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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 2 months

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TEMPORARY THINGS, chapter 3

Your first few weeks on set go by in a blur of learning the ropes. You follow Briony around a lot and listen to her use words you’ve never heard, like striking and dolly grip. You learn the difference between a first assistant camera and second, though it doesn’t seem to make much sense when Maggie points around nonchalantly and gets interrupted by a joke coming from the walkie-talkie on her hip.

It was going well! Aside from whatever whirring now thumps in your chest when Brett comes up beside you. You’re still in good impression mode for another, like, 3 weeks.

“Hi,” he says, a smile and nod when you look up to see him. “Hopefully you’re liking this lot so far?”

“So far,” you nod, appreciative of his inquiry. “But I also heard it takes a few weeks for you all to turn into divas.”

He pulls a hand to his chest in mock offense. The jacket he’s wearing belongs to his character, but the color suits him well. “I usually wait until at least halfway through!”

“Hellooo,” Maggie sidles up and smiles at both of you. Jason’s right behind her and when the four of you stand in a make-shift circle, you’re acutely aware of the way Jason angles himself toward you.

“We’ve got a lot to get through today--wanted to have you hear all of this as well,” Jason says this to you in particular before Maggie launches into some sort of schedule. She’s listing numbers and tasks and referencing scenes by shorthand lingo that only makes half sense.

It’s weird, you realize, that while you’re here on set and working alongside them, your job is different in almost every way: it’s focused entirely on him. Which is maybe a bad thing, seeing as your stomach still does this little flip when you notice the dimple on his cheek that you remember from Day 1.

Lucky for you, though, most of your time on set is spent in Jason’s office. Scheduling his travel and handling his emails and pulling the strings behind the scenes so his actual job here was easier. You’re in constant contact with his manager, his nanny, even sometimes seeing messages from his ex or his friends come through before you pass them right up the ladder.

Briony pops in and out, often passing messages from Jason to you and then in return. She was the coffee kid, still young enough to be excited by that type of task and good enough to never mess up an order.

Poppy hurries by and after you commit the entire shooting schedule of the day to memory, you return to Jason’s office to actually get your work done. Today, primarily, was to be spent going through emails and calendars, plugging in meetings and finalizing his schedule for the next two weeks before filming really picked up.

But there’s a knock on the door that grabs your attention before your inbox is even open. Brendan’s there, a binder in hand and a hesitant smile when you both realize you’ve never been alone in a room together.

“Hi,” he says a bit awkwardly. “Y’know where Jason is?”

“He was with Paul and Jenna near Rebecca’s office,” you hoped you were getting the names right, blending real people with characters in the same way that didn’t trip up the rest of them. “Anything I can help with?”

He holds your gaze for a second, almost skeptical, but then decides he’ll at least give it a shot.

“I’m looking for a list of scenes we’re shooting today. Not the actual schedule that got sent out but the list of ones Jason wants to do if we can move more quickly than everyone thinks we can.”

You stand from your spot on the couch and nod thoughtfully, walking towards his desk as your eyes start to scan the piles of paper. You’ve learned his system bit by bit: the pile on the left is Lasso-related but not urgent. The pile on the right is more personal, with a higher level of urgency. Work-related urgent things get put on top of his laptop, or, if he seems to think it’s really important, sometimes he takes a picture of it and emails it to himself.

As of now you find it mostly adorable that a guy in his mid-forties is sending himself emails with picture attachments so he doesn’t forget stuff. You’ll have to give him a crash course in the reminders app at some point.

You locate the piece of paper you saw him scribbling on yesterday, the red ink of the pen he clips into his pocket smudged in the corner. Today’s scenes are listed out in the same shorthand code you’ve heard Maggie use, Jason’s chicken scratch is in the margins in red ink.

You hold it up before you look back towards Brendan. His brows are arched when you take a step over and deliver, what you assume, is exactly what he was looking for.

He scans it. Nods.

“Three extra scenes sounds ambitious to me,” you try to crack a joke, feeling weird about the fact that you’ve yet to bond with Brendan.

“You can read his handwriting?” He looks up at you again, more quickly this time, surprise on his face when you nod.

“Yes--yeah,” you stammer like this is an embarrassing admission. “Should I not be able to?”

“Jessie always complained,” he shrugs, eyes back down to the piece of paper you’d handed over.

“It’s messy as shit but I figured if I can’t read his handwriting then we’re all fucked.”

The corner of Brendan’s mouth flicks into a smile, a tiny laugh before he salutes you in farewell and his footsteps fade down the hallway.

April 2022

The end of March sputtered more rain onto the London streets than you’d ever seen in Los Angeles. Maggie promised it wouldn’t be like this the whole time, but now, on the third rainy Friday in a row, you were beginning to think your friend was a liar.

“It’s bad luck,” Jason comments as he looks out the window into his backyard, “not bad weather.”

Thunder booms overhead and the British Airways website logo keeps flickering on the page, please be patient while we locate your booking!

“You’re beginning to sound like a London apologist,” you look up at him from your laptop screen, eyebrows arched to challenge his statement. The backyard gets lit up again, the line of trees overhead is visible in the flash of lightning that cracks open the sky.

He smirks at your retort, “forgive me for not wanting you to hate the place you agreed to move.”

His hands are in his pockets but he moves to sit on the couch across from you. You showed up 20-minutes ago, laptop in tow after he heard you mention something on set about your travel plans to Amsterdam.

