cassiachales

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry Five [And Grayson Hawthorne's Very Scandalous Self]

note: i am honestly so sorry for forgetting about this fic and everything T-T. i did have some personal issues, and family troubles, but it's all well now, so expect much better updates in the future! one last part after this!!! also, content warning: a tiny bit of smut taglist: @f4iry-bell, @never-enough-novels, @reminiscentreader, @dahliawarner, @lanterns-and-daydreams,

@welcometomyblog

Sunday– I’ve begun to contemplate on what we are. I mean, you don’t kiss someone just for fun, do you? There’s got to be some feeling in there, because damn it, that kiss was everything I could ever want in a kiss. Slow and rough and honestly? I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

After that kiss, you didn’t get the whiskey.

You couldn’t have been expected to, obviously. A hot guy kissed you, and you didn’t really comprehend it until you went home (which was quite literally immediately after–you don’t think you ever saw Xander that confused).

It’s a day after, and you’re writing like your life depends on it. You need to get that kiss off of your mind, but for some reason, you can’t.

Pathetically, you’re not even sad about it.

You’re just happy, and you feel a little bit deranged because you now have the sudden urge to scribble Mrs. Hawthorne all over your journal.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Mrs. *first name* Hawthorne does have a nice ring to it though. Or maybe I’m just delusional. Could be both. Definitely couldn’t be none. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Unknown: Hopefully, this isn’t the wrong number. I wouldn’t put it past Xander to pull this sort of prank.

You’ve been raised to block unknown numbers, but this number? Yeah, you know this number.

You: Unless you’re looking for Sabrina Carpenter, this isn’t the wrong number.

Grayson: Amusing. Xander was telling me about how you know a bit of Economics.

You: Is this your version of flirting?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Then this guy goes and texts me, and I think he can’t flirt. Economics. Really? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson: Maybe.

You: If you want me to come over and help with your accounting, you just have to ask, Davenport.

Grayson: I do not ask for help.

You: Do you want to meet me today or not?

Grayson: You are going to make me ask, aren’t you?

You: Yes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I like to imagine that he let out a very deep exhale, and maybe even one of those sexy chuckles. What? Don’t judge me. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson: Would you like to come over and help with the accounts, madam?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Fuuuuuuck.  How pathetic am I for finding one text hot?? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Twenty minutes later, you’re in his office in Hawthorne House. You met Xander downstairs, for a brief second.

A brief second in which he gave you a wink.

“Please tell me you didn’t actually need help with the accounts. I’m too tired to do this.”

Grayson smiles, and you see dimples. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Dimples. DIMPLES. HE’S BEEN HIDING DIMPLES. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter.

“You’re doing that thing again.” He says, half smirk on his face. “Where you say your thoughts out loud.”

You act unaffected, and shrug. “Some truths cannot be hidden, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Some truths,” he begins to agree, “cannot be hidden.” His eyes come to fully meet yours, and you feel your lips part of their own accord.

His eyes briefly drop to your lips before they meet your eyes again, cold and hot and the same time.

“Some truths,” he gets up from his seat, and walks to yours, which is right opposite his desk. He turns the chair, and kneels in front of you. “Some truths, like how I might be in love with you. Does that count?”

You were the one saying it before, but he’s saying it now. He’s kneeling in front of you, and all you want to do is kiss him.

His hands move away from where they were hanging from his knee, one securing the soft office chair you’re sitting on while the other goes to your feet. Slowly, he removes your heel.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He says.

No, whispers.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Grayson Hawthorne knows what to do with his hands. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His fingers travel up your leg, and you don’t even register that you’re wearing just a skirt and stockings until his fingers come close to that one place. They rest on your thigh, tapping it with four of his fingers.

“Do you want me to? Stop?”

“No.”

You don’t recognise your voice.

His hand moves further up and further within until he touches you right there, and you’re waiting, because all you want is more. His fingers are slow and languorous as they run up and down your length. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Everything about him is slow. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

They move upwards, teasing the band of your underwear and pulling it down, towards your knees and he lets go, letting it fall to your ankles.

You’re breathless. And you don’t mind.

His fingers go back to where they can torment you better, and slowly, he pushes one finger in. 

You gasp. 

“Hush, love. You can’t let anyone hear you.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── His voice is soft. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Leisurely, he brings his finger out, adding another and he pushes back in. Your heart is racing and you feel your eyes burning up, but you can’t stop looking at him below you, with his head tilted as he looks at you, slow smile and full eyes. 

