#nash tgg

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

can i pretty pls request a fluffy nash oneshot 🙏🏻

one with banter somewhat similar to how he and libby talk 🙏🏻 (in the tiny moments we get of them 💔)

thank you so much for this request!! I know it was requested a while ago, so sorry it’s taken me this long. I gave it a go, but I don’t think I hit the nail right on the head with what you requested, sorry!!

title: comfort from a cowboy

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you had a not-so-nice interview and nash comforts you

warnings:

a/n: for @kit4strophe 💖💖

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

My head rests against the hard wall behind me and I’ve been sat on the floor for so long my bum has gone numb. But I can’t be bothered to get up and move, I don’t have enough energy.

I replay the interview - or should I call it an interrogation - that had happened just a few hours earlier. It’s been on a sort of loop in my brain for a while now. The same blood boiling questions over and over and over. I never want to go through that again.

I hear my door open which is odd because when it’s shut usual no one bothers me, they know better than to. I don’t open my eyes immediately. I play a little game with myself, a silent game - ‘who is at the door’. Jameson? Unlikely. Grayson? Almost a definite no. Alisa? Don’t see it happening. Xander? A possibility. Nash? I doubted it. Avery? Wouldn’t be surprised. Oren? Only if there’s an emergency. Libby? Most likely.

I open my eyes and to my surprise my guess is annoyingly wrong. Usually I’m quite good at guessing games but I supposed today was an exception. Maybe it’s because there’s so much on my mind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose at the sight of a certain texan cowboy motorcyclist.

“Careful,” he warns, the corners of his lips turning up in the slightest way, as he saunters in and sits down beside me, “you almost look happy to see me.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat, not really in the mood for his games or anyone’s games for that matter.

“Sitting beside you,” he replies simply.

I narrow my eyes and shoot him a look, “don’t be cryptic.”

“You asked,” Nash shrugs, acting so laid back he was nearly horizontal.

“Why are you here?” I rephrase sharply, a tone he couldn’t ignore or twist or make light of.

“To make sure you’re alright,” he answers me earnestly, something in his deep hazel eyes that resembled concern.

“Well I’m fine, there we go,” I say shortly, “end of story, goodbye, the door is to your left.”

I close my eyes again and tilt my head back to rest on the wall, assuming he’d leave at my finalisation.

“I’m very aware of where the door is,” he drawls, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”

I internally scream in frustration and then open my eyes to meet his.

“Look I’m not in the mood for socialising right now,” I explain, trying hard not to sound too angry and defensive otherwise me might keep prying.

Nash is understanding. If I told him this, maybe he’d understand a kindly leave me be.

“You don’t have to socialise with me,” he says calmly, the soothing quality of his voice making it almost impossible for me to be mad at him.

“Fine,” I snap, standing up and perching myself on the end of my bed.

I won’t socialise. He can sit there bored out of his mind for all I care, in fact I hope he does. I lay back on the bed my head hitting the mattress with a soft thud. I want to sleep and rid myself of being such a prisoner to my own thoughts but for some reason I can’t bring myself to. And I know that reason is called Nash Hawthorne.

“Say something,” I groan sitting up.

If we have the conversation he so clearly wants, then he would leave, then I could sleep. Simple.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just say something,” I exasperate, “the silence is killing me.”

A small smirk plays on his lips, “what happened to no socialising?”

“Just shut up and stay something,” I nearly yell.

“That phrase is one confusing oxymoron,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re a moron,” I reply, snarkily.

He laughs at me. It was a real laugh, not a pity one. His eyes are lit up and the smile fills his face. It is a pretty laugh, I think that’s what annoys me the most. I liked it.

“Tell me something,” I press on, “anything.”

He pauses for a minute. And then another. And then another. Until the pause is so long I wonder if he’s going to talk at all. Slowly he makes his way beside me again and looks deep into my eyes like he can read them.

“You don’t like all this,” he begins, “you didn’t ask for it, you wish you could go back to your old life but feel selfish and guilty to wish that because people would die to be in your situation.”

