phillipa mannion was never much of a spiritual person, but she couldn’t help but feel the ghosts of her childhood as she walked through the halls of afc richmond.
she had foggy memories of her mum taking her into the club to meet the players and let her run around the pitch while her father holed himself in his office, barely taking notice of the two.
she remembered when rupert first took rebecca on tour of the club when she was fifteen. rupert brought phillipa along with them, doting her along more like a new accessory, a handbag or a rolex, more than a daughter. he bore the attitude of a fervent hostess instead of the disinterested absent father and husband he did in the past. all of these feelings came to a head when she saw a picture of faces all too familiar hanging on the wall.
there phillipa was, except standing at about 3 feet tall, brown bugged eyed and curly blonde hair tied into two pig tails - perched onto her father’s shoulders. players dressed in richmond kits rallied around the pair, champagne bottles being popped and cameras flashing in the background. phillipa knew this picture all too well. it was a stinging reminder of what could have been - if she was a more obedient, a more passive daughter. if her father only loved her more.
after hiring the most vicious lawyer money could buy and fortunately a weak prenuptial agreement, phillipa’s stepmum was able to gain ownership of her father’s beloved club following the divorce. honestly, it bewildered phillipa as to why rebecca would want to fight for rights over richmond instead of the various beachfront properties he owned - she thought her and rebecca shared the same disinterest in football.
to add to her confusion, rebecca fired richmonds long time coach, george cartrick, and hired an american university football coach from some southern state phillipa couldn’t remember the name of. despite her surprise, phillipa was determined to support rebecca fully, however dull she thought football was, she was ready to make new memories with the club - which was why she was showing up bright and early on the new gaffer’s first day to introduce herself.
phillipa felt the loud voices of men shouting and jeering dull to a whisper as she walked into the locker room.
“is that phillipa mannion?”
“she’s a mega famous model, mate”
“what is she doing here?”
“her family owns the club, you dumb twat”
she recognized most faces from the telly, but none that she knew personally. she stopped visiting the club and going matches together regularly over five years ago. “hiya, boys” phillipa said putting on a face that exuded false confidence, "don't think you’d be able to tell me where the new gaffers are, would you?”
“in there office, there” a gruff voice sounded out from the crowd, phillipa definitely recognized him. roy kent. chelsea fucking legened, although slightly past his prime, as the tabloids said. he gestured to the door attached to the locker room.
“don’t know why you’d wanna talk to those pricks” phillipa heard a thick mancunian accent mumble behind her. she knew all too well who that belonged to. jamie fucking tartt. absolute legend on the field but absolute prick in pretty much everything else. although phillipa wasn't much into football, she still saw various posts and articles written about the prick; as well as many stories from girls she’s modeled with telling her horrific date stories when they’ve gone out with the self-involved football player. she chose to pretend to not hear his snide comment.
phillipa gave a quick rap on the door before going into the coach's office. she was met by two men, one sitting on his desk, with a nose in a book, the other mustached man seeming to be decorating his side of the room.
“so sorry i don’t mean to intrude but i’m-” before phillipa could finish her sentence, the mustached man cut her off.
“well golly, you must be pippa”
“uh yes, yes i am”. although it wasn’t new to phillipa for strangers to know her name and call out to her on the streets and ask for a picture together, she didn't expect this from the new coach. he didn’t seem like the type to have a vogue subscription, nor would he know to call her the nickname that was reserved for friends and family.
“thought i recognized you from the pictures in boss lady’s office,” the mustached man stuck out his hand. that makes more sense, phillipa thought. he must have already met rebecca in her office. phillipa would be lying if she said her cold english heart wasn’t slightly warmed by the fact rebecca kept pictures of her in her office, a gesture she could never dream of her own father doing. “im ted lasso, richmond’s newest coach, and this here his coach beard, my righthand man in everything, ain’t that right beard?” he gestured to the man who barely bothered looking up from his book.
“nice to meet you” he hardly grunted out before diverting his eyes back down.
“well i don’t want to interrupt, i just wanted to come by and introduce myself, oh and give you these” phillipa handed two baskets to ted.
“it’s just a little ‘welcome to england’ basket i put together”. the basket contained a few of the quintessential british snacks - percy pigs, jaffa cakes, and cadbury chocolate, as well as tickets to a west end show to see cabaret and trip up the london eye and a vip pass to go explore buckingham palace.
“aw well that was mighty nice of you” ted gushed.
“what's this?” the man who phillipa learned was coach beard, held up a piece of paper scribbled with her handwriting and an envelope.
“oh that’s the best part” philippa laughed, “it’s my own personal itinerary for the best pub crawl in london, and some cash for it”. that seemed to excite beard. “ well, i’ll leave you be and let you lot continue settling in, it was nice meeting you.” phillipa gave them a warm smile.
“thank you for the baskets, it was awfully kind of you, feel free to stop by anytime, alright?” ted said in a warm voice coated with southern charm. as phillipa left, she couldn't help but have a good feeling about this new team.
before she left nelson road, phillipa had one more stop to make. she headed for the luxurious office upstairs, a place she was never allowed to venture as a child.
