#* ✧. —「 ft. JAMESON 」

[wcrstbehavior]

continued from here ( @emotionlcss )

He heard the phone hit the hardwood before he heard her voice, but it didn't take long for both to register. Brynn's voice rang out like a fire alarm, high-pitched and horrified, and all Jamie could do was try to hold in a laugh. In fact, he didn't even flinch. Didn't panic. He finally let out a low laugh, one hand still lazily wrapped around his cock beneath the blanket now drawn halfway over his lap. His laptop screen was dark, though the moans still echoed faintly through the speakers. "Well, hey there, roommate," he called out, voice smooth, almost amused. "Back so soon?" He heard her fumbling in the hallway, probably trying to disappear into the floor. "Didn't realize I needed to lock the door in my own damn apartment. Thought you'd be gone a little longer." Jamie smirked to himself, not the least bit ashamed. If anything, the way Brynn practically squealed made this whole thing a little funny. Embarrassing? Maybe. But mostly for her, probably. "You alright out there?" he called again, his tone light and teasing. "Or do you need help finding something? Or maybe just a cold shower?" Yeah, he was going to give her shit for this for the rest of the week. Maybe longer.

[jaceberg]

📸 + jameson

@jamesonxcassidy

[satinssheets]

Closed starter for @fcundaticnsofdecay

"I told you, gorgeous, it was work. The meeting was going well and I just couldn't get away," Jamie spoke nonchalantly, as if he hadn't burst through her door hours late, touting a large bouquet of roses. (Getting flowers at that hour had been its own feat.) Meeting with a producer had turned into networking, and one drink had turned several. At some point his phone had died, and by the time he'd realized he was late to pick up Valentina the restaurant he'd made reservations for had already closed. On the cab ride over he'd convinced himself that she would understand, that it was an honest mistake. Though the fact that this wasn't the first time his phone had died probably wasn't on his side. "I wasn't out fucking some other woman, sometimes getting the good jobs just takes a little extra work." Crystal blue eyes held an apologetic look, lips quirking into a half smile as he approached her slowly. "Look, I'm here now. Just tell me how to make it up to you?"

[cohenblake]

@cohenblake just posted to Instagram for the first time in awhile.

[wcrstbehavior]

Jamie watched her with a look that was pure hunger. Down on her knees, mouth parted, eyes dark and wild with lust, she looked like temptation itself, and she clearly knew it. Teasing the tip of his cock with her tongue, like she wanted to be punished for it. Like she was daring him. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched, hips twitching forward just enough for Reyna to feel the weight of him against her lips. He let the moment hang. Let the tension throb between them. Then, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back just enough to look down at her face—flushed cheeks, kiss-bruised lips, and that needy look in her eyes that made him want to absolutely destroy her. "You think this is your choice?" Jamie growled, voice low, dark, and deadly. "You think you get to ask what I want?" He slapped the head of his cock against her open mouth once, the sound obscene in the quiet room. "I don't give a fuck what you want to do for me," he continued, wrapping her hair tight around his hand like a leash. "You're here to take what I give you. And I'm not asking twice." Without waiting for permission, Jamie pushed the head of his cock past her lips, slow at first, but only for a second. He didn't ease her into it. He wasn't gentle. He fed inch after inch of himself into her mouth, watching the way her throat tensed as she took him deeper, her lips stretching wide around him, eyes starting to water. "Look at you," he groaned, voice filled with twisted satisfaction. "Already gagging for me and I haven't even fucked your throat yet." His hips snapped forward, rougher this time, burying himself to the back of her throat. He held her there, just for a breath, his hand in her hair keeping her right where he wanted her. "You like this, don't you?" He hissed, pulling back just enough for her to suck in a ragged breath. "Being used. Just waiting for someone to use you like a filthy little fucking slut." He didn't need her to answer. Her spit-slick mouth and the way her thighs were rubbing together told him everything. She was dripping for it, drenched in submission, her body begging to be taken apart. And Jamie wasn't even close to being done. He thrust again, letting her adjust, then harder. Again. Deeper. Each time her nose brushed his pelvis he let out a dark, possessive sound, fucking her mouth like it belonged to him. "You want to be my fucktoy?" He said between gritted teeth, "Then open wider. Fucking take it." After a few more brutal strokes, he pulled back, dragging his cock out of her mouth with a wet pop. A string of spit connected them, and Jamie looked down at her, lips red, chest heaving, her expression completely undone. "You're fucking perfect like this," he muttered, voice hoarse. He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, smearing her spit, dragging it down her chin. "But I'm not done yet."