Your breathing turns ragged after a while, and any longer and you feel like you might forget to breathe.

“Please.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He’s gentle. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His fingers move faster at your plea.

You can’t breathe anymore, and you feel like you’re reaching a high.

You’re running up a hill, waiting to go back down but you don’t want to. Not just yet.

You’re addicted to this feeling.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Grayson Hawthorne is the perfect gentleman. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Let go, love.” He whispers.

With a cry, you fall from the hill. 

You both stay still for a while, you regaining your breath and he caressing your thigh. 

It feels loving.

Slowly, he helps you up, and kneels down again to raise your underwear up to your hips again.

“I’m usually more of a gentleman.” He says, apologetically. “Bedrooms and blinds, not an office chair. But you were there, looking so beautiful, I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” You say, bringing your forehead to his. They meet in the middle. 

You laugh. “I liked it, actually. Better than bedrooms and blinds.”

He chuckles, and he kisses you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Journal Entry Four

[cassiachales]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶���𝒶𝓇𝒹! 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝑜𝓇 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒶𝓌𝑒𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈! ‧˚ʚ 🍓

Aww thank you!

[cassiachales]

Anee just gave me the BIGGEST side eye so GUESS WHAT'S GOING IN THE PREQUEL OF LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND TO SATURN 😭

Everyone stfu. Ik Grayson would learn how to use henna properly so he can put it on me

(and I'd let him)

[cassiachales]

Love You To The ִ ֶ֢࣪⋆ 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 (And To *ੈ✩‧₊˚𝓢𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷)

so i saw this post by @never-enough-novels, and aneesha was looking over my shoulder like "cass, you should totally write for that) so obviously, i did. aneesha, ye aapke lie hai (don't judge i used google translate) also, i know i have fics left. but no one said i can't write a oneshot for my best friend <33

Grayson Hawthorne x Desi!reader (but can also be read as just a reader)

"Do you really have to go?" Grayson asks you, his hands around your waist. You blow a stray lock of your hair off your face, looking at his silver-gray eyes in the mirror.

"I don't really have a choice, jaan."

He scoffs. "They advanced your meeting, love. You don't have to bow to them, or be a people pleaser."

He shifts, and while he keeps one arm on your waist, his body is next to yours instead of behind.

Your kohl-lined eyes widen as your look at him in the eyes. His hair is still ruffled from last night and you can see his (previously neatly pressed) shirt now all ruffled.

Then you raise your hand, filled with bracelets and promise rings, and lay it on his cheek.

He leans into your touch as though it is the only thing grounding him.

He has ways of making you feel special.

"As much as I would like to deny being a people pleaser, I was raised like that. To be the least comfortable person in the room. Best to make everyone happy before I'm happy, right? And Gray," you laugh, a small laugh that lasted all of two seconds, "that's my company. I can't show up late for my own meeting, can I?"

"No one will say anything if you're late for your own meeting, jaan."

Your breath catches.

It's not like it's the first time he's ever used that endearment with you. He's used countless others, too.

But every single time he calls you jaan, you melt. Oh, he loves you, and you love him.

"Only because you'd pull some strings, Gray."

"How good of a fiancé would I be if I didn't want to spend time with my future bride?"

Your lips near his ears, and you whisper, "we spent enough time together last night. Enough that my ancestors are rolling in their graves at the amount of" you gasp, a small, theatrical gasp "time we spent."

Then you pull away, and pretend to ignore his blushing face.

That man was stuck in the regency.

You adjust your scarf, and make sure your earrings are straight before you walk to the dressing table and collect your bag.

Another gift.

He walks to you, and his arms are around your waist again.

You'd noticed that physical touch was his love language. And you liked touch.

"At least give me a kiss before you leave." He says.

Years ago, this wasn't the Grayson Hawthorne you'd met. That man was cold and closed off and never seemed to care.

Then he met you, and you met him. What started as a fake arrangement led to something oh so real that you couldn't even fathom not meeting him in his office to repay that loan your father had taken from his grandfather.

His lips are now near yours, and right before they touch, he stops.

Another thing he always did was ask before he kissed you. Even after years, he asked.

He always asked.

"May I?" He whispered.

"Always." You whisper back, and your lips meet in the middle in a perfect fit.

Like you were always meant to be together.

Like the two of you were two parts of one heart. The two of you'd met with your hearts broken, but they'd broken in perfect pieces.

The broken, shattered piece of his heart fit flawlessly with your torn and splintered one.

