Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Jamie’s life had been worse–it really had been.

     His life felt vaguely reminiscent of a polished purgatory. It wasn’t entirely horrible; it just wasn’t what he thought it’d be when he was growing up. Every stroke of bad luck was followed by a stroke of good luck, as if his life were a game of dominoes. At 16, Jamie fought his father for the first time. Then, James got his first arrest that resulted in his mother finally being granted a restraining order against him. When Jamie was 17, he presented as an omega and was forced to quit football that same week. Only three months later, the Premier League suddenly decided omegas were capable of playing. Just Jamie’s fucking luck. The universe had always made room for him, yet he still managed to feel like shit.

     Jamie never said “please” or “thank you”; he only ran and kicked a ball. Jamie always swore that the day he had money, he would never complain. Now, he had money, and complaints flew out of his mouth at any and every chance they could. He saw rich people on TV and scoffed when they lamented about their problems, because in his mind, the amount of money they had could evaporate them into thin air. Jamie had been poor, middle-class, and now rich, just like the people on TV. All the things he had encouraged the rich people on TV to do, he should currently be doing himself. Therapy didn’t hold a candle to cocaine. Recovery couldn’t compete with sex or partying. Jamie was one of the first omegas in the Premier League; he was the fifth, to be exact. Jamie was scouted at 18, right at the tail-end of his 13th year of school. The idea of joining Manchester City’s Club was reminiscent of a wet dream on its surface, but when he actually was there, it wasn’t what he’d imagined it to be.

     The alphas couldn’t stand him. Although he worked his ass off to try to hide his scent and avoided using the locker rooms at all costs, they somehow could just sense that there was something off. That pissed him off to no fucking end. Jamie spoke, ate, and drank just like them. Disregarding their one biological difference, he was sure that he would’ve gotten along with several of them. The betas, on the other hand, didn’t seem to dislike him but didn’t exactly go out of their way to interact with him. Man City’s coach wasn’t entirely terrible; he was dick just as any coach tended to be, but for coaching a team with a closeted omega, he wasn’t half-bad. Pep had asked him if he wanted the team to know of his secondary-gender. Jamie said “no.” Pep never asked again after that.

     After the incident, Pep signed him onto Richmond’s team. Just Jamie’s luck, Cartrick was a fucking asshole. Not only was his ballsack hanging out of his shorts half the time, he was always looking at Jamie as if he wanted to take a bite out of him. It started as staring, progressed to whistling when Jamie changed, evolving into its last formation of him begging Jamie for a quick fuck. Jamie spent what felt like days filing HR complaints against him not only because of the sexual mannerisms, but because of how shit of a coach he was. Of course, nothing came of it. That was how it remained until Rebecca Welton took ownership of the club; she fired him as soon as she had the means to do so. It was such a sudden change that the club didn’t have a coach for a few days, leading Roy to have to coach them until the new one had arrived.
Roy Kent had starred in every heat he endured since presenting—but outside his heat-driven fantasies, Jamie couldn’t fucking stand him. Roy towered above him and always knew how to point him out in a room or field.

     “High fucking knees, Tartt!”
     “Stop being a fucking arsehole and let Sam have the fucking ball!”
     “Tartt, stop being a fucking dick!”

Sure, his other teammates received criticism from Roy, but with Jamie, it was rapidfire. Each little mistake would lead to a roar from Roy. The worst part of it all was that Roy had Jamie neatly sat within the palm of his hand. Jamie was Roy’s puppet, whom he had been unintentionally pulling the strings on. He hated him at times, but he loved how Roy’s gaze would always be on him. Perhaps those brown-eyes led him to where he was now.
—
     “Ow’d you know where I was, Roy?” Jamie whispered, sinking into the passenger seat of Roy’s car. The window was cracked slightly, just enough for the English air to dance across the top of his head.
     “You called and told me, fuckwit.” Roy growled, gripping the wheel. Jamie’s stomach churned at that. He somehow could still feel the hands of alphas he barely knew on his waist, whispering filthy promises in his ear. It was Manchester City all over again.
     “Why d’you pick me up?” Jamie slurred, resting his head on the window. As if he didn’t know the answer to his own goddamn question. Jamie was a young omega man at a bar alone. That’s why he was in Roy’s passenger seat.
     “Jamie, you said three alphas wanted to take you home and treat you, and you’re drunk out of your bloody fucking head,” Roy pauses and grunts, “You told me they treated you like shit when you played at Man City.” Jamie couldn’t argue with him on that point.
     “Wha’s this, then? You kidnappin’ me or summat?” Jamie hiccups as a sickly burp slides out of his mouth.
      "I'm taking you back to mine- You're not gonna fucking choke on your own fucking vomit and fucking die before our Saturday match like a goddamn twat.” Jamie was absolutely fucked now. Roy wouldn’t let him forget this ever. Now, the whole team will think he’s been shagging Roy–but would that really be the worst thing?
      “I can ‘andle meself, Grandad.” Jamie really couldn’t; they both knew that. Jamie didn’t want the team to harass him. The shit that Cartrick said to him was enough.
      “Clearly, you fucking can’t.” Roy attested as he began pulling onto his street. Jamie couldn't argue. He dutifully got out of the car and started towards Roy's front door.
Jamie had absolutely fucked himself over this time. Roy would never leave him alone at training now.

Chapter Text

     A slap slammed across Jamie’s face, like a lightning strike. Jamie pulsed, tumbling back, then landing on the carpeted floor of his and Mummy’s first flat. Jamie was 9 when he lived in this flat. The carpet reeked of piss and cigarettes; he didn’t miss that smell. Jamie peered up to see his father– well, sort of. The creature didn’t have a face; where his face would’ve been was replaced with a black cloud. Jamie didn’t know how, but he just knew it was his father. He could just feel it. 

     “The Tartts ain't no pussies, son. You’ll be a strong fuckin’ alpha, d’you fuckin’ hear me?”  His father screamed, teeth gritted, as he raised his foot and aimed for Jamie’s face. 

     Jamie woke suddenly, a stabbing pain twisting in his stomach. His mouth began to water, and sweat beads began dripping down his face. Jamie pushed the blankets off himself and bolted to the master bathroom, throwing himself onto his knees as soon as he was close enough to the toilet. Jamie spilled his guts, which were mostly full of alcohol, into the porcelain bowl. His hands held the rim of the toilet as if it were going to run away from him, and his head felt like the drumming beats his high school band used to play. He definitely overdid it last night. When he was done, he raised his head and looked around the bathroom. He wasn’t at his fucking house? Did he go home with someone last night? Jamie pushed himself up, legs wobbling like jelly, and stumbled back to the bedroom where he’d slept. The bed was empty. He wasn’t sure if anyone had been in it at all. The left side of the bed was well-made, with no wrinkles to spare. 

     “Wha’ t’ fuck?” Jamie muttered, running a hand through his hair. For some reason, he found himself remaking the side of the bed that he had untamed. Whatever alpha he had slept with clearly had a knack for neatness. Jamie tiptoed out of the bedroom, then down a staircase. As he got closer to the ground, he saw a figure lounging across the couch. Did he just shag a married man? His mind raced as he inched down the stairs enough to see a dark curly head of hair. Now, he was gripping the railing and took a sharp breath as he continued down the staircase. He was bracing for whoever was about to greet him at the bottom of those steps, close enough to make a run for the front door until–

      Roy slammed his book shut and glared. “Jamie, what the fuck are you doing?”

     “Oh my god, Roy, did we fuckin’ shag? I thought you fancied me a bit, but I never expected us to actually—”  Jamie sputtered out because he apparently had absolutely no control over his mouth. 

     “Fuck no!” Roy rolled his eyes, placing his book on the table next to him, “Goddamnit, do you even remember what happened last night?” Roy roared, eyes widened. He looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he could’ve done that. Jamie picked at his cuticles, trying to remember something, anything, about the night before. He was hungover, so he must’ve gotten drunk. He was at Roy’s, so he must’ve called him? But why?

     “Nah, I don’t,” Jamie muttered, as sincerely as he possibly could. 

     “You called me, drunk as ever-living fuck, saying there were 3 wanker alphas touching all over you, and that if I didn’t come and get you that fucking instant that they’d take you home.” Roy recounted to Jamie, with a sharp glare in his eyes, furrowed brows, and a sudden redness taking over his face. Shit, that’s real fucking embarassing. Jamie couldn’t put together why he called Roy over any other person he knew. He knew Roy couldn’t stand him, that was apparent to anyone who’d seen them together for less than two minutes, so none of it made any sense. 

     “Did I say anyfin' else, Roy?” Jamie muttered, looking down at the hardwood floor. 

     “That you were fucking scared and you didn’t know who else to call,” Roy murmured in response, his voice sounded like he was stepping on tacks. That’s worse than calling him drunk and asking for a bit of fun. Jamie was so fucking weak. 

     “Oh,” 

     “Yeah.”  

     The two stood silently for what felt like hours until Roy spoke up. His scent was spiked; he smelled like he was about to go ablaze. 

