#jameson's shower thoughts

[jamesonsjournal]

random shower thoughts. #1 hello everyone, jameson wilkes andres here. i decided in order to air out my thoughts easier, that i shall drop my "shower thoughts" into the space of tumblr. here is my first. july 13, 2023 - 7:18 am. "if intercourse is a battle, would orgies count as battle royales?"

that is all i may say for today. do take care everyone,

jameson.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

okay this is going to sound totally crazy but now I think of it I can’t stop…

I know not everyone does this but I’m pretty sure it’s fairly common to take your shoes off in your house right?? But can you imagine the Hawthornes and Avery walking around hawthorne house in socks, or bare foot… like…

sorry I can’t unthink this 😭😭

[gergthecat]

Jameson, texting Avery: Would you like a photo of my mustache?

Avery: What mustache, I saw you an hour ago?

Jameson: My penile one. I’ve styled it.

Avery: WTF, Jameson, why in the world would you ask that?

Jameson: Well, I wasn’t going to send you an unsolicited dick pic, that would be un-gentlemanlike.

Avery: And styling your pubes is?

Jameson: Yes, he looks very dapper.

[victorluvsalice]

-->And, as Victor replanted his oversized crops (which I’m not actually intending to make oversized this time! Smaller ones make a bit more sense to sell in the store), Smiler scheduled a weenie roast for the next day! They hadn’t thrown a party in a while, and I figured that would be appropriate for it being summer, especially with SimCity Founding coming up. They invited their friends Heath, Aleah (the Hermit from Granite Falls), Cecilia, Nalani, and Grace, and had the whole thing start at 3 PM, as that felt like a decent start time for me for a cookout. And I just crossed my fingers and hoped that it wouldn’t be as chaotic and glitchy as some of my OTHER weenie roasts had been. . .

-->And with that, all that remained was for Victor to finish up his planting and for Smiler and Alice to have a little bonding time (including synchronized showering in the rain -- Erratic Sims *sigh*) before it was back off to the store! Smiler of course made another flower arrangement while Alice started making more cakes and pies for the bakery and Victor began doing bulk bread processing -- and then I discovered two things:

A) The new update, which added slots to the tops of a bunch of the toilets and sinks? It has a dark side, and that dark side is that Sims WILL put random shit on those slots. As seen with Victor putting his bread on top of the toilet in the bathroom stall. *facepalm* I moved it out of the bathroom with haste and quickly put -- I don’t recall what it’s called, I think it’s related to the menstrual cycle stuff in Wonderful Whims, which I don’t use, but it’s like a little spray bottle that you MIGHT find in a bathroom like this, and it took up one of the slots on top of each toilet, making them less of a good place to drop baked goods.

B) Smiler actually didn’t have that much to do, as the flower arrangement shelves were full, and there was no more room for any of the baked goods from the cupcake machine in the bakery section. Whoops. ^^; Fortunately, there was another protest going on nearby in the little square, and when Smiler batted over to say hello, who should they encounter but Jameson, the guy they met over in Henford-On-Bagley on fair day! :D Smiler promptly renewed the acquaintance, and they had a nice chat together. Them being the most social of all my Sims DOES make keeping them occupied easier. XD

-->And while THAT was going on, I decided it was about time I had Victor test out his Copypasto skills! Now, as I reported back in the Finchwick Fair update, there was no way for me to have him Copypasto any of the cans and boxes from the Simsonian Canning Factory mod (you know, like the canned peas and such). . .but he COULD Copypasto the various sauces and preserves, since those are the same as the ones you get from Cottage Living itself! And so Victor set about copying as many jars of jam and sauce as he could. . .

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: Imani and Jameson's beef comes to a head as secrets are revealed.

Warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI), smut!!!, daddy kink (male character being referred to as that), p in v sex (shower sex), toxic relationship (intentional jealousy, deception, lying), usage of the n word -- if you white and read it, you owe us $20, -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 14.2k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm circle of light over the room. EJ lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, while Genie rested next to him – her leg drawn across his. The sound of the wind outside the cabin filled the quiet space, a gentle reminder of the snowy world beyond their cozy retreat.

“I think we fucked up a little bit,” EJ said finally, his voice low but weighted as he rubbed his hand down her side.

Genie glanced up from where she had been tracing absent-minded patterns on his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Inviting Mani and Jamie,” EJ clarified, turning his head to look at her. “It’s already tense, and it’s only the first night. Did you see the way they were looking at each other at dinner? Damn near thought my boy was about to take that other nigga head off.”

Genie shifted onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I saw. I’m sorry. I just…I wanted Mani here. I didn’t know Jamie was coming. But they’re adults. They can handle themselves.”

“It’s okay, baby. You didn’t know.” EJ snorted softly. “But can they, though? They was acting weird all day. And Imani…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What about her?” Genie pressed, her tone sharper than she intended. EJ had been supportive when she and Imani were going through their issues – but he was increasingly negative about her friend. 

EJ hesitated, then sat up slightly, resting his weight on his forearm. “Look, I know that’s your girl and I respect that. But she’s got this...thing about her. Like she stirs the pot just by being in the room. And Jameson’s not exactly steady when it comes to her. It’s like a recipe for disaster.”

Genie frowned, sitting up fully and crossing her legs beneath her. “That’s not fair. Imani didn’t ask to be in this situation. And she’s not stirring the pot, EJ. She’s just...here. Existing. I invited her. She is my family.”

“I understand, baby. But let’s not pretend she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Mixing him up, spinning his head. She drives him crazy and she likes it that way.” EJ countered, his voice tinged with frustration. “Baby, she had the chance to leave his ass after he fucked up. And she did. But where she at right now?”

Genie sighed, rubbing her temples as she sat up with him. “It’s more complicated than that, EJ. And you shouldn’t put all the blame on her. Alot of their issues? Jamie’s fault.”

“That may be so but that’s when she’s supposed to let him go. Both of them should let go. Jameson did.” “And so did she! She’s here with Isaiah.”

EJ stared at her. “We both know that’s not the same. She brought him to fuck with Jameson.”

“She didn’t even know he’d be here.” “She had to know there was a good chance he’d be here, baby. C’mon.” “No, you c’mon! You come down so hard on her all the time, EJ. She’s noticed the only one fucked up.” “No, she’s not. But Jameson is trying not to be.” “How do you know what she’s trying to do?” “I know what she’s already done. She fucked Jameson up when she left and then she hurt you too. Back to back, the two people I love most in this world! Hung up over her. Crying for her. While she lived her best life on a fucking yacht somewhere. Out at parties. I watched you check your phone over and over for her call. Same as he did. She hurt you. She hurt him. I don’t trust her.”

Genie was quiet, watching how upset he seemed to be at her defense of Imani. “Baby, I’m okay.” His desire to protect her was noble but she couldn’t help but think he put far too much responsibility on Imani. “She said she was sorry. We’re working on things. We’re okay.”

“Now you are.” EJ muttered, shaking his head. “And now he is. With Camille. So of course she comes back and gets everything all mixed up again.”

“Maybe they need to see each other, work through whatever’s still lingering.”

EJ gave her a skeptical look. “You really think that’s going to happen without blowing up in everyone’s faces?”

“I think we should give them the benefit of the doubt,” Genie said firmly. “It wasn’t her fault that Jameson was hurt. It was a combination of his actions.”

“And what about you? Why were you hurt?”

Genie sighed softly, framing his face in her hands. “Because she didn’t know how to face her feelings. She walked away from Jameson for her own good. And she thought she’d have to face them with me. Was it the right way to go about it? No. But I think we both know sometimes you aren’t thinking straight when you’re traumatized. And their breakup was traumatizing, EJ. Cut her some slack.” 

EJ shook his head, leaning back against the headboard and pulling away from her. “Then why is she back if leaving him was for her own good?”

Genie sighed softly, her expression softening. “I don’t know. The heart wants what it wants, I guess. Baby, you don’t know everything Imani’s been through. She’s had a rough year. And yeah, she’s made mistakes, but she’s trying to be happy. Jameson is getting that chance. Why shouldn’t she have one?”

EJ sighed, running a hand over his face. “I just don’t want to see her hurt you. Or Jameson, for that matter.”

“She’s not going to hurt me,” Genie said quietly. “And as for Jameson...he’s got Camille now. He’s fine. Right?”

“Camille’s a good woman,” EJ said, his tone soft. “She’s steady, kind, and she’s got her head on straight. If Jameson’s smart, he’ll stick with her.”

Genie tilted her head, studying him. “You really think she’s the one for him?”

“Honestly? No. I think Imani is what he wants. But I think Camille is what he needs,” EJ replied. “Someone who won’t complicate his life. Someone who won’t...drag him back into the past.”

Genie bit her lip, considering his words. “Maybe you’re right. But it’s not our place to decide, honey. They’ll figure it out.”

He reached out, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a asshole about Imani. I just want this trip to go well. No drama, no stress.”

Genie snuggled against his chest, her voice muffled. “Me too. But...if there is drama, we’ll deal with it. Shit happens when the family gets together, right?”

EJ kissed the top of her head, laughing softly. “That it does.”

They lay there in comfortable silence for a moment before Genie spoke again, her voice hesitant. “I’m going to put Imani in the wedding. So I need you to get over this beef you have with her.”

EJ tensed, his whole body going still as he tried to figure out what to say. “I…Wedding? What wedding?”

Genie smiled, her breath warm against his skin. “I saw the ring. Don’t be mad.” She lifted her head, peering up at him. “I love you. And I trust you.” Whether he knew it or not, she had done a lot of thinking over the week. Marriage was a big step and it was terrifying…but Genie wanted to take those steps with him. He was frantic about getting everything perfect because he wanted her dreams to come true. How could she doubt that? “I’m going to say yes. So stop worrying.”

“That’s why you wanted Imani here?” Genie nodded slowly, hoping that telling him the truth wasn’t ruining the surprise too badly. “I panicked. And then you came home right after I found it…and you showed me in every single way that marrying you would be the best thing I could ever do. This house could fall around us and I’d still say yes because I love you.” 

EJ dipped his head, kissing Genie soundly. He had been worried about the trip. Her father would be there in the morning, he wanted to time it all just right. Then Imani and Jameson gave him more to worry about. Despite being caught off guard…he felt himself relax at the knowledge that she wanted to say yes. Even if everything didn’t go perfectly right – they would have each other.

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came with a blanket of fresh snow muffling the world outside. Jameson lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, his thoughts refusing to settle. He had been in a state since Imani showed up with Isaiah. Their little game had taken on a life of its own.

For every kiss he gave Camille, Imani had two for Isaiah. For every laugh he shared with Camille, she had a grope from her companion for the weekend. It put tension in the air and everyone could sense it. Especially Camille. She hadn't complained, hadn't mentioned it. But she held on to Jameson just a little tighter. Even when they crawled into bed together after an exhausting day, she seemed to want his attention -- without Imani around.

As frustrated as he was, Jameson didn't fuck the woman that practically begged him to. He promised her the next day -- swearing it was because he was tired but the reality was...he couldn't focus. Imani's room ended up just down the hall from theirs. All he could think about what the shit they were doing behind those closed doors. Rejected for the evening, Camille was already asleep beside him, her breathing soft and even, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

He should have been at peace. The day had been long but good—Camille had laughed with him on the slopes, and they’d shared hot chocolate by the fire. But all he saw was Imani doing the same with Isaiah. As he closed his eyes, the quiet of the cabin was broken by muffled sounds from down the hall.

A low murmur. A laugh. A moan.

Jameson’s jaw clenched as realization hit. Where they...? Of course they were. Leave it to Imani to go too far.

He tried to block it out, shifting slightly in bed, but the sounds only grew louder. The rhythmic creak of the bed frame, the occasional gasp, and Isaiah’s deep voice murmuring something he couldn’t make out. He sat up in bed, flipping the cover back. The urge to interrupt and ruin their evening strong. The only thing that stopped him was Camille.

She stirred from her sleep when he sat up, her hand pressed to his shoulder. When Jameson turned to look back at her, she looked confused but was ready to follow him if something was wrong. "Go back to sleep, baby." He murmured, "Everything's fine. I just wanted to get my headphones."

She blinked at him, nodding slowly before laying back down. But the noises were louder. Her eyes went wide as she looked over at him. "Are they–"

"Yes." He answered emotionlessly.

"Well then." Camille muttered. "At least somebody around here is getting it."

"You want me to fuck you so everybody hears?" Jameson asked her as he got up, moving to his suitcase. "Will that prove we're real and crazy about each other? Because that's the only reason she's doing it."

"No. But I'd prefer it if you showed any interest in having fun with me this weekend." "What do you think I've been doing, Cami?" "Worrying about your ex."

Jameson yanked the headphones out of his suitcase, turning to glare at his girlfriend. She wasn't wrong but he hated being called on it. There was no explaining what Imani did to him. She drove sanity out of his head. He did and said stupid shit when it came to her. It seemed he always would. His chest tightened, a wave of anger and something darker, more painful, rising in him. He hated that she could do this to him.

“I'm worried she's going to ruin this for Genie and EJ.” he muttered under his breath, making his way back to the bed. "I'm worried I'll get out of pocket and fuck it up with her. She seems to like me best when I'm out of my mind."

For a moment, he saw the sympathy in Camille. She sighed softly and lay back down, waiting for him to join her. One he did, she snuggled up to him. "The only way to win with her is to stop falling into the trap. Focus on EJ and Genie. Focus on us. Now...what are we listening to?"

He nodded, knowing she was right. For a moment, he could ignore the noises coming from down the hall. He could pretend he didn't know the difference between her fake moans and the actual ones of pleasure when that goofy bastard managed to hit something right. "Nat King Cole." he told Camille.

"Good." She closed her eyes and snuggled next to him as he put the headphones on. He couldn't hear Imani anymore and part of his anger faded as he pushed play on his phone's playlist. Camille kept her head pressed to his chest, the music filtering to her ears as she also ignored Imani and Isaiah.

Maybe if she got lucky, Imani would keep pushing Jameson's buttons. The angrier he got, the more he kept his distance. At least, that’s what she hoped for.

The soft glow of dawn crept into the room, painting the walls with a pale, golden hue. Camille stirred, her eyes fluttering open to the peaceful sight of Jameson still asleep beside her. His face was relaxed, his breathing steady, and she couldn’t help but smile. The headphones he had worn to bed were askew on his head.

For all the chaos surrounding this trip, moments like this made it worth it.

She slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, heading to the ensuite bathroom and getting ready for the day. Jameson still remained asleep so Camille pulled the headphones from his head and kissed him softly. She got dressed in a sweater and leggings before heading downstairs. The house was still, the only sound the faint creak of the floorboards under her feet.

In the kitchen, she set to work, humming softly to herself as she cracked eggs and whisked batter for pancakes. Breakfast in bed didn’t sound like a terrible idea. After the night Jameson had, she wanted there to be a contrast. Imani stressed him out, she made everything easier. Maybe it’d make it a simple decision for him.

“Morning,” a voice called, startling her. “Looks like somebody had the same idea as me.”

Camille turned to see EJ standing in the doorway, his hand lifted to scratch at his neck as he yawned. He made his way to the coffee machine, going through the routine that he did every morning.

“Morning,” Camille replied with a smile. “Didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t,” EJ assured her, “Genie’s dad is flying in today. I wanted to be up and make sure his room’s ready.”

“Kendrick Adesanya?” Camille questioned, eyes going wide. “My dad would kill to meet him. I wonder if he’ll give me an autograph.”

EJ laughed. “Most people would kill to meet him. When Genie first took me to his house for dinner, I felt like I was going to pass out. You making breakfast for yourself?"

“Un-uh,” she replied, her voice light but slightly strained. “Jameson. Figured I’d surprise him. Let him sleep in a little.”

EJ nodded and moved to the fridge, pulling out ingredients for an omelet. “I’m making something for Genie. She’s still out cold, but I promised her breakfast in bed.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Camille said, a hint of admiration in her tone.

EJ shrugged, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Gotta keep her happy. Happy soon to be wife, happy life?”

They both laughed before getting back to work in earnest. They worked in silence for a few moments, the clinking of utensils and the smell of butter filling the space. Finally, EJ broke the quiet. “So…how are things with Jameson?”

Camille hesitated, her spatula pausing mid-air. “Good,” she said, but there was a tightness to her voice. “I mean, I think they’re good. He’s been...a little distant, though. I think this weekend is a lot for him so far.”

EJ glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “Distant how?”

Camille sighed, setting down the spatula and turning to face him. “I don’t know. It’s just...with everything that’s happened, I feel like there’s this gulf between us. Like he’s not completely here, you know? He’s holding himself at a distance.”

EJ nodded slowly, whisking the eggs. “I’m sorry. That’s a tough spot to be in. I didn’t mean for that to happen to you guys.”

“It’s not your fault. And then there’s Imani,” Camille added, her voice dropping. “I mean, I know he says he’s over her, but it’s hard not to feel like she’s always there. They circle around each other like they don’t know what to think or say. Especially after…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“After what?” EJ prompted, glancing at her.

Camille hesitated, then sighed. “After hearing her and Isaiah – well, I woke up in the middle of the night and we could hear them. They were…having sex. Down the hall the other night.”

EJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Camille said, her cheeks flushing. “It was...loud. And it triggered something in him. He got agitated and then we argued a bit. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. It’s like she’s trying to prove something. To him and me. She still has a hold on him and we all know it.”

EJ set down the whisk and turned to face her fully, leaning against the counter. “I told you she did. Camille –” He stopped himself, Genie’s words from earlier echoing in his mind: Let them figure it out on their own.

“What?” Camille asked, her eyes searching his face.

EJ shook his head, offering her a small smile. “Nothing. I uh – I just wanted to say I was sorry for how messy shit has gotten. You and Jameson will figure it out. You’ve got a good thing going. Trust each other — don’t let anyone else fuck with that.”

Camille studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, EJ. I appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” he said, turning back to his omelet.

They finished cooking in companionable silence, and as Camille gathered her tray to take upstairs, EJ grabbed his plate.

“Good luck,” he said as they headed for the stairs.

Jameson was still asleep when she entered the room, his arm draped across the bed where she had been. She set the tray down on the nightstand and gently shook his shoulder, kissing his cheek softly. He grunted in his sleep, slowly opening his eyes and turning his head to peer at her.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “I made you breakfast.” “Good morning,” he replied, smiling. He sat up, groggy but alert, as she placed the tray on his lap. “Thank you, baby. But you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. You had a long night” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But I am not going to hover. I’m heading to the slopes with EJ’s sister. She invited us both last night but you should sleep in a little more.”

Jameson nodded, taking a sip of coffee and a bite of the bacon. “You sure? I can go with you.” He said softly, lifting his head to offer her a kiss.

Camille leaned in, “It’s fine. We’re going to have a girl's morning. You get some rest.” She kissed him soundly, gently brushing a crumb from his face. "But promise you'll make some time for me tonight before EJ and Genie's dinner." He gave her a quick nod. “I promise. Thank you. Be careful.”

“I will,” she promised, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

It took a minute for her to get dressed. Jameson watched her the entire time, eating his breakfast and subtly asking for kisses each time. For the first time since they’d gotten to Aspen, it felt like he was all about her. As she left the room, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Sloane.

Her heart sank as she made her way down the stairs and crossed the living room and exited the front door – phone buzzing all the while. Finally, when she was sure she was alone, Camille answered. “What do you want?” 

“Hey, girl. I was just wondering how Aspen was.” Sloane’s voice chimed, deceptively light. “You’re starting to get a little unhinged behind a man that has never wanted you.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone and Camille took the opportunity to go for a kill shot. “Imani. She’s my real competition. It’s never been you. And I’m sorry, Sloane, it never will be.”

There was more silence and guilt start to set in – Camille knew she had been cruel but she couldn’t help it. There were all these forces against she and Jameson. She just wanted to protect what they were trying to build. Sloane was a threat that she could handle easily…or so she thought.

“For a minute, I started to feel bad for what I’ve done. I’ve been there. Wanting something I don’t deserve.” Sloane said slowly, her voice was calm…almost eerie. “You and I…we’re a lot alike. But unlike you, I knew when my time was up. You’re greedy enough to want more.”

“Sorry for what you’ve done?” Camille got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Oh you’re curious about that, are you?” Sloane’s tone was almost teasing, but it carried an undercurrent of malice. “Sloane…” “I just told the truth. For once in my life, I told the absolute truth. You probably have a couple of hours before it all blows up in your face.”

Camille froze, her grip tightening on the phone. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” Sloane replied with a laugh. “Enjoy your baecation while it lasts. But remember this – I saved you from living a lie. Even when you’re angry, remember I did you a favor.”

The line went dead, leaving Camille standing there, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She heard the front door open and jumped when Ella called her name.

“You ready to go, girl?” 

Camille had to give the girl a smile – praying she couldn’t see the underlying tension. “Of course. Let’s…let’s go.”

He was second-guessing himself but as Jameson lifted his hand to twist the doorknob, there wasn’t much he could do to stop. He should have spent the day sleeping and resting -- but he couldn't fully let go of his anger. He heard movement in Imani’s room and figured it was her. Irritation was burrowing underneath his skin. The past four days had been stressful. Psychological warfare with Imani was rough. Every sweet thing he did with Camille, Imani made sure she topped it with – what was his fucking name? Who was he kidding? He didn’t give a shit.

