched my forehead and I leant into them ever so slightly with what energy I had left.

“I’m going to carry you to bed,” he told me gently, as I felt one arm around my back and the other under my legs.

“But my work-“ I groaned, feeling a little nauseated from the dizziness.

He held me tightly, “no sweetheart, forget about work, you need to rest.”

I didn’t reply and instead feebly gripped my deadened limbs around his neck and prayed for all of this to just go away.

“Gray,” I murmured into his chest.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not fine,” I said, somewhere between a sob and mumble.

“I know sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a shaky kiss on my temple, “I know.”

He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom, laying me on the bed, before tucking me under the covers. Not letting go of my hand, that gripped him so tightly I don’t know how he didn’t complain. I heard him dialling a number.

“Who are you calling?” I slurred.

“Someone to come and help you,” he responded swiftly.

“Mhmm,” I could only muster in response.

His thumb rubbed circles up and down my hand, “I’m going to stay right here okay?” he comforted, “can you still hear me?”

“Don’t go,” I whispered, feeling quite pathetic but not self-conscience enough to care.

“No I’m staying sweetheart,” he squeezed my palm in his, “I’m staying.”

My eyes fluttered open as my head lazily lolled to one side, “I’m dizzy,” I groaned, not remembering if I’d mentioned already.

“I know,” Grayson whispered, a hand pushing my hair out of the way, “I know.”

“Can I rest my eyes?” I asked him, closing them anyway.

“No, you can’t go to sleep,” he told me.

“No just rest my eyes…” I trailed off, pausing for a long while, my train of thought wavering, “…to stop the spinning.”

“Squeeze my hand every three seconds then,” he said, “so I know you’re awake.”

“Deal,” I barely managed to whisper before I felt the need to increase my breathing rate. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in my system.

I squeezed his hand every three seconds, just about keeping track of the numbers. But with every squeeze I could feel myself growing weaker and weaker, like all of my energy was being drained slowly and mercilessly. The only thing that kept me from closing my eyes was Grayson’s gentle touches. His soft fingertips trailing over my face, tracing the contours or drawing spirals on my upper arms and neck.

I opened my eyes for a moment, when the darkness was just as bad as the light, when I felt dizzy no matter whether my eyes were closed or open. Things blurred and cleared, darkened and became normal again over and over and over. Until, a piercing ringing coursed through my ears and everything other sound seemed to be submerged under water. I knew what that meant I was close to.

“Gray,” I murmured shakily.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to pass out,” I told him, a single tear trailing its way down my cheek, “I can feel it.”

I knew the signs well enough and every sign was pointing that way.

“It’s okay,” he said, positioning himself behind me, so my back was pressed against his torso and he could support my head, “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t want to pass out,” I sobbed, black spots dancing across my vision in mockery.

The worst part is always before you passed out because when you’re out you feel and remember nothing. But before, you know what’s coming and you know you can’t stop it.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he mumbled into my hair, slowly, comfortingly, “you’re safe, if you need to pass out, you can and your body will, whether you like it or not.”

My hands were shaking, fingers rocking back and forth, bumping into one another clumsily, “I’m scared,” I said between uneven breaths.

I grabbed Grayson’s forearm to attempt to still them, my fingers so brutally desperate in their clinging that they constricted his blood flow. No matter how many times I’d passed out,, I always felt just as scared.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he soothed gently, “I’ve got you, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise,” I panted, looking up at him, chest rising up and down harshly.

“I promise,” he leant down and planted a sweet of kiss on my nose.

I kept looking up, until his gray eyes clouded with dark spots, until calm expression replaced with an endless see of nothingness, until the whisperings of sweet words ceased. My breathing was heavy, growing heavier by the second and then… then there was black.

***

I felt thick and heavy with drowsiness. My body felt so weighted it ached. My back was against the mattress, my head flat on the pillow, I was anchored to my bed. The covers had been adjusted to just under my neck and I could feel someone’s hand in mine.

I winced as I opened my eyes, the light attacking them too viciously. Immediately Grayson dimmed it down, holding my cheek tentatively in his palm.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing my forehead.

“Gray?”

He traced a soft thumb over the bone where my eyebrow sat as he asked, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” I mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“Here,” he said gently, “have some water.”