      “I don't know what fucking... issues you've got going on-" Roy began only to be quickly cut off. 

     “I’m not a child, I don’t ‘ave any fuckin’ issu-” Jamie glared, gritting his teeth, eyes still glued to the floor. He began to pick at the scent-patch he had on, he was going to leak through it soon.

     “Jamie, you may be a twat, but even you’re not that fucking stupid. You-” Roy paused and took a deep breath, “went to a bar, notorious for being full of alphas who think with their dicks, and got drunk as fuck. What you did was dangerous and idiotic. You have to know that.” Roy spoke louder than he had before, causing Jamie to look up. He was now crossing his arms and shaking his head at him. Roy’s scent was so potent that the neighbors could probably smell him. That made Jamie feel as if he had been stabbed. 

     "They’ve got good coke, awright ? That's what you wanted t’ hear?!" Jamie, with his fist tightly clenched, spat with as much vitriol as he could muster up. 

     “So you were coked up and hammered. Makes your case a whole lot fucking better, muppet.”  Roy retorted, raising his hands in the air. 

     "What? No, the dealer weren’t there, awright? He said he were gonna be there that night, and he just... didn’t show up. So when he weren’t there for about an hour, I just decided to have a few fuckin’ drinks, yeah? Nothin’ bad." Jamie spat, running a hand through his hair. 

     “Great, so your original plan was to be coked up around those animals! Real goddamn smart Jamie, you must be a fucking genius.” Roy grunted back, rolling his eyes. 

     “Wha’ do you want from me? Do ya’ wanna sit ‘ere and bitch at me like a fuckin’ mum?” Jamie barked back, getting so close to Roy that their chests were touching. 

     “I want you to stop acting like an idiotic man-child and to grow the fuck up, Jamie. You think I didn’t do coke in '09? No! I was coked up out of my fucking head. You think that if I loved coke more than football that I’d still have my career? You have a bright fucking career that you seem to waste with your head in the snow.”  

     “Stop pretending like you know me. You fuckin’ don’t. You give me shit all th’ time as if you care, but I know you don’t. Roy-” 

     “Jamie, don’t. Just fucking don’t.” Roy cuts him off with a low growl.

     “No, you act like you fuckin’ perfect. Betta’ than every 20-year-old player, aren’t you, Roy? I bet you were ‘orrible, Roy. A real piece of shit. But sure, fuckin’ tell me how I could be betta’.” Jamie hissed, pointing at Roy’s chest. For a moment, Roy was silent. All he did was stare at him. A few short moments later, Roy let out a short-lived sigh, his eyes holding something quieter than anger now, and broke his silence–

     “Jamie, I was a 20-something with my head rammed up my arse. You have potential and I don’t want you to muck it up trying to be some fucking proper lad. I was a fucking idiot and I don’t want you to do the same stupid shit I did. For once, listen to someone other than yourself.” Somehow, that stuck to Jamie like honey. He had watched Roy play in matches throughout all of his teenage years. In that moment, Roy felt human. He was no longer the football star he watched on TV, he was just Roy . The man who hung on his walls for years was giving him advice. Advice he would’ve killed for years ago, so for once, he may listen.

     “Fine. I’ll fuckin’ listen.”  In that moment, they both remained in yet another tightly sealed silence, but this time they were looking each other dead in the eyes. After what felt like an eternity, Jamie broke the contact and pulled out his phone. 

—

     Jamie had called an Uber to take him home. He’d spent the last few hours lounging in his nest, in his house that cost him millions. For some reason, the amount of money he had spent on his home made his skin crawl. He bought Mummy a home before he bought his own. She was deserving, but he just wasn’t. Mummy spent years holding him afloat, bouncing to whatever job would hire uneducated omegas. She had held him so close, caring for every fee and every one of his needs. Mummy gave him everything; she deserved an expensive home. All Jamie did was kick around a ball. 

     He thought about getting on a hookup app for something to distract himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt like drinking, but he said he’d listen to Roy. All things that sounded appealing to Jamie were against what Roy had told him to do. Jamie wanted alcohol, drugs, and sex. All of the things that Mummy had begged his father to avoid. Jesus, he was just like his fucking dad. It was now almost midnight, and he needed to feel something. He was hungry for something that could make him feel. 

—

     Jamie found himself driving back to the flat that was in his dream last night. He needed to feel the way he did as a boy again, when football was just something he liked and not his career. He needed to feel human again.  It was either the first or the second time Mummy had escaped with him; all of those memories get mixed so easily. It was the first time they had moved out of the Manchester area, and Jamie remembered being terrified. The drive there felt like the back of his hand, and he tried to remember the last time he had ridden the bus and seen the same view through the windows. He was probably no older than 11 when they had to move out of the apartment, right after his dad had found them the first time. Mummy said she had gotten a new job with a better company and needed to be close to them. Jamie had no choice but to oblige. 

     As he started getting closer, he saw the diner that he and Mummy used to go to. It was a small thing that had black and white tiled floors and smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap breakfast. Mummy couldn’t afford much, so when they would go there together, it was a treat. He remembers when he was 10, he had lost his last baby tooth, which Mummy considered to be a major achievement deserving of breakfast at the diner. They were behind on bills from the previous month and had ones for that month due that week, but she still made it work. It felt like magic to him then, but now he knows she just picked up another odd job or shift. Jamie needed a lot of things, and even when she was struggling to keep them afloat, she always made sure he had them. Football boots were taken care of. Team field trip fees were paid almost as soon as he got the form. All uniforms were bought brand new and dry cleaned. All Jamie could hope for was that he would be a parent like her and not his father. He needed to be like his Mummy when he had a kid. 

—

     Jamie had arrived at the old flat. It almost looked the same way he remembered it… It was just more faded now. The exterior was brick, with the same windows plastered evenly across every room. The street lights were completely off, but he could see the small field that he used to play on. He started playing during the beginning of primary school, but only started taking it seriously when he was about to transition into secondary school. He saw the field where he began to take the craft seriously. It wasn’t nice by any means, it was just a thick patch of grass with a small children’s goal on it. The lawn was rarely mowed, so he usually found himself in the grass that would sometimes tickle his ankles, and during the summer, he’d become a magnet for mosquitoes. Even with its flaws, he and his primary mates adored the field. Each day, after school, they’d all flock to the field as if they were flies attracted to honey. They’d play until the sun went down and each of their mummies called them inside for dinner. He wondered if those friends watched him on TV. What would they think of him now? 

    The field was almost the same as it had been, but now the grass was cut short, and the formerly yellow goal had deteriorated into silver. One thing caught Jamie’s eye, though; there was a football inside the goal net. Kids still played there, just the same way he and his lads had. Jamie’s chest tightened, and a smile spread across his face. He ran into the field, threw himself onto the grass, and lied down, the cool grass tickling his back. He looked up at the sky and decided that maybe one day, all could be well.

Chapter Text

     Jamie sat in a room lined with several windows. Despite the abundance of sunlight leaking into the room, it still felt dead. Cardboard cut-outs of football stars stood before him, and the grey walls felt like they were choking him. He’s in an uncomfortable fucking chair and his manager sits in front of him ready to say whatever stupid shit he always says. Murray was the exact kind of disgusting alpha his mum had always warned him about. Anytime he had come in for any kind of advice or meeting, it’d end with Murray wanting to grope him or some shitty comment about how he was “too pretty of an omega to play football” and that “an omega like him would be a perfect pop-star or model”. Stupid bullshit that made Jamie want to rip what little hair Murray had left on his head out. 

     “Jamie, I made this appointment with you because you have been called to the opportunity of a lifetime,” Murray spoke, enunciating every word, a pop leaving his lips after the word lifetime. Stupid fucking industry shark. 

     “Was it one o’ the clubs I wanted t’ be traded to? Did they finally get back t’ you?” Jamie had been trying to escape Man City ever since the incident in the locker room, and then got sent to Richmond, where he had been dealing with Roy. Roy was nothing like the Man City alphas, which made him feel worse somehow. Roy was trying to help him, at least the Man City alphas were arseholes. 

     “It’s better, my sweet Omega, you have been reached out to star in a reality dating show called Lust Conquers All, to be their newest contestant.” Murray stopped for a second to watch Jamie’s reaction. When he realized that Jamie was not pleased, he continued, “This could be absolutely groundbreaking for you, Jamie, you’d look so nice on the screen. Being on the show could open opportunities to get you on the big screen and make you a real star-”

     “You’re fuckin’ jokin’ right? D’ya seriously fink’ I’m gonna go on some fuckin’ TV show? Did any o’ em’ teams even respond to you, Murray? Did you even send th’ fuckin’ emails?” Jamie sat up, puffing his chest and gritting his teeth as he spoke. In moments like these, he always attempted to mimic alphas’ behavior. It started as a subconscious habit that transformed into a fully intentional defense mechanism. Murray remained too still, a sign that he wasn’t buying into it.

     He took a sharp, deep breath and leaned over his desk. “Honey, nobody wants you.” Murray gently cupped Jamie’s face. 