The door swung open and he came face to face with her…, which immediately ignited his agitation. “You realize you aren’t the only one here right?” He said abruptly, leaning against the door frame.

Imani was on her phone, checking a few of her emails. She missed the group’s excursion to the slopes because she couldn’t decide what to wear, so she stayed behind and was glad she did. She was tired of seeing Jameson with Camille. She needed a damn break, but of course, fate wouldn’t allow it. Because there was an angry Jameson standing in her room. She exhaled her annoyance and turned her head quickly to stare at him. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Have you lost your damn mind? Don’t you know how to knock?”

“I didn’t think you cared about manners. You know we all heard ya’ll fucking last night, right?” Jameson asked her, his emotions heightened by the fact that she seemed ready to have it out with him.

That meant her mission was accomplished. Imani wanted Jameson to hear her having sex with Isaiah. She wanted to do anything she could to make him jealous. “My bad.” Imani didn’t bother to look up at him. Instead, she kept scrolling through her phone. 

“Your bad?” He questioned, face frowning up as he moved further into the room without invitation. “You don’t think that was fucked up?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry,” Imani said. She didn’t give a damn about what Jameson had to say. “Is that better for you, friend?”

“That’s it?” He said, agitated by her lack of remorse...and the fact that she called him friend. “Y'all couldn’t go rent a room somewhere or something? It was nasty. Genie won’t tell you that. Neither will EJ but I will.”

She paused, squinting her eyes at his audacity. EJ and Genie were on a separate wing than they were. She didn’t think they heard her at all. Her goal was to only capture his ears and it seemed like that was accomplished. “Jameson, you haven’t said nothing to me this whole trip. If you not EJ or Genie, I really don’t give a fuck about what you have to say.”

His brows furrowed in confusion as he moved further into the room, arms folded over his chest defensively. “And what would you like me to say to you?” He asked, tilting his head. “You ain’t said shit to me either. All you do is follow that nigga around giggling.”

The civil war Imani and Jameson had been engaged in the past two days was intense. They hadn't caused too much of a fuss but each was determined to one up each other…despite the fact that their last conversation consisted of each declaring the desire to be friends. They had failed.

Imani chuckled, “Ain’t we supposed to be friends, now, right? That’s what you said on that damn podcast. It shouldn’t be that hard to talk to your friend.” 

“Did I lie? We agreed to be friends.” Jameson glared at her, the dots connecting in his head. Was she…mad about him saying they were friends? “Are you mad at me for not talking to you regularly? It’s complicated with us. I didn’t know what to say. I just figured…we parted on good terms so we were good. But the way you acting, I’m starting to think we ain’t.”

She looked at him through squinted eyes. “The way I’m actin’? I ain’t the one that’s bustin’ up in your room policin’ the way you fuck! That’s you!” 

“We gone act like I didn’t come in here for a fucking reason?” He retorted, matching her energy. “You fucked that nigga where I could hear you!”

“And the other day, you had that bitch whimperin’ where I could hear so I don’t think we any different.” 

“That was a fucking kiss, Mani. I ain’t fucked Cami in days because I knew you were down the hall. That’s the difference between us.” It would have been easy to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about but they were too deep in the game to lie. “I don’t get off making you feel like shit.”

She tilted her head at him. “Why the fuck does it matter what me and Isaiah do at night? You moved on. You coulda fucked Camille if you wanted to!” 

And there it was. The first time either of them had vocalized the root of the shit they were battling about. He couldn't believe her audacity.

“You moved on first.” Jameson told her coldly. He didn’t even bother broaching the other topics. “You left me. You said ‘one day’. Next thing I know, you tonguing down some random. You moved on first.”

The elephant in the room seemed to grow bigger the more each of them talked. When he finished speaking, Imani lapsed into silence but he could see that she was mentally calculating. 

She clenched her jaw, tired of holding back all of the truths she spared him from. “I never moved on! You wifed a bitch and sang your heart out about her. None of them niggas could say I was theirs like Camille can say you hers.”

He couldn't let himself hope. Jameson forced himself to ignore the fact that she declared she had never moved on from him. He forced himself to ignore the way his heart thudded. Instead, he got angry. It was easier to deal with anger than fear. 

“You think I gave a fuck about that?!” He shouted, “You ain’t post them but I still saw it! I’m at home drinking just so I can sleep and not dream of you but you was out having the time of your life!” He clapped his hands together, punctuating each word he uttered. “Song after song about you before I made anything about her! I made ‘em until I couldn’t mourn anymore! You should be fucking happy it took me six months to even think of somebody else because if I was the nigga you think I am, I coulda had ten bitches the day you left my house.”

Her voice was stuck in her throat. Imani remembered all of his pain and suffering she heard through Midnight and instantly she felt a tinge of guilt, but she shook her head. The feeling died out quickly when she reminded herself they were in a fight. “You think that shit was easy for me!?” Her voice rose a few octaves as she threw her hands up then touched her chest. “I thought that doing that shit would make me forget about you and the mistake I made! But nothing fuckin’ worked. I was fucking alone! All I had was thoughts of you.” 

That damn thudding in his chest began again. His heart skipped a beat and he shook his head, doing his best not to ignore everything else she was saying. He couldn't highlight the good shit and ignore the bad. Jameson forced himself not to comfort her. 

“You chose to be alone, Mani. You left me and you left Genie. That was your decision.” He told her heatedly. “Don't compare that to me. You didn't see me with anybody until Cami. You on your third fling and this nigga got a post. You call him daddy. Let him fuck you down the hall from me. You ain't having it hard.”

“I was doing what I thought was right for us!” She chose to ignore his other claims because those flings meant nothing to her. They weren’t Jameson. She could never be as serious with them as he was with Camille, because her heart was with someone else. 

“I was doing what I thought was right! I let you go, I didn’t fight. Stop comparing that!” “How the fuck is it any different?” She yelled. "It killed me to let you go. But you just kept going."

Instead of granting him a response, she pushed his forehead with her index finger and said, “Fuck you, Jamie! You don’t know how I felt. You don’t know what the fuck I went through.”

They broke each other’s heart trying to do right by one another. Before he could respond that he was doing the same…she pressed a digit to his head. What the fuck?

He came right back, his eyes screwing up to see her finger pressed to his head in disbelief. He lifted his arm — knocking her hand from his head as he gazed at her fingers. The diamond shone brightly, almost shocking him. It was the one he bought her. Had she always worn it? “We did that already. Before you gave that nigga pity pussy, I showed you how to play the fuck you game. Unfortunately for you, you stuck with that nigga now. You made that bed, lay in it.”

She could tell he was talking shit. Made the bed now lay in it? He had proven himself jealous. He wanted her. Why wasn't he taking her? Why did he ignore her obvious feelings?

Imani laughed loudly. “You really want me to believe that you havin’ better sex than me? That you don't want me?” She retorted. “Nigga, you pent up as fuck. I see it all in your face.” 

Jameson kissed his teeth, rolling his eyes. It was true but he'd be damned if he admitted it. Sex with Cami was fine. They both got off. It was normal, typical sex. Radically different from what he had with Mani. But he didn't think he had anything to prove to her so he didn't answer. “I ain't ask you to believe shit. I'm just telling you that I know he not getting the job done. You forget that I know how you sound when you really want it.” 

She smirked, knowing she was right. Imani rolled her eyes at him. “Get the fuck out my room.” She said. “Oh, and take my watch off while you’re at it.”

He blinked at her, head jerking to the side as he tried to process what the fuck she was saying. “Fuck that and fuck you. This my watch.”

“Why the fuck are you even wearing that shit anyways!?” She said with her hands on her hips. “Camille ain’t gave you no other shit to wear?”

“It's my fucking watch. That's enough reason.” Jameson replied, frowning at her. “You said it was a mistake to leave me — you should be happy I'm wearing it.”

“I should be happy? I should be happy you’re wearin’ the fucking watch I gave you while you parade around here with another woman?” She repeated through squinted eyes. “What kinda sick fucking game are you playing?”

“Same game you playing.” He responded with venom, gesturing to her hand. He had seen it when she pushed his head but he was so angry at her that he didn't comment. “You fuck that nigga wearing my ring?”

Silence lapsed between them and Imani curled her fingers into a fist, wanting desperately to hide the damn ring…but he had already seen it. Fuck. She forgot to take off the ring when he came into the room. “And what if I did?” She finally said. She only wore his ring to calm herself down. It was the only piece of him she had and it brought her comfort. But it was not working right now. She was mad as fuck. “I know you fuckin’ that bitch wearing my watch!” 

“Mhm. I do.” He confirmed, lashing out just as she was. He just kept staring at the ring on her finger as if he were lost in his own thoughts. “I can't take the fucking thing off and it's your fault. I tried but I can't.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him. “What the hell you mean you can’t take it off, Jamie? You need me to fuckin’ help you?”

“Don't.” He mumbled, glaring at her. “Don't touch me, Mani. I swear to God…”

His words were a challenge for her. “Or what? The fuck you gone do, Jameson?” Imani glared at him as silence fell between them. Without another word, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

He jerked his hand away from her. It was insanity but…this was exciting. Arguing with her, yelling shit they probably could have just sat down and talked about. It lit something inside him. He hated it…and loved it. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out for her. Jameson jerked her closer by her neck, grasping her loosely. He opened his mouth to say something but…what could he say? What else was to be said? He didn’t think about Camille or the fact that this was their friends’ engagement trip. All he could think about was that she had carried a part of him with her. He never took the watch off for that reason but it didn’t occur to him she felt the same way.

Jameson angled his head, his movements sleek and precise, and finally kissed her.

She was hesitant at first. Then Imani’s hand was on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, wanting a taste of him, because she didn’t know if it would be her last. Imani pulled away just so she could catch her breath. “I missed you,” she said. Her lips found his again. 

He caught the words she whispered and any common sense that would have stopped him from cheating on Camille fled. All he could hear was her. All he could feel was the way she touched him. For the first time in a year, he felt like himself again. “I missed you too.” He answered honestly, his hand releasing her wrist and anchoring against her hips as he slowly dipped…then picked her up, gathering her in his arms.

It was disgraceful. It was wrong. But fuck it felt good to hold her again. He knew he wasn’t going to stop. It had been over a year. Thirteen months, nineteen days, and six hours since he got to kiss her. He suffered, feeling the ghost of her under his skin while he did his best to pretend everything was fine. He went to therapy, he said and did all the right things to get his life back on track – and none of that felt as good as his fingers grasping a handful of ass and hearing her whimper.

The two stumbled backward, tipping over onto the bed. Imani straddled him, Jameson’s hands were roaming. They sat that way – kissing, tongues tangling and stroking one another, heads shifting left and right. Both of them were desperate for each other. The door was wide open but pausing to ensure their privacy didn’t appeal to either. Jameson reared back, his hand leaving her ass and straight down into her velour tracksuit. 

Imani hissed against his mouth, breaking the kiss to peer down between them. She watched his hand fumbling until they pushed her panties aside and dipped between her folds. His fingertips grazed against her piercing and she moaned. She was already wet and part of her hated to admit it – but it was their argument that did it.

They were toxic. They were each other’s drug of choice. They had both gotten clean but the addiction lingered like a shadow. Something they couldn’t outrun, no matter how many times they tried to walk away.

Imani leaned over him, her breath shallow, her pulse racing. Her hands framed his face and forced Jameson’s gaze to meet her own. They didn’t exchange words but they understood each other immediately. They were choosing to be together…at least for this moment. Imani slowly lifted his shirt, waiting for him to stop her but he didn’t. All he did was pull his hands from her pants, lifted his arms, and let her.

She saw bare chest and shoulders, broad and just the same as always. Then she saw nothing. Jameson tilted her head back and took her mouth again.

Imani didn’t waste time. They had none to spare. She rolled her hips hard against him and raked her acrylics across his shoulders and then down his chest. She felt her fingers against his biceps and then his abs – searching for more while Jameson shoved his hand back down the tracksuit that neither bothered to rid her of.

“Fuck,” he groaned against her mouth. “Baby, now.” Imani murmured.

Like a man given his orders, Jameson shifted slightly to the side and began to fuck her with his fingers. Imani’s eyes fluttered closed as she rocked herself on then off his digits. Every time she slid forward, she ground her hips down – taking his fingers but beckoning his dick to harden against her. She was practically out of her mind but she had enough sense to hold on to him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he panted against her ear.

For a few minutes, she rode him like that – both of them alternating between kissing and watching his fingers twist and thrust inside her. She could feel the orgasm racing up her spine but it felt so out of reach.

Imani opened her mouth to beg for more but his thumb pressed to her clit and she inhaled sharply. Just then…they heard the front door slam.

Imani froze but Jameson didn’t stop. He kept stroking her, kissing her neck. Maybe it was because she missed him. Maybe it was because she could hear footsteps downstairs. Whatever it was…it made her shudder against him. She came on a gasp so quickly that it shocked them both. Jameson lifted his free hand, covering her mouth as she kept circling her hips, riding out the high…until he couldn’t take it anymore.

They heard the footsteps below but Jameson moved like he had all the time in the world. He pulled his fingers free, rising from the bed, and hiked her higher in his arms. Kicking her bedroom door closed, he did the same to the shirt she had peeled from his body – doing his best to make sure it was under the bed. Then he strode into the ensuite bathroom and kicked that door closed behind them too.

All Imani could do was hold on to him, not saying a word. It would have been smart to stop but as their eyes met – she knew they wouldn’t. Jameson lowered her to stand…and then he locked the door.

The soft chime of her laptop pulled Genie’s attention away from the mug of tea she’d been nursing for the past hour. After breakfast with EJ, her father had finally arrived. Genie was so excited that she didn’t care about skiing or sledding or whatever activities EJ had planned. She sat with her father and felt like a kid again – following him around the house and helping him get settled. Finally, he left her to get some rest and she had pouted.

Instead of going out into the cold, Genie decided to do some work. She had emails to go through. Offers for gowns to events, modeling offers, and even fashion jobs but one in particular caught her eye. She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing at the sight of a name she hadn’t seen there in…a while.

Sloane.

Her first instinct was to delete it. Whatever Sloane had to say couldn’t be good, and Genie wasn’t in the mood for more drama. She and Jameson had truly rooted her out of their lives and she was glad to keep it that way but curiosity got the better of her. With a sigh, she clicked the email open.

The message was long, rambling, and filled with justifications and excuses. But the gist of it was – Jameson was once again the object of her obsession. Sloane’s words were laced with guilt and a desperation to come clean.

“I never meant for things to go this far. I swear it was just meant to convince Jameson to talk to me. I’ve only ever had you guys as friends for real. I knew once he forgave me that you might too. I only gave her advice on how to get become friends with Jamie — what he liked, what he didn’t. I recently saw that they were together and I asked Camille about it. She wouldn’t even talk to me. Once she got what she wanted, I was history. I’m sorry, Genie. I had no idea that she was like this. I just wanted my friends back and I used her to do it. I didn’t realize what a mistake that would be.”

Genie’s heart pounded as she reread that section of the email. A mix of disbelief and anger bubbled up inside her. Camille? Sloane coaching her? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be true. Why the fuck would either of them think that’d be a good idea?

Then again…it was. It worked. Camille got close. Genie knew Sloane wasn’t telling her this from the goodness of her heart. She was probably pissed that Camille and Jameson were dating.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she slammed the laptop shut. No. If Sloane had something to say, she could say it to her face — or at least over the phone.

Genie grabbed her phone and unblocked Sloane’s number before dialing it. It rung but then had no answer. Genie quickly flipped the laptop back open and sent three words in response to the email: Call me. Now.

The line rang once – the number unfamiliar to Genie – before she picked up, her voice tense. “What the fuck is this email about?”

There was a pause, and then Sloane sighed. “Look, I messed up, okay? I didn’t think it would go this far.”

“I don’t care about your explanation or your feelings. Tell me what’s going on?” Genie snapped.

Sloane launched into the story, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to explain. She admitted to coaching Camille, giving her tips on how to appeal to Jameson — how to get under his skin. It was supposed to be for friendship reasons but Genie wasn’t naive enough to buy that shit.

Her grip on her phone tightened as Sloane’s confession unraveled. By the time she finished, Genie was shaking with anger.

“So you told this girl how to play Jameson? It was all a lie?” Genie’s voice was low, dangerous.

“To give her credit, I think she really does want to be with him. But…” Sloane said weakly. “But?!” “If you play games to get what you want, you’ll always be playing. Isn’t that way you and Jameson stopped being friends with me? Trust? You can’t trust Camille. Just like you couldn’t trust me. Eventually, she’ll start playing the same games to get what she wants.”

Genie hung up without another word, her mind racing. She couldn’t let this slide. Not again. 

She looked all over the house for Camille but of course she wasn’t there. It wasn’t until EJ told her that she’d gone skiing with his sister that she realized the truth. Genie got dressed, ignoring EJ’s questions – simply saying she wanted to ski too.

It took almost forty-five minutes for her to make it to the damn mountain. By then, she was hotter than fish grease. She had stood back and let Sloane have her way. She knew the girl was no good and still let Jameson linger around her. She wasn’t going to do it again. Especially not when EJ said he wanted something good for himself.

When she saw the two, Ella spotted her first. Genie greeted her future sister in law warmly but cut her eyes at Camille. “We need to talk,” she told her, asking Ella to wait for them at the lift.

Camille nodded, agreeing quietly. “What’s going on?”

“I just got off the phone with Sloane,” Genie said, crossing her arms as she glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be heard by Ella. “Care to explain why she’s telling me you aren’t to be trusted?”

Camille’s pretty went pale and Genie almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Until she started lying. “I…I don’t know what she's talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Genie snapped. “She told me everything. How she coached you, how you followed her little plan to befriend Jameson. Was any of it real, Camille? Or was this just some weird ass game to you both?”

Camille opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“That’s what I thought,” Genie said, her voice shaking with anger. “You played my brother. You used him.”

“No! I didn’t!” Camille said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just – I didn’t expect to fall for him. But I did. I love Jameson. Sloane is the one – ”

Genie took a step closer, her eyes blazing. “No. You don’t get to play the victim here. You don’t get to pretend that it’s just Sloane. You manipulated him too. And I swear to god, you’re going to fix it.”

“But I…How?” Camille asked, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You’re going to tell him the truth,” Genie said firmly. “Everything. Or I will.”

Camille’s breath hitched. “Genie, please—”

“No,” Genie interrupted. “Jameson deserves better than this. He deserves the truth. EJ said you were good for him. That you were his new beginning but it’s the same old shit. You’re no better than Sloane. Tell him or I will. And the last bitch I snitched on, my brother cut her out the same night”

Camille trembled, her eyes wide. She fully believed Genie. Time after time, Jameson had told her how much his family meant to him. She knew Genie was serious.

Without another word, Genie turned on her heel, her anger still simmering as she approached Ella. She couldn’t believe she’d ever been willing to give Camille a shot. But one thing was certain — Jameson was going to hear the truth, no matter what. Whatever he decided from that point on was his business.

The water pounded against their skin, a steady rhythm that mirrored their hearts. Their clothes had been discarded in a pile on the floor. Steam filled the small bathroom, swirling around them, blurring the edges of reality. Jameson stood under the stream, his eyes closed, trying to breathe through the tension that threaded through his body. Imani was in front of him, her legs spread and her hand pressed against the stone wall to keep herself balanced. 

He pressed forward, gripping the base of his dick tightly in his grasp as he watched her welcome him in. They both exhaled in relief, pleasure making their skin tingle. The water cascaded over them and covered the sounds they couldn’t help but make. 

One of her hands came back and pressed to his thigh, pulling him forward but Jameson resisted. He only pushed the head into her, pulling back and fucking her with only that. Imani whined – he barely heard it over the spray of the shower but it was there. She turned back to look at him, frustration furrowing her brow. 

“Jamie…” she muttered, biting down on her lower lip. He gave her a little more, hands gripping her ass and pulling her cheeks apart. She gave him a giddy little smile, eyes closing as she tried to rise to the tips of her toes and slide back. One of his hands moved to grasp her waist and he kept her steady.

He couldn’t help the little delirious laugh that left his mouth. He was here with her. She wasn’t a vision or a fantasy. He was pushing into her, ignoring the way she tightened and soaked him. He was doing something wrong but it felt so fucking good that he didn’t think he’d ever find the decency to feel guilty about it. “Yeah. That’s how you sound when you really want it.”

He couldn’t see her face but he heard her words. “Shut the fuck up.”

They couldn’t spare the time, not really. But Jameson didn’t care about being found. He didn’t care about getting caught. All he gave a fuck about were the 415 days he spent without her. The nights where he wondered who got to cuddle up to her. And he decided a few extra minutes for dick couldn’t hurt her.

Jameson froze, bracing as she tried to buck back and force him to act. “Say sorry.”

Imani turned back to glare at him, the words not falling from her mouth. It was ludacris but Jameson grinned down at her, his fingertips digging into her hips to keep her still.

“Say it.” “No. Fuck you.”

He pulled out of her, opening his mouth to retort but there was a knock on the door. Imani’s head turned and she shot up, standing up straight. She stumbled back and Jameson caught her – keeping them both steady as she stared at the door.

“Y-Yeah?” She called out. “You good?”

