#jason sudeikis fan

[thisismysecondrodeo]

Twitter Famous (Jason Sudeikis x Reader) EXTRA

AN: Surprise! It's just smut y'all. Set around the beginning of Chatper 10

Content Warning: Mutual masturbation, casual marijuana use

wc: 1.8k

Story Page | Story Tag

You knew Jason smoked weed and it didn’t bother you at all—most of your friends smoked, after all. But you could count on one hand the number of times you’d actually seen him smoke and even then it was only when someone else offered it to him. As much as the two of you spent time in private, you were starting to wonder why you’d rarely seen the man high. It made sense when the kids were around that he abstained, but this weekend on a break from tour, sans-children, you decided to ask about it. 

“Do you think I don’t like it when you smoke?” 

Jason’s head was in your lap and you were carding your fingers through his hair as the two of you watched something mindless and colorful on TV. You didn’t mean for it to come out so accusatory, but Jason shuffled around to face you with a smile. 

“You don’t smoke, so I was trying to be considerate. I’m a gentleman like that,” he teased and you rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not like morally opposed! I do edibles on occasion, smoking just hurts my throat,” you pouted and he chuckled. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to switch up your whole lifestyle just ‘cause I’m here.” 

“I can’t think of a better reason,” he responded, a charming little glint in his eye, “but I have edibles too…Y/N, do you want to get high with me?” 

“Sure,” you said automatically, but you knew there was an anxious look on your face. “Just know I’m a lightweight…and I, uh, get freezing cold when I’m high.” 

Jason gave you a curious look as he clambered off the couch and found his child-proof stash box on the highest bookshelf. “Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” 

You avoided making eye contact, unpredictably embarrassed. What you weren’t telling Jason was that weed made you incredibly horny and always had. At this point, you and Jason had slept together many times, and you weren’t afraid to talk about or initiate sex, but the experience of regularly getting high alone and masturbating is something you’d never talked about with anyone. But Jason wasn’t just anyone, and the thought of Jason being able to lend a hand with that situation….well it was certainly making you a little braver. 

“This feels like weirdly vulnerable, but getting high makes me…really fucking horny,” you said as you took the offered edible and he was so surprised he nearly dropped it into the gap of the couch cushion instead. 

“Were you worried I was going to think you were trying to seduce me,” he laughed, his eyebrows furrowed, and you couldn’t help but giggle along with him. “Or that I’d ask you about all the high sex you’ve had?” 

Jason took his own edible and returned to his place in your lap, looking up at you with open curiosity. You dropped a hand onto his chest, your thumb rubbing gently back and forth over his collarbone. He was wearing a t-shirt from your tour and it was already getting that lovely worn-in cottony feeling from how often he wore and washed it. “I haven’t actually had high sex,” you answered with a smile. “I get really high and I touch myself and it fucking rocks and somehow that felt like too vulnerable a thing to mention.” 

You laughed which gave Jason permission to laugh, a high-pitched giggle that always made your heart swell with affection. You could already tell the weed was starting to take effect a little—things were funnier than they would have been sober. You hadn’t thought to ask about the dosage, but you knew Jason wouldn’t have given you something too strong. Jason brought the hand you were resting on his chest up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then the inside of your wrist; he might as well have kissed your clit with the way arousal coursed through you. “First of all, that does fucking rock. Second of all, we absolutely do not have to do anything but I hope you’ll let me know if you, ah, need any help with that.” 

You smiled sweetly down at your boyfriend, “Actually there is something you can help me with…I wasn’t lying about getting cold.” Jason got up without complaint, dropping a chaste kiss on your lips while he went to retrieve a hoodie for you. 

Hoodie on, the TV switched to standup, you and Jason giggled your hearts out with matching bloodshot eyes. Jason didn’t press the issue, not that you expected him to, but you were surprised that he didn’t notice every light touch and accidental brush was making you vibrate with barely contained lust. You untucked your legs, swinging them into Jason’s lap since he was now sitting up next to you. Without looking over he snaked his long fingers around your ankle, massaging gently, and you whimpered before you could catch yourself. 

Jason looked over at you with a small smirk. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you responded slowly, sinking deeper into the couch and closing your eyes. You felt floaty and light and cozy in Jason’s Thundergong hoodie, but then you would register the touch of his hands on you again and a shock of heat would hit your core. It was a mix between an incredible amount of desire and being so comfy and safe you wanted to become the couch itself. 

Jason leaned forward, grabbed the remote, and turned the television off so the only light came from a floor lamp in the corner. You opened your eyes and Jason was looking at you intently, the warm light emphasizing his jawline and making his eyes look like pools of honey. 

“Will you show me what you do when you get high?” His voice was low and a little gruff and it made your clit throb. You knew exactly what he was asking and it sent a little thrill through you. 

“You want to watch,” you asked, your tone flirty and he smiled. “Yeah, I do.” 

