#roy kent shut up and drive

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Shut Up and Drive (Chapter 9)

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader

2.2k words

Warnings: Language, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, shower sex

Series Masterlist

You woke up to the feeling of rough fingers stroking your inner thigh. When you stirred, you felt Roy’s bare chest pressed against your back, reminding you that you were in Richmond, in Roy Kent’s bed, wearing the black t-shirt he’d handed you after what felt like hours of rolling around together. With a sleepy smile you nuzzled closer to him, noting the lingering smell of sex and the fact that it was still dark outside, the room lit only by the moon; it must be pretty damn early in the morning.

“What time is it?” you whispered. Roy’s fingers dug gently into your soft skin when he realized you were awake too. “D’you have to go meet Jamie soon?” Roy had warned you about his early mornings with the striker just after your arrival; Roy leaving and taking his warmth with him each morning definitely wasn’t something you were looking forward to.

His grip on you tightened. “Not until I’ve had some fucking breakfast,” Roy growled before planting a deep kiss to your neck, his tongue gliding over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “And I know exactly what I want to eat.”

In a flash, Roy rolled you onto your back and pinned you down beneath him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your lips, cherishing the surprised little squeak you let out against his mouth. When you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently rolled your hips against his, he knew you were awake enough for him to keep going. Chuckling, he made his way down your jaw and neck, planting kiss after kiss after kiss, leaving a sloppy trail behind. He carelessly tugged up the black t-shirt you wore as he disappeared under the blankets and continued his path down the valley of your breasts, pausing to give you attention there. He took his time swirling each nipple in his mouth and teasing each little bud with his teeth, eliciting soft sighs from you. He continued kissing and licking down your tummy, stopping only once he reached the material of your quickly dampening panties. He slowly slid them down your thighs with a content grunt, exposing your slightly aching cunt to his hot breath.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he sighed before pressing a soft kiss to your entrance.

Your back arched as you spread your legs with a soft moan, allowing Roy to get into a comfortable position between your thighs, probably his favorite place to be. With a satisfied hum, he swirled your clit with his tongue, long, slow stokes that had your tired body already tensing up.

“Roy,” you groaned, gazing down at his blanket-covered form. Your mind was still waking up as you reached under the covers to let your fingers run through his curls and pushed his face deeper between your legs, squirming at the feeling of his beard against your soft skin.

Understanding your request, Roy moved from your clit to your entrance, teasing you with greedy, open-mouthed kisses to your slit. You gasped when you felt his fingers join his tongue, grazing your lips and parting them slowly. When his fingers began inching into you, exploring your wetness at a painfully sluggish pace, you threw your head back and let your hips buck up towards his face. As he slowly began pumping in and out, Roy returned his mouth to your clit, licking and sucking at your sweet little bundle of nerves like the treat it was.

Roy wished he could wake up like this every morning. He loved the way you sounded, panting sleepily and murmuring his name adoringly as you wriggled on his bed, a bed that you absolutely belonged in. You didn’t need to know that he’d set a quiet alarm to wake him up extra early so he could give you this little gift before he had to leave for his morning training, or that the alarm was set to go off every morning of your visit. All you needed to know was how good he wanted to make you feel.

“Fuck,” you groaned as your hips lifted off the bed. “Roy, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He thrust his fingers deeper into you, the pads of his fingers dragging along your walls as he hit that perfect little spot inside you, the perfect little spot he knew well now. “Then fucking come for me, gorgeous,” he begged from under the covers, his tongue flicking roughly against your throbbing little bud. “Gimme something yummy.”

With a strangled moan, you grinded your hips against his face as your walls tightened around his digits. Your vision went white as your high overcame you, just pleasurable enough to avoid being painful after the four orgasms Roy had already given you the night before. By the end of your visit, he decided, he’d be coaxing orgasms of you by the double digits each day. He was already keeping a running count in his mind, wondering how many he’d have from you by the end of the month; his mouth was watering at the thought.

“Too much,” you whined, squeezing his head between your thighs. “Roy, it’s too fucking much.”

He tsked with mock sympathy, barely taking his tongue away from your heat. “Just let me finish my breakfast, darling.”

As you bucked against him, Roy moved his mouth from your clit to devour your release, creating lewd and pornographic sounds beneath the covers. He gripped your hip tightly with his free hand to keep you from wiggling away from his greedy tongue as he lapped up your juices. You resigned yourself to the overwhelming pleasure, letting your legs fall wide open, letting them twitch and spasm with every flick of Roy’s togue, not caring that your high-pitched moans were approaching volumes that would probably wake Roy’s neighbors. All that mattered now was the earth-shattering high Roy gave you as his fingers and tongue attacked your soaking cunt, waking up every inch of your body in ways you’d never felt before.

After what felt like the longest orgasm of your life, Roy pulled out his fingers; you could hear him suck them dry, moaning as he savored the last little taste of you. He slowly crawled up your body, his face emerging from the tangled blankets with a wicked grin.

“Perfect way to wake up,” he murmured before kissing your lips, smearing your face with the slick that now covered his smile. “Fucking breakfast of champions.”

Slowly, you recovered your ability to speak in complete sentences. “Well, where’s my breakfast then?” you hummed, wrapping your legs around his hips and grinding against him, the bulge in his boxers throbbing against your aching core. Despite the exhaustion you felt, you were more than ready for the next round.

To your utter surprise, Roy shook his head. “Gotta go meet fucking Tartt,” he groaned, sounding more disappointed than you felt. “But when I get back-” He pressed a tender kiss to your nose. “-I’ll have to take a nice long shower before I get ready for work. Could use some company.” Another kiss found your swollen lips. “You interested?”

You nodded eagerly, your voice unrecognizably breathy. “Yes, yeah, definitely.”

“Good.” Roy pressed a slow kiss to your neck, cherishing the way you whined, tempting him to forget about training and stay in bed all day. “You get some rest, babe.” He gave one more roll of his hips, chuckling at the way your body jolted at the movement. “You’re gonna fucking need it.”

~

“There, Roy! Fuck, right there!” Your voice was positively wrecked as Roy pressed your body against the glass door of his shower, thrusting into you roughly.

Even the sound of the running shower couldn’t drown out the lewd sounds of skin on skin as Roy’s cock rammed against that perfect spot deep inside you. “My fucking empress,” he groaned, mouth attacking your neck, licking up the drops of sweat mixed with hot water. “Taking me so fucking well. Think you can gimme one more?”

When Roy had returned from training, he’d immediately dragged you into the shower, where his deft fingers charmed a second orgasm out of you before he finally gave you the one thing you really wanted. And now, with the hot water scalding your skin deliciously, you were ready for your third high before it was even seven a.m.

“Anything you want,” you panted, rocking back against his hips. “Give you anything you want.”

“Everything I want’s right here,” he murmured against your neck. One hand gripped your hip tightly while the other groped at your breast. “Right fucking here.”

The warmth that nestled in your heart was almost immediately overshadowed by the heat between your legs. You cried out, hand slapping against the shower door, as your legs threatened to give out. Roy only pressed further into you, determined to keep you upright as his own orgasm approached. With a couple of hungry thrusts, his cock gave a thunderous twitch before flooding you with his release. He stilled for a moment, pressing adoring kisses to your wet hair before gently pulling out. You groaned softly at the empty feeling, and again when you felt his release drip down your thighs, mixing with the hot water of the shower.

Roy chuckled and wrapped you in a hug, trailing kisses down your face. “You,” he huffed, “are so fucking perfect, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you hummed, turning your body to face him. “D’you have time for a real breakfast before work?”

Once the two of you were dried off and dressed, Roy led you down to the kitchen, insisting on making you something to eat rather than letting you offer to cook. So instead, you leaned against the counter, watching him scramble eggs and heat up sausages and prepare you a cup of tea.

He quirked an eyebrow at you as you sipped your tea. “What were you thinking of getting up to today?” he asked, genuine interest in his voice. You tried to remember the last time a man was so attentive to what you had to say.

You shrugged, cocking your head at him. “Not sure,” you admitted with a shrug. “Was thinking I’d just hang out here all day. Relax a bit. Maybe have some dinner ready when you get home.” You wrapped your arms around his middle and smiled coyly at him. “What d’you think?”

Roy smirked down at you and kissed the top of your head. “Oi, you’re my guest, you’re not fucking cooking for me.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll discover I’m a better cook than you are?” you teased, running your hand down his chest.

“Watch it,” Roy warned playfully; you wondered if he was talking about your teasing words or your roaming hands. “Maybe in a couple days you could come down to Nelson Road with me. Come see the guys train. They’d get a fucking kick out of seeing you.”

And so it was all planned. In a couple of days, you’d visit Nelson Road, claiming to want to see your team in action (you had, after all, recently acquired those shares Rebecca was hoping you’d buy). You’d tell everyone you were just looking for a quiet break, away from Monaco, and that you were staying at a posh hotel not too far from Roy’s house; this provided you with the perfect excuse to have Roy chauffer you around. He even offered to let you drive his Mercedes from time to time if you wanted to, something he’d never offered a woman before; even Keeley had never been behind the wheel of the black monstrosity he called a car.

“You know those pricks are going to invite you fucking everywhere,” Roy warned you as the two of you finished up the breakfast he made. “Matches, dinner at Sam’s place, the clubs.” He rolled his eyes. “Half of them are obsessed with shagging you, and the other half are obsessed with getting me to shag you.”

You giggled and sipped your orange juice. “I’m looking forward to seeing the Greyhounds try to play matchmaker.” You reached out and gave Roy’s hand a squeeze. “Almost as much as I’m looking forward to going home with you after every outing.”

He smiled, looking something close to bashful. “Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “I should be heading out soon. Don’t want to be too late to work.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips before grabbing your empty plate. “I’ll just handle these-”

“I’ve got them,” you assured him, tugging the plates out of his hand. “You just get going.” Before he could protest, you stood and carried the plates to the kitchen sink, pretending that the absolute domesticity of it all didn’t both trill and terrify you.

Roy followed you, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he watched you collect the dishes from the stove. “Oi, you want to walk me out?”

You didn’t need any prompting to move away from the sink and take Roy’s outstretched hand. He kissed your knuckles as you accompanied him to the front door, where his work bag was already waiting for him.

“I won’t be back until close to six,” he reminded you in the foyer. “Gotta fucking train with Tartt after work.” He rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t almost enjoy his time with the man that he refused to call his best friend. “But once I’m back, I’m all yours,” he promised.

“All mine,” you echoed, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull his face down to yours. “I like the sound of that.” The kiss you pressed to his lips again had him considering calling in sick, especially when you gave a little suck to his bottom lip.

He groaned as you pulled away. “Fucking hell,” he rasped. “Five-thirty. I’ll be home at five-fucking-thirty.”

You laughed and gave Roy a little shove. “Guess it’s lucky for Jamie that you’re getting lucky.”

Roy’s thick eyebrows flew up in joyful surprise. “Oh, am I getting lucky tonight, then?”

“We’ll see.” You pressed another kiss to his lips, a longer, lingering one now. His hands found their home on your hips, tugging you flush against him, both of you forgetting all about Roy being on time for work. You finally pulled back, eyes sparkling with affection and lust. “Hurry home, Kent,” you hummed, opening the door for him. “Hurry home.”

Taglist:@hotdoglamp@daydreamgoddess14@klaine-92@gibby31@anonurs@taytaylala12@unholyhuntress@thatonedogwithablog@seacactusplant@e-mmygrey@jane-dough@zara-aliza08@sky-full-0f-fl0wers@deliriousfangirl61@katdahlali@deliriousfangirl61@seatbacksandtraytables@andaende@an-anxiousace-from-outerspace@sunfairyy@kravitzwhore @angelbarnes-rogers @dqndilions @an-anxiousace-from-outerspace @savage-aespa@bannsshheeebiittcchhhh @tweasley20 @ashy-kit @tigolebittiez @calicokel

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Bus Buddy

Pairing: Roy x reader

Word count: 2511

Warnings: pure fluff, Jamie flirting with reader, protective Roy, swearing

Masterlist here

at the same time that Ted got hired Rebecca had also decided she needed an assistant to enact her perfect revenge, so the boys often saw you walking around Richmond or at press interviews. Any time you entered the locker room wolf whistles from Jamie rang across the room followed by a loud ‘shut it’ from Roy. Usually, you’d object to Jamies actions, but the routine had become so common you found it funny especially when Roy dogged him into Keeley one time, and you saw him drag Jamie by the ear.

You weren’t sure why the tough and silent Roy Kent was so protective of you, but you were grateful to know walking into a locker room filled with men that he had your back. the longer you were around the team though you realised none of the boys would even hurt a fly.

still locker rooms or crowded hotel lobbies could get rowdy, and Roy almost acted as security, weaving you through the crowd and telling everyone to fuck off. any thanks you gave him were met with grunts, nods, or two-word answers.

sometimes you had to talk to Roy though, but you never complained. whenever you had forms for him to sign or events you wanted him to attend, sadly only on a work basis, he gladly complied without fuss. feeling his hand brush, yours as he took the pen from your hand or getting to secretly glance at his face as he filled out the forms was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

you’d convinced yourself your crush was harmless. after all he was Roy Kent, an absolutely loaded footballer with an exterior tougher than diamond. its not like you flirted with him or stared at him. well not on purpose at least.

this weekend saw Richmond visiting another stadium a six-hour drive away for their next match. usually, you travelled with Rebecca but due to some other things she had to get done this weekend, aka a spa trip with Keeley you were secretly so jealous about, she had decided to send you as a representative. however, this also meant you got to arrive at Richmond Friday afternoon with a packed bag and a bunch of rowdy footballers.

“Well look who our newest bus buddy is,” Ted said, putting his hands on his hips as you approached the gaggle of men. “Hope you don’t mind being down graded to ride with us bunch of savages,” he joked as he ticked your name off his clipboard. you really did appreciate Teds soccer mom vibes.

You laughed as you dragged your suitcase up to stand by Ted at the bus, “Please how bad can it be? it’s just a bus,”

“Yeah, but with these twats,” Roy’s voice made Ted jump, but you just turned and smiled, ready to say hi, but Roy just walked past you. He picked up his suitcase, tossing it under the bus before turning back and picking yours up and placing yours in with far more care than he had with his own. When you said thanks, Roy just nodded before heading onto the bus, assumably to secure the most isolated spot he could.

Ted let out a low whistle as Roy walked off, “He’s a charmer alright,” he said, his eyes scurrying around before leaning down to whisper to you, “If I didn’t know any better I’d think he’s sweet on you,” You laughed but before you could even try to deny it Ted was pointing at your face, “and if I’m not blind you my friend are blushing,”

“Shut up Ted,” was all you managed to say before Nate walked over and thankfully Ted knew better than to keep going in front of him.

while you were talking to Nate and Ted the bus all the players had arrived and assembled on the bus. you were the last to climb on the bus since even though you knew it couldn’t be that bad six hours on a bus was still a dire experience. “Oi need a seat love?” Jamie hollered from the back of the bus, already tossing his bag to his feet.

“There’s a seat by me,” Dani pipped up from a few rows in front of Jamie.

you laughed, trying to think who would be the least awkward seat mate. however, as you went to move forward, figuring Dani would be less out right flirty than Jamie you were stopped by Roy standing up from his seat and stepping into the aisle.

when you looked up at him, expecting him to say something, he just looked down at the window seat he had just given up. you smiled as you moved to sit down, “Thanks,” you said squeezing past him, “Thanks boys but I prefer the front of the bus,” you said before settling down for the ride.

Roy dropped into the aisle seat and while you knew he was trying to keep in his seat the bus seats were only so big, so your thighs were bumping into each other, “Thanks for saving me,” you whispered to him.

Roy chuckled under his breath, “Really think I’d let you get tortured back there like that?” he whispered back making his voice sound even sexier if possible. the bus set off only a few minutes later and now you were trapped in a bus with 25 rowdy men who instantly started talking amongst themselves and playing bus games. “Bet you wish you’d never got on this bus,” Roy said in a low voice but with all the noise at least you didn’t have to whisper.

“Nah I don’t mind, honest,” you said, settling into your seat, “Sitting in a silent plane with Rebecca can get awkward,”

“Sorry I’ve not got any champagne for ya,” Roy joked and for the rest of the ride you actually talked the whole way which is the longest you’ve ever spoke to him for. you were almost sad when the bus pulled up outside the hotel.

without a word Roy had grabbed your suitcase and his, walking into the hotel still wrapped up in a debate about which ice cream flavour was superior. “Checking in together?” The receptionist asked making you blush, and Roy clear his throat.

