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discotechque · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His suggestions are something you often resist at first.

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

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

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

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

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

#obbbbsessed with jamie cause he's an asshole and that's what makes him stand out and his humility has made him average as a result #idk i feel like i am the person who loves writing a good situationship or realistic outcome compared to most writers #ITS COMPELLING ITS GOOD HES THE MAN WHOS KINDA YOUR BOYFRIEND BUT YOU HAVENT WENT ON A DATE WITH HIM #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt X reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt

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discotechque · 1 year

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jamie tartt | this is me trying

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | KO-FI

words: 2.5k

warnings: jamie being mean behind the reader's back, but then angst, fluff, etc. mention of alcohol. gender-neutral! reader because jamie is so fucking bisexual. JAMIE'S DANGLY EARRING. swearing.

prompt: I was wondering if you could do something for Jamie Tartt? Hurt/comfort angst. Reader who was crushing on Jamie overhears him insulting them or making fun of them (appearance/personality) to the team (before his character development arc begins and he's still kind of a prick) and he doesn't realize why the reader doesn't like him until he confronts them (after he stops being an asshole)

You’ve learned to grow thick skin while working as Rebecca Welton’s personal assistant — and thicker still ever since you met Jamie Tartt. There was a time when you’d let him crawl straight under it, enamoured by his cheeky if not slightly arrogant charm each time you bumped into him around the football club, always making time to stop on your coffee runs to ask him about his day.

But that was then. You’ve learned a lot of things since — for instance, that Jamie doesn’t keep his voice down in the locker room. Not even when he’s talking about you and your “annoying, wonky smile”, or your obsession with “following the team around like a lapdog whenever you’re not burying yourself up Rebecca’s arse.” And their chat is so boring. Who wants to talk about that weirdo lad they’ve been seeing? Or the bloody weather? And, by the way, don’t ask them about their new niece. They’ll scroll through an album of baby pictures for, like, an hour. Can’t shut them up once they start.

The other teammates had laughed and added to the running joke, unaware you were standing just outside the door, waiting for Rebecca to join you before entering for the weekly pre-game pep talk. The worst part? You'd had to walk in afterwards with a face like a tomato, knees wobbly as you pretended you hadn’t heard a thing. It had made you want to disappear, and you’d spent the football game hiding in your office, trying not to cry. It hadn’t worked.

You’ve been trying not to give Jamie an ounce of your time ever since, ignoring him whenever you see him — to save him from that smile and small talk of yours he so hates. Today, though, it’s hard to avoid him. Rebecca isn’t here, having come down with the flu, and she’s asked you to stand in for her at the away game. Naturally, she hasn’t sent her usual flashy car to escort you there so instead you’re perched on the uncomfortable seat of the coach with the rest of the football team, the smell of tuna sandwiches and cheese and onion crisps ripe in the air. You took the seat beside Roy by the front — and Jamie took the one opposite, sprawling out on both seats despite the fact that Will the kit man is squished on half a seat behind. You can’t help but roll your eyes when Jamie kicks his leg up, the toe of his trainers poking over the seat and onto the aisle, meaning anyone brushing past to go to the loo will most likely collide with his Nike logo.

You think your scorn is hidden until Jamie frowns at you. “Oi. Who shat in your Weetabix this morning, love?”

You scowl, both at the crude language and the way his voice seems to soften on that silly, patronising term of endearment. Love. You’re anything but his love. You ignore him, pulling out your phone and pretending to be interested in your schedule. Roy’s raised brow isn’t lost on you, but you’ve become good at ignoring that, too, over the years.

“Ah, I get it,” Jamie carried on. “You’ve got better things to be doing than chaperoning a group of lads on a Sunday.”

“I have, actually,” you reply, trying your best to sound bored.

“Ooh…” Jamie leans forward as though you’ve piqued his interested. “Oh, yeah? What’d you be doing if you weren’t here? Hot date? Dinner plans? Night out?”

You purse your lips. “None of your business.”

“Oh, come on. I’m only making conversation,” he prods. “It’s dull as anything, this bus. Entertain me.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you with my chat, Jamie,” you say coolly, and then, before he can react, you unfasten your seatbelt and stand to find a seat well away from the man you’d once adored.

As you sit next to Coach Beard two seats in front, you hear Jamie obliviously ask: “Did I say somert offensive or what?”

Roy only says: “Always. Now shut the fuck up.”

