#cle of goodness either

[weebsinstash]

Hello! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering what your thoughts were for a Yandere Lucifer Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel? I’m having trouble writing a good representation of him and would like some advice.

Honestly I'm gonna humble myself and say that it took reading someone else's post to make me like, REALLY notice the nuances of Lucifer's character

This post right here literally made me rewatch his scenes and go "oh wow he IS like DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED"

He doesn't remember Charlie told him where she is, or what she's doing, and he can barely follow a conversation despite clearly trying to pay attention. He also just seems kind of scattered, and um, HE LITERALLY MAKES A JOKE ABOUT DYING FROM FALLING OFF THE HOTEL BALCONY like dude is making jokes about death in front of his fucking daughter, like my dudes, I think this guy is BARELY holding himself together

He clearly loves loves LOVES Charlie but he doesn't really know how to properly articulate himself and I have a feeling there's a lot he's concealing from her, and another big question is, is his depression from being cast out of Heaven, or from something to do with his missing wife, or a combination of both? Either way this man is clearly dealing with like, really bad issues. And Charlie also mentioned he wasn't around a whole lot when she was younger, so... did he have depression back then too?

So, that all said, I feel like a yandere Lucifer would almost be, potentially invigorated by his darling? Given a new lease on life? He may not be 100% his old self again but, you get him to like, 65, maybe 70% on a good day. You give him another reason to get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, or evening or, whenever he can drag his depressed ass out of bed

Given what we currently know, I feel like a romantic yandere Lucifer would pretend to only be platonic and do his best to poorly conceal his feelings because of his whole... "can't ask his missing wife if it's ok for you to be their third" ordeal, the man still wears his wedding ring, and a platonic yandere Lucifer basically adopts you like another kid, because uh, I mean for one he apparently canonically missed a lot of Charlie's childhood, and he's also an ancient fallen angel, so he's got that age advantage on you no matter how old you are. I mean what are a few decades when he's literally thousands upon thousands upon thousands--you get the idea

Yandere Lucifer would want to stay close to you, helping watch over you, maaaaaybe being overly paranoid about you randomly disappearing and going missing For Very Obvious Reasons, and in the process he winds up being unintentionally overbearing. I mean, he did it in irritation, but he basically showed up at Charlie's hotel immediately saying it was a dump and all of HER FRIENDS were 'a bunch of losers'. He never completely pulls his punches when there's something he's displeased with, even if it has something to do with someone he loves, so his darling would get much of the same treatment. "Ohhhhh, you uh, you wanted to move across the city? That's, um, definitely a fun idea! BuuuuuUuuut, what IF, instead of doing that--", like, he tries to playfully tug you in 'the right direction' until you make him put his foot down

Hmmm... what would him losing his cool look like... well, we've already seen that he doesn't mind throwing hands and WILL KILL, but will stop if he's asked to or there's a good reason. With you, though, you're not typically going to be there to stop him from offing any rivals or bad influences, so I imagine he'd be kinda casual about it, actually! He already thinks pretty lowly of Sinners, so say he finds out you've been ditching him and Charlie to go out drinking with strangers, making new friends, maybe having a few one night stands? Yeah, some of those people definitely aren't calling you back, and Lucifer doesn't really see a problem with it. These people are kind of the worst and really don't deserve you, anyways! If anything he's helping clean up Hell for you and his daughter and keeping you safe :)

Losing his cool with YOU... I think would involve him using his powers to finally confine you, maybe even going demon mode to intimidate you into submission in a very dad-esque "now you listen HERE" kind of way. We don't really know the scope and scale of his powers but I can picture him at least being, obviously much stronger than he looks, and transforming to fly you "back home" where he puts you in your room where no one can reach you without his explicit permission (and you also can't leave~)

One second you're just drunk and jokingly defying him, teasing him, maybe even picking him up and swinging him around because you're bigger than him, to you he's just a silly little guy! Meanwhile this Grown Ass Man Who Is Also The Actual Devil is getting more than just a little frustrated you basically view him as a wacky little cartoon more than a grown man, one who has had sex and has had two wives and sired a child. You're just teasing him and stumbling around drunk when he's trying to get you to your hotel room to get to bed to sleep, like you're clearly not taking him seriously, maybe even playfully putting your hands on him (TOTALLY not riling him up in 'fun' ways) and he finally just huffs and snaps his fingers and, you're suddenly magic'd to bed! You're laying there blinking confused and he's tucking you in and chuckling that "you're such a handful!" before leaving you to sleep and somehow INSTANTLY knowing when you're up.

You ARE in his house, after all...

Not to be gross but uh..... I'm not saying "yandere Lucifer who has the power to still get a Sinner pregnant if he wanted to and you wind up fooling around with him and you're waking up with his little apple symbol on your lower tummy as one of those like hentai womb tattoos to show you're pregnant" but uhhhhhhhhhhyeah that's what I'm saying, and whether it was accidentally or intentionally, he's keeping it, and thus, keeping YOU

I just feel like he'd be very goofy and awkward and bad at hiding his feelings and being very clearly overprotective and jealous in ways everyone else but you manages to pick up on (god Alastor would have some MATERIAL) and, in a romantic/sexual setting he eventually just loses his patience with you not seeing him as a man and just gets... progressively more forward. You pop back into the Hotel after a night out and Lucifer's already hammered at the bar with Husk, stumbling up to you, hanging off of you, slurring and embarrassing himself, "You'reeeee SO pretty... like SO pretty.... do you wanna have *BELCH* you wanna fuck? Cause I LOVE to fuck, like when I FUCKED my wife to make my DAUGHTER, my wife and daughter that I have, 'cuz im a DAD, 'cuz I'm a MAN!" and you're just giggling and ruffling his hair, "You're so weird, dude ^^" and walking away while Lucifer internally screams, wondering just how DIRECT with you he's going to have to be

meanwhile Charlie is totally cool with all of this and sees this as a weird double whammy of Curing Dad's Depression + new family member and friend hurray! and she's totally actively either shipping you with her dad or aiding and abetting him in his weird attempts to absorb you into the Morningstar family

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hellaverse #yandere x reader #hh #sinprompts

[swampstew]

All good things to those who wait

You all voted and I have delivered. Enjoy your size kink with the magnificent Charlotte Katakuri. Not proofread cause I'm on painkillers and my tolerance for giving a shit is nowhere in sight.

Content Warning: Spicy, established relationship w/ Reader, vaginal penetration, soft Katakuri moments, teasing, size kink, cum play, thigh fucking, finger penetration, AFAB reader.

Word Count: 2.8K

Minors DNI - you will be blocked

Desire was laced in your glazed eyes, echoing from your little gasps as your body twitched. The deep rumbles of chuckling resounded throughout Katakuri’s torso as he towered over you. He dipped his head down and tickled your body with his feather scarf, plucking a single feather and running it lightly over your body.

Even this one single feather was monstrous in size compared to you, easily being three quarters of your height and that was one of the smaller ones too! Lowering it’s reach, the feather trail left goosebumps on your skin and little shudders running down your spine. Your legs spread open by his bare thigh, he brought the feather down your slit and you clenched and whined on the vibrating dildo inside you on its lowest setting.

Katakuri loved being delicate with you almost as much as he loved being a huge tease.

“Please Kata!” you gasp. “It’s been 30 minutes!”

“My merienda is over when I say it’s over. I haven’t even tasted my delicious treat yet,” he rasped, lowering his body to the floor until he was kneeling in front of your exposed body, removing his scarf from his lower face. He was drooling.

“Kata!” you whine.

“What?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, you love when he eats you out. “Oh, do you want a turn taking the first taste?” he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“You know, for a man with future vision you sure are behind on what I really want,” you huff at him.

He pulled away.

“We’ve talked about this, Y/N.”

“Just the tip!”

“I could break you!” he snapped. This same fight is happening again. You’ve been dating for about a year and he only recently truly shown you his face, the more relaxed version of him when he wasn’t ‘Sweet Commander and Second Son of Charlotte Linlin’ Katakuri. He didn’t understand why you would risk your literal life like this. How could he possibly handle LOSING you over a few minutes of bliss? Inconceivable.

“I’m tired of toys and promises Kata!” you nearly sob.

You want him so so much. Want to feel his entire girth stretch you open, to let him use you to bring himself to heaven. His little plaything, but also the one who has won his heart. It just wasn’t fair. The perfect man with the perfect body. The only thing imperfect…had to be you...you were the common denominator. It was Your Size that was preventing him from overcoming his insecurities.

In an instant, Katakuri covers your body with his and gently kisses your face, caressing your body tenderly. Feeling his sheer weight envelope you like a weighted blanket, your tears soon stopped flowing as you sniffled into quiet sadness.

“I can make a mochi appen—”

“NO! Either fuck me or don’t!”

“Oh I’ll fuck you alright,” he growled, swiftly pinning your arms above you with two fingers. His free hand moving down to place a single, massive digit rubbing you from slit to clit. “You don’t COMMAND me.”

He sunk his finger in and you clenched tightly, pussy sucking him in deeper.

“Kata!” you gasp as your body was flooded with heat, pooling in your lower half.

His finger thrusted in and out quickly and you were soon bucking your hips against his finger. He slipped in a second finger and pressed vigorously against your walls going faster and faster until you were pulsing and sobbing in pleasure. A low whine leading into a moan heralding your orgasm as you clenched repeatedly on his fingers. He lets you ride it out before slowly removing his drenched hand. He glared at you as his tongue wiped the creamy mess you left on his fingers.

“I’m not talking about this today. End of discussion.” He helped you get clean and he made sure you were ok emotionally before he left.

You could only sigh deeply. You wondered how long he would be interested in you if he couldn’t have you the way most people would want a partner. Not that he’d ever pressure you, in fact he was the complete opposite. Almost TOO cautious. Afraid he would scar you with his teeth, break your bones with his fingers or split you in half with his giant co— You shake your head, no use in beating yourself down with what you can’t have. Wouldn’t serve you or your throbbing body.

Almost a month goes by and you were a little on edge. You had started seeing less of Katakuri and your worst fears were slowly settling into your mind. As of recently he was sent on a mission by Big Mom and had been gone for nearly two weeks. Even before he left he was not intimately connected, simply pleasured you and denied himself…again.

Then one day he appeared with a bouquet of flowers, an apology falling out of his concealed lips as you fought the urge to give him a piece of your mind for the CARELESSNESS. He’s never treated you that poorly before. Sweet promises swiftly followed the apology, a dinner date for tomorrow evening with an explanation for everything.

“Please? 7 at my house?” his usually sharp, magenta eyes were soft, pleading with your Y/E/C irises.

“Ok. But if I don’t find your explanation satisfactory, there will be angry words uttered!”

7 PM arrives the next day and as you slowly walk up to his mansion of a residence, you see a line of the house staff being ushered out from one of the side exits. Puzzled, your step falters as the front door opens. You see Smoothie in the doorway and she motions for you to come inside.

“Don’t worry I won’t be here long. Katakuri is waiting for you in the dining room,” she greets you and pushes you on with a wave.

Your eyes prick with tears as you see him stand next to the set table. The best glassware and decorations sat on the wooden surface. You were so confused you were ready to crumble.

Katakuri removes his shoulder wear and drapes it on the back of a chair. His eyes looked somber.

“I’m so sorry for the distance I’ve created. I have felt like…” he looked to the floor for a moment before looking back at you, “Such a failure in this relationship. I do what I can to please you but I know you want more from me and I struggle with how to meet those demands. So that’s what I’ve been doing. I went to check on one of our…associates to see how far he’s come along on his testing for a growth serum. It’s priority use is a matter for Momma and her other affairs but I thought that if it was ready that…” he trailed off. “But its not done. Not even close to being started. Don’t think that fool Caesar knows what he’s gotten himself into,” Katakuri growled deeply.

“No matter. I’ve found a temporary solution for the moment. I’m not sure how it’ll go but I want you to know Y/N that I care so very deeply for you. Please understand that all I’ve done is to ensure that you are here with me, safely, so we can enjoy our relationship to the fullest capacity. My selfishness will not come at the cost of your body and wellbeing. Of that I will not budge on.”

Your eyes are spilling with tears and he’s already on his knees, wiping them away with his callous, tender fingers. You kiss one, then the other.

“You sweet, sweet, overly cautious man,” you smile at him. “Does your solution involve Smoothie?”

He nods, a small smile on his face from your compliment. “Yes, Smoothie has recently achieved her devil fruit awakening. She can apply her absorption technique on objects and people other than herself for a short period. I thought this could be a reasonable compromise until we find a more permanent solution.”

In the end, Smoothie is only able to make you several feet taller than your original height. Your body grew in proportion to the added length but she has not yet mastered her power and thus couldn’t grow you to full height. Still, it was better than nothing, you were now at eye level with his navel and not his knees. The thought of being used by him with your whole body instead of just your thighs had excitement pooling in your body again.

Katakuri quickly rushed his sister out with lowly muttered gratitude, fully flushed. You could overhear Smoothie utter a warning, “It’s not a permanent thing, make use of the time you have.”

As soon as the door closed you slipped your shoes off and unclipped your hair, framing your face with your locks. You were SO thankful you decided to wear lingerie and a cute, flirty dress. He came back through the hallway and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw your relaxed posture, your fingers hooking the hem of your dress while your other hand was moving to slip off the dress strap from your shoulders.

“Eager are we?” he growled lowly, rushing to embrace you to his body. Letting out a grunt as he felt your chin against his stomach. Looking you over with dilated eyes, “This will do, let us hope anyways.”

He picked you up and cradled you to his chest, smashing his lips against yours and sucking your bottom lip. For once not enveloping your mouth entirely with his lips. Your tongue being able to press against his in a stronger way as he invaded your mouth. He placed soft kisses and suckled down your neck, a hand cupping your thighs and then your ass as he walked up the stairs for the master bedroom.

Katakuri brought you to his neatly made bed and gently laid you down, ravishing your body quickly. Even with his eagerness he does not immediately being with penetration. Katakuri is nothing if not patient and restrained.

By the time he pulls his massive cock free from his trousers, you’ve already cum twice from his fingers. He licked your slick from his three digits, slurping your essences that dripped down to his wrist. Gently placing his cock between your messy thighs, he grips them closed as he begins to pump himself. Your hand slowly reaches down and begins rubbing his flushed tip, coating your palm in precum. It’s thick and nearly transparent. With a sly look you bring your hand to your mouth and lick it clean – he tastes sweet, like icing on a pastry.

A loud, satisfied groan escapes from his lips as he watched your actions, rutting his hips sharply into your thighs that pushed his cock deeper between your thighs, just below your core. You can feel him instinctively throb as your heat calls to him, you can feel the pulsing from the thick veins that run along his member and it makes you keen. You begin thrusting your hips too, edging his tip, silently pleading for him to enter you.

Still hesitant, Katakuri glances at you one final time before he lays over you. He lays his cock just at your entrance while he softly kisses your lips, his hands kneading your breasts softly with aggressive twists on your nipples. A new sensation that rips a growl from your throat, leaving him with wide eyes and a new hunger in his gut. Desperation.

Moving his hands to spread your legs open, he latches on to your breasts to anchor himself before he splits you open. The breezy air hits your sopping core and makes you hiss in need. With a simple nod against your chest, Katakuri lifts his hips.

You weren’t a virgin before you met Katakuri but the way he stretched you open made you feel like one. You gasped aloud, biting back a scream you let your head swim as his cock slowly pushes into you, feeling him spread you wide open as your thighs quake. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, though you finally reconcile that he had been right, having sex in your normal size would have ripped you apart. Willing those thoughts away, you wiggle your hips around him causing Katakuri to both chuckle and growl at you.

“What have I told you about commanding me?” he softly bites your nipples, his sharp teeth brushing against your skin making goosebumps erupt all over your body.

“Kata you feel so good,” you moan, “I need more!”

With a groan, Katakuri pushes himself in all the way until he felt the head of his cock kissing your cervix. A few inches of him remained outside.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N,” he murmurs as he tries to reign himself in. To not fuck you to oblivion and back.

His praise made you clench on his massive girth and that wrangled a grunt from him. You wrapped your legs around his waist as much as you can but your legs are still too short. You settle for bracing your heels against his hips and begin thrusting on him.

The choked pants that leave his mouth only encourage you as you take control. Your hands reach for his arms and shoulders, digging your nails into him as you clench on him, rutting your hips and fucking yourself on his cock.

“S’good Kata, you feel fucking amazing. Gon-gonna cum from this alone,” you hum and moan, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

That snapped him out of his haze, hands running down to your hips in a death grip. Slightly lifting himself on his knees, he pulls out fully to snap back into you and you let out a yelp.

“Do it again,” you breathe heavily with eyes darkened with lust.

He obeys and thrusts sharply into you again. And again. Starting a pace that quickly turns fast as he begins to lose himself in you. The way your tight walls hug his cock, the way your body flushes as you clench in pleasure, the way your moan and squeal from the pleasure he is giving you. Fully sitting on his knees, he hitches your thighs over his own and drills into you.

“You look so desperate Y/N. All this for some cock?” he chuckles darkly.

“Don’t be snarky Kata!” you whine. “As if you aren’t aching to cum inside me,” you continue with intentional clenching on him.

With a growl he pistons into you faster, shutting your smart mouth up as your tongue lolls, whimpering gasps and moan being the only noises you can make anymore. Desire that had been simmering in your body was quickly coming to a boil, threatening to spill over the edges as you neared your orgasm. Sensing this, Katakuri fills you with as much of himself as he can and then grinds into your body. His tip hitting your g-spot and making white dots appear in your vision.

“I might be but I’ll save that for another time. Don’t want to risk impregnating you so soon after discovering how delicious your cunt feels on me,” he pants between grunts, his own orgasm about to hit him.

His future vision told him you’d cum in a minute, in reality you came after 4 short thrusts. Your walls clamped down on his cock in a vice grip as a scream was ripped from your throat, wailing his name in pleasure as the waves rocked your body. He was gasping for air, feeling lightheaded from your hold on him, trying to keep himself from finishing before your orgasm was complete.

He couldn’t take it.

Even with your walls pulsing and clenching on him through the aftershocks of your pleasure, Katakuri rips himself from out of you. Kneeling over you, he fists himself quickly until he’s spilling his hot, white cum all over you. Fisting himself until it was nearly painful, only stopping when the last drop had spilled from him.

Looking down at you, a proud grin growing on his face at the sight of you. Nearly swimming in his essence. Your chest is heaving, still recovering from your orgasm, you shakily lift your head to look down at yourself and you give him a sly smirk. You dip a finger in his cum that pooled over your belly and licked it clean.

“Mmmmmm,” your eyes roll back, “You’ve always tasted so sweet. Like cinnamon roll icing,” you purr.

“Oh fuck,” Katakuri mutters as his entire being turns red.

Without another word, he scoops you up in his arms with the blankets wrapped around you and heads to the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” concern in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer you’ll be this size and I plan to take full advantage,” he simply answers as he begins to run the shower.

“Katakuri! You horny dog, you” you laugh lightly as the water starts washing off his pleasure from you. Both your hands grip his hardening length and you kiss his tip. “This time I want you to feed me,” you smile before you start licking.

#katakuri one piece #katakuri x you #swampstew bedtime stories #one piece fanfiction #charlotte katakuri #creative writing #fanfic #one piece #one shot #one piece katakuri #swampstew #swampstew stories #op katakuri #one piece charlotte katakuri #katakuri x reader #katakuri smut

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

(For your lovely rollo event.)

Rollo, how do you feel about children? Either just in general or perhaps.. if you would ever want to be a father in the future?

Like Fire, Hellfire.

“Children?”

He handled the word as though it were a skunk—innocent and harmless for now but primed to spray at the first hint of danger. A muscle in his face ticked. It was though he wished to shift into a different emotion but hadn't yet decided which one.

Handkerchief out, Rollo sucked in a breath through his teeth. The usual disgust or disapproval was not present in full force. Today, it was tempered by hesitance as he tip-toed around the subject.

"They have the capacity to be rambunctious. Like fire, difficult to tame. I’m not certain I can match their energy," he said vaguely. “The children in the City of Flowers are free-spirited, and that tends to result in acts of mischief. Whether their pranks and games disturb public peace depends on the time and place. I'm not fond of the instances when they do."

A slight grimace crossed his features. "There was once an incident when a boy blew hard into a magically charmed handkerchief, and the noise it produced startled the baker at the cafe I was frequenting. He had just pulled out a fresh batch of croissants from the oven. The croissants ended up all over the floor... What a waste of perfectly good food. The baker, too, was quite upset, as you can imagine."

"What happened to the boy?"

"Ah, him. He attempted to abscond from the scene of the crime. In his rush to escape, he paid no attention to his surroundings and collided with me." Rollo waved a hand. "The baker's rage was upon him in an instant. The boy was shaking like a leaf in the wind—he grasped onto my robes to keep himself upright.”

Rollo drew out a sigh that ended in a small smile. “I managed to smooth things over with the baker, though I also spoke with the boy and had him apologize. One must atone for one’s crimes—that lesson was surely instilled in him that day.”

"Aw, it was nice of you to step in and speak on behalf of the little guy." You found yourself smiling as well. Even though Rollo-san always has this stern air about him… "You really have a soft spot for kids, huh?”

His frown quickly returned. "No, I wouldn't say that. I was merely holding the boy accountable for his actions. Children can so easily be led astray without proper instruction and moral guidance. Who is to say he wouldn’t be a repeat offender if he was let off the hook?”

"Someone's in denial," you said in a teasing singsong. “It’s okay to confess that you’re good at taking care of kids, you know.”

“… I am not,” he insisted. “I am most content observing the children go about their simple days. I do not wish to take a larger part in their lives beyond that.”

A terrifying thought nipped at him from the dark crevices of his mind.

I don’t have a right to.

If his heart were a house, then a window had been thrown open, letting the outside in. A hole opened in the dark, and incriminating light rushed to fill it.

A flower of pain blossomed in his chest, its thorns driving deep into his flesh. The blood that rose to the surface was both hot and cold. Burning scorn, icy remorse.

A deadly duo.

Spiraling.

I wasn't able to protect the one that mattered most of all. My magic came too late. I'm in no position to be a big brother, let alone a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a guardian of any sort…!

I’m not worthy.

Rollo gritted his teeth. His soul ablaze, his mind jumbled with emotions running high. He pushed back with teeth and nails.

It’s not my fault. I’m not to blame!! The one who cast this flame is…!

“Rollo-san?”

You were staring at him, concern seeping into your eyes. Curiosity, too, had bloomed there. It was the same sort of expression one makes at a a stray on the side of the road. Sorry for it, but uncertain about drawing near to check its condition.

He gasped—realizing he had been making a most frightening face. Rearranging his features back into some semblance of calm, he cleared his throat.

“… Suffice to say, it is impossible in this current state of affairs for any child to grow up safe and free of sin. Around every bend and corner, there is temptation of magic calling out to them. How cruel!” he lamented pityingly. “The poor things, like lambs led to the slaughter.”

You shuddered at the gruesome image—human children like lambs.

Poor things, echoed your head. Poor Rollo, echoed your heart, thinking such things.

“Until I can bring about that magic-free world into fruition, I cannot commit my efforts toward any other endeavors,” he concluded. “A world without all the pain and suffering of this one… I intend to see my goal through to the very end. That is my utmost priority.”

A fairer world for all.

For the children.

For him.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Rollo Flamme #twst x reader #Rollo Flamme x Reader #angst #spoilers #disney twisted wonderland #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Reader #self insert #Rollo at the Writing Desk

[pythonees]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ PROJECT PASSION — xavier thorpe

WARNINGS: 18+, aged up characters, soft bodied reader, slight hand kink, frottage, biting, coming in pants, this got kinda long... sorry?

A/N: what's that, I'm posting another fic in the same month?? well, that's because my new fixation is here!!

The hallways are silent as you make your way out of your room and towards the boys wing. Most people were outside in the out of season warm weather, and while you normally would be doing the same, you've been tortuously given a project for every single class you're in. Which wouldn't really be a problem, except the first one due is a partnered assignment. One that you don't get to pick who you got to do it with.

And it's not like you hate Xavier or anything! Quite the opposite, really. Which is the root of your problem. The not so small crush you've let develop into something bigger after he broke up with Bianca. He's kind and smart and amazing at art, how could you not like him based off of that alone? It helps that he's also very good looking, able to draw your attention at the worst of times when you should otherwise be paying attention to your teacher.

Thankfully you two are friendly enough, having spoken to each other a few times before to know the other as more than just an acquaintance. And after talking to him those times you could comfortably add thoughtful and witty to the list of things you liked about him. That's probably why your crush has taken off as hard as it has.

But now, as you near the room he now gets to himself, you can't help but wonder if it would be easier if you didn't really know him at all. If the awkward air would be easier then you having to fight down how flustered you are by his mere presence. How just the smallest of smiles from him will have you weak in the knees.

Standing in front of his door you smooth your clammy hands over the skirt of your sundress. You wonder if you should have dressed more casual, like you had planned. It's the weekend, so everyone takes the opportunity to wear whatever they want, and you had taken the chance to doll yourself up a little. But now, staring his door down, you wish you didn't listen to Enid and gone with something I little less revealing.

Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door, looking around to make sure none of the teachers or another student sees you in the boys wing. There have been many horror stories of the lockdowns people get for getting caught sneaking into the opposite sex's wing of the school, and you don't want to deal with the rumours that would come from being caught here, either. Not when your doing something as innocent as working on a project.

Xavier quickly opens the door, and you're immediately assaulted with the smell of whatever "boyish" body wash he uses and his wet hair, shoulders of his white t shirt damp from the water dripping from it. You can't pull your eyes away, mesmerized by how good he looks with it down and framing his face. He doesn't have it down all that often, and you forgot about how hot it makes him look when he does.

And his smell, my god. You just wanna stuff your face in his chest and breathe deep, chase the smell and have it linger on your clothes when you leave. Your face heats with your less than platonic thoughts, and you really hope he can't see how flustered you're becoming as you stand in front of him, having to look up to see those beautiful green eyes.

"Hey, come in. Sorry it's a bit of a mess, kinda knocked some paint over and had to clean in a rush," as you step past him and into his room, you're met with all of the wonderful drawings pinned up on the wall on his side of the room, starting from above his bed and ending over his desk. He still hasn't gotten a new roommate, no one new joining Nevermore since Wednesday Adams.

"You can sit on the bed if you want, just wanna clean the last of my brushes before the paint dries," he darts into the still open bathroom, hunched over the sink as he continues his cleaning. You toe off your shoes, putting them next to his by the door so that you don't get his surprisingly clean room dirty.

While he's distracted, you take the time to look him over, his slim but fit body and the slightly baggy clothes that hang off of him. The sweats he's got on are a deep burgundy, the legs of them a bit too short for his long legs. It leaves his ankles exposed, and you find yourself watching his feet tap out a rhythm before you remind yourself that all this staring is surely becoming creepy.

Instead of gawking at him like some sort of stalker, you take the time to snoop a bit, setting your bag at the foot of the bed while you take in all of the art he's done.

Most of it is pinned to the walls, quick sketches and intricate pieces filling the space. There's even an easel set up by Rowan's old side of the room, with a canvas set up on it. The easel is turned away and placed as close to the garage wall ass possible, obviously dragged there so no one could easily look at it. While you really want to take a look, you don't want to betray his trust by looking at something he clearly wants to keep to himself.

Instead you focus on the ones you can clearly see, a mixture of random still life from around campus to random people and animals and little doodles that fill in the spaces. You're honestly a bit in awe at his skill, pushing your bag over so you can sit at the end of his bed, back resting against the metal frame to comfortably admire the drawings.

You don't notice when Xavier leaves the bathroom, too enamoured with his art. You do notice as drawing of a moth comes to life, twitching before fluttering off of the page. It flies around before heading towards you, and you hold your hand out for it to land on. It feels strange on your skin, not like how bugs feet normally feel, but also kinda similar. You go to run your finger over a wing to see how it feels, gasping when you notice you smudged the intricate pattern made from what you think are pastels.

"I'm so sorry!" You say in a rush, turning to look up at Xavier. He doesn't look upset though, a smile on his face as he watches you. You gently hold the moth out to him for him to fix, and instead of taking it from you, he reaches the hand not animating the moth to gently smudge the other side.

"There, now it matches again," he says before guiding the moth off of your hand and back to the paper it was on. It's still got the twin smudges on it as it settles back into place, and you find comfort in knowing that he isn't mad about it at all, "Alright, what part did you wanna start on first?"

"Should probably do the boring written part first. We can figure out the creative part later." You say, already knowing that if you start with the more fun part first, you won't have the energy to even think about the written part today.

Xavier nods, walking around the bed to grab his own notes and his laptop off of his desk. He sits across from you, back to the headboard, one foot on the ground while his other leg is stretched out on the bed. The bed seems to be just long enough for Xavier to lay down in comfortably, but with you in it as well, you realize that the bed can barely accommodate the two of you sitting as you are, your bent legs close to touching his bare foot.

With both of your sheets laid out, you get to work organizing all the notes, grouping them together in a way that makes the most sense. Then, you both get to work merging your notes together, you reading them out while Xavier types it out on his laptop.

His speedy typing combined with your ability to levitate the notes all around you makes the written portion of the assignment go much faster than you could do on your own. You're only able to keep two sheets up at a time if you were the one typing it out, attention too split to keep more sheets levitated without causing yourself any unnecessary strain.

Now you can rotate five or more sheets at a time, floating them around the both of you as you speed through the work. Sometimes he has you holding a sheet up for a while, wanting to pull a direct quote from a passage or to try and figure out how to blend both of your words together. It's during those moments you take the time to really admire his face. The shape of his nose, fullness of his lips, shape of his jaw.

There are a few times he almost catches you in the act, but the curtain of drying hair obscured most of his vision before he could fully look up from his hunched over position, giving you enough time to look away and pretend you were reading over the notes hovering in front of you. The notes that have slowly started to drift down during your distracted staring shooting back up into their original spots.

While actually looking over the notes, there are a few times where you think you can feel his gaze on you, but when you look up, you can never catch him in the act. So you just brush it off as your wishful thinking. Why would he be looking at you, anyways?

You get through a huge chunk of the written work faster than you though you would, getting through nearly half you your notes before Xavier had pushed his laptop away with a tired sigh. It was more than you had ever thought you would get done, and that's including the creative part that hasn't even been started yet. So the both of you agree that you can finish the rest another day, when your heads aren't swimming with jumbled up historical dates and places.

"What were you thinking of doing for our creative piece of the project?" Xavier asks, closing his laptop and setting it onto his bedside table. You find yourself staring at his hands

"It's probably more work, but I thought we could do like, a board game or something? I think it'll still have enough education to it while still being artsy and creative," you say, guiding all the papers back to you. You sort through the papers, setting Xavier's aside while you put yours back in your bag, loose with all your other random notes you were working on before coming up to his room.

"That sounds like it would be fun," Xavier says, pushing up from his bed to head over to his desk. There's a few big canvases leaning against the wall, some unused while others had beautiful portraits of people, all of which you didn't recognize, or captivating scenery. When he pulls some of them back there's some big pieces of poster paper tucked in behind them. He pulls a white one out, holding it up so that you can see it better, "This size work?"

You nod, quickly moving his papers off of the bed and onto of the laptop. He grabs up a stray pencil case too, carrying them all over to the bed. The pencil case he's got is worn, stained with finger shaped smudges of all different colours. He opens it to reveal an array of coloured pencils in a brand you don't recognize, probably the expensive kind that's higher quality than the crayola ones you have in your room.

While you sketch out the path of the game board in light pencil strokes, Xavier takes to filling the empty spaces with relevant historical sketches. They're beautifully done, and when you tell him that he's waves your compliment off with a blush high on his cheeks, a wide smile on his face while he tells you that it was nothing.

Soon the entire paper is full of a pencilled out outline of what you know will be a masterpiece. It already looks good as it is, but Xavier assures you that some colour and line work will really bring the whole thing together. You don't even bother questioning him, nodding eagerly while you levitate it up in the air, wanting to get a better look at it.

Your proud of your work, even though all you contributed was the path the player would take and some small decorative doodles drawn on the important spaces. But Xavier had told you you did a great job, causing your face to heat under his compliment and warm smile.

When you spin it around for Xavier to see, you catch sight of him staring at you. He's got the same smile on as he did when you were holding his animated moth, a soft one that makes your insides swirl and face feel hot. The look has you so distracted that the board game falls out of the air at a weird angle, fluttering to the floor. It lands face up, with thankfully no bends or smudges on it that would ruin all your hard work.

As your reaching over to grab the dropped assignment at the same time Xavier does, you misjudge where you put your hand down to brace yourself. It's too close to the edge of the bed, sheets sliding under your weight and causing your hand, and subsequently the rest of you, to go with it. As you suck in a breath, about to slow your fall to hopefully catch yourself with you levitation, you feel an arm wrap tightly around your waist.

You can't help the full body shiver that goes through you as he pulls you back into his chest, unconsciously leaning back into it to chase the warmth of his body. His legs are bracketing you as he sits down behind you, body long and lean as he plants his feet firmly on the ground.

"You okay?" He asks, voice low as he dips his head down to speak right by your ear, "I know you probably would have caught yourself, but I kinda moved without thinking."

"No, uh, it's fine. I was caught by surprise. Probably would have smashed my face off the ground or something." You say, unconsciously lowering yours as well. You don't know why you do it, but you don't want to speak louder than him and break the probably one sided tension you could feel between the two of you. This is the closest you've been to him, and you want to memorize the feel of him against you for later.

Turning your head to thank him, you don't expect his face to be so close to yours. Or for his half lidded eyes to be staring at your lips. Your tongue quickly swipes over them, tasting like vanilla gloss, a nervous habit that you've yet to kick, and his eyes somehow grow heavier as he sucks in a quick breath through his nose, "Xavier?"

His arm tightens around your waist, the other that was used to prop him up moving to rest on his thigh, the tips of his fingers brushing the bare skin of your own. You can feel the muscles of his thigh through his sweats, firm from all the runs he goes on, such a stark contrast to the plushness of yours.

"Can I kiss you?" He leans foreword just slightly, hair falling from behind his ear and tickling the side of your face. Your hand reaches up to tuck it back behind his ear, letting your hand fall to cup his cheek in the same motion. He leans into it slightly, eyes trained on yours as he waits for your response.

"Please," Xavier wastes no time once the words are out of your mouth, closing the small distance to press his plush lips against yours. His lips are soft, smoothed by chapstick but made sticky by your lipgloss as they move against yours. The angle is awkward though, with your back still pressed up against his chest. You have to turn your head over your shoulder to keep kissing him, and while you're enjoying it immensely, your neck is starting to protest.

You gently pull away, a small smile on your face when Xavier immediately tries to follow your lips, eyes still closed. You huff out a laugh, running your thumb over his pink cheek before you let him go, moving to stand up. His grip tightens on your hips as his eyes flutter open, strong fingers digging into soft flesh, trying to pull you back to him. His eyes are heavy as he stares up at you and his lips are tinged a light pink from your lipgloss, but you're able to use the small space between you to turn around and climb into his lap.

"Shit," Xavier mutters, hands dropping down to your ass, long fingers reaching past the bottom of it and brushing against the back of you leg. He tugs you into him as he immediately reconnects your lips, fingers digging into your skin. You roll your hips foreword to get as close as possible to him, landing right on Xavier's growing erection as you press your chests together.

You both moan at the contact, Xavier quickly closing the distance to press your lips together again, much more desperate than the first one. His lips are insistent against yours, arms moving to wrap around your waist to keep you as close as possible. You loop your arms over his shoulders in turn, playing with the hairs at the back of his neck as you tentatively lick a stripe across the minty chapstick that coats his lips, tinged with vanilla from your lipgloss.

Xavier instantly opens his mouth, tongue pressing past your lips and rubbing up against your own, and you're in heaven. You don't mind the sloppy desperation that seems to take over the both of you, spit coating your lips as you both try to pull the other one impossibly closer.

The desperate little moans coming from your mouth would have normally embarrassed you, becoming this pathetically horny for him from kissing alone. But you can't bring yourself to care as Xavier effortlessly pulls them from you with his skilled lips and rhythmic rolling of his hips up into yours. The answering groans coming from him as you roll your unsteady hips with him sounds somehow more wrecked than you do, fanning the flame of heat settling between your legs.

