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pasukiyo · 1 year

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Hi! Not sure if you are still taking requests but I had an idea and so I was curious like Tom has no interest in Quidditch at all, a big zero but! How would Tom react when he comes to the play for the first time, because he promised reader that he would come and watch her play and then something goes wrong and he sees her gets badly hurt?

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!hufflepuff reader 5,694 words warnings: fluff (for once) slight angst summary: tom riddle wasn’t one for quidditch. or love. but everything he thought would be questioned the moment you convince him to come to a quidditch match, and he nearly loses you. it all feels like a dream.

Tom Riddle remembered the day he began to fall in love all too well.

It started off a day like any other, he remembered sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast, Tiernan Lestrange and Clarence Avery at his sides, the others on the opposite side of the table. The two of them were bickering back and forth about some Slytherin girl they both seemed to fancy, the others snickering behind their goblets while Tom remained silent, frankly quite uninterested in the topic as he chose to instead engross himself in his Astronomy book.

“She always sits nearest to me in Potions,” Tiernan was saying, leaning forward to glare at Clarence over the table. “It must be true love then, right Lestrange?” Liam Mulciber sniggered from behind the rim of his cup, and Tiernan turned to curl his lip at him.

“Well, she let me borrow her Divination book,” Avery replied, a smug look washing over his pale face. “I don’t suppose she lets you borrow any of her things?”

“Divination?” Dolohov snorted across the table. “You don’t need the book for that class, all you have to do is make stuff up. Really, Clarence, she probably just thinks you’re stupid.”

Lestrange’s body trembled with the force of his laugh, and Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to will his mind back on the black, inky words of his Astronomy book.

“That’s not true,” Avery hissed, cheeks seared with scarlet flame. “I’ll have you know that I have top marks in—“

“Would the two of you be so kind as to take your argument elsewhere?” Tom’s eye twitched and he tore through the conversation like a knife, leaving the others to tighten their lips, not daring to make even the smallest of sounds. “I am trying to read.”

For a moment, all was silent, and the group blinked at Tom as his shoulders heaved in a sigh, attempting to re-immerse himself back in his book. Lestrange swallowed the boulder-sized lump that had formed at the base of his throat, bowing his head, the others following suit. “Yes, of course. Sorry, my Lord.”

They didn’t dare utter a word for the remainder of breakfast and eventually, they all up and left, leaving Tom on his own at the Slytherin dining table, save for a group of third years at the end. At last, he could read in peace without the others breathing down his neck or arguing over something as silly as love in his ear.

Just as he flipped to the next page of the book, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, laughter and conversation pinging off the stone walls of the large room, Tom’s focus all at once being thrown off course. His eye twitched again as he snapped his head up to the source of all the noise, his gaze following the mass of yellow Quidditch uniforms as they made their way over to the table on the far side of the Hall.

And just at the head of the group was her, hair swept back into a ponytail, her eyes locking onto his even from all the way across the room. Her face split into a brilliant smile and she raised a leather-clad hand above her head, wobbling it in a wave.

Tom Riddle blinked.

It was classic. It was her.

He should’ve anticipated this. She was always there, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, he was always drawn to her, could always feel her presence in a room, could always find her in a crowd. It was frustrating. It was irritating. It was disgusting.

He remembered watching as she sat to join the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players at their table— they must’ve had an early morning practice. He wasn’t sure why he felt inclined to care—after all, it was no secret that Tom Riddle loathed Quidditch.

He could never understand the interest. Why watch a bunch of fools fly around on broomsticks and toss balls into hoops when there were more beneficial ways to spend your time on? To be quite frank, Tom saw Quidditch as nothing more than a waste of time.

But even then, he still couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from her. Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team— he’d heard she was actually quite good at the sport, but a series of losses seemed to muddy her reputation. He’d heard other Houses snicker about it before— “Hufflepuff’s Captain caught the Snitch again, but the team was still down nearly two hundred points, and they lost anyway. Honestly, how unlucky can you be?”

How unfortunate, indeed.

Even then, she seemed content with her team, her House, everything. Tom couldn’t seem to understand how someone could be so happy, so fine with having to settle with everyone else’s ignorance. Nevertheless, there she was, laughing and cheering with the rest of the Hufflepuff team, as if they weren’t the worst Quidditch team Hogwarts had seen in years.

She must’ve felt Tom’s stare on her, for he could see even from all the way across the Hall how she blinked and turned her head, her eyes quick to find his. Her face lifted into a grin and she raised her hand to wave again.

Tom pursed his lips and slammed his Astronomy book closed. He needed to leave.

Tucking his book under his arm, he pushed himself away from the Slytherin dining table, striding towards the double doors of the Great Hall. He could feel eyes beading into the back of his head and he sniffed at the feeling, willing himself to keep his head forward.

He couldn’t understand why she was capable of getting so into his head. No one had ever had such an effect on him before, so why her? They were polar opposites— she loved Quidditch, she loved being around people, she was outgoing, fun, and he was… well, quite introverted.

People adored him, even he, himself, knew it. He guessed it came with being Head Boy, along with his services to the school. But Tom was less than appreciative towards the attention he received— he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, whether it be by the other students or the teachers. Professor Slughorn, in particular, was one of his biggest obstacles. Even his followers were as burdensome as they were irritating, more times than not.

All Tom Riddle really needed was himself. He didn’t care for anyone else, and he never would. He had come this far without trusting anyone— so why did he feel like that all could potentially come crashing down because of her? Why did he feel a pull towards her, like metal to a magnet?

The irritation with himself grew like a weed inside of him and with each angry step he took up the Grand Staircase, he tore through his annoyance with a blade. He needed to get a grip on himself, and as he made his way down one of Hogwarts’ many long corridors, he chanted the same phrase over and over again inside of his head:

You do not need anyone else.

He spent the latter half of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon in the Library, forcing his mind into the hardcover spread on the table before him, his fingers gripping either edge of the book like it was the only thing anchoring him down to the inky, black words on the pages. Still, he could not rid his mind of the Hufflepuff girl— but why? He tried to remember every interaction he had ever had with her, if there was anything she had said that seemed to stick with him. Instead, the image of her smile and the memory of her warm, benevolent words made his insides twist with a feeling he didn’t even want to acknowledge.

He’d tried his best up to this point to make himself as unlikeable as possible— but even being short with her or brushing her off altogether never seemed to steer her off course. She was always just there, finding him even during the rush of lunch or dinner, asking how his day was or wondering how he felt about his classes. She seemed to try to find anything to say that may keep his attention.

She was nothing if not for her persistence.

And no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she was annoying, he still found himself thinking of her, his mind burning with the way her face would split into a smile when she saw him, how happy she always seemed to be to see him.

He hated how fluttery his heart would feel at the notion that perhaps, she fancied him, his stomach doing somersaults at the idea of a relationship with her.

Tom blinked down at his book.

This was really getting quite annoying.

For the second time that day, he slammed his book closed and sighed, leaning back into his seat, absentmindedly staring at the old hardcover. Perhaps a walk would suffice in clearing his mind— yes. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air in his lungs.

He pulled away from his seat and tucked the book away in his knapsack, nodding his head in acknowledgment to the old Librarian as he pushed the doors of the Library open. Keeping his lips pressed tight together, he clasped his hands behind his back as he ventured down the hallway towards the entrance to the Hogwarts Grounds, breathing the fresh air into his nostrils when he pushed the doors open, the afternoon sun kissing his pale cheeks.

The Grounds were bustling with students, which made sense, considering it was a Saturday. He just hoped he looked as unapproachable as possible— the last thing he needed was for someone to bother him, and he desperately hoped his followers weren’t around. He wasn’t confident he’d be able to bear their company without snapping at the moment.

It was warm today, the breeze adding the perfect amount of chill. The sky was a bright blue, and only a few wispy clouds painted its canvas. He thought for sure his mind would clear in no time—it was a beautiful day, after all. That was until just up ahead from the North exit of the Grounds emerged a group of students in bright yellow uniforms, their leader being none other than the very girl he had been trying to rid from his mind.

And of course, she was looking his way, and of course she was trotting up to him, that damned face illuminated with that damned smile.

“Tom!” She exclaimed as she jogged up, and once she was in front of him, he could see the faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, as well as the way the skin on her hairline glistened with a thin layer of sweat. His gaze flickered to her lips as her tongue swiped between them, and for a moment, he eyed the way her chest heaved as she caught her breath.

He could practically feel the knot tying itself at the base of his throat.

He cleared his throat and murmured her name in acknowledgment, nodding his head. “It’s a fine day today, isn’t it?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she gazed up at the sky. “I was lucky to have reserved the pitch for practice this morning. Finally beat your Neil Lament to the punch, for once.”

He blinked— why was it that he suddenly seemed interested in Quidditch so long as she was the one talking about it?

“Yes, I suppose,” he replied, his voice sounding void of emotion. This would usually be enough to scare anyone away— but not her.

“You know, I wish you’d come to our Quidditch matches, at least every once and awhile,” she leaned in, nudging his arm with her elbow. Tom tensed at the touch, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing erect, his skin erupting into flame in her touch’s wake. “We play Slytherin next Saturday, and we looked really good at practice today. Perhaps we’ll even have a shot at getting our first win of the season!”

She trailed off, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “I’d… I’d really love it if you’d come.”

She blinked up at him, and she seemed to flush when he met her gaze, clasping a hand over her wrist. Tom could hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest at the realization that for some strange reason, he felt he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he disappointed her. His voice hardly felt like his own when he said, “perhaps, I will.”

She blinked once, twice, thrice, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Tom, himself, couldn’t quite believe the words that had tumbled from his mouth either.

“Really?” Her lips curved into a grin and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth— Tom hoped the swift glance he stole to her mouth was as discreet as he intended it to be. She grasped the handle of her broomstick with either hand and she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at her team where they stood waiting, calling out her name and waving her back.

She tried to conceal her smile as she began to back away from Tom, hugging her broom to her chest. “I’ll hold you to your word then,” she said. “I expect to see you there!”

Tom watched as she turned and bounded back to her team, peering back over her shoulder at him as the others dragged her away towards the castle.

Tom couldn’t believe he agreed to go to a Quidditch match— something he’d avoided altogether for seven years— all because she said she wanted him to. Tom swallowed a lump of saliva back down his throat— strangely enough, he found himself looking forward to the match next week.

He didn’t think the Quidditch match that next Saturday could come any sooner. Of course, he’d seen her around the castle, but something within him couldn’t quite wait to see her reaction when she noticed him in the questionable Quidditch stands.

Course, he still didn’t understand why he felt the urge to go in the first place. Why was it that he hated the idea of letting her down if he didn’t show up?

If Saturday had only crept up on him, then the time for the match to begin made a break straight for him and sent him pummeling to the ground— and it was only when he entered the empty Slytherin common room that he realized he was running terribly late.

He made haste for the common room exit, failing to notice the group of boys looming in the corner until they were right on his heels, and he stiffened at the sound of someone’s voice.

“My Lord, we’ve been waiting for you all morning.”

He turned to gaze at his followers, expression as hard as stone. Liam Mulciber was at the head of the group, and the ball at the base of his throat visibly bobbed when he swallowed, realizing nobody else was going to speak up.

“Forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord,” he murmured, wetting his lips with his tongue. Tom only looked at him, not bothering to feign interest. “Well, I… we… were wondering where you were going,” Liam managed at last, his shoulders now lax as he inhaled. Tom sniffed, “since when did my whereabouts become your business?”

Liam Mulciber’s body tensed again, and the others seemed to be more interested in the floor than Tom. Mulciber’s lips moved to speak again, but the ticking of the mental clock in Tom’s mind was thundering now— he was late.

“If you all are done interrogating me now, I’d like to get moving,” Tom said simply, turning to push open the door of the common room. “I have somewhere to be.”

Tom left them in the common room speechless, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoing in the Slytherin dungeons. His heavy, methodical footsteps were next to permeate the stone corridor as he strode to the exit, pushing open the next set of doors until he was on the steps of the Grand Staircase. Seeing as nobody else was around, he fell into an uncharacteristic sprint up the stairs.