I try not to betray my shock but I’m awful at hiding my thoughts and feelings. My face probably says it all. Part of me is angry. He shouldn’t know this. I shouldn’t be this easy to read. It’s not fair. The other part is touched that someone care this much.

I fold my arms protectively across my chest and raise my eyebrows, “and who are you to tell me that?”

“An observer,” he says, almost gently.

“Stop observing me,” I tell him, “I’m not a project.”

“Oh I would never dream of considering you a project,” he replies, his voice deep in the back of his throat.

I move in closer, pinning him with an accusing look, “then what do you consider me?”

“Hold your horses, darlin’, I’m asking the questions here,” Nash grins, something about the way the light sparkles in his eyes gets under my skin.

“Says who? And don’t call me darling,” I tell him bluntly.

“Says me,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

He doesn’t add a darlin’ on the end and part of me respects him for that. If I’d been talking to anyone else they probably would’ve tried to piss me off even more. But Nash isn’t like that, he never has been.

“Well I don’t care what you have to say,” I quip.

“I never asked you to care,” he replies, his voice reminding me of a waveless sea.

I glance at him and find his eyes are already on me, I exhale slowly and ask him one more time, “why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” he answers in an instant. No double meanings, no puzzles, no avoidance, just a straight answer. But it takes me by surprise just as much.

I try to cover my true feelings, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I saw it,” Nash tells me softly, apology decadently laced through his eyes.

He was referring to the interview of course. I didn’t know he watched mine like I watched his.

“I told you not to watch,” I scowl.

“I’m not very good at listening,” he shrugs.

“Clearly,” I roll my eyes, playing with the fabric of my jumper sleeve to avoid looking at him.

“So are you okay?” he asks, again his voice stole that gentle tone that made my heart melt into mush.

“I’m fine,” I reply, keeping my tone cold and hard.

Of course I’m not fine. I am anything but fine. But saying you’re fine is so much easier than talking through the hard parts, the truth. And sometimes if you pretend it’s fine for long enough you can trick yourself into believing it too.

“I know what happened,” he reminds me with a tenderness that made my limbs ache to curl against his body.

“And I’m fine,” I say sharply, still in denial, still trying to be too stubborn for my own good.

“Well now you’ve told me twice it makes it all the more real,” he barks out a laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you care so much anyway,” I scoff.

“You’re important.”

The answer is lightning fast, almost like a reaction. It doesn’t have to be thought about, pondered or even considered. It’s just engraved into his brain as the thing that feels more natural, the most ‘right’ to reply with.

“What?”

“You’re important and I care that you’re okay,” he says.

I don’t know what mix of emotions hit my chest, I just know they hit with an impact that knocks all the air out of my lungs. He cares. I’m important to him. He wants to know I’m okay.

“What are you hiding under that cowboy hat?”

He almost chokes on his own spit in surprise. Then gain composure and leans back, raising an eyebrow, “you’re changing the subject?”

“Answer my question,” I demand, narrowing my eyes.

“What do you mean what am I hiding under my cowboy hat?” he muses with a sweet small smile.

“Well you have it on 24/7,” I explain, “so I presume you’re hiding something.”

“Just because something is covered up doesn’t mean it’s hiding something,” he says ,”and it goes both ways, just because something looks normal doesn’t mean it’s not hiding something.”

I have a feeling he’s not talking about cowboy hats anymore.

“I did what I had to do,” I reply.

“Stayed silent?” he asked.

“It was better,” I press on.

A flicker of rage flashes through his face, “people don’t get to talk to you like that.”

“I know,” I yell back.

“Then why did you let them,” he asks me, annoying not raising his voice to escalate the situation.

I fancy a good yelling match in this moment with all the anger built up inside of me, he can see that and he isn’t giving in. I can’t tell if I like him more for doing that or not.

“Not every battle is worth fighting,” I snap back, “you should know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” he replies, almost cautiously, “but some are.”

