#(I still like the Lyra best)

[kagooleo]

here's a finished belated bday comm for @wyvernity of their soulsilvershipping :D!!! I was honestly really happy with the turnout for the piece so I did go a lil ham on their faves (～￣▽￣)～

i've still got 2 commission slots open on my kofi for both chibi and sketch pieces if anyone is interested :V

[bixels]

Have you potentially figured out a fun dynamic for Lyra Heartstrings and Bon Bon? If not, are you open to ideas? I might've had a small little one. If I may speak up.

Oh boy, yeah. I was gonna wait until I designed the BG6 to talk about this, but whatever.

Obviously, they're already a couple. Lyra is a theater manager and writer (before you say anything, I did consider anthropologist until I remembered anthropologists in the early-1900s were generally eugenics-peddling shitheads). Bonnie is a local business owner.

Except she has a secret. During the Great War, she worked for MI5's counter intelligence, sometimes doing fieldwork as a female spy. Having made many enemies, she was relocated to Ponyville in America after the war ended. When Lyra learns of this, how will she confront the fact that she may be a part of Bonnie's cover as well?

Typical yuri angst. But I'd love to hear your idea!

[invisiblemelonmoose]

Thinking about how I rarely get the yuri I want in non-yuri specific media that has canon queer characters or a least a sizable yuri fanbase

[jinx-xxed]

Supreme Leader

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; The motivation for this one legit came out of nowhere but I can’t even complain 🫶 this is the best smut I’ve done to date I think

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; You come back to find Snoke gone… and Kylo Ren has taken his place.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Commander Reader, aftermath of TLJ, angst to sad fluff, original characters, you get promoted!!!, Kylo’s mean, Kylo gets a lightsaber pulled on him, you have a saberstaff, throne room confrontation turns into throne room sex, fucking on the throne, tension, you’re still not Kylo’s biggest fan lol, helmet on, gloves on, calling Kylo by his proper title, orgasm denial, overstimulation, inappropriate use of the Force, very dominant Kylo, fingering, unprotected piv sex, riding Kylo, humiliation, degradation, praise, talking about feelings

Wc; 6.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

There’s a sharp ping that comes from the device imbedded into your metal arm cuffs, overriding the silence mode you have it set on and making you startle. You grumble to yourself, pausing your work to tap a few things on the screen and project a smaller screen above it. There it reads the message: all troops involved with mission-76653 cease operations and return to base immediately. There’s coordinates to the Steadfast attached and not the Supremacy, you note.

“Are you serious?” You snap to yourself. The members of Fleet 74 who came along with you on this expedition stop at your voice, looking back at you curiously. You sigh, lifting a hand and making a circular motion with a finger. “We’re heading back to base, I guess. Direct orders.”

Jaharah begins to protest. “Now? But we haven’t finished-“

“I know. I’m not happy about it either.” You say, a scowl settling nicely onto your features. You traveled all the way out to some planet in the Outer Rim to basically have to go right back. You turn, starting the journey to the speeders you’d left behind that’ll return you to your ship that’s even farther away. The others reluctantly follow. “I hope whatever bastard demanded this realizes we’re still two weeks out.”

Lyra’s hands wring together nervously. “Do you think something bad happened? Maybe the resistance-“

You scoff sharply. “The resistance couldn’t hope to do anything against Snoke’s ship, not as things stand now. This is something else.” Or you’d think so.

You won’t admit that you’re worried about what that ‘something else’ could be.

» ☆ «

The trip back to base was just as annoying as the trip out to the assigned planet was. Traveling in a cramped transport ship for two weeks isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world. But finally, there’s a familiar beeping of the sensors and the filter of hyperspace fades away to reveal the massive Star Destroyer that is the Steadfast sitting amongst the blankness of space.

The ship is brought into the hangar and you immediately get the feeling that something is off. A tension in the atmosphere, a shiver running up your arms beneath your uniform. Stormtroopers stand about in a more stiff manner than usual, and the lower workers of the Steadfast seem to have become as meek as mice. There’s also a tinge of leftover smoke in the air, like something blew up within the Star Destroyer. You glance back at your Fleet members as they exit their ships; they feel it too, but Jaharah shrugs, just as lost as you are.

“General,” comes a sudden voice. You snap back around to see a trooper standing before you. “Your presence is requested in the throne room immediately. And the Fleet’s.”

The throne room? What would Snoke want with you now? And what would he want with your Fleet?

You nod, following the Stormtrooper as he acts like some guide through the Steadfast. You’re sure you could find your way faster than he ever could, but you follow along to be nice. The walk there is long, of course, since the ship is so ungodly huge. The hall turns colder as the throne room doors come into view, and it’s like the tension you felt in the air before becomes about ten times heavier, threatening to weigh you down and prevent you from going forward. There’s Sith Troopers guarding the doors, and you see the members of Fleet 74 who stayed behind waiting there as well.

You look to Chief, your second in command. “What is this about?” You demand in a whisper.

“You’ll see.” She mutters. You don’t like that.

The Fleet gets in to a close formation with yourself at the head. The doors open and you’re led inside. You nearly freeze in your tracks with the sight you’re met with.

Snoke is no more. Instead, sitting in a newly made, imposing throne, is Kylo Ren.

He wears his full uniform, hood pulled over his helmet adorned with the red veins that stick the shattered pieces back together coursing through the black metal. His Knights fan out on either side of the throne, still as statues with their weapons held tightly in their hands. Kylo himself is clearly trying to be every bit as intimidating as Snoke was, with his boots firmly planted on the ground, gloved hands clutching the arm rests, back straight as a board.

You kneel before he even gets the chance to tell you to because somehow, initiating it yourself is less humiliating. You hear the Fleet follow suit behind you. The cold, reflective metal of the floor bites into your knee as you stare at it.

There’s an unnerving silence and you feel his eyes on you. Then, “welcome back, Commander.”

You perk at the title, your head shooting up. “Commander?”

“It seems we’ve both gotten promotions.” Kylo drawls. “Snoke is dead, killed by the Jedi girl in his own ship.”

Liar.

He knows that you know, and he also knows that you know it’s better to keep your mouth firmly shut. The discussion you’ll have later should be interesting.

“I’ve taken his place, and I believe it’s most logical to make you my Commander. Fleet 74 will remain as it is. I’m sure you can handle the extra duties, correct?” He asks.

You dip your head again. “Yes, of course. I’m honored, Com-“ you clear your throat, correcting yourself, “Supreme Leader.” It feels wrong.

He taps a finger against the arm rest. “Then you’re dismissed. You and I will talk later.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

You rise with the Fleet, leading them out of the throne room with tense muscles. As soon as the doors close behind you, a few of them clap you on the back, congratulating you on the new position. You can’t share in the celebration, unable to ignore the itch in the back of your mind that you can’t quite get rid of.

What the hell happened while you were gone?

» ☆ «

You’re called back to the throne room an hour later.

You know you don’t have a choice in the matter, the message was very clear in that sense. You either go willingly or you’re sure someone will come along to drag you there. So you put away the report you were filing on your forcefully failed mission and push yourself from your chair. You walk down familiar halls, you try to ignore the tremor in your hands by clenching them into fists.

The path to the throne room is void of life, as if it’s a radioactive zone that nobody wants to enter. The description isn’t far off; it feels like you enter into a cloud of smog that chokes you when you get near and it sends a shiver down your spine. The Dark is heavy, threatening, and thick in the area. It parts for you when you pass through, ever so willing to obey your commands even if it doesn’t belong to you, but you feel it pressing in on every side. You take a deep breath when you see the doors leading into the throne room finally appear around a corner, looming like a beast waiting to pounce.

You push them open without pause, steeling yourself and the nerves that buzz beneath your skin. Your face is set with hard lines, your brows slightly drawn over your eyes and your lips positioned with a small downturn. Cold air and the sharp tang of polished metal hits you when you step inside, the click of your heels against the ever-so shiny floor the only sound.

You quickly take note of the fact that the room is empty. There are no Guards, no Stormtroopers, no Knights. Only him.

There is only Kylo Ren, sitting on a false throne.

You feel his eyes behind that mask trained on you as soon as you enter, crawling along your form and taking in every bit of you. He looks as he did before, his body cloaked in black robes with his hood framing his helmet, hiding it from the light. The throne isn’t the same as Snoke’s, this one has had to be built from scratch like many things after the utter obliteration of the Supremacy. This new chair has clearly taken inspiration given its size, but the energy surrounding it has changed. It isn’t as Dark as people would believe it to be.

You stop a healthy distance away from the dais, your perfect reflection along the floor mirroring your movements. “You requested me, Supreme Leader?” The title feels wrong and foreign on your tongue when referring to him and you struggle to hide the mockery in your tone, though he hears it all the same. There’s a seed of unease that burrows itself in your gut, eager to bloom into something bigger as you stare at the man you’ve worked with for most of your life. All of this was unexpected, and that’s where your problem lies. Kylo did this, he got himself to this position—and you don’t understand it.

His gloved hands brace against the armrests as he stands. You watch him intensely, your body feeling like it’s pulled taut as a bowstring, ready for something that you don’t know about yet. Your breathing stutters in your chest, it quickens with your heartbeat. He walks down those steps, one after another with the grace and power of a leader that knows his strength. There’s a brush against the shields in your mind, a familiar Force signature that’s taunting you, playing a game that you’re not interested in. You recoil from the touch, quickly forcing it away from you and out of your head. It can’t be trusted.

He reaches the same level you’re on but when he tries to take another inch of the space between you, you find your lightsaber in front of you. It screams to life, red beams of plasma coming from either end. It lets out a steady hum through the handle clenched in your palm—a threat, a promise. Kylo pauses where he is and you glare at him over the weapon, the red bouncing off the silver on his helmet.

“What did you do?” You demand, words spat from between your teeth.

“Don’t be stupid.” He sneers, deep voice crackling through the vocoder.

He moves towards you again, unfazed by the deadly lightsaber you have pointed directly at him. His pace is unrelenting and you move yourself backwards, eager to keep the same distance. You bare your teeth, twisting to follow him as he circles you like a predator. “What happened to Snoke?”

There’s a minuscule shake of his head as he observes you. “I told you-“

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Kylo. What did you do?” You say again. You want a straight answer, you want to know what the fuck happened when you were gone. You want to know what happened to the man you were beginning to trust. You remember the hunger he’d had in his eyes when you’d first met him, the insatiable desire for power and to prove himself to whoever dared doubt him. You wonder how that young man would feel seeing himself now like this, standing at the top of the galaxy. And you wonder how much farther he’ll go, if this is where you make the stand for your life because you’re a threat.

“I did what I had to.” He says coldly with nothing but conviction. “You’ll understand.” He got himself behind you, now forcing you to walk in the opposite direction to stay away from him. There’s ripples in the Force, the darkness swirling around you both. You feel him at the shields you keep up, but he’s not trying like he should be to get in. He’s basically just sitting there, occasionally reaching forward to remind you that he’s waiting. It’s a silent plea to be let in, but you won’t listen.

“Snoke was a worthless coward. He was incapable of fighting his own battles. Why do you feel such remorse for him when he’s the one who’s caused you so much pain?” Kylo demands, so blatantly angry at the idea of you sympathizing with Snoke. You don’t. You never would. You’re glad to see that he’s gone, that you’ll never again have to experience dread when returning back to base. Snoke tortured you both but after knowing of him ever since you were a child, hearing him in your head, that seed of unease blooms into fear. What will happen now? What kind of leader could Kylo Ren possibly be?

You don’t have the chance to ponder it further. The backs of your legs hit the seat of the throne after having been forced up the dais by Kylo who now comes so close it causes you to fall unceremoniously into the chair. Your lightsaber is still active, poised at his throat even as he slams both hands on either armrest, caging you in. “I saved us,” he snarls, “and this is how you thank me?”

Even as Kylo’s presence threatens to rob you of breath, his darkness trying to choke you, you don’t cower. Your lightsaber reflects in your eyes in the same way it does his helmet, the heat from the plasma an uncomfortable presence between you. “How am I supposed to trust you?” You practically throw the words in his face, and you can see the way they make him recoil. It’s barely there, so very slight, but he draws back just a fraction of a centimeter and you hear the creak of his gloves as he grips the armrests tighter. It hurts him, it brings you satisfaction. You feel the flinch in the Force, betraying his true emotions to someone like you who’s more attuned than he realizes.

And then it’s gone. He brushes it aside and replaces that emotion with bristling anger. He reaches past your arm, past your lightsaber without a care, and he grips your chin. You want to thrash against him, want to fight against his hold; it would be so easy with the saber you have against his neck. But you can’t bring yourself to. You let him hold you there as he makes sure you’re looking at him, his fingers digging into your jaw.

“He was going to have me kill you.” Kylo says, tone quiet and blunt as he brings forth information he’d been holding inside of himself for so long, letting it consume him. “That’s why I sent you away.” Scenes flash in your mind, brought to you by Kylo so that you can see exactly what terrified him, to see what caused the sense of fear he had that day he gave you your mission.

Snoke would’ve had you both come to the throne room, and you would’ve thought nothing was amiss. But then he would reveal that he wished to further Kylo’s training after his recent failures, and that you were the key to making him stronger. That key was your own death. Snoke would admit as such, that he wants Kylo to kill you. You could feel it—the rage inside of you, the despair. Snoke had always favored Kylo over you because Kylo had a name behind him, he had a legacy. You were just a kid with a meaningless family that he picked up off a worthless planet that turned out to have more potential than anyone could’ve ever dreamed. You’d surpassed Kylo in more than enough trials to prove that and yet… it didn’t matter. You were to die to push someone else forward.

“You would’ve fought,” Kylo murmurs, briefly breaking you from the vision, “but you would’ve lost.”

You see what he means. You turned on Snoke, you lashed out with everything you had in you as the Praetorian Guards advanced. You killed all of them, your will to live greater than their own strength, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough against Snoke, who forced you to your knees even as he struggled to do so from your protesting. You could’ve been something, you could’ve been more, but you were just fodder for the machine. You at least looked Kylo in the eyes with your chin held high when he lifted the hilt of his lightsaber. The vision cut out directly after that, and you find yourself heaving for breath.