“pippa! what on earth are you doing here?” her stepmother, rebecca exclaimed, a genuine look of surprise on her face.
“just wanted to visit you and your very own football club” pippa emphasized. “and say hello to the new gaffers, figured i should be making a good first impression”
“since when do you care about football?”
“since you owned the club” pippa shot rebecca a sincere smile, only to be met with an expression one could only describe as guilt written all over her stepmum’s face.
how odd. phillipa thought.
a/n: huge thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged the last posts for this series, it seriously is so motivating to keep writing!! like i said this is gonna be a slowww burn so not too much jamie content yet but defo more to come soon ;)
phillipa mannion sat in the back of her rolls royce with a pit in her stomach.
she thought about how she never learned to drive. her father always scoffing and insisting that he was too busy at every opportunity she asked him to teach her. why do you need to know how to drive, phillipa? her father would ask her, with a roll of his eyes. we have drivers for that.
so there she was, twenty two years old needing to be chauffeured for her every move. well if i am to be toted around like a child, phillipa thought, at least it's in a rolls royce.
it had been six months since the news broke that phillipa’s father had been cheating on her stepmother with anything that walked and had a pair of tits, and six months since she finally decided to call the best lawyer in london and leave the prick. phillipa had never been prouder.
her relationship with her father was always strained ever since her mother died when she was five. instead of being the doting widowed father, he decided to pretend to be a single bachelor who had never been married, or fathered a child, and preferred to distract himself with his "flavour of the week" women. he sent phillipa off to the most prestigious boarding schools in foreign countries and keep her occupied with nannies during the little time she was home. it wasn't until rebecca came along, when phillipa was fourteen, that she felt like she actually belonged in her father's life again. rebecca took genuine interest in phillipa, which encouraged rupert to do the same. phillipa had dealt with her father long enough to know it wasn't genuine. that the loving father persona was only an act to impress rebecca, and the press and tabloids. but even if it she knew it was fake, she liked to pretend that it wasn't, that she actually had a normal family like everyone else; and for awhile, it actually did make her feel better - that was until six months ago. when she was reminded of the true person her father is. when various models and actresses and socialites came forward claiming they had been having an affair with her father the entire time he was married to rebecca.
despite her father owning the club since before she was even born, phillipa couldn't remember the last time she set foot in afc richmond. it was rupert's "sanctuary" as he liked to call it. even if she wanted to visit more and learn about the club in which her familial name was tied so closely to, her father would often wave her off, claiming he had some stressful work to do that she needn't worry her pretty head about.
as her driver dropped her off, phillipa felt the knot in her stomach tighten, looking up to see the "RUPERT MANNION TRAINING FACILITY" sign that hung above the entry way door. as if returning to her father's former club wasn't painful enough, his name had to be plastered for all to see. still, phillipa held her head up high and marched into the club.
a/n: sooo exicted for this jamie fic!! wanted to just make the instagram profiles for my babes to set the vibe <3 this fic is with an oc but can be read as a self insert (bc i love an x reader fic myself) get excited for the chapters to come soon, it's gonna be a long slow burn and start at season one!!
upcoming ted lasso season got me out of writers block!!! who would be interested in a LONG jamie tartt x mannion oc (self insert-ish) series... got some parts in the drafts
Jamie took a sip of his pint. “Cut yourself shaving?”
“Shut up.”
The striker’s grin grew. “Drop your curling iron?”
“Shut up.”
Despite the fact that all he really wanted to do was go home and have an extra-long shower after watching a few choice F1 interviews, Roy allowed himself to be dragged out after the match for dinner at Ola’s. If he’d known he was going to spend the whole time being harassed by Jamie fucking Tartt, he would have told everyone to fuck off when they invited him.
He wanted to scream when Keeley plopped down on his other side.
“Did you see our special guest at the match today?” she practically sang, waggling her eyebrows. “Couldn’t keep her eyes off the dugout.”
“Was kind of busy coaching a fucking football game,” Roy grumbled, slouching, wishing he was like Jamie, who carried around concealer in his stupid little fanny packs. Then he could’ve covered up the gorgeous little mark you’d left on his jaw.
Keeley leaned close. “Well, she looked much less put together than usual,” she continued, as if Roy wasn’t shooting daggers at her. “She had her cute little Ferrari hat, but you could tell her hair was a mess. And her skin was pretty red and blotchy. And she kept squirm-”
“What the fuck are you implying?” he growled, as if he wasn’t the reason for that messy hair and red skin and- fuck- squirming.
“So, where’d you do it?” Jamie leaned forward. “Showers? Weight room? Boot room? Supply closet? Fuck, it was the changing room after all left, wasn’t it?”
Roy stood, chugging the last of his beer. “Right. Fuck both of you, I’m heading home, where no one makes stupid fucking accusations to make their own stupid lives more interesting.” He gave a little salute. “Cheers, pricks.”
He ignored their protests and pleas to stay as he stalked out of the restaurant, nodding to his players as they called out their goodbyes. As he got in his car, he glanced at his phone, gulping when he saw he had a message waiting for him.
