#jameson tgg

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the hawthorne with the green eyes part 2

pairing: jameson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a night full of fun and games with jameson hawthorne isn’t what you’d intended after going for a little midnight wander but you didn’t regret it

parts: part 1

warnings: none :)

a/n: thanks for the req 🤍🤍 hope you enjoy

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

Strip bowling was exactly what the name said. A game of bowling where you remove an item of clothing if you failed to knock down any pins. It wasn’t difficult to get the hang of, it was difficult for me however to hang on to my clothes. I’d only bowled a few times in my life and on the occasions I had, I was pathetic at the game, but it was for fun then. Now it felt like it was for my dignity.

“Earrings one hundred percent count!” I exclaimed, shoeless, sockless and jumperless. I didn’t know I could be so bad at rolling a semi-weighted ball down an alley.

“No they don’t!” Jameson quipped, wagging his finger at me.

“I’m wearing earrings, like I’m wearing clothes, they count,” I replied stubbornly, unprepared to lose my top or trousers.

“No they don’t,” he shook his head sharply with a dangerous grin on his face.

“You just want me to take my top off,” I snapped, attempting to throw him off.

Colour touched his cheeks, “I want no such thing!”

“Liar,” I smiled mischievously.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged, our roles reversing. Colour in my cheeks and a smile on his lips. My heart raced as I processed what he said. “But don’t lie,” he continued, “you’ve been trying to throw my game off the whole time so I take mine off.”

“I did no such thing!” I mirrored him, with a face of synthetic shock.

“Liar,” he smirked, his voice so dark I wanted to melt.

I laughed lightly.

“Do that again,” he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

“What?” I blurted out, confusion written all over my face.

“That thing, where you laugh and smile and your eyes light up,” he explained smoothly.

I felt a rising warmth in my face and it wasn’t a fever spiking, “why?”

“Because I like it,” he said, his voice so light, so airy there was almost no sound at all.

I took a step towards him and tilted my head up, our eyes glued together and I was unable to pull away. I could sense his hand nearing my waist and I didn’t tell him to stop. It was only then that I realised how badly I wanted this.

“Jameson I-“

“Hey guys!” Xander’s cheery voice is quick to snap me out of my lovelorn trance, “ooo it’s the new girl.”

“It is,” I coughed, wiping my hand awkwardly on my trousers as I stepped away from Jameson, “nice to see you again,”

“Are you playing strip bowling?” he continued, analysing his surroundings, before turning to Jameson with a rueful expression on his face, “without me? Again! Why am I even here anymore?”

“Sorry Xander,” he shrugged, composed as of two moments before nothing had happened at all between us, “I’ll catch you next time.”

“That’s what you said last time and now look,” he protested, “I mean would it kill you to ask me to play?”

“I said sorry,” Jameson defended arms in the air, as if he’s being arrested.

“It’s like that one scene in Frozen,” Xander sighed, “when baby Elsa shuts baby Anna out, you know the whole ‘do you wanna build a snowman’ sequence.”’

“Jameson how could you!” I gasped.

“Right!” Xander said, looking at me, “I knew I liked you.”

“I’m quite likeable I suppose,” I grinned.

“Tomorrow, three am strip bowling,” Jameson said to Xander, “my treat?”

“Throw in snacks and drink and you’re on,” he grinned, nodding.

“Done,” Jameson nodded, “hey Xand, on the topic of strip bowling, I do have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” he said, with

“Do earrings count in strip bowling?” he asked, shooting a sly smile my way.

I scrunched my nose up at him which only widened his pathetic smile.

“Yes,” Xander responded. My eyes widened and my face lit up. I was unable to form any competent words.

“Ha!” I exclaimed, pointing at Jameson.

“What?” Jameson protested loudly, his face flattened, his smile no more, “since when?”

“Don’t you remember when you pierced your left ear when you were thirteen because you thought it would make you look edgy?” Xander replied, “you wore an earring for 6 months and always insisted it counted in strip bowling!”