“Is that Tom Riddle?” One of the paintings on the wall asked somewhere behind him.

“I suppose it is! Hah! Never seen that boy run a day in his life. Always so aloof, that one is,” he could hear another one say. He didn’t allow himself the time to even scowl at this remark.

He bursted through the doors leading to the Hogwarts Grounds, and just over the stone walls on the far side of the yard, he could see the top of the Quidditch pitch, a flurry of yellow and green uniforms every once and awhile peeking from behind the stands. He could hear the muffled cheers and chants even from all the way down where he stood and he huffed, making a break for the North exit.

When he finally arrived, he clambered up the first set of stairs leading up to the nearest green stand he could find, dusting off his robes and huffing when he reached the top.

So this is what the Quidditch pitch looked like, he thought to himself. He’d never been up in the sketchy wooden stands, never been on the pitch itself, never even been within feet from the bleachers. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him as he sat in the nearest available seat in the front row, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw, ignoring the murmurs behind him.

“Jason Wilbrook scores another ten points for Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff is now up eighty to thirty!”

The Slytherin students around Tom all grumbled, the stands on either side erupting into cheers, chanting for Hufflepuff. He blinked— although he knew absolutely nothing that was going on in the game itself, he knew it was an absolute rarity that Hufflepuff was actually winning, and against Slytherin for that matter.

He scanned the air and the different players in yellow uniforms until he saw her, dormant where she sat on her broom, her ponytail whipping behind her as she searched— more than likely for the Snitch. But when she looked down and her line of vision seemed to aim straight for him, he knew the little golden ball wasn’t the only thing she had been looking for.

Even from all the way down where he was, he could see the way her skin lit up as her lips curved into that bright smile of hers, and he could already see her leather-clad hand raising above her hand to wobble down at him in a wave. Tom didn’t make any moves to reciprocate, but he couldn’t seem to peel away from her either. Not even when something small but shiny whipped by her and she gasped, squeezing the handle of her broom with either hand as she leaned forward in pursuit of the Snitch.

“Oh! It seems Hufflepuff’s Seeker has spotted the Snitch!” The announcer’s voice bellowed from the amplifier in his hand. “Hufflepuff scores another ten points, making the score ninety to thirty but— uh oh, it seems Slytherin’s own Seeker, Neil Lament, has spotted the Snitch as well!”

It was all happening so fast, but still, Tom’s eyes were trained on her and the way her yellow uniform whipped behind her as well as her hair while she chased the Snitch. Neil Lament, a burly seventh year with olive skin was at her side, his lips curled in a snarl as he rammed his shoulder into her, nearly knocking her from her broom.

Tom could taste bile on his tongue and his brow deepened with a scowl. The other Slytherins around him were chanting Neil’s name, yelling foul things about her, things that he hadn’t even realized were making his blood boil until he felt his cheeks warm with vexation.

“Hufflepuff scores another ten points and— oh, Merlin! Neil Lament has shoved the Hufflepuff Seeker and—“

Tom needn’t hear more. He saw it as it happened.

Neil was seething, and seemed to have enough with this race. Gripping the handle of his broomstick with black leather gloves, he used all of the strength he could muster in his body to throw his shoulder into the girl beside him and her fingers slipped from her broom, just barely managing to latch back on before it was too late.

With her heart thudding against her chest, she willed her balance back onto her broom, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she looked up and—

—everything went black.

Tom’s lips parted as he watched the large, mud-colored ball ram into the side of her head before dashing away as if nothing had happened. He watched as her fingers unhooked from around her broom and her eyelids fluttered closed, her consciousness slipping away from her as she fell slack, her body limp as it fell from the broom and began to make its long descent for the ground.

Tom’s fingers were curled around the wand in his robes before he could even wrap his head around what was happening, his lips parting and forming the word “Levioso!” just before her body could hit the ground below. His blood was running cold, frost icing over his lungs as he guided her down into the green of the pitch, and he released his breath as soon as she was sprawled on the grass.

Everything after was a blur.

He barely remembered the trip down the wobbling wooden stairs of the stands, hardly remembered searching for the entrance to the pitch, but he did remember when a group of teachers emerged from beneath one of the stands, her body limp in the arms of Albus Dumbledore.

His feet were moving without his brain willing them to, and it wasn’t long before the professors acknowledged his presence.

“Tom, my boy,” Professor Slughorn’s lips curved into a smile as he grabbed his shoulders, locking him in place as her body was being taken away. His eyes couldn’t leave her. “That was you that casted the Levicorpus charm on her, yes? I must say, I admire your quick thinking and—“

“Apologies, Professor. But I wish to see to her—“

“Not to worry, dear boy,” Slughorn clapped his shoulder, brushing a piece of lint from the black of Tom’s robes. “Rest assured, Madame Everleigh will see to it that she’s nursed back to full health. Now, in the meantime—“

Tom couldn’t bear to hear whatever it was Slughorn had to say next. He was tearing away from the professor’s grip and making long strides toward the castle where Albus Dumbledore, along with the rest of the teachers, disappeared into. His feet were on autopilot, making a beeline for the Hospital Wing.

When he finally arrived, she was already settled onto a bed, Dumbledore and a few other teachers talking amongst themselves as the Matron, Madame Everleigh, tended to her. Albus Dumbledore caught Tom’s eyes where he stood at the entrance to the infirmary. He excused himself from the other teachers and sauntered over to where Tom stood, hands clasped behind his back.

“That was some quick thinking you had back there,” Professor Dumbledore praised, but Tom was hardly comprehending his words. “Is she alright?” Was all Tom could bring himself to ask, and Dumbledore turned to glance over his shoulder before turning back to Tom, pursing his lips and nodding his head. “She’s unconscious, but she’s stable. She’ll definitely wake up with a ghastly headache, that’s for certain.”

Tom blinked, expressionless. He wasn’t one for humor. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore already knew that. He wouldn’t question it, for now.

“I’m sure Madame Everleigh will have nursed her back to consciousness soon,” Dumbledore said. “She needs rest. I wouldn’t suppose Mrs Everleigh would find any issue in you keeping her some company, so long as you stay out of her way.”

Tom bowed his head, and Dumbledore reciprocated as he watched the Head Boy pass by, noting the concern the boy had for the girl lying on the hospital bed. Interesting, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself before ambling towards the exit, pushing open the door in front of him.

Madame Everleigh paid him no mind, most likely not even realizing he was there at all as she fluffed the pillow beneath the girl’s head, making sure it was well supported. The other teachers had since dispersed, leaving the only ones left in the infirmary Tom Riddle, Madame Everleigh, the Hufflepuff Captain, and a young Gryffindor on the opposite wall, groaning into a large tin bucket.

Tom cleared his throat and it was then that Madame Everleigh acknowledged his presence, blinking up at him. “Excuse me, Madame Everleigh,” he began. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed and kept her some company, would you?”

Madame Everleigh shrugged, her small frame circling the bed to reach for something from the table on the other side. “So long as you stay out of my way, I see no problem with it.”

Tom Riddle spent the afternoon sitting in a chair at her bedside, letting Madame Everleigh tell the other Hufflepuff Quidditch players her condition when they finally arrived, a somber air around them as they grumbled about their loss when the game had started off so promising.

It wasn’t until after dinner that the girl on the bed finally began to stir, and Tom pushed himself up on his seat, blinking down at her as her eyelids began to peel open. She grumbled something incoherent as she cradled the side of her head, the very one the bludger had hit hours before.

When she finally came to, she squinted over to the boy at her bedside. “Tom?” Her voice was low in a hoarse whisper, and Madame Everleigh was quick to join her at her other side, holding a cup of water to her lips.

“You will be sore for a while,” the Matron informed her. “It’s best if you stay here and rest for the time being. You’re lucky you weren’t unconscious for days.”

She waited until Madame Everleigh was gone before turning back to Tom, even in pain, her face splitting into a smile. “Quite the first Quidditch match for you, wasn’t it?”

Tom, with his expression as hard as ever, leaned back in his seat and scoffed, not a hint of amusement on his face. He couldn’t believe she was cracking jokes when she was in pain, when he was over here worried for her. Her ignorance was astounding.

“You were hurt,” he replied, voice deep and rumbling. Her smile dropped and she frowned, furrowing her brows. “But I’m alright now,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. For a few moments, neither said anything. Her gaze was penetrating, as if she were trying to see through him.

None had ever tried and succeeded before.

“You were worried for me, weren’t you?”

Until now.

Tom blinked, his eye twitching as he tore his gaze away from her, choosing to instead peer out the windows on the far wall. It was all becoming too real, this ever-growing feeling inside of him for the girl before him. Up until now, he could’ve played it off as being all in his head. But now that she was saying it aloud— it was too much. Too real.

She released a breathy laugh, and she reached to prod a finger against his forearm, his skin tingling with the phantom of her touch. “You were totally worried about me,” she tittered. “How lucky am I to have Tom Riddle, Hogwarts’ very own Head Boy looking after me?”

Tom sunk his molars into the flesh of the inside of his cheek and he sniffed, shifting in his seat. “Do you want an award or something?” He questioned, and she chuckled. “Now he’s making jokes?” She raised an eyebrow to her hairline. “You’re full of surprises, Tom Riddle.”

“It’s called being sarcastic.”

“Is it?”

Tom pressed his lips together to form thin, white lines and after a few beats, she turned back to look at him. “What happened after I got a bludger to the head?” She asked, noting the blackness outside the hospital windows. Tom shifted in his seat. “I left after you were injured,” he replied. “Your teammates came to visit.”

She perked at this. “What did they say? Did we win?” She asked, and Tom shook his head. “They said they substituted another Seeker in for you. Hufflepuff lost one hundred to two hundred and forty.”

She groaned and banged her fist against the mattress, spatting a “damn!” She grumbled, “if not for that blasted Neil Lament, I would’ve had the Snitch and we would have actually won for once.”

Tom scoffed at this and she eyed him from the corner of her sockets. “What?” The wrinkle in her brow deepened at this. “Last I checked, you don’t even care for Quidditch. Why should you care if your team gets another measly win?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about Quidditch. It’s the fact that you’re fussing over a damn sport when you’re lying in a hospital bed, injured.”

Silence swept over them like a wave and she blinked over at Tom who couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore, staring out the windows instead, his arms folded over his chest. She eyed his pale skin, the sharpness of his jaw, his full, pink lips as they pursed together, his piercing, dark eyes as they looked anywhere but at her.

She could feel her heart as it drummed in her chest, a warmth washing over her that she’d felt many times before. She ached with affection for him, ached with want, with desire. And now that he was sitting here, her only acquaintance in the otherwise empty hospital— save for the small Gryffindor boy now sound asleep on the other side of the room— she felt a burning in her chest, a burning of hope that he felt the same way too.

After all, why else would he spend his entire day sitting with her until she woke up when he was always so insistent on using his time for other more important things? With the clearing of her throat, she mustered all the confidence she could to her mouth as her words formed on the tip of her tongue.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better Tom, I’d think you were falling for me.”

Her heart was racing, especially when he turned to gaze back down at her, that murky, black stare of his piercing right through her. She felt like she was suffocating the longer he made her wait for his response, she could feel the crimson heat as it crept to her cheeks.

Tom Riddle was usually calm, cool, and collected, always knew what to say and when to say it. This was the first time he could remember being rendered speechless.

It was real now— never had anyone been able to see through him before, no one had ever been able to see him, to slowly begin to figure him out. But she did. She somehow knew about this strange and foreign feeling within him, something he wasn’t sure what to name. Attraction? Desire? Infatuation? Love?

Could this be love? Could love be this sudden, this unexpected? Could this be what love was, to care so deeply for someone without even fully understanding why? To burn for someone else, to have your heart beat erratically at just the idea of them? Was love something else?

Tom didn’t know. But perhaps, this was what it was like to fall in love with someone else. This was a day he’d remember all too well.

Tom straightened in his seat and cleared the heavy lump in his throat, his lip quivering as he opened his mouth, although unsure what to say. “Perhaps, I am.”

