Xander Hawthorne - Tumblr Posts

Now that tgg is out, we’re still gonna be rocking with the og series right?

im always a lover for the first series so im hoping the fandom doesn’t ditch our old vibes

hello all my lovely writers, i am here in the public asking for a jealous reader and or comfort fic with grayson because of lyra.

i post this publicly because i know there are many amazing writers who could take this prompt and turn it into something amazing <3

SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST FEW CHAPTERS OF TGG

i feel the need to share my annotations and see how others agree. keep in mind i am only on like chapter 3 lol

this was mainly a rant on book feminism, please don’t take this to heart of believe that this is how i feel about everything. (i am the most proud girls girl i swear)

ive met so many amazing people throughout the fandom

The day I started posting about #the grandest game was the best day of my life.

Ok im not yet going to elaborate cause its late, but does anyone else think the hawthornes don’t really act like “normal”?

i mean like how jameson and xander don’t really act like teenagers…

JLB says it’s because they’re rich but i don’t fully believe that

I will elaborate more in the morning !

Im definitely late to the party, but jameson = jess from gilmore girls right?

Hey guys we’re either getting Max or Jameson tomorrow…

then we’ll never see the other one…

For some reason, I get the same vibes from The Inheritance Games and We Were Liars. I think it's something about the old money and the mystery that seem the same.

Xander Hawthorne definitely has every episode of Phineas and Ferb memorized

I dont get how more people don't see this

He is canonically the best Hawthorne as stated by other hawthornes

He's also the tallest

And the dorkiest

And my personal favorite

jameson that, grayson that, nash that 🙄🙄🙄

bitch the hottest hawthorne is xander. i’m speaking facts here.

Hear me out

I think that The Grandest Games is going to be a four book series

The cover has a spade on it which js one of four card suits

So I think we're gonna get a complete set of four books

the way these books had me on the edge of my seat until the last page !!!!

kinda not happy about the way it ended though, felt llike she just gave up a little bit, but thats okay because i loves them 

“everything’s a game, avery grambs. the only thing we get to decide in this life is if we play to win”

-Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Me patiently waiting for the Grandest Game to be published.

Love Leaves Scars Masterlist¡!—

Introduction

Chapter 1: New Hope

Chapter 2: Wounds Re-opened

Chapter 3: The Wild West

Chapter 4: The Memories That Haunts

Chapter 5: Lies After Lies

Chapter 6: The Plot Twist of the Century

Love Leaves Scars: New hope

[L.L.S Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [G.H Masterlist]

Warning: none

Pairing: oc!reader x Grayson Hawthorne

W.C: 1.8k

Note: FINALLY, THE FIRST CHAPTER IS RELEASED! I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter. I wanted you all to meet Verity before the boys get mentioned! It's been a while since I last created a story, so please bear with me!!! I promise to try and update faster next time😔

As a child, I was never doted on. So clearly, being independent and acting older despite such a young age would become the result of it. "No Rosewood was once a child." My father would always say to me. Thus, living alone at the age of 18 never became a problem.

" 'Not a problem,' you say, look at this mess, Veri!" The high-pitched voice of Asnid echoes in the room. "This is not a mess, Asnid," I tell her, swatting her hand from grabbing the papers scattered on my desk. "Will you look at this place, Verity? It's a total jungle in here. I don't understand how you call this your 'ideas room'," Asnid says, crossing her arms in front of her and putting on a disapproving look.

To me, she looked hilarious. I could never take her glares seriously with how small she looked. She looked like an oompa loompa trying to prevent you from taking their precious cacao beans. No offence, Asnid.

"It's organised for me," I snickered at her. The way she rolled her eyes and scoffed in irritation caused a small laugh to pass through my lips.

"I couldn't stay here anymore, goodbye!" She huffs in defeat before stomping out the door and towards the kitchen. To be honest, the whole place is a mess. But for some unknown reason, it helps me think more. Constantly worrying about the organization is much more infuriating than having a messy place.

I clenched my eyes shut and took deep breaths to calm me down and clear my head. I grab my headphones from my desk and place them on my head. A playlist I made to help me concentrate on my work blaring in my ears. I grab my drawing pencil and my sketchpad to sketch my desired portrait, the music drowning out all the noises that would prevent me from focusing. For once, I felt calm and relaxed.

I hardly noticed the time and how late it was not until Asnid told me it was almost midnight. As soon as I peeked at my clock, I immediately realized how tired I was. Without a second thought, I gathered the materials used and secured the painting I'd be presenting to my art professor. I bid Asnid good night before retiring to my bedroom.

