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stillnotyourmusebitch · 2 months

Note

Feel free to ignore! Sinner!Adam x GN!Reader where Adam sucks up his pride, goes to the hotel, and although practically nobody wants him there, Charlie gives him a chance for redemption and puts Reader in charge of watching over him and helping him adjust because they were mostly neutral with him. So maybe just some moments of them bonding and actually becoming close?

OH MY GODS!!! I am so sorry this took me so damn long. I really wanted to make this fic the best it could be. I really hope you like it. Again I feel like I might have slighlty strayed for the prompt but I really do hope it is what you wanted Nonnie

The small things - Sinner!Adam x GN!reader

Warnings Angst-Hurt/comfort-fluff

When Adam woke up in a shit stained back alley of Hell, oh how he screamed an extremely blasphemous bloody murder for hours upon hours upon . . . well you get the idea. The other demons that happened to be walking past carried on by unphased. Yes, some did take a sneak peek of the newly fallen angel throwing a massive child-like tantrum, but most didn’t give a rat’s ass about what he was going through. This is Hell after all, everybody’s got problems.

Adam finally calmed down enough to crawl out of the rancid gutter. It took a moment for him to gain his bearings, seeming to have found himself in the pride ring. Which meant he was in the same rung of hell as that fucking hotel. Whoever's idea of this sick fucking joke was going to get ripped a new one. He shouldn’t be here. Why was he here?

He doesn’t remember walking but soon he found himself in front of the shadow of a much larger and grander looking Hazbin Hotel.

He seemed to snap back to himself. Why the fuck did he subconsciously walk to the threshold of the one place that would most likely give him his second death on the spot? But that doesn’t stop him from raising a fist and knocking obnoxiously loud. He’d been in Hell for all of about 5 hours now and it was hard to tell what time of day it was down here without a watch. He didn’t have jack shit on him when he woke up, just a grubby, ripped up pair of sweats.

The door finally opened up to Lucifer’s yawning brat. Her eyes went wide seeing him there.

“Adam?” She was more confused than he had been as to why he was down here, let alone in demon form. “What. What are you doing here? I mean you’re, you, but you’re not. I mean why are you . . .” Charlie stumbled over her words.

Vaggie arrived behind her while she was stammering. It took a split second for her to knock him on his ass, her angelic spear aimed at his throat.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t end your worthless life again right here and now.” She growled out.

“Hey, Woah now. I mean no harm this time honest. I’m just as confused as you are as to why the fuck I ended up here but I have nowhere else to go and . . .” Adam shuffled further away for the spear’s tip.

“Vaggie stop. Let’s just talk about this.” Charlie tried to shimmy in front of her girlfriend. “I know he is the main reason for so many very bad things but we need to take a breather. Look, it’s 3am and we won’t be thinking straight at a time like this. So let’s put a pin in this extremely weird conversation for now. We can put him up in a room on the second floor and then take this all from the top in the morning.”

“I don’t know about this.” Vaggie side eyes Adam but he can see her very slowly caving to Charlie. “UGH! Fine. He can stay for one night. Just one but as soon as we figure out what is going on he is out on his ass.”

Charlie squeezes her partner in a tight hug before turning and holding out a hand towards Adam. He glares at it for a moment before grabbing it. She hauls him back to his feet and shows him inside. His eyes flick all around the lobby area, clocking a bar on the far left, the elevators to the right and of course a grand staircase up to the first floor. He was shown to his room on the second floor. Charlie chose to take the elevator, Vaggie standing firmly in between them, her hands clenching around the shaft of her spear. Adam shuffled as far to the side as possible he knows about the short temper of his exorcists, even the ex-ones.

“Here we are 224.” She opened the door, flicking on the light switch and letting Adam walk in. “You’ll find towels in the bathroom and fresh sheets already on the bed. Just please wait until someone comes to collect you in the morning. Now get some sleep, lord knows we are gonna need it.” She said the last part more to herself as she left with Vaggie.

Adam let out a deflated sigh, he wasn’t sure that he would get any sleep, no matter how exhausted he felt. So, he went to look at the ensuite, maybe taking a shower would help put him in a sleepier state, true to her word clean red towels were waiting on the counter by the sink. Adam stripped and threw the grubby garments he’d had on into the corner of the room.

He turned the shower up high and climbed into the scolding spray. As the water rained down his body, only then did he see how his heavenly body had really changed into this disgusting new demonic form. Hatred bubbled beneath the surface of the dull grey-coloured skin, he scrubbed as hard as possible in a vain attempt to try and find the person he was under all this ‘fakery’. He still held onto the belief that this was an incredibly vivid nightmare and he was going to wake up safe and sound in his plush king-sized bed in heaven.

He can’t be a demon.

He wasn’t a sinner; he was a winner. This had to be all a lie. It just had to. He wanted to scream, cry or something. Everything was getting to be too much. Turning off the water he stepped out into the steam-filled room and stared at the large fogged over mirror above the sink. Adam knew when he wiped away the condensation he would see himself.

He knew he had to talk himself into looking at what he’d become.

‘Come on. You can do this. Stop being such a fuckin pussy.’

Slowly he raised his left hand and wiped at the mirror.

‘Fuck’

There staring back at him was his worst nightmare. Dark brown horns curled out of his skull through damp blackened hair clinging to his scalp. His skin now he looked closer It was really more of a short fur coating than human skin. His teeth were razor sharp and his tongue was yellow. He was slightly rounder than he was before, his feet were now coven hoofs. How he didn’t clock this fact before scared him slightly but the one thing that stuck out to him the most were his eyes. He blinked a few times but nothing changed.

He still had those golden irises that heaven gifted him.

Adam stood and stared.

He was an abomination. There was no removing this mask at the end of a long day.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Shame gushing to the surface. He angrily swiped at the tears trying to stop them at the source. He was a man. They don’t cry or show emotion. They bottle it up inside or channel it into something else. Yet here was crying like a hormonal broad.

He blindly grabs for a towel, bunching it up in his dark clawed fingers and screaming into the fabric.

He let everything out. Screaming out all his hatred, pain and anguish until his throat hurt from the exertion. The towel got thrown into the corner. Switching the bathroom light off, he walked slowly over to the soft looking bed and crawled under the covers. He didn’t care that he hadn’t dried himself off properly, full body exhaustion had taken hold and he welcomed the dreamless sleep that often always followed.

----

When the knock came what felt like mere minutes after he had passed out. He slowly sat up in the bed, the covers pooling around his hips. He wiped the partially dried drool off his chin, blinking a few times before acknowledging the person knocking

“Whatduyawant?” he grumbled.

“You decent?” the voice behind the door was not one he recognised.

“Yeah sure, whatever.” He yawned and stretched out his back. The door opened and in walked a sinner that Adam definitely didn’t remember from the final battle at the old hotel. They held a clean pair of clothes and a small set of toiletries that was clearly for him.

“Afternoon. Charlie said to let you sleep in a bit.” You seemed completely unphased by the half-naked demon before you. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” You stood at the end of the bed.

“Urm, good I guess.” Adam reaches out for the clothes you have.

“Well, good news is you ain’t getting thrown out just yet.” You drop the clothes into his hands and went to put the toiletries in the ensuite.

“And the bad news is?” He tugs on the clean pants. You turn and lean against the door frame. Your eyes flick up and down before smirking.

“Bad news is I’ve been stuck with babysitting your ass.” You push yourself off the frame with your hip. “So, I’m setting ground rules right here and now. You are only allowed to stay here if you play ball. Nobody wants to deal with your egotistical bullshit. So if you piss me off, I’ll go straight to Charlie. If you threaten anybody, I go straight to Vaggie and if you harass any of the other patrons. I will go and find Niffty because I’m sure she will be able to get her point across. Do you understand?” You stand tall with your arms crossed over your chest.

Adam is stunned by your strictness but finds himself nodding. Not trusting his words right now.

“Good. Now get yourself ready there is an activity planned for 3:15pm.” You walk away. “Oh and Adam. I want you to at least try okay?” You throw a soft smile back at him before leaving him to finish getting ready.

Adam sat on the edge of the bed staring at the closed door. Something inside him sparked briefly. He pulled on his shirt. ‘What the hell was that?’ He thought to himself.

-----

It had been 4 weeks since Adam had shown up at the hotel despite this stupid buddy system that Charlie had in place. Adam was kinda glad he was stuck with you. Something about your snarky attitude, the fact you always called him out when he brags about being who he was before but most of all the very rare soft acts of kindness towards him.

He didn’t realise it yet but you actually made him want to do better. He wants to be better and if that gave him a chance of gaining his wings back then he was sure as hell gonna try.

Adam hadn’t realised that he was doing good deeds at first. But seeing Charlie beam brightly when he would raise a hand before talking in the group sessions or the way he held the door for other patrons before heading off to do what he pleased.

Adam was really trying. But you knew that if you brought it up he would immediately call bullshit. Then would act out just to reclaim his cool guy image.

“Hey wait up,” Adam called out as the elevator doors started sliding shut. You held out a hand reopening the doors so he could hop in and ride up to the second floor with you. “Thanks.” He leans against the back wall. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He handed you a bag with something wrapped up in a lot of toilet paper.

“Gee, thanks.” The look on your face made Adam laugh.

“It’s not whatcha think it is. Just a little something to thank you for putting up with my miserable ass.” The Elevator chimed on the second floor. “After you.” He let you walk out first before following. “Are you gonna open it?”

The look on his face was a mix of excitement and worry. You decided to humour him. Reaching in you grabbed the poorly wrapped gift. He took the bag off you so you could peel off the wads of toilet paper.

It was a coffee mug.

“Since I accidently broke your favourite mug a few days ago. I thought I should get you a replacement.” His fingers crumpled the handles of the bag as he waited for any sort of reaction to the gift.

You turned the mug over to see the words on the side better.

‘I work with absolute legends’ was written on the side surrounded by little black stars. Your thumb traced a star or two. Still staring at the present in hand you felt a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Not knowing how else to thank him. You rushed forward and embraced him tightly. Making sure not to drop your present.

“I take it you like it?” He drops the bag and folds his arms around you.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You rested your forehead against his shoulder. Neither one of you is willing to break the hug first.

“I had to do something. You looked so sad when I broke it. That didn’t sit right with me. Charlie explained that I was feeling guilt and . . .”

You pull away slightly to look at him.

“Adam. The first man Adam, went to consult ‘Miss Feels-too-much’ about an issue completely unprompted!?”

Adam dropped his arms and started getting all defensive again.

“Why’d ya gotta say it that way?” He whined. You pull him back in for another hug which he willingly allows.

“Sorry big guy. I’m just really impressed is all. You have come a long way in such a short time. I’m so proud of you.” You squeezed tightly before letting him go. “I could actually go for a coffee right now. Good thing I got a brand new mug to drink from.”

He groans at your cheesy words before picking up the bag off the floor he hooks an arm around your neck and pulls you along back into the elevator to go and get that drink.

-----

This fic became longer than I thought it would.

My Ask box is still open if anyone else has a Sinner!Adam prompts they want to send in.

#jamie writes #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin adam #gender neutral reader #sinner!adam #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #prompt filled #my fic #sorry this took so long

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sortofanobsession · 3 months

Note

could you maybe write a fic where Jamie gets sick at an away game— whether it be anxiety, food poisoning, flu, etc. Maybe he sicks up in the middle of the night and Dani or Sam (I imagine they room together and are best friends) go get Roy and he’s very very sweet in his own Roy way to Jamie and then the next day on the bus Jamie still doesn’t feel good so he snuggles into Roy in the back of the bus?

I literally love your work so much and would absolutely die if you wrote this (plus my birthday is coming up (Jan 25th) so this would be so epic to read then))

Happy Early Birthday, Anon!

Here is worried Roy Kent, sick and confused Jamie, amused Keeley, #1 nurse Phoebe, and well, everyone else. Hope you like it.

A/N: I'm not a medical expert. I have asthma so I know a few things about raspatory issues. But this might not be the most accurate. And it's unbeta read, as usual.

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Ao3

Pairing: RoyJamie

word count: 4k+

Content warning: Illness, pneumonia, fever, coughing, vomiting (from coughing), panic, angst, sleep depravation, fear, swearing/cursing/cussing.

Fever in the Night

Roy Kent growls at the knock that would have woken him up if he had been asleep. He’d been reading and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

“Better be fucking dying,” He grumbles as he opens the door. “What?” he snaps at Sam Obisanya.

“Sorry, Coach,” Sam nervously says. “But it’s Jamie.”

And that has Roy moving before his tired brain catches up. He almost forgets to grab his room key and phone, but he isn't a fucking idiot, so he grabs them. Sam relaxes a tiny bit that Roy didn't argue or even swear as much as Sam had expected for it being 1 a.m. Roy feels uneasy when he looks up to see Dani Rojas and Jeff Goodman in the hall, both in the open door of the room Sam and Jamie shared. The four players have adjoining rooms.

“What about Jamie?” Roy finally asks as he follows Sam.

“He's very sick,” a worried Dani Rojas says. Jeff nods.

“Okay,” Roy says. He was tempted to ask them why the fuck they woke him and not the team’s doctor, but it was about Jamie Tartt. He'd be pissed if they didn't. He cares about Jamie. And he shoves that thought aside because he really shouldn't think like that. And Roy forgets it completely when he gets one look at Jamie. Jamie’s pale. His stupid fucking hair is sweat drenched and sticking to his face.

“You two, out,” he says to Dani and Jeff by the door.

“But-” Dani starts, but Roy glares. Jeff was smart enough to be back in his own room already.

“You have a fucking match, with or without Tartt, so fucking sleep. He'll be fucking fine.”

The coach weighs his options before handing Sam his own room key. “You fucking too.”

“But coach-”

“Not going to fucking repeat it,” he snaps.

“What about you?”

“Don't fucking argue.”

“Sorry, coach,” Sam says, but he hasn't moved. The room key and his phone gripped right in his hands.

“I’ll call the physio team, now fucking go.”

Sam nods and silently leaves. Roy sighs once the doors are closed. As tired as he is, his fucking heart is pounding. Something is wrong with Jamie Tartt. And that twists something inside the gaffer. And despite the protest in his knee, he is kneeling down beside Jamie to get a good look at him. He should call the physio team. He needs the team’s doctor. Roy might know more than your average bloke when it comes to health, thanks to his sister, but he's no bloody expert. But he needs a bit more information first. He reaches up and carefully moves the hair out of Jamie's face.

“Fucking hell,” he says when just his fingertips can feel the heat of a fever. Just to be sure, he places his palm on Jamie's forehead. And he squashes down whatever feeling is stirred up by how the sick striker shivers at the contact but still leans into it.

“Fucking burning up,” Roy mutters to himself.

He winces at the pain in his knee as he stands up. He tucks Jamie's blankets tighter around him. The gaffer is scrolling through his contacts to find the one he needs. He flips the light on in the ensuite and talks to the team's doctor as he grabs a flannel and wets it. As he hangs up the phone, he sets the damp cloth on Jamie's forehead. That's when the player’s eyes snap open. Confusion, followed by panic, flashed across the striker’s face. Because in Jamie's mind, if Roy Kent is there, then Jamie is running late for something, and Roy is probably pissed at him. Jamie hates when Roy is pissed at him. Jamie doesn't like disappointing Roy.

“Easy, Tartt,” Roy says. “Fucking stay put.” Roy puts the fallen flannel back in place. “Try and relax.”

And as anxious as Jamie is, a command from Roy Kent is one that Jamie will follow.

“Roy?” Jamie manages to ask. And the coach hates how tired, weak, and utterly confused Jamie seems.

Before Roy can say anything else, a knock at the door makes Jamie flinch. Without thinking, Roy smoothes the younger man’s hair back in an attempt to calm him as he gets up. Roy’s always been better at physical gestures than words. And if that's what was needed to keep Tartt from panicking or hurting himself, well, then that was a no fucking brainer. He was going to fucking do it.

He lets the doctor into the room and silently hovers as the doctor deals with the striker.

“Any other player showing symptoms?” the doctor asks the gaffer.

“Fuck if I know, Obisanya, Rojas, and Goodman just seemed fucking worried. Are we going to have a fucking team tomorrow?”

“Guess we will see in the morning,” the doctor says. Roy gets a rundown on what needs to be done for Jamie. The coach leans his head against the cool wood of the door when he closes it behind the doctor.

“Where's Sam?” Jamie asks, finally realizing that his roommate’s gone. And that concerns Roy a bit. Jamie is one of his most observant players. On and off the pitch, he tends to keep track of who is around him and where his mates are. He likes knowing where the people he cares about are. He was just noticing Sam’s absence now, which wasn’t a good sign.

“Sent him off to get some fucking sleep,” Roy says. Several things had been dropped off at the room by either the physio team or hotel staff. Roy had been focused on the doctor and Jamie when it had happened. The gaffer hands the player a bottle of water. Jamie takes it without argument.

“Where?” Jamie glanced at Sam's empty bed. Roy rolls his eyes.

“My room,” Roy answers, and that seems to surprise Jamie. Before the player can comment on the decision, Roy adds, “Not like I'm fucking using it.” And Roy regrets saying it at the way Jamie gets a sad look on his face. “It's fucking fine, Tartt. My fucking choice.”