The tightening of his hand around her throat and his question only made Reyna nod her head as a response. Her heart was pounding against her chest and was sure that Jame could feel how quick her pulse was with how tight he had his grip around her throat. This was some sort of fantasy for her. Wanting to be manhandled, someone having complete dominance over her. She loved being someone's fuck doll, just as long as they knew how to properly take care of her, and it seemed like Jamie did.

Another gasp falling from her lips as his fingers made their way between her thighs once more. His touch was electrifying. She hadn't felt anything like it until now. Reyna was ready to just crumble under his touch and when feeling his finger running over her achingly needy clit she couldn't stop herself from whispering, her hips moving against his hand, almost begging for more. As soon as he brought her hand back, her hand began to palm him through the towel, feeling how much she had to work with and preparing herself with how much she needed to take inside of her, whether it be her mouth, or her dripping cunt. Her knees went weak as he slipped a finger inside of her, making her legs feel like jelly and at least his hand against her throat was able to keep her standing.

"Jamie," she whined. "Please," now begging. Reyna let out a lustful cry as she felt Jamie's teeth sink into her sensitive skin. Reyna was in and out of paying attention. With everything he was doing, the tone of his voice, the fingers inside of her, the way he bit her. Reyna knew that she was looking like a dumb needy slut at this point and she didn't care. She wanted... no, she needed him. She felt like a cat in heat at this moment. So as soon as Jamie turned her and forced her to her knees, Reyna eagerly removed his towel, now seeing his hard cock in front of her face, feeling her mouth salivating at the need to taste him.

Her icy blue eyes stared up at him, getting darker by the second with them being full with lust. "Are you wanting to fuck my mouth or do you just want to see what I can do for you?" Reyna asked before doing what he wanted and she opened her mouth wide for him. She was willing to do whatever he wanted. She was his, at least for tonight and she could already feel the mark on her neck forming from where he had bit her. She could only imagine what else he had in store for her. Leaning forward slightly, awaiting his answer, Reyna's tongue flicked out over the head of Jamie's cock, teasing the slit while her eyes never left his.

[georgie-abhrams]

One day you wake up to find that your closet is full of only cardigans. What do you do?

"I gather 'em up, take 'em in to the office and dump 'em right on bossman's desk. Drench those babies in some lighter fluid and hold a match book of matches. They'll go up in flames if he doesn't tell me where my actual clothes are. I figure the problem would resolve itself pretty quickly, then. Especially since he knows I mean business since it wouldn't be the first cardigan related fire I've started in the office." ( @jamesonxcarter )

[wcrstbehavior]

continued from here ( @gotwcird )

Jamie had been so sure the apartment was empty. He’d even done a lazy callout before retreating to his room—just in case Ripley had come back early. But there was no answer, just silence. So he let himself go, spread out across his sheets, headphones in, music low, hand wrapped around himself as he chased a tension he hadn't even realized he’d been carrying all day. He was lost in it—completely—until the sound of his door creaked open. At first, he thought maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was just the music or his overstimulated brain. But then he heard a soft, stunned “oh,” and his eyes flew open, head snapping toward the door. Ripley. Standing there, lips parted, eyes wide, staring right at him. For a split second, Jamie couldn’t breathe. His body froze, mid-motion, cock still in his hand, heart slamming against his rib cage like a prisoner trying to escape. He should’ve yelled, thrown a pillow, told them to get out. He should’ve covered up. But he didn’t. Because Ripley wasn’t running. Wasn’t apologizing. Wasn’t even blinking. They were just… Watching. And god help him, Jamie felt himself twitch in his own grip. The air in the room was thick, electric, charged with something he didn’t have a name for. Something dangerous. He swallowed hard, voice low and rough as gravel when he finally spoke. “…You gonna close the door, or are you staying?”

