OPERATION MYSTERY GIRL ⟢ spencer reid x greenaway!reader
summary: when the team realizes spencer has a secret girlfriend, garcia launches a glitter-covered investigation that’s equal parts profiling and meddling. the problem? their “mystery girl” profile is so wrong it hurts — and then the case cracks wide open, whether you’re ready or not.
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff tags/warnings: reader is elle's sister, accidentally suggestive comment from spencer lol, garcia being the office gossip, BAU team shenanigans, reader has insecurities over if she’s wrong for spencer/how she’s perceived/her entire personality basically, team dinner at rossi’s, reader is warm fruit’s #1 hater, kissssing, purposely suggestive comment from reader, they’re so down bad it’s gross, no use of y/n
a/n: i feel like this hopefully goes without saying, but zero offense is meant to the type of girl described in this fic — i just needed a contrast to greenaway!reader! anywho, this one has been a loooong time coming so I hope you enjoy (and plz appreciate the silly goofy visual aid I made on canva that you’ll find below lol) | GIF by eva @reidgif 🫶🏼
greenaway!reader masterlist 🥀
Spencer’s alarm goes off at 6:15, but you’re pretty sure he’s been awake for ten minutes already and just pretending not to be so he can keep his arm around you.
“Turn it off,” you mumble into his chest.
“I got it,” he says as he reaches for the clock.
You crack an eye open. “Too early.”
He ignores your complaint in favor of dipping his head to kiss your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. You kiss him back, slow and lazy, one hand curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt.
“If we don’t get up now, we’ll be late,” he says, very much not moving to get up.
“You say that like you didn’t design your alarm timing around a twenty-minute buffer,” you reply, sliding your leg over his.
“Sixteen-minute buffer, actually,” he corrects. “We typically spend an average of seven minutes kissing before I spend the other nine between your—”
“Spencer!” you shriek, cutting him off before he can finish a statement like that at six in the morning.
He smirks. “I was just providing data.”
You pinch his side. “Provide less.”
He laughs again, sleepy and warm, and grins like he’s proud of getting you flustered.
You kiss him again. It’s easier now that the part where you pretend not to want to stay has worn off. You just want to stay, and you let yourself.
When you finally peel out of bed, it’s with mutual groaning and the kind of reluctant separation that would be disgusting if it were anyone else. He presses a quick kiss between your shoulder blades as you swing your legs over the side of the mattress; you pretend it doesn’t make your chest do something stupid.
By the time you’re dressed and make your way out of the bedroom, Spencer’s apartment smells like coffee and toast. He’s in the kitchen in a button down and slacks, tie draped around his neck, reading something in the newspaper with a little furrow between his brows. There’s a mug waiting for you — your mug, chipped on one side, living here now without discussion.
You snag a piece of toast off his plate, bite into it, and lean your hip against the counter while he wrestles with his tie. It’s a new one — navy with small, neat polka dots.
“Come here,” you say, setting your mug down.
He steps closer automatically when you hook two fingers in his belt and tug him in. You untie the knot and redo it, straightening it with careful precision. He watches your face like you’re doing something much more interesting than fixing his tie.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “I just… like you here.”
You roll your eyes because the alternative is something mushy, but then you lean in anyway and let your lips find his.
The kiss is soft and familiar and still somehow manages to make your knees a little shaky. He tastes like coffee and toothpaste and home, which is a terrifying thought you refuse to examine this early in the day.
He breaks away first, forehead resting against yours. “We should go.”
“Yeah,” you say, not moving.
A beat passes, then another long kiss. Eventually you both laugh, step back at the same time, and pretend you’re ready for reality to hit.
You grab your jacket and badge off the hook, he grabs his satchel and keys, and you walk out the door together.
—
By the time you pull into the Quantico lot, the radio is off and his hand is resting, casual and warm, on your thigh. You let it stay there until you’re close enough to see the building, then you nudge it away and give him a look that says later.
He gives you one back that says I know.
The practiced routine kicks in — you get out and head inside first, he waits three-and-a-half minutes before doing the same.
Spencer barely makes it to his desk before Rossi appears beside him like a well-dressed shadow.
“Ready to go?” Rossi asks, coffee in hand, already halfway turned toward the bullpen doors.
They’re headed to the academy building across campus, today’s guest lecturers for a criminology training. Spencer always pretends he’s indifferent to that sort of thing, but the second he’s in front of a whiteboard, he lights up.
Spencer blinks, then nods. “Yes. I just need—”
“Your notes are in your bag,” Rossi says. “You sent me five drafts already. Come on, kid, the cadets await.”
Spencer glances in your direction automatically. You lift your eyes just long enough to catch his and tip your chin, a small, private acknowledgment no one else would notice.
He smiles — barely there, but there — and then heads out with Rossi. You watch them go, then drag your focus back to the report in front of you.
You get maybe three minutes of peace.
“Greenawaaay,” Garcia sings, appearing at the edge of your peripheral vision like a colorful mirage.
You don’t look up yet. “If this is about your whipped cream experimentation with Kevin, I already told you I’m not certified in exorcisms.”
“It’s not about the whipped cream,” she says. “It’s much more important than the whipped cream. Which should tell you the stakes here are astronomical.”
You sigh, close the file, and finally turn. JJ and Prentiss are hovering behind her with matching she-already-recruited-us-but-we-don’t-know-what-for expressions. Morgan leans against the nearest desk, arms folded, clearly already in on whatever this is.
“What did you do?” you ask.
“Me?” Garcia bats her lashes. “Nothing. But we’re about to make history. Come on.” She jerks her head toward the hallway. “Top secret meeting in my office.”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m on the clock, Garcia. I have work to do.”
“As do I,” she says. “This is… related to work. Trust me.”
You should say no. You should go back to your paperwork. Instead, curiosity wins and you slide out of your chair.
Garcia herds the four of you down to her lair like a cheerful, bedazzled sheepdog. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, the lights of her monitors bathing the room in neon. On the far wall, there’s a corkboard you don’t remember seeing before.
At the top, in big, bold letters outlined with glittery tape, it says:
OPERATION MYSTERY GIRL - O.M.G.
Garcia plants herself in front of the board, hands on hips. “Welcome, my beloved profilers and communications liaison, to the inaugural briefing of O.M.G.!”
JJ presses her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. Morgan isn’t even pretending to not be thrilled. Prentiss looks like she’s just been handed front-row tickets to a train wreck.
“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” you say.
“This,” Garcia announces, pointing dramatically at the corkboard, “is a fully serious, very important investigation into the case of Dr. Spencer Reid’s mysterious secret girlfriend.”
You blink. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She gestures dramatically to the board again. It’s already populated with printed photos, sticky notes, and colored yarn connecting pins like you’re standing in front of a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream.
At the bottom is a sheet of paper featuring a stick figure of a woman with a giant question mark over her face. Around it: headings that read EVIDENCE SO FAR, POTENTIAL OCCUPATIONS, and VIBES in Garcia’s handwriting.
You step closer despite yourself.
Under EVIDENCE:
Suspiciously happy like all the time
Volunteering for less overtime than usual
New clothes??!!
His aura just screams I’M IN LURVVV
“Some of this is actually pretty accurate,” Prentiss says, leaning in.
“I’ve been monitoring his behavior for weeks,” Garcia says proudly. “The data doesn’t lie. Our boy genius is smitten, and he is hiding her from us.”
Morgan shakes his head. “He’s definitely hiding something. We’ve been saying that for a while. And at O’Keefe’s the other week, he didn’t exactly deny it. He just said ‘no comment,’ which means there’s definitely a girl.”
“He has a right to privacy,” you point out, mostly because you’re trying not to gnaw through your own tongue.
“Absolutely,” Garcia says. “He has the right to privacy, and I have the right to gossip with my friends about our other friend. Both things can be true.”
Prentiss snorts.
Garcia taps the POTENTIAL OCCUPATIONS column, where there are several options listed already:
Kindergarten teacher
Librarian
Baker
Social worker
“Seriously? You think he’s dating a kindergarten teacher? A librarian?” you ask.
JJ lifts a shoulder. “He does like to read.”
“And he’s good with kids,” Morgan adds. “Makes sense he’d go for someone sweet and gentle like that."
“It’s probably someone outside the FBI,” Prentiss proposes. “Normal job. Normal hours. No guns.”
“She definitely wears super cute colorful cardigans,” Garcia adds, already scribbling it down under VIBES. “And I’d venture to guess that she bakes cupcakes when she’s stressed. Smells like vanilla!”
“Vanilla,” you echo, deadpan.
JJ tilts her head. “You don’t think he’d be into someone like that?”
You shrug like it’s theoretical, like your heart isn’t doing something unpleasant in your chest. “He might be, I don’t know. But I think he needs someone who can actually handle the job. The hours. The… everything. This kind of life isn’t exactly gentle.”
“Exactly,” Garcia says. “Which is why she’s gotta be gentle. She provides a counterbalance. Yin and yang, crime and cupcakes. It’s poetic.”
She writes CUPCAKES under VIBES.
Morgan points his pen at the pinned drawing of the stick figure woman. “Come on, Greenaway. You spend a lot of time with him. Help us out.”
“I do not spend a lot of time with him,” you deny automatically.
Four pairs of eyes look at you.
You lift your hands. “Fine. I spend an appropriate amount of professional time with him. Not my fault Hotch pairs us together a lot.”
“Point is, you know him. So, from a purely hypothetical standpoint,” JJ says, “what kind of person do you think he’d be happy with?”
You stare at the board for a moment, at the fake girl they’ve built out of cardigans and vanilla extract. Then you pick up a pen.
“Someone smart,” you say. “He’d need that. Someone who doesn’t treat him like a walking encyclopedia but also doesn’t get lost or zone out when he goes off on a tangent. Someone who doesn’t flinch when things get ugly,” you continue. “You all know what this job does. You don’t get to just… opt out of the darkness. If you’re with him, you’re in all of it.”
You tap the pen against the board, then force your tone lighter. “And yeah, okay, probably someone nice.”
Garcia grins, scribbling down NICE under VIBES and functionally ignoring the rest of what you said. “See? This is why I invited you. You have insight!”
Morgan grins. “So we’re in agreement. She’s smart, sweet, likes kids, bakes.”
“And probably has no idea how lucky she is,” JJ adds.
You swallow back the instinctive no, she definitely knows she’s lucky and say instead, “Can I go back to work now, or are we building a composite sketch?”
Garcia swats the air. “This is just Phase One, my fine furry friend. We will reconvene later. In the meantime, I expect you all to investigate.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite in it. “Great. Can’t wait to see what Phase Two has in store.”
As you step back, your gaze catches on the stick figure again. On the glitter, the stickers, the ridiculous heading — O.M.G.
According to the board, Reid’s mystery girl should be someone who wears cardigans. Smells like sugar. Teaches kindergarten.
Definitely not someone like you.
You shove that thought down where it belongs, under seven layers of scar tissue and denial, and head back to the bullpen like nothing in here touched you at all.
—
The rest of the morning unfolds like any other day at the BAU, if you ignore the fact that one of your coworkers has unknowingly built a conspiracy wall about you.
You try to ignore it.
You work a consult. You write up a report on last week’s case. You argue with a detective over the phone until he backs down, and when you hang up, Morgan’s watching you like: damn, remind me to never piss you off.
“You good?” he asks.
“Peachy,” you say, tossing the file onto your desk. “Please tell me Garcia found a new hobby in the last hour.”
He grins. “Not a chance. She’s real committed to this one.”
You roll your eyes and open your email.
There’s a subject line from Garcia that reads: “O.M.G. – Phase Two Meeting Tomorrow - Agenda Enclosed!” with three heart emojis.
You don’t open it. You’re not that masochistic.
Around noon, your phone buzzes against your desk. You assume it’s another follow-up from Garcia and flip it over, already cringing. Instead, it’s Spencer.
Spencer: Cadets have already asked 3 questions that make me concerned for the future of law enforcement.
You huff out a quiet laugh before you can stop it, shoulders loosening.
You type back under the desk.
You: important news from the home front: i am currently the unsub in an unsanctioned profiling experiment being conducted out of garcia’s lair
There’s a long enough pause that you can imagine him reading it twice, brow furrowed.
Spencer: …What?
You: penelope has formed a task force
You: codename: operation mystery girl
You: acronym: O.M.G.
You: there’s glitter. so much glitter
You: and specific instructions not to tell you about it. oops
This time, his reply is almost immediate.
Spencer: Why can’t I know?
You: because you’ve been “suspiciously happy” so they’ve decided that gives them grounds to reverse-engineer your love life
You: they’re profiling your “type.” your mystery girl.
Another beat. You can practically feel him flushing through the screen.
Spencer: What have they concluded so far?
You: that you’re dating a bubbly, perfect kindergarten teacher who smells like vanilla
There’s a full minute of silence this time. You picture him in some Academy auditorium, phone in his hand under the desk while Rossi lectures about offender typologies.
Finally:
Spencer: I don’t even like vanilla that much.
You laugh under your breath and stare at that for a second, heat curling low in your stomach for absolutely no good reason as his second text comes through.
Spencer: I prefer more complex flavors.
You roll your eyes at your phone, because of course he somehow made that sound unintentionally sweet and slightly filthy without even trying.
You: stop flirting with me during class
You: you’re supposed to be educating the next generation of the fbi
As if on cue, Hotch’s door opens and he steps out into the bullpen, scanning the room. You turn your phone face-down on your desk.
By late afternoon, O.M.G. has evolved. Every so often you catch someone making a note — Garcia walking by while scribbling on a sticky, JJ whispering something in her ear, Prentiss and Morgan analyzing Spencer’s desk from a distance.
It’s fine. It’s all stupid and harmless and fine.
Your phone buzzes again around four while you’re in the hall heading back from the bathroom.
Spencer: Wrapping up here, should be back soon. Any further developments on the O.M.G. front?
You glance down the hall towards Garcia’s office. The door is closed, a faint glow spilling out from beneath it like a witch’s cave.
You: more of the same
You: i’ll fill you in tonight
You hesitate, then tack on one more message before you can talk yourself out of it:
You: miss you
It’s reckless and feels entirely too honest, but your thumb hits send anyway.
The reply comes before you’ve even locked your phone.
Spencer: I miss you too. See you soon.
You swallow, looking around like the words might be visible in the air, but no one’s looking at you. No one has a clue.
Yet.
—
By the time you make it to Spencer’s apartment after work, your brain feels like it’s humming inside your skull.
You kick the door shut with your heel, toe your shoes off in the entryway, shrug out of your jacket and scarf and hang them on the hook you’ve claimed as your own. Spencer drops his satchel by the couch and heads for the kitchen.
“Dinner,” he calls, opening the fridge. “Option A: leftover lo mein. Option B: grilled cheese. Option C: both.”
“C,” you pick.
He smiles faintly and pulls out the takeout container. It’s all so normal — him moving around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, you leaning your hip against the cabinets as you watch him. This is your life now: FBI agent by day, domestic lovergirl by night.
You watch him butter bread and portion out noodles like he’s solving a complex equation. He glances up.
“You said you’d fill me in,” he reminds you. “On O.M.G.”
You snort. “Right. Your fan club.”
He raises his eyebrows. You sigh and attempt to pick the least sharp version of the recap you’ve been brewing in your head all day.
“Garcia built a case board,” you say. “There are doodles and glitter tape and stickers. She has lists pinned to it for ‘Evidence So Far,’ ‘Potential Occupations,’ and ‘Vibes.’”
He blinks once. “…Vibes.”
“Vibes,” you confirm. “And according to our coworkers, apparently the ‘vibe’ is that you’re secretly dating a kindergarten teacher slash librarian slash cupcake baker who smells like vanilla and wears colorful cardigans and definitely doesn’t carry a gun or have years of trauma to work through in therapy.”
He pauses in the act of flipping a sandwich. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” You pick at a chip in the countertop.
“And what did you contribute to the investigation?” he asks.
You shrug like it doesn’t matter. “That whoever you’re with would have to be smart. And able to handle the job. And not treat you like you’re made of glass. Clearly, my influence was minimal.”
The grilled cheese sizzles. The lo mein goes in the microwave. Silence fills in around it, heavy and familiar.
You eat on the couch, plate balanced on your knees, a National Geographic documentary playing low on the TV.
You make jokes at first. You tell him about Prentiss and Morgan’s intense study of his desk for “data collection” and Garcia’s email subject lines. Spencer laughs in all the right places. He looks at you more than he looks at the screen.
But by the time the plates are empty, the jokes have dried up.
You stack the dishes and take them to the sink, rinsing them off like the hot water might scald the thoughts out of your head. When you look up, he’s still on the couch, watching you with that careful focus of his.
“What?” you ask.
“You’re doing that thing,” he says.
“Please specify which thing,” you say. “I have a lot of things.”
“The thing where you brush something hurtful off like it’s funny but then go really quiet and your shoulders get all tense.” He pats the cushion next to him. “Come here.”
“I’m fine,” you say automatically.
“I never said you weren’t.” His voice stays soft, but there’s a thread of seriousness underneath it. “I said to come here.”
You sigh and drop onto the couch beside him with more force than necessary. He shifts closer, thigh warm against yours. His hand finds the back of the couch behind your shoulders, not quite touching you yet.
“So,” he says. “What’s bothering you? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because we both know that’s not true.”
“It’s stupid,” you grumble, staring at the coffee table.
He gently lifts your chin with his finger. “Okay. Tell me anyway.”
You chew the inside of your cheek, throat tight. You’ve been replaying it all day — the board, the stick figure, the list of traits that are a complete juxtaposition to your entire personality.
“I…” You trail off and try another angle. “The team loves you. They just want you to be happy. It’s sweet, honestly. A massive overstep and an insane invasion of privacy, but still sweet. I understand their curiosity.”
“But,” he prompts gently.
You exhale, sharp. “But… they built you a perfect imaginary ideal girlfriend, and she’s nothing like me.”
He’s quiet. You push on before you can lose your nerve.
“Like, not even a little bit,” you say. “She’s soft and gentle and bakes when she’s stressed and doesn’t know what a glock looks like. She smells like vanilla.” The word tastes bitter on your tongue. “And the thing is, Morgan and Garcia and JJ and Prentiss know you. Like, really well. They’re your best friends. So if that’s the woman who pops into their heads when they think about who’d be good for you—” You break off.
When you look up, his eyes are still on you, open and steady.
“When they eventually find out it’s me,” you go on, forcing the words out, “they’re going to look at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you traded in a cupcake for… I don’t know. A Molotov cocktail or something.”
“You don’t honestly think,” he says, “that they sat there and consciously decided, ‘Reid should be with someone who is the total opposite of Greenaway.’”
“No,” you say. “I think they didn’t think of me at all.”
The words hang there, more naked than you meant them to be.
He goes very still.
“Not that I wanted them to think of me and figure it out, but still.” You stare resolutely at the coffee table. “And, like, I get it. I’ve spent a long time cultivating a vibe that says ‘do not perceive me unless you want to get bit.’ I don’t exactly radiate ‘nurturing life partner’ energy. It would almost be funny if it didn’t feel like—” You motion helplessly at some vague point in front of you. “Like confirmation,” you say. “That I’m wrong for you. That when they do eventually find out, they’re going to wonder how badly you hit your head.”
There’s a prickling behind your eyes. You blink hard, once, twice. It doesn’t help much.
“And I hate that it’s getting to me,” you say. “I don’t care what people think. That’s, like, my whole thing. I have built an entire personality around not giving a shit. But I…” You flex your hands, fingers curling against your knees. “I care what they think of you. And of you with me. And apparently that’s enough to scramble my brain, because now I’m sitting here wishing I could be some fucking vanilla-cupcake-librarian for you because you deserve someone that sweet and soft and kind, but that’s— that’s not who I am. I don’t know how to be that girl. And I am so fucking tired of being the wrong kind of girl in every room.”
There’s a long moment where the only sound is the TV and your own breathing, too loud in your ears.
Then Spencer moves.
He reaches over, gently pries your hand away from your knee, and laces his fingers through yours. His palm is warm. His grip is firm without being possessive.
“Look at me,” he says.
You do. It feels like standing on the edge of a roof and choosing, deliberately, not to step back.
“You’re right, they do know me,” he says. “But they don’t know what it feels like to be in my apartment at three in the morning when my brain won’t shut off and you stay up with me just so I’m not alone. They don’t know what it’s like to sit in a car with you at a crime scene and have you make the darkest possible joke at exactly the right moment. They don’t know how it feels when I start spiraling and you say, very firmly, ‘Reid, eat something,’ and shove a granola bar into my hand.”
You start to object. “That happened, like, one time.”
“It was three times,” he says. His thumb strokes along the side of your hand absentmindedly.
“They’re still a bit stuck on the version of me that existed before… a lot of things. Before Tobias Hankel. Before Gideon left. Before losing people changed the way I look at everything. They still see the kid who needed to be protected from himself.”
“Sometimes you still are that kid,” you say softly.
“Sometimes,” he agrees. “But I’m also a man who knows what he wants. Who he wants.” His eyes are steady on yours. “And it’s you. It’s been you for a long time.”
Your throat tightens.
“They want me to have someone gentle,” he says. “And I get why. But gentle doesn’t necessarily have to mean cupcakes and vanilla and kindergarten.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re gentle with me in all the ways that matter. You know when to challenge me and when to just… be here.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want a cupcake,” you say slowly.
“I’m saying I don’t want to be handled,” he corrects. “I don’t want to be someone’s fragile project. I don’t need to be saved from my own life by a nice woman in a cardigan.”
He leans in a little, eyes not leaving yours.
“I chose you,” he says. “Not because I’m convinced you’re secretly soft underneath it all and one day you’ll transform into their idea of what my life should look like. I chose you, completely as you are. Sharp and stubborn and infuriating and the only person who’s ever told me to shut up not because you didn’t care what I had to say, but because you wanted to kiss me so badly you couldn’t wait."
Heat flickers under your skin at that memory. Your eyes sting again. You blink hard.
“They love me,” he says with a nod. “You’re right. But they also love you. They trust you with their lives. They’ve seen you bleed for this team. Do you really think that when they find out I’m with someone who understands all of that, who gets it down to the bone, they’re going to… what? Stage an intervention? Tell me I should hold out for someone better?”
You look away, jaw tight.
“If I didn’t want you,” he says, voice even, “I wouldn’t be with you. If I thought you were wrong for me, I wouldn’t let you into this part of my life.” He squeezes your hand. It’s grounding, the pressure. “I’m not going to look at Garcia’s corkboard and suddenly decide I made a mistake. I’m in this because I want to be.”
You swallow, hard. A traitorous tear finally escapes despite your best efforts; you swipe it away with the heel of your hand before it can go rogue.
“This is so embarrassing,” you mutter. “I’m mad at a fucking bulletin board.”
He smiles, small and fond. “You’re not mad at the board.”
He shifts closer, finally letting his arm drop around your shoulders, pulling you in until you’re halfway in his lap.
“I just don’t want to be the wrong choice,” you whisper.
“You’re not,” he says. No hesitation. “You’re the right one. And if that conflicts with our friends’ wild imaginations, then that’s their problem to solve. Not ours.”
You swallow, breathing uneven. He’s so close you can count his eyelashes. You let your head tip against his shoulder as his thumb draws idle circles on the back of your hand.
“Okay,” you say eventually, almost too quiet to hear. “But if they look at me like I’m a bad idea when they eventually find out, you’re in charge of reminding them I’m not.”
“I can do that,” he promises.
You stay like that for a while — documentary murmuring in the background, the universe shrunk down to the circumference of his arm around you and the steady rise and fall of his chest. At some point, he turns his head and presses a kiss into your hair.
“You know Garcia’s going to put glittery heart stickers around my face if she ever adds me to that board,” you mumble against him.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m so keeping it if she does.”
You pinch his side. He yelps, then laughs, then presses another kiss into your hair.
Let them have their glitter for now, you think to yourself. Let them build their wrong profile. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, and he’s here, and you’re choosing each other.
—
Rossi’s email hits your inbox on Thursday morning, wedged between a case update and a training memo.
BAU Pasta Night at Villa Rossi: Saturday. 6pm. Mandatory attendance.
You read it twice. There’s something about dinner at Rossi’s that feels less like an invitation and more like a command.
Your phone buzzes with a text five minutes later.
Spencer: Did you see Rossi’s email?
You stare at the screen longer than you need to, then type back:
You: yep
You: guess we’re having pasta this weekend
Once Saturday night hits, Garcia is on Spencer before he can even take his coat off in Rossi’s foyer.
“REID,” she announces, planting herself in front of him with the kind of intensity she usually reserves for hacking and cross-referencing. “You came alone.”
Spencer’s mouth opens. Closes. “Hi, Garcia.”
Morgan appears behind her with a glass of wine, already grinning. “No plus-one, man? C’mon.”
Emily lifts her eyebrows in amusement. JJ’s smile is softer, more sympathetic than nosy.
You keep your face blank and slip past them toward the kitchen, waving awkwardly to Hotch as you pass by the living room, because if you have to stand there and listen to this, you will commit a felony.
Rossi intercepts you with a dish towel over his shoulder and a look that says I got you, kid.
“If you’re looking for a way to escape Penelope’s witch hunt, go ahead into the cellar downstairs and pick out another bottle of red,” he says mercifully. “Barolo or Chianti preferably, but it’s your choice."
“Yes, sir,” you say sarcastically, and take the out.
The basement is cooler, quieter. You let yourself breathe for a minute, fingers trailing over labels, pretending you’re here for the tannins.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Spencer is doing his best impression of a man who is not currently being cornered by three BAU agents and one extremely glitter-motivated tech analyst.
Garcia doesn’t even bother easing in.
“Okay,” she says, clasping her hands. “We have respected your privacy for—”
Morgan coughs. “We have attempted to respect your privacy.”
Garcia glares at him, then refocuses on Spencer. “—for a completely appropriate amount of time. But I simply cannot wait any longer. In my heart of hearts I know you’re seeing someone, and I’m DYING to know who she is.”
Spencer rubs the back of his neck. “This is, uh… really none of your business.”
Emily leans against the counter, entertained. “You’re surrounded by profilers, Reid. Being in other people’s business is kind of what we do best.”
JJ steps in a little. “Look, Spence, you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” she says, and she means it even though Garcia’s threatening her with dagger eyes. “But we’re your friends. We notice when something changes, and we just want the chance to be happy for you.”
Spencer’s ears go pink. “I—I know. It’s just— It’s private.”
Garcia’s eyes widen theatrically. “So she IS real! Private means real!”
Morgan tilts his head. “C’mon, fess up. You seeing someone, pretty boy?”
Spencer hesitates for an awkward beat, running through the options in his head. He supposes that confirming the existence of a significant other isn’t the worst idea in the world, considering they’ve already pretty much figured it out, and it’s not like he has to tell them who the “mystery girl” is. That’s a boundary line he can draw and stick to. Plus, maybe they’ll chill out on O.M.G. and leave you some room to breathe if they at least have a few nuggets of information to hold them over for a bit.
“Yes,” he admits finally. “I’m…seeing someone.”
Garcia makes a sound like she’s about to ascend. “OHHH MY GOD. I KNEW IT.”
“So,” Emily says. “How long has it been?”
Spencer exhales. “A… while. Things started slow, so it’s somewhat hard to quantify.”
As if he doesn’t know the exact amount of time down to the minute that’s passed since you first kissed him in Ohio.
Morgan’s cheeky grin softens as he claps Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man,” he says.
Spencer nods and looks down, like he doesn’t know what to do with that. JJ’s expression brightens in a way that’s genuinely excited for him.
“Well,” Garcia says, leaning in like she’s about to jump into full-on detective mode. “Tell us about her! I want to know everything.”
Spencer’s eyes flick up. “I—”
“Not actually everything. We’re not asking for her social security number,” JJ clarifies. “Not even her name. Just…are you happy? Is it going well?”
Spencer nods, the corner of his mouth tipping up despite himself. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s…good. Really, really good.”
Garcia’s voice turns unexpectedly soft. “Is she good to you?”
Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Emily taps her fingernail against the counter. “What sorts of things do you two do? Do you go out? Stay in?”
“Both,” Spencer says. “We do, uh, normal things.”
Garcia squints. “Define ‘normal,’ because your normal includes reading hundred-year-old Russian novels for fun.”
He gives a small, helpless shrug. “We… we go on walks. Run errands. Go out to eat. There’s this little Italian restaurant in Georgetown she really likes. But… we also stay in a lot. We cook together sometimes. Talk. Read. Watch movies.”
“What kind of movies?” JJ probes.
Spencer thinks of you engrossed by a classic horror film or picking apart some terrible romcom with surgical cruelty, pointing out every dumb decision while somehow still being fully invested. He does not say that out loud.
“Uh, anything, really,” he says instead. “She made me watch Pulp Fiction recently, and I showed her a documentary about black holes last weekend. She… likes indulging my interests.”
Emily’s eyes flicker with satisfaction at that. JJ files it away. Garcia is practically vibrating.
Morgan jumps in next. “So, you planning on bringing her to one of these things eventually?”
Spencer’s throat bobs. “…Eventually.”
“In the meantime, I need more. What does she like?” Garcia presses. “What’s her favorite—food, music, whatever. Give us something, Reid! One harmless little detail.”
Spencer’s brain scrambles for something that feels safe. Something that won’t point to you. Something small.
“She… she has a bit of a sweet tooth,” he admits. “Brownies, cake, cookies… you know. But she hates warm fruit. Something to do with the texture. We went to a diner once where the waitress gave us free slices of pie, and she picked out all the fruit and just ate the crust and ice cream.”
Emily laughs. “That’s unhinged.”
Garcia clutches her heart. “Oh, a woman with a quirk! I just know I'm going to adore her already.”
Spencer’s eyes flick toward the cellar door for the briefest of seconds — instinctively, as if his gaze is trained on you like a magnet — before looking back at his nosy friends with his signature awkward, tight-lipped smile.
“Yeah,” he says. “I have a feeling you will.”
—
When you come back upstairs with a bottle of Barolo, the evening has already moved into that easy, warm groove: plates clinking, voices overlapping, Rossi refilling wine glasses.
You laugh at something JJ says. You argue with Emily about her taste in horror movies. Spencer watches you like he’s trying to memorize your face. As if he hasn’t already committed every inch of it to memory.
By the time the pasta plates are cleared and Rossi heads into the kitchen to grab dessert, you’ve almost forgotten about O.M.G. entirely. The team has, mercifully, taken it easier on Spencer after the conversation you missed while seeking refuge in the wine cellar.
Whatever he said to shut them up, it must’ve worked, you think to yourself.
Rossi returns to the dining room and sets a slice of apple pie in front of you. “Made from scratch,” he boasts.
You eye it. The apples are glossy and soft. Wrong texture. Wrong temperature. But the crust looks deliciously sugary and flaky and you’re not about to insult Rossi in his own home mansion, so you manage a polite “Thank you” and pick up your fork.
Across the table, Spencer freezes.
Not a subtle freeze — no. It’s a full, wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights freeze.
He clears his throat too loud. Knocks his fork against his plate. His foot finds your ankle under the table with a series of frantic little nudges.
You glance up, confused, eyes clearly asking what the heck is your problem.
He’s staring at your plate like it’s an unpinned grenade.
His mouth opens. Closes. He tries again, smaller, more desperate: “Uh—”
What? you mouth, eyebrows raised.
His eyes flick back and forth — pie, you, pie, you — like he’s trying to telepathically beam a message directly into your skull. But there is, unfortunately, no universal signal for if you eat your pie like a feral raccoon our coworkers are 100% going to figure out our secret so please just be normal this one time, so you just stare at him blankly.
Weirdo.
You gently kick his foot away — more confused than annoyed — and turn back to your plate.
And then you do what you always do.
You begin to push the warm apples to one side of the dish with the edge of your fork, methodically separating fruit from crust like you’re field-stripping a firearm.
Spencer’s face goes beet red in anxious anticipation, but the room doesn’t go silent all at once.
It’s staggered. Like a line of well-spaced dominos, toppling one after another in perfect succession.
Garcia notices first. Her whole face lights up, brows practically shooting up to her hairline. A strangled noise catches in her throat, and her hand clamps over her mouth like she’s trying to keep herself from screaming.
JJ freezes mid-bite, fork suspended, eyes wide and snapping to Spencer.
Morgan’s grin falters into disbelief. “No way,” he says, like he’s arguing with reality.
Emily’s jaw goes slack. “Oh,” she breathes. Then her eyes sharpen, bright with dawning glee. “Ohhh.”
You look up at the sudden weirdness and find four faces locked on your plate like you’ve just confessed to arson.
“What,” you ask carefully, “is happening. Why are you all staring at my pie.”
Morgan points his fork at your dish and turns to Spencer. “Reid,” he says, voice pitched with amusement, “didn’t you literally just tell us your girl does that? That she won’t eat warm fruit?”
Spencer shuts his eyes for a second — brief, pained — like he’s watching himself die in third person. When he opens them, he looks straight at you.
Pure apology. Pure guilt.
He winces. “I… I didn’t know there was going to be pie.”
Something in you goes cold and then hot at the exact same moment you catch up to what’s going on.
For half a second, your brain offers you the classic Greenaway solution: vanish. Run and never look back. You can practically feel the panic trying to crawl up your throat, because this is what you were dreading — the second everyone knows, they get to have opinions. They get to look at you and Spencer like a math problem and decide you don’t add up.
Except… they’re not at all looking at you like you’re wrong for him.
You scan the room. Garcia’s smiling so big it looks painful. JJ’s gaze is warm, not sharp. Emily looks like she just won a bet she never told anyone she made. And Morgan is staring like he can’t believe you got one over on him, but there’s no anger in it — just that big-brother okay, show me you’re serious energy. The only person in the room who looks horrified is Spencer, who’s clearly just trying to cope with the fact he accidentally revealed your relationship in maybe the stupidest way possible.
You take a breath, feel your pulse in your throat, and then — because you’re not going to let all of your control over this situation be ripped out of your hands — you say:
“Congrats everyone, you cracked the code. Yes. Reid and I are together.”
Garcia explodes.
“MYSTERY GIRL IS YOU,” she shrieks, half out of her chair. “It’s been you this ENTIRE time. Oh my GOD. I made a board! I made assumptions! I said cupcakes and cardigans when in reality, Mystery Girl was right in front of me in boots and a leather jacket and—”
“Garcia,” Hotch warns.
JJ’s earnest expression is the first thing that cuts through the chaos. “This makes so much sense,” she says.
“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “The second you say it out loud, it’s like— of course. How did we miss that?”
Morgan sits back, still staring between you and Spencer like he’s recalibrating. Then he lets out a laugh — half disbelief, half delight. “Man,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “I thought you were cuddled up with a librarian or something. Meanwhile you’re out here dating the most terrifying Greenaway sister,” he says, then winks at you like he’s trying to make sure you know he means it as a compliment.
You lift your chin. “Say that again and I’ll throw this pie at you.”
Morgan grins, hands up. “See? Exactly what I mean.”
Rossi sips his wine with a chuckle. “About time you bozos figured it out.”
Garcia whirls on him. “You KNEW?!”
Rossi’s mouth quirks. “What can I say, I’m good at my job.”
Hotch sets his fork down with the resigned patience of a man who has filled out a lot of paperwork on this exact subject already. “I’ve also been aware for some time,” he says evenly.
Garcia makes a noise that sounds like she’s dying. “BOTH of you knew?!”
Spencer clears his throat, still pink, still looking like he wants to apologize to you in six different languages. His eyes don’t leave your face.
Garcia’s hands clap together like she’s calling court to order. “O.M.G. never stood for Operation Mystery Girl,” she announces, breathless with triumph. “It stood for OH MY GREENAWAY all along.”
JJ’s gaze meets yours. “For what it’s worth,” she says, "I'm really happy that Mystery Girl is you.”
Emily lifts her glass in a small toast. “Me as well,” she adds. “This is good. This is really, really good.”
Morgan’s grin softens into something fond and protective. “As long as you’re both happy and nobody’s getting hurt,” he says, “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”
Garcia’s voice goes thick, emotional, and she tries to bulldoze right through it with dramatics. “I’m so happy,” she declares. “I’m also a bit devastated I wasn’t included in the secret circle of knowing earlier, but mostly I’m happy because you two are…” She gestures wildly. “You’re you. And it’s perfect.”
Something in your chest steadies instead of cracks.
“Okay,” you say, exhaling. “Cool. Great. Everybody get it out of their system?”
Garcia points at your pie plate, still half-disassembled. “Not even close. I’m sorry,” she gasps, “but I can’t get over that THIS is what did it.”
You deadpan. “My beef with pie is never-ending.”
Rossi claps once, satisfied. “Alright. Now that the children have finished screaming, eat your dang dessert.”
Laughter rolls around the room again, warmer now, less sharp.
Under the table, Spencer’s shoe nudges yours.
You nudge back.
And when you finally escape an hour later, the night air is cold and quiet, and Spencer grips the steering wheel like he’s trying to drive his guilt into the pavement.
You watch him from the passenger seat, heart weirdly calm.
He doesn’t say much on the drive. Neither do you. The secret is out, the world didn’t end, and for now, that’s enough.
—
Back at Spencer’s apartment, the quiet hits you like a soft wall.
No Garcia shrieking. No Morgan cackling. Just the click of the lock, the hush of the hallway outside, and Spencer standing there with his keys still in his hand.
“You okay?” you ask, toeing your shoes off.
Spencer exhales — sharp, like he’s been holding it since the pie incident — and sets his keys down with exaggerated care. Then he turns to you, eyes wide in that way they get when he’s trying not to catastrophize and failing.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
You blink. “You don’t need to be.”
He shakes his head. “But I am. I’m so sorry. For all of it. For telling them the fruit thing. I didn’t realize I was outing us. I—I didn’t know there was going to be pie.”
“I gathered that,” you say.
He steps closer, hands hovering at his sides like he wants to touch you but doesn’t want to assume it’d be welcome.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he continues, words tumbling now that the gate’s open. “It was stupid. I thought giving them a hyper-specific detail would give them something to fixate on and shut them up, and that one seemed harmless enough, but then I saw the pie and I—” He swallows. “I really did try to warn you.”
“You did,” you say, leaning back against the wall. “You were practically doing Morse code against my ankle.”
“I panicked,” he admits, cheeks flushing. “And then it all happened so fast and you looked—” He stops, eyes flicking over your face like he’s searching for hurt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I know you hate being… perceived.”
He takes one more step. You can feel his warmth now, close enough that it seeps into you.
“I keep thinking about the other day,” he says quietly. “How scared you were for them to find out.” His throat bobs. “And then I was the one who—who basically handed them our secret on a silver platter.”
You tilt your head. “On a pie platter, actually.”
He looks pained. “Please don’t make jokes right now.”
“Spencer,” you say seriously. “I’m not mad at you.”
He lets out a breath, but it’s not quite relief yet. He’s still braced for impact.
“And I’m not mad that they know,” you add, watching him closely. “I mean, I’m a little embarrassed that my downfall was pie of all things, but—”
His mouth finally lifts, small and uncertain.
“But,” you repeat, “it’s okay. I’m fine, really.”
You push off the wall and close the space remaining between you, because you’re tired of him hovering at the edge of you and want him to feel how not-mad you are.
His hands find your waist the second you’re close enough, careful at first, then firmer when you lean in like you belong there.
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
You nod. “I’m sure.”
“Because you could—” He swallows. “You could decide this is too much. Too exposed. And I wouldn’t blame you, but I’d…” His voice cracks just slightly. “I’d miss you.”
Something in your chest goes tight and hot.
You slide your hands up his arms, feel the muscle under his sleeves, the faint tremor he’s trying his best to hide. You clasp your fingers behind his neck and pull him down until his forehead nearly brushes yours.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur.
His eyes flutter shut for half a second, like the words physically steady him.
“You’re not?”
“No,” you say, and you let yourself mean it. “I told you, I’m not mad. I’m not running. The worst thing that happened tonight is that our coworkers found out I have psychopathic dessert habits.”
He huffs a laugh.
“Besides,” you add, because you can’t help it, “you looked kinda hot when you were trying to telepathically get me to eat my pie like a normal person.”
His eyes open, startled. “I— what?”
“You did,” you insist, deadly serious. “Somehow, panic is a good look on you. Big fan.”
His cheeks go pink, but now it’s in a good way.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, shaking his head like he’s trying to hide the smile.
“And you,” you say, sliding your thumbs along his jaw, “are catastrophizing.”
“I know,” he admits. “I just… I care about you.”
The words hang there, heavy and honest and dangerously close to a bigger truth, but you don’t let it scare you. Not tonight.
You kiss him instead.
It’s slow at first — soft, testing — like you’re proving something to him with your mouth: I’m here. I’m fine. Then it deepens, because Spencer never stays soft for long once you give him permission. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in until there’s no space left to misunderstand.
His mouth is warm, familiar, and still somehow new every time. You feel him exhale against you, a quiet sound that sinks into your skin.
When you pull back, he looks at you again and cups your cheek like you’re something precious.
“I’m glad you’re okay with this,” he says.
“I’m okay,” you say, and kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’m… actually kind of relieved.”
His brow furrows. “Relieved?”
You roll your eyes, because you refuse to be poetic about it. “Yeah. It’s out, and they didn’t—” You falter, just a flicker. “They didn’t look at you like you were making a mistake.”
His expression softens.
“No,” he agrees. “They didn’t. I told you they wouldn’t.”
You nod once. “And you were right. So, I’m good.”
“Good,” he echoes, but his thumb keeps stroking your cheek like he doesn’t want to let the moment go.
Your gaze drops to his mouth again. His eyes follow it, and his breathing changes — subtle, but you know him by heart now.
You smirk and lean in closer until your lips are brushing with every breath. “And hey, now that the team knows, we don’t have to pretend we’re not together every second of the day anymore,” you tease.
His voice goes a little rough. “We still shouldn’t, uh, do anything at work, you know.”
“Obviously,” you say, like you’re offended he even suggested it. “But we’re not at work right now, are we?”
He shudders softly as his hands slide from your waist to your lower back, drawing you closer like he’s been waiting all night to do this without consequence.
“No,” he murmurs. “We’re not.”
You kiss him again, deeper this time. He gives in completely, following your lead with that sweet, earnest hunger that always makes you feel a little wicked and a little adored at the same time.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing differently. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded.
“I’m still sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t be,” you say. “It’ll make a good story someday.”
His throat works. His hands tighten on you like he needs the confirmation in his bones.
You press your mouth to his once more, slow and sure, just to make the point stick.
“Case closed,” you murmur against his lips.
Spencer’s smile turns soft and helpless. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Mystery solved.”
ᝰ.ᐟ
→ next part
this fic is part of the greenaway!reader universe/series! you can read more about this pairing here ♥️
PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!
hi hi hi! this is the John Carter Christmas fic anon :)
first of all, you are so freaking cool like every fandom on your masterlist is so cool
second- fic request (only if you feel like it ofc) Ted lasso? I'm so in love with every single character but an angsty Jamie tartt one where reader is fully convinced he hates them cause he always avoids them but like in reality he's nervous or something would be like spectacular
uhm, yeah
:)
-🐞
she is electric, can i be electric too ? !
