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cas-backwards-tie · 11 months

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Chapter Two: Cruel New World

Heiress of Gotham

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: It's your first-day living life in Wayne Manor. A new house, a new school, and of course there's the new siblings thing too.

Warnings: Negativity, Damian's Jealous, Talks of Death, Numbness, Depression, Disassociation,t Misandry, Crying, Suicidal Thoughts (if u squint), Existentialism, Cursing, Yelling, Outbursts, Anti-Police Rhetoric, Injury, Blood, Catcalling

Mentions of: Suicide, Body Fluids (mucus),

Words: 6.7k

A/N: POV kind of switches in some points, but I think it's fine. You know when it's the reader and when it's more of a third-person pov.

"Please take a seat, Miss Wayne," Alfred suggests as he pulls out a chair directly center of the long black cherry wood table. Your father sits at the opposite end of the room at the head of the table, while a smaller black-haired child sits with his back to the kitchen doors. There's one other person who sits directly across the table from where Alfred stands behind the chair meant for you.

"Are you serious? We really have to do this today of all days?" The child whines.

"I thought I told you no technology at the table this morning, Tim," Your father tells the person you're meant to sit across from. Ipad propped up on the table beside his plate, the teenage boy's grayish-blue eyes remain on the screen for a few moments as he shovels forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. In a tacit conversation, they make eye contact for a moment before he flips the cover back over the device and shoves it into the backpack by his feet. "Thank you.”

"You know, Bruce, I really need to get this essay done by this afternoon.” Tim—as you now know—explains.

"Oh? And what's it on?" Always wanting to get more involved in the kids' lives, Bruce attempts some sort of civil conversation other than indulging the begrudging eye-roll Damian throws him from across the table.

"It's on-" Tim begins to explain.

"You're really making us eat breakfast all together at-" Damian interjects.

"-the table like the nice, loving family we are? Pssh, you're lucky everyone's actually here this morning!" Dick cuts Damian off in an attempt to dissuade the boy's frustrations and some of his, perhaps just, points. Walking over to his chair he pulls it out enough to plop down.

"Everyone's coming?! Just for her?!" Damian, as you now know, complains.

"I'm afraid Stephanie has a doctor’s appointment, and Jason is... well," Bruce doesn't finish his explanation as he glances around the table.

"Jason," Dick defends, even if he's still somewhat suspicious of the man's current motives. "You'll meet them later, I'm sure," he tosses toward you as he sits at his chair between Tim and Damian still tying his tie.

"Why are you even here? Don't you have work? It's a Tuesday!" Damian chastizes Dick.

"Well if you must know, I have a few suspects I need to bring in for interviews today. They're extraditing a few people since the uptick last week."

"But I thought that-" A look from Dick makes Damian's thoughts linger in the air for a moment as he cuts himself off. Right. Next subject.

"I'm a detective over in Bludhaven," he explains to you, "Luckily I don't live here anymore, so... hopefully that lessens the overwhelming sense of a constant presence of people," he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

With a nod, you finally reach for your fork. It’d been bad enough that it seems more and more people are continuing to engage you when really, it’s been hell enough to process all the transitions currently taking place in your life. While it’s nice in some sense that you’d have breakfast with your Mom on school days like this, having someone cook for you, let alone push in your chair is… well… strange.

“Hello? He’s talking to you,” the sassy child spits at you, garnering your attention. Eyes flitting from him to the person sitting across from you beside Tim, you offer what you can in an attempted smile. It comes across more as a grimace than anything. The Detective politely calls your name, finally tightening his tie as he finishes dressing.

“It’s okay, I get it. This is all a lot. I asked if you ate breakfast with your—“ he spares a quick glance at your Father before it settles back on you, “—Mom, often before everything?”

Though he smiles and has a jovial and pleasant attitude, you can’t bring yourself to really return the favor. While he’s extending an olive branch of friendship, one you’d usually take up, you’re unable to. “Yeah. Nothing like this though,” you mutter, voice surprising even you with the quiet quality to it.

While the rest of breakfast is filled with questions and trivial conversation, you feel off, with a weary sense of the world. It’s almost like everything is a dream. Once you’ve finished your food, your eyes raise to take in the vase of flowers and candles on either side of it in their ornate silver holders sitting in the middle of the table. “Can I be excused?” Suddenly turned toward your Father, you await his hesitant permission before getting up and heading back to the room they’ve deemed yours just last night.

“She didn’t even look up at me when she answered any of my questions. That’s not good,” Dick points out. There's a hint of concern in his voice as he eyes Bruce.

“She’s probably still grieving her Mom. It only happened yesterday,” Tim proposes with a shrug as he looks up at Dick, who sits to his left.

“Shit,” Dick whispers.

“Do we even know how it happened?” Damian asks from the end of the table, hands clasped in front of himself like a miniature businessman.

“Damian,” Tim whispers with hostility, eyeing him for the inappropriate nature of his comment. Though he’s also curious, as it seems Dick is too, as they all look toward Bruce.

“What? I mean, her Mom dies and suddenly she’s a Wayne? No way,” Damian speaks with confidence.

With a clearing of his throat, Bruce stands. “It’s true. I… hadn’t-“ he begins, though hesitates as this wasn’t really a conversation he’d wanted to have with his teenage son of all people. “It wasn’t planned. It was a one-time thing back when I was a little more reckless with keeping up my image.”

“So during your Party Bruce years? Oh my god,” Dick quietly laughs with incredulity. He’d known about it, sure, that ‘phase’ of his Father… yet he hadn’t anticipated him to be that reckless. The look of guilt upon Bruce’s face is all it takes for them to know it’s true.

“I did the math, I looked into her mother’s history, and… it all adds up. I wouldn’t have taken custody of her yesterday if I wasn’t certain.”

“So she was an accident? Ha!” Damian laughs as if he wasn’t technically an accident on his Father’s behalf as well.

“Hey! I will not hear any jokes or have any information imparted on her with dislike. It wasn’t her fault, and I won’t see anything but acceptance and welcoming from you three, will I?” His stern voice sends chills down their spines to some degree. While Bruce doesn’t often take up a fatherly role in terms other than the awful jokes and rare wistful advice, this is a side none of them have ever gotten quite used to.

“Fine. But I’m not changing my entire life around for her. Jon is still coming over after school,” Damian announces with a click of his tongue and a cross of his arms over his chest.

“Good. Now I know this absolutely will not leave the room but I looked into her cause of death last night and it was a car crash.” With that, Bruce leaves the table.

“Sometimes things are just life, I guess,” Dick thinks aloud, still processing the information.

How cool is it that this room has a window seat? Absolutely awesome! Unfortunately, that’s not something you can fully appreciate as everything has already started to feel numb. They’d explained at the hospital that it’d been a car crash. You know the number of stitches they’d placed, the degree of burns she’d taken as they attempted several grafts to save her life… yet it wasn’t enough. There was nothing they could do. A frown overtakes your expression as a pinch of immense sadness pricks your heart.