“Eh no, separate,” he said, glancing down at you but you wish he hadn’t since you knew your cheeks were flaming hot as you gave the woman your information. however, after getting checked in Roy still carried your cases, taking them up to your room with you in silence. He sat the bag down in front of your room for you as you unlocked the door, “I’m just down the hall. 203. so eh if anyone gives you bother or these twats are too loud tonight give me a knock,”

“Will do captain,” you said, trying your best to stay composed as you got into your room, shutting the door behind you so you could freak out.

the next day was too hectic to even think about flirting with Roy or even catching a glimpse of him off the field. however, Richmond had managed to secure a tie which for them right now was a big win. however, what was not a big win was the fact that you had to get back in the coach that day since the team had a bunch of press to do tomorrow at Richmond.

between the game, the press interviews, everyone showering and getting into clean clothes, and checking out you weren’t even set to leave till 10pm despite the game kicking off at 1:30pm. you were already yawning as you came down the lift to the reception.

most of the boys were also absolutely shattered. running for 90 minutes straight at full speed was tiring enough without also having to pack and do press. you had got to sit during the game, but you also had the job of Rebecca all day so now you really understood why she needed that spa weekend. “Bus said it’ll be pulling up in five minutes,” you yawned as you sat your bag down, “Head count time,” you said.

you felt like a primary teacher, but you didn’t care as you walked around, counting each player as you put your hand on their head. they were all too tired to complain and even Issac let you touch his hair. “twenty three,” you said, counting Dani before stopping, “Wow your hair is soft,” you gasped before continuing as Dani beamed from his seat, “Twenty four,” you said, reaching up to pat Roy’s head but you were too tired to see the way he smiled at you when you did, “Twenty five,” you finished, putting your hand on your own head making Roy chuckle quietly. “We didn’t lose anyone, great job team. now shift it, I wanna sleep,”

“You heard her twats, get moving,” Roy said, his loud voice shocking everyone including the hotel staff. at least it got the boys moving though. Roy cleared his throat as he glanced down at you, “Need a seat buddy again?” he asked as you filed out behind all the boys.

you smiled up at him, “Yeah that’d be nice. Its your turn for the window seat,”

“I don’t mind, you keep it,” he said as you finally got to the bus. the boys were all tossing their cases in and filing into the bus with very few mumblings between them. you were silently thankful everyone was exhausted, “Just don’t fall asleep standing,” Roy’s joke snapped you back to reality as he loaded in your cases.

“Fine but I make no promises about the bus,” you said as you walked to get on, Roy offering for you to go first. a sweet gesture to you and silently Roy was grateful for the chance to check out your ass. “This seat, okay?” you said, plopping down into the first available seat. Roy didn’t even reply as he sat down next to you.

Ted was the last to get on and while you usually loved his speeches today you just did not care. “Now all yall try get some shut eye. Six hours of sleep would do you all the world of good right now,”

“Yes coach,” rang out in a sleepy chorus as everyone settled in to nap on the bus for the night.

as you looked around you saw Jamie in the seat across from you with a blanket already pulled over him and Dani a seat behind you with an eye mask on, “I am clearly not prepared,” you joked quietly to Roy.

Roy looked over, seeing his fellow teammates who were used to these late-night busses, “You can borrow my jacket if you get cold,” Roy said quietly making you inwardly melt, “Not much of a blanket but it’s warm,”

“I’ll think about it,” you yawned, making Roy smile as he saw how you stretched away your sleep. or well tried to. the ride set off and you could already hear soft snores across the bus. any of the boys who couldn’t sleep had headphones in and you had never been more grateful.

you sat in silence, looking out the window as the head lights of other cars went past and let yourself sink further into your seat. you barely noticed when Roy shrugged his jacket off or realise how close to him you were getting but you could feel your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

Roy however had noticed the soft snores coming from you when your eyes had finally closed, unable to fight sleep off anymore. he was thankful everyone was asleep or not paying attention as he got to look down at you sleeping on his shoulder with a soft smile. after a few minutes, sure you were asleep, he gently pulled his jacket over you like a blanket.

he wasn’t sure when he had fell for you or why, but he’d known for weeks now that he liked you. hell, more than liked. there was just something about you and right now you looked downright adorable as you nuzzled further into him. Roy slipped his arm behind your back, allowing you to properly sleep on him and his hand to rest on your waist.

usually, Roy was far too tense or pent up in rides home to sleep on the bus, especially with a team he just knew were desperate to draw something on his face, but Roy was surprised when he opened his eyes and sunlight blinded him.

the bus was pulling up to Richmond at an ungodly 4 am when Roy realised, he had fallen asleep, his head resting on top of yours. without thinking, still in a sleepy state, Roy pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he moved to sit up. however, when he saw you stir awake, he kicked himself internally, “Are we here?” you yawned, pulling away from him and Roy already missed the feeling of you curled up to him.

“Looks like it,” Roy said as you looked down to realise it had been Roy’s jacket covering you, “You uh looked cold,” Roy said, clearing his throat and thankful he had a beard to cover the way his cheeks grew hot.

“Thanks,” you said, a sleepy smile playing your lips as the rest of the team started to wake. “Did you manage to sleep?”

“A bit yeah,” Roy said, and it was as you shuffle forward Roy realised his mistake when you looked down at his arm, “Sorry bout that,” he mumbled, quickly pulling his arm out from where it had been wrapped around your waist.

“It’s alright I don’t mind,” you said, a smile toying your lips as you stretched to try wake up.

without anything else said, really by anyone, you all filtered off the bus and Roy went to get both your suitcases. Roy cleared his throat as he went to pass yours to you, a nervous habit you’d only just really noticed, “Do you need a lift up the road? my cars just over there,”

“If you don’t mind that’d be great,” you said, so relieved you weren’t going to have to sleep in Rebeccas office, “Don’t hate me if I fall asleep in the car though,”

“Couldn’t hate you if I tried,” Roy said as he took the suitcase back and began to walk to his car. you blushed as you followed behind him, climbing into the passenger side as Roy loaded the bags in, “You all set?” Roy asked as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

when Roy glanced over, he couldn’t help but laugh when he noticed you were already asleep in the car. Roy reached over, buckling you in before getting ready to hit the road. he’d dropped you off a few times from work so he knew the way already, but Roy couldn’t stop himself stealing so many glances at the sight of you. there was no avoiding his feelings now.  Roy Kent was in love.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Learning Curve

Plot: With the prospect of both a biography and a new team member, Y/n learns more about the modus operandi of AFC Richmond.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: f!reader, language, minor innuendo, (16+)

A/N: This is really the last chapter before things start to get going, so hang tight through the filler, because we’re about to take off lol

—————

Though she spent very little time there, the KJPR office was somewhat of a safe haven for Y/n.

Working at Nelson Road Stadium had proven to bring a level of chaos Y/n wasn’t used to. When she’d make the drive across town for her weekly meetings with Keeley, she was assured the only focus would be work.

So when Y/n entered Keeley’s office and found her boss on the couch, holding two cups of coffee, she was a bit thrown.

“Hi!” Keeley greeted.

“Morning,” Y/n replied, shutting the door behind her, “What’s this?”

“I thought we could have breakfast,” Keeley smiled, holding up the cups, “I want to hear all about your first week.”

Y/n tried to hide her true feelings on the matter, knowing Keeley had all the right intentions. It wasn’t many bosses who cared so much about their employees.

“Okay,” Y/n conceded, setting her things on the far end of the couch and joining Keeley in the middle.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just got cream and sugar,” Keeley explained as she handed Y/n the takeaway cup, “I hope you’re good with dairy.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n chuckled, taking a sip of the drink, “It’s lovely.”

Keeley grinned victoriously. “So,” she kicked off her ridiculously high heels and tucked her feet under her, “How’s it going? Are you loving it?”

Love was a strong word in the case of Y/n’s feelings towards AFC Richmond. She liked Rebecca, she liked Higgins, she…could tolerate Ted. Coach Beard, whose lack of first name didn’t seem to bother anyone, and Roy Kent seemed decent. Some of the Greyhounds were more friendly than others. The work was something she was perfectly skilled at. But Y/n couldn’t say she was in love with any part of the job.

“It’s…” Y/n struggled to answer truthfully while staying grateful, “Definitely a unique place.”

“It’s a lot to get used to if you’ve never been in that world,” Keeley replied, picking up on the top notes of what Y/n was saying.

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, relaxing a little, “That’s not to say that I’m not happy there. I just think it’s going to take a little while to adjust.”

Keeley took a long sip of her drink before speaking, “Well, if there’s one thing I learned being there, it’s that you’ve got to leave yourself open to new things. I mean, when I first met Rebecca, I was fucking terrified of her. Felt like I was gonna piss myself anytime she looked at me.”

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion.

“But,” Keeley rested an arm on the back of the sofa, “Once I decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated by her anymore, we became best friends. Now I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“That’s wonderful,” Y/n smiled softly down at her coffee cup, trying to hold her tongue as much as she could, “For you guys, but…I can’t say that I’m looking for anything more from Richmond than a decent place to work.”

One look at Keeley’s face and it was clear nothing about that answer was computing. “Why?”

Y/n slowly shrugged as she searched for the proper answer. “I just…I don’t know, I just feel like there’s your personal life and your professional life and the two don’t really go together. That’s not to say it doesn’t work for some people,” she gestured towards Keeley with her cup, “It clearly did for you. Just…I don’t see that in the cards for me.”

Watching Y/n as she sipped her coffee, Keeley felt reminiscent of the very time she’d just described. She’d cracked Rebecca open, and this felt like another grand opportunity.

“Well,” Keeley smiled knowingly, “I think it’s worth investing time in the people you work with. Like us,” she reached forwards and tapped Y/n’s knee, “I want us to be friends.”

Y/n chuckled, feeling trapped between a very pink rock and an equally pink hard place.

“Even if it takes the whole season,” Keeley continued, narrowing her eyes, “And endless weekends sat in the owner’s box together…”

“This is getting into HR territory,” Y/n smirked.

“Shows what you know,” Keeley replied smugly, “We don’t have an HR department yet.”

Unable to stop herself, Y/n joined in with Keeley’s laughter.

“Now,” Keeley bent down and slipped her heels back on, “We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Rising from the sofa, Y/n felt like she was going to get whiplash from how fast the atmosphere shifted from work to anything but.

—————————

Keeley and Y/n made the short drive to Nelson Road and went straight up to Rebecca’s office. Y/n had daily meetings with the Greyhound’s owner and Higgins, but Keeley only popped in once a week.

“Morning,” Keeley knocked on Rebecca’s door, but entered without asking.

“Good morning,” Rebecca said in a voice Y/n had quickly learned only came out when she was stressed.

“Something wrong?” Y/n asked as she set her purse by the coffee table.

Rebecca took a breath, “Trent Crimm will be joining our meeting this morning. Apparently he has a proposition he’d like to talk to us about.”

Y/n confusedly looked to Keeley before bouncing back to Rebecca.

“Trent previously worked for The Independent,” she continued, “I don’t know if you read the article about Ted’s panic attacks last season, but he was at the helm.”

In fact, Y/n hadn’t read anything about Ted’s panic attacks until recently. And if she had heard the name ‘Trent Crimm,’ it hadn’t made a lasting impression.

“So…” Y/n started, “Do we like him or…?”

“I suppose it’s neutral,” Rebecca sighed, “Or that could change within the hour. We’ll see.”

Y/n gave a thin lipped smile, “Fun.”

By the time the three letters hit the air. Higgins was knocking on Rebecca’s door, Trent Crimm in tow.

“Good morning, all,” he greeted, “I’ve brought our special guest.”

Rebecca stood to her feet, smoothing her blouse as she did, “Trent. Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Trent said, his voice smooth and even as he shook Rebecca’s hand.

“I believe you’ve met Keeley Jones,” Rebecca gestured to her friend, “But you haven’t met our latest hire. This is Miss Y/n Y/l/n, she’s heading up PR alongside Keeley.”

Y/n stretched her hand over Rebecca’s desk to take Trent’s.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Y/l/n,” the former journalist greeted.

“You as well,” Y/n replied, keeping an even expression.

Rebecca gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk, “Please.”

Trent took a seat while Y/n, Keeley and Higgins formed a united front on either side of Rebecca

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested to meet with you,” Trent said, pausing briefly after, “As you know, I recently left my position at The Independent in favor of pursuing other creative avenues. However, having spent much time here, as well as other clubs, I know how unique AFC Richmond is.”

Unique. The same word Y/n had used to describe her feelings on Richmond. So she wasn’t the only one who saw it…

“Not only this past season,” Trent continued, “Being relegated only to make a triumphant return, but the team, the coaches…” Trent spread his hands, “It’s all quite special in contrast to other clubs.”

Finally, Trent paused the flattery and got to the heart of the matter. “I’m quite interested in writing a book about AFC Richmond. It would, of course, contain some of the club’s rich history, but I’d specifically like to focus on this season, which would entail shadowing the club for its entirety.”

Red lights. Big, red flashing lights went off in Y/n’s head.

“Well,” Rebecca stuttered, reaching for her tea cup, “That is…certainly a proposition.”

“Quite,” Higgins agreed, that nervous smile pasted on his face.

“It’s wonderful to hear,” Y/n added, glancing briefly over to Keeley and seeing the same panic in her eyes, “That the club’s so highly regarded.”

Trent smiled easily as he waited for an answer.

“But,” Rebecca said rather loudly, before catching herself, “I feel that the final say can’t come from me. I think it’s only right that Coach Lasso be the one who decides.”

“Yes,” Keeley interjected, “That’s a very good point.”

Speak of the devil, or whatever inhumanly cheery being he channeled each morning, The Final Say rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Good morning, Viet-“ Ted began as he strolled in.

All at once, in nervous relief, Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins and Y/n all shouted, “Ted!”

“Hey, look who’s here,” Ted grinned, pointing to Keeley, “Hi, Keeley.”

“Hello, Ted,” Trent turned in his chair.

Ted stopped in place, before shaking the man’s hand, “Trent Crimm. Are you kiddin’ me? Hey, nice to see you, man. You know, they got a big ol’ Ziploc bag full of your hair ties down at the lost and found. You should pop on down, i-if you still want ‘em.”

Ted went about placing the daily delivery of biscuits on Rebecca’s desk, something Y/n still didn’t understand.

“Mr. Crimm has requested to follow the club this year,” Rebecca paraphrased, grinning unnaturally large at Ted, “He wants to write a book about us.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ted raised a curious eyebrow.

“I think there’s a story here worth telling, Ted,” Trent said.

“Yes,” Rebecca smiled, “And we all,” she gestured to her own team, “Love the idea, but obviously as manager, we thought you should have the final decision.”

Ted sucked his teeth, “Oh, okay.”

As he began to think it over, and while Trent’s back was turned on the group, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n began to mouth and gesture a silent chorus of ‘no’ to Ted.

“I mean, geez, you know…” Ted stalled, his eyes bouncing between his co-workers and Trent.

It was a nightmare waiting to unfold, Y/n tried to communicate that passionately with each shake of her head. All eyes were already on Richmond, waiting for them to mess up. Waiting for some drama that could be exploited. They didn’t need someone describing every failure in graphic detail, catching every ugly moment…

Ted felt otherwise.

“Sure, what the heck? Why not?”

Y/n grimaced.

“When can you start?” Ted asked, “No time like the present. Except 11:11, that’s my wishing time. Or 23:11, if I’m at a military base or Euro Disney.”

“Right, well,” Rebecca breathed, “Decision made. Wonderful,” she smiled at the newest addition to the Richmond fold, “Trent, welcome.”

Y/n kept the same polite smile, praying her face held.

The chime of Higgins’ mobile broke the awkward silence.

“Holy shit,” the man exclaimed, “Zava is leaving Juventus.”

“Whoa,” Keeley cried, reaching for her phone in time with Rebecca.

“Wait,” Y/n paused, “‘Zava’ Zava?”

Ted gasped, “What about their kids?” He earned himself a brief glare from the foursome across from him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what any of those things meant. I thought it was like Greek mythology or something. I was just lost. I just went with that. Sorry.”

“Zava’s a world class striker who’s about to leave his club in Italy,” Trent explained for Ted’s benefit, but Y/n listened as well. She knew nothing more than the name.

“Ooh,” Ted replied, “Cacio later, Pepe.”

“Apparently,” Higgins began to read from the headlines, “He wants to play in the Premier League because his wife binged The Office and she wants to live in England.”

