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#leo writes
rqgnarok · 10 months
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standing ovation - jamie tartt
fandom: ted lasso
wc: 2321
warnings: mentions of jamie’s dad and DV, spoilers for ted lasso’s mom city. reader uses female pronouns. 
summary: reader sneaks into training grounds after richmond’s win against man city. seeing her is just what jamie needs. 
author’s note at the end!
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There’s something in the air.
Jamie’s pretty sure Will sprayed some lavender shit all over the locker room again but that’s not quite what he means– he’s said goodbye to every single one of his teammates and all the coaches– and the locker room is now his and his alone. He locks away his dad’s ghost by locking up his phone, the simple message doing wonders to finish lifting that weight off his shoulders.
He wasn’t at the game. Or maybe he was, Jamie realizes now that it doesn’t really matter. A part of him will never stop looking over his shoulder whenever he visits his hometown for his dickwad of a father, but the older, bigger part of him knows Coach was right– his motivation doesn’t come from hating his dad anymore and it doesn’t have to. His forgiveness is for himself, for the little boy that had to build a mask to save himself from his dad, and for the man he is today because of him– and because of his mum, Keeley, Roy, Ted, his teammates–
The standing ovation at the end was more of a benediction than he’d like to admit. Everything about his hometown made him feel prickly; like he was a virus the town was doing its best to reject, and other than his quick visit to his mom Jamie expected the whole thing to be a disaster. The kids on the street, the people on social media, the rude assholes in the bleachers– Jamie thought that was all he was gonna get. Blind, thoughtless hatred despite Jamie trying his best.
He remembers Roy getting a standing ovation on his last game, while Jamie was still wearing Man City blue. He’d been appalled, unable to discern the possibility of someone hating you so much they respected you. All he’d ever gotten– from his dad, rival teams, his own team– had been everything except respect.
But they’d clapped for him. They thought him deserving of something precious and somehow it feels like permission. He can play for himself. He can come home without his dad’s ghost belittling him for not turning out the way he expected him to. 
Even Manchester hasn’t been home in a long time. Sure, his mom and Simon are there, but Richmond has his family, too– his friends, his teammates, his–
“Excuse me, I’m looking for my boyfriend. 5’9 not quite 6 foot, sexy as hell, the most fantastic football player to ever walk on Earth?”
Jamie’s lips involuntarily twist up as he glances at the door. (Y/N)’s a sight wearing her Richmond TARTT jersey, looking disheveled and flushed like the rest of the city probably is right now after their win tonight. 
Jamie doesn’t give a shit about the rest of the city, though. At least not right now. He cares about his girl sneaking in (with Keeley and Roy’s permission and advice, probably) to see him, normal sleep schedule be damned. 
He laughs, loud and unrestrained joy lighting up his features as he hobbles towards his girlfriend, letting himself be enveloped in a crush-tight embrace.
“Did ya watch it?” he wonders, forgoing his usual shy demeanor whenever (Y/N) praises him and just allowing his excitement to overflow, arms going around (Y/N)’s waist and hoisting her off the ground.
“Did I watch it, he asks,” (Y/N) scoff is downplayed by her big grin and the way she wraps her arms around Jamie’s neck as he spins her around, fucked up ankle be damned. “I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off of you, Jamie, oh, my God–”
She’s kissing him deeply, unable to contain her excitement. 
“You’re so fucking brilliant,” she whispers against his mouth, her hands at the nape of his neck making him shiver into her embrace, unable to get enough. “Oh, Jamie, that assist– the entire play for Colin’s goal? Your goal–”
“It was for you,” he tells as he drops her off, cupping her face in his hands and cheeks hurting with how wide he’s smiling. “I couldn’t celebrate but it was for you. For you and me mum, you were with me on the pitch the whole time–”
He stumbles a little as he drops her on the ground and (Y/N) tenses in his arms. She looks him over, suddenly worried. “Oh, shit. Your ankle, dumbass, are you okay? Fuck, did I–”
“Angel,” the nickname has her melting almost immediately just like he thought it would, a five-word weapon he’s never gotten tired of wielding. (Y/N) pouts at him, still concerned, and Jamie can’t have that, he kisses the expression off her face immediately. It should be illegal for her to be sad, no, sir. “‘s not even a sprain. It was probably the panic of bein’ in the same place as me dad, to be honest.”
Something steely flashes through her eyes, there and gone in a second, at the mention of Jamie’s dad. (Y/N)’s never been anything other than kind about it, but Jamie doesn’t doubt she’d beat the old fart up if she were given the chance. 
The thought only makes him smile.
“Did you? See him?” she wonders cautiously. She’s touching him again after her moment of hesitation over his injury, hands doing soothing motions up and down his sides. Jamie fights off a shiver.
“Nah,” he says simply as if the thought of crossing paths with him didn’t have him toeing the line of a panic attack the entire three days they were in Manchester. “I don’t know if he was there, and if he was, I didn’t see him. I don’t think I care anymore. It’s for the best, really.”
(Y/N)’s expression brightens, though they both know they’re not done talking about it. Jamie wishes it could be as easy as turning off his phone and forgetting about his dad, but his skin already itches a little with the idea of getting a text back from him. He’s also no doubt that (Y/N) will hold him throughout it all. 
“I did see me mum.”
“How is my favorite Tartt?” she teases.
“Happy,” Jamie says softly, always the most important thing to consider when it comes to his mother. Ever since he was a toddler and he gained acknowledgment of his dad’s actions; after an especially gruesome argument that ended with his dad breaking a few photo frames and plates, stumbling his way out of the apartment, and slamming the door shut, Jamie would climb on his mom’s lap and wipe her tears as best he could with his tiny clumsy baby fingers. “Yeah, she was real happy. And for me, too. Even before the match, she was happy to see me, happy to… jus’ happy.”
“That’s good, sweetheart,” she threads her fingers through Jamie’s hair to keep it off his face, his headband lost somewhere in his lockers or amongst the rest of the dirty laundry. He’ll have to tell Will to watch out for it, he’s a little attached to it after the night he’s had. 
Jamie’s usually not the one to believe in lucky garments or charms but– well. He feels pretty lucky right now; that (Y/N) saw some worth in him when they met and makes the choice to love him and come home to him, day after day, whatever the outcome may be. 
(Y/N) looks at him adoringly like she knows what he’s thinking. “Did’ya get your wings back, then?”
Jamie grasps her hand in his and turns to kiss the inside of her wrist, only slipping a little bit of tongue. “Nah. They was never gone. All I needed was a little help to see.”
He frowns before (Y/N) can answer. “I was gonna say something stupid like ‘you’re me wings’ but that’s disgusting and I hate it. I would never say something like that. ‘m not Roy.”
(Y/N)’s laugh is surprised and comes deep from her belly. “Are you telling me Roy Kent’s a secret romantic?”
“Big old softie, that tosser,” he rolls his eyes. “He snuck you in for me, didn’t he? That’s all you need to know about–”
(Y/N) shuts him up with a kiss just because she can, and they’re both smiling too hard for it to be a proper one. 
She says “He likes you. He’s proud of you. We’re all so proud of you,” while peppering kisses all over his face, landing on his cheeks, nose, temple, jaw, and corner of his mouth. “You’re so, so good, Jamie, I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” he says, because there’s not gonna be a single time in which she tells him that and he doesn’t reciprocate. “Mum said that, too. And Keeley and Roy. And Coach, too, I guess, in his own way. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without them.”
“I can’t believe I missed it,” (Y/N) pouts and beats herself up over it for the thousandth time. Jamie presses a kiss to the space between her eyes for the thousandth time in response. “I should’ve been there, I should’ve told my boss to go to hell–” 
“You’re here,” he tells her, shaking her a little by the shoulders and looking her over like he can’t quite believe it. That she’s here in the locker room, in his life, loving him like he’s always desperately wished for but never thought he’d deserve. “What was I gonna do, put my dumb ankle into ice and sit alone in the dark?”
“‘m sure Roy and Keeley would be here drinking champagne with you if I wasn’t here.”
“And what could we be doing that is keeping them away right now?” he raises his brows, sneaking a hand down her back lower, lower, lower–
(Y/N) slaps his chest, though a gleam in her eye tells him she’s not saying no to anything. “You’re…” she drifts off.
He smirks cockily. “Unbelievable?”
(Y/N) shakes her head imperceptively. “Nah. I always knew you could do it. But you’re breathtaking, I’ll give you that. As if your ego needs it.”
Jamie’s mouth softens into a smile, soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
(Y/N) frowns a little at the sudden shift in conversation. “Whatever for?”
“I’ve been a dick these past couple of weeks–”
He had. (Y/N) won’t let him admit it but he wasn’t lying when he told Roy he wasn’t doing well. Not eating, not sleeping, waving off (Y/N)’s concern with a little too cold shoulder. It made him feel a little too much like his dad, and that thought only dragged him further down.
It had been (Y/N) who suggested Jamie pay a visit to his mom while in town for the game, and when he’d mentioned this to her she’d smiled knowingly, ran a hand through his hair, and made him promise an introduction soon. 
“You were anxious,” she corrects him with a shake of the head, won’t let him speak ill of himself when all he did was have a normal, human reaction to a very triggering situation. “And I’ve been worried about you but you don’t have to apologize, Jamie. Not to me, not in a million years.”
“Alright,” he says, soft and charmed. He soothes his thumb over her knuckles, featherlight. He looks down at their intertwined hands for a beat or two, gently swinging them back and forth. “Then can I apologize for shutting you out? I know you were only trying to help. I’ll do better next time at letting you know what I need.”
“And I’ll do better at listening,” she assures him with an indulgent smile, using her free hand to trace the Richmond crest of his shirt. “Look at us, communicating and shit.”
Jamie scrunches his nose in faux disgust. “Gross,” he says, but even the facade is too much to keep up when (Y/N) nudges his nose with hers. His lips tilt upwards against his best intentions, drunk on her presence and something inside his chest brimming with unstirred delight. 
(Y/N) exhales against his mouth. She hasn’t been more than a few inches away from him since she came down to meet him, always touching him.  