Her lips parted and her brows knit together, and suddenly, she didn’t feel like she’d just taken a bludger to the head, or that she had nearly fallen to her death only hours ago. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for Tom Riddle to kiss her. Her lips were practically throbbing with the idea of Tom’s on them.

“I don’t know whether or not I’m dreaming right now. And I really, really hope I’m not,” she murmured, losing herself further into the darkness of his eyes until she couldn’t tell when she ended and he began anymore. “Perhaps I’m dead and this is all just a hallucination,” she whispered, breathless. “Whether or not this is real, I’d really like for you to kiss me right now.”

Tom could feel warmth surge through him at her words, his lip quivering as he leaned forward, their faces now so close, their lips but mere wisps against one another. “I hope you aren’t dreaming either,” he murmured and she trembled, feeling her lungs shudder in her chest.

And then Tom’s lips were on hers, and she was sure this was real.

Tom Riddle’s lips were on hers, soft and pliant, kissing her with an urgent, tender need. If she was a candle, then he was her flame, and she was melting like wax, sinking further and further down into the plush of the hospital bed’s mattress. If it weren’t for the pain in her head, she’d follow his lips when he pulled away, blinking down at her. Her gaze met his and his irises were so dark, she couldn’t quite tell when his pupils began or ended.

All she could feel was his hot breath as it lingered like an ember on her skin, and she shuddered as she exhaled. “If I’m dreaming, please don’t pinch me,” she whispered, and Tom breathed, the closest she’d ever heard him come to a laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured back and the corners of her lips curved into a smile, a giggle slipping through the cracks.

Tom Riddle was making a joke.

a/n; i literally just finished writing this like twenty minutes ago and i shit you not, i wrote the last like 3k words of this in one sitting 😭 not sure how i feel about the beginning, but i think i feel good about my writing at the end for once. and i actually wrote fluff and not smut for once!! look at me!! anyways, IM NOW CAUGHT UP WITH REQUESTS! so feel free to send in more if you’d like lol

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reyreadersblog · 4 months

Text

YK WHAT I HATE THE MOST?

Gender inequality. Even in the books.

Okay, so this might sound stuqid, but you'll get where i'm coming from..(if you don't then i'm an idiot and don't mind me)

As an exa

i'll use TIG book series as an example. I love all Hawthorne brothers, truly i do (and i wish they were real) and if i'm being honest they might be one of the best book bfs out there, my main problem is how overshadowed FMC, Avery Grambs, is by them. So you meant to tell me you find many flaws in her character but don't find any in the brotherss??? Hey i love them all, but they made mistakes, many mistakes too, starting from Xander (i'm not sure about him) and ending with Nash.

"Oh..Avery was boring.." "She shouldn't have donated that much money" "she doesn't listen to anyone" "Avery was dumb" "Avery was meanie" STFU. First of all she is one of the most intersting characters, it's her money and she can use it however she wants, she was naturally smart girl and EVEN THOUGH she made mistakes she is still the best character in the books. I HATE the way fandom ignores every mistakes the boys made, Like..let's take Jameson as an example..i love him, but he also made bad desicions, like..using Avery..hiding the truth..and more.

Avery Kylie Grambs is an icon and she's better than any Hawthorne brother. Here i said it.

Now let's move on to Alisa (you can not make me hate or dislike her) she made mistakes for sure, she was mean to Libby (on my previous posts i explained why i think she was rude to her..but anyway..) but that's the thing again.. GRAYSON? He is litearlly my favourite character but i can admit he definetley messed up in certian situations, if you're saying Alisa was mean to Libby...then Grayson's behaviour staight up deserves jail, bcs he litearlly threatened a heiress...

How i wish that to be his only mistake but he made tons, TONS of them and majority of the fandom chose to ignore, (bcs he's hot), but when it comes to Alisa..when she made a mistake, by being slight rude towards Libby, out of jealousy...fandom goes crazy, saying she's very bad character, a meanie, insicure. And why? Bcs she's not a hot male character, in fact she's a independent female characater..and of course she's going to get hate on her every move..

And the sad thing is this happens in almost evey fandom, female characters who are independent, headstrong..have their own mind and opinions, ALWAYS get hate, Avery Grambs, Alisa Ortega,Donatella Dragna, Pip fitz-Amobi, Annabeth Chase, Wren Greenwrock, Nina Zenik, America Singer..

this no hate post, i respect your opinion, and i do love Hawthorne brother, this is just something that needed to be said.

#the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #grayson hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #avery grambs #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #the final gambit #libby grambs #nash hawthorne #books and reading

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luveline · 1 year

Note

if you’re ever in the mood to write for kbd again i’d love to ask for an argument fic! i’m a huge hurt/comfort fan and i feel like the arguments you write always feel so realistic and healthy(?) in a way? ily

thank you for your request! im glad u like how i write arguments bcos i find it so difficult, I hope this fills your hurt/comfort needs! kbd | dad!steve x mom!reader

You're tapping your foot on the kitchen floor, annoyed and upset and not sure if you should say anything about it.

Dove said her first words today. And you found out through Avery, who sits on the kitchen table in front of you with her legs dancing over the edge, clearly unhappy that you're unhappy, her hands stroking your cheeks affectionately. She's only six. You feel terrible that she can tell you're upset.

"Mom, how can I make you happy?" she asks.

It's something you've said to her a thousand times. She cries, and she's finally at the age where you can ask her what solution she needs.

You love her, but your patience isn't very strong today. You remove her hands from your face gently and give her a weak smile.

"I just need to talk to daddy, that's all."

"I'll go get him!" she says, clambering onto your legs and down onto the ground.

You don't really like the idea of summoning him for a scolding, and you've been with him long enough to know how to navigate a disagreement without a fuss. But you aren't perfect, and neither is he. When he arrives in the kitchen with a broken baby doll in his hands, he looks so comely, so homespun, and you're still mad.

"Why didn't you tell me Dove said her first words?"

His eyes light up, but he swiftly fixes his expression into a more neutral one. "I– sorry, yeah, she said daddy." He grins like he can't help it. He probably can't. "Oh, you should've heard it, she couldn't have sounded less excited to say it, what a doll."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

Steve seems to clock where this is heading, then, and puts the doll down on the kitchen counter. "It slipped my mind."

"Really? Her very first words slipped your mind? Like, that's not extremely important to you?"

"Of course it's important to me." Steve's eyes narrow, and his eyebrows start to rise. It's not an angry look nor is it cruel, but it rubs you the wrong way. It's sceptical. "But I'm busy all of the time. Which you know."

You're getting more and more irate. It's not his fault, but it feels like his fault in the moment, and you don't like how he's talking to you, and your head hurts.

"I didn't say you're not busy, but I still think you should've told me when I came in."

"I just– I don't know, I had to give Bethie a bath, and then Dove was fussing. And now her doll's broken. I was busy."

You sigh. "Sometimes," you say, more depressed than mad, "you act like they're not even mine. You act like they're just your girls. I'm their mom."

"Do I do that?" he asks, incredulity leaching into his words.

"Steve, you should've told me straight away. She's my baby, I should've found out from you, and not Avery, like an afterthought."

"I told you, I forgot."

"I don't care if you forgot– actually, I do, because that's the problem. You shouldn't forget to tell me when my own daughter starts talking–"

"You're acting like I chose not to tell you. I wasn't not going to tell you, but I have other things on mind! I have a lot to do, in case you forgot!"

"Like I'm not busy too?" you ask. "Like I don't work all day every day to come home to you. To make sure there's a home to come home to."

"You're throwing that in my face?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No! No, I'm just saying that I'm busy too, you're not the only one who has to do things, Steve, but the difference is that I would never forget to tell you something like that!"

"Maybe if you were home, you wouldn't need to shout at me about it. You feel guilty and you're taking it out on me."

You don't see red or anything so aggressive —no. You just feel like he's slapped you, like he's reached right into the centre of your chest and said the thing that's going to hurt you the most.

You don't want to cry. You know how it looks, like you're losing, so you're crying, so he'll feel sorry and make you feel better. Steve has known you and loved you for years and he knows the look on your face before tears have even welled up. You twist away from him and cover your face with your hands, your skin hot as a burning hearth.

And the tears are pathetic. Sniffling, quiet, high-pitched in the back of your throat. It's not fair. It's not fair, you want to stay home too, you want to see their first moments, and you don't get to do it and he's shouting at you and you just want to shrink into nothing right then and there. You're tired, and you're embarrassed at yourself for speaking to him like that. He doesn't deserve it.

"Honey," Steve says, all malice gone. "Honey, don't. It's okay."

"I'm fine."

"No, it's okay," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder.

"Ignore me," you say, "I'm not crying to– I'm just mad."

"Don't cry," he murmurs, pressing his lips to your crown. "Don't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."

Love is so unfortunate, sometimes. He's the only one who you want comfort from, but you're so mad at him. Even if he's right. The anger is as illogical as the love; you want him to go away and you need him to rub your back as you snuffle.

"It's not fair, Steve. You can't just say that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know you can't be home. I know I'm the lucky one. I know how much you've given away to let me have what I want," he says, moving so he's face to face with you.

"Now you'll think I'm crying just to be the one upset," you say with a sob.

"Only a little bit." He laughs fondly at your frown. "I'm kidding!"

You cry so much he has to wrap his arms around you to keep you together. It's not his fault, but suddenly everything breaks the surface, how guilty you feel for missing out, how annoyed you are at him for knowing that and still giving you a hard time, how annoyed you are at yourself for shouting at him over something he can't control. You cry because you miss the girls, you miss him, and you're tired. There's hundreds of tiny reasons.

Steve sounds a little emotional himself when he says, "God, I'm sorry." His cheek pressed hard to your ear, his hug tightening. "I'm a dick, making you cry."

"I'm a dick. I'm sorry," you say, head heavy, tears slowed.

"It's okay. I know why you're upset. I promise I know. I shouldn't have got so defensive… but I really did forget, honey. I'm sorry, but I did."

"I know. I'm sorry for being a bitch about it."

He laughs and pulls back to cup your cheek. "You are not a bitch. You got upset, you're not the antichrist."

You sniff. Steve pulls the corner of your mouth into an uneven smile and then, slowly, leans in to dot a kiss there. When he moves back, his face is slack. An unhappiness lingers in his lips and his eyes where they're trained on your tacky cheek.

He moves in for a second kiss. This one is firmer, longer, and you reciprocate with relief.

"Do you really think that? That I act like they're just my girls?" he asks when he pulls away.

You duck your head so you don't have to look at him, or face the mean things you'd said. Not just mean, either, but the things you're embarrassed to have thought.

"Not really. Sometimes I feel like…" You don't want to say it aloud. You rub the skin of his wrist in a fidget.

"Go on," he says.

"I worry I'm not choosing the right thing. I would never ask you to give this up… I really wouldn't. But I worry I'll regret not being here."

Steve wraps his hands in your t-shirt and pulls it toward him. You're becoming more and more intertwined as the conversation progresses, your faces much too close.

"We've always said," he says slowly, "that you could change your mind. That you could come home, and that I would work. We've always said that. You don't have to be afraid to tell me you've been thinking about it."

"I haven't." You sniff. "I don't even think I could do it."

"Are you kidding?" Steve asks.

A rogue tear races down your cheek. If you speak, you'll sob, so you shake your head and hold onto his wrist for dear life.

"You're the best mom they ever made," he says, easing closer still, his face imploring, pleading with you, "why would you ever think you can't do it? It’s different to when you’re home, being alone with them, it's fucking hard, and I think you'd struggle to get used to it at first because I still struggle now, but you could do it. I know you could. You could stay at home and look after them if you want to, I want you to do that if it's what you need."

"This is silly," you say.

"It's not silly."

"I've made this all about me. I was angry at you and now you're comforting me." You stroke his cheek with your knuckle. "I'm the one who should be comforting you. You race after the kids all day and then the wife comes home and grabs you by the ear."

"I think I'd kinda like it if you did," he says.

You both laugh.