Your own lightsaber is gone, taken from your grip by Kylo while you watched your death play out. The anger that boils in your gut almost feels misplaced because that future never came to pass, and it never will. Because of what Kylo did. He sent you on a convenient mission to the Outer Rim, as far away from Snoke as possible. Then he took his chances back here, trying to figure out some way to save you, and then the perfect opportunity was laid at his feet.

He keeps his hold on you, forcing you to watch through his own eyes and learn of what he’d gone through. Rey had shown up. The young Jedi girl actually had the gall to deliver herself right to her enemy. She definitely has guts, you’d give her that. She tried and failed to get Kylo to turn away from the Dark Side, trying to make him see the Light. But it didn’t work when his thoughts remained on you and keeping you from Snoke’s grasp. He was too focused on the fact that if the future he saw came to fruition, he knew he’d lose himself entirely. He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

So he used Rey in his schemes, used her as a distraction of sorts. He used her to finally kill Snoke, to free himself and you from his reign. He couldn’t believe it actually worked, that Snoke was truly lying on the floor severed in half. It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, a ghoul finally banished from the corners of his mind. It was peaceful, but only for a moment. Him and Rey fought the Guards, and then he tried to get back his grandfather’s lightsaber once more to no avail. The memories from then on are bright flashes, fuzzy images, and explosions—nothing you can make out.

You’re pulled from Kylo’s memories, your jaw slack and your heart racing. It feels unreal, something you can’t believe because you weren’t here to witness it. But if you had been here, you would’ve died. “Now you see, don’t you? I told you that you’d understand. Yet you still can’t bring yourself to trust me. It just disgusts you, doesn’t it?” He says lowly, jabbing at you. “How could you ever bear to trust someone like me?” Someone who saved your life, he wants to add with his mocking tone.

There’s a moments pause where you stare at each other, unsure of what to think or say. You wish you could see him, could see his eyes and his face. Your nervous hand reaches up, attempting to get the latch on his helmet to take it off, but he stops you abruptly. He grips your wrist firmly in a leather-clad hand. You try and fumble for words. “Kylo, I-“

“No. You’ll address me as Supreme Leader. You need to get used to that title.” He snaps, forcing you all the way back into the throne as he comes even closer, his boot sliding between your own and forcing your legs apart. Your breath hitches when he takes both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head so you can’t do anything stupid like trying to shove him off or drawing your lightsaber on him again.

The rise and fall of your chest quickens when cold air kisses the skin of your stomach, your layers shoved up by his free hand. The leather of his glove is rough as it skates along the newly exposed area on its way further down. His fingers catch on the waistband of your pants and they don’t hesitate to slip beneath the fabric. Your body feels like it’s been set on fire, your spine pressed so firmly against the back of the throne that there’s nowhere else for you to go, even as you try to scoot away from his burning touch.

You jolt when he grazes your clit, your teeth digging so sharply into your lip that you think you taste blood. He’s moves slow and with purpose, knowing exactly what he’s doing when a low groan rumbles from the back of your throat. You can tell by the way he’s so willing to taunt and tease, by the way his huge body covers your own and boxes you in, that this isn’t going to be good for you. The pad of his index finger traces slow, tortuous circles around your entrance while the heel of his palm makes occasional, light taps against your clit to keep you aware, to keep you anticipating.

“You love to say how much you hate me, and yet you’re always so eager for me.” Kylo spits, his voice guttural when it comes through his helmet, struggling to get past the vocoder as more than just lustful static. He can feel how wet you are, how easily the dark leather of his gloves slides between your folds. His finger finally plunges into your waiting cunt not a second later, a gasp rattling your body. It’s a welcome feeling, one that finally gives the throbbing of your walls something to focus on instead of just aching, empty space.

The thrusts of his finger are lazy, staying at the same easy pace even as you squirm. He’s more generous to your clit now at least, his palm staying firmly against it, providing the friction of rough leather and stitched seams with each in and out of your hole. You whine in pleasure when he finally adds a second finger, the thick digits filling you more completely. They go farther, sink deeper into your heat, finding and pressing against the spot you’re never able to get on your own. Your hands struggle against the hold he has on them, your attempts at freeing yourself as your body writhes having been unsuccessful. You know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers across your wrists from the strength of his grip.

Kylo enjoys seeing you like this, completely under his mercy and so, so very compliant. It’s rare when he gets what he wants from you—your submission—so he’s relishing in it now while it lasts. His enjoyment is obvious from the erection creating a tent in his pants. You have to avert your eyes from it, trying not to think of the way he’d use it, the way he’d ram into you again and again and fill you with his desire. You can feel your own mounting, a knot in your gut that grows bigger with his ministrations, threatening to come undone.

You’re almost there. You’re standing on the ledge, leaning over the side, ready to fall off into bliss. Just a few more thrusts of his fingers, a few more circles around your clit, and your orgasm will be washing through you. But it never comes despite the way he continues to fingerfuck you, despite the way you can feel it right there and so ready to burst. It’s like something’s blocking it on purpose, a dam built with the sole mission of denying your release. Your eyes snap open, finding Kylo. He huffs a laugh. “What, you think I’d let you cum that easily?” It pisses you off how much he’s liking this. “I’ve barely even started.”

You practically growl at him, lip drawing up to reveal your sharp teeth, but you know he just finds it amusing. Especially when you try to grind your hips down onto his fingers as if that’ll be enough to break the Force hold he has on your body. You can’t move much beyond that with the way he looms over the throne, his legs pinning yours and your hands still stuck above your head. An involuntary whimper rips from your throat when he moves his thumb to your clit, rubbing at it with more purpose and ferocity and a third finger managing to slip into your eager cunt. Your feet scrabble against the floor, trying to find some kind of purchase as the denial of an orgasm makes you dizzy. You try and swallow the drool pooling in your mouth, the breath of your panting fogging the metal panels on Kylo’s helmet from your proximity.

You give in to begging once tears prick your eyes. Your words are barely more than a whisper. ��Please- please, Kylo, just-“

There’s a harsh thrust up into your cunt that has your words falling silent, instead replaced by a sharp, high pitched yelp. “What did I fucking tell you?” He demands, pressing even harder against that spot along your walls that has you seeing stars. You feel like you’re about to explode from the built up tension in your body. “What did I tell you to call me?”

You glare at him, your eyes full of all the fury you can’t manage to get out with your voice. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to bend to this man who’s held such a ridiculous amount of power over you for what feels like your entire life. Your teeth grind together in defiance, even as your face burns. He hums at that and seems almost happy that you’re going against him. He does love a good fight.

His fingers stall and begin to slowly slide out of you, ready to leave you completely empty and with a simmering need that won’t be taken care of. You jolt, eyes widening. It’s in that moment you find you don’t actually give a fuck about defying him, you just need him to stay in you. “Supreme Leader!” You practically shout, so sudden it even startles yourself. Your next words are quieter, more restrained. “Supreme Leader, please..”

You moan in relief when his fingers take back their positions deep inside your cunt, the sounds of your slick sloshing around filling the empty throne room. “Good,” Kylo says roughly, clearly struggling himself. Your obedience is music to his ears and it does nothing to soothe the ache of his cock still restrained by his pants. It just makes it worse. “Say it again.”

You hate him. You’re probably going to kill him. “Supreme Leader, please-“ you have to choke back your humiliation and death threats, “please let me cum.”

This time Kylo groans, the desperate sound crackling through his helmet. He thrusts his fingers one more time, swiping his thumb along your clit, before he lets you go. The release is instant. Something akin to a scream comes from you with your orgasm, the world around you feeling like it’s shattering. You can barely breathe, pure pleasure wracking your body and sending lightning through your limbs. The dam finally broke, and it feels so fucking good. The unbearable pressure is gone, bliss washing through you like a wave from the ocean as you cum around his hand. “See how nice I am?” Kylo says with heavy breath, barely able to contain himself. His eyes are locked on to where his hand disappears into your pants; he can feel your cum pooling on his glove. “How well I reward you when you’re good?”

It’s all you can do to nod dumbly, too blissed out with your ears still ringing to really comprehend what he’s saying. You don’t resist when your pants are pulled off, your underwear entirely soaked through and baring your sensitive, wet cunt to the cold air. You shiver. Your cloak is tossed aside, your top layers undone to reveal your upper body. You’re barely more than a rag doll when Kylo braces an arm against your back, using it to scoop you out of the throne so he can take your spot. His zipper is pulled down, his boxers lowered so his cock is finally freed, painfully erect and dribbling precum.

He sinks you down to the hilt without hesitation. All the air is punched from your lungs, your body tensing as his length fills you to capacity. Kylo’s appreciative groan is loud and throaty, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. You have to pause for a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling so full it’s like you’re not allowed to breathe. Your lips are parted, your nails digging into the ribbed sleeves on his forearms for purchase. His body is warm and muscular beneath your hands.

You struggle to move, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm, your limbs weak and trembling. Kylo makes no effort to help you, his helmet instead tilted up towards you expectantly. “If you want it you’ll have to work for it, Commander.” He says with some twisted amusement. You briefly consider how easy it’d be to reach forward and wring his neck.

But you put that aside, swallowing your broken pride. You unfortunately want his cock more than that. The first thrust is bliss, pleasure filled shocks coursing through you like a live wire. You and Kylo moan in tandem, both of you finally getting some form of relief. Your movements are slow at first, trying desperately to get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you open. His hands travel up your sides, his left glove still soaked in your juices and leaving a trail along your skin. He finds your breasts, encompassing them with large, warm palms that have your head tilting back and your eyes closing. He pinches your stiffened nipples between his fingers, rolling them experimentally as you whine and arch into his touch. Your pace on his cock is steady now, finally having figured out a rhythm.

“Touch yourself.” Kylo orders suddenly, words sounding choked.

Your gaze snaps to him, brows furrowing slightly. “What?”

“Touch yourself.” He snaps again. “If you’re smart, you’ll listen to what I say.”

You glower, your face burning even hotter. He knows you don’t enjoy doing it, which is giving him all the more reason to make you. You hesitate, both not wanting to do as he demands and also not wanting to see whatever repercussions will come if you don’t. Your shaking fingers reach down and find your clit, the bud still sensitive and aching from Kylo’s earlier abuse. Your lip is between your teeth, trying to keep back your moans as you run circles over your clit. The stimulation quickly builds and you can feel that familiar knot forming in your gut again.

Kylo’s helmet tilts up and you can feel his eyes on you. You try not to meet them. “You look pretty like this, you know? Finally fucking listening to me.” He rumbles, giving your nipple a particularly hard pinch and making you writhe in his grip. “Say my name.”

You try to ignore him, ignore his stupid power trip and ego boost. But then he makes his move—one hand comes down to grip your wrist and the other is firm on your hip, completely stalling your movements and messing up your concentration. Your climax steadily begins to fade, a loud and frustrated groan coming from you. “This is stupid.” You snarl at him.

He doesn’t back down. “Say it.”

A harsh breath blows through your nose. You move your head so you can look past him, not wanting to admit that this is what he’s bringing you to. “Supreme Leader.” You mutter, your hips shifting to try and get friction with his cock still hard inside your cunt. He puts a stop to that quickly with a harsh squeeze.

Kylo lets go of your wrist to instead grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Again.”

“Supreme Leader.” You grit out.

“One more time.”

You grab his forearm, your nails digging deep enough and with such fury that they’ll leave marks. It’s the least you can do. “Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He murmurs, thumb running along your lower lip. You want nothing more than to sink your teeth into it until you taste blood. “You’ve done so well.”

His following thrust up into you has you forgetting what insult you were going to say. Both of his hands rest on your hips now, keeping you steady as he fucks you mercilessly. You bend forward, gripping his shoulders as some kind of anchor, punctuated moans spilling endlessly from your mouth. His helmet is downturned, the forehead of it resting against your sternum as he watches his cock disappear inside of your cunt, slick smearing along the front of his pants. He uses his Force to swirl against your clit, creating a sort of buzzing sensation that quickly brings that knot back and sets your blood ablaze.

“A commander reduced to a fucking cocksleeve. So good for my dick, aren’t you?” He breathes, words made even more gravelly by his vocoder. “Fuck.” You can only nod along and whimper, your brain fucked into useless mush.

You grip him tighter when your second orgasm finally bursts, your walls spasming around his cock and making him curse even louder. Cum gushes from you, dripping along your folds and making a further mess of Kylo’s pants. You cry out when he keeps thrusting into you, everything throbbing and overly sensitive for his harsh pace. You can’t think straight, you can only dig your teeth into the padded armor of his shoulder as tears well and threaten to fall.

His cock twitches, his hips stuttering. He gets in a few more thrusts before he’s cumming at last, a slew of cusses mixed with grunts and groans falling from his mouth. You hum in pleasure when you feel his warm spend filling your cunt to the brim, effectively coating your walls white.

Neither of you can move for a couple of minutes after. You don’t know how long you sit there for, your body finally relaxing and your eyes closing. He doesn’t pull out, his cock softening inside you and making sure you stay plugged full of his cum. You’re tempted to fall asleep before Kylo’s hands are leaving your hips and instead coming up to undo the latches on his helmet. There’s a hiss of air as the mechanisms slide out of place and he’s able to take it off. His black hair falls around his face, sweat drenching the ends.

You struggle to lift yourself up, but you want to see him. Your hands shake from exhaustion when they reach forward, taking his cheeks in your palms. He looks so tired. His sigh tickles your skin, his eyes closing at your touch. He seems significantly more relaxed now, his body letting go of its tension and his Force signature becoming something calmer. You can feel the weight shift as he leans into your right hand. His arms circle around your back, somehow pulling you even closer.

He swallows before speaking. “I was… afraid.” He mutters. “Afraid without you here… and yet I had to do it. Otherwise I’d lose you.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips gentle as they brush along your collarbone. “I was afraid that I would fail. That it would’ve all been for nothing.” He continues. He sounds so quiet, quieter than you’ve heard him in a while. You run your fingers through his hair. “I just… I’m glad I sent you away.”