He heard the voice call out to her and recognized it as Isaiah. He must have been who they heard come into the house. Jameson wondered how much he heard. Imani seemed to wonder the same. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Answer him,” he said softly, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pressed a kiss against her neck to relax her. Imani did what he said and replied to Isaiah, shouting to be heard over the shower. “I’m f-fine.”

“You sure? You ain’t come out of this room all day. I missed you on the slopes.” “I’m sorry. I’m just…not feeling good.” “Let me in, baby. I want to check on you.”

He hated hearing the word ‘babe’ fall from his lips about Imani but Jameson didn’t say a word. He stroked down her thigh, fingertips eventually grazing at her clit. “You want him to check on you?” He teased her, fingers brushing against the silver piercing between her legs. Jameson tugged it down, twisting his fingers so they hit her clit and the piercing within seconds of each other. Imani tensed but didn’t stop him.

“No! No, I’m okay. I’m just… craving…um…caviar.” “...Caviar?”

Jameson snorted with laughter and Imani slapped her hand against his wrist, trying to silence him. He responded by moving his fingers faster, strumming her clit as his foot parted her legs even wider.

“Y-Yes! Caviar!”

She didn’t even eat caviar but Imani would give anything for him to get away from the damn door. Jameson had her legs trembling and she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before she couldn’t hide the fact that she was in bliss. 

“I can see if we got some in the kitchen.” “W-We don’t. Can you go to the market?” “Which one?” “Either one! It doesn’t matter!”

Her voice picked up urgency as she twisted her hips, joining his hand in getting her off. Jameson leaned in, kissing her earlobe before he whispered lowly. “I think we about to get caught. You want him to hear how you sound when you really cum?”

Imani shook her head, refusing Jameson’s request. Isaiah was saying something else but she couldn’t hear him – didn’t want to hear him. All she could hear was Jameson whispering against her ear, all she could feel was his fingers stroking her clit and then moving – wedging inside her. “C’mere. Let me hear it.” He whispered against her ear. She didn’t know if Isaiah was gone or not but Imani knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She gasped, buckling under the pressure as she came with a strangled moan. The orgasm hit her harder than she expected and she crumpled forward, bending at the waist as she tried to escape his hands...but he wouldn’t let her. 

“Tell me you sorry.” Jameson said and Imani didn’t have it in her to deny him anymore. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, grasping his wrist to pull his hand away as she kept coming.

He pushed her hand away, quickening his strokes and adding his other hand to rub her clit. “I can’t hear you.” 

“Baby please, I-I’m sorry.” She yelped, her voice cracking from the pleasure. 

She expected him to be obnoxious about getting an apology but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m sorry too. For everything that led us here.”

Goosebumps spread across her skin but she didn’t have time to process what that meant. No sooner than he said the words, he was pressing into her while she was coming but he didn’t stop at the head. He kept going, pushing in and then pulling out to watch as she coated his dick in her release. “That’s pretty.” He murmured, one hand moving to her ass as the other reached up to grasp her hair. “My baby so fucking wet.” He turned them both in the shower, making her press her hands to the glass enclosing them in the space before his pace increased.

Imani’s jaw dropped as he thrust. He was trusting her to keep them both from falling against the glass and she didn’t have much faith in her abilities. Everything was trembling. Her thighs, her arms, her whole damn body. And there he was – fucking her like they weren’t under a time limit. Like they weren’t in situations with other people.

And she loved every minute of it.

Imani rose to the tips of her toes, rocking her hips hard against him. Their bodies clashed, water splashing between them as their thighs met. Jameson was so hard that it almost hurt him but he didn’t stop. He kept going, angling his hips to dig into her as deeply as he could. He hit that one spot that could damn near blind her and Imani yelped – the sound echoing throughout the bathroom.

“Baby, don’t stop.” she cried out, arms buckling as her body pressed to the glass. She gave up the pretense of holding anything up. He had a firm grip on her hair still. Head pulled back, hips jutted out, she was at his mercy. He slapped his palm against her ass, watching the cheek ripple and a groan left his body. Good. She loved to know that he was going crazy just like she was.

Jameson let her hair go and Imani’s face pressed to the glass, cheek against the cold as her hands reached back to grasp his thighs.

“W-Why you fucking me like this?” she whined, eyes rolling as he throbbed deep within her. “Because,” he grunted, being more honest than he wanted to be. “I love you. I need you. And I missed the fuck out of this pussy.”

That seemed to be the answer her body craved. Imani felt the rush hit her again. Jameson could feel it coming. She squeezed and pulled at his dick so good that he was shocked he hadn’t finished inside her yet. When she lost the ability to speak, he pressed her fully against the glass and bucked his hips – moving so fast that to peer down between them would be like looking at a damn blur. Her ass rebounded each time he pressed forward and Jameson pulled her cheeks apart again – arching her hips the way he liked. 

“I missed this dick so much.” she cried out, shaking as she came and confessed. “Nobody can fuck me like you do.” Her body was trembling uncontrollably as she released wave after wave of warm wetness onto him. The powerful way her pussy clenched tightly had him shaking too. Pulling him in and throbbing with every pulse of pleasure that erupted from within her. The hot water had faded into warm and was bordering on cold now but he didn’t give a shit. Jameson kept going as his soft grunts echoed off the walls of the shower.

“Fuck your pussy, baby,” she muttered, gasping out for breath. She was delirious after her third orgasm but he wasn’t done. He wanted another from her. It was that need to prove to her how he felt. The words weren’t working anymore. Words had failed them both. But when they got like this – they said everything they ever needed to say.

“This mine?” He asked her, moaning when she bobbed her head – nodding so fast that he barely got the question out. “You mean it?”

“Mhm!.” “My fucking baby. That pussy welcoming me home?” “Yes!” She cried, choking the word out with a groan. “Say it’s mine again.” “It’s yours, daddy! I promise.” “You gone give my shit away again?” “Un-uh! I’m never giving your pussy away again.” “Swear it.” “I swear, daddy!” “I’ma make sure you keep that promise.” “Jamie, please. I can’t. I can’t anymore. Cum.” “Not yet. One more. Then I’ll give you everything.” “You promise?” “I swear, baby.”

Imani nodded her head and hiked her leg up, resting it against the shower bench, and went to work. She sensuously rolled her hips against him, looking back over her shoulder and meeting his gaze.

She recognized that wild, borderline delirious look in his eyes. It was the same one she had. “Tell me this dick is mine.” she demanded. She had given him everything, had bared her feelings out throughout sex and she wanted the same from him. When they got out of this shower, she wanted to know he was hers. 

Surprise ignited in Jameson’s eyes and the tightening in his gut told him that he liked her possessiveness. After a year of believing she was apathetic to him, it fed something in him. 

“This your dick.” He told her with a grin. “Say it again,” Imani demanded.

He watched as her hand wedged between her legs, rubbing her sensitive clit. Her legs shook but she fought the urge to close them as his dick swelled within her. “This your dick, baby.”

“Again.” She demanded once more. “This your dick.” He told her seriously, moving his hands to brace against her hips and help her cum around him. “I belong to you. I’m not living if I’m not with you. I’m just existing.”

He watched her face soften as he confessed and Jameson leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He slowed down, giving her deep and hard strokes as she squeaked out his name. He felt her cum around him again and his eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her. He was done for. No good anymore.

Imani’s head fell back to his shoulder and she dragged his hand up her body, resting his hand against her neck. “Choke me.” She moaned out, knowing exactly what he needed. Jameson did as she asked, his thumb and ring finger pressing tightly against the sides of her neck. He didn’t do this with Camille. Comparing the two women never felt right but he had done it. Cami liked to be coddled and petted. He had done it and he enjoyed it. But this? Wild, reckless, uninhibited sex with Imani was heaven. She hummed happily and Jameson lifted his leg – resting it against hers on the bench as he jerked once…twice…and then emptied himself inside her.

They ground their hips against each other, Imani moving in the opposite direction as he did – dragging out their orgasms. Jameson twitched, grunting each time he sunk into her. Peering down between them, he watched his dick – covered in his nut and her cum slide in and out of her. He knew right then and there that he was never going to let this girl leave him again. They were going to have to figure this shit out. He loved fucking her but he loved the way she held on to him even more. His arms were right tightly around her and she sighed happily when he released her neck.

Imani sank into his embrace, silence taking over as the two of them listened to the cold water running and splashing against their feet. Jameson dropped his foot, leaning over to shut the water off and then he pressed his face against her neck – taking a deep breath and holding her tightly.

“I love you, baby.” Imani whispered. “I love you too.” Jameson replied.

Isaiah’s brows furrowed in confusion as he padded down the hallway. His mind still stuck on the whimpers he heard. Caviar? Caviar? Why the fuck would she want that? He shook his head and took a deep breath. Whatever Imani needed him to do, he would do it without question. He was determined to impress her. She was unlike any girl he had ever met – independent, beautiful, and successful in her own right. She was the dream girl of every man. He knew he needed her on his team. 

Entering the kitchen, he spotted Camille sitting at the island with a steaming mug in her hands. Her hands were shaking but still, she blew into it gently – sending plumes of hot steam swirling into the air. Walking over to the fridge, he opened it with hopefulness, searching for caviar. He didn’t want to go outside again. Isaiah was tired of the cold already. To his disappointment, there was none. 

Camille asked him sullenly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Mani just asked me for some caviar.” He said. 

“Caviar? Why would she want that?”

“I don’t know, man. She’s been in the room all day. She told me she wasn’t feeling well and wanted some caviar. Then I heard her in the shower, breathing all heavy and shit. It was fucking weird.”

As Isaiah spoke about Imani’s request, he noticed Camille’s facial expression change slowly. She already looked upset but it was like something had turned her stomach. Confused by her reaction, he narrowed his eyes at her and asked, “What?”

Camille swallowed before speaking again, “Do you know about her history with Jameson?”

Isaiah’s jaw clenched at the mention of that name. He despised Jameson and the feeling appeared to be mutual – all the sharp and icy looks he had been given him this whole weekend was proof enough of that. And then there was the way Jameson looked at Imani. Isaiah didn’t even want to think about it. From what she had told him, he was her ex. But Isaiah wasn’t worried. He knew he could give Imani more opportunities than that nigga ever could. 

“Nah, all I know is he’s her ex.” Isaiah replied with a nonchalant shrug. “I ain’t worried though.” 

Camille seemed defeated when she spoke again. “You should be. I-I don’t think she’s fully over him and she might have invited you out here for the wrong reasons.” 

Isaiah shook his head and waved off her concerns. “You trippin’. Me and Mani good. I’m a go get this caviar for her. I’ll be back.” He walked away to brave the frigid cold outside. Camille’s words stayed in his mind. But he quickly brushed them aside – what did Camille know about their relationship anyway? Jameson may have been Imani’s ex, but he was not Isaiah. 

He couldn’t quite believe that this was reality. Even as they both dried off and he tugged his underwear and pants back on…it didn’t feel real. Jameson kept staring at Imani, wondering if she’d disappear if he blinked too much. They had long since turned off the shower. Jameson sat her on the counter, cleaning up the mess they had both made before they redressed…and now he was standing behind her, holding on as if she’d fade away if he let go. “We got a lot of shit to work out…but I can't tell if I'm just imagining you. Is this real?” He pressed a kiss to her head, sighing softly in relief.

“It’s real.” She turned to face him, gazing into his eyes. Imani grabbed his face. She sighed, “I’m sorry for everything, baby. I wish I did so much shit differently. If I could go back, I would. We woulda worked this shit out and it wouldn’t be all…complicated like it is now.” 

It was insane how he relaxed the more she spoke. When he woke up that morning, he’d done it miserable and pissed at her. And now there he was – putty in her hands. “I can’t blame you too much,” he said softly, contradicting the heated words he’d spat out earlier. “I didn’t make you feel safe. I’m gonna make it uncomplicated. I’ll talk to Camille.”

He felt guilty about it. Camille had only been his girlfriend for a month but they were working towards building something. This was going to come out of left field for her but what else was he supposed to do? Imani was everything. And he was tired of pretending she wasn’t.

In the heat of the moment, she had forgotten about Camille and Isaiah. Imani felt terrible about them being casualties in their mess, but with him in her arms, she would do it all over again if she had to. “I’m sorry about that too.” 

He sighed softly, leaning in to kiss her. “You ain’t sorry. Just like I’m not sorry about that dickhead being shown the door.” Jameson shook his head, sighing softly as he pressed his forehead to hers. “We kinda fucked up, baby.”

She chuckled lowly. Imani dropped her hands, resting them on his shoulder. “I know. I know. You my fuck up though.” She said, kissing him again. “I don’t want to leave.” Imani sighed, knowing they spent far too much time in the bathroom. But it felt like they had only been in there for five minutes. She wasn’t ready to face reality just yet. 

“Me either.” He said softly. “But we have to. We at least owe them the truth.” He knew it wouldn’t change the fact that they were guilty but at least the truth would be out. “I gotta go talk to Camille. C’mon.”

She didn’t want to let him go, but she had to. Once they told their truths, they could be back in each other's arms again. “I’m ready, Jay. I need last night to be the last time I’ve slept without you in my arms.”

Jameson tsked softly, trying not to smile at how affectionate she was being. He had all but considered this lost. He began backing up to the bathroom door and unlocked it. “Don’t remind me about last night. I still owe you for that.” He pulled the door open, waiting for her to exit first. He still had to find his shirt but he was in no hurry.

Isaiah couldn’t shake Camille’s words and the muffled moans he heard from the bathroom before leaving to go to the market. He thought she was just being paranoid until he spotted Jameson down the hall, out of his and Imani’s room as he walked toward it. What the fuck was he doing in there? He glared at Jameson but was met with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. Isaiah opened their room door, walked inside, and slammed it close behind him. 

Imani’s back was turned to him, but she jumped and glared at him. “What the hell, Isaiah!?” She said, sternly. 

Ignoring her question, he stared at her coldly. “The fuck was he doing in here?” Imani believed she had time to gather herself before she told Isaiah about what happened with her and Jameson, but Isaiah running into him let her know her time expired. 

Imani felt terrible about what she did even though she didn’t regret it at all. Her relationship with Isaiah was similar to her other flings: going nowhere. She could never give any of them her heart, because Jameson had it and this time, he came back to claim it. She hated that Isaiah had to be a casualty, but she was still dumbfounded. From what she knew about Isaiah, he seemed like he was sweet and kind, but here he was towering over her with his fists balled and his eyebrows furrowed. 

Imani stood up, exhaling softly. “Isaiah, Jamie and I slept together,” she paused, glancing at him. Horizontal wrinkles appeared on his face as he stared at her with his eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this mess.”

Isaiah tsked, shaking his head. “Damn, Imani, it’s really him over me, huh?” He chuckled in disbelief. “You really dragged me out here to play me for some square ass nigga.” Isaiah couldn’t believe it. What did that man have that he didn’t? He was paid, definitely had more money than what Jameson could offer. He could get Imani whatever she wanted. Women would drop everything to be with someone like that, so why didn’t she? 

Her eyes squinted and her body tensed as he insulted Jameson. She wanted to allow him to be angry, but her patience could only take her so far. “I’m sorry – it’s not even like that.” she said softly. “But let’s be real with ourselves, you and I both know this wasn’t going anywhere.” She knew she wasn’t the only one on his roster of women. The man had access to anything he wanted. She saw how he angled his phone away from her while she was near and she heard all of the gossip surrounding him. Pussy was flying at him. How could a stable relationship ever be built off of that?

He stood there with his fists balled, never breaking his intense gaze on her. A quietness fell between them before Isaiah opened his mouth again. “Man, fuck you. I was ready to drop everything for you.”

“Fuck me?” She said, her voice strained and eyes squinted. “Nigga, fuck you. We’ve only known each other for a month and I know you got other hoes.”

“I was gone drop all of them for you!” He said, raising his voice. 

She exhaled, rubbing her forehead as she searched for the right words to appease him. “Look, I’m sorry, Isaiah. It ain’t have anything to do with you. It’s nothing against you. You’re just not him.”

Isaiah chuckled. “I’m not him? I know. I’m better than that nigga. He can’t spoil you like I can. I got you here on my own private jet. You ain’t gone experience no shit like that in your life ever again.” 

Imani rolled her eyes. She was done with being polite to him. She wasn’t familiar with this side of Isaiah. He was always kind and sweet to her, but now? He seemed like an asshole who had too many chances. “Trust me, I don’t need to be with you to experience any of that. I got my own shit. Now get the fuck out of here.”

He stepped closer to her with a heated glare and she peered at his clenched fists. Imani stared right back at him with her hands over her chest. She wasn’t scared of this man. “Fuck you! I can go get another bitch like you easily. You not special.” He countered. 

“Well then go find the bitch and get the fuck out of here!” She yelled loudly, tired of going back and forth with someone she wasn’t vested in. Imani pinched the bridge of her nose. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she looked at him with a death glare. Isaiah finally stepped back and pivoted on his feet. 

He walked into the closet they shared, mumbling something. Imani didn’t care what it was. She was just happy to hear him packing his things along with it. 

Jameson approached the door, wariness and anxiety inside him The soft hum of the heater filled the hallway with warmth but  it did nothing to ease the chill in his chest. He still felt the heat of Imani’s kisses against his lips, the feeling of her body fitting perfectly against his. He wanted to go back to that – to be anywhere that wasn’t this cold, broken place. He opened the door, stepping inside and stopped short. Camille was already back – sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

Her snow suit was on and her suitcase was repacked. Confusion furrowed his brow but Jameson shut the door behind him, inspecting the rest of the room.

Two dozen roses sat wilting in a vase on the dresser—an ironic reminder of the fleeting romance he had tried to build with Camille. He could still see the way he and Camille were that morning – warm kisses and affection between them. But in the light of day, the heat he had with Imani had put it to shame. Now he was guilty of something he never wanted to do again: Cheating

“Hey,” she said softly, as he closed the door. “I was waiting for you. Where have you been?”

Jameson looked up at her, his heart twisting. There was no excuse he could give her besides the truth. That’s what he was here for anyway. “I…was with Imani.”

He heard her sigh and saw her head nod dutifully. “Yeah, I figured.”

He took a deep breath, his voice low and pained as he continued on. “I... I slept with her.” He could have just broken up with her and hid the truth but that wouldn’t be fair. If she was going to hate him, it should be for the right reasons. He deserved her scorn and her anger. 

The words hung heavy in the air and slowly Camille turned around. “What?”

“I slept with Imani,” he said, his voice strained. “It just happened. I didn’t plan it and I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t just lie either.”

He took a good look at her face, realizing she seemed upset even before he spoke. She gripped the sheets in her hand, eyes glossy with tears. “You...really slept with her?”

Jameson nodded, guilt etched into every line of his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to fight how I feel about her, but it’s not going away. I thought I could move on. I wanted to move on, Cami. I wanted it to be with you but I just – I love her.”

“You told me she wasn’t good for you.” Camille muttered.

“She isn’t.” He said softly. “I’m not good for her either. But she’s my heart. And I’m hers. I always have been.”

Camille’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “No, Jameson. You don’t mean that. We’ve been so good together. We can work through this.”

He stepped closer, his voice desperate. He wanted her to hate him, yell at him. Not beg him to stay. “Camille, you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling as she tried to process his words. “You can’t leave me for her. Not now.” 

Jameson reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “I never wanted to hurt you. You’ve been incredible, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life lying.”

Camille’s shoulders sagged, and she let out a bitter laugh. “You know what’s funny? I was going to tell you the truth – all of it – but I didn’t want to ruin things. I didn’t want to lose you.”

He frowned. “The truth? What do you mean?”

She wiped at her tears, her voice trembling. “I didn’t just show up in your life by chance. Sloane sent me. She told me how to get close to you, how to make you fall for me. At first, it was just a game, but then... I started to care about you. I really did.”

Jameson stared at her, his jaw tightening. “A game?”

“A game. You seem to like them so much with Imani so why not with me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was supposed to convince you to forgive Sloane.”

The room fell silent, the weight of their confessions pressing down on both of them.

Jameson finally spoke, his voice low. “So was this whole thing was a lie?”

“No!” Camille said softly. “Not all of it. I love you, Jameson. I really do. We…we made something really beautiful together and I –”

He shook his head, stepping back. “So everything I thought this was, it wasn’t. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty…but clearly this wasn’t meant to be.”

Tears streamed down Camille’s face as she sank onto the bed. “It was real. We were real.”

“Were we?” He asked softly. “The woman I thought was so good for me isn’t real. Do you like the shit you told me you do? Do you feel the way you told me you do? All those nights I rambled to you about Imani. About what I wanted out of life. I was talking to a woman I don’t know.”

Camile shook her head. “So what if I don’t like jazz, Jameson? So what if hate cooking? I lied about little stuff! How I feel is not a lie!”

“If you’ll lie about the little shit, you’ll lie about everything.”

She shook her head, wiping the tears away from her way brusquely. “Like you’re one to talk. You just finish fucking another woman!”

Jameson was silent for a moment, nodding. “You’re right. I thought I was moving forward but really…I wasn’t. I was just existing. I’m sorry, Camille. I’m sorry it ended like this.”

Her heart was heavy as she watched him and he could see the moment she accepted that it was over. She didn’t say a word but he took a step closer to her, pressing his hand to hers. This time, she let him. “I’m sorry I pulled you into my life. I’m sorry Sloane pointed you in my direction. I hurt you and I’ll regret that forever. I hope you find someone who makes you happy, Camille. You deserve that.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her alone in the room, the sound of her quiet sobs echoing behind him.

