#manchester marathon

[runveganwankerrun]

Wed 7th Dec "22

Conspicuous by my absence yesterday. I didn't run, therefore my Marcothon is over. I went for a walk after tea with TGG instead. Walking doesn't cut it in Marcothon. The point is to run at least twenty-five minutes EVERY day in December. I just couldn't make myself do it yesterday. Sometimes I just want to go for a walk with my man and hold hands.

Other than that, it was an okay day. The batteries on my scales have died, so I MUST remember to get some tomorrow. I have to weigh myself again after the Monday figure pissed me off.

I was up at 5.30am an was out the door for a 6.5k run by 5.50am this morning. It was okay. At three of four k, I was asking myself yet again if the twelve k run at the weekend will be possible. So much for the confidence gained by completing that very distance on Sunday, not to mention the great hill session only on Monday night. I can of course do twelve kilometres again.

I got home from work to find a Mancherter marathon training tee shirt had arrived. I won't be able to wear it to club for a while if I'm still intent on keeping schtum about the training, but it was nice to see it.

I was sort of outed on FB, re Manchester though by a comment Coach made under one of my posts and Sonic is now convinced I'm training for a marathon. Of course, she's right, but I'm still not going to tell anyone, not even my family, yet. She asked me about it and I fudged my answers and didn't answer directly. She just said she'd be interested to see my longer runs in future. Fucking hate that. I don't want her checking out my longer runs. I wouldn't have minded if it had happened naturally, but it's come up through a slip of the tongue, and now she'll be looking out for it. I'm considering making my Strava private. And my Garmin connect. I envisage a certain amount of smugness when it turns out she was right. Ah well, can't be helped. And it's my issue. It's not her fault she's right and I don't want her to be.

I started knitting a jumper this evening. How middle aged! It will keep me occupied and stop me eating rubbish after dinner, so I dont care if it makes me seem like a granny.

[domwho11]

Please donate if you can and reblog. MCR Street Poem do great work x

[woso-dreamzzz]

Homework

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: You try to get someone else to do your homework

Studying was such a bore for you. You hated sitting in a classroom and studying. Lucy told you that you had a restless soul and that's why you would prefer to be out on the pitch rather than stuck inside.

Playing for Manchester City had been a perfect outlet and the call to play for Barcelona had been a dream come true.

It was just a shame that the schooling system still kept you shackled.

Taking online classes was better than physical school but it just meant that the actual studying and doing homework was left solely on you. Keira sometimes would allocate times for you to do it but Lucy would always stage what she would call a jailbreak and take you to the park or get a snack.

Either way, actually doing the work was something that you struggled with.

Which was, as you glanced around the break room, you had an empty word document and a sheet of questions of Spanish open in another tab.

Most of the team were either in meetings or getting food so it was just you and the younger members of the squad. Your eyes roved over them all, glancing back at your screen.

Esmee and Salma were playing each other on FIFA. Jana and Bruna were watching with rapt attention. But you found your target in Ona, who was throwing grapes into the air and trying to catch them in her mouth.

You slumped into the seat next to her, placing your laptop in her lap.

She raised a brow at you. "What is this?"

You gestured to the screen. "What does it look like?"

"Your homework?"

"Wow," You said sarcastically," Well done. It is my homework. Has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant, what is it doing here? On my lap?"

You sent her an award winning smile. "Do it for me?"

"Isn't that cheating?"

"It's not a test," You said," Just homework. Besides," You shrugged," It's been melting my mind. None of it makes sense. You'd just get through this so quickly."

She narrowed her eyes, easily seeing through your mediocre manipulation attempts. She glanced at your questions for a moment before she slapped some money into your hand.

"Get me a chocolate bar from the vending machine," She said," And an energy drink too..." She thought for a moment. "And you've got to be the one to ask Lucy and Keira if I can crash around your place tomorrow."

You almost groaned. You and Ona had been planning a movie marathon for weeks now but the tv at your place with Lucy and Keira was better than the one at her apartment so you had been trying to drop hints to Lucy and Keira about Ona staying over but neither had quite picked up on them.

"Fine," You said begrudgingly, standing up," A chocolate and an energy drink. Got it."

You slipped out of the room with little fanfare. If Ona managed to get your homework done quickly then the rest of your afternoon would be free to snack and muck around until Lucy and Keira came to take you home.

With the staff and the rest of the girls in meetings, the hallways were empty. You got to the vending machine with ease, punching in the code of Ona's favourite chocolate and energy drink. You've just fished them out when a shiver ran down your spine. A shadow fell over you.

You turned around slowly and was met with the face of your captain, dripping in disapproval.

"Nena," She said and your usual nickname struck fear into your heart," Aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?"

While Keira grew bored of making you study and do your homework, Alexia did not. Your very first day in Barcelona consisted of you walking into the locker room to see her standing by your cubby with the school schedule you had given over to the staff.

You were pretty sure that if you didn't already know Keira and Lucy from City then you would have ended up moving in with Alexia, if only so she could keep a close eye on your studies.

"I...er...Went to get some snacks?"

She raised a brow at you. "Really? Ona's favourite snacks? What were you meant to be studying today, your Spanish? If I go into the break room, will I find Ona doing your work for you?"

You didn't answer.

But that was answer enough.

Alexia sighed, one of those long drawn-out sighs that only ever really got used on you - and sometimes Mapi, when she was acting particularly like a kid.

"Sorry?"

"No, you are not." She took you by the shoulders, making you walk in front of her all the way back to where Ona was sitting, dutifully typing away at your homework. She cleared her throat.

Ona turned and immediately went pale. She looked at you. She looked at Alexia.

"She bullied me into it!"

"Liar!"

Alexia fixed you both with a stern look that you wilted under. "So, you're telling me a sixteen-year-old bullied you into doing homework, Ona?"

"Er...yes?"

"Go and do three laps."

"Alexia!"

"Do you want to make it four?"

Ona took off running and you shoved the drink and chocolate bar into her hands as she passed.

With her gone though, Alexia's ire was firmly back on you. She plucked your laptop up from the sofa and placed it on the table. You knew what she wanted so you went without fuss, slumping into the seat.

She made you watch as she deleted all of the work Ona had done for you.

"You're smart, nena," She said as she did it," You just do stupid things. Do I have to take you with me to my meetings now? To make sure you get your work done?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, not wanting an even longer lecture. You, however, didn't keep your feet out of your mouth because you replied," You hover enough. I don't need you watching my every move."

Alexia sent you a withering glare and you shrunk in your seat. You hastened to placate her and started typing. It seemed like you did understand what you're homework was telling you, the little break to get Ona's snacks must have given your brain the respite it needed.

Alexia slid into the seat next to you. She didn't do much - barely even checked her phone - but made sure to look over your shoulder as you wrote.

By the time, you've finished, it's time to break for lunch. Esmee and Salma had just left so you tried to catch up with them but the hand at the back of your collar stopped you in your tracks.

"You're coming home with me tonight," Alexia told you succinctly," I've still got clothes left over from when you last visited. You'll sit at the table and do that economics essay you've been putting off and, if you get it done without complaint, I'll check over what you just finished."

You made a face. "Is this your way of saying I completely flunked it?"

Alexia rolled her eyes and you knew by the way she tucked you under her arm, that she was no longer mad. "Focus on the positives, nena. If you're very good, we'll even order dinner to the house."

[trulyhblue]

If you write for her, I will not be opposed to a Kerstin Casparij one because I have the biggest fattest crush on her. Maybe a fan keeps showing up in the fanzone (an area of the Joie stadium where a selected few are allowed to meet the players, but it's random each time and should make it so its different every time so everyone gets a go.) And nobody knows why she's there or how she keeps getting chosen but the players find it funny and make sure to get round to her every time. But Kerstin always spends a particularly long amount of time with her, until it's revealed that she's pulling strings and getting the girl in every time just so she can see her. (You can either do it where she does it because she likes her or because they're dating, it works with both and I'm not sure which one I want more.)

Charmer

Kerstin Casparji x Reader, Lauren Hemp x Platonic! Reader, Esme Morgan x Platonic! Reader, Man City WT x Reader.

Warnings: fluff, coarse language, established secret relationship

A/N — Thank you for this request!! Love it so much. Will definitely write more for Kerstin if anyone is willing to send in some requests!!!!!

__________________

You had met Kerstin in a bakery down the road from your house. When you first saw each other, the woman nearly tripped over her own feet. You were surprised by the shock on her face like she was starstruck by being in a metre of your presence. You gave her a friendly smile, hoping your open ambiguity would keep things humble.

It was during your final exams, the ones where you needed to pass so that you could continue your degree. You were very passionate about what you did, and sitting down in a quiet coffee shop with your headphones on and books open was your idea of being productive.

Kerstin, on the other hand, had the impression that you didn't want to talk to her.

Which, well, to be honest, you were in the middle of studying, but you gave no clear indication of what she thought you were thinking.

Instead of going about her day — she should've been at training twelve minutes ago, but it was only media day so they could wait — she slowly sauntered closer to where you sat, pretending to be interested in the decorative flowers that embellished the cafe. You watched her out of the corner of your eye, smiling at her piss-poor attempt in remaining discreet.

You were dressed in very basic clothing, similar to hers save for the Manchester symbol embedded on her jumper. Only one ear was covered by your headphones, meaning that Kerstin would be heard loud and clear if she plucked up the courage to speak to you — which she was trying to do now. She thought you were the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, and she was surrounded by women almost every single day of her life. You looked extremely immersed in what you were doing, which should of been an indicator of apathy but it only lured Kerstin in more.

She wanted to know everything about you. Your name, you favourite colour, what you did, what you loved, who you loved—

It sounded a bit creepy, so she shook off her thoughts and focused deeply on the flowers. The woman was staring at her screen distantly, aimlessly typing away on the keyboard with a mug by her side.

