the archived writing blog of @runnningoutofink

A dull wash of late-afternoon light leaked through the curtains, enough to catch on the sharp edges of Jameson Hawthorne’s profile as he stood motionless against the wall. The house was quiet—too quiet for a day when the media had once again turned the Hawthorne name into a battleground. Headlines twisting half-truths about him and Grayson, speculating, dissecting, tearing apart things that weren’t theirs to touch.

He’d changed out of everything but a pair of grey joggers, leaving him feeling strangely unfinished, like the world had taken the rest of him too. His expression was blank, unreadable even to himself, as he replayed the noise of the day inside his head.

The door eased open without warning.

He didn’t turn. Not until he heard the familiar rhythm of her heels cross the threshold—confident, quick, and aimed directly at him. Avery Grambs stepped inside still in her work clothes: a fitted dress, a blazer with one sleeve slightly pushed up from her commute, her hair in meticulously pinned waves, looking like something out of a dream. She closed the distance between them in seconds.

Before he could form a greeting, before he could even pretend he was fine, her arms wrapped around his neck. She rose onto her toes and kissed him - firm, sure, wordless.

It hit him like breath after too long underwater.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then he folded into it, hands sliding to her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her back with an urgency he hadn’t realized he’d been holding at bay.

When she finally drew back, her forehead rested lightly against his. Her breath brushed his skin, warm and grounding.

“Bad day?” he murmured, searching her face, worried by the tension still clinging to her shoulders. “You look like you ran here from work.”

Avery huffed a soft laugh, but her eyes didn’t leave his.

“I should be asking you that,” she said quietly, raising her hand and running her fingers through his hair.

Something in his chest shifted, an ache, a realization, a truth he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t home early because her day had gone sideways.

She was here because his had.

He swallowed, the moment catching him off guard. “You… came because of the press?”

“I came because I knew you would be standing here pretending none of it got to you,” she replied, one hand sliding down first to his neck and then to his jaw. “And because I don’t like it when you disappear.”

His blank expression cracked, just barely, but enough. He leaned into her touch, arms pulling her closer again, letting the weight of the hours he’d kept bottled up ease in the warmth of her presence. She tilted her head slightly. Jameson let out a breath that sounded a little like a laugh and a little like relief. His hands smoothed up her back, anchoring himself with the simple fact that she was here.

“You didn’t have to rush home,” he murmured into her hair.

"Isn't that what you would've done?" She asked softly.

He stayed still for a moment, letting her words settle over him, feeling the weight of the day lift just slightly. Her arms tightened around him, her presence a quiet anchor, and he let himself exhale, finally allowing the tension to slip away.

'Forget the press,' he thought.

He was home.

a/n : fun fact - i haven't written since AUGUST. that's crazy. tag list: @xo-zozo @laurilovesbooks @lyrrrr @fireflye @thechildofshadows @7975348473 @saythewordheiress @ellachandesu @tobyspalindrome @foreverinmydrafts @annamatix @angelnextdooor @hannahcharlie @prettylikethestars @iheartkars @xxrenee @liketheriverr

"Well that was officially the most boring meeting I believe I've ever had the displeasure of sitting through." Jameson declared, locking the door behind him with a soft click, loosening his already rather loose tie.

Avery Hawthorne-Grambs was curled up on one of the long couches in the living room, laptop balanced on her knees, typing furiously on her computer, what could be assumed to be a rather pointed mail to a rather incompetent associate. She turn and gave him a quick smile before turning back to her laptop. He set his bag down with a long suffering sigh. "Was it really bad?" She asked, apologetically, eyes on him.

"Tolerable," Jameson responded assuringly, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pecking her on the top of her head, she went back the last of her typing and leaned into his touch, "how's my girl?" he asked softly. Avery finished the email and closed her laptop with a relieved breath.

"Right now? Eternally grateful for Lyra, she insisted on taking over my work for the rest of the day."

"Good choice for your assistant then?"

"Even if it's temporary, she's great to just have around. Although I suspect Grayson's getting irritated as his fiance is allegedly 'never around' anymore."

"He can suck it up. Now he knows how I feel when you went to Greece-"

Avery groaned, tipping her head back. "Again with the trip to Greece! Libby insisted! I didn't know it would go for-"

"3 months?"

"Yes!" She replied, laughing now.

Jameson rolled his eyes. She quickly turned back toward him, catching him off guard with a kiss.

"You know what we haven't done in a while?" She asked, eyes bright. He raised a brow.

"Ice cream?" He guessed, correctly.

"We could go to that place in Burwood?" She asked, recalling seeing it on the way back from a drive they went on a few nights ago

"Sounds good, but i swear baby, if you order that god-forsaken hazelnut monstrosity one more time-"

"Oh like it's so much worse than belgian chocolate? How basic can you get Jameson?" She shot back, surprised.

She slammed the door harder than she meant to.

The echo rattled through the Hawthorne house hallway like thunder, but Avery didn’t stop to apologize. Her heels clicked sharp against marble floors as she headed toward the sitting room, shrugging out of her blazer with too much force and barely catching it before it fell. Her jaw was tight, her ponytail had started to fall out, and her phone had buzzed three times with notifications she refused to check.

