#roy kent shut up and drive

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

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

A collab with @agentstarkid ❤️

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10- Coming Soon!

Join the Taglist!

Moodboards by @agentstarkid

[nameless-jamie]

YOU'RE LATE, IDIOT

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

TW: cursing, kissing, emotions, childbirth

Jamie Tartt was fucking furious.

The second his number went up on the board, signaling his substitution, his blood boiled. He had just found his rhythm, the game was still wide open, and suddenly he was being benched?

For what? A tactical change? Bullshit.

He stormed off the pitch, barely acknowledging the applause from the crowd. His eyes locked on Roy Kent, who stood by the dugout, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Jamie ripped off his sweat-soaked jersey as he approached. “What the fuck is this, Roy?” he snapped. “I ain’t injured, I ain’t tired, I—”

“Shut up,” Roy interrupted, voice firm but oddly… expectant. “Get your arse to the hospital.”

Jamie blinked. “What?”

Roy exhaled sharply, stepping closer, his expression almost gentle. “Y/N’s in labour, dickhead.”

Everything stopped.

Jamie’s ears rang. His heartbeat pounded. He swore the world tilted beneath him.

“What—now?” His voice came out hoarse.

Roy nodded. “Her water broke before the match. She told us not to tell you ‘cause she didn’t wanna mess with your focus, but it’s happening. You’re about to be a dad, mate.”

Jamie’s breath hitched.

He should’ve been worried, should’ve been panicking, but all he could think was—

She’s having our baby. Right now. Without me.

His feet moved before his brain caught up. “Car. Now. I need a car.”

Before he could bolt, Will grabbed him by the shoulders. “Wait, Jamie, mate—you’re still in your kit—”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Jamie blurted, already pushing past him.

Roy whistled. “Oi, someone drive his dramatic arse before he sprints there himself.”

“I got it,” Coach Beard said, already heading toward the parking lot. “Let’s go, Tartt.”

Jamie barely heard him. His head was spinning, his body running on pure adrenaline.

As he rushed past the rest of the team, Dani called out, “Tell her we love her!”

“Tell the baby we say hi!” Sam added.

Jamie waved vaguely, not slowing down.

He had one job now.

Get to her. Now.

Jamie nearly tripped over his own feet as he burst into the hospital room, his heart hammering in his chest.

Y/N was propped up in bed, looking exhausted but radiant, her hair messy, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with relief the second she saw him.

And in her arms—

Jamie froze.

Everything else disappeared.

The tiny bundle against her chest shifted, a small hand peeking out from the blanket.

His baby.

Their baby.

Jamie swallowed hard. “Oh, fuck.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Nice entrance, Tartt. That's the first thing your baby's going to hear from you.”

Jamie stumbled toward her, his hands shaking. “I—I wasn’t—Roy pulled me from the match—”

“I know.” She smirked, though her eyes were glassy. “I told them not to tell you until after, but apparently Roy doesn’t listen to me.”

Jamie huffed out a disbelieving laugh, running a trembling hand through his sweat-damp hair. “You—you did all this without me?”

Y/N softened. “Barely. He came fast.”

He.

Jamie’s breath hitched. “We—we had a boy?”

Y/N nodded, shifting slightly to reveal the tiny, pink-faced baby nestled against her.

Jamie just… stared.

“I—can I—?” He couldn’t finish the sentence, too overwhelmed, too in awe.

Y/N smiled. “Of course, Jamie.”

Carefully, she shifted the baby into his arms, guiding his hands until he was cradling their son against his chest.

Jamie Tartt, Premier League footballer, man who had scored impossible goals under unimaginable pressure—

Had never been this scared in his life.

But then—

The baby yawned, his tiny fingers twitching against his skin, and just like that—

Jamie melted.

“Oh, fuck, he’s so small,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N let out a tired laugh. “That tends to happen with newborns.”

Jamie ignored her, completely enraptured. “He’s perfect.”

His son squirmed, making a tiny noise, and Jamie’s heart cracked wide open.

He bent his head, pressing the gentlest kiss to his forehead. “Hey, baby. I’m your dad.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, watching the scene with watery eyes. “He already loves you, you know.”

Jamie scoffed, but his throat was tight. “Yeah, well. I love him more.”

Y/N smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “You’re gonna be a great dad, Jamie.”

Jamie looked at her, his best friend, the love of his life, the mother of his child—

And he knew, without a doubt, that he would spend the rest of his life proving her right.

The next day, Jamie had barely gotten Y/N and the baby settled when the entire fucking team stormed into the hospital.

Dani, Sam, Colin, Isaac—everyone was there. Even Roy had shown up, grumbling about how he “didn’t give a shit about babies” but still sticking around.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You lot are ridiculous.”

Isaac folded his arms, feigning offense. "You really thought you could pop out a baby and we wouldn’t show up? Come on, love, we’re family."

Y/N huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "You are ridiculous."

Jamie, who was still holding their son like he was the most precious thing in the world, grinned. "She’s right, y’know. Bunch of dramatic pricks."

That earned him a round of Oi's! and Fuck off, Tartt's!, but he was too busy looking down at his baby boy to care.

Dani leaned in, beaming. "Oh my goodness, he is so beautiful."