“But-”

“But someone needs to make sure you fucking rest.”

And Jamie hates that because he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone.

“You don't need to-”

“Already fucking decided,” Roy states. “Just try and fucking sleep.”

Roy is woken up by violent coughing, and he is out of bed without thinking. Helping raise Phoebe had him trained to be a light sleeper at times like these. Roy follows the sound to the loo. He knocks on the closed door. He didn't know if Jamie had coughed so hard he made himself vomit or vice versa. But from what he could hear, it was painfully obvious one of the two had occurred. The gaffer is glad to find the door unlocked and lets himself in. Jamie tries to argue and kick him out, but he is tired and shaking and can barely move. And that has something in Roy breaking.

“Not fucking going anywhere, Tartt,” Roy says. As he grabs some water and sits beside Jamie. Jamie accepts the glass if only to rinse his mouth out. Roy can hear the way Jamie's lungs struggle, and that has Roy struggling not to panic. But he manages. He gets Jamie calmed down, cleaned up, and back in bed. Roy ends up texting his sister, who calls him. She asks him if Jamie has been sick recently, but then he remembers what Jamie had told him during training. He'd nearly choked to death at Ola’s over a joke one of the other idiots had told him. And fuck, Jamie couldn't catch a break. His sister tells him it sounds like aspiration pneumonia to her. He should have the doctor double-check, but hopefully, Jamie being a fit footballer will mean he can fight it off without too much trouble. He would need to keep a close eye on him. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to be admitted to hospital. And that had Roy’s blood running cold. A cold and a fucking joke. He sent a message to the physio team and went back to Jamie.

The only good thing was that pneumonia wasn't inherently contagious. The cold Jamie had before it might be, but it was unlikely to take Sam, Dani, or Jeff out of the game. Jamie wouldn't be leaving the hotel the next morning. Roy really dreaded the idea, but he was already hitting the number on his phone. Keeley would have a lot to say about this at some point. She’d probably see right through him and know he cares more than he should for just being Jamie’s coach. But he needed help, and he knew Jamie trusted Keeley as much as Roy did.

“Better be good, Roy,” Keeley says. She was clearly annoyed and not a fan of being woken at nearly 4 in the morning.

“Fucking opposite, it's very fucking bad,” he says, and he sounds it. And she knows if Roy is that upset, it means one of three people was in a bad state. It must be Roy's sister, his niece, or Jamie Tartt. Roy and Jamie might both be her exes, but she knew them well enough to know that they were both idiots in love, just neither of them would admit it. And since it's an away match, it probably meant Jamie was the one having issues.

“What's wrong? What happened?” She says, all annoyance gone and completely awake. “Is Jamie all right?”

Roy tells her what has happened since Sam knocked on his door. She tells him to keep doing what he's doing. She’ll stay with Jamie during the match.

“Just let me text Rebecca, and I’ll be there,” Keeley tells him. Roy Kent doesn't argue.

Roy is an anxious fucking mess throughout the whole match. He does his job. The team does theirs, but everyone feels like there is a gaping hole in the lineup. Even if they physically have a full team, thanks to Roberts. But Isaac had told them to win it for Jamie, and the fucking lads did. That would at least make Jamie feel better about having missed it. Colin Hughes and Dani Rojas had Sky Sports doing replays of goals. And post-game interviews had been more about Tartt than one would think for a game he wasn't in. Roy was just glad he’d had Jamie give Georgie a heads-up that he was sick before he left for the match. The striker listened to his mum as an amused Keeley kicked Roy out of the room.

The team didn't even ask Roy if he was going out to celebrate the win. The gaffer hadn't even hung back for the bus. He didn't even change his clothes. He let Nathan Shelley to handle the press. He caught a ride back to the hotel, annoyed by the chatty driver, but he was cognizant enough to not verbally eviscerate the guy. He was just doing his job. Tipped the guy well. Not his fault Roy was a shit company.

“You weren't joking,” Keeley grinned when she opened the door for Roy. Her voice was quiet.

“Said I'd be back after the match,” he stated as he tossed his jacket over a chair in the room. His tone matches hers. “How is he?”

“Out cold. Whatever the new doctor gave him must be working.”

Roy hummed. The hotel’s concierge had arranged for a local doctor to treat Jamie so the physio team could focus on the match. And Roy didn't even mind the outrageous fee that was going to cost them. He'd throw all the money he had at it, even though he knew Rebecca Welton would cover it in a heartbeat. She cared deeply for her team these days. And Roy could respect that. He did respect that about his boss. He glanced at the muted TV as Sky Sports blathered on about the game. Roy was glad it was silent. He could ignore the bullshit commentary on his coaching. They won. That's all that fucking mattered.

“You need to leave?” Roy asked at the way Keeley's phone kept going off.

“Maybe to take a few calls. Seems the internet is not satisfied with the team's explanation of Jamie's absence.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Roy says as he moves to check on Jamie himself.

“You would say that,” Keeley grins. “But it's my job to answer it. I'm his publicist, after all.”

“Fair,” Roy states, but he doesn't look at her. His eyes are locked on Jamie. He doesn't see the knowing look on Keeley's face.

“Team should be here soon,” she tells him as she grabs her bag. “Text me if you need me.”

Roy grunts and nods. He finally looks up at her.

“Doctor said he’ll be back up in a few days,” she assures him. “Bus ride might suck, but we'll manage.”

After she leaves, Roy turns off the TV. He was glad he and Sam had switched rooms. He silently changes into more comfortable clothes and pulls a chair up next to the bed. He picks up the book he had been reading. He didn't get very far in his book. He was too distracted by the wheezing sound coming from Jamie. He knew the team was back as the noise level in the hall increased. He was about to go out and tell them all to shut the fuck up when someone beat him to it. There was a quiet knock on the door.

He opens it to find Nathan Shelley.

“How is he?” the assistant coach asks.

“Sleeping, but it's not fucking great,” he tells him.

“Think he’ll be able to travel?” Nate asks.

“Can't fucking leave him here,” Roy says.

“That's true, but it won't make him worse, will it?”

“Not much to fucking do about it.”

Roy had bought Keeley a ticket back so she could meet them when they got back. She complained, but he was ordering her around, but she didn't really mean it. They were both worried about Jamie. And if she could help ease his pain after a long trip, then she would.

Roy had triple-checked that he had everything packed up for both himself and Jamie. Dani and Jeff had taken their stuff down so Roy could focus on getting Jamie up and moving. No one says anything, but they watch curiously as Roy leads a pale Jamie to the far back of the bus. The players exchanged worried looks. It was going to be a long, tense ride back to Richmond.

The bus was quiet, as it usually is during these late-night trips, but this was an uneasy silence. The entire bus would go painfully tense every time Jamie coughed.

They were on the road for half an hour when Roy noticed Jamie was shaking. Roy couldn't imagine how shitty the striker must feel. Fever-induced chill on a fucking crowded bus.

Jamie's eyes snap to his when Roy feels the ill man’s forehead for what feels like the millionth time.

“You okay?” Roy asks quietly.

“Cold,” Jamie says. And Roy had already figured that out by the way Jamie not only avoided the cold glass of the window but also the way Jamie sort of chased the warmth of Roy's hand as he pulled away. How Jamie could be burning up but shivering cold had Roy thinking this was a terrible idea. He should have made better arrangements for Jamie. He should have extended their stay at the hotel, no matter the price, and sent the team back without them. Sure, there would be a lot of questions he didn't even want to answer to himself, let alone out loud, but he regrets not doing it. For Jamie's health and safety. Jamie was already wrapped in his usual blanket, a new one Keeley had given him, and Jamie's jacket. But it didn't seem to be enough.

Roy hummed.

Jamie's tired eyes watched as Roy dug through the bag he had with him. First, he makes Jamie take more meds. Jamie is vaguely aware of the quiet buzzing alarm on Roy’s phone. As he takes the meds, he sees Roy pull out a jumper from his bag. Roy kept it with him on trips like these in case a hotel or bus had a busted heater, and he needed extra layers. Jamie considers arguing, but he is just too exhausted to actually do it when Roy helps him out of his jacket and into the jumper. Instead of Jamie’s jacket, Roy's much thicker leather jacket, still warm from Roy wearing it, is wrapped around the striker. Jamie almost cries because it's warm and it smells like Roy, and it's overwhelmingly comforting to his fever-muddled mind. Roy must notice the glassy look in Jamie's already bloodshot eyes because without hesitation or protest, even at the odd looks from a few people around them, Roy shifts them both. Roy moves so he can lean against the window with Jamie's back to his chest. One foot on the floor to brace them both. And Jamie manages to get a bit more air than he had bundled up in the window seat. Roy was fucking warm, and Jamie just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep in his lap, but his lungs hurt, and he could barely breathe as is. Thankfully, the bench at the back of the bus they were on was a bit longer than the normal seats, and Roy could stretch his knee out. They still had nearly 5 hours on the bus. Jamie’s eyelids felt heavy when Roy pulled the blankets back around him. The violent chills finally eased a bit. Jamie didn't know if it was from the meds or how blissfully warm Roy fucking Kent was, but he felt just a tiny bit more human.

“Quit fighting it and fucking sleep, Tartt,” Roy said. Jamie chuckles, but it turns into a wheezing cough that earns concerned luck from the teammates who are sitting nearby. The striker doesn't see the way Roy silently waves them off, too distracted by the way Roy’s arm holds him tight, a hand on his chest to keep him from falling to the floor. Roy's other hand starts rubbing Jamie's back until he can pull an exhausted Jamie back against his chest.

“Just try and breathe, Jamie,” Roy's voice is in his ear, sending a shiver down Jamie’s spine. “Let the medicine work. Nothing else matters. Just fucking breathe.”

Jamie whines slightly because all he wants to do is tuck his face in Roy's next and probably cry.

Roy Kent’s heart fucking shattered at the weak noise that Jamie makes, and he can't take it. He wraps his arms as tight around Jamie as he dares with how much the striker is already struggling to breathe. And he plants a kiss on Jamie's temple.

“It's okay, Jamie,” the older man assures. “I've got you.” And that seems to do the trick because Jamie’s hands wrap around Roy's wrist. So the coach adds, “I'm not going anywhere.” And Roy starts quietly telling Jamie about his first time in Newcastle as a kid when he’d been training in Sunderland. His hushed words continue until Jamie is fast asleep against him.

About halfway through the trip, Coach Beard comes to check on them. He isn't surprised that Jamie is passed out. Nor is he shocked to find Roy Kent wide awake. The gaffer might be exhausted, and on night two, he has no sleep, but he is wide awake. Beard hands him a water bottle. One Roy accepts because he was sort of trapped where he is.

“You good?” Beard asks. Roy nods because as painfully asleep his leg might be, and as achy his bad knee is, he'd endure it if it meant Jamie slept. Jamie had spent much of the first hour of the trip trying to get comfortable. The fact he had slept long enough for Roy to get sore was good.

“Fucking fine,” Roy grumbles.

“You sure?” Nate asks when he appears over Beard’s shoulder. “We could help you-”

He is cut off by a low growl from Roy. “You fucking wake him, and you’ll be picking your teeth up out the aisle.”

“Right, yeah, got it,” Nate says before disappearing, presumably back to his seat. Beard just nods and hands him the book Roy had set aside.

Roy can feel the rattle in Jamie's lungs worsening as the meds wear off, and Jamie starts to wake up. Thankfully, they were only about 45 minutes out from the dog track now.

Roy gently shushes him as a bump in the road jostles everyone on board, earning a pained whine from the ill man. “It's okay, Jamie,” Roy tells him. “Nearly there, then we can go home and get you in bed.”

And it's like a knife in Roy's heart that Jamie is too tired and sick to make a snippy comeback or stupid innuendo. Like all the humor and joy was being drained from the player. And Roy hated it. As much as he acted annoyed or put out by Jamie, he fucking adored him. Wouldn't change the man Jamie had grown into for the fucking world.

On the contrary, he'd fucking fight anyone that doubted Jamie. Because Roy Kent was fucking gone on Jamie Tartt. The arrogant prick stole his heart at some point, and Roy hadn't even fucking noticed. His sister and Keeley were never going to let him live this down. And he'd endure it as long as Jamie was okay.

Jamie worried as he watched how Roy had to grip the seats as they exited the bus. Roy is slower than usual. Jamie might be sick, but he knew Roy. He could identify Roy while blindfolded by footsteps alone. The slight limp and the way Roy leans heavily on the railing with each step down makes Jamie’s brows furrow.

“Fucking stop it,” Roy says when his eyes meet Jamie's.

“Your knee-”

“Is fucking fantastic. You going to just fucking stand there or what?”

Keeley's laugh has Jamie looking behind him.

“You two are a sight,” she grins.

“Did you-”

“Course I did, Roy-o,” she smiles. “Let's get you home, babe,” she says to Jamie, and he is too tired and confused to argue. He nearly panics when he notices Will helping Roy along, but Keeley's warm hand pats Jamie’s chest. “He's okay, just a long ride,” Keeley tells him. “Telling either of you not to worry is a waste, but I can tell you, he doesn't regret it. Now, in you go.” She helps him into Roy’s G-Wagon with little argument. He is surprised when Roy gets in the back beside him, and Keeley gets behind the wheel. Roy doesn't often let others drive his car. But then again, this is Keeley.

“Jamie?” The striker's eyes snap up and he meets Keeley’s in the rearview mirror before Keeley looks away to meet Roy’s.

“Hmm?”

“She asked if you were fucking hungry,” Roy tells him, and the worried look on Roy's face has a familiar feeling in Jamie's gut returning.

“I'm knackered more than anything,” Jamie says.

“I get that,” Keeley says. “Be home soon.”

Jamie must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he's waking up in his own bed, unsure how he got there. He tries to put the pieces together, but he comes up short.

“Good, you're awake.”

“Phoebe?” Jamie asks because Roy Kent’s niece is in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Hang on, I have to tell my mum.”

“Your mum?” Jamie mutters, but she is gone. So Phoebe and her mum were there. Jamie’s tired brain tries to remember what happened to cause this to happen.

“Well, your colour's better,” Roy's sister says as she walks in.

“You're in my house?”

She nearly laughs at his confused look. Phoebe giggles.

“Well, yeah,” Phoebe says like it's the most obvious fact in the universe. “Uncle Roy let us in.”

“Uncle Roy,” Jamie mutters.

“My brother begrudgingly went to training,” the doctor tells him. She uses a stethoscope to check his breathing. Jamie coughs as she does. “Rough,” she tells him. “But better than it was.”

“Uncle Roy said it was something like popcorn popping while rattling a jar of change, and when you pinch a balloon as it deflated.”

Jamie’s laughs turn into a wheezing coughing fit at the odd description. He startles slightly as a funny mask meets his face, but he looks over at the doctor as she turns on a machine.

“Yeah, she asked him, and that's how he explained it,” the amused mother said as she looked at her daughter. “Nebulizer,” she taps the machine. “Help get those lungs to open up faster. Make it easier to breathe.” She goes on to tell him how it works.

“So,” Jamie says despite the mask muffling his speech. “You…have…Babysitting…duty?”

He doesn't miss the worried look on Phoebe's face as he has to break between each word, but her mum just squeezes her knee, where she sits on the side of Jamie's bed. Phoebe's hands were too busy holding Jamie's hand. And that makes Jamie smile behind the mask. He was always happy to see Phoebe. Sure, this was a weird visit, but he was glad she was there. Being sick was awful. But it was easier when you had people that cared around you.

“My brother insisted Phoe was the best nurse for the job.” And the smile the girl gave them did wonders to heal Jamie's heart. She was a ball of sunshine. Jamie was still trying to figure out how they got there when he remembered that Keeley had driven Jamie and Roy to Jamie's flat. Roy must have stayed.

“His knee?” Jamie asks, sure that Roy's sister would know.

“Fine, after he iced it,” she tells him. “Or as fine as it ever is.” She shrugs. “Although if he doesn't start wearing the brace again on bad days, I'm going to kick him in it.”

“That's not very nice, mum,” Phoebe says.

“Neither is your uncle when his knee hurts, so seems fair,” her mum grins. Jamie chuckles. “Medication must be working. We got a laugh that didn't turn into a cough.”

“Yay!” Phoebe cheered, and Jamie smiled. The pair stayed, and Phoebe told him all about the match he had missed. As much as it hurt him to know he had let his team down, the colourful commentary from an 8-year-old made it easier to stomach.

Roy had let himself in with Jamie’s keys and followed his niece’s laugh to find them all in Jamie's room. His sister turned off the nebulizer. And the icy grip around the gaffer's heart eases slightly at the smile on Jamie's face as the mask was set aside.

“Uncle Roy's here!” Phoebe announced.

“How's the best medical team doing?” Roy asks.

“Great!” Phoebe grins.

“And the patient?” Roy adds. And Jamie is stunned at the strange dichotomy on the gaffer's face. He looks exhausted. He has bags under his eyes. At the same time, there is a spark in his eyes. A smile on his face as he leans against the door frame. And Jamie feels butterflies when Roy looks at him. It's not the first time he's felt it. He's always craved Roy's attention. Even when they were both playing for Richmond, Jamie would go out of his way to antagonize his captain. Getting to see Roy content with his family was something Jamie always considered special.

