#un-betad

[trealamh]

The Restless

For day five of ScotEng week!

Horror // betrayal, ghost, forgotten // “Stay here.”

[This here was inspired by my mad chase across the grassland as something chased me in the night some years ago now in Hoy. You can find more informations on bothies, a cost-free shelter offered across Scotland, and their history here. This is my most esoteric entry by far. Enjoy! ]

-------

The camper is driving away.

Arthur is running as fast as his legs can take it, feet punching the ground and slipping on gravel in a mad dash to safety. He catches himself when he trips and pushes forward, the burn of his torn hands muted against the burn in his lungs as he struggles to catch his breath. His mind is blank. He does not let himself feel the terror biting at his heels in any conscious way, running on instinct and adrenaline. He yells after them, words or maybe a shapeless howl, begging against hope that the camper will stop, that it will turn, brakes squealing, to let him on. To wait for him. Some small part of him had thought that they would wait regardless of what he said. If I am not back in fifteen minutes, go. It had been the right thing to say. The only thing to say. They had all been afraid and still, bodies going into different stages of shock. Arthur had helped the rest of his friends load an unconscious Francis onto the backseat and offered to be the one to go looking for Alfred because it had been the right thing to say and do. And he had made them promise that they would go without him because he thought, he had truly and honestly thought—

It had only taken him ten minutes. He had gone searching and came back in ten minutes, not fifteen, because he had found Alfred’s torch thrown to the side and correctly assumed that he’d made it back to camp. Ten minutes.

The camper had already taken off in a cloud of dust, growing smaller in the distance, fading into the dark.

When he trips again his knees take the brunt and his thighs go numb. He thinks that he should scream, shout after the friends leaving him behind but there is not an ounce of air left in him, all of it burnt up in his lungs. The inertia of the fall knocks him on his front and some childish instinct has him tuck his hands into fists, so the ground rips up his forearms instead. It hurts less. It should not be possible from this distance, but he thinks he can see Francis, awake, banging on the back window. He would not have left Arthur behind. Francis would have made them wait. Francis would have pulled him into the van by the elbows and let Arthur catch his breath against his chest.

Arthur presses his forehead to the ground and chokes on a sob.

They should have known something was wrong when they arrived in the early afternoon to find the roads unkempt, not a soul for miles. They had only known to look for the bothy in the first place because they had overheard a local on the ferry whispering about the maintenance work it had needed to bring the roof down without collapsing the walls. The surrounding fields were used for cattle and it was a liability, having a structure that could come down at any moment and had no standing fence to keep the perimeter clear. All they had taken away from that overhead conversation had been clear skies and empty fields; cliffs and white sands and even ground for wild camping. What they should have heard was ‘danger’.

It had been beautiful at first. The flatlands of the isle gave way to the open cliffsides and the endless blue of the ocean and the north-eastern coast. They pitched their tents by the surviving stone wall, where they would be sheltered by the wind, and took their gas stoves and flasks to the waterfront. Arthur had thought then that it would be one of the dearest memories, their laughter that evening by the sea watching the sun set.

The whiskey had left him restless though and while the others crashed in shared tents and sleeping bags he had paced the perimeter of the ruins. The night was so clear this far north, so close to a perpetual twilight, that he had been able to navigate in the dark without a torch. He’d found smooth river stones piled into a miniature cairn some meters away from camp. Following the outcrop that gave way to the coast he’d found old fire pits and a witch stone, placed carefully by the edge like its owner had found it and left it there, intending to return. Arthur had not thought much of it and feeling something like kismet had rolled the stone between his fingers before looking through the gap; first at the ocean, then the grasslands.

It was through the stone that he had first seen it.

With a frightened gasp he had wrenched the stone away from his eye, blinking wildly and reaching clumsily for his phone. In truth, he had not needed any light to see that there had been nothing there. No looming figure, dark against the faint blue-grey of the skyline. Heart racing and clutching his stone, Arthur had hurried back to camp, looking over his shoulder with every flutter of birds’ wings in the brush and the faraway bleating of sheep. He had felt safe laying down to sleep next to Francis, though, and foolish when he’d retold the story the next morning over breakfast.

Then he found the bones. Vertebrae too large to belong to sheep, cluttering a freshly dug trench.

He had called out to the others, voice tight with alarm, but they had laughed it up. Alfred had kicked one of the bones carelessly and brushed fresh dirt onto the pile to cover them, so they would be out of sight. He’d seen the like in Texas, he’d said, dismissive and care-free. It could be a cow, a horse. And maybe he had been right, Arthur wouldn’t know, but a chilling suspicion had begun to dawn in the back of his mind. The ground had been undisturbed the night before.

They were not alone. And they were being watched.

He should have forced the issue instead of biting his tongue. He should have ruined the fucking trip. Ripped the tents with his pocket knife if that was what it took. They should have left before nightfall.

Shaking with adrenaline, Arthur slaps his hands against his mouth and forces himself to breathe through his nose. He shifts on his bruised knees and looks around wildly, looking for somewhere to hide. Keeping an eye for him and then he spots him. A shadow between shadows moving pitilessly closer at an even pace. Arthur can barely hear the howling wind over the pounding of his heart but he blinks the tears away and thinks fast. There is the road ahead, endless and exposed. He can’t outrun the night; his lungs will give out before he makes another mile. If he runs now, he will disturb the gravel and call attention to himself. For now, at least he is crouched down, holding himself as tight as he can to make himself seem small. From a distance he might be just small enough to be overlooked. Judging by the direction the shadow moves, he might just walk past him. God, if only he would walk past him, Arthur could make a run for the coastline. He could find a crevice between the weathered walls and sea-washed boulders until the sun rose. In the light of day he could find his phone, still plugged into its power bank back at camp. He could call for help. Walk up the road until he finds service and dial every number in his directory, dial emergency services. He will not be made a ghost haunting the friends that left him for dead. He will not be remembered for being forgotten. Arthur wants to live. 

The shadow pauses, its profile looking out towards the winding road, and for a soaring moment Arthur is sure that it will turn and go. Everyone else is gone, Francis who he had attacked. Alfred who he had lured away in an ill-advised fit of courage. They are all gone. There is no reason for it to suspect that Arthur has been left behind. 

The shadow turns its head and although Arthur cannot see his eyes he simply knows.

It can see him.

Arthur scrambles up to his feet and stumbles, blind with panic, until he can find his footing. Pain shoots through every muscle and joint as he tries to outrun the inevitable. In his desperation he turns towards the bothy, some animal sense in him promising him safety if only he can get behind the stone walls. Clearing the distance takes an inhuman amount of effort but he makes it, lurching past the empty door frame and reaching unseeing for something to block the entrance. There isn’t even a door, the wood long-rotted, but whatever Arthur can do to earn himself another heartbeat he will try. His hand closes around the back of a wooden chair and using the inertia of his failing body he tosses it behind him. Arthur throws his back against the far wall of the small cabin and  watches the wood bounce on the threshold. His lungs wheeze as he pants widely, afraid to blink for too long.

Earlier in the night they had set up lanterns on the cabin’s walls, where the roof would have been thatched onto the structure once. It had dispelled the shadows then and made them feel deceptively safe so long as they stayed within the pools of light. All they do is cast long shadows now as Arthur waits, terrified, for the looming figure to come. 

When it does, it kicks the chair across the room, clearing the threshold and stepping through unhurriedly. Arthur’s finger’s scratch the walls and low shelves behind him, searching desperately for something to use against the hulking shadow he is finally close enough to see.

He is a man, or must have been, once, dressed in a stained undershirt and muddy trousers. A boned mask obscures his features, a savage mimicry of a wolf or bear that tilts to the side as the man seems to consider him. If he came any closer the light might slip into the eye sockets of his mask but as it is all Arthur can see of them are the pooled shadows of an eyeless skull peering meaningly from between strands of unkempt hair. He is easily twice Arthur’s size in padded muscle alone and towers above him in height.

Arthur’s fingers find a thin shard of rock worked loose from the wall behind him and he holds onto it tight despite the pain. He blinks away the black spots that fill his vision.

“Why?” He demands, blinking away the black spots that swirl in his vision.

“Who are you? Why– what do you want?”

The man does not answer. He takes a step forward. 

Arthur could chance him coming closer but a sudden fury bubbles in his chest at the thought of this hulking man crowing him. He lunges at him, seemingly managing to catch him by surprise enough that he gets a good hit in with his shoulder. The shard in his hand splits in two under the strain of his grip alone so Arthur throws it blindly hoping one of the pieces will find the man’s eye behind his mask. The stranger recovers quickly though, bending over with a grunt and reaching around Arthur to get him in a corded grip. With his hands now free, however, Arthur can claw at him, looking for an opportunity to jab an elbow against his neck or face. When the man manages to catch his arms, he kicks. When he is pushed against the wall, he cranes his head and bites down. He is savage with it and in a triumphant moment earns a howl of pain when his teeth pierce the man’s skin. Blood floods his mouth however and he chokes, spitting the metallic taste and battling against the nausea that conjures hot bile up his throat. He is still spitting when the man regains the upper hand and lets go of one of his arms to grab a solid grip of his hair by the roots instead.

All Arthur knows after that is a sharp pain at the back of his head and then, nothing.

Nothing at all.

-

He wakes up curled up on his side, his cheek pressed down on a rough-hewn mattress that smells like peat. His head throbs but when he tries to reach up to his nape he finds that they are caught on a snare. The rope is not tight enough to grind down on his bones but it keeps his wrists crossed and anchored to the bed frame. He has to crane his head back to find where it’s been strapped and nailed down to the wood. Barely awake, he does not have the wherewithal to be frightened yet but when something grips his ankle his wits snap back into attention. 

His first instinct is to start kicking but his legs are pulled out harshly and pinned. There is not enough give to the rope around his wrists to accommodate him being yanked down so his shoulders are pulled forward, his field of vision obscured by his own forearms. The mattress shifts with the man’s weight and Arthur really panics then, bucking his hips up and twisting. He only stops when strong hands bracket his hips. It is the shock, at first, and then the knees that dig in firmly into the insides of his thighs, keeping him still as the man leans over him to grab wrists in a single hand. 

His heart is in his throat, mind racing with a million possibilities. He tries to pull his arms down to at least be able to look at the man on top of him but even his best effort is pointless. He had known as soon as he had seen him that he’d ne outweighed and outmatched but the reality of that body on his blinds him to reason. Arthur curses and bites back the urge to scream, only settling down when the man above him growls angrily and pins his turned face into the mattress with the weight of his forearm. He has gotten wise to the sharpness of Arthur’s teeth, it seems.

Angry tears smear into his temple and the stranger’s dirt-streaked skin as Arthur pants to keep his emotion at bay. He will not cry, he will not beg. He bites his lips and swallows the hitch in his breath, unwilling to give up the last torn shred of his pride. There is nothing Arthur needs to make peace with except himself so on and on, he curses until his voice gives out, too hoarse to continue. It is only then that the weight above him shifts, like the man crouched above him was only waiting for Arthur to tire himself out. He reaches for something Arthur cannot see, still blinded by his own arms, and the only weakness he allows himself is turning his face against his shoulder, bracing for whatever may come. 

All that happens is that something cold is pressed onto his palms.

He flinches, startled and hisses when his skin begins to burn but the man seems to have had enough. He hushes him harshly and squeezes his wrists to keep him still before dabbing roughly at the scrapes on his palms. Once he is seemingly satisfied with the work he’s done he moves to clean Arthur’s forearms next.

It is an action so absurd that Arthur’s is shocked to stillness. He lets his arms be raised and lowered without fighting and drops his head back to catch a sight of the bed frame once more, wondering if he is still asleep or half-dead already and hallucinating as he goes. The sharp scent of herbs bites at his nose and his fingers curl when some kind of salve is slathered on his palms.

The man slips down his body when he is done, clumsy and heavy, but for now not trying to hurt him. He goes as far as to ease his weight of Arthur when he winces and for now seems to trust that Arthur will not try to knee him when he shifts his knees off his thighs. It is enough leeway for Arthur to feel like he can risk provoking his temper so he pulls himself back up the mattress, using the rope to hoist himself back. He is stopped from going too far when the man grabs a hold of his ankle again like a warning but he is able to sit up at least and finally regain his sight.

Absurdly, the first thing he thinks is that the man’s eyes are the same shade of green as his.

His shoulder is clean and wrapped. Arthur does not know whether the mark of his teeth will scar but he imagines it might, for a while at least. Good. Good, Arthur hopes it does. He can see some bruising starting to form around the area. He is wearing a different undershirt, this one looser on his frame, but the same soot-stained trousers as he had been earlier. His feet, Like Arthur’s now, are bare. More importantly though, so is his face. He has the same stern features that Arthur has seen on the men who work the docks and pubs of the northernmost isles. It should not be right that he looks like them, or they like him, but the truth is that Arthur should not be surprised. He has known violence and fear at the hands of so many men who looked like this: ordinary, handsome even. It is almost disappointing that this is how it will end. It is a fucking waste.

The man does not hold his gaze for long, seeming more concerned with the hem of Arthur’s trousers. He does not let Arthur pull his legs away but does not pull them straight and splayed either. He lets Arthur keep his legs slightly bent while he rolls up the fabric up to his knees. Arthur is too tired to feel demeaned. It hurts to have the material pried out from the grooves in his torn knees and he can’t help flinching again. This time, the man only presses his thumb to the joint of his knee, like he means to hold him steady. 

Arthur is exhausted. He is shaking with crashing adrenaline and his ears are ringing from how hard he is clenching his jaw. Maybe from how hard the man bashed his head, as well. That the same man is now carefully cleaning his knees is so absurd that he feels hysterical laughter bubble up in his chest, breathy and hoarse. The man only looks up briefly before resuming his task. When he is done, he stands from the bed and reaches immediately for the mask that Arthur can see now has been sitting on a low table all this time. 

Arthur speaks without meaning to. “Why?”

The man pauses, half-turned. He is holding the mask against his face with one hand, the other reaching back to tie the leather tongs that hold it in place. Looking at him now, golden in the half light, Arthur realises that there is a small fire lit in an iron stove across the room and gas lamps sitting in every corner of the room. 

“What is the point?” He pulls his legs closer to his chest; his thighs are starting to burn from the night’s exertion. He means the man’s touch on his skin and the care for his wounds. Minor, for all that there might be in store for him. 

The man does not answer. He adjusts his mask and when he turns to face Arthur it’s with the same animal blankness he had exuded as he cornered him in the bothy. 

Has it been hours? A day? Arthur suspects the former. He is not hungry, only thirsty.

The man goes around the bed to approach him this time rather than climbing in the mattress the way Arthur had expected he would. He crouches by him, so large that it is only in this way that they are finally at eye level. Arthur holds his eyes, obscured by the deep set cavities of the skull, and holds his ground. He does not so much as flinch then the man’s hand comes up to touch his face, tracing his jaw with a calloused knuckle. He does not tilt his head, just follows the natural curvature of the bone towards his chin. Arthur is so focused on the slow drag of the caress that he does not notice the way the man’s breathing shifts, slowing down into deep, controlled breaths that fill his diaphragm with air. A deep, rumbling voice hums a singular note before he speaks, the words barely given shape behind the bone which distorts them further. It is not Gaelic or Scots of any kind that Arthur has heard but they ring into his ears like tide; rhythmic and familiar. 

Arthur is not aware of the way his defiant gaze softens, only of the way the pain at the back of his head seems to melt away, leaving only a light, tired throb behind. He feels his muscles yield to exhaustion and the pull of those dark, sightless eyes. Something hot and consuming pools in the pit of his stomach.

When he loses consciousness this time it is not sudden, but gradual. His head is cradled kindly and his body is laid out. 

Dawn crests, unseen, and Arthur dreams of cliffs and the howling winds of Orkney, a voice hidden in their midst.

-

They are told that Arthur drowned. Not one of them believes it.

After a thoughtless drive across the island to flee the horrors of the night, Francis had managed to scream sense back into them. With a fraction of diesel left in the tank, however, making the drive back to camp had been impossible. They’d had to wait until the morning after contacting the ferry operator on an emergency radio left by the docks. The search for Arthur had been fruitless. They returned to the mainland with Arthur’s phone still hooked to a power bank and missing a friend. Francis didn’t look away from the island once as they were escorted away. He also has not spoken a word to a single one of them since.

The official reports will read like a common tragedy: too little sleep and too much to drink, a prank or fight gone awry with one young man left behind. With Arthur’s phone found abandoned by the rest of his things and Gil’s phone missing, the theory had been born that he must have climbed onto a cliff edge trying to find reception and had fallen to his death, body lost to the ocean. The ferry operator, some local workmen who had joined in on the search,and the women who had leveled them with pity and censure on their return deflected their questions and refused them help in proving that there had been someone else there; a man. It is some time before the nightmares fade and the guilt settles into something they can live with. Arthur is brought up rarely and only as a memory. 

Until one day, the ferry dispatch on the mainland receives a mayday signal from an emergency radio long in disuse.

[purple-the-turtle]

TW// Mentions of Character Death, Non-Graphic Descriptions of Blood

Casey is having the worst day of his life.

Well, one of the worst days of his life. This belongs right on his top ten, right up there with the day Uncle Tello died and the way Master Leonardo and Michelangelo lost part of their smiles, and the day they died. Just below it, is the abstract feeling of losing his mom, and the worst and simultaneously the best birthday present he had ever gotten.

It just. Hurts. 

Seeing Raphael, the looming, faintly familiar giant, so… small, in Casey’s memories. He was practically Casey’s dad as a kid. And Casey forgot about him.

But now, he won’t make the same mistake again. He’s bringing his family together, no matter what it takes. 

He tumbles through more memories, blood spilling through the cracks, trying to ignore the carapace pieces that stab at his legs. It’ll all be worth it. If he did this for Uncle Tello, he can do it now. He has to. 

Please, he thinks, as he sees a familiar picture book float by. Why is this taking so long? With Uncle Tello, it didn’t take this long. Not even going off two data points! A familiar voice echoes in the back of his mind. He smiles hysterically. Maybe this won't be so bad.

Then, he hears it—a creaking noise.

Casey rushes forward, trudging through the blood and- is that oil?- tripping over wires, before reaching the zenith of the tangled mass. Gasping for breath, his legs aching-

He sees Raphael. 

And he runs.

I will say, this is a WIP! I just thought I'd show the first part. As a treat :)

for @somerandomdudelmao 's Cass Apocolapse Seires! Raph and Casey's part was my favorite and made me cry like a baby <33

[hillerska-official]

Heyheyhey guys do u want my s2 trailer inspired angst oneshot?

[madwomanwithawarehouse]

sometimes you start reading a fic for the smut but there's a lot of plot beforehand and once you get to the smut scenes you'd actually rather continue with the plot but you don't want to skip the whole reason you went on this journey in the first place so you have to wait until you're in the mood for smut again but now you have nothing to read

[claraswritings]

Conversation

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Reader

Warnings: spoilers for S1 and S2, miscommunication, (kind of) enemies to lovers, language, a few plot changes, mutual pining and one or two mentions of Jamie’s dad being a prick. Also I accidentally wrote something in this that is minorly similar to a scene in S3…but I wrote that bit AGES ago. Just signposting it as last time I didn’t someone got shitty with me

Notes: this is so much longer than I planned lmao so that explains why it took so long to post. Also not betad or spellchecked yet as it’s late here!

I don’t even know if I like this… I might delete this…

Title inspired by Conversation by Catfish and the Bottlemen

**

You’d been the player liaison officer at AFC Richmond for two years and for the most part, you loved your job. A lot of it involved what was referred to as “general life admin” for the players, as you sorted out everything from banks to home viewings to car collections to visas to schools for players with kids.

Most people would think looking out for a bunch of millionaire footballers would be a stressful job but you didn’t mind. The players had, for the most part, always been nice and you’d even started helping to show the new signings around, offering to recommend them restaurants or bars and you’d even become friendly with a few of them over the course of your time at the club.

Or at least until you encountered the clubs new loan signing. It had taken four weeks of his season long loan before you’d first spoken to him, and from the ten minutes he’d spent in your office, you’d gotten the same impression everyone did of him.

Jamie Tartt was undoubtedly the one of the biggest pricks you’d ever met .

Twenty minutes later than agreed, he’d sauntered in to your office, moaning about his teammates, discard the print offs of flats and houses you’d spent ages looking into for him, grabbed a card with the requested time and date of a collection of an Aston Martin you’d arranged for him without so much as a thank you, before asking if you could fix a modelling gig for him. With your arms folded across your chest, you’d firmly told him that was you were player liaison and not PR and that there was no way you’d be arranging his shirtless photoshoots or his latest perfume ad and he’d left with a comment about your job being “pointless” leaving your door wide open.

***

The next time you spoke to him was when he’d let a door swing in your face, as he stormed through the car park still furious after the loss to Crystal Palace. You held back from walking out as you could over hear him rant to the reporter from the Independent about…everything. An exclusive straight from the car park, Jamie Tartt was a journalists dream.

“Hey.” You caught up to him in the car park, “Talking to the press? Really?”

“Do I know you?” Jamie stared at you with a blank expression “Are you a fan? How did you get in here? You want a picture or something?”

