#her voice begging to Jamie stay

[andvys]

I'm begging for you to take my hand | E.M.

Warnings: reader is a single!mom and was dumped by her previous boyfriend, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of heartbreak, Eddie being a bit of a grump but this is pure fluff

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x fem!single mom!reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: It's a hot summer afternoon when Eddie's life changes for the better, and two very special people step into his life.

Author's note: this little oneshot was based on this reuqest. and I once again have to thank my bestieee @hellfire--cult for helping me out. I worked on this idea back in July and then just abandoned it cause I didn't like the way I wrote it, but Roe threw her amazing ideas at me and helped me out, thank you bby!

main masterlist

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The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, Def Leppard is playing on the stereo, the bottle of beer is cold in his hand as he lies out in the sun, enjoying his free afternoon – life couldn’t be better.

While all his friends are living their ‘perfect’ white picket fence lives that aren't as perfect as they once thought it’d be, Eddie is enjoying his life in utter bliss and peace, with no one disrupting his sleep or his precious free time. 

He is still writing songs, still performing at The Hideout, still living his life while everyone else is busy with their wives and their kids – something that Eddie never saw himself having. He wasn’t cut out for this life and he is content with what he has now. 

He has a good job that allowed him to leave the Trailer park behind, he now lives in a small house in a quiet neighborhood with no kids screaming through the streets and irritating him, at least until now. 

A small giggle disrupts his peace, he squints his eyes open after taking his sunglasses off only to see a little kid running into his backyard, laughing loudly as he escapes the young woman who is running after him. There’s no doubt in him that you’re some incapable babysitter, the distressed look on your face gives it away. 

“Jamie, get your ass back here! This is not our house and you’re naked!” 

“The fuck,” Eddie grumbles, getting up from the lounger he was enjoying the sun on, he puts the bottle down and makes his way over to the boy who runs through the grass in only his blue swim trunks, his curls bouncing as he giggles even louder when the woman gets closer, he isn’t looking where he’s going, and runs straight towards Eddie, who bends down and picks up the boy from underneath his armpits before he can escape further.

A small gasp escapes the boy’s mouth but he then continues his giggling when his eyes find Eddie’s, who is holding him up now, with a distance and an angry look on his face as he stares at the boy who just looks like a copy of him with the long brown curls, and his brown eyes. 

He looks over his shoulder, seeing you from up close now as you rush over to the two of them. He can’t even stop himself from ogling you in your little skirt that barely covers anything and your skimpy bikini top. Your hair is a mess on your head and your sunglasses barely stay in place, you look flustered but so very beautiful and hot. 

And way too young for him and his thirty eight. You can’t be a day over twenty.

“Mommy! He has the same hair as me!” The boy laughs.

Eddie’s eyes almost bulge out of his head at the words mommy. You look way too young to be a mommy, especially for a kid who’s definitely over the age of four. 

You’re not some incapable babysitter, just a stressed mom. 

The kid is squirming in his hold but he reaches out to him, grabbing his curls with his tiny hands, he tugs at it causing Eddie to scrunch his nose up. 

“Hey! Don’t do that, shithead!” 

Jamie keeps going, not caring about the grumpy tone in Eddie’s voice or the angry look on his face, he continues laughing. 

You pant like crazy as you finally halt in front of them, trying to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving up and down, and despite the squirmy kid in his hands, he can’t help but look you up and down, once again. 

“I-I am.. shit..” 

“Mommy!” Jamie exclaims.

You fan your face with your hand, rolling your eyes at your boy. 

“Jamie.. shut up.. for a second,” you mumble, already knowing that you will feel guilty for saying these words to him later on, despite the giggle that falls from his lips. “I-I’m so sorry.. We are – I’m not used to running like this anymore, oh my god.”

“Mommy said a bad word, sir.”

“I heard,” Eddie mumbles. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that he could’ve gotten away further if it wasn’t for this… kind neighbor. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, but when you finally do and you raise your head to look at the man who is still holding your kid, your breath gets knocked out of you again. Not only are you met with the most handsome face you have ever seen, he was also blessed with the prettiest eyes and hair, his pale and toned body is covered in tattoos and you almost drool over the beautiful stranger.

Your eyes move down his body, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. His lips tug into the smallest smirk and he steps towards you, meeting your wide eyes when you raise your head to look at him with your flustered face. 

You blink, breaking eye contact as you take your kid from his hands. Jamie instantly wraps his arms around your neck but his eyes are glued on Eddie, just like yours are. 

“Say sorry to our new neighbor,” you whisper through your embarrassment. 

“Eddie,” he nods, revealing his name to you. 

Eddie. You repeat in your head, as though you could ever forget his name. 

“Sowwy Eddie!”

Eddie chuckles a little, but shakes his head, raising his eyebrows at you, “new neighbor?” 

“Oh yeah! We moved in yesterday. Sorry if the trucks made a lot of noise…” You say shyly. 

He waves his hand at you, “oh no, I might have been at work at that time, so trust me, I didn’t hear anything, darling.”

Your eyes widen at the nickname, cheeks burning underneath his gaze. You swallow harshly.

Eddie looks down at your hand, instinctively looking for a ring on your finger only to find none. 

“Oh uh, this is Jamie, by the way,” you chuckle softly as you pinch your son’s cheek, before you introduce yourself to him, giving him your name with a shy smile on your lips. 

He repeats your name, making you blush even more when it rolls off his tongue so… prettily. 

“I-I uh.. we’ll get going,” you murmur as you take a step back, looking down at Jamie who is still staring at Eddie, “I’m sorry again, we’ll see you around.” 

You give him a shy smile before you turn around and walk away, unaware of your son waving at Eddie with a grin on his small face. 

Eddie sighs, begrudgingly raising his hand to wave back. 

He already knows that it won’t be the last he will see of him… or you. 

-

A few days had gone by since he met his new neighbors, and he hasn’t seen you or your boy since then but he heard music from the open living room window the other day and the smell of cookies lingered in the air when he came from work earlier today. 

Eddie is enjoying a peaceful evening out on the porch, playing around with his acoustic guitar as he enjoys the last rays of the sun, the fresh breeze kissing his skin. 

The bushes that divide his backyard from yours rustle, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees the mop of curls. He stops playing and leans back in his chair as he glances at the little audience – the little boy that peeks over the bushes, watching him. 

Eddie can’t help but groan in annoyance. 

“Watcha doin, Eddie?” His soft and small voice cracks Eddie a little, almost feeling guilty for the groan that just escaped him. 

“Playing guitar,” he grumbles. 

Jamie sighs, still staring at the man with his big brown eyes. 

“Can I watch?” He asks, giving him the best puppy dog eyes he has ever seen.

How could Eddie ever say no to someone so adorable? 

“Sure, just stay over there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie continues playing, closing his eyes again and goes back to what he was doing – enjoying his evening. He doesn’t realize that after the second song, Jamie starts getting closer and closer, ignoring what Eddie said to him earlier. The little boy sits down on the porch steps, staring at Eddie and the way he plays the song so easily, he watches with awe in his eyes and a bright smile. 

Only when Eddie stops playing and the soft clapping pulls him out of his thoughts, does he open his eyes to find the boy so close. He almost chuckles, of course he didn’t listen.

“Do you know the barney song?” Jamie asks, tilting his head in a cute way. 

“Barney?” Eddie mumbles.

“Yeah!”

Eddie furrows his brows, shaking his head slowly, “I don’t think so, bud.” 

The little boy sighs, frowning and looking down at his hands with a dejected look on his face, one that fills Eddie with the slightest amount of guilt. 

With a sigh, he starts playing a different song, one that he remembers from his childhood. The theme from Ducktales. 

Jamie perks up, he looks at him with wide eyes and a smile on his face, clapping his small hands together again. 

“Life is like a hurricane here in duckberg–” 

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise when he starts singing, a smile tugs at his lips as he continues playing, nodding at him to keep singing.

His heart soars a little watching that kid – not that he would ever admit. But watching the way his eyes shine with happiness and dimples appear in his cheeks as he smiles even wider fills his chest with a warmth he had never felt before – is that adoration the grump feels? 

“I didn’t think you’d know that song. The cartoon is very old,” Eddie says when he finishes playing the song, he puts his guitar down and places his elbows on his knees, looking down at the curly haired boy. 

“Well, my mom is very old!” 

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. 

You are very far from old, he still isn’t sure about your age, but he is convinced that you’re in your twenties. 

“I know the song too, does that make me old too?”

“Yes!” He nods, his curls bouncing wildly. 

“Jamie!” 

Both Eddie and Jamie perk up at the sound of your voice, they both watch you rushing over just like you did a couple of days back. 

Eddie chuckles when he sees you rolling your eyes but sighing in relief at the sight of your kid. 

“Jamie, stop bothering our neighbor!” You groan, softly as you throw an apologetic look at Eddie. 

“But he’s so cool!”

Eddie chuckles, and this time you do too. You stop in front of them where he can see you better – his breathing stutters a little when he sees you properly. Your hair is up in a bun, your glossy lips glowing beneath the evening sun, you have flour on your cheek and your hair, it’s clear that you were busy in the kitchen when Jamie made his escape, Eddie would’ve snickered at the look on your face if he wasn’t so awestruck by your beauty. 

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” you mumble, trying to smile at him as you take your son’s hand. 

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when you said his name. 

When you say your goodbyes and you walk away with your son, Eddie can’t help but stare at the two of you, a soft smile resting in his features. 

“Is he my daddy?” Jamie asks, a little too loudly. 

Eddie’s eyes widen and he almost laughs at the gasp that falls from your lips, followed by a loud ‘Jamie!’ He watches the way you turn around, as though to check if he heard it but Eddie quickly averts his gaze to save you from the embarrassment. 

He stares down at his guitar, pressing his lips together. 

The slight fluttering in his stomach that’s already been there when he saw you the first time, now feeling even stronger than before. 

You’re single, you clearly don’t have a husband or a boyfriend. And somehow that makes him feel… relieved. 

That night wasn’t the last he saw of you or your kid. Jamie keeps showing up in his backyard whenever Eddie is outside, whether he’s just lounging in the garden, playing guitar or trying to write a song, the boy comes over all the time, melting Eddie’s heart more and more and sneaking his way into his life, pulling you along, as well. And Eddie can’t help but grow protective over the little boy, enjoying his company and yours. 

While he was annoyed the first few times, he now feels excitement every time the boy shows up with his toothy grin and the curly hair that resembles his. 

Over time, he learned more about you – Jamie’s dad was a drummer in some rock band that Eddie had never heard of, he wanted nothing to do with his child or you when you found out you were pregnant. He broke your heart, dumped you and left you to go through it all by yourself. You were only twenty and you had no one, you were all alone. It’s something that left Eddie seething in anger when he found out, how could anyone do this to you? How could anyone neglect their child? How could anyone not want you and this sweet boy around?

Because he does, he wants you around after only a few weeks of knowing the two of you.

He couldn’t even blink before you both sneaked your way into his heart.

-

It’s a Friday night when the doorbell rings, the sound pulling him away from the book he was reading. He throws it on the couch and gets up, walking over through the long hallway that leads to the front door. He doesn’t expect to find you on the other side when he opens the door, but it’s always a welcoming sight. 

“Hi,” you say softly, blessing him with that beautiful smile of yours, filling his heart with warmth. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles at you before his eyes fall on Jamie who seems to be shying away from him today, hiding behind you. He reaches his hand out to him, ruffling his curls, “hey bud, feeling a little shy today?”

“Jamie wanted to ask you something.” 

Eddie raises his brows, leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms over his chest, “oh?” 

Jamie hides even further, peeking out from behind you though as he looks at the man through his bangs. 

You giggle, eyes flashing with amusement. 

Eddie’s heart flutters at that sound and he can’t help but stare at you.

“Come on, bug.. ask him, the worst he can say is no and we’ll get someone else,” you say softly, smiling down at him as you squeeze his hand. 

“No!” He protests, giving you a pout, “I want Eddie to teach me!” 

Eddie tilts his head in curiosity, looking between you and your kid.

“Mommy got me a guitar…” Jamie says shyly. 

“He’s been hooked since he heard you play,” you smile at Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes soften at your words, he looks down at your boy, bending down to his eye level. 

“And what did you want to ask me, bud?”

Jamie slowly steps out from behind you, revealing a band shirt to the older man that instantly lightens up his eyes, the boy takes another step forward. 

“If you… If you can teach me,” he whispers shyly. 

Eddie is stunned and surprised that a small kid likes him in this manner. Eddie is grumpy, a little cold and distant most of the time, something that scares away all the other kids but this little boy took a liking towards him, he wants to be like him, like a mini him. And Eddie’s heart soars at that, he feels pride rushing through him. 

“Alright, I’ll teach you.”

His big eyes widen in excitement and this time, he can’t even hold back, he jumps up and down in excitement before he throws his arms around Eddie’s neck, hugging him tightly as he giggles into his ear – melting the grumpy man’s heart completely. 

And you, you’re a little perplexed that Eddie willingly wants to spend time with him, you always worried that he bothered him too much already, but Eddie seems to be excited, just as excited as your boy is. 

Eddie wraps his arms around his small body, patting his back as he laughs a little. Your heart flutters at the sight of the two of them. 

“Let’s go!” Jamie giggles excitedly, reaching for Eddie’s hand when he pulls away from the hug, pulling the man out of his house, “you need to see my guitar!” 

“Jamie, maybe he’s busy right now–”

“No, no sweets,” Eddie shakes his head, reaching for the keys on the counter before he shuts the door. He keeps holding Jamie's hand as he steps towards you, surprising you by lifting his arm up and pressing his palm against your back, “I wanna see his metal guitar.”

Your breathing stutters and your eyes widen once again when he pulls you closer, making you feel comfortable and safe in his embrace. He squeezes your shoulder when you step closer to him, throwing a smile at him that almost has him weak in the knees. 

Jamie begins to ramble from all the excitement in him and Eddie, he squeezes his hand, smiling down at the boy with a fond look on his face. 

His hand moves down your side and he slowly reaches for your hand, not knowing that this innocent little touch makes your insides tingle with something. He presses his palm against yours, waiting for you to intertwine your fingers with his, and when you do, he squeezes your hand, making his own heart flutter with the action. 

And as Eddie feels your touch like this for the very first time and the tiny hand that tugs at his fingers, he finds himself understanding what his friends meant when they shared their dreams of a white picket fence and a family. 

Because suddenly, as he walks down the street with the two of you, he feels something he had never felt before, comfort and the want and need to protect and care for the people who came into his life and blessed him with… happiness. 