“Much better,” Phoebe answers. “He managed to laugh without coughing.”

“Oh really?” Roy asks with amusement.

“He had the nebulizer on at the time, but it means we're on the right track,” Roy's sister tells him. “That and his fever finally broke.”

Jamie hadn't even realized that he didn't feel feverish anymore.

“That's great,” Roy says. The gaffer feels himself relaxed. Jamie was getting better.

Roy watches as his sister gets up from the chair beside Jamie's bed. She reaches a hand out to Phoebe. “Come on, Phoe, soup-making time,” she says. Phoebe gives both Jamie and Roy a hug as she leaves. Roy can't help but grin at the dopey smile on Jamie's face.

“Wait, soup making? Do I even have the stuff for that?” Jamie asks, and Roy gets a bit uneasy again.

“You do now,” Roy says as he moves to take the seat his sister had been in.

“Since when?”

And Roy gives him an odd look.

“Since yesterday.”

“Did Keeley get them before we got back?”

“No,” Roy answers. “Jamie, you've been in and out of it for a couple of days since we got back.”

“What?” And he remembers that Roy's sister had said Roy was at training. They usually had the day off after long travel away matches like that.

“A couple days?”

“You okay?” Roy asks as Jamie coughs.

Jamie winces. He felt terrible thinking about how many nights of sleep he had ruined for Roy.

“You should go home,” Jamie says when he can finally speak again.

“Already here,” Roy states.

“I know, but…” Jamie starts. “You need sleep.”

“And you need to recover, so here we fucking are,” Roy tells him.

“I know, but-”

“I can fucking assure you that I will not sleep better in my own fucking bed. Probably worse because no one is here to look after your dumb arse.”

“But my fever broke, and I'm feeling-”

“You just had a coughing fit,” Roy says with a glare.

“But I didn't throw up or pass out, so I’m-”

“Fucking hell,” Roy says, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Fuck it.” A stunned Jamie watches as Roy climbs into bed beside him. “Now will you shut the fuck up and sleep.”

Jamie woke up feeling warmer than he had in a long time. He felt better too. His lungs still felt like crappy, but he didn't care as much.

#tw: illness #tw: pneumonia #tw: fever #tw: coughing #tw: vomiting #tw: panic #tw: fear #tw: sleep depravation #tw: swearing #tw: cussing #tw: cursing #royjamie #jamie x roy #roy x jamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #prompt fill #ted lasso fic #keeley jones

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jamiesfootball · 2 months

Note

Yay! I was hoping I could send you some words in exchange for tasty tidbits. I can't remember any of the other words I suggested today, so you get a new set of randomness from which to pick and choose: space, routine, subtle, wrinkle

Thank you for the words! Sorry this came late. At least one of these I could not remember if I posted before, so terribly sorry if there are any repeats!

Space

Roy grabbed him by his shirt, his fist a balled threat digging into the space below Ted’s collar- The both of them noticed at the same time the blood on Roy’s sleeve. Time swung its pendulum between them; fast-forward or reverse it didn't matter. Roy pulled away like he'd been burned. In short jerks, he ripped off the Richmond jacket Ted had worked so hard to get him into -- balled it up and threw it to the floor. The disgust on Roy's face as he stormed out of the room said all he needed to say. In case Ted still wasn't sure, the door slamming shut behind him exclaimed it loud enough. A confused, small voice called out from the bed, "Dad?" Ted's stomach swooped low. His hands went clammy, shaking like a weathervane in Kansas in the middle of the summer when the sky went green, and Ted balled them away deep the way you were supposed to when a storm was coming. He turned to face the bed. Superficially, the Jamie propped up on the bed didn't look too bad, all things considered. The doctors had dressed him up in bandaids and gauze, and with the hospital gown hanging down to his elbows, he looked more like that sleepy man with the nightcap and candlestick than he did a hospital patient - a Barbie doll version of a hurt person, the kind that came with rubber hammers and display monitors that were stickers you could peel away in an afternoon. Except Ted could hear the monitors with their hymns. Jamie blinked at him, small and pale and tired- -it hit Ted all of the sudden, this deep worry that Jamie had just played an entire match; he'd need the calories, and surely the doctors could be trusted to do their job, but all Ted could see was that tiny, drippy bag- -and his eyes weren't focusing. That was clear as day. The way Jamie's head bobbled on his neck, his eyes drifting circles around the room, rolled into something sick sitting at the bottom of Ted's stomach like he'd swallowed lead. He knew hospitals had a way of making ants out of monuments, but the man in the bed- -no, that's a little kid, Ted realized, his heart dropping low where even shovels would reach. That's a little kid looking for someone who isn't coming; it's all storms from here. Ted's eye's burned. In his pockets, he dug his fingers into the meat of his thighs, trying to ground himself in a world that felt like cotton. "Heya, Jamie," he kept his voice gentle. "It's Ted. How you feeling, son?" The word slipped out unbidden, which didn't stop Jamie from latching onto it like a hook. "Dad?"

Routine

If anything, their teammates should be envious of them. After spending the last hour of training in the rain, they were being given a reprieve. Jan's cheeks felt grated raw; the rain carried the lingering cold of winter and shared the misery in the form of raindrops that spiked like needles. He'd be scrubbing the mud from between his toes when he got to the showers. Why the team needed to shout at him whenever he mentioned his extensive foot care routine, he didn't understand. This shouldn't be news to them. They all wore slides in the shower for a reason, didn't they?

Subtle

"Before the last match of the season, I picked a fight with him." When Sharon didn't look surprised, Roy realised he'd have to spell it out. "An actual fight." A flicker of curiousity. "Physically." Roy could see the moment the implication sunk in. The lines firming up around her mouth and the a slight tightening around the eyes. It was a subtle, professional look of disappointment and seething outrage; she looked like she wanted to beat him to death with a chair. But after yesterday, seeing reflected back at him an open, plain disgust over the thought of someone hurting Jamie like that was such a welcome, relieving sight that something in his soul unraveled and slipped loose to the floor. And with it, the floodgates opened.

Wrinkle

"I looked at the pamphlets you gave me." Holding them out for her inspection, that same flick of shame crept up his neck. As much as he'd tried to refold them, they were noticeably wrinkled, crumpled from the fists of an angry person. Not that she'd be surprised. "Had you been feeling upset before our meeting?" His jaw ticked. "It'd been building for a while." "Which one resonated with you the most?" He unfolded the stack, using his thumb to pick the pages apart where they stuck until one came loose. He handed it to her. "'The Physical Tolls of Anger,'" Dr. Fieldstone read aloud.

#word game wednesday #(friday edition)#thank you again #I meant to do these wednesday but life happened #writing snippet #ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #dr. sharon fieldstone #jan maas #fic: oh god you're gonna get it (you have not been given love)#gift fic #whump prompt fill

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belmottetower · 2 years

Note

Can I just say you're my favourite writer for the Ted Lasso fandom?? 😊🥰 Every time I see your name pop up in my email it's a delight!

I have a headcanon I wanna run by you if you'll indulge me for a moment, I'm very interested in your perspective on it 👀👀.

The reason Jamie gives for not getting a secret Santa gift doesn't make sense to me, like I could see an initial confusion if he'd never heard of it before but he should have known that he was expected to do SOMETHING, and season 2 Jamie would've asked someone if he didn't know what he was supposed to do (I love that season 2 Jamie actually asks for help, insert "y'know what that is? Growth" meme here 😭❤️). BUT I think the reason he gives is probably what he thinks other people would accept as a reason that makes sense for him, and he's just using it as a smoke screen! My personal headcanon is that he thought Santa would STAY SECRET and he didn't realize they would be giving their gifts all publicly and he's embarrassed for people to know what gift he brought. Not sure what gift it would've been, but with everyone else gifting booze I could see him being embarrassed about literally anything that wasn't booze 🤔. No one else is really talking about this but that scene just doesn't settle right in my brain. Do you have any thoughts on what gift he may have purchased in this version of events? Or do you have a different idea of what was happening there?

Sorry for the monster ask lol but I love how you write Jamie's thought process! (I know this isn't in the form of a prompt, but if you answered in mini fic format I would be positively tickled!!)

Jamie knows what Secret Santa is, of course he does. It’s just, well. He hadn’t realised they’d be giving the gifts out publicly, and now his feels way too personal. Nearly everyone else so far has handed over a bottle of booze. Moe had knitted a scarf, sure, and Colin had seemed pleased by it, but there had still been a moment of “is this weird” before he’d hugged Moe and Jamie doesn’t want that for him.

The day after the Dubai Air protest all the main papers had carried photos of their protest, mostly in the Sports section, but the Guardian had actually had it on their front page. Jamie had seen it while out buying a coffee the next day and he’d bought a copy. It had seemed important, a reminder of him doing the right thing, supporting his teammate in something that meant a lot to him.

And then he’d gotten Sam in the Secret Santa and it had seemed perfect. He’d had the front page properly framed - after checking that the Guardian was the kind of paper Sam might agree with politically - and wrapped it nicely.

But now, well, it feels too personal to give out in front of the rest of the team. What if they think it’s weird or cheap of him? So it’s a relief when Ted finds him a bottle of whisky and they all help him wrap it. He knows they think he’s an idiot for not knowing what Secret Santa is, but better than any awkwardness in front of the team.

Sam seems chuffed by the alcohol anyway, and he sticks the bow that Keeley had added at the end to the top of his head, so Jamie makes it through without any embarrassment. At the end he hangs back and waits for the room to empty out before digging his original gift out of his cubby and tucking it into Sam’s. He doesn’t want it to go to waste, and he’s pretty sure Sam won’t guess it’s from Jamie. That done he heads out to his car ready for the drive up to Manchester and Christmas with his mum. He’s definitely gone overboard with her gifts, but she’s used to that by now, barely puts up a token protest or anything.

#THANK YOU FOR THE NICE WORDS #I definitely hadn't thought of this as a headcanon before #I just took it as a classlic little comic realif bit lol #but this was a cute idea #and I hope you like my attempt at a prompt fill for it #fandom: ted lasso #jamie tartt #ted lasso fic #sam obisanya

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beybaldes · 10 months

Text

I never know what to think about (I think about you)

summer sleepover masterlist

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary : “hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them” requested by anon

an : someone requested this for ted too so that will be coming soon bc I love love love this prompt :,(( I have never finished a fic faster because I was anxiously speed typing trying to get this written while I waited to join the que for eras tour tickets 😭 update just before I post: I got eras tour tickets!!!!

You were dancing around Jamie’s kitchen while you cooked breakfast, jumping about to whatever song had come on the radio while you scrambled eggs and flipped over pieces of bacon.

It wasn’t the first time you’d found yourself in the footballers kitchen in the early hours of the day, last nights clothes still on and reeking of alcohol, and you highly doubted it would be the last. Jamie had a bad habit of encouraging the party - for whatever occasion and wherever it had started - to end up back at his place. But when it’d happened last night, you’d found yourself sneaking off to his guest room and crashing out there.

You knew Jamie wouldn’t mind, he never did, but you felt like making breakfast was the least you could do as a thank you for letting you stay, an apology for inevitability scaring him when he woke up to find you still in his house, and another apology for stealing one of his hoodies to combat the cold.

If you hadn’t been so caught up in making breakfast and dancing your way between cupboards, you might have noticed Jamie leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

To Jamie, you were completely irresistible. There was no doubt about it. Every minute of everyday he found himself thinking about you; about the curve of your smile, and the blush that would fill your cheeks whenever you were close to him, about the way you wore his jersey to every match and how you’d made yourself fully at home in his life, in his house. The domesticity of the scene before him was breaking his heart. You. In his jumper. Making him breakfast. He almost couldn’t believe it.

Almost.

Jamie knew that’s just the kind of person you were; caring almost to a fault and more considerate of others then yourself. He was half waiting for you to spew out some apology for using his food to cook him breakfast.

When it never came, and it became clear you had yet to notice his presence in the room, he crossed the length of the kitchen, snaking his arms around your waist and laughing when you jumped back against him in surprise.

“Making breakfast for me, are you?” Jamie’s rested his chin In the crook of your neck, staring over your shoulder at the food you’d made him. The fact you’d remembered even the little things - like he only ate eggs scrambled, or that he liked his bacon extra crispy - made his heart absolutely melt. “You must love me.”

If only Jamie knew how right he was.

His arms stayed around your waist as you finished plating up the food. You’d grown used to the constant contact when you were around Jamie. While at first he’d presented himself as cold and standoffish, once you’d gotten your foot in the door of his heart, he pulled you in, locked the door behind you, and threw away the key. Everytime he was near you, you expected an arm around you; over your shoulders or around your waist, in the privacy of his living room or in the changing rooms, he was always holding onto you like a lifeline.

When you quietly announced that breakfast was finished, Jamie picked up his plate from the counter, pressing a quick succession of three kisses to the conjunction of your shoulder and your necks. Kissing you? Now that was new.

As Jamie made his way to his dining room table, you stood frozen against his counter top, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight that your knuckles were turning white. How had he done that so casually and walked away like it was nothing? Jamie hadn’t seen anyone in a while so you knew it wasn’t out of habit and it was never something you’d done before so it wasn’t that either. Despite the kisses cause, you were scared shitless that Jamie had seen your reaction to it, knew you were in love with him, and now wanted nothing to do with you.

“You alright love?” Jamie called from behind you. You could hear his fork being placed back against the table and the scrape of his chair against the wooden floors. Jamie clearly loved you; and in whatever way that was, it was enough.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” As you went to take your own seat at the table, you passed him, running your fingers through his hair then taking the seat next to him. “Eat up, or your food will get cold j.”

“You got it, love.”

You promised yourself that you could thin about what it meant later, when you weren’t on his clothes and in his house. But until then, you ate breakfast with Jamie, both discussing the events of the previous night and ignoring the events of the morning.

#beybaldes summer sleepover !!#jamie tartt oneshot #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso x reader

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zegrasdrysdale · 5 months

Note

can we now have a fic when the test says positive? <33

[ plus sign ] j. drysdale

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) surprises Jamie with a present that will change his life after he gets home from a game

warning(s) : mentions of sex but no actual sex, pregnancy

author’s note : i am really just fueling the baby fever i have had for days at this point. self indulging i guess. anyway, enjoy :) (this isn't a second part to "not our time" btw bc this request came in after i posted that)

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She noticed the first red flag that morning when she and Jamie were fooling around before he left for his game. He gave her breast a light squeeze and it hurt when it usually feels good. She blamed it on the fact that she was probably about to start her period.

That's when she noticed the unopened box of tampons in the cabinet under the sink when she went to pee after they were done in bed.

Her stomach dropped when she did quick math and realized that she hasn't had her period for nearly two months. She needed to go to the store as soon as possible and get some pregnancy tests.

Which has all led up to (Y/N) sitting on the floor against the door as she waits for the results of the two pregnancy tests on the counter next to the sink. Her phone counts down beside her and the closer the time gets to zero, the bigger the knot grows in her stomach.

Yes, she wants a baby. She loves kids. Every time she sees her nieces and nephews, she can't wait to have her own.

She doesn't want to give Jamie a baby he might not even want right now. He's still trying to prove himself as a top defenseman on the Ducks after injuries have sidelined him for months and he may not want the extra stress of having a child.

They haven't even really talked about having kids because it's been less than a year since they went from a friends-with-benefits thing to an actual relationship. She loves him, but she doesn't want to trap him with something he may not even want or need at the moment.

The alarm on her phone goes off after five minutes. She wanted to give the tests enough time for clear results, just in case.

With a shaky sigh, (Y/N) pushes herself up off the ground. She shuts her eyes and gnaws on her lower lip, unsure of what she wants.

She doesn't know which result she'll be happier with. A lot comes with either result.

If it's positive, their lives are going to change. Even if Jamie doesn't want anything to do with the baby, she won't get rid of it. She can't. She'd feel so guilty.

If it's negative, she'll probably be devastated. Maybe she and Jamie aren't ready for a baby but she'll still love them with everything in her. She's in love with the baby and she doesn't even know if she's actually pregnant yet or not.

To rip the bandage off, she opens her eyes and looks immediately at the tests in front of her as she exhales.

'+' stares her in the face.

Twice. There are four lines between both tests on the counter.

A gasp falls from her lips and her hand flies up to her mouth. Her free hand picks up one of the tests to get a closer look at it.

It's positive. They're both positive. There's no doubt about it with how dark those lines are on those tests.

She's going to have a baby. Tears fill her eyes as soon as the realization hits her and a quiet sob passes her lips. A part of her and Jamie is growing in her belly right now.

Her hand falls down to her belly and rubs it a few times. Her face hurts and she realizes that she has the biggest smile on her lips, and probably has since she saw the result of the test.

Jamie. He doesn't even know that she had all those realizations that prompted her to get tests in the first place. He has no idea that she even bought the tests.

Quickly, she throws on her Ducks jersey and a Ducks hockey beanie. She wasn't going to go to the game because of how bad she felt but she wants Jamie to know as soon as possible. This is a piece of him. They made this baby together.

