You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game
Words: 1.9K
Content: Kent-level language (you know what you're in for)
Cricket. Polo. The real football.
There were many popular sports in England, but the downfall of all of those was the fact that they were all at the mercy of the weather. That was why, in your humble opinion, the best sport in the world was bowling.
You were fully aware that the rest of the world definitely didn’t consider it a real sport, and that was fine. But to you, it was the best. No other sport could be enjoyed by 4 year olds and 94 year olds at the same time, all while having full access to a pitcher of beer and never being rained out. Nor did any other sport create friendships so instantly while in good natured competition. It certainly had for you.
You, the army brat, who had moved every year and always ended up being the new kid with the accent different from everyone else’s, had always found common ground in whatever bowling alley had been closest to base. Bowling was its own language, its own gateway into other people’s lives. When you’d finally stayed somewhere for more than two years when you were in high school, you’d made yourself a fixture at the lanes. You stayed in England for college – no, university – and worked your way through every beer league and youth camp you could. The bowling alley was your home, and you ended up staying even after your father retired from the army and returned to his hometown with your mother. Your place was here, behind the counter and coaching leagues.
It was a shallowly connected life. You had a few friends from your own league, as well as your coworkers, and some regulars that you absolutely loved, but mainly, you saw people for five minutes while they paid and figured out which size their rental shoes needed to be before they went to the lanes and you watched from a distance, telling yourself that it was fine.
One day, and especially lonely one, you were scheduled to work a children’s party. You were slightly hung over from the pitcher you’d shared at your league the night prior, and weren’t looking forward to all of the noise that children would inevitably cause. Taking a preemptive Excedrin, you pulled up your hair and braced for the worst.
The birthday child was a blonde girl who was all smiles, leading seven little friends and their adults behind them. You plastered on your best customer service smile and got through the chaos of check in, shoes, snack bar follow up, and lane assignments, then collapsed in your chair to stare into space for a while, until someone needed you.
The respite was brutally short.
You didn’t notice at first, but eventually you realized that you had somebody standing at the side of the counter. It was because of his shirt. Anywhere else, it would have stood out obnoxiously, but the red, orange, and yellow tie dye blended into the colorful walls. You turned quickly once you realized he was there.
“Sorry, I zoned out,” you blurted. “How can I help you, sir?”
The man – you recognized him from somewhere, you realized, but you couldn’t place where – startled at how quickly you acknowledged him. He had very expressive eyebrows, which shot up his forehead in surprise. He pointed at the lanes where the blonde girl’s group was bowling and grunted, “One of the little shits that my niece is friends with threw a ball right after another kid and hit the thing that pushes the pins out of the way, and now it won’t go back up. Can you fix it so their days won’t be ruined?”
You couldn’t tell if her was mad at the lane or at you; it seemed like he was angry in general, judging by the deep creases between his eyebrows. Best to take a cautious approach with him.
“I can’t fix it, but I can call the tech. Just a second.” You grabbed the intercom, but didn’t click it on. “It’s the gate on 15, yeah?”
“The what?”
“The black sweepy thing, on Lane 15?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Quickly, you called out, “Pete, I need a gate reset on Lane 15, please” over the speakers. Then you turned back to the tie dye man.
“Cheers,” he said. “Phoebe will be happy now.”
“That’s your niece? The blonde girl?”
He nodded. “Yep, that idiot.” He smiled and waved toward Phoebe, who was trying to get his attention. “She made me this shirt. I wouldn’t have picked it, but she made it, so I wear it to all her things.”
“It’s a good look. Matches the décor here,” you teased. “I almost didn’t see you, and you were right in front of me.”
A grunt was the only response you got. Fearing you’d been rude, you cleared your throat and continued. “Well. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, if you guys need anything else. You know where to find me.”
Another grunt, and eyebrow guy was gone, leaving you to put your head on the counter in embarrassment. That was so awkward!
You stewed in your awkwardness for another half an hour; nobody else came in to distract you. Distraction didn’t come until you got a call from the snack bar, signaling that they needed you to run the pizza to Phoebe’s group. Inwardly groaning, you picked up the tray and a stack of plates, and expertly balanced them as you walked to Lane 15. Phoebe and her friends were excited to see you, and their enthusiasm evaporated some of your self-pity. These seemed to be good kids.
“Okay,” you said, putting your hands on your hips and leaning down conspiratorially, “I only have two rules for you. Rule Number One: No pizza or drinks on the approach. Rule Number Two: I don’t want to see any pizza fingers in those balls, because someone will have to clean them.” You pointed at yourself as you said “someone,” which made all the kids laugh. “And Rule Number Three-”
“You said there were only two!” interrupted a young boy. Tie dye guy glared at him.
“Well, I lied,” you shrugged. That got a laugh from everybody. “Rule Number Three: Help Phoebe have a happy birthday!”
All of the kids cheered. Satisfied, you walked over to their grown-ups. “If you guys need anything, I’m Splits.” You tapped your nametag, bearing the kitschy bowling nickname that the manager had made you pick. “I’ll be at the counter.”
Your nickname drew a few chuckles and sympathetic smiles. One of the younger adults, who you also recognized in addition Phoebe's uncle, fixed you with a flirty look.
“Do they call yah that because you can do the splits, or…?”
“No, because I leave plenty on the lanes.”
He looked like he was trying to come up with another quip, but Phoebe’s uncle elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, Jamie. Not everyone loves you.”
Jamie, unperturbed, elbowed him back. “Whatever, Coach. It was worth trying. Sorry, Splits.”
You realized where you had seen him before. AFC Richmond was the local football club, and the young man was none other than Jamie Tartt. And now that you had figured out who he was, you had to ask, no matter how much it pained you…
“Can I get a quick photo? The owner likes us to whenever we have a celebrity guest.”
Jamie’s chest puffed out before he looked at tie dye man; you got the feeling his coach had lectured him before about showboating. “Sure, yeah, if that’s how it’s done here.” He checked his hair and grabbed a bowling ball. “Where do you want meh?”
“Uncle Roy should be in the picture, too!” piped Phoebe, shooting her uncle a pout. “He’s more famous that Jamie!”
The man you’d talked to at the counter, who you recognized but didn’t know where from, was named Roy? And Jamie had called him “coach?” Was he Roy Kent? How had you not realized?
It had to be the tie dye. Had to be.
“Fuck no, I’m not getting in a picture with that prick.”
“Please, Uncle Roy?” pleaded Phoebe. “It is my birthday.”
A grunt. You were beginning to think that they were his primary language, in combination with swearing. Roy Kent stood up, rolled his eyes, and got next to Jamie Tartt, glowering.
You reached into your back pocket and took out your phone to check how things looked. Bowling alley lighting was never great, but it was especially bad today. Jamie popped, because of course he did, but Roy melted into the wall, his obnoxious shirt effectively camouflaging him.
Thinking quickly, you went to the racks, grabbed a bright blue bowling ball, and brought it to Roy. He just stared at it.
“And what am I supposed to do with this? Throw a fucking strike on camera?”
“No, I just need you to hold it,” you huffed. “The camera can’t see you; your shirt blends in too much. Just take this, please, and this can be over.”
Without giving him a choice, you pushed the bowling ball against his arm. He took it awkwardly, his fingers brushing yours. You thought he shrank into his shoulders after that, but it could have just been him settling the weight of the ball, so you couldn’t be sure.
You took the picture and sent it to your manager, who started freaking out and texting a sentence at a time, but you retreated back to your counter after that. The rest of the afternoon went quietly. Phoebe’s party ended, and you watched as Roy and Jamie gathered all of the kids’ rental shoes and brought them up to you to return.
Sorry for flirting with yah earlier,” said Jamie, dumping an armful of footwear. “Old habits and all that.”
“It’s no problem,” you replied.
He gave you a wink and sauntered off. Then Roy deposited all of the shoes he was carrying.
“Thanks for being cool. Phoebe enjoyed it.”
“My pleasure. Sorry for the picture.”
“It happens. People are weird about fame.”
“Sorry all the same. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward.”
Roy Kent wouldn’t look at you, and instead focused on a spot on the counter. Then he gave a last grunt and walked away, sticking out a hand to hold Phoebe’s. You watched them leave before grabbing a bottle of disinfectant to spray down the shoes. As you did, you mused that, for being a football manager and a player before that, Roy Kent was really awkward when it came to being recognized.
The sound of running feet tore your attention away from your thoughts. You looked up, ready to shout at some kids for horseplay, but it was Phoebe, running back to the lanes and grabbing a jumper that she had left. Then she jogged back to the desk, stopping on the way out.
“I had a really fun time,” she said.
“I’m glad,” you replied warmly. “I hope to see you come back.”
Phoebe smiled. “I think I will. I overheard Uncle Roy telling Jamie that he shouldn’t call strangers ‘fit,’ even if they are, and I think they were talking about you. Bye!”
She pranced off to rejoin her uncle where he was waiting for her at the exit, taking his hand once more. You could see them talking, and something she said made him look up abashedly at you. He held your gaze for just a moment, then threw Phoebe over his shoulder and stomped away. You had the rest of the night to ponder the fact that Jamie Tartt and maybe Roy Kent had considered you attractive. It made up for the awkwardness of the photo. Almost.
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Eight: Roy Kent, Baby Whisperer
(7.2k words)
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), insecurity, mentions of sex, tooth-rotting fluff
Summary: Roy takes a big step and asks you to come to a team dinner at Ola’s, where you get to properly meet the greyhounds and their families.
Author's note: Buckle in for a long one! This is to tide you over, because I probably won't be posting a new chapter in January; we've got family birthdays three out of the four weekends, so I don't want to stress about getting something out in time. Happy New Year, and I'll see you with a new chapter in a month!
You had great fun driving Roy’s SUV for the next few weeks. It was large and expensive, so people tended to give it a wide berth. And since you didn’t have to walk to work, you were getting to sleep a bit later, which was doing wonders for you.
It was amazing that Roy let you use the Beast without any hesitation, that he trusted you that much. That he wanted to spend time with you, and keep you around, and know you deeper. Things were going very well between the two of you.
Lettie was completely invested. She wanted to know every single detail, and had done her homework on Roy once you’d revealed that he was a public figure. She’d questioned every single text and phone call that made you smile during a shift, demanding to know exactly how Roy was treating you right. You’d even caught her telling the other members of staff that you were dating “a football legend.”
Roy had gotten a kick out of that when you’d told him one date night. It was at your favorite restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall Italian place where he was unlikely to be spotted by paparazzi. Rumors were starting to swirl that he had a “mystery girl,” which both thrilled and terrified you, but thankfully no pictures had been sneakily snapped. Yet. You were still able to enjoy your anonymity, laughing and twirling pasta with the man you’d been lucky enough to meet while you worked his niece’s birthday party.
“So let me understand this, she tried to tell Snack Bar James that he’d forever missed out on catching you because now your standards are too high for the likes of him?” Roy’s eyes were crinkled at the edges as he tried not to grin.
“Pretty much,” you laughed. “I think we were both relieved. Lettie’s been trying to set us up for the entire year he’s worked with us, but he’s obviously more interested in Ashley in the pro shop.”
“Still, that Lettie’s a fuckin’ savage,” said Roy, respect heavy in his gruff voice. Then he took a bite of his chicken parmesan and sighed happily, looking at you.
“What?” you asked.
“Nothing. Just- this is nice. Us. I’ve been enjoying myself.”
“That’s good to know, considering we haven’t really done anything. What with your knee and everything.”
You both glanced down to the offending appendage in its articulating brace. Roy would hopefully get the okay from physio the following week to begin putting weight back onto it and using it more normally, but you were enjoying being the chauffer for now. It leant itself to quiet days in, calm conversations and movie nights snuggled on the couch, sometimes with Phoebe as well. It was hardly any different from your quiet existence before, except you weren’t lonely anymore.