A sigh escaped my lips as I finally felt the relaxing comfort of my bed. I close my eyes in hopes of removing all possible thoughts that would disrupt my peaceful sleep, and with one final sigh, I let sleep envelop me in its warm, soothing embrace.

I could feel the sun peeking through my blinds and hitting my skin. The birds quietly chirp from outside. My bed felt so warm and cosy to the point that I barely even wanted to get up. I opened my eyes and allowed myself a few moments to adjust to the lighting before looking over my shoulder to check the time. 8:34.

"Verity!" As if on cue, my bedroom door flies open, revealing Asnid with her hair looking like a literal bird's nest and still in pyjamas. We both stared at each other with wide eyes. "WE'RE LATE!" We both yelled out loud. Asnid ran out and ran to her bedroom while I jumped off my bed and ran towards my bathroom. I could hear the clock ticking with every passing second, which made me even more agitated. With 15 minutes remaining, I dashed out of my bedroom and school clothes all disordered. My skirt was sideways, half of the buttons on my blouse were unbuttoned, and my tie was just messily thrown around my neck. My backpack gripped in hand, I sprinted towards my ideas room and grabbed my painting before leaving.

"Everything ready?" I asked Asnid, who was frantically fixing her hair in the mirror near the door. She nodded her head, and we both ran towards her car. "Don't go too fast, you might crash," I tell her while buckling my seat belt. She gives me a nod before driving out of the driveway.

My heart pounds against my chest. 1 minute. I run as fast as I can. My legs burn as I continue to run to the art room. I silently pray that I make it in time. "Almost there," I tell myself while panting. I ran down the hallway to the art room before one of the doors opened, and Ms Hudgins, the English professor, walked out with a cup of coffee in hand and a stack of papers in the other.

Before I could even stop myself, I collided with her. Everything felt like it was in slow-mo. Her papers and cup of coffee were thrown in the air with my canvas. She let out a scream while we both fell to the floor. I watch as Ms. Hudgin's coffee spills on the canvas and the floor.

I sat on my heel and stared at the now-ruined painting in pain. My chances of getting into Yale were ruined.

"Miss Rosewood! What were you thinking running in the halls!" Miss Hudgin's piercing voice echoes throughout the hallway. I open my mouth to answer her, to give her a valid reason, but nothing comes out. Not even a single sound. I continue to stare at my ruined painting. What am I going to tell Mr. Rivera?

After Miss Hudgings had calmed down, she only gave me a warning to not run in the halls and ordered me to clean up the mess in the hallway to which I obeyed not wanting to get into more trouble than I already was. I walked into the art room with my shoulders slouched and a blank expression.

Mr. Rivera stops midway through his sentence. From what I understood, he was explaining the result of our last project for his class. The last project that I just ruined mere moments ago. He turns his attention to me just like everyone else.

"Miss Rosewood, glad you could join us today," His voice didn't hint at any kind of sarcasm or disappointment. His usual soft and kind smile plastered on his face. Mr. Rivera had been teaching at Branford College for over 30 years now, and his experience could be seen in his features. For a 50-year-old teacher, he still looked 10 years younger. A few wrinkles adorned his face, and all of them became very evident when he smiled, which is very often.

Most teachers at his age are strict and harsh towards their students, but he was the exact opposite. He was kind and gentle towards his students, which was the reason why he was so loved by his students not only by the art majors.

"Please sit down, Miss Rosewood. Ah! Before that, may I please see your artwork?" He asked, extending his hand. My heart clenches because of this. "I'm sorry, I don't have it," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I thought that I didn't even say it with how quiet it was.

"What did you say, dear?" He asks, lowering his head slightly to reach my height. "I don't have it," I say a little louder this time. He looks directly into my eye and gives a nod. "Stay after class, Verity. Let's worry about your project later," He instructed and gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze before allowing me to take my seat.

He goes back to talking while I take my seat. I felt uncomfortable. It felt like there were thousands of eyes looking at me right now. I hear them talking in whispers, which I try to drown out. I try not to look at any of them for fear of seeing their faces. I could just imagine it. Their faces turn into an expression that gives away their thoughts about you. Their disappointment and disgustment.

Later on, the bell rings, indicating the end of the subject. Students around me gather their things while I continue to sit in my seat, barely moving and paying attention to anything or anyone. As soon as the last student walks out the door, I stand up and walk over to Mr. Rivera. "Sir," I start, but he just raises his hand, signalling me to stop, and I do.