🎧 ﹐ ♡﹒ jamie tartt x fem!journalist!reader oneshot﹒ ᶻ ᶻ
a/n: first named anon ladybug i love you ‼️this is so sweet also i was giggling and kicking feet reading your ask. ANYWAY here it is. my first jamie fic in a long time and i actually forgot how much fun he is to write. will def make a part two i think bc i lovveeee this dynamic.
also i swear that john fic will come out soon some stress over christmas slowed me down but soon !! i promise. enjoy this in the meantime.
requests are always open <3
in which: while jamie is a seasoned flirter, he’s not quite sure how to deal with his very real, and very sudden feelings for you.
words: 2,030
warnings: none!
now playing: she’s electric - oasis
when you finally arrive at richmond for your first day of work beside the famed trent crimm, you’re greeted with a chorus of polite hellos, apart from one player, who looks like he’s seen a ghost. jamie tartt. you’d be a fool not to recognise him. always on the front cover sort of player, the one “keeping richmond afloat”. you’ve read and written enough sports articles to know when to believe one or not — you don’t believe that one.
you don’t tell him that, of course, just return the greeting to the hoard of lynx-smelling teenagers in the bodies of adult men, plaster on a nice polite smile, and get out of there as quickly as possible.
over the course of the next week, you go out of your way to introduce yourself personally with each player on the team. you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, as they say, and you’ve found that honey works very well. individually, you greet them, get to know them, and it all goes swimmingly with all involved — roy even gives you a smile, which trent assures you is the best possible result — apart from, again, one player. it seems as though the unbreakable jamie tartt is avoiding you.
you try not to jump to conclusions, of course, they’re busy men (apparently). but it’s a bit difficult when you can no longer count on your hands the amount of times you’ve attempted to talk the player, but with no avail. you sift through your memories, meticulously, for anything you’ve done that could’ve offended, off put or distanced him, but nothing comes up. you’re beginning to think that, maybe that’s just what he’s like.
jamie, conveniently on the other side of the building once again, goes out of his way to find trent. he spots him in the hallway of the club, eyes widening when he realises this is the perfect time to ask for help interrogate trent.
he makes eye contact, gesticulating wildly like the man would understand. when trent only shrugs, jamie races up to him. with no further explanation, he grabs trent’s arm, and looking around to avoid suspicion, he — as covertly as possible — storms toward the storage room, dragging a thoroughly confused trent behind him. although surrounded by smelly shoes, sweaty towels and used water bottles, this is where jamie feels most comfortable.
“look.” he states firmly, resting his hands on trent’s shoulders. “i need ya to tell me what’s goin’ on.”
trent blinks. “in what regard?”
“your girly friend. what’s her deal?”
quick to defend you, trent says firmly. “y/n. her deal is that she’s a journalist. a sports journalist.”
jamie looks — unsurprisingly — unimpressed with trent’s answer, obviously not adding up with the image of you he’d cultivated in his mind.
it doesn’t take trent long to put two and two together. his brows furrow and fixes jamie with a stern look.
“she’s a celebrated journalist. worthy of your respect, not your unprompted sexual speculation.”
“m’not speculatin’, swear.” jamie says quickly. almost sheepishly, and trent’s firm tone almost falters. never has jamie denied his hormones, nor demonstrated remorse in any form.
jamie scuffs his sneaker against the hard floor of the storage room, probably a thin excuse to look at anything besides trent’s quizzical gaze. there’s a pause, before jamie finally confesses.
“it’s like … i actually care about what she thinks of me or summat. like i need to start speakin’ all posho or whatever. to impress her, i guess.” his voice wavers, and the sheer honesty in his voice is enough to confuse trent even further. jamie demonstrating consideration of others? you must really have him under your thumb.
jamie’s eyes scan trent’s face, watching him nervously for some kind of solution to his strange behaviour, a diagnosis, a medicine to stop his stomach from twisting every time he spots you.
“don’t tell ‘er. promise.” he says, almost a whisper, a plea.
he looks so shaken, so lost, so unlike the usual jamie, that trent has no choice but to respond—
“i promise.”
you’ve been working in sport long enough to discern the difference between directed and general bitchiness, but there’s something about jamie that you just can’t put your finger on. it’s taken a day or two, but you pluck up the courage to ask. you spin in your chair to face trent, on the other side of your — small — shared office, and bite the bullet.
“has jamie said anything to you about me?”
“what? why? has anybody said anything?” he asks, almost subtly enough to mask the panic in his voice. except for the earth shattering voice crack, which gives him away instantly.
you lean forward in your chair, resting your elbows on your knees, like jamie is the latest story you’ve cracked and you’ve found the final quote that will make the headline.
“alright. spill, traitor. what did he say?”
“i think … you should ask him yourself.” trent says reluctantly, glancing back and forth between you and the door like jamie himself will burst through and accuse him of breaking their promise.
you fix him with a firm squint, but he doesn’t budge, doesn’t say a word. his hesitation is evident, and you know he’s not going to tell you anything to save his own skin. he knows better than everyone that you’re not afraid to needle him for a response, but you also know when you’re not going to get anywhere.
defeated, you spin back around to face your desk. you stare blankly at the haphazard contents of the desk — a writing award you got a few years back, a mug of a half drunk coffee, piles and piles of papers with half written drafts and other articles about richmond club. you tap your pen against the wood of the desk, and begin speculating under your breath.
“did i do something? i know the angst is kind of his vibe, but i don’t know, it feels different when he’s with me. and they all love you, so there’s no reason for him to be so hostile unless i’ve done something specifically.”
“i truly believe,” trent begins, slowly and carefully like he’s trying not to overstep, “that the best way is to ask mr tartt himself.”
it’s two days later, and the doubts about jamie haven’t left your mind. neither, of course, has trent’s vague and suspicious encouragements. while usually nothing would stop you from asking him directly, you’re placed to work at the club for twelve months, and that’s a lot of months to spend with someone who’s admitted they hate you to your face. but the hope of a different response leads you towards your usual confrontational approach, and, as they say, if it ain’t broke.
just before lunch, you spot him lurking by the water cooler. sweaty from practice, a plastic cup of water dwarfed by size of his tanned, large tattooed hand, with his fingers reaching all the way around the flimsy plastic. you quickly scold yourself for the distraction, but the thought of his hands linger in your mind like a plague as you approach.
of course, he’s oblivious enough not to notice until you’re standing right behind him. and even then, it’s only the heat of your body that gives you away.
“tartt.”
jamie nearly jumps out of his pants, spinning around at the sudden sound of your voice. “uh, um, hey.” the second he registers it’s you, you watch him and try to formulate a believable excuse to avoid the conversation he’s beginning to realise is inevitable. “uh, sorry, i ‘ave, uh, a thing—”
“nice try, shakespeare, but that thing will have to wait.” you say, not even trying to hide the disbelief in your tone.
you grab his arm, wrapping your fingers around his bicep, and drag him into the storage room. jamie has to swallow to stop himself saying anything stupid, or commenting on how good your hand feels on his skin.
the storage room’s usual familiar charm feels dimmed by your focused stare. jamie resists the urge to shiver at the constant feeling of your eyes on him. it was only three days ago he was in here confessing to trent like a sinner to a priest, but something about your presence makes the room feel completely alien. he really tries to resist, but the moment you start speaking he can’t help but listen.
“what the hell is your problem?”
“problem?” jamie repeats like the world’s dumbest parrot, voice one octave too high.
you don’t beat around the bush. “you’re avoiding me. why?”
“m’not avoidin’ ya, just … not crazy keen on nosy journos.” he says, evidently grasping at straws for an excuse that doesn’t sound shallow and weak, but it still comes out sounding unconvincing.
“but you’re fine with trent.”
he opens and closes his mouth like a lost looking fish. you’re quick to poke holes in his awkward responses, and he’s not quite sure how to react yet. “yeah, well, he’s—”
“is it because i’m a woman?”
jamie looks like you’ve just shot him. his eyes widen, and he splutters over his words, quick to defend himself. “no! no, i love women! yer all great, wait, i mean—”
“i know what you mean.” you say, sticking him with a firm look, and he stops. you cross that off your mental list, he’s too genuinely offended by the idea for it to be applicable. but what else? “why is it then? why do you hate me?”
he’s not looking at you anymore, eyes glancing nervously around the storage room as though he doesn’t trust himself to look you in your eyes. “it’s, well … i think i like ya.” jamie whispers, words falling out of his mouth like an accident.
suddenly, it’s your turn to look lost and confused. “you what?” you ask, tone incredulous like you don’t believe it, and the thought of rejection from you makes jamie feel sick.
“just lemme explain!” he says quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “i don’t know either, one minute i was fine, and then ya walk in and i feel all weird and soft and awkward.” he confesses. “it’s like i feel sick — in a good way.”
“sick… in a good way…” you repeat slowly, staring at him incredulously.
jamie just nods like an over enthusiastic dog. “yeah! yer, like, crazy clever, and ya speak well, and yer funny, and yer so so so fit…” he seems to fall into a daze for a moment, before snapping back, and continuing to reel off compliments like nothing had happened. “and yer hair is always perfect, and yer eyes look like jewels and yer lips…” there he stops again, but doesn’t continue, just looking at your lips.
while the answer was the furthest from what you expected coming in here, the sincerity with which he confesses to you makes you feel flattered, if you’re being honest. and the sheer honesty inspires you to do the same.
you respond in kind, a little bit more awkward than you would’ve liked. “i think you’re fit too, jamie.”
jamie’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at your words. clearly your response was a lot more positive than he was expecting. “really? ya don’t think, like, m’a proper creep or summat?”
“no,” you say, unable to hide the little laugh, and jamie nearly melts at the sweet sound. the thought of him, making you laugh, even at his own expense, made his heart swell and his stomach twist. “i don’t think you’re a creep. quite the opposite.” and at your appraising words, he straightens with a boyish grin and slightly flushed cheeks, running a hand through his bleached hair to give his body something to do other than gaze longingly.
he realises after a moment he should probably say something, and stop just staring at you like some kind of stupid weirdo, but he can’t think of much to say that does his feelings for you justice. so he, like jamie often does, settles for something simple.
18+ riding your nerdy bf till his glasses fall off ˚₊·͟͟͞͞♡
There’s something incredibly hot about riding your nerdy boyfriend until his glasses slide down his nose. He’s usually so composed, always in button-ups, always with those cute wire-rimmed glasses perched on his face, always muttering about formulas or code or whatever he’s nerding out about that day. But right now? He’s a complete mess.
You’re straddling his hips, knees planted firmly on the mattress, riding him to the hilt. Every roll of your hips makes his thick length slide perfectly inside you, hitting that spot that makes you moan softly. His hands are gripping your thighs, fingers digging in like he needs something to hold onto.
“Baby—” he stammers, voice cracking. His glasses are already slipping, sliding down the bridge of his nose as his head tips back against the pillow. His cheeks are flushed, hair messy, lips parted as he tries (and fails) to keep his breathing steady. You smile down at him, grinding your hips in a slow circle, watching the way his eyes flutter behind the fogging lenses.
“You look so cute like this,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him. His glasses bump against your nose, but you don’t care. You just keep riding him, faster now, taking him deeper. He moans into your mouth, hips jerking up to meet yours. One of his hands slides up your back, the other stays on your hip, guiding you as you bounce up and down on him.
“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, voice shaky. “I can’t- I’m gonna—” His glasses finally slip off completely, landing somewhere on the pillow beside his head. His eyes, those pretty, unfocused eyes, lock onto yours, wide and desperate.
You ride him harder, chasing your own pleasure while watching him fall apart underneath you. When you come, clenching tight around him, he follows right after with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
Afterward, he lies there panting, glasses askew on the pillow, looking completely wrecked and blissed out. You lean down and kiss him softly, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. He laughs breathlessly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down to his chest.
pairings: jamie tartt x reader, whole cast is mentioned
summary: short lil continuation from the series with glimpses into your relationship with Jamie.
words: 3000
warnings: no smut but sexual descriptions & references, nudity
———
your eyes shoot open at the sound of loud banging on the door, flinching at the sound. if the strong warm arms wrapped around you weren't there, you would've shot out of bed. but Jamie's hand holds you tightly at your waist, both arms wrapped all the way around you. he holds your naked torso glued to his, and you wish the knocking away so you could stay right here, head nuzzled into his warm chest, forever.
the early morning sunlight floods in the room, your mind having been too preoccupied with other things to think about closing your curtains last night. the bashing on the door doesn't stop -- in fact, it gets impossibly louder. using a hand to shield your eyes, you use the other to wrestle yourself out of Jamie's grip, nudging him out of the bed to go answer it. as his touch leaves your bare body, the cold bites at your skin, raising goosebumps almost instantly. you collapse back onto your pillow, pulling the duvet over your almost-naked body and shivering beneath it. and at the sound of a deep voice, your ears perk up.
"Keeley told me you'd be here. come on,"
you could recognise Roy's voice immediately, and you let out a dramatic sigh to yourself when you realise why he's at your house. if only Keeley didn't have such good intuition, then Jamie would still be holding you close, lulling you back to sleep with the steady sound of his breathing. instead, you hear him groan loudly, his words to Roy incoherent through the hallway. he retreats to your bedroom, tiptoeing towards your side of the bed before crouching down, lightly brushing his thumb over your cheek. the pad of his finger traces your cheekbone and up to your eyebrow, before pushing a strand of air behind your ear.
"I'm really sorry, love, but I have to go train with Roy." his voice is soft as he whispers, and you realise you've never heard him speak with such tenderness. you wish you could just pull him back into the bed and stay there with him forever, tangled in the sheets with your warm skin pressed against his. instead, you force one eye to open. the second he notices you're awake, he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. digging your hand from beneath your duvet, you reach up to grab his neck, pulling him down harder. this time, you kiss deeper, and you moan at the feeling of his lips on yours again, memories of last night flooding your thoughts.
last night, you'd spent hours pressed against each other, messily grabbing at each other's bodies like two starving animals. the two of you had managed to leave a path of destruction in your wake, with your clothes and the bedsheets strewn across your bedroom. you hadn't realised just how much pent up tension there was between you two, but you definitely got it all out during your first night together -- Jamie definitely lives up to his well-endowed reputation.
when you finally pull away from Jamie's soft plump lips, you clear your throat quietly before taking a deep breath in. you muster up all the voice your hoarse throat would allow, shouting "fuck off Roy!" as loud as you can. the sudden sound makes Jamie jump, covering his ears with his hands as he looks at you in surprise. when you nestle back into the pillow with a peaceful smile, his eyes fill with amusement and warmth, his pupils growing wide. "good girl," he mutters with a grin, before kissing you again, rough and hard. his lips move roughly against yours and you use your hands on his neck as leverage, pulling your naked chest up against his clothed one. Jamie's tongue is pressing hard in your mouth, pulling small grunts and sounds from your throat. as hard as you try to pull him down onto the bed, he's too strong for you, and you end up dropping back on the mattress as he abruptly pulls away and stands up.
"Jamie!" you whine, hands reaching out in a poor attempt to grab at his oversized t-shirt.
"now," he starts, looking down at you as he towers over you, "please tell me you have clothes I can wear."
it's only then that you notice he's only wearing the big t-shirt he'd clearly picked up from your floor. your jaw drops, eyes widening as you take in his Winnie The Pooh inspired look. you start to laugh, sitting up against the headboard of your bed, before your face suddenly drops.
"Jamie..." you say flatly.
"mhm?" his eyebrows raise in question.
"did you open the door like that?"
"yeah," he shrugs like it's nothing.
"Jamie!" you shriek, reaching your hands up to his shoulders and nudging him away from your bed.
"what?" he laughs, playfully stumbling backwards with the force of your push.
"what if that was anyone else?!" you slump in defeat as you gawk at him. silently, he lifts his shoulders casually, as if what he did wasn't extremely risky and extremely naked.
"but..." he says slowly as he steps closer to you again, holding his two hands out for you to take, "it wasn't anyone else. it was just granddad, so..."
placing your hands in his, you sit up on your knees, "this would be so much cuter if I wasn't basically at eye-level with your dick right now,"
with a loud laugh, Jamie pulls you up to stand on the mattress, still holding your hands. he looks up at you through his eyelashes, lowering his voice as he wraps his arms around your hips; "this better?"
"much," you nod with a small smile as you pull his face to yours, both hands placed on each side of this face. when you connect your mouths again, you feel his lips curve into a smile. without pulling away he mumbles against your lips: "Roy's on the couch, by the way,"
"fucks sake, Jamie!" you squeal again, quickly jumping off the bed and picking his discarded button up shirt from the floor. you pull it on, doing up some of the buttons as you walk towards your cupboard. Jamie cackles to himself behind you, and you conceal a smile from him as you bite back a laugh of your own. you bend down to dig through one of your drawers, and Jamie wastes no time to come up behind you and place a palm to your scantily clad backside, brushing himself against it as he pushes past you. rolling your eyes to yourself, you finally stand up again, a pair of old oversized gym shorts in your hands. turning around, you're faced with Jamie sliding on his boxers. ignoring the blush that creeps onto your face, you step towards him, holding out the shorts for him to wear.
"oh God, these aren't your ex's are they?" Jamie pouts.
"gross," you look at him with a disgusted grimace, "no, they're mine for bed- so is that top you're wearing, by the way."
"I figured... it smells grim." he teases, and you slap his bare legs with the shorts before handing them to him. after sharing another laugh, you turn to grab yourself a pair of joggers from your cupboard, hoping they're appropriate enough to wear in front of Roy.
"how do I look?" Jamie asks you, standing at your bedroom door with his arms stretched out.
"a bit like you're wearing someone else's clothes," you state.
"walk of shame kinda look?"
"yes."
"perfect."
laughing loudly, you chase him out of your bedroom and push him towards the bathroom, letting him know there's spare toothbrushes in the cabinet behind the mirror. "yes chef," he says to you as he jogs in, closing the door behind him with a wink. as you turn the corner at the end of the hallway, you're faced with Roy Kent sitting on your sofa.
"Roy!" you say cheerily, as if you didn't just scream at him to fuck off.
"y/n," he politely nods towards you.
"any coffee? or tea? or..." you ask, gesturing towards the kitchen half of the room.
"no thanks," he says, completely emotionless and seemingly unable to hold eye contact with you.
"okay..." you trail off, looking around the room awkwardly as you think of where you should sit down. assuming it's your safest bet, you settle on leaning in the open doorway, your back to the hallway. "did you have a good night yesterday?" you continue.
"I did. I especially enjoyed watching Rebecca embarrass your boyfriend at the table."
"oh- I don't think he's my..." you trail off. who knows what you and Jamie are -- you hadn't had the chance to give it much thought since the gala. "anyways, I'm glad you had fun!" you chirp, unsure of how to act around him. it's never normally this stressful interacting with Roy, but the air this morning feels different than at work, and it's definitely because he's sitting in your flat fully aware of how -- and with who -- you spent your night. the two of you stay in a comfortable silence after that, his head turned to look through the window next to the sofa as you stare down at the floor. just minutes later, not just the sound of footsteps, but also the hand sliding from your bum up to your lower back marks Jamie's entrance.
"chipper up, dickhead. you're a guest, act like one." Jamie says to Roy, palm planted firmly against the curve of your back as he nods his head towards the door.
"careful Tartt, or you'll be running through the streets of Richmond in your socks." Roy bluntly retorts, drawing your attention to Jamie's lack of footwear. you look up at Jamie with wide and amused eyes, trying not to laugh at the state of him. Roy stands up and walks towards the two of you, holding eye contact with Jamie as he drops a pair of runners on the ground.
"mind the floor! Jesus, Roy, you're a really shit houseguest," Jamie jokingly barks as he ducks down to pick up the shoes, and the cold air hits where his hand had rested, making disappointing goosebumps rise across your skin.
Roy rolls his eyes at Jamie, holding his stare with furrowed brows. but he slowly relaxes them before looking at you, genuine regret in his eyes now replacing his previous stern expression; "sorry about your floor, y/n."
"that's fine, don't worry," you wave a hand, dismissing his apology with a sweet smile. he strides towards the front door and twists the handle, waiting for Jamie.
you've never seen anyone tie shoes as quickly as he did, and he stands up with a small hop in his step. "let's go coach!" he chirps, and when Roy turns to leave, he quickly ducks down and kisses you again, running his tongue across your bottom lip teasingly.
"can I come back for my clothes in like an hour?" he asks you, staring deep into your eyes. his eyes hold a mix of sadness and hope, clearly also wishing he could just spend the rest of his morning in bed with you.
"two hours." Roy juts in.
"fine, two hours." Jamie corrects himself, not taking his eyes off yours. biting your lip, you nod up at him, completely infatuated with him. your night together was like nothing you could have ever imagined, and you're surprised your legs are working properly. Jamie, however, seems completely fine as he jogs out the door with a wave, a flirty smile on his face as he winks at you again. "oh, uh- y/n, you've got a little something..." he points towards his neck before sticking out his tongue and pulling the door closed. your eyes widen as panic sets in, and you sprint to your bathroom to look at the mirror.
"fuck..." you sigh to yourself, your face going beet red at the thought of Roy seeing you like this. no wonder he couldn't look at you -- there's a red and purple bruise right under your ear; a hickey from Jamie Tartt.
—
after his morning training with Roy, Jamie came straight back home to you, picking you up from the sofa and carrying you straight to the bathroom. you showered together that morning, adding even more steam to the already wet room. he spent the day at your house, lounging around with you. there was never a moment where you weren't touching, always a hand on your thigh or your fingers raking through his hair. he showed you his favourite film and you showed him yours, and you couldn't help but be surprised that his favourite was Ratatouille. that day was sweet, and calm, and you'd never seen Jamie so relaxed before. suddenly, he wasn't all mouth and attitude, he was tender and loving, even ordering you both takeout for dinner. you enjoyed both chatting and complete silence, taking your time to pick each other's brains and tell each other stories, but also just to enjoy each other's company and the weight of your bodies on top of each other.
he asked you on a second date that day, offering the next day as a good time to do it; "tomorrow's a Sunday," he said, "Sunday is the Lord's day of resting, and what better day is there to stay in the house and shag all day."
"that's seriously your idea for our second date?" you had asked him with an ugly chortle as response to his wild words.
"okay... what if, after work on Monday, I take you to my favourite restaurant, and you can wear that dress you wore to the gala." he said, voice deep and gravelly. all you'd done was nod sweetly before he picked you up and carried you to the bedroom.
you agreed on your date, and from that day on, you would never show up to work alone again -- Jamie would either pick you up in his car, or meet you on your way to work and walk the rest of the way with you. still, every time, there was a latte just for you. and every morning, Jamie still takes the time to sign in before training, always scribbling a small heart next to his name just for you. it didn't take long for him to ask you on a third date, then a fourth, and finally on the fifth he asked you to be his girlfriend. it's not like it was casual by any means, Jamie always went above and beyond on your dates, and you were definitely something more than just dating after the night of the gala. but he'd officially asked you to be his girlfriend after you met his mum for the first time.
he'd taken you and his mum to brunch in one of the fanciest hotels you'd ever seen, and with an endless flow of tiny sandwiches and tea as fuel, the three of you had gotten stuck chatting into the afternoon. you and his mum got on like a house on fire, laughing much louder than seemed appropriate in the esteemed hotel. but you didn't care -- you could tell how much his mum's approval meant to Jamie.
every match he played, you were there wearing his jersey. at Rebecca's request, you were always sitting in the owner's box with her and Keeley, letting you keep your eyes glued on him as he played. and before every match he would blow a kiss up to where you were sitting, just as he did the first time you wore his name on your back at a Richmond match. you even wore the same red and blue jersey to every match he played for England, despite the white jersey given to you when he got selected. during those matches, you would sit in the stands with his mum and her partner, sitting as close to the pitch as you could. that way, if they ever won a match he could run straight to you -- and that's exactly what happened when England won against The Netherlands in the Euros' semi-finals, much to Jan Maas' dismay.
the first time he posted you on Instagram was six months into your relationship, when he took you as his date to Beard and Jane's magical wedding at Stonehenge. you had gone back to Sarah, the tailor who made you your dress for the gala, to get yourself something to wear. this time, Keeley went with you, insisting you should keep your dress a secret from Jamie until the wedding just as if you were the bride and groom. and lo and behold, you caught Jane's bouquet at the wedding reception that night.
the longer your relationship progressed, the stronger the two of you became. Jamie was nothing but a gentleman. always. and as much as the two of you prioritised communication in your relationship, sometimes it was as if you could read each others' minds; taking care of each other quickly became instinctual.
when you eventually moved in with him, Jamie gave you free reign on redecorating his entire house. but you decided to sit with him for hours building a mood board instead, wanting to encapsulate both of your personalities in your shared home. during your first Christmas living with Jamie, both of your families came together to celebrate, and the love and merriness warmed your home for the rest of winter.
before you knew it, years had passed, and you had even gotten your own chance to toss the bouquet, wearing a beautiful dress designed by Sarah, of course. you and Jamie had joined the list of power couples at Richmond FC -- and as long as there were phone calls for you to answer at the club's front desk, and matches for Jamie to help the Greyhounds win, you were also colleagues.
safe to say you never had to force him to come by your desk ever again.
———
wowowow I'm so insanely sorry for how long this took to finish omg. thank u to everyone who took the time to read, like, reblog, and comment lovely things on this fic. i've loved every second of writing it and the fact I still get new notes on it is insane. thanks for sticking with it -- I will forever appreciate it. keep ur eyes peeled for new stuff from me very soon <33
pairings: jamie tartt x reader, whole cast is mentioned
summary: with Rebecca's charity gala rapidly approaching, Jamie tries to get you to be his date, so why not take you dress shopping?
words: 19 458
warnings: no smut but hot n steamy descriptions and def some thirsting, alcohol (pls don't mix ur drinks).
outfit references:
x your dress
x Keeley's dress
x Rebecca's dress
———
standing in front of the small mirror hanging above your bathroom sink, you brush your fingers through your damp hair. you're dressed in your work clothes, chic pleated trousers paired with a billowy blue blouse tucked into the waistband. you sigh as you lean on the sink, the porcelain cool to the touch. you pick up your mascara from next to the sink, leaning close to the mirror and carefully brushing it onto your eyelashes. once applied, you admire the way your eyes pop, accentuated by the makeup.
normally, you would dot some blush across your cheeks, but expecting you'll be seeing Jamie at work all day, you know you won't need the added flush of colour.
adding a tint of red to your lips, you begin doing your hair, masterfully tying it up into a half-up half-down hairstyle. you pucker your lips in the mirror, turning your head side to side to make sure everything is in place. a smile appears on your face, your confidence surging as you look at yourself.
as much as you're getting ready for yourself, you can't help but imagine the look on Jamie's face when he sees you today, especially after the teasing trick you pulled on him yesterday evening. of course you always try to look good at work, but the added effort is worth it for the potential to make the Jamie Tartt even a little bit flustered.
the music playing through your cozy apartment is interrupted by your phone ringing, and you rush from the bathroom to turn it off, toothbrush still in your mouth. seeing Keeley's name written across your screen, you answer, and the call opens onto her sitting at her vanity doing her own makeup.
"hey babe," she says, mouth agape in an O-shape as she curls her eyelashes. she's wrapped in her fluffy pink dressing gown and has matching coloured hair curlers wrapped in her locks.
"good morning, y/n." Roy speaks from the plush sofa behind her. in contrast to Keeley, he's fully dressed, leather jacket and all.
you wave at the couple, walking back to the bathroom to rinse your mouth. once the toothbrush and suds are down the drain, you can finally say: "hey guys! how are things?"
Roy says nothing, only giving you a thumbs up as he keeps his eyes on the book he's reading. back in your bedroom, you place your phone on the bed as you begin sliding on your staple jewellery.
"great! now, listen y/n, Rebecca's charity gala is this weekend and we need to get you a dress," Keeley says sternly, now putting on mascara.
"oh– I'm sure I have a dress in my closet somewhere," you say, turning and opening your cupboard to see if you have anything adequate.
Keeley bursts into a cackle, catching you off guard; "no, no, you need something new... something expensive and rich that will blow Jamie's socks off! or, you know, you could do that."
"oh my God, Keeley!" you shriek, your mouth flying open at her words. her laugh echoes loudly through your phone and you can't help but giggle along with her. picking up your phone, you head to your living room, grabbing your handbag from the sofa before heading to the front door.
Keeley continues explaining as you struggle to slip on your shoes with your free hand whilst holding your phone and your bag in the other; "I've booked you an appointment for tomorrow at a dress boutique in town. I can go with you if you'd like, just let me know."
"oh wow, that's amazing. thank you so so much!" with your flats slipped on, you pick up your work heels and shove them in your bag. you pant a breath before clicking open your door and heading out to your hallway. your voice echoes as you head into the stairwell of your apartment building; "are you sure, Keeley? I mean, it seems a bit excessive and I doubt I could afford anything too exp–"
"where the fuck are you?" Keeley interrupts you, peering at her phone screen with squinted eyes.
"I'm leaving my place, I like taking the stairs." you shrug in response.
"ooh, is that how you keep your glutes so tight then?" she sticks her tongue out at you playfully, and you laugh at her words.
"shut up," you reply and playfully roll your eyes.
"anyway," Keeley continues, "don't worry about the price, Rebecca said she'd cover it."
your eyes blow wide open, and you almost tumble down the stairs in shock; "what?! no, absolutely not!"
"hush, y/n, I don't wanna hear it. we're gonna make you look the sexiest you ever have in your life!"
finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, having descended 4 whole floors, you push through the double doors leading to the small car park outside. passing straight past your beaten-up old car, you walk onto the footpath.
"Keeley, I really don't think I can accept that,"
"are you walking to work?" she says, ignoring your sentiment. you shake your head a little, surprised by her question.
"yeah?"
"why?"
"because I like to walk."
"Keeley–" Roy begins, but Keeley interrupts him, "okay, y/n, gotta go. see you at work!"
before you can say bye, your phone beeps, and the screen goes black. you stop in your tracks, staring down at your phone. quickly typing in your password, you go to check your texts.
"oi!" someone shouts to you, and the fright almost makes you drop your phone. a hand flies to your chest as you look up, not at all expecting who you see.
"Isaac?" you ask, leaning down to look through his car window.
"get in. lemme give you a lift." he says before pressing a button on his dashboard. the passenger door suddenly opens, and your eyebrows raise at his evidently very expensive sports car.
without a word, you drop your phone into your handbag and walk around the car, slipping into the passenger seat.
"thanks, Isaac." you smile at him, and surprisingly, he cracks a wide, toothy one back at you. the sight makes you smile even more, and you wonder if you're bond with the Richmond players is going beyond just Jamie.
"were you walking to work?" he asks you, pushing his foot to the gas pedal and continuing down the road.
"yeah?"
"why?"
"because I like– why is that so shocking?"
your frustration evident in your voice, Isaac glances at you with a scared expression. "I was just asking," he mutters, and you sigh in exaggerated annoyance with a smile before turning your head to look out the car window. you settle into a few seconds of silence, just admiring the view of Richmond's greenery as you drive. music plays quietly through Isaac's speakers, and you enjoy the peaceful company.
"Isaac?" you ask, still staring out the window.
"yeah?" he replies gently.
"has Jamie ever mentioned me at training or anything?"
Isaac chuckles to himself, thinking for a moment before replying: "he doesn't talk about you really, but he does ask about you."
"what do you mean?" you turn to look at him, placing your elbow on the door and playing with your hair.
"like, when Keeley comes in to do promo with us, he'll hang back to ask her questions about you."
"like what?" you feel a blush appear on your face as you get shy at the thought.
"a few weeks ago, when the sign-in thing started, he asked her how long you'd worked at Richmond. then a few days later, he asked her if you were single."
"really?" you laugh, "what a slag."
Isaac laughs with you, shaking his head; "truer words have never been spoken,"
a few beats pass as your laughter dies down, and the thought of Jamie being so curious about you surprises you. he always acts so cool and unbothered, and you've only seen him soften a few times, so knowing he still thought about you before you'd even properly spoken warms something in your chest.
"but, y/n, I do wanna say..." Isaac keeps his eyes on the road as his voice softens, "whatever it is Jamie feels towards you, it's clearly something real. since you two have been doing this thing, he's been kinder, not just to us but also himself. I don't know how you got through to him, but whatever it is please don't stop. we've all seen the way he looks at you, he really likes you, mate."
lips parted and eyes wide, your gaze is fixed on the road in front of you. you're speechless, and all that's going through your mind is Jamie; how he looks at you, how he touches you, his scent and the feeling of his lips brushing past yours. before you can think of anything to say, Isaac pulls into the Richmond car park. he parks his car smoothly, slotting it next to Colin's dented Lamborghini.
"look, you don't have to tell me how you feel about him, but try not to break his heart too much if you have to." Isaac says, turning to look at you.
you nod a few times, clicking open your seatbelt before looking up at him through your eyelashes; "Isaac," you say, "I'm way too into him to break his heart."
he squints at you, obviously suppressing a smile, and he presses the buttons to open your doors.
"cheers, bruv." he nods at you.
"thanks for the lift, Isaac." you nod at him too.
both of you exit the car without another word, and you hurry in the door so you can get started with your day. unsurprisingly, Colin is already inside standing at your desk.
"good morning, y/n." he smiles at you.
"hey, Colin. sorry I'm late!" you hop behind the desk and sit in your chair, quickly changing your flats into your heels. you take the sign-in clipboard from atop the desk, only to notice you don't need to change its pages at all.
"oh," you say before putting it back in its place, "can I help you with anything Colin?"
you expect Colin to answer, but he stays silent as Isaac squeezes past him and signs in. you stare at him expectantly, and Colin just looks at you nervously until Isaac is walking down the hallway.
"are you okay?" you ask him quietly, leaning closer to him. he glances around suspiciously, making sure the coast is clear and Isaac is out of earshot.
"yeah, I just need your advice on something."
"hit me," you smile.
"I've been seeing this guy for maybe... two or three months? and I'm not sure if it's too soon to invite him to the gala this weekend."
"oh my God, Colin! that's so exciting! I'd say go for it, it's definitely not too soon." you assure him, smiling wide. his face mirrors yours and a blush appears on his cheeks.
"okay, great, thanks y/n!" he says before jogging down the hallway and to the locker room.
you smile to yourself, wondering when you became his go-to for advice. you won't complain, you're happy to make friends with the Richmond players.
"what's he so happy about?" Jamie's voice pipes up beside you as he places a coffee cup on your desk, watching as Colin borderline skips his way through the building.
you smile at him, picking up the cup. before it reaches your lips you look up at him with a sceptical look; "this isn't gonna be fucking green tea again is it?"
"don't worry, love." he assures you, sending you a wink as he finishes signing in. placing his elbow on your desk, he leans against it casually, smirking down at you. you furrow your brows, slightly suspicious of his intentions after the morning before. taking a sip, you're pleasantly delighted at the taste, although he didn't bring you a latte.
"hot chocolate?" you smile up at Jamie.
"yeah..." he says, eyes soft and smile genuine, "with a shot of whiskey."
your face drops suddenly as the aloholic aftertaste hits your throat. your nostrils flare as hot anger fills your veins, and you stand up from your seat in shock; "Jamie! what the fuck?!"
Jamie sticks his tongue out and cackles, slapping a hand to your desk before running backwards down the hallway. as you stand behind your desk, breath heaving, he blows you a kiss.
frustrated, you roll your eyes and grunt, sitting down again. you pick up your cup, lifting the lid and bringing it to your face. you inhale, instantly smelling the whiskey in the drink. with a gag, you push the lid back on, putting the cup far away from you on your desk. a grimace paints your face as you try to swallow the flavour away, but the gross liquid feels coated down your throat.
"y/n!" Keeley exclaims, excitement painted on her face as if you hadn't been speaking just this morning, "what's wrong with your face?"
"Jamie put whiskey in my fucking hot chocolate." you whine, rolling your eyes again.
"oooh, lemme have a sip," she says, holding her palms together as a plea.
"I don't think he'll ever bring me an actual latte ever again," your lips pout as you slump back in your chair.
Keeley ignores your complaint, quickly scribbling down her name before saying: "your fitting appointment is tomorrow at 6:30 after work. let me know if you'd like me to join!"
"thank you so much Keeley but I don't want to take Rebecca's money just for a dress,"
"it's not just a dress, y/n, it's a gown." she presses.
Rebecca's heels click into the building as if on cue, and she smiles wide at the two of you as she approaches.
"Rebecca! please tell y/n you don't mind buying her a dress for the gala." Keeley sighs.
"I thought you just said it was a gown, not a dress." you tease, and she rolls her eyes at you in response.
"oh, don't be silly! of course I don't care – in fact, I actively want to. can't have my employees looking cheap, now can I?" Rebecca states in a cocky tone, picking up the pen and signing in.
you look at her with an grateful look; "thank you, Rebecca, seriously."
she shoots you a wink before saying: "don't worry about it. we need you looking good for Jamie, don't we?" you can't help but blush at her words, overwhelmed by the gracious gift.
"my hair stylist and the girl who does my makeup is coming over to mine after work on Friday, we should all get ready together!" Keeley says, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.
"that sounds lovely!" you say.
"I'll be there." Rebecca adds.
Keeley squeals as she waves; "see you later, girls!"
Rebecca smiles at you with a nod before walking to her office, and your excitement for the gala has finally kicked in. you think to yourself; an event where everyone is dressed up to the nines, with music and an open bar? what could go wrong?
—
the next day, as you make yourself a latte in the staff room, you're surprised by two strong hands suddenly gripping your shoulders. two thumbs dig into your skin, massaging the taught muscles.
"Jesus woman, why are you so tense?" Jamie whispers in your ear, lips grazing your skin.
your eyes flutter as you struggle to keep them open, the pressure of his fingers instantly relaxing you. you smile to yourself, dropping your head back, leaning against his shoulder.
"I would be a lot more relaxed if my morning coffee wasn't such a fucking gamble every day," you joke, looking up at him through your eyelashes, "mouthwash, Jamie... really?"
Jamie chuckles to himself, smiling at his own prank. using his grip on your shoulders, he lifts you off his shoulder, spinning you around to face him. his hands rest on your hips, pulling you close to him. standing chest to chest, you can smell his cologne, woody and rich on your senses.
"you smell nice," you say absentmindedly, not thinking before speaking the thought out loud.
"ya think so? cheers, it's Tom Ford." he says with a cheeky wink, clearly bragging.
rolling your eyes, you cock your head to the side. when you look up at him again, his face holds an expression you haven't seen before. his pupils are blown wide and a small smile sits on his pouty lips.
"what?" you ask, a smile creeping onto your face too.
"nothin'" Jamie mumbles, and you can feel his thumbs rubbing up and down your sides. his eyes move to your lips, and you blush in response. nervously, you fill your cheeks with air and purse your lips as he stares at them. he chuckles at your funny face, quickly leaning down and pecking your lips. the kiss makes you drop the expression, and his eyes finally meet yours again. you raise your eyebrows and pull your head back, and his grin grows at your surprised eyes.
"what?" he says nonchalantly.
"nothin'" you say with a fake deep voice, mocking him.
as he laughs, Jamie moves one of the hands from your waist to your back, sliding it up your spine. when he gets to your hair, he wraps his fingers around the long strands and tugs lightly, tilting your chin up. your eyes threaten to close again, and your heartbeat quickens as Jamie's eyes darken.
"wanna kiss me properly Tartt?" you whisper, teasing him with a smile.
taking a few painfully long seconds to drag his eyes over every inch of your face, he eventually drops the hand from your hair. his other hand leaves your waist as he takes a step away from you. as he spins on his heel to leave he says: "you wish."
you tsk at him, rolling your eyes while shaking your head. turning to the beeping coffee machine, your mouth speaks before your brain thinks; "Jamie," you call after him, turning back around. he reappears in the doorway in merely a split second, hand resting on the doorframe as he looks at you with raised eyebrows. "I have to go buy a dress for the gala after work and I need a lift... would you mind coming with me?"
Jamie's eyebrows relax, but his eyes widen as he stares at you, blank expression on his face. you can't read what he's thinking, immediately regretting your question: "if you can't, that's fine, I just–".
"yes." he breathes, "yes, yeah, course I'll go with ya,"
you smile at him shyly, and his straight face turns into a smiling one as he mirrors you. you nod at him as a silent thanks, and he nods back before making his way back to training. taking your cup from the machine, you smile to yourself. as you pour a sugar packet into it, you shake your head, wondering how you got into this game with Jamie in the first place.
as the time approaches six o'clock, you wait impatiently for the Richmond team to sign out. as your colleagues say goodbye and sign their names, you politely smile and chat to them, and by the time the players make their way through the hallway, you're halfway out of your chair. standing up, you pick up your handbag and shove your things into it.
"you in a hurry, y/n?" Sam laughs.
"going on another date with Tartt?" Colin adds.
"leave the two love birds alone, bruv." Isaac says, picking up a pen and signing himself out. Sam takes the pen next and does the same before passing it to Colin.
from behind the large group of players all waiting to leave, Jamie appears in his regular clothes. wearing a blue hoodie with grey jeans, you admire how simple his outfit is.
"Hughes, sign me out there would ya?" Jamie calls, heading straight for the door. he brings the pendant of his gold chain to sit between his teeth as he grins at you, eyes lingering on your white top.
he cocks his head towards the door with a curt nod; "shall we?"
the players all erupt in teasing oohs and cheers at Jamie's shameless flirting, and the excitement makes you laugh. you step down from the desk, pushing your bag onto your shoulder. Jamie walks through the door ahead of you, holding it open for you to walk through. before you go, you turn back to the group of players and blow them a kiss, making them shout even louder, jumping up and down and slapping each other's shoulders. you cackle at the dramatics, following Jamie outside.
continuing your laughter as he leads you to his car you ask him: "are they always like this?"
"sadly," he pulls open the passenger side door for you, "yes."
you drop into the seat, the plush and expensive leather comfortable beneath you. as Jamie gets into the car, you look around. there's a football shaped air freshener hanging from the mirror, and there's a small rubber duck wearing a bow tie stuck to his dashboard. his gearshift has a bracelet wrapped around the base of it, colourful wooden beads with a small heart adding a pop of colour to the black leather interior.
"didn't think I could be so intrigued by car decor," you say, and Jamie chuckles shyly as he looks around at his car.
"yeah, it's just things me mum's given me... for good luck, ya'know." the look he gives you is sincere, and you smile at the sentiment of it all.
"that's really sweet, Jamie."
he dips his head down and smiles, and you're sure you spot a blush cover his face. turning the keys in the cognition, his BMW roars to life, and you both buckle your seatbelts. you tap the address into the car's gps, grateful Keeley texted it to you without you even having to ask. as he drives out of the car park's gates, Jamie asks: "if you need a lift to this shop, how did you get to work?"