“A fan? Of you? No. I work for the club. I’m the one that arranged your car, your flat, your VIP booth at the bar you’re off to. Most people say you’re welcome by the way.” You waved an arm in the direction of his sports car.

“Right.” Jamie continued to stare at you like you’d grown a second head before shrugging “Did you need something?”

Un-fucking-believable. In that moment, you’d never disliked him more.

You considered telling him how stupid it was to run his mouth off to the press, how much it would hurt his teammates, his manager, the fans to hear their star player dragging the club down but as you watched him chew his gum so casually, you realised he didn’t care and it was too late, and it was probably too late. Trent Crimm was already heading back to his car, statement no doubt being composed and ready for the morning papers but it was doubtful Jamie even registered anything other than himself and his massive ego. How could you possibly expect him to care about anyone else.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Don’t think you’d understand it. Have a nice night.” You turned on your heel and were safe inside your own car before you finished the sentence “Prick.”

***

Ever since your little argument in the car park, you’d made it your absolute resolution to keep your contact with him to the bare minimum until the end of his loan when he’d become whatever poor player liaison officer Man City had.

You managed this pretty effectively being that he’d decided not to train until you’d received a call from your boss late into the evening one night asking you to come by the training ground. Usually a call in the evening was one of the new players wants a dinner reservation and didn’t know where to book or occasionally ordering a cab when one of the players had forgotten what hotel they were staying in the night before a game.

You absolutely not been expecting it to be ‘please can you swing by Colins and get his spare car keys…’ Nonetheless you’d agreed.

The scene unfolding before you when arrived the training ground was like something out of a fever dream. The players celebrating on the training pitch, a burning bin obviously a major part of whatever bonding exercise Coach Lasso had come up with. A scan of the field resulted no sign of Colin. You could see Dani Rojas, running around with Bumbercatch and Richard as if he hadn’t just been in the treatment room a mere 24 hours ago and Issac downing the last of a bottle of Mezcal back and forth with Richard whilst Ted and Beard watched on, laughing as Zoreaux choked on a swig of the liquor.

Nearest you and staring into the fire, beer bottle in hand, was the last person you wanted to see. Jamie Tartt. Of course it was. It would be so typical of your luck that it would be.

“Colin about?” You resolved yourself to asking him, wiggling your hand as the spare key jangled between your fingers. “Got to give him these.”

“Inside.” Jamie nodded “He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Humming in acknowledgment, your eyes fell to the flaming bin and curiosity got the better of you and you had to ask “Do I want to ask how he lost his keys?”

“Burnt them in that.” Jamie gestured at the flames he was staring at. When you didn’t reply, his eyes found their way to yours and he explained the whole process.

“Oh.” You were surprised. “I didn’t think team bonding would have been your thing.”

Jamie hesitated. He couldn’t argue. You were right, he hadn’t been much of a team player

“I wasn’t gonna but…thought maybe I should show my face” he shrugged, hoping you wouldn’t question his bravado. He pointed at the fire. “Do you wanna throw something in? Everyone else has.”

“I think it’s already worked…” you gestured with your arm at the field. “but yeah why not?”

You thought for a moment… you hadn’t brought anything except your phone and your own keys which… you didn’t fancy throwing in. Unlike Colin you’d have to walk home and get your spare set and walk back to the car park, which wasn’t particularly appealing in the dark.

Suddenly an idea struck you, you unclipped your necklace and extended out your hand, letting it slip, dangling in your fingertips for a few seconds before dropping it. “Hopefully this helps with the luck.”

“You don’t need luck if I’m playing.” Jame replied, a smirk on his lips. You held off rolling your eyes at his cockiness. Sometimes you really didn’t get him. Mere seconds before you’d been having a semblance of a civil conversation and then he was right back to arrogant arsehole.

“What is it?” He questioned. It had to be the first time he’d asked you anything about yourself.

“Necklace. It was my nan’s… she…died when I was 15.”

“Oh shit sorry.” It was probably the most sincere you’d ever heard him. If it had came out of anyone else’s mouth, you might have bought it as genuine. “Wasnt like anything bad, was it?”

“It was a long time ago, she was sick for a long time and…” you stopped yourself suddenly aware that this was Jamie Tartt you were talking to and any minute now, he’d probably resume his usual self centred personality. “Sorry, long story short, she passed away a while ago but… I don’t think she’d mind. Grandad was a Richmond fan.”

“What did you…put in?” you asked, swiftly changing the subject. You were half expecting the answer to be his little black book of desperate instagram girls or some signed picture of himself from one of his many magazine photoshoots. It would after all be completely on-brand for him.

“Erm…football boots, ones my mum got me. She got me into playing…” he said it trying to be casual and keep his cool. “She just wants me to enjoy playing yeah? So good motivation and that”

“I’m sure she’d be really happy for you, Jamie.” You looked over to where Colin was remerging back from the building looking extremely relived to see you. “I have to go give these to Colin. It’s why I was called out here in the first place. Have a good night.”

Truth be told, you were a little skeptical. Of both the ritual and of Jamie showing an interest in anyone else other than himself but you figured if the whole team had given the ritual a chance, maybe just maybe, Jamie Tartt had developed the capacity to care about other people.

You found out the next morning that he was on his way back to Man City when you’d received an email from his agent asking you to arrange termination of his house rental agreement

***short time skip***

When your doorbell had gone off late into Saturday afternoon a few weeks later, Jamie Tartt had been the last person you expected to see.

“Richmond said you had the stuff from my locker.” He said, leaning instantly on the door frame as soon as you answered without so much as a hello. “Said you was going to send it to the guy who does whatever it is you do at City but I called Issac, Jeff and Keeley and they’re all busy so thought come get it. Nothing better to do.”

A house visit hadn’t been on the agenda but you figured it was marginally less awkward than him swinging by the training ground so you’d taken it and had been talking to the player liaison officer at City making arrangements to send it up.

“Well I’m flattered to be your fourth choice. Coincidentally probably your first words to Pep.” You couldn’t resist the dig. Ever since he’d left, Richmond had struggled but being that he was now Man City’s problem you didn’t have to mince your words.

“Yeah well, I’ll be first choice soon. Scored today didn’t I…,” he clicked his tongue and gestured at himself. “Best goal of the match as well.”

“Wouldn’t know. I was watching Richmond.” You folded one arm over the other. A part of you enjoyed the flicker of surprise that crossed his face, but you gave him a tight smile as a somewhat attempt to be civil.

“Heard old man Roy scored yesterday. Must have taken it out of him.” Jamie rested back on the heels of his expensive trainers “Bet he’s gonna be in that ice bath for hours.”

You ignored the dig at the Richmond captain “Had the game of his life actually…like someone turned back the clock. Heard from Sam that Nate had some real words of wisdom.”

“Nate? Nathan? The kitman?” Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you in shock. “We thinking of the same guy? Him!?”

You laughed, knowing that the idea of Nate who always seemed so unassuming and quiet giving Roy Kent, footballing legend, a piece of his mind was crazy. If you’d heard it from anyone other than Sam, you’d probably have thought it was an elaborate joke.

“Apparently so.”

“Fucking hell.” His eyebrows shot up “Kinda wish I’d seen the old man’s reaction.”

“Yeah well…you weren’t…I’ll get your stuff. Probably a bit weird for you…being at a woman’s door when you haven’t slept with her.” You tapped on the door and grimaced. You knew the team would miss Jamie for his ability on the pitch.

Jamie shrugged, before he was distracted by his reflection in the window. He adjusted a stray hair then slowly turned back as of pulling his gaze away from himself was particularly tough “You would though wouldn’t you?”

A singular laugh left your throat coming out harshly. “No. Nothing personal…Zoolander” you paused as you realised that wasn’t completely honest. “Well its a little personal…but…I don’t date footballers. Went out with one once. Played for another club. Was at my friends for a weekend. He slept with six other women in two days.”

Jamie pursed his lips and let out a low whistle almost like he was impressed.

“What’s that…Rookie numbers for you?” You called over your shoulder as you stepped to the side of the door to pick up the box that had been sitting in your hallway for the past week and a half.

“Nah…even I’m not that bad” He clicked his tongue and winked “Most of the time.”

“How lovely.” You deadpanned turning back to him. “Suppose you slow down once you run out of every woman in SW16?”

Jamie looked you up and down “You always like this? All Cruella DeVille and that”

Ignoring his playground like insult, you moved one hand back to the door handle, the box balanced on your hip with the other. You were hoping you’d be able to close the door quickly and force him to go off elsewhere. “You left my club, I’m allowed to be a little mean to you.”

“Lasso sent me back. Said he didn’t need me but obviously he does though cause you were losing until today” A cocky smirk on his face, he pointed at himself “Could have used me in those other games.”

“What?” You frowned, eyebrows knotting in the centre. “What are you on about?… of course we needed you. You’re a fucking twat but you’re good. Why wouldn’t he want you in the team” You didn’t like paying him a compliment but you felt it was the only way to get a reasonable conversation out of him

Jamie almost rolled his eyes and you were unsure if it was because he thought you were stating the obvious or saying something stupid.

Noticing Jamie’s childish reaction, you called him out.

“Ted’s a really nice guy, you know. Maybe cut him a little slack?”

Ted had always been friendly to you. Giving you a good morning when he arrived and a good evening with a bright smile when he left and even talking to you about favourite books when he’d brought ones in for the team. If you offered help with setting things up, he would always tell you not to worry and he’d sort anything out himself… More often than not he was back at your office with 15minutes talking a lot about how different things were to Kansas and asking for help.

Despite being new to the sport, never mind the Premier League, Ted was at least trying. It somewhat bothered you that Jamie seemed so intent on being disrespectful.

“Knows fuck all about football though.”

“And you know fuck all about how to talk to people. Maybe you could have learnt from each other.” You snapped back before you could stop yourself. “Just an idea. It’s how adults talk.”

Feeling the exasperation levels rise and wondering how you’d even gotten this far into a conversation with him, you tossed the box of his stuff in to his arms and he managed to steady it despite being caught slightly off guard.

“Goodbye Jamie. See you next season”

And with that you slammed the door shut forcibly before he could reply.

*** time skip***

“I’m just going to get a drink, you want one?”

You offered to your friend and her boyfriend, as you slid out of your booth. Truth be told, you didn’t need another drink, you just wanted to escape for a few moments and work out if it had been this loud when you were a Uni student or if you’d just become accustomed to pubs over clubs in the years since you’d left.

With the team settled into the season, and the new signings all set up, you decided to take a week off to go visit some old friends in Manchester and against your better judgement you’d been dragged to a bar by your friend and her boyfriend.

In response your friend waved her half full, bright blue cocktail, letting you know she was good for now and you made your way across the dance floor and up to the bar, ordering the strongest cocktail on the menu not paying much attention to what was in it.

You’d only just picked up your drink when you heard it. The familiar voice causing you to whip around so quickly that you were impressed you didn’t spill anything.

“[Name]? That you?”

“Jamie Tartt.” You replied, as you took a long drink of the freshly replenished cocktail “Nice to see you.”

You were, of course, being sarcastic. You didn’t try to hide it this time. You didn’t have to. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been assisting in the game that sent Richmond down. Well… that and when your friends had sent you numerous clips of him making an arse out himself on Lust Conquers All and asking you if he really was that much of a twat in real life, to which you’d reply no, he was actually a bigger twat.

“How come you’re in Manchester?” He asked, catching you off guard. Jamie had never cared about seeing you, let alone it being ‘good to’ and now here he was making small talk like you were old friends.

“I’m visiting friends from when I lived here.” You told him keeping your answer short “Look if you want someone to sort out some private booth for you, firstly I’m on holiday and secondly I work for Richmond…you don’t…so…” you paused and gazed around the busy bar, looking for someone to pass Jamie on to “ask the barman.”

“You lived in Manchester?” Jamie tilted his head, genuine surprise crossed his features, as if you’d been withholding some crucial information. “I’m from here.”

“I know you are…“ you took another long drink, feeling like you’d need it if you were about to have another frustrating conversation as your patience was slowly slipping away. He’d completely ignored your previous statement and carried on with the small talk he’d never shown any need for before “What do you need Jamie?”

Jamie looked stunned. “I didn’t know you lived in Manchester. How come you never said?” He replied with a question in response.

“It’s a big city Jamie. You never asked me about myself, surprised you even remembered my name. You don’t need to feign interest in me. Just tell me what you want.” Patience now completely gone and just keen for him to get to the point, you downed the last of your drink and turned to place it back on the bar, only just missing the slight look of guilt he gave you.

“I just, um,” Jamie hesitated, unsure as to how to start, he bit his lip. There was no way he could just come out with it.

He’d tried Keeley but she’d told him to talk to Ted which… he really didn’t want to do. He knew he’d have to eventually but he didn’t want to have to ask especially after how they’d left things in person. Jamie knew from the tiny army man and note that Ted held no resentment but approaching him was a completely different ask so he’d headed back to his mums in Manchester first to weigh up his options.

He considered messaging one of the team but knew after his assist to send Richmond down, they likely would not want to speak to him…so he went through the staff- Kitman Will was a no go, Nate an even bigger no, he didn’t even think he had his number. Jamie went through a few of the back room staff before the thought of you crossed his mind and he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.

You fixed everything. Player needed a mechanic, you had one around within an hour, one of the coaches needed a caterer, you could arrange it, any player needed schools for their kids, you had uniforms by the end of the day. It was, at least to Jamie, like you could fix any problem…so hoping you could fix his big one, he looked you up on instagram and seeing that you’d posted only two hours ago, he clicked to view.

You were laughing and clinking glasses with another girl and a guy and had placed a tag in the corner indicating what bar you were in. Jamie could barely believe his luck when he clicked on it; as if by chance, as if this was confirmation that he had to talk to you, the tag showed as a bar only fifteen minutes away. He’d left within five. He didn’t know why you were here in his home city but to Jamie it felt like a sign so he’d threw on a coat and headed out to find you.

“It’s nice to see you Jamie but if you’ve got nothing to say, I really need to get back to my friend.” It was a small lie, you could not have cared less about running into him.

“Wait.” He protested, reaching for your arm before pulling back, barely grazing you. “Can we have a drink or something?”

“I’m not a waitress Jamie. If you want a drink, you’ll have to get one yourself like a big boy.”

From the vacant expression that had taken over, he clearly no idea what you were talking about and was waiting for you to fill in the blanks.

“It was a joke. At the charity event, you gave me twenty quid and told me to get you a drink. I told you I wasn’t a waitress and you said ‘same thing’… then I took the £20 and used it for my taxi home… you obviously don’t remember.”

Jamie felt discomfort twist in his chest as he averted his eyes to the ground for a few seconds. Had he really said that? You said it so casually like it was normal.

“Look…please can I just talk you? I’ll…pay for your drinks.” He attempted a peace offering, only for you to wince.

“I can get my own drinks.” You stated bluntly, with a half hearted smile. “I’ll see you later, I’d say good luck for this season but Caths a United fan”

“I’m sorry…uh, I fucked it alright? I don’t…City don’t want me back.” Jamie slid in front of you quickly to try slow your move to the table down. “And I didn’t win Lust Conquers All…”

“I’m sorry to hear you didn’t win your show. Maybe there’s another you can rate strippers on or something.”

“It’s all I’m actually any good at.” His voice was far more subdued, far more quiet than you’d heard him before so much so you would have missed it if it wasn’t said in a seconds pause between songs.

“Rating strippers?” You made a joke, lips twisting up as you raised an eyebrow. However Jamie in response still looked deadly serious, so much so that something inside made your resolve falter. It was not like Jamie Tartt to be remotely serious.

You sighed, eyes skimming over the room to your friend, who was trying to wave you over with a questioning look on her face. Holding up a few fingers, you indicated to her you’d only be two minutes. She shrugged and went back to whatever conversation she was having with her boyfriend.

“Please.” He asked once more and you knew would kick yourself if this turned out to be an act. “I swear down I’m being serious”

You glanced back at Jamie who looked so utterly defeated, in a way you’d never seen him. He looked a million miles away from that cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen last time.

“Fine. We can talk but… outside…” you threw your hand up and jerked your thumb at the door. “I’ll meet you out there. I need to let my friend know I’m leaving.”

**

The cold air hit you suddenly as you stepped out of the busy bar, squeezing by a hen do and heading down the stairs. Jamie was already waiting outside, shifting from one foot to the other, looking even more on edge that he had done inside. Having seen his adverts, you knew he was not that good of an actor, whatever was going on it had to be at least a little bit real.

“Alright. I’m all ears.” You stated as you reached the bottom.

Jamie found himself talking and talking to you as you walked through the city without any real direction. You asked the occasional question but besides that you were mostly just listening. He was stalling, putting off asking you for help by just relaying the drama between leaving City and being voted off the show. You could tell there was something else. There was no way he’d drag you, someone he barely knew, barely liked, out into the city streets to question the voting public for picking some guy called Danthony over him.

“They offered me a reality show…when I got kicked off but I’d have to do ecstasy and shit and…” Jamie trailed off, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his designer puffer jacket. “Didn’t want that.”

“Drugs too far?” You joked, not wanting to show that you were actually pleasantly surprised that he had a limit as to what he’d do for fame. His eyes caught yours and he shook his head.

There was a beat, a few seconds of only the city sounds, you spoke again, your voice and your eyes more sympathetic this time. “I’m glad you didn’t take it. It would be a waste of your actual talent if you did. You’re way too good at football to piss it all away for some shit show…Why did you leave City anyway? Thought you had it all worked out? And be honest with me, I’m not thick, I’ll know.”

Jamie caught your eye, your gaze on him was questioning, but not in the demanding, scrutinising way he was so used to. You were looking at him in such a way, If you didn’t hate him, Jamie could almost convince himself you were asking because you cared. The slight softening of your look on him made him drop what was remaining of his facade and tell you the truth. “I thought it’d piss off my dad.”

“Ah,” the sound was small, “Is your dad…?”

“A prick?” Jamie stated bluntly before you could finish “Yeah. On me all the time, over everything. Always has been. Always got something to fucking say. Got sick of it. I know it’s stupid but…”

“It’s not stupid…well it was a stupid thing to do…” you pulled your coat tighter against the wind. “but you’re not stupid. I understand. I think most people would. I’m sorry your dads an arsehole.”

“Thanks” He commented with a tight face as you rounded the corner. “But I’m used to it”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

You stopped as he could see your hotel lit up ahead on the street you were now walking down and somehow you’d ended up back where you were staying and you felt a little bit sorry to leave him. A small, tiny part of you thought about inviting him up and offering to continue the conversation but this was Jamie and you had a feeling he would definitely get the wrong idea.

“Erm… this… this is me.” You tilted your head up ahead at the hotel door “Thank you for walking me back Jamie. Even if you didn’t mean to.”

“Do you think Richmond would have me back?” Jamie asked quickly, fearing he’d lose his chance at getting out what had been lingering on his mind since he’d walked out of the meeting with his agent. “I could really really use Richmond now. And I think Richmond need me?” He gave you a tweak of a smile, more hopeful than arrogant.

Ah of course. That was it. He did need something after all. Despite this, you didn’t feel any resentment, you actually felt a little bit bad for him. Jamie had been a first class twat but he also seemed to be genuinely trying to reach out.

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Look, I wish I could help but…you’ll have to talk to Ted. I don’t have any say it in. I can give him a heads up but at the end of the day, he’s the manager, Jamie.”

“Yeah. Keeley said the same thing.” He looked dejected, reluctant even. “Don’t know why I thought you’d say anything else.” He dragged one of his expensive trainers against the concrete pavement and you winced at thinking how they probably cost a substantial chunk of your wages.

“I’m not surprised. She’s smart, makes me wonder why she went out with you.” You took the opportunity to lightly tease him although kept your tone completely deadpan.

“Oi come on! I’m being nice!” Jamie’s head shot up, ready to protest until he could see you were smiling and his shoulders loosened.

“I know I’m messing with you.” You replied “but seriously Talk to Ted. He’s usually at The Crown and Anchor. He’s a nice guy, Jamie. Give him a chance.”

“Fine. Thanks.” Jamie shrugged, looking like he’d rather do anything else. “If it works, can I have my old house back?”

“I’ll sort something…Goodnight Jamie.”You reached over and squeezed his arm “and good luck.”

***

Jamie’s reintegration was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. With the rest of the team being somewhat reluctant to forgive his attitude from his last spell in at the club, Jamie was now getting the cold shoulder.

“Shit!” You jumped when you walked into you office. “How long have you been here? How did you get in?”

“No one likes me.” Jamie muttered from the spare chair opposite your desk. He didn’t answer your question but from the lost look on his face you didn’t feel like pushing it. He was slouched so far over your desk, he was practically lying on it, training jacket pulled up over his face and his chin in his hand

“Can’t say I blame them. You were kind of an arsehole last time you were here.” You placed your bag on the spot on the desk not occupied by Jamie.

“But like I’m actually trying and they’re… are all being dickheads about it.” He sat up suddenly, throwing his arms back as he slumped back into the chair.

“Again I don’t blame them.”

“Colin said I was the worm now.”