“London could have been on fire and I would still have come,” you think aloud as the page blinks back to life. “Okay, here,” you sit up. “Booking 1430-3925-098, business class to Schiphol.”

“Cancel it.”

“You’re sure?” You look up at him now, finger hovering over the trackpad.

“Positive,” he stands and nods. “Red or white?”

“Hmm?”

You click the button, Yes, I’m Sure!, but then notice he’s waiting for you to reply.

“Wine,” he laughs. “Red or white?”

You pause, is this a test? Is having a glass of wine with him on a Friday night in his living room crossing a line? No, you decide when he holds your gaze for a moment. If it wasn’t crossing a line with Kyle or Reese or any other boss you’ve had, it’s not crossing a line with him.

And besides, he’s not your boss, technically.

“Red.”

He smiles at your answer and makes his way towards the kitchen. “So why would a fiery London not be a deterrent?”

You set your laptop on the coffee table, a few steps over to stand in the doorway as he pursues his wine rack.

“Sorry?” You’re confused now, still watching when he scans the label of a bottle before he sets it on the Island.

It was a long week. You’d been on set every morning at 6:30am. Most days you left work around 4 or 5, and Jason was good about making sure you took lunch breaks and had enough coffee and knew all the good places to hide for five minutes of quiet when the set got too crowded.

“You said London could have been on fire and you would have moved here still,” he reminds you, his eyes watching for your reaction as you lean against the door frame.

You nod slowly and let your eyes flutter shut in embarrassment. What’s the most professional way to say: I got dumped and fired in the span of two weeks and my life felt like a living hell, so surely London ablaze would be manageable?

You decide there isn’t one, so you bend the truth as he searches for a wine opener. “I was in desperate need of a change of scenery.”

“Christmas in LA does suck,” he nods.

“Luckily I didn’t have to withstand that torture,” you walk over to the drawer on his right, the one that Jessie’s binder said had miscellaneous kitchen tools and utensils. You open it and pull out an opener and hand it over. “I was in New York for the holidays, left LA right after Thanksgiving.”

He opens the bottle and nods sympathetically. “Something about December in LA always feels…depressing.”

“Yeah,” you let out a breath at that word, one that circled and swirled in your brain for days and weeks before you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. Your parents were worried and your sister was three-seconds and a text message away from booking a flight out there to beat the shit of your ex, as she so kindly offered.

He pours the first glass, stealing a peek in your direction when he thinks you aren’t looking. You are.

“So--yeah, Los Angeles, change of scenery, back to New York. Now London.” He pours his own and then brings them both over, clinks his wine glass against yours before you both take a quiet sip in the kitchen. “What on earth made you take this job?”

You smirk, sure you can’t say what pops into your mind: a new city, a penchant for spontaneity after a crisis, the chance to work for your friend’s hot boss…

“Oh god,” he laughs, taking in your expression when your cheeks flush. “Did someone make you come here? Have you been kidnapped? Forced against your will?”

“No,” you roll your eyes at his playfulness and laugh. “I just--I really needed a job and a fresh start, I guess.”

He nods in understanding, takes another sip in the quiet. “Yeah, I get that.”

You’re not sure why it suddenly comes out, honest, blunt, a thud on the fancy tile of his kitchen.

“My boyfriend and I broke up--we lived together--then my job kind of exploded, well, Kyle’s life did too, so, Maggie took pity, I guess, when she realized my life was a shit show.”

He’s a little caught off guard by your confession, his eyebrows are slightly lifted and you can’t read: is it curiosity or concern? Like, did I hire a psychopath concern.

But that must not be it, because when you take a loud slurp of wine to drown out the awkward silence, he swallows and nods.

“Just because it feels like a shit show doesn’t mean it is,” he offers, a small smile before he continues. “My fiancé of a decade left me for someone 15 years younger a few years ago and then decided to give a fuck ton of interviews about it,” he smirks. “So--I get the whole shit show feeling.”

Your lips pull into a smile at his show of humanity, but then he gestures for you to follow him back to the living room. You’d known about his failed relationship, saw headlines and heard murmurs but didn’t pay much mind. You didn’t think in a few years time you’d be drinking wine on his couch on a rainy Friday.

“And now you’re single?” He asks over his shoulder, more of a follow up on your recent disclosure than the flirtation you wish it was. He sits down and you watch the way his knees knock together in khakis.

“First time in 6 years,” you say over the rim of your glass, returning to your spot on the sofa.

He’s watching you, like you’re throwing him off somehow or he’s intrigued. You realize you like it.

And then you remember why you’re here, tonight, in the first place: Amsterdam. The location shoot for the temp gig. Your temp gig job. Your job, him sitting across the room from you as not the man who writes your checks but still the one who generates them. Your laptop on the coffee table pulls you back to reality. You should probably not flirt with him.

“It’s canceled,” you nod towards the computer and then lift your Apple Watch as proof. “Confirmation email came through a few minutes ago.”

He shakes his head but smiles. “I can’t believe you thought I’d make you fly business class if I’m on a jet!”

You remember Maggie’s words from January, facetime a thousand miles away. Something along the lines of he’s amazing, Y/N, he’s so chill!

“You’d be really disappointed to hear what it’s like to work for Tom Cruise, then.”

He laughs, shifts on the couch and takes another sip. “I think it’s really shitty when people treat their EAs like regular assistants,” he shrugs. “Here’s this person who manages your whole life…arguably that means you’re more competent than I am,” he thinks aloud, a playful glance in your direction. A compliment? Maybe. Flirting? You hope.