"I usually walk to work, but Isaac gave me a spontaneous lift yesterday and then picked me up again this morning," you explain, looking at the side of his face as his eyes stay fixed on the road. you watch his face morph into a confused pout.
"you walk to work?"
"yeah?"
"why?"
"what the fuck?!" you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air in frustration.
"what?!" Jamie yells back, matching your tone.
you groan, dropping your head into your hands before raking your fingers through your hair, "nothing, sorry, that's just the third time someone's asked me that."
"it's a bit weird, to be fair," Jamie shrugs.
"what? no it isn't! I swear you're all such snobs," you joke, "it's a good way to get your steps in,"
Jamie snorts, and your head snaps to the side to look at him again.
"you're such a loser," he says, shaking his head.
"as if! my phone tracks them and then I get little messages every time I do 1000 steps," you explain proudly. Jamie says nothing else, just smiles before glancing at the screen showing the directions.
the two of you sit in a comfortable silence as you watch other cars go by. sitting in Jamie's car, you can almost feel how expensive it was just by the way it glides so smoothly across the road. you try to spot similar cars at stop lights and crossroads, but somehow Jamie seems to be the only one with this fancy of a car.
"y/n?" his soft voice interrupts your thoughts.
"mhm?" you hum, looking to him.
he doesn't as much as glimpse at you, keeping his eyes forward; "how come Isaac gave you a lift?" his voice is quiet and shy when he asks. with an amused smile, you stare at him, wondering if you've imagined his reserved tone.
"Jamie?" you start, "are you... jealous?"
"pfft, what? no, why would I be?" he sputters.
"are you serious?" you ask with a giggle, and his silence speaks volumes. "Jamie..." you sigh, "the only reason Isaac gave me a lift yesterday was because he saw me walking and offered me one. this morning, he passed me again, so he stopped. it's polite to accept and, to be completely honest, I just wanted to sit in a sports car." you shrug, reassuring him.
he exhales and nods, trying to disguise his worry as a joke when he forces a chuckle; "oh, right, yeah,"
you lean closer to him, leaning your chin on his shoulder. finally, he glances down at you, smiling softly. "don't worry, Jamie. from now on, I'll only take lifts from you in your sports car."
he rolls his eyes but can't help but huff a small laugh, and you smile up at him, biting your lip. "can I turn on some music?" you ask sweetly, fluttering your eyelashes at him dramatically.
"go on then."
you squeal in excitement as you tap the screen on his dashboard, admiring the high-tech of it all. connecting your phone to his car, you press play on one of your playlists. soft music falls from the speakers, and you don't think you've ever heard your favourite songs in such good quality before. pressing a hand to the speaker on your door, you close your eyes, feeling the vibrations of the music. you fall back against the head rest, completely relaxing into Jamie's presence. he doesn't speak, letting you feel the sound in peace.
humming along to the song playing, you smile to yourself. you feel like you're floating as the car drives smoothly over the roads to the boutique. Jamie's a surprisingly gentle driver, never hitting his brake too hard and not swerving around bends. dropping your hand from the speaker, you start picking up on the sound of Jamie's movements. his breathing is steady, and you can hear him absentmindedly sigh every so often. you hear his hands run over the steering wheel when he takes a turn, and the sound soothes you. driving with Jamie makes him feel so human. usually only seeing him in the context of football, you feel like you know athlete Jamie more than person Jamie, despite your date last weekend. the date was amazing, and you learnt so much about him, but sitting in silence with him is a big difference to your usual constant banter.
after the car drives over a bump, you feel the car slow to a halt and the music stop, presuming you've arrived.
"y/n?" Jamie whispers gently, and you've never heard his voice so quiet. the other times he's whispered to you it was definitely not this sweet and soft, and the sound warms your heart.
when you turn your head towards him and open your eyes, he's unexpectedly close to you. with his elbow on the armrest between you, Jamie holds himself a few inches away from you. his gaze softens when you look at him, your eyes wide and amused.
"we're here," he whispers in the same gentle tone, nodding his head towards the windshield. your eyes don't leave each other's as you breathe in deeply. the smell of his cologne fills your sense again, now mixed with fresh conditioner and a slight hint of lavender. you yearn to be closer to him, and you have to fight the urge to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him into you.
instead, you let your eyes drop to his lips before quickly looking away, staring out the window at the shop in front of you. you feel Jamie's eyes on you for a few more seconds before he peels them off of your face, looking down at his hands awkwardly. facing him again, you smile nervously before leaning over the center console and pressing a quick kiss to his soft cheek. his head snaps up at the feeling and when he turns to you, he's blushing a deep pink.
"let's go then," you say, sighing and picking up your bag from between your legs, placing it on your lap. Jamie jumps out of the car, rushing over to the passenger side to open your door for you. one hand holding the door out of your way, his other hand reaches out for you to take. you place your hand in his, and he helps you stand up from the car – not that you need it, but you'll never say to no to some princess treatment.
"thank you, Jamie." you smiled at him.
"you're welcome, y/n." he says as he closes the car door behind you.
you approach the small shop, stopping by its window to admire some of the dresses on display; "oh my goodness," you breathe, "these are gorgeous!" your excitement doubles as you look back at Jamie.
his eyes are fixed on you as he breathes: "yeah... gorgeous,"
your heart rate speeds up suddenly, noticing the way his pupils are wide again, just like in the staff room earlier. your mouth opens, desperately trying to breathe in more air, but you get lost in his gaze. he definitely isn't talking about the dresses.
you swallow and try to snap out of it; "okay, Jamie, I'll see you tomorrow."
"what?" he says quickly, expression faltering and you can almost see his heart break in his face. you furrow your brows and repeat after him; "what?"
he stands up straight, suddenly acting uncharacteristically awkward as he fidgets with his car keys. attempting nonchalance, he shakes his head and looks away from you.
"I mean, I just thought I'd go in with you, ya'know... you might need a second opinion or something," he says quickly, scratching the back of his neck while he looks anywhere but at you.
you chuckle at his silly sheepishness, saying nothing before reaching out for his hand, taking it in yours. a blush appears on your face, and you turn and pull him into the boutique with you.
"good evening!" a squeaky voice chirps, and you can't see the person it came from. your hand still clutches Jamie's, and he holds yours tighter as you both look around. you're overwhelmed by the amount of gowns strung along racks against each wall, and your mouth hangs open as you run your free hand along the fabrics.
"phew! sorry about that, I'm here!" the voice speaks again, and when you turn around, a small blonde woman appears from behind an equally small counter.
"hiya," you speak politely, "uhm, my name is y/n. I think my friend Keeley made an appointment for me."
"ah! Keeley Jones! she's one amazing firecracker, isn't she?" the woman says with a smile, "now, where are my glasses?" she thinks to herself. her curly blonde hair is half pinned up, and her bright red glasses sit on top of her head. you're not sure whether to say something or not, watching her pick up and move stacks of paper on the counter as she searches. Jamie squeezes your hand, and you turn around to look at him. he lifts his pointer finger to his mouth and shakes his head, smiling at you. you smile up at him, taking note of what he means, but decide to do the right thing.
"sorry, I think they're on your head?" you say as politely as possible.
"oh! thank you, darling." she smiles at you before reaching out a hand and introducing herself; "I'm Sarah, it's so lovely to meet you, y/n,"
you drop Jamie's hand to shake Sarah's, which makes her notice his presence.
"and you are?" she asks, holding a hand out for him too.
"I'm Jamie," he smiles, shaking her hand with his right and covering the back of her hand with his left.
"such a sweet thing," Sarah smiles, "you're a lucky girl." she says, looking at you.
Jamie turns to you, letting go of her hand, raising his eyebrows at you with a teasing grin. you roll your eyes at him, ignoring Sarah's comment.
"right–", she says, pushing her glasses back into her hair and moving across the boutique towards a rack of dresses, "what are you looking for today?"
"well, I'm going to this big fancy gala on Friday and I need–"
"something blue." Jamie interrupts, hands politely held behind his back as he smiles at Sarah, avoiding your confused face.
"perfect! let me take some measurements and I'll get you set up. follow me, love. Jamie, you can wait here, take a seat." Sarah's excited, and completely oblivious to your surprise at Jamie's words, as she leads you through a curtain at the back of the shop. you glance back at Jamie over your shoulder, and he winks at you as he sits down on a velvet purple sofa.
the room you walk in is small, but tidy and chic. there's a large mirror covering one of the walls, and the carpet is white and shaggy. it seems to be one big dressing room, and it looks completely different to where Jamie is waiting for you. there's an iced window opposite you, allowing for natural light to flood the cream walls.
"he said something blue, is that right?" Sarah asks, handing you some kind of unitard which matches your skin tone.
"uhm, I guess, yeah," you say, agreeing to Jamie's suggestion. you're not sure why he said it, but it gives you more inspiration than you had when you arrived to the boutique.
"okay, darling. go slip on this little bodysuit behind the curtain over there and I'll be back to measure you whenever you're ready." Sarah smiles politely, guiding you towards a small but tall booth in the corner of the room.
once you've changed, wearing nothing but the skin tight playsuit, you call for Sarah. the carpet is soft under your bare feet as you admire yourself in the mirror. you run your fingers through your hair, adding some volume into it as you smile at your reflection. soon after, Sarah pushes a rack of dresses into the room.
"you haven't even measured me yet?" you laugh at the amount of fabric hiding her small frame.
"don't worry, angel, I've got a good eye for this stuff," she says with a strained voice, struggling to push the wheels over the carpet. you rush over to help her, pulling the opposite side further into the room. there's a variety of different shades of blue and fabrics on the rack; there's silk, satin, and chiffon, and you admire the way some of the rhinestones sparkle under the light.
"these are beautiful, woah..." you say, looking through the dresses.
"we have plenty of time to play dress-up later! let's get you measured," Sarah says, slipping on her glasses and taking the measuring tape from around her neck.
as you move to stand on a small platform in front of the mirror, music starts playing from the shop's speakers. you instantly recognise it as one of the songs you played in the car ride with Jamie. you blush, chuckling to yourself.
"did Jamie turn this music on?" you ask, looking at Sarah in the mirror.
"he did," she says, quickly scribbling down the length of your leg into her notebook, "he asked if he could connect his phone. he's a very nice man, very charming,"
you huff, a smile creeping up your face, "hmpf, isn't he?"
"how long have you two been together?" she asks you absentmindedly. the question makes you shake your head and sputter out your words; "oh, no, no, we're not together,"
"really?" she asks, "I thought I saw you two holding hands when you walked in,"
"it's complicated," you explain vaguely.
"oh sweetheart, there's nothing complicated about the way he looks at you," Sarah says quietly, and her statement stuns you, "he helped me choose these dresses for you by the way, I already know his favourite one."
not sure how to process her words, you turn your head to the rack of dresses, trying to guess which one he likes the most. your chest grows warm at the thought of Jamie's waiting for you in the next room, listening to a song you like, picking out dresses for you. with a blush on your face, you start to realise what Isaac meant; Jamie can be exceptionally kind.
"all done, my love! now, pick whichever ones you want to try on and if they need any tailoring, I can get that done for you before Friday." Sarah brushes strands of hair out of her face, standing up straight and pointing to the rack of gowns.
you look at her with kind eyes and smile; "thank you, Sarah,"
"now, I'll be just out there taking care of your friend, but just gimme a shout if you need help with a zip or anything." she winks at you before heading through the curtain into the boutique.
you take a deep breath, trying to focus on the sound of the music playing through the room. either Jamie has exceptionally good taste, or he's found your spotify account and has turned on the same playlist you played in his car.
trying on a navy dress, you spin around in the mirror. nice bodice, but ugly tule sleeves. you take a turquoise gown from the rack, deciding against it before even trying it on simply due to its big frilly skirt. next, you pull out a dress the brightest shade of blue, and try it on for fun, just to see Jamie's reaction. you pull aside the curtain into the shop before stepping through.
Jamie's hands fly to his mouth, biting back a laugh. you do the same, rolling your lips into your mouth to avoid a cackle from escaping. the dress is made of polyester, and is covered in sheer tule with big plastic diamonds.
"oh... babe," Sarah says awkwardly, grimacing.
"Jamie?" you say, still holding back a laugh.
"you look... absolutely stunnin'" he forces, face morphing into an almost painful expression.
a few beats of silence pass, before the three of you burst into loud and boisterous laughter. Jamie clutches his stomach in laughter, while Sarah covers her mouth the hide her amusement. you stop your laughing and pretend to look offended; "what? you don't like it?" you smile at Jamie. he digs his phone out of his pocket before holding it up proudly.
"go on, do a twirl," he says, filming you as you do what he asks. you laugh at the antics, holding up the skirt and curtsying. you blow a kiss to his camera and close your eyes, smiling sweetly.
"fuckin' beautiful," Jamie mutters, and he sounds more sincere than the jokey tone he had used before. you pretend you didn't hear it, taking a dramatic bow before disappearing into the changing room again.
laughing to yourself, you tug off the dress, appreciating the little ribbons Sarah has tied onto each dress' zip, allowing you to easily reach back and pull it down yourself. you take your time trying on three more dresses, and as much as you look like a princess, you don't feel like one just yet.
the final dress on the rack is a sequined baby blue one, and you're unsure of its boldness before you even put it on. you take it off the hanger, undoing the zip and stepping into it. pulling the skinny pink spaghetti straps over your shoulders, you feel the soft inner lining of the dress tickle your legs. all the dresses you had tried on were floor length, but this one falls three quarters down your legs, ending a few inches above your ankles.
reaching back, your hand searches for the ribbon in order to zip up the dress, but you can't seem to find it. turning around in the mirror, you stretch your neck to see it's missing.
"fuck," you whisper to yourself, desperately trying to fold your arm back and zip it up, but to no avail.
"Sarah?" you call, but she doesn't answer.
"eh, she's gone upstairs to her workshop for a minute. is everythin' alright?" Jamie replies. you hang your head, taking in a deep breath.
"could you come help me zip up my dress please?" you say, eyes to the ceiling as you dread Jamie's entrance. a knot grows in your stomach; you wanted Jamie to see the dress on Friday, after getting all dolled up, not when you're barefoot in a dressing room with your hair messy.
"yeah, sure, of course," he mutters, his voice coming closer through the curtain. pushing it open, he covers his eyes with his hand; "you decent?"
"yes, Jamie, just come in." you sigh, hand clutching the back of the dress as you stand on your tippy toes, mimicking the effect your heels will have on the outfit.
"alright, alright, just–" Jamie stops mid sentence. you look over at him, and his face bares a look of pure admiration. his pouty lips are parted, eyes wide and glossy under the light. eyebrows raised, his arms hang limp by his sides, and his chest rises and falls noticeably with his shallow breaths.
you don't speak, your face holding an embarrassed expression as you turn your back towards Jamie; "please," you squeak quietly.
he inhales a shaky breath before saying: "yeah, sorry, yeah,"
avoiding looking at him, you wait impatiently for the feeling of his body behind you. you hear his uneven breaths first as he stands behind you. fully aware he's blushing, you can't help but wish you had turned to the mirror, then you could at least see his expression as his hands carefully clutch the bottom of the zip, right above your ass. seeing the red tint on his face would make you feel a lot better about your half-assed appearance. his fingers brush the arch of your back as he pulls the zip up the length of your back, as his other hand rests on your waist. when he nears the top, his hand leaves your waist to brush your hair over your shoulder and out of the way. as the dress tightens around you, one of the straps slip from your shoulder.
as soon as the dress is secured, you turn towards the mirror again, lifting yourself onto your toes. the shiny fabric hugs your frame tightly, accentuating the curve of your hips and pushing up your chest ever so slightly. you hear Jamie gulp, and your eyes move to look at him in the reflection of the mirror. his eyes don't meet yours, however, as they're glued to your back and shoulders. he carries his gaze across your shoulder blades, slowly lifting a hand to your arm, gently sliding the thin strap up to your shoulder again. his breathing still sounds heavy in your ear, and his fingers linger on the exposed nape of your neck.
Jamie finally lets his eyes glance up to meet yours, and your breath hitches in your throat. his eyes are dark, not with lust or intoxication the way you've seen before, but with something else – something indecipherable. he holds your eye contact while his fingers continue their path over your skin. he brings them down to your shoulder before dragging them back up to your neck. trailing them down your spine, he follows the shape of your shoulder blades, drawing absentminded shapes on them. goosebumps appear on your skin, and you bring your hands up your torso nervously. the slight scratch of the sequins on your palms grounds you, and your eyes trail over your body. Jamie settles both hands on your waist again, and you drag your hands up over your stomach, to your ribcage, before sliding over your chest. you bring them back down, fingers smoothing the sparkles on your thighs.
when your eyes flick up to look at Jamie, you're surprised to see him staring at your eyes already. his cheeks are flushed, but he's managed to close his mouth for the first time since he opened the dressing room curtain. his hands drop from your waist, and he reaches up to bring your hair back off your shoulder before taking a step away from you. Jamie's eyes are sincere as he finally speaks: "y/n..."
"mhm?" you hum, turning to the side to admire the back of the dress in the tall mirror.
"I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you in my entire life." he says firmly, face unwavering as he looks you dead in the eye in the mirror.
you soften at his words, sighing as you tilt your head. he flashes you a small smile as you stare at his reflection. looking at you sheepishly, it's almost like he doesn't know the words he just spoke went straight to your heart – as if the look in his eyes didn't scream love.
turning around quickly, your breath is shallow as you hold his eye contact. his eyes drop to your lips and yours do the same, and soon enough you're stepping closer to him. peering up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes stay wide, and he looks at you expectantly. his eyes flick down to glance at your lips once more, but this time, your eyes stay fixed on his. the longer you stare at him, the more you feel your eyes gloss over. the sweet smile on his face doesn't fall, and you shake your head as you finally grin back.
standing up on your tippy toes, you throw your arms around his neck and hold him tightly. his strong arms wrap around your waist, placing one of his palms flat on the middle of your back. you sigh as you press your face into his neck, and you hear him exhale deeply as he holds you impossibly closer.
you breathe in his skin, feeling his hair tickle your cheek. Jamie groans into your neck, squeezing you so tight your feet lift an inch off the ground. you giggle into his neck, lifting your head up and back to look at him. he moves his head off your shoulder too, keeping your feet off the ground.
"is this your favourite dress then?" you tease him with a smile.
"definitely." he nods his head eagerly, eyes focused on your mouth. you bite your lip nervously, the way you always do when you notice him staring at them.
"what?" you ask sweetly, moving your head to the side in an attempt to get him to look you in the eye again.
"will you be my date to the gala?" he says quickly, eyes back on yours. his face breaks out in a large grin as you raise your eyebrows at him.
you look up, as if deep in thought, before furrowing your brows and pouting; "uuuhm... no." you state. Jamie's happy face immediately drops into a pouty, confused expression.
before he can contest your answer, you quickly peck his frowning lips, taking him aback all over again. kicking your feet, you laugh out loud; "okay, put me down now. I need to go pay for this dress."
—
looking at your reflection in Keeley's vanity mirror, you absolutely adore who's staring back at you. your hair is curled to perfection, pinned up in the classier version of a messy bun. loose strands frame your face and make the hairstyle look naturally effortless, despite it having taken 40 minutes to perfect. your eyelids sparkle with a slight dusty pink colour. skin looking filter smooth, you admire the way the light bounces off your cheekbones after Keeley's makeup artist fanned some highlighter on them.
she's behind you on the pink sofa, painting her toe nails, whilst Rebecca is next to her on her phone. you had agreed to all get ready together but Rebecca, picky as ever, arrived completely dressed up, having already had her stylist get her ready.
leaning close to the mirror, you screw open your shiny pink lip gloss before lathering it on your lips. you pop them together before puckering them in the mirror, making a kissy noise. Keeley laughs at the sound, and when you turn around, a mischievous grin grows on her face; "look at you with your lip gloss! Jamie and y/n sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!"
the three of you share a big laugh as you stand up from the chair, the pink robe Keeley lent you keeping you cosy as you get ready.
"okay, time for my dress!" you sing, and Keeley squeals.
"I can't wait to see it," Rebecca says sweetly. you tilt your head, looking at her with kind eyes;
"thanks again, Rebecca, I don't think I can ever repay you for this favour,"
"shut up and get dressed!" Rebecca shouts, waving a hand to dismiss you.
"aah! okay!" you shout back, running into Keeley's bedroom, dress bag folded over your arm.
putting it on is easier this time, having tied your own ribbon onto the zip. you look at your reflection in the bedroom mirror, and you can't believe this is you. the dress fits you like a glove, and is still the most comfortable thing you've ever worn. the fabric is flowy around your legs, and tightens to hug your body around your hips. your pinned up hair shows off your clavicle, and the framing front pieces make your face look chiseled as ever. sitting on the bed, you slip your feet into your light pink heels, the platform pumps adding an extra two inches to your height. as you buckle them up, you can finally say you truly do feel like a princess.
"ready?" you call, cracking open the door out of the bedroom.
"yes!" Keeley and Rebecca both say at the same time, excitement evident in their voices.
you step out of the room, letting out a deep breath. there's no reason to be, but you're nervous. you hold your head up, imagining Jamie sitting in that room, and you're suddenly filled with a newfound confidence. taking long strides, you walk into the next room. stepping in front of Keeley and Rebecca, you smile wide. both of them are dead silent, staring at you with blank expressions. you do a twirl, hoping to pull a reaction from them, but when you face them again, you still get nothing. smile slowly fading, your brows furrow.
"is there something wrong?" you say, holding out your hands in confusion.
Keeley and Rebecca shake their heads in sync, and the latter finally speaks up; "not at all, y/n, wow,"
"Jamie-" Keeley starts, life re-entering her eyes, "is... going to..." she jumps up in the air as she screams "DIE!"
she runs over to you and hugs you as you cackle at their theatrics; "you look fucking amazing!" Keeley squeals.
you look at Rebecca as you squeeze Keeley's arm, and the smile she gives you feels warm and sincere. she doesn't need to tell you what she thinks, you can read it in her face. you mouth the words 'thank you' to her one last time, and she blows you a kiss.
"let's get going!" letting go of you, Keeley runs to the mirror to quickly check her makeup. you move towards the sofa, picking up your clutch bag and slipping your phone and lip gloss into it. Rebecca stands up, brushing down her outfit. her red dress highlights her long legs, and her pinned up hair makes her look even taller than she is. turning your back to her, she kindly helps you take the ribbon off your zip. Keeley's hair cascades over her shoulder in waves, and her black corset fits perfectly over a big pink silk skirt.
"we look so good," you turn to them, smiling wide before heading for the front door.
you all slip into the back of the slick black limousine Rebecca organised for the three of you, and you waste no time in popping open the complimentary champagne.
each of you have a flute in hand as you sing along to the music playing. Keeley holds up her phone to take selfies and pictures of all of you, together as well as posing on your own. laughing and cheering, you hype each other up as you show the camera your best faces. three champagne flutes down and your cheeks feel hot, the alcohol rushing through your veins.
"oh by the way, y/n, you'll be sitting at a table with me and Keeley tonight." Rebecca smiles as she takes a sip of her drink. your eyebrows arch in surprise, and you mirror her as you bring the glass flute to your lips.
"yeah, we didn't want you sitting with random staff," Keeley adds.
"I'm surprised you didn't put me at a table with Jamie," you say.
Rebecca wags her pointer finger at you; "hm, no, see that wouldn't really be playing the game, would it?"
"if you're sitting at the same table, there's no longing, no yearning, no sexual tension!" Keeley explains, grunting the last words as she balls her fists in front of her and shakes them.
"exactly!" Rebecca continues, "our table is in front of his, which means that each time he looks at the stage, his eyes have to pass you, which they obviously won't and he'll probably sit there all night staring at you until you notice him" she states matter of factly.
"you guys..." you drawl, "this is so lovely, but at this point I'll just want jump his bones the minute I see him. I've been holding off for so long!"
"I promise it's worth it... believe me, it's all about the wait." Keeley says, placing a firm hand on your knee and squeezing it in reassurance. "Rebecca knows all about it," she continues, "she's put Sam behind us as well, at the same table as Jamie."
gasping at her, you let out a small scream; "Rebecca! you're going to try pick things up with him again?!" she rolls her eyes at you and Keeley, but still smirks slyly. the three of you holler and laugh, drowning out the music with your noise. your stomach twists in nerves and excitement, not at all knowing what to expect from tonight. whatever happens, you have to try to resist the one thing you've been thinking about for weeks; let's see how hard he's going to make that.
—
the limousine finally comes to a halt at the Richmond Theatre, and the flashing cameras already catch your eye. the driver steps out, walking over and opening the car door for you, Keeley, and Rebecca. one by one, you exit the stretch, giving each other hands to help the other up.
the red carpet is rolled out from the end of the stoop, all the way up over the stairs into the venue. there's a backdrop set up for photographs displaying an array of sponsors including bantr and KBPR. Sam and Isaac pose in front of the cameras, standing a few feet from one another.
"Jerry! Dave! it's so good to see you guys again! make sure to get my good side this year," Sam points at the group of photographers, choosing for a simple wide smile. Isaac on the other hand, has his hands together in a prayer pose, face emotionless. "don't forget the shoes," Isaac says to the cameras, "make sure you get the shoes, bruv." he reiterates bluntly, pointing a finger down at the ground.
shaking your head, you laugh at their antics. looking at the people around you, you can't help but think about Jamie; is he inside already? what is he wearing? will he still like your dress? oh my God what if he doesn't show up just because you said no to being his date-
"y/n, it's your turn babe," Keeley whispers in your ear, and she places a hand on your back to guide you onto the red carpet. eyes widening in panic, you turn to grab her hand; "Keeley, I have no idea what to do, please come with me,"
she giggles, running in front of the photographers, still holding your hand. she flicks her hair aside, placing a hand on her hip and smiling wide. through her teeth she tells you: "just copy me, you're gorgeous."
as the two of you stand and pose together, Rebecca steps onto the carpet at its far end, smiling on her own. you reach over, taking her hand and pulling her between you and Keeley, and the three of you laugh and pose together in front of the cameras. slowly but surely, you get more comfortable, stepping aside to get a few photos on your own. Dani, Colin, and a number of other Richmond players stand next to the photographers, whistling and whooping in encouragement. your laugh is big and genuine as the cameras continue to flash, and the adrenaline running through your veins reignites the excitement you've had all week.
"thank you!" you say to the photographers as an event organiser beckons you off the carpet. she leads you, Rebecca, and Keeley towards the steps into the theatre. the three of you laugh at the rush caused by the attention of the cameras, and your words are filled with disbelief; "I've never done anything like that before! that was so much fucking fun!"
"I know right?!" Keeley cackles.
"ladies, I have to go in and sort some things so I'm going to go ahead. I'll see you at the table," Rebecca speaks quickly, blowing a kiss before rushing off.
"she's so sexy when she's all in charge and shit," Keeley says, watching as Rebecca struts up the rest of the stairs and into the venue. she turns to face you, looking you up and down. with an inquisitive expression, she reaches her hands up and twists your necklace around, hiding the clasp behind your neck.
"perfect," she says, "how do I look?"
"absolutely amazing," you reply to her, pulling some fluff from her lace corset.
"let's fucking do this," Keeley says with a determined expression, and the two of you hold hands again as you walk up the stairs. at the door, a server holds a silver platter with champagne flutes filled to the brim. Keeley immediately drops your hand, taking one glass in each hand. you struggle holding back a laugh as you take one for yourself, thanking the server quietly.
approaching the double doors into the theatre, you reach out your free hand to pull the handle, holding it open for Keeley. "thanks, babe," she says, taking a quick sip of her drink. the second she enters, she squeals "Barbara!" and rushes over to her friend nearby.
left to fend for yourself, you blink and widen your eyes at the sheer size of the ballroom. at the far end is a large stage, and the walls are covered in red velvet. you look up at the ginormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and the chatter from the large amount of guests bounces against all sides of the room. you can't discern any of the voices despite recognising almost every face. everyone is dressed up to the Gods, mingling and chatting in small groups. some people are sitting at their tables, whilst some are simply standing around.
you spot Ted and Beard talking to Trent Crimm to your left, and as you're about to move towards them to say hello, a recognisable voice finally breaks through your thoughts; "holy fuck."
snapping your head towards the sound of the voice, your eyes immediately notice Jamie standing next to the bar to your right. he stands up straight when your eyes meet, sliding his elbow from the counter and placing down his beer bottle.
your jaw slacks as you move your eyes down his body, noticing his suit. it's a smooth navy, tailored to fit him perfectly. his signet ring shines beneath the bright lights, and his tattoos peek out from under his sleeve. the tie he's wearing has a light blue pattern you can't quite make out from your distance, but when your eyes drift to his suit jacket, your mouth snaps closed.
Jamie's eyes are wider than you've ever seen them, and he doesn't seem to blink at all as you walk over to him. you stand close to him, nostrils flaring as you clench your jaw; "Jamie," you say flatly, trying to keep your breathing steady, "what the fuck is that?" you tuck your clutch under your arm, moving your hand up to his chest and poking a finger against the pocket of his jacket.
his mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out. avoiding your eyes, he frowns his lips and shrugs; "what's... what?"
you tsk at him, moving your head to the side in an attempt to catch his gaze again. your finger digs into his chest harder, finally making him look at you as he pulls away in pain.
"ow, what was that for?"
"where did you get that pocket square?" you ask, making your question clear. you glance down at the sequinned blue fabric folded in his pocket, and your ears start ringing as your heart rate increases rapidly.
"Sarah made it for me to match your dress," Jamie admits sheepishly, shoulders slumping as he looks down at his fidgeting hands.
"come with me." you say, turning around and walking across the ballroom. Jamie follows you like a lost puppy as you walk past the other guests. "hey guys, I'll see you in a bit!" you chirp as you pass the coaches and their resident writer. they wave at you and Jamie with confused faces, but you ignore them. pushing through another set of double doors, you walk into a hallway.
looking side to side, you spot what you're looking for down the hallway and on the left. you don't look behind you, sure Jamie is right there, as you strut past another bar and some couched booths. stopping to chug your champagne, you discard the glass one of the tables. when you finally reach the door labelled 'ladies, you push open the door, hoping nobody's inside.
Jamie's suddenly stops as you head into the bathroom, brows furrowed, and you roll your eyes before pulling him in with you. when you walk in, you thank God there's no one in there to see you drag in the man trailing behind you. pushing open the first stall you see, you yank Jamie's arm to pull him inside.
you drop his hand, pressing your hands against his chest and pushing his back into the door, making it shut. you waste no time in slotting your feet between his and leaning forward, connecting your lips together. his hands find your waist as he realises what's happening. your clutch drops to the floor and you grab his biceps, keeping yourself steady.
hunger sets into you as you kiss him deeply, already panting as you messily move your lips against each other. your tongue slips into his mouth with ease as your hand reaches for his hair, grabbing a handful and tugging it. he groans into your mouth as his hands move up your back, holding you impossibly closer. you struggle to suppress the moan in the back of your throat as his tongue dips into your mouth, and your knees buckle at the feeling. Jamie uses this as his chance to spin you around, pressing your back against the cold door and quickly locking it without even having to look. with one hand placed firmly on the arch of your back, the other comes up to your face, tilting your jaw up as he kisses you even harder. your heads move side to side quickly, not once pulling away for breath as you move against each other vigorously. your fingers are still tangled in his hair whilst your other hand grips his arm tight, feeling the way the muscle flexes as he holds your body against his.
your mind goes completely blank, and your senses heighten as Jamie feels warm - no - hot. your heart hammers against your chest as you feel yourself start to sweat, your shared body heat starting to become overwhelming as your ears ring. all you can see, feel, and smell is Jamie; his cologne, his cold rings, his smooth skin on yours. both of your lips are sticky with lipgloss, and the noises your mouths make together make you blush. Jamie slides his hand from your face to your neck, running his thumb down your throat as he continues to tangle your tongues together. the touch pulls a low whine from your throat, and you completely lose the strength to hold yourself up.
your hand leaves his hair and quickly finds his tie, wrapping it around your fist and tugging it. you use the leverage to pull your back from the door before pressing the same hand into his chest.
Jamie reluctantly pulls his lips off of yours as you push against him. you're both breathless, panting with open mouths as you stare at each other. his pupils are dark and blown wide, breathing jagged, and his lips are even more plump than usual. yours feel equally as swollen, cheeks hot and hair messy.
without a word, you bend down, picking up your long discarded purse from the floor. turning your back to Jamie, you unlock the stall door and walk towards the sinks. dropping your purse on top of the marble, you run cold water over your hands in an attempt to cool yourself down before digging through your clutch. pulling out a bobby pin, you fix a rogue strand of hair which has fallen out of your updo. as you do so, Jamie appears from the stall, hair no longer messy. he catches your eyes in the mirror and smirks at you. as he passes you by, he brings his palm up to slap your ass, making your disheveled expression form into a smile.
you watch his back as he leaves the bathroom, and the fact he doesn't turn to glance at you makes you part your lips and huff, impressed by his sudden composure. turning back to the mirror, you stare at yourself. your cheeks are flushed, lips red and swollen, and your legs shake beneath you. holding the sink for support, you lean forward, fanning your face with your hand in an attempt to cool your skin. the door squeaks open, and you quickly stand up straight and pretend to fix the hair around your face.
a brunette woman you don't recognise walks in, and you send her a polite smile through the mirror's reflection. "having a good night are we?" she grins knowingly, scrunching up her nose and raising her eyebrows. you let out a surprised cackle, quickly shaking your head and shrugging; "just fixing my makeup, you know how it goes."
"right..." she drawls, winking at you before she disappears into a stall. you sigh out a breath, glad it wasn't Keeley or Rebecca walking in on you, even though they would probably have a few tips to make yourself look less sloppy after you and Jamie's heated make out.
sure, you weren't exactly playing the game of tension they were talking about, but your kiss with Jamie was worth every second. you wouldn't have lasted flirting with him all evening without knowing what he tasted like. the feeling of his lips on yours, hands pressed against your back while you clawed at his hair, is going to replay in your mind all evening, and you hope you won't be going home alone.
pulling your lipgloss from your bag, you quickly dab some more on your still-puffy lips. hoping all traces of Jamie are gone, you clip your clutch closed and head for the door. as you push through into the hallway, the loud chatter of the event reverberates through the walls, and adrenaline sets in again. you decide against returning to the ballroom just yet, walking down the hallway and to the small bar at the end of it.
"y/n!" Sam beams as you meet him at the bar. you get the attention of the bartender.
"I'll try the peachy keen, please," turning to face Sam you say: "how are you, Samuel?"
"I'm doing good, what about you?" he laughs at your use of his full name.
"hungry! I'm so excited for the meal and the auction and everything," you say, accepting your cocktail from the bartender with a "thank you so much."
"ah, really? are you going to bid on Jamie?" Sam asks with a grin.
"ha!" you cackle, "Jamie wishes I'd bid on him! but... I don't really think I can afford the auction anyways. Keeley said it goes into the tens of thousands!"
"I think Jamie would do it for free if it was you bidding on him, he's obsessed with you." Sam takes a sip of his drink, and you arch your eyebrows; "really?" you ask.
"oh yes, for sure... but I don't think I need to tell you that," he says with a smirk on his face.
"what do you mean?" you shrug nervously, already picturing Jamie's dark eyes when you pulled away from him in the bathroom stall. you bring your sweet drink to your lips in attempt to distract yourself.
"well, I saw him stumble out of the women's restrooms a few minutes ago. he's not very good at hiding his certain excitement, if you know what I mean,"
Sam's words take you aback, and you snort into your drink and cough as you place the glass down. you wipe the splatters from your face and look up at him with a shocked look.
he continues, the smirk on his face growing even more devilish; "and then I see you walking out of the same bathroom a few minutes later... which makes me think that maybe... you were in there together?"
you inhale deeply, raising you eyebrows and smiling at him. picking up your glass from the bar, you turn to walk away. "I will speak to you later, Sam. enjoy your meal." you say politely, and he laughs at you as you turn and head through the doors and back into the large ballroom.
contrary to when you arrived, the carpeted room is now bustling with people. you stand still in front of the door, stunned by the crowds. you can hear the familiar laughter and shouts of the Richmond players, but you can't see them. you look over to the stage to see Rebecca standing beside it, nervously discussing something with Higgins. glancing back towards the bar you had previously found Jamie at, his place is now taken by Roy and Keeley as they stand close together. her hand holds his arms as he looks down at her lovingly, a content smile resting on his face. you smile at their interaction, the gentle side of both of them is a rare sight at work, and it's as if they're all alone in this room full of people.
"excuse me ladies and gentlemen," Rebecca's voice sounds through speakers around the room. chatter dies down as everyone turns their attention to the stage, where Rebecca is standing behind a microphone.
"thank you so very much for coming," she pauses as the chatter dies down quickly, "dinner is going to be served soon, so if everybody could please find their seats, that would be delightful." everyone applauds Rebecca as she smiles and walks off the stage. you beeline towards her, awkwardly smiling at people as you push past them. standing next to the stage, Rebecca is flattening non-existent creases in her dress as she now talks to Ted.
"it's gonna be amazing, boss, don't you worry!" you hear Ted chirp as you approach the two. sensing your presence, Rebecca turns her head and smiles at you.
"oh, y/n, thank goodness you're here." she breathes.
your face contorts into a puzzled look as you glance at Ted whose face is still in his classic closed mouth smile; "we arrived together," you chuckle to yourself, and her face of realisation makes the three of you laugh. "let's go find our seats." you say, and you look back to Ted, "will you be sitting with us, coach?"
the three of you move towards the tables, and Rebecca guides you to table nine, smack down in the middle of the ballroom.
"that's right! I can't wait to tell Roy about my new uniform designs,"
"it's called a kit, coach," Beard suddenly appears next to Ted, Jane beside him.
"well we'll have to make them thermal then... winter is coming!" Ted says proudly, snapping his fingers with a chuckle.
you look up at Beard, completely confused. "Game of Thrones," he says in a flat tone. from beside him, Jane also speaks up in the same way; "Kit Harington."
"ah," you say, the awkward smile on your face fading as you turn away from the encounter, shaking your head as you walk to the other side of the table. pulling out the chair directly across from Ted, you're facing the stage with your back to the rest of the tables. as you move to sit down, however, Rebecca stops you.
"wait, okay, hold on," she circles the table, stopping at each chair and crouching down. your brows furrow as you watch her, clueless as to what she was doing. she brings her hands up in front of her face, holding her fingers in an L-shape as she frames her vision. "perfect..." she stands up straight and pulls out the chair in front of her, "this is your seat."
the antics make you laugh, giving in and moving two seats to the left and sitting down; "thanks?"
"you're so very welcome," her tone is sincere, as if she didn't just dance around the table choosing you a chair. she sits down in the seat to your right, immediately grabbing for one of the complimentary bottles of white wine set in the centre of the table. screwing open the top, she fills your glass first, all the way up to the brim. she does the same for her glass, almost making it overflow, before putting the wine bottle back into its ice bucket.
"Rebecca, oh my God," you widen your eyes at her with a smile, and her mischievous smirk makes you laugh. "I've already paid for it! we might as well drink it." as the two of you giggle, you raise your glasses and clink them together, some wine spilling over the rim as you cheers.
"hey! wait for me!" Keeley runs over, Roy trailing behind her, before lifting her cocktail up to join your toast, "here's to y/n shagging Jamie tonight!"
your hand flies to your mouth in shock and you shush her, glancing around to see if anyone heard her vulgar words. the only other guest who heard her comment was Roy, who smiles at you sympathetically before muttering "fucking gross," under his breath as he sits down. Keeley playfully sticks her tongue out at you before moving to sit beside between Rebecca and Roy. she leans over closer to you and Rebecca as Roy fills their glasses with wine; "have you seen Jamie's pocket square, by the way?"
you don't need to be looking in the mirror to know the intense blush that just set across your cheeks as you avoid looking at her. Rebecca furrows her brows and shakes her head, looking between you and Keeley. you suck in your lips and close your eyes, knowing what Keeley is about to say.
"it's the same as y/n's dress!" she whisper yells, and you reluctantly open one eye to see Rebecca's reaction.
"what the fuck?!" her eyes shoot open wide as her head snaps to look at you. you stay quiet, opening your other eye and bearing your teeth in a wide grimace. "how did he get a piece of your dress?" Rebecca says to you in a hushed tone before her face drops, "oh my God, y/n, don't tell me you've already slept with him."
now it's your turn to widen your eyes in a shocked expression; "Jesus, no!" you say, slightly offended by Rebecca's assumption. she, Keeley, and Roy stare at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue.
"what?" you ask them, nervously chugging the rest of your peach cocktail. none of them speak as they watch you drink, and you roll your eyes before explaining: "he went dress shopping with me and I guess the tailor made him a pocket square for tonight. I swear I had no idea he was going to do that! he did it behind my back."
Keeley squints at you, clearly not believing a word you say. when you look at Rebecca, she pouts her lips and nods, but you can't decipher whether it's in reassurance or mockery. "I believe you," Roy suddenly says, "he's a possessive little bitch, he would definitely pull this shit."
you chuckle at his words, and he sends you a quick wink with a small smile. as you look past Roy, your smile drops, not giving you the chance to return the wink, and Rebecca says what you're thinking: "speak of the devil,"
"you talkin' bout me?" Jamie says, firmly placing his hands on Roy's shoulders as he stands behind him. a cocky grin plasters his face as he stares down at you, quickly winking at you as your mouth falls slightly open.
"let go of me." Roy states, face stone cold as he stares ahead. Jamie doesn't follow his order, simply squeezing Roy's shoulders and shaking him side to side. "I'll kill you." Roy says again, but Jamie ignores him.
"Rebecca?" he asks sweetly, taking his time to drag his eyes off of you and look at the woman next to you, "why can't I sit at this table?"
"oooh..." Ted says, watching intently as Rebecca folds her arms on the table. Jamie's tight-lipped smile is sweet, but fake, and Rebecca mirrors his expression. she inhales deeply, tilting her head to the side as she looks up at him.
"because I said so, Jamie." she says, and your eyebrows arch as you bite back a smile when he glances at you, his cocky expression now cracking slightly. his grin turns into a pout as he gasps for a response. "but-" he starts, but Rebecca interrupts his rebuttal: "because I pay you to play football for me, Jamie, not to accompany me to dinner."
Roy bursts into a loud laugh, gaining everyone's attention as the table goes completely silent. Jamie slides his hands from his shoulders, startled by the sound of his laughter. Keeley giggles from beside Roy, covering her mouth to hide it. the whole table looks at him, amused smiles creeping up your faces. Jamie, on the other hand, looks defeated, eyes finding yours again. he sends you a sad look, pouting his lips. silently, you lift your shoulders in a shrug, smiling at him. your smile is sincere and warm, despite his opposite expression. still, since your encounter in the bathrooms not too long ago, your heart is finding it hard not to be fond of Jamie as you look at him. you'd like to keep up the tension-filled flirtatious banter, but since feeling the pressure of his mouth on yours, you can't help but long for the next time you'll get to taste him.