     “Wha?” Jamie couldn’t move. His body felt frozen. 

     “Jamie, these football teams don’t want you. Do yourself a favor and take this opportunity.”  He said this as if he were comforting a small child. He spoke to Jamie as if he were soft.

     “Fuck you, you fuckin’ pig. I’m not doin’ this shit no more.” Jamie pushed away and slapped Murray’s hand off of him. 

—

     He stood outside his manager’s building, hyperventilating with clammy palms and sweat beading on his brow. He is acting like a fucking pussy. Jamie is a weak fucking omega. If his father had been here, he would’ve slammed his head into the concrete beneath his feet and stomped on him. He was starving for something, he didn’t know what. He needed something. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and found himself calling Keeley. The line trilled for a few short moments; it felt like hours to him. 

     “Jamie, I won’t have time to shag until later tonight… Unless we had a quickie in my office before my 4 o’clock appointment, yeah? Maybe I could-“ Keeley responded almost immediately, chipper as fuck. 

     “Keeley… I need ya, I can’t—I can’t breathe.” Jamie interrupted. He felt like he was gasping for air as he spoke. 

     “Are you okay, Jamie? Take a deep breath. Where are you?” Jamie could only imagine her face right now, raised brows and slightly agape mouth.

     “I’m stood outside me manager’s office, Keeley. He’s a fuckin’ dickhead, yeah? A right fuckin’ arsehole. I hope he fuckin’ dies.” Jamie rambled out, running his hand through his hair and biting at his lips.

     “I’m rescheduling all of my appointments for tomorrow— I’m coming to get you, okay? Stay put, yeah?” Keeley spoke softly and strategically as if she were trying to put out a fire. “Jamie, I need you to breathe.” He tried to listen, he really did. It was like there was just no air left inside of him. He felt like the world was crushing him.

     “Jamie, is there a bench around you? Could you sit there and send me where you’re at?” 

     Jamie walked over to the bench and sat down, sending his location to Keeley.

     “Good job, Jamie. I’ll be on my way.” 

—

     Keeley had gotten to him in remarkable time, she must’ve been speeding. It was hard for Jamie to care at this moment. They were now at her house she had recently bought. It was nice, definitely not as expensive as Jamie’s, but it felt like hers. It was a modern home, nothing super extraordinary in that department; it was the decor that made it unique. Fluffy pillows, cheetah print, and hot pink seemed to be the theme of her home. Not that it was necessarily bad, just not something Jamie would’ve chosen. Ever since he had gotten there, they had been sitting in this silence that Jamie assumed made both of them uncomfortable. 

     “Do you want to talk about it?” Keeley asked, strangely quiet. 

     “I wanted to leave Richmond, so I went to Murray about it, and he told me none of them wanted me. He wanted me to be in this stupid fucking reality dating show-”

     “Slow the fuck down, leave Richmond? Jamie, they won’t let you do that even if you wanted to? Also, I thought you liked it there?”

     “I do like it, Keeley— it’s just... It’s fuckin’ Roy.” Jamie admits this as if he were a small child confessing to stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

     “Roy? What the fuck did he do? Jamie, be honest, we’ll figure it out–” Jamie quickly interrupts Keeley, Roy hasn’t and never would hurt him in the way she was implying.

     “I stayed at Roy’s last week. I was fuckin’ drunk and scared, drinkin’ too much turned me into an idiot, and I called Roy. Don’t even remember doin’ it… Woke up in ‘is house the next mornin’” As he says this, he feels like a weight has been taken off of his shoulders. Thank fucking god for Keeley.

     “Oh my fucking god Jamie, did you guys shag?” Keeley dramatically sits up, putting an ugly cheetah print pillow on her lap.

     “That’s the weirdest part, Keeley. I woke up an’ Roy was on the couch. Think he slept there all night or somethin’? We didn’t have sex or nothin’.” Jamie throws his hands up as he says this. It didn’t make a lick of sense to him. Roy could’ve fucked him there. He could’ve used him up, marked him, and make Jamie cum as many times as he him wanted too; but he didn’t. In part, he wishes he were sober. He can’t stand him, but God, he does want Roy. It wasn’t like he wanted to want him. If anything, he adamantly fought against the urge to beg for him. 

     “So you just like woke up in his house?” Keeley asked wide-eyed.

     “I woke up in ‘is fuckin’ den , Keeley! It smelled like him an’ shit. I didn’t even notice how he smelt ‘til I got home an’ took me clothes off for the dirty pile. It was just fuckin’ everywhere.” The thought of Roy’s scent made Jamie’s lower abdomen cramp up. Jamie hadn’t realized how potent Roy was until after he’d come back from the old field by the apartment. Upon further thought, he realized that even though Roy had enough money to have a whole separate room for a den, it seemed as if his bedroom acted as a den for him. That’s something that lower-class alphas do most of the time, but almost every alpha footballer he had known had a separate room for their den. They’d say it was “make sure the scent was right” or whatever nitpicky shit they’d come up with. He could’ve been mistaken, but he swore that it had the pheromones of a den.

     “Holy shit? Did you guys talk after? Did you up and leave?” 

     “We started fightin’, he was tellin’ me what t’ do an’ shit, actin’ like he knew me or whatever.” He clutches onto the pillow when he says that. It wasn’t exactly a lie. His scent patch is itchy as fuck, he wants to rip it off.

     “That doesn’t seem like Roy? He doesn’t seem like the type. What was he saying?” How the fuck does Keeley always know when he’s hiding something?

     “I went t’ that club on the shit side o’ town—y’know, the one with all them fuckin’ alphas?” Keeley nodded her head vigorously at that. They had gone to it when they had first met. Swore it was a never-again thing. “I just wanted some good coke, yeah? My dealer was meant t’ be there, but the guy didn’t fuckin’ show up. So, I had a few drinks. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up in the mornin’ an’ Roy’s there, goin’ on ‘bout how it was dangerous an’ reckless. Like, I didn’t know that already. I told him he was an arsehole. Said he don’t actually give a shit about me. Said he was probably a proper prick when he was my age. An’ then... I dunno, I fuckin’ promised him I’d cut all the bullshit out. I dunno why I did it, Keeley.” Keeley looked like she was struggling to keep up; he must’ve started talking too fast.

     “Jamie, he was just trying to keep you safe. You can’t be doing shit like that. How did you think you were going to get home? I think Roy might’ve overstepped but st-” Keeley muttered this out in a stoic type of way, the kind she gets like when she’s really upset. Jamie wanted to stop that real quick.

     “I know it was fucked up. I need t’ leave the team ‘cause of it.” Keeley cocked her head to the side in response. 

     “That’s one hell of an overreaction, Jamie. Just apologize to him. That’d be much better than uprooting your whole career, yeah?” She said this softly, grabbing his hand, gently rubbing her thumb up and down. 

     “Keeley, it’s been a week. He didn’t say nothin’ to me at the match, not even at trainin’. Didn’t correct me, didn’t say shit. I can’t— it’s too fuckin’ weird, and I already feel like a fuckin’ pussy, Keeley.” 

     “Do you genuinely believe that apologizing makes you a pussy?” Keeley chuckled in disbelief, and Jamie nodded his head slowly in response. Not because he agreed, just because of the principle of standing by his word. “Jamie, it makes you look fuckin’ stupid. Next time you’re training, you need to apologize to him and mean it, yeah? Don’t do that thing you do where you get weird and just blame the other person.” As she said this, she adjusted herself onto her knees. 

     “Fine, Keeley. You’re fuckin’ right. As always…” Jamie rolled his eyes at her, a small smirk tugging on his lips. 

—

     Jamie arrived back home after he and Keeley had treated themselves to a Pink Moscato. He decided not to drink much of it; in fact, he was nothing more than a bit tipsy. Jamie was determined to listen to Roy. To cut the stupid, reckless, shit out. Anytime he wanted to go against what Roy had told him, he thought of three things: how he didn’t want to end up like James, the fantasy of Roy being proud of him, and how much he loved football. Jamie’s lower back was fucking killing him and needed the fucking patch off of him now. He dashed up to his bathroom and angled himself at his mirror. He began to gently peel at the circular patch, gentle whimpers falling out of his mouth as he did such. When the patch was off, he grazed his fingertips against the scent gland and put his fingers to his nose. He had been on borderline illegal hormones since he had presented; he would probably never know what he would actually smell like without them, but he just wanted to see. He smelled sweet, but with a hint of spice that caught him off guard. It reminded him of vanilla extract, nutmeg, and clove, much like the high-end bars he and the team had visited, if they had been enveloped in the autumn air.

     The corner of his bathroom had caught his eye. The shirt he had worn when he slept in Roy’s den was disposed of on the cold tile. His mouth began to water at the thought of how his and Roy’s scents would smell together. Roy smelled like a campfire interlinked with an amber musk that followed him everywhere he went; the thought of that in combination with his sweet scents made his cheeks feel warm. Jamie tiptoed over to the shirt and grabbed it as if it were an ancient relic. He gently put his nose up to it and took a prolonged inhale. The second he felt Roy’s (now dulled) scent hit his nose, he felt a gush of slick come out of him. He took that as a cue to go to his nest. 