"I'm sorry," you say.

Steve nods. "Yeah, me too."

You bite back everything that's hurting. It's only a temporary pain. You'll figure out what you want, and you have your best friend in the world kneeling in front of you, willing to do anything if it'll help.

"I should be nicer to you," you murmur.

"You're plenty nice. But if you're still feeling guilty, I'd die for a kiss, sweetheart."

You wipe your face with your sleeves, wet cheeks, snotty nose, and brush your hair away so you look like someone worth kissing. "Do I look okay?"

"You look beautiful," Steve says fondly, leaning in for a kiss. His hands bracelet your wrists. "So pretty," he says between kisses.

"Don't," you chastise lightly, "this is why I keep getting knocked up."

"In that case," he says against your lips. He deepens the kiss against your charmed laughter, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you still in the face of his ardency.

You part before things can get heated and he lets you apologise again, though he insists it isn't necessary, your arms over his shoulders, your nose in his hair. He's always been so good like that —Steve doesn't hold a grudge with you (though others may not be so lucky). He stands you up, brushes you down, even wipes your cheeks with a washcloth. It's why you could never send him to work. He's a caretaker down to the bone.

Bethie, sweet girl as she is, appears as he's wiping your puffy eyes. She's almost three and a half, and she's the cutest girl in existence if Steve is to be believed. He visibly softens at her entrance alone.

"Hello, Bethie-baby," he says, "we were wondering where you were. Did you finish your crackers?"

She's a daddy's girl and she always has been, so it surprises you when she pretty much ignores him and holds her hands up to you. You pick her up, let her settle against your chest.

"Hey, Beth."

"Missed you," she says.

"Oh, you did?" you ask, overjoyed. You sniffle the last of your upset away and lock it down tight.

She's a quiet baby. You worried she had developmental issues at first (which wouldn't have mattered in terms of love, but worried all the same), though these days your theory is that she doesn't want to speak very much. She likes to communicate in other ways, namely affection, and her face brushes yours as she hugs you.

You pat her back like she knows she likes. Steve smiles at you from over his shoulders. You wear twin expressions —I'm sorry, I love you, isn't she lovely?

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months

Text

title: crazy little thing called love

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you are avery’s little sister and you carry around a deadly secret. if anyone finds out you’re in love with jameson, things will get messy

warnings: love is a bit confusing…

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @stqrsbythepocketful @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell

I was sat on the grass under a tree. It was a pleasant summers days, the sun was shining and it wasn’t too hot. I leant my back against a tree, a book situated happily in my hands. And although everything was perfect… it didn’t feel perfect. I couldn’t focus on a single word on that paper because my eyes were too busy glued to another scene. Unfortunately for me, not a scene of fiction. My sister stood laughing in her boyfriend’s arms. Jameson Hawthorne. Ever since I’d laid eyes on him I’d fallen hard and since I’d gotten to know him the falling hadn’t stopped. But he chose her. It’s not like I was surprised or anything. Avery was Avery. She was stunningly gorgeous, naturally intelligent far beyond her years and was strong, independent. Who wouldn’t want that?

And even though I loved my sister to pieces, I couldn’t want Jameson any less. No matter how hard I tried to forget, to stop, to feel for someone else, it never happened. I mean I supposed it made sense, me and Avery with the same type. We were sisters after all but… but why did it have to be him? It’s not even like I could escape. I’m stuck watching their happily ever after plays out waiting an eternity for my turn.

“What are you watching?”

My heart skipped a beat, “do you alway sneak up on people like that?”

I turned around and met a pair of sharp silvery grey eyes only inches from my own.

“Depends,” Grayson murmured, sitting beside me now, “what are you watching?”

He repeated the question I was avoiding answering and looked at me expectantly. I hated it.

“Nothing,” I shrugged in response, focusing back on the book I was supposed to be reading.

“You seem awfully concentrated,” he said.

Clearly he didn’t take my ‘I’m pretending to read so I don’t have to talk to you’ gesture. So I looked up and stared at him blankly.

“You seem awfully fixated on my concentration,” I replied, mocking his tone slightly in an attempt for him to just drop the subject.

“Them?” he asked.

As soon as the single word left his lips I knew exactly who he was talking about and I wished I didn’t. Grayson Hawthorne knew what he was doing but I wasn’t going to let him do it. My eyes flickered to my sister and Jameson once again, a familiar pain in the left side of my chest returns.

“What about them?” I said, nonchalantly.

“You’re watching them,” he clarified, getting to the point after seeing my unwillingness to talk.

“No I’m not-“ I began to say.

“Me too,” Grayson interrupted me.

I was far too stunned to reply. That was not at all what I was expecting. I was suddenly caught off guard. The confession was somewhat an attempt of gaining my trust and my willing to be in the conversation. It worked. Damn you Grayson.

“You are?” I blurted out, my brain not acting quick enough to filter the words.

He nodded, his eyes still pinned to Jameson and Avery. The way he looked at her reminded me of the way I looked at Jameson. Doe-eyed and dopey, like I’d had a little too much to drink. He had that same smile on his lips, the one you have when you’re in love and you’re just staring at your person because they’re them. Never had a seen Grayson look so… relaxed.

So I took the opportunity to ask the burning question, “do you love my sister?”

He took a moment before replying. I don’t know whether he was trying to figure out what to reply or how to reply or either. His face didn’t give away a single thought so when I attempted to read his body language the story was uneventful.

“I think I do,” he replied, after a while.

“You think?” I said. I’d always thought as love as something you knew. You were sure that you were in love and that person was your person. There was no decision or question about it, it was like a second instinct that you loved them.

“My experience of love hasn’t exactly been something that lead by example so I don’t know…” he trailed off, looking back into the distance. He hesitated slightly before continuing, “but she makes me feel right when all I know is wrong.”

I stayed silent but my mind was racing. Grayson likes Avery, but Avery likes Jameson and I like Jameson but Jameson likes Avery. It was a vicious circle and I wanted to break free, but I was still trying to work out how. I was like a hamster on a wheel, running and going nowhere.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked him, suddenly curious. Why choose to offload this information onto me? Why here? Why now? What game is he trying to play with me?

“You asked,” he shrugged simply.

“Just because I asked didn’t mean you had to answer,” I replied, staring at him quizzically, silently telling him I’m not as stupid as I may seem.

“I trust you,” Grayson said quietly, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before wandering astray. Why did he trust me? Just because I’m Avery’s sister doesn’t mean my intentions are honourable. Just because I don’t get into trouble doesn’t mean I won’t. Just because I seem naive doesn’t mean I am.

“You shouldn’t,” I scoffed. I wasn’t lying, some days I didn’t even trust myself.

“Do you love my brother?” he asked suddenly, the topic of conversation swerving, nearly causing me whiplash.

My heart pounded loudly in my chest, thumping through my eardrums. He kept throwing curveballs into the mix I never would have predicted. He was trying to make me nervous, I concluded at the time. I didn’t know what to tell him. I wasn’t even sure if I knew the answer.

“It’s… complicated,” I finally said.

“I don’t think it is,” he replied.

“How would you know?” I furrowed my brows.

“I just would,” he said, his tone annoyingly calm and civil.

“Would you now?” I gritted through my teeth, staring back down at the seemingly empty pages on my novel.

So he asked how I felt and then claimed that he knew better? How could he know my feelings better than I did? Why did he even ask if he knew so much? Of course, leave it to a man to assume he understands everything.

“You seem offended,” Grayson noted.

“How very perceptive of you,” I spat, sarcasm latching onto my tongue. My voice was so bitter and sharp, that it could cut through the thick tension coating the air between us.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked me.

“You can’t just claim to understand me, we’ve barely met,” I said, staring at him with fire in my eyes.

“I’m just saying I know what you’re going through, you like Jameson-“

“I don’t know what I feel about Jameson,” I snapped, interrupting him, “and even if I did, that doesn’t mean you know how the hell I feel.”

“People like us tend to want what we can’t have,” he said, sounding so gentle as if I were a fragile piece of glass about to shatter.

“People like us?” I asked, my jaw dropped and eyes wide, “you don’t know me Grayson Hawthorne.”

“I think I know you better than you think,” he murmured, his words so confusing it took me a moment to designee them.

“Well I think you’re mistaken,” I said bluntly and viciously.

I harshly closed my book, the bang of the cover hitting the pages bouncing in the empty air. I stood up and turned my back on him beginning to walk away. I’d truly had enough of a conversation that I never wanted to have in the first place.

“Don’t leave,” I heard Grayson say, a rustling behind me telling me he too had stood up.

I turned around, my eyes narrowed and my jaw tense. He walked closer towards me, something in his eyes pleading me to listen, to try again. I ignored it.

“You utter a word of this conversation to anyone and you’re dead to me Grayson,” I snarled, with intense eye contact, “goodbye.”

I spun in my heal and walked away. Fast. And I didn’t look back at him.

***

I often dreamt of a Hawthorne at night but when I awoke in the middle of the night Jameson wasn’t the main character of my scenario in my head… it was his insufferable blonde brother. But somehow I was still feeling the way I usually did after dreaming about Jameson, butterflies in my stomach and a warmth in my chest. Did I like Grayson Hawthorne?

Shit.

a/n: TIG masterlist

#grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #avery x jameson #avery kylie grambs #averyjameson #avery grambs #tig #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #avery’s sister

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graysdarling · 1 month

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〡𝓟retty 𝓑oy ˎˊ˗ 002.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

- summery: “wait… do i know you?”

- warnings: idk hickeys, mention of “things” you did with grayson last night, averyjameson YIPPE

- words: 973

- voicemail: YIPPE YIPPE ANOTHER CHAPTER DONE YAYAYAYAAYAYAYAY okay so this one was shorter but thags because i had no idea bow to act tbis out tbh maybe i couldbe made an outline first whoops

reblogs and comments are appreciated ⭑.ᐟ

YOU MINDLESSLY SCROLLED ON your phone. If you knew you didn’t have anything to do that weekend you would've made plans, but you really thought you’d get to study or have something randomly pop up.

Unable to take it, you abruptly sat up with a grunt. “Alright, we’ll just take a walk or whatever,” you said to no one in particular to interrupt the too loud silence in your dorm. Your roommate was gone, too, surprisingly, since she was the type of person to stay home.

You quickly walked over to your closet on your side of the room and opened it, glancing at the outfits you had to wear. You really didn’t want to dress today, so you just choose a plain black long-sleeved shirt with ruffles at the end of it and a pair of jeans. It’ll look cute anyway.

You quickly changed into your clothes and paused whenever you saw yourself in your mirror. You sighed and ran a hand over your neck, where a large red mark laid on your skin, right above the spot where your shoulder met your neck.

You cursed the man who caused the mark and stepped inside your bathroom. Turning on your lights, you quickly opened the cabinet and found some contour powder that belonged to your friend. Her skin was a bit paler than yours but you didn’t have any contour right now so it’d have to do.

Getting the makeup brush, you started to put it on the hickey and did your best to blend it into your skin. Once you were finished you studied it. You couldn’t see that it was makeup from far away, so you shrugged before closing the makeup and putting it back.

You didn’t want to do your hair so instead, you decided to just brush it. Getting your brush out, you ran in through your hair, ignoring the pain from your head as you did. You hummed and put it back whenever you were finished.

You quickly walked out of the bathroom and grabbed your bag, getting your earpods out. You put it on your shoulder and put them in, connecting them to your phone. You took your phone as you walked out of your dorm and chose your playlist before putting your phone back in your pocket.

Stepping outside your room, you went outside of your dorms and walked down the sidewalk. The clean air of the outside fills your senses and you take a deep breath. You were glad that the gardeners cleaned and made the flowers around the school pretty.

You hummed to the music and gently started to bop your head. Before you knew it, you were at one of the parks nearby. You smiled as you watched the children by the swings giggle, swinging around and sliding down the slide. As you made your way down the path, two people showed up in your vision.

They were too far for you to figure out who they were, but you could see that there was a boy and a girl. The dude had his arm around the girl and they were walking closer towards you.