Jameson was already there, lounging upside down on one of the antique settees with his feet propped up where his head should be. A book hung loosely from one hand.

“Hello, Hurricane Grambs,” he smirked, without looking up. “Rough day?”

“Don’t,” she snapped, voice sharper than she intended.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He flipped a page, completely unfazed by her stormcloud energy, shooting her a look.

“Jameson, please,” she muttered, tossing her blazer over the back of a chair and sitting down with a sigh that sounded more like a growl.

“Let me guess,” he mused. “Someone talked over you, everything took twice as long, and at least one man called you ‘sweetheart.’”

“Can you not—” she cut herself off, exhaling hard.

“Someone test your patience?” Jameson asked mildly, still not looking at her.

“Someone tested everything.” Her voice was clipped as she sat at her desk. “Can we not do this right now?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, tone deceptively light. But when she didn’t respond, he closed the book and set it aside with deliberate quiet. “But for the record—if you're mad, be mad. Just not at me.”

Avery’s eyes shot up. “I’m not mad at you.”

He stood slowly, walking over, his gaze steady now. “No? Because you’ve snapped at me three times and haven’t looked me in the eye once since you got here.”

Avery let out a long-suffering breath, her eyes filled with guilt. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Jameson's eyes softened as he moved behind her.

She didn’t answer.

“Ave,” Jameson said, voice low. “Stop fighting me for two seconds.”

She didn’t turn around, just pressed her fingertips hard into her temples. “I don’t need you to—”

“I know,” he cut in, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You never need anything. That’s kind of your thing.”

She tensed immediately from the contact.

He dragged his thumbs in steady lines from the base of her neck to the edge of her shoulders, again and again. The pressure increased gradually.

Every muscle in her body rebelled against the touch, like the vulnerability of it cracked something inside her she’d been holding together with sheer will.

“Jameson—” she protested, her eyes closing.

His thumbs pressed slowly into the knots along her shoulder blades—small, deliberate circles, easing pressure without rushing her. She stayed rigid at first, back like stone, every line in her body screaming resistance.

“I’m fine—”

“Let me.”

He kept going, steady.

Like he had time.

Like he’d wait forever if he had to.

And after a while—a long while—she started to ease.

First her jaw unclenched. Then her hands, which had been knotted tightly in her lap, loosened. Her shoulders dropped by a fraction under his touch.

And finally—

Finally—

She exhaled.

Not sharp. Not defeated.

Just tired.

Jameson felt it. Felt the way the tension drained from her, slow and uneven, like a tide receding after a storm.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“There she is,” he whispered.

The storm inside her had started to fade.

The marble floors, the unread emails, the day’s weight, the arrogant chairmen—they all blurred until there was only him.

His touch was patient. Steady. Like he wasn’t trying to fix her, just be there, anchored in the quiet.

Her jaw eased. Her hands loosened. Her shoulders dropped beneath the slow drag of his thumbs.

He bent a little closer, his voice low. “They can all wait a little while, love.”

And she did—looking up at him finally, eyes soft, as if she’d just remembered how to breathe.

a/n : it's really really short, but i'm just getting back into writing so...baby steps. let me know what you think!!

xx mira

Avery moved quietly, her steps barely audible against the dark wood floors as she slipped back into the bedroom. The only light came from the faint moonlight outside their bedroom window, casting long, soft shadows across the walls. The room felt still—quiet in the way things only were at the cusp of dusk and dawn, suspended between night and morning.

She didn’t bother turning on the lamp.

Just a few more steps, just the slow peel back of the sheets. She slid into bed carefully, back to him, body stiff with the effort of pretending she hadn’t left at all. Her silk pajama top chilled slightly against the sheets, her hand curling under the pillow as she tried to even out her breathing.

“Where the hell were you?”

His voice was low, rough from sleep, but clear. Sharper than she expected. Not tired. Awake. Aware. Avery winced and closed her eyes for a moment before turning her head to glance at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she responded, not looking him in the eyes. He waited, unblinking, expecting more.

“I was just—” she started.

“Working.” He cut in, his voice tight. She looked down.

Jameson pushed himself up onto one elbow. His hair was a tousled halo, his face half in shadow. Even then, she could clearly see the worry and sadness and barely contained anger in his gaze.

“You didn’t wake me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me? Ave, you know I love you, okay? But you’re being ridiculous.”

“What—how—okay, hold up. I’m going to need some sort of explanation because I don’t understand how I’m being ridiculous just because I want you to get a good night’s sleep after weeks, maybe even months of not being able to rest.”

“Because you’re exhausted,” he said quietly, voice low but firm. “Working all night, running yourself to the ground, isn’t going to fix anything, and it’s wearing you out. You’re tired.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re fine, baby, because you and I both know you’re not.”

Avery let out a shallow breath of tiredness. The anger dissipated from Jameson as quickly as it had come, seeing her so exhausted. He sat up straight, opening his arms.