“Me too.” You mumble, your eyes trained on the back wall as your mind runs. You’re finally coming to terms with the fact that your death had almost been set in stone at the hands of Snoke. Coming to terms with the fact that your lifelong teacher was going to have you executed by his star pupil, and the fact that Kylo decided to save you and possibly get himself killed instead. The fact he did everything he could to make sure you wouldn’t come back to a death sentence. You swallow thickly. “Thank you.”

He stills at those words. They’re the last thing he expected to hear from you and it makes him uneasy. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s okay. You know he can’t. Besides, it’s easy to gather what he wants to say from his Force in this moment of vulnerability. An apology is at the forefront; an apology for taking things out on you again. He doesn’t regret it, but he didn’t mean for it to happen. Then underneath that there’s longing that’s still lingering from when you were gone. He wanted nothing more than to see you, to know you were okay. He’s more than happy to have you in his arms now.

You pull yourself out of his thoughts, blowing out a tired sigh and resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps his cape around you to protect your mostly-naked form from the chill of the throne room, his warmth bleeding into you. You’re content to just sit there in his lap, and he seems content to let you. He relaxes back into the throne, cradling you against him with his soft breathing ruffling the hairs on the top of your head.

You’re together. You’re alive. That’s all you need in this moment.

[svt-luna]

ʚིᵋ ⋆ INSTAGRAM UPDATE ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── 250130: Luna Day

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ luna's instagram

Liked by jeonghaniyoo_n, min9yu_k, sound_of_coups, and 9,635,725 others

lunabae 28 times the moon has whispered my name 🌙✨

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forever_jiyeon Happy Birthday, Luna!! 28 looks SO good on you! Wishing you all the happiness in the universe 💖

moonstruckbymoon Happy birthday, our pretty moon! Thank you for inspiring us every day!!

lunatics_united 28 moon phases and counting, and you’re still the brightest star in the galaxy! Love you, Luna! 🥺🌙

silvermoonluna Happy birthday to the one and only Bae Jiyeon! Cheers to another amazing year 🎂✨

han_luna_world HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUNA!! You’re magical, ethereal, and everything in between 🌙🤍

jeongnadaily Jeonghan’s post and the song??? I’m SCREAMING. You two are perfect 😭💕

↳ starrylovehan THE SONG ‘BETTER HALF’??!! And his caption?! his fucking caption?? I’m not okay 🥹

lunaxhanforever Jeonghan just broke the internet with that post and song! THE WAY HE LOVES YOU 😭🤍

Liked by lunabae, ho5hi_kwon, pledis_boos, and 9,777,111 others

jeonghaniyoo_n from 16 to 28, i’ve loved celebrating every birthday with you.

from the first birthday we celebrated together when you turned sixteen to now at twenty-eight, you’ve grown even more beautiful— inside and out. who would’ve thought we’d go from being strangers to friends, to best friends, to secretly crushing on each other like clueless fools, to finally dating, getting engaged, and planning forever together?

thank you for being the better half of me, the one who makes everything brighter and more meaningful. you’ve taught me what love really is, and i’m so grateful for you every single day. it felt only right to release a song for you today, on your day— a small piece of my heart written for the person who completes it. ‘Better Half’ is yours, just like i am.

thank you for letting me share in your light, for being my partner in our midnight birthday cake-eating rituals and for filling my life with endless love and laughter. let’s celebrate today and every day until we’re old and gray (and i’m still more handsome, obviously 😝).

another year older but still my prettiest moon. i love you endlessly.

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jxjforever WHATAFUCKHWYWGYEGS GOODBYE–

jeonghan_lover14 SIR. THE CAPTION. THE SONG. THE LOVE. I AM NOT OKAY. 😭😭😭

lunahanforever HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BREATHE AFTER THIS?!? This is the most romantic thing ever 😫

prettyboyjeonghan The fact he called her his ‘better half’ AND wrote a whole SONG for her??? LOVE IS REAL. 😭💕

moonlightedbyhan “Better Half is yours, just like I am.” JEONGHAN STOP I AM IN SHAMBLES 🥹🤍

↳ caratstarlight SAME!!!! WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS LEVEL OF ROMANCE? JEONGHAN, YOU WIN THE FIANCÉ OF THE YEAR AWARD 🏆

hanseverything Not me crying in the club over this caption. ALSO THE SONG?? I HONESTLY CAN’T 🫠

lunahan_together Midnight birthday cake rituals? Loving her since she was 16?? GET OUT OF HERE, YOON JEONGHAN 😭😭.

jiyeonieeeee_17 ‘Better Half’ is the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, and the fact he dropped it for HER on HER day?? I’M DONE 😩

ot14carats HOW DARE YOU, JEONGHAN. This is TOO MUCH PERFECTION. The caption, the pictures, the song, the EVERYTHING 😭💕

lunabae i love you endlessly 🥹🤍

↳ jeonghaniyoo_n endlessly ���

caratmoonchild I’m sobbing uncontrollably. He loves her so much, and it’s SO OBVIOUS. THIS IS THE STANDARD 🥹💖

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

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: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl @cocopuff2424 @okoknotco @minvxq @soulphoenix1618 @whineywheeiny @rairaine @toplinehyunjin @ateez-atiny380 @cherrylovescheol @jiimtaee @blurr3db3rry @seomisaho @amanda08319 @peanutbutterslothsstuff @cheolsboo @allthings-fandoms @mystic-megumi @sherlockbye @tastyluvr @luperque @reignofraine @kpoplover-19

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

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

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

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

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

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

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

YOUR POV

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

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

Oh. Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t have to know that.

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

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

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

“I don’t I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grayson,” I say sharply, “leave.”

And so he does.

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

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

***

GRAYSONS POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I dive.

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

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

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

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

LYRAS POV

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

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

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

“Lyra-“ he begins, stepping inwards.

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

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

“Look-“ he tries to begin again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lyra please-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right,” he mumble miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks pained, “I don’t know.”

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

“I know,” he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods silently, “I’m sorry, truly.”

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

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

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

***

YOUR POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She tilts her head as our eyes meet.

“You okay?” Avery asks, looking pitiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for once the paranoia is right.

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

“Long story,” I murmur.

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

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

She winced, unable to hold it back this time.

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

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

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

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

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

“Rewind,” she says, “do you?”

“What?”

“Still love him,” she clarifies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I chew my lips, “I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

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

I look up at her, glossy eyed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Avery,” I say carefully.

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

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

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

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

A sudden sadness coats her hazel eyes.

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

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

***

GRAYSONS POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” I blurt out.

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

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

“It is enough,” I say desperately.

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

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

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

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

I wince then regain composure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That wasn’t you,” I whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

My heart throbs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do love you,” I tell her.

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

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

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

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

“No they’re not,” I say loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

The wave of shock almost knocks me flat.

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

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

“But you said-“

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

My eyebrows furrow, “why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every word is the truth, every word I mean.

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

“I don’t care,” I shrug.

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

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

My heart clenches.

“Forever, I’ll wait forever.”

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

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

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

TIG masterlist

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

i got this request on my other account and figured i’d do it since it seems like it’d be a funny fic!!

i want to give credits to @alwaysthefangirl as i based a lot of my ideas of “lyra being stubborn and not wanting help when shes sick” around her fic, and seriously ive reread that one countless amounts of times omg. anyway thank you for being the amazing writer that you are and inspiring me to write this with your own fic. i dont think i would have been able to write this so quickly if it werent for your fic that seriously helped me write this one so thank you!!! <33

A Sick and Stubborn Lyra

(could you tell that i couldn’t think of a title? 😜)

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

Lyra knew she was sick. She knew it the other day when her entire body was feverishly burning up and she couldn’t evade the constant dizzy spells, and she knew it now as she felt the same way—no, worse.

She thought that sleep might heal her, and she’d done a good enough job at hiding it from Grayson, but it was no use. She had classes, classes she couldn’t risk missing as she’d just added an extra one to her schedule, and despite her feverish state, had to be present for them. No matter how dry and aching her throat felt, or how her head was heating up astronomically.

Crawling out of her sheets as quietly as possible, Lyra cast her gaze to the blonde sleeping peacefully beside her. Grayson. He looked so beautiful while he slept, so at peace and calm.

Lyra reminded herself that she had a mission that Grayson couldn’t distract her from: get ready and out of the house while Grayson’s asleep/getting ready so he doesn’t see the state she’s in.

Fully getting out of bed, Lyra softly walked over to her walk in closet, where she clicked the door behind her quietly and put on her clothes as softly as possible. Then she tip-toed past a, thankfully, still asleep Grayson towards her bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and did her skin care for the day. Every movement sent her head spinning and made her body ache, and once Lyra spat out her toothpaste, she collapsed onto the mat in her bathroom and tried her best to breathe. She gave herself only a minute of sitting on the floor and trying not to pass out, before getting up, not bothering with make up, and walking out the bathroom.

She knew she was being sloppy. She no longer cared about being quiet; all that mattered to her was getting out of the house without fainting or throwing up first.

With her teeth clattering in her mouth and sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, Lyra grabbed her car keys with slow, aching movements, and was just about to stumble out the door when she heard a low rumble behind her.

“Lyra?” Came Grayson’s sleep riddled voice. Shit.

Lyra didn’t dare turn around, as if she did, he would see how sick she is and make her stay home. Not today, Grayson. Thought Lyra through clenched teeth as she tried not to shiver.

“I’m about to leave, Gray, but I’ll call you at lunch.” Lyra said, before freezing once she realized how terrible her voice was.

It visibly sounded scratched and nasally, and she didn’t sound well in the slightest. She froze as she heard Grayson’s steps behind her.

“Wait, Lyra.” Grayson ordered. Lyra would have spit back a retort if she wasn’t in her current state. Pulling her forward by the waist, Grayson turned her around, and she immediately saw surprise cross his features. Lyra furrowed her brows.

“I’m fine. Let me go.” Lyra ordered, hoping her (regretfully) sharp tone would ward him off.

But nothing really warded off Grayson Hawthorne.

Grayson placed his hands on her shoulders, his bare chest breathing in and out slowly, and he seemed to be looking over her, seeing how bad of a state she was in.

“You’re not going to your classes like this.” Grayson told her. Lyra rolled her eyes.

“I’m fine.” Lyra stubbornly told him, before sneezing, trying to take a step back, and stumbling to the ground. The sudden movement left her head reeling, and her body would be aching along with that if it weren’t for Grayson, who caught her in his arms.

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’m right here.” he told her softly, lips pressing onto her neck. Lyra went limp at the sudden affection, growing dizzier. She shuddered in his arms, and he suddenly picked her up, carrying her bridal style to their room.

“Breathe.”

Lyra awoke from her sleep a couple hours later, tangled in sheets with her hair splayed out on the pillow. Lyra lifted her head up—and then immediately regretted it. Her head was hit with a terribly dizzying feeling, and it was burning up wildly. Lyra slouched back down.

Searching the room, she tried to look for Grayson, but all she could see was his laptop and notes splayed on the ground beside her bed. Their room didn’t have a desk, aside from Lyra’s vanity, and Grayson’s office was in the other room. Lyra’s heart warmed once she realized he’d worked on the floor to keep an eye on her.

Looking towards the bathroom and seeing that the light was on, she realized that Grayson was inside. Lyra pulled herself up slowly, her body screaming at her all the while to lay back down, and sat up. She didn’t want to do anything, but she knew she had to.

“Tea,” she could remember her mother telling her as a child whenever she get sick, “is a remedy for all ills. Now drink!”

Granted, tea was never Lyra’s favourite, but tough times called for tough measures.

Peeling off her sheets with aching movements, Lyra ignored the thumping sound in her head and got up, shaking terribly. Pressing her freezing hands to her burning forehead, Lyra began to walk to the kitchen, pushing down the dizzying feeling the best she could.

Once she got to the kitchen, she bent down shakily towards the cabinet, opened it up, took out the kettle—and that’s about as far as she got.

Well, as far as she got before she heard her name.

The tone of which Grayson said Lyra was clearly not happy. Lyra winced as she stood back up, and saw Grayson come into the kitchen with accusing eyes. He was all dressed, clad in a suit with his hair fixed, and Lyra couldn’t deny that he looked good. So good that she forgot that he was currently staring at her as if she had just learned to walk.

“What are you doing up?” He accused, striding up to her and reaching to take the kettle from her hands. Lyra moved her hands away, hiding the kettle behind her and away from his reach.

“Making tea.” she said stubbornly, coughing all the while. Grayson’s eyes were concerned as he studied her, moving hair from her face to really look at her.

“Sweetheart, you aren’t well. Please go back to bed.” he told her softly. Lyra only rolled her eyes.

“I’m fiiiiiine.” she said, breathing hard and sniffing. Words became harder to say when she was sick. Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I’ll carry you.” he warned. Lyra rolled her eyes again, waved him away with his hand.

“No. Go work.” she told him. Grayson sighed before lifting her into his arms the same way he had earlier with ease. Lyra squirmed, which only tightened the grip he had on her.

“Hey.” Lyra said, trying to make her tone as threatening as possible, even though her voice was nasally and scratched. Grayson looked at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing her in bed.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Apparently, I’ll be right back meant I’ll get every pill and remedy there is and force it down your throat. So far, she’d taken 4 pills, drank 2 cups of tea, had a popsicle for her throat, and was now getting her temperature checked by Grayson all while she laid in bed with a cold rag on her head like a sick peasant.

“102°F. Not good.” Grayson tutted, putting the thermometer down and fixing her with a concerned look. That’s all he was doing today: finishing up some documents, fretting over her, and fixing her with concerned puppy-dog stares.

Well, she liked the stares, but the fretting could be taken down a notch.

“Can’t I get up?” Lyra asked. Grayson gave her an unimpressed look.

“You’ve asked me that 4 times in the past hour and each time I told you no. What makes you think now you’ll get a different answer?” he replied. Lyra sighed.