“You’re kidding about doing nothing, right?” The man put down his fork and trained his gaze on you. It was one of the things about him that you loved best; he made sure that those around him felt seen. “This isn’t nothing, it’s fucking everything. I get to be a normal bloke with you, hearing the petty gossip of normal people. I haven’t had this in pretty much my entire adult life. I love this.”
He paused, his mouth open like he wanted to continue the thought. Like he might want to say that he loved you, but he didn’t say anything more. It disappointed you more than you expected; you realized that you maybe cared more deeply for him than you thought. Maybe you loved him.
A grunt jolted you out of your thoughts. Roy was looking at you tensely.
“I just fucked that up. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
And it was you were confused by your own feelings, so it was okay that he was taking responsibility for acting on his. He reached for your hand and held it tight.
“I’m an idiot. I know. Can I make it up to you?”
Your attention piqued, you nodded. “Yes, you can. How are you making it up to me?”
You watched as he took a breath, sat up a little taller, and asked, “Come to a family dinner with me?”
“A family dinner?”
“Well, we call them family dinners. Sam started it. It’s really a team dinner.”
Up to now, Roy had kept his football life separate from his dating life. You were excited that he seemed ready for his circles to start converging.
“Are you really sure you want me to come?” you asked. “That’s a big step, Roy.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. The boys have a pool going on why my mood’s been so abnormal, and I’d love to prove them all wrong. They think it’s because I’m on painkillers or some shit.”
“Didn’t you tell them that you’re not taking anything stronger than Tylenol?”
“Of course I fucking did, but they didn’t believe me. What do you say? Want to help me prove them wrong?”
“I would love to help you prove them wrong, but only if I get a cut of the pool,” you giggled. “Considering I’m the cause of it, I deserve it.”
Roy rolled his eyes. “Fine, you get a cut of the winnings if you can convince any of those idiots to share with you. Happy?”
“Yes, very.”
“Fuckin’ right.”
The two of you smiled at each other over your pastas. You were happy, even more so that he wanted you to start meeting his team. He’d been very protective of them, and of you, and you suspected of himself in keeping his worlds apart. You could understand it; it was always more comfortable keeping things in their separate placed. But you were pretty excited that he deemed you worthy of introducing into another part of his life.
“What are team dinners like?” you inquired. Then you took a large bite of your dinner so he’d have to say more than two words.
“They’re fine,” grumbled the man in response. “Once a month we all go to Ola’s, and Sam has us try some new Nigerian dish he’s thinking about putting on the menu. Richard brings wine, because he’s fucking French, and the lads destroy a week’s worth of training with how much they eat. It’s nothing fancy. People bring dates if they’ve got any.”
“But not Roy Kent,” you pointed out. “The day he brings a date will be one for the books.”
“Hmm.”
If it was possible for a man to look nervous while eating chicken parm, Roy was doing it as he thought about bringing a girl to a team function. You smiled reassuringly at him and tapped his foot under the table with yours.
“It’ll be great. I’ve already met them anyway, so now it will just be a reintroduction, which is much less awkward,” you promised. “I’ve been meaning to catch Jamie for a few weeks now.”
“Why?”
“To thank him for chauffeuring you around on the days I work! He must really like you for him to do that, and I need to thank him for being good to you.”
Roy could obviously tell that you were trying to push his buttons, but took the bait all the same. “The only thing he is to me is a prick. Please don’t encourage him. He’s been trying to corner me in the car park for the past two weeks to see who’s been dropping me off. I’m trying to protect you from him for as long as possible.”
His logic made no sense. “By inviting me to meet him and the rest of your idiots?”
“Beat ‘em to the punch,” he said. “We do it on my terms instead of theirs, so I control the conversation. It’s tactics, just like on the pitch.”
You threw one last jab. “I thought Nate was the tactics man?”
Those expressive eyebrows scrunched down. “Fuck you, babe.”
You finished your meals, ordered dessert, and ended your date night. After dropping Roy off at his house, you went home to your flat. You fell asleep thinking about the team dinner, three nights away, and how lucky you felt to be getting more serious with the man who insisted he didn’t care about it but obviously wanted you to go with him. The man who wanted you.
The day of the team dinner, you pulled up to Nelson Road early. You and Roy had decided that it would be easier for both of you to be the first to the restaurant and have the attention spread out, rather than arrive together later and be bombarded by the entire team at once. You’d thought you’d timed it so that nobody would see you idling in the parking lot, but after a moment, you realized there was someone in the Aston Martin parked next to you.
It was Jamie Tartt, and he was sitting in the passenger seat of his own car waiting for you to notice him. Once you did, he hopped out and motioned for you to roll down the window.
“And what are you doin’ in Coach’s car?”
“Driving,” you quipped.
“Driving Coach’s car?” the man probed. “When Coach just so happens to have someone driving him around while his knee is unusable? And when there are rumors that he’s got a girl?”
You did your best to keep your face neutral. “I know, it’s quite a coincidence, but stranger things have happened. Coach Kent and I just happen to have the same taste in cars.”
It wasn’t a lie, just not wholly the truth. Now that you had driven the Beast for a while, you loved it. Jamie eyed you good naturedly and didn’t say anything else, content to lean in the window. You could see why Roy found him annoying at times, but also why he would probably die for him. His manner was so casual that he was completely disarming.
“What are you doing here, Jamie?” you questioned. “No one else is here, so training can’t be done yet.”
“Me? Nothin’. Just forgot me headband.”
Your eyes darted to the elastic currently holding back his floppy hair. Strands were flying away; it had obviously been there for a while. You raised an eyebrow to let him know you weren’t fooled by his lie.
He shrugged. “All right, you caught meh. I’ve been trying to catch Coach’s driver for weeks, but haven’t managed it until today. I was hoping the rumors were true about our old man finding a girlfriend, and I’m really glad it’s you.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because it’s right, innit? He hasn’t looked at anybody the way he looked at you at the bowling alley. Not since Keeley, and that look was different.”
Keeley. The model, and previous girlfriend. You felt extremely insecure every time you thought about her with Roy, despite his insistence that you didn’t need to. “I don’t know about that. Keeley’s famous.”
With a scoff, Jamie challenged, “And do you think that matters to Granddad? He only does what he’s sure of. Anyways, he’ll be out soon, and I don’t want him to see me out here. I told him I were being sick so he wouldn’t ask any questions. Are you coming to family dinner tonight?”
Nodding, you replied, “Yes, but it’s a secret. You can’t tell the team. It’s going to be a surprise.”
“I won’t tell, swear down.” He started bouncing back and forth between both feet. “I better get back inside. I’ll see you tonight!”
“You sure will. Oh, and Jamie!” you called as he jogged away.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for driving Roy on the days I can’t. We both appreciate it, even if he’s too tough to say anything.”
Jamie grew two inches taller under your praise. He pointed at you and smiled. “Oh, he definitely needs to keep you around. See yah, Splits!”
The young man bounced back into the stadium, leaving you to wait for Roy. You didn’t see the prick in Jamie the way Roy had described him to you, but then, you weren’t in charge of him. You supposed somebody that chipper could be a bit of a handful. But you were pleased; the first interaction with somebody know you were the girlfriend had gone well, and the information hadn’t even been a surprise. It boded well for tonight.
Roy was upstairs; you could hear the steady thumping of his crutches as he got ready for the dinner. He’d finally mastered navigating the stairs, thank goodness, so you didn’t feel the need to run back and forth grabbing clothes and toiletries for him. This gave you time to do your makeup. Admittedly, you didn’t need long, as you were pretty minimal when it came to painting your face, but you were nervous, and kept messing it up.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t met the team before, and your conversation with Jamie had gone well earlier today, but tonight was your public debut as Roy Kent’s girlfriend. After tonight, there was no going back. There would probably even be press hiding somewhere, waiting to be the first to confirm the news that Roy was seeing somebody new.
“What’re you doing? You’re staring into space?”
Roy’s gruff voice startled you, and you almost stabbed yourself with your mascara wand. You hadn’t heard him come downstairs, but his reflection in the mirror was leaning on the doorframe, like he’d been watching you for a little bit, his face soft.
“You are so quiet when you want to be, it’s scary,” you scolded, turning to face him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to be scary; it just happens.” He looked at you, a small smile curving his lips. “You look great.”
With a scoff, you told him “I look okay at best. I’m not done yet.”
Roy stepped closer and looked you up and down carefully. “No, you look done and you look incredible. Don’t change one thing. What the fuck has you so freaked out?”
“After tonight, there’s no hiding,” you said in a small voice. “If I make a bad first impression, or a photographer gets a picture of me mid-sneeze, or choking on my food or something, that’s it. I will forever be the idiot that you took pity on.”
“No, you’ll be the young and beautiful date of a washed-up old has-been.” Roy kissed the top of your head. “The team will go easy on you. Its me they’ll be fucking with.”
You looked up at him, hovering above your hair. “Do you promise?”
“I promise. Now finish up, so we can get going. I want to beat everyone there.”
“Okay. I’ll be out in a minute,” you said, turning back to the bathroom mirror. Roy’s reflection swung away on its crutches, and you quickly put on the rest of your mascara before pulling the green sweater over your head and doing your hair. When you walked into the living room a few minutes later, Roy was gazing up at you with the look that Phoebe called his heart eyes.
“Is that the same jumper you wore on our first date?” he asked.
“Yeah. I remember you liked it, but I don’t have to wear it if it’s not right.”
“It’s perfect,” said Roy fondly. “They’ll all love you.”
You both walked to the car, and Roy put on his cheesy pump-up playlist for you. It only got through a few songs before you arrived at Ola’s, but it had the desired effect, and you were less anxious about the impending ordeal.
Roy was looking around as you parked the Beast. “I don’t see any of their cards,” he grunted. “Let’s get inside while we’re still in the fucking clear.” He reached toward you and squeezed your hand. “Ready?”
Squeezing back, you braced yourself and hopped out. Sam Obisanya’s restaurant, Ola’s, was a cute little corner unit deeper than it was wide. Airy curtains obscured most of the dining room from outside view, but you could see inside enough to know that you and Roy were the first ones there, as planned. Two people were bustling in the back when you opened the door for Roy, and while one ducked into the kitchen, the other approached.
“Coach!” called Sam, smiling widely. “Welcome! I’m so glad you could make it, although we’re not quite ready for everyone yet.”
Roy was obscuring you from Sam’s view while you followed him in. “Wanted to make sure that the close parking spots would be open, so we came early.” Your boyfriend stepped to the side as he said “we,” and pulled you to him.
Only for a moment, Sam faltered, then his eyes lit up as he recognized you, and realized the rumor about his coach was true.
“You’re the lady from the bowling alley!”
“Guity,” you chuckled, extending a hand to properly introduce yourself, but before you could do that, Sam took it in both of his and shook it warmly.
“I am so very glad that you are here, and that you are with Roy! What is your name?”
Roy introduced you before you could respond, and the sheer amount of pride in his voice made your heart melt a bit. He was acting like he didn’t deserve to be on your arm, not the other way around. And he was smiling, unashamedly.
“I am so glad to officially meet you,” beamed Sam, “and so glad that Coach gets to be with someone so lovely. I do hope that you enjoy yourself tonight.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Sam. If the food is as good as the restaurant looks, I’m in for a treat.”
“Do you want to sit down, babe?” Roy gestured to a table in the corner, out of view of the door.
After a last smile at Sam, you joined Roy. He practically threw himself into a chair, and then carefully stretched his knee out onto one of the extra seats.
“That didn’t go so badly, as far as introductions go,” you told him.
The man grunted. “Sam is the golden child of the team. I wasn’t worried about him. It’s the other ones that’ll be idiots about it.”
