#Roy Kent fanfiction

[queers-gambit]

Fútbol is Life

prompt: Dani Rojas always says "fútbol is life," but it wasn't supposed to take precedence over you in Roy's. when he stands you up, disappointment and repercussions ensue. -> or when Roy forgets a date with you

pairing: Roy Kent x female!reader

fandom: Ted Lasso -> no masterlist... yet

collection masterlist: Nights Like This

word count: 9.9k+

note: this is pretty tame in comparison to other angsty fics

warnings: obvious cursing, established relationship, feelings are hard, depiction and mention of anxiety, Lord's name in vain, some fluff, some angst, more so hurt and comfort, purposeful use of repetition. Coach Beard is Bestie and threatens arson, romanticized job promotion, use of Y/N, pet names for / from everyone! not edited, this fic got away from the author.

"You still in yesterday's clothes?" A deep grumble sounded from behind you; being so used to it, you weren't startled.

"Uh-huh."

"Why're you up so early?"

"Mhhhhmmmmm."

"You get any fuckin' sleep?"

"Right, right, whatever you say, baby."

A pause as the pitter-patter of a rapidly clacking keyboard filled the space.

"I'm thinkin' of wearin' Phoebe’s Elsa costume all of trainin' today, complete with the wig. Thoughts?"

"Uh-huh, sounds good, love," the clatter continued until the screen that burned your retinas suddenly closed, and should you not have retracted your hands, would've been the meat of a technology sandwich. "Oi!" You snapped, looking up to meet Roy's knowing glare. "What'd you do that for? You're lucky this automatically saves!"

"Sweetheart," Roy leered, lowering so he balanced his hands on the arm of the sofa you occupied, "you're not good to anyone half-dead. A single night isn't gonna do anything more than what you've already done the past months."

You deflected shyly, "I'm just editing."

"At 95 words per-fuckin'-minute?"

While Roy glared, you expressed sheepishness, "I just - it needs to be perfect, okay? Today can't be anything less." He growled knowingly, handing you the perfect cup of coffee you didn't hear, smell, see, or realize he made with a kiss to the top of your head. With a smile, you bid, "Thank you, lovebug."

He grunted and took the seat beside you. "Right, then. Let's see it," he gestured for your laptop.

"You're not gonna understand what it says, it's all corporate lingo and statistics and - "

"Don't fuckin' matter - hand it over."

You slowly, cautiously, placing the computer on his lap. He flipped the lid and scanned the 60-some page document swiftly, skipped through the paired PowerPoint, nodded with his usual growl, then slapped it shut and pushed it onto the coffee table. "Fuck's sake, Roy!" You protested, trying to lean forward to take it back.

"Nope," he caught you beforehand and pulled you back to rest together against the cushions. He even reached around you to one of the many fuzzy pillows you decorated with, giving it a fluff, then situated it behind you comfortably. "We're gonna sit here for a moment, let you decompress. Like I said, you're no good half-fuckin'-dead. Just take a fuckin' breather, love, c'mon."

You deflated, pouting at him. "I just wanna do well."

Roy stretched his arm around your shoulders, letting you curl into his side. "I don't know what you're so stressed about. Hardest Goddamn worker I know, they'd be fuckin' idiots to pass you over for this promotion."

"You call them idiotic, unqualified, pampered wankers everyday," you giggled.

"'Cause they fuckin' are."

"Yes, yes, I know. But with me in this new position, maybe I can change things up so we're not all fuckin' wankers, hey?"

"Promotion or not, you'd never be like them," he mused, "you're too fuckin' pure, so innocent; sometimes, it makes me sick."

"You bloody romantic," you snickered, leaning your forehead to his temple.

"Just don't tell anyone, I've got a reputation to uphold. Still need a ride today, doll?"

"No, 's all right, baby, I hate makin' you late. Thank you, though, Sully's gonna pick me up."

"Know I don't care 'bout punctuality - 'specially when it's t'help you."

"Yeah, but you know I hate being dependent on or inconveniencing others."

He hummed, "You hear from the garage yet? How much longer they gonna keep your car?"

"They said probably in the next day or two, so, you'll officially be relieved of chauffeur duties very soon," you lifted your head to peck his fuzzy cheek.

"Oh, shut it - know you love me drivin' you 'round."

"Guilty," you grinned. "Makes me feel like a princess."

"Good, not doin' my job if you don't. So you wanna tell me why you're doin' work before actually goin' inta work?"

You shrugged meekly, readjusting so your legs were tossed over his lap, taking your own pull of coffee before answering, "I'm just makin' sure everything's in order, I'm a bit nervous to present all this."

"Darlin', it's as perfect as you are. And fuck the presentation, you're gonna make it your bitch and smash it. Should those twats in suits not think so, just call me... I'll set the bastards straight."

You hummed, smiling at him brightly. "You're a regular knight in shining armor, aren't yah? Who's just lookin' for reasons t'yell?"

"Always," he grunted, sipping his coffee, "every princess needs a knight, don't she?"

"Not a prince?"

"Nah, princes are over-fuckin'-raided, spoiled, pampered li'l spineless bitches."

You eyed him for a suspicious moment, quipping, "You or Pheebs come up with that?"

"Pheebs," he growled with a proud smirk. "Feel sorry for any bloke that comes her way."

"No you don't, you relish the idea of beating the shit outta anyone that remotely shows interest in her."

Roy chuckled gruffly, "I'm a man, I know how they think. So, if you figure out another way to keep her safe, feel free to share. Now, what time you gotta go?"

"Uh," you checked your watch, "Sully should be here soon, I should probably finish getting ready... Or start getting ready, I mean."

"Could save time and shower together," he smirked.

With laughter, you shook your head, "As tempting as that is, baby, we're on a time limit."

"Don't matter, I'll just drop you at work - they can't start until you're there anyway."

"Yeah, but you've got trainin' t'get to, love."

"So fuckin' what? I can be late. Ted'll understand - since he fuckin' adores you for whatever fuckin' reason."

"Because I'm fucking adorable," you snickered before leaning in to kiss him with another smile. "I appreciate you, baby, but I've got it. Thank you for offering and, you know, driving me everywhere the past week - but I really, really can't afford t'be late today."

Roy heaved a heavy sigh, "All right. Fine. C'mon, then," he grunted under his breath as he stood, "let's get you dressed."

"First time you've ever said that," you laughed, snatching his hand to lift onto your feet; following him to the bedroom. In tandem, you both prepared for your days at work; and while you didn't need to offer any vote to his fit - being the same monochromatic look everyday - you consulted his opinion on an appropriate fit for that day's presentation.

"You don't think that's a bit... Too sexy?" He asked, eyeing the heather grey pencil dress from where it hung on the closet door. "Tits look fuckin' spectacular in that - maybe too good for work."

"Kinda figured if I get nervous and fuck up orally, the way I look will be enough to distract," you smirked. "Or should I wear that little white number - "

"No, no, fuck no, you wear that for me and me alone," Roy grit, making you snicker and drop your robe; revealing a matching set of lingerie. His head cocked, eyeing you up and down, "I buy you that?"

You glanced at the bralette, sending him a smirk, "Not this one, but it is new; thought a matching set would give me a confidence boost. You like it?"

"Fuckin' love it," he mused, "not loving that you're wearing it for work, though."

"Well, maybe you should take me out tonight so it doesn't go to waste," you beamed, tugging the clingy material over your body; adjusting it as needed.

"Fuck yeah, I'm gonna take you out tonight. Fuckin' hell - look at yah! Not 'bouta let this look go to waste, gotta show you off."

With a smile, you informed, "I'll be out 'round 4."

Roy smirked, watching you debate shoes. "Them blue ones, there," he pointed to a pair of Tiffany blue heels that laced around your ankle; the aglet being a fun puff ball to add a hint of whimsy. "Right, how's 'bout dinner at Bordeaux? Drinks at Johnny's after?"

"You don't drink durin' the season," you reminded, dropping to the bed beside him to secure your shoes. He pulled your legs to his lap, sliding the heels over your feet and lacing them.

"Yeah, but I'll make an exception t'celebrate your new promotion. Hey?"

"That sounds really nice," you agreed. "Let's pray we're drinking in celebration and not in dejection."

Roy scoffed, "Fuck off. You've busted your arse for this, it's gonna go exactly as you plan."

"You sure you got trainin' today? Can't come with me, be my personal source of confidence?" You pouted, leaning into his side with your chin on his shoulder; hand finding his to lace together. "Maybe bully the higher-ups a bit into accepting my proposals?"

"Don't need me," he soothed in a rumble, "your work speaks for itself. You're just nervous, love, but it'll go away once you get your ball rollin'."

"Pun intended?" You smirked, earning a deadpanned expression. So you groaned and stood to finish getting ready, snipping, "Well why can't they just read my reports and such? Why do I have to present it?"

"Because they like it when you dumb it down so they don't have to actually fuckin' think. They only run the company 'cause they bought their way in, didn't earn it by merit - like you will."

"Oh... Thaaaat's right," you grinned, leaning into the mirror to push earrings through your piercings. "Love, could you hand me - ah, thank you," you smiled when he appeared behind you, hand splayed to present your usual jewelry. "Right," you finished latching the clasp, turning in the mirror to get a full look at yourself, then facing Roy. With your arms held in bravado, you quipped, "Well? What do yah think?"

"I'd buy any-fuckin'-thing you're selling," he nodded, arms sweeping around your waist.

"I'm not selling anything but myself as president of the very company I helped get off the bloody ground."

"I stand by my statement."

Your phone buzzed, smartwatch lighting up with notification. "Sully's here," you sighed, latching your arms around his neck, "and you've gotta get goin'."

"Hm," he growled, leaning in to press his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. "'S gonna be a great day, doll, can feel it for yah."

"Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend? He's not usually so optimistic."

"Ha-ha," he grit, but the smirk on his lips assured he knew you were only teasing him. "C'mon, love."

Roy waited at the front door as you finished flitting around the home, grabbing your laptop and work purse, phone, chargers, keys, whatever you needed for the day; scampering out the door he held. Your coworker-slash-bestie, Erica Sullivan, a.k.a. Sully, waited in her BMW on the street, watching you walk Roy to his car.

"Bordeaux at 4:30?" You checked, him peering down at you fondly.

"I'll be there, baby. Now," he growled, "kick today's arse, and kick that meetin' every harder - always go for the crotch. Hey?"

"Mhm," you smiled, nodding in agreement. "Have a good day," you whispered, letting his lips drop to yours, "be nice to Coach Lasso - oh! - and tell Beard I finished our book and next is either Dinner At The Homesick Restaurant or Things Fall Apart."

"What's that fuckin' matter?"

"We bet who finishes each book first, winner chooses the next."

"Can't believe you're in a fuckin' bookclub with him," he scoffed slightly, looking mildly annoyed; which made you grin.

"You can't be jealous, I invite you each time!"

"Whatever," he scoffed, checking his watch. "Right, we better get goin' - "

"One more, one more, one more," you pouted, "for my nerves."

He chuckled and slid his hand across your jaw to romantically hold the back of your neck at the base of your head. "Got plenty of those, love, c'mere," he muttered, bringing you in for another kiss that made your head spin. His tongue swept against yours slowly, honestly riling you up versus calming you down - and it would've progressed if Sully didn't lay on her horn.

"I love you both but I need coffee!" She shouted from her window when you broke apart to glare at her car. "Let's go! Hurry the fuck up, you can dick her down anytime! We've got a real job t'get to!"

"Might honestly strangle her," Roy muttered, rolling his eyes, redirecting your attention to him. "Listen t'me, don't fuckin' worry 'bout today - you know you're prepared; you're gonna fuckin' kill it. Don't ever second guess yourself about what you deserve."

"Thanks, baby," you whispered, smiling, pecking his lips one more time. "All right, go, go, go, you gotta get gone or Beard'll give me that unnerving stare next bookclub."

He sighed heavily, but relented, "Love you, doll."

"Love you, too, handsome." You turned to leave, but Roy pushed off his car to ease his arm around your shoulders as you headed for Sully. "What're you - "

"My girl doesn't touch doors, you know this," he answered easily, gruffly opening the passenger door of the BMW. He took your purse, offering his hand to ease you into the seat; leaning down to set your belongings at your feet and nod at the driver. "Sully..."

"Fuckface," she smirked.

He growled in the back of his throat while glaring at your snickering bestie; looking at you softer, "Good luck today, sweetheart."

"Thank you, baby," you whispered with a growing grin; always entertained by Sully and Roy's competition and feigned distain for one another.

Never minding the fact that Roy personally saved her from a horrible date once - it'd ruin their power dynamic.

With one last glare to your snickering best friend, he grunted and lifted up to properly shut the door. You tried to watch him back to his car, but Sully was already zooming off.

"Nervous 'bout today, lovie?"

"No shit," you frowned, "considering the biggest promotion of my life really rides on this."

"I know, but I guess you're kinda supposed t'be nervous since you're goin' for an admin position. What was Fuckface's reaction?"

You pinned her with a sideways glare, answering with a sigh, "Supportive, as usual. We're goin' to Bordeaux tonight either to celebrate or drown my disappointing sorrow."

"Oh, fuck off, you've been working on this for, what? 6 years? And no, I'm not just saying that 'cause you got me a kickarse job."

You corrected with a snicker, "Might as well be 6 bloody years, all the God forsaken hours I've put in."

"Breathe, babes," she beamed, "you're gonna fuckin' kill it."

"You sound like Roy."

"Ah, fuck, can't have that. Even though he took the love of my life," she scoffed slightly, making you coo obnoxiously.

"Oh, babes, know you're my first and greatest love."

"Better be," she grumbled, "put over two decades inta yah, better be your first choice."

"Not my only choice?"

"Well, I can't give you babies... You know, I don't produce sperm - stupid fuckin' biology and shit."

"That fickle bitch."

She hummed in agreement. "Now... I know it's your turn to buy coffee but I got it, bit of a treat for your big day. But when you get that promotion, you're buying for a month."

"Deal and deal," you laughed.

After the most successful day of your career, your walk to Bordeaux was spent dialing your family to relay the news. Your mother squealed and cried with joy, repeating her pride and calling your father on a three-way; and your siblings pleaded for bragging rights as you were officially one of the youngest female presidents of any company. They also began rattling off expensive Christmas and birthday gifts they've longed for. Naturally, you mockingly scolded them for spending money you didn't have yet, but secretly took note of their suggestions before telling them to stay off social media until the official press release was published. That way, you controlled who knew.

Arriving at the prestigious French restaurant around 4:15, you put your name down for two; accepting a place at the bar until a table was available. The dining room was fully packed with patrons, waitstaff zipping around in perfected synchronization.

"Hello, love," the kind bartender greeted, "what can I get started for yah?"

"Oh, uh..." You scanned the drinks menu, "um... Maybe just... A Merlot?"

"Hmm. Are we celebrating tonight?" The young lad pressed, sensing your indecision.

"Yeah, just a job promotion," you couldn't fight your grin, "but my partner's not here yet, so maybe no champagne yet."

"Understood," he nodded.

"You know what? I am celebrating," you beamed confidently. "So, I'll have whatever you recommend."

"Any preferences?"

"I like sweet wines - oh! And mojitos!"

"Then you would've hated the Merlot - but not to brag, love, I make a mean coconut mojito."

"It's like you read my mind," you agreed with a bright smile.

By the end of your drink, your table was ready... And it was going on 4:30 in the evening; so you texted Roy there wouldn't be a wait, that you got a table. After following the hostess, you sat facing the restaurant to catch Roy's arrival; purse hanging on the back of your chair, gingerly fingering the flowers nervously as the minutes began to tick.

So, you waited. And made up elaborate backgrounds for the strangers around you.

Understanding training could go overtime, you didn't want to press Roy yet; so you enjoyed an appetizer, knowing he wouldn't mind you starting before him, and a second mojito. You even ordered a nice bottle of imported champagne, letting it chill on ice in a bucket beside the table; feeling a little pathetic uncorking a bottle by yourself.

You waited. And impulsively treated yourself, buying your Amazon cart.

Catching sight of few people sneaking pictures of the Great Roy-fucking-Kent's girlfriend, you tried to act as unbothered, natural, and aloof as you could in the spotlight of scrutinization; feeling humiliated, foolish, so bloody stupid.

You waited. And checked your email.

By 5, you ordered an entrée you knew Roy would enjoy and checked your phone. There were several messages from your family, new work emails, a few push notifications... But nothing from Roy.

You texted him again: did i get the wrong time? thought we said 4:30?

The complimentary basket of bread was replenished as you called his number - but it rang, and rang, and rang until his voicemail picked up.

"Uh, hey, it's, like, 5 and I'm sitting in this fucking restaurant alone, Roy. Where the hell are you? What's going on? Could at least text me if you're gonna be late. I already ordered for us. As annoyed as I am right now, I love you... Please call me back, or text me, or better yet, please, walk through the bloody door."

You waited. And doom-scrolled social media.

Your leg bounced from anxiety, something sinking your stomach to your feet the longer the minutes ticked. Unsolicited tears filled your eyes but refused to fall in public; skin feeling prickly and sweaty, ribcage made of iron, not bone. Looking around the hoard of patrons enjoying their dates, you had to mentally beat jealousy off with a stick riddled with protruding nails. It hurt something fierce seeing so many other people who weren't stood up; their sideways glances cast as if you were a social pariah and they pitied you.

Pity was the last thing you ever wanted, so you pretended to look busy to give the impression you were alone on purpose.

With each glance to your message thread, you grew increasingly uncomfortable seeing so many blue bubbles; a divide between the texts that delivered and those that didn't. Roy knew you had abandonment issues stemming from your parents and general anxiety; so the idea he was ghosting you filled your heart and mind with lead; mixing in your blood to pump through your body and weigh on your soul. He's never behaved such as this before, so while you knew in your subconscious he wasn't ignoring you, the little devil on your shoulder hissed Roy had enough of you and set up this date only to get you out of the house so he could pack his shit in peace. Heat flushed your core, worried he fell out of love with you and didn't know how to say it - but on the off chance he did show up at this point, you remained in your chair.

So, you waited. And played Candy Crush.

Calling him again, and again, and again; all going straight to voicemail. On the fourth redial, you left another message: "Roy, seriously," you snarled quietly, "where the fuck are you!?I've been waiting for you over an hour! They're gonna ask I surrender the table soon if you don't show up soon. Please, call me back or send a bloody text."

You were served two meals about 45 minutes later - long wait due to the overwhelmed kitchen - thanking the waiter with a meek, watery tone; emotional from sending so many unanswered texts and several voicemails. Your appetite paired with coconut mojitos cascaded into the void of mortification, nearly sending the plate back - but you felt that was horribly rude and a waste of time, money, and energy from the toxicity of self-deprecation. Instead of the divine-smelling roasted duck ordered, your stomach filled with panic, wondering why you were even still here!? You began to reprimand yourself for prolonging this situation and causing your own hurt; thinking you should've left within half an hour of his ghosting, not endure silent humiliation that was sure to end up in tomorrow's tabloids.

Why am I still here? Why am I still here? Why the fuck am I still here?

Because you knew the devil on your shoulder was wrong. Roy would never do something like this maliciously, and selfishly wanted to have a rare on-season date night. You weren't known for giving up; and after his experiences, refused to give up on Roy no matter how upset you might be with him at any given moment - so you began mentally gaslight yourself by designing excuses and giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Your heart rate escalated.

Your leg bounced with an entirely new anxiety than you started the day with when 6:30 rolled around, feeling something akin to devastating realization he wasn't coming to this overpriced, always-booked restaurant that was supposed to be a date to celebrate you. Then the thought suddenly occurred to you: what if something happened? Was he hurt? Was it his knee? A car crash? Some emergency? If there had been some kind of incident, shouldn't someone have called you by now, being his incase of emergency (ICE) contact? Did he get into a brawl with Jamie again, earning laps as punishment? Was there something going on with the team - was someone hurt? - and since he was captain, required to stay late to help?

You wondered how much longer you'd sit there, alone, looking like a lonely fucking prick.

Hating the anticipation and lack of communication, so you hit Coach Beard's contact while pushing food around the plate to give the illusion of eating. You cleared your sinuses and throat to mask the emotional turmoil. "I was just gonna text you my vote is Things Fall Apart, so you better not be calling to gloat, chickadee," Beard answered, "I know you won."

"Well, howdy to you, too, cowboy," you chuckled.

"Reach for the sky, bay-baayyyy!"

You snickered, "Careful, Coach, Disney doesn't approve of personal use of their propaganda."

"Only if they catch me," he chuckled dryly. "What can I do you for, twirly girly?"

"Oh, right. Listen, toots, uh, what's goin' on over there? How late are you gonna keep the lads?"

"Uh...? We're not, they're gone for the day."

You hushed, "Well, Roy and I had plans to meet for dinner 2 hours ago and he isn't here. Is he okay? Is he there? He has to be there, Coach, please tell me he's still there."

"Uhhhh... Well... See, what had happened was - "

"Beard, where the fuck is Roy? Is he hurt?"

"Um... No, not per se..."

"Well, what can you say? You better answer me or I'm tellin' Jane 'bout Halloween."

There was a long pause, hearing him sigh, "He's with the team, they went out."

"Wait, wait, wait - w-what? Out? Out where?" Your heart plummeted, throat constricting in white hot emotion.

"Hang on, honey." His voice sounded away from the receiver, "Hey, Coach?"

"Yeah, Coach?" You heard Ted.

"Where'd the guys go?"

"Oh, some new bar down the way that stays open past closin' time. Which is considerably early compared to America's 2am curfew."

"Hear that, pumpkin?" Beard spoke into the phone.

"It's a pub," you corrected automatically, "and yeah, I heard."

"What's goin' on?"

"Is that my sunshine!?" Ted was heard. "Put 'er on speaker! I wanna say hi!" You smiled despite the disappointment racking your mind, body, and soul as Beard obviously did as bid, the American coach cooing, "Hey, buggaboo! How you doin'? I'm sure you look real pretty today!"

You chuckled, "Hi, Teddy."

"Know what? I never liked that nickname 'til you started callin' me it!"

"You like anything I do, you overly supportive sap."

"Awh, you sure know how to flatter a guy. What's goin' on, sunshine? Ain't'cha out with the boys?"

"No, Coach, I'm actually sitting alone in a stupidly nice restaurant - apparently being stood up by my boyfriend who'd rather go out drinkin' with his mates without a word to me."

"HE WHAT!?" Beard yelled, making you flinch and jerk the phone from your ear. When you brought it back, you caught the tail end of his rant, " - and he'll run laps all day tomorrow! No breaks! Or I'll burn. This place. DOWN!"

"Beard? Honey?" You waited patiently as Ted was trying to calm his friend down, too. "Honey? Hey, you listenin'?"

"Yeah," Beard grumbled.

"Both you boys listenin'?"

"Uh-huh, what's up, sunshine?" Ted answered. "I got my hand on Beard's mouth, he ain't gonna interrupt yah. Go 'head."

You paused, taking a breath, "I got the promotion."

"YOU WHAT!?" Ted now yelled, Beard heard echoing right after; them obviously celebrating. You chuckled sadly, feeling ashamed over telling them first over Roy - but it wasn't like he was answering his phone, no way of relaying this life changing event. "Holy guacamole, sunshine! This is - wow! Just wow! Congratulations! Oh, my good golly all mighty! You got the job!? Oh, man! We gotta celebrate!"

You perked up a little, "Well, uh, if you're interested, I'm... I'm at this French place and might've already ordered a bottle of champagne. Would you two like to join me? I think it's a bit sad t'drink it alone."

"Hell, yes! We're on the way, peach!" Beard declared. "Ted - Ted - Ted, your bag."

"Oh, right!"

"And keys."

"Where - ah, there they are! Got 'em!"

"And phone!"

"Ah, dang it!"

Beard told you, "We're on our way there... Wait, where's there?"

You chuckled and promised to text the address so he just had to click it and follow the iPhone GPS. You asked them their order before hanging up; asking your waiter to box Roy's food and put in for their meals, also requesting your meal be reheated and brought back at the same time as the others. You finished another mojito by the time they arrived around 7, an extra chair being brought to the table; both holding bouquets of flowers they bought from a local shop on the way.

Standing to hug the two Americans, you thanked them repeatedly for being so kind and supportive; all sitting to enjoy the cuisine and pop the champagne. Despite their silliness and good-natured ways that was obviously exaggerated to distract you, the coaches couldn't miss the way your eyes were dimmed from your boyfriend's antics even if they tried.

"You know, I'm sure Roy ain't mean to forget. The boys thought they'd go out to this, uh, this new place to celebrate a real good day. It's some bar - "

"Pub," Beard corrected, nodding at you.

"Right, right, they went to this new pub down the way," Ted nodded. "Apparently, Richmond drinks for free and them boys wasn't gonna let that pass."

"Well," you huffed, "good to know."

"You all right, sunshine?"

"Oh, for sure," you snipped, downing the last champagne in your flute; Beard instantly refilling it. "I just love being stood up, simply adore bein' forgotten."

"Well, we're here to celebrate you - with you," Ted grinned. "C'mon, now, tell us all about this new gig! Spare no detail! We want it all!"

"Do you even know what position I was goin' for?"

"Nope, but I know it was mighty important."

"President," Beard answered, Ted gasping.

"And you got it!? Oh-ho-hooo! Awh, man! This is cause for dessert! Coach?"

"Absolutely. Pumpkin?"

"Oh, what the hell! Crêpes on me," you grinned. "Actually, think I could ask you two a favor?"

"Anything."

"Whatcha need, sunshine?" Ted snickered at Beard's stoic posture and deadpanned expression whilst still conveying support.

"Think you could arrange a meetin' with Rebecca for me? I know she's all busy but I could use some advice as a woman in power - and some style inspiration, if I'm honest."

"I thought you had her number?" Beard asked.

"I do, I just kinda hope she'd be more inclined to agree meetin' me if from you lot...?"

"Well, as far as I've seen, she likes you a helluva lot more than us - "

"Done," Ted chirped, already pulling out his phone as the waiter approached the table. Beard chuckled at Ted before ordering dessert for everyone. Coach Lasso then wondered, "Hey, you try textin' any of the other guys?"

"No, I called Beard when Roy didn't answer, thought trainin' went overtime or someone got hurt, that there might've been some situation," you shrugged. "And honestly? I don't think I really want t'talk t'him right now. Feelin' a bit..."

"Angry?"

"Abandoned?"

"Flustered?"

"Rattled?"

"Forgotten?"

Your head volleyed between the two, nodding, "You two are scary perceptive. Yes to all, but for what it's worth, this is a helluva consolation celebration."

"Cheers to that," Ted beamed, hoisting his glass over the table. You and Beard followed, "To Sunshine! And her shiny new job! We're real proud of you and can't wait to see what you do!" He looked to Beard pointedly.

"To our friend - the very best of us."

Three glasses clinked together.

"Thanks, youuuu guys - ugh, such sweetie-peaties!" You sang, arm slung over Beard's shoulder as he and Ted walked you to your front door; the taxi idling on the street, your home being too far to walk from the restaurant. "I could've gotten to the doooooor."

"Uh-huh," Ted chuckled when you stumbled, "and miss the chance to see where y'all live?"

"Why? Need home decor inspiration?" You teased. "Ah, fuck," you glared at your keys, "why do I have so many!?"

"'Cause you're big and important," Beard reminded you, earning a giggle of agreement.

"I gotcha, gimme that," Ted mused as Beard supported you upright. "All righty, let's see here - nope, not that one... Uh, this one? No, no... This one! Aha!" The door swung open to a dark home, Coach Ted Lasso mentioning, "Huh, guess the guys are still out."

"Fuck 'em."

"Atta girl," Beard mused, "step carefully, there you go. Easy, easy." They helped you into your home, letting you drop tiredly on the couch. "I got the leftovers," Coach Beard mentioned, moving into your kitchen as Ted propped your feet to the cushion and unlaced your heels.

"Hey, you still awake, girlie?" He shook your knee.

"Mh," he earned a grumble and swatted hand.

Ted couldn't help but chuckle lightly, "All right, well, I'm settin' your alarm, okay? Rebecca said she'll meet with yah tomorrow - so, don't you worry."

"Mmmh, but woooooork," you groaned.

"Uh-huh. Who should I text 'bout that? Don't think you're makin' it in tomorrow, sunshine."

You grumbled unintelligibly, Beard returning. "I got it," he plucked your phone from Ted's grasp. "Siri, text Sully: Won't be in tomorrow, will explain later, love you."

As Ted covered you with a throw blanket, the phone beeped to indicate the message was sent. "Y'all, like, secret best friends or somethin'?" He snickered with shock. Beard shrugged. "Well, now that's just dangerous," Ted continued, "can use anyone's phone to do anything, huh?"

"Eh," Beard shrugged again, leaving your phone on the coffee table and ushering Ted out. They felt bad about leaving your door unlocked, but figured Roy would be home soon enough - considering the time of night and his position as captain. He was usually more responsible than this...

The taxi had just pulled around the corner when Roy's car pulled in; oblivious to the pain he caused via his empty pockets, phone forgotten in his cubby. It had been a particularly good day where everything alined properly during training - which put the whole team on a high - prompting Issac to recommend they go celebrate. Ted thought it was a great idea for bonding; loving that the team had grown together as of late and encouraged any activity or amount of time outside the Richmond facility as possible.

He didn't know until later he should've reminded Roy of his promise to meet you for dinner and drinks before they left... But the Captain's relationship wasn't the Coach's responsibility.

Still minimally tipsy, Roy rushed for the front door with the intention of cuddling you until morning, nearly stumbling in; not expecting it to be unlocked. However, he slowed his roll when he spotted you on the couch; dead asleep, heels left on the floor, work bag leaning against the coffee table, and in the kitchen, bouquets of flowers on the counter. He knew you loved florals and often decorated with fresh blooms so this wasn't abnormal and didn't so much as tickle a memory. Roy just bent at the waist to kiss your forehead, rummage in your purse for your phone charger, plug it in, then stumbled off to bed. For the past three months, it was common to find you passed out on the couch - so this, too, wasn't a flag in his mind.

Roy wasn't usually so oblivious or forgetful, but as Dani Rojas says: fútbol is life. And sometimes, football distracted even the great Roy Kent.

By the time he woke the following morning, he wasn't near hungover but found water and tablets on the side table you preemptively left. He half expected you to be cuddled into his side, but the bed was still made - indicating you hadn't crawled in whenever you woke up. Grumbling, Roy made it downstairs only to discover the living room empty and cleaned up, but found a note on the kitchen counter.

Eat the leftovers so they don't go to waste

No signature, no drawn heart you usually attached, nothing sentimental or affectionate to your words. He tried not to think much of it, but in truth, Roy felt anxious about your lack of decoration or pet name; checking for his phone but after being unable to locate it, figured he must've left it at work. With a growl, he got ready and headed out; not liking his days that didn't start with you but tried to ride the high from yesterday. It didn't work.

When Roy entered the facility, he was surprised to see you at the far end of the hall, walking towards him in stride with Rebecca, chatting. "Hey, darlin'," he greeted, earning a glare from the owner of the team and not even a single glance from you. "Oi? Why aren't you at work? The fuck's goin' on? You were gone before I got up, could've drove together if I knew you were comin' - "

"We're busy, Kent, and you need to get moving," Rebecca snapped, looking to whatever you were showing her on your phone after; matching stilettos clacking through the hall as the pair passed him by.

"The fuck?" Roy muttered, brows furrowed in angry confusion; not understanding what he did to deserve such treatment. You next to never gave him the silent treatment or cold shoulder, so this felt alarming. "Baby! Hey! Did somethin' happen? C'mon, doll, talk to me!" He watched you disappear around the corner, growling to himself. He stormed down the hall, making several club attendants leap out of his warpath.

"Woah," Sam shied out of the way when a fuming Roy came barging into the locker room. "You all right, Captain? Ah, is it because Y/N couldn't make it last night? Didn't you see her? She's here today! She looks very pretty - "

"Captain," Beard snapped before Roy could respond, standing stoically in the doorway of his office; arms crossed. "Change of plans. Get in here."

Roy bared his teeth and begrudgingly followed Beard into the office where Nate and Ted were trying to look busy - but failing as they were obviously listening. "What's up, Coach?" Roy grit, not in the mood for any more shit now that he knew you were obviously pissed - at him.

"You're not gonna be part of training today," Beard snipped with a glare, feet lifting to cross on his desk.

"Come again?"

"You're gonna run laps the whole time." When Roy opened his mouth, Beard snapped, "No, it's not up for discussion. Now go. Get out, get ready."

"The fuck's up with everyone today?" He snarled, shaking his head and returning to his locker. With vigor, he searched for his phone - finding it locked in the cubby - dead. "Fuck's sake," he scoffed, glancing beside him to Sam. "Got a charger, mate?"

"Oh, uh, no, my phone is fully charged every night," Sam winced. "Richard might."

It took Roy a few minutes, but eventually Colin pulled his charger out and Roy left his phone plugged in on Ted's desk; changing for that day's session, stalking out of the locker room behind the rest of the team. On the pitch, the others began warming up - but Beard was glaring behind his sunnies directly at Roy, waiting for him to get going.

"You fuckin' serious?" Roy barked.

"Go. I wanna see knees-to-chest," Beard grit, arms crossing as Ted and Nate were to the side; talking quietly as if to avoid interfering with Beard's plan.

With a heavy sigh, Roy pivoted on his toes and started at a jog - earning several harsh blows of Beard's whistle to, "pick up the pace, knees-to-chest, remember!?". It was brutal on Roy's joints and lungs, his kit soon drenched in sweat from the prolonged exertion; the only real saving grace being Nate's offered sports drink each time he made his rounds. The longer he ran, the more time he had to mull over possible reasons for this punishment - but his mind was so jumbled with anger that he couldn't think straight.

His gaze often lifted towards the windows of Rebecca's office; seeing her figure, your's, Keeley's, and Higgins' all milling around at different intervals. He missed each time you paused at the window to watch him run those horrid laps.

When Ted blew the whistle that signaled the end of practice, Roy grunted as his legs turned to jelly to land on his chest in the grass. He was exhausted in body and mind; heaving for breath, letting Issac and Dani pick him up by the arms to sling around their shoulders. His feet dragged as they moved slowly, face contorted in pain; your glare lessening with sympathy from the areal advantage the longer you watched.

"You all right, babe?" Keeley asked, joining you at the window.

"I know I'm pissed - "

"Rightfully," Rebecca nodded from her desk.

"But fuck's sake, look at him," you sighed, hands slapping to your thighs. "Think that was punishment enough, Coach worked him pretty hard."

"He deserves it," Keeley scoffed.

"Right, right, right," your eyes rolled. "Rebecca, think I could pick your brain about a few things now? I'm sorry I took up all this time to complain."

"You needed to vent," Higgins spoke softly, "and this is a safe space."

"He's right," Keeley smiled with encouragement, "know we're all here for you, babes."

"Right, yeah," you cleared your throat, not entirely used to the supportive nature they've all adopted since hiring Ted Lasso. "But, uh, I do kinda need to speak with Miss Welton - not that I don't adore yours and Leslie's input, but it's kinda her wheelhouse."

"Oh, of course!" Keeley agreed, ushering Higgins out; all three ladies ignoring the dejected expression he wore over not being included in whatever matter you needed Rebecca's private ear for.

"Could I get you a refill?" Rebecca offered as you dropped to her couch with a sigh.

"Please," you agreed, letting her take your teacup. When she joined your side, she questioned what more you needed from her. "With this new position, I'm feelin' a bit insecure about my attitude towards the people I've worked beside for years. I mean, now I'm the big boss and that's just intimidatin' and a bit confusin'. Plus I'm worried about how I'll be received by the men I'll be surrounded by; also about now, with all this added responsibility, how I leave work at work and not bring it home. So I was wondering if I could pick your brain 'bout those bits. I mean," you took a small sip of tea, "you're the baddest bitch I know, figured there's nobody better to ask - pardon my language."

"No, no, I quite like it," she smirked, leaning into the back sofa cushions. "I'd steer clear of foul language around men, though; they tend to shy away from women with mouths."

"Not in my experience," you chuckled, earning a small snort from her. "Sometimes I feel like I'm only heard when I curse, partly blame Roy for that one."

"Oh, yes, that too - but don't let them rile you up to that point. It'll give them the wrong impression."

"What's the right impression?"

"Strong and capable," she smirked, sipping from her own cup. "Mh," she hummed with a broad smirk, "and just so you know, for future reference, I'm much more inclined to agree to you directly rather than Ted or Beard."

Downstairs, Keeley and Higgins paused at the bottom of the stairs to watch Roy basically be dragged into the locker room - sharing a knowing look and taking pity. "Think we should say something?" Keeley asked.

"Probably, there's the possibility of this turnin' violent," Leslie sighed, the two entering; discovering Roy had been deposited under the cold stream of water in the showers. They were given an opening to scamper into the manager's office and shut the door.

"Well, hi there! Just the two people I wanted to see come through that door! Well, that's a lie, I was hopin' for Sonny and Cher, but hey! This is even better!" Ted grinned, placing his phone down. "What do we own this pleasure? Oh! Is this is a Diamond Dogs situation?"

"Kinda, yeah," Higgins nodded, sharing a look with Keeley. Luckily, all Dogs were already present; but the Coaches and kitman still did their silly little howl.

"All right!" Ted beamed, drumming on his desk. "Whatcha got for us, Higgy, and honorary Pup?"

Keeley preened at the title while Higgins asked carefully, "Are you aware of what transpired between Roy and Y/N?"

"Oh," Ted glanced at a glowering Beard, "yes, uh, we are very much aware."

"Is that why you made him run laps all day?" Keeley asked pointedly yet with amusement.

"That was all him," Ted pointed at Beard; eyes wide like saucers. "Yeah, uh, you know, we might've... Might've let our emotions get the better of us this time."

"He deserves to be punished," Beard growled, staring at a single place on the floor.

"What's that, now?" Keeley asked in clarification. "Well, look, we ask 'cause she's upstairs with Rebecca, all kinds of upset. I mean, shit! She's the youngest woman to take over this type of position and her own boyfriend stood her up when they were meant to celebrate the news? I mean," she scoffed, looking around the men, "what the fuck is that shit!?"

"Yeah," Ted sighed, "Beard and I met her for dinner last night. Guessing Roy left his phone here..." He glanced at the device on his desk.

"She called you?" Higgins asked Ted.

"She called me," Beard answered stiffly, "wonderin' where Roy was. She worried he was hurt or something happened."

"Right, well, she's feelin' a bit better," Keeley nodded. "So, uh, maybe one of you could clue Roy in so they can hurry up and make up. Him bein' this oblivious isn't doin' nobody any favor."

"Nothing's really in order if those two are at odds," Higgins nodded nervously. "I mean, we all remember their last fight."

"Oh, God, yeah, that was brutal," Keeley winced.

"Roy came in and immediately headbutted Jamie so hard, it broke his nose," Nate recalled with a grimace. "I know he's a prick, but even Jamie didn't deserve that..."

"Yeah... Yeah, that was real bad," Ted agreed, sighing. "All right, yeah, I'll tell him what's up when he's done showerin'."

"Might be awhile," Nate winced, "he was in pretty bad shape comin' off the pitch."

"Good," Beard snarled quietly, crossing his arms tighter and glaring harder at the floor.

"Right, well," Keeley cleared her throat, "remember, she's upstairs. Yeah?"

"We got it, Kee-Bee," Ted nodded, eyes shifting over Beard. "You'll have to excuse Coach Beard - he and Y/N are apparently secret best friends and he's taking this hard."

"As he should," Keeley smiled, patting Beard's shoulder. "Good call makin' him run so much."

"Thank you," he preened at the praise.

The two coaches (and Nate) remained in the office even after all the players vacated. Out of worry, Ted asked Nate to check on Roy, who reported he was still in the shower; the trio waiting patiently, letting the kitman draw out new plays for them to discuss. At long last, Roy emerged from the showers with a distinct limp, pausing at his locker to finish drying off and dressing; giving the guys just enough time to mutter their final plan of action.

"Hey, Cap'n!" Ted called happily when Roy straightened with his usual duffel in hand. "C'mere a second, would'jah, please?"

He glared through the window, sighed, then slowly limped into the doorway. "What now?" He grit, "More laps?"

"Nah, nah, nah - oh, well, speaking of, that was some real nice hustle today," he tried to compliment. "I was impressed!"

"Fuck the both of you for it, can't feel my fuckin' calves and my knee's fucked. You fuckin' satisfied?"

"Right," Ted cleared his throat, Beard's jaw clenching. "Well, uh, there's actually a reason for your... Um..."

"Punishment," Beard provided stiffly.

"Why? Because the lads went out last night?"

"Actually, kinda, yeah," Ted leaned back in his chair. "Uh, Roy, I wanna apologize for makin' you run all them laps all day, but honestly, Coach Beard and I wanted you to hurt."

"The fuck did I do!?" Roy snapped, glaring at his coaches. "Everyone's been fuckin' weird today; and now you're punishing me for some shit I don't even know - "

Ted startled when Beard jumped to his feet and rounded on the Great Roy Kent, snatching his phone off Ted's desk to shove it into his chest. "You stood her up," he growled through clenched teeth.

"What?" Roy's head shook, doing a double take at his lit phone screen; quickly scrolling through the barrage of texts and voicemails from you.

"Last night... You were supposed to meet Y/N at Bordeaux's to celebrate her promotion - but instead, you went out with the team. Any other day, we'd make you run laps for skipping out on something like that, but yesterday, it came at that sweet girl's expense. She called me, asking after you - concerned you were hurt! You left her - alone - for hours - so Coach Lasso and I met her instead."

"Any of this ringin' a bell, Roy?" Ted wondered from his desk, watching the glow of his phone shine light on Roy's growing realization.

"FUCK!" Roy bellowed, neck veins straining and bulging. Beard nodded in approval as the Captain turned and rushed as best he could out of the locker room.

"She's with The Boss in her office!" Ted called helpfully after him.

When Beard turned, his angry expression had dropped and shrugged, "We'll give him tomorrow off to make up for today."

"Yeah, I was thinkin' the same," Ted snickered. "Think they're gonna be okay?"

"Oh, yeah, they have to be," Nate nodded, "those two are made for each other. He could kill her cat and she'd be the one to comfort him."

"That's... Not healthy," Ted cocked his head.

"But the sentiment is understood," Beard ended.

Roy charged from the locker room like a man on a mission, but hesitated at the stairs leading to Rebecca's office as if it were Everest. He was determined, though, not to disappoint you again; trying to climb without bending his knees - proving damn near impossible. He was grunting with strain, panting even as his body protested to the three-stair climb he managed; but his saving grace, as usual, came in the form of you suddenly appearing at the top with Rebecca.

You barely had time to process the sight before Roy was gritting, "No, no, just listen - please, don't ignore me again. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N. I absolutely forgot about our date last night and fucked this up, hurt you, left you waiting in worry - I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, doll, please, I swear, I'll even swear on Phoebe’s head, but you gotta believe me. It's no excuse, nothing ever could be, but... My explanation is I just got so in my head and fucking forgot - "

"Well, you shouldn't've! But please, pray tell how the hell you managed to forget? Did you suddenly pick-up American football, got a concussion?" Rebecca snarled in a defensively clipped tone. "What kind of a man stands up his own girlfriend!? Forgets about a date he arranged? Forgets about her on one of the most important days of her life? I mean, just look at her! She's fuckin' fit! She's not someone that anyone should, could, or would forget!"

"I fuckin' know all that, Rebecca," Roy growled, stationed on the third stair still, "and I'm trying to fuckin' apologize to my lady - not hear a play-by-play of my colossal fuck up from my boss! I know what happened, I'm the one who did this."

As Roy grimaced in pain, hand gingerly going to rub his trick knee, Rebecca shot back, "One of the consequences of fucking up is never living it down and to be reminded and guilted for it - "

Your hand flew to Rebecca's bicep in a silent request she stop talking once you noted Roy coddling his knee. "Holy shit, are you hurt?" You interrupted in worry, sharing a guilty look with Rebecca; both aware how running effected the footballer. She nodded and pet your shoulder, letting you hustle down the stairs to meet him in order to hash out this predicament. Though she loved you, Rebecca recognized it wasn't her place to interfere with your relationship(s) "Is it your knee again? Oh, for fuck's sake, Roy - "

"Doesn't matter, what matters is my apology."

"Yes, yes, I've heard you," you snipped, glancing up at the platinum blonde woman; earning a thumbs up before she disappeared to give you a lick of privacy. "Roy... I know this sport is your fuckin' life and normally I'd never complain - but how the fuck could you forget me?"

"'Cause I'm a fuckin' arsehole."

"Well, yeah, but - "

"Like I was saying before, there's no excuse, baby," he frowned, supported by the wall behind him; you facing him on the step, leaning on the railing. "Just - yesterday went real well, right?" You nodded slowly. "The lads were hyped, it was a good day and I guess I got swept up in the energy. Issac proposed goin' out as a team without the coaches and we all just rolled with it. I fuckin' forgot I was t'meet you... And I'm so fuckin' sorry. I didn't do it on purpose, sweetheart, but that doesn't change the fact I fucked up and hurt you."

"Well, like Rebecca said, what kinda man does this sort of shit to the woman he loves?"

"A complete fucking bellend who doesn't deserve his lady."

You shrugged meekly, "Hm, I had a more colorful and vulgar term in mind, but bellend works. But you know what? At the end of the day, being angry doesn't do any good, so it's o - "

"Don't you dare say it's okay, 'cause it's fuckin' not!"

"Okay, know what? You're absolutely right, it's not okay that you stood me up! That you forgot me, forgot what yesterday meant to me; that you got swept up in the energy of a good day at my expense! In truth, having good days on the pitch is much more common than getting a promotion! Mhm, yeah," your eyes narrowed at his surprised expression, "that's right, I got the job and all I wanted to do was share it with you..."

"You got the job," he whispered, "officially? Seriously?"

"Fuck yeah, I did! Youngest female president! You were supposed to be one of the first persons I told, but now it feels like you're the last. I called and texted you all fucking night, could've at least done the decent thing and communicate with your girlfriend where you were going, date or no - "

"I left my phone in the locker and it died. Swear on Phoebe."

"Don't bring her into this, and it doesn't negate from the fact that you should've been there with me - whether you had your phone or not! I'm not saying put me above your career - I would never - but I expect you to respect me and contribute to our relationship! God, it was so mortifying just sitting there alone for 2.5 hours! It felt like everyone could tell I was being stood up - they were pitying me, Roy! I need you to be more present, Roy, I can't date myself anymore, I can't do one-sided effort; I've been as understanding and flexible as I can, but you gotta meet me halfway. But whatever, it happened, nothing can change that - we can only learn from it - but I hear your apology, so... Fuck it, it is okay; it's fine. Beard and Teddy met me, actually; we had a nice night so it wasn't a total waste."

"Should've been different," he snapped, "should've been me."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm so fuckin' sorry, love. I didn't meant to hurt you - it's the last thing I ever want to do."

"Well... I saw what Coaches made you do all day," you pouted your bottom lip dramatically, "my poor Lightning McQueen."

"Fuckin' deserved it."

"You really did," you agreed, grabbing him by the leather lapels and yanking him straight; releasing a muffled grunt of discomfort. "But I think runnin' that many laps is punishment enough and made you feel as bad as I did last night. So, c'mon, I'm tired of being angry, let's just move forward and get you home to an ice bath."

"Nah, we're redoing yesterday - we're goin' out. You wearin' another matching set?"

You scoffed with a small chuckle, shaking your head, "Roy, you're in no shape to go out, let alone have sex."

"I'm in pristine fuckin' shape."

"Oh, yeah? All right, fine, we'll go out if you can just walk down these three steps - "

"Fuck off," he grit, "we're redoin' last night, no discussion."

"Fine, but we're goin' home, can cook for me if you want," you shook your head. "Don't think it'll be a very good look for either of us t'be seen in public with you like this, hey? They'll start gossiping 'bout your retirement." He growled and let you get under his arm, one arm anchoring his wrist dangling over your shoulder and the other coiled around his waist. As you attempted to conqure the stairs, you quietly encouraged with strain from his weight, "Easy, easy, there you go... A-All right, sure, I guess that's one way to get downstairs... Oi, hey, careful! C'mon, bend your fuckin' knees, Roy!"

"I fuckin' can't!"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," you laughed, "they really fucked you up today, huh?"

"'Cause they fuckin' adore you and were rightfully pissed."

"Good," you mused, now behind him on the stairs to aid his unbalance. "Though I'm unsure how to feel about my boyfriend's coaches adoring me more than my actual boyfriend."

"Oi! Don't say or ever think that bullshit. That's not ever fucking possible," Roy snapped, eyes wild and ablaze in offense, "nobody adores you more than me - I just fucked up but I'm trying to rectify it."

Once on flat ground, you remained on the first step, speaking softly, "Hey..." Roy turned to you; the height difference letting your arms wrap around his neck, his hands seizing the meat of your hips. "Please don't do that again. It was... Nothing short of humiliating sitting there alone on a date you set up."

"I know, baby," he sighed, "and I'll be apologizing even after it stops botherin' yah. I can't promise I won't fuck up again, but I'll never stand you up again, doll. I'll tattoo every fuckin' date of ours on my body if I have to."

You caressed his cheek, "Not necessary. Just don't forget me again, please. That... Really fuckin' sucked. But fútbol is life and the consolation company was top tier, so, I guess I shouldn't complain."

Roy sighed and let his head drop to your sternum, giving you a tight squeeze. "Nah, fuckin' do what Rebecca said: never let me forget what the fuck I did or let me live this down."

"You'll regret that - know I'm gonna bring it up every fight."

"Which is why we're never gonna fight again, you've already fuckin' won 'em all."

"Oh, I quite like the sound of that," you teased, fingers sliding under his jaw to perk his head up. "Hey... I forgive you."

"Don't - not just yet. Gotta let me make it up to you first. But I just need us to be good."

You shrugged, "Nah, we're good, sweetheart." You tightened your arms in an embrace, pecking the top of his head. "You know, grudges ages you and you know how serious I am about my skincare and my feelings on wrinkles. But if you wanna spoil me until your guilt lessens, I won't stop you. Just not a new car, I'm gettin' a company Mercedes."

"Good, all right, yeah, noted," he smirked, "'cause I'm gonna lay it on fuckin' thick; thicker than Tart's ego."

"Maybe worry 'bout your knees first, Casanova," you winced. Roy growled and pulled back, reaching for your hand to hold as you hopped down the step to his side. You easily wrangled his keys from his pocket, snipping, "Yeah, you're not driving - can't even bloody walk, my poor boy. I'll get you out of tomorrow, you need the rest."

"Hm," Roy growled. "What would I do without you?"

"Probably run a normal amount? Have a proper trainin' session?"

"Sounds miserably boring."

"Then what's all this, then?"

"Love," he grunted, keeping you under his arm as he shoved the facility doors open to the carpark.

requesting rules and masterlist

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Future Mrs Gramma

Pairing: roy x f!reader, bestie!jamie x platonic reader

Word count: 1240

Warnings: drinking, angry roy, swearing

Masterlist Here

You and Jamie were the type of friends that wouldn’t see ach other for weeks, months even, then as soon as the other came into sight you were barrelling into their arms for a hug and to jump right back into your last conversation. So, when Jamie found out you were moving to London, only a ten-minute drive from his work no less, he was ecstatic to say the least.

As much as you loved Jamie you never particularly cared about football which weirdly made your friendship better but after Jamie had come round for drinks at your new flat in your drunken haze you decided it was a great idea to go down to Richmond to continue the celebrations. It only took 20 quid and a questionable grounds keeper to get in and soon you were drinking in the stands with your best friend.

“I’m on top of the world!” Jamie half screamed, standing on top of the seat beside where you sat.

You giggled as you hauled yourself up to stand on the seat next to him, “Woohoo!”

-

The sun light pierced your skull as your eyes slowly began to drag themselves open. The piercing ring of a whistle burned your ear as you pulled yourself up. Looking around you remembered where you were. Fuck. You and Jamie must’ve fallen asleep last night lying on the ground in a row of seats at least 15 rows back. On the upside this meant the footballers on the pitch couldn’t see you as they practised but, on the downside, they were already here!?

“Pst, Jamie,” you whispered as you shoved at the lump whose head had been lying opposite of yours. Jamie just mumbled something as he rolled on his side. Almost as if fate you could hear a very deep, and very angry voice yell “where the fuck is Tartt?”

“Get up,” you gritted your teeth, holding back gagging as you tried to both nurse your hangover and wake up the log beside you. you sighed before pinching his nose.

Jamie began to flap, swatting at your hands, before managing to sit up and out of your grip, “What the fuck man?” he yelled before his eyes fell to the pitch, “Fuck,” he mumbled as you face palmed.

“Tartt!” the voice screamed, heavy footsteps following.

Thank god you were at the furthest away seats. “It was nice knowing you Jamie,” you sighed, patting his shoulder.

“You’re fucked if he catches you too, ya know?”

“Fuck,” you looked up over the seat to see a relatively built man in his 30s thundering over to the section you were in.

“Who the hell is there?” the gruff voice called out as he climbed into the stands.

It was now or never. thank god your parents forced you to do track you thought as you pulled yourself to your feet and began to book it. you heard Jamies cheers as you began to essentially jump down the rows over the seats, all while trying not to spew. The man trying to catch you paused, debating which person to chase first as Jamie took off running the other way.

Sadly, he chose you. however luckily for you he tried to chase you into the seats, and you were, somehow, faster than him despite him being a professional footballer. The number of times you and Jamie had to run away from the people he’d mouthed off to had apparently came in handy as you jumped out the stands, onto the pitch, and began to sprint.

You could hear the man start to chase you but refused to turn around, instead heading straight to the exit, screaming, “I fucking hate you Jamie!” as you ran. Somehow you made it to the parking lot with the worst stitch of your life and a snapchat from Jamie keeled over laughing at the side of the pitch.

-

You swore from then on to avoid Richmond like the plague. That was until Jamie texted you saying he needed a lift cause his car had a flat tire. as you sat in the parking lot, tapping on your steering wheel bored out your nut you heard the metal door clang as it slammed open. You looked up, half expecting to see Jamie, and instead finally seeing those angry eyes up close. “Oh fuck,”

“You!” you could see him mouth, his finger jabbing at you as you locked the car doors. He stormed over, tapping on your window.

You let it down ever so slightly, “Hello,” you said, as if nothing had happened.

“Hi,”

“Can I help you?”

“Can you fucking-I-how-I mean-you run fucking fast!” he eventually managed out prompting you to raise an eyebrow, “Aren’t you gonna roll your window down all the way?”

“Last time I saw you, you were chasing me,”

“That’s cause you and your prick boyfriend broke into the stadium,”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said, and a strange look washed over his face you couldn't quite read, “Besides he said you made him run 30 laps hungover. I think we’re even,”

This time he squinted, his weird look vanishing, “Maybe I should make you run 30 laps,”

You couldn’t help but snort at his words, “Id like to see you fucking try,” you said as a few other footballers began to walk out, all looking away when he glared at them, “Roy, right?”

“Yeah, who are you?” he asked. You figured with witnesses now he couldn’t murder you so rolled the window down all the way and stuck your hand out to introduce yourself. His shake was firm, his skin rough as sandpaper, but for some reason you were sad to let go, “Id like to say it was nice to meet you,”

“Don’t worry,” you said, turning the car on when you saw Jamie finally sauntering out, “feelings mutual,” you said before beeping your horn and leaning out the window, “Get a fucking move on mate,” you called at Jamie before ducking back into the car. “And don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. I hate running,”

“Me too,”

You tilted your head in confusion, a trait Roy found oddly endearing, “You’re a footballer?”

“I know,” he said as if talking to a small child making you roll your eyes, “What can I say? I’m a fucking idiot,”

“Alright grampa don’t be too hard on yourself,” Jamie grinned as he climbed into the passenger seat. You however turned around and smacked his arm, “Eh! What’s that for?”

“You told me three. Its fucking almost four you twat,”

“Practise ran over! blame him,” he said, pointing at Roy who was already rolling his eyes.

“Call us even then?” you sighed, turning to Roy. He nodded and started to walk away as you put the car into first gear only to be interrupted by Roy walking back over, “You, okay?”

“Yeah, just wondering,” he paused for a second, “You gonna be at the next game?”

You glanced at Jamie whose eyes were bulging out his sockets before laughing. “Dunno, should I be?”

“Wouldn’t mind it if you were,”

“Might just come then,” you grinned, “See you around Roy,” you said but all he did was nod and step away so you could finally drive off.

Jamie groaned as you drove out the parking lot, “Oh god you’re gonna fuck a grampa,”

“Not just any grampa,” you laughed at him, “I’m gonna be your step gramma.”

Ted Lasso Taglist: @gee72sstuff

General Taglist: @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I'll Be There, and I'll Cover You

Roy Kent x Reader

0.5k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of Roy's grandfather

“What’s this then?” Roy turned to you with a furrowed brow, gesturing towards the package on the coffee table.

You shrugged nonchalantly, barely taking your eyes off the telly. “Package for you,” you answered plainly.

Comical confusion remained on Roy’s face. “I didn’t order shit,” he huffed, finally picking up the brown box, staring at it like there was a bomb in it. He squinted at the label. “Fuck’s this return address?”

“Opening it will probably answer some of your questions,” you hummed, sipping the beer you’d opened just before Roy got home. “Just a thought.”

After shooting you a dirty look, Roy plopped down on the couch next to you, still gingerly holding the mystery box. “Has anyone ever told you it’s cute when you’re a smartass? Because it’s not that fucking cute.”

All you could do was smirk at the man you loved. “Just open the damn box, Roy.”

Despite the way he narrowed his eyes at you, Roy did as he was told. It was comical, the way he tore the box open, not at all careful the way you typically were. Honestly, the box would probably be more intact if the man had used his teeth to rip it open. His rampage paused when he glimpsed the object inside the box. He reached in and pulled it out, letting the destroyed cardboard fall to the floor.

“Blankie.”

Roy gazed down at the beige material, shaking his head as he turned it over and over in his hands. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned to look at you, a deep frown on that handsome face.

“How the fuck-?”

“I called your mum,” you explained quickly. “She sent me every photo she could find of Blankie. I went onto this online chatroom for people who track down things like stuffed animals or childhood toys. They sent me to this eBay listing of the same blanket and…” You trailed off, trying to read that stoic expression you usually loved so much. “And if it was the wrong thing to do, please, please tell me, because it was supposed to be a nice gesture, and if it upset you at all-”

“I love it.”

You blinked at the still somber expression on his face. “You-”

He nodded, his grip on the blanket tightening. “I fucking love it," he rasped. Blanket still in hand, he leaned over to wrap his arms around you, tugging you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. “I fucking love you.” He kissed your cheek tenderly before pulling back, allowing you to see the tears that had formed in those brown eyes. “This-” He squeezed the blanket. “-might be the most fucking amazing thing anyone has ever done for me, babe.” He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What the fuck inspired you to do this?”

“When you told me about what happened to Blankie,” you said slowly, “you said it was the hardest thing you’d ever done.” You reached out and touched his leg gently. “Roy, you do so much for everyone. For me, for Pheebs, for your sister. Everything you do for the team. And you do it all without expecting anything in return. I just thought… you deserve this.”

The sight of Roy’s wide smile made the hours you’d spent scouring online for this exact blanket worth it. “Thank you,” he murmured, hugging the blanket close, looking like the child that had been dropped off at Sunderland all those years ago. “Thank you so fucking much, babe.”

[agentstarkid]

MORE THAN WORDS ✦ ROY KENT

✦ SUMMARY: On her birthday, he gives her everything—thoughtful surprises, quiet moments, and the kind of love only he knows how to show. But in the end, it’s not just about the presents. It’s about him, about them, and about a love that neither of them ever expected to find.

✦ WORD COUNT: 1.6K

✦ WARNINGS: language, fluff, teeny tiny age gap and very light allusions to sex — english is not my first language!

✦ MAY'S RADIO: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO THE QUEEN—MRS. ROY KENT HERSELF—TALLY A.K.A. @onceuponaoneshotfanfic!! 🥳🎂🎉 Never thought I'd be writing for Roy-o (and to be fair, this was terrifying 😅) but one does crazy things for their best friend, right? 🤪 Don't know if I got him right, but this is my honest attempt—this feels like showing Michelangelo the sculpture you made with sticks and glue 😮‍💨😆 Thank you for being your amazing self, Talita de mi corazón! 💖

< back to general masterlist

The first thing you see when you wake up is Roy Kent, standing beside the bed, holding a ridiculous little tiara in his rough hands. His face is serious, the permanent scowl intact, but there’s something soft in his eyes, something that makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Happy fucking birthday, my love,” he mutters, reaching forward to place the tiara on your head with a gentleness that doesn’t match his usual gruff demeanor. His fingers linger in your hair, brushing lightly over your temple before trailing down your jaw. “You’re wearing this all day. No arguments.”

You blink at him, still groggy, still processing, but then you catch the tiniest twitch of his lips—his version of a smile—and you let out a breathy laugh.“You got me a tiara?”

He grunts, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “'Course I did. You’re a fucking queen.”

You sit up, adjusting the tiara slightly before looking at him. “This is adorable. You’re adorable.”

Roy scoffs, but his ears turn pink. “Shut up.” Then, before you can protest, he bends down and presses a lingering, rough kiss to your forehead, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “Get up. Got plans for you.”

The moment you step into the kitchen, the smell of coffee and something sweet hits you. Roy’s already there, setting a plate down on the table—pancakes shaped like hearts.

You gasp. “Did you make these?”

Roy crosses his arms, but before he can look away, you catch the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Tried, didn’t I?" he mutters, then, as if unable to help himself, reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long. "Wanted ‘em to be perfect for you."

You can tell they aren’t perfect—some edges a little wonky, one slightly burnt—but the fact that Roy fucking Kent made heart-shaped pancakes for you is enough to make your chest feel too full.

“Roy,” you say, voice soft. “This is the sweetest thing—”

“Eat,” he interrupts, sitting across from you. His foot nudges yours under the table, a casual, grounding touch. “Got a whole fucking day planned.”

“You’re being so romantic,” you tease, cutting into a pancake. “Who are you, and what have you done with my grumpy bear?”

He grumbles but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he rests his elbow on the table and reaches over to thumb a bit of syrup off the corner of your mouth. “Just shut up and eat, sunshine.”

The tiara stays on your head all morning. Every time you reach up to adjust it, Roy grumbles, “Don’t even think about taking it off.” And when you catch your reflection in the mirror, the delicate sparkle of it nestled in your hair, you can’t help but smile.

Roy’s watching you from the doorway, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened just a bit. “What?” you tease, turning to face him.

He shakes his head, stepping closer until he’s right behind you, hands finding your waist and chin resting on your right shoulder. “You just… you look fucking happy.”

“I am happy,” you murmur, leaning into him. “You did all this, Roy.”

His throat bobs, and he looks away for a second, like taking in that truth is too much for him. But then he clears his throat and huffs, “Well, don’t get used to it. It’s a special occasion.”

You laugh, poking his side. “You’re such a liar.”

The first stop of the day is a bookstore, because Roy knows you. He knows books make you happy, and he wants you happy today—and always—. As soon as you step inside, he grabs a basket and shoves it into your hands.

“You get whatever the fuck you want,” he orders. “All of it.”

Your eyes widen. “Roy, that’s not—”

“Don’t argue with me on your birthday.” He levels you with a glare, but there’s something playful in it. “Or ever, really.”

You smirk, dragging your fingers across the spines of books. “This is your worst nightmare, isn’t it? Letting me loose in a bookstore?”

“Fucking terrifying.” He fake sighs, trailing behind you, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. He loves seeing you happy, and truth be told, he’d pull the fucking moon from the sky if you asked him to. “But you love it, so.”

And that’s Roy in a nutshell, isn’t it? Pretending to grumble but still making sure you get exactly what you want. 

And just like that, the day unfolds in a way you never could have expected. Roy doesn’t just celebrate you—he worships you. Thirty presents, each one carefully chosen, each one more thoughtful than the last. The original Wizard of Oz screenplay and the actual red, sparkly shoes Dorothy wore—your absolute favorite movie brought to life in a way you never dreamed possible. Things that must have taken him forever to find. And then there are the smaller things, the inside-joke things, the memories woven into gifts that only you and he would understand.

There’s a midday picnic in the park, where Roy sits with his legs stretched out, letting you rest against his chest as you read to him. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, eyes softer than usual, completely absorbed in the sound of your voice—He doesn’t complain when you dramatically change voices for different characters, just keeps one arm around you, occasionally pressing a kiss to your temple, your shoulder, your hair.

There’s an afternoon tea reservation at a fancy little café, where Roy glares at the tiny sandwiches and mutters, “Where the fuck is the real food?” but still lets you feed him a macaron.

And then, there’s the moment he takes you to a small private theater, just the two of you, and hands you the present—the one that makes your breath catch.

The original Pride and Prejudice manuscript.

You nearly drop it. “Roy—”

He shifts on his feet, clearing his throat. “Yeah, it, uh… took a while. And cost a fucking fortune, but—”

You throw your arms around him, cutting off whatever he was about to say. “I love you.”

His arms come around you instantly, holding you tight. “Yeah, yeah. Knew that.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to see the tenderness in his dark eyes. “You're not even gonna pretend to be surprised?”

He smirks, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Why the fuck would I be surprised? 'Course you love me. I'm very fucking lovable.”

You laugh, nudging his chest playfully. “Debatable.”

Roy raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “You wanna debate it? 'Cause I got around twenty more gifts back there that say otherwise.”

Your heart swells, and you shake your head with a grin. “No need. I already know you're the best.”

He fake sighs, shaking his head as if burdened by the weight of his own perfection. “Finally, she admits it. Took long enough.”

The final present—gift number thirty—comes when the day is winding down. You’re curled up with him on the couch, exhaustion settling into your limbs in the best way.

He hands you an envelope, his fingers lingering against yours as you take it.

When you open it, you find a letter—handwritten, messy but careful, every word him.

You deserve the world, but all I can give you is me. I know it’s not always easy, but every year you’ve spent loving me has made me a better man. You’ve seen me at my worst, my most unbearable, and still, you stay. You make me laugh when I want to punch something. You make me feel like I’m more than what the world sees. You’re my fucking sunshine, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t say it enough, but I fucking adore you. Happy birthday, my love.

Tears prick at your eyes, and when you look up, Roy is already watching you, a rare expression of vulnerability on his face.

“Roy…”

Before you can say anything else, he gets down on one knee—on his knee, the one that’s given him hell for years, making the moment even more significant—and pulls out a small velvet box. When he opens it, the ring inside is simple, elegant, perfect.

Your breath catches, hands flying to your mouth.

“I don’t want another year to go by without you knowing that I want every fucking one of them with you,” he says, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Marry me, sunshine.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you nod, unable to form words. Before you can even catch your breath, Roy’s hands are on your face, pulling you into a kiss that steals what little air you have left. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a promise, a fucking declaration. It’s every ounce of love, devotion, and need he has for you poured into one mind-blowing, knee-weakening kiss. You cling to him, fingers curling into his shirt, feeling his heart hammer against yours.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice is low, rough, filled with something dark and heady. "Gonna spend the rest of my life worshiping my wife—might as well start tonight. Gotta make sure we have a very happy marriage."

A shiver runs down your spine, and you barely have time to laugh before he’s scooping you up and carrying you to the bedroom, proving in every possible way just how much he means it. Roy slips the ring onto your finger, then pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

And in that moment, you know—you already had the best birthday of your life. But this? This is the start of the rest of it.

[discokicks]

EYE TO EYE (FOR AN EYE) - ROY KENT.

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

PART FIVE OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

summary: well, you've been parent trapped. forced to talk about things you swore you'd never speak of again, you and roy sit down for a chat to appease your fellow coaching staff. meanwhile, in 2012, the english men's team have lost, and you and roy have a chat that leaves you on an... unforeseen note.

word count & rating: 10.2k, R (we're heating up but we ain't there yet)

chapter warnings: swearing, allusions to sa and harassment, some sexual innuedoes, majorly charged eye contact and tension-filled pauses (these fucks are damaged and yearning), WHOLE LOT of dialogue i apologize there's a lot to talk about

author's note: well hello. for those of you familiar with the show victorious, i've been affectionately calling this chapter the 'take a hint' chapter since i outlined this series. there's also a fuck ton of dialogue in this one and can read like a shitty script sometimes, so apologies on that front. sorry this one took a minute, got stuck with it then got busy. hope you enjoy, love you tons! -mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are approximately four straight minutes of uninterrupted silence between you and Roy before either of you say a word.

The first minute, you believe, is just the two of you actually processing that this is happening. You’d heard the jokes about Richmond being a family, about work-life lines being crossed, about true professionalism being thrown out the window at the sake of having better, stronger connections with your team. However, you never imagined that something like this was on the horizon.

The next minute is spent unpacking the reality of it all. You were here with someone you’d previously sworn to never speak to again, expected to talk about something you swore you’d never speak about again. And it was to be done against your will, at a random pub in Richmond, with your two coaches watching you through binoculars through a window like it was a Three Stooges movie.

The next, you realize exactly what it is you two are expected to talk about. Your Stooge coaches want you to have the conversation-- the conversation you swore to yourself you’d never, ever have with Roy. They want you to just talk about it, like it’s simple. As if it’s some silly little dispute you had eight years ago, not one that could take days to fully get through (and frankly, should probably have some sort of third party involved. You’re not suggesting a version of couples therapy but you’re not not suggesting it). Nothing about this is simple. Nothing about this can be solved in just one conversation. But, you figure, if Roy’s suddenly game to start to get into it, you suppose you should be too.

That leads you to the final minute, which is spent attempting to find the right way to start this conversation, because, truly, how the fuck do you even start a conversation like this? While you and Roy were never inclined to beat around the bush, this is different. It's so, unbelievably different and you don't know how you're supposed to do this. Especially not now.

Throughout this time, you’ve glanced over at Roy periodically, who you think may physically hurt himself with how hard he’s trying to avoid eye contact with you. He’s focused on the TV at the bar broadcasting the highlights from the Richmond-Chelsea game. He’s staring at the bar top. He’s looking up at the ceiling. Anywhere but you and at anyone but you.

After those four minutes, you feel the tension in the air shift. It may just be your frustration at both him and this situation, it might be his own, but you suddenly can’t take it anymore. And to your surprise (and Roy’s, for that matter), you manage to get out the first word. 

“So,” you say lamely, trying your best not to cringe as it lands. “Uh…”

Roy glances over at you, expecting something else to follow. When nothing does, and he sees your mouth open and close, he huffs a laugh. “I bet you’re happy you signed with Richmond now, huh?”

You place your elbows on the bartop, face falling into your hands. “This is actually insane,” you say, words muffled by your palms. “I hated West Ham, but at least Shelley wasn’t Parent Trap-ing his assistant coaches.” You raise your head to look at Mae as she places two pints in front of you and Roy. “Thank you.”

Mae nods at the both of you, eyes narrowing at Roy as she notices his silence. “The offer for double the pay is still on the table,” he tells her.

“Richmond can’t win this year if their coaching staff is fighting like cats and dogs,” Mae replies. “Your money is as useless as your arguing here.”

The bluntness of her statement has you chuckling despite yourself. As Mae walks away from a now scowling Roy, you take a sip of your drink. Then another. Then another.

When you feel Roy’s gaze on you, you turn to look at him. “What? If we’re gonna talk about this, I can’t be sober.”

“We’re not talking about it,” is his immediate response, and he makes sure to keep his voice low, eyes shifting to where Mae is at the other end of the bar. 

Relief rushes through you at the idea that he seems to be on the same avoidance wave. You want to have this conversation even less than he probably does. However…

“They’re watching us,” you say, throwing your thumb in the direction of the window. “If we’re just sitting here in silence, they’re never gonna let this go.” You glance over your shoulder at your fellow coaches watching you. “And something about Beard gives me the vibe that he’s like, really good at reading lips.”

A familiar growl of annoyance escapes him. “Then we’re going to keep our backs turned and pretend that we’re talking to get those fucking muppets off our backs and get on with our fucking lives.”

Your lips purse. "What are the odds I get you to chug this with me?”

Roy huffs into his glass. “About the same as the odds of it coming right back up because of my new fucking acid reflux.”

Your nose scrunches up in a weary sort of agreement. “Ugh. Fair. Where’d that shit come from anyway? It sucks.”

“We’re fucking old, Fourteen,” he mutters. “That’s where it came from. We’re far from what we used to be.”

“Yeah, but you were ancient when I met you,” you reply, earning a deep scowl in return. “I used to be so young and full of life.”

“If by ‘full of life’ you mean doing boat races in a shitty pub in London with a bunch of degenerate athletes—”

“Oh, my God. Grandad. The kids got off your lawn in 2012, stop bitching,” you say as you bite back a laugh. When Roy rolls his eyes, you point at him. “And by the way, I vaguely remember you joining us in one of those boat races, so I don’t want to hear it from you.”

Roy scoffs. “I did it to shut Rivera up,” he replies, shaking his head. “Terrible fucking influence.”

A fond smile grows on your lips at the mention of your friend, remembering the state she’d been in that night. It was the night you’d won the Gold at the Olympics, and Mel had taken it upon herself to peer pressure your entire team not just to go out, but to start at a pub and start the celebration with that godforsaken game. To this day, you’re still not sure if she remembered leaving the pub.

“She’s the worst,” you agree, though your tone says differently.

A beat passes between you, a question hanging in the air as if Roy’s unsure if he should ask it. If he’s allowed or entitled to know the answer. He asks it anyway. “Where did she end up?”

You answer after you swallow the sip of beer you’d taken. “She and Paige are somewhere in Surrey. And I’m still trying to figure out the geography of this place, but I know that it’s kind of close to here, which is nice. They’re supposed to come for our first home game with their son.”

“Fucking crazy that they’ve got a kid,” Roy says. “I remember when she was making a fucking fool of herself in front of that girl.”

“You’re telling me,” you grin. “Luckily it worked. It helped that Paige was in love with her the entire time.”

That comment is met with silence as Roy seems to only be able to offer a nod in response. The following quiet is less awkward, but everything still hangs in the air. It weighs down the space that stands between you two and makes your chest ache. You don’t know how to continue. You don’t know what to say.

You feared this exact situation with him. Just the two of you, sitting in a room with each other, running out of talking points. No team to comment on, no coaches to add input, nothing left to expand on. Only the memories of your past and a million unspoken paths to go down— ones you had no interest in uncovering.

The TV in front of you transitions to Zava’s press conference, and suddenly, thankfully, you’ve got another thing to talk about. “You’ve never said your opinion on Zava.”

Roy’s brow pinches. “What’s there to say? He’s fucking good. He’ll help us be better. I didn’t think he’d go for us but I’m happy he did.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” you say with the roll of your eyes. “I’m asking for your opinion. Not Coach Kent’s PR response.”

He takes a brief pause, then scowls and looks down at the bar top. “I think he’s a self-involved, strange little prick. I think the shit he does and wears fucking odd, and I think the hero-worship our team’s got for him is going to be a problem.” Roy shrugs. “But he’ll help us win games.”

You find yourself nodding along. “Do you think we actually need him?”

Roy’s gaze slides to yours in interest. “I take it you don’t?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you turn your body slightly to face him. “I think he’ll help us win,” you agree, putting your chin in your hand as you look up at Zava (who’s holding a Richmond jersey with a smile) on TV. “But I’m afraid he’ll mess up the team dynamic.”

“How so?” he asks.

“Well, I’m assuming all future plays are going to be made around him,” you say. “Pass to Zava, get it to Zava, put Zava in a position to score. You guys have never done that before. You’ve never just focused on making everything work around one person.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “We’ve done it with Tartt.”

“You’ve made plays for Jamie. But you’ve never relied on Jamie to be your focal point in every play of every game,” you explain. The intrigue on Roy’s face is something you haven’t seen in a minute. You continue, “Jamie’s your best player. Every team needs to have their best player. But that’s why, I think, Richmond works. Because you’re a team. You’ve got Sam, you’ve got Isaac, you’ve got Dani— everyone’s good at what they do and they know how to fill their role to work together.” You shrug and reach for your pint. “That’s how you’ve won in the past. I just think it’s dangerous to have the team play around someone else instead of playing as a team. I don’t think it’s sustainable.”

These points of yours are met with a quiet that tells you he’s considering your words. Not so much evaluating as he’s just… taking them in. It feels good to be heard. Not to be dismissed or waved off, told that your input would be considered as it had been for the last three months. 

You’re not sure if Roy’s going to respond to any of your points until he says, “Stop saying ‘you have.’”

You blink at him, not expecting that at all. “What?”

“You keep saying ‘you’ve.’ ‘You guys.’ ‘You’re.’ You’re distancing yourself from the team.” He shakes his head. “You’re a part of this now too. Richmond’s yours as much as it’s mine.”

“Oh,” you say. A strange mix of embarrassment and pride wash over you. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Roy sighs. “You should have said something if that’s how you felt.”

“And what? Ruin the fun of the Zava train? Potentially be the reason we don’t pick up one of the best players in the league?” You scoff. “Pass. I don’t have the seniority to make a move like that.”

“You still should have said something,” Roy presses. “Ted would have listened. We would have listened.”  

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now.” You wave him off, shrugging. “He’s with us and I’m sure he’s going to be great and help us win. I’m just being weird about it.” Roy looks as though he has about a million things to say to that, but he chooses to bite his tongue instead. At his silence, you add, “Be nice to Jamie if he asks for extra training.”

The scoff that leaves his lips is loud. “I’m as nice to Tartt as he deserves.”

“I’m serious,” you say through a chuckle. “Don’t shut him down if he asks. He needs someone in his corner.”

“And it can’t be you?” he asks.

It’s an innocent enough question, asked with a bit of levity and a teasing glance. But it makes your stomach churn. The memories of West Ham, the sessions you did, Tom’s new comments, everything— and it all hurts. You’re not sure if it’ll ever stop hurting.

Any trace of humor drained from your face and in an instant, Roy knows he said something wrong. Stupid, he thinks. Fucking stupid. You’d gone quiet when he last asked you about this. He should have known better. Watched his words more carefully.

“No,” you reply softly. You take a long sip. “I’d prefer that it wouldn’t be me.”

Well, now Roy feels like an asshole. Once again, he wants to ask. He wants to understand exactly what happened, understand who or what has affected you like this. He has his assumptions (ones that go into dark places he never even wants to consider for you— seriously, he’d fucking kill someone and wouldn’t blink), but if you can’t or won’t talk about it, he’s not entitled to know. He’s not entitled to know anything. Your relationship’s never worked like that, even when you were on good terms. There was no pressure, it all always seemed to come out when you were comfortable. It had never been like that before. That’s originally what drew him to you. That’s why he stuck around.

Roy knows if you do decide to talk about it, it’ll be on your terms. And while he doesn’t like it, he respects it. He respects you.

It’s why he chooses to move on to some other topic instead of pressing you. “Whatever they say about your press conference,” he begins, shaking his head, “fucking ignore it.”

It’s a clunky transition and it catches you slightly off-guard. The leap has you suspicious that Roy might know more than he lets on about your situation, but you don’t dare say anything about it. “They?” you ask.

“The media,” he expands. “The football fans. The pricks online. They.” He shakes his head again. “They don’t fucking matter. If they knew any better than you did, they’d be where you are.”

They’re kind words filled with a rough reassurance that he’s mastered. To hopefully get rid of (or procrastinate) the heavy feeling in your chest, you wave him off. “I’m used to it,” you say. Roy frowns at you and you shrug, “I commentated a little bit for ESPN after I got hurt. I did one Men’s game and made a joke about how much you guys overreact when you get fouled to get a call. Twitter ate me alive. I still get threats about it.”

Roy inhales ruefully, humor written across his expression. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing I haven’t said to you a hundred times,” you reply casually, hearing him huff once more. “I think it was something about how you guys have to be getting paid extra by the Club if you promise to make a scene when you’re hit.”

“You weren’t far off," he chuckles.

“And I still stand by it,” you tell him, leaning in as his lips pull into a small grin. “Though I’m not sure I should be talking to you about playing up a penalty.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that i’m sitting next to the only person in AFC history to ever get two red cards in a game,” you reply, and the instantaneous scowl that forms on his face makes you chuckle. “I don’t think there’s been a question about if you’ve ever actually hit someone.”

“Those calls were bullshit,” he mutters.

“Roy, you tackled Man City’s best midfielder and took out both of his legs. And then you kicked a different guy in the chest.”

“He ran into my foot.”

“There is literal video footage of you looking him in the eye and saying, ‘that wasn’t an accident, I kicked you in the fucking chest.’”

He stares at you for a moment, then shrugs. “At least I broke a record.” 

You nod at him. “And we’re all incredibly proud of you.”

That smile of his returns and you can tell he has to refrain from rolling his eyes. “You weren’t so fucking innocent out there either.”

A faux affronted sound leaves you. “I was an angel.”

“Right,” he draws out. “You never got into it with anyone, Mean Fourteen.”

Your nose crinkles. “I liked it better when you hated that name as much as I did.”

“It’s grown on me. Mainly because it’s right.” When your frown gets deeper, he continues. “Even before the Cup at those Olympics. You were fucking tough out there. They could never get you to stay down.”

You rub your finger against the rim of your glass as you glance at the the highlights of the recent Arsenal game on screen. “Damn right. Got tackled into oblivion by Caroline Singer at the 2012 Semi-Finals. Launched me ten yards and dislocated my shoulder. Got up the second after and had my shoulder set in time for overtime.”

Roy chuckles lowly. “I remember that game. You hit a full fucking Locust in the air when she sent you flying,” he says. “You deserved that one. You were a fucking menace to her all game.”

You gape at him. “I deserved that?”

“You did. If I’m Singer and I’m being marked by someone like you during that game? I’m breaking your fucking jaw.”

While you scowl at the idea that you ‘deserved’ that, you find yourself having caught something much more interesting. “Also, rewind. Full Locust?” you ask with a leading sort of intrigue. “Like… the yoga pose?”

Roy’s hiding in his pint again, trying his best at indifference. “Is that what that is?”

But you know him better. A wide, disbelieving grin pulls at your lips. “Roy Kent, do you do yoga?”

“No,” he immediately replies, but you’re already laughing.

“Oh, my God. You so do yoga.”

The scowl on his face is deep. “Fuck off,” he says. “What the fuck is wrong with yoga?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you respond, laughter dying down despite the smile that remains on your face. “I love yoga. I just never imagined you’d agree.”

“Well, I fucking do.” There’s a beat, and for a moment, you think he’s going to end it there. But then, “I do it once a week with some local mums in their sixties.”

Your mouth begins to part as you stare at him, grin widening. Your laughter starts back up in an instant. “This is the best day of my life.”

(Roy can’t exactly understand what compelled him to admit that, or why he’s indulging in this conversation with you, but there’s a small, suppressed piece of his brain that knows he did it to hear you laugh some more.)

“I have—” you pause to breathe. “—so many questions.”

Roy’s hand shoots up as Mae passes by to ask for another round. “No, you don’t.”

“How did this… come to be?”

He’s scowling, but chooses to answer with, “I was newly retired and borderline suicidal. I found their flier and called Maureen instead of the hotline.”

Your elbow’s now perched on the bartop, chin resting in your hand to stare at him in awe. “Is this, like, at a gym? Is it at one of their houses?” You gasp. “Do you host yoga?”

Roy looks as though he’s regretted every decision that’s led him to this moment. “We alternate weekly,” he mutters. 

“Shut up. Tell me you guys hang out after. Like you grab drinks or do a book club or something.”

His hand goes up once more in Mae’s direction. “Yeah, gonna make that two, Mae.”

“Shut up,” you repeat. You don’t think you could be smiling any harder. “Do you drink rosé and read Colleen Hoover?”

“No,” he says, pointing at you like you should know better. When your brows go up, he shrugs. “We drink rosé and watch Lust Conquers All like respectable fucking adults.”

You do the math in your head and gasp again. “Does that mean you watched Jamie’s season?”

Roy’s lips twitch upward. “Yeah. Watched him be a proper fucking twat,” he says, then glances over at you in curiosity. “Didn’t realize you got that over in the States.”

“Jamie’s season was when it started getting popular there,” you reply with a shrug. “All my friends were in love with him.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “Not you?”

A snort escapes you, and you shake your head. “Uh, no. ‘The island’s top scorer, sexually’ wasn’t exactly my speed.” Roy’s smile grows at your poor impression of Jamie. “But they were into it. They freaked out when they realized I’d be working with him.”

“Not your speed,” Roy repeats, taking a long sip of his pint. His interest appears to be piqued. “And what speed is that?”

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you try to play it off with a roll of your eyes. “You know what my type is.”

That smile of his stretches into something more resemblant of a smirk. “It’s been eight fucking years,” he replies, feigning innocence. “Types change.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, fully ready to play along and be just as much of an annoying jerk as he’s being to you.“Right now, I’m regressing to my French swimmer phase. Going pretty well, actually.”

“Oh, is that right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, biting back a grin. “Actually been talking with Luca for the last couple of weeks. It’s like we never left London.”

It’s Roy’s turn to roll his eyes, but it’s only half directed at you. “He was a fucking prick,” he says. 

“He was not a prick,” you reply. “You just didn’t like him.” Your eyes narrow, turning to face him with that same sort of feigned innocence he had. “Remind me why you didn’t like him again.”

“Because he was a fucking prick,” he repeats. “Fucking twat wouldn’t even watch your games. Couldn’t handle you winning something when he wasn’t.”

The scoff that escapes you is loud. “I forgot about that,” you mutter. “He was a prick, wasn’t he?”

“Fuck yeah, he was.”

You shake your head, raising your glass to take a small sip. “Whatever. Wasn’t like I ended up spending much time with him anyway.”

Roy’s lips quirk up into that same smirk, but there’s more behind it. “No, you didn’t.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks at that, and you continue to hide in your glass. Asshole.

Luckily, Roy seems to have more to say on the topic of Luca. “He was never your speed,” he tells you. It’s a matter-of-fact musing. “He wasn’t in your fucking race.”

You spare a glance in his direction. “No?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” he says as if he can’t believe you even had to ask. “You were riding light years ahead of him. He couldn’t keep up.” With a soft scoff, he adds, “Not many people can.”

That warm feeling returns and it spreads down your neck. You suddenly feel yourself getting shy. “Maybe I should slow down,” you attempt to joke.

Roy’s shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You don’t mean to do it. It’s completely unconscious, almost like an instinct. But you ignore the way that that makes your entire body go ablaze and look at him. You hold his gaze for a long while, longer than you have since you started at Richmond. And he stares right back at you. 

It’s hauntingly familiar and paradoxically comfortable. You don’t know if he meant to say that or if it just slipped out in the moment, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you. Even if he didn’t mean to let something like that out with that sort of sentiment, he’s owning it. It warms your heart and makes your stomach flip upside down.

It’s so fucking confusing. But then again, this entire thing has been confusing. You had been sitting here for just about a half an hour, and half of those minutes were spent going back and forth in the way that you used to. You didn’t think it’d be so easy to fall back into that with him. To talk to him like that again. To banter with him. Even to fucking laugh with him.

That realization makes you feel as though you’ve been dunked in a pool of cold water and allows a weird, foreign feeling to settle in your chest. You’re angry at yourself and at him for slipping back into it so effortlessly. You hate how easy it is and always has been with him. But you also miss it. You’ve missed this. You missed him.

It’s an absolutely horrendous, life-altering realization and it slants your world sideways. You despise yourself for it. It’s something you force deep down into yourself, hoping it dies a quick and painless death, but you know that it won’t be the case. Not if he’s still around. And not if you two continue like this.

Luckily, for both of you, the television at the pub chirps out a loud noise as a penalty is called for the game on-screen. You two snap out of it, promptly tuning in to distract yourselves from whatever the fuck that was. Old habits were easy to fall into. They were dangerous. You couldn’t wait to pretend like that never happened.

However, something still lingers. Something sits upon your tongue as you watch the scene unfold on-screen, as the medical and physio team run out to help the injured Arsenal player who’s clutching at his knee. You can’t explain your motive and you don’t completely understand why you feel the need to keep this conversation going, but you want to extend that same kindness to him, with something you’ve been holding back for years. So you do.

“I almost called you,” you tell him. He glances over at you, brows raised in question. “The game you got hurt. I was watching. And I sat on my couch for two hours trying to figure out if I should call you.”

Roy blinks, absorbing this, then turns away. He swallows thickly before bringing his glass to his lips. “Glad you didn’t.”

It stings. Like, really stings. You nod, trying not to show just how much, but your voice still comes out dejected. “Oh,” you say. “Right.”

Roy sighs at your tone. “No, it—” He wipes a hand down his face and the pint in his other lands on the bartop with a thud. “If you’d called that night, it just… It would have… complicated a lot of fucking things for me. And I might have—” There’s a brief moment where he meets your gaze, but he quickly drops it. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Oh,” you repeat, but it’s quieter. Your focus is drawn to your glass. “Right.”

That dreaded silence returns and it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced with him. What did he mean? What would he have done? What would you have complicated for him? The way he speaks gives you a pretty decent idea of how drastic his actions would have been, but you can’t figure out what he means. 

Would he have lashed out at you? Would he have wanted to see you? Would he have even picked up the phone if you had called? What did he mean?

You have millions of questions you’re too scared to ask, and you bite your tongue for fear of actually speaking them aloud. Roy doesn’t seem to like this and really doesn’t seem to like your answer, or lack there of (but truly, what exactly were you supposed to say to something like that?). You’re not sure if he thinks he upset you or made you uncomfortable, but when he speaks again, he’s taken on a bit of a softer tone.

“Just so we’re clear,” he begins. “I’m… happy you’re here.” He says it slowly, as if he’s testing out each word. “I’m happy you joined Richmond despite… well, fucking everything.”

You swallow hard, awkwardly shrugging. “I didn’t have a lot of other options.”

He gives you a look that tells you to stop being a smartass. You know it well.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he repeats, more sure this time. “I’m happy to see you again. But it…” Roy trails off, eyes locked on the bar top. “It’s fucking… strange. It’s strange to be here with you after I swore you off for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is.”   

“And I— I’m trying to be better at this,” he continues, still refusing to look at you. “Talk like this with someone. Be fucking open, or whatever. So, this is me being open.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, and you give it to him. 

He scratches at the inside of his wrist. “All of my past… relationships were…” He trails off like he can’t find the right word.

“Fleeting?” you try, earning a glare in response. “Transactional?”

That look in his eye doesn’t falter. “I’m trying to be open here, for fuck’s sake,” he grits, though the slight whine in his voice makes you chuckle. However, before you can apologize, he sighs. “But, for lack of a better fucking word, yeah. That. Nobody stuck around and there was no… love lost or-- fucking whatever. And if it did end poorly, I didn’t have to worry about seeing them. I could ignore them or get a fucking drink thrown in my face and it’d be… done. It’d be over.” Roy shakes his head and takes a long sip of his beer. “I didn’t have to be around them, I didn’t have to see them, and I certainly didn’t have to fucking work with them.”

There’s a beat between you. It’s brief, but it gives you time to absorb this, and for him to take a breath. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, he’s looking at you. It’s a gaze that’s warmer than before, but there’s still that distress there. The confusion. Sadness.

He continues, “I really thought I was never going to see you again. And I had, I don’t know, fucking resigned myself to that idea? I’d come to terms with it. So, being here?” That’s when he decides to meet your eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know how to act around you. Not when I’m still so… fucking angry with you. Not when you’re so angry with me. I’ve never done anything like this—” He motions between you two. “—and I don’t know how the fuck to do it.” 

It’s a lot to take in, but you do so while nodding slowly. He doesn’t know how to do this? He doesn’t know how to act around you? This is confusing for him? 

It wasn’t a contest, but you’d argue that, given everything, you were in the worse position. You were joining his team, a team he’d clearly nested into and made a life for himself in. You had been forced to ignore everything he’d done to you for the sake of your career because you truly had nowhere else to go. How the hell did he think that you were or would be doing any better than he was? Did he really think you were dealing with this in a healthier, more stable way?

After you’ve collected your thoughts, you ask, “You think that this is easy for me? I’m fucking drowning here, Roy.” Your voice is gentle, and almost immediately, you can see the tension in his body resolve into something more open. “I think we’re the first people ever on earth to be put in this fucked situation. It’s like some sick psychology experiment.” 

“Sad fucking excuses for lab rats we are,” he mutters. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “What does it say about us that we agreed to it?”

“It says we’re masochists, Kent,” you say, and that smile grows as he shakes his head. You motion to the window where Beard and Ted still stand, taking turns with the binoculars every so often to check in on the two of you. “Who else would just go along with shit like this?”

Roy turns to the window. “Fuck. I forgot they were out there,” he mutters in disbelief.

You salute to Beard and his binoculars and he pulls them down to nod at you in response. “We’re sick, sick people who’d rather be uncomfortable than give this sport up.”

Roy huffs a laugh. “Cheers to that.” 

He tilts his pint to yours and it feels like a peace offering. It’s like you’re finally on the same page about something for once. When you clink your glass against his and sip with him, it ratifies that agreement. You bite back a smile.

“But there’s some truth in that, I guess,” you continue. Roy’s brow pinches. “I couldn’t give this up. I would rather be uncomfortable with this than let go of this opportunity. Because, I…” You take in a deep breath, scoffing softly as you release it. “I really thought I blew it. I thought my career was over after West Ham fired me. I didn’t think anyone was going to want the girl who couldn’t even last three months at an AFC club.” You can feel yourself getting choked up and you blink away the telltale burning in your eyes. “And then out of the blue, like a fucking miracle, Rebecca’s at my door asking me to join Richmond. So… yeah, Roy. This is so fucking weird. And you’re right, I’m still mad at you. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for what you did. And I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.

“But this… this job, West Ham… I couldn’t allow my career to end like that,” you say, and your chest starts to tighten again. Fuck, was it always going to be this hard to talk about this? “You were right when you told me I couldn’t let them take what I love away from me.” Your voice is quieter when you say, “I can’t allow someone to dictate my career for me. Not again.”

You see Roy’s eyes close out of the corner of your own. His head bows ever so slightly and as he mutters, “Yeah. That shouldn’t happen again.”

Now you feel like the asshole. You know it’s deserved, but the somber, regretful note in his voice makes your perpetual guilt complex rear its head. You’re getting emotional whiplash from the highs and lows of this conversation and you wonder how much time has really passed by. You can’t tell if it’s been twenty minutes or an hour. 

But, however long it’s been, you think it’s a miracle that you’ve been able to get to this point with such little time.

“I’m not…” The words get caught in your throat and then escape like a sigh. “...ready to talk about what happened yet. I don’t know when I’ll be able to, but it’s certainly not now. I… It’s too hard to, I don’t know, look at you and talk about that.” You look wearily over in his direction. “And I don’t think— I can’t be your friend,” you tell him softly, watching as he bows his head. “Or be whatever our coworkers want us to be. I’m not… I don’t think I can do that yet. And I think you feel the same.”

There’s a long, pregnant silence, one that drags out and makes everything between you two feel heightened. Then, Roy nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Not yet.”

You figured as such. It’s almost reassuring to know that you’re at the same point. However, after this conversation, after sitting here with him, forgetting about everything for just a moment to laugh and joke around with him for the first time in years, you’re comfortable enough to say your next words.

With a deep breath, you tell him, ”But, whatever comes before friends. Whatever that is, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Roy’s eyes meet yours. He lets that statement sit with him, absorbing it, then stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. It’s as if he wasn’t expecting you to say that and can’t believe that you did. 

You’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing until he clears his throat and says, “You are?”

It’s something soft and sincere, asked with an uncharacteristic hesitance. “Yes,” you say. “Are you?”

You’re sure you’re imagining it, but you swore you could have seen the beginnings of a smile twisting at his lips. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’d really fucking like that.”

Unconsciously, you feel yourself copying the smile you’re positive was an illusion. “Good,” you say gently, turning back to face the TV above the bar. “Would have been really awkward if you’d said no.”

Roy’s laugh is one of surprise. “God-fucking-forbid things were awkward between us.”

“I’m just saying,” you insist with a shrug. “I wouldn’t have known what to say if you’d said no. Finish my beer in silence and just get up and go. Hand in my two weeks and head back to America.”

“Leaving two teams in under a month would have been a league record,” he notes, lips quirking as you narrow your eyes at him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have stayed just to spite me.”

“You’re right,” you agree almost immediately. “I’m much more vindictive than that.”

It’s then that Roy grins at you, and the look in his eye sends you right back to 2012. “Damn fucking right you are.”

You toe the line between hatred and acceptance as a familiar warmth spreads across your chest and makes a home there.

This, you know, will be impossible to shake.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (EARLY AUGUST, 2012)

so sorry to see you boys lose, says the text you send to Roy after their penalty-kicks loss against South Korea. devastating way to go out. not sure if this is a bad time, but i do believe there was a standing deal that whoever lasted longer in the tournament got whatever they wanted from the other?

It’s a rather brutal text, especially after a loss like that, but you don’t care. He was so sure that your team was going to be knocked out before he was. It felt good to be better than him at something for once.

You’re sitting in your Olympic dorm room, perfectly happy to be alone for the night. After your win against New Zealand last night, you’d spent the night celebrating (or what constituted for celebrating in the Village, which was just staying up with your girls and watching bad British made-for-TV movies) and had not had a minute to yourself since. You were unfortunately a person who needed their alone time and having a career as time-consuming as soccer made it virtually impossible to not have people around you at all times.

Mel was out for the night, having gone upstairs to find Paige (the UK women’s team had lost in a gnarly game against Canada last night), taking advantage of the circumstances to ‘comfort’ her. Or, whatever Mel constituted as comfort.

(“She just so sad,” Mel had said, lacing up her shoes. “I told her I’d come up and cheer her up.”

“And how exactly are you doing that?” you asked skeptically from your bed. “You have horrendous bedside manner.”

“I’m going to figure out a way. I hate seeing her sad,” Mel said innocently. “Do you think restaurants deliver here? Maybe I can get her something to eat.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, she’s gonna be eating something, alright—”

You’re cut off by a memory foam slide slipper being chucked straight at your head.)

There was no way Paige didn’t see through her or what she was doing. However, it helped that everyone could see that she was totally into Mel, and you were thankful that your best friend’s mega crush wasn’t unrequited. Extremely thankful. Mel did not take rejection well.

Speaking of rejection, you think, as you feel your phone vibrate on your chest. The text from Roy stares at you from your phone screen and you can practically hear his words as you read them.

That was the deal if one of us won the tournament, he tells you. You’ve still got two games to go, Yank.

It’s the type of response you expected, but you’re unsure of the validity of his claim. i recall that deal differently.

His reply is lightning quick. Of course, you do. Your memory’s as shit as your jokes.

someone’s sounding bitter, you answer. i can hear you pouting all the way from chelsea. 

You don’t get a response for a moment, and for a minute, there’s a small part of you that thinks you actually may have pissed him off. There’s no way that he’d get upset about something like that, would he? You know how much he cares about football, but the Games are mostly just… fun. For the men’s side, at least. It means leagues more to the women.

However, before you can get too in your head about it, your phone starts ringing in your hand, Roy’s name popping up on your screen. You press your lips together to keep yourself from smiling too hard.

“Hello?” you say, the humor in your voice evident.

“I don’t fucking pout,” is his greeting, which earns him a soft chuckle.

“The fact that you’re calling me to whine isn’t making for a compelling argument,” you reply. 

“You know,” he begins, and the sudden accusatory inflection in his voice has you pushing your lips together again, “you’re being really fucking mean to someone who’s got the power to run you until you pass out tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, I’m terrified. Tell me, are you going to be breathing down my neck now that you’ve got nothing to do?”

“Thin fucking ice, Fourteen,” he warns, but you swear you can hear his smile. “One more fucking word and I’ll replay footwork day.”

That has your mouth shutting almost immediately. “Okay, now you’re actually scaring me.”

It’s then that Roy laughs, and the sound sends a rush through you. It’s such a rare occurrence that every time you hear it, it feels like an accomplishment. 

“I’m sorry you lost,” you finally say. “That was a tough game to watch.”

“Tough fucking game to play,” he replies through a sigh. “We shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

You tilt your head back against the pillows stacked up behind you, attempting to get comfortable on your horribly uncomfortable, tiny bed. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you played well.”

There’s an uneven beat of quiet and the line crackles. “Yeah?” he asks. His voice is calmer and slightly warmer. You’re not expecting it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “You had a couple of good shifts in the second half. That last pass you sent up the field would have been an insane assist if Lowell didn’t miss.”

You hear him sigh. “That wasn’t Lowell’s fault. That sweeper was a problem for all of us.”

“Didn’t say it was his fault. We all miss,” you state. “I’m just saying if it had worked out. That would have been crazy.”

“It would have been,” he finally agrees, which you know is the closest you’re going to get to him complimenting himself. “You play Monday, right?”

“Yup. Canada. I’m supposed to be in charge of taking care of Caroline Singer which should be, y’know, a joy.”

Roy snorts. “She’ll start swinging at you before the half.”

“That’s the goal. I’ve been told to piss her off as much as I can.” Before he has the chance to make the layup joke you’ve just handed him, you beat him to it. “Which shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I’ve seen her play,” he says. “She doesn’t do well when she’s flustered. You’ve got a talent for getting in people’s heads. We can work more on that tomorrow.”

You grin. “So, no footwork?”

His voice is a low growl with a lilt of a chuckle. “Don’t push it.”

There’s a moment that passes between you two where you know you’re both smiling, sitting on the phone in your respective make-shift Olympic homes (one, much nicer than the other, you’re sure), knowing that this conversation is probably over for the night, but finding that you don’t want to hang up. It’s an odd, giddy sort of feeling, one you haven’t felt in years. You never expected to feel it again here, of all places, with fucking Roy Kent, of all people.

You don’t know exactly what possesses you to ask, but the question floats out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Are you really going to stay in London to train me until we’re out of the tournament?”

It was something he’d implied during your practices and once joked about, but he’d said it enough to make you think he was serious. When you’d once questioned him about it, he’d said something along the lines of making sure he saw through his investment or wanted to see your deal through. He’d called himself a man of his word, which you also had questioned, but again, it felt like he was incredibly serious about this. 

His answer catches you off-guard, but you suppose you shouldn’t have expected anything less.. “I thought you were winning the fucking thing.”

An abrupt laugh leaves your lips. “Roy.”

He sighs again and then replies with something more in-line with what he’d said previously. “I made a deal with you. We’re seeing this fucking thing through.” There’s a noise on his line that sounds as though he’s shifting. “And besides, you’ve got what? Two games left if you make it to the Gold round?”

“When we make it,” you correct.

You’re nearly positive that he rolls his eyes. But, he says, “I’m sticking around.”

The sentiment of it all fills you with a warmth that travels down your body. You’re still not sure what this is. You’re not sure why he’s doing this. You don’t completely understand why he seems to like you, why he’s sticking around to train you, or why he chose to train you in the first place. Everything about this is so out of left field and nothing about it makes sense. You couldn’t have predicted this if you’d tried.

There’s nothing about this situation that you completely understand, but you know one thing: you’re starting to become grateful it did.

You don’t question him. You don’t ask the things that are swirling around in your head, and you don’t verbalize anything you’ve started to feel the last couple of days. Instead, you just say, “Well. I suppose if you insist.”

He makes a low sound, something that you may think is a laugh of disbelief. He’s quiet for a second as if he’s going to say more, but he clears his throat instead. “I’ll let you get to bed.”

There’s a brief moment where disappointment swells in your chest, but you quickly shake it off with a silent scolding. “Yeah,” you agree. “Probably a good idea to be asleep when Mel gets back.”

“Back?” Roy questions. “Where’s Rivera?”

“Consoling Paige,” you say, air quotes implied. Roy huffs. “She’s consistent if nothing else.”

“She’s fucking relentless is what she is. I’ve never seen someone pine so hard for someone who clearly fucking likes them.”

You shrug, but then realize he can’t see that. “Mel’s not the make-a-move type. She’s more of a let-me-stare-at-you-and-telepathically-tell-you-I’m-in-love-with-you type. Which I get. But it’s still frustrating.”

There’s a beat between you, one that has you raising a brow. “You're not the first-move type, huh?”

Blood rushes to your ears and it spreads down your neck. His tone is leading, and it sets off every siren in your brain. “No,” you get out, and thankfully it’s more casual than you thought it’d be. “Never been my thing.”

“Huh,” Roy muses. “Good to know.”

Your stomach churns in anxious anticipation, once again not completely sure what he means by that. You’ve got an idea, but Jesus, he loves to be vague. You would have never pegged him to be coy.

Before you can respond, he’s speaking again, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Goodnight, Fourteen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He then hangs up on you, leaving you stunned with your phone in your hand, mouth slightly ajar, and the best kind of nerves coursing through your body. 

You can’t help but laugh at it all.

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

You awake to your phone ringing on your bedside table next to you. It’s a call that’s earlier than your alarm, one that has you throwing your arm to the table, slapping your hand around blindly to find it. 

Once it’s in your possession, you crack your eyes open to see Mel’s name on the screen. Your interest is piqued enough to answer. “Hello?”

Your greeting comes out as more of a groan, but you think Mel gets the message. Either that, or she doesn’t care. Because she leads with, “You want to tell me why I’m getting Twitter updates about you and The Dark Lord hanging out at a bar like it’s 2012?”

You open your eyes, squinting at the sun that’s peaking through your window. “Roy and I are relevant enough to be getting Twitter updates?”

“After that press conference you gave? Uh, yeah. You’re a bit of a celebrity to the football side of Twitter,” Mel says, sounding only slightly incredulous that that’s what you choose to respond with. “You’re relevant enough to have people spamming this picture someone took of you two last night.”

You hum. “How do I look?”

Mel scoffs. “You look incredible. The Dark One looks scary.”

“Scary how?”

“Well, he’s smiling for one, which is always a jumpscare,” she says. “And you’re smiling back at him which is even more horrifying. So, you know, just a scary photo all around.”

A huff of a laugh escapes you, and you put your arm over your eyes. “You wouldn’t believe why we were there if I told you.”

“It better be some fucking Twilight Zone, cosmic occurrence, because that’s the only explanation I’ll accept as to why you’re laughing with each other.”

“Will you take Coaches Ted Lasso and Beard Parent-Trapping and holding Roy and I hostage until we talked out our issues?” you offer.

You’re met with approximately thirty seconds of silence before Mel responds. You can picture the perplexed look on her face as she asks, “Do they understand the depth of your issues? And that trapping you at a bar without a neutral third party and law enforcement present is an outlandish and potentially fatal situation?” 

“We were actually very civil,” you reply casually. “Found out he does yoga now. Watches Love Conquers All.”

“Hmm,” Mel hums. “Does he do that before or after his day job of kicking puppies and burning down orphanages?”

The laugh that escapes you is involuntary. “Mel,” you whine.

“I’m glad you’re laughing. Because I’m certainly not,” she says, and the tone of her voice tells you you’re about to receive the scolding she clearly called to give you. “Because it sounds like you’re back on the Kent Train and I’m going to have to pick you up when he inevitably fucks you over again.”

“I’m not ‘back on the Kent Train’ or whatever the hell you just said,” you mutter, turning to lay on your pillow. “You knew that working at Richmond meant us working together. I knew that. Our coaching staff is insane, but they have a point. We can’t work well together if we’re fighting and not getting along.”

Mel scoffs. “You can work with people you don’t like. It’s called being professional. The only thing you have to be on the same page about is the team.”

“Richmond isn’t like that,” you tell her. “It’s unlike anywhere I’ve ever played or worked. These people are a family. And not in like, a corporate ‘we’re a family here’ way. They all really care about each other and spend Christmas together and do karaoke together. It’s actually really sweet.”

“And what? You’re scared they’re not going to accept you if you don’t join the cult and sing kumbaya?”

You shut your eyes in frustration at her words. “No, Melanie,” you say, and the edge to your voice has her scoffing again. “It’s not about joining the cult. It’s about the fact that I refuse to lose another job. Especially not this job. I can’t imagine any other club being as warm and accommodating as they’ve been. And frankly, no other club wanted me after the shit show that was West Ham.” Mel’s gone quiet and you exhale in resignation. “So, yeah. If that means I have to be friendly with Roy and sing their song, then fucking… hand me the guitar, I guess.”

Once again, Mel’s quiet. You think she’s hung up on you until you remove your phone from your ear and see the call time’s still running. It takes a moment, but she finally, finally releases a long and heavy sigh that lets you know she’s back on your side. “I just don’t want to see him hurt you again.”

“He won’t,” you say without hesitation. “I won’t allow him to. I’m never…” You shake your head. “I’m never going back to that. We’re colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You can hear her shake her head against her phone. “I really wish I believed that.”

“I mean it,” you insist. “You have full permission to kick my ass if anything else happens.”

Finally, you get something like a laugh from the other line. “Gleefully holding you to that.”

“I know you are.”

“Haven’t kicked your ass since 2015,” Mel says, sounding almost rueful. “I miss it. You’ve ignited a fire in me and it’s burning.”

“Does Paige know about your thirst for violence?” you ask. “I can’t imagine she wants Oliver exposed to that.”

Mel scoffs. “Not only does she know but he knows. I passed it on to the little fucker,” she mutters. You note the hint of pride in her voice. “Speaking of Roy, Oliver’s finally old enough for the baby leagues and he pulled a very Kent versus Man City move in his first game. Scuffed up the poor kid’s leg and everything.”

You snicker and roll on your back, eyes cast up to the ceiling. “I cannot possibly imagine my sweet baby boy doing anything of the sort. It must have been someone else,” you tell her. Then, you chuckle again. “Roy and I actually just talked about that game. He still refuses to admit that he did anything wrong.”

“Glad to see nothing’s changed on that end.”

You suppress a smile, but your voice comes out as a warning. “Mel…”

“Hey, you can be nice to him all you want,” she replies. “Never said anything about me having to.”

Fair enough. You know that this is the best your going to get from her, so you let it slide. “You’re still coming to the game this week, right?”

“Recent events have given me second thoughts—” Her response is cut short by your groaning, and you hear her sigh on the other end. “Of course, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss your first home game for the world. Or any home game for that matter,” she says. “I do draw the line at away games, though. Don’t love you enough to drive that much.”

“Understandable. And we’re still on for dinner after?”

“If you’re paying. That AFC coaching salary better join us at the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Good to know where your priorities lie.”

“I’m joking,” she says, but the way that the volume of her voice increases tells you that she’s not saying that for you, but for her wife, who must be in the room. When she speaks again, it’s much lower. “I’m not joking.”

“Oh, I know,” you respond. “Tell Paige I say hi.”

“I’ll do it when it’s less suspicious.”

You grin, shaking your head. “I’ll see you on Saturday, asshole.”

“See you then,” she says. However, before you can hang up, you hear her voice calling your name once more. When you put your phone back up to your ear, she says, “Please. Please be careful. I mean it.”

Her soft worry holds a certain weight that makes your eyes screw shut. “I will. I promise.”

“Okay,” Mel replies, a little more certain. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too,” you say. “See you Saturday.”

And with that, you hang up on your best friend, letting your phone fall onto your chest with a strikingly heavy thump, letting each and every one of her words sit with you as you pretend that the new pain in your chest doesn’t exist.

The next morning, Ted Lasso gets to the Richmond Coaching Offices early. 

He’s even earlier than you, something of which has proven to be a difficult feat, as you’re typically stationed at your desk reviewing film before anyone else has even considered coffee or put on a shin guard.

But today, he’s done it. He has no idea when you’re going to be in, but to be on the safe side, he figures he should be quick. The wrapped book is carefully grasped in his hand, making sure not to fold or crease the bow he tied around it as he opens the door to your and Roy’s office.

It’s only when the book is placed on your desk that he realizes he forgot to write the message he’d planned on the outside of the wrapping paper. His face scrunches up as he scans your desk for a pen or some other writing utensil, but comes up empty. 

He then turns to Roy’s desk, hoping to find something there. Sliding over, he gives the tabletop a once over, frowning as he realizes Roy’s got nothing too. It’s then that Ted remembers something.

Roy kept pens and dry-erase markers in his top drawer. Ted only knows this because three days ago, he saw Roy pull one out to chuck at Jamie as he barged into your shared office unannounced. He figures he can let that one slide if Roy forgives him for going into his desk.

Ted pulls the drawer out to find Roy’s neatly organized stash of utensils, grinning as he picks up a pen. However, before he can shut the drawer, something catches his eye.

There’s a frame shoved into the back, showcasing a photo Ted had seen from afar on Roy’s desk a million times but had never looked at close up. It’s of Roy, who’s wearing the closest thing to a smile that Ted’s seen on him, his sister, and… you.

You’re positioned in the middle, grinning from ear to ear with your arms tight around both Roy's and his sister’s shoulders. It’s an older picture, one taken at the high-top table of a bar. Both you and Roy are younger, and while Ted can’t figure out the exact time period of which this was taken, something else catches his eye.

It’s something small, probably something that would seem insignificant if he didn’t know you two. It’s your hands. While your arms are draped around Roy and his sister, his hand is covering yours.

It’s something that could be considered friendly, but Ted gets the feeling it’s not. It’s only then that Ted feels as though he’s looking at something he shouldn’t and closes the drawer.

With the pen he was looking for in hand, he returns to the book he’s left for you and scribbles down the message he wanted.

No— I must keep my own style and go on in my own way. —Jane Austen.

He only hopes Persuasion isn’t too on the nose for your situation as he slips out your office door and into his own.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314 , @csigeoblue , @confessionsofatotaldramaslut , @thatonedogwithablog , @hawkeyeharrington , @jamieolivia27 , @seatbacksandtraytables , @luvr-bunnyy

[ameenvie]

Prada - Roy Kent x gn!reader

masterlist | ao3 | fic recs

Word count: 1k Warnings: drinking, nothing really Tags: flirting, famous reader, first meeting Prompt/Summary: @kissykissymouth asked: Oh thank you! May I request Roy and song #69? My #69 song on my Wrapped was Prada by Raye, it is roughly based on the song as in famous reader meets Roy in Bones And Honey and they flirt. :D A/N: Thank you for playing alooong! It is a bit of a rough start, and I've never written Roy before, but I hope you like it! 🙈❤

The music in Bones and Honey was thumping loud against your eardrums, causing you to lean closer to your friend to hear what they had to say. You were nursing a drink in one hand, resting your other on their back as you leaned in.

A quite large group of people surrounded the two of you – colleagues, partners and friends. You all just came back to London from a job abroad, and you decided to celebrate a little. The taste of alcohol burned your tongue as it traveled down into your stomach, burning all the way. You hissed and looked at your friend.

“What kind of piss drink is this?” You asked laughing, wiping a tear away from your eye caused by the extremely bitter liquor.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be such a baby!” They said, laughing at you. People around you had a great time, chatter and laughter filled the air alongside the loud music. You could feel your heartbeat synching with the heavy bass, and you looked around the bar. Nobody gave a shit that you were there, or if they did, they hid it pretty well. That’s why you liked coming here – no fuss. You were just a regular person in here. Kind of.

“I’m getting us a proper drink,” you stood up promptly, wagging a finger at your friend. „Then you’ll know the difference.” They rewarded you with a dramatic eye roll that made you laugh. You flipped them off teasingly.

You made a beeline towards the bar to get a round of your favourite drinks, although you felt you wouldn’t need too much anymore. A faint buzz took over your body, and your spirit felt lighter, your inhibitions fading to the back of your mind. This place had several bars on every level which you were eternally grateful for, because that meant no waiting in lines for you. You stood next to the bar, resting your hands against the cool countertop while trying to make eye contact with the guy behind the bar. He was pretty dashing; you thought to yourself when you first saw him coming in. You ordered two drinks, then something – someone – caught your eye.

He was standing there turned towards you, wearing a full black suit, up to the tie. His beard and hair matched the colour scheme, as he looked at you. His eyes seemed angry, but his lips were smiling. Trying, at least. A sense of annoyance spread through your body even before he spoke. But he did.

“Good taste,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. You shifted on your legs.

“Excuse me?” You asked and turned your body towards him. You were so close, you could smell his perfume, and you had to admit - he smelled amazing.

“The drink,” he raised one of his brows at you before continuing. “It’s a good choice.”

Your brain shifted into gear as your eyes searched his face. The smile was long gone from his lips; you were sure he did the same. He was lucky, you thought. You were in the mood to play.

“I know,” you scoffed, tracing your finger on the rim of your glass. “That’s why I ordered it.” You wondered if he knew who you were. He answered with a scoff and averted his gaze towards the bar. You didn’t take your eyes off him; his scent and the music filled your senses. His eyes were darting between the bottles on the shelf.

“But,” he started and turned towards you. “It could've been a great choice.” A little smirk appeared on his face as he waved to the bartender, ordering two drinks. You weren’t sure if his self-assured demeanour was a facade like yours. He seemed different than you thought he’d be.

“I’m quite content with my choice but thank you.” You raised one of your glasses at him and started to turn, pushing yourself away from the bar when he spoke.

“C’mon, then just let me buy you a drink.” You turned back and his hands were in his pockets, looking at you. You felt your chest tighten as you looked at him. You weren’t sure what or why but something in him captivated you. But you definitely weren’t going to give yourself that easy.

“I can buy myself drinks well enough, thank you,” you quipped, a playful smirk spreading on your face, as you looked over him. Quite slowly.

“And I’m well aware of that.” He smiled back at you. There was that. He definitely knew you. Know of you. If he wanted to really know you, he’d have to try. “I’ve seen you on that thing... Or the other.”

He was very nonchalant about it, and you loved that. You felt emboldened. You smiled and turned back to him, facing him with your full body. An expecting look decorated his features, and you chuckled.

“You a huge fan then?” You stepped towards him, your bodies almost touching. He cocked a brow at you. You saw the gears turn behind his eyes as his gaze darted across your face. The scent of his cologne now mixed with the alcohol on his breath, and you felt light-headed for a second, the thrill sending a shiver down your spine.

“A quiet admirer, more like.” He placed his hand on the countertop next to you, bringing him even closer.

“Do you have lots of quiet admirers yourself, Roy?” you asked and innocently blinked at him from under your eyelashes. Surprise flashed over his features as he looked at you before he smiled and spoke again.

“Maybe I do. Are you one of them?” It felt like the music died around you. All the people went home. It was just the two of you, his body so close to you, you could just move the slightest bit, and you’d touch. You chuckled.

“Footballers?” You asked, looking at your hand and back at his face. “To quote one of the greats – that don’t impress me much,” you said teasingly.

“Yeah?” He laughed. “Then what does?”

“Well, how about we start with that drink you’ll buy me?” You asked, and he smiled down at you, shaking his head a bit before turning to the bar and ordering your drinks. This was going to be fun.

[ultralightpoe]

Anti-hero - Roy Kent

Authors Note : Based off a request I got {Could you do a Jamie or Roy fic with a girl who feels self conscious as their date to a gala or something? Lots of fluff and comfort! If you don’t want to write it, no worries 💜} A quick reminder that you are all beautiful and truly wonderful. You all deserve the world, and I hope you all find your own Roy Kent. -Ultralightpoe

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: self doubt. curse words

Requests: OPEN

Main Master list - - Midnights Event List

(Thank you for the gif @50shadesofpemberlypost )

x Enjoy x

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser

Midnights become my afternoons

When my depression works the graveyard shift

All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

- 

It had been an issue for years, one that was directly caused by your mother. 

It’s not that she was a villain, and it wasn’t like she knew she was doing it anyways, it was always something that just managed to slip out of her mouth in passing moments . A quick ‘that shows your back fat’ there and a ‘are you sure you like that color? It washes you out baby’. Always said with that tone that made you rethink every decision in life. 

She did it out of love. 

But the comments she made built up, that and the pressure of school and social media building up. It all took a toll on you. You found your life mixed with new issues. Anxiety, self-doubt, depression, and you became a new person. 

It was like a shadow version of you, one that tracked how much she ate and thought about how loud she laughed and how much was too much talking. Every single move you made was tracked and overthought.

But then Roy came into the picture. 

At first you did what you usually did, you tried to speak low and not draw too much attention. Tracking how much you laughed and how much you ate. It was fine because your friend group never really realized it, they didn’t know a thing was out of place. But Roy, who had been brought by his sister, was quick to call it out. 

“Fucking stop that.” He muttered when you tried to fix your skirt, using his hand to slap yours away. “You look fucking perfect. Take a breath, yeah?”

“I just…. I’m debating the color, everyone else wore pastels and I hadn’t realized that it would be that type of party.” You admit, body hot with embarrassment as a group of girls pass you at the party. But that was the least of your worries, you had eaten too much cake and had tripped on the stairs in front of your friends. Could everyone see your makeup on your neck? Were they laughing at you-

“Do you overthink everything?” Roy blurts, catching your elbow to pull you back gently as a waiter with a heavy tray passes by. “Because I’ll tell you right now that you’re the prettiest fucking woman at this party.”

“You can’t say that at someone’s birthday party.” You laugh, stepping closer to him without realizing. “That’s one of the biggest rules. It’s like saying someone is prettier than Aphrodite. Next thing you know that person will be cursed to marry your father because the goddess hates you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s…. Greek mythology. I’m not going to marry my dad. It… okay. I’ve ruined this so I am just going to-” You move away quicker than he can follow and you think that it was over. But you had not known just how determined Roy Kent was. 

Soon enough he was taking you out, one date became 4 which led to a relationship. 10 months in and you were the happiest you had ever been. He saw you, in every outfit and every mood and every way, and he loved you just as you were. 

But there was something you didn’t expect, the amount of attention that would come with dating a professional football player. It was a whole new demon in itself. 

- 

I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices

I end up in crisis (tale as old as time)

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

'Cause you got tired of my scheming

(For the last time)

- 

Lunches with your mother were the worst, and yet you loved her more than anything. Today she chose an extremely fancy restaurant dressed in a Valentino outfit and her makeup to perfection as she cut her salad up with her fork and knife. 

“Oh this is dreadful.” She sighs, shaking her head. “There is barely any chicken in here. This is insane. Do you see chicken?”

“There is chicken.” Roy shrugs, narrowing his eyes a bit. Lunches with them were always such a weird dynamic considering they were exact opposites. Your mother looked for drama, she thrived off of arguing. Roy chose brutal honesty, he worked best on shutting arguments down before they could even start.  “It’s right there.”

“Oh, baby that is a terrible color on you.” She huffs, sitting the plate back down and turning her glare on you as her hand raises to call the server over. “It washes you out. What have I told you about-”

“She looks fucking stunning today.” Roy scoffs, blinking slowly. 

“It’s fine.” You whisper to him, trying to defuse the situation. 

“No, it’s not.”

“Now I read somewhere that there is a big fundraiser gala coming up, it was in the paper. I assume you both will be attending.” Your mother begins, smiling when the server starts heading over. “You should let me dress you darling. I know how you get anxious about that all and I want to make sure you look your best.”

“She’ll look bloody fantastic in anything-”

“Oh you finally decided to serve your table.” Your mother interrupts him, talking to the server and completely disregarding your boyfriend. 

He takes a moment to lean over to you, catching your eyes. “I’m about to stab my fork into my fucking eye.”

“I know.” You smile, leaning in closer to kiss his cheek which makes him growl a bit at the pda but you see the smile he fights off anyways. “We’ll be gone soon.”

“You look great and the dress you pick will be fantastic. Don’t listen to her.” He gruffs out. 

“Have you seen those posts of you two? They were commenting on your age difference and I just want you to know that I do not think you are too immature for him. Truthfully honey I am proud, I never thought you’d make it with someone so accomplished. I mean it’s not like you had many prospects.” She laughs as the server sends Roy a wide eyed look while taking her plate away leaving the table once more. 

“That’s it.” Roy snaps, slamming his silverware down on the table and pointing his finger at her. “You watch how you speak to her. She’s perfect. And she will be a bombshell at the gala.”

Your mothers face flushes, blinking at him slowly as Roy goes back to his meal like nothing happened while you fight off a smile, your foot rubbing his calf under the table in a silent thank you before you try to pull it back only for his legs to slam shut keeping your foot held there. 

He sends you a sharp look, but the corner of his mouth curves up and you know that was his way of showing his love so you take it, smiling right back at him. 

- 

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

At tea time, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

- 

The dress you chose for the gala was perfect, you were excited to wear it and truthfully you were excited about the whole thing. This would be the first event you had ever attended with the Richmond team in the public eye, and you wanted to make a good impression. 

But your mothers words from the years rang through your head constantly as you waited for their practice to end, leaning against the wall in the hallway as you thought about everything. 

“Oh! Hello.” A angelic voice rings out, pulling your attention to Rebecca Welton coming down the hallway, making you stand up quickly. 

“Ms. Welton! Hi, hello, hey…. I’m saying hi in too many ways.” You blush, moving to shake her hand. “It’s great to see you again.”

“I was just about to say the same thing. Are you waiting for the boys?”

“I am, yeah. My car is in the shop so I need a ride.” 

“Oh lovely, will I be seeing you at the gala? I have been planning it for weeks, my ex husband used to plan it. The wanker.”

“I’ll be there. I just hope I dress well enough.” You laugh slightly, but her eyebrow raises and you panic slightly. Did everyone on this team just see right through all your shit? 

“You’ll look perfect. I wish I still had a figure like yours.”

“ANGEL!” Someone calls out before you are lifted into the arms of Danny Rojas, kissing the side of your face as he swings you around. 

“Alright. Set her down, will ya?” Roy snaps, coming around the corner and rubbing his knee as Danny sets you down quickly, kissing your cheek one more time before heading away. You lean forward and rub Roy’s knee right where you know he feels the most pain. 

“Is it hurting a lot?” You mumble, as he pulls your hand away. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, I just don’t want to moan in the middle of this hallway. Let’s go home?” Before you can even answer he is grabbing your bag and moving to take you to the car. 

- 

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby

And I'm a monster on the hill

Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city

Pierced through the heart, but never killed

- 

Roy was in a shit mood the day of the gala, slamming cupboard after cupboard. You knew he was irritated about having to dress up and see the reporters that used to write about him all the time, and you knew in moments like this it was best to let him work through it. But sometimes you just couldn’t stay away. 

Shuffling closer, in his shirt, you wrap your arms around his center and shove your face into his back. He huffs out as he keeps swiping  the sponge against the counter, but he doesn’t push you away so you take a chance and kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s going to be okay. What they say about you doesn’t matter.”

He sighs out, letting go of the sponge before turning around in your arms and wrapping his own around you, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“You were young and they were assholes for that…. So fuck them.”

“Fuck them.” He repeats. 

“You’re going to walk by them in your fine ass suit with your fine ass body-”

“Please don’t objectify me.” He mumbles, but a smile is already on his lips as he leans down to kiss you deeply before pulling back. “And I will have the brightest fucking gem with me tonight.”

“Oh, c’mon.” You blush, trying to pull back but his arms are tight around you. 

“I think we need to fuck.” He huffs kisses at your face again. 

“Don’t be so crass!” You laugh, trying to escape him and shuffling you both to the bedroom right as your phone rings. “It’s my mother.”

“No. Don’t answer.”

“I have to, or she’s gonna be mad.” You answer back, watching his face turn dead serious as he looks at you. His hands come up to rub at your jaw. 

“You listen to me you little rat.” He mumbles, you fighting back a laugh at the nickname. “Don’t listen to a word she says, because you are beautiful.”

“I won’t. I promise.” You promise, kissing his lips deeply and losing yourself to the kiss for a moment before he pulls back and shuffles to continue cleaning the counter. You swipe your thumb across the screen and mumble out a “Hello mother.”

“Oh you’re there! I thought you were about to ignore my call.” She snaps through the phone. 

- 

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

And life will lose all its meaning

(For the last time)

- 

You broke your promise, and you let your mother get the best of you. 

Her words from earlier bounce around your mind as you get ready. You debate whether or not your hair looked healthy as you spray hairspray across it. Did it look greasy? Untamed? Could they see your split ends?

Was your nail polish the wrong color? Was there a patch of hair on your legs that you missed? Did the dress color wash you out? Did you look too heavy? Was it too late to cancel?

“You look…. “ Roy blinks, coming up behind you to help zip the dress. “Fuck.”

“Is that good?” You ask, biting at your lip as he leans to kiss the nape of your neck. 

“Good? You look bloody amazing.” He snaps, kissing your neck one more time before standing straight. “Now let’s go make money.”

“What are we fundraising for? I never looked into it?”

“I have no fucking clue.” 

“Right.” You laugh, turning with your hand in his as he kisses your knuckles softly. “Then let’s go make money for whatever needs money.” 

“Make a fortune.”

- 

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me)

At tea time, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

- 

Your lip was worn down from the amount you had been biting it. 

Walking up to the gala you saw a red carpet with dozens of flashing cameras and begin to panic as you get closer, your hand tightening in Roys as he stands straighter. You would not be able to handle the cameras and see your picture all over the internet. What would people say? They would trash you, oh how bad would it be?

But Roy, ever the perfect man, simply held your hand tight and walked across the red carpet with a confidence that made your skin hot. He muttered to each that called his name, his voice deep and uncaring. “No. No. Fuck you. Fuck off. Fuck no.”

A smile blooming across your face as you let him lead you into the building where everyone is walking about with drinks in their hand. 

“I’m going to go get us drinks. Your usual?” He asks, waiting for your nod before heading in the direction of the bar leaving you standing there to take a look around. 

You took your chance to look around at everyone around you, smiling at anyone you make eye contact with. The anxieties began rising, as every gorgeous female passed you in their perfect dresses. Was your dress cheap looking? Did you look pathetic?

You were caught up in your thoughts as Jamie approached with his date, a model that introduces herself with a hug that makes you sniff caramel, leaving you with a crater in your chest as you look at her perfection. Jamie talks about the gala, looking around at everyone as a flash makes you blink, all three of you turning to the person that just took your picture. 

“The actual fuck?” Jamie scoffs, staring at him. “We were having a conversation, ye?”

“Sorry.” The man nods, moving to walk off and bumping into Nate with another apology. “Didn’t see you.”

“Hi Nate.” You smile, trying to seem calm when he walks up. “You look great.”

“Thank you! Mr. Lasso actually bought me this suit.”

“Who?” You blink, trying to see who he had been talking about. It wasn’t meant to be a snappy or snide comment, you had yet to be introduced to the new coach and the name didn’t ring a bell at first. But the second you saw the man with the mustache owning the crowd not far off you knew who Nate was talking about. 

But when you turn back to Nate you see a glare set on his features, his cheeks a little red as he blatantly looks away from you. “You look great, Jamie. You as well Keeley.”

Then he walks off, bumping into you harshly as he passes which makes the blonde look at you with wide eyes as Jamie excuses himself for another drink. 

“Oh, that was extremely rude of me. I shouldn’t have asked about the coach- that was-”

“What are you talking about?” She blinks, looking extremely confused. “You didn’t do anything wrong?”

“Here you are.” Roy grunts, handing you the chilled glass. “Keeley.”

“Hello Roy.” She smiles before Jamie whistles to pull her over. 

“Did he just call her like she was a dog?” You ask Roy as she walks over, and he shrugs. 

“He’s a wanker. Always has been and always will be.” Roy grunts out, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t ever pass the ball. And he is a massive tool. You should hear some of the things he says to-” He begins to explain as you try to smooth out your dress before his hand shoots out to stop you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Your answer was too quick, his eyes narrow and he catches it. 

“What happened?”

“I just…. I think I upset Nate because I asked to Lasso was and I didn’t mean to and everyone here looks amazing. But I’m fine. Everything is fine.” 

“Did that little fuck say something?”

“No. It’s fine Roy. Everything is fine.” You smile, leaning forward to kiss his lips which he allows before moving back and holding his hand knowing he doesn’t like pda.  “Let’s go find our seats?”

- 

I have this dream my daughter in-law kills me for the money

She thinks I left them in the will

The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out

"She's laughing up at us from hell"

- 

“Hello Roy, you handsome devil you.” A southern voice rings out, walking up to where you and Roy were seated together. “And what pairs so well with a handsome devil? An angel.”

“The devil is technically… well historically the devil is an angel.” You blush, immediately feeling stupid as the fun fact slips from your lips. “Well, I mean- I’m sorry that was stupid.”

“Stupid? Absolutely not. I feel ashamed that I didn’t know it.” He laughs, leaning to shake your hand. “My name is Ted, all my friends call me Ted which means you must.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you. Roy was telling me about all the new techniques at your practices.” You smile, making your boyfriend shake his head. 

“I said nothing good.” Roy huffs.  

“He said everything good.” You smile which makes Ted smile back. 

“You both look fantastic. Have a drink on me, since it’s an open bar.” Ted jokes, moving to walk away as Roy places his hand on your lower back. 

“Why the fuck would you tell him that I said good things?” He huffs and your stomach drops. 

“I’m sorry. It was just teasing and you do always say great things about him so-”

“Take it easy. You are fine.” He shakes his head. “Are you okay?”

You hadn’t noticed but your fists had clenched and your nails were digging into your skin, his own fingers were quick to make you release the hold and rub his thumb over the crescent marks left on your skin before bringing your hand up to kiss your palm. 

“I thought you hated pda.” You whisper, leaning so your foreheads were pressed together as he pretended to roll his eyes. 

“Fuck it. I have a gorgeous date and I deserve to kiss her in public.” 

“Are you sure? It’s a big move for you.”

“Have you seen yourself? Prettier than the goddess aphrodite.” He smiles and your eyes widen. 

“How. Dare. You! What have you done? I’m going to have to marry my dad now. Roy, how could you have done this to me?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I also cannot believe you remember that from almost a year ago.”

“Of course I remember.” He blinks. “That was the first conversation I had with the love of my life. Who would forget that?”

“Oh knock it off.” You mumble, shaking your head. 

“Knock it off? Knock what off?” He snaps. “Do you realize how fucking lucky I was that day? The day you looked at me? My life was made. The second best day of my life.”

“Second?”

“Second. My niece’s birth is the first.” 

“I’m fucking honored.” You laugh, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Did you just cuss?”

“I did. I’m sorry. My mother would kill me.” You blush. 

“Can I be honest with you for a second?”

“When are you not?”

“Fuck your mother.” He blurts, which makes your eyes widen. “I hate her. I think she is miserable and you are far fucking prettier than aphrodite and you don’t have to worry about the goddess making you marry your dad because I will be marrying you. No goddess or god could keep me from you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re stuck with me. And I need you to stop being to fucking mean to yourself. You hear me?” He asks seriously. “Because that’s the love of my life you are talking about.” 

“I can try.” 

“Good. Now lets get another round and wait this fucking gala out. Then lets go get actual food because I know you skipped lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smile before a flash blinds you once more, making you both whirl to the man with the camera. 

“You fucker-” Roy begins to stand as he dashes off. 

- 

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

It's me, hi, everybody agrees, everybody agrees

- 

You both end up at a late night potato stand, sitting on one of their benches as you both laugh at the memory of the auction that had taken place. 

“A fucking grandma bid on me. You know how embarrassing that was?”

“Hey! I bid on you too!” You laugh, body shaking from laughing so hard. “And Keeley!”

“Keeley was pissing that little wanker off.” He huffs, rubbing your thigh gently as you keep his blazer wrapped around you. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

“Thank you for bringing me. I am sorry I upset Nate-”

“Stop saying sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He mumbles, leaning to dig his spoon into your baked potato and take a big mouthful of it. “Fuck. That is good.”

“You say that about anything I get! You always do this!” You laugh, pretending to pull the potato away. 

“You always choose better!”

- 

It's me, hi (hi), I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me)

At tea (tea) time (time), everybody agrees (everybody agrees)

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

- 

“Fuck!” You wake up to the sound of Roy yelling from the kitchen, rushing to wrap yourself in the sheet left on the bed from last night as your feet pad across the floor to find where he is at. 

You find him sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, glaring at his laptop, until he sees you coming out of the bedroom in just a sheet. 

“Fuck.” Unlike his last curse this one is said with a lusty tone, setting the coffee down as you come closer to the couch and move to sit by him. 

“What’s got you so mad, handsome?”

���They posted a picture of me and they said I’m retired. What fucks.”

“Is it a bad idea? To be retired?” You ask, moving to straddle him before he can pull an attitude. “You would have more time with me. More time to hang out and cuddle and sleep and…. You can finish the rest.” 

“.....Fuck.”

[benedictscanvas]

stop looking at me like that - roy kent x reader

pairing: roy kent x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: a lot of language, of course, and some very slight allusions to smut

a/n: and we're right back with a roy version! i didn't intend to write both, but the lovely @ironmanmagnetfridge sent in an ask to try a roy version of 'saved you a seat' and i couldn't refuse. i loved writing this, so thank you endlessly for the request and my ask box is currently very open for more roy or jamie requests in particular! <3

---

“We saw a windmill!” Jamie announces loudly, to which the whole coach cheers, yourself included. It was nice to see him so happy as he bounded down the aisle high-fiving everyone in sight. Roy may have sounded as grumpy as ever when he’d boarded the coach moments beforehand, but when he sank into the seat next to you near the back, you could definitely see the hint of a smirk on his face that he’d never admit to.

“Good night?” you asked him teasingly, only to hear him growl as he turned to you.

“Thought I said not to fucking ask?”

“I’m not asking, I’m inferring,” you hummed, undeterred by the attitude you’d become so used to, “You don’t have to confirm or deny anything. I’m glad you had a good time.” “You’re very fucking presumptuous, has anyone ever told you that?”

“You have. Many times,” you supply, grinning up at him and grateful for the fondness in the eye roll that you just managed to catch, “You like windmills?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and when he does, his voice is even lower, gruffer than before somehow.

“Fucking love ‘em.”

You nod, satisfied, and settle back into your seat to watch the boys fool about. They manage to get a song going, and you join in quietly albeit happily. When the same song dissolves into a chant that Dani seems to be leading in Spanish, you bow out and instead pull out your laptop to catch up on the vital emails you knew you’d missed during your time abroad.

“Do you ever stop fucking working?”

“Hey, you chose this seat,” you reminded him, still unsure why he’d chosen to sit next to you when there were a few empty seats he’d passed on the way. The thought made you a little too nervous to dwell on it though, “You should have known better than to sit next to the workaholic.”

“If I hadn’t sat here, I couldn’t do this,” he said simply, gently taking your laptop from your lap despite your protests and attempts to snatch it back. He held it over his head to the seat behind him and Rebecca caught on quick, taking it from him without a word. You pouted at him, then turned to glare at her through the gap between your seats.

“Rebecca! You know preventing the director of your charity foundation from working is probably a pretty shit idea?”

“I literally brought you with us for you to take a mandatory break,” she said firmly, “So fucking take it!”

She muttered something about you being a nuisance then went back into the dreamy trance she’d been in since she entered the coach, your laptop safely tucked away behind her. You sat back in your seat with an exaggerated huff.

“Being childish won’t help anything,” Roy reminded you, although he was definitely teasing you now if the light in his eyes was any indicator. You turned your glare on him, but soon relented, sinking back into your seat.

“You’re a bastard,” you say instead of replying.

“Yes, and…?”

You hesitate. He’s so annoying when he’s right. You’ve always hated him for it, particularly how effortlessly attractive he looked when he was gloating.

“And thank you. Happy now, you prick?”

“Very happy. Now we can talk on a coach journey like civilised fucking people rather than you having your fucking head buried in work every second.”

That one hit more of a nerve. Funnily enough, Roy had also found the seat next to yours on the coach from Richmond to Amsterdam, but you really had been preoccupied by your laptop then. Possibly the only time you’d spoken to him was to ask to squeeze by to get to the shitty bus bathroom. You had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I wasn’t the best seatmate last time, was I?” you said, “I am sorry about that, actually. When I’m planning these school visits, they often get a little all-consuming.”

“Don’t fucking apologise for all the fucking good work you do. Christ, that would make me a proper bastard. I saw some of the stuff you were doing on our way out and it’s important. Doesn’t mean you can’t take a fucking break, you know?”

You so want to take his obvious compliment in a cool, effortless way but you can already feel yourself getting hot.

“You were spying on my work?”

“Course I was. It’s a boring fucking bus and my seatmate wasn’t fucking talking to me,” he said, although this time he nudged you gently to let you know he wasn’t really annoyed, “I meant to say, put me down for the next school visit, will you? I know you’ve probably got enough, but…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. You’re always surprised by how often Roy wants to be involved in what you do, but you shouldn’t be. He’s such a thoroughly good man wrapped up an unsuspecting exterior. You hadn’t asked him because he’d done the last four visits, but maybe you should have.

“I would put your name down, but some prick stole my laptop,” you said, teasing him this time. You finally managed to get a smile out of him, however brief, as he shook his head at you, “I’m kidding. Thank you. I should have asked, but I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll make sure you know about them from now on.” “Good,” he confirmed, a single nod of his head, and then a few moments later - “You don’t fucking bother me by the way.”

“Not even when I’m trying to work on my mandatory holiday?” you joke, and he just grunts, so you’re forced to continue more sincerely even though it isn’t in your nature, “I’m guessing that might be why you chose to sit with me yet again even though I proved to be shit last time. Tell me if not, or I’ll end up being flattered.”

Yes, you loved bantering back and forth with Roy, but there was some hidden truth, some vulnerability behind your words. You were desperate to know why Roy had chosen to sit with you not once but twice, when he had plenty of people on this coach that he was close to. The two of you had become firm friends, you liked to think, over the past year or so, but there was a spot next to Isaac he could have taken, or with Ted, Beard and Rebecca at the very back. Part of you needed to hear what exactly had driven him to sit next to you, so you could eliminate the tiny hope at the back of your mind that maybe he thought about you as much as you thought about him.

“I don’t fucking know,” he started, but you knew him well enough to know that was his typical response when he was trying to work out what to say, “You’re…you know. We’re…fuck.”

And he stopped there. For some reason, you were speaking before you thought about it.

“We’re fucking, did you just say? Could’ve let me know.”

You didn’t know what made you say it, but the way Roy’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, you decided it was worth whatever awkwardness it might create in him. You burst out laughing at his expression, biting your lip to try to curtail it but not succeeding. At your reaction, he seemed to calm a little, and there was even a little huff that sounded almost like a laugh from him.

“You’re fucking awful, you are. I was trying to say something fucking nice about you and you fucking ruined it.”

He was kidding, but you could tell he also wasn’t. Matching his energy, you leaned in to him and gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

“No, don’t let me ruin it! Go on, say it anyway,” you almost begged, wondering if any of this was working or if he’d get up and walk away from you to another seat any minute. You vaguely realised how vigorously your heart was beating, “Say it!”

“Fucking hell, fine! Stop looking at me like that,” he insisted lowly, and you made a point of schooling your face into a serious expression, “Sometimes, you’re…fun to fucking be around, I guess. I like being wi- around you.”

You caught his slip. He liked being with you. If you ran away with what that one might mean, you might not recover. 

“High praise. I like being around you too. You know that’s a normal thing to say to your friends, right? It shouldn’t be quite that hard.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re fucking great at all this emotional stuff though aren’t you? You run a fucking charity, Y/N. Some of us have to…work at it.”

He was being serious, so you turned down the teasing. If he was willing to work on being a bit more emotional with you, you’d do anything to keep that going. He’d also just complimented you again and you hadn’t complimented him back once, which wouldn’t do at all.

“Yeah, I know. You’re actually fucking killing in that department recently, and you know it, so give yourself some credit,” you insist, watching a shadow of surprise cross his face. He nods, but you get the feeling he’s still trying to convince himself.

“Got you to fucking thank for that. You’re a good influence. On fucking all of us.”

“You keep saying all these nice things about me, Kent, and I’m going to be really fucking flattered,” you say, trying to downplay the impact you might have had on him, on the team, “You know it’s that cowboy back there doing the real heavy lifting.”

“Yeah, he’s fucking insufferable with it, isn’t he?” Roy agreed, “But me specifically then. The last year or so, I’ve been fucking better, and Ted’s been here three years.”

He wasn’t lying. He had been getting better and better with his emotions, with talking to people, with ensuring the people in his life that mattered knew just how much they mattered. This was about the third time in a month that Roy had suddenly gone a spree of complimenting you, and although it made you significantly uncomfortable, you couldn’t pretend you weren’t over the moon about it.

“You’ve made me more assertive, I think. So let’s call it even.”

“No.”

“No?” you questioned.

“No. You were fucking assertive before, you’re just trying to fucking deflect,” he said firmly, in the typical Roy Kent brand of caring in an angry tone, “I”m thanking you, so just fucking say you’re welcome and we can stop talking about this.”

You hesitated, but finally got up the courage to reach over and squeeze his hand as you replied.

“You’re welcome, then.”

You didn’t let your hand linger, no matter how much you wanted to, bringing it back into your lap and trying to ignore the sparks that slid across your fingers and flickered in the pit of your stomach. You watched Roy’s hand flex where you’d just held it, but he was staring straight ahead.

There were a few tension-filled moments of silence before he spoke up again, still staring at the seat in front of him like he was scared to look at you.

“Would you like to go to dinner when we get back?” he asked, in a voice that sounded like he had rehearsed the syllables. Your heart rate spiked, but you forced it to come back to earth again. He could just be anticipating how hungry he’ll be when you’re back, wanting some friendly company for the evening.

“Uh, sure, I love dinner,” you say, then want to smack yourself for how stupid that sounded, “What do you fancy?”

He growls, looking like he’s about to tear his hair out and you wonder what you’ve said wrong.

“You, alright? I fucking fancy you.”

You pause. Staring at him while he refuses to look at you. Your voice comes out breathy and disbelieving.

“For dinner?”

“No, I don’t want you for-” he growls and punches the seat in front of him, hard. Colin yelps but then starts a train of it, punching the seat in front of him with a laugh until it travels all the way down the bus. You would giggle if you weren’t worried about the man beside you. He takes a deep breath, then speaks:

“I’m inviting you to dinner because I like you. The dinner is the least fucking important thing in this scenario. I can’t have another fucking conversation with you where I’m fucking hinting every two seconds that I like you, and you’re sat there just looking at me like you do, fucking oblivious. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but I do. Want to. And want you.”

You stare at him in delighted shock. Yes, Rebecca had told you that the man wanted to ‘shag the bloody daylights out of you’ and that you should ‘just look at the way he looks at you, for fuck’s sake’, but you’d never believed her. And even if you could wrap your mind around Roy being attracted to you, you could never have predicted him actually wanting to take you for dinner. It made him infinitely more attractive as you stared up at him.

“I’m done now,” he said, voice a little strangled, “Your fucking turn. Please.”

“Yes,” you said, taking a leaf out of his book. You were elated when he finally looked at you, confused. He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

“Yes?”

“Yes to dinner. And to the rest of it,” you grin and have never appreciated one of his rare grins more when it’s fully focused on you. Still, there’s no way you can leave this as a serious moment alone, so you put on your best Roy Kent voice and narrow your eyes, “I fucking fancy you too.”

He actually laughs, a proper one, shaking his head as he chuckles. You join him in it, of course, ignoring the shocked look that Jamie was giving you from a few seats ahead at the sound of Roy’s laugh. When you’d finished laughing, not knowing what to do with yourself, you punch his arm lightly. It’s giddy and genuine.

You think he’ll punch you back, but instead he grabs your fist and maneuvres your hands until your fingers are intertwined and your hands rest on the seat between the two of you. It only makes your grin wider, and you know you’re staring at him again even though he’s back to refusing to look at you. You think it’s because he’s trying to hide his smile, but you can see it. It’s all you can see.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he says gruffly and you laugh as you turn to stare out of the window instead, grinning out at the landscape whizzing by. 

Roy squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

[inbloomwriting]

a calm surrender II Roy Kent

Plot: Roy doesn't love her. In fact, he finds her irritating above anything else. And yet he manages to tell her in so many different ways.

Pairing: Roy Kent x female reader

Warnings: A lot of swearing, mentions of food and alcohol. Reader takes Keeley's spot in some plot points - no disrepect to her though she's my favorite.

Notes: This is inspired by a "100 ways to say I love you" List. It’s 8.3k words, It's a big one.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

"It's enough for this restless warrior Just to be with you"

Take my jacket, it’s cold & You can have half

She’s irritating. Everything about her manages to get under his skin. The way she’s always smiling that big radiant smile of hers or the perpetual scent of jasmine and vanilla that seems to follow her anywhere. She laughs too loud, she’s a terrible driver and even worse at parking. The music coming from the physio room is mostly cheesy 80s and 90s pop songs that make Roy want to give himself a lobotomy. She’s irritating in every which way you look at it — and maybe that’s the exact reason why Roy can’t keep himself from looking at her.

Tonight is no exception. For some inexplicable reason, his eyes manage to find her across the room and in the crowd, every single time without fail. It’s not like it’s a conscious choice on his part either. It just happens. That sparkly green dress of her’s just seems to call out to him like the damn light across the bay at the Buchanan’s dock.

And the worst part is that she noticed. She caught his eyes on her more than once, even had the audacity to smirk back at him. During the auction, for a small moment, he thought she might bid on him when her hand just barely twitched and her eyes held a sense of infinite mischief. She didn’t though and for a second he could feel a string of disappointment pull at his heart. Not because he wanted her to bid on him or anything, he just wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having to spend time with Cheryl Barnaby.

He managed to find her across the room all night — except for right now. Everyone’s on the dance floor. Keeley, Jamie, Ted, even Beard. But not her.

No one’s paying attention to him right now, if he were to just slip out of here, no one will notice.

It’s not like he wanted to be here in the first place. Sure, raising money for underprivileged children is something honorable and he would never let his own disdain for overly glitzy social events get in the way of doing the right thing. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

Emptying his glass with one last sip he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and steps out into the chilly air of a London night.

It’s funny, really, how the moment he stops searching, the green light calls back out to him and she steps into his vision. A glowing beacon of refuge, guiding ships through dark nights to safe shores.

The cold air nips at her skin, sharp and vicious and Roy doesn’t even have to get any closer to her to notice that she’s shivering. He can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes at her. Of course, she’s cold, she’s only wearing the dress and some flimsy chiffon scarf thing around her shoulders. That’s gonna do fuck all to shelter her from the cold. Irritating. She’s so irritating.

The most irritating part though, is that he can’t help but slip out of his suit jacket. The most irritating part is that he can’t help but care.

“Take my jacket, it’s cold.”

There it is again, that smile of hers. The one he sees sometimes when he’s about to fall asleep. How ridiculous, he thinks, how foolish of him. How absurd it is to fall asleep to the image of a smile belonging to a girl that annoys him more than anything and anyone. (Except maybe Jamie).

“Are you — are you talking to me? Little old me? Are you being nice to me?”

“Jesus fuck, don’t make it weird. I’m always nice.”

She giggles and it’s bloody adorable. So adorable that a smile threatens to pull the corners of his lips upwards. See? Fucking irritating.

“You hardly talk more than 3 words to me when you’re in the physio room but — okay. If that’s your version of nice.”

“Take the jacket or not, I don’t care. I’ll let you freeze out here if you’re trying to be difficult. Means fuck all to me.”

That’s not true. They both know it. No matter how much Roy tries to deny or hide it, there is a soft heart buried inside the rough exterior. He just can’t risk showing that to everyone. Can’t have people getting the wrong ideas.

“No, please I — sorry I’m just — you make me nervous and when I’m nervous I talk a lot and then most of what comes out is just stupid nonsense or deflecting humor or something. I would really appreciate that jacket. It really is fucking freezing.”

Roy has been in the public eye for years now, he’s used to people being intimidated, nervous. Usually, it’s strangers though, people who don’t know him. Those that do, that work with him, usually lose that feeling pretty quickly.

“Why the fuck would I make you nervous?”

She just glances at him before turning her face back towards the street “Have you seen yourself?”

He’s not sure how to take that. Is it a compliment? Does she think he’s handsome? It’s not like it matters to him really. In fact, the thought that she might find him attractive is — say it with me — fucking irritating.

He contemplates asking her outright if this is something she does on purpose. If she’s deliberately trying to rile him up. The words are on the tip of his tongue when he notices her shiver once again and all that was on his mind vanishes against the desperate need to keep her warm.