You cocked your head confused “I’m not going to ask…but I probably don’t blame him”

“Even the new lads giving me stick”

“Yeah, word travels, you’re… kinda infamous here now”

“Yeah I know…” Jamie clicked his tongue as if you were stating the obvious “but why do they hate me… when I’m trying?” He held out his hands and looked over at you, waiting for your clarification.

“Jamie. You got us relegated, you were a bad team mate and a bit of a shit…”

“Alright, alright.” Jamie shrugged “just you’re the only one whose nice to me…except maybe Ted but he don’t count he’s nice to everyone and Keeley but she’s my ex ain’t she? How can I make them like me? Get them all something?”

“It’ll take time Jamie… you can’t just make it up to them with gifts…”

Deciding you had to do to something to distract him, you lifted your bag up from the desk again and gestured for him to stand up which he did so reluctantly.

“Right okay, get your keys…I’m not having you moping around my office…let’s go for a walk or a drive or whatever and talk. It’ll help. I promise”

**

It quickly became a regular, daily thing. Jamie would come to your office as soon as the on field training was done. The rest of the team would head into the gym and he’d come wait in your office or out for coffee until most of the others had left and then he’d slip down to the gym to train alone.

You’d were slowly softening to him. He’d even started opening up a bit more, slowly elaborating day by day until he was talking more openly to you than you’d ever thought. Underneath all the cocky bravado, Jamie was a sweet, funny, guy who’d just fallen into the trap of thinking arrogance was a shield against anything the world could throw at him. You liked this side of him far far more and you couldn’t help yourself but think if he’d always been like this, like he was now, you’d have been friends a long time ago.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing when Jamie told you about Ted’s alter ego act. Even more so that he was completely straight faced when relaying how weird it was. You could guess what Ted was doing, but Jamie seemed so serious he had you in stitches.

“Oh and I, erm, I spoke to the, the therapist lady…Doctor Sharon.” Jamie slipped in quickly, before he could change his mind over telling you. His eyes quickly shot over your shoulder to the aerial photograph of Nelson Road that decorated the wall behind your desk and focused hard on it as he waited for your response.

Jamie had no reason to doubt you’d be supportive but still he could have sworn the few seconds it took for you to reply was actually an hour. He worried in those few seconds that he’d overstepped the mark and made you uncomfortable with an over share or that you’d kick him out.

You couldn’t believed Jamie had just spent fifteen minutes ranting about ‘Led Tasso’ and completely neglected to mention that he’d spoken to the new therapist.

“Jamie…why didn’t you tell me!” You exclaimed, nearly knocking over the Richmond mug on your desk over your laptop. “That’s great!”

“Dunno” Jamie managed to drop his stare from the wall to you and shrugged “I erm, didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Keeley dragged me up there and I thought might aswell. Nothing better do to.”

“Course its worth mentioning. Getting help is the best thing you can do… it’s hard to take that first step and reach out. I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” For a second Jamie wondered if he’d hallucinated. He hadn’t heard that. Not those words in that order from anyone in a long time and Jamie liked the thought of you, of all people, being proud of him.

“Yeah! Going…and actually talking to a professional? That’s amazing! Did it help?”

Jamie let your response sink in before he nodded “Uh yeah I think so, spoke to her about like my dad and stuff. She’s really good.” He scratched his cheek quickly before dropping his hands to the table.

“It’s great, everything you’re doing. It’ll take time… but I’m just so happy you’re reaching out.” You leant over the desk and placed your hand over his and gave it a squeeze “you know you’ve always got me but talking to a professional is the best thing for you.” The second you’d retracted Jamie missed the reassurance provided by the warm contact.

“Knock knock” a voice called from the doorframe interrupting and Jamie felt his heart drop as one of his teammates stuck his head around “Hello!”

“Jan! Hi!” You beamed at him, getting up from your desk as Jamie tried not to let his disappointment show at the interruption. “Come in!”

“You ready? You’re always packed up early and ready to go so I thought I would come see” Jan slipped around the door and raised his eyebrows staring at your desk which, as he��d guessed, was already pretty much clear for the day. “Usually in the last hour you don’t do any work.”

You rolled your eyes at his assessment but didn’t protest. You very rarely got anything done in the last hour so tended to scroll on your phone, clear up and wait until you could leave.

“Alright?” Jamie attempted to greet the other man “Is anyone down in the gym, mate?”

Jan shook his head no, not conversing with the other man any more than needed and waited for Jamie to stand up and make his way to the door, stepping aside to let him leave.

“Um, thanks [Name], I’ll see you later yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll come see you later.” You offered “We can go to that restaurant for dinner. The Indian one I was telling you about the other day?”

Jamie nodded and shut the door quickly suddenly all too aware of his teammate watching him.

***

“Why are you friends with him?” Jan asked pointedly as you left the room a few minutes later and made your way to the car park.

“Jamie’s really trying. Trust me last season he would not have even acknowledged me” you laughed and pointed at yourself.

“I don’t like him.” Jan said, looking like you’d posed some sort of serious question before he offered you a sweet from the bag he was holding out “Left you the red ones.” He glanced back into the bag “Well most of them!”

“Be nice!” You jokingly punched his arm before thanking him for leaving your favourites “Jamie’s trying not be a twat…but It’s hard for him. He’s had years of practice.”

Jamie watched you’d leave with the centre back from the open gym door. From your hushed voice, you were doing your best to keep quiet so he wouldn’t overhear but the ‘he wouldn’t have acknowledged me’ stung. Deep down he knew it was true, he hadn’t been nice to you, and you were understandably cold to him.

He’d find himself worried, wondering if you were with Jan, what if you no longer had time for him, what if he lost the one real friend he had. Although if Jamie was honest with himself, he’d liked you as more than a friend for a while.

A few days into his return to Richmond, he’d been unable to sleep. Worrying that the team hated him, would always hate him, was he this pathetic failure his dad said he was, would he ever be considered a talented footballer again or would he always just be a joke who put his ‘brand’ first.

He realised he’d didn’t want to call his anyone except you. He wanted to talk to you. You’d answered on the fourth ring and if you were annoyed at being woken at 1am, you didn’t sound it. You’d been concerned, asking if he was in trouble.

“No…I can’t sleep.” Jamie had said, almost ashamed to say anything more. He worried you’d think it was pathetic, a weak reasoning for calling, but at the same time hoped you’d pick up on the something left unsaid.

You did. “I know what you mean” you’d spoken, sleepily “you want a distraction? I can read to you if you like. My books so boring, you’ll fall asleep.”

Jamie had laughed and accepted your offer and settled in as you’d started to read some story.

When he woke the next morning, you were still on the other end of the phone. You were already awake but you must have stayed on the call with him.

‘Just in case’ you’d told him, the corner of your cheek twitching on one side.

It was the single most simple, caring gesture but it cemented it. In that moment he knew he was gone. You just knew him. When he needed to laugh, when he needed to talk and when he just wanted a distraction. (You’d never tell him how easy it was for you to tell).

The next time, hed offered to return the favour he’d read you the book Coach Lasso had bought him. He’d been reluctant at first but you’d persuaded him, encouraging him a little bit at a time and before you knew it, he’d read it cover to cover.

You were just a kind person, he told himself. You were like that with everyone. He’d see you excitedly trying some Nigerian food Sam brought in or attempt to speak Spanish to Dani, who would be thrilled and offer to teach you, he’d see you talk to Keeley, usually showing each other something on your phones and giggling.

Jamie would find himself analysing every conversation you’d had with him, where you like that with other people and for signs that maybe your feelings were mutual. He would run over everything in his head as he ran on the treadmill or worked on presses so much so that by the time he’d decided to just keep quiet, as he did every day, he’d have done several miles or lost count of the amount of presses he’d done.

Fuck it there was no way he could tell you. You were happy and you were his friend and he’d rather have you in his life as his friend than not at all.

***short time skip***

When Jamie had came into your office in a panic on Christmas Eve, asking you if you’d ever cooked a Christmas dinner and begging for you to help him cook one for his mum who would be visiting, you’d agreed against your better judgement. You’d cooked Christmas dinner twice. Once at University and once when your mum had a migraine and you had to finish off and now you were in Jamie’s house on Christmas Day making what he’d bought from M&S two days before into a Christmas dinner.

“I’m surprised you asked me. I thought you’d be inundated with offers.” You said, only half joking as you turned the parsnips in their tray. Jamie who was mulching the cranberries for the sauce like his life depended on it, just shrugged and muttered a ‘not really’. He wished he’d asked you to actually spend Christmas with him properly and not to do him a favour but doing so now would seem last minute and you’d already told him you were dropping in to the Higgins later.

As if on cue, your phone beeped from across the room and you swung the dish towel over your shoulder, not noticing Jamie staring as you flicked up to read Jan’s Whatsapp, watching your face for any signs. Trying to see if you’d added any little hearts next to his name or if you replied to him with twice as many X’s as you gave anyone else.

Ever since Jamie had realised he’d fallen for you, he’d became somewhat obsessed with trying to work out what was going on between you and his teammate. He’d never ask Jan directly. Having been on the receiving end of one of Jan’s blunt comments, Jamie didn’t want to risk hearing something he didn’t want to. With the team still giving him the cold shoulder more often than not, he considered asking Keeley. He’d seen you and her talking sometimes and wondered if it would be weird to ask his ex before realising if he did ask Keeley anything, there was the risk that Roy Kent would overhear and Jamie couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing.

“Richard brought a girl to the Higgins’ party.“ you laughed, letting Jamie know what was happening “Jan just told me.”

“Of course he did” Jamie laughed “Not surprised. He’d bring a girl to training if thought he’d get away with it.”

“Thought that would have been you?” You teased back only to get an eye roll and elbow nudge in response.

After a few minutes, you walked around his kitchen to check the table was set and were surprised to see he’d done a decent job of it.

“I think you’re all set. I promise you can take all the credit. You just need to take the turkey out when she gets here and put the Yorkshires in. They’ll be done quickly so don’t burn them. Desserts are in the fridge.”

Jamie looked a little reluctant and you had to admit the idea of a footballer who regularly played in front of thousands of people being nervous about presenting a Christmas dinner to his mum was a little funny.

“It’ll be good. Trust me…oh wait!” Your face lit up as you suddenly remembered “I have a present for you!” Before he had the chance to respond you’d dashed out into the hall, retrieved the gift from beside where you left your coat and returned back and pushed it into his hands.

After making a show of rattling it to try sense what was inside, Jamie unwrapped it carefully. Your eyes focused in on his face looking for any sign, hoping he liked the gift and you’d hadn’t made things weird.

In the box was a pair of his boots, the same brand his mum had got him, like his first pair. Jamie lifted them out carefully, and turned them over in his hand to see them.

“They’re obviously not the exact pair but they’re customs, I asked Sam what brand they were and they don’t do the exact ones anymore but I found some guy online and…they’re pretty much the same…If you can’t wear them for games because of sponsorships or whatever, you can maybe use them for training or you can return them, i won’t be offended, I just…”

“Thank you.” Jamie was quiet, staring down at the boots before his eyes turned on you “this is the nicest present anyone has ever given me. I, um… thank you.” He repeated finding himself rendered somewhat speechless at what thought you’d put in and how you were clearly worried he wouldn’t like it.

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to do something for you…”

“It’s not nothing, I actually do really like them and I’m definitely wearing them. Next game. Thank you.” Jamie paused, his head was only filled with thoughts of how much he wanted to kiss you here in his kitchen, how much he wanted to ask you to stay with him, to spend the rest of the day with him, eating Christmas dinner with his mum and sharing the big box of Roses chocolates and watching any Christmas special just because and then dancing to whatever Christmas song came on, late into the evening.

“Actually I… I got you something too.”

“You got me a present?” Your eyebrows raised in a playful manner “It’s not like a signed picture of you or anything is it? Because if it is, it’s going on eBay.”

“No. Uh…two minutes alright?” Jamie left the room and returned a few minutes later, a poorly wrapped present in his hands. “Sorry about the shit wrapping.”

You laughed and unwrapped it, your face breaking out into a big smile as you found the present “no way!”“This is the coolest thing ever!”

A quiet, comfortable silence had fallen between the two of you over your FaceTime call, you’d just finished laughing about Jamie telling you how he broke into his schools tuck shop as a kid and stole six packets of malteasers. It should have been just a funny childhood anecdote shared with a friend and yet the comments you’d made a while ago itched at the back of Jamie’s mind. “You never asked me about myself, surprised you even remembered my name.” He’d gotten to know you since of course but he wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him everything, like he was making up for looking through you before.

“Tell me something funny you did when you was kid” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh.” You shifted putting your phone down, thinking for a moment. “Ah okay I’ve got it!” You grinned “don’t laugh!” You made him promise.

“When I was a little kid, like I’m talking pre-primary school age, I had this cream cardigan, big daisies and red roses stitched all over it and I would wear it everywhere. I’d put it on to walk to school and cry when Miss Neil made me take it off, when I came home and my mum had to wash it, I’d sit by the washing machine and then in the garden waiting for it to dry. I’d even wear it when it was summer and it was probably too warm, I wore it even when it didn’t go with my outfit. I was not a fashion forward kid”

Jamie started laughing and couldn’t suppress it even over your protests that he promised he wouldn’t.

“What happened to it? The cardigan? You still have it?”

You pouted half jokingly “It got left on a plane on the way back from Tenerife. I cried so much, my dad rang Gatwick and the airport in Tenerife but no one ever turned it in. I’d have outgrown it but I loved that cardigan so much” you said wistfully “I was so annoyed thinking of some random person with my cardigan… I’ve searched online but there’s nothing like it.”

“Understandable. It sounds peak nineties” Jamie remarked with a raised eyebrow

“Oi. It would be considered vintage now” you laughed “Teenagers on depop would pay mega money for that.”

You picked it up and held it against you before putting it straight on without checking for tags.

“Jamie…” You wrapped it tight and folded your arms around you “You remembered! I feel a bit bad for joking now”

“Don’t…don’t…you don’t need to say anything.” Seeing you happy hit him like a brick wall. All he wanted was you smiling at him like you were doing now. His voice was quiet and he could feel the tension, he needed to do something, anything to dissipate it, if he didn’t…Jamie feared he’d just come out with it. “You have the real deal anyway, you don’t need a photo” He settled for a joke.

“Thank you!” You beamed at him and got up to kiss his cheek. “This is the coolest present ever!”

How was it that he’d never been short on attention from women but a kiss on the cheek from you had the biggest effect on him like he was a teenage boy again the first time he fancied a girl.

“Thank you for mine. And for all this…You really sure you can’t stay? It’ll just be me and mum and she’ll fall asleep after Eastenders.”

“Call me when she does. If I’m up, we can FaceTime” you still had your cardigan on and slipped your coat on over the top. “Maybe we can watch one of the Home Alones or Elf together.”

“I love Elf. It’s like my favourite film after Ratatouille.” He grinned at you and you laughed as you reached up and hugged him.

“I know. Merry Christmas Jamie.” You kissed him on the cheek once more

“Merry Christmas, [Name],”

***short time skip***

The addition of Roy to the coaching staff had gone perfectly…except for the one pretty major hiccup of Jamie clashing with him daily and on one occasion, making his way to your place after training to ask if you thought he had bad hair prompting you to wonder what exactly was going on.

A few days later and you were anxiously waiting on the final whistle in the quarter final against Tottenham, Jamie had played incredibly. A goal from right outside the box and only a minute ago he’d scored what looked like it would be the winner. At the sound of the whistle, you were up on your feet and running down to the tunnel. The moment you saw Jamie you ran to him and pulled him into a hug, him lifting you up and holding you flush against him for a few moments.

“You were amazing!” You enthused, looking up at him as you separated. “That free kick in the first half was one of the best ever seen! And a last minute goal… that’s the best game I’ve ever seen you play.”

Jamie grinned on a high from the result, his performance and now you gushing about him, telling him so earnestly how good he was felt amazing. For a moment he could forget you were in the Nelson Road tunnel with a little over 25,000 people just outside and other players and staff milling around you.

“Thanks. My first goal was good wasn’t it?” He was standing so confidently. It had turned out being a prick worked for him…so long as he kept it to the pitch. You liked seeing him back to the player you knew he could be.

“That’s goal of month, maybe even the season!”You reached up and fixed his hair without even thinking “Go celebrate. you deserve this.”

“Come out with me… I mean come out with us, we’re going out, all of us, you should come” Jamie said all at once.

“Sure I’ll come for one!” You nodded.

*

Across the bar, you could see a girl who looked like she could have walked off the set of Keeping Up with the Kardashians lean over and talk to Richard who was responding by pouring her a glass of wine, no doubt feeding her some sort of cheesy chat up line.

Jamie slid into the booth beside you, and, with the slight contact your knee made against his, he felt himself relax.

“That’s probably the third girl I’ve seen him give his number to tonight” he commented and you laughed, pleased to see him join you in your people watching.

“Welcome to being on this side of the fence.” You leant in close to him so you could talk.

“She not your type?” You asked curiously. “She’s alive isn’t she?” You teased. Jamie hadnt dated since Keeley, or rather, since his stint on the show if you could call that dating. It did seem a little odd to you that he’d never once mentioned anyone despite your fast formed friendship and everything else he’d willingly shared with you.

Jamie shook his head. “Nah i’m…”. How could he tell you he didn’t want anyone else other than you. “I’m not…nah not really doing that kinda thing anymore.”

Even if he tried, Jamie doubted he could bring himself to show any enthusiasm for chatting up anyone else anymore. How could he consider anyone else when it felt like you were the only person in the room who saw him. You actually saw him for him in his worst moments and still wanted to be around him. How could he not want you?

Your heart was beating as you took in Jamie’s response. It was only a short response but it set the smallest of sparks in your stomach and you took a swig from the bottle of cider in your hand to distract yourself from running over what that meant. Was he not interested in anyone? Was there something he wasn’t saying?

Looking for something to change the subject before it became awkward, your eyes fell to your phone, flat against the table, and you started at the clock telling you it was 00:10. Somewhat grateful for the easy out, you picked it up and slipped it into your back.

“I’m going to head home, I have an early start tomorrow.”

“Can i walk you home?” Jamie felt a little dejected but wouldn’t pass up the chance to spend time with you just one on one. “I don’t mind leaving now?”

You were grateful and almost wished you could take him up on it. Maybe when you were alone you could ask him more about what he meant.

How badly you wanted to say yes. Yes to him walking you home and how you’d hope on the walk home you’d maybe have enough courage to invite him in and up to your bedroom. The experience with your ex still lingered and you never ever thought it would be Jamie Tartt of all people to make you want to throw your one rule out of the window.

But he wasn’t the Jamie of old. This Jamie was funny and caring, he’d bring you a tea every morning before training, he’d call you and he’d ask you to go do “intellectual stuff” with him when he was too self conscious to go himself. He’d run through ideas or tactics he had with you and even ask you to watch his highlight reels, not for vanity but because he wanted a fans opinion, he’d get you to come out to dinners with him when he was offered free food at restaurants and throughout all of this, you were just his friend, his loyal best friend, when you were internally screaming that you wanted him.

Realising you hadn’t said anything in a few seconds, you quickly found a response “you’re the best for offering but… Jan’s offered to drive me. He’s not been drinking so it’s fine. He’s dropping off Colin too if you need a lift, I can ask him? I’m sure he won’t mind?” You asked, hoping Jamie would accept and you’d just both get out at his or yours.

Jamie felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

Of course. Jan. Were you going back to his? Did you talk to Jan the way you talked to him? What had happened to “I don’t date footballers” or was that just your way of telling him you’d never want him like he wanted you? There was a part of him screaming to retreat, make an excuse, go home, move on but Jamie didn’t want to do that. He wanted to ask you outright but he couldn’t push the words out. So he did neither and just sat there.

“It’s okay.” He said forcing a smile. “Someone has to look after Isaac. I’ll get a taxi”

“Are you sure? If you want we can-…”

“Hey. Are you ready?” the Dutch centre-back interrupted from the aisle between tables before Jamie could reply “Some of us need sleep.” He teased, pointing at Colin who was leaning to one side, almost asleep on Moe’s shoulder “and I don’t want him to sleep in my car. Last time I had to let him sleep on my sofa.”

You laughed and almost as if he heard his teammate Colin jolted awake muttering he was ready and reaching for his coat.

“Sure I’m ready.” You gave Jamie a hug as you stood up and he watched you go, wishing he’d gone with you the second you were gone.

**

Jamie had been on edge since it was confirmed that the semi final at Wembley would be against Man City. You knew it had to be related to his dad, to his old club, to how everything was building to such a point that he was wound so tight, you were surprised he hadn’t snapped like an elastic band.

In the fall out from the result to Man City and the altercation with his dad, Jamie had come to you before he’d boarded the bus. He hadn’t needed to say anything, it was all over his face. You could see it. Without even needing to ask, Ted had waved for you to get on the bus with the team. Usually the staff would travel separately if they went to games but in this moment, the coach didn’t question it.

You settled in beside Jamie and shifted so he could rest his head on your shoulder and carefully you reached around so you could put an arm around him too and used your other to take his hand and you would stay that way for the journey back to the training ground where the players had left their cars.

Even as you exited the coach, you could tell he was tense, and as you walked him to his car, you could barely hear him when he came out with it.