She hesitated—just for a second—before moving toward him. He pulled her in gently, wrapping his arms around her waist, her head resting just below his chin. Her fingers gripped the edge of his shirt, holding tighter than she meant to. He said nothing about it. Just rubbed slow circles into her back.

“I just… can’t turn it off,” Avery whispered, barely audible in the stillness.

Jameson didn’t rush her. His hand stayed steady on her back, slow and warm, grounding. They lay curled together beneath the thin sheets, his chest rising gently against her cheek.

“What can’t you turn off?” he asked, quiet.

She hesitated, her breath catching like the words might choke her.

“My thoughts,” she said finally. “They just don’t stop.” She spoke as if the words had been ripped out of her, fury coating them in layers.

He stayed silent, giving her space.

“Every time it’s quiet… it’s like everything gets too loud,” she breathed. “And then I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, even when nothing’s wrong. Even when everything’s fine.” She spoke, the last word coming out tortured.

He exhaled, his hand moving to her hair, brushing it back from her face.

“It’s like I’m always bracing, waiting for something,” she went on. “Like I have to stay ahead of it. Like if I stop, even for a second, it’s like something awful will happen or—I don’t even know.”

She let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “I don’t even know what I’m scared of half the time.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense to be real,” Jameson murmured.

She blinked hard, throat tightening.

“And I’m tired,” she added softly, voice breaking. “So tired, Jameson. I just can’t get to sleep, because I’m so fucking terrified of my own mind that—” She let out a shaky breath, cutting herself off.

He pulled her closer, tucked her under his chin.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, Ave.”

There was nothing loud in the way he held her. No fixing. No pressure. Just his arms around her, steady and certain.

After a few long moments, Avery spoke.

“Lyra came into the kitchen while I was working.”

“Oh?”

“She threatened to wake you up if I didn’t stop working,” she murmured eventually.

“Someone give that girl a standing ovation,” Jameson said, resting his chin on her head. “She’s doing the Lord’s work.”

“Ha, bloody ha.” Avery sighed, drily. She let out a long breath. Jameson ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly.

“Can you talk for a bit?” Avery whispered softly.

“About?”

“Anything.” She responded, pressing her cheek to his chest. He exhaled and gave her a look that assured her that they would talk about this later, before flicking his eyes up to the ceiling.

“So in the morning, Xan and I decided that we should….” Avery smiled.

He launched into the story, voice soft, warm, laced with amusement. Avery closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask him to stop. His voice was rhythm. His arm around her was weight. Her breathing slowly matched his.

Eventually, she didn’t respond to his story’s punchline. Her grip on his shirt loosened.

Jameson looked down to find her breathing soft, finally, finally asleep.

He stayed awake a little longer, ran his fingers gently through her hair once more before letting his own eyes rest.

a/n : stopp i love sleep fics so much. asdjagsdjahf they're adorable. jameson ml x idc if everyone hates him or them rn he will forever be my favourite tig character. let me know what you think!!

Avery lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The shadows cast by the blinds made quiet stripes over her bare arms, soft in the low lamplight beside the bed. Jameson shifted next to her, one hand tucked under his head, the other tracing lazy patterns across her stomach beneath the hem of his t-shirt she was wearing.

Neither of them had said much for a while. The house was still, the kind of quiet that only crept in past midnight. They had both tried sleeping, and both given up. Her thoughts were too loud. His energy too restless.

Avery took out her phone and set her brightness on the lowest setting. She got a notification from Max to a playlist she had just made.

“Max just sent another playlist into the group,” she announced, squinting at the screen.

“Title, please.” He turned his face into the pillow.

“‘Songs for when you accidentally fall in love with your arch nemesis (and she’s hot),’” Avery read with a straight face.

“Of course. What’s on it?” Jameson asked, laughing into the pillow.

“‘Ballad of a Homeschool Girl,’ ‘Making the Bed,’ ‘Girl I’ve Always Been’—okay, so basically just Olivia Rodrigo.” She recited.

“Okay, so I know like one Olivia Rodrigo song, and it’s the angry one.”

“That’s all of them,” Avery responded without missing a beat, typing on her phone. Jameson snorted.

“What are you doing?” Jameson asked after a few beats.

“We should make a playlist,” she replied, scrolling through Max’s selection of songs.

“We?”

“You know, something for us. About us. By us.”

“Inspirational.”

“Oh, shut up. This is your chance to prove that you have, quote-unquote, ‘superior music taste.’”

“I do. Let’s do it,” he replied, a grin forming on his face as they both sat up on the bed, Jameson turning on the lamp.

“We need a temporary title. I don’t have the energy to come up with something clever. What does Libby call us again?”

“Javery. She thinks she’s clever.” Avery snorted and typed in ‘Javery.’

“Okayyy, first song. Hit me,” Avery told him, looking up from her phone. Jameson grabbed her laptop from the bedside table, logged into Spotify, and added the first song to the playlist.

“‘The Last Great American Dynasty,’” Avery smiled. “Insightful.”

“I try,” he replied. “Your turn.” She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Jameson waited a good twenty seconds before saying, “Okay, Ave, if you’re going to take this long for every song, we’re going to be here forever.”