“What do you wanna do, huh?” she asks him, pulling at the bottom of his shirt. “Anything you want. We can go get some takeout from that burger place you like or maybe something fancier? We can go home and get some ice on that ankle–”
“It’s nothin’–”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” by that, she means when the team doctor gives him the all clear and he isn’t limping slightly with every step he takes. It’ll take a while but Jamie can take it, especially if any downtime comes with them spending the days together. She makes a questioning hum. “But we can do that tomorrow, then. Tonight, whatever you want. You’ve earned it.”
And Jamie does feel like a winner. Not only because of the three points they managed to steal from Man City but because he gets to come home to this. He gets to leave his dad behind in Manchester and his mom in safe hands, he gets to accomplish his dream for himself and the people that love him instead of trying to prove someone who hurt him wrong. 
He gets to live for himself. Coach Lasso was right, him forgiving his father was the kindest thing he could do for himself. 
“I want this,” he murmurs against her temple, breathing in the smell of her perfume and taking in the warmth of her body against his. “I got all I need right here.”
(Y/N) smiles and crowds even closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 
A beat. Then–
“So that’s a no for a quickie in the locker room, then?”
(Y/N)’s laugh tastes like a standing ovation.
_________
precious little jamiebaby i hope i did you justice ily
i was ready to make an angsty peace about him but mom city left me craving to give him a moment of peace so ta-da! thank you so much for reading and letting me know what you think!
a reminder that commissions and asks are open!
<3
masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi
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Here's the ratchet piece I promised!! Unspecified, but I had TFP Ratty in mind while writing this
Ratchet x Cybertronian!Reader
No use of Y/N. Or even. Like. Gendered pronouns. Except for he/him, and that's for Ratchet.
DING DING DING COME GET UR FOOD
Ratchet twitched slightly when he felt you lay your helm on his shoulder, the weight familiar, if a bit startling. "Primus, you startled me. What do you want?" The soft rumble of your engines and a huff is his only reply, or he thinks it is, until you murmur something in his audial.
"Did you fuel today? You've been meaner than usual, Ratty." He sighed, leaning into you slightly. The feeling of your frame surrounding his was always a comfort he was happy to indulge in. "Not yet, but I'm still at half-capaci-" He hadn't even finished his sentence before you were showing a cube of energon into his servo, a low rumble coursing through your chassis.
"Drink." He inhaled sharply, surprised at the force in your voice. The low prickle of worry-sadness-fear that Ratchet could feel through the spark-bond sent a pang through him, and he sighed. "Fine, fine. Since you clearly won't be dissuaded." He chugged it quickly, and the whole cube was gone in little more than a few seconds.
"Thank you, sweetspark." Ratchet nearly broke his keyboard at the tone of your voice. You sounded relieved. It made sense, given his habit of not fueling. He didn't notice the cracks forming in his equipment as he gripped it tighter and tighter, until- "Ratty, we need that. Try not to break it, yeah?"
Ratchet froze for a moment, processing, and laughed, revelling in both the feeling and the sound of your shared mirth. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, and as you gently touched your nose to his, nuzzling against him like an Earth cat, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off him.
As the two of you calmed down, he leaned against you, sighing softly. "...You want to go cuddle?" Ratchet felt more than heard your excitement, yelping as you scooped him up and ran off, carrying him to your berthroom.
Ratchet was half-expecting to be dropped onto the berth, pleasantly surprised when you lowered him onto it like he was made of glass. "I'm not-"
"Fragile, I know, Ratty. Is it illegal to be gentle with my conjunx now?" Tease. He huffed as you laid down, squirming until you got comfortable- which just so happened to be with Ratchet cocooned in your arms. "Comfy?"
Ratchet sighed. He was, actually. The soft hum of your spark, coupled with the general background noise the base made at night was slowly pulling him into recharge. "I needed this." He murmured, unwilling to disturb the peace of your shared habsuite. A sentiment you agreed with, if your soft noise of contentment was anything to go by.
Slowly but surely, Ratchet drifted off into recharge. No nightmares touched him that night, his usually fitful processor soothed by your familiar EM field. And he knew that even if he was haunted by terrors long-past, that you would free him. And he would do the same for you.
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Everyone knows that Chimney isn't the best person when it comes to keeping secrets. He tries, he really does but the words often slip out before his brain has caught up with what's happening. It is amazing how quickly a witty comment can let the cat out of the bag- and that's exactly what Buck and Eddie are hoping for.
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munsoner · 1 year
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okay but what if you have a bad nightmare about some unpleasant past memories and your hand is already reaching for your phone as you wake up, opening eddie’s contact and dialling his number. it’s 3am, and there’s nothing you hate more than feeling weak or vulnerable, but hearing his sleep-rough “hello? baby? you okay?” through your phone speakers works to ease the tension in your body, the tears in your eyes spilling as you shake your head. obviously he can’t see you, but he knows your silence means you need comfort, strong arms wrapped around you, eddie. “i’m on my way, sweetheart - be there in five, i promise.”you can hear the jingle of his keys as he locks up the trailer, van starting up the van. you clear your throat, not quite whispering but close to it, “thank you, eds, i’m sorry to get you out of bed”he cuts you off with a loud “nuh uh!” and you smile, already knowing he hates when you apologise for being upset. “what do i always tell you? anytime, day or night, isn’t that right?”
the silence that falls between you as he drives is easy, familiar and comfortable, and you can feel the ball of fear and anxiety in your chest loosening a little at the sound of him humming along to the radio, phone on speaker in his lap. it’s barely 5 minutes later that you hear him pull up outside your apartment block, listening to him park the car and grab his keys before heading to your door to let himself in with your spare key. your bedroom door cracks open, revealing eddie in a loose tank top and sweats, hair pulled up into some semblance of a bun on top of his head, smiling softly at you. he steps forward, lifting your duvet so he can slide in, turning you on your side so he can fit his knees behind your thighs, his arms around your waist, head on your shoulder. he’s entirely curled around you, and this is what you needed. he wipes your tears, plays with your hair, and doesn’t say anything until your breathing has evened out, the last of the tension draining from you into the mattress below you both.
“there’s my pretty girl, hm? you okay, baby?”
you crack into a smile and move to cover your face with your hands but he’s already holding your wrists to your chest, shaking his head and laughing. “nope, no hiding that beautiful face! c’mon angel, we both know you’re the hottest girl in hawkins, lemme see!” and you twist around to cup his hands in your face, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “nah eddie, you’re the prettiest girl in hawkins” he rolls his eyes, but leans in to kiss you all the same, and you forget all about your nightmare
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nervousshipwrecked · 5 months
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teratovember meme 6- bioluminescence
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Whoever it was who threw the little creature into the lantern had the consideration to take the candle out before repurposing it as a cage. In any case, the candle would have been purely decorative; the fairy threw its own light, a dull gold which spilled lazily out of the faded glass panels. Picking up the lantern, I looked closer.
The fairy didn't have wings as far as I could see, but he was flitting around as much as he could with his hands tied above him to a loop at the top of the lantern. Fuzzy antennae like a moth's protruded from his head and he blinked black eyes at me in clear displeasure. I could hear his voice, something that sounded like frantic speech, still muted by the glass.
"I'm not trying to hurt you," I explained in a low voice. I just want to know what you are.
The fairy blinked at me, and then stilled. I opened the lantern and repeated myself.
"I'm not trying to hurt you."
"Well done," the fairy snapped. "Take me off this thing. My arms hurt."
"Who did this to you?" I said, unhooking the fairy and holding him with a gentle firmness while I looked him over for injury.
"Another of your kind. Uglier."
"But why?"
The fairy looked away, uncomfortable. His light changed to a soft red and he started to squirm in my hand. I realized he was blushing, and waited for him to explain.
"Grindr," he finally muttered. "He was into roleplay. You know like Neverland, with Captain Hook and Tinkerbell in the... Well, don't laugh!"
"So what, now he's off with the mermaids looking for that scoundrel Pan, now that he's interrogated you thoroughly?"
"Something like that. I thought it would be sexy and to be fair, it was. He wore me like a ring and made me rub all over his finger before throwing me in the lantern until I could be his little cockring later. But it turns out you humans really think fairies just live for a day. He threw the lantern out because he wasn't prepared to see me die. He was still really hard but he was sad about it."
"Aftercare fail."
"No shit."
He squirmed again in my hand, and huffed, still blushing. Both of us tried to ignore that he was hard, leaking in my hand and he gamely attempted to explain.
"I'm deeply embarrassed by the whole thing. My dick gets me in so much trouble, but this has got to be the last straw. I could have died. So, if you could just release me so I can go back to my toadstool and cry before finding another way to channel my monstrous libido, that would be great."
"You live in a toadstool?"
"Yes. It's wet and cold but it's home. Any other stupid questions before I go, human?"
"I mean, do you still want to hook up? I have central heating and a dollhouse with your name on it, we could-"
The fairy's light pulsed bright red, and he sputtered, before squeezing his thighs.
"Yeah. Please."
"And should I stick you back in the lantern 'til we get there?" I said, tightening his bonds before letting him hump on my thumb with a grin. "Or are you more of a trapped in the glovebox kind of guy?"
"Ah, fuck."
"I won't hang you from my rearview mirror this time, as cute as you'd be."
"Yeah, you're a real fucking gentleman," the fairy breathed, hips rutting hard. "Gonna keep me in your dollhouse?"
"And what are you going to do about it?"
He came with a long shudder, and I thought I heard bells.
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sunlight-wildflowers · 8 months
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Mumbo paced around the little enterance to the makeshift styling room? whatever it's called, that Grian had created for himself. Scar was next to him, also waiting, twirling around and around and around in his wheelchair.
Scar stopped. "I'm dizzy."
"You've- you've just been twirling around in your wheelchair!" Mumbo points out, assuming that Scar is surprised about being dizzy, and also surprised that Scar is surprised about being dizzy.
"I know!" Scar replies with his usual chipperness.
Mumbo opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then finally decides this is not worth commenting on. He's actually quite glad to not know what's going on in Scar's head.
