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midnightorchids · 17 days

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More soft Jason ideas since you deserve it and your wonderful and supper cool Girldad!Jason BRRROOOOOOO Oh my goddddddd ok like- - Jason is the kind of dad who always has music playing in the house, he mindlessly sways and hums along as he makes morning (or night-time) pancakes for you and his little girl. She'll come running up to him, her thick black hair tangled over her face, and pull on his pant leg. He'll sweep her up into his arms, her small head fitting perfectly against his chest as she watches him make breakfast, still somewhat asleep and aloof. He'll start bopping along to the music with her little hands around his neck, filling up the kitchen with shrieks of laughter and he peppers her soft cheeks with kisses. - I feel like you and him would like in a beach house, somewhere away from the city and his old job as Red Hood. Your daughter would bring home buckets of pretty rocks and sea glass that Jason keeps in jars along the living room windowsills. He has to dump some back onto the shore every time he sees her washing the new rocks and shells on the front porch. - After long summer days of playing and wrestling in the waves, you would all curl up for a post-beach nap. Smelling like salt with the prick of the sun settling into your tired bones. Your daughter would fit perfectly between you two. Jasons hand behind his head with his other wrapped firmly around you and his little girl. - Get's his daughter obsessed with reading just as much as he is. Would build her book-shelf after book-self as her collection of story-books and middle grade fairy books expands. - Helps his daughter roast marsh mellows during the beach bonfires you guys have when Roy and his daughter visit. Your daughter and Lian are best friends- playdates once a week kind of thing. - When she's little, he'll always have his daughter on his knee during big family dinners. He let's her eat anything off of his plate, keeping his arm around her as he talks with Dick. - Overall, just- every-time he falls asleep next to you he feels like crying into your shoulder, unable to thank you enough for bringing such a precious perfect bundle of laughter into his life. Huge 'my wife showed me how to love and my daughter showed me how to forgive energy lmao.

I want night time pancakes with Jason and my little baby girl wtf!!! Also, thank you so much for sending this in. I love it and I literally fail to understand how you pull up with the most amazing scenarios every time, I’m actually in love with your writing!! You’re amazing!

Anyways lol!! I’m gonna be honest, I don’t want to have biological children but for Jason… I’d do it, no hesitation. He’d be the most amazing girl dad, I love him so so so much.

I’m not sure if people have already said this before but can you imagine him learning how to do your daughter’s hair!! He has a YouTube hair tutorial playing on the TV as your daughter sits in between his legs. He’s got bobby pins in between his teeth and hair ties around his wrist. He’s using a small comb to gently brush through her little curls.

He’s learning how to braid her hair and he’s having some difficulty, but he’s a persistent man, and like he always tells his little girl, practice makes perfect! He will sit there for days, hours upon hours, trying to make the most flawless set of Dutch braids. Once he’s succeeded at his craft, he’ll admire his work and will tell his daughter to go show you his skills. And oh my goodness, how adorable does she look showing off her father’s braiding skills!!

I also saw a quote on Instagram earlier today and it said that “tenderness is in the hands” and I immediately thought of Jason. There is no one with gentler hands than Jason. His fingers may be rough and his knuckles might be permanently bruised from his past, but when he interlocks his hands with his baby girl, they are the most delicate and warmest hands she has ever felt.

He will run his fingers through her hair, as she lays her tiny head against his chest and he’ll read her favourite stories. She’ll take his hands out of her hair and just play with his fingers. Trace little shapes on his palm, measure her small hand against his big, calloused ones. It’ll melt Jason’s heart and he’ll feel like crying. There will be days where he needs to stop reading and take a minute to appreciate the tenderness of the moment, without completely crumbling.

Also, I kind of hate to say it, but it’s so true. Jason would totally try to heal his daddy issues by being the best possible parent.

He’d treat his daughter like an actual princess and not just in terms of materialistic things. He’d be there for her in every circumstance; he’d be the best moral support and the best cheerleader anyone could ask for.

If your daughter plays any sports or plays an instrument, any thing really, he’d always be there to encourage her and comfort her when it started to become tough. He’d attended every game, every practice, every performance. Like I said, the best cheerleader.

Basically long story short, I’d die for soft, girl dad Jason.

#fem!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #batfam

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rqgnarok · 11 months

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music to my eyes - jamie tartt

fandom: ted lasso

wc: 4,266

warnings: spoilers for the season 3 finale of ted lasso, jamie being a lil self deprecating. reader uses female pronouns.

summary: jamie has a crush on the band’s bassist.

author’s note at the end!

Jamie’s so, so late.

Roy’s gonna have his balls. It’s the first training for the Queen’s Cup final against Tottenham– their first one without Ted, a little something before the freaking Champion’s League starts next year– and Jamie’s having the worst morning of his life.

He woke up late for his 4 am training that ran long, traffic was absolute shit and now he’s sprinting– not running, cause he’s not allowed to after he and Colin almost ran over the Prince of Denmark while racing each other to the locker room, a story for another day– down the hallway with Roy Kent’s fury just waiting to find its rightful owner.

He didn’t even have time to comb his hair today. It still looks amazing, but it’s the routine that matters. For his mental health or whatever.

Maybe that’s why he feels so jittery and doesn’t look where he’s going as he makes his way to the locker room. Jamie’s got his bag clutched to his chest and his headphones hanging around his neck, his jacket halfway on before he gave up and left it trailing down his side like a sad blanket.

He’s cursing whatever Gods control alarm clocks and traffic and hairbrushes when he knocks onto someone. It’s so forceful it sends them both to the ground with a grunt and a little ah! of surprise. Jamie tries not to grow annoyed and fails. He considers laying on the ground and becoming one with the carpet so he doesn’t face Roy’s justified punishment and sighs out his nose, pushing himself to a sitting position.

“–so sorry,” and it’s a woman, Jamie just knocked out a woman in his rush to work. What’s next? Is he gonna hit a cat with his car? Maybe spit on a kid’s face? She keeps babbling apologies, unaware of Jamie’s foul mood. “–supposed to be at her office but there’s just– there are so many hallways–”

“‘s alright,” he cuts her off harsher than he means to, guilt stabbing at him when she looks at him with wide, remorseful eyes. Jamie sighs, dusting off his clothes and standing, offering her a hand. “Me fault for bein’ in a rush. Should’ve seen where I was going.”

“Oh, god, you actually know where you’re going,” she says with a grimace, accepting his hand. She’s on her feet and standing too close to Jamie for a second that feels like a lifetime– almost nose-to-nose with Richmond’s greatest. Her laugh is stuttery and nervous when she steps back, barely meeting Jamie’s eye.

She’s cute. Jamie’s not planning to do anything about it, especially not with his fine for being late slowly becoming one for missing training but she is. Cute. His mouth lifts in a half smile at the thought, charmed.

“I was looking for Rebecca Welton’s office but I only got myself lost,” she says sheepishly, putting her hair behind her ear every couple of seconds since it keeps stubbornly falling out of place. Jamie’s fingers twitch a little but no. No, absolutely not, he’s not doing this to himself, no sir. “Is there any way you can give me directions without having to go with me? I don’t want you to be late for– shit. Practice, huh?”

Jamie thinks she’s the smartest woman that’s ever walked the face of the Earth until he remembers where they are. At Richmond’s training facilities. She’s looking at a disheveled man in a sports outfit. The story kind of tells itself.

“I– yeah,” Jamie stutters a little, clearing his throat to disguise it. “There’s, um, it ain’t a problem. I can take you there if you want.”

Her entire posture screams relief as soon as he offers, and it’s enough for Jamie to make up his mind even if she hasn’t said yes yet. “Would you? They said in the group chat not to be late and, like, they weren’t specific about it but you just know when a message’s for you, you know. And here I am, late–”

A beat.

“–and rambling,” she smiles at him again, the sight tugging at Jamie’s chest as he stands there like an idiot, his brain rebooting whenever she does it. “Yes, please. I’d really appreciate it.”

And so Jamie asks a kitman to take his stuff to the locker room while he walks her up to Rebecca’s office. His hand hovers but doesn’t quite touch the small of her back while he blabbers his way through small talk. Nice weather, today, innit, traffic was absolute hell though. Oh, you’re not from around here, that’s nice, do you plan on going sightseeing?

He delivers her to Rebecca’s floor to a thankful, ecstatic Higgins, who welcomes her with a hearty shake of the hand and promises that she hasn’t missed anything important. She’s barely able to spare him a smile and a quick thanks before the door’s closed behind them and Jamie’s standing there on his own, smiling at nothing.

He’s still wearing a dopey grin when he finally finds himself on the field, Roy yelling at him to run laps until sundown for being late. His legs are killing him, he’s £200 poorer, and he didn’t even get the woman’s name; but nothing can drag him down from his high and make him forget how she’d squeezed his arm in gratitude, touch warm and calloused against his skin.

The next day Rebecca’s there before practice starts, looking tall and pleased as she claps her hands and shares the big news: since the final of the Queen’s Cup is being held right here at Nelson Road, she managed to get a band to play during the halftime show. They’ll be here the entire next two weeks for rehearsals and staging, so everyone must be on their best behavior if they don’t want their name in the summer transfer market.

Jamie doesn’t connect the dots until he sees her again, this time at a local bar big enough to house less than two thousand people. Keeley hears from Roy who hears from Beard, who heard from Higgins that Rebecca said the secret band was gonna hang around the city for a couple of other smaller, quick gigs.

Jamie manages to excuse himself from video games at Colin’s with the guys and offers himself to Keeley as a buffer between her and Roy at a bar tonight. Though, in Jamie’s very humble and very right opinion, they’re already on their way to getting back together for good.

The band’s gathered a nice crowd, the lighting low and the thrum of the music hammering on Jamie’s teeth. He’s nursing the beer Roy bought him, the man charmed enough by Keeley’s presence that he let Jamie bend his rigorous diet regime. Just for the night.

It takes three songs for the bassist to speak up, a makeshift spotlight landing on her, sweaty and delighted at being onstage. Jamie’s blood rushes to his face and his vision blacks out for a second.

It’s her. No longer is she lost and out of her element, shyly asking a stranger for help. Both of her feet are steady on the ground, the strap of her bass snug around her neck. Her fingers are toying with the strings even when no song’s playing, an air of rightful confidence washing over the room as it takes her in. Jamie isn’t the only one suddenly breathless.

She grins against the microphone, coy. “Thank you so much for having us, Jaded Joker. We’re Karma Police, and we hope you have as much fun hearin’ us as we do playing for you.”

They fall into another song with that quick introduction and Jamie can’t take his eyes off her, barely hearing the song as the world around him slows down. Her clothes and jewelry sway with her to the rhythm of the music, the lights shifting seamlessly into different colors making her look ethereal.

Keeley clocks it in immediately.

“She’s good, huh?” she nods at the stage where Jamie’s stranger is moving to the beat of the bass like no one’s watching, shamelessly enjoying herself and making funny faces at her bandmates. “Fuckin’ smoking, too.”

Jamie only hums in a very Roy Kent-like way, knowing there’s no fooling Keeley fucking Jones. The last thing he needs is to give her details and have her dip a toe into Jamie’s nonexistent love life.

Of course, he doesn’t take into consideration that Roy’s a brazen gossip.

“So,” Sam elongates the word as he’s spotting Jamie on the press the next day, happy watching him grunt at the effort. “How was the band last night?”

Jamie almost drops the damned thing on his chest.

“Roy said you enjoyed it,” he continues giddily like he didn’t almost commit accidental manslaughter by catching Jamie off guard. “Especially the bassist. What was her name?”

Sam fakes confusion for less than a minute before Jamie gives, mumbling it under his breath. He’d been weak and googled Karma Police in the privacy of his car before going home, swiping through the images that popped up until he recognized her face.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N), the article he clicked on informed him. Jamie had repeated the name under his breath just to see what it felt like on his tongue for an embarrassing amount of time.

Thanks to Karma Police’s bassist and lyricist (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the band’s sophomore album New Perspective has found a home in people’s hearts and high on the global charts.

Keeley wasn’t kidding. She’s good.

“Oh,” Sam realizes, some of his amusement softening into genuine interest when he watches Jamie’s face do whatever the fuck it's doing. “Oh, you like like her.”

Jamie immediately flushes under Sam’s gaze, making sure the weight is safe in its place before physically fleeing the conversation. Sam doesn’t mention it to anyone, which Jamie appreciates so badly he could cry a little, but he does find his eyes across the locker room later when Rebecca comes in, four people in tow.

“Everybody, these are the wonderful musicians I spoke to you about the other day,” she says it in a way that screams I’m a pleasant human being and embarrass me and I will end your career right where you stand all at once. “We’re on a little tour of the installations and I thought we’d all come to say hi to wrap it up.”