"good one, Rebecca," Roy finally speaks, falling back into his blunt normality as he brings his drink to his mouth.
Jamie composes himself, rolling his eyes before glancing at everyone at the table; "whatever," he mutters, looking straight at you again, "see you during the auction, y/n," he winks before turning and walking away, clearly quickly recovering from the embarrassment.
Rebecca and Keeley slowly turn towards you, mouths agape, and the three of you wait a few seconds before squealing in excitement.
"holy shit!" Keeley says, reaching across Rebecca to grab your hand, "he wants you!" she growls, and you all share another screech as you process Jamie's parting words.
"who wants who?!" a voice interjects your noise, matching your excitement with an amused tone and a wide smile. you look to your left as the same brunette from the bathroom sits down in the free seat next to you. your expression drops as you feel the blood drain from your face, contrasting the deep blush Jamie had just given you. she catches your eye and smiles wide; "hey! we're at the same table, what a coincidence!"
"Sassy Smurf?!" Ted hangs his head to the side to try and see her face. she immediately turns to him, opening her arms wide as they match each other's wide smiles. "Marlboro Man!" she shouts, and they embrace in a quick hug. the interaction both warms your heart and confuses you, turning to give Rebecca a questioning look. you're overwhelmed by all of the interactions you've had since sitting down at the table, and at this point you have no idea how the evening is going to pan out.
Rebecca smiles at you, interrupting Ted and the mystery woman's conversation to introduce you; "y/n, this is Flo, my best friend,"
"since childhood," she includes, "and you can just call me Sassy, it makes me feel more interesting," she smiles and winks at you as she holds out a hand for you to shake. you take it, repeating Rebecca by saying "I'm y/n, it's so lovely to meet you."
"y/n is our receptionist at Richmond, and she's really good," Keeley says, "she gets along with literally everyone, especially Jamie Tartt." she smirks at Sassy and raises her eyebrows suggestively.
Sassy turns to look at you wide eyes, an intrigued smile spreading across her face as she looks at you. you can almost see the cogs turning in her mind, and your face falls as you try to shake your head as subtly as possible. panic starts setting in as you realise she's connecting the dots between you in the bathroom and the conversation at the table, and you hope your wide eyes tell her not to mention your post-Jamie run in.
"ooh," she drawls, elongating the vowels as she nods her head. you hold your breath, hoping she understood your silent plea. "yeah, he's not really my type but, go get it babe," she sends you a cheeky grin and raises her brows at you. you feel the back of her hand tap the side of your thigh in reassurance as she turns her back to you; "so Ted, how have you been?" you hear her say, and you sigh in relief before drinking as much wine as you can in one gulp.
everyone quickly moves on, diving into their own conversations. Ted and Sassy seem to know each other quite well, Sassy leaning close to him as he speaks, making him blush. Rebecca must notice your confused expression, interrupting her own chat with Keeley and Roy to lean in to your ear; "they've slept together a few times." your eyes widen as you dramatically scoop your head to the side to look at Rebecca. you exchange knowing smiles, and her eyes soften as she looks at you. furrowing your brows as you notice her expression change, you're about to ask her if everything's okay, but she beats you to it.
"as much as we tease you about it," she starts, "Keeley and I think you and Jamie are perfect for each other. I can see how much you like him and -- not that he's hiding it very well -- but I can tell he is utterly in love with you."
you open your mouth to contest, but Rebecca holds a hand up to stop you; "I promise, y/n. now, during the auction, I want you to bid whatever amount needed to win him. don't worry about the cost, I'll cover it."
"oh- absolutely not!" you gawk at Rebecca, "you can't buy me a dress and a man!"
"of course I can. I'm the boss, remember?" her voice is stern as she pats your thigh.
"please, I'm begging you, just take the dress out of my paycheck." your eyes are pleading as you clasp your hands together. she shakes her head at you and tsks; "none of it. now, let's eat."
as if on cue, dozens of waiters appear out of nowhere, carrying platters of plates. first they bring the chicken, then the steak. you all dig into your dinner, and the food is delicious - not surprising, Rebecca would never settle for less than perfect. you eat, drink, and laugh, especially with Sassy beside you, her numerous offhand comments making you laugh louder than you normally would if you didn't have this much alcohol running through your veins. you notice the way Ted looks at her, even when she's speaking to someone else, and you recognise it as similar to the way Jamie looked at you in the dress boutique earlier this week. his eyes are soft and features relaxed, a small smile resting comfortably on his lips. his pupils are big, and his chest moves up and down slowly as he breathes -- he seems completely at ease, despite the hustle and bustle of the room. it makes you think of seeing Keeley and Roy earlier, looking at each other as if they were the only ones here, not a care in the world about who's around them. you smile to yourself before turning your attention back to the story Sassy is telling, some retelling of a funny memory she shares with Rebecca.
Keeley laughs at her words, and the sound is just infectious, making you laugh more than the story itself. your eyes move to look at Roy, who looks at Keeley with soft eyes identical to Ted's. you huff a small laugh to yourself, it going unnoticed by those around you as they're all engrossed in the conversation. Roy stares at Keeley with such adoration that it tugs at your heartstrings. their chairs are pulled close together, and his arm is draped over the back of her chair as she leans into him ever so slightly. her wine glass sits in her hand as she laughs, and each time she does, Roy smiles to himself. you doubt he's even listening to Sassy's tale, completely distracted by Keeley's joy. he's infatuated with her, and you can tell by the way she continues to crack his hard exterior. you wonder what he's like with her behind closed doors; you bet she has him walking around wearing her signature pink robe.
you look down at your hands, admiring the manicure you got in preparation for the event. the glossy light pink colour matches the details of your outfit, and you're still surprised at how comfortable your dress is. you run your fingers over the blue sequins, seeing how they reflect the chandeliers above you. you can't believe Jamie's little stunt he pulled -- when did he even ask Sarah to make him that pocket square? you look over your left shoulder, trying to find him at the table behind you, but he's not there. when you look to your right and past Rebecca, you see a table with Richmond staff, but no still no Jamie. scanning the countless people at the event, you can't seem to spot him.
it seems you were looking too far, however, as when you look at the table diagonal to yours, also in the middle of the room, your eyes land on him immediately. he's already looking at you, lids low on his eyes as he stares. you quickly glance away, trying to hide the fact you were looking for him, but you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. he's sitting with other Richmond players, but doesn't seem engaged with them at all as he stares at you. you have no idea of knowing how long he's been staring at you, but decide to meet his eyes again. as predicted, he's still looking in your direction. unlike usually, his face isn't cocky or teasing. instead, his eyes are soft and dark, and his mouth is closed in a small and subtle smile, probably unaware of its presence on his face. your gentle smile morphs into a shy one as he doesn't break away from your stare.
looking back to your lap, you touch your fingertips up to brush your lips, replaying every second of your kiss with Jamie in the bathroom. your skin recalls each goosebump as you imagine the way his hands ran up your spine. as you remember the taste of his tongue against yours, a blush takes over your face and your vision blurs. days of tension and patient waiting were interrupted by that first kiss, and you hope that wasn't your last.
—
the evening continues smoothly; you all finish your meals and continue emptying the wine bottles. warmth runs through your veins as alcohol mixes with contentment, and you fight the urge to blurt out something stupid about Jamie in your conversations. this proves to be made extra hard with him in your peripheral vision, and you can feel his eyes on you every time you laugh. you get more flustered the more wine you drink, and it's a true struggle not to stand up, take Jamie's hand, and take him home.
your engrossed in conversation with Sassy and Ted when Rebecca speaks into the microphone on the stage. you hadn't even noticed her leaving the table, a testament to your tunnel vision after a few drinks. Keeley shuffles over to sit next to you, and you see Roy standing up from the table. he buttons his suit jacket swiftly as he slides past the other tables and towards the stage. Keeley grabs your hand and squeals; "time for the auction! I will literally kill anyone that bids on Roy."
"ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming to support this year's annual Benefit for Underprivileged Children gala!"
the room breaks into a loud applause at Rebecca's words, and you take the opportunity to glance at Jamie. this time, to your surprise, he's not looking at you. his eyes are focused on the stage, and you use his distraction to look him up and down, eyes lingering on his pocket square. dragging your eyes upwards again, you notice Sam looking at you. he's sitting right next to Jamie, and is clapping absentmindedly as he stares at you with a challenging look, eyes squinting. you ignore him, quickly facing the stage again.
"now for the part you've all been waiting for," Rebecca continues, "the auction for a chance to spend an all-expenses paid evening with one of Richmond FC's very own football players!" everyone claps again, and the cheers get louder as Roy makes his way onto the stage. you jump at the sound of Keeley screaming beside you, her arms in the air as she claps for her boyfriend. his face remains expressionless as he lifts a hand up to salute to Keeley, and she does the same. she grabs your arm with one hand as the other holds her bidding paddle at the ready.
"I love it when he acts all 'I'm Roy and I don't smile'" she puts on a gruff voice as she smiles, "I just keep trying to make him crack!"
"first up, Roy Kent." Rebecca says, gesturing as Roy steps up to the microphone.
he takes a deep breath before using his best deadpan voice to say: "if any of you, other than Keeley Jones, put up your hand, I'll have you escorted out of here." the crowd laugh at his words, but his face stays cold as Keeley throws her paddle up into the air; "twenty-five thousand!" she shouts with a beaming smile, standing up from her seat with a small jump. "sold to the lovely lady in the puffy skirt!" Roy says into the mic before Rebecca even has the chance. Keeley squeals as Roy immediately exits the stage, making his way back over to the table. when he reaches Keeley, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him sweetly. Ted coos at the gesture, and the players behind you cheer and ooh at the couple obnoxiously. Roy flips them off as he keeps his lips on Keeley's, and it makes you think of Jamie again.
when you flick your eyes over to his seat, you find it empty, but Sam still manages to catch your eyes again. you curse under your breath before forcing a smile. he points to the stage and when you turn your head, you see Jamie standing on the stage next to Rebecca. the spotlights make his pocket square sparkle, and the sight makes your heart beat faster than it should. "he's a possessive little bitch" Roy's words run circles around your head, and you can't help but admit you don't mind his possessiveness -- only when it comes to you.
"next we have a free meal with unlimited wine at the luxurious Richmond Hill Hotel with the one and only Jamie Tartt!" Rebecca exclaims, "and if the lucky bidder gets even luckier, she can have one night's stay in the hotel included!"
your cheeks flush a deep crimson as your mouth drops open wide. Sassy turns to you with a loud gasp, and Keeley cackles as she grabs your hand, bouncing up and down in her seat. your hands cover your mouth as you duck your head shyly, your entire table encouraging you to reach for your paddle. you finally make eye contact with Jamie, who is biting his lip with a teethy grin. he shoots you one of his classic winks and you sigh, picking up the paddle.
"let's start at five thousand for Jamie," Rebecca says.
you're about to put your number in the air, but someone else beats you to it. you look to the right, following the voice repeating the number, only to see Roy with his paddle in the air. the room erupts in laughter, including Jamie. Roy looks at you and winks; "we could get some extra training in," and he cracks you a smile.
"five thousand for Roy Kent? okay," Rebecca says as she holds back a laugh. her eyes are on you as she continues; "six thousand?"
finally lifting your paddle, you call out: "six thousand!"
Jamie smiles as Rebecca says your name into the microphone. unlike at the table earlier, his face is back to a cocky grin. strong arms crossed in front of his chest, his chin is held high as he runs his tongue across his teeth. his eyes are glued to yours, so you take it upon yourself to drag them up and down his body, enjoying the view. his trousers are tight around his thighs, and his arms practically bulge out of the suit jacket. how had you not noticed this earlier? how big he looks in the fitted outfit, and how much you like his blonde hair, and how the button up shirt he's wearing isn't white, but is actually the same shade of dusty pink as your shoes. your lips part as you realise just how much you two are matching, and your brows furrow in feigned anger. Jamie smirks as he sees you looking him up and down, but you decide to tease him just a bit more.
"do I hear seven thousand?"
eyes on his, you refuse to lift your paddle, despite Sassy trying to lift your hand. keeping it tucked under your crossed legs, you don't make any move to bid on him.
"seven thousand pounds!" you hear from behind you, and you turn to see Sam's hand in the air. everyone laughs again, and his joke starts a ripple effect amongst the football players.
"ten thousand." Isaac says bluntly, and when Jamie blows him a kiss from the stage he says: "love you, bruv!"
the bidding goes through a number of players dotted throughout the room until finally, the number reaches nineteen thousand.
"any more for any more?" Rebecca hopes, glaring at you.
Keeley drums on the table suddenly, and Sassy is quick to join in. soon, Roy, Ted, Beard, and even Jane are all tapping the table, giving you a drum roll.
"twenty thousand!" you shout, shaking your head as you throw your eyes to the sky. Rebecca doesn't give the chance for any more bids, immediately saying: "sold for twenty thousand to y/n y/l/n!"
Jamie laughs as he looks down at you, and you bite your lip as he mouths to you; "you're mine."
—
with the auction finished, and some of the Richmond players paired up with new potential wags, most of the tables are empty. although Rebecca couldn't hire the real ABBA, Higgins managed to find a more-than-decent cover band to take the stage as musical guest. you bounce up and down to the rhythm of the music, hand-in-hand with Rebecca. you spin her around, and she does the same to you as you sing along to the classic 'Dancing Queen', and you point to her every time the chorus plays. you laugh and cackle as you scream along to the songs, dancing with Rebecca and Keeley, and sometimes Sassy. allegedly, Roy doesn't dance, so Keeley has resorted to dancing on her own. she has long discarded her heels, and you wish you had the balls to do the same.
when the song switches to 'Chiquitita', Keeley collapses against Rebecca's chest, clutching her tightly in a hug. Sassy whispers something to Ted, who has been krumping the whole time, before they both disappear through the double doors into the hallway you had pulled Jamie through earlier. you smile as you watch them walk away, hand-in-hand. when you turn back to Keeley and Rebecca, you're surprised to see Sam standing in front of you, hand outstretched. you take it with a shy smile, and he pulls you close. you put a hand on his shoulder as he leans down, but he keeps the hand not holding yours to himself; how respectful. together, you move side to side as he has to shout in your ear to be heard above the music.
"where's Jamie?" he asks.
"I don't know," you reply, standing cheek to cheek so he can hear you.
"you look stunning tonight, y/n."
"thank you, Sam! you look great!" when you saw him at the bar earlier, you hadn't completely recovered from Jamie, so you hadn't noticed his sophisticated look for the night.
"I know you and Jamie were in the bathroom together," he says, ignoring your compliment, "and I noticed your matching outfits."
you roll your eyes, pulling him close to you so you can explain yourself; "I didn't know how was going to do that! Roy said he was being possessive."
"and Roy is right...," he says, twirling you around using your entwined hands, and he stops your spin halfway, allowing your eyes to fall on a sulking Jamie, "now go talk to Jamie. I've gotten him all jealous and bothered, now you have to handle the rest while I try to talk to Rebecca."
turning to face Sam again, you laugh wildly, slapping his arm as you pretend to be upset at his antics. he matches your expression, cackling as shakes his hips. you hold your pointer finger up to him, quickly grabbing his hand again and pulling him towards Rebecca, who is still holding Keeley in her arms. their height difference is exacerbated by Keeley's missing shoes, and her eyes are closed as she rests her head on Rebecca's chest. your boss looks at you, pursing her lips as she holds back her laughter. you move closer to her; "Sam has no one to dance with, maybe you can lend him a hand?" you say before leaning down to whisper in Keeley's ear. "Sam is here." you say, and she doesn't need any more information before standing up straight and dancing through the crowd and out of sight.
pushing Sam towards Rebecca, you let go of his hand, quickly fixing the twisted strap on your pumps before stepping back onto the carpet. fittingly so, the band starts singing 'Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!', and you smirk to myself as you walk towards Jamie. his jacket is unbuttoned, pockets hanging loosely at his side. with his head down, he has one hand in his pocket and the other fidgeting with a toothpick on top of the table. he doesn't notice you approach, so you move to stand behind him. you bend over slightly, folding your arms over his shoulders as you hold your face next to his. Jamie, stubborn as always, doesn't react to your presence, so you flatten your palms against his midriff, feeling his hard abs beneath his shirt. this makes him sit up slightly, taking a hand out of his pocket and placing it over your hands.
"isn't it funny you're at table six, and I was at table nine..." you say in his ear, but he ignores your silly comment.
your fingers drag up painfully slowly, reaching his chest before he drops his hand down. his chest moves up and down rapidly as he borderline pants at your touch. separating your hands, you bring them across his chest firmly before pulling them up to his shoulders. you squeeze his solid muscles, secretly admiring his strength.
"there's not a soul out there," you whisper along to the song, lips brushing his ear, "no one to hear my prayer,"
"Jamie," your voice is sultry in his ear, knowing exactly what you want from him right now. the song isn't helping your heated state, the bass pumping in your flushed chest. he tips his head back as you continue to massage his shoulders, resting it in the crook of your neck. you can see every inch of the soft skin on his throat, and you drag your eyes over his adam's apple as it bobs with his nervous gulp. stopping the movement of your fingers, Jamie stands up abruptly, buttoning his jacket with shaky hands.
smirking as you look up at him, he clenches his jaw and shakes his head as if telling you not to say anything. without another word, he takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers tightly, and walks towards the door. he pushes through the first set of double doors, you in tow, before suddenly coming to a halt. you stand beside him, both of you silent for a few seconds. torrential rain slaps the pavement outside of the venue, and you look at your clothes with wide eyes. he does the same, and when your eyes meet again, you both laugh. his hand comes up to brush his air back as he looks out at the rain, but your eyes are glued to his bicep. the seams of jacket look like they're about to burst as he flexes his muscles, and your smile fades into an O-shape as your jaw slacks. yes, he's a professional footballer, but he's so big, and so muscular. your eyes drop down as you lean back, taking a glimpse of his backside, and that is definitely a rugby ass.
"fuck it," he mumbles, pulling you from your trance, and before you know it he's pulling you outside. you rush down the steps, squeezing his hand tight so you don't slip, before running to the street corner. there's a line of black cabs picking up guests, and Jamie pulls open the door to one. holding open the door for you, he lets you crawl in first, before ducking down.
"hi!" you chirp to the driver as Jamie climbs in next to you, "sorry you have to drive in this weather," you apologise before giving him your address through the plastic privacy partition. the driver closes it, so you buckle your seatbelt, and once Jamie's shut the door, he does the same.
"we're going to yours?" he asks, pushing his dripping wet hair out of his eyes.
"yeah." you say simply, smiling at him. you're sure you look like a drowned rat, and you hope your makeup isn't running down your face. despite only being in the rain for a minute or so, you're both completely soaked.
you look at each other for a few seconds as the driver takes off, and you can't help but laugh at each other's appearance.
"you look like you do after training, but... worse," you giggle, pushing a misplaced strand of his hair over.
"and you look... just a little bit melted," he laughs, "but still gorgeous." while you laugh, your lip quivers as you shiver from the cold rain, so he shrugs off his wet jacket, laying it over your legs in a poor attempt to keep you warm, but it's the thought that counts.
turning to look through the window, the air suddenly grows a little bit awkward. five minutes ago you were ready to let him do whatever he wanted to you, and now you're sitting next to each other in a silent cab completely drenched from the rain. you sigh, thinking about your next move. you want to reach over the middle seat and take his hand in his -- quite frankly, you'd prefer to straddle him and make out with him right here and now. but you stick with your first option, glancing down at your lap before sliding your hand over and taking his. as you fold your fingers together you bring his hand up, brushing your lips over the back of it as you kiss each of his knuckles. you don't look at him, just hold his hand in your lap as you continue staring out the window.
the drive continues in silence for a few more minutes, before Jamie clears his throat. eyes glued to the street, you don't look at him when he speaks; "aren't you happy you won me in the auction?" you can hear the smirk in his voice as he says it, and you roll your eyes with a smile.
"is this our free date night, then? because I was actually going to give it to my dad as a birthday gift, he loves you." you reply, still avoiding turning to him.
"I'll make sure he tells you how good I am in the bedroom," this makes you snap your head towards him, mouth agape, and he laughs at your expression as he tosses his head back against the car seat. you laugh along with him, staring at his bright smile. your eyes drop down and look at how his wet button up clings to his skin, and suddenly your heart beat speeds up again.
attempting to calm yourself, you look at the jacket draped over your lap. reaching for its pocket, you pull the folded blue fabric out of it. you hold it up to Jamie, raising your eyebrows in silent question. his expression falls sheepish again, smile fading. he glances out the window briefly before turning to you again, concerned look on his face.
"y/n, I just wanna say -- I'm sorry if me wearin' that pocket square made you uncomfortable. I guess I was so wrapped up in all of the flirting and everythin' that I didn't think about how it would look wearin' that tonight," his words are sincere as he looks at you with furrowed brows.
"Jamie," you whisper, eyes softening as you process his worry, "thank you for apologising, but don't worry. sure, it was surprising, but honestly I think it's really fit..."
his worried look turns to confusion as he puckers his lips; "what? are you serious?" he asks you, eyebrows arched.
"yes, Jamie, I'm being very serious. why do you think I took you to the bathroom and made out with you?" you say, absentmindedly playing with the fingers wrapped around your hand.
his eyes look to the ceiling of the car, and he licks his lips as he thinks hard. sighing, he starts slowly nodding his yet; "yeah... I guess so... well-played." he says, winking at you, and suddenly he's back to his regular, teasing self.
"so, why aren't we going to my superstar footballer mansion?" he asks, lips frowning in a grimace.
"because my penthouse flat is right here," you say, ducking your head down and pointing out of his window. the cab stops right in front of the small car park of your apartment. it's not a big building by any means, so it's more like a drive way that have a few cars parked on it. Jamie looks up at the four-storey building before looking at you with a bored expression.
"penthouse?" he repeats, pointing his thumb out the window, "how luxurious." he rolls his eyes before digging through his trouser pocket, pulling out a money clip.
"a money clip?" your tone now matches his, "what are you? fifty?"
"here ya go, sir," he hands a wad of cash to the taxi driver without even knowing how much the ride was. he ignores your comment, opening the door and holding it for you. you pass him his jacket, and when you step out of the car, he throws it over your shoulders. the rain is still lashing, and you make a run for the front door as Jamie closes the cab door and thanks the driver.
you hold your clutch over your head as you try to shield your hair from any more rain, but you doubt it helps at all. you knock on the double doors to the entrance, and the doorkeeper sitting in his small booth inside buzzes you in. Jamie catches up with you and places a hand on the small of your back as you walk inside. you shrug his jacket off, handing it to him as you make your way to the lift. he folds it over his arm, and smiles at the doorkeeper as you walk past his desk. you press the button to call the lift, and the doors immediately open.
"Jamie Tartt?" he asks out loud, completely bewildered.
the two of you step inside the lift, and when Jamie turns to face him with a friendly face, he holds a finger to his lips as if to shush him. the door slides closed, and the doorkeeper remains in shock the entire time. leaning against the wall, you stare up at Jamie with an amused grin, but the second the lift starts its ascent, Jamie turns to you. he grabs your face and crashes his lips onto yours. your hand flies up to clutch his wrist as you lose yourself to his touch. you waste no time slipping your tongue into his mouth again, and you feel like you can finally breathe. all evening you imagined doing this again, and now your body shivers as the anticipation comes to an end.
the lift stops, and Jamie stands up instantly, clearing his throat. you're left panting against the mirrored wall of the lift as it dings and the doors open. Jamie stands aside, holding out a hand as he beckons for you to walk in front of him. pushing yourself up, you pop open your clutch to dig for your keys. when you walk past Jamie he, of course, gives you a small slap to your ass. you squeak at the noise, but don't say anything else, pulling your housekeys from your bag. Jamie follows you around the corner and towards your door, and when you unlock it and push it open, the warmth of your apartment feels like heaven on your wet skin.
"it's small, but it's all I need really," you explain to Jamie as you walk towards your sofa. "nah, it's nice," he smiles at you sweetly, the opposite to the way he looked at you in the lift.
your living room and kitchen are conjoined, and the space definitely isn't the biggest, but its coziness welcomes you. dropping yourself onto the plush couch, you sink into the pillows, staring at Jamie. he clicks the door shut behind him before slipping off his dress shoes and placing them next to your doormat, right beside your work shoes. he turns and walks towards you, unbuttoning his jacket and throwing it over the arm of your grey sofa. you expect him to sit down next to you, but instead, he crouches down, kneeling on the ground proposal-style. quickly sitting up, you stare down at him skeptically, wondering what his next move is. his eyes hold yours as he slides his hands up your calves, and goosebumps raise on the smooth skin instantly. leaning forward, Jamie pushes your dress an inch over your knees before gently kissing them. you can't help but laugh at the feeling, it tickling slightly due to your damp skin. his thumbs slide over the divots in your knees, and graze over some scar you've had since childhood.
his hands slide down your legs before he focuses his fingers on the clasp of your heels. lifting your right foot up slightly, he brings his lips to your ankle, kissing gently before sliding the pump off. he does the same to the your other foot, and the relief of having your shoes off makes you sigh as you hang your head back. Jamie presses his thumbs into the sole of your left foot, easily rubbing the knot out of the arch of your foot. a small whine slips from your lips at the feeling, and Jamie lets a low chuckle slip as he moves on to your other foot, doing the exact same thing. this time, you manage to hold back your groans, biting down on your bottom lip with your eyes screwed shut.
moving his lips back to your ankle, Jamie straightens out your leg, running kisses up the side of your calf. when he reaches your knee, he brings your leg back down before sliding his hands up to your thighs, one hand on each leg. you lift your head to look down at him, and his eyes hold a pleading look as he stares up at you. your lips part, completely invigorated by the sight of Jamie on his knee in front of you, hands hidden under your dress, practically begging to touch you. leaning forward, you take control, wrapping his tie around your fist as you pull up, helping him back to his feet. he holds his hands out for you, and you take them as he lifts you from the sofa. staring up at him, hands resting in his, your flutter your lashes.
"you okay?" Jamie whispers, a crooked smile appearing on your face.
you nod and hum in response, letting go of one of his hands and stepping past him. he follows you as you pull his hand, walking down the hallway. you pass the bathroom, heading straight for your bedroom. leaving the door open behind you, you push Jamie into the room ahead of you, letting go of his hand. he sits down at the end of your bed, legs spread. you slot between them, back turned to him. reaching up, his fingers delicately pull at the zip on the back of the dress as you pull down the straps, and you think back to the boutique; you knew you wanted tonight to end this way, but never in a million years had you actually thought it would.
as the dress drops from your frame, you hear Jamie's breath hitch at the sight of your pink lingerie. his hands immediately come to your waist, spinning you to face him. straddling his lap, your hands come up to his neck as his hold your back to keep you up. a smile creeps onto your face as your cheeks go hot, and Jamie mirrors you. moving to look down to avoid your gaze, his eyes snap up again immediately, flustered by the lace covering your body. a giggle escapes your lips as you pulls his face to yours, pressing kisses to each cheek before moving up to his forehead, then down to his nose, before finally reconnecting your lips.
deepening the kiss, your lips move against his with a hasty hunger, and as you're about to slip your tongue into his mouth again, Jamie pulls back; "oh shit," he says, and you shake your head in confusion.
"what?" you ask, embarrassment beginning to cloud your mind as you stare at him expectantly.
he avoids your eyes, shaking his head with his lips parted in thought; "I forgot to sign out after work today."
———
i told u this would be long x_x
thank u so so much for reading richmond's receptionist! i've had the most fun writing this and will probs write an epilogue asap (i'm not ready to move on yet)! any feedback is welcomed and appreciated, thank u! <3
pairings: jamie tartt x reader, all of richmond is mentioned again.
summary: you're the receptionist at richmond fc, and after forming a bond with their star striker jamie tartt, the team becomes somewhat reliant on you to keep him fired up.
words: 7313
warnings: alcohol and slight inebriation, no smut at all but suggestive references and behaviour, sexual tension, painful pining.
———
after leaving the bustling Richmond headquarters, you find yourself sitting across from Jamie at the Crown and Anchor. although it's nothing fancy, Jamie asked Mae to clear out the back area of the pub, allowing for the two of you to have some privacy. when the two of you walked in, Jamie was greeted with cheers and pats on his back from the football fans who call this place their second home. he thanked them all as Mae led you two towards the more secluded area before promising there would be nobody bothering you any further.
"do you think Mae does lattes?" you joke, looking down at the menu. Jamie laughs as he studies the list of food to order. your eyes skim the small booklet of options, and you reckon you could eat it all if you really wanted to. the excitement of the match and all of your tension with Jamie has left you absolutely starving.
"by the way, y/n, my treat." he says, shooting you a wink.
"no, no, Jamie, you don't have-" you start, but he interrupts you. he lifts his pointer finger up to you and wags it side to side, tilting his head with a cocky grin; "my treat" he insists.
you can't help but blush, looking back down at the menu in an attempt to hide it. your eyes pretend to read the words, but all the letters are jumbled and blurry as you try to steady your breathing in the most subtle way possible. your nerves tie knots around your stomach, suddenly realising you're on a date... with Jamie Tartt.
"I'm getting a pint to celebrate. want one?"
"sure, thanks Jamie," you smile at him as he stands up, ready to head to the bar.
"that's my girl." Jamie winks at you again, tapping his hand on the table before walking away. your mouth falls open and your breath catches, making you need to cough. you wait until he's far enough not to notice you before clearing your throat. you can feel your ears burning up as you take a deep breath, steadying your heart rate. after a few puffs in and out, you feel yourself relax and your head clearing. you scan the menu again, your eyes landing on the pub-classic chicken strips and chips. as if on cue, your stomach rumbles, and you quickly clutch your sides to silence the sound.
"y'alright?" Jamie chuckles as he approaches you, a beer bottle in one hand, and a glass in the other; "m'lady" he says with a soft smile as he places the pint in front of you. as he sits down, he takes a quick swig of his bottle.
you wrap your hand around the glass before lifting it up. choosing to ignore his awkward question, you say: "cheers to Richmond's big win."
Jamie's smile widens and his eyes soften as they look into yours, maintaining the eye contact as he clinks the body of his bottle to your glass. you both take a large drink of your beers, still holding each other's gaze. you notice how deep the blue of his eyes is, looking almost brown under the dim light of the pub. it perfectly shadows his face, highlighting his cheekbones and accentuating his strong jaw. you take your time to drag your eyes across his chiseled features, making sure to memorise each and every inch of his face for future reference.
"what ya starin' at?" he interrupts your daze.
"your face." you reply in a teasing tone.
"it's nice, innit?" Jamie's smile turns cocky again as he brushes his fingers against his chin.
"not bad," you mutter with an unimpressed look.
"you look-" he starts, but is interrupted by Mae who suddenly appears next to your table: "so what are we having tonight?"
Jamie chuckles and closes his mouth into a smile at the poorly-timed interruption. he shakes his head and sighs before pointing his hand towards you and saying: "whatever you want, love."
ignoring the blush creeping up your cheeks at the nickname, you cross your arms on the table and smile up at Mae; "we'll get the chicken strips, some onion rings and two chips to share, please Mae."
"of course, dear." she replies kindly, taking the menus from you before walking away.
"just chicken?" Jamie huffs as he chuckles again.
"good source of protein," you shrug, "don't you need some energy after your match?"
Jamie lets a proper laugh slip, contrasting his previous subdued ones. you laugh with him, finding his expressions infectious. his eyes crinkle at the corners as he bears a wide grin, and his laugh sounds genuine and sweet. there seems to be a sparkle in his eyes that you're sure you're just imagining.
"thanks for coming today," he breathes out.
"of course, I mean, I wouldn't want to miss it for the world," you smile at him, and he mirrors it softly, "and I wanted to make sure you knew I don't hate you or anything..."
Jamie's eyes leave yours and drop down to the table as he sighs deeply. you hold your breath for a moment, anticipating his response. despite being on a literal date with him, you still feel guilty for how you upset him.
"please stop worryin' so much y/n. I've already forgiven you – in fact I should be thanking you for helping us win." Jamie looks you straight in the eyes as he reassures you, and you find yourself struggling to breathe again. a smile creeps its way onto your face as you nod.
Jamie tilts his head down and raises his eyebrows, looking up at you in question. "yeah?" he asks.
"mhm..." you respond, biting your lip.
"understood?" he says, and you feel his knee brush against yours underneath the table.
the two of your stare at each other for what feels like hours, but is really just a few seconds. every time you get lost in his eyes your heart rate speeds up impossibly fast, and you wonder what the chances are of you passing out. a flash of heat hits your chest when you feel his knee brush yours again, so you pick up your glass and take three big gulps of beer.
"woah, woah, woah, what's the rush?" Jamie asks, holding up his hands and leaning back against the booth. when you look at him again, he looks more concerned than anything else, brows furrowed and mouth agape.
"what?" you say casually, quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jamie's brows stay creased as his eyes widen, his smile reappearing.
"at least wait for me before drinking it all! okay, c'mon,"
Jamie picks up his bottle by the neck and you take note of how small it looks with his fingers wrapped around it. before getting the chance to get lost in thought, you shake your head to clear your mind. you take a deep breath before lifting your glass to your lips again, before you both start chugging your drinks. you watch him as you do so, racing to be the first to finish your drink. after gulping down the last of your beer, you put your glass back down on the table with a dull bang.
"ha! I beat you to it!" you cheer, putting your arms in the air in celebration.
Jamie laughs as he places his bottle down before leaning over the table and wrapping a hand around each of your wrists. he mirrors your smile as he gently pulls your hands down towards the table. placing your hands on top of each other, he holds his hands over them; "and what if I let you win?"
your eyes are wide as you feel the weight of his hands on yours. they're warm and gentle, and as soft as you'd imagined them to be. the contrast between his warm skin and his cold signet ring resting on your fingers runs goosebumps up your arm. your breath is wobbly when you part your lips, and your eyes glaze over as you relax under his touch. you muster a grin, leaning forward so you're only inches away from his face.
"and what if I'm just better than you?"
"I doubt you're a better striker than I am." he bites back.
"you don't know what I'm good at, Jamie Tartt."
"I can't wait to find out, y/n y/l/n."
hours of flirtatious chatter and genuine laughter pass in a blink, and you blush as Jamie taps his hand against the bar after paying for your dinner.
"thanks so much, Mae!" you say with a kind smile. her smile matches yours as she winks at you, not saying anything.
your blush deepens and you feel yourself getting shy as Jamie takes your hand in his before heading through the doors, pulling you outside behind him. he doesn't look back at you, just walks with you in tow. he turns the corner into a small street, out of sight from the last lingering Richmond fans. when he lets go of your hand, you immediately miss the warmth and support it gave you. slightly inebriated, you steady yourself by standing with your back against the brick wall of a shop.
Jamie looks down the street, checking to see if there's anyone around. assuming the coast is clear, he finally turns to face you properly. the street is dimly lit, and his face is cast in dark shadows as he looks down at you. he's stood painfully close to you, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body without him actually touching you.
Jamie's expression is unreadable, but the goofy smile he's had all evening is gone. you can feel the blood pumping through your heart as you look up at him. with your jaw slack, your chest heaves as you breathe heavily. your eyelids flutter into a few blinks in a poor attempt to compose yourself, but his gaze stays focused on yours. you struggle to fight the urge to reach for his hand again, but decide instead to tuck them behind your back in case you do something you may regret.
"y/n," Jamie starts, and he sounds breathless as he speaks your name. you don't respond, just keep your gaze locked on his. he drops his eyes down to your lips briefly, before dragging them up over your face to look you in the eyes again.
he lifts the hand that previously held yours up to your face, carefully running his fingers through the hair around your ear. he touches you as if you're made of porcelain and any slight pressure will break you. he brings his thumb to your cheekbone, grazing it across before bringing it down to your jaw. his fingers slide across your neck as he rests his thumb on your chin, tilting your head up every so slightly before brushing his thumb over your bottom lip softly. his head dips down until he's so close to you that you can feel his breath fan your lips. your breath hitches as you blink at him. the skin he'd touched feels on fire, and your head spins and blurs as he keeps flicking his eyes between yours and your lips. you let your eyes flutter shut, placing one of the hands from behind your back on his arm to steady yourself. alcohol and anticipation rushes through your veins and you can hear your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.
Jamie takes your closed eyes as a sign, finally brushing his lips against yours so softly you feel you may have imagined it. his breathing is heavy as you feel the blow against your skin. your other hand subconsciously lifts, and you hold it against his hard chest. his lips meet yours again, applying a bit more pressure this time. it's more of a peck than a kiss, and it's short and sweet. clearly, he's testing the waters. he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth next, holding it there for a few seconds. the goosebumps that rise on your skin quickly subdue your blush, and suddenly your mind begins to clear. you begin picturing your front desk at Richmond, and Rebecca's smiling face. flashes of Keeley, Ted, and Isaac interrupt your daze as you come to your senses.
flicking your eyes open, you press the hand on Jamie's chest to push him away from you; "Jamie, wait," you breathe, eyes avoiding his by looking down at the ground.
"wh- are you alright? did I do somethin'?" he asks while he shakes his head, confused.
you shake your head too, clutching your hands together and playing awkwardly with your fingers.
"no, Jamie, I'm sorry... I can't do this."
"what?" his confusion is replaced with shock as he takes a step back.
"I practically work for you, Jamie."
"no you don't– what are you on about?"
"Jamie," you say sternly, looking up at him with glossed over eyes, "please don't fight me on this... I don't want to lose my job just because I couldn't keep it in my pants."
rolling his eyes, he lets out a frustrated sigh; "you're not gonna lose your job, y/n. you work for Rebecca, not me. besides... no one has to know."
his insistence causes you to furrow your brows at him, surprised by what he's implying, but certainly not complaining.
smirking up at him, your hand moves to touch his arm; "what? you mean keep it a secret?"
"keep what a secret?" a voice chirps from beside you suddenly, and you let out a shrill yelp as Jamie jumps back in fear.
"what the fuck?!" he shouts, a hand on his chest and the other held out in front of him.
"oh my God! Ted!" you gasp in relief when you see who exactly interrupted you.
"hey guys! how're we doing tonight?" Ted says with a smile, hands in the pockets of his khaki's.
"fuck's sake, Ted! what are you doin' here?" Jamie says, bent over with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.
"I live here... right up there," Ted replies bluntly, pointing to a flat a few doors down from where you were standing.
"right," Jamie says flatly.
"oh, lovely," you breathe, still recovering from your fright.
"I like taking evening strolls to clear my mind, y'know? after our big win today I really just needed some fresh air." Ted explains.
still leaning against the wall, you move your hands behind your back again and smile as you listen to him. you try not to think about Jamie, who's now standing at a more appropriate distance from you. the feeling of his lips ghosts your skin as you lick your lips, desperately trying to rid yourself of the taste of him.
"Jamie let me congratulate you again on the win today. oh, and y/n, thank you for fixing him." Ted smiles politely as he bows forward to both of you.
"cheers, Coach." Jamie replies, voice flat.
"thanks, Ted! it was hard, but Jamie's a softie at heart so he's already forgiven me." you laugh before glancing over at Jamie who was already looking at you. you expected him to look irritated by your teasing, but instead, he bares a soft look you don't quite recognise.
"anyways, I'll let you kids get back to keeping secrets. see you two on Monday!" Ted says with a shit eating grin on his face.
"bye, Coach." Jamie says.
"see you Monday!" you call to Ted as he walks past you towards the park in the distance. with his back to you, he lifts a hand and waves.
you and Jamie watch him walk away, waiting for him to be out of earshot. once Ted's across the road, both of you let out a deep breath, hearty laughs building in your chests.
"Jesus Christ," Jamie sighs heavily, placing a hand on his chest again as he laughs. you laugh too, covering your face with your hands before raking your fingers through your hair. when you lift your head back up, Jamie's staring at you with that look again. you wish you could read his mind and know exactly what he was thinking, but you'll just have to wait until he shows you.
with a deep sigh, you push yourself off the wall, feeling completely sobered up. you dig through your jacket pocket for your phone, ignoring Jamie's stare while you unlock it. you order an Uber home quickly, glad there's one only a two minutes away. pocketing your phone again, you lift your head up to look at Jamie again.
his head turns quickly when you look at him, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. brushing off his awkward cover, you let him think you didn't notice he was still gawking at you.
"Jamie." you say, stepping towards him. you place a hand on his elbow, sliding it up onto his forearm to pull his hand down from behind his head. your hand slips into his subtly, wrapping your fingers around his.
"y/n." he sighs, squeezing your hand softly.
"thank you for dinner. I'll see you on Monday," you say to him.
"yeah... see you on Monday." he sighs, clearly disappointed at the outcome of your date.
you stand up on your tippy toes, leaning forward until you're face is next to his. you hear his breath hitch in his throat, so you decide to tease him just that little bit more.
letting your lips graze his earlobe, you whisper into his ear: "this isn't rejection."
you quickly peck his cheek before lowering yourself again, dropping his hand. with a small smile, you watch a blush appear on his cheeks.
"goodnight, Jamie." you say confidently before walking around the corner and towards your Uber. clearly stunned into silence, Jamie doesn't say anything as you walk away. he turns around to watch you get into the car, smiling at you. once you're comfortable in the backseat, you look at him through the window with a cheeky grin. you send him a wave, hoping he waves back. but he doesn't – instead, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and sends you a wink.
—
"good morning, y/n." Rebecca's smile is wide as she walks through the door. usually, she would keep walking towards the stairs to go up to her office, but this morning, she stops at your desk.
widening your tired eyes, you look up at her with a suspicious look; "good morning, Rebecca..." you trail off.
"how was your weekend?" she asks, cocking her head to the side, her smile not budging. her face is creeping you out, but you'd rather die than point that out to your boss.
"it was good. how was yours?" you ask politely, scared to blink as she holds eye contact.
"it was lovely... still reeling about our win." she chuckles, lifting her fist and shaking it in feigned excitement.
"me too," you say turning your chair to face your computer again, your head staying still as your body twists, "okay... thank you, Rebecca..."
her smile suddenly drops and she rolls her eyes, moving closer to your desk. in a hushed whisper she says: "okay, spit it out. tell me everything!"
you scoff and chuckle to yourself, turning your chair to face her again.
"Rebecca, I-"
"actually, forget it. come to lunch with me and Keeley later, then you can tell us everything! ha!" she says with a maniacal laugh.
"uhm, yeah! sure- yes... I'd love to!" you sputter, and suddenly you're wide awake.
Rebecca throws you a curt nod in response before strutting towards her office. once the sound of her heels disappears up the stairs, you sigh deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to take a few deep breaths.
you whisper to yourself as you breathe in and out "1... 2... 3... 4..."
"5!" a man shouts to you, causing you to jump in your seat, gripping onto the handles as you look up in shock.
"Higgins! good morning..." you sigh in annoyance, but try to cover it up by throwing him a fake smile.
