I may or may not have finished the Chamomile and Gwent trilogy and then immediately started it again which resulted in a lovely thought! There’s a scene in Until We Meet Again where Geralt is massaging salve into the readers foot/calf and it made me think of him helping her out with the inevitable soreness that would come from witcher training (and how those massages could actually be hella sensual vs this one so early on in their relationship). Anyway! Thanks for the lovely thoughts!
Omg I love the fact that you made this lovely connection because you immediately went back to reread THAT'S SO FLATTERING AND WONDERFUL 😭❤️ I love the idea of Geralt helping you/Reader to rub out the soreness after an insane day of witcher training! But also consider: you/Reader offering to return the favour, and Geralt being like "No way. Not gonna impose my feet on you. They're not nearly as cute as yours." He tries hard to keep his "nasty feet" away from you, but you insist, and tickling and sexy hijinks ensue 😌
TLDR: yes yes, lovely thoughts indeed!! Thank you for sharing them and sparking them in my mind too 🥹🥰
For anyone else who is curious: Chamomile and Gwent (my Geralt x Reader series) is here on AO3! 3 fics, 600k+ words, all NSFW thanks to smut!
-- love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo
Oh my god you’re right the reader totally would! And it would probably be similar to those spooning scenes where Geralt gets all huffy and uncomfortable too! I definitely feel like the actual massages would have a similar vibe to the non-sexual touching and would just be so perfect. The daydreams are rich with this series!
*staring sternly into the mirror* you've had a wild week, you haven't eaten today, you've barely interacted with people today. do not trust the Vague Sense of Unease
it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know: the twitter verse p2
masterlist
an : this make reference to the plot of my fics ‘it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know’ and ‘no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft’ and to Brittany Brett a character from @onceuponaoneshotfanfic ‘s AMAZING roy Kent series ‘superstar’ if you’ve not read it yet, what are you even doing? Check it out here!!!!!!!!
an an : Jamie fic coming soon!!
hope you enjoyed into the twitter verse!!! Check out my masterlist for more roy/Jamie or send in a request and I will do my best to get to it!!! <33
it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know ; the twitter verse
masterlist
an : this is a series of tweets set in the same universe as the plot of my Roy Kent x Fem!Reader fic ‘it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know’ which has a part 2 dropping Sunday set 2 years into the future!!! Enjoy these until then AND THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART I LOVE YOU GUYS SM <3333
Warnings: Language, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective father, angst and pining, fluff
Tears welled in your eyes as you stood on the pavement next to your dad’s car, loaded down with all of the things that would fill your room at school. Your mum was rummaging around the boot of the car, quadruple checking that you’d packed enough sweaters for the fall term. Your brother loitered nearby, impatient for you to leave so he could run back inside and get back to the computer game he had been forced to walk away from so he could say goodbye to you; he’d already given you a hug and tolerated a kiss to the top of his head, but your mum insisted he stay until you and your father drove off.
The night before- your last night in London- Roy had invited you out; he wanted to take you to a ridiculously expensive dinner to celebrate your new term, and his quip about having dessert at his place went straight between your legs. But of course, your father decided your last night before taking off to school should be spent at home, just the family. This was, of course, after he made a big show of cutting back that tree outside your window, claiming he’d been meaning to cut down the branch Roy typically used to sneak in. So, despite your mother’s best efforts to persuade your father to let you out after a painfully quiet family dinner, you were taking off to Southampton without getting to say goodbye to Roy Kent.
You were nothing short of completely miserable.
“Let’s get on the road, then,” your father called cheerily as he climbed in on the driver’s side. “Bet you can’t wait to get back, eh?”
The words caught in your throat. No. For the first time, you didn't want to head back to school, away from home and Chelsea and summer and Roy Kent. Away from holding his hand and running through the garden gate in the moonlight, away from him clamboring up that tree and through your open window just to lay in your bed until the sunrise, away from the smiles and winks he’d sneak to you during training, away from late-night drives and kisses in the front seat of his car, away from his laughter and his kisses and his hands and his jokes and the summer you spent by his side.
Before you could formulate a satisfying answer that didn’t betray the absolute agony that had made a home in your chest, a familiar car pulled up behind your father’s. It had barely come to a stop when the driver’s side door opened and Roy stepped out, his own crumpled face matching the expression you had been wearing all day. Without so much as a glance in your father- or anyone else’s- direction, he rushed over to you, taking you in his arms and hugging you close.
“You came,” was all you could manage to choke out as you squeezed him back, fingers clutching his leather jacket.
He nodded, face buried in your hair. “Fucking ’course I did,” he assured you. “Had to make sure you didn’t forget the mix cd.”
A snort flew out of your mouth as you laughed through the tears that had finally begun to fall. “It’s in my backpack,” you promised him. You pulled back, beaming through your tears, memorizing the sight of his brown eyes shining at you. “And I’ll be playing it while I unpack.”
“Good, good.” Roy’s hands rested firmly on your hips, not paying any mind to your family’s eyes on you. “Fuck, I’m gonna miss you, princess.”
“Be a good boy while I’m gone, Kent.” You pulled him back to you, holding him tight so you could whisper in his ear, “Don’t you dare prove him right.”
His breath tickled your skin as he let out a shallow chuckle. “Never. And you don’t let those uni lads steal my girl, alright?”
“Never,” you echoed.
It was far too soon when Roy gave one last squeeze and released you, his own eyes bright with tears that he blinked back rapidly. But you were rewarded with a kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss you knew you’d be thinking back on often in the days to come. To hell with your dad, you thought as you pressed yourself against Roy and tasted that sweet affection. To hell with anyone that’s not Roy Kent.
At least Roy had the good sense to eventually let you go, offering you that lopsided smile that had engraved itself on your heart. “Princess,” he murmured, something in his face changing. His eyes rapidly roamed your face, the cogs in his head turning. His voice was more gentle than you’d ever heard, just above a whisper. “Listen, I-”
Honk!
Your father leaned out his window, frown etched sharply on his features. Rather than bark at you the way he'd been doing lately, he simply furrowed his brow, a silent command to get in the car. Or more likely to get away from Roy Kent.
A groan slipped past your lips as you ducked your head in embarrassment. Leave it to your father to interrupt whatever important- probably romantic- thing Roy wanted to tell you.
But Roy was completely unbothered. He just let out a tiny huff of a chuckle and kissed your forehead. “Alright, get going,” he sighed gruffly, wiping away the tears that still steamed down your warm cheek. “Can’t miss me if you don’t leave.” He offered you that cocky grin you loved and a wink that made your heart skip a beat.
“Bye, Roy,” you murmured before taking a step back, a step away from him and towards Southampton and fall term.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said firmly, loud enough for your father to hear, the first time you'd ever seen him truly defiant in front of his manager. “Fucking promise.”
With a tiny nod, you walked over to the passenger door, where your mother waited with a gentle smile and open arms. She hugged you tight and let out a soft chuckle. “You’re in for a hell of a car ride,” she warned you.
“I bet,” you muttered. But then you glanced over your shoulder, back at Roy, who offered your brother a small fist bump before turning his gaze back to you. “But it’s worth it.”
~
The moment you were alone in your room, you fished that mix CD out of the front pocket of your backpack. Doing your best to forget the stony way your father had helped you unload your things and the way he glared at the Chelsea poster he’d spotted in one of your boxes, you quickly plugged in your CD player and hit play, eager to hear the mix you had promised Roy you wouldn't listen to until you were back at school.
I think you’re so mean, I think we should try
I think I could need this in my life
As you sat on your bed, you remembered the first song from that night in Roy’s car, from the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. In your mind, it was kind of “your” song with him. Maybe it was because of the way Roy had held you in the front seat of his car while it played in the background, maybe it was something in the desperate lyrics. But damn, it made your eyes sting as you listened, reminding you of how much you already missed Roy.
Deciding you needed to move about and be productive before you turned the afternoon into sitting and pining, you shot up off the bed and began to unpack your things, relieved to have something to focus on that wasn’t wishing the handsome footballer was there with you.
At last, you dove into the box with the poster that had so offended your father. You unrolled it, smiling at the familiar sight of the men clad in bright blue. Of course, your eyes found that gorgeous bearded face, the one you’d spent hours staring at on this piece of paper. Reminding yourself that this same man was yours, you grabbed some tacks and pinned the poster on the wall above your bed; you knew Roy would take the mickey out of you about its placement, just like you knew your father would be red in the face at the sight of Roy’s picture on your wall. But you simply couldn't bring yourself to care.
“Oh, you’re a football fan?” A friendly face filled your doorway, eyeing your poster with interest. “I prefer Arsenal myself, hope that’s not too much of a problem. My boyfriend likes Chelsea, if that earns me any points.” The girl stuck out her hand, which you shook eagerly. “Jessica.”
You offered your name and a smile, already liking the obviously chatty girl you’d be sharing the room with; there was an ease about her that was hard to resist.
Her eyes returned to your poster. “So who’s your favorite player? Let me guess, that absolute dish Roy Kent?” she teased affably.
Your cheeks burned red; well, she was going to find out sooner or later. “He actually is.” You coughed into your hand before adding, “He’s… also my boyfriend.”
When she realized you weren't joking, her mouth formed a surprised, open-mouthed smile as her eyes lit up with realization. “Oh!” Further realization brought a furrow to her brow. “Oh gosh, that means your dad-”
“Coaches Chelsea,” you finished for her with an awkward chuckle. “Yup, that's me.”
“Wow. Okay.” She let out a sharp breath. “You’ve had quite the summer then, haven’t you? I mean, with your dad finding out about your relationship through a press-” She stopped herself, wincing. “You probably don’t like talking about that, do you?”
Wearing your own grimace, you shook your head. “Not particularly,” you admitted.
Jessica offered an apologetic grin. “I’m making a shit first impression, aren’t I?” She shook out her shoulders and stuck her hand out. “Let’s try again. Hi, I’m Jessica, and I know nothing about stranger’s private lives.”
You couldn’t help but giggle and shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, my dad coaches a professional football club, and I spent my summer sneaking around with his star midfielder.”
“Well,” Jessica finally mused as she released your hand, “maybe if you tell your dad you’re sharing a room with an Arsenal fan, he’ll get over the whole 'secretly dating Roy Kent' thing.”
Jessica’s smile was contagious, drawing out one of your own. Even if you were miserable- over your dad’s continued iciness, over missing Roy- at least you could take solace in the fact that you’d made a new friend.
~
Angela had stopped by to see how you’d settled in and to introduce herself to your new roommate; much to your relief, the two seemed to really hit it off, so much so that Jessica suggested the three of you grab a pint to celebrate the new term and new friends. A perfect idea, you all agreed.
The three of you made your way down to your favorite pub with ease, much more familiar with the trek to get there than you would ever admit to your parents. The walk was all giggles and gabbing and waving at familiar faces that passed by, with a heaping of teasing about your summer with Roy Kent.
“I still can’t believe you finally nabbed him!” Angela gushed as the three of you settled at a table with pints in hand. She turned to Jessica, as if they’d known each other forever, rather than less than an hour. “This one has been in love with Roy Kent since he first came to Chelsea. Honestly, it’s been a little pathetic to watch.”
Blushing furiously, you kicked your best friend under the table with a playful scoff. “Pathetic!” you echoed, your outrage loud enough to cause the couple at the table behind you to turn and look.
Angela nodded, clearly unfazed by your annoyance. “Oh, absolutely. You’ve been insufferable to watch.” With a wicked sparkle in her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. She batted her lashes and pushed out her chest flirtatiously, raising her voice several pitches. “Oh hi, Kent! Great match today, you were brilliant.” She let out an obnoxiously girlish giggle, the kind you had never giggled in your life, thank you very much. “Are you heading to the changing room? Need some help in the showers?”
Before you could give your friend a piece of your mind- with the help of some swear words that would make even Roy and the lads at Chelsea blush- your mobile rang in your purse. Settling for a dirty look in Angela’s direction, you fished it out and held it up to your ear, too annoyed to bother looking at the name that flashed on the screen.
“‘lo?” you huffed, wondering what you'd forgotten; surely it was your mum asking if she should mail some overlooked items or just wait until you come home and get it yourself.
A deep chuckle hit your ear. “Don't tell me school’s already shit then?”