You ruined my panties, Kent. Thanks xx
~
For a couple of days, Roy found himself glued to his phone. It wasn’t like the two of you were texting nonstop like fucking teenagers or some shit. Just sporadic messages, murmurings of what you were each up to, some selfies you sent him for the sole purpose of teasing him, and one swear-infested rant about how Jamie almost hit him with the ball during training.
It was only a few messages exchanged, but Roy was determined not to miss a single one.
On Wednesday night, you sent Roy a picture of you in a stunning red dress, complaining about some event you had to go to. It took a lot of restraint on both sides to keep from admitting how badly you both wished he was your date.
Roy stared at his phone, keenly aware of the quickly growing tightness in his pants. Fuck, how was he supposed to respond?
His clouded brain settled for a simple you look beautiful have fun before setting his phone on the coffee table, deciding he needed a drink before he let his horniness take over.
He settled himself on the couch with his beer and a book, but he kept wondering how your night was going. It was probably full of cameras and reporters and people exclaiming about how gorgeous you were, and there were probably multiple guys vying for your attention, guys not as stupid and annoying as his idiot Greyhounds. It was his nightmare scenario, an evening at a public event with plenty of annoying people, and yet part of him wished he was there with you.
Old man that he was, Roy fell asleep, woken up late into the night by his own snores. Wiping the drool from his face and doing his best to avoid dwelling on the steamy dream he’d been having, he turned out the lights and dragged himself to his room, phone in hand.
After stripping down to his boxers, he crawled into bed and let his fingers tap away on his screen until he had pulled up your Instagram. He found a particular video he’d watched several times, one featuring a beach and you wearing a lovely little bikini. His free hand was just dipping under his boxers when the pinging of his mobile startled him, causing him to drop his phone onto his face.
“Fuck,” he hissed, readjusting himself. Fucking Jamie must be drunk texting him again-
Nope. Definitely not Jamie.
Roy gawked at the screen for a moment, taking in the view. Fuck. Now he really wished he’d been with you this evening. Without quite knowing what he was doing, he hit the call button by your name and held the phone to his face, trying to keep his breathing steady as it rang once, twice-
“What took you so long?” Your purring voice had an edge of teasing that sent his heart into overdrive.
“You have a nice time at your thing?” He sat up, trying to keep his voice even; a particular challenge considering the image you’d now planted in his mind.
He could hear your bored little hum. “Not bad. You know how these things are.”
“Yeah,” was all he could manage.
Smiling at the nervous tone in Roy Kent’s voice, you slid off the chair you were perched on and crossed over to your bed, leaving your now forgotten glass of wine on your nightstand before laying down on your belly. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
Roy stared at the tent that was forming in his bed. “’course not,” he assured you. “I was up.” Shit.
You stifled a giggle at what you hoped was a double entendre. “What were you up to, then?”
Definitely not having a wank to you. “Nothing much,” he managed. “Just laying down.”
“In bed?”
Roy felt relieved to know your minds were both heading in the same direction. “In bed,” he confirmed, feeling his mouth tug upwards. “Your chair comfy?”
You chuckled. “Moved over to the bed myself, actually.” You paused, gazing at the ceiling. “How’s your jaw?”
He let his free hand trace over the beautiful little mark, which he’d admired in the mirror earlier in the evening. “It looks like I lost a fight with a fucking vacuum cleaner, thank you very much,” he joked.
“Anyone notice?”
“Only Keeley. And Jamie. And the whole team.” He rolled his eyes at the memory of all those eyes on his face, all those raised eyebrows and suspicious grins. “Lots of fun questions after the match.”
You rolled over onto your back. “Sorry about that,” you murmured, your tone anything but sorry.
His smile turned soft. “Kind of worth it,” he admitted. He cleared his throat. “Heard you looked a right mess, though,” he teased. “And something about you spending half the match watching the dugout.”
“Yeah, A.F.C. Richmond has this very fit manager.” You absently twirled a strand of hair around your finger. “Gets me all excited.”
Roy licked his lips. “You excited right now?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Your free hand skimmed the exposed skin of your tummy; you wished it was Roy’s hand. “Maybe. What about you, Roy Kent? Does something have you excited?”
There was a half moment of hesitation at his end. “D’you want the honest fucking truth?”
“Sure.” His pause had you curious about he wanted to tell you.
“I…” He cleared his throat. “I was actually already… getting excited when you texted me.” He couldn’t believe he was admitting this. “Looking at, er, pictures of you.”
Well fuck. You were already feeling frisky- hence the text you’d sent him to start all of this- but fuck, you felt your panties dampen with your arousal. There was no doubt Roy could hear your breath hitch at his confession.
“Which pictures?” you asked breathily, squirming at the image you conjured of Roy, in bed, touching himself and looking at you.
An embarrassed grin crossed his face when he realized his admission had turned you on. “Some fucking Instagram post of you on the beach. You’re in a swimsuit… this fucking bikini and… yeah.” He ran his free hand over his face.
Roy Kent didn’t have phone sex. Sure, he’d received more than a few dirty pictures over the years. And he and Keeley had liked to text each other what they wanted to do once they got home. But lying in bed, all alone, spurred on by his own imagination and the sound of your voice?
He’d try anything once. For you, at least.