“Jesus. Let me just — “

Jasmine. Vanilla. He smells it when he slips the jacket around her shoulders. He wonders if his jacket will smell like that, like her, when he gets it back. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not because it’s her or anything — just because it smells fantastic and Roy is not one to deny himself the simple pleasures in life.

“I really appreciate it, Roy.”

And the gratefulness with which she says it is not irritating at all. It’s endearing. It’s flutters-in-his-tummy kind of wonderful.

Instead of reacting like a normal, reasonable person with a simple “you're welcome”, he gives her one of his signature grunts. That’s as good a normal reasonable reaction as anyone can expect from him, really.

“What are you out here all by yourself for anyway? Trying to get kidnapped or something?”

“No,” there it is again, the giggle. Ugh. “ I’m waiting for my Uber. He’s — “She checks her phone, illuminating her face with the harsh blue light. He thinks she looks wonderful either way. Then scolds himself for thinking it. Some simple pleasures he has to deny himself. “ 12 minutes away.”

Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He helps out his sister, he gives in to all of Phoebe’s wishes even if it means having to play the princess yet again and never getting to be the dragon. He donates more money to charity than the press is aware of, leaves hefty tips whenever he goes out to eat and though he does swear a lot, he still tries to be polite if he can.

He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let a woman wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.

“Do you mind if I keep you company? Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive.”

A laugh tumbles from her lips. A step up from a giggle and god does it send shockwaves through his traitorous heart.

“The press would have a field day if that happened. I can see the headlines, ‘Football legend Roy Kent involved in the disappearance of Richmond sports physio’ and then they use a picture of you from like 10 years ago with the really bad long hair that makes you look a little sketchy.”

“I didn’t look sketchy.”

“You looked a little sketchy.”

Roy glances at her through the corner of his eyes. She really is a dream in forest green, the sequins, and rhinestones reflecting the street lights like little kaleidoscopes. He’s almost certain he’ll dream in shades of green tonight. He’s sure he’ll see her smiling face.

“You look beautiful.”

The words fall from his lips before he can stop them and it makes him want to put his head through a wall. Fuck.

“Thank you —” she replies bashfully, “do you want some sausage roll?”

In all the scenarios running through his head of how this conversation could’ve gone, this is not one of the outcomes he expected.

“What?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Do you want a part of my sausage roll?” she chuckles and pulls a brown paper bag from her sparkly clutch bag. “I wasn’t sure if they were gonna actually feed us or just serve us rich people portions so I brought backup. You can have half if you want.”

She breaks the flaky pastry in two and holds one piece out to him. Even her nails are painted to match the dress. If he was any worse a man he would risk it all for just one taste of her and whatever black magic she possesses that gets so deeply under his skin. He is a better man than that tough, so he settles for a taste of the sausage roll.

“You’re a strange woman”

“Strange or smart?”

Taking a bite from the sausage roll, buttery and flaky and greasy, he must admit she has a point.

“Bit of both.”

“I can live with that.”

Silence settles upon them, well as silent as a London night can be. It feels weirdly comfortable. No expectations to be someone or do something. Just her and the city and the fucking Greggs sausage roll.

And — Elton John?

“Oh, I love that song!”

A string of pink lights adorns the top of the rikshaw as it turns the corner, loudly blasting Can you feel the love tonight. The driver catches sight of them and Roy can’t suppress the annoyed groan slipping its way out.

“Good evening can I interest you lovebirds in a — “

“No, fuck off!”

Elton’s voice gets quieter and quieter as the startled driver rides his rickshaw further away and back into the inky black of the night.

Lovebirds, he called them lovebirds. Thought the two of them were anything other than acquaintances. People pushed together by circumstances and coincidence. As if anything between them could ever happen. She’s already getting under his skin, sticks around his thoughts, and ghosts through his head without him ever giving her permission to do so. She’s all he can think about lately and yes he knows it sounds repetitive but god it’s so damn irritating.

“I would’ve liked to hear the rest of the song.”

Roy scoffs “Figures.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He turns to face her and, for the first time since he’s stepped out of the building and into this tiny bubble they’re sharing for just this fleeting moment, he looks at her. Really looks at her. With her sparkly dress and her lips painted a deep red like candy apples. With flakes of the pastry sticking to her lower lip and his jacket wrapped around her looking almost like this is where it’s always belonged.

He’s never had a heart attack before, he wonders if this is what it feels like.

“You play the worst fucking music when you’re working in the physio room.”

“Uh — are you insulting my taste in music? Are you really out here insulting the legend, sir Elton John? The Lion King soundtrack is a religious experience, okay?”

He hates that he can clearly tell by the glimmer of mischief in her eyes that she is joking more than anything. He shouldn’t be able to tell. Mere acquaintances can’t do shit like that.

“No, in fact, it’s a pretty fucking great movie. It came out when my sister was a kid though and I had to watch that shit a million times. You know how traumatizing it is having to watch Mufasa die over and over again?“

She grants him a look of understanding and shrugs her shoulders in agreement “At least it’s not Frozen, eh? “

“I have a 6-year-old niece.”

Roy Kent has a lot of things in his life that he takes pride in. His career and talent, all the hard work he put in to be where he is today. He takes pride in being a good brother and a loving uncle and maybe even a good friend and leader.

Making her let out a snort as she laughs at his Frozen-induced misery? That might be his proudest achievement to date.

“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing.”

“What can I say? You’re a funny guy, Roy Kent. So funny in fact that I almost bid on you at the auction.”

He wants to let out the most guttural scream in the existence of mankind. She can’t just go ahead and say stuff like that. Not when he is trying so hard to keep their interactions at the most basic level. Not when she already haunts his dreams. She’s irritating, Roy. Not charming or lovable or — beautiful. Or maybe she is all those things but most of all she’s annoying and infuriating and — oh he’s so fucked.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Oh, well I’m just a measly sports physician. Don’t get me wrong, it's good money but I don’t really earn quite enough to throw thousands of pounds at a man to have him spend time with me.”

He’d do it for free. Hate every second of it, naturally. But he’d do it for free.

Can’t tell her that though. Never. So once again he just grunts.

A silver Toyota pulls up to the curb, effectively bursting their little bubble of comfort as the driver leans down to look out the window. “You (Y/N) ?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

She makes a motion to slip out of the jacket, only for Roy to step in and hold it closed, keeping it in place, wrapped around her, and shielding her from the cold.

“Keep it,” his voice comes out all rough and husky. More than usual. It’s probably the jasmine scent getting to him, clouding his every sense. “Don’t want you to freeze on the way home. Just give it back another time.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks again. Goodnight, Roy.”

He opens the door for her and closes it softly once she’s settled into the car. Roy tries so hard to be a good man, a good person but in that moment all he wants to do is be a little bit worse, just a little bit. Just enough to rip the door open again, pull her out of the seat and kiss her stupid.

Instead, he wishes her a good night and sends her off before stepping out into the night himself. There is a smile playing on his lips all the way home and it’s so fucking irritating.

I was in the neighborhood & It’s okay I couldn’t sleep anyway

The door leading to her apartment is bright red and there is a little white sign and the picture of a dog with huge fucking ears that reminds him of Gizmo from the Gremlins. It says “Beware of the dog — might cuddle you to death.”

It’s cheesy as hell. He loves it.

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Losing is never fun. Feeling yourself slowly becoming unable to do the things you love, the things you were good at, and actively playing a part in your team losing? That’s absolutely mortifying.

Of all the places he could’ve gone, all the people he could’ve seen — he ends up in front of her door. Red and shiny like her lips that night.

It’s almost 1am and all things considered, this is a really dumb idea. She’s probably asleep and waking her up would be fucking rude. He should just go and forget this ever happened instead of knocking on her door in the middle of the night. That’s what the rational part of his brain tells him at least.

Roy was never really good at listening to the rational part of his brain.

Tiny barks, no doubt belonging to the dog on the sign, echo through the hallway before the door swings open just enough for (Y/N) to look at him with tired eyes.

“Roy?”

“I was in the neighborhood I — I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”

It’s not a lie, really. He was in the neighborhood. He walked here specifically to knock on her door and see her.

“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Now that is most definitely a lie. Her eyes are sleepy, her hair disheveled and he can just about make out the pillow print on her cheek.

“Do you want to come in?”

He does. He shouldn’t but he really does.

The apartment is small but it feels cozy rather than cramped. The walls are lined with pictures, little reminders of happy moments and people she loves.

There’s one of him too, well him and Isaac and Sam and then her at the end of the line. He thinks it was taken at some get-together after a particularly hard-fought win. He likes to know that there’s a picture of him on her wall even if his appearance in the photo is probably more incidental than anything.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, there is so much he doesn’t know about her. He doesn’t know where she was born or if she has siblings or if she always wanted to be a physiotherapist. But there are things he does know, like the specific way she likes her coffee and that she always gets a snickerdoodle cookie from the bakery down the road from the stadium, every Wednesday without fail. How she scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated and that she snorts when something makes her laugh really hard.

“His name is Yoda. He’s a papillon and also my best friend.”

“Don’t let Sam hear.”

“Oh, he’s also Sam’s best friend.”

Yoda, it’s a fitting name. He does look like a Yoda.

“So what brings you here, Roy? At uh — “ she glances towards her open kitchen and the digital clock on the microwave “ 1:04 am?”

Should’ve gotten his story straight before he came here. What is he supposed to say? I felt like proper shit and wanted to see your smile? Surely not.

So he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Came to get my jacket back.”

Absolute dumbass.

“Your jacket? Oh uh. sure. Let me go get it.”

She regards him with confusion and curiosity, he can tell she’s not really buying his story.

“Or, if you aren’t in a rush, I was about to pop in a movie and pig out on some popcorn? Do you want to join me?”

This might be the first time he lets her see the smile she continues to put on his face.

“Fuck yeah, what are we watching?”

“Vernon is such a little bitch. Antagonizing fucking teenagers? What a loser."

“Right?,” (Y/N) agrees, taking a sip from her glass of rose before stuffing another handful of buttery popcorn into her mouth. “Bender needed someone to care, not just another adult yelling at him. "Such a loser. Hey, now that I think about it, you do give me John Bender vibes. All broody and mysterious.”

Roy just scoffs in response.

Her eyes fall onto his empty glass of wine resting on the little square table in front of the couch.

“You want a top-up?”

“No, I’m good. I should probably get going.”

He hates to admit it, it’s something he’ll take to the grave with him, but there’s something about rosé that gets to him. It makes him tipsy immediately. He doesn’t want to go home but the longer he stays the more he opens himself up to saying something stupid and fucking this up — whatever this is.

“Did you walk here?”

“Mmh.”

“Oh well I can’t in good conscience let you walk home, half a bottle of rosé in your system and dealing with all the emotions brought on by the breakfast club. Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive”

Throwing his own words back at him should be infuriating, annoying. It isn’t. It’s lovely. She’s lovely.

“You can stay if you want. My couch isn’t the biggest but I think you’ll fit just fine.”

The sincerity in her eyes hits him like a dart to the chest. It’s something so simple as offering him her couch for the night but it means everything for a man who has grown so awfully accustomed to loneliness.

“If I stay, will you make me breakfast?”

“Fuck no”

Laughter fills the tiny living room and it takes him a second to realize it’s his own.

“I might be up for a Starbucks run tomorrow morning before work though.”

“Sounds great. I love peppermint lattes, those are fucking delicious.”

She grants him another smile as she gathers their glasses and the empty bottle and brings them to the kitchen before returning with a fluffy pink blanket for him. He thinks that smile could’ve just about killed him, thinks he might just die right here on her couch and it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Well goodnight, then. Hope you don’t mind Yoda”

The dog is curled up on Roy’s chest like a little bagel. It’s gonna be annoying later, he’s sure but hell will freeze over before he disturbs the little pup.

“That’s fine.”

“He snores, just thought you should know.”

“Makes two of us then, hope he doesn’t mind.”

Another laugh. Another tiny heart attack.

She’s by the door, just about to turn off the light and plunge the room into darkness, when she hesitates for a moment.

“Hey Roy,”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry you guys lost today and I — I can see you struggling but I just wanted you to know that it was not your fault. I need you to know that.”

The entire way here, he tried to make himself rationalize that. Make himself understand that losing is part of the game and that he did his best. But knowing your best might not be good enough anymore is a hard fucking pill to swallow.

Hearing her say that it’s not his fault, it takes the weight off for a moment. Not all the way, never all the way. But a tiny little bit and that’s a whole lot already.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Night, Roy.”

He falls asleep with the taste of rosé on his tongue, the snoring of a little dog in his ears, and the sight of her on his mind, all sleepy eyes and messy hair. She never looked better.

It looks good on you & I like your laugh

He’s positively buzzing with euphoria. They won, something no one thought was possible. They won and he scored the winning goal.

Spirits are high as the team and their friends have taken over the Karaoke place. Shots and drinks flow with no regard to the tab they’re raking up or the headache that awaits each of them tomorrow. None of that matters right now. Tonight is made for celebrating. Consequences don’t exist right here and now.

Rebecca burns the house down with her rendition of let it go and after a short intermission by Dani, singing a Spanish song that neither of them managed to join in with their non-existent knowledge of the language, the opening chords to another familiar song fill the room.

“Well, thanks for making us all look like amateurs, Rebecca,” (Y/N) says into the microphone as she takes her place on stage. Her words are laced with happiness and laughter and Roy thinks she must have him under some spell because he can’t manage to not smile when she’s around. It’s a bit ridiculous if he’s being honest.

“I will most definitely not be able to live up to that performance but I thought we could stay in the Disney bubble for a moment.”

Her eyes meet his across the room and when she winks at him it takes everything in him not to get up on stage and devour her. Fucking irritating.

“I know you all know this song so sing along if you feel like it. This one’s for you, John Bender.”

He knows it’s one of the cheesiest love songs ever, written for a movie about a cartoon lion. But sitting on the couch at the karaoke place surrounded by his team, having just scored a winning goal and listening to the girl that haunts his dreams sing straight to him and only him, he thinks Elton has a point. He can feel the love tonight. It’s in the smiles of his friends, and the voices coming together all chaotic and off-key singing along to the song. And there is love in her eyes, clear as day and undeniable.

“And can you feel the love tonight How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds Believe the very best”

The night is coming to an end, everyone’s found their way to their respective rooms — or whoever’s room they felt like staying at. Roy’s pretty sure he saw Rebecca’s friend enter Ted’s room but that’s none of his fucking business, is it?

“Okay, you can’t laugh though!” (Y/N)’s voice calls out from the bathroom and drifts towards the main part of the room where Roy is perched on the chair by the window.

This isn’t his room and really he knows he shouldn’t be here. But being alone right now sounded like proper torture. He wasn’t ready to leave this magical night behind yet. Not like this. Not when she sang to him and he had nothing to give her in return. So when she invited him to her room to watch yet another John Hughes movie on Netflix, he couldn’t do anything but accept.

“Are you sleeping in one of those weird fluffy onesies?”

“No, god no.”

“Then I don’t know why I’d laugh at you.”

When she steps into the room, he can see why she’d think he’d laugh at her choice of sleepwear. The white shirt looks not so white anymore, there is a hole at the bottom and a mysterious red stain by the collar. It doesn’t make him laugh though. It makes him fucking hard. Because that’s his name on the back of it. That’s a 2014 world cup Roy Kent England Jersey.

“Fuck me.”

He doesn't mean to let it slip but alcohol and euphoria have made his lips go loose.

“I knoooow, it’s embarrassing. I meant to bring something else but it’s just so comfortable.”

“It looks good on you.”

It does. He thought the green dress was it. Then he thought she looked absolutely adorable, all sleepy and natural. But this? This is the look that pushes him over the edge. This is everything.

“Yeah?” she asks and twirls around the room, not unlike Phoebe whenever Roy gifts her yet another new princess dress. He’s just such a sucker, can never say no when she asks him for something. “You just wait and see, I’ll steal your job soon enough.”

That makes him erupt into laughter yet again, he doesn’t think he’s laughed quite as much lately as when he is with her.

“I’ve seen you attempt to play before. I’m not worried.”

“I like your laugh,” she says, all warm eyes and wistful smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Something takes over, an invisible force pulling him to his feet and making him walk up to her. She’s leaning against the wall as he places one hand on her hip, the other on the wall next to her head. This shouldn’t be happening, he knows this. It’s dumb to believe that whatever tension there is between them can lead to anything. That’s just not in the cards for him no matter how much he wishes for it.

Girls like her don’t fall for boys like him. They never did, they never will.

“Roy Kent, you won today.”

Winning the game is the last thing on his mind right now. How could he ever think about winning right this moment when her hand is softly resting on his cheek and her nose gently nuzzling against his and the —

A knock on the door cuts through the moment making Roy let go and take a step back.

“Fucks sake.”

In his defense, Sam looks apologetic as he stands in front of the door, signature smile on his face. Good-natured and lovable. If this was any other moment Roy wouldn’t have been able to be mad at him. But this is that moment and he is a little pissed right now.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb, I was just wondering if you had another phone charger. I can’t find mine and I know you always bring extra so — “

“Uh, yeah let me go get it real quick.” (Y/N) says and turns back towards the room.

Roy’s eyes connect with hers for a split second and it’s like a bucket of ice straight over his head. They both know whatever magical spell they had been under, it’s broken and gone and all that’s left now is a big old pile of what-ifs.

“It’s getting late, I should leave. Goodnight, (Y/N). Night, Sam.”

“We’ll reschedule, yeah?”

Tiny smile on his lips he nods his head in agreement.

He gets a soft “goodnight” in return and though he hates to admit it, the touch of her hand against his cheek lingers there all the way to his room and even further into his dreams.

Call me when you get home & We’ll figure it out

Rain pounds against the roof and windows like tiny bullets. A rainstorm has Richmond tight in its clutches so cruel and unforgiving the team can’t even train right now.

And yet for some reason Roy still finds himself in the workout room, trying to push himself to do just 5 more minutes on the treadmill. Just 5 more.

Actually, it’s not entirely true. He knows why he’s here. Part of him hopes that if he just pushes himself enough, he can overcome the pain in his leg and all the issues it causes. That if he just tries harder, he can go back to being the talented overachiever he used to be.

But it hurts. A sharp stabbing pain rushes through his knee forcing him to step off the treadmill. He hates this. In fact, it’s his worst fucking nightmare. Football is all he’s ever been good at, he can’t lose that. It’s his entire life.

If he’s not Roy the footballer, who is he? Some bloke named Roy with a dead career and no one to come home to? Now doesn’t that sound delightful?

"Roy?"

“Jesus, fuck!”

There she goes again giving him a heart attack, only this time it’s not because she’s being cute or anything.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The smile on her face falls as she catches sight of him holding onto his knee. He can almost see the thoughts running through her head. She knows about his knee. If anyone knows how bad it is, it’s her. She told him not to overdo it. Said that would only make it worse.

He knows she has pity on him and he hates it. It’s irritating coming from everyone. Irritating and misplaced. Why would they pity him? It’s his own damn fault for not being good enough anymore.

But coming from her? That’s even worse. No one wants a guy that’s getting too old to do his job properly. That’s falling apart and breaking.

— Not that he wants her or anything. Oh, Roy, who are you trying to fool here? Of course, he wants her.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”

She raises her eyebrow in disbelief, in that bratty way that drives him crazy.

“I said I’m fine, (Y/N).”

“I hear what you’re saying,” she says and comes to stand next to him, crossing her arms in defiance. “but I can also see the way you’re holding your knee and that face you’re making. You’re in pain, love.”

Love. He doesn’t hate how it sounds when she calls him that. Irritating for sure but also — sweet.

“I’ll be fine! What are you even doing here?”

He hasn’t seen a lot of her ever since the night in Liverpool and while part of him was quite glad about it because he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to bring up whatever had or had not happened between them, another part of him had missed her smile desperately.

“I work here.”

“You’re a fucking smartass, aren’t you.”

“I try.”

Fuck, even when she’s being deliberately difficult she manages to pull a smirk from him.

“I had some paperwork to do but by the time I arrived here, the storm was so bad that now I have to wait for it to stop before I can drive home. I hate driving when it rains.”

“Oh you should,” Roy returns, nodding his head in agreement “You’re a horrible driver in the best of weather.”

She responds with a scandalized gasp and a hand placed on her heart in mock upset “I am not a horrible driver! Take that back.”

“It took you 18 minutes to park your car the other day. I know because I saw it, we all saw it. Boys took the time and had bets going. Jamie won 20 quid.”

“Wha — okay I’ll have to have a word with the guys, you’re ridiculous. But don’t think you can change the topic on me, Mister. Is your knee getting worse?”

Yes, and he fucking hates it. Can’t even say the words out loud because that feels like admitting defeat. And that’s a terrifying thing to do.

Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to say anything. A look is all it takes and she nods her head in understanding.

“That’s okay, Roy. We’ll figure something out.”

We will figure something out. We as in him and her. Since pretty much the beginning of his professional career, Roy had admirers. People who would latch onto everything he did or said and hold him to abnormally high standards he would never be able to reach. They adored him but they also didn’t know him. She knows him even when he tries so hard to keep her at arm's length. She knows him and is still in his corner, still has his back. The only people who ever did that were his family.

It’s an unusual feeling but he really really likes it. Even if it’s a little terrifying.

“What if — “ he takes a deep breath, trying to form the words that weigh so heavy on his heart “What if I can’t go back to how it used to be? What if this is the end for me?”

“Do you want me to be honest or nice?”

“Lay it on me then.”

“Things might not get back to how they used to be and there’s not really much you can do about it other than learn to accept it and then figure out a new place for yourself.”

“Football is all I have.”

“That’s not true but even if it was there is so much more about it than just the players.”

She’s right but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.

“…and with that smile of yours, you can always go into modeling. I’m sure they’re always looking for new faces in the toothpaste commercial business.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“See! There’s that smile I was talking about.”

“You’re fucking insufferable sometimes.”

She is. He adores it.

“Oh, but you like it — right?”

“What?”

“You do — like it? Like me?”

It’s the first time he’s seen her act insecure. She’s always so bubbly and happy and smiling, he hates that he put any doubt in her mind that he does anything but cherish her.

“You irritate me, woman. Drive me up the fucking wall, every day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t say sorry. I love it. I think you’re a fucking knockout. Best thing since sliced bread.”

He does, he truly does and it feels nice to say it out loud for once. To admit it to her and to himself. It feels nice when she comes closer and when she rests her arms around his neck and it feels fucking phenomenal when her nose brushes past his and he can almost feel her lips on his.

Almost.

That’s until her phone beeps and she pulls away altogether.

“Ah shit, I gotta go.”

“Fuck sake. The universe hates me.”

“The universe doesn’t hate you, Roy Kent. We just have bad timing. ”

He’s not convinced.

“What about the storm?”

“I think the rain stopped, listen.”

Roy hears nothing. Where raindrops were drumming against the roof and windows just minutes ago, there is silence. He’s never wished for a rainstorm to persist more than he does at that moment.

“Well, call me when you get home at least. Roads will still be wet.”

“Aw, Roy, are you worried about me?”

His lips say no, but his eyes and his smile tell a different story.

You can stay & Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?

This is it. This is the end. He’s seen this one coming for a while now but he tried so hard. He trained and pushed and it was all for nothing. They’re losing and his career as an active footballer is over for good.

The door to the locker room opens slowly, almost cautiously and he’s just about to yell and whoever dares to disturb him, when his head snaps up and he sees (Y/N) standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here? Game is still going, you’re the fucking Physio.”

“Good thing there’s more than one of us. I have to make sure all my players are okay.”

I’m not okay. That’s what he wants to say. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. He’s not okay. He’s not sure he ever will be.

“Get out, (Y/N).”

She can’t see him like this. Defeated. Broken. Old.

Instead of listening to him, she sits down beside him and holds an ice pack to his injured knee.

“As a physio, I need to tell you that what you did was really stupid.”

He knows it was. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take and if nothing else, he kept Jamie from scoring and the fans appreciated it. That was all that mattered at that moment.

“But as a friend and Richmond fan, I think it was brilliant. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself in the process.”

Silence settles over them and (Y/N) is just about to get back up when he grabs onto her arm and pulls her back down. “You can stay.”

“Okay.”

And for a long while they just sit. No words, no expectations. Just them.

Softly, almost like a whisper, he feels her touch against his hand, sliding her fingers between his.

“Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?”

It’s not okay. It’s phenomenal. It’s everything he could’ve wished for in that moment but never would’ve had the nerve to ask. It’s a promise that he isn’t alone in this. There is someone there holding his hand through the darkest of times.

A green light guiding him to safe shores.

“Don’t you fucking dare let go.”

Stay there, I’m coming to get you & I can't wait for tomorrow

Turns out, retiring from a successful football career does not mean you suddenly have a lot of free time. In fact, Roy doesn’t think he’s ever been this busy doing shit he doesn’t like.

Everyone wants an interview, a statement, a “what happens next”. It’s a lot of paperwork and contracts and shit he doesn’t care about. The point is, he’s fucking busy. So busy he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in quite a few days. Nothing has really changed since their moment in the locker room but somehow everything feels different.

It’s exactly 4:12 am when his phone rings. He almost doesn’t want to answer but calls at 4am usually mean bad news and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to his sister or Phoebe or (Y/N) or even (and he will deny this if you ask him about it) Jamie just because he couldn’t be bothered to answer his phone.

“Hello?”

“Royoooo.”

Oh. Oh!

A smirk pulls at his lips.

“(Y/N)?”

“Sorry —” she says and stops for a giggle “Sorry to wake you. I just — I was out with the girls and I didn’t plan on drinking but I did. They had a buy one get one free deal. It would be stupid to say no, right?”

“Right.”

"So, yeah."

“Go on. Didn’t just call me to tell me about the drinks, did you.”

“Oh, no. I just wanted to talk to you while I wait for my Uber. I miss you.”

“Do you?”

“So much!” her words are slow and slightly slurred. “Every fucking day. Like — god, I just wanna see your stupid handsome face.”

“It’s handsome, innit?”

“You have no idea! I just want to kiss you, so badly.”

Kiss him. She wants to kiss him. Sure, it almost happened twice but it’s still different hearing her outright say it. But then again, she’s drunk and by the time she wakes up tomorrow, she probably won’t remember half of what she’s saying right now.

“Where are you?”

“It’s that weird little bar around the corner from Sam’s restaurant. The one with the green door.”

“Go on and cancel that Uber.”

“Then how am I going to get home?”

“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let the woman he’s absolutely head over heels for wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.

“Okay,” she agrees, a giggle slipping past her lips “Thank you. Can’t wait to see you.”

And though Roy had other plans for his weekend than picking up a drunk girl at 4 in the morning, he also can’t wait to see her.

“…and like it was mostly sugar, right? So I thought why not have another one. Turns out it was mostly vodka.”

“Who could’ve guessed.”

She’s cuddled up on his couch in one of his shirts looking into his eyes and retelling her night in vivid detail. Her story is slurred and a bit all over the place, blame it on her tipsy brain. It takes her forever to get to the point and when she does, the point doesn’t even make all that much sense. It doesn’t matter, he’d listen to her ramble forever if it meant he got to spend time with her wearing his shirt sitting on his couch — looking into his eyes.

“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

“I know,” she shrugs then scoots closer to him and wraps her arms around his “but you’re here so it’s only half as bad really.”

“If I’m feeling generous I’ll even make you breakfast.”

“You really are the dream, Roy Kent.”

She’s clawing at his chest, prying open his ribcage and burying herself where his heart used to be. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“You have to stop saying shit like that. People are gonna think you’re in love with me or something.”

She pulls away slightly and looks up at him with those big eyes of hers before resting one hand on his cheek.

“Roy, I am. I thought you knew.”

He had a hunch, of course. Fostered a spark of hope in his heart that there could be something between them after all. But once you grow accustomed to loneliness it’s a little hard to let yourself believe.

“Do I need to show you to believe me?”

She pulls his face closer to hers and for a millisecond he wants to let go, but when he smells the alcohol on her breath he pulls back. This isn’t right.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re off your tits. I’m not kissing you like this. Our first kiss is not going to be some inebriated tongue-wagging. You hear me? I’m a hopeless fucking romantic, that kiss is gonna be special. I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”

She bites her lips to suppress the smile from taking over.

“So if I were to ask again tomorrow, you’d say yes?”

“Mh.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

At that she snuggles further into his arms and rests her head against his shoulder, a content smile on her face as she closes her eyes.

“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

He doesn’t admit it, but neither can he.

I think you're beautiful & I’ll meet you halfway

“Roy?”

Her voice echoes through his house as the eggs sizzle on the stove.

“Why is there a small child looking at me?”

“Phoebe, stop staring at her you little creep!”

“She’s so pretty.”

She has a point.

10 minutes later the girls join him in the kitchen, walking in hand in hand and big smiles on their faces. Seeing them get along makes his heart grow approximately 12 sizes. That being said, the two of them teaming up against him sounds like trouble to him. Good trouble though. Trouble he loves to deal with.

“Good morning, Roy.”

“Morning. Pheebs, go sit down, breakfast is almost ready.”

“Okay, Uncle Roy.”

Once she’s out of the immediate earshot he turns back towards (Y/N). Though she tried her best to conceal it, yesterday's makeup is still smudged around her eyes and her hair is a downright mess. She’s wearing his shirt though, standing barefoot in his kitchen after bonding with his niece.

Sometimes life is fucking sweet.

“Don’t look at me like that, I know I look like a mess.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You’re delusional.”

“That’s not what you said last night. Think you called me the fucking dream if I recall correctly. Said you were in love with me.”

(Y/N) leans against the kitchen island, her hands flat against the countertop and her eyes trained on Roy.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

Roy mirrors her position, arms resting on the kitchen island across from her. God, she really is so beautiful.

“Remember what you said?”

“Do you?”

“You promised me something, Roy.”

Roy Kent doesn’t make promises lightly. He thinks there’s hardly anything quite as heartbreaking and awful as breaking a promise. He prides himself in keeping all the ones he’s made.

It’s only right to keep this one too.

“Phoebe,” he calls out to the little girl without moving his eyes away from (Y/N) for even a second “Blindfold!”

The 6-year-old slaps her tiny hands over her eyes obeying her uncle's orders with no hesitation and no questions asked. He’s proud of her. Silly little idiot.

Leaning across the counter, his lips almost reach (Y/N)’s. She’s so close. So close.

Only —

“Fuck, I can’t reach. My knee.”

There’s so much love in her eyes as she regards him. It almost knocks him out.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you halfway,” She says and gets up on her tiptoes.

Across the counter their lips meet. There are no fireworks or butterflies or an angel choir singing. But there is her tasting of toothpaste and smelling his deodorant. Her and the feeling of belonging. Of comfort and domesticity and love. He loves this woman, undeniably and irrevocably.

It’s a great kiss. Fucking mindblowing. There is no need for rom-com-induced fairytale fantasies when you have the real thing and it is so much better than any story could ever be.

“Hey Roy,” she whispers against his lips as they come up for air.

“Hmm?”

“The eggs are burning.”

“Fuck!”

“You owe me a pound, Uncle Roy!”

Irritating! Both of them.

They’re his whole entire heart.

I love you & I love you

“I love you.”

It’s a normal fucking Tuesday when she says it for the first time. Really says it. Using those exact words. There’s nothing special about that day but with those words, she puts magic into it. The way she puts magic into his life every single day.

“Fuck you!”

“Sorry, what?”

She’s laughing. She’s always laughing and smiling that goddamn smile that makes him go all soft inside. Beautiful, lovely, knockout that she is.

“I said fuck you. I’ve been thinking about how to tell you all fucking week and here you go and say it first. You’re infuriating.”

Softly she rolls over so she’s resting on his chest, fingers softly tracing patterns into his skin.

“You’ve said it a million times before, Roy.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

Can’t hurt to say it again.

“I know. I knew. I always knew. From the moment you gave me your jacket.”

Of course, she knew. She took one look at him and it was like she got a view straight into his soul. Straight into his heart with all the vices and virtues, all his triumphs and defeats. All the good and the bad.

How fucking irritating. He loves her for it.

[bullet-prooflove]

It me again and this time imma come attacha with a Roy Kent request.

Between the Ditches; 14 And you are unforgettable I need to get you alone.

It just reads Roy. Many thanks!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @issieruby @sisinever @eryberry109 @thump31

Companion piece to:

A Perfect Night - Roy spends a completely perfect night with you.

Roy’s first night with you is unforgettable. It’s teasing fingertips that chase all over his body, it’s sinful kisses that leave him begging for more, it’s that first exhale when he enters you, your thighs tightening around his hips drawing him deeper.

It’s the most sensual experience of his fucking life.

It’s a couple hours later that he wakes up to find you putting on your dress. That’s the deal after all, neither of you are looking for anything serious. You travel too much and Roy, he just doesn’t have the emotional availability.

“I had a great time.” You tell him before you lean over the bed and kiss his mouth in that filthy way of yours. “Good luck with the match.”

It isn’t until he hears the front door click shut that he realises he didn’t even get your number.

You’re all he thinks about over the next few days. The way you felt underneath him as he hitched your thighs just that little bit higher, the taste of you on his lips, that sound you made as you climaxed against his mouth and then on his cock.

The next time he runs into you is a couple of weeks later at the BBC’s Children In Need Charity Event. You’re wearing a dress that looks like it’s been crafted right out of the night sky, and Roy wants to strip it from your shoulders, to guide it down your waist, until it’s in a pool at your feet. He can tell you want it too from the look you give him when your eyes finally meet.

It’s maddening how long it takes to get you alone. You’re constantly surrounded by people congratulating you about the latest episode of your podcast and Roy, he’s just itching to get his hands on you. It’s when you slip out to take a breather that you find him waiting for you in the hallway, those dark heated eyes of his drink you in and before you know it, your fingers are running through his unruly curls as he kisses you into oblivion.

You’ve never met a man who loves you the way that he does, passionate but tender, firm but intense. It’s intoxicating knowing just how much he needs you, you can feel him pressed right against you core as he pins you to the wall, his hips rutting up against you.

“Come home with me tonight, let me fuck you again.” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the curve of your jaw.

“Say please.” You murmur and you can tell that does a little something for him because Roy Kent, he’s used to being in control and in this moment he wants so desperately to lose it.

“Please.” He whispers into the hollow of your throat. “Please let me get on my fucking knees and worship you the way you deserve.”

Love Roy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[alwritey-aphrodite]

If it’s not already gone “trick or treating” with roy kent! (maybe taking phoebe)🧡

2024 Fall Blurbs

With her mother’s demanding work hours, Phoebe spends a lot of time with you and Roy. She never seems to mind, and is often overjoyed at the idea of sleeping over at your house or spending a Saturday with you, because she knows that her mom and Uncle Roy and you all love her, and even when she finds herself missing her mom, she loves the time she spends with you and Roy.

On your end, you and Roy always try to go above and beyond for her, trying to make your days together extra special and spoiling her just a little bit, especially on the days of her more unexpected visits.

“Do you have your costume all picked out yet?” You ask Phoebe as you sit around your kitchen table, decorating sugar cookies with spooky designs. The two of you are giving it your all, exerting all your artistic talents, while Roy just slathers all of his in black frosting. This activity had been planned out for weeks, as you tried your best to make the Halloween season as fun and festive as possible for Phoebe, especially when her mom told you that she wouldn’t be able to take her trick or treating.

“Oh yes, I’ve had it planned out for ages,” she replies, before slipping out of her chair and sneaking over to whisper it in your ear. That alone raises Roy’s alarm bells, but the glint in your eye after Phoebe sits back down is more than enough to let him know the two of you are plotting something, but then you’re making fun of his cookie decorating skills and the moment slips from his mind, until the Saturday of trick or treating rolls around.

With all the precision of a spy, you intercept Phoebe at the door before Roy’s able to even make it off the couch, and the two of you are off, giggling as you hurry into the guest bedroom. He resists the urge to get up and investigate, knowing that your plot will be revealed to him soon enough.

It’s not long after that you and Phoebe reemerge, shushing each other and giggling as you sneak back down the hallway.

“We’re ready, Uncle Roy!” Phoebe yells from near the front door, and he stands, knees popping, ready for whatever the two of you have been planning.

Phoebe’s grinning from ear to ear, and you’re behind her, trying to stifle your laughter and holding a gift bag. You’re matching, wearing Richmond jerseys, tiaras, and fairy wings, and Roy immediately knows what’s in the bag you’re holding.

“And what the fuck are you two supposed to be,” he says, trying to settle his face into a scowl even though it’s practically impossible not to smile when he looks at the two of you.

“The three of us,” you reply, giving the gift bag a little shake, “are going trick or treating as fairy footballers.”

“It was all my idea,” Phoebe adds, as if that wasn’t already clear enough.

Roy spends the rest of the night scowling at anyone who tries to snap a picture of the three of you as you go from door to door, Phoebe running ahead to try and reach as many houses as possible. It’s ridiculous and slightly embarrassing, only for the fact that all three of you are matching, but Roy’s just glad that Phoebe’s having a good night and he could never be upset with you by his side, holding his hand and wearing his name and number across your back.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Red Card

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

It's the first time in 135 years that the Premier League has allowed a female referee to official a match... Remaining neutral is absolutely key. Plenty of fluff and smut and flirting 😏

The anticipation was at a whole different level. For the first time in history, a woman would referee a Premier League football game. The FA had played a blinder from a marketing perspective - a local girl from Richmond itself - refereeing a Richmond vs. Man City match - the top two finishing teams of the previous season. Sky Sports, BT Sport, Match of the Day, ESPN… every single football broadcaster or news outlet was on site. It couldn’t get any more high profile. It had been all anyone had talked about for weeks on end. Roy was sick of hearing about it, talking about it, and reading about it.

“New Trent?”

“What do you think about a woma-”

“Reffing the next match? It’s about fucking time. Should have been done years ago. The league might be saying all the right things and making a big deal out of it, but it’s only disguising the fact that they haven’t bothered utilising female referees until now.”

“And what do you think of the referee chosen for the match?”

“Did I offer you a fucking follow up, New Trent? She’s a fantastic ref, and has a great eye. I’ve seen her run some lower league matches and it’s high time she had a role in the Prem.” He looked around for his next victim, “You with the… bald spot?”

“And will you be saying the same thing if she books one of the lads next week or a decision doesn’t go your way?”

“Course I fucking will. I don’t suddenly change my opinion of any of the other refs? We’ve all got jobs to do and roles to play. I don’t think we can ask for anything more than for any of the referees to be fair and equal. I don’t give a shit who we’re on about, that applies to all of them.” He looks around for any other burning questions, “Right, fuck off then you lot. I’m done for the day.” He rose from the desk and left the bustle of the press conference. In the office, Beard and Nate were looking over plans for the next week while the team milled around the gym and treatment rooms.

“Tough presser?” Beard asked.

“No more than fucking usual. All anyone is talking about is the new-”

“Female ref? The news is everywhere. As if the match wasn’t high profile enough as it is.” Nate filled in, a bundle of nervous energy.

“Yeah, well we’ll be fine. Just gotta make sure the boys keep their heads down. The new ref isn’t their problem, they don’t need to even be thinking about that.”

“But they will, because that’s all they’re hearing about. We haven’t had this much press coverage for ages, the match sold out months ago. They may not have to think about her, but the whole situation does impact their whole build up to the game.” Beard declared.

“Right, get ‘em in here.” Roy grimaced. Nate dashed off to assemble the team. “Alright lads?” There were a few murmurs and replies. “I know there’s a lot of noise around this one - some of it is to do with us and the City game, some of it is none of our business. I suggest you steer clear of the news for a few fucking days. There’s no need to watch it at all. No Twatter or whatever you fucking use. Just stay off that shit for the rest of the week, yeah? Any news you need, you hear from us. I want to keep the positivity we’ve got for the new ref, so if you’re asked about it by the paps on the car park, be fucking nice. Otherwise, you don’t watch or listen to all of the fucking fuss about the weekend, alright?”

“Coach.” Isaac nodded in agreement, the other players followed his lead.

~~~~~~~

The noise was deafening, the stadium packed to the rafters. You hovered at the side of the pitch with the other officials, warming up until it was time for the meet and greet of the team managers. The two managers were like fucking titans of football royalty. You were about to meet Pep Guardiola for god sake. And if you even think for one second about meeting Roy Kent, you might just pee your pants. Pep is great, wonderful - the boss! But you grew up not twenty minutes down the road, so Roy is firstly, the literal definition of local hero, and secondly, the big crush of your early 20s. You spent many Euro Championships and World Cups in the pub singing his chant and ogling his legs. Fortunately when the Premier League and media ask about your neutrality, they don’t ask whether you’ve experienced sexual fantasies about any of the players or managers. At least you’d only be admitting that about one person and not, like, a whole team. And you would never admit it publicly. The home crowd roars as the Richmond team is announced, you make your way to the space between the two dugouts ready to greet the players. They all shake your hand as they pass you, with a few nods of encouragement and words of support. The same applies to the Man City team, you’re determined not to be starstruck in front of Pep Guardiola so you shake his hand with a big smile and wish his team luck. You turn to Roy Kent and his large hang engulfs yours. You whack on your big smile and offer the same affirmation as you did to Pep. On the pitch, you speak momentarily with the two captains and blow your whistle for go time. 

The trouble with Premier League football is just that, it's Premier League. Top flight. The best of the best. Keeping pace with these players was a job in itself, being in the action without impacting it or getting in the way was another, and being the all seeing, all knowing one was… yet another. Your mind (and body) are pulled from goalpost to goalpost, and it's really no surprise that the referee is often blamed for poor decisions. It's impossible to see every single thing that happens on the pitch. You're making good decisions so far, nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly before halftime, one of the Richmond defenders nearly dislocates his shoulder, going in hard on Haaland. It feels cruel to punish him, but it's part of the job, so you have to award Man City the free kick. From the other side of the pitch, you can hear Roy Kent over the sound of 60,000 people screaming the same thing. Haaland scores, of course. You hang back while the teams leave the pitch at halftime, but he's waiting for you in the tunnel. 

"The fuck did you give a free kick for?!"

"You shouldn't be collaring me out here, but to answer your question, the tackle was too much."

"Bullshit, it was a fair tackle and McAdoo would have hurt himself more than Haaland."

"Bullshit. Haaland has got about 5 inches and half a stone on McAdoo."

"5 inches is fucking nothing." He smirks.

"Really?” You arch an eyebrow at him, “did you seriously choose today to make a dick joke?" Utter disbelief is written all over your face, you shake your head and leave him cursing himself in the tunnel. Halftime was supposed to be a moment to catch your breath, not waste it on fighting with Roy Kent. You knew better than to get into it with managers. They saw the action from the sidelines and only had so much impact and influence. They took their lack of control out on officials all the time, it was supposed to be your job to stay calm and walk away, not engage. You ignore him on your way back to the pitch, he's just inside the exit of the tunnel and he could be there to apologise but he could very much be there to shout at you some more. The second half is just as eventful, Richmond are pushing hard for at least an equaliser, and Man City are loath to let them get it. When Obisanya has a shot on goal, which goes wide, City are pleading for a goal kick, but it's not. You award the corner, and Rojas sweeps a beautiful pass into Tartt, who sends the ball straight into the corner of the net. City scores again shortly afterwards, and you have to keep your head to make sure no one is deliberately trying to cause injury to anyone else. When Tartt goes down just outside the area, you request VAR footage to aid your decision before calling for a free kick. He scores, but it's an immediate offside and Roy Kent looks like he might explode. When play resumes, Colin Hughes gets a goal straight away. The game ends in a 2-2 draw, but the fans and teams both seem appeased. 

~~~~~

By the time the press conferences are over, Roy's had more than enough. He (respectfully) disagreed with your first free kick decision, but praised your other choices and overall declared you "No better or worse than the other pricks." The stadium is starting to clear, and the Man City bus has just left. Richmond players make plans to get food at Ola’s. When Roy sees two of the officials only just leaving, he sends the others ahead and makes his way down to the away team and visitors facilities.

“I hope you’re here to apologise.” She states dryly as he approaches.

“Yeah,” he looks bashful, “the dick joke was a dick move. Sorry.” She looks so serious, he’s not sure the apology is accepted until he spies a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Was pretty funny. In alternative circumstances.”

“Noted. Congratulations anyway, noise from the press has all been good so far.”

“Nice to know my performance will be scrutinised forever while every mediocre male referee gets a pass for another week.”

“I’m sure your performance will only improve.” He inwardly groaned. She was going to laugh in his face. A dick joke and then godawful flirting? It was only what he deserved.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll pass that direct quote on to The Sun.” 

“They’ll have a fucking field day. Richmond manager does shit job at flirting with the only female ref in the league? They’ll probably go and interview the poor woman I called my girlfriend when we were in year 6.”

“Flirting?” 

“No,” he scoffed, “no, course not. I didn’t mean that. Just a joke.” You cocked your head at him,

“Should we start again? Hi, you must be Roy Kent, I’m the first female referee in a Premier League game in 31 years. Well, actually it’s more like 135 years but the FA are trying to make themselves look marginally better.”

“Nice to meet you. Great job on the match, I respectfully, completely, disagree with that fucking free kick in the first half but other than that… no complaints.” He steps closer, you’re showered and changed but he can still smell the fresh grass mingling with the citrus and spice of the products you use. The combination is incredible - like summer and sunshine.

“I wouldn’t give a shit if you did have any complaints. Looking after your feelings isn’t in my job description.” You take in his height, broad shoulders and dark eyes and the long dormant crush rises to the surface immediately. You hadn’t taken much notice since you stopped having posters on your walls all those years ago, you’d only caught a few of his appearances as a pundit. He’s gorgeous, despite his surly appearance there’s an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Like he’s having fun with whatever this tension is that bubbles between you. And when he does smile at your commitment to fairness, it takes your breath away.

“Good to know the FA can rely on you staying neutral then.” He says quietly. Anticipation crackles in the air and fizzes in your stomach. You match his playfulness in your response, and step into his personal space,

“I don’t think there’s anything here that could sway me to any team in particular.” You smile, “not yet, anyway.” He waits until you’ve definitely left the room before he lets go of the breath he’s been holding. 

~~~~~

You’re dragged out by your friends to celebrate that night, even though your legs ache like you’ve done a 10km run. It wasn’t so much the running, you specifically trained for that, it’s the constant change in direction and the intensity of having your attention focused on so many things at once. If the FA thought they could throw you under a bus by giving you such a high profile game, you’re pleased you proved them wrong. The bar is crowded and noisy and you’ve already spotted a couple of the Richmond players - it was bound to happen in a relatively small town if they couldn’t be bothered to go right into the city. You’re at the bar ordering when you feel a hand on your hip and someone standing very closely behind you, a hand raises above you holding a credit card, and gestures to the barman. You’re about to lose your shit when you hear his voice rumble behind you,

“I’ve got these, mate.” He steps to your side when the person next to you moves, but his hand lingers, “I hope buying you a drink doesn’t make you question your bias?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid you’d have to work much harder than that.” He looks even better than he did a few hours ago, desire coils inside you and you instinctively draw your thighs together. It doesn’t help when he noticeably looks at your mouth, red lipstick is your ‘go to’ for a night out.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Your drink is put on the bar next to you and you lick your lips before taking a sip. Neither of you has broken eye contact. You hear your name from a few feet away at the edge of the dance floor.

“Excuse me,” you raise your glass to him, “thank you for the drink.” 

“Bruv, is that the ref from today?” Isaac steps up beside him.

“Yeah, yeah that’s her.”

“She’s fit. You gonna ask her out?”

“Dunno Isaac, bit fucking old for that shit now.”

“Nah man, I just seen the way she looked at you-” he shakes Roy’s shoulder, “ooooh! Get it boy!” Roy rolls his eyes and smirks, watching you get dragged to the dance floor. He knows he must be old because he’s only been standing pitchside for the match and wouldn’t be caught dancing. You’ve run your legs off and then still managed to get them into that sequined mini skirt and up dancing. You can feel his eyes on you but you’d rather keep your back to him and try and carry on as casually as you can, if you turn around you know you won’t be able to stop staring. At least with your back to him, you can ignore him. Plus you know your arse looks great in this skirt, it was literally the sole reason for buying it in the first place. With all the running and training you do, you’re conscious of your strong thighs and hips but sometimes, just sometimes, they make you feel powerful. Eventually, you have to duck out of the dancing - mimicking a timeout to your friends. Roy is exactly where you left him at the bar and the alcohol makes you bold. You squeeze back in next to him and take a sip of his drink, yours is long finished. 

“Help yourself.” He smirks, his hand moving to your hip again, hidden by the darkness of the bar. You put a hand on his thigh and lean in slightly, taking some of the pressure off your feet. You’re close enough that he can see your breath hitch as his thumb finds a patch of exposed skin at the waistband of your skirt. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask quickly, pushing your nerves down. He nods and finishes most of his drink, offering the last of it to you. Outside, word has gotten out that half a football team is at the bar and everyone is out for a glimpse of Jamie Tartt. You push past the photographers with Roy’s hand at the small of your back and into a nearby taxi.

~~~~~

“Please tell me there aren’t any fucking rules about this,” Roy mumbles somewhere in the valley between your breasts.

“I have no fucking clue, and I don’t really care right now.” You gasp, breathless as he leaves a mark on your soft skin.

“No? No danger of a red card?” You laugh and it’s musical and magical and neither of you have had this much fun in ages.

“No red cards for Roy Kent. Probably makes a fucking change.”

“Oi, cheeky. I never got that many.” He’s moved down again, unzipped your skirt and thrown it behind him somewhere.

“Fucking liar. They literally use you as an example of trouble players. Oh, fuck-” he bites your thigh.

“A good example or bad example?” His tongue sweeps over your clit and you nearly rocket off the bed until he hooks his arms over your thighs and pulls you back down to him.

“Oh god, bad example,” You feel him hum against you as he works you to your peak,

“Shame, I’m a changed man.” 

“Uhuh, ok,” you whisper, unable to think or speak any more coherently.

“How's your neutrality holding up?” Your hands tangle in his hair,

“Fuckkk, sooo good.”

“I’ll have to fucking try harder then,” he chuckles. You’re about to beg for mercy when he pushes two fingers into you and curls them to just the right angle that has you seeing stars. When he comes back up to kiss you, you rock your hips against his and he helps roll you both over, sitting up so he can still kiss you. His kisses are rough and needy, making you grind down against him. When you nip his neck, he pulls gently at your loose hair, whimpering and god, you’d do anything, anything to have him make that sound again. It only makes you rock harder against him, desperate to feel him inside you. When he finally pushes into you, your body clenches. You rise and fall onto him over and over, grateful for those powerful thighs he can’t keep his hands off. When he brings a hand between you both and circles your clit, you drop your head into the crook of his neck and bite down to stifle your moan. You feel his hips stutter under you as you both come, making you drop your own rhythm. You collapse in a tangle of limbs and sheets against him. 

“If you ask me again if you’ve swayed me yet, I’ll bite you.”

“You’ve already fucking done that,” he laughs. “Still need to try harder?” 

“Hmm, there’s no harm in trying again. You might win me over.”

“And over and over?” He kisses you again, so slowly it’s intoxicating. 

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the sound of his phone ringing. He tears himself away from where he’s curled behind you, the length of his legs against yours, his chest against your back and his arms around you.

“Yeah,” his voice is low and rough with sleep and it’s enough to have you roll over and press your body back into his. You can’t hear the other person, but he hangs up quickly and opens a link they’ve sent. It’s a picture on Twitter of the two of you leaving the bar together with his hand on your lower back with the headline “RED CARD FOR KENT?”

“Told you you were fucking trouble.” You laugh.

FIN

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Bus Buddy

Pairing: Roy x reader

Word count: 2511

Warnings: pure fluff, Jamie flirting with reader, protective Roy, swearing

Masterlist here

at the same time that Ted got hired Rebecca had also decided she needed an assistant to enact her perfect revenge, so the boys often saw you walking around Richmond or at press interviews. Any time you entered the locker room wolf whistles from Jamie rang across the room followed by a loud ‘shut it’ from Roy. Usually, you’d object to Jamies actions, but the routine had become so common you found it funny especially when Roy dogged him into Keeley one time, and you saw him drag Jamie by the ear.

You weren’t sure why the tough and silent Roy Kent was so protective of you, but you were grateful to know walking into a locker room filled with men that he had your back. the longer you were around the team though you realised none of the boys would even hurt a fly.

still locker rooms or crowded hotel lobbies could get rowdy, and Roy almost acted as security, weaving you through the crowd and telling everyone to fuck off. any thanks you gave him were met with grunts, nods, or two-word answers.

sometimes you had to talk to Roy though, but you never complained. whenever you had forms for him to sign or events you wanted him to attend, sadly only on a work basis, he gladly complied without fuss. feeling his hand brush, yours as he took the pen from your hand or getting to secretly glance at his face as he filled out the forms was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

you’d convinced yourself your crush was harmless. after all he was Roy Kent, an absolutely loaded footballer with an exterior tougher than diamond. its not like you flirted with him or stared at him. well not on purpose at least.

this weekend saw Richmond visiting another stadium a six-hour drive away for their next match. usually, you travelled with Rebecca but due to some other things she had to get done this weekend, aka a spa trip with Keeley you were secretly so jealous about, she had decided to send you as a representative. however, this also meant you got to arrive at Richmond Friday afternoon with a packed bag and a bunch of rowdy footballers.

“Well look who our newest bus buddy is,” Ted said, putting his hands on his hips as you approached the gaggle of men. “Hope you don’t mind being down graded to ride with us bunch of savages,” he joked as he ticked your name off his clipboard. you really did appreciate Teds soccer mom vibes.

You laughed as you dragged your suitcase up to stand by Ted at the bus, “Please how bad can it be? it’s just a bus,”

“Yeah, but with these twats,” Roy’s voice made Ted jump, but you just turned and smiled, ready to say hi, but Roy just walked past you. He picked up his suitcase, tossing it under the bus before turning back and picking yours up and placing yours in with far more care than he had with his own. When you said thanks, Roy just nodded before heading onto the bus, assumably to secure the most isolated spot he could.

Ted let out a low whistle as Roy walked off, “He’s a charmer alright,” he said, his eyes scurrying around before leaning down to whisper to you, “If I didn’t know any better I’d think he’s sweet on you,” You laughed but before you could even try to deny it Ted was pointing at your face, “and if I’m not blind you my friend are blushing,”

“Shut up Ted,” was all you managed to say before Nate walked over and thankfully Ted knew better than to keep going in front of him.

while you were talking to Nate and Ted the bus all the players had arrived and assembled on the bus. you were the last to climb on the bus since even though you knew it couldn’t be that bad six hours on a bus was still a dire experience. “Oi need a seat love?” Jamie hollered from the back of the bus, already tossing his bag to his feet.

“There’s a seat by me,” Dani pipped up from a few rows in front of Jamie.

you laughed, trying to think who would be the least awkward seat mate. however, as you went to move forward, figuring Dani would be less out right flirty than Jamie you were stopped by Roy standing up from his seat and stepping into the aisle.

when you looked up at him, expecting him to say something, he just looked down at the window seat he had just given up. you smiled as you moved to sit down, “Thanks,” you said squeezing past him, “Thanks boys but I prefer the front of the bus,” you said before settling down for the ride.

Roy dropped into the aisle seat and while you knew he was trying to keep in his seat the bus seats were only so big, so your thighs were bumping into each other, “Thanks for saving me,” you whispered to him.

Roy chuckled under his breath, “Really think I’d let you get tortured back there like that?” he whispered back making his voice sound even sexier if possible. the bus set off only a few minutes later and now you were trapped in a bus with 25 rowdy men who instantly started talking amongst themselves and playing bus games. “Bet you wish you’d never got on this bus,” Roy said in a low voice but with all the noise at least you didn’t have to whisper.

“Nah I don’t mind, honest,” you said, settling into your seat, “Sitting in a silent plane with Rebecca can get awkward,”

“Sorry I’ve not got any champagne for ya,” Roy joked and for the rest of the ride you actually talked the whole way which is the longest you’ve ever spoke to him for. you were almost sad when the bus pulled up outside the hotel.

without a word Roy had grabbed your suitcase and his, walking into the hotel still wrapped up in a debate about which ice cream flavour was superior. “Checking in together?” The receptionist asked making you blush, and Roy clear his throat.

“Eh no, separate,” he said, glancing down at you but you wish he hadn’t since you knew your cheeks were flaming hot as you gave the woman your information. however, after getting checked in Roy still carried your cases, taking them up to your room with you in silence. He sat the bag down in front of your room for you as you unlocked the door, “I’m just down the hall. 203. so eh if anyone gives you bother or these twats are too loud tonight give me a knock,”

“Will do captain,” you said, trying your best to stay composed as you got into your room, shutting the door behind you so you could freak out.

the next day was too hectic to even think about flirting with Roy or even catching a glimpse of him off the field. however, Richmond had managed to secure a tie which for them right now was a big win. however, what was not a big win was the fact that you had to get back in the coach that day since the team had a bunch of press to do tomorrow at Richmond.

between the game, the press interviews, everyone showering and getting into clean clothes, and checking out you weren’t even set to leave till 10pm despite the game kicking off at 1:30pm. you were already yawning as you came down the lift to the reception.

most of the boys were also absolutely shattered. running for 90 minutes straight at full speed was tiring enough without also having to pack and do press. you had got to sit during the game, but you also had the job of Rebecca all day so now you really understood why she needed that spa weekend. “Bus said it’ll be pulling up in five minutes,” you yawned as you sat your bag down, “Head count time,” you said.

you felt like a primary teacher, but you didn’t care as you walked around, counting each player as you put your hand on their head. they were all too tired to complain and even Issac let you touch his hair. “twenty three,” you said, counting Dani before stopping, “Wow your hair is soft,” you gasped before continuing as Dani beamed from his seat, “Twenty four,” you said, reaching up to pat Roy’s head but you were too tired to see the way he smiled at you when you did, “Twenty five,” you finished, putting your hand on your own head making Roy chuckle quietly. “We didn’t lose anyone, great job team. now shift it, I wanna sleep,”

“You heard her twats, get moving,” Roy said, his loud voice shocking everyone including the hotel staff. at least it got the boys moving though. Roy cleared his throat as he glanced down at you, “Need a seat buddy again?” he asked as you filed out behind all the boys.

you smiled up at him, “Yeah that’d be nice. Its your turn for the window seat,”

“I don’t mind, you keep it,” he said as you finally got to the bus. the boys were all tossing their cases in and filing into the bus with very few mumblings between them. you were silently thankful everyone was exhausted, “Just don’t fall asleep standing,” Roy’s joke snapped you back to reality as he loaded in your cases.

“Fine but I make no promises about the bus,” you said as you walked to get on, Roy offering for you to go first. a sweet gesture to you and silently Roy was grateful for the chance to check out your ass. “This seat, okay?” you said, plopping down into the first available seat. Roy didn’t even reply as he sat down next to you.

Ted was the last to get on and while you usually loved his speeches today you just did not care. “Now all yall try get some shut eye. Six hours of sleep would do you all the world of good right now,”

“Yes coach,” rang out in a sleepy chorus as everyone settled in to nap on the bus for the night.

as you looked around you saw Jamie in the seat across from you with a blanket already pulled over him and Dani a seat behind you with an eye mask on, “I am clearly not prepared,” you joked quietly to Roy.

Roy looked over, seeing his fellow teammates who were used to these late-night busses, “You can borrow my jacket if you get cold,” Roy said quietly making you inwardly melt, “Not much of a blanket but it’s warm,”

“I’ll think about it,” you yawned, making Roy smile as he saw how you stretched away your sleep. or well tried to. the ride set off and you could already hear soft snores across the bus. any of the boys who couldn’t sleep had headphones in and you had never been more grateful.

you sat in silence, looking out the window as the head lights of other cars went past and let yourself sink further into your seat. you barely noticed when Roy shrugged his jacket off or realise how close to him you were getting but you could feel your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

Roy however had noticed the soft snores coming from you when your eyes had finally closed, unable to fight sleep off anymore. he was thankful everyone was asleep or not paying attention as he got to look down at you sleeping on his shoulder with a soft smile. after a few minutes, sure you were asleep, he gently pulled his jacket over you like a blanket.

he wasn’t sure when he had fell for you or why, but he’d known for weeks now that he liked you. hell, more than liked. there was just something about you and right now you looked downright adorable as you nuzzled further into him. Roy slipped his arm behind your back, allowing you to properly sleep on him and his hand to rest on your waist.

usually, Roy was far too tense or pent up in rides home to sleep on the bus, especially with a team he just knew were desperate to draw something on his face, but Roy was surprised when he opened his eyes and sunlight blinded him.

the bus was pulling up to Richmond at an ungodly 4 am when Roy realised, he had fallen asleep, his head resting on top of yours. without thinking, still in a sleepy state, Roy pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he moved to sit up. however, when he saw you stir awake, he kicked himself internally, “Are we here?” you yawned, pulling away from him and Roy already missed the feeling of you curled up to him.

“Looks like it,” Roy said as you looked down to realise it had been Roy’s jacket covering you, “You uh looked cold,” Roy said, clearing his throat and thankful he had a beard to cover the way his cheeks grew hot.

“Thanks,” you said, a sleepy smile playing your lips as the rest of the team started to wake. “Did you manage to sleep?”

“A bit yeah,” Roy said, and it was as you shuffle forward Roy realised his mistake when you looked down at his arm, “Sorry bout that,” he mumbled, quickly pulling his arm out from where it had been wrapped around your waist.

“It’s alright I don’t mind,” you said, a smile toying your lips as you stretched to try wake up.

without anything else said, really by anyone, you all filtered off the bus and Roy went to get both your suitcases. Roy cleared his throat as he went to pass yours to you, a nervous habit you’d only just really noticed, “Do you need a lift up the road? my cars just over there,”

“If you don’t mind that’d be great,” you said, so relieved you weren’t going to have to sleep in Rebeccas office, “Don’t hate me if I fall asleep in the car though,”

“Couldn’t hate you if I tried,” Roy said as he took the suitcase back and began to walk to his car. you blushed as you followed behind him, climbing into the passenger side as Roy loaded the bags in, “You all set?” Roy asked as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

when Roy glanced over, he couldn’t help but laugh when he noticed you were already asleep in the car. Roy reached over, buckling you in before getting ready to hit the road. he’d dropped you off a few times from work so he knew the way already, but Roy couldn’t stop himself stealing so many glances at the sight of you. there was no avoiding his feelings now.  Roy Kent was in love.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

You Already Know, Babe

Request: Heyy would I be able to pretty please ask for a Roy one-shot based of So High School? Mainly the lyric: "Truth, Dare, Spin Bottles. You know how to ball, I know Aristotle" (bc I have TTPD brainrot) Like I'd love to picture Roy with a total academic girl who loves classic literature and ancient greece and philosophy pls ???

Roy Kent x Reader

3.3k words

Warnings: Language, Roy being insecure, the guys making Roy feel bad (not on purpose)

A/N: Ahhh I also have TTPD brainrot so I loooooove this! I made the reader a uni professor. Also been wanting to do a Bantr fic for Roy for a while, so I incorporated that in too!

Roy scowled and sipped his beer. “Fuck no.”

Leaning forward in the booth they sat in, Keeley gave him her best puppy-dog eyes, the ones that stopped working the moment he got over her. “Come on, Roy. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it’d be good for you.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Jamie chimed in.

“‘Fuck no’ used to be a complete sentence,” Roy growled.

Before he could stop the striker, Jamie grabbed Roy’s mobile off the table, holding it just out of the gaffer’s reach. “Just… one… moment…” he huffed as Keeley did her best to hold Roy back. “Alright, we need a username.”

Roy rolled his eyes but stopped fighting against Keeley’s grip. “How about ‘This is fucking stupid’?”

“I think that’s against their policy,” Jamie hummed, eyes still on the phone.

Keeley thought for a moment. “RoyallySarcastic? Y’know, ROYally?”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I got it!” He typed away before proudly showing the screen to Roy and Keeley. “RoyalPain,” he announced.

With a giggle, Keeley took the phone from Jamie and handed to Roy, who looked ready to kill his friends. “There we are Roy-o,” she said. “Welcome to Bantr.”

~

~

Roy sat at the small table, fidgeting with the shiny fork on the table and staring intently at the condensation on the glass of water in front of him. Why the fuck was he so nervous? He was Roy fucking Kent, he reminded himself sternly. He’d been on plenty of dates. Sure, this was his first Bantr date, but that shouldn’t really matter. He’d been on a couple of blind dates in the past; this shouldn’t be much different.

But it sure felt different when you walked in, all wide eyes and nervous smiles. You approached him hesitantly, cocking your head as you got closer. Your gaze flickered to the tattered copy of A Wrinkle in Time on the table next to him before settling on his face.

“RoyalPain?” you squeaked out, raising your eyebrows expectantly.

Before he could stop himself, he grinned and blurted out, “I Kant believe it’s you.” Immediately, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nope, fuck, that was stupid. I’m sor-”

Your laughter eased his embarrassment as you sat across from him. “Don’t you dare apologize,” you countered. “That was cute.” You offered your name with a small smile.

“Roy,” he said simply, searching your face for any sign that you recognized him.

Instead, you nodded and leaned forward. “And what do you do, Roy?”

What did he do? He tried to remember the last time someone asked him that. “I work for a football team,” he said slowly. “A.F.C. Richmond.”

You nodded, interest all over your pretty face. “And what do you do at Richmond?”

He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Do you… you don’t know who I am?” Fuck, he felt like an absolute asshole saying the words out loud.

“Sure I do,” you chuckled. “I just figured that Roy Kent doesn’t often get the chance to introduce himself. Thought I’d give you the opportunity.”

Roy couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, it was kind of dorky, but fuck, he liked it. Just like he liked hearing about your job as a uni professor, or the article you recently wrote about Arthurian legend, or the book you’d read recently. And he really liked the way you looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world, more interesting than the well-renowned experts and authors you got to spend time with, asking him about his work and his life and his opinions. He smiled all through dinner, laughing at jokes even when they went over his head and making a mental list of books he now wanted to read.

He was still grinning as he walked you to your car after dinner, wondering when he’d last enjoyed himself so much on a date. As you fished your keys out of your purse, he found himself desperately hoping for another date with you. And another. And another.

“Could we do this again sometime?” he asked gently once your keys were in your hand.

Fuck, he loved the way your eyes lit up at his question. “Absolutely,” you breathed.

With a dizzy little nod, Roy cupped your face and tugged you close, ghosting his lips over yours. You gently laid your hands on his hips to press against him, deepening the kiss. You swore you could feel him smiling against your mouth as his thumb stroked your cheek. Some little part of you wanted to pull this man into your car, into your apartment, into your bed. But from the happy little hum that vibrated from his chest to yours, you knew you had plenty of dates ahead of you, plenty of time for all that, plenty of Roy Kent ahead of you.

~

After three weeks of dates and laughter and late-night phone calls and kisses that escalated to other things, Roy invited you to a match. He seemed weirdly nervous for a retired football legend whose dating history could fill any of the giant books that filled the shelves in your office, but you found his nerves nothing short of charming. So, you threw on some comfy jeans and a sweatshirt and climbed into Roy’s giant black car to go with him to Nelson Road, where he showed you his office before giving you your ticket and sending you off to your seat with a chaste kiss.

Roy was fighting the stupidest smile as he prepared for the match, the same stupid smile he’d been fighting since your first date. He was excited for you to see him and the Greyhounds in action, to be able to show off for you a little and, he didn’t fucking know, make you proud or some shit.

“Was that your girlfriend, Roy?” Sam raised his eyebrows as he and Jan stood in the doorway.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said slowly. “But we’ve been dating for a few weeks.” He paused for a moment, hoping he didn’t look too dopey as he spoke. “She’s a professor. Fucking brilliant. Like, she teaches, and she’s been published and speaks at conferences.”

Jan spoke up. “Most men would not be able to handle dating a woman so much more educated than they are. Good for you, Coach. It’s nice that you are not intimidated by her clearly superior intellect.”

A knot appeared in Roy’s stomach, but he simply cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. “Yeah, well.” He blinked, not sure what the fuck he was supposed to say to that. “Best finish getting ready, hmm?”

Jan’s words continued to flutter around Roy’s mind like an annoying butterfly as he made his way out to the pitch. He liked that you were smart. Hell, he liked that you were smarter than him. He could listen to you talk for hours about literature and history and philosophy, especially when your eyes lit up and your voice got faster, the way he noticed it did when you were especially passionate about something. It was impressive, not to mention sexy as all hell. But there had definitely been moments over the last few weeks where he had to Google what you were talking about while you weren’t looking, or where he laughed at a joke he didn’t really understand. It came with the territory, he told himself. It was to be expected, dating someone like you.

And there you were, sitting in the seat Roy had selected for you, the one that gave you the perfect view of the dugout- per your request. You waved excitedly when you caught Roy’s eye, wearing that giant smile that made his heart skip a beat. He offered back a small wave, knowing full well that all the guys could see his furious blush.

“That your girl?” Colin asked, following Roy’s dreamy gaze.

Roy shrugged, turning his attention back to his team. “Uh, I guess?” he mumbled, taking the clipboard Nate handed him.

Sam spoke up. “Roy said she’s a uni professor.”

Respect covered the faces of the men that were clearly more interested in Roy’s love life than their impending match. They all started chattering over each other, ignoring Roy’s eyerolls and Beard and Nate’s amused expressions.

Richard waggled his eyebrows. “Does she offer special office hours for you, Coach?”

Roy wrinkled his nose at the Frenchman. “What the fuck is that supposed to-”

“Did you have to buy a new dictionary to keep up with her?” Zoreaux teased.

Isaac spoke up, clapping a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Most guys would probably run for the hills if they had to keep up with a woman’s brainpower,” he started. “But Roy’s not intimidated. I mean, sure, we all know he’s no Einstein, but he’s got other great qualities. Like…”

Roy raised a cool eyebrow at the captain, more curious than offended at this point.

“Coaching,” Colin finally finished for Isaac. “He’s a great manager.”

Jamie pipped up now. “And she seems to really like looking at you, Grandad.” He nodded to the stands where, sure enough, you were still gazing at Roy, affection all over your face. “She’s cute,” he mused.

Roy cleared his throat, trying to focus attention to the match at hand and not your pretty smiles. Or the words of his players that had etched a deep frown onto his bearded face. “Alright, Greyhounds!” he hollered. “Let’s fucking focus, lads! We’ve got a fucking match to win!”

~

And they did win, much to Roy’s pleasure. Winning always felt good, but he had to admit that winning in front of a pretty girl felt fucking great. And it was even better when he found you waiting in his office, gazing at him as if you had hearts in your eyes.

“That was brilliant!” you gushed, wrapping your arms around his middle while his rested on your shoulders and tugged you close. You pressed a tiny kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Roy.”

He smiled down at you and pecked your nose. “Think you’ll come again sometime?” he teased.

Your eager nodding melted his heart. “Absolutely,” you promised. “Maybe next time I’ll even wear a kit. Since I think I’m officially a Richmond fan now.”

“That kit better have a six on it,” Roy growled, smacking another kiss to your cheek. He gave you a small squeeze before releasing you. He reached down to grab your hand. “I’ve got to go talk to the press for a bit, he explained, leading you over to his desk. “D’you mind waiting here? We can grab dinner once I’m done,” he promised. “Here, you can even watch the presser on my computer.”

“Sounds perfect.” You touched his cheek and pulled him close for one more kiss. “Now get going, I want to see you be brilliant in front of all those reporters.”

Roy was still blushing when he got in front of the cameras. The press conference was a blur of questions and comments. He’d probably have to apologize to Keeley later, because he was sure he was dreamy and distracted the entire time. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so lovesick over a woman, and he especially couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed it so much.

When he returned to his office, he was surprised to see Jamie sitting on the edge of his desk, chatting pleasantly with you. You both lit up at the sight of him, with Jamie choosing to speak first as Roy offered a small grin to you.

“Your girl was just telling me about this seminar she’s speaking at next weekend,” he announced. “Some talk on the Lord of the Rings books and their impact on modern cinema.” He nodded to you. “It actually sounds really cool.” He slid off the desk with ease, offering you a wink. “Not sure what someone as smart as you is doing with Grandad here,” he joked.

He was kidding around. Roy knew that. Jamie loved to tease everyone, especially him. He was well-aware of the way Jamie admired him, as his childhood hero, as his coach, and, fuck it, fine, as his friend. Maybe it was all the joking from earlier, but Roy felt his face fall at Jamie’s teasing. He couldn’t help it; it was one thing for the guys to joke to his face, another to make a comment in front of you. He wouldn’t admit it even to himself, but some part of him was terrified you’d realize how brilliant you were, and how dull he was, and call the whole thing off.

Roy was so busy stewing in his childish embarrassment, he missed the way your eyebrows scrunched at Jamie, your mouth in a straight line. When you spoke, your voice was flat, maybe even a little angry, as you responded to the striker.

“I think,” you said slowly, “I’m going to dinner with him.” With that, you took Roy’s hand, hoping the adoration in your eyes would be enough to wipe that frown off his handsome features. “Ready, Roy?”

Roy nodded, but barely said a word as the two of you walked through the Dog Track, got into his car, and drove to the restaurant he’d been excitedly telling you about the day before. However, that excitement was nowhere to be seen as the two of you settled in and ordered some dinner. You cocked your head at him, wondering how someone who’d just coached such a great game could look so sullen- especially while on a date with someone he was supposed to really like.

“That match was incredible,” you offered, leaning forward with a smile. “Seriously, Roy. How do you do that? Being able to see the game unfold and know what plays to call, what players to have on the pitch. And all the preparation you have to do in advance. It’s like a really intense game of chess, with all those moving pieces, not knowing what the other side is going to do next.” You reached out and laid your hand on top of his. “Your team is so lucky to have you.”

His gaze avoided yours as he cleared his throat. “Dunno how much of it is me,” he chuckled hollowly. “I inherited a great team and have a really talented coaching staff.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like I just… stand there and take up space.”

Now it was your turn to frown. This wasn’t the Roy Kent you met, the Roy Kent that teased you and smirked and made cocky comments just to make you laugh. Something had happened, something between the beginning of the match and the end, to make him so morose. Maybe something had happened in the match that you’d missed; you weren’t much of a sports fan before meeting Roy, you really only knew the basics, so it was possible what you thought was an incredible match was really something of a failure for him.

Maybe distracting him would help.

“I was telling Jamie Tartt about the conference I’m speaking at,” you tried again. “It’s this fantasy and pop culture thing. Kind of dorky,” you admitted. “But I’m really excited about my talk on Tolkien and his influence on modern cinema. My colleague was saying he really liked this one parallel I drew between Frodo and- well, I don’t want to spoil it.” You squeezed his hand. “You should come. I’ve seen you at work, now I want to show you what I do.” You shrugged. “Could even bring Jamie if you want.”

Roy nodded absently, not quite looking you in the eye. “Yeah, just make sure to get me a translator so I can understand what you’re saying.” His voice sounded like he was attempting to make a joke, but it fell flat. “Academics to neanderthal or some shit.”

That was enough of that, you decided. With a sigh, you leaned back, cocking your head at the gaffer and shooting him your sternest glare, the one you saved for students who didn’t know how to act like adults in your classroom. “Alright, Roy. What’s going on? You’re acting like you don’t want to be here, and, frankly, I don’t want to hang out with someone who doesn’t value my time.”

“I…” Roy let out a low growl and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re smart,” he finally blurted out. “Like, really, really fucking smart. You teach, and you’re published, and you speak in front of academic types who hang onto every word you say.” He released his nose and shook his head at you, embarrassment swimming in those brown eyes. “And I… played football. I coach football. That’s fucking it. I can’t stand the idea of you being embarrassed by the fact that I can’t keep up with you. That you’re going to turn around and realize I’m not smart enough for you.”

Your stomach twisted in knots as you took in the sight of him, looking devastated, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was right, he was a neanderthal, and that you didn’t think he was smart enough for you. If it wasn’t so sad, the picture of Roy looking so forlorn would be almost endearing.

“That,” you finally murmured, “might be the stupidest thing you’ve said since we met, Roy.” He nodded, a grimace covering his face as you went on. “Not smart enough for me?” you scoffed. “Roy, I think you’re brilliant.” You sighed and shook your head. “I mean, look at you today. I could never do what you do, managing an entire football team. And I’ve seen clips of you when you played, you were brilliant then too. Not just a skilled player, but a smart one. And from what you’ve said, you have great relationships with your players, with your niece and sister, hell even with your ex-girlfriend. That takes an emotional intelligence most people don’t have.”

“I mean-”

You shushed the gruff man. “’m not finished. And what’s this about you not being able to keep up with me? You read almost as much as I do, Roy. When you don’t know something, you immediately learn everything you can about it. You absolutely tore through ‘Le Morte d'Arthur’ after our first date so you could ask me about my King Arthur article.” A smile finally broke through your face. “So, unless this is some roundabout way of trying to say you don’t want to see me anymore, please stop insulting the man I’m dating and accept that there’s different kinds of intelligence. And I like your intelligence quite a bit.”

For a moment, you thought you may have completely overwhelmed Roy. He blinked at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a breathy chuckle. With raised eyebrows and something that looked close to a smile, he finally opened his mouth.

“I’ve just… never had such an intelligent girlfriend before,” he said slowly. “I’ve dated smart women. Driven women. But no one like you. It’s… a little scary, how brilliant you are.” That something close to a smile became a real grin as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “And really fucking sexy,” he added quickly.

Your heart skipped a beat with every word out of his mouth. “You’ve never had a nerdy girlfriend before, hmm?” you teased.

His expression was bashful, but absolutely pleased. “No,” he chuckled. “I haven’t.”

A smirk crossed your face as you batted your eyes at him. “Do you want a nerdy girlfriend?”

Those brown eyes were so soft, so full of affection as he nodded gently. “Yeah,” he breathed, raising those thick eyebrows at you. “I really fucking do.”

“That,” you hummed with a silly grin, “might be the smartest thing you’ve said all day, Roy.”

[starryevermore]

celebrating you ✧ roy kent

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader

summary: you’re used to no one celebrating you. but roy proves to you that he’s not like the others. 

word count: 1,486

warnings?: fluff fluff fluff, no use of y/n, not proofread

a gift for @captainsbestgal happy birthday bestie 🥰

Since you’ve entered adulthood, your birthday was never anything that you put a lot of weight onto. There was something different about adult birthdays, you supposed. Something that made people not want to put any effort into celebrating others. Or, at least, something made people not want to put any effort into celebrating you. 

Ever since you finished school, it felt like you were pulling teeth just to get someone, anyone, to give you an ounce of attention and affection that they were ready to give to anyone else. Whether it be a promotion or a life milestone or your fucking birthday, it seemed like no one wanted to show up for you the way you would for anyone else. The way they would for anyone else. All of your friends would throw surprise parties and take each other out to fancy dinners whenever something great would happen. Your work would get balloons and a simple gift card for people’s birthdays. But for you? Crickets. 

Anytime you tried to bring up the difference in treatment, people acted like you were out of your mind. Surely you understood that they had busy lives? That they can’t just drop everything at the tip of a hat? That these things take time, and energy, and coordination, and they don’t always have the capacity to meet those demands. And you understood! Really, you understood more than most. Often, you were the one playing host, or the one making incredibly personalized gifts, or the one just shooting a “Happy Birthday!” text when things got busy. You understood about not always having the capacity to show up. It’s just…Odd that you were the one who always got the short end of the stick. 

Nowadays, you don’t even bother reminding anyone about your birthday or try to set something up on your own. It was too much effort, and too much heartbreak to see no one even care. 

You expected this year to be more of the same. Nothing was particularly different, except that you had a boyfriend for a few months now. But the relationship was still new, so you didn’t expect Roy to do anything special for you. But, oh, you should have. The second you had mentioned in passing that you were taking a day off work for your birthday, Roy had a plan set in motion. 

The morning of your birthday, you woke up to soft kisses being peppered across your face. Your nose wrinkled, slightly confused as to what was happening. But as you opened your eyes and saw Roy hovering over you, a goofy smile on his face, you couldn’t help but kiss him back. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” you asked between kisses. 

“It’s your special day. Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”

You pulled away for a moment, your brows knit together. This was…odd? Unexpected? But, also appreciated. “Well, aren’t I lucky, then?”

Roy kissed you again then got out of bed. You whined at the loss of warmth, reaching out and trying to pull him back into bed. He batted your hands away. “Nuh uh, none of that.”

“You can’t just wake me up with birthday kisses then take it away!”

“I can if I’m going to make you birthday breakfast while you get ready,” Roy said. But he leaned down over you and kissed you again. “Was planning on taking you to the zoo.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really? Oh my god, I love the zoo.” Then you frowned. “But you have work?”

“You’re not the only one who can take the day off, love. Now, c’mon, I got a lot planned for you today.”

You started to push yourself out of bed, watching as Roy started to leave to go get breakfast made. But, then you called out to him. As he turned,  you said, “I really appreciate you.”

“Get ready to appreciate me even more,” he teased. 

After getting dressed and eating a breakfast of your favorite foods, you and Roy headed to the zoo. You were beyond excited to go. You hadn’t been to the zoo in years, having been too busy with other aspects of your life. You had once mentioned in passing, months ago, to Roy that you were itching to go.

“I can’t believe you even remembered this,” you had said as the two of you walked around. 

Roy turned to look at you. His brows pinched together. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

You shrugged, pointing to a monkey that was swinging around. “It was so long ago. And it wasn’t really anything that was important. I mean, I barely remember what we had for dinner last night.”

“Yeah, but what you say is important to me.”

The way he said it, the way it sounded so definite, so sure, it made your heart squeeze. God, could Roy be anymore perfect? Was it not enough that he was completely devoted to you and handsome to boot? Did he have to so considerate? You leaned your head against his arm, smiling. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Roy take out his phone and snap a selfie of the two of you. 

“Wait, I wasn’t looking!” you giggled as he pocketed his phone. 

“But you looked beautiful.” He nodded over to a different habitat. “C’mon, I heard a kid shout that the lemurs were out.”

“Ooh, I love lemurs!”

You didn’t think the day could get any better than this. You were a bit surprised at how into the zoo Roy was. In some ways, you still had the public image of Roy painted in your head—all stoic, the traditional “masculine man”. The kind of guy that would grumble and groan at the idea of spending a day at the zoo. But Roy wasn’t like that. He was just as giddy as you, just perhaps a little less outward about expressing it. He let you pull him to every habitat you wanted to, pointing out a few that you missed. He took pictures of you—many candids where he called you the most beautiful woman in the world, as well as some posed pictures where he acted like you were walking the red carpet. Your favorites, though, were the silly selfies he would take with any animal that would wander near him. The day was so perfect. It actually made you start to like your birthday again. 

As the two of you returned home, you couldn’t stop gushing about how amazing the day was. Talking about all the things you did. Roy didn’t even mind that you were talking about things he was literally present for. He loved your little recaps of the day, even adding on things that you forgot about. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in excitedly talking about the day, you would have noticed the giant grin on his face as he walked you up to the house. 

“And, oh my god, the snow leopard! She was so sweet and—” you were saying as you unlocked and opened the door. 

“SURPRISE!”

You jumped back, hitting Roy’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you, swaying you side to side as you processed that the entirety of AFC Richmond, Rebecca, and Keeley (and those guys who were always at The Crown & Anchor?) were standing in the middle of the living room. You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “Did you plan this?”

“Nah, just let all these fucking idiots breaking into my house,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. 

Keeley ran up to you, throwing her arms around you. “You bet he planned this! I was practically shitting myself trying to keep it a secret, because, I was so upset you didn’t even tell me your birthday was coming up, babes! But I couldn’t even reveal I knew without revealing everything, and I think Roy would have killed me—”

“I wouldn’t have killed you,” Roy protested. 

She waved him off. “Anyways, come in! You have got to see the cake Rebecca got you. It’s fucking gorgeous. I mean, something straight out of a magazine!”

Keeley grabbed your hand, dragging you into the house. As you were pulled away from Roy, you threw one last glance at Roy, a wide smile on your face. “I love you, you big softie!”

“Oi, don’t just go shouting that! I got a fucking reputation to uphold!” he laughed. 

“So I shouldn’t post your selfie with the elephant?”

Will’s, who practically materialized beside you as if you were hiding in the boot room, eyes lit up. “Ooh, can I see that photo?”

Roy chased after you, growling lowly. “You’re fucking lucky it’s your birthday.”

You laughed. 

Hmm. Perhaps you liked your birthday after all. All it took was someone showering you in the attention you deserved. Yeah. Yeah, you weren’t going to let Roy go after this. 

[discokicks]

WHISKEY, TANGO, FOXTROT - ROY KENT.

PART FOUR OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: it's your first game of the season at chelsea and rebecca’s got some press for you to do. however, thanks to rupert, the reporters will have some questions you’re not exactly ready for. the same could be said for 2012 roy kent, who’s abusing his new avoidance power to the fullest extent. but, as the two of you continue to work and get closer, you realize that there might just be something else there.

word count & rating: 15.4k (holy fuck this is why it took 6 months), R (language per usual) chapter warnings: swearing, references to sex, minor allusions to sexual harassment, mentions of alcohol, the beginnings of sexual tension (slow and steady wins the race), rupert is a dick, roy kent has got around and everyone knows it, keeley and rebecca are wine drinking pr besties, men are trash (but we know this) author's note: long time no see and happy olympics season! it felt fitting to post this now, so I got motivated to get my ass into gear and write. there's A LOT to this one, so buckle up. and make sure you stay until the end bc baby we're cooking with gas now. this took a lot out of me, so i hope you enjoy! love u tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You’re up 1-0 when you retreat into the locker room at halftime during your third game of the Olympic Tournament against North Korea.

Despite the fact that you’re winning, it was a terrible showing from each of you, except for Mel, who’d been your lone scorer of the night. She’d had a breakaway and had managed to single-handedly beat three defenders for a pretty impressive goal. You’d practically jumped into her arms during the celebration, glad that someone was able to break the sleepy curse that had seemed to be placed on your team.

Your captain Katie O’Connor stands tall at the front of the room, ready to rip you guys a new one. She was the more… passionate of your three captains, potentially coming off as abrasive when things weren’t going your way or if she felt that things could be better. It was only because she cared so much. You all did.

“We should be beating them by four at this point,” she says, pointing out the door. A mumbling of agreements goes through your team, knowing that it’s the truth. “We’re playing like it’s fucking high school out there. It’s the fucking Olympics, act like we belong here, for fuck’s sake.”

The amount of ‘fucks’ that Katie drops instantly has you thinking of someone else. God damn it, he was probably watching, wasn’t he? You could only imagine the things he was thinking, or saying, for that matter. 

You know you shouldn’t care as much as you do, but… as much as you hate to admit it, you want to impress him. Or at least make it look like these training sessions have been worth it. There was something about him that made you want to prove yourself. It wasn’t that he demanded you to do so or that he’d value you less if you didn’t, but you wanted to. Unfortunately, you cared about his opinion. How tragic was that?

Curiosity gets the best of you. Before your coach can come into the locker room, you fish through your bag and take a peek at your phone, just to see if he, or anyone else, has said anything.

Sure enough, you see that you’ve got two texts from Roy Kent that were sent five minutes ago, right when you finished the half.

What a fucking atrocious half. I fucking dare you to hit the post one more time.

A scowl pulls at your lips, but you know it’s true. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already thought yourself. He had an extraordinary talent for knowing how to be exactly the brand of jackass that pissed you off, though. It only became more apparent as you read the next message.

You could learn a thing or two about footwork from Rivera.

You scoff, glancing over at Mel, who, while she sat next to you, was staring blankly at the wall, undoubtedly in her own little world. Before she notices you looking, you’ve turned back to your phone and to his messages. “Asshole,” you mutter, but type out your response.

maybe i’ll get her to coach me then. she isn’t as much of a dick to me.

The response comes before you can put away your phone. Not your coach, he says, then sends another message. Relax out there. You’re somehow playing nervous and stiff at the same time. You’re a fucking anomaly. But before you can frown too hard at that, he says, You know how to see the field. So take a breath and fucking see it.

You throw your phone back in your bag with a huff, mind reeling as you attempt to think back to what the field looked like before the half. The last three possessions had you following Mel as she took the ball up the field. The defense had started favoring her side due to her dominance throughout the game, leaving… 

…Katie on the left side. And while they hadn’t left her open—

“Did you call me an asshole a second ago?” Mel asks from beside you, having broken out of her own trance. You flinch at the sound of her voice, instinctively flipping your phone over and against the bench you’re sitting on. 

She courteously spares you the weird look you know she’s holding back. “No,” you reply. You motion to your phone. “Roy’s texting me.”

Mel nods in understanding. “Gotcha. What’s Coach Kent have to say?”

“He’s being an asshole,” you repeat. “He says we’re ‘atrocious.’ Making fun of how much I’m hitting the post.” You turn to her. “He’s got good things to say about your footwork, though.”

Mel grins. “I knew I liked him.”

You scowl again at that. “He’s also telling me I need to see the field better.” Mel raises her brows at the look on your face, cueing you to go on. “I think Katie’s been open-ish for the last three possessions. They’re favoring your side.”

The two of you look back to your teammate once more as you consider this. “We could keep trying to draw the defense out,” Mel offers. “We scare them a little bit, hit her when she’s coming up.”

“She can beat that fullback in a heartbeat,” you agree.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t play any shittier than we already are.”

You nod at Mel with faux enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit.”

And that’s exactly what you decide. Mel jumps to her feet and explains your plan to Katie and the team, drawing up the X’s and O’s on the locker room whiteboard. You glance around the room cautiously, forcing yourself not to read into your teammates' expressions too deeply. 

But it’s hard. Especially when you’re an overthinker.

It’s a title you’ve resigned yourself to, much to Roy’s pleasure. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, it was the truth. And while you were still working to get out of that lifelong mindset, it didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

But your over-analyzing leads you to a result you like: all of your teammates seem to be on board with your ideas. You can’t deny that that feels good.

You especially can’t deny it when your coach walks into the locker room to see Mel’s play on the baker and says, “Well, you ladies are way ahead of me.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to draw up.

That feeling has you giddily awaiting the moment you can grab your phone before you head back out to the field to send a text to your newfound trainer. 

i’ll have a shot on net in the first ten minutes, you type to him, confidence radiating through the text. and it’s not gonna hit the post this time.

Your message reaches Roy when he returns to his phone at the beginning of the second half. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he settles back into his couch, shaking his head when he glances up at the massive TV in his sitting room, the broadcast showing a close-up of you with a new sort of fire in your eyes. It’s a look that illuminates his dim and quiet flat, one that he can’t seem to part with until they cut away from you.

Within four minutes and fifty-five seconds, you draw the defense over to you and Mel, who wails the ball over to Katie’s side of the field. Katie has possession of it for five seconds before she catches her defender off-guard and sends it in between her legs to you. 

Five minutes in, you live up to your promise and send the ball into the corner of the net, the crowd roaring as Katie shakes you back and forth in excitement and Mel jumps on your back. One of the cameramen runs up to you to catch your celebration, and you stare down the lens with a satisfied smile and point in a way that tells Roy that you’re looking directly at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning even if he wanted to. With yet another shake of his head, Roy reaches out for the phone he’d thrown onto the couch cushion next to him.

I told you. Fucking anomaly you are, you stupid fucking Yank, he writes. Stay pissed off. It’s a good look on you, Fourteen.

When Roy sends that text, he keeps his phone closer to him this time, and somehow, his dim and quiet flat feels just a bit lighter, even if for a brief moment.

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

Before you can leave the Richmond facilities post-Saturday afternoon practice, you’re suddenly called into Rebecca Walton’s office.

It’s a day before your first game of the season and after your rather animated talk with Roy in the Boot Room yesterday, you’re feeling a bit lighter. You slept better last night (though you don’t see yourself hitting REM any time soon) and don’t feel like you’re being dragged down by the massive weight of… well, everything. It’s a feeling you’re taking in stride and one you’re welcoming with open arms. 

Practices before game days were typically a bit easier-going, and you and your fellow coaches had decided to make sure the team was up to date and understood the best plays to run against Chelsea tomorrow. They knew who to stop, what defenses to watch out for, and what trick plays to expect. While you hadn’t lent your voice to the conversation as much as you probably should have, especially after being yelled at for it yesterday, you spoke more than usual. While that still wasn’t a lot, it was enough. And that made you feel good, above all else.

That feeling goes away the second you walk into your boss’s office to see her and an incredibly familiar face staring at you from the couch area. Your lips part the second you see her, hand unsubtly slamming against the doorframe, not just to stabilize yourself, but to keep you from dramatically heel-turning out of the room, to never return.

By the way that Keeley Jones is looking at you, you can tell she’s just about on the same page. You suppose she’s got the better end of this deal, simply because your arrival doesn’t seem to be a surprise for her. At least she had a warning about the foreboding awkwardness of this situation. Your boss didn’t exactly grant you that luxury.

Then again, you figure Rebecca had no real way of knowing just how strange this might be for you. She didn’t know the extent of your history with Roy, and the only person who may was sitting right next to her, probably having shared more of that history than either of you cared to admit.

However, what you’re not expecting from Keeley, is the way she gapes at you, then turns to Rebecca to whisper, “Fucking hell, you didn’t say she was hotter in person.”

The shock and confusion flowing through your body makes you blink slowly at them to readjust, and you lean back on your back foot. You manage to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back--”

“No, no,” Rebecca says, beckoning you in after she finishes rolling her eyes at Keeley, “come on in and join us! We just opened a bottle.”

Join them? You glance at the open bottle of wine on the coffee table, then back to them. Is this why you were called here? To indulge in some post-work girl talk with your boss and Roy’s first real, and only public girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, you remembered, but still.

You’re sure the discomfort you feel is broadcasted on your face, and that becomes especially apparent when Keeley offers you a small, kind smile. However, the action is sweet and it makes your over-anxious mind ease slightly. If she’s not going to be weird about it, you certainly aren’t either.

Besides, you have no idea what she actually knows about you and Roy. He would be the type to tell her nothing. He was the type to tell her nothing.

However, something about Keeley’s demeanor tells you that’s probably not the case.

When you realize that you’ve been standing like a freak in the doorway for just a moment too long, you snap out of your haze and return the smile, nodding gratefully as you enter Rebecca’s office.

“We were just discussing the game tomorrow,” Rebecca tells you as she reaches for the spare wine glass on the table. She eyes you with a wry grin. “I’d ask if you drank, but that bar cart I saw in your apartment gave you away.”

A surprised laugh escapes you at the rather forward comment, but it helps you relax slightly as you make your way to them. “Yeah, well. It was probably looking pretty sparse when you saw it.” You reach your hand out to Keeley, continuing to smile softly as you introduce yourself.

“Keeley Jones,” she says to you, though there’s a mutual understanding that this is just a formality. You both know who the other is. “Bad week, yeah?” she asks.

You reach for the wine glass Rebecca offers you and send a look of confirmation to Keeley. “You have no idea.” Your smile stretches as you look over at Rebecca and sit down. “These last couple of days have made up for it, though.”

Rebecca returns it. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“I can imagine it’s been a little different than West Ham,” Keeley says. “We know what Rupert likes to pull. All that shit he’s been saying about you leaving?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how people aren’t seeing through him.”

The smile you wear falters slightly. “I, uh… haven’t really been keeping up with any of that,” you tell her. “Figured it wouldn’t be great to hear anything that anybody’s saying about me, y’know?”

“Totally get that,” she replies kindly. However, she hesitates. “...But you… haven’t seen anything that’s been going around?”

“Um…” you trail off, shifting in your chair. “No? Why? Is it really that bad?”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange a look. “It’s just—” Rebecca cuts herself off, looking back at you. “Remember how I said you wouldn’t have to do any press if you didn’t want to?”

Any remnants of the demeanor you had when you sat down completely drain from your expression. “Oh, my God. It is that bad, isn’t it?”

Keeley shakes her head, holding out her hands. “No, no, it’s really not. It could be so much worse,” she assures. “I mean, it is that bad with those weird little shits online who always have a problem with successful women in sports, but what else is new—”

“This is the worst of it,” Rebecca interjects, putting a hand on her friend's arm. She passes you a tablet as Keeley goes quiet and you take it cautiously. 

It’s a video of Rupert at a press conference, one you presume was taken this morning. The season kicked off tomorrow and Ted, Rebecca, and the rest of the team had been stuck doing interviews all day, something of which you weren’t sad to have missed out on.

You press the play button in the center of the screen to watch Rupert point at someone off-camera. “Yes,” he says. “Daniel, what have you got?”

Daniel, presumably, asks, “I was just curious how the team’s feeling with that coaching shake-up so close to Opening Day?” You hear a murmur go through the audience of reporters. “Losing someone like that and then watching her get picked up by Richmond must be tough on you guys, no?”

Rupert seems to take this in and sit with it, nodding slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Daniel,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t happy with the note that we ended on. She had concerns toward the end of her tenure about her role on the team and with certain aspects of AFC culture. She knows just how talented I think she is, and how excited we were to have her working with us. And we had a wonderful couple of months working with her. But, unfortunately…” He shakes his head scornfully, like all of this was genuinely upsetting him. “...there were just some differences we couldn’t get past. The team was remarkably sad to see her go, but I don’t believe it’ll affect our performance this season.” 

He lets his answer hang there for a moment, but tragically, he’s not done. “Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps their values align more with what she wanted out of her AFC career.” And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he adds, “Perhaps she just wanted to coach with her old friend Roy Kent.” Your lips part at that, brow furrowing in disbelief as the reporters chuckle. “Who knows? I wish her the best and I wish Richmond good luck. I hope they’re a better fit for her.”

The clip cuts off there and you glance up at Rebecca and Keeley who are both bracing for impact. “What the fuck?” 

If either of them find your words unprofessional, they do nothing to indicate it. However, there’s something about them that tells you they’re more than comfortable with that kind of language in the workplace. “Yeah,” Keeley says. “So, like I said. It could be so much worse.”

“He was the one who was unhappy with how it ended?” you quote. “He’s upset about the differences we couldn’t work past? How about you address my concerns with AFC culture and get upset with your—”

You cut yourself off before you can say too much, focusing your attention on the plant in the corner of Rebecca’s office to stabilize yourself. What a fucking asshole. What a self-serving, lying, fucking asshole. He’s not worth the tears. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

You understand why you were called in now, why Rebecca prefaced the video with that question. You’d neglected to personally get ahead of Rupert and make a real statement on your choice to part with West Ham and sign with Richmond. Now you were paying that price— the price of being afraid.

“What—” Your voice cracks as you attempt to speak, and you clear your throat. “What type of press do I have to do?”

Rebecca’s sigh is empathetic. “We think it’d be smart to send you out with Ted tomorrow after the game. Make a statement, answer a few questions,” she says. “That is, if you’re open to it.”

Your brow raises skeptically. “I can say no to that?”

Rebecca chuckles. “You can say no to anything,” she tells you. “Roy refuses to do any sort of press and he’s managed to be completely fine. Labeled as a bitter, old recluse, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Typical. But then, she adds, “We do think it’s your best move, though.”

You know it’s your best move. You know it’s what you should have done at the beginning of all of this. You know that there’s nothing that you want to do less. But somehow, having that small, offhanded-out Rebecca offered makes it all sit a bit easier with you.

“I think so too,” you finally agree, sighing shakily. Rebecca and Keeley grin at you encouragingly, watching as you reach out to take a hearty sip of your wine. “So, what’s the plan?” You look over at Keeley. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Keeley’s face lights up. “Exactly why I’m here,” she replies. “We’re gonna PR this shit so fucking hard nobody is going to know what hit them.”

Her enthusiasm makes the corners of your mouth rise despite everything else. “Can’t say I’m great in front of a crowd,” you warn.

“It’s rare to find people who are,” Keeley responds easily, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off your comment. “That’s why we’re going to make this as simple as possible.”

You nod. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Okay, three things you’re going to want to address,” she begins, tapping on her fingers. “The first is clarifying the ‘note that you ended on’ and those differences with the team. You don’t need to get into specifics if you don’t want to—”

“I really do not,” you tell her.

“Got it,” she says, and the look on her face tells you she really does get it. “Don’t get into specifics. Just say that you’re also upset things didn’t work out, but that it was nothing personal. Truly just leadership differences, like was first said. Even if it wasn’t.”

Your eyes narrow in question. “So, just lie?”

“Welcome to PR, babe,” she replies, and her grin gets more genuine when she sees you chuckle. “Alright, second; we’ve gotta say something about why you chose Richmond. Something that goes beyond our stale press release statement.”

“I didn’t think it was stale,” you offer.

“Aw, thank you!” The smile drops from her face. “But it was. All press releases are. They’re just words on a page, which is so fucking boring. And they get no feeling across. Which is what we need from you,” she says with a point. “You just need to actually say what we’ve already said.”

Once again, you nod. “So, you need it once more, with feeling?”

Keeley blinks back at you, then glances at Rebecca. “My god, I fucking love her.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary and smaller than the encouraging one that appears on Rebecca’s. “I told you that you would,” she says softly to her, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear. She then turns to you once more. “He brought up AFC culture and our values, but don’t even touch that.”

“'Values' is a loaded word,” Keeley says. “He used it for a reason, but if we’re looking to ignore all this, we shouldn’t be using those types of words.”

“Right,” continues Rebecca. “We’re not looking for a fight here. You don’t want to engage, we don’t want to engage. I think we can all agree we’re looking for this to be over and done with and forgotten about, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“So, just agree with his comments. Leave it neutral. Non-confrontational,” Rebecca says. “Make it easy. Even if you’re not disappointed to have left the club, say that you are. If you want to touch on ‘culture’ reference AFC culture as a whole. The culture shock of transitioning from womens to mens sports.”

Neutral, you think. Non-confrontational. Easy. You can do that.

After a moment, you nod in confirmation at Rebecca. Then, you refocus on Keeley. “What’s the third thing we need to address?”

Keeley folds her hands awkwardly. “That would be… uh, your friendship with Roy.”

Your face goes hot almost instantaneously. “Oh,” you say softly. You scratch the inside of your wrist, finding it increasingly hard to keep Keeley’s gaze, especially as she continues to sit in that tension with you. “Do I have to? Address that, I mean? We were just friends. A ton of people in the football world are friends with each other. I don’t…” The lie sours your tongue and you glance over at Rebecca, hoping for her to throw some kind of life preserver to you over here. “I didn’t think anyone knew about that. It wasn’t like we were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck or whatever. Our friendship wasn’t mainstream news.”

“Some intern at The Sun found some photos of you two after the 2012 Olympics at a club,” Rebecca explains. Your entire body flushes as you remember that night. “They resurfaced and became relevant after your move to Richmond.”

“Okay, but, if it’s the night I think they’re referring to, we were out with our teams,” you attempt to reason. “There’s no reason other than media speculation that people would think we were… what was implied.”

Keeley points at you. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to say if you’re asked about it.” Then, with a good-humored shrug, she says, “If you want to be petty, you can talk about how this speculation wouldn’t be happening if you were a man.”

Rebecca looks at her friend. “That’s actually not bad. Because it wouldn’t be.”

“None of this would be,” you say to the two women in front of you. The tone you’ve taken is scornful, and while they may not know all the reasons why… they get it.

Keeley reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine at in the center of the coffee table and tilts it to offer it to you. You nod almost immediately, mustering up a small smile as she pours. “So, our plan is to send you in with Ted after tomorrow’s game. They’ll probably, mainly, have questions for you because that’s the drama right now, so I’ve written up something that we can practice and workshop.”

“Ted’s won the press over and is practically on a first-name basis with all of them,” Rebecca continues. “So, he’ll be a lifeline if you need him at any time.”

Keeley nods at the glass she just poured for you. “So, drink up. Because we’re going to run through this shit and roleplay.” She pauses for a moment, catching herself. “The press conference, I mean. Not the sexy kind.”

“Probably better for HR reasons,” you reply.

As that joke slips out of your mouth, you can feel your comfort level with them rising. Something about them is just so… welcoming. You’re in a room with your boss and Roy’s ex-girlfriend. You should be guarded. You should be censoring yourself. But as you continue to sit here, you can’t see yourself doing so.

Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps you were right, you fucking prick.

Keeley snorts softly and nods in agreement and you notice the smile that grows on Rebecca’s face. “I’ve heard the HR is rather easily swayed, so we might be able to get away with it,” Keeley responds, grinning as she sees you laugh.

Rebecca claps her hands together. “So. Non-sexy press conference roleplay?”

They both turn to you, and after a hearty gulp of your wine, you sigh. “Let’s get to it.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You finish the game against North Korea with another win under your belt and return to utter chaos when you get back to the dorms.

While you were the only scorer of the last half, everyone stepped up their game in the ways that they had to. Things still weren’t perfect and there was plenty for all of you to work on going forward, but you were proud of the way your team had turned things around. 

When you return, it’s just past midnight, and all you want to do is go to bed. The game had drained you completely dry, and there was nothing more appealing than the idea of tucking into your horrendously uncomfortable dorm bed. Luckily, unlike last time, Mel’s on the same page as you.

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride back for about an hour and spent the other three complaining that you weren’t paying attention to her. And why weren’t you paying attention?

Because Roy fucking Kent wouldn’t stop texting you. After you’d read over the text he’d sent to you during the second half (and ignored the weird feeling in your stomach and heat on your cheeks at him calling you an anomaly, God, why did that word land with you so well?), you’d returned to gloat. Hit the post again, he’d said. You hadn’t.

Things had gotten carried away from there. What had started as a slightly antagonistic and taunting back and forth had devolved into a conversation about the sleeping accommodations in the dorms (big-time footballer in his posh london flat doesn’t even have the decency to drop off a mattress topper and some extra pillows? you’d complained to him), then to about which countries you wanted to visit (Australia. For no other reason than to meet a quokka, he’d told you), then to what the fuck a quokka is and why he knew about them (that’s the stupidest looking animal i’ve seen in my life. i want 10 of them, you’d said), to whatever you’d landed on next.

You’d put your phone in your pocket the second you’d pulled back into the Village, helping the team unload everyone’s stuff. Everyone seemed completely dead, something of which you celebrated, simply because it meant there was no team bonding preventing you from going to sleep as soon as possible. The only thing that was doing that for you was Mel’s incessant questions about Roy.

“I really think you’re lying to me about this being a weird sex thing,” she says, readjusting her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. “Because there’s no other reason that you two should be talking as much as you are.”

You make a face at her. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” you say for what feels like the seventeenth time that night. “We’re just friends. Or, you know, whatever the closest thing to a friend Roy has is.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mel replies. Her voice echoes through the quiet night air surrounding the dorm’s courtyard. “Roy doesn’t do friends. He hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. And I say that’s because he won’t let me get to know him. Because he doesn’t do friends.” She shrugs. “I mean, ask Jack or anyone who’s played with him. They’ll say the same.”

When you approach the doors of your dorm building, you make a teasingly innocent face at Mel. “Maybe I’m just different.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Or he wants to fuck you.”

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?” you whine as you open the door. “I’m actually, like, kind of having fun with him and this training thing we’re doing. He’s a good guy.” 

Mel shoots you a blank-faced stare. “You were calling him an asshole less than six hours ago.”

“Because he is. But he’s a good guy too,” you respond. “He’s like… I don’t know. Like Ron Swanson or Harrison Ford. Total curmudgeon but in a fun way.”

Mel’s lips purse. “Well, now I can’t stop picturing him with the Ron Swanson mustache.”

You grin, sidestepping fellow Olympians who hang around in the lobby of the dorm. “Have fun sleeping tonight.”

A heavy, exaggerated, long sigh leaves her as you approach the elevator. “Just be careful,” she says, putting her hands up in surrender as you look at her incredulously. “Even if you are just friends. And even if you’re not. As your actual friend, I have to tell you to be careful. All men suck, but athletes tend to suck ten times more.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply in a sing-song fashion. The elevator doors open and you and Mel step in. “I appreciate you, though.”

“You better,” Mel scoffs. “I’m getting gray hairs thinking you’re doing weird sex shit with Chelsea’s Finest on a random pitch in the middle of London.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, my God, can these things close any slow--”

“Hold the door!” shouts a voice from the lobby. On instinct, you reach out to stop the doors that were finally closing, feeling Mel’s elbow in your side. The voice gets louder as it gets closer. “Thank you. Did not feel like waiting for this thing again.”

Into the elevator walks (quite possibly) the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the quintessential surfer look to him, but in a way that works. He’s blonde (while you’re definitely more into dark hair, you can’t deny just how good he looks), at least six-three, and is built like a lean brick house. His curls fall into his eyes that squint into a smile as he looks at you and Mel.

“Oh,” he says as he walks in. “Congratulations on the win today.”

You and Mel stare at him in awe, snapping out of it as you realize that you’re gawking. “Thank you,” you manage to get out. You try to place his accent and what sport he could possibly specialize in, but your brain malfunctions. “I would say the same to you but I’m… uh--”

Luckily, he seems to catch on and saves you from your misery. “I’m Luca,” he says, holding out his hand for you and Mel to shake. “France. Swim team.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Mel says, finally recovering from her trance. “You have any events today?”

“We did,” he says, though he seems to be talking more to you than to Mel. “Placed silver, so we can’t complain.” When you two congratulate him, he nearly brushes you off. “I have heard your team is looking like you’re going to go all the way this year. It is fun to watch.”

“We’re having a good run,” you respond, and he nods at you with that same breathtaking smile. “We’ll see what happens though.”

“Yeah, you are good.” Luca pauses for a moment, then shrugs coyly. “You’re American, so you are not as good as France, but you are up there.”

You see Mel’s head tilt out of the corner of your eye. “Easy now,” she warns with a light-hearted smile. “We beat them by two in our first match.”

Luca throws his hands up, grin turning teasing. “Just telling the truth. I must support my own.”

“Well,” you say, brow furrowed. “We’ll see when we get to the finals.”

“Oui. I believe that we will,” he responds. You notice that he’s leaned in closer than you had previously anticipated and the realization makes your face heat. “We should put a wager on it.”

“You want me to bet on my own team?” you ask rather bluntly, hearing Mel cough to cover a laugh.

“I suppose, yes,” Luca answers. The elevator stops at his floor and his eyes flick to the number on the small screen. “If France wins in your little tournament, you must purchase me a drink when these games are over. But if you win…” He trails off with a shrug as the doors open. “I’ll buy you one. It is only fair, no?”

You blink at him, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is he flirting with you? Setting a friendly bet to get a drink? Just trying to be a jerk by referring to your Olympic Games as a ‘little tournament’? Then again, he was French, so many that’s just the way he spoke.

Yet another nudge from Mel finally has you answering. “I’m the one playing,” you say slowly, cautiously trying to read him. “I feel like I should have a better prize for winning.”

Luca seems to consider this but shrugs once more. “Those are my terms. Even I cannot make exceptions for beautiful women. Do you accept?”

Okay, so maybe he is flirting with you. This beautiful, French, god of a man is potentially flirting with you. You wish he’d upped the stakes by asking you to dinner or something to offer something more direct, but this is what you’re getting. As he exits the elevator, he puts a hand on the door while he awaits your answer. 

But, you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know if you’ll want him as a prize if you win, or as a consolation if you lose. But, you figure, it’s just fun. And he’s hot. So why not.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, mirroring that grin of his.

Luca nods at you, motioning to the hallway behind him. “The deal expires soon. And now you know where to find me.” The smile returns. “So find me if you’re interested.”

And with that, your movie-star-looking, strange Frenchman saunters off down the hall, leaving you with a million questions and an American soccer player who’s gaping at you.

“That was the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mel says, staring at the now-closed doors. “I’m not even into that and… And he… And you said you’d consider getting a drink with him?”

“He made a bet with me,” you argue. “He didn’t ask me out. And even if he did, I didn’t say no.”

Mel looks at you like you’re both insane and the dumbest person alive. “I think we need to get you checked for a fucking concussion, because… what?”

“He didn’t!” you insist, suddenly doubting your own instincts. “Did he?”

The elevator stops and Mel makes a break for the doors. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

You watch helplessly as Mel walks toward your dorm, muttering things about you under her breath that you can barely hear. The second you step off the elevator to follow, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

Get some sleep, Fourteen. You’ve earned it. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

You find yourself smiling down at your phone, and for a moment, all thoughts of missed signs and Mel’s words go quiet. you too, you reply. big game tomorrow. and you know i’ll be harassing you like you did to me, so you better bring your a-game.

Before you can open your door to tuck in for the night, you get a response. I’m counting on it.

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

Returning to Chelsea is like having one foot stuck in a dream and the other in a nightmare.

On one hand, it’s nostalgic. It’s loud and boisterous and you can’t escape the blue even if you tried. The field’s in the same pristine condition as you remember and the liveliness of it all engulfs you completely. It makes you think about everything that happened here and how easy it used to be.

But, on the other hand… it makes you think about everything. Those aforementioned easier times were a precursor to your downfall, and it all started here. It was the catalyst. Somehow, this place that had been in your life for an inordinately short period of time still had the same effect on you as it did eight years ago. And when you stare out at the field, you can't help but wonder what if.

As those memories start to creep into your head, you suddenly begin to feel very hot and incredibly overwhelmed. The tunnel you’re standing in is quickly going from something familiar to something more liminal. You swear it’s getting smaller too.

But on a day like today, you know you really can’t be panicking about the past. Your team’s on the field and your coaches are waiting for you to join them. There were more pressing things that were worthy of a panic attack.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to the light emanating from the field at the end of the tunnel. You’d never talked yourself out of a panic attack at the prospect of more important panic, but at this point, you’d take what you could get. Focus on the clamminess of your hands. Focus on how bright the field is and how much it’s hurting your eyes. Focus on running through the new plays you now know like the back of your hand. 

As you walk down the tunnel and go through your maniacal little sense check, you decide to focus on something that you hear. And what you hear snaps you out of whatever state you’re in and makes it all quiet down a little bit. Because as you realize what it is you’re hearing, a very different feeling of… something takes over. 