“At least let me walk around the walk in closet. It has a stool if I get tired.” Lyra reasoned. She didn’t have much of a desire to walk around her closet, but laying down and doing nothing was much worse. Grayson gave her a look.

“What do you need that’s in that closet?” he asked her. An innuendo popped into her mind at the same time as an actual answer. Her choice on which of the two to say was obvious.

“If I can’t convince you to let me get up, I think my red thong that I keep in there can.” Lyra retorted simply, giving a half shrug and grinning despite her state. Grayson tried to look unimpressed, but she saw how his cheeks reddened slightly. Win for me, Lyra thought giddily.

Lyra realized then that her only entertainment in this jail cell that was her bed was riling up Grayson. And so she took every opportunity to.

“Grayson, my blankets are bothering me.” Lyra complained.

“Then take them off.” he replied simply from where he was sitting on the floor, talking his gaze away from his papers to look at her. Lyra peeled her blankets off her body, before slyly smiling.

“Grayson, my pants are bothering me.”

Every time she told him sly innuendos, he would act unaffected and continue doing what he was doing, aside from a few telltale signs that he was actually affected, like him clearing his throat, or his cheeks reddening, or, her personal favourite, his pupils dilating. After a few of those, her entertainment (Grayson) was no longer being entertaining. Every suggestive remark was becoming ignored, or he would just switch the topic. Now Lyra was irrevocably bored again.

Picking at her nails as she laid in bed, Lyra sighed. Then she sighed again. Sighing once more, she glanced down at Grayson who was still sitting next to her bed while working on his laptop, and wasn’t saying a word. Lyra huffed. She might as well sleep, if she had nothing else to do.

Turning to her side and closing her eyes, Lyra started to feel herself finally drifting to sleep.

She awoke a few hours later, drowsy, but overall feeling much better compared to earlier. It was now 6 PM, and Lyra doubted that she would be able to sleep tonight with all the napping she’d been doing.

Sitting up, she noticed that although her head was still hot, the aching feeling like somebody had just ran over her brain was gone. She felt less dizzy, too. The symptoms that had stopped her from getting up and generally being mobile earlier were gone. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it was because of Grayson.

Lyra felt a little bit guilty then. She had spent the whole day trying to avoid his help, when without him she would probably be feeling even worse by now.

She looked to her side and realized that Grayson wasn’t there. Neither was his laptop or his papers. He must have switched to his office, Lyra thought. Then she pulled off her covers and got up. She still had small chills, and so she threw on one of Grayson’s Harvard sweaters, before stalking to his office. She used to knock when they first moved in, but Lyra never does it now.

Opening the door, Lyra quietly walked in, and saw Grayson working at his desk. Once he heard the door open, he turned to her, smiling that faint, beautiful smile of his that she’s so familiar with.

“I’m sorry I left the room. I had an online meeting to attend and I didn’t want to wake you up.” he explained. Lyra paused. He was apologizing to her? She was the one who owed him an apology.

Without a word, Lyra walked over to him and sat on his lap. He was surprised, but only slightly. Lyra usually liked to sit on his lap while he did work.

Turning around to make herself comfortable, Lyra rested her head on his shoulder while her legs were halfway tucked on his lap. Grayson smiled softly again, placing a hand on her thigh while the other was on his laptop. Still, his eyes were on her.

“Are you feeling better sweetheart?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Lyra nodded, and the guilt she felt then from his concern was tremendous.

“I’m sorry.” she said. Grayson raised a brow as his expressions grew curious and concerned.

“What for?” he asked her. Lyra bit her lip.

“For trying to avoid your help all day. I was acting stubbornly but I was too sick and stupid to realize.” Lyra admitted, looking away. Grayson froze, before taking her head in his hands.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say anything like that. You weren’t at all stupid, Lyra.” he told her, his eyes deep with emotion and oh so beautiful as he gazed into hers. “I know you can be stubborn. And every stubborn act of yours makes me love you more and more.” Lyra snorted, pulling her gaze away.

“Okay, I know you love me, but you don’t have to lie.” she said, humour tinging her expressions. Grayson’s, on the other hand, were dead serious.

“I’m not lying, Lyra. I love how stubborn you are because I love the fact that you are so set on your goals, and on your choices. You’re strong and determined, Lyra, and that comes with your stubbornness today.” he told her, resting his forehead on yours. “I wish I had even half as much of your perseverance. I always will.” Lyra couldn’t stop her smile from coming. He always saw her better than she saw himself.

“Grayson…” Was all Lyra said and all she could say before pressing a soft, gentle kiss onto his lips. Then she sprung back, groaning.

“Shit, sorry Grayson, I forgot I was sick-“ Lyra said, before she was cut off by Grayson pressing his lips to hers and giving her a deep and passionate kiss. Lyra returned it, and the two continued the kiss, pressing and pulling before finally separating. Grayson smiled at her.

“I would get sick a million times over if it meant being able to kiss you.” He told her softly. Lyra smiled sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you. This sickness was terrible enough as it is. Having it a million times more would be hell.” Lyra said, sighing. Grayson’s smile widened slightly, and he moved her off his lap to one of his thighs, both his hands firmly gripping her waist. Lyra’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“Ah, so now you admit you were sick?” Grayson teased, cockiness clear in his voice. Lyra rolled her eyes, and was about to respond when a notification suddenly went off on Grayson’s laptop. Lyra turned her head and saw an email pop up. He made an irritated noise in the base of his throat, but Lyra only laughed.

“Okay, I guess I should be letting you work now after you took care of me the whole day.” Lyra said. She was just getting up when Grayson pulled her back down on his thigh, his grip on her waist still firm.

“I thought you said there was another way of convincing me to let you get up?” Grayson reminded her. “A way that involved… something from our closet?”

His voice was deep, and, at the moment, a bit hoarse. Grayson also had a teasing look on his face with eyes that were currently thunder cloud dark. Lyra didn’t even know why, as her mind drew a blank.

Then, shock and a burning feeling spread across her features.

And Grayson’s eyes, that were staring much more now, darkened further.

————————————————————————

GRAYSON YA LITTLE FREAK

hope u guys enjoyed this!! it was fun to write ESP lyras innuendos hehe those were funny

[foldingfittedsheets]

Got this question and I can share about my tattoo! Initially, I wanted a tattoo from the Golden Compass. That book series shaped my views so heavily and I’ve always adored it. My first thought was to get the alethiometer on my hand.

Those familiar with tattoos will know immediately why that was such a bad idea but the first artist I met with cautioned that the design would need to be huge to get clarity and hand tattoos fade quickly. He advised me to think of something else that might call to the books.

After noodling on it for a long time I decided I wanted my daemon. Lyra and Roger go down into the crypts and see the skulls of scholars. Inside the empty bones are coins with images of their daemons carved on the face.

So I knew I wanted a daemon coin. My daemon walks in my heart but I always felt like a gryphon suited me best, halfway between a cat and a bird. I’d put him on my leg so she could walk with me.

I found an artist I liked but she was booked out for a year. She specialized in scientific illustrations and abstract line work, both of which were stunning.

I decided to check back when she was accepting new business but to my surprise she had up and moved to Salt Lake City. I asked, if I flew out to get a tattoo, how soon could you see me? Within a month was the answer. So I bought tickets for my beloved and I to fly to SLC for a day, just for this tattoo.

We stayed in an adorable cottage and felt wildly unsafe in the heavily religious city, but we still had a nice trip. We went to the Tracy Aviary. I had my first meal at Benihana. We got followed and yelled at when we held hands. But we also had a young girl approach us when I wore my Space Lesbians shirt to tell me how much it meant to her to see other queers in her city.

The artist I was working with hadn’t shown me a drawing before I’d arrived. I’d asked for a crude gryphon etched into a coin. What she showed me when I arrived was a goofy cartoon gryphon offset in a circle. I broke out in a sweat and I still look back on her lack of communication poorly. I’m sure she had her own reasons for not sharing the design but it wasn’t what I had asked for.

She was clearly frustrated when I balked but went away to rework his face to be more realistic. When she came back I was much happier. He still had cartoonishly big feet but honestly, I’m a bit of a goober with big feet too, and it felt appropriate with the new face.

My beloved got their ear pierced at the same shop, and we went away happy. I love my tattoo and it made me feel beautiful in a way that didn’t come off at the end of the night.

When I gained weight with my long illness I was worried he’d warp and look ugly, but I think he still looks nice. He just gained weight with me.

[evermoreness]

a romantic dinner | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x reader!

summary: your husband makes a romantic dinner for the both of you after the kids go to sleep.

masterlist

The Black family home was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual symphony of children’s laughter replaced by the gentle hum of Queen’s "You're My Best Friend" playing softly in the background. The table in the dining room was set with care—candlelight flickering in the center, casting warm shadows across the polished wood. Regulus had outdone himself, preparing a meal that rivaled anything from the fanciest restaurants in London.

You stood in the doorway, taking in the scene with a mix of awe and affection. Regulus was adjusting the placement of the wine glasses, his sharp black shirt rolled at the sleeves, his usually neat hair slightly tousled. You leaned against the frame, your voice teasing.

“You know, for someone who claims he doesn’t care about Muggle things, you’re awfully good at setting the perfect scene with a record player.”

The record and the vinyl were yours, and besides having it in your home for years now, Regulus always seemed to think Muggle things were not that interesting. Every Muggle had one record player in their own houses, it was 1985 anyways!

Regulus looked up, his green eyes softening when they met yours. “I thought I’d make an exception tonight. Besides, you love this… what’s it called? ‘Queen,’ right?”

You stepped forward, a playful grin on your lips. “Don’t pretend you don’t know their name, Reggie. I saw you humming along to ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ the other day.”

He smirked, pulling out your chair with an exaggerated flourish. “Perhaps I’ve grown fond of their… enthusiasm.”

As you sat down, you let your hand brush his. “This is amazing, love. I don’t know how you manage to surprise me after all these years.”

Regulus poured the wine, his expression unreadable but his voice soft. “I like keeping you on your toes. Besides, after a week of children climbing over us, I thought we deserved some time for ourselves.”

You laughed, lifting your glass. “To surviving another week of chaos.”

He clinked his glass against yours, sitting across from you, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “To thriving in it.”

You began eating, the conversation flowing easily. You talked about the children—how Lyra had started mastering her reading, how Selene’s curiosity about charms was growing, and how Archie’s latest obsession was trying to make up his own spells.

“Did you see him today?” You said between bites, your eyes sparkling as you talked about your youngest. “He pointed his little wooden stick at me and shouted, ‘Maman vanish!’ Then got upset when I didn’t disappear.”

Regulus chuckled, his deep voice warming the space. “I told him he needs to practice his pronunciation if he wants his spells to work. He looked very determined.”

You laughed. “He’s determined to make chaos, just like his father and uncle.”

Regulus raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I was an exceptionally well-behaved child.”

You gave him a knowing look. “You were exceptionally quiet, not well-behaved. There’s a difference.”

He tilted his head, conceding the point with a smirk. “Fair enough. But chaos aside, they’re brilliant kids. Lyra’s already figuring out things I didn’t learn until I was twice her age.”

“She’s incredible,” You agreed, your voice softer now. “And Selene… I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sorted into Ravenclaw one day.”

“And Archie,” Regulus added, his expression warming. “He’s got more energy than the rest of us combined. I can barely keep up with him.”

Your children were still very young. Your oldest, Lyra, just turned five. Then came Selene, or just Ellie, who was four years old. And the last one, Arcturus— Archie, he hated when anyone called him his full name, despite being only three years old, he seemed to have a very strong personality.

You reached across the table, taking his hand. “You’re amazing with them, Reggie. Sometimes I watch you with them, and I can’t believe how lucky we are.”

Regulus’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “It’s not luck, y/n. It’s you. You’re the reason we have this life.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but your smile didn’t waver. “You give me too much credit. We built this together.”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, his green eyes holding yours. “Still, you’ve changed me. For the better. I don’t know what my life would’ve been like without you, and I don’t want to know.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music filled the silence, Freddie Mercury’s voice carrying a gentle sincerity that matched the mood.

You finally broke the quiet, your voice teasing but filled with affection. “You know, you’re really good at this romantic stuff. You sure you’re not sneaking advice from Sirius?”

Regulus scoffed, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Sirius? Please. He’s about as romantic as a troll in a tutu.”

You laughed, your head tilting back as your laughter echoed through the room. Regulus couldn’t help but smile, watching you with an expression so full of love it was almost overwhelming.

As the song shifted to "Love of My Life," Regulus stood, extending a hand to you. “Dance with me?”

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Here? Now?”

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “Why not? The children are asleep, the candles are still burning, and this is one of the few moments we have to ourselves. Let’s make the most of it.”

You smiled, placing your hand in his. “I’ll never say no to dancing with you.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you swayed to the music. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I love you.” You murmured.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice low but filled with emotion. “And I love you, mon cœur. Always.”

As you danced, the world outside faded away. In that moment, it was just the two of you—two people who had endured so much, yet found their happiness in each other and the life they had built together.

Regulus held you close as they swayed to the music, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back. You looked up at him with a playful smile, your fingers tracing patterns along his shoulder.

“You know,” you began teasingly, “you’ve gotten much better at this dancing thing over the years.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Excuse me? I’ve gotten better? I seem to recall you being the one who could barely step without tripping over your own feet.”

You gasped in mock offense, playfully swatting his chest. “That is absolutely not true! I was perfectly coordinated.”

“Ah, yes,” Regulus said, his tone dripping with amusement. “I remember you stepping on my toes so gracefully at Cissy and Lucius’s wedding.”

You burst out laughing, leaning your forehead against his chest. “I did not step on your toes that much!”

“Y/n,” he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched, “I thought I’d have to see a Healer for my poor feet after that night.”

You looked up at him, your laughter fading into something softer. “Well, if I remember correctly, you were the one who insisted on teaching me how to dance. You didn’t have to.”

Regulus’s smirk softened into a genuine smile as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wanted to. And I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else stepping in to dance with you.”