“Oh, shush.” She rolled her eyes and added ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys to the playlist. Jameson glanced at her, a slow smile forming.

“Don’t read into the names of the songs and get cocky, they’re just titles.”

“Me? Never.” But he was absolutely reading into it, and they both knew it. Avery rolled her eyes at his response. They kept taking turns, tossing titles back and forth like a game. Some were teasing. Some made one of them pause a little too long before hitting add.

Death by a Thousand Cuts. Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High. Wonderland. I Know Places. Getaway Car. Red.

“That is a lot of Taylor Swift,” Avery said, scrolling through the songs they had added.

“Not enough if you ask me,” Jameson replied, smirking. He added ‘Mastermind.’ Avery looked at him approvingly.

“It’s a very you song.” He responded, shrugging, looking through Taylor Swift’s discography.

He spotted Olivia Rodrigo under the song name ‘So American’ and asked,

“Is that an angry song?” His voice sounded almost alarmed. Avery snorted.

“No, that’s her only happy love song.”

“Are you sure? If you’re mad at me—”

“I promise I’m not mad at you,” she said, laughing softly. “Just listen.”

She hit play. The song filled the quiet space between them—bright, easy, unguarded. Avery watched him as the chorus came through, his expression softening slowly, a little tilt to his mouth like he was trying not to smile.

“‘And he laughs at all my jokes.’”

“Oh god, I’m going to marry him if he keeps this shit up.”

Jameson threw a pointed look at her and she blushed lightly, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t read into it,” she said, fighting a smile.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed,” he said under his breath, smiling, while she looked for more songs.

People Watching. Renegade. Until I Found You.

“Didn’t we dance to that in that restaurant in Paris?” Avery asked, smiling. Jameson nodded, kissing her forehead.

Invisible String. Mine. Enchanted.

“No, put the older version of Enchanted, it’s so much better,” Avery demanded.

“Isn’t that unsupportive of Taylor?” Jameson asked, smirking.

“It’s my guilty pleasure, and not since Independence Day, so sod off.” Avery rolled her eyes.

“Wait, have we added So High School yet?” Avery asked.

“Nope. Added,” Jameson confirmed.

“Yay!” Jameson chuckled.

Florida!!! Sparks Fly. National Anthem. Hymn for the Weekend.

Jameson hummed the bridge of ‘Hymn for the Weekend’ melodically.

Call It What You Want. You’re On Your Own, Kid. Fearless. Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince. Only the Young. The Night We Met. Life Is a Highway—

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. No, Jameson, this isn’t your road trip playlist.”

“It’s one song!”

“No.”

“Ugh.” Jameson scoffed, pouting. Avery laughed at his expression. After a few moments of staring at their phones, Avery asked him something.

“I can’t think of any more. Any closing song ideas? For now at least.”

“Uh, nah, not really,” Jameson said, his voice soft and lazy, eyes half-closed as he leaned back against the headboard.

She smiled despite herself, glancing at the clock. Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait—Jameson. Is it actually morning?”

He blinked, sat up a little straighter. “No way.” A pause. “Okay—yep. It is. The sun is literally rising.”

“Holy crap,” she sighed, rubbing her face. “Don’t we have that thing at eight?”

“Unfortunately.” He yawned, then looked over at her. “You wanna start getting ready? I’ll finish those notes from last night.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you being nice because you’re sleepy or because you’re in love with me?”

“Little bit of both,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Go shower. I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I’ll meet you in the hall by seven?” he offered.

“Deal.” He kissed her forehead. “Love you.”

“You’re ridiculously obsessed with me, aren’t you?” she smiled, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt as she got up. “Love you too.”

Once she was gone, Jameson took out his phone.

Jameson changed the name of your shared playlist. Jameson added ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Haley Reinhart to ‘Something for Us.’

a/n : i'll tag avery and jamesons playlist below, if you think of any songs to add, ask, dm me or reply and i will add them - i think this is such a cute idea, and i have some ideas in the future for fics relating to their playlist. (this is now actually my playlist for writing averyjameson <3 ) let me know what you think x

something for us - averyjameson playlist

taglist: @laurilovesbooks @lyrrrr @fireflye @thechildofshadows @7975348473 @saythewordheiress

Avery missed Jameson.

It was stupid, she had seen him three hours ago, she knew she was being unreasonable.

She was at an event, for an incredible organisation that worked in partnership with the foundation. She knew the founders' personality, a couple, dedicated to helping children in remote parts of the globe find families that could care for them. Avery admired the work they did, and she was happy to be a part of their goals. But she had socialised to the maximum and her capacity for small talk had crippled away drastically as the night went on.

She wasn't here alone either. Libby was around here somewhere, the last Avery had seen of her, she was entertaining a conversation with one of her fellow entrepreneurs. Avery could hear her distinct laugh from across the ballroom. She smiled to herself, then excused herself from the man she had been talking to.