The two of you pulled away, and a bit of your lipstick was on his lips, and smudged on yours.

"I love you, you know that, right?" He whispers when your foreheads touch. This moment was tailored just for the two of you.

"Yes. And I love you more."

"Impossible."

"I love you to the moon and back."

You can practically hear his lips quirk up. "I love you to the moon and to Saturn."

"Do you, now?"

"You dare to question the amount of love I have for you?"

You laugh, and you see how his face lights up. "Oh, I don't dare to question you. You're almost always right."

"Almost?"

"Fine, fine, jaan. You're always right."

[cassiachales]

Hey guys!

Sorry for not have been updating in a while--my father was getting a heart surgery done, so naturally I didn't update.

Anyways, expect the next update tomorrow!!

[cassiachales]

can I be tagged listed to the Grayson journal entry? thank you

Sure!!

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My Indian friend's mom made kichdi <3!

It's actually my comfort food, and it's so warming? I dunno I just love her cooking in general.

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💌send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome.💌

Thank you!! Sadly, I don't know twelve people, and my asks are kind of malfunctioning :((

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry Four [[And Grayson Hawthorne’s Lips] Yes, His Lips]

note: still can't belive the amount of love this silly little self-indulgent fanfic is getting. y'all are the reason i write <33 this chapter is also *slightly* longer than the others taglist: @f4iry-bell, @never-enough-novels, @reminiscentreader, @dahliawarner, @lanterns-and-daydreams

Saturday– It’s been four days since I last saw the reason I bought this journal. Xander’s been demanding to know what happened on Wednesday, and though I really want to tell him, I want to keep that moment to myself. A secret between me and a certain Hawthorne. I’m busy wondering what we are. Acquaintances? Friends? Something with bigger feelings? I don’t know and that keeps scaring me. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Sometimes, you wish you didn’t like guys who wear suits and have dry conversations.

But you can’t help it. 

Xander’s on the floor, his hand on his forehead. “Why didn’t the pebble work?”

“Wait, so you were the one who put the pebble there?”

“I thought it would work.” He moans. “It should’ve worked.”

You don’t tell him about how Grayson’s fingers were on your waist and how they still left a phantom touch.

You don’t tell Xander about what Grayson said.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── “How do you do this to me?” ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

And you can’t get his voice out of your head. Low and seductive and you can still feel the featherlight touch of his lips at the curve of your ear.

Grayson’s been ignoring you. When you arrived at Hawthorne House that morning, you’d seen him.

You’d almost said hi when he brushed past you as though he didn’t know you, and Xander had seen it.

“Someone give that guy a dose of happiness.” Jameson had said, his hands around Avery’s shoulders. 

And now, Xander was busy moping about how his attempts to set the two of you up had failed miserably.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He asks me that question as though I know the answer.  The only answer I want to ask is: HOW DOES HE MAKE ME WANT HIM?? Yes, he’s attractive. Yes, he’s absolutely amazing. And yes, I might be a little bit in love with him. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You get up from the floor, patting Xander’s head. “I’m gonna go get you a drink.”

He groans. “I hate drinking.”

“You definitely look like you need one.”

“I do, actually.” Then he perks up, as though there’s another idea in his head.

“Xander, don’t you dare–”

“Grayson’s office has the best scotch and wine.” He begins, ignoring you. 

“I am not getting whiskey from his office.”

“Oh, you definitely are.”

“I am not.”

“Do you want a chance with him or not?”

Obviously, you do. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to go to Grayson Hawthorne’s office and get a drink from there.

“You are going to go get your own drink.” You say, crossing your arms. “I am not going to go into that prick’s office.”

“Gotta love how he developed from being a hot guy to a hot prick in your eyes.”

“Who said I still find him hot?”

You didn’t care if people called you petty. If Grayson would ignore you, you would ignore him.

Simple.

Xander gets up, nudging your side. “At least get the whiskey.”

“You’re a drunkard.”

He shrugs. 

You sigh.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I am definitely the dumbest person on the planet for actually going to the office and getting the whiskey. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You walk down the corridors and go up staircases before you find his office.

You knock.

“Come in.” He says, and his voice sounds as though he’s half asleep.

You can’t help but wonder when, exactly, he’d actually slept through the night.

Opening the door, you step in, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re in surprise. 

He says your name.

And god, you love the way your name rolls off of his tongue.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” You whisper. You didn’t mean to talk to him about that, but the words escape you.