She throws one of the positive tests in a little gift bag to act like it's a gift before she gets in the Uber she called. (Y/N) doesn't trust herself to drive a car with how badly her hands are shaking.

There is two hours before the game starts so Jamie is probably in the gym with the rest of the guys to get their pregame workout in. All the staff looks at her with a confused look on their face as she makes her way to the team gym.

The security guard stops her from walking in. "Sorry, miss," he says. "No one is allowed in the gym while the team is in there. Can I get someone for you?"

"Can you just tell Jamie Drysdale to meet me in the team lounge area so I can give something to him?" she requests. "If it's not too much trouble. Tell him his girlfriend is looking for him."

He nods and heads into the gym. (Y/N) spins on her heels and heads down the hallway to the team lounge room.

It smells like men in the room. She quickly comes to the conclusion that the family lounge room smells so much better. At least it doesn't smell like twenty plus sweaty men.

She paces for a second before the door opens and a very sweaty Jamie walks into the room. "Baby, hey," Jamie greets her. "What's going on? Is everything okay? You've never interrupted the team workout before."

(Y/N) holds out the little gift bag. "I have something for you," she tells him. "Um, it can't wait or I would've waited until after the game. It'll be worth it, I think."

Hesitantly, Jamie reaches out and takes it. She watches as he pulls it open. She's super nervous about the reaction that Jamie will have as soon as he sees what it's the bag.

At first, he looks confused. Then he reaches into the bag and pulls out the positive test. He squints at it then his eyes widen. He looks up at her and asks, "You're pregnant?"

"Yeah," she breathes out. "After this morning, I went out and bought a few tests because it normally doesn't hurt when you squeeze my boob. Then I realized it's been over two months since I last had a period so-"

She's cut off by Jamie pulling her into his arms and picking her up. "We're going to have a baby," he says. Happiness and excitement is in his voice. He doesn't sound angry or worried. "We're really going to have a baby."

A laugh passes her lips and she wraps her arms around his neck. He puts her down softly and she looks up at him. "Now you see why it couldn't wait," she comments. "I was really excited to tell you because they're a part of you too."

The happiness on Jamie's very sweaty face brings tears to her eyes. "Oh my God, (Y/N)," Jamie laughs as he cups her jaw. "You don't have to cry. I'm so happy. I'm ecstatic, baby. I can't wait to meet them. I'm going to love the shit out of this baby because they're a part of you."

(Y/N) laughs and Jamie dries the tears that have rolled down her cheeks. "I love you, Jamie," she tells him. "I can't wait to raise this baby with you. You're going to be the best father."

"They better come to every game with you as soon as they come out of you," Jamie says. "I want to brag to all my teammates that I have the cutest baby in the world."

She smiles and hugs Jamie. He wraps his arms around her for a quick second before he sinks down to his knees. He glances up at (Y/N) for a second and whispers to her belly, "Hi in there. This is your daddy. I can't wait to meet you. Your mom is the most amazing woman in the world and she's going to rock at being a mommy."

Her fingers run through his disgustingly sweaty hair. "Can we celebrate when we go home?" she asks. "After you have had a shower because your hair is disgusting, baby."

"Sorry, sorry," he laughs as he gets off his knees. "I'm just excited. I can't wait." There are voices in the hallway, which means the team is done in the gym. "I have to go get ready but I'll see you during the warm ups, right?" He leans down and pecks her lips,

"Absolutely," she replies. "Go score me a goal tonight."

"One for both of you."

༺═──────────────═༻

yourusername

liked by anaheimducks, trevorzegras and 20,392 others

yourusername baby girl drysdale coming in spring 2024 ♡

view all 3,287 comments

masonmctavish23 i'm gonna be an aunt !

tterry19 i don't think that's how that works bud masonmctavish23 oh well

anaheimducks We can't wait to meet baby girl Drysdale!

yourusername <3

trevorzegras oh i am so going to be the uncle that brings your daughter ice cream when you tell me no. that baby is going to be so spoiled

jamie.drysdale going to be the best mama <3

yourusername gonna be the best daddy. baby girl is so lucky to have you as her dad

leocarlssoon looks like there's another rookie joining us this year

nhl Congratulations Jamie and (Y/N)!

frank_vatrano this secret was getting so hard to hold. congratulations tho

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MASTERLIST

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taglist : @fanboysfangirl @dancerbailey3

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale fic #jamie drysdale fluff

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ameenvie · 6 months

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Over The Phone - jamie tartt x fem!reader

masterlist | ao3 | ko-fi | fic recs

Word count: 1.5k Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem!reader Warnings: nsfw, smut, minors DNI!, phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirrrty talk Tags: smut Prompt/Summary: Kinktober day 6 - Phone sex. Speaks for itself, Jamie is at an away game without you and you miss him dearly A/N: Not much for this one, just want to thank the amazing people who beta-read this for me: @angelbarnes-rogers & @confessionsofatotaldramaslut!! ❤✨ I just hope you'll enjoy this! 🙏❤❤

Your phone started buzzing on the bed next to you, it lit up and you saw your boyfriend’s name on the screen alongside a funny photo of the two of you. It was quite late already, so you didn’t expect him to call but you quickly answered.

“I thought you were asleep already” you said in a low, sleepy voice.

“Nah, we were watching a film. No phones allowed” Jamie said on the other side of the line, his voice just as tired as yours.

Richmond had an away game at the weekend, and unfortunately this time you couldn’t travel to watch him play. It might’ve been silly, but you really missed him even though he was only gone for a day or two at times like these.

“That sounds fun” you replied and closed your book that you were reading, setting it on the bedside table. “Did Ted make you cry again?” you chuckled, and Jamie scoffed.

“I never cry on films.”

“Yeah, sure” you teased. “Don’t you have a curfew? It’s getting quite late.”

“Just wanted to hear your voice before going to bed” he paused before continuing. “I miss you.” His admission didn’t surprise you, but it made your heart swell and a warm feeling of love spread through your body. His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a winter evening.

“I miss you too, Jamie.” You shuffled under the covers, and he probably heard the sound of the fabric ruffling.

“You in bed?” he asked, and you swore his voice got a bit deeper than it was just mere seconds ago.

“Yeah. I wish you were here.”

“Me too, love” he paused for a second before he spoke again. “But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you when I get home.” His voice was cocky, and you heard the smile in his voice.

“Yeah?” you chuckled. “Any particular ideas?” You knew exactly what he was alluding to. You already felt heat rise in your body and a tingling sensation settling in your stomach.

“You know it” he teased.

“Maybe, but...” you hesitated.

“Yes, angel?”

“I want you to tell me” you whispered and let out a shaky breath. Usually, you didn’t mind asking for what you want, hell, even begging – but you felt self-conscious now all of a sudden. Jamie let out a low hum on the other end of the line before he spoke again.

“You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you if I was there, hmm?”

“Fuck, Jamie” you breathed, squeezing your eyes shut. You put the call on speakers and set the phone onto the pillow next to you.

“Can’t last one day without me.”

You shuffled under the covers to get out of your underwear. Your breathing was already heavy, and he didn’t even begin.

“Don’t touch yourself yet. Want to take my time with you” he mused, and his voice was dripping with lust. You could basically see him in front of you – his hair loose and messy, lying on his hotel bed in a t-shirt and his boxers alone. It turned you on even more, the need to touch him stronger with every second.

“’tis what you think about all day when I’m away? How I’m going to fill you up when I get home?” his words were filthy, but you heard in his voice that he was smiling. The image of it burned into your mind and filled every small segment of it completely. “I bet it is.” You gripped the sheets next to your body as you listened to him, dying to feel some friction between your legs. You loved that filthy mouth of his and you couldn't deny it as moans and whimpers escaped your lips.

“It is” you whined, and he let out a low chuckle.

“Are you naked?”

“N-no” you stuttered. “In a top.”

“Be a good girl and take them off for me, hmm?” You heard fabric ruffling on the other side of the line before you took the hem of your spaghetti-strap top and pulled it over your head, the cold air of the room felt alien for a second, hardening your nipples. You squeezed your eyes shut as frustration began to rise in your body together with your neediness. You wanted to be touched so bad, even if it was only by your own hands. But you didn’t even think about cheating, you waited for Jamie’s next orders.

“Fucking hell, love if I was there, I’d make you feel so good, yeah? Kiss your pretty tits first, just how you like-“ he groaned, and he had to pause for a second. You figured forming sentences was just as hard for him as it was for you in this lustful haze. All you could think about was how much you wanted him. “Touch them” he commanded, and you obliged, your hand sneaking up to your breast as you squeezed it gently at first, but then a bit harder. You let out a shaky breath before your finger moved to slowly play with your nipple, circling and pinching it gently. You moaned loudly before you heard Jamie’s voice again.

“I want you to put your finger into your pretty little mouth and make it as wet as you can ‘aight love?” Flames were eating away at your body as heat rose to your ears before you put your index finger into your mouth and licked on it slowly. A brief thought of Jamie’s length in your mouth invaded your thoughts and you let out a loud moan.

“Touch yourself, babe. Like I would – I’d take my time with you, teasing that gorgeous pussy of yours” he mused, and you thought you heard him shuffle on the other side of the line, touching himself as well. You swiped your wet finger against your sensitive clit and you gasped, your back arching away from the bed. You started to rub slow circles around the sensitive bud and you rolled your hips against your palm. All Jamie could hear was your heavy breathing as he slowly palmed himself.

“Jamie” you whimpered his name as you continued your ministrations before you pushed a finger inside your dripping cunt. His name fell from your lips like a prayer.

“Feels good, hmm?”

“Not as good as yours” you admitted bashfully. “Can I- can I add another one, please?” Jamie groaned and cursed under his breath.

“Fuck, how could I say no to that?” he chuckled dryly, and you pushed another finger inside yourself. The stretch felt amazing but you knew it was nothing compared to Jamie being inside of you. You moved them in and out, your walls hugged them perfectly as you picked up your pace.

“Jamie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Are you touching yourself?” you asked between breaths as your other hand find its way to your clit, continuing where you left off.

“Fuck, babe” he moaned into the phone before he continued. “Yes I am.” You rolled your hips a bit stronger against your fingers and you felt your arousal soak them. “You like that, hmm?”

“Yes” you gasped.

“You like how I’m doing that while thinking of you?”

“What… Are you thinking about?” You bit your lip.

“About your perfect lil pussy, how I’d like to taste it. Fuck, angel I’d eat you out all night long, making you come ‘til you can’t talk.” You moaned out loud, Jamie’s words filling your thoughts, images of his head between your legs as he smiles at you devilishly as you can’t keep your composure. His name is all you can muster up, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. You felt your nerves igniting and tension build in your every muscle, like a bow that’s ready to snap. You tightened the movements of your finger on your clit.

“And then I’d fuck you so good. I’ll make you feel so good, love.” His breathing started to become erratic and he found it harder and harder to keep going as his own high creeped up in him. He moaned between the words; you knew they turned him on just as much as they turned you on. “Fill your tight little cunt perfectly. You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you babe?” Your fingers curled inside you to reach your sweet spot as his filthy words pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Jamie, I’m so-“ you gasped. “So close.” He moaned and picked up his pace as well.

“Come for me” he whispered. “With me.” His words were stuttering. Your breathing became more and more erratic by the second. “Fuck, love, I can’t wait to feel you around me, so good. I love you so fucking much.”

You felt your walls tighten around your fingers as the coil inside your body snapped as your orgasm washed over you. You fucked yourself through your high, your walls fluttering around your fingers as you came down. You still heard Jamie’s strained moans for a second before he reached his own release as well, cursing and moaning under his breath.

“You alright?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Fantastic” he answered. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“It’s gonna be worth the wait I promise.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt ff #jamie tartt x fem!reader #jamie tartt smut #Smut

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babytarttdoodoo · 10 months

Note

for the mini fic prompt, could you do hurt/comfort where jamie hyperventilates and has a panic attack in mom city? and with keeley and roy to help him through it

Y’all really looked at the angst and h/c of the last one and went ‘yup’, huh? I love it.

Went back and forth on when in Mom City to place this but there is a good chunk of unaccounted for time in the episode where we know Jamie, Roy and Keeley were all together.

Thank you for the prompt and I hope you enjoy.

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

They ended up in the hotel bar. It was hardly the most glamorous spot in the city and Jamie felt a bit like he should be doing more to show Roy and Keeley around his hometown.

The truth was, though, that he was still just bone-deep tired. He hadn’t missed the way Roy had eyed him assessingly before telling Keeley that Jamie wasn’t allowed cocktails and making a fuss about the team curfew.

Jamie was grateful for it. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

So all three of them had retraced their steps back to the Hacienda and found a quiet corner that kept them mostly hidden from the view of other guests enjoying a nightcap. Roy had looked entirely too pleased with himself when he returned from the bar with a beer, something pink and foamy for Keeley, and a neon-coloured, sugary monstrosity of a mocktail that he set down in front of Jamie.

The umbrella in it was a nice touch.

It drew out a bout of good natured teasing that it was easy to laugh at, to fall into a familiar rhythm with, but Jamie quickly resorted to quietly sipping his glorified fruit juice while Roy and Keeley (mostly Keeley) carried on the conversation around him.

Talking seemed like so much effort, right then.

Don’t get him wrong, seeing his mum had helped loads. It always did. She never judged him for anything and always understood what he was trying to say, regardless of whatever mixed metaphors he came up with to describe the mess in his head.

Just spending a bit of time with her had settled something in his chest that felt like it had rattled loose weeks ago.

But that feeling of dread that had dogged so many of his waking hours was still pulling at the back of his mind. It was with a sort of detached fascination that Jamie noticed his fingers shaking when he reached for his glass.

“Jamie?”

“Hmm?” He startled and looked up from the table to see Roy and Keeley staring right at him, twin expressions of pinched concern on their faces. Like a weird parody of those posters in his room. “Oh, er, sorry, Keels. Miles away.”

“You should get to bed.” Roy stated, frowning but not (Jamie thought) in an angry way. “We still need you tomorrow.”

Right.

“The crowd’s gonna hate you. And the person who’s gonna be booing the loudest in the crowd is your dad.”

Jamie stood abruptly, barely noticing the screech his chair made against the floor past the white noise suddenly rushing in his ears. He did notice the way concern shifted straight to fucking alarm across the table and stumbled over an apology.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll just go. Upstairs.” He swallowed and it made his stomach churn. Could you sweat on the inside of your mouth? It definitely felt like it. “Need me rest, don’t I?”

Roy was already getting up too. “Fuck, Jamie, I didn’t mean…”

“Stay for a bit? We’ll walk you up.” Keeley chimed in, looking at Jamie with big, liquid eyes and shit, he couldn’t handle any more of this.

He said something, he thought, but didn’t know or care if it made sense. He just shook his head and backed away quickly, keenly aware of the eyes on him as he made a beeline for the lobby.

Jamie shouldered open the door to the stairwell without making a conscious decision to take the stairs. It probably wasn’t a good idea - the shaking in his fingers had apparently spread and it felt like pins and needles were running up his legs. Everything about how he was feeling made the plushly carpeted steps seem horribly intimidating.

In the absence of a better option, he sank down to sit on them instead, clutching onto the wall and only barely aware of the short, sharp breaths he was pulling in. His chest felt like he’d been doing Roy’s sadistic suicide runs all day.

Funny, his vision swam when he did those too.

He closed his eyes against the nausea that swamped him as if a tide of awful was rushing over his head and just tried to breathe, to focus on the sound and rhythm of air sucked into his lungs instead of anything else.

The feeling of hands on him jolted through his body like a shockwave.

“No!” He flailed his arms in an effort to get away and pressed back against the wall, looking around wildly.

“Shit, shit, sorry love.” For a terrifying second, Jamie didn’t even recognise Keeley, too confused by her sudden appearance. She was perched on the stairs too, hands snatched back against her chest to keep from reaching out again. “It’s just us. You’re okay.”

“Oi, Tartt.” Oh, Roy was there too, crouching down to his level and fixing him with a remarkably steady look. Right now, that seemed like some sort of superpower. Roy Fucking Kent, eh?

“Look at me, alright? Deep breath in.” He gestured to his own expanding ribcage and Jamie found himself following along. Copying his coach like it was the most natural thing in the world. He blew air out through pursed lips and drew it back in again. And again. And again. His eyes stayed fixed on Roy’s face, latched on to that cool, collected calm.

Slowly, the rest of the world started to filter back in and Jamie had the presence of mind to realise how ridiculous this all was. He was cowering in a corner like a scared kid while the two people he’d idolised for at least a fucking decade coddled him. His face felt wet.

He scrubbed his hands roughly over his eyes and cheeks, shifting into a more comfortable seating position and feeling his ears and neck burn with shame.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Roy agreed, still watching him carefully. “Alright?”

Jamie nodded glumly then startled when Roy all but collapsed to sit on the floor below him. The calm of a moment ago had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Jesus Christ, don’t fucking do that again.” He practically snarled the words but didn’t actually look angry. He looked… something else. “Scared the shit out of me.”

Oh.

“Oh. Sorry.” Jamie offered weakly, baffled when Roy just shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Babe.” Keeley’s voice was quiet, tentative in a way he’d never really heard from her before. He turned to see that her eyes still looked huge, set in a paler than normal face. But she smiled at him. “Can I touch you now? Is that alright?”