It was usually at this point in the night that Jameson would take over in terms of the socializing and interacting with others, and as Avery made her way to the bathroom, she wondered how he and his brothers were going in England. Libby, Max, Lyra and Avery had insisted that they took that trip as a much-needed break. It was ridiculous how reliant she was on Jameson, she was missing him terribly.

She entered the insanely fancy bathroom, took out her phone and felt a smile spread across her face as she saw the message notification.

jameson ♡: how was your day? avery: my days still going. aren't you meant to be asleep right now? what time is it there? jameson ♡: ... avery: jameson hawthorne. jameson ♡: 3:47 am...? avery: GO TO BED. jameson ♡: GO TO BED avery: are you mocking me? jameson ♡: are you mocking me? avery: screw you hawthorne. jameson ♡: screw you hawthorne! avery: I'M BEAUTIFUL. jameson ♡: damn right you are baby. avery: ... avery: oh shut up jameson ♡: you didn't tell me how your day is going 🙄 x

Avery got a notification from Xander as he sent that message, and she switched conversations begrudgingly.

xan: are you texting jamie right now? avery: yeah, why? xan: he is FULL ON SMILING at his phone. avery: STOP. xan: HE JUST GRINNED SO HARD GOD HE IS DOWN BAD. avery: ACTUALLY? XANDER YOU BETTER BE SERIOUS. xan: I WISH I WASN'T. THIS IS DISGUSTING. MY EYES! AHHH!! MY EYES!

Avery laughed out loud then grinned. She sighed to herself, switching conversations once again. Thinking of the event, she responded. At his reply, she laughed.

avery: its going fine. jameson ♡: uh oh avery: calm down, i'm just tired i guess. jameson ♡: you should go rest ave. avery: i haven't even been here three hours yet. jameson ♡: so? are there time requirements or something? avery: no...but it feels rude to leave early. jameson ♡: is lib there? avery: yeah? jameson ♡: then i don't see why you can't leave? you need rest. we only need one future hawthorne there. avery: fine. god. jameson ♡: yes? avery: oh my lord, you are so full of it. jameson ♡: you love it. avery: i love you x jameson ♡: i love you too x

Avery slipped her phone into her clutch, still smiling like an idiot. She stood up slowly, stretching her legs, ignoring the dull ache in her calves from standing too long in heels designed by someone who clearly hated women.

She poked her head back into the ballroom to find Libby still mid-conversation, arms animated, laughter bright. Avery caught her eye and mouthed, I’m heading out. Libby gave a thumbs-up and a wink before turning back to her group. That was enough.

The car ride home was quiet, her driver knowing better than to start conversation this late. The city lights blurred past the window, soft and golden, like the night was being generous. Avery leaned her head against the glass, one hand curled in her lap, the other still holding her phone.

When she got home, she peeled off her dress slowly, stepping out of the soft fabric and hanging it carefully over the back of a chair. She left her heels by the door, bare feet padding across cool tile as she moved through the quiet apartment.

Her makeup came off in slow circles. She tied her hair up messily, brushed her teeth, changed into one of Jameson’s t-shirts that she refused to give back. It still smelled a little like him, faint and familiar.

She slipped into bed, blanket pulled to her chin, and turned her phone over once before it buzzed softly once more. She tapped the screen and saw the message preview.

jameson ♡: sweet dreams, heiress.

She smiled softly, hearted the message, and placed the phone on her nightstand. She closed her eyes, breathed in the quiet, and thought of him.

a/n : ADHGSJHGDJASGDJGASDJF i am DYING. i love them - as always, feedback is appreciated. let me know what you think!

taglist: @xo-zozo @laurilovesbooks @lyrrrr @fireflye @thechildofshadows @7975348473 @saythewordheiress @ellachandesu @tobyspalindrome @foreverinmydrafts

Jameson was struggling to get his watch on.

She watched out of the corner of her eye while brushing her uncooperative hair, as his hands kept trying to clasp it and were failing. She put her hairbrush down on the vanity and walked over to him and took his hand in hers. She brushed her thumb over his wrist, but something stopped her from clasping the watch for him.

His pulse was racing.

She looked up at him in worry, her forehead creasing. He wasn't looking at her. His head was tilted to the side, obscuring her view of his face, although she could hear his ragged breathing, as he ran his other hand through his hair.

"Jameson," she said quietly. He didn't respond. She brought her hand to the left side of his jaw and tilted his head to face her. His hair was mussed, as if he had been running his hands through it often. His eyes were unfocused, his face was pale.

He was shaking.

She felt him trembling under her grip on his wrist, his heart racing as if he was running a sprint.

"Hey, hey. Will you come down with me?" Avery asked softly, comfortingly, tugging him down slightly. Jameson either didn't register what she had said or ignored her.

She took a long breath in, and forced lightness, trying to catch ahold of his attention. "Oh okay, well I mean if you don't love me as much as you say—" He instantly dropped down to the floor, almost instinctively, as if not really thinking about it, and she moved to the floor with him.