Pulling back, you try to take in a deep, steadying breath, hands smoothing down the back of his neck and dipping beneath his shirt, nails grazing along his spine. Xavier shivers, a moan low in his throat your only warning before he's pulling you back in, sealing your lips together.

He bites at your bottom lip, tongue darting out to smooth over the sting left behind before he's desperately licking into your mouth. You match his pace happily, hands coming back up to grab a fistful of his long hair and pulling. Xavier pulls away from your lips with a loud moan, eyes closed in bliss and mouth parted. He shudders under you, head falling forward and landing on your shoulder.

"Fuck," Xavier whispers, word drawn out and coated in arousal, "do that again."

And you do, pulling on it a little harder than before. It has him rolling his hips up into yours with a deep, guttural groan, his prominent erection pressing against your damp panties. His hands guide the roll of your stuttering hips against him, moans filling the room, as you follow his slower but firmer rhythm, keeping his hair tangled in your fingers.

You feel his head move against your shoulder, the barest brush of his spit slicked lips brushing against your skin. It has you holding your breath, fingers twitching in his hair. The first press of his lips against your neck is soft and barely there, but it still makes your breathing shaky, one hand dropping from Xaviers hair and gripping onto the back of his shirt.

The small pecks slowly start to get open mouthed, lingering as he lightly sucks and nibbles at your skin. His tongue smooths over any particularly hard bites, when you're hips would meet perfectly with his and he couldn't control the way his teeth would clamp down on your flesh. You don't mind though, the sparks of pain forming into pleasurable tingles that have your toes curling in your socks.

"Ahh, feels good. Please," you mumble, bearing down harder onto Xavier's clothes erection as you desperately chase the high you feel lingering just at the edges. You don't even know what your asking for, just that you want more.

Xavier moans against your throat, a question and a sound of pleasure rolled into one. He's sucking on the skin with more intent now, surely leaving bruises that you can't wait to feel when they fully settle in.

"Wanna feel you," you say, tugging on his shirt for emphasis, "mark you up so we match."

He pulls away from your neck with a loud smack of his lips, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before he's pulling back from you just enough to rip his shirt off over his head and toss to the side. The second he's free from the shirt he's ducking back into your neck on the other side, sucking what you assume are impressive hickies into your skin.

His hands settle on your thighs as yours loop around his neck, his fingers pressing into your flesh as they run up, up under the hem of your dress. His fingers catch onto your underwear, tugging your panties up and between soaked lips in his haste to get at your skin. It has you nearly wailing in pleasure as the soaked fabric is pressed right up into your clit, walls clenching around nothing as your head falls back.

Xavier kisses up your exposed jaw, giving you a teasing bite as he mumbles a quick apology against your skin. He detangles his fingers from your panties, hands moving to settle against the swell of your hips. His skin against yours feels euphoric, warm and slightly calloused from archery.

"It's okay," you say around a moan, slightly disappointed that the added pressure against your clit is gone. Your eyes feel heavy as you blink, slowly letting your head fall back down. As you do Xavier pulls back from your neck, eyes trained on your marked up neck. His hands come out from under your dress to tug at the bottom as he stares at you.

"Can I take this off?" he asks, giving your dress another little tug as if you didn't know what he was talking about. You nod, arms going above your head and hips stilling against his. He's quick when taking your dress off, throwing it in the same direction as his shirt before he's leaning back to get a better look at you.

You're left in just your bra and panties, miss matched but thankfully on the nicer side of your collection. The first thought that comes to your head is that you really hope he likes what he sees. But the admiring way he trails his hands up over your hips to sit on your waist has any worries melting away. That, and the awe filled look in his eyes as he traces over all the newly revealed skin.

"Fucking beautiful," Xavier breathes, fingers digging into your flesh. You can't help but watch the way your skin dimples around his long, strong fingers, admiring the contrast of your bodies. One of his hands skim up over your a bra covered breast and along your neck to cup the side of your face, pulling your attention away from his hand still on your waist and to his face.

"C'mere," he whispers, and you waste no time connecting your lips. This kiss is similar to the first, slow and sweet as you both let your hands roam free.

One of his hands come to rest on a covered breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. It has you rolling your hips again, swallowing Xavier's moan as you lick into his mouth. The hand not palming at your breasts comes down to rest on your hip, leaving them there as he lets you control the pace of your grinding hips.

"Think you can cum like this?" Xavier says as he pulls away from your lips, dropping his hand from your chest to join the other on your waist. He starts guiding your movements that have become sloppy in your gaze of pleasure. You nod, biting your bottom lip as your pussy clench's around nothing, "Yeah? You gonna cum for me pretty girl?"

You nod again, hips moving at a desperate pace, the slide of you bodies made easier by you arousal that has soaked through your panties and all over the front of Xavier's pants. You can't keep in the stream of moans that pass your lips, chasing your orgasm. Tucking your head into his shoulder, your nails claw at his back move above him.

You're on the precipice of the end, can feel it taking over every finer of your body. Xavier helps you through it all, whispering praises in your ear, broken up by kisses to the side of your head.

"C'mon, already got my pants soaked. Wanna see how much of a mess you can make me," Xavier urges, matching you thrust for thrust. You lean back, trusting that he hand hold you up with the arms wrapped around your waist.

The newfound space between your bodies let's you see just how wet you've made the two of you. The dark maroon of his pants have become nearly black from where your cunt has been rubbing up on him, a mixture of your arousal and his pre. His pants are so wet that you can see the outline of his cock almost perfectly, looking long and perfect and like it would fill you up 'till you could feel him in your throat.

"You see how good you look rubbing up against me?" Xavier taunts, fingers turning bruising as you both start to speed up, "gonna cum in those cute pink panties without me even touching you."

Nodding along to his words, you drag your nails up his back to pull at the hairs at the nape of his neck. His reaction is immediate, eyes squeezing shut while he moans long and low in his throat. Xavier's hips stutter underneath you before going still, the grip on his waist turning painful. You barely notice that he's stoped moving, continuing to grind on him until your cuming hard, moan caught high in your throat and thighs clamping around Xavier's legs.

Face hot and panting for breath, you force open your eyes that you didn't even notice you had closed. Xavier has his eyes screwed shut, but in a way that seems like it's done out of pain than pleasure. You quickly let go of his hair, thinking you had pulled it to hard and hurt him. You smooth you hands over the back of his head, hoping to soothe any pain.

Xavier shakily inhales, pulling you back into him. You stop him with a hand to his chest before he can press the two of you together, your other hand coming down to pull at the band of his underwear.

"What're you doing?" Xavier says, voice rough, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist. It's loose enough for you to pull free of, but firm enough to keep you from pulling at his waistband anymore.

"Want you to cum too," you say, dipping foreword to mouth at his neck. You can feel his answering moan against you lips, sucking a mark that won't even do justice to the amount you know litter yours.

"I, uh," Xavier swears under his breath, letting go of your hand to anxiously push his hair back, "shit, don't laugh, okay?"

"Why would I laugh?"

At first you don't think he's going to tell you what's going on. He just stares at you dejectedly, eyes darting away from your face to stare down at his destroyed pants, "I already came."

"That's okay. Don't know if you noticed, but I came pretty hard and I've still got my panties on," you say, a smile on your face. It pulls a tiny smile from Xavier, and his hunched shoulders start to loosen, "Really, I don't care. Honestly, it's really fucking hot that you came in your pants for me."

All tension seems to leave his body, the small smile on his face blooming into a beautifully large one, "Yeah? Think it was good enough to go on a date with me next weekend?"

You feel giddy with excitement, smiling wide as you cup his cheeks. You can feel as his smile somehow grows wider, and you can't help the excited giggle that escapes you.

"Hell yeah."

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

#xavier #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #xavier smut #xavier thorpe smut #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe imagine #Ꮺ. my work #Ꮺ. smut warning

[seangelfish]

hi!! can i request romantic fluff of kaoru with a reader who likes to draw but is really shy about it? like they always hide their sketchbook when he goes up to them, but its bc they really likes to draw him when he isn't looking. tysm!! take your time and have a good day <3

Aww, this is actually a cute request because I absolutely love Kaoru and I could relate to the reader here too (as an artist myself)! I had to rewrite this twice because I didn't like my first draft lol but this version is definitely a lot better, so I hope you enjoy reading! ♡

Her sketchbook

Kaoru Hakaze x artist! Reader ♡ Genre/s: Fluff, mutual crush ♡ Word count: 1,423 ♡ Plot/summary: Kaoru always wonders what's inside that sketchbook of yours that you just won't show him. However, you vowed to never show this sketchbook to anybody especially Kaoru who you like so much.

During break, you would head off to the Yumenosaki Academy Garden where you would draw to your heart's desire. You usually drew the pretty flowers therce or the insects that visited them. Sometimes you'd draw the birds that would land on the table you were working on, also feeding them bits of your lunch. By time, that sketchbook of yours was covered in beautiful, colourful drawings of nature.

Kaoru, who had taken a liking to you, would always ask what you were up to. He'd always find you in the gardens smiling happily to yourself when you've finished a drawing. He liked seeing you like this when you're content and at peace.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” called out a voice.

You knew it was Kaoru, so you looked up at him and smiled. He's been visiting you a lot lately, and you always enjoyed his presence.

“Haha, you’re drawing again?” he asked happily. “Can I see?”

As you glanced down at the drawing you were working on, you gasped. This made him look down too, but you had already slammed your sketchbook shut.

But despite you liking him so much, you could never show him your sketchbook. EVER.

"(Y/N)?"

"It's not that good!" you cried. "I don't want you seeing it!"

"Huh? But–"

And in a blink of an eye, you were gone, leaving Kaoru stranded all alone in the gardens.

This same situation has happened countless of other times too. Whenever you'd see Kaoru appear from the hedges, you'd immediately hide your sketchbook on your lap. When you weren't in the gardens, but on the school's rooftop, and Kaoru was there helping out with the school's laundry, you'd hide your sketchbook behind your back. Even when he would visit you in the art department with Rei, your sketchbook was just no where to be found!

"She just doesn't want you looking," said Koga after Kaoru had finished telling the rest of UNDEAD his observation. "I wouldn't want you looking either."

Adonis agreed. "It's her personal sketchbook. She probably has stuff she just doesn't want to show you."

"I suppose..." Kaoru sighed. "But I would like to know what she's drawing..."

It wasn't as if you didn't show any of your drawings to Kaoru. You were happy to show him the pieces you were working on in class. Not only did he think you were beautiful, but the things you drew were beautiful too.

However, the way you presented yourself in class and the way you presented yourself outside in the gardens were completely different. He noticed how confident and poised you were whenever you're painting in class. You were focused, the brush between your fingers as you painted the canvas with delicacy. You were graceful with your strokes, careful with your movements. He loved watching you like this, and he loved it even more when you'd catch his eye from outside your classroom as you smiled at him.

But as he watched you smiling to yourself in the gardens, scribbling into your sketchbook with your face resting on your palm, he couldn't help but love you even more. You were truly content, giggling to yourself as you scribbled away. There was no need for you to act poised here, so you were able to be yourself, draw the things that you wanted to draw. Kaoru could see that clearly. He could see how the gardens' colours complimented your warmness, so he always wondered what things you were drawing that made you so happy like that.

The next day, he found you in the gardens again, as he always would. He could tell you had taken a break from drawing because you were now lost in thought, your hands cupping your cheeks as you stared at the sky.

“Haha, cute,” he muttered to himself.

He approached you slowly so he wouldn’t make a noise. You really were deep in thought because you hadn’t noticed him until he cupped his hands over your eyes.

“Guess who!”

You screamed, but once you knew it was Kaoru, you started to laugh.

"Oh, it's Rei, right?" you joked.

Kaoru chuckled, but a part of him didn't like your response. Was he jealous over you guessing wrong? You weren't even guessing properly and he knew of it, but it still annoyed him.

"Of course, it's you, Kaoru," you said as if you were reading his mind.

He had let you go at this point. You looked up at him with the brightest smile that he has ever seen you pull, but as he was looking down at you, he caught a glimpse at your opened sketchbook. You noticed this too, but this time, he was quicker than you.

He snatched your sketchbook from the table and began flipping through it.

“Kaoru, no!!!” you pleaded, gripping his blazer in order to stop him.

He wouldn't stop though. Eyes glued on the pages, he flipped through every single page of your sketchbook that you swore to yourself not to show anybody ESPECIALLY Kaoru.

The first few pages of your sketchbook were what he expected: drawings and sketches of the gardens. As usual, he thought they were beautiful. He could tell how much you loved this garden, and the feelings you have put into your drawings.

However, as he continued to flip the pages, his eyes widened.

"(Y/N), I..." he began, but trailed off.

Because what he was seeing in the next pages were no longer sketches of still life, but sketches of him. There were so many of them, ones of which were of him smiling and laughing, others of him looking confused or into the distance. There were even sketches of where he was preforming in his UNDEAD uniform.

When did you have time to draw these? He was with you most of the time, wasn't he? Does that mean that when he wasn't looking, you'd quickly sketch him?

By the time he reached the last page, his face was a deep shade of red.

"I didn't... expect that," he finally said.

You covered your eyes with your hands, head down on the table in complete embarrassment. All you wanted to do right now was to disappear off the planet. On the other hand, Kaoru couldn't stop smiling. He had to cup his hand over his mouth to stop himself.

“(Y/N), I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” he said shyly.

He always thought that his crush was one-sided, that you were just treating him like a friend. So now that he knew that the things you were drawing in the gardens that made you so happy were him, he couldn't contain his happiness.

He bent down a bit and clasped your shoulder, stroking it reassuringly. "(Y/N), please look at me." He spoke with such gentleness to you that you couldn't refuse his plea.

You lifted your head off the table and slowly looked at him. Your face was hot, cheeks glazed with tears.

"(Y/N)?! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry!" he exclaimed, feeling regretful of his actions.

"It's just... so embarrassing..." you sniffled. "I didn't want you finding out like this...!"

"Hey, hey," he said soothingly. "Please don't cry... it's okay... I love your drawings. You drew me so beautifully. I'm... actually really happy about it."

You could tell. Even when your vision was blurry due to the tears, you could tell how happy he was due to his big, radiant smile he had on his face. It made you want to cry even more.

You really did like him.

"I always wondered what you were drawing that you didn't want to show me," he began. "But to find out that it was me, I... I just can't help but love you even more than I ever have. (Y/N), you don't understand how much I adore you."

As he poured out his feelings for you, you couldn't help but cry even more. He wiped away your tears, bringing you into his embrace. You hesitated, but hugged him back, finding comfort in his big body.

Once you've calmed down, you looked at him again with a smile. He cupped your cheek which made you chuckle.

"I like you so much, Kaoru," you stated. "But I'm sure you already know that now. Am I... still allowed to draw you?"

"I will let you draw me as much as you like, just... don't run away from me, okay?" he replied with a soft laugh.

You nodded, taking his hand in yours.

"I promise not to do that anymore~"

Intro page | Ensemble Stars masterlist | Rules

#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars x reader #ensemble stars x reader #x reader #fanfic #kaoru hakaze x reader #kaoru hakaze #kaoru x reader #undead x reader #enstars undead x reader #enstars undead #kaoru hakaze x reader fluff

[m-jelly]

Hiii Jelly,

Can I please request that vamp!Levi scenario we were talking about? 🥺

You find Levi stumbling out of a dark alley late at night. He’s heavily injured, starving and not thinking straight, and all he can think about is feeding. He goes for you, you try to run away but he catches you and bites down hungrily.

He gets his senses back just as you black out and he panics, so he takes you back to his home where he helps you recover. You can end it however you like.

Thank you! 💕

@ladycheesington <3

A bite and a soulmate

Pairing: Levi x Fem! Reader

Tags and warnings: Modern AU, vampire Levi, blood, biting, blood drinking, fluff, romance, cute Levi, soulmates.

After feeding from you Levi takes you home and heals you. He tends to you and doesn't want to let you go because he feels you're his soulmate and you don't really want to leave either.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6 @nbinairyn

You knew you shouldn't have been out that late. You knew you shouldn't have been around that side of town. You knew the dangers, but you had to work late like an idiot. You were cursing yourself under your breath as you hurried through the streets trying to get home. You tried avoiding the horny vampires who were out to play. You just wanted to go home.

You stopped a moment when you heard a groan of pain. You slowed to a stop and slowly turned your head to gaze down a dark alleyway. In the sliver of light trying to get down the area, you saw a man moving closer. You covered your nose and mouth at the stench of blood coming from them.

Your eyes widened when you realised it was a vampire with massive injuries, meaning he was going to be starving. You backed up and gasped when you saw the darkly handsome man in all his glory. Even though he was panting and covered in blood, he looked divine to the eyes.

You knew you needed to run though. You turned and went to sprint away, but his hand wrapped around your mouth to stop you from screaming. You were yanked back into the darkness of the alleyway and away from prying eyes.

You cried out against his hand when his sharp fangs plunged into the crook of your neck. The pain was only for a moment, but it was shocking. Once faded, the pain turned to body-shaking pleasure due to the coating on vampire teeth. You moaned and shivered against the vampire as the drank your blood.

Levi gripped you tightly and moaned in delight at how delicious your blood was. He inhaled deeply and felt himself melting at how intoxicating you smelt. His senses slowly came to him allowing him to register what was going on. In his arms was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he was draining her of blood.

Levi pulled back from your neck and panted as you got a little limp. "Tch, shit. I took a bit too much from you. Forgive me." He turned you in his arms and sliced his tongue on his fang. "You need to heal. You need blood and this is the only way because you're weak."

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You gasped as Levi's lips crashed against your own. You moaned as blood filled your mouth and tasted so sweet. You gulped down the divine blood and clung to the man above you. You wanted more of the kiss, not of the blood.

Levi pulled back and panted. "Are you okay?"

You nodded weakly. "Yes. That was the best kiss of my life."

Levi blushed hard. "Well, that's good. I uh...drank too much from you. I need to take care of you as you'll be weak for a while, okay?"

"Okay."

He scooped you up into his arms. "I'll take good care of you."

You smiled. "Wonderful."

Levi knew you were drunk on his blood, but it was cute how you were. He liked you a lot and felt this deep connection to you. He wanted to keep you as his forever. He used his speed to get him to his penthouse. He lay you down in his bed and hurried around to gather cleaning things. He cleaned you up and left you to rest so he could clean.

You slept for a long time, and Levi was right there with you watching over your sleeping form. He tended to you when you needed it. He'd clean you up and hold you as you ate and drank. You were on the cusp of either becoming a vampire or staying human, that's how much he had taken from you and given back

You stayed human and recovered rather fast. You would admire Levi as he fed you and cleaned you. You were a little weak so he helped you, but you also rather enjoyed a handsome vampire taking care of you. You would gaze at him with a loving look and Levi noticed.

Levi too would gaze at you with love in his eyes, but he felt shame inside him because he'd lost control with you. He released a long sigh as his thoughts crept up on him.

"You're really handsome."

Levi looked up with a blush. "S-sorry?"

You hummed a laugh. "You heard me."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "You are incredibly beautiful."

"Thank you."

He shifted closer to you on the bed. "You take my breath away. I could have let you go a week ago, but you are so divine I just can't let you go. I want to keep you."

You panted a little as your heart raced. "I like that."

"You do?" He hummed. "I'm dangerous."

"Exciting."

He frowned. "I drained you from a lot of blood."

"It was hot."

He laughed a little as he said your name. "I could end up killing you with my hunger."

"I trust you. Plus, it'll be a great way to go. Being drained of blood by a sexy man. Just make sure when you do it's during passionate sex."

Levi stared at you in awe before laughing. "You're cute and crazy."

"I hope you like that."

He purred as he leaned closer. "I do." He nuzzled his nose against yours. "You have captured my heart and mind. When I first fed from you I knew you were my soulmate. All this time together, as you healed, has been the best of my life. You are funny, kind, smart, kind, caring and wonderful. I have spent hundreds of years with an empty heart and you came along and filled it."

You licked your lips. "I adore you, Levi. Even though you almost killed me, you have been incredible. You were sweet, kind and caring. I loved talking to you every day." You held Levi's hand. "I want to keep talking to you every single day. I want to be with you for eternity." You placed your fingers on Levi's lips to stop him from biting. "Not yet. I want to be a human for a while because I find you feeding from me highly arousing."

Levi gulped hard. "I uh...I really want to kiss you and fuck you and bite you right now."

You giggled. "Took you long enough." You pulled your fingers away and pulled Levi down with you as you lay back. "I'm all yours."

Levi growled at you. "I'll love you for eternity and spoil you so much." He crashed his lips against yours. "Mon amour."

#levi ackerman #levi #aot levi #snk levi #aot fanfiction #fanfic #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #levi x you #levi x reader #jelly fanfics #levi attack on titan #levi aot #vamp!levi #levi x reader fluff #levi x yn #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman x female reader

[fieldofdaisiies]

Joel x Reader | By Your Side

type: angst warnings: blood, talk about death, curse words, word count: 2.1k words summary: first time writing for Joel, so please be kind; after your first kill of a man who was infected by the fungus Joel is there for you, helping you deal with it. 

–all rights reserved–

Air wheezes in and out of your lungs when you collapse against the brick wall behind you, slowly sliding down when your knees give in, having been wobbly all the way back. The blood rushing in your ears drowns out all the other noises, you cannot make out a single spoken word.

You try to steady your breathing by focusing on a point on the opposite wall. You shiver when your eyes narrow in on—god, have mercy— on the blood splotches on the wall opposite from you. You lower your gaze only to find your own in blood covered hands. Bile creeps up in your throat, the content of your stomach souring. You feel your heart rattle, beating unsteadily when cold sweat breaks out on the back of your neck.

“No, no, no.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut you try to shut down the memories that slowly creep into your brain, sinking their invisible claws into your mind like a hungry wolf, their fangs piercing through your heart, shredding it apart. 

You draw in a shaky breath, shaking your head, your heart rapidly beating against your rib cage. A breathy sob parts your lips and it is then that you feel warm, callused hands on your face, a presence appearing in your vision when you blink open your eyes. They burn, the fluorescent light to bright, the dust stinging in them.

“I…I—“ Your throat constricts, the words dying down. Through a blurry vision you meet Joel’s gaze, his expression soft, understanding, sympathetic, warmer than usual. He closes his eyes for a moment and leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath a soft caress on your skin. You allow yourself to revel in the feel of his hands on your face, the protection and safety they offer, trying to forget the memories for a moment. The moment does not last long.

“I killed someone.” “He was infected.” “I still killed someone. I took his life. He died right in front of—“ Your voice breaks before you can finish your sentence, the back of your mouth aches, your throat burning. Tears brim your eyes when you give your head a little shake and look past Joel. You can no longer stand the pity in his eyes. Or rather…you don’t want him to have to deal with you now. He has too many things on his mind already, too many things going on and now you were this crying, whimpering mess. 

“The first kill and all that follow are never easy. You think I am enjoying it?”

You bite down on the insides of your cheek when his thumb brushes under your chin, carefully tipping it up and lifting your gaze to his. “No, but it seems so easy for you,” you admit, a gloomy grimace spreading over your face.

“It destroys me every time,” Joel bites out. “Unless it is one of those fully developed fungus fuckers. Taking someone’s life is never easy. But what you did today was good, was necessary. You did everything right.”

“He probably had family,” you say through barely parted lips.

“Yes, and they have probably been already infected. There was no saving for him. He would have died either way, you protected him from something worse than death.”

Your eyes close gor a moment, you listen to the breath Joel takes before you part your lips and say, “There is something worse than death?” Your eyes clash with the soft brown of his the moment the words leave your mouth. 

“There is,” he says in a dry tone. Tormented by his own trauma, it is incredibly difficult for Joel to see you like that. You have been his partner for a while, aiding him and Ellie, but never having to kill on your own. Until that very day.

A crack appears in his heart when he watches your shivering figure, knowing he has to help you somehow. Has to ease the pain, the shock in any possible way. “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?”

He regards you silently for a moment, scanning your body to see if you have any visible wounds or if it is just the blood of…the other one.

Raising your shoulders and letting them drop again, you purse your lips. “Will this haunt me forever?”

“Honest answer?”

“Always.” A tear slips out your of eye. 

Joel moves into a crouching position, one hand now braced on the wall beside your head, his other still on your face. “Yes, it will haunt you for a very long time. I wish I could take it away from you somehow, wish I could tell you something else, but I also don’t want to give you false hope.”

You nod your head in understanding, liking his honesty. If he had lied it might have calmed you for the moment, but on the long run it would not have helped. 

“So? You want me to help you get cleaned up?” There is some odd tension in the air when he says this. It is not like….it is weird between the two of you. There obviously is some attraction but for some reason neither of you can fully allow to give in to your feelings. Like something is holding you back.

You know your reason for it. The loss of your former husband is still poignant in your brain, having seen him getting infected by the fungal infection, having his life taking by no other than Joel. You have hated him so much for doing that. Now, five years later, you understand that there has been no other way. This what had to happen. But when you think about the life you have taking today you know that if this man had a wife, a child, parents, they all must feel the same way you did and this…this destroys you. 

You know his reason as well. He cannot allow himself to love again. Because with love comes hurt, comes pain, comes heart break. It is something he wants to avoid at any cost. And you understand that, understand that probably better than anyone else.

Pictures of your late husband’s dead body flash in front of your vision. His dead eyes, his—

“I am sorry,” you bring out and shove Joel out of the way before bending over and emptying your already half-empty stomach out. Right onto the floor next to the two of you. 

A large hand fists your hair, one hand soothingly brushing over your back when you spit out some saliva. “Don’t apologise,” Joel reassures, a sense of guilt heavy in the air. He partly feels guilty for your pain. He has taken your husband’s life back then, knowing this still haunts you. And now he has told you to take that man’s life while he shoved Ellie out of the way, keeping her safe. A tangy, bitter taste fills the back of his mouth — guilt, sorrow, regret. 

Moving into a kneeling position, you sit back on your heels and glance at the man next to you. “I am filthy, you don’t have to help me clean up, I can do this alone.” His answer comes almost immediate, his compassion warming your chest. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

You are not alone. Even though this does not erase the tormenting memories, it offers you sense of relief, of peace. You are not alone in this. You have someone. Someone to protect you. To keep you safe. Someone that is there for you.

Joel gets up first, tugging at your wrist and helping you stand. He lets one arm glide around you, his other sneaking under your knees so he can lift you up. “You are still in a state of shock. I don’t want you to faint,” he explains when he brings you to his chest, holding you so tightly like his life depended on it. You lean into his warm, solid chest, finding comfort in his scent, his presence. Slowly you dip your chin, single tears slipping through your closed lids. Thy roll down your cheek and taste salty in your mouth. Parting your lips, you draw in a shaky breath, pressing your head against his chest and letting him carry you over to the room that is supposed to serve as a bathroom. There is a broken shower, a sink that actually works and a toilet, that sometimes works. It is this toilet, the lid closed, where Joel sits you down. You lean back a little and open your eyes. 

A grimace spreads over Joel's face when he bends forward and leans further over you.

“Are you well?” you ask when you glimpse up at him. He steadies himself on the filthy sink next you and bows his head, the corner of his mouth lifting an inch. “The knee.”

You understand. He has had some issues with his knee lately. “Don't worry about it.” 

But you actually do. He shuts you up though, shaking his head, knowing you would have like to protest. “Let’s see. Did he hurt you somehow?”

“No.” Your answer is tight because you can’t allow to think about the fateful moment any longer. You know he has not hurt you dramatically so you won’t think about it any further.

Fishing out some old, and slightly dirty cloth, Joel turns on the croaky tap, the ceramic membrane of the sink already breaking and splintering on some edges.

He dips the cloth into the water and then softly wiping it over your face, brushing your hair out of your face with his other hand. His eyes follow the movement of the cloth, his mouth a tight line. 

“If I hurt you, you have to tell me.”

You nod and offer him a small, sad smile. “People who kill others on purpose, or for a living cannot own a heart,” you say into the silence of the room. 

“Hm,” Joel mumbles but offers no more of an answer. Done with your face, he lets the cloth glide down your neck, to your shoulder. “I am sorry you had to experience this today.”

“Don’t apologise. You all have to do this every day. It would have anyways happened someday.”

Contemplation and some emotion you cannot quite place appears on Joel’s face and he lets his hand drop for a moment. “It is just hard seeing you hurt,” he opens up, a beautiful, but sad smile on his face. “I don’t like this. And I don't like being the reason for you sadness.”

“You are not.”

“I am. I told you to kill him.” “You did what to have to do.” “For what price? That you are now haunted by this forever.”

You stand quickly, knees still wobbly so you tumble forward slightly. Breathing the same air, you are mere inches from Joel, coming eye to eye with him. “It is not your fault. I have spent so long blaming you for my late husband’s death which was wrong. Now don’t take this blame on you as well. I have nothing to blame you for. I killed the man, and as hard it is to accept, I did it and would have done it without you telling me to do so.” You move even closer to him, the cloth in Joel’s hand long forgotten. “Deep in the back of my mind I knew that it was the only option, the only thing that could be done. It had to be done.”

For a long moment Joel says nothing. His eyes close and he draws in a deep breath. When he opens his lids again, he regards you silently, his features softening, his eyes warmer. 

“So strong,” he says, his gaze trailing over your face, halting on your lips for a bare second before moving back to your eyes. “And brave. And—“ You are the one to close the distance between the two of you, pecking his lips softly. But he is the one to deepen the kiss, not letting you pull back when his hand moves to the back of your head keeping you in place. At first the kiss is careful, soft until it turns a little more passionate, exploring. His tongue eases your lips apart and you connect in a yearning, hungry kiss that has you both panting when you part. “I wasn’t done,” Joel whispers, his soft breath caressing your lips. “And kind. Smart. Brilliant. And with a heart of gold.” You allow yourself to smile, it does not fully reach your eyes, but it is a good start. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ all blame for me spending my Sunday afternoon writing this goes to @moonlightazriel @bubbles-for-all-of-us @brekkershadowsinger @swansworth because you got me obsessed with this man and this show just when I thought I would not enter another fandom also absolutely check out @bubbles-for-all-of-us story Butterfly about Joel!!💛

#joel miller #the last of us #joel #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller the last of us #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal x reader

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

Chapter 3 Kid x Reader x Killer- And then there were two

Chapter 3- Is that all this was

Content Warning: Angst, Hurt no comfort, there will eventually be comfort- you just ain't gonna find it here, Kid is a warning himself soooo

Chapter 1- Is that all this was?, Chapter 2

I am so sorry for how long this took me. I was recently in a car accident, and with college starting back up and my new job, I think my brain was pretty much melted. I'm hoping I'll be able to get back into a normal writing schedule, so fingers crossed. In the meantime- Enjoy the new Chapter!

A bright light streaming in from Kid’s cabin window found its mark on his face, bringing him out of his less than restful sleep. The man brings his arm over his face, not ready to go out and start his day, but it seems his movement and the sound of the bustling crew up above was enough to draw him even further away from sleep’s alluring grasp.

Groaning out a small string of expletives, the arm covering his face lowers and drags the hand down his face. Waking up alone made the whole ‘waking up' thing a lot harder than he remembered it being- he was much more used to slinging an arm over another body to stall or having one of two people gently rousing him. This morning’s experience just adds yet another drop of regret for Kid’s words from yesterday.

Regardless of his difficulty getting out of the bed, Kid forces himself to roll out of bed- quite literally- and gets dressed for the day. Now that he was a little more aware of his surroundings, the fact that enough of his crew was on deck to cause a bit of commotion gave him some pause. They have been at the safehouse for a couple of days now, so Kid is a little surprised more people aren’t on the shore celebrating being on land again. 

Going up the stairs to get to the main deck, Kid opens up the door only to bump into the last person who would want to see him at the moment. “Ah… Good morning, Captain. I take it you slept well since it’s well past noon, and this is the first anyone has seen of you today.” The tone was unfamiliar and- while not cold- it wasn’t exactly a warm greeting either.

“I actually slept like shit. Couldn’t get comfortable with all the room I’m not used to.” Kid grunts out with a hint of defensiveness, refusing to look away, no matter how much he wants to. Y/n’s shoulders tensed and they clenched their jaw.

“Well, not to worry, Captain. I’m sure you’ll be able to get someone to warm your bed soon enough. If you’re lucky, they won’t jump to any unsavory conclusions.” Never afraid to get to the point and be cutthroat about it- there’s a reason why Y/n fit in with the Kid Pirates so well. The sardonic smile loosely held on their face and biting tone would make just about anyone flinch, and though it was brief and minute, Kid was no exception.

“Y/n-”

“Now, if you’d be oh so kind to get out of my way, I have more duties to fulfill to do my part on this ship. After all, I haven’t proven myself to be worthy of this crew yet, right?” With that, they push past the broad-shouldered man and begin to make their way downstairs. Until, that is, a hand wraps around their bicep to stop them.

“Would you let me speak, Damnit?!”

“I think you said enough yesterday, Eustass.” Y/n’s tone was now frigid, leaving no room for argument. “Besides, you have your ever-important alliance meeting soon- you don’t have time to chat with the likes of me.” With that, they yank their arm from Kid’s grasp and stomps downstairs, waiting until they know he isn’t going to follow to let the tears they’ve been fighting to finally glide down their face.

Kid, not expecting to have this kind of conversation with Y/n this soon, heaves out a sigh before steeling himself and walking out on deck. The crew appeared to be hard at work, cleaning the deck and making sure any valuables were being stocked away to be put under deck. Wire passes by his captain but stops once he sees the confused look on Kid’s face.

“Y/n thought it would be a good idea to clean up for our… guests. They’ve been a bit on edge- probably just nervous about the meeting with Apoo and Hawkins.” Once he finishes filling Kid in, Wire goes back to helping the rest of the crew out. 

There are still a few more hours before the meeting was to begin, so Kid decided to help with a couple of boxes before going into the safe house to work on his side of the negotiations. Killer had helped him set up the parameters of the agreement, to start him off but has most likely left him to his devices after yesterday’s events. The massacre killer would most likely come around to notify him of the incoming ships and will probably stay throughout the meeting to ensure no bloodshed erupts from Kid’s less-than-appealing temper.

This alliance has to go well. 

*      *       *      *      *      *      *

“I can’t do it, Kil.” Y/n sighs, their head resting on his chest and arms wrapped loosely around his waist. “Everytime I look at him I feel like I’m going to implode. I’m so angry, but I love him and want to forgive him, but he hasn’t even said sorry. One second I want to punch him, the next I want to cry and have him comfort me… What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. You’re hurting.” Killer’s left hand is placed atop their head, his right is wrapped around the back of their shoulders, keeping them close.

“You were dragged into this, and I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need to pick sides between your par- whatever we all are.” Y/n cutting themself off from calling them lovers cut both of them. And despite having no more tears to shed, they hiccup- grieving the relationship that apparently never existed in the first place.

“Look at me-” Killer, holds their chin to bring their eyes to meet his mask, “I love you. You are my partner. And no matter what he says, Kid does too- his head is just too far up his own ass.”

It wasn’t the first time Killer had said he loved them, but it wasn’t a common occurrence and every time made Y/n smile.

“I love you too, Killer,” They took his mask-clad head in their hands and brought it down to place a kiss on his forehead, and then resting their own against his. “But I can’t stay. Not right now.”

Killer stiffened and breathed out a heavy sigh. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know quite yet. I just need time and space away from him.”

Killer doesn’t respond. While he understands their need to go, he can’t help but to worry about their safety- this is the New World, not the South Blue. His hold tightens around Y/n, knowing this could be the last time he gets to do this for a while. “I get it. But please, be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me- I’ll be totally fine. Look, if his plans stay the same, you all should pass by Wano within the next month- and no matter what, I promise you to come back. Nothing will get in my way.”

The usually stoic man had a slight tremble to his frame, never loosening his grip around one of the two most important people in his life, despite feeling like they’re slipping through his fingers. “You better.”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe too.”

“I swear.”

“And make sure that moron doesn’t do anything stupid either. Ok?”

“That’s a big ask, little one, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Kil.” 

With their conversation having come to an end, they both stand there, soaking in each others’ warmth and touch, for a few more moments before Y/n pulls away, kisses his mask once more, and makes their way out of the small cabin- leaving Killer alone, wondering how things could have gone this wrong in not even 48 hours.