[wcrstbehavior]

continued from here ( @kinkiskarmas )

Jamie didn’t flinch at the sharpness in Theo’s voice. It hit him, sure, but not in a way that made him back down. If anything, it settled in his chest like something he almost deserved. He’d pushed too far. Again. But he didn’t regret it. He never would. The way his full name rolled off Theo’s tongue made his heart thud in his chest. Not Jamie, not the name everyone else used. Jameson. Like he was being scolded and seen all at once. He swallowed hard as he stared at the older man, his pulse thrumming hard in his throat. “You only call me that when you’re trying not to feel something. When you want to remind yourself I’m off-limits. Like using my full name makes it easier to pretend this doesn’t exist.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, searching Theo’s profile even as he refused to meet his eyes. “You don’t look at me like I’m just some kid with a crush. You don’t act like this is nothing. And I get it, I do… You’ve got your life, and I’m not trying to blow it up. But I’m also not gonna pretend I don’t see the way your hands shake when you tell me to stop. Or how you never quite do.” Jamie took a breath, then stepped back; not because he wanted to, but because he thought maybe he should. “I’m not here to make this harder for you,” he continued, his tone softer now, more exposed. “But you don’t get to act like I’m imagining this. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to look at me. I just needed you to know… I’m not walking into this blind.” He hesitated, then added, voice barely above a whisper now, “And if you really don’t feel anything… If it’s all in my head, just say it, Theo. I’ll stop. But don’t hide behind my name like it means you don’t care.”

[xgoldina]

Medina didn't mean to end up at the bar. Not really. But after an unfortunate ten-minute attempt to entertain conversation with a vampire who called her 'ethereal' like it was a compliment and not a warning sign, she needed something stronger than social graces and vodka. She glanced sidelong at the man who’d just slid in beside her, all confident grin and too-pretty-for-his-own-good charm, and sipped her drink before answering. “That depends,” she said, arching a brow. “Is it considered fun if I only threatened to hex someone once tonight?” Her tone was dry, but not cold— closer to amused if anything. She gave him a quick once-over. Nice suit. Easy posture. Didn’t reek of blood or desperation. Points for that. She turned toward him slightly, curiosity flickering beneath practiced boredom. “Let me guess. You’re either here to celebrate, cause trouble, or seduce someone into doing something reckless. Which is it?”

When? 10:33pm

Where? Khàos Grand Opening Event.

Who? Open!

This was quite the shindig, the Astors knew how to throw a party. Events in these fashion weren't unfamiliar to Jameson, however, if he's telling the truth, it has been a while. Soirèes of this sort hadn't been high on the priority list as of late, dressing fancy and drinking expensive liquor didn't lead to a straight path towards world domination.

Jameson's head is quiet now, he's left with his own thoughts. How strange it is to be left completely alone to his own devices. Somewhat sad. Somewhat exciting. Though his truly appreciated and followed Dorian's ultimate wisdom, his nagging little voice could be such a vibe killer. Jameson gets to do what he does best tonight. Let loose.

He finds himself at the bar. Romy, his gorgeous date for the evening, is out mingling. When he has a drink for himself, or two, he'll find her and bring back one of her own in hand.

"Scotch, neat," Jameson tells the bartender, trusting he'd be served the most expensive and pretentious alcohol Astor money had to buy. "Make it a double."

He turns to the person besides him. "Having fun?" Jameson asks playfully, paired with his wiggling brow and classic Jameson grin.

[wcrstbehavior]

continued from here ( @smokehourfm )

Jamie blinked, staring at the other man like he'd just sprouted three heads. "My hotel room?" He echoed, voice cracking slightly as he fought through the haze of last night's tequila-fueled memories. His eyes flicked around the room... Marble countertops, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Vegas strip, and most damning of all, a trail of clothes leading from the door to the edge of the bed. His heart hammered as he threw the sheets back, only to find himself in nothing but his boxers. He swore under his breath. "Okay, so... Clearly, some shit went down." Jamie rubbed one of his hands down his face, then froze when his hand caught on something cold. He held it up, and there it was, gleaming on his ring finger like the punchline to a joke he didn't remember telling. "You gotta be kidding me," he whispered, eyes wide as he turned back to the unnamed person beside him—who, as it turned out, was not a mirage. His gaze fell to the other's hand, where a matching band caught the sunlight spilling through the window. He laughed, but it was hollow and disbelieving, like the sound got lost somewhere on the way out. "Uh... So, I'm Jamie. And judging by the fact we're both sporting wedding rings, I'm guessing I'm your husband?" He paused, squinting like that might change the reality in front of him. "Did we really just... Vegas ourselves into marriage?" Jamie's eyes finally met his, searching for something—clarity, maybe. Hell, even a hint of denial would've been comforting. But when all he saw was that same wide-eyed disbelief, he let out a long, shaky breath. "Shit," he repeated again, flopping back down against the bed.