“You did what?” I gaped, trying so hard to suppress my giggles.

“Oh shut up,” he snapped at me and rolled his eyes, “thanks Xand.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled.

“Embarrassing me through childhood stories is Nash’s thing though,” he replied.

“He let me trade for an hour,” Xander shrugged.

“So what’s he doing,” I asked.

“Creating a machine with odd qualities whilst simultaneously consuming several blueberry scones,” he said, “…obviously.”

“I should’ve seen that one coming,” Jameson sighed.

“You should’ve, do you even know your own brothers?” he replied in mock offence.

“Sometimes I don’t know,” he shrugged, “honestly you surprise when even when I think you can’t anymore.”

“Well I’ll see you two lobsters later, my eyebrows growing back to much, I need to singe it off again with something explosive!”

He rushed off before I could even respond. This house was mental, but in the best way possible.

I turned to Jameson confused, “Lobsters?”

“That’s what you’re asking about?” he almost laughed.

“Why lobsters?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, hands crammed into his pockets, green eyes making me hallucinate being in his arms even more.

I waited. I waited for him to pick up where we left off, for his hand to actually grip my waist, for our lips to tingle with each others taste but there was nothing. He did nothing. The silence is the loudest force in the room and it made my heartache.

“You used to wear an earring,” I grinned, changing to subject to heal my sinking heart.

“Let’s revisit the lobster debate,” he replied, turning rosy. It was cute.

“Oh no no no, you are not getting out of this one,” I said with a giggle.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” he countered, with a nonchalant shrug.

“So what kind of earring was it, diamond?” I continued, with a smile I knew would probably be annoying him.

“I’m not answering you,” he replied bluntly.

“That’s okay, I’ll just ask Xander, or Nash when they’ve switched back,” I mused.

“They won’t give up that kind of information to a practical stranger,” he scoffed.

“Don’t be so sure, I thought they surprised you every day,” I countered, quoting him.

“You’re annoying,” he scrunched up his nose.

“One of my many many talents,” I shrugged softly.

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warned, with the kind of Hawthorne smirk that was to die for.

I raised my eyebrows, “says the king of cockiness.”

“You’ve known me less than a day,” he deadpanned.

“My inference skills are also incredible,” I winked.

He laughed a little, “what should we do now then?”

“I don’t know, find something else to do?” I said.

“You don’t want to carry on with strip bowling?” he replied

“There won’t be much to strip in a minute,” I scoffed, gesturing to my limited clothing.

“That’s part of the game,” he replied, shooting me a lopsided grin.

“You’ve known me for less than a day,��� I mocked.

Jameson glared at me playfully, “don’t quote me.”

“But it’s fun,” I whined, pouting slightly.

“You’re annoying,” he replied, messing up my hair.

“Another one of my many perks!” I responded, ducking under his arm whilst slapping him away.

“How about a game of poker?” he asked, the subject changing so fast I nearly got whiplash.

I’d never been that good at poker. I’d been taught when I was younger, I knew the basic rules but I hadn’t played in years. I was rusty. I remembered the last time I’d played, in a bar at fourteen. I’d snagged myself one hundred dollars. I was praying for the miracle to reensue.

“Are you a betting man Hawthorne?” I raised a challenging eyebrow, one he couldn’t ignore. Avery mentioned that he couldn’t turn down a challenge.

“All Hawthornes are betting men,” he said coolly.

“That sounds risky,” I grinned.

“Not if you don’t mind taking the risk,” he cocked his head to the side.

“Where are your playing cards?” I asked.

He picked up his jacket and shook the sleeve gently, a packet of cards falling into his open hand. I suppressed my shock.

“They’re up your sleeve,” I said dryly, “how original.”

“I think you mean impressive,” he replied.

“If it helps you sleep at night, then sure impressive,” I responded.