“If people see you’ll fight everything you throw at them they will use that against you,” I tell him, “if you act unbothered in the first place you can surprise them one day and fight back.”

“You’re a tactical thinker,” Nash comments.

“Who cares what I am?” I reply.

His voice softens with every feature of his face, “I care.”

And there it is again. That mix of emotions with impact just hurling towards my chest. I never know what to say, it steals all my words before I get to say them. So silence consumes us, as if we’re two eskimos dead in the snow, the frostbite gnawing at our frozen bodies.

“You don’t have to act tough in front of me darlin, I can see right through you,” he murmurs, so softly I wonder why I didn’t just melt on the spot.

“Don’t call me darling,” I snap, avoiding his eyes.

I’m worried if I look into them I’ll tell him everything. And I can’t risk pouring everything out, not when I’ve hidden it so well for this long.

“I’m here,” he says desperately.

I feel as his hand clasps around mine, giving it two squeezes. Reassurance. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to tell him, I want to be free of my problems, I want someone to help me. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I know,” I pause for a long while and he lets me, “it’s just hard.”

My voice cracks at the last word. After being so steady for so long it was bound to happen at some point.

“I know,” he says delicately, “believe me, I know.”

I let one tear slip down my cheek but as it rolls down, for my dignity he pretends not to notice. Always a gentleman.!

“I hate people,” I whisper, “they really suck.”

It was all I could manage without completely breaking down.

“I hate people too,” he agrees. I let him put an arm around me and I hesitantly lean into his chest.

I make a strangled laughing sound, “we should start a club.”

He sighs and quietly asks, “do you want to leave this place?”

“No,” I hesitate slightly, “and yes, but I’m not going to.”

“Is that what you really want?” Nash asks earnestly, a kind look in his eyes that is rare to find in any human being.

“Yeah, for now,” I nod.

“Good,” he says, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“You’d miss me if I was gone?” I look up to him and raise my eyebrows.

“Of course,” he replies, “you’re one of us, your family now.”

I smile, my cheeks warming up to tint a rosy colour. I sniff as I let him wipe my final tear away with the soft pad of him thumb. There’s a moment that we lock eyes and neither of us dare look away. We both are very still. It’s like time isn’t moving.

When his thumb finally leaves my cheek all I can think about is how I want his touch there again. It’s like I need it now. Like how a drug addict craves a needle in their arm. The absence of that feeling of his skin on mine is horrible.

“Besides who will I have to call me a moron if you go away,” he jokes, tilting his cowboy hat towards me.

“You are pure cheek Nash Hawthorne,” I poke my tongue out.

“I’ve heard that one before in many different contexts,” he smirks with a wink.

Who knew Nash Hawthorne looked so good when he winked?

I gape in shock, “who knew you could make crude jokes!?”

“I may be the eldest and most responsible but who do you think taught everything to Jamie?” he asks.

“I’d never thought of that before,” I reply.

He shrugs in a very Nash kind of way, “welcome to the inner workings of being a Hawthorne.”

“Should I be flattered to be so privy to such important information?” I grin batting my eyelashes at him.

He moves in, “that depends on how much you value it.”

Our faces are inches apart. I feel something in my chest. Aside from my heart racing, there’s a feeling deep within my heart. It’s warm and tingly and tender. It’s sweet but bitter at the same time, and yet I still crave it.

“Let’s make a deal,” he whispers, our noses so close they could be touching.

“Is this a Hawthorne kind of deal?” I question in a murmur.

“Well what other kind of deal would it be,” Nash says, pulling back a little disappointing me slightly.

Still, I raise an eyebrow and cock my head to the side telling him to continue

“You don’t put up your wall anymore and you talk to me about your problems,” he proposes.

“A deal has two sides Hawthorne,” I remind him.

“Indeed it does,” he nods, “so name your price.”

“You learn when to shut up,” I say.

“What?”

“When I say I’m not in the mood for socialising understand it and move on,” I reply.