[traincat]

So @softgrungeprophet just posted about John Jameson/Peter Parker, a thing I have nothing for, but it did remind me that I had a Spideytorch WIP where Jonah tries to set John and Peter up and so Peter comes up with the brilliant idea of fake dating Johnny to get out of it, only for John and Johnny to start dating, a thing which will obviously not drive Peter mad with jealousy. Ft my not remotely in order writing practices.

Anyway I don't know when I'll finish it so have a thousand words of people making bad decisions.

--

It was a regular Friday afternoon and Johnny, free of all social and superhero responsibilities, was just trying to relax and maybe catch up on a week’s worth of reality television when a full-grown man hit the side of the Baxter Building going eighty miles an hour.

“Did I scare you? Sorry,” Peter said, not sounding very sorry at all, as he climbed gracefully through the window.

“Of course you scared me! Not everyone has a built in magic spider danger sense!” Johnny said. He looked down at the carpet and the new red footprints there and made a face. “No, it’s fine, track what had better be paint all over my apartment.”

“Thanks, Torchy,” Peter said, as if Johnny had been in any way sincere. “Don’t worry, Reed’s little robot friends will steam clean that right out. Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

With friends like these, who needed Doctor Doom.

(blah blah blah)

“I just need you to pretend to be in a relationship with me,” Peter said. “For one, two months, tops. Or however long Jonah has left on this earth. Either or.”

(blah blah blah)

“Look, here’s the deal,” Peter said, rolling his eyes, “and don’t ask how this happened, but I accidentally told JJJ I’m bisexual and –”

“Wait, you did what?” Johnny cut him off. His voice was dangerously high even to his own ears. “You’re what?”

“I just told you it was an accident,” Peter said, still in that tone like it was no big deal and he accidentally came out to major newspaper publishers every other week. For all Johnny knew, maybe he did. For all Johnny knew maybe he put on a rainbow spider-suit and shouted it from the top of the Empire State Building every single Friday Johnny had ever been off-planet.

“How do you accidentally tell your former boss you’re bisexual?” Johnny demanded. Then, his own voice somehow rising even shriller, he added, “You haven’t told me you’re bisexual!”

Peter shot him a look that said that he was pretty sure he just had. As if Johnny wasn’t sitting right in front of him, currently losing his mind.

“The bad news, apparently John Jameson came out to his dad a few months ago,” Peter said.

“That’s the bad news,” Johnny said, his voice both flat and scathing in a way no acting coach he’d ever had would believe he was capable of. “Really.”

“Well, good for John, I guess,” Peter allowed, making a face like he wasn’t quite about all of that. Johnny was going to smother him by the end of this conversation, probably. “But bad for me. Because now Jonah wants to set us up.”

There was a strange static-y sound ringing in Johnny’s ears, like someone had scrambled all his frequencies.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you rewind? Maybe to the beginning of this conversation?”

“You’re not listening to me, Johnny,” Peter said. “Jonah basically implied that John and I should get married. The other day I caught him looking at brochures for catering halls out on Long Island. And look, John’s a great guy, but –”

“Great,” Johnny said, his face in his hands. “Fantastic. I’ll send you two a fantasti-toaster.”

“But he’s not my type at all,” Peter said. He reached over and closed his fingers around Johnny’s wrist, tugging his hand effortlessly away from his face and leaving Johnny no choice but to look up into that big brown imploring eyes. “Now, She-Hulk, on the other hand…”

A strangled noise of rage tore itself from Johnny’s throat.

(Peter asks Johnny to be his fake boyfriend to some Bugle event)

--

(Bugle event, Jonah awkwardly talks to Johnny and says something mildly homophobic in an incredibly well meaning way.)

