Jeremwood 21!

futureboy:

all done, pal! on ao3 here: picky

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“take. it. off.” + “come over here and make me” for braggwood if you don’t mind! i love ur stuff and sorry for the late prompt

jeremwood:

Oh wow thank you buddy!!!

This Is almost 800 words and I kind of love it so I hope you enjoy it too!!

Now, where the fuck–” Ryan mumbled to himself, scratching his head. He stood, staring into his closet, rifling through the clothes hanging there for what had to be the fifth or sixth time.

The thing is, Ryan distinctly remembers hanging up his jacket the night before. Or, at least, he thinks he does. He’d barely been able to strip off his clothes and climb under the covers before he’d completely passed out, so his memory was a bit fuzzy.

But, the fact still stands, the jacket should be there, hanging up exactly where he put it.  And, it clearly wasn’t.

So, either Ryan was losing it (which, yeah, okay maybe. But, like, he might not have been the youngest of the crew, but he wasn’t nearly old enough to be going senile yet. Check Geoff in a few more years, but Ryan was still doing pretty damn good, thanks), or one of the other chucklefucks he lived with was doing something and Ryan would be the victim.

And, Ryan really hated being a victim.

Giving one last forlorn look at his clothes, because maybe he missed something the other six times, he sighed and walked out of the bedroom, intending to get some answers. And, more importantly, get his fucking jacket back.

He’d been all over the penthouse, angrily questioning (or accusing, if he saw fit) each person he saw. Ryan was at his wits end on this mission and it was wearing down his already thin nerves.

Geoff had just laughed at him, and provided some insulting, and just overall unhelpful, comments. Ryan threatened bodily harm. Geoff laughed harder.

Jack had just  given him a look that Ryan could only assume translated roughly into, “ if you even think about blaming me for this shit, they’ll never find the body.” So, he changed tactics, asking her very politely whether she had any information or not. She didn’t, but suggested maybe checking in on the lads. Ryan thanked her and then thanked his lucky stars that he’d managed to avoid making her angry. He’d learned his lesson last time.

Michael and Gavin both seemed sketchy as fuck, and Ryan was, understandably, extremely suspicious. But, any further questioning, and any promise of retribution if they fucked with him, went in one ear and out the other, and Ryan was forced to give up that particular route for now.

He might have been a little desperate by the time he’d gotten to Jeremy, but he figured that was perfectly reasonable at this point. He just wanted his damn jacket. And, he really couldn’t have been held accountable for the way he tore out of the room as soon as Jeremy had given him a stupid, knowing smile and told him, “Dude, go ask Matt.”

So,  much like he did in front of his closet that morning where this whole debacle began, Ryan stood outside of Matt’s office (or what he’d claimed as his office. Really, it was another bedroom in the penthouse that Matt had installed more monitors than Ryan could ever imagine him needing, but, whatever, he wasn’t the hacker), completely ready to tear him a new one.

“Hey, Matt.” He called, pushing open the door. “You seen my jack-”  Ryan stopped abruptly, staring at Matt in confusion.

“Asked and answered, I guess.”

Because, yeah, obviously Matt has seen his jacket considering the fucker was sitting there, wearing it.

“Matt,” Ryan entered the room cautiously. “What the fuck?”

“Hey, Rye.” Matt greeted, absentmindedly raising his hand in a half-assed wave.

“Yeah, Hi.” Ryan waved back. “I repeat. What the fuck?”

“Hmm, what?” Matt finally paid attention to Ryan, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“My jacket.” Ryan explained, gesturing toward Matt’s chest. “Take it off.”

“Nah.”

“Nah?” Ryan parroted incredulously. “Take. It. Off.”

Matt clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Don’t really feel like it, sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry.  And, the smirk he was giving Ryan sure as fuck didn’t make him look sorry, either.

Ryan took a deep breath, letting it out in a very frustrated huff.

“Give me back my fucking jacket, Matthew.”

Matt’s smirk widened to a full out grin.

“Nope.” He said, popping  the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Come over here and make me. he challenged. “It’s big, warm, and it smells like you.”

And, well, Ryan didn’t exactly have a response to that. His brain was short-circuiting, and fuck, did that one sentence make Ryan’s heart want to beat out of his chest.

“I-” Ryan slammed his mouth shut and swallowed. “Y-yeah, well. Fine. Wear it.” he said, turning around and fleeing from the room. “But, I’m taking your hoodie.”

“Don’t get it dirty.” Matt called back to him, already going back to his work.

And, by God, was Ryan careful not to get blood on it.

Jeremwood requests?? I’m on it! Ryan who can talk to animals is constantly being harassed by his neighbor’s 3 cats who are determined to get them together. Jeremy is none the wiser to these antics between his cats and Ryan. He’s just glad they ‘get along’. the cats are of no actual help to Ryan’s love life but firmly believe they are

futureboy:

posted on ao3!!!! thank you anon!!!

amidst the strawberry leaves

the skirt is supposed to be this short with braggwood? :3c

jeremwood:

i hope this is what you had in mind, buddy

“Uh, Ryan?”

Ryan seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, meeting Matt’s eyes and was he blushing?