The boys are charming and welcome them with ease. They’re not one of the most liked teams in England despite their bad runs for nothing, but Jamie’s frozen the second he catches sight of her. She’s a step behind one of her bandmates, shaking hands and smiling politely at conversations while staying slightly in the background, the stage persona from the previous night gone like taking off a jacket.

Jamie takes pride in the way their eyes meet and her tight expression loosens, her smile blossoming into something more genuine, less unsure.

“Hey, stranger,” she says a little awkwardly after having gathered the courage Jamie couldn’t to cross the room and say hi. It feels like they’re alone in a room full of people, and for a second Jamie thinks he sees Sam stealing a few looks, making sure he keeps the others away and distracted for a little privacy. “Did you make it to training the other day?”

“What?” Jamie blanks like an idiot, then shakes his head when he remembers how they met; both of them, late for their respective responsibilities. “Oh! Oh, yeah. I– yeah. I had to run for me life to make up for it, but I made it.”

“Good,” she smiles, shifting in her place. “I, um. I’m glad we get to play for you guys. What you’ve done this past season, getting back to the top, has been unbelievable.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he replies, awestruck, and backtracks when she looks a little apprehensive. She’s doing the hair thing again, combing it back while it stubbornly escapes its place every couple of seconds. A nervous tic, maybe. “I mean– some friends and I, we saw you last night at the Jaded Joker. If anything, it’s an honor we get you guys to play for us.”

“Oh!” she seems pleased, ducking her head at the compliment. Her shoulders loosen again, and Jamie tries not to feel like he just scored a goal against Man City. “Oh, you should’ve said hi! Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“I did,” he says, too soft, and it feels like an admission of something when her eyes search his face, for a moment landing on his mouth before putting herself back together. “Up there, it’s like– it’s like you forget everyone else. You’re made for the stage.”

If anything, (Y/N)’s delight only strengthens, tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Jamie finds himself trying to follow the trail of new skin and flushes as well when he catches himself just in time.

“Thank you,” she matches his tone. “You’d think it’d be nervewracking but it’s… silence. In my head. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn’t.”

“It does,” Jamie agrees, breathless. It’s exactly how he feels when he gets the ball on his feet, every anxiety and worry and part of him he doesn’t like quieting the minute he steps on a pitch. “I get the same when I play. Peace in the chaos, I guess”

(Y/N) looks at him like she’s discovering the world’s eight wonder.

“Kids!” her bandmate breaks the moment by coming over, arm draped around (Y/N)’s shoulder. (Y/N) blinks, looking a little shell-shocked. “Sorry to interrupt this party, but rehearsal awaits.”

Disappointment claws at Jamie’s belly, but before he can let it fester the conversation continues, bubbly and loud. “Alas! We’ll be done around 5. You’re welcome to visit then. We’re going to the third floor, I think.”

(Y/N)’s only amused at her friend’s antics, even if Jamie’s back to having a knot in his throat out of nervousness alone. Jesus, what’s wrong with him? It’s like he’s eight again and crushing on the cute boy that lived in the apartment in front of the Tartt’s.

“See you then?” (Y/N) says, hopeful, and Jamie thinks it’s only fair he’s brave as well and nods as resolutely as he can.

“I’ll be there.”

He ends up having to ask Higgins for directions, after promising he’s not gonna stir up any trouble at least four times. It takes Roy passing by and giving a few reassuring grunts, guaranteeing Jamie’s best behavior before Higgins gives him the location. When Jamie goes to thank him, Roy only points at him menacingly, though lacking his usual frown, and says don’t fuck this up.

Rehearsals are just wrapping up when Jamie gets there, instruments being packed and people saying goodbye to each other when he makes his way into the room. He immediately finds (Y/N) sitting on the piano playing a complicated melody.

She lights up when she sees him, the music seizing. “You made it!”

Jamie stops her from standing up, instead sitting next to her after she scoots over to give him room. “That was nice. A song of yours?”

(Y/N) shrugs. “Hopefully soon. You never know, when you’re writing. You start working on a song and it ends up being a completely different thing from when you started.”

“Sounds messy,” Jamie says, a little consternated at the thought. Fortunately, (Y/N) laughs.

“It is. Do you play?”

“Fuck no,” he says quickly, then tries to explain himself as she splutters in amused surprise. “I mean, I don’t think I can. It seems pretty complicated. I’ve always been better with me feet.”

He reaches for the keys and begins playing some nonsense, loud and offkey, knowing it’ll make her laugh again.

“No, you gotta–” she cackles, placing her hands on top of his and quieting the dissonant echo of the keys. Jamie feels the tug at his lips, insistent, automatic, the same rush of delight that courses over him whenever he’s in her presence. “Gentle. Be gentle about it, jeez.”

She lines up their hands so her fingers move his and begins playing a quiet, fun melody. Jamie’s doing shit other than staring at her face, slightly twisted in concentration as she mumbles the notes under her breath. G, G, G, F, G, B, G, G…

“I know this one,” Jamie mumbles in recognition. (Y/N) turns her head to smile at him, pleased. “‘s from Nottin Hill, innit?”

“And a million other movies,” she murmurs back, unable to break the spell that’s fallen over the room. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic.”

“‘s my favorite film,” he concedes, finding it incredibly easy to be honest when they’re sitting side by side like this, alone, their sides warm against each other. He loves his teammates, but (Y/N) didn’t know him when he was awful and arrogant, too cocky. There’s nothing she holds against him, no standard he needs to meet for her to be happy in his company. “Cried me eyes out at the end. Though I’ll deny it if you ever ask in front of anyone.”

(Y/N) laughs. “I promise I won’t. It’s a good movie. Doesn’t beat While You Were Sleeping, though.”

Jamie’s expression remains blank. (Y/N)’s face falls into disbelief, her hands tightening against his. “You’ve never watched While You Were Sleeping.”

He’s heard of it, but it’s hilarious to watch her forget herself, any sign of nervousness or polite shyness finally out the window. Jamie likes it– likes her, wants her to be comfortable with him and stop holding herself so tightly whenever she’s off the stage.

“You poor, sheltered boy,” she exhales, aghast. “Holy fuck, I can’t believe I’m about to introduce you to the best romantic comedy ever made.”

Jamie goes to take the opening but stops himself at the last second. He knows this process; the flirting, the leaning in for just a moment so she smells his cologne then pulling away, leaving her wanting more. The asking for a date, a fancy dinner, then taking her home. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, dodging calls until she stops trying to reach him.

He’s been doing it for years. He wants to desperately break the cycle and he wants to do it with her, but does he have it in him? Jamie’s been working on himself harder than he’s worked for anything else in his life, but what if he’s one slip away from becoming his old self? From turning out like his dad?

Sure, the old man’s changed, or– well. He’s trying to. But whether Jamie likes it or not he sees a little too much of him in himself sometimes, and he can’t do that to her. He’s known her for less than a week and he knows she deserves better. Everyone does.

Roy told him not to fuck it up. Maybe this is what he meant.

His expression stutters, shatters, and reestablishes itself in a matter of a moment, a blink of an eye. Jamie knocks his shoulder into hers gently, leaning back into place after a second. He teases: “And who made you the expert, eh?”

Rather than letting it drop, (Y/N) takes the bait just like Jamie knew she would. They stay there until a security guard comes to kick them out for the night, and they talk about everything and nothing. Movies, songs, bands they like, and foods they don’t. Jamie’s favorite players when he was a kid, his hero-like worship for Roy Kent, and how he’s made him a better player, a better man.

(Y/N) shares with him the first time she held a guitar in her hands, the albums she listened to when she was a kid that changed her as a person, realizing she could create magic through words and music. Her favorite cities to tour, how long she’s known her bandmates, how she’d die and kill for them if necessary.

By the time he’s walking into the pitch at Nelson Road two weeks later, the roar of the crowd around him swallowing every other sound, Jamie’s spent every free moment of his time with (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It was unavoidable, helpless as he is in his attraction to her, but Jamie doesn’t know what to do without, as Roy so carefully put it, fucking it up.

It hadn’t helped when (Y/N) snuck into the locker room to wish him luck, showing him the Richmond bracelet she was gonna wear onstage with a roll of the eyes. “Our stylist wouldn’t let me wear the jersey, but don’t you doubt for a second that I’m rooting for you, Tartt.”

Jesus Christ. Jamie had felt his cheeks warm up and dared to thank her with a loud, exaggerated kiss on the forehead that left them both grinning like idiots and Roy staring at them knowingly.

Before Jamie followed his teammates into the field, Roy had pulled him aside with a hand on his shoulder. “Tartt–”

“I know, I know,” he answered a little too self-deprecatingly. “Don’t fuck it up.”

But Roy only raised his eyebrows, realization dawning on his features. “You think I say that because I think you will?”

Jamie mumbled some not-words under his breath and Roy cursed. “Prick. I say it because you deserve good things, dickhead. And you should let them come to you when they do.”

Good things, Jamie thinks after one of his passes gives Dani the first goal of the night. The younger man jumps into his arms while hugging him tight and laughing into his ear, their teammates joining their embrace less than a second later.

He looks towards the general area of the VIP seats where he knows (Y/N) and the rest of the band are cheering them on. He pictures her screaming at the top of her lungs, arms in the air, and being happy for him like she’s known him for all his life.

She might be the best thing. Whether he deserves her or not, Jamie wants her. Wants to be with her, watch romantic comedies until they both cry and spend his free afternoons watching her play the piano while he plays FIFA in the living room. He wants songs written about him that have him blushing whenever he hears them in public and for her to come to his games and be able to dedicate every goal to her he ever scores.

Good things. Yeah, Jamie can get down on that.

“You fucking asshole!” she jumps into his arms the second she finds him on the pitch after the game, a medal hanging from his neck and sweat sticking to his skin. (Y/N) doesn’t seem to care as she lets him lift her in the air, holding onto each other tight. “You did it! You fucking did it!”

“I missed your show,” he replies instead, only a little bummed. He’s seen her play live before but there was an itch under his skin the entire half-time, knowing how close she was and being unable to get to her. Jamie grins. “And stole it, too.”

“There he is,” she teases gleefully. “For a second there I thought you were gonna be humble about this.”

“I don’t even know what that word means,” he says cockily.

“And how’s Mr. Man of the Match gonna celebrate, huh?” she wonders, hitting him lightly on the chest now that he’s put her back on the ground. “A fancy club? Getting shitfaced with the boys? A date with your left hand?”

Jamie puts his hand on hers at the last second, stopping her from pulling away. She sways into him, all traces of joking vanishing from her expression. He forces himself to stay on her face, the urge to look away defeated by how she’s looking at him. In wonder, open, hopeful.

She deserves good things, too. Jamie is determined to be the one to give them to her.

“I was thinking dinner?” he asks, fidgeting a little on his feet. “Maybe a movie? Thought I could see what While You Were Sleeping’s all about.”

(Y/N)’s mouth is fighting against a smile, somewhat hesitant still. Jamie doesn’t blame her, he’s been beating around this bush the entire time they’ve known each other.

“You want any company?” she wonders.

“Well, what kind of date would it be if it was just me?” he forces his features into faux confusion, watching her finally lose the battle and beam like a kid on Christmas. Her fingers twitch where he’s holding onto her hand.

“Not a great one,” she concedes, looking like all of Jamie’s dreams. “How do you feel about Mexican?”

Awful. Jamie feels awful about Mexican. He’s a white sexy boy in all the ways that matter and his taste buds punish him for eating spicy food no matter how much he likes it. But he can compromise. He’s starting to realize there’s very little he wouldn’t do for (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

“I feel fantastic about anything you like,” he answers truthfully. “I’m sure me tongue will forgive me eventually.”

(Y/N) laughs, fingers in Jamie’s hold shifting so she can hold his hand. “I think there’s a good lyric somewhere in there.”

“You plannin’ on writing me a song?”

She smirks. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t yet.”

Jamie squeezes her hand, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Can’t wait to hear it, love.”

___

there’s an ache in my bones to make a series out of this fic omg

i can’t believe the show’s over (is it tho????) so here’s some jamie fluff to heal our tender, mourning hearts. as always you’re welcome to tell me what you think and chat jamie and ted lasso as much as you’d like! thank u for reading AND for all the love on my last jamie piece that you can read here!

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

#commissions and asks are open!#leo writes #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #phil dunster #roy kent #brett goldstein #rebecca welton #hannah waddingham #keeley jones #juno temple #sam obisanya #toheeb jimoh #i had so much fun w this i hope i do write more of them #reader insert

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willalove75 · 11 months

Note

That last fic 😳 some jealous or possessive Rebecca pls ?