The other ones showed up shortly thereafter. From your corner, you and Roy watched the team slowly trickle in. Coach Shelley and his fiancée were the earliest, and both lit up when their gazes settled on you. Jade planted herself next to you and told you how happy she was that there would be another girl there to talk to when Roy and Nate inevitably started talking tactics. You liked Jade; she could hold her own.
Some of the second team came in next. They all greeted you warmly, and heaped verbal abuse on Roy for taking so long to settle down. One of them, Paul, was the oldest on the team since Roy’s retirement, and promised you a few stories of their time playing together before his daughter pulled him away.
The defenders and midfielders arrived together, minus Jan Maas, who was apparently late to everything. Isaac McAdoo shook your hand seriously.
“He’s good to you, yeah?” he asked.
“Of course I’m fucking good to her!” Roy spluttered. “You’ve known me for years!”
“It’s always the ones you think you know,” Isaac said darkly. He looked you in the eye, still holding your hand. “If he ever stops being good to you, you call me and I’ll fuck him up for you. You’re at a family dinner, so you’re one of us now.”
“I’ll let you know if that ever happens,” you promised, trying your hardest not to laugh at how Roy was gripping one of his crutches like he was going to hit Isaac with it. The captain wisely moved out of reach before that could happen.
Most of the team didn’t seem all that surprised to see you. You saw a few bank notes changing hands throughout the course of the night, but everyone was more or less calm about you being there. Roy even halfway relaxed, until Jamie came in with Jan Maas in tow.
“The dinner can start now, ‘cos the party’s arrived!” he called as he came in, arms wide. “Splits! What are you doing here?”
Jamie was acting like your parking lot conversation had never happened. He plopped down next to Roy and stared at him cheekily. “Coach, I’m surprised at yah. Keeping a lovely lady all to yourself? Not cool.”
“And why should I have to share every fucking detail of my life with a prick like you? You’d only make a huge deal out of it and lord it over the whole team that you knew something about me that no one else did, and then no one would leave me the fuck alone.”
“Roy,” you interrupted, sensing that the rant would have been a long one, “Jamie already knows. He saw me driving your car when I came to pick you up.”
Eyes narrowing, Roy could only growl. You and Jamie grinned at each other.
“I think it’s great, man. You needed some happiness in your life, and she seems to be giving it to you. We all knew something was going right for you, and it definitely wasn’t your knee.”
Your boyfriend’s nostrils flared once, but then he looked at you and softened, just the slightest bit.
“All right, fair enough,” he admitted. “Life isn’t terrible right now, even with my shit knee.”
“She must be special, to make you that happy. You aren’t having any sex right now with your knee like that,” deadpanned Jan Maas.
There were shouts. Half the team jumped out of their chairs anticipating a fight. You reached out to grab Roy’s shoulder, as did Jamie, you noticed. Bad knee or not, you wouldn’t put it past Roy to lunge at the taller man after a comment like that. He had already grabbed one of his crutches and was brandishing it like a club.
Coach Shelley was talking the team, and the dutchman, down. “That was uncalled-for, even for you, Jan. There are ladies present.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Coach. I can handle it,” Colin Hughes joked. It made everyone else relax, but Roy was still furious.
“I’ll kill him. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him.” His growl certainly sounded murderous. “Embarrassing you like that.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” you liked. “You told me he could be rude.”
Jamie shook his head disapprovingly. “Rude and Dutch. That was mental. He’s lucky our old man here is laid up.”
“I could still kick his ass, just let go of me!”
“How about some dinner?” Sam shouted over the din in his dining room. “Simi and I have some new dishes for you all to try.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the Beards?” someone from second team asked.
“Who knows when they’ll show up?” someone else called sarcastically. “Queenie probably pitched another fir, and they’re never on time anyway.”
You looked to Roy. “Queenie?”
A growl; Roy seemed incapable of speech as he glared at Jan Maas. Jamie answered your question.
“Coach Beard’s daughter. They named her after the chess piece. Poor babeh hasn’t forgiven them for it. She’s always screaming.”
A few of the men loudly agreed that dinner should be served before Coach Beard and his family arrived so everyone else would be able to eat in peace. You weren’t sure that any team function could be considered “peaceful,” but agreed that dinner shouldn’t wait. Sam and his chef Simi – you couldn’t figure out whether they were dating or not – brought out countless platters of delicious food, and you all dug in. With every bite, you found yourself falling in love with Nigerian cuisine. Even Roy’s bad mood couldn’t stand up to it, and soon he was listening intently to the conversations around him, his hand on your knee under the table.
You quickly learned that not many people kept to one seat. Higgins and O’Brien found their way to your table to learn more about bowling from you, and you spent an enjoyable few minutes talking strategies, moreso for O’Brien’s benefit than Higgins’. The reserve keeper had enjoyed the team bowling night so much that he was considering joining a league. You would have been happy gushing about your sport all night, since everybody at work had already heard everything you had to say, and O’Brien was willing to listen. Higgins, too; you learned that he was registered for a tournament that you were also competing in at your alley, and he wanted to know which oil patterns were going to be laid. But your conversation was cut short when the door to the restaurant opened, and a screaming toddler was dragged in by her parents.
You recognized Coach Beard; he was often shown next to Roy during match broadcasts. The woman with him must be his wife Jane, who Roy had told you was slightly insane, but in a different way than Beard was. The two-year-old looked more like Jane, and was crying as only an unhappy toddler could. Half of the team looked sympathetically at Beard, Roy included, and the other half looked annoyed. Queenie didn’t seem to be popular.
She didn’t stop crying and whining. For twenty minutes, the Beards, and eventually everybody else, tried to cheer her up while they ate, but it was useless. People started scooping her up and passing her around, just trying to keep her occupied long enough for her to forget she was upset.
It didn’t work.
People were starting to get antsy, looking at the exit as if contemplating how quickly they could reach it. Wives and girlfriends were still trying to soothe Queenie, while Beard and Jane scarfed down a meal. Jade reached out for a turn, and put her purse in front of the girl to distract her. You would be the next victim if Jade couldn’t calm her down.
Unfortunately, digging through a purse wasn’t what Queenie wanted. She looked like she was gearing up for another fit. The adults at your table exchanged glances.
“Does anybody have a better idea?” challenged Jade.
You could only shrug. The only children you had in your life were the kids in the youth league, and they were older. Toddlers didn’t make any sense to you. Nate also seemed to be at a loss. After waiting a moment, Roy let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.
“All right, give her here,” he grumbled, holding out his hands. “Don’t any of you know any kids? Fucking amateurs, all of you.”
Once he had Queenie, Roy stood her up in his lap, holding her up by her hands. They looked at each other seriously, as if acknowledging each other’s existence. Roy did the same thing with you, you realized; every time he spent time with you, he ignored his surroundings to focus on you. Then Roy lowered her hands, and rather than stand on him, the toddler chose to snuggle up on him, her front pressed against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her and tucked his chin into her curls, which she’d wedged under his head.
Ola’s was silent. Mouths hung open in shock, eyes stared at the manager. He glared at everybody.
“What are you all staring at?”
“She stopped,” Beard said, awestruck. “She hasn’t stopped in days.”
“You’re the fuckin’ baby whisperer,” chuckled Jamie.
“You’re forgetting about Phoebe. She was small once. I learned with her.”
Roy was speaking to the room, but he was looking at Queenie burrowed into his chest. There was something so gentle in the way that he was with her; you hadn’t even seen it with Phoebe, maybe because she was older. It was like he was marveling at her, or in her willingness to trust him. Seeing this gruff man melt made you fall a little deeper for him.
The team was stunned at this peaceful side of their coach. Across the dining room, Beard and Jame were having a hushed conversation. Roy was choosing to ignore all of them; he was focusing on Queenie, who was starting to look like she was going to fall asleep as he rubber her back.
“Incredible,” Nate murmured. “I didn’t know you had this in you, Roy.”
“No reason to let it out at Nelson Road,” he grunted. “Now shut up. She’s not going to stay quiet if you idiots wake her up.”
Rather than say anything else, the assistant coach went to another table with Jade. Jamie followed suit, leaving you with Roy and Queenie.
“She really trusts you, Roy,” you observed quietly.
“Hmm.”
“Any reason why? Have you babysat her before?”
“No. I think she can tell that I’m just as scared of the world as she is, and she takes some comfort in that.”
“Roy Kent is scared? What does Roy Kent have to be scared of?”
Your boyfriend finally tore his eyes from Queenie to look at you.
“Roy Kent the footballer wasn’t scared of anything. But Just Roy… He’s effing terrified of life after football, and how great it’s turning out to be, and how much could be lost if he effs it up.”
It was startlingly honest. You’d never heard Roy that open before, even when it was just the two of you. Kids were apparently his weakness, which kind of made sense. He was fiercely protective and took care of everybody he cared about; children needed caring for more than adults did, so he probably felt even more himself while he had someone small to protect. Plus, he apparently related to how he thought kids viewed the world, which probably contributed even more to his being comfortable enough to share.
Your thoughts were moving too fast and with too much emotion for you to articulate anything, so you reached out to gently play with Queenie’s hair. Roy, his chin still in those curls, snuck a quick kiss onto your hand and smiled contentedly at you. It would have been a tender moment, had Jane and Coach Beard not chosen it as their moment to approach. Some of the usual grumpiness settled back onto your boyfriend’s face once he noticed them.
“Roy,” Jane began in what could only be described as a wheedling tone.
“What do you want?”
“We were hoping we could ask you to watch Queenie for a bit. You’re so good with her, and she’s been so difficult the past few weeks…”
Beard interrupted. “We’ve got to do some stuff around the apartment, and it will be a whole lot easier without a 25-month-old screaming the entire time.”
“It will only be about an hour,” continued Jane. “We’ll be quick.”
They looked pleadingly at Roy, who rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to think for long.
“Fine, but only because she’s effing asleep, and because I’m still injured, which are two very good reasons for me not to move.”
“Thanks, Roy,” said Beard. “We’ll be quick.”
“Effin’ hope so. If you’re not back in an hour, like you said, I won’t be doing the training reports for the rest of the month, you will. That’s my condition.”
“Deal.” Coach Beard took his wife’s hand. “We appreciate this, Roy.”
There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re wasting valuable time. Now scram.”
You heard something that could almost be a laugh come from Roy as he watched the could run off.
“What are you laughing about?”
“I just got out of a month’s worth of reports,” he chuckled smugly. “It’s a ten minute trip to their flat, if they run the whole way, and they won’t. They can’t keep their hands off each other.”
“So you just agreed to babysit a difficult toddler for who knows how long, just to get out of doing some paperwork, because you know your coworker would be distracted by his wife?”
“Pretty effing smart, right?”
Roy was quite pleased with himself. He even kept conversation up for a few minutes more than usual before he let it die, and by then, Sam and Simi were bringing out the next course. Yor table was given a wide berth – nobody wanted to risk waking Queenie – but you and Roy were fin with that, and enjoyed having a break from everyone’s attention.
Until Dani Rojas walked over.
“Hola, Roy! Have you seen Coach Beard?”
At this point, it had been well over an hour since he and Jane had left.
“No, they went home to get some things done without Queenie in the way.”
“Oh. So you are babysitting, yes?”
With a suspicious look at you, Roy answered, “Yeah. Why are you fu- effing asking?”
“No reason, really. Mostly, I wanted to tell you how good it is to see you and Señora Splits here together. You look like a real familia, sitting here with the little Queen.”
You felt some color rise to your cheeks, and saw how Roy shifted his weight uncomfortably. First Jan Maas bringing up the sex thing, and now Dani Rojas bringing up a family, kids! This team definitely wasn’t shy.