***

Richmond lost the match against Man City, and now the team are in a foul mood. You don’t particularly want to spend the night in a hotel room alone, but the lads decide to drown their sorrows and explore Manchester’s night life, so the bus is not going back to Richmond tonight. Neither are you. When you get the text in the group chat from Ted — which includes a lot of emojis and exclamation marks — you groan and fling yourself on the bed. You’ve only just survived a dinner sitting opposite Jamie, and now he wants everyone to go out on the town, to a karaoke bar no less. You think about coming up with an excuse, but the alternative is being stuck in all night with shitty Freeview TV channels so eventually you talk yourself into it.

You try to blend in when you get to the bar, slumping onto a stool beside Will as the rest of the lads sign up for karaoke or chat loudly with Ted their leader. Their spirits lift through the night, and all you can do is watch. You suppose, deep down, they aren’t the same football team they once were. Even Jamie is more of a team player these days. Still, you know the judgement they’re capable of and don’t particularly feel like mingling. You feel out of place, on the outside looking in, even though you made an effort to look nice.

At some point during the evening, a pink cocktail is placed in front of you. You look up from the soggy beer mat you’d been fidgeting with to find Jamie there, smelling strongly of heady cologne and sporting a dangly earring that, for a moment, drills into your armour. He’s so attractive. And so bloody idiotic.

“Mind if I…?” he asks Will. "Cheers."

Will immediately hops off the stool and disappears, Jamie taking his place. “You like Cosmo, don’t you?”

You’d been drinking Cosmopolitans all night, so there wasn’t much you could say but, “Yeah?” while still making no move to touch the drink.

Jamie’s jaw ticks as he lifts his pint to his lips and looks onto the dance floor, face lit by the flashing strobe lights. “Can I ask you something?”

“No, I’m not going to take your picture,” you reply dryly, only half-joking. Jamie likes to get plenty of shots for Instagram, and there was a time you’d happily be his photographer.

That frown is on his face again, this time heavy enough that his brows cast shadows over his eyes. “Not that. Why don’t you like me anymore?”

The blurted, frank question takes you aback, and you clutch the edge of the bar for support as your vision blurs just for a moment. “Pardon?”

“I thought we used to get on. You used to chat with me and all that. But now you don’t want anything to do with me. Why?”

Your fingers begin to shake. You look around the rowdy bar as though someone might help you; they don’t. Truth be told, you’d never expected him to notice — or care enough to confront you, at least. It had taken, what? A year? Two? “Why does it matter? We don’t work together that often.”

“So I’m not just paranoid then. You really don’t like me.”

You only shrug. “I know you’re used to people worshipping the ground you walk on, Jamie, but not everyone will.”

He dips his head as though timid, setting the cross on his earring dancing as his lids lower. He pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as though deliberating. “It’s not like that. I just… I thought we were friends, you and me. And then you just stopped talking to me. I don’t get why.”

You lift your brows in disbelief. “Friends? Is that what we were?”

Jamie looks confused. “Well… yeah?”

You can only scoff, still unwilling to tell him the real reason. Unwilling to relive that day; admit how much it hurt you. As a lump grows in your throat, you push your cocktail away and pull on your jacket, getting up and pushing through the throng of new arrivals — not before muttering: “Figure it out yourself, Jamie.”

The cold night air eases the swirling in your gut, but not for long. As you march down the road, headed in the direction of the hotel, you hear your name being called. You ignore it, afraid of the warm tears welling in your eyes. You’d done so well, moving past this. Now, you were back there. Back in that locker room.

Friends, you want to laugh. The word has only added fuel to the long-simmering fire. Because if he thought you were friends, not just a nobody he passed in the hallway, then he’s even crueler than you thought. Friends don’t treat each other like that. Friends don’t talk about friends that way.

A hand clasps your wrist suddenly, and then Jamie is in front of you, his breath a visible fog puffing in front of him. “Ey,” he says, as though gently scolding you. “Talk to me. I’ve been…” He swallows, raking his hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. For weeks. Months. I don’t know why, so why don’t you just tell me, love?”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest as you begin to shiver. “It’s not worth saying. Not worth rehashing. Let’s just leave it.”

“No. I don’t want to leave it. I don’t want you to hate me.”

You try to move past him, but he steps in time with you to block your way.

“Please,” he begs. “I’m trying, here. I am. You were always so chatty and bubbly. It was nice, having you around. Now you don’t even look at me. There must be a reason.”