And he becomes a part of your life, like the two of you became a part of his. 

What starts with guitar lessons turns into something more – movie nights, game nights, breakfast at the diner, afternoons at the lake. 

You and Eddie get closer and closer, the pull between the two of you becoming stronger as well. Though you never cross over that line. Not yet. 

Your touches are innocent, so are the glances you throw at each other, but you crave him and he craves you and you show each other just how much weeks later at Jamie's birthday party. Eddie was invited as his best friend. 

The backyard is filled with kids and their parents who all came to the party as well, laughter and chatter could be heard all the way to the kitchen, where you prepare the snacks with Eddie by your side. His arm is brushing against yours, and you keep biting back the smile as you sneak glances at him, watching the way he cuts the fruit with a concentrated look on his face. 

You put down the knife after throwing the fruit into the bowl. 

Eddie was so determined to help you out in the kitchen, he didn’t even let you protest against it.

He doesn’t have to do this. 

He could be out there chatting with Steve who came here with his kids, but he chose to be here with you. 

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yes, sweets?” 

You take a deep breath and walk over to the sink, putting the cutting board and the knife down, you hold onto the edge of the counter. 

“Thank you for being so nice with Jamie… and well, with me too. The sink is fixed again thanks to you,” you giggle nervously, glancing over your shoulder at him to see him walking towards you with a smile on his face, biting his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, well... it’s impossible not to like the little devil… you know what I like the most about him?” 

Your cheeks almost hurt from how much you want to smile when you feel him coming up behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him. 

“His mom.”

You start blushing furiously, turning around in his arms to stare at him, despite the flustered look on your face. 

The look in his eyes and the fond smile on his face doesn’t help either, it makes you even weaker. 

“So… a kid is not a turn off for you I suppose?” You ask, looking at him through hooded eyes. 

He tilts his head, “it was before… but then I met my little mini me and you,” he says with his husky voice, pulling you closer against him as his hand moves up your side, playing with the thin material of your dress, “it’s an absolute turn on to see you in momma bear mode.”

You grow even more flustered now, slapping his chest lightly but it only makes him chuckle more and he pulls you flush against him as his face inches closer to yours. He looks down at your lips, he feels the heat of your body against his and god… even that feels perfect enough, he won’t know what to do with himself when he actually gets to kiss you and feel your lips against his for the first time.

“Hmm… Well then you’re lucky that I’m into rockstars.”

His heart skips a beat when you move closer this time, but before your lips could even brush against his, loud footsteps echo through the hallway and Jamie comes running into the kitchen with a plastic sword in his hand and wearing a pirate costume. 

“Mommy! I’m a pirate!” 

Eddie pulls away with a soft groan and you giggle when you’re forced to pull away from each other. 

He looks down at your little boy, a grin taking over his face. 

“You know who I am, bud?” 

Jamie’s curious brown eyes squint at him, “who?”

Eddie grabs the spatula that was laying on the kitchen counter, stepping towards Jamie and going into a fighting stance, putting on his best mean face, “the most terrible and scary pirate in all the seven seas, matey!” He speaks with a deep, dramatic voice. 

Jamie laughs as he runs away with Eddie chasing after him. And you watch smiling fondly, the sight in front of you pulling at your heart strings. 

And you aren’t the only one who’s watching him, Steve is watching him too, amused and a little surprised to see him like that. Eddie had been his friend for almost twenty years now, and not once has he seen him so happy with a woman by his side, let alone a kid. 

He can’t even bite his tongue when he gets a moment alone with him. 

“So… what was that of not wanting kids?” Steve asks him later that night, smirking at Eddie who can’t keep his eyes off you while you’re talking to Steve’s wife. 

“Uh,” Eddie chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “at least the baby part is done with…” He trails off with doubt as he watches you, the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you look so happy, the way your eyes light up when they meet his briefly. His eyes then move down to your stomach, and suddenly he can’t stop himself from imagining you with a baby bump that carries his own child, his heart flutters at the thought. “But maybe…”

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees the lovesick look in his best friend’s eyes. 

“Oh boy…” 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x single mom!reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble

[luveline]

i see ur thinking abt the marauders and i was just thinking abt them too!! i just saw a thread on twt abt how much men hate their girlfriends but wont break up with them (😖😖) and couldn't stop thinking abt how james would be so BAFFLED reading it!! would you be able to write something for that? its perfectly fine if not!! ily <33

I luv you! I'm not sure what thread you mean but I made a guess, sorry if it's not right ♡ fem, 1k

modern au. cw mention of toxic/hurtful relationships

"What is that?" James asks, pushing the sheets back as he climbs in beside you. His bowl of cereal is heaping, upwards of ten weetabix doused in milk, sugar, raspberries, blueberries, and a generous squeeze of honey.

"What?" you ask, showing him your phone screen. 

James leans over you to scroll back up. "Men who hate their girlfriends?" 

"Oh, it's like, people posting their screenshots, I think." You click on the tweet he'd been pointing at and show him the replies underneath. "It's just boys who act like they don't love their partners but won't break up with them either, there's loads on there." 

"What?" he asks, holding his bowl in one hand. "Can I?" You give him your phone happily, watching as he reads through some of the examples, screenshots from different websites and forums. "'Recently had to tell a friend's bird that he was calling her all sorts of names. I'm loyal to my friends, but you could hear the hatred in his voice sometimes. She left him two days later and he was surprised, for some reason.'"

James' eyebrows pinch. He continues, "'Am I in the wrong for asking my husband to stay awake with me during my early morning labour? He keeps bringing it up.'" James shows you your phone screen. "Like, he's mad she didn't let him sleep through the birth of their child?" 

"You know, there was a video on there a few weeks ago where a girl had put together a compilation of her boyfriend play fighting with her, and each video got nastier and nastier." You reach for the spoon to his bowl to start chopping up the weetabix the way he likes. "He was kicking her legs from under her and she was laughing it off. Once or twice, I'd think it was funny, but he wasn't even laughing himself." 

"Why the fuck?" James asks. 

"I don't know. Can I have a raspberry?" 

"They're in there for you to steal…" James watches you chew. You try not to pay too much attention to his staring, plopping your phone down in the sheets between your legs. "Why are these boys getting with women they don't like?" 

"I don't know, Jamie," you tell him honestly, wading through his bowl for another raspberry. "I think they get comfortable." 

He accepts the spoon back from you and you slouch down the fabric headboard together. James eats his weetabix slowly, the TV sending a light blue light into your otherwise dark room. "It's a bit late for supper," you murmur. "Were you hungry?" 

James puts his bowl on the nightstand. Coils of curls brush your forehead as he leans down, one big hand on the back of your neck and the other stretched across the shoulder furthest away from him, holding you in place as he kisses the top of your head. It's a weighty kiss, full of love. "I love you. Don't ever let anyone treat you like those boys on your phone, yeah?" 

You hum lightly. "That's what boys are like." 

"I know. I'm just begging you not to let people do that to you." He rubs your shoulder roughly, a massaging that hurts in the good way. "You know, if you can. I get that it's not their choice." 

"Yeah. I think people want so badly to be loved that they'll take the pretend kind. I was lucky to find you before you found someone else. You always make me happy." 

"This is what I mean," he whines, resting his cheek on your forehead. You sigh happily at his touch, more than ready for a night of his arms around you, a heavy leg thrown over your hips to lock you in. "You think you're lucky because of those dickheads." 

"No, it doesn't have anything to do with them. Just you." 

James sits up to turn your face to his. "Love you," he says, kissing you quickly. 

"Love you too. Don't stress about the phone, babe, you're not the audience they're looking for." 

James hears your teasing tone toward the end, poking your side. "What's that for?" 

"Nothing, just, you tried to follow me into the bathroom last night even when I told you I wasn't showering. If you're that eager to sit with me while I pee, I doubt you'll be the kind of guy who ends up on that forum." 

"It wasn't about the peeing, stop trying to shame me," he grumbles, again pulling you in for a hug, "it was separation anxiety. I miss you."

"I get why these women end up like that, though," you say quietly. "I get why they stay. If you started shoving me for a laugh or whatever, I'd think about this, because you love me. Does that make sense? I'm so happy right now that I wouldn't want to believe that you didn't love me anymore." 

"I know. It's fucking sad. I can't believe they do shit like that, it's pure selfishness." James settles back in his pillow. "I wouldn't ever do that shit to you. I know everyone says that, but I have to say it anyway." 

"I know, Jamie. Don't worry. I'm not worried about it, only talking." 

You offer him your hand. James takes it, rubs the back of it, brings it to his lips for a barely felt kiss. "Is there anything happy on that app?" he asks. 

"Uh, I saw a video of a baby girl who only stops crying when her cat comes to check on her. Or a pregnancy reveal where the boyfriend starts crying and begging her to get married." 

James rests his face on your shoulder, snuffling into your skin contentedly, "Ah, so my future. Put it on, angel." 

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

[theemporium]

james and reader get in a fight and he GROVELS for her forgiveness like i’m talking on his knees teary eyed and begging with his voice cracking all over the place lol

thank you for requesting!🖤

.

It was a stupid fight that escalated far too quickly for either of you to back away and look at it from a level headed perspective.

You screamed. He screamed. You cried. He walked away. It hurt to even think about. It hurt even more when you were left unsure of your relationship at the end of it, it hurt when you realised you could have potentially lost your relationship over something so completely stupid and miniscule.

You felt numb after James had stormed out of the apartment, unsure what to even do with yourself as you stood there, tears streaming down your face and body exhausted by the screaming match you had just dealt with for the last half an hour. 

You didn’t remember making your way to your shared bedroom, crawling under the covers and cocooning yourself under the duvet as you hugged your pillow close until at some point you fell asleep. 

That was how James found you when he returned hours later, drained and ridden with guilt. He knew how he acted was shitty, he knew he snapped when he shouldn’t have. Maybe it was the stress of work or some pent up anger he hadn’t let out, but he sure as hell shouldn’t have let it out on you and he felt sick with himself for the way he treated you in the argument. 

He hated how silent the apartment was when he walked through the front door, gently calling out your name only to receive no reply. He was struck with a moment of fear that you left, that maybe you packed your stuff and headed to a friend’s house to stay there for the night. 

James couldn’t breathe until he burst through your bedroom door, finding you curled on the bed and clutching his pillow close to you as you slept. He didn’t even realise he started moving until he found himself kneeling beside the bed, sniffling and holding back his tears as he gently reached out for you.

“Baby,” he called out, softly shaking you until you slowly began to wake up.

You blinked the sleepiness away, taking a moment to take in your surroundings as memories of the day flashed through your mind. The screaming and the crying and the fighting, all before you hid away in your bed until you passed out. And then you took in the sight before you, James kneeling beside the bed, looking dishevelled and like he was holding back his own tears.

“Jamie?” you murmured, moving to sit up in the bed but James grabbed your hand.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to you as he held your hand in both of his, placing a kiss against your knuckles as he choked out the rest of his apology. “I’m sorry for yelling at you and I’m sorry for making you cry, princess. That was shitty of me to do, I should have never made you feel that way.” 

“It hurt, James,” you murmured, swallowing the emotions that felt thick and heavy in your throat.

“I’m so fucking sorry, princess,” his voice croaked, his wide eyes glossy with tears as he clung onto your hand. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t lose you. He didn’t know what his life would be without you. “Let me make up for it, let me show you how sorry I am.” 

“Just don’t do that again,” you whispered, your voice so soft and small that it made his heart clench. 

“Never, baby, never,” he promised you as he placed another kiss against your knuckles. “Gonna treat you like the queen you are.”

.

#james potter #marauders #harry potter #hp #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #james potter one shot #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #marauders fic #marauders one shot #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter fic #harry potter oneshot #hp x reader #hp x you #hp x y/n #hp fic #hp one shot

[reevesdriver]

Mr. Dutton (NSFW)

Summary: You're recently single and living in hotels so when you get talking to your long-term friend, Beth Dutton, she invites you to stay at the Dutton ranch where you suddenly become close to the man you crushed on as you grew up, John Dutton.

Word count: 2535

Reader: Female reader

Character(s): John Dutton

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Smut / Unprotected Sex / Age-Gap (Reader is of legal age) / Best Friends Dad / Save a horse you know the rest / Oral Sex (M & F Receiving) / Dickhead Ex-boyfriend / John is a strong man I just know it /

Support Me: Kofi

Part 2

(AN: This man, well, this series has me in a chokehold at the minute and there's a serious lack of Yellowstone fics so here you go have some daddy Dutton🥵.)

Splitting from your useless excuse of an ex was proving to be the best thing you ever did. Even if you didn't have a place to stay and a boot full of your belongings your happiness was improving already. Your long-term friend, Beth Dutton, had invited you out for dinner and when she heard of your current hotel-staying situation she invited you back to her family ranch to stay.

You declined at first, not wanting to be in the way, but when she asked you for a ride back to the ranch and made you come inside for another drink you conveniently got talking to her father about the situation and when John Dutton said you could stay who were you to refuse?

“Thank you for letting me stay Mr Dutton."

“You can call me John, darlin’. We’ve known each other long enough to keep up the formalities.”

“Told you he wouldn’t mind.” Beth smiled as she looked up from her food. Gator had prepared a meal for the three of you since Jamie was working and Kayce and his family wanted to spend some time to themselves so John let you take his youngest sons seat next to him.

“It should only be for a few weeks. Until I can sort out a place of my own, if there’s anything that needs doing please let me know. I don’t wanna be wandering around doing nothing whilst everyone else is working.”

“We could probably use some help keeping the place tidy but I’ll see if Rip needs any help too.”

“Thanks Beth.”

Later in the day Beth showed you to your room and after John insisted on helping you bring the boxes of your belongings up you got settled for the night. The room that had been given to you was large, definitely the largest room you'd ever stayed in, and as you hung your clothes up in the double-wardrobe you peered out of the window and across the ranch taking in the sights.

It had been a few years or so since you'd had the chance to come back to the Dutton ranch. Between working and dealing with your ex it became almost impossible to have any time to yourself let alone with your friends. Fortunately you remained in touch with Beth and despite you not being able to meet up like you used to you were thankful that she was understanding.

You sighed. You hadn't thought about your ex since walking out of the relationship after you found out he was cheating and you were annoyed that after a few weeks he decided to plague your mind now when you were trying to start fresh. As if on queue your phone pinged with a text from said ex and you felt the tears start to well up in your eyes as you saw the brief begging message he'd said. A gentle knock on the open bedroom door brought your attention away from your phone screen.