Your gaze warmed as you remembered that night. “You know, I was so nervous that night. But then you got up and quickly called me to dance in your always-so-polite way”

“I had to be assertive,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “How else was I supposed to keep everyone else away from you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “And here I thought it was just because you wanted to show off.”

Regulus chuckled, spinning you gently to the music. “Maybe a little of both.”

You moved together in perfect sync now, a stark contrast to their fumbling steps years ago. The memory of that night was vivid in both their minds—the glittering chandeliers of Malfoy Manor, the crowd of Death Eaters and pureblood aristocrats watching them, the weight of expectations heavy in the air.

But for Regulus and you, none of that had mattered.

“You were so handsome that night,” You said softly, your voice pulling him from his thoughts. “In your tailored suit, looking so serious.”

Regulus tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “And you were stunning. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I remember thinking how lucky I was that you were mine.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “You’ve always been mine, Reggie. From the moment we first met.”

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you’ve always been mine.”

The song shifted, the gentle melody reminding them of another moment—their wedding day. You let out a small laugh as the memory surfaced.

“Do you remember our first dance at our wedding?” you asked, your voice filled with amusement.

Regulus groaned, though his smile betrayed him. “How could I forget? Bellatrix kept glaring at us the entire time, and half the guests were probably plotting against each other.”

“And yet,” You said, your voice softening, “in that moment, it felt like it was just you and me. I didn’t care about the Death Eaters or the Blacks or any of it. All I cared about was us.”

Regulus’s grip on you tightened slightly, his green eyes locking onto yours. “It was the same for me. That day, when I looked at you, nothing else existed. Not Voldemort, not my family, not the war. Just you.”

You smiled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I think that’s why we’ve made it through everything, Reggie. No matter what’s happening around us, we always find our way back to each other.”

Regulus leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his voice was barely above a whisper. “We always will, mon cœur.”

You continued to dance, your movements slow and deliberate, as if trying to savor every second. The music played on, a soundtrack to your memories and your love—a love that had grown stronger with every challenge, every triumph, and every moment like this.

For you and Regulus, this was your life. Not perfect, not easy, but undeniably beautiful. And as you danced, the world outside your home faded away, leaving only the warmth of your love and the promise of many more dances to come.

After the dance, you both went straight upstairs. Regulus carried you through the doorway of your room with effortless grace, his arms steady beneath you. You let out a small laugh, resting your head against his chest as you gazed up at him.

“You know,” you said, your voice playful, “you don’t have to carry me every time we come to bed. I can walk, you know.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “And deny myself the pleasure of carrying the most beautiful woman in the world? Never.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile gave you away. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckled, gently setting you down on the edge of the bed. “Only for you, mon cœur.”

You got up to stand in front of him, your fingers brushing against his tousled hair. “Your hair looks a mess,” you teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Very un-Black of you, isn’t it?”

Regulus gave you an amused look as he loosened the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves. “And you love it. Don’t even try to deny it.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his words. “Hmm, maybe. You do look rather… rugged tonight. It’s a good look for you, love.”

He stepped closer, leaning down until your faces were inches apart. “Only tonight?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you managed a smirk. “Oh, don’t get too confident, love. I could still change my mind.”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face. “Liar. You’ve never been able to resist me.”

You reached out, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him even closer. “And you’ve never been able to resist me either,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his.

Regulus smirked against your mouth. “Touché.”

Your lips met in a slow, heated kiss, the world outside the room disappearing entirely. Regulus’s hands rested on your waist, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against the fabric of your black dress. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, Regulus rested his forehead against yours, his green eyes sparkling with affection. “You’re breathtaking tonight, ma chérie.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing under his gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself, love.”

He smirked, tugging you to your feet and spinning you around so your back was pressed against his chest. “Let’s get this dress off, shall we?” he murmured against your ear, his voice teasing.

You laughed, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Impatient, are we?”

“Always, when it comes to you,” he admitted, his hands settling on your hips.

You turned in his arms, your smile softening as you looked up at him. “How did I get so lucky to have you?”

Regulus cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You didn’t get lucky. We found each other. And I intend to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned up to kiss him again, slow and deliberate. “You’re a romantic at heart, Regulus Black,” you whispered against his lips.

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice tender.

You leaned back slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you traced a finger down Regulus’s chest. “You know,” you began, your voice light and teasing, “you look so ridiculously handsome tonight that I might just start thinking about having another baby.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, is that so? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You laughed softly, your hand sliding down to rest on his waist. “Definitely flattered. Though, I’m not sure how you’d feel about chasing after four little ones instead of three.”

Regulus tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Four sounds like a challenge,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “But with you by my side? I think we’d manage.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Manage? Regulus, you’d spoil the next one just as much as the others. Admit it—you’re a softie when it comes to our kids.”

He sighed dramatically, his hands resting on your hips as he pulled you closer. “Fine. Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? They’re perfect. Just like their maman.”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment, but you quickly masked it with another playful quip. “Careful, love. Flattery will only get you so far.”

Regulus leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Oh, I don’t know. It’s worked pretty well for me so far.”

You shivered slightly at the warmth of his breath against your skin, but you refused to let him have the upper hand. “You’re awfully confident tonight,” you said, your tone teasing.

“And why shouldn’t I be?” he replied, his green eyes sparkling with affection and mischief. “I have the most incredible wife, three wonderful children, and a very tempting proposition on the table.”

You laughed, playfully smacking his arm. “A proposition, huh? And what exactly would that be?”

Regulus grinned, leaning in to kiss you gently. “Starting on baby number four. Right now,” he murmured against your lips.

You pulled back slightly, feigning shock. “Right now? Regulus, what if the kids wake up?”

He smirked, “Then we’ll just have to be quiet.”

"I don't think that's actually gonna happen" You said, a smirk in your face, giving him a knowing look.

"Fine. I'll do the Muffliato spell" He said, giving you a quick kiss.

You burst into laughter, wrapping your arms around his neck as you shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me for it,” he said, his tone smug but affectionate.

You leaned up to kiss him again, your voice soft as you whispered, “I do. More than anything.”

Regulus’s expression softened, and he cupped your face gently in his hands. “And I love you. Always.”

The teasing and playful banter faded into a quieter, more intimate moment as you held each other close. The world outside your room disappeared, leaving only the warmth of your love and the promise of a lifetime of happiness together—no matter what challenges lay ahead.

[beenbaanbuun]

Ateez with an s/o who's always a little horny right after waking up. That's it. That's the thought.

(This totally doesn't come from the fact that I'm like that and wake up constantly wishing yunho's fingers or mingi's head were between my thighs)

~lyra

OKAY SO THIS?!?!?!? IMMACULATE IDEA!!

(warning for smut and somnophilia but i feel like that’s obvious)

seonghwa

okay so i’m of the opinion that seonghwa will do anything to keep the love of his life happy

if that means letting you grind on his thighs when you wake up first thing in a morning, then so be it!

like i can imagine him waking up to your moans one morning, all bleary eyes and confused while you try your hardest to push yourself to an orgasm

he watches through his lashes for a second while he decides what to do because he’s still tired but he can’t leave his love to suffer!

“just use my thigh, darling,” he mutters eventually, voice still a little scratchy, “i cant sleep with you squirming about like that.”

you’re a little confused, but seonghwa just pulls you closer and slides a thigh between yours

“there you go,” he says as you grind down, “now go crazy, darling.”

hongjoong

hongjoong strikes me as someone who likes to use toys in the bedroom (idk why, he just gives me those vibes)

like he collects them like pokémon cards and just keeps them in one of his drawers for when the opportunity strikes

and it does strike when he wakes up one morning to you moaning and squirming in your sleep

he takes him time picking a toy out before shaking you awake and dangling in front of your tired eyes

“you want this, baby?” he watches as you sleepily nod, “ask for it like a good girl.”

and even though your voice is slurred with sleep and your eyes are already fluttering closed again, you can’t help but quietly beg for what hongjoong is offering

yunho

oh you’re so right about yunho’s fingers - i am a huge fan of them personally and i think he definitely gets off on seeing his partner fall apart on them

so when you have a conversation with him about always being horny when you first wake up, a million ideas flood his brain

“what if i woke you up by making you cum?” he asks as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “y’know, play with you a little to get rid of that tension.”

you’re practically squirming in your seat at the idea, and of course yunho can tell

so the next time you sleep over, he puts it to the test and begins to play with your clit first think when he wakes up

and by the time you even wake up, he already has two fingers stuffed deep inside of you fucking you mercilessly as he pushes you closer to the edge

yeosang

yeosang would be so nonchalant about it but in the best way possible

like it’s kind of hot when you nudge him awake, a whine climbing up your throat as you struggle to make yourself cum with your fingers

he just grunts at you tiredly and pats his lap for you to climb on, which you do in a heartbeat

“you can ride me if you want,” he says with his eyes still closed, “i’d fuck you but i’m too tired right now.”

and you’re kind of too tired as well, but the horniness outweighs it and you power through the ache in your bones as you work to get him hard before sliding down onto his cock

and the moment you’ve finished he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to his chest

“10 more minutes and then we’ll get up.”

san

if you don’t think san is doing everything in his power to make his lover happy then i’m afraid you’re incorrect

so when he finds out about your little morning horniness problem, he’s obviously filled with sympathy and compassion (and horniness…)

“you can wake me up, you know,” he shrugs, trying to seem chill about it, “or just use my body, or some shit. i don’t mind, babe.”

and of course you take him up on his offer; you use any part of his body you can think of

his thigh, his bicep, his abs - it’s all on the table for you, and it’s so good every single time

and when he wakes up to see you already a moaning mess, grinding on the muscles he’s worked so hard on, it’s safe to say you’ll have to prepare yourself for round two… and three

mingi

i’ve said it a million times before but this man has an oral fixation and you know i’m right!!!!

so obviously when you complain about how much you hate waking up horny all the time, it’s like christmas has come early for him

“do you want me to sort that for you?” he perks up, eyes glistening like you’ve just given him the moon, “i can sort that for you…”

and of course you agree because you’re so sick and tired of always having to wank first thing in the morning!!

but what you don’t know is that the alternative mingi is suggesting is you waking up to him mouthing at your core like a starving animal each and every morning

you cant complain when he does the job so well though

he always makes you cum at least three times before pulling away and shoving his dick inside of you to solve his own morning wood problem…

wooyoung

again, i’ve said it a million times before but he’s such an evil little shit!!!!

like i can imagine him waking up pretty early in the morning, only to hear the sweet sound of your moans echoing through the room

he turns to you with an amused grin, watching you way your face screws up as you desperately paw at your clit

“want some help?” you nod desperately, “you’ll have to say sorry for waking me up first. i couldn’t sleep with you being so loud!”

and if you weren’t so desperate you wouldn’t even considered it for a millisecond, but you’re right on the edge and you just need one more thing to push you over the edge so…

“m’sorry, youngie,” you say with a sleepy voice, “please make me cum.”

and how can he say no when you ask so nicely??

jongho

jongho is another little devil who i think takes great pride in teasing you for being so horny

“you want me to fuck you while you’re still asleep?” he cocks an eyebrow at you when you first bring it up, “you really can’t get enough of me, can you honeybun?”

and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, even though he’s right; you really can’t get enough of him…

the next morning you wake up to jongho’s moans in your ear and a heavy cock spreading you open and fucking into you

“g’morning,” he grunts into your ear, “didn’t think you’d be asleep for so long but i guess you’re a slut even in your dreams.”

the both of you finish pretty soon after you wake up, and the moment you do, jongho goes back to being his usual teddy bear self

literally has you pinned to his chest and his soft cock still inside you for pretty much the rest of the morning

[crab-rangoon-slut]

The Blood We Shed

Telemachus x reader/you (first person pov)

Type: Slow burn, best friends to lovers, smut, blood as lube

Synopsis: Telemarket and Lyra/you are childhood best friends navigating life with the suitors.

Both of you discover your sick fantasies of killing the suitors and uhhh *reveling in it* while covered in blood are shared.

However, you hardly have time to process this fact before a unfathomable storm reaches the coast of Ithaca... wait is that man on fucking raft fighting the god of the sea? Hello??

Anyway they fuck on Antinous' corpse.

!!THERE WILL BE ODY X PENELOPE REUNION SMUT!!

(Originally on my ao3. I update on there faster and have more chapters out!)

CHAPTER 1

My eyes scan over the words on the parchment—pursuing a scroll on herbal identification I’d recently picked out at the library— until I hear a clumsy pair of sandals walk through the front door. I perk up, recognizing those heavy steps

“Tel–-Whaaaaaat the fuck happened?”

Before me stands my childhood best friend—who just so happens to also be the crown prince of Ithaca—covered in mud and muddy hand prints.

“What? Did you have to chase one of the local pigs around town or something?”

“HA!” Telemachus laughs with an overtly sarcastic tone, “More like the ‘pigs’ were chasing me.” He says gruffly, grimacing at today's run in with the suitors.

“Fucking hell, Lyra they were on one today,” He starts while sounding downright exhausted.

“We had an ale shipment come into the harbor, right? Those fucking bastards jacked the damned thing! Drank half of it before we could unload what was left for Zeus’ sake. Not just that, but one of the men got so drunk that he tr–”

I listen intently, that is up until I fully take him in: bruises here and there in addition to his scraped and swollen knuckles. I notice he has a slightly bloodied nose that he’s been rubbing off on his sleeve.

“—Is that fucking BLOOD????” I immediately get up to inspect him with concerned brows.

“Ok, maybe—”

“TELEMACHUS!”

“LYRA!”

“TELEMACHUS!!”

Ever since we met, Telemachus has always had a big heart— bigger than himself. And that’s where the problems arise.

He’s protective of the people he loves, always has been and always will. Even when we were small he’d try and tell off the asshole kids around town if they’d tried to bully me— usually it’d end with him garnering a black eye and a scraped knee, but he never cared. I’d always return the favor as his partner in crime. We’ve had each other's backs since day one.

I’ve found myself on more than one occasion smiling back at those times, when days were easier. His mother’s suitors were still somewhat behaved, the kingdom less restless, both of us having lesser responsibilities. We’d duel with wooden swords until we tired ourselves out, laying in the grass and daydreaming of days when we’d get into real fights and put our skills to the test. Recently though, I fear that could be any day now… The suitors have grown stronger, violent, and larger in numbers.