When she realised you had caught her staring, she buried and swallowed down her pride. “They are nice flowers, don't you think?” She asked, her cheeks burning a vibrant red as if she had just run a marathon. You noticed her accent, one that wasn't accustomed to Manchester, and nodded like you cared about the topic.

“Yes, but I think they are fake.” You replied, smiling wider as the woman’s flustered state only grew in size when she caught sight of the very fake-looking plants.

“Oh.” She gulped, shoving her hands into her pockets. She's so stupid, she thought to herself, she’d blown her chance of even talking to this gorgeous stranger by talking about some stupid, fake plants.

You wondered whether the woman would continue the conversation she started, but the silence that followed was a pretty good indicator that she was audibly stumped on what to say.

“They are pretty, though.”

“Like you,” Kerstin spoke without thinking and instantly regretted it. She slapped her hand across her mouth, nearly walking out of the coffee shop, packing her bags and moving back to the Netherlands. “Fuck, sorry. That just— erm, came out. Sorry.”

You took off your headphones, pretending to act offended, raising your eyebrows and sighing. “You don't mean it?”

“What— no, no, you are so pretty. Like, beautiful, gorgeous. That's why I'm here. Well— yeah, I saw and thought you were pretty. I didn't mean it like that. You're probably smart, too, but— erm, yeah.”

The look of remorse almost made you feel bad, but your amusement — and somewhat endearment — overturned your hesitancy.

Instead, you laughed, took a sip of your drink and smiled, hoping it would calm the woman’s nerves.

“You worry too much.” You said, moving across the booth you were sitting on, offering the space beside you for her to sit down. She did so without delay. “I'm not someone you should waste your worry on.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” Kerstin answered wholeheartedly, pleased when she noticed the blush that dusted your cheeks. “I would rather worry about you than anything else for the rest of my life.”

You laughed, crossing your arms over your chest. “You don't even know me.”

With a push of confidence, Kerstin wrapped an arm over the back of the booth, scarcely missing your shoulder. “If you’d let me, I’d like to.”

“Charmer.”

It was from there that you and Kristen started to hang out.

Seven months had passed, and you were now completely and utterly in love with the woman. Kerstin was an externally affectionate person despite her introverted persona. She loved showering you with compliments, giving you everything you needed at exactly the right time with just the right amount of love and devotion.

You found out she was a football player pretty early on in your relationship due to the tight and busy schedule the girl had, including her diet, exercise, and all of that. You weren't a massive football fan, but going to your first game a week into knowing Kerstin made it seem to find a way into your heart.

Your girlfriend wasn't the only one to give compliments. You had your fair share in making sure the Dutch woman knew how much you were enamoured with everything she did. It took you a while to get used to her career and the publicity that came with it, but you found pleasure in knowing that once you got back to your shared apartment you could tell and show her just how much she made you feel so so proud.

It was in mutual agreeance that you both wanted to keep your relationship under wraps. Your feelings for one another and how you cared for each other were one of the highest concerns in your relationship, and by keeping your love between yourselves, you've found that it worked better overall. You didn't want to indulge in a media presence, and Kerstin respected that.

Kerstin was fine with putting herself out onto social media, but when it came to you, she wanted to make sure you were comfortable at all times.

Because of this, you both came to the decision that at games, you wouldn't sit within the family and friends section, and instead, in the crowd with the fans.

You were among the group of fans that were guaranteed to meet the players after the match, whether it be cause they paid more or if they were chosen randomly by officials. For many weeks, people just assumed that they were lucky or could just afford to pay the extra money to be seated in the same section. Both you and Kerstin found it amusing when fans would wonder why you were always the first one to be greeted, or why you knew her.

After a month of this recurring theme, some of Kerstin’s teammates started to notice.

Surprisingly, Lauren, who wasn't the most observant, caught sight of it first.

“Do you know her?” She asked Kerstin after a game against Everton, watching the Dutchie make eye contact with you from where they were signing shirts.

Kerstin looked at Hempo, a blush running across the bridge of her nose.

Shrugging, she thanked the last fan, handing back the pen. “She's a friend of mine.”

Lauren’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then why isn't she in the friends and family section?”

When Kerstin didn't instantly reply, silenced by the prodding questions she was receiving, a distant idea clicked in Lauren’s mind.

“She's your girlfriend?” She sounded, obviously a little too loudly since the Dutch international nudged her warningly.

“Alright, nosey, keep your voice down.” She snapped, pulling the girl away from the crowd. “You can't tell anyone, alright. It's still pretty new.”

Lauren’s eyes widened in alarm, not exactly thrilled with the commitment of keeping a secret. “Does Jill know?”

“Why would Jill know?”

“I don't know, I didn't think I’d be the first person to find out,” Hempo replied, looking back at you. “Can I tell someone?”

Kerstin’s eyebrows furrowed. “I just said you can't.”

“Yes, I know, but I'm terrible at keeping secrets,” Lauren whined. “Please, let me tell Jill, at least.”

“No, because Jill will tell Viv and Viv will tell Beth, and Beth will tell literally everyone.” She quipped, only half-heartedly digging at the Arsenal girls. She watched Hemp sigh like a child, looking down as if the burden of her knowing was too much. “You can tell Esme but that's it.”

That was how the first people found out about you and Kerstin. When she told you that night, you weren't necessarily fazed. It was bound to come out at some point, and you’d rather Kerstin’s teammates find out from her than the internet.

Unfortunately, though, the rest of the girls weren't afforded the same luxury as Esme and Lauren.

All of the girls at Man City couldn't believe their eyes when they found out Kerstin was in love.

Well, to be fair, they weren't quite certain this was true. Lauren and Esme saw it first at the next game against West Ham, watching their teammate smile cheekily at the girl in the stands when she should've been stretching.

Sandy mentioned the Dutch International’s love-sick countenance to some of their teammates over lunch a few weeks later, promoting Hempo and Es to spill their not-so-long-kept confession.

None of the girls knew who Kerstin was talking to — or even if their suspicions were acclimated, but Sandy, Esme, and Lauren all made it their mission to keep their lips closed.

Sandy was the one to come up with the pact, yet the demanding eyes of Roebuck after an endurance training session set her tongue loose.

Lauren wasn't at all happy. Esme ended up spilling the secret to Mary as well, meaning the secret was already spreading across the team.

Meanwhile, fans were growing more and more suspicious of you and how you managed to steal the attention of Kerstin after each and every game.

The media surrounding you two got so big that Kerstin’s national teammate Viv called her one day asking what was going on.

Kerstin knew Lauren and Esme had told at least half the team by then, including Jill, who had run up to you after a game and pretended to flirt with you just to annoy her teammate. Viv was quick to point out that if she wanted to keep your relationship private, putting you in the midst of cameras and media attention wasn't the most suitable option.

You ended up deciding that if you were to stay in the crowd, both of you needed to be willing to make your relationship more public.

It had been seven months of concealing your obvious love for one another. Pretty much the whole team knew about you, and it only took fans a quick video of the two of you looking at each other to piece the clues together. You were both mature enough to keep your private lives private and social lives up to your discretion.

You made the decision to share very minimal parts of your lives together without spelling it out. This meant that you could hug your girlfriend for that little while longer in front of everyone. You could kiss her and not look around to see if anyone was looking. You could tell yourself that Kerstin was yours and you were hers.

But you didn't need public knowledge to make you feel loved by her.

__________________________

kerstincasparji

kerstincasparji — bit of a charmer ✨

Comments:

user11 — UM THE SOFT LAUNCH ARE YOU KIDDING???

viviannemiedema — ❤️

laurenhemp — love that bakery

*liked by kerstincasparji and yourusername

esmemorgan — busy girls

^ wosofan — SHE KNOWS

maryfowler — 🐐

user23 — is she dating the fan??

^ manchestergirl — if you mean the girl in the stand then yeah I think so

^ user2 — “THE girl IN THE STANDS” AHAHAHHAA

jillroord — ew cooties

^ viviannemiedema — shush

^ jillroord — no 😍

user7 — why does she sit in the stands and not in the family and friends section

^ laurenhemp — that's what I said 🫢

yourusername — charmer, huh?

^ kerstincasparji — idk, some pretty girl called me it

^ yourusername — didn't you call her beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, talented, incredible, out of this world

^ kerstincaslarji — she likes to think so.

^ user12 — IS THIS HER??????

^ arsenalwosoxx — THEY HIT THE PENTAGON

________________________

[missmielyhoran]

STOP🫠🫠🫠

[Warning- Angst to Smut to Angst, Grumprry, Jealousrry, Insecure and jealous reader, foul language, unprotected sex (wear condom kids! real babies are not fun), Harry kind of confessing his feelings and him being an asshole as usual, shitty smut, maybe some grammatical mistakes]

Masterlist \\ Series Masterlist

*****

Harry wasn't a very cheerful person to begin with, and it wasn't like he had some childhood trauma that made me him this way no, he was born this way.

He was also the young CEO of his dad's reputable car company. He had to put on a serious face to make a bunch of old shits to take a 27 year old seriously.

Right now, though that wasn't the case for his grumpiness. It was you.

You were away on a stupid work trip to Manchester with Edwin, fucking Edwin! Why was his girl assistant on a work trip with someone else, you may ask? Cause of his stupid ass.

Harry, just a day before the trip, fired the person who was supposed to go with Edwin, and the next person who knew about the project was you and him. Now Harry couldn't go for obvious reason, so you had to go, and he has been chewing on concrete since then.

Adding to that, you haven't been replying to his messages, and when you did, it was a picture of you, in the shortest dress he had seen, and you were not wearing it for him but to go out with that chipmunk!

No messages followed after that, not even a reply to his message. He had to make a fake Instagram account (he hates Instagram) so he could see what you were up to.

He missed you, but he was too much of a grump and egotistical to admit that.

Harry knew he was fucked. Having sex with your assistant was bad enough. If he got into a relationship with you, his reputation would be tethered, and it would cost your job also. He couldn't ruin it for you. He knew how much you loved this job.