"good morning, y/n." he nods at you and genuinely smiles at you, completely oblivious to your irritation.
he walks away, and you finally turn to your computer to print another week's worth of sign-in sheets. while placing the papers in their respective clipboard, you imagine seeing Jamie again this morning. suddenly, you get hot and flustered, and you realise that your actions will actually have consequences. it was fun teasing him and all, but having to act professional with him in front of everyone at Richmond isn't going to be as easy or enjoyable.
"hey y/n." Colin says as he walks up to your desk right as you place the clipboard on top of it. he has a big grin on his face, and you can't wait to know why.
"hi Colin! have a good weekend?" you ask with a smirk. you hand him a Richmond-branded pen and watch him sign his name.
"God, y/n, there's just something so special about men isn't there?"
you cackle at him, completely not expecting those words to come out of his mouth.
"what?"
"just... think about that." he says seriously, smile gone from his face, "sit on it, if you will."
you continue to laugh as he turns his back without another word, and you're expression stays bewildered while you watch him walk down the hallway.
"what's so funny?" Isaac asks, brows creased, of course.
"nothing, nothing... how are you, Captain?" you wave a hand in front of your face to cool yourself.
"ecstatic about our win. excited for training." he states frankly, face like stone.
"oh, yeah, I can tell!" you say with a teasing smile. Isaac doesn't respond, or even smile, but he blows a small huff of air out of his nose, which you choose to count as a big loud laugh.
the rest of the team arrives in droves, all of them taking their time to sign in and greet you. every time anyone asks about your weekend, you just shrug and find different ways to congratulate them on their match. clearly, they're all still celebrating their win, and you count your lucky stars no one brings up Jamie. that is, until the coaches show up.
"morning, y/n!" Ted says as Beard takes to signing them both in. normally, Ted stands at a normal distance from your desk – but today, he puts his elbows on top of it and places his head in his hands, looking at you with a grin.
"hey Ted," you smile politely, ignoring his clearly teasing expression.
he quickly raises his eyebrows twice, before saying: "do you, perchance, know where Jamie is this morning?"
"you can't just say perchance, Ted." you shrug at him, rolling your eyes playfully.
"hey, don't change the subject. where's Jamie?" he points a finger gun at you, pretending to threaten you.
putting your hands in the air, you pretend to surrender; "you caught me! I killed him. I couldn't stand the shame of being seen with him in public that I just had to get rid of him. please... forgive me..."
Ted keeps his finger gun pointed at you as you pretend to cry. in the meantime, Beard has finished signing both of them in, and is making his way down the hallway without a word.
"what the fuck?"
you quickly lower your hands, folding them in your lap. Ted, however, keeps the gag going, pointing his fingers at Jamie, who's holding two takeaway coffee cups.
"Mr Tartt! you're late! how will you pay– okay whatever, I'm done." Ted says, giving up the gag midway.
"bye, Ted." you say, smiling at him.
"bye, y/n," he smiles at you before turning to Jamie, "hurry."
"alright, alright," Jamie sighs, moving towards the desk and placing down one of the cups.
instinctively, you reach out a hand to take the coffee and sip it. Jamie doesn't say a word, just signs himself in. you ignore his silence as you lift the cup to your lips, taking a small sip.
"huh?!" you pull the cup away from your mouth as quick as you can, "Jamie?!"
usually, when you take a sip, you taste a delicious, perfectly cooled-down, latte. but today, you taste something bitter and grassy. you look up at Jamie, clearly confused and annoyed. there's a smirk on his face, not a hot one, and as he places the pen down on the desk he says: "green tea. enjoy it, babe."
he shoots you a quick wink before walking down the hallway and disappearing around the corner. you scoff at him, wishing you could call after him. instead, you take a deep breath, and try another sip of your green tea. with a grimace already on your face, you take another sip, before shaking your head when it touches your tastebuds.
"hm- no, no. never again." you say to yourself, standing up and speed walking towards the staff room to make yourself a shitty coffee.
throughout the morning, you make up any excuse to walk past the locker room and training pitch. you start using the printer on the other side of the building, and only go to the bathroom near the pitch which only the players use. you even go out to the small car park to sneak a look at the training pitch, rationalising it by telling yourself you need some fresh air.
you only catch slight glances of Jamie, and most of the time it's from a distance. the effort is definitely distracting you from your work, but as long as you don't leave your desk for more than ten minutes, your absence will go unnoticed.
as the clock nears noon, you wonder if there's time for one last bathroom trip before having lunch with Keeley and Rebecca. sliding out of your chair, you slip out of the desk and speed walk down the hallway. as you turn the corner, you hear the bustle of the Richmond team pouring into the changing room. cursing yourself under your breath, you make it your mission to reach the bathrooms unnoticed. you straighten your posture, keeping your head forward as you pick up your pace. you glide past the locker room, the coaches office, and the gym. you turn the last corner, peering behind you to make sure no one is behind you. starting to sigh in relief, you look in front of you, only to be met with Jamie standing right in front of you. you yelp in surprise, and quickly cover your mouth with your hands as not to attract attention to yourself.
"what are you doing here, y/n? these are our bathrooms." Jamie grumbles in a deep, hushed tone.
you're speechless, and breathless, as you look up at Jamie with big eyes. the fright he gave you is still evident in your panting breaths, and your mind is blank. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, and he turns his body in front of you, making you press your back into the wall. he moves closer to you, placing a hand on the wall right beside your face. you can hear the team in their changing room nearby, and the thought of one of them seeing you and Jamie like this fills you with adrenaline rather than fear.
Jamie leans his face even closer to yours, sliding his lips lightly against your cheek as he dips towards your ear; "I don't think you're supposed to be here, y/n... aren't you meant to be behind your desk?"
goosebumps cover your skin at the feeling of his breath fanning your neck. you fight to keep your breathing steady, but miserably fail when you feel his other hand rest on your waist. he smells like fresh deodorant and heat, and you can trace the scent of his conditioner in his hair. you nod your head, not able to force out any words.
"right, so... if I were to tell Rebecca that you've been leaving your desk all day just to see me... do you think she'll let that slide?" his voice is low and rumbles in your ear, giving you shivers down your spine. you shake your head in response, choosing to stay quiet.
his hand leaves your waist and you almost whine at the loss, and he lifts it up to tuck your hair behind your ear. mirroring the movements from after your date, he runs his fingers along your jaw, touching his thumb to your bottom lip again.
"know your place, y/n. I'll see you later."
your eyes flutter shut at his words and when you open them, his hands are gone from your skin. standing a safe distance away from you, Jamie scoffs and smirks, crossing his arms across his broad chest. clearly proud of himself, he looks your body up and down shamelessly, dragging his eyes over your figure. meeting your gaze again, he winks at you, before disappearing behind the corner.
left standing against the cold wall, you're breathless and feel like you're overheating. you huff out a 'phew' before pushing yourself off the wall. brushing down your shirt, you fix its collar and sleeves, hoping you don't look too disheveled. Jamie barely touched you, and yet you feel like you've just been railed.
you fix your hair and take a deep breath before turning the corner and speeding down the hallway. you manage a few measly greetings to the few people who say hello to you, but focus your energy on getting back to your desk. when you get there, you rush to your chair, feeling as if your legs are about to give out beneath you. you clutch your glass of water and chug it, needing to cool down. you slump back, catching your breath as the cold water settles you, pulling you back from the brink of collapse.
"y/n? lunch time!" Keeley squeals from down the hallway beside you. you know the smile you give her is wonky, and suddenly you can't wait to debrief with her and Rebecca.
—
"you rejected him?!" Keeley shouts at you, almost spitting out her noodles.
"no! that's the point, I didn't reject him. I just left him wanting more," you shrug.
Rebecca and Keeley look at you with shock written all over their faces, even though you look at them with a smile.
"why didn't you just shag him?!" Rebecca exclaims.
you sigh, setting your takeaway box on the coffee table in front of you; "look, girls, if you were there you'd get it,"
"I was there. I get it." Ted adds. he's sitting on a separate chair with a sandwich he brought from home, while you, Keeley, and Rebecca are sitting on her plush couches.
"Ted, I never thought I would say this but, please... tell me more." Rebecca sighs.
"I don't kiss and tell, or – watch an almost-kiss and tell – but what I can tell you, is that y/n has Jamie Tartt wrapped around her little finger."
you blush at Ted's words, and you suddenly feel like a teenage girl again. your thing with Jamie feels like a pining high school crush again where you exchange glances in the hallway and blush at each other in class.
"don't you wanna shag him?" Keeley asks you.
"of course I want to shag him! just... not right now." you say, picking up your food again and taking a bite.
"from the way he was looking at you on Saturday night, I can promise you y/n, he's at your beck and call." Ted assures you.
your brows furrow at his words, and you struggle to decide whether you appreciate his words or feel rather sick with embarrassment at the sound of them; "thanks...?" you drawl.
the three of them look at you with pity written all over their faces; "why are you all looking at me like that?"
"we just want you to get some!" Keeley grunts, humping the air. she always knows how to make you smile.
"we nearly kissed after our date, but all I could think about was you guys,"
"I'm flattered," Keeley says as she flicks her long hair behind her shoulder, and Ted agrees with her.
shrugging them off, you continue: "I just started worrying about us having an inappropriate workplace relationship. I mean, he's technically my boss."
Keeley makes a distasteful face at your explanation, while Rebecca silently blinks at you in utter confusion. Ted raises his eyebrows as he avoids your eyes and takes a bite out of his sandwich.
"is that shade?" Keeley speaks up after a few long seconds.
"huh?" you shake your head.
"are you saying my workplace relationship with Roy is inappropriate?" she laughs, sitting up onto her knees as she grabs onto Rebecca's shoulders.
"yes! and, y/n, are you referring to me and Sam?" Rebecca adds, holding back a burst of laughter.
your face drops at their words, immediately regretting what you said. you hold your hands up in defense, shaking your head quickly; "no! no! not at all! I just- I don't want to lose my job!"
Keeley and Rebecca's laughter is loud and obnoxious, and as you look to Ted for help he just gives you a tight-lipped smile before getting up to leave.
"Ted?"
"good luck," he mouths to you, hurrying out of Rebecca's office. the sound of the door shutting is concealed under the sound of Keeley and Rebecca's boisterous laughter.
"please, guys, come on," you say at a normal volume, but the two don't stop laughing. at this point, Keeley is lying on the couch kicking her legs in the air with laughter. meanwhile, Rebecca is doubled over laughing, clutching her necklace in her hands as she struggles to breathe.
"LADIES!" you shout, loud enough to snap the two of them out of their laughing fit. they chuckle and pant as they catch their breaths, wiping tears from their eyes. you give them their moment to calm down, suddenly feeling extremely shy at the topic of discussion.
"what should I do?" you ask sincerely, cheeks blushing.
"I say you should keep him chasing after you," Rebecca starts.
"yeah, like a hunter and prey situation," Keeley adds.
"what? no, I don't want to be Jamie's prey!"
"no, see, you both take turns in each position. one moment, you tease him and take control, and the next, you act all innocent and naive and let him take control." Rebecca explains.
Keeley nods along as she speaks, continuing from Rebecca's point; "exactly! that will drive him absolutely mad! it's perfect, y/n, you have to mess with him until you physically can't keep your hands off each other."
"aha! I'm so excited!" Rebecca claps and Keeley copies her, both of them squealing like girls.
you smile to yourself, remembering how good it felt to leave him hanging on Saturday, and how deeply you felt your interaction in the hallway before lunch. maybe the two in front of you are right, and maybe it won't hurt to tease Jamie a bit. after all, he's Richmond's star striker, you might as well play with his ego.
"so... you won't fire me?" you ask Rebecca, eyebrows raised.
"not for having a relationship, no. if I catch you having sex on my desk, however, that would be an entirely different conversation." Rebecca's words are serious, even though Keeley giggles beside her.
"understood. thanks, boss." you salute to Rebecca before letting a wide smile cover your face. soon enough, the three of you are squealing in excitement, just like teenage girls.
—
that evening, as all of Richmond signs themselves out for the day, you wait in anticipation to see Jamie stroll towards you. your staff colleagues leave first, always taking the first opportunity to head home. bidding your goodbyes to all of them, you count down the minutes to when the players turn the corner. hearing the familiar noise of their laughter and chatter, you sit up straight with a smile, waiting to see the guys.
"y/n!" Sam exclaims, being the first to lead the pack towards your desk, "how are you?!"
"hiya Sam, I'm great! what about you?"
"ugh, amazing! I'm heading to the restaurant now to host for the evening – we're fully booked!"
"oh woah, Sam, that's incredible! I'm so happy for you! have fun!" you gawk at him, wishing you could give him a hug.
"thank you very much. have a good night, y/n!"
as soon as you wave at Sam, there's a small group of players already pushed up to your desk trying to sign out; Isaac, Colin, Dani, and Jan Maas.
"hi y/n," Dani smiles at you. Colin and Jan bicker amongst themselves as Isaac signs all of them out.
"hey guys! how was training?" you ask them.
"amazing!", Dani says, "I don't know what you did to Jamie but he's on fire!"
you laugh a little at his words, confused by what he means. sure, you riled him up for the match but other than that, what effect have you been having on him on the pitch?
"what do you mean?" you ask with a smile.
"it's true. he's faster, more focused, and puts everything he has on the pitch, even though it's just training. no more half-assed narcissistic shit." Isaac adds.
"he's completely hyped! when he runs towards me during training I fear for my life, but in the dressing room, he's so kind I want to hug him." you laugh at Dani's words.
Isaac gives you a curt nod before walking towards the door, and Dani follows in tow after giving you a wave.
"see you, y/n!" Jan chirps as he leaves behind them. you say bye to him, expecting Colin to leave too, but instead, he leans over your desk.
"Jamie is absolutely smitten with you," he whispers with a serious expression, "he needs you, and the team needs him – keep doing whatever it is you're doing."
your mouth drops open and shut a few times, at a loss for words. all you can muster as you stare at his stern face is a: "thanks? I think,"
"goodnight." he says in a normal voice, tapping the desk before jogging out the door to follow his teammates.
the rest of the team passes you in a haze, your body on autopilot as you say bye to each of them. once the crowd clears, you check the clipboard, noticing Jamie is the only one who hasn't signed out. the staff has gone home, the team has left, and the coaches are all signed out. Rebecca and Higgins are upstairs, so you know your next move will go unnoticed.
you stand up from your chair, quickly brushing your hands down your clothes and fixing your hair to make sure you look presentable. hopping down from the desk, you glance up the stairs to Rebecca's office. her door is closed, so you assume she's busy enough not to come downstairs any time soon. with confidence, you strut down the hallway, mustering up the courage for what you're about to do. shoes hitting the floor in a steady rhythm, you make your way to the team's changing room. as you walk, you take some deep breaths to settle your nerves.
the door to the locker room is closed when you reach it, and as you push it open, Jamie's head snaps up to look at you. he's on his phone, elbows resting on his knees. you slam the door shut behind you, quickly glancing at the coach's office to make sure the two of you are truly alone.
"y/n," Jamie says with a small smile, a glint in his eyes at the sight of you.
you waste no time to walk towards him, stopping right in front of him. you slot yourself between his legs, forcing him to sit up straight and put his phone down. bringing a hand up to his shoulder, you run your fingers over the crook of his neck, moving your hand down across his collarbones before brushing his chest. looking him up and down shamelessly, you are fueled by the look in his eyes. quickly shifting from soft to hungry, his look is lust filled and dark. his hands move up to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. he runs his fingers down to your calves before dragging them up to just below your ass.
"what happened to not wanting to be inappropriate in the workplace?" he asks, voice sultry as he looks up at you.
"everyone's gone... we're off the clock." you smirk at him, and his hands take place firmly on your ass. he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and you can't help but let your eyes drop down to watch the slick movement.
lifting your hands, you place them both on each side of his neck, using one thumb to pull at his earlobe while the other runs gently over his adam's apple. he swallows nervously, and you feel the movement in his throat beneath your finger. your eyes scan his face, while his are focused on your lips. the cocky smirk has disappeared, and now Jamie looks like putty in your hands. his eyes half-lidded, jaw slack, his breaths are shallow and short as he awaits your next move.
you lick your lips, knowing he's staring at them, and you hear his breath hitch in his throat. the hand previously placed on his throat now moves up the back of his neck. your touch runs over the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and you can feel the goosebumps that arise on his skin at the feeling. you lean forward, and his grip on your ass loosens. lips to his ear, you brush your cheek against his, quietly admiring how soft his skin is.
his breath fans your neck with how close you stand, and you ignore the thrill it gives you. you take a deep breath, making him wait excruciatingly long for what you're going to do. you place a small kiss on the soft skin beside his ear before whispering: "I'll see you tomorrow, Jamie. don't forget to sign out."
quickly standing up straight, you smile innocently at him as you take a step back. his hands lift to reach out for you again, but instead you move away and walk towards the door. without looking back, cockiness fills your stride as you exit the locker room, leaving behind a breathless Jamie Tartt.
———
thank u for reading! i hope u liked this! pls give me any kind of feedback or even ideas for part three, my ask is open!
pairings: jamie tartt x reader, basically all of richmond is mentioned tho
summary: where you're the receptionist at richmond fc and you slowly but surely form a close bond with star striker jamie tartt
words: 6864
warnings: none just swearing and a little bit of rude jamie
—
day in and day out you watch the people of Richmond FC enter and exit the home of their beloved football team. you spend your days behind the blue reception desk doing admin; sending emails, taking calls, and making sure everything is running smoothly. you've been the receptionist at Richmond for a little over three months, and you had no complaints so far. your favourite part of the day was watching Rebecca arrive to work. you always hear her heels before you see her, then she struts past your desk with a swift 'good morning' every day. not one day has gone by where she hasn't greeted you that way, and the acknowledgment lightens your mood each time.
as you're checking the company emails one morning, you hear Rebecca's footsteps approaching. you look up to smile at her, expecting the usual greeting, but instead she goes off-script.
"ah, good morning y/n. i'm not sure if you've seen the email but we are implementing a new daily register system. every morning, when our staff and players arrive, they must tick the box next to their name and note what time they arrive at. for visitors, they will have to sign their name on the bottom." you nod along attentively to her new instructions.
"okay, great! so, in the evenings, should everyone just do the same thing; tick the box, add the time?"
"you catch on fast. see, this is why I knew we needed a better receptionist," she smiles at you genuinely, adjusting her handbag on her arm before turning to walk to her office. "oh, and everyone should have received the email so I hope that saves you wasting time to explain this to everybody."
thanking her with a kind smile, you bid your goodbyes. you open your personal staff email, only to find an email from Higgins including a pdf of the sign in sheet. you take it upon yourself to print a week's worth, attaching them to a clipboard and placing it on top of the tall desk. you smile to yourself, looking forward to getting to know everyone's names and have more opportunities for small talk in the mornings.
the clock is nearing 8:30am, and you're already deep in your inbox forwarding and responding to emails. you've only had to explain the new system to a handful of staff, including Laughing Liam who, naturally, laughed at it. the players should be arriving soon, so you take the time to straighten your blouse and sit up straight in your chair. presumably, these men don't check their emails first thing in the morning, so you're expecting to have to repeat yourself a lot this morning.
"good morning y/n!" Colin chirps. he's the first of the team to arrive, as per usual.
"hey Colin! I thought I heard tires screech outside." you joke. "I'm not sure if you saw the email-"
"stop right there. i saw the email this morning." cutting you off, he picks up a Richmond pen before sliding the clipboard towards him and signing in. you chuckle to yourself and wave him goodbye.
soon after, the rest of the Richmond players flood into the building. some are in pairs, others in groups, and they even form a small queue as they wait their turn to sign in. Dani's excited by the new organisation plan, Roy grunts but still cracks a small smile, and Ted holds up the line talking to you whilst Beard signs both of them in. the only person to arrive alone, and last, is Jamie Tartt. he rolls right past you, not once looking up from his phone. you quickly call after him: "Uhm, Jamie!" you've never spoken to him, nevertheless called him by his first name.
his head lifts at the unexpected sound of your voice, and he looks around trying to find the source.
"sorry, Mr. Tartt. I didn't mean to shout... or call you Jamie," your voice goes quiet as he turns around to look at you, eyebrows raised in confusion. "what?" he replies, slowly walking towards the desk.
"basically, there's a bit of a new system here now. every morning and every evening you'll have to check in and out on this sheet. just tick the box next to your name and then add the time you arrive and leave." you explain with a smile, holding his questioning gaze the entire time.
"right, right, okay... what if, instead of me wasting me time clocking in and out, you just do it for me. you see me arrive, you sign me in. you see me leave, you sign me out. simple as." he states, and he sends you a quick wink before spinning around and heading straight for the locker room.
your mouth snaps open and shut a few times, surprised at his refusal to cooperate. you knew he had been a pain, despite his talent, but ever since he returned from manchester city he'd dropped his act a little. still, all you could do was watch his back, his bright orange jacket disappearing around the corner.
—
the sign-in system is easily integrated into richmond fc's daily routine, everyone dedicating those few minutes every day to tick the box and smile at you. some even taking the time to have a chat with you and soon enough, you know everyone's names.
while your typing up an email to Keeley about a new sponsor, someone walks up to your desk and drums his hands atop it. your eyes snap up and a smile takes over your face at the sight of Ted.
"hi Coach, how are you doing?"
"I'm doing great, y/n, thanks for asking! I would ask how you're doing but I'm here about someone else..." Ted's gaze narrows and your smile shrinks slightly.
"what's up?" you turn your chair to face him to show your full attention is on him.
"my pal Higgins has informed me that one of my players hasn't been signing in with you every day."
"yeah..." you trail off, "Jamie hasn't really been making the effort. I'm sorry if I should have been doing it for him I just wasn't sure if that would be... against safety regulations... or something?"
Ted raises his eyebrows at you, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "did he ask you to sign him in and out every day?"
"yes, he did. he said I should just watch out for him coming and going then write down the time."
"oh okay, I see. I will talk to him at lunch. Don't you worry, y/n."
as he walks away, you sigh in relief, worried you were getting in trouble for Jamie's slacking. you turn back to your computer, cracking your knuckles before getting back to your work.
later that day, as you log out of your computer and start packing up your stuff, the team pours out of the locker room. some sign themselves out, some sign themselves and their mates out. you make sure to keep your eyes peeled for anyone trying to avoid the responsibility, but the only person who strides past the group with no remorse is, once again, Jamie Tartt. your eyes meet Ted's who is looking at you with an apologetic look. you shrug in response, brushing it off. Jamie is his own person, you're not in charge of him.
the next morning, the day starts as usual; Rebecca is the first to arrive, followed by some members of staff, before the coaching team and players pour in from the car park. despite people greeting you and talking, you only half-respond. you're too busy looking over everyone's heads trying to spot the stubborn player you just haven't been able to crack.
"I've spoken to that prick. he can't keep fucking you over. let me know if he causes any problems." Roy grumbles, interrupting your focus.
"cheers, Roy," you smile at him warmly, wondering if his words will have had any effect on Jamie.
when the clock strikes 9, you sink back into your chair. the last of the staff have arrived for their day, and training is about to start – but still, no Jamie Tartt.
you grab the clip board and flick through the pages, making sure you didn't miss him signing in. still, on every page, the boxes next to his name are left blank. you sigh, shaking your head, unsure of how to tell Rebecca you got through to everyone expect for one measly player.
"y/n?"
"that's me," you say, before looking up from the list of names.
there's two coffee cups in front of you, both with the name Jamie scribbled on the sides in black marker. you lift your gaze, and funnily enough, Jamie is stood in front of you.
"listen yeah, I jus' wanted to say sorry for not doin' the whole... sign-in sheet shit. Roy had a proper go at me yesterday, so... I brought you coffee. hope this makes up for it." he can barely meet your eyes as he speaks, but ends his apology with a small smile.
"oh, wow, thank you. that's very kind, Jamie." you genuinely smile at him, hoping his might lift even a little bit more. instead, his eyes soften.
"I just got you a latte. I hope that's okay, I weren't sure what you liked and didn't have time to ask Keeley so,"
"that's perfect, Jamie, thank you so much. you really didn't have to do this."
"yes, I did, I think. it's not fair for you to be worrying about your job because of me."
thanking him again, you take one of the takeaway cups, taking a small sip of the warm coffee. Jamie nods at you as if to say goodbye, and you return the nod with a cheeky wink. you can't be sure, but you think you see Jamie's smile finally reach his eyes as he turns around.
the following morning, as you're talking to Isaac about becoming the new team captain, you're interrupted by none other than Jamie. your face lightens up at the sight of him, and you laugh as he pushes Isaac with his shoulder, making him leave the front desk.
"what's this for?" you ask as he sets another coffee cup down in front of you.
"I dunno... I was already getting meself coffee, so I thought I might as well get you another latte."
"you don't have to do that, Jamie. but if it means you come to the desk to sign in then I won't complain."
you can't seem to take your eyes off his hands as he picks up the pen Isaac had just used. his fingers seem to move slowly over the page, smoothing over everyone's names until he reached his. you admire the rings on his fingers, taking a special interest in the gold signet on his pinky as it supports the pen gliding along the form.
"do you like it?"
you blink a few times before snapping out of your daydream, looking up to see Jamie smirking down at you.
"hm?" you ask, gulping down the embarrassment of being caught in your daze.
"do you like my ring?"
"what? your pinky ring? uhm, sure, yeah. it's nice..."
"good save, love. it's me granddad's. he gave it me when I first went to play for Man City."
"it's beautiful..." you say, smiling before looking down at the ring again. you notice how delicately his hands move as he puts the pen down. you didn't expect such a machismo to have such nice hands but you can tell Jamie takes good care of himself.
he smiles, huffing out a small chuckle at your admiration. "see ya later, y/n." "
"bye, Jamie." you smile, taking the clipboard from him. you glance down at his name, spotting a small heart drawn beside it. it's uneven and a bit jagged, but the doodle still tugs at your heart strings.
from then on, every single morning, you are greeted by a latte and a chat from Jamie. every day, he lingers more and more as you talk to each other, and you always end up drinking half of your coffees before he pulls himself away from your desk. in the evenings, he's always one of the first to sign out. instead of saying goodbye, he simply winks at you. you hate to admit it but you start memorising what times Jamie arrives and leaves. as much as you love talking to him, and especially him winking at you every time he leaves, you love waiting for him. you love the nerves that build in your stomach as you watch the clock, and by the time he finally reaches you, you're already slightly blushing. when he turns to leave your desk, your eyes follow his figure and you let the blush take over your cheeks completely.
—
"hey, y/n, have you got a minute?" Isaac walks up to your desk.
"Isaac! of course!" you chirp, taking the last sip of your latte. Isaac reads the name written across the cup and raises his eyebrows knowingly.
"ah, speak of the devil,"
"what?" you turn the cup around, running your thumb across Jamie's name, "oh, yeah,"
"about Jamie... I really hate to involve you in actual football shit but he's been slacking a bit in training."
"oh, okay, would you like me to pass on the message to Rebecca?"
"no, no, it's just... he's been showing up late to training and then leaves early. during trainings, he's always... agreeing?" you raise your eyebrows at Isaac's words, "he never puts up a fight anymore, and we kind of need that Jamie Tartt for our big game this Saturday."
"I'm sorry, Isaac, but I'm not really sure what I can do about this. I really would love to help but there's not much I can do."
"I really hate to ask this from you, but," he takes a deep breath, a small smile appearing on his face, "I need you to piss him off a bit this week."
you laugh out loud, attempting to brush off his obvious joke by turning back to your computer.
"I'm not joking." his smile drops instantly, and your laugh falters before your face goes serious. "he likes you, so if you start acting cold towards him, it would really throw him off." Isaac's smile returns, and you giggle at his idea. trying not to read into his phrasing too much, you take a deep breath and nod.
"got it, Captain." you salute towards him. his eyebrows furrow as he curtly nods at you before turning around and jogging away.
what does he mean with Jamie liking you? a blush creeps up your face at the thought of him mentioning your name every time he's late, making up some excuse about the sign in taking too long. you start to brainstorm how you're going to turn the cold shoulder to Jamie this afternoon, feeling ever so slightly bad but trusting Isaac's judgement at the same time.
sure enough, Jamie is the first person out of training. you look up at him, and he smiles at you from the end of the hallway before jogging towards you.
"hi, y/n," his fingers drum on the desk, clearly excited to see you.
"if you'd just like to sign out for me there please, Jamie." you speak up, not looking up from your screen.
Jamie's immediately taken aback by your tone and from the corner of your eye you can see him pull his head back in confusion.
he chuckles awkwardly, attempting to diffuse the situation, "uhm, okay... what's the time, y/n?"
you don't respond, instead you point up at the clock on the wall behind you.
Jamie scoffs, quickly scribbling down the time and dropping the pen with a little bit of force. you don't react, as much as you wish you could just look up and meet his eyes.
"okay, bye then." he sighs deeply then heads towards the car park. as you see Isaac approach your desk, the rest of the team in tow, you hear an engine roar off into the distance.
"sounds like you've already pissed him off," Isaac says, "how did you manage that?"
"I just didn't look at him." you shrug nonchalantly.
"mhm, yeah he hates that. good job, bruv." he holds out his fist for you to bump. your knuckles meet his as you wink at him.
—
"hi, y/n, you alright, yeah?"
you hear Jamie place down a coffee cup. he whistles a little tune trying to get your attention, but when you still don't look up at him, he just picks up the pen and quickly signs in.
"listen, I'm not sure if you're just busy or what, but we play the Spurs tomorrow and I'd really like to see you there."
before you can even look up at him, Jamie turns around and leaves. you wait until he's a few feet away before looking up to take your coffee. you stare at his back, sighing to yourself. you understand the Captain's orders but it doesn't feel right ignoring Jamie. you would never tell him but your little routine has become your favourite part of your day at Richmond. you watch as his pinky signet ring catches the bright lights of the hallway and you take the opportunity to rake your eyes over Jamie's figure. his grey skinny jeans hug his legs perfectly, and his black jacket accentuates his broad shoulders. you lift your gaze to see his hair is gelled back neatly. you continue to stare at him, and as he's just about to turn the corner, he turns his head to take one last look at you. your eyes just about meet before you quickly snap your head down, pretending you weren't looking at him.
"y/n! I heard you fixed Jamie!" Keeley squeals as her and Roy walk up to the desk.
"I know, I hate it!" you reply, slumping your shoulders.
"don't worry, y/n. he'll be back to normal after tomorrow's game." Roy helps.
"sure but I don't want him to hate me."
"trust me; he doesn't fucking hate you." he adds, raising an eyebrow.
Keeley nods, "it's true. he's got a soft spot for you."
"he still invited me to the game." you shrug, hopeful that means he doesn't hate you.
"ah! brilliant! I'll talk to Rebecca, I'm gonna get you a seat with us. that way, you can watch the match without him even knowing you're there!" Keeley bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet.
"doesn't that defeat the point of me being there?"
"no babe, it's all about the teasing. he's gonna be fuming when he thinks you're not there, and then after the game you can surprise him! it'll work wonders, I swear."
you give her a questioning look, turning to Roy for a second opinion. he stays completely silent, simply giving you a single nod.
"if you think it'll work, let's do it." you hesitate slightly, but ultimately agree. you won't mind teasing Jamie a little bit. it's all he ever does.
your eyes drift to the picture of him plastered on the wall beside you. the cocky smirk on his face taunts you as you consider just texting him an apology.
"good morning! whatever you said to Jamie really worked, y/n. he never passes to me anymore!" a chipper Sam says to you as he signs himself in.
"is that a really a good thing?"
"it is for now. but please, after tomorrow, bring him back to normal. he's almost my friend and I want to keep it that way." he gives you a sad smile before bidding you goodbye.
throughout the day, you take calls and file more admin work. you talk to Higgins, Ted, and Keeley, filling them in on the plan for the Tottenham match tomorrow. it's a struggle to sit at your desk with Jamie constantly filling up his bottle from the water fountain in front of you. there's plenty of others for him to use, but he's clearly making the extra effort to see you in the hopes you'll talk to him. much to your dismay, you continue to ignore him. it's only been two days that you've been ignoring Jamie, but it's still hard avoiding the one thing that makes your day just that little bit better.
all packed up to go home, you wait for the last sign outs of the day. Rebecca's heels descend the stairs, and once again you hear her before you see her.
"y/n, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."
"no worries. that's my job," you smile at her, moving to exit your desk. you step down from the raised platform, about to shrug your jacket on.
"ah- ah- ah, I'm afraid I'm not the last to go home." Rebecca interrupts your movement, pointing a finger down the hallway.
"oh, uh, who's left?" you ask her, already taking your jacket off again.
"I think there's someone in the gym. oh, and there's a package for you in the coach's office. don't forget to pick that up before you leave."
you shake your head, confused; "uhm, okay then. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Welton." you smile at her politely, giving her a small nod.
"Rebecca." she assures you with a small which mirrors yours. as she turns to leave, you hold back a sigh and place your jacket and bag atop the desk. you iron down your shirt and fix the pleats on your trousers before venturing down the hallway.
you can hear small puffs and the whirring of a treadmill as you get closer to the coach's office. choosing to cut through the locker room, you look at the large empty space. you look over each name on the far side, reading them out loud quietly to yourself. moving towards Sam's locker, you smile at the photo of the Nigerian national team he keeps on his shelf. turning around, you read the names on the other side of the room. eyes landing on the locker at the end of the row, you finally let out the sigh you were holding in. "Tartt" you say out loud to yourself. butterflies fill your stomach before a nervous twist takes over. "he likes you" Isaac's words replay in your head. "he's got a soft spot for you" you remember what Keeley said. you ponder on their words, wondering why you of all people were Isaac's choice. Surely Roy could've talked some sense into him, or Ted if he got angry?
you shake the thoughts from your head, quickly looking away from Jamie's locker just in case your clouded mind takes charge again. looking through the window into the office, you see a white parcel on Beard's desk. there's a bright yellow sticky note on top of it:
'For y/n. You'll need this tomorrow! - Coaches'
you smile softly before pulling off the sticky note and picking up the package. the sound of the treadmill is louder now that you're right next to the gym, and the huffing and puffing increases too. loud beeps sound out and suddenly the footsteps on the treadmill seem to be going impossibly fast. pushing your curiosity aside, you cut the corner of the white bag, ripping it open. inside it is a neatly folded jersey – a Richmond jersey. you pick it up by the shoulders, holding it up in front of you. when you turn it around, you let a laugh escape your lips, hoping the treadmill covers the sound. it reads the same as Jamie's locker: Tartt 9.
shaking your head in disbelief, you fold it up neatly and place it back in its package. you hug it tight to your chest as you move quietly towards the window into the gym. you peer in, and to your surprise, you see Jamie almost destroying the treadmill with how fast he's going. his feet barely seem to hit the rubber, running like he is being chased by something twice his size. your smile falls and your brows crease together. he seems pissed, even though you can't see his face, his ferocious speed tells you enough. you turn back around, grabbing the post-it notes from Ted's desk and writing something down. you end your note with a small heart, hoping the coach sees it before the match.
—
"come on Richmond!"
the ear deafening crowds cheer and chant for Richmond FC as they file into the stadium. you're sitting in the owner's suite behind Rebecca and Keeley, with Higgins next to you.
"did you get my package?" Keeley asks, teethy smile across her face.
"I knew it was you! you cheeky little shit!" you laughed loudly, clapping her hands into yours. you take your jacket off, turn around and bring your arms up, pointing two thumbs at the back of your shirt.
"ah, young love..." Higgins sighs.
immediately turning back around, you scoff at him; "pfft, we're not in love! in fact, I'm not even sure we're friends right now."
"don't worry about it, y/n. I promise." Rebecca assuredly says to you, before turning to watch the match begin.
the whistle is about to blow, so you quickly try to find Jamie on the pitch. your eyes scan over the group, and you soon spot him in the middle of the pitch jumping up and down. he spits on the ground and claps his hands together, clearly riled up and ready to lead Richmond to a win.
the crowd roars as the whistle blows, and Jamie initiates kick off. you didn't think you would ever see him run as fast as he was on the treadmill yesterday, but somehow he is beating his own personal record. in the blink of an eye, he runs from one end of the pitch to the other. by some miracle, he seems to always have the ball in possession. after passing it back and forth, any time he's anywhere near the goal, the ball is at his feet.
in the 40th minute of the game, Jamie is crashing through Tottenham players, bumping shoulders with every single one as he makes his way towards their goal. you can see his cheeks puffing air in and out of his lungs rapidly, and after finding himself completely unobstructed, he kicks the ball with so much force that his mouth opens and you can almost hear his shout.
everything seems to go in slow motion. you hold your breath and raise your hands to cover your mouth. the ball flies through the air, magically curving towards the goal. the keeper jumps, hands in the air, and his finger tips merely brush the ball. but he's unable to push it hard enough, the ball crashing straight into the middle of the net.
the stadium erupts in cheers and roars, and you jump into the air with a loud scream. you hug Higgins in excitement and shake Keeley's shoulders before high-fiving Rebecca. you watch the team celebrate by running up to Jamie, who is stood completely still in the spot from where he scored. you can see his chest heaving, catching his breath as his teammates hug him and clap his back. but he doesn't seem to celebrate with them, instead you watch as he looks up and into the crowd without even a smile on his face. your expression falls, feeling your colleagues' eyes on you. Keeley grabs your hand, snapping your attention from the pitch to her; "go." she says, squeezing your hand. you purse your lips and nod at her, squeezing back, before pushing past Higgins and running inside.
as you rush through the VIP bar, you hear the half-time whistle. you head down the stairs and out the back of the stadium. you curse yourself for wearing your boots as you try to run to the main building. running doesn't seem to be your best bet, so you settle on a speed walk as you get closer and closer to the door. finally, you push open the door, passing by the reception desk you would normally sit at.
you continue your journey down the hallway and then turn right, heading straight for the locker room. you can hear the team from far away, cheering in celebration. as you turn the corner, you see all of them fall into the locker room in a line. they're so excited they don't notice you leaning against the wall watching them. the only person who isn't too busy celebrating, though, is Jamie Tartt, who is trailing behind the team like a sad puppy. his hands are wrapped in his shirt, and he's looking at his feet which he's scoffing across the floor. clearing your throat, you hope it catches his attention, his mind clearly elsewhere.
his head snaps up and looks in your direction. stopping dead in his tracks, he drops his hands from his shirt and fixes his headband. quickly glancing into the changing room, he goes unnoticed by the team as he dips his head and does a few long strides towards you.
"Jamie, I-"
"are you alright? like really alright? did I do somethin'?
"Jamie," you sigh deeply, not knowing how to explain Isaac's orders. "I'm sorry for ignoring you the past few days. it wasn't my idea, I promise."
"your idea? what're you talkin' about?" Jamie crosses his arms and shakes his head, a lock of hair moving forward into his eye.
you reach a hand up, gently moving the strand out of his vision. you watch as his eyes soften, dropping to the floor before they meet your gaze again. a sad crease appears between his eyebrows when you bring your hand down to your side again.
after taking a deep breath, you begin to explain; "Isaac said you were playing too friendly during training, slacking a little bit – and yeah, turning up late and then leaving early. he wanted you to be ready for today's match, y'know. so he asked me to rile you up a little bit, just so they could have the old Jamie Tartt back."
Jamie pouts, brows furrowed in confusion, as he blinks at you a few times. avoiding your eyes, he starts slowly nodding, tongue poking his cheek as he thinks to himself. after a few long seconds, the corner of his mouth lifts as he huffs a sarcastic laugh. you look up at him with wide eyes, hoping you haven't upset him. licking his lips, Jamie's smile widens as his laugh grows. you crack a small smile at him and try to find his gaze again, moving a step closer to him. placing a hand on his strong bicep, you try to get him to look at you. instead, he shrugs you off, leaning down and digging a finger into his sock. you stare, confused, waiting for his next move.
"so- if Isaac told you to ignore me a bit... what the fuck is this?" he unfolds a pink post-it note holding it up to you before reading it out loud; "dear Tartt, I don't even like lattes". Jamie raises his eyebrows at you while you stifle a laugh. "what makes this worse is the stupid fucking heart at the bottom of the page!"
"I was just trying to piss you off! Isaac told me!"
Jamie finally lets out a loud laugh, and you do the same, dropping your head into your hands in embarrassment. you don't have the gall to look up at him, suddenly so ashamed of the stupid gag you pulled. you feel warm hands wrap around your wrists, and you lift your head to look at Jamie as he pulls your hands away from your face.
"darlin' I hope you know the only reason I've been late to training is because I can't stop talking to you. and I leave early just so I can see you before the rest of the lads hound ya..."
you blush – hard – and you stare into Jamie's dark blue eyes. his hands slide from your wrists to your hands, softly holding your fingers in his. you sneak a glance at your touch, and when you look back up Jamie's even closer to you. as he towers over you, you can't help but look down at his lips before meeting his eyes again.
"now, don't lie to me... do you really not like lattes?"
"I love lattes." you whisper, smiling sweetly up at him as he shakes his head with a chuckle.
"can I take you out tonight? I wanna celebrate our win since you're the reason for it."
you scoff and shake your head: "Jamie, it's half-time."
"I can give you a lift home after, yeah?" he ignores your obvious statement.
"what if you lose?" you tease.
now it's Jamie's turn to scoff at you, squeezing your hands slightly as he says: "as long as you're in the crowd I'm sure that's not gonna happen."
"Jamie! we need you, buddy!" Ted interrupts the moment, sticking his head out of the door of the locker room to beckon him in.
"see you later, Jamie." you pull your hands from his, although against your will, as if you had it your way you would kiss him right then and there. he doesn't move as you turn around, about to turn the corner into the hallway before you feel a hand grab yours again. Jamie pulls your hand, making you spin around to face him again. as he tugs your hand, he wraps his other arm around your shoulders in a hug. your face presses into his hard chest as he holds you close for a moment. you let out a deep breath as you enjoy the heat radiating off his body.
as he moves back to let go of you, he leans down so his lips brush your ear before whispering: "nice shirt, by the way. my name suits ya."
your breath hitches at his flirtatious tone and a blush already starts creeping up your neck. he pulls back and flicks his eyes up and down your body. as he turns around to join his team, he winks at you, and even though he winks at you every day, this one hits you a lot harder.
as you watch Jamie retreat to the locker room, you lock eyes with Ted at its door. you try to fight the shy smile growing on your face, but fail miserably as a blush takes over your face. Ted lifts his hand to his forehead and salutes at you. you mirror him, bringing two fingers up to your head and saluting him back.
you walk back to the stadium fanning your face with your hands, desperately trying to cool yourself down. after sighing in relief, you laugh to yourself thinking about how your time at Richmond has changed over the past few weeks – and it was all due to Jamie Tartt.
when you return to your seat, Keeley squeals at you, making Rebecca jump. you shuffle past Higgins and sit back in your seat, touching up your hair and taking a deep breath.