“That’s very… something of you, Mr. Jameson,” Johnny said.

“My daughter Mattie bought me a book,” Jameson admitted.

(blah blah Peter runs off and John and Johnny talk on a balcony)

“You know, that’s the thing about Parker,” John Jameson said, his voice light and casual. “Every time I’ve ever seen him he’s had some beautiful model hanging off his arm.”

Johnny snorted, thinking of the Black Cat, and Mary Jane, and even Carlie Cooper with her whole hot librarian vibe. Dorrie Evans, the prettiest girl in Johnny’s high school, talking Johnny’s ear off on a half dozen of their dates about how Peter Parker was so smart and how he was interested in politics and an inch taller than Johnny and probably much more in touch with his feelings. Yeah, right.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “They should ban him from fashion week for the models’ own good.”

They probably already had. Johnny would have to ask.

“No, I meant…” John trailed off. He smiled ruefully, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, realizing he’d cut John off. “What were you saying?”

“I was complimenting you,” John said, his eyes twinkling. “What I said about Parker and beautiful models – I meant you.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, floored. He felt strangely like blushing, but that was silly. Johnny was a famous space explorer. It was hardly the first time a handsome astronaut had called him beautiful.

It was, perhaps, the first time it had happened to him on earth. And the first time it had happened outside of a hostage situation. And the first time Ben hadn’t been there to threaten to beat the astronaut up.

“You are here with Peter Parker, aren’t you?” John asked. “As his date, I mean.”

“Allegedly,” Johnny said. He’d meant it to come out under his breath, but it didn’t, and he suspected his eyeroll wasn’t quite as internal as he’d intended either. John laughed, but not unkindly.

“He does have a habit of disappearing, doesn’t he?” John said lightly. “I get it, though, as the son of a newsman. The number of dinners my father actually made it to the main course without rushing off to take a call or chase a story...” He trailed off, sighing ruefully, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “That must be why they get along so well.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Johnny asked, feeling emboldened, maybe, by the way John was looking at him, by the fact that he had called him beautiful.

He definitely wasn’t feeling spiteful over the fact that he was supposed to be here with Peter and Peter had, of course, ditched him, caught up in fifteen other different things, just like always. Things that were more important than Johnny. Things that Johnny could have helped with, maybe, if Peter had asked.

Or maybe things Johnny couldn’t have helped with. After all there were plenty of reasons he might have found Peter’s shirt abandoned in the corner of the men’s room. Things that might have everything to do with, say, the Black Cat instead of Doctor Octopus. 

“Of course,” John said. His hand landed next to Johnny’s on the balcony railing. “You can tell me anything.”

(Johnny admits Peter only brought him as his date to get Jonah to quit it.)

“My father does have that way about him,” John said ruefully. “He’s trying to be very supportive. My foster sister bought him a book. He said he’s thinking about starting a podcast.”

“Elderly Bugle subscribers, watch out,” Johnny said before he could stop himself. Luckily for him, John laughed.

[John kisses Johnny at some fancy event]

--

So now Johnny was a homewrecker. Either of his fake relationship, or of Peter’s future Daily Bugle society page wedding to John Jameson, certified American hero. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

--

Johnny stared at Jonah. Jonah stared at Johnny.

John tucked into his steak like he wasn’t sitting in the middle of the world’s most awkward dinner. Johnny guessed he must have had experience getting through dinners with J Jonah Jameson, but he could have taken a little pity on Johnny, a novice.

(And then somewhere in here Peter would have gone insane.)

[anythinggoesbutme]

After the Cameras Fade

Jameson Hawthorne x Avery Grambs (ft. Hawthorne Brothers)

Warnings: Media manipulation, Invasive questioning, Anxiety/panic responses, Emotional distress, Self-doubt, Protective behavior from others

Synopsis: When an interview takes an invasive turn, Avery is left shaken by the questions she never agreed to answer. Afterward, Jameson is determined to pull her out of the spiral—and he’s not the only one. One by one, the Hawthornes remind her she’s not in this alone.