“Are you okay?” You asked him once he’d done explaining “I’m so sorry Jamie. Your dad really is a prick”

Before Jamie replied, he looked up and over you across the car park, his eyes caught those of his teammate.

“I, uh, I will be. Fresh air is doing me good. I think I need to go home and sleep.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Jamie. I’m not an idiot. You need to talk?”

He pushed a hand back through his hair and with one look in your eyes conceded with a nod

*

After driving back to his and getting into his house, Jamie dropped onto the sofa, not bothering to change out of the training kit he’d travelled in. You made him a decaf tea and took a spot next to him on his sofa and let him lean back on you as listened to him tell you everything

“Was that the first time you’d…”

“Hit him back?” Jamie’s eyes didn’t lift from the spot in the middle distance. “Yeah. Couldn’t really fight back as a kid.”

“I was going to say ‘seen him since you left…” you kept your arm around him, loosely tracing in a manner you hoped was soothing. “But I’d guess same answer.”

Jamie lifted his head off your shoulder for a second. “Erm…” His dad had contacted him a few times whilst he’d played for City. Mostly asking for free tickets, to meet the rest of the team and to get tours of the ground. Jamie had given in reluctantly on the first one and skirted around the final two. “Yeah… I guess he wasn’t arsed about me playing for Richmond. Cant brag about me if I’m in the Championship and he can’t be fucked getting the train down to London”

“Jamie.” You tried “you deserve so much better…He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” You reassured him “you’ve been amazing these past few months Jamie. The best you’ve played. I know you probably wouldn’t want him at Richmond but still…his loss”

“Only got him the tickets to get him off my back and he didn’t even fucking support me. Went in the City end. Don’t know what I was expecting”

You imagined that must have stung for him. His dad feigning an interest just to turn around and support the team playing against his son. His old club, to add insult to injury.

“How do you feel now?” You asked cautiously. “Must have been hard for you to stand up to him…given how long he’s been…like that for?”

“I mean… shit because he’s my dad but he doesn’t act like he is, but like…I don’t regret it or anything…I just got fucking shit of it yknow…slagging me off, the club off…putting me down in front of everyone…and he’ll show up next time, if we get promoted he’ll be after tickets again…”

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t get near. You never have to deal with that again Jamie. You shouldn’t have had to take it back then and you don’t now”

“Thanks.” He added on “For… not just staying here but…for like always having time for me and that.”

“I’ll always have time for you Jamie.”

***a few weeks later***

The yearly charity gala had come around fast and unlike last year, you had actually looked forward to it this year. In the weeks leading up to it, you’d picked out a new outfit including new shoes.

Jamie had agreed to pick you up, asking you the second you’d said you were going and you’d agreed. Since you’d spent the night at his, completely platonically, Jamie’s already overwhelming feelings towards you had grown even more and you showing up to a charity gala with his teammate was the last thing he wanted and even though he’d spent the entire day telling himself this wasn’t a date, he still felt nervous as he rang your doorbell.

The second you opened it, he couldn’t help but break out into a big smile “You look… really good.” He nodded “this new?”

“Thank you” you accepted his compliment, nodding as you stepped aside to let him in “So do you. Not auctioning yourself off tonight?”

“Nah I’m not feeling up for it this year.”

Your eyes scanned his suit before realising his tie was slightly off “Can I?” You pointed at it.

You waited for him to nod before stepping in to fix his tie, before realising it needed a re-do.

“You know I’ve not had to wear a tie since school, but I reckon I could do a better job of it than this.” You joked, pulling the knot by his neck and re opening the fabric.

“You wore your tie? Don’t think I went a week without forgetting mine.” Jamie laughed.

“I was Deputy Head Girl.” You felt a little bit red, like suddenly you were back at school being paired with the popular boy for a project. “Kinda had to.” You looped it around before sliding it into place.

You shook the thought from your head. This was Jamie. Your friend. He could date anyone he wanted, why would he go out with someone normal and ordinary.

Jamie watched you in concentration for a few seconds before he couldn’t help himself.

“He’s punching going out with you, you know” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He couldn’t help himself. Jamie didn’t mean it, at least, he didn’t mean it as it sounded. Jan was fine and of course he would be your exception to your rule. He seemed like he’d be your type. Still it stung. He wasn’t used to not getting the girls he liked…but maybe he should have expected it. You weren’t interested in the fame that attracted girls to athletes normally so of course you wouldn’t want him. You probably liked Jan because he was honest, funny and spoke three languages rather than the money and fame.

You stopped what you were doing, hands still on his tie, confused.

“What are you on about?”

“Yknow…Jan. You’re way too fit for him.”

“I’m not going out with Jan.”

You made sure it was centred before letting go of the fabric and suddenly aware of your close proximity, you stepped back.

“He takes you home and stuff…I figured you two were.”

“Shagging?” You came straight out with it, eyebrows raised

“Well…yeah?” He shrugged. “Ain’t you with him?”

Who’d have thought it. Jamie Tartt, who you’d considered the biggest arsehole you’d ever met a few months back, now being protective over you. It was weirdly quite sweet. Truth be told, you’d warmed to Jamie. A lot. If anyone had told you that last season you’d have thought they’d gone mad. When he’d left Richmond, you’d never even expected to see him in person again, let alone be friends with him.

“Jan’s just a friend…Didn’t realise anyone had noticed…also… surprised you remembered my…thing about footballers”

“I’m glad you’re not with him cause, yknow he’s…”

“Are you going to call someone else a prick?” Your head tilted to the side, hair falling with it. “Because if you are, that’s pretty fucking ironic.”

Jamie opened and closed his mouth, ready to reply when he saw you were half smiling.

“I’m messing with you...again” you teased and Jamie remembered the conversation he’d had with you outside the hotel in Manchester. Only this time you were looking at him differently. Back then you were looking at him like he was lost, now he’d swear you were… almost looking at him with affection.

“Nah, hes… he’s alright yknow just he’s not…” Jamie paused. He couldn’t say ‘not good enough’ because if Jan wasn’t the type of footballer you’d date, Jamie knew he definitely wouldn’t be. “Not who i picture you with.”

“Who do you picture me with?”

You were looking up at him, genuine interest on your face like you were waiting on a serious answer.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” The twisting in his stomach had been replaced and now the weight of relief, finding out you weren’t actually with Jan had lifted he didn’t know exactly what to say. With other girls he’d never had a problem asking them out but you? It was always different with you. “Just someone else.”

“Jamie…what’s going on?” you reached up and gently tilted his face so you could look at him. In spite of your confident action, your heart was hammering against your chest.

He let out a deep breath, eyes flickering over you for a moment, before he came out with it

“When I thought you were going out with Jan Maas. It was driving me mad.”

“Why?”

“I…I guess maybe I was jealous or something?”

“Thought you didn’t get jealous.” You’d heard all about his escapades with other women via the press and via various clips people had sent you of him on his TV show.

“I don’t not normally …” Jamie played with the cuff links absentmindedly. He sighed and looked down and then back up at you “I don’t wanna be like that anymore…I just,” he paused.

“Look” you said again “whatever you want to say… you can tell me…”

Jamie didn’t know what was holding him back. “I want to be the kind of guy you’d go out with, i don’t wanna disrespect you, and like I don’t want to ruin us being mates but…I really, really like you.”

“Jamie.” You laced your hand with his, feeling a swelling in your chest “I wish you’d told me sooner…You already are…you are the kind of guy I’d go out with.”

“What?”

“You are…the type of guy that I’d go out with.” You repeated with a reassurance in your voice “How could you not be? You’re sweet, you’re funny, you make me laugh…you listen…”

Jamie felt his heart hard against his chest, barely able to let your words sink in. “So if I asked you out? you’d go out with me?”

“Of course I will.” You squeezed his hand gently and as his shoulders relaxed and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as he dropped his forehead to yours.

“I can’t believe Jamie Tartt was worried about asking me out. You’ve been out with like models and stuff…and it’s me that you were worried about.”

He sighed “Yeah but that’s why I like you…cause you’re you.”

Come on. Let’s go to this auction.”

“Together yeah?”

“Of course. Good job your shirt matches my outfit…or you’d have to change” you teased.

Cue when you walked in hand in hand, Jamie was greeted by about half the team congratulating him on you two finally getting it together, including Jan who’d found it hilarious that Jamie had thought something was going on between you too.

***

Jamie had, with the best intentions, planned a perfect evening. A few days after you’d accepted him asking you out, he’d booked a reservation at restaurant he knew you’d like as a surprise knowing that it was one you’d always walked by and remarked it looked nice but never got around to trying it .

Things had not gone as planned.

After you’d arrived at the restaurant, you’d found out they’d closed due to a leak in the kitchen, you’d suggested going to a local bar and had lasted all of fifteen minutes before a drunk man in a too tight t shirt had knocked his pint over you and staggered off without apologising much to your ire. Jamie had wanted to go after the man and tell him to apologise but you’d just wanted to leave. Only ten minutes after leaving, Jamie had been approached by a group of kids looking for pictures and autographs and only a few seconds later, the skies opened and despite trying to huddle under a canopy of a nearby, closed cafe, you got soaked. Jamie, whilst taking photos with the young kids gave you a mouthed sorry but you told him to carry on knowing it would make the kids day.

Once he was done, he jogged back over to you, now shivering slightly and offered you his coat as you ran back to his

*

“You look really fit in my stuff. You should keep them.” Jamie remarked as you flopped down next to him on the sofa, now wearing a oversized tee and joggers that he’d pulled out for you to wear whilst your actual outfit was in his washing machine.

“Sorry the date was shit.” He added on as he ran a towel over his damp hair.

“Could have been worse” you shrugged with a smile as you dried off your own hair. “I’ve had worse dates.”

He let out a sigh and laid back on the sofa “I just wanted to take you out some place dead nice.”

“Jamie...that’s so sweet but you don’t have to. I just like being with you.” You shifted closer to him and scooted under his arm to rest on his chest. “I don’t care if it’s at a restaurant or like this…”

“I promise we’ll go out somewhere proper next time.” He leant down and kissed you softly. Dating you made Jamie felt like he’d finally got everything he’d ever wanted, and he was kicking himself for not asking you out the second he realised he had feelings for you.

“I could do that all day” You muttered against his lips as you separated briefly.

He placed a hand on your cheek and brushed your hair back before kissing you again. “Don’t think we could do this in the restaurant.”

You smiled against his mouth “well we could but probably wouldn’t be allowed back…”

“Maybe we can go back when they’ve fixed the leak and try?” Jamie made a joke and you playfully swatted him before kissing him again.

“Oh, Im holding you to that…”

***

Dating Jamie was so easy. Much easier than you’d thought. It was just like it was when you were friends but he’d always be taking your hand or wrapping an arm around you or kissing you…and of course you’d spend the night together rather than driving home after meeting up. When people had said date your best friend you’d never actually thought it could be possible.

Any fears or ghosts of your past that lingered over the bad experience with your ex were soon quashed by Jamie. Before you’d got together, you’d found it somewhat bittersweet that it was the former ladies man that you’d fallen for after swearing off dating footballers but now that you woke up to him every other morning and got to see him being the absolute perfect boyfriend to you, it just made sense.

So much so that eventually you’d caved and told him the name of the player you’d went out with before and Jamie had been thrilled to learn your ex was a goalkeeper and had made a promise to you he’d score against him.

You’d found it adorably sweet in the moment and incredibly hot when he followed through with his promise not once but twice, securing a brace and a win in the same game and making a big show of pointing at you and blowing a kiss into the stands. He’d almost been late in the next morning.

Jamie knew he loved you. Maybe it had started when you’d given him that chance in Manchester. You didn’t have to. If you’d told him to piss off, Jamie wouldn’t have blamed you but you hadn’t. You’d seen something in him, maybe believed in him deep down and now he was a better man, in part due to you.

The final game of the season was a whirlwind of emotions and knowing he’d be nervous for the game that could earn Richmond promotion back into the Premier League you’d snuck into the tunnel to see him just before he went out

“Good luck today babe.” You leant up and kissed him gently. “No matter what happens. I’m so proud of you, the player you are and the man you are.”

“Thanks” his eyes met yours “I, uh could have never done it without you.”

“Course you could. The talents all yours”

“I mean the…” Jamie paused, before looking at your shirt. He turned you around. “You’re wearing my shirt” he grinned at you and held up your arm so he could twirl you and see his name on your Richmond shirt. “Looks good on you”

“Course I am. Who else’s shirt would I wear.” You leant in and kissed him once more before the sound of the rest of the team approaching signalled it was time for you to go join the rest of the fans in the stands. “Smash it for me babe.”

**

Upon the final whistle, the coaching staff and bench descended on to the pitch to celebrate and you couldn’t help yourself.

You ran down to the barrier, dug into your bag to flash your work lanyard at a steward and ran on yourself, calling out to Jamie as you approached.

He caught you as you jumped into an embrace, quickly asking if he was okay after he was fouled in the lead up to Richmonds penalty. Jamie nodded.

“Yea yeah I’m fine babe. I’ve never been happier.” He looked breathless, a mixture of excitement, energy and adrenaline from the game.

“I love you Jamie.”

He kissed you deeply, passionately, caught up in the moment and not caring about the thousands of surrounding people, happy to be celebrating with you and the team.

“I love you. Next year I’m going to win you the whole thing”

[asirensrage]

Catalyst - Uzui Tengen & Wives One Shot

Title: Catalyst

Rating: M

Pairing: Reader/Makio/Hinatsuru/Suma/Tengen

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Warnings: Swearing. Sex. Polygamous relationships. F/F, M/F, mention of M/F/F/F/F. Mention of you being from the future. Un-betad.

Summary: You meet Makio first...

Notes: This fic possessed me. I don't entirely know what happened but here it is. I don't even usually like writing in 2nd person, but like I said, it possessed me. I just had the line "you meet Makio first" in my head and this is what happened. I wrote it in the space of 2-3 hours. This is my first time writing Tengen and his wives (aside from my Rengoku/OC fic which isn't posted). Reader is unnamed and undescribed but references to being female. Enjoy.

You meet Makio first. 

It happens by accident. You end up standing next to each other as you wait for your turn to pay for the food. Her outfit catches your attention, not because it’s low cut and short, but because it reminds you of the outfits you’re used to back home…in your own time. You’ve been blending in as best you can but the outfits are so restrictive in comparison. 

“Do you mind if I ask where you got your outfit? Who designed it?” 

She turns to you in surprise. “My outfit? Why?”

“I want one.” 

The request turns into her admitting that she makes the outfits with her wives but she’s willing to ask them if they’d help make you one. Providing you pay, of course. 

“Of course,” you agree. 

Meeting up again is easy, as well as providing the measurements and down payment you give. If you’re honest, you haven’t had a lot of luck since arriving, but your history in retail gives you a great customer service voice and the patience required not to snap at belligerent clients. It gets you a job as a server which pays decently enough that you can afford it.

The longer you talk, the more you’re amused at the woman. She’s a bit brash and unwilling to deal with stupidity, but she’s also a huge dork. It’s hilarious. 

The two of you often find yourself sitting on a hill in the area, enjoying the view. Makio likes to talk about her family. It’s nice, letting yourself pretend that everything’s okay. You’re used to the time period now, but you haven’t really let yourself make any friends, assuming you’ll get back. It’s been a year though and prior to meeting Makio, you didn’t really spend any time with anyone. 

She’s not around a lot, her work taking her away from the area often, but she promises to come back with the outfit the next time you see each other. 

The second one you meet is Hinatsuru. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Hinatsuru says with a smile. “Makio has been talking about you often. We hope you like the outfit.” She offers the bundle she’s holding. 

“Thank you,” you smile at her. It’s cute watching her blush. 

“Try it on,” Makio orders. You raise your eyebrows at her until she offers a please. “We want to make sure it fits.”

“Sure,” you say. “Mind waiting?”

“Not at all,” Hinatsuru says. 

You invite them into your home, the small apartment-style area that you rent. It takes most of your wages but the woman who acts as your landlord is nice enough and you don’t have to worry about people breaking in. Makio looks unimpressed at the space but she doesn’t say anything once Hinatsuru nudges her. You don’t care. You’ve lived in better but you’ve also lived in worse. You’ll take what you can get. 

You change quickly and the weight of the outfit is strange after so long in standard kimonos and yukatas, but it’s nice. You feel like you can move again. You come out, unashamed in the sudden change of the amount of skin you’re showing. It’s freeing. 

The women waiting for you look surprised as you grin at them.

“Well? What do you think?” The dress is a cobalt blue with a black obi around your waist. There are slits up the sides with a short skirt that ends above your knees. 

“You look great!” Makio says. “Not as good as us though,” she adds, teasingly. You roll your eyes, used to her antics. 

“It suits you,” Hinatsuru says softly, her gaze darting between the two of you. 

“Thank you!” You grin at her before moving to grab the rest of the payment that you owe them. “Here. Do you think I’d be able to order more?”

“Are you sure?” Hinatsuru asks. “It is…revealing for the average citizen. We don’t want you to get any trouble.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure, thinking of your origins. “I’m anything but average.” 

You meet Suma next. She follows the other two, bouncing slightly before darting past them to greet you. 

“It’s you! I finally get to meet you!” 

You blink in surprise at the enthusiasm as she clasps your hands in hers. She grins widely. “Makio’s been keeping you a secret.”

“No, I haven’t!” Makio yells, reaching to drag Suma back away from you. You try not to smile as they argue, or more so, as Makio argues and Suma reacts dramatically. Hinatsuru sighs but looks at them fondly before she heads towards you. 

“We’re so glad to see you again,” she says. 

“Me too,” you agree. “I missed your company.” 

She smiles at you, gaze softening slightly before the two of you are overrun by Makio and Suma, both demanding your attention. 

The longer you spend with these women, the more you understand how well they fit. They balance each other perfectly in a lot of ways and despite the way they like to argue, you can tell that they care about each other deeply. It’s sweet and a little heartbreaking. Not that you’re in love with any of them, but it’s a reminder of what you don’t have. You doubt that anyone here would want to marry you, especially since you don’t have relatable experiences. It’s fine. You can deal with it until you decide to shove the truth about yourself down so deep that no one will ever dig it out. 

You still spend the most time with Makio. Mainly out of habit more than anything. You think she might be your best friend but you’re not entirely sure you want to tell her that. It feels like there’s something waiting for you on the horizon and you’re not sure if it's impending doom or something great. Probably doom, knowing your luck. Maybe you’ll just wake up back home. 

“Are you okay?” Suma asks. The four of you are huddled in your small living area, snacks and tea laid out between you. 

“We should have just taken you home,” Makio grumbles. You know she’s just uncomfortable in the enclosed space but you like it. You feel safer knowing there are not a lot of areas for someone to hide in. 

“I’m fine,” you assure them. “Just a little homesick.” You catch the look they all give each other and wait, knowing there’s some question they want to ask. Can they read you as easily as you seem to be able to read them? 

“Oh,” Hinatsuru says softly. “Can you not go visit?” 

You give her a small smile. “No. There’s…there’s no way,” you pause and correct yourself. “There’s no one left.” 

Suma looks like she’s going to cry again and you wave her off. “It’s fine. I’m used to it now. Besides, it’s not like I don’t have friends, right? I have all of you now.” 

“Of course you have us!” Makio says, looking fierce in her outburst. “We’ll be your family, okay?”

You laugh slightly at the determination and that way Suma eagerly nods in agreement. “Thanks. I’d like that.” 

Things change after that. 

You’re not sure what it was, the reveal that you have no one else in this world or the fact that they’ve decided to be your family, but things change. They’re around more often, bringing small trinkets from their travels back to you that they insist improve your living space. They also touch you more. Not that they didn’t before, but it goes beyond the casual brush of skin as you sit next to each other or a hug goodbye. Hina, as she asks you to call her, enjoys playing with your hair of all things. Makio occasionally tries to feed you, offering bites from her own food or holding up a treat for you to try. Suma no longer has any concept of personal space, enjoying lounging herself across you and pressing her cold feet into your shins. 

It’s funny because you never considered yourself touch starved before but now? Now you think if they ever stop, you’ll miss it. Your life slowly adjusts to consist mainly of serving customers and the Uzui women. 

Makio, as every time before, is the first. This time to kiss you. 

You’re stunned as she pulls back and you can see the concern in her features that maybe she made a mistake. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought–” 

You stare at her for a moment before you grin at the expression on her face. “No,” you say, “I just…I’ve never kissed another woman before.”

“Did you not like it?” she asks. You know that if you tell her you didn’t, she’ll stop. Things will go back to the way they were. 

“It’s not that,” you admit. “You’re married.” 

She grins at you. “I know,” she agrees. “But all three of us have been talking about wanting more with you. We just weren’t sure what you want.” 

“Aren’t there four of you?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Lord Tengen knows,” she says. “He’s waiting.” 

For what? You want to ask but you don’t, because Makio moves forward again and you find yourself distracted by the feeling of her lips on yours. It’s different from the guys you’ve made out with. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. Turns out that Makio is a great kisser and you’re not as straight as you originally thought you were. Huh. Who knew?

Once that barrier is breached, the others are not long to follow. You feel a bit guilty to be making out with each of these women knowing that there’s a husband somewhere waiting for them, but this isn’t the first polygamous relationship you’ve heard of, especially since ethical non-monogamy seemed to be everywhere in the online dating arena, so you know that communication is the most important thing in a healthy relationship. You also have no doubts, based on what you know of these women, that one of them has told their husband everything. You’re just wondering when he’s going to make himself known. 