Camille stepped out into the biting cold, her breath visible in the frosty air. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her mind spinning with Jameson's words. She dragged her suitcase behind her, trying to make a quick escape. She didn't see Jameson or Genie as she left the house and wanted to keep it that way. Her heels crunched against the snow as she made her way down the steps of the house, desperate to escape.

“Excuse me?”

She turned at the sound of a man's voice and came face to face with Kendrick Adesanya. He stood by his car, dressed in a wool coat and scarf, his hands in his pockets. His expression was one of mild surprise but quickly shifted to concern as he took in her tear-streaked face and trembling hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer.

Camille shook her head, wiping at her face hastily. She could see Genie in his face and the reminder of the woman sent her spiraling. “No, I’m not. I need to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?”

“The airport,” she said, her voice tight. “I can’t stay here.”

Kendrick frowned. “Well, do you need a ride?”

She hesitated, her pride warring with her desperation. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Kendrick said. He opened the passenger door of his car, gesturing for her to get in. He moved across the snow and ice, reaching for her bag. Free from the heavy thing, Camille made her way to the car.

He placed it in the backseat and then Kendrick slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car humming to life. Relief flooded through her system. She was on her way.

As they pulled out of the lodge’s driveway, Kendrick glanced at her. “Are you sure you want to go straight to the airport? It’s late, and you seem... upset. I can get you a room somewhere for the night.”

Camille shook her head vehemently. “No. I need to leave. I can’t stay here another second.”

Kendrick was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the wheel. “Did something happen? Are you...you're Camille, right? Correct me if I'm wrong but you were supposed to be there with Jameson.”

She hesitated, not wanting to spill her humiliation, but the weight of the day pressed down on her. “It’s just... so much. Everything’s falling apart. Jameson and I are over. My life is chaos. And I couldn't stay there any longer.”

Kendrick glanced at her again, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know what’s going on, but running might not fix it.”

Camille let out a bitter laugh. “Trust me. Running is the best thing for me right now. My boyfriend is in love with someone else, your daughter wants my head, and I can't trust anybody.”

He sighed, his tone softening. “I'm sorry about Jameson. I don’t know you that well, but I’ve been around long enough to see when someone’s at their breaking point. If you need to talk, I’m here. No judgment. As Genie's father, I can confirm that her bark is worse than her bite. ”

Camille stared out the window, her fingers tightening around her bag. “Thank you, Mr. Adesanya. But I think I just need to get away.”

"Call me Kendrick."

The rest of the drive was silent, the tension in the car palpable. When they reached the airport, Kendrick pulled up to the curb and put the car in park.

“Take care of yourself, Camille,” he said as she climbed out.

She paused, looking back at him. “Thanks for the ride. And being so kind.”

He gave her a small smile. “Anytime.”

Camille shut the door and walked into the airport, her heart heavy and her mind racing. She didn’t know what she was running toward, but she knew she couldn’t stay where she was.

[elif-in-wonderland]

So…That Night in Prague…

WHAT IS THIS? HAS THE REAL AVERY GRAMBS EVER SOUNDED LIKE THIS? WHAT IS WITH ALL THE ANNOYING REPETITIVE TEMPTATION/SEDUCTION STUFF?

AND WHY IS SHE THINKING ABOUT JOINING HIM IN THE SHOWER? I’m sorry, I just can’t see her in that way. Maybe she is, but until now she had never EVER had thoughts like these. AND WE HAD A WHOLE TRILOGY IN HER POV. WHAT IS THIS WIZARDRY, JLB?

And there are some really serious things I can’t even imagine and I always have images playing out in my brain while reading :)) What in the world is with all this horny stuff? I get it, romance means spicy things for some people, but in this case LOVE IS POWER, not LUST IS POWER!!!! Do you want me to understand from these moments that THIS is how A HAWTHORNE MAN LOVES? What is with those phrases about touches, about world knows what other things?!

They sound like 30 year-olds sexually obsessed adults. (Sorry, but I can’t say it nicer) but actually SHE IS EIGHTEEN AND HE IS NINETEEN!

Anyway, I’m very disappointed by this. I love AveryJameson to bits and they were made dirty, again. Jlb showed me nothing new about how Jameson Hawthorne loves. In TBH and here, I get from her that Jameson is capable only of freaky things and he loves to be freaky with Avery. And I know he’s not like that. Look in the original trilogy for proof. Maybe she knows too cuz they are her characters, but she clearly forgot how to write romance between them. Also, Jameson should eat, cuz he’s still hungry all the time:)) feed the man!!!!

EXCEPTION—THE PROMISE RING SCENE WHICH WAS THE ONLY GOOD THING AND I LOVED IT😭😭😭WAS VERY CUTE😭😭

The last chance to read something beautiful that really means LOVE IS POWER between my favourite couple and it was a disaster! On to the next stories which I think are better!

[s-rosie]

TIG CRACK HCSSSSS #2

30 hours to live, how should i spend themmm…?

max and avery have a game called “uncomfortable flirting” where they go back and forth trying to make the other person either get too caught off guard to make a comeback or quit bc they get uncomfortable (this is actually a real game that me and my friend made up lol it’s actually fun if you are good enough friends for it not to be awkward)

jameson watches barbie life in the dream house and quotes it without even realizing

avery says stuff like “me personally i would never take that level of disrespect but that’s just me” kinda ironically but kinda not

xander and ave had a water balloon fight using gloves from the nurse filled with water at school and they got detention for it after avery accidentally threw a glove at someone she thought was xan but wasn’t

max tried to become a rapper in like 6th grade and she entered the talent show and everything trying to rap to like nicki minaj but it kinda sucked and now the video of her at the talent show haunts her

grayson has the best fake porn star girl moan but he only did it once on a dare with jameson and no one will believe jamie that he can do it and it drives him crazy

libby can do weird things with her tongue (get your mind out of the gutter) like she can lick her elbow, touch her nose and chin with her tongue, do that clover tongue thingy, etc.

nash did gymnastics when he was little and he does random back handsprings now

jameson, avery, and xander are the reason most of the rules at their school were made bc they always found loop holes

oren is fluent in gen alpha and is a translator for when xander and jamie start talking gen alpha

alisa watches spirit and cries every time

gigi blasted “i don’t fuck with you” when sav finally broke up with duncan

lyra has a shirt that says “thick thighs save lives” and grayson gets so embarrassed bc he knows those thick thighs saved his life

jamie went through a phase for like a week where he didn’t shower and just used chocolate axe spray instead in like 5th grade

max, avery, lyra, and libby make spicy dances together and say they are going send them to their boyfriends but they always get too embarrassed so they just keep them a secret (but then the truth came out and xander hacked their phones to get the videos)

max makes those “i just wanna be part of your symphony 🌈🌈🌈🌈🐬🐬🐬🐬🐬✨✨✨✨🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀” memes and sends them to avery at like 3:30 am randomly

xander will barge into avery and jamie’s room and see them kissing and say “omg guys get a room” just to confuse and annoy them

max and Xander make pov tik toks together

Avery once pulled a monica from friends and pinned Xander down to get his eye drops in and xander couldn’t get up and was like was like “omg why are you so good at this!!!” then “wait, why are you so good at this… 😏” and avery just sat there like 🫣😳

when libby went wedding dress shopping, max and avery also tried on wedding dresses and even bought them just to have fun in

gigi and xander love sexyy red and put her on the hawthorne house speakers to make everyone die because her songs are so dirty

i hope you like theseeeeee

[literaila]

this is alarming 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: you consider yourself a generally unlucky person, but when you meet peter parker it becomes even more apparent that the universe hates you. 

warnings: mean peter, mean reader, coworkers, angst (?), working, jameson

a/n: this is part one because i wrote 10k and decided that tumblr wasn’t going to put up with me any more. next part will be out later tonight, or tomorrow. 

*

you always set seven alarms in the morning. 

it's often that your alarm clock falls behind the nightstand, often that you shut it off without a moments notice--eyes closed, dreaming dreams you can never remember. it's often that you don't hear anything at all. 

only the sound of a groan escaping your mouth when you pick up your phone and see that you're two hours late for work. 

the first alarm is to be snoozed; almost an hour and a half before you need to wake up. 

the second alarm is for the dreams to muffle, to hear the sound but pretend that it's only a figment of your imagination. 

the third is for stirring. 

the fourth is to open your eyes and feel some haze snap them immediately shut. if you can't open your eyes, why should you even bother to wake up? 

the fifth is for shivering into the covers. your temperature hasn't regulated, and if your bed wasn't so welcoming, you probably wouldn't still be in it. 

it's usually by then that you've pushed the alarm clock off of your nightstand, and that it rests under the bed, collecting dust. 

you've tried moving it to the other side of the room, but even seven alarms weren't enough to get you up. 

so there it remains, ready to be picked up whenever you are graced with the opportunity to really notice it. 

the sixth alarm is to think. wonder to yourself what you're supposed to be doing right now, if you need to shower, smell your own sweat from restless sleeping, and consider the possibility of never waking up at all. 

you usually get caught in these thoughts, and your eyes still don't want to open. 

the seventh alarm is the one you get up to if you're lucky. it's the one that pushes you out of the bed, onto the floor and laughs when it sees the bruises you have from falling. 

and it doesn't really matter when you wake up, or when you get to work. 

there's a bitter taste in your mouth, and it's not just morning breath. 

*

it usually rains on the days you walk to work, and conveniently you've never really learned how to open an umbrella properly--proven by the stack of broken ones you keep hidden somewhere in a closet--so there's no hiding from the drizzle of the sky. 

sometimes you wonder if the earth is mad at you. if whatever deity controls all of this thinks that you're making a mistake. 

a mistake every time you wake up in the morning, and suddenly feel the courage to move your limbs. 

it doesn't matter though. you have an extra pair of clothes in the ridiculously large bag you always carry around. 

there might be a first aid kit in there, a water bottle, a lighter, and many other things that you only realize you need when you don't have them. 

your relationship with this bag is the longest one you've ever had. and it's beginning to fray at the edges, not unnoticed by you. 

still, as soon as you get to work--only fifteen minutes late--you hide in one of the bathroom stalls, cursing when you accidentally drop your clean clothes onto the floor. 

you try not to think about bacteria, or who's walked in this bathroom before you. 

and if you weren't already late--and if you cared a little bit more--you might try and deal with your hair, but today, you settle for dripping it out over the sink and ignoring the woman who walks by behind you, giving you a look you can't miss in the mirror. 

you ignore all of it, at this point. 

*

when you got this job as an editor at the bugle--known for crazy conspiracy theories and adamant headlines, or pictures of spider-man--there was only one desk available. 

it's hidden in a little alcove of the space. a corner you have just to yourself--and it would be nice, you're sure, if there was any actual lighting or an outlet that worked anywhere within the eight-foot vicinity. and also if the ceiling would quit leaking almost right above your desk. 

you didn't complain when betty showed you it on your first day. you figured that after ten job interviews and six very strange first days, you didn't have any room left to complain. and you wouldn't be surprised if this only lasted three days. 

but it was supposed to be safer than stocking shelves at target--which, coincidentally, had no more shelves--or passing out flyers for local offices in the middle of the street. or even working at annie's flowers where everything was supposed to be beautiful and nurturing, but you were pretty sure you still needed stitches from all the thorn pricks you'd endured.

this was an office job. this was reading and writing and hoping to avoid the available eyes of everyone else--or a helicopter crash into the side of the building. 

what could go wrong, you'd thought, smiling at betty and thanking her for showing you around. 

and then you grabbed the nearest file on the desk, stained with something that looked like tears. you never said a word about your desk or the discomforting smell that came from the exposed pipes on the wall. 

you'd managed to last seven months at bugle, so far. seven months of laughing at grammatical errors and wincing at headlines with puns that even you couldn't have come up with. 

you fixed things and stayed out of everyone's way. 

and then you went home, running to avoid the rain, or trying to catch the subway before it left. 

you sat on the couch and watched the news, eating a sandwich or whatever you could find in the fridge that hadnt already rotted. 

you hadn't put the pictures up, and you didn't think you were going to. even though you'd been living in this apartment for more than a year, and it had been three since any of that mattered. 

you were lucky to have this life, you reminded yourself. and you sat at your tiny desk, reading about fates that were far worse than yours. 

*

there were at least twenty pairs of eyes on you when you opened the door. the hinges squeaked as you closed it, and you almost squeaked when you realized that everyone else--everyone--was already in there. 

all sitting down, all giving you confused looks. 

and you swore that the email about this mandatory "morale" meeting--an excuse for jameson to talk about failures for the month--said eight-thirty. 

you were absolutely sure of it. 

but as you lean against the wall because there aren't any chairs left, after whispering a soft apology, it was clear that you were very wrong. 

or maybe you'd been sent a typo that no one else received. or they forgot to put you on the forward list again, and there was no way for you to know that the time had changed to eight. 

or maybe you just couldn't read. 

it didn't matter, because after about fifteen seconds, the lecture resumed and the eyes left your sullen and guilty face. 

you couldn't listen to anything else you were supposed to be paying attention to for the next thirty minutes. 

your feet ached, and your head hurt, and every two minutes your stomach grumbled. and then you were thinking about breakfast. you were thinking about quitting this job so you didn't have to see any of these people ever again. 

and whatever jameson was ranting about, it probably didn't apply to you. 

still, it got worse when you began to doze off--who knew drywall could be so comfortable--only to wake up to people passing you, pushing you with glares in their eyes. 

"hey, cathy," you nodded, giving her a reckless smile and waving. you’d never shared a proper conversation with the older woman. you definitely did not hear her scoff as she walked by. 

and as soon as the crowd of your coworkers had cleared the room, you were sighing, hand to your head, and then promptly tripping over a leg of a chair someone didn't push in. 

a hand wrapped around your shoulder, awkward and warm, as someone pulled you toward them, keeping you from falling. 

"are you sick?" a rough, low voice whispered, not quite in your ear but not quite far enough away for you to feel comfortable. 

with the grace of a drunk elephant, you attempted to stand on your own two feet, trying to find your balance without flailing your arms. 

"what?" you croak out, trying to laugh this furious heat off of you. 

"you came in late, and now you're falling over. also, you feel a little warm." 

"i thought the meeting started at eight-thirty, and there was a chair," you say to this man, pushing the damn chair back in. "plus--" and then you look up. 

peter parker, with his signature furrowed brows and lip bite, stands there, looking at you. 

well, that explains the heat.

"oh, um--" you scratch at the back of your neck, going for a pleasant smile. "hey, peter. thanks for... not letting me split my head open." 

"do you want me to call you a cab?"

"why?" 

"you don't have a car right?" peter says, eyes clearly saying are you serious?

"i-- no?" 

"you probably shouldn't walk home then. you're already having trouble standing.” 

you blink. "i'm really not sick," you tell him, trying to sound stern or serious or anything but flustered. "it was an accident." 

he holds intense eye contact with you, barely blinking. "you sure?" 

you nod. it doesn't feel necessary to tell him that this happens a lot. 

"okay. well, jameson wanted me to talk to you about the jenson project. which he wants us to do together." 

"oh. how come?" 

"apparently 'partner work' is a strong selling point. i'd just send you some pictures to fit into an article. you'd have to--" he purses his lips. 

"mess with them?" you ask, trying to be helpful. 

"sure. jameson said he wants it to be nice and shiny for next weeks release. i thought maybe we could work on adding the pictures together, just so i know if i need to change anything." 

"like photoshop?" 

peter nods. "or if there's anything you have questions about. i was there taking the photos so i got a lot of the interview too."

"yeah, okay. i'm just working on a couple of footnotes for this week right now, so i'm not sure when i can--" 

"how's thursday?" 

you try not to flinch at his tone. certain but soft. his eyes, you think, might be the most terrifying thing you've ever seen up close. 

clearly, peter is not very interested in any of this. or maybe he's a strict rule follower and is holding a grudge against your lack of punctuality. 

"thursday works," you tell him, dropping your somewhat regular smile. 

"great. we can work at your desk or mine, it doesn't matter to me. or we can go get coffee to escape the office for a couple hours. just let me know."

and then he's walking away, pushing in a chair as he goes with a look back to you, and you've barely even comprehended what he just said. 

or the fact that he didn't let you answer him. 

"okay," you say, in a whisper, but you're just talking to the wall. 

last to come, you think, and last to leave. 

*

here's the thing about peter parker. he's not known for being the friendliest of coworkers. 

he's pleasant enough, gets all his work done, doesn't snap at people when they make mistakes and doesn't finish the coffee in the breakroom without brewing another pot. 

and since you've been there, you've learned--mostly from eavesdropping--that he's been working here for three years. that he's taken lead photographer out of many qualified candidate's hands and only responded with a smirk. that he's supposed to be a genius, comes into work with bruised knuckles sometimes--which your coworkers gossip endlessly about--and jameson is either constantly praising the man, or degrading him.

he doesn't go to office parties, he doesn't respond to emails. peter practices something you like to call "every man for himself." 

and he doesn't ever smile. 

trust that you should know. because, you'll admit, when you first got there, it was hard not to notice peter. 

first of all, he's very tall, strong, and kind of brooding. he takes up fifty percent of the office space alone. 

but he's also insanely attractive. blessed with thick hair and glorious eyebrows and cheekbones that put knives to shame. his eyes are soft and his lips are plump and he is a certified asshole. 

or at least something like it, everyone knows. including you. 

but for at least the first two weeks you couldn't avoid staring at his pursed lips or snorts when someone said something particularly obnoxious--usually jameson--or the way he tapped his wrist incessantly, like he was counting down time. 

peter parker makes for a very suitable work distraction. 

but as soon as you talked to him for the first time, you realized that he was a pretty, intelligent man.

you'd stumbled into the breakroom and dropped whatever semblance of a lunch you were going to pretend to eat that day, and peter was sitting at one of the tables watching. 

he didn't have anything to eat, just a cup of coffee and a bitter look on his face. 

you'd smiled sheepishly, picking up your now tarnished food, and swallowing. "i wasn't that hungry anyway," you'd said aloud, mostly because you weren't thinking clearly at the time. 

peter didn't say anything back, not acknowledging the sarcasm or your lost lunch, he just stared. 

and then you held a hand out to him. "hi, i don't think i've introduced myself. i'm y/n, a new editor." 

peter blinked, looking at your hand, then back to your face. "peter," he said, giving you a small wave. 

and then he turned his attention back to the mug in front of him, leaving your hand in the air, radiating embarrassment. 

you cleared your throat and left the room, deciding to get more work done instead of worrying about it. 

you'd sort of assumed--recklessly--that he would be charming. that he might smile at you, welcome you to the team, tell you that if you needed anything he was there. maybe it was his face, you'd thought. soft and knowing. 

but peter wasn't there for anything but the money, and gradually, he became just another grim coworker, watching the clock until five every day. 

and that was probably good for you anyway, because as angry or numb as peter already was, you didn't want to inflict anything bad on him, as you might've if he'd just smiled at you. 

and if you overheard the clique of middle age ladies talking about him during lunch, you didn't say anything. didn't smile or laugh, or try to pretend like you weren't listening. 

you kept your conversations with him short and tried to stay out of his way. 

but apparently, he was going to get in yours. 

*

you really don't even notice him when he walks up to your desk. 

it's not your fault that you didn't get much sleep last night, being that your neighbors--right next to your bedroom--were fighting all night long. slamming doors and throwing things that shattered when they hit the floor. 

and then they'd start screaming again. 

you'd attempted to drown them out, only just barely dozing off when some other loud noise would wake you right back up. 

you'd considered putting your headphones in and playing white noise, but with your luck, that would last all night into the next day, and your seven alarms would be pointless. 

so you laid there, trying not to eavesdrop on the fight they were having, or think about your own voice yelling, screaming, and then going completely silent. 

and now, you were nursing a cup of coffee, blinking at the computer screen like it was a puzzle. 

and peter had come up to your desk--made the effort to venture almost across the office to your little cave--and you didn't see him there.

you didn't see anything until he cleared his throat, tapping his foot against the floor like an angry mother, and you finally looked up. 

looked up to threatening eyes and a frown. 

and peter parker, because of course he was there, at this very moment. 

"hi, peter. what-- what's up?" 

he blinks at you. you blink back, though significantly slower. 

in the past two days, you had avoided any and all eye contact with him and accidentally forgot to look at the email he had sent you with some files attached. you also conveniently learned that jameson was disappointed with his last set of pictures, and that was probably why he'd forced the two of you to work together. 

it didn't really matter. 

"it's thursday," peter answers, dryly, after several moments of uncomfortable silence. 

you look away, searching for any other person that could talk to him instead of you. "was that a question?" 

"we have a date," he says, a bit harsher. 

you couldn’t avoid leaning back at his voice, nor noticing the wince that fell upon his face as soon as he said it. 

"er," peter clears his throat. "we're supposed to work on the jenson article today. are--do you have amnesia?" 

"huh?" 

"or some other medical condition," peter continues, "that would cause you to forget about the one article you have to edit this week?" 

briefly, you want to ask how he knew that it was your only article, and why he was allowed to judge your work ethic when his was "consume coffee like blood and scare away any person who tries to speak." 

you try not to laugh at the idea of vampire peter. 

instead, you mumble "just a severe mental deficiency," under your breath and pinch the skin of your thigh, just to wake you up some more. 

