#obbbbsessed with jamie cause he's an asshole and that's what makes him stand out and his humility has made him average as a result

[discotechque]

oh, i think you’re standing on my left foot

pairing: jamie tartt/gn! reader word count: 915 warnings: allusions to nsfw requested: no

establishing myself as a ted lasso fan and s2 jamie tartt ... i miss you and your mess!!!

if there's one thing you learned during your time tethered with jamie is that there are no good relationships, only boring ones.

Jamie watches you like prey. It’s the only real way to subtly attract what he wants. Lingering glances, a trailing hand, circling around your frame. To be wanted is to be hunted, you've learned that he is not interested in things that don't give chase.

It's a motivation, after all, a purpose that keeps your relationship relatively stable. You are caught within his bite, punctured right through your chest and stiches slowly pulling apart. He sews them back up through fleeting meaningless affection. If neither of you had that, this would have surely failed long ago.

So, you're not particularly bothered at his sudden departure from Richmond to Manchester. His physical presence comes without attachments and dialogue is exchanged through some messages. His appearance on a dating show wasn't anything of note. There's not enough shame in him to weigh a full ounce an even that description is grossly generous. You didn't mind him crawling back into your lap after his status had been stripped for him and he was a liability only you could handle.

You are not jaded by his worst qualities, it's something you've learned to embrace over short moments. Realistic is a term that sits well as coffee pours from his sponsored Keurig. It already looks dent and worn despite being a newer model, obvious marks of his most epic battle of configuring basic technology. The machine spurred to life only after a second and doesn't even fill your cup halfway. It's a shame because Jaime only buys shitty holiday creamers, lured by their supposed seasonal exclusivity.

He's forced you to bring your own, the splash of French vanilla hardly does anything to increase volume. Imposed domesticity, is there anything more romantic than that? Some would argue that's all this arrangement is.

"You're up early, eh?" His voice doesn't spark your attention.

The patting of his feet trickles alongside him as he treks downstairs. This house is fraught with empty crevices that echo any sound that grazes their walls. The sound of a spoon swilling in your cup is deafening, it's somewhere around seven in the morning. Jaime doesn't keep any clocks near him—your guess is purely intuitive, and this attempt of an early departure has gone unnoticed.

His arm slips past your waist and plants itself against the marble counter, a chaste kiss pressed against your collarbone follows in quick succession. He's nothing if not a man composed of unrecognized rhythm. "Gettin' real sick of me already?"

His canines lightly dig into your shoulder, teasing teeth marks that will somehow inevitably find themselves in planned positions later on. Jaime takes time with his hunt, what he's struck down is his alone. You don't altogether mind the implications of it.

His bare pelvis grazes against your backside but he's still soft. The grasp he's kept on your waist is tender alike to his tone. He's reeling you in for more. "Don't ask stupid questions. Your sudden modesty isn't doing you any favors."

Modesty is an exaggeration. If you hadn't chosen dramatics, you would have settled on slim dignity.

His hair tickles the back of your neck, face resting against the dip in your shoulder. "Least, I didn' beg you to stay. What an absolute sad sack of shit I would be." He would have done so though; you don't dare to say it out loud. Instead, a complacent grin rises upon your lips as you turn within his hold.

He would've stuttered through some messy halfhearted apology that only concerned itself with fibs if you hadn't taken him back after everything. You wonder if he would've resorted to some insincere confession. I really like you; the words would be chewed out into sticky syllables, molasses coating each one.

The thought would be so amusing if you didn't know that in another life, it would be true.

"The day Jamie Tartt has to beg to get his way will be when hell in unleashed."

Your hands languidly wrap around his neck, fingers loosing connecting near his upper back. Scratching a trail along his clothed spine and he hums in affirmation. Jaime shuts his eyes, keeping his hands on you and shallowly swaying.

"D'ya always have to speak so melodramatic?" Unsubtly, his grasp manages to travel down your waist. Small squeezes encouraging you to find a seat on his marble countertops. "Nothin' like oh yeah, Jamie, I think ya so smart and I want your cock."

His suggestions are something you often resist at first.

"You ever hear me say cock in this lifetime and I want you to hire a militia firing squad to go at me. Promise me that."

His first curls up nearly your shoulder, it's gone through a hesitantly travel you've only been acutely aware of. There's an instinct for Jamie to cup your face, you can sense his conflict over such an insignificant action. "I'm not good on promises, love."

"Yeah," his calloused fingers return to dig into your thighs. They aide you in finding some purchase on the cramped enclosure. In the meanwhile, you trail light pecks along his jaw. "I'm aware."

He wants you this morning, roaming down the length of your frame with precision. Just like he did last night and just like all the other nights where you'll stumble into his home with him half bruised. Somehow, he's been made the epitome of temptation in your eyes. You don't think prey often wish to be devoured.

It doesn't matter. You'll indulge him this once.