Your breathy giggle had him feeling slightly less embarrassed. “Yeah, I know that post,” you murmured. “You often go stalking through my Instagram?”
“Sometimes,” Roy admitted softly, biting his lip. “Like you said, good way to relax before a match.”
“It’s not before a match, Roy,” you pointed out, your face on fire at the thought of Roy getting off to photos and videos of you.
Roy’s low chuckle had your entire body pulsating. “You got me there,” he hummed. “Maybe I was… just thinking of you.”
The smile you wore felt far too giddy; you needed to get this conversation back on track. “And tell me,” you asked in your most sultry voice, “what did those bikini photos make you think of?”
He got the hint. “Made me think of when you visited us in Leeds,” he murmured, his free hand dipping below the sheets again. “You, on your knees. Just the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.”
Your own hand traced a trail down to your already wet panties. “That was fun,” you sighed. “You were pretty fucking delicious.”
“Was I?” Roy palmed himself through his boxers; fuck he was hard.
“Uh huh,” was all you managed as you let a single finger trace your pussy lips through the damp material. “Just wish I could taste you now.” You held in a moan as you began to stroke yourself. “What do you wish I was doing right now?”
Roy’s chuckle was dark, sexy as all hell. “Well, I would love it if you could help me with this fucking boner you gave me.” He wrapped his hand around his clothed cock.
You grinned, mouth practically watering at the thought of Roy Kent’s hard dick. “What makes you think I’m not going to help you?” you purred. “Of course, you’re going to help me with my own little situation.”
His cock twitched in his hands. “And what situation would that be?”
Even though he couldn’t see it, you gave a little pout. “Well, I’m laying all alone in bed, and my panties are getting all wet. Any suggestions?”
“Fuck,” he huffed, stroking himself. “You should- shit- I dunno, touch yourself?”
Roy’s face was bright red. Not for the first time with you, he felt so fucking old. He didn’t know how to do this, or what he was supposed to say. His embarrassment was almost enough to kill his boner and make him hang up.
The soft groan that came through his phone brought him back. “Under or over my panties?” you whispered. You weren’t stupid; Roy Kent was not the kind of guy who had these kinds of late-night conversations. But the adorable earnestness and desire in his voice had you wanting to guide him through it. Mostly, though, your horniness had you refusing to hang up on that stunning man.
He had to admit he was grateful for the help. “Under,” he husked. “Go under.”
Eager to please, you did as you were told, dipping your hand under the soft material. You let out a sigh as your fingers grazed your wetness. “What about you? Are you touching yourself for me?”
Those last two words had him shuddering. “Over my boxers,” he admitted. “Should I, er, change that?”
“Yes, please.” You had to stop yourself from completely begging as you slid one finger through your slick. “Fuck, I wish it were me.”
“Me too,” Roy groaned as he slid his hand into his boxers and wrapped his hand around his hardness. “Fucking wish you were here, that gorgeous mouth of yours.”
You closed your eyes and brought your finger to your pulsing clit and began rubbing slow circles. “Fuck, Roy,” you breathed. “How hard are you right now?”
Roy sighed as he began stroking himself. “Really fucking hard. Just for you.” He licked his lips, thinking of you, laying in bed, touching yourself, writhing around, thinking of him. The image was better than any bikini photo. “Wish you were here to do something about it.”
“Oh, I’d do a lot about it if I was there.” You increased the pressure on your clit, hissing at the pleasure. “I’d be on my knees for you, Roy Kent. And I’d swallow everything you had to give me.”
“Actually,” Roy chuckled, his mind conjuring up some dirty pictures. “Would love to see those tits of yours all covered. Bet you’d look fucking great.”
Your soft moan told him you liked the sound of that. “Next time,” you breathed, moving away from your clit and to your needy cunt. “You can cover me all you want next time.”
His cock twitched at those two magical words: next time. “Where’re your fingers?” he asked, letting his thumb sweep over the precum that was leaking out of him. “Fuck, please tell me they’re inside that pretty pussy.”
Fuck. It was as if he knew. Of course Roy Kent knew. You answered him with a lewd moan as you slid a finger inside yourself. “Yeah,” you cooed. “It’s really fucking wet for you, Roy.”
“Fucking love when you say my name,” he rasped, increasing his pace. “Fuck, can you say it again?”
You were more than happy to oblige. “Roy,” you whined, adding a second finger to your wetness. “Fuck, Roy.” You let out a whimper as you pumped in and out. “I wish you were fucking me, Roy. Fucking me the way you did in the boot room that day, all fucking desperate and dirty.”
Roy’s eyebrows flew up. “You like it dirty then?” he teased, relishing the memory of you in the boot room, head thrown back as you tried to keep quiet, looking like a fucking goddess. “That’s really fucking good to know.”
“Why?” you shot back, grinning as you pictured his sexy smirk. “You going to give it to me dirty?”
“Oh, you have no idea.” Roy was starting to like this phone sex thing. He could get used to it. “Babe, I want you on this bed on all fours. Then I’ll show you desperate and dirty.”
You weren’t sure what had your pussy clenching around your fingers- the confidence in Roy’s voice, the image of you on your hands and knees for him, or the sweet pet name he growled out, not to mention the idea of being fucked in Roy Kent’s bed. Either way, you let out a little whimper as you began to squirm on your mattress.