I wouldn’t be having the conversation if he’d just left me alone to start with. Not that I’m complaining, this conversation is rapidly becoming my favourite yet, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Deal.”

We take each others hands and with a firm shake the deal is bound.

“Starts today,” Nash adds, “now.”

“Perfect,” I smile mischievously, “then I think you should stop talking.”

“See I don’t think I-“

“Shhhh,” I shush him.

“But-“

“Shut up.”

“Mouth is shut!” he exclaims trying not to laugh.

“Forever?” I challenge.

“Can’t keep me quiet for that long darlin’,” he drawls.

“I can try,” I reply.

“You’re setting yourself up for failure,” he sing songs.

I put my finger on his lips and this time physically he can’t suppress him smile.

“How does failure taste?” I murmur.

“Like something you’ll enjoy,” he counters, talking against my fingertips. I can’t help but grin.

“Wanna get out of here for a bit, get some fresh air?” he asks me.

“Do I,” I sigh, dropping my hand from his mouth, relieved he finally asked

“Come on darlin’,” Nash says.

I don’t tell him not to call me darling. In fact it’s growing on me. He holds my hands, they’re warm against my cold palms and gently pulls me off of the bed.

“Where are we going?” I stand up, tilting my head to the side in question.

He flashes me a grin, “how do you feel about motorcycle rides?”

I did my research girl 🤭🤭 a little reread of tig never hurt anyone and the libby/nash content is too cute!! I feel like I didn’t really capture the right kind of banter because it was more sensitive so maybe I’ll do another one with more banter, so sorry about that xx hope you enjoyed anywaysss and thanks for your request

[inmyheaddd]

walkin’ out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part one

⤷ “can you see me? im waiting for the right time. i can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine.”

summary: you and grayson hawthorne’s friendship is one that stretches over a long time. its a friendship that you cherish with your heart, and it’s also one that can be far too confusing for your own sake sometimes. warnings: glasses!grayson, reader & grayson are so oblivious it hurts a/n: new possible grayson childhood bsfs-to-lovers series??! wc: 1.5k masterlist || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6

you lay on your stomach, propped up on your elbows with your face in your hands.

next to you was grayson, sitting up against the headboard, typing up something as he listened to you rant about your day. 

“he’s genuinely the worst teacher i’ve ever had, you know what he told me on the last non uniform day we had?” your legs were bent at the knee, swinging back and forth in the air as you ranted, your eyes on grayson, as his eyes were on his laptop. 

“he asked me if i got into a bike accident on the way to school, because i wore ripped jeans.”

grayson hummed, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to his laptop. “ignore him, he’s trying too hard to be funny,” he commented with his voice taking on a hint of disgust,, “and miserably failing.” he added, as he adjusted his glasses on his nose bridge. “you have better things to focus on than strange men with their strange humor.” 

you let out a chuckle through your nose, “yeah, i guess. very strange men indeed.” 

you didn’t really wait for a response, as you continued to talk about your day and little things that happened. “oh!” you piped up,“and guess what?” 

that’s how it always was with you and grayson, you talked — a lot, and he listened. 

—

you walked over to the corner where a little blonde boy sat, sorting a puzzle by himself while all the other kids sat in the middle, a big bundle of chaos, toys, giggles, and shouts. 

“um, excuse me? i have a question.” you stood, your hands clasped behind your back as you swayed gently side to side. 

the boy— who you later learned to be grayson hawthorne, didn’t answer, only looking up at you in curiosity as a puzzle piece fell out of his hand. 

you took that as an invitation, clearing your throat before you spoke, “why don’t you play with everyone else over there?” you asked, pointing to where all the other kids sat. it was halfway through the year, and he never once sat with the other kids, even when teachers asked him to. 

you always found yourself absentmindedly looking at him as you played with friends, wondering why.

he was silent for a moment, and you debated going back. “i don’t really like kids.” he said quietly, his eyes back on the puzzle as he looked for the next piece. 

you giggled like he had said the most outrageous statement ever, “but you’re a kid, silly.” you said, taking a step closer and sitting down next to him unpromptedly.