That sounded fucking wonderful so Jamie nodded and went easily into her arms. She was tiny but he curled up to tuck his face against her shoulder, shivering when her fingers smoothed back his hair.

“That’s it, darling. We’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.” She went on murmuring soft, nice little things to him as the shaking slowly left Jamie’s frame and he felt like his legs might support him again.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and sat back up straight. His eyes darted between them, seeing clearly now that they both looked properly terrible.

“... don’t suppose there’s any chance we can just forget that happened?” he tried hopefully. It did at least get a snort of laughter from Roy.

“Not a fucking hope in hell, you little prick.” He stood slowly, bracing a hand on the wall, and grimaced. “Ears.”

“What?” Jamie furrowed his brow in confusion when Keeley immediately slapped her hands over her ears. It quickly curdled into guilt when Roy reached down and viciously adjusted his knee with the worst cracking, squelching sound Jamie had ever heard. “Fucking hell, old man. What the fuck did you get on the floor for?”

Roy didn’t dignify that with an answer, just held out his hands to Jamie.

“C’mon, up. We’re not staying here all night.”

Jamie almost questioned what he meant by ‘we’, but just accepted the help instead and used Roy’s strong grip to pull himself back to standing.

Keeley followed his lead unaided and wrapped herself around Jamie’s arm, clearly intent on holding him for the foreseeable future. Or maybe she just thought he needed the extra support. That was valid.

Stairs were obviously not an option now, not with Roy wincing on every other step taken to show them back out into the lobby. Nevertheless, he hovered like a bodyguard, shielding the view of them both as much as he could with his own body until they reached the lift.

Keeley disentangled a hand to stab at the call button and they all herded into the small space like some bizarre conga line.

Jamie couldn’t even find it in himself to protest. Not when Keeley was soft and warm against his side, the smell of her perfume so achingly familiar. Not when Roy put a guiding hand to the small of his back and it drifted up to grip his shoulder once they were inside.

He found his voice, though, when Roy pressed the button for the eighth floor.

“I’m on six.” His suitcase was still sitting open on the bed, he thought, unpacked and lonely.

“My room’s bigger.” Roy told him gruffly, like that was any kind of answer, and made absolutely no move to change their destination.

Confused, Jamie let himself be led along to the room that Roy was apparently staying in and shuffled across the threshold. It actually was a bit nicer than his - that hardly seemed fair.

Keeley gently tugged him over the bed and sat him down. She smoothed back his hair again and it felt so nice.

“Do you need anything? I’m going to grab some of my stuff. I can go to your room too.”

Jamie scrunched up his face. It felt like he’d missed a whole conversation at some point.

“You’re sleeping in here.” Roy told him, tone brooking no argument and Jamie turned to him in surprise. “So we can make sure you do actually fucking sleep.”

Sure enough, Roy was turning down the bedsheets and moving his own things around. Making room.

“Oh.” Jamie considered that. The thought of spending the night alone with Roy Kent in a hotel room brought up a lot of very complicated feelings. Except, it sounded like Keeley was planning to stick around as well, didn’t it? And the idea of staying like this for the rest of the night, bracketed between them with nice words and soft touches, was more comforting than he could bear.

“Alright then.”

#one day i'll stick to my own definition of 'mini'#but it is not this day #my fic #fic prompts #jamie tartt #roy kent #keeley jones #ted lasso

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kvetchinglyneurotic · 26 days

Note

I just wanted to pop in and tell you again how much I adored The Hedgehog’s Dilemma and Flightless Birds. Truly they are two of my favorite fics to come out of this fandom. I’m so excited for everything else you’re working on and I just know they’re going to pleasantly destroy me <3

That said, consider this an open invitation to share anything you might want to share! General thoughts, fic ideas you’re working on or not working on, writing snippets, or even how end of semester grading is faring- whatever you want!

Thank you!! It’s still amazing to me that something I’ve written is favourite fic-worthy, especially when there’s so many talented writers in the fandom. As for the end of semester marking: I'm at paper 50/101 and answering this ask to procrastinate before I start my marking for the day. Because the papers are all answering the same prompt and it's making me feel a bit like I'm stuck in a time loop, here's a snippet from Wrong Answers Only from Ted's first day in the time loop, before he realizes it's a time loop — from his perspective, he's just invited Jamie back and is expecting him at Nelson Road, but from Jamie's, they haven't met up yet.

Out in the hall, he opened his call history, but the glitch that was affecting the rest of his phone had got to that and his messages, too. By the time he’d located him between Martin Tanner (one of the boys from his third season coaching) and Laura Taylor (a uni friend who’d gone on to be a surgeon), Ted had wandered his way to the empty weight room and sat on the bench. The ringtone echoed tinnily through the empty space as he waited — one ring, two, three, and then the call connected a second before it dropped. “Coach?” “Hey, Jamie, where are you, bud?” “At— at the studio, you know. ‘Bout to go on Holly and Phil,” Jamie said. He sounded a little quiet, uncertain, same as he’d been at the bar the other day. “They’re, you know. Doing my hair and all. Gotta look fit.” “You gotta do that twice?” Ted asked. A long pause. “No, I— I dunno what you mean, coach.” “Well, you were just on a couple’ve days ago, weren’t you?” Ted said. “No,” Jamie repeated. Ted scrubbed his free hand over his face, filled with a sudden rush of exasperation — he’d really thought Jamie had left all this behind him, the poking and prodding and pushing back against everything Ted said for no other reason than he could. “C’mon, man, I really thought we were getting somewhere.” “You’re the one that sent me back,” Jamie said, sharp. “You think I wanted to go back to City? You saw what my—” he cut off in a choked breath. “I was trying, coach. Why’d you send me away?” Ted’s fingers trembled. He scrubbed them viciously against the fabric of his pants, but when he spoke, his voice came out steady. “Jamie, I invited you back.” “Why’re you still playing mind games?” Jamie asked, plaintive. It was a strange sound on him, and not one Ted was sure he liked. “You won. Just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone.” And then he hung up.

#fic: wrong answers only #thank you!#it's a two-day time loop that covers all the events of 2x02 #finally got past the canon retelling bit into the subjecting ted to the torments of the universe bit! very fun for me! less fun for ted!#ted lasso #jamie tartt #kvetch oc #tw implied abuse #*edited because i noticed a bunch of typos when i read it back oops 😭

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msmargaretmurry · 1 month

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good mooooorning the capitals are inexplicably in a wild card spot!! sending in j, u, & y for the ask meme hehe

good morning my friend!! they sure are!! that's the power of love baby!!!!! 💕💖✨🙏🦅

j. What’s your favorite fanfic trope? Have you written it?

ohhhh i SURE have. futurefic is my favorite thing. just, everything about it — the mass of feelings that your characters thought they left in the past rearing up again! getting to slowly unravel whatever backstory you've concocted for your readers! all the complicated feelings that come with having grown up and built a life with imperfect pieces even when it was the best you could do at the time! also i love futurefic because it is almost always also second chance romance and i love second chances so much.

u. Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet.

yes! so many!! i unfortunately only ever end up writing like 1/20th of the pairings i'm into because i am a SLOW writer but, i would love to get my grubby little fingers into whatever is going on in vancouver — probably elias/brock or elias/quinn. i feel like i would like to try my hand one day at connor/leon but i need to be gripped by the EXACT right scenario u know? i don't know if writing prompt fills on tumblr dot com counts as trying it but if it doesn't then i am absolutely adding eldest son disaster pairing matthew/quinn to this list. also i don't know if i want ME to write this but i do want a nice long tender unexpected feelings leon/bedsy fic to exist in the world because sometimes we all need a little problematic age gap in our lives. i feel like i have more but i am totally blanking. oh — gibby/trevor. i do want john to destroy that twink, preferably while he's deep in his jamie feelings. i want it to be MESSY.

y. What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories? Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories?

this is pretty complicated tbh! like, i was NOT in a good headspace with haw when i posted it (i def should have done another editing pass but i was like fuck it i'm done lmao) but other people's love for it really and truly helped me get out of that headspace and remember why i loved the story and characters so much! so the popularity of the fic was a really lovely thing for me there. but also there's like, i wrote a band of brothers fic a couple years ago that's obviously never going to be super popular because it's for a tv show from 2001 but also i think that it's the best written thing on my ao3 page. by far the fic i'm the MOST satisfied with even though it only got a moderate amount of love due to the smaller fandom! then in the middle there's something like tnno, which a lot of people love but i was satisfied with it regardless because the two pals whose feelings about it mattered most to me also loved it. so i think this equation changes depending on my personal relationship to each fic!

#ask #writing meme #thank u for the questions!! <3

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lupismaris · 1 year

Text

The Walrus- whiskey & blues. The "official" playlist for Cobble Hill's favorite queer bar. No, we don't take requests. -X, Flint.

yes i made a playlist for a fictional bar to accompany a fanfic. Sue me.

I approached this as Gates asked Flint to assemble a formal Spotify playlist for the bar that patrons could pull up as a reference after they got the upteenth person asking about what was playing. Flint made the playlist based on the bar's vinyl collection which is predominantly blues oriented, they pride themselves on being an alternative music venue for the facet of the queer community that doesn't enjoy the same club music as their cohorts vibe to in other gay bars.

It'll probably update as I go and yes I'll throw a link to it on AO3 .

#opening act of spring bs mdau fic #my fic #black sails playlist #james flint #well james flint adjacent anyway #black sails modern au #Jamie's Fic Prompt Fills

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stillnotyourmusebitch · 1 month

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AAAGH I loved your sinner!Adam fic about him and Reader watching TV together 🥺

I heard you take sinner!Adam requests so is it okay to have a sort-of part 2? Maybe watching movies became a regular thing between them and one time they end up kissing during one? If you find it repetitive and don't want to it's totally okay, I understand! I hope you have a nice day and keep up with the good work 🥹

Oh I loved writing this. The fic below is a sequel to this ficlet

I do hope that you liked it. I'm always worried I've made him too ooc but Sinner!Adam is fanon based atm and if he is wanting redemption he would change his ways.

So Urm yeah enjoy. . . .

What we watching?? Sinner!Adam x GN!reader

Fluffy af

That night watching trashy romcoms with Adam could have just been a one off thing and you would’ve been fine with it. But when he approached you in the communal kitchens the next morning with a proposition to make ‘Thursday film night’ a regular thing between the two of you. You had asked him why. He said that hanging out with you yesterday was one of the most fun things he had done in a long time. You smiled fondly at him before agreeing.

As Thursday night rolled around again. You were looking forward to sharing some more of your favourite films with Adam. He’d said he would be there by 6ish. You glance at the time on your phone. It was only 6.05pm. He’s probably just running late after the one on one session with Charlie.

An easy way to keep your mind busy was dragging out all your blankets and making a sort of nest type thing on the floor by the couch. You used to do this with your family when you were alive. It just made the movie marathons all that more special. After seeing how far Adam had come since arriving at the hotel. You had really wanted to show him how much he meant to you.

‘Wait, as a friend.’ You stopped mid cushion grab. You liked him as only a friend right? Right?

Your door burst open and slammed shut very quickly Adam was only 45 minutes late, you looked up seeing him breathing hard, carting an armload of snacks, drinks and a few bowls of things.

“There you . . .” he shushes you looking frantically at the closed door. “What did you do?” You whisper as you crawl onto the couch.

A far off loud shouting could be heard in the silence. He waited a minute more before letting out a breath.

“It wasn’t my fault honest.” He looked extremely guilty. You quirked a brow wanting an explanation. “I was trying to make my super awesome dip for our movie night but I maaaaaay have made a really big mess but I didn’t mean to, I just tripped over that cleaner chick who was chasing more of them roaches. This hotel must have an infestation or she is breeding them just to kill. Oh wait, I’m getting off point, the thing is I might have made too much of the dip than I intended and I kinda launched half of it onto another patron. But it wasn’t my fault. This time at least.” He frantically spoke as he juggled the drinks and snacks about in his arms before depositing them carefully on the coffee table. Standing back up he turned and looked down at what you were making. “What’s that?” He points to the accumulated amount of cushions, blankets and other soft furnishings piled on the floor.

“Well, the thing is.” You hopped off the couch into the nest trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal. How were you supposed to explain the reason behind it without him laughing at you? “You know what it’s stupid let me just . . .” You felt shame rush to your cheeks as you tried to dismantle the obviously stupid idea.

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Looks comfy as fuck. Budge up would ya.” You hopped out as he set himself down in the dead center of the nest, keeping his legs open slightly to give you a place to sit. Last week he really liked having you snuggled up close to him, why did you think this week would be any different.

You chose the first movie and plopped yourself down in the space he left for you, his arms wrapping around your middle pulling you flush against his chest.

“So what we watching?”

-----

“I have a question do all of these movie have the same premise?” Adam asked after about 15 minutes into the third film.

“Whatdya mean?” You say through a mouthful of chips.

“Like . . hang on pause the film a sec.” He fumbles for the remote to stop the movie. You shuffle a bit to see him better. “Like don’t get me wrong they’re good films, a bit cliché but surely the lead woman knows that the ‘Oh I’m a famous something or other I have no time for a man’” his fake high pitched womanly voice had you laughing. “Hey shush let me finish my thought.”

“But you make such a good woman.” You poke at his chest playfully.

“Ah ha ha ha.” He grabs your hand in his. “But seriously shush. My point is are there any original ideas in these films?”

“You saying I got trash taste in cinema?” You try pulling your hand away from his grasp. Adam doesn’t let go but pulls you closer to him.

“What I’m saying is watching all these oblivious people who clearly have strong feelings for the other person, got me thinking.” He looks down at your hand in his. “Ya know what never mind let’s keep watching the movie.” He lets go of your hand and grabs for the remote, setting the film going again.

The whiplash from that conversation was enough to make your head spin. You stayed a second more simply looking into the face of a man who had something he wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to do so. As you turned back in his arms to watch the movie, you could hear a small sigh of relief.

You tried to go back to watching the movie but you couldn’t. Adam only held you loosely now, choosing to focus more on grabbing snacks and sipping his soda. Your mind went into overdrive.

‘What did you do wrong?’

‘Was he mad at you?’

‘Did he . . . wait did he like you?’

You almost choked on a piece of popcorn at the realisation. Adam liked you.

Daring to flick your eyes to look at him. He was focused on the film but the soft look of longing he bore was almost too much.

“Adam?” Your voice was gentle so as not to spook him.

“Mmmyeah?” He was still watching the screen.

You grabbed the remote and paused the TV again.

“Hey, it was getting to a good part.” He looked down at you annoyed. “What. Is there something on my face?” He touches his face trying to feel for any irregularity. “Hey, say something you’re freaking me. mmmf” You pulled him down by his shirt and kissed him. He froze against your lips.

‘Shit was I wrong?’

You move to pull away. But his hands cup your face pulling you back into a tender kiss that makes you melt into his touch. The kiss lasted no longer than 5 seconds but you didn’t care you felt like your entire body was floating.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He spoke softly as he broke the kiss. “Can I kiss you again?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes.” Your words were barely a whisper but it was all he needed to pull you back against him, he kissed you in such a tender way that made your heart flutter in your chest. You didn’t realise he was capable of such gentility but you craved more of it. Your hands carded into his hair, being careful of his horns, as one of his hands went to cradle the back of your head, effectively tilting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss. His other hand moved to your lower back, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. The kiss had an undertone of heat laced in the movements of your joined lips.

You broke the kiss panting slightly, you noted his pupils were dilated slightly as you were sure yours mirrored back.

You had to slow this down now before you regretted anything.

“Adam.” Your voice low in warning. “As much as I enjoy kissing you. Can we take whatever this is a little slower?”

You expected him to whine or pout about being told no. but he just smiles goofily at you. Swiping a thumb over your lower lip.

“Sure thing.” He kisses your forehead before helping you settle back against him the way your were before. He picked up the remote “Ready to continue?”

You weaved your fingers with his other hand and nodded “Ready.”

--------

I hope this is what you wanted.

My ask box is still open if anyone else got requests

#jamie writes #callmerainman #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin adam #gender neutral reader #sinner!adam #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #prompt filled #my fic

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sortofanobsession · 11 months

Note

Roy/Jaime with Keeley friendship: Established Roy/Jaime. Jaime goes to Manchester to see his mum and is going to take the train back. A horrific train accident happens and Jaime's name was on the passenger list. Everyone thinks Jaime is dead, Roy is beside himself. Jaime is in fact alive and on different train, totally oblivious. He comes home late and decides not to wake a sleeping Roy, just climbs in with him. Imagine Roy's shock when he wakes up to his very much not dead boyfriend in his arms

A/N: I liiiiiive for this type of request. This is similar to a buddie one I did a long time ago but different enough that I had soooo much fun writing it. I'm still new to writing this group but I'm doing my best. Please remember that I am a lowly Midwestern American gal that has never left the States (though my sister did just get back from Scotland). So if their are typos or errors I apologize. Not beta read.

Enjoy

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Paring: Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, Roy & Keeley (platonic), Jamie & Keeley (Platonic), the afc Richmond himbos being themselves.