“You wound me,” he faked a wince, holding onto his heart.

“Blood goes well with your eyes,” I shrugged.

“Better make a deeper wound then,” he murmured, our faces dangerously close.

“Okay,” I bit my bottom lip, “…I beat you at chess a few hours ago.”

“Too deep princess,” he replied.

“Princess?” I questioned, my eyebrows knotting together.

“What’s wrong with it?” he shrugged.

“It’s not my name,” I said bluntly.

“My apologies Princess y/n,” he grinned, taking a step back to bow before me.

I smacked the back of his head, “you’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“I think you’ve already used that line,” he countered, standing up, tentatively touching the back of his head.

“Thought I’d reinforce it,” I said.

“Remind me to teach you how to slap,” he replied, trying to get under my skin, “that was pathetic.”

“I know it hurt you,” I smiled, “don’t be stubborn.”

“Poker,” he sing-songed waving the cards at me as we sat on the floor.

I crossed my legs and watched as he shuffled the cards. He’d probably done it thousands of times, seen as the motions were so fluid, so captivating. Like an illusion. He cracked one of his signature grins my way and then he dealt.

“This isn’t hawthorne poker is it?” I asked, as he finished up.

“No it’s just regular poker,” he replied, “for now.”

His smirk made my insides tingle and my head go a little fuzzy. We picked up our card and he analysed his set sharply. He was on it, he was ready. Unlike when he was playing chess, he was tense. His focus was harder, his intensity was stronger. He was like a raging fire containing in a bottle coated in kerosine.

It was time to play.

***

There was a flash. My head whipped around to look at the window and I dropped all my cards. Thumped rumbled in the distance and I approached the window to see if it was raining. A second flash.

“Lightning,” Jameson mused from behind me, making me jump.

“There’s a storm coming,” I whispered.

“That’s ominous,” he chuckles, his breath is so hot on the back of my neck that it makes me shiver.

“Let’s hope it isn’t our author’s use of pathetic fallacy,” I turned my head so our faces are close.

“Our author?” he furrowed his brows.

“Whoever writes the stories we’re living,” I replied.

“So that’s how you think of things?” he asked, sounding somewhere between amused and curious.

“The things we do, the people we meet, the places we see, it’s all meant to be, someone wrote it for us,” I smiled, “it’s prettier to think that it was in the stars but even if it’s not, it’s all written somewhere.”

“That must be on hell of a book,” he grinned, then said, “you dropped your cards.”

I turned to face him, “I know.”

“You had a straight flush,” he replied. It was true. I had done better than I’d ever done at poker, apparently the miracle workers were on my side today.

“I know,” I nodded.

“And I couldn’t tell,” he said slowly.

“I know,” I repeat, eyebrows raised.

“You were going to beat me,” he stated, “…again.”

First at chess, now at poker, he was getting sensitive.

“I-“

“Don’t say I know again,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” I replied.

“No one has ever beaten me at poker before,” he said.

“I must be extra special then,” I joked.

“I think you’re more than that,” he smiled.

My lips parted, “what?l

“I think you’re beautiful,” he murmured, the green of his eyes too addicting to turn away from.

I was caught off guard. Was this some sort of fantasy? Beautiful. He had just called me beautiful. My heart raced all of a sudden and fireworks went off in my brain. I was too tongue tied in shock and joy to reply.

“Thank you?” I managed to say after a few beats.

No. No. No. No. I cursed myself. I didn’t mean to say that, like that. That wasn’t how it was meant to sound. If there had been a table near by I would’ve whacked my head on it a good few times.

“Tell me you feel it to,” Jameson pleaded, his void a low hum, “whatever the hell this is between us.”

“Oh I can feel it,” I replied, my voice quiet, seductive.

“That makes this difficult,” he exhaled slowly.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t trust myself with you,” he admitted, looking into my eyes, his expression so pained it made me ache.

