#fic or treat 2023

[reinvent-and-believe]

7 for Roy x Jamie. Also, I adore your writing! ❤

7. love at first sight

--

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Georgie says, looking at the pair of them from across the dinner table with a crooked little grin that means trouble, a grin Roy’s intimately acquainted with on a slightly different face. “Love at first sight, weren’t it?”

“Mummy.” Jamie is the palest Roy’s ever seen. “Do not.”

“Don’t be rude to your mum,” Roy scolds, his full attention fixed on that familiar grin. He rests his arms on the table and leans in. “What were you saying, Georgie?”

“Well look at you, coming to my defense,” she teases. “Can you believe it, my Jamie ending up with such a gentleman?”

“It’s lovely to see,” says Simon, setting a tray of fresh cookies down on the table and giving Roy a genuine little smile.

Roy doesn’t know much about Simon; Jamie’s not talked about their history, other than to hint that a teenage Jamie Tartt was as much of a fucking terror as one might imagine and Simon was a prime target. But Roy likes him. Likes how he looks at Georgie like she hung the fucking moon. Likes how easily his love extends to Jamie.

“Mummy.” Jamie’s blushing now, a deep, fast-spreading red. It strikes Roy, not for the first time, that Jamie’s fucking gorgeous when he blushes. 

“Love at first sight? Is that what you said?” Roy asks.

Jamie elbows him. “You ain’t helping.”

Fuck football, this is Roy’s favorite game now. “Who says I’m trying to?”

“Right then.” Georgie winks at Roy as Jamie rubs his forehead. “It must have been, what? 2006? When did you move to Chelsea, Roy?”

“2005."

“2005.” She nods. “Chelsea were here playing City, so of course we had it on telly. And all the announcers could talk about the whole game was the new hot player at Chelsea, making quite a name for himself after only a few games. So of course the camera cut to him over and over, I swear half the game was a closeup on Roy Kent.”

“Mummy, you have got to stop,” Jamie groans.

“This one,” she reaches across the table and pats Jamie’s hand, even as he scowls, “was all of eight years old. You might be a gentleman, Roy Kent, but you’re also a bit of a cradle robber, aren’t you?”

It’s Roy’s turn to freeze. “Right.”

“I’m 25 years old, Mum, I’m fucking grown,” Jamie huffs in an exasperated voice that sounds suddenly 15.

“Of course you are, love.” Her smile loses its bite, fond and soft. “I think you’re lovely together and I’m thrilled for you two, swear down. But I am gonna give this one shit about the fact that he and I would have been in school at the same time and you were eight when he got his big break.”

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says as Roy says, “Fair enough.”

“So Jamie was just a tiny thing, sat in front of the telly as close as he could get, eyes wide. After the first half, he stood up and looked at me with that little look he gets. You know the one. When he’s made his mind up about something and you’ll be wasting your breath if you try and stop him.”

“I know the one.” Roy puts a hand on Jamie’s knee and squeezes gently.

“He turned to me and said”—she pauses for dramatic effect before starting the recitation—“‘when I grow up, I’m gonna be a pretty footballer like Roy Kent.’”

Jamie buries his head in the curve of Roy’s neck. “This is not a cute story,” he insists.

“Keep telling yourself that, love,” Georgie coos sympathetically. “And so began the Roy Kent years. What does he ask for for his birthday? A Roy Kent poster. What do we have to get when we check out at the shop? That magazine with Roy Kent on the cover. What’s he want for Christmas? A Chelsea kit, for Christ’ sake.”

“Now, Georgie, you’ll embarrass him,” Simon chides mildly.

“Yeah, that ship has fucking sailed, man,” Jamie pouts. “When Roy leaves me because he thinks I’m a fucking stalker, it’s gonna be all your fault, Mummy, is that something you want to live with?”

Georgie shakes her head, laughing. “Roy, you’re not allowed to leave Jamie over my cute story. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, sitting back and looking at her son with a love so palpable it makes Roy ache, “it’s not like this is exactly a surprise. If anyone knows how to go after what they want, it’s my Jamie.”

It’s fucking weird, hearing about little Jamie’s crush, but it's not like he didn't know most of it, and it's not like they’ve ever really had the most normal of relationships; Roy accepted that pretty early on. He puts an arm around Jamie, smiling when he immediately curls into Roy. “Well, I think you set your sights too low,” he says with a gentle brush of the lips against Jamie’s temple. “You turned out to be a way prettier footballer than Roy Kent.”

“Uh, yeah, obviously,” Jamie scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches towards a grin as he pulls Roy into a kiss.

[reinvent-and-believe]

not true if you’re still taking trick or treat requests, but i love your fics too much not to try!!

royjamie, 71!

hello! have some violent pre-canon sexual tension 😅

71. adrenaline

--

Here it is.

Roy’s got him cornered, back against the wall after a particularly vile insult about Richmond, because Jamie Tartt is above being a fucking team player. They’re close, they always end up so fucking close when it’s like this, and maybe this is it, maybe now they finally duke it out proper-like. Jamie looks like he can’t wait, practically shaking with adrenaline, anticipation.

