a/n: @xo-zozo requested me to write what happens after Late nights and Cold coffees when avery goes back to bed, soooo this is what happens :D happy reading xx
pairings: averyjameson
wc: 960
Avery moved quietly, her steps barely audible against the dark wood floors as she slipped back into the bedroom. The only light came from the faint moonlight outside their bedroom window, casting long, soft shadows across the walls. The room felt still—quiet in the way things only were at the cusp of dusk and dawn, suspended between night and morning.
She didn’t bother turning on the lamp.
Just a few more steps, just the slow peel back of the sheets. She slid into bed carefully, back to him, body stiff with the effort of pretending she hadn’t left at all. Her silk pajama top chilled slightly against the sheets, her hand curling under the pillow as she tried to even out her breathing.
“Where the hell were you?”
His voice was low, rough from sleep, but clear. Sharper than she expected. Not tired. Awake. Aware. Avery winced and closed her eyes for a moment before turning her head to glance at him.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she responded, not looking him in the eyes. He waited, unblinking, expecting more.
“I was just—” she started.
“Working.” He cut in, his voice tight. She looked down.
Jameson pushed himself up onto one elbow. His hair was a tousled halo, his face half in shadow. Even then, she could clearly see the worry and sadness and barely contained anger in his gaze.
“You didn’t wake me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Bother me? Ave, you know I love you, okay? But you’re being ridiculous.”
“What—how—okay, hold up. I’m going to need some sort of explanation because I don’t understand how I’m being ridiculous just because I want you to get a good night’s sleep after weeks, maybe even months of not being able to rest.”
“Because you’re exhausted,” he said quietly, voice low but firm. “Working all night, running yourself to the ground, isn’t going to fix anything, and it’s wearing you out. You’re tired.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re fine, baby, because you and I both know you’re not.”
Avery let out a shallow breath of tiredness. The anger dissipated from Jameson as quickly as it had come, seeing her so exhausted. He sat up straight, opening his arms.
She hesitated—just for a second—before moving toward him. He pulled her in gently, wrapping his arms around her waist, her head resting just below his chin. Her fingers gripped the edge of his shirt, holding tighter than she meant to. He said nothing about it. Just rubbed slow circles into her back.
“I just… can’t turn it off,” Avery whispered, barely audible in the stillness.
Jameson didn’t rush her. His hand stayed steady on her back, slow and warm, grounding. They lay curled together beneath the thin sheets, his chest rising gently against her cheek.
“What can’t you turn off?” he asked, quiet.
She hesitated, her breath catching like the words might choke her.
“My thoughts,” she said finally. “They just don’t stop.” She spoke as if the words had been ripped out of her, fury coating them in layers.
He stayed silent, giving her space.
“Every time it’s quiet… it’s like everything gets too loud,” she breathed. “And then I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, even when nothing’s wrong. Even when everything’s fine.” She spoke, the last word coming out tortured.
He exhaled, his hand moving to her hair, brushing it back from her face.
“It’s like I’m always bracing, waiting for something,” she went on. “Like I have to stay ahead of it. Like if I stop, even for a second, it’s like something awful will happen or—I don’t even know.”
She let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “I don’t even know what I’m scared of half the time.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to be real,” Jameson murmured.
She blinked hard, throat tightening.
“And I’m tired,” she added softly, voice breaking. “So tired, Jameson. I just can’t get to sleep, because I’m so fucking terrified of my own mind that—” She let out a shaky breath, cutting herself off.
He pulled her closer, tucked her under his chin.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know, Ave.”
There was nothing loud in the way he held her. No fixing. No pressure. Just his arms around her, steady and certain.
After a few long moments, Avery spoke.
“Lyra came into the kitchen while I was working.”
“Oh?”
“She threatened to wake you up if I didn’t stop working,” she murmured eventually.
“Someone give that girl a standing ovation,” Jameson said, resting his chin on her head. “She’s doing the Lord’s work.”