Taglist: @claxdoesntknow @teddyitalia @baelien-queen @heilee @iamn1ya @gnarlycrys

#one piece #angst #eustass kid #eustass x reader x killer #fanfic writing #one peiece x reader #one piece fanfic #tw angst #angst no comfort #I promise there will be comfort... eventually #Is that all this was

[blacklegsanjiii]

North Blue Language CH. 7

“We got company!” He yells pointing up.

“They’re just bugs! Why the hell are you scared of them!” Zoro demands of him and Sanji can't say anything about the iron mask and how Sanji couldn't fit his tiny, bony, malnourished hands into it to get the bugs to stop eating him. His mother cried looking at him during their escape or how his dad had found him in a panic attack because he got bit while outside once.

“They're a cook's worst enemy.” He says because that is also true.

“So you act like a little girl?” Zoro laughs at him. “Pathetic.”

“Stop pissing me off, asshole! At least I don't get lost!” Sanji yells as he lands a solid kick against the green haired man. He wishes he could be honest but he can't, he can't it will kill them if he is. The crew only just found out he's from the North Blue talking to a descendant of Noland the Liar, Cricket, and he's not sure people believe him.

Sanji fights a man who claims to be God in order to protect Nami and Usopp. He's electrocuted several times and he doesn't die. Sanji wonders if his death would be payment for the suffering his mother went through, especially if it was for protecting his crew. Would it be worth enough?

Luffy wins against God, he's Luffy. Of course he won. Enel, God’s name is Enel. The golden bell is ringing and it's gorgeous. He can't help but sing to the dead god under his breath as they leave Skypiea. The hymnal to a god of slaves as they leave. It's comforting as they head to Water 7.

The Foxy pirates are an interesting group and Sanji is made to be the ball in the final game. He's getting his ass kicked with Zoro. All the illegal moves are legal for them and Sanji can feel his ribs break. They win luckily. Luckily. They make it to Water 7.

The Merry is no longer seaworthy unfortunately and Usopp doesn't believe the builders as he starts to work on the Merry. The crew is fighting about it and Usopp leaves and Sanji, regrettably because it's Zoro making a good point, he agrees with the Mosshead that he'll have to make gracious apologies to come back to the crew.

They just don't expect Robin to leave either. They save her with the help of Franky. And Sanji takes on the Sea Train mostly by himself. He finds Usopp and they watch Robin and Franky be saved by Luffy and as they head back to give Merry back to the sea Nami catches it.

“Sanji! You're bleeding! What happened?” She yells at him as she rips the sleeves of his shirt up and sees the scabbed over cuts up both his arms.

“They're not that deep, they've already stopped bleeding too, don't worry!” He says, deflecting easily. “It's not my hands, I'll be fine! Promise!”

“I'm sorry you went through all that trouble for me, Cook-san.” Robin apologises.

“Nonsense, I would have done it for anyone on our crew.” He smiles at her as he fends Chopper off. He wouldn't expect the crew to do it for him because a cook is more easily replaced. Maybe they could find one Zoro got along with. Franky, Paulie, and Iceberg promise to have a ship ready for them in three days. The fourth day the ship is revealed and it's magnificent. Sanji loves the galley, it's for them and their ever growing crew, like Franky. They hang everything up from before.

Nami's trees are back on deck, Luffy and Chopper have a swing, Zoro can lift weights in the crows nest. There's more room in the bunk rooms. Nami's navigation room is huge and she's in love, the aquarium has the bar and library and Sanji finds more books from his childhood than he thought possible.

When they sail and find a skeleton named Brook and a ship island called Thriller Bark. Usopp, Nami, and Chopper are terrified and for good reason. Of course they go investigate the island despite Brook telling them not to. Luffy has to get this skeleton’s shadow back. Sanji will follow his captain to the end but he knows a warning when he gets one, a real one anyway.

After he saves Nami, because she got kidnapped and almost married off to the guy who had the clear-clear fruit and Sanji. Sanji has issues okay and he's so glad his crew isn't around or conscious enough to hear it. His shadow gets stolen and he sees his zombie fight Zoro and maybe they're meant to be enemies after all.

“Okay but we need to get our shadows back because the fog is gone and it's almost dawn!” Sanji yells at Zoro.

“And what do you take me for, Shit-Cook?” Zoro yells back as they fight Luffy's zombie until all the shadows are free. Luffy is passed out from exhaustion and Moria is gone. Somewhere. Sanji can't feel him or that pink haired girl anymore but there's someone new.

“We got company!” He yells pointing up.

“Who the hell is that?” Zoro demands and Sanji could tell him it's Kuma, he could tell him about the paw-paw fruit but he stills in fear because he needs to protect his crew, his captain. Sanji gets thrown away when he attempts to attack as do most of the crew. “Leave my captain alone!” Zoro demands of the Warlord.

“If you take your captain’s pain I will spare him. I will not take his head.” Kuma says.

“You got a deal.” Zoro says and then Kuma gives him a taste and it's awful. Sanji can hear his haki scream in agony and pain. Sanji wishes he would never hear something like that again.

“Tell the crew to find another, Zoro.” He demands as he lights a cigarette and stands in front of Kuma. Except Zoro knocks him out and when he wakes he follows the searing pain until he finds Zoro. “Zoro? What happened?” He asks gently as goes and holds the man upright and starts leading him back. There's so much blood. Too much to be outside a normal human body and live and Sanji feels anger that Zoro, the one Luffy needs most, did something like this.

“What happened?” Zoro breathes raggedly as he lets himself be dragged. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

“Stay with me Moss, we’re almost to Chopper, okay?” Sanji says as he tries to go faster. Faster and faster because the crew needs them back and for Zoro to live. He lives and Chopper is thanking Sanji for finding him.

“You have as much resolve as he does, it was quite beautiful.” Brook says as he plays the piano.

“I thought you were a violinist.” Sanji says instead.

“I know a good amount of instruments.” Brook answers. “Do you have a request?”

“No, it's alright. Thank you, Brook. I'm happy you're joining the crew.” Sanji smiles at him as he goes and sits next to Zoro. “Fucking idiot Mosshead.” He sighs. He watches the crowd sing Bink’s Sake with Brook and wishes he was in Zoro's place. The nicotine steadies his shaking hands as he sings the lullaby about moon softly to Zoro. He sings again when Luffy climbs into his bunk shaking and clinging to him.

“Captain?” He asks at one point, clearly concerned because Luffy hasn't climbed out or fallen asleep. “How about some hot cocoa then? That's what I do-” he cuts himself off but Luffy is nodding and rubber arming himself around the cook so he gets up and makes his way to the galley.

“Luffy, I need you to get off me and free my arms, okay? You can still hold on if you want but I need my arms and hands.” Sanji explains and Luffy nods and his haki is scared and frightened. Sanji makes it and sits with Luffy at the table.

“What happened? I'm his captain, I'm supposed to protect us.” Luffy asks as he burrows into Sanji's side as the elder lights a cigarette.

“He's the first mate, Captain, his job is to protect you.” Sanji explains and Luffy buries himself into Sanji's side.

“Can you sing the song about the moon again?” Luffy asks and Sanji obliges, petting his captain’s hair. If it was him Luffy wouldn't be as sad because a cook is as replaceable as an oil lantern. Eventually he and Luffy both fall asleep and there's a photo of it on the wall the next day.

~*~

The next one comes out two weeks later and Sanji looks both less ridiculous and more ridiculous. Mihawk and Sora stare at it perplexed because this one is an actual photo at least but his heart eyes are sickening.

“I hope it was a cat.” Sora murmurs.

“It was definitely a type of cat.” Mihawk sighed and took a light slap to his shoulder as penance.

They do not get another bounty poster, instead a wailing pink haired teenager, younger than Sanji floats into the parlour. The look Mihawk gives Sora as she observes the girl and flicks her hair.

“Well, she's not Reiju.” Sora says after going to sit on Mihawk's lap. The girl huffs indignantly at them as Mihawk wraps an arm around her and gives Pink Hair a look of anger.

“Ew, what an ugly name. So not cute.” Pink Hair sneers as she looks around. Sora stiffens and Mihawk is furious. He knows Sora didn't have much of a hand in anything involving her kids until her and Sanji's escape. The names were numbers and codes for experiments.

“I suggest you apologise and leave or I will make you leave.” Mihawk snarls.

“I would love to leave but I have no idea where my captain is! Where the hell am I?” Pink Hair snaps.

“Kuraigana.” Mihawk snaps back, grabbing Yoru’s hilt. Pink Hair follows his hand and her eyes widen in shock.

“Oh shit, you're Dracule Mihawk.” She whispers in horror.

“Yes, I am. You just so happened to insult my wife. Who the hell are you?” He demands.

“Dracule, she's a child.” Sora chides quietly.

“She's a pirate.” He says, fixing Pink Hair with a look. “And not a very bright one.”

“Gecko Moria is my captain, he's a warlord as well! I'm Perona!” She squeals out in terror.

“Moria? I haven't heard about him in ages.” Sora says. “You don't know where he is?”

“No, some stupid rubber kid wrecked everything.” Perona groaned. “I haven't heard anything in like a week.”

Sora fixed Mihawk with a look that made him frown at her. They both knew if Sora said the word Perona could stay. They both knew that she held so much power over him that if she told him he would die for her. It didn't take much as he released Yoru.

“She can stay as long as she's polite to you.” Mihawk relented. Sora nodded as she stood once again. She led Perona away to a spare bedroom he assumed. Perona and Sora appeared to be about the same size so she could wear Sora's dresses until he went on a supply run.

#black leg sanji #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #op franky #nico robin #tony tony chopper #soul king brook #dracule mihawk x sora #dracule mihawk #vinsmoke sora #mihawk x sora #vinsmoke sanji #strawhat pirates #north blue language

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XXVII

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: After Naoya Zenin reveals some surprising news, you pay a visit to your family home.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.1k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: i KNOW y’all have been waiting for this one 😩‼️ also can we talk about how long this fic is getting because it’s a little concerning atp

“Wow, the two of you look awful,” Naoya said, grimacing dramatically at you and Maki. Maki crossed her arms at him, but you did not react. “At least your face isn’t ruined, huh, Y/N? I’d feel a lot more annoyed if it had been.”

“I don’t see why that would annoy you,” you said.

Of course, Naoya had been in his study, the pretty notes of some song from a movie wafting through the air a sure indicator that he was bored and playing his piano again. His dedication to the instrument was one of his few redeeming qualities, or maybe it was not a particular respect for the craft but something else entirely that drove him to the incessant practice. Either way, it had been easy to find him, and since he was the biggest obstacle in your path at the moment, this was a good thing.

“I’m the one who stuck my neck out for you, you know,” he said. “Wasted about three months’ worth of paychecks on you, too, so you really should be thanking me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you said. He raised his eyebrows.

“You really don’t know? I thought that that was for sure the reason why you were here,” he said. “Is it not?”

“I came to go through the weapons’ warehouse,” Maki said. “Megumi gave me permission already, so don’t think of stopping me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. If that’s what you want, then feel free to go right ahead and do it,” he said innocently. You furrowed your brow. The victory felt too easily won, but when he noticed your befuddlement, he only snorted. “Who am I to disobey my clan head?”

You tried to communicate with your gaze to Maki all the words you could not say aloud, not in front of him. Be careful. They’re planning something. He’s not doing this out of the goodness of his own heart.

She blinked at you slowly before turning to leave. I know.

“I came to listen to you play the piano, but I suppose I’ve done that already,” you said. “It was nice. I recognize the song — it was in that movie that came out a couple of years ago, wasn’t it? At the end?”

“That’s right,” he said. “You’ve seen it?”

“Yes, of course I have,” you said. “Anyways, that’s not what’s important. What did you mean when you said that you wasted your paychecks and stuck your neck out for me?”

“Always straight to the point with you, isn’t it? You might want to sit down for this one,” he said, standing up and patting his piano stool. You gave him an irritated look. He rolled his eyes and sat back down, obviously picking up on the fact that you weren’t going to take him up on the offer.

“You know that after that whole mess in Shibuya, the higher ups placed orders for the executions of Suguru Geto, Masamichi Yaga, and Yuji Itadori?” he said. You nodded.

“Yes, and they criminalized unsealing Gojo. What an idiotic joke,” you said. “Like Gojo isn’t the only one who stands a chance at saving all of us.”

“How hard would you laugh if I told you that there was a fourth person who they were going to send an execution order out for?” he said. Ice shot through your veins, and you suddenly felt very heavy. You didn’t want to ask him, but you knew you would. You knew you had to, even if the answer was in the question itself.

“Who else?” you said. He smirked, clearly satisfied with the distress in your eyes.

“Y/N L/N has been found to be in league with Ryomen Sukuna. She can now be considered a curse user and is therefore sentenced to death,” he parroted. “They were going to send Yuta Okkotsu after you, too. He’s your classmate, so you should know as well as anyone that that’s a fight you couldn’t hope to win.”

“In league with Sukuna?” you said, your tongue leaden in your mouth as you gagged on the taste of the name. “Did they—?”

Had they somehow found out about the Binding Vow you almost made? Was that why they wanted to execute you? Or was it something else? Was it because Sukuna refused to kill you? Had they confused reluctant need with genuine alliance?

“You pushed for the postponement of Itadori’s execution. That was all the proof they needed; well, in truth, even if there wasn’t any proof, they would’ve figured out some crime to accuse you of. You’re more resurrectionist than sorcerer, and the last thing the higher ups need is some brat of a girl running around and digging up graves at her leisure,” he said.

“That’s not how Composition works,” you said, still trying to come to terms with the fact that you were such a threat to the higher ups that they had wanted to put an order of execution out for you. The death penalty, by all rights, should’ve hung over your head at the moment.

“Maybe not, but you have to understand that for them, there was no use in putting an execution order out for any of your allies while you were still out and about, you see? Their executions would be meaningless as long as you were there in the back of their minds, capable of using Composition to undo their actions,” he said.

“Like I said, that’s not how Composition works. I can’t just revive people whenever I feel like it. I don’t even know how I did it the first time,” you said crossly.

“Then they should be even more pleased that they spared you, eh? Now there’s no chance of you bringing old Yaga back,” he said. “Not that you would’ve had one in the first place. I promised the higher ups I’d keep a tight leash on you. That’s why they decided not to go ahead with the order — I vouched for you. No one else. Just me. Remember this, Y/N L/N: your family did not say a word in your defense. When you were sentenced to death, it was me, Naoya Zenin, who spoke up for you.”

“My family didn’t even…they would have had me executed?” you said. What was this twist? How could it be that Naoya Zenin had been your greatest ally in that kind of a conflict? Had they truly abandoned you to that extent, or was there some other, greater endgame that they were plotting at? You didn’t understand. Or was Naoya lying? There was a chance, but in truth, you doubted he would lie about this kind of thing. It served him no purpose for you to hate your family, after all.

“Of course they would’ve,” he said. “They don’t care about you. Nobody cares about you. You’re mostly alone in the world, little L/N. What a terrible thing it is…and by the way, the Kamos didn’t mind too much, either. It was the Zenins who stood up for you.”

“You must’ve had a reason to do that,” you said. “I know you better than to think you did it just because you grew a sudden interest in fairness. Why did it matter to you whether I lived or not?”

“It would’ve been my money down the drain if you died,” he said. “I paid a lot to have you, you know.”

“You paid a lot to do what?” you hissed, your rational thoughts disappearing with this new reveal. “Answer me quickly, and enough with the word games. What do you mean by that?”

“Your mother is such a bitch,” he said, sighing loftily. “She cried and screamed at your father, begged him not to do it, but of course she went ignored. I used to admire how docile and quiet she was, but I suppose you had to have inherited that nasty temperament from somewhere, hm? Anyways, your father had your cousins drag her upstairs so that we could continue our discussion.”

“Naoya,” you warned him.

“That’s no way for a woman to speak to her future husband,” he said. “I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t let it happen again.”

“Future husband? What about Noritoshi?” you said.

“It’s amazing, the kinds of alliances men are willing to break when offered a large enough sum in return,” he said. “Your engagement to that bastard boy is all but dissolved at this point, which leaves you free to marry me instead.”

“That’s why you defended me,” you said. “Not because you cared about me, but because you only even wanted to marry me to strengthen your position in the clan. If I ended up being a criminal, it would reflect poorly on you.”

“Precisely,” he said, reaching over and tapping you on the forehead. “Gold star for you, little L/N. You know, I don’t prefer you all too much. Your pretty face and Reverse Cursed Technique are your only saving graces; what a relief, then, that you didn’t lose either in Shibuya.”

“Did they see some kind of benefit to an alliance with the Zenins?” you said, casting about for an alternate explanation, something other than the obvious one. “Is that why my clan did it? Did they engage us because they’re gaining some integral advantage from it?”

“Maybe you’re not that intelligent,” he said. “No surprise, I mean you are a woman after all. Let me put it for you plainly, girl: your father soldyou. There’s no other way to say it; I gave him money, and in return, he gave me your hand. That’s honestly all there was to it.”

Sold. You had been sold like some kind of broodmare to the highest bidder, passed from man to man like your heart had no place in the equation. Noritoshi. Naoya. Who was next? Which next suitor would give your family the upper hand? Did it even matter to them how you would be treated? Obviously not, since they had sold you to Naoya.

You hated them. You felt it deep within you, blossoming slowly but surely, a kind of anger that you could not fathom. You hated them. Your family, the ones who had locked you away for all of your childhood and were content with doing so well into your adulthood, too. Your family, the ones who had bound you to Noritoshi so securely that both you and he had choked from the constriction. Your family, the ones who had refused to heal Tullia. Your family, who had sold you to the Zenin clan. You hated them more than you had ever hated anything.

“I hope you remember what I taught you,” Naoya said, getting up once more and heading to the door, patting you on the head as he brushed past. “Three steps behind me at all times. Do you understand, or do you want me to simplify that, as well?”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing but making no motions to follow after him. “I understand.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you later. Please be prepared; even if we aren’t married yet, I expect you to perform your wifely duties with passion.”

The door slid shut behind him, leaving you standing alone in the study, waiting there with nothing but your hatred to warm you.

You knew what he meant by wifely duties, and this should’ve frightened you, but all it did was make you irrationally angrier. So this was what you were worth to your father: three of Naoya Zenin’s paychecks. That was it. For just the price of a few paychecks, Naoya could claim you as his own. It didn’t matter that you were the prodigy of Composition, the daughter of the resurrection or the girl who brought someone back to life or whatever other ridiculous name that people deigned to ascribe to you as they saw fit. Y/N L/N, the girl worth three months’ worth of paychecks. That was what they would have to call you from now on. For just that much, you would be in Naoya’s service for the rest of your life. You would warm his bed, you would be at his beck and call, you would elevate his station, and you would always, always walk three steps behind him.

You didn’t want that. You didn’t want to be Naoya Zenin’s wife. You didn’t care that he had saved you from execution; it wasn’t as if Yuta would’ve ever executed you, anyways. Watching you die was not something he was capable of, just as the inverse was true. Maybe it was correct that Naoya had defended you when your own family had not, but considering your family’s track record, this didn’t mean as much as it should’ve. Your family hadn’t cared about you from the moment you had exorcised that curse on the balcony and ran away from the party with Gojo.

Gojo. You wished, more than anything, that he was there. You wanted him to give you one of his special hugs, the ones he only gave you because he was too paranoid to turn his Infinity off for that long with anyone else. You wanted him to put on some stupid movie and throw popcorn in your mouth and make fun of you when you failed to catch it. He wasn’t just your teacher. He had never just been your teacher. He was — he was something else. Your family. He was your actual family, and you found you missed him. You found you didn’t care what he did, as long as he came back. He would make everything better. Just by being there, he would make everything better.

But Gojo was gone. He wasn’t there to drag you from the situation, which meant it was up to you to deal with this mess your family had thrust you into. You were the one who had to save Gojo now, but how could you do that if you could not even save yourself?

You had to be methodical about it. There were so many powerful sorcerers in the Zenin clan, and since you had sworn off Dissection and fighting as a whole, you truly stood no chance against them all. Even if you hadn’t, even if you still had Tullia and were at your peak as a Grade 1 sorcerer, there were simply too many of them for you to be able to fight them in any way that mattered.

Yet waiting, too, was dangerous. With every second that you idled in Naoya’s study, you risked his return, whereupon you’d have to do as he pleased until the next time he left you alone. This was your one opportunity at escaping, and you had to seize it or give up and regret it forever. But that was something you could not do, so whispering an apology to Maki for leaving her, you opened the door and crept through the hallways of the mansion.

You could not even use your cursed signature detection which you were so reliant on, as it was another form of Dissection, so you were much like a blind mouse scuttling through the Zenin manor and praying you did not get caught. It was eerily silent, though, not a soul in sight, and you decided it must’ve been a stroke of good fortune and nothing more sinister than that. Breaking free from the walls of the building itself, you ran through the courtyard, crushing pink petals under your feet as you sprinted at top speed before someone detected your absence.

It was not a long journey to your family’s mansion. You made it in record time, your anger fuelling you all the while. Trapped. Killed. Sold.What hadn’t they done to you and the people you loved? Because it did not just end with you and Tullia. Your mother. Maki. Gojo. Your family had been involved in the torment of every single one of those people.

The days that your mother spent shut away for birthing the failure of the clan. The whispered insults and demeaning comments about Maki and what, exactly, she was good for. The endless missions and responsibilities and deprivation of human connection placed on Gojo’s shoulders. Your family had been there for every one of these things, and even if they were not actively causing them, they were at the least complicit simply by being bystanders and letting it all happen.

Why had you allowed it? Why hadn’t you stopped them? You should’ve. You had let your family harm those you loved for so long, but you couldn’t anymore. Not in good conscience. Not when you had already lost so many. Not when you could never get some of them back. Those precious few who you still had by your side…you would not let your family do anything to them ever again.

It was your father who answered the door. He no longer seemed as intimidating as he once had. Perhaps it was because you finally saw him for who he was, what he was. This was not a man who had raised you. He had never raised you. This was not a man who loved you. He had never done that, either.

“Y/N,” your father said.

“You can stand to say my name so conversationally?” you said. “I’m surprised.”

“What are you doing here?” he said. You could hear footsteps in the background; as always, the manor was bustling. It was once a stronghold meant to protect wounded sorcerers as they were treated, but now, you could not view it as anything but a prison.

“I should be at the Zenins, right? Because you sold me to Naoya?” you said. He was silent, and you laughed. “Of course, you don’t even deny it.”

“You’d be safer with him than anywhere else,” he said.

“Safer? Maybe from the rest of the world, but what would it matter when he is the one I should fear the most? Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t be safe there. Nowhere would I be in more danger than in the Zenin mansion,” you said.

“Is that why you’ve come?” he said. “To yell at me for selling you to the Zenins? It’s been done. I can’t undo it. I’m sorry if you grew attached to Noritoshi, but this is for the good of the clan.”

“There it is,” you said. “The good of the clan. Not for me. Not for the good of Y/N. It’s always about the clan for you, isn’t it?”

“The clan is my family,” he said.

“And I am your daughter! Is that not family enough, or do I not count because my mother wasn’t a sorcerer? You’re the one who loved her enough to marry her, so why do you not then love the product of that union?” you said. “Though, it’s not like I’d ever want to be loved by you, anyways. I’d rather live a life alone than ever be loved by someone the way you claim to love my mother.”

“What do you know about love?” he said, though he was as defensive as condescending when he did.

“Yuta Okkotsu,” you said, emphasizing every syllable of the name, watching in satisfaction as a myriad of emotions flickered over his face — confusion, shock, horror, disgust, and finally anger. “That is what I know about love. Do you understand now? I love him. I love that boy, and he loves me back. I will never be the perfect, untouched piece of cattle that you desire.”

“You — you dare!” he sputtered. “We were so generous, letting you attend that school, and you spit in our faces like this? Why, I ought to—”

“Lock me away?” you said. “Or will you beat me this time? You haven’t before, but you look angry enough to try. Go on, then. Do it. Do your worst, or at least attempt to. You won’t get very far, though, I’m afraid.”

“Enough with the insolence. Come inside and go to your room,” he said.

“You asked me why I came here,” you said, opening your palm and showing him the needles which sat there, glinting a silvery blue with the cursed energy Gojo had imbued into them months ago. “This is why.”

His eyes just about bugged out of his head, causing you to smile. For a moment, he simply stared at the brilliant points, and then slowly, he raised his eyes to meet your own. You arched a brow at him, waiting for him to react.

“You don’t mean to say…” he trailed off helplessly.

“That’s right. After everything, I’ve finally come for revenge,” you said. “I am the girl you created, the girl you forsook, and I have finally returned to collect what I am owed.”

“You can’t do this,” he said, shirking back, preemptively wincing, though you hadn’t done anything yet. “Y/N, you can’t do this. We aren’t violent. There’s no justice in killing us.”

“Like I said, I’m not here for justice. I’m here for revenge,” you said. “By definition, there’s no justice to that. But I realized something on the way here: just as you don’t care for me, I don’t care for you. Perhaps this isn’t just, but that’s irrelevant. I’m going to do it regardless.”

“Don’t. Please, don’t. Attacking us is meaningless. We are a family of healers,” he said.

“Really?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him, carefully aiming your first needle and then throwing it. “That’s strange. For some reason, I can’t remember you ever healing anyone.”

At first, the rest of the L/Ns didn’t understand what was happening. One second, they were doing whatever mundane task demanded their attention, and the next, they were on the ground. It was simple for you, because your father was correct in that one thing: not a single person in your family was able to fight. It was what made you an anomaly, that you had this strength which none of the others had. Even without using Dissection, even with just the latent cursed energy left in the needles from Gojo, you knew the human body so well that you could throw the tiny weapons to stick exactly where you wanted them to. It would never work in a fair fight, but this was the furthest thing from fair or a fight.

As you got through more and more of them, they began to realize what was coming for them. They’d try to run, or hide, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t trained sorcerers, so they could never outrun you, and you didn’t need your cursed signature detection to figure out where they were hiding. None of them were very good at it, and so it was all for naught. Just like your entire life had been up until that point, their attempts to avoid your wrath were futile.

Some of them cried. Some of them begged. All of them met the same fate. You felt little sympathy for them. Hadn’t you cried? Hadn’t youbegged? But they had just stood by and watched. They had shown you no mercy, so why would you show them any in return?

There was only one person you spared: your mother, who had never done anything, who could never do anything. The woman cursed to see things she could never defend herself from; you bore no ill-will towards her. Anyways, Gojo loved her, so you would’ve let her be just for that fact alone, even if she was the worst monster in the world. But in the end, she was as trapped as you were, so how could you muster up any hatred for her? She had done the best she could. You passed by her bedroom and left her alone to sob, deciding to deal with her later.

Dragging your father’s slumped over body behind you by the back of his collar, you paid no mind to the way his arms dangled awkwardly by his sides nor to the way his head lolled back and forth with every step you took. His legs skidded against the lush carpets of the mansion, but none of that was important to you. You didn’t care. He would be in a world of hurt when he woke up, but you didn’t care.

Tossing his body into the dining room where you had thrown the rest of your paralyzed family members, you waited for him to regain consciousness. It took a few seconds, but eventually, his eyelids fluttered open. He took stock of the situation, but obviously, whatever he saw must’ve disappointed him, as he opened his mouth to argue before realizing he could not move any of his limbs.

“I wasn’t the one who cursed those needles. Gojo was, which means that the effects will last much longer,” you said. “Don’t think about disobeying me now. I chose not to kill you, but I just as easily could choose to change my mind.”

“You said you wanted revenge. If you aren’t killing us, then what kind of revenge is this?” your father said. “And where is your mother?”

“She isn’t one of you, not in the same way, so I have nothing against her,” you said. “Why would I blame a woman who can’t even heal for failing to do so? It’s a lesson you all should’ve learnt a long time ago. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation right now if you had.”

“What do you want from us, Y/N?” your uncle said. He was your father’s youngest brother, a shallow man who was always so arrogant, walking around like he was the heavens’ gift to mankind. He thought that healing made him a god. You wondered if he still thought that now that he had been immobilized by one tiny needle. What kind of god would’ve let that happen to them?

“It’s simple,” you said. “Make me the head of the L/N clan. Swear you will obey me, no matter the situation, no matter the cost. Follow me with as much or more loyalty as you followed my father with, and I will let you live. I’m not an idiot, after all; I know how rare the Reverse Cursed Technique is, and how much better Composition is compared to the rest. It would be foolish for me to slaughter you all without taking that into account, so I’m offering you this way out, but make no mistake — I don’t need you. If any of you refuse, I won’t feel bad about killing you. If need be, I can kill all of you. It’s all the same to me.”

“You’re just a child. What would you know of heading a clan?” your uncle said.

“I don’t know anything, and I don’t care to learn, either. That’s not what’s important here. As long as you submit to me, you can continue to run your clan as you please. My only stipulation is that my orders take precedence. You must do what I say, when I say it,” you said.

For a moment, none of them said anything, so you raised one of your remaining needles. You did not even have to mime throwing it; the instant your relatives saw it, they all began to shout out their assent to your terms. You had no doubt that if they were not paralyzed, they’d be bowing as they screamed that yes, yes, they’d do it, they’d do it. They were just that brand of cowardly.

“Well, it’s easy to say things, isn’t it?” you said. “My dear uncles, you should be able to move by now, I think. Is that correct? Good. Let’s see if you were being serious about your pledge. Bring me my father.”

“What will you do to him?” your father’s eldest brother said. His son was your least favorite cousin; he had always teased you about how you could not use Composition like he could. You noticed that very boy on the ground beside him, a large wet spot in the crotch of his pants and snot all over his face. You doubted he would ever tease you again.

“Would you ever question my father like that?” you said. “I don’t think you would. Should I kill you for such a transgression?”

Your uncles didn’t complain after that, tripping over themselves to pick up your still-frozen frozen father, bringing him to your feet, setting him down in a kneel and then bowing before scrambling away from you, like you might change your mind at any second.

“Are you going to kill me now?” my father said.

“Hm. Should I?” you said.

“I know you want to,” he said. “Stop dragging it out. Just do it.”

“I do want to,” you confessed. “But that would be too easy. It doesn’t mean anything for me to kill you. I think this is worse, isn’t it? For most of my life, you hated me, just because I could not use Composition. Now, you’ll spend the rest of your life in servitude to me. It’s the best ending I can think of for someone as pathetic as you.”

“Are you serious about killing us if we disobey you?” he said.

“I am,” you said. “The next time I bring you someone to heal, you will heal them. If you ever — if you ever do what you did to Tullia again, I will kill all of you, and just as I don’t regret this, I won’t regret that.”

“We don’t deserve this,” said your cousin, the one who had pissed himself despite always being so bold in his youth. “We don’t deserve to live, but you’re letting us. You really are merciful, Y/N. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” you said. “Thank whatever deity favored you with Composition. The Reverse Cursed Technique is the only reason I’m leaving you alive. Otherwise, all of you would be dead by now.”

You knocked on your mother’s door gently, not wanting to startle her as she cried. Her wails grew louder before abruptly silencing, and you heard her feet shuffling as she made her way to the door and then opened it.

“Hello, mother,” you said. Her reddened eyes widened, still glossed over with unshed tears though they were, and then she threw her arms around you. You stood there unsurely, not used to the sight of an adult breaking down so thoroughly in front of you.

“Y/N, my Y/N,” she hiccuped. “They’re taking you from me. They’re taking you and sending you to that — that horrible creature! I tried so hard to stop them, but they refused to listen. Oh, Y/N, what will we do now? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Your life was supposed to be better than mine was.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “Nobody’s sending me anywhere. I’m the head of the clan now.”

“What?” she sniffed. “How is that possible?”

“It’s funny,” you said. “When a family’s members consist solely of healers, it’s surprisingly simple to defeat them, even if you’re by yourself, even if you can’t use your cursed technique.”

“You killed all of them?” she said.

“I threatened to, but I didn’t go through with it. I couldn’t. I’m not that kind of a person, and anyways, they are valuable. This is how the L/N clan has survived for so long: they’re just too rare to kill. Well, anyways, it’s fine. They all swore to follow me, and if I ever get even a little suspicious that they’re planning something, I’ll force them to make Binding Vows with me. It should be okay, though — as I’m sure you’ve noticed, none of them exactly have backbones of steel,” you said.

“I see,” she said. You waited for her to reprimand you, but she did not. “So, then. What will you do next?”

“The rest of the students and I are working to unseal Gojo. I’ve given up fighting for good, so after this, I’m going to go join Shoko Ieri in helping heal the last of Shibuya incident’s victims while I wait for something bigger to come up that I can help with,” you said.

“You gave up fighting?” your mother said. “Didn’t you love it so much? I remember watching you at last year’s exchange event — the one, in Kyoto I mean. You looked so happy during your match against Aoi Todo.”

“Really? Because I distinctly remember being annoyed out of my mind during that entire battle,” you muttered.

“It was like you were truly yourself,” she explained. “You’re giving that up? Why?”

“I have to. I can’t use Composition if I keep using Dissection, and I’m not quite talented enough at fighting to justify giving up healing for it,” you said. “Even if we now have the rest of the L/Ns at our disposal, I still don’t want to ever be in the scenario where I’m fully dependent on someone else to heal a person I care about. Never again.”

“Alright,” your mother said.

“Just ‘alright?’ You won’t argue with me?” you said.

“No, I won’t,” she said. “It’s not my place. If that’s what you deem to be the best course of action, then that’s what you should do.”

“Thank you,” you said. “Yes, I do believe that it’s the only way.”

“I’ll support it, then,” she said. “I’ll support you. As forever. As always.”

“I really do appreciate it, mother,” you said. “What about you? What will you do now?”

“There isn’t much for me to do,” she said. “Do you think I could…no, never mind.”

“Go on,” you said. “I’m the head of the L/N clan now, you know. Whatever you want, you can ask me for it. I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

“Can I come with you?” she said. “I know I don’t have a technique or anything like that, but I just — I don’t want to stay here anymore. I’ll help in whatever way I can. I can make food for everyone, or clean, or whatever it is that you all need!”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” you said. “You’re my mother, so you can come and go as you please. Besides, I’m sure Gojo will be excited to see you there once he’s been unsealed, so there definitely isn’t an issue at all. Of course you can come.”

“Do you really mean it?” she said.

“Of course,” you said. “I really do.”

Taking your mother by the hand, you walked with your head held high past the rest of the L/Ns. They were the ones who flinched now, their very postures dripping with deference as you strode by without so much as acknowledging them. You saw your father’s lips part in protest when he saw your mother following after you, but after noticing the severe look on your face, he pursed them once more and ducked his head.

“I am leaving now,” you said. “And I am taking my mother with me. I trust that this house will be maintained and that, should I need assistance, I can call upon you all.”

“Yes, Y/N,” your uncle said. “It will be done.”

“Good,” you said shortly. “See to it that it is.”

With that, you nodded at your mother, who hesitantly nodded back. Then, together, you both took your first steps outside of that jail-like place, the manor which had housed you in your worst times. There was a freedom in that walk which even you had never felt before, not to mention your mother, who was gazing at the sky with a newfound appreciation for it.

“It’s strange,” your mother said. “I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until now. I think I forgot what it felt like to feel happy at all. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” you said. “It does. I know what you mean.”

“Thank you for letting me come with you,” she said. “I know I wasn’t always the best mother, but I really do love you.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I don’t blame you for it.”

“Ah,” she said. “I see. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” you said. “It’s not like that. I just did what I had to do, that’s all. It’s the most any of us can do, so it hardly warrants such praise.”

“You know, Y/N,” your mother said. “You really are a selfless girl.”

“Do you think so?” you said.

“It’s your greatest virtue,” your mother said. “I won’t claim the credit for instilling it, but I hope you’re aware of it anyways.”

“If you say so,” you said dubiously.

She didn’t know what you had almost done, how willingly you would’ve tied yourself to Sukuna. You vowed to never let her find out, and then you vowed to one day do something that actually was worthy of that kind of praise, something that proved you to be the selfless girl your mother thought you were.

Maybe that would be enough to finally redeem you.

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #reader insert #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Jamie's Christmas Carol: Masterpost

Having returned to Richmond, Jamie is slowly but surely mending bridges and finding his place on the team again. However, as Christmas draws near he struggles with how to reconnect with his mother after distancing himself from her for the past year.

When seemingly sent a sign how to make things right, Jamie is determined to grab the opportunity with both (slightly clumsy) hands—even if it does involve fomer rival turned retiree Roy Kent.

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25

Read on AO3.

Or read the whole thing below.