Your entire body softened as you closed your eyes, picturing that smirk you knew Roy was sporting. “Hey,” you breathed, in a voice suspiciously close to the impression Angela had just been doing. “Sorry, just thought you'd be my mum.”
“Oi, you better answer the phone nicely when she calls,” he teased. “She invited me in for tea and a slice of cake after you and your dad left.”
Disbelief echoed in your laugh. “Did she really?”
Yes, you could just picture it. Your father speeding off, leaving behind a cloud of annoyance and disapproval, along with your embarrassment. Your brother, scurrying back inside to get back to the video games and crisps your parents had made him set aside. And your mother, amiable as ever, turning to Roy Kent with a soft smile and a simple “Fancy a tea?”
“I only stayed for a little bit,” Roy explained, thrilling your heart with the idea that he’d accepted the invitation. “Had a meeting with my fucking publicist. But your mum was lovely.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t think anyone’s mum has ever invited me to tea, actually. It was nice.” The pause on his end was thoughtful. “She said I seem to make you quite happy.”
The girls were going to give you such a hard time about the dopey smile you wore. “You do,” you assured him, eyes trained on the pint in front of you, the bubbles reminding you of the joy that fizzed in your chest whenever you heard Roy’s voice. “Quite happy indeed.”
“Glad to hear it.” There was another pause on his end, a heavier one now. “I just wanted to tell you… I fucking miss you already.” He cleared his throat, reminding you of the early days of your romance, when he’d put up that dour front, the one that protected him and his heart and his feelings.
“I miss you too,” you whispered, knowing your friends could hear the sentimental words and would definitely razz you for it. “Thank you again, for coming to say goodbye.”
Roy's voice lightened significantly, probably thanks to your soft tone. “Of course.” He cleared his throat, a much less tense cough this time. “Should let you go enjoy your mates. I'll call you tomorrow, alright, princess?”
I'll call you tomorrow.
In the back of your mind, you had been quite unsure about what your relationship would look like, with Roy back in London and you in Southampton. If you were being honest, you'd refused to entertain the thought too much. Some small part of you had worried that Roy would start to lose interest, that you'd begin to fade from his mind and this romance would begin to fizzle.
But Roy's firm promise began to squash down every one of those fears.
“I'll talk to you tomorrow, Roy,” you murmured, resisting the urge to kick Angela under the table when you caught sight of the teasing kissy face she was making.
Before you could hang up, Roy's voice was in your ear again. “Hey, princess?”
“Yeah?”
“I…” He hesitated, a brief moment of quiet that froze the breath in your lungs. “I fucking adore you. You know that, right?”
Your heart- no your entire body- trembled at his words. Sure, you’d had boyfriends and other fellas confess their feelings- even confessing their love- but something about Roy Kent telling you he adored you felt different. Like he was saying something heavier than the sweet words he murmured into the phone, something that burrowed into your chest and settled there contentedly.
Realizing Roy was waiting for your response, you closed your eyes and whispered, “I adore you too, Roy.”
The bashful breath he exhaled was barely noticeable, but damn it was adorable. “Have a good night babe. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Kent.”
Once your mobile was tucked back into your purse, you allowed yourself to look at your friends, whose sharklike smiles were almost sharp enough to burst your love bubble.
Almost.
“Go on,” you groaned good-naturedly, not actually all that mad to be teased about getting a phone call from Roy Kent. “Give me your worst.”
The rest of your night was spent giggling over pints, allowing your friends to do their best impressions of both you and Roy, a smidge grateful when they turned to discussing upcoming classes and their own summer adventures. But, in the back of your mind, your imagination kept wandering to that gruff voice that you had to admit- you already missed.
Your Hands Are Tough, But They Are Where Mine Belong
I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You
Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader
2.2k words
Warnings: Language, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective and angry father, angst, violence (👀), Reader is hot for violent Roy (understandable)
“Go home.”
“Dad-”
“You’re banned from the club. Go home.”
Even though you’d expected an icy welcome, some part of you still figured you’d be allowed to work. After all, it was almost time for you to head back to school; surely your dad could handle a couple weeks of you fetching coffee and organizing files so his kid could collect a paycheck and buy a pint at the campus pub now and then.
Apparently not though, based on how red his face was when he saw you stroll as casually as possible into his office. His greeting to you was a two-word demand to leave and no eye contact whatsoever. There was definitely a part of you that wanted to listen, to head home with your tail between your legs and stay in your room until it was time to head back to Southampton. But your mother’s words about not raising a daughter who hides rang in your head over and over- and then you caught sight of those familiar brown eyes in the changing room. They bore into yours with that mix of adoration and concern, maybe even with a hint of sympathy, giving you the ability to stand up a bit straighter.
“I’ve got a job to do,” you reminded your father pointedly. “An actual ‘I-have-a-badge-and-get-paid’ job. If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I’m here, and I’m going to work.”
Instead of the shouting you were fully prepared for, your father simply stared at you and let out the gruffest sigh you’d ever heard. “I don’t want to see you even look at him,” he hissed. “Not a glance. You understand?”
Progress. Miniscule progress, but progress nonetheless. “Yes, sir,” you murmured.
Without another word to you, your father stormed into the changing room, where all noise silenced immediately. You watched, with utter humiliation in your tight chest, as he stood nose to nose with Roy, whose wide eyes were clearly straining not to lock with yours. He gave a few frantic nods and managed to say a couple of words before your dad turned and fumed out. After a few moments, those brown eyes found yours again. You offered Roy a half-hearted wave, which he returned with a firm nod, clearly intent on not drawing your father’s ire with winks and smirks.
You slumped into your father’s chair so you could turn your attention to some emails he needed to answer. As you opened one and began to type out a response, you pondered your mothers’ appeal to give your dad some time and wondered: how long would it take?
~
A full day of training wasn’t long enough, you discovered. Not that you expected your father to thaw so quickly. Unsure if you were sparing yourself or your dad the tension, you’d avoided the pitch as much as possible, opting to spend your day in his office instead. The ache in your chest that missed Roy tempted you to sneak out for just a glimpse of the midfielder, but a wry voice in your head suggested that perhaps you’d had enough sneaking around for one summer.
But the fear of your father’s reaction wasn’t enough to stop you from fixing your gaze on the footballer when he returned to the changing room at the end of practice, all sweaty and out of breath, his clothes clinging to him enticingly. When Roy peeled off his drenched shirt, all thoughts of playing it cool left your mind; you leaned your elbows on the desk and let your face fall onto your hands, practically drooling at the now-familiar sight. Surely Roy would be up for a sleepover, you reasoned as your eyes raked over that furry chest. Especially if you asked nicely enough.
“Aww, look! Princess is staring at Kent again.”
Oh, fuck, you thought, immediately sitting up and turning your attention to the blank computer screen. Drew, one of Chelsea’s newer signs, was smirking at Roy, who wore his usual scowl in return. Roy did not like Drew; the guy was chatty and tried too hard to be ‘one of the guys’. And, Roy had admitted in bed late one night, he really didn’t like the way the young striker looked at you. (“It’s the way I fucking looked at you when I first came to Chelsea,” Roy had grumbled.)
Now, Roy frowned and approached his snickering teammate. “Fuck did you say?”
That smirk remained as Drew shrugged at Roy. “Say, Kent,” he started, faux friendliness dripping from his voice as the rest of the guys began to perk up at their conversation. “Just curious, how did Coach react when he found out his little princess calls you ‘daddy’ too?”
Roy’s face went bright red as he pressed his chest to Drew’s. “You keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” he growled.
“And what does she have in her mouth?” Drew taunted.
If you had blinked, you would have missed the sight of Roy’s fist colliding with Drew’s smug face. It was pure instinct and without warning. The striker wobbled, but quickly recovered to return Roy’s punch with one of his own. The two footballers began to scuffle, with punches flying and loud swears filling the air in the changing room. At the first sight of blood dripping down Roy’s nose, you got the feeling back in your body and leapt from your seat and bolted into the changing room.
“Kent!” you gasped. Before you could take a step towards the brawl that several of the guys were attempting to break up, a pair of arms wrapped around you and tugged you back. When you looked up, you saw Jules, his eyes on his scrapping teammates.
“Don’t,” he grunted, still not looking at you. “You’ll just make it worse.”
If you had thought you’d felt helpless watching the press conference where you and Roy were exposed, it was nothing compared to how powerless you felt now, watching punches and slaps land on Roy’s snarling face. His eyes were wild as he tried to continue throwing punches while his teammates attempted to restrain him and shouted at him to calm the fuck down, Kent.
“What the absolute fuck is going on in here?”
Your father's face was even redder than Kent's as he looked in the doorway. His gaze jumped between Kent- and Drew- and Jules- and finally you. Jules quickly let you go and stepped back; even the very married striker was scared to be spotted so close to you, apparently. Your father narrowed his eyes at you before turning back to the footballers, who were finally pulled apart by exasperated teammates.
Roy spoke up. “Coach-”
“Suspended,” your dad interrupted, staring icily at his midfielder. “Next match, you're both on the bench.” He sneered at Roy. “Neither of you deserves to wear a Chelsea kit.”
“Coach,” Jules tried, stepping further away from you. “Kent was just-”
Your father’s eyes blazed at his player. “Next man who says anything is out for the season.” Without another glance at anyone, he stormed out, leaving behind him silence among his team.
While the players awkwardly began to gather their things and left the changing room, heading home or to pubs or wherever they went after training, you slunk back into the office, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do. Some hopeful part of you had assumed your dad would offer you a silent ride home, but that seemed completely out of the question now; he was probably halfway home anyways. Maybe you should call your mother? But then she’d know your dad had left you, and that would probably lead to another argument between the two of them, and you couldn’t bear to be the reason for a fight two nights in a row. Maybe you could still catch Jules, he probably wouldn’t mind-
“Oi.” Roy’s eyes were dark as he gazed down at you, mouth in a straight line. He’d washed off the blood and changed, but you could see some cuts and noted where the bruising was already starting. “Need a ride?”
~
For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, you sat silently in Roy Kent’s car. Normally, the two of you would chatter away, or you’d turn up the radio and sing along while Roy rolled his eyes when you went off-key just to make him laugh. But now, a heaviness filled the car, a feeling you were desperate to rid yourself of.
“Could I come over?” you finally whispered as Roy came to a stop light.
When he turned to look at you, the conflict in his eyes was clear as day; your name came out of his mouth as a sigh. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmured, reaching out to touch your knee gently. “Your dad-”
“Left me there,” you reminded him pointedly. “For all he knows, I’m walking home.” You laid your hand on top of Roy’s, cherishing how warm he felt at your fingertips. “So can I come over? Please?”
Despite himself, the corner of Roy’s mouth ticked upwards as he shook his head. “How the fuck can I ever say no to you, princess?”
That small smirk stayed on Roy’s bruised face as he settled on his couch, watching you make your way to the kitchen. When you returned with a pack of frozen peas, he raised a thick eyebrow at you.
“You making me dinner or something?” he teased.
Rather than answer, you shushed the footballer and sat beside him. With your free hand, you urged him to lie down with his head in your lap. Once he was settled and comfortable, you gently pressed the bag of peas to his purpling eye, your heart melting when you saw him wince at the cold contact. That wince quickly gave way to a soft smile as he reached up and touched your cheek, his version of a thank you.
“You’re too fucking good to me,” he chuckled. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Fighting for my honor seems like a good start,” you grumbled as you let your free hand stroke his curls. “I swear, I should kick Drew’s arse for hurting your pretty face.”
Roy chuckled, the joyful rumble vibrating under your touch. “The princess fighting for her knight. Now there’s a fairytale I’d fucking read.” He sighed and shifted slightly. “I’m sorry about today, babe. I’d love to say it’ll never happen again, but-”
You quickly shook your head. “You better not get into any more fights, Kent,” you playfully scolded. “I want to see my boyfriend start in a match, after all,” you added with a pout.
The B-word brought a full smile to that gorgeous face. “Fine,” he said, unable to hide his pleased blush under the bag of peas. “No more fighting.” Something sparkled in the brown eye that wasn’t hidden under the improvised ice pack. “But you did think it was hot, didn’t you?”
A blush crawled up your neck at the low tone he spoke with. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kent,” you scoffed. “My boyfriend beating some prick to a pulp and getting himself benched? In what universe would I find that hot?”