"Griiii-aaaannn," Scar whines. "Are you done yet?"
"Does it look like I'm done?" Grian states, from where he's sitting on a low back chair, wings hanging off it. Grian is currently clipping in hair extensions.
"You're taking too long," Scar pouts.
Mumbo decisively decides to not say anything despites very much agreeing. He's getting quite antsy himself. Or, antsier than usual? He's usually antsy doing... pretty much anything. Is antsier even a word?
Grian turns around in his chair, picks up a comb off his makeshift desk, and points it at Scar.
"This is your fault, you know."
Then Grian looks over at Mumbo and points to him too. "And yours too. Don't think you're off the hook, mister."
"What did I do?!" Mumbo exclaims.
"The two of you conspired against me and decided our Buttercup thing meant we had to be hippies."
"We're Buttercups!" Mumbo cries. "How can we be Buttercups and not hippies?!"
"Yeah, but what are the hair extensions for?" Scar asks, tilting his head.
Grian rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to be a hippie, I'm going to be a proper hippie." After a beat. "Hippies have long hair."
"Well, that makes about as much sense as anything else." Mumbo notes.
"Exactly." Grian nods decisively.
"Man, now I'm wishing I didn't cut my hair for Scarland." Scar pouts.
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youhaveaguineapigwhere · 10 months
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Can we meet here?
Dean gazed out of a clean storefront window as the morning fog slowly receded, white fluffy clouds making headway for what looked like the start of a bright day. They had been on the road for what seemed like the last seven hours. Upwards of six, at least - and Dean was still struggling to wipe the lingering traces of sleepiness from his eyelids.
He focused on the street lamps and power lines strung across his view of wide avenues. Tiny birds fluttered across his line of vision as they scoped out the next best place to perch. He shifted from his toes to his heels, let out a breath between his nostrils, and stole a few glances at Cas.
The angel stood half propped up against a counter, patiently waiting for their names to be called with his hands stuffed somewhere in the folds of his coat pockets, a slack expression softening the sharp features of his face.
Dean grappled with the wayward thoughts bouncing off the walls of his skull as they tumbled into his nervous system, pulling at him from the inside out, and making his fingertips twitch. He stepped forward, trying- attempting, to will himself out of his own head.
He’d really rather just.. forget. Everything else.
"Can we just meet here?"
The thought sounded dumb almost as soon as it left his lips. His boots clicked awkwardly against the tiled floors, tracking his movements as he shuffled. He cautiously goaded his chin up to meet Cas’ eyes.
"What?" Cas questioned, turning a stubbled jaw towards Dean in a delicately posed tilt. He looked like a Michelangelo painting in morning light and it was distracting.
A confused frown formed on the corner of the angel’s lips as they were suddenly interrupted, their orders being called enough to startle them both out of whatever look they had been sharing. Castiel reached forward and gingerly grabbed the coffee cups as they slid across the counter, briefly schooling his expression, offering a timid smile to a barista who couldn’t even pronounce the syllables of his name.
‘Cas-tee-el not Cas-teal,’ Dean felt an urge to say, but didn't, his throat ticking as his best friend turned his full attention back towards him. Cas closed the few feet between them and handed a cup over to the Winchester, eyes expectant while idle conversations buzzed and dissipated in the space around them.
There, standing in the little shop, trench coat bunching around his shoulders and tie endearingly askew, Cas almost looked like he could be just any other man. Just any name to mess up. Dean’s smile was sad as he stared down at his cup. He fit his thumb over the lip of the to-go lid and let the condensation and heat nip at his skin, soothing over whatever feeling this was.
"There’s so much that I’ve messed up, Cas. With us- with... everything. There’s so-" He cleared his throat and looked up, resolution slowly cementing. He fixed his gaze on the junction between Cas’ neck and shoulder, the only place he could currently bear to look. "Can we just... meet here?" He extended a shaking hand in explanation, "Hi, I’m Dean."
Cas’ eyes crinkled around the edges and he stared at Dean with softness and intensity that couldn’t be described. Was it... pity? He saw there? A look that said, ‘Dean, you don’t have to’ and the one returned that settled, ‘No, Cas. I want to.’ A way to try and start over, something that felt kinda like setting up a tent on a windy beach and kinda like jumping off a bridge, something important.
"I’m... Castiel." Cas extended his own hand and they met in the middle.
A handshake. A simple handshake.
Cas' palm was warm and slightly calloused along the pads of his fingers and Dean found himself wondering how he never noticed the size of Cas’ hands. How big they were, how strong his grip was compared to his own. That, or he got too busily wrapped up in shit to notice. Always a distraction, always an apocalypse on the horizon, always enough alcohol in his system to make excuses when he got too close or stumbled over his words. In another timeline, where he hadn’t sung Sammy to sleep every night their mother couldn’t, Dean would have been mute, or a stutterer, ..‘nearly was.
That’s why, in a way, he’s always preferred to let his touch do the talking, though looking at Castiel, he’s not sure if he’s ever been any good at that either.
How much hadn’t he said?
They only seemed to take the time to touch when the world was ending. They only seemed to take the time to spill their guts when everything they knew was falling apart. A bad habit that had formed somewhere over the years. ‘Guess you don’t pay much attention to those things when you’re on the brink of death and such. Or you try and will yourself not to. Such an idiot Winchester.’
But last time had been too much; it had been way too much, and not enough. Castiel couldn’t just say that and leave, he couldn’t. Dean had spent so long convincing himself Cas was doing what he thought would save Dean, what he always did. But it didn't save him, just, bits of him. The hole that formed when the empty took Cas, that hole sucked everything in. He couldn't feel, he couldn't sleep. He spent nights shouting in fevered dreams thinking he’d wake up to a hand on his left shoulder and a voice telling him that it was alright.
Even though he was truly back, Dean was still patching up that well, trying to figure out what it meant. Why it tore him apart when Cas told him-
Dean had never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn’t a blunt instrument, and he knew he needed time- time to work through all this.
"Nice to meet you, Castiel.” The words tasted slow and sweet on his lips, important. He had no idea how long he had been holding the angel’s hand when he returned his own to his side, hoping they didn’t look like freaks just starin’ at each other in a coffee shop, not that they hadn’t done this before, the staring part. “Do you wanna.. sit down?" He gestured towards the closest table and gave his easiest lopsided grin, probably looking like an overeager teenager on a first date. Well if he was gonna do this, he was gonna do this right. This was Castiel, and they had just met.
"Of course." Cas replied, a questioning look ever so briefly dusting his features as he tracked Dean’s motions to an empty table. The angel was now holding the other cup of coffee like it was his own, interlocking his thumbs (It was for Sam, truthfully.) but he seemed to forget that as he sat down and slowly sipped on it like it tasted of much other than molecules to him.
"So, Dean." Cas squared his shoulders and folded his big hands in his lap. He was as serious as ever, but there was the slightest smile that kept threatening to overtake his lips. It made Dean's chest feel like melted ice cream when kids drop their scoops on the sidewalk. "-What do you do for a living?"
"I tend a bar," Dean answered after some hesitation. He reclined back. Pretending to be someone else? Now this was a game he could play. "It ain't much, but it's honest work." He was only half joking, "It's nice little spot, real vintage vibe and bands sometimes gig there. Plus, it's my way to uh, keep up with the wayward souls." He smoothed over the wrinkles in his jeans half heartedly and shrugged, watching the way Cas’ eyelashes fluttered against his cheek when he smiled. "I own the joint actually."
Cas' smile was fond "It sounds like you put a lot of care into your work," Cas stated, taking another sip of his stolen coffee and looking at Dean with an unnamable intrigue.
"What about you?" Dean asked, leaning forward and grabbing his own drink. He lifted the cup to his mouth and felt the steam against his lips, the inviting smell of what would hopefully give his old ass the jump he needed to make it home.
Cas looked almost startled, caught off guard by the reciprocated question. His face fell, brows drooping down in consideration, like this was a game show and he'd lose points for the wrong answer. "I..." he looked around slowly, and then fixed his eyes on something outside. "I am a beekeeper." He blurted with confidence, and Dean had to move his hand to stifle a laugh.
"Oh really?" Dean said, shooting his eyebrows up and displaying an amused smile. "I figured with the threads you were some kinda accountant or something." He drawled out.
"Oh, this?" Cas looked down and played with his tie, and there was something so goddamn attractive about the way he tugged his trench coat open just to let it fall back into place. Mind out of the gutter Dean.
"This is what I wear when I deliver honey to the local shops," he explained, pointing over to the counter deftly, and man, was he pretty good at this game. "It’s purely sentimental at this point though," he said with a soft huff.
Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen Cas smile like this, not since he was human and working his first case, at least. Man he’d been so happy then, and Dean had just shut it all down. He couldn’t protect him, so he pushed him away instead.
Their eyes met, clear blue meeting speckled green, and a moment, happened. What exactly that meant, Dean couldn’t explain, but so many words were exchanged in just a few seconds. Memories, of all that they had been through together, of a tattered trench coat kept in the trunk of the impala, folded neat, for when he came back, if he came back, he had to come back.. of bloody hands gripping around it's stitches as the words "just do it" were sputtered through a broken jaw, of the dirt and grime purgatory coated it with. Of everything that stupid jacket meant, to the both of them.
"That’s nice..." was all he could think to say as he took another drink, glancing at the angel. His mind flashed to the canvas jacket he had kept in the back of his closet for almost a year. The bloody handprint caked into it's shoulder like the burden of grief was tangible, unable to touch, unable to let go. Dean wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he slept with that jacket tucked under his chin on more than a few nights.
Cas looked down at the little table, a million thoughts Dean would never know flickering through the cerulean of his eyes. He studied the texture of it's surface slowly, running his fingers over the tile, like there were secrets hidden there somewhere, encoded like a spell to stop the next big bad thing, like it was some kind’a lore that would explain why all these bad things keep happening and never seem to stop, never seem to stop long enough to say the things that linger between their every touch and fight and hunt and make-up and pat on the shoulder.
Cas shifted to grip his drink, hard enough to crinkle the flimsy brown cardboard, and downed it quickly with a far off look that bordered on painful for Dean to watch.