“Not on purpose.” He whispers back, getting up from his chair. The desk is littered with papers and he looked half-buried in them.

“It seemed like that when you just walked by me like I was nothing.”

“You could never be nothing, Not to me.” He says, and he walks towards you before his back straightens and he looks away.

Until then, until he looked away, you’d believed you could have actually been something to him.

Now?

You feel as though someone is going to take a hammer to your heart.

“How dare you say I could never be nothing and then look away? How dare you play with my heart?” You say. You’re fuming, you can’t believe that you were falling for a man like him.

Until you see him quiver. His eyes are mad and his whole body is shaking, like he wants to say something but the words just won’t come out.

He walks to you, your chests almost touching.

His hands are quivering when they’re on your arms, touching you with a featherlight touch, as though he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Why can’t I think straight when you’re with me?” And then he says your name, and you’re falling.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He looked at me like I was the only person alive. Like I was the reason his heart was beating. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Whenever I look at you, I cannot think. Whenever I see you smile or laugh, I feel the sudden urge to join you. Whenever I hear your voice, I feel like I am a damned man and you are my only chance at salvation. How? How do you have such an effect on me? Why is it that you are the only person who crowds my mind? Why can't I help but want to be with you? Why do I want you? 

I don’t know. I don’t know why–or how–you consume my thoughts. I have never been able to give my heart but to you? When I am with you, I want to give you all of me. I’ve never been so unsure of my feelings, and then you came along.

I think I love you. I think I am hopelessly in love with you.” Your name rushes from his lips like it’s a prayer.

You can’t breathe.

His lips are nearing yours, and then they stop when they’re a finger’s breadth away. 

“I’m afraid that if I kiss you now, I’ll never feel like stopping.” He says, his voice in a low whisper. “But I’m also afraid that if I do not kiss you now, I’ll never be able to think of anything else.”

For two seconds, the two of you stay still.

Then: “Can I?”

The barest of nods.

His lips are on yours and you feel like you’re on fire.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Oh, no, I’m not writing the rest of it down. I’m afraid someone will find this and read this journal and just because of that, I am not writing anymore. But I will say this: his lips are extremely soft and his kiss is like a secret that he never wishes to give away. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Journal Entry Three

[cassiachales]

i’m geniuenly obsessed with ur writing ohmygod 😭 by far the BEST and funniest tig writer or honestly writer in general i’ve seen on tumblr, this shit has me giggling nd kicking my feet 😭

we love grayson and his slutty waist

Askhdfdgosgiuljgd thank you?? It is SUCH an honor to be given the title of the best and funniest tig fic writer so far!!

Oh, we love Grayson Hawthorne and his slutty waist.

[cassiachales]

The scene where he is writing the secret in the note? This pic kinda reminds me of that

That was exactly what I was going for!!

That was a scene I'd planned before I started writing, and I was like "Yes. Grayson's gonna write a secret on a paper and he's gonna look hot while doing it"

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry Three [And Noticing That Grayson Hawthorne Has Extremely Nice Arms]

note: y'all are so sweet with your comments like sjhfhdgjhs. anyway since some of you guys wanted to be in the taglist, i made one!! taglist: @f4iry-bell, @never-enough-novels, @reminiscentreader

Wednesday– Sunday was the last day I saw Grayson Hawthorne but that does not mean Sunday was the last day he was in my head. And oh my gods that waist. So slutty. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xander crossed his legs from where he was leaning against the wall. “I thought Whiskey Woes would’ve been enough.”

You scoff. “Do you even know your brother? He’d rather drink his and my bottle of whiskey before answering any question.”

You remember how his lips looked on the full glass of whiskey, and how he drank the whole glass without looking away from you.

“If you get turned on by looking at a guy drink whiskey, I don’t even know who to set you up with.” Xander says.

“I don’t get turned on–”

“Don’t even start.” 

“Fine.” You huff. “But why is he so damn hot?”

“We have to make him fall for you.” Xander says, ignoring you. “Fall into his arms.” Xander wags his eyebrows suggestively, and you look away.

“One, I can’t trip on purpose, and two, that will make me look desperate.”

“Everyone’s throwing themselves at him; all you have to do is do it classily.”

You grin. “Like what? Like, oh no, the heat. It wounds my heart, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“That is such terrible acting.” A voice behind you says, and you groan.

Grayson Hawthorne is behind you, and you don’t know just how much he overheard.

And he’s leaning against the wall, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and top button unfixed.