“I’ll do it-“ you hear his voice from outside the door, “-I’m sure.” With three knocks and no response, it creaks open. Unbothered to check who it is, you watch as the rain droplets roll down the leaves on the tree outside your window and slowly drip toward the ground below. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet before speaking. “I really hate to do this to you. I know everyone processes things in their own time, but I’ve got to make arrangements on top of work today and so the best thing I can think to do is get you into a routine.” A look in his direction is all it takes; uniform neatly folded in his extended arms, your Father presents it to you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“What about Melville High?” The question leaves your lips, and all he can think is that you’re too innocent for this world. He doesn't even know you, but already the world has taken too much from you.

“It’s… too far, I’m afraid. Gotham Metro Academy is where Damian goes, and it has a lot of better opportunities from what I’ve seen. I’m sure you’ll like it once you get settled in.”

It isn’t the end of the conversation. While you’re barely responding, he imparts as much wisdom and comfort as he’s able, but it goes in one ear and out the other. All too soon you find yourself running your hands over the lapels of your navy uniform’s blazer. A prep school with uniforms was something you’d never imagined in your future—in fact—it’d been far from it! Growing up with enough money to keep you comfortable was fine, but prep school was never in the cards. You and your Mom knew that. Without too much thought to your hair and any accessories or makeup, Alfred is rushing you downstairs and into the awaiting Rolls Royce.

“Had you ever been to Gotham prior, Miss?” Alfred asks from the driver’s seat as you pull away from the infamous Wayne Manor. It looks much more opulent and welcoming in the daylight, yet it still has an intimidating air of aristocracy to you.

“Um… just once, a long time ago.” It hurts your chest to think about; there’d been a weekend you’d gone with your Mom a few years back when she’d wanted to show you all the sights. From the shows to the Financial District, to the historical sights and monuments, it’d been a weekend to remember, truly. If memory serves you right, you even still have a sweater and baseball cap tucked away somewhere from that trip.

Expecting some sort of snarky remark from the child you’ve deduced is Damian, you finally take him in. Sure, everyone’s heard of him. He’s a celebrity for what it’s worth: ‘Bruce Wayne’s Secret Son’ the headlines read. It was national news at the time, his Mom still remaining a mystery. His skin is darker than yours, and while his eyes are a striking green, you can’t deny that he has a resemblance to your Father. Neither can you deny your resemblance, either, really.

“What?” Damian finally bites. With a quiet, automatic ‘sorry’ and a shift of your eyes out the window and away from the kid on his phone, you can’t help but think about it.

Was Bruce Wayne really as much of a playboy as the media made him out to be? Yours and Damian’s mom would surely proffer the confirmation. Yet, having met the legendary man behind the technological empire, you aren’t sure he really seems the type. As much as your mother tried to keep you from boys and men, you’d met more than your fair share of assholes. Womanizers, scumbags, misogynists; no matter the differences in look or personality, there were always a few similarities they’d have in common, usually in their speech, behavior, or beliefs.

Nevertheless, it’s odd that you’ve been able to place the term ‘Father’ in his grasp so easily. Your mother had feigned a forgetful memory oftentimes when you’d ask during your childhood. Only offering the slightest of details and assuring you that he’d left the both of you as a baby. It was only as you grew that she eventually let you know that whatever relationship the two of them had, it wasn’t as serious as one would expect of a mother and father. She’d never named him, exactly, having always told you it wasn’t important. He wasn’t worth searching for, seeking out, begging for some answer you surely didn’t want to hear. Why? Why did you leave us? Why don’t you care about us? It was all a waste of time. That much, you knew. Never, even in your dreams would you imagine it’d be the Bruce Wayne.

Before you know it, the trees and streetlights are turning into buildings and stoplights. While you're nervous about going to a new school, it also provides a bit of excitement at the thought of reinventing yourself and making new friends. Surely with the funding from Wayne Enterprises, it'll have more clubs, activities, and maybe more sports, too. You'd always wanted to try out for sports or even be on the varsity squads if possible. As the car slows along the street, Alfred meets your anxious eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Damian, I expect you'll be there if Miss--" he says your name, "--needs anything. I'm going to park the car and escort you inside, as there happens to be a bit of preliminary paperwork your Father has requested I accompany you to fill out."

Surprisingly, Damian doesn't refute Alfred's sentiment, though as he parks the car, your half-brother hastily exits, headphones still in his ears as he scrolls through his phone. A quiet 'see ya later' is heard before the door slams shut. Soon enough you've filled out the registration forms and are given a schedule and tour. Alfred offers you a courteous nod and a lingering hand on your shoulder before he departs for the day. "I'll be here to pick you up when the school lets out. You can do this, Miss," he assures with a warm smile.

It was somewhat embarrassing that you'd had to interrupt class to join in on eleventh-grade, American Literature, yet upon introduction, it doesn't go past your observation that many of the kids start whispering to one another. While a few people attempt to talk to you, for the most part, you feel overwhelmed with all the information and the way the lesson quickly continues. Trying to catch up and take everything in, it all feels like too much, and the unintentional tendency to disassociate naturally begins to happen. You zone out for most of the classes, the day passing in whirlwinds and sympathetic smiles from the teachers.

When school lets out, you find Alfred exactly where he'd parked this morning in front of the school. Leant against the car with his hands clasped in front of him, you begin making your way down the steps to meet him. Two boys quickly pass you, both laughing as they playfully smack one another's arms and talk in hushed voices. As you approach the car you realize it's Damian and some boy. He has friends? Who would be friends with him? He seemed so rude earlier, you can't help but think. Maybe he's just upset because you came along.

"Who's this?" The boy in the blue jacket asks as he watches you join Alfred.

"Mister Kent," Alfred greets the boy, "I take it you'll be joining us tonight?" When the boy flashes a white smile full of bright teeth up at him with an eager nod, you take it this is a family friend.

"She's... apparently Dad's daughter," Damian reveals, eyes slicing across the space till the intimidating green orbs land on you. "Don't mind her. I planned a few things we could maybe do when we get to the Manor! I just got Mario Kart Ten and it's supposed to have a bunch of new maps and characters!"

Upon Alfred opening the car door, all three of you slide into the vehicle, the boy separating you and Damian in the backseat. "So... your sister, you mean," He laughs. Despite what he'd said about ignoring you, the boy turns his smile your way with an extension of his hand. "I'm Jon! Damian's best friend. I actually go to West Reeves but I got out early so I could catch a ride to your house. You are..?"

Revealing your name, he repeats it with a fondness as you shake his hand. "I don't know that I'd say best," Damian groans with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh hush it! Yes, you would," Jon argues, nudging your half-brother with his body as the two laugh.

"How was your first day, Miss? Did it go alright?" Alfred asks in the rearview mirror before pulling off the school's sidewalk and onto the street.

While this question was unexpected, you can't answer it. Was today good? You're unsure that any sort of sentiment could capture what today was like, truly. With your mother's death, the move, the new school, new people, and the luxury of it all... you feel unable to describe it all in one simple response. Sufficing for a nod, you purse your lips before opting for a quiet "Thanks." If nothing else, you can't deny that this old man has been kind to you since the moment you arrived. It seems he cares, but... isn't that also his job? You're not sure how butlers work, exactly, but surely that detail encompasses part of his job description, you think.