Jason’s hand never stopped rubbing small circles on your ankle, no higher or lower, as the two of you talked and you could easily imagine those circles elsewhere. “Okay,” you nodded, and you wasted no time, wiggling your sweatpants down to your ankles. Jason helped tug them over your ankles and tossed them onto the arm of the couch. Your legs brushed his growing bulge as you got comfy and he sucked in a breath. You were pleased he was seemingly as affected as you were. 

His eyes were on your hand as you slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. “Fuck, I’m so wet,” you cursed at the first caress of your fingers, dipping just a little into your opening before dragging your finger back up to your clit. 

“Yeah?” Jason asked breathlessly. One of his hands had migrated to your now bare knee, the other pressing against his erection. 

“Oh, you can’t see can you?” You immediately shuffled your underwear down your legs, and again Jason slid them off and placed them on the arm of the couch. “Better?”

Jason looked over and groaned as you started circling your clit in earnest. You expected to be nervous knowing he was watching you, but each touch felt electric, and Jason’s close attention only ramped up the feeling. You touched yourself exactly the way you would if you were alone, and Jason seemed wrecked as he watched, grunting lightly when he noticed you growing wetter. Your fingers made a lewd sound when you slid two of them inside of you, and you moaned, wanting more but not wanting to break the moment, not wanting Jason to stop watching you. 

His mouth was slightly agape, and his gaze focused. You nudged him with your knee, and he looked up at you with a smile, before whispering, “you’re gorgeous.” 

“Touch yourself,” you sighed, a soft demand that Jason wasted no time meeting. He shifted and pulled his hard length free, his boxer briefs and sweats resting around his ankles. He pulled your legs back into his lap, with just enough room for him to stroke his cock as he massaged a hand along your calves. Your fingers found the right speed against your sensitive bundle of nerves again, alternating between circles and a flicking motion that had you cursing as you watched Jason’s first stroke of his cock. His head fell back against the couch with a groan, but his eyes stayed locked on your center. You inserted two fingers again, stroking against your inner wall for a few moments before you sat up. Jason’s hand stop moving as he watched you lean close to him. 

“Is everything ok—” 

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, your tongues meeting, as you used the hand that was just inside you to stroke his cock, making Jason gasp into your mouth. “Keep going,” you said softly, before laying back down and watching him stroke himself in earnest, the movement now slicker. 

“Can I help you,” Jason asked, clearly wanting to return the favor, and you nodded, taking his hand from your leg and sliding it under your shirt. He immediately understood and gently ran his thumb over one nipple and then the other, drawing soft whimpers from you, before tweaking them a little harder and making you cry out. 

“Fuck, Jase, I’m gonna—” He was watching so closely you knew he could tell without you saying anything, but he encouraged you anyway. 

“Please, baby, let go for me. I wanna see you.” 

With a little more pressure from your fingertips and Jason pinching gently at your nipples, you came hard, reaching for Jason with your free hand and digging your nails into his forearm. Your eyes closed as you came, but you could hear Jason’s hand picking up speed, and you opened them just in time to watch him come into his fist with a guttural moan. His t-shirt caught most of it, but between the cum and your wet spot you knew the couch was done-zo. That was a concern for later though because right now you just wanted to be close. You swung your legs off of Jason, reaching for a tissue from the coffee table to clean off his lap. Jason was still breathing hard, his chest heaving, and he looked surprised at you cleaning him up, a small smile on his face. You straddled his lap and kissed him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Sorry about the couch,” you said as you pulled away, and Jason laughed. “But that was very fun. I like watching you.”

“Problem for another time,” Jason said easily, his hands running up and down your thigh. “I like watching you more.” The two of you stared into each other’s eyes for a beat before you shivered, catching a chill because you were both naked from the waist down. “What do you say we quit Winnie the Pooh-ing it, and go upstairs to, ah,…watch each other some more?” 

You grinned, nodding, “I’ll meet you up there if you UberEats us some Taco Bell.” 

“Deal. Deal, deal, deal.”

[dailysudeikis]

Jason Sudeikis and a young fan at NY Liberty's games.

[secretnook]

this flopped on my tiktok so I thought I’d share it here because it took me so much time 🫶

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

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.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

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

[quarter-afterone]

TED LASSO • 3.06

Here's your onion ring pyramid and your freedom fries.

[thirstysudeikis]

well, hello handsome. 😉

[poppytuft]

bothers me very much when people use Ted getting upset telling the denver broncos story as like evidence that he could be queer instead of thinking about an old friend drowning in loneliness and saying to himself “i should’ve been there i should’ve supported him” is him reflecting on his traumas, as if this is not a man who heard his dad kill himself at age 16 and carries that guilt wherever he goes. he tells EVERYONE he loves that he supports them no matter what the struggle is and colin’s struggle was internal and invisible, WHICH SCARES HIM. he’s terrified by invisible struggle and he always has been BECAUSE of that childhood trauma. so TO ME…… it reads very media illiterate to take it that way, because Ted didn’t have some tender gay experience with his denver broncos friend in the 90s, he’s haunted by knowing there was someone he loved who went through something alone (even if it was silly and minor like watching the Super Bowl alone) and doesn’t want anyone to ever feel like that again, (especially if it’s something as big as being one of two gay men in a room in an industry that hates them) let alone one of his players on the team that he has worked so hard to turn into a family!!!!!!!!!! damn!!!!!