"What happened, Verity?" He asked, and I lowered my head in shame. I could hear the disappointment in his voice now. "You said you were almost done when I last asked you about your progress. What happened?" My lips tremble, and I fear that if I speak, the tears that are threatening to fall from my eyes will all come running down my face.

"I am quite disappointed, Verity," He says. There it is. The words that I feared he would say. My heart drops to my stomach. Disappointment is an understatement. "I'm sorry," I sobbed while bringing my hand to stop the tears from flowing down but failed miserably. Mr. Rivera took a box of tissues out of his drawers and pushed them towards me, which I thankfully took. "I finished it, I promise. It's just that I woke up late, and then I crashed into Ms. Hudgins and her coffee went all over the canvas," I explained. It was hard to speak with all the sobs and hiccups that kept escaping my mouth. I bet I looked pathetic crying in front of him.

There was a moment of silence on his end. The only thing that could be heard in the room was my sniffling and the occasional hiccups. "I believe that you have finished your project in time, Miss Rosewood. Accidents are bound to happen," He comforted me. He lets out a sigh before continuing, "I am giving you the chance to prove yourself worthy of receiving the same grade I would have given you if you had passed your last project," my head jerks up at his words. "R-really?" I asked him, not believing his words. "Yes, but if you think this is some easy project, you have gravely mistaken," He adds.

"I am giving you until the end of the school year to pass a painting that answers this question, "Who are you?". If you succeed in answering this question, then you shall pass, but if not, you are to have a failed mark on your card. Do you understand me, Miss Rosewood?" I smiled and nodded, accepting his challenge. "You may leave now, Miss Rosewood. You wouldn't want to miss lunch, do you?" Mr. Rivera says. I smiled brightly at him before packing my things to leave.

Hope washed over me at the thought that I would still be able to get into Yale. I walk towards the cafeteria and eat with Asnid.

The rest of the day was all a blur to me. All that I could ever think of was what to do for my project. I wouldn't let Mr. Rivera down. Not this time.

As Asnid and I arrived at our apartment hours later. I was beyond exhausted that I faceplanted myself on the living room couch as soon as we both got in. "Hey Vers," Asnid taps on my shoulder. I hummed in response, not in the mood to lift my head from the couch.

"You got a letter,"

"From who," my voice muffled by the couch's cushion.

"Tobias Hawthorne,"

Love Leaves Scars: Wounds Re-opened

[L.L.S Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [G.H Masterlist]

Warning: none

Pairinh: Oc!Reader × Grayson Hawthorne

W.C: 1.7k

Note: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! It was exams, and I couldn't find the right time to post😭 BUT HERE IT ISSS!!!

I felt as if all the blood had been completely drained from my body. My chest tightened, and my heart started pounding loudly within my chest. I could hear its thumping in my ears. I felt myself stop breathing, and I knew it wasn't because my head was buried against the couch's mattress.

"Vers, are you alright?" Asnid asked, gently pushing my head up from the couch. Her eyes brimmed with concern and worry. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she chewed on her lips, a habitual gesture when she was anxious. Placing a tender hand on my head, she softly stroked my hair, attempting to soothe my nerves.

I never understood Asnid's ability to calm me down with a simple touch of her fingertips. It was as though she possessed some kind of superpower. Gradually, my breathing began to steady, and a sense of calm washed over me. We sat in silence, and she continued to stroke my head in a soothing manner.

Once I regained my composure, Asnid's question resurfaced in my mind. Tobias Hawthorne. A name I hadn't heard in the past three years. I had stopped following the news, fearing the mention of his name or my family's. It was fortunate that Asnid and I rarely watched the news.

"Are you okay now?" Asnid inquired, her comforting gestures never ceasing. I nodded faintly, and her hand gently rested on mine. "You should read it; it might be important," she suggested, taking my hand and placing the envelope in my palm. Planting a tender kiss on my forehead, she gave me a soft smile and left to change into her room.

As soon as I heard her door close, my gaze fell upon the envelope in my hand. Should I read it? Should I leave it unopened? Why had he suddenly reached out after three years? I sat there in silence, uncertain of my next move. In chess, every move must be calculated strategically. One wrong move could lead to losing the game, losing everything you have.

The only sound that filled the room was the ticking of the clock. I had been staring at the envelope for five minutes now. I felt frozen, unsure of what to do. Memories from my younger years flooded my mind. The days Tobias Hawthorne would open his home to me on Saturdays. We would solve riddles and play games with his grandsons. Some days I would win, and some days I would lose. Every Saturday followed the same routine: playing a game, either winning or losing, and receiving a lesson from Tobias on our mistakes.