With the car parked in the driveway, you all exit the vehicle and head inside. Alfred asks if anyone wants a snack, however, you shake your head and point upstairs, signaling your destination.

You aren't sure what comes over you, a wave of hurt--sadness-angst, pain... there are endless synonyms for whatever it is that washes over you. It winds up there, lingering in your chest like a weight you hadn't realized was weighing your shoulders down. Maybe it was the attention, the comments, the questions, the energy it took to put on a 'fine' facade, yet it all finally comes crumbling down. With the click of the lock on the door, you make the final steps toward your unfamiliar bed. Letting the backpack fall from your shoulders haphazardly on the carpeted floors, you flop onto the bed face first, chest hitting the plush comforter before the rest of your body follows, the rebound sending your body bouncing slightly. Face screwing up into one of pain, you do your best to hold it back, and you're not quite sure why. No one's around, no one cares, so why won't you let yourself cry? Would that make it all real? Would that mean you're accepting her death? That she's really gone? That you're letting go? Moving on with your life? Thoughts of guilt consume you as you feel as though you should've known, you should've called her, said something, asked her to pick you up that day. Anything would've changed the chain in the course of events, right?

It's then, with the realization of the butterfly effect that a sob wracks your chest and tears stream down your cheeks. Like rapid fire, the sting of hot, salty tears cascade down your skin leaving streaks of mascara in its wake, you're sure. Screaming into your pillow, you can't help but struggle to breathe as you're not sure what to do. How do you move on from this? Where do you begin? What's left in your life, really? What does anything matter if she's gone? Your mom? The only person who's been there through your whole life from the beginning till... well, now. She was your best friend, your confidant, your partner in crime, your... everything. At the end of every day you always knew you'd have her to go back to. Never has the fear of being alone crossed your mind until right this second. Now you understand why so many people commit suicide each year. If their pain feels anything like this, then you understand. All you can think, wish, and mentally pray for is this to stop. For the tears to stop falling and your breath to stop coming in quick bursts of panicked, hyperventilating heaves. Snot runs down your lips and it's hard to see with the blurriness of the tears in your eyes.

After a while, the crying eventually dies down and you lie--wishfully--lifeless on your bed. A small hand towel you'd grabbed from the bathroom is folded under your face where the tears would fall and you've folded it over the few times you'd blown your mucousy snot into it. Silence consumes the room, and you've found yourself simply staring up at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Constantly caught in your thoughts, between crying and being eerily silent, you're unsure if all this was destined to happen. Or maybe it was supposed to come out sooner. Maybe it's only because you've been pushing everything down into a deep dark place that only feels safe for you to express once you're absolutely sure you're alone.

In the midst of a quiet moment, your eyes and throat sore, head throbbing, there's a knock at the door. "Dinner will be served in just a few minutes." It's Alfred. You hope he hadn't heard your crying, though if he had... what can you really do? Nothing... just like everything else in life. You can't do anything.

With a quick splash of cold water on your face, hands combing your hair down, and making sure you look as presentable as possible, you're ready. Aside from the slight red tinge that lingers around your eyes and the dark circles beneath them that are impossible to get rid of, you head downstairs. While you're sat in the same spot as this morning, you're joined by many more people this time. Bruce and Damian both sit at the ends of the table again, Tim sits across from you, though this time he's flanked by the Detective, and another man you don't recognize. He has a white stripe in his hair and a longer face than the others, but it suits him with his angular features. On your right sits a very tall and broad man clad in a business suit and glasses. Past him, sits Jon--who you'd met this afternoon--and across from him there's one more person who makes the table uneven in terms of people. It's a blonde girl, with an enticing sparkle in her eyes and a charming smile from what you can see from the other side of the table.

"This is my good friend, and Jon's dad, Clark Kent," Bruce introduces, gesturing to the man beside you. Said man holds out his big hand and offers a friendly smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," he recites your name and you reciprocate the handshake. It's good to know that not everyone in Damian's association is a complete asshole, you suppose.

"Nice to meet you too," you respond quietly. With the meal served, everyone dives into eating, leaving you a little unsettled. While your mother had come from a very religious upbringing, she hadn't forced it on you. Yet, you'd still find yourself and your mom praying before dinner to whatever God or higher deity might exist. In a way, it was more to give thanks each day for being alive and having food on the table. Sometimes it was a conversation starter when someone would mention what their day entailed, the good things they'd seen, or maybe the bad things they'd ask for protection from. Nevertheless, it's clear that this family operates differently; digging your fork into the fancy black-peppered pork roast, you use your knife to slice a piece off for yourself. Not in the mood to talk at the moment, you simply listen to what everyone's discussing.

With the lack of response they'd gotten from you, Bruce opts for talking to Clark about business and how things have been. Dick and Tim fill in the mysterious man on the little they knew of you. The blonde girl talks with the younger boys at the end of the table at moments but also butts into the other conversation among the young adults diagonally across the table from you. Stabbing multiple string green beans onto your fork, you don't make eye contact with anyone as you simply try to get through this dinner. Maybe then you can go upstairs and try to relax away from everyone.

"-something we shouldn't really talk about too much, but I can guess the funeral will be by the end of next week with all the arrangements I made today," Bruce speaks to Clark.

"Wait, what?" Your voice is quiet, only drawing the attention of those sitting closest to you. Butting into their conversation, you raise your eyes to meet your Father's surprised blue eyes.

"The funeral will be at the end of next week, I'm presuming. It'll take a little while with all the arrangements," he repeats. Though he seems hesitant, he doesn't keep himself from speaking it again. After all, he's someone who stands behind his actions.

"What? Why?" Your fork clanks against the chinaware, lips parted in shock as you dropped it. "You made the arrangements without me?"

"Yes. It was important that you go to school and it was all right there in the will." Forkful of mashed potatoes lingering in the air as his blue eyes bore into yours, you find your breath beginning to rise and fall at a faster rate.

Of course, none of them know your buttons and what it looks like once they've been pressed, but if your mother was here right now, she'd know. With a screech of the chair being pushed back hastily and a quiet slam of your palms on the table to stand, you're livid. "Why would you do that? How could you do that?!" Hands shaking, you begin to gesticulate, any former semblance of masked placation now fallen. All eyes are transfixed on your figure. "She's my mother! Mine! You don't even know her- I do! I know what she would've wanted, and this isn't it. What, just because your name was on my birth certificate that means you get to take over my life? You, who doesn't even know anything about me, and yet you act like we're best friends! Your children call you 'Bruce' and you have no problem with it! You don't get to just come into my life and fuck everything up! You sleep with her once, what? Sixteen years ago and now you come in and take everything?" A wry laugh leaves your lips, "Well, more for you, I guess! Did you ever stop to think that there's a reason I had no idea who you were? Let alone, why she never told me? She never once asked for your money or your help, and now I'm just here. All my stuff? Gone. All my friends and family? Gone, a-"

"-We can go get your-" The Detective begins.

"-Oh, shut up! You really think anyone wants to hear what you have to say? You're adopted, you're not even related to me! You don't know me. None of you do! The only good thing about this is I don't have to put up with being interrogated by the BPD every goddamn time I walk down the halls of school. But I'd at least take that over never seeing my friends again!"