“well, i don’t like those kids.” he said, eyes meeting yours and then he looked you up and down, surprised at the fact that you were sitting so close to him. 

“why are you sitting next to me?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise and question as he looked at you. 

“um…” you trailed off, “because we’re friends now, duh.” you flashed him a big smile, shrugging your shoulders. 

—

he also made you laugh, and was there for you, and gave you advice, and helped you when you needed it, and he —well, he was just a really perfect friend in general. he always has been, since you were in the second grade. 

“i’m getting glasses,” you said in a singsong voice, “isn’t that crazy?”

“you’re getting glasses?” he arched a brow up at you, with an almost-barely-there smile.

“yeah,” you said through a chuckle, “i think it’s the universes way of getting me back for making fun of you, way back when you first got them.” 

grayson let out a breathy laugh and looked down at you, his gaze unwavering. “i distinctly remember you telling me how thankful you were to have 20/20 vision.”

“yeah, well…” you stifled a laugh, “you know what?” you voice perked up, a hint of humor present. “at least i know i’m gonna look better than you in them.” 

a smile found your face as you teased him— though deep down his glasses were one of your favorite things about him. 

the funny thing is, you distinctly remember teasing him about them to cover up just how much you adored them on him. 

—

“we aren’t friends. i don’t know you.” the little furrow in his brows only deepened as he looked at you.

“okay, well, i’m your friend. you don’t have to be my friend.” you shrugged simply, as you searched for the next puzzle piece on the floor, putting it into place once you did.

he watched you in silence, like you were saying something completely foreign to him, “but that’s rude of me, and it’s unbalanced,” his brows furrowed, his lips almost in a pout like he was severely stressed about this.

“okay, then just be my friend!” you smiled brightly at him once again, “problem solved.” you added, the look on your face a complete contrast to his — which was very confused. 

“but, friends are people who just want something from you. family always comes first.” he replied, like it was a rehearsed line he had heard a thousand times from someone else in his life. 

you wondered what kind of monster told him that, and you were determined on changing his mind. 

“what? no! friends are the best people you can find in the whole world. they’re your ‘family number two.’” you told him, but he didn’t seem convinced as he stared at you. “can i make you a proposal?” 

his blonde brows shot to the top of his head, “you want to marry me?” his eyes went wide as he slightly scooted back from you. 

“no, dummy! i meant like a deal,” you hummed, “i think i meant proposition…” you mumbled under your breath, more to yourself than to him.  

—

grayson smiled at you, his gaze unwavering. “oh, surely. without a doubt.” 

you gasped in mock offense, bringing yourself to sit up fully as you looked at him. “is that sarcasm you’re giving me, hawthorne?” 

grayson didn’t say anything in response, only laughing under his breath and shaking his head, returning back to typing whatever he was doing earlier. 

“you’re so rude, i don’t like you.” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest, sitting so close to him that you could rest your head on his shoulder. 

his eyes found you on his shoulder. though you didn’t meet his gaze, you definitely felt it. “well, i’m stuck with you forever, aren’t i?”

“yeah, unfortunately for me.” you said through an exhale. “i’m deeply regretting my choices right now.”  you mumbled , but you both knew that wasn’t true.

—

“deal? what deal are you giving me?“ 

“you just have to be my friend until friday! if you don’t like it, i’ll never talk to you again. i pinky swear.” you swore seriously, raising your eyebrows at the end to add to that effect. 

“buuuut,” you added, your voice taking on a complete 180. ”if you like it, even just a little, you’re stuck with me.” you paused for dramatic effect, adding in a singsong voice. “forever and ever.”

—

you felt him chuckle and you found yourself smiling at the mere action. he seemed to never laugh around anyone but you. “you know, that may have been the single choice in my life i don’t regret making.” 

the way he said that nearly undid you. you lifted your head, sitting upright to see him fully. 

your voice came out quieter than you thought it would, with a smile on your lips. “are you being serious?” your eyes searched his face, looking for any signs of teasing, even though you knew you wouldn’t find any. 

his answer was short, but it packed so much. “why wouldn’t i be?” there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face anymore, and his eyes stayed locked on yours, apart from when they flickered down to your lips for a millisecond. 