Slowly he helped me prop myself up, his hand pressed up against my back, the other tipping the glass towards my lips. I swallowed, the water feeling odd against the dryness of my throat.

“How long was I out for?” I coughed.

“Only a bit,” he said, laying me back down, “the doctors have come and gone, they say you’ll be okay with some rest.”

“Why did I pass out?” I asked tiredly, “do they know?”

“You hadn’t taken your iron tablets in three days,” Grayson explained, cocking his head towards my table.

I glanced to my bedside and gasped. Three days worth of unconsumed tablets sat there. I never usually forgot, one day maybe but three whole days. That was unheard of. Guilt permeated me, all the stress I’d probably put Grayson under could’ve been entirely prevented.

“I must’ve forgotten,” I sighed leaning deeper into my pillow, “work has just been so hectic lately and-“

“Hey, hey, hey, I didn’t tell you to worry you, I told you so you wouldn’t overthink what was wrong,” he said softly, “but it’s okay, you’re okay, that’s all that matters.”

“But it’s not okay because it’s all my fault,” I bursted into tears, the shock wave of random emotion leaving me senseless, “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you I wasn’t fine and then I just passed out and that probably really stressed you out and I could’ve stopped all of that if I’d just taken the stupid tablets.”

“Sweetheart,” he pressed a palm flat on my chest, “breathe, it’s okay.”

His voice was the constant in my current of chaotic overthinking. This had happened before many times, my low iron deficiency had always been an issue, but even the very first time I’d passed out he was so much calmer than I’d expected.

He kept calm for me.

“God I feel like an idiot,” I choked out a pathetic laugh, wiping my eyes roughly with the back of my hand.

“You’re not an idiot, love,” he soothed, taking my hand gently into his and replacing with with the pad of his thumb, as he gently wiped away the tears that were left, “it happens.”

“It shouldn’t happen,” I shook my head defiantly.

I don’t forget things. I never forget things.

“Hey,” Grayson said, “look at me, you’re fine, I’m fine and that’s all that’s important.”

He held my face in his palms and looked at me like I meant the world.

“I’m sorry,” I let the weight of my head fall into his hands, taking the ache from my neck.

“Don’t apologise,” he said, “there’s no need for you to, just relax.”

I closed my eyes, his palm warm and comforting against my cheek. His fingers found their way to the top of my head, soothingly running through my hair over my scalp.

“Do you want me to get in with you?” he asked.

I nodded sleepily and watched as he slipped into the bed beside me. I was quick to snuggle close, intertwining my legs with his and burying my face into his chest. I inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered in a low voice in my ear as his arms curved around my waist.

“Tired,” I mumbled.

“It’s okay,” he ushered, “you can go to sleep.”

“What if you go?” I asked, like a child.

“I won’t, I promise,” Grayson said, “I’ll stay here with you.”

I smiled to myself, and squeezed his arm, “I love you,” I murmured, “so much.”

“I love you too sweetheart,” he planted a kiss on the top of my head, “more than this world. Get some rest now.”

So I shut my eyes and fell longingly into sleep’s arms.

a/n: hope you enjoyed guys, sorry I haven’t posted much 💖💖

TIG masterlist

[fizziedoodle]

Could you please do a dating Jameson Hawthorne moodboard? I'm so sorry I'm new to your account so I really don't know if it's already been done.

Btw I love ur boards!!

here's your pt. 2 !

don't be sorry anon! thank you for the ask and support !! I don't know who this little freak is but in researching him, he's cute, hope I did well!

[adddddiiii]

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.

[soulofapatrick]

Whispers in the Night - Greyson Hawthorne x Reader

Summary: You and Greyson are in a secret relationship and one night leads to you two deciding you want to tell to everyone

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut (p in v); fingering

Notes: I hope this is what the anon who requested Greyson spice was looking for! feedback is always welcome

Y/N’s POV

I had been living in the Hawthorne mansion for a few years now, ever since I was taken in by that man - Tobias Hawthorne - and became a part of their peculiar everyday. Adjusting to this new life had been a whirlwind, and I fund myself spending most of my time with Greyson Hawthorne, the enigmatic and brooding second eldest. His charm, mysterious aura and those smouldering grey eyes never failed to captivate me. 