Sam placed a gentle hand over his heart. "He looks just like you, Y/N."

Jamie scowled. "Oi, what’s that supposed to mean? You sayin’ my kid ain’t got my genes? That's my boy!"

Y/N smirked. "They’re saying he’s cute, Jamie. Unlike someone when they’re pouting."

The boys burst into laughter as Jamie groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "Unbelievable."

Roy's gruff voice cut through the noise of the team. All of them were just arguing about who gets to hold Baby Tartt first, and the entire room went still.

Jamie blinked. "Wait—what?"

Roy sighed heavily, looking deeply inconvenienced as he held out his hands. "I said give me the kid, Tartt."

Silence.

Everyone stared.

Jamie hesitated. "You wanna hold him?"

"Do I look like I wanna hold him?" Roy grumbled. "No. But if I don’t, you lot will keep looking at me like I’m some heartless bastard. So pass him here before I change my mind. I'm his godfather after all."

Jamie exchanged a glance with Y/N, who was barely holding back a smirk.

"Alright," Jamie murmured, carefully placing the baby in Roy’s massive hands. "But you drop my baby, mate, I’m legally allowed to kill you."

Roy snorted. "Shut up, Tartt."

And then—

The impossible happened.

Roy Kent—grumpy, growling, perpetually pissed-off Roy Kent—looked down at the tiny, squirming baby in his arms… and his face softened.

Like actually softened.

Like genuinely softened.

"Well," he muttered, adjusting his hold. "He’s alright, I s’pose."

Isaac gasped. "Did Roy Kent just—"compliment"—a baby? Jamie Tartt's baby even."

"I heard it too," Jan said. "Mark this day in history."

Even Ted, who had FaceTimed in to see the baby, grinned. "Well, shoot, Roy. Didn't know you had it in ya. Big ole' softy."

Roy grumbled something about everyone shutting the fuck up, but the way he looked at the baby—like he was something worth protecting—didn’t go unnoticed.

Jamie sat beside Y/N, wrapping an arm around her as they watched Roy, Dani, and Sam argue over who got to hold the baby next.

"See?" Y/N whispered. "Told you they’d all love him."

Jamie exhaled softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her head.

"Yeah," he murmured. "But they don’t love him more than I do."

Y/N smiled. "Obviously. You’re his dad."

Jamie grinned, looking down at the tiny baby who had already stolen his entire heart.

"Damn right I am."

[sokkigarden]

dancing with our hands tied (part v)

jamie tartt x female reader // nsfw 18+ // fwb

masterlist // read on ao3

summary: facing the music (see also: em finally finishes this fic)

word count: 1.7k

༻✧✧✧༺

That night, you probably had the best night of rest in your life. After falling asleep, you and Jamie had drifted away a little bit, but his bed was supremely comfy, which made you spread out as if it was your own bed. 

Around 4 a.m., true to his word, you woke up to the sound of Jamie rustling around his room, and an angry Roy Kent banging on his door. You pretended to be asleep while Jamie got ready, and held your breath when he came over and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before leaving.

You tried to go back to sleep, but after that tender moment, seemingly unnoticed by you, your brain wasn’t able to shut down again. You tossed and turned for another hour or so before finally deciding to get up. 

You thought about waiting for Jamie downstairs, but the early morning light creeping through the windows brought about the overthinking that had plagued you yesterday evening. Being in Jamie’s house felt surreal in the morning light. You weren’t sure what he might say or do when he arrived back home-- would he make you breakfast, drive you to work?-- but you were sure your heart would burst if you stayed. 

So you left. Grabbing your clothes, you thought about how different you felt about Jamie than before. You supposed you’d always liked him, at least a little bit to have had sex with him, but after entering his home, getting to know him, you feared you couldn’t walk away unscathed anymore. 

He was so sweet, you mused on your drive home, with his soft gestures and caring words. It felt like a fever dream every time you entered his home, felt like you were seeing a side of him that he kept hidden from everyone. 

You wondered what it was about you, that made him decide to let you in. And now, you supposed, you’d let him in as well. There was no way you would be fine after this. When it inevitably ended, you would be irreversibly changed. Maybe it would be better to end it before the fallout got any worse.

You knew you were being shitty by running away again, but some time alone to get ready for the new day was needed. 

You’d see him at work soon enough anyways.

༻✧✧✧༺

When you get to work, you hustle your way to the locker room, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible while you leave his clothes in his locker. 

You think you’re in the clear since it’s so early in the morning, but just as you’re about to walk out one door, Jamie walks in the other door with Sam. You feel yourself cringe as he calls out after you. 

“Hey, wait!” 

Jamie catches your arm just before you slip out, and you turn around, feeling like a kid that got caught with their arm in the candy jar. You look behind Jamie is see Sam at his own locker, trying to remain invisible but not doing a good job. 

You square your shoulders, in an attempt to be casual. 

“Just dropped off your stuff,” you say. With a glance at Sam, you lower your voice. “Thanks again, for last night.” 

Jamie looks irritated by your words. “That’s it?”

You give him a questioning look.

“You left!” he exclaims. “I came back from my run with breakfast but when I went upstairs, you were gone.” 