“i…” you trailed off, literally at a loss for words as his eyes looked into yours. “i don’t know,” you managed to come up with, eyes glued to his for far too long. 

“sorry,” you said through a laugh, “i don’t know what that was.” you shook your head as you looked back at the bed beneath you. 

you adjusted the way you were sitting, perhaps subconsciously putting a little bit of space between you. well, you had to. 

you couldn’t ruin your friendship because of your silly feelings. it’s part of the reason it’s lasted so long. better to have hidden your feelings and still have him, than speak them aloud and lose him. right? right. 

—

grayson’s eyebrows knitted together as he watched you, noticing the little bit of space you put in between you two as you quickly switched the topic, noticing the way you didn’t look straight up at him for more than 2 seconds, and the way your fingers fiddled with each other. 

he said something wrong, didn’t he? 

in all honestly, he wasn’t listening to a word you said, albeit, you weren’t paying attention to what you were saying either, just letting the words fall of your tongue without even thinking; trying to fill the awkward silence you had put there. 

as he nodded and gave vague responses to you, he replayed all the other moments he had come so close to saying something, something about the way he felt for you, and had felt for god knows how long.  

—

you left his house a few minutes later, pretending to get a text from your friend asking for you urgently. 

in all realness though, you went straight home, lay in bed, and screamed into your pillow. 

‘why did i say that? why can’t i just speak about my feelings? why am i like this?’ were some of the many thoughts that ran through your head like clockwork. 

next time, you promised yourself. next time you would talk about your feelings — or — next time you wouldn’t slip up in the slightest, so that tiny crack that led to said feelings wouldn’t ever show.

you weren’t entirely sure which one of the two you were promising. 

a/n: this was honestly more of a prologue to set the scene, the real stuff comes soon i promise!!

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @taysbrina

@littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican

[nonerrata-myarchives]

Why is Grayson HAWthorne haunting me this morning.

Tell me this isn't him. (I'll fight you.)

But seriously who is this diva? And why do I want to get on my knees fh? 💞😜🥰🤓😉😉😉😫😫

[clarissaweasley-10]

LibbyxNash in a nutshell;

Avery: Soo what's going on between you and Nash? Libby: w-what do you mean? ofc there isnt ANYTHING Nash: *in the background already picking out their kids' names ...there isnt?

[astraeajackson]

he's drunk, shirtless, and about to fall off a wall!

avery: where?!

his yodeling skills are unmatched and he eats way too many scones!

max: where?!

he has a tragic romantic past with your sister's lawyer and the amount of cowboy hats he owns is slightly concerning!

libby: WHERE?!

[lyrakanefanatic]

If tig/tgg characters had twitter part: 24

[jkriordanverse]

I need a Max's POV or a Max rewrite of TIg because legit it would be the funniest thing ever like

This shawty with a cowboy hat approached my best friend and her gothic sister. He looks like he has a talent for booty popping. He looks ripped, dude, but ehhhhh, i don't do old people. Libby seems to be enjoying it, though. I can imagine him at a rodeo, riding around on a bull. hang on i don't think rodeos have bulls. wait no do they?

or,

This new boy had like super duper yellow hair. it was like an unripped lime, but like the insides because his hair wasn't really that yellow. He looks sour too, and he had eyes that's probably sharper than my 104th grandmother's butchering knife. Dude looks like he came out of the womb wearing suits, so it's best not to point out the small dust peck on his forearm. the fact that when he raises an eyebrow it lowkey looks like that one the rock meme too.

or,

Okay so like this drunk guy walks up to my bestie girlypop and he's like

"yo if yes is no and once is never, how many coupons do i have" or sth and she's like smart and stuff and they seem to match each other's freaks and stuff so she's like "erm, like 2" AND BAM. MAXTCH MAKER DOES IT AGAIN! But like besides that okay my homie where is ur shirt like bffr. Although considering how rich he is he probably won't notice if someone took it.