Our relationship had evolved beyond friendship over those years. The intense chemistry between us was undeniable, and there was an unspoken understanding that went beyond words. We would steal secret glances when no one was looking, share playful smiles and engage in conversations that would leave our hearts racing. 

In the dead of night, we would meet in secluded corners of the mansion, hidden away from prying eyes. The library, the conservatory, the labyrinthine hallways – they all became the backdrop of our secret rendezvous. It was in these stolen moments that our connection deepened. We would talk about our hopes, fears, and dreams, laying bare our souls under the moon's gentle gaze. Our relationship flourished in stolen kisses, tender touches, and lingering embraces that spoke of longing and desire. Greyson's lips were a temptation I couldn't resist, and his kisses left me breathless, wanting more. Each stolen moment we shared was a testament to the powerful attraction between us, the magnetic pull that we couldn't ignore. 

Tonight was a sleepless night for me, I tossed and turned in my extravagant bedroom, unable to shake off the unsettling feeling that something was missing. A quiet longing had settled within me, leaving me restless and uneasy. My heart raced as I contemplated what to do, and before I could overthink it, I’m slipping out of bed. 

With determined steps, I navigate the familiar corridors of the mansion, avoiding the creaky floorboards that could betray my late-night escapade. My destination was always clear in my mind, even though I had never shared my intention with anyone. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand before Greyson’s bedroom door, hesitation for a moment.

What if I wake him? What if he’s not alone tonight? These thoughts whirl in my mind, but the pull is too strong to resist. I press my ear to the door, straining to catch any sign of movement or sound within. Only silence greets me. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn the handle and let myself inside. 

As I enter Greyson’s room, I find hi at his desk, bathed in a gentle, silvery light of the lamp on his desk. He’s engrossed in a book, his attention fixated on the pages, and he doesn’t immediately notice my presence. His incredibly handsome features are illuminated by the gentle glow of the lamp, his tousled light blond hair catching the subtle highlights. His strong jawline and intense gaze remains fixe on the words before him. 

I watch in fascination, my heart pounding, as he flips a page with careful deliberation. His long fingers gracefully turn the parchment, and I can see the slight crease in his brow, evidence of the concentration he pours into his reading. His sharp cheekbones cast captivating shadows in the soft light, and the subtle curve of his lips hold an unspoken story, a secret that only I seem to know. 

The room is filled with the scent of old books and the quiet rustling of pages, a backdrop to Greyson’s solitary world. The way he immerses himself in the story, the way his grey eyes dart across the text, absorbing every word, it’s as if nothing else exists for him in this moment. 

A sense of  vulnerability washes over me as I stand in the doorway, feeling like an intruder in his private sanctuary. Yet, that same vulnerability is what makes me yearn for him more intensely. I long to be a part of his world, to share in his passions, to be the one who captures his attention in a way that no book ever could. 

The room remains silent, save for the soft rustling of pages as I approach Greyson's desk. My footsteps are a mere whisper, barely registering in the dimly lit space. When I reach his desk, I extend a hand and rest it gently on his shoulder, my touch a delicate caress meant to draw him away from the written world and into the reality of our desires. Greyson’s pale gray eyes, bordering on silver, finally lift from the pages, and they lock onto mine. There's a glimmer of surprise, quickly giving way to a slow, sensual smile that sends a thrilling shiver down my spine. The air between us is charged with unspoken longing, and in that moment, the world outside ceases to exist. 

His book is placed aside with deliberate care, his attention now fully on me. Greyson pushes his chair back just enough to allow me to straddle him. As I settle onto his lap, his hands, strong and confident, find my hips, their warmth a contrast to the cool, silvery light that bathes the room. 

The gray of his eyes darkens, deepening with an intensity that mirrors the desire building between us. We’re locked in unspoken understanding, the energy in the room palpable. I lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, our connection deepening as our tongues dance in the silvery glow, and the lines between our desires and the mysterious world we live in blur, fading into the background. 