"I’m going to go throw this away." He announced as he got up, and all too soon the space between them deepened.
"Cas wait," Dean managed to call softly after him, but the angel was already halfway across the room.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Don’t lose it Dean, don’t you dare lose him, not in this coffee shop, not with your stupid game, not today, not again, not ever.
He stood up.
Those steps from the table to the lids and sugar station across the room were the longest steps of Dean’s life. Gravity fought against him, fear like a dead weight tugging at his ankles. It’s amazing how so many thoughts can go through your head at once it almost feels like there’s none at all. The adrenaline was greater than that of a hunt.
Well, now or never. What the fuck does that mean? ‘Now or never’? Are you a fucking hallmark card Dean? No. I didn’t think so. You’re a goddamned moron is what you are. Christ this is stupid. What are you even gonna do when you get over there? What’s your big plan? You gonna do one of your apocalypse speeches? Well guess what buddy, the world isn’t ending at the moment, yeah, big shocker, I know. Goddamnit. He’s..right there. He’s throwing his cup in the bin. Just do something, just-
He grabbed him, actually grabbed Castiel, by the collar of his stupid little coat, and shoved him into the hallway where the restrooms and the employees only door stood as the only witness to what he was about to do.
Grow a pair.
Kiss him.
Kiss Castiel.
He loves you, he loves you goddammit.
The thoughts tumbled one on top of the other until he was falling through space and time, falling headfirst towards his best friend. A man, an angel. a rebel, a hunter.
Fuck, did Cas like it? Was this the right move? He- was he even doing anything? What was? What-
Hands. That's the first coherent thought Dean registered, besides the soft press of Cas’ lips against his own. Hands coming up around his waist, finding their way to the back of his neck, tugging at his hair, aligning their mouths together, so perfectly together, cupping his jaw as Cas huffed out a soft spund. He remembers the exact moment Cas’ lips parted for him, breaking the wall like a floodgate that had stood between them for so long, teeth met tongue, breath became a scarce necessity, an occasional hobby that rich people take up like golf or water polo, and all Dean could think was that it was Cas, his Cas. Cas was softly sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, Cas was tugging Dean's thigh towards his waist, Cas was... fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-
"Ahem.."
Fuck.
Shit.
They broke apart fast and Dean turned to see a lady standing a few feet away, empty cup in hand, obviously on her way to throw it in the trash can and probably use the bathrooms they were currently blocking, before she was interrupted by the sight of two dudes kissing.
Heavily.
In a coffee shop.
At 9 am.
She covered her mouth in a mix of shock and embarrassment. ‘You don’t just cough when you see a gay couple kissing Veronica' Dean could practically hear the poor girl telling herself.
Dean almost laughed. Okay, he kinda did laugh.
Cas lightly hit his shoulder. "I apologize," he
said, swiftly turning to the girl, "that was... that was inappropriate of us." He nodded his head, seeming to decide on something. "We’ll be going now." Grabbing the arm of Dean’s jacket, he hauled him all the way out the front door.
"That was inappropriate of us?" Dean mocked incredulously as the bells of the shop jingled closed behind them. He doubled over with laughter as the still chill morning air filled his lungs, "that was inappropriate of us? Ha!" He slapped his thigh, "that one’s goin’ in the books Cas, I mean it. Ah...."
"I was trying to be polite, Dean." the angel interjected. His eyes crinkled soft around the edges, deepening his crows feet. He folded his arms around his chest with flippant impatience but looked nonetheless amused at the sight of Dean bent over himself, chuckling profusely.
Dean started cracking up again as a very confused Sam rolled down the passenger window.
Shit, they forgot all about Sammy.
"Hey! "What took you guys so long?!" He called out over a spectacularly nerdy looking book.
They slipped back into the impala, Dean wiping tears from his eyes as Sam raised his eyebrows higher than the heavens, not so patiently awaiting an explanation. His gaze darted back and forth between the two of them.
"Nothing..." Dean exhaled lightly, shrugging his shoulders, still flushed from being kissed breathless, (possibly the best kiss of his life) and having a full on, middle school quality laughing fit.
"Nothing huh?" Sam questioned with a smirk as he watched Dean start up the engine.
"Let’s just say that-" Cas deepened his voice and leaned up from the backseat, "...that was inappropriate of us."
Dean reached back and shoved the angel’s shoulder, grinning and chuckling to himself as he put the car in reverse, letting his knuckles linger against the angel’s jaw for more than a moment. The three of them laughed, even though Sam was clueless. He was just happy to see them together.
It was perfect, in that moment, everything was just perfect.
"Wait, where's my coffee??"
Dean winced. His own cup long forgotten, he bit his tongue. Sammy would live.
"Guys..?"
Dean glanced at Cas.
"Guys, seriously where’s my coffee?"
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macieles · 11 months
Quote
how kind of my mother to pass on to me all of her birthmarks: the one on her right hip, the other inside her right thigh. the shape of her smile, the depth of her sadness. the lack of self worth enough to last us generations. the love for the women who came before and whoever comes next; who bear the same mark on their right hip and the spot inside their right thigh. the same downward tilt of the lips  and the awarness of their own faults that verges on false fabrications of the mind. i long for my mother's peace. i wish that by passing them down she could be rid of them. i'd bear the entire burden on my own if it meant she got to exhale for the first time in her life.
e.m. inheritance.
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kinkytboy · 11 months
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thinking about when i came within ten minutes of putting a dildo in my ass. desperate to be full already, no hesitation or moments wasted to sit myself down and feel my hole stretch around the girth of the always stiff cock beneath me. relishing every sensation of the tip dragging across my hole, teasing, then slipping into me all at once. i love sitting with dick in my ass. <3 thoughtless squirming the second it’s all the way in just because it feels too good clenching around the inches fucking me. touching myself while my ass went steadily up and down on the length filling me over and over every several seconds sent me over the edge. i slammed myself down on the dildo and bit my lip while my cock throbbed and my cunt dripped.
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honeyedheartss · 2 years
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Mirrors
TW// facefucking, choking, breath play, pain kink, subspace (sort of), fingering, mirror fucking, afab reader, feminine pet names and body parts used
A/N: most (if not all) of my fics with Frank are going to be explicitly AFAB reader, I’m sorry. Summ about this man makes me wanna be feminized so hard, idk. “pretty girl” in his voice got me going insane.
You were on your knees between his legs and he was laughing. He stood over you in his boots, hoodie unzipped halfway down his chest, belt hanging open, mocking you for your desperate attempts to touch him, your hands tied behind your back with your own belt. You tipped your head forward to lean your forehead against his bulge and he took a step backwards, making you wobble as you tried to regain your balance.
Aww, come on, baby, you can do better than that. You too dumb to figure it out, huh?
You whined and shuffled yourself forward until you were between his legs again, staring up at his crossed arms and easy smirk. Please, Frankie.
Aww, that’s not my name, now is it, sweetheart?
You groaned. Please, sir. Please, can I touch you? Need you.
His smirk was infuriating. Go ahead and try, baby. Go on now.
You leaned forward, and this time he stayed where he was as you grabbed his zipper between your teeth and sank back onto your heels to pull it down. Attagirl. There ya go. His hand reached down to your hair and you tilted your head up, expecting the usual headpat or for him to stroke your hair like he did after praising you, but he bunched it into a makeshift ponytail, messy and snarled in his fist and yanked you to your feet. You whimpered, not at the pain but because you had been so close to getting your mouth on him.
He was laughing at you again, the bastard. Didn’t think I’d make it that easy for you, did you, princess? No, no, you knew better, but you had been too focused on getting your mouth on his pretty cock that you weren’t thinking straight.
He canted his head down, nosing at your neck and sank his teeth into the soft flesh where your neck met your shoulder. A gasp pulled from your mouth, slipping into a moan as he soothed it over with his tongue. Awww, that it? Just need me to hurt you, huh? He emphasized his words with a sharp slap to your ass, stinging the exposed skin, your clothes having been discarded a long time ago.
You hissed through your teeth and leaned your forehead onto his bicep, relying on his hand in your hair to support your weight.
Asked you a question, princess.
Yes, sir.
Yes, sir, what? He yanked you off his arm, forcing your jaw up to make eye contact with him.
Yes, sir, I want you to hurt me, please. You could feel your eyes glossing over, your brain going fuzzy as he stared down at you.
Since you asked so nicely. His smirk widened into a smile, the low light from the kitchen making the spit on his teeth shine. On your knees then, baby. The contrast between the pet names and the harsh hand in your hair and your still stinging ass was making your head spin. On your knees. Yeah, you could do that.
You dropped to the tile, eye level with his cock; he must have pulled it out at some point. You dropped your jaw open before he could ask, spit pooling over your lower lip.
Attagirl. He yanked your head up by the hair tangled around his fist, but you were too far gone to register the pain lacing your scalp. You could feel the spit now trailing down your chin and registered him slowly pumping a hand over his cock right below your direct line of sight.
All cockdumb for me and I haven’t even let you have it yet, huh? So easy for me, pretty girl. All dumb for me, huh?
You were nodding, not registering what he was saying besides the tone of voice. Yes, yes, all for you. Anything for Frankie. His thumb pressed down on your tongue and you could taste the salty lingering of his precum coating your tastebuds. You whined and tipped your head down, trying to pull it farther into your mouth. Yeah, you like that, huh?
He pulled you closer, thumb hooking over your teeth, and slapped his cock over your spit-covered face. Aww, don’t you look pretty for me, baby?
And then without warning, he yanked your head towards him, slotting his cock between your lips and pushed the back of your head down. You relaxed your throat on reflex, gagging a little around him as you felt him push deeper. The hand that wasn’t in your hair reached down to wrap lightly around your throat, feeling himself as he fucks into your mouth. He hisses through his teeth as you swallow around him. Fuck, that’s it, baby, doin’ so good for me, attagirl.
You can feel when he starts to get close, his hips stuttering, and his praise turns into gruff babbling above you. Your eyes were streaming, his pace unrelenting, barely letting you gasp for air between thrusts. Fuck. Feel so good, baby. He wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing his cock through your neck. You would have whined around him if you had the air to do anything other than focus on staying upright.