"what?" peter says, still frowning at you.

you sigh. "look, peter, i'm sorry. i haven't even looked at the article yet, or any of your pictures. i've been busy. but if you just want me to finish it myself i can--" 

peter holds a hand up, telling you to stop without asking nicely. 

you almost scowl at the very idea of it. 

"no," he says, like it physically pained him to do so. "i need this--jameson wanted us to work through it together. as an actual collaboration." 

you're very grateful that he's explaining this to you. 

"i'm not going to tell him," you say, voice rough.

"you can read it and figure out where you want the pictures and the description for them while i edit some of them. i was rushing when i did it last week." 

"um... okay. are you sure?" 

"we can't work here," peter responds, instead of answering the question. "there's barely enough room for just you." 

"...yeah." 

"my desk is a mess," peter says, more to himself. "we can go to the coffee shop a block away." 

you squint at him. "are you sure? 'cause we could always go to the starbucks on fifteenth, or we could just skip it and head to tipsy's." 

you're just briefly aware that your sarcasm is not coming across well, and that you probably shouldn't have said that, nonetheless to peter parker, who already hates you enough. 

to be fair, he hasn't asked you about any of these decisions.

"i'm going to go get my bag," peter grinds out. "i'll meet you by the elevator." 

*

the only thing keeping you sane while you sit across from peter is the latte that you've been chugging for the past three minutes. 

as soon as you got there, peter had ordered some tea that you didn't know the name of, picking the table for the both of you, and before you could even sit down he was frowning at his computer. 

he hasn't bothered to say anything to you, so you don't bother to say anything to him. 

still, you look up every couple of minutes, wondering what he could possibly be so worried about. 

luckily--ha--this article is reasonably proofread. you only have to fix a couple of jumbled sentences and reread a couple of paragraphs because you can't really focus.

it's about half an hour after you've both been working that you get tired of it. 

collaborating with peter by staring at your computer and hoping that the pleasantries, or nice relationship you've been craving for the past six months will manifest itself into existence. 

he's right there, you think to yourself, and he's an ass sometimes but so are you. 

and it's not like you get the opportunity to talk to a lot of people at work. 

you clear your throat. "the pictures are good," you tell him as if this is new information. 

you've known about peter's affiliation with photography since your second day. 

the man just grumbles out a thanks, not even bothering to look up and acknowledge you. 

you have a tight smile on your face. "are you still editing them, or can i start asking you where you think they should go?" 

"you finished already?" 

there's some emotion in his voice that you don't recognize, but there is still the obvious disdain that you're becoming very comfortable with. 

"i'm a fast reader," you tell him. "was that a no?" 

peter finally looks up, face blank. "i'll send you the updated ones. do you want me to add them in where i think they'd work, or just tell you where to do it?" 

you'd really like to never have to have a one-on-one conversation with him again, but that doesn't really seem like an option right now. 

"how about i put them in and you blink twice if you think it's stupid." 

peter does not crack a smile. he doesn't even blink. 

you try to hide another sigh. "go ahead and put them in." 

and so you wait five minutes for the internet to catch up to him and silently curse jameson for subjecting you to this. 

your latte is almost gone. 

"okay, you can go through it," peter tells you eventually, returning to something else on his computer. 

you scroll through it, beginning to write descriptions for each of the photos--which really are beautiful. and bright, almost too good for the bugle. 

but you're a bit bored, and a bit delirious. 

"can i ask you something?" 

peter looks up at you, classic furrowed brows, and then back to his computer, grunting. 

you're assuming that it means yes, but if he's not going to use his words like a big boy, then he'll have to deal with the consequences himself. 

"how do you get the pictures of spider-man?" 

"with my camera." 

you can't tell if he's kidding or not.

"no, i mean, how do you get such good quality? he's always moving around, and quickly, so i'd assume it would be pretty difficult..." 

he frowns. "it's just some angles and flash," peter answers. "honestly, it's less complicated than you think. they're not all good, i go back and edit them." 

"yeah, but still." 

peter shrugs, and looks down again. 

"have you ever actually spoken to him?" you continue, still sizing pictures, still writing descriptions. 

but you'll be damned if peter sits there in silence for another minute. 

he sighs. "yeah, couple times." 

"really?" 

peter nods. 

"is he nice?" 

peter frowns. "'is he nice?'" 

"yeah. i mean, i've heard lots of stories and read the articles--obviously--but i've never met him. is he... a good guy?" 

"he keeps people from dying on the daily, and you're asking if he's got a good moral compass?" 

you almost scowl, looking up to find brown eyes studying you. and then you shake your head. "i just find it hard to believe, i guess. i can't imagine--" you pause, shrugging. look away from peter's intimidating eyes. 

"you can't imagine what?" 

"just... doing that every day and being okay. i mean, he sees people get hurt all of the time, and he's supposed to be okay with that? that's a lot of mental energy. what if he's helping someone that he knows? or what if he can't help? not to mention the physical aspect..." 

peter closes his computer, taking a breath. "are you good with the photos?" he asks. 

"what?" 

"i need to get back to the office and talk to jameson about some stuff. do you need anything else from me?" 

peter is stiff and scowling. you shouldn't be surprised, but he also just shut down the first actual conversation you've ever had with him. 

"oh, no. no, i'm okay. thanks." 

"okay. i'll see you later." 

peter packs up his stuff, and doesn't bother to look back at you while he walks out the door. you're not sure what you did this time--besides just generally existing--but you groan, hands rubbing at your eyes. 

you're too tired for this. you're too exhausted to be talking to peter parker, who doesn't talk to anyone. 

you sigh and look back to the article. 

and then you spill what's left of your coffee, watching as it drips to the floor. 

*

you're trying not to move. 

even breathing, you think, is moving. so you hold your breath for as long as you can bare it, counting by tens, thinking about all the reasons you shouldn't need air. 

but eventually, your body gasps for you. 

your body moves because it can't think the same as you can, it can't hold that same guilt. 

you know that if you don't move--not even a millimeter--nothing bad can happen. the dominos won't fall if there's nobody to push them over. 

you're laying in bed completely still. 

you're thinking about all of the mistakes you made, all of the unfortunate things you've caused to happen, and it causes enough fear to turn you to stone. 

you'd be a statue. you know if you could choose that, you would.

what do you want to be when you grow up? 

clay. 

you'd choose being cemented in concrete than ever having to look your own luck in the eyes again. 

you count by tens until you fall asleep. 

and you dream of things that have already happened. 

*

when you show up to work on monday, soaking wet, there's already a cup of coffee on your desk. 

you try and think back to friday--which was lifetimes ago, really--and remember if you left it there. but you stayed in the office on friday, contemplating putting in your two weeks or throwing your computer across the room. you didn't go out for coffee. 

and when you pick up this disposable cup to smell it, you can feel the steam on your face. 

it's warm. 

you look around the room, searching for someone who might've left this on your desk--even though you're literally hidden from every common eye--but can't find anyone who looks particularly tired this morning. 

and there are only four people in the office as of now. 

so you wait ten minutes, and then fifteen, ready for someone to come up to your desk at any moment and accuse you of stealing their coffee. 

this would not be a surprising occurrence. 

but even after twenty minutes, no one does. 

you're back in your corner, alone, as per usual. 

and when you realize that the coffee is going to go cold--claimed or not--you decide to take a sip. 

and for the first time in a while, you've started the day off alright. 

*

on tuesday, jameson calls you and peter into his office. 

and, out of nothing less than familiarity, you're ready to be yelled at. you've prepared a list of snarky remarks to keep you from crying. 

and you're completely, one hundred percent ready to ignore peter. 

if he doesn't like working with you, fine. that's up to him--even though you definitely did a good job with his pictures. and if he doesn't even like you, fine. 

you can deal with that. 

what you can't deal with, of course, is standing a foot away from him in this office, feeling towered over by both of these men, who are much bigger than you. 

but you keep eye contact with jameson anyway. what else can go wrong? 

"i heard we were having some issues with the article last week," the boss starts, his voice typically unserious. 

you furrow your brows and try not to look at peter. 

he tattled on you? 

"yes," you say, instead of admitting defeat. "i was behind on editing the article, so it took a little longer than expected. but i emailed you the finished copy on thursday night." 

you don't mention that it was exactly one in the morning, and you'd been having twenty-minute naps since you got home. 

or that peter had completely unnerved you. 

"parker?" 

peter sighs, shrugging. "it gave me more time to go over the pictures. we got it in." 

at that, jameson smiles. 

you wonder if he finds peter's grumpiness as amusing as you do. or if he's just enjoying the two of you struggle to completely ignore the other. 

"good. well, seeing as it worked out--and it's some of the best work i've seen from both of you--i'd like to make it a regular arrangement." 

finally, you glance over at peter, noticing his jaw clench. 

you're not sure if it's at jameson's suggestion or his praise. 

"it's a brilliant idea, having the photographer and editor working together. parker, you've got some fine pictures, but you're no writer. and obviously, she is." 

you don't tell him that you feel anything but. 

jameson chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. "i know, i know, it's more work for both of you. and more interaction. but it's only one article a week. everything else will remain the same." 

"for how long?" peter asks, for the both of you. 

"until one of you quits, i guess. or dies." 

it's at this point that you see that there are no other options. no choices for you to consider. if peter wants to quit, he certainly can. he could get a job anywhere he wanted, any newspaper. 

but you've struggled to keep this job. you've struggled to be anywhere for more than a month. 

and despite how much you might dread the place, it's also an escape from everything else. 

so you can't leave. and you have no current plans to die. 

"alright, you can both go. shut the door on the way out. and one of you ask betty to get me a cup of coffee." 

you follow peter out, looking at the muscles in his back tense. 

and when you shut the door, he turns toward you. 

he looks even angrier, even worse than he had last week. he's not even trying to remain professional. 

"thursday?" he asks, but you know it's not a question. 

"fine." 

you go back to your desk, watching the ceiling leak onto your computer. 

*

peter decides to go back to the coffee shop. 

he orders the same tea, sits at the same table. 

and he doesn't say a thing to you. he didn't even blink when you went to his desk at nine, gesturing towards the elevator. 

but honestly, that's fine. you don't have anything to say to him either. 

except to ask what made him hate the world so much. but you don't think he'd appreciate that. 

eventually, you swallow. "so, you can put the pictures where you'd like, and then i'll write the descriptions. it'll be faster that way, and you've got a good eye." 

peter nods but he doesn't answer. 

"is there anything i need to know? anything important you want to add?" 

"about the pictures?" peter confirms, waiting for your acknowledgment. "no. about social courtesy? definitely." 

the last part is said completely under his breath, but you catch it anyway. 

catch it like a rope you're hanging onto, hoping that it doesn't slip from your fingers. 

"what?" you say, looking right at him. your hands are off of your computer. your hands might be around his throat in a couple of seconds. 

peter furrows his brows. "what?" he repeats as if he doesn't know what he's said. 

"what's your problem?"  

"my problem?" 

"yeah, with everyone. but especially me. peter, you don't have to like me, but i'd appreciate it if you could at least try and be professional. or talk to me about the work that we need to do." 

"i don't have a problem--" 

"save it. i'm sorry that jameson is making us work together, but unless you kill me, there's nothing i can do about it." 

peter sighs, running a hand through his hair. "well there's something you can do about the way you get everything done," he says, quick and sharp. 

"excuse me?" 

"is it physically impossible for you to sit still? or show up on time, or do the work that you need to do? if i have a problem with you, it's that you're not doing anything to help me, and i don't need you." 

"that's not what jameson thinks." 

the words slip from your mouth, but honestly, peter deserves the wind knocked out of his chest, just like he did to you. 

if karma is a thing, it's coming through.

it's just your luck that you'd get partnered with the one person that couldn't hate working any more. 

"jameson doesn't even read the articles," peter scoffs, "he just sits in his office and smokes cigars and bosses everyone around--" 

"then why does he want me to write your descriptions? you can't do it yourself?" 

"maybe he pities you." 

peter's eyes are sharp. his words are perfect. 

"why would he pity me?" you ask him, "because i'm an editor?" 

"because there's not a single person in the office that likes you. because disaster is attracted to you. because you can't follow directions to save your life, and you clearly have some issue with speaking up for yourself. he's probably pairing us together in some last-ditch effort to save you." 

save you. 

you take a breath in, tell your lungs that there's no air that they need. 

there's no reason to be breathing, if you think about it. 

and when you look at your hands, they're shaking. and you can't keep your eyes in one place. and you're ready to run out of there, to anywhere where peter can't follow. 

you can't admit to yourself that he's right. you can't sit still, and you can't be there for much longer. 

"you think you're better?" you ask him. "everyone in the office is scared of you. you don't have friends or anyone that likes you either." 

peter shakes his head. "i chose that." 

there's an implication there that you can't think about. there's something about his calm demeanor. 

you can almost see the ghost of a smile on his face, just like everyone had said. 

you don't have a choice about most things. but you know when to quit. 

"peter, you can talk to jameson. you can quit, or do all of it yourself. if you want to just send me the pictures and have me edit all of it, that's fine." you stand up, shoving your computer in your bag, and trying to keep your hands steady as you pick up your latte. "but if you can't treat me like a person, or a coworker," you tell him, "then i'll talk to jameson myself.”

and then, without waiting for a response, you walk out the door. 

you try not to let it hit you on the way out. 

*

peter avoids you the next day. 

or maybe you're avoiding him. 

luckily, he's gone most of the time, taking pictures and sulking in corners where you don't have to watch. 

jameson hasn't said anything about the article you submitted, and you're trying to assume that it's a good thing. 

but honestly, none of it feels good anymore. 

you know that you shouldn't let someone like peter parker get under your skin, but he has some iron grip on your brain. some cave built in your head, echoing the things he said to you yesterday. 

nobody likes you. 

disaster is attracted to you. 

it's in your nature to prove him wrong, somehow. to start gossiping with the other ladies in the office, maybe even ask one of the men out on the date--though none of them are as tall, or as pretty as peter parker, so it probably wouldn't matter to him anyway. 

you think about talking to jameson, tell him that you and peter can't work together, or that peter is an asshole, or that you would like a raise. 

you think about blackmailing peter, but you have nothing on him. (besides his obvious attitude problem). 

you want to do anything to prove to yourself that what he said isn't true. 

people can like you, and you can like yourself. 

but you know, that even if peter is just an asshole, bitter, and lots of other things you don't care to think about, he's also right. 

at least about one thing. 

disaster is attracted to you. and to the people you care about.

cared. 

you wish you could tell peter that all of those things he thinks about you aren't by choice. that you don't want to live in your cave of a desk, and you don't want to show up late to anything, or trip on chairs, or walk in the rain. 

but he'd probably just laugh. 

and anyway, he isn't there on friday. so you can't tell him any of it. 

*

on monday, it only takes two alarms to wake you up. 

and typically, you'd be proud of that. grateful for it. 

but it's cold outside, and you have to go to work. 

you'd rather be sleeping. 

rather be laying in bed than thinking about peter, or anyone else pitying you. rather do anything than think about peter and still recognize that he's smart and talented and better than you. 

so you leave your alarm clock under the bed. 

what are sick days for, if not days like this? 

*

on tuesday, you get to work early. it's not by choice, but you were running in the rain. 

you were trying to beat everyone there so that you might not have to speak to a single person all day. 

that would be nice. 

but someone is already there when you walk through the elevator doors, jacket still dripping. 

and that someone doesn't even look up, or bother to wonder where the water is coming from. 

of course, peter beat you there. 

you've never loved your desk, but it's a welcome refuge now, despite how bad it smells. you can't see him, and he can't see you. 

and you can take your jacket off over there. 

but when you sit down, there's something on your desk that you don't recognize. 

a blue hairbrush, and a candy bar next to it, wrapper somewhat wrinkled. 

on tuesday, you decide that you're officially going crazy. 

*

you try to avoid wednesday as a whole. thinking of it more as another object in your way, and something that can be ignored until it's over. 

and it works, for the most part. you eat lunch at your desk, bring coffee from home, and sneak handfuls of chocolate whenever you feel like it. 

you go through a thousand articles and decide that all of your coworkers are illiterate. 

which you don't really mean, but prefer to think anyway. 

it's about an hour before you can get home that you see the notification show up in your mail. 

a new message, most likely some coupon for h&m. 

but you see peter's name at the top, and a file attached to it. you stare at it for at least a minute. 

it could be a hate note, a notification about submitting an hr claim, a picture of a house burning with a description of "this will be you." or even a list of people that peter hates, with your name in bold. 

there are a thousand possibilities, and you don't care about a single one. 

but when you click on the link, you just open a pdf with new pictures, labeled with the title of the article for the week. 

and you're not sure what any of that is supposed to mean. 

*

on thursday, peter is at your desk again. 

in fact, he's at your desk before you are. and when you see the back of his head peering over your pens and pencils, and files that you haven't wanted to put away, your breath stops. 

he might be there to murder you. 

still, you continue to walk forward, tennis shoes squeaking, and pray that you don't accidentally trip before he's even noticed you're there. if peter is going to kill you, you might as well accept your fate. 

and then you step past him, frowning. "peter?" 

"oh, hey," he says, softly, standing up. his hands are awkwardly clasped in front of him. "you're early." 

"what're you doing here?" 

"at work?" 

"at my desk." 

peter bites the inside of his cheek. he gestures to the ceiling. "it's leaking," is all he says. 

"yeah. it rained last night. why are you here?" 

"did you tell jameson about it?" 

you don't know how to feel anything but shocked. is he waiting for the perfect moment? does he want you to get comfortable just so he can ruin it? 

"i--no, it's fine. i don't..." you shake your head, setting your bed down. "did you need something, peter?" 

he clears his throat, nodding. "are we going to work on the article today?" 

you might be gawking at him. 

"what?" 

"i just--there are some details i want to add, if you don't mind, and i think--" he stops, taking a deep breath in. "you're better at it than me, so i'd like your advice." 

there is only one thought running through your head as you stare at him. 

when did peter parker get a nicer, shyer twin? 

"what?" you say again, just because you don't know how to answer any other way. 

in fact, some part of you thinks that this might be fake. peter parker would kill you, and then you would hallucinate a different version of him that's actually talking to you. 

no trick the world might be playing on you is more surprising than the smile peter is trying to put on his face, stiff and wrong. 

he blows out a breath. "i'm sorry about last week. i shouldn't--i didn't, well. i shouldn't have snapped at you. or said any of those things. and you were right about me being unprofessional and mean, and just--" peter shakes his head. 

and then he meets your eyes. "i'm really sorry. i'd like to continue working with you, because jameson is right, and... but i understand if you don't want to. if you don't feel comfortable. i can talk to jameson, so you don't have to, or--" 

"peter?" 

he stops talking, nodding. "yeah?" 

"am i hallucinating?" 

you must be. you must be dying or something. you can't believe that you didn't notice until now, that you didn't pay attention to any of the signs, or worried over something stupid like what you should be eating for breakfast when-- 

but peter parker laughs. 

it's small and almost inaudible, but he's laughing. 

and it's not that laugh that first drew you to him all those months ago, that judgemental snort or the laughing-at-you-not-with-you chuckle you'd thought was adorable. 

this is a genuine laugh. 

you blink, because this is just another sign that you're dead. 

peter sighs. "no, i mean all of it. i'm... just sorry." 

"you are?" 

he nods, and he's still looking at you. 

"um, okay," you say, nodding your head. "yeah, we can--we'll go get coffee. but there's, um, i just have some stuff i need to finish from yesterday, so--" 

"how's nine?" peter asks, softly. 

and this time, it almost isn't an interruption. it's more of a saving grace. 

"yes, sure. nine." 

"okay," peter gives you that same fake smile, and then he turns around, leaving the cave and going back to his desk. 

you can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.

*

"you didn't have to do that," you're saying to peter as the two of you walk to the only empty table in the shop. 

conviently it's much smaller than your usual table. 

"i owe you," is all peter says. 

"not coffee." 

"it's six dollars." 

you're having a hard time deciphering his face. and his attitude. 

you're wondering if this more pleasant, sweet version of peter is going to last long. 

you're wondering how far you can push him. 

"i don't want to be indebted to you. it sets a bad precedent."

peter sighs, and he's shaking his head, and possibly rolling his eyes, but he says: "fine. next time we come you can pay." 

you're satisfied with this, at least for now, so you take a sip of your latte and open your computer. 

"which descriptions do you want to add?" you ask peter, "i already looked through all the pictures." 

"just the ones of the church, and the bank." 

"you want to add descriptions to the burned-down buildings?" 

peter doesn't seem to recognize the sarcasm, because all he does is wince and nod. 

you're frowning at his face, but you agree, letting him handle your computer so that you don't have to wait for it to update. 

peter takes a couple of minutes, writing details that you'd have no idea about, scowling all the while. 

"when'd you take these pictures?" you ask him, in the middle of it. 

"saturday before last." 

"you work on the weekends?" you raise an eyebrow at him, but he's not looking. 

"i carry my camera around. sometimes jameson asks for pictures that i can't get six days after." 

he pushes your computer back to you, nodding. immediately you start reading what he's written, trying very hard not to laugh at some of the word choices. 

most readers aren't going to respond to an acrid smell. 

but you don't tell peter this, you just change it, adding and deleting words where you see fit. 