You blinked as they came closer. She kinda looked like… Avery Grambs? You’ve seen her on TV—the youngest billionaire in America. And by her side was Jameson Hawthorne. Aka Grayson’s brother. Aka the brother of the man that you were hooking up with. Not that you care.

You cleared your throat and slightly lifted up your shoulders as you passed them. You didn’t know why you did, but you were almost intimidated. You were almost behind them when Jameson paused.

Looked over his shoulder.

Made eye contact with you.

His arm fell off Avery’s shoulder and she looked at him before looking at you too. Jameson blinked. “Are you Y/N?” he asked suddenly. You froze and your eyes widened. Before speaking, you took out your earpods. “Uh… yes?” How did he know your name and most importantly: why?

His lips turned up into a grin and Avery gave him a warning look. Before he could speak, she interrupted him and put her hands out. “Avery Grambs,” she introduced herself like you haven’t idolized her for the past year. “Y/N Y/L/N,” you responded and shook her hand. “So,” Jameson butted in. “I hear my brother’s been talking about you.”

Your eyes widened again. He told his brother about you? He probably told them you were disgusting and immature and doesn’t belong at Harvard—“It looks like you’ve really rubbed off on him—”

“Jameson,” Avery hissed and gave him a stern stare. She cleared her throat and looked at you again with a smile. “Don’t pay attention to him. I hear you’re challenging Grayson academic wise?” she asked and you could’ve sworn she had a teasing tone with it.

You nodded with a grin. Looks like he didn’t tell them everything. “Yep. I’m winning, too.” Jameson smirked from above you and you just now noticed how tall he was. “Good luck beating my brother—it’s like he has a goal to do good at anything and everything,” he chuckled and Avery rolled her eyes.

“He could try,” you mused. Avery smiled at you before sucking a breath between her teeth. “Sorry, but we have to go, if we don’t make it to that restaurant we’ll be late.” You nodded and grinned at the two. “It’s alright! See you two.” Jameson and Avery sent you a smile before walking away.

Once they were out of sight, you blew out a breath and ran a hand through your hair. That went… well. You were thinking that Grayson told them things that would ruin your reputation. But then again, that felt a little overdramatic.

But if he didn’t tell them that, then what did he say to them?

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 @reminiscentreader @nqds @never-enough-novels @sophiesonlinediary @imaseabear @tornqdowarnings @flowers-for-em @alwaysthefangirl @luvv-danielle @maybxlle @xoxo-vee @adalia-jaycee

#⭑ belles fanfics #the inheritance games #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the inheritance trilogy #⭑ belle loves grayson #grayson hawthorne x fem!y/n #grayson hawthorne x fem!reader #grayson hawthorne x y/n #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne

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riddles-n-games · 15 days

Text

To Feel, To Want

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: Another rewrite of Ch. 15 from THL but from the earlier scene that takes place in the studio before they head up to the roof. Length: Short Story Type: Rewrite

Tag List: @hathorneheiress, @whatsamongus, @averyiconthequeen, @xoxo-lenah, @charsoamerican, @thecircularlibrary

A/N: Hello! Hope you haven't been waiting too long but here is my newest rewrite. I do hope you enjoy it. It's my last one from my oldest standing drafts which means I'll take a break again so I can focus on my more original written pieces.

══════♟•°♛°•♟ ══════♜♚♜══════♟•°♛°•♟ ═══════

As if that thought had beckoned him toward me, Jameson came closer. “Let’s call off the bet,” he said softly.

I whipped my head up to look at him. I searched for a tell on his face, something to let me know what angle he was playing.

“This is big, Heiress.” If he’d been anyone else, his voice might have sounded gentle—but the Jameson Hawthorne I knew wasn’t gentle. “Big enough that neither of us needs extra motivation now. Neither of us is going to solve this alone.”

There was something undeniable about the way he said the word us, but I resisted the pull of it. “I’m at the center of this.” It would have been so easy to let myself get sucked back in. To let myself feel like we really were a team. “You need me.”

That was what this was about. The gentle voice. Us.

“And you don’t need anyone?” Jameson stepped forward. Despite every warning screeching in the back of my brain, when he reached out to touch me, I didn’t pull back.

The past twelve hours had turned my entire world upside down. I needed… something. It didn’t have to mean anything. There didn’t have to be feelings involved. “Fine,” I said, my voice rough in my throat. “Let’s call off the bet.”

I expected him to kiss me then—to take advantage of my moment of weakness, to push me back against the wall and wait for my head to angle up toward his, wait for a yes. He looked like he wanted to. I wanted it.

We were at a standstill and for once in my life, I didn’t know whose turn it was. His move or mine? Is this what it felt like when you were facing a wall, knowing there’s a way around it and the door is next to you but you chose to stare at the wall instead?

I stared at him, feeling almost helpless, glued to the spot. My eyes were stuck on his.

Your move or mine? The question hung in the air and I wanted an answer; demanded it. Needed and craved it all the same.

I was desperate to feel; his lips on mine, his arms around me, just something. Something. Anything to distract me from the swell of emotions rising in me, threatening to swallow me whole. I’ve had bad days and dark weeks and I survived, so why, why did this feel like my sinking point? Like I wasn’t going to come back up for air and drown instead?

But I knew; I wasn’t naive enough not to. My entire existence up until this moment felt like a lie; like I was the one who told it when I was actually the result of it because someone else instigated it.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and even though I hated to look like such a mess in front of anyone, I knew it wasn’t sadness or grief making me this way. Just frustration.

I had plenty of it in storage from the build-up of the last few weeks and now, it was finally looking for an out. The anger would catch up to me later but right now, that wasn’t the case.

Something in me right now was falling apart and I just wanted that part of my mind to quiet down, to forget for a moment, to let myself go numb. I wanted to let go and still cling to something at the same time but didn’t know which I wanted more, I just knew if he gave me what I wanted it would stop hurting.

But, if my role to play in this Hawthorne mystery was the glass ballerina then this would be the one time I’d let the shards of glass dig into my palms. I would let only one Hawthorne experience me like this once, so long as Jameson forgot about it later on, even if that was an unrealistic reverie.

“-very? Heiress.” He pulled me out of the spiraling thoughts and I blinked as he came into focus. His face was concerned and his hands were hovering around my wrists. Before I could grasp what I was doing, I grabbed his forearms instinctively and held as tight as possible. He didn’t even flinch. “Heiress, talk to me.”

It was his gentle tone that undid me. The tears I’ve barely held back before were streaming freely down my cheeks. My hands were trembling uncontrollably and in trying to stop the shaking, I gripped his arms harder. I was too out of it to even formulate a proper sentence. “Please,” I rasped. Please make this stop. Please don’t let every other clue be a life changing revelation. Please tell me not everyone is out to get me or wants me to die. Please tell me it gets better. Please kiss me. Please hold me. Please tell me some part of you actually cares. Please.

Jameson slowly brought his hands up and cupped my cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped away the fresh set of tears but when he tried to clear away the tear tracks with his sleeve, I couldn’t hold myself back. I sprung up on tiptoe and closed the short distance between us, practically colliding into him when I pressed my lips to his. I savored it, desperate to feel that rush of adrenaline like when we had our first kiss. But I didn’t, all I could feel instead was my increasing heart rate as he didn’t reciprocate.

He broke away, shaking his head. Jameson gave me a lopsided smile but it was small and sad, lacking the usual mischievousness. “You have to tell me what you want.” I blinked. What is your angle here, Jameson Hawthorne?

I didn’t reply and tried to kiss him again, grabbing his loosened collar to pull him down towards me but he relented. Jameson deliberately pulled his chin up and the more I struggled, the more his head went back. “Use your words.” I didn’t.

Unfortunately, I did have to stop for a moment to catch my breath which he took to mean as an impasse and moved one of his hands from my jaw, bringing it to the back of my head. “Just tell me what you need, Avery. Easy as that.” He twirled some strands of my hair around his finger as he said that. Then he released it and did it again. I glared at him while he simply arched a brow. He used my name. Now you’re just playing dirty. Clearly, if I was going to get what I wanted, I was going to have to do it his way, at least, that’s what he thought.

With one final attempt, I fiddled with the fabric of his collar as if considering what he said for a good few seconds before cupping the back of his neck, applying as much force as possible to make him lean down. He just smiled and moved out of reach again right as he plucked my hand, repositioning it in his and placing a kiss on each of my fingers. At this point I was just getting angry.

He didn’t react to my annoyance but leaned down and kissed my cheek, murmuring when he pulled back, “Heiress, trust me, I know what you want. I’m not doing this to make fun. But you’re not me. I need you to say it out loud. You’re not in a good place right now and I don’t want you to regret this later.” Surprisingly, Jameson looked very serious but his eyes were sincere; he meant it.

I huffed. He was right; I didn’t take things like this lightly and it would affect me in a way that it wouldn’t him. And as much as he’d shown a bit of maturity in the weeks since we met, he was still Jameson. Flirty, tricky, and emotionally unavailable. But then there were the moments like this which left my mind spinning again. He really was an enigma.

I held his gaze a little longer then broke away, finding the wall suddenly more interesting. But I still felt his eyes on me, lingering, the question louder now in the silence than it had been when he asked it out loud. Sighing, I looked back at him, feeling vulnerable and embarrassed like the night at Wayback Cottage when he comforted, kissed, and scorned me all in the span of ten minutes. Quietly, I muttered, “I want you to kiss me.”

Jameson obliged and leaned down, tilting my head up as he softly and slowly pressed his lips to mine. So maybe he did know how to kiss a girl tentatively and gently. He just needed the motivation for it. But he knew exactly what I needed. Just like last time. My eyes closed and I leaned into him. He was firm and solid and warm. There was also the faint scent of his cologne but also a distinct smell that I just associated with. It surrounded me and all I could think was, Safe. I felt safe.

He broke away and gave me space to catch my breath but I was pulling him back down as I wrapped my arm around his neck with the other hand still entwined with his. I felt him smile against my lips and he shifted us, propping me up against the wall but never breaking the kiss. It was longer but still sweet.

When we parted, me silently panting and him only the slightest bit out of breath, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay, Heiress. We’re going to do this together.”

I breathed in deeply and repeated him. “I’m going to be okay. I’m not going to do this alone.”

“Damn straight. You’re better than okay. You’re Avery Grambs.” I rolled my eyes to which he chuckled. “Do you feel better now?” I nodded, wondering why he was whispering until I remembered Eli was in the room with us and I wanted to peek over Jameson’s shoulder but I couldn’t with how close he was to me. So that’s why he turned us. I was boxed in between Jameson and the wall, hidden from prying eyes although I’m sure my bodyguard wasn’t keen on watching us kiss. My face flamed at the thought.

My eyes drifted back to Jameson’s face and the playful smirk was back. “Embarrassed now, Heiress?” I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m not, just finishing what you began.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. He chuckled softly and pecked my lips once more but not before I grazed his bottom lip. “So feisty.” I snorted.

His hand went back to my hair and he combed through the tangles, treading softly to the ends.

We grew quiet and for some time we just stayed that way, enjoying each other’s company. I could get used to this, I thought but then waved it away. This moment was great but soon, we’d go back to the usual, whatever that was. I didn’t want to label it. But with the way he was looking at me right then, a soft look in his eyes and a little smile, I could pretend it was more.

══════♟•°♛°•♟ ══════♜♚♜══════♟•°♛°•♟ ═══════

A/N: Hey, you made it to the end again. Congrats, you're a real trooper. I will be attempting to do a few short drabbles (much shorter than this) before I restart writing the other WIPs which I can't wait to share with you all. Reminder, as per my last fic, I announced that I would be starting a tag list and as you can see here I made good on that promise. If you're new and want me to tag you, just comment below. Catch you in the next game!

#avery kylie grambs #avery grambs #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #averyjameson #averyjameson fics #the inheritance games fanfics #tig fanfiction #the inheritance games #tig

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corwnvus · 2 months

Note

explain your fav underrated marauders era character? and tag with #underratedmarauders

This is so difficult for me because I can talk about Evan all day but I am also getting into snapes gang and Avery is so interesting to me, despite this I am not 100%, confident with how I see him.