He snapped his hips into you, pelvic bone pressing against your nose as he came down your throat. Finally, he released your neck and you swallowed before gasping for air, crumpling down, head against his thigh, ass to your heels. He untangled his thick fingers from your hair, smoothing the snarls down while you caught your breath. Did so good for me, pretty girl. You look so pretty around my cock, all ruined for me. His finger slid under your jaw, tilting your face up towards him and the hand that was in your hair cupped the side of your face, his thumb swiping the tears from under your eyes. So good for me, baby.
You tipped your chin into his palm, letting him support the whole weight of your head. Please, sir. Your voice rasped out of you, throat aching.
You need somethin’, baby? His eyes crinkled at the corners, chuckling as he stroked your cheek with his calloused fingers. Please. Please, you just needed him. Just needed him to touch you. C’mere, then, princess.
He dragged you to your feet, legs wobbling, and slid his arms under you, bridal style. You squeezed your legs together, trying to get some friction, anything to relieve the hot coil in your belly.
Frank grunted as he sank to the floor, readjusting you to sit between his legs, back against his chest. Awww, look at yourself, baby, all messy for me. You looked up, bleary eyes meeting your own in the mirror he had sat you in front of. Oh. This is how he was playing.
One of his thick hands wrapped around you to splay across your lower belly and you whined at the reflection, watching his other reach to cup your tit. You hissed a breath through your teeth as he pinched hard.
You like, that, huh? You nodded against his chest, arching your back into his lower hand, trying to move him to where you needed him. Please, Frankie.
Shhhh. Shhhh. Patience, baby. His breath was hot on your neck, voice rumbling through your skull. He nipped at the skin under your ear and you keened, reaching up to hold the back of his head against you. Please. Sir.
He chuckled and slid his hand down your belly and you hooked your feet over his thighs to give him more room. Since you asked so pretty, sweetheart. Go ahead and watch. He nudged your head up, pressing his nose into the side of your neck, until you were staring at your own pussy in the mirror, his finger sliding up and down, slicking your clit.
He pressed a finger into you and you clenched around him, tugging at his hair. Shit, Frankie. More. He slipped a second finger into you, pumping them roughly in and out of you, grinding his palm against your clit. You arched your hips to meet each thrust, pressing your head back against his shoulder.
He stopped abruptly and you cried out over the loss of his fingers. Told you to watch, princess. Can’t keep going if you can’t listen, huh? He shrugged you off his shoulder and you let your head loll forward. Attagirl.
Fingers shoved back in you and he continued his rough pace, pinching at your nipple with his other hand. You could feel the coil in your belly tightening and Frank knew it too. C’mon, baby.
You arched into his hand, watching your pussy clench around his fingers as you came, chest heaving. He kept his fingers forcing in and out of you until you grabbed his wrist. Too much too much.
He pulled them slowly out of you and you whimpered at the overstimulation. Shhhh. Attagirl. Did so good for me, look at you. Pressing gentle kisses to your temple, he cupped your jaw and made you look at your cum leaking out of your still pulsing pussy. So pretty for me, babygirl.
You were wrapped around Frank, head tucked into the crook of his neck, hair still damp from the shower he’d given you as he stroked your back. Too much?
You huffed a laugh against him. He always worried about going too far when you went under, checking in with you for days afterwards. In a good way. Your voice rasped out of you, throat still sore. Your coworkers were going to say something about the hand shaped bruise on your neck. You really should invest in some turtlenecks.
He kissed the top of your head, pulling you closer to wrap his arms farther around you. Good. Real good. Cuz you look so pretty like that for me.
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rqgnarok · 9 months
Text
i can see you - jamie tartt
fandom: ted lasso
wc: 6,082
warnings: SMUT, both implications and the actual act. no use of pronouns but reader is described with female anatomy. 
summary: you and jamie have been watching each other for ages, trying not to feel the pull between you. a moment in the hallway changes everything.
author’s note at the end <3
masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi
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Jamie comes back to Richmond one cold, quiet morning.
Quiet, because his teammates refuse to talk to him even after he’s at the receiving end of the harshest glares Jamie’s ever seen. They prickle his skin and make him feel too small in his own body, but he juts his chin up and trots around the field following Ted’s instructions.
“He’s the worst,” Sam tells you one morning after the facts. You bought an extra coffee on your way in because Sam had spent the entire week clenching his teeth so tightly you could see it in his jaw. It had only taken you one nudge and he spilled his feelings out like a dam breaking. “He just makes me feel awful about myself. And even if he’s apologized, that doesn’t mean he’s changed. I know Ted believes in second chances and I do, too, but that man is incapable of improving. The only person he’s ever cared about is himself.”
You’re inclined to believe him just because of how dejected he sounds. So when Jamie Tartt comes by the PR office later looking for Keeley and finds you instead, the annoyance that overtakes his features only cements your bad image of him.
“Keeley ain’t in?”
“Just missed her,” you say, short and clipped, head bent to focus on your work. “She’s out for lunch, Roy’ll probably bring her back in an hour.”
Silence meets your words, and you look up to see him looking at you, seemingly lost in thought. “Is… there anything else I can help you with?”
He snaps out of it, eyes a little wide and mouth struggling to find the right words. He’s pretty, you allow yourself the thought before immediately filing it away from your mind. He’s an asshole, your brain supplies, and yeah, that’s much better. 
“Sorry,” he says in that awful accent of his that’s in no way endearing. Not even a little bit. It doesn’t help that he looks actually apologetic, unsure, tugging at his shirt nervously. “We, um, haven’t met, have we? ‘m Jamie.”
“I know,” you say, not exactly kindly, but the whole world knows who he is. You’d have to be living in outer space to not be aware of Jamie Tartt’s existence. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Jamie’s tentative smile turns bitter and he tucks his head down, embarrassed. “Ah. ‘Course. Yeah, no, I’m. ‘m sure you have.”
He sounds just like Sam had when telling you about Jamie’s torment and it tugs at your heart despite how you don’t want it to.
“Anyways, just,” he shrugs, trying to give you a sunny grin and failing only slightly. You almost respect his efforts. “Know you’ve been here a while and all but, uh. Welcome, anyways. Richmond’s a nice place to be.”
You sigh.
“You, too,” you say when he’s already at the door, surprising both of you with your sudden considerate candor. You shrug a little. “What you’re doing can’t be easy. It takes a lot of guts to come back here. I hope it’s worth it.”
“So do I,” he says before giving you one last smile, albeit a bit more genuine, and leaving your office. 
After that, you’re both extremely aware of each other. It’s like the universe has decided to make sure you’re always in close vicinity, bumping each other in the hallways, arriving and leaving work at the same time, being paired up by Keeley for ad campaigns and photoshoots. You have the suspicion that Keeley’s been doing it on purpose– a good boss but a nosy friend, nevertheless, but it’s proven incorrect when she assures you don’t have to work with Jamie if you don’t want to.
“I know how he can be,” she says, eyes kind and hands on your shoulders, shaking you a little. “If he makes you uncomfortable in any way just say the word and I’ll take care of it, babes. I know how to handle him anyways.”
But you’re a grown woman. You can handle an asshole at the workplace, even if it comes in the beautiful package that is Jamie Tartt. 
You can’t say you haven’t noticed him; his plump lips and smart mouth, defined arms covered in tattoos, hands that look like they know their way around the in-between of someone’s legs. You’re angry at him by your connection to the other boys but you’re not blind– and Jamie is a sight to behold. 
He seems to know it, too, smirking at you whenever he catches your eye. He brushes by you in the hallway and you get a whiff of his cologne, sometimes a steady hand around your elbow when your steps stumble. 
He murmurs a quiet alright, love? and you both move on with your day, your skin a little too warm and the imprints of his fingers tattooed on your skin until you get home. 
You pay him back for those moments at random times. Once, during a photoshoot, you make a noise of frustration when the photographer insists that Jamie poses a certain way, dressed in his uniform as if he were about to jump into the pitch but looking a little too put together.
“It doesn’t feel genuine,” you explain, but you only receive blank, annoyed looks in response, so you take matters into your own hands and walk into the set, placing yourself in front of Jamie.
“Just-” you sigh, frustrated, and reach towards him before hesitating. He’s sitting down for the photo, and the sight of him looking up at you, his body between your legs does something you can’t bear to think about in a workplace environment. “May I?”
Jamie stutters, suddenly nervous. “I- sure. Go ‘head.”
You take off his hairband with a swift motion and tangle your fingers in his hair, messing it up. It’s soft and runs like water between your fingers, the smell of some fancy conditioner and hair product hitting your nose. 
You dig your nails into his scalp a little too roughly, and before the apology sitting on your tongue can be said, Jamie’s shiver overtakes his body, a muffled sound being bitten back for you not to hear it, but you hear it anyways. 
It makes you stop, just for a second, and your eyes meet. There’s something different in Jamie’s, greyish green darkening like you’re looking into the eye of the storm. The air is suddenly thick with tension, your hands still in his hair, his own twitching in his lap as if wanting to reach for–
Behind you, the photographer asks, “Are you done?”
You gulp and look away from Jamie, voice incredibly steady despite how dry your throat feels. “Almost.”
You hand him the hairband back and your fingers brush when he goes to take it. He exhales a gust of air, slowly, as if trying to avoid any suspicion of how badly the little touch is affecting him. 
When it’s back on, you reach again to pull loose some strands of hair and your other hand holds him by the chin, keeping him still. 
“There,” you say after a couple of moments or after an eternity. You let go of him and the room comes back into focus. 
Jamie blinks as if he’d been having trouble thinking past the touch of your hands on him, oddly intimate. You move out of the way so the photographer can squint at whatever you did with his hair. “You see what I mean?”
The rest of the photoshoot is uneventful, but it becomes quite clear that whatever things you do to get into Jamie’s head work as efficiently to get into yours. 
The team begins warming up to him after the whole Dubai Air debacle, and something inside of you unclenches in relief when you see Jamie sharing beer and laughter with the boys in the locker room after Sam’s press conference. 