For all his barely suppressed rage and borderline violent tendencies, Roy’s never been much of a brawler. An aggressive headbutt here or there, sure, that’s practically part of the game. But he doesn’t go around getting into fistfights; he’s got plenty of vices, but that’s not one. He’s Richmond’s captain, for fuck’s sake, he’s not going to be the one to throw the first punch at one of his players, matter how much that shit deserves it. If Jamie starts it, though…

Even with the constant threat of violence bubbling between them, it’s surreal to imagine the physical reality of it, how it will feel when Jamie finally takes that swing. How Roy’s fist might feel colliding with the meat of Jamie’s impressive jaw, how Jamie’s fist might feel in his stomach. Jamie’s not particularly sportsmanlike, that’s for fucking sure, Roy’s seen it over and over since the brat’s loan started three months ago. He imagines Jamie looking for every weakness, slapping, scratching, pulling his hair as they grapple together, breathing the same air.

Jamie grabs him by the collar and here it is, this is where they’ve been headed since that arrogant, childish cunt showed up at Nelson Road with his inflated ego and easy sneer. Roy braces himself for the blow, relieved that it’s Jamie who’ll finally start this, Jamie who’ll give into the violence so Roy need only respond.

Jamie crashes into him, kissing him hard, his fist balled in Roy’s shirt.

Roy freezes against him for a split second before he’s pressing Jamie back harder against the wall, crowding him, close, unbearably close, like he wants to fucking devour him. Rage and arousal and relief flood through him. Jamie struck first, Roy tells himself as he brings a rough hand to the back of Jamie’s neck, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Roy’s just responding.

Jamie shoves him back, pushing away from the wall and fixing Roy with a heated, filthy smirk. “You got off easy this time, granddad,” he says, winking at Roy and blowing him a kiss as he saunters past him to his car.

Roy leans back against the wall and watches him leave.

Fuck.

[reinvent-and-believe]

Trick or Treat!!!

2 Geralt x Regis

2. ghost

ooooh, you picked one of the halloween-themed prompts! this is situated somewhere vaguely post-books/pre-blood and wine. happy halloween! 👻

—

Wraiths exist. Geralt’s dispensed with enough of them to know that better than most. Noonwraiths and nightwraiths and dozens of other spectral incarnations, all miserable, pitiable, dangerous creatures.

But ghosts? The essence of a person’s spirit, not broken and distorted beyond recognition but simply lingering, clinging to loved ones or providing comfort, signs, communication from beyond the grave? No. Those ghosts exist in only Dandelion’s songs, pretty tales to disguise ugly truth.

No, Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts. But the autumn breeze in Metinna carries wormwood and sage and coriander and anise as it smooths over his skin like a caress, blows through his hair, surrounds him and fills his lungs.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but wandering the streets of Oxenfurt, he hears a wry, pedantic voice in the distance lecturing about ethics and philosophy and history and the properties of wolfsbane. There’s no end to pompous men with wry, pedantic voices in Oxenfurt, but no matter how long he looks, he never finds that voice.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he takes a bite of soup at an inn in Kaedwen, and tastes silver bream and celery and onion, and he closes his eyes, lets the warmth from the soup heat every bit of him except the longing trapped beneath his ribs.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but as he’s drifting to sleep in front of a small fire in a forest clearing not far from the Chotla, he feels a gentle pressure like a lover’s hand against his chest, then cold, careful fingers brushing his hair out of his face. When he opens his eyes, he’s alone. He closes them again, hoping against hope to feel it again.

He doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he sees Regis out of the corner of his eye in Metinna, in Oxenfurt, in Kaedwen, near the Chotla. Glimpses him in crowds and alone in the woods, a league away and just beside him, just a fleeting flash of grey hair and sharp black eyes.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he feels him, nonetheless.

[reinvent-and-believe]

🎃 Trick or Treat: Fanfic Edition! 👻

So it’s been five million years since I’ve done anything like this, but I’m sick and alone in a hotel the weekend before Halloween so what the hell.

In the spirit of the season, I propose a Trick or Treat fanfic game. I’ve gathered a list of 100 prompts: some are fandom tropes, some are smutty, some are angst, some are dialogue or scenario prompts. Send me an ask with a ship and a number from 1-100, and I will write you a mini-fic/vignette/drabble based on that pairing with the prompt that corresponds to the number you send.

Just like when trick or treating, you may end up with a delicious treat that’s exactly what you were hoping for (like Milk Duds! Or those weird waxy vanilla Tootsie Rolls that shouldn’t be good but somehow are delicious!) or you might end up with something that’s not to your taste (does anyone actually like Dots?). It’s all part of the fun! We’re letting the fates decide.

Details

Send in a ship and number 1-100. Your ship can be more than two characters if you like and doesn’t have to be romantic. No ships are off limits, necessarily, but I do reserve the right not to write one if I’m not feeling it.

Right now I’m going to cap it at the first 5 and see how that goes, but please send yours anyway, I’ll do more if the spirit moves me.

As mentioned, some will be NSFW. Everything will be tagged.

Ted Lasso is the hyperfixation at the moment so that’s my preference of fandom, but I’m also open to writing for The Witcher and any other fandom you’ve seen me post about.

Anyway, I hope you play along! My goal is to get these written by Halloween. ☺️