"You alright?" Johns soft voice filled the room as he stood cautiously in the doorway.

You sniffled a little bit and wiped the corners of your eyes before nodding. "Yeah I will be." You turn to face him. "Thank you for letting me stay John, it really means a lot to me."

"You don't need to thank me darlin', you're welcome here anytime. I'm headin' to bed but if you need anything then come and wake me alright?" He says and you nod in understanding. "Make sure you get some rest."

John turned and left the doorway, closing the door behind him he left you in peace as you continued to put your clothes away. When you finished you picked up your phone, blocked your ex and climbed under the sheets after turning the light off.

The following morning the Duttons woke before you did and made their way downstairs. Beth made herself a drink and then sat at the dining table immediately digging in to the food that Gator had put out for them. Soon after, her father followed and took his seat at the head of the table with his own drink.

“Is she still asleep?” John asks, referring to you and Beth nods. “I was thinking of getting her set up in the stables, she was always good with grooming the horses so figured that’s a good place to start.”

Beth agreed and soon they fell into silence, silence that was soon interrupted by Beths phone pinging. When she checked it a smile crossed her face and soon she was standing up and excusing herself for the rest of the morning. Shortly after Beth had left you'd woke and quickly got dressed after checking the time. It was still early morning but you didn't want to start sleeping in especially since you offered to help around the ranch.

Exiting the bedroom you made your way through the house and eventually to the dining room where you saw John sat at the table on his own. "I was wondering when you would be making an appearance." He greeted you with a smile. Gator was bringing more plates of food to the table, toast, bacon, eggs etc and you felt like you were in heaven.

"That was probably the best night sleep I've had in a while." You smiled and took the seat that you had sat in the night before. "I hope I didn't get up too late."

John laughed. "Darlin' you're up earlier than I thought you would be anyway so it's fine."

"You got any jobs for me today?"

"Actually yes, i want you to groom the horses if you're up to it, they haven't been bathed in a while and even though the men in the bunkhouse are capable they never get them looking like you did."

You happily agree and think back to all the times you spent with Johns horses, brushing their mains and fur, bathing them and just overall paying as much attention to them as possible. John always watched you from a distance since he had other things to be taking care of but when you stopped coming around he started to notice that the horses looked dirtier and never seemed to be as clean as they used to be.

Finishing off your breakfast you started the day with choosing a horse and hosing them down before washing and drying them. You brushed their fur, main and platted their tail before mucking out their stable and then moving on to the next one. By the end of the week you'd cleaned up a handful of the horses and had been introduced to the new workers like Jimmy and reacquainted with the old ones like Lloyd and Rip who you'd come to miss. You helped out where you could but when Friday night hit you were glad to have been told to rest over the weekend by John.

Your old cowboy boots had rubbed your feet raw as it had been so long since you'd last worn them. When you entered the house you kicked off your boots and carried them upstairs to your room sitting on the edge of the bed you removed your socks and frowned at the redness of your feet. As the sun set you undressed and showered before returning to the bedroom and climbing into bed. Not a minute or so after your head hit the pillow your phone pinged.

Sitting up you were curious as to who could be texting you, that was until you saw the 13 missed calls and around 50 texts from an unknown number. Your stomach dropped, it was your ex and the messages ranged from "I miss you" to "Go fuck yourself" as well as. few others thrown in here and there for good measure. You skimmed the messages quickly when another one came through "I can see that you've read my messages, fucking reply to me." and with that you blocked the number and turned off your phone.

All the work you'd done over the past few days didn't seem to have affected you anymore since you'd gone from being on the verge of falling asleep to wide awake in a matter of minutes. You tossed and turned in bed trying to fall asleep but after 2 hours had passed you gave up.

Leaving the bedroom you stepped into the surprisingly warm hallway and made your way to the staircase. Peering over the bannister you saw John who looked comfortable for once, normally any time you'd seen him he was tense but now, sat in front of the lit fire with a tumbler of Whiskey on the side table and his feet up on the coffee table he looked relaxed. “What’re you doing up?” You ask after glancing at the clock on the wall.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replies looking up from his book as you descended the staircase.

“Can’t sleep, mind if I grab a book and join you?”

“Help yourself.” He replies and you smile. John watches from his position on the couch as you turn and head towards the bookcases. He watches you skim the leather bound books for a title that piqued your interest. Reaching up for a familiar title and raising up onto your tip-toes makes your oversized t-shirt rise up your thighs and stop just under your ass. John struggles not to choke on his drink as he drags his eyes up your thighs and catches a glimpse of your laced underwear peaking from underneath the baggy t-shirt.

After grabbing a book you quietly made yourself a drink from the bar and took a seat on the couch next to John as he topped up his glass with the opened bottle of Whiskey next to him. “Whatcha reading?” He asks with genuine curiosity. You flashed him the cover of the book and he recognised the title. “Good choice.” He smiles and you smile back.

Sitting down on the couch next to him you made sure to leave some room between the both of you. Your legs were bent at the knee and tucked up next to you and it didn’t take long until you started rubbing at the sore areas of your feet. The action didn’t go unnoticed and soon John broke the silence. “Your feet hurting you?”

“Yeah, been a while since I’ve worn my boots. Think they need breaking in again or I need a new pair.” You laugh.

“Here, let me.” He says extending his hand out to you and you knew better than to argue with him. Lifting your feet you drop them into his lap gently, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the backs of your legs. Suddenly it took you much longer to finish a page as your mind kept wandering to Johns calloused hand rubbing your feet as he continued to read his book, stopping occasionally to take a sip of his drink.

His lap was warm, his jeans felt nice and rough and as his hand traced the bottom of your foot up to your ankle you felt the growing rigid length of his cock press against the side of your foot. Your eyes were no longer focused on the book and instead you peered over the pages to look at your best friends dad as you gently tilted your foot towards his crotch. Johns breath caught in his throat, his rough hand grabbed your ankle and he looked over to you. "Be careful darlin', I don't want you doing something you'll regret." He spoke before moving your feet off of his lap so he could stand up.

You watched as John grabbed the now empty bottle of Whiskey and passed round the back of the couch, leaving the room and entering the kitchen. Thoughts raced around your head and after deciding on what to do you opted to go with the idea that would hopefully release the pulsing between your legs. Standing from the couch you shimmied your lacy underwear down your hips and let them drop to your feet before picking them up and walking over to the book that John was reading.

You dropped the flimsy fabric on-top of the closed book, grabbed your glass and walked past John to the kitchen as he made his way back to the couch. You poured another drink and barely had time to take a sip when heavy footsteps stopped at the doorway of the kitchen. “You forget something sweetheart?” John says and you smirk. Turning to face him you see your underwear gripped in one of his calloused hands.

“I didn’t forget anything sir.” You reply. He lets out a hoarse laugh and closes the distance between the pair of you. Your back is pressed against the counter and John is pressed up against your front peering down at you with a smirk.

"You're a little tease aren't you."

"Only for you." You reply and he laughs again.

"Beth'll kill you if she finds out, hell I think she'd kill the both of us."

"We best hurry up then whilst we have an empty house."

Lifting you up onto the counter John parts your legs and kisses the inside of your thighs before devouring your cunt. One of your hands found the back of his head and you ran your fingers through his hair as he continued to lap and suck at your clit, his rough hands that were delicately rubbing your feet moments ago now roughy grabbing at your thighs to keep you steady.

Your thighs threatened to trap his face as he made you cum with his tongue and soon you were jumping down off the counter and dragging John back to the couch. Shoving him down you dropped to your knees with a crack and made quick work at unbuttoning his jeans freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear. You licked the tip before drawing it into your mouth and using your spit to soak his shaft.

His hand is resting on the back of your head as it bobbed whilst you sucked his cock. You always assumed that since John was a tall man he would have the cock to match and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was true. When your jaw started hurting from shoving his girth between your lips you stood and straddled his thighs wasting no time in lowering yourself down on his cock.

John lifted up your t-shirt and took a nipple into his mouth roughly sucking it as you bounced on his lap, his hands moved to grip your hips as your cunt swallowed his thick cock with every rise and fall of your body. Cumming on his cock John wasn't far behind you, his laboured breathing urged you to push through the burning sensation in your thighs to bring him to his high. Pushing you roughly against his thighs John held you in place as he came, pulsing thick ropes of cum deep inside you.

"Looks like you still have it in you old man." You laugh trying to catch your breath.

"I'll show you more of what an old man can do."

#mine #mywriting #yellowstone #Yellowstone imagine #John dutton #John Dutton x reader #John Dutton x female reader #female reader #kevin costner #daddy dutton #John Dutton imagine #yellowstone x reader #yellowstone fanfic #Kevin Costner smut

[bitchinbarzal]

Open the door | M McTavish

part of Hey, Jude AU!

summary: Mason doesn’t like your boyfriend much but now he has a reason.

-

“How’s it going with your sisters weird boyfriend, Z?” Jamie asks from across the living room where the boys were playing video games all evening.

Trevor grunted “Meh, he’s- there’s something off about him I mean she keeps canceling our dinners and then griffin was supposed to stay with them and apparently the guy told Griff he just couldn’t stay there anymore so I had to pay for his hotel”

Mason rolled his eyes, not unnoticed by Trevor.

“What’s up McTavish?”

He shifts uncomfortably “I mean he’s an asshole Trev, I don’t see what she sees in him!”

Jamie laughs “Just say you’ve got a crush on her and get it over with”

Mason glares at him “I’m just saying the dudes weird, nothing else”

Jamie mumbles “Sure” in a sarcastic tone and turns back to his remote.

After the teasing had died down they got back to playing games, avoiding the conversation of you and your boyfriend further.

The hate for your boyfriend didn’t come from a bad place it came from the boys watching first hand how he treated you. Constantly telling you what to do, telling you how to dress and whenever Trevor would try help your boyfriend would isolate you from your brother.

At one point in the night Trevor and Jamie had gone to get more beer from the garage fridge when Trevor’s phone began buzzing.

Mason peered over to see your picture on the screen, he leans over the couch and picks it up.

He goes to say a silly line when he hears your heavy breaths on the other side.

“Trevor?” Your voice is strained but quiet at once “Trev please-“

“It’s Mason”

“Oh! Sorry I-“

Mason sits up a little straighter and says “What did he do, y/n?”

You’re shaking your head “he didn’t do, what are you talking about? I’m fine!”

“I’ll be there in five minutes flat, just tell me what’s going on” he encourages.

You sniffled and throw your head back against the tile wall of your bathroom “He hit me, Mase”

You expect some shouting, some sort of outrage but the line goes dead instead. You begin sobbing.

You felt so alone, wondering who to turn to.

In reality you just wanted anyone to hold you right now and tell you it would be ok.

Minutes later you hear the front door bang open and you flinch before you hear heavy footsteps pounding towards your location in the house.

You curl closer into yourself when the door opens. It only takes moments until your body is pulled into Mason’s arms and in that moment you burst into tears of relief.

His hand holds the back of your head and cradles you “It’s ok Angel girl I’ve got you now, you’re safe with me”

You clutch to his hoodie, silently begging him not to go anywhere.

He sits there for hours swaying you back and forth until you finally fall asleep, puffy face and pout.

His fingers trail along your jaw “sweet girl, I’ll always protect you I promise”

He eventually calls Trevor, telling him everything that happened so he could come pack your bags. When he finds his teammate holding you while you slept he gives Mason a knowing look

“Listen, she’s complicated but just don’t let her down ever. She’s worth the world”

Mason nods in agreement “She’s in safe hands here”

#hey jude au #mason mctavish x reader #mason mctavish imagine #Mason x mama

[myadmiringmind]

What’s This? |Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin Masterlist

Summary: You’ve been with Remus since Hogwarts and found out about his furry little secret before the two of you ever got into your romantic relationship. For years you’ve wanted nothing more than to give Remus one gift. This year is finally the year.

Warnings: Remus thinking low of himself (Remus being Remus), mentions of past transformations, cursing

Pairing(s): Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader, James x Lily Potter, Marlene McKinnon x Dorcas Meadows, Sirius Black x Male!Unamed!Character

Character(s): The Marauders (all four), Lily, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadows, Sirius’ boyfriend, and 4 year old Harry Potter

Mentioned; Alice and Frank Longbottom, Regulus Black, Pandora Lestrange, Mary Macdonald, and Emmeline Vance.

Notes:

Voldermort is gone

Peter never betrayed them

They all lived

All characters are in their mid-twenties

Readers mother is a potioneer

|PICTURES DO NOT BELONG TO ME|

—————————————————————

The Potters were well known amongst their loved ones for their famous Christmas Party. James’ parents, even though aging, continued with their parties, and the lot of you attended every year.

After James and Lily got married they started hosting holiday gatherings as well. It was a bit more of an inner circle than what James’ parents did. But you all looked forward to it every year.

“Hold on..I got this!” James assured us as he struggled to open the box in his hand.

Little Harry laughed at his fathers clear struggle, earning a grin from James. Lily looked at James strangely.

“James,” Lily plucked the box from him, “It’s already opened.” Lily opened the box with ease.

A fit of hysterical laughter filled the room.

You were resting on your boyfriend's legs, listening and joining in on conversation as your head rested on his thighs and your hands were intertwined across your stomach.

“Y’know,” Sirius began, “This reminds me of when we won that quidditch match against Ravenclaw and James got drunk as shit-“

“Sirius!” Multiple voices chastised

“Whoops.” Sirius grinned, not even trying to seem guilty. Sirius was spread across a love seat while his boyfriend sat on the floor in front of him.

“I think it’s time for Harry to go to bed.” James said, rushing towards Harry as if Sirius’ swear word would poison his son.

“Not yet, you know he gets fussy when he goes to bed too soon.” Lily stopped her husband

“Yeah, Jamie,” Marlene jokes, “It’s a holiday, let the kid stay up.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve never had to deal with a fussy baby.” Dorcas pointed out

Marlene snorted, “Of course I have, I used to have to babysit my siblings when my parents went out. I’ve dealt with plenty of fussy babies.” The blonde corrected her wife.

“Thanks for volunteering to take care of Harry, Marls.” James teased as he gently plopped the four year old in Marlene’s lap.

Marlene’s eyes looked as though they were going to pop out of her head as Harry tried to reach for Marlene’s bottle of beer.

“Uh, love, a little help here.” Marlene begged her wife quietly.

“I thought you were used to fussy babies.” Dorcas teased

“I was, but that was a long time ago!” Marlene shrieked as she tried to keep the bottle of alcohol away from the persistent toddler.