Is that shitty? Is that weird and inappropriate or—worst of all—are you fully delusional?

“I’m going to pocket that for future reference,” you admit with a smirk.

He sips his wine and smiles, eyes you seriously from behind the glasses he puts on at the end of the day. “Just…know from here on out that you can book yourself as nice of a hotel room as you want, you know, within reason.”

You let your eyes bug out of your head. “Reason, like, the Presidential Suite at a Ritz Carlton, or?”

“Jesus,” a short laugh escapes, a comedic hint of suspicion is his eyes after he checks a text on his phone. “Maggie wasn’t kidding when she said you’ve been primarily A-list.”

“I would never,” you call back, a quick confession to make sure he knows you’re not that type of…employee? Temp? Whatever.

“Great, but still--we’re there for work, but you deserve to enjoy Amsterdam,” he gestures toward your laptop, like the British Airways website itself was a symbol of the upcoming business trip.

Maggie’s been excited for weeks. She babbled about it in the car on the way from Heathrow and Poppy’s been shouting out nightclubs and restaurants and places she wants to go most mornings in the makeup trailer.

You’ve never been to Amsterdam, but you’re excited nonetheless for a chance to see a new city in a new country. The last time you and Maggie were in Europe together was on your study abroad trip when you were both 21. Now it’s ten years later.

She bounces in one April morning to Poppy’s trailer while you’re sipping a hot coffee. One from the catering table because the one you sipped on your way here wasn’t enough.

“You’re exactly who I wanted to see,” her face lights up when she spots you in a chair beside Juno.

“Good morning,” you coo, grateful that Poppy’s trailer has become a bit of reprieve for you. You were right, a few weeks ago when you went out for your first Friday in London: Maggie and Poppy are tight, Juno and Briony and Hannah and the rest of the make up crew seem to be their own little friend group within the larger cast and crew. Ladies who stuck together.

Luckily, you were beginning to feel like a part of it.

“I’m thinking pubs and clubs,” she dumps a tote bag on the counter, contents spill out but Poppy doesn’t seem to mind.

“What?”

“We need to start planning for Amsterdam, babe.”

“It’s a work trip, babe,” you remind her with narrowed eyes, a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else was aware of Maggie’s scheming.

“Work trip, hah!” Juno pipes up from her chair. She’s got curlers in, eyes still sleepy since the sun’s just made it above the horizon. “Someone tell Y/N about Lasso work trips.”

“Work trips,” Poppy turns to see you--she’s getting a palette ready for Juno, all of her brushes and tubes of lip gloss are organized sociopathically by color, size, and brand. “Are only half work.”

A woman after your own heart, though the results of your organizing episodes usually only last a few weeks.

“Half work? How does that…work?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to get mascara swiped on your lashes before your eyes are fully open.

“We shoot long days and we’re busy,” Maggie nods honestly, she’s strapping her walkie-talkie onto her waist, snaking the wire of her headset up and behind her ear. “But when work is over, it’s playtime.”

You watch your oldest friend closely. “Sounds oddly sexual,” you comment around another slurp of coffee.

“It can be sexual if you want it to be,” Maggie wiggles her eyebrows now. “If you’re feeling up for getting down and dirty!”

Oh boy. You blink at her a few times, memories of your last trip to Europe come flooding back. Maggie writing your number on the bathroom stall of a club in Rome, encouragement at every hour of the day to get loose and get laid. Unfortunately for you, this trip might be oddly reminiscent.

“Yeah?” This pique’s Juno’s interest. “Someone in need of a little hanky-panky?”

They all giggle, you choke down more coffee but wipe your mouth when there’s a knock on the door. It opens, the whole trailer goes quiet when Jason’s on the other side.

“Morning,” he nods, a few steps in before he slinks down to the chair next to Poppy with an amused smile. “You know the gossip’s good when it goes completely silent.”

“Not gossip,” Maggie locks eyes with you in the mirror and smirks. “Just some chatter about Y/N’s lack of a love life,” she smiles, an apologetic but excited one.

“I work more than I sleep,” you defend loud enough for the whole trailer to hear—-all six of you in there.

True. Until, about, six months ago.

“Lack?” Jason’s eyebrows are arched in the mirror.

You hope Maggie doesn’t see the way your cheeks flush, a moment where his eyes find yours in the reflection above Poppy’s drawers and drawers of makeup. You wish you could vanish into thin air.

How—in only a few weeks—does it feel like you and Jason are in on your own little secret?

“This is only my second cup of coffee so why don’t we talk about Maggie’s childhood obsession with webkinz?” You propose, a loud slurp and a ghoulish look in her direction to show her you mean business.

You had just as many years of ammunition as she did. If embarrassing each other was the goal, you could at least play the game.

“Weren’t you a bit old for that, babe?” Poppy asks with a teasing smile, fingers focused on the curlers in Juno’s hair.

“I didn’t give a shit that I was 16 and still into it,” Maggie defends, a dismissive eye roll when she picks up her phone from the counter. “The heart wants what it wants.”

A dodged bullet, for sure. You’re able to excuse yourself shortly thereafter to make sure Jason’s got what he needs for the day. Briony did the check of his office, grabbed breakfast and delivered a bagel to the makeup trailer. Which means you’re free to move about in search of the people you need today.