And he looks hot.

“It was meant to be terrible.” You grumble, rolling your eyes.

“No doubt.”

You begin to wonder why someone who talks so dryly has some so close to capturing your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He talks as though he’s constantly in a business meeting, and he dresses as though life is business and he’s the chairman. Except for some times where he actually looks extremely ravished. Like today. Gods I just want to run my hands through his hair and mess it all up. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“I need to ask, why do you stare so much? Is it just at me, or do you stare at everyone you meet?”

Only the attractive ones.

He raises his eyebrow. “You find me attractive?”

And there comes your habit of saying things out loud. And the fact that there’s no Xander snickering behind you, he probably left.

Traitor.

“You know what, I just realised that I have three essays due. So like, bye.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He probably thinks I’m obsessed with him or something. Maybe I am but he’s never gonna read this journal so. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He tilted his head to the side and watched you turn and go the other way before he called your name.

Your name.

Not a “Ms.” and your last name.

Your real name.

“Your car is parked in the opposite direction, in case you forgot.”

You turn around, before shooting a thumbs up. “Totally knew that.”

His lips quirk up, and you can’t help but stare. He looks so infuriatingly gorgeous in his neatly pressed suits and perfectly styled hair and you often find your mind straying to how he would look messed up.

His hair all ruffled and his shirt with slight creases and your lips on his–

Not the last one. That was just an extra thought.

“Would you like me to drop you off? To your car?” Grayson asks, and you feel like he could do anything and you would find him every bit the gentleman.

He could kiss you and make you look ravished and wrap your legs around his waist and even then, he would be perfectly gentlemanly.

You nod. “That would be nice.”

He pushes off the wall, using his hand to show you the way. “Then? I do not have all day, love.”

Your brain is lagging.

He called you love.

And Grayson Hawthorne looks like he knows exactly what that did to you. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He called me love. LOVE. And by god, if that self-satisfied smile on his face means anything, he looks so smug seeing what effect that had on me. Bloody bastard. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

His confidence doesn’t slip at all, and you walk towards him.

His eyes are maddening.

It’s like a bottle of wine. Heady and intoxicating but you just want more and more even if it could poison you.

The two of you walk towards where your car is parked, and then, you feel as though the universe hates you.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Guess what happened then. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You tripped.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I tripped. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

On a pebble.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I fucking tripped on a pebble. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You’re falling forwards, thinking you’re going to smash your nose against the pathway when two really strong arms come around your waist.

Very strong.

You notice how good his arms look when they’re flexed like that, and god, does he look hot.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He caught me before I fell, but goodness. I thought his waist was the best part about his body. I was so damn wrong, because man, do his arms look amazing. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Are you all right?” He whispers. You feel his mouth at the curve of your ear, and you shiver.

For a moment, you berate yourself for having such a reaction to just his voice.

“Yeah.” You whisper back.

You can hear the stupid smile in his voice when he says: “I guess you did fall into my arms after all.”

You're too lost in his touch to feel embarrassed that he heard you and Xander talk about it.

He pulls you back, making you stand steady on your feet, before he removes his arms from your waist.

But he doesn’t do it sharp and quick, as though you burned him.

He does it slowly, his long fingers featherlight on your waist as they pull away.

You can still feel his phantom touch.

“Why– How do you do this to me?” He murmurs, so low as though he doesn’t want you to hear it.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Then he goes and murmurs about how I do something to him and his voice is gorgeous when he murmurs. I’m becoming one of those fangirls on the internet. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The man is seducing you, slowly. Everything about him is slow.

The way his lips touch the glass of whiskey and downs it in one slow gulp.

The way his fingers move from your waist and leaves a phantom touch.

The way he blinks now, leading you forwards towards your car again.

It’s like he knows what he does to you.

Oh, he knows.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── He knows that I’m falling for him. He knows that when I’m with him, I lose myself. Oh god, he knows. And I love it. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Journal Entry Two ☆ Journal Entry Four

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry Two [And Realising That Grayson Hawthorne Has A Slutty Waist] 

note: i actually didn't expect people to like this and actually read it ajhhagfrkyuesyrk thanks for all your nice comments <33

Sunday– Simply put, I’m fucked. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xander’s amazing plan began by throwing a party in Hawthorne House, and honestly, after drinking a bit too much last night, you didn’t find enough courage in yourself to drink more.

Because Xander’s parties always, always had a game of Whiskey Woes, and whiskey made your head spin.