“I’ll take him.” Sirius scooped Harry up from Marlene’s lap, “I’m his godfather, I’m amazing when it comes to these types of things.” He said proudly

“You called us crying because Harry got a paper cut.” Lily deadpanned

“It was a bad paper cut!” Sirius exclaimed

“It did look pretty bad.” James agreed quietly with his brother

Sirius grinned, feeling victorious.

Lily sent James a look, “But you did make it seem like Harry was dying.” James said quietly

Sirius gasped and pointed at Lily, “How dare you turn him against me. I thought we were closer than this, prongs.” Sirius feigned hurt, “Moony, Wormy, back me up here.”

“Leave me out of it.” Remus said

“I’m sure you meant well, Sirius.” Peter said in a slight sarcastic voice

“Thank you, wormy.” Sirius chose to ignore Peter's tone.

“I do not understand how you deal with toddlers all the time, Lils. First, you and James, then Alice and Frank.” Marlene commented

“How is Alice and Frank?” Lily asked, suddenly very curious about one of her closest friends.

Marlene shrugged, “Good. Me and Dorcas went over for dinner earlier this week. Their little mutant clinged to my leg the entire time.” The blonde complained.

“It was sweet, he likes you.” Dorcas teased

“Tell that to the slobber left on my good pants.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Lily said, “I got a letter from Mary yesterday morning as well.”

“How's our sunshine doin?” Sirius asked

“She and Emmeline are traveling right now…she thinks Emmeline is going to propose!” Lily's excitement was obvious.

“About time.” Sirius spoke up, “How long have they been together? Since third year?”

“Sixth year.” Lily corrected

“You’re next, Moony.” Peter said teasingly

“Yeah, Moony, when are you going to pop the question.” Sirius was only joking. All of them knew why Remus hadn’t proposed.

“Just be patient, pads.” Remus jokes

Sirius snorted, “You sound like my little brother. Thought he and his blonde friend were a thing, then I found out he’s seeing some muggle from France.”

“Regulus?” Peter questioned

Sirius nodded, “The boys a blonde and everything.” Sirius looked towards Marlene, jokingly.

“Must be hot then.” Marlene jokes.

————————————————————

Remus had already changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed. He was only waiting for you to come to bed so he could fall asleep.

Meanwhile, you paced in the living room of your shared cottage. You sent occasional glances towards the basket that held the vials of potion your mom had produced for you.

“Love?” Remus called from the stairs

“In here!” You called back, you shuffled your feet in nervousness.

What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought you were trying to fix him? What if it doesn’t work?

Remus peeked his head in the doorway and smiled at you, making your heart melt in love.

“What’cha doin? It’s late.” He walked towards you and stiffened when he saw your uncomfortable posture.

“A-are you okay?” He asked worriedly

You managed a small smile and stepped towards him, straight into his arms and rubbed his back. Mostly to calm yourself.

“I have a present for you.” You whispered

Remus hummed in confusion, he hadn’t heard you, you realize.

“I have a present for you.” You said louder, pulling back from his chest but keeping his arms around his waist as his arms stayed around your shoulders.

His brows furrowed, “Okay?”

You sighed, stepping back and walking towards the basket, “Sit down.” You said

You heard shuffling and the creak of your chair.

Gently, you pulled a single vial from the basket and walked over to him. Without making eye contact you sank to your knees beside him.

He eyed your figure and chuckled nervously, “You’re freaking me out a bit..”

You sighed regretfully, “it’s nothing bad. I promise. It’s just..I’m worried you might not..like it?” You said for lack of better word

Remus smiled softly and squeezed your hand, resting on his thigh reassuringly, “Whatever it is, I’m sure I will love it.”

You smiled back and handed him the vial of potion.

His face contorted back to one of confusion.

“Look at the label.” You said quietly, scanning his face for his reaction.

You watched him turn the bottle over and read the label. Once…twice..three times.

“Is this..” he said with a disbelieving tone

“It’s Wolfsbane. I’ve got plenty of more in the basket over there.” You motioned towards the basket, “My mom made it so it should work perfectly.”

His face didn’t change.

“Rem..” you said in an anxious voice.

“How..why..?” His voice broke

“I know you’ve read about it in the “Daily Prophet” about a hundred times. I asked my mom..I paid for the ingredients and my mom brewed it. For you.”

Remus took in a shaky breath and looked at you with tear-filled eyes, “You shouldn’t have.” He said, holding back tears.

You sat up and wrapped your arms around his shoulder, “I wanted to. I know how much you’ve wanted this..how much you need this. You deserve every last vile and much more.”

Remus let out a sob and buried his head into your chest.

“Thank you, thank you.” He pulled you into his lap, and buried his face into your neck, “I don’t deserve you.”

You whispered sweet things into his ear as he cried. He only continued to hold you tighter.

When pulled back from your neck you cupped his cheeks and wiped his tears from his face.

He continued to mutter words of gratitude as he pulled you into a kiss. The kiss was full of so much adoration and love, as you knew he was trying to express how grateful he was.

“I love you.” He said

“I know, and I love you too.”

As the two of you went to bed that night, wrapped in each others arms, there was a new feeling, one that you knew Remus could feel too. It was a new sort of understanding between you and your lover, one that you were sure would last the rest of your lives.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #young remus lupin #remus x reader #the marauders fluff #the marauders #the marauders era

[hotchfiles]

james potter + hold on by chord overstreet

lari's 100th follower bash + send me a song and one of my boys for a drabble

james + chord overstreet's hold on (come back, I still need you; let me take your hand, I'll make it right; I swear to love you all my life)

content warning: fay asked for this now we're all gonna suffer. suicide / character death (reader). do not read if depression, anxiety, mental illness, grief and these sorts of themes trigger you.

you called him, you called him. he kept thinking about that as you were taken to the ambulance, why, why did you call? why if he wouldn't be able to stop you. why? did you want him to come? was he supposed to come faster? did you set him up to fail? did you want him to come at all?

he knew, he knew, he knew he wasn't being fair. he knew those weren't the questions to ask. but you haven't called in months, maybe closer to two years now, what if he wasn't living around anymore?

what if he had gone back to his folks' town?

what if he wasn't home when you called his home phone?

did you even want him to come? were you asking to be saved? were you saying goodbye? he tried not to sob when he was instructed to call your family and meet them at the hospital.

you're not related, you can't come with her.

you're not related, he was just your ex from years ago. he couldn't make decisions for you if needed. he couldn't even keep his hands on your cold cold ones on the ride there, he was forced to shove down his sobs to be able to drive and not cause an accident due to his blurry sight.

you asked him how he was, your voice weak. he was so confused but happy nonetheless, he had missed your voice didn't matter how high or low you spoke. he told you about his new job, his new glasses, his new apartment. but you avoided his questions any time he tried to know more about how your life was.

i just want to hear your voice, jamie, please keep talking. it was such an odd request to have, but he didn't mind, he missed you so much, his best friend, his first love. so he kept talking, he told you about his week, and peter's new girlfriend, and remus' phd, how sirius had gone viral with one of his songs. he only stopped when he thought you were asleep, complete silence coming from your end of the line.

he heard a noise, your phone dropping. a shiver went through his back, he called for you, hoping you would wake up and pick it up, apologize for falling asleep.

you didn't. he had to call the ambulance on the way there. even so he got to your apartment first, he had to break through so many doors to get to you his arm and shoulder were sore, you were stomach down on your bed, arm hanging out of it, phone far on the floor.

cold. barely breathing.

he did cpr to the best of his abilities, his hands were shaking, his own lungs seemed like they were about to give it up as the tears took his eyes, his cheeks, his neck. his own voice breaking, begging you to wake up. telling you to not leave him.

the rescue came in seconds later, finishing the medical predicament and taking you with them.

he shouldn't have left. when you told him you wouldn't be able to keep a long distance relationship for an year so he could go to barcelona, he should've stayed. he should've looked for you when he came back. he knew of your issues, he had his own, you took care of each other. made sure all meds were taken, all doctor's appointments were scheduled.

james wasn't that arrogant, he knew you wouldn't do something like that because of him. he knew he wasn't the reason. still the guilt made him so sick to his stomach he had to stop his car on the side of a road to throw up what he had for dinner earlier. he called your parents before getting back to his car, trying to keep calm not to freak them out even more.

i found her in her bed, she was still breathing, she's going to the hospital. she's gonna be fine.

he arrived just in time to see you being pulled out of the ambulance, so many wires plugged into, a mask attached to your face. he took your hand with his, following the paramedics as they went to some room he wasn't sure for, he left a kiss to your forehead and shivered at how cold it felt on his lips. "i still love you, please, don't—i need you alive and well, don't give up, please." james could feel the stares from the staff, pity. sadness. he tried to ignore it as he plopped down to the floor when he couldn't follow anymore. his head hitting the wall softly as the memories of you washed him over.

you taught him what a panic attack was, and how to deal with his. you were the one to recommend the psychiatrist he was seeing now. you taught him coping mechanisms for anxiety while he was too stubborn to look for therapy himself.

you saved him from himself, from his own thoughts, so so so many times. not only that, but you gave him reason, purpose, calmness. he would remember your smile even in spain, he would wonder what you were doing, and the thought of you happy and free made any uneasiness he felt there, while he was alone and lonely, disappear. he remembered coming back to england, he had so many little trinkets he had bought especially for you on his baggage, and he was going to look for you but you seemed so happy on your socials.

good bloody one, james, trust the social media. he sighed, another hit of the back of his head to the wall. trusting your happy posting as if he didn't live with you enough time to know you always did it, it kept your parents safe from worrying too much. he knew it, he knew it, he knew it, why didn't he look for you before?

your parents ask him if you were dating again, james answers "not yet." completely hopeful this could might as well be some fucked up plan from fate to reunite you two. that you would be out of all of those wires, that mask, in just a few hours. and he would cry and hug you and tell you to never scare him again like that. he would take your hand, now warm, and reach to his heart so you could feel how he still felt for you.

that hope came crashing down when he came back from the cafeteria, coffees on both his hands for your parents.

your parents who were talking to a doctor. his vision blurred again with the awful yell he heard from your mum. both cups straight to the floor as he approached the doctor for explanation.

you're wrong. she's alive. you're wrong.

his knees felt weak and he dropped to the floor of the hospital once again that night. sobbing as he hugged himself wishing you were being embraced by him.

wishing you would be waiting for him when he got home, snacking something so so so unhealthy while drinking diet coke.

but you wouldn't. never again.

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter scenario #james potter imagine #james x you #james x reader #james x y/n #james scenario #james imagine #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #lari's 100th

[teddyeyeseddie]

To Hell I Go

Open the Gate

Bull Rider!Steve X Reader

masterlist

warnings: reader calls steve cowboy a lot, a party, drunk reader, steve smokes some party darts, he also drinks budweiser, and chews gum like a cow, injury to main character, use of a belt for punishment, minimal understanding of how bull riding works

(a/n: poor baby stevie :( thank you @lofaewrites for looking this over!! Love you eternally)

Now Playing: Open The Gate

Monday comes faster than Steve would have preferred. The dawn creeps into his room as he sits up in his bed, groaning at the way the sun perfectly breaks through his curtains. He grabs his phone off of the end table, bringing it in front of his face in order to unlock it. He smiles when he sees a goodnight text from you. The timestamp reads 2:17 so Steve prides himself when he realizes you probably went to bed thinking about him. 

Good Morning, Dandelion

He gets up from bed, sitting on the edge in order to stretch out his limbs. He’s about to make his way to the bathroom when his phone buzzes in its place on the end table.

Good Morning, Cowboy

He smiles to himself, quickly picking up the phone as soon as he sees the preview of the message. 

What are you doing up so early, summoning all the ranchers?

Steve abandons his phone, heading to his closet in order to put on his work clothes. He settles for a pair of wranglers and an old competition shirt. He shrugs on his denim jacket before grabbing his hat and heading out for the morning. 

While he waits for his coffee to brew, he pulls out his phone. 

Girls have ranching duties too 

Steve has to bite his lip, because the idea of you doing ranch chores has his mind whirring. He pours his coffee into his yeti, mindful to shake the images of you away before doing so as to not spill and scald himself. 

He pushes his way out the front door, hopping into his truck and heading over to where the cattle are kept. When he gets there, Jamie and Richard are already at work.

Steve spends his day riding between the main house and the barn all day, finally giving up driving his K10 and begging Eddie to take one of the horses or his beloved razor. Eddie relents, giving him the keys to the razor since the horse Steve usually rides was being used for the lesson Eddie was giving. 

Steve smells like shit by the time he is done working for the day. He called it quits at around 3, leaving Richard and Jamie to tie up some loose ends. 

He heads up to his bedroom, shucking off his clothes before hopping into the shower. He rinses the day from his body, careful to wash under his nails and behind his ears. He wallows in the rinse for a while, the ache in his bones washing away in the warmth of the water. 

Once Steve decides it's been enough, he gets out. He wraps a towel around his waist, fetching his phone out of his pants. 

Having friends over at my place tonight, care to come?

Steve makes his decision rather quickly as he gets dressed without any hesitation.

Steve’s boots crunch on the gravel as he makes his way down the driveway. He had to park almost on the main road given how many people were at this party? Hangout? Steve didn’t know what it was.

He pushes his way through the gate he had seen people going in and out of, rounding the corner to reveal a gorgeous backyard. There are people swimming, enjoying the summer sunset in the water. Some are around a fire, and some are mingling on the deck. Steve feels very overwhelmed as he stands at the edge of the yard, unable to find you. He’s about to duck inside in order to track down a beer, but your voice stops him.

“Steve!” you exclaim, smiling up at him as you wrap your towel around your body. 

“Dandy,” Steve tips his hat, smiling down at her as he chews the gum in his mouth. 

“So glad you could make it,” you grab his hand, leading him to the deck before bending over to dig in a cooler. Steve looks away in respect to you, you take notice and blush at what a gentleman he is.

He stays with you for the duration of the night, sipping on a budweiser and smoking the occasional party dart. He keeps his hand on your lower back when you push through crowds of people, your cheeks flushing each time he does so. 

You begin to sway in your spot when you make it to the back garden, Steve settles you down once you reach a set of patio furniture that is tucked away. 

“You okay, darlin?”

“M’ ok cowbo- hic,” 

“You’re real drunk, ain’t cha?” he questions, you offering a small giggle. You pinch your fingers together and hold it up to your eye.