"he asked me on a date!" you finally exclaim to Keeley and Rebecca, and the two respond with even louder squeals, which you join in on. your celebration is interrupted by the ref blowing his whistle, and you all focus on the game again.
the guys walk onto the pitch in single file, Isaac leading them out. their faces are stone cold, clearly ready to destroy their opponents. you stand up from your seat, eager to see Jamie after your encounter in the hallway. you finally spot him, and you can see him bouncing on his feet as approaches the pitch. once he's at the halfway line, and all the other players are finding their spot, you see him turn towards your side of the stadium. he looks up at the suite you're sitting in, and you quickly put your hands in the air, hoping he'll spot you. you assume he sees you, as he brings both hands to his lips and blows you a smooth kiss, before patting the Richmond badge on his chest and sticking his tongue out. you cackle at his antics, loving his dramatic entree. you quickly blow a kiss back and wave, praying they win this match so messing him around wasn't just for nothing.
you've never been more nervous watching a Richmond game. you've gone to a number of them since beginning your job as receptionist, but you've never been so enthralled by the sport itself – well, the players... one of the players.
Jamie sprints across the pitch, back and forth and back and forth, the ball at his feet. you, Keeley, and Rebecca scream and shout as you watch Richmond score three more goals. Colin scores with an impressive header, Dani bicycle kicks the ball straight into the net, and of course Jamie punts the ball past half the other players and the keeper, securing the last point for Richmond.
after the match, you find your way back to Richmond's headquarters, pushing open the same door you entered through earlier. this time, Keeley and Rebecca are walking in tow. you all stop at the reception desk, chatting about the game and your weekend plans.
"so how did he ask you out?" Rebecca lowers her voice, just in case Jamie turns the corner. you laugh nervously, shaking your head and waving your hands dismissively.
"no, no, no, he didn't ask me out. he asked me on a date. there's a difference."
"but he's so obviously into you! what's stopping you from just grabbing him by the hair and shagging him!" Keeley exclaims, a lot less subtle than Rebecca's careful tone. you sputter and laugh, Rebecca doing the same, both of you shocked at how direct Keeley spoke about you and Jamie.
"shut up you two! I'll let you know how it goes tonight, you go celebrate!"
Rebecca and Keeley hug you goodbye before walking down the hall. you turn around and giggle to yourself, blushing from Keeley's comment. lifting your head, your eyes fall on Jamie's wall sticker again. just thinking about how close he was to you earlier makes your heart race, your head dizzying at the memory of lips brushing your ear. fixing your hair, you move around the desk and sit in your usual chair. you try to calm your breathing and bring your heart rate down, not wanting to look like a yearning, blushing mess.
after managing to pull yourself together, your heart beat pounds against your chest again when you see the Richmond team crowd into the hallway. Isaac cheers when he sees you at your desk, and Colin, who is on his back, joins in.
"well done, boys!" you call to them while you wave at everyone passing you by.
"bye, y/n! see you on Monday!" Sam says to you with a big smile. you wave him goodbye and sigh happily, genuinely excited for the team.
their cheering goes quiet the further away they get from the door, and you wonder where Jamie is. you check your phone for any text messages, but there's nothing from Jamie. there is one from Keeley, however; 'don't forget to use protection!'
you scoff at her suggestive words, texting back a thumbs up with a kissy face. placing your phone down on your desk you look up, only to see Jamie sauntering towards you.
"hi, y/n," he says as he gets closer to the desk.
"hi, Jamie,"
"how ya been?"
"just fine, what about you, Jamie?"
"yeah, good, yeah... happy about our win."
"I can imagine. you were a proper superstar on that pitch."
wide smiles grow on both of your faces as you continue the small talk; "thanks, love. what can I say? Roy says I've got a right foot kissed by God, so ya'know this is just a regular day for me."
you chuckle at his feigned cockiness, standing up from your chair and leaning over your desk. "don't you want to go celebrate that win with your teammates, Jamie Tartt?"
"nah, that's alright, thanks. I've got other plans."
"oh yeah?" you tease.
"yeah, I've got dinner plans with a really pretty girl,"
you nod along with your eyebrows raised, smiling playfully at Jamie. his hair is still damp from the shower, but he's kept his same hairband look from on the pitch. he's wearing a bright orange t-shirt under a dark green jacket, an unexpectedly nice look on him.
"who's this girl then?"
"ah you'd love her; she's friendly, funny, gorgeous. she doesn't like lattes, though. and she pretended to ignore me but is still wearin' my name on her back."
you laugh, breaking character. you smile at him, raking your eyes up and down his body shamelessly. his eyes widen as you do so, surprised by how forward you're being. you bite your lip at him before saying: "you gonna treat her right, Tartt?"
he teases you back, matching your flirtatious tone. licking his lips, he lets his eyes drop to your lips: "if she'll let me."
summary; jamie tartt breaks up with you when you're teenagers, so when you show back up in his life with a child that looks exactly like him, jamie learns a hard lesson about regret
ted lasso masterlist
a/n: i've been working on this one for a minute! may be a part 2 - not sure, it would be nice for James to meet the team, and Jamie's mum & learn who jamie is...
"So, you're saying you don't love me anymore?"
"No, babe, I'm not saying that I jus' think ... like I'm gunna be busy, and with trainin' and everythin' I won't be able to be a very good boyfriend and really, I jus' feel like I need more time to play the field. I don't want to be settled down yet and... I don't know it just feels like that was where this was heading... does that make sense?"
"Yeah, okay," you look at your feet, unable to face Jamie as he tears your heart out of your chest, throwing it in the back of his closet like all the other forgotten toys. "Good luck then, Jamie, I guess."
You start to get up, and Jamie has the absolute audacity to look shocked.
"Whoa, come on, don't talk like you won't be around to see it! I don't want to not talk anymore."
"You don't get both," you say, chin betraying you by wobbling, "you don't get to rip me apart and have me by your side too."
"I'm not - Jesus, I'm not tryna rip you apart, I just think we're not ready, you know? I've got a whole future ahead of me, and so do you, we're, we're just kids really."
"I'm not angry at you Jamie," you say, stopping in the doorway, leaning against it while Jamie grips the edge of his bed, his decision feeling more final than he thought it would be. "You're gunna be fine, just... be good, all right?"
"You're acting like I'm never gunna see you again - that's not what I wanted."
"Bye, Jamie."
You don't give him another chance to speak, you just leave. Your first love - your first, well just about everything, breaking up with you so he can date around while he starts playing football professionally. The pain in your chest blossoms when you leave his house, pulsing and thumping in your heart as you make your way down the street, hands tight around the purse in your hands.
He didn't give you a chance to speak before he started breaking up with you. Didn't give you a moment to tell him why you called him to talk.
The pregnancy test in your purse is weighing you down, it feels like a massive weight on your shoulder and you can't take it, you rip it out of the bag and toss in into the first garbage bin you see.
"Tartt, the funniest thing just happened to me," Colin says, kicking his shoes off, "I've seen a boy that looks exactly like you."
"Okay, weirdo, been lookin' at kids lately, have ya?"
Jamie laughs as Colin hits him on the shoulder. "Shove off that, it wasn't weird, he was just outside with Will, and you guys looks identical, it was kinda freaky."
"Does Will have a kid?" Isaac asks, "I didn't know that."
"Oi Will!" Jamie shouts, calling Will over. He'd been walking passed the room at the perfect moment. "D'you have a kid we didn't know about?"
"No... I don't think so. Unless I dunno 'bout him either."
"Who was the little guy you were here with a minute ago then?" Colin asks. "I thought he looked exactly like Jamie."
"Oh, that kid, uh, yeah I don't know - just came up to me maybe or uh, I don't know."
"Y'all right, mate?" Isaac asked, eyes narrowing at the response, "that was a weird way to answer. You don't have to tell us but jeez mate, don't sound so suspicious."
"Suspicious...? Oh god, no," Will sighs, "he's my cousin's kid. She told me not to tell. She's just giving me a ride this week."
"Who's the dad, is it Jamie?" Colin asks, laughing, all the boys laugh except for Will, who looks oddly petrified.
"I should really get to work," he says, rushing out of the room. Isaac is the only one not laughing, Isaac is the only one who noticed that Will didn't actually deny it. And that Will seemed cagey over the question.
Isaac turns to his locker, it must be a coincidence, right? Or just Kitman being an idiot. He decides that it's probably just in his head, that he's making up a scenario that doesn't exist.
But the next morning, he just can't drop it. He waits until Will is being dropped off before he comes out of his car, Isaac is doing everything to act nonchalant. Grabbing his bag outta the boot like normal, waving politely to Will and the mysterious woman in the car, and then trying to peak at the situation.
Nothing seems weird at all, and he doesn't know why he's even doing this, until a little voice calls his name.
"C'mon bud, don't yell at strangers like that it's not nice, even if they're famous footballers," you're telling the kid, but Isaac sees an opportunity and he takes it, he comes over to the group of you.
The kid is still in the car, buckled into a booster seat, wiggling around trying to get out.
"Big sports guy?" Isaac asks after polite hellos are exchanged, when you tell him your name, he smiles kindly, then turns to your son.
"Yes, the greyhounds are his favourite team. Watches them on the telly all the time, isn't that right?"
"I saw you on the telly!" the kid says, continuing to wiggle. "Mum?" he whispers, "can you let me out?"
And you do, and Isaac can't stop staring. Because this kid is the spitting image of Jamie Tartt. Same goofy smile, same puppy dog eyes, Colin wasn't kidding, this kid looks just fuckin' like the prick.
"What's your name, mate?"
"James, and I'm five," he holds up five fingers, and beams up at Isaac.
"Oh, you're 5!? That means you're a big man, huh? The rest of the team should be gathering inside, if you've got time, I'm sure they'd love to meet the little fella."
"Mum!"
"I'm sorry baby, but you've got school! Maybe sometime soon we'll come by and Will can show you around the club, ya?" You frown as James sadly gets back into the seat, shoulders slumped as you buckle him back up.
And Isaac tries to let it go.
He really does.
But he cannot shake that uncanny resemblance to Jamie's smile. And for christ sakes, the kids name is James.
Isaac drops his bag, unable to stop the wheels turning in his head as he watches Jamie, and that stupid, similar grin... is it Jamie's brother? Does Jamie know he has a brother? Is it a weird doppleganger situation?
Colin waves a hand in front of Isaac's face to try to get his attention.
"Y'good mate? You haven't moved in like, five minutes."
"Yeah, yeah, I just ... Jamie?" Isaac asks, thoughts still miles away. "You ever meet Kitman's cousin?"
"How would I know?"
"Her name is uh... ah fuck she just said it, oh uhm," when Isaac says your name, Jamie's face goes pale. His blood turns to ice, and he doesn't say one word. "Mate?"
"She was here?" Jamie asks finally, his voice sounding smaller than ever, barely above a whisper. "It can't be her, I mean, what are the odds?"
"What are you talking about?"
"My first girlfriend, well the first real one anyway that was... tha' was 'er name."
Colin and Isaac share a look, but don't say anything. Jamie runs to the parking lot, ignoring Keeley and Roy who call out to him in the hallway, but when he gets to the parking lot, you're already gone. If it really was you, he's let you get away again. He's kicks at some rocks in frustration, and slams the door open on the way back in.
Jamie tries to catch sight of you every day for the night week. But you're never there, and Will is not being any help at all. Jamie's losing his fucking mind, thinking you're so close and you know he's there, but you don't want to see him.
And he knows he's being selfish, that if you don't want to see him then he shouldn't be trying to make it happen, but you're all he can think about. How did you turn out? Did you go to school for what you wanted? Did you fall in love again? Do you still listen to the soundtrack of your favourite movie while doing housework? Who did you become? Would you like Jamie now? Would you like the person he became?
It's plaguing his mind as he walks across the parking lot, how was your mum doing? She'd been sick when he broke it off, and he... he never checked in.
And then he sees you.
The air around him grows impossibly thick.
His stomach turns with nerves.
You're still there with Will, talking to Roy Kent of all people, and Jamie has turned to stone, staring at you as if he's seeing a ghost in real time.
Without any input from his brain, his legs start towards you, and they don't stop until he's right in front of you.
Jamie Tartt is standing in front of the first love of his life, and you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. You've always been beautiful to him. But it's like he's seeing you for the first time all over again, and his stomach turns into rock and drops into his abdomen and he feels sick.
"You look beautiful," Jamie says before anything else, and Roy turns his lip up in disgust.
"Why would you start with that?" Roy asks, and turns back to you, noting the way your face has gone pale. "Ah, well, I'll be inside. Tartt, ten minutes." Roy starts to walk away. "And bring the little guy around for a tour!"
"Jamie," you say, too stunned to comprehend what was happening. Of course you knew there was a good possibility of running into him here, maybe you wanted to get caught - not for you, but for your son, Jamie's son...
"What are you doing here? You're not... you're not here with Roy, are you?"
"Wha - Roy? No, I just met him." You look towards the car and back to Jamie, thinking about your options. But it all feels like too much. You feel your knees growing weak, and you're overwhelmed and... you have to get out of here. "I have to go, school starts soon and I-"
"Are you a teacher?"
"No, I just... I just have to drop off my son."
"You have a kid?" Jamie falters a bit. He's thought about you a lot, and never had that thought crossed his mind, it never... he didn't... It wasn't fair for him to feel jealous at the thought of you moving on, it was his fault it all got thrown in the rubbish, but he felt it anyway. Images of you walking into the house with your son on your hip, to a man that scoops the little guy up and swings him around. "Who's the uh, who's his dad?"
"Jamie, I really have to go."
"Wait, can we - could we get coffee sometime? Or something?" Jamie steps closer, but you step backwards, inching towards the door. "Or dinner, or drinks? Or anything?"
"Jamie - I don't... I don't know what we'd say, I mean, you were right we were just kids and..."
"No, I..." Jamie pauses, looking into the backseat of your car where you son was rolling a hot wheels along the side of his car seat. "Is that, how old is he? Who did you say his dad was?"
"I didn't," you say, unlocking the car and slipping into the seat. Jamie stops you from closing it, not by force, but he just holds the frame.
"And how old is he?"
"I'm five!" James shouts from the backseat. "I saw you on the telly too!"
Jamie doesn't say anything else, the thoughts in his mind running too fast for even him to follow. You grab his wrist, moving his arm back from the door, and close it.
Jamie doesn't fight, just watches you drive away - with a boy that looks exactly like him.
"Tartt! I said ten minutes!" Roy comes out shouting, but when he sees Jamie, he stops, eyes blinking in confusion. "What is your fucking problem?"
"Why was she here? D'you know?" Jamie asks, his voice is distant - close, but as if his thoughts were miles away.
"That's Kitman's cousin. Why? Did she reject you?" Roy asked, smirk threatening to pull at his lips, but Jamie still hasn't turned around, so nothing seems quite funny yet. "What is your problem, eh?"
"Roy," Jamie lifts his hand and then drops it. "I think I just met my son."
"Fucking pardon me?"
"You think he's yours?" Colin asks, "I was just joking when I said he looks like you, honest."
"He looks just like me," Jamie puts up one finger, "he's five years old, and I broke up with her just over five years ago - I checked," he puts another finger up, "she named him James."
"Yeah that's..." Isaac and Colin look at each other. "Yeah, likely yours then."
"Why wouldn't she tell me?" Jamie said. "I could've, I would've... sent her money at least."
Roy grunts from beside them. "No wonder she didn't fuckin' tell you. Find out you may have a kid and the first thing to think about it is fucking money."
"Well I just mean I could've helped support em!"
"Kids need their fucking... a waste of - argh!" Roy stand up, and points at Jamie. "Make it right!" He shouts, and Jamie leans away, resting against Isaac as Roy stares him down.
"She didn't even tell me so how's it my fuckin' fault!?"
"I can only imagine it..." Roy backs off, and quiets down, but his tone is sharp - angry and vulnerable from unresolved issues that Jamie didn't cause but was feeling the consequences of. "Eighteen year old Jamie dumps his girlfriend and moves on with models and actresses and is all over the news... my heart breaks for that fuckin' girl and you..." Roy points at Jamie. "Did she have... people?"
"Well," Jamie is scared to answer, "her dad was already gone and her mum was pretty sick..."
Colin and Isaac wince. Roy is breathing heavily, just staring.
"I fuckin' hate you so much."
You don't drive Will to the dog track anymore, but Jamie waits outside just in case.
Until he sees Will walk in, head down like he's sorry. Jamie then usually waits another ten minutes or so after that, just in case.
But today... today Will feels extra guilty, so as he's walking passed Jamie, he slips him a post-it note with an address on it. No words exchanged, but Jamie hugs him, then runs to his car.
He doesn't care that Roy will make him run laps until his feet are bleeding, Roy's been riding him all week anyway - he can't sleep, can't eat. All he can think about it is you and that little boy. He needs answers.
So here he is, knocking on the door like a madman, but once again not getting any answer. He was going to explode. He takes a seat on the step, head in his hands.
He tortures himself by imagining your life without him. He pictures you happy, dancing with some man in the kitchen, experiencing your sons childhood with someone tall dark and handsome who wasn't a fucking idiot. But then he pictures a sadder, harder reality, where you were alone. Mum and dad gone, no man, just a single mum trying to get by right out of highschool.
You pull into the driveway before his imagination starts playing that Sarah McLaughlin song, but he'll admit, that was probably close.
You don't startle when you see him sitting there, you knew it was only a matter of time until Will cracked, he was kind of... soft.
"Hello Jamie," you say, too casually, like you're passing by a coworker you see everyday.
"Where's the little guy?" Jamie asks, eyeing the empty car seat.
"He's got school Jamie, I imagine they're halfway through the ABCs right now."
"Right, yes... got it."
"Jamie..."
"Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're... dismissing me. I think I deserve some answers."
You look at him thoughtfully. "Why?"
"What?"
"Why do you deserve answers?"
"What the- what do you mean? I've got a son and you didn't bother to tell me!" Jamie doesn't raise his voice per se, but there's a tone that left friendly behind.
You sigh, "let's take this inside, I don't need the neighbours to know that my sons father was on some trashy tv show."
And shame washes over Jamie like a cold bucket of water, and you move around him like you didn't just flip his world on his head. James is his kid, he knew it, but now he knows it. And he's missed it. First steps, first word, first day of school. He's missed it all. Christmases, birthdays, all have been without his dad.
"Jamie?"
"Hmm?" He can't look up from this one spot of your lawn, he's glued to the spot.
"Are you coming?"
He pulls himself out of his trance and follows you in. It looks like his moms house. There are toys littered across the floor. Pictures of your son hanging off the walls, he notes there are no boyfriends or husbands, and he doesn't rejoice, but he takes note.
"Why'd you name him James?"
"I don't... I don't really know. It seemed right, at the time."
"Does it still seem right?"
You smile. "I couldn't imagine him being anything else but exactly as he is."
Jamie nods thoughtfully. "Can I meet him?"
"I don't want to confuse him."
Jamie takes that as a maybe. You haven't said no, but you have let Jamie in the door, so that has to mean something.
"How's your mum?"
"She died," you say, and Jamie's eyes widen, "died before James was born."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Jamie is trying to calm down, your mum had always been sweet to him. He'd always liked her.
"You were already gone, and you were so excited to start your life it was just... it was how it had to be Jamie."
"I would've gone to the funeral, I didn't know I had to say goodbye." Jamie feels sick. He's been living this life of over indulgences and girlfriends (who he's treated poorly) and parties... and you've had the weight of the world on your shoulders.
"You would've seen I was pregnant, then you would've had to deal with that, then you would've grown to resent me... Jamie please, I've thought out every scenario, this was the best for everyone."
Jamie shakes his head, his face twists up in pain. "It wasn't, I would've been a dad to him. I would've taken him to home games and taught him how to ride a bike..." Jamie's throat tightens at all he's missed. At the daddy issues he's caused simply by not being around.
"Parenting is not all football and giggles Jamie, it's messy. And it's exhausting. And it probably would've gotten in the way of your career, and I - I did a fucking bang up job. James is happy, and he's healthy. He's got friends. I check for monsters. I taught him how to ride a bike."
"He can ride a bike already?"
"Okay I taught him how to get on a tricycle, but I will teach him how to ride a bike."
"I can do that part," Jamie says, "Let me do it. And I can check for monsters. And I can teach him how to kick a ball. I can have your back when you're parenting and I can help him with his homework." Jamie sighs. "I didn't know, and I was such a wanker. And I'm not even asking for you to give me a chance as a boyfriend," he mumbles 'maybe later' under his breath and you laugh softly, shaking your head, "but give me a chance to be a dad, I swear, I'll be such a good co-parent, I swear."
"Why don't you come by for supper," you sigh, "not as a dad. But... you can get to know him a little. He can get to know you."
"I love supper," Jamie says, making his exit before you can change your mind.
Jamie doesn't go back to training. He gets a haircut. Showers, puts on some nice clothes - but not too nice.
He can't stop thinking about James.
Can't stop thinking about you.
He's been... a fool. Such a fool.
Breaking up with you had always felt kind of wrong. There was always a part of him that wondered about you, always a part that was so sure you'd find your way back to each other. Which, in hindsight, is shitty, when you're dating other people but it always felt... something was always wrong. And he knows what it is now, it was his family, getting by without him. While he looked for something akin to love in all the wrong places, there had been a home, made without him.
Jamie tries to keep himself together as he pulls up to your house. He can't believe you're letting him in for supper, can't believe this chance is happening.
He parks the car, takes a few deep breaths, and collects the flowers and the toy cars from the passenger seat.
There isn't a time Jamie can remember where his nerves were so shaken. The back of his knees are sweating, his heart is racing, and his fingers are going numb.
If you don't open the door soon, Jamie may have a heart attack on the porch. Then Roy will really kill him.
"Hello?"
A tiny voice calls Jamie's attention, and there he is, James, standing behind a screen door, looking up at Jamie with the same eyes that are looking down at him.
"Hey mate," Jamie says, voice cracking with nerves, "is your mum 'ere?"
"Come in, Jamie!" he hears you call from the kitchen.
And the nerves get worse, because you come out of the kitchen with a messy ponytail, apron on, pulling off oven mitts and Jamie's heart leaps and bounds like it just landed on the moon.
And he wants to cry.
Wants to cry and scream and sob because this could've been his.
He could've gotten out of training, picked up flowers and brought them home to his girl, and his son, and maybe a new baby too - and then joined his family for supper.
He didn't even know he wanted this.
Last week he would've laughed.
This week he feels like crying.
"You look beautiful," he says, in lieu of a greeting once again.
You laugh, "I do not and you are early."
Jamie's cheeks flush. "I know, I'm sorry, I would've called but I didn't get your number. I was too excited to wait."
"Are these for me?" James whispers, not quietly at all, eyeing the bag in Jamie's hand.
"James, that is not polite. You didn't even say hello."
James pouts. "I said hello! At the door."
"Yes, but when people come to see us we ask how they are, not what they've brought us. Like this, ready?" you walk over to Jamie and he can smell your shampoo, and it's the same as you always used and his brain misfires. "Thanks for coming Jamie, you look well, how are you?"
"Good, I'm good thanks." Jamie's knees feel weak, you're so close to him. He can see the colour of your eyes, he always thought they were so beautiful. He still does. "I brought these for you," he says, holding out the bouquet.
You hesitate, surprised Jamie remembered your favourite flower. And the right colour. "Thank you," you whisper, and your hands touch when you take them, electricity shooting up your arm, and you swallow, suddenly less sure of every decision you've ever made. Jamie was always so special to you. You always... saw him. You knew there was more to him than the cocky, pretty boy attitude he'd had in school. You were the one who saw him for him. A bitter reminder that that wasn't enough.
"And yes, these are for you." Jamie hands James the bag. "They were mine growing up, they were my favourite ones."
"Oh," James says, gingerly taking the bag, he looks up at you and his eyes widen, like he remembered something, then he says, "thank you!"
"You're welcome."
"Why don't you two go play while I finish cooking."
You retreat into the kitchen with the flowers, and have to set them down, to breath. You grip onto the ledge of the counter, taking a few deep breaths. Jamie is... he's always been what you wanted. You'd resolved to not let those feelings back in. But it's hard. When the first great love of your life is here, in your home, looking like being with you and James is exactly where he belongs.
You shake the feelings out, or try to, and move to get the flowers in a vase, getting them in the kitchen window for some sunlight.
A knock on the doorframe startles you, and Jamie is standing there, tail between his legs.
"D'you need any help in here?"
"No, no," you say, waving your hand, smiling and feigning nonchalance. "You go play with James, he'd be all too happy to show you his room if you ask. That's why you're here, right?"
You don't mean it to sound bitter, but Jamie flinches anyway.
"I'm here for you too, I've uh," Jamie's mouth goes dry, "I missed you."
"Jamie..."
"I know," he says, "I know I made a real mess of this one, but... I'm not going anywhere I'm going to, I'm going to fix it." Jamie doesn't carry any of his usual bravado. He doesn't act like it'll be easy, doesn't even seem sure of how he'll do it - but he will do it. And for whatever reason... you believe him. "I want to be a good..." Jamie looks over his shoulder at James, he doesn't want him to hear. "I want to be around, for both of you."
"I'm not going to stop you," you whisper, almost as if the words came out before you could stop them. "Being here for him, I mean. I'm not going to stand in the way - but we do it the right way, no confusing him and no changing your mind." You take a breath. "So we'll have supper, and then by the end of supper you have to decide if you're in it for keeps or not, because if not then I won't subject James to a distant father, better to have none at all."
Jamie's eyes widen, and he nods, unable to say anything. He's scared. He's so fucking scared to blow it.
And he doesn't have the right, he knows he doesn't have the right but he wants you too. He wants you both. He wants to pull you in for a kiss and hug you, rubbing your back until the worries melt away. And he wants to go into the living room and pick his little boy up, spinning him around until his tummy hurts from giggling.
He wants it all.
And he doesn't have the right to any of it, but he's going to earn it.
During supper, one that feels normal and comforting, Jamie fits right in around the table, listening to James tell a story about something that happened at recess. You and Jamie are laughing, and sharing knowing looks because damn this kid is a terrible story teller... and you and Jamie nod along and encourage him, and then when the story is over Jamie tells him without missing a beat, "Awh, mate, that's the best story I've heard all week - can't wait to tell the lads at the club," and your heart soars because... maybe Jamie could do this.
Maybe you could let him in.
But then after dinner, as Jamie is showing James how to flip cars off the back of the couch, Jamie's heart rate picks up - he just... can't stop thinking about missing five years of his son's life. That is time he can't get back.
"Can you give me a minute, bud? I'll be right back and we'll play so many race cars, a'right?" Jamie says, and excuses himself out of the room.
At first, you're angry. You've seen Jamie panic before, and this is it - you think this is where he says he changed his mind and he's out the door forever. Again.
James is none-the-wiser, flipping his hot wheels off the side of the couch. But you've seen Jamie fleeing, and this looks exactly like that. You follow him down the hall, and stop outside the bathroom he ducked into, ready to knock and give him a piece of your mind, when you hear soft sniffling on the other side of the door.
You knock, and the sniffling abruptly stops, and you hear rustling, and then Jamie opens the door, eyes still filled with tears.
"What's wrong?"
Jamie sighs, and lets you into the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub, and looks almost exactly like your son does when you're scolding him. Spittin' fuckin' image.
"He's just..." Jamie sighs again, "he's perfect. He's so perfect, and beautiful, and I've just missed so much. And it's my own fault, and I'll never be able to get any of it back, and I jus'... I'll regret it forever."
You sit beside him, putting an arm around him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder - because you understand. James is perfect. And beautiful. You both sit in the moment for a minute, until there's a tiny knock at the door.
"Mum! Do you think Jamie can stay and play Candy Land with us? I think he'll like it," James says through the door, and James looks to you, waiting for your okay, but all he can think about is how much he'd like to play Candy Land.
"Yeah, sure baby!" you say, kissing Jamie gently on the forehead, before walking to open the door and bring your son back to the living room while Jamie takes a minute to fix himself up. As you're walking away he hears you say, "I think Jamie had so much fun that he might come 'round more often for supper, and to play race cars with you, how does that sound?"
And his heart swells with joy when he hears his son, clapping and cheering at the idea of Jamie being around.
When he comes out of the bathroom, you and James are sitting on the living room floor, and you're setting up Candy Land while James sits patiently, legs tucked under him and hands in his lap.
James waves at him, you smile softly at him, and Jamie's heart starts beating for the people in this room.
Summary: A noble lady from a disgraced house that supported Blackfyres is married off to Lord Bloodraven as a reward for his loyalty and prowess in battle. But he prefers to occupy his time with duties as the Hand of the King. Comfortable but lonely, she befriends one of his ravens. Warnings: arranged marriage, yearning, angst, fluff, Westeros politics, Shiera.
The raven was a greedy, ungrateful beast, and you loved it dearly.
You had named him Pebble, for no greater reason than the smooth grey of his breast feathers, which reminded you of the stones along the Mander where you had played as a child. He came to your windowsill each morning, croaking his hoarse demands, and you obliged him with crumbs of bread and shreds of cold meat saved from your supper. In return, he permitted you to stroke the ruff of his neck and mutter your foolish secrets into the space between his blinking black eyes. It was a small, pitiful comfort.
The Tower of the Hand was a cold place, despite the braziers that burned in every chamber. You had been given rooms near the top, close enough to the Hand’s own solar that you might, in theory, encounter your husband on the winding stair. In practice, you saw his servants more often: the silent men in their grey wool cloaks, the Raven’s Teeth who guarded his door with bows strung across their backs. They nodded to you when you passed, respectful but distant, as though you were a ghost they had been instructed not to disturb.
You were a ghost, in a way. A shade drifting through the Red Keep in your pale gowns, your House’s green and gold folded away in chests because wearing them felt like a provocation. Oakheart. The name sat heavy on your tongue these days, a fruit gone bitter on the branch. Your father had played his double game during the rebellion and lost, and you were the price of his redemption, a trueborn daughter gifted to a legitimized bastard, a man who had not wanted you, who had asked for another woman’s hand a thousand times and been refused, and who had accepted you as a lord might accept a parcel of land he had no intention of farming.
You tried not to think of Shiera Seastar. It was impossible.
Her name was everywhere in the Red Keep, whispered by serving girls and sung by minstrels, painted in miniature on ivory pendants that his paramours wore at their throats. The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, they called her, and when they said it in your hearing, their eyes would dart to you with something between pity and amusement. See the Oakheart girl, their glances said. See how plain she looks beside the memory of Seastar’s shimmer.
Back in the Reach, you had been called beautiful. You had believed it. Here, you were a candle held up against the sun. Back in the Reach, you were praised as a proper lady, and Shiera was called a shameless whore with nothing more than derision. But King's Landing valued influence, the ability to captivate and draw interest, which Shiera had in abundance.
You did not hate her. Hatred required energy you did not possess. But you feared her. You feared the day she would return to court, trailing silk and scandal behind her, and you would have to stand beside your husband and watch his single eye follow her across the hall. You feared the quiet, courteous dismissal that would surely follow. You had married a man who loved another woman. It was a common enough fate for highborn ladies, you knew, but knowing it did not make your marriage bed any warmer.
You spent your days wandering. The gardens, with their rose trellises and marble fountains, their sharp-scented herbs and imported lemon trees shivering in the sea wind. The library, where you read histories of the Seven Kingdoms until the words blurred before your eyes. The sept, where you knelt before the Maiden and asked for guidance that never came. And the stairway that spiraled up to the Hand’s solar, where you would sometimes sit on the cold stone steps with a book open on your lap, close enough to hear the murmur of voices beyond the iron-banded door, the scratch of a quill, the rustle of parchment. You never knocked. You were too afraid of being turned away.
It was on one of those steps, three moons into your marriage, that Brynden Rivers finally spoke to you about the raven.
You had Pebble on your knee, feeding him strips of roasted capon you had wrapped in a napkin and smuggled from the kitchens. The bird was growing stout, you could see it in the way his breast swelled over his claws, the way he waddled rather than hopped when he moved along the windowsill. You had noticed but you had not cared. You had to keep feeding him so he wouldn't leave you as well.
“What am I doing, Pebble?” you whispered. “What am I doing here? My husband does not want me. The court does not see me. My family’s name is a jest and a warning both. I am a wife in name only, and I do not know how to become anything more. I was not taught how to be a wife to a man like him. I was taught how to be a wife to a lord who wanted a gentle lady to manage his household and bear his children. But Lord Bloodraven has a household that manages itself and no desire for children of his body, or so they say.” You paused, your fingers stilling on the raven’s feathers. “Perhaps he would want children if they were Shiera’s.”
The raven croaked.
You stroked the raven’s feathers again, and your voice cracked. “I am even afraid that you will leave me, Pebble. You are the only friend I have in this place. Please do not fly away.”
The door to the solar opened. You scrambled to your feet, the napkin falling from your lap, capon scattering across the stone. Pebble let out an indignant caw and flapped onto the windowsill, his wings laboring under his weight.
Lord Bloodraven stood in the doorway.
His hair, silver-white, fell straight to his shoulders, and his skin was so pale it seemed to drink the light. The red birthmark that crept up his neck and cheek, the source of his name, was vivid as a splash of wine against snow. He wore black, and the eye that fixed on you now was the deep, unsettling red of dying embers.
The other eye was gone. A pale, smooth scar ran from brow to cheekbone, and beneath it, a dark hollow that seemed to see more than any living eye could.
“My lady wife,” he said. His voice was quiet, precise, each word placed as carefully as a stone on a cyvasse board.
“My lord.” You dropped into a curtsy, your heart hammering. You had not expected him to emerge. He rarely did before the hour of the bat. “Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb you. I was only...”
His gaze had moved past you to the raven. Pebble was worrying at a shred of capon, his beak tearing at the meat with smug contentment. Bloodraven’s expression did not change, but the air shifted, a faint tightening like the pause before a thunderclap.
“That is my raven,” he said.
“Yes, my lord. I hope you do not mind. He comes to my window, and I...”
“He is fat.”
The words fell like a stone into still water. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, the familiar burn of mortification. Your fingers twisted in the folds of your skirt, a pale lavender silk, pretty and demure. Here in the grey light of the tower it seemed washed-out and childish. You were a woman grown, a wife, and yet you felt like a girl being scolded by her septa for some minor transgression.
“I have been feeding him,” you admitted in a small voice.
Bloodraven stepped forward. His movements were unsettlingly smooth. He lifted one long-fingered hand, and the raven, your Pebble, your greedy, ungrateful Pebble, fluttered up to perch on his wrist without the slightest hesitation, as though you had never existed.
“A raven of the Tower must be lean,” Bloodraven said, stroking the bird’s breast with one pale thumb. Pebble closed his eyes in bliss. “He must fly swiftly over distances that would exhaust a lesser bird. He must carry messages through weather that would kill a hawk. He must be quick, clever, and sharp as a blade.”
He turned that burning red eye back to you.
“You have made him useless.”
The words struck harder than they should have. You had not thought yourself capable of tears, you had not wept once since leaving the Reach, not at your wedding, not on your wedding night when your husband failed to come to your bed, not in all the lonely days that followed, but now your throat tightened and your vision swam. You blinked rapidly, fighting it down, but a single tear escaped and traced a burning path down your cheek.
You ducked your head, hoping he had not seen. The silence stretched, unbearable.
“I am sorry,” you whispered. “I did not know. He came to me. He seemed friendly. I only offered him kindness.”
“Friendly.” He said the word as if it were a foreign concept. His blood-eye seemed to gleam in the half-light, and for a moment you could have sworn you saw the raven’s reflection in it, a dark bird within a darker pool. “Ravens are tools, my lady. They are not pets. This one has been made useless by your kindness.”
The word useless stung again. You dropped your gaze to the floor again, studying the worn flagstones beneath your slippers. “I apologise. I will not feed it anymore.”
You did not wait for a response. You gathered your skirts and fled down the winding stair, your slippers slapping against the stone, your breath coming in short, hitching gasps. You did not stop until you reached your chambers, where you threw yourself onto the great empty bed and buried your face in the pillows and wept until there was nothing left inside you.
You did not go to the Tower the next day, nor the day after that. You kept to your rooms, claiming a headache when your maids inquired. You took your meals alone, the food tasteless on your tongue. You did not open your shutters, though you heard the scratch of claws on the sill more than once. You could not bear to see Pebble, to see the raven who had abandoned you as easily as breathing, who had flown to his master’s hand without a backward glance.
It was on the third day that a servant knocked at your door and informed you that the Hand of the King required your presence in his solar.
You dressed carefully, your hands trembling on the laces of your gown. You chose a dress of pale green, the color of new leaves, the closest you dared come to the Oakheart colors. You pinned your hair up in a simple coil and pinched your cheeks to bring some color back into them. You looked, you thought, like a woman preparing for an execution.
The solar was warm, lit by a fire in the great hearth and by candles in iron holders. Books lined the walls, more books than you had ever seen in a private chamber, their spines cracked and worn from use. Maps and charts covered a long table, and in the corner, a perch held three ravens, their heads tucked under their wings.
Bloodraven sat behind a desk of dark oak, a quill in his hand. He did not rise when you entered, but he set the quill down and gestured to a chair across from him.
“Sit,” he said.
You sat. Your hands folded in your lap, the picture of a well-bred lady. You had been trained for this, after all: to be still, to be silent, to be pleasing. It was the only weapon you had ever been given.
Bloodraven regarded you for a long moment. In the firelight, the port-wine stain on his cheek seemed to shift and writhe like something alive. His eye, that terrible red eye, seemed to see straight through you, past the careful composure and the pretty dress and into the hollow ache at your center.
“You have not been to the Tower,” he said.
“I did not wish to disturb you, my lord.”
“You have not been to the gardens, either. Nor the library. Nor the sept.” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his long fingers. “My birds tell me things.”
Your heart lurched. The ravens. Of course. You had forgotten, in your misery, the whispers that surrounded your husband like a cloak of shadows. He could see through the eyes of his birds, they said. He could watch the whole of the Seven Kingdoms from his Tower, and nothing escaped his notice. You had thought it a fanciful tale, a legend spun to explain the unerring accuracy of his spy network. But the way he looked at you now made you wonder.
“I have been tired,” you said, which was not entirely a lie.
“You have been crying.”
The words were blunt, without softening. You flinched, your gaze dropping to your hands.
“My lady,” Bloodraven said, his tone had shifted. It was not kind, you did not think kindness was in his nature, but it was less cold than before. “Look at me.”
You raised your eyes.
“The raven,” he said. “You named him.”
It was not a question. You nodded anyway.
“Pebble,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because of his breast feathers. They reminded me of home.”
Bloodraven was silent for a moment. Then he rose from his chair and crossed to the window, his back to you, his silver hair catching the firelight.
“I have had many ravens,” he said. “Hundreds, over the years. I breed them in the Tower, train them, dispatch them across the realm. They are tools, nothing more. I have never given one a name.”
He turned, his single eye finding you again.
“No one has ever named one of my ravens before.”
You did not know what to say. You sat frozen, your heart beating a nervous rhythm against your ribs.
“He is not useless,” Bloodraven said, and there was something akin to curiosity in his voice. “I examined him this morning. He is plump, yes, but he is healthy. His plumage is glossy. His eyes are bright. He is more docile than the others, more accustomed to human touch. There are uses for such a raven.”
He took a step toward you, then another, until he stood before your chair, looking down at you with an expression you could not read.
“I have been a poor husband,” he said.
Your mouth opened but no sound came out.
“I did not ask for this marriage,” he continued, “and neither did you. We were both bound by the king’s will, and I have not made the binding easier for you. I have been…absent. Preoccupied.” He paused. “Unkind.”
“My lord, you have been...”
“Do not,” he said, lifting a hand to stop your protest, “be polite. I am surrounded by polite people. I find it exhausting.”
You closed your mouth.
Bloodraven lowered his hand. “I loved Shiera,” he said, and the name was a blade between your ribs. “For many years. I asked for her hand more times than I can count. She always refused. Perhaps she was wise.” His jaw tightened, a flicker of old pain crossing his pale features. “But she is not my wife. You are.”
He reached down, and before you could react, his fingers closed around your hand. His skin was cool, dry. But his grip was steady.
“I cannot promise you love,” he said. “I am not a man given to tender feeling. The whispers about me are not all false. I am a sorcerer, of a kind. I do see through the eyes of my ravens. I have done things that would make you flinch to hear, and I will likely do more before I am through. I have little patience for the courtly games that fill the days of most highborn ladies.”
He paused, and his thumb brushed once across your knuckles.
“But I am not cruel without cause. I do not take pleasure in suffering. And I have watched you these three moons, my lady. Through the eyes of my ravens, yes. I have seen you in the gardens, sitting alone on the stone benches. I have seen you in the library, reading the same page over and over because your mind is elsewhere. I have seen you feeding my raven, speaking to him as though he were a friend, because you had no one else to speak to.”
Your face was burning. You wanted to look away, to hide, but his eye held you as surely as a pin holds a butterfly.
“I did not intend to spy,” he said, and there was a note in his voice that might have been regret. “At first, I was merely curious. Then I was...concerned. You are withering, my lady. Like a flower deprived of light. And I am the one who has kept you in the dark.”
He released your hand and stepped back.
“I would like to propose a truce,” he said. “A beginning. I will not pretend to be something I am not. I will always be busy with the affairs of the realm, always be strange, secretive and perhaps a little frightening for your liking. But I will make an effort to be present. To speak with you. To…know you.” He tilted his head, a gesture eerily reminiscent of his ravens. “If you will permit it.”
You stared at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. This was not what you had expected. This was not the cold dismissal, the polite abandonment, the quiet return to separate lives. This was an opening, a crack in the armor.
“I would like that,” your voice came out steadier than you had hoped. “My lord.”
“Brynden,” he corrected. “If we are to attempt this, you may as well use my name.”
You swallowed. “Brynden.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, the barest suggestion of a smile. “See? Not so difficult.”
He returned to his desk and picked up his quill, but he did not dismiss you. Instead, he gestured toward a smaller table near the fire, where a tray of fruit and cheese and a pitcher of wine had been laid out.
“Stay,” he said. “Eat. You have been hiding in your rooms for three days, and I suspect you have not been eating properly.”
You rose from your chair, your legs unsteady beneath you. As you crossed to the table, you saw a perch near the window, separate from the others. On it sat Pebble, his head cocked, his black eyes fixed on you with reproach.
“He has been sulking,” Brynden said, not looking up from his parchment. “He does not understand why you stopped coming.”
You reached out a trembling hand and stroked the raven’s breast. Pebble made a soft sound and pressed his head against your fingers.
“I am sorry,” you murmured to him. “I am here now.”
Behind you, you heard the scratch of the quill pause for just a moment, and then resume.
From that day, you took your evening meals in the solar with Brynden, sitting at the small table by the fire while he worked at his desk. He did not speak much, but he answered when you asked questions, and sometimes he would pause in his writing to ask one of his own. Small things at first: how you found the Red Keep, whether the sea air agreed with you, what books you had been reading. You answered honestly, and he listened with a focus that was almost unnerving, his eye fixed on you as though every word you spoke were a piece of intelligence to be filed away.
Then he started inquiring about your life, so you told him. Your father had pledged fealty to both King Daeron and Daemon Blackfyre, sending one gold and the other men. King Daeron had kept his crown, and House Oakheart's reputation had suffered. Instead of emerging unscathed either way, as Lord Oakheart had intended, the King inflicted punishments on him. His eldest son, your older brother, was assigned to become a Kingsguard. He had to refute his title, land and future of marriage and instead serve as a guard to the same King he had fought against. You, the eldest daughter, were given to Hand of the King as a reward he didn't ask for. A legitimate lady to solidify his standing. Your mother had acted as if everything was fine, which you suspected it was for your sake, although you didn't want such strained treatment. And you scarcely saw your brother since arriving in King's Landing, even though you both lived at the Red Keep.
You learned things about him in return. He had been born with the birthmark, with hair already white, and his mother had wept when she first saw him. He had been a poor swordsman as a boy, too thin and frail, so he had turned to the bow out of desperation. He loved his Blackwood sisters. He did not sleep well. He never had.
One evening, a fortnight after your conversation in the solar, you gathered your courage and asked the question that had been burning in your throat since the day you arrived.
“Do you wish I were her?”
The quill stopped. The fire crackled in the silence. Pebble, perched on the back of your chair, shifted his weight from one claw to the other.
Brynden set the quill down slowly. “That is a foolish question.”
“I am not afraid of the answer.” You were, of course. You were terrified. But you had spent months living in the shadow of a ghost and you could not do it any longer.
He rose from his desk and came to stand before the fire. The flames cast his face in red and gold, the birthmark nearly invisible against the glow. His back was to you.
“I wished for many things,” he said at last. “I wished for her to love me. I wished for her to choose me, just once, over all the others. I wished for a great many foolish things that a wiser man would have let go long ago.” He turned to look at you. “But I do not wish you were her. You are not her. You are nothing like her, and that is…not a bad thing.”
“I have heard she is the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms,” you said, and you hated the smallness of your voice, the jealousy that crept in despite your best efforts.
“She is,” Brynden said, and your heart sank. “But beauty is a strange thing. Shiera’s beauty is like wildfire: brilliant, consuming, and utterly indifferent to what it destroys. I spent years burning in it, and I have the scars to show. You are different. Your beauty is like…” He paused, searching for the word. “Like the first green shoots after winter. Blooming. Steady. Something that grows rather than blazes.”
You did not know what to say. Your face felt hot.
“I am not good at this,” Brynden said with a flicker of frustration in his voice. “I am no poet. I do not know how to court my own wife.”
A laugh bubbled up in your throat, unexpected and slightly hysterical. You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to stifle it, but it escaped anyway, a small, surprised sound that made Brynden’s eye widen a fraction.
“I do not know how to be courted,” you admitted. “I was taught to be a lady, not a wife. No one ever told me what to do with a husband who did not want a wife.”
“I never said I did not want a wife.” He took a step toward you. “I said I did not ask for this marriage. There is a difference.”
“Is there?”
Another step. He was close enough that you could smell the faint scent of ink and old parchment that clung to his clothes. Close enough that you could see the tiredness around his eye.
“I am learning,” he murmured, “that I may have wanted something I did not know I did.”
His hand rose, and this time, he did not stop at your fingers. His cool palm cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth with a gentleness that contradicted everything you had heard about him: the cold sorcerer, the ruthless spymaster, the man who had killed Daemon Blackfyre and his sons with arrows guided by dark magic. In this moment, he was only a man, touching his wife’s face for the first time.
“You are trembling,” he said.
“I am afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of this ending.” Your voice cracked. “Of Shiera returning. Of waking up tomorrow and finding that you have remembered you do not want me after all.”
His eye searched your face. You had the unsettling sensation that he was seeing more than your skin and bone, more than the fear in your eyes. Seeing into you, the way he saw through the eyes of his ravens.
“Shiera is in Lys,” he said. “She left months ago, before our wedding. She may return someday, she always does, but she is not here now, and she has no claim on me. Whatever I felt for her, it is done. I have been a fool for her long enough.”
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours.
“As for waking up tomorrow,” he murmured, “that is simple. You shall wake up in my bed.”
Your breath caught.
“The bedding ceremony was waived,” he continued, “because I requested it. I did not think it fair to subject you to the court’s crude jests when we were strangers. But we are not strangers now. Not entirely. And I find that I am tired of sleeping alone in my cold solar while my wife sleeps alone in her cold tower.”
His thumb traced the line of your jaw.
“If you are willing,” he added, and the hesitation in his voice, the faint uncertainty, undid you completely.
“I am willing,” you whispered.
He kissed you. His lips were cool, like his hands. The kiss was cautious, almost experimental, as though he were tasting a new wine and trying to decide if he liked the vintage. But it deepened, slowly, his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck. You felt a knot of tension loosen in your chest.
When he pulled back, his breathing was slightly unsteady.
“You will not be alone.” He took your hand again, this time, he laced his fingers through yours. “I have a thousand eyes. Some of them will always be watching over you.”
It was perhaps the strangest declaration of affection any woman had ever received. But you found yourself smiling anyway, a real smile, the first you had worn since leaving the Reach.
That night, you did not return to your lonely tower rooms. You slept in the Hand’s bed, in the Hand’s arms, and though he did not sleep, he had told you he rarely did, he held you in the darkness, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your shoulder.
In the morning, you woke to find him already dressed, standing at the window with the pale dawn light on his hair. He turned when he heard you stir.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Good morning, Brynden.”
He crossed to the bed and sat on its edge. From behind his back, he produced a single winter rose, its petals white as fresh snow, its center a deep, vivid blue.
“There are no winter roses in King’s Landing,” you said, taking it with trembling fingers. “How did you...?”
“I have my ways,” he said, the faint smile on his lips was no longer tentative. It was the smile of a man who had unraveled a mystery and found the answer rather pleasing.
You lifted the rose to your nose and breathed in its sweet, cold scent. Through the window, you saw a raven circling against the pale sky, not Pebble but another, its black wings cutting the air with swift precision. It was returning home, carrying something in its beak.
“What is he bringing?” you asked.
“A letter,” Brynden said. “From the Arbor. Lord Redwyne is plotting something tedious involving wine tariffs.” He paused. “Would you like to watch me unravel it?”
“Yes,” you said. “I would like that very much.”
He offered you his hand, you took it.
Pebble, watching from his perch, let out a satisfied croak and followed you and your husband up the winding stair to the solar.
Part 2: coming soon...
a/n: Please don't let this flop guys, I have an entire series planned out.
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a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to the series taglist. Rn I'm tagging those who went along with my freaky birdman propaganda.
Series Summary: Having studied Valyrian history and sorcery, you perform a ritual to save Jace's life after the battle of Gullet, except he's not quite who he used to be after he comes back from death's doorstep. See part 1 here. Part 2 here. Warnings: smut, came back wrong Jace, blood, talks of death, killing.
Chapter summary: Even having experienced firsthand how deadly a wild dragon can be, having witnessed they can be claimed, Jace gets a mad idea to try to bond with other wild dragons residing near Dragonmont on Dragonstone. While Rhaenyra, Daemon and the dragonseeds fly to take King's Landing, the couple left behind on Dragonstone cut their honeymoon short, sneak off, and encounter Cannibal and Greyghost.
Jace was insatiable. There was no other word for it. The boy who had been so careful, so restrained, so achingly proper in all the years of your betrothal had vanished, replaced by a man who seemed to need you near constantly. He only left your bed for council meetings, and even then, he went reluctantly, his eyes lingering on you as he dressed, his hands reaching for you one last time before he forced himself out the door.
When he returned, he came straight to you, shedding his tunic and boots before climbing back into bed, his arms wrapping around you. He would not let you go, even in sleep. You would drift off with your head on his chest, and wake hours later to find yourself sprawled across him, his arms locked around your waist, his face buried in your hair. More than once, you had been pulled from dreams by the sensation of his fingers moving inside you, his thumb circling that sensitive peak while his lips brushed against your neck, his voice a low, sleepy murmur of Valyrian endearments. He would bring you to completion like that, his fingers coaxing your release from you before he even fully woke, and then he would roll you beneath him and take you again, slow and deep, his eyes never leaving your face.
"You are mine," he would whisper against your skin. "Mine. Say it."
"I am yours," you would gasp, and he would reward you with a kiss that stole your breath and a thrust that made you see stars.
It should have exhausted you. It should have left you sore, weary and desperate for rest. But instead, you found yourself matching his hunger with your own, your body responding to his touch with an eagerness that surprised you. Perhaps it was simply the relief of finally being together after years of waiting. Whatever the reason, you could not get enough of him, he could not get enough of you, and the world outside your chamber door seemed very far away.
But the world had a way of intruding.
The raven arrived five days after the wedding. You were in bed, tangled in the sheets, Jace's head resting on your stomach while you carded your fingers through his dark curls. He was dozing, his breathing slow and even, his body finally still after hours of passionate activity. When the knock came at the door, he stirred, his arms tightening around your waist.
"Go away," he called, his voice muffled against your skin.
"Your Grace," came the voice of one of Rhaenyra's stewards, high and thin with anxiety. "A raven from King's Landing. The Queen has taken the city."
Jace was out of bed before you could blink, crossing the room and pulling open the door with no regard for his nakedness. The steward's eyes widened, his face flushing crimson as he thrust a scroll into Jace's hands and retreated with a stammered apology. Jace didn't notice. He was already reading, his dark eyes flying across the parchment, his expression shifting from anticipation to joy.
"The city is ours," his voice was thick with emotion. "The gates were opened as Alicent promised. The gold cloaks rose for Daemon. Aegon has fled, no one knows where. The Iron Throne is my mother's."
You sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around your waist. "Then it's over?"
Jace's jaw tightened. "Not yet. The coronation is being delayed. My mother has no council, no Queensguard. Half the lords who should be bending the knee are still in their castles, waiting to see which way the wind blows. And Aemond…" He crumpled the scroll in his fist. "Aemond and Vhagar burned Daemon's garrison near Harrenhal. They've taken the castle. Ormund Hightower is marching with an army from Oldtown, and he has Daeron and Tessarion with him. The war is not over. It's not even close to over."
He began to pace, his naked body taut with frustration. "She wants us to remain on Dragonstone. She says it's not safe yet. She says she needs to consolidate her hold on the city before she can send for us. We are to wait. To sit here and do nothing while the realm tears itself apart."
You rose from the bed and went to him. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against the warm skin of his back. "She is trying to protect you. You nearly died, Jace. Everyone saw it. Everyone knows it."
"I know." His voice was tight. "I know, and I understand, but that does not make it easier. I am her heir. I should be at her side. I should be helping her rule, helping her plan, helping her win this war. Instead, I am stuck here, with no dragon, no army, no way to..."
He stopped. You felt the tension in his muscles shift, his body going still.
"Jace?"
"I need a dragon," he muttered. "Without Vermax, I am…diminished. Less than I was. Less than I need to be. My mother has six dragons at her command now, but none of them are mine. I cannot lead armies on horseback. I cannot inspire fear in our enemies or loyalty in our allies. I am a dragonrider without a dragon, and it is driving me mad."
You tightened your arms around him. "I know. I know what it is to lose a dragon. I feel it every day. I miss the sky. I miss the wind. I miss the weight of her beneath me, the sound of her heartbeat, the way she would turn her head to look at me with those great golden eyes." Your voice caught. "She died for me. She carried me all the way from Rook's Rest with Vhagar's flesh still in her claws, and she died on the beach because she would not stop until she got me to safety."
Jace turned in your arms, his hands coming up to cup your face. "I know," he said softly. "I know, my love. And I swear to you, when this war is over, we will avenge her. We will avenge Vermax. We will make Aemond Targaryen pay for every dragon he has killed, every life he has taken, every tear you have shed."
He kissed you fiercely, tenderly, and when he pulled back, there was a new light in his eyes. A familiar light. The same fire that had burned there since the night you brought him back.
"Do you remember what I told you about the Gullet?" he asked. "After I woke? I told my mother about Rhaena. About how she claimed Sheepstealer."
You nodded slowly. Rhaenyra had been furious when she heard, she had proclaimed it a disastrous mistake and sent a search party after her stepdaughter. But Jace had been different. Jace had been impressed.
"She claimed a wild dragon," Jace said. "A dragon that had never been ridden, never been tamed, never bent to human will. And she did it alone. If Rhaena can do it, why can't I?"
Your heart began to beat faster. "What are you saying?"
Jace's hands dropped from your face to your shoulders, gripping you. "There are wild dragons on Dragonstone. Unclaimed dragons, living right here on this island, while we sit in this castle and lament our wingless state. Cannibal. Greyghost. They've been here for decades, centuries in Cannibal's case. And no one has ever claimed them."
"Because they're wild," your voice rose. "Because Cannibal eats other dragons. Because Greyghost is so elusive that most people have never even seen him. Because every fool who has ever tried to tame them has ended up dead, their bones littering the Dragonmont."
"Then they were the wrong kind of fool." Jace's eyes were blazing now, the fire in them so bright it was almost blinding. "I am a Targaryen. I am the heir to the Iron Throne. I have died and come back, and I am not afraid of a dragon, no matter how wild or ancient or deadly. I will claim one of them. I will have a dragon again, or I will die trying."
"Jace..."
"I cannot sit here and do nothing," he cut in frustrated. "I cannot spend the rest of this war waiting and hoping and praying that my mother will summon me. I need to act. I need to fly. I need to be able to fight for what is mine. Do you understand? Do you understand what it feels like to be grounded while your enemies soar?"
You understood. You understood better than anyone. Every day since your dragon had died, you had felt the absence like a missing limb. The sky called to you, and you could not answer. The wind sang, and you could not join the chorus. You were a Targaryen without a dragon, and it was a half-life, a shadow-existence, a constant, gnawing ache that nothing could ease.
But that did not mean you were willing to watch your husband get himself killed.
"Even if you could claim one of them," you said, trying to keep your voice calm, "how would you do it? Cannibal's lair is halfway up the Dragonmont. Greyghost is never seen in the same place twice. The terrain is treacherous, the dragons are dangerous, and if anyone finds out what you're planning, they'll lock you in your chambers and throw away the key."
Jace smiled, and it was a sharp, reckless, beautiful thing. "Then we won't tell anyone."
"We?"
"I'm not leaving you behind." His hands slid down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. "You want to fly again as much as I do. You want to feel the wind beneath you and the fire above you. And if I'm going to be fool enough to try to claim a wild dragon, I want you with me. I need you with me. You're my luck. My magic. My heart."
You stared at him, torn between terror and exhilaration. "This is madness."
"Probably," he agreed. "Will you come with me anyway?"
You should have said no. You should have argued, pleaded, threatened. You should have written to Daemon, though Daemon, you suspected, would only be amused by the whole endeavor. But looking into Jace's eyes, seeing the fire there, the desperate, burning need, you found that you could not deny him. You could never deny him. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he needed you.
"Yes," you said. "I'll come with you."
The preparations took two days. Two days of secret planning, stolen supplies, whispered conversations in the dead of night. Jace threw himself into the task, researching the wild dragons thoroughly.
Greyghost, according to the old records, was a pale grey-white dragon, the color of morning mist over the sea. He was shy and elusive, rarely seen by the inhabitants of Dragonstone, and he had never been known to attack humans unless provoked. He fed primarily on fish, hunting in the waters around the island, and he avoided the other dragons whenever possible. He was, by all accounts, the safer of the two wild dragons, if any dragon could be called safe.
Cannibal was another matter entirely. He was coal-black, with scales so dark they seemed to swallow light, and his eyes were a menacing green that glowed in the darkness of his lair. He was the largest and oldest of the wild dragons, so ancient that some legends claimed he had lived on Dragonstone even before the Targaryens arrived. He had earned his name because he fed on dead dragons, hatchlings, and eggs. His lair was littered with the bones of the fools who had tried to tame him. He had never been ridden. He had never been claimed. He was, by all accounts, untameable.
"We'll start with Greyghost," Jace decided, spreading a map of the Dragonmont across your bed. "He's less likely to kill us on sight. We'll bring fish, fresh fish, still flopping if we can manage it. The records say he's more likely to approach if he's offered food."
"What of Cannibal?"
Jace's expression flickered. "Cannibal will be more difficult. He eats dragons, not fish. But I have an idea." He looked at you. "Your dragon. Her body is still on the beach, isn't it?"
You nodded slowly. "No one has had time to move her. She's too large for a crypt, and a funeral pyre for a dragon…" You trailed off, understanding dawning. "You want to use her flesh."
"Not her flesh," Jace said quickly, seeing the distress in your eyes. "The flesh she took from Vhagar. You said she clawed Vhagar during the battle. You said she carried a strip of Vhagar's flesh back to Dragonstone on her claws. If we can extract it, if we can preserve it somehow… Cannibal eats dragons. He's never tasted Vhagar before. It might be enough to get his attention."
You thought about it. The idea of approaching your dragon's corpse, of cutting into her claws to retrieve the flesh of the beast that had killed her, was deeply unsettling. But it was also fitting, in a way. Your dragon had died fighting Vhagar. Perhaps her last act could help you and Jace claim new dragons and continue the fight she had given her life for.
"There's more," Jace said. "Cannibal might not go for Vhagar's flesh right away. He's ancient and cunning, and he'll be suspicious. So I'm bringing other food too. Chicken. Crabs. The old texts say that's the closest taste to dragon meat that isn't actually dragon. If he won't take Vhagar's flesh, maybe he'll take that."
"You've thought of everything," you said with a note of reluctant admiration in your voice.
"I've had nothing but time to think," Jace replied. "Time, and a burning need to be in the sky again."
The following day, you dressed in riding leathers: practical, warm, easy to move in, and met Jace in the stables, where he had already hitched a pair of horses to a covered wagon. The wagon was laden with supplies: buckets of fresh fish, their scales still gleaming; a covered basket of raw chicken and crabs; and a separate, carefully wrapped package that you knew contained Vhagar's flesh, extracted from your dragon's claws the night before under cover of darkness.
"You're sure about this?" you asked, mounting your horse.
Jace swung into the saddle beside you, his expression set with determination. "I've never been more sure of anything."
The ride to the Dragonmont was long and treacherous. The volcano loomed in the distance, its peak wreathed in smoke and ash, and the road grew steeper and rockier the closer you got. The horses began to grow uneasy as you approached the mountain's base, their ears flattening, their eyes rolling. By the time you reached the lower slopes, they were trembling and snorting, refusing to take another step.
"Damn," Jace muttered, dismounting. "We'll have to go on foot from here."
You tied the horses to a sturdy tree, well away from the mountain, and began to unload the supplies. The fish went into a large sack that Jace slung over his shoulder. The chicken and crabs went into another. The package of Vhagar's flesh, still cold from the ice you'd packed it in, went into a leather satchel that Jace kept close to his body. Then you began to climb.
The Dragonmont was a harsh, unforgiving place. The ground was loose and rocky, treacherous underfoot, and the air grew hotter and thicker the higher you climbed. Steam vented from cracks in the earth, carrying the sulfurous stench of the volcano's heart. You could feel the mountain's presence, ancient and watchful, as if the stone itself was aware of your intrusion.
"We're looking for Greyghost first," Jace said, his voice low. "The records say he favors the eastern slopes, near the sea cliffs. He likes to hunt fish in the waters below."
You climbed for another hour, picking your way carefully across the jagged terrain. The sun rose higher, burning off the morning mist, and the day grew warm despite the overcast sky. Your legs ached. So did your spine. You were beginning to think you would never find the dragon when Jace suddenly stopped, his hand shooting out to grip your arm.
"There," he breathed.
You followed his gaze. Ahead, perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking the sea, was a dragon. He was beautiful, pale grey-white, exactly as the records had described, his scales shimmering like mother-of-pearl in the filtered sunlight. He was smaller than the Targaryen dragons you had known, lean and graceful, with a long neck and a delicate head that was currently turned toward the sea, watching the waves below.
Greyghost.
"Stay behind me," Jace murmured, but you shook your head.
"No. Let me approach him first."
Jace frowned. "Why you?"
"He's shy. The records say he avoids humans. But he might be more willing to approach a woman. And I…" You hesitated, then pressed on. "I've been without a dragon for so long. Let me try."
Jace looked at you for a long moment, and then he nodded. "Be careful."
You took the sack of fish from him and began to walk slowly toward the dragon. Greyghost's head turned at the sound of your footsteps, his pale eyes fixing on you with wary curiosity. He did not flee, but he did not approach either. He simply watched, his body tense, ready to take flight at any moment.
"Rytsas, gevie," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Hello, beautiful one. I'm not going to hurt you. I've brought you something."
You reached into the sack and pulled out a fish, still fresh and gleaming. You held it out toward the dragon, your arm extended, your body language as non-threatening as you could make it. Greyghost's nostrils flared, scenting the fish, and his head tilted slightly. But he did not move.
"Lykirī," you crooned, taking a step closer. "It's all right. I know you're frightened. I know you've been alone for a long time. So have I. I lost my dragon. She died saving my life. And I've been empty ever since. I think you might understand that."
Greyghost made a soft sound, a low, throaty warble that was not quite a growl and not quite a purr. He took a tentative step toward you, his claws scraping against the rock.
"That's it," you said. "Naejot māzīs. Come on. It's just fish. You like fish, don't you?"
Another step. Then another. Greyghost was close enough now that you could see the individual scales on his snout, the faint steam that curled from his nostrils. He was beautiful.
You tossed the fish toward him. He caught it in mid-air, his jaws snapping shut with a crunch, and swallowed it in a single gulp. His eyes fixed on you again, and this time there was less wariness in them. More curiosity.
"Good boy," you said, and threw another fish.
You spent the next hour feeding Greyghost, tossing fish after fish toward the pale dragon and murmuring soft words of encouragement. He never came close enough to touch, but he stopped flinching when you moved, stopped tensing when you spoke. He even allowed Jace to come closer, though he eyed the prince with obvious suspicion, a low rumble building in his chest whenever Jace moved too quickly.
"He doesn't like me," Jace observed, his voice carefully neutral.
"Give him time." you replied.
But time was something you did not have in abundance. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, and you had not yet attempted to find Cannibal. Jace's frustration was palpable, a tension in his shoulders that grew more pronounced with every passing hour.
"He's not going to come down the mountain," Jace sighed finally. "He's too afraid. Of me, maybe. Or of Cannibal. Greyghost has survived this long by being cautious. He's not going to risk getting close to a human when Cannibal might be lurking nearby."
"So what do we do?"
Jace's jaw tightened. "We split up. You stay here with Greyghost. Keep feeding him. Keep building his trust. I'll go find Cannibal."
Your heart lurched. "No. Absolutely not. Cannibal is too dangerous. You said it yourself, his lair is littered with the bones of the men who tried to tame him. I won't let you go alone."
"You can't stop me." Jace's voice was gentle but firm. "This is something I have to do. I have to try. If I don't, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been. I won't live with that regret. Not when I've already been given a second chance at life."
"Jace..."
"I'll be careful," he promised, taking your face in his hands. "I'll be careful, and I'll come back. I swear it. I didn't survive the Gullet and your blood magic just to get eaten by a wild dragon on Dragonstone. That would be a very stupid way to die, and I refuse to be that stupid."
He kissed you, hard and quick, and before you could argue further, he was gone, descending the rocky slope with the satchel of Vhagar's flesh and the basket of chicken and crabs slung over his shoulder.
You watched him go, your heart in your throat. Then you turned back to Greyghost and threw another fish.
The hours that followed were among the longest of your life. You stayed with Greyghost, feeding him the last of the fish and speaking to him in a low, soothing voice, but your mind was elsewhere. Every gust of wind, every rumble of the volcano, every distant cry of a seabird made you flinch, your eyes scanning the slopes for any sign of Jace.
Greyghost seemed to sense your unease. He grew restless, his pale eyes darting toward the mountain's interior, his wings twitching as if he wanted to flee. You realized, with a sinking heart, that he was afraid of Cannibal. Even here, on the far side of the Dragonmont, he could sense the older dragon's presence.
"Lykirī," you told him, though your voice shook. "It's all right. He won't hurt you. I won't let him."
But you didn't know if that was a promise you could keep.
The sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The shadows lengthened, and the temperature began to drop, and still Jace did not return. You were beginning to panic, your mind conjuring images of Jace lying broken on the rocks, Jace consumed by black fire, Jace's bones joining the others in Cannibal's lair...
A roar split the air.
It was unlike anything you had ever heard. Deep, ancient, terrible, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the mountain. Greyghost shrieked in response, his wings spreading, his body tensing to flee. You threw yourself at him, grabbing on, holding on with all your strength.
"Daor!" you shouted. "Lykirī! No, don't go! Please, don't go!"
Greyghost thrashed, his head swinging toward you, his jaws open. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he was going to incinerate you. But then his eyes met yours, and something shifted in them. Recognition. Understanding. He did not burn you. He did not flee. But he trembled beneath your touch, his whole body quivering with fear.
The roar faded, echoing across the mountain. And then, silence.
You waited, your heart pounding, your hands still gripping Greyghost's spine. The silence stretched on for what felt like hours. The sun sank below the horizon, and the stars began to emerge, cold and distant overhead. And then, finally, you heard footsteps on the rocks below.
Jace emerged from the darkness, and the sight of him made your breath catch. His hair was matted with sweat and ash, his skin was covered in soot, and his eyes were wild, blazing with a fire that seemed almost supernatural. But he was unharmed. No burns, no bites, no broken bones. He was whole, and he was alive, and he was walking toward you with a strange, fierce smile on his face.
"I found him," he said, his voice rough and raw. "I found Cannibal."
You released Greyghost and ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you, his soot-stained hands gripping your waist, and buried his face in your hair.
"Don't ever do that to me again," you gasped. "Don't ever leave me like that again. I thought you were dead. I thought..."
"I'm not dead." He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "I'm not dead. I found him. His lair is deep in the mountain, a cavern full of bones and ash. He's massive, larger than any dragon I've ever seen except Vhagar. And he was hungry."
"What happened?"
Jace's smile widened into a feral one. "I gave him Vhagar's flesh first. He ate it in a single bite. Then I offered him the chicken and the crabs, but he refused them. He just…watched me. For hours. Waiting. I thought he was going to kill me. But I stayed. I didn't run. I didn't flinch. And eventually, he got hungry enough to eat what I offered. He hasn't had much to feed on."
"He let you near him?"
"No." Jace shook his head. "Not yet. He took the food, but he wouldn't let me get close. He's not like Greyghost. He's not shy or curious or gentle. He's a predator. He's death with wings. But he knows me now. He knows my scent. And I will go back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, until he lets me ride him."
Greyghost shrieked again, a high, piercing sound. Jace turned toward the pale dragon, and Greyghost backed away, his wings spreading, his eyes fixed on Jace with obvious fear.
"He smells Cannibal on me," Jace said. "He wants to be away from me."
"Then let him be away." You stepped toward Greyghost, your hand extended. "kostilus, gevie. I'll take you somewhere safe. Away from the big, scary man who smells like death."
Greyghost's pale eyes fixed on you. He was still trembling, still poised to flee, but his gaze that gave you hope. Trust. He trusted you.
You walked toward him slowly, your hand still extended, and this time, he did not back away. He let you touch his snout, his scales warm and smooth beneath your palm. He let you run your hand along his neck, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the pale hide. And when you swung yourself onto his back, he did not throw you off.
"Sōves," you whispered to him. "Kostilus. Just for a little while. I've been grounded for so long."
Greyghost's wings spread. He launched himself from the cliff with a single powerful leap, and then you were flying, the wind screaming past your ears, the sea glittering far below, the stars wheeling overhead. You laughed, a wild, exultant sound, and tears streamed from your eyes, torn away by the wind.
It was not the same as flying your own dragon. It would never be the same. But it was flight. It was the sky. It was freedom. For the first time since Rook's Rest, you felt whole.
Greyghost carried you over the sea, over the black sand beaches, over the smoking peak of the Dragonmont. He flew until his fear of Cannibal's scent faded, until the joy of the flight overtook his caution. But eventually, he descended, landing on sand on the far side of the island. You slid from his back, and he looked at you for a long moment. Then he spread his wings and flew away, vanishing into the night.
"He'll come back," Jace said when you told him, his voice certain. "You've bonded with him. He knows you now. He'll come back."
He was right.
Each morning, before the sun rose, you and Jace would slip out of the castle and make your way to the Dragonmont. You would find Greyghost on the eastern slopes, waiting for you with his pale eyes and his gentle warble, and you would feed him fish, stroke his snout and whisper to him in High Valyrian. And each day, he let you mount him, let you fly with him, let you become more and more a part of his world.
Jace went to Cannibal. Every day, he climbed into the heart of the mountain, carrying offerings of meat. Every day, he sat in the darkness of Cannibal's lair, surrounded by bones, and waited. The coal-black dragon did not trust him, did not let him approach, but he stopped growling when Jace entered. He stopped baring his teeth. He began to watch Jace with something that was not quite curiosity and not quite recognition, but was closer to both than it had been before.
"He's testing me," Jace said one night, his body still streaked with soot, his eyes still blazing with that wild light. "He wants to see if I'm worthy. If I'm strong enough. If I'll break."
"Will you?"
"No." Jace's voice was iron. "I won't break. I can't break. I've already died once. What does a dragon's temper matter after that?"
The days became a week. The week became two. You and Jace grew stronger, your bodies hardened by the daily climbs up the Dragonmont, your bond with each other deepened by the shared secret. You learned Greyghost's moods, his preferences. You learned the sound of his approach, the rhythm of his wingbeats, the meaning of his various warbles and growls.
You learned about Cannibal, too. Jace told you everything, the size of him, the color of his scales, the way his green eyes glowed in the darkness of his lair. He told you about the bones that littered the cavern floor, the skulls of men and dragons alike, the evidence of centuries of predation. He told you about the way Cannibal would sometimes stretch his massive jaws in a yawn that revealed rows of teeth as long as swords. He told you about the heat of the dragon's breath, the sulfurous stench of his lair, the way the ground trembled when he shifted his weight.
"He's magnificent," Jace said with genuine awe in his voice. "He's terrible and beautiful and utterly, completely wild. He has never bent to anyone. Never. In all the centuries he's lived, no one has ever ridden him. No one has ever even tried and lived to tell about it."
"Except you."
"Except me." Jace smiled, and it was that same unsettling smile that you had come to love and fear in equal measure. "I think he's starting to respect me. Just a little but enough."
He brought a whip, at first, as was tradition for those who sought to tame a dragon. But Cannibal was so large, his scales so thick and tough, that you doubted the whip registered as anything more than a firm pat. The dragon barely seemed to notice when Jace cracked it against his hide. He only turned his great head and fixed Jace with those terrible green eyes, as if to say, Is that all you have, little man?
But Jace did not give up. He brought meat every day. He spoke to Cannibal in High Valyrian, tried to teach him, using the same commands that the dragonlords of old had used to bind their mounts. Dohaerās. Serve. Māzīs. Come. Lykirī. Calm.
At first, Cannibal ignored him. Then he began to tolerate him. He would eat the food Jace brought, snapping it out of the air with his massive jaws, but he would not let Jace touch him. He would not let him approach.
Jace was different with Cannibal than he was with you. You watched him during those long days on the mountain, and you saw a side of him you had never seen before. He was firm. Assertive. Unyielding. He did not plead with the dragon or cajole him or try to win him over with gentleness. He commanded. He demanded. He stood his ground even when Cannibal roared and snapped and breathed plumes of smoke that could have cooked him alive.
"I am your rider," Jacaerys would tell the dragon, his voice ringing with absolute certainty.
The difficulty, you soon discovered, was not in bonding with your respective dragons. It was in getting them to tolerate each other.
Greyghost was terrified of Cannibal. Every time Jace returned from the inner mountain carrying the older dragon's scent, Greyghost would shriek and flee, and it would take you hours to coax him back. And Cannibal, for his part, viewed Greyghost as prey. More than once, Jace reported that Cannibal had stirred and growled when Greyghost's scent drifted into his lair, his green eyes fixing on the distant presence of the smaller dragon with predatory interest.
"This isn't going to work," you said one evening, frustrated and exhausted. "If they can't be near each other, we can't fly together. We can't fight together. We'll be two dragonriders who can never be in the same place at the same time."
Jace was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "We need to introduce them slowly. Carefully. In a way that makes Cannibal understand that Greyghost is not prey."
"And how do we do that?"
"I don't know yet." Jace's brow furrowed. "But I'll think of something."
The breakthrough came from an unexpected direction.
Jace had always been affectionate with you, that was nothing new. But as the days on the Dragonmont wore on, his affection became more demonstrative. He would find a sheltered spot on the mountainside, a nook of warm rock protected from the wind, and he would make a nest for you there. He would gather soft moss and dry grass, arrange it carefully, and then guide you to sit, wrapping his cloak around your shoulders and pressing food into your hands. He would feed you with his own fingers, brushing crumbs from your lips, his eyes soft and warm. He would pull you into his lap and hold you, his chin resting on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your waist.
It was during one of these moments that you noticed Cannibal watching.
The coal-black dragon had crept closer to the edge of his territory, drawn perhaps by the scent of the food or the sound of Jace's voice. His green eyes were fixed on the two of you, unblinking. But he was not growling. He was not baring his teeth. He was simply watching.
"Cannibal sees how I treat you," Jace murmured in your ear, his voice low and thoughtful. "He sees that you are important to me. He sees that I protect you, feed you, care for you. He's never seen that before. He's only ever seen humans as threats or prey."
You looked up at the black dragon, your heart pounding. "Do you think he understands?"
"I think he's starting to." Jace pressed a kiss to your temple. "And if he understands that you are an extension of me, that you are part of my...territory, my pack, whatever he thinks we are…then maybe he can understand that Greyghost is an extension of you."
It was a wild theory, a desperate hope. But it was the only one you had.
The next day, you brought Greyghost closer to Cannibal's territory. Not all the way in because that would have been suicide, but close enough that the pale dragon's scent would carry. Greyghost was nervous, his wings twitching, his eyes darting toward the mountain's interior, but you soothed him with fish and soft words and gentle touches.
Jace went to Cannibal as usual, carrying his offerings of meat. But this time, instead of simply feeding the black dragon, he made a point of being affectionate with you in Cannibal's line of sight. He brought you into the outer edges of Cannibal's territory, sat you down on a warm rock, and proceeded to feed you dried fruit and bread from his satchel. He wrapped his arms around you, kissed your hair, murmured endearments in High Valyrian. And all the while, Cannibal watched.
The black dragon's green eyes moved from Jace to you to the distant, pale shape of Greyghost on the ridge above. He did not growl. He did not attack. He simply observed.
"It's working," Jace breathed. "Look at him. He's trying to understand. He's never had to think about these things before. He's never had to consider that another creature might be important to someone he's starting to…tolerate."
"Tolerate?" You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. "Is that what you call it?"
"It's progress." Jace grinned. "A week ago, he was trying to eat me. Now he just glares. That's practically an invitation."
The days passed, and the progress continued. Cannibal stopped growling when Greyghost's scent reached him. Greyghost stopped fleeing whenever Jace approached. The two dragons never came face to face, that would have been too much, too fast, but they learned to exist in proximity to each other, separated by ridges and cliffs and the careful management of their riders.
You were sitting in Jace's nest, your back against his chest, Greyghost dozing on a ledge above you. Jace had just fed Cannibal his daily offering, and the black dragon was lying at the entrance to his lair, his massive head resting on his foreclaws, his green eyes half-lidded. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of fire and blood.
"Cannibal has accepted me," Jace said quietly. "I think he accepted me days ago, and I just didn't realize it. He lets me touch him now. Just barely. Just a hand on his snout, for a moment. But he lets me."
"Are you ready to ride him?"
Jace was silent for a long moment. "Almost. He's still wild. He still doesn't fully trust me. But he will. I know he will."
"And then what?"
"Then we fly." Jace's arms tightened around you. "We fly, and we fight, and we win. All four of us together."
Part 4: coming soon... Sneak peak/Chapter 4 summary: Rhaenyra and Daemon are beside themselves once they learn what Jace and his wife have done. Since Greyghost is smaller and can blend into clouds and cliffs like a chameleon, he and his rider are sent to scout the Riverlands, check on Daemon's remaining forces and scour for Aemond and Vhagar, since no one had seen them in days. Aemond, recovered from the stab wound thanks to Alys, now under her influence, mounts Vhagar and burns Riverlands, trying to draw out Daemon. He encounters Greyghost instead, the rider being the girl he had loved as a boy and fought as a man. Having intended to take her as a trophy and make her his wife at Rook's Rest, he is not too pleased to find her riding a new dragon. Or to learn that she brought her betrothed back to life and married him.
a/n: Comment if you'd like to be added to this series' taglist.
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summary: You have a plan each year this time comes around, each year ends the same
warnings: implied smut, lowkey suggestive sorry I couldn't help myself lmaoo, it's part of a joke but reader is stated to be 4 years younger than Spencer
word count: 851
a/n: just a short little birthday blurb!! Also holy shit I can't come up with good titles for the life of me lmaoo like this was the best I could come up with and I hate it lol but it's the only thing I could think of but anyways Happy Birthday Spencer!!
divider: @/saradika-graphics
The plan's simple.
Sneak out of bed — without waking your lovely boyfriend —, grab his gift you’d hidden in the back of the closet on your side and head into the dining room/kitchen to make a cute little breakfast spread that you’ve had pinned in your pinterest for weeks in preparation for today.
Easy peasy.
Except you forgot to take into account one very crucial detail.
Spencer's a huge cuddle bug. And normally this isn't something you hate, in fact you relish it because you too are a cuddle bug and you’d never hate the fact he loves holding you like you’re his entire world. Except now that fact's biting you in the ass and you’re struggling to slip out of his arms to actually do what you wanted to surprise him for his birthday.
You try to slowly and gently lift his arm off your waist but it's like a dead weight and the second you try to move along a little faster he stirs. You immediately freeze, eyes wide as you hold your breath, waiting to see what happens.
Thankfully he stays asleep, mumbling something you don't catch and relaxes once more against the pillows. You let out a silent breath and continue your mission of slipping out of bed undetected.
You manage to free yourself, carefully placing his arm back down against the mattress as you stand next to the bed. You watch him for a moment, a soft smile finding itself on your face, reaching out to brush a stray curl out of his face.
Great, plan's still going according to plan.
You make your way towards the drawers, intending to grab something because last night's clothes are scattered all over the floor when you freeze.
"Mm... good morning to me."
You can't help the little groan you let out, clothes bunched in your hands. "You couldn't have pretended to let me have this one win?" You playfully whine as you make your way back to bed, clothes set at the end.
Spencer grins, eyes bleary and sleep heavy as he shakes his head, pulling you back into bed. "You act like you don't already know I automatically wake up when you do. I take great pride in my boyfriend senses, sweetheart."
"Freak," you mutter under your breath, gently pushing him to lay back down, settling on top of him. His hands settle on your hips, drawing idle shapes or just moving up and down your warm skin. You lower yourself slightly, just enough to brush your lips against his. "Happy birthday, old man."
Spencer lets out a small snort, closing the distance for a short, sweet kiss before pulling away. "Old man? I'm only like four years older than you." He steals another kiss anyways, "but thank you honey."
You grin into the kiss, murmuring against his lips, "still an old man, but you're my favorite old man."
"Wow, high praise," he deadpans, gently pinching your side. You let out a yelp, small pout on your face.
"Anyways before you keep attacking me—" he lets out a playful scoff, "—let me go so I can make you breakfast."
One of his hands leaves your hips, holding his chin in mock thought. "Hmmm, no. I'll keep you here longer."
"Spenceeee," you whine, poking his chest, "let me go make you breakfast." You continue to poke his chest, trying to get him to break but to no avail. You knew it was going to be a longshot but can't blame a girl for trying.
The moment the poking ceases, he gently flips your positions, settling between your legs with a proud grin on his face. "It's my birthday today and I think I want to start off my day like this. Any objections?"
You blink for a moment before letting out a small laugh, shaking your head as your arms wrap around his shoulders, bringing him down so you could be flush against each other. "I guess I can't argue with the birthday boy." You run your hand through his hair, gently tugging on a handful of curls, "just careful, I'm still sore from last night."
He presses a kiss against the crook of your neck, where there's already numerous blooming marks. "Don't worry, I got you, honey." His lips trail upwards until they find their mark, slotting against yours.
"Best birthday ever," he murmurs against your mouth.
You let out a small snort, rolling your eyes as you pull him into another kiss. "You say that every year, dork."
"And it's true every year."
Another, even softer kiss. "Hey Spence?" You get a hum in response as you feel one of his hands trail over your stomach. "Happy birthday, I love you."
His hand stills and he looks at you. His face is soft, the morning light spilling in from the half-opened curtains. "I love you too," he whispers as he seals it with another kiss.
The initial plan may have been a bust (like every year), but you have a feeling this is just what Spencer wanted. Just like every year you’ve gotten to celebrate together.
could you write a spencer agnew x reader fic where they’ve worked together on games for years and have been dating a majority of that time, but no one has picked up on it till reader/spencer says something about the other that makes it obvious
The Perfect Pair
Spencer Agnew x f!reader
Spencer accidentally reveals the two of you are dating during his birthday livestream. Except, was it really a reveal if it was never a secret in the first place?
TW: Y/N usage, innuendos/dirty jokes, talking about boobs, typical gentlemen's behavior, Lizzy my beloved
Everyone knew that you and Spencer were attached at the hip. It had been like that since the day you were hired. People always joked that the two of you were the perfect pair because you were such opposites. You had a big whiteboard with filming schedules, potential games and sponsors, and the cast you wanted in the videos. Spencer had, well, the chaos that only comes with someone who had a million brilliant ideas and zero clue where to put them all.
But they had no clue how similar the two of you actually were. The shared ambition, the late nights, the humor, and slowly but surely, the feelings involved. He confessed one night over a few too many cups of coffee in the soft lighting of your shared office, looking at how beautiful you were as you furrowed your brow at a spreadsheet.
You couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him. And you didn’t plan on stopping. Eight months later, you hadn’t. You stole kisses in between meetings, held hands under the desk, and left notes on his computer screen.
And yet, none of your friends noticed. They had grown so used to seeing the two of you together that it just seemed normal. Even your fans brushed it off as usual occurrences when the two of you mentioned going out for dinner or having a sleepover. So really, you weren’t keeping a secret at all. But everything comes to light one way or another, and yours just happened to be live and on camera. Whoops.
It was Gentlemen’s Werewolf Live for Spencer’s birthday. You were technically supposed to be directing when you got a call from George Primavera.
“Hey, I’m really sorry, but I can’t DM today, my baby’s sick and my wife is away on a work trip so I need to stay home.”
“No, no, you’re good George, please take care of him and yourself.”
The phone call was quick but devastating. Now you have no DM. Awesome.
Lizzy overheard the whole thing, and probably could’ve gathered what happened anyway based on the look on your face.