Song: “Motion Sickness” — Phoebe Bridgers

Word Count: 1,096

Avery’s eyes didn’t focus as the camera lights dimmed. The studio chairs, the crew, the table of untouched water bottles—none of it registered. Her skin still buzzed from the heat of the spotlight, but it wasn’t the lights that had made her sweat.

It was the question.

“Do you feel guilty for taking something that was never meant for you?”

They’d asked it so casually. Polished teeth and a practiced smile. No warning. No mercy.

Now, the silence echoed louder than the applause ever had.

She stood on shaky legs, clutching her blazer tighter as she made her way toward the side exit. The air outside was cool against her cheeks, but the shame clung like sweat.

She didn’t notice the black SUV until the passenger door flung open.

“Hey, Heiress.”

Avery blinked.

Jameson Hawthorne leaned casually across the center console, but his eyes didn’t match the easy grin. They were serious. Steady. Watching her.

“Get in,” he said.

She hesitated.

He didn’t push.

He didn’t need to.

She climbed in.

The car ride was quiet.

Jameson didn’t press. Didn’t fill the space with riddles or dare her into distraction. He just drove, knuckles pale on the steering wheel, glancing at her every few blocks.

Only when they reached Hawthorne House did he speak again.

“You want to go upstairs or stay here?” he asked softly.

She looked at him then. “I don’t know.”

His jaw flexed. “Okay.”

He parked the car and climbed out, coming around to her side. She didn’t move. Not even when he opened her door. Not even when the wind caught her hair.

“Avery.”

Not Heiress. Avery.

That’s what broke her.

“I didn’t agree to that question,” she whispered, voice cracking. “They said it was about my charities. About the foundation. They blindsided me.”

Jameson crouched in front of her, arms resting on her knees.

“You don’t have to explain anything.”

“But I—” Her voice caught again. “I felt like I was back in the courtroom. Like everyone was watching me and waiting for me to say the wrong thing. And I did. I did.”

Jameson shook his head. “You didn’t.”

“I should’ve said something stronger. More composed. Not—” Her breath hitched. “Not ‘I don’t know.’”

“You’re not a politician,” he said, firmer now. “You don’t owe anyone perfect answers. And you sure as hell don’t owe them your guilt.”

Avery didn’t reply. Couldn’t.

Jameson reached up, brushing his fingers gently down her arm. “Let’s go in. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The house was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. As if the walls knew she needed it. Jameson didn’t steer her toward the usual chaos of the game room or the kitchens. He took her to the small sunroom near the back of the mansion. The one with floor-to-ceiling windows and thick cushions that practically swallowed you whole.

She sank into the corner of the couch, and Jameson joined her, not too close but not too far. The silence stretched. For once, it wasn’t awkward.

Just safe.

“Do you think they’re right?” she asked suddenly, her voice hoarse. “That I took something that didn’t belong to me?”

Jameson turned fully toward her. “No. And you don’t either. Not really.”

Avery blinked at him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you thought you didn’t belong,” he said. “You wouldn’t have fought like hell for all of us. You wouldn’t care so much if you didn’t want to do right by what was given to you.”

She exhaled shakily.

“You belong here,” he added. “Not because Tobias said so. Because you earned it.”

Avery bit her lip, trying to hold in whatever emotion was rising.

Too late.

There were footsteps in the hall. Then Xander’s face popped in the doorway. “Avery?”

She turned, startled.

“Oh good,” he said, entering without hesitation. “You’re not hiding. Well. You are, but not alone.”

Jameson arched a brow. “You told them?”

“Nope,” Xander said cheerfully. “We all saw the interview. Grayson’s already planning legal vengeance. Libby’s baking something with seventeen ingredients. I brought the emotional support plushie.”

He held out a tiny stuffed hedgehog with googly eyes.

Avery stared at it.

“…His name is Justice,” Xander whispered solemnly.

A reluctant laugh escaped her. Small. Tired. But real.

“Justice is extremely rare,” Xander said, placing the plush in her lap. “And extremely soft. Kinda like you.”

“I’m not soft.”

“You’re gooey on the inside. Like a chocolate lava cake.”

Avery raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

Jameson leaned over. “He’s been up since six. He’s high on almond flour and pure chaos.”

Xander saluted. “I’ll tell Libby you’re safe.”

He left in a whirl of socks and unfiltered affection.