The small hum that rumbled in Roy's chest told you he didn’t believe a word of your protest. “This universe, princess.” His grin turned smug. “Don’t pretend seeing me all bruised and bloodied up isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.
Dammit. Roy Kent really did know you well at this point. Without thinking, you bit your lip as you gazed down at him, remembering the sight of his fists flying and blood dripping down his face. It was sexy, you admitted to yourself. And not just because it made your heart flutter to see Roy so protective of you. No, it was because he looked so wild and rough, and, fuck, his muscles had been flexing deliciously, and-
“Princess,” he drawled, bringing you out of your imagination. He took the frozen peas from your hand and placed the bag on the coffee table as he sat up. “Alright there?”
Embarrassed to have been so obviously indulging in a fantasy, you could do nothing but smile bashfully at the man who was still ridiculously beautiful, even with the black eye that he’d surely be sporting for a while. Hell, if anything, it managed to make him look even more gorgeous than he already was.
Not bothering to answer his question, you pulled yourself onto his lap, straddling him and nudging his cheek with your nose. “Maybe it was a little attractive,” you murmured as you pressed a slow kiss to his neck. “But only a little.”
“Sure.” His hands found your waist, tugging you closer until your chest was pressed to his. “Only a little.”
His mouth met yours with ease, the way it had all summer, sweet and soft and familiar. You melted against him and gave the softest grind over him, still rational enough to want to be careful with your injured boyfriend. But that rationality didn’t stick around for long, not when his tongue flicked against your lip. Your lips parted for him, letting out a little groan when his tongue began to brush against yours. When his hands began to slide lower, lower, until they gripped your ass tightly, you knew you had lost the battle to see who would keep their cool the longest.
But spending your evening in Roy Kent’s bed was a hell of a consolation prize.
Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective father, angst
A/N: We're baaaaaaaaaaack babies! Thank you to you lovely people who've stuck around and been incredibly patient. It feels good to finally be able to write again and even better to be able to share it with y'all!
The office was dead silent once the sound of your father’s harsh footsteps had receded. Every inch of your body felt cold and numb- except for your hand, where Roy’s fingers were still intertwined with yours, bringing warmth and at least a little comfort. After what felt like an eternity, he turned to face you, his mouth in a straight line and brows furrowed harshly.
“Hey-”
You shook your head and wiped your eyes before Roy could see the tears forming. “It’s fine,” you whispered. “We knew- I knew-” You cleared your throat, a shaky sound. “He was never going to like this. But finding out the way he did definitely didn’t help.” A hollow chuckle slipped past your lips. “It’s my fault for being so stupid and careless.”
“Oi.” Roy grabbed your hip and tugged you to himself in a tiny, chaste embrace. “It’s not your fault,” he said in a low voice. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should’ve protected you better.” He kissed your forehead gently, lips barely ghosting your skin. “C’mon,” he finally mumbled. “Think we should get the fuck out of your dad’s office.” He let go of you, opting to hold your hand firmly. “Can I drive you home?”
All you could do was nod and let Roy lead you out of the office. Although he didn’t let go of your hand, both of you kept your heads down as you walked through the building. There was no way every single person you passed didn’t know what had just happened; your father’s voice had thundered down the hallways just like it did on the pitch. And, for the millionth time, you reflected on how your crush on Roy had never been a secret, per se. Even the food vendors and ticket sellers probably knew that the gaffer’s daughter was smitten with Roy Kent.
The empty parking lot was a relief after the looks that followed you out of the building. Even with your ducked head, you could see sympathy, suspicion, and curiosity on people’s faces- especially when they noticed you and Roy holding hands. Probably not the smartest idea, you admitted. But he was an anchor, keeping you grounded, making you brave enough to not give in to your desire to dig a hole out on the pitch and just bury yourself.
The familiar sight of Roy opening the car door for you filled your chest with some comfort. He was still looking at you with complete adoration, albeit with some concern and worry now. This had been the moment you’d dreaded since the first time Roy touched your hand and asked if he could call you sometime. You knew all along that your dad finding out would only make things complicated and bring drama to the situation, and you weren’t sure if someone like Roy Kent could handle it. After all, his reputation was models and one-night stands, not complicated. But the way he squeezed your hand and kissed your cheek assured you that, at least for now, Roy Kent wasn’t going anywhere.
~
“You need to calm-”
“I will not calm down!” Your father’s fiery shouts slammed against your ears as you quietly slipped through the front door, closing it silently behind you. “Your daughter has been gallivanting about the country with Roy fucking-”
“I understand.” Your mother’s voice was shockingly gentle, contrasting with your father’s deafening yells. “But she’s not a child.”
You stayed glued by the door, where you could hear the conversation happening in the sitting room. It was a good thing Roy had decided to drop you off down the street; the sight of you slipping out of the midfielder’s car after a reassuring kiss was not one your father would have welcomed.
“She’s sure acting like a child,” your father was huffing. “Sneaking around, lying to us. Fooling herself into thinking that Roy Kent could actually care about her.” His voice dripped with disgust at the mention of Roy’s name. “He’s going to stomp her heart all over London, and then she’s going to come crying to me about it, I guarantee it. Did you see yesterday, when she saw that photo of him with that actress? She’s still in town, and he’s already running around with other women.”
Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, remembering your father’s comments just the day before, when he saw the hurt on your face after spotting that photo of Roy and his actress friend. Remembering all the times Roy had been spotted with other women since he first started at Chelsea, all the jokes and comments made in the changing room about the midfielder. Remembering the times you’d seen those women, up close and personal, encounters that left you with flushed cheeks and an empty feeling in your chest and wondering when it would be your turn. After all this time with Roy in your arms and on your lips, you’d left those moments of jealousy behind- especially now that Roy called you his girlfriend.
Deciding you weren't quite ready to face your father or listen to any more of this conversation, you tiptoed up the stairs, intent on not seeing anyone else for the rest of the night- or maybe forever, your humiliation suggested. But just as you thought you were safe, the small sound of someone clearing their throat made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.
When you turned around, your brother was staring at you from his doorway, his arms folded and eyes wide. You grimaced at him, praying he wouldn't give away your presence.
Instead, he approached you with something that looked a lot like sympathy in his young eyes. “You’re dating Roy Kent?” he whispered, appearing to grasp the fact that you were hiding from your dad.
With a small gulp, you nodded. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly.
For a moment, he just looked at you, head tilted to the side the way he did when he was struggling with a maths problem. Finally, he spoke again. “Is he… nice to you?”
Something softened in your chest as you fought the urge to laugh. “Yes,” you repeated, with a smile this time. “He's very nice to me.”
“Good.” He nodded firmly, jaw set. “Otherwise I'd have to kick his arse.”
As you listened to his threat, you realized how much he'd grown this summer, from a little kid to a young teenager; you'd been so wrapped up in your romance, you'd almost missed it. You reached out to give him a friendly shove. “Don't say ‘arse’,” you chided lovingly. “But I'll pass along your message.”
Your brother nodded once more, all business, and returned to his room, leaving you alone on the landing. Ignoring your father's continued shouts about you and Roy Kent and your mother's patient sighs and attempts to calm him down, you successfully slipped into your bedroom and closed the door behind you. There, you flopped onto the bed and gazed at the ceiling, wondering how in the world you were going to maneuver any of the absolute mess you had created- but the sight of Roy's name lighting up your phone reminded you that he was well worth it.
~
After a quiet phone call to assure Roy that everything was alright, you managed to avoid anyone for the rest of the night. No one knocked on your door or shouted your name; some part of you wondered if your father knew whether you'd even come home- or if he cared.
The next morning, you quietly made your way downstairs and into the kitchen, ready for the sight of your angry father and his morning coffee. Instead, you found just your mother, sipping tea and reading the paper. She greeted you with a wince that you assumed was supposed to be a smile.
“Where's Dad?” you all but whispered.
She shook her head, even the wince disappearing now. “Already left for work.” She shifted as her eyes darted back to her paper. “But I can drop you at the stadium on my way to the office,” she offered, the brightness in her voice obviously an act.
“Maybe I should stay home,” you murmured as you grabbed a piece of fruit. Or just crawl into a hole and disappear, you added mentally.
“You've got a job to do, darling,” your mother gently reminded you. “No matter what else is going on, you've got an obligation to the club.” She sipped the last bit of her tea before standing up and heading out of the kitchen. She paused in the doorway and glanced at you over her shoulder, adding, “And I didn't raise a daughter who runs and hides.”
Her words echoed in your head as you willed yourself to climb into her car and pretend you weren’t panicking at the idea of going to training. Her calm, pleasant expression contrasted comically with the anxiety you knew you wore all over your face.
After a few songs passed on the radio, she finally spoke up. “Want to talk about it?”
You shifted in your seat, picking at the tiny hole in your trousers that you hadn’t noticed when you put them on. “About what?” you asked in your most nonchalant voice.
“Roy Kent.”
Her tone was so matter-of-fact and relaxed, as if her husband hadn’t been shouting that name- along with a few choice swear words- the previous evening. When you snuck a glance at her, she was gazing straight ahead, like this was a very normal conversation.
You blurted out the only thing you could think to say: “Did you know?”
Your mum tapped on the steering wheel for a moment before replying. “It was clear to me that you were seeing someone,” she said slowly. “And I had my suspicions about who.”
“Suspicions?” you echoed, shrinking at the realization that maybe you and Kent weren’t as slick as you’d previously thought.
“Sure,” she chuckled. “I love Angela and the girls, but there was no way you were dressing up for them so much. And I remember the sound of your window opening and closing at those ungodly hours. Hadn’t heard that in a long time.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Usually you’re fairly open about the fellas you date,” she went on. “So the fact that you were hiding told me there was something you didn’t want us to know.” The corner of her mouth tugged upwards. “Then I saw the way Roy Kent looked at you at the team dinner. And that little curtsy when he scored the first goal of the season?” She reached out to pat your thigh and looked at you with soft eyes. “Chelsea’s princess, indeed,” she chuckled as she turned her attention back to the road.
Despite yourself, a small scoff slipped past your lips. “You knew,” you huffed. “You bloody knew and didn’t say a word.”
She shrugged. “Neither did you.”
She has a point. “I… knew Dad wouldn’t approve,” you reminded her. “And I didn’t think a summer fling was worth upsetting him.”
“So this was just a little summer fling?”
Her tone told you she didn’t believe that for a moment.
“It’s not,” you admitted, struggling to fight the smile that grew whenever you thought about Roy and his car and the mix CD. “Not anymore, at least.” You quickly explained about the actress and Roy asking you to be his girlfriend and deciding to tell your father together- before that damn press conference.
The car pulled in front of the training ground as you wrapped up your story. Your mum sighed sympathetically and put the car in park.
“I can’t say I approve of the lying and sneaking around,” she said slowly. “But I also know your father. And I know exactly what he thinks of Roy Kent.” She shook her head and took your hand. “But I also know who I raised,” she said firmly, noting the deflated look on your face. “And if you say Roy Kent is the fella for you, I trust you. Just…” She exhaled sharply. “Give your dad some time. Some grace.” She lifted your hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, reminding you of being a little girl and needing a kiss after getting hurt. “You’re his only daughter, after all.”
Something caught in your throat, thick with the feeling of being so loved by your mother and feeling so terrified of facing your dad and the rest of Chelsea. “Thanks, Mum,” you managed. You gave her hand a squeeze before gathering your things and heading inside to face what was sure to be a stressful day.
A/N: so... yeah it's been 7 months. whatever! i'm back bitches!
Word Count: 7k+
Chapter Thirteen:
You gasped when you woke, folding yourself upright in shock. You only had a few seconds to stabilise yourself before the headache from hell hit you like a drill to your skull. Groaning, you brought your hand to your forehead, and you could have sworn you could feel your brain throbbing.
“Morning,” Roy said lowly, and you almost broke your fucking back as you turned to look at him abruptly.
“Fuuucking hell,” you whispered. That was all your voice could handle at that moment.
As your heart thumped incessantly in your chest, your eyes ate him up. Roy sat at the dining room table, legs crossed and donned in a pair of tartan pyjama trousers. A loose fitted white cotton t-shirt covered his top half, and his hair was just slightly ruffled. He brought a coffee mug to his mouth, and smiled to himself in amusement as he took a sip. Nothing of what you’d previously imagined Roy would look like in the morning was what met you there– it was so much better. He looked softer, and calmer.