Absolutely!! Love me a little jealous Rebecca😉

Thanks so much for the request!💕

The last few months have been a whirlwind to say the least. What started out as a drunk make out session with Rebecca after a long night of celebrating a big win, quickly turned into you two casually hooking up a couple of times a week. It was great at first, no strings attached, sneaking around at work, you both subtly trying to turn the other one on during the day, the best sex you've had in a long time, it was damn near perfect. That was until you started to catch feelings and slowly wanted more.

You knew what the arrangement was between the two of you and you respected it, but you had this feeling that slowly began to eat away at you. Instead of looking at her as your hot fuck buddy, you slowly started finding the beauty in every thing she did; you were captivated by how her eyes sparkled when she laughed, how cute you found her crows feet in the corners of her eyes, how it took every ounce of self control in your body to not kiss the laugh lines around her gorgeous smile.

Once the feeling became too much you broke down and told her about how you really felt, how you didn't expect her to return the feelings because it's not what either of you signed up for. To no surprise, Rebecca said she enjoyed the arrangement the two of you had and had no desire to take it any further. It hurt hearing her say that, but you weren't surprised and respected her wishes and tried your best to keep things as they were. When your feelings for her only got stronger you decided you needed to take a break from it and although she was disappointed, she understood and she seemed to respect you more for your honesty.

The two of you were able to stay civil, friends even. Of course there were a few brief moments of weakness on both of your parts and you had a stray hookup here, a one night stand there, but it never went further. Even when you weren't seeing each other, casually or otherwise, you both still flirted with each other once in awhile in the office or when you went out as a group or out to lunch with Keeley.

Usually you tried to attend as many Richmond games as possible, but tonight you weren't able to make it. When the match was over you get a phone call from Keeley.

"Y/n!!"

"Hey Keels!"

"We won! We're going out to celebrate, I'll be there to pick you up in 30 minutes!"

"Okay!" You say as you laugh. "I'll be ready when you get here!"

Guess you were going out tonight, which truthfully you were excited about since you feel like you haven't went out and had fun in a while. Combing through your closet you find a cute, borderline sexy dress and throw it on. After fixing your hair and makeup you look in the mirror and you're impressed with what you were able to throw together in such a short amount of time. In that moment you get a text from Keeley saying she's here and you grab your bag and jacket and head out the door.

"Damn you look hot!!" She says when you get in the car.

"Why thank you, you're not lookin' too bad yourself!"

"Rebecca is gonna drool when she sees you." Keeley says playfully.

"Oh stop, first of all, we're not even doing that anymore and secondly, it was supposed to be a secret!"

"You know you can't hide things like that from me, I'll always figure it out!"

You laugh at her boldness, even though she was right. Both you and Rebecca were doing a good job at keeping your relationship quiet but somehow Keeley picked up on it almost immediately. Even though she promised not to tell anyone, you're pretty sure she ended up telling Roy. Every time he saw you and Rebecca together, even if you were in a meeting with a bunch of other people he'd give the both of you a look. It bothered the shit out of you and he knew it, which is probably why he kept doing it.

Keeley pulls up to the club and you both get out of the car and head in. You can feel the bass of the music in your chest as you walk through the crowd of people to the VIP section the team was in. The team cheers when they see you and Keeley and you greet everyone. Out of the corner of your eye you see Rebecca walking over. She gives Keeley a hug and gives you a friendly hug. One of the players calls your name and you turn your attention to them but you can see Rebecca staring at you in your peripheral vision.

It's been a few weeks since you last got together; you so badly wanted to pull her into the bathroom and lock the door. Instead you decide to settle on grabbing a drink and a shot and see if you can find someone in the club to distract you for the night.

At the bar you down your shot and begin to sip on your drink, eyeing the crowd. Every so often your eyes land on Rebecca sitting on one of the couches behind the roped off VIP section, but you quickly divert your attention elsewhere.

~~~~~~

Sitting on the couch, Rebecca eyes you at the bar. She watches you take the shot the bartender handed you, her eyes travelling down your body.

"Wow she looks good in that dress." Rebecca thinks to herself as she admires you from afar. After you take the shot she sees you turning in her direction and she quickly looks away, not wanting you to catch her staring. Rebecca was the one who said she didn't want to take it further than friends with benefits, the last thing she wanted was for you to see her pining for you across the room.

As much as she would hate to admit it, Rebecca did miss you. She really began to enjoy your company and looked forward to seeing you in, and outside, of the office. Thinking back on it, Rebecca was the one who usually reached out to you first to meet up, or pulled you into a supply closet or empty room in the office for a quickie.

When you admitted your feelings for her, she got scared, she genuinely enjoyed where you two were and was afraid to ruin it. The last real relationship she was in was with Rupert and we all know how that ended. It's not that she didn't really like you, it was more so that she was afraid of getting hurt, or hurting you.

~~~~~~~

As you scan the crowd you look for a potential suitor for the night. It's not that you were looking to take someone home, you were really just looking for someone to have fun with before you went home, preferably alone. If something more to develop and you happened to not go home alone, well whatever was going to happen, you were gonna let it happen.

In the crowd you catch the gaze of a gorgeous pair of blue eyes, a handsome man, probably about your age if not a little older. Dark brown hair, a very short, well manicured beard and a jawline to die for. This man was good looking, probably exactly what you needed to get your mind off of Rebecca and to have a good time with. You flash him a smile and turn back to the bar, the ball was in his court.

Within a few minutes you notice someone walk up next to you at the bar. Making eye contact with the gorgeous blue eyes once more, you're pleased to see the handsome man you made eye contact with earlier.

"Hey." He says, his voice velvety and on the deeper end of the vocal range.

"Hey." You say, smiling back.

"I apologize if this is too forward, but, I couldn't help but notice you earlier. You're beautiful. May I buy you a drink?"

"A gentleman? In this club? Either I've hit the lottery or you have ulterior motives." You playfully reply.

He laughs at your joke and smiles at you.

"Is it such a crime to want to buy a beautiful woman another round of her probably way too sweet, fruity cocktail?"

"I would be very offended if this wasn't exactly what you described it as. But if you insist, who am I to deny a handsome man from buying me another drink?"

He laughs again and reaches out his hand.

"I'm James."

"Y/n." You say, shaking his hand.

"And what brings you here tonight y/n?"

"Just here with a few of my friends." You avoid telling him you're with the team, the last thing you want is to have to parade this guy around introducing him to his favorite players. "How about you?"

"I'm here celebrating my friends birthday, he insisted this is where he wanted to go. Normally a place like this isn't really my thing."

"Ah, and what usually is your thing?"

"Hanging out in the backyard with some friends, a good playlist, a bonfire and good alcohol."

You gently pinch his arm and he laughs. "What was that for?"

"Just making sure you're real and not a figment of my imagination."

~~~~~~

Rebecca looks back over at the bar and watches an incredibly handsome man make his way over to you. Intently staring as the two of you begin talking, she grips her glass a little tighter when she sees you flirting with him. Rebecca's heart begins to beat a little harder when she watches you bite your bottom lip as you look at him, as the two of you laugh. Her body stiffens when she watches you pinch his arm, no doubt making a flirtatious joke as you bat your eyelashes at him.

It took all of the energy she had, but she was finally able to peel her eyes away from the two of you and down her drink. After taking a deep breath she sets her glass down and heads over to the bar, convincing herself it was just to get another drink.

~~~~~~

The bartender puts down your drink that James bought you just as you finish the one you were sipping on.

"So, y/n, what do you do?"

"I'm in marketing. How about you?"

"Very cool, I just graduated from law school."

"Oh, very fancy."

"Yeah, I just got a job at my dads firm."

"Ah, there it is."

"What does that mean?" He asks, pretending to be offended.

"I'm just joking, that's very kind of your father to give such an inexperienced law school graduate a job at his fancy firm." You tease.

"That's fair." He laughs.

It surprises you how captivated you are by this man. His blue eyes sparkle in the lights, he has a beautiful smile, hell, everything about this man is beautiful. You gently bite your lower lip as you study the details of his face.

The conversation flowed so naturally between the two of you, you didn't even notice Rebecca was standing next to you until you heard her voice when she ordered a drink from the bartender. Without even realizing it, you turn towards her when you hear her voice and she looks over at you.

"Hey." You say with a smile.

"Hello, having fun?" She asks.

"I am, are you?"

"Mhm." She says as she nods.

James draws your attention back to him when you feel his hand on your arm.

"Would you do the honor of dancing with me, y/n?"

"I would love to."

He takes your hand and leads you out to the dance floor and you begin dancing with him. You watch his eyes as they travel up and down your body as you sway your hips to the music, they finally travel back up to meet yours and a light blush crosses his cheeks.

"I didn't mean to stare, you're just really beautiful."

"You're not too bad looking yourself, I think I can forgive you."

James twirls you and pulls you back so your back is against his chest. His hand slides down your waist and holds onto your hip as you both dance together, you sip on your drink and sway your hips, dropping down a little and coming back up. Looking over your shoulder you look into his eyes and smile and look away, the grip on your hip tightens.

"If this keeps going at this pace, I'm going to end up going home with his guy." You think to yourself.

~~~~~~

Rebecca watches as you turn back towards the incredibly handsome man and walk hand-in-hand with him to the dance floor. A knot in her stomach forms as she watches the two of you dance, she's so focused on watching you she didn't notice the bartender trying to get her attention.

"£13 ma'am."

"Oh, sorry. Here." She says, handing him her card. She takes a sip of her drink and signs the receipt and puts her card away and looks back over at you. Her stomach drops when she sees you two grinding, her stare intensifies when she watches you slowly drop low and sway your hips back up as you look at him over your shoulder. Rebecca looks over at the bartender.

"Two tequila shots please."

The bartender hands her the shots and she downs them back to back. After getting her card back she makes her way back to the VIP section and reclaims her seat on the couch. Of course she has a perfect view of the both of you, something she's not sure if she's happy or miserable about.

~~~~~~

James spins you around so you're face to face and you both dance for a few more songs, you finish your second drink and you both head back up to the bar and take a shot. At this point the alcohol is taking it's affect and you're feeling good. Not trashed, but you're definitely drunk and happy and all you seem to catch yourself doing is staring at James' lips as you gently bite yours.

"What are you looking at pretty girl?" He whispers in your ear.

"You." You say back, getting lost in his crystal blue eyes. "Fuck you have the prettiest eyes."

"What can I say, I have great genes."

"I'll say so."

James gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his thumb travels down your jaw before coming to rest on your chin.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks as he looks into your eyes.

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

His hand slides to the back of your head and he pulls you in for a kiss. You're met with warm, soft lips, damn he was a good kisser. Feeling his tongue caressing your lip you part them inviting him in. Gently flicking his tongue across yours, you gently moan into this mouth and he deepens the kiss.

~~~~~~

Rebecca doesn't take notice of anything else around her except you and James. The knot in her stomach twists harder as she watches you two get closer and closer as you dance. Her eyes follow you to the bar as she watches you both take a shot, she sees the way you look at him and her body begins to heat with frustration. That's how you would look at her, she would give anything to be in his spot right now. A lump in her throat begins to develop when she watches him lean into your ear and whisper something. When he pulls you in to kiss you she freezes, not even realizing she dropped her drink, glass shattering everywhere. Before she knows what's happening, she's making her way over to you, she has no idea what she's going to say o do, but she can't stand there anymore and just watch you go home with anyone else but her.

~~~~~~~

James gently sucks on your bottom lip as your lips part, you gaze into his eyes as his hands cup your face.

"Damn, and you're a good kisser?"

"What can I say? I'm a talented guy."

You both laugh and you flirtatiously reply "oh I'm sure you are."

Just as he's about to respond you feel a hand on your arm, James drops his hands and you turn, surprised to see Rebecca standing there.

"Hey-"

"I have to talk to you." She says as you notice her eyes gloss over. "Now."

"Oh, okay," you turn back to James. "Sorry, give me a second."

"No worries, you know where to find me." He says with a wink and walks off.

Rebecca grabs your hand and pulls you into a secluded corner of the club.

"Rebecca, what's-"

You're interrupted when her lips crash into yours, surprising you for a moment. In an instant you melt into her, her lips feeling like home. She gently sucks on your lip and you part your lips, eagerly inviting her tongue in to meet yours. Her fingers tangle themselves in your hair and you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer to you.

When your lips finally part you're both left gently panting, you look up into Rebecca's eyes and you see rogue tears falling.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry." She says quietly.

"Sorry for what?"

Rebecca looks deep into your eyes.

"For pushing you away, for not wanting to take this further. I- I wasn't being totally honest when I said I didn't feel the same way." Your breath hitches as you hear her speak. "I did, I do, I was just so scared. I didn't want to ruin what we had, I didn't want to get hurt again, or hurt you. But I don't care about any of that. Because I never want to see you kissing anyone else ever again."

"Rebecca-"

"I don't care how possessive or crazy I sound, I need you to be mine." She tightens her grip on you and leans in closer. "I need you. Fuck I might love you I don't know all I know is the pain I felt watching you and it terrified me and I never want to feel that way again."