But hell he wanted to give in.

You will resume the office tomorrow, and he dreaded going into a meeting without you.

He sighed as people started to fill up the room. The new dealers and his employees who are working on this are also there. Alicia was the one who had to present today, and his temporary assistant was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is Casey?" He asked Alicia, who shrugged her shoulders. Harry was on the verge of losing his cool. He doesn't realize how he employed so many incompetent shits but he was about to fire some.

Alicia started her presentation but Harry couldn't focus on it. It was times like this he realizes he's nothing without you. His coffee is shit unless you make it. He hates everyone elses format unless you do it. He hates everyone else unless it's you.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and you were there breathless, in front of door heaving like you just ran marathon. The light coming from behind made you look like an angel. For him, you were.

You walked inside, apologizing to everyone, your heels clicking on the floor. You were in your formal outfit, a long black dress, stiletto, with your hair in a bun. You picked up his water bottle and drank the whole of it and then took a deep breath.

When you looked up properly, everyone's eyes were on you. You gave a sheepish smile and stood beside Harry, "Sorry, please continue."

Harry smiled to himself behind his hands. He looked up at you beside him, your focus on what Alicia was saying and taking notes. You were too sincere for this job. Sometimes Harry himself didn't care that much like you do.

And he doesn't want to fuck that up.

*****

Soon enough the meeting ended and Harry was back at his office waiting for you to come meet him. He couldn't talk or hold you anywhere else other than the comforts of his office cause of the obvious reasons so his office became your secret haven.

When you didn't come in for the next fifteen minutes, he got up and decided to look for you. As soon as he stepped out of his office, he heard your laugh. He walked towards the sound and then saw you leaning on the wall, your hand holding Edwin's biceps, and a big smile strected on your face.

He clenched his fist beside him having all minds to break that bastard's face and then fuck you in front of him but he refrained himself.

He slid his hands in his suit pants pocket and stood up straight, channeling his inner grumpy CEO. "I didn't realize I paid you for laughing?"

Both immediately stopped and turned towards him. You looked at him through lashes a small mischievous smile on your lips.

"Oh, we were just making plans for arriving at dinner party tonight together sir nothing else," you said with a smile. Harry knew what game you were playing, and he would make sure you paid for it later, but right now, he had to make you not go with that douchebag.

"You're my assistant, I need you with me," He said and turned towards Edwin, "I hope the project file you went to Manchester for is complete?" He asked, knowing damn well he hasn't. Along with being an absolute moron and flirt, Edwin was also lazy. If he wasn't one of his friends' cousin's son, he would have kicked him out way before.

"N-no sir, I'm going to do it." He stumbled over his words, feeling scared under Harry's piercing mad glare. Harry hummed, "You better before the dinner, I will need it"

"No yo-" You go to speak, but one look shot by Harry, and you shut up.

"And Ms. Y/N I hope you also get on with your backlogs, I need to discuss something with you so we will travel together" He said holding eye contact with you, his eyes looking darker shade of green than his usual light. You clench, you thighs together, feeling yourself getting turned on by his authoritative voice.

"Yes, sir." You give him a nod, and with that, he starts to leave but then stops. "And make sure you also fill all the recent bank details also," He says, making your eyes widen.

"Sir, there are only three hours left in dinner. My backlog alone will take a lot of time-" You speak, but he cuts you off again.

"Then you better get started, Ms. Y/N" He shoots her a look over his shoulder and goes back into his office.

*****

Harry was being a prick, he knew, but if he had to make you work extra so you wouldn't get to talk to that guy or any guy in general except him, he would.

You like the exceptional woman you are did all that just in time. You were half an hour late, but you did five hours work in just three and half so, he let it slide.

Now he was in front of your house to pick you up. He he wondered sometimes what you would be like on a date. What you would wear, what you would order or how it would end. Of course, he knew your food order on the tip of his tongue, but a date was different.

He was taken out of his daydream by you opening the car door beside him. You sat down smoothing out your slik dress. It was the same color as his shirt, a bluish green shade, and theme of the new project. Your hair tied slicked back with side parting and a soft makeup.

"Your files, sir," you said, throwing all the files in his lap and then turning back around to look out of the window. He bit down on his lips, finding your grumpy attitude amusing.

"Sweetheart, that's no way to talk to your sir," He said darkly, his fingers inching towards the back of your dress. Your breath hitched when you felt his cold fingers on your open back but made no effort to look at him and swatted away his hand.

Harry smirked and pushed the button to roll up the partition, separate driver, and them.

"It's that how it's going to be hm? You know very well what happens to brats baby." Harry said, running his finger up and down your back. He sat more comfortably, spreading his legs.

You sideyed him, your lips in a subtle pout. "We still have to pay Mr. Wilson and make an order to manufacturing comapny"

Harry just hummed and kept moving his hands up and down on your exposed back, making you shiver every time. His cold fingers, in contrast to your hot skin, were excruciating.

"You're one brat, my love and if I wasn't so addicted to you, I would have thrown you out" He said right in your ears. One half of you was turned on, but the other half had one thing going round and round.

"I'm not just a pussy for you to fuck" You said through your teeth and slid a bit away from Harry.

Harry shocked stared at the side of your face. Where the fuck that came from? He was confused, irritated and turned on by your attitude.

He went back to say something, but then Harry's office phone rang, making both you and him groan. Harry picked it up, "What?" he asked.

"Great why don't you also fucking quit while you're at it" He said clenching your jaw, "Yeah then ask your uncle to give your incompetent ass job in his own company" With that he ended the phone call.

"Driver take us to office first then to the party" He said to the driver and then turned to look at you but you had your arms crossed over your chest and kept huffing and puffing like a mad toddler.

"If you don't quit it sweetheart...lord help me" he said, feeling angry at your attitude. He got to see you and have you after so long, and here you were acting like a damn brat. He would have no problem, but you won't even let him touch you!

Harry wasn't a man of words. He didn't know how to express himself. The only thing he knew was sex.

But you just gave him a side eye and went back to looking out of the window.

*****

Both you and Harry arrived at the office. You were still mad at him but also very turned on and frustrated. He was looking damn good in that suit, but you had to be mad and show him you knew your worth or it would all be down to shambles.

Right now, though you were searching for the file you needed for the project that Edwin lost after completion. How? God fucking knows.

"How I manage to have this big company and still hire this many incompetent idiots will be beyond me" Harry grumbled and slammed close drawer, making you flinch in surprise. "Not one task can be done properly"

"Why did Casey not suck your dick good enough? That you're so mad" you said before you could stop yourself.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. He walked towards you, caging you between the wall and himself.

The cat was out of the box might as well...you thought.

You rolled your eyes and looked in eyes, "I said did Casey not suck your dick good enough that you're so mad" You said through gritted teeth.

"Casey? I haven't even seen that woman since I hired her" He said in confusion, not even bothering to think about the rest of the words.

"Don't lie to me. I heard her talking." You said and tried to push him off, but he took your wrists into his hands and brought them to his chest.

"Are you jealous sweetheart?" He asked with a smirk. "Fuck you Harry" you tried to hit him bit failed and stood back against wall huffing.

Harry just chuckled and kissed your cheeks. "How do I know you didn't take the opportunity and fuck that moron. Considering you didn't even bother with my texts" He asked, leaving small kisses all over your face. This is what confused you if he wanted other people. Why did he show you this affection?

"I was mad" you said, pouting.

"Oh sweetheart" He said with an airy laugh. His hands let go of your wrists and gripped your chin to bring his lips to his while the other one went down your body and gripped your thighs.

You hated how your body reacted to his touch. How you got wet instantly like a bitch in heat and Harry took full advantage of that.

He brought his fingers higher up and felt your dampen panties. He smirked against your lips, and you pinched him in annoyance when you felt it, but that only made him moan.

"Don't tease me" You said breathless, your eyes dark like his filled with lust and desires.

"What do you want?" He asked, kissing all over your body and controlling the urge to give you the darkest hickey ever.

"You. In me. Right now." You said with all the authority you had in you. Harry laughed again like he found all this amusing.

How people found this man who cracks dad jokes with you and laughs at everything grumpy and menacing?

He quickly pulled you up on the large table, laying you down. Not only did you have to be quick to be able to reach the party on time, but you also had weeks of pent up frustration.

You pulled up your dress while Harry freed his pants enough to pull his dick out. He slid aside your panties and slid in without any prep.

It was embarrassing.

"Fuck sweetheart you're so wet" he said groaning when he felt you clench around him.

"Missed this-fuck" he said as he started to move. "What fucking me? I don't fucking believe it. I can bet anything you fucked Casey as soon as I boarded that flight" You said whimpering.

He was an asshole but god did his cock feel wonderful. He felt wonderful. He was wonderful but you for him was just a quick fuck.

When you heard Casey talking about how she gave Harry a blowjob yesterday, your heart broke. You had no right to feel that way, he was your boss and you were his assistant and you were fucking him but somehow you tricked yourself into thinking you were something more for him.

"You think I fucked someone else?" he asked fucking you harder making you lose your ability to speak.

"I don't even cum fucking my own hand, you think I will fuck someone else?" He said bringing you up from table by the grip on your neck.

"I-I know it" You said, feeling your orgasm nearing, your eyes rolling back of your head.

"I don't care what you heard Masey talking about but the only pussy my dick has been in is yours" He said bringing you in a messy kiss.

"I was miserable cause you didn't reply to my texts you think I will fuck someone else?" he asked looking into your eyes with so much intensity you lost yourself into them.

"Fucking hell I even hate everyone else but y-" He stopped himself before he could complete his words. The reality slapping on his face hard. But you were too far gone in your ecstasy to care.

Harry also reached his high quickly after you. Your head was laying on his chest as you took long breaths to calm down your breaths. Your heart was beating so fast because of what he said and how hard he fucked you. Butterflies were dancing in your stomach.