Joan from the location department, Tom from Post-Production—Maggie said he’d be easy to find because he always wears hats but is impeccably bald.

You get the write-up you need from Joan and that’s when Briony falls into step beside you. She shows you the way down the maze of halls and through the lot to an office where Tom sits at a desk. Once you’ve got what you need from him (a firm answer to a question of Jason’s he’s been dodging all week), Briony sits with you on the sidelines of a scene in the locker room.

Jason, Phil, Brendan, and Brett are shooting, the set’s loud before someone calls for quiet.

Briony silently breaks her granola bar in half and offers you some, Greg--who works in sound--offers you both a warning glare: I better not hear rubbish.

So you munch quietly side by side, feeling somewhat mesmerized by the way that when the camera’s rolling, Jason and his scene partners feel like the only people in the room. The scripted jokes they’re cracking are so good, it makes you regret never finishing season 1.

You don’t remember finding him nearly as attractive back then as you do now, sitting behind the cameras and the boom, a walkie-talkie on your own hip and a pit in your stomach when you realize this isn’t even a thought you should be having.

But you can’t help that warmth pools in your belly when he rolls up his sleeves or laughs from across the room. Okay, so, maybe this isn’t just jet lag.

CUT!--the room buzzes back into motion, Maggie’s zipping around the set and shouts to Greg, can we start again at line 47? Poppy goes to powder Brendan’s forehead, Briony’s on her feet and then the whole thing starts again.

That happens another three times before there’s actually a break. Props weren’t delivered on time and so a different scene is getting staged but it doesn’t mean much to you. You’ve checked your own inbox eight times today and Jason’s twelve.

But today was quiet. Showing up and making a stellar impression in the first few weeks was definitely a good thing, but had you been…too productive? Had you accidentally fucked yourself over because now you’re sitting here looking like a moron because you didn’t have something to do?

You booked a zoo tour for him and his kids next month, finalized the rest of his schedule for this week, arranged his travel to see friends in Spain later this summer. You’d organized his home office last week, updated his business accounts spreadsheet and even managed to book him an appointment with an eye doctor after he told you it’d been three years (ridiculous).

Jason walks up and says something to Greg, who’s pretending to give Briony shit about the granola bar. Briony’s smiling up at him like he’s just told her Christmas is coming early.

“Hey,” you greet Jason with a smile, hand him his cell phone that’s been tucked into the bum bag around your shoulders.

“I saw the tickets to the zoo at Battersea Park--thanks for putting that together.”

You nod, glad you were able to come up with something he could do with his kids next weekend when they’d be in town. An advertisement on the tube is what led you to buying three tickets on a whim, just in case.

You smile and look to your left, for some reason nervous that someone will see how awkward you’re being and misread it. It doesn’t matter, though, because he reaches forward and his hand’s on your elbow in a way that makes your face feel warm.

“I mean it,” he says, a nod to himself and to you, one that lets you know he’s touched by the gesture.

“Yes, yeah, sure,” you nod like an idiot, immediately embarrassed by the way his touch leaves your mouth unable to form consonants or vowels.

“Jason, go talk to Mark about camera angles,” Maggie appears and slaps him on the shoulder, a smile on her face when she playfully barks the order.

Phil’s hand is outstretched suddenly, a reminder that time on set moved faster than anywhere else. “Y/N, could you take a picture of me in this for my mum?”

You accept the phone and snap a photo, Maggie’s answering a text and then gets tugged away by a PA.

You turn to face Jason when Phil walks away, you’re ready for a request or a task or anything. But he just holds your gaze for a second, a pleased smirk spreads across his face.

“Anything I can get you?”

He shrugs, “I’m good.”

It dawns on you, right then, that he walked over here to talk to you. Well, maybe not you. Maybe you were just in his way. Maybe he was looking for someone else but he saw you and it reminded him to say thanks.

But either way, right now it’s just you and Jason standing here and it feels good to think that maybe he just likes being around you. Maybe the smirk on his face is because he sees the way your brain is short-circuiting. Luckily, he pulls you out of your crisis.

“Can you come to my trailer later, around 3? Before I have to help them shoot at Keeley’s office later? I can text you.”

You’re nodding and agreeing to it as you visualize your own calendar in your head. You’re supposed to get off at 4pm today, an evening to yourself and the idea of a glass of wine on the couch sounds especially nice now that you’ve realized your social skills are such shit.

“Perfect, great,” he says. “Apparently I have to go talk to Mark.”

You nod, he nods, and then he turns to leave you by the huddle of sound guys handling wires and knobs. You meet him in his trailer and handle the emails and errands he needs, grab a tea on the way home and you’re in the door at 4:49pm--and that’s with afternoon traffic.

London’s been sunny this week, you had wine with Maggie and Brett and Phil one night and you didn’t feel new. You felt normal.

Winter was fading into spring over the last ten days, it was starting to feel like you were your own little piece in the big puzzle you got thrown into. Brendan knew he could always count on you to laugh at his jokes--especially and specifically when they were aimed at Jason. Brett knows your childhood nickname and threatens to tell Phil every time you get dangerously close to calling him out for flirting with Maggie.

You don’t always feel like a transplant anymore, you feel like someone who’s starting to have a place. A tiny one, maybe off in the corner, but still, a place.

And when you left Jason’s trailer that afternoon, you thought it’d be the last time you saw him.

So, naturally, your eyes go wide when you find him beneath the light of your front door this evening. You’re in a sweatshirt and bike shorts, completely unprepared for company.