Speak of the devil and he’ll appear. Isn’t that the saying? 

You meet Tengen by accident. Well, probably not by accident since Makio said he was waiting and it was bound to happen, but you didn’t expect it like this. 

You were in the market on your day off, wandering from stall to stall in one of the outfits that Makio, Hina and Suma made. They had worried about you finding yourself in trouble due to the cut of it. Instead, trouble found you. The strange man propositions you on the street. You shoot him down. It’s not the first time you’ve had to do so to such a request and it likely won't be the last. No big deal. You’re used to it. 

Until he touches you. 

The man grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from moving on. Unfortunately for him, you come from an era of women’s rights, self-defence and a love of action movies. You shove your fingers into his throat before anyone else can step in. He recoils, coughing loudly, and let's go. You straighten your outfit and prepare to move on only to stop as someone appears between you and the man. 

“Now that’s a flashy response!” 

The man in front of you is huge. You’ve seen a lot of men in your life but you’re beginning to wonder if any of them ever compared to this one. His arms look like the size of your head. Your mouth drops open as you register the jewels on his headband and the swords at his back. You’ve heard every description of the man possible but you have never expected him to look like…this. 

He glances over his shoulder and you have to actually move to peek around him to see the man who assaulted you being led off by some other. Tengen turns back to look at you and you watch as his gaze overtly looks over you. There is nothing subtle about this man. At least, not when he doesn’t want to be. 

“So you’re the one monopolizing my wives.” 

“Maybe,” you admit. There’s no reason to lie. “They’re good people.”

“They are,” he agrees. “They’ve spoken highly of you.”

“Not as much as they’ve said about you, I’m sure.”

He grins at that. “May I join you?”

“Knock yourself out,” you say, nodding. He looks slightly confused before he grins as he realizes you’re saying yes. 

Tengen is not as patient as his wives. 

Which is funny because you never considered any of them to be patient once you got to know them. Maybe Hina, but that’s only in comparison to the others. He’s also straightforward. You like that. 

“You’re not only attracted to women,” he points out once he catches you staring at him again. Honestly, you’re just amazed at how small you feel next to the man. That’s never happened before. 

“Nope,” you agree. “Though, to be fair, it might only be them. I don’t know. I’ve never considered it before.” 

He seems pleased at the compliment to his wives and doesn’t hide the way he appreciates you as well. He walks you home and before he leaves, he promises to return and kisses you hard. It’s easy to see how he’s kept the three of them if this is how he kisses. 

You don’t see them during the days that Tengen is around. You suspect that there’s more going on, but you’re willing to let it play out. Getting to know him is like adding another piece to a puzzle. It all starts to make sense and you can understand how the dynamics fit. The four of them are practically a well-oiled, well-loved, machine and while you’re not entirely sure what their purpose is for you, you’re going to enjoy it. After all, who knows if you’re really going to stay? Even if it’s been almost two years. 

Makio is not the first this time. 

It’s Hina who proposes, even though they’re all there. You sit there, surprised at the offer. You hadn’t expected this. Even when they said they’d be your family, all those ages ago, you didn’t think they meant literally. 

“I can’t,” you admit, wincing as you watch Makio’s expression fade into blankness and Suma starts to cry. 

“Why?” she wails, reaching out to you. 

You consider it. It’s not that you don’t want to. You love them, each and every one. How could you not? At least, you’re sure that you do. You haven’t exactly tested things out completely, always stopping before it led to full-out sex because you had been unsure of their marriage, but the desire was there. 

“I don’t know if I’m here to stay,” you try to explain. “For good.” 

“What do you mean?” Tengen asks. “Where would you go?”

“Back to the future?”

They stare at you for a moment, the words processing before Tengen leans back and laughs. 

“I knew it!” He says, looking at you with a grin. “I knew you were flashier than you let on! Your score is different from everyone else's!”

“My score?” You don’t remember telling any of them how many people you’ve slept with….

He explains…and so do you. 

Things finally start to make sense. They never really explained what they did, at least not in detail besides trying to ensure you stayed indoors at night. The truth of their occupation, and their history, is the final puzzle piece. The truth of you clears up the confusion of all the strange little things that you do that don’t really make sense…but are also the same things that drew them all in. You all agree to give it some time, to think about it. 

It takes a day before Tengen is back with advice. 

“Say yes,” he says, hand on the small of your back as he pulls you towards him. “Even if the worst should happen and you leave, shouldn’t we enjoy the time we have? Marry us.”

“Let me think about it,” you ask, kissing him softly. 

Suma is the next. 

“Please say yes,” she begs. “Please! We need you!” 

You smile in response. “Let me think about it,” you ask again before kissing her this time. She melts into it and you try not to let it sway you. 

Hina comes about a week later. 

“Please join us,” she asks, holding your hand in hers. “We miss you. Let us take care of you and you take care of us.” 

“I miss you too,” you admit. “All of you. But are you sure?”

She kisses you. “We are. Are you?”

Makio is last. Her arms are crossed as you come across her waiting for you outside your work. 

“You’re being stupid,” she says as soon as she sees you. 

“Nice to see you too.”

“Why are you doing this to us?”

“What? Making you wait?”

“Yes!” The brashness fades as she looks at you. “Don’t you want us?” 

You sigh. “Of course I do.”

“Then marry us!” 

“One more day,” you say. “Give me one more day, okay? I’ll come to you.” 

You’ve known your answer since Tengen spoke to you. He’s right. Why should you deny yourself the chance of enjoying your life here, even if it might not be forever? Really, what is? If they want you, they can have you. 

It’s not hard to find their home despite the fact that you’ve never been there. The place is beautiful and a little out of the way. It suits them though you wonder if they’d like chimes. Wooden chimes would suit the place but it might be a bother considering Tengen’s hearing. 

The door opens before you even get to it and Suma comes running, nearly tackling you on the path. 

“You came!” 

You laugh as you hold her, miraculously steadying the both of you. It doesn’t last long as soon as Makio joins in. The three of you end up sprawled on the path and your face is covered in kisses despite the fact you still haven’t given an answer. You don’t mind. You know your answer and kiss them both back. 

“Alright,” you hear Tengen say. “Get up, you three.” Hina giggles as you all try to untangle yourselves. It takes a couple of tries before Tengen eventually steps in and lifts Suma off of you, listening to her protest. Makio stands up next and offers you her hand. 

You hold it, reaching out for Hina’s before you follow Tengen inside, trying not to laugh at Suma’s expression as she’s carried over his shoulder. 

You say yes. Tengen looks like he knew you would and the women are ecstatic. So are you. You’ve never felt as loved or as wanted as you do at that moment, as they all celebrate the fact that you’re joining them and going to become one of their wives. Even if you disappeared in this moment, you’d remember it forever. 

Luckily, that doesn’t happen. 

What does happen is that someone opens some sake and the night ends with you on your back and someone’s face between your legs. They know you’re inexperienced but the four of them aren’t. It’s not hard to listen to their cues, let them guide you and relish in the way you can help make them break. 

You learn new ways to use your tongue, the sweet spots that make each of them clutch you tighter and beg, and you learn how many times you’re capable of orgasming. It’s way more than you ever expected and you might have blacked out at some point. You come to curled up next to Suma while Hina’s head rests on your stomach. You’re all covered in sweat and the room stinks of sex. You can hear them though. The soft praises of Tengen and the way Makio cries out. 

“You did this,” he tells her. “You completed us.” 

“Thank you,” she cries out, clutching at his arm as he thrusts up into her. “For letting me–” She’s facing the rest of you. Both of them are and you catch Tengen’s eyes as he realizes you’re awake. 

“My beautiful wives,” he says, kissing her neck. “You’re so good to me. So good to all of us. How could I resist?” 

Suma shifts closer, throwing an arm around you as she buries her face against your skin. Indeed, you think, closing your eyes and drifting back to sleep even with the sounds of them fucking. How could you resist?

taglist: @raith-way  @chrissymunson @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse 

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 11

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Not much. This is a dialogue and processing chapter, though there is a scene of religious anxiety. ALSO THIS IS UN-BETAD TRASH. If you find any corrections I should to make, please DM them to me.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

____

You had no semblance of how much time had passed from when you first stirred to when you finally opened your eyes. It could have been ten minutes, or it could have been three hours. Waking up took the level of effort one would expect from a task like climbing out of quicksand—every pause had you sinking further back into a pit of unconsciousness. 

The first thing you noticed was the pounding in your head. That was all you registered the first three times you attempted to wake. The fourth time, you registered a vile taste in your mouth. Cold metal, mixed with stale liquor, mixed with mold, mixed with acid. 

You fell asleep again for a while longer after that. When you stirred again, you could tell you weren’t in your room, judging by the smell and the feel of the mattress. The bed was firmer than yours. It smelled familiar, but your head was so cloudy that you couldn’t place where you knew it from. 

Then you were under again, pulled into yet another dreamless sleep. At some point, you opened your eyes to see blurry light peeking out from an unfamiliar window, and that’s all you had time to register before slipping away again. 

The next time you woke, it took. Lids filled with lead, you kept them closed for several minutes, but your fingers twitched against the polyester comforter covering you and you breathed deep, recognizing the smell a little more, but still having trouble placing it, visions of cinnamon lattes and rain drifting across your closed lids. 

You wiggled your toes, the sleep paralysis finally beginning to release its hold over you inch by inch. After a few more minutes, you opened your eyes. It took some more time before the blurriness in your vision began to clear enough for you to study your surroundings. 

The room was familiar—you’d seen it once before. Perhaps in a dream. Or in a photo. It was as if bits of cotton and fluff had been stuffed into the crevices of your brain and it was a struggle for you to think past them. 

There was an element of danger to waking up in a strange room. You recognized that, but there was no emotion tied to the thought. No panic. No adrenaline: your nervous system was still asleep. 

Realization crashed into you like a wave when you looked over to the edge of the bed and saw a familiar tattooed hand peeking out from a black sleeve. A head of brown hair rested on the arm and suddenly you knew where you recognized the room from—it was in the background of the video chat you’d had with Noah. 

As if the realization had taken all your remaining brain power, you let your head fall back onto the pillow and closed your eyes again, feeling your head throb with every heartbeat. 

This was Noah’s room. You were in Noah’s room. 

How did you get here? 

You were at a party last night. That much you remember. You’d had a few drinks. Maybe you’d gotten drunker than you realized and that was why you couldn’t remember anything. 

Nick had said he wouldn’t let you get drunk. 

That’s right. You were with Nick. 

Your eyes flew open. You had kissed Nick. The two of you had been dancing. And then you were making out. The memories came to you in flashes, as if you were flipping through a photo album. 

So how did you get in Noah’s room? 

You lifted your head as much as you could to get a better look. 

Noah sat on the floor, back against a dresser. He was slumped over to the side, resting his arm on the mattress, forehead on forearm while his hair spilled over like a curtain, hiding the side of his face. 

Mustering all the strength you could, you pressed your palms into the mattress and pushed yourself into a half-sitting position against the headboard. 

The movement must have startled Noah because he awoke the opposite of you: with a sharp inhale, his head snapping up, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. 

“Angel.” The word fell softly from his lips, and there was relief coded into it. He sat up, shifting to face you. The arm that had been on the bed drifted closer, reaching toward you before he thought better of it and pulled it back. 

Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out. At least not at first. It was a few tense seconds of eye contact before you spoke. 

“Noah…” Your throat cracked painfully when you spoke, and you realized how dry your mouth was. 

“Shh,” he soothed, reaching up for a glass of water that sat on the nightstand and offering it to you. “Here.” 

You took it gratefully, noticing how cold and unfamiliar the tips of his fingers were when your brushed them.

You sipped, the water soothing your throat and lubricating your vocal folds. “Why am I here?” you asked. “What happened?” 

Noah watched you with caution, face falling.

Something was off—he was reluctant he was to answer your question. The look he gave you made you squirm uncomfortably. 

“Tell me,” you said. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head to break whatever thought he was trapped in. “Um,” he began, taking a deep, steadying breath.

Your stomach sank. 

“First of all, you’re safe. Nothing happened. Nick and I made sure you were taken care of.” 

“You…what?” His words were concerning. Why did he have to make a point that you were safe? Had there been a time when you weren’t?  

“Also, we caught the guy. He’s in police custody.” 

Your heart began to race. “What guy?” you asked, breath growing tense and rapid. “Noah, what happened?”

Noah bit his lip, eyebrows pulling together in a mix of emotions you couldn’t decipher. “Someone was slipping stuff into girls’ drinks last night. We caught him before anything happened, but you were drugged.” 

It all came out too fast before you could make any sense of it. 

“And you were in pretty rough shape last night.” 

The words hung in the air, unabsorbed as you blinked stupidly at him. You’d heard them, but there was something preventing you from processing them. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside the bed so he could see your reaction. He reached out again, this time to grab your hand and you pulled it away out of instinct, body on autopilot. He flinched away, looking hurt for half a second before training his features into something calmer. 

“Give me a second,” you said. He nodded. 

Your stomach churned uncomfortably, and you slumped forward, feeling the saliva and bile seep into your mouth. You gagged. 

Noah jumped into action, grabbing an empty bucket from beside the bed and tucking it under your chin. You gagged a few more times but nothing came up, so you sat back against the headboard, wiping at your irritated eyes. 

You waited, allowing your stomach to settle again before entertaining any thoughts. 

You’d been drugged. 

It was too big of a thought to process all at once. Your mind didn’t have enough elasticity to wrap itself around something like that—you had to start smaller. 

“How did I get here?” 

“Right,” said Noah. “Nick and I brought you back here.” 

“Why didn’t you bring me to my dorm?” you asked. The questions were coming rapid fire now. 

“We couldn’t find your keys,” Noah answered, not missing a beat. He seemed eager to explain. You were grateful that he also seemed to recognize your need to digest the information in bits and pieces. 

“They should be in my purse. Where is it?” you asked. 

Noah shrugged. 

It hit you how strange it was seeing his face again. There was a part of you that acknowledged how much you’d missed him. Another part recognized how angry you still were at him, but all of that was overshadowed by the information you were learning. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “It’s probably back at Jolly’s. We can go get it if you want.” 

“In a bit,” you said, leaning back against the pillows and taking a sip of water. The thought of getting out of bed and doing anything right now caused your anxiety to spike once more. You had to calm down. You could feel yourself getting worked up and knew that eventually, your emotions would surface and spill over, but you had questions you needed answered first. 

“How did I get here?” you asked again, this time gesturing the bed. “Last I knew, I was with Nick.” 

Noah looked entirely uncomfortable once again, but he willfully pushed past his discomfort to answer you. 

“Well, uh,” he said, his voice low and soft, as if not to startle you. “You started vomiting. It got all over your clothes, so one of us had to remove them. I volunteered since…,” he trailed off. 

“…since what?” you asked, not understanding what he was getting at. Thinking was still difficult. It was like your brain was trudging through mud to form thoughts. 

“Since I’d already seen you.” 

When his answer finally registered, you exhaled a deep, regretful breath. It was a truth you didn’t want to remember or acknowledge. At the time you’d been excited, but now you were ashamed and embarrassed that you’d been so easy. 

That was another conversation you needed to have with Noah. But not right at that moment. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry I didn’t—,” 

“—I don’t want to talk about it.” The words were out of your mouth before you’d even processed them, body once again going on autopilot. Noah’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” you followed up, softening. “We can talk about it later. Just not right now.” 

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Where are my clothes?” you asked. 

“Nick put them in the washer last night,” he said, standing up. “I can go check on them.” 

Perhaps he was eager to escape the discomfort that had settled between the two of you in the wake of all the events that had taken place, or perhaps he just wanted to do something for you. Either way, Noah got up and padded across the room, pausing at the door to make sure you were okay. 

When you nodded, he slipped through the door, leaving you alone to process your thoughts. 

As soon as he was gone, you felt like you could breathe again. You inhaled deeply, now free to think and feel without being observed by anyone, which was initially what you thought you wanted. 

But without him as an anchor, intrusive thoughts crept in. 

God’s punishing you. 

It came as a whisper in the back of your mind, and at first you brushed it off—a stray remnant thought leftover from all the time you were steeped in church culture. 

But then it got louder. 

You brought this on yourself, you know. This is what’s waiting for you when you stray from the path of righteousness. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. The thoughts were familiar. Ever since childhood, you’d had this voice in your head, but you knew what it was. It was the voice that arose any time you did something that someone else said was wrong, or anytime something bad happened. It was the one that said God was punishing you for some sin you’d committed. 

You could tune the voice out now, though. You knew it was just anxiety. 

It’s not anxiety. It’s a warning. 

You swallowed, excess saliva having pooled on either side of your tongue. It wasn’t a warning. Your brain was lying to you.  

You’re going to Hell if you keep acting like this. 

You clenched your jaw. It was a lie. 

It’s not a lie. 

It’s a lie. 

Your hands shook, and you struggled to catch your breath. Tears began leaking out. You hated feeling like this. This was the same feeling you used to get after every mistake. Any time you drifted from the narrow path laid out by the church. 

Atone for your sins. Go back to church. 

The shaking in your hands had progressed up your arms until it reached your chest, causing your breath to hitch, and you knew you were about to start crying. Not because you believed the voice, but because you couldn’t get it to leave you alone. 

You’re going to Hell. If you don’t go back to church and believe in what they tell you, you’re going to Hell. You’ll burn for your sins. 

You rocked back and forth, clutching onto yourself as you spiraled. Visions of you burning in a lake of fire flashed before your eyes. Your skin prickled all over and you struggled to breathe.  

You didn’t register the door opening from across the room. 

“Your clothes need more time to dry…oh shit!” 

You heard Noah bound across the room and before you knew it, his arms were around you and your head was buried into his chest. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he said, stroking your back as he rocked you back and forth. “I’ve got you.” 

The deep pressure was just enough to tether you to Noah. Solid, sturdy Noah who slowly pulled you back to the present. And though, at that moment, you wished it was anyone other than him holding you, you were still grateful. 

“What happened?” he asked, once your breathing had slowed. 

You shook your head, not even wanting to voice your thoughts, as if saying them aloud would make them more real. If he could just hold you for a while, that would be enough. 

“Okay,” he said, clutching you tighter. “Okay, we don’t have to talk.” 

You focused on your breathing, in for four counts. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. Repeat. You latched on to the scent of spiced oil—the scent you remembered fondly. You breathed it in deeply, allowing it to fill your nostrils and keep you grounded. 

Your heart rate slowed. You pressed your forehead into the soft black cotton of the hoodie Noah wore, sliding your cheek over the fibers. You blinked back tears, eyes landing on a small hole near the pocket of the basketball shorts Noah wore. 

Touch. Smell. Sight.

At least three out of your five senses were activated, and it was enough to pull you securely back to the present. The thoughts no longer consumed you, but they still lingered in your psyche and you were unable to fully relax. 

With great effort, you cleared your throat. 

“I’m going to say something,” you said. “I need you to tell me if it’s true.”  

Noah squeezed your shoulder in affirmation. “Okay.” 

“I am not being punished for leaving the church.” 

Though you had been afraid that voicing your concerns would make them real, speaking them aloud had the opposite effect—your fears reduced in size as soon as the words were out.  

“Jesus,” Noah remarked in disbelief, “Is that what you thought?” 

“True or false?” 

“No, you’re not being punished for leaving the church,” he said with a sigh. “Where is this coming from?” 

Noah pulled away to look at you and you struggled to meet his eyes, focusing still on the small rip in his shorts instead. 

“It’s something I heard a lot growing up,” you confessed. “If I turned away from God, I’d find nothing but pain and misery.” 

You chanced a glance back up at Noah. He worried at his bottom lip, eyes focused on something on the ceiling and brows pulled together. His fingers tightened where they gripped your shoulder. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” said Noah, shaking his head. He situated himself against the wall so that he could sit comfortably next to you. You were touching at the knees and shoulders, and you wondered if he noticed as much as you did. Despite the anger and hurt you still had with him, you couldn’t help but lean into him a little. 

“It’s not you. It just bothers me how much they try to control people. And they don’t care about the way it fucks them up.” 

 His words hit harsh and you flinched. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, looking over to you. His face was intimidatingly close. You tried to look up at him, but the eye contact was too intimate, so you wound up staring somewhere between the bottom of his nose and his upper lip. “I don’t think you’re fucked up. I just hate that you have to worry about this. You’ve been through enough.” 

“Thank you,” you said, and in the silence that followed, your thoughts began to settle. The knowledge that you’d been drugged was no longer too big for you to process. You were reaching a state of acceptance. 

“I don’t think you turned away from God, by the way,” said Noah. You looked up to see him quietly regarding you. This time the eye contact was tolerable. 

“What?” you asked. 

“You said that the church told you that if you turned away from God, you’d find nothing but pain. I don’t think you turned away from God. Maybe you turned away from the church, but not God.” 

You twisted his words around in your head, examining them as they worked to combat some of the negative thoughts in your head. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in God?” you asked. 

It was Noah’s turn to look away. He sniffed once and tucked some hair behind his ear.