It lasted while it could.

Suddenly, he did all 180 and pulled out of and tucked himself in. His demour cold and closed off like like he's with everyone else.

"Get cleaned up" He said and quickly walked out. While you moved towards the washroom to clean yourself up with tears brimming your eyes.

*****

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs

He's a dick :(

Like, Comment and Reblog pretty please

If you liked it please tell me here♡

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Hey everyone, welcome to my blurb masterlist !!

This is for the cute little ideas I’ll randomly come up with instead of the one shots that take up a lot of time and energy.

This is for when I have random bursts of creativity!

There will be angst, fluff and sometimes poorly written smut 😭

Word of warning, these blurbs will most likely be under 5k as there only supposed to be short, so enjoy <3

sun, sea and sandy footprints.

in which, it’s your daughters first time at the beach, the sun is shining, the sea is cooling and this is where you realise there’s no place you’d rather be.

family bbq.

in which, with a rare day of sunshine in london, harry and the missus decide to throw a little bbq where all of the close family are invited, drinks are spilled, games a played and memories are created that last a life time.

daddy’s little girl.

in which, harry holding his baby for the first time is everything he had wished for and more.

he knelt to the ground….

in which, you and harry have been together for three years now, and at this point your relationship basically has a third with the amount of times you play taylor around the house, so at the eras concert he surprises you with something you’ll never forget.

the best interruption.

in which, harrys been in his at home office for the majority of the day, and your little one is getting antsy after not spending time with there best friend, so when he’s typing away and answering emails, they stroll into the office, crawling onto his lap.

the finish line.

in which, harrys wife is running the london marathon, having been signed up by her sister in law gemma as a joke and now as she is nearing the finish line, harry is determined to be there to greet her.

airport security.

in which, harry and his daughter madison have a tradition of going on a little father-daughter holiday, they first did it when she was six months old, just before her first birthday and now there doing it just before her second birthday, but today, let’s just say little miss is in a very cranky mood.

in the stars.

in which, harry is remembering you, his beloved wife, mother of his child, that passed away, this is him grieving, remembering the lives that the two of you shared together and will always share together, no matter the circumstances.

sky high.

in which, your an airhostess for british airways, and harry’s been a pilot for british airways for the last four years, and your both working on the same a380 to the big apple.

school pick up.

in which, harrys on school pick up duties for his little one, and it’s his babies favourite time of the day when he sees her best friend, her father standing at the gates.

uncle harry.

in which, after the birth of her baby, you and harry decided to stop by the hospital to see her, where tears fall and memories are created.

boys day out.

in which, manchester united are playing luton town fc in the premier league, and so what better thing to do then take your two football obsessed children to watch there favourite team hopefully win.

carribbean privacy.

in which, you and harry decided to go for a little family holiday to start the new year off on the right foot, and went to a caribbean island, where your just trying to enjoy yourselves, and spend some quality time with your two children, when a couple of fans spot your husband.

when the clock strikes midnight.

in which, you and harry broke up just over a year ago, and have not seen each other since, but when your friend invites you to a new years eve party with all your close ones there, the last person you expected to see walk through the door was him.

underneath the tree.

in which, since officially dating harry for a total of eight years now, courting for three, being married for three and parents for two, you’ve both given each other, such wonderful gifts over the years, and here’s a few of them.

do you still love me?

in which, harrys been acting shifty lately, when your looking for a shirt in his wardrobe, he gets hostile, when you say your going to go and shower, he gets hostile and for some reason doubts start to creep into your mind about what he’s been doing, so when you confront him about it, he tells you of his secret all along.

santa’s grotto.

in which, harry takes his two year old son, sebastian, to go and see santa because your at home sick from the flu, but it doesn’t go aswell as he hoped seeing as all little kids appear to have a phobia of the man dressed in red.

i saw mummy kissing santa claus .

in which, when you and harry are putting the christmas presents under the tree on christmas eve, with harry dressed up in a santa costume just for his own novelty, and share a little moment to themselves, unbeknownst to them that there four year old son arlo, was watching the whole time.

daddy’s new hair style.

in which, your fiancé returns home one afternoon, shocking both you and your son milo when he appears to be sporting a new hair cut, neither of you seemed to be prepared for.

pumpkin patch.

in which, you and harry decide to take your son teddy to the pumpkin patch in honour of it finally hitting october, the three of you decide to make a day of things, and let’s just say the day doesn’t exactly turn out how you all expected it, a series of unfortunate events occur and that all starts out with your fiancé getting annoyed that the sat nav isn’t helping him very much.

snack wars.

in which, on this episode of snack wars, we sit down with a certain curly headed lad who goes by the name of harry styles who happens to be comparing british and american snacks.

the terrible twos.

in which, travelling with your husband around europe hasn’t been the most smooth sailing, especially when your daughters currently experiencing her terrible twos.

sick on tour.

in which, touring europe was meant to be a fun thing to do as a family, but when your toddler suddenly developes a sickness bug, you watch with fond eyes as your husband takes care of your little one, nursing them back to full health.

london experiences.

in which, whilst walking around the streets of london with your fiancé harry and two year old daughter mila whose currently getting her molars growing in, things appear to be going swell until a fan asks for a photo and your little one has to be disturbed.

broken ankle, karma rules.

in which, going on a run with your fiancé of two years means harmless flirting and teasing, that is until an incident occurs and he has to carry you back to the car.

jealous baby styles.

in which, five days ago, you and harry welcomed another little baby into the world, but the blissful baby bubble isn’t all it turns out to be when you have a toddler as well.

airport chaos.

in which, harry’s just finished his show in barcelona, and is en-route to madrid, but there’s one more hurdle that needs to be jumped when fans bombard him, you and your one year old son finley. this results in a very agitated harry, a tearful toddler and a wife that’s claustrophobic.

like father like son.

in which, in 2018, you and your fiancé harry welcomed a little baby boy into the world, and his name was sammy. him and his father were exact replicas of each other, same brown tousled curls, forest green orbs, matching dimples and bunny teeth, harry jr. loves everything to do with his father, wherever he went, he wasn’t far behind.

the box.

in which, your husband is ready to go on stage for fifteen out of fifteen nights at the kia forum, and the crew team come up with a way for him to get to the stage unnoticed, but his three year old daughter wants to get involved as-well.

the bath tub.

in which, your looking for your husband backstage at his concert, and get directed by a crew member that he’s in his dressing room. things get heated the second you walk into the room, and there’s nothing like a quick quickie in the bathtub.

styles on the reins.

in which, harry’s looking after his two year old son, parker whilst you go out with your aunt, so they decide to go on a walk around the small streets of italy where your currently residing, but that’s easier said then done when the little one is just as feral as his father.

a helping hand.

in which, your six months pregnant, your sweaty, ankles are swollen and your nauseous all the time, getting on the boat was a slightly easy task, but the task of getting off the boat is a lot harder, but luckily your husband is there to help you.

wedding day blues.

in which, it’s your and your fiancés wedding day, getting married in the garden of your shared italian villa, surrounded by your close friends and loved ones, but you can’t help but let the nerves get to you.

tired baby styles.

in which, you, harry and your one and a half year old son, elliott are holidaying in spain, where your little one won’t go down for his afternoon nap, so your boyfriend comes up with an idea to get him to doze off.

your blue birds.

in which, whilst your at home dealing with your sickness bug, harry takes the little one to the stadium with him so he’s out of your hair, that’s where you get sent a photo of them that makes you feel ten times better.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - The Birthday Gift

This fic was requested by one of my lovely wattpad readers for her birthday on July 14th. Happy birthday to her!!🥳

Enjoy!

How sad it was having to work on your birthday. Luckily your boyfriend, Ruben, came to pick you up once your shift ended.

"So what do you want to do?" He asked. You had already celbreated a little bit before you left for work this morning. Ruben made you breakfast in bed this and let you open his present, a charm braclet with a golden key as it's first charm.

"Well they made me this at worked." You showed him the bag of pastries you got from your colleagues. They made a wide selection of pastries for you to enjoy on your birthday. "Maybe we could find a nice place to enjoy them, just the two of us?"

"Sure. I know a place we can go."

You weren't too keen on parties where you were supposed to be the center of attention. Ruben was the same. He enjoyed peace and quiet and you two often spend your days together snuggled up on the couch, watching a marathon of movies. It wasn't much, but it was how you liked it. Just you and Ruben, in your own little bubble.

"What's this place?"

He had driven a bit outside of the city, to a little town with a big lake in the middle of it.

"I come here sometimes to relax." He said, parking the car on a hill that overlooked the small houses and the lake that sparkled in the sun.

"Hmm. A bit random don't you think?" You brought out the bag of pastries and picked the one you wanted to eat first. Ruben was a bit more hesitant, perhaps not wanting to make such a mess in his car.

"You don't like it?"

"The view?"

"No, the town." He said, with a strange look on his face.

"I dunno? What so special about it?"

To you it looked like a typical english town with houses covered in red tile rooftops, a town center, a local school and plenty of green agriculture surrounding the area.

"I thought it'd be a great place to live someday."

"You want to live here?" You chuckled.

"Yeah, what's so funny about that?" He sounded a bit offended by your reaction.

"Nothing baby, but you of all people rather live here than in Manchester or Portugal of all places?"

"Yes. It's a great place for us to live. It's close to Manchester and..."

"Us?" You stopped him there, unsure if you heard him right.

Ruben looked to bite his tongue.

"You said us, right? Or was I mistaken?"

He turned to you with a serious expression on his face.

"Ruben, what's the matter?"

His eyes searched your face, perhaps unsure if he should tell you or not.

"Ruben please, you're kind of freaking me out." You chuckled.

"Promise not to do that."

"Do what?" You had to tilt your head as his eyes had diverged from yours. "Ruben please tell me what's going on?" You had never seen him like this, so anxious and easily agitated.

"What I'm about to show you..." He said. "Just promise me that you won't freak out."

