#gambit one shot

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request a one shot for how Remy showing off his magic tricks to his gender neutral crush who is genuinely fascinated by it please?

Sleight of Hand and Heart

Remy LeBeau, with his signature cocky grin, held out a deck of cards between two fingers, shuffling them with practiced ease. His red-on-black eyes never left yours, enjoying the way your eyes followed each flick and spin of the cards.

“Pick a card, any card,” he said in that smooth Cajun accent of his.

You tried to suppress your smile, knowing full well he was showing off, but you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just the charm; there was something about the way Remy handled the cards that genuinely fascinated you. It was like the cards were an extension of him, moving fluidly as if they had a life of their own.

With a hesitant grin, you reached forward and picked a card from the deck, holding it close to your chest.

Remy’s eyebrow arched, his grin widening. “Now, don’t be shy, mon ami. Show me whatcha got.”

You flashed the card toward him quickly — the seven of hearts — but pulled it back just as fast. Remy’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

He spread the deck in one hand, face down, and tapped the cards. “Slide it back in.”

You slipped the card back into the middle of the deck, eyes glued to his hands as they moved with practiced precision. He shuffled the cards again, tossing them in the air, catching them effortlessly. You watched, captivated by how smoothly his fingers danced over the cards.

He winked at you and snapped his fingers. “And voilà.”

Reaching behind your ear, Remy pulled out the seven of hearts, holding it up between his fingers with a triumphant smirk.

Your jaw dropped. “How did you…?!” You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “Seriously, how did you do that?”

Remy chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “A magician never reveals his secrets. But maybe…” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were considering something. “Maybe for you, I can make an exception.”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d teach me?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying your fascination. “Course I will. Ain’t often I find someone as curious about the art of deception as me.”

Remy motioned for you to come closer, holding out the deck of cards. “First thing you gotta know ‘bout magic is that it’s all ‘bout misdirection. Keepin’ their eyes on one hand while the other’s doin’ all the work.”

You stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his as you watched his hands move. His touch was gentle as he adjusted your grip on the cards, his fingers guiding yours.

“Now, shuffle,” he instructed, his breath warm against your ear.

You attempted to mimic his fluid movements, but the cards slipped awkwardly from your hands, falling onto the floor in a messy heap. You groaned, crouching down to pick them up, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck.

Remy laughed softly, crouching down beside you to help. “Don’t worry, it takes time. Ain’t no one started out a master.”

You glanced at him, cheeks flushed, but his expression was kind, not mocking. For someone as skilled and charming as Remy, you had expected a little more teasing, but he seemed genuinely invested in teaching you.

Once the cards were back in your hands, he guided you through the process again, showing you how to control the deck, how to palm a card without anyone noticing. You watched his hands closely, trying to memorize every flick of his fingers.

“Like this?” you asked, holding the deck in one hand and attempting a shuffle.

Remy nodded, a proud grin spreading across his face. “There ya go, now you’re gettin’ it.”

You beamed, thrilled by the progress you were making. It wasn’t just about learning card tricks anymore — it was about the way Remy’s patience and encouragement made you feel like you could do anything.

“Okay, now the real fun starts,” he said, taking the deck from you again. “Lemme show ya how to pull off that trick I did earlier.”

You leaned in closer, eager to learn, as Remy walked you through the sleight of hand. His explanations were clear, but the way he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye made your heart race. You couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed more focused on your reactions than on the cards.

After a few tries, you attempted the trick, and while it wasn’t as smooth as Remy’s, you managed to pull it off. You grinned triumphantly, holding up the card you had just ‘magically’ revealed.

Remy clapped, his smile wide. “Look at that, you’re a natural!”

You laughed, feeling a warm rush of pride. “I had a good teacher.”

Remy’s gaze softened at that, the teasing tone fading as he looked at you a little longer than usual. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “but you got more talent than ya think.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, the cards and magic tricks were forgotten. There was something about the way he was looking at you, something more than just the playful banter you were used to. You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous under his gaze.

“I… I’ve never really been good at stuff like this,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But with you… it feels different.”

Remy tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “That so?”

You nodded, feeling the tension in the air shift, the playfulness between you giving way to something deeper. “Yeah… I guess I’m just fascinated by you.”

Remy’s smile softened into something more sincere, his voice low and intimate. “Guess I’ve been fascinated by you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. There was no magic trick to distract you, no cards to hide behind. It was just you and Remy, standing close, sharing a moment you hadn’t expected.

And as Remy took your hand, guiding your fingers through one last trick, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you had found something more magical than any card trick he could teach you.

[triptuckers]

nothing without you - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing:  remy lebeau x reader Summary:  remy loses his beloved cards and you figure something out about him Warnings:  mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood/wounds (nothing big), remy is a lil sad :( Word count: 1.5K A/N: do I know anything about gambit or his lore? no. I do know I went to see deadpool & wolverine again and now I need him to call me chéri. enjoy!

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you knew remy loved his cards. after a while you'd lost track trying to count them. in every pocket of every piece of clothing he owned, you'd find a deck of cards. it was an entire chore to empty all of his pockets before doing laundry. and still some of them would end up in the washing machine, and they'd come out all soggy and messed up.

if he would round them all up, you're sure he'd be able to fill an entire storage box. he always had at least one pack of cards on him.

but there was always that one favorite pack of cards. the one he took with him on missions, the one he always had on him "just in case".

and now it's missing.

ever since he found out he lost it, remy has been heartbroken.

you helped him search for it, turning the whole place upside down. remy was the first to give up the search. he told you he'd accepted the fact he lost them, but you knew he was just too sad to have lost them to keep on searching.

his powers didn't have anything to do with that specific deck of cards, they were simply his favorite. he'd had them since he was a kid, learned all of his skills with them. of course they were special to him.

you tried to cheer him up by getting him a new deck and talking about his other decks, but nothing seemed to help.

you'd noticed he'd grown more restless since losing the cards.

from the moment you met him, you had only ever seen him with a deck of cards in his hand. safe for the moments where he was doing something that required both of his hands. but his fingers were never far from the cards.

now that he's lost them, he's constantly holding on to other things. you'd never really considered remy to be a very anxious person, but he's fidgeting constantly now.

if you're sitting next to him he's playing with your fingers or the hem of your shirt. he's tapping patterns that make no sense to you on your thigh. he'd repeatedly tap his own fingertips against each other.

right now, he's sitting on the couch after getting back from a mission. he got a nasty cut on his forehead but otherwise he was fine. you just got back from fetching the first aid kit from the kitchen when you see him staring off into space while rapidly tapping his fingers on his leg.

'hey.' you say, sitting on the salon table in front of him.

he blinks a few times before his eyes settle on yours.

'you okay?' you ask.

remy nods, but you can tell something's bothering him. you decide to let it rest until after you take care of him. it can wait.

you scoot closer to him, opening the first aid kid.

'I'll need to clean it first, before I can bandage it.' you say softly. 'it might sting a little.'

'it's okay, chéri.' he says.

you carefully put some rubbing alcohol on a cotton wad and lean in. as you gently press it on his forehead, remy sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

'sorry.' you say, as you start to slowly wipe the cotton wad over the wound to get rid of the dirt and blood.

you feel something on your leg and when you briefly glance down, you see remy is fidgeting with a loose thread of your pants. they were really his, but you stole them so long ago they're basically yours now. you always had to roll them up a couple of times before you could wear them, otherwise they were too long.

as you get out a fresh cotton wad, you notice remy still has his eyes closed. he really hasn't been the same since he lost his favorite deck of cards, and you're worried about him.

'remy?' you say.

he hums in response as you lean in to finish cleaning the wound on his forehead. you put the bloody cotton wad on the ground next to you so you can throw it away later.

'talk to me. what's going on?' you say.

'I didn't look where I was going, the knife barely missed me but it nicked me. I should-'

'I'm not talking about today's mission, love.'

remy opens his eyes and looks at you with a slight frown on his face. you give him a soft smile.

'you've been... different. and it's okay, I just want to know how I can help you. you haven't been yourself since you lost your favorite cards.'

he closes his eyes again and leans into your touch as you bandage his forehead. his fingers are still playing with your pants.

'they keep my mind off of things.' he says eventually.

'the cards?' you say.

remy nods. 'I've got something to do with my hands. I can think about the cards. not about... other stuff.'

'all done, my love.' you say, when you finish bandaging him up. you press a soft kiss to the bandage and look down to find remy looking up at you.

'thank you, mon amour.'

'you're welcome.'

you get up to put the first aid kit away and throw the trash out. then you get back to join remy on the couch.

his fingers immediately take a hold of yours as he starts to play around with them.

'you know, I never figured you for a very anxious person.' you say.

'I'm not.'

'baby, you can't keep your finger still. and when you're doing something with both of your hands, your leg is always bouncing up and down.'

remy frowns. 'I do that?'

'it's usually something people do subconsciously. then again, being the gambit is a pretty stressful job.'

'I guess.'

you turn to look at remy. 'you really miss your cards, huh?'

'chéri, you have no idea.' sighs remy.

'I'm sorry we didn't find them.' you say.

'it's not your fault.' says remy, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. he knows it's not anyone's fault but his own. he probably lost them somewhere outside, because they did search the entire house. every cabinet and under every piece of furniture.

'how about we watch a movie? try to get your mind off of it for at least an hour or two?' you suggest.

'sure, alright.' says remy.

'you pick the movie, I'll get the snacks.' you say, getting up to go to the kitchen.

you get out a bowl and half a bag of popcorn. you dump it in the bowl and stuff the empty package in the trash, which is nearly overflowing. knowing it'll only annoy you in the morning, you let out a sigh as you take it out.

after taking it out of the bin - which took more effort than you would have liked - you close it and take it out the backdoor. just as you throw it in the larger bin outside, something purple catches your eye.

you walk over to where it is sticking out from under the bin. as you drag the bin away so you can take a closer look, you see a familiar rectangular box.

remy's beloved cards. his very favorite deck.

you quickly snatch it up and head back inside.

when you get back to the living room you see remy has picked one of your favorite movies.

'hey.' he says, glancing over his shoulder at you. 'no snacks?'

'I've got something better.' you say.

remy looks over his shoulder again and his eyes land on your bright smile, then drop to your hands.

'tada!' you say. 'found them outside under the bin! I knew we didn't lose them and they had to be around somewhere so I-'

you're cut off when remy grabs your face and kisses you. you hadn't even noticed him getting up and walking to you in two quick and long strides.

'mon amour, you're the best!' he says, smiling at you. he kisses you again and you can feel he's still smiling.

he pulls back and takes the deck of cards you're holding up for him. instantly, he takes them out of the case and twirls them around, throwing them in the air and catching them again.

you watch as his face lights up. you're so glad he's got his favorite cards and he looks like your remy again. you watch him for a while, following the cards with your eyes.

eventually, he puts them away and pulls you against his chest, making you laugh as he hugs you tight.