A part of you feels extremely guilty for leaving without saying goodbye. Thinking of his wounded face when he saw you weren’t there. It made your heart squeeze uncomfortably. 

“I…” you try to reason. “I had to go home and get ready for work.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Before 7 a.m.? You know what-- fuck this!”

He turns away from you, clearly frustrated. You can’t move, standing as still as a statue, surprised by the outburst. 

At his loud tone, the few players that had begun to trickle into the room slowly backed out. You looked over to find Sam was also nowhere to be found. It made you feel less scared with no audience around. 

“This was just sex, Jamie,” you say. “We don’t owe each other anything.”

“This hasn’t been ‘just sex’ in a while and you know it!”

You try to defend yourself but he continues. 

“You can’t keep ignoring it. Go out with the fucking nutritionist and ignore my messages and pretend you don’t want me, but at the end of the day, you still end up coming back to me.”

“That’s not true--”

“It is!” he exclaims, before softening. “And-- and I want that. I want you. I care about you.” 

“But you’re you. You’re saying you what, you have feelings for me?” you ask. 

He takes a step back, stung by your words. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

You pause, stunned by his bluntness. 

Isaac and Colin come in at that moment, and ask Jamie something, not having noticed the tension in the air. You use the brief distraction to slip out of the room, too afraid of what you might say if you stayed. 

You barely get any work done all day, knowing in the back of your mind that the conversation is nowhere near over. Jamie’s appointment after training looms in your mind. 

He finally shows up in the late afternoon, having stayed after to run extra drills with Roy. 

Jamie sits down like it’s any other day, but there’s a lingering tension that makes you want to flee. 

You go about like normal, asking him if there were any issues during training. 

“Physically? No. Emotionally? Yes,” he replies, his lips set into a thin line. 

You huff. You know he can be kind of dramatic, but you also know you kind of deserve it.

You start working on his legs after he lays down on the table, trying to focus on the task at hand. 

It takes several minutes for you to get the courage to speak again. 

“I should apologize,” you say quietly. 

He doesn’t say anything but his head turns just slightly to look back at you. 

You gulp. “I um, I was naive, to think I could do something casual with you without feelings getting in the way. And I shouldn’t be treating you like this.”

He looks away again. 

“Well I’m sorry my feelings got in the way,” he huffs. 

His feelings? No, you meant yours. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you try to amend. “I didn’t want to attempt anything other than sex because you’re you--” he looks back at you with hurt gleaming in his eyes-- “And if I let myself have feelings for you, I knew I wouldn’t recover when you eventually pushed me away.”

Jamie sits up abruptly, halting your work and forcing you to focus on the conversation. 

“When have I pushed you away? You’re the one keeping me at a distance!” he exclaims. “You only come around when it's convenient for you.” 

You hang your head low, letting the awful feelings wash over you. “I know, I’m sorry I’ve just been using you… I don’t know how to do any of this.”

You can feel your hands shaking with every word. When was the last time you were this honest with someone, or even yourself? 

“I could’ve been more honest, too.” Jamie says, getting you to look back up at him. “I think I was just willing to take anything you’d give me.” 

You shake your head. “That’s not fair to you.” 

He nods, “Yeah I know. I just really like you. I want to see where this goes.” 

He slides closer on the table, grabbing you by the waist to slot you between his legs. 

“Just, give me a chance, please,” he says softly. “See if you have feelings for me, yeah?”

“That’s the problem,” you admit. “I think I already do.”

You rest your hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eye, trying to let yourself be vulnerable to him. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smile at him, letting yourself sit in his presence and find comfort in the moment. You’re safe here. He’s told you that so many times, and it’s time you finally let yourself see it as the truth.

“I’m sorry for everything, but I’m really sorry for leaving,” you say, and he squeezes your sides in reassurance. “You were really sweet and lovely last night and I don’t deserve your kindness.” 

“You do,” he says, reassuring his words from last night. “We both deserve good things. We can figure it out together.” 

He leans in before you can say anything else, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is soft, a promise of possibility. You let yourself melt into his embrace, clutching his shoulders like its your lifeline. 

“Next time, I’ll be there,” you say resolutely as you pull away, “I’ll stay all morning if you want. I promise.” 

He cracks a smile. “Quite presumptuous aren’t you?”

“But I thought--”

“I’m just joking, love,” he says, pecking your lips. “I want you there.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I want to be there.” 

Jamie kisses you again, lifting you into his lap on the treatment table. You straddle his hips and grind down on him in a way that is probably erasing all the hard work you’d done to loosen his muscles after training. 

You gasp into his mouth, and while it might not be the first time you’ve got it on at work, it feels different this time. Your hands roam across his chest and into his hair and he tucks at your bottom lip, eliciting more sounds from you. 

“Oi, what the fuck?”

You break apart from Jamie to see Roy entering the room, his typically grumpy face in a state of shock. 

With wide eyes, you try to slide off Jamie but he keeps his arms wrapped around you, keeping you from escaping. 

“Nope, you’re staying here,” he says. “All in, right?”

You nod in agreement. All in.