Regretfully, you had to look away. It wasn’t just from the way your gut coiled, but from the stabbing pain that had begun in the middle of your forehead. “What the fuck happened last night?”
“Well, as the guys say it.”Roy stood slowly, and made his way to the sofa. Dropping himself next to you, he took another sip of coffee. “You got Danied.”
Your groans could have been heard all the way over at Nelson Road. The guys would already be there, prepping for a game later that afternoon. You wondered how badly some of them were suffering, or if their bodies were already used to dealing with Dani related hangovers. Yours, however, was not.
“I guess I went a bit overboard,” you croaked. “We were just having fun, and being festive, and possibly decking the halls far too much for my body to handle.”
Roy smiled. “Yeah, well it’s lucky you didn’t deck the halls with your fucking vomit last night, either.”
You scrunched yourself into a ball immediately, armadillo style, and grumpily shrugged the blanket you’d slept with over your head. You didn’t want the world to see you today, didn’t want to be exposed to the stares of your friends or neighbours, yet– here you were. In front of the one man you’d promised not to see over this holiday period. Drunk you hadn’t read the fucking rule book.
Gently, Roy placed a hand on your ankle. Your entire body buzzed, as a shudder ripped its way up your body from his point of touch. “It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t worry about it.”
You swallowed away the urge to be sick, but not from your hangover. Roy squeezed your ankle ever so slightly. “Where’s Phoebe?” you asked, trying desperately to change the subject and revert his attention onto something– someone– else, other than groggy you.
“My sister came by about an hour ago to pick her up.”
“And I didn’t hear them?” you exclaimed, muffled beneath the blanket.
Roy shrugged. “You were out cold.”
“Fuck my life,” you muttered, before you realised something. Quickly, you revealed yourself from beneath the blanket and smacked your hands into your lap. Your hair was everywhere, an utter mess, but nevertheless you looked towards Roy. “What time is it?”
Roy glanced at his phone. “Just after midday–”
“Fuck!” You practically jumped out of your skin. Scrambling up from your section of the sofa, and struggling to fling the blanket off yourself, you finally stood up. “The pre-game is at quarter past two, which means I’m already fucking late!”
Roy watched as you panicked, but nothing could be done to slap away the affectionate smile he held on his face. You busied yourself by pacing the living room and checking your various messages, a few of which were obviously from the guys themselves, and you cringed incessantly when you read them. When you started counting on your fingers, Roy hoisted himself from the sofa with a subtle growl.
“Will you calm the fuck down? You’re giving me hives.”
You shot a death stare at him. “I said I’d grab coffee with Rebecca at one o’clock, which I’m now probably not going to make. And I still need to shower, and get the stench of tequila off my body, and–” You stopped talking at the thought of alcohol, and had to place a hand on your chest to stop yourself from gagging.
Roy abruptly reached out and grabbed your bicep softly. “Stop fucking thinking about tequila.”
You swallowed painfully. “Sorry.”
Roy’s fingers squeezed you softly, and the sensation alone was enough to ground you. You inhaled deeply, and got the thought of booze and lateness and stress out of your mind as much as you could. All the while, as your eyes were stamped shut and your chest shuddered through struggling breaths, Roy was there. He held onto you thoughtfully and with patience; two qualities that Roy definitely wasn’t known for.
When you opened your eyes, you found Roy’s steady gaze on yours already. “Sorry,” you repeated. “I’m good, I’m fine.”
“And I’m Shania fucking Twain,” he said sarcastically. You let out an amused huff, and his face softened.
The mere seconds you had looking at each other in this way was enough to make your heart hurt beneath your ribs. Just a little bit, just a tinge, but it only acted as a reminder of how this– you and him– wouldn’t ever work. You saw it in Roy’s gaze, too, and when he swallowed the words that rested on his tongue, just waiting to be said out loud. Maybe they never would.
Roy gently removed his grip from you, but the softness didn’t leave his face for a second. “Can I get you a coffee?”
You relaxed instantly, hardly registering your problems in that moment after his offer. You didn’t care about time anymore, or the fact that you had plans; you only cared about him. All you could do was nod, hit with the sudden urge that you didn’t want to leave so suddenly. It was you that had instigated this Christmas meeting, you who had shown up at his house– drunk– with no other intentions, other than wishing him a Merry Christmas. The word ‘wholesome’ had never come to mind alongside your actions, but you were struggling with what to describe the situation now.
It was wholesome, and it was all you.
Until it wasn’t wholesome anymore, and certainly not all you.
“Last night,” you started, swallowing back some nerves that fluttered up from the pit of your stomach. “Before I fell asleep.” Roy took a small step back. “What were you saying?”
You looked at him as innocently as possible, despite the increase in your pulse. Roy’s demeanour changed instantly, as he quickly raced his eyes up and down your hungover form. Quickly, he swivelled around and headed for the dining table. He picked up a small package that lay in the centre, next to other Christmas cards and scraps of old wrapping paper, before he turned back to you.
Roy stopped a metre from where you stood and stuck his hand out slowly. “I got you a present,” he said softly.
As you took in the image of him, your make-up stained eyes almost started to well. You could feel the tears ready to form, and begged to whatever fucking god was out there not to burst into tears. You sucked in a breath, but scoffed it back out as an inappropriate giggle erupted from within you.
“Jeez, Roy,” you said, smiling. You stepped closer before taking the gift from him, and shot him a golden stare when you held it in your hands.
Roy smiled. “Sorry it’s late.”
You scoffed again. “That was definitely my fault for falling asleep with a beer in my hand.”
Roy chuckled lightly, and innately you knew you’d never forget the sound of it. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back.
Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. Roy caught on immediately and stepped forward quickly, going to comfort you in whatever capacity he could– but you stopped him. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said, waving him off as if everything was fine. “I’m just hungover, and tired, and late– fucking late!” You remembered the entire situation so fast that you almost dropped your gift. “Coffee will have to wait. I need to run home.”
“I can drive you.” Roy offered, almost desperately, but you waved him off again.
“No point. You have a studio to get to, and I have a very tall blonde woman to try and meet before the Richmond game.” Quickly, you shuffled out of the living room and towards the front door. You clutched your belongings in your arms– your jumper, your scarf, your jacket, Roy’s gift– and attempted to slip on your boots as fast as humanly possible.
Roy appeared at the end of the hallway. He no longer looked soft, as he started stomping closer to you. “I’m not due at the studio till two o’clock. Let me drive you to Nelson Road, or fucking something–”
“Really, you don’t need to.” You tied your laces messily, knowing that you only had to survive getting out of his door and off his drive before you could finally burst.
This was just it, wasn’t it? This– him and you, the gift giving, the coffee, the softness– was all too fucking much. You regretted going to see him last night, you regretted infringing on his Christmas like this, and now he desperately wanted you to stay.
It was all a recipe for disaster.
You whipped yourself up to standing and dared to look at him. “Besides, I’ve already overstayed my impromptu visit.”
Roy furrowed his brows angrily, getting worked up. “You haven’t been here in a fucking month, fell asleep after two bloody minutes, and you think you’ve overstayed your welcome? Just– fucking stop, and I can drive you, and we can–”
“Roy.”
With the tone shift of your voice, Roy stopped. His chest rose and fell quickly; an attempt to calm down the erratic beat of his heart. You looked into his eyes deeply, and everything translated as clear as if you’d spoken the words.
We’re not supposed to do this, remember? This is what you wanted, and I can’t be here anymore without it being painful. Let me go.
He stepped back a little and un-balled his fists. He nodded, and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from choking, or saying something he’d definitely regret.
You nodded back. It was all that needed to be exchanged for you both to understand. Grabbing the handle, you opened his hulking, oak front door and stepped into the cold Richmond air. Before you closed it behind you, you turned back to him.
Roy looked defeated, tired, slumped. His arms dangled by his sides without strength, and the look on his face had you rethinking your entire decision to leave; love-sick, or swarmed with thoughts of what could have been, if only he hadn’t put a boundary on how far this thing between you could go. His jaw was the only thing that stayed rigid, stuck, like he was clenching every single muscle to stop himself from spilling words onto his porch.
You smiled sadly. “I’ll see you on the telly.” The front door slammed shut.
You grappled for air as you ran up the steps to the Dogtrack. Coffee with Rebecca had been postponed, and you’d savoured the time you had to recover and get ready before you had to shoot out the door again. You navigated the inside of the stadium like the back of your hand, until you emerged outside into Richmond’s box. Rebecca sat in her usual spot. You dropped yourself down next to her and sighed deeply, finally letting yourself relax after an eventful early afternoon.
“Hm.” Rebecca huffed in amusement. “Hello, darling,” she said with an air of knowing.
“Don’t.” You dropped your bag to the floor and crossed your legs sturdily, wrapping yourself up comfortably and warmly within your puffer coat.
“Good Christmas?” she still asked. You refrained from rolling your eyes, but knew you owed her an explanation.
“I got Danied.”
“Oh, how those boys love you,” she said, laughing to herself. “They were quite jovial in the locker room this morning. There was something circulating about you performing Elton John’s Benny and the Jets after dinner.”
You shut your eyes and tried not to cringe at yourself. “Was that all?” you said, opening your eyes slowly.
Rebecca shrugged. “Other than the abrupt departure and denial of needing a lift home while pissed beyond belief– no.” She smiled at you so widely that you couldn’t help but copy her. You sighed again and faced the pitch, praying innately that she couldn’t divulge you from a single stare.
“I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” you asked.
“I can drop it altogether,” she stated. “If– you tell me where you raced off to so suddenly afterwards.” You turned to her, your smile all but gone. You swallowed painfully, traipsing through a maze in your head at how you were about to go about this conversation.
You hadn’t told Rebecca about what had happened between you and Roy after the double date. You hadn’t told Keeley, either. It was a secret that you hadn’t intended to keep, but it had all seemed like the easiest option. To let things dissolve until the prying questions from your friends about yourself and Roy came to a close. That– and the fact that talking about it out loud made it all the more real.
Sure, it’d been a month since the talk, the deal, the confession– whatever you could call it without it being too sad. And sure, you’d told yourself everyday that it was the easiest option to take. Less complicated, no strings attached, all that jazz.
But– and it was a massive but– it didn’t mean you and Roy could immediately switch everything off when you were around one another. It didn’t stop those tired stares from earlier that afternoon, or the soft way Roy handed you your Christmas present (and the fact it was burning a hole through the lining of your bag, unopened).
You smiled sadly at Rebecca. “I have something to tell you.”
Rebecca shuffled in her chair, her expression dropping into one of concern. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed your hands with her own. “What’s going on?”
You sucked in, ready to speak, but were cut-off by the whirlwind that Keeley Jones took with her everywhere. She dropped herself into the seat next to you, making you and Rebecca flinch. “Fucking hell– I almost got stuck in the mob outside!” Keeley exclaimed. She turned to you both, and her face dropped instantly. “Oh god, I interrupted you, didn’t I?”
You smiled at her softly and let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you said gently, meaning every word. She embraced you without question– firmly, warmly, as if she was attempting to make you feel better without even knowing what was wrong.
“Right on time, Keeley,” Rebecca said. Keeley reached over you to grip Rebecca’s hand in her own. She took one of yours in her other, and the three of you held each other’s hands lovingly.
“What did I miss?” Keeley asked.
“Well–” You sighed. “Where to start?”
You told them everything, your girls. They listened, and squeezed your hands in their own at the right moments. They smiled sadly when you spoke, and looked at you like you were gold, and never interrupted. At the end, they hugged you from both sides.
The boys ran out onto the pitch, with Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The whistle blew, and the match started.
You tried not to think of him, but it was impossible. You thought of Roy as the ball was kicked into play in the centre; cameras on him, suit donned, hair slicked back and beard shaved to perfection.
You thought of him because you’d finally said it out loud– he’d turned you down, stopped this thing between you before it’d even had the chance to start, and it would be okay. In time, sure, but it would be okay.
When you got home that night, you remembered the present in your bag. It was wrapped neatly, too neatly for what you’d assumed Roy was capable of, and topped off with a small card. You opened it in the darkness of your bedroom and read the words slowly.