“—HERE! HE’S THERE! HE’S EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, ROY KENT! ROY KENT! HE’S—”

It’s nostalgia. It’s dread. It’s pride. It’s irritation. It’s… so many fucking things all at once and you can’t possibly stop yourself from smiling at it. The twinge you feel pulling in your stomach stays with you as you suppress that urge. Damn it.

Despite his final years being spent at Richmond and despite his new coaching status, they still adore him. You’d jokingly called him a “Chelsea Legend” more times than you could count, but it was true. It’s what he was. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

By the time you make it to the field, Roy’s standing up from the coaches’ bench to show his thanks to the stadium. The cheer is resounding, the song continuing amongst it and you swear under your breath as that feeling lingers. 

It doesn’t go away as he turns to sit back down and meets your gaze instead. And, in typical Roy fashion, while he refused to show any emotion when thanking the city that supported him for years, a fraction of a smile makes its way onto his face when he sees you. 

(God, you hate yourself for noticing.) 

Looking away, you take another steadying breath and make your way to him and the rest of your team. The Richmond pullover you’re sporting rubs against your neck uncomfortably, but before you can fix it, you realize something: the cheers are getting louder. Confused, you look up at the jumbotron, knowing that that type of volume couldn’t possibly be for you. 

Lo and behold, it’s so not for you. It’s for Zava in the owner’s box, who’s staring at the camera like a professional wrestler, egging the crowd on. Right. Of course. Fucking Zava. You take a seat next to Roy as you stare up at the screen. 

“You think we have a chance?” you ask him, and you see him turn to you from the corner of your eye. “I’ve heard Rupert’s been putting in work there.”

Roy huffs. “Fucking twat puts in work everywhere but the things that matter,” he mutters, looking back to Zava. Your brows shoot up in agreement. “Let’s hope Zava’s not stupid enough to fucking fall for it.”

“Rupert knows how to stroke an ego,” you reply, glancing over to Jamie, who was warming up on the field, unsubtly making a very conscious effort to not look up at the screen. “He knows how to get what he wants. Speaking from experience.”

Roy scowls, and it’s a bit deeper than you were expecting. But, before you can dwell on that, he’s moving on. “You alright?” he asks. 

You know it’s meant to be casual on his part, but there’s an undertone of concern that you try to ignore. “Yeah,” you say through a sigh, hesitantly meeting his stare as you feel it boring into your cheek. You sigh again. “I’m good.” There’s a bit more conviction behind your voice this time, and it seems to satisfy him enough. “I’m nervous, but y’know. It’s a game. I’m always nervous before games.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’ve been waiting for you to throw up.”

It’s your turn to scowl now. “I only do that for big games. This is basically summer league.”

(While your sarcasm was flat, it didn’t go unnoticed. This was, in fact, a big game. Perhaps one of the biggest of your life. You’d thrown up twice today. But he didn’t need to know that.)

Roy looks unconvinced, but you’re thankful when he doesn’t press you further. “You know what to do today,” he tells you, and the assurance in his voice is palpable. 

You do know what to do today. You’ve got to prove why you were hired. Be the coach you know you can be. Get over that crippling anxiety that’s eating you alive. But instead of getting back into that, you say, “I know.”

“Fucking shook on it, too. Means you have to do it.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and slump back into your chair. “Yeah, Roy, I know. I made that rule up. I got it.” With another sigh, you say quietly, “Just let me get there.”

His eyes remain on you. You think he’s going to say something else, but before he can, Ted whistles, calling everyone to attention. As the team rounds up, you and Roy stand.

Instead of saying whatever he was about to, he offers you a nod. 

You got this, he tells you silently. 

And despite the weird, horrendous, painful nether space your relationship currently exists in, the action does make you breathe a little easier. 

You send him one back in thanks.

What doesn’t make you breathe easier, however, is the score at the end of the half. What makes it even worse, is the unprofessional, pedantic Kent Rule that Roy has placed on the team that doesn’t allow anyone to speak in front of Trent Crimm.

Roy’s arms cross over his chest as soon as the writer enters the room, your players quieting down in suit. Your head tips back in annoyance, bracing for whatever’s about to come.

But nothing happens. The team remains quiet and wildly awkward and Trent aptly reads the room. Before he can leave, however, Ted’s calling for him to stay and is asking for Roy to chat.

Roy sends you a glance, then follows his head coach to the back of the room. While the players continue their talks in hushed tones, Beard inches over to where you stand. 

“Did I see a playbook in your bag earlier?” he asks quietly, making you flinch in surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were listening in to their conversation.”

You shoot Beard a look. “I was not,” you say, even though you so totally were. “And yeah? I, uh, take that with me everywhere.”

Beard nods. “Are they your plays?”

“Most of them,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably. You hadn’t talked about that book with anyone since you coached your college girls, and anyone you had shown it to over at West Ham hadn’t given it the time of day. “Why?”

“I want to see them,” he says, shrugging at your surprised expression. “If you want to show them to someone, that is.”

A small smile pulls at your parted lips, and you nod back at him. “That’d be—”

“CRIMM!”

Roy’s voice startles you again, and this time, it gets Beard too. You both turn to see Roy walking back toward the showers, Trent hesitantly following in tow. Ted offers a small smile to both you and Beard as he returns.

“That’d be great,” you whisper to Beard, finishing your sentence. “Thank you.”

The next few minutes are just as awkward as the previous ones. No one knows exactly what to do, or how the conversation behind you is going to play out. You know how hard it is for Roy to let go of things. Forgiveness was never something he excelled at, especially when it came to more personal topics. Not that you were any better at it.

You look around the locker room, watching each of your players whisper animatedly amongst each other. You were down by one and there were no signs of giving up. Each of them knew they were still in this. Even more so, you hadn’t heard any unkind or unsupportive words spoken since you got into the room. 

Your mind takes you back to the second summer scrimmage you coached at West Ham. You were also down by one at the half, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Blame was being shoved down everyone’s throat, clinging wherever it would stick. Nathan Shelley had reprimanded three players within a minute and all of this was for a scrimmage. Nothing about that game mattered or counted. This, of course, was remedied the second you started winning, and the locker room was a wildly different place when you ended up winning by three.

While West Ham seemed to like each other, there was no sense of camaraderie there. It was nice, but nothing was kind. Richmond seemed like a family. You were starting to see that now. 

It wasn’t something you were able to embrace right now, but there was a growing piece of you that was… hopeful that you’d be able to at some point.

At that realization, you feel your body relax for a moment. Only for it to tense back up again as you’re scared for a third time, by Roy and Trent coming back to the group. As soon as he gives the green light to the team that Trent’s safe, the locker room erupts into relieved chaos.

Jamie starts shouting about the passing lanes. Sam yells out something about Chelsea’s lack of defense. More and more voices begin to speak up to offer their insight, and while they’re all on the right path, nobody’s said the right thing yet.

You can feel the words rising in your throat. Your mind continues to spin. Every thought you’d held on to, every tip you wanted to say, every nerve you had about saying the wrong thing was bubbling within you and you could feel yourself about to burst. 

No more being quiet. No more being afraid. No more being passive.

I know that you know them on the field. But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.

You can feel your hands begin to shake back and forth in anticipation of whatever it is you’re about to say. However, you don’t realize that someone’s been watching you until they step beside you.

“C’mon,” they chide, making you jump, “Fucking say it.”

You don’t have to look to know that it’s Roy, but you still turn your head. His eyes fall from yours, to your hands, then back to your face. He’s familiar enough with your tells to know what’s going on. One part of you is grateful to have that. The other part wants to kill him.

The expression you wear reads hesitance, and you’ve only got about three minutes before the team needs to head back out.

As he continues to stare at you, you can hear his voice in your head. This is your job. You signed up for this. You’re a coach. So fucking coach. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath and ball up your fists to stop the shaking. Fucking say it.

So, amidst the noise and the yelling and the bickering, you do.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The silence that takes over the locker room is immediate and deafening. Every single person stares at you in shock, jaws agape and eyes wide as if they couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. 

Every person but one. And if you were to turn and shake the sudden anxiety of having all attention on you, you’d see him smiling softly to himself, something like pride gracing his typically stoic expression.

It takes a moment before you realize they’re all waiting for you to say something. You glance over at Ted, who, while still a bit taken aback, nods at you encouragingly. 

You’ve got the floor, Coach. Let’s do it.

“You’re all right,” you begin, motioning to each of them as you speak. “Yes, Jamie, they’re blocking the passing lanes. It’s a straight-up wall once you get into the midfield. And yeah, Sam they’re not marking you guys. Because they don’t have to. You’re all just…” You search for the word, throwing a hand up when you land on, “...running around aimlessly out there because you’re trying to see what’s going to work. But you know what will?” 

They all just continue to stare at you. Whether or not it’s because nobody has an answer or because they can’t believe you’re actually talking like this, you don’t care. Because you answer for them. “You make them mark you. Force them to break down that wall. Draw them out, and then pass through the cracks,” you tell them, offering a small grin as you continue. “I know you guys. And I know it hasn’t seemed like it because I’ve been… quieter. But I know the type of team you are, and each of you are so, incredibly good at what you do. You’re way better than what you’re doing out there. Like, way better.”

Your team remains quiet, but you know they’ve snapped out of their surprised trance because they’re smiling at you. And they look on board. Your grin grows as you notice. “So, let’s go out there and start this season off right, huh?”

That gets them up and out of their seats. The boys erupt in a cheer, clapping as they gather around in a circle, each of them putting their hands in the middle. Dani’s voice echoes through the locker room as he yells, “For Coach’s first game!”

Another round of cheers follows before Ted looks over at you. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he tells you, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. “Alright. I second everything she said. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of. Okay, four on three!”

Hands go up after their chant, and the team runs out of the room with a type of energy that you’re not sure you’ve seen before. You hang back for a moment to take a breath.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you turn to see Ted smiling at you. “Nice to hear your voice, Ace,” he says, squeezing it softly. “I hope we’ll hear it some more.”

You send him a thankful smile, nodding in affirmation. “You will.”

Ted squeezes your shoulder once more, heading out behind the team. Beard nods in your direction, looking vaguely impressed in the way that only he can, before following suit. 

That leaves you and Roy in the locker room, and somehow, for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, chest heaving down as you do so. You hear Roy huff when he moves to stand next to you. 

“Well,” he says. “That was one fucking way to do it.”

“I have no idea what I said,” you tell him. “I blacked out after I yelled at everyone to shut up.”

You get a huff of a laugh out of Roy for that one. “You did fine.” He doesn’t miss your dubious look. “I’m serious. You did well.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

Roy nods, expression turning a bit more earnest. “Yeah, Fourteen. You did well.”

The nickname makes a lump form in your throat, and it takes everything in you to ignore it. It’d been a while since you’d heard that one like this. It settles like cement in your stomach and you wish you could shake the feeling. He keeps his gaze on yours until you blink away, focusing on anything but him.

“Thanks,” you manage. Again, because he’s being nice, you suppose you can be too. “And, uh… thanks for pushing me. To do that, I mean.”

Roy nods, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” you say again. You hold his stare for one more second before returning his nod, the tension in the air easing within the moment. “Let’s go win a game, Coach.”

You don’t see the way Roy hides a smile as you turn to exit, the reflexive words of ‘not your coach’ on his tongue. But, he bites them back because, well… he is a coach. And so are you.

And as strange as all of this has been for the last week, it hasn't actually felt real to him until now. You’re here. You’re here and working with him and you’re not going anywhere.

The idea of it doesn’t make Roy panic as much as he thought it would.

(Though, unfortunately, that idea is what gets Roy to freak out. But he figures he’s got a bit of time to work that one out.)

LONDON OLYMPICS. (EARLY AUGUST, 2012)

“You ever date a swimmer?”

It’s a question you pose to Roy seemingly out of the blue in the middle of one of your many footwork drills of the night. It was all he’d wanted to focus on for tonight’s training session, especially with your quarter-final game against New Zealand on Friday. While the idea of practicing again tomorrow was still up in the air, Roy had insisted on this practice being solely about fixing up what he viewed as your one weakness.

Roy looks up from your feet in confusion. “What?”

“Have you ever dated a swimmer?” you repeat, enunciating your words in a mildly obnoxious manner. “Perhaps a French person? But any swimmer will do.”

He’s still staring at you like you have three heads. “The fuck are you on about?”

You throw your hands up in a shrug. “I’m just asking. I find it hard to believe that amongst the slew of hook-ups I’ve read about, you haven’t slept with a swimmer.”

Those furrowed brows raise in interest at your statement. “Oh, you’ve read about those?”

Your eyes roll. “So not the point of what I was saying. Answer my question.”

“Foxtrot,” he says, watching you look at him in surprise. “Now shut the fuck up and finish your drills.”

“You really want to use our newly-established one Foxtrot of the hour on a simple topic like this?” you question.

Apparently, he doesn’t. “No, I haven’t dated a swimmer,” he finally tells you, exasperated. He glances down at your feet. “Stay on your toes. That fucking left foot of yours is always fucking flat.” Still staring at your feet and ignoring the way you roll your eyes, he inquires, “Why the fuck are you asking? And why do they have to be French?”

“I think I got asked out by one yesterday,” you say. Roy’s gaze meets yours with a speed that nearly makes you stumble in the middle of your drill. “But I can’t tell if he was being a weird little jerk or if he’s just French.”

While his lips twitch up at the last part of your statement, he seems more stuck on the first. “You think you were asked out?”

“Okay, it was strange,” you reply, sounding a tad defensive and slightly breathless. “He was kind of like, negging me? Which, you know, I’m now used to because I started hanging out with you.” Roy shoots you a look, but you carry on anyway. “But he was all, ‘oh yeah, you’re good. But not as good as the French team.’ And then he was like, ‘how about this, if France beats you guys, you have to buy me a drink. But if you win, I’ll buy you one.’ So, I’m kind of confused.” You stop your footwork as Roy’s stopwatch goes off and you take a moment to catch your breath. “And I’m honest enough to admit that I was only entertaining it because he was hot, but I truly can’t tell if he’s flirting with me and asking me out because he thinks we’ll win, or if he’s trying to get free drinks out of me because he thinks we’ll lose.”

“He was asking you out,” Roy says bluntly, continuing to look unimpressed. “He did a fucking horrendous job of it, but yeah. He’s interested.”

You nod, absorbing this for a second before throwing your hands up. “Why do guys do that?” 

“Do what?” he asks. “Ask girls out?”

Your expression quickly matches his. “Yes, exactly. I’d love for you to explain what happens when a man loves a woman, Roy,” you deadpan, biting back a smile as you see one grow on his lips. “No, dickhead. Why do guys think that… that’s the way to ask someone out? Like, I love a little banter as much as the next girl, but you gotta be good at it. And if you’re not good at it…” You shrug. “I don’t know. If you’re bad at flirting, you’re bad at flirting. That’s okay. That just means you’ve just gotta be direct with how you’re feeling.”

There’s a brief moment where Roy seems to consider this, but shakes his head soon after. “Some don’t know how.”

“Well, they should take classes from you or something,” you reply. “Because you’re the most direct guy I know.”

Roy’s scowl deepens. “Thanks.”

“That’s a compliment,” you say, pointing at him. His expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious. I appreciate it. You’re never afraid to tell me shit. It’s admirable.” A wry grin spreads across your face. “Flirting with you must be a three-sentence interaction.”

He casts his eyes up to the night sky. “Fuck’s sake, you’re on one tonight.”

“No, I’m curious. How do you do it?” you press with raised brows. “You told me when we met that if you were trying to ‘chat me up,’ I’d know it. So, c’mon. How does the magic happen?”

Though you were sure that it was impossible, Roy somehow looks even less impressed. “Foxtrot,” he all but snaps at you, making a low noise at the way you crush your lips together to hold back a laugh. “And I’m fucking serious about it this time. Using my one for the hour, or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, honoring your established rule with a surrender. “You don’t want to waste your succinct flirting charms on me, I get it. I won’t push you.”

Roy scoffs under his breath, fidgeting with his stopwatch. “They wouldn’t be.”

The words make you pause. “What?”

The stopwatch in his hand beeps as he finishes fiddling with the buttons. “You said they’d be wasted on you.” His eyes flick up to catch yours. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t be a waste.”

He speaks so casually that you almost don’t know what to do. You can’t tell what he means. Would his efforts not be a waste because he… likes you? That he wouldn’t even try if he wasn’t interested? Or is he just so confident in his abilities that he thinks he could get you that easily? That he could turn it on within minutes and make you rethink your entire, weird little friendship that you’ve started over this week? Because, to your knowledge, Roy hasn’t shown any sort of sign that he’s interested in you.

Or has he? Was Mel right again? Have you been reading this situation wrong? Was his bickering and negging his strange way of trying to flirt with you? Getting in your ear during drills? Texting you during games? Calling you an anomaly?

You nearly shake the thought out of your head. He’s Roy Kent. He’s quite literally known for being stoic, for his confrontational personality, and for his hotheaded tendencies. You’ve seen all of those traits since you started training together and nothing’s tipped you off that it could be anything more than friendly. Or whatever his version of friendly is.

You’ve also seen the kinds of women he dates. They’re actresses, singers, models, heiresses-- rich London elite. The shitty little one-bedroom you’ve got back home cries out in shame in the back of your mind. The Team USA Nike campaign that you were barely a part of for the World Cup taunts you. Actress, singer, model, and heiress you were not.

You’re not sure if he sees the look of confusion on your face, but you turn away before you can confirm anything. “Right,” you say, drawing the word out slightly. You kick the ball you’d almost forgotten about toward him. “Anyway. I’m bored of these drills. I need to do something else or I’ll go insane.”

Roy receives your pass, placing his foot on top of the ball with a quirked brow. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he attempts to gauge your reaction, momentarily throwing you off. “When have you ever had a say about what goes on in these sessions?”

“Well, never. But I think that says more about your coaching style than it does about anything else, despot.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. He’s found that it’s something he tends to do frequently when you’re around. “I told you that footwork’s the only thing we’re working on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored,” you repeat. “Don’t you have like… I don’t know. Games we can play?”

“Games?” he parrots. He almost sounds offended. “What, are you five years old?”

You completely ignore his comment and gasp, pointing at him. “Let’s play knockout.”

“Again, I ask, are you fucking five years old?”

You look at him, pouting as you slouch over. “C’mon,” you practically whine. “It’s totally a footwork drill. But it’s fun. And it’s better than you just standing there menacingly with a stopwatch like you’re Frankie Dunn.”

Roy looks at you, then hesitates. “You’re a terrible fucking negotiator.”

That moment of hesitation lets you know that you’ve almost got him. While you may be a terrible negotiator, you’re something else: observant. The thing you’ve learned about Roy is that he physically can’t back down from a challenge. You know that there’s something ironic in that, but you figure that’s why you two have worked together so well so far.

So, your eyes narrow and you allow yourself to step forward to do just that; challenge him. “And you’ve got South Korea in a couple days. From what I saw last night, you need the practice.”

Roy’s head tilts, the beginnings of a dangerous smile twisting the corners of his lips. “Is that right?”

“I recall a lost possession toward the end of the first half that easily could have been avoided,” you say, sticking your leg out to kick the ball out from beneath his foot. The faux passive tone you’ve taken on nearly dissolves at the way his eyes darken. “For the amount that Chelsea's Finest goes on and on about footwork, you’d think he’d be better at it.”

Something between you two shifts the second those words leave your mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you (or continues to look at you, God, you don’t think he’s blinked yet) or if it’s your new proximity, but things feel completely different from when you started. The stare you’re holding is charged. It’s not just a challenge anymore— there’s something else there. It makes your mind whirl.

Roy’s voice is low when he asks, “What would you have done differently?”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it offers you a reason to look away from his piercing gaze, take a breath, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “Crossed my mark up a little. Probably would have sent it up the field. Your striker was practically begging to be passed to.” You glance back up at him, with a smile that borders on teasing. “Definitely wouldn’t have hit my mark as hard as you did when you lost the ball.”

“He fucking dove,” is his response, sounding only slightly annoyed. But, when he sees you chuckle, he comes back to, “Who was open upfield?”

His question is genuine, like he’s actually interested in hearing your answer. “I don’t know. Didn’t recognize him. I think he’s a rookie,” you reply with yet another shrug. “But if you led him a little bit, he would have been open.” Roy’s brow draws as he hums something affirmative. When you realize he’s actually thinking about the play, considering what you’re saying, you can’t help but throw in, “Plays like that happen when you’re thinking ahead, Coach.”

Your tone has Roy glaring down at you, and you can feel the look sear through you. “And the goal that happened immediately after that was all instinct.”

“Maybe,” you say noncomittally. "But it could have been better if you all had thought ahead."

That tension between you shifts again, but this time, it’s in a way you’re really not expecting. When Roy looks back at you, there’s something disbelieving in his eyes. As if he can’t figure you out. But it’s also something almost… fond. “You really watched the game last night.”

It’s a question that comes out sounding like a statement. You’re not sure why he looks so surprised or why the emotional state of this conversation keeps going back and forth, but you say the only thing you can think to: the truth.

“You watch mine,” you reply as if the answer was obvious. “And believe it or not, I like watching you play.” Roy blinks at you, obviously not expecting that. For good measure, you add, “Being on the field actually gives you a reason to be a dick, so.”

That same searing stare returns, and it fixates on you long enough to make you itch. You don’t break it, but you rock back and forth on your heels, thinking for a second, maybe you said the wrong thing. Maybe it was a little too real, or a little too friendly.

But before you can sweat it too much, Roy dips his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, fine. One round of knockout, you fucking child.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Yeah. Get the ball. Let’s go.”

You beam at him, running to go grab the ball you’d kicked away from him previously. When you turn back, you find he’s moving to get his own. “If I’d known you’re this easily swayed by flattery, I would have started being way nicer to you earlier.”

“Don’t push it,” he calls out. Despite the fact he’s not facing you, you can picture the look on his face. “And don’t be fucking nice to me. I want to see you pissed.”

“But we’re playing knockout,” you say, as he turns and kicks his football in your direction. “How can I be pissed?”

Roy smirks. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can too. But why do you want me pissed?”

“Because you play better when you’ve got something to prove,” he tells you. Then, he shrugs. “That, and… well, I wasn’t lying.” 

You scrunch your brow. “About what?”

“It’s a good fucking look on you,” he says, meeting your gaze once more. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

Oh. Right, right, right. Totally. Ignoring the way that that makes your cheeks go warm, you reply, “Well, like you said. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

That’s when Roy smiles at you. It’s accompanied by a chuckle and while it’s not a full grin, it’s something warm and mildly sweet. However, for the first time, you’re stuck by how good he looks. You’d always thought he was good-looking, but you’d never been attracted to him. But for some reason, right here, right now, some switch has flipped. 

The realization churns your stomach and makes you physically look away from him. “C’mon, let’s play,” you say, hoping your forced nonchalance hides anything you’re currently feeling. “I like watching you lose.”

Roy huffs, sounding just a bit incredulous. “Whatever you say.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

You walk away from the Chelsea pitch with a tie. And frankly, you’ll take it.

You’ve never seen a team more excited about a draw. They’re rowdy as they gather back into the locker room, and you feel a hint of a grin rising as you watch them from the hall. The petty part of your brain again has you comparing what this would have been like if you still worked at West Ham. Shelley would have berated your players (and likely his coaching staff) about how pathetic a draw was. West Ham was the superior team of the league, after all. Their record had to show for it.

It’s then that a sudden realization comes crashing down on you. Fuck. West Ham. PR. You have to do press with Ted.

As if he could hear his name rattling around in your mind, your head coach steps in beside you. He nudges your elbow with his. “You alright there, Ace?”

You nod quickly, like that’ll hide the panic you know is written across your face. “Yeah, Coach. I’m alright.”

When he folds his hands behind his back, you know he isn’t buying what you’re selling. “You still okay to do this with me?” he asks, motioning to the press room down the hall.

“I’ve done press before,” you reply, though your mildly defensive tone tells him that you’re not certain if you’re assuring him or yourself. At the way he dips his head, you sigh in defeat. “I’ve done this before. Just… never at this level. Or for these reasons.”

Ted nods in understanding. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“And I’ll be there beside you the whole time. I can take over whenever you need me to.” He nudges you again. “I ain’t too bad with all this press stuff. And I’m more than happy to make a fool of myself if it gets too tough. Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

That gets you to look up at him wearily. “I’m scared to know what that means.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t think we’ll get there,” he says, earning a chuckle from you in response. A beat passes before he looks at you again. “You ready?”

A long, sharp sigh exits your body. When you inhale, you turn back to him. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Let’s go quiet ‘em all down.”

You surprise yourself with an involuntary smile, but it gives you the confidence to follow him.

The press room is abuzz as you approach it and they get even more lively when you enter. You can hear your name being said from every direction and the chaos makes your hands shake. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. You used to be good at these. It’s part of being a coach. You wanted this. You know how to do this.

Ted, who’s been leading the way, steps out to allow you to go up the stairs first. You clasp your hands together as you walk up, praying that this isn’t the moment your feet choose to fail you and make you trip. Luckily, you avoid disaster and make your way to the further of the two chairs on stage.

You look out into the sea of reporters, eye each of the cameras, and continue to play with your fingers as if it’s the answer to calming your nerves. You don’t realize things have gotten started until you hear Ted’s voice.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he greets the room, and you can’t help but envy how easily the words come out. “Afternoon everyone. What have you got for us today?” All hands in the room immediately go up, each reporter’s eyes shifting from you, to Ted, then back to you. Everyone’s got the same question on their minds. Everyone, except the guy that Ted picks, apparently. “Yeah, Alec. What do you got for us?”

Alec The Reporter stands. “How are we feeling about starting the season with a draw, Coach?”

Thank you, Alec, for starting with the easy question. “Well, I mean, I think we both would have liked a win,” Ted replies, looking over at you. You try your best at a smile and nod along. “But we’re proud of our boys. They turned it around after that first half, due mostly to the insight of our new coach over here. So, I think we’re feeling good about this start.” 

Alec sits down, satisfied with the answer. Before Ted calls on the next reporter, he glances at you. You nod once. You’re ready.

Ted points at a blonde woman toward the back of the room. “Sarah, how are we doing?”

Sarah The Reporter stands now. “Very well, thank you.” Her attention is immediately on you. “Coach,” she says, addressing you. “How was your first game with Richmond?”

Easing it into it, are we? You clear your throat and keep that smile plastered on your face. You can practically hear Roy yelling from the locker room for you to loosen up. “Not echo Coach Lasso, but I’m feeling good. Definitely would have liked a win, but it’s not a loss.”

You don’t think you could have given a more generic, neutral answer if you had tried. Maybe simply answering with ‘good’ would have been worse, but you doubt it. Sarah’s not done with you. “I was more referencing the dynamics of the team in your first game. The culture, if you will.”

Then come right out and say that then, don’t be weird and coy. You fight back a scowl and in doing so, your grin cracks slightly. The phrasing isn’t lost on you. Dynamics. Culture. They’re all words Rupert used just days ago. Stick to the script. Talking points. Don’t let them bait you.

“The Richmond culture’s definitely different,” you reply, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word. To save yourself, you add, “But I think that’s to be expected when coaching Men's sports. Bit of a different world over here.” You offer a shrug, hoping your smile returns to what it was. “I’m very grateful to the Richmond team and staff for welcoming me with open arms into the warm environment they’ve created.”

You hope Rebecca and Keeley are somewhere cheering you on. That was sweet, neutral, and non-confrontational. Everything you wanted to be. Everything you should be in this line of questioning.

Ted nods at Sarah, cueing her to sit down. He points to a reporter in the front. “Marcus, yeah.”

It’s Marcus The Reporter’s turn to stand. And he comes out swinging. “No use in beating around the bush,” he says, eyes on you. “Do you have any response to Rupert Mannion’s comments about you and your tenure at West Ham?”

This is it. You feel Ted’s foot nudge yours encouragingly as you nod at Marcus and take a breath. Just as rehearsed. You got this.

“There’s not much to say that Mr. Mannion hasn’t already,” you answer slowly. “Unfortunately, some things like that just don’t work out. I too was not happy with the note that we ended on and wish it could have worked out our differences. But that’s all it was. Differences. There aren’t any hard feelings or any sort of bad blood between us. West Ham is a great team that I was honored to be a part of for the time that I was allowed. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic season and can’t wait to meet them in a couple of weeks.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when you finish, thankful that that’s fucking done. The lies don’t sit right on your tongue and feel as though they’re rotting your teeth, but you don’t care. You got it all out, didn’t slip up or trip up, and can hopefully put this to bed.

However, unfortunately for you, Marcus doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Because he’s got a follow-up question you’re not at all prepared for. “And what of Tom MacDonald’s recent comments?”

The world stops. It comes to a complete, emergency-braked fucking halt and you feel as though someone’s punched you in the stomach. You feel like you’ve been ambushed, but you know that if you could have been prepared for this, you would have been. This must have happened today. Perhaps, even moments before this. You can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of your face almost immediately.

He… made comments? He spoke about you?

You can feel your throat constricting, but manage to get a couple words out in a relatively neutral-sounding tone. “I’m not sure what comments you’re referring to.”

“In his post-game interview about a half-hour ago,” Marcus says, glancing down at his notes to read. “He said, quote, ‘My best wishes are to Miss USA and her new Richmond team. I hope she finds her place with them, as I don’t think she ever really found hers here. But, you know, I guess you can’t really know until you really try to get to know the lads in the locker room and in the Coaches' Offices, huh?’”

Your breath’s been stolen from you. You can feel your nose and eyes start to burn as you stare Marcus down, steeling the look on your face. Refusing to show any type of emotion or reaction to that, you gather yourself.

What a fucking prick. What an absolute, horrendously evil, fucking asshole he is. You can imagine the look on his face when he said that. The smarmy fucking smile that accompanied it, the casual nonchalance of which he spewed that last part out with. You want to burn him. You want to destroy his life, his career, everything. The audacity he was to even bring up the locker room and the… 

You feel physically ill. You could throw up on the spot, but there’s something in you that’s keeping you from doing so. As the silence in the room festers, you feel Ted’s foot tap against yours again.

Do you need me to make a fool of myself? His eyes ask as you meet them. 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can do this. You’ve done this before. You used to be good at these. Don’t let him get to you like this. Don’t let either of them win.

You know you won’t come forward with what happened. You can’t. But you weren’t going to sit on your hands anymore. You wouldn’t be neutral anymore. Neutral. That was the word of the day. 

Fuck the word.

You allow another moment of silence to pass before you blink and refocus on Marcus. “I…” you begin, collecting yourself. You can feel the anger rise within you and you know it shows in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that. “I do, actually.”

(Somewhere in the Chelsea facilities, Rebecca Walton and Roy Kent are glued to different TVs broadcasting your conference. Rebecca’s unsure if she should be praying that you’ll tear West Ham apart or writhing in fear at the idea of what’s about to come out of your mouth. Roy, however, clocked the look in your eye immediately and can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this big.)

“As I said previously,” you start, straightening your back with a new, harder, more confident tone, “I’m also disappointed with the way that things ended between me and my former team. I also wish things could have been different and that I could have found my place. However, Mr. Mannion was correct when he assumed that I experienced a bit of a culture shock when I joined the club. However, I can’t blame anyone or anything for that but my own expectations for what I assumed AFC Football was going to be.” You offer a smaller, slightly more pleasant grin to the reporters and cameras. “But I can confirm that Richmond has met all of those aforementioned expectations within my first week. I’m excited to continue my journey with them and can’t wait to see where we go this season.”

Hands immediately fly up in response to your answer, follow-up questions galore. You glance over at Ted for a moment (who looks like he’s unsure whether he should be proud of you or sweating this), then suddenly find that a group of people are being ushered into the press room. You eyes lock with the man in the center, and he stares right back at you with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve seen before. Zava.

“And on that note,” you say, quieting everyone down. Relief washes over you now that you have an excuse to leave the room, “I think we’ve run out of time for questions concerning me. We’ve got something much more important to cover.”

When they all see that you’re referring to Zava, the room erupts into even more chaos. You couldn’t possibly be out of your chair faster, ready to make a break for it, and run to the bathroom. Ted’s on your heels as you exit, running in front of you to stop you as you make it to the hall.

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” he says with a soft laugh. “Runnin’ out of there faster than Tom Cruise in— well, any of the Mission Impossible movies, I guess.” You don’t meet his eye, or offer him any sort of pity laugh, something he catches immediately. “You alright, Ace?”

“Yeah,” you say shortly. God, you don’t want to cry in front of your head coach. “I’m good.”

He sees right through you. God, why is everyone at Richmond so fucking in touch with other people’s emotions? “Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe something I should know about—”

“No.” It’s a conversation ender and Ted steps back from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing less than to deal with this right now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” With a deep breath, you move away from him. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your help in there, Coach. And thank you for a wonderful first week.”

You even don’t hear what Ted has to say in response to that before you’re beelining for the bathroom and locking yourself in a stall, finally allowing the tears that had been welling in your eyes to fall.

Zava announces that he'll be joining Richmond and thirty minutes, later you find yourself in a 'Coaches Group Chat' reading a message from Ted.

After you'd collected yourself, you had the full intention of pretending like everything was normal. You refused to let him win or get the better of your emotions, or fucking... whatever. So, the second you received that text, you immediately signed yourself up for whatever Ted wanted you to do. 

Coaches’ Celebration at Crown and Anchor, the text from him reads. Be there or be square.

However, apparently, you’re the only one who’s concerned with being square, because none of your fellow coaches have shown up yet. There’s a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner, yelling things at the screen every few minutes. You see a couple who are throwing darts at the end of the bar. There’s a lone man with a pint at the hightop by the door, texting away on his phone. But Ted, Beard, and Roy were nowhere to be found.

The bartop’s nearly abandoned, so you choose a seat in the middle, making sure to reserve three extras. When the woman behind the bar turns to serve you, you can tell she immediately recognizes you, and the smile she offers is warm.

“Good showing today,” she tells you. Then, she shrugs. “Would have liked a win.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You and me both.”

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door. “Um, I’m meeting people here. I—”

“Oh. Right. That’s tonight,” she says, with a knowing look in her eye. Your brow scrunches. “When he gets here, call me over. My name’s Mae.”

Before you can question that cryptic fucking sentence or correct her and let her know that you’re meeting people (plural) here, the pub door opens. Roy walks through, nodding once he sees you.

He grabs the stool to your left. “Nice press conference today,” he says in greeting, taking a seat. 

The teasing note in his voice makes you scowl. “Shut up. I was nervous.”

“I liked the part where you called Rupert a lying prick who needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s not even close to what I said.”

Roy chuckles. “You might as well have. That was a media-trained ‘fuck you’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

God, you could really use that drink now. “I wasn’t even trained for that one,” you admit sheepishly. ”I literally don’t know where that came from. I was like, possessed by some bitchy politician or something.”

“She’d have my vote.”

“She shouldn’t. She’d start a global thermonuclear war because someone implied that she was difficult to work with.” You make a face at Roy as he chuckles. “Besides, I don’t think a Roy Kent endorsement would do her any favors.”

“Probably not,” Roy agrees. “Only person I’ve ever endorsed was you, and look where we are.”

You roll your eyes, casting them to the door. “Oh, my God. Okay, where are Ted and Beard?”

“They’re not coming,” a voice says as they round the bar. Mae stands before you once more, wiping her hands on a rag. 

You and Roy stare at her. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” you ask.

“I mean, they’re not coming,” Mae repeats matter-of-factly. Confusion takes over your expression. “They lured you two here and I’ve been given a ridiculous amount of money to keep you here until the two of you…” She glances down at her phone. “Fix your issues and…” Mae squints at the text she’s reading from. “...’Have whatever conversation you’ve been tiptoeing around.’”

By the time Mae looks up, you’re gaping at her and Roy’s already out of his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” you say faintly, praying that she’ll answer yes.

You have no such luck. “I’m not.”

“Fuck this,” Roy mutters. “I’m not getting fucking trapped at a fucking pub with you on a Sunday night because our stupid fucking team doesn’t understand fucking boundaries.”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction he’s looking to leave. “I second that. No offense, you seem lovely,” you tell Mae, “but I’m not staying here.”

“Unfortunately, you are,” Mae responds, nodding to the man who was sitting alone at the hightop, who stands up to block the door. He’s got to be the tallest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s built. You have no idea where he came from, but the sight of him alone gives you pause.

Roy’s on that same wavelength because he stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “This is fucking insane,” he says, looking back over to Mae.

“I agree,” she says, then nods to the window. “Take it up with them.”

You follow Mae’s line of sight to see Ted and Beard, sharing a pair of binoculars to stare at the two of you When they realize they’ve been spotted, Beard slowly removes the binoculars from his eyes and glares at Roy. Ted at least offers the dignity of a pity wave.

“Whatever they’re paying you,” you begin. “Roy will double it.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I will?”

“Yes. You will.”

“Why the fuck am I the one paying? We’ve got the same fucking salary now.”

You whip around in your seat to glare at him, exasperation in your voice as you say, “Oh, my God, you played in the AFC for twenty years. I was in women’s sports for thirteen. We’re not even close to the same tax bracket.”

Roy considers this for approximately two seconds, then turns back to Mae. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll fucking double it.”

Mae shrugs, clearly not budging. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Kent,” she replies. Then, she motions to the clock on the wall. “I’ve promised to keep you here for at least an hour. What you do after that is none of my business.”

As Mae walks away, you stare at the bartop, truly unable to accept that this is happening in your present reality. There’s no way you’re doing this— no way that Roy’s doing this. This is fucking ridiculous, it’s wildly unprofessional, and—

—And Roy’s sitting down. You slowly raise your head to watch him pull out the barstool, slump into the chair, and put his face in his hands as if he can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. 

He’s giving in. He’s not putting up a fight. He’s obeying the wishes of his friends, he’s resigned to the cause, he’s… he’s putting himself in a position to have the conversation you two have been dreading since you began at Richmond.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is really happening.

You glance back over to the window where Beard stands, and he lowers his binoculars when he sees you looking. He sends you a simple, affirmative nod, raising the device to his eyes once more. 

“I assume you’ll be needing those drinks now,” Mae says from the end of the bar, two pint glasses in her hands.

You don’t think you or Roy have ever said ‘yes’ faster.

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