The moment our lips meet, it’s as if a spark ignites, setting us both ablaze with a feverish, pent-up passion. Greyson’s mouth is warm and inviting, and the taste of his desire is an intoxicating elixir. As our tongues entwine in a fervent, hungry dance, a fiery heart simmers within me, spreading like wildfire through my veins.

His hands on my hips are a potent combination of strengths and gentleness, guiding me and holding me close. The tension between us is palpable, the weight of our shared longing making each touch, each caress, feel charged with electric energy. I feel his desire growing beneath me, a firm, urgent need that matches the favour of my own. 

Our kiss deepens further, becoming a passionate symphony of desire and yearning. The lines between our desires and the enigmatic world of the Hawthorn mansion blur into nothingness. In this stolen moment, we are bound by our love, our insatiable attraction, and the silvery glow of the room, casting shadows that echo the secrets we’ve kept hidden for far too long. 

Finally, Greyson breaks the kiss, his lips parting from men with a sated smile that speaks of longing fulfilled. His hands find their way back to my hips, and with a strength that leaves me breathless, his lifts me from his lap. As he stands, carrying me effortlessly, the silver light dances around us, adding an almost ethereal quality to the moment. 

He gently places me down on the bed, and before I can react, Greyson is hovering over me, his desire and intensity palpable. Our eyes lock, a connection unspoken yet deeply understood, and I see the same longing mirrored in his grey-silver orbs. His hands slip under the fabric of my pyjama shirt, his touch feather-light as his fingers trail softly up my sides. With each delicate caress, he raises the fabric, his intent clear. As my shirt gradually slides upwards, he helps me pull it over my head, leaving me exposed and vulnerable under the silvery glow. 

Once the shirt is discarded, Greyson looks down at me, his gaze intense and filled with desire. His eyes, a mesmerising blend of grey and silver, seem to devour every inch of me, as if I am a forbidden treasure he’s longed to explore. As I lay there, exposed, a shiver of vulnerability washes over me. It’s as if I should hide, cover myself up, but Greysons intense gaze holds me in place. His eyes roam my body with an intensity that makes my heart race. 

I can feel his desire, his longing, and it’s both electrifying and terrifying. But then he’s speaking, his voice a soothing balm to my insecurities, “You’re so beautiful,” He says, his words a declaration that carries more weight than mere compliments, “Every single part of you is perfection.” 

In that sublime moment, bathed in the soft embrace of silvery light, my heart leaps with joy as Greyson and I share a profound and deeply intimate revelation. It's the very first time we've allowed those three powerful words to slip from our lips, unburdened by the secrets we've held for far too long. This utterance isn't merely a declaration of love; it's a testament to the extraordinary bond that transcends the confines of the enigmatic world we inhabit. 

Greyson, overcome with the same emotions that swirl within me, leans down, his lips capturing mine in a passionate and loving kiss. The connection we share is ignited with a heat that mirrors the years of desires we’ve harboured. Our moths meld together in a passionate dance, a promise of unquenchable love and longing. His hands, like explorers of undiscovered territory, glide along my bare skin, leaving a trail of electric sensations in their wake. I gasp into the kiss, each touch a testament to his unwavering affection, every caress a confirmation of the intense desire that binds us. 

As we lose ourselves in our passionate kiss, the air around us becomes heavy with longing, and I can feel the undeniable proof of Greyson’s desire pressing against my thigh. His hips grind down against mine, creating an exquisite friction that leaves no room for doubt about mutual want. My hands slide up his shoulders and into the soft tufts of hair at the nape of his neck while he leans on his elbows, the rough pad of his thumb caressing my cheek and a look of adoration crossing his face. It makes me feel shy and I’m flushing which has him leaning down and capturing me in another sweet and loving kiss that leaves me breathless. The kiss is slow and gentle, filled with tenderness and affection as we try to express what we can’t say. My body relaxes under his, feeling his body against mine and feeling how fast his heart is beating as he nibbles at my bottom lip

“I am so in love with you,” He murmurs, voice low and rich, barely above a whisper and has my breath catching in my throat at those words. His gray eyes are filled with honestly and love and it all feels so cliche as it feels like the rest of the world fades away. I’m having to clear my throat before I choke out those three words back, my heart swelling with happiness and love for this man hovering over me. 