"did you work at another journal before this?" peter asks, after a couple of minutes of silence. 

you look up at him and realize that he might've been staring at you the whole time, and you'd have no idea. he might be texting someone about how horrible you are. 

"no." 

"you started writing when you got the job?" 

"mm-hmm," you continue typing, trying to avoid peter's eyes. 

"how'd you get so good at it, then?" 

"oh, well. it's just editing, you know, not that complicated," you repeat his words back to him but feel uncomfortable at his praise, even if it is a lie, but especially if it's true. 

"you're writing all of these descriptions. jameson says i make them too complicated, or unreachable for readers." 

"jameson says that to betty when she puts cream in his coffee." 

peter almost chuckles. "that's true." 

there's a moment when you aren't sure what to say. if this is friendship, or peter pretending to be kind just so that you won't tell jameson. just so you'll keep helping him. 

but he doesn't need you. 

"well, you're a brilliant photographer, so you don't have a lot to make up for." 

"tell jameson that." 

and that third week, everything goes smoothly.

*

after the fourth week, you and peter don't need to plan when you're going to work together. four days of the week you are completely independent, editing articles and spinning around in your chair, and listening to jameson yell at people from across the room. 

but on thursdays, you and peter are partners. 

it's a regular meeting now, so you show up at the elevator at eight-fifteen and peter is already waiting there. and then you walk to the coffee shop, making small talk that isn't completely uncomfortable. 

peter asks you about your plans for the weekend--though you doubt that he actually listens to the answer. and you ask him about working at the bugle for three years, about wanting to quit every day. 

it's only when you mention something of the sort that you can get peter to smile, even a little. 

but today, as soon as you sit down, sipping on your coffee and moving hair out of your face, peter is frowning. 

but it's not his typical resting frown. 

"what did you do?" he asks, staring at your forehead. 

"hmm?" 

"to your head. what happened?" 

you touch the edge of your head, feeling the cut run up your skin, and sign. "oh. that. i fell." 

peter is blinking at you like you've removed your head from your body. 

you move your hair back, feeling self-conscious. 

"what'd you fall on? a knife?" 

it's almost a joke but peter's face is concerned, his eyes are running over yours. so you're not sure that it counts. 

"i bumped my head on the corner of a table." 

"and got a five-inch cut?"  

you roll your eyes, realizing that neither of you has taken out your computers, or actually sat down properly. "by 'bumped' i meant tripped and fell into the table and woke up a couple minutes later feeling a bit dizzy." 

peter's frown deepens. "do you have a concussion?" 

you raise a brow. "no?" 

he tilts his head, pursing his lips at you like you're a reckless child. "you didn't go to the doctor?" 

"i washed my face and put some glue on the cut." 

"it probably needs stitches." 

you just shrug. 

"does your head still hurt?" peter asks you. "are you having a hard time focusing? did you feel nauseous when you woke up?" 

you blink, laughing just a little bit, mostly because you're confused. "whoa, dr. parker, i'm fine. it happens. i'm clumsy." 

"you're reckless, you mean." 

"says the man who wears converse and a t-shirt when it rains." 

at that, peter has nothing left to say. 

*

it's maybe three weeks later that the two of you have moved on. 

way, way on. 

bypassing the small talk stage, you now make fun of peter for being knowledgable about every single thing--to avoid showing him how impressed you are--and he teases you about your abnormaly large bag, all the while trying to give you life advice, telling you that he has more experience than you do. 

he's about a year older. 

and it's comfortable now. peter doesn't joke much, but when he does, you react with nothing short of a cackle. and you've finally chided a real smile out of him, even if it's just a twitch of his lip or a wrinkle of his nose. 

peter doesn't complain about your tardiness or the strange way you like to get your work done, and you don't complain about his sour attitudes, and glares. 

well, not much, at least. 

and you're not friends--you don't think you can say that, if only because it terrifies you--but that's okay. you don't think either of you needs that, some label on a relationship that could fluctuate into something else at any minute. 

but peter is there, and you don't feel like every move you make is a mistake anymore. 

when jameson calls the two of you into his office to praise you about an article that did well or ridicule the two of you for slacking on an article that no one cares about--even though he chose the topic--well. you smile at peter, and he smiles at you. 

and if you laugh, he laughs. 

still, you notice some layer of bitterness behind peter's eyes. like he knows that he's not supposed to be here, not supposed to be laughing or smiling or working with someone that he doesn't need. 

you can see it, hear it in the way he talks sometimes. 

so you tread lightly, not talking much on those days, and only offering him suggestions that he can't turn down. 

he never snaps at you, and you don't think he's going to. 

but there's still a bit of hesitation. 

and on this particular wednesday, you're crossing out some section of an article, sighing into the paper, and trying not to listen to the creaks of your chair, when peter walks up to your desk. 

in his eyes is something curious, something you don't see very often. 

"hello, peter. is there something i can do for you?" you exaggerate the words, sort of like a warning. 

"just stopping by. wanted to make sure that our fresh meat isn't being worked too hard." 

you frown. "i've worked here almost a year." 

peter tilts his head, shaking it. his eyes display some fake show of shame. "ah. to be so naive." 

and then, without giving you another glance, he steals a pen from your desk and walks away. 

you don't know if you're supposed to call out to him. 

*

"what is that, peter?" 

he looks up from his phone, still chewing. "what?" he asks, through a mouthful of food. 

"that's your lunch?" 

"wanna bite?" he offers the protein bar to you. 

"you're surviving on that?" 

peter rolls his eyes, looking away from you. "i have a big breakfast." 

something about the way he says it makes you feel like he's lying, or hiding something, but if peter wants to lie about his eating habits--you had a bagel with butter on it this morning--who are you to judge? 

it's comforting to be sitting here, in this lonely breakroom, next to an actual person. 

it's also a bit strange because peter had said one word to you in this very room, the day you'd met. 

"do you also eat wheat and very occasionally half an egg?" 

peter bites his lip. "how do you half an egg?" 

"c'mon, you can have some of my lunch." 

you pull out a bag of chips, a sandwich, and some assortment of fruit that had been sitting in the fridge for far too long. 

peter furrows his brows. "what is that?" 

"this is a lunch, peter. say it with me. lunch." 

"i think your sandwich is rotting." 

you snort. "i don't want to hear any criticism from you, mr. ant, when you're literally eating eight grams of protein and four chocolate chips." 

"there's at least seven," he argues, and frowns. "ant?" 

"cause of your appetite." 

and then, peter almost smiles. 

*

and there's a part of you that feels the guilt seep into your skin with every breath, every almost laugh you get out of peter. 

there's that voice in your head, laughing at your stupidity, wanting to whisper threats in your ear. 

when you're home alone, you can't ignore it. 

you can't feel anything. 

you worry that sometimes, seven alarms won't be enough to wake you up. not from this foolish dream of having a friend, or just someone to talk to. 

you'll never stop being reckless, that voice says. 

you'll never stop hurting people. 

you know that you need to let peter go, right now, before you get used to his laughter and a smile with teeth. before he wonders where you've gone on days that you miss work, and can call you when he's bored. 

the last time this happened, the last time you let this happen-- 

every night you promise yourself that tomorrow. tomorrow you'll start distancing yourself. 

you'll be too busy for peter. too busy for anyone else. 

you've kept this job for longer than any other one, and you don't want to lose the familiarity. you don't want to have to leave. 

you'll be a ghost, starting tomorrow. 

*

"what do you mean?" peter says, arms crossed, glaring at you from the other side of the table. 

you're typing as you say "what do you mean what do i mean?" 

the two of you have eliminated peter's computer completely. you type descriptions, and he places them where he wants, making sure not to mess up the rest of the article. and then you read what you've written to him, and try to ignore his snide comments. 

it's a well-thought-out routine. 

thursdays might be your favorite day of the week. 

"you don't cook?" peter asks, sounding dubious. "not even pasta? or a pre-cooked meal in the oven?" 

"i save those for special occasions." 

"you just eat things you find at the store?" 

"i'm a big fan of those pre-made salads, and cans of fruit." 

peter sighs, leaning his head into his hands. 

"what?" you say, "the lack of protein bars in my diet is upsetting you?" 

"you don't cook?" peter repeats. "at all?" 

"no, peter. now will you help me--" 

"why not?" he interrupts, closing the computer. 

you sigh at him and he sighs back. 

you think that his foot might be kicking yours under the table. 

"i'm kind of a hazard in the kitchen. i don't feel like making a hospital visit every time im craving some mac and cheese." 

"you can't be that bad." 

you laugh and roll up your sleeve, showing peter the side of your arm. "see that scar? it's from when i tried to make thanksgiving dinner and burned myself trying to put something in the oven." 

peter frowns, running the tip of his finger over it while you laugh. 

you roll your sleeve back down, looking at his far too concerned eyes. "last time i tried to use a knife i almost lost the tip of my pinky." 

peter waves a hand. "that happens to everyone." 

"and i was also wearing a cutting glove." 

he closes his mouth. stares at you very intently. 

"peter, can we get back to actually finishing this article before jameson fires us both? and by fire, i mean literally burning us both alive." 

peter is still staring, apparently thinking very hard. "i'm going to cook for you," he states, shrugging finally. 

"what do you mean?" 

"my aunt taught me enough to feed you for one night." 

"peter, i meant, why would you do that?" 

"because apparently you only eat boxed food--" 

"--there's cans too--" 

"and you're already crazy. you need some actual dinner. a meal." 

"peter, you always criticize me for eating so much at lunch when you're munching on your apple or whatever--" 

"yeah, because i didn't realize that those bagged foods were the only sustenance you were getting." 

you laugh at him. "i think that's a little dramatic." 

"i don't. are you free tomorrow night?" 

something inside you screams no, violently and furious. it tells you to get up right now and leave. tells you that you shouldn't even be here, that they should. 

but the other part of you is laughing. 

"peter, i'm not letting you cook for me." 

"you think i'm a bad cook?" he challenges, just barely smiling. 

"i think you're insane." 

he mock laughs, and then holds his hand out. "give me your phone." 

"why?" 

"just do it." 

and you do, only because peter's eyes are right on yours and he's not going to let you look away. 

he takes your phone and types something in, smiling a little while he does so. and then he hands it back to you. 

"type your address in." 

"peter, i'm serious. you're not coming to my apartment to cook for me. i eat." 

"so am i," peter responds, "put it in." 

you raise a brow, refusing to lose this battle. in all honestly, you're not sure who's going to break first, because peter hates eye contact, but you hate his eyes. 

"do you want me to just ask jameson for the address listed on your file?" 

and there's something about the way he says it that makes you giggle, finally looking away. you shake your head, a bit annoyed that he's gotten this far. 

but you type your address and send it to him anyway. 

and there's only a small piece of you that regrets it. 

*

there's a knock on your door while you're pacing around. 

it's seven o'clock, and you've only had the last two hours to think about how to get out of this. you've contemplated playing sick, pretending not to be home, telling peter that there was an emergency, accidentally forgetting about this whole in the first place. 

and the only real answer you've come to is that you can't answer the door. 

work is one thing, you think, but as soon as someone is allowed to invade other areas of your life, you've got no choice. 

you need to keep peter away, and you need to start doing it tonight. 

but he's knocking at your door, and there's something about him standing there that makes you feel restless. 

insane. 

and you're not even thinking as you walk through the hallway, swearing to yourself that you're only going to make sure that it's really him. 

you're not thinking when you bump into the side table by the door, and knock over a vase that you could've sworn you moved weeks ago. a vase you shouldn't even own. 

"shit!" you're saying, as you try to catch it. 

it shatters against the floor, covering the entire walkway, and effectively trapping you from moving forward. 

maybe it's fate. 

maybe this is just another warning not to answer that door. 

but then a muffled voice says "y/n? you alright?" 

and you rap your hand against your head, feeling so stupid and unlucky. still, you call back to peter. "i'm okay. just broke a vase. let me clean this up really quick and i'll--" 

peter is frowning when he opens the door. 

and you are frowning when you realize that you left it unlocked for the last two hours. 

"don't move," peter says, quickly. "you're not wearing any shoes." 

"it's fine, peter, i'll be careful." 

"where's your broom?" he asks, meeting your eyes.

it's only then that you realize he's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. he's standing in front of you in completely normal clothes and carrying a bag of groceries. 

"no, you're my guest and i'm not letting you pick up my mess." 

"where is it?" he repeats, softer now. 

and you want to walk over the shards just to prove a point to him--whether it's that you're fine, or that you can handle a little pain--but peter is looking at you and walking inside, trying to kick away the shards closest to your feet. 

you sigh. "there's a closet just around the corner." 

peter gives you a small smile, hand grazing over your shoulder, and then he goes to get it, unconcerned about the cracking underneath his feet. 

when he comes back and begins to sweep it up, he's almost laughing. "were you running to the door?" 

"i think i lack control over all of my limbs. i might be a robot." 

peter scoffs. "you wouldn't get hurt all of the time if you were a robot." 

"i'm realistic."

 "you're human and ridiculously uncoordinated." 

you frown at him, and peter smiles at you. he brushes the broom over your bare feet, laughing when you squirm away. and then he clears a path so you can walk forward without cutting yourself. 

"thanks," you say to him, watching shamefully as he continues to clean. "sorry, i don't mean to make you my butler." 

"i'm already cooking for you, might as well clean." 

and then peter lets you lead him inside, asking where he can dump all of the glass, and moving the grocery bag he put by the closet onto the counter. 

after a moment, he looks around, his eyes scanning the walls and the floors. 

he licks his bottom lip. "it's... nice." 

you look at him, pouting. "you don't think i'm a good interior designer?" 

"it's just a lot more empty than i thought. i figured you'd have art and sculptures, and... more." 

you don't tell him that you'd love to, that you'd love to fill this apartment with things close to your heart. you don't tell him that if anything gets that close, it's sure to be broken. 

but you smile anyway. "sorry to disappoint you, mr. parker." 

"it's just unexpected. show me where i can get a pan." 

you show him where all the necessities are, scoffing at some of the ingredients he has in the bag, and listening to him explain that it isn't his recipe, but that you still aren't allowed to criticize. 

you just nod errantly, sitting on a bar stool so you can watch him. 

and peter makes it look like a little dance, finding the things he needs in seconds, handing multiple things at once, and catching anything before it falls. 

you sigh, and peter looks over to you, questioning. "i think you stole all of the coordination i was supposed to have." 

and then peter laughs--with teeth and everything--and turns back around. "i don't think it matters much." 

and you're about to argue with him, when some timer he set beeps. 

"almost there," he says, "do you want to get some plates and forks so i can just move it onto there?" 

you nod even though he can't see it, and walk around the counter to move past him. 

but peter has ridiculously long legs, and without even noticing, you're stumbling into one of them and almost falling into peter's back. just as always though, he's quick to turn around and keep you from hitting your head on anything, including his bones. 

peter sighs and you look at him, sheepishly smiling. 

"see what i mean?" he says and then helps you stand back up. 

even when he lets go you can feel the imprint of his hands around your biceps, the taste of his laughter in the air. 

peter is in your apartment, laughing and cooking for you, taking care of you, and doing it all with a smile. 

and, god, you don't think you'll ever be able to wake up from this. 

*

part two. 

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch​ @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff​ @hollandweather​ @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan​ @valvlry​ @imthatcoolmom​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  

[hathorneheiress]

Restless nights

Grayson POV

It's almost 2 A.m. and I can't sleep.

In reality I'm used to it by now. Hawthorne insomnia is something I struggle with on a weekly basis but with this being night 5 of no sleep I've had enough.

Sighing with exasperation, I reach for my phone charging on the nightstand beside me. I try not to go to my phone when I have sleeping issues, instead relying on meditating music, warm milk, thinking about other things till my brain becomes weary, or take a long hot shower.

As usual, none of those fruitless tactics were working.

I aimlessly scrolled through Tumblr. (Yes, I have an account and yes it's private) I was looking for nothing in particular, just hoping looking at a blue screen for a long time would result in some sleep.

As would have it, my younger brother Jamie was also on Tumblr and active in the last hour. @loverofriddlesandgames could his URL not be more obvious?!

Mine was more discreet. @nonerreta575. Only a select people knew it was me, and I intended to keep it that way.

Seeing Jamie active I contemplated whether I should text him through Tumblr. Maybe he was struggling with insomnia as well. My curiosity got the better of me and I sent him a quick text.

@nonerreta575: You can't sleep either?

Expecting not to get a response, I continued to my aimless scrolling when I got a response.

@Loverofriddlesandgames. Yeah. You too?

@Nonerreta575: Unfortunately, yes. It's 2 A.M. and I don't see myself falling asleep anytime soon.

@Loverofriddlesandgames. Aww. Poor you.

@nonerreta575: You can laugh. But you won't be if it's night 5 for you with no sleep.

@loverofriddlesandgames: Maybe you should go keep Xander company. He'll talk so much you'll fall asleep from boredom.

I would have scolded him if I hadn't already thought of that option. Xander did have that about him. No offense.

@nonerreta575: I have already thought of that but decided against it.

@loverofriddlesandgames. Seriously? I was joking when I said that.

@nonerreta575: Seriously.

@loverofriddlesandgames: Wow! I guess you are desperate. But don't fear I could think of a few ideas. And luckily we live in the same house.

I didn't like this was going. Groaning, I replied:

@nonerreta575. I'm going to regret asking this, but what were thinking?

I couldn't almost see his smirk as he typed out:

@loverofriddlesandgames: What about Dare Uno?

What the heck?!

2 hours later, 50 games of Dare Uno and taking why too many dares and way more uno cards later, and I was officially tuckered out. We got Xander to join in on the mischief in the old game room.

"This was so much fun!" Xander squealed in delight. "I hate that it was at Gray's expense of not sleeping, but we should do 2 A.M. Uno more often."

"I think I will pass." I replied. Yawning, I collapsed in the most ungraceful way on a nearby couch. I barely noticed Jameson throwing a blanket over me as my eyes finally closed, and I fell blissfully asleep.

A//N Hey!! So.... it's actually 2 A.M. where I am and guess what? I can't sleep! I was talking with my best friend @riddles-n-games and the conversation we were having had me thinking of Grayson and Jameson having a very similar conversation.

Want to guess who was Grayson and who was Jameson in this scenario?🤭

Anyways, I sneakily incorporated a lot of our conversation on to Grayson and Jameson and I hope you like it.

[lyrakanefanatic]

hiiiiii 250 followers is SO WELL DESERVEDDDD OMG

could i request ☕️averyjameson where he’s just obsessed w her hair?? and also 🌙 bc im curioussss

THANK YOU SMM <33

and sure!

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Jameson’s eyes darted away from his phone as he watched Avery walk out of the shower, her hair still damp as she was clad in cozy pj’s. His heart always felt at home just looking at her, and without meaning to, he’d gotten up from where he was laying on his bed, and walked over to her, lost in a trance as she raked her hair over to one side of her neck. She was about to pick up the brush on her vanity, when Jameson’s words stopped her.

“Can I brush your hair?” He asked, standing behind Avery as he lightly felt her wet hair. Avery seemed surprised for only a moment, before a smile touched her lips, and she handed the brush to him without turning around.

“Have at it.” She said. Jameson caught her eyes in the mirror and smiled a crooked smile. Then he took the brush, and delicately took a piece of her hair in his hand, combing the brush through it. He was immediately hit with her sweet vanilla-lavender scent, which only made him want to pick her up from the vanity chair and hold her close even more. He continued brushing her hair, slowly and softly, while listening for her breaths and sliding his hand onto her neck by the hair he was brushing. He could barely feel her pulse, but still, her heart drummed under his touch. He wondered if he was imagining the way her heart beat sped up, matching his own quick one, as he continued to brush through her hair.

He brushed the last piece of hair away, and, putting all her hair on one side of her neck, he gently pressed his lips to the other, kissing her right where her shoulder and neck met. Averys breath hitched, and just that sound made Jameson’s senses quicken. She turned her head to look at him, and all the thoughts that he had been holding back before came racing now. He moved to hold her face with one hand, before pressing his lips onto hers. Avery was quick to deepen the kiss, pulling him in closer as the kiss turned from gentle brushes to passionate kisses. Jameson held her as close as he could, but wanted to hold her closer, wanted to intertwine their bodies till they were one and the same. Finally the two separated, casting in short breaths as they gazed at one another. Jameson smiled, and it was nothing short of dangerous.

“I guess now I’m a professional hair stylist, heiress.” He said, his eyes twinkling. Avery raised a brow.

“You’ve still got a long road ahead of you. Brushing hair is the bare minimum,” She said, getting out of her chair and meeting his eyes. “There’s still so much you can’t do.” Jameson raised a brow at her. Was she challenging him? Either way, he very much liked it.

“Some skills don’t have to be cosmetology related. And I have those non related skills in spades.” He said, with a suggestive smile. He felt his smile grow as he saw the slightest blush on her cheeks, before pulling her into his arms and carrying her to bed.

——————————————————————————

SORRY THE ENDING IS KINDA BAD I GOT LAZY AND DIDNT KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO 😪😢

also i’ve been kinda slow at doing these asks bc i just got home from vacation and have been kinda taking it slow but im gonna start posting more again!!

and by 🌙 im assuming you mean a javery mood board but if u didn’t im sorry 😭😭

[hearthown]

I have a headcanon that Jameson has the highest pain tolerance compared to the rest of the brothers.