Word Count: 5k+

Content warning: train wreck, mentions of death, grief and loss, angst (happy ending), mentions of abuse, mentions of paranoia, mentions of head trauma, mentions of alcohol abuse, self-deprecation, self-destruction tendencies. Swearing, lots of swearing (can't believe I forgot that warning in a Roy Kent fic...)

Dead Phones and Train Wrecks

Jamie Tartt had always wanted his mother to be proud of him. Roy Kent had told him he'd never know if she was unless he got over the bullshit his dad did and went to see her. And as usual for Jamie, Roy was mostly right. So Jamie had gone to Manchester the week before training started for the new season. It would have been better if Roy had come with him, but someone had to look after Phoebe, and he needed to prepare for the new season. Roy had said that they would go earlier in the off-season next time. And that was enough to get Jamie to not put it off any longer. And he had a good week, despite having a few awkward run-ins with former Man City teammates and the occasional disgruntled fan. He didn’t care much about those. He was just glad they managed to avoid his dad. That was usually easy by avoiding the pubs and not eating at the same place regularly. It was annoying to have to keep such a paranoid schedule, but Jamie just told his mum it was because of the paparazzi. She didn't need to know that was only part of it. They just enjoyed trying new places, and thankfully, no one gave them too much trouble.

Jamie had decided at the last minute to take his mother to a restaurant in Liverpool she loved but rarely went to. His dad had never wanted to go that far when they were still a family, and Jamie hadn't had time once he got picked up for training. It was an underrated and easily overlooked cafe she would visit with her family when she was young. So Jamie had decided to have one last meal with his mum before he headed back to Richmond. Another new memory his dad couldn't taint or take from them. One for just Jamie and his mum as they try to fix their relationship.

The one thing Jamie didn’t account for was losing his charger and his phone dying. He didn’t think too much of it because Roy already knew he was going to be taking the train back and he didn't need to pick him up. And it would be late by the time he got in. Roy had to be at training the next day. Jamie did too, but if Jamie was tired, he could manage. He'd played in far worse conditions, thanks to his old man. Roy was grumpy on a good day. A bad day? Well, Jamie wouldn't be the reason the team ran laps til they puked, this time at least. Making sure Roy got sleep was a big part of that. So he told Roy over and over that he'd be fine. Jamie could survive having a dead phone for a few hours if he had to. He would be bored out of his mind, but he would suffer through it if it meant he could see Roy at the end of the day. He could catch a train after dinner and be home in a few hours. Roy wouldn’t get too mad, he hoped. He said goodbye to his mum outside the Lime Street station, got a new ticket, and managed to make the 7:30 train to London. He’d probably have to catch a cab or train home from there since his phone would be useless, and uber was not an option.

Roy couldn't breathe. He just alternates between staring at the news story on the TV and his phone. The train Jamie was taking home from Manchester was now a derailed heap of twisted metal and flames. He'd talked to Jamie just a few hours ago. But now he wasn't answering. No texts. No calls.

Roy had thought the day he'd retired from football had been the worst day of his life. But he'd give up his career, really anything and everything, to just go back a few hours and hear anything but that fucking voicemail message when he called Jamie's number. He looks at the headline again. The story updates, and the casualties number just keeps going up. Fuck. This cannot be how it ends. This can't be how Jamie Tartt’s story ends.

His phone rings in his hand, and his eyes snap to the screen with hope. Hope that is shattered when it's not Jamie calling. It was Ted. He doesn't have it in him to answer. He doesn't think even Ted Lasso's trademark optimism can help here. He can't let that damn yankee give him hope. Because Jamie had a recognizable fucking face. If he had been among the group they had rescued, that would have been news. Every news site was all over this story. Especially after someone at the train station had leaked that Jamie Tartt had been on the passenger list. Roy's phone kept going off with alerts and messages. But they were not from the one person he needed them to be. He looks up at the TV. The news just kept repeating the same thing. Casualties are high. First responders are searching, but it's a grim and solemn site. Thoughts and prayers. They just keep saying that their hearts go out to the families and friends. And that makes Roy want to scream. He wants to hit something until his knuckles bleed or his bones break. To feel something other than the pain in his chest and the ice-cold grip of fear on his heart.

His doorbell being rung, followed by knocking, finally drew his attention away from his TV and phone.

“Fuck off!” He growled when he threw the door open.

“I would if you’d have answered your phone,” Keeley says. She isn’t mad that he spoke to her like that. Roy was usually abrasive, but she knew right now he was the human equivalent of a live wire in water. ”Be glad it’s me and not everyone else.”

“Right now is-” Roy starts, but she stops him.

“I know,” she says, her tone sad.

Roy doesn’t have the energy to fight her, so he lets her in and returns to his living room. She follows him.

“Oh babe,” she says as she takes in the state of the room. The lamp that sat on the table was in pieces across the room. A few other things were not where they used to be and were probably among the other shards of ceramic and glass around the room. The one thing that was moved but wasn’t broken was a framed photo that usually was on a shelf. It was laying on the sofa next to Roy’s phone. It was a photo Phoebe had framed for Jamie’s birthday. It was of Roy and Jamie at one of Phoebe’s matches they’d been able to make. Phoebe got red carded and both men for sticking up for a teammate that had been fouled. Roy had been proud. Jamie had told her he’d do the same. Her teacher had texted Roy the picture with a reminder they were not supposed to encourage getting tossed from the game. Roy hadn’t cared. Sticking up for her team was more important than how many minutes she’d missed. Jamie had kept the photo for his lock screen for a while before it was gifted to him. Keeley set the photo on the table. It would crush Roy if anything happened to it now. Roy was never great at handling his emotions, especially the more painful ones. She glances at the news coverage. She grabs the remote and lowers the volume but leaves it on. She knew he would lose his shit if she turned it off. She didn’t want to make this harder than it already was, but she couldn’t just let him brood and spiral until he a broken shell of the man he was. Jamie had always brought so much out of Roy. For better or worse, Jamie had always made Roy feel, even when he didn't want to.

“When did you last hear from him?” She asks. He grunts as he picks up his phone.

She bites back a sigh. “He texted me last night, but I haven't heard from him today, have you?” she tried again.

Roy rubs his eyes but knows she will get it out of him eventually.

“He was at lunch. Fucking prick…” Keeley didn’t miss the way his voice broke as he said it. His fists clenched and opened repeatedly as he continued. “Lost his charger and didn’t know if his battery would last, but he’d try and stay off of it. Told him to get a new one. He said he’d be with his mum, so it wasn’t like he’d actually need to be on it. I told him that was stupid. That he was being stupid. Keeley, one of the last things I said to him-I didn’t mean to-he…”

“I know,” she puts a hand on his arm. “I’m sure he knew that you didn’t mean it.”

“Doesn’t matter if he did or didn’t. He’s dead.”

“We don’t know for sure that he-”

“LOOK AT IT!” Roy shouts as he points at the TV. “IT’S A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

“I know, but we don’t know anything yet, Roy. He could be fine, he-”

“If he was unharmed, he’d help. That’s just the shit he does now. Wants to help. And that would be on the news. He’s Jamie Fucking Tartt.” Roy sat down like it was taking all his energy to just exist. “If he’s injured, someone would have called, some hospital. And that would be news. The only other option is that he’s still in there. In that…fuck.” He pushes his palms against his eyes. His head hurt, and his eyes ached. Part of him just wanted to lie down or pass out. Maybe when he woke up, it would all just have been a fucking nightmare. Jamie would text him and say he was fine, and Roy would drive to wherever Jamie was and never let him go anywhere without him. But the more realistic and cynical part of Roy Kent knew this was real. There was no waking up from this hell.

“Okay,” Keeley says. She knew he had a point, but she just couldn’t let herself think that yet. If she did, she would lose it. Jamie was her friend. Roy was her friend. She needed to focus on keeping Roy at some sort of functioning baseline. Roy’s phone lit up. Ted was calling again. Roy just groaned and shoved it away. Keeley picked up.

“Hey, Ted,” She says as she goes into the kitchen. She’d make some tea. That will at least be something she can do to help.

“Keeley? You with Roy?” Ted asks.

“Yeah,” she answers.

“How is he doin'?” Ted asks. “Need one of us to come over? Because we can-”

“It’s not good,” she admits. “He just keeps checking the news. He’s already assuming the worst.”

“Maybe I should-”

“You just deal with the team, training starts tomorrow, and since they all are back, I'm sure they know. Colin and Isaac have already been texting me. You handle that. I’ll deal with Roy Kent.”

“Oh, okay,” Ted seems a bit hurt.

“I know you want to help, but I don’t think he wants anyone to see him like this. Not even me, but Jamie…I’m sure the team is struggling too. You focus on them. Leave this to me for now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see if any of Rebecca’s connections or Trent’s buddies know anything they aren’t sharing yet.”

“That would be great. I'll let him know someone is at least trying to do something."

"We're all trying. Let him know he's not alone."

"I will. Thanks, Ted.”

“Call me or Beard if you guys need anything or if you hear anything. If he…they’ll find him.”

She finishes making the tea as she ends the call. She pulls her own phone out and tells the team she is with Roy and that she’ll keep them in the loop. Text her, not him.

She hands Roy a mug that he takes almost on reflexes alone it seems.

“Ted says to call if you need anything,” she tells him. She sets his phone down on the seat beside him. “And I told the team I was here and to text me. Should give your phone a bit of rest.”

Roy grunts, eyes barely leaving the TV.

“Ted’s going to see if Rebecca and Trent can get any information that they might not be releasing publicly.” That had Roy’s attention snapping to her.

“Do you think they’d be able to find out if…”

“No guarantees, but I’m sure they’ll try if they haven’t reached out already. Have you talked to Jamie’s mum?”

“I can’t…not yet. I-”

“You don’t have the answers she’ll want. I get it, babe.” She sets to clean up the broken lamp and other debris.

“You don’t have to-” Roy starts, but she stops him.

“You drink your tea, I’ll do this, and then we get some food.”

“Not hungry,” Roy grunts.

“Still need to eat,” she says as she tosses some bigger pieces in a bin bag. Roy doesn’t say anything. It’s only after she finishes cleaning up that he thanks her. She waves it off.

An hour or later, Keeley almost called Beard for backup. The passenger list had been leaked before Keeley had even come over. So Keeley hadn't been surprised to find James Tartt Sr. making the whole damn thing about him. How his son had lost his way, and it's a tragedy that he'd never make a comeback. The audacity of that man to talk like that. It made it seem like Jamie was confirmed dead, but Keeley knew better than trust anything that came out of that man's mouth. He was an abusive and manipulative bastard. Roy had been enraged, and it had taken nearly 20 minutes to calm him enough to make a few phone calls. Rebecca was already looking into what could be done about Tartt Sr. Trent hadn't any new information, but he would make sure the reputable press knew the man was a pathetic old sod that knew nothing about Jamie.

“Jamie might be fit as fuck, but even he can’t survive that,” Roy says nodding at the screen when she came back into the living room. She looks over to see what is surely helicopter or drone footage of the charred carriages of the wreck. She sits beside him and nods.

“All we can do is wait,” she admits and settles in to wait with him.

Roy kicks Keeley out when it gets late, and it’s clear there isn’t anything new being reported. She only goes because he says he is going to turn in for the night. He gives in and crawls into bed. He pulls Jamie’s pillow closer, and the normally comforting scent of Jamie has fresh tears and sorrow rising in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Roy falls asleep from exhaustion on Jamie’s side of the bed.

Jamie was completely knackered by the time he reached London. People were saying the entire rail system seemed to be a fucking mess because of one train derailing. Jamie cursed himself for not having a working phone to look into it himself. Roy was right. It was stupid to have let it die. Jamie’d actually resorted to reading a book his mum gave him out of boredom on the train. The train got in over an hour later than normal, so he caught the first cab and would just pay the stupid fare. He just wanted to go home. See Roy and sleep in his own bed. He isn’t surprised the lights are all off by the time he lets himself into their flat. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar layout. Leaves his shoes by the door after locking up. Silently making his way through the quiet hall to his room. He grins as he carefully sets his stuff inside the room. The lights from the street gave the room enough light to see Roy fast asleep on Jamie’s side of the bed. It makes Jamie’s chest feel warm and fuzzy. They were used to spending all day, every day together. They live together. They work together. Jamie is still shocked Roy hadn’t gotten annoyed with having him around 24/7. That Roy hadn’t gotten tired of Jamie’s shit and sent him packing. And here the man was, sleeping on Jamie's side of the bed, using his pillow like he really, truly, missed Jamie. He doesn’t have the heart to wake Roy now. And he’s honestly too fucking tired to chat. Jamie just quickly changes and carefully crawls into bed. Feels weird to be on Roy’s side, but he’s just happy to be home and in his own bed with Roy.

Roy was sure he had lost his mind when he woke up to the warmth and weight of an arm across his torso and legs tangled with his. His heart was pounding. What the fuck had he done? Had he gotten into the liquor before he went to bed and called someone? Had he gone out because being in their shared flat was excruciating, knowing Jamie would never walk through the door again? Was he that fucked in the head that he would do something this fucking heartless before even getting any confirmation, any closure? Roy was a fucking prick, and he couldn't even remember doing it. He just remembers going to bed and missing Jamie. But someone was here now and in their bed. It pains him to think of anyone else in his and Jamie’s bed. He just wants Jamie. He takes a shaky breath. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. The weight seemed so familiar. When he inhaled, he nearly choked. That scent was so very much the scent of home. Like Jamie fucking Tartt. And it broke his heart because there was no way this was Jamie. But part of him wanted to enjoy the insanity of the moment. Embrace the delusion his brain created at the idea of Jamie being alive and wrapped up in bed with Roy like he never left. Like he never went to Manchester. A sob caught in Roy's throat as he buried his face in his bedmate's neck. But the part that loved Jamie enough to still see this as a betrayal won out, and Roy couldn't stand it. He opened his eyes and was about to pull away and cuss out whoever it was when his world ground to a halt for the second time in less than a day. He'd recognize that fucking gorgeous face anywhere. That little scar on his brow and those perfect fucking lips. It didn't just look and feel like the familiar presence of Jamie Tartt. It was him. Either Roy had cracked up, and he was having the most vivid hallucination ever, or by some miracle, Jamie was right fucking here. Roy couldn't hold back the sheer amazement any more than he could hold back from touching Jamie. He needed to know this was real. That this wasn't a dream. He hadn't done something stupid and gotten himself brain-damaged. Fuck. Please let this be real. He carded his fingers through Jamie's hair. Brushed his fingers over Jamie's cheekbone and jaw. He gripped Jamie's face and placed a hesitant kiss on his lips. It all felt so impossible, but here he was. He could feel Jamie's muscles move as he stirred. Roy can't keep in the happy sob that rips its way from his chest as Jamie's eyes blink open. Fuck, those eyes were often his undoing, but this time Roy would happily get lost in them for eternity if it meant he got to keep Jamie with him.

Jamie wakes up with a hum as he feels fingers in his hair and featherweight touches to his face. Then a barely there kiss Jamie could have easily just dreamt of. It was gone so fast. He smiles as he blinks his eyes open and sees Roy looking at him like he'd never looked at him before. Like Jamie was some sort of fragile masterpiece or rare treasure. But something in that look had alarms going off in Jamie's head, and at first, he isn't sure why. He gets a good look at his boyfriend and can't even process the number of emotions Roy seems to be struggling with. But he knows one thing for sure. He had missed that man more than he thought he could for being gone for just a week.

Something in Roy shutters when Jamie's eyes open. Jamie smiles at him, and Roy thinks his heart might explode. It's a sleepy smile that always does things to Roy. Fuck, he didn't think he'd ever see those eyes in person again. Never see that smile. And the combination now makes his stomach flip, and his heart soar. Between the warmth of Jamie's skin under Roy's hand and the fact that he could feel Jamie's breath on his wrist. It makes the air catch in Roy's lungs, and his hands shake. Jamie was there. He could feel tears falling for once, and he didn’t care if anyone saw. Jamie was home. He was alive. Roy hadn't lost him.

Jamie was starting to get worried. Roy hadn't said a single word yet. And Roy fucking Kent never cried, but there were tears now. He'd cried when he announced his retirement from football, but Jamie had never seen it happen again. Jamie cried on occasion, but not Roy Fucking Kent. What the fuck was going on? “What’s wro-” Jamie starts to ask but is cut off when Roy kisses him. It’s a desperate and needy kiss this time. It wasn't anything like the ghost of a kiss he'd gotten before he opened his eyes. It was dizzying. Part of Jamie doesn’t want to end, but most of his brain is still confused as fuck. Roy was literally shaking. He pulls away to look at him again.

“How the fuck-” Roy starts but stops when Jamie reaches up and brushes tears off Roy’s face. Roy resists the urge to close his eyes and melt into Jamie's touch.

“Rough night?” Jamie asks.

“You’re alive,” Roy says it like it is genuinely magic. His eyes shone with what would call joy, maybe shock. Though Jamie couldn’t figure out why he was so shocked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Jamie grins. “I know I took a bit longer getting home, and you were out cold when I got in. I was knackered. Why would you think I wasn’t? I know my phone was dead, but not me.”