Xander: Honestly, you should be glad I’m not locking you two in a room together 😏

You read and re-read that message countless times, not believing that Xander was actually trying to set you up with Grayson.

Like seriously?

You, someone who has life, and him, who’s a living statue? Even a random person on the street would say that the two of you didn’t belong together, no etceteras at all.

You: I don’t think whatever you’re planning is any better

Xander: Trust in me

Trusting a Hawthorne is the biggest mistake one can make. It’s a bad idea.

Unfortunately, you’re filled to the brim with bad ideas.

That’s how you found yourself in the sunroom of Hawthorne House at eight p.m., unopened whiskey bottles on the floor and papers with pens. Every single Hawthorne was there, except for Nash.

Bartending, apparently.

Avery was there too, sitting on the sofa with Jameson at her feet. And then there was Maxine Liu, who you knew to be Avery’s best friend.

Grayson was on an armchair, his legs stretched out and his body leaning to the side, his index finger on his temple and his elbow settled on the armrest.

Xander cleared his throat, and you began to dread what he was planning.

“As everyone here knows, no party is complete–or begins–without Whiskey Woes. Usually, we write a secret on a piece of paper, a secret that completely breaks you, and throw it in the Bowl of Woe.” He points towards a flowery plastic bowl in the middle of the room, decorated with chipped paint which illustrated roses and lilies.

“And then, we sit in a circle and ask questions. Each of you get one bottle of whiskey, and each time you pass a question, you drink a whole glass. When your bottle is over, you read out your woe. But this time, we’re doing things differently.”

Oh, no.

Xander smirked, and Jameson’s back straightened. Grayson’s eyebrow raising was the only sign of interest he showed.

“This time, we’re doing this in pairs. Choose your partners wisely.”

And then Xander extended his hand to Maxine, and Maxine took it.

They settled on the floor together, pulling one bottle of whiskey each and two slips of paper and pens.

“Well then, Heiress?” 

“As if I’m choosing someone else.”

Jameson took his place on the sofa, bringing with him the supplies to play the game.

That left you, and a certain Grayson Hawthorne.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Whiskey Woes in a group is pain, but in pairs? With Grayson Hawthorne? No. Just no. Someday, I’m going to kill Xander for this, because it’s not like Grayson had any other choice other than teaming up with me. Whiskey, a game, and Grayson Hawthorne? Recipe for disaster. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Do I have a choice on not playing?” Grayson asked, and honestly, points to him. You don’t want to play a game with whiskey involved with him.

Xander smirked again. “Do you want to quit, Gray?”

Grayson stiffened.

“Oh, and another rule. If you don’t want to drink the whiskey and not answer a question, you remove an article of clothing from your body.” Xander continues.

Now, you glared at him.

“Sounds like you’re trying to mix in Strip Bowling.” Jameson said.

Xander shrugged. “I made the game, I make the rules.” Then he says your name. “Planning on playing? Gray’s the only one left, by the way.”

“Can’t I just drink without playing?”

“No.”

You sigh, getting up from your seat on the floor and moving towards the armchair Grayson sits on. 

He looks at you walk towards him, and you want to combust.

You extend a hand. “Partners?”

He sighs, sitting up straight in his chair before lifting one hand and clasping yours in a stiff shake. “Partners.”

“Great.” You sit on the floor again. “Now sit down.”

He looks at the floor distastefully. “Must I?”

“It’s either you sitting on the floor or me sitting in your lap. Take your pick.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── And you know what’s worse? I told him to either sit on the floor, or let me sit on his lap. I DIDN’T MEAN FOR IT TO COME OUT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR. IT SOUNDED LIKE I WAS GOING TO DO THAT SEXUALLY OR WHATEVER BUT SERIOUSLY, I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Excuse me?” He doesn’t let you repeat what you said, though, sliding down from the chair and loosening his tie, sitting on the floor as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

He removes his jacket, throwing it on the armchair and rolling up his sleeves till the elbows.

You can’t stop looking.

“Done staring?” He asks, dryly.

You ignore him, writing your woe on the slip of paper instead.

I find Grayson Hawthorne hot. Yes. That’s it.

There. Something not too bad, but still suitable for Whiskey Woes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Trust me. I’m not going for sexual. It just happens. And no, I’m not writing down what I wrote. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Grayson tries to get comfortable when he writes, one long leg bent with the knee upwards, and near his head. His hair falls over his face as he writes, the paper on the floor.

He looks devastatingly handsome.