“Hi!” he says quickly, almost like he’s startled by the opening of the door, like he didn’t know if you’d be home or expected someone else on the other side of the knob. There’s a smile on his face that mirrors yours almost immediately. “Hey, sorry—to just show up here, like this.”

“How do you know where I live?” You narrow your eyes, a teasing but confident tone. All that does is give him a cheerful smugness that you regret immediately, one that makes his eyes scan your face before he shrugs.

“I know I’m not your boss, but I’m, like, not not your boss at the same time.”

You hold back a laugh and watch him, “what a blurred and confusing boundary…”

He smiles, “Which, all I mean by that is that Maggie sent the listing to me when she found it, I’ve actually known where you live since before you lived here,” he admits casually.

“Got it,” you step aside and he comes in, shuts the door behind himself before he meets your eyes again.

“How are you?” You ask, intrigued by his surprise visit but also not wanting to scare him off. You like the way he’s looking at you, your heart does a flip at the thought that he wants to be around you. Just like earlier today. Fuck.

“I’m good,” he says, you walk towards the kitchen and wave a bottle of wine in the air and he nods. “I got stuck late at work, I was walking and it started to rain.”

“You live like, two minutes from here…” you’re smiling despite the challenging statement, you grab a glass from an overhead cabinet.

He shrugs when he slinks into a barstool at your counter, apparently unfazed by your accusation when he comes off it easily: “yeah, I just wanted to say hi.”

You reach for a glass in the cupboard overhead and tease him over your shoulder. “Curious to see how Maggie allocated the living stipend?”

He sits up straighter now and plays into the bit, pushing his lips out in thought when he looks around your open concept kitchen and living room. “That and…”

He looks around the room again, his words hang in the air as he buys time. But his hair’s a mess and his watch isn’t on--so you know something’s up.

It clicks. He’s got something on his mind or something and he’s…trying to talk about it? To you?

Men! Sheesh. You try to relax your forehead as you pour him a glass so your confusion and shock isn’t misread as displeasure. Realistically, you’re touched he feels comfortable enough and the thumping in your chest is a dead giveaway if he can hear it when you deliver the wine.

“Shit day?” You ask, watching as his fingers wrap around the step. He takes a sip and shrugs.

“Yeah, shit day…shit month, shit year.”

You giggle into your own glass, take your first sip before nodding. “I know the feeling.”

“No, I shouldn’t--” he pauses and stumbles for a second, “I don’t mean to complain or sound like a dick.”

You shrug and offer a smirk. “You’re not a dick if you have a human emotion.”

He nods, watches the wine in his glass as a smirk crawls onto his face. He looks up at you. “My ex could argue that statement for two hours.”

“Could she?” You smile, nodding when you tell him: “I’m a pretty patient person.”

“Are you?”

“I am,” you laugh, “I like to think so.”

He lets out a tiny laugh at your comment, quiet for a second before he lets out an exhale. “I’m just stressed, really. Being showrunner this season is harder than I thought and it’s not even hard, it’s just more than I’m used to.”

You nod immediately. That makes sense and you see the fatigue on his face. You’d heard Maggie talk about it before: long hours, late nights, location shoots, freezing days, rewrites and props changes. TV wasn’t easy and you were already aware of that, only a few weeks in.

“I get that—but I think it’s normal to notice the learning curve when you’re doing something new.”

He nods, accepts it and holds his breath for a second. “Yeah, that’s…a good way to say it.”

He smiles at you softly, eyes coming up to meet yours quickly before he shrugs. “I know I’ll survive, it’s just—been a rough go of it, lately.”

“So what’s your release?” You ask.

His brows furrow together and the crease in his forehead lights something up inside you.

He says it like this hasn’t occurred to him at all. “My release?”

“How are you dealing with your stress?”

The confusion on his face turns into amusement when the corner of his mouth twitches toward your ceiling.

“So, nothing?”

He laughs. “I hadn’t thought about—doing anything, really.”

“Men,” you roll your eyes, moving towards the couch with your wine in hand. “The wine’s a nice place to start, but certainly not enough.”

He makes a face for a second, like he’s judging himself or imagining the terrible things you must think about him now that you’ve heard his feelings, but he stands to follow and listens intently when you almost open up.

“When my boyfriend dumped me and Kyle let me go, I stayed in bed for a good…two weeks,” you admit, a grimace on your face because you know it makes you sound like a loser. “But then my sister suggested I go to a rage room and it was amazing.”

“A rage room?” He laughs. “One of those places where you just break shit?”

“Smashing a TV to pieces is surprisingly therapeutic,” you tell him seriously.

He thinks on it for a second, nodding like he’s giving it real thought when he plucks at his lower lip. You can see the smirk he’s fighting, a sip of wine when your eyes dare him to say whatever he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to tell me--”

“But,” you say at the same time as he says it. A flash of embarrassment on his face when you raise your brows, reading him like a book, just spit it out.

“Why’d you get fired?”

Right. You knew it would come up at some point and even if Jason wasn’t really your boss, he definitely had the right to be curious.

“I only ask because I read her reference letter--she loves you.”

“She does love me,” you nod. “But she was having family issues and I wanted a raise and then I found out that her daughter was sleeping with my boyfriend.”

His lips form an ‘o’ involuntarily, the response you got from most people when they hear how the dominoes all fell at the same time.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Fired might be a strong word, but, certainly how it felt.”