"-What do you mean?" He follows up, commenting over you. Everyone else looks around the table silently, taken aback by what they're witnessing.

"You want to 'Bring Justice to Bludhaven', I guess, when everyone already knows what happened to Perdy Chapman! Everyone except the BPD, I guess!"

"How dare you?! You can't speak to my brother like that, you-"

"Finally! The only person I'm actually related to here. My half-brother, the mysterious 'Wayne Boy' who doesn't have a mom! You have no fucking empathy for me, you've been giving me shit all day! And yet you're the only person I would've expected to actually give a damn! So sit your ass down, pendejo twerp!"

Without asking for permission you storm out of the dining room and through the living room toward the staircase.

"I'm guessing you're done with your dinner?"

The voice stops you in your tracks, hand on the banister, you let out a loud sigh, shoulders falling before you try to maintain a jovial demeanor when turning to him. "I don't need you to do anything for me, Alfred. I think it's fucking ridiculous to have a servant when it's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud!"

"It's my job. I assure you he pays me, if that makes it any better," Alfred speaks in a calm tone, unfazed by your words or behavior.

"Great! Well, I still don't need you doing things for me that I can do myself. Thank you, though," while the words come out through tense, grit-together teeth, you turn and head upstairs. It doesn't take long to get to your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders. Luckily, this was the one thing you knew you could do with the advantages of not only your room but a backyard. Opening the window, you climb out onto the tree branch a few feet away.

Soon enough, you're on solid ground, out of the boundaries and gate of Wayne Manor. With a heaving chest and shaky hands, you speedwalk down the road toward where you know the bridge will be heading into Bludhaven from the transfer point on the Eastern Seaboard. This time for whatever reason, you can't bring yourself to cry. Maybe all the tears had already flooded from your body this evening, but nothing emanates from your tear ducts. Eyeing the blood that's already starting to dry on your palms from the splinters and the last little drop you'd had to take from the tree, you scraped your palm.

It'd been silent upon your departure from the dining room. Bruce insisted that everyone return to eating, that everything was fine, and that this wasn't unexpected. While things returned normal for the most part, Jason excused himself with a look toward his father. It wasn't until an alarm rang from Bruce's phone that he groaned and pulled it out only to find the surveillance outside capturing your figure leaving the premises. Announcing what the 'emergency' was, at everyone's persistence, Jon ran out of the room before Bruce could elect Clark to go check where you were headed.

It's a lone road, cypress trees lining it and gravel-filled sides. With it only being garnered by private property of the elite, and no real intersections for miles, no cars pass in either direction. As the sound of a faraway motorcycle approaches, you don't let it deter you. It'll be at least an hour or more before any of them realize you've left the property. They all think you're just upstairs crying to yourself, most likely. Rage still swirls in your gut, however, it's drained somewhat, being replaced by the determination to get home. A billionaire, his family, servants, and even a few splinters won't stop you. It doesn't strike you as odd that the sound of the nearing motorcycle slows; after all, not many people hitchhike on this road, you're guessing, and with the speed limit being higher in this area.

Jon had been faster, intrigued for some reason--his justification upon later questioning--to find out where you were going. Clark trails behind him, neither of them bothering to change clothes as they fly above the closest road, trailing you from a distance silently. It's only when they spot the motorcyclist approaching you that they hold their position.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice is unfamiliar. While being catcalled isn't a stranger to you, it's still annoying that it'll happen in the middle of fucking nowhere. Ignoring the motorcycle that now stalls to your left, you continue walking with determination, eyes ahead and fists wrapped around each strap of your backpack upon your stiff shoulders. "Really? You're gonna ignore me and play it that way? Get on the motorcycle," the man calls your nickname, which elicits a reaction from you.

Eyes widening and lips parting, and eyebrows shooting upward, you finally look at the man. You don't remember his name, but he'd been sitting at the table across from you between Tim and that Detective. Expression immediately turning into one of anger, your jaw setting, you feel reinspired to make your way to Bludhaven. "I'm not going back! I can't," you argue, "plus I don't even know you. Why would I go with you?!"

A chuckle leaves his lips and you hear the shifting of plastic before the motorcycle revs in a way that elicits an automatic jump from your body. The motorcycle speeds a few feet down the road before it does a loop and skirts into a stopped position just a few feet in front of you. Legs on either side of the vehicle, the man flicks the visor of his helmet back up and reaches into the back compartment, producing another. Before you have time to react, he throws the helmet your way. Hands instinctively reach out to catch it instead of letting yourself get hit with the speed of it. You wince; it pushes the splinters further into your palm. You come to a standstill a few feet away from him as you lift the helmet slowly only to see the blood starting to pool around them again.

"I'm Jason," he reveals, "I don't know where you plan to go, running away like this, but you don't think the old man will notice you're gone sooner than later? What's your plan then?"

Irritation and a desperate anger linger in your chest as your eyes finally raise to meet his. "Well, Jason, it's none of your business! Regardless, it doesn't matter. You can't stop me." Approaching him, you're about to shove the helmet in his hands when he raises one of his own, palm facing you.

"Truce? Look, I know you don't know me, but I was like you. I grew up in Crime Alley and had to steal tires for a living. I tried to steal the-" he stops himself, another chuckle escaping his lips, "the old man's, and that's how we met. I get it... it's not easy, and, no one expects you to just go along with everything, alright? If you're thinking about going home, well, that'll take what-? Hours? You really want to walk for hours to... where are you from, again? Bludhaven? What part?"

"Canaveron District, yeah," you respond gruffly, some of the tension leaving your shoulders.

"You won't get there for another three hours walking, at best. If you just want to get your things, well, I can take you there. But we'd have to get everyone else-"

"No! no, I don't want-"

"-If you let me finish," he warns, "I was going to say get the others to help tomorrow or this weekend, we can get the rest. Alright? Just essentials, and I bring you right back here. Got it?" His eyes search yours for a moment before he adds, "That's the best I can do for you, kid. Otherwise, I've gotta drag you back to the Manor kicking and screaming, which I really don't want to do."

"He sent you?" You weren't too surprised, only that if anyone was coming, you figured it would've been Bruce, himself. It's only when Jason notices you looking around and contemplating your decision that he cocks his head toward the Manor, signaling the Kents to leave. He's got this.

"No. I came, because... unlike those other dicks, I actually know what it's like to come from, well, somewhere that's not the greatest," he admits, a look of sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

"And this isn't some scam? You just tell me this, get me on the bike, and then take me back to the White House?" This elicits a laugh from the man, and he runs a gloved hand through his black and white hair.

"Look, I don't know how much they've mentioned about me, but... let's just say I'm not exactly in Bruce's good favor if you know what I mean." Reading the look on your face, he expands. "I'm not exactly the goody-two-shoes of the family. If you want your stuff, I'll take you, but only because I know he wouldn't do that."

"Why?" Standing in silence, the two of you search one another's eyes for any sense of understanding. It's tacit, the question that you both know you were really asking, yet he doesn't make you voice it: why would you do this for me?