"I won't. I promise."

He sighed and turned the keys to start the car. You were off for a silent drive through the little town, not stopping until you arrived at a small community of houses.

"We have to walk from here." He said, silencing the engine, unbuckling his belt. You did the same and followed him.

He held your hand leading you through the lovely neighborhood with a beautiful set up of houses. However there was this particular house that still looked like it was under construction. To your surprise Ruben stopped just in front of that one, searching his pocket for a key which he handed to you.

"Happy Birthday." He said, but not with as much energy as this morning.

"You bought me a house?"

"Yes. I bought you a house." He said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Ruben, but why?" You turned to look at him, unsure of what to say. You had so not expected this.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Because I love you."

You leap forwards, hugging him. "I love you too, but I could never afford to buy you a house. It's too much Ruben." Tears had begun to flow, but mostly because anyone surprising you with such a gift would make you emotional.

"Do you want to take a look inside?" Ruben looked down on you, smiling.

You perked up to kiss his lips. "Yes, let's go inside."

It was a castle compared to any place you've lived in before. There was a giant porch with an equally giant backyard. Ruben even showed you a blueprint of the plans to build a pool out there.

"Ruben, this house is too big for just the two of us." This is what he had meant by "us." The house would be a home for the two of you to share.

"I know." He said. "But by the time the house is done maybe it won't be just the two of us anymore?"

You froze, a ray of butterflies entering your stomach. "You mean...?"

Ruben shrugged. You two stood in the middle of what would be the living room and it was almost impossible not to imagine little feet running across the wooden floors, making a mess of things as children often did.

"You want to have children with me?" You failed to hold in another flood of tears. Ruben closed the distance between you, grabbing your hand and kneeling down before you. "It would be your choice of course. Just like it is my choice to ask you to marry me."

"Ruben."

You watched him pull out the little black jewelry box out of his back pocket. He pulled the diamond ring out of the box, ready to dress it on your finger, but first he needed to hear the words that would allow him to do so.

You nodded your head and weeped. "Yes Ruben. Of course I will marry you!"

He put the ring on your finger, rose to his feet and picked you up, twirling you around in his arms. Your eyes were filled with tears and it felt like you could go on crying forever. He set your feet back down to look at you. "I love you." He said, in the same way he always did, but this time it was like he spoke directly to your heart, your heart that belonged to him now.

"I love you too." You cried. "...and this gift, the best birthday gift I could have ever received."

[painandmovies]

Since 1998, Gen Z has had to live thru (and not understand a huge chunk of) a presidential scandal where a silly man claimed "he did not have sexual relations with that woman," 9/11, the rise of school shootings, Hurricane Katrina, Hurricane Sandy, the Boston Marathon bombings, a government shutdown because 2 opposing sides of House and Senate couldn't agree, Ebola virus, the Orlando nightclub shooting, Christina Grimmie concert attack, the Manchester attack, Trump's crackdown on immigration, a Supreme Court nominee (later winner) and woman in court hearings for his sexual assault on her, that suicide forest video, wildfires in California, the Trump-Ukraine scandal, George Floyd death and every black person killing to be in rememberance, Covid, the January 6th Capitol attack, Russia invading Ukraine, the overturn of Roe v Wade, and Donald Trump's industrial piercing.

I'm so tired and I haven't even done anything; I haven't even lived.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

ray manchester x reader headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • ray manchester masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a/n: the lack of these on the internet is concerning 🎀💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dating ray manchester/captain man would include…

ok so you have always been a fan of captain man

because who wouldn’t? 

you may have had a poster of him in your room at some point 

maybe

ray fell in love with you after saving you from drowning 

(a/n: sorry i have a saving thing—)

which of course was a dream come true for you  

the saving not the drowning

and he kept running into you 

and so when one day you came into the store he was thrilled 

you get a job in the man cave 

and you learn his identity soon 

lots of flirting 

he’s cocky in a cute way but gets all flustered around you at first like it’s adorable 

like the kids roll their eyes at your guys’ obvious attraction 

but eventually you guys admit your feelings (albeit awkwardly)

but it’s cute 

the man cave is like your second home 

you hang with charlotte especially and also jasper constantly because yes

henry loves you like a cool aunt 

you live in the man cave eventually

you guys are just so happy together 

ray gets anxious when he goes out to fight crime because he doesn’t want to leave you alone 

and you also get worried for him 

schwoz likes to tease you guys  

ray wouldn’t survive without you and char

his hugs are actually the best and he comforts you when you have doubts/insecurities 

henry has accidentally caught you and ray multiple times

“aaaaand I am never going in that hot tub again”

ray also gets really jealous 

“hey ok I saw the way gooch’s plant was looking at you and I’m the only one who gets to look at you like they want to take a bite of you.”

he’s super protective

which you pretend to hate 

but you actually love 

he loves cuddling so much which is great because so do you

he calls you lost of cute nicknames

he loves surprising you and taking you out to fun restaurants 

he gets super excited to show you silly new gadgets schwoz has made in the man cave it’s adorable

you sleep in his bed a lot 

and you occasionally shower together

(i’m sorry bro that shower scene did things to me 😩)

he loves bragging about you to anyone he can find 

“have you met my girlfriend? this is y/n, my girlfriend”

you have movie marathons and you love resting your head on his chest but he always falls asleep first 

also he’s really good at taking care of you when you’re sick and he’s actually an amazing nurse

he loves your body so much

he even lets you try on the captain man suit

you couldn’t be happier with your superhero boyfriend <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ahhh i had so much fun writing this!! i love this man so much and i figured i’d write for him. henry danger is a current obsession of mine and im such a simp for ray manchester. hope you enjoyed ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🩰🍓

[runveganwankerrun]

Mon 28th Nov '22

For some reason I had some nerves about Manchester/London this morning. Never mind the fact that I've yet to decide what to do regarding running both of them (I really should ask Coach for his opinion!) I think it was precipitated by the book I'm reading, Zen and the Art of Running, which is exactly the opposite effect it's meant to have! It made me think of standing at the start line in either city, and I started to get butterflies. Fuck! I'm getting them now too!

Well! So much for looking forward to my Monday morning weigh in! I was up over 168lb after being about 4.5lb lighter yesterday morning! Damn Sunday's unofficial figures! 🤣

It doesn't matter. It's just my body playing silly buggers. Nothing's changed. I still ran and ate well last week. The numbers don't invalidate that. I know sometimes it would get me down, but today I'm not bothered. I can feel my running starting to improve after three weeks of more consistent sessions, and I've gone down a notch on my belt. Those things are way more significant than the numbers on the scales

With reference to talking to Coach about my unexpected London place, I messaged him and he was well chuffed for me. London is so hard to get in to. Then he asked the £64,000 question. Two marathons within two weeks? Or pick one? I asked what he thought. He said he'd do both, but he's crazy. So the thought is do Manchester for a time, then London for the experience. Sounds like a plan!

Now I feel like I have to give the training, including getting to a sensible weight, my all. I really want to do him proud. He'll be proud regardless, he's a really supportive guy, but it'd be nice to let him see me work at it. The trick is to do it without putting too much pressure on myself.

If I can remember, as I get into the training plan, that getting miles in my legs now will make the runs themselves easier, then longer training runs will be more bearable. Long, boring solo runs on a Saturday or Sunday morning are what will make the end races a more pleasurable experience. It's often said that the training is the main event, the race is the victory lap.

I also need an attitude adjustment if I'm going to think of the long runs as boring, as I referred to them above. I'm going to have two or three runs of at least twenty miles on my plan, so I hope to get into a mindset to enjoy them. Also, it helps to think that every run and every healthy meal from now is an investment in these races and making them both easier on my body and more enjoyable. God! I sound so bloody serious about this! 😁 And I'm starting to repeat myself.

Club tonight was great! Well, it was tough, but I really worked on changing my pace between easy, steady and fast. My average pace over the thirty minutes was a good bit faster than it's been in ages. I'm so happy 😊

My ankle niggle seems to be easing. It hasn't hurt for a few days. It's a wee bit achy now, but not too bad. I wonder if it was weight related and now I'm going down a little, it's getting better. Fingers crossed 🤞

That was a very waffly post. Gonna shut up now.

[hopefulromances]

can you do 37. “Is that my shirt?” with jamie? also love your writing <3

Thank you so much dear! Thank you for the ask!

37. “Is that my shirt?”

You stretched out on the sofa, feeling the stretch all the way from your fingers down to your toes. Jamie was out at some away game. You wanted to come but it didn't match up quite right with your work schedule, so you had to stay behind this time.

You missed Jamie so much, you really did. But man was it nice to have some alone time. All day everyday you were constantly bombareded with social interactions. From work, colleagues, after work activites, then going to pick Jamie up from training, you rarely had a moments peace.

Jamie was due back the next day, and you were excited to have him home. You couldn't wait for him to walk through the door, excitedly telling you about the city they had visit, what rom com Ted had forced them to watch, and the exciting play-by-play of the game. After about an hour of listening to him, he would ask you how you had managed the weekend without him to which you would respond with telling him your exciting weekend plans (which mainly contained lots of baths and New Girl marathons).

Which was exactly what you were up to at this moment. You laid out on your couch, an episode of New Girl that you'd seen a million times playing on the TV that you weren't really watching, while you played a mindless app game on your phone. Tomorrow night you'd most likely be doing the same thing except Jamie would be there.

To mimic that, you'd gone over into his single drawer that he had at your place and stolen one of his shirts. As much as you loved your alone time, Jamie's presence was one that you needed in your life. His upbeat yet laidback energy helped you to relax and wearing his clothes when he wasn't around helped you to find that energy.

Not that he knew that, of course. You weren't sure how he'd feel about you stealing his clothes just yet. Having just passed the 8 month mark in your relationship.

You felt yourself just start to nod off, when you vaguely heard the door open and close. At first it seemed like the dreaming part of your brain making it up. Jamie wasn't meant back until tomorrow and no one else had a key to your place. But then a voice confirmed that someone was indeed in your apartment.