'oh, what would I do without you?' he says as he pulls back slightly so he can look at you.

'well you'd have to find someone new to fix you up after a fight. and to find your cards. and take care of-'

'alright, alright, I get it, I'm nothing without you.'

'and don't you forget it.'

'I won't, chéri, I promise you I never will.'

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Yooo. Amazing Gambit writing. 💕 Sooooo I was thinking. I’m feral for the new movie Gambit, especially that VOICE, and can’t stop thinking on this.

Soft non-mutant reader who doesn’t deal with violence and blood very well, like sick or panicky because they were so protected growing up, while Remy is trying to protect them during a fight (could be anywhere). Like, bad time bad place thing. But the reader wants to help, by throwing a shoe when they were about to hurt Remy. Chaos ensures when they turn toward the reader.

So as I was writing this, I was thinking "EXCUSE ME THIS IS A GREAT STORY CONCEPT,". Also, Am I able to use this prompt to possibly, maybe add to my 'I need to write this into a multi chap story' Gambit x reader file? But I hope you enjoy :)

The air crackled with tension as the fight erupted around you. It was supposed to be a simple errand, just a quick stop in a small town that had seemed peaceful enough to get a few hours sleep in. But then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, things went south, and it went south fast. The sudden ambush, the flash of weapons, and Remy pushing you behind him—everything happened too quickly to process.

You had never been good with violence. The sight of blood made your stomach churn, and the sound of gunfire was enough to send your heart racing in sheer panic. But Remy was so much more different that you, complete polar opposites. He moved through the chaos with a deadly grace, cards charged and ready, every motion calculated and precise. It was like watching a storm unfold, fierce and unstoppable.

You tried to stay out of the way, pressed against a wall, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. But then you saw it—one of the attackers sneaking up behind Remy, a blade glinting in the dim light. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, just acted on pure instinct.

You looked around, hands still pressed against the red brick wall, trying to find something, anything, that would help. You let out a small huff, reaching down and grabbing the closest thing within reach—your dark coloured shoe—and flung it with all your might. It sailed through the air, smacking into the man’s head with a dull thud. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him stumble, giving Remy just enough time to turn and disarm him with a swift, brutal strike.

But then the man's eyes snapped towards you, fury burning in them as he realized where the attack had come from. You froze, heart hammering in your chest, as he took a menacing step toward you. "Shit," You whispered to yourself.

Remy, still engaged with another opponent, glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the man advancing on you. "What exactly did you think that would achieve?!" he shouted over the noise, his Cajun accent thick with frustration.

You blinked, caught between terror and a strange sort of defiance. "I don't really think about things before doing them, you know?" you shot back, voice trembling but determined. "It's how I ended up here with you to begin with, remember?"

The irony of your words wasn’t lost on you. You’d never been the type to seek out trouble, to dive headfirst into danger. In fact you, thrived staying away from it. Spending most days either inside or at your job. But meeting Remy had changed everything. He was chaos wrapped in charm, a magnet for the kind of trouble you had always been shielded from. And yet, somehow, you’d found yourself dragged into his world, into the madness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

It had all started so innocently. You’d met him by chance, a twist of fate that had brought the two of you together. He was on the run, tangled up in something that you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t walk away from. Before you knew it, you were caught up in his orbit, swept along by his easy smile and the thrill of something you’d never felt before—excitement, danger, a sense of purpose.

And now, here you were, in the middle of a fight you had no business being in, your shoe—of all things—your only weapon. The absurdity of it might have made you laugh if you weren’t so scared.

The man lunged toward you, but before he could reach you, Remy was there, faster than you could have imagined. He moved like lightning, his bo staff connecting with the man’s side in a sickening crunch that made you wince. The man crumpled to the ground, and Remy turned to you, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and exasperation.

"When I said stay behind me, ," he stated, his tone showing his annoyance at you, "It wasn't an optional request chère'".

You nodded, swallowing hard as you clung to the remnants of your composure. This wasn’t your world—this world of violence and bloodshed—but it was his, and as long as you were with him, you’d have to find a way to survive it.

Remy’s order to stay behind him was clear, but the chaos around you made it hard to follow. Every sound seemed amplified—the clash of metal, the shouts of your enemies, the pounding of your own heart in your ears. You stumbled back, trying to keep your distance, but the room felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you with every breath.

Remy was a blur of motion, a dangerous dance of power and precision. You marveled at how he seemed to anticipate every move, every attack, as if the world around him was moving in slow motion. But despite his skill, you could see the strain in his eyes, the worry that flickered every time he glanced back at you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You knew that much. But there wasn’t time to think about the ‘what ifs’ or the ‘should haves.’ Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting out of this alive.

Another assailant broke away from the fight, making a beeline for you. You instinctively took a step back, your hands trembling as you searched for something—anything—you could use to defend yourself. But there was nothing. No more shoes to throw, no weapons within reach. Just you and the growing dread in your chest.

Before you could react, the man was on you, his hand grabbing your arm with a painful grip. You let out a small cry, the fear surging up, threatening to overwhelm you. His grip tightened, and you could see the cold, calculating look in his eyes—a predator sizing up his prey.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Remy was there, moving like a shadow. He wrenched the man away from you, his eyes blazing with a fury you had never seen before. "I said stay behind me!" he snapped, his accent thick and his voice laced with an edge of desperation.

You didn’t have time to respond before Remy shoved you back, his attention already turning to the next threat. The man who had grabbed you was on the ground, groaning in pain, but Remy didn’t linger. He was already moving, his staff whirling as he took down the next attacker with a brutal efficiency.

You pressed yourself against the wall, your heart still racing, your body trembling with the adrenaline coursing through you. This was too much. The sights, the sounds, the raw violence of it all—it was overwhelming, like you were drowning in a sea of chaos with no way to escape.

But then you saw it—a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye. One of the attackers, a woman with a cruel sneer and a gun raised, aimed directly at Remy. Your breath caught in your throat, your blood running cold as you realized what was about to happen.

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. Without a weapon, without a plan, you did the only thing you could think of. You threw yourself at her, arms flailing, a wild, desperate attempt to stop her before she could pull the trigger.

The impact surprised her, but it surprised you even more. The two of you tumbled to the ground, her gun skidding across the floor. She cursed, scrambling to get up, but you were already on her, holding her down with a strength you didn’t know you had.

For a moment, everything was a blur. You didn’t think, didn’t feel—just acted, driven by pure instinct and the overwhelming need to protect Remy. But you weren’t a fighter, and it didn’t take long for her to get the upper hand. She rolled you off her, slamming you against the floor with a force that knocked the breath out of you.

Pain radiated through your body, sharp and overwhelming, but you didn’t let go. You couldn’t. You had to hold on, had to keep fighting, because if you didn’t, if you let her win, she would kill Remy. And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.

But you were no match for her. She was stronger, more experienced, and it wasn’t long before she overpowered you. Her hand closed around your throat, squeezing, cutting off your air. You struggled, panic rising as your vision started to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges.

And then, just when you thought it was over, the pressure was gone. You sucked in a desperate breath, gasping for air, as you saw Remy standing over you, the woman unconscious at his feet. He knelt beside you, his face a mask of concern and something else—something raw and unspoken.

“Chère,” he whispered, his voice tight as he reached out to help you up. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if it was true. Your body hurt, your mind was spinning, and you felt like you might be sick. But you were alive, and so was he. That was all that mattered.

He pulled you to your feet, steadying you as you wobbled, your legs weak beneath you. “I told you t’stay back,” he muttered, though there was no anger in his voice now, only worry.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice hoarse and trembling. “I just… I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the walls he usually kept up start to crumble. “I know,” he said quietly, his hand still on your arm, grounding you. “But you gotta trust me t’protect you, alright? This ain’t your fight.”

You nodded again, tears stinging your eyes as the reality of the situation finally started to sink in. You weren’t made for this—for the violence, the blood, the fear. You were out of your depth, dragged into a world you didn’t understand and couldn’t handle. But you couldn’t leave him, either. Not when he needed you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, feeling the weight of your own inadequacy pressing down on you. “I’m not… I’m not like you, Remy. I can’t do this.”

He shook his head, pulling you into a tight embrace, holding you close against him. “You don’t gotta be like me, chère,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “You just gotta be you. And that’s enough.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as the tears finally started to fall. The fight was over, the danger passed, but the fear and the adrenaline still pulsed through you, leaving you shaky and exhausted.

Remy held you, his presence warm and comforting, a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just stayed there, holding on to each other in the aftermath of the chaos.

Finally, he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands gently cupping your face. “We’re gonna get outta here, alright?” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “An’ I’m gonna make sure you’re safe. Always.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but stronger than before. “Okay.”

He smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart ache with a strange mix of relief and something else—something warm and tender that you didn’t quite know how to name.

“Good,” he said simply, “Let’s get moving.”

You followed him, your hand in his, allowing him to pull you into the street, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened. The fight, the fear, the realization that you were in over your head—it all hung heavy in the air. But there was also something else, something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could handle this after all.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

TIG masterlist

[littlebirddraws]

I haven't seen the movie yet, but from the clips that I've come across so far, Channing Tatum did SO GOOD!

He reminded me why Gambit has been my favourite X-man since I was 10.

Anyway, here's some Gambit fanart I did of one of my favourite lines from Deadpool and Wolverine.

[cera-writes]

I'll be posting again on the 11th. I'll actually be in New Orleans next week and we're staying at the Hotel Villa Convento. Thinking of taking more Gambit requests from now until then! ♥️

[queers-gambit]

Peaky Blinders masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are OPEN where to watch: BBC • Netflix

coming home

dialogue prompt #91: "you have to talk to me - i can't read your mind!"

word count: 2k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🙊 general language and content warning

read here

If Speaking is Silver, Then Listening is Gold

you require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman.

hard of hearing reader

word count: 4.4k+

💔 mild angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression

read here

Aces

during a terrible storm, you're invited to stay at your boss' house. years of tip-toeing around one another comes to an end when emotions are finally laid on the table.

word count: 3.5k+

🙊 general language warning 🛏 kinda one bed 🧸 fluff fluff fluff 🥰 romance

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[quillsmora]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue Characters: Rogue (X-Men), Remy LeBeau Additional Tags: From The Ashes (X-Men) Era, Mild Smut, Post-Coital, Pillow Talk, or in this case couch talk, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, i just really love these two okay, Established Relationship Summary:

“Chére…that was…”

“Amazin’?” Her hand snakes its way into his auburn hair, carding her manicured fingers through the slightly damp locks.

“I was gonna say real fuckin’ good.”

“That works too.”

or: a moment before it all goes to hell (again).

[demitrius-kahnum]

Welcome To The Mindspace: 

All different types of fanfictions are welcome here!

Hello random users of Tumblr that don't really, if at all, know me! My name is Demitrius Kahnum and I'm FINALLY writing fics! These are prompts that I have that have been just ideas/thoughts in my head but have never been brought to writing fruition.