That whimper had Roy moaning. “Fuck you sound beautiful,” he cooed. “You always sound so beautiful. Bet you’d sound beautiful in my shower.”
“You want me in your shower?” You couldn’t help smiling at the image- you, pressed up against a steamy glass door, Roy having to hold you up because you can’t feel your legs anymore, that perfect cock stretching and filling you.
The idea was almost enough to make you ignore the fact that Roy Kent had now mentioned having you over twice over the course of this phone call.
“I want you every-fucking-where.”
Your hips rocked against your hand as you listened to Roy’s ragged breathing, his soft moans. Your skin grew warm as you wondered if he could hear the wet sounds filling your quiet bedroom, sounds he usually helped you make in hotel rooms and, apparently, locked boot rooms. You wondered how it would sound if he was making those noises with you here, now, in your bedroom.
Fuck that sounded good.
“’m getting close,” Roy growled, his voice strained. “Wanna hear you come, gorgeous.”
Your pussy clenched at that word. Gorgeous. Hearing Roy call you that sent a shiver through your whole body; it seemed to be his favorite word to call you.
“Fucking want you,” you managed to whine as you pumped in and out of your soaked cunt, wishing that your fingers were Roy’s cock. “Fucking need you inside me, Roy.” Your release grew closer and closer as your back arched. “That fucking cock stretching me out.”
“Bet those fingers of yours aren’t as good as my cock,” Roy groaned, his grip tightening as he felt his own orgasm approach. “Love burying it inside you, fucking you the way you deserve. Like a fucking queen. My fucking Empress.”
Electricity flowed through your veins as you let out a silent moan.
Somehow, he knew.
“Let me hear you, gorgeous,” he begged, eyes screwed shut. “Let me hear those pretty fucking sounds.”
“Fuck, Roy,” you moaned, louder now as pleasure overwhelmed you. “Fucking coming for you. Coming for your cock,” you babbled, thrusting your fingers as deep as you could. “Wish you were here. Wish you were inside me.”
Listening to you come for him had Roy following you over the edge. “Fuck,” he hissed, feeling his cock jerk. “Love your pussy,” he stammered. “Fucking want to fill it up. Fill you til it’s leaking out of you, dirty fucking girl.”
Your moans turned high-pitched as you climaxed, your cunt so tight you wondered how the fuck you managed to fit Roy Kent’s thick cock inside. You nearly dropped your phone, but instead tightened your grip on it, not wanting Roy to miss a single moment of you coming just for him.
He moaned your name as he spilled over, not caring about how he’d have to change his sheets. Pump after pump, his release dripped onto his hand, a hand he desperately wished was your hand. Or mouth. Or cunt.
You collapsed on your bed with a groan, coming down from your high, listening as Roy’s breaths became just as soft and ragged as your own. With a sigh, you pulled your fingers out of your soaked pussy; you rubbed them together, wondering when you last got this wet on your own.
Then again, were you really on your own tonight?
“You… you come for me?” Roy’s voice was so soft, so gentle.
“Yeah,” you assured him, your eyes fluttering shut. “Just for you, Kent.”
His chuckle had your heart fluttering even more than your pussy just had. “Good, good, I’m glad.” He paused, unable to help the smile that grew on his face. “That was…”
You giggled and stretched your free hand over your head. “Yeah, it was.”
Roy was quiet for a moment, choosing to ignore the mess beneath his sheets. “I liked it,” he admitted. “A lot.”
“Good.” You gave a little wiggle, reveling in your post-orgasm bliss. “Could do it again sometime. If you want to, that is.”
“Oi, careful,” he warned playfully. “You might get me addicted to this shit. Almost as addicted as I am to you.”
Fuck. Did he really just say that?
You let out a nervous little giggle, pretending you weren’t obsessed with the words that slipped out before he could think about them. “Maybe I want you addicted.” You paused for a moment, wishing you were in his arms, and scolding yourself for it. “Hey, I should, er, probably clean myself up.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too.” Roy cleared his throat. “Can I call you back after?”
“I’d like that.”
Once you’d cleaned yourself up and thrown on a clean pair of panties and your Greyhounds sweatshirt- a choice you tried not to think too hard about- you turned off the lights and settled into bed properly. Just as you were wondering if Roy would actually call you back, your phone vibrated; you grinned when you saw Roy Kent appear on your screen.
“Hey.”
“Hi there,” he hummed, resting a hand behind his head as he stared up into the darkness. “How… how’re you feeling?”
His nervous tone had you snuggling lower into your bed. “Pretty darn good,” you assured him. “You?”
“Yeah, fucking good.” He smiled in spite of the shyness he suddenly felt. “You’re really somethin’, you know that?”
You turned onto your side, stretching your free hand over to the side of your bed that suddenly felt far too empty. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His smile grew. “You’re just… kind of amazing.” He felt himself start to gush; fuck, he couldn’t help it. “I don’t fucking know. Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
Your body buzzed with delight, more from his affectionate rambling than your post-orgasm bliss. “Anyone like me?” you teased, urging him on.
“Oh, fuck off,” he laughed, shaking his head at your coyness. “You’re incredible. Fucking gorgeous. Badass as all hell. So fucking confident. Damn funny. And, well, you’re not bad in bed.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Fucking dream come true.”
Oh hell. Roy’s words punched your heart with each syllable, making you forget about all your resolutions about not falling for the gruff, sexy manager. “You’re pretty wonderful yourself,” you heard yourself admit. “And I’m not just talking about the fact that you made me orgasm over the phone.”
You weren’t sure how much longer you stayed on the phone with Roy Kent, murmuring sweet nothings back and forth before moving on to general chitchat, the conversation flowing as naturally as it did when you were in his arms after sex. The last thing you remembered before you slipped into sleep was the sound of Roy Kent sleepily mumbling, “I really fucking miss you.”
You and Roy try to find some time alone together...
Can be read as standalone but mentions characters introduced in the Support System series.
SUPER SPICY - ENJOY! 🥵
Roy Kent Masterlist
Full Masterlist
~~~~~~
Living full time with Roy was the kind of wonderful you could have only dreamt of. When Lexie was around, your mornings would be relaxed and fun - he'd return from his session with Jamie, make breakfast with her, and let you get an extra hour in bed. When Lexie wasn't around, he'd wake you with something much better than breakfast. He was careful not to overstep with you in front of Lexie, not wanting her to feel awkward if he kissed you that little bit too deeply. It had meant that the previous habits of (mostly) keeping your hands to yourselves for half a week had stuck with you. Circumstances change, though, and Andy was currently over a week into a two week holiday. Aside from a sleepover with Phoebe and one with her grandmother, Lexie had otherwise spent the whole time with you both, and while it had been lovely to spend a really good amount of time together, you were feeling the frustration.
"Did Phoebe tell you about the school trip next week?"
"Yeah, Lion King is fucking ace, we saw it last year."
"They're so lucky, I'm sure I never got to go to the theatre on a school trip." You slumped into the sofa next to him and rubbed your eyes, with Christmas approaching you had way too much going on at work.
"Has Lex got a passport? Have you?"
"Yeah. If you tell me you're booking an all-inclusive beach resort for next summer, then I will definitely make it worth your while."
"I'm just going to lie and say yes that's exactly my plan, but I'm full of shit. It's not." He puts his laptop on the table and moves so you can sit between his legs with your back flush to his chest. You relax against him and focus on feeling his heartbeat thrum right behind yours, all the noise of work disappearing. You close your eyes and let your head fall back onto his shoulder.
"Shame. Maybe I'll do it next week as a reward for us both getting through work."
"You should, I'll give you my travel agents' info. She'll sort us out." He runs his fingers back and forth over the hem of your shorts. "I've just got her to book something, actually." He says casually.
"Hmm?" You ask, eyes closed.
"Paris for four nights right before Christmas," he kisses the spot behind your ear that makes your back arch. This time, though, it makes you turn sharply in his lap, your hands landing either side of his hips.
"What?! That's less than a month away!"
"Disney? With Sara and Phoebe. I've already booked her services to have Lex for a day so we can go into the city." The more he speaks, the more into his lap you climb, knees in place of your hands digging into the plush sofa seat, your chest pressed closely to his, nose to nose.
"Really?" He nods,
"Just need to send your passport details over. It's booked already," you cut him off with a kiss, arms around his neck. It's been too long (only a few days), so your body can't help but rock down against his.
"I really fucking love you." You mutter through kisses, "thank you." You feel him smile, his hands running up and down your thighs.
"I love you. But we shouldn't do this here." He tries to stop you from rolling your hips but ends up pinning them in place, feeling the heat of your core against him. You can't help the needy whine that escapes, you push against his hands to try and force more contact but he's obviously far stronger, "nope," he growls. "Not here."
"Better get me to bed then, coach." You trail your hand down between your bodies, giving him the impression that you're about to slip your hand into his shorts and wrap it around him. Instead, you lift the bottom of your vest top and pull it over your head. With his hands still firmly on your hips to hold you in place, he's unable to touch you. You lean forward just enough to kiss him and then climb from his lap completely and disappear with a wink. He follows the path of your clothes all the way to the bedroom. You break the sultry pose you're holding - leaning back on your elbows with your legs crossed demurely - almost as soon as he walks in, falling back to lay flat on the bed in giggles. He's on you in seconds, hooking his arms behind your knees and pulling you towards him.
"You starting something you can't finish?" He leans over you,
"Oof! I think we'll both finish just fine if you set your mind to it." You tease, pulling his t-shirt off.
"That's not the worry," he kisses you, "It's you not fucking keeping quiet." His hand slots between you nudges your legs wider open. "What do you think?"
"I can be quiet." You nod, reaching for him.
"We'll see about that." His grin is wicked as he kisses a hot path down your body, roughly palming your breast as he nips at the dip of your waist. "If you make a sound, I'll stop," he warns just before he flicks your clit with his tongue. You draw breath and hold it for what feels like hours as he devours you. He eats you out like he's worshipping you, every touch designed to bring you closer to the edge. You have to bite your own fist to keep quiet, but it's impossible to disguise your laboured breathing. He knows how to read your body and doesn't need you to make a sound to know you're close, your thighs quiver and he gets right to the point where he's certain you're about to come… and stops, moving away from you entirely so he's not tempted to let you finish just so he can keep tasting you. Your mouth drops open in a silent cry of disbelief, and he has the audacity to kiss you, "good girl." He whispers, griping your hips lightly to flip you onto your stomach, but you roll back and pull him close so you can whisper right into his ear,
"I don't think so, if you're going to make me beg for it, then you can look me in the eye while you do it," his laugh rumbles against you,
"You're so fucking hot when you're mad. But if that's what you want -" Now it's your turn to laugh,
"What I want very much, my love," you tell him as you kiss along his jawline, "is for you to fuck me absolutely senseless so that tomorrow, when we're both at work, you'll know that I'm still aching." He rests his forehead against yours,
"Fucking hell babe, thought I was the one making demands." He sounds wrecked.
"Hmm. Still going to make me wait?" You smile sweetly, rolling your hips up to meet his.
"Course I am," he chuckles, his fingers grazing through your folds and pushing into your soaked pussy. "If you're so sure you can stay quiet, prove it," he challenges. Your breathing is already ragged. You both know it never takes long for him to make you come at the best of times, and he's already had you so close to the edge once. He knows your body probably better than you do, which is why he knows exactly when to stop again. He kisses away your frustration once more and lets you catch your breath. He brings his fingers to your mouth and while you suck them clean, your thighs are drawn together like magnets, desperately trying to put some pressure on your clit. He shakes his head and moves to open you up and rest his whole body between your legs,
"Please, Roy. Please -" you beg, your voice low and husky.
"Nearly love, one more for me." He pins your wrists above your head and brings himself level with your chest, swirling his tongue around your nipple. Your hips rut up against his stomach, he can feel how wet you are, how much you need him, and it only makes him harder. "You like that? Think I could make you come like this?" He sucks at the soft, sensitive underside of your breasts, leaving his mark on you and dragging you so close to orgasm again. There's no doubt he could make you come just from this alone, he's done it before on nights where you'd spent hours mapping each other's bodies and marveling at the effect you had on each other.
"No, please no," you plead as he denies you again, "I need you to touch me, Roy."
"Tell me what you want, babe," he whispers, moving above you held up on his elbows.
"Fuck Roy, I need you inside me," you're quiet, but you really don't think you'll be able to stay that way, your body is vibrating with anticipation. He looks at you with such intense love, you must look a mess underneath him - your hair tangled in bedsheets, your lips red and swollen from where you've been biting them in an effort to keep quiet, and your eyes glazed with a heady combination of lust and love.
"You're so fucking beautiful." His hand moves to slide up your thigh to encourage you to hook it around him, opening you up further to him. He lines up against your entrance, taking his time to push into you until he's fully seated. You're nose to nose as he thrusts slowly, building you up until you fingertips are digging into his shoulders, urging him not to stop. He kisses you as you clench around him and your orgasm shatters. Making you come undone after so long is enough to send Roy over the edge right behind you. He clutches at you, barely able to keep quiet himself as he spills into you. He collapses onto you, both of you boneless and panting. You run your hands through his hair gently, not ready to lose the warmth of his body.
"Told you I could be quiet." You murmur sleepily, "Didn't expect you to fucking torture me though," you add, poking him in the ribs and making him squirm.
"Maybe, but you loved it," he teased.
"Hmm. I love everything you do to me," you sigh happily.
shiv roy x reader pls!! like i was thinking maybe angsty jealous shiv and then fluff at the end? i dont mind anything honestly i just want shiv x reader content
dress
shiv roy x reader
a/n: omg i was so worried that nobody would request shiv so i was so happy when i saw these!! i hope you don’t mind i combined the two!! kinda ended angstier than i intended too
1.4 k
Shiv Roy had a meticulous morning routine that she followed every day without fail. She woke up at 5:00 (exactly half an hour before Tom), got changed, brushed her teeth, and went on a run. After about 3 miles, and when she knew Tom had left for work, she returned home and ate breakfast while scrolling through work emails and current headlines. This morning, however, her usually peaceful routine was interrupted. By you.
As the woman ate her breakfast bar and scrolled through various news articles she couldn't help but notice your name-making and appearance. At first, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, your family owned one of the biggest fashion houses in the country so it wasn’t a surprise that some blog would write an occasional fluff piece about the outfit you wore to fashion week or speculations about your relationship with some model or actor. And although she would never dare admit it, she would secretly save everyone to read later. But it wasn’t until she saw your name plastered on an article headline written by her very own family’s news company that her attention was caught. The article detailed that your father had announced his anticipated retirement and you would be inheriting the family company and sole CEO.
You had met Shiv and college, you wish you could say the two of you hit it off instantly, but you both knew it was from the truth. You both came from wealthy families and were used to having to fight viciously to get a spot at the table, so naturally, an unspoken rivalry formed between you, and the constant need to outdo and impress the other grew. However as your professors began to notice this competition, the more they would pair up the two of you, and eventually over the four years, your rivalry melted into something some might call a friendship. However the passion and intensity remained and it wasn’t easy to forget the late nights spent together fueled by wine and lust, the exam that you were supposed to be helping each other study for long forgotten.