     Jamie’s nest was in disarray. He had random articles of clothing strung about, several of which were Keeley’s. Everything was strung about with no direction, which made Jamie feel unworthy of any love. His nest looked horrendous, no alpha could love that. He wished Roy could tell him he was a pretty boy, cooing about how good of a job he was doing, and how his nest was just perfect the way it was. Maybe Roy would bend down and kiss his forehead. No alpha had ever done that for him before, maybe he’d yearn to give Jamie small affections. He would tell Jamie he was safe and that he was worthwhile. Jamie slipped a hand down his pants and began to tease at his covered folds. He wondered if Roy would like the pair of panties he was wearing now? Maybe Roy would want him in his boxers; Jamie always liked how they felt more anyway. Maybe Roy just wanted him to be happy and love him regardless of clothing. He ran his pointer finger up his folds, beginning down near his entrance up to his cocklet. Would Roy ask him to be patient, or would he want Jamie to finish over and over again until he felt pleased? Roy would want to tease him probably, to get back at him for being such an arsehole. He would assure that Jamie regretted how he treated his alpha. He would teach him a lesson while being so gentle that it’d make Jamie’s knees shake. Even when he was mad, Jamie bet he would be gentle with him, even if that was annoying to him. At the thought of Roy claiming him, he shoved his hand down his pants and began to run it over the tip of his cocklet. It was small, just like the majority of male omegas were. He wonders if Roy would like his cock; if he would wrap his lips around it and make him come over and over just so he could taste him. He hopes he tastes stronger than he smells, just so Roy can have some remnant of a normal omega. He began to stroke his cocklet, pushing the shirt close to his nose, at the thought of Roy inbetween his legs.  Fuck, he needed Roy and he needed all of him, he needed him in the way he needed air. He needed to feel Roy inside of him, to feel him rocking back and forth as he grabbed at Jamie’s sensitive nipples. Jamie would do whatever he said, he belonged to Roy. He would forever be Roy’s omega, and no other alpha would dare to look at him. No other alpha would ever be a concern to Jamie. He began to whimper as he felt himself teetering over the edge, feeling as if he had been building up waves only for them to crash down all over him. Roy could bite down onto his scent gland, mark him as his own for as long as he lived, and fill him up with pups. He would be such a good boy for Roy, he would be so good. 

     “Please, please- more Alpha, please-” Jamie whimpered out, spilling all over himself. Jamie never wants the faint smell of Roy to leave his nest. 

Chapter Text

    “I’m holding Teddy in the car!” Darcy whines out, her blonde pigtails bouncing side to side as she shakes her head at her sister. 

   Georgiana lets out a very pitiful sigh. Darcy wouldn’t let up.  “Teddy needs me! He gets scared on car rides! Right, Mum?” Jamie could feel her eyeballs sinking into the back of his head. No way in hell was he getting involved in this fight.

     “Not true! Teddy watched that scary movie with me yesterday! He was safe!” Darcy refutes, nodding Teddy’s head up and down. That was kind of true; E.T. is pretty scary when you’re 4. They’ve been arguing about this for about a week. A month ago, they didn’t care about the stuffed animal at all. All of a sudden, it’s the most valuable object within their household. 

    “Teddy is my friend, Darcy! He loves me!”

“He’s my best friend, not yours!” Darcy snapped. Shit.

He knows that Georgiana is about to burst into tears, even if he isn’t looking at her. His sensitivity was one of the few things that she had picked up from Jamie. 

     “That was mean…” Georgiana whimpers, clearly crying. These last few weeks have been chaotic. Roy had planned for them to go to Paris; he had done all of the planning and left the packing to Jamie. Roy has always been a planner. He liked knowing exactly what they were going to do and when they were going to do it. Jamie had always gone with the flow, not having a plan never really bothered him in the past, but ever since Roy began meticulously planning each outing, he doesn’t think he could live without a plan. Roy had it all figured out, from what restaurants both of the girls would enjoy (Georgiana was an extremely picky eater, whilst Darcy ate like a well traveled grown woman) down to knowing almost the exact height requirements for the Disneyland Paris rides just so the girls don’t feel upset when they couldn’t get on. Jamie couldn’t appreciate it more, but packing for the 4 of them was an absolute terror. Jamie had to go out and get new maternity clothes that were actually alpha-like in style, which was insanely difficult, then he had to ensure the girls had swimsuits in both of their sizes, whilst he also bought both girls new walking shoes and flip-flops. To make matters worse, the girls each had a very particular taste. Darcy loved pink, but couldn’t stand purple and didn’t even get Jamie started on how she felt about green. Georgiana, on the other hand, loved light colors and would only wear patterns if they were made with pale-colored fabric. Jamie wanted to ensure that both girls had clothes that fit their unique styles because they deserved to have some choice in what they wanted, even if they were small children. Before Jamie could even respond to the chaos around him, Darcy seemed to notice that he had stuffed a green shirt into her suitcase. Of course, it was an accident, but it was enough to put her into hysterics. Jamie had a list of tasks to complete before they left in two days, and he felt like he hadn’t even completed half of it. Their trip is going to be horrible, and the girls would despise him for not being able to be a good enough parent for them. Jamie tilted his head into his palms and breathed deeply. Then he heard the girls’ bedroom door open, and smelled him .

     “Oi! Girls, what’s the issue?” Roy says sternly, not mean, just stern. 

     “Darcy said that Teddy wasn’t my best friend and- and said that he didn’t want to sit next to me in the car.” As Georgiana sobbed this out, Jamie turned to look at his daughter. Her bright blue eyes were swollen and welled up with tears, her cheeks and nose were bright red. Jamie’s heart ached at the sight; his girl was just as sensitive as he was. 

     “Mummy packed me a green shirt!” Darcy cried out as soon as Georgiana got the last syllable out. 

     “Let me make sure I have this right, Georgia, you’re mad because Darcy said that Teddy wasn’t your best friend?” Roy said, eyeing Georgiana. She slowly shook her head yes; then Roy got onto his knees. He looked at Darcy first.

     “I understand you want Teddy next to you in the car, but you can’t go telling your sister that Teddy isn’t best friends with her. That’s not very kind, is it?” Roy spoke calmly, saying each word slowly. Darcy looked like she was contemplating his words as much as a 4-year-old possibly could. After her period of thought, she shook her head.

     “I’m sorry, Georgiana. He can be both of our best friends.” Darcy muttered out; if Jamie knows his daughter, she genuinely must’ve understood she was wrong. Fucking score Roy, he got the stubborn child to cooperate! 

     “And hear this, Teddy can sit between both you and Georgiana!” Roy spoke with this enthusiasm that Jamie could tell was obviously fake. 

     “Really? Both of us?!” Georgiana lit up, tears suddenly dissipating. 

     “Yeah, we could put up the cup-holder and put him in the middle.” Both of the girls' faces lit up at that. 

     “Also, Darcy, I bet you could just ask Mummy to unpack the shirt. Wanna try that?” Roy cocks his head to the side. Darcy climbs up onto Jamie’s lap, and Jamie runs a hand through her hair; wavy but not curly like Georgia’s is. 

     “Mummy?”

     “Yes, baby? 

     “I don’t want you to bring a green shirt, I don’t like green at all,” Darcy whispered, touching Jamie’s belly. The baby was getting big after all.

     “It was an accident. I’ll unpack it, love.” He replied, gently, laying a kiss on her head. 

     “Girls, go to your playroom. We’ll play dragons and princesses. Alright?” Roy smiled. Both girls sprinted off into their playroom.

     “Thank you,” Jamie said, removing the green shirt from Darcy’s suitcase. 

     “You’re welcome, how are you feeling?” 

     Jamie placed his head onto Roy’s shoulder, “This baby’s already fuckin’ massive, it’s hot as balls, an’ I’m shit at bein’ a parent.” 

   “You know that’s not fucking true. You’re trying your best. Your best is great.” Roy soothed, placing his cheek onto the top of Jamie’s head. 

    “It really don’t feel like it, Roy. D’you think I’m messin’ them up? Like Dad did t’ me, y’know?” 

     “Fuck no! You’re nothing like him. You’ve never hit them, and we’ve both been going to therapy, so we can be good parents.” 

     “Mean it?” Jamie whimpers.

     “Fuck yeah.” Jamie stands up after this to retrieve a shirt for Georgiana’s dresser. The second he does so, Roy looks horrified. A face full of sheer, indescribable terror, he’s never seen anything from his alpha like this before.

     “Roy, are you okay? What’s goin’ on?” Jamie practically yells, remaining still; he can’t even move. 

     “Jamie, you're bleeding.” Roy rasps out as he grasps at Jamie’s ankles. Jamie looks down, and he’s covered in blood from about up to his neck down to his toes. Roy begins to scream at the top of his lungs, tears beginning to run down his face. He hears the girls’ feet running back into their room. 