 Now please be gentle with me because even though I LOVE reading and writing I've never truly written things either for people to read in the sense of fics or books, but i do have a way with words and a bad habbit of writing too much due to just ‘cuz reasons. So! Please enjoy, have fun, and if you have requests please leave them down in the comments and I will get to them when I can- DO NOT SPAM ME OR MAKE DEMANDS. 

I won't answer to spam, demands, or annoyances that I haven't updated or done something specific that you want. 

Previous prompts:



 Warcraft One-shots and fuller length fanfiction (Durotan x reader x Draka, Draka x Durotan, Draka x reader, Durotan x reader, Durotan x Khagdar x Draka, various Warcraft bashing, etc)



other orc fanfiction (smut, oc x oc)



Avatar Recoms fics/one-shots (all of them tbh except for that one random one I don't like)

New Prompts:



Remy LeBeau/Gambit (Channing Tatum he did SO DAMN GOOD LEMME TELL YOU!) x Reader (and possibly the 97ver b/c let's be honest that man is FOINE!)



The Rookie x Detroit Become Human (Nolan x Markus) (extremely random I know, but idc)

Maybe some Bridgerton one-shots too?

Oh! And also some one-shots for the k-drama Eve: Because FUCK that ending and screw the creators nor giving me what I want! So I'll do it myself! La-El and Yoon-kyum desrve to be together DAMMIT!

[1989stanz]

Michael X Cassie

The Naturals

Ok. Hear. Me. Out. It's been a couple months since I last posted something here (I'm writing something, but it's still not finished because procrastination and school). However, today I was looking through my drafts and I found something interesting. I wrote it when I was reading The Naturals and I was still team Micheal (crucify me if you want to, but he's hot 🤷‍♀️). I'm not even team Micheal anymore because ✨DEAN ✨, but I thought it would be funny to share what I wrote back then.

It's like a remake of the scene in the forest in book two. When I read this scene, I thought "What if Michael was the one who found her? How would that go?" And I built this remake based on these questions.

ANYWAY, LET'S QUIT ALL THIS TED TALK AND ACTUALLY SHOW YOU WHAT I WANT TO.

(have fun‼️💪)

Word count: who cares?

(English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are mistakes here and there.)

Briggs helped me to my feet. “My team’s on their way in,” he said. “We left straight from the house, so we had a head start.” We?

“Cassie.” I knew who it was before I saw him. The boy who asked me to guess how he liked his eggs cooked when I first met him. The one who read others emotions like a book, but preferred to hide his. The guy that didn't like to want things, but made it clear that he wanted me and only me.

Michael.

Sometimes it was impossible to know how he was feeling just by glancing at his face, but his voice already told me everything thing I needed to know—every single emotion he was feeling. Worry. Shock. Relief. Hope.

The fact that he didn't use my nickname didn't go unnoticed. His face was pure relief and, when he settled his eyes on me, his eyes twisted in a way that told me he didn't expect to find me in this condition.

The narrowing in his eyebrows told me something more, another feeling, hiding in the mix of emotions he was feeling. Anger. I guessed that if Webber wasn't already dead, Michael would strangle him with his bare hands in a couple of minutes.

“Holy shit. I thought he would kill you.” Michael ran towards me, squeezing my whole body in a bone crushing hug that took all the breath in my lungs away. I tapped him in the arm and his arms began to loosen up a bit, but I still couldn't breathe right.

“I thought too, but Briggs came in time.” I looked at his face, grabbing it with both of my hands. My fingers started tracing the corners of his face, my mind now hungry for something familiar. Something real. Someone to trust.

His hands were by his side, but I judged by the way his eyes were moving that he was tracing every part of my face too, trying to see how bad my injuries were. I saw the way his eyes softened when he was analyzing them, but there was a subtle change when his eyes were looking at the rest of my face.

A feeling that sometimes I caught in his face when he wasn't hiding it.

It was love, affection. And still a bit of concern.

“Where are the others?” my voice came harsh, my thumb whipped the tear that fell down his right eye. His eyes were full of tears that were begging to emerge, to be dropped.

“They are at the house. And by the way it was Sloane's idea to activate the tracker. Everyone wanted to come, even Dean tried to sneak into Briggs' car, but Judd was glued on him. I just simply followed Briggs with my car.” he swallowed dryly, “I just had to came here, to look at you. You don't understand, Cassie.”

And that look was on his face again. I never noticed before, but Dean looks at me like he's just staring at something trivial like an object—something he wanted to ignore but couldn't. Badly. But Michael was eyeing me like I had the universe in my hands. And I couldn't stop thinking that I couldn't deny anymore how I had the sensation that my heart was about to explode when he was nearby. How, when everytime I tried to deny it, it became harder and harder with time to hide it.

Not that I was really putting effort, since he would know any affection that I might have for him with one look at my face.

He said that he would give me time, that he would be patient while I was trying to figure out how I felt about him and Dean. But I was done trying. I knew the answer, and he had waited for a long time to know about it.

“What happened?” Michael asked, his arms still wrapped around me and holding my body like I was about to vanish into thin air if he let me go. I didn't protest. His eyes were still on my injuries, so that would explain how he didn't see the new rush of certainty that crossed my face.

“I hit him in the head with a rock. Then, I jumped off a tree on him.” His eyes followed mine up to the tree I climbed, and his lips twitched in a smile well known.

“I should have expected.” his face turned to mine again, this time there was a glow in his eyes. “The asshole deserved the hell you mad him go through.”

He was smiling at me, and it was just then that I noticed how my hands were shaking from what happened.

The gun to my hand. Webber's voice saying how he killed his victims. Agent Sterling's last words to me before I left the cabin. It was all in my head, screaming.

And of course, Michael noticed the look in my face. “Hey, it's ok. We're ok. He's dead right now and won't ever hurt you again.” He used one of his hands that were planted in my waist to move away one of my hands from his face, cupping my face with one hand and pulling me closer with his other.

“I'm fine,” I told him uselessly.

“You're not, but I don't expect you to be. You can be fine later.” His words made me calmer, almost silencing the noise in my head. Almost. I knew a way to keep them away.

Wasting no more time, I pulled him by the hair, the space between us closing, and he kissed me desperately. Then, I realized he wasn't joking when he thought I was about to die, because he was kissing me like I came back from the death.

The hand on my waist was drawing small circles and the one on my face was holding my chin. Holding me gently and kissing me like it was my last kiss. My hands were initially on his neck, and when they moved to his hair I pictured him in every single situation with me.

At the restaurant. Picking me up in my house with his Porch. Him pissing Dean off. The look on his face when he asked me if I'd kiss him if Lia dared me to do it. Him actually kissing me after that. How he followed me without hesitation, knowing that a killer was after me. Saying that he would be patient and wait for me, but once his lips were on mine, my hands buried in his hair—all I would think about would be him.

And oh God, he was right. So fucking right.

My knees were almost giving up, his hands the only thing keeping me in place. He only stopped when my lips were sore, my tongue numb, and glanced at me, taking deep breaths. Analyzing my face, his hair a mess. Whatever he found, he just smilled at me. My lips tried to mimic his gesture, but it was still weird to smile. And I wondered for how long it would stay this way, for how long Webber's actions would haunt me. How many night of sleep I would waste pacing, thinking and wondering. How it would feel strange having to act normal after what just happened. Would I ever be able to forget him?

No. I'd have to forget Locke first, what's impossible. They'd always be in my mind, some days taking control of it, some days just in the corner of my brain waiting to haunt me again.

“I think we should come back to the cabin.” I said, and Michael followed me without any questions, holding my hand. He must have read the expression in my face and knew that now I needed answers to keep me distracted from what happened in the trees. I couldn't allow myself to feel scared right now, but I knew who I could go to if I needed support.

I could go to the boy that learned how to read emotions to save himself. To the one that wasn't open with others, but it was different with me. The one that casually said he likes Jane Austen.

Michael.

[ginger375]

Update

In light of the release of X-Men 97 and the fact that I'm getting a lot of kudos emails lately, I have finally put my X-Men: Evolution stories into a proper series! Which means they can be read in chronological order! Yay!

Romy Evolution (dumb name, sorry about that) is a collection of one-shots I wrote that take place post-series finale that has Gambit joining the X-Men, as per that finale group photo. Because I was/am a long-time Romy shipper, it's mostly about Rogue and Gambit.

I don't know if I will ever go back to the series... maybe if they decide to do with Evo what they've done with TAS... but at least they are in some semblance of order for those that want to enjoy them.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Doin gods work I see 🫶🏻 if your still taking Remy LeBeau requests could I get one where the mutant!reader can control electricity and how Remy would be intrigued by it? P.s. I love your work 💜

Sparks Between Us

It was a typical day at the X-Mansion — at least as typical as it could be with a bunch of mutants living under one roof. The team had just wrapped up a mission, and you were in the training room, trying to shake off the leftover adrenaline by practicing with your powers.

Electricity crackled at your fingertips, small bolts of lightning arcing between your fingers as you controlled the flow of energy. The feeling was familiar, comforting even, as you twirled a spark in your palm, watching it pulse and flicker with a soft glow.

You didn’t hear him approach — typical Remy, always moving like a shadow — but you felt the weight of his gaze before he spoke.

"Impressive," Remy’s smooth, Cajun-accented voice drifted through the room. “Didn’t know you were lightin’ things up like that.”

You turned to see him leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. His red-on-black eyes were fixed on the sparks dancing across your hands, clearly intrigued.

"Didn’t mean to intrude, chérie,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you with that signature swagger. “Just couldn’t help but notice ya puttin’ on quite the show."

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Just practicing. Helps me focus after a mission.”

Remy stopped a few feet from you, his gaze still flicking between your face and the electricity coursing through your hands. “Never met someone who could control electricity like that. Must be excitin', havin’ all that power at your fingertips.”

You smirked, letting a small arc of electricity dance between your fingers before releasing it. "Exciting, maybe. But it can be a lot to handle."

Remy’s eyes glinted with curiosity as he stepped closer. “Bet it can. But I reckon you got it under control, non?”

There was something in the way he looked at you — a mix of admiration and intrigue. Remy had always been drawn to things that were dangerous, and you could see that same fascination now as he watched the sparks flicker in your palm.

You raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure how to take his interest. “Why so curious, LeBeau? It’s just electricity.”

Remy chuckled softly, his grin widening. “Ain’t nothin’ ‘just’ about it, chérie. Electricity’s powerful, unpredictable. And you make it look effortless.”

You felt a blush creep up your neck at his compliment, but you shrugged it off, letting the electricity fade from your hands. “It’s not as effortless as it looks. You’ve got to learn how to control it, or… well, let’s just say things can get out of hand pretty quickly.”

Remy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his grin never wavering. “Sounds a bit like me, non? Unpredictable, powerful, and hard to control.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, though you couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, please. You’re not that hard to figure out, Remy.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. “That so? Then tell me, chère, what am I thinkin’ right now?”