He’s kissing me again, deepening the kiss as his hands move from my face to my hips, fitting perfectly in the dips as if his hands were made to sit there. As if my body was sculptured just for him and his hands, the way his fingers dip into the waistband of my panties with a silent question that has me lifting my hips for him. They’re on the floor with my shirt in seconds and his fingers, long and elegant are ghosting over my already soaked heat, gathering the arousal on them before circling my clit gently. A whimper of his name escapes my lips which he swallows in a searing kiss, fingers moving faster against my clit as his mouth drags hot and open mouthed kisses down my neck. 

“G-Grey…” I’m tugging at his shirt and jeans, needing him more than I ever could imagine. He soothes me, his mouth hot against my skin as he trails them down my neck. His teeth scraping against the skin as he sucks bright purple hickeys into it, as if he no longer cares about the secrecy of our relationship. As if he wants everyone to know I’m his and his alone and oh fuck, my head is falling back to hit the pillows in bliss. 

“Fuck baby,” He’s whining, pressing himself flush against me and capturing me in another breathtaking kiss, this one wanting more and it doesn’t take long for me to tangle my hand in his hair and tug experimentally. The breathy moan he lets out has me tugging harder, wanting to hear more and his hands grip my hips tightly, “You keep doing that…”

Before I can fully process the fervour of our intimate moment, Greyson’s urgency propels him off the bed. In a swift, almost effortless motion, his clothes begin to fall to the floor., revealing the breathtaking sight of his naked form in front of me. 

As he stands there, his pale skin is flush with desire and hear, an exquisite canvas brought to life under the silvery glow of the room. His every contour, every line, and every muscle are an embodiment of passion and yearning. The room seems to pulse with anticipation, mirroring the intensity of our desires. 

Lips are on my thighs, kisses scattering their way up, unshaved stubble burning the sensitive skin a little and as much as I’d love for him to eat me out, having seen the way he eats ice cream I need him. My hands reach for his blond locks, pulling him away from my aching core and back over me, drawing him for a slow and passionate kiss while wrapping my legs around his waist. He gets the hint, chest rising and falling quickly as he murmurs in my ear, “You need prepping baby.” It has me whining, back arching with need when he circles a pad of his finger around my wet heat. 

Any sound I make is swallowed by those addictive lips when he finally pushes a finger in, my walls immediately trying to clench around it and it draws a guttural sound from him. His lips trail down my neck and chest, teeth grazing my nipples before he’s sucking while beginning to move his finger inside me. All of it has my slamming a hand over my mouth as I try to stay quiet, especially when a second finger joins the first and he’s stretching me out. He’s rocking his hips into my leg, trying to be patient to make sure I’m comfortable but if he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to come

I know he can feel me fluttering around his fingers, a cheeky smile on his lips where they’re not biting another hickey into my skin, fingers curling and hitting that bundle of nerves that steals the air from my lungs. It’s as if he already knows my body with the way he has me teetering on the edge of bliss, my walls trying to keep him in and my thighs slamming shut around his arm. His thumb comes up to rub teasing circles into the hard bud and it has my body tensing as I cry our his name, wave after wave of ecstasy shuddering through my body and my mind blanks of everything except Greyson. 

“Grey… Fuck, Grey I need you.” I should feel embarrassed at how much I’m whining but the man is taking me apart like he knows my body and the way his lips curve into a small smile against my collarbone he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. His left hand finds mine as he teases me, his right hand reaching between us and grabbing his dick, his tip tapping against my clit a few times before he lines himself up. 

“Baby, are you sure?” He asks softly, pulling back enough to see my face and I’m nodding so fast I think I might get whiplash. I’ve never been so sure about anything else, needing Greyson here and now or I might die. It’s all the encouragement he needs to slowly begin to slide in, my eyes squeezing shut as he’s thicker than he could have prepared me for but he’s murmuring sweet nothings in my ear, lips ghosting my neck, “Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay baby I’ve got you sweetheart. It’s alright. Deep breaths. Relax baby girl. I’ve got you.” 