“Oh! I apologize, you just started dating. These topics are probably uncomfortable, yes?” Dani glanced between you and Roy apologetically, reacting to your reactions. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”
“Dani,” growled your boyfriend as he put his hands over Queenie’s little ears, “fuck off. Now, please.”
The striker retreated back to his original seat, which left you and Roy alone again. You subconsciously started twisting a ring you always wore, your mind racing as you contemplated everything. Did you want kids? You’d never really had the urge, unlike the girls you’d grown up around, who’d had baby names picked out by the age of twelve. Nothing specifically bothered you about kids, but you’d never been in a hurry to have any. But seeing Roy in front of you, murmuring softly to Queenie…
Maybe, with the right person, domestic bliss wasn’t unattainable.
“What’re you thinking about? You’re doing your ring twisting thing.”
You weren’t ready to have this conversation yet. Not here, where a footballer could interrupt at any second. You chose to ask your own question instead.
“What were you saying to Queenie just now?”
“I was saying sorry for swearing, just in case she heard me tell Dani to eff off.” The corners of his mouth were threatening to turn upwards. “I’ve been trying so hard all night not to corrupt this baby the way I’ve corrupted Phoebe, but at some point, you have to say it.”
“I was wondering why you were censoring yourself,” you smiled. “It’s been strange.”
“Yeah. Not how I expected my night to go, but it’s been all right. My knee’s killing me from having this one in my lap all night, and I need to use the toilet, but other than that.”
“Where are the Beards? It’s been closer to two hours. You should try to get two month’s worth of reports out of it.”
The twinkle returned to Roy’s eyes as he realized the genius of your suggestion. Then he shifted Queenie higher, probably to relieve some pressure from his knee.
“Knowing those two, they’re probably all over each other. Hopefully not making another of these little gremlins, because they don’t give enough attention to the one they already have.”
“Do you think it’s an attention issue?” you asked. “She’s had attention all night.”
Before he answered you, Roy let out an aggravated sigh. “No, she’s been handled all night. None of that lot actually interacted with her, they just passed her around trying to distract her. Kids are people, too, you know. They want to feel included the same way adults do. Honestly, babe, you coach youth bowling, how do you not know this?”
“I guess I’m just good at seeing them in the context of bowling, where it’s my job to watch after them,” you mused. “But I may not be a natural like you.”
You expected the man to respond with something sarcastic, but he looked thoughtfully at Queenie once more. As did you. As much as you didn’t want to have the conversation here in the open, seeing him so comfortable with her felt like it might be a small glimpse at a future. The two of you hadn’t been together long – only six weeks – but it was serious, and future wasn’t out of the question for you.
Gradually, you felt Roy’s gaze on you. All harshness was dissolved from his face.
“I know you don’t want to talk about this in public, and I’m with you on that, but I want you to know… I don’t hate this. I think I’ve known since Phoebe was born, but I hadn’t really thought about it until my career went up in flames and I had to effing retire. I think I want a family to take care of. Kids. Or just one, I don’t know. But I need you to know that before we fu- effing go any further. We can talk about it later, when you’re ready. If you’re ready. You don’t have to be, and if it was too early to say, I’m really sorry. I can be –“
“Roy, stop.” His voice was getting high and strained, and he had yet to take a breath; you had to make him stop to breathe. “I think it may be something I want, too. It’s okay.”
And it was, you realized. The man in front of you, holding the toddler that wasn’t yours, could be something very serious. He’d taken a chance on you, somebody decidedly outside his world, and brought you in. He’d given you his trust and his weakness, and become a steward of yours. He was the baby whisperer. He could be the endgame.
It was all so simple. He could be it. And he seemed to think that you might be it, too.
“Oi, take Queenie for a second.” Always abrupt, Roy seemed to be switching topics. “I can’t stand it anymore; I have to get up before I piss myself, and before my good knee locks up.”
You held your hands out, and Roy passed you a drowsy toddler. You made sure to acknowledge her before she settled, as he had, and she didn’t fuss as she nestled into you, using one of your boobs as a pillow. Roy was already stumping away towards the back of the restaurant, and the team was busy passing around a dessert, so you were alone with your thoughts. It may have just been biology, or attraction, or the fact that sex had been reference more than once tonight, but cradling a sleepy little kid that had been handed off to you by the man you were currently seeing was doing something to your insides. A yearning was suddenly there. You could imagine a tiny, foul-mouthed menace running amuck.
Roy was it.
Roy was so distracted that he hadn’t noticed he was washing his hands with sanitizer until it found a paper cut. He swore and corrected his mistake, then looked his reflection dead in the eye in the mirror.
The man hadn’t seen himself wear this expression before. In the press, he’d always looked angry, all hard angles and glares. Having Queenie all night had melted it all away, and Just Roy, staring back at him looked… Fond? He wasn’t sure. It was something soft.
He reached for a paper towel to dry his hands, his mind spinning. Taking care of Queenie all night had ignited something warm in his chest, which felt suspiciously like his heart. But it wasn’t really about Queenie, was it?
No, it wasn’t. It was about the woman who’d been beside him, who hadn’t flinched through this whole night. And its many twists, turns, and blunt footballers. Splits had exuded grace all night, and he hadn’t consciously noticed until this moment how peaceful his normally-raging thoughts were whenever he was with her.
Just Roy was wearing heart eyes when he looked back in the mirror.
“Fuck. She’s the one.”
As he hobbled out of the toilets and back to the table, Roy knew with more certainty than he’d ever had in his life. He wanted to serve her, to protect her, to have her, to love her. For her to hold his kids as gently and tenderly as she was holding Queenie right now, who hadn’t even noticed the return of her parents.
Fuck being Roy Kent. He wanted to be Just Roy with her. Splits was it.
She smiled up at him when he got closer.
“Better?”
Why was she asking if he was better? Oh, right, his quick retreat to the toilets, which had been a bit of a lie because he’d needed to get his emotions in check more than he’d actually needed to go.
“Yeah, much better, thanks. How was Queenie?”
“An angel,” Splits answered. “You’re onto something with this whole acknowledgement thing. I was just telling the Beards.”
Jane was wearing an irritated expression, probably mad that other people were telling her how to manage her own child. Beard just looked thankful that said child wasn’t currently screaming. They both looked red and puffy around the mouth. Roy was pretty sure that they’d been making another fucking gremlin, and to his surprise, was insanely jealous.
Fuck, he was falling hard. It scared him how intensely sure he was that Splits was the one.
He had to get out. It was too much, being around his team, his family.
“Are you ready to go?” he questioned, more harshly than he’d meant to.
She shrugged. “Yeah, we can go. Is your knee bothering you?”
“Something like that. Beard, you were gone for two hours, not one, so I’m expecting two months of training reports.”
Coach Beard was nothing if not fair. As he took his daughter from Splits, he nodded stoically. “Fine. You held up your end.”
“Well said.”
Roy pulled out his girlfriend’s chair and turned for the exit. He’d wanted to sneak out, but the whole team saw them leaving and called out goodbyes. Sam, of course, thanked them for coming. Jamie, less predictably, shouted, “Good night, Kents!”
In his peripheral, the manager could see Splits was stifling a smile and waiting for his reaction. Roy didn’t correct Jamie, only flipped him off without turning around. He ushered his girl out of Ola’s to the Beast, then turned on one of his playlists. He texted his father as she drove them home.
Me: Need to talk. Call tomorrow?
Dad: About fucking time. Your mother’s upset you haven’t told us.
Me: ???
Dad: typing…
After a moment, his father sent a link to a post on The Sun’s social media. It was a photo, sniped through the window of the restaurant, of him in profile holding Queenie and kissing Splits’ hand as she played with the little girl’s hair. They’d been caught, but he fought down the anger rising in his throat. He typed out one last message.
Me: It’s new, but she’s fucking amazing. Do you still have Nan’s stuff?
With that, he closed his texts and pocketed his phone. He reached over for Splits’ hand, resting on the center console while she waited for the light to change, and took it.
It was missing a vital piece of jewelry. He needed to fix that.
Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh @onceuponaoneshot @chewymoustachio @my-neurodivergent-world
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Four: Feelings
(2.1k words)
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), discussion of mental health (anxious/insecure thoughts)
Summary: You start to realize that maybe you’ve caught feelings when you can’t stop thinking about Coach Kent.
After the chaotic visit from AFC Richmond, you thankfully had a day off. You stayed in, not leaving your modest little apartment – no, flat, they were called flats here. You stayed in, not leaving your modest little flat and found yourself thinking again about Roy Kent.
How you had managed to touch his hands twice, you would never understand. Only you could be that awkward. But he could have handled it better. Running away like that didn’t fit his dark, moody persona. Even you knew that Roy Kent’s main dynamic when he’d played had been that of unbridled rage.
You randomly flipped your TV to Sky Sports for some background noise while you did a few chores. AFC Richmond was a fan favorite, so coverage often turned to them. In most clips, you could see Coach Kent shouting in the background. He was passionate, you had to give him that. It was interesting…
The comments that the little girl, Phoebe, and Jamie Tartt had made wouldn’t leave your mind. There was no way you could be considered even remotely fit, right? You were a bowler, for crying out loud!
But if there was attraction, it might explain the bizarre reactions. And the fact that he’d come back, yet hesitated to come inside. And the small talk before he left yesterday… Could he be attracted to you?
No. No way.
Something you hadn’t experienced in a long time was bubbling up to your chest. Butterflies. The joy of finally being wanted again. And by a footballer! If it was true, you’d never doubt anything again.
Reality soon crashed back down on you. You were a naturalized citizen working a low-paying job at a bowling alley. He was a high-profile figure with two decades in the sports world. Believing that he fancied you was a sweet daydream, but nothing more. A morning spent googling had shown you what his past experience with women was, and it was nothing like you.
Still, he had come back.
If he came back again, you’d consider the possibility that Roy Kent was interested in you.
The greyhounds were wrapping up another training, and their spirits were sufficiently recovered following their loss at Brighton. Montlaur was back off of the DL, but O’Brian was in for Zoreaux at goal until his sprained wrist healed. With their formation changed, Roy and Nate had been drilling them endlessly. Roy had let Nate lead; he didn’t want to overwhelm O’Brian, who hadn’t had so many minutes in goal for years. His mind was otherwise engaged, anyway.
After the bowling day, Roy Kent had given up on forgetting about Splits and given control to Just Roy. That Roy had been trying to come up with an excuse to go back, but everything seemed too desperate. Which he was, desperate for connection, but he didn’t want it to be so fucking obvious.
Today, though, as he saw one of the boys snapping a selfie halfway through training, inspiration struck. When he had first visited the bowling alley for Phoebe’s birthday, Splits had had to take the photo for the wall. She had been so busy when the whole team had been there that no picture had been taken.
Except Higgins had taken one to send to Ted in America.
Roy almost smiled, but caught himself. If he got the picture from Higgins, he could go back under the pretense of giving it to Splits. He’d wait until training was over, and then pay Higgins a visit. It was a perfect scheme. Fucking perfect.
Higgins, of course, obliged. Roy now had the excuse he needed. Tonight, he would go see Splits.
Two days after the chaotic visit from AFC Richmond, you had another shift at the bowling alley. Lettie, the owner and a woman you adored like a grandmother, was waiting so eagerly for you to clock in that you knew she had gossip, but you hadn’t guessed what it could be when she told you.
“There was somebody here to see you last night!” she practically buzzed. “You didn’t tell me you had a man these days!”
“I didn’t know I had one,” you answered, confused. “Who was he?”
“He said his name, but he sort of mumbled it, so I couldn’t properly hear him. But he specifically asked after you, and he seemed a bit disappointed when I told him you weren’t scheduled. I told him you’d be back today, and he perked up. At least, I think he did; he was so intense!”
You knew you had to interrupt Lettie or she would ramble forever. “What did he look like?”