Prologue

This is a Christmas story. It begins—

—in December, in London, and with the whole of AFC Richmond spilling out from a theatre in an animated gaggle of waving hands and raised voices.

“Nah, you’re wrong, bruv,” Isaac told Jamie emphatically. "This shit's way better than Mickey's Christmas Carol." 

Jamie rolled his eyes at that insane opinion and set out to explain how Isaac was as wrong as wrong could be (but respectfully, like), while behind them Moe was explaining something about capitals to Thierry and Bhargava handed Dani a tissue.

After Ted had shown them Scrooged for their last team movie night, a heated debate on the best adaptation of A Christmas Carol had led to a seven night movie marathon ending with Isaac taking them all to The Old Vic for the stage version. 

Jamie, something of a theatre expert thanks to Keeley, had helpfully informed everyone that talking to the characters or shouting suggestions during the performance was not allowed, because even though that was still a fucking stupid rule – just imagine someone trying to introduce that to football games, the fans would riot and they’d be right to – that was the sort of thing Jamie did now: he was helpful. Was a team player. Gave useful tips to people before they made fools of themselves, rather than gleefully afterwards. It wasn’t always as much fun, no, but sometimes good in a different sort of way. And it wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway; the team had made that plenty clear when he returned to Richmond.

“All right, lads, I’m off,” he called to them now, giving up on trying to convince Isaac of the errors of his taste. Too cold for it. “Got me car over by Park Plaza.”

“See you tomorrow, boyo,” Colin said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good night, Jamie.” Sam’s smile was still just this side of tentative, but it seemed sincere enough and Jamie couldn’t help but smile back. He was all right, Sam.  

With less than three weeks until Christmas, the London night was chilly as Jamie made his way through it. No snow, naturally – though not unheard of, a white Christmas in the English capital was uncommon indeed. Not that chances were much better up in Manchester.

Manchester. The thought of it brought a small frown to Jamie’s face. He knew he ought to go up there after the game on Boxing Day, to visit Mummy and Simon. Before he was loaned to Richmond he’d always spent Christmas at home; last year, he’d blamed the distance and the fixtures for not being able to make it.

It hadn’t been a lie, but hadn’t been the whole truth either. Secretly, Jamie had been relieved for the excuse to stay away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mum – he always wanted to see his mum – but he hadn’t known to deal with the crushing weight of all the things he couldn’t tell her; of all the things he didn’t want her to know. It had sat heavy and silent between them, a barrier that only seemed to grow higher and higher as he was sent back to City, as he fled City for Lust Conquers All, as he begged his way back to Richmond.

Now things were better, with him and with the team (and from his dad there’d been nothing, not for months now, and maybe this time—but no. Jamie didn’t want to think about Dad now), and it was time, really, to man up and make it up to Manchester. To come clean to  Mummy and have things go back to normal.

Jamie had no fucking idea how to do that. The idea of disappointing her left a sour taste in his mouth and his stomach churning.

Still frowning, Jamie unlocked his car and slipped into the driver’s seat. The Tube would have been quicker, but he hadn’t been in the mood to be recognized tonight. It was all right if people wanted to talk football, but at least one out of three still wanted to yell at him about Amy. Which was really unfair, because nothing on that show had been real, had it, and Amy knew that.

Amy had known that, right?

Didn’t matter now. Stupid shit, over and done with. Jamie Tartt had other things to worry about.

He pulled out of the car park, turned right, and began his journey home.

---

This is a Christmas story, and maybe it begins here too—

­—in a house in Chelsea, on that same December eve, and with Roy Kent keeping an eye on the oven and the time, while over by the table Keeley and his niece were adding increasingly intricate details to the gingerbread dragon-unicorn-princess-whatevers they were making.

Outside, an Aston Martin passed by on its way from Waterloo to Richmond. Roy would have recognized the car, had he seen it, and Keeley too (rather intimately), but the kitchen window was facing the other way and neither of them did.

“Look, Uncle Roy, this one looks just like you,” Phoebe exclaimed, proudly exhibiting a cookie man with curious antlers and a dour expression that did indeed make him look rather like the retired player.

Keeley laughed. “Ha! Yeah, it does!”

Roy growled. It was his fond growl. It was all right this, Keeley and Phoebe and the gingerbread covering every surface in the kitchen; all right in a way not a lot of things had been since he ended his career by sending Jamie Tartt flying to the ground half a year ago.

As for Jamie Tartt… He drove past the house without looking at it twice. He’d never been inside Roy Kent’s home; never known exactly where he lived.   

That would change, before morning broke on Christmas Day. Because this is a Christmas story, and those always come with miracles.

2.

Wrapped in his heavy duvet and with a soft pillow bunched under his head, Jamie dreamt:

He was trying to run over the pitch and catch a pass from Sam but he was all wrapped up in heavy chains and kept tripping over them and no matter how many times he got up and tried again he never came any closer to the ball, and the ball wasn’t even a ball anymore anyway, it was a giant roast turkey and it kept running around his feet and telling him to be a lion or a goldfish in what sounded a lot like Ted’s voice.

“Don’t know what you’re on about, mate,” Jamie wanted to say, but it came out “humbug”, again and again and then two children, creepily like they were right out of a horror movie or some shit, appeared and started towards him, and fuck that, so he turned and ran and the chains were gone now so it was all right and he ran and he ran and then he ran past Colin who was sat on the pavement looking lost and sick and somehow smaller than he ought to be and Jamie knew he would die if Jamie didn’t stop to help him but the children were still coming so he mouthed an apology he didn’t think Colin heard and ran on.

He found himself standing outside a brightly lit window and staring straight into his childhood home. Mummy was there, and Simon, and they were having a party seemed like, for the room was filled with people he knew, laughing and dancing, and there was Keeley, smiling and golden in a bright pink gown, and she turned to Roy, who took her in his arms, and as they kissed Jamie stumbled backwards and fell into a hole and as he kept falling he realized he was falling down into his own grave and all the while he heard his dad laughing and laughing and laughing.

Jamie woke:

He sat up with a start, blinking against the darkness of his bedroom as his heart slowly, slowly resumed its normal pace.  

Fucking hell. That had been a nasty one.

But, he thought as he climbed out of bed after a look at the alarm clock suggested there was no point in trying to go back to sleep, it was also kind of an obvious one, right?

Granted, it was pretty rude of his subconscious to cast him in the role of Scrooge, because while Jamie had maybe, possibly, not always been the greatest teammate or that, he’d never been a sad old miserly fuck either, had he? Never been one to say no to a party or been boring, yeah? So. Rude.

That said, it wasn’t like he was blind to the cymbalism or whatever. Scrooge had been a selfish cunt and made some not so great choices and ended up alone and a strange to his family, and hadn’t Jamie been thinking about his mum just yesterday and wondering how to sort things out with her?

As far as signs from the universe went, there was no mistaking this one.

Jamie met his own eyes in the mirror, giving himself a wink and a decisive nod. Like Scrooge (except younger and talented and shockingly fit, even with his hair a ruffled mess and a hint of darkness under the eyes), Jamie need to make things right with the people he’d wronged. Then he’d be able to go home and talk things through with Mummy and sort everything out.

3.

Jamie arrived to Nelson Road deep in thought. As he shaved, it had occurred to him that there was a tiny, tiny issue with his otherwise foolproof plan: he had no idea just who he was supposed to set thing right with.

Because the thing was, him and the team? They were good now. He’d apologised and even though that hadn’t gone over so well at first it had all worked out in the end, after a bit more effort and some suggestions from Dr. Sharon and he hadn’t even needed to buy anyone any PS5:s. All right, so sometimes there were just a bit of tension, like when he made a joke with a slight edge to it and people paused like they were judging whether or not he was being a prick or funny, but all in all, things were good.

He was even sort of friends with Sam now (though he guessed it wouldn’t hurt for him to keep an eye out for whenever the younger player did something good on the pitch and throw a compliment his way. And if Sam decided to stage a protest against another sponsor for some reason or other, Jamie would absolutely be right there by his side. Tape his shirt up and down and all over).

Just to be sure he had it right, he asked Isaac, catching the captain as he passed Jamie on the way to the gym. “Listen, mate, we’re cool, right? I mean, all of us, me and the team and everyone, yeah? We’re good?”

Isaac gave him a penetrating stare, as if wondering what Jamie was up to. “Why?” he asked slowly.

Jamie shrugged, fighting the urge to squirm. Who’d have though that Isaac of all people would grow into the role of captain like this, all authorative and responsible like? This time last year, he’d have been falling over himself to do whatever Jamie told him to. “I dunno. Just checking, I guess.”

Apparently, he must have looked and sounded convincing enough, because Isaac nodded again and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re good, bruv. Just don’t be a dick again, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Jamie promised, even as he felt a small pang of regret. None of the lads seemed to really get how much fun being a dick could be and how much of a sacrifice Jamie was making just to be part of Richmond again.

Still, they had accepted him back, and that’s what really mattered.

But if the team was sorted, whom did that leave? Ted? Jamie glanced towards the coaches’ office, where the gaffer was apparently having an animated discussion with Coach Beard. Ted must have felt his gaze, because he lifted his head, and when he saw Jamie looking he grinned and waved, looking like there was no one on Earth he’d rather catch staring at him.

So probably not Ted, then.

“You feeling all right, Jamie? You look like you’ve got a stomach ache.”

Tom had arrived and thrown his bag down on the bench next to Jamie. Jamie gave him a brief nod of greeting. “Yeah, I’m good, man. Just thinking.”

Tom grinned. “Thinking, huh? Don’t strain yourself.”

Next to them, Babatunde chuckled, and it was the oddest thing: part of Jamie wanted to snarl at the slight dig, wanted to bite back with a cutting retort, put them in their place and show them who was top dog, because who the fuck were they to make fun of him—

Part of him felt warmed, a small thrill of stupid gratitude coursing through him. Because this was what you did with your teammates, yeah? Ribbed and teased, and it didn’t mean anything bad, just that they were your teammates, and you were theirs.

Back during his first stint with Richmond, no one (but Roy) had dared say stuff like that to him, not even as a lighthearted joke.

Now Jamie cocked an eyebrow and smirked, matching Tom’s easy tone, the lack of bite. “Don’t worry, mate. Could strain everything in me body and still run circles around you out there, couldn’t I?”

When Tom laughed and slapped him on the arm and Babatunde oooh:ed appreciatively it sent another surge of pleasure through him. Grinning to himself, Jamie shrugged out of his jacket and reached for the training kit.

“All right everyone, out on the pitch in five.” At the sound of Nate’s voice cutting through the din of the dressing room, Jamie stilled, boots in one hand. Turning his head, his eyes found the coach, their former kitman.

The man he’d led Isaac and Colin in terrorizing.

Ooh.

4.

”Coach? You got a moment?”

Nate startled at the sound of his name, upsetting the papers strewn all across his desk. When he caught sight of Jamie peeking in through the office door his eyes widened almost comically. “Oh! Um. Jamie. Hello. Do I have– Ah! Yes. Of course. I believe I could make– Hrm. Come, uh, in.”

Like Ted, Nate had a way of taking ages of getting to the point, but at least it had ended in some version of “yes” as far as Jamie could tell. He stepped into the office

Nate was eyeing him warily, which was unfair, really, because Jamie had been super respectful ever since he got back to Richmond, even though it was kind of weird to have Nate as a coach. Like, the man was good at it, surprisingly so, but it was still weird. Then again, Jamie supposed him seeking Nate out had never spelled anything but trouble for the latter before, so okay, fair enough, couldn’t blame the man for being a little skittish.

Belatedly, Jamie remembered the peace offering he’d popped out and picked up just down the road, from the bakery that Keeley swore by. “Here,” he said, putting it down on the desk in front of Nate. “Got you this.”

Nate stared mutely at the slice of cake in a dainty box covered with gold and ribbons. Jamie had paid extra for the fancy box. Nate liked boxes, right?

“It’s carrot cake,” Jamie supplied helpfully, in case Coach wasn’t familiar with baked goods. Not everyone had Simon for their Mummy’s husband.

“I… see.”

Nate didn’t look like he did see, but Jamie suspected it would be rude to point that out. Besides, he was starting to feel a little nervous, so he figured he better spit it out and get it over with before that got any worse.

He took a deep breath. “So, I wanted to apologise.” He glanced up at Nate to see how that was received; Nate still looked slightly dazed. Fuck. Jamie had hoped that maybe it’d be obvious what he wanted to apologise for, so that he didn’t have go into all the gory details. No such luck, apparently. He barrelled on. “I did some shitty things and I told others to do some shitty things when I was here before, and that was shitty of me, so. Sorry.”

Nate was still eyeing him warily. “Did… did Ted tell you to do this?” he asked eventually.

“No.” Jamie made a face. He didn’t just do nice things because Ted told him to.

Sometimes he did them because Keeley told him to. Or because Dr. Sharon, in that smart way of hers, got him to tell himself to. That last bit had gotten easier and easier. Sometimes he didn’t even need Dr. Sharon for it anymore.

“I just thought I should,” he added somewhat sulkily, feeling a little bit defensive. He was trying here. “’Cause I was a prick to you and all. So, I’m sorry about that, yeah? And like, if there’s something you need me to do that’d make you feel better, you can just tell me and I’ll do it. Yeah.”

He made sure to look Nate in the eyes for the last bit. Maybe he wouldn’t have realised that this was a good thing to do if it hadn’t been for the dream and him wanting to see Mummy and that, but he still meant it, didn’t he? He knew he’d been a prick. He knew Nate hadn’t done anything to deserve it, apart from being an easy target with no means of defending himself.

Put like that, it really did sound pretty shitty. Jamie fidgeted with his sleeves.

Nate stared at him for a long moment. Jamie couldn’t quite decipher the emotions flickering over his face. Coach opened his mouth several times but then shut it again, until finally he said, “Yes. Okay. Excellent. Thank you, Jamie.”

Jamie brightened. “So, we’re good?” he asked eagerly, straightening. That had been dead easy, that. Nate hadn’t even yelled at him or anything

“Yes, of course.” A nod and a small smile that looked a little weird on Nate’s round face. Maybe the man wasn’t used to smiling. Or maybe he just wasn’t used to doing it when Jamie was around, for aforementioned Jamie being shitty to him reasons.

Jamie grinned, friendly as he could. “Cheers, mate,” he said, reaching over the desk to companionably pat Nate on the shoulder before heading for the door. The other flinched slightly under the touch, which was weird ‘cause Jamie hadn’t patted him all that hard, but then again, Jamie was a world class athlete and Nate wasn’t. Jamie probably didn’t know his own strength. He should take note of that, make sure he didn’t hurt anyone by accident. Be anti-ethical to this whole doing right by people thing, probably.

Feeling rather pleased with the lunch break’s efforts, Jamie headed for the dressing room. He’d call Mummy tonight and arrange for a visit after Boxing Day. Everything was going to be all right.  

5.

Everything was not all right. Bleary-eyed and with the beginnings of a headache brewing, Jamie slumped down on the bench by his cubby, ignoring the excited chatter of the dressing room and politely (he hoped) brushing off Dani’s attempt at getting his in-depth opinions on Dani’s new socks. (They were decent. Little bland, but the colours went nicely with Dani’s skin tone.)

Evidently, making nice with Coach Nate had not been enough to appease the universe, because Jamie had spent the better part of last night staring at his phone, trying to work up the courage to call his mum without any success, and now he’d spent the better part of training trying to figure out what the matter was, also without any success.

It was fucking weird. It shouldn’t have been hard, calling her. It wasn’t like they never talked or anything, he’d spoken to her just last month. But it was different now, somehow, when he knew he wouldn’t just be talking to her, but actually talking to her.

Fuck. He’d been so sure that saying sorry to Nate would do the trick.

More out of desperation than anything else, Jamie stuck his head into the head coaches’ office. Ted wasn’t around, but Coach Beard was sat by his desk, feet up on it and with a book in his hands.  

”Do I need to apologise to you?” Jamie asked without preamble.

Beard looked up from his book, fixing Jamie with that unnerving stare of his. “What for?”

“I dunno.” He couldn’t actually remember ever speaking much to the man before, but maybe he’d managed to somehow wrong him anyway.

“Then I guess not.” Sounding supremely unimpressed, Beard returned to his book.

Well. Jamie made a face. It had been a long shot anyway.

He undressed; he showered; he changed. He agreed to a beer with Jeff and Arlo later that night. He wasn’t really in the mood, but he figured he still wasn’t in a position to turn down invitations. Wanted to show willing and all that. Besides, Jeff had always been easy company. Only one of the team that hadn’t thrown a fit about him coming back.

As he made his way to out of the building he passed by Keeley’s office, and paused. Keeley was by far the smartest person he knew, and dead good to talk to. She’d probably have some ideas about what he should do next.

Though the last time he’d gone to her for advice, she’d sent him off to Dr. Sharon and Dr. Sharon was home with the flu so that was no good.

He went into Keeley’s office anyway. She wasn’t there, but the room smelled like her, sweet and floral, and the familiar fragrance was both soothing and a little painful for the pang of longing it brought. He fucking missed her, in a way he hadn’t expected to when she dumped him. Back then he’d mostly been disappointed about not having the Keeley Jones for a girlfriend anymore and missing out on more of the frankly mindblowing sex, but the more time passed, the more he started to miss other things. How clever she was. Funny. Kind.

It was good, though, the way they could still be friends. He was pretty sure Keeley wasn’t the one he was needed to make things up to; he knew she wasn’t upset with him anymore, in spite of him not treating her as good as she had deserved. He hadn’t ever meant to hurt her, he just hadn’t thought.

In a fit of inspiration, he dug out his phone and after several seconds of careful consideration  put together a quick text to Amy.

Sorry I was a prick on the show. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Hope you’re all right

Then, lest she get the wrong idea, he quickly added:

Not trying to get back together or anything.

Somewhat to his surprise, he received an answer in less than a minute:

i wouldn’t get back with you if you begged me to

i’m engaged to david now

you’re a poophead but i’m paying for the wedding with the money i made selling my story to the papers so we’re square

Jamie’s gut twisted at that. As much as he loved attention and as much as he hadn’t any qualms about getting naked and fucking around on the show, the idea of Amy crying about how he’d cheated on her and dishing out all the sorted details that hadn’t made it into the final cut made him queasy. At least it meant they were cool, though, so he sent a thumbs up and tried to put it out of his mind.

He didn’t put the phone away. He scrolled through his contacts until he landed on “Mummy”. Let his finger hover over it for a long time, but it was no good. Apparently texting Amy hadn’t helped either.

Fuck, he wished Keeley was here. Even if she couldn’t or wouldn’t help him with his problem just talking to her would have made him feel better. Always did.

His eyes fell on the a life-size cutout of Roy Keeley, in spite of her otherwise impeccable taste, kept by the wall, and his lips curled into a sneer. Odds were Keeley was over talking to him right now, maybe even curling up next to him and petting his hair, though what she saw in that decrepit wanker was a fucking mystery. Sure, Roy was fit, but anyone who’d spent more than two minutes in a room with the man knew he was a miserable old twat, and if there was one person Jamie wasn’t sorry about being a prick to it was—

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hang on. Wait a minute.

Oh. Fuck.

6.

“Do you think messages from the universe can get, I dunno, scrambled?” Jamie asked Jeff when Jeff returned to their table with another tray of shots. “Like, the universe gets them wrong or sends them wrong or… ?”

Jeff blinked at him owlishly, looking slightly cocerned under the neon lights. “Don’t really know, mate,” he said at long last, then held out the tray hopefully, “Another shot?”

Jamie had already had four, as well as two beers, and that was more than he’d normally allow himself mid-season but tomorrow was an off day and he’d been thrown a fucking curveball by the fucking universe so fuck it. He took another shot, downing it with a loud “gwah!” as the Fireball burned in his throat.

Jeff looked relieved. He was a good lad, but probably hadn’t expected to be fielding exessential discussions when he asked Jamie to tag along for drinks. Which was fair enough, Jamie hadn’t expected to be having them when he agreed to come.

It was just the two of them at the table now. Arlo was off on the dancefloor with a gorgerous woman a good three inches taller than him. Jeff and Jamie had already written him off as lost for the rest of the evening; it was usually how things went whenever they went out together. Sometimes Jamie suspected half the reason Arlo even wanted to play football was because it made easier to pull. Which was good, really, because he was way better at that than he was at kicking a ball.

Jamie told Jeff as much, but then frowned. Had that been a prick thing to say? Like, it was a joke, yeah, but was it mean? Was it too mean? And how the fuck did you know?

But Jeff just laughed uproariously, and Jamie relaxed again. Jeff had never minded him being a bit of a prick anyway. It was kind of like old times, this, him and Jeff getting pissed and talking shit. He let himself enjoy the buzz, the beat of the music, and nodding along as Jeff moaned about his girlfriend’s uptight parents. For a while, it was easy to forget about his mum and Roy and all that.

But in the back of the cab taking him home a couple of hours later, his thoughts drifted back to the absurdity the universe seemed to demand of him.

See, the thing was, Jamie didn’t really feel like apologising to Roy. He wasn’t, when all was said and done, particularly sorry about being a prick to Roy, because Roy had been a right prick to him, too. Had been a prick first even, right from the moment when Jamie arrived and hadn’t done anything more prickish than walk up to him to say hello. (All right, sure, maybe Jamie hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that the Richmond dressing room was a fucking joke compared to City’s, just like the gaffer was a joke, and the entire club was a joke. But the point was, he hadn’t been rude to Roy, not until Roy ignored his outstretched hand and and walked off without giving him as much as one look, and fuck that nasty twat, seriously.) And it wasn’t even two months ago that Roy – on national fucking television no less – said that he hoped Jamie would die, and Jamie hadn’t even done anything to Roy in ages.

So no, Jamie didn’t feel like apologising. And say he did bite the bullet and spat out an insincere sorry, would that even count if he didn’t mean it? Jamie didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure on the universe’s stance, but his mum had never been big on saying things you didn’t mean.

The fuck did that leave him, though?

Perhaps he didn’t actually need to apologise to sort this? Even if Jamie hadn’t done anything wrong (or at least nothing worse than what Roy had done to him), maybe he could be the one to take the first step to build some bridges between them? Be mature and friendly like, to show that there were not hard feelings?

Jamie made a face. He wasn’t sure he liked this idea either. But he liked the idea of not sorthing things out with his mum even less.

Roy was a cunt, yeah. But he was also a sad old pensioneer who’d never get to play football again, and Jamie was young and fit and had his whole career ahead of him. He could be the bigger man.

Filled with determination, Jamie paid the driver and stumbled strode towards his house. Roy wouldn’t know what hit him.

7.

With a deep sigh of contentment, Roy bit into his kebab. One of the very, very few perks of no longer playing professional football was being able to indulge in whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. At the rate he was going, Hus would be able to retire in a couple of months.

”Big man Roy Kent!”

Roy stilled. That voice—

It couldn’t be—

But it was. Roy lifted his eyes and there he fucking was, Jamie fucking Tartt, in Roy’s fucking kebab place.

Roy wasn’t quite sure what the most bizarre part was: Jamie being there at all, or Jamie smiling at him in what didn’t immediately appear to be a sneering way.

For a moment, he was too stunned to do anything but stare. Jamie’s bright smile didn’t waver.

Then Roy said the only thing he could thing of, which was, “No,” and immediately went back to his meal, hoping that Jamie would – for once in his miserable muppet life – get the message and simply get lost.

Jamie did not get the message. After a brief silence (during which Roy pointedly didn’t look at the other, but could well imagine the stupid faces he was pulling while trying to make sense of the simply one-syllable word), the idiot plowed right on. “How you’ve been, you’ve been good, yeah? Saw you sitting here, figured I’d say hi. You’re doing Soccer Sunday now, right? Bet you’re dead good at that.”

For fuck’s sake. Roy seriously considered just getting up and walking off but the way this was going he wasn’t convinced that Jamie wouldn’t just follow him. He put the kebab done, and fixed the other man with the most baleful stare he could muster. “What the hell is this?” he growled. “What the fuck are you doing?

For a moment, he had the terrible notion that Jamie had signed up for another show, and that this was somehow part of it. Some kind of fucking Punk’d hidden camera bullshit or something. But no, that was ridiculous.

Then again, so was ditching City to do go on reality TV. Roy surreptitiously glanced around. As far as he could tell, there were no cameras.

That was the thing about hidden cameras, though, wasn’t it? That you couldn’t fucking tell that they were there.

“Um, I told you, mate,” Jamie said, speaking slowly as if he seriously believed that Roy just hadn’t heard him, “Saw you sitting here, thought I’d say hi.”

If this was a prank, it was a bloody ridiculous one. And anyway, Roy rather doubted Jamie had the acting chops to fake looking this stupidly earnest. It was oddly unsettling to see him like that, especially because otherwise he looked exactly as he had on Lust Conquers All; he wore his hair the same way, and wore the same sort of obnoxiously coloured and patterned clothes (albeit rather more of them). It was just the look on his face that was different.

Almost just the look on his face. Roy hated how he could tell that Jamie seemed to have filled out ever so slightly in the months since coming home, the overly and artificially defined sharpness at least somewhat rounded by a healthy athlete’s robustness.  

Fuck. Part of him wanted to grab the younger man by his stupid shirt and shake him and ask what the hell had he been thinking, throwing away his career to get naked with a bunch of losers on a fucking TV show. Jamie was an awful human being, true, but he was a fantastic players, with the makings of a truly great one, and yet he’d been perfectly happy to squander his totally undeserved talent and walk away from football, while Roy would have done any-fucking-thing for the chance to play just one more game—

Roy realized that he’d been clenching his fists hard enough to make his knuckles whiten. He  took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Jamie’s idiotic, inexplicable, upsetting decisions weren’t his problem. Hadn’t been his problem even when he followed the prick’s every move on the telly with a mixture of terrible glee and fury.

So lost, Keeley had called him.

Called both of them.

At least Jamie was back to playing football again. And at Richmond no less – Roy had wondered, just a little, how the team had greeted the return of their former star and bully. With appropriate scorn and a good many rough tackles, he fervently hoped, although from the looks of the games he’d watched, they all seemed on friendly enough terms now. Jamie was even passing to the others on a regular basis; it would seem he had caved to the Lasso way of doing things at last.

And in doing so, he’d lost some of what made him such a unique talent. It had been becoming more and more obvious with every game since he came back: he was second-guessing his instincts, hesitating when he should go for the kill, and favouring being a team player over scoring goals, to the point where he was passing up on shots Roy knew the little bastard could have nailed.

Jamie was a prick, and that had made him fucking insufferable to be around and the worst fucking teammate Roy had ever had the misfortune to work with, but it had also made him one hell of a player. As of now, he was good at best.

Roy’d fucking die before he let anyone hear him say that, though. For his pundit gig, he had taken to simply refusing to comment on Jamie’s performance, or even mention him at all. The other hosts had eventually learned to accept that, mostly because any needling invariably led to Roy digging into them instead.

Apparently put off by Roy’s silence, Jamie pouted. “Come one, man, why won’t you talk to me?”

“Because you don’t deserve it,” Roy said, automatically but meaning every word. And then, begrudgingly and because he suspected there was no getting out of this without exchanging at least a few words (and because he was just a little bit curious), he added, “The fuck are you even doing here?” This wasn’t a part of town he’d expect Jamie to frequent. Nowhere near where he lived, if he was still up in Richmond, and with too few clubs and designer shops.

For a moment, Jamie looked caught out, but then his eyes flickered to the sign above the counter. “I’m here to buy a, um, kebab.” He rolled his eyes like Roy was the one being dense. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Roy echoed, voice dripping with sarcasm. Enough of this farce. “Let me ask you something, Jamie, did fucking around on that TV show finally bruise your last two remaining brain cells enough for you to completely lose your fucking mind?” He snorted. “No wonder City dropped you.”

At that, Jamie’s eyes flashed dark. ”Fuck you, you twat!” he spat. “I’m trying to be nice here!” Genuine anger in his voice now, and wasn’t that a rare treat? One of the most infuriating thing about the little prick was that he never seemed to lose his fucking temper; he pushed and he pushed and he pushed, and when challenged he got in  your face and pushed some more, but he never let that cocksure composure slip.

It had pissed Roy off to no end back when they played together, and it was with a sense of dark triumph he twisted the knife now. “Yeah, and you’re as shit at it as you are at doing anything that isn’t kicking a ball or being a huge fucking pain in everyone’s arse.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one eyebrow deliberately. “Lasso’s a moron for ever letting you back on that team.”

Privately, Roy had to admit that that last bit wasn’t true – for all Jaime’s (very, very many) faults, Ted would have been an idiot not to have him. But it seemed to hit the mark all the same, because Jamie paled with anger and he opened his mouth—

—only to snap it shut and spin around on his heel. He marched out of the restaurant, leaving Roy to shake his head after him in narrow-eyed bafflement.

Well, that had been fucking strange. Wait until he told Keeley—

Actually, no. That was a terrible idea, wouldn’t it? Chances were that Keeley’d either berate Roy for not being nicer (which was absurd because he hadn’t even punched the little twat and how much nicer than that could he reasonably be?), or that she’d go off spouting that outrageous fucking nonsense about him and Jamie being alike again, and honest to God, if that happened Roy might have to actually slit his own throat, and he’d be damned if he gave Jamie fucking Tartt the satisfaction of, however indirectly, being the one to take out Roy Kent.

So no telling Keeley, then. He’d go home and cook her a fantastic dinner instead, and he’d forget all about this weird fucking day and whatever weird fucking shit Jamie was up to. It was none of Roy’s concern and he wouldn’t waste another minute pondering it.

Pleased with this decision, Roy got up and utterly failed to follow through on it.

8.

Half an hour and a cuppa in a quiet little café off Sydney Street later, Jamie had more or less calmed down after his failed attempt to have a friendly conversation with Roy Kent.

It fucking figured that Roy was too much of a miserable old twat to react normally to somone trying to be nice to him, but it was still a disappointement, especially after Jamie had gone to the trouble of getting hold of his adress (thank you, Richmond secretary Rose with a soft spot for sexy footballers), and spending a good part of his morning lurking around outside Roy’s house, until Roy finally went out to get lunch in some sad little kebab shop. 

He’d been right cunning about coming up to Roy, too, making like he was just there to get a bite, but then Roy had to go and open his big fat mouth and it had all gone tits up. It wasn’t like Jamie to lose his temper like that, but Roy’s words had prodded at something only half-healed and painful.  

He won’t be coming back. Nobody wants you. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.

(And even so Jamie might not have cared about that bullshit had it come from anyone else, but. Like. This was Roy. Roy Kent. There’d been a time when Jamie would spend hours just thinking about Roy Kent talking to him about football, about how Jamie was playing, and never once in those happy dreams had Roy suggested that City would be right to drop him. Never once had he suggested that another team would be stupid to take him on.)

But joke was on Roy, yeah, ‘cause Jamie was back at Richmond and playing and perhaps he was still not quite up to his usual brilliant standard, hadn’t scored as much as he used to, but at least he was playing, which was more than could be said for Roy.

For some reason, that didn’t feel as much as a triumph as Jamie would have thought (or would have claimed, had anyone asked him just just a year ago).

With a frustrated sigh, he drained the last dregs of his tea. He’d better get moving. Couldn’t be sat here all day like some sad sack with nowhere better to be.

He didn’t feel like going home, though. The idea of spending the rest of the afternoon alone and fretting made him like there were tiny little spiders running around all over him, their tiny little spider legs itching and pulling at his skin.

On impulse, he texted Isaac.

Hey mate

U doing anything?

Had this been last year, he would have fully expected Isaac to get back to him right away, ready to drop anything short of deadly disease or a family crisis to roll with whatever Jamie wanted. Now, though, it was a pleasant surprise when Isaac texted back almost immediately.

Hitting dover street market with colin for some christmas drip

Wanna join us?

It was stupid, really, the way the simple question sent a rush of relief and happiness through him. Fucking soft, something whispered in his mind. Needy bitch. Jamie pressed his lips together and did his level best to ignore it while he typed out a quick reply.

I’m in.

Be there in 30

I’ll buy you lunch.

He waited until he got a Yeah all right bruv, see you there, and then he pocketed his phone and headed out.

Isaac and Colin could buy their own lunches, of course – could buy lunch for the whole city of London, probably – but it was a way of saying thank you, innit. ‘Course, anyone should be happy to have Jamie with them on their shopping tour, for advice and the like, but with everything that had happened, he wanted to make sure the lads knew he appreciated them asking him to come. That he didn’t take them for granted anymore.

Maybe buying affection wasn’t always the way to go, but it didn’t hurt being a little generous when you were trying to make friends, did it? Who didn’t love gifts?

Huh. Now there was a thought.

Sure, Ted had shot down his PS5 plan (and Dr. Sharon hadn’t seemed keen on it either), but Jamie had tried doing things differently with Roy, right, and that had gotten him fuck all. It was time to do things his way, namely with a lot of style and a fuckton of money.

Roy probably wouldn’t like a PS5, though. Way too much fun for him. And treating him to lunch was right out, on account of Roy being an arsehole who couldn’t be bothered not to be an arsehole even when Jamie was clearly trying to be sweet to him,

What would he like, though? Apart from football, which no one could give him again, and Keeley, whom he already had (and even if she’d been Jamie’s, he wouldn’t have given her to Roy, partly because she was her own person and no one’s to give, and partly because Jamie would never, ever be stupid enough to lose her a second time).

He’d have to think on it for a bit, Jamie decided. But that could wait until after he spent the afternoon getting properly kitted out for the holiday season with Colin and Isaac.

Feeling quite a good deal happier than he had before, Jamie skipped down the stairs down to the Tube station and got on Picadilly line heading north.

9.

How the fuck could it be half five already? Keeley glared her screen in silent reproach, but it stubbornly refused to change to a more reasonable hour. She’d be late for drinks with Rebecca now, although Rebecca could hardly be mad at Keeley for being so hard at work that she lost track of time.

Yawning a little, she closed her laptop and shook the tension out of her shoulders. She was proud of Sam for taking a stance, she really was, but it had created something of a professional tangle for her, and she’d spent the past five weeks trying to deal with the fallout of that and find them a new shirt sponsorship deal. She was so close to finalizing something with Bantr, and wouldn’t that be something? Show everyone that Rebecca’s trust in Keeley was completely justified.

“Hi Keeley.”

She looked up, and there was Jamie, standing in the doorway with a new Gucci jacket and a small smile.

Keeley returned the latter easily. “Hey Jamie! What are you still doing here? I thought training ended early because you have a game tomorrow.”

“It did, yeah, but I’m here to pick up Dani. He had a late session with the physios and his car is at the garage.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, yeah? That’s nice of you.”

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, but looking pleased too. “It’s nothing. Gotta be a good team mate, right?”

“Yeah.” And she smiled again, a little wider and a little softer this time.

It made her glad, that he seemed to be doing so well. They hadn’t talked much since she dropped him off in Dr. Fieldstone’s office – she’d been to busy with work to talk very much with anyone – but from what she’d seen, he’d been making a lot of progress with the team, and maybe with himself too. The swagger was still there, of course, and some of the careless arrogance, but it seemed tempered – at least sometimes – with glimmers of the other, softer Jamie, the one that she used to be the only one allowed to see.

She’d loved him for those glimmers (as well as for the sex and the pure fun that Jamie could be, when he wasn’t busy being an arsehole). She was glad others were getting the chance to witness them as well.

“You working late, then?” he asked, stepping inside and absentmindedly picking up at the pink peonies on her low cupboard. “Or are you planning Christmas presents? Bet you’re getting Roy something really cool, eh?”

Keeley frowned at the abrupt question and the unexpected – and unexpectedly friendly – mention of Roy. Jamie sounded perfectly casual, but since when had he ever been casual about Roy? Back when him and her were dating, he’d said the older player’s name with just as much venom as Roy tended to say Jamie’s now, when he deigned to mention Jamie at all. (These days, Roy made a point of pretending to be completely unaware of his existence. Sometimes Keeley got the sense that he was dying to ask her about Jamie, how he was doing, but held himself back for vague and no doubt very reasonable and not at all stupidly macho reasons.)

“I hadn’t really thought about that yet, to be honest,” she said carefully. “I’ve been really busy with work. But maybe an experience rather than a thing, you know? Not like he needs more stuff.” Maybe he needed a little bit of colour in his wardrobe, but she’d yet to convince him of that. Not that she’d tried very hard; what Roy wore was Roy’s business, and he looked fucking fit in black anyway.