He takes your folded slip of paper and walks towards the Bowl of Woe, depositing the slips in the bowl and bringing back two bottles of whiskey.

He pours his whiskey into a glass, to the brim, and uncaps your bottle to pour in your glass too. And then:

“You start.”

You scramble for a question, before you settle on one.

“Do you actually tango?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I am embarrassment in a body ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Excuse me?”

You blink once, twice, thrice before you look away, “Forget it.”

“Pfffft.”

His lips are in a small smile, which he tries to cover with his fingers. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── But tell me, Why. Is. His. Laugh. So. Hot. It wasn’t even a real laugh. Just a small pfffft and it was both cute and hot?? ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Yes.” Grayson says, answering your question. “I’m assuming you get into tough situations a lot?”

You nod. “Now ask your question.”

His look is almost smug. “That was my question.”

“Did you know you’re almost cute when you don’t act like an entitled asshole?”

He drinks the whole glass of whiskey.

You blink. “That wasn’t a question but I’ll accept it.”

Grayson shrugs. “Everything’s a question.”

You don’t know how you ended up in your position around five minutes later. Around half of your bottle is empty, and his is almost over.

“Do you really have to ask such prying questions?” He asks, his eyes almost tired.

“Yes. My turn. Who’s the girl you kissed in Harvard?”

He frowns, taking a look at the bottle of whiskey.

Then he sighs.

You expect him to answer, but he doesn’t.

Instead, his long fingers move to his tie and removes it completely. He tosses it to the side. “One article of clothing.”

You hear Xander tut. “A tie doesn’t count, Gray.” And then the youngest Hawthorne downs a whole glass of whiskey.

Grayson’s fingers begin to undo the top button of his shirt, and he sighs again. “I absolutely loathe this game.”

It’s like watching a show. His long fingers unbutton each and every button before he removes his shirt and tosses it to the side.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── But then, guess what happened. He fucking removed his shirt. I will not tell him this, EVER. But Grayson Hawthorne has a slutty waist. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Journal Entry One ☆ Journal Entry Three

[cassiachales]

SAVANNAH AND ROHAN HOPEFULLY???

THE DESCRIPTION PEOPLE

WE HAVE ENEMIES TO LOVERS

I HOPE ITS SAVANNAH AND ROHAN

OR GRAYSON AND LYRA

ILL TAKE ANYTHING

JSJEJEJEJEJJEJEJEJEJEJEKEKANDJEJ

[cassiachales]

Journal Entry One [And A Hot Grayson Hawthorne And Xander Being A Good Friend]

Saturday– Listen. I am not someone who hates people as soon as I have one conversation with them. (Or maybe I am, but that’s not the point.) I have never met someone as infuriatingly calm and poised as Grayson Motherfucking Hawthorne. He’s too perfect, too cold. I imagine his mom gave birth to him after having sex with a very handsome statue. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Charity galas were oftentimes the most boring events.

Though, if you’re being honest, most of these events are boring. It’s just people trying to either one-up each other, or trying to kiss ass.

Or, a secret third option, applicable only if you’re Grayson Hawthorne: watch the show with a cold look and avoid small talk.

Basically, be a statue.

When everyone’s dancing, he’s just standing there, his lips smiling whenever someone comes and talks to him and his eyes bored.

It’s no surprise that you don’t really like him, seeing how there’s no life in that six foot frame covered by the most expensive suits and a glass of whiskey in his hand which he doesn’t sip from. 

And meanwhile, you’re dancing. You’re enjoying yourself because you, ma’am, are not a statue.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I thought, well, maybe he’s lonely and has no friends, how about I talk to him?! Mistake of the year.  He is hot. But he is also the only guy in the gala, in every gala I’ve attended, who’s made me want to strangle him. Fuck him. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

So you walked towards him, because maybe, just maybe, he’s lonely, and maybe, just maybe, he has no friends. A rude assumption, but hey, isn’t that how you’re supposed to roll?

You stand beside him, looking at him stare down a couple on the dance floor. 

You knew them, yes, but not personally. Just a few quick google searches and a few tabloids and newspapers.

The girl was a living Cinderella story and the boy was her Prince Charming.

Avery Kylie Grambs, and Jameson Hawthorne.

“So…” You began, nudging his side. Your dress is a bit too loose and threatens to slip, but you quickly adjust it with your other hand.

Curse the world. Why were you about to have a wardrobe malfunction while talking to a hot guy?

“Do I know you?” Grayson asked, his eyebrow raised. 