I mustered the strength to rise from the couch and succeeded. My feet guided me to the kitchen and the trash bin. I had moved on from everything that happened in the past. I had no need for a reminder of that life, the life that had shattered me in ways I never thought possible.

I crumpled the envelope in my hand and tossed them into the trash bin. I stared at it and felt curiosity bubbling up in my chest. Determined, I closed the bin, turned away, and suppressed any hints of regret or curiosity that threatened to consume me. I tossed my backpack into my room, then collapsed onto my bed, drowning out the nagging questions and thoughts in my head with blaring music through my headphones.

Every Saturday, I received an invitation to Hawthorne House from Tobias Hawthorne himself. Like clockwork, his four grandchildren and I would gather there in the morning to solve the riddles he had prepared for us. Today was no exception. It was a scene of utter chaos.

Nash, Xander, and I watched as Jameson and Grayson tumbled and grappled on the floor. Jameson had suggested a wrestling match, with the key to a locked book we had discovered on the shelf as the prize. "Shouldn't we intervene?" nine-year-old Xander asked. Nash and I shook our heads in response. I uncrossed my arms, removed a hairpin from my hair, and used it to retrieve the book with the help of a stool.

With the hairpin, I skillfully picked the lock, and the book clicked open. Inside, we found nothing but a solitary rook chess piece nestled in a hidden compartment. Grayson and Jameson, having abandoned their feeble wrestling attempt, approached to see the revealed item. "You could have spared us the wrestling match," Grayson remarked, slightly irritated. "I wanted to see a little show," I shrugged, seizing the rook.

"That piece could be from one of the chess sets," Xander observed, examining the chess piece. Before his words had even left his lips, his three older siblings had dashed off. I heard him sigh in annoyance, and his hurried footsteps followed theirs until I could no longer hear it. Clutching the chess piece tightly, I glanced behind me to ensure none of the four Hawthorne children had remained. Then, I darted out the door and made my way to Tobias's study.

Upon entering, I found Tobias seated at his desk, a chessboard spread out before him. "I expected you would be the one to solve it," he said, flashing a faint smile that revealed the wrinkles of age. I took a seat in front of his desk and carefully placed the rook in its designated spot. "White moves first, my dear," he reminded me.

Minutes later, in the midst of our game in Tobias's study, the door burst open, and the four boys stumbled into the room, panting and disheveled. "You're all late. I was beginning to wonder when you would join us," Tobias remarked. "Checkmate," I declared. Tobias glanced down at the chessboard, and once he confirmed my victory, he beamed with pride. "It was a pleasure playing with you, Verity," Tobias said, shaking my hand in congratulations.

I turned to the boys, who still stood there gazing at us. "Well done, kid," Nash congratulated me.

"Verity? Verity!" I was jolted awake from my slumber by Asnid's voice and her rough shake. "You fell asleep and missed dinner," she informed me. I rubbed my eyes and nodded sleepily, propping my head up with my hand. "Are you alright?" she asked, concerned. "Yes, just had a dream," I replied, my voice hoarse. "Well, there's an elderly man in the living room who insists on seeing you," Asnid said, helping me tidy up my disheveled hair.

The drowsiness dissipated from my body the moment those words escaped Asnid's lips. I stared at her, my eyes widening. I felt rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak, stunned by the possibility that it could be him. But it couldn't be, could it? Why would he be here?

"I don't think I'm in the right state to entertain guests right now, Asnid," I told her, feeling the initial shock subside in my body. Countless possible answers to my question raced through my mind. I refused to believe that Tobias Hawthorne would be sitting in the living room of my apartment at this very moment.

"I already told him that, but he's quite stubborn," Asnid replied. That old man is still the same. I sighed and rubbed my temple before giving Asnid a brief nod. "I'll remain here. It seems like you have something important to discuss," she said and sat down on one of the bean chairs in the room. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone," I reminded her before heading towards the living room.

And there he was, resplendent in his presence. I positioned myself a few meters away, deliberately avoiding proximity. I straightened my posture and held my head high, attempting to intimidate him and convey the sense that he was intruding. Yet, I knew Tobias Hawthorne wouldn't be swayed by my actions.

"It's quite impolite to keep your visitors waiting, my dear Verity," his tone remained unchanged from the last time I saw him—still arrogant and self-assured. "You haven't been responding to my letters," he informed me, taking a sip from the drink Asnid had brought him. "I consider them of no importance," I tried to maintain a firm and strong voice. I heard him chuckle, aware of my feeble attempt to appear strong, knowing that he could see through my facade.