“Oh, he was a handsome lad, but maybe a bit older? Dark and brooding, but shy; he hid in his eyebrows the whole time he was here. But that body! Built like an athlete, he was!”
“Lettie, stop, you’re married! What would Cecil say?” You laughed, but only partly at the older woman. Partly, it was nervous laughter. It sounded like she was describing Roy Kent. He had come back, and been disappointed when you weren’t there! The butterflies flared to life in your stomach.
“Did he say he was coming back today?” you asked, hoping you sounded casual.
“Well, he didn’t say it in so many words, but he nodded, and like I said, he did seem to perk up when I told him you were on today. I’ll be sure to be in the back when he shows up, so you can flirt with him properly.”
You couldn’t hide the blush that was rushing to your cheeks. Lettie was too much; she was always overly invested in everybody’s dating lives, and she’d be the first to admit it. She reached over and patted your shoulder encouragingly before she left with one word of advice.
“Let him pursue you, dearie. Nothing makes a lonely girl feel more valued than being pursued by a man.”
“Thanks, Lettie.”
You had a lot of time before the normal weekday crowd came in to ponder Lettie’s words. It was true that you were lonely, painfully so. You didn’t see yourself as desirable or interesting, and you hadn’t for a while. It was hard to see yourself as anything but bland. But when Roy Kent walked up to the front doors of your bowling alley, where would see him hesitating through the tint of the glass, you started to hope.
He seemed to by talking to himself. Maybe pumping himself up to approach you? That seemed to be the case, because when he stopped, he walked purposefully to the door and stepped inside, directly toward your counter.
“Welcome in!” you called as he approached. “What brings you back?” You hoped your tone was normal, despite the way your heart was currently beating in your throat. He was all in black today with an amazing leather jacket, and it was working for him.
He came straight up to you, as close as the counter and the register would allow. You kept your hands firmly planted on that counter, and like last time, his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.
“I wanted to come back and give you a picture for the wall. You seemed fucking busy the other night and didn’t ask for one, but our team’s operations manager took one, and I have it if you want it.” Roy’s words seemed a bit rehearsed, you noticed.
Smiling, you replied, “You didn’t have to do that, Coach Kent.”
That apparently wasn’t the response he had been expecting, because it took him a moment to form his next sentence. “Of course I did. I didn’t want you to get in trouble for something you had no control over. We were a big enough group to be a proper fucking nuisance; this is the least I can do.”
He was holding back. There was a restlessness in the way he was standing, shifting his weight from side to side. It mirrored the way you were feeling. Behind Roy, you could see Lettie watching through her office window, motioning like she was pushing you or Roy forward. You twisted a ring on your right hand – an anxious habit of yours – and took your figurative step forward.
“I really appreciate the thought,” you said, noticing the way he stood a little straighter as he heard you, “and you will be saving me from a lecture later. Can I see the picture?”
Roy took his phone out of his back pocket and unlocked it for you. It was a different angle than most of the celebrity pictures, shooting across several lane approaches. It layered the team, who were all looking up with impromptu, genuine smiles. It was the best picture you’d seen taken in your bowling alley.
“This is great!” you exclaimed happily. Then, motioning to your manager’s business card by the register, you added, “Can you email it to this address? That way my manager can have the joy of printing it out.”
Roy made a sound that seemed more like the clearing of his throat than one of the grunts you associated with him, and answered slowly. “Not to be too forward, but I was hoping I could text it to you?”
Stunned, you blinked. Had Roy Kent just asked you for your phone number? You heard yourself stammering like an idiot as you told him he could. Roy opened a new contact and held out his phone for you, which you took and tapped in your name and number before handing it back to him. He texted you the photo, and you added his contact to your phone. Then the two of you looked at each other.
The man in front of you was the first to break the silence; you were following Lettie’s advice and letting him do the work. He held your gaze with his dark eyes and didn’t break it.
“Look,” he said, “I really came here because I think you’re fucking fit, and I wanted to get your number so I could talk to you. If you’re not interested, just tell me now and I’ll leave you alone and go be a fucking idiot somewhere else. I’ll honor whatever you decide.”
He finished his speech and dropped eye contact to look down at his shoes. Your heart was beating so hard in your throat that you could barely swallow. You looked over his shoulder at Lettie’s office, where the old woman was giving you two thumbs up, and found your voice.
“I’m interested,” you said. “Really interested. Thank you, Coach Kent.”
Roy transformed in front of you. A massive smile stretched hugely across his face, hiding his eyes and dazzling you. He tried to stop it, but he wasn’t able to. He grinned at you uncontrollably.
“Fuck yeah! I’m so glad. But please, no more of this stuffy ‘Coach Kent’ bullshit. Call me Roy.”
“Okay, Roy,” you said, stuck in your own uncontrollable smile.
Lettie was clapping excitedly in the background, and Roy was oblivious. He finally managed to get some of his self-control back, and was smiling with closed lips, his eyes twinkling now that they were visible. You both looked happily at each other.
“Right, are you free in the next night or two?” he asked.
As quickly as you could, you opened the shift schedule on the computer. Roy was leaning on the counter trying to see it. You looked through the week’s calendar and huffed.
“I’m scheduled for the next three afternoon to evening shifts,” you told him. “The first I’m free is four days from now.”
“That’s not fucking ideal, but it’ll do,” the man said gruffly. “It took me almost that long to work out an excuse to come in here and ask you out. I can wait that long. Would you like to go out with me in four days? Just somewhere casual where we can get to know each other?”
You nodded. Roy Kent was asking you out!
He smiled that dazzling smile again. “Cheers! I’ll see you then. Until then, I’ll text you.”
His mission successful, he turned and strode to the doors beaming. Before he exited, he looked once more at you and gave you an awkward little wave, and then he was gone. Lettie immediately rushed out of her office and held you at arm’s length, studying you closely.
“Well?” she demanded.
“I have a date with Roy this week!” you squealed. Then you both hugged each other tightly and jumped up and down in celebration.
Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Three: Dual-Purpose Distraction
(3.1k words)
Summary: After a loss, Roy takes the team on a night out to distract them from said loss. He may or may not have ulterior motives.
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), discussion of mental health
Brighton had not gone well. Roy had watched in disbelief as Montlaur and then Zoreaux had both been injured and subbed out, and the team had lost the match. His boys were dejected as they piled onto the coach for the drive home.
Jamie had tried to cheer everybody up by turning on the music loaded to his phone and bravely shuffling it, and Beard broke out his David Bowie impression, which got a few laughs. However, most of the men sat quiet and discouraged in their seats. Roy was fuming, although the casual observer would note that his lips were moving without him realizing when he recognized a song. He could feel the low morale laying heavy over the bus and its passengers.
Bravely, Higgins got up to sit next to him when they were about halfway back to Richmond. Roy growled at him, but the older man ignored it. They sat in silence until Roy couldn’t take it anymore.
“The fuck do you want?”
“You looked like you used to when Ted was around and you were too stubborn to ask him about something that was bothering you,” said Higgins. “I’m a sorry substitute for Ted, but I’ll listen if you like. Our own little meeting of the Diamond Dogs.”
“Did I really have all that shit written on my face?” He wouldn’t admit it, but Roy was a little impressed with Higgins. The man was deceptively wise.
“Not all of it, but I know what it is to miss a close friend.”
“I do miss him,” Roy conceded. “He always knew how to make them see a little hope. He was better at this manager shit.”
“If you want to have the Lasso effect, you just need to try thinking like Ted. He would want to do something to distract them from the loss today and get them out of their heads. A movie night or a meal out. Anything, really.”
“Hmm… They’re good ideas, to be fair, but they feel too normal. We always do that,” pondered Roy. He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head, thinking, wracking his brain for something. His normal activities were reading, and cooking, and other introverted things. What he did with Phoebe and his sister Sofia were more inclusive.
Roy stood, squeezed past Higgins, and made his way up to the front of the bus. Jamie and Beard sat down, pausing their musical act, and watched him apprehensively. He walked slowly up the aisle – having had a serious knee injury made a person keen to avoid another one, which would be inflicted by walking on a moving bus. When he got to the front row, he leaned over the driver’s shoulder.
“I’m going to reroute us,” he said bluntly. “How do I change the satnav?”
The driver tapped a screen and a keyboard popped up. After a quick google, the manager tapped in an address, and the new route started. Straightening, Roy turned around and looked around the bus. As all eyes were already on him, he didn’t shout.
“All right, listen up. We’re all in a shitty mood because of the loss. Ted would’ve had something inspirational to say, but we all know I’m not Ted. All I know how to do is distract us until we forget about it.” He nodded at Higgins in silent acknowledgement of their conversation before continuing. “So that’s what we’re going to do, going to get ourselves fucking distracted for the night. I hope you don’t have any other plans.”
“Where are we going, Coach?” asked Bumbercatch.
“Wouldn’t you like to fucking know.” Roy sat down next to Jamie in the second row and crossed his arms. He was pleased with his choice; he didn’t think his team would guess where they were headed or what they were going to do. He was surprised he’d picked it, himself. It wasn’t what he expected from himself; he wasn’t typically that forward.
He massaged one hand with the other, passing the pads of his fingers over his knuckles, where just so recently... No. That wasn’t why he’d fucking made this choice!
Beside Roy, Jamie observed the anxious, wistful hand movements, and the address in the satnav, which he recognized. He fixed his mentor in his most suggestive side-eye, head tilted down and eyebrows quirked, until Roy noticed.
Just Roy’s heart nearly stopped. The prick had figured him out. Fuck.
You were at the counter, trying to read an online article. You’d consistently gotten through the first paragraph about six times today, before an interruption had presented itself. It had been an oddly busy day, which you attributed to your own terrible luck, as there was absolutely no reason for half of the house to be full on a weekday afternoon. You saw movement in the parking lot from the corner of your eye, but chose to ignore it and hope it went somewhere else. You really wanted to finish the article sometime this millennium, and tried to power your way into the second paragraph.
You weren’t that lucky. The movement in the parking lot was that of a bus unloading an army of footballers. They were milling around tie dye guy, who you now knew was Roy Kent, manager of AFC Richmond.
With a frustrated sigh, you closed the tab with the online article; there was no way you were reading it with all these athletes coming inside. Because these guys were proper athletes, and in your experience, those were the types that got the loudest when they realized their sporting skills didn’t translate to bowling. Your hair went up, and you braced once again for the difficulty of a large group. At least they all had socks, since they had their uniforms on; you didn’t think there’d be enough money in the register to make change for twenty-something uses of the supply vending machine.
A bespectacled man and a young man carrying a bunch of water bottles came up to your counter ahead of the herd.
“I’m so sorry, but do you have enough lanes to accommodate a football club?” Glasses guy was familiar; he bowled a weeknight league with his wife, and you were pretty sure he had a locker here.
Checking your computer, you answered, “I can give you lanes 17 through 24. Will that be enough? Each lane can fit eight to ten people.”
“That’ll be plenty, thank you. I’ve seen you around, right?”
His question confirmed your theory that he was a regular. “Yeah, I’ve traded shifts for a few weeknights before. I thought I recognized you.”
“You may not want to, after this,” he apologized. “Sorry in advance.”
The first of the footballers came bounding in, either voicing their disdain or their enthusiasm for the evening’s activity. Jamie Tartt swaggered straight up to you, put his arms on the counter, and grinned.
“Heya, Splits! Do you remember meh?”
Rolling your eyes, you quipped back, “How could I forget? Was this your idea, coming back to see if I was fit enough to risk Roy Kent’s wrath?”
To his credit, Jamie had the decency to look embarrassed. “I were being a proper twat, and I apologize. I’m trying to be better. But no, it weren’t my idea. It was all Coach.”
You looked up, past Jamie, to where the last few men were getting off of the Richmond bus, Roy among them. It had been his idea? Maybe Phoebe’s comment had had some truth to it. He was glancing inside hesitantly, and although you knew that he couldn’t see you through the tinted windows, you felt your ears warm ever so slightly. The thought that anybody could find you fit in any way felt foreign.
The clearing of a throat brought you back to reality. The young man with the water bottles had a sheet of paper in his hand that he was extending towards you.
“This is everybody’s boot sizes,” he was saying. “Hopefully that makes it easier.”
“It will, thank you so much.” You turned to the team now standing in front of you and raised your voice a bit to address them all. “You guys will be on lanes 17 through 24. Give me a minute to get all of these shoes ready and go find yourselves some balls.” There were more than a few snickers at the balls comment, which you fully knew you’d walked into, but you charged bravely on. “Once you’ve done that, come back here.”
All but Jamie dispersed to find a ball that fit; he waited at the counter. You couldn’t figure out why, until you saw Roy Kent finally enter your bowling alley. He didn’t seem pleased to find him standing there expectantly.
“What the fuck do you want now? Go and look around like everybody else! Quit waiting for me!”
He was in a mood. They must have lost the game they were obviously returning from. Either bravely or stupidly, Jamie ignored his coach’s orders and adopted an innocent expression.
“Splits is here.”
“I can see that. Now piss off.”
As he had at Phoebe’s party, Jamie gave you a wink before sauntering away. Which left you and Roy Kent staring at each other. You couldn’t tell what the coach was thinking – he kept his face impressively blank – but your mind shot back to your previous encounter, where you’d startled him, then maybe insulted him by not recognizing him, then accidentally touched his hand. You didn’t know how to react.
He made the choice easy for you and nodded curtly. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
You noticed that he had stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“I have your shoes.”
“How the fuck do you remember my shoe size?”
You waved the sheet of paper. “The younger guy gave me a list. I’m guessing he’s the kit man?”
A grunt. It could be interpreted as a yes. Nothing else from Coach Kent. You grabbed a pair of rental shoes and held it out to him. “Here.”
As Roy Kent came forward and you reached out, your hands touched – again – and this was more contact than the mere finger brush last time. He froze, then quickly took the shoes and scurried off.
Talk about awkward! You banged your head softly against the counter and groaned. What were the odds of that happening twice?
Roy groaned as he retreated from the front desk. What were the odds that the woman would think that could happen twice? And what had possessed him to surge forward to grab the shoes? Was he that fucking touch-starved, that he needed to manufacture physical contact with fucking strangers? He flung himself onto a couch with Higgins, Beard, and Nate and set about angrily removing his trainers and putting on the bowling shoes. The other three men looked at each other behind his back and shrugged their shoulders. Nobody could decide whether it was better to engage, or just to let him stew until he was ready to come out with it.
Roy was done tying the laces and stood up to stare at them all. Only Nate was brave enough to break the silence.
“All right there, Roy?” he asked.
“Great,” Roy retorted. “Never been better.”
“You ready to tell us what’s going on with you?” questioned Beard. He leaned back, anticipating his fellow coach to blow. The old Roy would have, but Just Roy flared his nostrils, took a deep breath, and then looked at Beard, Nate, and Higgins.
“Like I told the team,” he ground out, “it’s my shit. None of your fucking business.”
“All right. But when you’re actually ready to talk, let us know.”
Rather than stay and face them, Roy left. He told himself it was so he could find a bowling ball, but he knew that he was running away. He didn’t know how he felt yet about being interested in someone again. It always made him feel incredibly vulnerable. The world expected moody, mysterious Roy Kent. The real Roy was lonely and just wanted connection with another human being who wasn’t interested in him being a footballer – no, a manager. Not a footballer anymore.
He surveyed the bowling alley. Everyone was having a decent time. It seemed a happy enough place, with its garish red walls and photos of local celebrities hung in frames across the soffits. Roy’s head was on a swivel looking at them all, then at his greyhounds. They were good boys, already losing the melancholy from the match. Higgins had his phone out, taking a picture of them, and they all exuded an easy comfort at spending time with each other. He kept looking around, settling his gaze just a moment too long on the girl at the counter.
Fuck, he was interested in her. She was just as awkward as he was, and she hadn’t recognized him at Phoebe’s party.
Plus, she was fit. So fucking fit.
Roy forced himself to look away. Staring creepily at a random woman was more than inappropriate; it was dangerous. If the paparazzi found out, it could cloud the whole team’s reputation. Plus, now Jamie knew. The manager couldn’t let on just how interested he was in Splits.
Hell, he didn’t even know her real name.
His team was starting to bowl. Roy could overhear snippets of their conversations as he walked by each lane. Jamie, Isaac, Dani, and Colin were horsing around, teasing Jamie about something.
“I’m just saying, a guy could do a lot worse!” Tartt was laughing. “She is fit!”
“She does have a very happy smile,” agreed Dani.
“I dunno, she’s not really my type,” Colin said, drawing a few laughs.
“That’s because nobody like her is!”
“Shut up, Isaac!”
“You walked into it!”
Suddenly, they all noticed Roy and shut their mouths. Roy glared at them.
“You talking about me?”
All four lads remained silent, although Jamie seemed to be struggling not to smile or laugh. The only response they gave was a communal shake of their heads. Roy stared them down until they started to squirm.
“We were talking about the pretty lady at the counter,” Dani eventually volunteered. “Jamie brought her up.”
Jamie snorted, like he was fighting for his life against laughter. Roy squinted at him and grunted.
“Doesn’t she look nice, Coach?”
Ooh, this was fucking evil shit. By asking, Jamie was forcing him to look over at her, knowing full well how expressive his eyebrows were. Jamie was getting annoyingly smart.
Roy turned to look at Splits, then quickly back to the boys. “She’s fine, like most people. Now get started with your game, before I decide to cancel team bonding time and make you fucking run home!”
Exchanging looks, Dani, Colin, and Isaac started bowling. Jamie grinned at his mentor one last time before joining in. They were all unfortunately on the lane next to Roy’s, so he would have to deal with them for the rest of the time they would be there.
Bowling did prove to be a good distraction. Everyone was equally terrible – except Higgins, of course – so the competition was fierce, and spares and strikes were celebrated loudly. Even Roy found himself relax slightly, and he was one of the worst bowlers of the lot. He had to put up with Jamie’s suggestive glances, and all of the Diamond Dogs on his lane, but he had people, and it was nice to feel surrounded rather than alone.
Higgins obviously won the day. With O’Brian winning among the non-bowlers after two games, AFC Richmond were ready to go home. Will began gathering everybody’s shoes. As Roy untied his, he had a stupid idea and started helping. The younger man seemed surprised, but happy for the help. Pretty soon, he and Roy both had armfuls of shoes.
“You go on ahead, Will. I’ll make sure none of these idiots have left anything behind,” Roy offered. He wanted Will done and gone from the counter when he went up. The team were already loading onto the bus, so he wouldn’t have to worry about any nosy players or obnoxious Tartts. Will was thanking Splits before he left, and a line of people was waiting between him and Roy. The manager shifted his weight to better balance the mountain of bowling shoes in his arms.
“I’m so sorry for the wait!” called Splits in the midst of charging a credit card. “You can dump those on the counter and I’ll deal with them later. You don’t have to wait.”
“I’m fine waiting. No rush.”
Truthfully, the shoes were becoming harder to balance by the second, but Roy Kent was determined. He would talk to Splits.
Finally, he was next in line. He did his best to set down the pile gracefully, but there were just too many shoes. He got them all on the counter without any falling, and that would have to do. Splits smiled, and Roy’s wait was made worth it.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll just count them real quick and make sure I have them all.”
“Take your time. I wouldn’t put it past one of these clowns to wear a pair home without fucking realizing it.”
“It happens more often than you’d think.”
There were a few beats of silence while she counted. Roy didn’t want to distract her, but he also didn’t want to lose the chance to speak with her. If only he hadn’t ignored small talk all these years!
“Your accent is different. Not in a bad way, I just can’t place it. Have you been in England long?”
“A few years,” she replied. “My dad was Army, so I grew up moving almost every year. I guess I picked up bits and pieces of whatever the local accents were.”
“That’s cool.” Roy had the distinct feeling that he was dangerously close to seeming extremely lame. “But you’ve stayed?”
“Obviously,” laughed Splits. “I like it here. I’ve never really had a group of my own, but here, it feels like I’m the closest to having it. I have all the shoes, by the way, so you’re good to go, Coach Kent.”
“Hmm. Cheers.”
Roy made no move to leave. He knew he should, but he hadn’t made any real progress here. He cleared his throat.
“Right. Well… Hope to see you around.”
“You, too!”
She seemed to react positively. Proud of himself, Roy turned and left. If he seemed less Roy-ish to anybody on the coach, none of them commented on it. Roy was in good spirits until he replayed the interaction in his mind.
He still hadn’t asked for her name.
He was a fucking idiot.
Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Five: First Date
(2k words)
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), discussion of sexual expectation
Summary: The long-awaited date night arrives, and you and Roy both consider the self-doubt that comes from having been alone and the hope of being alone no more.
Roy had waited four very long days for his date with Splits. He had restrained himself from texting too much with her, although he was still texting a few times a day, just to ask a few introductory-type questions, and to set the actual plan for the actual date. He hadn’t called, or shown up again at the fucking bowling alley, despite how much he’d wanted to, because he didn’t want to scare her off. And he didn’t think he’d let on how excited he was for the date in their short texted conversations. He had established himself as a proper dweeb by saying he’d meet her after work – like some idiot who worked in an office park or some shit – but Roy felt that was his only mistake so far.
He was so nervous to do things right. He’d thought he had with Keeley – fuck, he’d thought she was the one – but he obviously hadn’t. Or worse, he had managed it, but he still hadn’t been enough. He wanted to be enough for someone, so fucking badly. He got to the restaurant almost an hour early and sat in his car listening to an old pump-up playlist; he was that intent on doing things right.
When it was fifteen minutes until the agreed-upon date time, Roy summoned his nerve, got out of the car, and stood by the door of the restaurant to wait for Splits. People looked at him as they walked past, double-taking at seeing the manager just standing there. At five minutes until date time, he started getting nervous. He should have offered to pick her up, but he hadn’t wanted to creep her out by asking for an address. Why hadn’t he offered? Why was he such an idiot??
But then, at three minutes until date time, she was there, walking around the corner. She had taken “casual” literally, thank fuck, and opted for a green jumper and plain tan pants with black boots, but she was a vision. No extravagant hair or makeup, no dress that he wouldn’t be able to touch without breaking. She was the first non-celebrity he’d ever asked out, but she looked better than any of them. She looked like a real person.
Roy knew, right then and there. He was in trouble.
Splits smiled and waved when she saw him, and Roy smiled back. She seemed genuinely happy to see him, he noted with satisfaction.
“Hi, Roy,” she greeted shyly as she walked closer.
He nodded, smiling nervously. How was a man supposed to act on a first date with a normal girl he actually liked? Why hadn’t he thought to look it up beforehand? Why did he even care? He just had to be natural. What thoughts were coming naturally?
“You look really fucking nice,” he said. His body was moving of its own accord; he only realized a split second before it happened that he was going in for a hug. She leaned into it, thankfully.
“Thank you. I didn’t know where we were going, so I didn’t want to overdress. Which restaurant are we going to?”
“It’s perfect. I really like it,” said Roy in reference to the sweater. Then he took a few steps, grabbed a door, and opened it for her. “I’m bringing you to my favorite fucking place. Do you like kebabs?”
“I love kebabs.”
“Good. Hus makes the best kebabs.”
Allowing her to go in first before following, Roy grinned a brief grin to himself. He then got his face back under control and led Splits to his usual booth and sat down. She took a moment removing her purse and then sat across, which confused him a little bit, until he realized she had done it to give him her full, uninterrupted eye contact.
She had fucking warm, kind eyes. Roy felt himself getting lost in those eyes through the course of the date, and was vaguely aware of how much he was smiling, even laughing.
Yep. He was very much in trouble.
Fuck.
Roy Kent wasn’t what you’d expected.
He went for the hug, for instance. You found yourself enveloped in the smell of his cologne and the embarrassed warmth of his embrace. He was nothing but respectful, and gave you his full attention as you got to know each other. You kept catching him blinking intensely, like he was forgetting to take his eyes away from you.
The man was funny, too. You kept finding yourself laughing as he talked. He was so blunt. And that laugh! You didn’t know if it was because he was trying not to laugh, or if it was just naturally like that, but he laughed like the Ernie character on Sesame Street. You told him so without meaning to, and got a smile out of him for it.
“That’s a great compliment,” he announced. “I fucking love the Muppets.”
You giggled. “That surprises me!”
“Why? The Muppets are the peak of humor. Nothing is as funny for kids and adults at the same time. Do you know how many shit children’s programs I had to watch when Phoebe was younger? Sesame Street and the Muppets were the only ones that didn’t make me want to claw my fucking eyes out.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” you teased. The shop owner came to the table with the bill before you could say more, and you automatically reached for your bag. It was a move made out of habit, but Roy saw it and held out a hand for the check while shooting you a glare.
“The fuck are you doing? What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for your food? You’re my fucking date, and I’m paying for you.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve just been on my own for a while.”
When you looked up at Roy, his jaw was clenched.
“Don’t apologize. That was a prick move, and I’m sorry. I just… I’m enjoying myself tonight, and I hope you are, too. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting anything out of you.”
That was more encouraging than anything else he could have possibly said. You hadn’t gone out with someone in a long time, partly because of how much modern men seemed to expect out of women on first dates. Your last first date, nearly two years ago, had expected you to carry the conversation and allow all of his advances. He’d said he hadn’t wanted anything from you, but his conduct had said otherwise. When he’d tried to worm his way into your apartment for a hookup at the end of the night, you’d seen your way behind your locked door and blocked his number. Roy’s behavior up to now was backing up his claim that he didn’t expect anything out of you, and you felt very safe around him.
He was signing the check and putting his credit card away, looking anywhere but at you, and you realized you hadn’t responded to his incredibly sweet statement. You could see the muscles in his jaw working, his eyebrows creeping together.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “For?” It seemed he’d been stuck in his head, too.
Shrugging, you replied, “For dinner, and not expecting anything, and for being so kind. I’d sort of given up on dates because a lot of men aren’t. Kind, I mean.”
Roy grunted. “A lot of men are pricks. I should know, I coach a bunch of them. Shit, I used to be one. It’s taken me a long fucking time to start to change, and it’s sucked most of the way.”
“Well, thank you for doing that work on yourself,” you murmured. “I’ve had a great night.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, treating you to another small, close-lipped smile. Then he slid out of the booth and motioned for you to follow him. “But we’re not done yet, if you’re okay with that?”
You could hide your excitement at you jumped out to follow him out of the restaurant through the door he held for you. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing fancy. A walk in the park, maybe?”
“That sounds great. Is there a park nearby?”
“No, we’ll have to drive. Are there any by you?”
There was, about two blocks from your flat. You told Roy as he opened the passenger door of his G Wagon for you, and was familiar with the area. You laughed as he cursed out the poppy music that blasted out of the stereo when he turned the key, teasing him for creating a pump-up mix and listening to it before a date. He surprisingly didn’t rebut you and admitted it was dorky.
You were very quickly at the park, and did a few slow laps of it together. Roy kept a respectful distance from you and kept his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, although you did notice that he kept putting himself between you and anybody else in the park. He asked questions with the intention of listening and learning more about you, and made you feel like the center of attention. When you tried to do the same to hm, he somehow steered it back to you with minimal effort.
When it started getting dark, you navigated toward the park exit, back to his car. He was quiet once more, obviously thinking. You hoped it wasn’t about how bad the date had gone compared to one with, say, a supermodel. You were happy with how things had gone, but your benchmark was pretty low.
“It’s getting dark, Roy. We should probably think about wrapping up.”
He nodded with a grunt. “I suppose. You said you lived close?”
Pointing at an older block of flats in the distance, you replied, “That’s me over there.”
“Hmm. That’s fucking close. Walk you home?”
Your heart soared as he fell into step next to you. He wanted to walk you home! It was a quiet walk, but it was a nice one with this handsome man at your side. You reached your building all too soon.
“This is me,” you said, unsure of what to say further. “This was fun.”
“It was,” agreed Roy.
Smiling, you quickly went to fish your keys out of your purse. As you did, you had a brief argument with yourself. You like Roy. You really liked Roy. But you didn’t know how ready you were for him. The polite thing to do would be to invite him in, but was that too much too soon? You weren’t that kind of girl. But it would be rude not to. How would he react, either way?
Only one way to find out.
“Would you like to come up?”
To his very great credit, Roy looked surprised. Then he thought about it, bouncing his head back and forth for a second before shaking it.
“No,” he answered. “I’m fucking flattered, but I want to do this right.”
A small part of you was relieved. “Okay, then. Well, thank you for a lovely evening. I had a really, really nice time with you.”
Roy nodded. “I did, too.”
You went to unlock entrance to your building, when Roy Kent closed the distance between you. He had the softest expression on his face, his hands still in his pockets.
“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.
Breathless yourself, and unable to speak due to how heavily your heart was beating in your neck, you could only nod. Roy leaned down and tilted his head to place a chaste kiss on, surprisingly, your cheek. Then he straightened and took two steps backwards. He looked up at the sky, and you could see him flashing that dazzling smile once again, just for a second, before he looked back at you.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” you echoed.
With one last grin, he turned around and started the walk back to his car. You went upstairs to your humble little flat feeling as though you were flying.
Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Two: Being Better
Words: 1.2k
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), discussion of mental health, past medical trauma
Author's note: A short one this time around, but I'm quite proud of it. They get longer after this. Enjoy getting a look inside Roy's head!
Roy Kent, the whistle-less manager of AFC Richmond, was done thinking about women. And he was happy being friends with Jamie Tartt, and he wasn’t at all hurt that Keeley Jones was now back into women after he was her last man. Doctor Fieldstone had helped him figure all that out, and she had pissed him off doing it. He respected her for that. Roy Kent told himself that he could handle being Just Roy.
So why was he still mad, a week later, that he had been Just Roy at Phoebe’s birthday party, and that fucking Just Roy had been distracted by an incredibly fit woman at the bowling alley? Why did it matter so much that her hand had brushed his?
The team had noticed that something was off. Beard, Nate, Higgins, and Will had even convened the Diamond Dogs to address it, but Roy had firmly shut it down. Only Jamie was close to figuring it out, bless him, and that was only because the little prick had been at the birthday party. He had the full context. Once he put the pieces together, Roy knew it was only a matter of time until he blabbed it to the other Greyhounds, so he had to get himself under control before then. If he had to be a bit more brutal in training to wear them out, then so be it.
After a particularly rough training in which Isaac was on the verge of attacking Roy, Beard pulled the manager aside.
“Whatever you have going on, Roy, you need to cut it out. Your opponent is the other team, not your team. These boys are about to break.”
Roy growled. If only Beard knew! But then he looked at the pitch, and his team being dejected all over it, and knew Beard was right.
Fuck.
“Oi! Circle up!”
The players did so slowly, cautiously. They looked at him like they were expecting him to blow up. He hated that.
“I’ve forgotten that this is a game that we’re supposed to play. For fun. That’s on me, and I took out my shit on you. That was… wrong of me, and I’m… sorry.”
“Is it shit we can help you with?” asked Dani Rojas, the only player who wasn’t quaking in his boots expecting Roy to snap. He was such a golden retriever, it was unbearable.
“You don’t know what’s going on in my life for a reason, and I’d like to keep my shit my shit,” said Roy, because he didn’t want to have a repeat of his team’s involvement in his relationship with Keeley. Not that the girl at Phoebe’s birthday party was even an option. He’d never see her again, and he didn’t care. “Just deal with your shit, and I’ll deal with mine, and I won’t get carried away at training again. Deal?”
All of the guys rumbled their agreement. They looked relieved, Roy noticed. Then he noticed Sam Obisanya’s hand up. “Yeah?”
“Coach, I think in this situation, we should all remember what Coach Lasso used to always say was the happiest animal.”
Joining in, Nate added, “Sam is right.”
With a roll of his eyes, Roy allowed the smallest of smiles “I will try to be a bloody goldfish. Now get out of here. We’ve got Brighton in two days, and I don’t need you lot dying on the pitch before then. The bus leaves tomorrow at half-ten. Dismissed.”
AFC Richmond all parted ways there, and Roy eventually found himself sitting on the sidelines alone. He enjoyed his life – of course he fucking did – but he was reminded of what he’d had before he’d started managing the club and trying to better himself. He’d had people. They hadn’t been perfect, but he’d had places to hang out other than his empty house. Now he was technically above them, and it would probably be inappropriate to hang out with his players.
Trying to be better made you feel like shit.
He had to go inside; sitting out here alone was too depressing. But he didn’t have to face the team if he stayed out here, and he didn’t have to go home to the empty house that was too big for him. At least here, he was on the pitch, even if he wasn’t playing.
Although, why did he have to keep from playing? Now would be the perfect time, with nobody out here but Will, who was cleaning up the drink station.
“Oi! Will!”
The young man looked up. “Yeah?”
“Bring me the fucking balls, will you?”
Grabbing the mesh bag full of training balls, the kitman jogged up to Roy and held it out uncertainly.
“Not a word to the boys,” growled Roy as he took the bag.
“No, not at all, Coach Kent,” Will promised, backing away.
Now left to his own devices, Roy dumped the bag at the penalty marker and nudged one of the balls into place. He hadn’t shot a penalty, or kicked a ball at all, in a long time. Even when he’d played, he hadn’t had many opportunities on goal as a wide midfielder.
He stretched quickly, then squared up at the box. After taking a breath to steady himself, he backed up three steps and charged.
The football flew up into the top right corner of the goal, ricocheting off of the side post with a clang. An ugly shot.
Roy repeated the process four more times, hammering the ball into the net. On the last show, he planted his leg a little too abruptly and felt his knee twinge painfully. Fuck. It hadn’t slipped out of position, but it was close. He’d have to ice it tonight, alone on his couch or in his bed. He hated that; being laid up with nobody to talk to and distract him. He’d have to start a book and hope it was good.
He packed up the balls, limping slightly as he brought them into the training facility and stowed them in the equipment room. It was a disorganized mess; someone had dumped some old things from the upstairs offices to store in there. His old standee was there, randomly, from his first season with Ted, his last as a player. The cardboard Roy Kent was only from a few years ago, but the real Roy had a hard time recognizing him. The cardboard Roy had been miserable. He’d been younger, yes, and he definitely looked it, but in addition to the general lack of aging on his face, he lacked the smile lines that had started to appear more noticeably around his eyes and nose.
Maybe he was better than he’d been then. He was older now, yes, and he had a shit knee, but he wasn’t as miserable.
“Dr. Fieldstone’s turned me soft,” he muttered. His knee hurt, and he was immediately turning to all of the work they’d done on the way he thought about himself rather than sulking about it. It was fucking annoying. He wanted to be mad. He was going home to stew about being old and alone with his fucked knee in his empty house, he decided.
But first, he hobbled out the long way, through the locker room and to his office, to place a hand on the sign. Because he had to Believe that things would be better eventually.
You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.