[araivallejo]

Back when season 3 had yet to begin filming, someone on Twitter posted a Tedbecca centric post and as per usual, an anti swooped in with his unrequested opinion. In this instance, his response was a gif of Steve Harvey saying, “OH HELL NAW!”

I saw the response and just shrugged because antis be antis. But the original poster recognized the name of the person as a crew member on Ted Lasso – 2nd Assistant Director Paul Morris. When a few others caught on he responded, clearly a little embarrassed, that he only wanted everyone to be happy, but that he wasn’t a Tedbecca fan.

I remember thinking at that time that was very strange. To see a member of the crew, no matter how high up the food chain they may be, post something either negative or positive towards this ship. Obviously this guy isn’t writing the scripts, but it seemed wildly unprofessional.

I think now the MO around the Ted Lasso team was Jason drilled into their heads since day 1 that Ted and Rebecca were platonic and that was it. They never saw it any other way. They messed around with the fakeouts because Jason Sudeikis is a fucking troll and you can see that in various interviews he’s done.

I’ve been clinging to the image of Brett Goldstein raising his eyebrows at a columnist’s smug dismissal of Ted and Rebecca’s romantic possibilities. Most likely that was an act too. I should have paid more attention to Jane “they are like brother and sister” Becker. Clearly that was what they were going for, but they couldn’t resist sticking that needle in and giving it a little twist at our expense.

There was a recent article posted that stated this has made some of us cower in shame for ever believing in love. I don’t disagree; it’s certainly made me think twice about starting another show that might feature any sense of romance, even though as mentioned that hasn’t really been an issue with me in the past. Still, I will not EVER apologize for believing in love for these two. There was nothing lazy about it. It would have been beautiful and if you never saw it that is fine. But don’t take it away from me. Something I also read in the past few days that I think has helped me tremendously is the fact that as of this past Wednesday (technically 12:15am for me) this show became OURS. It isn’t Jason’s or Brendan’s or anyone else’s on that staff. It is mine and yours and we can do with it whatever we want. I like that.

[calzone-d]

Jason’s always wearing hoodies in the summer heat, I wanna get him to wear T-shirts 😭 make him feel comfortable

i feel like everytime he mentions being hot you’d make a quip about how he shouldn’t wear so many layers and it always makes him chuckle lol

the way your eyes would be glued to his figure whenever he isn’t in a sweatshirt or hoodie would make his ego soar!! ogling his broad chest, thick biceps, any chest hair that peeks out. and when you’re home it’s such good leverage to pull him closer to you with 🫠

and running your hands !!! all over his body !!! underneath t-shirts!!! hhh

[dontyoufeelcalmer]

Go Lasso, Go Lasso, Go!

[thisismysecondrodeo]

Twitter Famous (Story Page)

Mutli-chapter Jason x Celeb!Reader fic I workshopped with @carmylasso based very loosely on Phoebe Bridges and Paul Mescal lol: 

Your PR manager always warned you to be careful with social media but it was your favorite way to interact with fans. So when someone asks you who your celebrity crush is well…things get a little out of hand.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: RPF, AFAB!reader, Celeb!Reader, graphic descriptions of p-in-v sex in chapter 6.5

ask me stuff! | story tag | Fic masterlist

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 & 6.5*

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

*6.5 is 100% smut and totally skippable for any of my non-explicit friends out there! Does not affect the plot at all

EXTRA

It's literally just smut

[dailysudeikis]

Jason Sudeikis and a fan at the Thundergong press conference in KC. - November 8, 2024.

[tedllasso]

I still don't get why jason sudeikis's mom is following you.

I don't know. maybe ask her. looool

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

TEMPORARY THINGS

Y/N lands a temp gig and Jason's kind of a hot mess *paused*

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - coming soon

story tag | talk to me + join the taglist

[looking-for-a-sword]

Once again I’m posting this from my side blog (@movrings). 

I really, really wanted to get this out before the next episode and I still have a few hours left! This video is for @defiescomprehensiongenerally for finding this beautiful song that just screams Tedbecca, for @existential-labrador for reminding me of it and of course for @cherish--these--times: 

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!! I hope we’ll get a lot of Tedbecca scenes today! Have a wonderful day! 🥰☀️🥳

[keila-escandell]

A little Keeley Jones gif to celebrate her and her queer journey on the show (even if it was badly done). 🌈💙💜