“You alright, dude?” Matt asked warily, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Ryan  wasn’t exactly the most normal  guy he knew, but he was acting especially weird that night.

“Y-yeah.” Ryan nodded quickly, too quickly, and smiled. Or, at least, Matt thinks it was a smile? He looked more like he was in pain, but benefit of the doubt or whatever. Ryan cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh, wh- uh, what’s with the outfit?”

“Oh!” Matt shimmied down the skirt a bit more, suddenly aware that he was standing in front of Ryan showing off way more skin than he was strictly comfortable with. His cheeks felt hot and he chuckled nervously. “Oh, uh, it was Mica’s idea. Said she wanted to go clubbing? Not really my scene but I figured it would save a lot of trouble if I just, uh, let her do what she wanted.”

Ryan didn’t say anything for a few moments, and Matt actually felt like he was in hell. He was going to fight Mica for this, holy shit. Or, realistically, he’s gonna get  white girl wasted later and cry to her about this and hope she doesn’t laugh at him too much. Which, of course she will. It’s Mica.

Finally, Ryan managed to speak up, asking, “it’s a, uh, a bit short, yeah?” in a shaky voice that had Matt thinking things. Impossible things. Because, yeah, Matt was oblivious at the best of times, but he could have sworn he caught Ryan staring at his legs which was…. Interesting.

Matt cursed at himself. Don’t be stupid, Matt. He’s probably just freaked out that his crewmember is suddenly wearing skimpy clothes around him. Nobody would want that.

“Yeah, Mica said it was a mini? The skirt is supposed to be this short.” Matt swayed his hips a little without thinking. “It’s a style? I guess. I don’t know, she said it would show off my legs, which is something I’m supposed to want?”

“It sure does!” Ryan choked out, his voice cracking on the statement. Ryan tugged at his collar, eyes flicking between Matt’s face and the skirt. “Hope you, uh, have fun.”

“Thanks, pal.” Matt said slowly. “I’ll, uh, try to.”

“you look pretty hot in plaid” jerembraggwood?

jeremwood:

[griffin mcelroy voice] my boys

Ryan frowned, trying to readjust the fabric bunched around his legs in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable and left him with at least a modicum of dignity.

He would be the first to admit that, although Geoff’s plans always seemed to be barely thought out, and, generally, more than a little ridiculous, they at least usually had some logic to them. Hell, most of the time, his plans go exactly how he said they would, leaving the rest of the crew to wonder how he manages it. So, Ryan had taken to (mostly) shutting up when Geoff came to them with another absurd idea and just trusting him not to let them down.

But, Jesus fuck, this one had to just be Geoff fucking with him, right? There was no way  Ryan needed to deck himself out in a fucking kilt and put on what was truly an embarrassingly bad Scottish accent as a cover. That’s too much, even for Geoff.

Still, Geoff insisted that he do this. If insisting meant threatening to throw Ryan out of the crew, and then threatening straight up bodily harm when that wasn’t enough. Ryan would say that was overkill, but to be perfectly honest, even that wasn’t very convincing.

The kilt, although not exactly what Ryan would consider his everyday wear, definitely had its perks.

Like, for one, the way that Matt blushed a deep red all the way to the tips of his ears when he caught sight of him. Or, how he’d barely been able to stutter out a compliment, the “Uh, you, uh, you look pretty hot in plaid. Like, really hot.” spoken in a mumbled daze as Matt continued to avoid eye contact.

Or, of course, Jeremy acting the exact opposite, refusing to pry his gaze away from Ryan’s bare legs, taking to whispering in Ryan’s ear just what he claimed the tartan material was doing for him.

After this job was done, he was going to kill Geoff for putting him up to this. 

He’d keep the kilt, though. Something told him that he was going to get some good use out of it.

“Who gave you that black eye?” + jeremwood? –ryanthepowerbottomguy

jeremwood:

Nick buddy pal my dude I hope you enjoy

“Hey, Rye.” Jeremy called out happily.

Ryan looked up from the show he was watching – some mindless soap opera in a language he didn’t actually understand but for some reason he was incredibly invested in – and smiled at his boyfriend walking in.

When Jeremy got closer, Ryan’s smile dropped and his own greeting died on his lips, rapidly replaced with a very concerned, “Jesus fucking Christ, Jeremy.”

Jeremy tried to give him a sheepish grin but the action only made him wince.

Ryan have a long-suffering sigh, rubbing a hand down his tired face. He patted the spot next to him expectantly.

“Alright, who gave you that black eye?

Before Jeremy could answer, Ryan caught sight of Gavin walking by quickly, sporting a similar bruise and dried blood trailing from what looked like a very broken nose.

Ryan looked back at Jeremy and sighed again, because, really, he should have guessed.

“What The fuck did you guys even do while you were out?”

“The less you know is probably for the better, honestly.” Jeremy shrugged.

Ryan didn’t have an argument for that one. Still…

“Y’know,” he started, “when they say an eye for an eye, they generally don’t mean it quite so literal.” Ryan laughed at Jeremy’s pout.

“Mistakes were made, alright? Mistakes. Were. Made.”