You blinked, the sudden closeness making your pulse quicken. The air around you felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike, and for a brief second, you wondered if it was your powers reacting to him — or if it was just you.

You cleared your throat, trying to stay composed. “You’re thinking… that you’re really good at flirting.”

Remy laughed, the sound low and warm, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Guilty as charged. But I’m also thinkin’ you got somethin’ special, mon amour. Ain’t just anyone who can control the kind of power you got.”

His tone was softer now, less teasing and more genuine, and the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You weren’t used to Remy being so straightforward, and it made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

You looked down at your hands, at the faint traces of electricity still lingering at your fingertips. “It’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like it’s too much, you know? Like one wrong move, and everything goes haywire.”

Remy’s expression softened, and without warning, he reached out and took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “Ain’t nothin’ too much when you got the right balance, chère. You just gotta trust yourself.”

The touch of his hand sent a jolt of warmth through you, and you glanced up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his eyes. Remy LeBeau, the smooth-talking, unpredictable thief, was looking at you with something that felt… deeper.

“And what if I mess up?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost unsure.

Remy smiled, his thumb tracing small circles against the back of your hand. “Then I’ll be right here to help ya pick up the pieces.”

You swallowed, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “You really mean that?”

He nodded, his smile softening. “Always.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you charged with unspoken emotions. And then, with a playful grin, Remy stepped back and pulled out a deck of cards from his coat pocket.

“Wanna see somethin’?” he asked, his tone light again.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden shift. “Sure.”

Remy flicked his wrist, and in one smooth motion, he charged one of the cards with his kinetic energy, making it glow pink and hum with power. He tossed it into the air, and as it exploded in a harmless burst of light, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Now that’s a neat trick,” you said, impressed.

Remy winked. “Ain’t as fancy as what you can do, but I’m workin’ on it.”

You chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through you — a warmth that had nothing to do with your powers. “You know, Remy, maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

He grinned, stepping closer once again. “And maybe, chère, you’re startin’ to see the charm I’ve been tryin’ to show ya all along.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll see.”

And as Remy stood there, his eyes never leaving yours, you realized that maybe, just maybe, there was more than just electricity sparking between the two of you.

[hearthown]

Jameson - One Hell of A Shot

[requested by @aria-1105] - the ff begins during the time Jamie skipped school to find the next clue in the game (TIG) and before finding the clue on the Winchester rifle (it's kinda like an AU).

The Black Wood.

Jameson inhaled the scent of the forest - the fresh air, the wood, the metal tang of the grass. He knew that he should’ve been searching for clues, clues from the latest game his grandfather had left them.

He didn’t know why he had ended up here, out of all places. Ground targets surrounded him, half of them punched with holes, the other half brand new. He couldn’t remember when he last stood here, rifle in hand. Maybe he didn’t want to remember.

Then, his gaze moved to the many trees that surrounded the clearing. He had always known that trees were a representation of knowledge. Of memories. And it was memories that he was seeing in front of his eyes now.

——————————————————————

[Okay, let’s pretend that TTH taught Grayson and Jameson shooting on Jameson’s 12th birthday, as one of his “schemes” to get them to compete]

Jameson's 12th Birthday

“Alright, boys,” Tobias Hawthorne began. “The first thing you need to know about shooting is that you always treat a rifle as if it is loaded, even if it isn’t.”

Jameson watched as his grandfather started loading his own rifle. It was his 12th birthday and he had expected this. Well, not the fact that he’d have to learn shooting on the morning of his birthday, but the fact that Tobias Hawthorne loved making him and Grayson compete. On one day every year, he and Grayson were the same age, and his grandfather pulled out all the stops. Last year, they had to fight each other using the martial arts skills they had cultivated. Grayson had won. Today, Jameson was determined not to let history repeat itself.

He was determined to WIN. Just like any other Hawthorne, he loved to win. But today, he had to be better. He had to beat Grayson. And he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

As his grandfather took up position and showed them the different stances that would affect the accuracy of their shots, Jameson had eyes for nothing else in the world. He was always known to have laser focus. Once his attention was latched on to you, it would take a lot for it to be snatched away.

“You lose focus, you lose the game.” His grandfather’s words echoed in his head.

Tobias Hawthorne continued his lesson, now moving on to aiming techniques. “Make sure that you have proper sight alignment. A good shooter must not only have a good arm, but he must also be able to use his eyes.”

Jameson wiped sweat off his brow. If Grayson thought he had a chance of winning today, he was wrong.

BAM! His thoughts were cut off by an ear-splitting sound.

He looked at the target and… BULLSEYE. His grandfather had made the perfect shot. Tobias Hawthorne was as Hawthorne as the rest of them. Jameson might even go on to say that he was THE Hawthorne. Hawthorne values had been made by him. His lessons were ingrained in their minds, his blood their blood. It was no shock that everything he did was perfect.

Before he knew it, his grandfather had walked them through the whole process again, several times, one-on-one. It was time to compete.

Five ground targets were prepared. In order to win, they had to get the most number of bullseyes. As always, their grandfather expected perfection. Nothing less, but there was always room for more.

Grayson was up first. Every inch the heir apparent, he got into his shooting stance, his rifle raised to eye level. His first three targets were all bullseyes. Jameson clenched his hands into fists. On the fourth one, Grayson fumbled, and the shot went a little way off. He watched as Grayson noticed his mistake, as his muscles tensed. He must’ve pulled himself together before shooting the final time because that was a bullseye too.

“Now your turn, Jameson,” his grandfather patted him on the shoulder. Tobias Hawthorne might as well have been asking him to have his turn at the merry-go-round at the funfair. Hawthornes didn’t go to funfairs for leisure or fun. This was fun at Hawthorne House.

Jameson positioned himself in front of the first target and tightened his grip on the rifle. As he brought it up to his gaze, he noticed a word carved on the rifle’s stock. WINCHESTER. His middle name.

Electricity surged in Jameson’s body. This was meant for him, he knew it. He was going to prove to his grandfather that he could do this.

He closed his eyes, all of his five senses somehow sharpened. When he opened them, he fired his first shot.

BAM! Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.

At the final target, he set his jaw. This was it. He lined up his shot one last time and… BULLSEYE.

He had done it. He had won.

He barely had time to process what had just happened when his grandfather appeared behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Very good, Jamie, very good.”

Jameson basked in the praise. Tobias Hawthorne was stingy with his compliments, to say the least. He didn’t exactly give them out like candy.

“I’ve never seen a shot like that before, especially one from a 12-year-old. You’re ahead of your time, Jamie. Keep this up and I’ll see to it that the rifle collection is passed on to you.”

Jameson’s eyes widened. He knew how much that rifle collection meant to his grandfather, how much time his grandfather had spent finding collector pieces all around the world.

“Happy Birthday, Jameson.” Tobias Hawthorne beamed.

Jameson grinned, and then turned back to find Grayson, offering him a rare smile although he knew that deep down, Grayson was disappointed of his loss.

——————————————————————

Present Day

“WINCHESTER.” Jameson repeated to himself. Within the next moment, he sprinted into the House and entered the armory.

He knew exactly where the next clue lied.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Clean

Warnings: A small little smutty one-shot. 18+ only. Pairings: Remy Lebeau/ Reader, Anna Marie/ Remy Lebeau. Summary: Jealousy wasn't always a curse.

The common room buzzed with the usual post-mission energy—laughter, storytelling, and the kind of camaraderie that made long days bearable. You were sinking into the couch, half-listening to the chatter around you, but your gaze kept drifting to the other side of the room.

Remy and Anna were huddled close, their heads nearly touching as they exchanged whispers and laughter. Remy’s Cajun accent was unmistakable as he leaned in, his words soft but filled with warmth. Anna’s eyes sparkled as she responded, her fingers brushing against his arm with a familiarity that stung more than you cared to admit.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Anna—she was fantastic, truly. But watching her so close with Remy was like watching a slow-motion replay of a mistake you couldn’t quite erase from your mind. You’d been flirting with Remy, yes, but lately, it had felt like something more to you. And seeing him with Anna made you question whether you were just imagining things.

“Drink up,” Scott said, sliding a glass toward you, pulling you from your thoughts. The amber liquid sloshed temptingly, and you accepted it with a nod, trying to drown out the prickle of jealousy that kept creeping up.

“Trying to get me drunk, Summers?” you asked, forcing a chuckle as you took a sip.

Scott shrugged, his smirk not quite hiding his concern. “Nah, just thought you could use a drink. You look like you need to unwind.”

You rolled your eyes but took another sip, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you. It wasn’t the solution, but it helped take the edge off, making the banter around you a bit more bearable.

Jean and Scott’s teasing conversations about pool and dance began to distract you, and for a while, the tension faded into the background. You laughed along, the room’s light-hearted energy briefly lifting your spirits. But each time you glanced over at Remy and Anna, the pang of jealousy returned.

Jean, sensing something amiss, leaned over. “What’s up with you tonight?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing, just having an off day.”

Jean’s gaze remained steady, clearly not buying your act. “You sure? Because it looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”

You forced a smile, attempting to sound casual. “Really, it’s nothing important.”

Jean’s eyes flicked to where Remy and Anna were now swaying gently to the music. “I think it might be something worth talking about. Maybe even something Jean’s picked up on.”

The way Jean said it made you choke on your drink, the liquid going down the wrong pipe. You coughed, sputtering as the room fell silent, everyone’s eyes on you. Remy’s expression shifted from amused to worried as he stepped away from Anna, his gaze fixed on you.

“Everything alright, cher?” he asked, his voice carrying that thick Cajun accent laced with concern.

Jean shot you a knowing look before turning back to Remy. “She’s fine,” Jean said smoothly, though her eyes hinted at deeper understanding. “Just had a little misunderstanding.”

Remy’s eyes remained on you, his concern evident. “Misunderstanding, huh? Didn’t sound like nothin’ too small.”

You could feel the weight of the room’s attention, the pressure of the conversation you weren’t ready to have. “Remy, it’s really nothing,” you insisted, though your voice was rough from the coughing. “Just… drop it, okay?”

His eyes locked onto yours, searching for something. “Alright,” he said quietly, though the worry didn’t completely fade.

The room’s energy slowly returned to its previous state as people resumed their conversations, but you could still feel the curious glances. Jean stayed by your side, her expression softening. “We’ll talk later,” she said, her voice low. “Just think about what I said.”

You nodded, unable to muster the words. As Jean walked away, you glanced back at Remy. He was still watching you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotion.

The night wore on, and the alcohol-induced haze began to clear. You decided it was time to call it a night. Standing up, you stretched and announced, “Alright, folks, I’m heading to bed.”

Remy immediately looked up from his conversation with Scott. “Need a hand gettin’ back?” he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of earnestness.

You hesitated, glancing at Anna, who was engaged with a couple of other teammates. She didn’t seem to mind, and walking back alone didn’t seem too daunting. Still, Remy’s insistence made you hesitate. “I’m fine, really. You should stay with Anna.”