Jamie nodded along as she spoke. “All right, yeah, yeah, sounds good. Maybe some concert tickets, eh? Do you know if he’s still into Sade?”

What? “I didn’t know he was into Sade.”

Jamie’s eyes widened in what she could only describe as alarm. “Oh, no, no, not me either. Well, I mean, maybe I read it somewhere. But, uh, I don’t know, it was probably someone else, anyway. Steven Gerrard, maybe. Yeah, that’s it, it was Gerrard.”

“Okay.” For a long moment, Keeley just looked at him. “Why are you asking me about Roy’s Christmas presents?” she eventually asked. Was Jamie jealous that she’d been buying Roy and not him gifts this year?

“Uh, no reason. Just making conversation, innit? And I just thought, he must be hard to shop for, ’cause he’s a grumpy old twat who hates everything.”

“Roy doesn’t hate everything! He likes loads of stuff!”

Improbably, Jamie brightened at that. ”Yeah? Like what?”

He was watching her intently, like he really, truly wanted to hear the answer.  

This was fucking odd. Keeley cocked her head to the side. “What’s going on, Jamie?” she demanded, pulling out her serious voice to let him know she wasn’t fucking around.

His hands flew up, as if in apology or submission. “Nothing! Nothing’s going on, I was just— I mean— Hey, is that Dani over there? I, uh, need to go talk to him about… about football. Yeah. And I’m taking home too, so I have to go. Give my best to Roy, yeah?” He paused, scrunching his face up as he considered what he’d just said. “No, I mean, don’t give my best to Roy. I mean, don’t give him anything. Better not mention me at all, really.“ And he flashed her a quick smile, the fluster not completely hiding the shy affection there. “Bye, Keeley.”

“Bye Jamie,” she replied uncertainly, staring after him as he scampered off. What the fuck had that been all about?

Then her eyes fell to her phone and the time on the display, and she cursed loudly. Now she was really going to be late.

10.

”Thank you, amigo! It is very kind of you to come and pick me up.”

Dani’s smile really was something else, wasn’t it? It used to piss Jamie off, the way Dani always walked around beaming like he was in the best fucking place and doing the best fucking thing, no matter where he actually was or what he was actually doing. But it had always been just a little bit disarming, too, even when Jamie was at his most prick-ish, and these days he found it impossible not to smile back when Dani looked at him and grinned like being around Jamie was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

”Don’t mention it, man,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road as he turned left on The Vineyard to reach Dani’s riverside home. “It’s no big deal.”

And it really wasn’t. Sure, Jamie had had to go back to Nelson Road instead of chilling at home and getting ready for the game tomorrow, and now he was driving around half of Richmond just to save Dani having to take a cab and potentially run into Earl loving locals with a grudge, but he found he didn’t mind. Hadn’t even really thought twice about offering, when Dani worried about it earlier in the day.

“I really think tomorrow will be a win for us,” Dani announced, and then he nattered right on, about football, about a movie he’d seen, butterflies, and the way his cubby smelled in the morning.

Jamie merely hummed and nodded. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to Dani, it was quite nice, really, but he was too distracted by his chat with Keeley and his whole Roy project to pay much attention.

Dani was fully capable of carrying a conversation all on his own, but eventually he must have noticed that Jamie didn’t contribute his fair share, because he turned to him with a small frown and asked, “Are you feeling well? You are being very quiet.”

Jamie opened his mouth to tell the other that it was nothing, he was fine, just a bit tired, yeah, but then he hesitated. He was struggling a bit with how to deal with Roy, and talking to Keeley hadn’t helped as much as he’d thought it would. Maybe Dani would have some ideas? Of all the players on the team, he was the one Jamie trusted the most not to take the piss, and not to ask any awkward or probing questions.

He still wasn’t really used to asking for help, though. It made him feel weird and vulnerable, made him want to squirm and say something sharp just to make the feeling go away.

He glanced at Dani; Dani was watching him patiently, nothing but friendly and earnest concern on his face.

All right then.

”If you want to make someone happy,” Jamie began, “but you don’t want them to know it’s you doing it and you’re not sure what they’d like, how would you do it?”

Dani lit up and gave Jamie a wink that was probably supposed to be sly. “Ooh, are you wooing a woman?”

“What? No!” Jamie made a face. He wasn’t wooing Roy, for fuck’s sake, he was just doing what the stupid universe wanted him to do so he could spend Christmas with Mummy. “There’s no woman, all right? Just this person I wanna cheer up, but without them knowing it’s me, yeah?”

”Ah, like Secret Santa?”

”Uh, I don’t know?” He considered it for a moment. “A bit like Secret Santa, yeah,” he condeded.

Jamie didn’t really get the point of Secret Santa – why spend time and money giving someone something nice if they weren’t even going to know it was from you? That was just weird, wasn’t it? But in the case of Roy he didn’t have much choice; if Roy knew the nice stuff were from him, he’d probably dump it right into the Thames. Wanker.

“You can send them gifts to their house,” Dani suggested. “Or, if you know where they are going to be, you can let one of those little airplane with big signs fly over the place with a nice message for them.”

Now they were talking! “You’d have to put their name, though,” Jamie noted. “Or they won’t know it’s for them. Don’t want any old grandma thinking it’s their message, do I.”

“People should send nice messages to old grandmas more often, though,” Dani pointed out, and yeah, all right, fair enough.

He’d been right to ask Dani for help, Jamie decided, as he pulled up by the other’s small mansion of a house. It was just a pity it hadn’t been a longer ride.

“Do you want to come inside?” Dani offered, as if on cue. “Mi madre left me some pavo navideño when she visited a few weeks ago. We usually eat it on Christmas Eve but we can heat some of it for dinner now and come up with more ideas?”

That didn’t sound half bad, actually. “Yeah, sound,” Jamie said. “Thank you,” he added after a moment’s consideration.

Dani’s smile was as brilliant as ever. “You are welcome, Jamie Tartt.”

---

When Jamie left two hours later, he had with him a container filled with Mama Roja’s properly lush stuffed turkey and a long list of really clever ideas on how to turn Roy Kent’s December into the jolliest time ever. Game on, old man. Prepare to be fucking happy.

11.

“Babe, that smells amazing!”

Keeley’s arms wrapped around him from behind, and Roy smiled, unseen. “Careful,” he told her gruffly as he took the pan of shashuka off the stove. “It’s hot.”

“Mmm, isn’t only thing that is.” She waited until he’d put the food down on the table before she slipped into his arms, claiming a kiss. “What are we having today?”

In spite of Keeley being the one with an actual time to keep in the morning, Roy was usually the first one up. Old habits, and he liked having breakfast ready for her when she came down. It made him feel useful, being able to do that for her, and the way she smiled at him over her avocado toast with scrambled eggs or peanut butter blueberry smoothie warmed him in a way not much else did lately. Or ever had, really. Roy Kent had never been what most people would call an exceedingly happy person.

Even by his low standards, though, the past six months had been fucking bleak. Losing football, even if he had always known it was coming, even if it had always been just a matter of time, was like having not only his heart but his lungs and brain and every-fucking-thing ripped out, leaving him an empty, useless shell, stumbling around the void where playing once had been. If it hadn’t been for Keeley, and maybe Phoebe, he wasn’t sure he’d still—

“It’s shakshuka,” he told Keeley. “Eggs in tomato sauce with feta cheese and spices and herbs and shit.”

“Sounds good.”

It was good. Between them they polished off the entire pan, and then Keeley kissed him goodbye and was off and Roy was left with the cleaning up and nothing much to do for the rest of the morning. In the afternoon there were a couple of games he’d watch in preparation for this week’s Soccer Saturday, but until then, he was free as a bird.

Free as a bird with a broken wing limping around on the ground and doing fuck all for either himself or anyone else.

Roy filled up the dishwasher, and took out the trash. Scrolled through his phone looking for new breakfast recipes to try. Read two chapters of The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye. Read a recap of yesterday’s La Liga games.

At least Keeley had been right about the pundit gig. It was fucking stupid, but being around football again, even in this diminished capacity, was hell of a lot better than trying to distance himself from it entirely (coaching Phoebe’s team aside). Might even have been borderline fun, if it weren’t for Cartrick’s ignorant, pointless drivel, and the fact that it regularly saw Roy subjected to both the sight and discussion of Jamie Tartt.

Ever since their bizarre run-in at Hus’, Roy had, annoyingly and in spite of his best intentions, been unable to excise Jamie from his thoughts. He didn’t give a shit about the little prick, and yet he couldn’t stop wondering what the fuck had been going on with him at the kebab shop. (Why the fuck had he left City? How the fuck had he convinced anyone at Richmond he wasn’t a total wanker anymore? When was Lasso going to realize that you couldn’t play Jamie like he was playing Jamie?)

Good fucking thing Richmond were in the Championship, which at least meant that the pundits spent way less time on their games (and certain prick players) than they would have if they still played in the League.

The doorbell rang.

“Delivery for Mr. Kent,” a chirpy young woman with a non-descript parcel in her arms called when Roy opened the door with a scowl on his face.

Roy’s eyes narrowed. Had Keeley taken to buying things online for him now? Roy sure as hell hadn’t ordered anything lately, and who else would think to have shit delivered here instead of Roy’s actual house?

“Who is it from?” he asked, but the woman just shrugged. It didn’t say.

Roy signed for the parcel, and carried it inside. He placed it on the kitchen table and stared at it for a moment. Was this some weird fan or stalker bullshit? There’s been some of that, people sending him all sorts of stuff throughout the years, but usually to the club rather than his house, and usually back when he was still with Chelsea and on top of the fucking world.

He called Keeley. “Did you buy me something online and have it sent to your place?”

“No? Why, did you get a delivery?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Talk to you later. Love you.”

He hung up. Stared at the parcel some more, and then he shrugged. Fuck it. Wouldn’t be much of a loss anyway, if it turned out to be a bomb and he was blown to bits.

Inside the parcel was a flat square box, carefully wrapped in royal blue with a white bowtie. Chelsea colours, Roy’s brain immediately supplied. Maybe it really was an old fan, who somehow hadn’t gotten the memo that Roy was fucking finished. A has-been. Just some guy named Roy.

For a moment, he was tempted to just throw the whole thing out and forget about it. But curiosity got the better of him, and he tore away the wrapping paper, to reveal…

… a jigsaw puzzle? That’s what the box proclaimed anyway, only it made no sound at all when he shook it, and the picture on it, while familiar, sure as hell wasn’t any Roy had ever seen on a jigsaw before.

And he would have seen it, had it ever been produced. It was him, long-haired and dressed in Chelsea blue, caught in the motion of scoring the prettiest goal of his career, against United back in 2014.

Roy stared at it for a long time, letting his finger trace the curve of the ball as it flew towards the goal. Then he opened the box, and found it filled with bubble wrap. Presumably someone had taken the time to use it to fill up the box, to make sure the smattering of puzzle pieces he discovered in a neat bag underneath didn’t give the surprise away. Stuck to the bag was a small, printed note, which simply read:

3000 pieces is a challenge. You as good at jigsaw puzzles as you were at playing football?

Roy snorted. Football was an art, sweat and tears and bloody hard work. How difficult could a jigsaw puzzle be?

Still, it was one hell of a gift. It must have been Keeley, right? In spite of her denying it, who else would have a, bothered to get Roy anything at all, and b, come up with something so thoughtful?

She really hadn’t sounded like she knew what he was talking about on the phone, though.

He’d save that mystery for later. Right now, he had 3000 puzzle pieces to show who was boss.

12.

It took Roy the better part of four days to finish the puzzle. To his surprise, he enjoyed it, and initially rather wished he knew whom he had to thank for the thoughtful gesture. Then things took a turn for the crazy, and he rather wished he knew whom to grab by their shirt and demand what they hell they were up to.

On Wednesday, he took Keeley out for dinner to celebrate her successful closing of the Bantr deal, and before they even had time to order, a bottle of Tattinger arrived at the table, courtesy of someone who wished “the best midfielder of all time a very nice evening (and congratulations Keeley, you’re a superstar too)!”. Roy’s increasingly loud inquiries about whom had sent it over nearly got them thrown out of the restaurant.

On Thursday unexpected sleet fell over London, covering everything in a heavy wetness that froze as temperatures fell. Roy had spent the afternoon Christmas shopping, and as he slipped and slided over the slick pavement back to his car, he was already cursing how bloody fucking difficult scraping the ice off the windshield was going to be. But when he arrived at the parking lot, it had already been taken care of, by an unseen someone who had then seen fit to scamper off and leave Roy equally disgruntled and grateful.

When Roy came back from the TV studio on Sunday someone had decked his entire front porch with Christmas lights and decorations in black and silver, with red accents. It actually looked pretty nice – which didn’t change the fact that it was an utterly bonkers thing to do.

There were other gifts as well. On Tuesday he received a bottle of Macallan from 1982, the year of his birth, and on Friday it was a gift card for a massage in a luxury spa in Mayfair. Roy considered regifting the latter to his sister, but ended up spending a fucking glorious afternoon there himself. Though he did regular physio for his knee, he hadn’t had a massage since he quit football and lost access to the Richmond therapists; it had just never occurred to him to book a private appointment. It would now.

He asked Keeley repeatedly if she wasn’t the one doing it all, but she consistenly denied it, to the point where she forbade him from asking again, urging him to talk to the police if he was concerned about a stalker.

Roy wasn’t concerned, exactly. He was confused more than anything, both about what was actually going on, and about his own feelings on the matter. There was no denying that whoever was behind this spent stupid amounts of time and money on it, and that they seemed to know a great deal about Roy; both what he might enjoy, and where he was at any given time. That was objectively creepy and weird, and Roy had found himself looking over his shoulder more than once in the past week.

At the same time, there was a part of Roy that relished the attention, and had secretly started to look forward to each day’s new surprise. It brougth a sense of excitement to his otherwise painfully dull days when Keeley was away at work.

But yeah, Roy admitted to himself as he sipped coffee and watched Phoebe skate around the ice rink in Canada Square Park on Monday, it was fucking strange too. He probably should be more concerned. Maybe he ought to—

“Uncler Roy, look!”

Phoebe had come up next to him, and was pointing up into the the grey London sky. Roy followed her outstretched finger and gave a sharp curse. Above them a small airplane flew across the park, trailing a banner reading ROY KENT YOU ARE A LEGEND behind it.

Yeah, Roy thought while handing Phoebe a quid for swearing, he absolutely ought to find out who was behind this.

13.

”All right, listen up,” Roy said, glaring down at his sister, Keeley and Phoebe on the couch in his sister’s sitting room. “I’m not kidding around, all right? If either of you are the one pulling fu— fudging Twelve Days of Christmas on me, I need you to tell me right effing now, because if it’s not you, then I need to figure out what the he— heck is going on, because this sh— stuff is getting out of hand.”

His sister raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. ”Roy, I work irregular and insane hours. I love you, but do you really think I have the time for anything like this?”

“Yeah, me too, babe,” Keeley chimed in. “And I mean, hiring a banner plane? That’s gotta be like at least a thousand quid, and you know I think you are an absolute legend, I really do, but I’m not going to spend that much money writing it across the sky. I’d much rather tell you in person.”

She would, too. Did, on a regular basis. Roy accepted her denial with a curt nod, and turned his stare on Phoebe.

“Roy,” Sophia said exasperatedly, “Phoebe is six.”

“Yes, Uncle Roy, I don’t think I could do all that.”

“Yeah, but you could have had an accomplice.”

“Roy.”

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered. But he’d had to ask, hadn’t he? Of all the people in the world, he was pretty sure Phoebe was the person most likely to want to do this kind of stuff for him, even if she didn’t quite have the means yet.

“Did you talk to Ted?” Keeley asked. “Sounds like it might be right up his alley, yeah? Always thought he’d make a great Father Christmas.”

Roy grunted. “Called him this morning. He said it wasn’t him and spouted a bunch of American nonsense at me. I think he was telling the truth.”

But who did that leave, then? Was it really just some random and insane fan? Feeling oddly deflated, Roy sat down on the couch next to Keeley, who immediately took his hand. “I’m sorry, babe,” she said. “It’s really messing with your head, huh? Not that it shouldn’t, it is fucking – sorry Phoebs – weird. And a bit creepy. Maybe you should talk to the police? Or I could talk to Rebecca, see if she has any ideas?”

”I don’t fu— I don’t know. Because I don't think they're about to take an axe to my head or anything. It’s all just so… random and thoughtful at the same time. This morning, a bunch of carollers knocked on my door but instead of Christmas songs they burst into a Sade medley!”

Unexpectedly, Keeley’s grip on his hand tightened. “Did you say a Sade medley?” she asked slowly.

Roy turned to look at her. “Yeah. Why?”

“Um,” Keeley said, looking both confused and a little worried. “This is going to sound mad, babe, but I think that maybe it’s… Jamie.”

Roy barked a laugh. Then he noticed that Keeley wasn't smiling, that there was no teasing twinkle in her eyes.

Roy stared at her. Then he stared at her. And then he stared at her some more. Then he got up at started pacing.

“What,” he said.

And: “That’s not mad, that’s so far beyond absolutely batshit crazy that if it went supernova the light from that explosion wouldn’t reach batshit crazy in a billion fucking years.”

(“That’s a quid, Uncle Roy.”)

 “Why the fuck would Jamie Tartt send me fucking gifts and decorate my porch and send fucking carollers after me?”

(“That’s another three.”)

“I knew something was up with him, it’s another fucking TV show, isn’t it, the little idiot’s signed up for another one, it’s a fucking prank, and we need to check the entire house for cameras. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to fucking strangle the muppet, I will actually fucking kill him.”

(“I think I lost count. Can we say ten?”)

“Babe,” Keeley said, rising from the couch to put a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “You need to calm down, yeah? For one, you’ll go bankrupt if you keep swearing like this around Phoebe, and for another, I— Listen, I have no clue what Jamie is up to – if it is Jamie, we don’t know that, but if it is, I don’t… I don’t think he means any harm.”

“It’s Jamie,” Roy said darkly. “Of course he means harm.” But even as he said it, he remembered the expression on Jamie’s face in the restaurant. Maybe… “What the heck is he playing at?” he asked the room at large.

“I don’t know, babe. But we’ll find out, all right?”

14.

Another fucking draw. At least they’d actually scored in this one (Obisanya 26, Tartt 74), but what good was that when they let the other team net the ball just as many times? Jamie stared morosely at his Lynx collection, trying to muster the energy to change out of his kit. He was sweaty, his hair was a mess, and his side ached dully from a nasty tackle near the final whistle; taking a shower would be heaven. But he was too tired to move.

It wasn’t so much the game that left him exhausted, even though it sure took its physical toll. The past ten days had been a mad flurry of setting up surprise after surprise for Roy, and that had involved more gift hunting, eavesdropping and secret sneaking around than Jamie had ever thought he’d get up to. Between that and football and team Christmas bonding there’d barely been time for sleeping and eating.

And after all that, he still hadn’t called Mummy. He’d tried to, every single night, but he just. couldn’t. do. it. Apparently his efforts still weren’t up to scratch, which was baffling, to be honest: how fucking sad was Roy that not even the truly fanastic stuff Jamie had pulled for him had made him happy? Christmas was only days away, and Jamie was running out of both ideas and time. Could he get Sade to actually write Roy a song… ? Might be too much, though, even if he managed to figure out how to sort it. It’d give the bugger a heart attack or something, and that would make Keeley sad and probably not count as him doing a nice thing, even if it’d be dead unfair of the universe to blame him for Roy being a frail old man.

Perhaps he could invite Dani out for another brainstorming session; it had worked a treat last time. Jamie was pretty sure that Roy had appreciated his gifts and gestures, from what peeks he’d managed to sneak of the man. Just not appreciated them enough, apparently.

It also seemed like maybe Roy was getting a tiny bit suspicious. Yesterday, he’d kept turning his head every this way and that, and sometimes stopping dead in the street and whirling around, looking a little wild-eyed. At one point Jamie had had to dive behind a couple of large rubbish bins to avoid detection. That was a pair of perfectly ripped trousers he’d never wear again.

Fuck, but he wished that—

“Jamie, are you feeling well?”

Jamie turned to look at Sam, who had stopped by his cubby, already changed and with a concerned pinch to his kind face. He looked just slightly, slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if his question would yield an answer or something sharp and snide. Jamie made an effort to smile. “Yeah, bruv, I’m sound. Just, you know, tired of not winning.

“It is disappointing. But, thanks to you it was a draw instead of a loss. And it was a very nice goal too.”

At the praise, Jamie felt his smile grow easier, more sincere. It had been a very nice goal, hadn’t it? Good of Sam to notice. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mate. And yours were great too, you know?” he added, remembering what Dr. Sharon had said about how acknowledging other people’s accomplishments did not diminsh Jamie’s own.

The way Sam’s lips curled into a wide grin, mirroring Jamie’s own, and the way the sight of it made Jamie feel warm had him thinking she was onto something there.

“Thanks, Jamie,” Sam said simply, and gave him a friendly nod before walking back to his own cubby.

Still smiling, Jamie finally began to undress.

---

Once he was showered and changed and Ted had somehow talked them all into feeling determined and hopeful rather than dejected, Jamie hefted his bag and headed for the door. On his way out he passed by Keeley and Rebecca Welton, offering a smile to the former and a polite nod to the latter.

Keeley lit up when she saw him (and fuck, but that still did things to him, didn’t it?). “Hi, Jamie,” she said. “Listen, I was wondering if you could stop by my place tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about some new tweaks to your brand, now that you’re playing again?”

Jamie perked right up at that. Talking to Keeley and discussing his brand? Fucking brilliant. Much better than spending another day trying to figure out what would possible make Roy Kent happy enough to appease the universe into letting Jamie call his mum.

He’d been working hard. He deserved a little break. Besides, hanging out with Keeley at her place might well yield some new Roy related ideas.

“Yeah, mint, yeah,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. “Or, actually, no, I can’t. The team’s doing a day trip Winchester Christmas Market after our recovery sessions. Sorry.”

He was, too. As much as he was growing to appreciate the lads and was looking forward to the trip, he’d rather spend some time with Keeley (and his brand was in sore need of some brushing up, ‘cause people were still being cunts and hung up about him walking out on City and Amy and stupid shit like that).

“Oh.” Keeley looked disappointed, which cheered him a little. “Tuesday?” she suggested.

“Sure, yeah. I mean, I’ve got training, but I could drop by after? Unless you wanna… “ He nodded towards her closed office door.

“No! I mean… No. There’s been… there’s an issue with the ventilation, yeah, it smells awful in there. Like dying animals and farts and baby vomit. Blegh. You don’t wanna go in there.”

Uh, yeah, no thank you, he sure as hell did not. Jamie made a face. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “I’ll just come by yours then?”

She nodded, looking relieved. “Great! Thank you, Jamie!”

“You’re all right.” He gave her another smile, Rebecca another nod (and noted that she for some reason seemed like she was struggling not to either roll her eyers or laugh, which was kind of rude, considering how hard Keeley worked for her and all, and she really should get Keeley’s office sorted), before heading out to his car.

So. Fun trip with the boys tomorrow – maybe he’d find something nice for Mummy and for Roy at the Christmas market – and then hanging out with Keeley the day after. So-so playing and his mummy issues aside, life wasn't so bad.

15.

Jamie stood outside Keeley’s door and pressed the bell exactly one hour and seven minutes after training ended on Tuesday. He’d have come sooner, but he’d stopped to pick up coffee for them both on the way. Seemed rude to show up empty-handed when Keeley was taking the time to help him with his brand, even if it’d been her idea.

“Hi, Jamie,” she said as she opened the door, and Jamie frowned. Keeley looked as lovely as ever in her pink Versace and with the blonde hair done up, but there was a strange edge to her smile.

“Hi, Keeley. You good, yeah?” he asked, but she just nodded and gestured for him to move into the sitting room.

The sitting room where Roy was standing by the large windows, turning around as Jamie walked in.

Jamie paused on the threshold. He hadn’t expected Roy to be here. Which, perhaps, he should have, considering how things had gone the last time Keeley invited him over to her place.

Seeing him brought a curious flutter to Jamie’s stomach. Following their encounter at the kebab shop, he’d have sworn he’d rather never say another word to Roy Kent, but spending the past week and a half doing his damnedest to secretly cheer the man up had seemingly shifted the resentment into something else and softer. After all that sneaking around and staying hidden while keeping an eye on Roy, being in the same room as him and having Roy see him made Jamie feel weird. Exposed. Charged. Little jittery.

“Hi,” Jamie decided to try, opting for cool but not unfriendly.

Roy didn’t say anything at all. He just stared at Jamie with an intensity that was kind of extreme, even for Roy.

“Okay then,” Jamie muttered, moving to sit down at the table.

He paused again, raising an eyebrow. On the table before him was the jigsaw puzzle, the bottle of whisky, and the gift card envelope. There was quite a bit missing from the bottle, Jamie noticed with a small thrill. Roy had better enjoy it; tracking it down hadn’t been easy, and it had cost more than any liquor rightly should. Jamie could probably have gotten a thousand bottles of vanilla vodka for the same price.

“Nice,” he said, nodding towards the things. So what if he was angling for some small confirmation that the gifts had been appreciated; he fucking deserved it, after all he’d been through for this grumpy twat.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roy said, his gruff voice disbelieving to the point of near-reverence. “It was you.”

“Eh?” Jamie looked up and found Roy still staring at him, but his expression had morphed into one of incredulity warring with simmering anger.

Oh. Uh. Jamie had a bad feeling about this. He hurriedly turned to Keeley, who’d followed him into the sitting room and was standing behind him, that small frown still on her face. “You wanna get started?” he asked, hoping to shift the situation away from whatever it was that Roy was so ominously on about.

“It was him the whole time.” Roy sounded like he was slowly convincing himself of the fact, and getting increasingly pissed about it. “I can’t fucking believe— “

“Keeley?” Jamie said, a little desperately. “We should get started, yeah? So, about me brand, I was thinking—“

But Keeley was shaking her head slowly, and Jamie fell silent. Fuck. This had never been about his brand, had it?

He bit his lip. He didn’t look at Roy.

Gesturing to the gifts on the table, Keeley asked softly, “Jamie, did you get these for Roy? And had his porch decorated and all the other stuff?”

He scoffed. “What? No.” He made a face, too, for good measure, because that was just a fucking ridiculous idea, wasn’t it?

Even if it was true.

Keeley fixed him with a stare he was only too familiar with. “Jamie,” she said, edging close enough to stern that it took him some effort not to shuffle his feet.

He wasn’t any good at lying to her when she looked at him like that. Besides, he knew that she wouldn’t believe him even if he tried. Neither of them would. Storming off in a huff wouldn’t help either, because they’d still know.

Nothing for it but to do what could be done to save whatever his dignity he had left.

“Fine,” he snapped. “It was me. I got Roy for Secret Santa, all right? Gone and ruined the surprise now, didn’t you.” Quick thinking, that. Jamie still felt right proud of himself. He’d always been great at coping under pressure. One of the things which made him such a brilliant penalty taker.

Roy and Keeley exchanged a look. Frustratingly and unreasonably, neither of them looked convinced.

“Jamie,” Keeley said slowly, sounding like she was trying very hard to be patient. “I helped Isaac put together the Secret Santa, yeah? Roy wasn’t even in it, ‘cause he’s not with the club anymore.”

“Yeah, you idiot,” Roy said. “So would you kindly tell me what the fuck is going on?”

He didn’t yell, but sounded like he was about two seconds away from it. Overdramatic wanker. Jamie crossed his arms over his chest, and looked away. “So I got you a gift,” he muttered. “What’s the big deal?”

“Gifts! You got me gifts! And the fucking carollers and my car, and then when Keeley and I went to the restaurant… You’ve been following me around like some kind of psycho stalker, haven’t you, you little prick, but yeah, of course you don’t see what the big deal is, because you’re too— ”

Keeley had walked over to Roy, and now put a hand on his arm, quietly urging him to calm down. He pressed his lips shut, thunderous scowl still in place.

“Yeah, Jamie,” Keeley said. “I get that you probably meant well, but it’s been a bit intense, yeah? And it’s not like you and Roy are friends, you know? So guess we just wondered what… well, what brought this on?”

Unexpectedly, Jamie felt his chest tighten. Something about the two of them, standing together on the other side of the room, and looking at him like that, Keeley with hesitant concern and Roy with derision and barely restrained anger… it hurt.

It was all just fucking shit, wasn’t it, because Jamie had tried, yeah? And sure, it’d been mostly to see his mum again, but he really had made an effort to come up with stuff Roy would actually like, and he’d spent every fucking spare minute and so much money pulling it all off and it’d all been so fucking stressful, but maybe it had been a little bit fun too, like maybe Jamie had started to get excited about doing this stuff for Roy, only now Roy was staring at him like that and Jamie’s stupid eyes were beginning to burn and fuck.

“Cat got your fucking tongue?” Roy demanded. “The hell is going on with you, Tartt? First you fuck over City to be a twat on telly, then you worm your way back into Richmond and suddenly try to make it like you haven’t just proved to the whole fucking world that you’re the prickiest prick who ever lived.”

“Roy,” Keeley said. But she didn’t say anything else.

Jamie swallowed. Looked away, and took a deep breath. Another, and felt his face fall into something familiar and safe.  

When he looked back to them, it was with lifted chin and a disdainful sneer firmly in place.

“If we’re not here to talk about me brand, I’m out,” he said coolly. “Need to prepare for the game tomorrow, ‘cause even if I am a prick and even if I did fuck over City to go on a reality show, I’m still fucking playing.” He let his voice curl into cruelty; let his eyes slowly wander over Roy to make his meaning clear. I’m playing. You are not.

Roy got the message, loud and clear, and Jamie didn’t doubt for a second the man would have lunged for him, hadn’t Keeley strategically stepped in to block his path. “Boys—“ she began, but Roy cut her off, his voice an icy snarl as he began call Jamie every vile name under the sun and detail the many, many imaginative ways he’d like to hurt him.

Jamie didn’t stay to listen. The door slamming shut behind him echoed like the sound of a bullet ripping through his chest.

16.

“And with that, it’s all over at Vicarage Road! Watford prevails 3-0 over fellow Premier League relegates Richmond, after a nowadays characteristically lacklustre performance from the Greyhounds. Jamie Tartt had Richmond’s best chance early on in the second half, but failed to capitalize on an elegant pass from Richard Montlaur, and Watford took full advantage of of the visitors’ inability to create anything truly dangerous.”

Jamie went through the motions, shaking the hands of the Watford players and hugging and patting his teammates on the back as he made his way off the pitch, but in his mind he was already back at his house, collapsing into bed and not getting up for at least ten hours. Let sleep pull him away from this fucking shitshow of a game, and the fucking shitshow that had been his visit at Keeley’s place yesterday, and the fucking shitshow that would be the upcoming holiday, because after how things had gone with Roy there was no chance in hell he’d be able to make things right with his mum.

Walking past a mirror in the visitors’ dressing room, he automatically took stock of his appearance, and would have recoiled at the sad sight if he hadn’t been too dejected to care even about that.

Jamie Tartt. The ghost of shitshows past, present and future.

“Don’t beat yourself up, boyo,” Colin said as he walked past him, likely assuming that Jamie’s look of defeat was all down to the actual defeat and the missed goal. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Yeah, evidently,” Jamie muttered, but with such a lack of conviction that it earned him a sympathetic smile and another pat on his shoulder rather than a scowl or eyeroll.

“It was very clumsy of you, but we still would have lost even if you had scored, so it doesn’t matter,” Jan Maas added, and Jamie wondered if it would really count as being a prick if he murdered Jan just a little.

“All right, boys, not gonna lie, that was a tough one, but you know—“ Ted with a rousing speech, and normally Jamie would have done his best to pay attention because that’s what the new and improved Jamie did, and because Ted’s speeches, long and confusing as they sometimes were, actually did tend to leave him feeling better.

But today he just couldn’t seem to keep focus on the gaffer’s friendly drawl, no matter how hard he tried, and he soon gave up. Sat down on the floor and let the words turn into background noise, shapless static, until the silence told him it was time to get up, get changed, get out.

The journey home was a silent affair, a far cry from their ride to Winchester the other day. It had started rowdy and only gotten worse as Declan brought out the hot toddy that his wife had made, and Jan brought out the bisschopswijn that he had bought, and Richard declared that both drinks were sinful waste of good wine and brought out four bottles of a very long French name that Jamie couldn’t remember.

Isaac had only let them have one sip of each offering, because “gonna be lots of little kiddies at the market, so we’re going to fucking behave, yeah”, but that had been plenty to warm them, and they’d descened upon the pitoresque market in an abundance of high spirits and good cheer.

Jamie had found his Mummy a nice blanket, and Roy a boxset of novels in an old bookshop that Sam convinced them to go into. (Well, he hadn’t found the set, Tom had, picking it up and asking, “hey, wasn’t this the guy Roy was obsessed with last year? I sat next to him on the ride to the Sheffield game and he was reading this book he just woulnd’t shut up about. Don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk that much before”, but it had been Jamie who quietly snuck back to the store after the others have moved on to the hot chocolate stall and bought the set.)

Fat lot of good that would do him now.

Jamie picked up his phone and started scrolling down his Twitter feed, hoping for something to distract him from the dull ache in his chest. Not a great idea, as it turned out; him fumbling that goal hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed. To make matters worse, City had won their game against Crystal Palace 3-0, and some industrious little twat had put together a stupid fucking video of Jamie scoring for City last season, him missing his shot today, a reaction shot of him as Watford scored, and City’s celebration of their win at Selhurst Park. imagine going from that to this just coz u wanna eat pussy on tv lmao, the caption read.

Jamie traced his thumb over the skyblue figures jumping and hugging each other as Pep walked among them, handing out cuddles and bum pats. De Bruyne had Paddy in a playful headlock, shouting something jubilant in his ear. Champions, well on the way to securing their fourth League title in a row.

That had been Jamie, just half a year ago. Could have been him still, if only—

But if he’d still been at City, he wouldn’t have had Dani leaning against his shoulder and soring gently as they turned onto Nelson Road. There’d have been no trip to Winchester. And – and that was the only thing that fucking mattered in the end, wasn’t it? –  if he’d still been at City, his phone would be blowing up with calls and messages from Dad right about now, and the mere thought of it was enough to turn his stomach.

As if on cue, his phone started buzzing, startling him badly enough that he almost disloged Dani from his shoulder. “Sorry, amigo,” Jamie murmured, receiving a sleepy mumble in response, as he glanced at the screen.  

Keeley, again. She’d tried calling him last night, and sent a couple of messages, but he’d let the call go to voicemail, ignored the voicemail, and the messages too.

It’d been fucking stupid of him to think she really wanted to help him with his brand, he supposed. He should talk to her, probably. Just to… Well. He didn’t know. Something.

Jamie declined the call. The coach came to a halt. He went home.

---

Two hours later, after he had dutifully eaten an nutritionst approved frozen meal and almost dozed off in front of Q&A, Jamie was jolted awake by a loud, insistent banging on his front door.  

He sat, blinking and scowling towards the hall. Had Roy decided to come calling and yell at him some more? Jamie was not in the mood for that. If he just ignored it—

“Jamie! I know you’re in there, I saw your poncy car out front! Not gonna leave me out here in the cold, are you? Jamie!”

Jamie’s stomached dropped.

It wasn’t Roy. It was Dad.

17.

Roy wasn’t stupid: as he parked his car next to Jamie’s ugly Aston Martin on the drive outside what Higgins had reluctantly revealed to be Tartt’s home, he knew fully well that this might not be a great idea. He’d even promised Keeley that he’d let her be the one to reach out to Jamie, “because obviously it was a mistake thinking the two of you could talk this through like adults”, but the little prick had dodged her calls all day and now Keeley was doing some mingle thing with other PR people downtown and Roy had tried to let it go, he had, but he was slowly going out of his mind, so. Here he was.

What the fuck was going on with Jamie Tartt? It was a question Roy had not thought he’d need to bother with after he quit playing, but he’d been proved wrong again and again in the past two weeks, hadn’t he, and ever since Jamie was revealed as his secret benefactor/pranker, it had not left him a moment’s peace. What the fuck was going on with Jamie Tartt, and why would he bother messing with Roy now that Roy was yesterday’s news? Jamie might be a world class prick but surely he had better things to do, and easier marks if he wanted to make someone miserable?