“Yeah, well…,” he trailed off, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. 

You let him avoid your question for the time being, but you couldn’t help the corner of your mouth from quirking up, feeling as though you’d caught him in a moment of vulnerability he never meant for you to see. 

“I should go,” you said, hoisting yourself up off the bed and stretching. “I need to get my purse.” 

“I can walk you,” Noah offered, mirroring your actions. “I’d feel better not leaving you alone.” 

You weren’t planning on company. In fact, you could probably use some alone time to gather your thoughts, but being on better terms with Noah felt really good, and you wanted to enjoy it for a little longer before you got to work processing everything else that had happened, so you agreed. 

Noah smiled, and you were greeted with his too-big front teeth. The sight of it ripped off the scab that had grown over the wound he’d left on your heart, leaving just enough space for him to crawl his way back in. 

Uh oh.  _____

That feeling stayed with you for the rest of the day, and you wished it wouldn’t. It was much easier when you’d written him off as a player and could focus on your self-discovery without thinking about him. Now that he’d weaseled his way back into your life, you were more confused than ever. 

Rather than try to sort out exactly how you felt, however, you decided to distract yourself with Ava. As soon as you got back to your room and charged your phone, you were hit with several alarmed texts from her. 

Ava: 3:08 AM: OMG Nick just told me what happened!!!! Are you okay?!?!?! 

Ava: 3:22 AM: Text me as soon as you get this! 

Ava: 10:55 AM: Girl! Where are you?!?! 

Rather than text her back, you pressed the call button. When she answered, she sounded frenzied.

“Oh my God, where have you been?!” Her voice through the phone speaker came out tinny and shrill and you had to flinch away from the phone, head still pounding from the after-effects of the drug. As if she sensed she’d had a bad start, she immediately lowered her voice. “Sorry, I don’t mean to yell. Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay,” you said softly. “My head hurts, but I’m fine. I could use some company though. Are you busy?” 

“What do you need?” she asked. “Are you at your dorm? Want me to bring food?” 

“Just company,” you said, sighing back into your mattress. “That’s it.” 

“I’m already on my way.” 

_____

Ava arrived fifteen minutes later with a massive duffel bag. Once she greeted you with a hug, she got to work pulling out various comfort items she’d brought with her. 

Within thirty seconds, your desk was covered in an array of face masks, bottles of coconut water, electrolyte drinks, painkillers, and several snacks, both salty and sweet. 

“I also brought this in case you felt like doing a hair-of-the-dog,” she said, pulling a bottle of champagne out from the bottom of the duffel. 

It was a lot. You probably could have anticipated that she’d go to such lengths to make you feel better, but her energy was too intense for you to digest. 

“Thanks,” you said, scanning the contents of the table and grabbing a bottle of coconut water. 

As abrasive as her energy was, she was right. As soon as you took the first few sips of coconut water, you started to feel better. 

Ava, to her credit, quickly picked up on the fact that you weren’t responding favorably to her energy and stayed quiet after that, allowing you to take in everything for a few moments.  “How are you?” she said after you’d taken your first few sips. This time, her voice was soft and tender. 

“I’m okay,” you assured. “A little roughed up, but I think I’ll be fine.” You wanted to tell her that Noah helped talk you through it, but thought better of it. She might latch onto that detail and make it into a bigger deal than it was, and honestly you didn’t feel like answering questions regarding whatever was going on between you and Noah. 

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, helping herself to a seat on your bed. 

Sitting beside her, you offered a noncommittal shrug. “What all did Nick tell you?” 

“Not much,” she said, taking the bottle of champagne off your nightstand and twisting the cork out with a satisfying pop. She took a careful sip of it before offering it to you. 

“No thanks,” you said, holding up a palm. 

“He just told me that there’d been an incident, and you’d been slipped something. That he and Noah were taking care of you and that Noah beat the guy up.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Noah beat him up?” you asked. This was news to you. 

She blinked, tilting her head at you. “Yeah,” she said, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you talk to him at all?” 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid this conversation forever, but you had hoped you could hold out a little longer. That was the problem with being known as well as Ava knew you—you couldn’t hide from her for long. 

“We talked,” you said. “He didn’t mention anything like that.” 

“What did you talk about?” she asked, regarding you with careful and practiced neutrality. 

Ava had an opinion she wasn’t sharing and you knew it. She was putting you on the spot to see if her opinion was correct. 

“He just helped me process everything,” you said, training your voice to match the neutrality of her face. 

She took another sip of champagne, savored it in her mouth for a moment and then swallowed. “Anything else?” 

“No.” 

“Ah,” she said, nodding.

“Out with it,” you said, growing impatient. Better to just rip the band-aid off. 

“Do you know what you want with Noah?” she asked, words coming out rushed, as if pressure had been building up behind them. 

“No,” you said firmly. “And I’d rather not torture myself trying to figure it out.” 

Her eyes held the same concern that Noah’s had that morning, as if you were a fragile, delicate flower in danger of being crushed. 

“You know I’m here to talk about it if you need,” she said. You could tell it was coming from a place of concern, but if you knew Ava as well as she knew you, it was also coming from a place of curiosity, and wanting to ease the tension of not knowing what was going to happen. 

“I understand your concern,” you said. “You don’t want me to get hurt again.” 

“I don’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around you, and the gesture contained an unspoken apology for pressing a matter you clearly didn’t want to discuss. 

She was sweet though, and you knew it came from a good place, so you relented. 

“He tried to bring up what happened, but I said I didn’t want to discuss it at the time.” 

She gave you a firm squeeze, causing the champagne to slosh against the side of the bottle. “Do you think you will in the future?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Probably sooner rather than later. Just not right now. I’m too tired,” you said, punctuating it with a yawn. 

“I bet,” she said. 

“Can we talk about something easier?” you asked, slumping against the headboard. “How was your time with Hera?” 

“We, uh…,” she trailed off, bashful smile playing on her lips.  Your jaw fell open. “Did you…?” 

The smile grew into her full, toothy grin and a flush crept over her cheeks. 

“Shut up! How was it?” you asked, grateful for the change in subject. 

“It was amazing,” she said, stars in her eyes as she stared dreamily off into a corner of the room. She sighed, likely still picturing it, before launching into a detailed explanation of how her night had consisted of a slow flirtation that had quickly grown into a banter and culminated in Hera kissing her once they’d gotten back to her dorm, which then led to Ava spending the night and ‘losing her lesbian virginity’ as she’d put it.  

You smiled, relaxing into the pillows of your bed and observing her as she spoke animatedly about her evening, lighting up from within, and you couldn’t remember ever seeing her this happy. You hadn’t spent much time with Hera, but if she made Ava this happy, she was someone you wanted to get to know more. 

“So who’s better in bed,” you asked after she was done. “Nick or Hera?” 

“Hera, for sure,” she said. “But Nick could give her a run for her money. The man knows what he’s doing.” 

“Oh my God,” you said, sitting up. “I forgot to tell you. Nick and I made out!” 

“What?!” she squealed, half-spilling the bag of sour cream and cheddar chips that the two of you had been sharing. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier?!” 

“I kind of forgot,” you admitted. “A lot happened, but yeah.” 

“Who moved first?” she asked, picking up the chips she’d spilled and popping them into her mouth one by one. 

“He did. We were dancing and then he pulled me in and kissed me,” you confessed, “I wasn’t expecting it at all.”  You plucked the half-drunk bottle of champagne off the nightstand next to you and took a careful swig. Your headache had finally subsided, but you were still feeling some leftover brain fog. 

“How was it?” she asked, tearing off the foil edge of a face mask pack and sliding the mask out. 

You shrugged, grabbing a mask for yourself while she smoothed hers onto her cheeks. “It was fun, I guess. The whole night was sort of a blur by that point.” 

“Did you talk to him at all after? What did he say?” she asked. She poured some of the leftover serum from the packet out into her palms and began smoothing it over her chest and arms. 

“I didn’t, actually. He was still asleep when I left. Oh wait!,” you said, fetching your phone from where it was still connected to the charger. “I think I have a text from him.” 

“What does it say?!” 

You tapped on it a few times—the residue from your mask smearing over the screen and making it difficult to open. “He’s asking if he can come over…or well, he was asking. That was a couple of hours ago.”

“What are you going to say?” she asked. 

“I’m having fun just us,” you said, fingers already busy texting a reply. “But I’m inviting him over tomorrow after my Lit final.” 

“I should probably study for those, by the way,” she said, but she made no move to get up. 

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the sheet mask crinkle with the movement. 

“I’ll be fine,” she said, waving your concerns away. “I only have one actual final. The rest are projects I’ve already finished.” 

You also felt confident that you knew the material enough that you could pass without too much studying. Besides, a good night’s sleep was probably going to help you pass more than pouring over your textbooks would. 

“How do you feel about what happened last night before everything went down?” Ava asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Did you have a fun time with Nick?” 

“I did,” you said. There was something you needed to admit to yourself, however, and probably to Ava as well. 

“Can you tell me more?” she pressed. 

You took a large sip of champagne to stall while you worked up the nerve. Too big, in fact: the carbonation compressed the neck of the bottle, causing bubbles to shoot up your nose and out of your mouth, coating your face in the sticky beverage. 

Ava couldn’t help but laugh at your clumsiness and you followed suit. After using the corner of your duvet to wipe your face, you discarded the soiled face mask into the trash and sighed, struggling to meet Ava’s eyes because you knew what you were about to confess. 

“Truth is,” you said, “part of me was hoping I’d lose my virginity last night.” 

Ava’s mouth fell open, shock etched across her face. “What?! With Nick? I thought you didn’t want to.” 

You hid your face in your palms, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t,” you said. “But then…,” 

“Say no more,” she said. “I get it. He’s very disarming. It didn’t take long for me to hop on that train either.” 

You relaxed, glad Ava understood what you meant. “Yes! Exactly, and it doesn’t even feel like a trick. I think he’s genuine about it.” 

“He is,” she said, nodding. “He took care of me the whole time. Now I’m bummed you didn’t get to.” 

You sighed. “It’s probably for the best,” you said. 

“Why’s that?” Ava asked, peeling her own mask off and tossing it into the trash. 

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just get the feeling it wouldn’t have solved my problem.” 

“What problem, specifically?” she asked. It was a good question, but one you didn’t know the exact answer to. It lingered in the back of your head—a sort of quiet discontent and sense of unease. You knew it was related to the church, and had something to do with your sexuality, but couldn’t quite articulate what it was.

_____

“Hey,” said Nick as soon as you opened the door. You stepped aside to allow him more room. “Hard to believe it’s only been two days since I was in here last.” 

He was referring to the décor, which you’d purchased that morning and had spent the last two hours hanging up. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a few items you found at a bargain store a few blocks from campus, but it made your room a little warmer than the barren wasteland it had been after you’d torn down all of your church-related posters. 

“Thanks,” you said, stepping further into the room. “How are you?” 

Nick spun around to face you, tilting his head to the side. “I’m good, thanks for asking. I’m more concerned about how you are though.” 

You took a deep breath—something you’d been doing a lot of lately, and softened. “I’m okay,” you said. “Yesterday was kind of rough, but I’ve done a lot of processing and I think I’ll be fine.” 

Nick searched your face for any sign of dishonesty and after finding none, he visibly relaxed, lips pulling up into a soft smile. “That’s good,” he said. “I’ve been kicking myself for the last two days for allowing you to get into a situation like that. I feel like I failed you.” 

Your eyebrows pulled together. “Nick, you didn’t fail me,” you said, moving across the room to sit cross-legged on your bed. Following your lead, Nick pulled the chair out from your desk and spun it to face you, sitting comfortably. “I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect you to predict every possible scenario and prevent it from happening. You did your best.” 

His lower lip jutted out from his face in a pout. “I still wish I could have stopped it.” 

“I know,” you said. “Me too. But these things happen. It sucks that they do, but you did a good job. As soon as you noticed something, you stepped in.” 

“Noah stepped in,” he corrected. 

You scowled, not about the fact that Noah was there, but because he wasn’t giving himself enough credit. “Are you going to make me comfort you all evening? Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

He breathed out half a snort. “I like when you check me.”

“I know,” you said, picking at the pilling on your flannel pajama bottoms, “considering I’m always having to do it.” 

You looked up to find him unguarded, looking back at you with genuine fondness and the two of you shared a moment of warm sincerity. You really did like Nick, which made the conversation you were about to have with him all the more irksome. 

You sucked in air through your teeth. “Nick…,” you started. 

“Hold on,” he said, raising a palm to interject. “I have a feeling I know what you’re going to say, and I want to say something first.” 

You nodded, gesturing for him to go on. 

“I’m not going to apologize for kissing you, because I really did want to. And I enjoyed it.” 

Your face twisted into a look of surprise, not expecting the turn in conversation. 

“But,” he continued, “it probably didn’t make things easier for you with Noah the next morning, and for that, I am sorry. I hope it wasn’t too awkward.” 

“We didn’t even talk about it,” you said. “Does Noah know we kissed?” Your stomach folded in on itself, chest seizing up at the idea. You had to manually relax your muscles, reminding yourself that you’d done nothing wrong. 

Nick looked uncomfortable, eyes scanning over your bedspread rather than meeting your face and he drummed his fingers nervously on his knee. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

You steadied your breathing, eyes flicking up to the ceiling in search of some sort of answer for how you should proceed. “What did he say?” 

“He wasn’t exactly happy,” said Nick, smoothing his hands over his jeans. “We talked about it though, and I think he’s good. If he didn’t bring it up to you yesterday morning, he probably isn’t going to.” 

“Okay,” you said, nodding to yourself. “Okay, I can work with that.” 

“Have to talked to him since?” he asked. His eyebrows disappeared under the rim of his black beanie and you could see on his face just how much he cared for you and Noah, and how much it ate at him to think he’d caused problems. 

“No,” you said, not enjoying how the answer felt coming out. “I know I should, but I’ve been taking some space. Wanting to sort some things out in my head.” 

“I can respect that,” said Nick. 

He waited for a few minutes, quietly regarding you as you checked in with yourself to see how you were feeling about the situation. 

You knew you needed to talk to Noah. Over the last twenty four hours, you’d opened up the text thread that you had with him, typed out a few words, sighed, and closed it again without sending anything on several different occasions. Nothing felt right. 

“How’s he doing?” you asked. 

“He’s fine,” Nick said, but the slight shift in energy on his end led you to believe that it was more complicated than that. 

“Are you guys okay?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We talked about it. I explained everything and he said he understood. He’s not mad at either of us. He knows he fucked up and has no right to be upset.” 

“I think he’s allowed to be upset, just not with us.” 

“Right,” Nick said, nodding. “He’s frustrated by the situation, but he doesn’t have any resentment.” 

You let out a long, slow breath. “That’s good,” you said. 

A few beats passed, both of you knowing what needed to be discussed next, but neither wanting to bring it up. 

When the tension grew too thick, you finally spoke up. “So about the kiss,” you said. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, words coming out rushed. 

You nodded. “I didn’t think you did, but I wanted to make sure.” 

Nick stood up, walking over to your bed and with a twitch of his eyebrows, wordlessly asking for permission to sit next to you. You nodded. He sat facing you, tucking his legs underneath him. “I really liked kissing you,” he said. 

You flushed, not used to someone being so direct. 

“But Noah is one of my best friends. And you’re quickly becoming someone important to me as well,” he continued, placing a gentle hand on your knee for emphasis. “I don’t want to fuck with either of your happiness. As much as I hate it, we probably can’t do that again.” 

You chuckled, placing your hand over his and squeezing it. “I know,” you said. “It’s probably for the best.” 

“Can I ask you something though?” he said, leaning towards you in earnest. 

“Sure.” 

“In an alternate universe where you’d never met Noah and hadn’t been brought up in the church,” he began and you smiled, already guessing where this was going, “what do you think would have happened.” 

You bit your bottom lip, debating on whether or not to be honest with him, but your smile betrayed you. “I think you know.” 

He beamed at you, glee radiating off of him. “That’s all I needed to know,” he said. 

“What about you?” you asked. “Would you have?” 

“Oh, in a heartbeat,” he said, needing no time to think it over. He brought his other hand to your leg, palms gently squeezing your thighs to emphasize his point. 

Your eyes flicked from where his hands rested on your legs back up to his face and there were only a few times you could ever recall anyone looking at you with the desire that was etched across Nick’s face. 

You could see it. A world where you and Nick met under different circumstances. As you scanned his face, you could feel the pull of him. Your eyes were drawn to his lower lip and it was reeling you in like a fish that had taken the bait. 

It was a soft pull, though. One that you’d have entertained had you never gotten close with Noah and didn’t have religious trauma to work through before you could consider being intimate with anyone else. 

You sat up straight, not realizing that during the course of the conversation, you’d been inching towards Nick, and he followed your lead, removing his hands from your thighs, though he still watched your face like he was considering throwing caution to the wind and going for what he wanted. 

You rolled your shoulders, shaking off the heady cloud of lust that had settled over the two of you. 

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m not sure I trust myself with that kind of stuff yet.” 

Nick blinked back a few times, likely also still pulling back from his desire. “Yeah,” he said, sighing the word out. “Yeah, it’s not the easiest thing to navigate, especially for someone so new to it.” 

An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over you. It was small, but not insignificant, and you realized just how difficult it was to say no to temptation. Not that you were concerned about the sin of it. It was just the realization that sometimes what you wanted went against your better judgement, and that choosing the right thing came with its own set of consequences. 

“I’m gonna have to talk to Noah soon, aren’t I?” 

Nick nodded, swallowing thickly as the last bit of desire released him from its clutches. “I think you do.” 

And with that, you and Nick were back to platonic companions. It was bittersweet, but it was also the right move, and both of you knew it. 

Besides, you had a feeling the upcoming conversation with Noah was going to be complicated enough. No need to throw another wrench into it. 

_______ All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

A/N: Okay so I know the ending wasn't my best, but I was on a deadline and just wanted to get this chapter out so we could get to the NEXT chapter, which is where the real meat of the story is.

Also I have to write the taglist like this because tagging normally isn't working.

Let me know what you think! Sorry if it's a little rushed. Hope we're all okay with it though.

Taglist:

@traffordonna 

@velvetlilacsdaisies

@sunsshinesunny

@rain-down-on-me

@friedchildblaze 

@emilygalindo

@kat-rhi-lac

@sister-sebastian

@badomensls

@collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

@hoe-for-daddywise

@concretejungle420

@sleep-worship

@cncohshit

@adenobabe

@guacinyourarea

@excapingourexistence

@livingdeceasedgirl

@chxrryxox

@dem11

@starcrossedwasteland

@alm0std3add

@reyadawn

@karenfranco

@glam-cherry-bomb

@simpingforniragi

@koalakoala8

@themorticians-world

@sleepytoken99

@xmagdalenaxbrenaxorestes

@fuck-me-muke

@xmads-omensx

@just-random-stuff

@somebodyels3

@klutzy-kay24

@themorticians-world

@silentglassbreak

@ashlarz-blog

@noahsebastions

@cyber-tiny

@xxkittenkissesxx

@treacheryinblue

@flowerynerds

@1toreyouapart

@poisongirl616

[spectrerie]

Your Simon

Simon Riley x reader (gn I'm 99% sure)

TW: toxic!Simon, whump, captivity, psychological torture(?), kidnapping, yandere!Simon, maybe don't read this if you're only comfortable with fluff and light smut... even though there no smut in this (maybe I'll add an epilogue or sm idk)

Approx 2k words, random drabble. wrote this at 4 am, un-betad. Let's not nitpick, yeah? Cool.

Simon knew you were fragile, but he didn’t think you could be so easy to break. This was his third deployment since he’d met you. The third since he’d pulled you into his life. At first you’d been panicked, indignant and ungrateful. You didn’t understand the significance of his actions. Every detail meticulously planned out, every minute aspect of your stay without him accounted for. You just had to stop fighting him and start fighting for yourself. Fight to stay alive, just like him. He just wanted to share this with you, why wouldn’t you let him?

“Don’t worry, Love, I’ll be back in no time. You won’t even get a chance to miss me.” His hand stayed on the back of your head, fingers locked in your hair, holding your head up so you could look into his eyes. So you could watch him lie to you. You knew the routine well at this point. 

First the devil may care Ghost would ply you with cheeky taunts to smooth out your concern. His abrasiveness would wear you down, polish you into a reflection of himself. 

Despite yourself you began to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. In the beginning it wasn’t him you had missed. It was the promise of regular meals, and fresh water. Baths. Heating. Freedom. Now he was the centre of your world. He was your everything. 

While he was deployed you didn’t know how long you’d be left to stew in your own sweat and the grime of the basement he’d thrown you in. The smell of dust and mold hung heavy in the air down here. Soon the smell of your body would join them creating a fetid blend that would stay in your nostrils for weeks after your release. If you lived that long. The single hanging bulb barely illuminating your surroundings, not that there was much to see.  

Gallons of water lined one of the walls, at least a dozen of them neatly tucked from one dusty corner to another. You’d count them in earnest when he left you. Your mind was to panicked now to begin the frantic calculations of how long you could stretch your supplies. Just in case. 