"Oh thank god, I've been waiting to hear you say that for months." You say as you close the distance between the two of you one more and kiss her, hard.

After you make out for another minute your lips part and Rebecca looks into your eyes.

"Come home with me."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Right this second."

"Lead the way baby." You say, your voice sultry.

"Fuck, thank god my house is only ten minutes away."

Rebecca leads you to the VIP area and you grab your things, your hand not once leaving hers. She calls her driver to pull around to the front of the club and she pulls you out of the club and into the car. Completely forgetting about James, you straddle Rebecca's lap in the back seat as soon as you get into the car and head to her house.

#rebecca welton x reader #hannah waddingham #rebecca welton #rebecca welton fanfic #willalove75 #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #wlw fanfic

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jamiesfootball · 1 year

Text

Let’s talk about male bonding rituals and the way that physical touch in the locker room can be a comforting outlet. Like how the team hugs and jumps on each other after they score a goal. Or how they casually lean against each other in the locker rooms. Or Roy’s little fist bumps to each of the lads to hype them up. You can use words or actions for your anger, but there’s a protocol for kindness.

And then there’s Zava, who’s an interesting bastard in his own right, because as people have pointed out he accepts touch from others but he doesn’t reciprocate. Dani fullbody hugs the man (after a goal, of course, the most acceptable time to do so) and the most he does is try to shake him off. If Richmond is reaching hands, then the most Zava has done is beckon them in and allow them to worship, like when he took over the huddle before the match- he allowed everyone to put their hands on Zava.

And Richmond is an especially sweet team under Ted’s tenure. So again we have Zava performing in a way that on surface level is inoffensive.

Except that there is one person that Zava makes a point to touch - and I do think he’s making a point about it. Even if we only saw it a few times, I think it was a good extension for showing us how Zava viewed Jamie.

I’ve talked before about how interesting the little one-two shoulder brush/ass slap was in that first match, because on the surface that is totally normally sports antics. It’s only Jamie’s little ‘wtf’ face that lampshades the true weirdness of a moment: this may be a teammate, but this is a dude he just met, someone he has no rapport with (compared to Dani, who created rapport through excitement and touching). But hey- new teammate, first match. As off of a moment it was, Jamie’s a team player now, so he did what he was told to do and passed the ball to Zava. And what a slap in the face that was, with Zava repeating one of the best goals we’ve seen from Jamie this who show.

Actual fucking mind games, this time. A pattern of them, in addition to singling Jamie out and asking if he’s the kitman when they first meet. Despite the fact that he already had his kit on. Despite the fact that he was in the middle of love-bombing everyone else.

And stealing Jamie’s goal. Which was so petty that even Roy Kent thought it was a bit too mean.

It’s not insidious, it’s not like he’s being bullied- but he is getting frozen out. Singled out by a player who walked in and made himself at home in Jamie’s spot.

Zava walks a careful, practiced line. He’s got a ton of experience on and off the pitch, and he knows where to give in and where to push. Dani can follow him around and touch him- he’ll allow it because Dani is harmless.

But I don’t think he thought Jamie was harmless. I think he saw Jamie as a threat, one that needed to be neutralized so that Zava could play in the manner he was accustomed to. Jamie is the ONLY one on the team that seemed to be trying to score - even the fucking announcers could see it.

So yeah, anytime Jamie stepped up a little too high, or seemed like he might be putting Zava’s reputation of #1 at risk, he would find these little footholds that he could use to climb over Jamie.

I think his grunt Zava gave when he lifted up the weight was the closest we got to Zava actually verbalizing his frustrations (also great metaphor, him lying under the weight and then shoving it off one last time. Good comparison to Colin ‘got-stuck-under-the-weights-that-time’ Hughes benching without a problem these days, like a strong and capable man). Richmond was on a losing streak, Jamie kept trying to button in on what should have been Zava’s goals, and now Jamie was also butting in on the leadership side as well.

The openly condescending thing to do would be to pet the top of Jamie’s hair like a dog, mussing it up. That’s a proper bully move. Instead he went for the back of the head and did that weird…..whatever that was. Was he combing his fingers through Jamie’s hair? Scratching him like a cat? Playing with his headband? Whatever it was it was out of focus, even though it was in front of a crowd. The same way that the first time was in the middle of a stadium, and yet so far away from anyone being able to see and hear what was happening. The only thing you could see, if you could be bothered to look away from Zava for a second, was how completely uncomfortable Jamie was with it. And I’m not sure the guys in the locker room noticed, not just because it’s Zava, but because on the surface nothing he’s done has stood out as a red flag.

‘Zava made a goal’ sounds better than ‘Zava stole that goal from Jamie’

‘Zava made a leader speech to motivate us’ sounds better than ‘Zava saw that Jamie was stepping up to encourage them, and felt the need to reassert himself by doing the same thing’

And ‘Zava is physically touchy with Jamie a few times’ sounds better than ‘Zava uses what should be perfectly safe locker room contact as a way to put Jamie in his place’.

#anyways I’m looking forward to how fucking juicy the fic harvest is gonna be after this season #ted lasso spoilers #jamie tartt #zava #what an interesting facet we’ve been given this year #also fuck me this is long

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wambsgansshoelaces · 4 months

Text

Something Sweet; Chapter 7

Kendall Roy x Reader

a/n: I’m sorry I suddenly became so inconsistent lovies :( I promise I have so much in the works <3 as always, please let me know what’s on your mind in the replies + reblogs and enjoy x

Word Count: 3.421k

The next morning, you’ve convinced Kendall to go home and rest. At least, you’d thought you did, until he showed up at your front door.

“I told you to go home, Ken. Take a nap.”

“This is better,” he murmurs back, dragging you to bed and curling into you after pulling the covers over him. “I didn’t sleep at all, and Marcia wouldn’t let anyone go sit with Dad…”

You sigh, sitting up, and he readjusts, settling into your stomach. Your fingers comb through his hair in an attempt at being soothing. “Have you eaten at all? Since last night, this morning?” His breathing evens out. “Ken?”

You peer down. His eyes were shut, lips parted, the beginning of a snore falling from his lips.

જ⁀➴

As horrible as you’d felt doing it, you had to leave Kendall asleep in your bed with a kiss on the forehead. You’d made your way downstairs and unlocked the bakery’s front door and waited for Connor and Willa to arrive. In a lazy haze, you’d thrown the sweater of Kendall’s you’d clung to the night before. When the bell finally tinkled, you pasted a smile onto your face and waved the couple over. Surprisingly enough, you can see why they both work together well. Connor is loud, outspoken, and Willa balances him out with her quiet thoughtfulness. She flips through a catalog of desserts that you offer to cater, soft smile on her face while Connor rambles about how the flower vendors won’t respond to him about overseas work.

“Maybe just hire a Croatian vendor,” you suggest. “I’ve heard it’s cheaper anyway.” Willa hums approvingly at the thought, while Connor frowns.

“It needs to be perfect, though.”

“Who’s to say Croatia won’t be perfect?” Willa asks, continuing to look through the catalog. “I really don’t mind, Con. They’re only flowers, and as long as I have a bouquet I like…”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says stiffly.

Desperate for a change of subject, you ask, “Anything catch your eye?”

Willa smiles up at you. “It all looks amazing.”

“Any favorite sweets? I’m sure I have them. And if I don’t, I’d be more than happy to write out a recipe.”

Willa flips back to a bookmarked page. “I love red velvet cake…”

At that, you get up and bring back a tray of sample cakes from your kitchen. “Try as much as you’d like! Do you happen to have inspiration photos for your cake? Just so I can start practicing.”

Excitedly, she pulls out her phone, and the two of you pore over her Pinterest boards. Connor doesn't involve himself in the conversation, seemingly dazed. She tries bits of all the cakes you’d baked for her, forcing her fiance to take bites with her.

“I don’t know how you do it, Miss, but you’ve made me like carrot cake.”

“You can call me Y/N, really. And I’m glad you enjoy it! That’s the goal. It’s your wedding- choose a cake that makes you happy.”

“I still think my favorite is red velvet,” Willa says, turning to eye Connor, who just nods. “And that one design I showed you… the three tiers? Can you do that?”

You jot down a description of the cake she’s talking about. “Of course I can. I’ll make a bunch of prototypes and have you come in and see them over the next few months. You can also just make a list of other desserts you want, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Oh, and don’t even worry about flying yourself out. We’ll cover all of that.

“You don’t need to-”

“No, no, we will,” Willa insists, nudging Connor.

“I’ll pay for your flight and hotel,” he says, snapping out of his trance. “It’s the least I can do. And I’m including Kendall in that.” He pauses. “Is he alright?”

“Sleeping,” you say carefully. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“I mean, I know you know. About Dad.”

“I was sorry to hear about it. Let me know if you ever need anything, okay?”

“We got into a massive fight, about me proposing. I don’t… I don’t know if he wants to see me.”

You chew at your lip. “He’s… not conscious, that I know of. I think it’s best you go see him, the doctor, your siblings.” You catch Willa’s eyes.

“I’ll make sure he goes,” she says. “Thank you. I’ll email over the menu?”

“Of course.” You clasp her hand in a loose shake, then Connor’s, in a much firmer one “Feel free to stop by whenever. You’re always welcome.”

They leave, and you make your way back upstairs, locking the bakery back up. You peer into your room, Kendall still sprawled out in your bed. You think he’s asleep until he calls out to you.

“Where’ve you been?” His eyes are still closed, head buried in his pillow. You go to sit by him.

“Connor’s consult.” Without opening his eyes, his arm reaches out to you, searching. You scoot closer, and he finds your waist, pulling you closer and settling his head into your stomach, just like this morning. “Come on, you should eat something.”

“Mm, I’m okay here.” The tension in his shoulders and back eases when your hand goes to sit in between his shoulder blades. You scratch gently, and he sighs. “Actually, do you have breakfast?”

“I made eggs, but I think they’re cold. I can reheat them, though. Or, I think there’s tarts in the fridge?”

“Tarts for breakfast?” he asks, pushing himself up and giving you a kiss.

“Why not? Life is short.” Sitting next to you now, he tugs on the fabric of your sweater.

“Thief,” he says, grinning.

“What? I was cold.”

“I like it. Looks good on you.” He kisses your neck before getting out of bed, tugging his shirt off and tossing it to you. “Keep that one, too. I’m going to take a shower. I think I was drooling.” You watch, not even suppressing your smile, as he makes his way into the bathroom. Regardless of how much he downplayed himself, the slight ripple of the muscles in his back made you giddy. “Quit staring.”

જ⁀➴

The next few days, Logan doesn’t get any better. To his dismay, Kendall has to get back to work. Roman and him had sat in a booth in your bakery as you worked, trying to figure out how things would run without Logan. The two seemed to be butting heads over who’d be CEO, but you didn’t want to hear it.

You’re working today, too. You figure that you should spend as much time in the bakery as possible before Croatia, just so you didn’t create any issues for yourself. Kendall texts you throughout the day, complaining about Roman or some douche kissing his ass. You zip the ‘K’ around on your necklace absentmindedly as you work.

You’re set to go to his apartment after you’re both off. You feel giddy, You realize, now, that this isn’t your usual giddy- butterflies aren’t terrorizing your insides, you don’t feel like you can’t breathe, you just feel happy, excited.

Once you finally do get off, Kendall’s already sent you a text.

Some associate brought a box of cinnamon rolls to try and kiss Dad’s ass. Looking at them reminded me of you.

You’re smiling stupidly to yourself as you read it, and another text comes in.

They were ass, though. Was thanking god I know you.

aw, you had shitty cinnamon rolls and thought of me? how sweet

Get your ass over here. Please.

i’m coming, asshole

I missed you, too.

You make the drive over, and by the time you’ve gone up to his door, he’s opened it and beckoning you inside. Kendall kisses your brow when you walk in, murmuring hello.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly, his arm coming around you naturally and pulling you close. He drags you to the couch, hoisting you into his lap and relaxing once he sits, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“Just need you right now.”

You give his chest an affectionate rub. “What’s going on?”

“Fucking chair battle. Nobody knows what to do or who to put where. Connor’s fighting tooth and nail for CEO, but that’s the only thing Roman and I fuckin’ agree on.” He sighs. “I don’t even know why he’s involving himself. He hasn’t come to see Dad since… you know.”

Your hand continues it’s journey back and forth across Kendall’s chest. “Do you know why he hasn’t gone? Willa said she’d get him to visit, but I guess not.”

“Dad doesn’t approve of Willa. At all. It’s… insane.” He stops your hand in its path, lacing your fingers together.

“He said something about that today. It sounds like he talked to your dad before he actually proposed.”

Kendall hums thoughtfully. “Shiv said she heard it from the yard when she stepped out before dinner for some work call.” He brings your clasped hands to his lips, brushing them against the tops of your knuckles. “It’s going to cause problems. It is causing problems.”

“Take a break, then.”

“Can’t. The press is on our asses. You know how fast that’d sell? Logan Roy, multi-billionaire, incapacitated, leaving Waystar Royco a mess! God, stocks would fucking collapse, the shareholders would step in, and everything goes wrong and we lose the company.”

“So, what’re you going to do?”

“Waystar needs to stay in my control, with Roman and Shiv. I don’t know how to keep Connor out of it.”

“This is going to make me sound like a bad person…,” you begin.

“Don’t stop there. You have my attention.”

“Well…” You look up at him. “Why don’t you just tell the media that you, Roman, Shiv are taking the reigns, Connor sitting out because of the wedding…”

His fingers twist a lock of your hair around themselves. “Evil genius,” he murmurs. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” He litters kisses along your forehead. “Let me ring a journalist I know.”

He gets up, and after a short while, he’s back, grinning ear to ear. “Fucking ate it out of my hand. But enough of that. I have more than enough time to mull everything over in my head.”

You let out an airy laugh when his lips trail down your jaw and find the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Do you make french toast?” he asks into your collarbone.

“’Course I do. What kind of chef would I be if I didn’t?” You gently stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. “Want me to make you a slice?”

“What? No, you’re not moving an inch. Can you teach me?”

You grin up at him. “I thought you weren’t interested in the kitchen.”

“I mean, I’m not, but you bake for a living. I want to learn. It’s something you love, so I love it too.” Kendall can’t help the tiny smile that graces his handsome face.

“Tell you what. I’ll lay out the ingredients and walk you through it, okay?”

“Okay. Off you go.” He nudges you off the couch, grinning now. Happily, you oblige.

Since you’ve been together, you’ve brought him any extras from shipments of ingredients for the bakery. Now, his pantry and fridge were consistently stocked- he also made sure to call you any time he went grocery shopping. He had no clue what he was doing.

“Do you have any maple syrup?” you ask, peering in the pantry.

“What would I need maple syrup for?”

“French toast.” You can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Fine. You’ll just use cinnamon. Come here, Ken.”

You sit up on the counter, watching him as he comes over to you and gives you a peck on the lips.

“French toast is easy. Eggs, vanilla extract, and whole milk in a bowl. Salt and cinnamon, then dip the bread into the bowl. Fry the bread and caramelize brown sugar on top. Easy peasy.”

He scoffs. “I’ll light myself on fire.”

You turn him around and gently push him towards his work space. “Get to it. Chop, chop.”

He choppily follows your directions, asking questions as he goes. When the bread fries, it makes a few scary sounds, but in the end, nothing’s burnt. He hesitantly brings you the plate when he’s finished.

“They look good!”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He makes a face at you, setting the dish by your side. “Try a bit?”

You break a piece of toast off and pop it into your mouth. It’s flavorful, buttery, sweet. It’s certainly not the best thing you’ve ever had, but it’s good.

“I’m proud of you, Kendall.”

He smiles up at you, bracing himself against the counter, his arms on either side of you. “Really?”

“Really.” You kiss his head. “You did great.”

He takes a bite from the same piece. “I still like yours better,” he mutters after he swallows.

“Well, that’s going to be the case for every dessert you come across that isn’t mine.”

Kendall gives your cheek a peck. “Egotistical asshat.”

You laugh. “Sounds like you, not me.”

You squeal when he hoists you off the counter, exits the kitchen with you in his arms, and tosses you back onto the couch. You lose your breath laughing, burying your face in one of the cushions. He settles in next to you, swatting your legs away from him. “Fuckin’ deserved.”

You spend a few hours just talking. You feel so at home with Kendall, like you don’t even need to try and everything will just work out anyway. He’s much looser with you than he was when you’d first met. He had no problem touching you, kissing you, making eye contact. And thankfully, you hadn’t seen him high since when he’d taken you to Logan to see if he’d hire you.

“Do you know what you’re going to wear to the wedding yet?” he asks nonchalantly.

“No clue. You still want to do the matching thing?”

“Of course I do. It’d be cute.”

“I’ve never heard you describe anything as cute before. Are you feeling okay? Hit your head?” you ask, teasing.

He ignores you. “I’m going to go see Dad. Do you want to come?”

“I don’t want to intrude-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. You’re so kind and soft you couldn’t intrude even if you were criminally trespassing.” You laugh as he pulls you to your feet. “You can stay in the lobby, if you’d like. Nobody would mind if you came up with me, though. It’s probably only going to be me and Marcia, anyway.”

“I’ll drive,” you murmur, fishing your keys from your bag.

Kendall doesn’t complain.

He stares out the window as you go, the city lights passing by in a hazy blur. He grips your hand the entire ride there. “Feeling nervous?” you ask quietly

“A bit,” he whispers back. “I’m… I’m worried he won’t wake up.”

“Don’t worry, Ken.” You give his hand a squeeze. “He will.”

You don’t really know if what you’re saying is true.

When you arrive, the receptionist waves you both off, seemingly already familiar with Kendall. Your heart aches for him. You know his relationship with his father is complicated, which makes this entire process even more difficult.

You let him go in by himself to sit by his father.

You sit outside, practically on your own, but you don’t mind. You know he needs the time to sort through his thoughts. Marcia sits by you, eyes soft, but inspecting.

“You bring out the good parts of Kendall,” she says bluntly, after a long period of silence. “There’s been no breakdowns or issues since you.”

You’re not exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean, but you’re fairly sure it’s positive. “I’m glad.”

She gives you a soft smile before making her way to her husband’s side. Now you’re truly by yourself. In your head, you’re organizing Connor’s wedding menu. Despite the such short notice, it was coming together nicely. You’re even going to print everything out on pretty stationary to put out at the dinner tables.

Eventually, Kendall comes out to sit by you. His eyes seem a bit more sunken, his mood duller. Wordlessly, you take his hand.

Neither of you say anything. He brings your hand to his free one, and now your palm is sandwiched between both of his. His grip is tight, and you see his knuckles whitening. You use your other hand to gently rub your thumb over his knuckles.

While all your silences were comfortable, this one was strained, as if something was hanging tersely in between the two of you. You feel it’s a product of his sour mood. You’re not sure what he saw when he went to his father, but you’re assuming it’s not good.

The silence stretches on- you don’t want to speak before he doesn’t want to. It ends when a nurse gets his attention, Marcia trailing behind her. She tells Kendall she just would like to brief them both on some things concerning his father’s potential diagnosis.

He turns to you. “Could you stay with him? Please? Just in case something happens.”

“That would be very appreciated if you could,” Marcia adds.

You agree, assuring him you’ll cause a scene if any single viral falls below normal. You go into Logan’s room and sit in a chair by the window. Close enough to interfere if needed, and far enough away for it to not be weird.

You awkwardly sit there for a while, not really sure where to look. You keep an eye on his vitals, his heart rate steady and blood pressure seemingly normal.

You scroll absentmindedly on your phone, only half focused, ‘just in case’, like Kendall said.

Logan shifts a bit. You don’t know much about comas, so you don’t really know what to think. You decide it’s too trivial to bother someone with right now. You’ll just tell Kendall when he gets back.

You’re scrolling through a few different mood board Willa has sent you when it happened.

“What the fuck?” Logan’s voice is rough, raspy. It has a grainy quality to it, like it’s clogged.

“Oh! Mr. Roy- let me get someone,” you say quickly.

“No, no. Sit down. Fuck.” He surprisingly manages to sit up, struggling, but sitting up. “Jesus Christ. Don’t get anyone yet. I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

You keep your mouth shut and your ass in your chair.

“You and Kendall serious enough that you come to visit his old man?”

“He’s just with the nurse right now,” you manage. “He’s coming back.”

He waves his hand, as if dismissing you. “Whatever. Is Connor still doing it? Marrying that… that girl?”

“If you mean Willa, then yes.”

“Fuck off.” He wipes a hand over his face. “Haven’t even been awake ten minutes and shit’s hit the fan.”

Thankfully, you’re saved by Marcia and Kendall rushing back into the room. You take this as your chance to make an exit and you retake your seat outside of the hospital room.

Kendall takes you back to his apartment ages later, a large weight seemingly lifted off of his shoulders. His mood has been lifted, but you notice his glum mood was replaced by a discreet tension across his muscles.

“I told you everything would be okay,” you tell him. You’re both laying in bed, his arm wound tightly around you.

“Thank you. For everything,” he murmurs back.

The next morning, you both have a few hours to spend before getting to work. After a shower, you have to help him with the clasp of his necklace.

“Can’t fucking get it,” is all he tells you when he hands you the chain. Smiling to yourself, you fasten in around his neck, liking the way the initials sit on the fabric of his shirt. You smooth your palms over his shoulders once you’re done.

While you’re slipping on your shoes to go home, Kendall’s phone rings. He drifts away from you to speak to whoever it is on the other end. You don’t mind, waiting for him by the door. When he comes back, he’s harried. He traces the line of your jaw with his palm, cupping it once he hits its end, and gives you a long, needy kiss.

“I can’t take you back, I’m sorry,” he says, voice tense. “I’ll come by later, okay?”

You press another lighter kiss to his lips. “It’s alright. I’ll save you a cookie.”

He kisses you one last time on the head before hurrying away.

#kendall roy x reader #kendall roy x you #kendall roy #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #something sweet

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avvail-whumps · 2 months

Note

to elaborate on the last anon: i'm curious to see how roy would treat leo while prepping for being in hiding (like dying their hair, during car rides, etc) and then also once they're all settled in

“Close your eyes, lion.”

The sharp command made Leo obey almost immediately, swallowing down the intense fear when the mercenary’s hands pushed him down over the sink, not kind nor gentle in the slightest. His mind automatically let out a cruel ‘can you blame him?’ and it only broke him further.

The luke warm water ran over his head, and he felt Roy’s fingers dragging through his hair without a care for his comfort, roughly scrubbing the dye from his locks. He bit the inside of his cheek, not daring to even let a single noise slip from his lips.

Roy had barely spoken any words to him.

Not during the car journey, not even as they found themselves in this strange place. They’d wandered into a completely normal shop, but the mercenary had gone straight for the man behind the counter.

They’d exchanged a few words, something about a TV? It was all gibberish and code to Leo, and the man behind the counter had suddenly turned very serious, leading them down under the shop.

Now he was here - darkening his hair until had turned a dark brown.

When Roy released him, Leo fumbled with stinging water in his eyes, wincing when a towel was thrown at him. He grasped it with shaking hands, desperately scrubbing the water that got in his eyes. He heard a new pair of footsteps, cracking an eye open to see the man behind the counter walking down the stairs.

He barely looked Leo’s way, opting to approach Roy instead.

“We’ve got two and a half hours tops,” the man told him, his voice low. Leo could feel his hair dripping, and scrambled to dry his it before it got everywhere. Roy kicked open a folded chair, sitting down on it with a curt sigh. Leo tried not to look.

“I know, Gary,” he responded, his voice tight. “I’m keeping an eye on the clock. Do you have everything ready?”

The man – Gary – nodded, his expression stern. “Everything’s set up. Just need the pictures and I’ll give you those plane tickets.”

Leo’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. Plane tickets? He suddenly felt very sick. That meant they could be going anywhere in the world, and no one would be able to find him. He really might never see his father after finally being reunited.

A sharp snap caught his attention, his eyes obediently darting to Roy. Sure enough, the man was looking at him with those hardened eyes.

“Over here, lion.”

He grasped the towel, doing as he was told. Leo knows what doing the opposite had done for him - this. Seeing his father’s limp body in the hallway of their home, praying that he made a speedy recovery. He wondered what he was doing now. If Sharpe and Summers were looking for him. If they would ever find him again.

When he was close enough, Roy’s finger dug into the flesh of his forearm without a care, jerking him down to the floor by his feet. He was forced to sit, legs crossed, back to Roy as the mercenary shifted about, the chair creaking slightly.

Gary was watching intently, and it was making Leo nervous. Fingers combed back the damp hair, and the whir of a hairdryer picked up, warm air beginning to blow through his brown locks. Roy wasn’t particularly rough, and it was the nicest he had been since he came to the house to drag his lion back.

Gary was still staring at Leo. It seemed he was trying to get a guage of who he was, and finally, recognition flickered in his eyes, lip quirking with a twitch of a smirk.

“Ain’t he the one that you got in this mess?” Gary murmured, loud enough to be heard over the hairdryer. Leo kept his eyes to the ground, focusing on the feeling of the mercenary’s fingers combing through his hair. “Thought I recognised him from the trial.”