“Well, her loss,” he nods confidently. “I’ve seen the way you organized my desk drawers and it’s either witchcraft or psychoticism and I’m okay with either if it’s always this easy to find shit.”

“I’ll keep it up then,” you smile and take another sip.

“Sorry to just…show up, by the way,” he looks down at his own glass in hand, “and drink your wine.”

You had been looking forward to a shower and a night of watching trashy reality TV (though now you’d sworn off all of the Real Housewives). Other than that, your night was likely to consist of facetiming your mom and plucking your eyebrows.

Jason sitting at your counter with a smirk on his face didn’t bother you at all, but you certainly couldn’t tell him you were flattered that he came here.

You nodded to let him know it was no nuisance. “I’m always up for a glass of wine and talking you off the ledge.”

“That shouldn’t be part of your job description, though.”

“Do you know how many times I listened to Kyle complain about her friends or had to send gift baskets to them after fights?”

“I’m guessing a lot?”

“You venting about work stress is a walk in the park,” you reassure.

“Well, I’m glad,” he says solemnly, a moment when he holds your eyes and you feel your cheeks get warm.

You clear your throat, don’t be stupid, and force out a joke to act like whatever moment this was wasn’t problematic or weird or worse, enticing.

“So unless you have a daughter that will sleep with my boyfriend, we’re probably good.”

“My daughter’s seven,” a beat when he shrugs a single shoulder. “And you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You take a loud slurp from your wine--partly for comedic effect and party out of your own awkwardness--and smirk over the rim to match his. “Right.”

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AN: WOW! HI! It's been a hot minute. I'm so glad to be posting this chappie and so appreciative of everyone's patience as my life evolves and writing has taken up a smaller portion of my time. I would love love love to hear what you think of this chapter and the story so far, I've been writing a lot the last few days as feb turns into march and I'm excited to share more!!!!

taglist: @babysugar02 @daydreamgoddess14 @endlessblasphemy @hart-kinsella @shanefilan @bookoffracturedghosts @cavillsim @the-fanfic-fangirl @tegan8314

#tt #temporary things #idkthisisjustforfanfic #jason sudeikis #jason sudeikis imagine #jason sudeikis fan fic #jason sudeikis fanfic #jason sudeikis snl

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thisismysecondrodeo · 2 years

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"This Means The World To Me" - A Jason Sudeikis x Reader Fanfic

You're an author of a hit book and your agent surprises you by asking you what celebrity you'd love to come to your book signing. Jason Sudeikis surprises you by actually showing up. But is it just a nice celebrity doing a nice thing or is it something more?

Inspired by @idkthisisjustforfanfic 's "Not a Date"—very different but their fic was the first Jason x Reader fic I ever read and it was so good I just had to try my hand!

wc: 2.8K

Story Page | Story Tag

Part 1

When you published your first novel it didn’t perform spectacularly but it was fairly well received and just getting it out there felt like releasing a breath you’d been holding for 25 years. Despite not being a beststeller, it set you up nicely for your second book, with an agent, a book tour, and rumors of a movie deal—the whole 9 yards. You had hit your stride, and this book was award material, award-nominated in fact. Your agent, Sasha, couldn’t be more proud of you and she reminded you constantly, less in a professional way and more in a way that reflected the friendship that had quickly grown between the two of you.

A few weeks before the book tour kicked off, you were sitting down to breakfast when you got a Facetime from Sasha and you picked it up with a grin, expecting her to grill you about your latest Tinder date. She did, but she also asked you something that you weren’t expecting.

“Sooo, as your agent and friend, I want this tour to be really special for you and I’m hoping I might be able to pull some strings to make that happen.”

“I mean, its a book tour, I think that’s as special as it gets,” you laughed.

Sasha rolled her eyes, “Y/N, you’re going to have to get used to people wanting to do cool shit for you, pull strings on fancy dinner reservation, go to cool parties…”

“I wasn’t aware authors threw ‘cool’ parties.”

“Well, they don’t but when this movie deal closes—”

“IF,” you interrupt, “IF this movie deal closes.”

Sasha just shrugged and continued, “THEN you’ll go to the cool parties.”

“Alright, alright I hear you. So, what kind of strings are you thinking of pulling to make this tour particularly special?”

Sasha’s face was giddy with excitement now that the conversation was back on track, and clapped her hands together as she spoke, gold hoops swinging enthusiastically. “If you could have one celebrity read your book who would it—”

“Jason Sudeikis,” you responded, not even letting her finish the question. The things you would do to meet that man….if Sasha could make that happen you might pass out at just the thought. Knowing that he knew who you were would be enough to get you lightheaded.

Sasha nearly cackled. “Oh miss ‘its already special, don’t pull strings’ had no hesitation, huh? You sure not someone younger, Michael B. Jordan? Zendaya?”

“Oh I’m sure,” you smiled, twisting one of you dark curls around your finger in thought, “I have had a crush on that man since I was 14 reblogging my Tumblr crushes.”

Sasha laughed again, softer this time, and just shook her. “Okay well, no promises. Celebrities don’t typically read the books they get sent, but I figured I’d ask around give it a shot and also invite them to a stop on the tour.”

“Which stop?”

“It’ll be a surprise,” Sasha winked. “I’m not even going to tell you if he responds until the end of the tour.”

“Ohhhh Sasha, you are the sweetest, cruelest friend/manager a girl could ask for.”