Two boxes of hardtack biscuits and cans of god only knew what were neatly pressed up against another.  At times you feared he’d been feeding you cat food. You’d opened cans of greying meat floating in gelatinous gravy, other times the cans contained some kind of soup. Either way you’d choke it down cold. 

A part of you loved it here, you felt closer to him. You were a soldier too. This is where you’d live or die. Your battlefield.

His hand left your head and he went to the centre of the room where a small metal cot with a thin mattress stood. No pillow or duvet, but at least he’d given you a thick itchy woollen blanket. Army surplus to complete your private barracks. You’d earned the cot after weeks of good behaviour, no crying, no useless begging, no disobedience. A luxurious upgrade from the sheets of cardboard he’d left you to sleep on during his previous deployments. You followed before he even turned to call you, taking a seat on the mattress. 

“Will you miss me, pet?” He asked, coaxing your chin up with a gloved finger. 

“Yes, of course” you said between sobs. He huffed out a humourless laugh, and stroked your head. 

He hardly had to grind you down anymore, soon Ghost gave way to Simon. The mask he wore over his soul fell away, leaving behind the raw and broken boy he’d been before he learnt being someone else was as easy as covering his face. Part two of your dance begun.

The tears you thought you’d controlled began to fall again, pouring out of your tired eyes as you looked up at him. Your protector and captor. The man who told you everyday he’d die without you, the same man who held your life in his hands. 

“Please, please, Si… don’t forget about me here. Please.” The last word came out as a choked sob as you pressed your face against his thighs. Begging him to let you go was useless. You knew the steps now. Let him lead you, let yourself need him. Let him have something to control, someone who wouldn’t disappoint him. Someone he didn’t have to pretend with, unless he wanted to. 

“All you have to do is survive, pet. Same as me.” He knelt down in front of you, dark eyes shining with a mania that told you he was past pleading with. “All we have to do is survive. Think of me while you’re fighting in here, yeah? And I’ll be thinking of you out there. You’ll think of me won’t you? Hmm?” 

You nodded. 

“So say it.” 

Gathering yourself, you pulled away from him, eye to eye it was easier to believe the words that tumbled out of your mouth. 

“I’ll be thinking of you Si, so please, please,” your voice began to quake with unshed tears, “please come back to me. I’ll die without you.” 

You knew he was smiling beneath his mask. His hands came up to cradle your head, his grip too tight to be anything but a reminder of the control he had over you. 

“Of course you would. We need each other, don’t we?” 

You nodded and said your well rehearsed line. “We love each other.”

He watched you weep for a while, and you knew a part of him felt sick with himself. If he returned, if you lived, he’d tell you as much when he came home. 

The realisation that this was your home hit harder down here, puling more tortured sobs out of you as he watched. You weren’t sure if the ragged breaths you heard were yours or his. 

“Simon, Simon” you chanted his name over and over as you cried, like a prayer to a long dead god. He stood above you, within reach. One touch and you’d know he was real. But you cried out his name, and he watched. Until watching became too much and the sound of his name was punctuated with the sound of his boots ascending the stairs. 

The sound of a key turning.

And then the silence. 

— — — 

You counted the days by litres of water, cold canned meals, and fitful slashes sleep. 

One of each a day. 

No cheating. 

You recited songs in your mind, the lyrics painted dark by the deep gravely voice of your thoughts. Simon’s voice. 

You imagined a life with Simon, a life different from this. Those dreams were all that kept you sane. If this was sanity. 

A life with sunshine and tenderness that didn’t have to be earned. With music and hot food, baths together. The warmth of his body against yours. Every dream began and ended with the sound of a key turning, the creak of the old cellar door, deep lungfuls of fresh air. 

After meals and before sleep you’d press your nose to the tiny blacked out window. Taking deep breaths of the English countryside before closing it again. Air when were awake, warmth when you slept. These rules and rituals were what kept you alive here. Hell was rolling green hills and cloudy skies. Hell had no one around for miles. Hell and home were two sides of the same coin.

The same countryside he’d offered to show you when you’d first began dating him. You recounted those first few dates with him often. Combing your mind for any sign of the man he’d turn out to be. 

It had been too soon for a weekend away, you told yourself this time and time again. Turning your captivity against yourself in your darkest moments was a game you hated but still played. What fool would take a trip with a man they barely knew.? You hadn’t even known him for two full months when you went away with him. Your 6th date. This may have been the longest date in history. 

Sometimes you thought of your friends and your family. Were they worried? Were the little dribs and drabs of communication Simon let you have with them enough to keep them satiated. Had they stopped caring, like Simon said they would. 

He often told you the family a person was born into was rarely their true family. Like his. You knew pieces of the life he rarely spoke about. The father he hated, the mother he pitied. The brother he held complex, painful feelings for. You hardly heard about him at all. You suspected he was the only person outside of the 141 Simon cared about. Maybe the only person he truly loved. 

Did he love you? Actually love you?

Could he? 

Another litre, another can.  Another day. 

— — — 

The creak of the old cellar door woke you, as usual. You’d long since stopped running up the steps when you heard it, not trusting your mind to be honest with you. 

“Baby? Are you awake, Love?” 

You didn’t believe it. You couldn’t. The disappointment would hurt to much. 

The sound of heavy boots descending the stairs drew something out of you, but yet you still couldn’t let yourself believe it was real. That you had survived. Again. 

Warm fingers caressed your cheek, tracing the shape of your eyes and nose, until they finally settled on your neck, below your jaw. A beat passed in tense silence, you could still be dreaming.

A shaky breath that wasn’t yours filled the room, “thank god.” You opened your eyes, and he was there. A dark figure against the light, stoic among the swirling flecks of dust in the air. 

“Si?” Your voice was weak and hoarse from who knew how many weeks of disuse. 

He nodded, lifting you from your cot with ease. Holding your body against his tightly as he brought you up the stairs. Your eyes fluttered against the light, the early evening sun cutting  through you until you help your eyes tightly closed.

You heard him shush you softly before you realised you’d been crying. 

“Si,” you said again and you felt him hold you closer. 

“I know baby, I know. I’m so proud of you. We made it.” 

He set you down on the edge of the bath and began the careful work of peeling your filthy clothes off. 

The final chords of this tragic, disgusting song had begun, and your dance was ending. 

He washed you gently, tears in his eyes as he rinsed away the layers of pain he’d caused you. 

He spoke to you in gentle tones, barely above a whisper, as though any loud noise would send you into shock. He didn’t wait for your responses, knowing you were too exhausted to give any. 

“It’s okay, pet. It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re out. You’re out.

“Were you scared? I know baby, I know how scary it was, but you’re safe now. I’ll never let anything happen to you, never. You’re too important, I love you so much, pet. Too much.” 

You let the hot water and his words baptise you, remaking you under the heat of his love for you. He washed every part of you, yet nothing felt as intimated as when he washed your hair, stroking your head gently as he cried and promised you things you weren’t sure would ever come to be. 

When you were clean he wrapped you in a towel and left to get you something to wear. 

Was that you? Was that really you in the mirror? Chapped lips, large sunken eyes, your cheeks were hollow and your skin dull, your natural undertone wiped away and replaced with a pallid grey. When he came back you still couldn’t look away from the person in the mirror. He placed a pair of sweatpants and one of his t shirts on the heater and closed the door, giving you time to settle back into yourself. Your new self. 

You hated him. You hated him for doing this to you, making you this person. 

You opened the cabinet and went through the minor motions of humanity. Brushing your teeth, brushing your hair, and pulling the t-shirt on mechanically. You left the bottoms folded, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep them on no mater how tightly you tied them. He was just too big, and you were just too small. 

You clutched a hair band in your hand, knowing he’d want to tie your hair back. He loved doing those small things for you. And you hated him for it. 

When you shuffled into the bedroom you stood in the doorway, watching you with a grief in his eyes as though he hand’t done this to you. 

He pulled you close, picking you up and laying you gently on the bed. The mattress felt obscene after weeks on the cot, you wept again and hated him for turning you into this person, a person that cried at everything. A person who knew what it felt like to sleep on the floor. Someone who felt blessed to have a bed. 

He took his place beside you, and you pulled yourself close, holding your body to the curves and edges of his. His arms wound around you and pinned you to him, his lips brushed your forehead and you felt his tears fall, running down your cheeks and mixing with yours.

“I was so scared without you. I really thought I wasn’t gonna make it this time.” 

“Me too, Si.”

You understood how much he needed this, how much he needed to be the villain, how much he needed to hate himself before he could go into hell and be a good soldier. So he could come back home a hero, a rescuer. Your protector. 

Your Simon.

[springdandelixn]

Lost and Found

Soft!Dark!Steve x Plus size!Reader

Summary: Steve will stop at nothing to find you again.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, bathroom sex, body shaming, stalker tendencies

Today is Friday and it’s time to post some FREAKY Friday drabbles! Inspiration for this fic will be here. 

This may simply be a drabble but your comments and likes are highly appreciated. Reblogs would be fantastic as it would help this story flourish. And as always, love you all and I hope you enjoy! 💙 Un-betad so may have some mistakes but y’know, we ain’t perfect and that’s okay.

Steve’s hands run up your curves as he stares down at your face, your cheeks red and eyes hooded as he thrusts his hips against yours. Your hands gripping tightly on his shoulders, tilting your head back while he grabs the chance to press his lips against the exposed skin, latching on a patch of skin before sucking a bruise onto it. 

Your moans resonate within the enclosed lavatory, Steve’s muffled groans mixing into the air when he feels your pussy clench tightly around his cock. He pulls away from your neck and faces you once more, capturing your lips with his and pulling you into a passionate kiss while he relentlessly slams himself into you, his thick shaft sliding deeper and stretching you wider. 

His hand then reaches down to grab onto your thick ass, fingers digging into your flesh and a subtle grin forms on his lips at the moan you release when you pull away from the kiss. 

Blue eyes never leave your hooded ones, Steve focusing on your face, relishing in the sight of you consumed by pleasure. The pleasure that he solely gives, and desires to give you all that he can. 

A groan erupts from him once more when his spine tingles, his cock throbbing against your walls, feeling the coil at the pit of his stomach turn tightly, his balls contracting as he feels himself reaching closer to his limit. 

He wants it to last. Never wanting this moment of bliss to end. To continue seeing your face twisting in ecstasy. But your hand tightens on his shoulder, whimpering his name and the sound only drives him to fuck you harder, to fuck you faster, loving how your body jiggles against his eager movements. 

“Steve—“ You call his name and from the way your cunt squeezes him, he knows it’s a sign to tell him you’re close.

“That’s it, Doll.” He coaxes, hips unrelenting of its eager pace. His hand reaches down to flick his finger against your clit, the silent gasp you release making him smirk at his further stimulation of your body. “Come for your Captain.” 

“Yes, s—sir,” your voice comes out garbled but even as such, it’s music to Steve’s ears. 

A low moan then escapes him when he feels your body writhe against his, his arms wrapping around you to pull you flush against his chest when your walls tighten around his shaft and your legs shake, your juices coating him in a warm embrace when you finally find your release.

Your orgasm triggers his own and he growls against your ear, pulling himself out of you in an instant before stroking his cock and shooting his seeds against your inner thigh. His chest heaves as he pushes every drop out of him, catching his breath and chuckling when turns to face you, seeing you leaning against his chest. 

“Did I tire you out, Doll?” He asks and the tired smile on your face is enough for him to take your lips once more with his. 

-

He tucks himself back in his pants and reaches over the tissue dispenser to grab a couple of sheets before wiping you clean from his spend. A soft whimper leaves your lips when he brushes slightly closer to your cunt and it takes every fiber for Steve not to get down on his knees and have you come once more with only his mouth. 

He helps you right your panties, his hand running down the curve of your plump ass as he smooths your skirt down. His hands rest on your thick waist, inhaling sharply with how you fill his hands, giving it a light squeeze that has you pressing your hands against his chest. 

“You were amazing, Doll.” He says in a low voice. “I’ve never had bathroom sex before.” 

You laugh and it makes his heart skip a beat, wanting nothing more than to hear that sound over and over again. 

“I’ve never had sex with great Captain America.” You argue, a grin painting your lips. “So I guess we’re even.” 

He leans down when he sees you lean forward, his arms wrapping around your waist tight when you press a kiss to his cheek. His eyes then grow wide in confusion when you suddenly pull away, making your way toward the door. 

“Wait.” He calls before you can leave. “What’s your name?” 

But he frowns when you simply giggle at him, the loud music from outside flooding the small bathroom when you open the door, giving him a playful wink before leaving him alone. 

-

Sharon moans loudly on top of him as she impales herself on his repeatedly. Steve groans while holding her waist, guiding her on his cock but his hands don’t feel right, not the right size, and the voice echoing throughout his room is wrong. Not the right pitch.

He shakes his head and grips her hips tighter, bending his knees to thrust in her harder, pushing himself back into their passionate moment. But images of you constantly fill his head. Your face glowing in the heat of pleasure, your voice soft and full of desire as you took his cock. How your body felt soft against his, filling his hands wherever he held.

A growl leaves his lips in frustration and he pushes Sharon off of him, a yelp erupting from her in surprise. He pushes himself off the bed and drops his feet to the side, leaning his elbows against his thighs before burying his face in his hands. It’s not right. She’s not you. 

“Steve?” Sharon calls to him and Steve flinches when he feels her hand rest on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“It’s nothing.” He grunts and stands from the bed, picking up his clothes from the ground and putting them on. 

“Then why did you stop? Why are you leaving?” There’s panic in her voice but it only adds to the irritation that’s bubbling within him. “Talk to me, Stevie.”

No. She shouldn’t call him that. He only wants one person to call him that. 

“You’re too thin.” Steve huffs and the shock on Sharon’s face does nothing, only urges him to leave even more. “Why don’t you eat more? You’re all—skin and bones.” He shakes his head, grabbing his leather jacket from where it hangs before leaving his room, thankful that the door closing behind him silences Sharon’s cries. 

He walks down the hall, frowning as your face continues to plague his mind; your smile, your eyes, the sound of your giggle and your moans, your soft body—everything running into him all at once. He must find you and he will stop at nothing until he does. 

His feet stop in front of Tony’s lab. His eyes scan the frosted double doors, hearing the sounds of machines and tools at work from beyond. Taking a deep breath, he pushes his thumb against the pad at the side, walking past the threshold when the barrier opens for him. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Cap?” Tony asks, welding tool in hand, sparks flying from the suit he’s working on. 

“I need your help,” Steve says, his tone serious.

“On what? Pop culture?”

“Finding someone.”

-

He stands at the curb. His eyes cast upon the building before him before looking down at the post-it in his hand. He’s in the right place but he wants to be sure that Tony wasn’t lying to him. Taking a deep breath, he crosses the street, hands clenching in nervousness before he looks for the number of your apartment on the buzzer box.

307

“Hello?” Your voice comes from the intercom after he’s pressed the button. A wide smile forming on his lips as he takes in the beautiful sound. 

“I found you.”

[average-dilf-enjoyer]

i read the most beautiful, gut-wrenching, jaw-dropping fanfiction the other day and it was UNEDITED, UN-BETAD, AND 65K WORDS. it was so beautifully written AND posted all at once. the whole 65k. what the FUCK. fic is eternity across the lawn by dontlooknow on ao3 (joel/f!reader). nothing really bad even happened but it made me cry like five times and i’m still so fucked up over it. please go read it it’s amazing.

and if that doesn’t convince you to read it, just read this part. it’s fucking poetry:

Joel ain’t much of a dreamer. Normally, he goes to sleep and wakes up five minutes later. A blank slate for each night of rest that he does his best to get. He’s crawling now, hands digging through the tall blades of grass, dirt underneath his fingernails. It’s so cold, frigid air sucking all the breath from his lungs. He thinks he’s inhaling dirt as he chuffs through it, trying to force his body to move. You’re calling for him, calling his name. He knows your voice, even in the distance, even with the sound of the ocean in his ears. He’d hear you anywhere, from any distance. He goes to you, desperate and weak as he is, he goes to you. “Joel?” you call for him, voice worried. He tries to yell back, to tell you he’s coming, he’ll be at your side soon. You ain’t alone. Joel’s here. He’s got you. But there’s dirt in his lungs now, and he tries to cough it up, but the spit in his mouth mixes it into a muddy clay. It clogs him, spewing from his nose, choking his throat, rasping in his chest. Still, he crawls.

i actually have not been able to stop thinking about this since i read it and it will never fail to make me cry. what the fuck. please please please read it, it deserves so much attention

[finduilasclln]

lights will guide you home

Oh hey, I wrote a small 6.11 coda. \o/ I miraculously found some time to write right after seeing last night's episode this morning. This is quick and un-betad, and I'll try and tidy it up a bit before posting on AO3 but I wanted to post on Tumblr before I read any other 6.11 codas and decided this one couldn't hold a candle to those others, so... Title so very obviously taken from "Fix You" by Coldplay.

---

lights will guide you home

“A teacher, huh?” Eddie asks, bringing Buck a drink even though Buck insisted he could get it himself. But Eddie has this need to do things for Buck, even if it is just getting him a glass of water. He’s felt powerless for too long. Too long that Buck was in that coma. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, shaking his head slightly. “Not sure where that came from.” 

“It makes sense,” Eddie says as he sits down next to Buck at the dinner table instead of opposite him, needing to have Buck within arm’s reach. “You’re full of knowledge and you’re great with kids.” 

Buck preens a little at Eddie’s words. “Yeah?” 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” Eddie smiles softly because it’s easier than telling Buck all the ways in which he’s incredible. 

“I don’t know,” Buck grins, his fingers wrapped around the glass of water, leaving marks in the condensation. “Feels like maybe I earned a few after what I’ve been through the last few days?”

“Lying in a hospital bed, letting the machines do all the work for you?” Eddie teases, because Buck is fine. Buck is alive. Buck is back here with him. And if Eddie thinks too hard about it he’s going to crack and he doesn’t think Buck needs that right now. 

“Ouch,” Buck says, mock-offended. He brings his hand up to his chest, “Too soon.” 

Eddie reaches out and squeezes Buck’s arm reassuringly, desperate for that connection. 

“Besides,” Buck continues, “There was a hell of a lot more going on than me just lying there.” 

“Like being a teacher? Your brother being alive?” Eddie asks, going off of what Buck’s been saying. 

“Yeah…” Buck says, suddenly lost in thought. 

“Sounds nice though,” Eddie prods a little bit, studying Buck’s face. 

“I - ” Buck starts, then shakes his head. “It wasn’t right. Daniel - I. Yeah, I would have wanted - ” His fingers trace lines in the condensation on his glass. “But it wasn’t right. Maddie and Doug. Bobby. You.” 

“What about me?” Eddie asks carefully, because that’s the one thing Buck hasn’t quite elaborated on. It makes something inside of Eddie’s stomach twist. 

“You weren’t there,” Buck simply says, taking a sip of water. 

“I wasn’t?” Eddie asks, a sudden pang of disappointment going through him. Buck went through this life-altering thing where everything was meaningful and important and Eddie - wasn’t there? 

Buck shakes his head, pressing his lips together like there’s something he’s not quite saying. Eddie wants to push but at the same time he’s not sure he wants to know. 

“You weren’t,” Buck says, contemplative, “Everything was different and messed up. I mean, my parents were great. They were present, they cared, they - they loved me.” 

“Far be it for me to defend them,” Eddie says softly, because Buck needs to know, “But I think they do, Buck. However they choose to show it or fail to show it a lot of the time, they do love you.” 

“I know,” Buck says, nodding as he looks at Eddie. “It was just different in the dream. I thought it was what I wanted, that family, with Daniel. But - ” He takes a deep breath. “Everything else was just wrong. I knew I couldn’t stay there.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Eddie whispers. He doesn’t know to what extent he believes Buck had a conscious choice in coming back to them, in surviving. But either way he’s glad Buck made it back to them. To him. 

“I didn’t have you,” Buck says with a shrug, like he’s aiming for nonchalant but he’s missing by a mile. 

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that, by the way,” Eddie says in a manner that he hopes comes across as teasing, even though he knows there’s way too much truth in it. 

“No, but see, that’s the thing,” Buck says, his hand finding its way on top of Eddie’s on the table. “If nothing else, it wasn’t right because you weren’t there.” 

“Buck,” Eddie whispers, the warmth of Buck’s hand on his grounding him. 

“It could have been everything I wanted, and it still wouldn’t have been - ” Buck takes another deep breath. “Nothing’s right if you’re not in my life.” 

And Eddie knows how that feels, has spent days thinking about the possibility of Buck not making it out of his coma, of Buck not being in Eddie’s life anymore, and nothing about it was right. 

“I thought I lost you,” Eddie says under his breath, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Buck’s skin against his. “I tried to get your heart beating again, I watched you lie there on a ventilator thinking it was all over. I snuck my son into the ICU because I knew we needed to be together, even if just for one last time, and - ” When he looks up again, Buck’s looking straight at him with wet blue eyes. 

“I came back to you,” Buck says, their hands now a tangled mess of fingers clinging to each other. 

“Thank you,” Eddie whispers, leaning his forehead against Buck’s. He can feel stray tears making their way down his cheek but he just lets them flow. It’s Buck, and he doesn’t need to hide. 