Remy shook his head, his eyes fixed on you. “Nah, I’d rather walk you back. Anna’s got plenty of company tonight, and I’d prefer to make sure you get there in one piece.”

You could see that he wasn’t going to let this go, and part of you was too tired to argue. “Alright, fine,” you relented. “But only if you promise not to make it awkward.”

Remy’s grin returned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Awkward? Me? Never,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You grabbed your jacket and headed for the door, Remy falling into step beside you. The cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth of the common room, and the walk was a refreshing contrast.

“So,” Remy began, breaking the silence, “did Jean finally get you to admit somethin’ you’ve been keepin’ secret?”

You shot him a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Oh, so now you’re the one interrogating me?”

“Just curious,” Remy said, his tone playful. “You know how much I love a good mystery.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Jean’s just… observant. Maybe a little too perceptive.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Personal stuff, huh? Sounds like somethin’ worth talkin’ about.”

You sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. “Maybe. But not tonight. Tonight’s supposed to be about relaxing.”

Remy’s tone softened. “Fair enough. But just know if you ever wanna talk, I’m here.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. “Thanks, Remy.”

You reached your door, turning to face him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for walking me.”

Remy’s grin widened, the usual spark back in his eyes. “Anytime, cher. You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

 Jean’s words echoed in your mind as you stood by the door, watching Remy’s retreating figure. The mix of emotions that had been brewing all evening suddenly felt too intense to ignore. With a deep breath, you called out to him.

“Remy, wait up!”

He paused and turned, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “You need somethin’?”

You swallowed, your heart pounding as you grappled with how to begin. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I’m not sure how it’s gonna go, but—” You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “But it’s important.”

Remy’s expression shifted to one of concern and attentiveness. He took a step back towards you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, but his eyes fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and patience. “Alright,” he said, his Cajun accent thickening with his focus. “I’m all ears. What’s on your mind?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves that were threatening to overwhelm you. “It’s…about us. About what’s been going on.”

Remy’s eyes softened slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Us, huh? You’ve been workin’ up the courage to talk about this for a while, haven’t ya?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment press heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I have. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but… Jean pointed it out earlier. Seeing you with Anna tonight made me realize how much I need to be honest with you.”

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of concern still present in his gaze. “Honest about what, exactly?”

You took another breath, the cool night air helping to clear your mind. “There’s just something, Something more than just friendly flirting. And seeing you with Anna tonight made me confront that.”

Remy’s eyes widened a bit, surprise evident in his expression. He took a step closer, his voice softening as he spoke. “So, you’re sayin’ you’ve got feelings for me?”

You nodded again, the admission both freeing and terrifying. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I can’t deny it anymore. I care about you, like a lot. Probably more than I should considering you’re a pain in my ass.”

Remy’s gaze softened, and he took a moment to process your words. The usual playfulness in his demeanour was replaced by a more serious, contemplative look. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. I mean, I always knew we had somethin’ special, but I didn’t know it was more than that for you.”

You felt a pang of anxiety at his response, worried that you might have misread the situation. “I know it might be a lot to take in, and I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I just needed to be honest with you. You know, get it out there to kinda get over it as Hank would say to me”.

Remy’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. He took another step closer, his hand gently resting on your arm. “Cher, I’m glad you told me. I’ve been feelin’ somethin’ too, but I didn’t know how to put it into words. I’ve been worried about makin’ things awkward between us.”

You felt a mix of relief and hope as you looked into his eyes. “So…what now?”

Remy’s smile grew, and he gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. “Well, we take it one step at a time.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you. “That sounds…really good.” As you stood in the threshold, gazing into Remy's intense eyes, you felt a flutter in your stomach. The evening's events had taken an exciting turn, one you had secretly hoped for but never truly expected. Remy's admission that he knew about your feelings and his willingness to explore them together left you lightheaded with joy. You took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. “So, um, if you’re up for it, you can come into my room. I’ve got some coffee if you want. Or, you know, just to hang out.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Coffee, huh? Is that what we’re goin’ with?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, it’s not coffee. It’s more about… well, spending some time together.” You stuttered.

Remy’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Ah, I see. So, you’re sayin’ you’ve got somethin’ else in mind?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want some company.”

“Company, huh?” Remy chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I could be persuaded to join you.”

He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, and you could feel the playful energy between you. “You know, you’re really enjoyin’ makin’ me blush, aren’t you?” you said, trying to match his teasing tone.

Remy grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Oh, absolutely. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. But I gotta admit, seein’ you blush like that is kinda endearing.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warm flutter in your chest. “Well, I’m glad I could provide some entertainment.”

With a mock sigh of resignation, Remy gave you a small nod. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer. Lead the way.”

You stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. Remy walked in, his confident stride filling you with a sense of awe. The room's cozy atmosphere seemed to intensify the connection between you, as if the space itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing through the quiet room. Remy's eyes never left yours as he advanced, his tall frame filling the space with a subtle dominance that sent shivers down your spine. You could see the desire burning in his eyes, mirroring your own longing.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "To be with you like this... it's all I've been able to think about lately." As Remy uttered those fateful words, your heart felt ready to burst from your chest. The intensity in his gaze sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel the heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. You had dreamed of moments like this—of being so close to Remy, with no barriers between you.

His hands, strong and steady, framed your face with an almost reverent touch. You felt the warmth of his breath on your lips moments before he captured them in a searing kiss. The taste of him ignited a fire within you, and you kissed him back with all the passion you had been longing to express. His tongue danced with yours, and the scent of him—a heady mix of musk and some mysterious spice—filled your senses.

Lost in the fervour of the moment, you let your hands roam freely over his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath your palms. Remy's hands moved from your face to your neck, his fingers gently tracing the delicate skin there, sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his heart pounding in sync with yours, the connection between you growing deeper with every passing second.

The passion igniting between you was palpable, and Remy's accent, thick with desire, only added fuel to the fire. His words, rough and honest, sent a thrill through your entire being.

"I’ve wanted you for so long” he murmured against your lips. "Being with you like this, it's all I’ve bee’ thinkin’ about.”

You felt the heat of fire in your core, and your own desire only grew stronger. Remy's kisses were addictive, and you found yourself unable to get enough of his taste, his touch. The yearning you had carried for so long finally had an outlet, and the release was exhilarating. The passion burning between you and Remy was electric, a force that seemed to pulse and throb in the confined space of your bedroom. His words, rough and honest, echoed in your mind, sending shiver down your spine.

As his hands trailed down your body, you felt a delightful shiver run up your spine. The gentle pressure of his palms against your shirt was almost too much to bear. Remy's fingers were like magic, making their way to the bottom and slowly pulling it over your head. You eagerly helped him, your own breaths coming in short gasps as you anticipated the feel of his hands on your bare skin.

Finally, it lay on the floor by your feet and you felt the cool air caress your chest, swallowed deep, feeling exposed and incredibly aroused as his lust-filled eyes drank in the sight of your bra and the swelling of your breasts.

"You're so stunning, chérie," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You blushed at his sincere compliment, your heart fluttering with joy. Eager to return the favour, you set about removing his shirt, revelling in the sight of his well-sculpted torso. The fabric slipped off his broad shoulders, and you ran your hands across his warm, bare chest, feeling the strength and power that resided within him.

Remy's deep gaze never left yours, and the intensity of his eyes seemed to pull you closer. The room grew hotter, the air thick with desire as you both craved more. You could see the fire in his eyes, the raw lust that mirrored your own desires. As Remy's hands glided over your skin, sending delightful shivers through you, you realized that this moment was more than you had ever dared to dream. The yearning you felt was not one-sided; Remy wanted you just as desperately. The knowledge empowered you, fuelling the flames of desire that raged within you.

Lost in the intensity of his gaze, you took a step closer, bridging the small gap between you. His eyes, deep pools of desire, held yours captive as his hands continued their enchanting exploration. You felt his touches like gentle flames on your skin, each caress a delightful sensation that left you breathless.

Remy's skilled fingers trailed down your neck, and you felt a delicious tingle where his palms brushed against you. The tension was almost palpable, heavy in the air between you. You could see the desire reflected in his eyes, the wanton lust that you also felt.

"I've wanted this for so long. Being able to touch you like this, have you all to myself... it's a dream come true. Let me show you how much I've longed for you, chérie," he murmured, his voice like warm honey in your ears.

You felt yourself blushing, your heart fluttering with joy and desire. The passion burning between you a force that drew you to the edge of reason. You craved his touch, his kisses, and the way he made you feel.

With a surge of desire, you invited Remy to close the distance between you. His eyes gleamed with an intoxicating blend of lust and unbridled promise, igniting a fire within you. Lost in the captivating aura, you both descended into a world of sensual discovery, engaging in a tantalizing dance of seduction that left you breathless and yearning for more.

Remy's hands seemed to have a mind of their own, caressing your curves with a reverent touch. Each stroke elicited gasps and moans you didn't know you were capable of producing, as if he had unlocked a new realm of sensation within you. He kissed you with a ravenous passion, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to set your senses ablaze.

A wild, primal storm brewed within you, building in intensity with every caress, every brush of his skin against yours. The cyclone of desire threatened to sweep you off your feet, the anticipation and need coursing through your veins. Your body hummed with electric tension, craving the connection, the fusion of your beings.

Remy's skilled hands explored every inch of you, meticulously mapping the contours of your form. He seemed to possess an intimate knowledge of your most sensitive spots, eliciting gasps and shivers as he teased and caressed. The way he touched you, with a reverence and intensity that bordered on worship, ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach, the embers of your desire flaring to life.

You were captivated by the fervour in his eyes, the hunger that mirrored your own. The world around you faded into insignificance as you both became lost in a sensual embrace, your bodies and souls intertwined in a dance of unbridled passion. The connection between you was palpable, a force that threatened to consume you both in the most delicious of ways.

With each caress, each searing kiss, the storm within you grew stronger, churning and building until you felt like you might shatter from the sheer intensity of your desire. Remy's touch was like an elixir, intoxicating and addictive, leaving you craving more with every passing moment.

As Remy's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you felt your senses spiralling out of control. The world around you became a blur of colour and sound, and all that existed was the magnetic pull between you and Remy. His hands continued to explore your body, each touch sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He gently reached around your back, easily unclipping the clip of your bra, sliding it down your arms before throwing it.

As he leaned in to capture your lips once more, you revelled in the feeling of his bare chest pressed against yours. The heat of his skin seared your own, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching your own. The connection between you was undeniable, a tangible force that seemed to pull you closer together with each passing moment.

Remy's hands moved to your jeans, deftly undoing the button and sliding the zipper down. His touch was confident and sure, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both. As he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, you gasped at the feel of his fingers against your most sensitive spots. A small smirk crossed his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his fingers gently brushing against the same spot, clearly enjoying the reaction.

“Does something feel good?” He asks you, a small smirk crossing his face.