“Just a teensy bit,” 

“Come on, Dandelion. Let’s get you where you need to be, yeah?”

Steve hunts down someone to help get you to your room, finally giving up when the beat of the music becomes too much for him. He comes back to where he left you, groaning when he sees you’ve fallen asleep, he gently nudges you awake, startling you as he does so. 

He helps you up from your seat, hand finding its way back to your lower back, his other hand holding yours to keep you steady. You direct him to your room when he oh so politely asks you where it is at. 

“Darling not for any other reason than getting you to bed safe, where is your bedroom?” 

You simply giggle and attempt to lead the way. 

You finally make it to your room at the back of the hall, Steve opening the door and smiling at the decor that litters the walls. There’s horse decals peeling away from your old bookshelf, stuffed animals are strewn across your mattress, he even has the privilege of seeing your award from your 4th grade spelling bee. 

“Please stop looking, it's embarrassing,” you mumble from your spot on the bed. Steve grabs a sweater that is hanging on the back of your chair and hands it to you before turning towards your drawers.

“Where can I find pajama bottoms?” he questions softly, his voice gravely and smooth. 

“Third- hic drawer,” 

He fishes out a rather childish pair. They’re a soft yellow with little owls littering the pant legs. You blush as you reach your hand out to take them from him. 

“Listen um, I’m gonna get goin’...” he backs away from your bed and towards the door, tipping his hat to you as he is about to dip out of your door. 

“Wait- Steve,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, Dandy?”

“You won’t tell your daddy I threw a party at the ranch right? Mine will have my behind if he found out,” 

“I don’t kiss and tell, darlin,” 

“And I’ll see you again, even though I embarrassed myself?”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself, just got a little too drunk is all. Of course you’ll see me again,”

He doesn’t call, you don’t see him again.

He knows why he didn’t call, he couldn’t get out of his own head. His dad’s voice echoed in his mind, “I made you,” 

Normally, Steve did a good job at keeping his dad’s words in the back of his mind, but in times like this when self hatred was such an easy pill to swallow, the ammunition was there. Steve knew deep down he was right, his dad made him. Through hard work and enough times at the end of his father’s belt, Steve Harrington would always be just like his father, made in his image. 

He sees his mother, Steve knows she wants a better relationship with his father. He knows she aches and yearns for a man who is present and loving. Steve knows his father takes his mother for granted. Steve saw all of this and knew he loved just like his father. All or nothing. 

When he looked at you and saw all your potential and grace, Steve decided he wasn’t going to be like his father and ruin you.  

Not only was he equipped with daddy issues, but he had his lifestyle to take into consideration as well. It had him hopping from location to location, so he told himself it wouldn't work.  Steve knew you’d find yourself a cowboy, no matter how much he wished it would be him, he told himself it couldn’t be.

But now, here he is, telling himself that that’s not how things have to be. He has a string of hope tied to his heart, willing that this won't go belly up.  He fiddles with his phone, thumb hovering over your number as he lays his head on his pillow. He finally decides fuck it and calls you. 

“Steve?” you’re confused as you answer the phone, the two weeks of radio silence having broken your heart. You spent every waking moment waiting for his phone call, finally giving up after a week had passed. 

“Hey, Dandelion,” Steve rasps, sucking in a breath when he shifts on the bed. 

“It’s been awhile, cowboy,” you say, a little bit of irritation lacing your tone. 

“Sorry about that, darling. Had important cowboy stuff to do,” Steve lies. “Just a few things to settle away before I could get to ya, darlin,” He wishes he could tell her the whole truth but he knows that would be grounds to scare anyone away. He figures he will save the boo hoo my daddy doesn’t love me mess for when they make it to third base. 

“Watched you while you were in Cheyenne,” you say, getting up from your place on the bed as you begin to pace. 

Steve's mind plays back to his weekend, nerves flowing through his body, making its way up his neck, flushing his face. He was in the chute, ready to take his ride in Cheyenne. He grabs the braided strap, holding on tight as the chute is opened. The bull he is riding, Tank, begins to buck. Steve’s body ebbs and flows as the bull erratically attempts to get Steve off of it. 

The bull gets exceptionally high after Steve has been at it for several seconds, the bull bucking him off, Steve falling to the ground. The next two days were filled with endless bull rides, broken ribs and dirt. He rode hard and stayed on long, his score on his final ride coming out to a 93.4, winning him the competition in Cheyenne. 

He comes home days later on a red eye flight, his mom picking him up in the city. His bones ache when he gets into his bed, his torso bruised by the falls he had taken throughout the weekend. 

The two of you talk about it for a while, the casual conversation flowing easily between you two. 

“I really am sorry I went MIA, Dandelion,” he says with a small sigh, angry at himself for letting his own insecurities cloud his ability to be normal with a woman. He was a gentleman through and through but daddy issues coupled with his irrational fear of abandonment made for a concoction that was too dangerous for anyone to swallow, let alone you.

“It’s okay, just don't let it happen again,”

And he doesn't, every morning you wake up a “Good Morning Dandelion” text was always waiting on your phone. He would send you pictures of every dandelion he would find while on his ranching duties, he even sent a selfie with one tucked into his hat. He kept it there all day. 

And it’s still there when he takes you out to dinner the night before he leaves for regionals, which is luckily a few towns over. 

“Are you nervous?” she questions. He Oshrugs his shoulders, taking a sip of his coke. 

“Not really? I mean kind of? I have to ride this bull. His name is “To Hell I Go” so that is intimidating in and of itself,” he says with a chuckle, rolling a straw wrapper between his fingers and twisting it around his finger. 

“Sounds scary,” 

“Yeah, but I’ve got it, I’m the best out there right now, at least that’s what I gotta tell myself to not- pardon my french- shit my pants,” he states as he begins to twist the ends of the straw wrapper together. 

“You’re good at what you do, it’s good to be confident,” he shrugs his shoulders at your words before reaching his hand across the table to take yours. He slips a paper ring around your finger and smiles widely at you.

“Something to remember me by,” 

“You’re only gonna be gone 3 days cowboy, plus it’s only a few towns over. Maybe I can make it out to a ride or two,” 

“Don’t sweat it if you can’t, I’ll be sweaty and dirty anyways,” 

“Just how I like em, cowboy,”

Steve has ridden in 3 of his 5 rides, avoiding going up with To Hell I Go. His coach pulls him aside after his last go and tells him what to expect next.

“The next one is it, kid. To Hell I Go, you last at least 8 on him you have this in the bag,” he says as he pats Steve on the shoulder.

Steve spends the next hour settling his nerves, he knows he’s got this. He can handle Ajax no problem back home, what's 2,000 more pounds gonna do, right?

Sweat slips down his temples as he gets situated on To Hell I Go. His hands grip the braided leather tightly, clammy hands making it hard to hold on. 

You’re up in the stands watching, you were able to beg your boss to let you cut out of work early to come see Steve ride. You watch him make his way to the chute, shoulders pushed back and confident as he walks towards his enemy of the night. 

He keeps his head down, focused on going the required 8 seconds. He’s got this, he’s always got this.

The chute opens.

To Hell I Go comes out of the gate much like a bat out of hell, strong, ferocious and fast. 

Steve holds on the best he can. 3 seconds. He’s found a rhythm. Four seconds. His grip is tight. Five seconds. He’s got this. Six Seconds. He’s totally got this. Seven seconds. He totally does not have this. 

To Hell I Go delivers one off rhythm buck that sends Steve flying. He got so comfortable and it all happened so fast, Steve didn’t have time to tuck and roll. He lands to the floor of the corral with a loud dense thud. 

The next thing Steve can remember is white hot pain radiating throughout his shoulder and arm. He writhes on the gorund as others distract To Hell I Go. His coach and the medical team flood the corral and are next to him in seconds. Steve knows it’s his shoulder, it has to be. He knew he felt it break, the loud crack resonated in his ears despite the crowd. 

They’re able to assess the situation rather quickly and get his shoulder stable enough to get him off the ground. They offer him a stretcher but he politely declines, walking off the dirt and back behind the chutes. The ambulance is waiting for him, Steve hating the theatrics of it all as he loads up into the vehicle. Before they can close the doors, he remembers you. 

“Fuck, we can’t leave without Dandelion,” Steve shouts to his coach.

“Dandelion this, Dandelion that! Boy, your shoulder is broken.” 

“I’m not goin til we find her,”

“Well, too bad,” The paramedic slams the door shut at the request of his coach, driving away and to the hospital. 

#Steve x reader #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve x you #Steve Harrington x you #steve x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Steve fluff #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington series #Steve Harrington chapter #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington fanfic #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[the1975attheirverybest]

Girlie we need education pt.3 I’m begging 💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥

Well, you know I can’t say no to you. So, here it is. Lesson #3: Pain is NOT the opposite of Pleasure

Warning: smut

—-

Amelia paused at the restaurant door for a moment trying to find the courage to go in there. Her clammy hands reached for the door handle. She focused her vision on the “pull” sign, trying to stay calm.  Ever since the last time that she and Matty slept together, she’d tried her best to avoid him. It wasn’t too difficult. Mostly because he’d been traveling around the country, doing interviews and promoting the band, appearing on radio shows and in magazine articles. So, it didn’t take a lot of effort to not be around him. But he was back now, and she had to see him and be around him all night. She told herself that she didn’t care; that he’d made his feelings quite clear, and that she’s an adult who can handle rejection. He’d drawn his boundary and she has to respect it. But, for some reason that she couldn’t quite articulate, she’d chosen to wear this dress for him. And now that she was about to walk into the restaurant, she felt foolish about it. 

She took a deep breath. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. Just have a good time. The boys are gonna be there. It’s gonna be fine. 

She walked in, squeezing through the group of people waiting for a table at the front, and looking around for her people. She spotted George by his tall figure and bright hair. He’d brought Charli along, too. Jamie was there. Dan, Ross and Adam, a couple of people from the label, and, of course, Matty. 

“Hey guys” she made a general greeting, everyone at the table turning towards her. 

She made a deliberate choice not to look in Matty’s direction. First win of the night. So, she didn’t notice that he’d gotten up from his seat to get her a chair and set it next to his. She sat at the other end of the table, next to George. 

Dinner seemed to go smoothly. In fact, for brief moments, whenever she was talking to Adam about his baby, or to Charli about her work, she’d almost forget that she was sitting a few steps away from Matty. Or that she’s supposed to be putting on a nonchalant act. Inevitably, though, she would find herself glancing in his direction every time she heard him speaking, or laughing at something that someone else had said. Or leaning over the table to talk to George. She’d hoped to catch him looking at her, but it never happened. She expected herself to be relieved. Not to have to look into his beautiful brown eyes and fake neutrality. But, a piece of her was always disappointed. She hated that about herself. Whether it was desperation or a desire to hurt him the way that he’d hurt her. She didn’t want to be petty and vindictive. But it was hard not to. 

“Right, I think it’s time for me to head out.” Jamie spoke, looking around the table. “You two have to be in the offices early tomorrow.” He nodded at George and Matty. Matty downed the last of his drink, setting his now empty glass down and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Mhm.” He nodded. 

“So don’t have too much fun tonight.” 

“No fun for me, thank you.” Adam said, bowing out. “Gotta get home soon. Dad stuff.”

“Yeah, none for us either.” George added. “Charli has a thing tomorrow. I gotta finish up at the studio and go with her, so I can’t get shitfaced tonight.”

“Wow…are we saying we’re all going home at a reasonable hour?” Ross laughed. “We’ve really gone and grown up , haven’t we?”

Matty’s face dropped. “It would appear that we have, yeah.” He spoke, a hint of regret in his voice. 

“I’ll get the tab, then.” Jamie left his seat. 

Matty pulled out his phone, scrolling through his texts to find the thread that led to his last hookup. His finger hovered over the last text. He looked up over the table at Amelia, then back down at his phone. 

People had started to leave the table and disperse in different directions. He needed to make up his mind quickly. He watched her stand up and hug George goodbye. 

He sprung to his feet to catch up with her. He walked behind her as everyone lined up to leave the restaurant. When George and Charli headed off in their own direction, it was now just the two them. He stepped to the front to stand by her side on the pavement, looking straight ahead at the cars as they drove by. “Hey.” He mumbled. 

Her heart raced in her chest and she wondered if he could hear it. Slowly, she turned to look at him. He was, as always, perfect. 

His curls fell beautifully around his face, his simple black sweater clung to his body, a charming smile lit up his face. He’d been looking healthy lately. It always warmed her heart. 

“So….dinner was fun.” He stated, digging into the pocket of his jeans for his cigarettes. “It was, umm, nice to see everyone. We’ve all been doing our own thing for a bit.” He lit his cigarette. “Want one?”

“Nah. When are you gonna quit that disgusting habit anyway?”

His lips curved into a smile, tilting the cigarette to the side. “Hmm….someday?” He shrugged. “You heading home?” He blew the smoke out of his mouth, obscuring her view of his beautiful face.

“Yeah, guess so. You?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Walk to the station together, then?”

“S-sure.” Just when she thought she’d managed to get through the night without embarrassing herself. 

***

“Why’s the train so crowded? Is there some….some political protest or some football game I don’t know about?” She squeezed closer to him to make room for the flood of people getting on behind her. 

Matty shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I’ve been so disconnected from the news, lately.”

“Probably should’ve just got an Uber.” She muttered under her breath, looking behind her at the packed car. No seats whatsoever. 

“Wanna just….get off at the next stop?”

“Umm, no, no. It’s fine.” She sighed. 

It was decidedly not fine. Every time the train had to pause in the tunnels or come to an abrupt stop, the standing passengers lost balance. Herself included. The first couple of times, Matty steadied her with his firm grip, making sure she doesn’t fall. Then, she clung to his arm a few times, looking up at him and trying not to sweat at the sight of his pink lips so close to her face. Eventually, and she has no idea how, Matty had wrapped his arm around her, holding her close to him as his other hand held on to the metal poll in the center of the car. Keeping them both balanced. She could smell his cologne. The drink he’d had. The cigarette he’d smoked. She could feel his soft sweater against her cheek. She knew he could see her face, which, no doubt, betrayed all her secrets. 

Matty’s eyes weren’t on her face, though. He was looking somewhere further down. At the way the cut of the dress highlighted her breasts. Or was it the bra that did it? He didn’t care much for that how. She glanced up at him, catching him looking. “Umm…you, look- nice dress.”

She smiled. Men can be so blind sometimes. “Thanks.”

“Is it new?”

“This? No. Not at all.”

“Well, umm” he felt his mouth go dry. “It’s - n-nice.”