“Ha, bloody ha.” Avery sighed, drily. She let out a long breath. Jameson ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly.
“Can you talk for a bit?” Avery whispered softly.
“About?”
“Anything.” She responded, pressing her cheek to his chest. He exhaled and gave her a look that assured her that they would talk about this later, before flicking his eyes up to the ceiling.
“So in the morning, Xan and I decided that we should….” Avery smiled.
He launched into the story, voice soft, warm, laced with amusement. Avery closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask him to stop. His voice was rhythm. His arm around her was weight. Her breathing slowly matched his.
Eventually, she didn’t respond to his story’s punchline. Her grip on his shirt loosened.
Jameson looked down to find her breathing soft, finally, finally asleep.
He stayed awake a little longer, ran his fingers gently through her hair once more before letting his own eyes rest.
a/n : stopp i love sleep fics so much. asdjagsdjahf they're adorable. jameson ml x idc if everyone hates him or them rn he will forever be my favourite tig character. let me know what you think!!
keeping up with the hawthornes
morning meetings & friday fevers
a/n: obviously i'm new at this so this won't be great but let me know if you enjoy! happy reading x
pairings: averyjameson, graysonlyra, libbynash, xandermax.
wc: 1167
"Did you just put that coffee in the microwave?" Lyra asked in mild horror.
"Yeah, it was cold," Max replied, looking at her as if she were being unreasonable. Lyra stared at her. Xander sipped his hot chocolate, watching intently, not fazed by Max’s beverage quirks.
"It’s iced coffee," Lyra deadpanned.
"Yeah, well, not anymor—what the elf!" she yelled as two figures whooshed past her.
"I swear, Lib, I’m not sick! God, what is your problem?" Avery yelled while still running.
"If you’re not sick, why the heck aren’t you letting me check your temperature?" Libby replied, sounding out of breath.
"Because there’s no reason to! I’m not sick!"
"So you are sick."
"No, I just don’t understand why you’re so determined to—"
"Stop."
A country drawl sounded throughout the room. Lyra turned her gaze to where Nash was standing in the doorway, Grayson at his side, an eyebrow raised. He caught her gaze from where she sat on the kitchen counter and sent her a questioning look. She shrugged, because she genuinely had zero idea what was going on. Avery and Libby had both stopped where they were—Avery with her back against the staircase, Libby facing her, back toward everyone else.
"What’s happening?" Xander asked helpfully.
"Yeah, I was wondering as well," Lyra added. Max just nodded eagerly.
Avery rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Nothing."
Libby complained to Nash, "She’s ill and won’t admit it! She won’t even let me take her temperature!"
"If you’re not sick, as you’re claiming, why aren’t you letting Libby take your temperature?" Grayson asked Avery plainly.
Avery glared at him. Abruptly, Grayson smiled slightly—though Avery didn’t seem to notice. Her body was still in a defensive stance, as if she were ready to run if anyone attempted to move toward her.
"Because, obviously, your collective blatant distrust in me is downright offensive. After years of living together, you continue to doubt me and assume immediately that I would lie about something as trivial as feeling sick. I mean honestly…."
Lyra zoned out slightly and looked around to find the source of Grayson’s smile, her eyes travelling to where she saw Jameson making his way down the staircase behind Avery. She smirked as she saw Nash silently signal something to him, to which he gave a nod.
In true Jameson Hawthorne fashion, he reached the bottom of the staircase and swiftly wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her against him. Avery started slightly, but after a moment, sighed in exasperation, seemingly knowing there was no point in running anymore.
"What am I doing?" Jameson asked Libby, smiling slightly at the girl in his arms.
"Check if she has a fever." Libby smiled, thankful for the help. Jameson frowned lightly.
"I thought you said you weren’t sick," he reminded Avery, his voice low.
"I’m not! Libby’s just being assumptious," she said back to Jameson.
"How am I assuming anything when you look like you’re about to collapse?" Libby shot at her.