You nod and he moves his hand away, leaving you breathless and feeling empty. He quickly spun you around and brought your bare back to his chest, his lips trailed up your shoulder, your collarbone before whispering in your ear. “Does something feel good?” He repeats, sending chills up your spine.

You nod as he reaches his hand inside your open jeans and into your underwear, you can feel his erection pressing into your lower back as you lean your head back into his chest, your eyes closed. He begins to explore gently, his fingers tracing patterns and circles, causing you to gasp and squirm against him. His other hand snakes around to the front of your jeans, undoing the zipper the rest of the way before being placed on your bare stomach, almost as if he was holding you in place. You can feel his warm touch through the thin fabric of your underwear, and you find yourself pressing back into him, wanting more.

His lips continue to caress your ear and neck, sending shivers down your spine. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. You can't help but let out a soft moan in response, causing him to increase the pace of his fingers ever so slightly.

As he continues to touch you, you can feel the tension building inside of you, your breath coming in short gasps. His free hand moves up to your breast, cupping it gently and teasing your nipple. You let out a cry of pleasure, your body trembling against his.

He continues to explore, his fingers deft and confident as they bring you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment, your mind blanking out as pleasure takes over. Just as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls away, leaving you breathless and wanting.

He turns you around to face him, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to savour every moment with you." He pulls your head back slightly leaning in to kiss you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands continue to roam over your body, both hands kneading your breasts gently.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you both breathless. His hands are still on your body, one back in your underwear and the other on your breast, gently caressing and exploring. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is desire and longing.

He begins to move his fingers again, slowly at first, then building up to a steady rhythm that makes you moan softly. His other hand continues to tease your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps.

He notices your reaction and increases his pace, his fingers moving faster and more urgently. You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment, your body trembling with pleasure. Just as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls away again, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"I said not yet," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to make this last as long as possible." He trails kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands still exploring your body.

You can feel yourself getting more and more desperate for release, your body aching with need. But he takes his time, teasing and tantalizing you until you're begging for more. His fingers gently enter you as his thumb continues to rub you, his lips continuing to trail up your neck, leaving your body extra sensitive.

Finally, he gives in to your pleas, his fingers moving faster and more urgently than before. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps. And just as you're about to reach your peak, he presses his lips to yours, swallowing your cry of pleasure as you come undone in his arms.

You can feel yourself floating back down to earth, your body trembling with pleasure. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you catch your breath. “Good girl,” He whispers, turning you around and peppering your lips with his own. You continue to undo his pants, sliding them down his legs along with his briefs, freeing his erection. He's fully hard now, and you can't help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of him. You lick your lips in anticipation before looking back up at him.

He's watching you with a hungry look in his eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. You can tell he's trying to hold back, wanting to let you take the lead.

You wrap your hand around his length, feeling the heat radiating from him. You give him a wicked grin before leaning in to take him into your mouth.

He lets out a low groan as you begin to move, your mouth and hand working in tandem to bring him pleasure. You can feel him getting harder and harder, his hips bucking slightly as you take him deeper.

You continue to work him, your tongue swirling around his tip and your hand stroking his base. He's panting now, his fingers tangled in your hair as he tries to hold back.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I'm not going to last much longer."

You don't respond, instead doubling down on your efforts, your mouth and hand moving faster and more urgently. You can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge, his breath coming in short gasps.

Finally, he can't hold back any longer, his whole body tensing up as he comes undone in your mouth. You swallow him down, your hand still stroking his base as he comes down from his high.

He collapses back onto the bed, panting and sweaty. You give him a satisfied grin before climbing up and sitting on his waist, his slightly soft member pressing into your jeans

"That was amazing," he murmurs, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good boy,” You retort, using his earlier praise, causing him to let out a laugh. He looks at you for a moment, his eyes taking in your heavy breath, the way your breasts move with your rising and falling chest, the way you’re licking him off your lips; and in a lifetime down the track when he’s asked when he knew he was in love with you, he would think of this very moment. He reaches out to brush a stray hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," he says, his voice low and sincere.

You open your eyes to look at him, your gaze soft. "You are pretty lucky,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips meeting yours in a slow, gentle kiss. You can feel the love and affection between you, a tangible force that seems to pull you closer together with each passing

Remy quickly flips you over, a mischievous glint in his eye as he begins to kiss down your body, paying extra attention to your nipples.

You let out a moan as his teeth skimmed the sensitive areas.

"You're looking awfully dressed right now," He mentions as his hands slowly pull down your pants and underwear, leaving you completely exposed.

He puts your legs over your shoulders as he bites his bottom lip. He reaches over and grabs a pillow, placing it under you so your lower half is at face level. You're on your elbows, watching him. He looks back at you, telling you to relax and you fall back down as gentle kisses and bites litter your inner thighs before his tongue enters your core.

You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment as he begins to explore you with his tongue. His movements are slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps.

He continues to tease and tantalize you, his tongue moving in slow circles and patterns that leave you begging for more. You can feel yourself getting more and more desperate for release, your body aching with need.

But he takes his time, savouring every moment with you. He explores every inch of you, his tongue tracing patterns and circles that leave you trembling with pleasure.

Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out, your body trembling as you come undone in his arms. He holds you close, his tongue still moving as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

When it's over, he pulls back, looking up at you with a satisfied grin. "You taste amazing," he says, his voice low and husky.

You can't help but smile back at him, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "You're not so bad yourself," you reply, your voice just as husky.

He leans in to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam over your body. You can feel yourself getting lost in him once again, your bodies and souls intertwined in a dance of passion and desire. He hovers over you, the tip waiting at your entrance, he’s waiting for a sign to tell him that it's okay. He’s watching you closely as he slowly enters you, your nails scratching down his shoulders in pleasure as he sits fully inside you. You hear Remy swear in French as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. He moves and looks at you, he kisses you as you bring your hips to meet his.

As the pace quickens, he grabs your hands, pinning them above your head, kissing you deeply, a loud moan echoing through the room. The two of you move together, your bodies in sync as he thrusts into you. Each movement sends waves of pleasure through your body, your breath coming in short gasps as you meet his hips with your own.

He continues to kiss you, his lips hot and hungry as they explore your mouth. His hands are still holding yours above your head, keeping you pinned in place as he takes control.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure. He seems to sense this, his movements suddenly stopping. He gently kisses you, “Not right now,”. He lifts you off the bed with ease, sitting you up on top of him as you hold on to him with your hands, your legs wrapped around him. You start gently moving, his forehead pressed against yours, he captures your lips once again as you both start to move in sync.   As you begin to move together, you can feel the connection between you growing stronger. His hands are on your hips, guiding you as you rock back and forth. You can feel him deep inside you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he looks into your eyes. You can see the love and desire in his gaze, and it takes your breath away.

You continue to move together, your bodies in sync as you explore each other. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps. After catching your breath, you begin to move together again, your bodies in sync as you explore each other. This time, the pace is slower, more deliberate. You can feel every inch of him inside you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He continues to kiss you, his lips hot and hungry as they explore your mouth. His hands are on your hips, guiding you as you rock back and forth. You can feel the strength in his grip, the way he holds you close as if he never wants to let you go.

You break the kiss, your forehead resting against his as you look into his eyes. You can see the love and desire in his gaze, and it takes your breath away. You can see the way his eyes darken with pleasure, the way his lips part as he gasps for breath.

"You feel amazing," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

"Uh huh,” Was all that was able to come out of your mouth as he continuously hit that spot.

You continue to move together, your bodies in sync as you explore each other. You can feel the way your bodies fit together, the way he fills you up completely. It's a feeling of completeness, of wholeness, that you've never experienced before.

As you move together, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. But this time, you're not in a rush to get there. Instead, you savour every moment, every sensation. You explore every inch of him, your hands roaming over his chest and back as you kiss and touch each other.

You can feel the way his muscles tense and release beneath your fingertips, the way his breath catches in his throat as you hit just the right spot. You can feel the way he responds to your touch, the way he moans and gasps in pleasure.

He continues to kiss you, his lips hot and hungry as they explore your mouth. His tongue traces patterns on your lips, your tongue, your teeth. You can feel the way he tastes, the way he smells, and it's intoxicating.

As the pleasure builds, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your body, the way your muscles tighten and release. You can feel the way your breath comes in short gasps, the way your heart races in your chest.

But you're not afraid. Instead, you embrace the pleasure, the sensation, the feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by him. You can feel the way he responds to you, the way he moves with you, and it's like nothing you've ever experienced before.

Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out, your body trembling as you come undone in his arms. He follows shortly after, his whole body tensing up as he reaches his peak.

You collapse on top of him, panting and sweaty. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you both catch your breath.

"That was incredible," you murmur, your head resting on his shoulder, the weight of your body sinking into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Yep," he replies, his voice just as husky, the rough edge of it softened by the contentment lacing through each word. He lets out small breaths, still trying to regain his composure, the steady rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm beneath you.

For a while, you just lie there, lost in each other, your bodies and souls intertwined in a dance that feels like it could go on forever. It’s not just about the physical connection, though that was… well, incredible. It’s the way he holds you, like you’re something precious, the way his touch speaks volumes more than words ever could.

But eventually, the world starts to seep back in, the heady fog of intimacy lifting just enough for reality to take hold. Remy’s hand comes up to brush a stray hair from your face, his touch tender, his eyes soft and gentle as they meet yours.

“Coffee? Really?” His lips twitch into a teasing grin, his voice laced with amusement.

You blush, trying to hide your face in his shoulder, but he’s having none of it. “It worked, okay?” you mumble, feeling a bit silly now that the moment’s passed.

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that vibrates through his chest and straight into you. “It definitely worked,” he admits, the teasing glint in his eyes making your heart flutter.

You push at his chest playfully, trying to deflect the embarrassment, but he catches your hand, pressing it to his lips in a gesture so tender it takes your breath away all over again.

"Y'know, cher," he murmurs against your skin, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety tone that always sends a thrill down your spine, "you got a way of surprising me. And I ain’t easy to surprise."

You open your mouth to reply, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he doesn’t give you the chance. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s all-consuming, leaving you breathless and dizzy and so completely wrapped up in him that the rest of the world might as well not exist.

When he pulls back, you’re left blinking up at him, dazed and maybe a little in awe of just how easily he can turn your world upside down.

“Sleep, chérie,” he whispers, his accent thick and honeyed, the words like a warm blanket wrapping around you. Before you can protest, he’s pulling one of the loose blankets up over both of you, tucking it around your bodies as he shifts you closer, his arm a strong, comforting weight around your waist.

“Remy…” you start, but he just presses another kiss to your forehead, effectively shutting you up.

“Sleep,” he repeats, and this time, you give in, letting the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a peaceful slumber.