"Because I know what it's like to have everything taken from you." A sigh leaves his lips, and you can tell simply from his stance and demeanor that this man has been through much more than he's letting on. "If you wanna do this, we should get going. I can't be out too late tonight. You coming? Or should I call the old man and let him know what your plan is?" With a raised brow and eyes flicking toward the helmet in your hands and back to your eyes, he awaits an answer.

"I'm coming." Sliding the helmet over your head, you approach the vehicle. "Just... don't tell him, please! At least don't tell him for another... fifteen minutes?" The request elicits a questioning look before a smirk replaces it.

"Deal. Hang on," he requests. Shifting the bike to stand upright, he leans closer and reaches under your chin to clip a strap in place you hadn't noticed. He tightens it, checks with you, and then gets onto the bike. "You ever ridden a motorcycle?"

With a thick swallow, your eyes shift from his to the bike. Sliding over the seat, you're unsure where to place your feet, but Jason instructs you, making sure you're comfortable before you slide your arms around his waist and brace for takeoff. Visor flicked down and everything in place, he revs the motorcycle before speeding down the road.

Beneath the helmet, the ends of your hair tickle your arm as it whips through the air. Cool breeze wooshes past your body, arms able to feel the chill through the blazer, your legs gaining goosebumps through the exhilarating experience. Cypress trees turn into willows, which become more and more sparse as gates and brick walls slowly fade with the elitist properties into cemeteries and then into more forest before turning more industrial. As different plants and factories appear, so do the cars. Jason weaves in and out of traffic as he maneuvers his way down the highway and onto the bridge that winds around Gotham and finally goes into Bludhaven. The lights and sights passing this fast is intimidating at the thought of crashing, however, it's thrilling in a way you've also never experienced. Skyscrapers line the island, lights, signs, and monuments only add a sort of fascination and exuberant liveliness to it. As the Wayne Enterprises sign passes, you finally feel comfortable enough to remove one hand from Jason's side for a moment, long enough to flash a quick middle finger at the sign before fearfully grabbing onto his jacket again.

With a laugh and shake of his head, he removes a hand from the handlebar to flip a bird alongside her, eliciting what he thinks is a laugh. Nevertheless, he can feel the fear in her grip so he returns his hand to the handlebars and makes sure to keep his focus on the road. It's not likely they'd crash, not unless someone was out for him and knows his bike, and his civilian identity. Not that he goes too far out of his way to hide it, but it's not impossible. He's confident in his abilities, but considering they don't know each other the best, he doesn't do anything to further scare her.

As he draws nearer to the Canaveron District, he slows down enough for her to give him directions. Parking the bike outside the apartment complex she's identified, Jason helps her off the bike and stashes the helmets in the back. "Lead the way, little lady," he encourages.

~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

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lynxtheserval · 3 months

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Hi im the anon that requested for scythe chasing the reader.

And yes,like thoese typical yandere pslsls im so down bad for this womwan🙏🙏🙏🙏

Fun to write wooo, I might do a part two if I remember about this lmao

Man sorry if it seems lazy at any point as well

Yan!Scythe x reader -

(TW: yandere shit, stalking, getting chased, a single curse word, possible ooc scythe)

All you heard was whistling and the heavy ba-dump of your blood through your ears. You tried to run as fast as you could through the dusty ghost town you managed to get lost in.

Your shoes pounded against the sand, and your legs were exhausted. You've been running for who knows how long at this point.

You turned around a corner and sat next to a wall to try to catch your breath. You hoped she wasnt following you anymore, but you still heard the whistling and humming of that… monster. The whistles sounded farther away now, but you still weren't fully safe. You don't know what she wanted from you, but what you do know is she's been chasing you for what feels like an hour, carries a terrifying looking gear, and she’s the most wanted in all the factions. You weren't that special of a person, you weren't a criminal, nor anybody important, you have no idea what a person like HER wanted from you.

You got snapped out of your train of thought when you realized you could hear footsteps now, oh god.. she was close. You were frozen with fear, you held your breath and stayed as still as you possibly could.

The footsteps got louder, and louder, and louder.

“Ya know, you can't run forever, sugar.”

Her voice was.. intimidating, to say the least. She had a very strong southern accent, if she wasn't chasing you down for who knows what reason, you might have found her voice attractive.

You said nothing and continued being as still as you possibly could.

“Listen, baby, I ain't gonna hurt ya! Just come out of your little hiding spot, so I can see your pretty little face.”

You seriously doubted that she wouldn't hurt you.

Scythe was getting annoyed now, where the hell were you?! She never loses her sights on a target, but you were much more than that. You were actually important to her. But of course you didn't know that, you just met her, after all.

Except she's known you for a while.

You were such a precious thing! Your adorable face, your laugh, your beautiful eyes, oh.. and your personality! She loves every bit about you.

That's why she isn't letting you leave.

You were still hiding, she knew you were around here, somewhere. You were terrified, you didn't know what to do.

So you stayed in your hiding spot, and waited.

And waited,

And waited.

It felt like forever, you couldn't hear her footsteps anymore, so you think you're in the clear to go.

So you carefully step outside your hiding spot, and look around.

It seemed cl-

“FUCK-”

You got kicked down on top of the sandy ground, and heard a menacing laugh behind you.

“Oh sugar.. I'm glad I was able to find you in the end! You hide well, I'll give ya that.”

You got the breath knocked out of you, gasping for air. The woman placed her foot on top of your back, not too hard as to hurt you, but enough to keep you from getting up and running.

“Now, you're probably wondering what I want from you.” She paused, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. You nodded, and tried to speak, but she interrupted you. “Well, darlin’, I want you.”

“Wh-what do you mean!?”

She took her foot off of you, but before you could do anything, she grabbed one of your arms, forcing you up. She then brought you into a hug, wrapping her arms around you.

“Ya see sugar, you don't know this, but I've been watching you for a while now.” She grinned at you, looking into your eyes. God, you were so much prettier up close.

“What did I do to anger you?!”

“You didn't do anything, darlin’. Except steal my heart!” She laughed, “And trust me, baby, I ain't angry. It's reasonable that ya would wanna run away from me.”

You looked at her with fear in your eyes and she took notice of this, and loosened her hold on you, instead of hugging you, she was now just holding your hands.

“Relax, I'm not gonna hurt ya! I just want you to stay with me for a little while, it won't be bad, baby, I promise.”

And then your vision went black.