Roy Kent x female reader
Will try to update roughly every two weeks
Chapter Seven: Deserving Something Good
(2.4k words)
Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), periods, past medical trauma, injury, mentions of addiction, fluff
Summary: Roy considers the results of his disastrous night out. He tells Phoebe about them, with your support.
Due to the throbbing in his very-swollen knee, Roy hardly slept. He could have taken the prescription he’d been given in hospital, but he refused because he didn’t want to get addicted; he’d seen a few rivals fall to it during his career, and he wasn’t going to let that happen to him. Plus, a small, niggling part of him felt he didn’t deserve the relief, since he knew he had felt warning signs that his knee was going to give out on him but had ignored them and kept bowling. So he spent most of the night awake and in pain.
It hadn’t been a completely horrible night, though. He’d found the fucking courage to talk to Splits, he kept thinking smugly. They were official now. And she’d said that she didn’t think he was old, which was a sweet lie. Hopefully he didn’t fuck it up with her and would be able to keep her around for a while.
Roy did manage to sleep for a few hours, which was honestly more than he expected. He naturally woke up around 3:30, when he would have gotten ready for a run with Jamie, and texted the young superstar that he wasn’t feeling up to it this morning, and to go without him. After receiving an emoji in reply, Roy battled his way up and into the downstairs bathroom for a shower. Thankfully he’d kept the shower chair from last time he’d fucked his knee.
He hit a slight snag after the shower: he hadn’t thought to ask Splits to grab him fresh clothes for this morning, so he had to put his pajamas back on. He always tried not to wear them when Phoebe stayed with him, as he wasn’t sure how appropriate it was for an 11-year-old to see her uncle in boxers. Couldn’t be helped now, though.
He hadn’t thought to replenish his supply of contacts down here, either. Roy had started wearing dailies during the pundit gig at Sky Sports, when he’d realized that he couldn’t read the prompters, but it was something he kept hidden. Not even his family knew that his vision was shit now, but that would have to change today.
Later in the morning, Roy was in the kitchen. He’d dragged a barstool in front of the stove and stress baked a loaf of quick rise bread. While it had risen, he’d dug through his junk drawer, which was the hiding place for the pair of glasses he’d bought in case he’d hated the contacts. They were simple black plastic frames, and they’d never been worn before today.
Roy was sipping coffee and reading with his back to the house while the bread finished cooling when Phoebe came out of her room. He didn’t look up, or turn his stool, when he heard her enter.
“Morning, Phoebe,” he droned. “Sleep well?”
The man heard a thunk. He swiveled the barstool and saw his niece’s head on the counter. “So that’s a ‘no,’ then?” he asked.
When Phoebe spoke, it was in a growl that would have made Roy proud under different circumstances. “I feel like shit,” she said. “Being an adult sucks.”
Roy hadn’t forgotten about her new ailment. He had a mug of coffee, which he’d never allowed Phoebe before, that he plunked down on the counter in front of her. When she raised her head, she first double-taked at it, and then at her uncle’s face.
“Since when do you wear glasses, Uncle Roy?”
“Since I got old, Pheebs. It’s been a couple of years. Now drink up; Keeley always said caffeine helped when she was on her period. I’ve got all the fancy creamers and shi- crap in the fridge.”
Phoebe hopped down from her barstool, took the mug, and lumbered to the refrigerator. As she poured out an unholy amount of vanilla creamer, Roy said one more thing that made her give him a glare.
“Erase the tab. You used a bad word. That was our deal.”
Although she glared, Phoebe knew better than to argue with Uncle Roy about the tab. Their one rule about it was that, if she got caught swearing before the end of the month, that month’s debt was reset, and he didn’t have to pay her for any of his language before the reset point, only everything after.
That didn’t stop her from going to her room, bringing back her notebook, and making a great show of ripping out, crumpling, and throwing away the page where she’d been tallying his language. It was so exaggerated that Roy couldn’t help but laugh.
“Do you want some French toast? As a peace offering? I made the bread this morning.”
Phoebe nodded and tried her vanilla creamer. Roy reached for a pan in one of the cabinets, but it was just out of reach from his barstool, and he only managed to knock it onto the floor with a metallic clatter. He and Phoebe both flinched at the noise, Roy more so. He hoped he hadn’t woken up his girlfriend upstairs.
His girlfriend. Upstairs. Fuck, Phoebe didn’t know that he’d finally gotten the balls to ask Splits out officially, or that she had spent the night in his bed. Granted, he hadn’t also been in his bed, but still. He typically tried to set a good example for Phoebe.
The noise had woken her up, it turned out. Footsteps thumped across the ceiling, and he could hear the shower running. About 20 minutes later, Splits came downstairs. Her hair was wet, and when she sat down at the bar to say good morning, Roy could smell all of his soap, shampoo, and deodorant on her.
“I hope you don’t mind I used your shower,” she said. “And your product.”
He didn’t mind, although he was embarrassed that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned the shower. But seeing her there in his stolen tee shirt and joggers, smelling like him… it felt right. His house didn’t feel empty with her and Phoebe in it. For once, it had people in it; people he was making breakfast for, surprisingly feeling like he deserved this slice of a quiet existence. Like he could smile without trying to hide it.
Phoebe was watching him with her hand over her mouth, like she was hiding her own smile. He stared at her until she looked away, and then turned his attention back to the stove, and his girls’ breakfasts. French toast was easy to make, and he quickly had three plates ready for eating.
“Right, come take yours,” grunted Roy. “I can’t carry it for you.” He looked to the woman wearing his extra pajamas, and as soon as he was close enough, pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Good morning, babe.”
“Good morning,” she returned with a peck on the forehead. “Nice glasses. Very studious.”
“Thanks, I fucking hate them. Can you grab my plate for me? I can’t manage it and the barstool and the crutches.”
She happily obliged, and even grabbed his coffee before he realized he’d need help with it. She was an angel. After Roy dragged his knee and his stool back to the bar, he sat down close enough that his arm was brushing hers. Phoebe was watching them both intently.
“You weren’t this touchy last night,” the girl observed, “and it looks like Miss Splits slept here.”
With a grunt, Roy said, “That’s because she did. It was too late for her to walk home, and I obviously couldn’t drive her.”
“Did she sleep in your room, Uncle Roy?”
Fuckin’ hell, this child. How was he going to explain this to Phoebe? Or, he realized, to his sister? He wasn’t just corrupting his niece; he was corrupting Sofia’s daughter. She would make his life a living hell if he didn’t get this right. Roy tried to think of what he could possibly say to explain this, but a gentle hand laid on his arm caused him to momentarily forget the English language.
“Yes Phoebe, I slept upstairs in your Uncle Roy’s room, but that’s only because he was a gentleman and slept downstairs on the couch,” explained Splits.
“And because I can’t drag my ass up those stairs,” Roy growled.
Phoebe marked the first tally on a new sheet in her notebook. “Okay, so she slept here. And borrowed pajamas.” Her subtext was clear; she was hinting that she knew something had happened between the two adults the previous night, but she didn’t know exactly what.
“We didn’t do anything naughty, Phoebe,” said Splits. She shot a side-eyed glance at Roy as if to ask are you going to tell her, or am I?
The man grunted to clear his throat, trying to find the words. “Okay,” he ground out, “last night, after you went to bed, I talked to Splits and asked her to be my girlfriend.”
Leaning forward eagerly, Phoebe asked, “And?”
Roy felt his face go all relaxed as the tension left it. He was aware that his smile was threatening to take over, but he didn’t seem to be able to fight it. “And we’re going out.” God, that sounded so dorky! He was definitely getting old.
Phoebe was thrilled. She hopped off of her seat and squeezed herself between the couple to hug them. “That’s wonderful! She’s amazing, Uncle Roy. She helped me a lot last night.”
“Thank goodness for that. I didn’t know what to do. Speaking of, there are napkins in the cabinet by the shower in your bathroom. Do you need anything else?”
“No, I’m okay. I don’t feel as nauseous today. I should get ready for school, though, so I’ll put some in my bookbag.”
Phoebe gave the couple one last squeeze and then left the room, leaving them alone. Splits linked her arm through Roy’s and sighed happily as she looked up at him.
“You have stuff here?”
“What?” he shrugged. “I have a little sister, and have been around women before. I may not look it, but I do have some sympathy in me.”
She laughed. “You don’t project it often. It makes you more human when you do.”
“Hmm. That, and my shit knee. Work is going to be interesting. A gaffer who can’t walk? The press are going to have a fucking field day.”
Roy was trying to make light of it, but he was worried about the logistics of the next few weeks. He couldn’t drive like this, or do hours of standing at training and matches. Some of the tension must have returned to his face, because his girlfriend started rubbing small circles on his arm.
“Do you need a driver?” she asked. “I’m not scheduled today, so I can help out if you need me.”
Yep, she was an angel. He wasn’t one to ask for help – it was uncomfortably vulnerable – so she’d asked for him.
“That would be fuckin’ great. Thanks, babe.”
They spent the next few minutes plotting out the day. Roy made a quick list of everything he’d need from upstairs for the day, which Splits was happy to fetch for him. He wasn’t ready for the team to know about her, so she’d drop him off late, after dropping Phoebe at school and stopping at her flat so she could change into clean clothes. Those delays would hopefully mean that the team would be in the weight room by the time he limped into Nelson Road, and nobody would know about Splits. He knew it was only a matter of time before they found out, but he’d protect her anonymity as long as he could.
A few hours later, the plan had gone perfectly. Splits pulled up to the doors of the Earl Greyhound Training Facility, where there wasn’t another soul around to notice her behind the wheel of Roy’s monstrous vehicle, or see how he almost fell out of it as he tried to maneuver the crutches. After he caught himself, he just stood there looking at Splits.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just- Thank you for everything the past 12 hours. Couldn’t have done it without you handling all this girlfriend-level shit.”
“I’m glad to do it,” she smiled, and Roy almost felt guilty, like he didn’t deserve someone this great. She continued, “When do you need to be picked up?”
Tilting his head, Roy thought aloud. “You don’t have to pick me up. Jamie lives close, and he owes me for the extra training, so I can probably guilt the prick into driving.”
Splits wilted a bit, like she’d wanted to drive him. Now that he thought about it, he realized that she’d enjoyed getting to drive. And he knew she didn’t have wheels of her own.
“Do you want to borrow the car for a bit?” he blurted out.
His question surprised her. He’d surprised himself, to be honest. “Are you sure, Roy?”
“It’s not like I can fucking use it. You’d be doing me a favor, really; the battery’ll die if nobody drives it, and then I’ll have to call somebody to change it.”
“Roy, I can’t take your car. It’s…” Splits struggled to find an argument, which amused him. “I do like driving it,” she conceded.
“Then take it, babe. Use it to pick me up on the days you’re not working, and I’ll guilt Jamie into doing the rest.”
“I’ll have to meet Jamie properly, since we’ll be sharing custody of you.” Her eyes sparkled at her joke, but Roy could only roll his.
“I’m not letting you anywhere near each other,” he growled. “I’ll never have any peace.”
“Yeah, but you’ll be surrounded by people who care for you, which can’t be all bad.”
Hope blossomed in Roy’s chest as he thought about having people. He didn’t want to believe it, so he waved a dismissive hand at Splits.
“Hmm. You don’t know Tartt. Fucking annoying little prick. I should get in there, make sure he isn’t getting out of hand.”
Splits nodded, a fond smile on her face. “Okay, boyfriend. Have a good day, and let me know if you need anything.”
“You have a good day, too. Have fun driving the Beast.”
“I will!”
Roy closed the passenger door and gave a wave. She waved back and tapped the horn twice before driving away, leaving Roy to gather his courage, summon his sternest coach face, and hobble into training.
If anybody questioned the crutches, they were going to fucking get it.
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