She moved him so that his back was against the wall, giving him stability. She crouched over his outstretched legs, and took his face in her hands. He was losing control by the second, his breathing becoming increasingly ragged, his dark green eyes growing wilder as he stared into nothing above her shoulder. He was shaking a lot now, looking as though if Avery hadn't already gotten him to the floor, he would've collapsed onto it himself. It was hurting her to see him in pain.

"Breathe, baby," she reminded him softly, kissing the top of his forehead lightly. "Breathe." He looked wildly around the room, everywhere but her, in an attempt to not have to show her his pain.

"Hey, hey. Eyes on me, buddy. You never usually seem to have a problem with that." She joked, attempting to get a reaction, catching his gaze, getting him to focus on her eyes. She saw a flicker of sorrow in his eyes before he closed them, seemingly in pain, as if he was reliving things he never wanted to have to experience again. She moved to put a hand on his arm and as though instinctively, he grabbed her wrist. Hard.

Avery didn't flinch.

His eyes were still scrunched up. He was holding onto her so tightly, as if she was his lifeline. She moved her other hand to clasp his tightly, whispering into his ear. He was trembling violently, and he bowed his head, his face screwed up in what Avery could describe as pure and utter fear. Devastation. Horror. Everything that Jameson Winchester Hawthorne worked so hard to hide from her, everything she knew he was dealing with, was visibly apparent on his face in that moment.

"Shit," he whispered. Her heart twisted in her chest.

"You're safe," she whispered. "It'll pass. I'm here."

"You're alright." She moved her body around his, shielding him from the rest of the world, his grip on her arm tight. She tilted his head up and told him to open his eyes. After a moment, he did.

"Breathe, Jameson. With me. Ready? In... out...."

They stayed like that for another twenty minutes, him breathing in unison with her, his eyes on hers, her eyes on his. His breathing became calmer, less urgent, more natural. He looked her dead in the eyes, and she smiled softly at him. Right as he was about to smile back, he trailed his gaze down his own arm, to where her wrist was being held by his fingers. He let go with a jolt and looked up at her in horror.

"Shit, did I hurt you? Fuck, Avery, baby I'm so sorry—" he hurried, moving to take her arm to make sure she was alright before moving it away immediately as if he had been burned, and shaking his head, as if he thought if he touched her, he would hurt her.

“Hey. No. No no no no no,” she said immediately, voice firm, steady, reaching back for him without hesitation. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was still shaking. Breathing too fast. Like everything was pressing in at once. He looked down at his hands, like he couldn’t believe they belonged to him.

“I screwed it up,” he muttered.

“Jameson—”

“I did.” His voice cracked, quiet and raw. “I ruin things. That’s just what I do.”

“You don’t,” she said, but he wasn’t hearing her. Not really.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself, barely audible, blatantly disgusted with himself.

She shifted closer, her hand brushing over his wrist again, this time more gently, deliberately soft. Like she was reminding him he was still here. Still with her.

“Jameson,” she said, voice steady, “I hate the standards you have for yourself. You’re not supposed to be everything. You’re not supposed to carry us.”

He said nothing, jaw tight.

“You think you have to earn love every day. Prove something. But you don’t. Not with me.”

Still, silence. But something in his eyes flickered. Pain, maybe. Disbelief. She didn’t know.

“I love you. That doesn’t mean only when you’re charming or stable or okay. I love you when you’re unraveling. I love you when you’re quiet. And I’m going to help you when you need it. I’m going to comfort you, even when you push me away, so deal with it.”

His lips twitched. Just barely. Not quite a smile.

“Anything been on your mind lately?” she asked, soft enough that he almost didn’t hear her. But he did.

Jameson didn’t answer. Not right away. There was a flicker in his expression — not teasing, not guarded — just still. Hesitant.

And that silence wasn’t empty. It felt like a confession. Like he was balancing something too fragile to name.

She kept her hand in his, steady, unmoving. She whispered, “You don’t have to tell me. Not if you’re not ready. I just need to know you’re safe.”

He swallowed, gaze fixed somewhere behind her, too far away.

But then he shifted. Leaned forward, just enough that his forehead rested lightly against hers. Like the words were too far down to reach, but he could give her this.

His fingers stayed curled around hers.

And though he didn’t speak, he stayed there — close. Present. Hers.

And when she smiled softly and kissed him, he kissed her back like he didn’t deserve it. Slow. Like he was still trying to understand how she could be real.

She pulled away and stood, brushing her hands on her jeans like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Alright. Come on.” Outstretching her hand toward him.

He blinked up at her. “Come on where?” Then he realised what he had said and smirked up at her at his unintended innuendo. She narrowed her eyes and then rolled them, lovingly, gratefully.

“Ice cream,” she said casually, tugging his hand. “I’m picking.”

He narrowed his eyes, exhausted but curious. “For what?”

“Our Gilmore Girls marathon,” she said like it was obvious.

He groaned. “Ave, that’s like seven seasons.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to keep complaining.

He sighed. “Whatever you want, baby.” She smiled and pecked him on the cheek.

He wasn’t okay. Not fully. Not yet.

But he was here.

He was breathing.

He was safe. With her.

And for now, for her?