#x reader #phighting x reader #scythe x reader #rifle/scythe x reader #anon ask #tw: yandere #tw: stalking #tw: cursing #yandere phighting #yandere phighting x reader #yandere scythe #yandere scythe x reader

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highpri3stess · 1 year

Text

Keeping up with the older siblings of Tr (smau) - pilot

Starring: The older siblings of Tr + wakasa and benkei (reader is an older sibling)

Sypnosis: Who's the worst older sibling between Takeomi, Shinchiro and y/n? One thing's for sure, it ISN'T Shinichiro 💀

Warning(s): f!reader (she/her), cussing, Shin is alive, reader has a younger sister, everybody is messy 💀 , benkei is insecure in his hair colour, Takeomi gets bullied. More people will be added to the series as it progresses. Everyone in this timeline is of age 💀

Rated 16+ (minors dni with my other posts please and don't follow me)

Join my taglist: @gabytodd @kamikoii @happygoluckyalexis @mastermindenoshimaalicia @obitohno @haitaniwhor3

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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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wonderlandsakura · 7 months

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My brain is broken so have some Dani & Dan are/consider Danny and Vlad their parents cause it will not leave my brain

Dan, after massacring to protect someone technically, but maybe enjoying it a bit too much: Shit. You better not tell my dad. Papa's ok, cause that shit stain has shit morals so it doesn't matter what he thinks cause he has no rights, but Dada's got Opinions and I actually care about them.

Dani, swinging her legs where's she's sitting on her big bro's shoulder and whining: Daaannnnn... I'm hungry :(

Dani, a petty menace: let's eat something expensive >:3

Dan, already searching for the closest restaurant: I've got Papa's card, what you wanna eat

Dan, also a petty menace: lemme see >:3 *searches up the most overpriced restaurant for people who wanna feel richer than other people*

Dan & Dani sibling bonding by being menaces to the rich + their billionaire dad who forced their creations. (They got it from their Dad, who is so proud btw)

Papa Moneybags and Dada Danny

#tw: cursing #tw: violence #tw: death #pompous pep

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desertmile · 10 months

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I'm a 'jerk' to my companions. :3

#desertmile #Fallout 4 gameplay #screenshot #Fallout 4 Hancock #john hancock #FO4 #2023 #tw: swearing #tw: cursing

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apersonwholikeslotus · 11 months

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S. Italy: IS HE-

Lithuania: fucking

S. Italy: KIDDING ME?! THAT-

Lithuania: fucking

S. Italy: IDIOT

Ireland: What was that?

Lithuania: Alfred banned Lorenzo from cussing so I'm helping him out.

#aph lithuania #hws lithuania #aph ireland #hws ireland #aph s. Italy #hws s. Italy #aph romano #hws romano #hetalia #hetalia incorrect quotes #tw: cursing

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yourpostisonpinterest · 3 months

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you know the pinterest girlies. the "my parents won't let me have any social media but pinterest" girlies. they love pukicho. they have the pickle man, just like us. in many ways, we tumblr users are similar to the pinterest girlies. and there are many tumblr posts reposted onto pinterest. have you ever wondered if your post made it onto pinterest? if your post got big enough to be posted on pinterest, you probably already know that it's there. so this blog is kinda useless. but i wanted a gimmick blog.

if you find a post on pinterest and i haven't, you can send me an ask (speak, fool) or submit a post (did i miss a post?) have fun.

i'll try not to tag anyone multiple times. i can't find a better way to do this than tagging the person with a pic of their post. sorry. whoops. tumblr search engine sucks.

goodbye. you know the drill. dni if you're a dick. don't be a dick.

inspired by: every gimmick blog ever and all of the pinterest girlies

#gimmick blog #pinterest #pinterest girl #and there's really nothing else to tag #introduction post #ig #whatever #also i won't have an actual post schedule don't expect much #tw: cussing #tw: cursing #tw: swearing

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batwynn · 3 months

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Welp. Doctor doesn’t want to use any of the mast cell stabilizing meds because of mood side effects (?) and there’s no where to go for a skin prick tests or anything further because I live in a rural shithole so that’s that.

Allergic reactions to everything and overdosing on antihistamines forever it seems. Gonna get married to the Hat Man and his million spider babies.

#rip my body #MCAS #allergies #histamines #doctors #tw: doctors #tw: medication #tw: cursing #personal #batwynn talks #black list last tag to never see me crying over my stupid life again lol

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i-think-im-rarity · 13 days

Note

Um, Miss Rarity, who are you talking to? And why are they a "bucking hypocrite" as you so delicately put it?

#mlp rarity #i-think-im-rarity #ask blog #tw: cursing #tw: guns #tw: blood #Swee

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icycoldninja · 5 months

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A great misunderstanding (Yandere Reno x Fem!reader angst)

Tw: Toxic behavior, yandere behavior, cursing, and death threats. No sexual themes, but there is a great deal of swearing, enough to deem this R rated. If you are a minor or are uncomfortable with these themes, DNI.

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

"Where were you?" Reno demanded, voice sinister; eyes cold. You shivered in your chair, watching with fearful eyes as he crossed the room to glare down at you.

"I asked you a question, babe. I want it answered." You gulped, feeling your throat tighten and your mouth dry up.

"I was out, visiting some friends." This was the truth; you'd gone to visit a few girl friends and their brothers while Reno was at work and ended up getting stuck in traffic, thus arriving home late and incurring his wrath.

"Were you now?" He demanded, his playful voice having a sharp, steely edge to it. "And what friends were you out visiting?" He moved to stand directly in front of you, looming over you menacingly.

"Just a few girls....and-"

"And men?" Reno frowned, staring down at you with a face of displeasure. "I knew it." He grumbled, when you didn't respond. He cracked his knuckles and starting pacing back and forth in front of you. "You fucking whore. You were out, cheating on me!"

"Reno, that's not true," You protested, seeing that he was beginning to lose his temper. "You're misunder-"

"Not true?! Don't you lie to me, you goddamn fucking slut!" Reno picked up a nearby glass and threw it on the ground, shattering it. "You were out with men, men who were not me! You were being the goddamn slut you are--screwing around with bastards behind my back!"

"No, Reno! Calm down and let me explain-"

"Shut up! Shut up, you bitch! I don't need to hear your shitty excuses!" Reno turned and headed for the door, taking his Electro Mag Rod with him.

"Reno, wait, where are you going?!" You shouted, moving to follow him. Reno turned around, a sadistic, malicious glare in his eyes.

"I'm gonna find those friends of yours and teach them a lesson for dicking around with my girl." He tapped his weapon on his shoulder and grinned at you, baring his teeth in an almost animalistic manner before walking out the door, slamming it behind him.

#Reno x reader #Ff7 #Ffvii #Yandere x reader #Yandere Reno #Tw: cursing #Tw: death threats #Tw: yandere-ish behavior

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hey-op-just-kill-me · 1 year

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Davey: Jack all I’m saying is your 17 why do you still sleep with a stuffed animal

Jack: fuck you that’s why

#tw: cursing #broadway #newsies #newsies live #newsies musical #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies text post #text post #fuck saying people can’t sleep with stuffed animals #that is bullshit

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sortofanobsession · 6 days

Note

omg I’m so glad you’re alive and I hope you’re feeling better. Can’t wait to read your Ted lasso writing again<3

Author's Note: ask and you shall receive...

Content warning: injury, hospital, surgery, anxiety, fear, cussing (it's Roy so duh) Crying.

Paring: Roy/Jamie

No Show Roy-o

Jamie paced the locker room. The team just watching him.

Everyone's eyes snap to the door when someone starts to open it but they are disappointed when Ted and Beard walk in. The two coaches look at each other and then the team before heading into the office.

"Okay, something is wrong," Ted says as he sets his backpack down.