Lyra looked at Avery. Jameson pressed the back of his palm to her forehead, keeping his other hand firmly around her waist. To Lyra, Avery didn’t look ill at all—or like she was about to collapse. Just perhaps slightly tired. Maybe Avery wasn’t lying?
Jameson looked concerned now.
"You’re burning up, Ave," he told her softly, worried, his hand still pressed against her forehead, then moving to her cheek.
Or maybe it was sibling intuition, and Lyra should never be a detective.
"YOU LIAR!" Libby yelled. Nash and Grayson watched in both slight concern and amusement.
Max whispered to Lyra, "It’s like watching a soap opera."
Lyra laughed. She felt Grayson come to stand by her side, his arm around her shoulders, rolling his eyes at his brother and sisters-in-law. Lyra smiled.
"Well, how am I supposed to know if I have a fever?" Avery argued.
"BY LETTING ME CHECK FOR YOU!" Libby looked exasperated—very un-Libby-like.
"Okay, okay. You—bed." Jameson pointed at Avery and gestured upstairs, amusement and concern evident on his face, his voice stern.
"I have meetings," she said, turning around to frown at Jameson.
"Heiress, you’re sick. You’re not risking your health for some random idiots who are unorganised enough to schedule meetings on a Friday morning. You’re overworked as it is. You need rest." Jameson’s tone indicated that they had had this conversation numerous times.
"Well, I have things to do, love. I can’t just drop everything—"
"I can take your work for the day, Avery. You should take the day off," Grayson told her. Lyra looked down at the counter and smiled at his thoughtfulness.
"Gray, I can’t do that to you. You have just as much stuff to do today as I do. We can’t—"
"Then he can delegate. You need rest, Avery. You can’t go on like this without taking days off," Jameson said firmly, his thumb tracing her jaw. They looked at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them.
"Fine. Fine! God, I’ll take today off. But only today, okay?" Avery sighed in defeat.
"Done," he stated.
Libby smiled at him. Avery clearly had forgotten tomorrow was the weekend.
"Fine," Avery rolled her eyes.
"Good." He smirked. Grayson looked at Lyra, and they shared a smile. Lyra thought it was endearing how much Jameson cared about Avery, no matter who was watching.
After Avery went upstairs, Libby made her way to the other side of the kitchen.
"Well, now that that’s all finally settled, thank God—does anyone know where my cookie dough from yesterday went?" she asked, opening the fridge and looking through it.
Xander’s eyes widened almost comically as he mumbled an incomprehensible response and left the room hastily. Libby smiled and rolled her eyes. Lyra was too busy laughing to notice Grayson swiping her croissant off her plate—until it was too late.
"Oi!" Lyra yelled at him.
"You have four other croissants on your plate, Lyra."
"So? What are you insinuating?"
"I’m insinuating that I have a busy schedule today, and that if you can’t sacrifice one croissant for my efforts, we may have to rethink this whole relationship."
"Our relationship?"
"No, your relationship with those croissants."
"Don’t judge my relationship!"
"Speaking of schedules—Gray, you will delegate Avery’s work, right? That alone is too much for one person," Jameson asked, his back to everyone as he made a sandwich for Avery.
Lyra smiled at Jameson’s obvious concern for his brother, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Jameson glanced at Grayson, and Grayson nodded.
"Promise?" Lyra asked.
"Promise," Grayson replied, his eyes still on his brother, who shot him a smirk and turned back around carelessly—although Lyra noticed some of the tension leave Jameson’s shoulders.
Nash, who had been silently watching this whole exchange, smiled and shared a knowing look with Lyra.
They all had so much pride, and yet were secretly concerned about each other’s wellbeing.
God, how she loved them.
a/n : i feel like lyra's perspective is so much easier to write than anyone elses. i originally wasn't going to publish any works but i thought i'd give it a go (i don't love this one but it's alright lmao) and see what people think. i hope you enjoyed!