They stay like that for a while, leaning into and holding onto each other. Eddie doesn’t need to know anything else about Buck’s dream if Buck is not volunteering to share. He knows all he needs to know. Buck made it back to him, and all is right with the world again. 

[tomatette]

Ooh, I'd love to know about the Loki fic!

Lol, that's a super old one. Basically, Loki wants to play a prank on Thor, but it backfires.

When Loki wakes up after blacking out, he finds himself in a world very everything is the same - but not. Because while things might look the same, people are most decidedly not. Or to be more exacty: They are the opposite of what they usually are. That makes Thor a pretty sadistic guy, who likes to slap Loki around for fun.

Doesn't sound pleasant? But the worst thing is that, when Loki looks into the mirror, he can see himself back in his "homeverse". And that Loki is the counterpart to Sadistic!Thor, and just really awful and unpleasant all around, and now unleashed onto Loki's "homeverse"

Anyway, it's just really very complicated, and I don't think I will ever write more on it. And because of that, I'll just slap it under the cut. It's un-betad, raw material, so don't expect all too much XD

When Loki woke up that morning, dark clouds were looming in the sky outside the window next to his bed, and the air smelled strongly of ozone. He threw off the covers and thought to himself: “What a perfect day to play a little prank on my beloved brother and his adoring little friends.”

For a midsummer day, the marble was surprisingly cold beneath his bare feet when he padded over to the bathroom adjoining his rooms. He barely noticed it, though. His mind was otherwise occupied.

What could he possibly do that would outshine every single of his past mischiefs? It had to be something that would reveal just how much of an unbearable fool Thor was, he pondered. Because, infuriatingly, nobody but Loki seemed to see. Least of all the Bootlickers Three and this uppity wench, Sif.

Thor never became tired of calling them their friends. And wasn’t that just the best proof of his idiocy? Because, clearly, even a blind man could see that Loki was merely a tolerated presence in their little sworn-in circle. Only there, because Thor insisted on dragging him along - usually without even bothering to ask for Loki’s consent, of course.

And, oh, how was he fed up with this whole wretched business. With their distrustful glances whenever they thought Thor couldn’t see. Not that Thor would see, even if they did it right under his nose. He was completely unheeding towards his friend’s faults - or his brother’s for that matter. Each snide comment meant to cut Loki was waved away with a good-natured laugh and a jovial slap on the shoulder. Loki, though, never forgot even a single of their slights against him. And it made him want to pay them back all the more.

But how? How?

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the washing basin, and after a moment a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Oh … Yes, of course.

Swiftly, he stormed back into his bedroom and opened the drawers of the intricately ornamented chest that held worthless baubles as well as some of his most valuable possessions. Things cluttered to the floor left and right, while he rummaged around the drawers, one after the other, without finding what he was looking for.

Until, finally, he did.

With a triumphant huff he unrolled the parchment and let his fingers trail over the ancient runes, faded from age, like a lover would caress their beloved’s skin. He had found it in a cobwebbed tome about the history of Seiðr. It had slipped out between the pages and come to lie right in front of Loki’s feet. And one glance had sufficed for him to realize that it was very old - and likely also very powerful.

Loki had spent long hours perched over the parchment in flickering candle light, trying to decipher the meaning of those runes that looked simultaneously exasperatingly familiar - and not. Eventually, he’d been pretty sure he had a relatively good grasp of what this spell was about - relatively meaning there were some details left he had not been able to translate and chose to interpret according to the information he possessed.

It had been a bit of a let-down, honestly. Apparently, all this spell could do, was alter reflections in specular surfaces, which wasn’t really all too thrilling. At the time he’d been so angry for having wasted precious time on something so utterly useless that he’d thrown the scroll into one of his drawers, intent to forget about it as quickly as possible

Now though …

He took the parchment, leaving behind the havoc he had created without sparing it a second glance, and went back to the bathroom. This spell was positively perfect for what he wanted to achieve. They would so regret ever having messed with him. 

Ever.

In front of the mirror, he smoothed his features into something a little less smug and more appropriate to the task he was about to perform. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let his mind reach for the strings of Seiðr running through his body. He channeled the energy, let it stream through his arms and his hands, until the magic poured out from his fingertips like clear water.

His lips started moving almost on their own accord, incanting the words in the foreign tongue of the Ancients. He felt the power like an electric current pulsing through his veins. It was a heady sensation, and for a moment he was almost surprised that a simple spell would provoke such a strong amplitude of his Seiðr.

Then, all of a sudden, the magic flow became a torrent, and Loki choked in surprise and pain. He was on fire. A cold blue fire that burned him from the inside out.

A scream tore free from his throat.

His vision went white.

Then, nothing.

*

When Loki came to, he was lying on the bathroom floor, his face pressed uncomfortably against the cold tiles. With a deep groan he rolled onto his back, the ceiling above him moving in and out of focus.

What in the nine had happened to him? His head was pounding just like that one time Thor had managed to coax him into having a brotherly night out in town. What his brother had conveniently forgotten to mention was that he had invited their friends to come along. After an agonizing hour of being squashed between the bulks of Thor and Volstagg and forced to listen to Fandral bragging about his latest amorous conquests, he just couldn’t take it any longer. He had ordered his first alcoholic beverage of the evening - and far from the last. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened after the sixth, except for waking the next morning feeling like something that should have rightfully been dead.

But he didn’t drink last night - or did he?

Anyway, the light was far too bright for the precarious state his head was in. All he wanted was to crawl under a rock and die. His only hope was that Thor and their friends were suffering in a similar fashion and …

He remembered so suddenly, it stole his breath away for a second; the spell, the dizziness, the pain. With a moan he pushed himself up into a sitting position and closed his eyes until the pounding between his temples slowly subsided. Eventually, he could think again, without feeling like it would break his brain.

“This had better be worth it,” he muttered through clenched teeth and picked himself up from the floor. Pain or no, he would go now to check on Thor and if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to make the effort to find his brother, because his brother found him before he could even so much as stumble from the bathroom.

“Loki,” he growled, and his face was positively murderous. With three steps he stood in front of Loki - towered really, even though he wasn’t that much taller - and put his left hand around the back of Loki’s neck. 

Now, that was a gesture Loki was painfully familiar with. Thor loved to just wrap his fingers around his nape and bring their faces close together. But this … was different. Never had Thor’s fingers dug quite so painfully into his vulnerable flesh, and the way his eyes flashed was almost … menacing.

Loki managed to break free from his brother’s hold and quickly danced back. “Thor,” he hissed. “What in the nine has gotten into you?” Glaring, he rubbed the tender spot on his neck where a bruise was almost guaranteed to bloom. “Damned brute!”

“I should’ve wrung your neck while I was at it,” Thor growled, the words but a low rumbles, his eyes flashing with something akin to madness. He stepped closer again, Loki backing away from him instinctively, until his back was hitting the wall. 

What was going on?

Thor was an asshole at times. He could be cruel and hurtful, but usually didn’t realize what he was doing. That was what made him so insufferable for Loki. The incapability to understand the consequences of his own actions.

This though … this was different.

Loki had never been scared of Thor. Had never had a reason to fear him, no matter what. But right here, right now, he could feel a tingle of unease creep up his spine. 

“Loki, you wretched little cunt. What did I tell you about touching my things?”

“What?” The word was out before Loki could stop it. He was just too flabbergasted. It wasn’t like Thor at all to speak to him - to anyone - like this. The big oaf was honorable to a fault. Even when he was really angry, he would probably be all shoves and bluster.

Not like this.

Never like this.

“Give it back, you thieving snake,” Thor growled, stepping even closer, until Loki could feel his brother’s hot breath on his face. “Or do you need another lesson in obedience?”

He resisted the urge to avert his eyes. It was never a good idea to show weakness in the face of a predator. And those were exactly the vibes Thor was giving off at the moment. A terrifying beast of a bear, vicious and bloodthirsty, waiting for the right opening to go in for the kill.

Loki schooled his features into an expression of indifference. “I have no idea what you are talking about”, he said. “I doubt very much that you possess anything I might need or desire.”

Obviously, it had not been the right thing to say, because Thor’s stare hardened even further, his eyes as cold and cutting as shards.

“Tonight,” Thor hissed. “I give you until tonight to return it to me - otherwise I will make you regret you were born.”

The fist to the stomach came as a surprise and knocked the breath out of Loki. He doubled over, gasping and wheezing. Tears of pain and humiliation sprang to his eyes, yet he managed to stay on his feet until he heard the door to his rooms fall shut with a resounding bang.

Then, and only then, he allowed himself to drop to his knees, clutching his abdomen and fighting back the bile threatening to climb up his throat.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

And he would have to find out what it was, because he had no doubt that his brother would otherwise make good of his words.

*

After this rather disturbing episode with Thor, Loki came to the decision it would be for the best to lock himself up in his rooms for the time being. He didn’t think that even the thick oak door could keep Thor from getting in if he really set his mind to it. But doing so would Loki at least give a fair warning and some time to prepare - for what, he had no idea.

The matter of the fact was, though, that his door didn’t have any locks. He stared at the exact point where he just knew the metal bolts used to be. But as much as he tried, he couldn’t even find the slightest hint of them ever having existed.

Now, that was decidedly weird.

With a frown he stepped back into the room and, for the first time since he woke up this morning, took a real look around.

The differences were small - a vial occupying a spot where it didn’t belong, the framed picture of Thor and himself as young boys that he kept on his nightstand for whatever reason, missing - but they were there. And now that he had noticed them, they were practically glaring in his face.

Shaking his head, Loki went back into the bathroom and tried to remember what exactly had happened before he lost his consciousness the night before. He closed his eyes and leaned heavily on the rim of the washing basin, letting his head hang between his shoulders..

The spell. Something must have gone wrong with it - but what? And how did it explain Thor’s strange behavior? The misplaced things?

He shook his head and opened his eyes to examine his face in the mirror - what exactly he was hoping to find there he didn’t know..

But all that was reflected back to him was the empty bathroom behind him.

Well, and his own face, obviously. 

His own face that looked back at him with a smug grin. Only, he wasn’t smiling.

“Loki? Are you done in there?”

He flinched violently at the sound of Thor’s voice. But something wasn’t quite right. It took Loki a moment to figure out what was disturbing him. And when he did, eventually, it didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

Because Thor’s voice seemed to come from the other side of the mirror.

His brows knitted together in confusion. The other Loki smiled.

“I will be with you in a minute, brother”, the reflection called over its shoulder and turned back to Loki. “He’s such a guileless idiot, isn’t he? So much nicer than my Thor - but the lovely bruises on your throat suggest that you already made his acquaintance.”

Loki stared at his reflection in disbelief. “What is this?” he whispered. “What are you?”Mirror-Loki clucked his tongue. “Aren’t you supposed to be the clever one? I am you. And you are me, I guess. Only that you are not. But it’ll be more fun to let you figure out the details yourself.”

[mammameesh]

Fanfiction Writers Bingo

Thank you @mallpretzles, @a-noble-dragon, @tyfinn, @lizzie-bennetdarcy , and @welcometololaland for the tags. I feel so much love <3

I do in fact have a Fanfiction account, and before there I have a livejournal account (most was scrubbed during Covid). I don't think I have a Wattpad account? I do in fact have an A03 and have had one for 10 years. I love writing (and reading) smut. I roleplayed here on tumblr 10 or so years ago and at that time met my comet. We've been long distance friends ever since.

I'm neurodivergent, so where I could probably flail over your WIP and tell you (maybe) what I loved about it, writing is actually hard. Editing is hard, and I'm still not sure the rules for Betaing or being betad? As such, all I do is publish un-betad fics. I am hopefully going to get through for upcoming Fic 5k fest. Also it would be cool to have one for Passions and Pastimes....just saying.

I think most of my fics are self indulgent. Maybe I'm not understanding this concept?

I love keysmashes so I do try to leave them when I cannot be coherent.

We should seriously be allowed to leave 2nd kudos, am I right? Typically I just type in 2nd Kudos during a read through.

I love fluff but I have started to read some angst and I do think angst has it's place too! I write both F/F and M/M though mostly M/M.

I write for Schitt's Creek, 911 OG, 911 Lone Star and Red White & Royal Blue currently HOWEVER I DID THE MATH IT'S LITERALLY RIGHT NOW 87% SC.

I only love researching if that means rewatching the shows are staring at the actors. I write a lot based on my own experiences, not based on research. I use research when I have to. It's necessary.

Probably for my next fic, I will actually write an outline....once I've learned how to write an outline.

Don't we all anxiously await feedback? Sometimes I have to you know go clean or something instead of waiting.

I'm totally counting the Rose I crocheted myself as commissioned fanart because it wouldn't exist without fanfiction.

So many WIPs my lovely mutals...so many!

Editing and formatting is hell and that's one of the reasons I feel like I'm running late this week.

I constantly get ideas in the middle of the night!

I don't drink alcohol, but I need my caffeine!

Again, I think we all have that one fic that lies on the bottom of your statistics page, that you just want to have more love! (actually despite it being my 'least popular' I'm proud of that one!)

I would like to be a professional writer someday. Maybe at least once.

Welcome to info dumping, mutuals.

Um @jesuisici33 or @apothecarose have you done this? Otherwise I think everyone else I know has?

[demonstars]

In response to the beta reader anon, I've worked with one for a while so here's just general advice and also the basic structure if an author/beta relationship

I recommend against googling a beta reader. Beta readers are actual things in the publishing world but are vastly different to what a fanfic beta reader does lmao

My friend once argued with me that my beta isn't a beta reader because of this, but fanfic betas serve a widely different purpose

The long and short of it as someone who's worked closely with a beta for years now is that each one works a little differently and you might want different things

Personally for me, my beta is very much my lifeline in that she does everything, my grammar, my flow, she pokes at the plot-holes and when I'm writing more serious things she advises me where to be more cautious with my wording etc

She also keeps an eye that I'm not being redundant, that my dialogue is smooth and not choppy, watches my formatting etc

You may only want spelling/grammar, you may only want to be checked on the cannonicity of your work. All of that falls under beta reading

The way we work is over gdocs, I send the link over and she pops herself into suggest mode so that I have final say over everything (even though I trust her so I spam accept lmao)

I really really recommend that cause one of the few occasions I've worked with another beta they just flat out edited and I'm sure their edits made sense and we're great (I posted it with their edits) it really stressed me out, even though I probably would've accepted all/most of the suggestions, it's for piece of mind lmao

If you're wondering how to best deliver things, I write one-shots (though we're in the process of experimenting with splitting the one-shots into chapters cause they're hitting 20k+ these days lmao) so I write it and then give her the whole thing

If you're doing chaptered work, I recommend writing a chapter and sending them over as you finish them

Again, all this changes depending on what you need as a writer and what your beta can do for you, and don't be afraid to shop around for betas. I got extremely lucky with mine and she's basically been my sole beta for two and a half years now, occasionally going to other people when I wrote her gift fics or if she was too busy or if the fic touched on certain subject matters

I found some people I really enjoyed having beta for me, other people just didn't give me what I wanted and that's absolutely ok. When working with a beta, just make sure they know what you want them to pay special attention too.

Sorry this was so long lmao, I just love my beta so much, I genuinely believe I wouldn't be the author I am without her so I'm very passionate about how betas work because if people want them, they can be so incredible

But they definitely aren't nessicary for a good fic, I've read amazing un-betad fics, it makes no difference on the quality for me as a reader, but as a writer I know she makes my fics just so much better

FOR ANON! thank you for your expertise

[armageddon-is-light-after-dark]

Fic writing

So, all my beta reader backed out and it's a real life happens kinda thing. I can't be mad at them, beta reading is service provided for free and you should always thank and be grateful to those who help you. Because they don't have to and it's nice of them to.

But sometimes I wish things were easier and I didn't have to trust others ability to find time to help.

TLDR I thinking about posting un-betad and I not sure this is a good idea thoughts internet and please be nice

[tytach]

Phantom of the Office - The Ghost-Shield

Danny's gaze was fixated on the break room's vending machine, a frown etched on his face. He had been standing there for a few minutes now, completely oblivious to Kevin, who was awkwardly waiting for his turn behind him.

After an up-tenth wriggle of his hands, Kevin stepped forward, leveling with Danny.

"What's going on?"

"I can't decide between chips and a chocolate bar." Danny extended his hands, weighing the pros and cons. "On the one hand, I'm craving sugar. But on the other, I've been wanting to eat chips since yesterday."

"Why don't you take both? That's what I would do," Kevin supplied, helpfully.

The temp turned to the accountant and looked him straight in the eye.

"You're a very clever man, Kevin Malone," Danny praised, his hand diving into his pocket in search for change.

— — —

"Danny is sooooooo cool!" Kevin fanned to the camera. "The other day, he came to the office without shoes, and he had only one sock on. Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?? Years."

Kevin smiled proudly.

"And the cool guy thinks I'm clever."

— — —

"Where were my shoes?" Danny repeated the question he was just asked, before shaking his head, his gaze avoiding the camera. "It’s a long story."

He looked up suddenly.

"Wait, did you just say that Kevin thinks I’m cool? Wow. I don’t know how I feel about that."

His face took on a genuinely confused expression.

"I really don’t."

— — —

Danny got up from the break room’s table, scrunching empty wrappers in his hands.

"Well, it was a pleasure talking with you, but I need to get back to work now."

He gestured a salute to Kevin and headed for the door, throwing his trash in the bin on the way.

However, Danny stopped right before crossing the threshold. He frowned, suspicion written all over his face. He studied the doorway and casually reached out a tentative hand, that he removed immediately with a hiss. He shook it as if he had been shocked by an invisible barrier.

"Are you alright?" Kevin asked, mouth half full of candy.

"Yeah…" Danny said slowly as he inspected his surroundings.

His eyes landed on something beyond the break room’s window.

"You know what? I think I still have a few minutes before my break is over." Danny articulated loudly as he slowly backed off to sit back at the table. "What were we talking about again?"

"My band Scrantonicity II! We’re playing on Friday night. Wanna come?"

"Er, sure."

On the other side of the window, poorly hiding behind interior plants, Dwight was observing Danny with a mischievous smile.

— — —

"This time I got him," Dwight gloated to the camera. "I bought the strongest ghost shield I could find and, last night, I waited until everyone went home and I installed it in the annexe. I calculated very precisely the radius of the ecto-repellant field so that it would start exactly at the door. After that, all I had to do was wait for Danny to take his break to activate it."

He crossed his arm triumphantly.

"It’s not as if he is actually stuck in the break room. He can always get out…" Dwight smiled victoriously, "by phasing through the other walls, thus proving to everyone that he is a ghost."

— — —

Dwight walked nonchalantly into the break room. He hovered next to the two men, who were deep in conversation, and had to harrumph a couple times before they finally turned their attention to him.

"Danny, Micheal would like to see you in his office."

"No he doesn’t," Danny assured him.

"Yes, he does," Dwight insisted. "He wants to see you now."

"Oh yes? What does he want to tell me about then?"

Dwight tried —and failed— to sound casual.

"Pfff, something about how crossbows are the superior weapons to hunt bears? I don’t know, I didn’t ask him."

Danny smirked.

"Yeaaaah, I think I’ll pass."

"Why don’t you want to go, Danny?" Dwight drawled, leaning over the table. "Does it have something to do with the door, maybe?"

"Why do you want me to go that bad, Dwight?"

"What’s wrong with the door?" Kevin interjected.

"It’s none of your business," Dwight brushed him aside.

Danny’s eyes widened.

"It was you!" He shouted, scandalized, pointing a dramatic finger at Dwight.

"Yes, it was me," the salesman bragged, before taunting him. "What are you gonna do about it, ghost? Come on, hurry up, Michael wants to see you."

Danny glared at him.

"Turn it off."

"Or what? Are you going to attack me with your ectoblasts? Or maybe you’ll haunt me till the end of my days? I’m not scared of you."

"What’s going on?" Kevin asked, completely lost.

Creed chose this moment to walk into the room, effectively interrupting the staring contest between the two men.

"Danny? Micheal wants to see you."

Danny blinked.

"Wait, that was real?"

———

"Dwight paid me five dollars to say that," Creed informed the camera, lifting up the bill he earned.

———

"Fine," Danny finally relented.

He walked by Dwight, giving him a tap in the back.

"Talk to you later, Dwight."

With that he exited the room through the door, unbothered. As if no shield were blocking his way.

Dwight’s jaw went slack.

"But that’s impossible…" he muttered.

— — —

When he went to check on the ghost-shield generator, he couldn’t deny that engine was still on.

A head appeared above the cubicle.

"Please, turn that off, Dwight. The sound is bothering us."

"Shut up, Toby."

———

"Guys, please tell me you recorded his face, I need to see this," Danny hiccuped.

"But the thing was legit though," he said once his laughter died down. "I grew up around ghost-shields —I know one when I see one, you know? That’s what gave me the idea. You didn’t really think it would work on me, right? I mean, come on. I’m human. Not half-ghost, or whatever he thinks I am.

"If I were half-ghost, it would require an even stronger shield than that, because the level of ectoplasm in my blood wouldn’t be as concentrated in my human form. Not that I would know about that. And not that such a shield does actually exist. Because ecto-scientists don’t know about half-ghosts. And also because half-ghost aren’t real.

"Yeah, I think I’ll shut up, now."