With evan rosier there isn't much in cannon about him so most of this is hc or things I have picked up from/taken inspiration from other cc.

To me the twins’ mother was always ill, a disease that made her muscle and bones weaken. The twins both have slight symptoms of the disease but evan never grew old enough to feel the full pain of it unlike his twin. evan resented his mother, he didnt understand her illness and had heard his farther opinion on her illness one too many times, the shame it brought, the weakness it showed.

His farther was a strict man, never physically abusive but never nurturing. The twins grew up swallowed by coldness. They Both thought it effected pandora more, her nervousness, her fear of the darkness or loneliness. They later realised that they were wrong. Evan grew distant from the household, his only connection to it was pandora and a servant boy who was his first crush. He didn't know it then but that is what it was, a crush.

pandora and evan’s bond was like no other, and it only strengthend when they left for school. the two were forced to communicate only with glances and minor facial expressions, their own language which was a mix of french and Hauas, and small touches. They weren't used to so many people, so many eyes watching them.

Evan made friends, or well people he could stand. He didnt feel close to most people. That was until he met a group of friends out side of those he hung out with at the end of 2nd year. Pandora introduced them as regulus, barty and dorcas. He had never been as connected to other people outside of his sister, this was new, this was fun but it became scary very quickly.

He became dependent on them, he craved validation from them, comfort and time, but most of all he craved being wanted. He became close to them so quickly he didn't know what to do with all these emotions. The problem came to a head when he started to have a small crush on the boy who became as close as a brother, barty crouch jr. He was everything evan wanted to be and somthing evan craved to have.

He didn't get him for a long time though. Bartys eyes were always on someone else or on regulus black, another boy he became close with. Regulus was everything he wasn't. Regulus was desirable.

This is what caused him to look around them, they were an odd number, he was the odd number. Pandora clung onto regulus, and barty and dorcas had a dynamic that no one could replicate, he always chose her and she always chose him. They were one of the same despite being so different.

This broke evan, he started to distance himself. Becoming friends with another group, snapes group. He quickly became friends with avery and mulciber. They are the ones who made him aware of a powerful darkness growing. He would talk endlessly with them about tge power they sought for, the power they deserved. He would try to talk to the other about it but he was always quickly shut down by them, the only one who ever had a slight interest in it was barty. They would wisper about it, about getting the mark, hurting people, gaining power.

Later on evan will find out the only reason barty was so interested in it was due to regulus being forced to take the mark. Regulus himself refused to let barty in, condemned him for being interested in it.

Evan tool the make as soon as he could.

The day evan took the make a lot happend. He found out about regulus' death, dorcas casted their friendship away due to the betrayal she felt and barty kissed him. Barty kissed him while crying. Barty kissed him while crying about regulus.

He never fully processed Regulus' death. To evan regulus was this God like figure, somthing that could not be touched let alone killed. He would lie in bed imagining how regulus died, if he died like a coward or died how evan imagined hero's died.

Losing pandora and dorcas was a whole new grief, somthing heavier as it wasn't dead, it would wiggle wrap around him as he suffocated in it. Losing his sister and his friend due to his own actions destroyed him. it killed him.

Evan took all he could get whether that was money, power or love. Evan only had barty for a few years and never fully. He was always sleeping with others, or touring regulus or dorcas. The only time Evan felt he had nearly all of barty was when he was on a mission.

It's poetic that Evan lost himself on one of the only missions barty wasn't with him for. He died having none of him.

Sorry If this was bad, I've never done anything like this before 😅

#underratedmarauders #evan rosier #the marauders #marauders era #harry potter #rosekiller

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xo-zozo · 3 months

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helloooo

could I possibly request averyjamesons wedding day hcs??

yes ofc!! i'm so sorry that this took about five years to do (not fr)

tags: @nqds @stqrsbythepocketful @sophiesonlinediary @silly-little-gooses @x-liv25-jamieswife @lxvebelle @reminiscentreader @flowers-for-em @lyrakanefanatic @off-to-the-r4cesces @zoyaaaabear @clarissaweasley-10

jameson tries to see avery the whole time but max and libby won't let him because of tradition and stuff

avery's wedding dress in literally the most beautiful dresses ever but at the same time it's like really simple and sleek

avery and jameson designed their wedding cake together byt libby makes the cake by herself (and she stresses about it for a super long time even though she does great)

suprisingly byt not at the same time, their wedding is *kinda* small, there's the whole family there and all of their close friends as well as other people who are important when it comes to... the earth

instead of avery, it was jameson who has been thinking about his wedding since he was younger and he always said how their wedding was so much better than he though it would be

libby is the maid of honor so she and whoever the best man is (assuming it's one of his brothers) always running around which shows at the wedding because of how beautiful it is

they wrote their own vows and they're the most poetic thing you would ever hear (everyone cried)

their first dance is really cute and avery had the song picked out since they first started dating

they do that thing where at each of the tables at their reception there's photos of both of them at different ages

max and libby are avery's bridesmaids

jameson just chose all of his brothers to be his groomsmen and you can chose who his best man would be

their wedding would be outdoors... do with that what you will (i feel like it would be on the beach or somewhere special to them in a place around the world)

max and gigi fight over the bouquet and they end up just being goofy and splitting them in half

jameson and avery put their wedding playlist together but when the playlist was over it was up to xander to dj

during the reception jameson literally never takes his eyes off of avery (he's literally so in love)

they post their wedding photos online with really cute captions and people go CRAZY over it

their rings were like so pretty (and lowkey expensive)

#jennifer lynn barnes #the hawthorne legacy #the inheritance games #avery kylie grambs #jameson hawthorne #the grandest game #the brothers hawthorne #nash hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #phone girl

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wheresmymilliondollarman · 2 years

Note

can you do hcs of dating grayson hawthorne?

grayson hawthorne x fem! reader

hcs about meeting & dating the heir apparent of the hawthorne family.

a/n: ofc!! thx sm for the request & sorry for the wait!! i just got a new one also requesting grayson so this one goes out to you too anon!! grayson hawthorne is one of the lomls🫶 i am so indecisive between him & jameson fr (but for avery i think jameson is better suited for her). hope u enjoy!! i'm a sucker for the poor x rich trope sorry & i love tobias lowkey playing match maker in these LOL & this follows some of the main story but then kinda trails off

word count: 6.8k

warnings: almost drowning (LOL), minor mature language, few spoliers for final gambit i guess?,

before you were dating the second oldest hawthorne, you were just a girl working part-time at a diner as a waitress, trying to make enough money to buy a car. you were relentlessly getting picked up/dropped off everywhere by either one of your parent's vehicles.

being a waitress wasn't ideal when dealing with rude customers, pretentious managers, and occasional annoying co-workers, but you had decent pay, and tips weren't too bad.

most of the time you were running the show on your own. serving tables, acting as hostess, dealing with unsatisfied customers, etc. it wasn’t even the lack of staff, it was lazy behaviors of your co-workers and manager - who got the job because her dad owns the business.

one peculiar afternoon you were doing your usual job of serving tables and taking orders when an older gentleman walked in, way classier than your usual customers. you seated him, gave him a menu, and then returned to the kitchen to serve your other tables.

the diner staff seemed to be murmuring words and glancing back at the man, but you didn't pay any mind to it. it wasn't unusual for you to catch staff gossiping about customers.

going back to the table, you gave him the complimentary water and then asked for his beverage of choice - he chose a simple black coffee. you went to the kitchen and returned with his drink. you were on the verge of asking for his meal order, but he looked preoccupied with a crossword puzzle.

you peaked over, and noticed he looked possibly stuck, so you offered your help because you often did crosswords when you were bored. "do you mind if i take a look?"

he said nothing, only gesturing his head toward his little crossword booklet and pen beside it. even his pen looked fancy.

you looked over the one he was one, and after reading the hint and the number of boxes for the word, you could figure it out.

"tatersall."

the old man peered at you as if you spoke a different language.

"it's fabric with checks and lines, the phrase is a bit old-fashioned. i only know it 'cause that's what my dad refers to his shirts as." you explained.

he looked intrigued by your words, as if you'd given him an idea. he thanked you, then went on to fill out the boxes.

words were said much after that. he drank his coffee and left sometime while you were busy serving other tables. when you returned to ask him if he wanted anything else, he was already gone. but not before leaving $200 dollar tip next to his finished coffee.

you thoroughly checked if it was real, not believing anyone would purposely leave such a tip for a cup of black coffee. but in fact, it was very real. and you even bought yourself a very cute dress to commemorate. just to double check it was legit, of course.

the older man with silver-blue eyes continued to come into the diner every few days, never ordering anything other than a black coffee and always being generous with the tip.

you two had polite conversations and odd ones rooted questions he dropped on you. you noticed a lot of them pertained to money and contributions. but you never passed on answering.

they were questions like "what jobs have you worked?", "what are your parents' occupations?", "are you interested in charities and donations?", and "what do you do with the money you earn?"

thru these visits, he finally gave you his name, tobias. it shouldn't had surprised you he had a unique name to match his unique personality.

you didn't get much information about tobias. all he revealed to you was he enjoyed games, was obviously wealthy, and has 2 daughters, one son, and 4 grandsons - who weren't too off from your age.

he liked to talk about a certain one, the second oldest, grayson. you created an image he was a closed-off, goal-driven, cunning, and loyal guy. you didn’t wanna jump to conclusions, but one could say he was slyly trying to set you up with him.

it wasn’t uncommon for grandparents to come in the diner and rave about their grandsons. at times they would even show you a multitude of photos saying how handsome they are and well-raised gentlemen who would be a great match for you.

you never had the heart to straight up tell them ‘not interested’, so you listened to their praises and then fabricated a lie as to why you were unable to date their grandson.

if tobias ever were to ever try and do that you would use the same methods. you were sure his grandson was an acceptable man, but you had no interest in going on a blind date with anytime soon.

however, the conversation didn't maneuver that direction; instead, he went on to talk about how grayson was in charge of a foundation he owns and basically manages everything.

you found that rather impressive, considering he was only eight-teen. then you thought, 'just how rich is this guy?'

this arrangement continued for a few more weeks and then it turns into a constant routine for months. still never ordering anything order than a coffee, and leaving after.

one day, tobias abruptly stopped coming into the diner. and after a two-week hiatus, you figured he was likely not returning again.

you didn't realize how tedious work was without the old man's presence, you were still as busy as ever doing everyone's job, but now you didn't have the levity from your conversations.

it stayed like that for the following three months, no word from tobias. you wanted to contact him somewhere, but you began to realize how little you knew of him, hell you didn't even know his last name. he knew all the basics of what comprised you, but you couldn't even say his favorite color. and you’d known this man for almost a year.

but as it turned out, you didn't need to contact him yourself because a man came into the diner asking for you.

at first, you thought it was an unsatisfied customer here to berate you some more; it wouldn't be the first time. but you were more than relieved it was a guy you'd never seen before, a particularly handsome and well-fitted one.

you went up to the man and politely greeted him, asking how you could help him. he took you presence in when you appeared, looking up and down. it wasn't in a 'checking-you-out' type way, it was of an 'i'm judging what type of person you are' way. you felt scrutinized in your lousy diner girl uniform. it didn't help he was dressed pristinely from head to toe.

he finally spoke, "it's pertaining to my grandfather, tobias hawthorne."

you were piqued up at the mention of tobias, this was the first time you'd heard of his last name, but you didn't know any other tobias's so it must be him.

the man in front of you was one of his infamous grandsons he loved to chat about, although you weren't sure which one. but based on his stern and disciplined attitude, you'd place your bets on grayson. but just to be sure you asked.