"Is that my shirt?"

Your eyes flew open as you looked up to see Jamie smiling at you from the doorway.

"Jamie!" you exclaimed, scrambling up from your spot on the couch.

He opened his arms to welcome you in as you embraced him hastily. The shirt was no match for the real presence of Jamie Tartt. He chuckled as he pulled back breifly to look down at you.

"That's my shirt." He repeated, looking down at the Manchester City shirt you were wearing.

Your cheeks began to burn as you realized your situation. No pants, wearing Jamie's shirt, and nothing else. You pulled on the bottom of the shirt. "Oh... yeah it is."

"Aww, you missed me, did ya?" He teased, pinching your cheek. You batted away his hand and frowned.

"No! I just... liked the fit is all!" You denied, though you knew he was completely right.

Jamie couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by his affection for you. He pulled you into another embrace, his arms keeping you tight against him.

"Well, I'm home now, sweetheart, no need to steal my clohtes anymore." But he was quick to add. "But you're free to if you want cause you look fit as fuck in my shirt." He reached down and pinched your ass, pulling a squeak from you before you dissolved into laughter.

"You want to know what looks even better?" You asked, releasing him from the hug.

"What?" He cocked his head at you. God, he was so cute.

"Me without the shirt."

"I have to agree with you there."

Let's just say you weren't wearing Jamie's shirt for much longer after that.

[mykneeshurt]

hi!! happy new year!! 💗

I love ur writing, and I was thinking to drop this request;

so may request some hc’s of cod task force 141 (+ alejandro, könig, graves and rudy) :))

feel free to skip this if youre busy, just wondering, happy new year :)

Sorry this one took me some time, I got too in my head about it. It was so hard to not be bitchy to Graves lmfao, Soap is my favourite enjoy! SFW. Let me know if you want NSFW ones

Price 🥃

He supports Liverpool FC, no I won’t hear any different

His favourite non-alcoholic drink is ‘builders tea’

Glenfiddich 18 is his Whisky of choice

Favourite colour is khaki green

Is the father figure of the group, strong, reliable, approachable (everything my dad wasn’t lmfao, I still love him)

He wears a plain t-shirt pyjamas to bed, sleeps on his side, one arm under his head, absolutely snores

His favourite breed of dog is a Collie, or any working dog he can walk for miles for in the country side

He absolutely loves Bargain Hunt on TV

His favourite smell is fresh gingerbread

He’d make an excellent grandfather tbh

Soap 🧼

Despite being Scottish he supports Blackburn FC, an underdog (I refuse to comment on the Celtic vs Rangers, far too much history there. And I’m Welsh, it ent for me to say haah)

He absolutely loves winding the boys up about being English

His text tone is SCOTLAND FOREVVAAAA *aggressive bagpipes*

Soap 100% sleeps in the buff

His favourite dog would be a Labrador, nice active family friendly dog

He’s a chatterbox but a good listener when he needs to be, will often give some surprisingly good advice

He’s an iPhone wanker

Absolutely a mummy’s boy, would do anything for her - he’d love to pay off her mortgage for her

His favourite smell is the cheesy paws of his dog for real

He’s not a morning person, he loves a lie in when he can

Ghost 💀

Ghost supports Manchester City, he just gives me those vibes ok?

His favourite weather is rain/storms

When he’s home from a mission he’s a bath guy, he showers all the time on base, so when he’s home it’s hot ass bath with an audio book and his bourbon

He has two cats that his neighbour looks after when he’s away, two British blue shorthairs. Called Foxtrot and Whiskey

He also loves rabbits

He loves helping beginners at the gym

His favourite tv show is The Simpsons, something easy and colourful to watch to distract him from what he’s seen

He smells like Dior Suvage (anything musky and heavy)

He’s ambidextrous

He loves a cooked dinner, beef, roast potatoes, all the veg, stuffing and all the Yorkshire puddings

He’s got his tongue pierced, I’ve seen the fan art. You can’t tell me other wise.

Gaz 🇬🇧

He gives me Arsenal vibes, so he supports them

But also supports Chicago Bears in American Football

He’s gentle, reserved so he’d have a rat as a pet, highly intelligent

Fish and chips with curry sauce is his favourite meal, a proper British geeza

He smells fresh, think a bright spring day, fresh linen and cut grass

He loves the sunshine

He’s a keen gardener, grows his own herbs and vegetables

His house is spotless, minimalist, but has a huge book collection

He loves caramel lattes despite the banter from the boys, he has a sweet tooth

Loves meeting the boys down the pub on a Sunday for a carvery

Alejandro 🌹

He’s an excellent cook, his favourite hobby when not on a mission is trying out new recipes for Los Vaqueros

This man sleeps in silk sheets, tell me he doesn’t?

He’s fiercely loyal his country, he loves Mexico and is passionate about it through and through

He’s got a great sense of humour, enjoys making people laugh

He runs marathons for charity in his spare time

His favourite subject in school was history

If you’re sad this man gives the best hugs, he’ll make you a strong ass coffee and give one hell of a pep talk

His favourite smell is fresh cocoa beans, always stealing the nibs to eat

Him and Rudy have film nights with their families when they’re home

He’s 100% a girl dad, teaches her how to shoot with nerf guns in the garden

Rudy ❤️

He has a German Vizsla called Pollito, because her legs look like chicken drumsticks

He 100% has an android phone

He’s an armature photographer in his spare time, he loves nature

He and Alejandro have personalised ringtones for each other

His favourite food is Seafood paella

He owns a small farm, sells the produce to the local area, he loves animals

He once won a poetry competition

His favourite colour is orange

Sorry but he wears lynx Africa (I like it sue me)

He likes to game in his spare time, anything from farm simulator to RPGs

König 👑

He loves drawing, anything creative, he’ll draw/paint the Austrian countryside to de-stress

He grew up on a small farm in the Austrian mountains, he has a very close family

He doesn’t like large crowds, worried people stare at him because of his height, feels claustrophobic sometimes

He bites his nails when his hands aren’t busy or covered by gloves

He’s a cat guy 100%

He’s left handed, 100% a lefty but holds his gun right handed (its a struggle, I’m left handed)

He’d like a family one day, he’s got a lot of love to give

He smells like leather, sandalwood and vanilla

He loves eating raw cookie dough, vanilla and chocolate chip

He holds the record for the hardest punch in his home town

Graves 🇺🇸

His favourite holiday is July 4th, he does a huge fireworks display whenever he’s home

His favourite food is Gumbo

He smells like Paco Rabane Invictus

He’s got 3 Dobermans, whom he loves with all his heart. Ben, Jacob and Molly

He has a white picket fence - obviously

He doesn’t have a good relationship with his father, daddy forced him into the army to gain approval

He sleeps in red plaid pyjamas and has matching slippers

He’s fluent in French, he learnt it to pick up girls

He loves hiking in his spare time, with his 3 dogs

He runs support groups for veterans on a Thursday a local library

[bijouxcarys]

𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 (𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Masterlist

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Description: Sometimes the pain of what should never have been, opens your eyes to what can be.

Tags: @firethatgrewsolow @whothefuckisanja @celestial-dragoness @chromations @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @m-faithfull @strsmn @callmethehunter @angrychicksposts (if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know!)

The amber liquid sloshed gently as another glass was filled, marking a gradual countdown to a much-anticipated break.

In the heart of Walsall, John Bonham's pub buzzed with life on that particular day. The recent return of kids to school after half-term holidays granted parents a brief respite, allowing them to savour the comforting ambiance of their cherished local haunt.

Walsall might not have dazzled the urban enthusiasts accustomed to the bustling streets of London, Liverpool, or Manchester. However, for the residents, it was a haven. The community thrived in tight-knit bonds, where familiarity bred friendship. In Walsall, faces weren't just faces; they were familiar chapters of a collective story.

For Elena, the pub job John had offered was a lifeline, an escape from the logistical challenges of her previous employment that entailed rides back and forth. The relentless hour-long bus ride on days when John couldn't drive her had become a wearisome routine. Yet, she never had to ask; John's commitment to her safety was unwavering. Opting for the haven of John's pub proved to be a decision that reshaped Elena's narrative, making it the finest choice she'd ever made.

Elena gingerly massaged her lower back, easing the strain from bending over the rack of pint glasses. A flush of warmth crept across her face, and the rebellious baby hairs escaping her ponytail adhered to her forehead. Glancing at the clock above the bar had become a ritual, each tick dragging its heels toward the elusive 2pm.

The half-apron snugly tied around her waist doubled as a saviour, mopping the moisture above her eyebrows and guarding against any accidental beverage spills. A fleeting grimace transformed into a welcoming smile as the next patron patiently awaited service.

John's pub drew a crowd of amiable souls, and Elena effortlessly charmed them, especially the older clientele. Navigating conversations with the seasoned regulars was her forte. Despite the occasional pang of longing for a break, she generally relished her role. The only thorn in her side was the relentless passage of time, leaving her body ablaze with exhaustion. Today was no different; an unrelenting marathon had her yearning for a damn cigarette break.

Adjusting the grip on her ponytail, Elena’s attention was snatched by the entrance of two familiar faces, their boyish grins lighting up the pub like a burst of energy. 

John and Robert, when together, had developed an aura of mischief since they met. They were both confident in each other’s presence, and both knew they were destined for greatness. Although Crawling King Snakes had disbanded early that year, the pair were still in touch and had become virtually inseparable, which in turn meant Elena saw Robert a lot more than what she would have otherwise.

It hadn’t even been a year since she met him and it felt like she’d known him an entire lifetime. She’d already picked up on his little quirks and mannerisms; the way his smile was slightly crooked, his accent thickened when talking about something he loved, and his eyes would narrow when in deep thought. Elena would poke fun at Robert when the Black Country accent warped his words into almost unintelligible murmurs, but he was always quick to bounce back with a light comment about her own accent. 