As your eyes drift closed, the last thing you feel is his hand, still tracing those lazy circles on your back, grounding you in the certainty that whatever happens next, you’re not facing it alone. Not anymore.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel part 2

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: lyra kane is closer to your boyfriend than ever seen as grayson has just been put of her team in the grandest game and it’s making you a little nervous, you don’t trust her and you don’t want her too close to him

parts: part 1

warnings: mild swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: I had quite a few requests for a part 2, so here she is… trying to get into my productive era right now (fake it till you make it right??)

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234

RECAP

“Whose team is he on?” I say quickly.

“Odette Morales and Lyra Kane.”

***

Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. The name rattles around my brain, echoing off of my skull, only to replay in my mind again. Of course it just has to be Lyra Kane that he’s on a team with. That breathtaking woman with beauty that shouldn’t be possible for a human. Yeah, that Lyra Kane. I feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, so I express nothing instead. Why did it have to be her? Out of all of the players.

I’m not jealous, I try to convince myself, I’m just concerned. Yes, that’s it. Except it isn’t and the only person I’m lying to is pathetic little old me. I am ferociously jealous. It scolds me torturously, raging from the pit of my stomach, crawling under my skin to settle comfortably.

Grayson loves me, I know this. I felt the kisses we’d shared on the beach moments before he’d gone into the stupid house. They still linger on my lips now, I could taste him slightly, I’d heard him say he loved me, only me and yet I can’t get the feeling out of my system. The jealousy always manages to seep its way back in. I’m sick with a disease called envy.

I don’t want to be the jealous girl, the possessive one that people roll their eyes at or avoid. That’s not me. I didn’t want it to be me. But deep down I’m petrified that that’s who I’m becoming. I sigh, realising I was just going to have to swallow it. What could I do about it now? Besides I know Grayson, I trust Grayson. He wouldn’t let her try anything on, would he?

***

Hours of waiting and not watching. We couldn’t see the players at all. Or hear them. Anxiety is killing me slowly from the inside out, gnawing happily at my organs. I spin the ring on my middle finger as my leg jigs up and down, counting down the seconds until sunrise, four-thousand one-hundred and eight-two to go.

“You know you don’t have to look so panicked all the time,” Nash sighs, slumping down beside me.

“I’m not panicked,” I say, forcing a laugh.

“Sure darlin’,” he says, “my name’s Roger and I have a pet turtle.”

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to smile, “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“It’s completely safe in there, we designed it that way,” he explains slowly, soothingly, “no one’s going to get hurt and there’s an emergency button just in case.”

“Okay,” I nod, exhaling.

I don’t believe him and his words don’t offer me much comfort. My overthinking brain is currently listing all of the ways Grayson could possibly die in the next ten minutes. But Nash is trying and I’m thankful to have him.

“At least pretend you’re convinced,” he drawls, a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I’m not convinced that everything’s going to be fine but I am convinced Nash has a sixth sense called ‘big brother knows all’ because for some reason he always knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings, even when they were trying to hide it. Either that or he’s a mind reader.

“I am,” I tell him, as convincingly as I could muster, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“Shit!” Jameson yells from across the room, perfect timing as per usual.

“What?” I hear Avery ask quickly.

“The powers gone out,” he says, smacking the table so hard I didn’t know how he didn’t break a bone.

“What do you mean the powers gone out?” I say, standing up and walking over.

“I mean they have no light, no heaters and they ate completely locked in by the mechanisms,” he explains, gesturing to the blank screens.

“We’ve lost all connection to them as well,” Xander murmurs, eyes darting from left to right at each and every screen.

“Everything?” I exclaim, trying not to get over-anxious and failing miserably.

“Yes,” Jameson confirms.

“You’re panicking her,” Nash scolds him.

“Well she asked I’m not going to lie,” he defends.

“Not the time to argue guys,” Avery rolls her eyes, getting back to the computer. Jameson follows her lead, trying to reconnect the lost signals.

“Shit shit shit,” he groans as more things shut off. He slams his hands down on the keyboard and starts guessing random buttons, “Xand help me out here,”

“Don’t you worry, dearest brother,” Xander replies calmly, “I’m working on it.”

Silence hits us like the dead. We’re all intently staring up the layers and layers of code coming up on the several screens. I can’t understand any of it.

“This is Python,” Jameson points at one of the scenes.

“Yeah and this is Java,” Xander nods, “but I have no clue what this is.”

“Shit,” Jameson curses, running a hand through his hair, reminding me of Grayson when he was overstimulated.

“Not yet,” he replies, turning to the other Hawthorne brother present, “Nash do you remember when I was in fifth grade-“

“The de-coder book?” he says before Xander even finishes.

“Please,” he nods sharply.

“Got it,” he replies, rushing out of the room.

“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” I whisper to Avery

“Absolutely none,” she shrugs, looking as clueless as me offering me some comfort.

“Who would even cut the power?” Jameson asks to nobody in particular.

Avery and I share a look. I already know we’re thinking the same thing.

“Grayson is in there, does she know that?” I ask quickly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, chewing the inside of her cheek

“She?” Jameson interrupts. We both ignore him.

“Don’t you think he’ll be her prime target,” I say, the worry warping my tone a little in a way that made me sound a little too vulnerable for my liking.

“Target?” Jameson says. We ignore him, again.

“Most likely, if it is her,” Avery sighs, tapping her bottom lip melodically.

Jameson looks at Xander, baffled, “are they speaking in code?”

“I’m kind of concentrating right now Jamie, please don’t talk to me,” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the computer screens as he attempts to decode.

“Who are you talking about?” Jameson raises his voice a little, forcing me and Avery to address his question.

“This could be Eve,” Avery says softly.

“Eve?” Xander says, freezing mid-type and actually lifting his head up.

“No surely not,” Jameson shakes his head in denial.

“Think about it,” I say, “who else can you think that would want go sabotage this game?”

“Anyone who fancies a good bit of money,” he states, “and it could be nothing at all.”

“A power cut isn’t nothing,” I argue.

“I hate to agree the circumstance,” Avery exhales, “but it’s true, this feels like a threat of sorts.”

“And we can’t contact the players meaning anything could happen right now,” I say, worry bleeding into my voice.

Jameson’s face softens.

“But they’re locked in,” Nash points out, sauntering back in, “no one is getting in or out, that means they can’t be hurt.”

He hands the decoding book to Xander who frantically flips through the pages to find something in particular.

“Windows can be smashed,” I point out.

“You think whoever this is would risk smashing a window,” Nash asks, with his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know how these people work,” I snap, throwing my hands up in the arm.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

I look up to see my shaking limbs. Immediately they drop to my sides and I desperately try to still them, “no I’m not-“

“Breathe a little okay, Gray will be fine,” he reassures me, his tone placid, as he delicately takes my shaking hands between his.

“Look as long as they all stay put no one should get hurt,” Avery says calmly, “the glass on the windows are double glazed and harder to smash than the average window, that is if they’re going to risk that.”

“Besides Xander’s on it,” Jameson adds.

Xander sticks a thumb into the air, still audibly tapping the keyboard with the other, “whoever did this is incredibly skilled at hacking and annoyingly so,” he mutters in reply.

No one talks. We are all just stood in silence, barely daring to breathe not wanting to break Xander’s concentration. Mine and Avery’s hands are intertwined, gripping the others so tightly that our fingers are white. Xander is frantic. He’s practically sweating as he types quickly and clicks buttons I didn’t even know existed. And just when it seemed like he might be getting somewhere more and more boxes of undeciphered code popped up. I’m close to being hopeless when Xander leans back in his seat.

“We’re back up and running,” Xander announces, “lights, buttons, connections, locks, everything.”

Avery and I squeal, hugging each other tightly. Relief floods through my body and I’m giddy with it. Xander stands up and breathes out slowly.

I kiss his cheek in affection and gratitude, platonically, “thank you Xander.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“I owe you a scone,” Jameson tells with a slap on the back.

“That, you do,” he nods with a wide grin.

“What do we tell the players?” Nash asks, reminding us that the game is still going and the players will be wondering what the hell just went on.

“Do we tell them the truth?” Xander asks.

“We don’t even know the truth,” Jameson tells him.

“Then we tell them what we know,” Avery says, “Nash?”

“You got it kid,” he nods.

Xander slides an arms around me.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks,” Nash drawls through the microphone, “brief technical snafu on our end, but we’re back. You still have sixty three minutes until dawn. As long as at least one team makes it down to the dock by the deadline, the rules still stand.”

It’s fine, everything will be fine. Three thousand seven hundred and eighty seconds left. I rest my head on Xander’s shoulder and he puts his head on mine. I think he’s the only thing that’s holding me up at the moment. If he weren’t I’m pretty sure my body would be some sort of odd shaped puddle of consumed thoughts on the carpet. Only one sentence goes through my head, over and over and over. I can’t wait to have my arms around Grayson again.

***

It’s almost sunrise when we make our way to the dock so we’ll be there for when the players make it out. If they make it out. I walk in between Xander and Nash, trying to keep up with their obscenely large leg strides. Avery and Jameson lead the way holding hands. My heart squeezes, it won’t be too long before I see Grayson again. I know it seemed stupid, we had only been apart for a few hours, but those hours had felt like weeks given all of the events that had taken place. Not to mentioned the long prolonging wait of which I couldn’t see or hear him.

And there was still something going around in my head. Something about him being with Lyra Kane for this long in such close proximity. It was grating at me, but I push the feelings down and bury them under a mound that I’m trying to ignore.

“Want to have a bet?” Xander ruffles my hair, stealing me from being consumed by my own thoughts.

I slap him away, “I’ve heard it’s dangerous to wager with a Hawthorne.”

“What’s my brother been telling you?” he asks.

“Mum’s the word,” I wink back, tapping my nose.

“What’s your bet on little brother?” Nash asks.

“What team will make it first,” Xander grins, mischievous glint in his eye.

His brotehr grins towards the sky, “had a feeling it might be.”

“I’m bias then,” I scoff.

“Okay so your Hearts,” Xander says.

“Hang on I never agreed to this bet,” I exclaim, holding my hands up to surrender.

“Whoever wins gets a scone,” he bribes me.

“That only benefits you,” Nash points out.

“Actually I would also benefit, I like scones,” I smile sheepishly,

“See? Who are you voting Nash?” Xander asks.

“I’ll go with Clubs, I’m rooting for Gigi,” Nash shrugs.

Xander nods, “that means I’m going with Diamonds.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him.

“Yes I do, otherwise it’s uneven,” he says. I wasn’t going to argue.

“Who would your original vote gone to?” I ask.

He smiles at me, a cheeky glint in his eyes, “no one shall ever know.”

“What are you three wittering about,” Jameson says, interrupting the train of conversation as he turns around.

“Probably something better than the lovesick whispers you two are sharing,” Xander teases.

“Xand-“

The thumping of footsteps cut him off. It’s a race. Hearts and Diamonds are out. Savannah is the fastest, Rohan hot on her heels. Though Lyra takes them both over in a matter of seconds. She must be a runner. Would explain the to-die-for figure. Grayson is close behind her thought Odette trailed behind slightly, but for a woman of her age she’s doing remarkably well. They all arrive within milliseconds of each other, breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“Congratulations Diamonds and Hearts, you’ve made it,” Avery smiles.