"right, my name is grayson hawthorne." you called it. "unfortunately, my grandfather has recently passed. my family is in the middle of gathering everyone for the matter of the will, but all parties must be preset. my grandfather's law firm has informed me you are also mentioned in it."

your heart broke at the reveal of tobias passing. you knew him less than a year, but you still had formed a connection with him.

then the other portion of his statement dawned on you, he mentioned you in his will. why?

grayson seemed to have wanted to know this too. he said tobias mentioned you in passing but didn't offer details about your relationship. he didn't hide how he was suspecting and untrusting of you.

you filled him in on details of how you met, your meetings, and the last time you conversed with him. grayson was still wary of you, but he didn't have any reason yet to say you were lying.

he then urged you to gather your belongings because the two of you had to head over to his family's residence as soon as possible. he has already informed your boss of your leave of absence.

it was all so sudden, you were still processing all this information. grayson's insistence made it nearly impossible to do anything but listen.

so, grayson took you home to change and pack a few items. you left a note for your parents, letting them know you'd be spending a night or two at a friend's house. you knew if you explained what was really going on they would not let you go; they'd probably even scold you for befriending a random old man at work, calling you naive.

although, that had merit because you were currently off with a man you knew for like five seconds because you believed he was the grandson of a man who you also didn't know for too long.

you thought the chance of getting kidnapped was better than overworking at the diner.

you were astounded when grayson casually took you to the destination of his private jet. you'd never flown first class, let alone a private freaking jet.

you two took off, and a few hours later, arrived in texas. the moment you stepped off, a bodyguard guided the two of you into a limousine. from there, you sought off to the mansion.

when you arrived, you thought you'd been driven to some sort of fancy hotel, but not it was where grayson and the rest of the hawthorne lived. you'd likely get lost trying to go from the kitchen to your bedroom.

grayson had to physically drag you away from your jaw-dropped stare at the property.

when you entered the entrance hall , another girl was already there, an older girl with her as well.

she turned her attention toward you when she noticed you entering, she seemed to have recognized grayson, but had a questioning gaze toward you.

the older girl was the one to speak to you first. “and here i thought we’d already met everyone affiliated with this crazy rich family. hi, i’m libby and this is my sister avery. are you grayson’s girlfriend?”

you could’ve died from awkwardness right there. you didn’t even wanna take a glance at grayson’s reaction, you imagined he would have a look of discontent.

“er, no. we just met today actually. he came into my work saying i’m needed for a will reading, and next thing i know im off in a private jet and in this mansion.”

this time avery spoke up, “sorry about libby’s assumption. it was just because you guys came in together and he’s carrying your bag.”

grayson was in fact hold your small luggage bag. he taken the liberty of taking it out of the trunk of the limo and carried it since.

you didn’t say anything, you just snatched your bag out of grayson’s hands, mumbling a quiet thanks.

grayson let out a laugh, but covered it up as a cough.

avery talked about her situation being similar to yours, except she’s never met tobias hawthorne before. it made you feel better there was someone else who felt like an outsider.

you were led away by grayson, guiding you to the room the will was being read. but you ran into a numerous amount of people on the way.

first, it was xander, the youngest hawthorne grandson. he appeared out of secret passage, jump scaring you. then he introduced himself.

nash, who had a country accent, followed a bit after walking in with his mother skye. she asked you a few invading questions about yourself, and you replied cordially. very relieved when grayson excused you both.

finally, you’d met jameson on accident. you were on the way to the bathroom, using directions given to you, and that’s when you bumped into him. he was very obviously drunk. he slurred a few words, but you quickly excused yourself, not wanting to deal with whatever was going on with him.

once you were finally in the room, you took a seat next to avery since she and her sister were the best options.

finally the will reading began, and the lawyers started reciting its words and designated belongs and money to different family members. all the families were stunned that the grandsons, especially grayson, hadn't gotten the entire fortune. yours and averys names had yet to be mentioned.

"to my newfound friend y/n l/n, i leave conservatorship to the hawthorne foundation. the remainder of my estate, including all properties, monetary assets, and worldly possessions not otherwise specified, i leave it to be shared upon y/n l/n and avery kylie grambs."

nothing could have you prepared for that. you thought it was a prank at first, some sick joke rich people do that get less-than-fortunate people's hopes up. but no, the lawyer did indeed confirm it to be true.

avery and yourself turned toward each other wide-eyed, completely flabbergasted. then the whole room erupted into chaos, everyone standing up to demand an explanation, accusing you both of having done something.

you had just met these people, and you couldn't for sure say they were capable of murder, but you'd seen enough movies about the rich to know it's definitely a possibility.

luckily, oren, tobias' (now ex) bodyguard, stood in front of you girls, preventing the hawthornes from stepping any closer. he claimed he worked for you both now, so it was his job to protect you.

"should we trust this guy? what if he's just playing us to get the inheritance." avery whispered to you.

"a bodyguard with ulterior motives is better than being left to the wolves."

"good point." libby chimed in.

it didn't end there; there were conditions for the will, saying you and avery must remain at the hawthorne estate for a full year to receive the inheritance.

so not only did you become enemy number one toward most hawthornes, but now you had to live with all of them. lovely.

that jump-started your now future of being involved with the hawthornes (and the grambs sisters)

after the will fiasco, the grayson made it his mission to unmask whatever game you played to get the inheritance, but he always came up empty-handed because you, as you insisted to multiple hawthornes, did not manipulate tobias. you didn't even know the guy's last name until you had met grayson.

if you had a talent for taking advantage of rich men, you would not be wasting time being a waitress for a shitty diner.

however, you tried to look on the very bright side of things, living in a gorgeous mansion. your bedroom was the size of your home's first floor. you;'d never slept on a comfier or larger bed.

one thing that set you apart from avery in the will was that you had complete ownership in the hawthorne foundation and his involvement with different charities. alissa had informed you that you'd need to learn to manage it- designating which associations to donate to, how much, how often, etc.

it was overwhelming to think about; if you failed to be a conservator, it would be given to the grandsons. you also knew having authority over it bothered zara hawthorne, since she'd spent basically her whole life running it. you knew it you were to make a wrong move, she'd be quick to call it out you.

alissa had arranged for you to go to the foundation and meet with someone who'd help you navigate the ropes. a part of you assumed it'd be zara meeting you there, maybe forced by alissa to help you. but instead, it was grayson, who still thought you were some master con woman.

he was the only grandson that had an issue with you and avery, but for some reason, you were more suspicious to him. xander, jameson, and nash seemed to have adjusted to events and were now somewhat friends with you. it was pretty infuriating how grayson would not listen to reason, no matter how much you tried to make amends.

grayson remained professional, not wanting his personal feud to hinder the foundation's work. he started giving you a tour and explaining an overview of how things ran. it became easier for you to imagine yourself running it.

you stopped when you passed by various black and white photos hung up in midair. they'd been hung since the beginning of your tour, but you'd only truly taken notice just now.

"who took these? they're beautiful."

"i did."

'of course, you did' you thought. he seemed to be good at everything.

"can i have a copy of this one?" you pointed toward a photo to your left; it was of a couple dancing together in the rain, in front of the eiffel tower.

"why?"

"i'd always wanted to see the eiffel tower. plus, i just really like it." it was true. the photo was captured exquisitely, and going to paris had always been a goal of yours, along with traveling to different places in the world.

he didn't respond. grayson went up to the photograph and carefully unlatched it. he then turned to you and gestured for you to take it, "here, you can have it."

you were a little shocked he just gave it to you, but hundreds of photos were decorated throughout the building, so it probably didn't mean much just giving you one.

you took it in your hands gently and thanked him. you both then continued your tour into the conference room to discuss further management of the hawthorne foundation.

but unbeknownst to you, the photo you now owned was one of his favorites.

it became easier to get to know and warm up to grayson the more you visited the foundation, which you did quite often because you now that you had (or will have) conservatorship to the foundation, you wanted to ensure you knew everything involving it to ensure you'd continue its success.

you could now say the two of you were somewhat friends, but there still seemed to be a wall - built by grayson, between the two of you. likely from the lack of trust he still has toward you.

at times he'd look at you as if you were the enemy, and other times he'd treat you courteously. his constant mood changes were driving you crazy.

you had been staying up later than usual since your stay at the manor began. it didn't help that there was possibly a secret passage in your room like avery's has.

but your leading cause of distress stemmed from the mystery of the whole will situation. you'd gotten a small letter like everyone else, but it failed to offer any closure.

in fact, all it said was, "good luck". you'd never had the urge to strangle a dead old man til now.

however, this night you decided to walk outside. you'd been hesitant to wander around the mansion, but then again, you technically half owned it now, and nobody could really stop you. so you decided to go to the pool area, carefully avoiding alerting your new bodyguard of your movement.

when you got there, it was empty as you had hoped. the pool was illuminated with the lights, the area surrounding it was dimly lit.

you settled for solely dipping your feet in the pool and gazing at the stars upon the sky.

half an hour in, you heard the faint sound of someone possibly approaching. you took it as a sign to get back to your room before oren noticed, if he hadn't already.

you got up a bit too quickly, causing an imbalance in your step - leading you to stumble backward into the pool.

most people would simply swim back up to the top and pull themselves out, but you couldn't do that for one big reason. you never learned to swim.

panic began to seep into you as you flailed your arms all over the place, attempting to float to the top, but it only made you sink further. it didn't help drowning was on the top of your list of 'ways i would hate to die'.

you were midway through choking on the water when someone jumped into the pool and carried you back onto the pavement.

after coughing the water out of your lungs, you looked at the face your your savior kneeled in front of your; low and below there was grayson hawthorne - wearing nothing but swim shorts.

the sight of him shirtless made it harder to steady your breathing.

"are you alright?" you nodded in confirmation.

"what were you thinking getting into the pool so carelessly?"

"well, i just to test out my new waterproof mascara." you said sarcastically. "obviously i didn't end up in the stupid pool purposely!"

he rolled his eyes. “god, were you born a horrendous swimmer or just taught by an imbecile.”

you stayed silent, looking away from him, not wanting to admit the embarrassing truth.

“do you…do you not know how to swim?”

"….. define knowing to swim.”

he gave you an incredulous look, “seriously? even most 5-year-olds know how to swim, better yet, they wouldn’t almost drown in the 7ft part of the pool.”

“okay i get it! it’s pathetic i don’t know the basics of swimming. you don't have to be an asshole about it.” you stood up angrily in your soggy clothes and attempted to walk away - but grayson grabbed your wrist.

“wait. alright, i apologize for being quick to judge. if you want..i’ll teach you to swim.”

you were taken aback by the gesture, not quite sure what to think. on the one hand, it could be a plan to embarrass you further, but on the other hand - you really didn’t want to live your life not being able to swim any longer.

“alright.”

the following night he made good of his word when you went out to meet him. (oren being aware this time, after he warned you he'd lock you in your room if you snuck out without him again.)

this time you had proper swim attire, a 2 piece bikini alissa had purchased for you, along with others.

grayson was already in the pool when you arrived, swimming laps. once he noticed your arrival, he stepped out of the pool. you would've thought it was a scene from a movie from how smoothly & dreamy he moved.

you averted your eyes before you stared at his form too long.

you weren't sure if it was your imagination or you saw grayson do a double-take when he saw you.

all his attractiveness was shortly forgotten when he went to his bag to retrieve something, then handed you some plastic. it took you a moment, but then it clocked - these you arm floaties.

"you're joking right?"

"hey, after that near-drowning experience, it's better to be safe than sorry."

"it's like you want to humiliate me."

"don't worry i chose the ones with the flowers to enhance your matureness." he fought back a smile with his words.

he got a nasty glare in response.

still, you knocked down your pride on putting on the floaties before you and grayson submerged into the pool.

then grayson began reciting exercises and movements for you to do. after floating around for a bit, he instructed you to remove the floaties. you were obviously hesitant, the floaties were keeping you from drowning, but grayson insisted that you trust him.

he grabbed your waist with both hands and got behind you; that was enough to quicken your pulse.

his hands held you steady as you attempted to stay afloat by moving your arms and legs. it would get harder to focus when his hands moved up and down your back.

"okay, i'm gonna let you go now."

"ok. wait what-"

you were abruptly cut off because grayson immediately removed his hands, leaving you on your own. being caught off guard, you began a repeat of the night before, but this time attempting to swim correctly. regardless, you were still beginning to choke on water and sink down.

grayson swam back to your aid in an instant, holding you up above the water by the waist.