For a moment, Avery just stared at the hedgehog in her lap. Then she leaned her head on Jameson’s shoulder.

“You’re not alone, Avery,” he said softly, arm sliding around her. “You never were.”

Later, as the sun dipped lower and cast shadows across the room, Nash appeared in the doorway. “Kid?”

Avery blinked awake. She hadn’t meant to doze off.

“Just wanted to check on you.”

She sat up, brushing sleep from her face. “I’m okay.”

Nash gave her a long look. “You don’t have to be.”

Jameson adjusted beside her but said nothing.

Nash walked in, slower than Xander had, his usual swagger tempered. “You know how many people asked me if I felt guilty? After Skye left? After she pulled her usual garbage? I stopped answering after the fifth time.”

“What did you do?” Avery asked.

“Started telling them to go to hell.”

She laughed a little.

Nash smiled. “You’ve done more with what Tobias gave you than any of us thought possible. That’s not guilt, kid. That’s grit.”

Avery nodded. It didn’t fix everything. But it helped.

The last to appear was Grayson. Of course he was. Silent, calculated, always watching.

He stepped inside the sunroom and gave her a once-over. “You didn’t deserve that question.”

“I know.”

“They violated protocol. I’ll be drafting a formal complaint to the network.”

Avery tilted her head. “Do you ever turn it off?”

“Not when it concerns you.”

Her throat tightened again. “Thank you.”

Grayson nodded once, then turned to Jameson. “Let me know if she needs anything.”

Jameson gave a small salute.

The room was quiet again.

Avery looked at Jameson. “They all came.”

He gave her that lopsided grin. “You’re not just the girl with the will anymore, Heiress. You’re family.”

This time, when the tears rose, she didn’t stop them.

And Jameson didn’t let go.

[wcrstbehavior]

Jamie caught that crinkle in Damien's nose and couldn't help the grin that tugged at his own lips. "Posh and uptight? Yeah, Jameson's got that vibe for sure. I don't know what my parents were thinking; they swear they named me that because they shared a bottle of Jameson the night I was conceived or some stupid shit like that. Jamie's definitely a better fit. It's more relaxed, less likely to show up with a monocle and a top hat." He smirked, meeting Damien's eyes like it was some kind of silent, unspoken truce. This felt different and warmer somehow, like giving names to the people who were usually just passing shadows. When Damien laughed, Jamie felt the tension between them loosen a little. That retreat inward, the playful embarrassment, it made him want to lean in closer, to reach out and bridge the space. "Look at you, all vulnerable and shit," Jamie teased gently, voice dipping into something softer. "I might just have to take you up on that cuddle offer before you talk yourself out of it." He shifted a little, scooting closer to Damien, pulling the throw over both of them like it was the start of something new. "I'm not tired yet, but I'm definitely curious about what 'something' we're gonna watch. And you? Staying up sober sounds like a rough job. Good thing I'm here to keep you company." When Damien said his name, Jamie caught the way it hung in the air, like it carried more weight than before and it hit him that this casual thing was already slipping into something more. And for once, he wasn't scared of it. "Yeah, this is... Nice."

Damien crinkled the nose a little bit;"Jameson sounds so posh and uptight anyway, something you don't strike me as one bit. Jamie is more fitting, yeah." A smug grin lifts into view as he sat back and lax on the couch, still in the same position as before. A right tattooed hand curling to rest against the side of the face as the two eyed one another, like a quiet reintroduction, but with names. It felt nice to have something official for company, he was never too fond of his choice in life; but actually pursuing love on an intentional basis was scary, and his confidence was low.

Who wanted to go out or have anything serious with a van-lifer anyway? That was uncomfortable, cramped and too much uncertainty for the average person, but Jaime caught his attention. Now Damien had to figure out how to navigate it after coming back. At the tease about being a good listener, Damien managed a soft giggle and slight bodily retreat inward. "Don't look at me like that, you're making me wanna cuddle. And tsss- maybe? You got some nerve actually switching it up with me. You know how many 'switches' I meet that I always top? Feels damn good to take it, goddamn." He'd said too much, and can feel himself melting, the hand bracing against the face moves to make a completely unknown motion, trying play it cool. He's embarrassed and manages a coy laugh;"Alright you- get over here and cuddle me before I say more dumb shit." He leans forward slightly to adjust himself and open the the throw. "And no, you're not forgettable, so c'mere, let's chill and watch something? You tired, Jamie ? I gotta stay up and sober.. eventually." Calling Jamie by their name felt different, perhaps even a little exciting. Damien tries not to think too deeply about it, but what he does know, is it feels good.