“Where’s Clubs?” Savannah asks, its only then I notice how her longs blonde hair has been chopped off unevenly. It makes her look even colder than before, sending a chill down my spine

“Still playing,” Jameson says.

“Gray,” I breathe in relief, as he takes me into his arms.

Something about the hug feels unnatural maybe even slightly uncomfortable, but I brush it off. We’d both been awake for far too long. I couldn’t trust my judgement on this little sleep.

“You okay?” I murmur into his shoulder.

“Fine,” he replies, so only I can hear him.

“Good.”

It hit sunrise and something sinks in my stomach. Clubs haven’t made it. Gigi is out of the game. This is going to destroy her. We all wait in silence. All knowing Clubs have failed, all knowing the disappointment we’d have to see on their faces. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, I can hear it in my ears. I grip onto Grayson’s hand tightly. I catch Lyra’s honey golden eyes. She looks me up and down as I narrow my eyes at her. I can’t read her body language towards me, it was difficult to make out what she was thinking or feelings. I turn away and try not to think too much of it.

There’s sound coming from the left of us and in the distance there are three figures. Everyone’s eyes snap to the three remaining players who’s hearts are probably all sinking in realisation that they were nit longer players in this game. Then I notice what’s in Knox’s arms or rather who… Knox is carrying a bleeding Gigi. My stomach twists. Grayson freezes beside me.

“Put her down,” Grayson says sternly, his voice commanding authority.

Immediately Knox gently places Gigi down, making sure she was stable before he completely let go. We rush to her side immediately. Grayson putting a protective arm around her shoulder, his eyes flitting between the gash on her head and her face.

“Oh god Gigi,” I murmur tentatively touching her bloodied head to assess how severe it is.

“I’m fine,” she winces, blinking back tears.

“You are not,” Grayson says, his voice hard almost empty, “you’re injured Gigi.”

“Who among us is not occasionally concussed?” she says happily.

“Our team is out of the game, go ahead say it we’be been eliminated,” Knox says turning to Avery.

She ignores him and approaches Gigi, “are you okay?”

She nodded with a smile laced with the pain he thought she could hide. Maybe it was invisible to the others, but not to me. I’ve been under the same mask she’s trying to hide behind now. I understand. Grayson keeps his arm around her and I keep my hand in hers. She squeezes my palm and I squeeze hers back. I’m here, I wanted to scream, I’m here for you.

“Diamonds and Hearts, you’re onto the next phase of the game. Clubs… there’s always next year,” Avery finally brings herself to say.

“Once a player, always a player,” Jameson adds.

***

I don’t leave Gigi’s side until Nash has patched her up properly. ‘Stay with her, please,’ Grayson had murmured after we’d shared a quick kiss. He’d had something to discuss back at the dock with Odette. And Lyra. So I did, I stayed by Gigi’s side through every wince, every hand squeeze, every stitch.

“All patch up darlin’,” Nash nods, tipping his cowboy hat towards her slightly.

“Thanks,” she smiles brightly, it’s an unnatural fluorescent brightness that she radiated. Too bright, too artificial.

“You feeling okay?” I make sure, looking at her head.

“Fine,” she replied, gently feeling over her stitches.

Before anyone can say anything else there is a sharp knock at the door interrupting the thread of conversation. Nash answers. Brady walks in. Something was off about that guy. I got a bad feeling when I was around that guy. Nash gets up to leave and as much as I want to stay, it’s not my place to and I know that.

“Holler if you need anything,” Nash tells Gigi.

“We’re not going far,” I reassure her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she beams up at me, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “really I’m fine.”

“I think we both know that’s a lie,” I say, my voice so low I’m not sure if she can hear me.

The way her eyes soften, revealing an ounce of vulnerability, indicates she has, “can we talk later? Maybe on the boat back?”

“Of course we can,” I say, squeezing her hand in mine one last time, before standing up to leave her to talk to Brady.

She nods with a small smile which I return, then turn to follow Nash who’s holding eye contact with Brady intensely. As soon as we’re out of the room and a few paces down the corridor Nash blurts out, “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” I grimace, at least someone else had picked up on Brady’s sketchy vibes, “he gives me a weird feeling.”

“Same here kid,” he nods in reply, then pauses slightly before saying, “you go and find Gray, I’ll be close by if she needs me.”

I fumble over my words. How did he know again? He has to be some sort of mind reader. I make a mental note to discuss it with Xander.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sure,” he says, placing a brotherly hand in my shoulder, “I know you’re still worried, you’re horrible at hiding it.”

“Thanks Nash,” I chuckle, brushing hair out of my face,

“No worries kid,” he says, shooting me a lopsided grin as I rush off to reunite with Grayson.

***

The boat left for the mainland at noon, that was when Gigi, Knox and now Odette were leaving, as she traded her place for Brady’s. But the players had been told to try and get some rest before the next phase. I’d also been up all night and could feel myself growing tired, so Grayson and I were currently laying on our bed in each other’s arms. It feels nice to finally breathe a little. I don’t feel the weight of stress from my jealousy or guilt or worry, I just feel normal.

“Do you think Gigi will be okay,” I murmur into Grayson.

“Nash is used to patching up our ailments,” he responds, his tone a little distant. It made me iffy.

“Yeah but I mean after being cast out of the game,” I reply, “I know I wouldn’t feel great if I were in her position.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, blowing out a short breath.

“I’m worried about her,” I say quietly.

“Me too,” he whispers, “I’m really worried about her.”

“I think we’re going to talk later,” I tell him, hoping it might provide himnwith some sort of solace.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, “I hope she might get whatever it is that’s hurting her off of her chest.”

“Make sure she’s okay for me, okay?” he makes sure, “no matter what.”

“Of course,” I say, a little confused. Why had he said it like that? Like something bad might happen? Like I might lose him? I brush off the feeling. I put it down to overreacting, as usual.

We fall into a long silence as I trace different shapes on chest with my finger tip. I slowly drag it along, with no specific shape in mind. A blank expression is present on his face and I can see he’s deep in thought. There’s something on his mind and I have a horrible feeling it has something to do with the unseen, unheard happenings of the grandest game.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask him, doe-eyed.

“Hmmm nothing,” he says, refusing to look me in the eye.

“You sure?” I press on.

“I’m sure,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

The kiss was off and I could see something was bothering him but he didn’t want to tell me, I’d wait until he was ready. Even if it were forever.

“What was it like in there?” I ask, attempting to change the subject, “the game.”

“It really was the grandest game,” he whispers, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Really?”

“They outdid themselves thoroughly,” he says.

“I bet,” I nod, nuzzling further into him affectionately.

“You really couldn’t hear or see anything the whole time?” he asks, a hint of worry delicately woven into his tone. It was so brief you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him. But I know Gray.

“Nothing, it was like hell,” I say with a small tired laugh, “it was killing me that I had no clue if you were okay.”

“I was fine,” he replied quickly, almost curtly.

“Well I know that now,” I yawn and feel my eyes begin to close slowly but I fight to keep them open.

“You’re tired,” Grayson says, the ghost of a smile faintly touching his lips.

I shake my head in denial, “no I’m not,” I protest, “not even a little bit.”

“Go the sleep love,” he whispers.

“I want to talk to you though,” I pout, rubbing my eyes.

“We‘ll have plenty of time tomorrow,” he says, playing with my hair.

“Okay,” I murmur, letting myself fall into a dimension of much needed sleep, finally with my love back in my arms.

***

I wake up in the middle of darkness, though there is light desperately trying to make it through the black out blinds. I wonder how long I’d been asleep for, it couldn’t be past noon though. I’m aware of the coldness on the other side of the bed. Grayson wasn’t there. It wasn’t exactly uncommon. Usually when we were home, if it were the early hours he would either be swimming or having a wander and a read to make himself tired again.

I hear the door handle turn slowly and the sound of his all too familiar footsteps hitting the floor. I crawl out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, as I make my way toward him. Though as I do he stands still, frozen, like he can’t move. Concern latches onto my throat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, tentatively touching his arm.

He recoils away quickly, like I’ve hit a tender nerve or a bruise of sorts.

“Are you hurt?” I ask worriedly

“No,” he murmurs, his voice stone cold.

It hurts a little more than it should, he’s never usually so blunt, so cutthroat. Not with me anyway.

“Where have you been?” I say, fishing for an honest reply.

He meets my eyes for the first time. Swimming in endless pools of grey is a mournful sorrow, “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks. Grayson’s voice never cracks.

“Gray?” I say in a ghost of the whisper, the word not even feeling real once it is said. My pulse quickens suddenly and a large lump that I cannot swallow forms in my throat.

He’s pale, his face is regretful. Hollow. Lifeless. My heart sinks. I already know.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice shaking nearly breaking like weak houses in an earthquake.

He shakes his head glossy eyed, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” I grit through my teeth trying to prevent the thick emotion building up in my chest from overflowing.

There is a long pause. A deadly silence that seemed to last for days.

He parts his lips and utters the words, “I kissed her.”

It’s like a masked killer has dragged me from the comfort and safety of my own bed in the middle of the night, taken me into the thick of the wood where the vegetation is overgrown and no one will ever hear you scream. The part where it’s hard to see the sky or tell day from night and where no birds sing. And once we’re there, he takes a sharpened knife, laced with the most excruciating poison and slowly opens the left side of my chest, carefully ripping out my beating heart full of blood to destroy in his hands at his leisure. Grinning as her leaves my broken body to bleed out, dying heartless and lifeless. It’s like the person under that mask is Grayson. The one person I put all of my love and trust into. The one person who I thought would saved me from the masked killer is the masked killer. What a fucking joke.

“Who?” I ask, my tone low, dangerous, angry, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

“I kissed Lyra,” he whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks, a state I’d never witnessed him in before. But right now I’m too broken to care.

My heart shatters into a million pieces on the spot. And then I am numb with agony.

a/n: so that was a fun ending :) hope you enjoyed part 2 my loves <33 and thanks to everyone who requested it, I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it

NOTE I DONT THINK GRAYSON IS A CHEATER!! LIKE AT ALL. MY BABY WOULD NEVER!! but I thought I’d spice things up a bit yk, for the ✨drama✨

ALSO the de-coding thingy when the power went out if probs completely wrong on my part but I was allowed to drop computer science last year and I did ;) so I was just waffling, I know nothing about computers other than they can type, play music and they provide me with google and amazon

TIG masterlist

[dapperbasil]

Winter has brought it to my attention that I don't mention enough that in our modern timeline for them, Zacharias orchestrated a heist of the hope diamond to use to propose to Tammy with. (They later get matching engagement rings too don't worry)

It's also stupid cute how wife guy he is, despite his own admission of not being good at romance. He's so arrogant about how wonderful his wife is it's adorable.