“I think you mean Scranton, Pennsylvania, buddy,” Ted pointed toward Higgins.

“We didn’t do it first, Ted,” Y/n replied, glancing up from Google quickly, “Ricky Gervais?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ted remembered, “Y’all did a premake over here.”

Higgins brought them back to the original topic. “If we got Zava,” he breathed, “That would be amazing.”

“He would be huge for the club’s brand,” Keeley added, “He’s got, like, 90 million followers. One time he just posted the word ‘7 million likes.’ It got 10 million likes.”

“Yes, but he is very expensive,” Rebecca countered, “And isn’t he supposed to be a bit of a diva?”

Y/n was scanning the top search results for the star player, already not thrilled with the level of consistent inconsistency she saw. But Keeley was right, he was on his way to Beckham level status.

“Yes, huge diva,” the blonde answered, “Enormous. He goes through teams like you go through manicurists.”

“The fumes make me dizzy,” Rebecca defended, “And I overshare,” she quickly looked to Trent, “Please don’t print that.”

“We have to balance what he’d do for the brand versus the enviroment he’d create,” Y/n spoke up, “But, yes, generally speaking, he’d be incredible.”

“Zava has gone through 14 teams in 15 years,” Higgins spoke for the other side, “Leaving behind nothing but chaos and trophies,” longing developed in the man’s eyes, “Beautiful, shiny trophies.”

Rebecca sighed, “Yes, but, Leslie, who wants to deal with all that drama?”

“Apparently, everyone who can afford him,” Higgins answered, scrolling an article, “Chelsea, Arsenal, United, West Ham…”

“I say, let’s just go for it,” Rebecca said, barely letting a beat pass after the utterance of her ex’s team, “I mean, maybe he’s a handful, but who doesn’t love a handful?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking salted peanuts,” Ted replied, “Yes, please. If you’re talking Skittles though, no thank you. You know, the dye melts and it gets all over your fingers, makes ‘em all sticky,” Ted laughed before pointing to Trent, “And that, you can print.”

“Wonderful,” Higgins decided, “Let’s set up a meeting.”

“Great,” Rebecca cheered as the rest of the room voiced their own enthusiasm, “Let’s go get Zava. Zava-dabba-doo!”

Keeley and Y/n each collected their things and headed for the door with Higgins and Ted.

“This is exciting,” Keeley said cheerily.

“Potentially a huge headache,” Y/n replied, ever the more pessimistic, “But it could be great.”

“So, am I to assume,” Trent asked Rebecca, not having moved from his spot, “You’re going to pursue a notoriously mercurial player you can’t really afford simply because the team your ex-husband owns wants him?”

From the door, Ted, Higgins, Y/n and Keeley all gave an encore of the previous performance, gesturing wildly to Rebecca to answer ‘no.’

Following Ted’s lead, Rebecca responded truthfully. “Yes.”

A second of silence passed before Trent gave an approving smile, “Love that.”

Feeling safe leaving Rebecca and Trent alone, Y/n followed the group out and down the stairs. Keeley informed her along the way that she was off to oversee a commercial shoot, but to text her if she had any questions. Regardless of Y/n’s reservations, she admired that Keeley was a hands-on boss.

Once in her office, Y/n set down her things and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that she needed to speak to Ted. He’d gone forward with Trent Crimm’s book idea without even considering the possible repercussions for the club. One week on the job had shown Y/n that Ted was optimistic to a fault.

“He knows what he’s doing, he knows what he’s doing,” Y/n muttered to herself, taking a deep breath and sitting down at her desk. She’d barely made contact with the chair before she was back up, “Nope.”

Descending down the staircase with purpose in each step, Y/n made a beeline for the coach’s office, passing Keeley and Isaac. She knocked on the door twice before poking her head in.

“Well, hey there, Y/n,” Ted greeted from his office, waving her over, “Come on in.”

“Hi,” Y/n smiled, shutting the door behind her and coming to stand before Ted and Coach Beard’s adjoined desks. The latter wasn’t in yet. “Do you have a second?”

“Hey, for a fellow ex-pat, you can have two,” Ted joked.

Y/n had prayed on multiple occasions that she’d learn to appreciate Ted’s off-beat humor as everyone else seemed to. God had yet to deliver.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re considering,” Y/n gestured circularly with her hands, “All the angles of what allowing Mr. Crimm to follow us this season means.”

“Okay,” Ted replied, moving to sit down at his desk, “Speak your mind, small fry.”

“Look, I know that a book all about Richmond sounds flattering,” Y/n explained, “And it is, but…regardless of whether he currently works for a publication or not, Trent is, at his core, a journalist. And some journalists may say they’re out to capture the good, but most of them are only interested in capturing the bad. And he’s going to be here for,” Y/n shut her eyes to accentuate the point, “Every single moment of the season. Which means every slip of the tongue, every mistake, basically,” she gestured between Ted and Coach Beard’s chair, “Any wrong move you or the team make will be put into print and potentially inflated to make you look even worse. It’s just…” Y/n took a breath, “Not the best idea.”

To his credit, Ted not only listened to Y/n’s points, but seemed to genuinely consider them.

“Well, I appreciate you bringin’ all that up, Y/n,” Ted finally replied, “Really. But I’ve known Trent a while and he’s a good egg. He’s not gonna try and paint us any other way than which we are.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “This is the same man who wrote about you having a panic attack on the pitch.”

“Oh,” Ted waved the memory off, “He was just doin’ his job. Ain’t no water needs to pass under that bridge.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n replied, her mouth hanging open at the lack of thought that was going into this.

“All that aside, I think Trent’s gonna do a bang-up job,” Ted smiled, “And if anything comes up, we’ll make sure to let him know to leave it out.”

“Okay,” Y/n clapped her hands together before holding them up, “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, what was that?” Ted asked, pressing a hand to his ear for added comedic effect.

Y/n threw him a courtesy chuckle as she made for the door, letting the faux smile fall as soon as her back was turned. She could officially go on record of saying she’d tried to save the club’s reputation. If Ted wanted to sabotage that, it wouldn’t fall on her head…

Emerging in the hallway, Y/n was more in her head than her surroundings. A solid blonde and blue blur in her peripheral vision, Jamie Tartt, brought her back. He was laser-locked on something down the hall.

Y/n came to a stop, glancing down the way from them to see the back of Roy Kent, bobbing down the hall, and Keeley standing by herself, with a bag over her shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” Y/n asked, more confused than curious.

“Science,” Jamie mumbled, his eyes following Keeley as she turned on her heel.

Y/n squinted at the reply, “Huh?”

“I think Roy and Keeley broke up,” Jamie answered.

“They were dating?” Y/n asked, her eyes now trailing Keeley as well.

The question finally broke Jamie’s focus and he turned to Y/n, “How could you not know that? I thought you and Keeley were mates.”

“She’s my boss,” Y/n gave a sideways glance, “Her personal life is none of my business.”

Y/n turned to Jamie, who was already tuned out of the conversation. “But something tells me it’s yours so,” she clutched the rail and swung up the stairs, “Have a good one.”

Behind her, Jamie mumbled some reply as they went on their separate ways.

—————————

Later in the day, after extensive research on Zava amongst other tasks, Y/n’s phone buzzed with a text from Keeley.

Are you free for a drink after work?

She sighed tiredly, out of all the people trying to befriend her, Keeley’s efforts were the hardest to combat. Maybe because she was sunshine personified, maybe because Y/n could tell she didn’t have an dis-genuine bone in her body…all she knew was she truly didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

A second text came through, offering salvation.

Promise it’s work related.

Y/n sent a reply immediately.

Sounds good. Text me where.

Once quitting time came around, Y/n drove to the posher side of Richmond and the address of the bar Keeley had given her. It was more upscale than the Crown and Anchor, but not so much so that it would be obscenely priced.

To her credit, Keeley dove right into the business of it all when they sat down. She told Y/n how at the commerical shoot, she’d run into an old friend from her modeling days and had offered her a job with KJPR. Something along the lines of a liaison coordinator between clients.

“Okay,” Y/n shrugged, “I don’t really see how this involves me though.”

“Well,” Keeley slid her martini glass away, “I was wondering, since you’ve got so much experience, if you wouldn’t mind helping me help her get adjusted? It’s a bit of a jump from her previous jobs and I just want to make sure she does well.”

While Keeley could sometimes appear naive, she wasn’t to be underestimated. Y/n knew this already. She was never in the KJPR office for more than twenty minutes at a time. She barely knew the names of the other employees. Keeley knew all this as well.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her boss, “That’s not why you asked me out tonight.”

Keeley held her gaze a few seconds before breaking with a small smile, “No, it’s not. I just said that so you’d come.”

Y/n rolled her eyes only in half-annoyance as Keeley cackled.

“But I really would appreciate your help with Shandy whenever you’re around,” Keeley said firmly, “She’d benefit a lot, learning from you.”

“Sure,” Y/n shrugged, not even realizing that she was smiling, “Fine. But if she’s as deceitful as you, I want nothing to do with her.”

Keeley chuckled, “Fair. How’d your day go?”

“Fine,” Y/n sighed, twirling the olive on the toothpick of her drink, “Sounds like you had a better one though.”

“Yeah,” Keeley replied, her voice dropping and her eyes suddenly turning sad.

Y/n didn’t need to be told not to pry into anyone’s life, it was a professional courtesy she wanted herself. But if the members of AFC Richmond were so personally intwined, there was a certain amount she had to know.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/n carefully broached the topic.

“Yeah, of course,” Keeley replied softly.

“You and Coach Kent…” Y/n awkwardly ran her finger along the bottom of her glass, “Were you…?”

Keeley gave an almost imperceptible nod, averting her gaze back to her drink.

“I don’t need to know anything,” Y/n held her hands up, “I-“

“No, it’s fine,” Keeley dismissed her, “I mean, it sucks, but it also helps to talk about it.”

Not the intended result, but Y/n wasn’t going to shut Keeley down. It felt like girl code.

“I don’t know, it just…” Keeley pressed a hand to the side of her face, “Really came out of nowhere. I keep thinking back and trying to find where things started going wrong, but I can’t find anything. I mean, I’m wracking my brain constantly just wondering what I did wrong.”

“Look, I don’t know the situation,” Y/n replied, “The little I know about Coach Kent, he seems like a…” she searched for the right word, “Somewhat difficult person.”

Keeley breathed a laugh, “Yeah, sometimes. But not how you’d think.”

“But…maybe things just didn’t work because they didn’t work?” Y/n suggested, trying to ease a fellow woman’s pain a little, “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Keeley replied, not yet meeting Y/n’s eyes, “I just…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Judging by the longing in her eyes, Y/n knew the next words would only reflect the love that remained on her end.

“Right, enough about me,” Keeley said, perking back up, “I just spilled my guts to you,” she poked Y/n’s arm, “Now you’ve gotta give me something.”

“I’ve got nothing to give,” Y/n chuckled and took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, there’s gotta be something,” Keeley squinted, “Have any of the players started hitting on you yet?”

Y/n nearly choked, “Thankfully no.”

“Are there any you want to hit on you?”

This time, Y/n was thankful she didn’t have anything in her mouth or else she definitely would have choked. “No,” she replied, her voice going up in pitch.

“Oh, come on,” Keeley laughed, “There’s gotta be someone.”

“Absolutely not,” Y/n swiped a hand through the air, “Unless you count Dani Rojas picking me up and spinning me around like he’d just come home from war, there’s been nothing.”

“Oh, that’s just Dani,” Keeley smiled, “He’s a sweetheart. But I’d bet you five quid, someone’s already got their eye on you.”

Y/n scrunched up her face at the possibilities of the thought. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“What?” Keeley shrugged, “You’re mad fit, you’re there all the time…someone’s gonna notice you.”

“Subject change,” Y/n shook her head,“Dear God.”

The night went on like that: Keeley trying to see how uncomfortable she could make Y/n until she laughed, which only resulted in them both laughing.

—————————

Richmond’s first match of the season arrived on a clear Sunday afternoon in Chelsea.

Y/n got herself to the stadium, clutching her Richmond badge just in case Rebecca had forgotten to put her name on the list. But sure enough, she sailed right on through security and rode the elevator all the way up to the VIP box. Coming down the aisles of seats, Y/n spotted the trio that were quickly becoming her group. Higgins, Keeley and Rebecca were huddled together in deep discussion.

“What’d I miss?” Y/n asked as they parted, taking the vacant seat next to Rebecca.

“According to Higgin’s wife’s, friend’s, sister’s airline stewardess’ massage therapist,” Rebecca sputtered, “Zava’s going to sign with Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Y/n sighed, feeling a bit deflated, “That’s too bad.”

It didn’t take long for the crowd to begin chanting, though neither team had come onto the pitch yet. Y/n glanced down at the field and spotted Roy Kent, facing the crowd and giving a reserved salute. She’d forgotten he was a Chelsea legend.

Y/n glanced over to Keeley, who was firmly squeezing Rebecca’s hand, and felt a twinge of sympathy pain.

But as quick as the crowd had been to cheer on Roy, their attention flipped as Zava himself came through the VIP section, taking a seat in the front row.

Y/n sighed, “Well, that’s a bit of salt in the wound.”

Not before long, the match kicked off. It had been a solid year since Y/n had been to a game, and even longer since she’d been remotely interested. But working for a club, she had to get back into it to some extent. She reacquainted herself with the rules as the clock ticked, her eyes bouncing between players. By the end of the first half, it was 1-0 in favor of Chelsea.

A loud gag came from Higgins, breaking Y/n out of her thoughts. “Is he okay?”

Rebecca didn’t seem at all concerned, “What now?”

“I might’ve jinxed it,” Higgins replied nervously, looking over towards where Zava was seated.

Y/n leaned forward to see an older man approaching the striker, shaking his hand confidently.

“I knew it,” Rebecca complained.

“I’m confused, who’s-“

Y/n’s sentence stopped in its tracks as the older man took off his sunglasses, revealing himself to be Rupert Mannion.

“Oh,” Y/n’s mouth hung around the vowel.

“Would you please go and find out as much as you can from your vast network of lip-reading massage therapists?” Rebecca asked of Higgins, who promptly departed with his phone.

Y/n took the opportunity to scan Rupert from a distance. He looked perfectly pleasant and somehow, that let Y/n know he was as dangerous as he’d been made out to be.

“Rupert’s gonna land Zava,” Rebecca stated.

“You don’t know that,” Keeley replied.

Rebecca sighed, launching into a story, “Years ago when I was bartending in that private club, Rupert and his then wife came into the bar,” she laughed, “He was the life and soul of the party. Buying rounds of drinks for everyone, telling stories. Just charm personified. And he left me a massive tip. And then about a week later, he came back without his wife and asked me out. I, of course, said no and then he left.

“What a dick,” Keeley replied.

“I’ll second that,” Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the dick in question.

“But then he came back the next night, and the next night, and the next,” Rebecca continued, “And he would just sit at the bar with a drink and chatted to me till close. And he just said ‘It doesn’t matter if you ever go out with me. It’s just worth it being here to get to know you.’”

Y/n and Keeley looked out at the air ahead of them, both contemplating the almost magic of it.

“It’s a fine line between stalking and romance,” Keeley mused.

“And after about six weeks of that,” Rebecca was building towards the conclusion, “He asked me out again. And I said yes without any hesitation because by that point…I just felt so lucky because he wanted me.”

Y/n gazed over at Rebecca, feeling the pang of understanding only women could share. The same one she felt for Keeley.

“He made me feel special,” Rebecca said, old emotion welling in her throat, “Chosen,” she glanced over at where her ex stood, “He made me feel like that.”

Y/n and Keeley looked over to a grinning Rupert, charming many laughs out of Zava.

While Keeley reached over and took her best friend’s hand, Y/n met Rebecca’s eyes and gave her the warmest smile she’d given anyone at Richmond so far. Through that, she hoped, Rebecca would know she was with her.

Not a moment later, Higgins shimmied his way back through their row.

“Well?” Rebecca asked as the three women straightened.

“I just got off the phone with my son’s karate teacher,” Higgins began to recall the trail of communication, “Who used to date the woman who ran Zava’s avocado ranch-”

“Would you please get on with it?” Rebecca rushed.

“He might be going to West Ham,” Higgins nervously answered.

“Damn,” Y/n fell back in her seat, more disappointed with more context.

“Shit,” Keeley exclaimed.

“I knew it,” Rebecca shrugged, entirely unsurprised. “Rupert always gets what he wants.”

The four of them sat there, wallowing in defeat, before Rebecca’s posture perked up again.

“You know what,” she pulled her purse from the floor, “If Rupert can sweet-talk Zava into joining his club, then so can I.”

“Yes,” Keeley cheered her friend on, standing up to let her out the row.

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, proud that Rebecca was willing to fight for the club. Better yet, despite her desperation, she could handle it with grace.

The second half began and the Greyhounds came out on the attack with a new vigor. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened in the locker rooms between halves, but something had changed during the fifteen minute break and it was working for them. Colin delivered the ball to Jamie, who passed it to Sam, who made a spectacular kick that bounced off the goal post, hitting Dani in the face, which resulted in an even more spectacular rebound into the net.

Keeley was out of her seat cheering, hugging Higgins before tugging on Y/n’s hands excitedly. Even though she was only getting re-familiarized with the sport, Y/n felt a pit of joy in her stomach as she watched the team celebrating on the pitch.

After the point, Rebecca made her way back down the row and rejoined the group.

“Well?” Y/n asked, extending her hands in anticipation.

“Did you sweet talk him?” Higgins asked.

“Uh,” Rebecca adjusted her coat, “What’s the opposite of that?”

The three of them thought a moment.

“Sour-yell,” Keeley came up with.

“Yeah,” Rebecca nodded, keeping her eyes on the match, “I did that.”

Keeley, Higgins and Y/n looked to one another in confusion. Any dignity Rebecca possessed seemed to disappear in the face of Rupert Mannion. But now, it had possibly cost them Zava, and Y/n felt the opportunities slip through their fingers.

The game, however, ended better than Rebecca’s conversation. A 1-1 draw and Richmond left with a goal on the board. The team was proud, and in turn, Y/n felt an inkling of pride.

“Right, well,” Y/n sighed as their section began to empty, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Rebecca replied speedily, gathering her items, “I don’t think I can handle another run-in.”

The foursome picked up and left, heading back into the stadium.

“No one else was around for your…” Y/n fished for some better term for Rebecca’s blow up, “Sour-yell, right?”

“Thankfully, no. But I still think we need to get straight back to the office,” Rebecca answered as they climbed the steps, “It’s not safe here.”

As they made their way out, an above head TV screen spoke unavoidably loud.

“Please welcome the newest member of Chelsea Football Club,” one of the team’s staff said from the press room, “Zava.”

Keeley, Y/n, Rebecca and Higgins froze under the picture, unable to look away as Zava picked up the contract and paused before signing.

“I have changed my mind,” he told the room full of journalists, “Zava will not play for Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Rebecca sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t watch this.”

As she left, Keeley followed with Higgins and Y/n bringing up the rear.

“Zava will play for Richmond.”

At hearing the name of their club, the group hastened back around the hall corner, mouths agape. As the press room filled with question after question that Zava would leave unanswered, Keeley hugged Rebecca and squealed. Y/n found herself laughing, pressing a hand to her chest in shock.

“So he responds well to yelling,” Y/n exclaimed.

“You did it,” Keeley grinned as she squeezed her friend, “You did it!”

Rebecca looked proud of herself, and rightfully so. This was a win for her, for the brand, for the whole of AFC Richmond. The season had just taken a massive turn in, potentially, the best direction.

“Okay, definitely back to the office,” Keeley made a plan, “We’ve got to put out a statement.”

“Right,” Rebecca smiled, victoriously leading her team out of the stadium.

—————————

After writing up an official announcement with Keeley, Y/n headed out for the night. She made it down the staircase just as the last of the Greyhounds were leaving the locker room, dressed for a night out.

“Ah, Y/n,” Sam called, giving a little wave.

“Hey,” Y/n greeted, “Congratulations on that goal today,” she looked to Dani with an awkward smile, “And…you too, I think?”

Dani laughed, “It was magnificent.”

“That it was,” Y/n chuckled.

“Listen,” Sam interjected, “The team is going out for a celebratory drink. Can we convince you to come and join us?”

Y/n shut her mouth and wracked her brain for replies that wouldn’t make her sound like an asshole. She liked the players, from the few interactions she’d had with them, but going out to a club with them was definitely not in her job description.

“That’s really sweet,” she smiled, “But I actually have plans.”

“Ah,” Sam nodded, painting his face with mock defeat, “Perhaps next time? When we win?”

“Maybe,” Y/n smiled, realizing she’d have to come up with another lie when the time came, “But you guys have a great time.”

“Oh, it is already a great time,” Dani replied as he began to make his way down the hall, pumping his fists in the air, “We got Zava!”

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before bidding each other goodnight. Y/n waited a few minutes in the hall until the last sports car had left the lot before exiting herself.

Once back in the safety of her apartment, she changed into pajamas and flipped on the television. Keeping the volume low, she pulled out her cell from her purse and dialed a familiar number.

“Hey,” her sister’s voice came through after two rings.

“Hi,” Y/n sang as she moved around her kitchen.

“How’s the great football executive?” Caylee asked.

Y/n scanned the contents of her freezer, settling on a frozen lasagna. “Definitely not my title. And definitely not one I want.”

“What? Who wouldn’t want to be in charge of a team who score goals with their face?”

Y/n got a laugh out of the memory, “You watched the game?”

“Of course I did,” Caylee replied, an smile evident in her voice, “Still don’t fully get it, but I watched it.”

Watching as her dinner spun in the microwave, Y/n smiled. Thousands of miles between them and it felt like her little sister was just in the next room.

“Well, ‘one’ would not want to be in charge of a team that scores with their face, or allows a tabloid writer to tail them all season,” Y/n listed off the incidents of the week, opening the microwave before it could beep, “Or gets photographed coming out of a bloody sewer.”

“Ah,” Caylee understood immediately, “Still got that ten foot pole?”

Y/n could finally sigh in exhaustion without worrying anyone would catch her. “Cayl, if you spent two seconds here, you’d understand why.”

“No,” Caylee calmly said, her voice jumping an octave, “That’s never been my thing. It’s always been yours.”

Setting her dinner down on her kitchen table, Y/n took a seat. “It’s not that it’s a bad place, it’s a good gig. The people are just…a lot.”

Caylee hummed, decoding what her sister meant. It came off condescending.

“What’s that?” Y/n asked, semi-annoyed.

“Nothing,” Caylee replied.

“It’s something.”

“Nope,” Caylee popped her lips, “Just wondering if you ever get lonely up there in your cold corporate castle.”

The thing about talking to people who knew you…was that they knew you. Caylee was the only person that could see through Y/n’s barriers and knew exactly what prompted their creation. She was the one person Y/n couldn’t hide from.

“How could I ever be lonely when I’ve got you?” Y/n finally answered, reaching for the tv remote.

Caylee snorted, “Alright, c’mon, fill me in. I wanna hear everything.”

Y/n channel surfed until she hit Sky Sports, where the highlights of the match were being played. The main attraction, of course, was Dani’s goal.

“I don’t even know where to start…” she smiled, watching the replay and settling in for the night.

—————

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

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam's summer plans

Dick: team up with Wally and Garth in a triathlon

Jason: re-enact a famous pirate battle with Roy, Biz, and Artemis

Tim: try to sunbathe, forgetting he burns easier than garlic and his friends won't give him peace

Damian: r e l e a s e t h e b e e s

Duke: take the family stargazing and convince them the moon changed its orbit

Cullen: drive-in movie marathon but they're the worst movies he's ever seen

Stephanie: see how long she can run an illegal ice cream truck before she gets shut down

Cassandra: scuba dive for the earring she lost in an undersea cave last summer

Barbara: add a grill modification for her wheelchair and make Barbaraque

Harper: connect all the pools in Gotham with a single lazy river

Carrie: hike to the top of a mountain and shout the fuck-word

Kate and Selina: get to know each other on a ladies-only rock climbing trip

Alfred: help the Kents make 200 jars of jam to sell at the farmer's market

Bruce: yacht race against Ollie

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

@agentstarkid Roy and F1 Girlie vibes 🤭

yeah let’s keep it casual *kisses you deeply* no strings attached *stares lovingly into your eyes* i can’t have a long term relationship *invites you to my childhood home to meet my whole family*

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Roy wakes, fully hard and – two seconds later, when the details of the dream return to him – fully panicked.

Fuck.

---

It’s not like he’s never had sex dreams before. Come on. But none of them had featured men (except that weird one about Lee Pace in a banana costume and that hadn’t left him so much turned on as thoroughly confused) and abso-fucking-lutely not a single one of them had starred Jamie Tartt.

Jamie Tartt, who is now standing right in front of him in the dressing room, saying something about football something something, right Coach, something free kicks, and all Roy can think about is how he now has a very vivid idea of what those lips would look like when wrapped around his cock.

Jamie pushes a strand of hair of out of his eyes. They look grey now; in Roy’s dream they were green-tinting-towards-brown and heavy-lidded with lust as Roy had pushed him back on the bed— 

Roy can’t stand it. Except one very specific part of him apparently can and no, no, fuck no, he’s not doing this. Without a word he turns on his heel and walks away, ignoring Jamie’s surprised objection.

Fuck.

---

Training is a nightmare.

The only way Roy can get through it at all is by not sparing Jamie a single glance. (Jamie running, dribbling, shooting; Jamie turning and twisting, as graceful as water; Jamie with hair damp with sweat and calling out to the others with that eager voice that had called out Roy’s name last night.) It’s really fucking difficult, though, because he’s used to always keeping at least half an eye on Jamie these days, no matter what else is going on. Besides, the prick’s everywhere, rushing around the pitch like the fucking Duracell Bunny on speed. Roy clearly made a huge mistake ever pushing him towards the heights of endurance because the little shit just. won’t. stop. 

Roy’s attempts at avoidance don’t go unnoticed, either. He can feel the eyes of Beard and Nate on him; can see the way the other players look from him to Jamie and mutter among themselves. 

He makes them run suicides until they collapse just to shut them up and when Jamie is the only one still on his feet Roy tells Beard that oh fuck, he has a really important meeting he needs to go to right now, he fucking forgot about it and now he’s running late, could Beard and Nate finish this up please, and of course Roy doesn’t flee from the pitch because Roy Kent doesn’t fucking flee from anything. He walks off rather hurriedly, sure, but that’s just to properly sell the lie of the meeting he’s in a rush to. 

“Yeah, something is definitively up with him and Jamie,” he hears Beard mutter to Nate as he walks off.

Fuck.

---

He withdraws to the supply cupboard where he’s not likely to be disturbed, or found. He’s not hiding, obviously; he just needs a few moments to himself, to gather his wits. He’d drive home, except he actually does have a meeting with Rebecca in a couple of hours, and she is the one person he daren’t piss off. Not because she’s terrifying – although she can be, a fact that Roy respects immensely – but because she’ll know that something is off if he doesn’t show and unlike everyone else she has both the guts and the capacity to force it out of him.

In a farcical turn of events, which he entirely blames on Dr. Sharon (and maybe also on Keeley and Jamie a little, for their absurd and sometimes infectious tendency towards emotional honesty), Roy thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind talking to someone about this. Maybe it would… help? Give him some perspective on things? 

Problems is, there’s no one he can talk to, is there? Jamie is right out, for obvious reasons, and while this would probably be right up the Diamond Dogs’ alley, there’s no fucking way Roy is telling his fellow coaches and the club’s director of football operations about having a wet dream about the team’s star player. Apart from the utter mortification of it, it’s hardly fair on Jamie, having almost all his bosses discuss him like that. Even if it’s not the real Jamie they’d be discussing, really, just the very bendable and delightfully masochistic Jamie that’s taken shameless residence in Roy’s battered mind. 

He can’t talk to Rebecca, for the same reason, even though he’s pretty sure she’d be able to say something clever enough and cutting enough that he’d snap right out of whatever the hell this is. Maybe she’d declare him clinically insane and unfit for duty and have him carted off to an asylum or some shit, and as much as that would suck it’d be a bit of a relief, honestly. At least he wouldn’t near twist his neck off his shoulders trying to avoid looking at Jamie. 

Jamie would probably come and visit him, the fucking arsehole.

And Roy can’t talk to Keeley, either, because even though she’s probably the best person to bring this to and the person he’d most like to talk to, she’s been clear about having no interest in sorting Roy and Jamie’s shit out for them. Besides, he doesn’t want to somehow give her the idea that he’s over her. He’s not. He had a pretty wild dream about her just the other week, and—

For a brief moment, he’s assailed by the image of Keeley and Jamie tangled on Roy’s mattress, looking up at him with twin smiles and—

In spite of the cupboard being rather chilly, Roy starts to sweat. Desperately, he crosses his legs and forces his mind back to the time when he took a chug of orange juice only for it to be egg yolk and he nearly threw up. 

It doesn’t really help. He’s still turned on, only now he’s feeling sick too. 

He could talk to Dr. Sharon, he guesses, but Dr. Sharon is travelling southern France for the rest of the week.

Roy won’t last that long.

Fuck. 

--- 

The door to the cupboard is pulled open with enough force to almost startle Roy off of the bucket he’s sat on. 

“All right, what the fuck’s going on, man?” Jamie demands, without even having the decency to look surprised at finding Roy hiding hanging out among the mops and micro fibre cloths. “Did you hit your head and forget the last two years or something?”

“Of course not,” Roy mutters, determinedly not looking up from the computer precariously balanced on his lap.

“Then why the fuck are you ignoring me? The lads all think I did something really bad!” There’s a plaintive note in Jamie’s voice, reminding Roy of the noises dream-Jamie had made when Roy— 

Roy closes his eyes. He can’t go on like this. He’s pretty sure that if he could just get a day or two – three or four tops, absolutely no more than five – away from Jamie, away from these constant reminders, the details of the dream would fade away, and his desire with it – but they have a game the day after tomorrow, so that’s not going to happen, and he can’t keep avoiding Jamie until then. It’d be bad for the team – not to mention that he can’t really stomach the hurt he hears in Jamie’s voice.

Nothing for it, then. Fuck it all to hell.

“I had a sex dream,” he grits out, carefully looking to the doorframe right next to Jamie’s face, so that he can catch Jamie’s reactions without having to look him in the eye.

Jamie doesn’t react much, just cocks his head to the side. “You had a sex dream about me?”

“Did I say it was about you, you muppet?!” Conceited prick.

“Uh, no, but it was? You wouldn’t be all weird about it if wasn’t.” Trust Jamie to always choose the worst moments to be insightful and reasonable. He’s doing it just to be contrary, Roy’s sure of it. 

Jamie’s watching him expectantly, as if believing Roy will elaborate or explain further. Roy doesn’t say a word. Roy is busy stonily inspecting a small speck of dirt on the wall next to Jamie’s face.

Eventually, Jamie lets out a long sigh and rolls his eyes. “Fine. What’s the big deal then?” 

Now Roy’s eyes snap to Jamie’s face, because what the hell? “What do you mean, what’s the big deal? You don’t think it’s a little weird and really fucking uncomfortable that I, Roy Kent, had a sex dream about you, Jamie Tartt? I’m your fucking coach! We’re friends!”

Jamie makes a face, like Roy’s being the insane one. “Roy, mate, you’ve seen the wall in my old bedroom. Bunch of half-naked girls and you, right? You never did the math on that?” 

Roy has, in fact, never done the math on that. Hasn’t realize there as math to do. “You were impressed by my prowess as a football player,” he tries feebly.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Um, yeah. Which is hot.”

“… oh.”

Roy doesn’t know what else to say to that. Doesn’t know how to feel about that. Hasn’t the faintest idea about how to even begin to process it.

Jamie is watching him with a small frown. He looks concerned, pitying almost, which makes Roy want to go throw himself in the Thames more than anything else in this discussion has.

“So,” Jamie says eventually, speaking slowly, like he’s trying very hard to find the right words, “all these years and you never once figured that this whole thing we’ve got going, all this fucking tension, that it was… you know… just a little bit sexual?”

“No.”

“What, never?”

“No.” 

“That’s fucking mental, man.” Jamie looks like he doesn’t know whether to be incredulous or impressed. Then his eyes widen. “Ooh, is this because men getting with other men was illegal when you were a kid back in the dark ages? They burned people alive and shit, so you’re, like, repressed and stuff?”

Roy is about to bite his head off for pulling out fucking stupid ha ha you’re so old jokes now, except there’s something in Jamie’s eyes giving him the distinct impression that maybe Jamie is deliberatedly being a prick, doing it for Roy’s sake, trying to offer him a sense of normalcy or something, and that’s actually quite sweet, isn’t it? Only that thought has Roy’s heart doing something weird and stupid, so actually no, back to Jamie just being a prick.

“We’re in love with Keeley,” he says, and he means for it to be gruff, but it comes out pleading more than anything else.

“Yeah, I know.” Jamie sounds exasperated. “None of this means we ain’t. Fucking hell, mate, tension’s just tension, yeah, no need to fucking act on it if you don���t want to. And dreams are just dreams. I’m mad fit, you see me running around doing impressive shit all day, course you’re gonna dream about me, be weirder if you didn’t. Bet half the team do the same, anyway. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Jamie crosses his arms, and looks as serious and decisive as Jamie ever does. “Listen, Coach, we’re playing West Ham this Saturday, and you need to stop being weird about this and start coaching me and not freak everyone out.”

Roy doesn’t ask him what Jamie think he’s been trying to do all day. Not his fault Jamie’s been right there, all pretty eyes and strong thighs and distracting lips and shit. But he doesn’t say that; instead, he sighs, because Jamie, infuriatingly, has a point. “Yeah. Okay. But… just give me a fucking minute. Go get changed and I’ll be there in fifteen, all professional and shit.”

“Great. See you then, Coach.”

Jamie turns and as he walks away Roy can’t help his gaze sliding down to Jamie’s arse, noticing the way the blue shorts cling to the round buttocks, leaving little enough to the imagination, only Roy is imagining what they’d look like sans shorts and red from Roy’s fingers and palm, wondering if the reality would match the dream.

Fuck. 

---

Dreams are just dreams. Roy tells Dr. Sharon as much during their next appointment, because even though talking to Jamie helped him pull himself together just enough to muddle through the rest of the week with his sanity mostly intact, he’s still feeling rather rattled by the whole mess. Untethered. 

Jamie’s been brilliant, carrying on as if nothing’s changed between them. Somehow, that hasn’t helped as much as Roy would’ve thought it would. 

Dr. Sharon listens carefully and without judgement, as she always does. “You’ve had dreams before,” she notes once Roy’s fallen silent. “I’m sure some of them have been strange or unsettling. Has any of them ever affected you like this?” 

“No. Like I said, it’s just dreams, right? It’s not real. Shouldn’t affect me. Never fucking does, not even the sexy ones, usually.”

“Right. So why do you think this one was different?”

Roy stares at her. She returns his stare calmly, patiently. Waits, watching him, until he can’t help but catch the shape of it reflected back at him in her kind eyes.

Fuck. 

---

“What if I don’t want it to be just a dream?” 

“Eh?” 

Jamie’s peering at him through the open door, looking like he’s wondering what Roy is doing showing up unannounced and spouting nonsense on his doorstep at half past three on a rest day. 

Which, okay, fair enough. 

“What if I don’t want it to be just a dream?” Roy repeats, a little slower this time. 

For another moment, Jamie just stares at him. Then his eyes widen, lightening up with delight. “Oh! You mean… ?” He gestures between them.

“Yeah,” Roy says and then he’s being pulled into the hallway by his jacket and he has time to think that that they really need to figure out how Keeley fits into all of this and then he has his arms around a body that is firm and solid and there and Jamie Tartt is kissing him and it’s not a dream at all. 

Fuck. Oh, fuck… !

[soupandsorcery]

Day 8 - Will, 647 words

Roy looks at him and looks at him and looks at him.

Jamie's just sitting there on his nice leather couch, trying to make some of the words he's rehearsed for this whole thing come out of his mouth. His leg bounces up and down, all nervous energy. Unable to be still.

He even gave himself a whole pep talk on the drive to Roy's place, but sitting here under the force of Roy's stony stare makes this harder than he thought it would be.

"Jamie," Roy finally says, and to his credit, he only sounds a little exasperated. "You said you wanted to talk, so fucking talk."

"I know! I know. Fuck." Jamie drags his hands through his hair. "Had this whole speech rehearsed in the mirror this morning, but now it's like. Fuck. I look at you, and it's all flown out of my head."

Roy's eyebrows furrow. "The fuck does that mean? Why are you so nervous?"

"Its. It's just kind of a big deal, I guess."

"You decided you want to leave," Roy says, and it's not a question.

Jamie rolls his eyes. "Why are you so fucking stuck on that? I told you this ain't a Coach Kent thing. It's not about football for once. This is about...me and you."

"What about us?"

Just say it. Just fucking say it, Tartt. He berates himself in his head. Opens his mouth. Says nothing. Takes a deep breath. Tries to will the words to come out.

"Had a dream about you, the other night," he manages, just leaping right in. "It was. Dead fucking hot, actually. You had me in your lap, and your fingers were..." Jamie trails off, blushing darkly. He gestures down his body, not making eye contact. "Then I woke up, and I thought—there's this way you look at me sometimes—"

"Fuck." Roy curses with more force than usual, and Jamie's eyes snap up to his face. His cheeks are pink all the way to the tips of his ears, and he's staring at Jamie like he either wants to eat him or murder him.

"Sorry," Jamie says immediately. "I know that's weird. I know. But I just..."

"How do I look at you?" Roy demands.

"What?"

"How do I fucking look at you, Jamie?"

He swallows hard. "Like. Like maybe you want me? Like maybe I mean more to you than just being your project or whatever." It comes out almost meek, not like the confidant, bright Jamie Tartt he usually is. But Roy Kent just fucking does something to him. Makes him feel like he's a teenager again, staring up at that poster in his bedroom, desperate to be worth his time.

Roy's face does the thundercloud thing, and it's unreadable in the moment. Jamie doesn't know if he's pissed or uncomfortable or disgusted or what. Now he's doubting himself, doubting every little moment between them over the last year or so that has lead to this. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe Roy just thinks of him the same way he does any of the other lads on the team.

"Jamie." Roy's voice cuts into Jamie's internal monologue, sharp and commanding.

"Sorry," Jamie says again. "Probably just wishful thinking, yeah? I can go—"

"Shut up. Come here."

He's getting up before he even registers the instruction properly, his body just used to following Roy's orders by now. It's still impossible to tell what he's thinking, even as Jamie comes to stand in front of him.

"Why are you so fucking nervous?" Roy asks again, and his voice is softer now.

"I—I don't want to fuck this up, yeah? You're a dead good coach, and my best fucking friend, and I just don't want to ruin that because I went and started dreaming about you making me come so hard I can't see straight."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jamie."

"I—"

Roy holds up a hand and scowls, cutting him off. "Stop fucking apologizing. Just." He growls under his breath and then yanks Jamie towards him, mashing their mouths together.

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Ch1, (on ao3)

Chapter 2: Roy Kent Makes a Deal With a Bellend

Jamie being a good little boy and Roy being wrong about mid-2000s Disney Pop sensations.

Training is shit. Training is usually shit at Richmond though, so that’s not out of the norm. What is out of the norm is Roy deciding to actually give a fuck about it.

He’s already given a fuck about Nate this week (and about Jamie, though he’s unwilling to admit to that one), might as well see if he can do it again.

The reason why training is shit? Jamie Fucking Tartt.

Jamie Fucking Tartt has been the cornerstone to all shit training sessions ever since he stepped foot in Richmond. Today is no different.

Roy had (naively) thought that, after the Nate incident, after the Gala, Jamie might have decided to not be a shit human being. But no, that is not the case.

Sure when the lads had teased them about Roy buying Jamie at the Gala, Jamie joked about being irresistible to everyone including senior citizens.

But Roy had been feeling generous that morning so he didn’t snap, though it was mostly because Roy silently agreed with the lads; what he had done at the Gala had been fucking ludicrous.

‘Course that didn’t mean he was going to let those fuckwits laugh about it. One good glare had been enough to shut those pillocks up.

And sure, during training, Jamie had managed to always keep at least five meters between himself and Roy at all times. Pretty impressive really, how dedicated Jamie had been to avoiding him considering they’d been practising in the same group that day. If there had been a conveniently placed bush to hide in, Roy is sure Jamie would have dived right in if he’s seen Roy walking in his direction.

But Roy understood that; too much sincerity makes him break out in hives, and the fucking Gala had filled up his quota of sincerity for the rest of the fucking year (and they aren’t even halfway through this godforsaken year).

Roy had been perfectly content to see how far they could push this whole ignoring each other thing; he had been quite enjoying the peace and quiet, really. Then Jamie had refused to pass to Sam. Again. And again. And again.

And really, what kind of arsehole could be mean to Sam? Sam is a fucking angel.

So, for what is becoming far too frequent, he goes to the bane of his existence who is alone in the gym doing weights as per fucking usual, starring at his own biceps curling and uncurling in the mirror, a near perfect recreation of a fucking modern Narcissus.

“I want you to pass to Sam,” Roy says.

“Not this shit again.” Jamie sighs, refusing to look away from the mirror, lifting his weights up and down, and up and down.

Roy steps in front of the mirror, getting in Jamie’s face.

“I want you to play nice. Telling Colin and Isaac to ease off Nate was a good start, but I want you to pass to Sam, and everyone else for that matter. I want you—” he jabs his finger in Jamie’s chest “—to be a team fucking player.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?” He asks, the weights dangling at his side.

Roy doesn’t say the first response that comes to mind or the second one or even the third one (fuck, being a good captain was fucking exhausting). He takes a breath, counts to ten, actually thinks about what he should say, and only then does he open his mouth. “Listen, though it pains me to fucking say it, you’re a good footballer player—”

“Best fucking player on the team,” Jamie says.

“We’re in fucking Richmond; that’s not saying much,” Roy snaps and then continues as if Jamie hadn’t interrupted like the fucking prick he is, “Now, you have the potential to be a fucking awe-inspiring player. You’ve got the talent, the drive, and the fucking work ethic to boot. But frankly, your attitude is going to be a problem. Because though Lasso doesn’t know fucking shit about football, he’s right about one thing, that this is a team sport. “Now, I’m not asking you to go around holding hands with everyone and making fucking friendship bracelets.” Though Lasso would probably eat that shit up. “All I ask is that you pass the ball from time to time, and you play nice with the other children, or at the very least you pretend to. “Fuck, you may even learn to like some of these muppets.”

“Unlikely.”

“Just fucking humour me. It’s not like you’ve got anything to lose; in a few months’ time, the season’s going to be over, and you’ll be back in Manchester wearing that god-awful sky blue kit, your time at Richmond nothing more than a distant nightmare.”

Jamie stares at him, thinking it over. He finally deigns to put the fucking weights down, and when he straightens up, that infuriatingly annoying smirk has taken over his conceited little face.

“Make it worth my while,” he says.

Of course the fucking prick wants something out of this, incapable of doing anything out of the goodness of his own rotten heart.

Roy thinks about walking away, about giving up on this whole ‘good captain’ nonsense. Fuck being good. Fuck fucking Ted Lasso. Fuck giving half a shit about Richmond. And especially fuck Jamie Fucking Tartt.

He stays put.

“I’ll do extra training with you.” Roy says and regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s regretting a lot of things lately. All of them to do with the bellend in front of him. He should’ve walked away.

For some reason his mouth decides to keep talking, “You want to play for England. You want to be the best. I can help you with that. Because quite frankly, I have my fucking doubts about how much you’re going to learn under Yankee Doodles 1 and 2.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow, infuriating smirk still in place.

“And what makes you think you have anything to teach me, grandad?”

“Don’t play dumb, Tartt. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, I have a lot more fucking knowledge than you about the game. Which you know, if that fucking poster you had of me on your wall is anything to go by.” Roy has the satisfaction of watching the smirk slip off the idiot’s face.

“I regret telling you that.”

“Too fucking late.” Roy holds out his hand. “So? Deal?”

Jamie looks down at Roy’s hand, back up at his face, stares at him for a bit.

“You’ll train me?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Until the end of the season?”

“Yes.”

“And all I have to do is be a good little boy?”

“Fucking yes. Are you going to repeat everything I fucking said or—”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Jamie takes his hands, give it a shake, and before Jamie can let go, Roy’s already ripping his hand away.

“Fucking fantastic,” Roy says, and walks out of the gym, slamming the door on his way out.

Match day.

They’re all in the locker room, about to play off against Watford.

Jamie is on the bench, phone held high, moving his head from side to side like a fucking peacock as he tales selfie after fucking selfie.

Roy steps up next to him, “Tartt, remember the fucking deal.”

“Keep your hair on, old man. Although you could probably do to loose some of it.” Jamie takes another selfie. “I promised I would behave, didn’t I?” Another selfie.

Roy stands there and glares down at the twat, wondering where the fuck he went wrong in life. And then he remembers that he very much willingly signed up to this when he made that deal.

Before he starts feeling like too much of a fucking masochist, he yells at everyone to form a circle, dragging Jamie up from the bench as he does so, ruining what was undoubtedly going to be the hundredth identical selfie. They put their hands in the centre. Jamie places his hand right over Roy’s, making direct eye contact the whole time because he’s a little fucking shit.

And then they’re off.

On the pitch, chasing after the ball, Roy can finally try to forget about his recent questionable life decisions if only for 90 minutes.

But then, the little fucking shit makes an absolutely incredible pass to Sam which gets them a goal. The fucking bastard.

Jamie looks at Roy, and because good behaviour is meant to fucking rewarded even if it is Jamie, Roy gives him the slightest nod. He fucking hates doing it.

The match continues.

Sam goes down and doesn’t get back up. A shitty tackle from the opposing team. Roy can see Jamie glance at Sam, then at the ball right behind Sam, back at Sam, then at Roy himself. Roy looks at him, raises an eyebrow and waits.

Jamie rolls his eyes, goes over to Sam curled up on the ground, and crouches down to Sam’s level.

“You still alive down there?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Sam’s muffled reply, his head hidden behind his arms. Jamie looks back at Roy, probably to check if he’s still watching, the fucking prick. Roy keeps starring.

“Well, are you going to stay down there for much longer? Only we do have a game to finish, and your prone body might get in the way of that,” Jamie says because he has no fucking bedside manner. Roy’s about to step in when Sam finally moves his arms, revealing his face.

“Yes, sorry,” Sam says and goes to get up, only to stop short when Jamie offers him a hand.

It takes a moment before Sam grabs it, long enough that Roy can see the annoyance starting to creep onto Jamie’s face. Roy gets the hesitation; if Roy suddenly had to deal with a Jamie who, from one day to the next, became less prickish without any explanation, Roy would be fucking weary too.

But because Sam is better than them all, he takes the hand with a small smile and lets Jamie pull him up before running off, thanking Jamie as he goes, because he’s fucking polite like that.

Roy’s still looking at Jamie when Jamie turns back to him. Jamie raises one of his perfectly groomed eyebrows, and smiles all wide at Roy, the friendliest and by far the fakest smile Roy has ever seen from him. Roy roles his eyes and walks away. Tosser.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Tartt passes the ball during the free kick as well, allowing Richard to score a goal, Jamie’s second assist of the night. Because apparently, Jamie Fucking Tartt never does anything by halves.

In the second half, Roy’s got the ball. He’s running fast, absolutely tearing through the field, grass flying in his wake. He’s coming up to the goal, no one near enough to stop him. He could attempt the goal himself. He doesn’t. Swallowing the figurative bile down his throat, he passes the ball to Jamie. Because fuck if Jamie was going to be the more mature of the two of them.

The prick scores a fucking beautiful goal.

Of fucking course he does.

They win 3-2. Everyone’s fucking jumping around, latching onto each other, all happy and shit.

It’s been a while since the locker room’s felt like this, if it ever fucking did while Roy was at Richmond.

Jamie is of course, right in the centre of it all, everyone having decided to ignore his dickhead tendencies for the night. Two assists and one goal will do that.

Jamie’s soaking in the attention like the fucking egotistical sponge he is. Isaac and Colin are hanging off his every word, as per usual. Richard is literally hanging off him, arm thrown over Jamie’s shoulder, still reeling from the high of the goal no doubt. Sam had gone over to Jamie to thank him for the pass which Jamie hadn’t known what to do with if the slightly wide-eyed, deer in the headlights look had been anything to go by (which was fucking funny). Even Lasso’s looking at Tartt with a sincerely pleased look on his face. It’s disgusting.

A phone rings, nearly drowned out by the incessant chatter.

Sitting right next to Roy, Sam picks Jamie’s phone off the bench, and Roy has just enough time to read the screen to see who’s calling.

'Dad'

Sam stands and walks over to Jamie who is still blathering on in the centre of the room, smirk ever present, entourage encircling him.