“Then trust me,” I insisted, taking his hands into mine.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he chuckled lightly, “in the best possible way. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Funny you seem to be doing the same with me,” I giggled.

His face suddenly grew solemn, a look I hadn’t seen a lot of his face, “you don’t want this with me, I promise you I’m dangerous.”

“I like dangerous,” I shrugged.

“Target on my back, run into fire for fun, love too hard kind of dangerous,” he clarified, studying my face for any sign of me changing my mind.

“I’ll reevaluate that statement then,” I said, pausing.

He waited, so still, so quiet that I questioned whether he was breathing.

“I love dangerous,” I whispered, my eyes lighting up.

He only smiled at me then leaned down, cupping my face in his palms. His scent washed over me, delicate and alluring. His lips neared mine and I closed my eyes. The first kiss was gentle and sweet, it was the soft kind of kiss that every girl dreams her first kiss would be. But after that first few sweetened kisses, I got hungrier, I wanted not just to taste him but to indulge in him.

I kissed him harder with a new added passion and he realised I wasn’t messing around, that I wasn’t afraid. He delivered back, not worried to be rougher with his kisses. We moved with the emotion and the intensity of the moment. A fiery feeling ignited my heart. Love. My back hit the wall and his hands found their way to my waist. Pinned by a frenzy of kisses, I suddenly remembered I needed to breathe. It seemed Jameson did to. We pulled away, chests both heaving, hearts both racing.

“Lobsters,” I murmured breathlessly.

“What?” he asked, the most adorable confusion plastered across his soft features.

“Lobsters,” I smiled like an idiot, “they mate for life.”

a/n: people who actually know how to play poker, don’t come at me, I know I need to learn!!

warning you guys now there will be no part 3 😊😊 sorry

thank you for reading 🤍🤍

THE JAMESON CARD BETTER BE HERE SOON 👹👹 IM MANIFESTING IT WITH THIS FIC

TIG masterlist

[inmyheaddd]

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

[astraeajackson]

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

avery: where?!

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

max: where?!

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

libby: WHERE?!

[clarissaweasley-10]

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

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

[thejudeduarte]

Tig tumblr is gonna go crazy when the Jameson card drops

[wish-i-were-heather]

JAMESON AND GRAYSON !

its not "team jameson" or "team grayson," that's overwith. don't let the tiktok fans make you forget they're brothers and they love each other (even if they won't admit it)

@maybxlle

[the-eldest-yehawthorne]

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

[lyrakanefanatic]

GUYS GUYS GUYS SOMETHING CHANGED IN THE HAWTHORNE VAULT!!!

THERE ARE 3 NEW CARDS OH EM GEEEEE WHAT ARE THEY FOR???

IM ACTUALLY FLIPPING OUT I THINK IM GONNA EXPLODE

ITS SO CRAZY THAT JLB IS GIVING US MORE STUFF LIKE A WEEK BEFORE THE BOOK COMES OUT LIKE WHATTT THIS IS CRAZY!!!

WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR WHAT ARE THEY FOR-

[riddles-n-games]

Rohan: I wonder what the game makers have been doing up there?

The Game Makers:

Jameson: *dying of laughter for the last three hours*

Nash: ….

Xander: …

Avery: Are you done?

Jameson: Give me a minute. *continues laughing*

Nash: I’m going to take a nap.

Xander: *eats popcorn*

[jkriordanverse]

ooh look i found the perfect place for some of the tgg contestants y'all

[inmyheaddd]

half asleep - grayson hawthorne x reader

a/n: someone lmk how to acquire a sleepy grayson to cuddle with for myself pls wc: 368 masterlist

you were wide awake, your leg strewn across grayson’s torso and his arms wrapped around you. he was out like a light, and you should’ve been too. 

you blame the 2 extra coffees you had in the morning. in your defense, you were a walking zombie by 1pm, desperate for a boost of energy.

now, you had been laying there silently awake for an hour; it was impossible to go back to sleep.

you thought you were hilarious, so you slowly got out of his grip, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

“grayson, i need you to buy germany for me.” you whispered as you patted his shoulder.

you were spewing absolute nonsense, playing a prank on your boyfriend that you had seen other people do online.