That was enough.

a/n : forever my favourite book couple in the world, let me know what you think! (and if i should write more averyjameson).

taglist: @xo-zozo @laurilovesbooks @lyrrrr @fireflye @thechildofshadows @7975348473 @saythewordheiress @ellachandesu @tobyspalindrome @foreverinmydrafts

Lyra woke up with a start, memories flooding her vision.

Blood everywhere. Dripping, dark red. The gun, her father—

“Stop. God,” she told herself harshly.

She sat up in the king-sized bed, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness surrounding her. The heat of her boyfriend radiated off him on her left side, and she turned to look at him—sleeping soundly, his golden hair mussed, his body turned toward her.

She tried to breathe, but the air felt suffocating. She slowly turned to the edge of the bed and got up, trying to make as little noise as possible. Grayson was a light sleeper, and most nights he woke up at the first hint of movement.

Somehow, she made it to the door of their bedroom, after many winces at creaky floorboards, and opened it slowly.

The house was still. Too still.

She walked toward the kitchen, drawn by the soft, steady glow of warm light bleeding out onto the hallway floor.

When she turned the corner, she stopped.

Avery Kylie Grambs—heiress and billionaire philanthropist (according to various news reports that Lyra had obsessed over while studying the Hawthorne family a year and a half ago)—was at the island, her laptop open, surrounded by small stacks of papers and open folders. Her face was lit only by the screen, her expression tight. She was wearing what Lyra could almost be certain were a pair of dark blue, thousand-dollar designer pajamas. Her hair was loose and dark, spilling over her shoulders almost artfully.

She looked impeccable, even in the dead of night.

Safe to say, Lyra was incredibly intimidated—in her dark green oversized sweatshirt, grey (mismatched) pajama shorts, and her hair up in a lackluster, half-hearted low bun.

Avery’s coffee had gone cold beside her.

She looked up, alert as always, a tight smile finding her face as she saw Lyra.

“Lyra, hi.” She sounded ridiculously professional, considering the situation.

“Hey,” Lyra greeted, eyeing the papers around Avery. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Avery’s gaze went back to her laptop, though she didn’t resume typing. Her hands rested in her lap.

“Something like that.”

Lyra stepped further into the kitchen, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound between them.

“Foundation stuff?” she asked, nodding toward the scattered paperwork.

Avery gave a short nod. “Most of it. The kind of documents that multiply when you’re not looking.” She gave a weary chuckle.

“It’s late,” Lyra said, slipping onto one of the stools across from her. “Like... really late.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Avery deadpanned, smirking. “Funny enough, it seems like you’re up as well.”

“Yeah,” Lyra replied, looking away, her gaze catching on one of the framed photos—a dandelion in the wind.

“You know Jameson would be pissed if he knew you were up this late again?” Lyra asked her.

Avery didn’t meet her eyes. “He’s asleep.”

“You think that means he won’t find out?”

That earned a twitch of a smile. “He’s relentless.” Avery rolled her eyes.

“If he knew you were having trouble sleeping, he’d want to help.”

“He’s asleep,” Avery reiterated. “You don’t know how rare that is for him.” Her expression softened, then her gaze went to the stack of papers beside her. “Anyway, this gives me a chance to catch up on things.”

“Catch up on things or work to the point of mental exhaustion?” Lyra asked sardonically.

Avery shot her a look, then held Lyra’s gaze for a second before smiling and shaking her head, looking down.

“What?” Lyra asked.

“Nothing... you just really suit Grayson.” Avery laughed.

“Is that a compliment?” Lyra smiled.

“No clue. I’ve never said those words before in my life.” Avery winked.

Her eyes wandered back to her laptop screen, and she let out a soft sigh. There was a brief pause, and Lyra could tell they were both thinking the same thing.

“We haven’t really talked,” Lyra said.

“Yeah.” Avery responded.

“We probably should have.” Avery looked at Lyra.

“Better late than never,” Lyra said. Avery smiled, then stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“You should get some sleep,” Lyra said.

“I have things to do, but you should go ahead—you need the rest,” Avery replied, her hands returning to her keyboard, typing on a document.

“And you don’t?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I doubt that.”

“I have stuff I have to work on,” she reiterated, eyes on her screen. Lyra’s eyes narrowed.

“There’s always going to be stuff to work on.”

“Which is why I have to keep up.”

“Avery.”

“I’ll be fine,” she stressed.

“Close the laptop.”

Avery ignored her.

“Close the damn laptop, otherwise I’ll go wake Jameson and tell him you’re overworking yourself.”

Avery’s eyes shot up to Lyra instantaneously.

“You wouldn’t.” Avery’s eyes narrowed.

Lyra got up from her stool threateningly.

“Fine! Fine. God, you’re horrible.”

Avery shut the laptop, cleaned up the papers, and shot Lyra a look. Lyra smiled and made her way toward the doorway of the kitchen.

“You know... Grayson likes you. Like, a lot,” Avery said, almost thoughtfully.

Lyra turned and cocked her head. “I mean, I would hope so?”