And even if he did want to mess with Roy, getting Roy a bunch of expensive and thoughtful gifts seemed a fucking odd way to do it. Yes, realising it had been Tartt behind if after Roy – stupidly, pathetically – started getting a little fucking invested in and excited about the whole thing had been a proper and unexpected punch to the gut. Had felt like a trick, because what else could it be? It was Jamie Tartt! And with the way he acted so weirdly cagey about it when confronted and then especially when he slipped right back into being the biggest cunt in existence, bragging about the game he was about to play while Roy—

Even thinking about it now had Roy’s jaw hurting for the way he was clenching it. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. Because the point was… once Roy had had some time to calm down and think about it properly, he was forced to admit (reluctantly, and at Keeley’s insistence) that it didn’t fucking make sense.

Sure, Jamie had always been clever about zeroing in on people’s weaknesses and insecurities, as accurate with his digs as he was with a ball on the pitch, but there was no way he could have figured out that the once mighty Roy Kent was now enough of a moping little bitch that the mere idea of someone still finding him worthy of this kind of attention would have him – or at least part of him – giddy like a fucking child. Jamie couldn’t have planned the icy, numbing hurt that spread through Roy when he thought he’d been played for a fool, that all of it had been nothing but Jamie Tartt having having a laugh while climbing his way back up to the top of the footballing world. It had taken Roy by surprise, for fuck’s sake.

And then there was that moment, just one tiny short instant, right before Jamie opened his big fat mouth and Roy saw red, when there’d been something else on the younger player’s face. He’d looked… Well, if Roy didn’t know better he would have said on the brink of tears, but that was just fucking nuts, wasn’t it?

Then again, this whole thing was. Nuts, and bewildering to the point of driving Roy mental, which was why Roy was here, getting out of his car and walking up to Jamie’s bricked two-storey house, instead of hoovering Keeley’s kitchen and then having yesterday’s leftovers in front of the telly.

It was a surprisingly modest building, surrounded by a wall and winter-bare trees and bushes, and with some of kind of evergreen – too thick and bushy to be ivy – climbing part of façade. Expensive as fuck, of course, given its location in the actual village of Richmond, but cosier than what Roy would have thought expected Tartt to go for. The lights were on inside, and thank fuck for that. It would have been a pain in the arse if Jamie wasn’t home and Roy had to track him down.

Roy raised his fist to bang on the door, but paused at the sound of muffled shouting carrying  through the heavy wood. Someone in there was clearly in a very bad mood, and though he couldn’t quite make out the words, Roy was pretty sure it wasn’t Jamie. The voice was deeper, more ragged.

Before Roy could decided whether to knock anyway, there was a dull thumd and a loud crash, followed by the sound of glass shattering.

Roy forgot about knocking; he pushed the door open.

18.

The door swung open to reveal a knocked over side table, a smashed lamp on the floor, and Jamie Tartt sprawled next to it, bleeding from one hand. Over him stood a man Roy didn’t recognise. He was short, with unkempt grey curls and a wild beard.

He was also drunk, Roy noted, as the man turned toward him. Steady enough on his feet, but his gaze was slightly unfocused, and the smell of stale beer unmistakable.

“You expecting visitors— “ the man began to drawl, but then his eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, Roy Kent, is it, didn’t expect to see you making house calls to old teammates, but I guess you have a lot of free time on your hands now, eh?” He looked down on Jamie, adding, “Get up, Jamie, no need to lay around like a little bitch just ‘cause you took a tumble, I taught you better than that.“ He turned back to Roy, shaking his head in mock-commiseration. “Footballer, and can’t even stay on his feet. Might be why you lost so badly today, eh, son? Your balance’s gone to shit now that you’re faffing around with a bunch of amateurs instead of a real team.”

Roy stared at the man with mounting disbelief and disgust, then turned his gaze on Jamie, who was unsteadily climbing to his feet. The look on his face shocked Roy far more than the signs of a scuffle had; he’d never imagined that Jamie could look so fucking small; curled in on himself, pale, and with downcast eyes, like a child awaiting punishment.

Like a child. Son.

Roy jerked his head toward the drunk. “This your father?” he asked, surprised at how level he sounded.

Jamie’s eyes flitted to the man, then quickly down again. He gave a small nod.

“Uh-huh. You want him here?”

“Hey now, Kent, you’ve no business— “

“Not talking to you.” Roy cut him off with a curt gesture, eyes still trained on Jamie. “Tartt, do you want him here?”

Jamie didn’t say anything; didn’t nod his head yes or shake it no. But he looked up at Roy and in his face there was such resigned hopelessness that it hit Roy like a punch to the gut.

Roy nodded once. “Right.” And before Jamie’s father had time to react, he grabbed hold of him and dragged him towards the door, ignoring the flailing arms and the kicks and the yelling, and tossing him down the step with enough force that the man fell flat on the gravel, hopefully cutting his ugly mug on the pebbles as he went. Roy shut and locked door on his cursing and threats, and turned back to Jamie, who hadn’t moved.

“The fuck happened here?” Roy asked. “You all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, good, yeah,” Jamie said, sounding slightly dazed as he cradled his injured hand with his good one. “Fell. Knocked the table over, cut my hand on the lamp, but I’m good. Yeah.”

Like hell you are, Roy thought, and might have said if they weren’t interrupted by a loud banging on the door. “Jamie, you open this fucking door, you hear me! Kent, I don’t care who you think you are, you posh southern twat, I’ll still—“

Roy stopped listening. “He got a key?” he asked Jamie, who had started violently at the sound of his father’s assault on the door.

“No.”

“Good. Let him tire himself out, then. Or you want me want to call the police?”

Jamie’s eyes widened at that. “No! No, just… don’t do that. Don’t call the police.”

“All right.” He’d have offered to knock the bastard out, but an unconscious man on the porch might cause all sorts of annoying questions; Roy knew that from personal experience. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. “Come on then, let’s have a look at that,” he said, gesturing toward Jamie’s hand. “This the kitchen through here?”

Had anyone told Roy that there’d come a day when he’d find Jamie Tartt not talking back concerning, he’d have laughed them right in their idiot face, but as Jamie silently followed him into what indeed turned out to be a kitchen and obediently took out a first aid kit and then sat down when Roy asked him to, he was just that: concerned, and not a little thrown off-kilter by the turn his impromptu visit had taken. 

There were two cuts on Jamie’s hand, neither of them deep, and Jamie didn’t protest when Roy quickly cleaned them out and put plasters on them. Just sat there, hand held out, letting Roy do whatever he wanted.

Fucking disconcerting didn’t even begin to describe it.

“There,” Roy said when he was satisfied with his efforts. “He got you anywhere else?”

Jamie stirred at that, shifting uncomfortably. “He didn’t— He just shoved me, like. Hit the wall, tripped on me feet and knocked over the table. Fucking clumsy,” he added, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Oi,” Roy said sharply, then pressed his lips together tightly when Jamie flinched. “Fuck. Sorry. You’re a lot of things, Jamie, but you’re not clumsy. This wasn’t your fucking fault.”

Which might have been a hasty conclusion, perhaps, given Jamie’s general propensity for starting fights and the number of time Roy himself would have been more than happy to shove – and do more than shove – Jamie, but given what he’d seen of Jamie’s father, and given what he saw of Jamie now, Roy did not doubt for a second that he had this right. Whatever had gone down, it hadn’t been on Jamie. And hadn’t been the first time either.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, softly. Too softly to sound convinced.

In the quiet that followed, Roy noted that the banging on the door had stopped. Which was a fucking relief, of course, but it also made the silence between them a tangible, thorny thing, stretching out painfully and awkwardly as Roy wondered what the hell to do now. He could  clean out wounds and put plasters on them, sure, and he was fucking brilliant at getting rid of deadbeat fathers, but as for what came after… He wasn’t great with words at the best of times, wasn’t any good at offering comfort – and it wasn’t like him and Jamie were friends. Up until yesterday, and if Roy had been a dramatic arsehole, he would have gone so far as to call them enemies. Yet here he was, in Jamie Tartt’s kitchen, trying to think of one single useful thing to say or do; anything that might draw the loud, obnoxious, swaggering Jamie he knew (and loathed) out of this slumped, muted version of the man.

”He show up here a lot?” he asked eventually, mostly for something to say.

“No.” Jamie’s voice was still much too quiet, but at least he was responding. “He lives up in Manchester.”

Roy remembered a confession made around a sacrificial fire. Bragging about me scoring goals. Calling me soft if I don’t dominate.

“He pissed about the missed goal?” he hazarded. He hadn’t watched the game, but heard enough about it from Keeley to know it hadn’t been Richmond’s, or Jamie’s, finest hour.

But Jamie shook his head. He was fiddling with the plasters on his hand, eyes averted. “Not really. Doesn’t give a shit if I’m not playing for City, does he. Was in town for their game against Palace, decided to drop by.” A small, unhappy shrug, and quick, almost furtive look in Roy’s direction. “Wanted to know what I was getting him for Christmas. Since I’m rich and all.”

“Broken bones and a fucking restraining order if he shows his fucking face here again,” Roy said grimly. When Jamie didn’t react other than to hunch his shoulders, Roy’s eyes narrowed in realisation. “He’s coming back, isn’t he? Bring some mates, wait ‘til I’m gone?” Yeah, Roy knew the fucking type.

A shrug from Jamie, one that said yes.

Roy made a disgusted noise – but at least this meant that there was something he could actually do.

“All right,” he said, straightening from the counter he’d been leaning on. “Let’s go, then.”

Jamie didn’t stir from his chair, just looked up at Roy with a mix of confusion and suspicion. “Why? Where are we going?”

“My place. You’re coming with me.”

“Why?” Sharper this time. More like the normal Jamie.

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Because if your arsehole father is planning a grand return, you not being here when that happens sounds like great fucking idea to me.”

Colour rose in Jamie’s cheeks. “None of your business, though, is it,” he snapped. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Roy. I don’t need anything from you.”

He definitively sounded a lot more like himself, to the point where Roy had to actively fight the urge to snap back. It was far easier than it once would have been though; easier to forgive the rudeness when the shame it was meant to hide was still plain on Jamie’s face.

“You think Keeley’d let me hear the end of it if I left you here alone, knowing that that piece of shit might be coming back?” Roy asked, carefully making sure he kept his voice light and dry. Then he sighed, holding a hand up in surrender. “Listen, I’m not going to make you stay with me if you don’t want to, but you’re not staying here either. I can drop you off at Ted’s or… or fucking Isaac’s, if you’d rather. Take you to Keeley’s and bugger off myself, even. Just… fucking come with me, Jamie. Please.”

In the back of his mind, some small part of Roy was wondering how the fuck he, in the span of 24 short hours, had gone from genuinely wanting to smash Jamie’s teeth in to feeling really fucking desperate that the other should accept his help.

He’d need to think on that, probably. Later.

Jamie mumbled something. Roy frowned. “What?”

“I said, your place is fine.” He glanced up at Roy, and tried for a weak, wobbly smirk. “Hear the porch looks dead good.”

Roy barked a short, surprised snort of a laugh. “Was done up by a fucking lunatic, but yeah, I guess it isn’t half-bad.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

This time, when Jamie went without further protests, it felt like a victory.

---

The drive back to Chelsea was slow, and quiet. When they stopped for a red light, Roy glanced over at Jamie, who hadn’t said a word since he got in the car, and bit back a low, startled curse.

Jamie was crying soundlessly, silent tears running down his cheeks while he stared straight ahead into nothing.

Roy felt a rush of panic course through him. What the fuck was he supposed to do? His first instinct, which was to offer a gruff get yourself together, Tartt would not – of that he was very sure – serve. But what else was there?

Keeley would know what to do. She was great at this emotional shit. Wasn’t scared of a few tears.

Keeley wasn’t here.

It has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.

Keeping his eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, Roy reached out – slowly, carefully – to put his other hand on Jamie’s neck. Jamie was tense under his palm, but didn’t shy away from the touch.

Roy squeezed, once, briefly. “You’ll be all right,” he murmured.

19.

Keeley grabbed a third glass of cava from the tray of a passing waiter, and took a slow sip while she surveyed the room. It was brilliant, this; she was glad she’d come. When Celia, her contact at Bantr, suggested she attend the event to “meet a few people, do some networking” Keeley had felt as nervous as she did excited, with some small, insecure part of her fearing that the other guests would dismiss her as a fraud; an upstart; an ex-model wannabe PR guru.

But everyone she’d met had been perfectly nice and respectful and interested, and had treated her just like a real PR consultant.

Which was only fair. She was a real PR consultant. She’d proved that, too, by setting up several meetings with people who might be interested in sponsoring Richmond, or using the players in their campaigns. All in all, a damned good night’s work, if she did say so herself. (Rebecca had also said it, rather more eloquently and with a staggering number of exclamations points, whenever Keeley rushed off to the loo to text her the good news.)

It might have been a perfect night, Keeley thought, if it hadn’t been for her nagging concern over Jamie (and over Roy, who’d been doing better since he started the pundit gig, but who still struggled to adjust to life outside of the pitch and had taken the whole Secret not-Santa Jamie affair surprisingly hard).

She’d convinced Roy to let her be the one to reach out to Jaime after yesterday’s ill-fated confrontation, but so far Jamie hadn’t returned either her calls or her texts. Well, he hadn’t half an hour ago, at any rate—

Keeley picked up her phone to check, but there was nothing from Jamie. From Roy, however, she had several messages. She opened the conversation, and felt her eyes widen as she read:

Something’s come up and I’m heading back to my place.

Can you come?

I’m bringing Jamie.

Keeley blinked at the screen, and then blinked at it again. The message still said the same thing, compelling her to type out a not entirely unserious reply in a vain attempt to ease her sudden sense of foreboding.

in a body bag?

Roy’s response was immediate.

We’re not fighting.

But he’s a mess and I need your help with him.

Sorry, I know you’ve got that mingle thing.

But can you come?

“Fucking hell,” Keeley muttered, but she was already draining her glass and walking toward the exit. What the fuck was Roy doing with Jamie after they’d agreed it was better if Keeley were the one to talk to him? And why was Jamie a mess if him and Roy weren’t fighting?

And, most importantly of all, how long would the “not fighting” bit last?

She had better get there fast.

---

As it turned out, she must have been closer to Roy’s house than Roy was, or else her Lyft driver was better at navigating London traffic, because Keeley arrived at Tregunter Road before Roy did. She’d no more than let herself in, though, before the door opened again behind her and Jamie, immediately followed by Roy, stepped inside.

Keeley gave a little gasp at the sight of Jamie. There was a small bruise and cut on his forehead, and his eyes were suspiciously red and puffy. Keeley looked to Roy, who hastily shook his head. “Wasn’t me, babe. His arsehole dad stopped by.”

“I fell,” Jamie muttered. He sounded sullen, but the way he was fidgeting with his sleeves suggested nerves or embarrassment rather than resentment.

“He fell because his arsehole dad shoved him,” Roy elaborated.

“Oh.” Jamie hadn’t told her all that much about his dad when they were together, but from what little she’d gained, arsehole sounded about right. She hadn’t known it came with shoving, though. Or worse. “Hey, babe,” she said, walking up to Jamie and reaching out to gently brush a few strands of loose hair out of his eyes, coaxing him to look at her. “You doing all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just… I mean, things with me dad, they’re a bit shit, but I’m fine, you know. It’s just scratches, this, it’s nothing.” He gestured toward his forehead. There were plasters on his hand, she noticed, and was surprised by how angry the sight of them made her feel. Angry, and heartbroken for the deprecating, resigned way by which he brandished them.

Jamie must have seen some of it on her face, because his weak attempt at a smile faded entirely, and he drew back a little, averting his eyes. Keeley’s heart twinged in sympathy.

“Oh, Jamie,” she said, and then, without really thinking about it, she drew him into a tight hug. After a moment of hesitation, he went willingly, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. He was warm against her, solid in the same way Roy was solid, but unlike Roy he gave himself completely over to the hug, melting into her touch as she ran her hand over his back.

“We’ve got you, babe,” Keeley murmured into his hair. It smelled just the way she remembered it, clean and sweet with spicy notes of fennel leaf and eucalyptus from his Aesop shampoo.

It stirred something within her, that smell, and the feeling of his familiar body pressed against her. She smiled, a little ruefully. Pavlovian.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Roy said behind them. “You two get comfortable on the couch.”

So Roy wanted a moment to himself but wanted her to stay with Jamie, then. Fair enough. Keeley wouldn’t have minded the chance to talk to Roy in private, get some more details on what the hell was going on, but she could see why he’d think keeping an eye on the younger man might be a good idea; though subdued, there was a skittishness to Jamie that rather gave the impression he might bolt if left to his own devices.

“Yeah, that sounds good, doesn’t it, Jamie?” she said, releasing him from the hug but putting a hand on his arm to steer him toward the sitting room. “Come on, it’s right through here. And I swear, even though it looks like it’s made for people who hate to feel good, Roy’s couch is actually really comfortable.”

Granted, she hadn’t spent too much time on it, as they tended to stay over at hers rather than Roy’s, but there’d been enough evenings curled up in front of a show while Roy made her dinner in what he termed “a properly stocked kitchen” for her to have brought a few pillows (in shades of grey and dark purple, in deference to the black leather) and a huge, soft, pink blanket (in deference to Keeley’s own happiness). (Roy had narrowed his eyes at the blanket, but hadn’t made any protests.)

Keeley sat down, patting the cushion right next to her. Jamie obediently took his assigned seat, and she didn’t hesitate to tug him closer, until he was leaning on her with his head resting on her shoulder. As she began to run her fingers through his hair, noticing how much longer the strands were than the last time she did this, he gave a shuddering little sigh.  

Jamie had always loved to be held.

They sat like that for a while, talking quietly about a bit of this and that, Armani’s new line and Keeley’s job, while the tension slowly but surely left Jamie and he grew more and more relaxed against her—until the sound of steps in the hallway announced Roy’s imminent arrival.

Jamie made to sit up, seemingly concerned about the other man walking in on him half-draped over his girlfriend, but Keeley tightened her grip to hold him in place. Roy had asked her here to help with Jamie; he could hardly object to her doing just that.

As it were, Roy didn’t bat a lid. “Didn’t know if you took milk,” was all he said as he put the tea tray down on the coffee table.

“Uh, yeah, usually, yeah, but it’s fine without.”

Roy didn’t respond, but added a splash of milk from a small jug to one of the cups and handed it to Jamie, and then gave Keeley another before joining them on the couch.

Jamie lifted his mug to his lips, only to immediately lower it again after the first tentative sip. “There’s sugar in this,” he said accusingly, looking at Roy like he suspected the man of trying to poison him.

Roy looked… slightly embarrassed, Keeley noted with some interest and some amusement. “It’s supposed to be soothing, you prick,” he growled, but without any real heat. “My grandad used to make it like that when I was upset. Your next game isn’t until Saturday anyway, one cup of sweet tea won’t do much damage.”

“Oh. All right.” Jamie tried the tea again. “It’s good,” he allowed. “Thanks. And,” he added hesitantly after a moment, “thanks for, you know, doing this. Letting me be here. I never… I mean, you didn’t have to do that, and I know you were upset about the gifts and all that.”

Keeley looked up, meeting Roy’s eyes over Jamie’s head. He looked uncertain, which was a rare but not altogether unpleasant look on his handsome face. He didn’t say anything but gave her a little nod, go on.

“We weren’t upset, Jamie,” Keeley began, but paused as Jamie snorted and Roy rolled his eyes. “Okay, so Roy was a little upset,” she amended. “But mostly because we were confused, yeah? You never got along with Roy and suddenly you’re doing all these really nice things for him and not telling anyone about it and that’s sweet, you know, but it’s also really fucking weird.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was a bit mad I guess, yeah.”

He sounded more sheepish about it than upset, and Keeley smiled. “Little bit, yeah,” she agreed. Then she sobered. ”And I’m sorry things got weird the other day. I just thought it’d be good for us to talk things through, you know? But, I shouldn’t have tricked you into coming over to my place like that, making you think we’d be working on your brand. We could still do that later, if you want.”

At that, he twisted his head to look at her, a small, hopeful smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun.” It would too. Her skills had developed considerably since the last time she’d helped him with his PR, and there was no denying that she felt a tiny, professional thrill at the thought of finding out just what she might accomplish with Jamie Tartt now that she was a bit more experienced. And God knew his brand could do with some polishing, after the Lust Conquers All debacle.

For the first time that night, Jamie’s grin was undiminshed and genuine. “Mint.”  

“Great! We’ll set something up for after New Year’s, then. A proper meeting this time, I promise. Before that, though… think you can explain it to us, babe? About the gifts?”

He looked away from her. For a long time he didn’t answer, just played with his rings while considering, and sneaking the occasional glance at Roy.

Thankfully, Roy kept quiet.

“Yeah,” Jamie said eventually. “Yeah, all right.”

20.

Roy didn’t have a very high opinion of people in general. He didn’t expect much of humanity as a whole. He was aware that some people might call him a misanthrope (though that was fucking unfair, because it wasn’t that he didn’t like other people, it was that most other people persisted in being fucking idiots and why the fuck should he waste his time on fucking idiots of he didn’t have to?). Given that, it was something of a mystery to him how he still could be continually surprised by the utter absurdity of the things people got up to. Especially if the person in question was Jamie Tartt, because if something was stupid and/or pointless, Roy fully expected Jamie to be all for it. (Though perhaps, he allowed, there were depths to Tartt he hadn’t considered before. Sides he hadn’t seen, and mightn’t necessarily hate.)

Yet here he was, fucking perplexed by what he’d just been told, seemingly in all earnestness, by the little tosser still wrapped in Keeley’s arms.  

“You wanted to make me happy,” he said flatly. “Because the universe sent you a dream that that’s what you had to do if you wanted to see your mum.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Keeley interjected, shooting Roy a warning look. He rolled his eyes at her, because excuse him for being a tiny bit baffled by this batshit logic.

But he also subsided, because none of them needed this to turn into another shouting match.

“I think it’s sweet,” Keeley repeated firmly, turning her attention back to Jamie. “And I believe the universe does send us signs sometimes. But babe, do you think that maybe you got a little caught up in the doing good stuff bit, and forgot about what it really was you were trying to achieve?”

”Yeah,“ Roy agreed quickly, feeling that on this at least he had some relevant thoughts. “Jesus Christ, Tartt, if you want to make things right with your mum, you need to talk to your mum. Mucking around with other people – sending secret gifts and shit – is just putting it off and getting you nowhere.” He crossed his arms and gave Jamie a pointed look. “You need to stop making excuses about what the universe fucking wants you to do and go see your mum.”

“Yeah,” Jamie murmured, pulling at the hem of his hoodie. “I… I know that, all right? I know. But, I just thought… I mean, it’s… it’s fucking hard, okay? So I thought that maybe, if I, you know, if I could tell her that it was all okay now, that I’d made nice with everyone, then she’d… I thought it’d be easier, like.”

Something small and soft in his voice, causing Roy’s bemused irritation to melt away (and alarmingly quickly too, which was irritating all on its own). “And you thought getting me a bottle of whisky would make everything right between us, did you?” he asked drily, mostly to cover the entirely unreasonable surge of… not affection, but something a whole lot gentler than the active dislike he’d reserved for the other until today.

“Mate, that whisky cost more than your watch,” Jamie informed him haughtily, sounded for a moment rather like his usual self. “It was right hard to get hold of, too. Had to get the year of your birth, right, you even notice that? And besides,” he added before Roy had time to answer, in a far more plaintive voice, “You wouldn’t talk to me. I fucking tried, remember? Was dead polite about it and all, but you were a mean cunt just like always—“

“Oi! Don’t call me a mean cunt when you’re sat on my fucking couch and cuddling my girlfriend, you twat.”

“Uh, then don’t call me a twat—“

“Boys,” Keeley said sternly. “We were having a decent time here, yeah? Don’t go ruining it with your testosterone.”

“Sorry, Keeley,” Jamie immediately offered, the little suck-up. Roy gave him a sardonic look – since when did Jamie apologise for anything? – but kept quiet. Keeley did have a point, didn’t she?

His restraint was rewarded by a warm but knowing smile from Keeley and a mouthed thank you, even as she resumed running her hand through Jamie’s hair. Jamie hummed happily and snuggled even closer, his earlier concern about Roy’s reaction to Keeley holding him apparently forgotten.

And it was odd, because Roy should have thought he’d be jealous, given how worked up he’d been over Keeley’s past with Jamie back when he first started fancying her. And maybe he was, just a bit (because Keeley looked stunning and he hadn’t kissed her since this morning and it would be pretty fucking lovely to just hold her for a moment), but mostly the sight of them, with Jamie curled up against Keeley like a cat and looking unguardedly relaxed, made him feel… He didn’t quite know. Warm, maybe. Protective. Something in him ached, but not in a bad way.

”It never was about me, was it?” he mused aloud. “The gifts, the fucking plane and carollers, it was just something you had to do to make things right with your mum?” That ached too, unexpectedly; in a bad way.

Jamie scrunched up his face. “No. I mean, yeah, yeah, of course it was, in the beginning, but like… it was about you too, especially in the end? I liked knowing I did something nice for you, yeah? Like, I could make Roy Kent feel good and that made me feel good, you know?”

Oh. Yeah. Roy did know all about how sometimes making others feel good was the only way you could feel even remotely good about yourself. He just hadn’t thought that be something he’d ever have in common with Jamie Tartt of all people, or that Roy’s well-being would ever be of any concern to Jamie’s.

“And you did… “ Jamie sounded fucking shy, although he tried to mask it by pretending to inspect his nails very carefully. “I mean, you did, right? Like it? Some of it?”   

Roy’s first instinct was to say not, because… Well. Because. But looking at Jamie and seeing the way he was trying so hard to appear casual while sneaking little peeks at Roy while waiting for an answer, he found that he didn’t have the heart for it.

“The plane was a little over the top,” he finally allowed with a sigh. “But other than that, yeah, Jamie, I fucking liked it.”

21.

Maybe he was dreaming again, Jamie thought. Kind of had to be, because how likely was it that he would actually be chilling in the home of Roy – Roy Kent! – while Keeley – best and kindest and sexiest Keeley! – let him lean on her and kept running her fingers through his hair in that way she knew that he loved?

It felt real, though. Felt nice and warm and a little float-y, a far fucking cry from the sickening shame and fear of the early evening when Roy had rushed in like some knight in shining armour to chuck Dad out. And it’d been fucking humiliating to have Roy – Roy Kent! – see Jamie like that, fucking shivering and dumb and then crying just from a few nasty words and a shove, but there’d been relief in it as well.

Someone knew, and the world hadn’t ended. Someone had seen, and hadn’t walked away, or called Jamie a pussy for letting his dad talk to him like that, push him around like that.

Roy had cleaned out his wounds instead, and brought him home.

It was weird, the way a day that had started so badly and only gotten worse could somehow turn into what might be one of the best evenings of Jamie’s life. A proper Christmas miracle, like.

“Which one was the best?” Keeley asked suddenly, breaking Jamie out of his revere.  

“Eh?”

“Best adaptation of A Christmas Carol. Deciding that is what led to all this, right,”—she indicated the three of them—“so I just wondered which one was the best.”

“The Muppet Christmas Carol,” Roy said before Jamie even had time to open his mouth. “It’s not even a contest.”

Jamie shrugged. ”We didn’t watch that one.”

Roy’s head snapped toward Jamie. “What?” he asked, sounding as baffled as he did furious.  “The fuck do you mean you didn’t watch that one?”

“Um, that we didn’t? We, like, all voted on which ones to see, and that one didn’t make the cut, so.”

“Fucking Ted,” Roy muttered, looking genuinely upset. “How the fuck is he going to get you back to the Premier League if he can’t even make calls as easy as that. Jesus Christ.”

“Maybe you should come on as coach,” Jamie suggested innocently. “Make sure we don’t miss any other important movies.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Roy said. “And we’re watching The Muppet Christmas Carol right now. Can’t fucking believe I was haunted by the ghost of Christmas pricks and he hasn’t even seen the only relevant version.” He stood up from the couch. “I’m getting a beer, you want anything?”

At Keeley’s wine for me, please and Jamie’s a beer’d be mint, cheers mate Roy gave a short nod and disappeared to the kitchen.

“I wasn’t being a dick,” Jamie told Keeley confidentially. “I mean, I was, but I think he’d be dead good as a coach. Ted and Beard and Nate, they’re all great, but we could use someone who actually knows what it’s like to play the game, do you know what I mean?”

“I know! He’d be so good at it! And I know he really, really misses football, even though he doesn’t want to admit it. I could hardly get him to try the pundit gig, though, so I’m not sure what’d convince him to start coaching, even if Ted, or someone, asked. He’s so fucking stubborn.”

“Thick-headed twat,” Jamie agreed, though the snark was tinged with a fondness he hadn’t expected to ever feel for Roy, not since the first time he actually met the man and he proved to be a massive cunt. But maybe Jamie had been just a little bit hasty in his judgment last year. He wasn’t always right, after all, as surprising as that would be to people.

Roy returned with the drinks, pausing with narrowed eyes as they both swivelled to look at him.

“Were you talking about me?” he demanded.

“No,” Keeley said, guiltily.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, not guiltily at all. Roy was a thick-headed twat; the fact that he was also weirdly sweet and kind of like a super hero or some shit didn’t change that.

“Uh-huh. I was thinking we should order some food too. Indian fine with you?”

Indian was fine with everyone. Roy promised to get Keeley her “usual”, told Jamie which items would work best with his meal plan, and called in the order. Then he returned to his corner of the couch, and he didn’t say anything about it, but Jamie noticed the furtive and decidedly longing look he shot Keeley.

Keeley must have noticed it to, because she gave Jamie’s shoulder a little pat. “Come on, sweetie, let’s switch it up a little, eh? I think Roy is starting to feel left out.”

“I’m not—“ Roy began, but Jamie was already moving, scrambling to his feet while he felt his cheeks heat up and his heart freeze. The fuck had he been thinking? That he could just stay like this, getting all cosy with Keeley while Roy sat alone in the corner? And after making them spend the entire evening looking after him when they were probably just dying to get some time alone, too. Fucking stupid. Selfish.

“I can go if you want,” he hastily offered. “I mean, I should probably go, right? Yeah. But, like, it’s been great, so thanks, uh, thanks for having me.”

“Jamie, no,” Keeley said, looking distressed. “That’s not—“

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve seen the movie,” Roy added firmly. “Fact is, you should probably stay the night, just in case your piece of shit dad decides to drop in on you again.”

“He probably went home already,” Jamie admitted reluctantly. He really wasn’t keen on going back to his empty house and the broken glass still on the floor, especially if the alternative was a sleepover at Roy Kent’s, but it felt like a bad thing, lying about his dad just so they’d let him stay. “Or is about to, anyway. Too cheap for a hotel if I’m not paying for it, ain’t he. Him and his mates usually takes the last regular train back to Manchester.”

“All right.” Roy kept staring at him, gaze dark and penetrating. “You should stay anyway,” he said abruptly. “Just in case. It’d… “ He paused, looking up in the ceiling and looking like he’d rather stab himself in the eye than continue. “It’d make me feel better,” he eventually gritted out. “Knowing that you’re here. So. Stay. Please.”

“Yeah, Jamie,” Keely quickly interjected. “It’d make us both feel better, yeah?”

Jamie, still wide-eyed and open-mouthed from the please, could only nod. “Yeah, okay, if you want, yeah,” he croaked.

“Great!” Keeley beamed at him. “And I didn’t mean we can’t keep cuddling, babe, I just thought we’d shift around a bit, make sure everyone’s included, yeah? Like this.” And she moved over to the other end of the couch, sidling up next to Roy and leaning back against his chest. He immediately put an arm around her, and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss when she turned her face towards him in invitation.

Jamie had found the sight of them kissing disgusting once. Now, it sparked something else; heat, and a sense of quiet longing.

And then Keeley looked up at him, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Come on, then.”

Jamie looked to Roy, to make sure he really was okay with this.

But Roy just gave him a nod. “Go on.”

So Jamie went, laying down on the couch with his head in Keeley’s lap, and gave a happy sigh as her hand immediately went back to his head, scratching idly at his scalp and running her thumb over his neck.

“Don’t fucking fall asleep,” Roy ordered as he started the movie. “You’re paying this the attention it deserves, Tartt, you hear me?”

“Yes, Coach,” Jamie said, and grinned when Roy growled and Keeley giggled. Huh, he thought. Really is a fucking Christmas miracle, innit.

---

Roy had been right. It was the best version.

22.

And then it was Christmas Day. Jamie arrived at Nelson Road bright and early, to make sure he’d catch Ted and clear the Manchester trip before training started.

Roy had been very insistent on it, making a point of fixing Jamie with a glare before headed out the door yesterday morning. ”You need to ask Ted permission to go,” he’d said. “You can’t just fuck off to Manchester the day before a game and not tell him.”

“Uh, yeah, I know? Not me first year playing in the big league, gr— Roy.”

Roy’s eye had twitched a little at that, like he was biting back a sharp retort, and Jamie had scowled at him. You run out on a team one time (and for very good reason!), and suddenly everyone thinks you’re Mr. Unreliable.

“But it’s Ted,” Keeley interjected. “There’s no way he won’t say yes, long as you make it back in time.”

“I don’t think he’ll say no, that’s not what I’m fucking saying, I’m just saying he needs to ask,” Roy grumbled, so sullenly that Jamie felt his irritation melt away and a grin grow on his face.

“I’ll ask,” he promised. “First thing when I see him. Be super polite and humble and that.”

“I’ll believe that when I fucking see it,” Roy said, but his eyebrows softened a fraction into what Jamie had started to suspect was a secret sort of weird Roy smile.

And then Keeley gave him a long hug and Roy gave him a short nod that felt kind of like a hug, and Jamie went out to his Uber feeling like he could walk of fucking clouds.

As Keeley had predicted, Ted was perfectly happy granting Jamie permission to take the train up to Manchester, provided he promised to return the same night. It’d only give him a few hours with Mummy, but that was far better than nothing, and Jamie thanked the gaffer, if not profusely then at least with real sincerity.

He also handed him a parcel, feeling slightly stupid about it. It had seemed a good idea at the shop yesterday; now it just seemed weird. “It’s nothing,” Jamie muttered, “and I didn’t want to give it to you before I asked, ‘cause I thought maybe it’d seem like a bribe or something. Just… I guess I wanted to say thank you. For letting me back on the team and all.” Admittedly, Ted would have been mad not to, but Jamie still remembered the sinking feeling when it had seemed like he would anyway, so yeah, he was grateful. “It’s not me trying to buy your affection or anything either, okay?” he hastened to add. “Just, thank you.”

“Good call, because my affection’s one thing you cannot buy.” Off Jamie’s falling face, Ted quickly added, “Which is to say, you don’t need to, because you already have it, gratis and free of charge. But I appreciate it all the same, that’s very thoughtful of you, Jamie. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Coach.”

It had been an impulse, buying the bourbon for Ted. Jamie had been picking up a Secret Santa bottle of ògógóró for Sam, right proud that he’d thought to ask for a Nigerian spirit. Sam had been feeling homesick last year, hadn’t he? And then he’d spotted the bourbon and that’s what the Americans had instead of whiskey, wasn’t it, and maybe Ted felt homesick at times, too, and apparently getting people gifts were becoming a habit now, because Jamie had bought the bottle without thinking too much about it.

It had been a close call, though, with the Secret Santa gift. Keeley had asked him about it when they were having breakfast, wondering if he’d gotten it yet, and Jamie had admitted that he had not and had maybe hinted at not doing so at all.

“You’re not getting anything for Secret Santa?” Keeley asked, looking upset or maybe disappointed, which made Jamie squirm. He didn’t want her to be upset or disappointed with him.

“I didn’t know I had to,” he tried to explain. “Besides, I haven’t had time ‘cause I was doing all that shit for Roy. But I’ll, I’ll pick up a bottle of booze on me way, yeah?”

And good thing he did, too, because as it turned out the secret bit of Secret Santa was only secret until it was time to actually hand out the gifts. If the lads had realised that Jamie had failed to bring Sam of all people anything, they wouldn’t have liked it. Come to think of it, Jamie wouldn’t have liked it much either, now that he understood how the whole thing worked.

“Thank you, Jamie, this is lovely,” Sam said, pulling him into a one armed hug and leaving Jamie feeling pleased and warm – a feeling which only grew stronger when he looked up and caught Keeley’s eyes through the window to the coaches’ office. She smiled at him, and winked.