I put my face in my hands,

“You can’t take all those dogs at once and you know it. Why did you pick a fight you can’t win??”

“And who’s to say that?” He smirks, flexing like an idiot.

“You look like an idiot.” I say flatly.

“But like, a really strong and still very much ALIVE idiot!”

“Zeus and all the gods above— YOU HAVE MUD SEEPING INTO YOUR WOUNDS!”

He ducks his head behind his arms as I swat him,

“Go clean yourself up. I wanna see what damage I’m working with here.”

“FINE, FINE! Bloody hell woman!” Telemachus says with an exaggerated expression contrived of false frustration while he heads to the washroom.

I stand up from the bed and walk over to monitor him, my back turned to the doorway I stand to the side of. I hear him begin to wash in the basin.

“Do you need me to fetch you a new tunic? That one is a mess.”

He sighs, “I guess I should change—“

I go and retrieve one of his spares he keeps here—a testimate to just how often these occurrences happen.

I hear him chuckle from the other room,

“That’s fine. I’ll change in a second, I’ll settle for a towel for now.”

I hear a hiss of pain escape the washroom.

On instinct my body turns slightly to the sound, “Hey, are you ok?”

“Yeah, just scrubbed a bruise a little hard,”he says with reassurance in his voice, “I’m just about done.”

I pass him a large towel, my body still turned away from the door frame as he finishes up a moment later. I move to my bed and pat the spot next to me as he bundles himself.

“Here, sit. I’m going to get you some cloth for those scrapes.”

“Ok—“ he mutters somewhat embarrassed, realizing how often I’ve had to patch him up as of late. Even though he’s not as expressive as he’d like to be about it; he really appreciates the care I put into fixing him up.

I return with the cloth and some leaves. I’d found myself researching more pain relieving plants as of late— trying to be proactive for Ithaca's klutziest, overconfident fist-fighter. Though he could definitely hold his own with a sword, his form with hand-to-hand combat is still a work in progress. I will admit, he’s won a lot more fights lately, which I’m very proud of him for. But I do wish that fact didn’t give him the confidence to pick opponents that are out of his league.

I place down the items next to my grind stone and crush the leaves before I place them on the wounds of his knuckles.

Telemachus visibly relaxes as I spread the paste across his hands,

“That actually feels kinda nice…”

I smile softly, “I’m glad. I was hoping it wouldn’t hurt.” I wrap his hands in the cloth, careful to make sure that it’s secure from any movements and gestures.

“Tilt your head.” I tell him, getting up close while I’m trying to stop any bleeding.

“Yes mother.” he teases as he does what I ask of him. I shoot him a warning look.

“Ok sorry! Sorry!” He chuckles as he accepts the cloth and holds it to his nose and ensures it’s securely in place.

“Thanks Lyra. Seriously.”

I sigh, hardly putting any real frustration behind it.

“It’s okay, you just have to be more careful,” I say sitting down diagonal to his chair,

“I worry.”

“I know,” he says, “but I can’t help it! It’s fucked up that they get to walk around and get away with murder. Literal murder, Lyra! And NO ONE does anything about it.”

“I know….” I’m silent for a moment.

“I know you have Athena to aid you but remember YOU are still a mortal. You’re not invincible.”

He considers my words,

“Yeah. No you’re right… sometimes I forget that.” He admits sheepishly,

“But I’m not done yet, just wait and see. I’m going to kick all of their asses once and for all soon enough; that’s a promise.”

I smile at the idea. “I know you will.”

I sit back up and throw his fresh clothes at him, “but you can’t do that if you catch a cold, warm up a bit”

[inmyheaddd]

✦ nobody gets me, you do - averyjameson

a/n: wooo games untold release day!!! the first part of this is so silly help i love max summary: avery has the worst interview in the world, with constant interruptions and snide comments. jameson is watching it from home, (along with his brothers, max, and lyra) and finds himself going to see avery, despite her team telling him no. wc: 2.4k

max was watching her best friends interview live on her phone, sitting in her boyfriends bed.

she could read her like an open book, and could tell something was definitely wrong. 

“xander,” she called out the boy next to her who was solving a 9x9 rubix cube leisurely, laying on his back with his hands up in the air. “are you seeing this? look what they’re doing to my girl avery.”

xander sat up, and watched for a few seconds. to xander, she looked how she did the first time he ever saw her: scared, uncomfortable, but trying to put on a brave face.

after just two seconds, he called out at the top of his lungs: “jamesoooonnnn.”

no response. 

max pulled xander out of the room — much to his dismay, and finally spotted jameson in one of the libraries.

she barely got a word in before jamesons eyes flickered to her phone that was still playing the interview. his brows furrowed, “you’re watching the interview too?”

“…of course i am,” she deadpanned, “i’m literally avery’s girlfriend.

xander raised a brow from beside max, and jameson and him shared a confused look. “oh… right.” jameson said as he nodded slowly. 

“yeah…!” xander added. “how could i forget?...” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as his eyes flickered between jameson and max.

“you guys are weird…” max trailed off, confused at their strange reactions, when she said something so completely normal in her opinion. 

 “but look!” she exclaimed, “she literally looks so… uncomfortable. in their right mind allowed this interviewer to have a job?” she said, as the two brothers looked at the tiny screen on her phone showing avery’s interview live. 

they quickly ditched watching it on the phone, because jameson suggested they watch it on the large tv in one of their living rooms.  

max rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded like, “of course you’d suggest that.” but nodded anyway as the three made their way to the nearest living room. 

avery shifted in her seat slightly, her smile just a little off and strained as the interviewer asked another prying question.

“so, how does it feel to have your entire life handed to you on a silver platter- or shall i say, gold?” the audience laughed at the last line. his tone was light, but the implications were hard to miss.

avery smiled, like landon had rehearsed with her, trying to maintain her composure. 

“who the hell is this guy?” jameson scoffed, “seriously?” he stood up from the couch they were sitting on and ran a hand through his hair. 

“i wouldn’t exactly describe it that way,” she responded far too fast, so she went to correct herself— otherwise she wouldn’t her the end of it from her team. “but i’m endlessly grateful for all the opportunities i have, and for all the experiences.” she said with a smile that looked a little too sweet and practiced, that it made jameson sick.

the interviewer leaned forward, a cruel smirk on his face that made avery want to grimace. “oh?” he challenged, “so you’re saying the billion-dollar inheritance didn’t change your life overnight?”

xanders usual playful grin was gone as he muttered, “avery looks like she’s about to walk out.”

“she should.” jameson was now pacing in front of the TV, unable to stand still any longer. “if i’d been there—”

“but you’re not,” grayson said calmly, standing beside another couch that lyra was sitting on. “she’ll handle it.”

lyra had heard everyone in the room a few minutes earlier, and suggested her and grayson go see what was going on. 

jameson’s eyes focused laser sharp on the tv once again as he heard the interviewer mention his name, before turning back to look at grayson.

“she shouldn’t have to handle it, grayson.” his voice cracked with frustration.

her heart raced, but she managed a small laugh. “i think anyone’s life would change with something like that. my life has changed a great ordeal, but it’s more complicated than—”

“and what about your relationship with jameson hawthorne?” he interrupted, not caring for a single word she had to say. “was that part of the package deal?”

the live audience laughed, and avery just smiled politely, frustration flashing behind her eyes that only the people closest to her could spot.

grayson was going to say something to calm his brother down, but didn’t get the chance to. 

“oh, this guy is a fucking comedian, isn’t he?” jameson ran another frustrated hand through his hair, chuckling lowly as he exhaled. “i’m getting him fired— bankrupt for gods sake.” 

he knew how snobby-privileged-rich-kid he sounded even to his own ears, but he didn’t care. 

“yeah,” lyra chimed in, who rarely ever agreed with jameson.  “i’m with you on that one.���

jameson shook his head, letting out a blow of air that it almost sounded like a whistle, “goddamnit, i don’t care, i’m going. her team and the paparazzi can go to hell for all i care.” 

he turned off the tv, he couldn’t bear to see avery uncomfortable for another second.

nash stood leaning against the wall, sending a slight nod to jameson. “you need a ride?” he asked, alluding to the motorcycle jameson loves to use when he needs to blow off steam. 

with no complaints from nash, jameson knew that he was doing the right thing. 

he muttered something under his breath along the lines of: “too dangerous,” and shook his head. and with that, he made his way to the stairs. 

everyone shared confused glances — jameson hawthorne, saying something was too dangerous? something has seriously changed. 

“is it just me… or is jameson being weirdly responsible right now.” xander muttered as he looked at the turned off tv infront of him. 

grayson and lyra shared a look that communicated the message; ‘…he’s still not responsible.’ but didn’t say anything.

max nodded at xander in agreement. “it’s the avery effect.” she stated matter-of-factly. “i don’t know about you, but whenever i’m around her i feel like… woah, i just want to be a better person, you know?” 

xander thought about it for a moment with his hand on his chin, and then nodded ,like max had said something profound. 

he looked up at her, and then they both nodded in sync, sharing a high five. 

nash, who was still standing leaned against the wall, stifled a laugh, shaking his head in amusement before walking out of the living room. 

he was definitely going to be mentioning the “avery effect” to libby later.

— 

avery sighed as she finally got in the dressing room, leaning her head back on the door and shutting her eyes. 

she got to go home in half an hour now, finally. 

atleast she was done with that interview. 

she walked away from the door, slumping in her chair as she brought her hands to her face, looking into the large hollywood style mirror infront of her. 

she was hyper-aware of everything around her—the feeling of her clothes scratching against her skin, the way her makeup suddenly felt heavy on her face, the ache in her cheeks from smiling, and the slight tremor in her hands. 

avery re-enacted the smiles she gave throughout the interview, wondering if they looked too fake, if she needs to start tweaking them, and overthinking just about every small detail.

5 minutes had passed, and she was still staring into the mirror. 

surely this wasn’t healthy, but she stayed practicing the answers she gave, sighing in defeat when she remembered how people would take it as snappy and defensive.

god, she wouldn’t have wished that interview from hell on her worst enemy. 

her reflection started to look weird to herself, but she kept practicing the right way to smile, to not look fake.

suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and her attention was diverted from the mirror for the first time in 10 minutes. 

“yeah, come in!” she called out quietly, eyes fixated on the door, nervous to see who it was.

hair and makeup? someone from her team already there to scold her? or god forbid, the interviewer— her thoughts were all silenced when she saw pair of familiar green eyes.

“jameson,” she breathed out, “what are you doing here?” 

his hair was a tad messier than usual, and his eyes seemed panicked as he looked around the room, until they finally met hers. 

he shut the door behind him and locked it all in one swift movement and walked over to her, standing behind her chair she was sitting on. 

his hands found her shoulders, but she stood up and turned around, meeting him face to face.

“heiress,” he put his calmest voice on as his hands found their way to the sides of her face. “i was watching— we were watching the interview at home.” his eyes flickered between hers, “are you alright?”

she smiled a little, letting out an exhale. “yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” she shook her head in an attempt to portray she was confused. 

it was slightly difficult for her to act like she was perfectly fine, when she had spent the last 20 minutes doing nothing but overthink. 

he brought her out of her thoughts once again. “avery.”

“what?”

“i saw the look on your face— you may be a good bluffer, but not with your emotions. not with me, atleast.” 

unfortunately for avery, jameson could see what she was feeling when she tried her hardest to hide it, even from her own self. 

she sighed, trying to shrug it off. “jameson, it’s just one interview. they ask questions like that all the time—it’s part of the job.”

“i don’t care if it’s part of the job. you never asked for this.” his voice was hard-edged, his hands moving down her shoulders, then down to her hands. “you looked uncomfortable, avery. you shouldn’t have to be fine with that.”

“i was managing it,” she countered, tilting her head up to look at him, trying to ease the tension. “that’s what i’m supposed to do.”

her hands fiddled with his fingers with a mind of their own. it was a tell tale sign she was holding her feelings back. jameson knew it better than anyone.

“and that’s the problem.” he didn’t speak to her condescendingly, or in any way that was trying to belittle her. he was just worried. 

he simply cared, and it made avery’s heart soar. 

“they’re counting on you to just handle it every single time, like it doesn’t get to you.” his voice was low, “you shouldn’t act okay with it just because it’s easier. it’s not right.”

she wanted to prove that she was okay, that she wasn’t bothered, and that he didn’t have to worry about her, but she couldn’t, because then she’d be lying.

she let out a small sigh of defeat, “you’re right, jameson.” she shook her head, “i know… i just— i don’t want you to worry about me, or anyone to worry about me.”

“tough luck.” he replied, voice low but unwavering as his eyes searched hers. 

she opened her mouth to argue, but his hand gently brushed a stray piece of hair from her face, and the words seemed to fade.  

“its the worst thing in the world, seeing the hurt on your face. i hate it.” avery looked down, but he tilted her chin back up. “and,” he murmured, “i hate the people inferior who project their own problems onto you, because they feel like they can, even more.” 

avery couldn’t argue with the rest of what he said, but she needed to say something. 

“no one’s inferior to me.” she mumbled 

“please,” jameson said with a deep chuckle, “i could name quite a few.” he said. “for starters, that interviewer—“

avery cut jameson off with a light laugh, a sound that made jameson feel like the sun was shining down just for them two. 

his eyes flickered all around her face, his own smile growing as he committed the picture to memory. “he was the worst. am i wrong? tell me i’m wrong.” he teased, selfishly wanting more laughter out of avery because he loved it so much.

she shook her head vigorously, “no,” she laughed, “god, no. he was the worst. i hate that idiot.” 

jameson let out another one of his bigger chuckles, “keep going,” he joked, “there’s my heiress.” 

avery rolled her eyes jokingly, feeling the last of her worry fade away. “i wanted to punch him square in the face,” she said, and jameson rose his brows in amusement and nodded enthusiastically.

she continued, “but that doesn’t matter anymore, because you’re here now, and that’s more important.” 

he let out a breath, his shoulders loosing the last of their tension. “is that so?” he murmured, his hand slipping around her waist, pulling her a bit closer.