Avery smiled. “No, Lyr, like a lot. It’s genuinely disgusting how many rants I’ve had to listen to about you. Lyra this, Lyra that, she’s so beautiful, so smart. It’s horrifying seeing him in love. I can assure you his brothers share my sentiments.”

Lyra grinned. “Well, I could say the same about Jameson. That boy is down bad.”

“As he should be.” Avery smirked.

Avery turned toward the other doorway on the opposite side of the room.

“Avery?”

“Yeah?” Avery turned her head.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Not being a bitch.”

“I love that you think so highly of me,” she said sarcastically.

“You sound like Jameson,” Lyra replied.

“I’ve gotten that a lot lately! I wonder why.”

Lyra laughed. “Night, Avery.”

“Night, Lyra.”

And somehow, once she got into bed, Lyra didn’t wake up again that night.

a/n : do i like it? no. is it necessary for the plot i'm building? yes. so... deal with it. i know its not good. it's not meant to be good, i'm just trying to establish a relationship between avery and lyra. let me know what you think <3

taglist: @laurilovesbooks @lyrrrr @fireflye @thechildofshadows @7975348473 @saythewordheiress

"Lib."

"Jamie." Jameson could hear the smile in her voice.

He walked into the game room, where Libby Hawthorne was very loudly attempting to beat Xander's high score in Donkey Kong 64 Bananza, her eyes focused on the flashing screen. The arcade machine in question had suffered times of trial and suffering these past few weeks, as an all-out tournament had broken out between the four Hawthorne brothers and their girlfriends.

Libby and Max had taken it to another level of competitiveness, as Nash and Xander seemed to have effortlessly beaten their records every single time they managed to reach the top of the leaderboard. Jameson himself knew that his brothers were going easy on them—allowing them to feel good about themselves for a few minutes before mercilessly crushing them afterward.

It wasn’t out of character for Xander, but certainly for Nash, who had recently been competing against Libby in absolutely everything leading up to the pregnancy—just to get her mind off her soul-crushing fear of childbirth, which she had vocalised to her sister numerous times.

Jameson leaned on a nearby machine while watching her, his lips quirking upward at her concentration.

Once the machine she had been playing on made a sound of blatant disapproval and flashed the words GAME OVER on the screen—while also showcasing Xander’s high score to Libby in big, flashing white lights (which Jameson thought was quite cruel)—she let out a long breath of frustration and muttered something under her breath (which sounded suspiciously like “gosh darn Hawthornes”). She turned to look at her younger brother-in-law, blowing a piece of her newly dyed dark brown hair out of her face.

"I’m so sorry about this, love, but I think I may have to murder your brother in the dead of night."

"Which one?" Jameson asked, smirking at her almost murderous tone.

Libby looked up at the ceiling, seemingly contemplating who she should assault. "All of them. Except you," she added after a thought.

"Lib, you wouldn’t know murder if it smacked you in the face."

"Okay, wow. Screw that, you can die too."

Jameson laughed. Libby gave in to a begrudging smile.

"How’s Ave?" she asked him.

"Ridiculously excited to be an aunt. How’s Nash?" Jameson rolled his eyes lovingly.

"Pretty much the same." Libby smiled just thinking about him.

Jameson made a face at her. Libby stuck her tongue out at him.

"Nash is going to be an aunt? Why does nobody tell me these kinds of things?"

"Oh, shush, you." Libby shook her head at him, grinning. "Why are you here, Jameson Hawthorne?"

"Can’t a guy just want to spend time with his sister-in-law?"

Libby raised a brow in doubt. "Really?"

"Really." Jameson nodded and looked at her. Libby heard the sincerity in his tone and cocked her head at him.

"Really," she reiterated in mock suspicion.

Jameson scoffed in offence and leaned back against the arcade machine dramatically. "I’m wounded! Here I am, bringing you snacks, offering you quality time, and you question my motives?"

Libby’s entire face lit up. "You brought me snacks?"

Jameson narrowed his eyes at her before sighing in resignation and bending down to dig through the bag he’d brought with him.

"...So you don’t even care about me... I see how it is... completely ignore my proposition of quality time..." he grumbled while rifling through the black bag, finally procuring a packet of Lifesavers and handing it to her.

"Raspberry flavour?" she asked him, looking up.

He nodded while rolling his eyes fondly.

"Score! Okay, you’ve earned my presence."

"Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically, watching her open the bright pink packet and pop a sherbet-filled gummy into her mouth.

"What were you thinking?"

Jameson smirked. "What are your feelings on helping me bake something?"

"I knew you had ulterior motives," Libby accused, pointing a lolly at him. He plucked it out of her hand and popped it into his mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him—and then widened them again, confused.

"Wait—since when do you bake?" she asked.

"Since Nash and I had a bet going that I wouldn’t be able to bake something edible."

Libby grinned. "...I know we’ve had our differences, but... well... I mean, we wouldn’t want him to be right about something and contribute further to his enormous ego."

"My thoughts exactly." Jameson nodded solemnly.

"What exactly were you thinking of baking, dear brother of mine?"

Their lips ticked up at the edges in unison.

a/n : AHHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. let me know what you think!!!