[thejudeduarte]

I actually CACKLED when I read this

[beautifulandsodeprived]

Jameson doing thirst traps with Avery being so done in the background. thats it thats the post

[sheisntyouspam]

HOLY SHIT

OH MY FUCKING DAYS

[nothankyou3333]

GUYS HELPP I DIDNT LIKE IT…😔 It was cute but idk I can’t put my finger on it but something about the writing felt different to JLB’s usual writing style

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

TGG SPOILER!!

okay so we’re all presuming libby is either pregnant with twins or has had twins right… but something in me is screaming that it’s too obvious. I feel like JLB is going to whip out a double meaning to that sentence in the next book (what the double meaning is I have no flipping idea because I’m not that smart). but like what if JLB wants us to think this and is just sat there laughing that we’ve all fallen into her trap (help I sound like a lunatic). there was something about the wording that was off:

Rohan did love to make people think again. “Congratulations, by the way,” he called after Nash. “On the babies.”

like why would that make Nash think again? Unless he didn’t know that Libby was pregnant… but then how would Rohan know before Nash, unless it was info the Mercy got but how could the Mercy get that kind of information? I feel like the wording is too specific for it not to mean something. Why does this make Nash THINK AGAIN? Also the fact that we don’t see Nash’s response or anything…. why are we kept in the dark?? Istg I can’t wait until next year for the next book I’m going to spontaneously combust with theories…

this is what these books have done to me, I literally second guess every sentence… I realise I literally sound delulu but oh well, read my url, it should explain things 🤭🤭

[inmyheaddd]

i hate it here so i will go to secret gardens in my mind (reading)

[nonerrata-myarchives]

HEYYYYYY

can i req a lyrason fanfic?

pretty pleaseeeeeeee

Grayson and Lyra. ♡ One Shot.

Bedfic. Ummm. 1173 words.. shit.

The room was bathed softly in the early morning light, streaks of pale gold and sovereign blue spilling through the half-drawn lavish curtains. Outside, the world stirred awake, a faint hum of life whispering through the silence, but inside, it was warm and still. The sheets were tangled, the duvet half-kicked away, evidence of a restless night. Lyra Catalina Kane blinked herself awake, the weight of exhaustion settling into her already tired bones.

Grayson lay beside her, his face pale except for the feverish flush high on his cheeks. Even in sickness, he carried an air of unshakable perfection though the deep blooming plum beneath his eyes told a different story. She reached out instinctively, her hand brushing his damp forehead. Still hot. Way too fucking hot. He still hadn’t shaken the fever that had gripped him yesterday, and now it was spilling into today like a deep brooding thunder refusing to go.

She sighed, quietly, carefully, and shifted to slide out of bed. There was too much to do.

The world didn’t stop for anything, not even for Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. But the moment she moved, his arm tightened around her waist like a vice. Unwilling and utterly unyielding.

“Grayson,” she murmured softly, her voice still rough with sleep. She twisted to glance back at him, but his eyes were shut, his brow furrowed as if even in his fevered haze, he was waging some internal war. His lips moved, words too faint to catch, but even so he buried his face in her neck, his breath warm and uneven against her skin.

“Don’t sweetheart,” he rasped, the word dragging out of him like it cost more than it should. His voice was hoarse, cracked, stripped of its usual authority, and hearing it made something sharp twist in Lyra’s chest.

“Grayson,” she tried again, gently, this time reaching for his hand where it clung to her hip. But he didn’t let go. If anything, he held her tighter, his rough fingers digging into the soft fabric of her shirt like a drowning man clutching at the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled into her neck. His voice was low, desperate, and foreign in its vulnerability. Grayson Hawthorne never asked. He commanded, he directed, he ensured things happened exactly as they were meant to. But this wasn’t that man.