Roy grunts and sits up. He pulls the covers back to get a good look at his boyfriend. even moving his shirt out of the way to check for bruises or worse. Jamie just goes with it. He knows when Roy gets like this; there is no point in arguing. Roy could be a hell of a mother hen when he thinks someone he cares about is hurt or sick. Apparently, now was one of those times.

"Roy, why-" he starts to ask.

“Because your fucking train crashed!” Roy’s heart hammers in his chest as his hands move to check Jamie over again. Jamie is as solid as ever. Nothing seemed broken or even bruised as far as he could tell. He had to remind himself that Jamie was here and didn’t seem to have a scratch on him.

“We hit a few delays, but…” Jamie says. Roy can see the moment the gears seem to click, and Jamie realizes what happened. “Oh shit, the train from Piccadilly was the one that-okay now, that makes alotta-”

“Jamie,” Roy’s voice held more emotion than Jamie was used to as he grips the back of Jamie's neck, pulling him in until their foreheads touched. Whether it is to get Jamie to focus or to ground himself after thinking he'd lost Jamie, well, Jamie wasn't sure even Roy could answer that right now. But he didn't hate it. “What the fuck happened?” Roy finished saying.

“I went to dinner with my mum in Liverpool. Caught the train from Lime Street. Fuck, Roy, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

Roy cut him off by hauling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Everyone thought you were dead,” Roy manages to say, "your fucking old man, he said you were…fuck, Jamie, I thought I lost you." But it’s mumbled by the fact he’d buried his face in Jamie’s neck. Jamie’s grip tightens at the mention of his father. Bunching the fabric of the shirt Roy hadn’t even taken off when he went to sleep. Jamie hadn’t noticed the night before but it had been one of his, not one of Roys.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jamie apologizes, “My stupid phone-”

“Fuck,” Roy growls. “Never. Again.”

“What?” Jamie is confused by the swift change from having his arms full of a desperate boyfriend to an angry one.

“You’re never going anywhere without me again,” Roy grits out.

Jamie lets out a shocked laugh. “Well, that’s not very realistic. You can’t be with me every second of-” Roy kisses him again and again. And Jamie lets him.

“Fucking watch me,” Roy says when he finally pulls back but keeps Jamie tight against him like if he lets him go, he will disappear.

“I usually do. We have a mirror. You’re fucking fit, like have ya-” Jamie is cut off as Roy’s phone starts to ring. Roy growls at it. Jamie huffs a laugh and looks at it over Roy’s shoulder. “It’s Keeley.”

“She can fucking wait,” Roy says, pulling the younger man back down to him. Jamie hums as Roy removes Jamie’s shirt. And Jamie almost forgets about the phone call, almost. Because it rings again. Roy grumbles something about throwing the damn thing out the window. Jamie chuckles as it goes to voicemail.

“Ya know, if everyone thought me dead, then we should probably-” Jamie is cut off again when Roy moves and pins him against the mattress.

“She. Can. Wait.”

“Sure, yeah, she can wait,” Jamie grins as Roy’s mouth moves to his neck. The rest of the morning is spent with Roy proving to Jamie that he needs him more than Jamie ever thought possible. And Jamie couldn't help but fall even harder for the man he'd spent years looking up to.

The AFC Richmond locker room has an uneasy silence as Keeley walks in. Morning training had been a dismal affair. It was like there was a black hole in the lineup where Jamie Tartt should be. Roy had told Keeley to meet him there. She looks around the room. Everyone looks devastated. They all knew that Jamie’s train had derailed. They knew the crews were still working on recovering the dead. It broke Keeley’s heart all over again seeing Dani Rojas wipes away tears and trying to avoid looking at Jamie's name on his cubby. Rebecca and Higgins were talking to Ted, Beard, and Trent.

“Is this about losing Jamie?” Sam asks when he sees Keeley. It seems almost painful for him to ask. It’s like he avoided saying his best friend was dead.

“Yeah, did they find him?” Colin asks. Clearly, avoiding the words as well.

“Where’s Kent?” Rebecca asks as they all leave the office and join the locker room.

“Roy said he was on the way,” Keeley says, glancing at her phone to ensure she hadn’t missed an update. “And yeah, said he wasn’t going to repeat himself, so everyone better fucking be here.”

“Everyone’s here but him…and well…Tartt,” Isaac says. “Obviously.”

“Maybe we shoulda donnit in text,” Jamie says as Roy kills the engine. He looks over at the player’s entrance at the dog track. Nervous that everyone would be pissed they didn’t tell them sooner. Or that he was playing a trick on them or something.

“They wouldn’t have believed it, and it’s always better to do this type of thing in person. Although I wouldn’t mind keeping you to myself a bit longer,” Roy admits.

Jamie grins. “Later,” he assures. “Because I feel bad they still think me dead. And I just keep seein this mental image of Dani looking like a kicked puppy, and I can’t live with that.”

“Fine,” Roy grunts. “Let's go.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Is the first thing they hear when they walk into the locker room. Jamie flinches.

“Fuck off, Isaac," Roy glares. His hand goes to the back of Jamie’s neck to anchor him. It is silent for a moment before everyone seems to start asking questions at once. Some of them are not even in English. Jamie's eyes go wide for a second, but he shakes it off. These were his friends, and they clearly had been feeling his loss.

“Jamie?” Keeley asks, and despite the chaos of the room, including Roy shouting at everyone to give them a fucking minute and they’d get their answers, Jamie hears her. He goes over to her.

“I’m sorry, Keeley,” Jamie says. “I didn’t know. My phone was dead, an’ I-Oof-” She half lunges at him and hugs him before he can finish his apology.

“You scared me,” she says when she looks up at him.

“Didn’t mean ta,” Jamie insists.

A loud whistle has everyone wincing and covering their ears. Jamie covers one of Keeley’s ears and presses her against his shoulder to cover the other. She can’t help but smile to herself. Can't keep the tears of joy away, either. He always surprises her these days. And not just by not being dead. He was so kind. He was easily one of her best friends. The whistle is followed by silence.

“Fucking hell,” Roy glares at Rebecca. She had taken Ted's whistle and blown it.

She shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?

“You alright, Jamie?” Ted asks him when Keeley nudges Jamie and Roy further into the room. She sits on the bench in Jamie’s spot.

“Yeah, Coach,” he nods.

“Now I know you all have questions,” Roy says. “And they can fucking wait. Just listen.” He looks over at Jamie. Jamie’s nervous, and his hands are in his pockets

Roy just nudges him on.

“So you all know I went to visit me mum, haven’t seen her in years. Roy had me plan the whole week, but well, since when have I ever followed directions for that long?” Jamie grinned, earning a few chuckles.

“Yeah, I was set to be on that train from Manchester. Was supposed to spend the whole time in Manchester, but the less time I spent anywhere near those Man City pricks, the better. Seen too many of em over the week. So I had taken me mum to a cafe in Liverpool she likes. I took a later train from there. My phone was dead-”

“Of course, it was,” Sam shakes his head. “How did you survive before coach?”

"Feigned indifference and being overly cocksure, that’s how," Keeley answers. "But he's better now."

Jamie grins at her before continuing. “Right, so the mess out of Manchester delayed the whole fucking system, but no one was sure what train was the one that caused it, so by the time I got in, it was late, and I just went to bed. Didn't bother checkin’ or wakin' anyone."

“Must have been one hell of a shock for you, Roy,” Ted comments. Roy just grunts.

Jamie nods. “Pretty sure he didn’t think I was real, but that didn’t last long.” Jamie laughed. “Think he felt more in less than a minute than he knew he could.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says, but any impact the words might have had were undercut by the fact his hand was on the small of Jamie’s back like he was afraid to not have a physical connection to the man he thought he had lost.

“You knew all morning and are only telling us now?” Jan asks.

“If I had my way, you’d still all be in the fucking dark," Roy admits. Still not happy to have to share Jamie's attention so soon. "Don’t owe you shit when I'm at home."

That got a number of negative reactions from the players.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Ted says in an attempt to calm them. Roy grunts. Ted continues, “I know we all feel lucky to have you back, Jamie. Fellas you can ask him all the questions you want after training. Yesterday was a dark day, but today is brighter. Suns out, let’s get out there and get the ball rollin’.”

The players complain, but they go. Most patting Jamie on the back or hugging him in Dani’s case. Jamie laughed and hugged him back.

“Take your time, but not too much time,” Ted told Jamie as he followed the team out.

“You good?” Roy asks Jamie.

"Yeah, coach," Jamie nods and grins.

“Sure you want to train today?” Roy questions.

“You going to be fine if I do? It's a big pitch, and you haven't let me outta your grip since you woke up.” Jamie counters. Roy was still coming to terms with the emotional whiplash of the past day, and Jamie knows it. They had called Jamie's mum and Roy's sister when things had settled. Phoebe had been devastated when she thought Jamie was gone. Jamie had spent a good ten minutes convincing her that he was fine and they'd come to see her in a couple of days. Roy had barely let Jamie out of his sight the whole time. Roy just rolls his eyes and leaves him to change. Although Roy kept glancing over at him as he did. Roy goes over to where Keeley is talking to Rebecca and Higgins about a press release letting the fans know Jamie is fine and a statement about the accident. Maybe even getting some pictures proving Jamie was back training with the team. Rebecca had approved the idea, and Keeley had already texted a photographer friend to come round.

“None of that thought and prayers bullshit,” Roy tells them. “Empty fucking words.”

“He has a point. Maybe do a donation to the families or the workers. Thoughts and prayers seemed meaningless when he’d nearly thrown his remote at the tv when they started reading tweets about it on the news. Would have needed a new one if I wasn’t there,” Keeley says.

Jamie chuckles as he laces his boots and checks his shin guards. “Didn’t save the lamp,” Jamie grins.

“You didn't give a shit about that lamp. Could have been your stupid rabbit sculpture. That thing is-” Roy starts to say but stops when Jamie stands up and walks over.

“Fuck off,” Jamie grins. “Going to train, or you joinin’ the PR team?”

“Fucking Prick,” Roy grunts but goes with Jamie to the door.

“You fuckin’ luv me,” Jamie smirks.

“I fucking do,” Roy easily agrees. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Never,” Jamie gives him a kiss before they head out to join the team.

25 notes · View notes

jamiesfootball · 7 months

Note

How about 74. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.” ?

Oooh, I'm not sure if you remember sending me this prompt, but congratulations- it's the prompt that got away from me. It's also super long so I will be posting it to AO3 shortly.

A/N: contains horror elements

Part 1 of 3

“Well c’mon in and have a seat. Ooh—watch the microphone! There we go. And what did you say your name was again?” Ted asked as he led Trent into the booth. The friendly man moved a box of papers out of the way; he waved his hand at the newly opened seat.

Trent hesitantly sat down.

“Trent. Trent Crimm. I’m with The Independent.”

Ted's simple, brandless jumper paired well with his easy smile.

“I’m not sure we get that publication all the way out here, but hey! From one journalist to another, I’m always welcome to talk. You said you were interested in Richmond. What would you like to know about our little home sweet home?”

“Well—“

“Oh, actually hold on a sec—Beard!" Ted turned around, yelling in the direction of the opaque glass window embedded in the wall. "Could we get a beverage for our guest? Would you like a coffee, Mr. Crimm?”

“No, I'm fine. Thank you. And just Trent is fine.”

“You got it, Trent! Love the name. And the glasses. And the hair. What can I do for you?”

Trent took a trembling breath.

"Why am I here?"

Ted paused in sliding a headset over his hair. "I'm sorry?"

Trent swallowed past the rock in his throat.

"Why- how did I get here? I don't remember- anything, past going to sleep last night in my hotel. This morning I woke up on a bus outside your radio station. My phone won't work. Is this a prank? Is this a fucking joke? Because I do not--"

"Can't use that language."

Trent startled, an icy shiver running down his chest.

Ted grinned apologetically. "That'd be Beard in the control booth. Sorry to interrupt, but we're about to start broadcasting and he is correct--aside from a few special exceptions, that sort of language is prohibited on air. Against the code. Now, you're welcome to strap on your own headset or if you'd like you can sit there and watch. Whatever you decide, once that On-Air light flicks on, there's no leaving the room. Got it?"

Trent picked up the headset. It fit perfectly. For a moment the bulk of the earmuffs swamped all ambient noise under a high pitched ringing, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, sure he’d find eyes if he just looked over his shoulder—

Then a click, and the world whirred back into focus.

The On-Air light illuminated in Mercury-blue.

"Hello, howdy, hi, and good morning, Richmond! It is shaping up to be a beautiful day outside, but let's not count our chickens before they hatch. We'll have a weather update coming up for you shortly, along with sports, a couple of civic updates, and the morning recap. But first!--" Ted's mustache quirked as he turned towards Trent, "A little personal news from yours truly. On my way in, I had the pleasure of running into a fellow fan of the written word. Now me and him are still just getting to know each other, but I've invited him to join me on the show today. If you wouldn't mind introducing yourself to the listeners at home...?"

Ted gestured towards a second microphone on the table that he hadn't noticed before.

He could call for help, Trent thought frantically, but as he leaned forward the urgency bled from his chest, a preternatural calm suffusing his nerves and leaving his voice smooth and confident:

"Trent Crimm, The Independent."

The other half of Ted's moustache raised to join the rest. "And we are pleased for you to join us, Trent. Now! Let's start off with an easy one: where you from?"

His brain slipped. For a moment, the word escaped him, but he seized it before it could wriggle out of his grasp.

"London," he answered confidently. He shook his head. "I'm from London. West."

"Any relation to Kanye West?"

The zag of the remark caught Trent off-guard. A joke, clearly, and if he had his faculties about him, he'd question the wisdom of the timing.

Trent studied Ted, who continued filling the airwaves, undeterred by Trent's lack of participation.

"You know, I've never been to London. I know I meant to visit at one time, but I suppose I never got around to it. If you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Trent; what makes the different sections of London so different, anyways? I know there's a West London and a South London, but there's also Chelseas and Surreys. Would you say it's more of a Hollywood or New York situation?"

“The different areas are divided into boroughs—,” I’m not telling you where I live, “—Wait. Are you saying I’m not in London anymore?”

“It sounds like you’re saying it, Trent,” Ted joked. “Though might I add, I’ve always felt like Richmond was a mighty fine alternative. The weather, the pubs, the accents; it all has a certain verisimilitude to the real thing, you know—oh would you look at that. Our first caller of the day."

Ted fiddled with the control panel. He flicked a switch, and a soft, pink light illuminated with a pleasant glow.

Trent's mind conjured the spectre of an iron gate wrought with blooming ivy. The scent of lilies filled the studio, rising like a fog to blend with the smells of old paper and coffee.

"What’s the word, early bird?”

A woman's voice clipped through the line, "Ted."

Ted beamed. "Rebecca! Did you get my biscuits?" He hit a button on the microphone and leaned towards Trent, whispering, "I may sound American, but when I say biscuits I do mean your folk's biscuits."

Rebecca huffed. "Good morning, Ted. Yes I did, they were delicious, now would you please stop screwing around and get to the civics update? I need my polling numbers."

"Ooh," Ted shuffled some papers around. "Sorry to say, boss, but it doesn't look like I have any news on that front."

"Yes, you do," the woman—Rebecca—argued. "You said it. You said, 'I have a few civics updates.'"

"Oh that," Ted's eyes focused into the middle distance. "The Higgenses are looking to adopt another son. Sorry, boss; that's all I got for you."

The woman let out a strangled noise, shouting, "Higgins!" before the line cut off.

"Let's cut to a quick commercial," said Ted. He flipped a switch and removed his headset.

Trent followed suit. Once freed, his ears started ringing. Mentally, he replayed the short conversation, but his thoughts refused to be corralled into order.

When he didn't say anything, Ted filled the silence.

“She’s just got the jitters. See, we got an election coming up and this new guy in town, Zava, his platform is doing really well with the voters.”

“What’s his platform?”

“'Vote for me. I’m Zava.'”

“It’s a compelling platform.”

"She worries. Doesn’t matter how many times you assure her it's illegal for the other guy to win. Now Trent—where were we?"

Ted appeared calm and genial, leaning forward with his hands steepled under his chin and a non-expectant smile on his face. But his eyes, they were intent. He stared directly at Trent, as if beseeching him to—

—play along.

Ted drew upon all his experience as a reporter asking unpleasant questions, stuffed down his discomfort, and called upon his professionalism like a shield of armour.

"You were telling me how lovely Richmond is," Trent said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs like he was settling in for an interview. "Tell me Ted, have you lived here long?"

Ted's unassuming demeanour briefly gave way to approval. "Oh, I've been around for a while. Long enough to know how things work around here."

"Such as local election law."

"Yes, sir."

"You seem very confident that your friend's opponent won't succeed. Against the law, even. Would care to expand upon that opinion?"

Ted told him. The answer was so absurd the world turned to white noise.

"I beg your pardon?" Trent blinked. He did not hear that right. "Metaphorically?"

"No, ma'am. I wouldn't joke about that." Ted scooted his chair closer. Whispered in sotto voce, "And don't tell her I said so, but honestly? I've considered voting for him too. Magnetic presence, like listening to Michael Keaton while looking at Prince while Tilda Swinton drinks cocktails in the corner. If you see it, you'll believe it."