"shit- i'm sorry. i assumed your instincts would kick in if you had less reaction time."

"oh, because it worked so well yesterday."

"right, perhaps i should've given it more careful thought." he moved a hand to the side of your face, "are you sure you're okay?"

you nodded, unable to verbally respond. the tension in the air thickened as the two of you continued to stare to one another. for a brief moment, his gaze wandered to your lips, and you stopped breathing.

his face slowly leaned into yours. you didn't know what you'd do if he was going to kiss you - a big part of you was ready to kiss back and the other part told you i'd be a mistake if you did.

but the moment was interrupted by alissa, who was calling your name because she wanted to ho over tomorrow’s events with you.

you also knew, based on alissa's critical gaze, she'd seen what was about to possibly happen. she has already given you a fair amount of warning about getting involved with hawthornes.

grayson then pulled away, awkwardly bidding you farewell, saying he'd see you later before he made his way out of the pool.

since then, the brewing tension between the two of you grew. it didn't help you already see him quite a bit during the day, then alone at night. apparently, it was evident to everyone there was something happening because thea calligaris cornered you.

"the last girl who was with grayson ended up dead."

you were unsure what to believe after that, you really didn't trust thea, but didn't mean it couldn't be true. 'don't rich people always have some murderous secret?'

you couldn't help it, and brought up the topic to grayson, who went very still at the mention. he lashed out at you before walking away. you suppose that confirmed it.

he avoided you for a few days, even skipped out on swimming lessons, so you kept yourself busy with school and hanging with avery and xander; solving the still ongoing mystery of the will. which you'd lowkey given up on because riddles were not your forte.

you felt bad your question, but he didn’t need to act so harshly toward you. so, you weren’t going to talk to him until he approached you first.

a knock sounded in your room when you were getting ready for bed. however, it didn't come from the door but from behind a large painting.

'i swear if this house is haunted, i'm running back home'

you tried to remove the painting, but it was stuck to the wall. then you discover a small button hidden on its frame. against better judgment, you press it, making the painting and the wall behind it move forward and slide to the left.

you knew there were various passages, but having one in your own room kind of freaked you out.

behind the moving wall stood grayson. you screamed at first, only seeing a figure in the dark. but then grayson quickly stepped into the light and closer to you to put a hand over your mouth. you were relieved to see him and not someone who would possibly murder you.

he didn’t remove his hand, you gave him an expectant look.

“just hear me out, before you demand i leave. i came to apologize.”

you nodded, allowing him to continue. he sighed and pulled his hand away. then he opened up to you for the first time, telling you about a girl name emily laughlin.

he explained her condition, how both hom and jameson were involved with her, and how she died.

the more the story went on the more you felt bad for both brothers, especially grayson since it seemed it was still affecting him. you even felt for emily, obviously, she lacked something in her life to play 2 brothers.

“i'm not complaining, but why did you decide to tell me all this” the two of you at some point made your way onto your bed, sitting side by side each other

he humorlessly laughs, and looks directly at you. “to be honest, i’m not even sure. all i know is when i look into your eyes, i have this urge to tell bare my soul to you.”

deja vu to the pool incident, you both didn’t say anything, just looked at each other, slowly leaning your face closer.

you were ready to be interrupted again, stopping the act before it can happen. but there was none, and your lips were now an inch apart, and your heart was beating like you just ran a marathon.

“tell me to stop right now, or i’m afraid i won’t be able to hold myself back.”

you said nothing.

wasn't like he gave you much reaction time anyway because he kissed you a second later - like you were the last person he was ever going to kiss.

and oh boy, was it a good kiss.

even when he left your room later that night, after much kissing you were still reeling from the shock of it all.

you didn't know what it meant for the two of you - did he like you?, was it a one-time thing?, or did he kiss you as a way to forget emily?

you were only sure of one thing right now - you felt something toward grayson that crossed the friend zone.

the kiss was never brought up over the days; grayson and you continued to work together and swim at night together almost every other day. you weren't sure if you were relieved or offended he never mentioned it.

you swore he got flirter since the kiss - his hand brushing against yours, standing very close behind you when reviewing something for the foundation, hands wandering when helping you swim, even a subtle flirty remark here and there.

you confided in avery about the events. she was insistent on the fact grayson liked you, and that he didn't seem like the type of have a fling nor rebound.

you wanted to believe he liked you, but then you would hear thea's voice in your head, reminding you of emily, and how he isn't over her.

it was driving you mad, so you convinced yourself you were simply reading into things. you weren't.

it all came to a head at a charity event the both of you helped plan for the foundation. you'd wore a beautiful namebrand designer custom-made gown, the fanciest dress you ever adorned.

however, the whole night grayson ignored you and made it clear he was avoiding you. anytime you approached him he gave an excuse to the person he was talking to that he had to go somewhere. or if you tried making eye contact, he was quick to turn his head the other direction. you didn't know what his deal was.

when you took to the outside for a breather, you sensed the arrival of his presence.

you scoff, "so now you wanna talk to me or what?"

he didn't respond, which upset you more. so you opted to walk back into the ballroom, but grayson stopped you.

"anytime i look at you too long, i think of our kiss that night. then i have to hold myself back from doing it another time. and if i kiss you, i thin- no. i know i won't be able to help but fall for you."

you were again dumbfounded by such confession. a habit that seemed to always happen in the presence of grayson hawthrone.

"i don't mind."

"neither do i."

he crashed your lips together with his in a flash.

unlike the first one, the kiss was messy, and messy was never a way you thought you'd describe the pristine grayson hawthorne.

his hands made their way to your face keeping you close while his mouth was almost devouring your lips. you steadied yourself by holding onto his shoulders because you did not trust your wobbly knees to stand on their own.

you pulled away first, heavily breathing like the night you almost drowned. your mind was still hazy, unable to properly form a sentence to speak.

grayson hands stayed, caressing your face gently,

"you can have my entire being if it means i get to kiss you like that whenever."

you both didn't end up returning to the charity that night. not while your makeup was smudged and all your lipstick was transferred on grayson's face.

though it was never verbally official, the two of you were evidently more than friends at that point.

you didn't even need to tell anyone of your newfound relationship because you'd come to find out jameson had seen the two of you that night, and he would could never resist a gossip about grayson. so the information easily made its way throughout the entire hawthorne manor.

in relation, grayson fought jameson. unfortunately, you weren't allowed to watch the fight because grayson didn't want you to witness any violence. you were lowkey disappointed because you and avery were ready to place bets.

alissa also made sure to have a talk with you both regarding public appearances. she advised it was better to keep it private because everyone was still reeling from yours and avery's newfound inheritance, and this news could possibly do damage to your media reputation. plus, it was better if grayson was advertised as single.

you personally didn't mind, you weren't the biggest fan of pda when you had a thousand new eyes on you. and alissa's advice was wise since you were new to the whole being a public figure thing. and well, you both lived together anyway.

grayson was more hesitant to agree, but mostly for your benefit he listened to alissa.

it was fun in a way, acting platonic in public then kissing when you got to the mansion or even the limousine. it was like having a secret relationship.

whenever interviews tried to insinuate something, you learned how to shut it down after much lessons on pr. but grayson liked to leave sly comments; only the two of you could understand.

"yeah, y/n's quite well at exploring the mouth of new things."

"y/n and i have become very acquainted with each other."

"you could say i'm into women who sink instead of swim."

it made you wanna laugh and playfully hit him all the same.

what really made your relationship step into public light was when rumors about you and jameson dating started circling around.

a photo of the two of you had been taken getting out of a limo together then entering a building, where people rumored you had a 'date'. in reality, both of you were there to talk to skye hawthorne after she was removed from the hawthorne mansion.

grayson was less than happy about these rumors, and jameson not denying anything to the press to get a rise out of grayson, was making things worse.

so, in a grayson hawthorne manner - he took care of things himself. he bought out all of the press and made them debunk the stories.

then to be even more dramatic, the next time the two of you were out together, he made a whole show of kissing you. even going as far as dipping you down in his arms before the kiss - felt straight out of a cheesy romcom. you couldn't say you didn't enjoy it, though.

the paparazzi had a field day with those photos & the two of your the front page of gossip magazines for weeks. alissa was ready to explode after only finding out the two of you went public from the media.

being in a public relationship was harder than being in a secret one. there were somehow even more eyes on you, picking your relationship apart. they mostly targeted your flaws and even took digs at your old diner job. even a surge of online hate came at your direction.

even grayson couldn't buyout every magazine or person who had a negative thing to say about you, and trust that he very much tried to.

but being official in public also had great pros. now, grayson and you could go out on dates wherever without worrying about hiding and disguises.

you couldn't stay anywhere too far at first because of the 'stay in the house for a year' rule, but you had dates at all sorts of fancy places. even though you were technically a net-worth nigher than him,now, he always insisted on paying the bill. ever the gentleman.

grayson knew how to plan one himself. a personal favorite of yours had to be the picnic in a hot air balloon.

but once the year was up, the first place gray took you was to paris, which he knew was always your dream. paris now seemed like a mundane dream compared to all of the past year's events.

still, paris was absolutely incredible, and being there with your boyfriend made it better - and helpful because he was fluent in french while you barely passed the high school class with a B.

seeing the eiffel tower was the best part, it was even more amazing up close. standing there with grayson, the grays started to cloud, and small drizzles of water came down.

your bodyguard (one oren forcefully implanted) had advised you both to head to the car before it started pouring. you were ready to follow along, but gray tugged your sleeve, stopping your movement.

you gave him a questioning gaze, so he held out his hand, asking you to dance.

you laughed and accepted nonetheless, even when the rain started to pour in more. the two of you began a clumsy (on your part) waltz across the pavement. both of your faces filled with blissful smiles. to this day, it is a favorite memory of yours.

it was even better when grayson gifted you a photo of you two that day, one he asked the bodyguard to take. now, the picture was framed next to the one grayson had taken & grayson hung a copy of it at the hawthorne foundation.

since dating, grayson's insomnia has improved immensely. it mainly had to do with the fact you two frequently sleep in his bed together. he jokes your his personal nyquil.

it's true when they say he sleeps like a deadman, even has a tiny snore - though he keep denying it. but he has some sort of sixth sense that enables him to know when you leave the bed.

like for instance, you needed to use the bathroom one night, and the moment you got up from the bed - grayson is up and asking where you were going.

the swimming lessons were not forgotten - you two still had that nightly routine. but you weren't becoming a michael phelps anytime soon. not when most of your lessons involved more kissing than swimming.

but hey, at least you've moved past the need for floaties. because grayson just carries you himself if it's too deep for you to swim.

he loves to buy anything that reminds him of you. a jewelry piece that matches your eyes, a dress he thinks would look pretty on you, a shift from your favorite film/show/artist, or even an item you offhandedly mentioned you wanted. he'd have them wrapped and ready to give to you the next moment he saw you.

much to our surprise, grayson was also the clingy type. his love language was more gift-giving but doesn't mean he wasn't a bit touch-starved.

he revels in hugs, kisses, and intimate moments. he always wants to hold hands when you both are walking together. jameson and nash love to tease him on it.

he has as a domestic side to him. he helps you put on your coat or even sometimes makes you wear it, keeps you on the side of the sidewalk not near the street, carries your purse or shopping bags, and helping you slip on your heels and shoes.

overall, grayson hawthorne was nothing less of an amazing boyfriend. except when he sees eve for the first time.

you were in the office of the foundation looking over a few files when you saw tobias' name mentioned then initials at the bottom. 'T.T.H.'

"huh, i thought your grandfather didn't have middle name."

grayson looked over your shoulder, "oh, he didn't. at least not until had changed his legal name less than a year before his passing."

"what is it?"

"tatersall. quite peculiar right?"

you laughed to yourself. perhaps he was trying to set you up with her grandson after all.

@itzchanelx @marigold-morelli

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne fic #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x female reader #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #jameson hawthorne #avery grambs #x reader #reader imagine #reader insert #x female reader

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