"Clearly," Beard replies.

Ted watches the team through the window and notices all the attention on Tartt. Well, then he knew where to start.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" Ted asks as he approaches the striker.

"Roy didn't show for training this morning and he isn't here yet."

"Has he ever missed before?"

"The man actually lives to wake me up at 4 am to order me around," Jamie states. "No, he never misses. Not without a text at least."

"Did you call him?"

"I'm not daft," Jamie huffs. "Several times. No answer. Now it goes to voicemail."

"Some of us tried too," Isaac says. "Nothing."

"Keeley hasn't been able to ring him either," Jamie says. "Should I call his sister?"

"You have his sister's number?"

"For emergencies, and Phoebe," Jamie admits.

"Hold on, you have contact with Roy's niece?" Ted asks. "She's what? 8?"

"That's really the important part to you now?" Jamie asks.

"Kinda, odd friendship there," Ted admits.

"She insists I'm Roy's best friend, and Roy says it's for emergencies. She has a very different definition of emergencies, like you said, she's 8."

"Okay, fine," Ted says. He could let that go for now.

"Do you think this counts as an emergency?" Jamie asks.

"Let's see if he is doesn’t show, not just later than normal," Ted says.

But when time comes to head out to the pitch and Roy still isn't there Jamie cracks and texts Roy's sister. She texts him back that she'll check his place. And that gives Jamie some reassurance as he begins training. He gives Ted his phone in case she or Roy calls. Ted initially thought it was silly, but about an hour in she does call. She tells Ted that Roy wasn't there and the fact he isn't answering for her is unusual. Roy would never ignore a call from her or Phoebe. But she also insists that Roy can handle himself. And she'll let them know if she hears anything. And that makes Ted a bit nervous. They were just about to take a break when Phoebe called Jamie. She is crying and Ted actually does call Jamie over for this one. And Jamie, still in his kit, drags Ted inside. Changes only his boots while still on the phone and whispers to Ted to get what he needs.

"Where are we going?" Ted asks but does as Jamie says because something feels very wrong here.

"The fucking hospital," Jamie hisses, not to be mean but more so Phoebe doesn't hear.

"Oh, that's bad, yeah, let's go." Ted nods and follows Jamie’s lead.

"We're on the way Phoebe, just stay there."

Phoebe runs over and hugs Jamie when she sees him.

"Hey, Phoe," Jamie says and despite the fact she is 8 years old, Jamie hauls her up into his arms for a hug. And Ted is almost envious of how easy that seemed for him. But Ted is still very confused. "You remember Coach Ted?" Jamie asks her. She nods as Jamie sets her down.

"Hi Phoebe," Ted says. "Are you okay?" Ted asks.

She shrugs and looks over. Ted sees a doctor he had met before, but she looked out of place in street clothes.

"Hey, Doc." Jamie hugs her. "What happened?"

"Still trying to sort that out," she says.

"You're Roy's sister?" Ted finally asks.

"Oh sorry, yeah, Coach Lasso, Doc. Doc, Coach Lasso."

"Thanks Jamie," Ted says at the less than helpful introduction but Jamie is already being pulled away to the waiting area by Phoebe.

"How much did Jamie tell you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Ted admits.

She shakes her head. "Right, Roy was brought in about a half hour ago. A friend of mine on shift recognized him and called me. They think he was hit by a car but we have no idea."

"Oh wow, I am so sorry, that-" Ted starts to say but she stops him.

"Thank you, he's in surgery now, I assume you will want to let Ms. Welton know. He might be out for a while."

"Yeah, right, good calls must run in the family," he says.

"Something like that," she says before going to check on Phoebe.

She leans in and whispers to Jamie that Roy is in surgery and it's a waiting game now.

Ted calls Rebecca and Beard, then Keeley. Keeley is there in less than twenty minutes.

"Keeley?" Jamie asks when he sees her. She hugs Phoebe and then him.

"Ted called," she says and smacks his arm.

"What was that for?"

"You didn't call me!"

"I was busy with her," Jamie says, gesturing to Phoebe. Thankfully she had her headphones on and was curled up in a chair.

"Fine, that is an acceptable excuse. Here," she hands him a bag. "I ran by Nelson Road and got your stuff. Sam had made sure it was packed up. They're all pretty worried."

"They aren't the only ones," Jamie glances at Phoebe.

"Does Ted know?"

She glances out the window to where Ted was clearly on the phone with Rebecca or Higgins.

"Know what?"

"About you and Roy?" She says.

"Nah, didn't know if I should tell him. We haven't talked about it."

"Well, I think this might genuinely blow your cover."

"Hasn't yet," Jamie says.

"Jamie, I know you. You're managing right now because of Phoebe, but the minute you see him, you-"

"I know," Jamie seems to deflate. "I am trying so hard but-"

"Oh babe," she hugs him and grimaces. "I love you, Jamie but do us all a favor and change. I'll stay with her."

"Yeah, right, okay," Jamie says as he heads to the toilets to change.

"Where's Jamie?" Ted asks when he gets back.

"Changing out of his kit, Ted there is something I need to tell you, the boys might get mad, but Jamie is going to need someone and as much as he tries to hide it he is terrified."

"Okay, lay it on me," Ted says.

"Roy and Jamie have been secretly dating since just after international break."

"Wow," Ted says. "That's…new information." He admits. "Does explain why he has Roy's sister in his phone. And why he was so worried when Roy didn't show up for training."

"They were keeping it a secret because well, for a lot of reasons, but I believe that ship might have sailed based on the fact Jamie didn't even change out of his kit."

"Did change his boots," Ted says.

"Probably not easy to drive in," she says.

"Probably," Ted agrees.

"Please don't make a big deal out of it, Jamie wasn't going to say anything because he wasn't sure if Roy would want him to, but Jamie brought you for a reason. He brought you because he trusts you and Roy trusts you. And I know you won't hold this against them."

"Heck no, I'm glad they have each other, just surprised is all. You think Jamie is just a ticking time bomb in this one?"

"Definitely," Keeley nods. "And I'm not sure what will set him off."

"Thanks for the heads up, I'll keep this between us unless something happens."

"Thank you, Ted."

Keeley heads back to work after they promise to keep her in the loop. Roy's sister comes back a bit later to tell them that Roy was out of surgery but it would be a bit before anyone could see him.

"You should be at training," is the first thing out of Roy Kent's mouth when they walk in. He glares at Jamie.

"Uncle Roy!" Phoebe rushes over and hugs him as best as she can.

"Hi, Phoebe," he says before looking at Jamie.

"You really think I would stay at training after they called me?" Jamie challenges.

"Yes, not much you can do here," Roy says.

"How hard did that car hit you?” Jamie narrows his gaze at him. “Because clearly your brain is rattled, old man."

"How you feeling, Roy?" Ted asks to get the two to quit being so grumpy.

"Like I got hit by a car," Roy states.

"You did," Phoebe sniffles.

"I'm okay, kid," he says. Earning a scoff from Jamie. Roy glares at him. "You should-"

"Oh, Jamie Tartt's not going anywhere," Ted assures him. "Rebecca already knows you'll be out for a while, and sorry boys, but the cats out of the bag on this one."