     “I’m sorry, Roy, I don’t know what’s happenin’. I’m so sorry—please, please take care o’ them, Roy, please.” Jamie sobs, wrapping his arms around himself as he begins to melt. His whole body began to melt into the hardwood floors of their house. Jamie was quickly melting into a puddle of himself. 

    “Girls, call 999!” Roy screamed back at them, trying to pick up what was left of Jamie, trying to squeeze him together again. It didn’t work; Jamie was now forever broken. “Please, Jamie, please don’t go, please,” he says, voice hoarse, now begging for a miracle. Jamie now melted into a large puddle of blood, with nothing left of him besides this thick tar-like substance that had once been his guts and body fat. 

     “I should’ve seen this coming. You were always fucking broken! I should’ve never given you a chance.” Roy screams at the puddle of Jamie, picking up handfuls and throwing them across the girls’ pink bedroom. Jamie didn’t recognize the person he had mated with. 

—

     Jamie jolted awake, face drenched in sweat. He felt a gush of warmth spill between his legs. He ripped the blankets off of him; he needed to find Roy, he needed his alpha. He looked down– drenched in blood. Fuck, his fucking preheat had started. He ran a hand through his hair and looks at the room around him. There was no baby bump to be found, no children in his home, and most notably, Roy wasn’t in his bed beside him. He had been dreaming. Roy was never his, and his daughters never existed. 

     He peeled himself out of bed and began to walk down the hallway of his home. There were no pink walls or little girls' feet running towards him, just silence. He opened the door to his bathroom and looked in the mirror, seeing his panties drenched in a sea of bright red blood. Fucking fantastic, maybe he’ll bleed out of his kit on their Saturday night match too. His uterus felt as if it had been falling out of his body, and he begged for this to be one of his dud preheats with no actual heat following soon after. When he was 18, he started taking borderline illegal injections that were meant to be “heat-suppressants” that would block out his scent, alongside completely skipping his preheat. At first, they had kind of worked, but he felt horrible. His whole body felt like it was always on fire, and each injection left him in tears. The amount of pain that came alongside the shot was like nothing Jamie had seen before; it felt as if they were shooting lava into his veins. While some omegas chose doctor-approved methods of managing their heats and preheats, when Jamie was younger, he chose not to have any care in regards to his uterine health. He didn’t want the thing anyway.  However, he stopped taking the injections when he unexpectedly started the worst preheat of his life while on the pitch, in front of the entire Man City team. He remembers how he felt before he started vividly, how the grass felt beneath his football shoes, how his vision went blurry, and the stabbing pain in his uterus. He was rushed to the hospital, where they ran a plethora of tests and practically forced Jamie to get off the injections. He struggled to remember what exactly happened when he was in the hospital, but he remembers his mum’s face as she was begging him to stop taking them. Jamie had never seen her like that, and he never wanted to ever again. After Jamie had gone off the injections, his cycle never fully went back to normal. His quarterly preheat would occasionally follow through with a heat, but sometimes, it just wouldn’t progress from that point. It was a blessing and a curse; Jamie’s uterus still functioned, but sporadically. A win is a win, he had supposed.  

Jamie cleaned himself up and made use of the little preheat products he still had left in stock from three months ago. Somehow, it still surprised him how uncomfortable preheat products were, but at least it stopped the bleeding. That was good enough for now. 

—

Training had been hell so far. He felt every movement he made, sharp and defined. His body ached with each stroke and movement. It reminded Jamie of how the women at his church described hell to him as a boy. Hot, painful, and scorching. He had considered calling out sick to practice, but he couldn’t; he was determined to listen to Keeley. He needed to apologize to Roy, even if the idea of doing so made his skin crawl. He was standing on the pitch, and despite there being a thickly layered chill, he still managed to be feeling hot. Jamie had learned how to make his symptoms not apparent; it was as simple as not talking. While that behavior was not normal for him by any means, it still worked. If he made himself small, maybe nobody would even recognize that he was there in the first place. 

“Alright, fellas! Today we’re gonna be running a scrimmage! Wait, do you guys call it that here?” Ted announces loudly to the group, turning to Beard with his question. 

“Not really.” Beard shakes his head. Of course, Lasso has to come right out the gate with some fucking American shit right now. Coach Lasso was not only an omega, but he barely even knew the fucking game; Jamie couldn’t tell which reason made the public hate him more. 

“I thought so… We’ll be doing a practice match and I’ll be counting ya’ll off into two teams. 11 vs 11, got it?” He finishes, and the team all begins to nod in agreement. Ted started to count off each of his teammates, and each of them began to meet with their separate teams. 

“Now that we've got that done, the coaches have decided to divide and conquer so we can really see all of those lovely plays of yours. Roy and I will be watching team A, while Beard and Nate look over team B,” Lasso explained with a kind smile on his face. God, please no. Roy couldn’t watch him play like this. Any of the others watching him is one thing, but not Roy. He already was upset with him and now he’s just going to watch him play like absolute shit. 

The ball sat in the center of the circle, and the grass was wet on his cleats; it must’ve been raining the night prior. Jamie ran up to it; he was going to be the one to do the kickoff. He walked up to the halfway line and watched as Sam Obisanya walked up to the other end of the halfway line. Sam offered him a thumbs up and just stared; he was not about to be pitied. Ted blew the whistle, which made a piercing roar, and Jamie knew it was time for him to bolt. Jamie darted to the ball and did a small kick, a shitty kickoff, but it still was the first touch. He wasn’t going to pass or work with anyone; he was winning on his own. Jamie felt like he was ripping at the seams, but Roy’s eyes were practically burning into him. He needed to fucking move. Each step made him feel like screaming, but he pushed on and kicked the ball beneath his feet. Despite his heart thumping out of his chest and his vision blurring, he didn’t care; he couldn’t lose. He had begun nearing the 18-yard-box, as Isaac began to close in on him, cleanly intercepting the ball. Isaac began to speed past him in the other direction. Fuck. Jamie jumps back, pushing himself as much as he can to get the goddamn ball. Finally, Jamie sees Isaac attempting to make a pass to Colin, and he speeds in between the two to regain control of the ball. He gets the ball and begins to run back to the other team’s goal. As he ran, he felt his knees buckling and his stomach cramping up, but he didn’t stop; he would never have the privilege of stopping. He kept the ball beneath his feet, and he would never let it go; he’d win the whole fucking game himself if he had to. He was close to the goal, but not as much as he wanted to be; he needed to shoot now. He couldn’t hold it for much longer, he knew that it wasn’t long before team B would ram themselves up his ass. He pulled his foot up, pulled it as far back as he possibly could, and kicked. He watched the ball hit inside the goal before he felt the heat drain from his face. His vision began to spin, and his body began to squeeze up. He was going to be sick. Jamie held a hand over his mouth and as he completely bled through his underwear right into his kit.      

Jamie was hunched over a garbage bin in the locker room. He felt as if he was being torn apart limb from limb. His fingers held onto the cold metal of the bin as if it were a lifeline. Weak. He was so fucking weak, he couldn’t even finish the game before getting sick. Maybe Murray was right, and he’d be better off as a pop star or actor. He should’ve gone onto Lust Conquers All when he had the chance and just accepted that he wasn’t built for football. Over the sound of him gagging, he heard an ambush of hurried footsteps approaching him. The door flung open, and he glanced up to see Roy looking over him.

“I ruin everythin’, Roy— I’m sorry— I couldn’t do it— I couldn’t fuckin’ do it,” Jamie cries out, spilling more of himself out into the trashcan, as weak sobs rang throughout his entire being. He couldn’t see Roy, but he could feel him. He smelled frayed, like he a burning bush mixed with the fucking amber-musk. 

“Are you okay, Jamie?” Roy said, laced with an emotion that Jamie could only describe as pure and altruistic concern. Jamie took a deep breath; he needed to listen to Keeley. He had to be honest. 

“I started m’ preheat and it fuckin’ hurts. Roy, I tried t’ play, I couldn’t do it, I tried— I wanted t’ be good enough. I’m sorry.” Jamie sobbed as a strong cramp shot up through his body. He felt as Roy got on the ground to sit beside him. 

“Please don’t fucking do that again,” Roy spoke with this uncharacteristic gentleness that made goosebumps prick onto Jamie’s skin

“What?” 

A slow sigh left Roy, “Ted knew he could tell you were hurting right after you did the kickoff. You look like shit, Jamie.” 

“Great. So they all fuckin’ pity me now, yeah? Think I’m just some little bitch. I ain’t less of a player than any of ’em-” Jamie snaps, quickly getting interrupted by Roy before his rant could continue. 

“Jamie, this whole goddamn game isn’t about you. I sound like fucking Ronald Mcdonald when he’s out on the pitch, but there’s a team of lads for a reason. They don’t pity you– they’re just,” Roy pauses for a second, Jamie assumes he’s trying to meticulously choose his words now. “Jamie, they’re not all out to get you. I don’t know what teams you’ve been on in the past, or what Man was like, but I know that here nobody will treat you differently because you’re a fucking omega. Look at Ted, he’s a real fucking wanker but he is a good man. You recognize that when the team shits on him, it’s never because he’s omega, but because he doesn’t know the game. The only person here that’s looking down on you is yourself...” After he finished, a thick, looming silence sat over the two of them. The only noises were Jamie’s occasional groan and cry. 