Oh gods, his voice. It sounded so seductive that if you were hearing his voice on a movie screen, you would’ve swooned along with every girl (and a few boys) in the theatre.

“Well, not really.” You tell him your name and his eyes gleam in recognition after listening to your last name, and to be honest, you’re a little annoyed that your first name isn’t that “well-known”.

“Is there anything you wanted to speak about?” He asks, and you can see his patience wearing thin.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Like, okay man, you’re hot as fuck. So hot, that I’d kiss you if I was drunk enough. And trust me, I’m a lightweight. But seriously? You’re so goddamn emotionless that it makes me feel like I’m talking to character ai instead of a living, breathing billionaire. Maybe you should like, consider buying a nice personality the next time you buy another suit. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Oh, nothing important.” You wave a dismissive hand, and, you assume, if he was less of a statue and more of a person, he would’ve rolled his eyes.

“Then, if you’ll excuse me.” He flashes you a polite smile, before pausing and adjoining a ‘miss’ to your last name as an afterthought.

And then, he walks away.

You don’t know what to make of this. Your dress is threatening to expose your cleavage with how loose it is, and it’s strapless on top of that, and the guy who you wanted to talk to, to maybe help throw a little life in his life, just walked away as though being lively is an afterthought, just like how he said your last name.

You feel someone tap your shoulder and when you turn around to see who it is, a flute of champagne is pushed into your hands.

Xander Hawthorne smiles that smile of his, the kind you can’t describe. You’re sort of like good friends with Xander, seeing how he’s the least stuck-up Hawthorne you’ve met.

The only other one was Grayson Hawthorne, but it’s not like there’s any life in his body.

“I saw you talking to Gray, came over to save you from a dull conversation, then saw how annoyed you looked after he left, and got you some champagne. Man, I deserve a friend-of-the-year award. So, what were you two talking about?”

He has nothing in his hands, but you trust him enough to take a sip of the bubbly champagne before you inevitably fall into a rant about how annoyingly maddening Grayson is.

“Does your brother even live? Like yes, maybe he doesn’t like small talk, and yes, maybe he’s a bad dancer–”

“He’s actually a pro at the tango and the waltz.”

You stare at Xander. “He does not strike me as the type to tango.”

He shrugged. “I don’t look like I make random things on Saturdays, but here I am, making random things on Saturdays.” He frowns, and corrects himself. “Unless I’m at an event, obviously.”

“Obviously. Anyway, does he even wear anything other than custom suits? I get that suits are hot, and your brother is hot–”

“You find my brother hot?” Xander says, a laugh threatening to escape him.

You groan. “Forget I said that.”

“Oh, no. We are not moving past that.”

“Xander, you will shut up, or–”

“Or, what?”

You’re silent.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── I might have also accidentally told Xander that I find Grayson hot. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You see Xander’s face shift, and gods, do you know that look.

“Xander, no. Whatever you’re planning, no.” You say, but you fear it’s too late.

He taps your shoulder twice, your sign for ‘don’t worry, I got this’, and you have a fair idea of what, exactly, Xander Hawthorne is planning.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── If I was smart, I’d never befriend a Hawthorne and call his brother hot. Unfortunately, I am not smart. Now, I don’t know what Xander’s planning, and honestly? I’m scared it has something to do with a certain Grayson Hawthorne. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Journal Entry Two

[cassiachales]

His hands are quivering when they’re on your arms, touching you with a featherlight touch, as though he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Why can’t I think straight when you’re with me?” And then he says your name, and you’re falling.

***

Billionaire Grayson Hawthorne was never supposed to cross paths with you. There was no reason to, seeing as you came from England and he was from Texas.

When the two of you meet for the first time in a charity gala hosted by a Ms. Avery Kylie Grambs, the two of you want to stay as far away from each other as possible.

Except you can’t. There’s something that attracts the two of you to each other, and honestly? You don’t seem to mind.

And after a while, neither does he.

[a short, five chapter fic for my grayson girlies <33]

Journal Entry One

[cassiachales]

delicate (evajacks)

❉ that's the way i loved you [updating on ao3]

style (judecardan)

❉ something akin to poison [updating on ao3]

endgame (grayson hawthorne)

❉ i can't dare dream about you anymore [updating on ao3 and tumblr]

❉ Love You To The ☪︎ ִ ֶ֢࣪⋆ 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 (And To *ੈ✩‧₊˚𝓢𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷) [oneshot]