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verspia · 5 months ago

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Hi!! I would like to request a Kenan × jealous reader. The story can be however you like with whatever genre as long as they have a happy ending <333

THE BOY IS MINE • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

i’m so sorry i’ve been pretty inactive recently but college has been rlly busy atm! i’ll get to all your requests and write them as soon as i can!

this is literally the perfect request because i’ve been listening to the boy is mine nonstop and it fits the vibe yk?

If there’s one thing about you that’s commonly broadcast, it’s that you are the jealous type. Not jealous in the sense that you envy what others have, but rather it drives you up the wall when something that is yours is toyed with by another person.

The more accurate term would be possessive, and there’s no denying that you tend to get… territorial when it comes to Kenan.

Truly you can’t be faulted for your avaricious behaviour because Kenan is the sort of individual that can’t help but draw everyone’s eyes to him, and along with it, the desire of a plethora of girls.

It fuels you with an ugly sort of pride that you have what other girls can only dream off, a sharp glint of emotion that is slightly cruel and substantially domineering.

Another part of you feels enraged at the thought of anyone else besides you thinking of Kenan in ways that only you, in your opinion, should be capable of.

It’s not that you aren’t secure in your relationship, rather Kenan makes you feel as if you’re the only girl in the world. He goes out of his way to make you feel special, cherished even, and there’s more than enough clarity that proves, to Kenan, you are the only girl in the universe.

He always has you on his mind, in interviews he manages to mention you in some way or another, and even his celebrations are often dedicated to you. His online persona itself shows this, with you being the only girl in his following, and him being the first to comment and like your posts. Although you two aren’t very public, he has managed to get the point across that he’s yours, and some even say that he seems to orbit around you.

Nonetheless, there are consequences that happen when you’re in a relationship with a famous footballer who’s not only massively talented but also incredibly handsome.

This means that more often than not, some girl will be deluded enough to think she can rub her grubby hands on your boyfriend and blink her abnormally large eyelashes at him and have him wrapped around her nasty little finger.

You’re being harsh, but the green monster inside of you called envy is vicious, and well, Kenan is yours.

You watch with thinly veiled rage as the supposed interviewer brushes Kenan’s arms for the umpteenth time, giggling as she shuffles closer to him, and the next action makes your blood boil, pressing herself on to him.

It’s clear to anyone, in fact even a blind man would be able to tell that your boyfriend is uncomfortable. Kenan’s face is contorted into a permanent grimace that this interviewer seems oblivious to, and from where you’re seated, you can tell that even the camera man has grown to notice the awkwardness that permeates him.

Yet no one does anything, and you feel yourself begin to frown, you can’t help but think, “Is this not workplace harassment?”

Her movements carry a subtle confidence that makes you scoff, but it is evident that she’s clearly unbothered by the lackluster response from Kenan, and seems to show no intention of backing off despite the younger man’s obvious discomfort.

You remain seated, even though you desperately want to run up across the field and rip that interviewer into shreds.

You don’t want to cause a scene, but your patience snaps when she brushes away a strand of hair on Kenan’s face, who’s grimace has now turned into a scowl. Her gaze on him is predatory and you know if it was directed at you from a man, it would make you shiver in disgust.

You stand up, marching down the bleachers and across the freshly cut grass with determination, having had enough of this absurd behaviour.

As you make your way to them, the interviewer makes eye contact with you and you notice a glimmer of smugness flash behind her eyes, but underneath it, her expression bubbles with an annoyance that infuriates you.

Her intentions are clearly anything but innocent but the smile she flashes your way seems to mimic it with expertise. It’s so evidently fake, the sweetness on her face is overpowering and a far cry from the sultry tone she’s had the entirety of this interview, from what you’ve observed.

You have never felt more inclined to slap a person than now, but you keep yourself in check, if this girls wants to get bitchy? Well, you’ll show her bitchy.

Kenan’s expression, on the other hand, brightens at your presence, but his eyes widen a little when he spots the aggression behind in your eyes. The smile on your face is as ingenuine as it gets but before he can say anything to appease you the interviewer opens her mouth.

“Hey… We were just talking about you.” Her voice floats out and it drips with sugar, in a way that makes you want to vomit, your ears cringe as if you’re hearing nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh were you now?”

“Yeah I was just telling Kenan how nice it must be to have a girlfriend who doesn’t seem to care about what the public thinks!”

The backhanded compliment is abrupt and strange, and you’re confused, is that really the best she could come up with?

You almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

One moment this girl is boldly rubbing herself on your boyfriend and the best she can say to you is this?

You’re about to retaliate with a response but then smirk as an idea crosses your mind.

You don’t leave Kenan even a moment to blink or process the situation, even the interviewer and the Camera Man are stunned, as well as the millions of viewers watching the live stream.

Your hand reaches out to grab the collar of Kenan’s jersey, your actions reckless and abrupt, as you grab him closer and pull his head down to yours.

A gasp escapes his mouth as he stumbles a little, surprised and taken aback at your actions, but responds in kind when your lips meet his.

Kenan’s reaction makes it seem like he forgets the events that lead to this moment entirely, melting into you as you cradle his head.

It seems as if you two are lost in another world, just the two of you as everything around begins to blur. You press closer to Kenan, softly kissing him as he responds to your actions just as gently, both of you exhibiting emotion that spells love.

You move your mouth against his, trying to show your adoration to the man in front of you, forgetting the purpose of your actions in the first place as you feel his arms wrap around you.

You begin to lose yourself in his touch, his kisses have your mind feeling hazy and stars cloud your eyes as you sigh into the kiss.

Your whole form begins to turn into puddle, and your mind only seems to echo the singular thought that crosses your mind primary when he’s touching you.

Kenan. Kenan. Kenan. Kenan. Kenan. Kenan.

Like a mantra.

All you can focus on his touch, his hands, his lips, only him.

The same effect seems to reflect on him, as Kenan seems equally as dazed, kissing you fervently like a starved man, as if you’re the first drop of water in an isolated desert.

Kenan drinks you up eagerly, holding you tightly.

You only break apart at the purposeful cough from the interviewer, and you realise where you are.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself and remember what your original motives were, and then a smirk graces your swollen lips.

“Is that right Kenan? Your girlfriend doesn’t care about the public eye” Your voice is smug and sarcastic, filled with pride and the interviewer seems embarrassed, put off by your very public display of affection and the clear response to her supposed insult.

It’s comical to see the snobbish expression on her face be replaced by a look of mortification.

“Huh” is the only reply he offers, and you can only smile at the boy who still seems to be processing the aftermath of your very steamy kiss.

His cheeks are flushed red and his hair is tousled. The look on his face extinguishes all your previous agitation at the moment the interviewer had touched it.

You beam at him, and it’s more than clear to perhaps the whole world now that Kenan is yours, and only you can make him feel and look like this.

You turn back to the interviewer, “Oh! I must’ve gotten distracted, I just came here to say… wait! what’s your name? oh nevermind, I just wanted to say I admire your confidence, walking around like that! Now is the interview done? I’d like to… speak to my boyfriend about something private.”

The interviewer looks even more flustered than you’d have thought possible, and if you were a nicer person, you’d have felt the tiniest bit of sympathy, or atleast pity, for her, but all you feel is a surge of self satisfaction as you watch her mutter something about wrapping up and squaddle away from the two of you.

Once she’s finally disappeared from your sight, you turn to Kenan, who still seems a little astonished, and you can’t help the fondness in your eyes as you run your eyes over him.

He catches the look and his cheeks grow warmer, but he reaches out to cradle your hand, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Confusion rises in your eyes as you look at him, “Me? I should be asking you that, someone from a mile away could tell how uncomfortable she made you.”

Kenan shook his head, “Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself, I’m a big boy you know” His voice is teasing and you chuckle at him.

“Seriously though, she just wouldn’t take a hint and I didn’t want to be impolite.”

You shake your head at him, tugging his hand a little as the both of you begin to walk out, “I could tell, but I guess we gave her a little show”

Kenan smiled at you, pulling you close as one of his arms comes to rest at your waist.

“Oh you gave her a show alright,” He whispers affectionately, “But i’m glad you did, I don’t mind letting the world know i’m yours.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, your heart flutters wildly in your chest and it’s insane how despite being together for so long, Kenan still has this effect on you.

“Mhm I don’t mind either” Your voice takes on a coquettish edge, as you lean over, your face only inches away from his.

Kenan’s hands wrap around your hips as he grins at you.

“Trust me I know.”

“I should just post a picture of you and I and caption it the boy is mine.”

liked by kenanyildiz_official and others

ynusername - the boy is mine.

comments

kenanyildiz_official - only yours 🤍

user09 - that kiss on live television wasn’t enough girl

↪️ user86 - nah she’s letting yall know that’s HER man

user12 - nah tbf i would’ve done the same if my bf looked like that

user3 - yooo we get it bro

user96 - the second slide??? bro calm down ain’t nobody gonna take her from you

user916 - plss you ended that interviewer with the “what’s your name”

↪️ user1 - lmaooo i would never show my face again

↪️ user123 - i just know she’s crying seeing this post

user - WHATS 4 + 4

user22 - damn.

user0 - yall need a third? pls pls pls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

fin.

#fanfic #kenan yildiz x reader #football #kenan yildiz #football wags #juventus #kenan yıldız #kenan #random #smau #jealousy #turkiye #football fanfic #romantic #possesive love #possessive #fake story #fiction #fic rec

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shae-pine · 9 months ago

Text

I Explain the Context for the songs in The Outsiders Musical

Spoilers for the Musical under cut! I was lucky enough to see the show in person so now that the album is out I decided to provide context for the songs so people listening to the album can know where in the story each one takes place/what is happening on stage during. Also some fun tidbits sprinkled in because this show is really so amazing I can not praise it enough.

Tulsa '67:

The self-explained exposition song. We get the intro being the first line of the book and then we get the song as out introductions to the characters. One thing that is interesting is that there's a projector screen on stage and for this song Pony sits in front of the screen and speaks to the audience while the other characters are behind the screen. Acting out little scenes to show their personality while Ponyboy narrates and at the end of the song the screen lifts up to show a clear view of the stage. It's also right before Ponyboy gets jumped.

Grease Got a Hold:

Right after Ponyboy gets jumped. Like the song says in this version of the story a greaser isn't just something you are born into it's something you "earn" by being beaten down on by the socs. It shows the differences in each character most notably Darry and Dally because Darry hates the idea of Pony being stuck as a greaser, presumably because he wants more for his little brother, while Dally sees being a Greaser as something to be proud of. Presumably the first time Ponyboy gets to grease his hair (this song was also performed on the Today show and I highly recommend looking up the performance it's so good, it should be available on the today show website along with the other songs performed that day)

Runs in the Family:

Darry gets a song! After the previous song we cut to Darry in the Curtis home reflecting on where he was going in life versus where he ended up. In the musical the fact that Darry would be a soc without the gang is played up a lot more. The emphasize Darry's friendship with Paul and their history seems to go a lot deeper than just football buddies. Paul mentions gifting Darry a madras shirt and Darry being over at his house. The rest of the gang piles in at the end of the song.

Great Expectations:

The titular 'I want' song in any musical. The night after getting jumped Ponyboy tells Soda about reading great expectations and after Soda bids him goodnight he starts singing. When he mentions Darry and Johnny the actors come on stage. And at the end of the song the chorus of overlapping voices is the whole gang on the outskirts of the stage looking down/at Pony while Ponyboy sings out to the audience. (This song was also performed on the Today show)

Friday at the Drive-In:

The Soc introduction song. I think an important thing to note is that while the greasers dancing is far more rough and tumble. Jumping around and over each other, spinning and getting out nervous energy. The socs are far more reserved in their movements. They are still dancing around with spins and flips but this scene features a lot of partner dancing that's more self contained than the greasers who jump all around the stage.

I Could Talk To You All Night:

After Johnny tells Dally off/Dally leaves. Ponyboy and Cherry go to the concessions stand together. While in line Ponyboy tells her about Johnny getting jumped to which Cherry tries to defend Bob as Ponyboy already knows it was her boyfriend who beat Johnny up. Her defending him is half hearted though when Pony insists Johnny didn't do anything, he mentions reading Great Expectations to her and she tells him how Pip gets a happy ending before they start this song. It carries the story forward up until the end of the movie/the scene where they try to walk the girls home only for Bob and the socs to stop him. Also, in the musical Cherry does not go with Bob and instead breaks up with him right then and there because she's tired of all the fighting.

Runs in the Family(Reprise):

Ponyboy and Johnny make it to the Curtis house and instead of falling asleep at the lot it's stated that Ponyboy just spent so long talking to Cherry that that was why he was late for curfew. He acts nonchalant about it and Darry bursts into the reprise. There's also a scene here where Darry goes to advance on Johnny only for Soda to step between him(I think this was meant to be a moment where Darry is just lashing out because he's under a lot of stress as a guardian and Johnny is there but it hurts my heart a little to think Johnny was scared in that moment as he backs up and ducks away before Soda steps in front of him) And after the slap Ponyboy freezes until Johnny runs over and tells him they gotta get out of there.

Far Away From Tulsa:

After getting hit is when the two wind up at the park. Their conversation in the book about a life outside of Tulsa is now taking place after Darry has hit Ponyboy which makes his desire to find a place without worries all the more real. Johnny and Pony have this beautiful moment on stage together where they look out to the audience together and imagine a life where they can do and be whoever they want. Which makes it hurt all the more that right after they sing all their desires for a better life is when Bob and the rest of the socs show up.

Run Run Brother:

The two make it to Buck's after the stabbing of Bob where they ask for Dally. It's worth mentioning that Dally straight up mentions his willingness to die for Pony and Johnny, and that he thinks of the two of them as brothers, though I can not remember if this happens here or after 'Grease Got A Hold'. After the first bit of the song the scene shifts from Buck's to Pony and Johnny running to the train/hiding from the workers as they make their way to Windrixville. There's also a line in the beginning when Pony says 'when I came to there was Johnny with his knife' this is important and I'll explain in 'Little Brother.' I also really like the detail of before, during 'Grease Got a Hold', 'you're a greaser now and you ain't going back' was said as a proud statement and now when the chorus sings it it sounds sad and almost like a death sentence.

Justice for Tulsa:

We cut back to Tulsa after the boys escape. The cops line up the socs on the stage as they call for justice now that one of their own has been murdered. When Cherry speaks she is doing it at the vigil the soc's are holding for Bob before Randy approaches her. He's organizing a hunting party against the greasers. It's worth mentioning that when Cherry speaks against him Marcia tries to go to her side only for the other soc girl in the show(Bev) to hold her back. Cherry leaves alone and once she's gone Marcia pick up a flashlight, which serves as the symbol for the socs hunting down the greasers with no mercy during this scene. Where in the book Dally mentions Two-Bit getting jumped during this song we see it happen. The socs jump him and Bev holds a lit cigarette to his cheek while the guys hold him down(in the live version of this song we hear Two-Bit's scream) It's worth mentioning that Randy does not get a redemption in this version, in fact, outside of Cherry the socs are pretty much painted at the bad guys with her as the one exception. Even though we get Randy's emotions with 'this can't be real, he can't be gone' rather than feeling sadness over his friend's death for too long Randy switches to anger. Cherry's role as such has been adapted to be a mix of her and Randy from the book in terms of story beats.

Death's At My Door:

The boy's are in the church, as far as I can recall this was after they cut their hair and I believe it was meant to be implied that a day or two has passed since Bob's death. Though if this is before or after Pony read the poem I no longer remember. The two boys are relying on each other in this scene as they reflect on how nothing is gonna be the same again what with their ability to go home taken away unless they want Johnny to be thrown in jail. Something I forgot to mention before is that Pony blames himself for his parents death. In the musical he say that on Darry's birthday he was supposed to pick up a special frosting for his brother's cake from a bakery his mother liked. But because he forgot his parents had to go out of their way to go and get it and thus were hit by the train because they had to go over the tracks. He tells Cherry before 'I Could Talk To You For Hours' that if he had just remembered his parents would still be alive. Which is why in this song he claims death follows him because he believes his parent's would still be alive if he had remembered to pick up the frosting, and that Bob would still be alive if he hadn't run out of the house/if Johnny didn't need to protect him.

Throwing in the Towel:

We cut back to Darry and Soda after the boys have been missing for a few days. Darry finally breaks down to Soda all the pressure he's under and how he feels like his brother's would be better off without him. He admits how much he thinks this is all his fault for being too hard on Pony and causing him to storm off after hitting him. During this scene while Soda and Darry are singing Ponyboy can be seen at the back on the stage watching them, and during the last chorus of the song 'this it the darkest hour of the darkest night' his voice joins his brothers. (This song was also performed on the Today Show and you should go watch it)

Soda's Letter:

Back in the church now right after Dally gets there after greeting Pony and Johnny he hands over the letter for Pony to read. Ponyboy reads it at the front of the stage while Soda's actor sing behind him/looking at him. Pretty much unchanged in terms of what Soda's letter gives to the story/when it given/read. The final "Ponyboy this house ain't a home without you" is sung by Darry who makes his way onto stage when Soda mentions him in the letter and we see him behind Ponyboy all but begging his brother to come home in this song.

Hoods Turned Heroes:

This is the fire song. We see Pony, Dally and Johnny in the church, I saw Pony light the cigarette and toss it behind him. I saw the flames go up and a terrified Ponyboy going "it's my fault" and then we cut to Two-Bit, grabbing the paper and beginning this song. We see a somewhat split stage in terms of spacing, the greasers back in Tulsa on one side, passing the newspaper between them as they read it, and we see Pony and Johnny in the middle saving the kids from the church. The scene is actually so creatively done and I adore it, outside of the fire they have two actors hold up a blanket and use shadows to show Pony and Johnny pulling kids from the fire since there are no child actors in this production. Interlaced with the puppetry of the saving kids we see Johnny and Pony sliding out from under the blanket and jump around beams that are held up by other actors while the paper is being read. All ending with Dally going in after Johnny. The scene changes to Dally holding Johnny, who's been changed into a hospital gown, and Dally gently lays him on the hospital bed when the song ends.

Hopeless War:

Before the rumble Pony does not leave the hospital. He stays there watching Johnny until Cherry comes in. She looks at Johnny, asking after his health, before turning to Pony and begging him not to fight. But if you recall earlier, as far as the musical is concerned the fire was set by Ponyboy's cigarette(sidenote: I think it'd be cool if every night they rotated who lights the cigarette and throws it and just switch Pony's line from "it's my fault" to "it's our fault" but I only saw the show once so I assume it's the same every time for who lights the fire even though it the book and movie we don't know for sure) So Pony can't listen to Cherry, even though in this scene she's taking the place of Pony's discussion with Randy in the book about the fight not making areal difference, because he sees this as his only chance to try and do something for Johnny since he can't do much else but watch over him in the hospital.

Trouble:

We cut to directly after Pony's discussion with Cherry. The greasers have their war cry of trouble brewing as everyone prepares for the rumble. While Ponyboy gets ready Darry comes up and begs him not to fight. If you recall during "Grease Got a Hold" Darry says how Pony "better know what you're fighting for" But he still doesn't want his brother to have to fight. But by this point Pony had his reason for fighting and he's the one to rally the gang with the call of "Do it for Johnny!" right before the socs roll up. Dally does say “do it for Johnny” at the beginning of the song but it’s Ponyboy who uses it as a war cry. Dally also has a moment where he calls out Darry for being on the greasers side when he was so against being a greaser before, but Darry looks at him and says confidently "once a greaser always a greaser". Paul has a moment with Darry where he calls him out for wanting to be a soc but Darry shuts him right down and the rumble is on.

Little Brother:

Right after the rumble the entire gang heads over to see Johnny, yes, the entire gang. Not just Pony and Dally everyone gathers around him and tells him about beating the socs. They watch as Johnny tells Pony to stay gold and they all break down when he passes, Dally runs out before anyone can stop him. He makes it to the top of the stage, and he begins his song. breaking down the boards around him in a show of anger and violence while the ensemble sings below him looking up. He says tearfully "I could not save you" remember during 'Run run brother' where I said the knife would be brought up later? It's because Dally was the one to give him the switchblade. Before the socs get their number Dally comes across Johnny staying in the lot while his parents are fighting. He tells Dally how he's been uncertain since he was jumped to be out alone. So Dally reaches into his jacket, pulls out the blade, and gives it to him(that one promo pic) and Dally tells him that "if you're gonna use it, use it" and I believe he says something along the lines of "because if you do there's no going back" Dally gave Johnny that knife to try and protect him, but all it did was sign his death warrant. It protected him from Bob but not from anything else, not from the fire. And when Dally said he would die for Pony and Johnny he meant it. He sings and is joined by the cast who echo him "little brother" but he stands alone at the top of the stage. He makes his way down to the bottom portion of the stage, stepping onto the train tracks(in my mind it's the same spot where the Curtis' parents crashed) planting his feet and squaring his shoulders before the song ends, and the train comes. According to Ponyboy his body derailed the train, and Pony likes to believe that despite that, some part of Dallas Winston managed to make it's way back to New York. (Playbill released Joshua Boone singing this song and it's so heartbreaking because there is no ensemble in that version so you have to sit with the harsh melody when Dally makes his choice to face the train head on)

Stay Gold:

After Dally's death we head back to the Curtis house. We don't get a time frame but going off the book it's been a week or two since they've both died. Cherry comes by with Johnny's things from the hospital, she mentions she volunteers there now, and gives Pony Johnny's letter for him. Pony refuses to read it but after Soda has his break down about "we're all we got left" he grabs Johnny's letter and starts to read it for Pony. Getting a line or two in before Pony asks for it, starts to read it himself, and the song begins. Johnny Cade joins us back on stage as he sings to Pony his hope for the world he has to leave behind. And of course, that request to stay gold.

Finale (Tulsa '67):

After reading Johnny's letter Ponyboy begins to write his theme. He finishes a page or two before joining his brothers at the table, he tells them what he writing about and Soda tells him to read it. Pony says it's only a few pages but Darry speaks up, "Can I read it?" he asks. And Pony hands it over, it isn't Ponyboy reading that intro again, but Darry, determined to do better by his brother and reading his work. He and Soda pass the theme to each other, taking turns reading sections aloud while Pony sings. Sings about Tulsa and the gang, of Dally who saw being a greaser as a badge of honor, of Johnny who wanted more for himself and more for Ponyboy who vows that "in his memory I'll stay gold!" The entire cast comes onto the stage as they sing, no longer to each other but to the audience, "stay gold!" It is something that has stuck with me and will stick with me to know that those final lines were no longer characters talking to each other, but talking to the audience right as the show comes to an end.

Anyways this got way longer then I thought but if you want me to ramble more about the show literally just ask I can not stop thinking about it. Might make another post about the differences between the musical and the book.

#the outsiders musical #the outsiders #the outsiders musical spoilers #outsiders musical spoilers #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle #two bit mathews #dallas winston #johnny cade #ace the greaser

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nameless-jamie · 19 days ago

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TARTT'S CORNER - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Episode One: The Golden Boy

Y/N was pacing her apartment, her socks barely making a sound on the hardwood floors. Her eyes darted around the room for the tenth time, scanning for anything she might have missed. Pillows were fluffed and perfectly angled on the couch. A tray of assorted snacks—crackers, cheese, and some fruit—sat on the coffee table next to a sparkling water and a bottle of what she hoped was an appropriate craft beer. She’d Googled Jamie Tartt’s favorite drinks but came up empty, which left her guessing.

“What if he’s on some kind of athlete diet and doesn’t eat snacks?” she muttered to herself, hands on her hips. “Or what if he thinks the beer is too try-hard? Does he even like beer?” Her eyes widened. “What if he’s allergic to something? God, I should’ve just stuck to water.”

She exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the creeping anxiety. It wasn’t like her to get this worked up over a podcast guest. In fact, she prided herself on being laid-back and professional, even when interviewing some of the biggest names in football. But this was Jamie Tartt—the Jamie Tartt. Star player for AFC Richmond, former bad boy, and all-around enigma.

Her pacing stopped as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. “Pull it together, Y/N. You do this for all your guests,” she said, brushing invisible lint off her jeans. That was a lie, of course. She’d never gone this far out of her way before. Most of her guests got water, maybe coffee if she was feeling generous. Snacks? Decor? That was new territory.

“This is fine,” she reassured herself, glancing at the clock. He’d be here any minute.

Just as she was straightening a picture frame on the wall, her phone buzzed with a text:

Jamie Tartt: Out front. Don’t make me wait, love.

She rolled her eyes at the audacity of his message, grabbing her phone and opening the door to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk firmly in place. Jamie Tartt was every bit as magnetic in person as he was on screen. His sharp jawline, perfectly tousled hair, and tailored bomber jacket screamed effortless confidence.

“Alright, love?” he greeted her, his eyes scanning her up and down in a way that was equal parts appraising and teasing.

“Punctual,” Y/N quipped, stepping aside to let him in. “Color me impressed.”

“Well, gotta keep the people happy, don’t I?” His voice carried that cheeky Manchester lilt that somehow made even his most arrogant statements sound charming.

“Well, hi Jamie,” Y/N replied, smiling warmly but internally reminding herself not to do too much. “Come in.” Jamie grinned, stepping into her apartment with a curious glance around.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He took a step inside, glancing around her apartment. "Nice place. Bit small, though."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "It’s a podcast studio, not a mansion. You gonna stand there criticizing, or are you coming in?"

Jamie grinned, walking inside and glancing around. "Just sayin’. Could’ve gone all out, y’know? Like one o’ those fancy setups with the mic arms and everything. This looks like… my nan’s kitchen."

Y/N shot him a deadpan look. "Well, your nan’s kitchen is about to host one of the most listened-to podcasts in the football world. Take a seat, Jamie."

“And feel free to get comfortable,” she said, gesturing toward the couch, she wanted to give him an atmosphere where he can take off the prick-exterior. “Snacks, drinks—help yourself.”

Jamie’s gaze landed on the carefully curated spread, and he raised an amused brow. “Bloody hell, you throw all this together just for me?”

“I do this for all my guests,” she lied smoothly, ignoring the flush creeping up her neck.

“Sure you do, love,” he said, plopping down on the couch and grabbing a cracker. “Very professional.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and took a seat across from him, setting up her laptop and microphone. “Alright, Jamie, you ready to get started? Or do you need a moment to soak in the ambiance?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” he said, leaning back and spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “Let’s hear it. What’s your little catchphrase, then?”

She shot him a look. “What makes you think I have a catchphrase?”

“You’ve got a podcast. Everyone with a podcast has a catchphrase. It’s like a rule or summat.”

Y/N sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. You want the full experience? Here we go.” She adjusted her microphone and took a deep breath. “Welcome to Striker’s Corner, where we talk tactics, triumphs, and everything in between. I’m your host, Y/N, and today’s guest needs no introduction. Joining us is none other than AFC Richmond’s star striker, the golden boy himself—Jamie Tartt!”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Golden boy, eh? You make me sound like an Oscar statue. You forgot to say ‘devastatingly handsome.’”

“I’ll let the audience decide that,” she shot back, suppressing a laugh. “Alright, Jamie, let’s dive in. You ready for some hard-hitting questions?”

“Born ready, love.”

The podcast started off as expected, with Jamie offering polished, almost rehearsed answers to her questions about his career.

“Alright, Jamie, let’s start with an easy one. What’s your favorite goal you’ve ever scored?”

Jamie leaned forward, his expression turning thoughtful. “Oh, that’s a tough one. There’s been so many, you know.”

“Of course,” Y/N deadpanned. “You’re Jamie Tartt.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “But if I had to pick, I’d say the one against Man City last year. Last minute, curled it right into the top corner. The crowd went mental.”

Y/N nodded. “That was a beauty. But what about the one against Tottenham? That solo run from midfield?”

Jamie raised a brow. “You remember that one?”

“Jamie, I’m a football podcaster. It’s literally my job to remember.”

“Fair point,” he admitted, looking impressed.

“So, Jamie, you’ve had quite the journey. From Manchester City to Richmond, with some stints in between. What’s been the biggest challenge for you?”

“Biggest challenge?” he repeated, leaning forward slightly. “Dunno. Probably gettin’ people to stop talkin’ about me dad all the time.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected honesty. “That’s fair. Your relationship with your dad has been a big part of your story, especially in the media. Do you feel like people focus on that too much?”

Jamie shrugged, popping a grape into his mouth. “Yeah, but can’t really blame ‘em, can I? Makes for good telly. ‘Jamie Tartt overcomes evil dad to become football hero.’ Very dramatic.”

“Do you think that’s fair to you?”

He tilted his head, considering her question. “Dunno. Maybe not. But fair’s not really part of the game, is it?”

Y/N nodded, impressed by the hint of depth in his answer. “True. Alright, let’s lighten things up a bit. What’s the weirdest thing a fan has ever done for you?”

Jamie’s face lit up. “Oh, easy. This one time, a bloke got my face tattooed on his calf. Proper full-color and everything. Looked awful.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “No way.”

“Swear down,” Jamie said, grinning. “Met him after a match. He pulls up his trouser leg and goes, ‘Look, mate, it’s you!’ Nearly pissed meself.”

Their banter flowed naturally, and Jamie seemed to relax as the session went on. He shared stories about his teammates, his favorite matches, and even his guilty pleasure for cheesy romantic comedies.

“Wait, wait,” Y/N interrupted, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me Jamie Tartt watches rom-coms?”

“Course I do,” he said, looking affronted. “They’re brilliant. Best one’s Notting Hill. Classic.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

Jamie smirked. “Say you’ve got good taste in guests, love.”

As the conversation progressed, Y/N guided Jamie through topics she’d carefully prepared with him—his early days in football, his transition to the Premier League, and the challenges he’d faced along the way.

"When you were a kid," she began, "did you always know you’d make it to the top? Or was there a moment where you thought, ‘Maybe I’ll just be a regular lad playing Sunday league football’?"

Jamie tilted his head, considering. "Honestly? Nah. I always knew I’d make it. I was too good not to. But…" He hesitated, a rare vulnerability creeping in. "There were times when it felt like everyone was just waitin’ for me to fail, y’know? Like, they’d build you up just so they could tear you down."

Y/N nodded, her expression softening. "That’s a lot for a young player to deal with. How did you handle it?"

Jamie shrugged. "Didn’t, really. Just… pretended it didn’t bother me. Acted like I didn’t care. But it sticks with you."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that—Jamie’s favorite moments on the pitch, his love for ridiculous goal celebrations, and his infamous social media antics.

"You once posted a video of yourself singing karaoke to ‘Wonderwall’ after a match," Y/N said, grinning. "Do you still stand by that performance?"

Jamie laughed. "Absolutely. That was class, wasn’t it? Proper vibes."

"Proper something," Y/N muttered, making Jamie chuckle. Glad he decided to take this podcast seriously.

As the podcast continued, Jamie started to relax even more. The cheeky, guarded front gave way to moments of genuine humor and insight. He teased Y/N about her football opinions but also listened intently when she shared her perspective on tactics and strategy.

"You really know your stuff," he said at one point, sounding almost surprised.

"Why does everyone always sound shocked when they say that?" Y/N asked, laughing.

"Dunno," Jamie said, his gaze lingering on her. "Just… didn’t expect it, I guess. You don’t seem like the typical football fan."

“I guess, that’s what we take from this episode, folks. Never judge a book by its cover, like Jamie Tartt did with me. Tune in next week for another episode, hopefully with the ever-charming Jamie Tartt.” Y/N wrapped the podcast up gesturing for Jamie to say goodbye to the non-existent audience. And he just waved at the screen with a confused look. Whelp, gotta work on that.

By the time they wrapped up the episode, the energy between them had shifted. Jamie was grinning like a kid who’d just discovered something fun, and Y/N felt a strange warmth in her chest she couldn’t quite explain.

As Y/N shut off the recording equipment, Jamie stood, stretching. "That weren’t half bad," he said, his tone almost begrudging.

"I’ll take that as a compliment," Y/N replied, standing as well.

Jamie looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he smirked. "You know, for a podcast lady, you’re alright."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, I think?"

Jamie chuckled, then glanced at the door. "Anyway, I’ll see ya next time, yeah?"

"You sure?" Y/N echoed, amused.

Jamie shrugged. "Dunno. Might be fun to really do this series."

Halfway out of the door, he gave her a lingering look, his usual cocky demeanor softening just slightly. “You’re good at this, you know. Making people feel comfortable.”

Y/N’s heart did a little flip, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside. “Just part of the job.”

As he left, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Jamie Tartt, the cocky star player, had been unexpectedly charming. And as she glanced at the empty chair he’d just vacated; she realized she was already looking forward to their next session.

She stared at the tray of half-eaten snacks on her coffee table and picked at a chocolate bar absentmindedly, replaying their conversation in her head.

“You’re good at this, you know. Making people feel comfortable.”

His words echoed in her mind, tinged with that soft, earnest tone he’d used. It was a far cry from the cheeky, overconfident persona Jamie Tartt was known for. That small moment of vulnerability had caught her off guard, though she hadn’t let it show. At least, she hoped she hadn’t.

She shook her head and chuckled softly to herself. “Don’t read into it, Y/N. He probably says that to everyone.”

Still, there had been something undeniably electric about their interaction. She’d expected Jamie to be difficult—a diva, even—but instead, he’d surprised her. Sure, he’d been cocky, but it was almost charming in its own way. And beneath all that bravado, there were moments where he seemed genuine.

Y/N reached for her notebook, flipping through the pages where she’d jotted down potential topics for future episodes. She stopped on a blank page, her pen hovering above it as her mind wandered.

“He’s… different,” she murmured, twirling the pen in her fingers. “Not just another footballer. There’s something else there.”

She sighed again and tossed the pen onto the coffee table. This was exactly why she’d hesitated to take on the project in the first place. She hated blurring the lines between her work and her personal feelings. But Jamie Tartt had a way of getting under her skin since day met, and she wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Looking around her apartment, she took in the evidence of her over-preparation—the neatly arranged snacks, the carefully lit candle, the meticulous list of questions—and felt a wave of embarrassment. “God, I overdid it,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

But a small smile crept onto her lips despite herself. For all her nerves and overthinking, the episode had gone better than she could have imagined. If nothing else, she had great material for the podcast. And it's going online today.

Meanwhile, Jamie was leaning against the hood of his car in the parking lot, scrolling through his phone with an uncharacteristic half-smile on his face. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to look up Y/N’s podcast, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Striker’s Corner,” he muttered, tapping the play button on her most like episode with Jude Bellingham. Her voice filled his ears—warm, bright, and confident.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome back to Striker’s Corner! I’m your host, Y/N L/N…”

Jamie couldn’t help but grin as he listened. She was bloody good at what she did, no doubt about it. The way she spoke, the way she made football sound so… exciting. It wasn’t just that she knew her stuff—it was the passion behind her words.

He pocketed his phone and hopped into the driver’s seat, still smiling to himself as he started the engine.

“Maybe this whole podcast thing won’t be so bad,” he mused, pulling out of the parking lot.

As he drove home, his thoughts kept drifting back to her. Y/N L/N wasn’t like anyone he’d met before. She didn’t fawn over him like most people did, and she had a way of calling him out that was both infuriating and oddly endearing. Plus she was reeeally fit. And that's a big pro for Jamie.

For the first time in a long time, Jamie found himself looking forward to the next conversation—not just for the banter, but for the way she made him feel like he was more than just Jamie Tartt, the footballer.

And that was a feeling he wasn’t sure he was ready to let go of.

It was like she just… saw him. Not Jamie Tartt, the star striker, but Jamie Tartt, the person. And that, for some reason, made him feel both intrigued and unsettled.

For once, he wasn’t the one in control of the dynamic. She was sharp, confident, and knew exactly how to handle him without playing into his ego. And yet, there was a warmth to her—a kindness—that made him want to keep talking to her, even if she’d probably just call him out on his nonsense again.

As he turned into his driveway, he realized with a start that he was looking forward to their next podcast session more than he cared to admit.

Back in her apartment, Y/N saved the podcast audio file and began uploading it to her platform. She reread the episode description she’d drafted:

“Today on Striker’s Corner, we’re joined by AFC Richmond’s Jamie Tartt to discuss his career, his journey as a player, and, of course, his infamous karaoke rendition of ‘Wonderwall.’ Expect laughs, insight, and a side of Jamie you’ve never seen before.”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she debated whether to tweak it further. It felt too lighthearted, but that was the point of her show: to keep things approachable and fun while offering moments of genuine depth. Still, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this episode had been different.

When the upload finished, she leaned back on the couch and stared at the now-empty coffee table. The thought of Jamie listening to her podcast—he’d mentioned something about checking out her work—made her stomach flutter. Why do I care if he listens? she thought, annoyed at herself.

“Because he’s Jamie Tartt,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “And because you’re hopelessly curious about people who surprise you.”

But this was work, she reminded herself. Nothing more, nothing less. And if Jamie was part of her work now, she’d just have to stay professional, even if his cheeky grin and unexpected depth made that harder than she’d like to admit.

Her phone buzzed with a notification. Someone had already commented on the episode teaser she’d posted earlier:

“Jamie Tartt on Striker’s Corner? This is gonna be good! Y/N never misses.”

She smiled at the comment, but a small part of her couldn’t help wondering if Jamie would see it—and what he’d think of her now.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent #sam obisanya #ted lasso show #afc richmond #tartts corner

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outsideratheart · 2 years ago

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Under Pressure (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: Chapter 5 of The Legacy Series. I apologise in advance, it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows.

The biggest thing you feared was that you wouldn’t be able to feel at home in Barcelona but it turns out you had nothing to worry out. After the WICC cup there was two weeks of preseason training and after a day or two you had figured out how to play for the team. Sometimes you would watch from the sidelines during certain plays then go out onto the field and play them like you had been at the club your whole life. It’s safe to say you had settled in well.

When the first game of the season came, you were calm and ready to play as many minutes as Lluis would allow. Alexia had insisted that she picked you up so you two could go over any concerns you had. The woman had been your saving grace since moving to Barcelona. She could pick up when you were starting to get in your own head and managed to pull you out before you went too deep. She understood you as if she had known you your whole life when in reality it had been just over a 8 weeks since you first official meeting.

You had gotten to the ground a little bit earlier than everyone else; the team and fans included. You followed Alexia as you walked through the building but are confused when she walks straight passed the locker room.

“Let’s go the pitch” she suggests.

Now it wasn’t your first time being on this pitch as the team trained here a couple of times but today was different, today you would make your debut for Barcelona.

Alexia let you have your moment as you walked to the centre circle of the pitch. The energy was different today and it was the type you, as a football player, lived for. You take a few minutes to yourself before hearing Alexia calling your name.

“Time to get ready”

This time she does lead you into the changing rooms and you can see most of the team have arrived. All eyes are on you but you don’t think anything of it, that is until you see your locker. There hanging in the middle of your cubby was your shirt but what came as a shock is the number that was below your name. 14.

“Aitana” you turn you face her “I can’t accept this. I told you I wouldn’t come in here and take your number”

“You’re not taking it. I’m giving it to you. This is your number”

It wasn’t your number it was his and everyone knew that. Sure part of you wanted to wear your father’s number at this club but it’s is Aitana’s or at least it was.

You watch the game from the subs bench until the 65th minute mark. Lluis’ right hand man tells you to get ready as you had already warmed up. As you stand on the sidelines you make the mistake of looking back at the stand behind you. Everybody had their phone out ready to document the moment you step foot on the pitch. It only added to the pressure you were already feeling.

When the final whistle is blown you have to take a moment to gather your emotions. You join the team in the lap around the field and stop near the ultras stand. The fans soon stop shouting your name when they realise what you are doing. There above them sits ‘Estadi Johan Cruyff’.

“He’s be proud of you” Lieke joins you and looks up. She sees the direction of you gaze change as you look up to the sky.

“Lieke is right. You made him proud today” Alexia joins in.

You didn’t know what to do so you patted them both on the back and carried on with your lap. The fans had showed you constant support since your arrival so you stop to greet as many as you can before leaving the pitch.

You had survived game number 1.

The months that followed proved to be more difficult that your first. The fans, media and the rest of the world were quick to pick up on the fact that you were yet to score. This is a stat you were well aware of and you kicked yourself every time you left the pitch without having your name on the scoresheet. You have several assists to your name but none of them seemed to matter. Your job was to score and assist. You weren’t doing what the club brought you here to do and it was eating away at you.

“Sandra” you pull the goalkeeper aside one day after training “Would you mind staying back so I can practice my shots some more. It won’t be for long, maybe half an hour”

“Claro”

“Muchas Gracias”

Alexia noticed your absence in the locker room, of course she did. It was almost an hour later when you walked into the locker room where much to your surprise Alexia had been waiting.

“What are you still doing here? Do you have media or something?” You ask.

“I was waiting for you” She has no problem with admitting her reason.

“You want to join me in the ice baths?” You already know your answer. Alexia’s Spanish blood had a strong hatred for the cold.

In an attempt to change her mind, despite her not giving an answer, you take off your shirt and throw it at her before sending her a daring look.

“C’mon Ale, I dare you”

You walk away knowing that Alexia won’t back down to a dare. You are in the ice bath all but 2 minutes before she joins you. Albeit she enters much slower than you which if you ask any athlete only prolongs the discomfort that comes with ice.

“Now that I have joined you in this hell, care to tell me why you stayed back an extra hour?”

“I haven’t scored” you ego took a hit as you muttered the words.

“You scored loads today”

“Not today, in games”

The disappointment you are feeling doesn’t come as a shock to Alexia. She first noticed it after the second game when you had 5 shots on target and none of them went it.

“They are expecting me to score”

“Who is?”

“The club, the fans, the team, you”

“This team is a hard one to settle in to, just ask Lieke. All you need is a little bit of time”

“I don’t have time. Everyone’s eyes are on me and each game that passes is proving that I’m not good enough to play here”

Up until this point, Alexia was stuck in her place. The more she moved the more the freezing cold water touched fresh skin but seeing you down on yourself made her forget about the ice as she walks towards you, slowly.

“I know you’ve been feeling the pressure Y/N and I know it’s different to the kind I get. You leave for international duty tomorrow. Take this time to reset and come back with a clear head”

Although she wasn’t ready to admit, Alexia was dreading the day you leave and go to Zeist for camp.

“I’m going to miss you Alexia” you don’t hesitate to be honest with your team mate.

“You’re going to miss the team”

“Yes, I will but I will miss you in a different way. I spend more time with you than anyone else and you’re the one I call when I have my…” you want to say episodes but it sounds too dramatic.

Just as you had thought, being in Barcelona caused feelings you once buried deep down to come to the surface. Alexia found you one day after training when you were feeling too much and she stayed with you until you had calmed down. Since then she was the one you called.

“You have your friends and I’m sure you’ll see your family but if you do need me then i’m only a phone call away”

The timer you had set on your phone goes off and you and Alexia are quick to jump out of the ice bath.

“Promise?” You ask her as you get changed.

“I do and Y/N” you turn to face her “I’ll miss you too”

You were gone for ten days and you only had one episode but you called Alexia more than once. In fact you were in constant communication with her. Whoever got up first would text the other good morning and the day would go on from there. Even in different cities, Alexia played a huge part in your day.

Whilst in The Netherlands you did as she suggested, you used the time to clear your head and it worked. You played 90 minutes in both friendlies, one against Sweden, the only against Italy and you managed to score three goals in total. You hadn’t lost your touch but you did learn that the pressure in Barcelona had taken the fun out of the game or at least that is the reason you came up with. It wasn’t until the post match press conference that you realised it could be something bigger and much worse.

“Y/N you have played outstanding in these past two games yet your performances in Barcelona seem to lack the flair that we are used to seeing you play with. You are 9 games into the season and you still haven’t scored. We are so used to seeing you on the scoresheet and this stretch is the longest in your career without hitting the back of the net”

“Is there a question in there or are you simply reminding me of my failures” your tone is emotionless but that is far from how you are feeling.

“I didn’t mean to step out of line. It’s just you come here and put on a world class performance but fail to do so there. I think the question everybody want to know is why. What is the difference between here and there?”

The journalist’s words were running on a loop ‘what is the difference between here and there’.

You hadn’t asked yourself this question but the answer wasn’t hard to come up with. You always put your career first and your personal life second. You wouldn’t answer the journalist’s question as it was clearly rhetorical but you knew the answer. The difference was Alexia.

Sure she had been a positive impact on your mental health but should you have been training more instead of exploring the city with her? Should you have been getting more sleep instead of staying up to talk to her? Should you be more focused at training instead of stealing glances at her whenever you could? These are all questions that you needed to know the answer to for the sake of your career.

On the flight back to Barcelona you make the foolish mistake of searching your name on twitter. The fans had started to come up with theories as to why you weren’t playing like you normal do in Barcelona. One article popped up and it mentioned both your name and Alexia’s. She has taken part in two press conference whilst on international duty with Spain and your name had being brought up multiple times despite it not being relevant at the time. Maybe you had become a distraction for Alexia too. Sure she was scoring but it wasn’t as much as last year.

When you landed you saw that Alexia had texted you and asked you to come round to her apartment once you had unpacked the little suitcase you took home with you. Now was the time and as you drove over to her place you started to feel guilty about the decision you had to make.

“Y/N” The brunette pulls you in for a hug, once which you wished would never end.

“Hi Ale. Did you enjoy camp?” You pull away before her warmth makes you change your mind.

“We did ok, a win and draw wasn’t what we wanted but we move on. Did you? I watched your games you played amazing” Alexia walk through her apartment towards her kitchen. It was the area that hosted company the best.

“About that. There’s something I need to te—“

“So I was thinking” Alexia says and you know that she put not have heard you “There’s a new seafood restaurant that’s just opened by the marina. I know we have been spending a lot of time together as friends but I was hoping to take you here as something more. I want to take you on a date”

“Alexia I need some space”

Those four words had hurt her, the look on her face proved that.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked.

“No. It’s me and what I am facing. You know about the pressure but the light that has been shone on me needs to stay on me. I won’t bring you into the media scuritiny that I am facing. Everyone is questioning my ability on the pitch and I need to prove them wrong. I need to prove to the club that signing me wasn’t a mistake. I have loved spending time with you Alexia but I need to focus on my performance. I cannot be a failure”

“I can help you” Alexia tries to bargain but you have already made up your mind.

“Ale, I need to do this alone” you take a couple of steps closer to her but she holds out her hand to stop you. You deserve it but it didn’t mean you had to like it “het spijt me”

Training doesn’t start for another three days due to the club wanting their players to recover from international duty. During this time you workout out 3 times a day; a run as the sun rises, a pitch session in the morning and a weights session in the late afternoon. You kept you body busy but Alexia still remained at the forefront of your mind. You began to think that you made a mistake in asking for space.

The first day back at Johan Camper is weird. For what could only be the 4th or 5th time since the season started, you had driven yourself to training. Upon arriving there were two people you didn’t want to see each for two different reasons. One of them just so happened to arrive at the same time as you.

“What you’re not riding with Alexia anymore?” Lieke questions as the two of you walk into the facility.

“I’m going to be driving myself for a while” you didn’t look at her, you couldn’t.

“Y/N what have you done?”

Lieke saw the way your behaviour change after the press conference but only now did she realise how much that man had gotten to you.

“I did what is best”

Sensing that now isn’t the time for an interrogation, Lieke drops the subject and the two of you walk in a comfortable silence.

“Ah dios miso, Alexia. I was only asking if you has anything planned this weekend. There’s no need to snap at me” Patri slightly scolds her team mate.

You know what she had planned this weekend and it included the two of you sitting at a candlelit dinner over looking the water but you had ruined that.

“I just want to focus on training. You understand that don’t you Y/N?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to answer as she walks out onto the field.

“So that’s what you did” Lieke whispers as the two of you begin lacing up your boots.

“You’ve seen what they’re saying. I won’t bring her into this media shit show, you know she hates it and I won’t be the reason for them going after her. I never wanted this for her but I was too late”

“You’re not telling me everything” Lieke knew you too well.

“I need to focus on my career. I can’t fail this club and I can’t tarnish his legacy”

“Y/N” Lieke reaches out to comfort you but you pull away.

“You think I want this? Of course I don’t” Your raised voice gains the attention of the other players in the room but you don’t care.

During training you stick to the players that won’t ask questions which is Lieke and Aitana but Jenni does make the effort to work with you as well even though she is one of Alexia’s best friends.

You try your best to focus on the drills that Lluis sets and it seems to work. You play very well and even the coach tells you that he is impressed, so much so that he is going to start you against Real Madrid at the weekend. This was your chance to prove the media wrong and rid the fans of any doubt. You had to score and score you did, twice in fact and you were able to assist one of Alexia’s goals.

This is how you were suppose to play at Barcelona yet you didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. You dreamed of how you’d celebrate your first goal and you wanted to do so with Alexia but because of your stupidity and need to please people who didn’t matter, you ruined that chance.

Your good form continued game after game and you could have sworn that things between you and Alexia were starting to return to normal. Of course this was only during training or playing because she was respecting your wishes.

“Y/N can I talk to you for a second?” Alexia asks one evening after a game review session.

“Let’s grab a coffee”

When the two of you arrive in the canteen, Alexia goes to the table and you get the coffees. This is how is was before and you loved that it was happening again.

“How long will you need this space? I talked to Lieke and she helped me understand your reasoning, I wished you would have told me but I know now. It wasn’t in my head, I know we had a connection and I need to know if there’s a chance of rebuilding that or if I need to move on”

“Alexia I chose my career over you”

“No you didn’t and we both know it. You needed to beat the pressure and you have. You have been amazing these past couple of months but I have hated not having you around, not even as a friend”

“Alexia we haven’t been just friends for a while and you know it”

“I do. It’s why I wanted to take you on a date, I still do by the way”

“I hurt you and I want to re earn your trust. How about we start with coffee on Sunday after the game”

“It’s a date” the smirk on her face was contagious.

“Alexia” you could tell she playing but you weren’t.

“What” she says innocently “it’s a date between friends”

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #Barcelona femeni one shot #Barcelona femeni imagine #espwnt x reader #espwnt one shot #espwnt imagine

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discokicks · 2 years ago

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FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: back in 2012, you and roy meet for the first time. in 2023, you sign a one-year contract with richmond and have to work with roy for the first time. both go about as well as you’d expect.

word count & rating: 9.6k, R (roy kent says fuck and does fuck!)

chapter warnings: swearing, light sexual innuendos and light references to sex, mentions of alcohol and partying (the olympians get DOWN in olympic village) minor allusions to what happened to reader at west ham, major football talk, roy kent is rich, original character intros and plot (author really likes a plot, woo boy), angst, and of course, fluff.

author’s note: ok wow, thank you for all the love on the first chapter! wildly unexpected but much appreciated. this one’s got a bit more to it— jumping timelines, original characters, lotta soccer/football talk, reader and roy don’t know how to act (in more ways than one). also did crazy research into the 2012 olympics for this, so no one tell me my timeline’s off or i’ll cry. also also, is roy's sister named molly or is that just evidence that i've read too many fics? whatever it is, her name's molly! thank you again for the love and i hope you all enjoy! love you all tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You meet Roy Kent for the first time at midnight, in a rookie’s dorm room in the Olympic Village.

It’s a seemingly unlikely place for a football phenom like him to be. You’d expected all of those guys to choose to be elsewhere, exploiting their home-country advantage to hang out in their posh flats. But there they were, carrying out their team bonding efforts to prepare for their game tomorrow.

Knowing what you know about Roy now, it’s fitting for him to have been there. But in this moment, you’re shocked to see the likes of him in Olympic Village.

It’s a place that’s convinced you that your college career was only good for preparing you for it. And you’re not even talking about the sports aspect of it. You’re talking about the shit-show, chaos-menu of athletes from around the world, acting as though it’s the first week of freshman year.

Despite the fact that alcohol, drugs, and any other traditional party favors are completely off-limits on-premises, it doesn’t seem to deter your fellow Olympians from running the dorms like it’s a frat party. You’re half-convinced you’re going to get a classic ‘who do you know here’ from the trust-fund-looking Australian swimmer you pass getting into your building, but he just sends a heartbreaking smile at you and your teammate as you walk in.

Your team’s fresh off the bus from Glasgow, having just beat France at Hampden Park. It was a hell of a way to open, despite the Opening Ceremony not taking place for another two days. As a younger player who’d proven herself in last year’s World Cup, you were the starting striker in your first Olympic game ever, scoring the second goal of the match and assisting the fourth. The adrenaline of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet.

It’s clear that your teammate’s feeling the same way. Melanie Rivera, your left winger and for all intents and purposes, best friend, is straight-up vibrating. You’d met during World Cup training, where you two had instantly clicked and she’d taken you under her wing to show you the ropes and what it meant to play at this level. Despite this being her second Olympics, the feeling of a win never goes away. Or at least, that’s what she tells you.

The two of you are practically bouncing off the walls as you arrive on your floor, giggling to yourselves about different things that had happened during the game. Your fluent-in-French full-back telling off a French forward when she got too close to your goalie. The mid-game mishap where some French girl’s cleat went flying. The ‘bullshit’ yellow card Mel had received right before the half (Mel knew it was a fair call, she’d totally pushed that girl).

“She was asking for it, though,” Mel insists, collapsing onto your bed as you enter your shared room. “Pulling on my shirt the whole game. I have two rules. Two. Don’t—”

You roll your eyes, having heard these rules a million times. “—touch my goalie, and don’t—”

“—touch my fucking kit,” she finishes, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. Her eyes shut with a huff. “They’re pretty simple. Don’t know why people can’t follow them.”

“Yeah, it’s a travesty,” you reply dryly. Your lip curls into a grimace as you look at her. “You wanna know what my rules are?”

One of Mel’s eyes opens with a knowing smile. “Don’t be sweaty on your bed?”

“Oh, so we do remember,” you say, falsely cheery. The faux smile falls from your face. “Get off. Or at least shower. I want to go to bed and I don’t want to like, smell you.”

Mel rolls off your bed with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she relents. “But you can’t go to bed.”

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

“Because the British men’s team is hanging out upstairs,” she states as if the answer’s obvious.

“Right. Of course,” you reply. “So, we’re crashing their team bonding?”

“No,” she says, pointing at you. “Their women’s team crashed. And then Jack texted me to tell us to come up.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Is Paige there?”

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So, you’re forcing me to stay awake so I can wingman you?”

Mel flops on your bed once more. “Please,” she cries. “Dude, I like her so fucking much. We’ve been texting since the Cup and I don’t know, this year I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Why can’t Jack wingman you? He’s clearly down to set you two up,” you say, sounding a bit whiny. “Also, why are they hanging out here? I thought they’d rent a place or stay at their own houses.”

“They make the rookies stay in the Village their first years. It's for the experience, or whatever,” she answers. That’s brushed to the side quickly. “Also, Jack is a fucking awful wingman. The only type of scoring he’s good at is on the field.” She looks at you expectantly. “And I can’t go up there alone. I’ll look like a loser.”

You gape at her. “You are twenty-seven years old.”

“And I’ll look like a twenty-seven-year-old friendless loser!” When she sees the expression you’re wearing, she tilts on her side. “Say yes or I’ll roll around in your bed.”

You cover your face with your hands, an exhausted laugh echoing into your palms. This clearly is a losing battle, and you decide you’re going to be a good friend tonight. “Fine,” you groan, hearing your bed squeak as she launches herself off of it with a cheer. “An hour. That’s it. And then I’m going to bed and never talking to you again.”

“I can live with that,” she yells, bounding for the shower in your room. “I’ll text Jack that we’ll be up in thirty!”

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

You can hear Mel’s grin when she says, “I love you, too!”

Thirty minutes later, you’re freshly showered and up three floors, standing outside of the rookie’s dorm room. You can hear just how loud it is from outside and you suddenly really feel like you’re back in college again.

It takes Mel a solid three minutes to work up the courage to knock on the door, something that you’re sure would have taken longer if you hadn’t reached out and done it yourself. She scowls at you, but the door opens before she can cuss you out.

Jack Wilson, Tottingham sweeper and three-time Olympian, answers the door with a wide smile. You’d met him a handful of times due to his friendship with Mel and he was just as lovely as everyone had said. There was a charming sort of awkwardness about him despite his status as a professional footballer, but it made him all the more endearing to you.

“Glad you finally decided to show,” he said to you two, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, eyes already scanning the small dorm living room for Paige. “What’s up with the team bonding in the dorms?”

You’re also looking around the room, sending smiles to the handful of girls you recognize. “Game tomorrow. Coach wanted us to do dinner as a team, so we ate in that big hall. And we--” he says, pointing to two guys on the couch, “--wanted to see the Village this year. So here we are.”

Your eyes follow his finger to the men, one of which isn’t familiar. The other, you immediately identify as Roy Kent. And his eyes are on you.

He’s easily recognizable, curly hair a bit more tame and managed than the iconic, half-assed mullet he’d had when he first signed with Chelsea. That ever-present scowl only lifts a little when he sees that you and Mel have arrived, but you honestly can’t see much change in his expression due to his drawn brows.

While you’d relied on Mel for the majority of your connections to this new world of football, she’d never really seemed to hang out with the likes of Roy. From what you’d gathered, despite his rather high status, he was a bit of a recluse. Yes, he went out constantly, and yes (if the tabloids were right), he’d certainly dated around, nobody really seemed to know much about him.

When he’d come up in a team game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ with famous footballers, Mel had told the group that he was a guy of few words, and of the words he did say, ‘fuck’ seemed to be his favorite. Your friend and teammate Katie O’Connor was ready with a terrible impression of him when she answered with ‘fuck,’ especially after Mel also confirmed that the Gina Gershon news was true.

You try to ignore this as you go over to introduce yourself to them, despite the fact it’s currently setting up camp in your brain. “Nice to meet you guys,” you say to Roy and the other boy on the couch. Jack takes a spot next to you on the floor as you take an empty chair next to the couch. Paige waves at you from her spot when you sit.

Roy nods at you in acknowledgment. “Good showing out there.”

Jack points at you. “Bloody insane goal you had,” he says. “I think I’d break my back if I tried to do a scorpion kick like that. It was fucking class.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for Tottenham, they keep you on the other side,” you say, then quietly add, “Not that it would make a difference.”

You see Roy’s lips twitch up from the corner of your eye, and you bite back a laugh as Jack physically deflates before you. Mel’s heard your comment and runs over to sit on the arm of your chair, which is conveniently close to Paige. “Ooh, is it shit on Tottenham time? Because I haven’t seen your ass in months, so I got a whole list, man.”

As the two of them begin to argue in the way they do, you sit at watch them with a smile. They’d had this type of relationship since you’d met them back at the Cup, when Jack had flown into Germany to see your final games. Despite the loss, those were a wild couple of weeks.

The moment your brain starts to recount them, you can feel a pair of eyes on you. It snaps you out of your haze completely. Especially when you realize that it’s Roy Kent who’s staring at you once more.

You blink at him, slightly confused by the attention. “Hi?”

He nods at you again. He seems to take a moment to evaluate you, and then, “You overthink.”

“W-What?” you ask. The word comes out clunky and confused.

Roy motions to the TV that’s on across the room, one that’s showing highlights from your game. “Out there,” he says. “You overthink.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You, feeling unbelievably out of sorts and unsure of what brought this on, Roy, secure and casual, like he just stated the weather.

Before you can question him, he nods at you for a final time, then stands up. “I’m going home,” he tells the group. “You lot better be fucking ready for the game tomorrow.”

Roy’s out of the room before anyone can say a proper goodbye to him, but no one bats an eye. No questions follow.

Except you, of course. You’ve got a fucking million.

You overthink on the field? Where the fuck had he gotten that from? How had he seen it? While there were some times, yeah, you got a bit in your head, you’d never considered yourself an overthinker. And even if you were, the overthinking produced results, right? You liked to think you were just three steps ahead of everyone else out there. Not an overthinker.

But what made him say that? What had he seen? Was it your hesitation outside the box in the first fifteen that resulted in you losing the ball? Was it the switch you’d made to get to the goal when your right winger had it on the side? Was there a look on your face when you’d taken that free kick in the second half? You were pretty in your head then, but hey, it led to Mel scoring.

Overthinking. Pfft. He didn’t know what he was talking about.

But then again, what the fuck was he talking about?

The thought of this unknown bomb dropped on you without any sort of answers quickly and completely took over your mind. Criticism about your playing had never bothered you (you were a twenty-five-year-old female soccer player, and you’d had more horrendous coaches than you could count), but this? This was something that literally made you itch. And you weren’t going to be able to scratch it until you knew what the hell he meant.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself practically chasing Roy out of the room, whipping your head around to figure out which way he’d gone. Lucky for you, the dorm’s slow lifts were on your side.

Roy stood by the elevator, checking something on his phone as he waited. He clearly doesn’t hear you coming because he nearly drops it when you ask, “What do you mean I overthink?”

“What the fuck?” And now he’s staring at you like you’re the crazy one.

“I should be asking you that!” you say, then motion back to the direction of the dorm. “You tell me I overthink, stare at me with no follow-up, then leave? Who does that?” You’re way too animated for past midnight, but you don’t care. “Because even if I was an overthinker, which I’m not, that sort of stuff is probably the worst thing you can do. Not leaving on a note like that is like, rule number one.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“Yeah, well, there are,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. When he continues to just stare at you, you make a face that you hope will cue him to go on. “So, go ahead. Please explain yourself.”

“Explain the overthinking thing?” he asks. “I thought it was pretty fucking simple.”

You roll your eyes. “No, what made you say that? Was it a play I had? Was it something I did? What did you see? I’m just curious as to—”

“You came up the field toward the end of the game,” he says, effectively cutting you off. “And you made a pass to Rivera that led to another pass, then a goal.”

You nod at him, not seeing his point at all. “Yeah? So? It was a great goal by Katie.”

Roy’s expression turns slightly frustrated, as if he’s annoyed that you don’t immediately catch on. “It was a great goal. But the fucking second you saw Rivera next to you, you started thinking ahead,” he tells you. “So far ahead that you didn’t notice how slow and fucking awful your mark was and that you could have had a better goal if you’d stopped thinking.”

There are approximately fifteen seconds of dead air between you two as you attempt to take in what he just said to you. “So, let me get this straight,” you begin. “You’re saying I’m bad because I think too much about teamwork?”

For a moment, you think Roy’s going to slam his head into the elevator door. Instead, he just turns to the buttons and presses them once more. “Fuck’s sake, could these be any fucking slower?”

You’re too far gone at this point to even be offended. “Uh, it doesn’t matter. You started this. You’re not going anywhere until we finish it. Why does me not being a selfish dick make me bad?”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You’re not. Clearly,” he responds. You note a bit of the classic ‘Roy Kent’ anger laced within his words and it makes you snap your mouth shut. “I’m just saying. You’re at your best when you’re not so fucking nice and when you don’t fucking think.”

Unconsciously, your arms cross over your chest. “I’ve got twenty-two years of playing time and about ten coaches that would disagree with that.”

Once more, you see the corner of his mouth slide upward as he glances at you. “If that’s the case, then your coaches were all idiots. They weren’t smart enough to let you loose.”

An unexpected warmth rises to your cheeks. But instead of acknowledging it, you ask, “What, like you’d be a better one?” Before he can respond to that, you’re talking again. “And even if all of that were true, I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

“Not… think ahead,” you say. “Or not think at all. That being three steps ahead thing is kind of, well, my thing.” You offer a shrug. “The generous, teamwork thing too. I like that. It’s what makes me good.”

Roy continues to look at you, but says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet as he just… stares, almost as if he can see through you. Like he’s privy to something you’re not, or he’s had some sort of revelation about you. You’re not sure anyone’s ever looked at your this hard. It’s a bit unnerving and you have to fight to not avert your eyes.

Before you can begin to further overthink that (god fucking damn it), he’s holding his phone out to you. You stare down at it blankly.

“You’re showing me your phone,” you state, but it’s almost a question.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Put in your fucking number,” he says.

Your lips purse as you hesitate, but you find yourself reaching out for it. “Is this how you typically do it?” you ask, typing your name into his contacts. “You neg a girl for five minutes straight and then ask her for her number?”

Roy rolls his eyes again, but there’s humor amongst the annoyance this time. “I’m going to text you a time and an address,” he tells you. You hand him his phone back. “Be there on Friday after the Opening Ceremony.”

The elevator had finally arrived in the middle of his sentence and you eye him wearily as he steps in. “Just… show up to this address?” you ask. “Do I get context? Like, what to expect? What am I dressing for?”

“Overthinking,” he reminds you as he presses the button for the lobby. “Just fucking be there.”

Before you can object further or tell him that you were not in fact overthinking, you were just a woman in a foreign city concerned for your safety, he leans forward to stop the doors from closing. He’s got one hand up and has a small smirk on his face.

“And just so we’re crystal fucking clear,” he says. “If I were trying to chat you up, you’d fucking know it.”

Your eyes immediately fix into a glare and the doors close before you can say anything in response. “Asshole,” you mutter to yourself, but you’re already flipping your phone over to see if he’s texted you.

(You won’t know this until much, much later, but Roy Kent let out a loud and regretful ‘fuck!’ as soon as he was five floors down, absolutely cringing at the idea that he used a line like that on someone like you. It plagued him for three years straight.)

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

On a day when Roy not only had the strangest interaction of his life with Jamie Tartt in the Boot Room, but he also found out that Trent fucking Crimm would be lingering around all season, he was sure that he was done with surprises at Nelson Road.

That quickly proved to be false, as he soon found that Ted was rounding the team up in the media room for some sort of meeting.

Roy saw Beard as he was leaving the Coaches’ Office and sent a questioning look his way. “Did I miss film on the agenda?”

Beard shook his head. “Nope. Impromptu. We just heard back.”

“Heard back?” Roy asked, watching Beard go to leave the room. “The fuck are you on about?”

Beard smiled at him in the doorway. “We got her,” he said and left with a skip in his step that Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

They’d gotten her? Got who?

Then it hit Roy. Oh. You. They’d gotten you.

You’d said yes. You were joining Richmond. He’d helped convince you. Despite everything, despite all that had happened and everything you two had done, you’d said yes. You were willing to work with him. You were now going to be back in his life for worse or for better. And not just back in his life, but a fucking constant in it.

Then that hit Roy. The reality of it all fucking bodyslams him and it makes his heart race. After eight years of cold-turkey no-contact, he was going to be seeing you every day. After everything he’d done. After everything you had done.

Roy realized then that he didn’t exactly consider this feeling. That he was so blindsided by Rebecca’s request and by seeing you that he didn’t even think about this. It had been hard enough to work up the nerve to confront and speak to you once. Would it feel like that all season? Had you considered this?

But then, he remembered you and how you think about every fucking angle of every situation. You definitely had thought about this. And if you were willing to push the discomfort, the awkwardness, the whatever in order to have this job, he supposed he had to be too.

Roy swore under his breath, turning away from his desk to get his head back on straight. The team was waiting for him. He could mope about this in the comfort of his own home later.

He arrived in the room just as the rest of the team was getting in. The boys were buzzing. Between the news of a potential Zava acquisition and the Trent Crimm book development, as well as whatever this was, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. Roy didn’t blame them. It was a lot for one day.

(It’d been a lot for him too. With everyone now knowing about his break-up with Keeley, to fucking Trent Crimm, to you, he was surprised he hadn’t gone outside to scream yet. But he presumed that was coming.)

“Alright fellas, listen up,” Ted said from the front of the room, holding his hand up to get everyone’s attention. The team quieted down after a moment. “I know there’s been a lot of talk going around this week. And I know y’all are excited. But I’ve got some more news.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” Dani said, sending a wave of agreement through the group. “It’s hurting my head.”

Ted chuckled. “I know. Mine too. And we’re the ones who have to manage all this,” he said, motioning to Beard and Roy who stood against the wall. “But this is good news.”

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

“So, how many of you are familiar with the Women’s World Cup that happened back in 2015?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

A murmur went through the team. “America won?” Colin offered. “Crazy final game that was.”

Isaac pointed at Roy. “You did some shit for Sky Sports for this Cup, right?”

As the boys began to recall this, Jaan Mas said, “Why they gave you another pundit job after that completely blows my mind.”

“Yes, Roy did do some TV work over here,” Ted answered after the laughter died down. “And yes, America won. But does anyone remember what this Cup started to be called?”

It seemed as though no one had an answer. That is, until Beard cleared his throat said, “The Summer of Fourteen, baby!”

Ted snapped at his best friend. “That’s exactly right, Coach. And despite it being the 2015 Cup, they called it that because of this woman right here.”

Ted had brought up what is perhaps the most iconic photo of you to date. It’s one of the first things to come up if you were to Google yourself, a picture that’s haunted you for the last eight years. It’s from the 2015 quarter-final. You’re mid-penalty kick against China, scowl on your face as your foot collides with the ball, blood dripping down your face from the broken nose you’d received moments before.

(It’s certainly not the most elegant or flattering picture of you that exists, especially when your fellow teammates’ search results yielded photos of them at the ESPYs, but you still think you’ve never looked like more of a badass.)

Ted said your name smoothly as he pointed to you on the screen, annunciating all syllables. “Wildly prolific USA Women's athlete despite her rather short time in the league. And while she was always good, y’know, starting striker since she began and all that—” He chuckled, turning to look at his other coaches, who had knowing smiles on their faces. “—I don’t know. There was something in the water in 2015. Because she just became…”

Ted trailed off, looking for the word. This time, Roy found it before Beard. “A nightmare,” he said, with a suppressed yet fond sort of smile. “She was a fucking nightmare out there.”

“In a good way, of course,” Ted cleared up, earning a nod from Roy. “But, yeah. A nightmare. Wonderful teammate and fantastic playmaker, but man…” Ted trailed off with a low whistle. “We were all glad she played for our neck of the woods.”

Jamie’s hand went up. “Didn’t she just get like, hired and fired by West Ham?”

“Wonderful segue there, Jamie,” Ted said. “Because yes, that is true. She was with West Ham for a couple months. First female coach in the league. Pretty impressive stuff, and it was a pretty big deal. And then something went wrong, and they let her go.” The team made a noise of acknowledgment, all of them having seen it in the news. “And I don’t know what happened, and we probably won’t know what happened, but we knew she was too good to leave the league. Lucky for us, we need a new coach. And she needs a new job.”

There was a wide smile on his face when Sam asked, “So she will be joining Richmond?”

“That she is, Sam,” Ted replied, earning yet another eruption of chatter amongst the group. “She’ll be joining us on Monday. And while I know you fellas will do everything you can to make her feel welcome and will show her the same level of respect that you show us up here—” Ted pointed to his coaches once more, glancing down at the computer in front of him. “—I’m going to show you why she deserves it more than us.”

A YouTube video of your highlights appeared on the big screen, going full-screen as the quick ad ended. Ted stepped back from the computer, sitting down on the stool behind him to watch along with the rest.

Your famous 2012-France-Scorpion-Kick goal just so happens to be the first thing up and Roy’s heart nearly stops. It’d been years since he’d seen this clip and he was immediately transported back to the night you two met. A ghost of a smile unconsciously made its way up his face as he watched your body contort to flip around, and the ball soar into the net. It was a goal of pure and utter instinct. You hadn’t thought about it. You just ran in there like a maniac and knew what to do. That one gets an immediate reaction from the team.

The next one is a play you’d set up in the Quarter-Final New Zealand game, with a bunch of quick passing in the box to confuse and rattle the defense. Melanie Rivera had sent you a world-class assist for an even better goal, one that earns you the title of ‘Fox in the Box’ from the past commentator on screen. The next, an impressive goal scored after an injury you’d had in the Semi-Finals against Canada. Then, and perhaps most famously, your assist to Katie O’Connor from midfield to win the Gold.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the World Cup yet.

The World Cup footage made up the other three-fourths of the video. It was a completely different side of you, one that had thrown caution to the wind, one that had a huge fucking chip on her shoulder, one that was just… insane. In all the best ways and meanings.

Roy’s shock of the day, though, comes after a highlight of you completely blowing past three Colombian defenders. You’d broken the fourth’s ankles with your footwork in the box for a quick goal. Footwork of yours that had been massively improved, Roy noted. And he would know, he’s the one who did it.

Arlo White’s voice filled up the room. “And yet another breakaway goal from USA’s Mean Fourteen!” The clip said. “It’s just remarkable to watch her work this year, don’t you think, Roy?”

Roy felt all eyes on him when he heard his own voice on the speakers. “I don’t know what USA would do without her,” 2015 Roy Kent said. “I’d hate to have her against me.”

It was strange for Roy to hear his own voice mock him like that. And as the team began to cheer for him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. They didn’t even know.

The highlight reel continued for another couple of minutes, and it seemed with each play, the boys became more excited about the prospect of being coached by someone like you. Beard and Ted were evidently just as ecstatic about the development, and Roy knew he had to get on board. Warp his feelings and nerves and whatever else into something resembling his team’s attitude.

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

The lights came up as soon as the video ended, snapping Roy back to reality. Ted smiled at the team. “Alright, fellas. Now, let’s get to work on the welcome party.”

The boys hooped and hollered, each of them getting up to join in whatever Ted had planned. Beard looked over at Roy as the rest filed out.

“You think we’re ready for her?” he asked.

Roy hated the weird fucking sixth sense Beard had when it came to… well, everything. He made Roy feel like he was completely transparent. “We’re ready for her,” he replied.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Beard or himself.

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

You sign a one-year coaching contract with AFC Richmond that Monday in Rebecca Walton’s office.

The news broke that you’d been picked up by Richmond on Friday, something that had completely come alive in the press world. Your face was plastered over all of the papers yet again, newscasters seemed to mention your name every time you turned on your TV, and social media was set on fire. Everyone had something to say about this move and the majority of it wasn’t too positive.

You tried to keep your nose out of it, knowing just how much you did not need to see people talking about you like that. The majority of the negativity was from West Ham fans, wishing Richmond ‘luck’ with the likes of you, others wishing you good riddance.

If they knew how happy you were to be out of there, you’re not so sure they’d be as excited to let you go.

Though signings on every level in this league were typically more public affairs, ones with major press conferences and coverage, you’d requested this to be quieter. Just a few statements from the people who mattered and a pen and paper. You’d been in the media a bit too much for your liking over these past couple of months, and if you could get some exclusivity, you’d take it.

Rebecca, thankfully, was more than happy to comply. You’d been in contact with her practically non-stop since you’d called her, and she’d been nothing but lovely to you. Each interaction with her made you feel better about this job, despite the cloud of anxiety that still hung over you.

You’re sitting in a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk when a message from Mel comes through. i always liked richmond better than west ham anyway, she says. paige and i bought shirts and will be at every game.

A photo comes through shortly after of her three-year-old toddler, decked out in a Jamie Tartt jersey. oliver’s already got his!

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, fingers tapping against your screen with a quick response. adorable. give him and paige a hug for me. and i’ll be freaking out so bad at every game that i’m gonna need you there anyway, so i’m holding you to that.

you’ll be incredible. knock ‘em dead, kid.

Rebecca re-enters her office before you can respond with a thank you. She’s got Coach Ted Lasso in tow, who could not be grinning brighter at you. The second you see him, you think about everything Nate had told you during your short time at West Ham, and something within you just can’t believe it. The energy of Richmond had been different as soon as you walked through the door. The good kind of different. And their manager appeared to not be an exception.

Ted greets you immediately with an outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says after your introduction. “I gotta tell you, we’re all mighty excited that you’re here.”

“I think I might be more excited,” you reply, and it’s an honest answer. Or at least, you’d been able to shift your nerves about the job into excitement. You’d only anxiety-thrown up once today. You figured that was an accomplishment. “Seriously. Thank you both again for the opportunity.”

“We’re just grateful you said yes,” Rebecca says. You can tell she means it. “The team’s been buzzing all week.”

The nerves return at the mention of the team, but you mentally scream at yourself to get over it. “Well, I’m just excited to get started.”

“Speaking of getting started, we should probably head downstairs,” Ted says to Rebecca. “I wanna show our new coach around a bit before practice gets going.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Rebecca responds. “I’ve got a couple more things for you to sign before you leave today, so just make sure to stop by. If you have any questions, my door’s always open, or you can ask Leslie, who you met earlier, who’s always wandering around somewhere.” Her smile gets warmer as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “And we really are pleased to have you joining us.”

You wonder for a moment how a woman like her could have ever been married to an asshole like Rupert, but you suppose that’s a story for another day. “Thank you,” you say again, a bit of that anxiety washing away. “I’m happy to be here.”

Ted leads you out of the office, his tour starting from the minute you exit. He offers a bit of insight into himself and his time at Richmond, his past two years working with Rebecca, then launches into what he knows about the history of the place (and you don’t have the heart to tell him that Rebecca had already done that when you’d arrived).

The facility is gorgeous, but it feels a bit more lived-in and welcoming than what you remember about West Ham. Everything there was so manicured and monochromatic and sterile. Nothing about it felt like a place you’d want to work.

Richmond is the opposite. It’s bright and colorful and you can hear people laughing as soon as you step down into the lower level. While your nervousness about the team still lingers, you can feel it easing. You’ll see how long that lasts.

You’re stepping into the Coaches’ Office before you even realize it, mind too occupied with taking in your new surroundings and trying to keep up with Ted’s story. You resent the overwhelming amount of relief you feel when you realize there are only two men in the office, and neither of them are Roy.

One is sitting with his feet crossed up on his desk and a book in his face. The other is writing on a notepad at a separate desk. You’re surprised by the speed at which both of them jump up to greet you as you and Ted enter.

“Alright, Coach, this is Coach Beard,” Ted says, and you meet Beard’s hand for a shake. “He’s one of the guys you’ll be working with this season.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beard says, nodding your way.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes are drawn to the book he placed down on his desk and you allow yourself to grin. “I love Merlin Sheldrake.” When his brows shoot up in surprise, you shrug. “I’ve got a lot of time in the off-season.”

Beard’s eyes light up. “We’ll get along just fine.”

Your grin grows and you hear Ted’s voice from behind you. “Is that that mushroom book?” he asks. “I don’t think Beard’s ever found someone who reads that stuff too. I guess we’ve now got two Fun-guys in the group.”

You glance over at Beard. “Now it's a Fung-us.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ted’s hand come up to his mouth as he looks over at his best friend. For whatever reason, it’s clear that the two of them are trying to contain their excitement. Before you can question it, Ted places a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here, Ace.”

The nickname catches you off guard. It’s something that you haven’t heard since your playing days, something that the commentators and pundits loved to call you. It was always a compliment when they said it, but something about the way that your new manager says it makes it sound more like a title than a name. Like that’s what you are.

It immediately makes you feel welcome and you can feel yourself warm into their excitement.

The other man in the room, who’s been watching this interaction in amusement, steps forward to hold out his hand to you as well. “Trent Crimm.”

Now, it’s your turn to raise your brows. “You’re the writer who keeps calling me?”

A smile that could also be a cringe appears on his face. “Guilty,” he answers. “Just trying to cover all the bases for the book.”

“I get it,” you tell him. “If you still want a quote, I’d be happy to give you one. But I can’t guarantee it’s going to be clean.”

Trent chuckles. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

There’s a moment where you almost question what he means by that, but you brush it off. Especially now that Ted’s started talking again. “Roy's running a little late, but I’ve heard y’all already know each other, so we’re not technically missing an introduction.”

That makes you pause. You’d figured that when Roy had appeared on your doorstep he’d told at least Rebecca about your past, and that the probability he’d told the staff was high too. But exactly how much had he told them? Did they know the basics or did they know everything?

You then realize it’s Roy you’re talking about. There was no way in hell he’d told them anything more than what Ted said. That you knew each other. Maybe that things hadn’t ended smoothly. But that was it.

That, at least, gives you a bit more confidence. Ted turns to you and leads you back into the small, adjoining room you’d walked through, pointing at an almost empty desk. “That’s yours,” he tells you. “Feel free to dress it up with whatever you want, and get yourself unpacked. We’re starting practice in about fifteen minutes and Coach Beard and I gotta set some things up, but I’d like to introduce you to the fellas before you start shadowing. That all sound good?”

You grip the strap of your backpack and nod at him with a smile. “Works for me, Coach.”

Ted grins, patting you on the arm. “Glad to hear it.”

And with that, he returns to his desk, making sure to leave the door open as he leaves.

You plop your backpack on your desk and begin to empty out your things. You grab your laptop first and place it on your desk, followed by a couple of knick-knacks and photos you brought along, ones that never felt at home at your desk at West Ham. There’s a rational piece of you that knows you should stop comparing the two places, but the pettier, more aggressive side of you tells it to fuck off.

(You like to listen to that one when you can these days.)

You’re holding a photo of a baby Oliver dressed in a Women’s USA onesie when you hear someone else walk into the room. You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

Roy Kent is standing in the doorway, staring at you like he completely forgot your signing day was today.

Of course, Roy hadn’t. He’d been pacing around his flat all morning because of it. It was actually why he was late to work. But he hadn’t expected to see you as soon as he walked in. In his office. Now, your office too, he supposed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, much like you did when you saw each other again for the first time last week. However, it appears that you’re both acutely aware of the three sets of eyes that are on you two from the other room.

Like you’re snapping into a scene in a play, Roy’s expression rids itself of all surprise. “Coach,” he says stiffly, nodding at you.

Coach. You suddenly remember your previous conversation. It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues.

Well, if he won’t let there be any issues, you’re sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of causing any.

So, instead, you return his nod. “Coach,” you greet him. As he puts his things on the desk opposite yours, your heart falls into your stomach, “A-Are we…”

“Sharing an office?” he finishes for you. You nod weakly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you say, then awkwardly add, “Fun.”

“I’m over the fucking moon,” he deadpans.

You bite your tongue, trying not to retort too quickly to a comment like that. You look away from him and to the keys in his hand and you prepare for the small talk you’re about to force yourself to engage in. “Tough ride in?”

It seems to take him a moment to process the question. The awkwardness of it all lingers. “Something like that,” he answers. However, his gaze is stuck on the picture in your hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Your brows furrow and you glance down. So much for small talk. “This?” You hold up the photo. “Oh, this is, uh, Oliver. Mel and Paige’s son.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says in a way that’s almost inquisitive, though the relief in his voice is palpable. You try to ignore that. “I didn’t know they had a kid.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. “You clearly don’t follow Mel on anything,” you reply, then pause. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t do social media.”

“It’s a waste of fucking time,” he says, reaching out to look at the photo. When you hand it to him, he mutters, “I think Rivera would have me blocked if I did, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” you say honestly. You take the picture back from him and place it on your desk. Your next question comes out casual, and you can’t help but be proud of how nicely this is all flowing. “Speaking of kids, how’s Phoebe doing? And how’s Molly?”

You’re not expecting the hint of shock on Roy’s face when you turn back to him. It’s as if he can’t believe you’re asking about his sister, or that you remembered the name of his niece that you met when she was no more than six months old. You want to slap him upside the head for looking at you like that because, of course, you fucking remember that, but a knock on the door from the other room interrupts your conversation.

Trent’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, notepad in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and he appears to be avoiding eye contact with Roy. “But if you were serious about talking, would you be free to do it tomorrow?”

You offer him a warm smile, hoping that’ll contrast Roy’s crossed arms and hard stare directed at him. “Sure thing.”

“No,” Roy immediately says. “You’re not fucking talking to him.”

Confusion takes over. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because no one’s fucking talking to him,” is Roy’s answer, firm, with no room for argument. His eyes never leave Trent. “And don’t try to fucking weasel your way into this team through someone who doesn’t fucking know any better, Crimm. You’re fucking better than that.”

You’re gaping at Roy as Trent nods at you kindly and retreats into the locker room. When you look back into the office to see if you can get some clarity from one of your other new colleagues, you notice that they’re both missing. Ted did say they had to set some things up.

You suppose that just gives you the ability to talk freely to Roy now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, whipping back to Roy who’s already facing his desk. “Has he not been given the O-K to write a book about this team?”

Roy grunts. “He has. But it doesn’t mean we’re fucking talking to him.”

“Well, doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose of him writing a book?”

“You’re catching on.”

You lean back against your desk, folding your arms to take on Roy’s previous stance. “Oh, I see,” you say in understanding. “This is a Kent Rule.”

He doesn’t have to be facing you for you to know he rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s totally a Kent Rule.” You stare at his back as he shifts his shoulders in discomfort. “You hate him, so you’re forcing the team to hate him. Enemy mine is enemy yours? That’s Kent Rule number three, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It’s a team rule,” he states. “I’m just enforcing it.”

“Right,” you agree, though your voice says differently. “Each person here hates him so much that they allowed him to write a book here.”

Roy shakes his head with a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, I forgot how fucking irritating you were.”

“I’m not being irritating. You’re being evasive.” You only get another grunt in response. Fed up, your frustration at his lack of an explanation starts to seep into your tone. “So, what? I’m just supposed to ice that nice guy out because you say so?”

When Roy finally looks at you, he’s scowling. “He’s not fucking nice,” he says. “And you don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me,” you argue.

“My word’s not good enough?”

You glare at him. “Your word hasn’t been good enough in eight fucking years.”

Roy shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Definitely not telling you now.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, scanning the room and the hall to make sure no one’s watching the two of you. You put a hand up before he can retaliate with anything. “Look, if this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay? And we can’t argue here. Not here.” You motion to the office around you. “I can’t work with that shit. Alright?”

For a moment, it’s like you can look into Roy’s mind. You watch him appear to recount last week’s talk, just as you did minutes ago. Professional. Civil. No issues.

“Fine,” he finally sighs, knowing you’re right.

“Fine,” you reply. You take a breath. “So, if he sucks and you don’t want me to talk to him, you need to tell me why. You can’t just order me around like I’m one of the guys, especially not in front of people. I’m your equal here, Roy. Whether you like it or not.”

Roy shakes his head. “You’ve always been my equal,” he says, though it’s a bit softer. “You fucking know that.”

His words leave a lump in your throat that you’re not anticipating. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

His head tilts back, eyes falling shut. His shoulders tense up. Heavy sigh. Dear God, he really doesn’t want to tell you, huh?

And then it hits you. Oh, fuck does it hit you. He doesn’t want to tell you.

And you get why.

Roy’s talking as soon as you open your mouth to apologize for pushing him. “The others don’t know either. I’ll tell you when I tell them,” he offers. “That’s the fucking best you’re getting from me.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, so you offer a nod. “Fine,” you say softly.

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

The conversation feels finished, but there’s still one more thing you want to say. “And can we agree right here that we’re not going to argue in front of anyone? Just like you said?” you ask. “Like, if you want to pick a fight, just like, pull me into the Boot Room or something. This shit can’t affect the way we do our jobs.”

Humor slants Roy’s expression. “Boot Room fights?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. Not in front of the team.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says with a nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

From the outside of the office, you can hear the team start to file into the locker room from their gym facility, laughing just the same as when you heard them earlier. The alone sound makes you tense up. Roy narrows his eyes at you.

“Speaking of,” he says cautiously. “I think it might be time for your introduction. Hope you like primary school-level art done by grown fucking men.”

That takes you out of your headspace immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

I can send a car for you so you know you’re not being murdered.

You’d read the three messages you’d received two days ago from Roy Kent about a million times. While you’d replied to him that his sending a car felt very mafia boss and definitely doesn’t eliminate the murder possibility, you’d still gathered up the courage to dress up in your nicest sweats, escape from the Village after the Opening Ceremony festivities, and meet his driver on the outskirts.

(Of course, you said yes to the driver. Roy Kent was fucking loaded and if he were going to be strange and summon you places, you were going to take his free transportation.)

You’d confirmed your whereabouts and situation approximately thirty-five thousand times to Mel, who had nothing but questions for you.

“Roy Kent. Like Chelsea’s finest, here, there, every fucking where Roy Kent?” That’s the one.

“Is sending a car for you to go to where?” I don’t know, it looks like a soccer field.

“To do what?” Battle Pokemon. I don’t fucking know, Mel. I think he wants to train me.

“Train you or train you?” Why are you saying it like that?

“Because this has to be a weird hook-up thing that famous footballers do, right?” He made it very clear he had no interest. Also, pause. What about me says I’d fuck on a pitch?

“He could bring an air mattress.” Oh my God, I’m leaving.

But as you arrived to this completely empty field, with nobody but your overly friendly driver, Roger to back you up, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. This was weird, wasn’t it? You were meeting up with this guy you barely knew at an abandoned location just because he told you that you were an overthinker? Your mother would be absolutely horrified if she knew. You’d broken just about every Stranger Danger rule she’d set.

However, the second that you stepped out of the car to see Roy illuminated by the field lights, standing with his hood up and a bag of footballs thrown over his shoulder, you knew this was legit. And the anxiety washed away. But a few of the nerves stayed.

“Glad you showed,” he greets, turning to walk to the field as you fell into step with him.

You look over at him expectantly. “So, you are coaching me.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he says. “I just want to get you out of your head.”

You nod in faux agreement. “Right. Because that’s not coaching.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s called being a nice fucking person.”

“Right,” you say again. “Because Roy Kent is known best for his kindness.”

He turns to you. Something sparks in you when you notice that he appears to be humored by all of this. “You should be thanking me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” you apologize, sending him a wide smile as you two make it to the field. “Thank you, Coach.” Roy rolls his eyes again and you chuckle softly. “I’ll thank you when I know for a fact you’re not gonna murder me.”

He watches as you plop yourself down on the pitch to stretch a bit. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought a fucking witness.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Roger could be your Ryan Gosling.”

Roy actually laughs at that one. It’s a sound that you’d never expected to hear, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it again. “I wouldn’t trust him to do that kind of driving. Chatty prick can barely get around London.”

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

“He’s fucking incredible. Been with him since my Sunderland days. Still a chatty prick.”

You can’t help but smile at the fondness that’s crept into his voice, but you say nothing about it. You bring your knee to your chest in a stretch and look up at him. “So, what’s the plan here, Coach?”

“Not your coach.”

“Right, sorry. What’s the plan here, Zodiac?”

Roy shakes his head, fighting to keep his lips even. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you ask. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll train with you until your team's out,” he says. “Whenever our match schedules align, we can figure out a time to do shit until you need to go home.”

Your smile turns cocky. “And if we win?”

He practically snorts. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if we do?”

“Then we’ll train until then,” he replies. “And I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You’re not sure what that entails, but anything you want from Roy fucking Kent? It’s an offer that may be too good to pass up. But still, one question lingers. “In exchange for what?”

“What?” he asks.

You stand, lifting one of your feet from the ground so that you can pull it up behind you in another stretch. “A deal works two ways. Exchanging goods or services and all that,” you tell him. “What’s in it for you?”

Roy shrugs. “I need to train too,” he answers. It's a bit simple, a bit evasive. “That’s what’s in it for me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you say, “you can’t be serious. You want to train with me just to train?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you respond, slowly realizing he’s serious. “I guess I just kind of assumed when I heard ‘deal’ that you’d want something in return.”

“Well, that’s all I fucking want,” he tells you. “If I think of anything else you can do for me, I’ll let you know.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh escapes you. “I’ll be anxiously anticipating your demands.”

He’s turned to his bag of footballs and crouches to grab one, glancing up at you as he rises. “So?” he asks. “Do we have a fucking deal, or what?”

Your foot goes down as you look at him, evaluating him and his offer. You shift your gaze to the field, to the big lights around you, then to the night sky that tells you it’s almost the next day.

You have a game in Glasgow again tomorrow against Colombia. You’re out past curfew and know your team would both kill you and congratulate you if they knew where you were. You have to be on a bus in less than eight hours.

But here’s Roy Kent, standing with you on an abandoned pitch in London, offering to train with you. And what kind of idiot passes that up?

“Deal,” you agree, taking the ball from his hand. “Now, where do we start?”

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #aatwe #aces #the one who can't walk up stairs

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manygeese · 4 months ago

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ok we’re so back guys (shoutout to @demigod-shenanigans)

Piper and Leo’s Book Club

Piper was lingering near the doors of the library, waiting for a certain best friend of hers to arrive for book club. They’d joined it after the great schedule fiasco, taking weeks to settle on a club to share with each other. At one point, they’d had a conspiracy board laid out in Piper’s bedroom, with a list of clubs, their pros, and cons on it.

YEARBOOK CLUB

PROS: looks good on college applications

CONS: child labor

COOKING CLUB

PROS: for all ye poor souls who have not family and consumer sciences

CONS: Piper has never touched a pan in her life and may spontaneously combust

LGBTQ+ CLUB

PROS: like minded individuals

CONS: we were going to join this anyways and we need something ✨special✨

Finally, they found one they could agree on:

BOOK CLUB

PROS: media literacy!!! hell yeah

CONS: ain’t none (honorable mention: nerdy as fuck)

So there Piper was, at one end of the campus while Leo had to make his way over from the other one, on a hot August day. Piper flipped through the pages of her book, which she had narrowly finished before the meeting, hoping to whatever gods were real that nobody asked her comprehension questions about it. She was barely awake when she had read the last few chapters of it last night.

Two figures turned the corner, making Piper look up from the book to see who it was. She scoffed when she made eye contact with Leo. “Took you long enough!” She yelled, putting her hands up to her mouth to make the sound travel farther (not needed; his eardrums would have burst either way).

“Oh, I’m sorry your highness, I had to haul my ass all the way here from the 100 building. That’s like, 17 miles,” he hollered back.

Jason laughed from where he walked next to Leo. Shucking off one of the backpacks hanging off his shoulder, he handed it to his boyfriend, who hugged it to his chest. Leo leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for carrying it, babe. Have fun at football practice.” Leo fell into his spot beside Piper and waved goodbye as Jason continued walking.

“Bye, Leo. Bye, Pipes.” Jason waved back.

“Bye, Jason,” Piper and Leo said at the same time. “Jinx. Jinx again.”

They squabbled over who had to buy who a soda as they entered the library, lowering their voices to whisper-shouts when they noticed nobody else was nearly as loud.

“Oh, by the way, did you read the book? ‘Cuz I sure as hell didn’t,” Leo drawled, slamming his backpack down on a random table. Piper followed suit.

“You had two whole weeks, man.” Piper eyed him judgingly.

Leo rolled his eyes in a fashion that looked painful. “And those two whole weeks were used to study for my first multicultural literature test, idiot.”

“How does one study for a literature test, hmm? Does one, mayhaps, read?”

“I hope you get Juliet in the play so I can watch you die.”

Piper laughed a little louder than was appropriate. “Ok, but what were you really doing? Because I know for a fact that you never study.”

Leo held his hands up in surrender. “You caught me. I was, like, a quarter into the book yesterday afternoon when Nyssa came in asking for help on a project. She was building a model for her world geo class, something about replicating the Parthenon, so naturally I accepted. I didn’t spend hours listening to Annabeth yap about Greek culture for noth-“

“Hi, Annabeth!” Piper greeted cheerfully, looking between Leo and the girl coming up behind him.

“Did I say yap? I meant expound. Expound elegantly and gracefully, which I am forever grateful for.” Leo turned around quick as a flash, gesturing theatrically with his hands to explain himself.

Annabeth had a smirk on her face as she flopped her book bag down next to theirs. “I’m glad you liked my expounding, Leo.”

“Always, smartypants.” Leo sent a few finger guns her way. She returned them half-heartedly. “Actually, could you take a look at the blueprints? Nyssa was kind of uncertain about the details. Apparently she doesn’t trust me. Tragic.”

“Tragic, indeed.” she said, pulling her reading glasses off of the collar of her forest green sweater. “Let me see.”

~*~

Piper was stuck among various kinds of nerds, she thought with a bored sigh. Annabeth and Leo, obviously, were geeks. Annabeth’s friend Malcolm was so clearly a dweeb. And Piper herself was a dork by proximity.

It was nearing the end of book club, around 3:00. Leo had somehow bullshitted his way into getting others to think he read the book, while Piper and Annabeth had squealed about how cool the premise was. Piper talked about the sustained metaphors, Annabeth rambled about the imagery, Leo tried to derail the conversation to discuss what happened in his fifth period, Annabeth shushed him, Piper shushed him, Malcolm shushed him, Leo grumbled under his breath about them being no fun, so on and so forth.

The librarian shooed them out of the library at 3:05, fretting about a meeting of the school committee of something or other in 10 minutes. Piper and Leo gladly left the premises, with Annabeth heading out to study with Malcolm at Town Center.

“I’m gonna go watch the football practice. I think Hazel’s there, too, should be fun if you want to tag along,” Leo offered, already walking backwards towards the football field. He swung his backpack back and forth, having not yet put it on.

Clang, said the support pillar that Leo ran into.

“You should really stop walking backwards,” Piper stated after she stopped laughing. Leo rubbed at the back of his head, giving her a glare.

“Fuck you. I meant it when I said I want to watch you die.”

Piper pulled out her phone and opened her text messages. “Sorry, my dad’s already here for pickup. Have fun watching your himbo boyfriend work out, you sap,” she spat as she ran out to the parking lot.

“I’ll tell him you said that!”

#piper mclean #leo valdez #jason grace #annabeth chase #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo high school au #valgrace

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scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde · 6 months ago

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I'm ill again because I have the immune system of a sickly victorian child. Therefore I must project onto the harry potter next gen kids

What i think (some) of the next gen kids are like when they're sick:

Scorpius: I've already done a whole post on this but I have no idea how to link posts despite being on this site for years. the short version is, he was a sick child and constantly in and out of hospital so now he cannot gauge when he's actually really sick and needs to just rest, so albus has to forcibly keep him in the dorm or hospital wing otherwise he will still try and go to class even if actively dying

Albus: he's lowkey so dramatic. if he has a small cold you WILL be hearing about it, BUT he's super subtle. he will casually tie it into conversation to make you feel sorry for him and just keep bringing it up until youre like aw no, im so sorry man. he doesnt try with rose anymore, because she will just mock him, she knows what hes doing. he's most obvious about it to Scorpius, he'll start pouting and be like I feel sick 🥺🥺 and Scorpius is immediately like oh poor baby 🥺🥺/gen and does in fact baby him until he feels better

Rose: does not get sick and its infuriating. when there's some kind of bug going around the school, you can guarantee this girl will not get it. she thinks everyone is just being dramatic and trying to get out of class. don't come to her for sympathy unless you actually look like you're on deaths door. the most sympathy surprisingly goes to Scorpius because she has seen this idiot try to attend class whilst not being able to function properly and be escorted out

Hugo: he doesnt get sick often, like a slightly below average getting sick, but my version of hugo is so unbothered by everything, he would end up in hospital or whatever but wont tell anyone, not on purpose, he just never goes out of his way to mention anything until it specifically comes up in conversation. Hes the random kid that pops up, says he has a relevant anecdote, tells you the wildest story youve ever heard so casually, youre left like???? what the fuck?? and how has that never come up before????, then he just dissapears again

James: gets so mopey, he gets so restless and hates having to sit and wait to get better. he'll enjoy not having to go to class for like one day but when you tell him he can't go anywhere or play quidditch or anything he's immediately over it like, 😟😟 wdym??? wdym I have to just lie here until I'm better??? lemme out!!!! LEMME OUT!!!!

Lily: lowkey whiny. she's not usually super whiny but she acts like a little kid when she's sick and will constantly frown and pout and cross her arms and kick her legs. collateral of being the youngest sibling lmao. she wants people to do everything for her and will shout for people to come get the TV remote or something that's only like 2 feet away from her and just shake her arm at it until you pass it. Ginny and Harry do it for her, her brothers do not lmao

Victorie: doesn't usually get sick-sick often, but I headcanon her as being a general athlete, she likes to do triathlons in her spare time, and if she gets injured she literally has to not be able to walk before she stops. she will just keep going. have you seen female footballers? the way they will be wacked in the head and start bleeding everywhere but then be like meh I can keep going. so her.

Louis: cannot stand the wanting to throw up kind of sick. he can deal with anything else, he has a pretty good immune system, he can pretty much carry on with normal stuff, and you won't even realise he's sick, but the second he feels stomach sickness, he is pale as a ghost and out for business. lowkey has emetaphobia, he will just sit so still until he doesn't feel like that anymore trying to make it go away by just 🧍🏻‍♂️if I don't move it won't know I'm here, yk lmao. hates throwing up so fucking bad

Roxanne: takes the sickness as some kind of personal test. is dramatic in the sense that she will go full warrior mode and be like 😈 i will survive 😈 I will not be beaten by these pitiful germs 😈 and will absolutely just rock her way through it, she talks like she's on some kind of quest, and that this is some kind of evaluation of her perseverance

Fred: just lies there. will not move until he's better. doesn't get really dramatic or complain but god forbid you try and make him do something, he'll start going off about how normalised it is for people to push themselves when sick because society wants people to work themselves to death, and doesn't actually care about anyone's health, and everyone just gets so sick of hearing him, they leave him alone

Karl Jenkins: will purposefully cough on people to get them sick too "as a joke"

#the hugo one is inspired by a girl i knew at school #she was so chill about everything and would randomly just bring up the wildest things so nonchalantly. one time she had really really sever #ear and eye infections and a bit later we were talking about some school event and she was like oh i wasnt there #and we were like #why? and #she was just like #oh I was in and out of hospital for weeks lol #almost lost my eyesight lol. anyway whats for lunch 😋#and that just feels so him #plz feel free to add anything or completely disagree with me lmao i am very persudable #you could tell me actually youre completely wrong and id be like yeah youre so right actually #hpcc #harry potter and the cursed child #harry potter next gen #scorpius malfoy #albus potter #scorbus #harry potter #rose granger weasley #hugo granger weasley #james sirius potter #lily luna potter #victorie weasley #louis weasley #roxanne weasley #fred weasley ii #karl jenkins

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barrackspredator · 7 months ago

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for @bowerspowers :)

Marilyn Fenix 🦌

I ship you with…

Belch Huggins 🧸

Pre-Dating

Belch knows most people disregard him as the unfortunate looking one of the gang who’s dumb as rocks, and most people aren’t shy to make it known that’s how they think of him

For most of his life that’s what he’s been treated as, another dumb bully just without the looks his friends were graced with

When he found out he was paired with Marilyn for the history project, he was overcome with dread—guessing that Marilyn was just going to be another popular girl who would treat him like human garbage

To his surprise, Marilyn was rather different. Sure they bickered and lightly teased each other, but she didn’t treat him any differently than she would another one of his friends… except maybe Patrick’s psychotic self

About a week after their project, Belch found himself missing this feeling of normality. The feeling that he was just another regular teenage boy

Two weeks had passed when Belch finally approached Marilyn. He sheepishly stood in front of her desk with a small smile (looked more like a sneer). The stares they were receiving from their peers made him want to shy away, but the reassuring smile he got from Marilyn was enough to give him the courage he needed to ask her if she wanted a ride home

After a painfully tense drive home, the bulky brunette asked Marilyn if she wanted a ride to school the next day. From then on a schedule was made! Belch would drive Marilyn to school, home with the guys on Friday, and on cheer practice days would return at 6 to take her back home

When asked why he does this, he would turn red like a tomato while sputtering out some excuse.

“Kids are going missing, moron! Use your head, damnit!”

After weeks of rides and pining, Belch asked Marilyn on a date.

He did not phrase it as a date, instead he asked if she wanted to go on a nature walk

He popped the question of dating when they were miles deep into the woods and only he knew the way back.