Roy didn’t say anything. He could sense he was still mad that he had succumbed to the pressure from the detectives and thrown him under the bus; it seemed his uncle was always going to pay the bail. He continued to dry Leo’s hair. Gary hummed at his reaction.

“I thought your uncle would have disposed of him.”

Leo’s nails dug into his palms, his expression twisted in discomfort.

“I convinced him not to,” Roy answered curtly, giving the secretary’s hair one last blow over before he was satisfied. The hairdryer was cut off. “For whatever reason, my uncle is fine keeping me happy.”

“Probably trying to sweeten you up,” Gary hummed. “He’ll want you back. I think he always has.”

The mercenary let out a bitter laugh. He rose from the chair, causing Leo’s head to tilt back in confusion, those big blue eyes staring at him quizzically. The mercenary motioned for him to sit on the chair, and he was quick to obey.

“My uncle practically left me to die,” Roy hummed, though his brow was raised languidly, like the topic of discussion didn’t bother him in the slightest. Gary moved behind the chair, tilting Leo’s head back a little bit so it was straight. He heard the snip of scissors. “I don’t need to owe him anymore than I already do for paying my bail.”

Leo wanted to shrink into a tiny ball, feeling Roy’s scrutinizing gaze piercing straight through him.

More snips. The secretary tried not to cry.

“If you say so,” Gary hummed quietly.

Sinking into his mind, Leo tried to focus only on the rhythmic snipping of the scissors, the comb through his hair, the fingers that weren’t intent on hurting him. He tried to pretend he was at the hairdressers, eyes closed as the therapeutic atmosphere overtook him, completely drowning in a reality that wasn’t his own.

When Gary finished, Leo’s eyes cracked open, mourning for a life he wouldn’t get. He wanted to believe that Roy would be kind to him again. Maybe he would, if Leo was good. He really hoped so.

His head felt lighter. His fingers ran over the back of his head, shocked by the lack of thickness he felt. It wasn’t crawling over his neck anymore, most of the loose, fluffy hair on the top, resting in curly loops. The shock must have been evident on his face, because the next thing he knew, Roy’s fingers were gently tapping his chin, tilting his head back.

Leo’s heart lurched into his throat. His skin burned from the contact.

The mercenary observed him for a long few seconds, before his lips finally quirked into a lazy smirk.

“It suits you, lion,” he purred, gently brushing his thumb under the mop of curls. Leo desperately, keenly, almost frantically leaned into the touch, relishing in the kind contact. Roy released a breathless chuckle. “More than I was expecting.”

If Roy liked it, so did Leo. He didn’t even have to see it.

Time passed by quickly enough - Gary took photos, even gave Leo coloured contacts so his eyes were a muddy brown. He gave them both a new ID, handing them over to Roy for him to glance over. He had hummed, smiling, holding the ID up and glancing at Leo.

“Oliver,” he hummed, tilting his head. “Ollie. I like it.”

Leo was picking at the clothes Gary had given him to put on, something baggy and warm. He’d fixed a snug hat on his head too, and Roy pocketed both ID’s, clearly not intent on trusting Leo to take his own. When he stepped up to him, he tried not to flinch back.

“You’ll be a good boy this time,” Roy whispered ever so quietly, just for him to hear, the trill of his low voice making his eyes flutter. “Won’t you?”

Leo desperately nodded his head. He didn’t want Roy to hate him. Didn’t want him to violate him and ignore him and drag him around like he used to. He just wanted everything to go back to normal, swept under the confines of his spell, and it was easy for those feelings of attachment to consume him.

“Yes,” he breathed, barely even able to get the words out. Leo hated that his eyes were filling with tears. He’d caused all this trouble, and for what? None of it had mattered. Roy was never going to let him go. Yet, that was something Leo wasn’t entirely upset over. “I’m sorry, Roy. I’m so sorry.”

The mercenary cooed, stroking the soft skin of his cheek. “I was really hurt, you know.”

Leo hadn’t wanted that. He loved Roy — no, loves him. He never wanted the cold shoulder treatment again, lest it break his heart further than it already had.

“I love you,” Leo sniffled, melting into his embrace when the mercenary finally wrapped his arms around him, tucking him against his body. He slotted in so perfectly. “It was all my fault. I’m so sorry, I’m so...”

Leo’s trembling words were cut off with a kiss to his temple. He practically keened.

“No more groveling. We have a plane to catch soon.”

The mercenary’s thumb gently rubbed along the bottom of his lip, as if he was remembering what he’d forced Leo to do in the home he’d left behind. He briefly wondered if he regretted it.

Still, Leo nodded.

Roy’s eyes crinkled. “Good boy.”

#guns for hire #guns for hire alternative ending #guns for hire request #guns for hire special #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump snippet #whump community #whump fic #whump drabble #whump tropes #whump scenario #whumpee #whumper #leo and roy #writing #my writing #ask

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treason-and-plot · 9 months

Text

In the bathroom Roy repeatedly dips his fingernail into his dwindling bag, inhaling the powder with a sense of grim determination to banish Sonia’s words from his brain. He splashes water on his face and up his nostrils and puts his sunglasses back on and goes in search of the kids. They are still at the fishpond, which is crowded with koi carp.

“Look at all the fish, Dad!” says Alexandra as he approaches. “I think I saw a turtle, too!”

“That’s amazing, hon,” says Roy. “Hey, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I’ve got to go. Anya just rang me and there’s some plumbing problem back at the apartment and I’ve got to go fix it. It’s an emergency. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“What kind of plumbing problem?” says Joanna. “Is it the toilet?”

“Ewwwwww,” says Henrietta.

“No, it’s not the toilet,” says Roy. “It’s the shower. Something’s wrong with the shower. I don’t know all the details, only that it’s an emergency. I can’t hang around. Tell your mother I’ve gone, will you?”

“But how are you getting there?” says Angus.

“Taxi,” says Roy.

“Are you coming home later?” says Joanna.

“I don’t know, hon,” says Roy. “The plumbing problem might take a while to fix. But I’ll see you again very soon, okay? Come here."

He stretches out his arms, giving each of the girls a hug. He and Angus bump fists. He has run halfway down the hill to the main road when Sonia’s words return, circling his skull like miniature vultures: I need to cut off all contact with you.

Fuck. Fuck you, Sonia.

I need to cut off all contact with you.

He sees a taxi coming down the road and hails it, the driver a middle-aged man with a friendly face and a comb-over. I need to cut off all contact with you.

“Hey, Driver. I’ll give you a §50 tip if you put some music on and turn the volume up as loud as you can,” says Roy.

“No problem,” says the driver, and for the next ten miles Sonia's voice and all the other noise in his head is drowned out by Dolly Parton.

#roy #Angus #back to bridgeport #5 years later #joanna #henrietta #alexandra #sims 3 #tw: drug use

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swiftietartt · 6 months

Text

some of the afc richmond boys have invited themselves over to jamie’s for an ‘unofficial eras tour tiktok livestream viewing party’ when one of keeley’s startled little shrieks pierces the silence that follows the ‘karma is the guy on the chiefs, coming straight home to me’ lyric change

everyone’s giddy about the whole taylor/travis situation—even roy who’s trying (and failing) to maintain an air of disinterest

colin and isaac are frantically combing through social media for any re-confirmation of the lyric change in real time, as jamie waxes poetic about how if taylor’d only waited for the international leg of her tour she’d be singing something like…

‘karma is…richmond afc, coming straight home to me’

roy and isaac are quick to agree that jamie should keep to his day job and let taylor write her own lyric changes as colin muses, ‘wouldn’t that imply the entire team’d be going straight home to her?’ much to jamie’s chagrin

(not to mention the fact that jamie’s already got roy and keeley to come home to)

(if you want to read more of my take on richmond discussing taylor and travis you can find that here)

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #keeley jones #roy kent #jamie x roy x keeley #colin hughes #isaac mcadoo #afc richmond #ted lasso meta #taylor swift #travis kelce #the eras tour

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artzychic27 · 11 months

Note

For the Actor AU, how did they feel abt the canon heroes' outfits? If they could, how would they have modified them?

Marinette: Basic as fuck! It looks like I’m wearing footie pajamas! If I were in charge of my costume, I’d give myself a full-on punk look because Ladybug’s are some badass motherfuckers. Oh, and boots that have soles equipped with a shock-absorbing cushion, and a heel that contains a reinforced spring to soften the shock whenever I land. And… Maybe a backpack shaped like ladybug wings to hold my Lucky Charms and anything I need to collect for my plan.

Adrien: Less leather! That stuff shrinks, and a full leather bodysuit is not comfortable. Also, because of the cat holders’ powers, it would be cool if heroes had some sort of medical supplies on them just in case, like stored in a utility belt. And I’m with Mari, those boots sound badass. What else?… Oh, definitely add some more color instead of just basic black.

Alya: Well, the Fox doesn’t seem like a combative hero due to the powers. I see Rena Rouge as a distraction, really, so her outfit wouldn’t be one of those “ready for battle” types. Here’s what I’m thinking, one of those noir-film type outfits. The hat covers my face a bit to give me an air of mystery, and the outfit would look almost casual that no villain would suspect me.

Nino: I mean… Carapace’s look is cool. It’s alright. I’m liking the goggles, but… I’d prefer if he had armor. He’s the fucking turtle hero! He should be ready to take any blow that a villain sends his way!

Rose: Where to begin? Look, you all know me; I love pink more than the next guy, but… Sometimes too much is too much. The Pig Miraculous strikes me as… More farmhand than ballerina. Yee, I know, the heroes come with a tambourine, but come on! While I do love the skirt, I’d trade it in for overalls, either shorts or a skirt. Oh, and add some black in there, too. Daizzi has a black circle around his eye, let him be represented!

Juleka: Studded jacket. That is all.

Luka: Oh, honey, either give me a hood so I can look like a cobra or get the fuck away from me with that outfit.

Myléne: The mouse strikes me as more of the elegant type, I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the pastel pink mixed with the grey, but I see Polymouse wearing skirts over Pigella. But, that’s just my opinion.

Ivan: Honestly, I’m fine with the canon design for Minotaurox. Yeah, he’s got pockets and padding, I-I like it. And if you show me a better design, I’ll happily take a look at it.

Marc: … I think all of the effort went into making Rooster Bold’s costume. He’s got rooster hair, the little tallons on the back of his boots, and a fucking tailcoat! He and Mayura are the only ones to have tailcoats! I’m not complaining, though. I… I actually like it, but it is a nightmare putting on and taking off that wig.

Nathaniel: Well, I can say I sort of know how some of the girls feel, because that suit was tight as hell! You could see my hip dip! Also, I would’ve liked to have a different hairstyle and maybe some color, because I am the only male redhead around for miles. Oh, and climbing boots becuase, I’m a goat, duh.

Alix: … Do I need to say it? Okay, give me some active wear! I’m traveling through a shit ton of different timelines! I need someone sporty and active when I’m on the go. Also, I’ll need a backpack like Marinette.

Kim: Not hearing any complaints from me! I liked Roi Singe, but being Scarlet Beetle is way cooler!

Max: The glasses can easily come off. What I need is a high collar or a bandana that can cover the lower half of my face in case my glasses become askew or someone is able to place my identity because all I have on my face are some stupid glasses! God, I’m so glad I’m doing this new show now.

Chloé: Oh, I just want wings.

Zoé: Same.

Sabrina: Can mine just not look like my clothes, please?! I’ll take whatever, just not that!

Kagami: I would prefer if I had some form of armor and not a spandex bodysuit. It would need to be lightweight but also durable to allow me to travel faster, of course.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #mylène haprèle #Ivan Bruel #alya césaire #chloé bourgeois #sabrina raincomprix #juleka couffaine #rose lavillant #kagami tsuguri #max kanté #lê chiến kim #alix kubdel #luka couffaine

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years

Text

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓁 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓂⎹ 𝓡.𝓗.

fandom dc / masterlist coming soon / @dollsdc-library

featuring roy harper x outlaws tech!reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning kind of detailed!reader ( reader wears a ponytail ), roy’s a perv, oral sex ( roy receiving ), suggested size kink/short!reader, face fucking, light slapping

summary he’s only ever seen your hair in a ponytail when you’re on your knees.

word count 2.1k / mini musing

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

dammit.

Roy couldn’t concentrate, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jason, the latter leaned forward to peek at the screen as you typed away. he was asking questions. where the drop location was, how much time they had before reinforcements were called in, the routine prep. but Roy couldn’t stop staring at the back of your head.

the tresses gathered and pulled into a neat cinch at your crown, they explode in a soft waterfall over your shoulders. you’d never worn a ponytail into a briefing meet before, but Roy had seen your hair pulled together like this.

he’d felt the tension of the rubber band against his palm when he’d gripped the pony at the base, and held on tight, his own head dropping back. the office chair belonged to you, and so he felt like it was a few sizes too small for him, his neck hanging over the head rest. it definitely wasn’t the most comfortable, but in this moment, he didn’t care. his cap had hit the floor behind him with a soft, easily forgotten thud.