Recently, Robert had started to let his hair grow out along the sides, turning his blonde locks into a short mass of messy curls that now dropped down into a fully defined beard. It was an intricate development, experiment, he was trying out, searching for a style he felt fit him perfectly.

“El!” John’s voice echoed cheerfully, arms flung wide in a theatrical greeting as they approached the bar. Elena’s face lit up in response, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Y’alright, Bon Bon?” she inquired with a sly grin, her gaze subtly drifting to the blonde figure beside John. “Hi,” she added, her voice a soft undertone.

“Workin’ hard, I see,” John teased, playfully tapping his fist on the freshly polished surface.

“Obviously. Isn’t that why you handed me this job?”

“Could’ve been just because you’re my best friend.”

“Oh, not because I’m a hard worker or anything, eh?” Elena retorted, shooting a smirk at Robert, who observed the banter with an amused expression. “I’m so glad you hold me in such high esteem, John.” With a snort of laughter, she tossed the cloth she had been using to wipe the bar into the wash bin, adding a touch of flair to the mundane task.

“Nah, just joshin’ with you, El. Look at your face! You’re clearly putting in the effort,” John nodded his head in reference to her flushed cheeks and tired demeanour.

“Oh, thanks,” Elena deadpanned, giving him an exaggerated eye roll. “Have you had a good look at your own face lately?”

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” John tilted his head back, theatrically flipping his hair.

“You are so fucking insufferable. You’re lucky I love you,” Elena dismissed John with a playful grimace, a sentiment he returned with a mock offended expression. She then turned her attention to Robert. “And how are we today, Robert?”

“Ah, not too shabby, not too shabby,” he shrugged casually, leaning against the bar with a nonchalant air. “You?”

“Oh, I’m having the absolute time of my life here,” she answered Robert but darted her eyes over at John, who was occupying himself by creating a steady rhythm with his hands. He was entirely in his own world, head moving along with the beat he’d created. Looking back at Robert, she smirked. “Has he been smoking again?”

Robert stifled a laugh, standing up straight and nudging John. “Oi, Bonzo!” No answer. “My Lord…” he muttered, resuming his previous position. “Not been smoking, just bangin’ on about Ginger Baker for the last half hour.”

“Ginger Baker… why’s that name sound familiar?”

“Cream.”

“Ah, yes!” she clicked her fingers with a nod, “That’s right… Great, aren’t they?”

“Superb, yeah,” Robert nodded. “You listened to their new album yet?”

“Uh, of course I have, I never miss a new record from my favourite artists,” she told him pointedly.

“You don’t have any of mine!” John interrupted.

“Oh, so you’re competent now, are you?” Elena jested. “You don’t have any records, you plonker.”

As she and John continued their usual back and forth—nothing but love—Robert kept his eyes fixed on Elena. He’d known it within the first 15 minutes of meeting her. He just knew. Deep in his soul. As sure as he was that the sun would rise in the morning. He liked her.  

She was so entirely endearing to him, and that only intensified throughout the months he’d had to get to know her. It turned him into a giddy little boy, the way she made him feel whenever she was around. Her smile was totally intoxicating, even more so when paired with that accent—that stabbing bluntness that gave her an air of invincibility. 

When John had made a passing comment about visiting Elena at work, Robert was almost embarrassed at how quick he was to encourage the idea, his stomach flipping at the mere mention of her name. If it were up to him, he’d have sprinted his peppy self all the way down that road and bulldozed into the pub. He would have dove over the bar, taken her into his arms and attacked her with kiss after kiss…

But he simply could not bring himself to make that move. Never had he ever felt this intimidated about approaching a girl he found attractive. Perhaps it was the lingering knowledge that her rejection would strain his relationship with John, or the straight fact that he couldn't muster up the correct string of words to accurately convey the urge he had to be around her.

So, he did the safest thing and cherished the friendship they’d formed, making the most out of every moment he got with her.

“Listen, I got ya a lovely little job in my lovely little pub,” John gestured around him. “What’s so wrong with the decor?”

Robert was quickly brought back from his thoughts as Elena let out a jubilant laugh. My favourite sound…

“Uh, there aren’t enough plants. Try putting some plants in here, Bon. Plants make everything more lively and colourful!” She gave him a playful pout, batting her lashes in a plea for botanical relief.

Robert stood straight again, nodding his head at John. “Go’won mate, it won’t hurt.”

“Shut up, you, you’re supposed to be my friend.”

“And I am, but give the girl a plant.”

“We don’t need plants in here, El,” John tried to reason with the brunette, who had already settled with the fact she would not be getting her way this time. It was his pub, after all… 

“Besides,” John continued, “The only ‘plant’ anyone ever needs is right here.” He shot a glance at Robert, whose eyes widened in a subtle appeal for silence.

Elena raised her eyebrow, arms folded, and looked over at the boy in question. It was a relief to see Elena smiling at the comment, taking it lightly, and Robert was quick to breathe out his ease. He was lucky John hadn’t caught the fleeting exchange of smiles between the two, and mentally praised his decision to keep the beard in its concealment of a pink flush.

“Fine,” she sighed, facing the drummer. “But you owe me, Bonham.”

“Anything but a plant, please,” he groaned. “What time’s your break?”

Another useless glance at the clock proved a whole 10 minutes had passed, yet it was still a gruelling 20 from her golden 2pm. With a small whimper, she told him.

“Well, why don’t you go on break now, I’ll man the bar.” He gestured for her to come out of her enclosure with a sympathetic nod of his head.

“Really?” she breathed, already moving to untie the apron from her waist. “Ugh, you’re a lifesaver, cheers, Bon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, catching the apron as Elena threw it to him. “And take ‘im with ya,” he pointed at Robert. “If I have to hear about fuckin’ Derrick Morgan and that reggae shit for another second, I’ll wring his neck in.”

“Ses you with fuckin’ Ginger Baker, ya twat,” Robert shot back with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, leave him alone, Bon Bon, just because he can grow out his beard,” teased Elena as she passed him by.

“Yeah, but look at this ‘tache.” He ran his fingers over the thick hair above his top lip, encouraging a laugh from Elena. 

“See you in a bit,” she shook her head, the smile still lingering, as she and Robert made their way out the back of the pub.

“You put up with that your whole life?” Robert asked with a smirk as she stopped in the cloakroom to dig out her cigarettes from her jacket pocket.

With a nod, she giggled and gestured to the correct door. Pushing it open, he gave a theatrical bow in Elena’s direction. “Ladies first.”

“Oh, thank you,” she responded with an equally flamboyant nod, stepping outside into the cool May breeze. Whilst the pub’s atmosphere was laid back and welcoming, there were some ventilation issues that made it stuffier than most would prefer; especially if they were working. Elena had to take a minute to breathe in the fresh air around her before lighting up her cigarette.

The space behind the pub was a small, abandoned patch of land that doubled as the car park. It meant Elena could be alone during her breaks and smoke as much as she wanted without the possibility of judgemental eyes. Not that she particularly cared what others thought about her; she would just prefer not to find herself in an altercation.

“I’m telling ya, don’t ever work in a pub,” she advised Robert, groaning as she slid down the wall into a seated position on the floor. With a chuckle, he joined her, weary of how close he was. Just a few more inches to the right and his leg would be touching hers. Don’t do it, Rob… So he settled for bending his knees and resting his arms on top of them. 

“‘S not that bad, is it?” he peered at her through squinted eyes, the afternoon sun lashing down on them. Elena shrugged, crossing her ankles together and rolling them to relieve her of the burgeoning ache.

“Nah, it’s alright. John just needs to put some proper ventilation in there.” She flicked some ash onto the gravelly floor. “There’re plenty of things I’d rather be doing, but it’s okay for an 18-year-old that doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing yet.”

Robert gave her an understanding nod and smiled to himself. “What would you rather be doing?”

“I’m not too sure yet,” she thought, resting her head against the wall. “I’ve only just finished sixth form. Everyone’s buggering off to uni—it was a struggle just surviving the last 2 years, I ain't gunna spend thousands on a bloody degree.”

“I mean, you must be smart if you made it through sixth form, at least,” Robert speculated, unable to unglue his eyes from Elena as she took a long drag from her cigarette.

“It was mostly to appease my dad,” she snorted, blowing out excess smoke into the air. “Oh, do you want one, by the way?” She turned to him, offering out her packet of Marlboros.

Looking down at the pack, he couldn’t resist. “Well, if yer offerin’,” he accepted somewhat giddily with a shrug of his shoulders. Elena giggled, passing him one before striking a match, leaning in to light it up for him. “I coulda lit it meself,” he mumbled out the side of his mouth, but gladly leaned into the flame. 

Perhaps he was imagining things, but he swore he caught the scent of her perfume—or is it her hair—as she cupped her hand over his cigarette and the match, her own cig dangling from her lips. Whilst she was distracted with the small task, he took a moment to let his eyes wander over her face, still slightly red from her labour. Thick, dark brows knitted in concentration, long eyelashes untouched by makeup, the natural glow of her skin… He’d never had the chance to take a good look at her up close like this, but he wasn’t expecting to fall even deeper into whatever spell she had unknowingly cast upon him.

What he didn’t catch, however, whilst admiring the slope of her nose, was how she took her own experimental glance at him. It was brief, but long enough to truly admire the vibrancy of his eyes; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen any as blue before. 

And it was definitely long enough to notice his wandering gaze. 

She felt strange being in such close proximity to Robert, but it was in no way unpleasant. His energy was warm, that much she gathered from the day they met; it was the reason she enjoyed being friends with him so much. Robert had the warmest soul she’d ever crossed paths with, even though she’d known him for the short span of 10 months.

Pulling back, she shook the match, the smoky residue thick in its ascendance, before she dropped it beside her, swiftly joined by the ash that had collected at the end of her cigarette.