***

“So, umm, that’s my stop coming up.” She loosened her grip on his chest, moving away to get closer to the door. 

“Right, yeah. Have a good night, I guess….” Matty’s lips parted again, the look in his eyes felt serious, but as the automatic doors opened, she looked back, and he was silent. Letting her walk out onto the platform.

On the streets, she felt her body shake as she sprinted towards her home. She didn’t think she could take another second in that train, packed like sardines with him so close to her. Looking, smelling, and sounding so good. 

Over the echo of her own footsteps, she could still hear his voice faintly in her ear. The way he’d smile when she would turn to look at him. The way he’d say her name…

“Amelia!! Yo! Waiiiit! Amelia! For fucks sakesss!!”

She turned around. She wasn’t imagining things. In the distance, she saw Matty running towards her. 

“Finally! Is this how you normally walk or are you in hurry for something?”

“W-what are you…” she looked down at her waist to check that her purse was still attached to her. Has she forgotten something? Her phone maybe?

“I- umm, it’s late. You shouldn’t be walking home alone in the dark.”

She frowned. “Since when are you….such a gentleman?”

“It’s not about bein’ a gentleman. It’s purely about safety. Have you read the statistics lately?” He was feeling his confidence act begin to crumble, so he looked ahead, beginning to walk again. 

“No, have you?”

“A man can’t walk his friend to her door safely without an interrogation now? What a sad world we live in.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “Well, thanks, Matty.”

They walked in silence for a while. Each of them desperately trying to think of something to say to the other without making things more awkward than the silence. 

“So,” she spoke, smiling playfully. “Would you, like, fight off gangs for me? Robbers? Do you have a ninja knife or something hidden in your back pocket?” She laughed. 

“Fuck off.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know, I’m very strong now!” He flexed his arm, pretending to show off. Or maybe a small piece of him wanted to show off. 

“Yeah, I- I’ve noticed.” She cursed herself in her head as soon as the words slipped her lips. She was losing the upper hand her. God. She hated those kind-games. Those conversations they’re having in order to say what they can’t say. What they won’t say. Trying to communicate without actually communicating. She found that shit exhausting. She was never any good at acting cool and collected. And in this case, she didn’t want to be. She wishes she could just…talk to him. 

“You’ve noticed, huh?” Matty raised an eyebrow, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, got over yourself, Matty.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, like, I noticed in the way that…you know- people notice. If your friend gets a haircut or loses or gains weight or whatever. People notice, okay!” Nope. She’d overdone it. By, like, a lot. 

Matty watched her face contort itself in embarrassment, laughing softly. 

“Shut up.”

“What? I haven’t said anything.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Whatever you say, Amelia.”

***

“You wanna come inside?” She turned to face him, fumbling with her keys. 

“I mean, sure, if- you’d like me to. If it’s not too late.”

“I believe the conduct manuals say that when a gentleman risks his life to walk a lady home, etiquette dictates that she must offer him a nightcap.”

“Well…if that’s what the manuals say… wouldn’t mind a glass of wine, actually. 

***

“How’re you doing with- uhh- our lessons.” He felt sleazy just saying it.

She set her glass down to avoid looking surprised by his question. “W-what do you mean- I- what?”

“I mean have you been practicing? Sucked anyone off yet?”

“What the fuck is that matter with you!” She shoved his arm lightly, mentally noticing that, he has, indeed, grown some muscles. 

“What?” He giggled. “Just inquiring about your progress.”

“No, I haven’t. Yet.” She folded her legs, sinking back into the couch. “Have…you?”

“Haven’t had the time. But I’m free tonight….if you wanna brush up on some stuff.”

“I see. So the gentleman act has ended. Alright.”

***

In the dim light of her bedroom, she stood by the foot of the bed, with Matty towering over her. 

For the second time tonight, she found herself unable to take her eyes off his lips. “Friends don’t kiss, friends don’t kiss, friends don’t kiss…” she repeated the mantra over and over in her head until Matty’s head dipped down and he kissed her, crashing his lips against hers with just a little bit of force, his hands holding onto her hips. 

When he pulled away, her hand reflexively flew to her lips, as if grabbing at the lingering feeling of his mouth. She was utterly speechless. 

Matty stepped away for a moment, taking off his sweater. 

She mumbled a curse when she saw his shirtless chest. 

“Pardon?” He turned to look at her and smiled knowingly when he saw her eyes wide open. 

In the back of her mind, she wondered if she’s ever seen him naked before, or if she’d simply never noticed that he was this attractive. 

“Oi! Eyes are up here.” He joked. 

She was too overwhelmed to think of a clever comeback. His silence alarmed him. 

“Hey, Mia, you alright?” His thumb and index finger touched her cheek. 

“If you’ve had a change of heart, we don’t have to.”

“It’s umm, it’s been years since you’ve called me ‘Mia.’” She whispered. 

“Has it?”

What did it mean? Why did he suddenly bring that nickname back? Was he trying to tell her something? Does he genuinely not remember? “No, I’m fine. I wanna do this.”

“You sure?” He tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“Y-yeah. Umm. Yeah I’m positive.”

“Alright, then. May I undress you now?” He looked into her eyes, smiling. 

“I - can-“ her hand grabbed searched behind her back for a zipper. 

“No, no. Please. Let me.” He walked around in a semi circle to stand behind her. “This gorgeous dress? want to peel it off your body myself.”

She felt her cheeks burn up. Perhaps this dress was the right idea after all. 

Matty gently pushed her hair to one side of her neck to find her zipper, causing her skin to prickle with goosebumps. His lips kissed the bottom of her neck where it meets her shoulder softly. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her breath getting caught in her throat. 

But the kiss ended a bit too quickly for her liking, she heard the zipper travel down her body and felt the dress loosen around her, dropping in a pool at her ankles.

Matty bent down to pick it up. “Step out for me…good girl.”

Shit. They’d barely done anything yet and she was already desperate for him. 

With the backs of her knees against the bed, Matty dropped to his knees running a finger over her clothed crotch and making her gasp. 

“Matty-“

“Let me start by reminding you of the last thing we did.” She saw a faint smile on his lips before her eyes closed and she melted at his touch again. 

“Already wet?” He clicked his tongue. “Needy, baby.”

She let the slightly embarrassment wash over her. Driven away by the waves of pleasure that his expert fingers were giving her. 

“Right. Take these off for me.” He tapped her hip, snapping out of the blur she’d fallen into. 

She did as he said, eager to get his hands back on her as quickly as possible. 

Silently, Matty took both her wrists, placing her hands on each of his shoulders. “Hold on tight, yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Almost moaning. 

His lips wasted no time finding her center. She almost yelped at the feeling of his tongue licking into her. She felt his hot breath against her as he let out a small giggle at her reaction. This wasn’t just fun for her. He was taking delight in the way he made her feel. 

“Matty- oh! My god…”

It seemed he’d already memorized all the perfect motions and spots that got her going from last time. It was like he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. 

“Fuck! Matty- I’m- ah, if you don’t- s-stop, I’m gonna-“ without thinking, or intending to, her hands found his hair, pulling harshly and moving his mouth away from her. 

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to. Umm… are you okay?”

Matty laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

“No it’s not, I practically took off a chunk of your gorgeous hair. It must’ve hurt!”

“Yeah, but, I liked it.”

“You…did?”

“Yeah, yeah. Pain and pleasure….mix well sometimes.”

He could see by the confusion in her eyes that she’d never felt that particular mixture. “You’ll see.” He winked. 

Was that a threat? A dare? A preview of things to come?

He placed a small kiss to her wet cunt, to give her a little tingle, causing her to lose balance and lean on the bed behind her. 

Matty crawled into the bed, hovering on top of her. “See, that’s why I said to hold tight.”

“S-sorry.” She whispered, feeling small as she looked into his eyes above her, his curls dangling and creating a bit of shade over both of them. 

“It’s alright. Kinda ready myself. If…you are? Wanna keep going?”

“Mhm…condom?”

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling his wallet out. “Got it.”

As she watched him unbuckle his jeans. the thought that they were about to have sex kept running through her head. She waiting for it to be weird. To be surreal. For her brain to remind her that Matty’s her friend. Friends have no business getting this intimate. But none of that came to mind. All that she was thinking about is how good he’d finally feel inside her.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She looked into his eyes. “You?”

He smiled. “I’m really great, baby.”

She felt him get closer, then slowly push into her. Her eyes closed reflexively and she held her breath. Matty noticed her whole body stiffen. His own mind struggling to remain focused at the feeling of her around him. “Umm, no, Amelia. Open your eyes for me, please?”

It took her a second to muster the courage, but she did. “That’s better. I promise you, it’s gonna feel so much more pleasurable if you relax, yeah?”

“S-sorry, I-“

“You nervous or something? It’s okay. Trust me. Breathe. Yeah. That’s it. You’re doing so well.”

She hasn’t really thought about to before. That she tended to clam up when a guy thrusted into her. Maybe it was the anticipation. Or the nerves. She just did it without thinking. 

Matty pushed the rest of the way into her and let out a moan that surprised her. She’d have thought he was the quiet type. 

“Fuck- y’feel so good, Mia.” 

His overwhelmed face suddenly disappeared, he looked down at her. “Felt that. Praise girl, huh? Noted.” He laughed. 

“Shit!” She felt the knot in her stomach tight as he pushed particularly deep. “Fuck, Matty, I- you’re so- feels good.” He smiled, his own mind hazy with pleasure. “Right, ready to take it up a notch?”

He rested his weight on his forearms, settling into a rhythm with his hips. Leaving her a moaning mess underneath him. Chanting his name, begging for nothing in particular, letting him know how good she feels. 

“Cum with me, yeah?”

She nodded, lifting her head off the bed to kiss him. 

Matty waited carefully, at what he hoped was just the right moment, he dipped down and lightly bit her shoulder as she unraveled around him causing another wave to hit her, her body trembling around him as her mouth hung open. 

She swore she almost blacked out for a second. With Matty placing small kisses all over her neck and body as she came down from the aftershocks. 

Slowly, he collapsed on top of her. His thumb reaching for the bite mark on her shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. “See? Told you. Pain isn’t the opposite of pleasure.”

Her blurry eyes fixed on the ceiling, her chest still panting, she ran her fingers through his hair. “Guess not.”

Matty took a deep breath, rolling off of her. “Ready for round two?”

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x oc #matty healy fic #matty healy oneshot #matty healy smut #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you

[jamietxrtt]

.

Later, they were out by the pool. Roy had his feet in the water while nursing a beer, Jamie lying perpendicular to him on his back, looking up at the sky. It was quiet. Roy watched the ripples of the pool reflect on the concrete around it.

Suddenly, Jamie’s voice interrupted the calm silence. “Hey, Roy?”

Roy took another swig. “Mm.”

“What’s your dad like?”

That question gave Roy pause, the bottle hovering halfway between his lips and his lap. “What’s got you thinking about this?”

For a long beat, Jamie didn’t react, just kept staring up at the sky with blank, placid eyes. Then finally, he shrugged. “Dunno. Just curious.”

Roy gave a low hum of a growl in response-- I don’t believe you-- but he didn’t push. “He’s, y’know, he’s fine.” He swiped his thumb down the neck of his bottle. “Both of my parents-- they were fine. Never my best friends or nothin’. Never really saw them much, once I went to the academy. But they were -- my dad, he’s-- he’s fine.” Roy’s thumb and forefinger closed tightly around the bottle, right at the point the neck started to flare out. “He’s not like yours.”

Another long beat of silence. Roy eyed Jamie’s expression, hoping that last bit hadn’t set him off, but he still seemed perfectly placid and calm, his eyes drifting lazily around the sky. What on earth he could be looking at, Roy had no idea-- there certainly were no stars to ogle here in the middle of the city.

Maybe he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Mm,” Jamie said, finally. “Okay.”

Strange kid. Roy didn’t understand what was going on in his head half the time. And the other half of the time, he knew way too well.

He left Jamie to his contemplation of the starless sky, turning his attention back to the ripples along the water’s surface. His feet in the water were a significantly lighter shade than the rest of his skin tone.

He remembered, not too long ago, when he took Phoebe out for a trip to the pool. Most of her time was spent as expected, playing water games with the other kids there and begging Roy to get in with her so he could dunk her underwater. But at one point he’d looked up from his book to find her kneeling at the pool’s edge, her hands held underwater, as she studied the surface intensely.

“Everything alright here?” Roy asked, sitting next to her on the ledge.

“Isn’t it weird how I look paler underwater?” She said, wriggling her fingers under the surface as proof.

It was true. Phoebe couldn’t be classified as tan in any way, but her already fair arms were bisected by a line right at the surface of the water. Underneath, she was pale as a sheet.

“I wonder if I stayed like this long enough, my arms would get tan but my hands would still be pale,” Phoebe hypothesized.

“Maybe,” Roy said. “I’d imagine your knees would get tired first, sitting like that.”

Scrunching up her face, Phoebe squirmed around to get into a more comfortable position, crossing her legs and propping her elbows up against her knees. But she made no move to take her hands out of the water, seemingly intent on seeing her experiment through. “Why does it have a different color like that, Uncle Roy?”

“Dunno,” Roy told her. “The chlorine or some shit? I’m not sure.”

“Mm,” Phoebe said, seemingly content with that answer. “Okay!”

After another five minutes, she got distracted by a game of red-light-green-light, and gave up on sitting still, leaping into the pool to join the other kids. She hadn’t given it nearly long enough to see her experiment through.

So Roy stayed sat by the poolside for the rest of the day, his feet in the water, to test it out for her.

Now, sitting next to Jamie by a different poolside, Roy was jostled out of his thoughts by Jamie speaking yet again.

“Sometimes I don’t understand the things Ted says,” Jamie said, fiddling with a bracelet tied around his wrist.

Roy frowned, struggling to follow the sudden shift in topic. “Yeah?”

“Like, sometimes he says shit, and he just-- makes it sound so easy, y’know? Like he’s got it all figured out, and it’s super simple and you feel like a dumbass for never figuring it out yourself. But then you try it out and suddenly it’s all hard and impossible again, and it’s like--” He sighed. “I dunno. I just don’t get it sometimes. How it’s so easy for him to, like-- to be a good person.”

Now Roy was starting to get concerned. He turned to face Jamie more directly. “He say something to you?”

“No.” Jamie wiped a hand over his face. “I mean, yeah, but-- it’s just, like, in general. I don’t get how it’s all so simple to him.”