"You told him," Roy glares at Jamie again.

"I did not," Jamie looks just as shocked.

"Keeley told me," Ted says. "Because she was worried Jamie was handling it too well."

"Of course she was," Jamie complains.

"You did cry, like a lot earlier," Phoebe says.

"Thanks for that, Phoe," Jamie says, his tone less than amused at being called out by a literal child.

"Phoebe, why don't you help me find your mom and call Keeley," Ted says.

She seems to weigh her options.

"And stop by the vending machines," Ted adds.

"Okay," she hugs her uncle again before following Ted out. Roy looks over at Jamie and can tell he really is hanging in by a thread.

"I'm fine," Roy says. And Jamie doesn't even say anything, just crawls in the bed beside Roy. Roy grunts but manages to shift a bit to make them both fit. "Better?" Roy asks once Jamie is practically molded into his side.

"Yes, much," Jamie says and he buried his face in Roy's shoulder.

"Why am I not surprised?" Roy's sister says when she walks in.

"Not my idea," Roy says.

"Not complainin' though, yeah?" Jamie counters.

"Tear his stitches and I'm banning you myself, Tartt," she says.

"Ouch, Doc," Jamie says. "But fair."

She hums as she sets to checking his vitals.

“Pain?” She asks.

He grunts.

“Roy,” she starts but Jamie beats her to it.

“It's either now or you have to admit it when Phoebe gets back,” Jamie says. And whether it is because he's right or that Jamie's so close to losing it Roy knows he needs to answer.

“Fine, 6.”

“Right,” his sister says.

She makes a few notes.

It was quiet again when she left.

“Are you mad?” Jamie asks.

“That I got hit by a fucking car?” Roy counters. That seemed like an obvious question. Of fucking course he was. He could have died. His mind circles back as Jamie shifts.

“That people know,” Jamie corrects. “About us.”

Roy considers it as best he can with painkillers in his system. And he really doesn't fucking care because Jamie is there with him and despite how he was acting before he was glad he was there. It had been terrifying to think he might die when he has people that need him.

“No,” Roy finally answered. “Needed you here, and if that's the fucking cost. Fine.”

“Good, because I think the team knew something was up, but that might have been because I couldn't sit still.”

“When have you ever fucking sat still?” Roy posits.

“This was worse,” Jamie tells him. “I'm sure Will is going to be pissed at the state of my boots. Pacing constantly on a hard surface.”

“Well get you new fucking boots,” Roy assures.

“Least of my worries, love,” Jamie admits, carefully shifting so he can see Roy's face. “Scared the shit out of me when I couldn't- you weren't answering. No one could find you. You never-”

“Fuck,” Roy says because Jamie has tears streaming down his face and he hates when that happens. He hates that it's because of him, even if he had no say in what happened to him. Despite the ache it causes Roy reaches up and brushes as many of those tears away as he can without risking his stitches. “I'm-”

“Don't!” Jamie starts to pull away. The striker knew what he was about to say. Jamie vehemently shakes his head, causing Roy's hand to have to fall back to the bed. “You are not fucking fine, Roy,” Jamie states, and it was clear what little hold Jamie had on his feelings was slipping. “Because I’m not! Phoebe isn’t either. You nearly died! I can't…do you think I want to do any of this shit without you? Because I fucking don't.”

“Not fucking asking you to,” Roy says, and it probably comes out more aggressive than he intended because Jamie was no longer tucked against his side. The footballer was on his feet, having wound himself up to pacing again. And Roy's chest always gets tight when Jamie does that shit. He needs Jamie to be okay. But he knows he probably said that wrong when Jamie glares at him.

“You didn't fucking have to,” Jamie retorts. And that's fair.

“Fucking hell,” Roy grumbles, attempting to sit up so he can better track Jamie's movement.

“Don’t do that,” Jamie grumbles as he moves back to help him. “Hurt yourself and your sister will boot me.”

“Then quit fucking pacing,” Roy tugs at Jamie's arm until he sits on the edge of the bed. Roy sighs, ignoring the ache in his ribs as he does.

“I'm not fucking dying, Tartt. Fucking doctors made sure of it.”

“Barely,” Jamie says.

“But they fucking did, and that's fucking that.”

Jamie scoffs but doesn't bother arguing. He was anxious and still thinking about how much worse things could have been, and how much could still go wrong.

“Look at me, Tartt,” Roy demands. Jamie does. “I know this is a fucking mess, but I will be fucking fine. You know why?” Jamie shrugs. “Because you lot won't stop until I am. You, my sister and Ted fucking Lasso, are all fucking determined. Throw in Keeley and that fucking team. I probably won't get a fucking quiet moment til I'm back at the dog track. So fucking do it.”

“Are you telling me to take care of you?” Jamie asks.

“Going to fucking do it anyway, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jamie nods. “What do you need me to do?”

“You're here, so things are already fucking better,” Roy states. That has warmth spreading through Jamie's chest because Roy has less filter than most, but it would appear he has even less now. And it's oddly sweet.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Jamie says as he shifts to prop his knee up on the bed and takes Roy's hand in his. The fact Roy seems to relax even more has Jamie smiling for what feels like the first time all day. “And you heard the gaffer, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me.”

“Good, going to need help with the kid,” Roy says. “She is going to be impossible to get rid of.”

“Don't lie Kent, you love every second of it. You love that kid.”

“Not the only fucking one,” Roy states.

“That loves Phoebe? Of course not, she's adorable and-”

Roy squeezes his hand.

“That I love, you fucking muppet. Sometimes I wonder why but fucking hell, Tartt. I fucking love you.”

Jamie grins. “Fucking love you too, you prick.”

Roy tugs him until Jamie lays back down beside him. There is a knock at the door. Jamie goes to get up but Roy doesn't let him.

“Well aren't you two adorable,” Ted says as he and Phoebe come in.

“Fuck off, Lasso,” Roy grunts.

“Uncle Roy,” Phoebe starts.

“I know, kid,” Roy says.

“Your mum probably knows where his wallet is more than he does,” Jamie says.

“Could probably finally cash out that tab I've heard about,” Ted adds.

“Oi, don't give her fucking ideas.”

“That's two,” Ted states.

“Fucking hell,” Roy mutters, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillows.

“Three,” Phoebe giggles.

“I got you,” Jamie quietly tells Roy. Jamie grabs his wallet from his locker and tosses it to Phoebe. Phoebe gives him a look. “He's been through it, so I'll take the hit for him.” Jamie grins. Phoebe just shrugs and takes three quid from him.

“Now he owes you,” Phoebe says, setting his wallet on the table by his phone, which he had set aside to focus on Roy when he initially crawled into the bed.

Roy glares at him, but it doesn't bother the striker.

#tw: injury #tw: hospitalization #tw: hospitals #tw: hit by car #tw: crying #tw: cursing #tw: cussing #tw: fear #tw: anxiety #tw: medical procedures #tw: medical emergencies #tw: medical treatment #tw: medication #tw: mentions of death #ted lasso fic #royjamie #jamie x roy #roy x jamie #jamieroy

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