He winked back.

Loved her.

Then there were other gifts; more hugs and good wishes; and finally Isaac stood to deliver a very long and very dramatic declaration of an old Christmas poem Jamie vaguely recalled having heard in school. He didn’t remember it being this exciting, but maybe Mr. Jones just hadn’t been as good at reading poetry as Isaac was.

It was all good fun, but as nice as hanging out with the team now that they weren’t upset with him anymore was, Jamie found himself itching to leave, and by the time Isaac solemnly declared this year’s Secret Santa session over and the holiday begun, Jamie nearly flew out of the dressing room and into his car. Thankfully traffic was unusually decent, or he wouldn’t have made it to the station on time.

The train ride was uneventful; a couple of people asked for his picture but no one wanted to whine about Amy or Lust Conquers All or Richmond’s poor performance so it was all good. A little kid told him he wanted to be just like Jamie when he grew up and play football just like him and wear cool clothes like him, too. “Good lad,” Jamie said. Always sweet to meet a fellow fashion forward individual.

He took a cab from the station but asked the driver to drop him off by the Minimart, and walked the last half mile. It was nice to move around a bit after sitting still for so long – and he rather liked strolling through his old neighbourhood. He’d outgrown it, sure, but it was still in his bones; coming here still felt like coming home. Felt like something dropping away and something else slipping into place as he walked through the underpass where he’d had his first smoke; as he went past the house where Auntie Delilah had lived until she died of breast cancer a couple of years ago; as he finally came to halt outside his mum’s tiny yard.

Jamie paused for a moment. He had texted Mummy this morning to let her know he was coming, even though he’d been nervous to. What if she wouldn’t seem happy about it? But of course she had; had seemed ecstatic, what with the string of emojis and exclamation marks.

Even so, standing outside the familiar door, with the familiar plastic wreath hung on it, Jamie hesitated. He could smell Simon’s baking all the way through the door. Could hear Mummy sing along to Merry Christmas Baby. Home, just on the other side of that door.

Taking a deep breath, Jamie raised his hand and rang the bell.

23.

The door swung open before the soft chime of the bell had faded. ”Jamie!”

Mummy, beaming at him, and before he even knew it he was in her arms, wrapping himself tight around her and stooping to bury his face in her neck and just hold her as she clung to him in turn.

“Hi, Mummy,” he murmured, inhaling the familiar scent that was comfort and safety and home.

He could hear the bright smile in her voice. “Hi, baby. Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

And it seemed to silly, suddenly, such pointless and foolish waste, that he should have stayed away for so long, kept himself from this for so long. Just from the way she’d lit up at the sight of him it was so fucking obvious that there’d never been anything to fear, and nothing to gain but loneliness and heartache for them both.

And he had known that, deep down, hadn’t he. And yet.

Fucking stupid.

Jamie made a low, frustrated noise.

Mummy noticed, of course she noticed, and she didn’t let him go or try to pull back, but she asked, “Jamie? Is everything all right, son?”

“Yeah. No. I mean, it’s… Listen, Mummy, I need to tell you, but it’s… and I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, yeah? Haven’t called enough, I should have called more. But things— And I’m sorry, yeah? I just— ”

“Jamie, baby,” Mummy interrupted, kindly but firmly, as she kept running her hand over his hair, just like Keeley had a couple of nights ago “Whatever it is, it’s going to be all right, I promise. There’s nothing you can do or say that would make me love you any less, you know that.”

He nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah, I know.” He did know. Had never doubted it.

Somehow that had only made it harder.

“I just want you to be happy.”

And yes, he knew that too, but that was the crutch of it, wasn’t it? The truth he’d wanted to keep from her. “I haven’t been, much,” he mumbled, a whispered confession, the thing that lain between them brought out into the soft light of the hall. His unhappiness, and underneath it what had caused it and what it had led him to do.

She did pull back at that, lifting her hand to his face, running it over his cheek. “Yes, son,” she said quietly. “I know. And it broke my heart that you wouldn’t talk to me about it, but you’re your own man, Jamie. If you don’t want to tell me things you don’t have to. I’m here for you, whenever you need me to be. But yeah, it did hurt when you stopped coming around, even though I knew you were busy. You don’t need to tell me everything, my gorgeous boy, but please don’t shut me out just because you think you can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t… I wanted to talk to you, I did, swear down, but I just didn’t know— “ He fell silent with a small shrug.

Georgie nodded. “All right. Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Yeah, okay.”

She smiled at that, encouragingly like, and Jamie smiled back. Felt some of the tension bleed away, some of the regret ease. It had been shit, staying away and shutting her out, but they were here now; it would be all right.

“Let’s go sit down then, and we’ll have Simon bring some sweet treats. He’s been in the kitchen all day since you said you were coming.”

Oh. Jamie made a face. “Sorry, I should have called earlier, given you guys more time—“

“No, hush now, none of that. You’re here now, Jamie, and that’s all that matters, yeah?”

Sighing, he pulled her back into a tight hug. There were a lot of them to catch up on. “Yeah, okay. I love you, Mummy.”

“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

24.

Due to lucky timing or – more likely – a long-honed sense for when Jamie and Georgie were ready to be interrupted, Simon stepped into the sitting room to announced that dinner was ready about half a minute after the hour-long, and occasionally weepy, talk was winding down to general cuddles.

Jamie got up to greet him with genuine enthusiasm. He’d already moved out by the time Simon moved in, but he liked the man well enough. He’d been dead good for Mummy, and Simon had always been decent about giving her and Jamie space, never seeming to mind that Georgie tended to focus all of her attention on Jamie whenever he was around. Which was only natural, given that Jamie was her only son and a fucking great one at that, but some men might have been pissy about it, so Jamie was still glad Simon wasn’t one of those.

“Tried to make a few extra sides that won’t mess with your meal plan, I know you’ve got a game tomorrow,” Simon said as he ushered them towards the carefully set table.

They’d gotten a new cloth since the last time Jamie was here for Christmas, a rustic looking light grey number, but the pink plates with a pattern of golden Christmas trees around the edge were the same ones Jamie had given her when he was 17. Simon had matched them with green napkins, intricately folded around small golden sprigs of plastic mistletoe, and pink and gold ornaments scattered across the table.

“That’s nice, that,” Jamie said, because it was, and Simon beamed at him.

The dinner was nice, too, the traditional turkey and trimmings complemented, for Jamie’s benefit, with a French omelette with smoked haddock, a large salad, and a small bowl of liberally spiced brown rice. It took Mummy most of the meal to fill Jamie in on all the latest neighbourhood gossip, but there was a fair bit of chatter about football as well, and a couple of minutes devoted to Simon’s new knife set. It was fun, and easy, and by the time Simon got up to put the kettle on and Jamie went out into the hall to collect the bag of gifts he’d brought, Jamie was feeling more relaxed (and fuller) than he could remember doing in… well. A fucking long time.

As they settled on the couch with their tea cups, small glasses of mulled cherry wine and a frankly shocking array of sweets (of which Jamie allowed himself exactly one small slice of candied orange dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with sea salt), Mummy fretted slightly over not having any proper gifts for him there. “We had them sent over your place, since we didn’t think you were coming. I’m sorry, love.”

“No, yeah, I know, got them last night. Haven’t opened them yet, though, ‘cause, uh, I wanted to see you first.”

She smiled, and pulled him close to smack her lips against the top of his hair. “Do it first thing when you get home, and every last one of them will be a kiss from me.”

“I will, Mummy.” He’d be getting home after midnight, and by rights should head straight for bed to make sure he was in good shape for tomorrow’s game, but knew he would take the time to unpack the carefully wrapped parcels. Knew his mum would likely be up and ready to respond to any excited reaction texts he might send.

Jamie apologised for the randomness of the gifts, sheepishly admitting that he’d spent too much time getting Roy stuff to think much about anyone else; they waved away his regrets and oooh:ed and aaah:ed enthusiastically at the blanket (Georgie), the cookbook (Simon), the weekend getaway in Cornwall (both of them), and the other things Jamie had picked up rather hurriedly yesterday.

Merry Christmas (I don’t want to fight tonight) came on. Grinning cheekily, Mummy got to her feet, pulling Jamie up with her as she went, and then they were dancing all across the sitting room, laughing and loudly singing along, the way they’d always done when Jamie was a kid.

“Oh, baby, you’ve gotten dead good at this,” Mummy said a little breathlessly after Jamie had spun her round in a complicated twirl, and he nodded, pleased that she’d noticed his mad moves. “I’m a footballer, ain’t I. Gotta be quick on me feet.”

The song ended and the far slower Have yourself a merry little Christmas began to play. Jamie released his mum to Simon, and as the two of them swayed slowly to Judy Garland’s soft crooning, Jamie took the opportunity to sneak away for a bit, going up the stairs to his old room. It looked pretty much exactly the way he’d left it when he moved into the Academy residence. Mummy (or Simon, probably) kept it clean, but hadn’t moved any of his stuff or done anything about the general messiness of the room. Only the Keeley poster had been a later addition, and only because having semi-nudes up at his academy room had been frowned upon and he’d still been minding the rules back then.

Mad, to think that he’d ended up dating her. Mad, that he’d played with Roy Kent, the one player whose poster he’d never taken down (although he’d come close, the first time he was back home after joining Richmond and Roy had proved to be a massive cunt, but it had felt like letting Roy win somehow, so it had stayed up).

Madder still, that only two nights ago he’d been curled up with both of them on a couch in Roy Kent’s house.

Grinning, he pulled out his phone and called Keeley. Yes, it was late and it was Christmas and it might be a prick thing to do, interrupting whatever celebration they had going, but as much as he was trying to be better, Jamie hadn’t gotten to where he was by not going after what he wanted. Besides, they’d want to know how things had gone, wouldn’t they? Keeley would, at any rate.

His assumption turned out to be correct because Keeley not only picked up, but smiled like she couldn’t be happier to hear from him. “Jamie, hi! You doing all right? Are you up in Manchester?”

“Hi, Keeley. Yeah, I am, yeah.” He paused, taking a moment to just look at her, taking in the loveliness of her face, before adding, “Talked to me mum. It went great. I mean, I was a bit nervous, but it went great, yeah, so it’s all good now.”

“Yeah?” Her smile softened. “That’s amazing, Jamie. Really glad to hear that.”

“Yeah. So, uh, I just wanted to call to tell you and, and, say thanks, I guess. For, you know, telling me I needed to go here. And, uh, merry Christmas.”

“You’re welcome, Jamie. Merry Christmas.”

“Oi!” Roy’s voice, off-camera and sounding unusually high over the speakers. “Keeley, do— Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you were on the phone.” A pause. “That Jamie?”

“Yeah. He’s up in Manchester, come say hi.” Keeley shifted a bit, angling her phone to include Roy in the picture.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. Roy must really be into Christmas, because he was actually wearing a patterned tie with his black shirt and black suit jacket. A dark patterned tie, admittedly, but it had got little golden dots on it, which was far more festive than Jamie would have thought Roy could ever manage.

Then again, he’d had to rethink a lot of his thoughts on Roy in the past two days.

“Hi,” Roy said, sounding… not unsure, exactly, but… not not unsure either. A little reserved, but in a way Jamie, canny reader of people that he was, suspected had more to do with uncertainty over their new relationship status, rather than any real desire to be an arse.

Jamie didn’t blame him. He was feeling a little uncertain himself (which was still a new and not particularly fun experience). Things had changed between them since Roy rushed in to find him crumpled on the floor—but how exactly, and into what?

He guessed they’d find out, and fuck, wasn’t that an interesting thought?

“Hi,” he said. “Merry Christmas. You enjoying the holiday, yeah?” He nodded towards the tie, smirking just a little. (It was a decent tie. Roy looked well fit in it. But if the man didn’t want people taking the piss when he donned a bit of colour he shouldn’t make such a point of always wearing black then, should he?)

Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m loving it. Spent the afternoon knocking on random doors looking for a dentist for my niece, that was a fucking riot. And,” he continued before Jamie had the chance to ask what the hell he was on about, “some nitwit had this John Case box set delivered to my door this morning, because apparently some people have no idea when to fucking quit.”

“Yeah?” Jamie asked, unable to hold back a grin, because while Roy’s word had been gruff, there was a small smile in his eyes that said that they weren’t really. “Think that sounds like great gift, mate. Real thoughtful, like.”

Roy just snorted, but Keeley was clearly holding back a laugh, her eyes shining as they wandered between Jamie on her screen and Roy.

“It’s the last of them,” Jamie promised, just in case Roy actually thought he’d be keeping this up forever from now on. “But I’d already gotten it, so… “ He shrugged.

“It’s fine,” Roy said, then added off Keeley’s not at all discreet elbow to his side, “I mean, thank you.”

Jamie was about to tell him not to overdo it or he’d burst vessel or something, but was interrupted by his mum calling his name from downstairs. “Sorry,” he said. “Gotta go. Be heading back in thirty minutes, so I wanna make the most of it, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Keeley immediately said (almost covering Roy’s muttered we’re really not stopping you). “Go. And good luck with the game tomorrow, yeah? I’ll be in the box with Rebecca, cheering you on.”

“Decent, yeah. Um, thanks again. Merry Christmas.”

As he moved to end the call, Roy suddenly said, “Jamie, wait.”

Jamie waited. And waited, because whatever it was that Roy had on his mind, he apparently had a hard fucking time getting it out of his mouth.

Eventually, Jamie’s patience wore thin. “Mate, I’m not being funny, yeah. I really gotta go. You maybe wanna send me a fax instead?”

“Oh, that’s very funny,” Roy growled. “The fuck happened to you not being a prick, huh?” Then he made a face, looking pained. “Actually, and I can’t fucking believe I’m about to say this, but maybe sometimes you need to be a prick. Not to people,” he added with narrowed eyes, having apparently caught the way Jamie lit up at that, “but on the fucking pitch. I mean, sometimes. Not all the time. But sometimes, being selfish and going for the shot and getting in the other players heads by being an utter cunt like only you fucking can is better than passing the ball.”

Jamie gaped at him, but before he had time to say anything or ask how the hell he was supposed to know when it was the right time to be a prick, Roy muttered a curt, “That’s it. Bye,” and ended the call.

“Um, rude,” Jamie told the black screen. He was half tempted to call Keeley again, just to tell her bye properly (and maybe tell Roy… something, Jamie wasn’t totally clear on what, because Roy had been rude, but he’d also told Jamie to be a prick sometimes, and had almost smiled at him several times, and that was all just a bit confusing), but he hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to make the most of his time with Mummy before he needed to leave for London again.

“We’re not done, mate,” he told poster-Roy sternly, before adding a far softer, “Good night, Keeley,” to poster-Keeley

And then he headed downstairs, back to Mummy and the rest of his Christmas, and then – when he’d hugged her ten times or a hundred – he headed to London, back to his team and the rest of his life, and it came to him as he sat on the train with the midwinter night speeding past him, that he was travelling both from home and to home and that it was well fucking mint.

25. Epilogue

Roy called her in the evening, as Keeley was carefully removing her make-up in front of the bathroom mirror. It had been a long day, a stifled Christmas lunch with her mother followed by Richmond’s home game against Norwich in the afternoon. At least Richmond had won, managing a by the skin of their teeth 1-0 after a late and defiant goal by Jamie.

She thought she’d seen him looking up at the VIP box as the team celebrated around him, and she’d blown him a little kiss, even if she knew the distance was too far for him to catch it.

Next to her, Rebecca had raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow in a perfect expression of slightly sceptical interest. “And here I thought you were here to support me.”

“I am here to support you,” Keeley had said firmly. “Because I’m an amazing friend and I’d show up to support you with chants and balloons of cute animals and stuff at your murder trial, especially if Rupar’s the victim. But I told you, he’s been having a rough time of it.”

Not telling Rebecca about what had gone down with Jamie and Roy the other day had never been an option. Rebecca had listened with a frown, and asked if she needed to do anything about James Tartt. Keeley had said no, for the moment: Jamie needed to be the one to make the call on that.

“Hey you,” Roy said now, looking properly fit in the black suit he usually put on for his pundit appearances (and which, to the untrained eye, looked identical to all his other black suits, but Keeley knew him and fashion better than most, and thought the Hugo Boss was a particularly nice look on him).

“Hi, babe.” Keeley propped the phone against a moisturiser bottle, so she could continue her routine while they talked. “You back from work then?”

“Yeah. Took fucking ages, because Cartrick wouldn’t fucking shut up. You’d think he’d run out of things to be wrong about after six hours, but no, if the filming crew hadn’t started making noises about needing to go home to their families, we’d still be there.”

Keeley hummed in agreement, even though she suspected Roy was maybe exaggerating things a little. Sometimes it was best to just let him vent belligerently for a bit, get it out of his system. Besides, it was lovely to have him care about things enough to be pissed about them again. Roy was a passionate man, and Keeley loved him for it; having seen him go through the motions with nary a flicker of true feeling throughout the autumn had been awful.

Speaking of caring… “You catch any of the Richmond game?” she asked.

He grunted. “We didn’t really cover any of the Championship games, but yeah, saw some of the highlights.”

“Jamie played well, didn’t he? Seemed a little more aggressive than he’s been lately.”

Roy grunted again, but kept his mouth stubbornly shut. Not ready to talk about the advice he’d given Jamie last night, then. Fair enough; it’d keep.  

Roy kept on saying nothing, though, when normally he would have tried to move on by changing the subject or asking her about her day. When Keeley glanced over at the screen she saw that he was looking unhappy, dark eyebrows furrowed.

Keeley cocked her head to the side. “You all right, babe? Something on your mind?”

“No, it’s… “ He paused, and she waited, until finally he let out a frustrated huff. “It’s just Jamie’s fucking dad, right?” His lips curled. “I can’t stop thinking— Jamie was in a right fucking mess when I walked in on them. Not physically, it was just scrapes, but he was so fucking quiet. It wasn’t natural, not having the little muppet run his mouth like he was getting paid for it.”

“He seemed all right after,” Keeley said hesitantly, because Jamie had, when he left them on the morning of Christmas Eve and when they talked to him yesterday. Happier than normally, even. But Roy was right, it seemed a little strange in retrospect, that he had shaken it off so completely, given the state of him when she first arrived at Roy’s three nights ago. “You think he’s used to it,” she realised aloud. “That’s why he bounced back so quickly.”

“I know arseholes like that, okay? My sister fucking married one. So yeah, I don’t think it’s the first time it happened, and it probably won’t be the last either, and I keep on fucking wondering if his dad’s the reason he walked out on City, and City’s playing Chelsea in a couple of week s and I—“ He paused again. “I know it’s fucking stupid, it’s none of my business. I don’t even like the prick.”

Keeley had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn’t quite as true as it once had been, but she didn’t mention that. Let Roy reach that conclusion when he was ready to. “I think it’s sweet,” she said instead. “The way you stepped in when he needed you to, and took care of him. I mean it,” she added off his predictable eye-roll. “I’m really proud of you, babe. And,” she pressed on, because it was true and because she knew he tended to get a little uncomfortable when things got too earnest, “it was kind of sexy, too.”

Roy’s eyebrows rose at that. “You thought me taking care of Jamie was sexy? What happened to your thing being me crying pathetically?”

“Girls have deep and complex tastes, Royo. So yeah, you being vulnerable and passionate is really hot, but as it turns out, you being all caring and protective and fetching tea really gets me going as well.” She smiled at him and he scoffed, but smiled back. “Seriously, though,” she continued, “I was thinking we should ask Jamie over some day. Just hang out a little, make sure he’s all right.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “You better not be suggesting we invite him to Sexy Christmas.”

“No,” Keeley said with a small a laugh, even as the thought of it sent a pleasant shiver through her. Sex with Roy was fantastic. Sex with Jamie had always been amazing. Both of them, and with the way she suspected their tastes would run exceedingly compatible, with her and with each other… Well. A girl could dream (and maybe have a wank once she got of the phone with Roy). “But dinner sometime soon, yeah?

“Fine,” Roy said, sounding like he was only reluctantly agreeing to do her a favour, but she knew him well enough to see the relief in his dark eyes.

Fuck, but she loved him. The way he cared so deeply, even when he didn’t want to, and even when he would sneer at the assertion.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she told him. “I can’t wait for the 28:th.”

He smiled for real then, that wide grin he reserved for just her and sometimes Phoebe and his sister. “Me neither,” he agreed. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”

“Love you.”

They hung up, and Keeley yawned. It was getting late, and she had to be up early tomorrow, for an entire day of what was supposedly just a bit of informal mingling for publicists, a little holiday get together on Jace Asthon’s country house, but which was in actuality the networking opportunity of the year for people in her line of business. She needed to be well-rested and looking ready to slay for this one, and had a bunch of people and business to read up on, potential sponsors and partners for Richmond.

She still took the time to send a couple of texts before turning out the lights.

hey jamie

got any plans for new year’s eve?

She hardly had time to set the phone down before it pinged with his reply.

Doesn’t really give a shit if I’m not playing for City.

Something slid into place then. “Is that why you did Lust Conquers All?” Roy asked. “To get away from you dad?”

Jamie didn’t answer, but that just said it all, didn’t it?

#jamie's christmas carol #advent calender #season 2 canon divergence #pre-ot3 #jamie tartt is a slowly reforming prick himbo #ie jamie tartt is a mess and a work in progress #which is a bit of a trial for him and for everyone around him #including one roy kent who absolutely did not sign up for this

[love-me-purple]

“Nsfw headcannons!”

context: how I think that these people would act during the deed. also listing if they're a bottom, switch, or top. 

(cross posted on wattpad)

Boys included: Shuichi, Kokichi, Rantaro, K1-B0, and Korekiyo

Nsfw under the cut!

Shuichi

➼He's definitely very vanilla...for the first few times

➼At first he goes soft and easy on you, mostly because he's afraid of messing up and hurting you; after all, you're his first

➼During these special moments, the only kink he fulfills is praise; because he doesn't want to ask you about any other kink in fear of being turned away and labeled as 'weird' 

➼But after the first few vanilla layers, he gives in to your consent of him being...well, less vanilla

➼That's when more kinks appear, and Shuichi becomes super submissive (not like he wasn't before, but y'know) 

➼He loves it when you tease and bite his neck, mostly because that's a sensitive spot for him 

➼In the back of his mind, he has a degrading kink—but he's too afraid to talk about it because of obvious reasons

➼He rarely tops, it's usually him being a bottom 

➼He always makes sure not to hurt you in any way because he really does love and care for you, y'know? 

➼Afterwards, expect cuddling, baths, and kisses

Kokichi

➼Never really the type to be vanilla at first, the only time he exhibits that is at the start of intercourse/bj

➼But the second time ya'll do that, he's definitely not gonna go easy

➼He's really easy to dom though; but if you dom, he'll definitely be a whiny bottom/power bottom

➼HUGE tease. Expect orgasm denial and overstimulation, and maaaaybe a bit of knife play

➼He also likes degrading, but if he sees that it's too much, it'll quickly turn to praise

➼When the roles are reversed, he definitely still teases to test the waters and to rile you up

➼It works, and oh goodness, he's such a whiny bitch

➼I headcannon him asking you to slow down during a bj, and if you do slow down, he'll immediately take that opportunity to face-fuck you, and if you don't, he'll grip your hair and force you to slow down

➼But he's a switch at heart, depending if his s/o likes being a dom or sub more 

➼Afterwards, he loves caressing your thighs and nuzzling his head into your chest, getting himself comfy to sleep

➼"Kokichi, shouldn't we cle—"—"Noooo!" 

Rantaro

➼Such a vanilla at the start of your first time, before the lust overwhelms him and he's not anymore

➼He always asks if you're okay, just like Shuichi. He doesn't wanna hurt his beloved s/o to the point where it's unbelievably a turn off, right? 

➼During intercourse, he sort of caresses your arms if the position allows him to 

➼He's usually a top, like, 8 out of 10 times

➼But if you want to dom, he'll immediately accept. He can be pretty submissive if he wants to 

➼But at his core he's a top, and so if he initiates the scene then it's highly unlikely that those roles will change mid-event

➼Very passionate, he loves praising you. I headcannon that when you're giving him a bj, he calls out your name a bunch of times when he's close 

➼He also likes it when you pull his hair, either when you're a dom or sub, it doesn't matter—he loves it

➼Depending on how desperate he is, he usually starts off vanilla as possible during intercourse, but then ups the intensity when he wants to

➼You once tied him up when he was subbing, and now he really wants to re-enact that, but he doesn't know how to tell you—

➼Aftercare is a must for him, he's big on cleaning you up and giving you massages—because he's amazing in being your own stress reliever 

➼During the whole deed, he says "I love you" a lot, because he really, really, does. 

K1-B0

➼He's so nervous his first time with you

➼In all honestly—it's like f-ing a dildo (I headcannon that the dildo also can be a vibrator) 

➼He's very vanilla, if you make one noise that sounds like pain to him, he'll immediately stop and ask if you're okay; denying the pleasure given to you unintentionally 

➼He apologizes for—well—him not being human and all and you immediately forgive him—

➼Overall such a cute experience

➼He doesn't have any kinks, but he's more than ready to fulfill any kinks you may have

➼He's a switch, because even though he's a robot, he doesn't have that much knowledge about this stuff—so sometimes you basically have to guide him through this

➼Aftercare is a yes, he asks a whole lot if you're okay, because like I mentioned in another chapter, metal di—

Korekiyo

➼Vanilla? Kind of, not really. It depends on what mood he's in the first time you both do 'it' 

➼Of course he goes soft (at first) during intercourse, depending if it's your first time or not

➼But after you both do it together once, he brings in rope and all kinds of things—basically just bdsm

➼Yes, he's VERY into bdsm, you can't change my mind

➼But he's very loving to you during it as well, checking in on you and overall just being sweet, even though the kinks may not show that at first 

➼Hardcore top, however, when you dominated him once, he soon began to get used to and enjoy being a sub 

➼Though he does prefer being a top

➼Kind of into blood

➼Aftercare, you both take a bath and then he takes care of all your needs. 

‿‿‿‿

hsjsnj I got lazy for the last two ;-;

#Danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #v3 #shuichi saihara #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #rantaro amami #drv3 #K1-BO #K1-B0 #Keebo #Kiibo #Korekiyo #Headcannons #mod kokichi #nsft #not sfw

[reminiscingtonight]

Six Months From Now (Pt. 1)

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: This is probably going to have at least three parts. Based on the song ‘A Concert Six Months From Now’ by FINNEAS

Part Two // Part Three

[Main Masterlist]

Although it was years ago, you could still remember the first time you walked down this familiar path. The missing patch of grass a couple feet from the walkway still stood out from where it was surrounded by otherwise healthy green. The waddling ducks still roamed the fields, quacking away as they searched for food. 

You catch sight of the fountain, now a little rusted but still looking as beautiful as the first time you laid your eyes upon it. You’re unable to stop your lips from twitching up at the memory of that night. Back when everything was so simple and the only thing you had to worry about were the college admission letters you were still waiting to hear back from. If you closed your eyes you could still hear the roar of the crowd as sweaty bodies fought for the best view of the new band in town.

The tree is next, your fingers tracing familiar letters carved into its trunk. They were a bit faded after years of mother nature’s attempt at restoring it to its original state, but you could still make out each and every letter. If you tried hard enough, you could still catch the echoes of your laughter that day as Natasha grabbed your hand, yelling “run!” as the two of you made a break from the cops trying to chase you down. 

Just being in this park opened up the floodgates of memories. Every moment the two of you spent together, all the good and all the bad. It was all bittersweet, letting yourself reminisce in memories that, even after all these years, were still some of your favorites. 

The truth was, even after everything that happened, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to hate her for the way things turned out. Sometimes love was a flimsy thing. Sometimes love just doesn’t work out. It wasn’t either of your faults that you couldn’t be what the other wanted, what the other needed, at the time the two of you were together. 

Looking down at your phone, your eyes lingered over the slope of her jaw, green eyes piercing through your soul even through a picture. On her face was her signature smirk, something you came to both love and hate about the woman. 

In the picture, Natasha was staring down your camera, almost daring you to not take it. The two of you had been debating over some mundane thing that day, but one thing led to another and the next thing you knew, she had stolen the rest of your chocolate cake and ate it. You retaliated by threatening to take a picture of her and sending it to her sister. Usually this threat would hold no danger, but today was a special occasion --- Natasha had stolen Yelena’s vest and wore it to your date. After you voiced your intentions, Natasha simply raised an eyebrow at you, not believing you would do it. Snap the picture you did, but you never sent it, Natasha’s pout being more than enough to dissuade you. 

Your finger hesitated over the call button. Would Natasha even want to hear from you? It’s been years since the last time the two of you saw each other. Although everything’s been quite amicable between the two of you, you couldn’t help but second guess everything. Phone calls here and there were more common, but even then, you hadn’t talked in months. 

But then you saw the post earlier today and you couldn’t imagine not trying to get back in contact with her. And now that you bought the tickets, there wasn’t really any way out of this.

So with a deep breath, you pressed the call button.

///

2011

The intense beat of the bass vibrated through the air, making your chest thump in beat to the music. If you closed your eyes you swore you could almost touch the music, feeling it flow through your fingertips. And if you were anywhere else than you currently found yourself, you knew you’d find it all quite soothing. 

But when another sweaty body hits you, you clench your teeth in frustration. Only a hand wrapped loosely around your wrist stops you from lunging forward and pushing them back. 

Natasha grins at you, a hint of amusement sparkling in her eyes as she pulls you back into her body. Your nose wrinkles up in disgust at the feel of her sweaty body pressed against yours. You pretend your pounding heart had to do with the booming beat of the music and not the body draped against you. 

“Are you having fun?” 

The raspiness of her voice only serves to make your knees feel weak. It’s shouted into your ear so you could hear her through the crowd, but to you it still sounds like an angel’s whisper. 

“Fun’s not the word I’d use,” you shout back, the smile on your face a big contrast from your words.

You were never the one to go out to big concerts, let alone concerts of artists you didn’t know. Concerts were never really your sort of thing. You preferred the calm and collectiveness of your bedroom, far removed from the screaming swarm you currently found yourself in. But it was no secret how in love you were with your best friend. So when Natasha’s favorite band came into town, you couldn’t say no when she all but begged you to go with her. 

While you were having a nice time with Natasha, you couldn’t stop the part of your brain that questioned why she asked you to go with her. Natasha was known for being quite high in the social hierarchy at school and had a hundred other friends, many that fit more into this type of crowd than you. Why hadn’t she asked if any of them wanted to go to this concert with her? Many times tonight you found the question bubbling on the tip of your tongue, but each time you swallowed it, not wanting to break the bubble of peace you found the two of you surrounded in. 

And as Natasha turned you around in her arms, letting her hands dangle over your shoulders, you find yourself not wanting to complain at getting to spend more time with the girl who had your heart. 

From the position you now found yourselves in, you could feel Natasha’s breath hot on your lips. You’re unable to look away when her tongue darts out, wetting her own lips. Your heart thuds in your chest as you feel the numbing nerves tingling through your body. There was some sort of look in Natasha’s eyes that you’re unable to decipher, but as time dragged on, you began to wonder if she was feeling the same sparks as you. 

The only warning you get is the slight flicker of Natasha’s eyes down to your lips. 

The rest of the crowd fades away the second Natasha’s lips meet yours. Everything else ceased to matter as all you can focus on is the feel of Natasha surrounding everything around you. Natasha’s fingers play with the hairs on the back of your neck as yours tighten against her hips. 

You found yourself wishing to freeze this moment in time. To stay here forever with the girl you’ve loved your whole life.

When the two of you break apart, Natasha gently rests her forehead against yours. You open your eyes to see two green ones already looking back at you. Her eyes looked soft, admiration shining clear as day in them. 

“Having fun now?”

---

The sound of the bell quickly signaled the end of the day. 

Pushing through the crowd of sweaty bodies, you internally cursed at the thought of having to swim through the sea of students to grab the rest of your things before escaping to your car. All you wanted to do after the long day at school was to jump into your bed. 

The sight of red hair lingering near your locker has your foul mood instantly lifting. At least that was until you saw who she was wrapped around. 

You had the (dis)pleasure of having a locker across the hall from Brock Rumlow, the school’s star quarterback, and your lifelong disdain. You never knew what Natasha saw in him, but whatever it was, it had kept her on his arm for nearly four years now. You tried not to feel jealous at the sight of his hand resting upon Natasha’s waist. You knew you had no right to feel the way you did. Natasha wasn’t yours. No matter how much you wished she was. 

Natasha gave you a small smile as your eyes met. You returned it without hesitation, pushing down your intruding thoughts. You watched as she said something to Brock, pressing a light kiss against his cheek before parting ways with him. 

Your eyes stayed glued to Natasha as she made her way to you. There’s a sort of lightness in her steps as she hands your folded up jacket to you. “Thanks for letting me borrow your jacket last night. I made sure to wash it.”

You pretended to not notice her fingers lingering by yours. “It’s alright. I’m glad it kept you warm.”

There’s playful fire in her eyes as she smirks in remembrance of the night before. You swallow hard, trying to push all thoughts of bodies under covers, arching backs, and sinful moans out of your mind. 

Before you have a chance to admonish her for bringing up the things she swore you to secrecy, Natasha’s suddenly leaning in. There’s a brief moment of fear that shoots through you at the thought that she’s going to kiss you. But then she’s turning towards the side, pressing a light kiss against your cheek. “Cheer ends at 5. My parents are still out of town so I might need a way to pass the time.”

Mouth running dry, you nod at her unspoken request.

The first time it happened, you woke up with the fear that things would be different. Natasha simply rolled over, pressed a kiss against your lips, and then reminded you that some things were better left forgotten. It wasn’t until the two of you climbed out of bed long after the sun had already risen in search of food that she promised you nothing would change in your relationship. You’re not sure if it made you feel any better that you remained her best friend and Brock remained her boyfriend. But images were images and you knew how important Natasha’s was to hers, so you remained silent, letting Natasha have her way with you at night and return to her boyfriend in the morning. 

Of course the guilt was still there. You knew what you were doing was wrong. You were raised better than to sneak behind people’s backs. But Every time Natasha pressed a kiss against your lips, every time she had you screaming her name, the thought of doing the right thing flew further away from the front of your mind. Because how could something be wrong when it felt so right?

You’re not really sure what you thought would happen. How this whole thing would end. You knew she would have to make a choice eventually. Brock or you. Selfishly, you hoped it would be you. Long nights spent lying awake, legs tangled together, you were the one she confided all her secrets to. You were the one she voiced her dreams of making it big as a hotshot lawyer, pushing away all plans of being the trophy wife with no aspirations. 

If you shut your eyes, you could see it clearly. The two of you at the top of the world, each in your respective fields. Spending the daylight tackling the day’s troubles, returning home every night to the safety of the other’s arms. 

It was a good dream. A perfect dream, one could argue. 

But it was only a dream. Because your only mistake was to think everything would turn out in your way.

 You found out by mistake. 

A whispered phone call, a name stood out among the rest of her words. U.C. Berkley. Neither of you had fully committed to a college yet, but memories of her promise rings in your head. A promise that she wouldn’t leave you. That she’d be by your side all the way through college and then life afterwards. Of course Berkley made sense. You’ve known Brock had committed there nearly a month ago. So why were you so surprised that Natasha had decided to commit there too?

It only took a quiet conversation with her younger sister to confirm your suspicions. 

You stewed in the knowledge of her false promises for a week. You answered when she called. You showed up when she beckoned. You kissed back when she advanced. You played the part of the best friend, the secret lover, the oblivious perfectly.

It wasn’t until the night before you knew she was leaving that you finally brought it up. 

“So. California.”

Natasha’s head shot up, eyes wide open at your words. You could see the shock in her eyes. Your anger automatically flares. Exactly how long did Natasha think you’d be kept in the dark?

Cautiously standing, Natasha slowly made her way to you. She tried to reach for your hand, but you snatched yours away the second there’s contact. There’s no ignoring the way it burns. 

You watch with a stony face as Natasha nervously swallowed, hands fidgeting by her side. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just…”

“You just what?” You all but snap, filling in the silence that’s left behind when her words trailed off. “I had to find out from Yelena of all people. I thought I meant more to you than that.”

“Of course you do. I care about you, a lot--”

“Just not enough to tell me the truth it seems.”

Natasha looks as if you just slapped her in the face. “That’s not fair.”