He gets wounds pretty often and I can also picture him standing in the shower after getting one, just watching the water turn a bloody colour, feeling the sting and somehow basking in it.

Self-destruction is his coping mechanism so he pushes past the hurt and it adds up with his masochistic behaviour -> "it hurts but I want it to hurt more because I don't know what else to feel".

I know that there are people out there who hate Jameson because of what he loves - games, riddles, traps. I know (one of the reasons) they hate him is because he can be very focused and immersed in a game to the point he might appear as though he doesn't have an ounce of self-awareness.

What I'm saying is... we always see how much Grayson suffers in silence. We see how much he's broken, the thoughts that go on in his head (especially about Emily), the way that he always HAD to be perfect for his grandfather and for the legacy. But we never saw that side of Jameson. The side that was vulnerable. The side that didn't play the Pretend Nothing Happened Game.

Honestly speaking, I think Jameson has been playing that game most of his life. He's pretending that it doesn't hurt, and he wants it to hurt more. It has hurt. So much to the point that he's numb.

So maybe watching him play a game, focusing everything he has on it, and not caring about anything else in the world doesn't mean he has no self-awareness.

Maybe it means that he just needs it to hurt less. Maybe it means that he needs to feel instead of staying numb all of the time.

[two-braincells-in-total]

hey there

i just wanted to say i love your writing!!!

and can i request an averyjameson fic? where this time, jameson is sick and avery is taking care of him

thank you!

The one to hold him

Pairing: Avery x Jameson

Word count: 911 words

A/N: This is kinds short and it's my first tig fanfic, so I apologise if it doesn't meet your expectations or if it's ooc

Tagging: @clarissaweasley-10 @alwaysthefangirl @wish-i-were-heather (lmk if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jameson woke up with a terrible headache and a sore throat. Amazing. He wasn’t one to get sick often, but when he did, it sucked. He wasn’t going to let that stop him today though. He and Avery were going to a fundraiser’s event tonight.

He got up and got into the shower. The cold water made his headache less painful, but it didn’t go away completely.

He dragged himself to the dining room for breakfast, trying not to look like a zombie. His whole body hurt because of the fever. Avery was already there, talking to mrs. Laughlin. She had managed to grow on her just a little bit over time. He closed the door and Avery turned around, concern immediately taking over her face. Apparently, he wasn’t hiding his state as well as he thought.

“Jameson, what’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“Nothing’s wrong, heiress,” he said, smiling down at her.

“You look like you’re sick.” She crossed the distance between them and put the back of her hand on his forehead. “Jameson, you’re burning!”

“I’m fine, I swe-” a cough interrupted him. Avery’s eyes were on his, her gaze full of worrisome mixed with annoyance at his stubbornness.

“Go back to bed, I’ll bring you breakfast,” she said softly.

Jameson, despite not wanting to go back at all, knew there wasn’t any point in arguing with her, so he just complied.

~~~~~~~~~

Avery found him cuddled in the covers, already half asleep. His hair was ruffled from the pillows and his face relaxed from the exhaustion. She smiled at the picture in front of her.

She crossed the room and put the plate with food and the cup with the tea she prepared for him on the table next to his bed. She sat next to him on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. She scowled at the heat radiating from his skin, his fever must be bad.

He slowly opened his eyes at her touch. “Heiress?”

“I brought you food.”

“Ah, yes, the way to a man’s heart,” he said, attempting a smirk. “I’m not hungry though.”

“You have to eat,” Avery replied sternly, “you need energy when you’re sick!”

“But I’m not sick, heiress,” he attempted weakly.

“Yeah, then why are you burning unless it’s from the fever?” she said while looking around the room for a cloth. Why was everything so messy?

“That’s because I’m naturally hot,” Jameson lifted the corner of his mouth in another weak attempt for a smirk, “if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Avery replied and then, bingo! She finally found a cloth in his dresser. “That’s exactly what’s going on!”

She walked towards the bathroom to wet the cloth with cold water. That’s what her mother used to do when she was sick as a child, it was a cheap and effective method to fight a fever.

She sat back on Jameson’s bed and pressed the cold material against his forehead. He hissed in discomfort. “Shh, I know, it’s uncomfortable,” she whispered, “but it’s working! You’ll feel better soon, I promise!”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Heiress?”

“Yes, Jameson?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered tiredly.

“What are you sorry for?” Avery was worried now. He had a tendency for apologizing for everything, he thought she’d leave him at the smallest mistake. She didn’t know how to convince him that she’ll always be there.

“I’m sorry that I won’t be able to go to the fundraiser event.”

She stared at him for a second. “Jameson, you’re way more important than the event. I’d rather be here and make sure you’re feeling better than go there!”

“So, you aren’t mad at me?” He looked down at the sheets.

“No, Jameson, I’m not mad at you,” she said softly. “I could never be mad at you for something as pointless as this, my love.”

He looked back up at her. The cloth wasn’t cold anymore, so she removed it. She brushed the hair back from his forehead again and kissed it gently. He closed his eyes, burying his head deeper into the pillow.

“Jameson, I’m going to need you to sit up for a bit,” she whispered. “You have to eat.”

He grunted in complaint, but let her help him up.

~~~~~~~~

She picked up the plate and fed him all of it, bite by bite. She was whispering encouraging words to get him to keep eating and it was slowly finished. She helped him lay back on the bed and got up to get some medicine from the bathroom in case he woke up feeling worse.

“Heiress?”

“Yes?”

“Can you come closer?”

She sat back on the bed and he pulled her hand to get her to lay down with him. He moved a little bit so that his head was on her chest, using her as a pillow. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her as close as possible. She pulled the blanket over him and started gently brushing his hair with her fingers.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, but the feeling of her hands in his hair calmed his mind down. He has never felt safer than when he was in her arms.

As he was dozing off, he heard a soft whisper, “I love you!”

He fell asleep thinking that she loved him. Him. His heiress. The one to hold him when he needed her to.

[gergthecat]

Could you make averyjameson or averygrayson headcanons? (Headcanons for whichever couple you ship)

YES I CAN ANON🫡

Averyjameson bc Grayson makes me feel weird

They both get nightmares a lot and so when they don’t they have a little party

There are so many of those “celebrity couples wearing each others’ clothes” comps of them

Avery’s fav sweatshirt is one of Jameson's from when he was like 14 because it’s actually her size

When Jameson gets sick he gets sad because he doesn't like feeling helpless

They NEVER shower alone

Whenever Avery is sad Jameson gets all the blankets and pillows and makes a nest for them to cuddle

Avery LOVES coconut and it makes Jameson gag (me too, Jameson, me too)

He actually cried during their first time because he thought that he would accidentally hurt her or it would be bad for her and she'd hate him

girlie pop did NOT hate him (quite the opposite)

Jameson draws stars all over her when he's anxious/just feeling bad with sharpie because he likes that they stay for a while so he knows she's there (does that make sense?)

For his birthday one year she gets stars tattooed on her hips and he cries :)

Avery loves choosing Jameson's clothes because she doesn't have a lot of control over what she wears

They match at EVERY event they go to even if it's just a small detail

Jameson gets his ear pierced in some county they visit and Avery goes FERAL

I hope these live up to your hopes and anyone is welcome to send more (this was so fun)

also sorry for taking so long I got this ask right before I had a cello performance lmao

[bumpkinspice0]

Parallels: Chapter 3

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI!!!)

Word Count: 1400

Summary:Miguel was consuming your every thought and it's becoming an issue. You wonder if he's having the same problem.

Warnings: Smut- Male (Shower) masturbation, Sexual frustration, Pinning, tension, Angsy as hell, learn a little more about reader's life, J. Jonah Jameson is in every universe Notes: I just realized I never said that the 'shared spider-sense' theme of this fic is entirely inspired by the relationship between Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, or more commonly known as Silk. They were both bitten by the same spider and share a spider sense, making them drawn to each other and ALSO able to track the other through the multi-verse. Silk is a an awesome spider character. 10/10 recommend checking out her comics (But I say that about every comic) I'm not sure Miguel and readers connection will be exaaaactly the same since they literally couldn't have been bitten by the same spider, but yeah. This is a totally cannon thing spider people can do 😅

Previous Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

-

Chapter 3

On My Mind

The restaurant was busier than you’d like, but really everywhere in this city was. Busier just meant louder, and louder meant earplugs for you. After having advanced hearing for nearly a decade you’d gotten used to it by now. You didn’t want to spend all night asking people to repeat themselves because you could over-hear everything that was happening in the restaurant. Right now you just wanted to be with your friends— unfortunately, your mind kept drifting elsewhere. 

Since you returned to your dimension 3 days ago, Miguel has consumed your every waking thought. Your daily hero life was suffering for it. You lost 2 robbers last night and missed a car chase this morning because you were too stuck in your own head. You were never one to get distracted on the job— and by a guy no less. 

 I should have stayed in the training room. I should have stayed longer and maybe we could have…

You’re not entirely sure what would have happened, honestly. This was uncharted territory. Some undefined connection only between the two of you? An innate sensation that drove you to horny madness. It sounded like a bad comic book plot. You’d probably had weirder things happen in your nearly 10-year-long spider career but this was by far the most frustrating.

Just the thought of him invaded your every sense. The deep rumble of his voice. His distinctive, rich smell— Like red wine. The taste he left in your mouth. 

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly, and you hated how much you wanted him. You didn’t even know anything about him.

Fuck Miguel O’Hara and whatever the fuck he was doing to you. 

But Miguel was a Spider-Woman problem.

Tonight you didn’t want to be Spider-Woman. You wanted to forget your interdimensional side gig and the broody, gigantic man that was driving you insane. Tonight you just wanted to be a good friend— and you were failing miserably at that too. 

Your best friend Jack wrangled his boyfriend, Ash, and your college friend Sue to come out for drinks and your mind couldn’t be further away.

“Hey, space cadet!” Jack snaps his fingers directly in front of your face. You’d been staring at the same potted plant across the room for probably 5 minutes now. You crash back to maddening reality. 

“Sorry, what?” you reenter whatever the conversation was now with a pitiful smile.

“Ash asked what’s new at the paper,” Jack repeats the question you never heard. He gives you a worried look. Jack knew about your double life. He’d known you for so long now, you couldn’t hide anything from him. He'd catch it whenever something was slightly amiss before you could even articulate a single word— thus why he lined up this friend's night in the first place. You’d been reclusive since you’d joined the multiverse. 

“Oh, at the Bugle?” You take a generous swig of your cocktail, “Jameson’s still behind on the times, I think. Keeps trying to push papers instead of giving our digital department more funding. I’m still only making stuff for print. Like, do you even remember the last time you even read from a newspaper?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I ever have.” Ash snorts.

“Maybe in high school,” Sue taps her chin, “And even then it was for like an assignment.” 

“People still need paper-mache supplies!” Jack interjects.

“Hey!” you playfully shove him, “That’s my entire industry you’re shitting on, sir!”

“Oh, so you’re defending the infamous J. Jonah Jameson now?”

“I’m but a lowly graphic designer,” you clarify, “The only thing he wants me to do with his precious paper is not look too much like The Times .”

You’d landed your job at The Daily Bugle in college. An internship turned full-time staff position. You’d gotten Jack some freelance work there on the side. He was seemingly the only photographer that could get a halfway decent picture of the mysterious Spider-Woman. He always gave you a small cut of whatever Jamason was willing to shell out. You didn’t know how to work a camera for crap, but you knew how to pose for a picture.

The evening rolls on with a pleasant demeanor. It was nice to be talking to non-spider people. To listen to the casual ramblings of your friend's completely ordinary lives. That new bitch at work or their mother calling one too many times a day. You envied them, honestly. It’s been so long since you could just simply live . This night out was a small taste of what you’d been missing. Connection. 

And, of course, it gets ruined. 

The nearby wail of sirens penetrates through your foam earplugs. They were maybe 3 blocks away. Once you hear it, you can’t unhear it. All conversations fall dead in your ears, your focus now entirely on the possible imminent danger to your city. The sirens are getting further away now.

A vibration from your phone in your pocket catches your attention. You check it under the table. A text from Jack. 

‘Sidejob thing?’

He always texted you in code about Spider-Woman business. He must have seen your face go placid, even though he can’t hear the distant sirens. You give him a faint nod across the table and he glances to the door— His silent message loud and clear. 

What are you waiting for? Go.

You know Jack did his best to understand, even if he never truly could. You had a duty. It wasn’t just a job, but who you were. You could never just stand idly by.

You quickly make an excuse about forgetting a deadline and shimmy out of the booth, leaving a few bucks for your meal. So much for no Spider-Woman tonight. 

____

Fuck you. Get out of my head.

Fuck you. Get out of my head.

It had become his mantra for the last few days— of course, it didn’t help anything, but cursing you gave him some minor vindication. 

He found himself in the shower 20 minutes longer than usual, attempting to give himself some kind of relief. The thought of you waiting on your knees for him clawed at his mind. He stroked his painfully hard cock to the image, now forever burned into his retinas. 

He never got distracted. It wasn’t in his nature. He prided himself on being the best leader he possibly could be. Attentive, knowledgeable, a team player— and for the most part, he was. Now you had come and thrown a wrench into all of that.

He should have known from the first time he saw you this would be a problem. It caught him completely off guard, but how could he have been prepared for… whatever this was? He was in the midst of building an empire, and there you were, as casual as ever— and so clearly just as confused as he was. A spider-sense suddenly manifesting? Ridiculous.

As soon as you locked eyes, he knew this was all because of you.

God, you were beautiful.

There had been few times he let his instincts take hold of him. He’d made himself into an apex predator in search of his spider abilities— he had to hold himself to a different standard than the rest of you. He was dangerous, and whatever this connection is, was dangerous in turn. 

He couldn’t control it, not yet anyway. And seemingly, you couldn’t either. You were both prey to your most primal desires and irresistibly drawn to the other to satisfy them.

He couldn’t escape your assault on all of his senses. He was fixated on you in every way imaginable. Your smell, your voice, your looks— your taste. 

He cums to the memory of your soft thighs squeezing his head. He heaves shaky breath after shaky breath, trying to gather his composure. It was hollow, fleeting relief. He can’t help but think you could have made it better— He knows you’d have made it better. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the foggy glass and is immediately disgusted with himself. 

He’d never been this way before. You were part of his team, a fellow hero that decided to join his league. He was your boss, for lack of a better term. This couldn’t go on. At least not the way it was currently.

He needed answers.

He was a scientist. It was time to do some research.

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: The crew deals with the aftermath of Jameson's album release party and makes major decisions about their futures.

Warnings: toxic relationship, mentions of therapy, emotional breakdowns, mentions of depression, deception in relationships -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 5.3k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

The aftermath of the disastrous album release party left Imani seeking solace in her hotel suite. As she lay in bed attempting to find sleep amidst the chaos in her mind, thoughts of Jameson consumed her. She couldn’t shake the image of him when first laid eyes on her at the party, or how he looked with Camille by his side. The way he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close made her believe they were happy together but the look on his face made her feel completely different. 

He didn’t resemble her Jameson anymore. He appeared…solemn and apathetic. He smiled and talked politely throughout the night but he didn’t seem to be the life of the party anymore. Then again – what did she know about him? It had been a year since they even laid eyes on each other.

After tossing and turning all night, Imani realized she had to let it go. It was time to get back to her life. The next morning, she woke up feeling restless but she forced herself through her usual routine. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, and ate breakfast.Then began coordinating a swift exit from New York with her assistant. The trip had been a disaster and she wanted nothing more than to leave as soon as possible. 

As she was sending out an email, a phone number appeared on her screen. It wasn’t saved, but she knew exactly who it was. She had removed him from her contacts but she didn’t forget. Without hesitation, Imani answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

For a moment, there was nothing. He didn’t say anything. But when he did speak, it was like a shock to her system. “Hey. It’s me.” His deep voice was like an earthquake to her core. It left her brain scattered. She needed to think of something fast! This man shouldn’t get to affect her like this.

She laughed, “Yeah. I know, Jameson. What’s up?”

She could hear his hesitation over the line and wondered what this was about. “I was…If you’re still in New York, can we meet up? Lunch or something? I think we should talk.” 

“Yes, that’s fine!” She answered eagerly, the pitch of her voice rising in anticipation. She quickly cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “I mean, yeah, we can go today.”

Once again, he got quiet. She expected him to call her out on her eagerness. Make a joke, tease her. But he didn’t. He seemed to be all business. “Two o’clock good? At Masa?”

“Yeah, that works. I’ll see you at Masa at two.” “Good. See you then.”

The call ended and her heartbeat tripled in speed. What the fuck did she just agree to? Why was he calling her? Why did he want to see her? Did he end things with Camille? Did he want her back? No, it couldn’t be that easy. He didn’t even flirt with her over the phone. Whatever he wanted, it made Imani nervous. She didn’t know how to handle the man he was now. 

After coming face to face with Imani, Genie’s emotions were a rapid whirlwind, shifting from sadness to hurt and now settling into a wave of deep, seething anger. All she could think about that night was her former best friend barging back into everyone’s life without a word of warning. Understandably, her situation with Jameson became untenable and she had to walk away. Genie wanted the best for them both but sometimes love didn’t work out the way she thought it should. But never did she think Imani would cut her off without a word. She didn’t get it. She was her best friend. 

She was pissed. 

She decided she wouldn’t wait for Imani to reach out. If she did, she’d wait forever. She was taking control of their friendship. Determined, Genie called Imani’s assistant to find out where she stayed in New York. Aman Resorts. From there, it was nothing to get to Imani’s room. She practiced her speech the whole way, strutting down New York streets muttering to herself.

This wasn’t fair and Genie wasn’t going to stand for it.

When she arrived at the hotel, she immediately took the elevator up to the floor the assistant gave her. Genie fought to keep her composure despite the anger within her. When Imani’s voice rang out from behind the door, her stomach churned. Was this the path she wanted to take?

But it was too late. The door opened and Imani was there…looking at Genie in clear surprise. The girls looked at one another and before Imani could say a word, Genie wedged herself between the door and pushed her way inside. The aggressive action wasn’t part of her personality but she stuck with it. 

It seemed the only way Imani would take her seriously was to make demands.

She marched past the foyer and found herself in the living room, waiting for Imani to join her. As soon as she heard the door close. She loosened the Chanel purse from around her arm, tossing it down onto the couch behind her as she paced the floor. She could hear the other woman approach the room and Genie whirled around, hurt in her tone. “Was it so hard to pick up the phone?”

To her credit, Imani apologized. Almost immediately. “Genie. I’m…I’m sorry. I–”

But she didn’t want an apology. She wanted answers. “You could have told me that you needed space. I would have left you alone. I wouldn’t have bothered you. I would have just checked in and we didn’t have to talk about Jamie. We could have just…” Her voice broke and tears glistened in her eyes as she fought against them. “You were my best friend. How could you?” The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do after I broke up with Jameson.” Imani confessed, tears filling her own eyes. “I just knew I didn’t want to speak his name. I didn’t want to hear it.” 

“Okay but you just left me.” Genie’s voice cracked with emotion. She was fighting a losing battle with her tears. They ran down her cheeks as she glared at Imani. “Out of everyone, you know I would have understood.”

Imani nodded, acknowledging that Genie was right. Being understanding was one of her greatest strengths…but also a flaw. She searched for the good in people every single time and she got hurt because of it. She didn’t want Imani to just be another person in the list of people who hurt her.

“I know, I know. And I’m so sorry for shutting you out. Please forgive me,” Imani begged, her voice pleading and sincere.

Genie’s anger faded as she saw the genuine remorse in her friend’s eyes...but it still lived within her. “I’ll work on it. Just…don’t shut me out like that again or I might kill you.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffling. 

The two women eyed one another warily but their love for each other couldn’t be denied. And just like that…there was a glimmer of hope that their friendship could be salvaged. All it took were some tears and a couple of apologies.

“I won’t.” “You promise?” “Of course.” “You swear?” “Yes.” “...Give me your pinky.”

Imani laughed, moving closer to Genie as she wiped tears from her own face and offered her friend her pinky. Genie linked hers with Imani and nodded, the action sealing the promise between them. Imani wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug. “I promise you I won’t. I missed you so much.” she whispered. 

“I missed you too.” Genie replied and returned the hug.

“You want to help me pick an outfit? I’m about to go see Jameson in an hour.” Imani said softly. 

Genie reared back, blinking at her in confusion. “You’re seeing wh—Oh my god, Imani. Does it ever end?! Show me your options.” 

Coming face-to-face with Imani again might not have been the best thing to do. He was already struggling after seeing her last night. And that was only one time. He shouldn’t put himself through the torture of doing it again, but he had to. He had to see if she was alright. He had to reassure himself that leaving her alone was the right thing to do. 

He waited for her at Masa, shuffling silverware around nervously as he waited to see her. Meeting in public wasn’t ideal – he knew people would talk – but it was better than meeting her alone somewhere. He needed to keep this above board. His relationship with Camille was developing well. She was good for him. His therapist encouraged him to make decisions that were best for him.

Panting after Imani wasn’t good for him. He spent six months of his life reaching for a bottle of liquor every time he thought of her, literally begging God to have her wake up and come back to him – only to see her leaving LA hotspots with her latest fling. He circled the drain when he couldn’t have her…and he was tired of living like that.