“Here, Jamie”, Sam passes him the phone, “I believe your father is trying to call you.”

Jamie shuts up immediately, and he’s looking down at the phone in Sam’s outstretched hand like it might bite him.

After far too many seconds of hesitation, Jamie grabs the phone. He mutters a thanks to Sam and leaves the room to take the call outside.

Roy catches a glimpse of Jamie’s face before he leaves. The usual smirk is gone.

Most of the lads have already left with plans to go out and celebrate in one of the many shitty clubs London has to offer. Roy’s thinking about leaving too, but Jamie’s stuff is still scattered on the bench in front of his locker, the twat nowhere to be seen.

All Roy wants to do is go home, collapse onto the couch with an ice pack for his knee and some shitty show playing on the telly.

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he goes off to hunt the prick down because trying to be a decent captain sucks.

Finding Jamie takes a while, each minute spent looking for him making Roy more and more annoyed. He’s close to giving up, saying fuck it, and fuck Jamie when he finds Jamie outside by the training pitch. It takes a moment for Roy to spot him up in the stands (it’s dark, and Roy’s night vision isn’t what it used to be).

But there he is, seated all the way up at the top.

Roy slowly makes his way up the steps, his knee protesting the whole way. Because of course Jamie couldn’t choose a seat lower down. No, he had to go and sit in the very last row. The prick.

Jamie doesn’t say anything as Roy makes his way up, doesn’t say anything when Roy falls into the seat next to him, shoulders pressing against one another, doesn’t even comment on the grunt Roy lets out as soon as he’s off his feet. Fuck, Roy’s getting old.

The prick stays quiet, starring down at the pitch, phone gripped in his hand, the smallest frown distorting his perfect fucking forehead.

“We won. What the fuck is up with you?” Roy asks after the silence stretches out too long; Roy doesn’t have time for this, wants to go home to his couch and his ice pack.

“Nothing,” the ever so eloquent prick says.

Roy’s considering just leaving it at that. Obviously the little prick doesn’t want to talk, and Roy doesn’t care enough to make him, but then Jamie continues.

“Those passes were fucking pointless,” he says bitingly, “I could have got those goals on my own. Easy.”

So that’s what this is about.

“Last I checked, you don’t know how to work a crystal ball,” Roy says, “So, you don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I fucking do,” he says leaving no room for argument.

Honestly, the prick’s not wrong; he’s good enough that he probably could have done it on his own.

Roy doesn’t say that though, obviously. The prick’s ego is already at an unhealthy size.

“At least it’ll get Lasso off your back for a while,” Roy says instead.

“Fucking Lasso.”

“Yeah.” Roy understands the sentiment, has been cursing the gaffer’s name multiple times a day ever since Lasso stepped foot in England.

“And, like, he's weird, right? Even for an American. Because I've met some of Americans, right, and they're not like that,” Jamie says.

“Yeah, fucking weird.” Really fucking weird.

“Are all Americans like that in fucking Bumfuck Tennessee?”

“He's from Kansas. And I don't know. Fuck, I hope not, or that place must be fucking unbearable.”

“Kansas? Like Dorothy-over-the-rainbow Kansas? No place like home, and the yellow brick road and shit?”

“The Wizard of Oz, and yeah.” Roy says, then pauses, “How the fuck do you know about Tennessee?”

“Hannah Montana.”

“Hannah Montana takes place is California, you muppet.”

“Yeah, but Miley Stewart’s from Tennessee.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Uh, yeah. She is. That's like a big fucking part of her story. Small-town country girl making it big and all than shit. The American dream or whatever.”

“That’s not fucking true.” Roy has suffered through enough hours of that shitty sitcom; he knows what he’s talking about.

“Whatever,” Jamie says, not in the mood to start an argument which is fucking bizarre; he’s always wanting to start a fucking argument with Roy.

They’re quiet again, and Roy’s not used to Jamie being quiet, doesn’t know how to feel about it, not sure he likes it.

“Not that sitting here doing fuck all isn't absolutely hilarious, but I want to get some fucking sleep.” Roy stands up because he can’t think of anything else to say, and Jamie apparently doesn’t want to get into a debate about mid-2000s Disney shows.

He goes down a few steps, expects Jamie to follow because it really is getting late, but Jamie doesn’t; he just sits there, starring back down at the dark, empty pitch. Fucking unsettling.

“You fucking coming?” Roy asks though his tone makes it more of an order, but at least it gets Jamie to nod and get to his feet.

Roy continues to make his way slowly down the stupid stairs because his knee really isn’t happy with him at the moment. Jamie doesn’t say anything about the snail-like pace, doesn’t take a jab at Roy’s old age or call him fucking grandad. Another thing to add to the unsettling-as-fuck list.

“You played well today,” Roy says if only to fill the silence and to make the trip down the stairs more fucking bearable. Definitely not because a quiet Jamie was an unnerving Jamie.

Jamie doesn’t say what Roy expects him to, doesn’t smugly state that he plays well every day. Just a slightly mumbled thanks and that’s that. And Roy’s just about given into to continuing in silence when Jamie speaks up.

“Passing the ball felt awful.”

“It really fucking did,” Roy says, thinking about his own pass to Jamie.

“At least you didn’t end up puking on the pitch,” Jamie says, referring to Roy’s words from the Gala.

“It was still fucking horrible, though.”

“So fucking horrible.”

Roy grunts in agreement.

“I have to do this for the rest of the season?” Jamie asks, practically whines.

“Suck it up, dickhead.”

“This fucking blows.”

Roy snorts because Jamie is really starting to sound like a petulant child.

“Nice passes though,” Roy says because he’s apparently full of compliments today. Though, they really were fucking lovely passes, unfortunately.

“Thanks,” Jamie says again, only no longer mumbled and quiet. Thank fuck.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Oh my gosh LOOK WHAT BESTIE MADE

I'm like in TEARS seeing these ❤️ you guys have no idea all the brainstorming and idea sharing we've been doing for this little story, I'm so in love with them that I might stop breathing! ❤️

SHUT UP & DRIVE!┆MOODBOARDS

Champion. Goddess. Empress. She's been driving Roy Kent mad from afar for a while now. But once they finally cross paths, they're both in danger of crashing into love.

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader by @onceuponaoneshotfanfic ❤️

⤷ SHUT UP AND DRIVE MASTERLIST

❝THE EMPRESS ─── L'IMPERATRICE❞

. · ˚✧˚ · .

❝THE GREYHOUND ─── ROY KENT❞

. · ˚✧˚ · .

❝THE LOVERS ─── THE LEGENDS❞

[obvious-captain-rogers]

Preview of Ch. 2 of Chelsea Roy

Read the first snippet here or the first chapter of the fic here

When the driver pulled up, Jamie rattled off the address Roy had sent him and then he settled back into the seat, tipping his head back and letting his eyes fall shut. He’d had a few drinks- half a beer in the locker room and a couple of shots that some of the lads had bought for him to celebrate his Premier League debut- but he wouldn't say he was anything more than a little buzzed.

Jamie handed over his fare plus a little extra when the cab rolled to a stop outside of a posh, gated house that looked more like it had three families living in it rather than just one. Jamie whistled under his breath as he tried the gate, found that it wasn’t locked, and then started up the drive towards the house. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Jamie muttered to himself. “Not on the estate now are ya, lad?” Jamie shook his head and then rang the bell, tucking his hands into his pockets afterwards. To show off the little strip of skin at his collarbones and to keep him from lifting one to his mouth to chew at the nails like he did sometimes when he was particularly stressed.

Jamie stood there for long enough that his face was starting to get hot with embarrassment and he was contemplating the fact that he was being stood up, but then the door opened and there was Roy, all slightly ruffled curls and scowling eyebrows. “Fucking Christ, Tartt, you know what time it is?” Roy asked sharply and Jamie felt the initial rush of excitement at seeing Roy’s face- still so fucking attractive that it made Jamie’s whole body ache- leave him as quickly as it’d come. Jamie took a moment to look Roy over, taking in the creased t-shirt and the trackies that were settled so low on his hips that it looked like they’d been hastily thrown on.

“Sorry, Roy. Didn’t realize it were so late,” Jamie apologized genuinely. “Lads took me out to celebrate. Got to play tonight.” Jamie tipped his chin up, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Assisted with a goal, was dead sexy doin’ it too.” He hoped that plastering on the charm would help to make up for the fact that he’d clearly pulled Roy from bed. He took half a step closer, leaving only a handful of inches between his and Roy’s chests. “Thought you might wanna celebrate wit’ me for a bit.” Jamie reached out to toy with the hem of Roy’s t-shirt, letting his fingertips brush the strip of bare skin in the gap between the shirt and his waistband.

Roy’s muscles twitched slightly beneath Jamie’s feather-light touch but then he pulled back. “Come on then.” There was more annoyance there than anticipation and Jamie felt his stomach plummet a little at the lack of enthusiasm. “You sober?” Roy asked, crossing his arms once Jamie had stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Had a drink with the lads but I ain’t sloppy, Roy,” Jamie said and scowled at him faintly, wondering why the fuck Roy had sent Jamie his address if he seemed like he didn’t want Jamie in his house. Roy just nodded but he didn’t uncross his arms or make any indication that he wanted Jamie in his space. “Come on then, give us a victory kiss, eh?” Jamie was shooting for some coy teasing but there was a little edge of desperation in his voice. He just wanted to know if he was wanted.

“Not your little fucking boyfriend, Tartt,” Roy snapped harshly and Jamie stumbled back a little at the venom in Roy’s voice. Jamie had seen the famous Roy Kent temper plenty on the pitch, seen pap photos of club brawls that Roy had been apart of, but to be at the receiving end of it- for no fucking reason- cut through the cocky facade he’d been trying to keep up.

“Right,” Jamie said, his voice tense and clipped and with the barest hint of a tremble in it at the end. “O’ course no’. I’ll just go then. Find someone who actually wants me.”

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Shut Up and Drive (Chapter 3)

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader

4.4k words

Warnings: Language, fingering, oral (M receiving), unprotected sex, the start of some serious pining

Thanks as always to @agentstarkid ❤️❤️❤️

Series Masterlist

The entire ride to Leeds, Roy was silent. That wasn’t too unusual; he was never one to join in on the singing and chattering, even when he was a player. But today he pressed his head against the window and thought of nothing but a certain gorgeous racer.

Two weeks had passed since your two trysts at Silverstone, and Roy’s mind had been almost constantly occupied with images of you: throwing your head back as he devoured you, writhing beneath him, grinding on his lap, smiling at him in your racing suit, or being doused in champagne. There was also the image that kept coming back no matter how hard he tried to focus on work: you, lying in bed beside him when he woke up that Monday morning.

As promised, as soon as you were awake your mouth was around his already hard cock. After you’d swallowed everything he gave you, the two of you laid in bed for a bit, his arm lazily around your shoulder, chatting absently about upcoming matches and races and how you both thought those things would go; he was impressed with how much you knew about Richmond, and you were touched by his knowledge of your racing.

When his phone started buzzing with messages from Jamie, asking for the keys to his car so they could start getting ready to leave, he had reluctantly said goodbye to you, pressing a harsh kiss to your still swollen lips. His chest was tight the entire walk back to his room, where he only answered Jamie’s questions and knowing looks with grunts and mumblings of “Fuck off.”

And for two weeks, that tightness had made a permanent home in his chest.

It was still there as he walked down the halls at Elland Road, trying to focus on the upcoming match as he headed to the visitors changing room. He was being stupid; he should appreciate that he got to sleep with you, his absolute fantasy woman, and move the fuck on. Most guys would kill to hook up with you once; he’d gotten to be in your bed twice. He was a lucky man. He shouldn’t feel this fucking miserable.

“Holy shit, is that the Roy Kent? He’s here! He’s there! He’s every-fucking-where!”

Roy froze. He knew that voice; he fantasized about that voice.

When he turned around, his mouth went completely dry. Looking fucking adorable in a Greyhounds sweatshirt and a Ferrari baseball cap, you stood in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed, grinning smugly at him. Although you looked impossibly cool, your heart was pounding wildly as you gazed at him, gorgeous as ever in his trackpants and Richmond shirt.

You both took a few tentative steps towards each other, closing the gap between you. You clasped your hands together as you looked up at him, trying to read the expression on his face; there was definitely confusion and surprise there, but maybe a hint of delight too. There was certainly some lust in his eyes; that was something you could spot easily.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Fuck are you doing here?” The words alone sounded harsh, but when he said it with those bewildered eyes, in that soft, raspy voice, it sounded almost… hopeful.

“Keeley invited me,” you explained, wondering if he could see how white your knuckles were as you squeezed your hands together in an effort to avoid squeezing your thighs instead; you really enjoyed these trackpants and the way they hugged your favorite parts of him. “Woud’ve given you a heads up, but…” When he’d left your hotel room, neither of you had offered up your phone number; you hadn’t wanted to look like you were hoping for anything serious. He hadn’t wanted to appear overly eager.

You’d both left that weekend with a nagging feeling of disappointment.

He nodded, seeming to understand your meaning. “Well, it’s nice. Having you here.” The corner of his kissable mouth tugged upwards. “Maybe you’ll bring us luck, Empress.”

“I’ll do my best,” you hummed, your heart fluttering at the flirty tone in his voice. For a moment, you considered offering to “celebrate” the way you had in Silverstone, but that fretful voice in the back of your head, the one that was convinced he couldn’t possibly be interested in another hookup, stopped you.

He glanced at his watch. “Should get going,” he mumbled. He paused, giving no indication that he was in any hurry to walk away from you. “We usually go out after the match. As a team. You should come.”

Roy invited you to go out with the team. Never mind that Keeley had already done so; he didn’t need to know that. “Sounds great.” His invitation gave you enough nerve to brush your fingers against his. Electricity coursed through your body at the light touch. “Good luck out there, Coach.” You winked as you started to back away. “Not that you need it.” With a coy wave over your shoulder, you turned and walked away, confident that Roy Kent’s eyes were glued to your figure until you were out of sight.

~

A lot of the time Roy could forget his age when he talked to his players, especially his old teammates. Lots of joking and reminiscing, making him forget that he had ten and even twenty years on some of these fellas.

But as he watched these young, fit, handsome men flock to you, all smiles and cockiness as they chatted you up, Roy definitely felt his age. Fucking Granddad indeed.

“Alright there, Roy?” Jamie plopped down beside his coach, whose grasp on his drink was visibly tight. He followed Roy’s gaze across the restaurant the Greyhounds were at well past closing, his mouth forming a perfect O when he saw Dani Rojas making you laugh. “Ah. Don’t like the lads hitting up your girl, eh?”

“Not my fucking girl,” Roy growled, turning his attention to Jamie and wondering if he’d end up breaking this glass with his bare hand. “Barely fucking know her.”

Jamie nodded. “Right. Right. But you like her.” He shrugged at the glare Roy shot him. “I mean, you haven’t taken your eyes off her since we got here. Same at Silverstone.”

Before Roy could tell Jamie to fuck off, someone sat in the chair next to him. He immediately stiffened in more ways than one when he realized it was you and your soft smile.

“Good game, Coach,” you hummed, eyes only for Roy. “Looks like you were right about me bringing you luck.”

He wanted to say something clever, maybe even something flirtatious. But before he could remember how to talk, Richard, Jan, and Thierry sauntered over, affable and confident in a way that made Roy wish he’d just gone back to the hotel after the match.

“We have a little bet going,” Richard announced, confidence oozing charm in that stupid French way women tended to like.

Roy was too busy feeling like shit to notice that the polite smile you gave the guys was not the same coy smile you offered him.

“And what’s that?” you asked, humoring the athletes, wanting to get rid of them so you could see how much flirting you and Roy could get away with without Jamie Tartt noticing.

Thierry’s smirk was clearly one he practiced in the mirror each night. “If you had to go home with one of the Greyhounds,” he teased, “which one would it be?”

Oh fuck this. Roy sat up, ready to tell off his players, to scold them for being so impertinent and honestly really fucking pervy. Especially to someone they had just met- the fucking Empress no less. Was this really how Rebecca fucking Welton’s team treated a renowned female athlete? Richard had the excuse of being, well, French, but really? Fucking Thierry- no, that was actually what one might expect. Okay, so fucking Jan Maas. Roy could yell at Jan Maas.