“Don’t tell me what is and what isn’t fair, Natasha. What isn’t fair is you leaving after everything you said. What happened to staying in New York together? What happened to all the plans we made?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Of course it’s not that simple. But I trusted you to tell me the truth. To tell me what was going on, not leave me in the dark like this.”

Her jaw clenched shut, and you can see it in the way her eyes shine with unshed tears that this wasn’t how she thought this was going to go. There’s a part of you that wants to ask. That wants to figure out exactly how Natasha was planning on explaining her absence from your life. 

But as the silence stretched on, both of you knew there was nothing either of you could say to make this better. To fix what was clearly breaking. 

All the words you wanted to say, you knew it didn’t matter anymore. None of it mattered. It never did and never would. 

“Don’t ask me to stay,” is what Natasha eventually decides on.

You let out a humorless chuckle at the genuine plea in her voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not stupid enough to believe you would even if I asked.” 

You could see the hurt cross her face, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care anymore. Natasha’s never cared about your feelings, so why should you care about hers now?

She swallows hard. “So what now? What does this mean for us?”

You scoff, looking down at your feet. “Us? There is no us. You’ve made that perfectly clear. As for now?” you repeat, echoing her question. “What happens now is I go home and you fly out to California.”

“(Y/N).” She takes another step forward. You take one back.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re going to California with Brock. I think that makes it pretty clear what happens now.”

Natasha looks frantic now, knowing if she lets you walk out the door there’s a very good chance she’ll never see you again. “Wait for me. Please. It’ll just be a couple years. And then I’ll be back.”

“Don’t ask me to do that.”

“(Y/N).”

“Natasha, I can’t. I deserve better than to be someone’s secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of you, you know that.”

“And I also know that you’ll never break up with your boyfriend.” Just saying the words made everything seem more real. You’re no saint. You’ve known that it was a shitty thing what the two of you were doing behind Natasha’s boyfriend’s back. Brock was no angel, but even he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. “He deserves better. And so do I.”

“I love you.”

You shut your eyes, not able to stop the tears from slipping down the side of your cheeks. Those three words, three words that you always wished she’d say to you, sounded as sweet as you always imagined they would be. But it all felt like a punch to the gut. Because while you wanted to hear them, you never wanted to hear them like this. 

“Goodbye, Natasha,” you respond, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

A choked sob is the last thing you hear as you turn away, willing your legs towards the door. 

.

.

.

When Natasha gets on that plane a day later, you think that’s the last time you’re ever going to see her again. 

-----------

Taglist: @cantcontroltheirfear, @natashabelovas, @olsensnpm, @invictusbabey, @idek-5, @vancityfire13, @cosmicwidows, @lostandsearching, @xxromanoffxx, @ithoughtyouweresokovian, @3and30aresoultwins, @peabrain112, @wandadarlingg, @wellsayhelloaagin, @useless-nblw, @marvelwomen-simp, @pnsteblnme, @owloftheshadows, @evilcr0ne, @rightwereyouleftme, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx, @gimaximoff, @milfloverslut, @fxckmiup, @froglovemushroom, @karmasgxrl, @thorya22​, @natashasilverfox

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #mcu x reader #song fic #series #Ace writes

[kilojulietsierra]

Do You Take This Man? (Ragnar the Younger x OFC - One Shot)

Started watching The Last Kingdom last week and already on season three lol Ragnar was definitly the first Dane that caught my eye

Warnings: 18+ content, they’re Danes so crude talk, marriage negotiations, mentions of violence, first time sex, outdoors sex, slightly au, pregnancy, brief mention of pregnant sex

~~~~

"Ragnar the Younger,  It would be a better match than even our father could have wished." Tovah said as he sat by the fire, staring through the flames at his sister.

"It is. I am not arguing that." She snapped back at him, "I'm not arguing the man."

"You're arguing the marriage itself then." He wiped the grease from his hands and pulled another bite of meat from the bone, "Sister I love you, I do. But, i want a woman and Gods knows I cannot suffer another one until you are gone." He laughed as he dodged a stick flying at his head. "Let me hear your argument then."

"I have no argument." She took a bite of her own food. "I only wish to make the decision myself when the time comes."

"You know the choice is yours Teeva. I only ask that... "Her brother sighed deeply, "Do not deny him just for the sake of being a pain in the ass."

~~~

Ragnar Ragnarson, son of Ragnar the Fearless, Sat across from them in the hall that their father had built. Tovah and Teeva sat on either side of the fire, Ragnar between them. A tactic. Teeva wanted to see who he would address more, her or her brother.

He was tall, strong, fearsome and handsome, all things she was pleased to see. But also annoyed, these things would all make it the harder to refuse him if his offer was anything close to respectful.

"So tell me Ragnarson, what would you have my sister for?" The pleasantries, the little that Danes bothered with, aside Tovah got to the heart of the matter. They all knew why Ragnar was here.

Ragnar held her brothers gaze, "I would have her for a wife."  He looked to her, calm and steady, "If you speak of price  I have brought silver, though I'm sure it is not enough."

"Why do you say that?" Teeva cocked her head to the side.

He spoke to her brother when he said, "I imagine there is not enough silver in all the North, Wessex or Denmark," He then spoke to her, "That could convince Teeva Tovarsdottir to become chained to a man that sought to put her in her place, to claim her and tame her."

"Then why are you here." Her voice was cold as was her gaze but her heart pounded in her chest at the way he held her gaze and quirked the corner of his mouth in a smile.

"Because I am a man who would not do these things." He leaned forward, turned his gaze on her brother. "I was there when our fathers raided Heimsdeep together." Both the siblings flinched, and Ragnar spared them a pause out of respect. "And I was there with you when his man betrayed him there."

Tovah interrupted him, "Our families have always been good and loyal allies."

"And that will not change," His eyes flicked to her and then back, "No matter how this ends."

Tovah nodded deeply, raised his cup of ale in agreement.

Ragnar continued, "I was also there at Moran's, you know this, when the son and daughter of Tovar took their revenge." This time when his eyes landed on Teeva they did not leave, did not waver. Icy green boring into hers, dark and lush like the forest. "I saw you fight with sword and shield and bare hands along side your brother, and along side your father's men. A true shield maiden."

Her cheeks warmed and she hoped it was hidden by the hues of the fire. She had no words so she only nodded her thanks at the compliment.

" Any man that would try to take that fire from her would be doing all Dane's a dishonor. She's afraid I am that kind of man but I am not."

"Then what kind of man are you Ragnar Ragnarson?" Tovah braced his elbows on his knees and leaned towards the other Dane. "What would you give her if you are not these men that would see her... tamed?"

Ragnar smiled and looked away from Tovah, answering his question but clearly speaking to Teeva. "I am a man that would see her with braids in her hair and ink on her skin. I would give her a reputation, lands, a hall, people who would follow her and respect her as they would me. I would give her a good, strong name from a long line of warriors, all of whom would smile down on a woman like this." He was smiling now, tight lipped but a smile nonetheless, creasing his forehead and the corner of his eyes.

Teeva had almost forgotten her brother was in the room, nearly jumped when he asked another question. "And what would you have her give you in return?"

Now he smiled, truly smiled, and it made her nervous. She was certain this is where her silly, fragile fantasy would end.

"I would ask only of her to give me strong sons and clever daughters, a safe hall, respect for my people, and a warm bed at night." He winked with the last, his smile wide and his eyes dancing like the fire before them. "And an extra sword at my side should I need it."

They held each others gaze for a long, silent moment, sizing eachohter up. Teevas heart was pounding in her ears.

Almost as if he had forgotten him too, Ragnar turned back to Tovah. "I know how you care for your sister, and she for you. I wish not to stamp down that fire within her, I would rather stoke it. See her become the woman the gods mean for her to be."

The men shared a long, discerning look of their own before Tovah looked to her over the fire, "Well sister, the man has said his piece, and I am for it. In my eyes this would be a match our ancestors and his would both be proud of."

Teeva studied Ragnar, now slouched back comfortably in his seat, relaxed under her gaze. Dare she say enjoying it.

When she spoke she made sure her voice was clear and strong, "Give me the night to consider."  

~~~

The small camp against the hillside was quiet, the fires doused and the men asleep in their furs. Canvas strung from tree branches made for a few simple shelters. On bare feet Teeva crept through the trees, her feet cold but light on the soft ground. She had paid attention, knew which canvas she needed.

He lay on his back, on a single, thick fur, with his arms crossed above his head and his feet propped up on his saddle. He did not snore, did not move or even twitch. His chest rose and fell  and was bare, the night air comfortable enough to sleep that way, but a second fur was draped over his lower half.

Standing a few feet away she watched for a long moment, steadying her breath, until she was sure her approach had not awoken him. Then on soft, slow feet, with a dagger in her hand she approached. She paused, within arms reach of him. Satisfied she was still undetected, she moved. Reached for his throat with the blade and to cover his mouth with her hand.

In an instant , the mere beat of a heart, she watched in panic as his eyes snapped open, his lips turned in a smile and she was on her back in the blink of those green eyes, head spinning and the wind knocked out of her.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He whispered, crouching above her, keeping her pinned to the ground.

"Shouldn't you?" She whispered back through gritted teeth.

Ragnar continued to smile as he plucked the knife from her fingers and stuck in the ground next to them. "There are only two reasons for you to be here, I cannot wait to hear which it is?"

Her lungs finally full of air again she breathed deep, noticing the way his eyes jumped from her face to her chest with the motion. When his eyes came back to hers she was smiling back at him, a small, cheeky grin. "I have not made my decision yet."

He sat back on his haunches, keeping only one hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. "Decision? On if you will kill me rather than be my woman?"

"I did not come to kill you Ragnar Ragnarson."

Ragnar could not help but notice how relaxed she seemed in her position, he considered whether it was because she truly feared nothing... or only that she did not fear him. His eyes flicked to the knife again, "The knife leads me to believe otherwise, Leeva Tovarsdottir."

Her smile grew and Ragnar felt something spark within him, deep within him.

"It serves only to make a point."

"And what point was that."

"That I am in control."

He laughed, his grip on her shoulder tightening, as he fought to keep himself quiet. Again, he noticed she did not flinch away from him or his hand. "Says the one on her back."

"Is that not how you would prefer me?" Her eyes were dangerous. Daring, goading him into making a misstep and failing this little challenge of hers.

Ragnar chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting his next words before he spoke them. He let her go, plucked the blade from the earth and wiped it over his breeches. Flipping it gracefully over his fingers before offering it back to her, handle first. "I would have you many ways, all of which I would love to show you, but only if you speak plainly. Why are you here?"

Her face changed. Right before his eyes, so subtle he might have missed it in the darkness if not for their closeness. The warrior in her was gone, even for just a moment, and the girl was there. The pretty young girl, on the eve of a marriage. A nervous, beautiful, young girl.

Teeva fortified herself as much as she could, ignoring the heat in her cheeks and the tightness in her chest. "Is it so outside of reason for a girl to know?"

Ragnars face scrunched, brow furrowed in confusion, "Know what?" He still held the blade in one hand, braced against his bent knee.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. Noticing with a thrill that this time Ragnars eyes held firmly to her own and did not go wandering. So, there on the ground in his little makeshift tent, surrounded by the furs still warm from his body heat, she told him the truth. "I want to know that I will enjoy it." His face did not change, his brow remained furrowed as he shook his head, still not understanding. "That I will enjoy... being married."

Still, his face remained unchanged, if anything his eyes narrowed more.

"You know... being... with the man I marry." If the earth would open up and swallow her she would have thanked the Gods.

Then, slowly, his face softened, the creases disappeared from his forehead, his eyes widened, and his smirk returned. Holding her eyes captive with his he reached for her right hand and with his own, lifted it to take the handle of the knife he still offered her. He guided her to wrap her fingers around the leather grip and took in the way her breathing had become shallow and rapid. WIthout words he moved, taking her hand that held the knife and guiding it. Until her right arm was stretched to its full length out to the side.

Ragnar, hand still wrapped tightly around hers still holding the knife, leaned in closer. He placed the tip of the blade against the earth and pushed. Slowly, steadily, together they drove the blade into the dirt. His forehead nearly touching hers he finally spoke, "Beautiful girl," His voice was low and rough, his eyes took in her face. He had never been this close to her before and even in the dark of night she was breathtaking. "If you do not enjoy it, you can take that blade and cut my throat."

Teeva gasped, her whole body trembling as Ragnar laid his body over hers and claimed her lips. Their hands fell from the handle of the dagger and found each other instead. Fingers weaving together as Ragnar nipped at her tongue and swallowed down her moans. He moved, steadily, kissing across her face to her ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth before licking and sucking his way down her neck. "Tell me, is this what you wanted?"

"Yes." She sighed it out, tipping her head back into the furs, fighting for room to breathe. This had been her plan. Truthfully. She had snuck from the hall to lay with Ragnar, but things were not going to plan at all. She was not in control. She had meant to stay in control. Ragnar taking control of her mouth again brought her back to reality.

Her free hand, moving on some sort of baser reflex, moved to dig into his bare, muscled back. It seemed that one small movement spurred him on.

"Tell me beautiful," His voice was raspy, he was sucking in breath like a man emerging from the sea. His eyes drove into hers, "Do you want me to take you? Do you want me to show you what it will be like? To be my woman, to lay with me." His smile came back, his eyes darkened, "Did you come out here tonight to hump me?" Ragnar was near chuckling as he said it. but his one hand still held hers tight and his other was wrapped around her thigh.

She had to fight for the breath and for her voice but she answered him, clearly and truthfully, "Yes."

His smile doubled and for the second time he moved too quickly for her to stop him. Only this time she found Ragnar on his back, smiling up at her where he had her straddling his hips. "Go on then." His hands slid up her thighs to her waist but did not move further.

Again she found herself incredibly bashful, "I have clothes on." She narrowed her eyes at him, motioning to herself, "I'm fully dressed!"

"Does not matter." He chuckled. Carefully he began to move her hips with his hands, pulling her forward, "Ride me."

Her gasp, the expression on her face,  as she finally felt the hardness of him beneath her was better in and of itself than half the fucks he'd had as a young man. Her eyes snapped open wide and her hands dropped to his torso to steady herself. He did not wait, continued to move her back and forth over him, Grinding her against his hard cock, watching in awe at the faces she made. Her fingers dug into his torso and he had to grit his teeth to control himself. "Keep going." A groan escaped him as she pressed down against him harder, "Just like that."

Soon she was speeding up, his grip on her no longer controlling her movements. To be honest, Teeva herself, was not even in control of her movements. Her hips moved on their own, chasing whatever that wonderful, tingling sensation was deep between her legs. She was leaned down low over him, her hips rocking back and forth erratically over the press of his cock, the friction of their clothing between them helping her along, "Oh shit, oh... oh gods... what..."

Ragnar snarled through bared teeth, "Yes, you feel it, chase it." He surged up to kiss her, sinking a hand deep into her loose hair and taking a firm grip, moving her how he wanted her. Their mouths clashing together, all teeth and tongues as she moaned and whimpered through her release. Her short nails dug into his sides, hard enough he thought she may truly have drawn blood and a deep, uncontrollable shiver ran the length of his spine. "Gods you are a gift Teeva." He muttered the words against her lips. "So," He kissed her again, "Tell me pretty girl," He kept his hand in her hair, holding her tight, his other hand loose on her hip. "Do you want my cock? " He rolled his hips beneath her and revelled in the way she responded in kind, "Let me show you, hmm," He tugged on her hair, hard enough to tip her head back so that he could mouth greedily at the side of her neck, "Let me show you what I have for you." He rolled his hips again. "Let me show you how I will fuck my wife."

~~~

She was still naked and trembling slightly under the fur, though she was not cold and no longer nervous.

Ragnar lay next to her, propped up on one elbow while his free hand, his sword hand, traced unreadable patterns over her bare back. "So, Teeva, daughter of Tovar," He whisper against the back of her neck as he leaned into her, his hand splayed wide over the small of her back. "What have you decided? Hmm?" He kissed her there and then kissed his way to the shell of her ear, "Have I humped you well enough?" He sucked her earlobe between his lips and smiled when she shivered, "Have I swayed you? Would you marry me? Hmm. Can I have you in my bed every night, pretty girl? Make you my own and let you ride my cock whenever you please?" He chuckled as she groaned a little beneath him, half halfheartedly rolling away from him.

"Stop teasing."

He could not help the wide smile then, tugging her to him and rolling her onto her back. "Never." Ragnar reached a hand up to her face and held her, moving his thumb up to smooth the worry from her brow. "You should know, if you deny me now I'll have no choice but to kidnap you."

Teeva snorted out a laugh but leaned into the touch, "Oh really?"

"I swear it." He kissed the corner of her eye, "You are fierce and strong, beautiful beyond my words," He waited for her to relax and then continued, "And even now, spent as I am, you have my cock harder than forged steel."

She shoved him then, glaring but inside celebrating that such a feared and respected man let her handle him this way. Her eyes fell to the knife she had brought still stuck in the dirt at the edge of his furs, where he had left it, well within her reach if she had needed it. "Are all men this insatiable?"

He did not hesitate to respond, "Only when our women are this irresistible." He winked at her and in return she rolled her eyes. "Tell me now woman, will I ride out of here with you as my wife, or as my captive?"

"You will have to wait and see tomorrow won't you Ragnar Ragnarson?" She kissed him and then crawled out from under the furs to dress as quickly as she could. Hard to do with his hands and lips working against her every step of the way.

~~~

"Earl Ragnar, i hope you slept well." Tovah greeted him and his men as they entered the hall the next morning.

Ragnars eyes did not waver from her brother, but Teeva saw the corner of his lip pull back. "Very well, considering I have been anxiously awaiting an answer." When he did look her way Teeva revelled in the way it made her want to blush and hide as much as it wanted to make her smirk and stand up tall.

After last night she was certain of it. Ragnar was a man that would not treat like a cow to be bred or a slave to keep his hall. He would keep her as his wife, respect her, honor her, fight for her, father her strong sons and clever daughters. He would put her to bed every night satisfied and love her every day of his life. Here and in Valhalla.

Tavah laughed and stood to take Ragnar by the shoulders, "Then you'll be happy. My sisters first words to me this morning were that she accepts the marriage."

Ragnar embraced the slightly older Dane back and smiled, "The gods have honored me," He looked to her then, catching her eye as he continued, "more than I deserve." Ragnar looked back to her brother, slapping him hard on the back as he stepped away and towards Teeva. With a steady hand  he cupped her face gently and stroked his thumb over her brow just as he had done last night, "And I promise to live every day of my life so that I honor you in return."

The look in his eyes took her breath away as much as his words had. It was a struggle to speak as she wrapped her hand around his sturdy forearm and met his gaze, "I look forward to it."

~~~

Teeva was laughing so hard that she could hardly breathe, watching as her brothers men and Ragnars men... her husbands men, drank and played games in celebration. Watching as half a dozen men went stumbling through the fire pit and falling on their asses. She laughed as her brother and Ragnar, her husband, laughed and cheered and embraced each other in victory.

Ragnar stepped aside and accepted a mug of ale, still laughing as he raised it to his lips, but he caught her eye as he drank. She was staring at him and married or not he saw the faintest blush at her throat at being found out. She did not look away though and that made his blood sing through him. Leaving others to their games he crossed the yard to where she sat by a fire. Her eyes held his the whole way.

"You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself." She greeted him with a jest and a smile.

Without hesitation he took a knee before her where she sat, placing himself between her legs and leaning into her, his arms braced against the chair on either side of her thighs. From this position he was only a few inches away from her but had to tilt his chin up, just slightly, to look at her. "And you, sitting here with your bright smile and flushed cheeks, hmm? Are you enjoying yourself? Watching?"

"Am I not allowed to enjoy watching? My husband?" She sounded braver than she felt as she spoke, her fingers reaching out to toy with the end of Ragnar, her husbands, beard.  

A growl rose low in his throat as he leaned in closer, tugging her to the edge of her seat to meet him,  "Say it again."

She lifted the hand not holding her drink to cup his jaw, "My husband."

"Say it louder." Her pulled her flush against him, until she was barely in the seat.

If he had not been looking at her the way he was, she would never have done it. But, his eyes were burning for her and his grip was tight so she raised her voice, "My husband!"

In one easy movement, as if it was nothing, he stood with her, his arms under her ass and hoisting her up until she was at least two heads above the rest of the crowd. "Louder!"

She did not hesitate. With one hand at the back of his head to hold herself steady, eyes still locked with his, she raised her horn of ale in the air and yelled, "My husband!!"

An echoing roar of cheers and laughter rang through the hall and the yard as their people celebrated with them.

Rather than letting her down, Ragnar turned and sat in the seat she had just been sitting in, letting her settle so that she was straddling his lap. Still smiling ear to ear he kept one hand on her ass and stole her drink with the other. He finished the ale in one long gulp and then slammed the horn down next to him, his eyes never leaving hers. "Kiss me wife."

Which she did, her left hand still rested at the back of his head, under the base of his braid, and she used it to pull them together.  

The kiss was short and sweet and Ragnar was not having it. When she pulled away he trapped her in his arm. She would say he snarled if it hadn't been so full of adoration, "Like you mean it woman."

The comment earned him a bite on the cheek but the second kiss was well worth it. Teeva pressing herself fully against him as she allowed him to ravage her mouth, giving as good as she got.

~~~

When she woke the next morning the fire had burned low, down to glowing embers, and she knew it was only Ragnar behind her that kept her from shivering. Her eyes focused slowly, her head hurt from the ale, but she glanced around the hall. None of the others had stirred yet. So, carefully, she made to move but the strong arm around her flexed and held her tightly.

"Don't move." He whispered in her ear. She froze. "I'm comfortable." He breathed out a nearly silent chuckle as she relaxed against him, dropping a kiss to her shoulder as she settled back into him.

"The fire is going to die." She whispered over her shoulder. When he did not respond she opened her mouth to say it louder only to  have his hand cover her mouth.

Now wide awake, eyes blazing as he turned her to face him. She glared daggers at him.

Ragnars eyes were still half lidded when he mouthed the word, "Hush." Then he removed his hand from her mouth, replacing it with his lips for a fleeting moment before closing his eyes and settling back into the furs spread over the hard, wood floor.

Quieted, but still outraged she turned slightly and bit him hard on the shoulder, clamping down on the skin through the fabric on his tunic.

His eyes shot open, his teeth gritted, bared as he let out a silent hiss at the pain. Ragnar dug his hand in her sleep mussed hair and pulled her face blush with his, whispering harshly, one word through still gritted teeth, "Vixen." Then he was shoving his tongue into her mouth and stealing any smart remarks she may have had before she could say them. Once she was thoroughly breathless he whispered to her, lips brushing the apple of her cheek. "My head hurts. Be quiet, lay down, and let me enjoy having you in my arms."

Her anger, fleeting as it was, dissipated and she dropped a feather light kiss to his lips. Letting out a long, content sigh as Ragnar smiled, closed his eyes, and brought her to lay her head on his chest. Soon finding herself dozing off to the solid, steady beat of his heart and the feeling of his rough fingers massaging her scalp where his hand was still buried in her hair.

~~~

It was a long journey to Dunholm. Many miles spent in the saddle and many nights sleeping on furs laid on the ground. It was worth it though when she topped the final ridge, and she saw it for the first time.

Ragnar had pulled his horse to a stop beside hers as she took it in.

It was bigger than she had imagined, an imposing fortress high on a hill, visible from miles away but impenetrable. Ragnar had told her the story of how they had taken it, how he had claimed his revenge on Kjartan. Teeva knew this stronghold was a source of pride for her husband, and now for her too.

With his usual, tight lipped but soft smile, Ragnar stepped his horse sideways. Moving until his leg was pressed against hers, the horses shoulders pushing together. He placed his right hand on the top of her horses rump and leaned into her space. Her hair brushing his temple as he spoke, "Well, what do you think? Does it suit you? What does Teeva, wife of Ragnar Ragnarsson say about her new home?"

Teeva smiled, turned her head just enough to press their foreheads together. "I will hold my judgement until I've seen the state of the inside."

Ragnar laughed loudly and stole a quick kiss. "We hurry on then."

As the gates swung open Ragnar once again came up close beside her, hand on her saddle and lips against her ear, "Welcome home."

~~~

"Have you night tired of me yet lord?" Teeva laughed, fighting to catch her breath.

Ragnar let out a sound, half groan half laugh. "If you want me to tire of you, you should stop making such pretty sounds while my cock is inside you." To prove his point he thrust into her, hard, moving her further up the bed with the motion, drawing one of those beautiful little gasps from her throat. "See, like that." He began to pick up his pace again, nearly snarling in pleasure as she clawed at the back of his thighs. Urging him forward. Her volume increasing with every snap of his hips.

He still lay on top of her, his cock softening and her fingers massaging the muscles in his back,  when they both heard footsteps on the steps outside their rooms. Ragnar growled in annoyance and buried his face in her neck. Choosing to ignore the coming intrusion, instead enjoying the heaving of Teevas chest beneath him and faint aftershocks of her fluttering cunt.

"Ragnar, if you love me, you will kill whoever is about to come to our door." Her fingers moved to the back of his neck and into the loose, disheveled blonde hair he had yet to pull back. As it was far too early to be out of bed.

The Dane chuckled and mouthed at her neck, groaning with the effort of pulling away from her, out of her. He paused, braced above her on solid, swordsman's arms and dropped his forehead to hers, "As my lady wishes."

The knock at the door surprised neither of them, they remained silent. Staring into each others eyes with matching, mischievous smirks. Then from outside, "Earl Ragnar?" was followed by another, louder knock.

Ragnar chuckled, soft puffs of air escaping his nose, and moved to kiss the ink at his wife's temple. A symbol to match his own. Then with more energy and more grace for  a man so large, and no longer so young, jumped from the bed grabbed his sword from it's belt striding across the room and  opened the door.

The younger Dane was surely shocked to see his chief opening the door sword in hand, naked, cock still half hard and nothing but  the scars and ink markings on his chest to cover him.

With a straight and serious face Ragnar spoke, "My wife has instructed me to kill whoever is on the other side of this door. This is your one chance to change my mind. Speak plain and fast." Ragnar heard Teeva behind him laughing quietly but his face remained hard.

"Forgive me sir, but Uhtred Ragnarson is riding to the gate."

With just a nod of his head Ragnar sent the boy away, his face breaking into a smile as he swung the door shut. Approaching his wife and their bed again, leaning is sword against the wall beside it. "This will be a good day."

"And why is that?" Teeva sat up in bed, pulling the furs around her against the winter cold, welcoming Ragnar into them as he came back to the bed.

Pushing her down to her back he kissed her, then kissed her throat, and her breast. "Because," he looked up from where he was pressing kisses over her belly, his large, rough hands cradling the small bump there, "My wife, the love of my soul is growing another strong, fair haired, green eyed, fearsome son in her belly." He crawled the length of her naked body to kiss her. And when he pulled away he was still smiling, "And today is the day my little brother finally comes back to be where he belongs"

~~~ The End ~~~

First time writing for this fandom but I already have a few ideas for other stories! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

#the last kingdom #ragnar #ragnar x ofc #Ragnar the younger #ragnar the younger x ofc #Ragnar the last kingdom #Ragnar Ragnarson #ragnar ragnarsson #ragnar ragnarson x ofc #ragnar fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfic

[oceanera12]

Not sure if this still is going, or if this has been done, but could you have authors note/behind the scenes thinking on False's chapter from Built Family?

HI EP!!! Ignore that you sent this a long, long, long time ago it's fine I'm slow I know--

Yes, it's still going, and yes. I can do False's chapter(s).

Once again, to anyone who wants to read the chapter:

There you go. Now, on to the breakdown!

False's chapter, I knew from the start, was going to be long. Previous Hermits had gotten a bit of backstory, but not to the extent that False did. We didn't see Xisuma's people wiped out. We didn't see Joe's full rampage as Herobrine. We didn't see Mumbo's full work at Protech. Heck, we didn't even see Cle's server get wiped out by Protech. But the Watcher's wiping out False's server felt too important to just summarize or have happen off screen.

I had a few ideas for False, but I knew I wanted her to be a fighter.

I was originally going to have False and her Mom be a survival duo. Single Mom and her assassin daughter against the entire server. And while I enjoyed the idea, I decided against it. Not sure why but the adoptive fathers' angle just fit better with the vibe I wanted to do with False.

On a note of False's Dads, I would like to clarify: Sym and Gerrick were not romantically involved with each other in any way. Gerrick was his right-hand man, but Sym is ace in my head. Both see False as their adoptive daughter and are co-parenting but not romantically involved.

False had probably the most rushed introduction, but then had this really long, "Oh no, everyone is getting killed by winged demon/eldritch horrors" and, I'll be completely honest: that was not my intention at the start. I knew I wanted to show at least part of the server's destruction, but it just. Kept. Going.

I wanted people to hate the Watchers. I wanted to address the "some writers have the Watchers as redeemable/some of them are good or at the very least, redeemable." This version of the Watchers: Not redeemable. Yeah, we know they did something bad to Xisuma and Void but it's very vague as what exactly happened to them. I wanted to paint a very clear picture of: "These people are bad and 100% deserve what X is about to bring upon them."

I wanted to show that Watchers are not invincible, but it is very hard to actually kill them. Honestly, the only reason these players were able to kill as many Watchers as they did was because they have been fighting for years. In False's case, her entire life. These are professional killers and most of them were wiped out by five of these things. The only reason any of them survived was because Xisuma and company showed up.

It was at that point that I knew I had to split the chapter into two, partially because of how long it was and partially because the moment

False staying on the server wasn't really planned either. But, I quickly realized that, at that moment, she was grieving. She had accepted that she was going to die. The two people who cared about her the most were dead and she was going to follow them. But now, she wasn't dead. And she wasn't sure what to do.

Xisuma was the only person who could reach out to her (Cleo could have done it as well but seeing as she wasn't there at the moment--) and understand what it was like to lose everything you cared about.

Originally, I wanted to show more of the "hubs between worlds" but I didn't have time for it. I debated if False needed new clothes, but determined that she would have had more militaristic gear, not her Minecraft skin. The coat being both Sym's sniper and a piece of clothing was a last minute addition, but I didn't want False walking around with a sniper for a few reasons.

The main one being that I didn't feel like she would heal with it because she' never take it off, keeping her in the anarchy mindset. A knife is fine, because it is small, easy to forget. A sniper? Not so much.

Miscommunication! Not just the only form of drama for rom-coms, but also between friends and family, lol. I knew False would never have the courage to ask to stay. She had to wait for an invite.

... Which the Hermits forgot to give. A common mistake in their earlier days, but they get better.

I can't think of anything else but this note turned out a lot like False's arc.

Long.

#era talks #built family #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #bf #falsesymmetry #fanfiction #asks #breaking down built family #or bdbf #idk i think it's funny #new tag #bdbf

[keroradio]

Here's the second half of "Fight! Pekopon Soldier", a couple of lines were a bit tricky, but for the most part I'm confident (^.^) for this one it was lucky that it was paced in a way that let me neatly separate it, the next one is already several short tracks, but the third one will be interesting to figure out.

Either way, I hope you enjoy it, as usually the script is under the cut

------------------------------------------------------ N: The third part is "Miracle Fuyuking's Crisis" volume

N: Previously, Super Natsumi fell into the hands of the Keronians, however, in response to that pinch, a new Earth soldier, Miracle Fuyuking came rushing in.

FYK: Fuyuking~! Uwagh! Since when was a rope-

N: And got captured. Weak. That was such a weak display, our Fuyuking!

K66: Eh? What's that you have? Let~ Me~ See~ Ah.

FYK: Ah! My prized crystal skull I brought for some reason!

K66: (awkward noises) The Pekopon soldiers have failed. Well then, let's subject these two to the vaulting horse torture

M: Roger! Vaulting horse torture, stand by!

723: Ahh~!

FYK: Vaulting horse torture is so....

K66: This solar powered panel doubles as a heat sink, and has good stability

723: It stings! I-it's well made!

K66: It's built as an indirect way to interrogate

K66: How is the "vanilla flavour" vaulting horse's torture?

G66: Endure it, Natsumi

N: At that time!

K66: Hm? What is it, yes sir? This synchro-engine firing sound like a bejeweled precision clock with a glassy face

Aki: Wait right there!

TMM: A bike-!

G66: Even though this is an underground base....

Aki: At a certain time, taking up the mantle is the strongest model who was at a meeting in the civil center. The third great Earth soldier, and that name is Miracle Super Mom!

K66: What?

TMM: Mira

G66: cle Super Mom, is it!?

N: Finally, the third great Earth soldier, Miracle Super Mom appears! Sure enough that platoon, and that brainpower, will be able to notice from listening

Well then, to be continued

---------------------------------------------------------

N: The exhilarating and moving 4th part: The "Appearance of Miracle Super Mom" volume

Aki: Your plot ends here!

FYK: Miracle Super Mom!

723: You came for us!

N: Before the fiendish Keronians, Super Natsumi & Miracle Fuyuking were defeated. However, then the third great Earth soldier, Miracle Super Mom, gallantly appeared

K66: W-We're automatically going from one to the next!

G66: Don't be careless, Keroro! This one has a different aura from the previous two

TMM: Is she going to arrest us!?

K66: Ha~! A suspicious movement

Aki: Earth soldier final strike,

K66: What is it? What is coming!?

Aki: Super Mother Attack!

K66: Agh~!

(Bouncing noises, I guess, and happy Keroro)

Aki: How is this?

K66: Sho happie~!

TMM: He melting in bliss!

M: Uncle!

N: Just what is happening? I'd rather leave your powers of imagination

Aki: You too?

TMM: Eh!?

Aki: Yes

(More bouncy noises, Tamama screams a little before being affected)

TMM: It's mom! This nostalgic feeling and sweet yet sour scent, it's the smell of mom!

G66: Eh. If it's come to this, I will-

Aki: You too, right? Yes~

(More bouncing, more struggling)

G66: I can't breathe...

966: Giroro's resolve was all talk no action

Aki: You too?

966: Ku~? Ku ku ku, If you can't beat them join them, right? I'm moving to your side

Aki: And you withdrawing into the corner?

D66: I was opposed to conflict from the start, my lady. More Importantly sharing kindness-

Aki: Well then, could you free the two you've caught?

M: Y-Yes! Right away! You could say, "Total surrender"?

FYK: Ah, we've been freed thanks to that

723: We're saved!

Aki: Are you two alright? Super Natsumi & Miracle Fuyuking?

FYK: Thank you, Miracle Super Mom!

723: With this, the peace of Earth has been protected, right?

K66: I-If it's come to that...This switch for the last resort weapon...

723: Something is shining from under the floor?

FYK: It's big, about 300 times the size on an Indian elephant

Aki: It's height is 15 times that of the Kasumigaseki building (1)

N: It's really too bad you can't see this!

K66: This is the Pekopon termination bomb, Kerori Machine no.3. Inside is a charge with 10 times the power to disintegrate it.

Kero Kero Kero, in 60 seconds Pekopon will be atomised, the last ones laughing....will be us

Aki: What are you saying?

K66: Adieu

M: Uncle! Pull yourself together! Uncle~!

723: What should we do? Miracle Super Mom!

FYK: There's no time left!

Aki: That's true

N: However, at that time!

DM: Nyao~!

723: Th-This voice is!

FYK: Could it be?

N: Before the despairing Super Natsumi, Miracle Fuyuking, & Miracle Super Mom, a brilliant new (2) soldier appeared

DM: Nyao~!

Aki: You came!

DM: I've come from planet disco ball to protect this beautiful blue planet, the forth great Earth soldier, and that name is: "Dance Man"!

K66: What?

TMM: Da

G66: nce Man?

DM: You Keronians, I want you to listen to this: afros are the best~!

723: Thank you, Dance Man, you've protected the Earth, right?

FYK: With afro hair

N: Finally, with the appearance of the 4th great Earth soldier, Dance Man, the story has reached its climax. The Keronians fight will- Eh? Ha, there's no continuation! What a showy ending, ehehe, ahem

N: Dance man's fight continued on! Thank you for your support

The End!

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1-The Kasumigaseki building is 482 feet or 147 meters, so 15 times that is 7,230 feet or 2.205 km

2-Arata could mean new, as well as brilliant, since the difference is in which kanji is used and both apply to a disco influenced character, I used both together

#keroro gunso #sergeant keroro #sgt frog #sgt keroro #ost tracks #cdrama #cd drama #audio drama