#because keeley wanted to and the guys wanted him to be there

[jamiesfootball]

Always lowkey simmering a Leverage AU in the back of my head hear me out:

Ted is an ex-insurance investigator who was able to get his son life-saving medical treatment because his first, original Crime Pal Beard was like ‘Ted if your company doesn’t come through with the coverage, we’re doing things my way.’

The company did not come through. The company did let him go due to suspicion of Ted’s involvement in the incident, but Ted will happily remind folks that no charges were formally pressed. Henry is alive and healthy and living with Michelle, who divorced Ted shortly thereafter (not just because of pre-existing marital problems, but because Ted wouldn’t tell her anything about why the doctors “””suddenly decided to do the procedure for free”””). Shortly thereafter, Ted fled the country.

What Ted learned from the whole experience is that there’s a lot of people out there, good people just trying to live by the rules, but sometimes things happen that are just out of their control. And well- if we’ve got the means to help the good people out when no one else will, then shouldn’t we try?

“We’ve got means,” Beard agrees. “And motives.”

They do things Beard’s way now.

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

.

[ivystitches]

the more i think about the ted lasso series finale the more upset i get

[benedictscanvas]

If you’re still taking requests, I have an idea that’s been PLAGUING me in the best way possible: Jamie meets reader and she doesn’t know him at first and then maybe a few dates later she’s like “omg you were on that shitty reality show” like she does not pay attention to football at all idk I just thought it would be cute 🩵🩵 I absolutely adore your writing 😊

i love it when an idea is plaguing. thank you for being so lovely in your request, i appreciate it and you so very much <3 ALSO i ended up playing dnd unexpectedly yesterday, so another drabble tonight and then a new chapter of be still, my foolish heart tomorrow!! | 1.4k words, tw language

You're sat in the Crown and Anchor for what will now be your sixth date. Jamie swears that it's your seventh, and that your first date was actually when the two of you stood on the doorstep of your house for three hours before you finally realised how long you'd been chatting.

You'd been assembling a swing in the garden out front of your house and Jamie happened to be walking by. He stopped to ask if you needed any help and that was it. It was eleven o'clock when he finally went on his way with your number written on a piece of paper that he clutched in his fist.

But it couldn't be a date, you'd say, because he hadn't kissed you when he left. Realistically, you just enjoyed the scrunched up face he made when you playfully argued with him about it, but he didn't need to know that yet.

You were meeting his friends for the first time. It felt early, but Jamie insisted how fun they were and that after you'd met them, the two of you would be able to hang out way more because you could come and visit him at work. You weren't sure why you'd have to meet them here first, but he said it would all make sense.

Nothing about this made sense, because you were currently the only ones in the pub, stuffed into a corner booth. Jamie's thigh brushed yours as he jiggled it, seemingly as full of nervous energy as you.

"Why is no one else here, Jamie?" you whispered, lest the woman behind the bar who looked not to be messed with heard you, "Is something going on?"

"Oh, I jus' booked it out," he says nonchalantly. You gape at him. It had always been clear he had some money, but never this much. Your first thought was the fact that he'd only ever been to your house, never you to his. Granted, it had only been three times so far anyway, but still.

"Are you like...rich-rich?" you ask tentatively, then carry on talking before he can answer, "That sounds terrible, oh god, you don't have to answer that. I don't care either way, you know, I just like-"

"Y/N, babe," he interrupts you, squeezing you into his side, "I know what y' getting at. I'm pretty loaded, I'm not gonna lie, but I didn't want y' to know until I was sure about ya."

Jamie was sure about you? That was news to you. You were a little nervous about how early it was to be sure, but it wasn't as if you weren't sold on him too. You were practically besotted with the man really, even if you were hesitant to tell him.

As if he could read the surprise on your face, he opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted-

"Hey! We're not late, are we?"

There were a few men congregating at the doorway, and the woman at the bar waved them in, greeting them like they were old friends. There were far more people than you'd expected, around ten men and two women crowding into the pub. There was no way all of you would fit around this corner booth.

You crammed any anxiety to the bottom of your stomach and stood up to greet everyone.

"Hi! I'm Y/N, it's so lovely to meet all of you!"

"What the fuck guys?"

Jamie's interjection cut your introductions short, just as you were about to hug the man closest to you who was beaming until Jamie spoke up and ruined his mood.

"I invited Isaac, Colin and Keeley. What are you all doing here?"

They had the decency to look a little sheepish. So that was why Jamie hadn't warned you that there would be 12 of them.

"We all wanted to come and meet the girl you've been droning on about for weeks, bruv," one man chimed in, "We tried drawing straws but it just turned into a huge fucking argument. So here we are. Trust me, mate, like 30 of us wanted to come, so count yourself lucky."

"I didn't fuckin' invite 30 of ya!" he exclaimed, winding a protective hand around your waist. Rather than being intimidated, you now felt incredibly touched that Jamie had been talking about you enough that his friends wanted to meet you so badly, "Did you lot even think about how overwhelming y' might be? Fuckin' idiots."

"Oi! We're on our best fucking behaviour, Tartt. Stop moping and introduce us, you prick."

Okay, so that was definitely Roy. You'd heard at least a little bit about him, that he was sort of a friend/mentor of Jamie's but quite...harsh. That definitely wasn't the word Jamie had used, but it worked.

"Okay! Fuckin' hell, right then..."

And he went around the group. They all pulled chair up to the few tables surrounding yours but didn't crowd you too much. There was Isaac, the one who'd explained things when they came in, Colin and Keeley, of course, who you fell in love with instantly. One group who sat slightly separately were Rebecca, Roy, Ted and Beard who all seemed significantly older than Jamie to be his mates, but you didn't want to question it when everyone was being so nice.

"So, we haven't seen you, so that must mean you've been watching this one on the telly, right?"

Rebecca gestures to Jamie with a warm smile, but when you turn to him, confused, he looks like a deer in the headlights.

"On the telly? In what?"

Rebecca looks suitably shocked now, staring from Jamie to you and back to Jamie.

"She doesn't...?"

Jamie hangs his head and you're left even more confused. You're left staring at the side of his face until it hits you: you'd never connected the dots before but now Rebecca had mentioned TV and you were looking right at him...

"Oh my god!" you exclaim suddenly, making everyone around the table jump, even though the younger lads weren't paying any attention, "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

He looks thoroughly guilty.

"Look, Y/N, I jus' wanted to get to know y' without-"

You weren't finished though, still babbling away to yourself as you stared at him, imagining him as he was when you'd seen him through the screen.

"I mean, it wouldn't have changed anything! Not once you'd helped me, but I suppose if I'd realised maybe I would have been more wary of you. You were terrible on that show! All my friends hated you, and I guess I did too, although I still had a bit of a crush, I can't lie-"

You trailed off when you saw the expressions on everyone's faces. The silence was only broken when Roy burst into loud laughter, throwing his head back in a way you guessed was rare for him.

"You know me...from reality TV?" Jamie said, enunciating every syllable and looking at you in terror. You smiled at him easily, reaching up to push a stray hair back from his face.

"Can't believe I didn't realise it, but yeah. Changes nothing for me, you know. It was a couple years ago right? No more dating shows on the horizon for you?"

If you'd realised this immediately, yes you would have been more on your guard. But you didn't, he was clearly very ashamed of his time on there and you were already falling for him and how fucking nice he was to you. Like every move he made was deliberate. It actually made a lot of sense now, if he had a past to make up for.

It took him a few moments of processing, but he was able to pull you into a side and plant a long, lingering kiss on your forehead eventually.

"No more dating shows," he said, full of relief, "Also, I'm a Premier League footballer, since you've taken that one so well."

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

"You're a what?!"

Roy's laugh echoes long into your night, as do the laughs of the rest of Jamie's friends, or teammates as you quickly come to know them. Jamie's more relaxed than he's ever been with you and yeah, you can get why he was sure about this now.

[its-time-to-write]

how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3

I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂

I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!

smile at me

It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?

Or something. 

Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam. 

“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”

“It’s literally my job,” you told him. 

Apparently, that didn’t matter. 

But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once. 

It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look. 

Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge. 

“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”

Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around. 

The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle. 

“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”

Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”

You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”

“He broke up with me.”

Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”

You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all. 

“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues. 

You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”

Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included. 

“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”

A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani. 

As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.

—

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.

You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”

The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”

Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening. 

“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump. 

“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain. 

Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown. 

“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say. 

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”

You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,” and he shakes his head. 

“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”

“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.

“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”

Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”

You laugh and follow him to the elevator.

—

It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively. 

Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.

“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”

It’s not a problem. 

Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain. 

But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.

He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman. 

Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back. 

“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”

You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver. 

“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce. 

You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring. 

—

“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm. 

“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.

You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair. 

“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.

“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”

You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.

The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.

—

Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.) 

So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life. 

And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him. 

So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel. 

You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.

—

Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired. 

You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking. 

“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”

You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments. 

—

You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you. 

“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep. 

You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night. 

Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved. 

Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”

You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”

Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”

You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”

“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”

Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green. 

Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips. 

“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.

It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter. 

It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.

The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”

“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”

Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”

“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”

“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning. 

“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”

“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”

“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”

You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”

Jamie shoots up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”

You grin as you climb onto his lap. 

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Cruel Summer

no rules in breakable heaven

Pairing: Jaime Tartt x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ - smut(f receiving oral, other implied nonsense, cursing

Word Count: 5.5k

Author’s Note: clearly I’ve gotten caught up in the babygirl wave, my lovely wife @andr0medafallen helped me immensely and I love her. Also I’m just a slutty little virgin so I can’t be held accountable for any inaccuracies

Conversations are swirling around you, music is blasting from a building down the street, you’re keenly aware of the blood pumping in your veins, and you need a goddamn break.

You loved spending time with Keeley, you really did, but it’s hot and muggy outside, and this is the fifth party you’d been to in the past week. Tonight, at least, is with the Richmond boys, and not some friend of a friend of Keeley’s where all you do is stand in the corner and drink by yourself. Keeley, ever the social butterfly, is off chatting with Rebecca and Leslie, giving you the opportunity to focus on not losing your mind.

It’s strange, to feel so simultaneously alive and asleep, and you could swear you can feel the air buzzing in your ears. You simultaneously want to go to bed and to stay awake for the rest of the night, it’s like your mind can’t figure out what it needs.

And then Jamie’s walking over to you and the world comes back into focus.

The two of you aren’t very close, connected mostly through your separate friendships with Keeley, but from what you’ve heard from her and from the internet, he seems to be turning over a new leaf. Though, there was a part of you that enjoyed his bad boy attitude, even when he was a bit of a dick.

Maybe you just had a thing for men who were emotionally unavailable.

“Want me to walk you home?” Jamie says after a few seconds of standing next to each other in silence, shocking you out of your silent appraisal of your surroundings.

“Huh?” Clearly, your brain-mouth connection is taking a while to get up to speed.

“You seem kinda out of it, I know you came with Keeley, figured I should ask if you wanted to leave.”

The kindness of his offer is a little shocking in the way it’s so purely sweet, and again, your brain seems a little slow on the draw.

“I’m alright, I can call a car in a bit,” you tell him, not wanting to drag him away from a fun night just because he saw you acting all mopey and uncomfortable.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind getting outta here,” and then it’s clear to you that his offer is simply an excuse for him to leave the party, and while your heart drops a little you can’t say you blame him.

“What the hell,” you respond anyway, finishing your drink before you turn to follow Jamie out of the party, stopping by Keeley to let her know you’re headed home.

The walk back to your place is mostly silent, the air hanging heavy and thick as you try to figure Jamie out. It’s clear that he’s changed from the first time you’d met him, back when he was only Keeley’s douchebag of a boyfriend, shortly before his stint on reality TV. Now, though, he seems different in some way that you can’t quite puzzle out.

“Wanna come up?” You offer, your heart and your brain in a heated argument over how awful and irresponsible of a decision that is.

“Nah, I’m alright,” he sticks his hands in his pockets and you try not to let your heart sink onto the ground with this cool-guy routine of his.

Still, you thank him for taking you home and head up to your apartment, flicking off your shoes and berating yourself for acting the way you did. Even though you’re an adult, and wanting to sleep with someone doesn’t make you a bad person, there’s a layer of guilt that hangs over your simple question, over your desires.

Maybe it’s because he’s Keeley’s ex, and even though she’s moved on and found her perfect match, girl code says you shouldn’t even look at him. Maybe it’s because as far as you know, he’s an awful person who would treat you like nothing. Or maybe it’s because he’s actually worked on himself and you’re going to self-sabotage anything good that could even possibly happen.

The guilt you taste at the back of your mouth doesn’t change the fact that you want him, though, so you throw a longing glance out your window and are surprised to see Jamie still standing on the street below. As quick as you can in your old building, you unlatch the window and push it open, sticking your head out.

“Change your mind?” You ask, a grin spreading on your face when Jamie jumps at the sound of your voice.

“That ok?” He throws back, looking a little bashful and so unfairly adorable that he makes you a little dizzy. You just nod in response, and he seems to get the message because he disappears from view and a few seconds later, there’s a knock at your door.

Briefly, you wonder if he ran up the stairs.

There’s a part of your brain that keeps screaming about how this is a bad idea, that come morning you’re going to regret this, but you do your best to ignore it as you close the door behind Jamie and press your lips to his. His hands find your waist, settling there with a firm grasp, and you hope you never need oxygen again.

It’s addicting, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you, and you do your best to ignore the alarm bells ringing in your mind that you’re never going to be able to move on from this and instead just enjoy yourself. Moving on autopilot, you find yourself at your bedroom door, and feeling lightheaded you pull away from Jamie and rest your forehead on his.

“Can I?” He breathes against your mouth, fingers grasping the bottom hem of your shirt. You nod enthusiastically, your nose brushing against his. Once your shirt is flung somewhere into the depths of your room, Jamie’s hands settle on your bare ribs.

Pushing every worry you have to the back of your brain, you follow Jamie’s lead and, with his help, pull his shirt over his head as he walks you back towards your bed. Obviously, you’d known he was fit, but seeing him so close, so open to your touch is a whole other feeling. You want to trace his entire body, his scars and bruises and tattoos, first with your hands and then with your mouth.

“This is just a one time thing, yeah?” Jamie asks as your hands settle onto his jaw, trying to bring him in for another kiss.

“Yeah, of course,” you respond, being the cool girl you know you’re meant to be even as you fantasize about hearing the stories behind his tattoos and spending mornings together.

It’s practically impossible for you to keep your hands off of him, every layer removed giving you more of his skin to explore. Jamie, though, seems just as greedy as you are, kissing and touching his way across your body. You feel alive, electric in ways you’ve never felt before. It’s as if every moment you spend with Jamie, he takes up more and more space in your brain, until he’s all you can think about.

Jamie, as he bites that sensitive spot underneath your jaw bone with a grin.

Jamie, as he trails kisses down the center of your body, from your sternum to your belly button.

Jamie, as he moves lower and lower, his hands resting on your inner thighs.

Jamie, he’s all you think about until you can’t think of anything, your mind shut off and your body rewired as you feel like you’re exploding from the inside out.

And then everything comes rushing back in, all the sounds and scents and feelings of your apartment, all the thoughts you’d tried to keep away. You still haven’t said anything, focusing on breathing and not floating away.

“You need water or something?” Jamie asks from his spot on the pillow next to you, watching as your breath continues to heave in and out of your chest.

“This is my place, shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You retort once it feels as if your heart won’t escape your chest.

“There aren’t any rules about who gets water.” You watch as a smirk grows across his face, “Besides, you look like you need it more than me.”

Trying not to give in to his teasing, you hide your face in your hands and groan, “Maybe that means you should have been trying harder.” He shrugs, conceding before he slips off your bed and begins the hunt around for his clothes. You wish you could ask him to stay, even just for a few minutes longer, but instead you shrug on a large t-shirt and walk him to the door.

“See you around,” you offer as you lean in the doorway, Jamie making his way to the stairs.

“Yeah, sure, see ya.” And then you're left all alone again, your brain running wild within your skull, so you make your way back to your bed in the hopes that you can fall asleep and pretend you aren’t regretting all of your life decisions.

The next few times you see Jamie, the two of you talk sparingly, sticking mainly to waves across the room or slightly uncomfortable smiles. And it’s a shame, because you’ve found that you actually enjoy talking to Jamie, but now you’re not so certain you can handle yourself around him.

Even though you know Jamie’s not looking for a relationship, it’s hard not to think about what you’d be like together, if you’d even work out, because in your mind, what’s the point of trying if you know you’re going to fail? Why would you enter into a relationship with someone if you know it couldn’t possibly last?

“Hey,” a voice says from behind, shocking you out of your introspection. You jump, ready to scold whoever snuck up on you when you hear Jamie’s laughter, happy and loose.