It feels like permission. The guilt you feel whenever you stare at Jamie a little too long suddenly dissipates, and you dare to bite your lip when he catches your eye across the room. His stare slips to your mouth before refocusing on his conversation, and the way he tugs at his collar and his cheeks flush makes you feel victorious despite the team’s loss tonight. 
Later at Keeley’s, Roy nurses a beer while splayed out on the couch and asks you about Jamie. “Please tell me he’s done something stupid so I can punch him in the dick next time I see him.”
“You need an excuse for that?” you raise your eyebrows in question. 
Roy grunts, but there’s hidden glee in his expression as he concedes your point. “Fair enough. He’s given you any trouble?”
“Nothing worth mentioning, I guess,” you shrug, but you make the mistake of hesitating before answering and Roy perks up like a dog who’s caught an intruder. 
“Spill,” he orders, but you’ve been friends with both him and Keeley long enough to know rolling your eyes when he gets all manly is an appropriate response. “Come on, out with it. What he’d do?”
“Nothing!” you exclaim, throwing a pillow at him. He catches it swiftly, which annoys you a little. “Relax, old man. If he ever pulls a little too hard on my pigtails you’ll be the first to know.”
Roy grunts again, not satisfied but done pushing for the night. 
The real trouble begins at Christmas, hours after the boys exchange gifts and most of the staff is sent home. You’re on your way out, coat on and Uber on the way when you run, once again, into Jamie in the hall, almost knocking both of you to the ground. He has to quickly hold onto your waist, your hands on his chest, to stop it. 
“You scared the hell out of me,” you chastise him, both hating and loving the way he smirks at your breathlessness. “I thought you all troublemakers were gone already. You’ve got the rest of the day off, what are you still doing here?”
“Can’t go back to Manchester with a game tomorrow here, can I?” his hands tighten around your waist for a delicious, stretched-out moment before he lets you go. Jamie covers his flush coughing behind his hand as your own slip from his chest. “You lot just got me back after all. Can’t leave you hangin’ without your best player.”
“Ha, ha,” you laugh sarcastically, knowing he’s mostly kidding about that. “Still, I thought you’d be the first one home. Some Louis Vuitton slippers and Gucci robe on, expensive rum…”
“Oh, know me so well, do you,” he teases, poking at your bag. “What about you? You’re on your way out?”
“Uber’s almost here,” you show him your screen so he can see that your ride’s less than five minutes away. “Are you coming around to Higgin’s later?”
Jamie shrugs. “Don’t know if I’m invited.”
“Of course, you’re invited, Tartt. Everyone is.”
“Don’t know if I’m welcome, then,” he corrects.
“Everyone is,” you say again, firm but a little bit gentler than before. “Honestly, you’re lucky you look the way you do, ‘cause you’re a little bit thick.”
Jamie brightens like a kid on, well, Christmas. “You think I’m hot?”
“Of course, that’s what you take from that,” you roll your eyes. “I gotta go, but I better see you there later.”
You point menacingly at him but he only steps forward until your finger’s touching his chest, towering over you with a smirk that screams trouble. “To give you your gift, you mean?” 
“You did not get me something,” you say, as sure about it as you are that the sky is blue and dirt is brown. “Not when you dropped the ball with your Secret Santa earlier today.”
“Maybe I like you better,” he suggests, voice low and rich. The sound makes a knot of heat tighten in your belly. “Than I like them, you’ve ever thought about that?”
You remember what Sam told you when Jamie first came back, how he was incapable of thinking about anyone other than himself. The Mancunian had proved that statement to be incorrect a handful of times already, and you’ve been flirting with him long enough to know you’re attracted to him, but you don’t expect any kind of emotional reciprocation from him. Sure, you’re friendly, maybe you’ll call him your friend at one point, but that’s as far as it usually gets with someone like Jamie. 
You didn’t even get him a present. That’s how close you two are. 
“Okay, I’ll bite,” you relent. You really should be going, but a part of you needs to entertain this conversation for some reason. It’s not always that you get to talk to Jamie without anyone else present. “What could you have possibly gotten me that you couldn’t give your Secret Santa?”
You barely see the face he makes before you’re being kissed within an inch of your life. Right there in the hallway of AFC Richmond’s training headquarters, Jamie Tartt holds your face in his hands as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, warm and wet and relentless. 
You open yourself up to him without thinking it through, your phone lost somewhere in the mess of limbs as you latch onto his shirt, desperate for balance. 
The kiss is toe-curling hot, your arms wrapping around Jamie’s neck while his own flail a delicious path through your back, hands going under your coat so you feel his skin hot against your sweater. 
He ends up with his arm tight around your waist and a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close. Your mouths slide against each other, warm breaths trapped between your lips as the desperation for more grows and grows and grows and–
Jamie draws back and leans his forehead against yours only to kiss you again, softer and lingering while you’re still catching your breath, then one last kiss for good measure before finally drawing back. Like it happens around Jamie, the world you’d forgotten had existed outside the two of you comes back with rushing clarity, the hallway still miraculously empty. 
“Somethin’ like that,” he says, and it takes you a moment to remember what you were talking about before this. Christmas, parties, gifts… 
Jamie takes one last look at your face like he’s trying to commit you to memory while you’re all flushed and breathless before he lets you go, walking away into the locker room. “Merry Christmas, love.”
You stay there for a while after he goes, your fingers inevitably going to your kiss-bruised lips, brain still struggling to catch up to the moment. 
Jamie kissed you. You kissed him back. You kissed each other like you weren’t at work and where anyone could walk by and see you. 
Your phone buzzes in your hand. Your Uber’s outside and waiting.
You end up missing Higgin’s later that afternoon, unsure if Jamie would actually go after you bugged him about it and are terrified that he might. 
You’re not avoiding him. For fuck’s sake, you’re a little too old for high school-level social skills, but you’re not sure your heart could take it if you see him so soon after your kiss, acting like nothing happened. 
Or worse, making sure to sit next to you during dinner just so he could put his hand on your thigh and make you sweat while everyone’s watching, unaware of the change that’s just transpired in your relationship.
By the next day, you’ve decided to keep things professional, and it helps that Jamie doesn’t really bring it up. You see him before the game in the locker room when you go record some stories for the Instagram page, and he says hello as casually as the rest of the boys. 
You exhale a breath you didn’t know were holding and wish them all the best for the game, though if it’s relief or disappointment that washes over you, you’re not sure.
Life moves on. You continue to work together, not sans stolen glances and running into each other in the hallway. It’s different now, because you both know the other remembers that Christmas kiss and accidentally touching when passing each other by makes your breath hitch and Jamie’s face flush. 
The energy you had building up between you is charged with something dangerous now, and unless you dare to talk about it it’ll only build up into something you eventually won’t be able to ignore. 
But fuck, do you think about it. About the way Jamie’s hands held you, how they kept you in your place and how they would pin you down if you ever were to end up in bed together, his hips driving home while his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice low and accent thick with the heat of the moment. 
Fuck. Fuck, you’re so fucking gone for him. 
It’s also different because Roy comes back, and it’s like he just knows there’s something about Jamie that you’re not telling him. 
“What the fuck was that?” 
“What?” you question, trying not to sound too defensive. 
“What was that… look?” he splutters. Never once in your life have you seen Roy Kent fucking splutter like he couldn’t get a grip on a situation. 
“What look?” maybe you can gaslight your way out of this one, you hope, because Jamie had been less than subtle when coming up to you both in the parking lot and talking about needing your help for a sponsored post he was supposed to make. 
He got real close, so near you could smell the mix of cologne, sweat, and plain Jamie that rested on his skin. While showing you his phone put a hand on the small of your back, fingers spread open and hot like a brand. 
It’d stolen your breath for a second, a hitch in an exhale that had caught both Jamie’s and Roy’s attention. You eyed Jamie warningly but he only smirked, completely aware of what he was doing. You said something about tagging the sponsor and then he was gone, brilliant smile and thanks on his lips as he waved you goodbye.
“That look, all cheeky and shit,” Roy points at where Jamie used to be and looks around for witnesses. You roll your eyes so hard it makes your head hurt a little. “Like he knows something I don’t, as if there’s anything in his brain other than elevator music.”
And of course, he tells Keeley about it, which earns you an interrogation as soon as you come down to the office. 
“Thought he didn’t have access to his account,” Keeley frowns. “Didn’t you change his password after the Oreo Incident?”
“God, don’t even think about the Oreo Incident while near me,” you rub at your temples to try to diminish the migraine building up at the mere thought of it. 
Now you gotta worry about Roy becoming a buffer between you and Keeley not buying your usual excuses. With them and the rest of the team and staff in the mix, you don’t stand a chance to get near Jamie. 
You start surviving on fantasies alone that grow and spiral into unrealistic, too-hot scenarios. 
Jamie, his shorts around his ankles and you on your knees in an empty locker room, his hands on your hair as he pants please, love, so fuckin’–
You on the desk and Jamie with his head between your legs, late into the night after everyone’s gone home and it’s you and him in your office as you moan fuck, Jamie, that’s– yeah, that’s good–
A night in a hotel room after some away game, Jamie letting you ride the leftover energy out of him. Thassit, angel, put your back into it, yeah? Be good for me. 
It’s too much and it’s not enough. 
Jamie throws himself into his training, trailing after Roy’s approval and eager to improve in every way he can, both as a person and a player. It’s nice to see him so dedicated, you think, remembering the traces of cockiness when you two first met in your office. 
They’re still there somewhere, and you see them shine when, for some reason, all the coaching staff– Ted included– give Jamie the bird mid-game. You’re sitting on the V.I.P. box next to Keeley when his monster of a goal goes through, screaming your lungs out and hugging everyone within six feet of you. 
You’re too far away from the field to see clearly, but you can imagine Jamie with striking clarity: cocky expression and tongue out, arms crossed before the rest of the boys jump with glee to embrace and congratulate him. 
The locker room is a mess of sweat and laughter when you go down there, Keeley making a beeline for Roy and Rebbecca going straight to Ted. It leaves you with a bunch of overexcited men hugging you and handing you drinks in celebration.