“what?” he muttered. his slight pout, and the way his brows were furrowed with his eyes still closed made possibly the most adorable sight you’d ever seen.

you tried your hardest to not laugh, “you need to buy germany from the store. i asked you last week.”

“okay, okay, ill do it. just…” he patted his arm around looking for you, “come back to sleep, sweetheart.” he mumbled as he blindly reached for your waist again to pull you in closer, but you stayed put.

“wait but, what about the purple frogs in italy?”

“i’ll get them.” he said with a sleepy groan, “tomorrow.” he pulled you in closer successfully this time, and he grabbed the back of your knee, pulling it over his lower half as he wrapped his other arm around your shoulder.

you were shaking with laughter, biting your bottom lip trying not to wake him up.

his breaths were starting to steady and then you saw his brows furrow again. after a beat of silence, he blinked one open eye at you. 

“sweetheart, germany? as in the whole country?” 

you met his gaze sheepishly, holding back a laugh. “purple frogs in italy? are you alright?” he continued. it was impossible not to laugh now.

“i was just messing with you,” you said in between giggles, “i’m sorry,” you placed a hand on his cheek, and he smiled sleepily at the sound of your laughter, closing his eyes again momentarily. 

“i’ll try and get germany for you. no garauntees, my love, but i’ll do my best.” he mumbled sleepily as he brought your head to his chest, kissing the top of it. 

“what about the purple frogs in italy?” you muttered into his chest with a smile.

he let out a sleepy chuckle, “absolutely not.”

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

@sweetlikeanangel @littlemissmentallyunstable @sheisntyou @emelia07

@anintellectualintellectual @tornqdowarnings @maybxlle

[clarissaweasley-10]

Grayson: What does 'idk' mean?

Lyra: I don't know

Grayson: me neither..

[thejudeduarte]

I actually CACKLED when I read this

[wish-i-were-heather]

HATE IS A STRONG WORD ⤵ ROHAN X JAMESON HAWTHORNE

ABOUT: 1766 words

STORY: chapters 40-42 of the brothers hawthorne but... different

WARNINGS: none that i can think of

A/N: forgive me 😔🙏 also im getting really uncreative with the titles and just using quotes from the fic my bad guys

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Avery scolded Jameson as they walked. She was holding him up on one side, her arm around his waist, while Zella had him from the other. The latter had made it very clear that she did not want to be there. 

He only shrugged, which made his whole body hurt.

She rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t have raised your hand to fight.”

“But it worked,” Jameson insisted. “The Proprietor, I got his attention. He watched me, and he told Rohan to stay down. Which means-”

“He let you win,” Avery finished for him, her eyes widening. “Which-”

“Gives me a better chance at an entrance to the game, I know.”

“Do you guys always do this whole finishing each other's sentences thing? It’s weird,” Zella interjected. 

Jameson grinned. “What can I say? Great minds think alike.”

“And this mind says no more fighting strangers in foreign countries,” Avery said firmly. 

He didn’t argue back. His mind was half fuzzy anyway. Everything hurt everywhere- there was blood dripping from his temple, bruises littering his entire form. His nose was also bleeding, and he was certain that he’d broken at least three of his ribs. 

But Jameson tried not to let his mind linger on the pain for too long. He focused on staying upright, feeling grateful that he had the two people keeping him that way. He wanted to do more- he needed to get into the game. And today was the last chance he had. 

For now, though, he let them walk him up to an area curtained off, in the Lust section of the Devil’s Mercy. 

He laid down on one of the grand beds, back against the pillows, and took a deep breath. Which, of course, hurt his ribs. 