Just another thing to remind you of home. Roy.
You swallowed away the want to cry and opened the gift. Inside a small box was a strip of four photos, the kind you get from a photobooth. You stared at them in awe, flashing back to the night in which they’d been taken– a month before your departure from the club.
Yourself, Ted, Roy and Sam were shoved uncomfortably into a photobooth in a local Richmond night-club. The four of you were squished beyond belief, but that didn’t stop you from thinking of it fondly. A drunk and impromptu night, right before the beginning of Roy’s troubles with playing the game. It had been your idea to get everyone into the booth, and you’d practically dragged Roy in against his will. You and he were shoved into one corner so badly that you’d practically had to sit on his lap. Sam sat on Ted’s lap beside you, and they smiled together into the camera. Each photo showcased a different laugh, a different smile, but not from Roy– until the last picture.
That’s when you’d draped your arm around his shoulder and looked at him face on. He’d looked back, and, in that millisecond of softness behind his eyes, the photo had been snapped.
You’d totally forgotten about that moment, had never actually seen the photos until now. Roy had picked them up. He’d kept them all to himself for this long. Even after the end of his career, his time at Richmond, all of it. He’d kept them.
It had been there once, the possibility of something. It had been there more than once. You and Roy, Roy and you. It was snapped up in moments like then that you hadn’t realised until the end of his career. He may not have realised it either, until that time in his Jeep where feelings had seeped into the leather of those fancy car seats.
There was only so much you could think of the what could have been before it all became too much. The one that got away, the right person, wrong time, whatever it was. You’d been thinking about all of that since after the double date, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore.
There was nothing you could do about it but move on. You couldn’t ponder or think in hindsight or imagine a different possibility. You had to move forward, and that’s what you were taking his gift as. Recognition that it was there, but now it was gone.
You clutched the photo strip to your heart, just for a moment, and then you let it go. Perhaps this was exactly what you’d needed. Perhaps it was what Roy had needed, too. In some backwards way, it made everything clearer. There was no bad blood and there never would be. Your feelings were free, and a weight had lifted from your shoulders.
At the end of the day, you’d run after Roy Kent once, and it had still resulted in this outcome. At the end of the day, you’d both confronted what you felt and still picked the option that was best.
For the first time in a month you slept soundly, without thoughts that rattled around your head. Your mind was clear, so was your heart. Christmas in Richmond had finally come to a fucking close.
A few weeks into the new year, Roy Kent was restless. His routine was static now. The constant grind of getting up, of filming, of dealing with the press. He was still a favourite on the telly, and you still watched him religiously. Alongside your own sluggish work, getting home to a new episode of Soccer Saturday spurred you forward. It kept you in the loop, in the know, and despite Roy being on the other end of the television screen, it kept you in his life.
Pluto Press had become worse. There was no reason for you to deny it, and no way you even could. You’d been there for eight months now, and were very much out of the honeymoon phase. You hadn’t touched your novel since before Christmas, and you were feeling the repercussions of it.
On the other side, Roy was feeling that same shift. The disconnect from the football world was grating on him more and more, and with every match missed or only seen from the insides of a studio, parts of him were disintegrating alongside.
He texted you a lot.
Jeff won’t stop talking about his wife. I can’t fucking stand it.
Did you watch last week's game? I can’t believe Bumbercatch scored that shoddy fucking goal.
Isaac is really struggling right now, isn’t he?
You replied to them all, because Roy was always right about football to an extent. You’d noticed it, too. Isaac McAdoo’s sudden struggle with being captain. The pressure that was placed upon his shoulders last season suddenly came to light.
At every game you saw live, you noticed it even more. Perhaps that was a knowledge that Roy wouldn’t ever have now, but only saw over VTs.
During the final week of January, you grabbed lunch with Sam. Sat opposite him in a small Richmond cafe, something lurked in the air. He scanned his menu a dozen times before he picked something, and smiled whenever he caught your eye, but you knew something was up.
“Hey.” You reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “What’s up?” you asked sincerely.
Sam let out a long sigh, and his shoulders collapsed. “Truthfully, I cannot pinpoint it. We are doing well in the FA Cup, the days are starting to get longer, yet I feel this immense pressure that I cannot explain.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. “Richmond are under a lot of pressure. I’m not surprised that you’re feeling it as a player.”
“It’s Isaac, too,” Sam said smally. “He has not been himself for a month now. We’ve tried to help him, to reassure him and show him how hard we’re working, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking in.”
You retracted your hand and went for your glass of wine instead. “Hm,” you hummed.
Sam’s eyes widened. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”
You nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “He’s overthinking it all. I can see it as clear as fucking day.”
“I know. I just wish he could see it, too, so he could start easing the reins. He has been tough to be around, you know.”
“How so?”
“During debriefs, he yells at us. On the pitch it’s even worse. You saw him during our last game.”
You thought back to Richmond’s match from the week prior, where Isaac had started on Colin after a missed assist. He wasn’t himself in the slightest, and his team were trying and failing to deal with the repercussions.
“What’s Ted doing about it?”
Sam shook his head. “I do not know, but I hope he does something soon. We are up against Leicester City next week, and we need to be ready for it.”
You smiled at him apologetically, trying to offer hands on support. There was nothing you could do to fix this for the guys, which was always a hard pill to swallow. You missed them so vibrantly. Half of your days at work were spent thinking about the next time you’d get to watch them all play, or drop by during training, or see them like this with Sam; outside of the office or the stadium.
“Anyway– enough about football. How are you doing? How’s work?”
You grimaced immediately, but tried to hide it by taking a large gulp of your wine.
Sam saw through your facade, and frowned immediately. “Is it that bad?”
You slammed your glass on the table. “Define bad?”
Sam copied your grimace, but sat higher in his chair. “Come on, lay it on me.”
You sighed deeply, and readied yourself to word vomit all over the table. “It’s not even the hours, or the commute, it’s everything else. They delegate work to me like I’m two levels higher than my current position, and sure, it’s nice that they trust me for that, but what I’m paid hardly covers my job description, let alone the extra work. I have no time to write anymore, my boss is a creep, my colleagues never want to grab a drink after work anymore, the centre of London fucking sucks, and– well–”
You inhaled, paused, and exhaled again.
“It’s not AFC Richmond. It’s not you guys.”
Sam’s smile filled you with warmth, and it was his turn to reach across the table for your hand. He squeezed your fingers affectionately, and you thought about whether or not to tell him about Roy. It was probably best not to divulge everything to him, not because you thought he’d spill to the team, but because you were trying to move on still.
Still.
“You know you are always welcome at Nelson Road. We miss you too.”
“God, that just makes it worse.” You dropped your head into your free hand. “I know Rebecca would find a job at the club for me in a heartbeat, but Keeley has taken over my role and is so much better at it. She deserves the spot more than I do, and I just– I can’t fathom asking for favours.”
“What about Roy?” Sam asked, and your body stalled. You sat up straight, and slid your fingers away from him quickly.
“What about Roy?” you repeated.
“Is there nothing you could do for him? You know, a personal assistant, or his agent, or something like that.”
You snorted immediately. “Are you joking?”
Sam smiled in amusement. “I’m just saying it could be a good opportunity,” he joked.
“Oh, fuck off,” you huffed.
“You have always been an unlikely pair, you and Roy,” he said. “You make a good team. Plus, I have never seen someone put him in his place like you have. It takes a strong person to do that.”
“Enough,” you said, smiling. You finished off your wine and looked sadly at your empty glass. “I need another fucking drink.”
“Get a bottle,” Sam said. You perked your brows at him excitedly. “I have– what is it called?- gossip.”
“Sam Obisanya has gossip. What the hell has been going on?”
Sam shuffled on his chair in excitement, and your heart melted. You loved him so. “Keeley encouraged all of the players to get this dating app–”
“Bantr,” you said the name before Sam even could.
“Ah, she has got to you, too.”
“Long ago. But go on.” You rested your elbows on the table and dropped your chin into your hands, ready to hear everything.
“Well, I have been talking to someone.”
“Someone,” you repeated, widening your eyes.
“Yes. And, well, she is intelligent and smart and loves literature.”
“Awh, Sam!” You almost exploded out of your seat, too full of excited energy to care about others sitting around you in the cafe. “Have you met up yet?”
“No, not yet. But I hope to ask her soon. The guys are being very supportive.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell me all the gory details when you finally meet up.” You grinned at him mischievously, and he slapped your arm playfully.
“I don’t kiss and tell!”
“For me, Sam Obisanya, you will kiss and tell.”
For the remainder of lunch, you and Sam gabbed like you’d known each other since you were children. It always felt foreign whenever you were reminded of just how little time had passed. You’d only known the guys for less than two years, yet Richmond and the team had become your home. You’d only known Roy for that same amount of time, and… well. Look what happened there.
In fact, not to your knowledge, these same thoughts littered the minds of every member of AFC Richmond alike, every once in a while. For Rebecca, she thought of her departure from Rupert, and how much she’d grown in that time without him. For Keeley, she thought of her career, and what else she could do to open doors for herself as a businesswoman. For Isaac, he thought of his leadership, and how he’d never be able to replace the likes of Roy Kent.
And for Roy– he thought of you, and what he’d halted before it’d even started. He thought of Richmond, his old team, and what he’d left behind after he’d all but abandoned them.
Secretly, Ted thought of Roy, too. He thought of picking up his phone and texting him, he thought of asking for his help while Isaac struggled to see the bigger picture of the game. Ted’s thoughts soon became reality, and then it was too late to take back the text that he chose to send to the ex-Richmond captain.
A few weeks later on your way back from work one Friday, battered and bruised both physically and metaphorically, you caved. You got out your phone and clicked the call button next to Roy’s name, not even thinking twice about it.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey,” he said softly, as soft as Roy Kent could possibly say anything.
“Hey,” you spluttered, smiling to yourself.
“Hey,” he repeated, both of you at a loss for words just a tad. You hadn’t called each other many times, and never without a warning text beforehand.
“We should probably stop saying ‘hey’ before it becomes an endless cycle.”
“Hey,” Roy said again, and you giggled down the phone. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“Long day– week– at work, and I’m in desperate need of a drink with someone that doesn’t care about useless things like gossip, or shit reality telly, or… or…” Your mind went blank.
“Two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.” Roy finished your sentence.
“Exactly! Useless!” you exclaimed.
“A drink sounds lovely,” Roy began. “But, I can’t tonight.”
You stopped walking suddenly, overcome by disappointment. You swallowed back the urge to cry just a little, but crying about Roy being too busy this evening to go for a pint was fucking crazy. You weren’t crazy, and you blamed it all on the general lack of sleep and emotional trauma from your fucking day job.
Instead, you opted for a joke. “Got a hot date?” you asked, panicking slightly. Roy growled lowly. Evidently, it had not been funny. “Okay, so no date, then.” You attempted to save yourself.
Roy thought to himself, sat on his sofa in his gym gear about to leave his house– what could he actually tell you? This evening, he’d agreed to meet Ted and Isaac to impart some wisdom onto them in an attempt to help Richmond at their next game. This was the closest Roy had come to being around AFC Richmond since he’d retired, and he knew you’d latch onto that idea immediately.
Perhaps, a lie was best. Perhaps, it was easier this way.
“No, you’re right,” he said convincingly. “I am going on a hot date.”
“Oh,” you let out. You didn’t mean for it to sound so sad, or for your voice to be so coarse. It just slipped out like that. You coughed dryly. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, trying to save this trainwreck of a conversation, and a poorly made joke that you couldn’t actually believe was real.
Roy was dating. Four months since he’d shut you and he down, and he was back to dating.
“I need to go soon, actually.” Roy knew he’d fucked up. “But– how about next Friday?”
Truth be told, you’d love to say yes to his offer. Inside, however, you were deeply raging. It wasn’t the fact that you hadn’t had sex in borderline two years, or that Roy had moved on far quicker than you had since before Christmas, it was because he actually had a fucking date. And you didn’t.
Or, perhaps, you did.
“I can’t,” you blurted. “I actually have a date, too.” Jesus, you should have gone to school for Drama. You started walking again as you felt something that resembled confidence surge through you. You wouldn’t let Roy win, not this time around. Sure, there was nothing there anymore in ways of romance or more, but there was still competition.
“Oh, right.” Without meaning to, Roy said exactly the same as you had.
“He’s not much of a football fan, either. It’s quite refreshing.” You lied.
Roy stood up from his sofa as fast as humanly possible. “What?” he almost bellowed it. “Well, he sounds boring as fuck. Great job.”
“Well, my previous experiences with footballers haven’t exactly gone perfectly, have they?” you said smugly.
Roy short-circuited in his living room. To anyone that saw him from outside, he’d look like a statue about to fall off its perch. “I– well. You–”
“Am I wrong?” You knew you’d got to him.
Roy breathed in deeply through his nose. “No. Now fuck off,” he said sternly. “Have a good evening.”
“Have a good date!” you yelled in amusement, before Roy hung up the phone immediately after.
You strolled back from Richmond underground station with a smile on your face. With each passing day, things between you had got easier. In some weird way, talking about dating other people had allowed a barrier to descend. Friends. Good friends. You were content with that.
The Saturday after, you entered the Dogtrack on a particularly cold afternoon in February. The air cut you deep to your core, but the buzz of electricity from the approaching match was enough to warm you. AFC Richmond were still very much contenders in the FA cup, but McAdoo’s captain tactics had still been subpar at their last game.
As you made your way to the home box, you prayed that he’d eased the reins. Football was a game after all, and you missed seeing that spark in Isaac’s eyes whenever the ball came into his corner. Rebecca and Keeley were talking away as you sat in your seat, too engrossed in conversation to notice your arrival.
“Ted said it was a success, so I guess we just have to believe him,” Rebecca said.
“Good on Roy, though! It’s been fucking months since he’d even stepped foot on a proper football pitch,” Keeley said jovially.
“What’s this about Roy on a football pitch?” you questioned, crossing your legs to get comfortable. Keeley twisted herself to face you happily, wrapping her arms around your neck in greeting. “Hi, babes,” you whispered to her fondly.
“Roy didn’t tell you?” Rebecca replied. “Last Friday, he helped Ted with the Isaac problem.”
Keeley sat back in her seat once more, tightening the Richmond scarf around her neck warmly. “We’ve nicknamed it the Isaac problem. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”
Last Friday. Last Friday night. You sighed heavily and raised your shoulders to your ears from a lack of what else to do. “Well, I’m sure Ted was a very hot date,” you muttered.
Rebecca and Keeley caught eyes confusedly. “What?” they said simultaneously.
You waved your hand at them. “Nothing. I’m just an idiot. Nothing new.”
Keeley found your hand quickly. “Everything alright, babes?”
You nodded at her, softening your expression. “Yeah, yeah. Just been a long few weeks at the office.”
“God, you need to get the fuck out of there.” Rebecca crossed her legs strongly, raising her chin. “You know, I could speak to admin and see if there’s space–”
“Rebecca,” you interrupted her.
She waved her hand this time, brushing off your sternness. “I know. It’s fine.”
“Let’s just watch the match, okay?” you leant over Keeley to grab Rebecca’s hand. “It’s positive that Roy helped Isaac out, he’s got heaps of experience being captain here to have done something. And it’s… well.” You smiled to yourself. “It’s good that he’s back around the game a bit more, isn’t it?”
Rebecca patted your palm. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
The three of you settled into your seats in comfortable silence, feeling the growing roar of fans as the time until kick-off loomed ever closer. You surveyed the pitch before you, noticing the thin layer of frost on the green grass, the white breath of ten-thousand fans, the blue tint of the sky as if colour graded by an expert film editor.
You always associated the Richmond team colours with one person, not the entire team as a unit: Roy. It was Roy you’d first met almost two years ago in that car park out the front of the training facility. Sure, he was wearing black as is his custom, but when you’d spotted him in his football kit on the field, the colours were forever imprinted behind your eyelids. The reds and blues all over the Dogtrack, the blue letters on Ted’s believe poster, the number six above Roy’s all cubby. He was everywhere. He was everywhere around you.
But, he wasn’t here today. He hadn’t been to an actual Greyhounds’ game since his retirement. He hadn’t stepped foot on the grounds, or spoken more than a few chaste words to Ted and Beard in the city– he’d only really spoken to you. And you weren’t a part of Richmond anymore, not really. You didn’t have an office a few doors down from the locker room anymore, you didn’t have lunch with Rebecca with too much wine involved for a working day, you didn’t have Roy.
All of a sudden, your chest compressed painfully. Your heart rate accelerated, your breathing spiked. You felt sick, ill, like you could easily sit on the cold concrete of the stands and never stand up again. You didn’t know why it’d taken you so long to realise that everything had changed, and you could have sworn you’d felt the shifts from last year when they’d all happened. If that was the case, then why now, why here, did you feel so utterly alone that you could hardly stand it?
You’d moved past this! You’d settled somewhere new, with new people, in a different, grey part of the city. You’d adapted to the ways you’d still fit in– lunches, quick drinks, impromptu visits to Roy’s or Mae’s or Keeley’s or whatever. That’s how it all worked for you, and it had been doing so since last year. So, why now?
“Babes.” Keeley grabbed your hand swiftly. “Are you okay?” she questioned, but you didn’t have the emotional capacity to look her or Rebecca in the eyes. You knew you’d burst if you did.
“Darling.” Rebecca leant closer to you. “Breathe. Just breathe, sweetheart.”
They watched as you broke down in the stands again, not four months after Roy had broken things the first time. Now, this was a different ball game. Complete and utter rejection of the life you thought you’d finally made for yourself, by yourself. A life that wasn’t actually what you fucking wanted anymore. It was all shit. This was all shit.
You sucked in a stuttering breath. “I don’t think I can be here right now,” you said coarsely.
Rebecca and Keeley nodded quickly. “Okay, what do you need? To go inside? To wait for the game to be over?” Rebecca said.
“To go.” You gulped down a large breath. “To go now.”
“Okay,” Keeley said strongly. “Go, babes. Do what you need to do.”
You got up as quickly as you’d sat down, and started towards the inside of the stadium. You moved slowly, needing to clutch your hand to your heart at the halfway mark just to make sure it was still beating. Anyone could see this was a panic attack, but you didn’t want to admit that things had gotten this bad. The culmination of everything finally hit you in the face. Innately, you’d known this was going to happen, but you didn’t think it’d happen here. Your home.
The crowd growing louder didn’t exactly help, but when they cheered suddenly at the teams arriving on the field, you could feel the vibrations within you. You could feel your blood, your flesh, your heart beating. You shut your eyes and breathed it all in, not daring to turn around and look at the pitch.
Then, the cheering increased. They were screaming, yelling, exclaiming, doing whatever football fans did when something big happened. Had someone scored already? That wasn’t possible– kick-off was another thirty seconds away.
“Oh my fucking God!” Keeley jumped up from her seat immediately and bound towards you. “Babes.” She gripped your shoulders gently. “You might want to turn around.”
“I just need a minute,” you said, calming down slightly.
“No, I think you’re really gonna want to see this,” she tried again. “Come on, just one small look, and then you can go wherever you need to go for some peace.”
Reluctantly, you followed her instructions. You turned back towards the pitch, overseeing the players in their starting positions, the ball not yet in play. The fans weren’t yelling at the team, they were screaming at something– someone– else.
As your eyes focused, you realised what you were seeing.
Adrenaline spiked through your blood, as invigorating as an ice pick to a frozen heart. You lunged towards the home box wall, gripping your fingers over the edge as you looked down at him. As if on cue, Roy Kent tilted his head to the stands in search of you. When he found you, he stopped. He smiled. Your frozen heart shattered instantly.
“I’ll be right back,” you told Rebecca and Keeley. Then, quite stupidly, you jumped the wall of the home box and into the stands.
“Hey!” Keeley.
“Be fucking careful!” Rebecca.
As soon as your feet hit solid concrete, you ran down the steps of the stands without a second thought. That’s when you heard it all– his chant.
He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where, Roy Kent! Roy Kent!
It echoed throughout the pitch like a homecoming song. It hadn’t been heard here since last May, when Roy hobbled off the pitch during his last game of football ever.
“Roy!” you yelled. You didn’t think he’d hear over the immense noise, but he turned back to you immediately. Almost like he’d been listening out for you this entire time.
Roy paced it to your side of the stands, past Ted and Beard, past the guys on the pitch, past the incessant roar around him. You did the same, descending more stairs each time you stepped forward. When you reached the last few, you jumped them, bombarding into the locked gate at the bottom barrier.
Roy caught you by the shoulders before you folded in half like a lawn chair. His grip sprouted those same colours in your mind– blue, red, blue, red, blue, red.
“Thanks for dropping by,” Roy said, smiling so excitedly that you could hardly believe what was happening.
“I could say the same for you, you know,” you replied, utterly overcome.
“Turns out I missed it here. Just like you, I missed it here.” His thumbs gently rubbed your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine.
“We missed you, too.” You wrapped your fingers around his forearms, just as an excuse to hold him a bit longer.
“Coach!” Ted yelled from twenty metres away. You caught his eye quickly, and you knew the game was about the start. Roy heard him, too, but didn’t move a muscle.
“Go. You have a team to coach.” You pushed Roy ever so slightly, just a small nudge to remind him of where and what he was. A coach at AFC Richmond. “Go!” you chuckled, pushing him gently in his chest this time.
Roy sent you one last colossal smile, then dipped forward to place a warm kiss on your cheek. He bound away as soon as he had, and jogged back to Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The stadium erupted as the whistle blew, signifying the start of a new era for the Greyhounds, and perhaps– for you, too.
Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective father, angst, maybe some slut-shaming
A/N: Thank you for all the love you've shown this story! Let's consider this a "mid-season finale" of sorts. I'm currently working on the second half of this story, and once it's complete I'll resume posting it. Feel free to send asks and questions about the Chelsea!Roy universe in the meantime; it seriously keeps me motivated!
(And thank you to @kissykissymouth for the chapter title!)
“Let’s go, Roy-o!” you shrieked from your seat as the announcers called his name in those booming voices that echoed through the stadium.
Katie rolled her eyes playfully as she clapped along with the roaring crowd. “You are the most obvious human being I’ve ever met, you know that?”
“I can afford to be obvious now,” you said with a smile. When Katie quirked a curious eyebrow at you, you leaned in close. “He asked me to make things official last night.” You sounded like a silly little teenage girl, all giddy and delighted over a boy, and you didn’t care one bit. “To be his girlfriend. To stay together even after I’m back at uni. That whole thing.”
Her smile was soft and genuine. “Oh, that’s so great!” she gushed as she grabbed your hand. “Now we can plan some real double dates. Go out on the town, all four of us.” Her glee faded as she studied you for a moment. “But what about your-”
“We’re telling him after the match.” For the first time since Roy climbed back out your window in the early hours of the morning, you felt confident in the idea of telling your dad. This wasn’t just a summer fling anymore; it was something real, something that would hopefully last.
And your dad was going to have to figure out how to deal with it.
Katie let out a low whistle. “Well, good luck with that,” she hummed, giving your hand a squeeze. “Let me know if you need help planning Kent’s funeral.”
You gave her a friendly shove and turned your attention back to the pitch, not bothering to hide the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Roy. In a few hours, your dad would know, and there would be no reason to keep anything a secret from anyone. You’d be able to come to every match and proudly wear Roy's name on your back, the way all the wives and girlfriends did, and wrap your arms around him when he emerged fresh from the showers. He could take you to post-match celebrations and charity events and any of the fabulous places a fella like him would take his girl. And you’d be able to bring him home, have him spend time with your family, properly introduce him to your mates.
As long as your dad didn’t kill Roy first.
~
After the match- a flawless 4-0 Chelsea victory, much to your relief- you lingered by Katie’s side to wait for the men to come out of the changing room. When was the last time your palms were this sweaty or your heart raced this fast? Every time a player walked out the door, your mouth went dry, wondering when it would be Roy. Somehow, you just knew that his sparkling brown eyes would be enough to calm all your nerves.
Jules emerged with a smirk on his face. After kissing his wife, he quirked an eyebrow at you. “Kent’s pretty jealous.”
“What makes you say that?” you huffed, pretending you weren’t utterly pleased at the mere mention of Roy's name.