༻✧✧✧༺

I FUCKING DID IT. IS THIS TWO YEARS TOO LATE? IS IT PROBABLY REALLY BADLY WRITTEN?? YES AND YES BUT I FINISHED IT!!! lol so um fr i’m so sorry it took me so long to finish this mf fic. I started my current job right after i posted part iv and i do a lot of writing for my job so… i’ve just not been writing at all these past several months. it makes me so sad!! 

anyways thank you to everyone who had kind words to say for this silly fic. i’m really sorry it took so long but i finally finished it for YOU GUYS. i’m not as into ted lasso as i was in 2023, but it still holds such a special place in my heart. i’ll see you guys around (maybe when season 4 drops??) love u lots !! xoxoxo

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Bus Buddy

Pairing: Roy x reader

Word count: 2511

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

Masterlist here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

@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… !

[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

[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.

[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❞

[toxicpositivitybuddie]

I'm reading some of my old fic and tonight is roy/jamie amnesia fic, and i'm convinced this is one of the greatest passages i've ever written and i love it so so much

“Are you going to fucking listen?”

“I’m listening.”

“There was this time we had a fight, like. We fucking fought all the time before this whole thing started, but it was fun once we started up. But we had this fight, and I don’t even fucking remember what started it or why we were screaming, but you fucking froze up, and I didn’t know what to do because you weren’t like that. You’d never recoiled from me even when we’d have locker room bust ups. That night you told me about your dad, and I’ve been accused of being violent, but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to beat the ever loving shit out of anyone I had never met before that night.”

Jamie doesn’t know what to say, so he just doesn’t. He has a feeling Roy’s been holding stuff in and even though he’s not Roy’s Jamie, he feels like someone should be there for him.

“You’re a fucking twat. You’re a brat, and you drive me fucking mad, Jamie. But the night we had that fight I - fuck, I sweart to god if you ever fucking repeat this to anyone - “ Roy grunts quietly. “I just wanted to make sure nothing bad ever happened to you, and I’ve cocked that up because look where we are.”

“Roy.” Jamie looks at him. “Roy, have you been blaming yourself for this?”

“No, don’t. We’re not talking about me. Shut the fuck up.” He doesn’t give Jamie the chance to interrupt. “You’re a grown man, and I know you can take care of yourself. I’m not trying to be your fucking protector or anything, but I fucking love you, alright?” Roy deflates a bit. “I don’t want this to be over.”

“I’m so so-”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry. This isn’t your fault. Just - fuck, if you never remember me I don’t know. Fuck it all, you know. I almost retired last year. The end of the season I was fucking - it felt like it was building towards the end, and I was sure that was going to be it, but you fucking convinced me to have one more go ‘round so that we could win together. You fucking came into my fucking life and burrowed your way in and now I sleep alone and you’re not there and it’s fucking shit. It’s just all fucking shit because I didn’t want this. I could have lived dating people who stole my shit and having empty one night stands and it would have been fucking fine, but you made me feel, and I fucking hate you for it because now you’re gone.”

Jamie wants to say something. It doesn’t feel fair that Roy is putting this on him when he doesn’t know he’s doing any of this, but he also feels like maybe Roy just doesn’t have anyone to talk to about it.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I should go. I hope I told you what you wanted to know. This is so fucked. I’m being so shit to you, and all I want is for you to be better. I just want you to be better. This isn’t helping you.”

“You know that’s all I want too, right? I don’t - I just want to remember. I have these dreams sometimes and they’re like - they feel so real and then I wake up and I can barely remember. But you’re in them, and the team and fucking Ted Lasso. And they feel so real, and it’s like I’m reaching and reaching but I can’t touch it, and I fucking hate it.”

“I’m being a proper dickhead, Jamie. You wanted to ask me questions, and all I’m doing is making you feel like shit. That’s the opposite of what I want. It’s just so fucking - I’m so fucking shit at emotions. Somehow you became the one fucking person on this planet I can let my guard down with, and I need that person right now and he’s gone.” Roy isn’t looking at him, and it makes Jamie feel awful. “And it feels so fucking shit when you seem in awe of the fact that I’m Roy Kent because that’s how everyone sees me. You’ve never looked at me like that, even when you came to Richmond, you just thought I was a fucking washed up old has been who needed to retire.”

“I can’t imagine I really thought that.”

“I guess we can’t ask you,” Roy says with a shrug. There’s no bite behind it. “I really should go home.”

[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.”

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[seasalteds]

❀ you’re not from around here, are you? i figured because you totally just missed JESSE QUASULA walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who HE is? they kind of look like KIOWA GORDON and i could be wrong but i think that they might be THIRTY FOUR years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last SIX MONTHS. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of ROY KENT from TED LASSO. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working in PALMVIEW UNIVERSITY/CORAL COVE ACADEMY as a SOCCER COACH/GYM TEACHER. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the DISTANT STAR of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty BELLIGERENT at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty VIRTUOUS to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that TWO BEDROOM apartment beside me over in HARBORVIEW RESIDENCES 4C. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

stats.

full name: jesse conrad quasula.     nickname(s): jess, jc.     age: thirty four.     date of birth: december 28th.     star sign: capricorn.     sexuality: heterosexual.     hometown: lake havasu city, arizona.     occupation: soccer coach and gym teacher.     favourites: old horror movies, navy blue, soccer (obviously), swimming, black coffee, math rock, warm evenings, collecting vinyls, cats, fossils, road trips, boxing.