But your chuckle interrupted his plans. “Ah. And I assume you each bet on yourselves?” You shook your head at their mischievous smirks. “Sorry, gents. Afraid you’re all going back to your hotel rooms alone. No offense, but none of you are quite my type.��

The brief disappointment on each of their faces gave Roy at least a little satisfaction. He should have known better; you didn’t need him to defend you. He’d seen the way you handled sexist interviewers often enough; of course you could deal with a few idiot footballers who’d been drinking a bit too much.

Jan Maas raised his eyebrow at you. “What is your type?”

You wondered if Roy could see the light blush on your cheeks.

“My type,” you repeated with a click of your tongue. “My type.” Your smile widened. “I guess I’d say not the type to go around asking women they’ve barely met to pick one of twenty-five men to hook up with.” The guys were so busy looking ashamed that they didn’t notice your fingertips under the table, barely grazing Roy’s thigh. “Mature. I like my guys more mature than that.”

Properly humbled, the men mumbled their apologies and wandered away, none of them quite able to look you in the eye. Withdrawing your hand from Roy’s leg, you turned back to him- and Jamie, who you’d both forgotten about.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” Roy mumbled. “Fucking idiots.”

You shrugged, letting your leg lightly brush his. “I’ve dealt with worse. Much worse. They were actually pretty tame compared with some things I’ve heard, believe it or not.”

“You handled yourself well,” Roy murmured, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed.

Jamie, whose eyes were darting back and forth between the two of you, cleared his throat. “Gonna go get another drink,” he announced, as if either of you cared. “Want anythin’?” He smiled to himself when you both absently shook your heads, obviously focused on each other.

With Jamie gone, you scooted closer, letting your leg press more firmly against Roy’s now. “Think I should head back to the hotel. Get some rest.” Your voice was low, only for Roy, as you batted your eyelashes. “Think you could walk me back? I don’t know the area well, and it’s pretty dark outside.”

Roy took the hint and downed the rest of his beer. “Honestly, I should be asking you to walk me back with the way you talked to Richard and them.” He stood, nodding towards the door. “Let’s go before fucking Will starts hitting on you or something.”

Ignoring the curious and even knowing glances, you followed Roy out of the restaurant, giving Keeley and Rebecca a small wave and ignoring the wink Rebecca shot you and the obscene gesture Keeley made. It didn’t take a genius to realize how hot you were for Roy Kent, and at this moment, you didn’t care who knew.

You and Roy strolled down the empty street, Roy’s hands stuffed harshly into his pockets; he knew that if he didn’t hide his hands, he’d be trying to hold yours like some fucking teenager. And, despite the fact that the two of you had had your mouths and hands all over each other a couple of times now, Roy felt awfully shy walking next to you. He stared straight ahead, trying to decide if he should invite you to his room or wait for you to invite him to yours.

“Sorry again about the guys,” he mumbled with a scowl. “They were fucking out of line.”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” you assured him. “Just make them run some extra laps or some shit.”

Roy snorted. “Oh, they’ll be running til they throw up everything they’ve ever eaten in their lives.”

The hotel was close enough that you really didn’t need Roy to walk you back; but you both knew what you were really after. Otherwise, the two of you wouldn’t be walking through the lobby so briskly and fighting hard to keep your hands off each other.

Without you having to ask, Roy got off of the elevator with you and followed you down the hall to your door; he leaned against the wall and shot you a suggestive look, a man clearly on a very horny mission.

“Don’t suppose you have another bottle of ridiculously expensive scotch in there?” His light tone did nothing to disguise his wicked intentions.

You held the keycard between your fingers, offering a coy shrug as you licked your lips. “I’m not sure. Maybe you could come in and help me look?”

The door had barely clicked shut behind you when Roy had your back pressed against it, his fingers digging into the exposed skin between your jeans and Richmond sweater. His eyes wandered boldly over your figure, letting out a soft groan that had you rubbing your thighs together.

“That sweater looks real fucking good on you,” he muttered, tugging at its hem. “But I bet it looks better on the floor.”

You grinned as you took off your Ferrari cap and tossed it onto a nearby dresser. “That’s so fucking cheesy,” you teased, acting like his words didn’t turn you on. “That the best you got?”

He started pulling at your sweatshirt. “Oh, you want the best I got?”

“Roy Kent, I want everything you’ve got.”

Not caring about slow seduction this time, the two of you sloppily helped each other strip down, throwing jeans and shirts and one black leather jacket into one pile on the floor, leaving you both in your underwear. Roy’s mouth found yours effortlessly, reminding you of exactly why you’d said yes to Keeley so quickly when she invited you to meet her and the team in Leeds. You’d spent each day since she sent that text thinking about exactly this: Roy’s hands exploring your body, leaving a burning path down your skin, your own hands digging into his curly hair, his mouth on yours as if it belonged there.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice managing to be gruffer than usual, thick with wanting.

Your hand ghosted over the more than obvious bulge that rubbed against you enticingly. “How ’bout I show you?”

Before he could answer, you were on your knees in front of him, eyeing him with a cheeky smirk. Keeping his gaze, you brought your lips to his thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses that had him letting out a shuddering breath. Fuck, his thighs were gorgeous. Thick, strong, covered in that dark hair, flexing under your tongue.

Without a second thought, you gently sunk your teeth into the muscle. You felt your whole body vibrate with pleasure when you saw the way he threw his head back with a surprised moan, your name spilling out of his mouth as naturally as a swear. Smiling against his skin, you pressed a languid kiss to the spot you’d bitten, gliding your tongue over the bitemark that you hoped would be there for a while, a reminder of you and your mouth.

Before Roy could make some cheeky comment, you pulled down his boxers, revealing the cock you’d been thinking of nonstop since Silverstone. Not caring if you looked desperate or needy, you wrapped your lips around him, your groans mingling with his. He tasted even better than you remembered as you swirled your tongue around his tip, savoring the taste of his precum. Your heart skipped a beat when his hands tangled in your hair, his tight grip prompting a whine from your full mouth.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, eyes fluttering as he tried to keep them on the gorgeously filthy view below him. “You look like a fucking angel. A dirty fucking angel, mouth wrapped around my cock all pretty.”

His obscene praise had you humming around him. You gave him your biggest, prettiest eyes as you sucked, enjoying the view. His face was flushed, and his mouth was slacked as he watched you in awe, practically drooling. Both of you were taking mental pictures, already wondering about and hoping for next time.

Even though you could have stayed down there all night, round after round, feeling him throb in your mouth, Roy tugged your hair roughly. “Let’s get you on the fucking bed, gorgeous.”

He offered you his hand and helped you up, tugging you towards the bed that you’d been hoping to get him in. In the blink of an eye, you were on your back with Roy hovering over you, smirk on his handsome face as his slobber-covered tip nudged your clothed core.

“Look at you,” he growled, eyes dark and full of lust as he took in the sight of you beneath him, wriggling with anticipation. “Bet you’ve been waiting for this as long as I have. Bet you’ve been thinking all about Silverstone. Bet you’ve even touched yourself thinking about me.” He rolled his hips, his cock twitching at the moan you let out. “I know I’ve been touching myself and thinking of you,” he whispered in your ear.

You shivered and bucked your hips up into his. “Have you now?” you hummed, guiding one of his hands down to your soaked panties. “You must be awfully relaxed these days, then.”

He chuckled, remembering all the teasing and flirting from the night you met, and pressed an affectionate kiss to your lips as he slid your panties down your thighs, his rough fingers taking their time running down your skin. “Could do with some relaxing right about now.”

With that, he slid two fingers inside you, sighing as he felt you clench around him. Fuck he’d missed the way you felt, the way you sounded. For two weeks he’d been craving this wetness around his fingers, and now that he had you, he wasn’t wasting any time. He pumped in and out, swallowing your moans greedily.

“Roy,” you gasped as your back arched, “need you. Please.”

“Whatever the Empress wants,” he teased, ignoring how close he was to accidentally saying “my Empress”.

He withdrew his fingers from your dripping cunt and brought them to his lips. “Fuck,” he groaned as he licked the tip of his middle finger. “Even better than I remember.” Wickedness flickered across his face. “Want a taste?”

With an obedience you didn’t recognize, you opened your mouth, accepting Roy’s digits between your lips and sucking them with almost as much enthusiasm as you’d shown his cock earlier.

“Good girl.”

Fuck. You weren’t sure what was hotter- Roy’s fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself on your tongue, his dirty praise, or the feeling of his cock pressing against your soaking entrance.

He removed his fingers, biting his lip when he saw the string of drool attached to his digits. “Fucking hell.” He hungrily kissed your mouth, his tongue roughly grappling with yours to taste every bit of you that he could. As his mouth continued to attack yours, he lined himself up at your entrance and slowly buried himself in you.

“Fuck,” you groaned into his open mouth. “Fuck, Roy, fuck.”

Two weeks of fantasizing and touching yourself and foolishly wondering when you’d see him again was nothing compared to having Roy Kent’s cock throbbing inside you. It stretched you and filled you with the now familiar delicious burn.

“Missed this,” Roy grunted as he set a rough pace. “Missed you.”

Oh shit. The tenderness of his words had your pussy tightening around him, even tighter than the feeling in your chest that grew every time you saw him. With his scowls and his gruffness and his filthy mouth, with his soft eyes and tender smiles and gentle whispers, he was exactly the kind of guy a stupid girl could fall for.

Good thing you weren’t stupid.

You grabbed his biceps, digging in your nails hard enough to leave marks, and wrapped your legs around him to pull him deeper. Yeah, you’d heard the rumors about Roy Kent. All about his stamina and ability, all about the curve in his dick that you discovered didn’t exist. But none of the tabloid fodder did him justice. Especially because no trashy article ever mentioned the fiery gaze that left you a moaning mess in his arms.

He was rougher this time. More desperate, more eager. He’d been in bed with you twice now, didn’t know when his next chance with you would be- if he’d ever even get one- and he was determined to make this one count. So tonight he pounded into you, not caring about how loudly he grunted your name, hoping he’d leave you with some bruises and a hard time walking.

“Roy,” you gasped as he hit that perfect spot deep inside you. “Oh fuck.”

His eyes sparkled. “Oh, we like that?” He hit that spot again, his cock twitching at the sound of your whine. “Again?”

Your desperate nod had him quickening his pace, wanting nothing more than to feel you come around his cock. He reached down between your sweaty bodies and began rubbing your clit, smirking as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed, kissing your forehead as you squirmed and moaned. “Fucking got you, gorgeous. Wanna see you come for me. Please.”

One more deep thrust to hit that perfect little spot, one more stroke to your clit, and you were gone. You bit down on Roy’s bottom lip, trying to keep from screaming as your vision went white. Your back arched sharply as your cunt tightened around him, desperate for nothing but Roy, Roy, Roy.

“That’s it,” you babbled, one of your hands tugging his curly hair. “There, right there.” You pressed a rough kiss to his mouth, not sure where your moans ended and his began. “Need you to come,” you begged. “Fucking come.”

He nodded, eyes wide and full of lust. “Just for you, gorgeous,” he mumbled. He pressed his sweat-covered forehead to yours as he gave one, two, three more thrusts before filling you up with his release. You gasped at the sensation, groaning as you felt it seeping out of you.

Roy gently collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his body. After a moment, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and craving a second round. Maybe even a third round if Roy could be persuaded.

“You enjoy that?” he finally managed to grumble playfully as he caught his breath. “Because I had a fucking grand time.”

Your breathless laugh was music to his ears. “Yeah, you could say I enjoyed myself.” You kissed his lips, giggling into his mouth.

He smiled down at you, eyes tracing every little red mark he’d left on your skin. “Think I could spend the night?” he whispered as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Not worried your team’ll catch you sneaking back to your room in the morning?” you teased, fully intent on keeping this man in your bed all night and as late as you could the next morning.

“Fuck ’em.” He tenderly kissed your nose. “They ask any fucking questions, they’ll be running laps all next practice.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “So, what d’you say? Or are you trying to kick me out of here already?”

You shook your head, not bothering to hide your delight. “You stay as long as you like, Kent.”

In the morning, you rolled onto your back and found Roy, still there, already awake and gazing down at you softly.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” you huffed, tilting your head to steal a small, surprisingly natural kiss. You wondered if he always looked like this in the morning: all soft and sleepy, his hair curlier and wilder than usual, corners of his mouth tugging upwards as his eyes gazed into yours. A tentative part of you wondered if you could wake up to this view again sometime.

Roy sat up a bit, tugging you up to lay your head on his furry chest. “Oi, can I see your phone?”

Confused, you reached over to the nightstand, where you’d managed to toss your mobile at some point in the night between shags. You unlocked it and handed it to him, feeling sparks when your fingers brushed. “What’re you doing?”

He tapped away before handing it back to you. “There. You have my number now. Do me a favor and give me a heads up when you’re coming to a match.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “Almost had a fucking heart attack yesterday when I saw you.”

“Should I not come to Richmond matches anymore?” Your fake pout had his heart stuttering; he wondered if you could feel it.

“Fuck no. I’m glad you came.” Another kiss to your hair. “Should come again sometime.”

You chuckled and wrapped an arm around his torso. “You talking about football or sex?”

“How about both?”

Before you could make some flirty comment, a buzzing came from the pile of clothes that lay across the room. With a heaving sigh, Roy clambered out of bed and fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. You stifled a giggle at the sight of him wearing nothing but the boxers he’d managed to tug on before falling sleep. Unaware of the way you were staring, he threw his head back and groaned as his mobile vibrated again.

“Gotta fucking go,” he grumbled, digging his black jeans out of the pile of clothes. “One of those pricks fell asleep in the fucking hotel kitchen, so their fucking manager has to go apologize to the staff.”

“Oh.” You sat up as you watched him pull his pants on, his handsome face full of annoyance. Suddenly, you remembered what you were wearing: his black t-shirt. You started to tug it over your head. “Oh, Roy, your-”

“Keep it.” He shrugged his leather jacket over his bare torso, not seeming to care about showing off the hair on his exposed chest. He sat down on the bed next to you and began pulling on his shoes. “Give it back to me next time, alright?”

With that, he leaned close and planted a searing kiss to your lips, one hand cupping your face with a heated mix of tenderness and desire, his mouth letting you know how much he wished he could stay. You knew this kiss would linger long after the door closed behind him.

“Next time,” you echoed against his mouth.

He nodded, smiling as he finally pulled back and stood. “Next time.”

Taglist: @hotdoglamp @daydreamgoddess14 @klaine-92 @gibby31 @anonurs

[destinationtoast]

So, about that trailer scene in Jamie's bedroom.

Okay, I get why people might look at where Roy & Keeley are seated in the trailer and wonder whether Jamie’s childhood bedroom is making an appearance because something bad has happened to one of his parents, and they're accompanying him for support.  But what if it’s for other reasons?

What if Jamie takes Roy & Keeley home to meet his mum, like to Meet His Mum, because they've all been seeing each other for a while now?  And he's never felt serious enough about anyone to do that before -- except for Keeley, and she broke up with him before he could.  But now he has another chance to introduce her, along with Roy fucking Kent, his childhood hero.  But he's worried about how his mum will take it, especially the Roy Kent part, because Roy is a man (though it's always been his dad who made all the shitty comments about men who are like that, hasn't it, but he and his mum have never talked about it at all).  And because Roy is a bit of an asshole, isn't he, even if Jamie's learned to take it affectionate-like most of the time by now.  Not to mention that Roy swears like someone who’s just noticed that all the curse words are about to expire tomorrow and have to be used up fast.  And because, even if all of that is somehow okay, Roy is a third person in what Jamie always imagined would be just him and one other person coming home to meet his mum.

Except Roy isn't the third, is he?  Jamie's the third.  And even though Jamie keeps giving Keeley and Roy hot threesomes, really scorching, and even though they keep saying they keep wanting to see him, he keeps half-expecting it all to go pear-shaped.  All his relationships have before.  So why did he even invite them home to meet his mum when it might just all end tomorrow?  That would be embarrassing, like. 

He invited them because he loves them both, he's pretty sure.  He hasn't said it -- because when do you say that, especially when there's two of them, and when you're not sure if saying it might even be the thing that causes it to go pear-shaped, and because you might just be a bit of fun for them both.  But when his mum called to invite him around and said, too casually, that he could always bring someone along if he ever wanted, he had just been in the middle of recovering from that realization – the one about loving Roy and Keeley both – and it suddenly felt like it made sense to say okay, he would.  

And when he’d asked Roy and Keeley to come with him, they’d first seemed worried and asked if his mum was okay, and he didn’t really know how to explain.  So he’d just told them that he didn’t want to drive that far alone, because it’s boring, and they’d teased him but also said yes.  It had felt like a victory, in the moment.