Jules tugged on the sleeve of your kit playfully. “Apparently he doesn’t like that you wore my kit instead of his today.” He quirked his eyebrow. “Mumbled something about his girlfriend being unsupportive already.” His eyes shifted to a grinning Katie before returning to you. “Want to explain to me why the hell Kent’s calling you his girlfriend, princess?”
“Because she fucking is.” Roy smirked down at you, his fingertips twitching as he shot you a wink. “And at our next match, there better be a six on your back, gorgeous.”
You beamed up at him. “You were great today, Kent.” Fuck, you wished you could grab him and kiss that smirk. Next time, you promised yourself as the two of you batted your eyes at each other, probably making the married couple roll their own eyes. Next time you’d be wearing his kit, and you’d be able to greet him with a girlish squeal and a kiss. You’d get to finally be Roy Kent’s girl.
All you had to do was break the news to your dad.
“Your dad’s already in his press conference,” Roy murmured with raised eyebrows. “Should we… go wait in his office?”
There was that dryness in your throat again. “Yeah,” you managed, blinking rapidly. “Guess we should.” You offered Katie and Jules a tight smile. “We’ll see you guys later.”
“Good luck,” Katie called in a sing-song voice as you and Roy turned to walk down to the coaching offices.
Sure enough, your dad’s office was empty and dark. You flipped on the light and turned on his television, greeted by his face as he sat in front of the crowd of reporters. His normally stern expression was relaxed as he answered questions about the match, clearly glowing from such a great win. If there was ever a day to tell him that you were dating his completely off-limits star midfielder, it was today.
Roy leaned against the edge of your dad’s desk, next to the framed photo of you and your brother that sat by your dad’s computer. Roy took your hand and tugged you to stand close to him, pressing the tiniest kiss to your temple as his thumb stroked the back of your hand.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he whispered.
You gulped and nodded, keeping your eyes trained on your dad’s face. “I know.”
“-performed very well today,” your dad was saying as he picked up the water bottle that sat beside a microphone. “For goodness’ sake, the man scored two goals today. Don’t know what all this is about a slump. I hope all the fellas fall into this kind of a slump.” He chuckled good-naturedly and pointed off-camera. “Next question.”
“Moving on from today’s match,” a cautious voice called out. “Coach, what d’you have to say about those photos of Roy Kent and…” The reporter cleared his throat. “… your daughter?”
For a moment, your father’s face was bright red as he set down the unopened water bottle. “I’m sorry?”
Your blood ran cold while the reporter continued. “There are photos of them at a casino. They were with, uh, Jules and his wife.” He cleared his throat again. “They were quite cozy.”
“Fuck.” Roy squeezed your hand and tore his eyes away from the television. “I-”
“I don’t comment on my players’ private lives.” Your dad’s jaw was tight as he sat up at his full height. “Especially Roy Kent.” His laugh rang hollow in your ears. “If I commented on every rumor about that kid’s love life, I’d never have time to manage this team.” He moved to stand, not quite looking at the camera. “Now, if there’s no more football-related questions, I think we’re done here.”
Roy let out a low growl and switched the telly off. “Well, fuck.”
“You should leave,” you murmured, looking into Roy’s panicked eyes. “Seriously, Roy. This is so much worse than we thought. It might be better if you go.”
He shook his head. “Fuck no.” He let go of your hand in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist. “We said we’re doing this together,” he said slowly. “So, we’re doing this together. I’m not going to be the kind of prick who runs away when things get hard.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “And this is going to be so fucking hard.”
The two of you flinched when you heard doors slam and feet stomping. Instinctively, Roy removed his hand from your hip, but he stayed close enough for you to feel his warmth. A smart move, you had to admit. A smarter move would be for him to run away from Stamford Bridge altogether, to never speak to you again, but you were glad he stayed. Something besides fear swelled in your heart when you realized that Roy was sticking by your side, even in the face of your father.
Your father, whose raised voice you could hear down the hall. “Where the hell is my kid? And where the fuck is Kent?”
Your entire body trembled as his footsteps came closer, finally stopping in front of the open door of his office. His eyes widened when he took in the sight of you, standing far too close to Roy Kent in the office that held framed photos of your childhood and crayon drawings from over a decade ago. He stormed in, ignoring you in favor of grabbing Roy by his t-shirt.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Kent?” he barked. “All the fucking models and actresses in London, and you decide to shag my daughter?”
Roy shook his head frantically, hands up in defense. “Coach, it’s not like that-”
“Get the fuck out, Kent.” He released Roy and pointed to the door. “Before I take a real good look at your contract.”
You found your voice. “Daddy,” you said shakily. “Roy’s not going anywhere.” You reached down and intertwined your fingers with Roy's, ignoring the player's wide eyes. “We’re dating, Dad. Me and Roy.” You gave Roy’s hand a squeeze. “We-”
“One rule.” Your dad’s voice was low, filled with anger. “I had one rule for you hanging around here. No. Footballers.” He pointed at Roy. “Especially that one.” He shook his head at you. “What were you thinking?"
“I’m thinking I care about Roy and he cares about me.” You gripped Roy’s hand like it was a lifesaver. “And I’m thinking I’m an adult. You can’t tell me who I can and can’t date. I’m not sixteen anymore.”
Your dad’s eyes were full of rage and pain as he stared at you, looking at you like you were a complete stranger. “You’re sure acting sixteen, sneaking around behind my back.” He shook his head, eyeing Roy with disgust. “But you’re right. You’re apparently all grown up now. Do what the fuck you want.” He grabbed his bag from behind his desk and made his way to the door. “Besides, you’ll be back at school soon enough.” His gaze was steely, lacking any of the usual affection he sent your way. “And Kent’ll be back to his normal self. Once you're gone, he'll be right back to his models. Maybe then you’ll realize I was right about him all along.”
Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader
2.6k words
Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, some angst & miscommunication, heavy kissing, romantic & sappy Roy
Surprise, surprise, it was midnight, and you couldn’t sleep.
Maybe you were hungry; you’d skipped out not just on Roy’s dinner, but also your mum’s lasagna. Maybe it was the anxiety of school looming. Maybe it was your crushed heart. Maybe it was your phone continuously going off, Roy’s name lighting up on the screen.
Or maybe it was the incessant knocking at your window.
With a sigh, you climbed out of bed and walked over to the closed window. Sure enough, there was Roy, perched on a branch, looking just pathetic enough to still be gorgeous in the moonlight.
Tugging down your t-shirt to cover your thighs, you opened the window just enough to talk- but not enough to let Roy in. “What?” you hissed, not your usual greeting when you found the footballer outside your room.
Your tone hit him like a slap, sending a wince across his handsome face. “I needed to see you,” he said simply. “Can I come in?”
If you let him in, you’d kiss him. You’d hold him. You’d lay in your bed with him for hours. You’d act like nothing was wrong.
“Not tonight, Kent,” you sighed, picking at the chipped paint of your windowsill. “I’m tired.”
“Princess.” His voice was a whine, something you had never heard. The sound of it had your harsh resolve beginning to crumble. “Fuck’s going on with you?” He carefully reached out and laid his hand on top of yours; you told yourself you didn’t yank it away because you didn’t want to make him fall. But you knew deep down it was because, after a day of avoiding the man, you missed the warmth of his touch.
Still, enough resolve remained to have you shaking your head. “Roy-”
“I don’t have to come in.” His eyes were wide when he saw that miniscule chink in your armor. “Come outside. We can sit in my car and talk.” He squeezed your hand. “Just talk. I swear.” The tiniest smile appeared on his face, just cocky enough that your heart skipped a beat. “I can only stay in this fucking tree for so long. Can’t have me breaking my leg and letting the team down, can we?”
It took every ounce of your strength to not return his smile. Instead, you threw a sweatshirt on over your shirt and shorts and pulled on a pair of trainers. You followed Roy down the tree, going slower than you normally would, and avoided the hand he offered to help you dismount. Even though the deep frown on his face betrayed the confusion and hurt he was feeling, he didn’t say a word as the two of you disappeared through the garden gate you’d snuck through countless times this summer.
Your heart ached as you climbed into the passenger seat of his car, the seat you thought of as ‘yours’ at this point. The seat you had pictured yourself sitting in as Roy drove around Southampton when he visited you at school, the seat you saw yourself in when you drove to the “anywhere” Roy had suggested at the casino.
Normally, Roy would drive around aimlessly, just wasting time together. Tonight, however, Roy simply parked his car a few blocks over, just far enough away to avoid being recognized by anyone who would happen to be out at this late hour.
Once the car stopped and the lights were off, he turned to face you, laying a timid hand on your knee. When he realized that you weren’t pushing him away, he opened his mouth. “What’s wrong, babe?”
Immediately, tears stung your eyes. “Don’t call me babe,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut and swallowing hard.
“Why not?” His voice was strangled and full of pain.
You opened your eyes and gazed at him, cursing the streetlights and moon for illuminating his miserable, beautiful face so perfectly. “Because I don’t think your girl would like that,” you said bitterly.
His face crumpled in confusion. “My girl? What the fuck are you on about?” He gave your knee a gentle squeeze. “You’re my girl.”
Before you could help yourself, that actress’s name tumbled out of your mouth, your voice filled with venom and sharpness. When Roy frowned, his face even more contorted, you sighed and shook your head. “I saw your picture in the paper,” you spat. “Apparently the two of you were quite cozy the other night, talking and laughing.”
The tiniest smile shone on Roy’s face; the painfully angry part of you wanted to slap it off of him. But the eagerness and sudden hope in his eyes had you wanting to listen to what he had to say. “We were in the paper, eh?” He shook his head. “Yeah, we were talking for a bit. We’ve met a few times, she’s actually very nice.” He held your gaze steadily as he went on. “That night, she was asking about one of the guys on the team. Wanted to know if he’s single and if I’d introduce them.” His hand left your knee to cup your face. “She also asked me where my girlfriend was,” he said slowly. “Said she keeps hearing rumors I've been seeing someone. And I realized… I didn’t know how to answer that.” His gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “What I wanted to say was that my girlfriend was at home, and that I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the club so I could see her beautiful face.” He shrugged, his thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I mean, technically I don't have a girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
That was all you could manage. Roy’s words had your head spinning. The actress was a friend. You were his girl. He thought of you as something pretty close to a girlfriend.
Roy raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh?” he repeated with a small chuckle. He leaned close, keeping his hand on your suddenly warm cheek. “So that’s why you were so cross with me today, hmm? Chelsea’s little princess was fucking jealous?” He pressed a tiny peck to your nose. “Why didn’t you just say so, babe?”
His gentle, teasing tone melted away the last bits of your resentment. You softened into his touch, your eyes fluttering when you saw all the affection coloring his face. “I… I didn’t know how to say it,” you admitted. “I wasn’t sure if I had the right to be jealous.”
“Hmm.” Roy stroked your face, his own expression growing softer by the moment. “That was… kind of why I wanted you to come over tonight.” He sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. “Thought we should talk about… whether or not I have a girlfriend.”
You shifted in your seat, careful not to lose the warmth of Roy’s palm pressed to your cheek. “I… was kind of hoping to have that same conversation.” You caught your lower lip between your teeth. “Until I saw those photos, I mean.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, not sure how much longer you could keep looking into those brown eyes before you exploded. “What happens, Roy?” Your voice was the tiniest whisper. “When I go back to school?”
He sighed, his breath ghosting over your lips. “If I’m being really fucking honest,” he started slowly, “when this… thing started, I thought it would just be some fun until you went back to school.” His nose was brushing against yours now. “But I don’t want that, princess. I want you to be mine when you’re back at Southampton.” His voice was a low growl, the kind that always made your toes curl. “I want you to call me and tell me about your day. I want you to come to my matches and wear only my kit. I want to meet your mates and earn their approval. I want to take you on proper dates. I want to come visit you and pay your tab at the campus pub.” He groaned quietly, as if being so close to you was torturing him. “What do you want?”
“You, you idiot,” you breathed, finally closing the gap between your mouths.
Even though it had only been about a day without his lips on yours, it felt like ages since you tasted that delicious Roy taste. His mouth moved in sync with yours, as though they were made for each other. Just as you were ready to deepen the kiss- and maybe finally add Roy’s car to the list of places the two of you had exposed to your more adult pastimes- Roy pulled back, sloppy smile on his face.