“Jesus, Jamie, you scared me to death,” you tell him as his laughter dies down, eyes scanning for anyone watching your interactions. You know that no one cares, that people have casual relationships all the time, but you can’t help but feel like you’d be judged for doing the same.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks, and you can tell from his voice, from his eyes, from the way he’s holding himself, what he’s really asking you.

“I thought that was a one time thing?” You hide your smile by taking a sip of your drink and delighting in the way Jamie’s cheeks redden.

“What I meant was, it’s just a no-strings-attached thing.”

“I’m flattered,” you tell him, already turning to leave and planning your text to Keeley that you hadn’t felt well and called an Uber to leave early.

Instead of an Uber, though, you find yourself pressed up against Jamie’s car, his hands holding your waist and his tongue down your throat. As much as you loved the attention, you pulled away, placing a gentle hand on his cheek when he tried to follow.

“Someone could see,” you whisper against him, trying to keep an ear out for anyone else leaving the small party at Colin’s house. This seems to bring Jamie back to his senses, though, because he unlocks his car and slips inside, but only after he kisses you one last time.

The drive to his place is short, leaving the two of you sitting in his driveway, no sounds but the noises filtering in through the cracked windows. There’s something about this, about him, that just feels like summer, like late sleepless nights and days spent in bed.

Even though neither of you have spoken about it, you can tell that whatever relationship you have with Jamie ends with the summer. You know this is for the best, knowing that once training and games pick up again he’ll barely have time for friends, let alone any other kind of relationship, but you hate the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. It feels like there’s an expiration date, some dark cloud looming over your sunny day, and it’s making it hard to enjoy the time you do have with Jamie.

You’d never say any of this to him, though, because you’re not even sure if you’re really friends, if this relationship you have is anything beyond physical. It’s not as though you sit around pining after Jamie Tartt all day, but you can’t help but feel left out whenever you see him with his actual friends, as if you’re missing something important about him. The two of you have a surface level connection, and you’re fine with that, you really are, it’s just hard not to get caught up in your own head.

Jamie, though, is doing his best to get rid of seemingly every thought you have, leaning over the center console to kiss you again. It’s cramped and a little awkward and you don’t have any room to move around, but you can’t stop. Eventually, the two of you break apart for long enough to stumble into Jamie’s house and then you’re being pushed backwards to his bedroom.

The realization hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever been to Jamie’s house, and you can’t help but look around his bedroom, taking in all of his choices in decorations and knick-knacks.

“That’s a pretty color,” you say absentmindedly, starting off into his room.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Jamie asks, pulling back from where he’d been sucking a mark onto your chest.

You can’t help but laugh, loud and unrestrained, as you run your fingers through the strands of hair hanging in Jamie’s eyes, giving them a gentle tug. Looking down after you catch your breath, you notice Jamie smiling at you and suddenly you feel too exposed, too open and you want to turn and run and never see him again but instead you use your light grip on his hair to pull him up for a kiss.

There’s a strange feeling deep in your stomach, one that you plan to ignore for as long as you can because it’s distracting you from Jamie. At first, you’d just thought it was the want filling your body, the urge to pull him impossibly close and feel him impossibly deep, but the feeling’s still there hours later as you lie boneless and sleepy.

Jamie’s off getting you some water, even though you never asked for any, and when he returns you’re dozing on his pillow, resisting the urge to snuggle under his sheets.

“You can just stay here tonight, if you want,” Jamie offers, sitting on the other side of the bed and staring off into space before quietly adding, “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Your bed is pretty comfortable,” you reply, thankful that you don’t have to get up and go searching for your clothes.

Instead, Jamie hands you the glass of water and a t-shirt, one that you gratefully slip on before getting under the covers. You fall asleep almost immediately, exhaustion spread throughout your entire body and mind, so you never know that Jamie lies awake almost the whole night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to wake you up or think about how perfect you look while asleep next to him.

When you do wake up, it’s with the sun streaming through the windows and Jamie’s arm slung over your waist. The two of you are impossibly close, both sharing the same pillow despite the size of his bed. It pains you to notice that he’s incredibly adorable when he’s sleeping. Part of you wants to kiss him all over and wake him, but the other just wants to let him sleep forever, watching as he breathes.

Luckily, you don’t need to make that choice, as Jamie’s eyes flutter open and you can see when he realizes just how close the two of you are and he tries to play it smooth but he scoots back to the side he fell asleep on.

“Did you sleep alright?” He asks, and you’re more focused on the scratchy way his voice sounds than the actual question. You just nod, hoping that was the right answer and delighting when he smiles, all soft and sweet and just for you.

You need to leave, get out while you still can before you end up spending the whole day with Jamie, because you know if you stay for a second longer you’re never going to want to leave him. Most of your time together was spent sleeping, but it's already almost impossibly hard to leave him. While you still have your resolve, you slip out of his insanely comfortable bed and go hunting for your clothes. It kills you a little inside when Jamie doesn’t stop you.

“Want me to drive you?” He asks, sitting up and moving to get out of bed and you need to stop yourself from staring at his toned chest, at the shorts low on his hips.

“No, I can just walk, it’s a nice day,” you lie, having no idea what the weather was like but hoping that summer wouldn’t let you down. Jamie nods, settles back into bed, and you could swear your heart physically aches because none of this should be happening.

You shouldn’t even be here in the first place, but here you are not wanting to leave. You shouldn’t be staring at him, with his mussed hair and his tattoos on full display. You shouldn’t have any feelings for him besides physical attraction and the basic feelings of friendship, but you’re starting to worry about that feeling in your belly that just grows and grows every second you spend with Jamie.

“See you around,” you tell him, leaving as quickly as you can before you convince yourself to stay any longer. You wander around London, all turned around and trying to find your flat without thinking of Jamie, while Jamie sits at home and tries not to think of you.

The rest of your day is spent doing meaningless activities, chores and work you’d been putting off for weeks. You wash your sheets and clean your fridge and respond to emails, trying your hardest to keep your mind off Jamie. It’s impossible, and the second you find yourself distracted, your mind wanders right back to him. What you really need is to leave your house, find someplace with blasting music and bodies pressed impossibly close, somewhere that you’ll have no space to think of anything, let alone Jamie.

Lucky for you, Keeley stays busy, always having one event or another she needs to go to and she always lets you tag along. Tonight your mission is to stop thinking of Jamie, even if that doesn’t mean going home with someone else. Just for a few hours, you don’t need him consuming your every thought.

Unfortunately for you, Jamie is always welcome with Keeley and has the same exact plan as you.

The air inside the bar is stifling, as if there’s no air conditioning and no windows, just the thick summer heat. You notice Jamie almost immediately, though it would be impossible not to with his highlights and his beaming smile, like your own personal sun. As much as you try to fight it, you can’t help but wonder if he noticed you at all, if he thinks of you at all when you’re not together.

You’re two drinks deep and you can’t help but think about Jamie, about what he thinks of you. Are you really just someone to fuck, someone who’s attractive enough for him to sleep with you whenever he feels the urge?

You’re three drinks deep and you can’t help but wonder if you could ever be anything more to him, if he’d ever want that. It’s common knowledge that Jamie’s still a little hooked on Keeley, and who could blame him, but are you really just a distraction?

You’re four drinks deep and you can’t stop crying, the tears flowing like rivers as Keeley and Rebecca try their best to comfort you, to calm you down. Eventually, Rebecca calls you a car and Keeley waits with you, ready to leave and make sure you get home safely.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise,” you say through your sobs as you sit in the backseat on your way to your apartment, Keeley rubbing up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

“This isn’t about Jamie, is it?” She asks in that kind, understanding voice of hers and it only makes you cry harder.

“I think I love him and it fucking sucks.” Keeley’s hand moves to smooth over your hair as you lean against her, all the fight draining out of your body.

“Babe, just tell him.” You can’t help but shoot her a glare, one that she brushes off with a laugh, “What’s the worst that could happen? He won’t sleep with you anymore?”

Your mouth drops open, shocked to your core that Keeley knew about what the two of you had been doing and your heart breaks a little more because you feel like you’ve just betrayed one of your best friends. Keeley, though, gives you a supportive little squeeze, one that tells you that she isn’t mad at all.

That was one of your favorite things about Keeley, how supportive she is of all of the people she loves, no matter the situation. She’s wise beyond her years and is the kind of person who will go out and get whatever she wants through her own hard work and determination. Keeley is absolutely someone you need on your side, and it hits you just how thankful you are for her and all she does for you.

Here you are, sobbing over a boy, and Keeley does nothing but support you and try to help you calm down. She doesn’t look at you like you’re over-dramatic or crazy and instead is doing her best to fix whatever was making you feel this way.

“Clearly, this whole situation-ship is hurting you, and if he doesn’t want the same things as you, maybe it’s time to let it end,” she finishes with another loving squeeze, just as the car pulls up outside of your building.

The two of you slide out of the car, Keeley offering you her hand as she helps you up to your apartment and you’re left reeling by what she’s said. You didn’t even know you wanted something more until it hit you like a ton of bricks tonight, Jamie consuming your thoughts in all the wrong ways. You know Keeley’s right, that whatever you have going on is only going to hurt you in the long run, so you resolve to tell him everything the next time you see him.

Keeley’s wise words from the car and the glass of water she gave you before she left after confirming no less than ten times that you were okay have you sobering up rather quickly. You’re left feeling embarrassed and exhausted to the bone, wanting nothing more than to lay down in your bed and stay there for the next hundred years, but suddenly there’s a knock at your door and Jamie’s standing outside.

“Keeley let me in, hope that’s ok,” he tells you, seeming slightly uncomfortable and you briefly wonder if it’s because of your puffy eyes and slightly disheveled appearance, embarrassment coursing hot through your blood. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Jamie always keeps you on your toes, and though you know this isn’t a big deal, it warms your heart all the same. Jamie Tartt, drama queen footballer and prick reality star, is at your front door to see if you’re ok because you left a bar crying. You’d promised yourself that the next time you saw Jamie, you’d sit him down and talk about your feelings, vowing that you wouldn’t hide them anymore.

But here Jamie is, being all sweet and concerned, and that plan goes out the window. There’s just something about him that makes all the sense leave your body, so instead of having a conversation about your feelings you pull him down by his shoulders and kiss him.

It’s messy and desperate, and even though you’ve sobered up since leaving the bar, your head is spinning and your thoughts are starting to become consumed with Jamie. There’s a weight behind it this time, one that you’re sure the both of you are aware of, because Jamie’s hands are gripping your waist with a bruising force and you barely even pull away from him to breathe.

Both of you know something is going to change.

As you make your way to your bedroom, clothing is thrown down the hallway, a sock here and a shoe there, until you almost trip trying to remove your pants. Luckily for you, though, after what seemed like a miles long walk, you finally reached your bedroom door.

Jamie pushes you gently inside, breaking the kiss but staying close enough to breathe the same air, and he keeps pushing you back until the back of your knees hit the bed and you fall onto it with a sound of surprise. Jamie just smiles, but it’s soft in a way that makes your insides melt and not the cocky smile he has whenever he scores a goal.

You scramble to sit up, to take your shirt off, but your brain shuts off when you see Jamie get on his knees in front of you. More gently than you ever could have imagined, he tugs on the hem of your pants, bringing them down your hips until you need to push off of the bed to get them down the rest of the way. He continues to pull until they slip free of your feet, and by the time he’s standing again you’re throwing yourself upward to kiss him.

There’s just something about him that makes you want to be near him all the time, like a moth to the flame. It doesn’t feel self destructive though, and that’s what scares you. It scares you that you might be hurting yourself without knowing but it scares you more that this might not hurt you at all.

It’s always a little shocking to you just how gentle Jamie is, the soft way he cradles your jaw when he kisses you and the way he runs his hands up and down your back when he can tell everything is starting to get overwhelming. Of course, he can be plenty rough and you have the bite marks on your thighs and the hickeys on your chest to prove it, but it seems like it’s in his nature to be soft with you.

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asks, fingers playing gentling with the hem of your shirt.

“100%,” you reply, and give him a quick kiss to reaffirm your statement. Now, he wastes no time in pulling off your shirt and starting to remove his own clothes. It makes you pause, standing there by the foot of your bed in the process of removing your bra, because suddenly he’s shirtless and it never gets any less surprising despite the many times you’ve been in this situation.

It’s not like your being subtle in your ogling, and Jamie just smirks when he sees you staring. He pushes you back onto the bed, softer this time, and you scoot yourself backwards until your head is resting on the pillows. Jamie joins you, pushing your legs open wider so there's room for him to lay in between them.

Then, you’re almost certain you’ve died and gone to heaven because he’s slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugging them over your hips and down your thighs. You’re absolutely no help, lying there pliant for him to maneuver however he sees fit because you’re fully convinced your brain has stopped working.

It’s a little startling, how well Jamie knows your body. He always knows the right pressure and movement and location to make you see stars, make your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drop open. You’d think that he’d be all bark and no bite, but it’s so clear to you now that he has the skills to back up his attitude.

You have the bite marks to prove it.

Your fingers are itching for something to grab onto, something more substantial than grasping at your bedsheets, so you gently twist Jamie’s hair around your fingers, just enough to ground you, to keep you anchored to your body when you feel like you’re seconds from floating away.

It feels too good, too overwhelming, you’re unable to control any of the sounds that come out of your mouth. Jamie’s hands are gripping, digging into the flesh of your thighs and it stings where his fingernails dig in but it’s so perfect you can’t help the way you whine.

The connection between your brain and your mouth must be severed because you keep babbling away about how good, how perfect everything feels. You’re not thinking at all, only able to focus on the feelings building deep in your belly until Jamie licks at your clit with the perfect amount of pressure and you just fucking lose it. Your mouth drops open and you’re completely unaware of the sounds that come pouring out of your mouth until, “I fucking love you.”

It’s like you’ve been doused in a bucket of ice water and Jamie’s pulling away and you’re fucking terrified and the pleasure that’s been building inside your body is completely replaced with dread. After you feel Jamie pulling back, you turn your gaze from the ceiling down to between your legs where Jamie still lies.

He just grins, looking like sin himself with your slick making his mouth all shiny and glossy. And then he gets right back to work, nipping at your inner thigh before doubling down his attention, working twice as hard and you don’t even remember what you’ve said because you’re thrown headfirst back into the intensity of Jamie’s full skill and attention.

It’s only seconds later when you’re almost certain that you’ve died, feeling like an exploding star as your back arches off the bed and you dig your fingers harder into Jamie’s hair and your mouth falls open again. When you regain your sense of existence, your body feels tingly all over as if the remnants of your orgasm are still coursing through your veins.

Breathing hard, you look down to see Jamie resting his head on one of your thighs, just waiting for you to come down from your high. He places a kiss over one of the marks he made on your inner thigh before he crawls up the bed to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

He disappears after that, and you’re a little worried that he’s left you like this before he comes back a few minutes later, with a glass of water and a plate of snacks. The thought of him trifling through your cupboard makes your heart stutter a little and you’re so overwhelmed with feelings that you can only manage to give him a small smile in thanks.

The two of you sit quietly side by side on your bed, eating the snacks Jamie had brought. He checks in on you again and again, making sure you’re totally comfortable. And then, he clears his throat and shifts around, looking uncomfortable and you can feel your heart rising into your throat, dread gripping at your stomach.

“Are we gonna talk about what you said?” He asks, tracing shapes on the bare skin of your knee as he talks and looks anywhere but your face.

“I think I meant it,” you tell him, feeling as if your whole world is crashing down around you. There are other important things in your life, work and friends and family, but there’s something about Jamie that even after the limited time you’ve had together, the thought of losing him makes you sick to your stomach.

“Good, that’s good to know.” He goes quiet for a moment but his fingers never still in their drawing, “I think so too.”

“Good,” you tell him with a smile, one that he returns and it makes you want to cry because he’s so gorgeous and wonderful and you won’t be losing him after all, there’s a hope for you, a future, and that’s all you need.

You know nothing is certain and there are plenty of things that could go wrong, but you try to bask in the afterglow of what’s been confessed the same way you’d lay in the sunshine. You feel warm and happy and you’re determined to hang onto those feelings, to enjoy the time you spend with Jamie instead of worrying that everything will come crashing down.

There’s just something about him, something that makes your worrying come to a pause whenever you’re with him. He brings you an unexpected sort of peace, one that you vow to enjoy now that you’re not worrying when it will disappear, when he’ll disappear. For once, that feeling in your chest isn’t one of anxiety but one that you’re convinced is love.

You love Jamie Tartt, and that thought isn’t as scary as it once was.

Tags: @andr0medafallen @pazvizslasprincess @scaramou @parcelofbread @lightninginab0ttle @curlypeter @maggiecc @percysaidnever

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen: Wembley

Plot: After a devastating blow is dealt to Y/n and Keeley, Jamie invites Y/n to join him for his England debut.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: f!reader, language, alcohol, allusion to smut

A/N: GUYS WE HAVE ARRIVED. I had to take an unexpected month break because I was just burning out. Thanks to all of you for staying patient and being so kind. But y’all, I’ve been looking forward to this chapter for a long time. I won’t say too much or else I’ll say everything so relax, sit back, and enjoy 💖

——————

Y/n wasn’t sat at her desk refreshing her inbox every fifteen seconds.

Absolutely not.

She wasn’t.

Except she was.

She knew full well that Ted had the list of which Greyhounds would be playing during international break. She could pop downstairs and probably hear the announcement. But it wasn’t her place to barge in on the boys’ moment. And that was fine with her. Totally fine.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she mumbled, waiting for the league’s PR department to end her suffering.

Finally, it arrived.

Y/n leaned closer to her laptop screen and flew past the pleasantries. The names…

She exclaimed something between a gasp and a scream.

Without another thought, she leapt out of her chair, flew through the hall and down the stairs. Luckily, the team was just heading out for practice.

“Let’s go, Greyhounds!” Y/n cheered, an echoing chorus following.

She hugged and congratulated Colin, Dani, Van Damme and Bumbercatch, all of them giddily accepting her thanks. Y/n had a new appreciation for each of the Greyhounds after observing so many training sessions. They put their hearts and soul into their craft and deserved every bit of their success.

As the boys headed out to the pitch, Y/n stayed in the hall, waiting for one player in particular to emerge.

Finally, Jamie came out of the locker room nearly bursting with joy.

As if she could feel the air change, Y/n spun around, grinning. The two of them collided in a crushing embrace, Jamie lifted her off the ground.

“Oh my gosh,” she squealed into his shoulder, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Jamie said. He’d taken an extra long minute fixing himself for training. He’d heard Y/n’s voice in the hall congratulating the lads and wanted to share his own moment with her away from everyone else.

He finally set her down, giving Y/n the chance to properly face him. “Jamie,” she bounced a little, gripping his shoulders, “England. Fucking England.”

Jamie laughed, still holding onto her hips.

“Fucking England,” she said once more, looking him over proudly, “This is amazing.”

They stood there, inches away from being back in each other’s arms, til Ted and Beard’s distant voices grew closer. They dropped their hands just as the coaches came out of their office.

“Hey, Y/n,” Ted greeted as he walked past. Beard nodded.

“Hey,” she smiled.

Jamie shot her an apologetic look as he trailed after them, wishing nothing more than to stay in the hall, just the two of them. Y/n smiled at him once more, sending him off with something he could hold to the rest of the day.

A 10-game streak, a stacked international break…somewhere months ago, Y/n would have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. A plane to fall out of the sky. Some natural disaster to hit.

No, all was well. And it felt damn good.

—————————

It all came crashing down a few days later.

Keeley and Y/n had met for a morning coffee before work. Keeley was back to her normal self, post-leak and post-Jack. Y/n was glad for it, the universe felt unbalanced if Keeley wasn’t her usual sunshiny self.

At the KJPR office, they waited for the elevator. Once it arrived, a casually dressed man pushed a dolly of boxes past them.

“Didn’t know anyone was moving out,” Y/n commented as they got in the car.

“Me neither,” Keeley replied.

The doors opened on their floor and they exited, coming around the corner only to nearly get clipped by two movers with a couch.

“Shit!” Keeley exclaimed, grabbing Y/n’s arm as they jumped out of the way.

Y/n eyed the rest of the room. All the desks were covered in boxes and most of their furniture had disappeared.

“Keeley…” she said lowly.

Dan, a man Y/n had only met properly once or twice, walked up to them. He was carrying a box of desk supplies in both hands.

“Keeley,” he addressed, “You are the nicest boss I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you, Dan,” Keeley replied, brows knitted in confusion.

“And definitely the hottest,” he finished.

“That’s a complicated compliment.”

Dan left with a thanks, moving past the two women.

“What…” Y/n trailed off.

Keeley led them to Barbara’s office, who was also packing up her desk.

“Barbara, what’s going on?” Keeley asked, “Are we being slowly robbed?”

“Oh,” Barbara ceased her packing, “Wait, I’m sorry. You haven’t spoken with Jack?”

“I haven’t heard from Jack in weeks.”

Barbara stammered, “But she emailed me last night to say that she was gonna reach out and tell you.”

Y/n’s stomach clenched with familiar dread.

“Tell me what, Barbara?” Keeley asked.

Barbara, for all the grief she’d given Keeley, didn’t appear to take any pleasure in delivering the news. She had to steady herself even. “The board of the VC have decided to pull funding. They’re shutting down KJPR.”

Y/n’s breath left her chest.

“What?” Keeley whispered, “When?”

“Oh, well, don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time,” Barbara reassured, “We don’t have to be out till Friday.”

Keeley was barely audible, “It’s Wednesday.”

Barbara faltered, “Yeah, I suppose that is…quite soon, isn’t it? Especially if you didn’t get an email last night.”

When there was nothing else to say, Barbara awkwardly went back to packing her things, leaving Keeley and Y/n dumbstruck.

Somehow, Y/n made her feet move out of the office and into the main space. Her head was spinning. It had taken less than a minute to crack her world open and split it in two.

“I need a minute,” Keeley mumbled.

Too stunned to reply, Y/n wandered off into the conference room. The table and chairs were still there, she sunk into one of them.

As one of the employees, Y/n should have gotten an email like anyone else. The only factor that could have changed that was Keeley. Jack knew they worked closely together, they could be considered friends. If this was revenge on Keeley for their break-up, Jack wouldn’t hesitate to take it out on those closest to her ex. And just like that…Y/n became collateral damage.

She rested her elbows on the table, running her hands over her face. The first job she’d ever loved, and it was gone. Every part of working for AFC Richmond that she adored, had just been taken from her. No more training, no more time with the fans, no more overseeing pressers and interviews, no more coming down the hall and seeing the boys…

The tears came quick.

A few moments later, Keeley knocked on the door and entered at Y/n’s mumbled ‘yeah.’ Both women had wet eyes and snot under their noses.

“I’m so sorry,” Keeley managed over the lump in her throat.

Y/n sniffled, her hands covering most of her face. If she was being honest, there was a small part of her that resented Keeley. Never get involved with someone from work, that was corporate 101.

“Me too,” she replied. Regardless of her bad judgement, Keeley hadn’t deserved to lose the company. She wasn’t the one at fault.

Keeley took the chair next to Y/n’s, feeling like a stray tree in the wind. Swaying, ready to break at the slightest gust.

The very thought of what had to be said sent a stabbing pain through Y/n’s gut.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll pack up my things this weekend. At Richmond.”

Keeley didn’t think she could handle any more, but knowing that Y/n was losing the place that made her happiest just worsened the blow.

“Thank you,” Y/n whispered, “For…coming up to me in that bar.”

It was that sentiment that sent Keeley back over the edge, the gentle sobs returning. On cue, Y/n’s followed and the two of them twisted to grip each other’s hands, sitting knee to knee. They mourned all they had built, together and apart.

—————————

Eight months after her last sacking, Y/n was in the exact same position: sat at a bar, drinking a glass of red wine.

This time, the bar was her flat. Being anywhere around people sounded horrifying. She was content to wallow in the apartment she already feared she’d have to give up.

Unlike the other times she’d been let go, Y/n couldn’t bear to think about the next steps. The minute she’d told Keeley she’d get her things from Nelson Road, she’d banished the thought. She couldn’t bear the thought, the pain of telling the boys, Rebecca, Ted…of leaving the parking lot for the last time. Every time her mind began to try and think practically, she took another sip of the merlot.

The depressing silence was broken up by a ring of her doorbell. Y/n let her head drop as she dragged herself off the barstool. She couldn’t come up with the name of a single person she wanted to see at the moment.

Trudging down the last of the stairs, she looked through the peephole, seeing a familiar mop of mussed up hair and sharp cheekbones.

Y/n quickly wiped under her eyes, praying her waterproof mascara had done its job. If she wasn’t ready to tell anyone the news, Jamie was in a category of his own. The thought of not seeing him every day was crippling.

She opened the door, Jamie flashing a smile as soon as he laid eyes on her.

“Hey,” Y/n grinned thickly, “I thought you were supposed to be up in Stafford.”

“Yeah, just got back,” Jamie glanced back to the street where his car was parked.

“How was it?”

“Fucking,” Jamie shut his eyes, still beaming, “Mental.”

Y/n genuinely chuckled. At least one of them was doing well. “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Jamie finally got a good look at Y/n. Her face was drawn, despite her smile. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and her gaze was distant, despite being zeroed in on him. “You alright?”

Y/n thinned her lips in an exaggerated frown and shrugged, “Yeah, fine.”

Jamie wasn’t convinced, “You sure?”

Clearly months out of practice from hiding her feelings had left her skills dulled. Y/n sighed, leaning up against the doorframe, “It’s just been a long fucking day.”

“What happened?” Jamie’s brows knitted in worry.

“Nothing specific,” Y/n lied straight through her teeth, “Just tired.”

Jamie nodded, slightly assured that he could move onto the reason for his visit.

“Well, hey, I think I can cheer you up,” he took a breath as if preparing for something big. “Come with me to the match.”

Y/n tilted her head, “What?”

“The Wembley match. They’re puttin’ us up in a hotel tomorrow night, and the game’s on Friday,” Jamie explained, hope glistening in his eyes, “Come with me.”

If they were discussing some random away game, Y/n wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But this…this was England. This was something Jamie had dreamed of since he was a child. This meant everything to him, and he wanted her to share it with him. Y/n didn’t take a word of it lightly.

“I can get ya an extra room,” Jamie took her stunned silence as doubt, “I’ll tell ‘em I need my publicist with me.”

“I don’t think being the club’s publicist gets me that kind of privilege,” Y/n tried to ignore the ache in her chest. That title didn’t belong to her anymore.

“Does if you’re with me,” Jamie smirked.

Y/n chortled, “Right. I’m rolling with the big dogs. Forgot.”

“Look,” Jamie took a step closer, his hands resting in the space between them, nearly reaching out to her. “I really want you there. Really.”

There was a softness to Jamie’s stare that he always saved for Y/n, and a determination he wore any time he stepped on the pitch. If she didn’t want to come, he wouldn’t force her, but he wasn’t going down without fighting his hardest.

Y/n really had no reason to say no. She wouldn’t be at work, she had no commitments…and honestly, getting away sounded nice. To step outside of Richmond for a little while and get some distance before she had to deal with the reality of her situation. And more than anything, she wanted to cheer on Jamie.

“Okay.”

Jamie’s brows shot up, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/n smiled, her first true one of their conversation.

“Great,” Jamie grinned and fiddled with his hands, “Okay, uh, I’ll pick you up tomorrow, 12-ish. Drive over together.”

“I mean, I can drive myself,” Y/n replied, “You don’t need to be picking me up with everything you’ll have going on.”

Jamie shrugged, “I know.” There was no discussion to be had.

“Okay,” Y/n conceded, “I’ll be ready.”

“Okay,” Jamie smiled, awkwardly holding the silence. He didn’t want to let the conversation end, but there was nothing left to say. “Well, uh, I’ll let you get back to your night.”

“Go,” Y/n gestured to the street, “Rest. You’re only representing the whole country.”

He laughed, walking backwards to steal one last glance at Y/n. If someone would have told Jamie that eight months before, his ex-girlfriend’s new hire would end up meaning enough to him to share his England debut with, he wasn’t sure what he’d have thought. But he wouldn’t have believed it. “See ya.”

Y/n gave a small wave, matching his warm smile until the distance forced them to break. She was still neck deep in shit, but for a moment, the sun felt like it was shining.

—————————

Y/n supposed as she packed her overnight bag, that if she forgot anything important, she could just Uber back to her flat. For whatever reason, she was afraid she was leaving something off the list.

The initial excitement she’d felt when Jamie had invited her had long since died. It seemed the depression that set in after losing your job took twenty four hours of fermenting to truly come to life.

She was nearly done packing when she was sorting through a drawer of t-shirts, spotting a brightly colored blue and red one she had tucked at the bottom. She pulled it out and unfolded it.

The jersey Jamie had gifted her for Christmas.

A small smile pulled at her face, remembering the night he’d given it to her. True to her word, she hadn’t worn it to any matches. She couldn’t possibly give him that satisfaction.

Through the insanity that was working at AFC Richmond, there had been many constants. Ted’s awful jokes, Roy’s sour mood, weekly tea with Rebecca…but Jamie had l become the most unexpectedly steady thing in Y/n’s life. A safe place to land in any situation. If it wasn’t for Jamie, she wasn’t sure how she would have made it thus far.

She smiled.

Without a second thought, Y/n folded the jersey back up and tucked it in her suitcase. Jamie was the focus, and she’d amplify his joy however she could.

Her phone pinged with a text alert, the man himself messaging her that he was parked outside. Y/n zipped up her bag, grabbed her purse, and headed downstairs.

Jamie was propped against his car, spinning the keys in his fingers. He supposed he should have felt nervous, twenty four hours away from his England debut, but he felt at peace. He wasn’t entirely sure why until he spotted Y/n’s figure coming down her street.

“Jamie Tartt, do do do do do do,” she sang once she got close enough, “Jamie Tartt, do do do do do do…”

“Lovely,” Jamie chuckled before reaching out for her bag, “Let’s have it.”

“There’d better be room for it,” Y/n handed the suitcase over.

Jamie popped the boot, “How much you think I travel with?”

“I mean, hair products alone has to equate to two carry ons,” Y/n replied, “Jewelry, trainers, socks, that’s another two…the ego’s gotta take up, what, four?”

Jamie shut the boot, leaning on it as he listened. “I’m happy to leave you here. Watch the match on Sky Sports.”

“Sorry, too late,” Y/n smirked as she rounded the car, Jamie met her on the passenger side. The two of them stood with mere inches between them. “You’re stuck with me, Tartt.”

Their smug smiles melted into something far more warm, the emotional weight of the trip was too overwhelming to be ignored too long.

“Not a bad deal,” Jamie said softly.

“You’re playing for England,” Y/n whispered.

Jamie’s grin spread up his cheeks, reaching to tug Y/n into an embrace. Gentler than the one they’d shared after the news had broke, but matching in enthusiasm.

“Right, gotta get going,” Jamie broke away and went to the driver’s side, “Check-in’s in an hour.”

The traffic they hit made it so they’d arrive just at their appointed time. On the way, Y/n avoided any topic that could tie them back to work, and Jamie recounted a party he’d attended two days before.

“Wait…” Y/n laughed, “You’re telling me that Roy Kent - Roy Kent - has to wear a tie-dye shirt?”

“Swear down,” Jamie replied.

“Roy Kent,” Y/n repeated. The image was too insane to imagine. “Growling-in-the-halls, leather-jacket-wearing, black-coffee, black-clothes, black-everything Roy Kent.”

Jamie nodded.

Y/n fell back against the seat, “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not playin’ ya,” Jamie laughed, one hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, “Saw it with me own eyes.”

“And I can’t believe it till I see it with mine,” Y/n shook her head. “So, wait, you left training because Phoebe called you and invited you to a party for a pretend holiday for the man who makes your life a living hell?”

Jamie wasn’t sure how to explain it. How his relationship with Roy had gone from childhood idolization to rivalry to tolerance to mentor/mentee to…something almost, nearly, bordering…friendship? But when he’d gotten the call from Phoebe and her mum, Roy’s niece inviting him to Uncle’s Day, he hadn’t needed to give it a second thought. He’d even taken the time to track down a gift meaningful enough to crack Roy’s stony exterior.

“Dunno,” he shrugged casually, “Didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“Mmm,” Y/n nodded, pretending to buy it, “Nothing to do with the fact that you two are actually…friends?”

Jamie looked out the window, checking the space around them, “Right, you can walk from here.”

Y/n snorted, crossing her arms across her chest. Beyond the teasing, she found it incredibly sweet that Jamie would drop what he was doing not just for Roy, but for Phoebe. It echoed the same kindness he’d shown to Henry when he’d visited. She supposed it came from Jamie’s childhood, the same drive she had to make sure any kid she came across was happier than she’d been at their age.

“It’s cute.”

Jamie quirked a brow as he switched lanes, “What?”

Y/n shrugged, “Jamie Tartt’s got a soft spot for kids.”

The tingling in his chest confused Jamie. But knowing Y/n thought him admirable was…nice.

He played it off, of course, “Haven’t even told you about the play.”

Y/n slapped her hands together, “Oh, please God tell me it was interactive.”

“It was fucking Shakespearean,” Jamie laughed, before launching into the multi-hour long production Phoebe and Roy’s sister had staged.

Once they arrived at the hotel, they checked-in separately. It was an easy way for Y/n to keep herself out of any photo sightings of Jamie and she was extra happy she’d thought it out when some of his teammates arrived. She headed to the elevator while Jamie greeted them, loading into the car. Once he saw she was already off, Jamie rushed through goodbyes to catch the lift with her.

“Right,” Y/n said as they landed on the 10th floor, looking between her key and the door numbers, “I’m 502.”

“507,” Jamie replied, “End of the hall, I think.”

They found Y/n’s room first and paused outside the door.

“Right, so dinner tonight?” Jamie suggested, “I mean, it’ll mostly be me watchin’ you eat, but…”

“Jamie, no,” Y/n screwed her face, “We can have dinner literally any other night. Go be with the team.”

He knew that was what he was expected to do, and part of him wanted to go bond with the boys but…she was here. And as much as he wanted to hang with his teammates, everyone drifted to second priority when Y/n was around.

“You sure?” Jamie asked.

“Yes,” Y/n insisted, reaching out and taking his arm, “Go enjoy this. You earned it. I’m just gonna get room service and get to bed boringly early.”

Jamie chuckled, looking down at the ground. His skin jumped to life under her touch. “Alright,” he smiled up at her, “I got a ticket reserved for you at will call.”

“Okay,” she nodded.

“And…” Jamie searched for something, anything else to say, coming up short, “Yeah. Think that’s it.”

“Hey,” Y/n squeezed his arm, beaming with pride, “You’re gonna kill it.”

Jamie’s smile grew in the way only she could harvest out of him. Something about her belief in him made him feel like he could play the whole fucking match himself.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow,” he said, though he didn’t move.

“See you tomorrow,” Y/n echoed, rubbing his shoulder before breaking apart and unlocking her door. Jamie took it as his cue to drag his own suitcase down the hall, five doors down.

Y/n did a lap around her room, taking stock of where everything was. It was a nice fucking hotel, though she shouldn’t have expected anything else. She set her suitcase in the corner, there was no need to go to the trouble of unpacking for a two night stay.

She dropped onto the edge of the bed. With Jamie off and the room mapped out, there was nothing to do but sit with her thoughts.

Y/n sighed, her chest returned to feeling hollow, knowing this life was about to disappear. No more traveling with the Greyhounds, the endless chatter on long bus rides, her room being sandwiched between two of they boy’s and dealing with their late night shenanigans that typically resulted in a large check being written to the hotel…

She grabbed the bedside phone, dialing the corresponding number on the paper below it. She couldn’t deal with being sad sober or on an empty stomach. “Yes, room service? Can I have a bottle of wine and the chef’s special delivered to room 502? Thank you.”

It was going to be a long night.

——————

The next morning, Y/n took advantage of getting to sleep in on Friday. The game wasn’t until noon, she set her alarm for ten. She ordered breakfast to the room and ate in bed. Sadness went well with pancakes, she found.

Eventually, she got dressed for the match. She smiled to herself as she slipped the ‘#9’ jersey over her tank top. It would be the first, and most likely only opportunity she’d have to wear it.

Wembley was close enough to the hotel that she didn’t bother ordering an Uber, choosing instead to join the crowds and walk. She’d forgotten just how massive the stadium was when she arrived at the ticket booth.

“Hi,” she greeted the guy working will call, “There should be a ticket under the name ‘Y/l/n.’”

The man fished through a few envelopes before reaching into one and slipping a ticket under the glass window. “Enjoy the match, love.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

It had been years since Y/n had been to Wembley, the last time for a concert fresh off of graduation. She couldn’t remember the section numbers and locations to save her life.

Once she got inside, she found a security guard. “Excuse me? Could you point me towards section…” she read her ticket once more, “120?”

The guard glanced at her ticket before pointing her towards a massive staircase. “All the way down, midfield.”

“Okay,” Y/n headed off, calling back to him, “Thank you.”

She melted into the crowd and followed them down the stairs. She kept looking between her ticket and the descending rows of seats, realizing when she hit the ground that Jamie hadn’t just gotten her a seat…he’d gotten her one in the front row.

Y/n made her way down, past families and groups of friends, finding her seat was on the aisle. It allowed her a perfect view of the field, Jamie would most certainly be able to spot her.

The atmosphere before the match was a welcome cheeriness, Y/n couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement of it. It was hard to be depressed with 90,000 people around you cheering and singing.

The teams marched out onto the pitch, their respective fans standing and screaming. Y/n was on her feet as soon as England was out, spotting Jamie towards the back. He was on the reserve squad and came out near last. She hoped he would get at least a few minutes on the field.

Jamie was caught up in the moment enough that he didn’t search for Y/n. Knowing she was there was enough.

By the second half of the match, England was up by a point, but Jamie still had yet to get on the pitch. Y/n was fidgeting more with each minute that passed, hoping that this would be the point that #9 would tire out enough and Jamie could sub in.

Finally, it happened. Jamie came off the bench as one of the refs held up the board, announcing Jamie’s arrival and his number. #24.

Y/n pressed a hand to her heart, her lips falling open in a loose smile. It was a hell of statement after their #24 had been passed over for the Nigerian league. But more importantly, it was an incredibly touching gesture. Sam had to have been beaming shyly, wherever he was watching from.

Jamie got onto the pitch and first ended up assisting in one goal. When the clock came down to the last five minutes, he shot across the field, catching the ball from one of his teammates and running it down the pitch.

“Come on, Jamie,” Y/n muttered under her breath, her eyes glued to him. He could make it.

Faking left and spinning around to the right, Jamie power kicked the ball toward the net, evading the goalie and landing a perfect shot.

Y/n shot out of her seat with the rest of the crowd, screaming as loud as she could.

Jamie looked pleased, his nearest teammates slapping him across the back in congratulations. He turned to the crowd and grinned, soaking in the moment he’d been waiting for since he was a kid. The whole stadium was cheering for him.

His eyes floated to section 120, finding the furthest seat and the woman occupying it. Their eyes met and Jamie caught the unmistakable Greyhound blue underneath her coat, his chest suddenly swelling with something deeper than pride. She’d worn the fucking shirt.

Y/n grinned at him, raising her fists above her head. Jamie patted his chest, just above his heart, smiling right back at her.

England ended up winning, of course, and Y/n felt like she was floating. She couldn’t get up the stairs fast enough, hurrying through the concourses till she found two doors with ample security stood outside.

“Hi,” she said, nearly out of breath, “I work at AFC Richmond. I need to see Jamie Tartt,” Y/n pulled out her phone as she saw the guard inhaling to turn her away, “I have proof of employment.”

She pulled up an email exchange with Higgins and held up her employee ID, matching the signature to the card. The guard nodded, “Come with me.”

Y/n followed down the hall, stopping outside the locker room as the guard instructed her to wait. The commotion inside could be heard all down the hall, chants and cheers from the boys echoing off the walls.

A few seconds later, Jamie emerged, soaked in champagne and sweat.

Neither of them hesitated to launch into one another’s arms, Jamie full on lifting and spinning her around. They were a mess of laughs and squeals and smiles.

“You did it,” Y/n grinned, her arms tight around Jamie’s neck.

“We fucking did it,” he growled happily, still twirling her in the air.

“Jamie,” Y/n laughed as he finally dropped her. She held his face in her hands, “You were incredible. You were fucking amazing.”

Jamie beamed, finally feeling whole. He’d been waiting all day to hug her.

“My gosh,” Y/n smiled, on the verge of tears.

“Not a bad seat either, yeah?” Jamie smiled.

“You just fucking played for England and that’s what you wanna talk about?” Y/n exclaimed as she lightly shoved his chest.

Jamie’s hands fiddled agaisnt Y/n’s waist, the adrenaline from the game still pulsing through. He rubbed the extra material of the shirt, his shirt, between his fingers.

He cocked a brow, “Thought you said you’d never wear this.”

Y/n shrugged playfully, “I had a compelling reason.”

There was enough electricity running through them both without the added crackling of their hands, the pure lightning that was striking between their eyes. It was a moment so full of emotion, if it lasted much longer, it stood the chance to naturally lead to something…

“Oi! Tartt!”

Jamie and Y/n dropped their hands, the outside presence causing embarrassment they didn’t know they felt. Jamie nodded back at one of his teammates, “Yeah?”

“Get the fuck back in here,” he gestured back to the room. The celebration hadn’t stopped in Jamie’s absence.

“Yeah, be in a minute,” Jamie distractedly smiled before turning back to Y/n, “Right-“

“Jamie,” Y/n shook her head, smiling knowingly, “Go. Go celebrate your moment.

He hesitated, truthfully, he didn’t want her to be so encouraging. “Yeah, but we gotta celebrate too,” Jamie reached out for her hands.

“And we will,” Y/n replied, squeezing his palms, “But now, you’re gonna go in there, you’re going to get absolutely shit-faced and create a million horrible headlines for me to issue a million and one apologies for.”

Jamie snorted and stared down at their intwined hands. Half of him was itching to get back in the locker room, the other stayed right where he was.

“Go,” Y/n repeated.

Jamie tugged her back to his chest, the two of them fitting together as perfectly as ever. He was so unbelievably glad she’d said yes to coming. Looking out into the stands, seeing her cheering for him had boosted his spirits in a way nothing else could.

Even as he broke away, he left backwards. “I mean it,” Jamie pointed at her, “We’re fucking celebrating.”

Y/n just laughed and shoved the air, staying till he disappeared back into the locker room. Jamie’s ecstasy was feeding her, the victory lifting them both up sky high. She was so glad she hadn’t turned him down.

The security guard escorted her out to the concourse and she found her way back to the hotel. Each street was echoing with chants and cheers for England, the whole of London was buzzing. It was beautiful.

Y/n got back to her room, turning on the TV to Sky Sports and watching the recap. Jamie, of course, made the conversation, both his goal and his kit number were heavily discussed.

Y/n smiled when Sam’s name came up, pulling her phone out and sending an array of appropriate emojis to the young Nigerian along with his number. He fired back a few red hearts in reply.

Roughly an hour had passed when there was a knock at the door. Y/n slid out of bed confused. She hadn’t ordered dinner yet.

She opened the door to find Jamie, hair combed, showered and out of his kit, leaning against her door frame.

“I thought I told you to go spend time with the team,” Y/n chuckled in surprise.

“I did,” he shrugged, “Now it’s our turn.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t kill the growing grin. She wanted the day to be everything Jamie wanted, but she couldn’t deny the ever-present desire to stay in his field of gravity. If he was here willingly, she wasn’t going to fight him.

She matched his posture and leaned against the frame, “What’d you have in mind?”

“Dinner, club,” Jamie listed off the options, “Go to the top of the Shard, scream as loud as we can.”

Y/n laughed, “I can do that.”

“Good,” Jamie smiled, looking down at his watch, “You got twenty minutes.”

“Clearly you learned nothing dating Keeley,” Y/n scoffed, “Put thirty on the clock.”

“Fine,” Jamie relented, “I’ll be back in thirty minutes exactly. That’s it. Not waitin’.” He couldn’t even pretend to be that strict, a smile contradicting his words.

Y/n gave a two fingered salute, “I’ll be ready.”

She shut the door, hearing him shuffling down the hall. In her suitcase, she’d packed a dress, knowing the chances of Jamie and her going out after was a distinct possibility. She also thought she was crazy to assume that at all. Yet still, she’d gone to the trouble of picking one out, laboring over the choice far longer than it should have taken.

Within thirty minutes, Y/n managed to shower, do her hair and light makeup, slipping into the dress and her sneakers at the twenty-nine minute mark. She gave herself a once over in the mirror, giving herself a pat on the back for exceptional work in such a short time frame.

On cue, there were three knocks at the door.

Y/n grabbed her purse and unlocked the door, Jamie once again stood in waiting.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when he’d told Y/n they were going out for a night on the town, but whatever it was…wasn’t what he got. Y/n was stunning, gorgeous, in a strappy pink dress, her hair tied up. It was all in stark contrast to how she usually dressed around Nelson Road, all business attire or jeans on a casual day. This was…this was something.

“Wow,” Jamie managed, his eyes running up and down her form.

Y/n took an honest look at Jamie for the first time of the night. His usual floppy hairstyle and headband had been swapped for a blow dry and a neat side swoop. A deep blue dress shirt was unbuttoned a bit further than other men’s and a dark textured blazer layered it, finished with dress pants, actual shoes and a gold chain. He looked good.

“No trainers,” Y/n was lost for anything else to say, “It really is a special occasion.”

Jamie chuckled, still unable to tear his eyes off of her. It was going to get awkward if he didn’t stop soon.

He offered his arm, “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Y/n slipped her arm through Jamie’s and they strolled down the hall.

Once they’d slipped out the lobby, they hailed a cab and Jamie gave the driver an address. They arrived at a five star rooftop restaurant and bar and made their way to a table, the thumping music and chatter of the weekend crowd enveloping them. A fair amount of the other patrons were celebrating England’s victory heartily.

“Look at this,” Y/n smiled, a group of people excitedly describing the game as they passed their table, “You did this.”

“Wasn’t just me,” Jamie replied.

“Yeah, but you were part of it,” Y/n corrected, shaking her head, “Jeez, Jamie…you scored a fucking goal.”

“I did, yeah,” Jamie grinned and admitted, walking the line between humility and cockiness as only he could.

Y/n waited a moment, admiring the joy in Jamie’s eyes as his eyes followed the fans. It was childlike, pure and wild.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna wear #24,” she eventually said.

Jamie nodded, “Just felt right. It’s mad they didn’t pick him.”

“It is,” Y/n agreed, looking out at the darkening London sky, wondering how Sam was actually holding up. “But that was brave, wearing it. Like you were giving whoever didn’t choose him the middle finger.”

He chortled, his eyes lingering on her longer and longer each time they found her. Jamie was losing the battle to look away.

Y/n was the first to drop her gaze. Like always, there were ghosts dining with them. She’d been itching with concern for Jamie all day, but hadn’t said anything.

“So…how was it being back? At Wembley?”

Jamie caught the meaning instantly, it wasn’t exactly far from his mind. As much fun as he’d had, being back in the locker room had inevitably triggered unpleasant memories.

“Bit weird,” Jamie admitted, “But…I don’t know. I think I was too distracted to think about it too much.”

“That’s good,” Y/n gently smiled, “Of course, now I’ve brought it up and…”

Jamie reached out and took her hand reassuringly, “And nothing.”

Y/n’s lips tugged upwards slightly, squeezing Jamie’s palm.

A horribly timed interruption caused them both to have to tear his gaze away, the waiter returning with their drinks. He took them both and handed Y/n hers.

“Alright,” she scooted forward in her seat, “What’re we drinking to?”

Jamie sighed, thinking a moment, “Well, to me, obviously,” he got a laugh out of Y/n, “To the team. To England. To Richmond,” he swallowed, “To you.”

Y/n raised a brow, “To me?”

“Yeah,” Jamie smiled coyly, “You comin’ here, cheering me on. Knowing you were there…”

The humor of the moment was gone entirely, replaced by sweet sentiment. Jamie and Y/n’s friendship had come to mean more to them than they could have guessed that first night in Sam’s restaurant. Or the time they’d run into each other at the Crown and Anchor, spending an hour pouring over apartments for Y/n. They had become each other’s north star. They were a part of one another, reflecting the best of each other back.

“To having a good night,” Jamie continued, unable to finish his last thought, “And not worrying about anything. Not thinking about anything. Just celebrating.”

Not all of the time they spent together was so serious, but one of the basis of Y/n and Jamie’s bond was their mutual pain. So many of their conversations somehow traced back to her parents, his dad, how they were the way they were because of their failures. Not to mention, Y/n had the news of KJPR’s shutdown weighing on her back. She’d have to break the news to Jamie come morning.

But tonight, tonight was a night for none of it. They would drink, they would laugh, and they would revel in Jamie’s accomplishment.

Y/n clinked her glass against Jamie’s. “To not thinking.”

And that’s exactly what they did. They didn’t think as they ordered a second round of drinks.

Or a third.

They didn’t think as they went to a club, pulling one another close to dance.

They didn’t think as they giggled their way back to their hotel.

And they certainly didn’t think as they stumbled into Y/n’s room, a collision of roaming hands and eager lips.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ���️)

[izzyspussy]

re: those fic ideas always going around about roy bidding on jamie at the next for the children gala

i like imagining sheryl is out for fucking blood this time. she lost jamie that year, then he wasn't there the next (two?) year(s), so now she's fucking determined. she's going to get him god damn it.

so sheryl bids like £6k or whatever, and then keeley as a sort of nostalgic thing bids £8k, and then sheryl bids £10k and there's no bex this year so it seems like maybe that's going to be that, but then roy bids. (he would have stayed out of it if keeley kept bidding, she is an acceptable winner.)

and roy. he's not lazy, obviously, but he hates tedium, he hates repeating himself, he hates attention except for what he wants attention for specifically lmao, and he's got plenty of money to burn. he has something to get done and he wants it done quickly and decisively. so instead of doing normal bids like a normal person, whatever sheryl bids he fucking doubles it.

so he bids £20k. she bids £25k. he bids £50k. she's getting frustrated, she's not into paying this much, but she's fucking determined!! she wants him!!! so she bids £51k. roy bids £102k. everyone's like.... bro omg.

jamie up on stage is like that's so much fucking money. hey, rebecca? hey? that's so much fucking money, actually. that's enough. call it. he gets it, he won. that's so much fucking money. (and like it's part genuine, that really is SO much fucking money, and jamie may be rich now but he grew up poor and that is a lot of fucking money!! but also it's a great excuse to wrap this up, to say okay roy won it's over! and get down.)

and rebecca - slightly shell shocked tbh, but also kind of reading how eager jamie is to get down - is like okay yeah he won that's it. a date with jamie tartt sold to roy kent for 102,000 fucking pounds. and she sends jamie on his way, and there's a lull between him and the next person because everyone is sort of stuck here.

because obviously, no one in this room knows why roy bid, nevermind why he would bid so fucking much. they don't know he didn't necessarily want to win so much as he wanted to make sure no one else did. they don't know he's been haunted by the joke he and keeley made back then ever since he figured out why it was so upsetting to jamie - even though, to be perfectly frank, jamie hasn't figured that out himself, and anyway it didn't make a lasting impression on him, like, it honestly was not that big of a deal in reality, but you know roy kent, any chance he gets to feel like a bad guy he's taking it. so to the outside point of view, roy wanted jamie so bad he was willing to spend £102k to get him. which is honestly a wild bid from anyone, nevermind a) a man and b) a man who could just ask jamie to hang out whenever he wants.

jamie goes right over to him as soon as he gets down from the stage, and he thanks him, and roy tells him he's just making up for last time, and jamie hardly even remembers what he's talking about but it's really fucking nice of him to even care, so he gives him a hug and he says thanks again, not just for this, and roy says he's been fucking honored, and jamie tears up and calls him a prick because they both know he knew that would happen if he said that, and roy does his sinister little laugh because he meant it but he did also do that on purpose, yeah.

and then jamie's like move i'm gay to whoever is sitting next to roy so he can take that seat, because roy just paid £102k (and made quite the grand gesture) so his date with jamie starts right now and goes for as long as roy fucking wants it to thank you very much.

[lolahasmoxie]

NYE (J.T.)

Sooooooo...

@powderblueblood and her 200 Cigarettes prompts.......yes.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x reader

WARNINGS: fluff, emotions

PROMPTS:

"You need to find someone that likes you the way you are."

"And who would possibly like me the way I am?"

"Those clothes and my clothes would look good on my floor."

"He said what?"

Jamie followed you to the bar at Ola's. The restaurant closed early and is now hosting the Richmond New Year's Eve party. You poured yourself a shot of whiskey and downed it without flinching as you told Jamie about your date.

"He said, and I quote, "You're nice and all, but I could do better," and then I left the party."

"What a complete fucking prick!" Jamie said; you simply shrugged your shoulders as you grabbed a flute of champagne from a server.

"At least he was upfront. Saved us both the trouble." Jamie can see the mask you're putting up; it's not the first time he's seen you do it. Never let them see you hurt your own personal motto. He wants to kill this guy.

"C'mon, forget that dumbass. Come join us at the table; the boys will be happy to see you." You glance over at the tables and see the boys with their respective dates. The passing of intimate kisses and touches makes your heart yearn for something that, at this point, you're not sure you'll ever have. It's too much.

"I'm just gonna be a wet blanket," you say with a shrug, and Jamie can see your eyes become glossy. "I'll text you when I'm home. Happy New Year, Jamie." You give his hand a quick squeeze, and then, before he can say anything, you're gone.

"Where's she going?" Keeley asks, and Jamie turns, his mind still trying to process what happened. The fact that one moment you were standing in front of him looking so fucking pretty, and then you were gone.

"She just left; her date at that party went really bad."

"Shame," Keeley hums as she sips her champagne. "I have a question, though."

"What?"

"Why the fuck are you still here instead of chasing after her?"

"Why would I do that?" Jamie straightens up, putting up his own mask as he tries to pretend that he hasn't been pining for you since returning to Richmond.

"Because even a blind man can see you're desperately in love with her, the poor girl," Roy interjects as he stands beside Keeley. "Question is, when the fuck are you gonna grow a pair and fucking do something about it?"

Jamie stares at them both for a second before he turns and runs full speed out of the restaurant.

You have yet to get far. Your flat is pretty close to the restaurant, so instead of trying to flag down a cab, you opted to enjoy the brisk winter air. The streets were pretty busy, and you tried to keep the tears at bay as you passed happy couples and groups of friends on their way to ring in the new year.

The sound of shoes running on the pavement sent your heart racing, and you reached for your keys as they got closer. You hear someone call your name and turn around, shocked to see Jamie running to catch up with you.

"Jamie, why are you following me?"

"I had to tell you something, and it couldn't wait." His gray eyes look into yours, but he remains silent. You sigh before gently interrupting him.

"Look, I just wanna go home. I'll see you on Tuesday." You turn around, and Jamie is again watching you walk away from him. He can hear Keeley and Roy yelling at him in his head, and he takes a deep breath. He's not going to let this moment pass him by. He can't stomach starting a new year without telling you how he feels.

You hear the footsteps again, and you say a "hey" when you feel Jamie pull you by the arm to look at him.

"You're not the problem."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Not just tonight, but every bloke who's made you feel like you aren't the most amazing person on the planet, they're the problem. Not you." Your jaw has dropped, and you know you're looking at him like a deer in the headlights.

You can't help but scoff. "If I'm not the problem, pray tell me, how do I fix it? Tell me the solution, Jamie."

"You need to find someone that likes you the way you are." You scoff again. You hold Jamie's gaze as you step closer to him. You hope he can't see how ready you are to crying.

"And who would possibly like me the way I am?" Your voice wavers, and Jamie feels his heartbreak at your admission. Your gaze drops to your shoes, and Jamie takes a tentative step forward.

His hand gently lifts your chin, and you wait for him to speak. It isn't until he raises his eyebrows, your mouth drawing into an O, that what he's saying dawns on you.

"You?"

"Yeah, silly girl." He says with a light chuckle. His thumb wipes away an errant tear before he cups your face with his large, warm hands. You reach out for the lapels on his jacket, holding tight as

"But, you're Jamie Tartt. I'm just..."

"Fantastic and kind. You were nice to me even when I was being the worst asshole on the planet. Not to mention that you're absolutely stunning. Pretttiest girl I've ever seen."

"Jamie,"

"I'll be good to you. And even though I'm probably gonna fuck up now and again, I promise it won't ever be intentional. There's more, but I just really wanna fucking kiss you right now."

You blush at Jamie’s words and when you see his gaze dip to your lips. You had wondered many times what kissing Jamie would feel like. You had thought about it at work while chatting with Keeley and Rebecca and kissing unremarkable men. Nothing you had conjured in your head could hold a candle to the real thing.

His full lips are pillowy and soft, and he holds you firm and secure. He moans when your tongue traces the seam of his lips, your hands pulling him in closer to you as onlookers pass by with knowing giggles.

When Jamie finally pulls back for air, his breath catches at the sight of you. Swollen lips and the far-off dreamy look of someone who's been snogged properly, he doesn't know who to thank for the vision in front of him.

"Back to Ola's?"

"My place?"

You both stop after interrupting each other. You both chuckle, but it takes Jamie a second before he realizes what you asked him.

"Your place, you sure?" You give him a cat-like grin, your hands still on his lapels.

"I don't really wanna go back with the boys, do you?" Jamie shakes his head, to hell with the boys. Fuck em. His mouth makes an O shape when you pull him closer by the lapels and lean to whisper in his ear.

"Good, because those clothes and my clothes would look good on my floor." You kiss his nose softly, and Jamie rewards you with a beaming smile. "Then tomorrow, you can buy us breakfast."

Jamie could cry when he hears you say tomorrow. "I'll buy you breakfast every day for the rest of our lives if you'll let me. Now," He takes your hands in his. "I'm gonna do something that I've been wanting to do for too damn long."

"And what's that?" The look Jamie gives you is nothing less than sin incarnate. A hungry predator eyeing up its prey. There's no hiding your gasp when he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"I really hope you don't have plans tomorrow, love, because I plan on making sure your neighbors know exactly who I am. Now, why don't you lead the way?"

[picture-me-in-the-trees]

sometimes i think about young roy kent and get so sad. this is a guy who got sent away at nine years old. who’s presumably never been able to get close to anyone other than his grandfather (whom he didn’t get to say goodbye to before he passed) and his niece and sister. a guy who, after his very first game, had an article written about how he wasn’t actually that good at the one solid constant—and honestly comfort—in his life and kept that article in his wallet. let it resonate with him. defined himself on it. it fucking wrecked him. a guy who doesn’t feel like he’s worthy of anything. refusing to get close to others or let his guard down or show emotion. a guy who literally didn’t have a close romantic relationship until keeley. a guy who doesn’t want to be seen as soft at all so he doesn’t smile. throughout his whole career. a guy who takes all his emotions and channels them into anger. a guy who has such an incessant need to prove himself to anyone and everyone. a guy whose self worth is intrinsically tied to playing football. a guy who doesn’t know who he is without football. a guy who thinks the only reason he matters is because he can kick a ball around. a guy who thinks he’s nothing without this game. a guy who maybe doesn’t even really know himself. a guy who (in my opinion) is so conflicted with his sexuality bc of these expectations for him and what he should be like. bc he doesn’t want to lose the one thing that means everything to him. a guy who is so so scared. who thinks that everyone is out to get him. a guy who needs a kiss and to be held and to be told everything is going to be okay. he’s going to be okay

[shanastoryteller]

A most Happy Pride onto you ma’am! Have you seen Ted Lasso? If so can I please get some roy/keeley/jamie<3 If not then dealers choice, fly free!

The first time it’s not gay, because Keeley is there.

The second time it’s not gay, because they’re both drunk.

The third time it’s not gay, because Keeley is there again.

The fourth time it’s not gay, because it’s not like Roy meant it, it’s just Jamie had been so flushed with the high of a good practice and everyone had been gone and he’d thought if he didn’t kiss him then he’d go mad and then stumbling into the showers had just seemed like good sense.

The fifth time it’s not gay, because of Keeley, again, except somehow Jamie ends up in the middle and Roy decides a mouth is a mouth, no matter who it belongs to.

The sixth time it’s not gay because Jamie and Keeley are having sex alone first, and he doesn’t mean to interrupt, since they’re each supposed to have time with her, but then Jamie sees him and licks his lips and jerks his head in an invitation and saying no would be more gay than saying yes, obviously.

None of it’s gay because it’s just sex. He loves Keeley and Jamie loves Keeley and he maybe he loves Jamie in a best friend, brotherly sort of way but not in any sort of way that would put him in the position to get his heart broken by Jamie Fucking Tartt.

He breaks up Keeley and that should be the end of that but somehow he keeps having sex with Jamie. He does his best not to think about it.

It gets out that one of the players the team is gay. Roy feels sweat on the back of his neck.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s more than one,” Jamie scoffs as he leans back before his eyebrows dip together. “Or does bi not count? Proper proper gay, then? Who has the patience for that, honestly.”

“Uh.” He can at least enjoy seeing Ted be speechless for once. “Are you – of course, we love and support you no matter what, right guys-“

“I’m dating Roy and Keeley!” he says, offended. “What, did you think I was just doing that because I was bored?”

“And Keeley?” Coach repeats faintly.

“Yeah, it’s fine, Roy’s the one who’s causing his problems with his mid life crisis or whatever. I thought he was panicking more over dating a guy, but Keeley said whichever one of us he tried to break up with would tell us which crisis was the prevalent.”

Roy wants to die, and kill Jaime, and kiss him.

If he’d known they were dating maybe he would have been a little bit less – him, about it, is the thing.

Keeley is going to be so annoyingly smug about the whole thing.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Little Mic Interviews

Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Roy Kent x GN!Reader

Summary: You bring Roy's niece on for a social media campaign that you're sure everyone will love. Based off my imagine here.

You meet Roy in his office for lunch and you're practically bouncing off the walls.

He raises a brow at you in confusion, "What's got you all giddy?"

You giggle and move to sit on Roy's lap, "I proposed a social media campaign to Keeley and Rebecca and they loved it!"

"That's...good?"

You nod, "Yes, very good! The next thing I need to do is talk to your sister."

Roy looks at you even more confused, "My sister? Why?"

You're grinning, "I want Phoebe to work with me on this so, obviously, I need your sister's permission."

Your boyfriend's eyes squint at you in suspicion, "Should I be concerned?"

"Nope! It'll be fine. Fun even! I think the guys will enjoy it. So I'll chat with Phoebs and your sister later tonight. Hopefully, they'll both say yes."

____________________

The next weekend, Roy brings Phoebe to work. When they enter your office, you and Phoebe squeal, running into each other's arms.

"Fuckin' weirdos," Roy grumbles, but with a smile on his face.

You snicker, "Hi, lovey," you peck Roy's lips, and then proceed to push him towards the door, "And out you go because us girls need to get ready!"

Once Roy is out the door, he turns back around, "I'll see you at lunch though, yeah?"

"Of course," you peck his lips again, "Love you. See you in bit."

"Love you," he murmurs and looks over your shoulder, "You behave, got it?"

Phoebe smiles up at her uncle, "I will, Uncle Roy!"

"Good," he says with a nod and leaves you two be.

You clap your hands together and bring Phoebe to the other side of your desk, "Alright, Phoebs, let's brainstorm on the types of questions you'll ask the boys!"

_____________________

You and Phoebe walk out to the pitch an hour later with your work phone, a clipboard, a tripod, and a few bluetooth mini mics for Phoebe and the lads to use.

You nod to Beard and Nate, "Afternoon!"

Beard tips his hat, "Y/N."

Nate waves, "Hi, Y/N. Hi, Phoebe. Whatcha got there?"

"We're going to interview the guys!" Phoebe replies excitingly.

"Yup. Phoebs, came up with all sorts of questions for them so this is going to be veeeeery interesting." You look at your clipboard, "Alright, so we'll have the team captain up first." You look at Phoebe, "Mind grabbing Isaac for us, love?"

"Okay!" the young girl immediately rushes to the pitch towards her Uncle Roy. You watch as Roy looks down at her and they have a short conversation until Roy yells out, "ISAAC! YOU'RE UP FIRST!"

Isaac's head shoots up and starts lightly jogging to Phoebe. He's escorted by the young girl to where you've set up your phone and tripod.

"Hi, Isaac," you smile at the team captain."

"'Sup. Roy said you're interviewin' us for the socials, yeah?"

"Yup! And Phoebe will be conducting the interview. I'm just behind the camera and will butt in if needed," you go over to hand him and Phoebe a tiny mic that's already connected to your phone.

"Okay, Phoebs, whenever you're ready!" you give her a thumbs up and press record.

Phoebe immediately looks up to the team captain, "Isaac, why do you look grumpy all the time?" You over your mouth to keep you from laughing.

Isaac looks confused, "I don't look grumpy. I thought that was Roy's thing."

"You and my Uncle Roy both look grumpy a lot. Are you a grumpy person?"

"...no, this is just my face?"

Phoebe shrugs, "Okay! What do you prefer: unicorns or faeries?"

"Hm..." Isaac pauses to really think about it, "Unicorns are cool. I could probably ride one, yeah?"

"Good answer," Phoebe nods in approval. She then looks to you and gives a thumbs up, "I think we're good, Y/N!"

You chuckle, "Alright, Phoebs." You stop the recording and nod at Isaac, "Thanks, Isaac!"

"Sick," he says and jogs back to wear the rest of the guys are practicing.

"Alright, love, can you grab Dani for me?"

"Okay!" Phoebe runs off to grab the footballer and it continues to go that way as each interview comes and goes. Her questions were always very random:

"What do you use for your hair?"

"What are your thoughts on the new Disney movie?"

"How important do you think math is in football?"

The second to last interview: Jamie.

"How's it, Phoebs?" Jamie gives her a fist bump and she's beaming.

"Great! Okay, my question for you is: can you come to my birthday party? My friends don't believe that you and Uncle Roy are best friends. Also because my classmate Joanna doesn't believe that I know you and I want to wave it in her face that I do!"

Jamie chuckles, "'Course I'll come to your birthday party. Your my best friend's niece after all," he gives her a wink and they high five.

You snort as Jamie walks off and Roy comes forward, "Alright, you finished?"

"Actually, you're the last one we need to interview," you say with a smile.

"Me? Why the fuck would you want to interview me?"

You playfully roll your eyes at your boyfriend, "Phoebe wants to interview you. So go on, be a good uncle."

He frowns and walks over to Phoebe in front of your phone. He grimaces at the tiny mic she hands to him, "Why the fuck is this so small?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "Just get on with it!"

Phoebe smiles up at her uncle, "Hi Uncle Roy!"

"Hi."

"So my question for you is: when are you and Y/N getting married?"

Roy whips his head to you and you're laughing, "I swear I didn't tell her to ask that! Phoebe, ask him a different question!"

He shakes his head, "No, no. I'll answer it, but you can't hear."

Roy bends down and whispers his answer in Phoebe's ear. You and Roy have been together for quite some time and you love each other very much. You've talked about marriage in the past a few times, but you still weren't sure that's what Roy wanted, at least with you. But fuck did you want to marry him.

Phoebe is giggling and Roy is smirking as he straightens, "Alright, anymore questions?"

"Yes, can we get ice cream after this?"

You snort, "Of course, Phoebs, since you did an amazing job."

"Yes!"

You quickly clean up and the three of you head to your office to drop of your things and then you head to the ice cream shop.

________________

The following weeks, you start to post the interviews on the AFC Richmond socials. They're a hit, earning thousands of views and likes. But the one that really got people going was Roy's interview.

"Why'd you post that? Didn't seem very entertaining or anythin'." Roy says as you show him the post.

"I beg to differ, babe. Look at the comments! Everyone loves how you are with Phoebe."

"Now people won't take me all seriously."

"Highly doubt that. Those brows of fury will set them straight," you run your finger along one of his brows.

He snorts and pulls you closer, "You wanna know my answer to Phoebe's question though?"

You shake your head, "Nah."

He cocks a brow, "You sure?"

"I'm sure," you cuddle closer to him, resting your head against his chest.

The weight in Roy's pocket feels heavy now, but it will definitely lighten up soon.

[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.

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

[caslutz]

i feel like some people don’t understand the bar scene at all because they’re like— this ruined royjamie and messed everything up, why did they make it about keeley!!

but that conversation was never about keeley guys!! yeah, roy and jamie might have been talking about her and they might have been pretending that, that’s what they cared about, but it was never about that actually.

roy asked jamie to go to that bar because he genuinely wanted to hang out with him, but once he started opening himself up to jamie (telling him he was proud of him and shit) things started to feel too real so his defenses go up immediately and that’s why he brings up keeley. not to make her seem unavailable but to make himself seem unavailable. roy kent’s emotional constipation(tm).

jamie only gets competitive because he’s hurt and that’s just in his nature. he had gone out with roy thinking that roy just wanted to hang out with him (and maybe something more??) but roy actually telling him it was never about that but to just rub keeley in his face makes him really upset, realizing he got the wrong idea. he thought maybe roy was reciprocating his feelings :(

like look how hurt he looks here!! that is not because he can’t get the girl, it’s because he thinks the guy doesn’t want him!!

[illiterateaffairs]

DISTRACTIONS X | LET ME BACK IN

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 8,787

summary: jamie’s upset that you’re keeping secrets from him and keeping him a secret. you need to find a way to fix everything.

A/N: Thank you all for your reactions on the last chapter. Even if you’re mad at the reader, I love that you guys care so much about her and Jamie. I hope despite the angst this chapter makes it a bit better...here we goooooo! xo

distractions masterlist | previous chapter  

Something was wrong with Jamie. And you had a feeling it was your fault. 

After you returned from your interview with the publishing house in New York, Jamie started acting differently. He was quiet and distant. When you tried to ask him about it, he brushed you off. At first you thought something had happened, and that he’d eventually tell you what was wrong in his own time. But that was a week ago and he still hadn’t given you any explanation as to what was making him act like this.

You think maybe he’s caught on to your own secrets, such as the job opportunity you still weren’t telling him about. The interview had gone well, so much so, that you were about to have your second. You had talked yourself up to telling him about it before then, but since he was already not talking to you, you didn’t want to make matters worse. Or you were using Jamie’s feelings as a perfect excuse to delay the inevitable. Either way, you weren’t any closer to explaining your behavior than he was explaining his. 

It was eating you up inside. You wanted to ask what was wrong, but you couldn’t bear the answer. You figured he was mad at you for all the secrets surrounding your relationship, and in a perfect world you’d give in and tell him everything. But you seized up every time you thought about doing so. It only made you feel even worse that he was pushing you away, and you were helpless to do anything about it. His behavior hurt you, but you couldn’t help but feel like you deserved it, so you took it. 

It was clear communication was something you both needed to work on.

You also didn’t want to pry too much because you figured AFC Richmond’s upcoming match against Man City was also getting to him. 

In the bits and pieces he’s told you about his dad, you knew he hadn’t seen him since they had it out when they played at Wembley. They were also going to Jamie’s hometown, and the die-hard Man City fans weren’t particularly thrilled when Jamie left the team for his brief reality tv stint. You can’t imagine how all of this is weighing on his chest. You imagine it's pretty hard, and again you just wish he’d come talk to you about it.

Today you decided to try giving Jamie complete space by not reaching out, with the hopes that maybe he would do so himself. In an effort to not sit around and wait by your phone, you go out to lunch with Keeley and Rebecca to enjoy your day off. 

Turns out it's exactly what you needed. Not only were you dying for a good meal - that Rebecca was paying for - you were in desperate need of girl talk. You were thrilled to catch up with both of them, and were even more excited to hear that Rebecca was investing in Keeley’s PR company so it didn’t have to completely shut down. You were also very intrigued when Rebecca made reference to Roy spending the night with Keeley a few nights ago, and upon questioning from both of you, Keeley played coy as to whether that meant her and the brooding football coach were getting back together. 

Unfortunately, that’s when the topic changed to your own romantic endeavors. Both of your friends inquired about how you and Jamie were doing. At first, you plastered on a polite smile, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince them everything was okay if you couldn’t even convince yourself. As soon as your faux-smile flips into a wobbling frown, both women sit up and are at the ready to comfort you. 

“We’re actually not great right now,” you choke out, feeling yourself becoming emotional about everything for the first time. Determined not to cry, you bite your tongue, “Jamie’s been distant lately and I’m pretty sure it's my fault.”

“Oh, babe,” Keeley sighs, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, “What makes you say that?”

You take a deep breath, “First, that I’ve still been hesitant to tell everyone about us.”

Rebecca frowns from her seat on the other side of you, grasping your hand, “I’m sure he understands why you want to wait.”

“But I don’t even fully understand why,” you sigh, squeezing her hand, “And it's not just that. I’ve been lying to him about something else, too.”

Rebecca and Keeley remain quiet, giving you the space to admit it yourself. After collecting yourself, you begin to explain how you were interviewing for a literary job in New York, thanks to a friend back home. You told them it was going well, and that you had another interview set up in a couple days, and while you were excited to have a job in your dream career field, there was also something holding you back. And you didn’t want Jamie to worry about you moving away, especially if you didn’t know whether or not that was going to happen yet. But you fear he’s caught on to the sneaking around and is upset with you. 

You take a deep breath, after you word vomit every worry you were feeling. You were staring at the table throughout your whole explanation, and when you finally look up at them, they’re exchanging looks with each other.

“What?” you whisper, “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

They rush to assure you they do not in fact think you’re horrible at all. They completely understand why you’ve been keeping this to yourself, but admit that it probably isn’t making Jamie feel good that you’re keeping something from him, even though he doesn’t know what it is. 

“I know its scary,” Keeley says softly, now holding on to your other hand, “But I don’t think Jamie will react as badly as you think. Yeah, he’d probably hate the idea of you leaving, but he’s also so supportive of you. You know that.”

You nod, “I do know that. I think it's just the last time I told someone I was with that I wanted to go after a new job, he made me feel like shit.”

Keeley scoffs, “Well that guy was an asshole and he’s not Jamie.”

“I know.” You repeat, firmly this time. Hesitantly, you turn your focus to Rebecca, “What about you? Are you upset that I've been considering another job?”

“Please, I’ve been waiting for this day to come since you started,” Rebecca chuckles, “You and I both knew this was just temporary, until you were in a better place to go after what you really wanted. I’m proud that you’re making those steps now.”

You close your eyes, absorbing her kind words. While it was reassuring to hear, it didn’t make any of this easier. 

“Even if it was supposed to be temporary, that didn’t stop me from finding the best people I’ve ever met,” you squeeze both of their hands, “I don’t want to leave any of you just as much as I don’t want to leave Jamie, even if it's what I’ve always wanted.”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange another look, this time with small smiles forming on their faces.

“What if we told you, you could do both?” Keeley asks mysteriously.

You narrow your eyes, “What? Did you suddenly invent teleportation or something?”

“No, better,” she smiles proudly, “I recently took on a new client who’s an up-and-coming author from Wales, who is signed under this major agency here is London. So, because I’m the best person ever, I reached out to his agent and told her all about you and the book you’re working on, and she’s interested in meeting with you.”

“A literary agent, in the U.K., is interested in meeting with me?” you ask, dumbfounded.

Keeley nods aggressively and Rebecca gives you a huge grin.

“So, if they like my work, they could potentially sign me, and I could stay in Richmond?”

“Yup,” Keeley confirms, “And then when you eventually finish your incredible book, I can be your publicist!”

You laugh in disbelief, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll think about it,” Rebecca says, “We know New York was where you wanted to be and maybe that’s still your dream, and we’d 100% support you. But if staying in Richmond is where you want to be now, you can do that too and still pursue writing.”

“Yeah, we love you, and we just want you to be happy,” Keeley assures, “Although, selfishly, I’d want you to stay here but that's just me.”

“No, I second that.” Rebecca quips.

“But totally no pressure,” Keeley tacks on, and after a beat, the three of you burst into a fit of giggles. 

“Thank you, both,” you smile genuinely, “For everything but mostly being so supportive. I appreciate you looking out for me, and I will definitely consider meeting with that agent.”

“Good,” Rebecca cheers, pulling her hand from yours to clap hers together, “Everything will work out, career wise and with Jamie, too. I know it.”

Keeley squeezes your hand again, before returning to finishing her brunch, and your conversation swings back to what Rebecca has had going on. While you still needed to fix things with Jamie, as well as figure out what the hell you wanted to do with your writing, you had a feeling no matter what happened, everything would be okay. 

Contrary to feeling more confident in your situation, it had only gotten worse. Over the last few days, Jamie had gone from distancing himself from you to completely ghosting you. Your attempts at reaching out weren’t completely ignored, but his responses were minimal and you could tell were excuses. At work he’d avoid you, and when you invited him over, he’d say he was either tired from training or doing extra training. Again, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t sting, but you tried to push it all away, hoping after the Manchester game, he’d start feeling differently. 

Meanwhile, you were also grappling with not one, but two job opportunities. The one Kara presented was in your dream city, but the one Keeley offered would keep you here with your new found-family. Both were appealing, but both scared the shit of you. Moving to yet another city was a big deal, but staying in one just for someone else was a mistake you’ve made before. Not that Jamie was at all like Mason. You knew that above all else. But it was still something to consider. Plus, it was anxiety inducing having two of your friends get you these chances that felt a little unearned, especially with how you’ve been handling everything. It was a lot to process, and the one person who usually helps you relax was avoiding you. By no fault but your own. 

Jesus, you were getting no work done today, with all of these other problems taking up space in your brain. Plus you were hiding from Ted’s mom in an effort to keep your secret, because she in fact did not know about everything. 

“Oi!” you jump at the sound of your office door being busted open, a booming voice accompanying it, “You need to fix your boyfriend.”

With your hand over your chest, trying to settle your racing heart, you give Roy Kent an apprehensive look, your eyes flitting to the hallway behind him.

Roy rolls his eyes, “Most of the team has cleared out for the night. No one’s going to hear us.”

Still, he invites himself into the room and pushes the door shut rather aggressively, before plopping himself down in the seat across from yours with his arms crossed.

You calm down a bit, but you still feel nervous with the glare he was giving you. Did his eyebrows get thicker?

“What do you mean?” you ask eventually, wondering if you come off like you don’t know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Tartt,” Roy spits out, “He just spent the last fifteen minutes crying into my arms.”

Your face falls, “He did?”

“Yeah. Said he’s lost his wings.”

“Jesus,” you mutter with a frown. “Did he tell you why he feels like that?”

Roy shakes his head, “He says he doesn’t even know.” You bite your lip, breaking eye contact with him. He tilts his head, “Something tells me you might have an idea.”

You sigh, crossing your own arms before looking at him again, “He’s been acting off the last week or so.” Roy nods. “I think it has something to do with the Man City match coming up.”

Roy grunts, “That doesn’t surprise me.”

You hesitate before adding on, “And I probably have something to do with it, too.”

Roy furrows his brows again, “What did you do?”

You grit your teeth, “I think it's more about what I’m not doing. I’ve had some personal stuff I’ve been sorting through recently that I’ve been keeping to myself. And I can tell he’s been wanting to tell everyone about us even though he says it's fine that we’re not.”

“So?” Roy shrugs, “Just fucking tell everyone.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Why not?” he questions, “Are you embarrassed of him or something?”

“No! Of course not. I do want people to know.”

“Then why not tell people?”

“Because every time I think about telling anyone - the team, my family - I get this horrible feeling in my chest and I feel like I can’t breathe. I don’t know why, but it freaks me out.”

Roy’s silent for a second before letting out a “Huh.” Another moment goes by, “You should talk to Ted about that.”

Inwardly you laugh. Oh, how that was only another part of the problem. A problem you still didn’t understand the root of.

“Either way,” Roy continues, “I think you should at least tell Jamie this. He needs you.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” you say, “He’s barely talked to me the last few days, and when he does it's nothing of substance. I want to help him but I don’t know how to get him to let me.”

Once again Roy doesn’t say anything right away. You instead decide to break the silence this time.

“Maybe Keeley would be able to get through to him,” you suggest softly, “She already kind of knows something’s up and she’s known him longer. Maybe he’ll listen to her.”

Roy looks as apprehensive about the idea as you sound, but you both know it's not a bad one. Eventually he nods and stands up.

“I’ll ask her,” he states. You take that as the end of your conversation before Roy turns back in your direction in the doorway, “You’re going to have to talk to him eventually. Jamie may be stubborn and weird and a fucking idiot sometimes, but you’re important to him. He’ll come around.”

You give him a slight smile, though it's a bit forced, and thank him. He nods once, his lip quirking up a bit in what must be his version of a smile, before he disappears down the hall. 

Maybe if you couldn’t fix Jamie someone else could.

Apparently no one knew how to fix Jamie. 

While you hadn’t heard from him into the next day, Roy and Keeley had informed you she’d try to talk to him when everyone arrived in Man City. You waited in the suite you were sharing with her and Rebecca, anxiously hoping she’d come back and announce he was magically doing better. But, when she quietly entered the hotel room, the look on her face told you everything.

“He’s still upset?” You question already knowing the answer.

Keeley regretfully nods, “And I think I made it worse.”

“How could you have possibly made it worse?” you exclaim. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Keeley cries, her hands shaking, “But there’s team movie night, tonight, right? Maybe some time with the team and a good, old-fashioned rom-com will cheer him up.”

“I don’t know, Keeley,” you sigh. You hesitate for a few seconds, before asking, “Did he say anything about me?”

Keeley looks at the carpeted floor, “Not really. I brought you up - said you were worried about him - and he just looked sad and didn’t say anything.”

“Fuck,” you breath out, collapsing backwards on your bed, “Did I break him?”

“No,” Keeley urges, jumping on to the bed beside you, “Trust me it can’t be just your shit. The boy is unhinged right now.”

You snort despite the situation. 

“Come on,” Keeley nudges you, “Let's get a drink, relax a little, go to the movie night and see if we can’t talk to him after, yeah?”

You sigh again, before reluctantly nodding and letting her pull you up and out of the room. 

Jamie needed to clear his head. Contrary to what he had hoped, a team viewing of You’ve Got Mail was not enough to lift his spirits. In fact, he could hardly get through five minutes of the movie without thinking of you. And thinking of you came with a reminder of how you’d been hiding things from him, and then how he’d cowardly been avoiding you instead of facing the problem head on. Of course those anxieties also doubled when he remembered the game he was playing this weekend. 

He felt guilty for shutting you out. Of course he did. He honestly hadn’t meant for it to get this far, he was just trying to figure out how to bring it all up. But then he started spiraling about returning to his home town and seeing his dad that it all became too much. He wanted nothing more than to talk to you about his worries, but you were apart of the reason he was so anxious. He could sense your own guilt - especially during the movie when he could feel your eyes staring at the back of his head. But he was still afraid of where the conversation would lead, so he once again pushed those feelings away. 

Jamie knew there was one place he could go that would instantly make him feel better. And that was his mother’s house.

As soon as the credits rolled, Ted was calling for a 10PM curfew, but Jamie was on his way out. He expertly navigated the streets of Manchester, hoodie pulled over his head to avoid unwanted attention. About halfway through his commute, he caught onto the fact that you, Roy, and Keeley were trailing him. Despite his avoidance of all three of them, he couldn’t help but feel amused that they were trying to sneakily follow him. 

After leading them through a tunnel, in which the trio lost track of him, he doubled back and snuck up on them. Once again, he was satisfied that he’d managed to startle the three, but then he noticed the worry on your face, and he was reminded of the situation you were all in. He briefly considered ordering them away, until Keeley asked if he was buying drugs, so he figured ridding them of any weird suspicions they may have about him would get them off of his back. 

As he led them unknowingly to his mum’s house, he felt a pain in his stomach knowing you were purposely leaving space between the two of you as you followed behind. He wanted nothing more than to take your hand, but just because you felt bad about hiding things from him, didn’t absolve you of everything. 

When they arrived on his street, a few of the neighborhood kids started yelling obscenities at him. Jamie just shook his head, knowing as well that Roy was definitely amused, before walking them over to his house. 

Simon, his step-dad, greets them warmly and Jamie introduces them to his three confused companions. Then before he knows it, his mum is bounding down the stairs and all of his anxiety begins to melt away as she engulfs him into her arms. 

Pulling away briefly, he turns back to see the curious looks on your faces, “Mummy, I’d like to introduce you to my friends, Y/N, Keeley and this hairy prick’s Roy.”

You smile sweetly in recognition as you all greet Jamie’s mom, but Jamie can tell you’re still caught off guard. 

“It’s lovely to meet you all. I’d give you a hug but I’m not letting go of this one,” Jamie’s mom, Georgie, says cheerfully before Jamie picks her up and spins her around.

The lot of you end up in the living room after that, Jamie collapsing in his mother’s arms on the couch as Simon serves the rest of you with some of his homemade sweet treats. After Jamie tells her about the jerks online making fun of his hair, Georgie suggests that Simon give the rest of you a tour of the house. As they all file out, Jamie looks up at you. You give him a tiny smile; one that somehow conveyed guilt, sorrow, and support. Jamie was both happy you were here and scared as hell about where this night was going to go.

Now left alone with his mum, she finally presses Jamie to confess to what has been bothering him. He begins to explain how ever since he stopped playing football to spite his dad, he’s begun to feel like he’s lost his passion; that his heart wasn’t in it. 

Georgie frowns and holds her son closer. She lets him know that whether or not Jamie was the way he was in spite of his father, he was an amazing human. She also admits to how emotional she was when she saw him play for England. She assured him that even if his dad was in the stands tomorrow, drunk and screaming at him, it didn’t matter. He had nothing to prove to him. Even if he was feeling lost, she was positive he’d find his way eventually. 

Jamie instantly felt comforted by his mum’s words, hugging her tighter. He knew that no matter what happened with his dad, he’d always have her and she’d always be his biggest fan. 

After her speech, they sit in silence for a few moments, with his mum brushing her fingers through his hair.

“Jamie, is something else bothering you other than your dad?” she asks softly. 

Jamie plays with the strings of his sweatshirt, not even sure where to begin when it comes to you. He hadn’t told his mum about you officially, but he certainly hadn’t shied away from mentioning you over phone calls the duration that you’d been here. 

“There’s also a girl,” he says slowly, “That I’ve been seeing the last couple months.”

He can feel his mum smirk into his hairline, “One of the girls that came here with you tonight?” Jamie already knows his mum knows about Keeley, but he still clarifies that it's you. “And you like her?”

Jamie sighs. Like doesn’t even begin to cover it. “I’m mad for her.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I think she’s hiding some things from me,” he admits quietly, “And she’s also been keen on keeping our relationship a secret from most of our friends and I dunno why. I’m afraid she’s ashamed of me.”

“But she treats you well? Makes you happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then she’s probably just scared, babe,” she tries to soothe his worries, “I doubt she’s keeping things a secret for any reason to hurt you.”

“But why would she be scared?” he questions, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to hurt her. I’ve done and said everything to make sure she knows that. Well, up until I started avoiding her the last few days.”

Georgie shakes her head at that last bit, but ignores it, “It doesn’t matter what you say. If voices in her head are telling her otherwise, they’re still going to be louder than any other voice even if it's unreasonable. This is the girl you told me about right? The one with the asshole boyfriend from America?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Jamie mutters making his mother chuckle.

“She’s probably still reeling from the way he treated her. Even if you prove that you’re not anything like him, it's still gonna take some time for her to fully trust you. Or anyone. You need to be patient with her, love.”

Jamie sighs. He knows she’s right. He has his own voices in his head working against him half the time, he should be more understanding of whatever is going on in your own head. He gets that you’ve been fucked over before, and you’re definitely putting up walls because of it. He just wishes there was something he could do or say that would erase all of the emotional scars you had. But again, maybe that was something you could work on together. He just needed to actually step up and talk to you. 

Even though you and Jamie have been in a rocky place, you are enjoying the tour of his childhood home. There are so many little things throughout the house that give you a glimpse into Jamie’s life, you try to memorize it all. You’re loving everything you learn, that is, until you make it to Jamie’s room and see the poster of Keeley with two footballs covering her breasts. You feel a little weird seeing a picture of your friend and boyfriend's ex in his childhood bedroom, but part of you is equally amused, especially with Keeley’s reaction. And then there’s an old photo of Roy pinned right beside it that completes it all. 

Simon leaves the three of you alone to check on his baked goods in the oven. You eventually excuse yourself to the bathroom in order to gather your thoughts, but also to give Roy and Keeley the chance to talk. You’ve been sensing the tension between them all night, despite their insistence on just being friends.

As soon as you shut yourself in the hall bathroom, you stare at your face in the mirror. You look downright exhausted. And you were. All of the worrying you were doing about Jamie, on top of the shit you were keeping from him, was weighing heavily on you. Seeing him turn into a little kid in the presence of his mom both melted and broke your heart. He was clearly hurting for a million reasons, and it killed you to even be one. It also hurt you when he introduced you to his mom as a friend, but it was your own doing. 

Splashing water on your face, you begin to question everything. Why did you really want to keep your relationship with Jamie a secret? You have half a mind to send an email blast to the entire club right now saying you’re together, but even the half-baked idea makes your stomach hurt. But why? Why couldn’t you just be a normal person and tell the world you had a boyfriend. It wasn’t a big deal.

Except it was. Because it was Jamie. And with all his quirks and occasionally prick-like qualities, you adored him. More than you’ve ever adored anyone. It was the biggest deal in the world and you didn’t want to risk messing it up. 

But you already have. 

That’s it, you decide, staring your reflection down as you dry your face with a hand towel. You were going to tell Jamie everything. About Ted. About your job conundrum. And then once the air was cleared and Jamie - hopefully - still wanted to be with you, you’d hopefully feel better and be able to tell the world. You don't give yourself the chance to change your mind. As soon as you were back in Richmond you would talk. But hopefully you get the chance to at least apologize to him tonight. If he lets you. 

You don’t have to wonder about that long. As you exit the bathroom, you nearly run full force into Jamie, but he gently grabs your arms to steady you.

Your heart doesn’t settle though, as you find yourself alone with Jamie for the first time in what feels like ages. 

“Hi,” you breathe out shakily, studying his eyes for any sign of what he might say to you.

“Hi,” he repeats just as quietly, slowly and reluctantly, removing his arms from around you.

After a few seconds of silence, both of you open your mouths to apologize, but as soon as the words ‘i’m sorry’ leave his lips, you’re frowning.

“Jamie, you have nothing to be sorry for,” you insist, “You’re the one who’s been hurting these last couple weeks, and I have been the one to make it worse.”

Jamie shakes his head, “But I do have a reason. I fucked up. I should have just told you what was bothering me instead of pushing you away. You don’t deserve that.”

“I-”

“You don’t.” he states, leaving no room for argument.

You swallow thickly, “Why did you? Push me away, I mean?”

Jamie shrugs his shoulders, “I think I was afraid if I confronted the issue, that’d you tell me you didn’t want to be with me or something. So I just shoved it all down. But that clearly didn’t help.”

You sigh, “I get that. I still want to be with you, though, just so you know.”

The corner of Jamie’s lips lift, but it's still wobbly, “What has been going on with you then? I know you’re keeping something from me, and I know it has something to do with why you don’t want to tell anyone about us. I want to respect your decision, but it honestly has been killing me not telling anyone.” Jamie’s voice gets small, “Is it me? Are you embarrassed of me? Am I not good enough?”

“No, Jamie,” you step forward and gently place your hands on his face, relieved he doesn’t push you away, “You know that’s not it. I like you so much and I’m proud to be with you.”

“Then why don’t you want anyone to know?”

“You want the honest answer?” He nods. “I don’t know,” you whisper, “It scares me, Jamie. I don’t know why, but the idea of more people knowing makes me even more afraid of losing you somehow. I know that doesn’t make sense, but for whatever reason, keeping to our bubble makes me feel like I can protect us from anything bad happening.”

“Babe?” he quips quietly, “Something did happen. That’s why we’re having this conversation.”

You sigh, defeated, “I know. I told you I’m bad at this.” 

Jamie frowns and wraps you in his arms, “You’re not any worse than me. We just need to talk to each other.”

“Yeah,” you nod into his shoulder, “I promise I have more I want to tell you - and I will actually tell you - but it’d probably be better to do once we’re back home.”

Jamie’s heart swells. He knows you don’t mean anything by the word home, but he can’t help but feel comforted by the phrasing. “That sounds good,” he says softly, pulling back slightly so he can see your face, “Promise me, it's nothing bad. Like, you’re not seeing someone else, and you’re not wanted for murder, right?”

You laugh, despite the weight of the situation, “No, it's none of those things.” 

“Good,” Jamie smiles softly, “And I promise not to ignore you the next time I’m upset.”

“Thank you,” you give him your own watery smile, “Are you going to be okay, tomorrow? At the game, potentially seeing your dad?”

“I don’t know. I hope so,” he answers honestly, “Seeing mum always helps.”

Your smile widens, “Yeah. Your mom is wonderful. I’m really glad you have her.” You brush a few strands of hair out of his face, “I also promise next time we visit it will be under better circumstances, and you won’t have to introduce me as your friend.”

Jamie grins, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m still okay with waiting as long as you need,” Jamie adds, “I’m scared, too. Also eager to brag about my insanely hot girlfriend everywhere I go. But I can wait. As long as you need.”

You giggle, “Thank you.”

“Alright, let’s get Keeley and Roy, and get out of here.” Jamie states, making a move in the direction of his bedroom. However, you tug him back.

“One more thing,” you whisper, before planting your lips on his for a long awaited kiss. When you eventually part, you both smile, “I missed that.”

“Me too,” Jamie nods before pressing his forehead against yours, “Never going that long without doing that ever again.”

You chuckle and agree, before you both part to collect Roy and Keeley. When you reenter Jamie’s room, you find the pair with their hands interlocked. They react as if they were in the middle of something - which they clearly were - but Keeley stands up and drags you out of the room, leaving the boys behind. You make a mental note to ask her about that later. 

Outside o the house, the four of you say goodbye to Jamie’s mom and step-dad. His mom surprises you and gives you an extra tight hug. You have a feeling she probably already knows a thing or two about your relationship with Jamie. You find yourself unbothered by this though, and hope you find yourself feeling this way about telling your own family soon. 

You watch on and admire Jamie and his mother as they say goodbye. You’re once again so thankful he has a parent like her in his life, and that he’s clearly gotten the best parts of himself from her. He also definitely gained much of his confident arrogance from the way she talks about him, but he wouldn’t be Jamie without it so you can’t complain. 

After one last wave, and a promise to return, the four of you head down the road, making plans to get a drink upon arrival back to the hotel. 

The rest of the night you feel a sense of relief flood you. You and Jamie were okay. More than okay, in fact, you come to realize, when he’s propositioning you to come back to his room with him. A room he wasn’t sharing with a teammate, he’s sure to emphasize. You of course eagerly accept, and spend the night wrapped in Jamie’s arms before falling into a blissful sleep. 

You find yourself thinking about your late night hook-up when you lie awake early the next morning. Things were different between you. They were more intimate, even by your standards. It was like you used your bodies to convey every ounce of how sorry you were, and how much you cared about one another. It was slow. Tender. Loving. 

Before you can linger too much on that thought, Jamie’s eyes are fluttering open as he lays on the pillow next to you. As soon as he blinks the sleepiness out of his eyes, he gives you a warm smile, which you return.

“Good morning,” he whispers, running his fingers through your messy hair.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“I wish I could stay here with you all day, but…”

“You’ve got to get ready for the game.” you finish for him.

He nods regretfully before pushing himself out of bed. Before he can get too far, you reach for his arm.

“Will you be okay out there today?” you ask, once again.

And again, Jamie seems unsure, but he plasters another small smile on his face before leaning down to give you a kiss, “As long as you’re there watching, I’ll be fine.”

You can’t help but smile back, pecking him one last time before shooing him off to get ready.

With another moment alone, you once again feel relieved that you and Jamie are back in a better place. However, you feel that familiar ache in your chest that something is missing; that you still have things to make up for. You know you still have a lot to explain to him, but that could wait until tomorrow. You needed to see Jamie win this game first. 

Richmond’s match against Man City on this day will go down as one of the most stressful football games you’ve ever witnessed. 

Everything started out smoothly. You watched enthusiastically from a box, seated in between Keeley and Rebecca, with Higgins on her other side. Van Damme was blocking every attempt made by the opposing team, and Jamie assisted Colin in making the first goal of the match. As you and your friends cheered, Leslie was hesitant to celebrate in fear of jinxing the team, so he stayed frozen in place.

Unfortunately, things took a turn after that. It was like the whole stadium was against Jamie. From the moment he walked onto the pitch, angry Man City fans were booing and cursing his name. Not only that, it seemed like every player on Manchester’s side was out to get the footballer, knocking him down or stealing the ball every chance they got. 

You watched on nervously, trying not to let it get to you. It was the name of the game. But it didn’t mean you had to like it. 

Half way through the game, the worst of your fears happened. In an effort to prevent Man City from scoring, Jamie leapt to block the ball and hurt his ankle in the process. You watched with bated breath when he wouldn’t get up from his spot hunched behind the goal line. He brushed off Isaac’s attempts to help him, and eventually got up himself. You let out a sigh of relief, until after walking a few feet, Jamie is falling back onto the pitch and the medical team is rushing onto the field.

“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath.

Keeley takes your hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “Hey, it's okay. Jamie’s going to be okay.” But you can tell she sounds just as nervous as you feel. 

You don’t know how long you’re waiting to see if Jamie will make it back up, but its torture. Ted is clearly banking on Jamie being able to play again, refusing to substitute anyone for him and having the team play with ten players instead of eleven. For their part, they’re holding down the fort, and Van Damme continues to block every shot. But you don’t care about the game, you just care about Jamie. 

At this point, both Rebecca and Keeley have a hold on each of your hands as you watch the medics look after Jamie. You know the coaches must be getting restless, because Ted goes to talk to Jamie again. You wish nothing more than to be able to rush down onto the pitch and comfort him yourself, but you trust that Ted is giving him the pep talk he needs to hear. 

And it seems as though you were right, because minutes after talking to Ted, Jamie is up and walking back onto the field, to the excitement of the crowd and his teammates. 

You feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders, letting go of your friends’ hands to clap for him yourself. 

“Yeah, let's go Jamie!” 

It was as if the next few moments happen in slow motion. After defending another goal against Man City, Van Damme is sending the ball down the field to an open Jamie, who expertly navigates around several opponents to get towards Richmond’s goal. You watch in awe as Jamie scores the team’s second point, bad ankle and all, all on his own. 

You practically fly out of your seat to cheer for him, screaming and jumping around with Keeley and Rebecca. In the midst of the stadium’s celebration, a whistle blows to finally send in Jamie’s substitution. Looking a bit shell-shocked and relieved, Jamie slowly makes his way off the field, but it's not without a proud send off from the entire crowd - including the Man City fans who were previously cheering against him.

Jamie’s touched face fills the jumbo-screen, and your heart swells with adoration. You know how much this has to mean to him. You also feel overcome with love for your uncle, who let Jamie have his moment before taking him out of the game. 

You had never felt more proud of Jamie, and you were once again overcome with the urge to run to him. 

You sit anxiously through the final moments of the game and rejoice in yet another celebration when the clock finally runs down and Richmond is declared the winner. Even as you embrace both of your friends in all the excitement, your thoughts are still consumed by Jamie.

You needed to see him. 

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, as you walk with Keeley, Rebecca, and Higgins down to the guest locker room. You try not to appear over-eager, wanting to remain in step with your friends, but you find it hard to resist the temptation to run ahead of them. After what feels like a trillion years, you make it to the locker room, finding the team’s celebration in full force. You break away from your group, as they go to congratulate the coaches. Part of you also desperately wants to talk to Ted, about a lot of things, but particularly how much you appreciate him for being there for Jamie tonight, but you had to see Jamie first. Your eyes scan the room as you walk through, congratulating Colin and Dani as you pass each of them, before you finally notice Jamie, towards the middle of the room. Sam had his arm around him, most likely supporting his teammate with his injury and all. 

Not even really processing that your feet take you there, you find yourself in front of the footballers. Sam sees you first, giving you a blinding smile. You don’t hesitate to return it, but your attention is hard pressed on Jamie, and Sam seems to get the memo. 

“You’re here!” Jamie exclaims, breathless from the excitement, and a bit confused about what you’re doing.

You nod, “Yeah,” you shout over the noise, a bit breathless yourself. “You were…incredible out there.”

Jamie squints at you, though he’s thankful for the compliment, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you bob your head up and down, still running on adrenaline. 

Jamie’s confusion is palpable, but when he goes to say something else, you don’t give him the fucking chance. 

Like a force, you wrap your arms around Jamie’s neck and pull him in for an earth-shattering kiss. You feel Jamie’s surprise, but it's short-lived as he wraps his own arms around your waist. You balance Jamie’s weight as Sam lets him go, only to start cheering for the two of you. This, of course, grabs the attention of the rest of the team, who immediately join in when they see what the two of you are doing. 

You hear shouts of surprise and excitement, and a few people shaking your shoulders, but you couldn’t care less. Your focus was entirely on Jamie, who was giving you the best kiss of your life right now. Unfortunately, breathing was still a thing so you had to pull away. When you do, you can’t look away from Jamie’s eyes, that are once again overcome with emotion. You imagine you look the same.

“Is this really happening?” Jamie eventually gets out, shakily.

All you can do is nod again, with a breathless laugh, “I think so.”

Jamie eagerly kisses you again before engulfing you in the tightest hug. Into his shoulder, you whisper how proud you are of him, and he only squeezes you closer to him, if at all possible.

Over his shoulder, you notice the rest of the club. Roy and Keeley look on at you two happily - or as happy as Roy Kent can look. Higgins for his part looks delighted as well, and Rebecca looks proud as hell. Beard looks like he’s frozen in place from the shock. And Ted…

You hadn’t really thought about how you were doing this in front of Ted.

When you study him, he is exchanging a look with Rebecca, who shrugs her shoulders innocently. Ted looks back at you, a little bit stunned, and a little bit amused. When he makes eye contact, you find yourself opening your mouth as if you could explain from where you were through all the commotion. He just raises his hand, signaling there was no need to say or do anything, and then he gives you a supportive smile.

You are once again flooded with relief. You knew you would eventually have to talk to him about everything, and explain more to Jamie as well. But at this moment, everything felt right in the world for the first time in a long time. 

The team’s victory celebration carries on throughout their bus trip back to Nelson Road and into the locker room as most of them get changed for a night out. Jamie elects to stay behind, wanting to rest his ankle, and also get a bit of alone time with you. 

You help Jamie walk to the treatment room, before telling him you were going to grab something from your car. He, of course, doesn’t let you leave without pulling you in for another kiss. He’d been kissing you any chance he got all night, basking in the freedom he now had to do so as he pleased. You had to admit, you could definitely get used to all the affection.

For your part, though, you didn’t need anything in your car. You just wanted the chance to task Roy and Keeley to find some champagne, so Jamie could still have his own little celebration. But you also wanted to talk to Ted. 

On your way to the coaches office, you pass Beard who is headed to the after party. When he clocks you, he gives you a wide eyed look. 

“You, missy, are my shit list,” he states, crossing his arms.

“What for?” you cross your own arms, “You want Jamie all to yourself or something?”

“No, Jamie’s not my type,” he teases, “I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me.”

You chuckle, “To be fair, I didn’t tell a lot of people.”

“Still, I thought we were closer than that.”

You give him a smile, uncrossing your arms to touch his shoulder. “I promise the next time I secretly date a footballer on the team you coach, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you,” he places his own hand over yours, before pointing a finger at you, “But this better be the first and only time that happens.”

You giggle again. He kisses your head, letting you know that he is very happy for you, before disappearing into the night, as Beard does. 

That leaves you to find Ted alone in his office, packing up his bag. You knock on the doorframe, getting his attention, and immediately receiving a playful grin from him. 

“There she is,” he sing-songs, “Mrs. Jamie Tartt.”

You scoff, “Woah. Woah. Woah. We aren’t betrothed.”

Ted snorts, “I know. I just like teasing you, Kiddo.”

You laugh lightly, before you decide that it's now or never to address the elephant in the room. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” you say softly. 

Ted shakes his head, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You nod, but you don’t feel any less sorry. 

“Does Jamie know about our little family-affair?” Ted eventually asks.

You shake your head, “No. Was thinking I’d wait to tell him tomorrow, but…”

Ted nods, seemingly knowing exactly what you’re thinking, “You’re scared?”

“Yes,” you breathe out deeply, “But I don’t get it. I can’t tell him about you. I haven’t been able to tell you or Michelle or Dad and Pop about him. I really, really like him and I should be able to tell everyone that. But it terrifies me and I don’t understand why.

“I do,” Ted sticks his hands in his pockets and raises his shoulders, “Because as soon as you say something like that out loud, especially to the people who know and love you most, it makes it real. And that’s what's scary.”

You suck in a huge gulp of air, “Yes. That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling. I just didn’t know how to put it into words.”

Ted nods, continuing, “And telling family is twice as hard, because they’re the people who know you better than anyone else. They can call you on your bullshit, but they also know when something is the real deal. Which is probably why you never told us about what was really going on with Mason.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “How do you…”

“Rebecca may have mentioned a couple things in passing,” he admits, “She is not a fan of him to say the least. Rightfully so, it seems.”

“Yeah,” you agree shakily, “Even though Jamie is a lot different than Mason, I think I didn’t want to hear truths I wasn’t ready to accept yet.”

You did everything you could to keep your family and Mason out of the same room - and Mason made it easy - because you weren’t ready to have them all tell you how bad he was for you, even though you knew it deep down. But with Jamie, you just weren't ready to accept how important he was to you.

“It’s all understandable, Kiddo,” Ted states, “And I’m sorry that you went through that alone for a bit.”

You shrug it off, “I was okay. I wasn’t completely alone.”

Ted’s eyebrows raise, “Apparently so.” 

You feel your cheeks get hot, “That’s not exactly what I mean, but yeah, Jamie was certainly nice to have around the last few months.”

Your uncle chuckles, “Well, I’m happy that you found each other. I know you don’t need my approval or anyone else's, but I think you two are really great for each other.” 

Your stomach swirls, comforted by this notion. “Thank you. I think Jamie would be happy to hear that, too.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to let him know once you finally get your act together and introduce him to the family,” you roll your eyes, “Now, get outta here, Kiddo, and give that boy some company.”

You nod, taking a half step out the door before immediately spinning around to capture him in a big hug, “Love you, Uncle Ted.”

Ted sighs quietly, “Love you, too, Kiddo.”

Ted once again shoos you out of his office, and you bid him a goodnight, telling him to give Dottie a hug for you. 

When you rejoin Jamie in the treatment room, you find him typing away on his phone. He pockets it when he notices you come in, and gives you a sweet smile. 

As you join him on the infirmary bed he’s perched on, you press another chaste kiss to his lips. Jamie struggles to think of a time where’s been happier. He had you, and the rest of his people knew. He couldn’t ask for anything else. As you lean against his shoulder, and once again recount how proud you are of the game he played today, he can’t help but stare at you and take in just how special you are to him. He wants to find the words to express this to you, and a certain L word nearly leaves his lips, when he hears the door open to reveal Roy and Keeley. 

Jamie looks up at them curiously, brushing off how flustered he is from his previous thoughts, “What are you two doing here?”

“I invited them,” you speak up, drawing his attention back to you as you give him a smile.

“Yeah, wanted to keep you company,” Keeley adds with a bright smile of her own.

Roy reveals a bottle of champagne from behind his back, “And fucking celebrate.”

Keeley squeals and claps as you squeeze him into a hug. While Jamie would have loved a night just the two of you, he can’t complain when he’s surrounded by a group of people who care about him. He never thought he’d be so lucky. 

As Roy pops open the bottle and starts passing it around, you also can’t help but feel warmed by this moment. As the four of you share the champagne and joke around, you’re in disbelief that you’ve made it here; to be surrounded by genuine friends and a boy who was crazy about you. Not to mention becoming closer to your family again with Beard and Ted around. You still had a lot to sort out regarding your career, but one thought echoed through your brain the rest of that night:

Why would you ever want to leave this place?

A/N: THERE IT IS!! oof i poured my heart into this one and can’t wait to hear what you all think! the secret is out!!! mostly. ted has something to say next as well all know. anyway. TWO CHAPTERS LEFT!💗

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[its-time-to-write]

Thank you so much for the response to my request <3. the fic was better then I could have hoped!!!!

I have a new request (but feel free to focus on the story themes you were wanting to do!), I have been really wanting to see a Jamie fic where he takes care of sick reader. Could be period or illness (no preference) and Jamie has no idea how to help but tries his best. I think its a cute idea

Can't wait to read more of your fics!

Thank you so much for requesting!! Literally love when people ask me to write things. Also, apparently everyone loves a sickfic because my other one has the most notes of everything I’ve written. Anyway, here’s your fic!

there’s orange juice in the kitchen

You are not sure of much, but you know one thing: you’re in pain. It’s 2am, and you’ve gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep. You’ve given up on laying in your bed and have filled up your bath with hot water, bubbles, and bath salts. Lots of bath salts. Your abdomen feels like it’s shredding itself and you suppose, technically speaking, it is. You’re just relieved that tomorrow is the weekend and you don’t have to slog through a work day, white-knuckling these absolutely ripping period cramps. 

You don’t have regular periods like, ever, and your doctor’s concerned about your fertility. You remember waving it off with the statement, “That’s a problem for another day.” Thing is, that was just a cop-out. You didn’t want to think about it for a single second because then it would become real, and you make it a personal point never to complain about a period no matter how brutal it is because at least it’s something and never mind that your last one was four months ago, you’re ok. You have a good life and good people and you’re fine. 

It’s just the principle, you know? The desire of choice. 

The hormones don’t help either. 

But anyway, you’re in your tiny bath trying to soothe the pain you’re in, trying to make yourself tired enough to fall asleep once you get out. You breathe, in, out. In, out. 

You’re up till 6am when you finally doze off. 

—

You wake up in a sweaty haze. You’re in soft pants and a large t-shirt, on top of your sheets rather than in them. You reach for your phone then pull your legs in with a sharp gasp. You’re still in pain. 

It subsides so you reach again and check the time. 9:01. You groan. Three hours of dubious sleep is not enough. You have a missed text from Sam (remind me which brand of kitchenware you use?) two missed texts from Keeley (look at this absolutely adorable puppy! Attached: 1 Image), and a missed call from Jamie. 

Ah, right. Jamie. 

Your boyfriend. 

Who you were supposed to meet for breakfast exactly sixteen minutes ago. 

Shit. 

You call him back and he answers on the first ring. 

“Hey love!” he says. “You alright? Not like you to miss breakfast.”

You grimace. “I uh, I wasn’t feeling well last night and I haven’t slept very good. I forgot to text you. Didn’t fall asleep until 6.”

“A.M.?” Jamie asks and you reply to the affirmative. He lets out a long “shiiit,” followed by a, “how contagious are you?”

“For you? Not very,” you say. “For another girl, incredibly contagious, although some say that’s an old wive’s tale.”

Jamie is silent in confusion, then- “Ohh, I get it! You’re not sick-sick, you’re on your fucking period.”

You chuckle, despite remaining curled up on your side. 

“Yes,” you reply, “My fucking period. I feel nauseous and tired and I am bleeding so. Much. It’s like my body’s making up for the last four months of nothing.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment and you internally cringe, kicking yourself for over sharing. You haven’t been together that long, about a month and a half, and he doesn’t need to know that about you. He’s a famous footballer, after all, and a guy’s guy. Probably gets grossed out about periods and stuff. 

Then he says, “Can I come over? I’ll bring food,” and your worries almost completely evaporate. 

“As long as you don’t care about how disgusting I am or the fact that I hurt a lot, sure,” you say. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

—

Jamie’s at your flat in 40 minutes, which is fast considering how much food he walks in with. He’s brought a bag of Chinese takeout, plus two overflowing grocery bags. 

“This is for now, these are for later,” he explains. He’s in a pink sweatshirt with matching shorts and socks, and maybe it’s the damned hormones again but he looks hot. His hair is pushed back with a headband and you want him to fuck you. You don’t think you can convince him, though, what with the blood. And the fact that he’s Jamie fucking Tartt. And that he probably doesn’t do shit like that because it’s gross. 

Your brain whispers, but he’s here, isn’t he? so you just push that thought down to live with other scary ones like, I will never have kids, or I’m going to live with this pain for the rest of my life.

Jamie is oblivious to this, just pulling everything out of the bags and chattering on. He’s kicked off his trainers near the door, and he hasn’t made any comments about the fact that you’ve wrapped a blanket around your shoulders like a shroud, or that your hair is in the messiest bun in the history of the world. Not the sexy, reader-insert fan fiction type of messy bun, either. Just an I-did-not-get-anywhere-NEAR-enough-sleep-last-night messy bun. 

“-and me mum always drank orange juice, swore it helped with bloating or hydration or somethin’, I don’t really know, but I got some of that too and this tea that’s supposed to help with cramps, and also a shit-ton of chocolate because I didn’t know which kind was your favorite. I was thinking we can sit on the couch and watch a movie or play Animal Crossing or some shit while eating the takeout, then I can cook you a proper fucking meal later. Coach always says it’s important to have a balanced meal when you’re under the weather, and I think it applies to this too.” He stops when he notices you just looking at him. “You alright, babe?”

“Yeah, I just- why did you get all this?” you blurt out. 

For the first time since you’ve known him, Jamie looks unsure of himself. “I dunno. I mean, I do know. You didn’t sound great over the phone, and Keeley’s always telling me to fucking listen to other people, and me mum was always the same on her period so I used to get her the things she wanted all the time. And-” he takes a breath, “and I picked up on what you said. The fuckin’ four-months shit. That ain’t good babe. Even I know that. And, we haven’t been together that long, but I’m pretty fucking sure you know that too, and I wanted to let you know I’m sorry.”

You’re momentarily fixed on the way he says certain words. Keeleh. Sorreh. It’s sweet, for some reason, and it causes a dull ache in your chest. You realize what he’s actually said to you and that ache deepens. You’d kiss him if you weren’t sure your breath was gross. 

So instead, you settle for nodding and staring at your kitchen wall. That’s because option one is kissing and option two is crying. You can’t do either right now.

A traitor tear slips out your eye anyway, and you hope Jamie won’t see it. He does. 

“Hey, hey.” He comes around the counter and pulls you into a hug, blanket shroud, messy bun, and all. “Love. It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re not alone, and we’re going to go sit on the couch and eat as much food as we can and then pass out, alright? We’re not going to think about anything else except what’s right in fuckin’ front of us.”

“That was,” you sniff, “weirdly philosophical. And very sweet. And I’m sorry for being disgusting.”

Jamie pulls away from you, and you think this is the first time he’s realized how gross you are. 

“Don’t say that shit, babe,” he says, and you laugh before you realize he isn’t joking. 

“I’m serious,” he continues. “You might feel disgusting, but you aren’t. You smell like fucking lavender, for Christ’s sake. Your pajamas are clean, and so’s your hair. Might be fuckin’ messy right now, but me mum also taught me to braid, so it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

You pull him back against you and let some more tears come out. 

“Why are you being so nice,” you ask, voice muffled through his sweatshirt. 

“Oh, dunno,” he replies, hint of a smile in his voice, “Think you’re fit. I like shower sex. You pick.” He pauses. “Maybe both. Heard that it can help with cramps.”

You laugh wetly into his chest. He’s warm and comforting, and so completely not what you expected him to be. You both stand in the kitchen for another minute, his cheek resting on your head before he says, “Oi, you hungry?”

“God, yes,” you say, “I could eat a fucking horse.”

“Good.” Jamie picks up the bulging bag of takeout and a roll of paper towels. “Lead the way, babe.”

—

It’s not until much later, after you’ve eaten, watched a movie, and showered (and all that implies) that you realize you’re finally tired. Finally calm. You let yourself relax on your bed in Jamie’s arms, breathing in his clean smell. In, out. In, out. By the third breath, you’re asleep.