"You've grown into a beautiful young woman, my dear. But you've forgotten everything you learned from me," he remarked, placing the cup on the coffee table before him. "Sit," he commanded me. I scoffed at his audacity. How dare he order me around in my own home? "Sit," he repeated, this time with a firm tone, realizing I hadn't complied the first time.

"Why are you here?" I asked him. "I would be delighted to tell you if you choose to sit down instead of standing there like a child on the verge of a tantrum," he responded. Reluctantly, I took a seat in one of the chairs situated at a comfortable distance from him. "Come back home," he said, folding his hands over his knee. I laughed at his feeble attempt to coax me into returning. "Do you think those two simple words would be enough to make me come back home? Am I that easily manipulated in your eyes?" I retorted, feeling offended.

"You are not, but I don't care for begging, Verity. So I am merely asking you to return home," he tried once more. I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Leave," I glared at him with anger in my eyes. "Now," I added, pointing towards the door of my apartment. "You'll change your mind soon enough, my dear," he remarked, and I couldn't help but let out a derisive laugh. "You're not a very skilled seer, Tobias," I told him. "Goodbye, Verity," he bid me. "For now," he added before closing the door behind him. I heard his footsteps recede as he walked away from my apartment, and I felt my knees give way as I collapsed to the floor.

Clutching my chest with both hands, tears streamed down my face. I hadn't realized how much I had wanted to cry until now. I sobbed and gasped for air, my cries echoing through the room. A door creaked open, and Asnid quickly rushed to my side as soon as she spotted me on the carpeted floor. "Take a deep breath, Vers," she enveloped my shaking body in her arms, whispering soothing words in my ear, attempting to calm me. I clung to her clothes, continuing to sob and gasp for air as if it would never be enough to fill my lungs.

What I hadn't noticed at that moment was the envelope lying on the floor in front of the door. T.T.H.

Love Leaves Scars: The Wild West

[L.L.S Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [G.H Masterlist]

Warning: None

Pairing: Oc!Reader × Grayson Hawthorne

W.C: 1.2k

It has been a few weeks since Tobias visited my home, and he hasn't returned since. I'm relieved that he hasn't. That evening, I found it difficult to hold back my tears. What made it worse was discovering the letter he left behind. Like the previous one, I crumpled it into a ball and discarded it. I refuse to read it and be manipulated by him once again.

Right now, I'm sitting in class, pretending to listen to whatever the teacher is talking about. Images of finding Tobias Hawthorne in my living room keep flashing in my mind, making it challenging to focus on anything. I glance at the clock nailed to the wall above the whiteboard. Thirty minutes until 1 o'clock. Just thirty more minutes until lunch.

"Attention, Ms. Rosewood. Please come to the Principal's office," a woman's voice announces over the speaker.

All the students' attention, as well as the teacher's, shifts toward me. I notice the teacher stops talking and puts down his marker. "Miss Rosewood," he calls out, grabbing my attention. I start to hear everyone else whispering to each other. I close my notebook, grab my backpack, and walk out of the door. 

Being called to the principal's office is a rare occurrence for me. I try to maintain a low profile and stay out of trouble as much as possible. Having the last name Rosewood already attracts enough attention—I don't need any more of it.

The hallways are mostly empty, except for some students transitioning between classes. Most stare, while others pay no mind to me. The principal's office is located at the end of the hall. Before I know it, I'm standing in front of the door. I feel the cold doorknob in my hand, take a deep breath, exhale, and twist the knob, opening the door.

As I step into the room, a blast of cold air from the air conditioner hits me. The walls are entirely white, devoid of any other color. It resembles a doctor's office to me. Cushioned chairs are arranged along the side, and two chairs are placed in front of the principal's desk. However, the principal is absent. In the meantime, I decide to make myself comfortable.

I let my eyes wander around the room. There's a picture of the principal's family sitting on his desk. His gold-plated name shines on the desk, indicating his meticulous cleaning habits. A bookshelf occupies the left corner of his office, filled with books mostly from 19th-century authors and biographies of unfamiliar people. I spend a few minutes in the silence, patiently waiting for the principal.

Then, I hear the lock on the door click open. I stand up and turn, ready to greet the principal in our school's traditional way. "Good after—" I stop mid-sentence. My eyes widen, and my body freezes as I stare at the person standing before me. I can't move or even breathe. It's as if some kind of magic has immobilized me. All I can do is stare in shock. And the reason? Standing next to Mr. Harlow is none other than Nash Westbrook Hawthorne, the eldest grandson of Tobias Hawthorne, wearing his stupid cowboy hat.