The whispers accompanied by his fingers gently working on my clit has me relaxing enough to accept him all the way, the moan he lets out when buried to the hilt makes me almost come again there and then. He holds himself still until the uncomfortableness turns into burning hot want and need and I’m cautiously rolling my hips against him, his gray eyes flying open to meet mine with a hungry look in them. He draws me into a hot and heavy kiss as he pulls out so just the tip is still in before he slides back in, filling me up and drawing whimpers and gasps from me. 

His other hands finds mine, holding both my hands either side of my head as my legs wrap around his hips to pull him in even further as he begins to gently rock his hips against mine. His body is pressed flush against mine as he captures my lips in such a gentle yet hot kiss, both of us gasping and moaning into the others mouth as he sets a slow and sensual pace. The coarse curls of his v-line catching my clit in such a way that has my legs tightening around him and my back arches as my hips roll to meet his slow thrusts. 

I can feel every bump and ridge against my walls with every pull out and his tip presses deliciously into that spongey spot every time he bottoms out. Low and guttural sounds rumble in his chest as our bodies shine with a thin layer of sweat, his tousled hair sticking to his forehead, pale skin flushing as he makes love to me. The sound of our panted breaths and soft whimpers and whines drowns out the sounds of the house staring and settling and all I can smell is Greyson, the earthy musk and woodsmoke clinging to him even after the shower I know he had earlier. It all adds to the slowly building tightness in my stomach and I’m moving my hips down to meet his, my back arching when he hits that sweet spot that has me seeing stars. 

“Grey… G-Grey…” I’m whining and his teeth are grazing my chin, adding to the pleasure as it feels like every fibre in my body is on fire, that coil tightening almost painfully as he drags against my g-spot with every thrust until I’m tensing up and my eyes roll back into my head. His hops begin snapping against mine, face buries in my neck and hands tightening on my hips where they’ve settled back to hold me in place as I ride out my high, thighs trembling, heels pressing into his back, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders and tugging almost painfully at his fluffy hair. 

“W-where-“ He’s gasping out a moan, his beginning to stutter and dick twitching against my walls, “Where can I-“ 

I’m cutting him off by wrapping my legs tighter around his hips, drawing him even deeper than either of us thought possible and that’s all it takes for Greyson to follow my climax. He pants against my neck, hips stuttering as he thrusts a few more times before he’s filling me up, teeth sinking into skin to muffle his moan before he’s collapsing on top of me and I’m untangling one hand from his to bring it to his hair. 

“I’m in love with you too.” I speak it so quietly I’m not sure he hearts it as he presses soft and loving kisses to my neck, his hips still moving in gentle circles of overstimulation against mine but then he’s pulling back enough to lean on his elbows over me, a beautiful smile gracing his face. 

“You’re mine darling.” He murmurs, voice low and rich and it sends a thrill though me as he slips out, standing to grab a bowl and clean us, a loving grin breaks out on his face. He’s grinning the while time he’s wiping away the mess sliding down my legs as I’m too spent and tired to move. He helps me into a pair of his boxers and a shirt of his that is baggy. My cheeks burn with an intense blush as Greyson stands there, his eyes locked on me with unwavering admiration. It's an intensity that sends a thrill down my spine, yet it also makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. The overwhelming attention becomes too much to bear, and I have to turn my body away, my embarrassment causing me to hide my face. 

With a tenderness that speaks of deep affection, Greyson climbs into the bed hind me. He moves with grace and strength that makes me feel safe and cherished. Gently, he rolls me over to face him, his touch as soothing as a whispered promise. His fingers caress my cheek, brushing my hair from my face, and in the soft silvery light, his gaze is a mixture of love and admiration. 

“You are so beautiful.” He reassures me, his voice low and filled with a depth of feeling that matches the emotions reflected in his eyes, “There's no need to hide. You are perfect just the way you are.” 

In his arms, under the embrace of the silvery glow, I feel a warmth that goes beyond physical desire. It’s the warmth of acceptance, of love, and the unbreakable bond we share. In this moment, we are free to be our true selves, shedding the masks we wear in the world outside. Our connection, marked by trust and affection, becomes more profound than ever, and I’m overwhelmed by a sense of belonging that has been a long time coming. 

“Can we tell the others?” I ask quietly, burying my face in his chest, feeling a warm rumble come from him. 

“I think we already did.” 

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