The two of you chat business for a while longer and then end the call, your thoughts already running wild with the idea that Jason could be out there somewhere, holding your book in his hands. Who are you kidding, there’s no way that man has time to read. But you can’t get the image out of your head as you climb into the shower and if you stayed in there a little longer than usual, let your hand trail a little further than normal, well, there was no one there to call you out on it.

Your hometown independent bookstore was the last stop on the book tour and you were thrilled. It had been a couple months of travel, meeting people that told you beautiful things about your writing, that said wonderful things about you. Dinners with Sasha and old friends you hadn’t seen in years, a stop by your parents local bookstore so they could see you living one of your oldest dreams. It was so much wonderful hustle and bustle that you had mostly forgotten about Sasha inviting Jason Sudeikis to a signing. When you did remember, you assumed if it was going to happen it would happen in New York and when that came and went, you shrugged it off and let it go. There were enough other things going on to fill your mind than ludicrous dreams of meeting your celebrity crush. Like, the fact that movie deal deliberation were still ongoing which worried you through the night. Sasha reassured you that if one studio pulled out, another would be interested, not the end of the world, but you were on edge regardless. Being home, at your local bookstore where you’d invited all your friends to come support you, helped take some of the weight off your shoulder, relieve some of the tension creases between your eyebrows.

It was just the fun, party atmosphere you were hoping for. Hugs and laughs, food and drink, and finally your friends settled down just enough for you to actually do your author interview. The questions were complimentary and playful and it was fun to take yourself seriously while also admitting, that ‘no, you didn’t think about the character that hard’ or ‘yes, your brother did point out a plot hole that your editor missed.’ Everything was about to wrap so you could get to the signing portion of the evening, you were already flexing your fingers in anticipation, thinking of the silly things you could write to your friends who lovingly showed up and bought copies. The young event manager interviewing you looked at you with a slight smirk as she tee’d up her final question.

“So, Y/N, I was speaking with your agent Sasha backstage,” the woman inclined her head to Sasha sitting at the end of the first row, and you gave her a little wave. She didn’t go to all of the tour stops, so it was nice to see your friend here, and you were excited to be able to thank her for all her hard work now that the tour was over. “And she said she asked you what one celebrity you’d like to receive your book and an invite to a book signing, who did you invite? Were they able to make it out?”

You ducked your head slightly, shielding the bashful pink tinge that now covered your brown cheeks as you giggled, embarrassed. “Oh jesus,” you laughed, “well considering how many people here know me so well I think the audience can probably answer that themselves.” You gesture broadly to the crowd and hear your good friends yell out, “Jason Sudeikis!” and a couple people add “Ted Lassooooooo” like a football chant. You grin and nod. “You know it! But no he hasn’t been to a signing, Sasha told me she wouldn’t tell me if he even responded or not until the tour was over as a “fun” surprise.” You used airquotes around the word fun and the audience chuckled.

The interviewer tutted with disappointment, “Well that’s too bad, since this is the last stop. Sasha, is it time for the big reveal? Did he get the book?”

“Oh I think I can take that one,” a deep voice answered as a man stood up from a chair in the very back row and the crowd began to cheer. It was unmistakably Jason. His dark brown hair neatly combed, but not as formal as his Ted look, in a charcoal henley and jeans, with his glasses hanging down the front of his shirt. He grinned at you and saluted, touching two fingers to his forehead in greeting. Tears pricked your eyes and you pressed a hand to your chest, as everyone turned to see what you were going to say.

“Oh, fuuuck me, Jesus Christ.”

You slid down in your chair as you said it and hid your face. You didn’t mean it in a sexual way, in fact in came out angry, the way it would if someone had just popped around a corner and scared you but your heart still raced at the idea that he might take it as an offer. The crowd roared with laughter, and you quickly apologized.

“Oh shit,” you covered your mouth, trying to stop cursing, “I’m so sorry… I just… I can’t—what the fuck.”

Jason gave you a genuine laugh as you tried to get your words together, but of course you couldn’t when he was…here…looking like…that. “Jason I can’t begin to tell you what it means to me that you’re here, in my hometown of all places, at my invitation. You…you’re an inspiration to me I hope you know that, truly.” Jason looked touched, his eyes a little glassy at your kind words. “I don’t even care if you read the fucking book,” you said, seriously, but that got another genuine laugh, one that seemed to really come from his belly.

“Let me tell you,“ Jason started, also getting serious, “I did, in fact read the book. In fact I read it and recommended it to everyone I spoke to. It is…a revelation. You have a bonafide way with words that I just… wow. Excellent. Thank you very much for this invitation, Y/N.”

And now you were crying, you couldn’t help it. Not just the wonderful compliments but your name coming from his mouth was simply overwhelming. You stood from your seat, not sure if this was allowed, forgetting the audience was even there, forgetting to be embarrassed. The world shrunk to the size of you and Jason as you made your way towards him.

“Can I hug you,” you asked quietly when you were close enough that you could be heard without a mic and then you were wrapped up in his arms, his head well above yours, you hands settling in the middle of his back feeling warm and happy and floaty like you were actually high and this was all just an elaborate dream. His cologne smelled strong and a little spicy, and you didn’t want to let go until someone wolf whistled and you were stepping back. To your surprise, he reached his broad hand towards your face and wiped a still falling tear with his thumb, beaming at you with a mix of amusement and care.

You took a quick break before the signing to settle the shakiness in your hands and the rapid beat of your heart. Sasha found you in the back room and you held her so tightly she joked that she would pop.