"Miss Rosewood, will you just stare at me and my visitor all day long?" Mr. Harlow says, snapping me out of my trance. I shake my head and continue what I was about to say. "Good afternoon, Mr. Harlow and visitor," I say, leaning forward to give them a bow. Bowing while greeting is one of the traditions at Red Crest International College. "Good afternoon to you too, Miss Rosewood," Mr. Harlow replies before gesturing for Nash and me to sit down. He walks behind his desk, takes a seat, folds his hands, and leans slightly forward.

"I've been wanting to speak to Verity alone, Principal Harlow," Nash says in his thick Texas accent. Mr. Harlow appears somewhat surprised, but he quickly covers it up with a cough. It seems being kicked out of his office does not excite him. "Very well, Mr. Hawthorne. You may see me when you are finished," he says, then slowly exits the room. I continue staring forward, not acknowledging Mr. Harlow or Nash. We both hear the doorknob click, indicating Mr. Harlow has left the office.

Nash waits for about 30 seconds before speaking up. "How are—" he begins, but I quickly cut him off. "What are you doing here?" I ask, my tone harsh, and I notice him flinch from my peripheral vision. I still refuse to look directly at him. He remains silent, likely expecting another verbal blow. "If you're going to ask me to come home, I won't do it. So save your breath and leave," I tell him. "I can't do that," he replies. "There's nothing a Hawthorne can't do."For the first time since we sat down, I turned to Nash. His soft brown eyes were already fixed on me, pleading for my attention. "The old man's dead, Verity," he revealed.

I was taken aback. No remorse or sadness washed over me. Perhaps deep down, they lingered, but I refused to acknowledge them. Tobias Hawthorne didn't deserve my tears not my pity. "My condolences, Nash. To your family as well. If that's all you've come to say, then you've said it. Now, please, leave me be." I stood up abruptly, snatching my bag. I was ready to walk out, but Nash seized my wrist.

"You need to come home," he insisted once more, his grip firm.

"I will never return there," I snapped, wrenching my wrist free and striding toward the door. Just as I reached for the doorknob, Nash's voice pierced the air again. "Your name is written on the will. We can't decipher it unless everyone's present," he revealed.

His words ignited a fire within me. All the anger and hatred I had suppressed since laying eyes on him now erupted. "You want me to come home for your ludicrous will reading? So you can inherit billions from that madman?" I shouted, my bag crashing to the floor as I confronted Nash head-on. "You are as selfish and arrogant as your grandfather," I sneered, my finger jabbing at his chest.

Our faces were mere inches apart, and through his eyes, I saw my reflection—a visage filled with anger. The anger wasn't reflected in his eyes, but in my own. I resembled my mother. The woman I swore not to become. Yet here I am. 

I stepped back, maintaining the distance between us. Nash continued to gaze at me, his eyes still soft, filled with concern and worry. He reached out to hold my hand, but I recoiled, refusing to let his touch affect me. "I have no interest in the money," he assured me, his voice gentle. He wanted me to believe that the inheritance or any wealth he might acquire wasn't the reason behind his plea. "You'll only be there for the will reading, and once it's done, you can go home. I promise to shield you from any further disruptions," he vowed. I looked up at him, searching for sincerity.

"Besides, you're not the only non-Hawthorne —except for the Laughlins and Oren—named in the will," Nash revealed, and my curiosity was piqued. Why would Tobias Hawthorne name an outsider in his will? "Who else?" I inquired.

"A girl named Avery Kylie Grambs."

Love Leaves Scars: The Memories That Haunts

[L.L.S Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [G.H Masterlist]

Warning: none

Pairing: Oc!Reader x Grayson Hawthorne

W.C: 2k

When I mentioned wanting lunch, ice cream never crossed my mind. Yet here I am, seated in a local ice cream store, eating ice cream with Nash Hawthorne.

The cold spoon rests delicately between my fingers as I idly swirl the melting ice cream before me. I can't bring myself to take even a small bite. The chill in the room should make me shiver, but I am unaffected by the cold.

When we were younger, Nash had a habit of whisking me away for ice cream whenever I'm upset. I think he still does. It should bring me joy. Overwhelming happiness. Reuniting with people you haven't seen for years should elicit elation, especially when they've had a significant impact on your life. But I feel none of that. Maybe I do feel it but choose to ignore it.