     Jamie decided to break the silence when the last of it had come out of him, “I’m sorry ’bout what I said at your house, Roy. I bet you were ten times better than I am right now.” Roy let out a chuckle.

     “Fuck no, I was a terror and I didn’t have to deal with half of the shit you do.” Jamie laughed, which made his body shake. He couldn’t imagine Roy being like that; he’s always seemed put together to him. “I was overstepping. I should’ve let you figure it out on your own. It’s just that I care about you.” Jamie felt his cheeks getting hot at that sentiment.

    “Nah, I think I needed it. Would’ve ended up like m’ old man without it.” Jamie said, sitting up beside Roy. He and Roy were side by side, not above and below one another, but equal. 

    “I know you’re too fucking stubborn to leave training. You’re going to sit out on the side, watch, and take a couple of notes. Only if you feel like you can, though.” Roy spoke, a small smirk creeping onto the side of his mouth. 

     “Sounds great, Grandpa. D’you maybe wanna get a drink with me after trainin’. Only if I’m feelin’ a bit better? You don’t have to—just if you want. It’ll be on me.” Jamie looked at the ground as he said this; he couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye. 

     “As long as you don’t pull some shit like this again. Deal?”

    “Deal.” 

—

     He and Roy are sitting in the Crown and Anchor. Thanks to Dani Rojas basically forcing ibuprofen into his hands, Ted carrying extra products, and Will having an extra pair of shorts, he was able to attend. The floor was sticking to his shoes; regardless of how many times he had watched Mae vigorously mop it, beer would end up spilled all over it within the next hour. 

     “What made you start playing football?” Roy asked, taking a slow sip of his beer, but still maintaining eye contact with him.

     “Me an’ my mum moved outta our house, away from me dad, when I was like nine? I used t’ play it with the boys who lived at our flat. Played it before then, too— that’s when it started feelin’ more real, I guess,” Jamie looked down at the floor and gripped the ends of his shorts, “I had you up on me wall, too. Watched all your games—did the whole lot. When I presented as an omega, I kept playin’ ‘cause of you.” The words stung as they came out, but they were true. “

You had a poster of me in your room?”     Jamie watched as Roy’s ears took on a pink hue. It looked beautiful on him. 

 “Yeah, you n’ Keeley actually. It made me feel inspired or whatever the fuck.” Jamie rambled out, running his hand through his hair. 

     “Is that what made you want to come to Richmond?” Roy spoke in such a tone that Jamie couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. 

     “I wish, Roy. I fuckin’ wish,” Jamie let out a hollow laugh, once again, darting his eyes down to the ground. Roy began to smell like a burning bush again. His brows furrowed, and he looked angry, but Jamie felt safe. Safe in a way that he couldn’t exactly describe, but he just knew. A safety that was instinctual.  “Man City alphas found out I was an omega ’cause I started m’ preheat durin’ trainin’ — middle of a practice match. I’d heard how they talked about omegas before, so I just knew to run.” Jamie began to pick at the skin around his fingers. “Two of ’em caught up with me. Then, y’know…” the statement came out like a whisper, as if it were a gush of wind bristling against the trees. Almost silent, but if you listened, it was there. 

     “I don’t know,” Roy growled, a deep rumbling growl that Jamie felt in his bones.

     “They caught up and just wouldn’t let me go. Tried t’ get away, but they just wouldn’t let up,” Jamie took a sip of his beer, “Both of ’em got kicked off the team, but I still wanted t’ leave. Felt like everyone blamed me.” Roy was silent after that. He now smelled like a mixture of a burning bush and coal. Jamie didn’t feel uncomfortable by his silence, which was abnormal because normally any kind of silence makes him feel squeamish. 

    Roy balled up his fists. “Has anyone at Richmond ever made you feel unsafe?” 

     “No. Never actually. It freaked me out ‘t first. Thought they were plannin’ somethin’, y’know, t’ get me with. But nothin’ never happened.” Roy’s scent calms a little bit, not completely back to normal, but slightly less horrid.

     “If anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable or even fucking uneasy, you need to let me know. This will never, and I mean never , happen to you again, and I will make sure of it. You got that?” Roy looked Jamie square in the eye as he spoke. Jamie had been told things like that before, whether it was from considerate coaches, his teachers in year 13, or extended family who messaged him condolences after he presented. They rarely actually meant it, but when Roy had said it to him, he had looked at him in a way that he had never seen anyone else look before. Roy had a dichotomy of emotions laid out in front of Jamie; emotions that were so clearly written on his face that Jamie just wanted to reach out and trace every wrinkle and curve on it. Jamie didn’t know why or how, but he did trust him. 

“Y’know, when I was a boy, I knew I was gonna be an omega. But everyone else wanted me t’ be an alpha. Especially me dad. Mum always knew though; she used to sneak around and buy me baby dolls ‘cause I’d beg to be a mum and have me own baby.” Jamie admits this as if he were a small child admitting a secret to his best friend. Roy seems to have let a small smile escape him 

“My family always knew. My granddad was always on me to be the best alpha I could be. Not in the way of being physically strong, but being strong in the ways that mattered. Granddad’s children are all omegas. He loved it, but not how people treated them because of it.”

“I wish I could say the same. When I presented, I had family members textin’ me like someone’d fuckin’ died or somethin’.” Jamie let out a small chuckle as he ran his finger around the base of his cup. 

“Our family just had a fucking party. Same shit regardless of what you presented as. My mum wasn’t a fan of parties, I don’t think I’ve seen her out of her housecoat since I was in my 20s, but she always found a way to make our presentations special. To us, it was just a celebration of growth,” Roy looked down at the small amount of beer that was still left within his glass. “Jamie, it’s all bullshit. It’s shouldn’t be a make or break ordeal, it should just be another fucking thing about someone.”

“Yeah… sometimes I wonder where I’d be if I weren’t an omega. Wonder if I’d be a better player or somethin’.”

“Fuck no, I think you being an omega is what makes you a better player. Even if you act like a real fucking prick, you work harder than any of the alphas I’ve seen.” 

“What choice do I have, y’know? If I’m not strong enough, I’ll be provin’ all them assholes right — the ones who think omegas can’t play. I’ve gotta win. Not just for me, but for all em’.”

“Jamie, you’re a fucking person, not a representative for every omega. If you can’t show anything other than strength, do you think these dickwads’ opinions are worth it anyway?” Jamie nodded his head slowly, trying to soak Roy’s words in like a sponge. “Jamie stop pushing yourself and remember you have a whole goddamn team to back you up.” Jamie lowered his shoulders. Roy wasn’t exactly wrong. 

–

Chapter Text

     The only light in Jamie’s bedroom was the dim gleam the moon brought in through his window. Jamie stared at the wall, and out of everything he could be thinking about, he was thinking about his father. A singular memory of his father was playing in his head on loop. When Jamie was somewhere between the ages of 5 and 6, his father had woken him up particularly early for a Saturday; the sun had just begun to filter through the windows, and his father told Jamie to get changed. Jamie remembers slipping out of his football-covered comforter and then changing out of his pajamas into a pair of jeans and a red top. After that, he had walked into the living room to see his father standing in the doorway with his coat on. 

     “Come on, lad. We’re leavin’ now.” James Sr. commanded in a hushed voice, something that Jamie couldn’t recall seeing him do before that point. Jamie put on his red tennis shoes and his red winter coat, then headed out the door holding his father’s hand. 

     “Lad, don’t tell your mum about today. This is lads' business, real proper lads, Jamie, not like the daft nancies you watchin’ on the telly.” James Sr. rambled off, letting out a snotty grunt as his rant came to a close. 

     “Okay, Dad, where are we off to?” 

     “We’re headin’ to that church near the bakery; even if it’s cold as a witch’s tit, it ain’t worth gettin’ the car out. Your mum’s got work today—remember that shop with the sweets?” Jamie nodded his head even though James Sr. was sputtering out words with a cadence that reminded Jamie of a broken car. “Good lad. Didn’t know you had a memory like that. Most lads your age are thick as shit, proper useless. But not my son. Nah, Jamie, you’re gonna be somethin’ special. And if you’re not? Then me and your mum have been bustin’ our arses for nothin’. Why d’you think we put all this time into you, eh? So you can turn out like every other man? No. It’s so you don’t end up like the rest of 'em, stuck in some office or teachin’ snot-nosed little twats like your mates,” raved James Sr., dramatically moving the hand Jamie wasn’t holding as he spoke.

     “Is mummy angry at you?” Jamie asked, tilting his head down to attempt to avert his father’s eyes. Despite the fact he couldn’t see his father, he could feel him staring. 