Her heart cracked open, a slow ache spreading through her chest. “Gray,” she whispered, turning fully to face him now, her body shifting under his unrelenting hold. His eyes flickered open, heavy-lidded and glassy, the stormy gray of them dulled but still searching, still fixed entirely on her.

“Stay,” he said, barely audible. His voice cracked at the end, and the sound of it nearly broke her. “Just please just stay.”

Lyra exhaled, her resistance crumbling in an instant. “I’m not going far,” she promised, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. His skin was still so damn warm. but he leaned into her touch as though it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You’ll leave,” he murmured, his breath catching on the last word. His arm tightened again, pulling her somewhat impossibly closer, until she was pressed against him completely, her legs tangled with his. “You’ll leave, and I—” He broke off, his face pressing into the crook of her neck like he couldn't nor wanted to finish that sentence. As if it would break him.

She had never seen him like this. In the thee years she had known the asshole she had never seen him so fucking desperate.

Lyra let out a slow breath, her hand slipping into his damp hair, fingers threading through the thick mess. “I’m here,” she said softly, the words barely more than a whisper. “I’m not going anywhere, Gray.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her. He had held her so tight she couldn't move. Grayson Davenport Hawthorne, the arrogant asshole was undone. Though right now he was just Gray, her Gray, and he needed her. And she wouldn't leave

“Lyra,” he breathed, her name a soft exhale against her neck. His voice was weaker now, but there was a reverence in the way he said it, a quiet plea wrapped in too much emotion. “I can’t—” He stopped again, the words choking off.

“You don’t have to,” she said, her hand sliding down to his back, holding him as close as he held her. “You don’t have to say anything.” She kissed the top of his head, her lips brushing against the damp strands of his hair. It smelled like foreign berries “I’m here.”

He shuddered, a shaky exhale escaping him as he buried himself deeper against her. For all his strength, all his unrelenting willpower, he melted into her like he couldn’t stand to be anywhere else. His fingers splayed against her side, anchoring him to her, and she felt the faintest tremor in his grip.

“Fuck being busy,” he muttered, the words muffled but laced with a quiet, fevered determination. His hand slid up to her back, his fingertips pressing into her as though to make sure she was real, that she wasn’t going to slip away the moment he loosened his hold. “Just stay, sweetheart. Please.”

“I’ll stay,” she whispered, her voice thick with the weight of her own emotions. “I’m not going anywhere, Gray. I promise.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought he might cry, but he just held her tighter, his face pressed against her neck. “Good,” he murmured, his voice cracking again. A different type of crack though.. one that meant something.

Minutes stretched into eternity as they lay there, tangled together in the warmth of their bed. The world outside could wait. The demands, the responsibilities, the endless push and pull of their lives—it could all wait. He needed her.

She stroked his hair more her fingers moving in slow, delicate patterns, and felt the tension in his body gradually ease. His breathing evened out, though it was still slightly labored, and she pressed another kiss to his head, murmuring soft reassurances into the quiet.

“I love you,” she said, the words soft but steady. She didn’t expect him to answer—he was too far gone, too fever-drunk and exhausted—but his arm tightened around her once more, and she felt his lips brush faintly against her collarbone.

“Love you,” he mumbled, the words slurred but heartfelt, and Lyra’s heart thumbed, the ache in her chest giving way to something warmer, something brighter. Something so exquisite she couldn't put words on it.

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

Not proof read. I'll edit just now.. I'm sorry it's shit y'all.

[clarissaweasley-10]

Imagine Gray calling a 911 meeting right after he and Lyra kissed. And then when they all have assembled, he just blurts out something like "I like Lyra Kane and we just kissed"(full stop.) All hell breaks loose with the rest already planning how their (Gray and Lyra's) wedding's gonna be like, the name of their kids and ofc teasing lil Gray bear for finally getting a girl...

P.S- Should l make a fanfic on this?

[the-eldest-yehawthorne]

//hear me out-why do the S and I look different-like bolded and and white-are there more of these images out there and if we get all the letters, can we unscramble them to something-