“We need to clean you up,” Zella began, surprising him. He didn’t think she cared enough. “The Proprietor wouldn’t appreciate you leaving a trail of blood across the Mercy.”

Jameson closed his eyes and let her and Avery do what they had to do. Antiseptics were used, bandages were applied, and each time someone's hand brushed against his injuries, he tried not to flinch.  

It hurt. 

But soon enough, they were finished. He didn’t open his eyes. Avery propped herself next to him, taking his hand in hers. 

“You’re the most reckless Hawthorne,” she told him gently. 

“Have you met-”

“I’ve met all your brothers, Jamie. Rest assured, you are the most reckless.” 

Jameson didn’t argue, and squeezed her hand. Avery moved forward, sitting closer to him on the bed, but still careful of his injuries. 

Their moment was interrupted. 

“Avery,” Zella blurted impatiently. “May we speak?”

Jameson’s eyes snapped open and he frowned. “What do you need to talk to her about?” But she didn’t look at him. The two women held eye contact for a few moments and Jameson struggled to tell if they were having a silent conversation with their facial expressions or if they were just staring.

But then Avery stood up.

“Heiress…” he practically pouted. 

“You’re fine. Just don’t get into any more fights while I’m gone, yeah?”

She gave him a look that promised she would tell him every detail of their conversation, and squeezed his hand one more time before walking out. Zella, of course, also had to give him one final side eye. 

~~

The room was silent and cold. To him it felt like it had been hours since Avery left, but Jameson knew it really could have only been fifteen minutes. But what was there even to talk about?

He closed his eyes again and tried not to focus on the injuries. He was alone now, no one to distract him from his thoughts and the pain that assaulted him with every breath. 

“You’re bleeding on the sheets.”

Jameson opened his eyes, but fell back when he saw who it was. 

Rohan was standing at the entrance, having pushed aside the curtain and staring at him with a certain look in his eye that Jameson didn’t like. He wasn’t shirtless anymore- an observation that surprised him. Instead, he was back in a suit.  

He didn’t even look like he’d just been in a fight. Any injuries were well concealed. 

Jameson suddenly felt self-conscious about the fact that he was sitting there on the bed alone, his face probably half swollen, and a poorly applied bandage being the only thing covering his top half. But he forced himself to look back at Rohan.

“And you care why?”

“I don’t,” Rohan said. He stepped forward, the curtain falling closed behind him. “But you’re making a bloody mess and I quite enjoy being on the Proprietor’s good side.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with me?”

Rohan eyed the bandages. “I’m the one who injured you. It’s my responsibility to… undo that damage.”

“Aw, how gentlemanly.”

“Shut it.”

He walked to the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving Jameson’s. There was something in his expression, something hidden under the layers of indifference. A look of concern, and some other unidentifiable tension that had been between them since the fight.

“You shouldn't have won,” said Rohan. “You’re in no condition to be in the game.”

Jameson scoffed, though it hurt his chest. “Yet you allowed me the victory.”

“I didn’t want to,” Rohan sighed. “But some things are worth sacrificing.”

“Like your dignity?”

“It’s getting really difficult to want to help you, Hawthorne.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Rohan shook his head as his eyes scanned Jameson’s battered body. Some bruises were his doing, while others were the fight he’d won before. Either way, it was clear that whatever first aid was applied earlier was not enough. And Rohan needed to clean any mess, cover his tracks.

That’s the only reason he was there, of course. 

“The pool of blood you’re sitting in says otherwise,” Rohan noted. Jameson rolled his eyes. 

“If you’re so insistent on fixing me,” he told him. “Then go right ahead. Be my guest, Mr. Factorium.”

He narrowed his eyes, but instead of arguing, Rohan stepped forward. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small case. 

“Are we just carrying around first aid kits now?” Jameson laughed. “Is that normal here?”

“Does it hurt you so much to be prepared?” Rohan asked, opening it and from it taking a roll of gauze.