You grit your teeth to hold yourself together and finally summon the courage to look him in the eye. “You didn’t like me being chatty and bubbly, Jamie.” Bitterness spills from you. “You don’t like my annoying, wonky smile or my boring chat. That’s what you said in the locker room. You laughed at me with all the lads, didn’t you? 'Rebecca’s stupid little lapdog'. That’s what you called me. Not your friend.”

He winces as though the words have bitten him, letting go of a ragged breath and tucking his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t know you heard that.”

“No, I bet you didn’t.”

His eyes are glossy, cheeks pink. “Shit.”

That’s it? That’s all you get?

You sneer at him and push past him, this time determined to end the conversation. But he’s determined, too, and he rushes in front of you to grasp your shoulders. His hands are warm despite the mild weather. “Look, I’m sorry. I really, really am. I was an arsehole back then. I mean, I still am, but… I’m working on it. I didn’t mean the things I said. Locker room talk… it was always some way of asserting your dominance, playing a game of ‘who's the biggest dick’? I won. I always won. I was too competitive, too lost, not to. It’s not an excuse. I know that.”

“I’m not doing this with you now, Jamie,” you say, if only because your chest is aching and you want so badly to believe him. You know, though, that he’ll only hurt you again if you accept his apology. You can’t trust him with all the love you once held for him. He’ll throw it away as he laughs in your face. You’re worth nothing to him. You learned that the hard way.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I really am.” The worst part is that he looks sorry, his eyes round and open and his lips twisted with what seems like self-loathing. You’d know. You’ve looked that way too, especially because of him.

“Are you done?” you ask.

He pauses as though expecting a different answer before giving a faint nod.

You make to leave, but then he calls, “No, actually. ‘Am not done. The reason I said that shit… they were teasing me about fancying you. I was embarrassed. Not because of you. Because I didn’t want them to think I was weak or whatever. I’m Jamie Tartt, yeah? I’m supposed to be a player. Nothing’s supposed to touch me, especially not the sweet assistant with the pretty smile.”

Heat crawls beneath your skin, especially when his mouth tilts with a strange sort of hope.

“So I did what I always do. I acted like an arsehole to protect myself from the truth. How pathetic’s that?”

“Extremely,” you whisper.

His cheek dimples. “Yeah. Exactly. The truth was that talking to you was the best part of my day. You were the only one who asked me how I am and actually wanted to hear an answer. And it’s been shit, not talking to you. I miss you.” He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “That’s pathetic too, innit? It’s true, though.”

“I can’t just forget those things you said about me,” you admit quietly. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged the damage he did. “They messed with my head, Jamie. I stopped smiling with my mouth open to hide my teeth. I stopped trusting people when they were kind to me.”

“But I like your teeth, love,” he says softly, as though it's that simple. “I like everything about you. Let me try again. Let me make up for it. Please?”

You don’t know if that will ever be possible, even now. “I don’t know.”

“I can try,” he mutters, taking your hand gently. “Let me try.”

“Even this morning, you were teasing me, trying to get a rise out of me—”

“What? No!” he defends. “No, I was trying to figure out if you were dating anyone. ‘Cos if you weren’t... I was gonna ask you out. Properly.”

Surprise steals your breath. Had you misread everything, just looking for reasons to hate him? Maybe he truly had changed. Everybody else seemed to think so, Roy, his biggest enemy, included.

You look down at your intertwined hands, something shifting in you. Still, you’re not brave enough to forgive and forget. You can’t be swayed so easily. “I’ll think about it,” you say. “Not about the date. About… letting you try.”

He brightens. “Yeah? Okay. Okay, good. Thanks.”

There’s nothing else to say, not really. He lets go of your hand, eyes drifting across the road and back. “Can I walk with you back to the hotel? I’m knackered, anyway. Heading that way.”

Even that is a surprise. The old Jamie might have been scoping out one-night stands or getting too drunk to speak.

You nod slowly, glad, at least, not to be walking through an unknown city in the dark. “Yeah. I suppose.”

A smile breaks across his face as he turns, matching your stride beside you. “You look really stunning tonight, by the way. Wanted to tell you that.”

You blush despite yourself, looking down at the pavement. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

His arm brushes yours, warm, welcoming, uncertain. Shy, even. “Worth a try, though, innit?”

It certainly didn’t do any harm.

#literally been looking for something like this and tumblr is evil wtf #i will come back with all my thoughts cause i so need to dissect this #jamie tartt

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