     “When is she not? That woman will always find something to bitch about. ‘You don’t spend enough time with Jamie,’ she says. But the second I bring you along for anythin’ that actually matters—like real business, she’s like, ‘Jamie can’t be around your mates.’ Make your fuckin’ mind up. Then she starts kickin’ off about my drinkin’, or the meds I take. But I’m a man, Jamie. Not some soft little lad. A man. And men? We drink. We laugh. We shag. That’s just how it is. It’s in our blood, son.” Jamie, truthfully, didn’t quite understand what his father was trying to explain to him, but he understood his father’s tone. It felt as if his father’s words were stealing the air around him. Jamie’s eyebrows lowered, and his lip began to quiver. James Sr. continued, paying no mind to Jamie's discomfort, “But, y’know… she might be an old broad, but maybe she’s got a point. Says she had it rough. Didn’t know that when I got with her. I only met her that night. Wouldn’t’ve shagged her if I’d known.. She wouldn’t’ve been stuck with you then; that would’ve done her some good. But I did. So now I’m tryin’, like a real man, to sort meself out. Fix whatever the hell she reckons is wrong with me. ‘Cause you ain’t endin’ up like some twat.”

     “Then why don’t you wanna tell her what we’re doin’ if it makes her happy?”

     “Real men shouldn’t need help.” 

—

     They had arrived at an old brick chapel with stained-glass windows and a statue of the Virgin Mary in the front. Jamie didn’t recognize the place; he and Mummy would only go to the church right by their flat. This one felt stiffer than the church they went to. They both walked in; Jamie crinkled his nose at the smell of stale dust, holy water, burnt coffee, and uncomfortable alphas; his father, on the other hand, seemed not to react at all. 

     “Jamie, be a lad and put our coats away, will ya’?” James spoke, gesturing to a small closet, as he practically tossed his coat onto Jamie. Jamie waddled over to the closet, he was too short to reach the coat rack or even the unused hangers dangling from it. He jumps up, trying to knock one of them down with no luck. He briefly considers getting his father, but Jamie shouldn’t need his help. Jamie then had the clever idea to grab a cardboard box from the corner to use as a stepping stool, potentially. However, as soon as he stood on it, it broke from beneath him. 

     “Do you need a hand?” spoke a gaunt man with brown, greasy hair. Jamie hesitated at the question; he wasn’t meant to need help, but he was just too small. 

     “Yes, please, thank you,” Jamie replied, looking down, thumbing his sweater. Promptly, the man swooped up his father’s jacket as Jamie took off his own and handed it to the man. Jamie then walked out of the closet and back to his father. 

     “Dad, why’s there so many people ‘ere?” Jamie asked, tugging at his father’s shirt. 

     “It’s for this shit called Al-Anon, kinda like a club for people who drink too much or at least think they do.” 

     “But– dad, I can’t drink. Mummy says I’m too little.” Jamie fretted, pulling his father’s shirt into his fist. 

     “It’s not for you, dimwit. It’s for me. You remember what I said on the pavement, yeah?” Jamie nodded his head at his father’s contorted version of comfort and walked as his father led him to a warm room with several pew-like rows of chairs and a podium at the front.

     Jamie watched as many adults, all of which being male alphas, skeetered onto the stage and told what seemed to be sad stories, some of which Jamie didn’t understand. He tried his absolute hardest to pay attention, but he was beginning to feel tired. He began to shut his eyes as he heard yet another alpha walk up to the podium. 

     “Do we have anyone else who’d like to speak? Perhaps someone who is new here or has been sober for less than a week?” the alpha that Jamie had assumed to be the leader of the club prompted. Jamie felt a creak coming from the seat next to him, and his eyes jolted open. 

     “I would,” spoke James Sr., fully up and out of his seat. Jamie watched as he slowly walked up to the podium. 

     "Uh, right. Name’s James Tartt. I’m forty. Me lad’s all the way in the back, last row. Looks like he’s noddin’ off already, so I doubt he’s gonna take any of this in. S’alright. Ain’t really for him anyway. Started drinkin’ when I were twelve. Me old man had a thing for lager, sometimes whiskey or rum, dependin’ how much cash me mum made workin’ the club. He had this sayin’... fuckin’ hell, what was it? Somethin’ like, ‘I like me women like I like me whiskey, strong and smooth.’ Fuckin’ stupid. First time I tried whiskey, think I were sixteen, tasted like piss with soda water in it. Told him I hated it. Still, when the bastard died, he left me his whole collection. Felt like a final fuck-you. Or maybe he just forgot I couldn’t stand the stuff. Still drank it though. Last time I drank? Last night. And don’t look at me like I’m some tragic case; I don’t regret a fuckin’ thing. All I see sat here are so-called strong alphas, gettin’ dragged here by their omegas like little fuckin’ boys. Tryin’ to reclaim the kitchen or whatever. It’s embarrassing, really. Grow a fuckin’ spine,” James Sr. took a breath, wiped sweat beads off of his forehead, and continued, “My mum hated me dad for drinkin’ so much. But he were a proper alpha, y’know? Big, loud, rough bastard. Ran our flat like he were some mob boss ‘cause he sold shit to the posh wankers. And my mum, despite dancin’ for a livin’, was as omega as they come. Got knocked up at nineteen, while my dad was 35, gave him however many kids he wanted, kept the place spotless... and still hated his guts. Used to sit out on the porch smokin’ in her curlers, cryin’ her makeup off, then slappin’ it all back on like nothin’ happened. That was always so mad to me because she’d just go and cry it all off again. Think she’d hate me too, if she saw me now. Still, I want a drink. I like drinkin’. Don’t think that makes me bad. I come here so maybe the missus gets off me case. She’s always threatenin’ to run off with the boy again. Did that once, y’know. When Jamie were a week old. Still had stitches in, and they got infected with all of this green shit oozin’ out. Called the cops, reported her missin’. They found her in some grotty budget hotel, breastfeedin’ him. My boy—he’s gonna be an alpha. And if he’s not, it’s ‘cause she poisoned the fuckin’ bloodline. I’ll drink today, tomorrow, and the next day. And I’ll keep comin’ here, listenin’ to the rest of you moan about how you’re tryin’ not to.” James Sr. finished and then walked back to Jamie, who was awake and red eyed looking at his father. 

—

     It was 4 a.m., and Jamie had tossed and turned since 1 a.m.. Jamie couldn’t stand thinking about his father, so he decided to focus on the other thing that tends to haunt him at the early hours of the night: football. Jamie tossed himself out of his nest and put on a pair of socks and his football shoes, then grabbed his keys and water bottle and headed out the door. The drive to Richmond was always decently short, at least to him it was. Jamie had just become accustomed to being in cars, considering that he spent the majority of his childhood in them. Jamie had arrived at the pitch in his nighties, a navy two-piece set made of satin. They weren’t necessarily meant to be sexy or anything incredibly interesting to look at, more just the pair of pajamas that he found to be most comfortable. Jamie scanned his keycard, walked to the locker room, grabbed a football, and walked out onto the pitch. It was extremely bright, especially considering how the rest of London was essentially pitch black besides the street lights creating small illuminations on the sidewalk. The smell of petrichor seemed to gently intertwine with his scent in a way that sent chills down his spine. He had just ended his preheat, but he wasn’t sure if the rest of his body had gotten the memo. Jamie wished he could be free like this all of the time, free enough to roam the field without his scent patches, in pajamas that he found comfortable. He dropped the football onto the ground and began to mindlessly dribble the ball, occasionally shooting it into the goal. It was nice to play with no expectation or someone looking down on him; he was allowed to just play like he did in primary and secondary school. Soon, Jamie will have had more years being hunted by cameras and cellphones than years where he hadn’t been. He began seeing paparazzi once he had begun to get recruited by Man City, but it started out small, endearing even. It was just the occasional picture, video, or signature here and there. It was like that for a few months until people realized that he was a decent player. Then even more came, and it really boomed when the public figured out he was an omega. Jamie will never forget the swarms of paparazzi that stood outside of his home snapping pictures of him. At first, he didn’t know what was happening; he just went out onto his balcony in a pink nightgown to drink a cup of tea, only to be attacked by the flickering of cameras. Jamie remembers seeing himself on Twitter that night, the most notable picture being him breaking down into tears as he saw the sea of photographers. Jamie began to like paparazzi far less after that incident; they began to intrude on his space far more often than when he was an alpha and began to ask far more uncomfortable questions. When Jamie was viewed as an alpha, he occasionally was asked about who the “lucky omega” was or what his scent was like, small things of that nature. However, when Jamie was outed as an omega, questions shifted to ‘do you like it better on top or missionary’ or ‘Jamie, who do you think about during heat’. Not only did the questions shift, but the demeanor did too; when he was viewed as an alpha, he could just ask the paparazzi to go, but as an omega, they would never leave him alone, regardless of how many times he asked. As Jamie struck the ball into the goal for the third time, he began to hear a rustling noise, almost as if someone was watching him. His heart began to race, and sweat began to roll down his back. Someone had smelled him. Jamie whipped back only to see Roy standing in the hallway between the pitch and locker rooms. 

     “Oi, what the fuck are you doing here, Tartt?” Roy says with a smirk leaking onto his face, as both of his hands fell into his pockets. Jamie felt an instant wave of relief wash over him as if Roy had saved his life. 