A strange itching sensation was beginning to creep up the back of Roy’s throat. He cleared it with a cough. “You, uh-- If there’s something he said in particular…”

Instead of answering the unspoken question, Jamie sat up abruptly. “Hey, what the fuck are we doing just sitting here, anyway?” He started tugging his shirt over his head. “I wanna swim.”

“I--” Roy didn’t even have the chance to get a full response out before Jamie was already slipping into the water with a splash. “...Yeah, alright.”

[They swim around for a bit, dunk each other, water wrestle, have some fun, etc. At one point Jamie’s band-aid comes loose.]

“Hey, your, uh-- your face.” Roy gestured toward the dangling bandage. “Plaster’s coming off.”

“Oh.” Jamie found the loose end and yanked the rest of it off, nonchalantly dropping the trash on the pool’s edge to clean up later.

Roy paused, treading water as he noticed the now-uncovered injury on Jamie’s cheek. It was too big to be a shaving nick, and looked too deep, too, a barely-visible bruise of purple clinging around the edges.

Roy glanced back at Jamie’s eyes to see the player watching him-- clearly, Roy couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t noticed the injury. “You didn’t really nick yourself, did you?”

Jamie dunked his head underwater, then shook his hair out as he came back up. “Nah.”

“What happened, then?”

Jamie was suddenly distracted by something behind Roy’s head. “Hey, you wanna do a race? Three laps, long ways?”

Before Roy could answer, Jamie was already swimming to one side of the pool.

“Wait, Jamie,” Roy said when he reached the starting line next to him. “Hey, why the fuck are we doing this?”

“Oh, come on, granddad. Isn’t swimming like the only exercise you can even do anymore with that shitty knee of yours?”

Roy scoffed, shoving at Jamie’s shoulder. “Prick. Fine. You’re on.”

Roy lost the race.

#from like 2 months ago #no context no context for u #i miss writing but i feel like i have nothing more to say abt this show lmao. so here have all my old thoughts instead

[slothmeters]

A little birdy told me - Trevor Zegras

- w/c - 819

- warnings - injury, cussing,

- this is for the anon who wanted an enemies to lovers ft. Trevor:) I hope you like it! I’m new to writing to please give me tips and things that i need to work on 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Trevor Zegras has hated me ever since I joined the team as a trainer. This boy basically refused to get hurt, or if he did, he refused any form of treatment from me.

We were at an away game in Toronto, and the game was going great for the ducks. I was in the locker room prepping the tape, bandages, and gauze because it was nearing the end of the first period; I knew that the players would want to re-tape their wrists and ankles before going back out on the ice for another 20 minutes.

Everything was going smoothly until I heard one of the coaches yelling for me to come out onto the ice, someone had been hurt. bad.

“Y/ln get your ass out there right now. We have a player down and he’s not getting up. He’s awake, but his leg doesn’t feel that way to him.”

I sprinted out of the locker room and onto the ice not knowing what I was getting myself into.

The short run to the ice seemed longer than it needed to be with how quiet everyone was in there. It was like you could hear your own blood flowing.

Arriving to the incident, I saw who was hurt, and pushed every ounce of bitchiness I had in me to help him.

“Trevor, I know it hurts, but you have to stay still so we can get you off of the ice to get a better look at you ok?” I said while he just had his eyes tightly shut the entire time, continuing to move his hands and arms around the areas of his leg that were in pain.

As soon as he heard my voice his eyes snapped open and he gave me a scared look before turning to another trainer, “No, I am not having her help me. Please, anyone but her.” He was pleading, but nobody listened as we helped him up to one leg skate out of here.

Since I was the main Anaheim trainer, I was the one who had to evaluate Trevor. He was begging for another doctor until I shut him up.

“Trevor I swear, I don’t know what I did to you for you to be a dick to me, but I need to look at your leg. If you get hurt worse cause you keep pulling and thrashing away from me that’s on you!”

He stayed silent for the remainder of me checking his leg out, and it turns out he had torn his acl and mcl and was going to need further testing to confirm what was going to happen to him.

“We’re going to have to take you by ambulance to the nearest hospital to get some more tests, is that ok?”

He nodded slowly, before looking back to the TV to watch the game. He was getting frustrated at himself and at his team. 1. because he wasn’t out there helping the team win the game. 2. they were falling behind toronto by 1 and not being smart in his eyes.

When the medics from the ambulance arrived to help bring Trevor to it, he stayed silent until we got in the back of the ambulance, where it was just us.

“You didn’t do anything to me. That’s the thing. I just don’t know how to communicate.”

I looked up at him and I was confused as to what he was talking about, until I thought about what I had said to him in the training room earlier.

“Trev-“

“Let me finish. I finally know what I’m gonna say. Please let me say it.”

We made eye contact as he started speaking again, “I didn’t know how to communicate that I found you cute. That’s why I pushed you away. I know it’s a lousy excuse but it’s all I had.”

Everything started to make sense. That’s why he would never want to be hurt around me. He wanted me to see him as someone who was strong and unbothered.

“You know, I’ve been waiting for your punk ass to get hurt just so you could see that I wasn’t bad. I knew that you would come out of it soon enough. A little birdy with a name that rhymes with Jamie Drysdale told me that you found me cute, and I may have told that bird that I thought he was cute too. He just needs to get his head out of his ass.”

His eyes filled with shock at first, but that shock began to turn into softness as he processed what I said.

“It’s come full circle. Now we’re in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital because I got hurt.”

“Geez Trevor, way to ruin the moment.” We both laughed, as he looked at me with a genuine smile, something I never thought would be directed towards me.

#trevor zegras #nhl imagine #trevor zegras imagine #anaheim ducks #hockey #hockey blurb #blurbs

[fallingforel]

heyy! i was wondering if you could do an alex turner fic with the one bed trope (sorry if it sounds weird but english is not my first language🥹). thank you so much if you do it!! <3

a/n. of course my lovely. I would love to do this. here it is and hope you like it. p.s. this would defo happen with 2013 slutty alex era and I hope you like it. and don't worry...I barely understand my own english sometimes and I'm a native english speaker I had this half written a few weeks back but have finally finished it now. half asleep so sorry if theres any errors. It's probably the longest oLove you all <3😂😂😂

CW: sexual tension, smut, MNDI

NOTHING I MENTION IN THIS IS HOW I PORTRAY ANY PERSON! PLEASE REMEMBER THEY ARE ONLY FICTIONAL, JUST LIKE ANY OTHER BOOK!

PROMPT: none

WORDS: 2,894

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⋆｡°✩

Alex and I have never seen eye to eye with each other. And that really sucked when we were in a band together. I had only ever agreed to it because they were really desperate for a female singer for their songs. I was Matt's sister but have always despised Alex, ever since he moved in next door to me. During the summers when we was younger he was always soaking me with a water gun when I was trying to catch up on some reading and sun bathing.

MAY 2002

"Y/n please come on we're desperate for a female singer, please come on. You know I wouldn't ask if I was so desperate. But you're the only girl I know that can sing well" Alex said

"Okay fine." I say which makes Matt and Alex whisper Yes to themselves and fistpump the air.

"But on one condition." I say making them hold their cheers

"What?"

"Only until you find a replacement. Because this is not what I want to do, I want a Uni. You must promise me you actively look."

"okay" They both say in Unison

MAY 2013

After the glorious upturns of the first album I was surprised, and also Matt and Alex begged me to stay. I reluctantly agreed but I decided that I could get used to the lifestyle after going on our first tour.

So here I was On our 4th tour and My opinions of Alex hadn't change Infact I think they have gotten worse, especially since the incline we've had. The fame getting to his head a little bit. Thinking he could get every girl he wants. It really angered me. He also thought he was better than me and that riled me up, especially when we were on stage and he took over the spotlight, cutting me off at any moment he could.

It was only when we got to sweden things took a turn for the worse.

"I'm staying with breanna, Jamies with Katie, and nicks with Kelly. so you two have got to share" Matt said when we arrived at the hotel.

"WHAT??" Alex and I said in unison

"what do you mean we've got to share? I am NOT sharing with him"

"yeah and I'm not sharing with her"

"EXCUSE YOU? IM A DELIGHT TO SHARE A ROOM WITH I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW" I said raising my voice a bit which had people turning their heads to look in our direction, usually I would've been a bit embarrassed but in that moment I was too riled up to care.

"YOU SAID IT FIRST!" Alex retorted which only started the anticipated tumultuous bickering between the two of us.

Which made Matt shout over us "ENOUGH!" which made us stop and turn out heads at him. "It's only for one night, Please can you just get over it. It only happened because we had our original room arrangement of Alex and I sharing and then You, jamie and Nick having your own rooms and Breanna surprised me. I'll make sure Ian books five rooms for the next stop and the stops after so it doesn't happen again okay?" he asks. raising his eyebrow at both of us, and holding up a keycard

"fine." we both say. I grab the card from his hand and get in the lift, alex following hot on my heels, grabbing his suitcase dragging it across the floor, to the lift. I press the button for the fifth floor. We're waiting in silence for what feels like a decade but in reality is only a minute. The lift dings and we both step out.

I look for room 542 which I finally reach after turning a million corridors. I put the keycard in the door and open the door to find my worst nightmare a double bed...one.

"Oh this has got to be the worst day in existence." Alex says from behind me. "At least we can agree on one thing." I say before I'm hearing the door shut so I look behind me to find no Alex so I open the door. Only to find an Alex shaped figure walking the way to the lift so I shout "where are you going" "To find another room" "You won't find one, the rooms are all booked incase you haven't forgotten we're hosting a concert tomorrow" but I am met with a middle finger and Alex walking away.

⋆｡°✩

A knock is heard on the door 10 minutes later, I open it to find Alex standing at it. "No rooms available then?" "Nope. I'm going to sleep on the tour bus. Anything is better than sharing a bed with you" "Okay fine whatever, you won't find it comfortable especially after sleeping in hotels for this tour. see you in thirty" I say my back faced to him returning on getting my pyjamas and my shower stuff out of my suitcase. I'm only met with "see you at soundcheck" and dragging of wheels on the floor and harsh slamming on the door.

⋆｡°✩

thirty minutes later I had managed to get in and out of the shower in my pyjamas. and I was just about to dry my hair when I was met with a knock on the door, and once again there stood Alex.

"Uncomfy?" I questioned. before walking away from the door.

"No actually, there were fans outside shouting for you."

"awwh is the little narcissist too afraid of his ego getting bruised" I said with a fake pout on my face and a fake mothers concern lacing my voice.

"Fuck this I'm gonna go see if any of the lads will let me bunk with them" "for fucks sake Alex leave them alone, they're all with their girlfriends for the first time in months they don't need you cockblocking them" I said but once again I'm met with the harsh slam of the door

⋆｡°✩

No more than 10 minutes later I am met with a knock on the door. I open it once again but laugh when I'm met with Alex wincing in pain from breanna holding his ear "please take him, he's not sleeping in our room" She says. "Bring him in." I say sighing

"I told you, the girls don't want you interrupting their time with their boyfriends. Now stop being such a baby and get changed for bed. It's not that bad sharing with me."

"I'll sleep on the floor thank you" Alex says tenaciously. stripping himself down to the boxers, Alex is a good looking guy that I will admit, but not near enough personality to have me on my knees risking them getting first degree burns from the carpet. He had my throat in my mouth, almost losing the words coming out of my mouth... key word, almost.

"No you fucking well won't come off it, you and I know that it is near enough impossible to have a good night's sleep on the floor, now get in the bed. I'll create a pillow barrier, if I'm really that scary sleeping with" I say while pulling the covers down for Alex to climb in

"No need. I'll just sleep on the edge so nothing happens" he says.

"fine suit yourself" I say sighing turning over the other way and moving right to the end of the bed so that there was a big enough gap between the two of us .

⋆｡°✩

We were in silence for at least half an hour before Alex broke it.

"Why do you hate me?" Alex turned and said Of course he chose now to air out our dirty laundry, right when I was just about to imagine being in Chris Evan's arms.

"I don't hate you, I just dislike you. Since the minute you moved next door." I say turning to face him

"Oh come off it, You can't hold a grudge for that long Y/n." he laughs, that sound that only ever came out of Alex once in a blue moon, the kind of laugh that has you quaking in your boots like one of the fangirls of Elvis many years ago.

FUCK, I really have fallen for him. Maybe whatever I was feeling wasn't distaste, but in actual reality, Like.

I didn't have to tell him, one thing about me was I could keep a good facade up for a long long time.

"Oh, I can and I will" I say lying through my teeth.

"No seriously, there's something else what is it?" he says raising an eyebrow.

"I...Uh..." I said my cloudy brain betraying me, I knew there was a reason. I just couldn't think of it. Not right now, not when Alex was looking like a greek god infront of me.

snap out of it Y/n

"does this feel like the hate you have for me" he said leaning in and kissing my lips holding onto my hair. The kiss wasn't slow or sensual, nor filled with distaste. It was desperate, needy and fast, filled with desire. I kissed back my hands finding a way to latch onto his gelled hair.

After mere moments he moved on top of me, pulling off my pyjama top and finding his way to my unconcealed breasts kneading them like he was a sculptor and I was his masterpiece. He then moved his way down from my lips kissing down my neck placing hot warm open mouth kisses until he reached my tits sucking them and occasionaly nibbling my nipples.

He spent a few moments on each of my boobs until he started working his way down my body until he reached my belly button sending shivers up my spine causing me to arch my back, which allowed him to tug my pyjama shorts off along with my panties. The cold air to my exposed core shocked me right though causing an audible gasp.

"Now, Now Princess, None of that yet. I haven't even showed you my expert skills" Alex said, cockily. Stopping his work for a second tilting his head up to reach my eyes looking into my eyes with his hazel ones staring right back up at me lust taking over the hazel with black.

He continued with his hot wet kisses down until he reached my core, placing a hand over my clit before he started licking my folds slow and sensual, before he dove right into my clit switching his fingers for his mouth. He entered his fingers into me easing slowly but the pace soon quickened, causing me to let out a few whimpers every now and again.

He then switched out his fingers for his tongue jerking in and out sending me right out the knot forming in the bottom of my stomach before I could even orgasm though he pulled away completely.

"what are-" "I want to be inside you when you come" He said cutting me off sitting up and ripping off his clothes, one item by one until I heard the irreplaceable rip of foil he was infront of me completely naked and he came back down over me, placing his cock back inside me without warning which made me gasp.