“No stories for the ‘gram today,” you promise when Zorreaux and Dani begin posing, making faces, and showing off muscles to you. You can’t help but laugh, Sam’s arm around you. “I’m off duty tonight, boys. On a fan capacity only.”
“Are we allowed to date fans?” Jan Maas asks, half joke half genuine question. The boys make ooooh noises of interest.
You laugh again, not taking it seriously, but Keeley suddenly pipes up from her spot on Roy’s lap. “Please don’t! It’s a PR nightmare.”
Roy adds helpfully. “I’ll punch you in the dick.”
The conversation shifts to other topics but you search the room to find Jamie already looking at you, eyes dark and jaw tight. It’s barely a moment of eye contact, insignificant to anyone else in the room, but it’s enough to make your insides flutter. Meet me outside. 
Thank God everyone’s too distracted celebrating when you sneak out of the locker room about half an hour later. You find Jamie already there, waiting for you at the end of it. He brightens when he sees you, shutting his phone and putting it in his back pocket.
It’s a little overwhelming, having Jamie Tartt’s full attention on you. As if it’s not exactly what you’ve been pining after for months.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Man of the Match?”
“Me?” he wonders faux incredulously while leaning casually against the wall, a dramatic hand to his chest. You walk till you’re right in front of him. “I work here, love. Or are you forgetting my heroic play out there already?”
You scoff. “We work here, dumbass, and how can I forget? It’s all everyone’s talking about. What are you doing away from your victory parade?”
“Same thing you are. Taking a breather,” he shrugs, giving you a slow once over, taking you in head to toe. You’re wearing a Richmond jersey and some loose jeans, nothing to write home about, but Jamie seems to like it. His tongue wets his lips before he focuses on your face again, charming. “Lots of people in there, yeah? Needed a minute.”
You raise your eyebrows, amused and unconvinced. “I can leave you alone if you want.”
Jamie abandons his spot against the wall and goes to you, slow and careful like a hunter stalking its prey. He says, voice a low, rough murmur, “Didn’t I already tell ya I like you better? You can stay as long as you want, love.”
Your entire body heats up at the callback to last December, the reminder of how easily Jamie snuck into your personal space and stole your breath with a heart-stopping kiss in this very same hallway. 
“I‘m not gonna lie, this seems a little orchestrated, Tartt.”
He smiles, indulgent. “Oh?”
“Sending me looks, getting me all alone…” you take a step closer so you’re poorly hidden behind the water cooler. If someone were to walk out of the locker room, they’d have to walk this way and take a turn to see you standing so close to each other.
“You were the one who followed me out,” he reminds you, tilting his head and raising his brows. He’s so expressive and you can’t take it, want to put your mouth to every inch of his face until he’s saying nothing but your name. “Who’s the real mastermind here, ey?”
“Don’t even,” you warn, unable to bite back an upward tilt of the lips. “I know how you get in hallways, mister. I haven’t forgotten, yet.”
“Haven’t forgotten you kissed me back, either,” he adds and dares to place a not-quite kiss on the corner of your mouth, a barely-there brush of the lips. “Couldn’t let go of me, could you?”
“Yeah, well, you leave a lot to the imagination,” you can’t help but complain, the little touch not enough to satiate the hunger you’ve been cultivating since that moment. You grab onto his shirt with a strength you didn’t know you possessed. “I gotta brush up against you just to see if you’ll do something about it and you never do.”
Jamie laughs, rich and warm. 
“You think I don’t see ya?” he wonders, fingers brushing against your knuckles before his hands travel slowly up your arms, touch agonizingly warm. Your breath hitches, and it only makes him bolder. “When you pass me by right here in the hallway, touchin’ me ‘on accident’? Leavin’ me wantin’ more?”
“Do you?” you wonder, voice low, facade cracking as your eyes fall to his mouth for a second, stare hungry. “Want more?”
“How could I not?” he admits. You’re looking at him like you want to take a bite out of him, and the adrenaline of that goal is finally wearing off to find more unreleased energy behind it, a tension that’s been strung tight long before he stole a kiss from you. “Fucking Christ, angel, you’re…”
“What?” you wonder when he trails off. Your hands brush against the hem of his shirt and Jamie feels your touch even through his clothing. “What about me?”
You make him feel like he’s on fire, right here in the hallway where anyone, anyone, could see you. “You drive me fucking crazy.”
You smirk, pleased. 
“What would you do, huh? If I touched you right now?”
Jamie breathes out his nose harshly. “Fuck.”
“What if I told you-” you begin, slow and tortuous. “That I haven’t stopped thinking about you here? Against the wall where anyone could walk by? What if I wanted you so badly that I didn’t care if they did?”
Jamie follows the bridge of your nose and the shape of your eyebrows with his eyes, the bite of your lip calling to him like a brightly lit bullseye.
He thinks fuck it. Fuck it, fuck restraint, fuck stringing this out any longer. He’s a winner tonight, in more ways than one. 
Who knows who leans in first? All you know is that you both meet in the middle, clashing like two waves hitting each other, his mouth frantic and eager on yours. He has one hand at the small of your back, pulling you to him, and another one on your collarbone edging dangerously to wrap around your throat, fingers drumming against tender skin. 
You’re touching him everywhere you can reach, feeling so untethered to the rest of the world that your knees buckle, helping him keep you right where he wants you. Whatever remaining bravado you had left vanishes when he has you like this, and you’re desperately trying to keep him close by clutching at the back of his shirt, tanging your fingers into his hair, and raking your nails against his clothed torso. 
You can’t make up your goddamned mind. You want all of him, putty in your hands, all the time. 
You hear a couple of voices, laughing and joking, leaving the locker room and becoming louder by the second. You separate, mouths bruised and tender to the touch. Jamie offers you his hand, smile glinting dangerously. “You trust me?”
You scoff, taking it and intertwining your fingers. “Against my better fucking judgment.”
He pulls you towards the closest exit and you let yourself be led, anything other than your phone forgotten in your office. 
In the blink of an eye, he’s got you in his car, his hand on your thigh edging closer and closer and closer to where you want it. You’re sure he misses one or three stop signs and runs a red light, but the streets are almost deserted at this hour and your skin is warm, only getting warmer even with the AC at full blast. 
When you get to his place it’s like you never stopped, and despite your urgency for him to have you right there in the middle of the training facilities, you love the way he pins you against the wall of his home, picture frames rattling with the force of it. His hands bruise your hips and he lifts your jersey up to your chest so his mouth can travel a path of bare skin down your torso, wet and open-mouthed. 
He looks up to you when he reaches the waist of your pants, kneeling in front of you, a question melted in the sheer want of the green of his eyes.
He’s asking for permission, you realize. 
Something sweet momentarily replaces the urgency you have for him, and you have to drag him back up for another kiss. He makes a questioning noise when you pull him towards you but melts against you when his lips touch yours. It’s a tender thing, an answer, one last quiet moment before you both sink into the chaos. 
“Lemme see you,” Jamie kneels back between your legs, this time cleverly undoing your pants and leaving you in nothing but your underwear while you struggle out of your shirt and leave it forgotten on the floor. 
His fingers brush over the wet spot between your legs and you gasp, insides clenching in response to his touch. He sounds gutted when he says, “God, look at you. Haven’t even touched you, yet, fuck.”
He tucks his face between your legs and runs his tongue over your clothed clit, the sensation of the wet fabric against his tongue driving him crazy. 
He’s painfully hard against his boxers. Jamie’s been waiting for this too long– there’s no way he’s lasting as long as he wants to, but he can focus on you for the time being. It’s not a difficult task, your body’s trembling with the force of your arousal and begging him to do something. 
It calls to him, muting the rest of the world around him.
“Are you ever gonna, or should I get things going on my own?”
He smirks against your thighs, biting playfully at the skin there before going alright, alright when you pull at his hair, though it only makes his dick twitch in his pants. 
He feels more than he sees your shiver when he finally gets your underwear out of the way, and he wastes no time before hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder before diving in, eating you out with the energy of a man starved. 
You hadn’t even made it past the living room.
“Fuck,” you moan, hips thrusting forward and your hand tightening against his hair, the other one searching and failing to find balance against the wall you’re leaning against. 
You want to close your eyes as the waves of pleasure wash over you, your muscles taunt with how Jamie’s expertly driving you closer and closer to your orgasm, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “Fuck, Jamie, that’s good. You’re so good at that, oh–”
You see how his body takes in the praise and feel it against your center when he moans into you, tongue cleverly touching all the right places. Jamie closes his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the experience. 
He suddenly draws back, earning a noise of displeasure from you only to be rendered back into a moaning mess when his hands replace his mouth. He looks up at you like he’s staring at a deity.
“What d’ya want?” he asks as he slides two fingers through your folds, his other hand keeping your hips pinned to the wall as you try to buckle into his touch, whimpers echoing through Jamie’s home. “Huh, love? Have I left you speechless already?”
“You said I left you thinkin’ about it,” he recalls, too coherent for someone as terribly horny as he is. But Jamie needs to know, he wants you to crave him as desperately as he does you. “Back in the hall, that’s what you said. Whad’ya want, love? Where do ya want me?”
“Here,” you pant, eyes closed and face tilted upwards as you try to move your hips, chasing ecstasy. Jamie’s fingers are slowing down, probably to make you focus and only driving you further insane. “Anywhere, everywhere. Fuck, Jamie, I want all of it, all of you, please–”
“Greedy,” he singsongs, but any amusement is ripped from his throat with a moan when you pull at his hair again, walnut mist locks like silk between your fingers. He quickens the pace, unable to deny you. “Fuck, greedy thing, aren’t you? Wasn’t enough to stare me down and to steal a kiss, ya want all of it.”
You sigh, muscles clenching. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”
“Then take it,” he gives you all you want on a silver platter, right there for you to take. “All you need, angel, ‘s all yours, ‘m all yours–”
With both his fingers and mouth back at work, you’re a lost cause, reaching your high and letting it wash over all your limbs like TV static before you become boneless against the wall. 