“Holy shit,” he hissed through his teeth, ”I knew that pretty mouth’d feel good but damn, baby, I wasn’t expecting the skill.” you didn’t have to see his eyes to know they’re closed— the way he’s cooing, dreamy. “Suck outlaw cock often?”

“No.” you admit with a huff of air as the swollen head of his cock pops free from your lips, and your lashes fan your warm cheeks, strings of saliva keeping you tethered to his sex.

Roy grins, digits swimming in your hair as he holds tight to the ponytail. he could comb through it for hours, he decided mentally. “You will.” and then, he’s using that grip on your hair and the side of his fist against your head to push it back down on to him, grunting when you open wide and accept his gift like you’re grateful for the opportunity to suck him off. his eyes rolled behind his lids, hips jutting forward to meet your bobbing, “This warm, little fuckhole ‘a yours will be the death of me. You’ll be lucky if I don’t have ya on your knees every, single day, taking me in your throat just like this.” you try to speak, but he’s dribbling your head against him, so it’s only a string of broken and slurred gagging moans.

an elbow digs into his ribs, jolting Roy back to reality. “Hm?” he mutters, blinking several times behind his shades.

“Where’s your head at, man?”

Roy wants to laugh. if only Jaybird knew. he didn’t think his friend would be that pissed to learn that Roy was fucking the new techie. if anything, he’d be jealous— miffed that Roy didn’t invite him to play with you, too. after all, Roy wasn’t the only one who had a problem with lingering gazes. he’d caught his partner staring at your thighs a number of times, probably trying to catch a peek of what was just under that tight skirt of yours. but Roy had never been too keen on sharing. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second.” the archer was rock hard in his jeans and pinned against one thigh, but taking the second to adjust himself would’ve drawn attention right to it. however, he caught your eyes dipping, and he hid a smirk when they widened.

“Well, zone back in.” Jason scoffs, the surface of his palm smacking against Roy’s chest. “We got work to do.” Jason shoots you a look, you nod, and then he looks at Roy, “Gotta make a call. Suit up.” and just like that, the Red Hood plucked his helmet from the desk beside your monitor and turned on his heels to stalk away, already dialing.

Roy hadn’t moved an inch, arms crossed over his broad chest, counting the steps until the door opened and then closed. you were standing now, too, the monitor powering down, but Roy blocks your path when you take a step and nearly collide with his chest. the door had hardly been closed a second when he mutters, “Get on your knees.” he didn’t have to ask you twice, because you took one peek up at his face and saw his jaw drawn tight. couple that with the tent he’s pitching, and you know exactly what he needs. you drop to your knees without so much as a protest. “You know, I don’t think you should wear ponytails to the briefs anymore,” he was saying, unbuckling his belt as he does. the buckle smacks against his thigh, and one hand snatches your ponytail up, whilst the other pops his fly open, “because you’re talkin’ a mile a minute to Jay, but all I can think about is grabbing hold of this pretty, little handle ‘a yours.” a not-so-subtle tug on your pony and you crane your neck with a soft whine. his shoulders hunch as he leans over you, breathing hot air on your cheeks, “Feeling those glossy lips sliding up and down my cock. Hearing you choke on me.”

your tongue slips out to coat your lower tier, before your teeth sink into it, eyes flickering from his to his open jeans as they sag against his hips. you desperately want him to take it out already, so much so that you’re salivating in anticipation. “Was it distracting?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“Incredibly.”

you wished you could stop the simper from dancing over your mouth, but there’s no denying the admission makes you giddy. maybe you shouldn’t be excited to know that the archer hadn’t heard a word you’d said for the past hour, but the idea that he was standing there, solid and daydreaming about fucking your face has you dripping. he could see it on your face, too, and he chuckles. the sound itself is husky and filled with lust. “That get your little motor running, pretty girl?” he teases, pulling on your hair until your brows knit together, lips parting in an O shape. “You get all hot and bothered thinking about how I can’t concentrate ‘cause I’m daydreaming about pounding that pretty mouth?”

you nod. how could you lie in that moment? your expression, the desire in your pupils, they told him everything already. “Are you going to keep talking about it or are you going to fuck my face before Jason gets back?” you challenge. you were already raw for it, and the longer he taunted, the more frustrated you became.

Roy blinks a couple of times, a surprised and, admittedly goofy, grin sketching his countenance after a few moments. “You greedy. Little. Whore.” each word seemingly punctuated by a tug on your ponytail as his free hand delves into his jeans to retrieve his cock, but as soon as he presents it to you, hard and pulsating, you reach for it. you want it. “Hands behind your back.” he barks, instead, and you glare. Roy quirks a brow. “Little teases don’t get a say, and that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it? A little, fuckin’ tease. Didja know just what this little ponytail would do to me? How hard it would make me? You’re wicked. Do as I say.”

you obey, begrudgingly. you wanted to grab hold of him and suck until your eyes crossed, and you wondered just what he would do if you were to disobey. would he take it away? you couldn’t take that chance.

Roy’s never looked so proud of you. “Good girl.” the praise surges through your blood like electricity, setting you ablaze. a few, solid pumps later, he nudged your bottom lip with the tip of his cock. the scent of him alone, his musky arousal cocktailing with the faint sandalwood in his cologne is like pure opium, and it makes you dizzy. “Say ah for me.”

“Ahh—!“ the sound hardly leaves your lips before he’s stuffed inside, strangling it into a submissive moan. your eyes roll back the second you taste him again; he tastes of the worst (and, somehow the best) decision you’ve ever made, the addiction sinking deep. your lips seal around his girth as much as they are able, but his hips are quick to piston.

rocking back and forth, his fist tightens on your hair, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. “I missed this perfect mouth, fucking hell.” if you could’ve pulled away, you might’ve laughed or even mocked him. missed? since two nights prior? however, with the vice on your head and the way his hips are snapping, you’re trapped, open mouthed and drooling, your eyes in the back of your skull. your hands start to come up, subconsciously wanting to rest against his thighs, attempt to slow his fervent pounding, but his cruel fingers catch your forearm and forces it back. “Don’t make me take my belt off.” he warns, like he was scolding a child for breaking the rules. what would he do with that belt? the possibilities excited you. cinch your arms behind your back? tighten it around your throat? you almost want to push your luck. almost.

you moan in response, a horribly subservient sound that the archer above you marvels at. “You gonna do everything I say, like an obedient little toy?” you don’t even answer, just peer up at him with tears in your eyes when his tip hits the back of your throat. “Hell yeah you are,” he continues, allowing his free hand to travel back to your face, giving your hollowed cheek a few, playful slaps until you’re squinting, whimpering. “You’re so damn good with your mouth. Gonna make me cum quick…” it’s hard for him to keep his composure, the steadiness of his voice, because he’s slamming his hips against your face with a force that nearly feels inhuman. you’d never been fucked like this before, but you couldn’t even pretend not to like it.

eyelids flittering, you moan with drool oozing from the corners of your mouth, fists balled tight but pressed into your lower back. you were trying your very best to remember to breathe through your nose, but the clucking you were making as he fucked your throat was beyond distracting. it was surprisingly sexy, and you find yourself wetter than ever, just hearing what humiliating sounds he killed in your throat. you gag only a couple of times.

“You ready for it, babe? You want it?” god, you did. you really fucking did. you nod, batting wet eyelashes, producing the biggest, puppy dog eyed look you possibly could, and Roy groans. he sounded practically defeated. “Fuck, you’re cute.” shoving you off of him, you sit back on your calves and pant, staring up at him with face flushed, lips swollen and drool coating your chin. “Open…” he hisses, grinding his jaw as he fucks his fist, dragging his sensitive cock head over your bottom lip. you obey, allowing your tongue to slide out and support the weight of him, moaning happily when streamers of warmth paint your tongue. his release coats your tastebuds, and you mewl in pure ecstasy. intoxicating. Roy lets out a guttural moan, ginger brows knit together tight, eyes zeroed in on you. another milky ribbon falls over your top lip, and dribbles down into your mouth. maybe Speedy’s aim wasn’t all he cracked it up to be, you think with your lips teasing a smile, but you couldn’t be happier. you lap at the source like a pleased puppy, asking for more until he’s breathing ragged and twitching, running on empty.

it’s only when he’s completely satisfied that he releases your hair. your scalp is tender, ponytail sagging, disheveled on your head. “I needed that.” he pants, tucking himself back into his jeans as you wipe the drool from your face.

you croon, tilting your head to one side. “Glad I could help.” as smooth as you could, you push yourself up and back into the office chair, leaning back. your knees were sore, but it was a dull discomfort. you tap your digit tips on the desk. “So, it’s safe to assume you didn’t hear a single word of the plan?”

“Not a one.” he admits with a goofy grin. “Wanna give me the cliff notes?”

you sigh fondly, and nod. “Promise to pay attention this time?”

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kathbunny · 4 months

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For the Emi Gifting Event - Cressida buys Roy new shirts

@alkatart @emis-equivalent-exchange 962 Words - Romantic Fluff

Cressida awkwardly stood outside of the Heap, bouncing back and forth on her feet as she waited. She had run into that tiefling that Roy treated like a sibling. She had dealt with the embarrassing eyebrow raises from them. She had dealt with asking them to please go get Roy for her. She had dealt with so much embarrassment before that too. Just for one little date. Just one little date with that fire genasi boy. One little date with Roy.

Cressida heard steps coming towards her, and she turned to face them, spotting Roy. His fire hair was combed, (how does that even work?), his cheeks were slightly flushed, he was smiling, and he was wearing the exact same shirt as the one he had worn at Finbar’s wedding. Stain from when he had spilled wine on himself and all. Cressida wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel insulted at him wearing a stained shirt to a date or not. She then remembered that she was pretty sure she had only ever seen him in stained shirts.

“Do you own literally any other shirts?” Cressida asked once he stopped, skipping over the greetings by accident, her first thoughts just slipping out.

Roy’s face flushed even further in what Cressida could only assume was embarrassment. “Well… This is the only good shirt I own..?” Roy answered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“...I’m buying you a new shirt.” Cressida said immediately.

Roy took a second to process that, just blankly staring at Cressida before bursting into slightly frantic movement, waving his hands like he was trying to physically dismiss the phrase. “No, no, no- You don’t have to do that! You really don’t have to do that!” Roy said, his voice briefly cracking in his panic.

Cressida put a hand on his shoulder, which immediately made him fall into silence, completely frozen. “If I am going on more dates with you in the future, I really don’t want you wearing the same stained shirt to every single one. I was going to spoil you eventually, this isn’t even really spoiling.” Cressida said, watching Roy’s face get redder and redder. “Let me buy you a new shirt.”

Roy couldn’t argue with that if he tried.

Cressida had dragged Roy to a clothing store in Brass. It was a place that sold readymade clothing, which Cressida wasn’t the biggest fan of, but Roy said that somebody at the Heap would alter anything he got for him. He also clearly needed the shirt sooner rather than later, so how well it fit him didn’t particularly matter. Cressida could more than afford a few well fitted and tailored shirts for him, that wouldn’t even cost a tenth of what she makes on her jobs in a decent shop.

Roy was presently debating between two shirts, and Cressida had started spacing out while glancing around the little shop overcrowded with too many shelves that were too close together. That would be a serious accessibility issue for so many groups of people. Even just half giants would have trouble squeezing through these shelves.

Cressida glanced back at Roy, seeing him still debating between the two shirts. She looked a bit closer, leaning over him a bit. “You could just get both.” She said, making him jump a bit due to being a bit too close to his ear, or maybe just because he was too focused. “They can’t be that expensive. They’re freaking premade and I’m the one paying.”

“Have you been in Brass for long enough to need to buy clothes here? Everything is expensive!” Roy declared. “There’s no way I am getting two if you’re paying!”

Cressida plucked one of the shirts out of his hands, taking a look at their price. “This is barely anything. ” Cressida said. “They are overcharging though. This is really low quality…” She mumbled.

“See! You agree it’s too much!” Roy said.

“Yeah, it’s too much for what it is, but that’s not stopping me from getting shirts for you. It just means I’ll have to get you some better ones on another day.” Cressida said, casually taking the other shirt from him. “These two both your size?” She asked.

“Yes, but-” Roy began, only to cut himself off, pausing to think. He made that cute expression Cressida had realized was the one he always made when thinking way too hard. “I don’t need any more shirts.”

“I’ll only get these two for you this time.” Cressida promised. “This way, you won’t be wearing a stained shirt on our next date. Or one that’s badly patched up, like the one you were wearing when I met you.” The patchwork wasn’t bad, but it was how many patches there were. After a certain point, you need to scrap the shirt to be used in patches for other shirts, and that shirt was almost all patches.