     “Couldn’t sleep, needed somethin’ to do,” Jamie says, smiling back at Roy. 

     “So I’m not the only person who comes here when they can't sleep?” Roy asks as Jamie kicks the ball towards him.

     “Nah, I usually try me best to avoid it, tho’. I weren’t exactly plannin’ on doin’ this.” 

     “I’ve collected that…” Roy said, looking Jamie up and down, as he passed the ball back.

     “Maybe this is my new look, yeah? Bet everyone’s gonna love it.” Jamie simpered sarcastically as he and Roy continued to pass the ball to each other. 

     “Maybe you’ll be on the cover of Vogue or some shit, maybe they’ll do a ‘73 questions’ video on you like you’re Taylor Swift.” 

     “Would you buy a copy of the magazine?”
     “Of course I fucking would,” Roy replied to Jamie’s question with a sharp, toothy smile that revealed his canines. The subtle compliment, combined with seeing his canines, was enough to make him feel flushed. 

     “How long have you been here for?” Roy asked, yet again tossing the ball back to Jamie.

     “About an hour or two, maybe?”

     “Mind if I help you train? You’ve been fucking up on the-” 

     “The left-footed cross?”

     “Seems like it’s been kicking your arse. Want help?”

     “That actually sounds… nice, Roy.”

—

     He and Roy had practiced for about an hour until the sun began to rise. As much as Jamie wanted to stay, he knew how much it would hurt Roy’s career to be caught alone with an omega like him. 

     “Reckon it’s about time I go, Roy. Don’t want you gettin’ caught with me and stirrin’ up a load of shit.” Jamie sighed, picking up his water bottle. 

     “Fuck no, who cares about them? Want to maybe get coffee and breakfast?” 

     “You sure? I just… don’t want the paps messin’ with you for hangin’ round an omega. Especially me.” Jamie hummed, looking down at the faux-grass that covered the pitch. 

     “Jamie, do you think I give a fuck about some dicks with cameras?” 

    “Maybe?”
    “Fuck off, we’re getting breakfast,” Roy growled, picking up his duffle bag. Jamie couldn’t argue with that. 

—

    The ride to the coffee shop seemed to be short. Roy had been tapping his fingers to the beat of a song on the steering wheel, occasionally peeking over at the GPS. Jamie was silently looking out the window at the same scenery he saw multiple times a week. Jamie loved the way Richmond looked. He enjoyed the liveliness of it; he probably would have enjoyed it more if he didn’t have to worry about constantly having a camera in his face. Anytime Roy and Jamie went somewhere, Roy always made it a point to drive Jamie in his car. Jamie didn’t necessarily mind it; he supposed that either way it wouldn’t really matter to him. Roy, on the other hand, found it to be a pertinent part of his time with him. Strangely, they never really conversed during these car rides; that was something that Jamie could never wrap his head around. Why would Roy care so much about having him around if he wasn’t giving something to him? Jamie wasn’t offering good conversation, sex, or anything remotely interesting; he was only providing Roy company. In part, Jamie enjoyed it. He liked that Roy was okay with just being with him, with no expectations or performance necessary. However, it also made Jamie’s skin crawl. Roy was kind now, more kind than the majority of alphas he’d met, actually, but when would the next shoe drop? When would Roy become bitter? Jamie doesn’t and may never know. Once they had arrived, the two of them walked into the coffee shop and up to the counter. Roy ordered a straight black coffee and a breakfast sandwich, then looked over to Jamie.

     “What do you want?” 

     “Could I… just have an iced vanilla latte? With whipped cream? If that’s alright.” 

     “We’ll take a blueberry muffin, too.” Roy gave his debit card to the woman at the counter. 

     “Don’t get the fuckin’ bill, mate! I got it, alright?” Jamie piped up, grabbing his wallet.

     “Put your wallet away, Tartt.” 

     “Seriously, Roy, I’ve got it-” Jamie protested as Roy let out a low growl that seemed to make the entire coffee shop feel far more warm. 

     “Fine, but next time I’m payin’, you old fuck.” Jamie said, letting a small chuckle escape his throat. The two waited side by side until their drinks and snacks were ready, then walked over to a table near the window. The place was comforting in a way that made Jamie’s sleepless night catch up to him. It was a decently large cafe, with olive colored walls and creaky oak floors. Each set of chairs was different and seemed to be vintage, and Roy chose a table with two light blue velvet armchairs across from each other. As Jamie sat down, he practically sank into the chair and felt a high-pitched rumble leave his throat. 

     “I like this place.”

     “Really? Couldn’t tell.” Roy smirked, sliding Jamie’s coffee and his muffin across the counter.

     “This muffin ain’t mine, Roy–” Jamie cocked his head to the side and began to slide the muffin back to him. 

     “You didn’t order anything; you got to be hungry by now,” Roy interjected, meeting Jamie’s hand in the middle of the table, and then sliding the muffin back towards him.

     “How’d you know that blueberry was me favorite?” Jamie asked as he gently began to unwrap the muffin. 

     “I didn’t. I guessed.” 

     “Me mum used to get these little muffin mix things, mix them with water, then cook 'em’. They were the best things I ever had in me life,” Jamie recollected, taking a bite into the muffin, letting out a contented groan, as he tilted his head back. “Why’d you pick blueberry?”

     “Dunno. You just remind me of a fucking blueberry…?”

     “You’re actin’ like I’m that girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, y’know, the gum one?” 

     “Veruca Salt?” Roy grinned, rolling his eyes at the comment.

     “Real fuckin’ funny, Roy. Her name is Violet.” Jamie rebutted, taking a sip of his coffee. The two sat quietly as they ate and drank, and for one of the first times ever, Jamie felt content. He didn’t want to run or start thinking about the rest of his day; he liked not only where he was, but who he was. Roy made Jamie want to be better. 

     “Were you scared? When you stopped playing?” 

     “Fucking terrified,” Roy replied with raised eyebrows as he gripped onto his coffee mug tighter. 

     “Ever wish you didn’t do it? Like you just– I dunno, kept going?” 

     “No. I think I like what I’m doing now. It’s just one of those things that felt right. That was something my grandad always told me to do– choose the thing that felt right, even if you don’t know . Some weird shit about how the world has a path for you. I guess I just… listened?”

     “Ever wish you didn’t listen?” 

     “No. It’s not, like, religion or some shit… but I sometimes think grandad set all of this up for me.” 

     “Even meeting the wanker?” Jamie gasped.

     “Especially that. Ted’s shit at the game, but not because he’s an omega, he’s just some fucking American. But he’s a good person. Makes your heart swell up and shit.”

     “He’s too nice. It’s too weird. What if he’s like, secretly a dickhead? Like one o’ them Disney villains who acts all sweet before they murder your mum.”

     “That’s not Ted. He’s just like that…”

     “How?”

     “Fuck if I know, I’m an arsehole.” Roy shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee as Jamie began to laugh. “Since you got all heartfelt with me, I want a turn to ask some personal shit.”

     “Shoot.” 

     “Why do you always wear the patches? 

     “I was always told I ‘ad to. From the moment I presented. It were that and some fucked-up drugs. Shit should be illegal, honestly—left me hormones all mucked up. I just didn’t want people knowin’ I were an omega. But when everyone found out, I decided to keep wearin’ ’em. Already stirred up enough drama. And you know what people online say about omegas that don’t wear ’em…”

     “It’s mostly knotheads who have never touched an omega saying that shit. Those alphas just need to control themselves and stop acting like they’re 15 and blowing their pants every two minutes. I get wearing them to events, but training?”
     “I guess, but I don’t wanna distract everyone at trainin’… Wouldn’t it like mess up the game?”

     “We’re in the Premier League. If they have a problem, they need to get a fucking grip.” 

     “You really think that?”

     “Yeah… I think you would be fine without them. You seem fine right now.”

“Shit, I forgot—fuck, I wasn’t wearing me fuckin’ patches. Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t hate me.” Jamie said, touching his wrists and neck where his scent patches would’ve been.

“It’s not bad–”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anythin’ bad by it. I didn’t know I’d see you.”

     “It’s fine. You smell sweet; it reminds me of the fall. I like it.”

     “Are you sure, because—”

     “Jamie, I mean it.”

     “I trust you.”

—

     The two had continued to talk until breakfast came to its natural close; Roy and Jamie arrived back at the pitch’s parking lot. It was sunnier outside, but now, at about 7 a.m., Jamie felt as if bricks were being held against his eyelashes and decided that maybe now he would be able to rest. That was yet another strange effect that Roy Kent had on him; something about him made Jamie feel tired. Of course, he would probably be tired even without Roy’s influence, but something about Roy being there gave his exhaustion an extra kick. Contrary to Jamie, Roy seemed to be fine, almost as if this were a set part of his routine. Jamie opened the passenger door, and before he goes to close it back, Roy asked, 

     “Same time tomorrow?” 

     “Wouldn’t miss it,”  Jamie replied with a grin. A little less sleep never hurt anybody anyway.