“yeah, it is.” and before he could protest or mention anything about her emotions any longer, she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

he melted into her, arms wrapping around her fully, and tighter. she felt like she could stay in his arms for all eternity as she put her arms around his neck. 

the kiss was brief, reassuring, but enough to melt away the last traces of his worry.

when she pulled back, jameson was looking at her with softness in his eyes— one rarely seen by others, but always seen by her. 

his thumb brushed over her cheek, and his eyes travelled her face all over. he looked deep in thought, and avery could sense a question was stirring. 

“heiress?”

she hummed, “yes, jamie?”

“you know, i never mean to be,” he hesitated slightly, “overbearing, or controlling, i just…” he paused, pressing his lips together in a line as he racked his brain for the right words. 

“yeah, i know, jamie.” she nodded slightly with her hand brushing the sides of his face, understanding what he couldn’t verbalize.

his hand held her hand that was on his face, and moved it back down. 

both their hands were locked together now, and jameson rested his forehead on hers gently.

avery was so sure he would lean in for another kiss, perhaps one less tentative, now that she could see the tension had dissolved from his shoulders. 

she let herself relax, realizing that she stopped fidgeting with jameson’s hands a while ago. 

he brought her so much peace without even trying. she wondered if she ever did the same for him— and then jameson broke the silence. 

“i’m still getting him fired, by the way.”

avery laughed quietly, almost scoffing in amusement. she bit back her smile as she shook her head, taking a slight step back, hands still intertwined. “of course you are.”

“for you, heiress?” his cheshire grin slowly returned, reeling her back in close. he shrugged, “i’d do much worse.”

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

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@midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

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@hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

[yuesya]

The Charmony Festival.

An event that is both festival and ritual all wrapped up into one grand performance, in order to spread joy in the name of Xipe, the Triple-Faced Soul, Aeon of Harmony.

There are many planets on which the Family performs this ritual, but the most extravagant and prestigious of them is the one held in Penacony, the “Planet of Festivities.” The Charmony Festival only takes place in Penacony once every Amber Era, and thus there are many who are most keenly interested in it.

In this, the Interastral Peace Corporation is no different, albeit certainly not for any of the conventional reasons that a starry-eyed tourist might have.

There is history between the IPC and Penacony. A long time ago, Penacony once functioned as a prison planet under the ownership of the IPC, before a Stellaron corrosion broke out and the prisoners rebelled –directly leading to the IPC losing control over Penacony.

But Penacony, even though it later came to be ruled by the Family, was still an asset that the IPC was interested in recovering in some manner.

There has not been a single time when the IPC was formally invited as an honored guest to one of Penacony’s Charmony Festivals. And yet–

Aventurine hums lightly, tilting the small music box in his hands. The invitation.

… His first reaction is to wonder if Lyra is the one responsible for this. But, that can’t be right. Lyra doesn’t hold any position of power in the Family from an organizational standpoint, so it’s unlikely that she would’ve been allowed to influence something like this. And even then, it still wouldn’t account for the fact that, apparently, numerous galactic factions had all received invitations to the upcoming Charmony Festival in Penacony.

There’s something curious afoot here. Of that, Aventurine had no doubt.

The young man glances down at his phone. His phone that’s still dark and silent, with no signs of any incoming response from Lyra. True, the girl isn’t always the best at giving timely responses –but she’s never outright ignored Aventurine before, either. It’s been almost a full day since he’d messaged her, asking about the Charmony Festival invite that the IPC received, and yet…

Aventurine sighs, forcibly tamping down on the small thread of worry that rears its head in his chest. Lyra is strong enough that there are few things that pose a direct threat to her, so at least he probably has nothing to worry about on that front.

(And yet…)

“I suppose I’ll just have to ask my questions in person, then,” he murmurs.

[7975348473]

The Small Sparks.

——————————————— A Lyrason fic. Alternate Universe where Grayson and Lyra had a chance meeting as kids. ———————————————

GRAYSON

It was officially the fifth day of the Hawthornes camping trip.

And a camping trip that was— one, filled with kids around 8-10 years old (excluding Nash, of course) and two, an extremely Hawthorne style trip— was bound to be chaotic.

“I always knew I’d be better than you at fishing!!” Jameson screamed, Grayson tried his level best to ignore him.

“Well I beat you at forest darts!!” Xander yelled triumphantly, aiming the blow at Jameson.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Xan. And for the record, I am still one win ahead of you!” Jameson retorted, looking far too smug for his own good.

Yet Grayson didn’t reply, he didn’t so much as make a peep.

And that was because he had been losing. Consistently.

As in he had a losing streak going with no wins and only losses. As a result, Grayson had been pretty upset for the majority of the trip.

He knew his silence only further gave his brothers a reason to tease him, yet he couldn’t get himself to speak.

Not only because he had been losing for five days, but because of what had come after.

Tobias Hawthorne, their grandfather, had given Grayson that look— the one with the creased brows, hardened eyes and lips drawn into a thin line.

Disappointment.

Grayson let out a shaky breathe.

“You okay, lil’ brother?” Drawled Nash, the eldest of the four.

Grayson couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he simply nodded.

Hawthornes never show weakness. His grandfather’s words reprimanded him.

“C’mon Gray, don’t be a crybaby—” Jameson started.

“I’ll beat you tomorrow.” Grayson cut him off, the sheer determination in his tone caught everyone off guard.

Then Jameson shot him his signature devilish grin, “Bring it on, bro!!”

“Don’t count me out!” Xander yelled.

Nash rolled his eyes and finally convinced the three to get ready for bed.

The boys all had brought four tents in total, one for each brother.

They all slept in one, though.

———————————

LYRA

It was that time of year again.

Miles End, Lyra’s home, was situated nearby a forest. Usually, that wasn’t a problem.

In fact, the woods only added beauty to the entire place.

But over the summer, there was always a group of people that took to camping out there. And they tended to be loud.

Lyra, for one, hated loud noises. Especially the ones that came from the woods. She was only eight, of course it’d spook her.

The worst part, though, was that it was always some super rich family that rented out the entire area.

So if any kid ran into Lyra, they’d act all high and mighty as if they were god themselves and Lyra was some sort of sinner?

In conclusion— Lyra dreaded the woods in summer.

And this year was no better, actually, it was worse. Way worse.

For some odd reason, this year’s family wasn’t just noisy, they were deafening.

And that did not sit well with Lyra, to say the least.

Lyra layed in bed despite it being 1 pm.

As a certified eight year old who was also a ballet freak, she had danced late into the night. Just because she felt like it and couldn’t hold back the urge— the need to dance.

She finally closed her eyes, ready to give in to the tiredness.

“I’m in the lead, Xannnn~”

“Fear not brother, I shall catch up!!”

“Ha! In your dreams!!”

“Tackle Incoming!!”

“Wait what— XANDER NO—”

Lyra’s eyes cracked open at the noise, her sleepiness gone as quick as the wind.

She groaned and sat on her bed.

God forbid a girl try and get her beauty sleep.

Lyra turned her attention to the window and glared. Hard.

These rich boys were annoying as hell and Lyra had had just about enough.

She grabbed her hat and made her way out.

————————————

GRAYSON

Grayson ran like his life depended on it. He ran until his feet felt numb and his lungs burned.

He pushed. More, harder.

Todays competition is easy, you simply need to make it to the tallest tree in the center of the forest and return back to the starting. The first to arrive shall be titled winner.

Grayson repeated the instructions in his head before looking around and smiling to himself.

After a full five days and five nights, Grayson was finally in the lead. He finally had a fighting chance to win.

He felt his heart speed up with excitement, he could make it. He would make it.

And that's when Grayson felt himself tip over. His eyes widened and then he was falling— fast.

No. He thought to himself and then he collapsed onto the ground.

Grayson couldn't process what had just happened, he had been running just fine? As if on que, a sharp pain shot out from around his ankle.

He let out a tiny groan before sitting himself up, leaning heavily against a tree as he bent over and gauged his injury.

There was a huge cut that spanned around his ankle and blood was gushing out.

Need to— stop the bleeding. Grayson thought to himself, still trying to catch his breathe as he closed his eyes.

He tried to focus on the race, the injury, now. But his mind still wandered.

It wandered to all of his previous losses, it wandered to his brother's relentless teasing, it wandered to his grandfather.

Tobias Hawthorne— his disappointed gaze, his disapproving look.

What would he think if he saw you lying here? Grayson thought to himself as his vision suddenly became blurry.

What was going on?

It was only when a drop of water fell on Grayson's lap that he realized he was crying. Grayson Hawthorne— the unwavering, handsome, heir to the household— was crying.

Because, despite it all, he was only nine.

He was but a boy.

I disappointed Grandfather. I can't win with this injury. I'll lose again. His thoughts circled in his brain, over and over again.

I'm a failure.

It began to rain.

It was odd that, at times like this, Grayson's thoughts always found their way to his mother. The way she always gazed down at him with a cold gaze— as if he was an investment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then he thought of his unknown father. The man that found his child so unimportant, so despicable, that he had never bothered to come meet him. Never bothered to so much as look at him.

A sob escaped Grayson before he could help it, he quickly covered his mouth with his small hands.

If he cried, he would be considered unworthy of being the heir. If he cried, his grandfather would hate him too, just like everyone else.

So he didn't.

The small blonde boy held in all of his pain, all of his feelings, all of his thoughts, and locked them deep within him.

"A Hawthorne doesn't break," He muttered weakly, staring at his wound which only seemed to be bleeding more now in the rain.

So why did he feel so broken?

——————————————

LYRA

"Of course it had to rain now of all times!!" Lyra screamed to... no one in particular.

She grumbled some more to herself as she walked deeper into the woods, in search of at least one of the boys who had ruined her sleep.

I will not spare them. She declared to herself, marching on further into the woods.

That's when she spotted a speck of blonde among the green of the forest.

A deer? Lyra thought to herself. That couldn't be, this blonde wasn't the same muddy shade. It was more... shiny, majestic.

She walked towards it, her curiosity getting the best of her.

When Lyra finally got close enough, she realized it was a boy. And he looked like a fallen angel.

Holy shit— who gives these people permission to look this glorious?? Lyra thought to herself, staring. Could you blame her? She was just a girl who had found something pretty.

She assessed the boy, who had his eyes closed.

Messy blonde hair, top-notch clothes and definitely not a local.

He has got to be one of them! Lyra thought to herself. It was time for her to take her revenge.

Lyra walked over to ruffle the boys hair until he woke up, but his eyes flew open first. Lyra paused.

Beautiful silver eyes— lining on blue, met her deep amber ones.

Grayson broke the silence first, "Excuse me? May I ask why you were approaching me?"

For a second Lyra didn't reply, why does he talk so formally?

"Uh- well."

How do you explain that you were trying to take revenge on somebody while they were asleep because they, too, ruined your sleep?

She let out a huff.

"I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe because I saw a limp boy lying around in the rain in the middle of a forest??" She settled for the other, more minor, reason.

Grayson stared her down for a little bit. Considering the fact that he was on the floor and Lyra was standing up, she shouldn't have felt so overpowered by that.

Lyra decided to send him an assessing gaze of her own and looked him over, that's when her eyes landed on his wound.

"Oh my— YOU'RE BLEEDING?!" She screamed, Grayson flinched at her screech as his eyes fell on his ankle.

"Oh. Right." He said simply. Lyra gave him a look.

What was wrong with this guy??

"Well, is your camp near by? I could walk you over—"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine." He cut her off.

Lyra blinked at him once. Twice.

"Alright, asshole. Here's what we're going to do." Lyra started, using the only curse word she knew at the time. Grayson sent her a glare.

"I'm going to run on home, grab the first-aid-kit, and try to save you from bleeding out. Meanwhile, you will wait for me." She finished, sending him a customized glare of her own.

Grayson held her gaze for a while before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tree again.

Oh yeah. Definitely a rich kid.

She took off.

————————————

GRAYSON

Grayson was suddenly glad he didn't have to deal with any girls in his family. They sure were bossy. And loud. And slightly annoying.

"I'm back, asshole!!" She yelled, Grayson suppressed a groan.

Lyra rolled her eyes as she approached, a box with a red plus sign in hand, "Hello to you too."

Lyra sat down near his foot, with the rain having calmed down.

"W-wait, I can bandage myself." Grayson said, flustered at her hand around his ankle.

Lyra looked at him with a raised brow, "When was the last time a rich kid like you had to bandage themselves?"

"Yesterday, actually."

Lyra's eyes widened slightly.

"My family is quite... unique. Don't bother." Grayson said, reaching for the bandage in her hand. She whacked it away.

"Listen here, boy. You are the injured and I am the... uh, not injured. So you will let me help you." She said, an order.

If Grayson hadn't been quite so tired, he probably would have put up a bit more of a fight. He simply watched her as she took out disinfectant, her eyes were focused.

"Stop staring. I can't focus." Lyra said, breaking the silence.

"What's your name?" Grayson asked, ignoring her previous order.

She looked up at him once before her gaze returned to her work, "Lyra. Lyra Kane."

Grayson nodded, "Well, Ms. Kane. I don't have any money on me, at the moment.."

Silence.

Lyra's hand had paused and she finally met his gaze, "You... don't have any money on you?" She repeated.

Grayson nodded.

"Right. And how exactly does that matter?" She asked, raising a brow.

Grayson blinked, obviously confused, "Aren't you helping me for... the money?"

Lyra looked on at him for a few seconds before her expression broke out into one of utter disbelief, "FOR THE MONEY?? WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!"

Grayson flinched again, "Would you- Stop yelling!!"

Lyra's expression changed in a split second. She looked amused, "Oh? So mister asshole here can yell?"

Grayson didn't deign that with a response.

Lyra continued her work, putting the disinfectant aside and picking up the bandages.

"You didn't tell me your name yet." Lyra said.

Grayson froze for a second.

"You... don't know who I am?" He asked.