personality.

jesse is the strong, silent type. very silent, in fact. maybe too silent. he answers most questions with a pointed look or a dissatisfied grunt, though that’s probably preferable to the alternative, where it’s tough to shut him up if you manage to somehow get him onto one of the few subjects he’s passionate about… but that’s pretty much impossible. above everything, jesse values his morals more than anything else. he’s always had a very strong sense of right and wrong and doesn’t waver when it comes to his moral compass. if he sees injustice being committed, he isn’t afraid to step in, regardless of if it’ll get him hurt or not. whilst he’s managed to tame his temper in the years since his retirement (likely due to the bruised ego), it’s definitely still there, and it instead often shows itself in the form of his blunt, direct way of speaking. jesse is a pretty impatient person and doesn’t suffer fools, instead favouring people similar to him – direct and honest, who can provide him conversations where he doesn’t need to decipher the next move. manipulations, complications, and going around in circles aren’t his thing, mainly because they remind him of the club owners he had to deal with back in the day. while it’s not expected, jesse is also a great shoulder to cry on and a great listener. he would never judge another for the situation they were in or what led them to that place, and his honesty lends itself to some great advice. just don’t try and talk to him about his own problems, you might scare him off.

label.

it’s self explanatory, really. jesse was a star once, in his eyes, but really he still is. he still has that same drive and determination, that same core resilience that lends itself well to leadership and motivation, he just doesn’t quite see it. his kids, on the other hand, absolutely do, it’s just a shame that he seems so reluctant to let any of them tell him about it. that’s the distant part. no matter how brightly jesse glows or how shiny his star is, a good way to dim that light is to keep people a fair distance away, and god forbid he actually let his star shine for the first time in four years. maybe it’s discomfort, maybe it’s the fear that he’ll let down a whole new generation of people if he were to embrace his identity as a football legend, either way he’s not keen to find out what any of it means.

biography.

trigger warnings: injury tw, violence tw.

i. lake havasu city, arizona – when you’re born in the place with the hottest recorded temperature of all time in arizona, you have to be hardy to survive, and by god jesse learned that early on. born in the back of the family sedan because, according to his mom, he ‘just couldn’t wait ten damn minutes’, he was immediately scooped up by his loving parents with tears of happiness in their eyes… before his overly worried father insisted they cut the family introductions short to drive both jesse and his mother to the hospital.

ii. that was always the dynamic in their household. jesse’s dad was the safety manager of their home, wrinkles formed between his brows before he hit thirty, whilst his mom was the life of the party, beloved by all and treasured by their native hualapai community that she made sure he was always connected to. they loved each other an awful lot though, bringing qualities the other didn’t have to the relationship, and it allowed jesse to discover himself without the burdens other children received from their parents.

iii. jesse really only had one major problem when he was growing up, his temper. his family didn’t really understand where it had come from, the doctors just said sometimes kids were just like that, and they did everything they could to help. problem was, jesse was perfect for his parents. hell, he was perfect for his teachers. who he wasn’t perfect for was the playground bullies, those who picked on the weaker types that they knew couldn’t fight back – jesse could fight back, though. and fight back he did. it wasn’t that he was inherently full of rage and venom, it was that perhaps his parents had raised him… too well. he was all too aware of the injustices of the world at such a young age that he found it hard to turn a blind eye to them, and since he didn’t like talking very much, the solution was his fists.

iv. as part of the attempts to direct that anger into something more worthwhile, jesse cycled through a handful of sports. american football? lame. tennis? absolutely not. swimming? okay, he actually liked that one, it was a respite from the arizonan sun, but not enough to make a thing of it. then, when he was ten years old at the turn of the century, the television showed him the way… zinedine zidane darted across the screen during a game for juventus in his prime, and football became jesse’s vice.

v. problem was, there wasn’t a scene for it in america. not back then, especially. his parents saw how quickly he took to it though, how obsessed he became with every facet of the game in such a short amount of time, and made the huge decision to move to the united kingdom. jesse had already been visited by scouts from manchester united, liverpool and tottenham, and they all said the exact same thing – his future in football wasn’t just bright, it was glaring.

vi. and so began what he calls ’the golden years’. he played for the chelsea youth team until he was eighteen years old, before being loaned out to clubs like ac milan, olympique lyon, and barcelona. leagues were desperate to grab him, to attract such a stellar young talent to their country in order to boost sales and viewership. football was becoming a commodified sport and jesse was right in the middle of its meteroic rise. problem was, sports hadn’t quite quelled that childhood anger. he began to gain a reputation for being ‘difficult’ or ‘egotistical’, when in reality it was him standing up for his teammates as the contracts got greedier. soon, jesse began to find himself in power struggles more often than not with club owners and managers, but it didn’t stop the accolades from pouring in.

vii. what goes up, however, must come down. when jesse hit thirty, he began to notice his body slowing down. shockingly, nothing noticeable that impacted his performance, but he knew something wasn’t right. at this point he was back with chelsea in the uk, but they were being beaten by the new and old big dogs – manchester city and liverpool. jesse had to dig deep, he had to do this for his team, for his family, for his pure love of the game. he pushed himself harder and harder, his work ethic drowning out the complaints about his personality, his sheer determination silencing every critic he had… until the injury.

viii. career ending, they called it. a couple of the football commentators cried when they watched it happen in real time. the stadium went silent. jesse knew the moment contact was made that he would never play again, his face that of stone as they stretchered him off. just like that, it was all over, his passion, his life’s work, the one thing he had poured his whole heart into… finished. he knew this day was coming, but it had come half a decade too early.

ix. his parents had moved back to arizona somewhere between lyon and barcelona, but jesse didn’t feel comfortable waltzing back into their lives and fucking it up. he knew they wouldn’t mind, but he had his own money, his own life, and plenty of time on his hands. his phone was blowing up with offers from all over the globe – management, commentary, talk shows, etcetera, but only one caught his attention. one from someone in palmview, florida.

x. that was how he ended up here, teaching football to both university aged idiots and child aged idiots. he does his best to keep his head down, not exactly ashamed of his glowing career but not exactly keen to confront it either and finally accept, for good, that he’ll never play again. for now, this is where he’s meant to be, in this strange little place where he’s thankful to not be followed around by paparazzi twenty four seven. and who knows? maybe eventually he’ll admit he likes coaching football after all. but please, don’t call it soccer in front of him.

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Ch1, (on ao3), Ch3

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.

[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.”

[nameless-jamie]

TARTT'S CORNER - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Chapter 9: Is This What They Call ‘Feelings’?

Y/N hadn’t left her apartment in over a week. The air was stale with the scent of unwashed laundry, forgotten takeout containers, and the faintest trace of the lavender candle she’d lit days ago, now burned out completely. The blinds remained shut, keeping out the world beyond the four walls of her self-imposed exile. She lay curled beneath a mountain of blankets, her laptop perched on the edge of the couch playing Pride and Prejudice for the third time that day.

Her phone lay facedown on the coffee table, ignored. The podcast had remained untouched. No new episodes. No planning. No recording. Her listeners had started to ask questions on social media, but she had no answers for them. She could barely think about it without feeling that crushing weight of guilt in her chest.

Jamie hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t so much as left a cryptic Instagram story for her to overanalyze. She told herself it was good. It was better this way. But it didn’t stop her from checking her phone when she thought she heard it buzz.

Meanwhile, at AFC Richmond, Jamie was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been at training. Hadn’t shown up for meetings. Hadn’t even been seen at his favorite barber. Roy Kent and Coach Beard exchanged confused glances before deciding to get to the bottom of it.

“Where the fuck is he?” Roy grumbled, arms crossed as he paced the locker room.

“He’s called in sick for a week,” Beard said, tapping his finger against his clipboard. “Which, considering we both know Jamie Tartt isn’t the type to take a break, is… suspicious.”

Roy exhaled sharply through his nose and pulled out his phone. He had a hunch. After the Man City match, back when Ted was still around, he had exchanged numbers with Georgie, Jamie’s mum. He scrolled through his contacts, found her name, and shot off a quick text.

Roy: Hello Georgie, is Jamie with you by any chance?

The response came almost immediately. Not at all weird that Roy and Georgie are on first name basis, the Mancunian is basically his son by now...

Georgie (Jamie's Mum): Yes Roy. He’s locked himself in his room for days. I’m worried about him, he said something about a girl...

Roy sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. Roy Kent may be dull sometimes, but he isn't dumb. He knew exactly which girl caused that much trouble in Jamie's life recently. And he knew who to talk to about this.

He and Keeley sat down later that day to discuss what to do next about the two enstranged love-birds.

Keeley pursed her lips as she stirred her tea. “I think I know what happened between them. Not in detail, but I know...”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I think something happened between him and Y/N in Manchester two weeks ago.”

Roy grunted. “You mean sex?”

Keeley gave him a knowing look. “Probably. And now they’re both hiding from each other. You heard their last podcast episode, right? Tense as fuck.”

Roy leaned back, arms crossed. “They’re fucking children. Don’t know how to deal with their feelings.”

Keeley tilted her head. “Well, they’re not completely hopeless. We just need to give them a proper talk.”

“Right. You go to Jamie. I’ll deal with Y/N.”

Keeley blinked. “Are you sure? I figured Jamie needed the famous Roy Kent kick-in-the-arse more than Y/N. You sure you don't want to speak with him, he's basically your son by now...”

Roy shook his head. “No he's fuckin’ not! If I know Y/N, well enough, which I do, she needs it more. She’s the one locking herself away like a fucking gremlin. Hasn't even been to brunch with me once in the last two weeks.”

So, it was a done deal, they went their separate ways, Keeley on her way to Jamie’s childhood and Roy taking on the adventure to the cave that is Y/N’s apartment. Both trying to talk dome sense into the "children" in question.

After Keeley’s long drive to Manchester, Georgie let her in with a concerned look, barely saying a word before gesturing toward the stairs. Simon, Jamie’s stepdad, intercepted her on the way up, pressing a plate with two scrumptious-looking muffins into her hands.