[presidentpoppy]

overcoming relationship trauma ft. j jonah jameson

[shimmerytimbers]

Hawthorne hcs (ft. Ave Lib Max)

Nash has excellent hair. Like this man has hair made like honey something something (idk i'm not that poetic so just pretend i said something beautiful). And he lovesssssssss to flex his hair.

Libby has terrible hair, it's matted and stratchy and shit because of all the times she dyed and used chemicals on her hair so Nash offers to give her his own spa treatment (facemasks, hair wash,...etc), and Libby agrees so now they both have excellent hair and flexes on to everybody.

Also Nash probably has modeled for hair shampoo once. You cannot change my mind.

Someone said that Grayson had dimples and honestly yes but girlie, what if Nash ALSO HAD DIMPLES??? Make it run in the family

Jameson's childhood crush was Belle (yes the princess), which is rly cute bc he thinks Avery somewhat looks like her.

Xander probably dressed up at Miles Morales for Halloween and he'd go ALL OUT.

Max and Xander would play every single fair game and win every single prize and carry them all home and name the stuffed animals.

Just...Nash playing patty cake with his kid. (idk if this counts as a hc)

Grayson and Lyra would be that one super aesthetic pinterest couple.

Grayson Hawthorne would be the biggest matcha girl ever

Chappell Roan was Rebecca's gay awakening

Hc that one halloween they finally got Grayson to dress up and the Hawthornes were goldilocks and the three bears (Gray was Goldilocks ofc) and Xander was the baby bearrrr :D

[wcrstbehavior]

continued from here ( @mcrshmcllow )

Jamie's hand froze mid-stroke, heart thudding like a drum in his chest the moment the door cracked open. It took him a beat to process what was happening. Laptop still playing some overly enthusiastic moaning in the background, his cock hard and slick in his hand, before his brain caught up with the sight of someone at the door. Not just someone. Abe. His stomach dropped, then twisted, then sparked in some shameful, fucked-up place that didn't know how to respond fast enough. Embarrassment flared first, but it was quickly chased by something else. Heat, sharp and disorienting, curling low in his gut. Of course it had to be him. Jamie had gone weeks without a moment of real privacy, tiptoeing around the apartment because Abe was always there—polite, thoughtful, maddeningly attractive in that I-don't-know-I'm-hot kind of way that made Jamie want to scream into a pillow. And now? Now the one time he thought he had the place to himself, the one moment he let himself breathe? That exact person had just gotten a front-row seat. Jamie dropped his head back against the headboard with a groan, scrubbing a hand down his face as a flush of warmth spread across his skin. Fuck. Fuck. But the longer he sat there, blanket now draped lazily over his hips, laptop screen still flickering beside him, the more the initial embarrassment gave way to something else. A slow, curling smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. The door was closed now. Too much like someone who'd seen something they weren't supposed to... And maybe hadn't minded. Jamie didn't move to get dressed. Didn't bother muting the porn. He just sat there, cock still hard beneath the sheet, and let the silence stretch. He wondered if Abe had looked long enough to see the flush down Jamie's chest. The way his abs tensed every time he moved. If he'd seen how Jamie's hand had wrapped around himself, slow and firm and shameless. He kind of hoped he had. Jamie laughed softly to himself, head tilting back against the wall as his fingers drummed idly against the blanket. Maybe he should've locked the door. But deep down, he knew he wouldn't have. Not with the way things had been simmering lately... The quiet tension, the half-glances, the lingering moments in the kitchen when their arms brushed and neither of them moved away fast enough. Jamie licked his lips slowly, eyes drifting toward the door again, even though he knew Abe probably wouldn't come back. He exhaled a breath, barely suppressing the grin tugging at his lips, and muttered under his breath with a lazy, knowing smirk, unsure if Abe could still hear him or not, "Hope you liked the preview, roomie."