“How did you do this?! This is crazy!”

“Turns out I knew his assistant, James. He didn’t make any promises but, well the stars aligned.”

“Met him on a dating app?”

“Oh you know it,” Sasha laughed. She had a ‘guy she met on a dating app’ for nearly every situation. Car repair, plumbing, discount at the Apple store, you name it.

“Thank you. Seriously. What a way to end this tour. Just wish I had gotten some pictures.”

“Eh,” Sasha waved her hand, “the photographers will have gotten something better than a shitty iPhone photo anyway. Better go get to signing so we can partyyyyy.” Sasha started dancing with no music but the way she was grooving it was easy to imagine the Doja Cat playing in her head. You laughed and led the way to the signing table.

Jason was the only thing on your mind as you signed. Your heart swelled everytime you pictured him standing with your book in his hand, and the feeling of his thumb swiping away a tear sent shivers down your spine. But it was easy enough to set aside the more risque thoughts as you signed your name and wrote silly messages to you friends and fans, as slow going as it was. You had been signing and chatting for nearly an hour and the line was dwindling when you looked up and saw him near the end and your heart thudded hard in your chest.

The motherfucker winked at you.

The next 5 signatures were shaky as you tried to think about anything other than the fact that this man, this very handsome, sweet, funny man who had any number of better things to do had stood in line for 45 minutes and was about to talk to you again. You were looking at the table as his long fingers slid a copy of your book in front of you. You picked up the book and noticed the spine was a little cracked and some of the pages were dogeared, one corner slightly crumpled. This was not a book that had just been picked up off the shelf tonight. You met his gaze and you swore his eyes twinkled.

“I can’t believe you're still here. I mean, you stayed for a signing.” Fuck, Y/N get it together and stop stating the obvious. Jason smiled.

“I wasn’t kidding about loving the book. Of course I want my copy signed. And, you know, maybe a chance to talk to the author 1:1, throw around some of my celebrity to get a private talk.”

He wasn’t flirting. Of course he wasn’t flirting, but god the innuendo of private talk sent a rush through you.

“Well,” you said, flipping open the cover of his book and trying like hell to think of something loving and witty to write that encompassed every emotion you were feeling at the moment, “I think that can be arranged. Though I will say, we might have to talk about how you treat your literature.” You gesture to the dogeared pages, and Jason rubbed the back of his neck like he was embarrassed.

“When I’m really into a book it gets, well, a little aggressive.”

You laughed as you thought about the quick retorts that came to mind, but obviously you couldn’t respond the way you wanted to…except why couldn’t you? He came to see you, he obviously knew how you felt, why hold back when you only get to meet him once?

“Obviously you like it rough,” his head whipped up and met your gaze. Was he…blushing? “Reading that is,” you finished with a small smirk. You were being obvious and not even very sexy but now that you had regained a little bit of your self-respect you were ready to give it all up again to make him laugh.

Jason laughed and took back his book, without reading the inscription. You were thankful because you couldn’t think of much to say. You decided to be honest and wrote simply, The fact that you read this means the world to me - Y/N.

You signed books for the last of the line and then made your way to your friends to celebrate the end of a wonderful tour. And there was Jason, talking to Sasha and your friend Willa like they went way back. As you joined the group, Willa looked at you with a grin so large you knew her face must hurt. You knew she wanted to squeal about Jason, but considering he was standing right there in the group that wasn’t an option at all.

“So, Jason was telling us he had a bit of a surprise for you,” Willa said, her voice dripping with implication.

“Is that right, Mr. Sudeikis?” You felt cool and confident and flirty and you could see that both Willa and Sasha were a little taken aback with your change in attitude, but you just waited for Jason’s response as his eyebrows crept towards his hairline in surprise and amusement.

“Are you actually calling me Mr. Sudeikis because I’m an old man or—”

“I’m doing a bit, old man, come on, keep up,” you laughed and so did he.

“Well Y/N I don’t know if you know but I’m a bit of a football, well soccer, fan,” you rolled your eyes, obviously you had seen Ted Lasso many times over, “and I have a couple tickets to a local match tomorrow. Was hoping you’d be my tour guide, if you’re free.”

Your confident facade cracked just a little. You weren’t just going to meet him once, you were going to a soccer game with him. You obviously wouldn’t go as far as to say it was a date…

“It’s a date,” you responded and he smiled broadly.

“Alright well, I’ll send you the tickets and meet you at the stadium?” You nodded wanting to ask a million follow up questions but not wanting to seem anxious at all. And with that he opened his arms, as casually as if the two of you had been hugging for years. You fell into him with ease and he said a quiet goodnight before tucking his book under his arm and leaving with James. He was probably still within ear range when Willa squealed and started jumping up and down, but you weren’t nearly as embarrassed as you should have been.

You were going to see him tomorrow.

AN: This is the first fanfiction I've ever written and I'm normally really weird about RPF, but I'm too obsessed with Jason rn it's insane. If people are into it I'll keep it going! I have one more chapter written right now but a decent idea of where the story's headed. Thanks for reading!

#jason sudeikis #jason sudeikis fanfic #jason sudeikis fic #jason sudeikis writing #jason sudeikis fan #jason sudeikis fan fic #jason sudeikis reader insert #jason sudeikis x yn #ted lasso #ted lasso cast #jason sudeikis x reader #jason sudeikis x you #jason sudeikis y/n #this means the world to me #my fanfic

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