"Are you okay? You haven't touched your ice cream," Nash's voice, accompanied by his accent, snaps me out of my trance. "Yeah, I just haven't had lunch yet. I don't want to spoil my appetite," I reason. "Oh, you could have told me," I shake my head, gazing down at the now liquefied ice cream. "It's okay. What's on your mind?" he asks. I hesitate to answer, opening my mouth but failing to produce any words. The cycle continues—open, close, open, close. No words emerge. It wasn't this difficult with Nash before. Before. This is now, the present.

"You seem uncomfortable, don't you?" Is it that obvious? Of course it is. "I'm sorry," I apologize as if my discomfort is my fault. Maybe it is. Nash shakes his head, offering reassurance. "No worries, I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have surprised you like that. A little warning would have been considerate," Even if there had been a warning, it wouldn't have made a difference. I would have disregarded it. I would have ran away, as I always do.

"He visited you, didn't he?" Nash inquires, causing me to raise my head and meet his gaze. "The Hawthornes do love their surprise visits, huh?" I joke and he chuckles. I'm not sure if I should miss the sound of his laughter. Silence envelops us once more. No words exchanged, just the two of us sitting in silence.

Until Nash breaks the silence. "I'm not angry at you for leaving. None of us are," Nash assures me. Lies. "If you think that will persuade me to return, you're making a pathetic attempt," I retort. Nash shakes his head and reaches for my hand, resting on the table, but I swiftly withdraw it before his touch can make contact.

"Please, don't touch me, Nash."

His hand retreats to his side of the table, perhaps realizing that his touch wouldn't offer any solace. Not like it used to. "I didn't mean to bring it up," he says, and I scoff in response. "Then you shouldn't have broached the subject," I reply. The jingle of the shop's doorbell signals someone's arrival or departure. "Verity!" a high-pitched voice calls out, instantly recognizable.

"I received your text— Oh! H-hi! Verity, you could have mentioned you were on a date," Asnid whispers the last part as she sits down beside me. Nash snorts, clearly having overheard her. "He's not a date of mine," I clarify. "Verity is not my type, unfortunately," Nash adds.

"Oh! I'm sorry if I interrupted an important conversation. I just got worried about you, Vers. I thought you were kidnapped," Asnid says. "Knowing Verity, you should be concerned that the kidnapper is the one being held hostage," Nash jokes. Asnid giggles and nods in agreement. "That's true," she concurs.

I observe their interaction, feeling a surge of jealousy rising within me. I suppress it, concealing my emotions. "I believe we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Nash," Nash extends his hand, introducing himself. I watch as Asnid extends her hand and shakes his. "Asnid, Verity's roommate and best friend," best friend. The term evokes unwelcome memories.

"Promise me I'll be your best friend forever?"

"I promise!" A broken promise.

"Nash's grandfather passed away, and I need to go with him for the will's reading," I cut to the chase and inform her. "I'm sorry for your loss, Nash. When are you leaving?" Asnid asks.

"Tomorrow—"

"Today—"

Today? I look at Nash, confused. "Tomorrow would be preferable," I interject, leaving no room for negotiation. This isn't up for negotiation. If he wants me to return home, he must adjust to my conditions. My rules.

"Enough time for both of you to pack your belongings," Nash smiles at Asnid. I feel her hand squeeze mine. Hawthornes always have that effect on women. I know because I was once susceptible to their charming smiles. Not Nash's, though.

"She's not coming with us," I refuse to bring Asnid along. I refuse to witness my best friend interacting with the people who inflicted wounds so deep that three years have not been enough to heal them.

"Ignore her. I'm coming with you guys," I attempt to change her mind, but Asnid glares at me. She rarely gets angry, but when she does, it's quite intimidating. I can only remain silent and watch them negotiate.

I must look like a child whose mother told them to be quiet while she talks to adults. "I'll book the tickets, then," Asnid says. "I'll cover the expenses. It's the least I can do for the trouble," Nash offers.

A few more details are exchanged, but I struggle to recall them. I find myself captivated by a homeless man playing chess with a brunette on the street. I watch as she defeats him in just five moves. He slumps his shoulders in defeat, and his lips move, likely accusing her of cheating or something of the sort.

"Verity, let's go," I turn my head to Asnid. She and Nash are already standing by the door. I grab my backpack and follow them out of the shop. The ride back home is uneventful. Nash falls silent in the backseat, while Asnid drives alongside me.

The only sound is the music playing on the radio. Suddenly, I find myself back at our apartment, in my room. My suitcase is laid out on my bed, with all my belongings scattered around it.

It's a mess. I can't bring myself to pack anything inside the suitcase. I continue to stare at it. Questions run nonstop in my head. Is this the right decision? Returning there? The place I fought so hard to escape, only to come back?