Our bodies moved together, slow and sensual then fast and needy before I felt that knot again in the bottom of my stomach "Alex" I let out a moan "Im about to-" "let go princess I'm there too." We both came together it was something out of a movie the way Alex's face morphed when he came. We stayed together for a few minutes before he flipped me over and both our libidos came back again.

"ride me this time sweetheart, I want to feel every inch of that pussy sweetheart" He said, I didn't need telling before I was on top of him bouncing rolling my hips every which way. It soon got me to come again. Letting out a few strings of moans before, "oh alex" "oh my god" "Oh fuck" before a final one.

"that's it sweetheart come for me let it all out"

He came soon after.

I laid ontop of him for a good while.

"Come on lets get you cleaned up darling" He said getting up and pulling out of me before picking me up and pulling me into the bathroom and sitting me on the toilet

"go for a wee sweetheart, you don't want any nasty UTI'S" I did as he said while he found a some bubble bath and started running a bath.

"why are you doing this alex?"

"Why am I doing what sweetheart?"

"Looking after me, it's not like I deserve it. I've been nothing but horrible to you these past years we've known each other"

"It's what you deserve." He said,

the silent air between us smelt of sex but also had tension riding between us. What that tension was, I had no idea.

"Can I tell you something y/n" Alex said breaking the uncomfy silence we were sitting in

"You don't have to ask if you can tell me something Alex. Just tell me."

"I acted vile towards you, because I thought it was easier than loving you Princess. I soon realised that couldn't be far from the truth though. Loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done." He said before retracting back into the silence that we had created around us.

"Alex." I said sighing

"You don't have to say you love me back right now, But there has to be something there right? what happened back there. There wasn't an ounce of hate in that sex Y/n"

"It's a lot right now Alex, But I definitely like you back." I said smiling sluggishly, the post sex sleep taking over my eyelids.

"uh uh, don't fall asleep on me princess. It's time to take a bath" He said pulling me off the toilet seat and placing me into the bathtub before climbing in behind me and sitting behind me allowing me to put my head back onto his chest.

He washed my hair, my back and let me do the rest we stayed resting against each other for a few minutes before he coaxed me out of the bathtub wrapping me up in a towel and putting my hair in another towel turban style. After getting dried I put my hair into a ponytail and put my pyjamas back on.

Alex joined me back on the bed, and pulling me close to his chest. we stayed like that before I felt my eyes grow heavy and fall asleep in Alex's warmth.

⋆｡°✩

I was woken up with chaste kisses being placed on my back with a pair of manly arms wrapped around my waist. Panic ensued for a few moments before I realised what happened last night.

Alex.

"I acted vile towards you, because I thought it was easier than loving you Princess" "Loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done"

Princess.

A smile ripped through the blank expression on my face. It felt like a dream but alas it wasn't it was real life. I had someone that loved me someone that I loved back. I always thought that this happened in romance books or movies. But, it happened in real life too. That much was proven by Alex and I.

I hummed and turned over wrapping my arms round Alex

"Morning princess," Alex said "Why do you call me that?" "what princess?" "yeah."

"because, you are a princess and you deserve the world of luxuries" "Alex" I said tearing up "That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me"

"don't cry darling, I didn't mean to make you cry. I've done that enough over the years we've known each other"

"Happy tears I promise" I say silence crowding over us, But this time a nice comfortable one, Unlike the uncomfy tension one last night in the bathroom.

"I've been doing some thinking" I say this time me being the one to break the silence.

"Oh yeah? what's that darling?"

"I realised that I feel the same way you feel about me, I realised that I haven't felt like this ever, not when I was with other people, I never felt about them the same way the way I feel about you. I love you back Alex." I say before I get a kiss on my lips. This time filled with love, no desire for it to turn into something deeper.

Though we were soon burst out of our bubble by a knock at the door we both groaned I got up and answered the door.

"What do you want Matt?"

"Oh shit, You and Alex had sex didn't you. EWWW, ALEX MY SISTER DUDE?"

"Shut up what do you want?"

"You didn't deny it. It's true then?"

"yes. Alex and I are now seeing eachother. It happened last night. Now. Answer my question. What. Do. You. Want?"

"good to know. Your going to miss breakfast, It ends in half an hour and also soundcheck starts in 2 hours so make sure you're at the tour bus with 15 minutes to spare. Thank you goodbye. guess I won't need to be telling Ian to book those spare rooms after all." Matt says turning his back as I go to the shut door.

⋆｡°✩

END.

#alex turner angst #alex turner fluff #alex turner x reader #alex turner fic #alex turner imagine #alex turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x y/n #alex turner smut #alex turner x you #arctic monkeys

[luveline]

helloooo! i was wondering if you could do a james potter oneshot where the reader isnt typically very physically affectionate but she doesn’t mind james touching her, and one day she like reciprocates and hes all happy and giddy about it? and then he begs her to do it again and UGHDHEHHFHE ok thank u love ur writing!!!

this is the cutest idea in the entire world I couldn't decide what touch I wanted to do it's so good 😭 thank you for ur request! <3

James wouldn't change you for the world. He knows you're not touchy, whether that's not yet or not ever, he's respected it and learned that it's not an indication of your affections for him – it's how you are. 

Still, guiltily, sometimes to the point of internal misery, he craves your touch. 

You're sitting across the sofa with an embroidery hoop in hand, slowly making your way through a cross stitch made up of brilliant, buttery yellows. "Something warm, like you," you'd said. James has carried that comment around for days, each time revisiting it with a greedy kind of love. 

James stretches his legs out, sketchbook in his lap, trying to recreate the curve of your neck. You're used to his constant sketching, his lovely muse. If he asked you to, you'd pose for him, tilt your neck the way he remembers. But it's not really about the drawing. 

He slides across the sofa and takes a look at your embroidering. 

"That's really getting there," he says. 

Your voice is soft as silk as you draw a line down the aida with your finger, nail skipping over neat stitches. "See this colour? I'm not gonna have enough to finish."

"You want me to get you another one?" 

"I can get it." 

"I'll get it, just tell me the colour. The number. Whatever it is." 

You look at him from under soft lashes. James melts and cups your neck with his hand, the tip of his thumb over your pulse. 

"I can get it myself, Jamie." 

"S'only one skein." 

"Exactly." 

James grins at your chagrin and pulls your forehead down to his lips for a small peck. "I'll get it," he says into your skin. 

He drops his hold on you and goes back to his sketching, though he stays at your side. He doesn't realise you've been still until you're moving, laying your embroidery and it's needle out carefully on the floor by your feet with the crafts box full of threads and pins. 

He's expecting you to go to the kitchen. "Can you get me something to drink?" he asks, intent on perfecting the likeness of your lovely hair on paper. 

You don't leave. The sofa groans quietly as you sit back down on your knees, facing James. He glances up from his work and finds that soft look on your face that you reserve for him. You crawl a little closer, your kneecaps pressed into his thigh and your side to his side, elbow blocking his sketchbook as you raise your hand to his neck. You brush your fingertips through the end of one of his thick curls and sigh, content. 

It tickles in the best way, chills moving from the top of his spine, down. 

"You have to stop buying me things," you chide gently, more conversational than scolding. 

James struggles to maintain a casual front. "Baby, why not? You get me stuff all the time." 

You cup his neck, thumb stroking semi-circles into the column of his throat. He wonders if this is a dream, briefly, but his brain has never been brilliant enough to recreate the perfect shade of your lips, the exact lilt of your voice. 

"That's not true," you say. 

"It is. The coffee cake from marks and sparks Tuesday," he supplies. "I'm surprised you didn't have to take out a loan for it." 

"That's different. We shared." 

"Did we?" he asks skeptically, humming. 

You huff a laugh and kiss the end of his eyebrow. He doesn't want to shatter the moment but he needs to be holding you, letting his pencil drop between the curling leaves of his sketchbook to pull you in lightly, arm behind your back. Careful, in case it's not what you want.

To his surprise, you don't weasel out of his grip. You brace your free hand on his shoulder and then move in, wrists crossing as you give him a good cuddle. 

James spreads his palm over your back and savours the moment, knowing it will end too fast for his liking. It doesn't. You turn on your side, ribs pressed to his chest, cheek kissing the bare skin of his collar. 

"Sorry," you start to say, shifting, "I'm squishing your book." 

"No, you're good," he lies quickly. 

You curl up over him and sigh like you're really happy. He knows the feeling, dropping his chin into your crown. 

"I can feel your heart," you say. You start to tap a beat into his neck where your hands rest, staccato, fast. "I love you." 

He thinks maybe you understand how much this small moment means to him – why his heart is going so fast  

"I love you more, sweetness. You don't have a clue." 

"Yeah, I do," you disagree. "I know everything about you, James." 

What should be terrifying is actually a deep, soothing contentment. "Everything?" he asks, amused. 

You tap his heartbeat. Thud, thud, thud. Skip. Maybe you do know everything. 

His voice is small, embarrassed as he asks, "Would you stroke my neck again? Please?" 

You don't say anything as you smooth your hand over his neck. James almost passes out.

#james potter x reader #marauders #marauders era #james potter #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader fluff #james potter drabble #james potter blurb #marauders x reader

[theemporium]

I just love sub!James anything with sub!james pretty please with a cherry on top?

thank you for requesting!🖤

.

Euphemia Potter had sent her son the camera under the impression he would be using it to capture memories of his time in Hogwarts with his friends.

However, James was pretty damn certain that he would give his mother a heart attack if she knew how her gift was really being used.

It was no secret to anyone that James had a shoebox full of pictures he had taken of you since the moment he got his hands on the camera. Cute, little candid moments that tended to catch you off guard, but they were his favourite. He was insistent that you were beautiful in each and every one of them, and that he needed to keep them all. 

What nobody except the two of you knew was that hidden under a secret compartment in the shoebox was James’ personal favourite collection—the pictures you took of each other in your most intimate moments. 

“C’mon, baby, gotta open your eyes f’me,” your voice cooed softly, a little breathless as your hands held the camera in a tight grip, determined to capture the moment. 

But James only groaned, his arms wounding around your thighs as he tugged you further down onto his face, his nose nudging your swollen clit as his tongue lazily lapped at your soaking cunt. His eyes were shut in bliss, his cheeks flushed red and rosy, and the way his knuckles went white with how tightly he was holding you on his face was almost as though he was scared somebody would take you off him. 

“Fuck, Jamie,” you sighed, your lip tucked between your teeth in hopes of biting back the noises that wanted to escape. “Merlin, baby, you’re making me feel so fucking good.” 

“‘s all I want,” he murmured against your cunt, his words slightly muffled. “Just wanna make you happy, wanna make you come.” 

The boy had been pawing at you all day during classes, desperate to be touching you in some way at all times. Whether it was nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he stood behind you or his hand resting high on your thigh, James was in a mood and you knew it. You fucking loved when he was like this, when he wanted nothing but you in any way you wanted. 

You had barely made it through dinner before he was dragging you back to the tower, locking the door behind you both to stop any of the other boys wandering in. He had all but begged to taste you, to nuzzle his head between your thighs and stay there forever. You barely had the chance to fully undress before his thick arms were lifting you and depositing your body atop his face, your panties ripped off without a second thought.

One hand disappeared into his curls, tugging sharply enough for him to whine and flutter his eyes open. He barely had time to process anything when the camera flashed, catching the glossy and dazed look in his eyes as he happily sucked on your clit.

“Atta boy, Jamie,” you moaned, your hips rocking back and forth as you dripped all over his face. “Make a mess f’me, baby.”

.

#james potter #marauders #harry potter #hp #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter smut #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #marauders fic #marauders one shot #marauders smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter fic #harry potter oneshot #harry potter smut #hp x reader #hp x you #hp x y/n #hp fic #hp one shot #hp smut

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

wip wednesday

Double-tagged by my beloveds @walkinginland and @theawkwardterrier 💜 Thank you friends!! I do have bits and pieces for chapter 9 of Seaside in the works, but everything feels a little spoilery at this point for this next arc, so dropping a whole scene from my tbbfiy wip instead, which just might end up getting shared piecemeal in tumblr posts at this rate 😅 

Claire woke slowly, her awareness returning in pieces. It was dark in the room, and completely still; no crying children running to their bed for shelter or someone banging on the door for a healer. That wasn’t what had woken her this time. There was warmth over her belly — a hand, she realized belatedly, with the thumb stroking softly in half-circles over the fabric of her nightgown. Jamie’s hand. Jamie’s voice, too — barely above a whisper, and the only sound in the room. 

“��and two wee sisters who will love and dote on ye. Faith may order ye about but she’s a fierce wee protector of those she loves, and ye’ll be glad to have her looking out for ye. And Brianna will just want tae be yer friend and playfellow. She’s never had a younger sibling, ye ken, so it’ll be new for her.” 

Claire didn’t want to move or even breathe, lest she disrupt the conversation Jamie was having with the baby, but she felt a lump rise in her throat listening to him talk so. Had he felt the same as he’d described for Brianna, when his mother was carrying his baby brother? The one he never got to meet… 

Don’t follow that train of thought, Beauchamp.

“—And what can I say about yer mam that ye don’t already ken? If ye decide to stay, you’ll have the most wonderful mother this life can give ye. She loves ye so much already… as do I.” 

Tears were spilling hot down her cheeks, and she couldn’t even say for sure that her hormones had anything to do with those. “Stay put, mo chridhe.” It was the same fatherly tone he used with Fergus and the girls when he expected absolute obedience, when it was a matter of their safety and wellbeing — stern and protective in equal measure. She felt Jamie press a kiss to her belly and beg in a tight whisper, “please.” 

It was the begging that did her in. She couldn’t lie there unaffected any longer; she reached for him, carding fingers through his curls and clutching his head to her belly. She loved him — endlessly, for a million reasons — but in that moment she loved him most for how scared he’d always been of the risks to her and any child she carried, and that he’d still given her this next chance, fears and all, when she’d asked it of him. She loved him for his wide-open heart for a life that might never be, especially when they’d already been down the path of heartache and loss before. “Come here,” she murmured to him. He shifted up the bed until his head was level with hers. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, deeply. 

They would be alright, she knew. No matter what, she would be alright as long as she had him with her, for the good days and the bad. 

But she hoped to god she hadn’t seen the last of Jamie Fraser’s face when he held his child for the first time.

I’m not sure who is currently working on a wip they’d like to share, so no-pressure tagging @lord-jen-grey @lara-frasers and @frasers-of-my-heart and anyone else who might want to participate, consider yourself tagged!  

#wip wednesday #i say this every time but making steady progress on this wip actually. like ch1 of 4 is almost done for real!! #tbbfiy

[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