Lyra huffed, her eyes remaining on her work, "Sorry bigshot, but I don't."

Grayson turned her words over in his head. She didn't know who he was. Something lightened in his heart.

"Grayson." He said, finally.

"Graysonnnnn?" Lyra pried, trying to get his last name.

"Just Grayson."

Lyra looked up at him before rolling her eyes and withdrawing her hands, "Okay asshole, all done. We can both get going now."

Grayson looked up at her as she stood up, "Thank you for the help."

"Mmm, you're welcome." She turned to leave, his gaze on her remained unwavering.

She paused mid-step and whipped her head around, "Are you just going to continue lying here?! Its still drizzling, you'll catch a cold!!"

Grayson let out a sigh, "Stop screaming."

Lyra glared at him and stomped her way back before plopping herself down next to him. They sat there in silence for a while.

Grayson wasn't sure what it was about the girl, but he felt light, unburdened. Comforted, almost. She had a terrible habit of yelling, but there was something about it that threw Grayson off.

Something about her that threw Grayson out of orbit, that made something in his nearly perfected façade crack.

✦✦✦

Five-year-old Grayson jumped into bed as Nash settled down beside it in a chair.

Grayson had finally managed to convince his eldest brother to read him a bedtime story. They did it all the time in the movies.

"Alright Gray. Quiet down." Grayson did just that, under his blankets now— his silver eyes rested on his brother.

And so Nash began to narrate.

The story was about an angel who had accidentally found herself on Earth and fell in love with the prince. It ended with the two getting married with the entirety of heaven and the Earth present.

Nash closed the story book, Grayson's eyes were small now— he was getting sleepy.

"That's it' lil' brother."

Grayson's eyes made their way to the book, "What even is an angel?" He asked.

Nash thought that over, "Well, people say they are god's helpers or somethin'." He drawled.

Grayson blinked once, seemingly deep in thought, "That... sounds like bullcrap."

Nash barked a laugh, "Y'know what? I to'tally agree."

Grayson gave him a small smile, "So what do you think they are?" He asked.

"Hmm. Well, I think that angels are the same as people." Nash started, Grayson tilted his small head to the side.

"Its just that they see the world a bit differently. They see many fruits and wanna share. They see a lonely person and they wanna give 'em company. They see an injured person and they wanna help 'em." Nash continued, walking over to the bookshelf and returning the book to its place.

"And somewhere along the way, you realize that you want that person around. No matter how annoying you might find 'em." He finished, Grayson's eyes were sparkling.

"Do you know any angels, brother?"

Nash smiled back at him, "Aren't you one, lil' brother?"

✦✦✦

The memory surfaced and Grayson thought over what his brother had said.

Does that mean she's an angel? He wondered.

———————————————

LYRA

Lyra wasn't sure why she came back, but something about leaving Grayson alone in the rain unsettled her.

"Why don't you just go back to your camp?? I'm sure your group is worried about you." Lyra said, breaking the comfortable silence.

When he didn't answer, Lyra turned her head towards him and she froze.

The look Grayson had in his eyes was distant, almost like he wasn't present within the human realm anymore. As if he was gone.

It felt familiar, somehow. She hated it.

Lyra grabbed his hand and looked away just as quickly. That shook Grayson out of his trance as he looked at her, shocked.

"Um- why are-" Grayson started

"I just felt like you needed it." She cut him off, unable to stop herself from blushing.

He went silent before turning to look at the forest again.

Lyra stared at Grayson, trying to figure out what he was so upset about that he refused to return to his family and looked so disturbed.

Grayson must have felt her gaze on him.

"I just hate losing." He said.

Lyra was absolutely floored. So this asshole had decided to sit there in the rain and worry his entire family just because he was sulking about losing??

"No. I think I hate more what comes after."

Lyra waited for him to continue.

"I mean—" he took a deep breathe.

"Losing means I disappoint my grandfather. Disappointing him proves me unworthy of being the heir. If I'm unworthy of being the heir, my mom will hate me. And honestly? If she ends up hating me too, what would even be the point of it all?" Grayson finished, by the end of it he sounded suffocated, as if he had spoken it all in one breathe.

Lyra was taken aback. How was a guy that looked just about her age going through that much already?? Her heart ached for him and she gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Sometimes I wonder if it'd be better to just," he paused, "to just end it all."

Lyra's eyes widened. She had no idea why she was hurting so much for a random boy she had just met, but the very idea of him "ending it all" scared her to hell and back.

Her heart throbbed again. She took a deep breathe, trying to calm herself and praying some of her calm reached out to Grayson as well.

"I get it." She said.

Grayson didn't reply.

"The very idea of something seems so terrifying, so wrong that you feel like giving up entirely."

Lyra, in fact, did not get it. Not completely, at least. But some part of her understood him, some part of her could relate— a part of Lyra that her brain had hidden away.

Silence followed as Lyra pieced together the words in her head.

"I love to dance."

Grayson shot her a questioning look.

"My body aches for it sometimes, almost like I need it. And at times like that, when I finally stop dancing, I wonder what my life would be without dance." Grayson was really looking at her now, her ears reddened at the attention.

"Whether I would consider it a life at all."

She thought over her words before continuing, "And that's when I realized its not really life itself that we live for. We don't live to wake up, study, work hard, sleep and repeat. Even though that's what most of our schedule for the day is, its not why we live."

Lyra shifted a bit, the rain had stopped and it was quite dark by now. She looked up to the starry-night sky and smiled.

"Rather, its for the little things. The people you lean on, the things you enjoy, or small moments you can't forget." Lyra thought about her family, Miles End and dance.

"It's those tiny sparks that keep us going. They aren't prominent or forever, but you remember them nonetheless."

Her eyes found their way back to the blonde boy who was sitting next to her.

"So even if you get too tired, or feel like giving out just—" She took a deep breath and her eyes softened, "just live for those small sparks, Grayson."

Grayson's eyes widened slightly, as his eyes glowed with something like realization.

Then the boy had the audacity to smile, "Thanks again, Lyra."

Lyra tried to ignore the way her heart sped up when he said her name, god am I crushing on a rick kid?

She sprang up at the thought, her hand letting go of his, "O-okay!! Time to go, asshole! Enough of being sappy—"

Grayson stared at his, now un-clasped hand, before looking back up to her.

She let out a huff, "Nice meeting you, Grayson."

Grayson smiled again, "You too, Lyra."

And she sprinted away.

————————————————

GRAYSON

Grayson stared at the back of the peculiar girl as she ran away.

Though Lyra would never know it, apart from his brothers, Lyra was the first spark Grayson's life had had in a while. He smiled at the thought.

Time to go home.

✦✦✦

Grayson tip-toed back into their camp, it was nearing 12pm, so it was safe to assume that his grandfather and brothers were all in there tents. The bodyguards had probably been dispatched to find Grayson.

He looked around and saw a tent, still alight with a lantern inside. He eavesdropped.

"Why won't the old man let us look for him too?!" Jamie.

"Yeah!! It's been six hours. Six. Entire. Hours. What if a goblin ate him?!" That was definitely Xander.

Grayson watched as a cowboy-looking shadow grabbed both of his brothers' heads and pushed them into their respective pillows.

"Go to sleep lil' brothers. You both would just end up gettin' lost anyway, I'll go look for him in a bit."

Both of the youngest grumbled, knowing fully well that disobeying Nash was a terrible idea.

That's when Grayson chose to walk in. All three of his brothers froze to stare (and glare) at him.

"GRAYSON??" Jameson shouted.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING?!" Yelled Xander, which only earned Grayson a worried look from Jameson and an angry one from Nash

I'm doomed, aren't I? Grayson thought to himself.

"Gray. We will be havin' words." The threat was aimed at Grayson, all three of the younger brothers gulped though.

There was only one way Grayson could think of to wiggle his way out of this, "Wait."

He looked up to meet his older brother's eyes, "This is a code pink."

Grayson watched as all of his brothers' jaws dropped simultaneously.

"So, th-there's a—" Xander began, hesitant.

Grayson met his gaze dead on, "There's a girl."

—————————————————————— THIS TURNED OUT TO BE WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED RAH- enjoyyyy :DD @lyrakanefanatic @inkstainsonmyfingertips @alwaysthefangirl @talahsaudiobooklibrary

[burningrainonme]

Lyra Rant

The whole debate around whether lyra is good for grayson or not is so DUMB. I’m convinced people who say that grayson deserves a sunshine gf and that lyra is avery #2 are the same averygrayson shippers who are mad that they didn’t end up together and are still hung up on them and the whole ‘if gigi was not his sister i wish they wouldve been romantically involved’ that take is just ???????????? Like wdym some even say ���oh but they are just HALF SIBLINGS’ just say that you are into the whole incestuous My fault type of shit. The fact that some people actually ship gigi and grayson is just disgusting. Grayson sees gigi as what she is. His.sister. And I feel like the other issue with the emergence of booktok and bookstagram is the fact that people always want a ‘trope’ for the main couple like in this case ‘grumpy bf x sunshine gf’ so much so that any depiction of a real relationship is just plain boring for them. Also this was the FIRST book in the series?? We have two more to go so why are people so quick on whether they think she is good for grayson or not?? She is only a POTENTIAL love interest not a confirmed one. We’ll get to know her as the books progress. Oh and the argument for she is too similar to avery is that she very serious and wants to keep away from grayson and she is too smart like her. The only similar plot I could find between them was the test that the two took. Also are they forgetting about the fact that she and her family are may lose the house that they own, where she grew up??also the fact that she may have to drop-out of college for the same reason??and did I mention that her biological father shot himself and her repressed trauma is back?? And the only clue he left her was ‘a hawthorne did this’ ??? And the only person she felt she could approach was Grayson, and he told her to stop calling and believed he did not want to help her?? What else do you do other than not like the guy from her pov?? OF COURSE SHE WILL PLAY THE GAME LIKE HER LIFE DEPENDS UPON IT. How are people this dense?? Of course she wont like grayson and not exactly trust him. Grandest game IS NOT A ROMANCE BOOK for gods sake that you only focus on the grayson and lyra relationship plot point. The ones who hate lyra because of the sunshine gf take an all either are of the opinion that ‘grayson deserves the best because oh i have the biggest crush on this guy and he is an angel and no one can compare to avery’ or because of the whole trope addiction. If relationships were purely based on tropes then we would be putting people into boxes. Also did I mention the fact that EVERYONE in this game magically has the ability to solve complex ass puzzles an all?? There are others who don't LIKE her character because of the way it was written in the first book, that take valid because honestly where there a few things I wish JLB had written more clearly and slowly? Yes. Do I completely Hate the character because of it? No. There are two more books just wait, We don't know her or the situation so well, we were just introduced to it. Also 2025 averygrayson shippers still hung up on them?? Move on respectfully cuz u know why? Even if they did end up together grayson was way still hung up on emily’s trauma and desperately needed therapy and that is evident on the way he approached eve so yeah. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Happy Hawthorne Christmas:

merry christmas to everyone reading this!! I hope you all have wonderful days, I thank you all very much for your love and support 💖💖 lowkey these headcannons are so bad so sorry but I wanted to make a post for xmas

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

- every time rohan puts up mistletoe to kiss savannah under grayson takes it down

- libby does the twelve days of cookiemas

- xander makes an ornament of himself and puts it on the top of the tree because he is (quote) ‘the star of the family’

- grayson will return anything you get him for xmas

- jameson, xander and even grayson constantly make jokes about nash being one of santa’s elves (because he’s the shortest of the four of them)

- gigi once got a sugar high on candy canes and went around the house screaming christmas songs until she passed out

- avery has a whole drawer dedicated to christmas fluffy socks which she collects religiously and ONLY wears at christmas

- as a joke jameson stole and hid a pair and let’s just say… it wasn’t pretty

- max can recite every christmas movie known to man

- grayson knits christmas sweaters

- gigi starts christmas in august

- she has the brightest, craziest, rainbowest decorations ever that send grayson into a COMA

- xander eats his whole advent calendar on day one

- grayson 100% can play a violin solo of carol of the bells

- when the boys were little and tobias (ew) was strict about presents and christmas and just anything that resembled childhood joy, nash started the transition that the boys would open one present altogether on Christmas eve

- this was continues after tobias died

- nash gets cold so easily

- he also hates the snow for this reason

- BUTTTT libby loves snow so when she asks if he’d go on a snowy walk with her he practically bolted out of that door

- the christmas after emily died was the hardest christmas for jamie and gray to even be in the same room

- xander bought max a reindeer one year and they named it mince pie

- grayson = angel gabriel… need I say more

- gigi and xander always team up to find where their christmas presents are hidden

- seeing this nash and grayson play a little trick with really bad fake presents for them to find

- grayson refuses to start christmas until halfway through December

- christmas competition is a big part of a Hawthorne Christmas, along with secret Santa, there’s giant gingerbread house construction, best Christmas karaoke, ugliest christmas sweater and best christmas tree decorating competitions

- xander still believes in santa

- grayson is like one of those mum’s at christmas that will scream at you if you dare put a decoration in the wrong place on the tree

- he also colour coordinates all of his decor (silver and blue)

- rohan buys everyone socks

- jameson usually forgets he has to actually buy gifts for people (except avery)

- avery writes a letter every christmas to her mum that basically talks about her life that year, she seals the letter and never opens it and knows he mum reads it somehow somewhere

- drink or dare is always played at a hawthorne christmas

- savannah cannot wrap a present to save her life whereas rohan is practically an expert

- so naturally he loved to annoy her about it

- jameson wrapped himself up for avery to open

- one year gigi and xander were left to christmas dinner… that was the year the whole kitchen blew up and they ordered takeout instead

- avery and jameson have a tradition that every christmas eve they light a candle for avery’s mum and wait for it to burn out completely

- despite being a dancer lyra is horrible at ice skating

- when her and grayson went together she practically held onto him for dear life

- rohan never had christmas as a kid

- nash hates hot chocolate but didn’t have the heart to tell libby until three years into their relationship because she’d always make him cups

- avery always donates money away to charities at christmas

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