I place clothes inside the suitcase—undergarments, shirts, pants, socks—only to remove them again. Put them in, take them out. Repeat. A heavy sensation in my chest makes it difficult to breathe. My fingers tremble as I hold onto the sweater Asnid gave me for Christmas last year. I shouldn't be affected by returning there. I shouldn't feel like this. It's been three years. Shouldn't three years be enough?

"I already booked the flights," Asnid opens the door but stops her sentence once she sees the state of my room. "Why are you crying?" She asks, wrapping her arms around me. I didn't even notice that I was crying until she pointed it out. I bury my head into her shirt and let myself sob and cry.

"Let it all out, Vers," Her voice is gentle and soft. Her touch is as gentle as her voice. She runs her fingers through my hair, untangling the knots. Minutes later, I finally calm myself down, but Asnid never stops her calming and gentle touches. My breathing starts to regulate back to normal, and I can think properly now. "Are you okay now?" She asks me, and I nod, feeling myself brush against her now wet shirt. "Do you want me to help you pack?" I nod again.

She waits for me to release myself from the hug before helping me pack. While packing, I can sense that she wants to ask me why I was crying but hesitates to do so. "I just remembered something, Asnid. I'm fine," I assure her as I pack my toiletries in the pouch of my suitcase.

I know she doesn't believe it, but she still chooses not to ask anymore. Even after three years of knowing each other, I have never opened up about what happened before we met. I could never bring myself to talk about it. I wasn't protecting her; I was protecting myself. As soon as the clock hits five, we are done. "I'll go make dinner," Asnid kisses my cheek before leaving my room. With my suitcase packed and the plane tickets already taken care of, I have nothing else to do now. I put on my headphones and play music.

The whole night is a complete blur, even the morning at the airport. The only thing I can remember is Asnid and I meeting up with Nash at the airport. Now, all three of us are sitting in business class, courtesy of Nash. Thank you, Nash.

"I bet the people we're going to meet will be big shots. I hope they aren't those mean rich people," Asnid says. Who's telling her that they are? Oh wait, I should be the one to answer that.

"Don't get your hopes up, Asnid," I tell her. "They might be those rich mean people," Asnid sighs in disappointment. After that, Asnid falls asleep. I never really liked airplanes. They aren't exactly comfortable enough to make me sleep or enjoy the flight. So, as much as possible, I never wanted to fly to places in or out of the country.

A few more uncomfortable hours later, we finally arrive in Texas. Nash helps with carrying our suitcases and loading them into the car. "I'm nervous," Asnid announces, her leg shaking. "Calm down," I say, placing my hand on her knee to stop her from shaking.

The car ride is short and quiet. For the first time on the whole trip, I fell asleep in the car. I guess that's why I thought it was quiet and short. "Verity, you need to wake up, we're here," Nash says, shaking me to wake up. I give him a sleepy nod before rubbing my eyes.

I can feel the luggage being unloaded from the trunk. When my body is awake enough, I decide to get out of the car and help with the luggage.

I take my suitcase and one of Asnid's carry-ons and follow Nash inside. The Hawthorne House. Where most of my happiest and worst memories were created. I feel a swirling feeling in my stomach. I hate it. This place makes me remember all the memories I want to forget. Every corner of this place is haunted by memories. From the gates to the rooms. The stairs, the gardens, the portrait, and the ceilings. All haunted by a memory, not even 3 years, could make me forget.

"Home already, Nash?" I hear someone ask. The voice is familiar. I raise my head and see a tall man in front of us. 6'0? 6'2? "Hi, Xan," His face is no longer filled with confusion but with happiness and surprise. "Verity!" He runs towards me and wraps his arms around my small figure. He has to crouch down a bit to reach my small height. "You're taller now," I tell him once he has placed me down on the floor. "And you've shrunk!" He is still cheerful.

"Hey!" I protest and smack him on the arm. "No hugs for me?" I look to the side and see Jameson. I open my arms, and he happily walks over to me and spins me around. "Jamie!"

"What's going on?"

Jameson places me down on the floor. I feel my smile falter when I see who the owner of the voice is. Grayson Hawthorne.

He looks the same. Tall, blonde, with piercing, cold eyes that could make you do whatever he wants you to do. The same eyes I once fell in love with. Maybe still in love with.

"Hi, Gray," I send him a small smile but receive nothing back. Nothing but hatred and anger swirling in his grey eyes. "What are you doing here?"

I wouldn't be able to post until the end of the week since school started again! BUT SPOILERS FOR NEXT CHAPTER!

Taglist: @whysosmugwitch