Jamie kisses your knee before moving your leg from his shoulder and setting it gently on the ground, back on his feet just in time to kiss you soundly. 
He’s practically holding you up, your arms limply hanging around his neck and your legs made of jelly after the strength of your orgasm. It’s like you let go of all the tension that started building up the second Jamie walked into your office that cold November morning and there’s nothing left holding you up other than his hold on you.
Except Jamie’s hips push into yours and you feel the length of him pressed against you. It’s a reminder that no matter how badly he seemed to enjoy eating you out he hasn’t been able to find his own release. Yet. 
You smirk lazily, finding the strength from God knows where to cup him in your hand, watching his expressive face contort in desperate pleasure. “What about you, Jay? What do you want?”
Jamie is unable to do anything other than babble nonsense as you move past his shorts and boxers to take him in your hand, slow and tight. He gives out a little cry when you strengthen your grip, exhaling as he rests his head on your shoulder. 
He never does answer you, and Jamie comes like that in your arms, quick and easy. He’s kissing your shoulder, your neck, the hinge of your jaw before finding your mouth and slipping his tongue past your lips, languid and easy.
“You getting tired on me, angel?” he wonders, massaging the skin of the back of your neck to gain your attention. You turn your head, following his motions. His eyes haven’t lost their dark edge. His mouth is red and calling for you to worsen the damage. “Cause the night’s young, you know. Bed’s comfortable, too. If I’m good against a wall, wait ‘til I get you in me bedroom.”
“You’re an idiot,” you say, but you feel a flutter of interest between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m attracted to you.”
He steals another kiss just for that, giddy with victory, though you don’t know how long you’re gonna get away with calling it stealing when you keep giving yourself to him without a second thought. 
“Is that a yes?”
You pretend to ponder on it. “Well. You haven’t fucked me, yet. There’s still room for improvement.”
Jamie shivers. He can’t resist the challenge and you know it. Whether you’re on the other side of the room or in his arms, he’s never getting enough of you and you love it. 
“Oh, angel,” he cups your face, already on his way to seal his lips onto yours. “You’ve no idea.”
___
IT’S HERE IT’S HERE IT’S HERE
i’m so afraid of not living up to the expectations of the song but i couldn’t get this idea out of my head!!! thank you if you got this far into the read and i appreciate any comment of support and feedback! 
i’m hoping to put out two or three more fics this summer before school starts, after that my schedule might not allow me to post that often but i’m not gonna leave you guys hanging, don’t worry!
<3
_____
taglist: @dunster @daisy-crybaby @talksoprettyjjx @loveslide @ccomandercody @marrianena-library​ @shakespeareanwannabe @ajkdjdnkekemfxj @higherthanheroes @jamietarttdodo @lightninginab0ttle @seacactusplant @sokkigarden @kti2004 @mrfitzsimmons @guccilongboard @jellycolors @littlemisssunshine192 @uniiversed @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog  @royskents @youbelongwithflo @curlypeter @alipap3 @feelinthesefics​
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eight-cats-in-a-box · 3 months
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Something stupidly self-indulgent bc I feel like shit
TFA Optimus+Megatron/Reader
Enjoy
"Oh sweetspark..."
Optimus sighed from where he stood, his spark aching at the sight. You were sitting, coiled up in a ball, coolant leaking from your optics, vents coming harsh and broken.
"What happened..."
He whispered, more to himself than to you. He didn't need to know what had happened to know that you needed comfort. He gently scooped you up, taking note of the harsh shake of your servos. He sat down, leaning against the wall where you had been sitting for who knows how long, and gently pulled you close to his chassis, gently coaxing you to let it all out.
"There you go, that's it. You're so brave, sweetspark."
He murmured in your audial, gently rubbing his servo down your backstrut. He knew firsthand how hard it was to show emotion like this, and you had a harder time of it than he ever had- thanks almost in whole to your awful sire.
"What happened?"
Optimus looked up to see Megatron standing there, looking a mixture of worry and pissed. Worry for their conjunx, anger at the piece of slag that hurt you so badly.
"I'm not sure. Does it really matter, though? They needed held."
Optimus murmured in reply, and Megatron nodded, setting his weaponry aside and sitting down next to Optimus as he was gently running a servo over your helm.
"You're so brave, little one."
Megatron whispered gently, so unlike the terror he was with others. But for you? He would do anything. And if what you needed was to be held, well, who was he to deny his conjunx.
You shook your head, for how could you be brave if you were so very terrified? Megatron and Optimus both looked almost offended at that, but when Megatron spoke, it was low and sweet and smooth.
"No? You say you are not brave? I would say you are the bravest of the both of us, for here you sit, showing us the very core of your existence, your deepest emotions, and despite the fear, you keep going. I would say that is quite brave of you, little one."
Megatron spoke the truth that both he and Optimus saw, and Optimus chimed in, smiling so gently, so sweetly, how could he be lying?
"And we're so proud of you. You've worked so hard to get here, to this point, and we've been able to watch you, and support you all throughout the journey."
Here, Megatron chimed in with a chuckle.
"Perhaps you have, little Prime, but I had the misfortune of fighting this one. Unless you have already forgotten the fierce rivalry we had?"
He gazes down at you fondly, reminiscing the flicker of fear he had felt when the two of you fought him that fateful day.
Optimus laughed, prompting a small smile from you.
"I have not, Megatron, as much as you may think that. Seeing you get brought down a peg is something I'll never forget."
Megatron grinned, gently helping the Prime to his feet with you cocooned in his arms, and heading to the berthroom for some well-deserved rest.
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leosabi · 2 months
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“The world could end right now,” Leo said, wrapped up securely in Wasabi’s arms, “and I would be fine with it. I don’t need anything other than this.”
“I disagree,” Wasabi said, pressing a warm kiss to Leo’s forehead and squeezing him tighter. “I would be very upset that I didn’t get to grow old with you.”
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munsoner · 1 year
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okay so you kissed eddie. or eddie kissed you? you can’t remember much aside from the lingering clouds of cigarette smoke curling around his fingers and the taste of him in your mouth, on your tongue. but it happened, and it happened again and you’re a thing? sort of? you haven’t gone further than kissing, too nervous yet to be truthful that you needed a hand in your hair, at your throat, spit in your mouth (his hands, his mouth)
but youve always been comfortable around eddie - can’t help it when he tucks your hair behind your ear, or stacks his rings on your fingers while you talk, and neither of you really recognise or care about the social boundaries about talking about sex, so when he’s walking you to english lit with his arm over your shoulders and youre talking about anatomy and reproduction after your biology class, he’s laughing as you argue that the afab orgasm is not easier to reach, thank you very much, but he shuts up when you mention that you should know because nobody else has ever made you come. his silence makes you smile, watching his brows crease as he processes the new information.
“you - what? but what about the guy from that club, you two hooked up? a few times??”
“yeah, sex can be more than just reaching a climax, but he definitely didn’t know his way around a pussy. kept rubbing at my thigh.”
eddie cringes, pulls you to the side of the corridor away from the rush of students. lowers his voice and ducks his head. “you’re serious?”
he’s staring at you, breathing a little heavier than you remember, eyes dilated. you squeeze your thighs together to try to contain the heat in your stomach.
you nod at him, smile growing as he screws his face up, knocking his fist against a locker. “nuh uh, sweetheart, that’s cheating! you really expect me to leave you alone till after class? darlin’ i’m not even sure i could make it to the truck right now.”
his voice is strained, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your underwear as he clenches his fists again. when he speaks, he’s inches from your face, hot breath hitting your checks.
“tonight, eh? i’ll show you how easy it can be. c’mon baby, you want that?”
he’s boxing you in against the lockers, and you’re shaking, and the bell rings just as you’re gasping out “yes, eddie, please!”
he walks you the rest of the way to class in silence, both of you too worked up to risk even looking at each other at risk of skipping class for more enjoyable activities.
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nervousshipwrecked · 5 months
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The kind of boy who's so awkward at parties but wants to be the perfect houseguest. You know the type, in the kitchen, sipping some wine and helping the host to cook. Washing the dishes with me after dinner while others are splayed out on the sofa in front of the tv with snacks.
First to arrive, last to leave, but not a nuisance at all. I say 'get home safe, darling' one night when he's pulling on his coat, a little regretfully. He blushes all the way to his ears, and it occurs to me maybe he's not always so good, or such a hanger-on, at other people's houses. He RSVPs to the next one, and thinks nothing of being the first to arrive, box of chocolates and a bottle of wine for the host. I've got dinner made already, and the kitchen is clean. No distractions, just soft music and softer lighting. The table is set for two and he pauses, confused. "I thought maybe you wouldn't have to go home tonight with everyone else, and that there shouldn't be an everyone else to go home with," I say with a little smile. "If that's ok?"
"Oh!" he says, after a long moment, and blushes again. "Ok!"
I smile and give him a little kiss on the lips. We sit at the table and I pull my chair over to his, serving him first, letting my earring dangle on his shoulder while we talk about nothing in particular. There's nobody else there, so we don't have to raise our voices to be heard, but he's still biting his lip, still a little pink on his cheeks.
"What's wrong, darling?" I ask.
"I don't want to be impolite," he admits, and blushes even deeper.
"You never are, though I wouldn't mind if you were."
"I'm happy it's just us."
"That's not so rude."
"I wouldn't want to... before we get to know each other properly," he explains, and I smile when he hides his face, genuinely not expecting what he says next. "But every time I come over I just want to take you to the coat room and suck you off until you're screaming before I go. You're so hot. And if we're um... if you have other things planned, I would love to...! I just thought you ought to know..." "I'll move monopoly to some other night," I say, and we both laugh, pupils wide and dinner forgotten. "You've wanted to do that every time you've come over?"
"Well yeah." "But why didn't you? That's like five, or six..." "Eight times. I was taught to never overstay my welcome."
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leo-rose-blog · 7 months
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As a small note, I'm not really into dbh anymore but that ship specifically has a death grip on me so yea
Oh and for Xiangyan we were only a year apart age wise so I don't wanna hear it (we being me & xiangling bc i am a splitroject of xinyan)
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