"Fascinating," he said faintly. He looked around the darkened studio, looking for another topic that'd be safely within the bounds of discussion. When no photos or tchotchkes presented themselves, Trent settled for the natural follow up to 'have you been here long.'

"If you don't mind me asking—," If it's safe to ask, "—What, er, how did you come to be in Richmond in the first place?"

"Same way most of us do, I suppose. Like I said, I meant to visit London. Happened to end up here instead."

"Did you take the bus?" Like I did.

"Don't reckon a bus would've made it across the Atlantic. No, I flew over in a plane. Third class, little cups, snacks a little worse than your low expectations were expecting. Nothing special about it at all--your standard great big metal bird in the sky."

Despite his nerves, Trent's lip twitched into a teasing smile. "Metaphorically?"

Ted beamed. "Yes, sir; that one's a metaphor."

"Commercial break is ending."

Without the element of surprise, Trent could register that the voice in the recording booth also had an American accent, like Ted's. The voice scratched across the room like velcro, all abrasive friction; Trent got the feeling he was being judged.

Ted fiddled with his headset. "Oh shoot. Lost track of time."

"I spliced in one of the pre-recorded announcements," Beard said dryly. "You're welcome."

"Please and thank you," Ted returned. He nodded at Trent. "Headphones."

This time when he slid them on, he was prepared for the sharp ringing. The sharp sensation of eyes crawling along his skin was harder to endure.

"Welcome back, listeners. I apologize for the punctuated morning. Let's get on with some of our usually scheduled programming, shall we? In sports news--what a hell of a game our local football team played last night! I'm sure I don't need to tell you folks, it felt like the entire town was in attendance, but the script says I have to, so here we go."

He shuffled some papers until he found the one he was looking for, at which point he audibly sighed into the microphone. Mustering up what appeared to be a pained effort, he began, "The Greyhounds kicked off the night with a 5-4-1 formation--please, Trent, if you got something to add, you can just jump right in. We gave you that microphone for a reason."

"4-5-1. I presume we're discussing football?" Ted nodded. "Then it's '4-5-1.'" Ted looked confused. "Four defenders, five midfielders, and a striker. It's a great defensive formation, so long as the opposing team isn't playing a high line."

Ted turned into a human eye-gleam. "Well, take me to church, Hozier. You know your football."

"I'm a sports journalist."

A comical look of horror crossed Ted's face. Or a real one. His voice quavered as he asked, "You are?"

"Yes. For The Independent." He knew he'd said that more than once, but his mind insisted he mention it again. Perhaps it was a compulsion, a way humanising himself while dealing with the situation--

--which had already begun to slip Trent's mind. His heart jolted. How had that--he loved football, but surely not enough that he would forget that he was--what? Kidnapped? Some sort of hostage? He knew he was in danger; he was equally certain that no amount of true crime podcasts could advise him as to what kind of danger this was.

He was stuck.

Ted blanketed the airwaves with patter about what sounded like a competitive, if standard, match. Trent once again took in his surroundings. He'd...yes, he'd looked at them when he walked in, he must have. When he walked in the--

He could not remember entering the building. He remembered a bus, grey and blue--

It took all of his focus to command himself to study the room.

The blue on-air light was the main source of illumination, although Trent didn't remember the room being dark when he entered and he couldn't recall any lights being turned off when they started broadcasting. There was no light switch on the wall. There was a corkboard, which housed a flurry of flyers advertising local businesses as well as two campaign posters.

The 'Welton for Wellness' poster promised calm and cosy with just a hint of teeth. The combative 'Vote for Zava' poster was--alluring. Strange. Beckoning.

Trent had to force himself to drag his eyes away from it.

Along one wall--the entire length of one wall--was the opaque window that hid the control booth. The man, Beard, presuming he was a man, must be the producer or else some sort of switchboard operator. He'd not objected at all to Trent being given a headset or microphone, despite the fact that this couldn't possibly be what passed for normal programming.

Embedded in the wall with a full view of the studio, the mirror revealed nothing and reflected everything, and what it reflected was, was--

Trent thought he'd reached an inner calm, but his face reflected terror.

"...Now of course the most surprising figure of last night's match was the newest addition to the Greyhound team. Since he showed up during the last snow storm, he’s been giving the other players on both sides a run for their money. Our latest informants say they're pretty sure he's from Man City, but the tags on that collar he won't let anyone near are pretty sparse on information. They just say 'JT.'"

Like a switch being flipped, Trent's awareness pointed up at the new topic. "Man City--do you mean Manchester?"

Ted hopped over his interruption like a true professional. "No, ma'am. I don't know what that is."

"It's--it's Manchester." Trent could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. "It's a city, it--they have two football teams. Famous teams. How can you be anywhere in Britain and not know what Manchester is? How can you provide football coverage and not know what Manchester is?!"

"Roy Kent's on the line," Beard interrupted, his voice joining theirs on air in the playback of the headphones. "Perhaps he can help clear this up."

"That's a great idea. Let's patch him through." Ted was back to watching Trent with that expression that was so guardlessly effacing. He explained, "Roy's in charge of the Greyhounds. If there's anyone here who can help answer your questions--"

"Would you get on with the fucking weather report!"

Trent jumped out of his chair, throwing his headset across the room. Every instinct he had told him to run. This wasn't the velcro-man or the iron-lady; this voice boomed. It reverberated through the cells of his skin. It filled the room with an anger like a stoked charcoal pit, and it encompassed everything in a smoke as thick as a London fog.

Ted's eyes crinkled in true delight. "Hey, Roy. How are things down at the Dog Track?"

Despite not wearing headphones, Trent could hear every syllable of the booming man's voice as if he were shouting in the room.

"How do you think it's going," the man did not ask. Behind his ferocity, he was--exasperated. "I've got everyone yipping at my heels wanting to know if they can go outside, and you're having a chat about geography with some journo you found wandering the streets."

Ted was full of reproach as he said, "You know it's not that simple--"

"It was raining," Trent heard himself offer. The room around him seemed to shrink as Ted and the voice turned to look at him. "When I got off the bus, it was raining."

The room went silent. Trent realised too late that without the microphone, whoever this Roy was couldn't hear him--

"Ta' for that," Roy said. "You heard him, lads. Go! Now! Sprints from box to box. Oi, you, I don't want to hear any excuses about the mud. Hustle."

"I'm hustling, I'm hustling. Keep your sweater on, old man," said another voice, barely audible above the background susurrous. A familiar voice, with a familiar Mancunian accent. Played football for Man City, with the initials 'JT'--

His mind put it together quicker than his growing horror could keep up with.

Ted watched him; his openly growing concern spoke volumes in regards to whatever was happening on Trent's face.

Hoarsely, needing to know despite the way it made his stomach swoop, he asked into the crackling air of the room, "Is that Jamie Tartt?"

A plastic clatter.

Before him stood a man where a man had not stood before.

He wore a scowl and a leather jacket. If there was anything else to know from his appearance, it slipped through Trent's grasp like sand from a broken hourglass under the weight of the sheer presence of the man.

The voice was every bit as imposing and deep when it was in the room. "Explain."

"It is, isn't it?" He felt compelled to stick his foot in deeper. If he was right, he couldn't- he couldn't not say it. "That's Jamie Tartt. The player that went missing from Manchester."

The studio fell quiet. The man in the leather jacket--Roy, was it?--Trent couldn't make out his expression. No matter how hard he tried, all he got was the impression of a scowl, depthless eyes and an unhappy brow, but the second he looked away the image faded from his memory.

In contrast, Ted's face was an open book, but that book was a horror story.

From Trent's fallen headset, a small noise fizzled.

Ted visibly pulled himself together. "Hold on a second there."

He nodded at Roy. The man in the leather jacket knelt down to pick up the headset. His knee cracked unpleasantly as he stood up. With an unexpected level of gentleness, he held the headset out to Trent.

The air popped as Trent slid them on.

"Go ahead, J--Jamie," Ted said, stumbling over the name.

"Uhm. Hello." A harsh Mancunian voice brushed against his ears like barbed wire through a pillow. Behind it fell the patter of cold rain. "Who is this again?"

Oh. The phone hadn't disconnected when Roy appeared; he'd just dropped it.

A feeling like hysteria bubbled up inside him.

"This is Trent Crimm, The Independent."

"And you said I'm Jamie Tartt?"

The man in the leather jacket glared daggers into Trent's back, a silent warning to tread lightly. Not even a warning--a threat.

"I believe so, yes," said Trent. "It's been a while. We've spoken a handful of times. Nothing as formal as a full interview, but you've always been more than generous when it comes to sharing your post-match opinions with others."

Roy barked out a laugh; the mirror on the wall rattled.

"Oh. That's...," the Mancunian sounded small. Upset. Something metal rattled. "That's okay, I guess. Don't know that I like that name, though."

Under the gentle tapping of rain, a women's voice--gentle and pink--cooed through the chainlink fence.

Most of Trent's coverage with the Premier League stuck to the greater London area. He'd interview members of a visiting team, sure, but he wasn't exactly a familiar entity in their lives, and nor was he to theirs. But he was sure in all the times he'd spoken to Jamie Tartt in the past, he hadn't sounded so lost. The small admission cut through the terror as something like heartbreak bloomed in Trent's chest, and, unbidden, he thought of his own daughter at home.

His faculties felt clearer now, thoughts attaching from one to the other like roads free of traffic.

"Have you been safe here?" he asked. The answer felt important. "Are you treated well? Are you being taken care of?" Are you in any danger, sat on his tongue. A needless question. Weren't they all?

"What's that got to do with anything?" he sniffed. "Who cares if I'm safe? I'm still [beep]-ing stuck here, aren't I?"

"Language." Ted.

"Language." Beard.

"Language." Roy.

"For [beep] sake," Tartt complained. "The [beep] can't I say [beep]. Roy gets to swear."

'Special exceptions?' Trent mouthed at Ted.

Ted gave him a stifled smile and a thumbs up.

"You can swear when you fucking earn it," the man in the leather jacket answered. For the first time since appearing, his burning gaze left Trent. He asked Ted, "You got this here then?"

"Wait, hold on a second!" the gentle, pink voice jumped in, sounding decidedly less gentle and decidedly more pink--his daughter had a small stuffed lion in the same shade. "Did you say he was missing?"

This damnable place, it made it so difficult to hold a thought.

"That's right," Trent affirmed. "For nearly a year. Disappeared after the Manchester derby. It's been in all the papers."

"A year?" Tartt asked in disbelief.

"But who's missing him?" the pink cloud wanted to know.

For the first time since arriving, the answer came to Trent quick and sharp. It tasted wrong, like blood on his tongue.

He didn't answer.

The man in the leather jacket took a step towards Trent. "I don't know what you're here for, but if it's to pull his fucking chain--"

Ted interrupted, "Now wait a minute. Maybe Trent's here to help."

Roy hesitated. He looked from Trent, who stood frozen to the ground, to Ted, who lifted his eyebrows pointedly. Some silent communication passed between the two.

Roy stood down. He sighed, "Maybe he's here to save us from your sports coverage."

He disappeared.

"Well, that was exciting," Ted said, radio professionalism flooding back into the studio. Distantly, Trent noted that they'd been on-air this whole time. "Call me Miss Gale, because I've just been taken for a whirlwind. Keeley, you got eyes on our grumpy stormcloud?"

"Yep! I'm waving to him now. If he doesn't hurry up, I'm going to start chucking food over the fence. That'll light a fire under him."

Ted chuckled. "Well I'll leave him to your capable hands." He paused for a moment. In a tone as kind as a steadying hand on a shoulder, he said, "Jamie?"

The fence rattled. There was an electronic clicking, then, "Yeah?"

Ted hesitated. "We can talk about it later."

A derisive snort that screeched like barbed wire. "Whatever."

The line clicked off.

Trent let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He buried his face in his hands, pushing his glasses onto his head as he did.

He had to get out of here.

"Folks, I'm sure you can all appreciate what a tense situation this morning has been. That's just what it's like around the Dog Track--high emotions all around. But you know what they say about footballers—no footballer is perfect. They become perfect when you learn to love them for who they are. Trent?”

They said danger sharpened the senses, but somehow Trent had failed to notice it before.

There was no door.

No door to the room. No door to the soundbooth behind the mirrored window.

No windows at all.

Ted sighed. "Boy, I wish it didn't always come to this. Beard, cut to traffic. Trent, have a seat."

Again, Ted moved a box to let Trent have a seat. It was the same box as before; no one had put it back.

This time when Trent sat down, Ted pulled up his own chair and sat down next to him.

"I just want to know what's going on," Trent said in a defeated voice that couldn't possibly be his own. "I understand if you can't tell me everything, but if you could tell me something, anything. What happened to me? Why am I here?"

Ted averted his gaze. Down to his mug, to the blank mirrored window, to the box on the ground. He said, “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

"'Opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance.'"

"Socrates?"

"Plato."

Ted snapped. "Darn, I always get the two confused."

Trent didn't respond. He waited, until sure enough after a long stretch of silence, Ted cracked.

"How's your life been lately, Trent?" he asked. He sounded gentle, nearly as soft as the tone he'd used with Jamie.

Something about having that same care turned towards him made Trent's eyes burn. He swallowed around the shame of self-pity in his throat. "Poorly."

Ted nodded like he understood. "Anything big happen lately?"

He shook his head; this couldn't possibly be to do with--, "I got divorced."

Ted's face fluttered in sympathy. He sighed. "Me too. Right before I ended up here."

"Are we dead?" he had to ask. "Are we both dead? Am I in purgatory? Did I drink too much and do something stupid--"

"No," Ted cut him off. He braced his hand on Trent's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "No. That's not likely, no. Things around here are just a little-," he waved his other hand in the air. "Strange."

"Like Zava?" Trent asked, trying to give the man an easier line of questioning. The hand upon his shoulder trembled noticeably.

"Yes," Ted answered. He pulled away, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Like Zava."

"And is everyone else...?"

"It varies," explained Ted. He leaned back in his seat. "Everyone comes in a little different. Take me for instance. When you first got here, you may have noticed how holding onto a train of thought was a bit like dancing a waltz in the dark? Maybe you could fumble your way through it for a while, but sooner or later you'd miss a step, and then it's almost impossible to get back into rhythm. Me on the other hand, you may as well call me Fred Astaire. It may not be useful, the stuff I've held onto, but it's a fair bit more than anyone else around here gets. The next closest is Beard, and thank the deity of your choosing for that, because I definitely would've lost it by now if all my jokes went over everybody's heads."

"The jokes I found rather grounding," Trent confessed. "I did feel myself slipping quite a number of times, but having those small reminders braced me. They allowed me to focus."

"Huh." Ted appeared to be taken aback by the notion. "Good to know."

"What about Roy?" Trent asked. The man in the leather jacket was by far the most...off-putting, of the individuals he'd met. "What's his deal?"

"Ooh, now that's a tricky one," Ted grinned, "Our Roy is...well, the only word that comes to mind is 'omnipresent.' There's a lot of places in this town that are off-limits to folks, but it doesn't slow him down. He's here, he's there, he's everywhere. Anywhere he wants to be. Hell, he lives at the Dog Track. People aren't even allowed in the Dog Track--that's why Keeley's got to throw all the food over the fence to feed the footballers."

Something about his phrasing rang a bell in Trent's head.

"What did Beard say his name was?"

"Oh, I'm going to have to stop you, Trent. Beard doesn't share his name with just anybody."

"No, not- what did he say Roy's name was."

"Kent," Beard answered from the booth. "Roy Kent."

"I know that name." His mind whirred. "I don't know from where or how, but I know that name."

Ted watched him in guarded interest.

"How about we make a deal? I'll do my best to ply you with all the best trivia a guy from Kansas has to offer. In return, you report back on anything that shakes out. Whatever you remember. No kernel too small, no detail left unturned. If you've got a book in you, I want to read it."

"Heh!" Trent laughed, the sound startling to his own ears. At Ted's visible confusion, he explained, "Last night. I remember thinking to myself--'now that I'm divorced, maybe I'll finally get a chance to write that book.'"

The smile Ted had to offer may have been dimmer, but it was more sincere. Something like wonder filled in the gaps.

"Well that's a start," Ted concluded. "In the meantime, you know, maybe Roy's got a point. Because I've got this entire--," he lifted a stack of papers on his desk, "--sport's update, and I am still a novice when it comes to your people's football."

Trent hummed consideringly. "Maybe you made it to London, after all."

"Maybe I did." The smile got a little broader. "Beard, how we looking for time?"

"Forecast is next and queued."

"After you, Mr. The Independent."

They sat at the desk, headsets in place, and Ted flicked the switch on the control panel.

"Welcome back everyone. There's been a change in plans with regards to our visiting journalist. Big news, Richmond! Big news.

“But for now--let’s go to the weather!”

A loud electronic noise filled the air, followed by the smash of a keyboard and a high pierced wail.

The weather sounded like Janis Joplin.

#prompt fill #ted lasso #trent crimm #roy kent #jamie tartt #keeley jones #coach beard #surprise au #fic: the vacant house behind our home #horror elements for the spooky season so that timed out well #ask box is always open

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