“I, uh, have something for you.” He reached into the backseat and rummaged around until he grabbed something flat. He handed it to you with a shy chuckle. “It was supposed to be a little going-away gift once you were headed back to school but…” He shrugged.
You looked down at what Roy had handed you. It was a CD, you realized with raised eyebrows. In the dim light from a nearby streetlamp, you could make out the scribbled words: For when you miss me as much as I miss you.
A lump formed in your throat as you looked back at Roy. “You made me a mix CD?”
He shrugged and stroked your hair tenderly. “Well, my date cancelled on me and wouldn’t answer my fucking calls. I had some free time this evening.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Still haven’t answered my question,” he hummed.
You blinked as you turned the case over in your hands. “What question?”
“Do I have a girlfriend?”
It was hard to believe that not even an hour ago, you were ignoring this man’s phone calls and refusing to let him climb through your bedroom window. Now, you were in his car, holding the mix CD he’d made for you and listening to him ask you to be his girlfriend.
Maybe you were a princess. It sure as hell felt like you were living in a fairytale.
“Yeah, Kent,” you giggled. “I think you’ve got a girlfriend.”
Roy’s smile was bright and so fucking perfect. Both of his hands cradled your face to tug you to him so he could kiss you, slow and adoringly. His smile felt heavenly against your own, a feeling you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to. But now you knew you had all the time in the world to at least try to get familiar with the feeling.
You pulled back with a smirk, waving the CD in the air. “Do I get to listen to this now, or do I have to wait?"
Bashfulness suddenly covered Roy’s face as he took the CD out of your hand. “One song,” he growled, turning his car back on. “I want the rest to be, I don’t fucking know, a surprise or something.” He inserted the disc into the CD player and let the first song play. A slow Matchbox Twenty song filled the car as Roy pulled you back to himself, attaching his mouth to yours with ease. He kept pulling, kept tugging, until you were out of your seat and on his lap, never breaking the kiss once. You moaned softly against his mouth, flicking your tongue against his lips. His hands moved to the curve of your ass, gripping tight, as if he was scared you’d disappear at any moment.
“Roy,” you whimpered as his mouth travelled down your jaw, planting sloppy, happy little kisses to your skin. You felt bold enough to grind down on his lap, wondering if he’d be willing to take you to his place tonight. Or maybe even break his pants rule up in your bedroom. Something told you that Roy was feeling happy and infatuated enough to say yes to anything Chelsea’s princess wanted.
You barely noticed the song come to an end and make way to another tune. But Roy certainly did. He reached around you to turn off the CD player, shooting you a teasing grin when he saw your pout.
“Save it,” he said simply. “When you’re back at school, and you miss me- because you will fucking miss me-” You rolled your eyes, as if you weren’t completely turned on by his cockiness. “-I want you to play this and remember that I am missing you just as fucking much.” He pressed a kiss to your nose. “Maybe even more.”
~
It should have been much more surprising that Roy followed you up the tree and into your bed. While he was still, unfortunately, determined not to take his pants off under the same roof your father slept under, he had no problems letting you lay your head on his chest and lazily wrap your leg around him. His grip on you was warm and tight, exactly the way you liked it, and his fingers toyed with your hair absently.
“Oi.”
You tilted your face towards him, chin just above his heart. “Yeah?” You knew your smile was sleepy and sentimental, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by it.
Roy, on the other hand, looked pretty damn serious for a man who had just asked you to be his girlfriend. “We should…” He glanced up at the ceiling, letting out one of those growling sighs that you usually loved. “… tell your dad.”
Nope, you’d misunderstood what he meant. That had to be it. “Tell my dad what?” you asked slowly, sitting up and tugging down the hem of your shirt, as if your father could see you in bed with the midfielder.
“Princess.” Roy reached out and grabbed your chin gently. He ran his thumb over your lower lip, as if trying to get rid of your sudden pout. “If we want this to work- and I really fucking want this to work- we’ve gotta tell him eventually. It’d be nice to be able to come to your front door to pick you up for a proper date, you know?” Playfulness returned to his eyes as he nodded towards your window. “Less risk of breaking my pretty neck.”
You groaned and buried your face in that pretty neck. “He’s not going to like this,” you grumbled, stating the obvious.
“He’ll get over it,” Roy assured you, tracing soothing circles on your back. “Once he sees how absolutely fucking mad I am about you, he’ll get over it.” He paused. “Or else I’ll find myself traded to fucking Watford or some shit.” After a moment, he tightened his grip on you and added, “You’d still like me in yellow, right?”
“Don’t joke,” you whined while nuzzling further into the crook of his neck, as if his skin could hide you from the idea of facing your dad. “Knowing the old man, he’d send you off to the States or some shit.”
Roy’s shudder might have been genuine. “Alright, you don’t fucking joke.” He sat up, pulling you so you straddled his waist. “You know we’ve gotta tell him.” He stroked your bare arms. “And the sooner the better.” He raised those thick eyebrows. “Tomorrow. After the match. It should be a good match for us, so he’ll be feeling downright cheery. We can wait in his office and… tell him together.”
Together. “You’ll be there?” Despite your apprehension, you couldn’t help smiling at that handsome face.
“Fucking ’course I will.” Roy’s voice was firm, just barely tinted with teasing. “What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I left the princess alone to face the fucking dragon?” He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you,” he promised. “I’ve fucking got you.”
Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, angst because this thing has been surprisingly angst-free so far
Summer had come and gone too quickly. All the weeks of Roy and football and fun had blurred together and given way to the transition into autumn. Before long, it would be time for you to pack your suitcase and return to Southampton, a long train ride away from Roy and the things you had shared all summer.
You did your best not to dwell on that as the days dwindled by. Instead, you focused on your time with Roy, on his hands on your body and his lips on yours and his laughter in your heart. Of course, you did your best not to let that focus wander to the uncertainty that plagued you; what happened when you returned to school? Was this just… over? Would you become a phone call when you were in town? Would you have to watch in magazines as he went back to flittering from one model to another? You weren’t sure if your heart could handle it.
As the seasons began to change, you finally allowed yourself to admit what you’d known all along: you were absolutely, without a doubt, completely head over heels for Roy Kent. And you wanted to be his girl. His only girl.
And before your term began, you knew you needed to tell him.
You were firm in your decision as you trotted down the stairs, ready to join your dad for another day of training. He greeted you in the kitchen with a friendly nod over the top of his coffee cup. Ever since that night you went with Roy to the casino- where Roy had made sure you were back at the hotel before even your dad had returned- your dad seemed to have relaxed a bit. Maybe it was because he saw Roy keep his promise. Maybe it was because the two of you had been better at hiding your flirting around the club. Whatever it was, you were grateful to see your dad start to thaw.
“There’s some eggs on the table,” your mum called as a greeting as she poured her own mug.
You grabbed a plate and sat down, rehearsing in your mind the things you wanted to say to Roy when you met him that night. He’d asked if he could make you dinner again; it was the perfect opportunity for a more serious conversation, you decided. And maybe, if he reciprocated your feelings, a little bedroom action to cement things.
Doing your best not to giggle at the mere thought of Roy Kent’s bed, you grabbed the paper, flipping indifferently to the entertainment section. Maybe reading about whatever shenanigans Prince Harry or Paris Hilton had gotten into would be a decent distraction.
As you flipped the page, a familiar face caught your eye and stole your breath.
There was Roy- your Roy- smiling next to some insanely gorgeous actress. You had seen her in some cheesy horror movie earlier in the summer; you’d recently read that she was in the running to be the next Bond girl. And she was standing far too comfortably with the man who’d been climbing out your window mere hours ago.
Your head was clouded with confusion and jealousy as your dad sat beside you, saying something you were far too distressed to hear. He repeated your name once, twice, until you finally realized he was talking to you.
“What, Dad?”
“The sports section,” he said- repeated, actually- as he stared at you. “Can you pass it to me?”
You absently handed him everything that wasn’t the entertainment section, unable to take your eyes off the photo. Below it, a small blurb speculated that this was the mystery woman Roy Kent had been seeing lately; surely he had to be seeing someone, since he hadn’t been seen out as much as usual. According to the tiny article, the two were spotted at a recent team celebration, one that you, of course, had not attended, and talked for quite a while before Roy left. Before Roy left and went straight to your bedroom window, actually.
Your dad could sense your distraction, but not your distress. “What’s so interesting?” he hummed vaguely. “The Beckhams pregnant again or something?” He shot you a toothy grin, knowing your investment in your favorite supercouple, but that grin faded when he saw the numb expression you wore. “Love?”
His eyes landed on the paper in front of you. For a moment, his face softened with pity when he saw the photo, realizing immediately what had you so distracted. But just as quickly, his face hardened as he drained his coffee mug.
“Well, that’s Kent for ya,” he mumbled. “It’s a good thing it never went beyond your little crush on him. Men like him are best left on the pitch, right darling?”
You looked down, blinking back the tears that had formed. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Best left on the pitch.”
Of course, when you walked into the changing room, Roy’s eyes were immediately on you. His normally sexy smirk instead felt mocking, as if you were nothing but a silly little fling that had boosted his ego. Not that it needed boosting; he’d always made it clear he knew how beautiful, how talented he was. And for weeks, you thought you were special, getting attention from such a beautiful talented man. Now you just felt stupid, thinking a few weeks of sneaking around together meant something more to him.
“Morning, princess,” he hummed, raising an eyebrow at you. “Got another book for you if you’re interested.”
Instead of returning his smile, instead of flirtatiously asking what book he was recommending, you simply turned your face away from his. “No thanks, Kent.”
His face looked something close to dumbfounded as you walked to your dad’s office. Even before your romance- or what you thought was a romance- had begun, you’d always had time for Roy. Always a joke, or playful eyeroll, or a lingering smile. He’d never left an interaction with you feeling anything but pleased. But now? Now you left him confused and wanting something more than the three little words you’d given him.
But that’s all you gave him all day. His smirks were met with silence. His winks had you turning away. Any effort to start a conversation was interrupted by the tasks that suddenly required your full attention. Your poor heart ached too much to act like the two of you were fine. All summer, you were able to fool yourself into thinking Roy was different than the rumors, his reputation, your dad’s expectations. Even though you had initially kept your guard up, he’d slowly torn it down, kiss by kiss. And now, you were reminded why you’d needed it in the first place.
Roy Kent was the kind of man who could truly break your heart.
Once the incredibly long day was over, you trudged outside after telling your dad you’d wait for him in the car. The lot was quiet, mostly empty, except for one other car, whose driver stood beside it.
“Oi.”
Roy’s gruff voice, which normally had you smiling and blushing, now had your heart sinking. His face was completely crumbled, those brown eyes positively pitiful. He approached you with slumped shoulders, looking nothing like the cocky football star you’d fallen for. If you weren’t so devastated, you’d probably try to smooth the crease between his thick eyebrows and invite yourself over for takeaway and a movie. Instead, you folded your arms and looked down at your shoes.
“You alright?”
What a stupid question. Of course you weren’t alright; you were spiraling, feeling like the biggest fool in the world. Roy, who had made you feel so special, had made you a fool. With all of his stupid flirtations and horribly lovely words, he’d built you up, just to drop you and let you break.
But at least you didn’t have to let him see you break.
“’m tired,” you managed to mumble as you stepped around him to try to get to your dad’s car before those tears you’d been holding all day finally fell. “Got to try to wrap shit up here and get ready to head back to school soon.”
Roy cleared his throat, clearly not leaving you alone. “Right, right. Your term’s starting soon.” He took a deep breath, letting it out heavily. “Well, maybe a nice dinner will help you relax.” He tried that sweet smile again. “I was thinking of trying a new recipe. You like paella?”
Some part of you wanted to give in. His earnest eyes and kissable mouth had your heart tugging towards him, willing to ignore whatever the newspaper said just to get a little bit more of Roy, a few more crumbs of affection to sustain you until your next great romance. But the sinking feeling in your stomach, the one that kept saying ‘Told you so’, had you shaking your head brusquely.
“I’m not coming over,” you murmured while unlocking your dad’s car. “Have a good night, Kent.” Without another glance at him, you climbed into the passenger seat, not looking up until you heard the sound of Roy’s car door slam shut and his vehicle driving away.
say what you want about penelope but i think we should commend her for behaving pretty normally about her crush on colin. when colin got a crush on penelope he immediately descended into madness