“Thought he might eat somethin’ if you bring it,” Simon said kindly. “Or you can have ‘em, love. You look knackered.”

Keeley smiled in thanks but didn’t linger. She climbed the stairs, balancing the plate in one hand, and stopped in front of Jamie’s childhood bedroom door. She knocked. No answer. She knocked again.

Nothing.

“Jamie, babe, I know you’re in there.”

Still nothing.

Sighing, she tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked. She pushed it open and immediately regretted breathing through her nose—stale air, unwashed clothes, and misery filled the room. The curtains were drawn tight, a stark contrast to the bright afternoon sun outside. Jamie lay sprawled on his bed, one arm draped over his eyes, looking like he hadn’t moved in days.

“Jamie,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “This is just sad.”

“Piss off.”

“Nope.” She strode to the bed and sat down on the edge, balancing the plate on her knee. When he didn’t react, she nudged his knee with her elbow. “Oi.”

Keeley rolled her eyes. “You do realize your entire team is wondering where the fuck you are? Roy’s worried. Beard’s worried. Hell, even Will was like, ‘Oi, where’s Jamie?’ And, babe, when the kit man is noticing your absence, that’s a problem.”

Jamie didn’t respond.

She huffed. “Alright, I see how it is. You’re doing the whole sulky, ‘woe is me’ thing. I’m just gonna sit here and eat this muffin then.”

She unwrapped one of the muffins dramatically and took a big bite, exaggerating her ‘Mmm.’ “God, Simon makes a mean muffin. Proper moist.” She peered at Jamie. “You want a bite?”

Nothing.

Keeley poked his ribs. “Jamie.”

Still no reaction.

She leaned down, her voice gentler now. “You know, I can’t actually help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Jamie let out a heavy sigh but didn’t move his arm from his face. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Keeley snorted. “Oh, there’s definitely something to talk about. You’ve been holed up in your childhood bedroom for days, Jamie. And considering how your mum looked when I walked in, I’m guessing you haven’t exactly been social.”

Jamie tensed.

Keeley lowered her voice. “Is it about Y/N?”

A pause.

Then, finally, he muttered, “She doesn’t love me.”

Keeley softened. “Jamie…”

He turned his head, eyes tired and vulnerable. “I told her. I told her I love her. And she just… walked away.”

Keeley exhaled, leaning back. “Look, babe. Maybe you need to just… accept that she might not be ready to let love into her life. And if you really care about her, you should be okay with just being friends for now.”

Jamie frowned. “Friends.”

“Yeah.” Keeley gave him a small smile. “And if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. But don’t force it.”

Jamie thought about that for a long time.

Keeley watched him, gauging his reaction before adding, “And look, Jamie… you disappearing like this? That’s not fair to everyone who cares about you. Roy, Beard, the whole team—they need you. You’re not the type to run away when things get tough. You’re better than that.”

Jamie swallowed hard but said nothing.

She reached out, squeezing his hand. “Come back home, Jamie. Play football. Live your life. Even if Y/N isn’t ready now, that doesn’t mean you just… stop being you. Tell her your fine with just being in her life for now. It might hurt, but it'll be worth it and you won't lose her that way.”

Jamie closed his eyes for a beat, then exhaled. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of something—determination, maybe. A small step forward.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “Alright.”

Roy, meanwhile, was standing in front of Y/N’s apartment door, knocking loudly.

“Go away,” her muffled voice came through.

“Not a fucking chance,” Roy called back. “I brought food.”

There was a long silence. Then, the door cracked open just enough for Y/N to peek through, eyes red and puffy.

Roy shoved the takeout bag into her hands and pushed his way inside. The place was a mess. Takeout containers. Crumpled tissues. A dimly lit room that reeked of someone who hadn’t been outside in far too long.

“This is disgusting,” Roy muttered.

“I know,” Y/N grumbled, flopping back onto her couch.

Roy plopped down beside her. “Alright. Tell me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, tough shit. It's because of you that my best striker is missing.”

"Jamie's missing?" Y/N eyes widened, her guilt only growing stronger. "Fuck, I'm so sorry Roy. It's all my fault. Oh my god..."

"What exactly is your fault?" Roy raised his bushy eyebrow at her.

She groaned, rubbing her hands over her face before finally giving in. She told him everything. The confession. The fight. The awful podcast episode. And finally, her biggest fear.

“I can’t be with him, Roy. He’s Jamie Tartt. He’s this famous, handsome, eligible footballer. And I’m just… me. I don’t deserve him.”

Roy stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “Jesus fucking Christ. Usually, Jamie’s the idiot. But right now? It’s you.”

Y/N blinked. “Excuse me?”

Roy pointed a finger at her. “You deserve the fucking world, Y/N. And Jamie’s the one who wants to give it to you. But you’re too much of a fucking coward to take it.”

She swallowed hard, looking down. “I don’t know how.”

Roy softened, just a bit. “You let yourself have him. You let yourself be happy. You tell him you want to be with him and that you love him.”

Y/N closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. “What if I mess it up?”

Roy shrugged. “Then you fucking deal with it. But you don’t run from it. You just lost the biggest chunk of respect I had for you, because you don't even love yourself half as much as he loves you.”