Dating

He doesn’t show her off necessarily, but he sure isn’t shy about letting people know she’s his girlfriend

He’s actually quite proud of the fact that he could bag Derry’s golden girl since he was viewed as Derry’s… unfortunate looking bully

The gang had already got the hint that Belch had a thing for Marilyn, so it was no surprise to them when they saw the couple coming towards the car hand in hand

Henry is quite vocal about how off they look together

Victor is not at all as vocal as Henry or Patrick, instead he quietly appreciates the couple who act as the parents of the group

Patrick tried to hit on Marilyn during a ride home and Belch slammed the brakes knowing Patrick doesn’t wear his seatbelt

Belch had to clean the blood from the back of the headrest where Patrick’s head smashed into it

From then on Belch kicked Henry to the back to make Marilyn his passenger princess

Belch isn’t the jealous type by any means but seeing Marilyn around the jocks really grinds his gears

Like most people assume, Belch is the brute of the group, however he is also a big gentle giant who won’t use his strength against others unless commanded by Henry

It is for that reason that the gang was so surprised when Belch socked the QB of the football team for staring at Marilyn in her cheer uniform

He sheepishly apologized to Marilyn after while she was cleaning his knuckles

This big softie loves cuddling, hugging, or carrying his girlfriend

He’s very into words of affirmation and physical touch

His list of cute nicknames for her are out of this world

PDA enjoyer because he loves to show how beautiful his girlfriend is and how much he adores her

Attends every game she cheers at but only for her

Though he is a great boyfriend, at times he was entirely clueless to the double life his girlfriend was leading

When he found out she had been drinking at parties and taking up smoking, he offered guidance but also protection

He stays sober to make sure she’s okay when she’s not

Though he absolutely loves his precious Marilyn, his loyalties still lie with Henry. There were more than a few times when he would have to cancel on dates or pick her up a little later than usual because of Henry

There are periods of time where he loses sight of his main priority (Marilyn) because he is so caught up with Henry

He usually makes up for it by taking her out on a nice date, especially picnics

Belch tries to take her on a nature date at least once a week

Overall, Belch is a pretty wonderful boyfriend who loves his Marilyn dearly and would do anything for her. The attention she lacks from home is easily made up by her lovesick boyfriend… who can maybe be a bit much at times, but he means well!

Bonus Moodboard!

Did I mention how much this guy loves his gf?

#henry bowers #victor criss #belch huggins #patrick hockstetter #bowers gang #it 2017 #asks open #it2017 #belch huggins x oc #oc x cc #oc ship requests #oc x canon

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halfway-happyyy · 2 years ago

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into gold II {rooster bradshaw}

synopsis: rooster bradshaw’s emotional baggage could fill a cargo container ten times over. he is the single father of a precocious and bubbly six-year-old, and despite his best efforts, has fallen head over heels for someone arguably more damaged than him- his daughter’s first grade teacher.

characters- bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, frankie bradshaw, female ooc scout wallis (she/her pronouns)

or- the one where scout falls for Frankie before she falls for rooster.

word count- 2400+

read part 1 here

When Rooster allows himself a couple of rare moments to reflect on Sunday morning, it’s easy to feel blue about the state of all things. But then Frankie will tell him a joke she heard at school:

-What does a cloud wear under his raincoat?

I haven’t the faintest idea, Frankie.

-Thunderpants!

Or she’ll hand him a photo she drew of him in his… F/A-18? Or she’ll curl into his side in front of the television and fall asleep. And he'll know then, without a doubt, that he is the luckiest man in the world. He’s reminded of this fact as he rolls to a halt in front of Penny’s house. The beautiful sound of Frankie’s laughter floats in on the breeze through the Bronco’s open windows and makes him smile. He watches sheer joy bloom on her face as Maverick plays with her in the front yard, and something heavy tugs on his heartstrings.

You should be here, dad.

Rooster exits the car to lean against the passenger door, not wanting to ruin their moment just yet.

“Papa!”

Frankie catches sight of her father and bolts from Maverick’s embrace to run into Rooster’s outstretched arms, and he reckons there’s no better feeling in the universe. He holds her to him, peppering the top of her head with dozens of kisses.

“Hi papa,” Frankie’s cheeks are rosy and she’s breathless from play.

“Hi Frankie. Did you miss me?”

She nods fervently, circling her tiny arms tighter around him.

“But you had fun with Mav and Penny, right?”

Frankie nods again.

“Well, well, well. You certainly look like you had a good weekend.” Maverick surveys the sight of Rooster with a wry smile.

The younger pilot laughs sheepishly and scratches at the back of his head. “There’s a reason I never really go out with those guys anymore.”

Maverick’s laughter is booming. “You deserved it, kid.” His gaze drifts to Frankie’s and he bends down to her level. “Go see Pen about some cookies before you leave, Frank. She just made a batch of fresh ones.”

Frankie squeezes Rooster’s hand and dashes off in the direction of the front door.

“You bringing her down to the beach?” Maverick asks.

Rooster nods. “Dogfight football Sundays are her favourite. Will we see you there?”

“Penny and I wouldn’t miss it.” Maverick affirms.

His expression is unreadable; Rooster gets the feeling he’s about to ask him something, when Frankie bursts from the house, her tiny hands laden with two bulging Ziploc bags of homemade chocolate chunk cookies.

“Looks like you won the jackpot, Frank.” Rooster muses and watches her place the cookies carefully into her green dinosaur backpack. “Well, we should probably head out sweetheart. Did you thank Mav and Penny for hanging out with you this weekend?”

The elder pilot bends down so that Frankie can wrap her arms around his neck. “We had a good time didn’t we, Frank?”

“Yeah Mav!” She grins and plants a sloppy kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Don’t get too carried away with your goodbyes, Frank. Mav and Penny are meeting us at the beach in a little bit.”

Rooster watches her beautiful blue eyes widen in sheer delight.

“Dogfight football!” She squeals and doesn’t waste a second before jumping into the back of the waiting Bronco.

“You’re late, Bradshaw!” Jake yells an hour later and is about to rib him some more, but he falters when he notices Frankie in tow behind him. “Well, if it ain't Frank the Tank!” He jogs to where they’re standing and gathering her into his arms, spins her around in dizzying cirlces. The girlish trill of her laughter fills the humid saltwater air around them.

Rooster marvels at how well Jake does with children and reckons with a wry smile, that perhaps there’s still hope for the elder pilot yet.

“I’m wearing the boots you got me!” Frankie exclaims, excitedly.

Jake bends down to get a good look at the fire-engine red cowboy boots he had picked up for her on his last trip home to Austin.

“So you are, and might I add that they have never looked more stunning on anyone else before.”

Frankie’s cheeks glow pink- she’s about to say something else when she notices Scout a little way beyond the crowd and her eyes widen in delighted surprise.

“Miss Wallis!”

Scout’s eyes light up when she catches sight of her, and she raises a hand in greeting. “Hi Frankie!”

Rooster hadn’t considered her being there; figures that if he had known, he might have thought twice about coming. Especially with Frankie.

“What on Earth are you doing at dogfight football, Miss Wallis?” Frankie’s chest heaves from running through the sand to get to her.

Scout catches Rooster’s gaze for a second and he remembers instantly, the feeling of her hand in his two nights ago and how it felt like he’d known her for years instead of a mere couple of hours, and it’s all he can do not to gather Frankie in his arms and take her back home.

To spare them both heartache that would ensue sooner or later.

“Well, a little birdie flew by and told me that there was going to be a football game on the beach today, and I figured maybe I should drop by to cheer everyone on. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a good idea, Miss Wallis. Can we do it together?”

“I’d like that, Frankie.” Scout beams widely and holds out her hand for Frankie to take, which she accepts happily.

Despite the girls' enthusiastic cheering, a grueling hour passes beneath the relentless San Diego sun, and Rooster (out of breath and embarrassingly sunburnt) is the first to admit that he’s played better games. Jake and Coyote take turns teasing him mercilessly about it, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off Scout and Frankie gallivanting up and down the beach like a couple of old friends. Frankie picks out shells and rocks that strike her fancy, and Scout drops them into the pockets of her sundress for safe keeping.

When Frankie catches up with Rooster and Penny a mile down the beach, she’s breathless with triumph. “You’ll never guess how many shells I found, Papa. Look at this one,” She whispers and opens her tiny palm to reveal a miniscule, speckled cowrie shell.

“That’s a pretty cool one, Frank. You'll have to add it it to your collection." Rooster eyes Scout’s dress, which had been knee-length thirty minutes ago, and was now hanging around her ankles, the hem of it damp from sand and saltwater. "Did you thank Miss Wallis for hanging onto them for you?”

“I did, Papa. Can I go show some of my shells to Bob and Phoenix?” Rooster nods and watches Frankie bound away, her red boots kicking up a sandstorm as she disappears down the beach.

Scout clears her throat. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s why they make these dresses with such deep pockets.”

Rooster turns to her then; wishes for a moment that fate had intervened seven years earlier, instead of two days ago.

There’s no such thing as ‘right person, wrong time’ Bradley. The right person will never come along at the wrong time.

He hears his mother’s voice so clearly some days, it’s as if she’s still around somewhere.

“I never got to thank you for Friday night.” Scout finally offers.

Rooster frowns. “What for?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a fantastic rendition of a Jerry Lee Lewis song. It’s like you were born to play it.”

Rooster muses at how close she came to the mark. “I don’t have very many memories of childhood before the age of six, but my old man used to love that song.” They wander back to the group of pilots and significant others that had elected to stay after the game for the bonfire.

Jake's busy tossing the football back and forth to Coyote, but when he notices Scout, he winks and asks, "How'd I look out there, Wallis?"

She’s about to respond but Phoenix beats her to it, her tone deapan. “Like a magnet for melanoma, Bagman.”

A chorus of laughter erupts, and all Jake can do is roll his eyes and say, “It seems we have a comedian in our midst, friends.”

“You looked a picture of unbridled athleticism, honey.” Scout giggles by way of putting the flames out, and drops into a seat next to Maverick.

Rooster takes this opportunity to introduce the two. “Maverick, this is Scout Wallis. She just so happens to be Frankie's teacher."

The delicate creases next to the elder pilot’s eyes deepen as he offers her a wide beam. “So, it’s you we have to thank for the plethora of silly jokes Frankie likes to tell us.”

Scout’s cheeks redden before she offers a sheepish shrug. “It turns out that in the state of California, bad jokes are a prerequisite for primary schoolteachers.”

Maverick’s laugh is hearty and booming, but when it subsides, his expression is thoughtful. “In all seriousness though, you’re doing a wonderful job with her.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain. Frankie is a dream to have in the classroom.”

If Maverick wonders how Scout knew to refer to him by his naval rank, he makes no mention of it. Rooster, however, does wonder. He's about to ask her about it when Penny leans over and says, “You were at the Hard Deck on Friday night, weren’t you?”

Oh shit.

Maverick’s eyebrows rise in mild amusement.

“I was yeah,” Scout admits. “I had the pleasure of a very special performance.” She winks at Rooster who fights the urge to drop his gaze.

“Let me guess, he hit you with the old tried and true, Great Balls of Fire?”

“He sure did,” Penny laughs. “Had the whole bar in a tizzy.”

“His dad used to play that song on the piano like his life depended on it.” Maverick murmurs, by way of explanation.

Rooster could see the wheels turning behind those beautiful eyes of hers again, and where he had never easily shared any part of himself with Frankie’s mother, he was struck suddenly by the want to share every part of himself with Scout. This notion made him uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons; least not of which was because his best friend, who seemed just as crazy about her as he was, was only a couple of feet away.

“I take it there’s history between the two of you?” Scout's voice shatters the muddled silence.

Rooster laughs and glances sideways at the surrogate-father figure before him. “Yeah, something like that.”

The night unfolds the way in which Sunday nights often do for Rooster and Frankie: with an abundance of friends and family, the warm salty air a salve for their souls. Frankie and Scout take a couple of turns throwing the football back and forth; Rooster notices the spiral Scout has on her and grows even more bewitched by the woman before him. When she’s had enough for the night, she drops into a seat next to Penny, their quiet chatter a soothing comparison to the hoots and hollers of the pilots around them.

A little while later, Frankie (exhausted from the day’s events, and with a stomach full of sparkling water and hotdogs) wanders over to where Scout’s seated, climbs onto her lap, and promptly falls asleep. Rooster watches Scout’s arms instinctively circle his daughter’s slumbering figure, and a chunk of ice the size of texas chips away from his heart. With a slight pang, he knows their time to leave has arrived.

“You’ll be hard-pressed to pry them apart, Bradshaw.” Jake’s Southern drawl is thicker under the weight of the couple of beers he had under his belt.

“Don’t I know it.” Rooster sighs and pushes himself from his seat to wander over to where Frankie and Scout are. He drops down into the sand in front of Frankie to rub the flat of his palm over her small back.

“Is it time to go?” Scout whispers.

Rooster nods and waits a second for Frankie to stir. “Come on Frank, it’s time to go home to bed.”

His daughter opens her eyes, her expression stupefied from the weight of sleep. “I don’t want to, Papa.” She pleads.

Rooster kisses the top of her head. “I know, sweetheart, but it's time.” She lets him lift her into his arms without any more fuss. It only takes a second before he feels the steady rise and fall of her chest against his shoulder to know that she’s back to sleep. He turns to Scout, not wanting to say goodbye but accepting the inevitable. “It was a pleasure seeing you again today.”

Scout gazes up at him. “The pleasure was all mine, Rooster. She’s a great kid.”

It’s only after they’ve returned home for the evening, Frankie tucked into bed, and his own eyelids fighting the lulling tug of sleep that he remembers Frankie’s precious shells. He makes a mental note to text Jake about them tomorrow. He lets his mind drift back to that wondrous woman before sleep settles in for good; wonders again how she knew Maverick’s rank, and how she possesses an ease to military life that most civilians don’t usually have.

Maverick stops by the next morning for coffee before Frankie’s awake for the day.

“There’s something going on between you and Frankie’s teacher.” His tone is mild and lacks any accusation.

“Well you certainly are direct this morning, aren’t you?” Rooster takes a deep sip from his mug, savoring the slightly bitter taste of the roasted beans on his tongue, before he answers no.

Maverick shifts in his chair. “But you’d like there to be?”

Rooster hesitates before nodding.

“You have to tread carefully here, kid. Frankie’s crazy about her.”

And so is Jake Seresin.

“Yeah well, Jake beat me to it, so there isn’t much else to say.”

Maverick’s viridian gaze twinkles knowingly in the light pouring in through the kitchen window, giving his head an almost imperceptible half-shake. “The feeling was mutual, Rooster. Everyone knew it.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Rooster asks, “Did you wonder how she knew to call you Captain? You weren’t wearing anything that gave you away.”

Maverick finishes the rest of his coffee and sets the mug down against the wooden tabletop. “What did you say her last name was?”

“Wallis.”

“She teaches at Mason elementary?”

Rooster nods.

Maverick shifts again in his seat and closes his eyes as if he were sifting through a mental rolodex of memories. “I believe her husband was top of his class at NAS Fallon in 2016. A truly great fighter pilot.”

Rooster blanches. “She's married?”

Maverick grows somber. “He died in enemy combat almost five years ago now.”

#rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x oc #top gun #top gun: maverick #tgm #miles teller #into gold #writing #fluff #rooster bradshaw fluff

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