With a small smirk on her face, she watched Robert as he took a drag. Yes, he was definitely looking at her… 

Then, his bushy eyebrows narrowed, as if in confusion, and he snapped his head towards her. “Hang on, 18?”

“18 what?” She mirrored his expression.

“Since when were you 18?”

“Uh, since last week.”

Robert’s mouth dropped open, an almost offended expression taking over his features.

“What?” she laughed. “What’s that face for?”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

Tilting her head to the side, she pulled her mouth into an amused line. “Didn’t think it was that important.”

“Your 18th isn’t important?” he gasped.

“Well, yeah, it’s an important age, but I didn’t know I needed to tell you about it,” she chuckled.

“I coulda gotten you summet, luv…” 

“Don’t be silly, Robert, you never needed to get me owt.”

“Owt?”

“Anything—you wouldn’t have needed to get me anything!” she huffed.

He held back a laugh by bringing his cig to his lips. “Okay, if you insist…” he murmured.

Even though he was taking a jab, yet a-fucking-gain, at her accent, and being allusive about her birthday, she couldn’t suppress the smile it put on her lips. She lowered her eyes to her legs for a moment, picking at the skin around her thumb, before looking back over at Robert.

“My birthday’s the 13th. For future reference…” Her voice had dropped to a softer tone, and she gave him a smile of the same candour.

“Noted,” Robert nodded. “Don’t be complainin’ if I ever get you owt, though. For future reference,” he smirked.

“You’re as bad as him in there,” she nodded her head towards the door, wondering how John was coping behind the bar and finding some unbridled amusement in the image.

There was a small silence between the two, during which she had finished her cigarette and was now simply reclining against the jagged bricks that made up the pub.

“How’s everything going with finding a new band?” she asked him after a moment, staring up at the clouds now that they had mercifully shielded the sun.

Robert’s sigh was heavy, and through stubborn lips. He shook his head, grumbling something incoherent before finally answering. “‘S alright…” He ran his tongue over his teeth, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Uh, Elena?”

“Hm?”

“D’ya think… I dunno, if I were to ask…” he paused, clicking his tongue. “Ya think Bonzo would be up for playin’ with me again?” He looked at her with genuine curiosity.

It didn’t take much thought for her to reply with a confident nod. “Oh, absolutely! I mean, he’s having a lot of fun with A Way Of Life, but he really did enjoy working with you.”

He sighed in relief, smiling to himself at the response, it being exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Who wouldn’t?”

Robert instantly looked back up at Elena with slightly widened eyes, wondering if he’d just heard her correctly.

“A-as in you’re a good singer,” Elena was quick to clarify, “You’ve got a… just this… the right…” she stuttered, before sighing and looking right into his eyes. “Energy…”

Robert’s eyes softened and grinned characteristically, with a hint of bashfulness. “Tha–”

“Oi! Have you two finished your mother’s meeting out ‘ere?!”

The pair on the floor whipped their heads towards the door to see John’s face sticking out the small gap in it.

“Fucking hell, man, don’t do that!” Elena exclaimed, her hand shooting to her chest. “Wanker…” she mumbled as she pulled herself up from the floor and dusted off her trousers, Robert following suit.

Giving him a jesting shove on the way inside, Elena begrudgingly set herself up for resuming her shift. Meanwhile, Robert slowly made his way back inside, stopping to face his friend.

“Your timing is nothin’ short of fuckin’ exquisite, Bonzo.”

Playfully flicking his forehead, Robert sauntered his way back inside. And as he did, John watched with the complete knowledge of Robert’s seemingly ever-growing interest in his best friend.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Mi Ángel De Nieve (Ona Batlle x Reader)

Day 5! We love Ona here so enjoy this

Winter in Manchester was very different to what you were used to, this was your first year experiencing it and snow wasn’t something you were expecting. You had joined Manchester United from Barcelona this summer, finally joining the love of your life in the English city. Ona had been trying to get you to transfer for a couple years now but you had dedicated your life to Barca and wasn’t going to move until they no longer wanted you. That happened this summer with you and a few of the other longer term players like your best friend Leila leaving for new opportunities.

The fact that Leila had moved to the same city was perfect, it was the first time ever that you had your favourite people, your chosen family all in one place. You had played your final game of the calendar year on Saturday against none other than Manchester City, you and Leila facing off for the first time in your careers. The points had been shared and you and the rest of the Spanish girls had gone out for a dinner to celebrate.

You and Ona were wandering back from the restaurant hand in hand when you felt the first cold spot land on you. Looking up at the sky you were shocked to see the small white dots slowly floating down. Snow wasn’t something you ever got to see growing up in north Spain, the temperatures never dropped low enough for the weather to occur so you momentarily paused to take it in.

“What’s up amor?” The small tug at your hand helped focus your attention on the younger woman, her curious gaze staring back at you.

“You’ve been in this country too long. It’s snowing. I don’t see snow.” The realisation that crossed Ona’s face was comical, you laughed at the expression before placing a kiss to her cheek. “Its cold can we go home please.” Ona didn’t hesitate in pulling you along the path as the snow got heavier and heavier, small white specks sticking to the both of you as you got closer to the warmth of home.

Pulling your slightly damp coats off, you and Ona were both relieved to be inside the dry and warm appartment. One was quick to put on the fairy lights strung around the living room in honour of the festive season and you made your way into the kitchen to make each of you a hot chocolate.

By the time you had got the drinks ready and wandered back into the living room Ona had already got changed into comfy clothes and snuggled herself under a fluffy blanket. “What you putting on bebé?” You spoke as you put the hot beverages on the coffee table and as Ona replied you leaned on the arm so you could hover your face over hers.

“I was thinking home alone marathon? You’ve not watch them right?” The glint in her eyes as she spoke about the Christmas films had your insides lighting up. Leaning down that little bit more you pressed a series of kisses to her forehead and cheeks before pulling back.

As the younger woman pouted at you you walked backwards towards your shared bedroom. “Okay load it up I’m just going to get changed.” You turned with a wink in her direction and hurried off to get sweats and a hoodie on.

Walking back in you laughed at the pout still residing on the woman’s face. Pushing her forward and slipping under the blanket with her now in front of you, you pressed a few kisses to her neck which only made her grumble.

“Hey bebé?” When she turned towards you, you didn’t hesitate in capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. One that had the both of you smiling into pretty much as soon as it happened.

“Okay better. Now we can watch the films.” Giggling at the Manchester player you pulled her as close as you could get her and settled in for a night of films.

A few days after this and the snow was here to stay. Another layer had settled overnight and you were even more excited to see it today when you woke up. There was no training and no other responsibilities to be done so you had asked Ona if you could spend the day doing all the things you do with snow.

The days started with breakfast and coffee, the latter essential for Ona to function for the rest of the day. Then you got your winter clothes out of your wardrobe, clothes that until this year were only used to ski in. Making sure all the bits that needed to be tucked in were indeed tucked you trudged out into the complexes garden.

The floor was littered with tiny animal prints from the foxes, cats and maybe even squirrels making their way around. The trees had a perfect amount of snow on them to make them perfect to gaze upon and the sun was slightly shining through so the air wasn’t so cold.

Ona had requested the first thing you do was build a snowman so you had both set about rolling balls in the snow and by the end of it you had a small half body height snow man with little pebble features.

Deciding he was Instagram worthy, you pulled Ona into a three person, well two person and a snowman, selfie and posted it to your stories. Leila's instant reply complaining of being left out had you rolling your eyes. After texting her to come join if she was that fussed you laughed at the instant no you received. The woman screamed hot weather lady and you weren’t the least bit surprised she was not going out.

Just as you put your phone in your pocket you felt the cold snow hit your neck. The shriek you let out would be embarrassing if anyone other than your love heard you. Speaking of said love you turned in the direction the snow came from and was gobsmacked to find Ona doubled over trying to stop her laughter with a hand over her mouth.

“Oh it’s on.” You threw a snowball that she managed to dodge and for the next few minutes you and the brown haired woman ran and threw and giggled in your own little world.

You had just about had enough of the small nimble woman dodging everything so you used the only thing you had over her. Speed. You ran right at her when she was least expecting it and gently tackled her into the snow.

After flopping next to her laughing at the shocked face she had on you took her hand and stared at the sky. “It’s so peaceful. There’s something so pure about snow that it makes you want to lay in it until your body goes numb because of the cold.”

Ona just listened to you speak. She would never tire of listening to your soft inner thoughts. After a period of quiet you stood up only to look down at her, eyes closed and smile of her face Ona started moving her arms and legs. You stepped back to give her some room and pulled out your phone to video what she was up to. After a few moments you stopped just before she did and subsequently stood up.

You took a quick photo of her looking down at her work just at the right time. Her shadow from the setting sun was perfectly in the place her body had just been. The angel wings she created spreading out from her shadows body.

You captioned the photo ‘I always knew she had the soul of an angel. Here’s your proof.’

Ona wouldn’t see that photo till after you had drifted off behind her on the sofa later that evening and the new nickname of mi ángel you had developed tonight all made sense.

[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?

[archivist-crow]

The Beatles - "Twist and Shout" live at the ABC Cinema in Manchester, England (Nov. 20, 1963)

The Beatles’ version of “Twist and Shout” is an all-time musical and vocal performance, made all the more astonishing by the story behind the recording session. Recorded at the end of a marathon 13-hour session on Feb. 11, 1963, the song was a last minute suggestion by George Martin, who wanted to record it last, knowing it was demanding and feared everyone’s voices would be worn out if they recorded it earlier in the day.

By the time the band was ready to attempt a take of the song, John’s voice was already sore and hoarse. After John gargled and took a couple of throat lozenges, the band hyped themselves up and careened through take one. They recorded a second take, but by then John’s voice was nearly gone. With that, the session came to an end, and take one of “Twist and Shout” would go on to become one of the band’s signatures. AllMusic calls the Beatles' version of the song "the most famous single take in rock history."