But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t miss or worry about her, so he hoped this could be a new chapter in their lives. 

When he saw her being led to the table by a hostess, he rose from his seat. It was a reflex but he followed it. His gaze swept her frame, taking in the outfit. The dark orange bordering on brown. The way her pants hugged her hips. Her belly button piercing was clear as day. Fuck. He had to stop. If they were going to be in each other’s lives, he couldn’t think like this.

They were going to be friends and it was time to act like it.

“Hey Jamie,” she greeted him with a smile. “How are you?” She asked, sitting down. 

“Hey. I’m..I’m good.” He said softly, staring at her as she took a seat. Eventually, he realized he needed to be sitting too. Jameson quickly sat and met her gaze with a smile. “Thank you for coming.”

She looked at him, pausing for a moment. “No problem. It’s nice to, um, see you again.” She said softly. This was a side of Imani he wasn’t used to. She was softer and more timid. He didn’t like it. 

“We just saw each other last night.” he joked

She laughed, looking away. Imani pushed her hair behind her ear. “I—I know. I just wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. I’m glad I am though.”

“I’m glad too.” He said softly, gazing at her before remembering what he was there for. “I uh–I was worried about you. You left early and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Again, she paused. She gazed back at him. He studied her facial features, looking for the answer she didn’t want to tell. “Oh, I’m fine. I was tired.” She said, her eyes giving away it being a lie. “Are you okay? You left your party early too.” 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just tired from finishing up the album.” he said. Their conversation was stiff and awkward just like how it was at his album release party. It didn’t flow like how he was used to.

“Well, um, I’m glad you’re okay, Jamie.” She glanced at him. This time he could tell she was being genuine. “That’s all I want. I want you to be okay.”

“I-I want that for you too, Imani.” 

There was a pause. She didn’t speak. Neither did he. Jameson knew what he had to do coming into this conversation, but he was having difficulty finding the words to do it. He exhaled, his eyes meeting hers. “Cami and I are…we’re good together. We get along really well. No arguing, no screaming, no mistrust. We work and I want to see where it goes. She’s good for me.”

She nodded, her smile faltering slightly, but she quickly recovered it. “Good. I’m glad that you’re happy, Jameson. You deserve that.” She said softly. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I want you to be happy too.” 

“I am,” she said quickly. “I’m happier than I've ever been.” 

Her bright smile remained, leaving him hopeful, but her eyes conveyed a different story. He wanted so badly to ask more questions. He wanted to see if she was telling the truth. One of the last things she ever told him was that she didn’t think he was her person anymore. Shouldn’t she be happier now?

And yet, he stopped himself from asking. He had to let her go for her to be happy. It was a thought he lived by for a year. That had to be true. She was better off without him.

“That’s good. I asked you here because I—I want us to be friends, Imani. We loved each other for so long. I won’t pretend I don’t worry about you. I do. So I want us to be okay with each other.”

She paused, glancing at him. “I…I’d like that. I want to be friends with you too. I miss your presence in my life, Jamie. And I just want you to be happy at the end of the day.”

The words sounded nice and Jameson let himself trust in it…even if something in his chest tightened at them. He gave a nod, grateful that she wouldn’t just disappear from his life again.

She left lunch with Jameson, feeling bitter, annoyed, and lonesome. Yes, she agreed to be friends with him. Yes, their conversation seemed to flow after the initial stillness of discomfort. But she didn’t want any of this. She hated hearing him talk about how happy he was with Camille. They were supposed to be the perfect couple - never arguing, never screaming, always trusting each other – not him and Camille. Why couldn’t they get it together? She didn’t understand it. 

Before coming to New York, Imani had been so sure of what she wanted - him. She thought it would be easy to win him back, to get back on the rollercoaster of their relationship. But now she could see that he was happily occupied with someone else, riding an easygoing kiddie ride with no thrill, and yet, he was having the time of his life. Imani was pissed. But there was nothing she could do about it; she had to move on, too. 

As she rummaged through the clothes in her suite's closet, Imani searched for an outfit that would turn heads. Tonight was her last night in New York before returning to Los Angeles tomorrow morning. After forgetting to book a flight earlier in the day, she didn't want to spend her remaining time in the city sulking in her hotel room and watching Sex and the City. So when one of her industry friends mentioned a party just a few blocks away, Imani jumped at the chance to go out.

She stopped flipping through her clothes when her hands landed on a sleek black fitted dress. It hugged her curves perfectly - this was exactly what she needed.

The party was everything she had hoped for - alcohol flowing freely, fine ass men everywhere, and good vibes. It was the perfect distraction from Jameson. Imani took another shot of tequila and relished in its bitter burn as it slid down her throat.

“Okay, bitch, let’s go dance!” She exclaimed to her friend before they made their way from the bar to the crowded dance floor. The music was loud and pulsing, and Imani didn’t even know what song played, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was letting the beat move her body and forgetting about Jameson for the night.

As she danced, Imani could feel all eyes on her, but there was one set of eyes in particular that caught her attention. Through the dim lights, she could only make out a few of his features, but she recognized his gaze - he had been watching her all night. And she was sick of him just staring at her without saying a word. So Imani took matters into her own hands.

After the song ended, she confidently strutted over to where he sat. “You just gone stare at me all night and not say nothin’?” She asked with a sly smile as she finally got a good look of his handsome face. He had smooth caramel skin, his haircut was sharp like he just got it done, and a perfectly trimmed beard - exactly her type.

He chuckled and licked his full pink lips before standing up to meet her. Okay, he was tall too. Another plus. He stepped closer to her. “Oh, I was gon’ come talk to you. I was just waiting for the right time,” he replied, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Isaiah and you?”

“Imani,” she said softly as she shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

"It's nice to meet you too, Imani." He smiled, flashing his diamond tooth fang. He pulled his hand away. Isaiah's neck, wrist, and earlobe were dripped in diamonds that danced harder than the crowd did. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Yes, I don't see why not. You can get me a lemon drop with a sugar rim."

He chuckled, "I like you already. You know what you want and I fuck with that." He said, a hint of admiration in his voice. She liked him too. Isaiah wasn't Jameson, but he was a perfect distraction to forget him.

EJ glanced at his phone, noticing the two missed calls. One from his manager and another from an artist he was working with while in town...but he had much more important plans going on then as he browsed the website of Aspen resorts. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders. The faint sound of knocking at the front door pulled him from his hard work.

He carefully exited out of the browser before making his way to the door, hoping it wasn't Genie. He wanted to surprise her with dinner plans but hadn't even started to cook. Thankfully, it wasn't her. It was his best friend.

“Hey. What's up?" EJ said, opening the door wider to let him inside.. He noticed the tension in Jameson’s posture, the way his fingers twitched against his thigh. “I know you left early last night. You good?”

Jameson sulked into the room and dropped into the chair in the attached living room, taking a deep breath as his face clouded with something heavy. “I had lunch with Imani today.”

EJ shut the door behind him because he knew he was in for one hell of a story but he did his best to keep his tone neutral. “And?”

“And…” Jameson hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I asked her to be friends.”

He took a seat across from Jameson, crossing his arms as he leaned back. He didn’t miss the way Jameson avoided his gaze and he immediately braced for bad news. “That’s…progress, I guess. But you don’t sound convinced.”

Jameson exhaled sharply, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It doesn’t feel right. I thought it would. I thought that time apart would make things easier when we saw each other again but it's like..." He shook his head, his voice dropping. “It’s like nothing’s changed. I’m still drawn to her. And I hate it because Camille deserves my best.”

EJ frowned, his jaw tightening. He cared about Jameson, but he wasn’t about to sugarcoat things. “You’re right—she does. She’s good for you, man. She’s steady, supportive, and she actually cares about your well-being. She’s not a tornado like Imani.”

Jameson shot him a look, defensive and protective all at once. “Imani ain't a tornado. I put her through a lot of shit. She had to choose herself first.”

EJ held up a hand, waving off Jameson's defense. “Yeah, you did. It was fucked up. But that being said...she made the choice to walk away. That means staying away. And maybe I'm being a dickhead about it but you gotta admit -- shit with her has always been…complicated. Even when y'all were good, shit could go left within a minute. With Camille, it’s simple. She’s there for you, no drama, no games. She’s what you need, not just what you want in the moment.”

He could see Jameson mulling over his words, the conflict etched across his face. EJ hated seeing his friend like this, but he wasn’t going to let him spiral back into the mess he’d clawed his way out of.

Jameson finally spoke, his voice quiet. “But it ain't that simple. My head knows Camille’s the better choice, but my heart…Man, my heart starts thudding every time Mani girl looks at me. I sat with her at lunch and I just wanted --” He trailed off, shaking his head.

EJ sighed, leaning forward. "Let me know when she looks at you and I'll tell her to close her eyes."

"EJ, c'mon." "No, you c'mon. You spiraled, Jay. Your mama had to move into your house and take care of you." "I was fine. She was being dramatic." "You weren't eating." "I ate!" "Barely! You barely ate enough to get through the day but you drank enough to get through anything. Y'all were rocky before then you cheated but after that, everything got all fucked up."

Jameson looked up at EJ, seemingly wounded by the mention of his infidelity. He saw it was the root cause of all their problems but he was being foolish. He and Imani started having issues before he cheated. “Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. But you’ve worked too hard to get your life back on track to throw it all away for something that might not even work out. Camille’s solid, Jameson. You and Imani keep burning each other. Stop the cycle.”

Jameson nodded, but EJ could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. He’d seen that look on his friend’s face before, the one that meant he was caught in a tug-of-war between his past and his present so EJ decided to give him something else to think about. “Speaking of relationships…I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Jameson looked up, his expression curious. “What’s that?”

EJ hesitated for a moment, a rare flicker of nervousness passing through him. Then he smiled. “I’m going to ask Genie to marry me.”

Jameson blinked, leaning back in his chair. “Wait—what? You’re serious? You’ve only been together a year,” He was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you sure about this?”

"Of course I'm sure," EJ muttered defensively. "That's my baby. She's sweet, creative, and intriguing. I ain't never met anybody like Genie in my life. She makes me happy and I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy."

Jameson processed what EJ was saying, and a small smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay. Good. Soft ass. Should I give you the speech?”

"What speech?" "That "If you hurt my sister, I'ma knock ya head off your shoulders" speech?" "Ain't nobody scared of your big ear ass."

Jameson got up, jokingly taking a swipe at EJ but the other man was much faster. He dodged out of his chair and laughed out loud. "I'm gonna need your help to do it. I want to catch her off guard. You, her dad. She loves Aspen. So I'll do there in February."

“Anything you need,” Jameson said without hesitation, though he still looked a little stunned. “You’ve got it. Just let me know.”

EJ nodded, a rare moment of vulnerability settling over him. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

"Well, let me get out of here. I got dinner plans with Cami." Jameson said, heading to the door before pausing and turning back. He clapped EJ on the shoulder. "You're a very blessed man. Genie's had a heart of gold since she was a kid. If she's your soulmate, God really did smile down on you."

EJ smiled wistfully, his tone soft as he spoke of Genie. "Believe me. I know how lucky I am."

His mind still lingering on his conversation with Jameson when he heard the door to their rental open. Knowing it was Genie, EJ got up and went to the kitchen to make her some tea. "Duke?" She called out, using the nickname he had grown fond of. "You here, baby?"

"Kitchen!" He called out and sure enough, she came around the corner looking every bit as serene and graceful as she usually did. "I take it you feel much better now?"

The past few months had been rough for her. She was building resentment and anger. It was the total opposite of her everyday persona but watching her now...it seemed that she had managed to handle those feelings very well.

"I do. I saw Imani this morning."

EJ’s body stiffened for a moment before he forced himself to relax. He didn't hate Imani but he was always on edge. She had the power to twist his two favorite people into knots and he didn't like that. “Yeah? How’d that go?” He beckoned her closer and she came to wrap her arms around him.

“It was…unexpected,” Genie admitted. “But we talked. We cried a little bit. I think we’re going to work on our friendship going forward."

“That’s good, my love,” EJ said sweetly, turning his head to kiss her as he waited for the kettle to warm. "I'm happy for you both."

Genie tilted her head, watching him carefully before she uttered her next words. "She also told me she was going to have lunch with Jameson.”

Even though he knew it, he still felt his stomach drop into his feet. Imani didn't even know how much power she had over Jameson. She had him rethinking his entire relationship with a woman he'd been with for six months. One sighting, two conversations...and he was considering throwing it all away. EJ schooled his expression, wanting to appear neutral to his girlfriend. “I know. He came to see me after.”

Her eyebrows lifted, curiosity in her eyes. “Really? What did he say? What'd they talk about? I didn't call Mani to ask. I didn't want to be too nosy.”

EJ hesitated, then gave her a reassuring smile. “He said they talked about being friends. They agreed. And uh -- that it felt like a step in the right direction.”

Genie studied him for a moment, brows furrowed. She knew it didn't sound like Jameson. But then...stranger things had happened than him practically growing up and being mature. She seemed to accept his answer with a nod, placing her head on his shoulder. “Maybe it is. I hope so -- for both of them.”

The kettle whistled on the stove and EJ reluctantly pulled away, lifting his hand to pat her bottom gently. "Go get comfortable. I'll make you a cup of tea and we can talk some more."

She gave him a beautiful smile and nodded obediently, practically skipping out of the kitchen giddily. He liked making Genie happy. If he had his way, he'd see nothing but bright smiles and happy giggles from her for the rest of her life.

EJ finished up in the kitchen, making her tea and finding a snack for her to nibble on before dinner. Taking care of Genie was one of his main priorities. It was why he rationalized lying to her about what Jameson said.

As he exited the kitchen and moved into the living room, she was stretched across the couch, knit blanket across her legs as she scrolled her phone. Her hair was curled, pulled into a ponytail. She hadn't even tried and she was gorgeous as hell. “I was thinking we should take a trip. We go back to Cali next week but maybe sometime soon -- we can go somewhere. Take a little trip?” He told her, setting the tray down as she pulled her feet up, giving him room to sit.

Her eyes lit up, and she sat up straighter. “Really? Where to?”

“Anywhere you want,” EJ said with a grin. “But...I've been looking stuff up in Aspen. That house you told me about? Talked to the owner. She'll let us rent it for a week in February.”

Genie’s smile softened, and she shifted closer, tucking herself under his arm. “You're too good to me, Ellington Dupree.” She didn't say anything more but she clung to him and he knew she was grateful.

“Please. This is nothing. Wait til we're together for ten years. I'm going to be hella annoying.” EJ said, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on the top of her head. “I want to make some time for us. No distractions, no work -- just enjoying life together."

EJ kissed the top of her head, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie but knowing it was better this way. “You know what? Maybe we should make this trip a family thing. Bring your dad? I can bring my mom and sister?"

Genie looked up at him, surprised but intrigued. “That’s actually a great idea. They’d love that.”

EJ smiled, brushing a curl from her face. “Good. Let’s do it.”

She hesitated, biting her lip as if a thought came to her.

"What?" "Hmm? Nothing." "You sure?" "Yeah. Us and our families. Sounds perfect."

She smiled, leaning into him. “Thank you. For everything.”

EJ kissed her forehead, holding her tightly. As they sat together in the quiet of the house, he felt a sense of calm settle over him. He was making the right decision. He wanted this for the rest of his life.

The lights of New York spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Camille’s penthouse. it was a beautiful view but Camille wasn't looking at it. She stood at the kitchen island, her phone buzzing incessantly on the marble countertop. Even glancing at the screen made her nervous.

[ +33123456789 ]: What's going on, Cam? [ +33123456789 ]: Are you seriously not going to tell me? [ +33123456789 ]: You're temporary, remember that.

Camille exhaled sharply, locking the phone and setting it face down. She poured herself a glass of wine, trying to push the words from her mind. Meeting Jameson was never supposed to make her feel anything. He was a handsome face that a friend wanted for herself. Camille's job was just to see if he was open to seeing someone else. Sleeping with him and falling for him wasn't part of the plan. But he was on the verge of being hers now and what her friend wanted didn't really matter anymore.

Even if guilt gnawed at her. The knock at her door startled her, and she quickly smoothed her silk robe before padding over to answer it.

The object of every thought she seemed to have lately stood on the other side, his tall frame illuminated by the hallway light. In his hands were two lush bouquets of roses, one red and one pink.

“Good evening." he said with a soft smile, cradling the roses in his arms.

Camille’s heart fluttered as she took him in. 6'3, solid frame, the most beautiful green/blue/whatever damn color they felt like being eyes? Jameson Lucas was one of the most beautiful men she'd ever seen...and she spent all her time with male models. "Roses? You’re spoiling me, Mr. Lucas.” She moved aside, letting him inside as she reached for the flowers.

“I would hope so.” Jameson replied, stepping inside as she moved to place the bouquets in vases. He had been to her place much more than she had been to his so he shut the door behind him -- getting comfortable. "I like the look in your eyes when I do something nice for you. It's very sexy."

Cami glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips curving into a playful smile. “You’re laying it on very thick tonight. What’s the occasion? You missed me?"

Jameson shrugged out of his jacket, kicking off his shoes and lining them up perfectly against the wall in her living room. "Yes." He called out to her, following her into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “But no other occasion. I just wanted to see you..”

Even as her hands finished arranging the flowers in its vase, Camille's face was hidden behind the beautiful roses. Her cheeks were warm as she turned to face him. “Well, you’ve seen me.” she murmured, not looking at him as he rounded the corner and stepped into her space.

“Not enough,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist. Jameson pressed his head against hers, tilting his head to kiss her shoulder. "I told you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately."

"Thinking what about me?" "Everything." "Mhm. I know what that means. You cannot put me in that position again. You almost broke my hip last time."

His humorous laugh warmed her heart and she was proud of herself for being the one to make him happy. Her breath caught as he reached for her hand, his fingers warm against hers.

“I"ve been thinking...I want you to be my girlfriend,” Jameson said, his voice steady. "I've been taking things slow because -- of the past. But I have to look forward. No second guessing. You're good for me. I like being good for you. If you would have me, I want to keep building on this."

She turned in his arms, the smile that spread across her face absolutely illuminating. “I wouldn't mind building a life with you.”

"Very enthusiastic response here." He grinned, dipping his head to give her a kiss. She melted against him, the laughter bubbling in her chest gone. The warmth and the steady beat of his heart grounded her. This was real. He chose her...over Imani. This didn't feel temporary.

"I didn't expect to care about you like this." She confessed against his lips, clinging to him tightly. Her hand moved from his, sliding up his wrist. Her fingertips grazed the watch he always wore and then moved to his biceps. He was hers. All hers. "I believe in you and I want you. I'm crazy about you. How's that for enthusiastic?"

“Very good. I like it." He sighed. "You make me happy,” he murmured into her ear.

“You make me happy too.” she replied, her voice soft.

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, swaying in her kitchen. When he pulled back, his lips brushed hers in a tender kiss that left her breathless.

She didn't let herself think back to those messages. Even if Jameson found out, she didn't think he'd care. Neither of them meant to get serious about each other. It didn't matter why she had approached him. Only that she did and they hit it off.

She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the way he held her, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the world. For now, she could let herself believe in this—believe in them.

[wish-i-were-heather]

OKAY SO here are my thoughts on the grandest game up to chapter twenty four (SPOILER WARNING)

(im also including my initial reactions from reading chapters 1-9 even tho we've already read those)

Why does it always say the old Lyra what happened

NOT HER PUNTING A BALL AT THE HEAD OF THE GUY WHO CATCALLED HER OMG BOW DOWN QUEENNNN

I LOVE GIGIIIIIII I LOVE GRAYSON I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC

“Sitting on the edge of a bed that was not his, wearing nothing but a lush Turkish cotton robe, Rohan twirled a knife slowly though his fingers.” (23) I CANT I LOVE HIM OMG KSHD HDSJD IM DYING

WHYS HE SHOWERING��WITH  A KNIFE SIR

Rohan and Savannah when?

THE BABIES THE BABIES THE BABIES THE BABIES ROHAN WDYM WDYM CONGRATULATIONS ON THE BABIES THE BABISES?????? dHFSDHAFKJHAK THEY HAVE BABIE HFDHSFKHSDF?? PLURAL?I AM SCREAMING I FULLLY GASPED I AM NOT OKAY WDYM THE BABIES NASHLIBBY CHILDREN???????

“You’re staring, pet” (79) WOAH ROHAN CHILL

HAWTHORNE BOY (85)

“Beside Avery, Jameson was looking at her like she was the sun and the moon and the stars and all eternity, all rolled  into one,” (87) GET ME A MAN LIKE HIM OR NO MAN AT ALL

If Avery and Jameson were real they would be the best celebrity couple sorry Tom holland and zendaya sorry Olivia Rodrigo and Louis partridge but Avery grambs and Jameson Hawthorne are superior 

The mental image i got of avery with the hawthorne brothers all behind her and then when the four of them took off their masks- AUGH i am NOT okay AT ALL they are so cool i wish the masquerade scene was longer tho

If Rohan doesn’t stop calling people “love” even in just his internal monologue I might have to marry him

eigHT PLAYERS? I KNEW GRAYSON WAS GONNA PLAY EVENTUALLY BUT AHH