She sat with that realization for a long time.

Life moved on, a week passed, or at least, that was the illusion Y/N and Jamie forced themselves to believe. Y/N poured herself into her podcasting, planning new episodes on her own, with her usual sharp wit and insight, though the spark of excitement felt just a little dimmer. She forced enthusiasm into her voice, as she recorded voice-overs, meticulously editing out any moment where exhaustion or hesitation threatened to break through. She couldn’t let her audience hear the cracks. She had to be fine. She had to push forward. She had to start to heal and let love into her life.

Jamie, on the other hand, went about training as if nothing had happened. Or so it seems to Roy and the team. He was back to cracking jokes in the locker room, smirking in interviews, and pushing himself harder than ever on the pitch. To the world, he was still the same confident, carefree Jamie Tartt. But Roy and Keeley knew better. Roy saw it in the way he avoided lingering in the hallway after games, too scared to maybe run into Y/N. His smiles never quite reached his eyes. Almost felt like he was letting her go...

Determined to make a change and tell Jamie that she feels the same, Y/N took extra time getting ready that morning. Roy invited her to come watch training. He acted like it was nothing, just a casual suggestion, but she wasn’t stupid. He had a motive. He wanted her to finally tell Jamie. She picked out an outfit she knew she looked good in, spent a little longer on her makeup, and styled her hair in a way she knew Jamie liked. It was ridiculous, she told herself, but if she was going to see him, she wanted to look her best. Maybe it was her way of proving to herself that she was good enough.

When she arrived at the training grounds, she kept things normal. She greeted everyone like usual, exchanging a short hug with Keeley, as the gorgeous PR-manager made her way to Rebecca's office. On her way to the pitch Y/N also started bantering with Isaac and Colin as they stretched near the sidelines. Even Roy grunted his approval when she tossed a jab his way. Sam complimented her outfit, grinning as he said, "Someone’s looking extra nice today. Got a date after this?" Y/N laughed, brushing it off, but she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. Dani chimed in, "No, no, she is here to bless us with her presence and bring us good luck!" She played along, teasing them right back, but the moment Jamie jogged onto the pitch, everything else faded into the background. It was like a cheesy rom-com slow-motion moment. Like the rom-com's Jamie and her used to watch together.

For the first time in a week, their eyes met.

Y/N’s stomach flipped, but she forced herself to stay steady. Jamie didn’t look away, but he didn’t hold the gaze either. He acknowledged her like she was any other acquaintance, offering a polite nod before turning his focus back to training. So that was how they were doing this now. Y/N scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. That certainly wasn't a look of love.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Y/N kept up appearances, chatting with the coaches as the team ran drills. But she was keenly aware of Jamie the entire time—the way he laughed at something Dani said, how he effortlessly weaved through the defenders, how his gaze flickered toward her every so often when he thought she wasn’t looking.

After a while, she couldn’t take it anymore.

When training ended and the players started trickling toward the locker room, Y/N took a deep breath and called out, “Jamie, can we maybe talk somewhere more private, about you know...?”

He stopped, rolling his shoulders back as if bracing himself. For a second, she thought he might actually agree, but then he exhaled through his nose and shook his head with a small, tight smile. “No need. Really. I get it now.” Jamie waved her off faster than she could respond.

Y/N frowned, her heart skipping a beat. “What?”

Jamie shrugged, his expression unreadable. “You weren’t ready for anything. I understand that now. No hard feelings, yeah? We're good now. I just—” He hesitated, as if debating whether to say more, then forced another smile. “I’m glad we’re just friends. I still want you in my life, yeah?”

Her breath caught in her throat. This was it. This was the moment to tell him—to finally say the words she had swallowed down for too long. But the way he was looking at her, like he had already moved past it, like he had made peace with just being friends, it threw her completely off balance.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, still in shock. “Yeah. Friends.”

To make matters worse, Jamie clapped her shoulder in a friendly pat, the same way he did with the lads. The casualness of it nearly knocked the air out of her. She stiffened under his touch, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roy watching with something between amusement and exasperation.

Jamie smiled again, this time softer, and turned back toward the locker room. Y/N stood there, feeling like she had just missed a train she hadn’t even realized she needed to catch.

When she finally left, she lingered outside the gates, half-expecting Jamie to offer her a ride like he always did. But he didn’t. Instead, he strolled past her and Roy, all smiles, completely unbothered, waving while walking to his car. “See ya later. Have a good one.”

Y/N watched him go, her heart sinking.

Beside her, Roy huffed. “Guess you didn’t tell him how you feel, huh?”

She let out a dry laugh, trying to mask the ache in her chest. “The moment wasn’t right. He totally threw me off. And anyway, we’ve still got a few episodes left in the podcast series. It’s fine. It's better that we’re friends for now. Telling him has time.”

Roy gave her a long, assessing look, then grunted. He wasn’t convinced. If Y/N waited too long, one of them was going to move on. And the other? The other was going to be left behind.

Roy had seen this kind of thing before. Two people too stubborn, too scared to just say what they wanted. He’d meddled enough, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on the situation. They had to figure it out on their own. All he could do was be there to catch whoever fell first.

[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.