Roy’s face flushed like it had before and Cressida couldn’t help but smile at that. “Fine, but only those two.”

“Only these two.” Cressida agreed.

“And I am paying for dinner.” Roy added.

Cressida raised an eyebrow at that, smirking. “Oh, so we’re getting dinner next? That’s fine by me.”

Cressida watched Roy look away in what she assumed was shyness. Roy spoke up after a few seconds. “Yeah. Some food.” Roy confirmed.

“We better buy these and head out then!” Cressida chuckled, starting to move quickly towards the register. Roy quickly followed behind her. Cressida decided her goal for next time was to replace his pants. Bad pants can be dangerous for his kind of work, right? Due to all the sharp objects? Brass didn’t exactly have good labor laws and the Heap didn’t seem to be following the few that it did have.

#rolling with difficulty #rwd #my writing #rwd cressida #rwd roy #rwd croy

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kisha-myers · 1 year

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This fanfic is a fem-reader. Sorry for the confusion and not specifying I'm a noob when it comes to this 🥲

If you want to be apart of the tag list, PLEASE let me know via a DM or by commenting below!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CALL OF DUTY NOR ITS CHARACTERS/OPERATORS

TW: Abuse, alcoholism, depictions of DV, and Kidnapping- they're vague and brief for the most part but if you're someone who struggles with that kind of thing then PLEASE do not read.

Chapter Four: Johnny Johnny - Yes Lieutenant?

You weren't entirely sure how long it had taken to get onto base, you were too lost in your thoughts to really be concerned about it. Your mind was a cacophony of erratic thoughts, a haphazardly blended mess of the harsh reality you currently resided in. You were so out of it you didn't even question how they got you onto base without your identification card. In this moment you were trying to fight within yourself, to keep yourself calm no matter how viciously your heart thundered in your chest. That little voice in the back of your mind that some likened to a conscious took no time in listing all the horrendous possibilities that could be in store for you. You'd seen the news articles about women being murdered by unhinged military men - you weren't unaware for the most part of what others were capable of.

Perhaps your anxiousness had started in your early years, from the persistent drilling into your head by your own father about staying vigilant and prepared. He had certainly done his best to paint gruesome pictures into your skull of the very many things men, in particular, were able to do to someone of your stature. It only got worse as you got older and went through puberty.

In the back of your ambiguous memory vault you recalled the first time a boy had ever come to your door to ask you to one of your schools dances. Roy Martin, a boy you had spent countless hours with in the library studying together during free period - you liked him enough that you were willing to accept his request, excited even, until your father showed up from work. You still remember the way his eyes narrowed in suspicion, his military training to read a person's body language kicking into overdrive as he scanned Roy from head to toe. You'd be lying to yourself if you said he wasn't scared - Roy had practically pissed himself at the barrage of question your father fired off at him.

'When is the dance? How long does it last? Will it be adequately lit? Are there chaperones? What's the dress code? What are your intentions with my daughter?' You found it embarrassing at the time, having your ex-military father bombard your classmate like that over something you'd found so simple, benign even. Your father of course, thought otherwise. He'd sat you down at the dinner table, the polished oak covered in printouts of victims of domestic violence, assaults, even kidnappings. The pictures you recalled, unsettled you so much you ended up throwing up. Hours he had you spend at the table, examine each picture with a fine tooth comb as he detailed what had happened.

'Men are pigs sweetheart. They'll use and abuse you until you have nothing left to give them. It's why I've decided to put you in martial arts. No more tennis - starting tomorrow you'll be spending a your time at the dojo learning to protect yourself.' That revelation had made you so angry you launched yourself from the table so hard and fast your chair toppled over, the hard Crack of the wood against the laminate floor echoing through the room.

'What!?' You cried out, utter disbelief evident in both your tone and twisted facial features. You shook your head fervently, refusing to believe that he could do this to you - tennis had been your coping method for quite some time now, and to think he'd be so cruel as to rip that from your grasp over a boy... well it was enough to send you over the deep end. That was the first time you had ever spat the words 'I hate you' to him, effectively silence any and all responses he had ready to give you. The hurt that had crashed through his eyes had your heart shattering into multiple pieces, but you were too angry at the time to really care. That was also the same night you learned that your father was a raging alcoholic, suffering from ptsd that the VA refused to help him get treatment for.

The yelling, you recollected, had been terrifying. Your mother had come home later that evening, tired from her twelve hour shift at the local hospital, to find your father passed out in a pool of his own vomit in the kitchen. A bottle of Hennessey Whiskey still grasped in his hand. The argument ensued once she had shaken him awake, berating him for being so careless; What would you have done had you discovered him in that state? Worse yet, what would your little sisters have done? Needless to say that that night you didn't get much sleep - you were far too wound up from such intense emotions you couldn't process thoroughly yet on your own to calm your mind long enough to relax.

Your mind continued to spiral, bringing up memories you'd long since forgotten - funny what the mind was capable of doing to your own psyche. Your fingertips returned to their caressing of the fabric seats as the humvee crawled to a stop, using your sense of touch as a way to distract yourself from your always wandering mind. The fabric, you decided, was almost the equivalent in texture to the fur of a raccoon. Not too soft but not too rough - a strangely functional texture that both made you relax and feel uncomfortable. A conundrum, you mused, as you let the pads of your finger tips migrate lower. The feel of chilled though smooth pleather both confused and intrigued you, sparking your curiosity - you weren't sure why though, it was common for vehicles to have both per seat.

Perhaps it was because you had assumed consistency with the fabrication of the vehicle in which the manufacturers would simply have the fabric continuous to its base. It had made sense to you in the moment, however now that you let your mind drift down this path, you surmised it would be better to have a material much easier to clean should the need ever arise. You could imagine the gruesome things this particular piece of heavy machinery had seen, but you refused to dwell on it lest your mind conjure up nameless faces of lives lost whilst inside its steel framed interior.

You inner turmoil was cut short, graciously so as the humvee finally came to a full stop. Painful LED lights illuminated the helipad you'd arrived at - why they had stopped here you'd never know, nor did you particularly want to. You simply wanted rest - at least you'd hope that your mind would calm enough to allow you some moments of solace. You predicted that it wouldn't be so, but the hope remained regardless. König glanced back at you as Ghost clambered steadily from the vehicle, slamming the door with enough force it rocked slightly. He released an noise from the back of his throat that you assumed was done from being unamused by such an calloused act of masculinity. Whether intentional or not, it left you wondering just how strong the man was to be able to make such a large and seemingly immovable object such as this move like that.

You pushed those thoughts aside for now, opting to put a pin in it and return to the subject when you had at least a few hours of sleep under your metaphorical belt. Your eyes peaked up through your lashes at König, watching as he scanned the area seemingly leisurely. You figured this was the way they operated out in the field too - one of them being in the fray of things whilst the other remained out of the way, a lookout of sorts - perhaps a sniper considering he wore the hood of one. You could picture him as one, holding the rifle in his rather impressively large and languid hands, perched high up in a tower or even a hill, shrouded in foliage.

You weren't privy to know the details of what Johnny did as a member of his task force, all you knew was that the team itself was incredibly important and many foreign governments relied on them. Johnny was a naturally bubbly person though he had a way of being serious that sent a shiver of unease down your spine. You'd seen him flip that switch several times, and each time it was scarier than the last. That was the way of a soldier, you concluded, being able to flip that switch to turn off needless emotions. It wouldn't make much sense to have a bubbly killing machine frolicking through the daisies on his way to annihilate the enemy.

You suppressed a giggle from the image you'd conjured up of Johnny clad in his tactical gear skipping merrily through a meadow of wild flowers, laughing his obnoxiously loud laugh gunning town hostiles. You pressed your lips together, nibbling on them with your teeth slightly, wanting to keep the smile from your face - how were you to be cross with the very man you were just daydreaming about platonically when you couldn't keep a straight face?

A hand on your thigh brought you out of your humorous daze, your eyes narrowing in slight offense at the gloved skeletal hand touching bar skin. Slowly you moved your gaze to meet Ghost's hazel ones, raising a brow slightly in question - you had been so far out of it you hadn't even heard your door being opened nor the way he had cleared his throat twice.

"Captain wants a word with you before Johnny takes you to the barracks. Won't be long, he's straightforward enough to get his point across." You simply gave him a curt nod in response, carefully wrapping your fingers around his impressively thick wrist, and removing his hand from your thigh. The fabric of his gloves, you noted, was softer than you'd assumed - the material reminding you subtly of fleece or maybe it was velvet? You wondered, for a moment, if there was a specific purpose for this - was it easier to clean? Did he have poor circulation? Did his hands get easily cold? You didn't know, and you weren't brave enough to ask him outright. Perhaps you could pester Johnny about it later - if he didn't have to be apart of this meeting though you naturally assumed he would be.

Ghost carefully stepped back, removing his wrist from your grasp far gentler than you could have ever imagined the brute could manage. He rested his left forearm amongst the top edge of edge of door, his right gloved hand being shoved into his pocket as he nodded his head to the right - you took this as an indication he wanted you to exit and go off towards on of the brightly lit pop up buildings just left of the massive landing pad.

You climbed out of the vehicle far less graceful that he did, stumbling slightly once your bare feet made contact with the rough asphalt. A chill ran up your body, feet immediately going cold from the frigid touch of wind that blew against your bared skin. You hadn't realized your slippers had slip off your feet whilst you were in the throws of a minor anxiety attack,, something you were sure you'd be irritated over later when you were alone in the barracks. A shiver left your body trembling for a moment, goosebumps rousing across your flesh like domino's being tipped over. You were definitely berating yourself for not dressing warmer though you knew it wasn't exactly fair to do so - how were you to know that your complex would suddenly burst into flames due to an imbecile? Ah well, there wasn't anything you could do about it now - you were already here in the now, you might as well make the most of it.

Quickly your feet carried you to the building Ghost had indicated to you from behind, calling out what number in particular would be on the building and subsequently, which office to go to. You were familiar with this section however, Johnny had taken you here during his half-assed tour of base to meet his Captain - it had amused you at the time, now? Not so much. You hadn't the foggiest idea as to why Captain Price would want to speak with you - hopefully you weren't unintentionally in trouble, you couldn't handle a scolding from a man you equated to a father figure even though you weren't one of his subordinates.

Your bare feet slapped against the foux marble floor, your eyes downcast like a petulant child preparing for the worst scolding of their lives. Your face remained somber, though your teeth worried your bottom lip every so often. The closer you got to his office, the more your stomach wishes to reject its contents in its entirety. Yes, you decided, you would definitely start taking your medication the moment you got to return to your apartment.

Ghost watched her walk away, his eyes lingering slightly on the way her hips swayed - he liked it, more than he'd care to ever admit out loud. He closed the door to the humvee, shoving both hands into his pockets as he did a 180 turn, leaning his back against the very door he had just closed. König climbed out of the vehicle, going over to Ghost and mimicking his stance though opting to cross his arms across his chest.

"She's anxious - about what your Captain wants to speak with her about." He observed, his glacial eyes returning to the very door you had just disappeared through. Ghost merely grunted in agreement, his eyes scanning through every face hunting for the obnoxious sergeant he so badly wanted to strangle. He may be crass and curt, incredibly blunt and hostile most of the time, but even he knew to never stand a woman up. He wasn't a ladies man - he didn't do callouse one night stands often, nor did he exactly date - König and his relationship being the exception to all of his rules due to him being an active member of KorTac and understanding what this line of work consisted of.

Johnny on the other hand was the absolute definition of a man whore. If it walked, talked and showed an interest in him, he bedded it -truly it shocked him on how (at least he assumed) that Johnny hadn't slept with you. You were a stunning creation, a skittish little masterpiece of the best kind - the Mona Lisa to his Leonardo da Vinci. The more he contemplated reasons as to why Johnny wouldn't have wanted to bed you, the more confused and, albeit annoyed he got. His silent brooding was interrupted by a fist bumping into his shoulder, an indignant grunt passing from between his lips as he glanced up.

There Johnny was, in all his detestable glory, sending a wink off to a curvy brunette with disheveled hair. Of course he had been getting his rocks off - it'd fully explain why he was late to meeting them here.

"Lt, König, where's the lass gone? Scared her off, eh?" His Scottish brogue breaking through the tense silence, his happy-go-lucky unbothered tone sending both masked men into a boiling fury.

"You and I need to have a word, Johnny, about how a gentleman treats a lady." Ghost replied, his voice dropping a full octave and sending a wave of dread through the Scot. He simply nodded, effectively gulping before following along behind his superior, shooting a 'save me please' look towards König who simple gave back a wave.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish, was certainly about to learn a valuable lesson, one Ghost and König both knew he'd never forget.

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