But now here they are, all getting out of the car in front of his mum, and he’s imagining through her eyes.  And he sees when Roy gets out of the car last that it’s like watching a football match that suddenly goes into a third half.  All awkward-shaped with no explanation, and not how things are supposed to work.  And he’s wondering what she must be thinking of them – of him.  

He finds himself shoving past his mum instead of doing introductions like he’d intended.  They’re all trying to say hello to each other in spite of his failure, and his mum’s trying to hug him and to invite them all in, but he dodges past her like it’s some kind of play, and he literally pushes Roy and Keeley into the house and up the stairs toward his old room, doesn’t he?  And then he’s alone and stammering something to his mum –  his face is red, and his blood is surging in his ears, and he can’t even hear the story he’s telling her – and then he leaves her and flees.  

And now he’s shutting the door to his old bedroom behind him.  He looks at Roy and Keeley, and they are a single unit, holding hands on his old bed, staring at him expectantly.  And he doesn’t have the first idea what to say or do next.

...What if that?

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Bloody Valentines

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Young Justice 98, Titans, GL Corps, Legion of Super Heroes, Flashfam, New Gods, Shadowpact, Superfam

Summary: 90s vampire slasher AU

Chapters: 10/?

Characters: Dick Grayson, Joseph Wilson, Jason Todd, Charley Parker, Zatanna, Eddie Bloomberg, Daniel Cassidy, Chester Williams DC, Guy Gardner, Kyle Rayner, Lilith Clay, Raven Roth, Kole Weathers, Bette Kane, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Jenni Ognats, Bart Allen, Virgil Hawkins, Richie Foley, Ayla Ranzz, Zoe Saugin, Rol Purtha, Darla Aquista, Lori Zechlin, Hal Jordan, Helen Jordan II, Orion DC, Lightray DC, Jonathan Lane Kent, Conner Kent, Mia Kent, Roxy Leech, Kara Danvers, Chris Kent, Thara Ak-Var, Match DC, Thaddeus Thawne

Relationships: DickJoey, Daniel Cassidy/Zatanna, DonnaRoy, Jenni Ognats/Virgil Hawkins, Raven/Lilith Clay, Lightrion, MatchThad

Additional Tags: POV First Person, Unreliable Narrator(s), Vampires, No Capes AU, 90s Slasher AU, Homoeroticism, Horror, Slasher

Chapter Ten: The Calm Before The Storm (Charley's POV)

Jason seemed alright in the car for the first twenty minutes of the trip. It wasn’t until we left Gotham that he started acting weird. And when I say strange, I mean, he started talking to himself in the car. “Jay, you can talk to me. You know that, right?” I whispered. He turned to me, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Jason… Did you eat before we left?” 

“I ate a few of those weird Toll House cookies… Oh nooooo ,” Jason moaned as he pressed his palms to his temples. I pulled over and shushed him. “Charley, I feel weird. I feel so weird.”

“Goddammit, Jason... Listen, it’ll pass. You should try to sleep it off,” I replied. I couldn’t handle any more freaky vague warnings about the trip he invited me to take. 

“Can we talk first? I’m not tired yet,” Jason mumbled. I nodded as I started driving. I didn’t want to snap at him. I liked him too much to do that. “I like living with you… More than I’ve liked living with anyone.” 

“I like living with you, too. Jay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to eat that. I’m so—.” 

“Pull over,” Jason whispered. “Pull over. Pull over!” Jason shouted. I stopped the car on the side of the road, and Jason laid his forehead on the dash. “Why do my legs feel gone?” 

“Don’t panic. Panicking makes everything worse. Shut your eyes and lay back… Listen to my voice and hold onto my words,” I replied gently.

Jason obeyed. He tilted his head back, his mouth open wide as he sighed. I saw it in my mind. A flash of him in my head, sweaty and naked, his body trembling under mine. I could smell his skin. I could feel him. As soon as the thought came to me, it disappeared, leaving me confused… And a little turned on. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “I feel light… Too light,” Jason whispered. 

“It’s just a feeling. You feel my hand. Don’t you?” I asked. He nodded. “How does that make you feel?”

“They’re soft. Do you want to know a secret?” Jason questioned. 

I hesitated before locking my fingers with his. “We don’t have to do secrets right now… It wouldn’t be fair… How about I tell you something? I wanted to set you up with this goth girl at the bookstore. I thought she’d be your speed, but I—.”

“I don’t want her. I like someone,” Jason interrupted. 

I smiled at him, tapping his arm as I started the car. “Yeah? That’s sick, Jay. How serious are you?” I questioned. 

Jason let the seat back and he ran a hand through his bangs, breathing heavily with his mouth open. Dammit. My palms started sweating, and I took my hand away. “Do you feel that?” Jason panted. I started driving toward the cabins. “Charley…” Jason squirmed in his seat, but I couldn’t look directly at him. “Charley, do you feel that?” 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Heavy and tight… And the air feels kind of thick… I think I need to get out of the car and—.” He covered his mouth, leaning forward with one hand wrapped around his stomach. Then, he made a little noise and that’s when I realized… He was turned on, too. 

“Jay, listen… I probably shouldn’t have asked about girls. Let’s talk about that show we saw on TV the other night. You know the one. That Twilight Zone episode with the little boy who could read minds,” I stated. 

Jason let out a breath of air. “Yeah… That one reminds me of my bio dad. It was like he could sense when I was upset with him for something,” Jason mumbled, “Sometimes I get that feeling around people. I feel like they can sense when I’m thinking something bad. Charley, I have to tell you this. I feel so guilty for it.” 

That freaked me out. What could he have ever done to me? How bad was it? Why would he risk me getting mad to tell me? “Jay—.”

He grabbed the steering wheel and swerved on my side of the road scaring the shit out of me. “Jason, what the actual fuck, dude? You could’ve fucking—!” I looked up as a deer ran into the road. We would’ve hit it head-on or hit the car on Jason’s side of the road, but there was no way he could’ve seen it. His eyes were shut. I looked at the deer, and then I turned toward Jason who’d practically melted into the seat. He was in a full-body sweat, struggling to catch his breath as tears rolled down his cheeks. “How—?”

“It just happens now... I feel sick,” Jason mumbled. He opened his door and dry heaved a few times, but he didn’t throw up. I thought that was weird. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and cursed. “Charley, does your nose ever bleed when you do this?” 

“Shit, no. Maybe we should turn back and take you to the hospital—.”

“No, you’ll get in trouble… And I can’t—. We can’t turn back. Stay with me,” Jason replied, “Please stay with me. I can keep you safe.” 

“Jay, you’re sick—.”

“Don’t you ever leave my side while we’re here. When we’re close, I see clearly. I—.” Jason made a soft humming noise as he faded off into a dream. I should’ve been relieved, but I wasn’t. I drove until we reached the campgrounds, and Eddie met us near the road. He was with a horror movie star, a chick with dark hair, and some hippie stuck in the seventies. Jason was exhausted. I nudged him, and he held my hand to his chest. 

“I still feel weird,” Jason whispered. I turned to him and smiled. 

“You’ll be okay. Chill out and stick close to me,” I whispered, “Let’s say hi to Eddie… And try to stay cool.” I knew Jason wouldn’t want anyone to know he was baked. 

Jason groaned as he let my hand go. “How long am I gonna feel like this?” Jason asked. To be honest, Jason sounded more normal high than he did on a regular day. 

“How many cookies did you eat?” I asked. 

“Four,” Jason answered. 

“Don’t think about it too much. Come on, let’s go say hi to Eddie,” I replied. 

**

After Eddie introduced us to his friends and we settled into the cabin, we went to the beach to chill, but I didn’t get in the water. Eddie ran kind of hot, so he got in the water and swam around. I brought my radio and played a few CDs. The sun came out, and it was a little warm for a minute. So, I took off my shirt and lay there with my sunglasses on. Jason sat on the other side of the radio, reading a book. “ Lemon Parade is seriously the greatest album of all time,” Eddie stated as he got out of the water. 

“Definitely in my top five… For sure. I fucking love Tonic. What about you, Kid?” I asked. 

“Nothing will ever top Dr. Feelgood . Mötley Crüe rules,” Jason replied. I couldn’t tell what he was looking at when he answered me, so I turned back to face the sky. 

“Sick,” Eddie smiled as he dried off with a towel. “Gonna toke and knock out for a little bit. That Chester dude has some wicked ganja, and he’s not afraid to share.” 

I chuckled. “Yeah, I bet. We’ll catch you later, Ed,” I replied. 

“I’ll miss you, Eddie,” Jason replied. Jason looked sort of sick like he’d throw up soon. His bottom lip quivered, and he turned facing the caves. 

I touched his arm. “Are you good?” I asked. 

“I think it’s wearing off… I need you to do me a favor,” Jason whispered. And I’d never believe what happened next. Not in a million years. 

“Whatever you need, Kid. I got you,” I offered. Boy, was I in for a shock.

[anxi0us-0p0ssum]

My thoughts on Ted Lasso S03E01

There are no “levels” in Breath Of the Wild.

 Is Jan Maas just Dutch, or Dutch AND autistic?

Nice sidestepping of the whole “Hoosier” explanation. Not like EVERYONE OUTSIDE INDIANA (and probably 1/3 of Indiana residents) could use it.

Rebecca is going to go through the whole day with Keely’s mascara staining her shirt.

I know Roy doesn’t have to run because of his knee, but in my mind he would eat a bug just to freak the fuck out of the players.

Crying fucking sucks. My nose runs more than my eyes, and all I have afterwards are the same problems plus a sinus headache, puffy red eyes, and blotchy skin.

Hannah Waddingham chewing furiously is gold. She’s SO good at physical acting.

Rupert Mannion’s interior decorator was definitely a sith.

“It’s a good rule of thumb never to ask a hippie to come in on his day off.” I’d join this man’s cult any day.

Ted immediately turns to Beard for drug knowledge.

Beard immediately provides drug knowledge.

“He’ll be forever changed, but he can drive, yeah.”

“Roy Kent, is that you?” “Get fucked!” “Yeah, that’s him!”

“Get that on Twitter” should be up there with Chekov’s Gun and “what could go wrong?” in terms of foreshadowing.

If Keeley’s eye makeup can survive 6 dry cleans, it should damn well hold up to some tears.

No shit no lie, I think a tour of the London sewer system sounds fascinating!

$30-$50 is the sweet spot for a “good” bottle of wine. Anything less, it may be drinkable, but it’s not GOOD. Anything more, you’re just paying for snobbery’s sake.

“No sudden movements near the bus driver.” I want to party with Beard. I wonder if Jane’s into threesomes.

“I really liked that Kenneth guy. He seems really plugged in, yeah?” Again, I want to party with Beard.

“That nutter told me to ask the fucking earth to help me carry some of my burden.” I may just be stoned right now, but why did this dude’s cult get shut down?

Jamie is going to be a great team captain someday.

Ted, honey, stop. Stop hurting yourself. You’re getting personal and weird. Stop letting Nate live in your head, honey.

Oof, the way Ted lost the crowd on that hard left into the Field of Dreams.

Oh, they got Twin Peaks but they didn’t get Field of Dreams? 🙄

The entire Shelley family is so dysfunctional. No wonder Nate is so fucked up. Mom has no identity or ideas of her own. She exists only to communicate Dad’s feelings.

My partner thought Nate’s new car was a Jaguar. I will give him shit about this for the entire foreseeable future for no reason other than he loves James Bond and therefore should damn well know an Aston Martin when he sees one.

Part of me really wants Roy and Keeley to get back together but another part of me wants the show to continue subverting expectations and have them get along well platonically and another part of me is just screaming for Keeley/Roy/Jamie ot3 to become canon.

I don’t know a lot about kids, but it seems improbable to me that all these kids are so goddamn wise about relationships and politics.

I’m not sure the “why am I still in London?” really crystallized in Ted’s mind until that press conference/impromptu stand up show.

[abubblingcandle]

Bonjourrrr im assuming that the baby jamie story (the one for the neglect prompt in whumptober) is dead in the water, but I was wondering where you were originally planning on going with the story?

Howdy!! It's not dead!! Chapter 2 is a work in progress and is part of my plans for febuwhump if I do it. It just didn't really fit into any other whumptober prompts.

It is one that I am not entirely sure where it is going though in the long run. Chapter 2 is mostly plotted. It is going to be the family meal and Roy basically using it as an interrogation to find out what really is going on with Jamie and if he should be reaching out to report neglect. But Jamie yeah seems underfed, his clothes are worn and not that clean, his mum's not at home but he's happy and talks about her like she hung the moon. Roy drives Jamie home and decides to talk with Georgie who initially is offended but then realises that Jamie has found a good friend in Phoebe and Roy is just trying to do the right thing.

There's then other scenes that I have ideas for but it isn't particularly cohesive:

Roy just finds out that now whenever he looks after Phoebe, Jamie is just there

One day he's coming home late from Nelson Road after physio and Jamie is just wandering about the park because he forgot his key that morning

Jamie and Phoebe come to watch training and the lads realise that Roy Kent maybe isn't a complete asshole

I wanna do something with the gala for underprivileged children but haven't worked out what yet

Henry meeting Phoebe and Jamie and becoming the Three Musketeers much to Ted's joy and Roy's annoyance

The James Tartt Sr of it all

Here's a little snippet from the next chapter to hopefully convince you that I am writing it! (Just slowly)

“Oh,” Jamie mumbled, tearing the Yorkshire pudding in his hands apart absently as his brow furrowed. “If it’s a painful question then you don’t have to answer Jamie,” Ruth smiled, as she stared daggers into Roy. Roy knew his sister’s expressions better than his own, she was always the emotive one in the family, and that was a shut up if you know what is good for you expression. “Nah it’s fine I just. It’s my dad. He was never around when I was super little but then he showed up to my footie games right and was cheering me on and stuff but then when I told mummy she told me that I needed to tell an adult or the police even if he was anywhere near me,” the Yorkshire pudding was now a pile of sad batter flakes on Jamie’s plate. Phoebe reached out and patted him on the arm comfortingly. “My dad’s not allowed near me either. Mum says so and I need to tell someone if he comes round,” Phoebe nodded and smiled. Jamie’s eyes shot up from forensically examining the grain of the woodwork on Ruth’s table and meet Phoebe’s with shock written all over his face.

[premleague-a]

Kayin raises an eyebrow after Jon's first word, then allows himself to relax back against the dresser as he completes his thought. His career has been long, with plenty of ups and downs of note. He's been caught by paps more than once doing things he'd come to regret in the morning, and he won't allow himself and Jon to be seen in this state after the match they'd just played. Simultaneously, Kayin is proud and dismayed. He loves beating Scotland. It's fun for him, fun for the lads, good for morale in the dressing room. But there will always, always be that nagging voice in the back of his head. This was likely to be the last match he ever played against Scotland. It's not an annually played match, not anymore. That was it. He needs to get drunk and shut that voice down right about now, or it'll drive him mad. "Bruv, I'll drink whatever the fuck you hand me tonight, I don't give a fuck." He's about to push off of the dresser and head towards the door when Jon sits back down again. "Fuck..." he draws the word out, low, like he's Roy fucking Kent or some shit. He approaches the bed, goes to sit beside Jon. He'd played with Fil Mazur; he knows that impressing him is a difficult feat, if not altogether impossible. They played together for four fucking seasons, and Kayin still doesn't know what the elder Mazur thinks of him. He can't imagine his dad being like that. Kayin's dad is quick to praise him - and all of his siblings. He knows his father's proud of him. It must hurt to not have that. "Oi," he says, nudging Jon's shoulder with his own. "It'll make him really fucking proud when we win the Euros, it's got to."

" you -- " jon's words die on his tongue as he looks kayin over a second, thinking of people spying the two dejected england players out in the street looking worse for ware and with the captain of said team drunkenly chanting for thierry henry as he so often did when he'd had one too many. and he thinks of the mentions of that tit and how pissed it'd make him... he couldn't hide behind kayin forever. " are a fucking genius. " he huffs finally, fumbling about for his hoodie which had been set aside somewhere by one certain richmond prick earlier on, " get a bottle of fuckin' lambrini or something. shake this fucking ick off and come back to it later, shall we? " he feels small all of a sudden. thinks about the annoyed phone call he got from his father earlier, that he'd been replaying in his mind before kayin had rocked up at his door. suddenly tears spring into his eyes and jon sits back down, trying to keep them at bay, " i just really thought that this could've been the one to really -- really make him proud - fucking cunt southgate. "