“Why don’t you do it?”
“I’m the director, that’s not how it works.”
“Think of Spencer’s face.” She nudged you. “Besides, didn’t wardrobe finish your Gentlemen’s costume for Bit City a few weeks ago?”
“I mean, yeah, but then who will direct?”
She grabbed your meticulous notes out of your hand. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”
“Liz-”
“I don’t want to hear it. It’s your boy toy's birthday, and we’re going to make you stunning.”
The two of you walked to wardrobe, keeping your voices quiet so you wouldn’t spoil the surprise. “You know I hate when you call him that.”
She helped you slip on the ivory cotton dress and lace up the deep blue corset that went on top. The cinching made your boobs push up to a nearly obscene degree, the thin hem of the collar doing nothing to hide it. She pinned your hair half up with a hairpin and stood back, proud of her work.
“He’s going to freak. His eyes are gonna pop out of his head like a cartoon.”
You laced up your boots. “I’d prefer his eyes to stay intact, thank you very much.”
“Between the surprise and your tits, something else is going to be popping out too.”
It took you a second to get what she meant. She smirked as you put your face in your hands. “Let’s just go please, we’re gonna be late.”
“Oh, I texted Shayne to start without us so we could make a grand entrance.”
“Of course you did.”
Lizzy had the live playing as the two of you loitered outside the big double doors to the games stage so you knew when to enter. After working out some typical livestream kinks, Shayne started the intro.
“‘Ello mate. I do hope you all are ready for a nice, competitive game of Werewolf.” The group nodded, murmuring to each other with fake cigars in their mouths. “It is our dear Sir Spencer’s birthday.”
“Yes, yes, I do hope you’ll share your wives with me after as your primary gift.”
Court gasped. “Dear sir, I thought our company would be more than enough to please you.”
“No no, I need some other pleasing as well.” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “That’s what a man’s day of birth is for, suckling at the teat of life!”
Shayne continued with a relaxed arm around Spencer’s shoulder. “And now, we have a special guest. I know that we promised you Sir George, but he is off teaching his child how to work in the mines today. So today, instead, our DM will be the fair Lady Y/N!”
You flung open the doors dramatically, the cameras panning to you striding in confidently. “Hello boys.” You shot a wink at Spencer, whose mouth was hanging agape.
The whole stage burst into chaos. There was screaming, cheering, and someone popped one of the streamer cannons you had bought early. But through it all, all Spencer could do was stare at you as you calmly walked behind the couch.
“Holy crap.”
Shayne noticed first, nudging him with a sly smile on his face. “I see you’ve found another mistress.”
“That’s my wife.” Spencer blurted out, sending both you and Shayne into a state of shock.
Angela overheard and started shaking Arasha’s shoulder. “Spencer just called Y/N his wife!!!!”
Arasha freaked out. “Oh my god! Another secret marriage? This is crazy, why wasn’t I invited???”
The low buzz from the excitement earlier grew louder once more, people bouncing on the couch and shaking each other, bombarding both you and Spencer with questions. You wanted to sink into oblivion from all the attention and Spencer could tell, putting a comforting hand on top of where yours rested on the couch. Then he cleared his throat loudly, forcing everyone to stop in their tracks.
In his normal voice, he said, “So, as you've all gathered by now, Y/N and I are dating. No, there isn’t a secret marriage. Yes, she’s so beautiful she nearly knocked me off my feet just now. And yes, this is the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.” You smiled down at him and he kissed your hand gently, prompting coos from the onlooking crowd. “We never kept it from you guys on purpose, it just happened so naturally that people didn't ask. Loving her is the most natural thing I’ve ever done. There's only so many sleepovers you can have before you're living together everyone, it was not subtle at all.” He shook his head in mock disappointment.
He was about to continue his spiel when someone from the crew, probably Lizzy, started chanting ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ in the back, and everyone else soon followed. Spencer quickly clambered over the bodies of everyone on the couch before reaching you, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
He offered his hand to you with a flourish. “My Lady, will you do me the honor?”
You giggled. “How could I deny the charming Sir Spencer on his birthday?”
He spun you around before dipping you, hat falling off his head. You picked it up and put it back on lopsided before he kissed you. The kiss was like all of the ones you’d had before, warm and heart melting, but now with the background noise of all of your friends cheering for you.
Maybe you really were the perfect pair.
A/N: Tbh on the fence about this one still but I do love a good gushy reveal moment and someone told me to write more cliche rom com stuff so here we are.
Imagine accidentally pavloving Ryland into paying attention…
( I need clicker trained Ryland in my life)
Here -> part 2 or part 3
"Grace."
Nothing.
You glanced down at your clipboard before looking back at the man who's currently attempting to see how far he could lean back in his chair before gravity eventually won.
"...Grace."
Still nothing.
His attention was somewhere beyond the conference room walls. Judging by the absentminded smile on his face, he was probably replanning a middle school science lesson in his head instead of listening to the briefing about humanity's impending extinction.
Around the table, scientists exchanged grim looks.
You sighed.
It had taken exactly four meetings to realize Dr. Ryland Grace wasn't ignoring people on purpose.
His brain simply... wandered.
Constantly.
Which was a problem when every meeting contained information that might save the world.
So you did what every exhausted government handler eventually does.
You adapted.
The first time, it had been accidental.
You noticed he'd finally answered a question after you'd slid a mug of coffee in front of him.
The second time, it happened again.
By the third meeting...
"...Grace."
You set a chocolate bar beside his notebook.
His head snapped up immediately.
"Yep."
Every eye in the room turned toward him.
"...Were you listening?"
"...Absolutely."
"You weren't."
"I wasn't."
But this was enough to help you refine the system.
Coffee.
Chocolate.
Occasionally those tiny cinnamon candies he insisted he didn't like because it's "old people candy" despite mysteriously eating every single one.
Never as a reward.
Always as a cue.
Whenever something important came up...
Tap.
A mug appeared beside him.
His attention shifted instantly.
Months later, you didn't even need the coffee anymore.
A click tap of your pen was enough to get his attention.
*Click.*
Ryland looked up automatically.
The sudden movement scaring one scientist.
—
Ryland didn't notice.
Or maybe he did.
Maybe he simply appreciated that someone had figured out how to cut through the tornado in his head without embarrassing him.
Because he'd started doing it himself.
Whenever he caught his thoughts drifting, he'd glance toward you.
You'd press the tip your pen once.
*Click.*
His focus settled back into place.
—
Months later, during one particularly heated strategy meeting, two physicists were arguing over equations while everyone else slowly lost the will to live.
Ryland had completely checked out.
His eyes were fixed on a bird outside the window.
You didn't even look up from your folder.
*Click.*
One press of your pen.
Ryland straightened instinctively.
"What'd I miss?"
Half the room stared.
He blinked.
"...Why's everyone looking at me?"
One of the engineers pointed between the two of you.
"Did..."
He frowned.
"...Did they just summon your attention?"
Ryland looked at you.
You looked back with perfect professionalism.
"No idea what you're talking about."
"...Huh."
He shrugged.
"Anyway, continue."
The meeting resumed.
Someone leaned over and whispered to you, "You're never beating the clicker-training allegations." (apparently everybody noticed Ryland's habit before this moment, much to your dismay)
"Ryland"
Without missing a beat, you reached into your bag and tossed a cinnamon candy across the table toward Ryland.
He caught it without looking.
"Thanks."
"...You brought him, treats?" the engineer whispered.
You smiled faintly.
"I'm a government agent, it's my job to keep his attention."
Ryland was getting ready to leave for school. “I'll see you later, baby” he said, adjusting his tie and leaning down to press a kiss to your lips like he did every day.
The moment his lips touched yours, the thick, slick product transferred to his lips. The warm scent of vanilla filled his senses, making him pull back slightly.
“Is this a new lip balm?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your mouth. You hummed in response, “Yeah, I bought it recently”
While he was used to kissing you with lip balm on, you had never used a flavoured one before.
“M’kay” he muttered. He dipped back down to kiss you properly, his grip on your face tightening as he tasted the vanilla. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip. Usually, your morning parting kisses were quick because he had to rush out on his bike to reach school on time. Today, however, he lingered. He kept moving his lips against yours, lost in the feel of your mouth as the vanilla mixed with the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue.
For the rest of the day, he couldn't stop kissing you. He kept finding excuses to steal a quick peck, or better yet, pull you into a proper kiss. You were literally just existing, and the man was all over you, constantly leaning in with a quick, “Lemme just...” before pulling you into a smooch. You had to reapply the lip balm dozens of times because half of what you applied ended up on his lips, or directly into his system because he kept licking it off.
A few days later, he kissed you expecting that familiar vanilla flavour he had grown to love. Instead, a sweet, fruity scent hit him just before his lips landed on yours. He made a muffled noise against your mouth before pulling back, his tongue darting out to taste his own lips.
“It’s different” he whispered.
“What?” you asked.
“The flavour” he replied, “It’s not vanilla”
“It’s peach” you informed him.
His gaze dropped to your lips, noticing the sheer, light nude tint.
“‘S nice” he murmured. He leaned in to kiss you again, his tongue brushing the corner of your mouth. A tiny amount of the balm transferred to his tongue before it entered your mouth and he deepened the kiss. When he finally pulled back, you raised your hand to his face, your fingers gently wiping away the excess product smeared below his lips.
“If this keeps up, I'm going to run out of this balm way too soon” you teased.
“You have more than one, so it's fine” he said softly with a small smile.
The next few days went exactly the same way, with Ryland kissing you insistently as if he had absolutely no control over himself.
Then came the day you chose a new flavour - cherry, which left a sheer, slight red tint on your lips. Ryland noticed the difference immediately. The day went on as usual, except Ryland kept cutting you off in the middle of your sentences just to kiss you. Sometimes, his tongue would brush your lips before his actual mouth even touched yours, making you gasp into the kiss.
You were looking at your phone, “Hey, Ry, about dinner, I was thinking-”
He suddenly stepped into your space, and captured your lips in a deep, needy kiss, devouring your mouth like he was trying to taste every drop of it. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he murmured against your lips, “Sorry for interrupting you, babe”
You blinked, breathless, a little flush spreading across your cheeks, “It’s fine, but as I was saying-”
He leaned right back down, cutting you off again. His hands found your waist to pull you against him. Yeah, he’s not sorry in the slightest.
Another day brought another flavour - caramel. It amused him because he wasn't eating any toffee, yet he kept getting the sugary taste of it directly from your mouth. This flavour made him nip at your bottom lip a lot as if he were eating actual toffee.
One morning, you were getting ready for the day and reached out to grab whichever tube your fingers landed on first. Ryland, who was tucking his shirt into his jeans, suddenly stopped you.
“Baby, can you...” he trailed off. His eyes were trained on the peach lip balm in your hand, “Can you use the cherry one today?”
You paused, processing his words, before a slow smile spread across your face, “Oh, do you like the cherry one, Ry?” you teased.
A light blush spread across his cheeks, and he finally forced himself to look into your eyes, "Uh, n-no, nothing like that. It just...” He stumbled over his words, trying to find an excuse, “It just tastes the best out of all of them” he managed to say.
You laughed softly, switching the peach tube for the cherry one, “You know, you could just use it on yourself, right?”
He stepped closer to you the second you finished applying it, wrapping his arms around you, “Won't taste as good as it does from you” he murmured, before leaning down to kiss you.
summary: the four times Ryland’s students questioned his relationship with you, and the one time they got an answer
word count: 2.7k
warnings/tags: your students play matchmaker and love gossiping, ryland owns a car here, pureee fluff
The first time was what initially caught his students’ attention.
Teenagers, albeit being annoyingly nosy, were also incredibly perceptive. And unfortunately for Ryland, about ten heads snapped up in his direction as he emerged from your classroom five minutes before lunch was going to end.
He held the door open, his body halfway out the threshold, yet still thoroughly engrossed in whatever conversation he was having with you. Even from thirty feet away, his students could see as clear as day that he did not want to leave.
And then, you appeared at the door. You playfully shooed him out, lips turning upwards into a smile, making some witty comment that the kids were too far away to hear. He said something in response, eliciting a small laugh from you as you took yet another step closer, nearly toe to toe with him.
Now, even more kids had their full, undivided attention on you, closely monitoring your little interaction while their food went cold. To them, getting to witness their teachers’ love lives unfurl was infinitely better than eating a stale peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
The most peculiar thing was Ryland’s reaction to your close proximity. His students watched in amazement as their favorite clumsy, shy, nerdy science teacher who often tripped over his own two feet seemed entirely unaffected by the fact that you were a few inches away from his face. In fact, he might have leaned in.
Olivia rubbed her eyes and squinted, not even trying to disguise her blatant staring at this point. Before she could check again, Ryland was already speed walking back to his classroom, no doubt hustling to prepare the science lab he had planned for today before the flood of kids came back from lunch.
She turned back to her classmates, many of which were still watching his retreating figure. Others had their eyes trained on your classroom door, lost in thought.
She started the conversation everyone was itching to have. “So, we all saw that, right?”
A chorus of agreement echoed amongst the small crowd, quickly devolving into hushed gossip and frantic whispers.
“Is it just me, or did Mr. Grace have a little more pep in his step just now?”
“Oh totally— and he definitely didn’t want to leave her classroom.”
“What about her? Did you guys see the smile she gave him?”
“What about the smile he gave her?”
Before the debate could continue, the bell rang, forcing the chatty kids to trudge back to their classes in unanimous disappointment at their conversation getting interrupted. Unbeknownst to you or Ryland, this was only the first of many times this hot topic would be brought up amongst your prying students.
— - — - —
The second time was during a school assembly.
Students and faculty alike were gathered in the multi-purpose room, with the kids sitting to face the stage and the teachers lining the walls of the large room. The principal, an abysmally monotonous man, continued to drone on about rules, regulations, and upcoming events, much to everyone’s disappointment.
Your kids were supposed to be paying attention, but a large number of them had their heads twisted in awkward positions, trying to sneak a glimpse of you and Ryland.
The two of you were standing in the back with less than a foot of distance separating you. Periodically, Ryland would lean down to whisper in your ear, making you giggle at his words. In turn, you’d reach up on your tiptoes to whisper something in response, and he’d nod with a soft smile.
A few teachers nearby shot you looks of disapproval for being disruptive, and you mouthed a quick apology to your peers. Not thirty seconds later though, your head was inadvertently turning back to Ryland, and he did the exact same.
Despite being told off not a minute earlier, the two of you continued to talk in hushed voices, trying to be even more discreet than before. Honestly, you guys might’ve been worse than the children.
James, a particularly rowdy student in Ryland’s class, turned to Sarah, who could easily match Olivia’s smarts in your English class. Both of their watchful eyes never left the two of you at the back of the room. He murmured to her, “I get it’s cramped, but they definitely don’t need to be standing that close.”
“Agreed,” she muttered back.
Olivia wasn’t far, and decided to join in on the conversation. “Mr. Grace is totally blushing every time she reaches up to whisper in his ear.” She had no qualms about exposing her science teacher, which made James and Sarah unexpectedly laugh.
Before they could get out another word, the meanest, crankiest teacher to ever curse Grover Cleveland Middle School with her presence snapped her head towards them, shushing them ten times louder than they were speaking.
“If you three don’t stop talking, it’ll be detention for a week,” she snarled, beady eyes watching them like a hawk.
Regretfully, they clamped their mouths shut, but the three of them, along with everyone else that had been watching you and Ryland, were all thinking the same: you two seemed awfully close, both physically and socially.
— - — - —
The third time took place after school, during the murky month of December.
The San Francisco weather decided to attack the school with an onslaught of rain, making it almost impossible to walk in the open without getting assaulted by vicious pellets of water.
A cluster of students huddled inside the safety of the school building, waiting for their parents to roll up to the front of the campus so they wouldn’t get completely drenched on their way to the car.
Olivia, while looking through the window at the dismal conditions outside, noticed you standing under an overhang alone. You had your coat drawn tight around you, trying to keep the frigid air out and your body heat in, and your eyes periodically wandered to the screen of your phone, like you were waiting for someone. Perhaps someone was coming to pick you up?
Before she could continue that thought, a familiar teacher’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
“Hey kiddos,” Ryland waved to the small group as he approached. “Waiting for parents?”
He was met with a series of nods, making him crack a smile. “Alright, make sure you all get home safe, yeah?”
“Yes, Mr. Grace,” some students said in unison.
Ryland chuckled and continued towards the door, raising his hand as a silent goodbye. With his other hand, he carried an umbrella, well prepared for the harsh rain.
Most of her peers looked away as Ryland pushed the door open, but Olivia kept her eyes trained on her teacher. As soon as he stepped outside, he made a beeline for you, already starting to open the umbrella.
He must have called out your name, because you turned to greet him, perking up with a warm smile. An easy conversation flowed between the two of you as he made his way over, but the next part made Olivia’s jaw drop.
Like clockwork, the two of you set off towards the parking lot, sharing the umbrella without missing a beat of your conversation. Ryland’s larger frame made you seem small in comparison, and he was mindful to keep the umbrella lower and slightly more on your side, ensuring you were fully protected from the rain. His left shoulder, on the other hand, started to get slightly wet, but he seemed to pay no mind as he listened to you talk with a genuine smile.
“Guys. Guys!! Look!” was all Olivia managed to say before a horde of students rushed to the window, trying to get a better view of their favorite teachers recreating this classic romance trope.
“Move, I can’t see ‘em!”
“Hey you’re shoving me!”
Then, a collective hush fell over the group, and Olivia craned her head around her peers to get a glimpse at what they were staring at. A small gasp escaped her too.
It was difficult to see due to the far distance and the reduced visibility in the rain, but it was unmistakable. There was Ryland, covering you with the umbrella as you got into the passenger seat of a car. After closing the door behind you, the science teacher walked around the front of the car, got into the driver’s seat, and slowly reversed out of the parking spot.
He wasn’t just walking you to your car. He was driving you home.
The silence lasted a moment longer before the group erupted into excited chatter, each kid trying to talk over the other.
“What the hell was that??”
“He offered her a ride home, obviously! It’s raining hard, so he’s being a gentleman!”
“They seemed so comfortable with each other though, what’s that about?”
“What if they’re dating?”
That last question caught everyone’s attention. Sure, it had definitely crossed everyone’s minds, but most brushed it off. It seemed unfathomable. Could their beloved, klutz of a science teacher really pull someone as gorgeous as you?
“No no,” someone finally cut in. “Mr. Grace wouldn’t have the guts to ask her out in the first place.”
“Yeah,” another chimed in. “Maybe he’s just crushing on her!”
A chorus of awww’s resounded throughout the room, and the debate of your relationship status was momentarily settled.
— - — - —
The fourth time shattered all of their conspiracy theories of Mr. Grace merely pining over their English teacher, because it was clearly something more.
It was finally that time of the year— prom. Most kids stood in clusters with their friends, while other, braver souls worked up the nerve to ask their crush to dance. The low lighting provided a moody atmosphere despite the upbeat party music, and compliments were constantly getting thrown around over dresses, shoes, and hair-dos. A typical middle school dance.
Of course, all school events required supervision, so you and Ryland volunteered to chaperone this year. You guys were standing in the back of the room, looking like you were engaged in normal conversation. You in a modest black dress, Ryland in a simple dress shirt and tie.
What you didn’t know though, were the dozen or so pairs of eyes locked onto your figures from the opposite wall, hidden in shadow and whispering furiously.
“Dude, look at the way he stares at her!”
“He’s so in love.”
“Quit staring so hard, they’ll notice you.”
Meanwhile, you and Ryland were casually chatting away, completely oblivious to your students’ antics.
You sucked in a breath, a little hesitant to bring up something that’s been gnawing away at your mind for the past few months. Ryland, as always, immediately noticed. “What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, I dunno,” you sighed.
He gave you an expectant look, silently questioning if you really thought he wouldn’t notice something’s been bothering you. It was true— no one could read you as easily as Ryland.
“Fine fine,” you smiled, “it’s just… have you noticed our kids acting a little, um,”
“Weird?” he finished with a knowing look.
“Exactly. Recently, if we’ve been talking, I’ll turn away from our conversation and find a handful of students staring at me from across campus. It’s unsettling.” You shuddered just thinking about it.
“I get it,” Ryland agreed while surveying the area. His eyes met the small group of kids that had been staring at you guys, all of whom were now looking at the ceiling, the ground, each other— anywhere other than in your direction. It was painfully obvious. You shared a look with Ryland, both of you shaking your heads before bursting into laughter.
Suddenly, a slow song came on, and you turned to Ryland with a soft smile. He was quick to offer his hand, which you accepted with a mock curtsy. In your little corner, the two of you swayed to the soft melody, lost in your own little world. All that mattered in the moment was the feeling of each other’s arms and the warmth of your shared love.
As you let the rhythm wash over you, you turned to Ryland, voice barely above a whisper. “You think they’re watching?”
“Oh I know they’re watching,” he huffed.
You let out a small giggle, amused by how involved your students were in your relationship. Brushing off the thought, you decided to just let teenagers be teenagers, instead focusing your attention on the way Ryland’s strong hands held your own.
And your students on the other side of the room? They were going ballistic while watching you.
“So he really pulled her? They’re dating?!”
“This is insane.”
“Someone needs to document this.”
“Why are they so cute??”
— - — - —
The school year was finally coming to a close, and everyone agreed they simply couldn’t leave the case of you and Mr. Grace unsettled. After much deliberation amongst the class, they all came to the consensus that today was the day. They were going to get answers out of you guys, whether you liked it or not.
They went to great lengths to corner the two of you. Olivia planted a note in your class, trying her best to mimic Mr. Grace’s handwriting: Meet me in my class after school.
You didn’t think much of the forged note. Ryland often slipped you random things, so you folded it up and tucked the parchment away, packing up to head over to his class like you often did.
In Ryland’s classroom on the other hand, he was wrapping up a lecture on cell anatomy just as the final bell rang. He clapped once, starting to erase the whiteboard. “Alright kiddos, we’ll finish this up tomorro—”
As he turned around, he was more than a little stunned to see his entire class still seated, desks cleared and their full attention bouncing between him and the door.
“Oookay, what’s going on,” he said slowly, trying to follow their gaze. “Did I imagine the bell ringing, or..?”
And then, when you walked in, it all clicked for Ryland. He turned to his students, gaze sweeping over their smug smiles and looks of anticipation.
You gave a little knock to signal your entry, “Hey Ry, you wanted to see...” you trailed off, noticing about thirty kids staring at you when you entered. You slowly made your way to his side, watching the class with a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. “What’ve we got here?”
“This is a set up,” he sighed. Not a question, but an observation. He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head, unsure of whether to smile or frown, so he opted for shaking his head in disbelief.
As the designated question asker, Olivia raised her hand, and Ryland nodded in confirmation for her to speak. “When did you start dating?”
They expected flustered denial, a poor cover up story, or for you guys to dodge the question completely. But to everyone’s shock, you and Ryland turned to each other simultaneously… and started laughing.
“Wh— What’s so funny?” James asked.
“Yeah, haven't you been trying to hide it this whole year?” another chimed in.
You waved your arms dismissively, shoulders still shaking with laughter. “Well, not exactly.”
Ryland just pinched the bridge of his nose, still in disbelief that his students thought you were dating.
“So, what’s your relationship then?” Olivia asked. Everyone leaned in, awaiting your response.
With a sly smile, you glanced at Ryland, then looked over the group of teens practically about to fall out of their seats in anticipation. “Well,” you started. “Let’s just say… I use my maiden name while teaching.”
Olivia let out a huge gasp, and the others whipped their heads toward her, clearly still confused.
“What?”
“Olivia, what’s that mean?”
Kids were clambering to get her attention, but Olivia just continued to stare at you in shock, and you just gave her a small nod of encouragement. Slowly, you reached to interlock hands with Ryland, and he squeezed your fingers with affection. He turned to give you a helpless smile, like he was silently apologizing for his students’ behavior. You just softly chuckled, choosing to lean your head on his shoulder instead.
“You— she—” Olivia could barely get the words out.
Her peers groaned in frustration, “what is it?!”
Then, you dropped the equivalent of an atomic bomb in the middle of the room— you raised your left hand, flashing a modest diamond ring adorning your finger.
Everyone was stunned, and Olivia confirmed what they were all struggling to believe.
“It means,” she said slowly, “Her last name is Grace.”
a/n: it might be kinda unrealistic for them not to notice your wedding bands but let’s just go along with it... as always, thanks for reading !!
warnings : dangerous amounts of awkward, nerdy ryland? terrible writing, not edited
summary : ryland has a crush on the kindergarten teacher that his class visits once a month
w/c : 4.3k
a/n : the chokehold this man has on me is INSANE
It was the last Friday of the month, Ryland’s favorite day. Once a month, he got to walk his homeroom class ten minutes down the street to the local elementary school. Once a month, his students got to hang out with their kindergarten buddies. Once a month, he got paid to sit around and be with her.
Y/n was the kindergarten teacher he was partnered up with. Last year he had been stuck with Mrs. Wilson. Her classroom always smelled of microwaved fish and sweaty fourth graders. She also had a bad habit of leaving the classroom without telling him, leaving him alone with nearly sixty children. Y/n was very different. Her classroom always smelled of lavender and citrus, and the only time he had ever been alone in her classroom was when she dropped the students off at lunch and went to the restroom.
Ryland was very grateful that he was visiting her classroom and that she wasn’t visiting his. Her room was a stark contrast to his. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, his desk was cluttered and trashed, and things fell down regularly. Here, there were paper lanterns hanging down, but that was all. They were evenly spaced and gave the room a cozy feel, not a trapped in low budget space feel. Everything had a place. Her desk was cleared, at least the top was. He had no clue if the drawers were in the same condition. The classroom was organized from the row of backpacks hanging on the wall to the cabinet filled with toys. It was structured, warm.
However, nice as the classroom was, that was not the best part of this arrangement the two schools set up. Working with Y/n was the highlight of his school year. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the fact that she always had a tupperware filled with baked goods for him when he brought his class to visit. Maybe it was the fact that she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way she taught her students. The way that she could help one student understand a concept using props and hand motions and then turn around and help another by turning it into a game. She had a passion for helping them get from where they were, to where they were going. It was written all over her face.
This was what Ryland thought about as he walked his eighth grade homeroom over to the elementary school. The morning fog was still thick and a slight breeze sent a chill down his spine. The buzzing chatter of his students was making the grey sky seem a little lighter. He loved that they were just as excited as the kindergarteners were.
They made it inside the elementary building and the warmth immediately seeped into his bones, welcoming him like the embrace of an old friend. He navigated his class through the now familiar hallways and stopped outside a door that had been decorated with small laminated ducks, each one bearing the name of a kindergartener in the classroom. He turned to his gaggle of students.
“Remember, go in quietly and sit on the floor near your kid.” He said, making eye contact with the students who loved to go in squealing and hug their kindergarten partner.
“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed.
Ryland knocked on the door. He suddenly felt nervous. This had become the new normal since the first time Y/n opened the door. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans and ran the other one, shakily, through his tousled hair. His stomach knotted, he felt like an idiot.
The door opened, and there was Y/n. She was wearing dress pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was falling naturally. The smell of her perfume was wrapping him up like he just stepped inside after being out in the cold too long, which technically he did. His breath hitched quietly and he hoped she didn’t hear it. He felt the small smile creeping onto his face and there was no point in trying to fight it.
He didn’t get to bask in the feeling as long as he wished to, the overly excited five year olds started babbling behind her. She smiled at him. What kindergarteners?
“Hey,” she said, her voice low, like she was whispering a secret for his ears only.
The small smile broke into a full blown grin. “Hey,” he whispered back. Y/n opened the door fully so Ryland and his class could enter. The two teachers stepped aside while the students entered the space and situated themselves. As he entered the room, his eyes settled on her desk, finding a tupperware sitting on it, a pink sticky note on top with his name on it. He could feel the tips of his ears match the color of the sticky note.
“My kids have been excited all week. We had to make a countdown paper chain on Monday,” She said, beaming up at him.
Ryland let out a small chuckle. “Mine too. They try to play it off and act cool, but they’ve asked me once a week when we’re coming back.” Y/n laughed and both teachers got back to what they were actually supposed to be doing.
The schedule was simple enough. First was penmanship. The eighth graders had to help the kinders write a three sentence story. Y/n stood in front of the whiteboard, pink marker in hand.
“So if Mr. Grace is my partner,” She said, looking at the group of fifty or so kids crammed into the room. “Then he and I are going to come up with the story together! It can be about anything!” She looked over at him. “For example, I might write, ‘Mr. Grace is a good teacher.’” She wrote the sentence on the board. Her lettering was smooth and elegant, only in the way that teachers can have. She glanced over at Ryland expectantly.
“And I might want her to write, ‘Miss Y/n is a great teacher.’” He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to elevate her. The smile and roll of her eyes told him he was unsuccessful. She wrote it anyway. He moved to stand next to her.
“After that, we might say, ‘They make a great team.’” She said, and the smile she gave him went right to his stomach. He had to snap his eyes anywhere else or he feared he would forget himself and make a really dumb move in front of the students. He felt his neck heat up and he was sure he was beet red. Y/n noticed. Her gaze drifted back to the students. “Are there any questions?” She asked.
A hand shot up instantly. Y/n nodded for the student to ask his question. “But, Miss Y/n! Our papers have a big square on top of our writing lines!” Y/n smiled at the urgency of the question.
“They do! Good job, Jeffrey, I almost forgot! At the top of your paper you have a blank space. You and your buddy are going to color a picture that goes with your story.”
Another hand went up. “Miss Y/n, you didn’t draw a picture.”
The middle schoolers chuckled, noticing the way their teacher was avoiding looking at Miss Y/n. One of them raised their hand. “Yeah, Mr. Grace, you have to help Miss Y/n color a picture of the two of you!”
He wanted to die. He hated how bad he was at being subtle. He was rescued when Y/n let out a laugh. “You guys are right. Tell you what, while you guys write, Mr. Grace and I will draw a picture on the board.”
The students got to work as Ryland uncapped a black marker. He started drawing a stick figure. It was lopsided, and the eyes weren’t evenly spaced out, but Y/n assumed it was his best efforts based on the way his brows knit together and his tongue poked out slightly from between his lips.
He looked over to where Y/n was finishing her drawing. It was very obviously him. From the glasses to the cardigan he was wearing, the dry erase drawing was very evidently Ryland. He was even giving a thumbs up. He glanced back at his drawing. Not terrible. Not great. He picked up the pink marker she had been using earlier. He drew a flower in the stick woman’s hand. He took a step back and admired his work. Y/n did the same.
“We really do make a great team,” she said, turning to look up at him.
His brain short circuited. She didn’t even compliment him. Why was his brain offline? Think of something! Say something! Say anything! She’s looking right at you! Say something! Say something now!
“Like ribosomes and protein synthesis.” Not that! Idiot.
But the panic subsided as Y/n let out a huff of laughter and her body involuntarily leaned into his. It was brief, a slight graze of her shoulder against his. Yet it was all he could focus on. He stilled as it happened, trying to memorize the feeling instantly. He spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out if his arm tingled from the force of impact or if his brain was experiencing a minor chemical imbalance. His internal debate subsided as Y/n instructed the students to turn in their work.
The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of raised hands and tiny confused sighs as math worksheets were handed out and completed. There was a breath of relief when Y/n announced it was time for recess. He shrugged his cardigan off and onto the chair as he pulled his blazer back on. Y/n led the group down the hall and outside as Ryland manned the end of the line, ensuring no wandering or straggling.
This time, the fresh air felt less inviting, like it was stripping the atmosphere of all the warmth and depth that Y/n’s classroom supplied. It smelled Earthy and sharp. Normally it would be one of his favorite things in the world. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be inhaling her scent. Her classroom scent, that is, or so he told himself. His inner lament was silenced when a soccer ball went flying into his left foot.
“Mr. Grace!” A chorus of students yelled his name and ran over to him. A tiny boy with a mop of dark curly hair peered up at him through thick eyelashes. His hands were clasped near his chest as he started to speak. “Mr. Grace, will you play with us?”
Ryland felt something profound tug at his heart strings as the boy looked up at him expectantly.
“Sure, but only if we beat these middle schoolers, deal?” He stuck out his hand, the soccer ball now pinned under his foot.
The boy, Miles, shook his hand and giggled out, ‘deal’.
“Kinder versus middle school!” was all Ryland shouted before kicking the ball towards a five year old and running towards the goal, guarded by one of his own students.
Y/n watched from the sidelines as Ryland weaved, not so elegantly, between the students. He was constantly stumbling over his own feet, and his glasses kept sliding down his face. However, Y/n also saw the way he passed the ball to her students every time. The way he would steal the ball from an eighth grader, pass it to a little kid, only to have the ball stolen by a middle schooler again. She noticed the way he fell backwards and landed on his back in order to avoid lightly bumping one of her students. She watched him pause the game to help a girl tie her shoe. He had never looked so attractive. He was squatting down, her yellow shoe resting atop his knee. His glasses hung around his chin and his hair was tousled and sweaty from running. The way he smiled, watching as the girl ran back to the game once her shoe was properly tied again. She noticed the way that the water ran down his hair to his cheek to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Wait, water?
Y/n’s train of thought was cut off by a splash of rain hitting her forehead. Oh great. Before she knew it, five year olds all around her were losing their minds. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself as the rain picked up. Ryland was by her side in an instant, shrugging his blazer off and, awkwardly, draping it over Y/n’s head, an attempt to shield her from the rain. Y/n smiled despite herself as she watched him concentrate. A whistle blew and all the kids quickly got in line as Y/n led them towards the classroom. Ryland, soaked to the bone, stood at the end of the line, waiting for one kindergartener to catch up after he ran back into the playground for his water bottle.
The group was buzzing as they re-entered the classroom. Y/n gave instructions for the kids to hang up their coats and find a seat on the rug. Ryland stood next to Y/n, who was finally pulling the blazer from her head. “You didn’t have to do that,” She whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes I did,” he breathed out. Y/n tried to hand him the blazer, but it was quickly draped around her again, this time, over her shoulders. She smiled as he rubbed the fabric up and down her arms. There was a faint smell of clean linen and stale coffee. It was uniquely Ryland, like the scent only existed for him. She had been mostly protected from the rain, and she didn’t really need dried off, but she let him do it.
His glasses had little drops of water on them, sliding down the lens and onto the floor. His hair was completely soaked, dripping down his face steadily onto his clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched. Yet here he was, drying her off. The whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them as Ryland pulled the blazer off of her and wrapped his knit sweater around her. The sleeves were too long for her, but she pushed them back slightly, freeing her hands. The soft fabric brushed his arm as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, Y/n waited with baited breath.
“Miss Y/n?” A tiny hand pulled on the sweater and Y/n reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Ryland’s.
Ryland felt his mouth shut quickly, suddenly very aware of where he was. He looked over at his students, who were smirking and looking away. Because that's what he needed, a class of middle schoolers noticing his awkward crush on the nicest woman in the world.
He tried looking anywhere else. The pattern of the floors was suddenly riveting. His gaze snapped back to Y/n as she turned on a movie and told the class to watch quietly and eat their lunches. He turned the lights off and made his way to the back of the classroom, sitting on a tiny table. Y/n sat next to him, tupperware in hand, pink sticky note still on top. She handed it to him wordlessly, the air around them full and comforting. He opened the container as Y/n started eating her lunch next to him.
“Banana bread?” He whispered excitedly. “You didn’t!”
Y/n smiled, and she was overjoyed that the lights were off and he wouldn’t be able to see the way that her cheeks flushed. “Of course I did. You said it was your favorite.” Ryland leaned back in the chair slightly and started eating quietly, eyes trained on the students in front of him.
He let his hand settle on the table beneath him, slowly letting it drift closer to Y/n’s until his hand was ghosting hers. Y/n didn’t look away from the kids as she carefully shifted so her hand was pressed against his, trying to get him to just take a hint already.
He let his fingers delicately trace over her knuckles before hooking his pinky under her hand and flipping it gently so it rested in his. It was slow, and a little clumsy, but it was also warm. Solid.
Ryland could feel the quickening thump of his heart against his chest. His throat was dry and he was suddenly very nervous that his hand was going to start sweating.
The thoughts were subdued when Y/n brushed her thumb over his knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge, every valley. He looked down where they were joined together. A small smile graced his features and he went back to watching the kids.
Lunch was over too soon in his humble opinion. In reality, they had actually gone fifteen minutes over because Y/n didn’t want to let go of Ryland’s hand. Only two more hours before he had to leave, and he tried to push the thought away, like not thinking about it delayed the inevitable. He took his place at the front of the room as Y/n settled her students into their seats.
“Alright you guys! Who’s excited to learn about space?” Every little hand shot into the air.
He uncapped an expo marker and started asking questions. “Who knows what is in the middle of the solar system?” A middle schooler started whispering into her kindergartener’s ear. The five year old jumped up frantically, waving her hand in the air.
“I know! I know!”
“Tell me, Amaya!”
“The sun!”
“Good job! Yes! The Sun is in the middle of our solar system! Everything goes in circles around it.” He drew a sun on the whiteboard. “Alright, Amaya, I need your help now.”
Amaya looked over at Y/n for reassurance. After receiving a nod of approval, Amaya walked to the tall teacher.
“Okay. Amaya, you are the sun. You’re gonna stand right here.” He gave her a high five as she stood where she was told to.
“Who knows what planet is closest to the Sun?”
There was more whispering. Then more voices shouting out ‘I know’ and ‘Me! Me!’.
“What is it, Jack?”
“Mercury!”
“Good job! Come on up!” Ryland added another circle to the board. “Okay, Jack. You're gonna go in a circle around Amaya, and you’re the fastest planet in the solar system! So go! Faster! Faster!” The class erupted into giggles.
“What comes after Mercury?” He didn’t have to wait this time. “Which planet is it, Claire?”
“Uh, Venus?”
“Venus is right!” Claire didn’t wait for permission before walking to the front. “Okay Claire, you have to walk in a circle too, but you’re very slow,” He said, dragging out the last part of the sentence. Claire started marching in slow motion around Jack. Laughter again.
He continued on until he had an entire solar system of kindergarteners running around the space. Y/n watched as he laughed with the kids and inevitably started to ramble about how technically Max, the Earth stand-in, was moving slightly too fast for this example to be realistic. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Ryland glanced over and shot her a grin.
He finally settles them down and returns everyone to their seats. Y/n watched him for a moment longer before remembering the coloring sheets in her hand.
They sat together at her desk once the kids started coloring together. “I don’t think they’ve ever had that much fun during science,” Y/n said, her voice sincere, with a hint of something more. God, Ryland hoped he wasn’t imagining it.
“I don’t know about that,” He said, his gaze flicking quickly to her lips and back up to her eyes. Y/n noticed. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes shifted to the ground, remembering quickly that they were still working.
Ryland wanted to die. He looked up at the ceiling and wished that it would fall on him. He was saved from the awkwardness when a voice called his name.
“Mr. Grace,” A teary eyed Amaya approached him with her coloring page in her grasp. He was moving before he realized it, crouching down so he was eye level with her.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held his palm out and let her grab it with her small hand. She sniffled and Y/n felt her breath get caught in her throat at the interaction. The way his eyes scanned Amaya for something wrong. The way he subconsciously made her feel seen. The way he knew to hold out his calloused hand. It all caused something to bubble under the surface.
“I messed up my drawing,” she mumbled, showing him the paper. Ryland looked at the page and then back at the small girl.
“Messed up? I don’t see anything wrong!” He said, embellishing his confusion slightly.
“Saturn isn’t supposed to be pink,” She sniffled again and let out a small, sad sigh that made Ryland want to tear up a little.
“Well you know what?” He asked, looking at the girl holding his hand.
“What?”
“I think pink is the best color anyway. I think that Saturn looks better in pink than any other color.”
Amaya cracked a small smile. “Pink is your favorite color?”
Ryland beamed back. “Well, I don’t know, orange is pretty cool, but pink is too.”
Amaya giggled and let go of Ryland’s hand, bouncing back to her seat. He stayed crouched on the ground, watching her go back to her seat for a while longer.
It was at this moment that Y/n subconsciously noticed how strong his shoulders looked through his still damp shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right places. She shook her head as he stood up, like it would remove the thought from her brain.
“You’re really good with them, you know.” Her voice was quieter. It sent a warm tingle down Ryland’s spine. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly.
Y/n giggled and looked back at the students. He opened his mouth to try again.
“Well, statistically speaking, it’s easier to induce dopamine at that developmental stage.” He noticed the way her lips curved into a smirk and her eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Their baseline for excitement is much lower than in adults, so small achievements tend to produce disproportionally strong reactions. So like,” He took a breath, realizing he was still staring at her lips, and moved his eyes to meet hers. “High return on minimal input situation.”
Y/n rolled her eyes and laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That was a lot of words to say that I was right.” He smiled and pressed his shoulder into hers.
They sat together until Y/n went up to give the next instructions. Her eyes kept wandering over to his frame, sitting in a tiny, blue chair meant for a five year old. The older kids helped their kindergarten partners put their things away and start their reading work.
Y/n started picking up markers that had fallen on the floor. Ryland followed suit. He stopped at Amaya’s seat, noticing how Saturn was bright pink with orange rings around it. He smiled softly and went to pick up the orange marker at the same time that Y/n did. Their fingers brushed, and at first Ryland pulled back, startled by her presence, letting out a quiet gasp.
Y/n let out a small giggle, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled his eyes at her laughter, but smiled despite himself. They cleaned up quietly, enjoying the last moments together.
“Alright, kinders! Let’s say bye to our middle schoolers!” Y/n said as the eighth graders lined up with their bags.
“Bye!” The class shouted. The middle schoolers waved and filed out of the room, Ryland hesitated outside the door. Y/n stood in the doorway, wanting to see him as long as she could before closing the door.
He turned from Y/n to his class. “Start walking to the bus, I’ll meet you there. Gotta ask Miss Y/n what grade you guys should get.” The class groaned but started walking anyway.
He turned back to Y/n. “I uh,” what was he doing? This was a terrible idea. “I, well, you,”
Y/n smiled and he completely forgot whatever it was he was trying to spit out. In a moment of foolish bravery, his mouth moved faster than his brain.
“Would you want to go out with me?” He breathed out.
Y/n smiled, looking at the ground, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.”
He let out a sigh of relief. There was something about the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flitted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment. His lips went crashing into hers. It was a little clumsy, and a little rushed, but his lips were soft, and molded nicely with hers.
He pulled away, breathless, eyes a little wild. Y/n leaned against the door, not registering the students behind her talking and coloring.
“I‘ll see you later,” he mumbled as he walked backwards, eyes still trained on Y/n. He stumbled only twice before he turned around and walked towards the school bus waiting for him in the rain.
He was startled as he climbed on board and was greeted with applause.
“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!”
“Finally did it!”
“You wanted her so bad!”
“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”
He rolled his eyes but smiled as soon as he sat down. Now he just had to survive the date.