Rohan set it on the bedside table and turned to face Jameson. Without a word, he reached for the edge of the bandages around his abdomen and began to unwrap them. Jameson inhaled sharply. 

He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected to feel Rohan’s cold hands against his unusually warm skin. He hadn’t expected to uncover all the visibly painful injuries. And he most certainly hadn’t expected to let Rohan essentially rid him of covering his top half. 

Nor had he expected Rohan’s eyes to linger there for just a moment too long. 

“The wound wasn’t properly staunched.” The sound of his voice snapped Jameson back to the present. 

He only managed a small “oh” in response.

Rohan’s hands got to work, doing who knew what. Something to stop the bleeding, but Jameson only felt the touch of his fingertips, Rohan’s skin against his own. Pain was brought back every time he put too much pressure on the injured area, but at least that helped him stay awake. 

Maybe he’d lost too much blood, because this was strange. This was wrong. This was… Rohan. Rohan, who thought he was so much better than everyone else. Rohan, who spoke with that stupid accent. Rohan, who was the most insufferable person. 

Rohan, who made it very clear that he hated him.

And that hatred was very mutual. 

Jameson’s breath suddenly hitched as Rohan pressed a little too hard against his broken ribs. He tried not to react, but keeping his body neutral was impossible. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Rohan muttered, his eyes focused on wrapping him up again. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before throwing yourself into a fight.” 

He managed a shrug. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a second thought in my life.”

“Clearly.”

Jameson opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t escape. Rohan’s hands had moved, now finishing wrapping the fresh gauze around his ribs, careful not to press too hard. The touch was surprisingly gentle and it stunned him more than any punch or tackle ever could. 

“Why are you helping me?” He asked finally. Rohan had said it was because of the Proprietor, but he knew it had to be something more. “You hate me.”

Rohan hesitated for half a second. “Hate is a strong word.”

“Is it?” Jameson pressed, ignoring the pain as Rohan tightened the wrappings to keep them in place.

“I can’t say I hate you. I’ve barely met you. You’re simply… very hard to like.”

Jameson furrowed his brow. “Right. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m doing this,” Rohan explained. “Because I don’t want to get in trouble with his lordship.”

“You say that title like he’s the most important man in the world,” Jameson remarked. 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate you talking negatively towards him,” Rohan warned him.

He shrugged again, but this time it hurt. “Negative attention is better than no attention at all.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m a Hawthorne.”

“Same difference.”

Jameson grinned despite the pain. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You take that however you want,” Rohan sighed. His lips tightened into a line as he finished the bandaging. His hands hovered over it for a moment, before stepping back. “There, you’re all patched up.”

“Appreciated,” Jameson said reluctantly. Rohan nodded, recollecting the items into his strange, pocket-sized first aid kit and slipping it back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Jameson watched, keeping his eyes on every little movement. 

He nodded and began walking out, back to the closed curtain. A small part of Jameson didn’t… didn’t want him to leave? 

But before walking away, Rohan turned around. 

“Hawthorne?”

“I thought we were on a first name basis, Rohan.”

He ignored that comment. 

“Your nose is horribly swollen. You look like a blobfish.”

Jameson lifted an arm and very clearly flipped off the insufferable Brit. He simply flashed him a snarky smile before turning around and leaving. Jameson sighed, leaning back against the pillows again as his mind wandered, questioning what kind of interaction he’d just had.

Though he was confused by how the Factorium was acting, Jameson couldn’t help but smile.

Rohan was a puzzle, one he had every intention of solving

the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 wish-i-were-heather

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[lyra-kane]

The way I thought the club on the cover was a hint that it would be the winning team, but it's actually the losing team....well played Jennifer well played....

[astraeajackson]

the hawthorne brothers are like the kardashians of the tig universe like you can NOT convince me otherwise that they didn't have their own reality tv series at some point