But as graduation approached and the simplicity of the days on your college campus came to an end, so did your and Shiv’s complicated relationship. She met her prince charming, a wealthy boy from Minnesota named Tom, or as you liked to call him “farmer fuckface”. But Tom was doting, he put Shiv before everything and promised a life of stability. One that her father might be proud of. Tom was safe. Tom was everything you were not. This, however, still did not stop the twinge of hurt she felt reading about this news. She fucking the fact that she had to hear about your life in a newspaper instead of listening to you ramble and giggle endlessly while tangled in your sheets.
And just like clockwork, as she was fighting the urge to call you your name appeared on her home screen.
Hey, know it’s been a while but it would mean a lot if you came tonight. I miss you.
Shiv tried not to read into the last sentence of the message and instead clicked on the attached link you sent. It was an invitation to some party your company was throwing to celebrate your new position as CEO. If it was anyone else, she would of already politely rejected the invitation and made other plans for the evening. But it wasn’t. It was you. So she began to draft her text back.
I’ll check my calendar.
Much to Shiv’s dismay Kendall and Roman had also received invitations and insisted on coming with her. Shiv knew of her two brothers' motivations, both had been wanting to get into your pants since she first introduced you to them all those years ago and despite all the rejections they still seemed persistent.
Shiv Roy was not a naturally anxious person. You can’t be, not when you go into countless business meetings every day filled with dozens of perverted old men just waiting for you to screw up and more focused on your tits that the words coming out of your mouth. But tonight her stomach was erupting in butterflies.
Right as they walked in, Roman b-lined to the open bar, and Kendall mumbled something about finding Stewy, which left Shiv standing in the middle of your party all by herself.
“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself standing here all alone?”
she could recognize your teasing voice from miles away. Shiv practically snapped her head around to see you, looking as gorgeous as ever, except now more mature and adult than she remember.
“Bonnie,” you breathed, Shiv’s heart surged at the nickname you gave her years ago after finding out her full name, Sibohan, “fuck I missed you”. You engaged the redhead in a tight hug, one that Shiv hesitantly accepted.
Once you released, Shiv cleared her throat, “Yeah I..Fuck yeah I missed you too”
“Come on let’s get you a drink”
At the bar, Shiv was impressed when you still remembered her order.
“So, I’m surprised you came”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“You’ve been avoiding me”
Shiv scoffed “I have not been avoiding you”
“Come on, you have to, ever since the wedding” you, of course, referencing Shiv’s wedding to Tom. “Speak of the devil, where is farmer fuckface”
Shiv chucked at your endearing nickname for her husband, “He’s you know, working”
“I see” you took a sip from your martini “I’m surprised he let you come here by yourself”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean” You peered up at her from your martini glass with a smirk. “Right well, I think I should make rounds” You fixed your hair and chugged the last bit of your drink.
“Ah right you’re a busy CEO now aren't you” Shiv smiled, “I’ll see you later”.
Shiv watched you as you made your way around the room, greeting your guests and graciously thanking them for coming to your party. She couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy watching a bunch of strangers receiving your attention and loving praise. Her final straw was when she watched Kendall march up to you. You of course greeted him with a kind hug, one that lasted a bit too long for Shiv’s taste. She watched as he made you laugh and grazed your arm with his own. It used to be amusing to watch her brothers pathetically flirt with you all those years ago because she knew you were hers. But now it just made a pit form at the bottom of her stomach.
Shiv chugged the last bit of the champagne she had been nursing and made her way to you. She abruptly grabbed your hand, muttering some lame excuse to Kendall about needing you for some “girl emergency” and dragged you to the nearest bathroom.
Her lips were on yours the moment she locked the door, and your hands wasted no time getting lost in her short hair.
“Aw what’s a matter Shivy, got a little jealous out there” you pouted her lip at her
“Oh fuck off” she murmured as you began to leave kissing down her neck, to her collarbone.
“Missed this, missed you”. You felt Shiv’s hands begin to trail down your back, slowly unzipping your dress “Wait, fuck” you mumbled against her lips “What about Tom?”
“I’ve talked to him”
“About us?” you raised a brow.
“No, well, no not exactly. I’ve told him I want a more open relationship,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Wow, who knew Shiv Roy was so progressive” You started to kiss her again “What’s next, buying a van and starting a nomadic life?”
“Oh shut up” you could practically feel her eyes rolling, “and since when did you ever care about Tom?”
You looked up at her once more, “I just-” you paused, “Fuck, never mind”. You caved and reunited her lips with yours.
You realized this was a battle you were not going to win anytime soon. Before Shiv was your “Bonnie”, she was always going to be “Shiv Roy of Waystar Royco”, and your relationship just didn’t fit into that part of her life. Neither of you was ready to admit how much you meant to one another, so you would just pretend that it didn’t matter. And you figured if you got burned, at least you were electrified.
Part of the 200 Followers celebration! From the request for @onceuponaoneshot :
Roy Kent x F!Reader - "You deserve better"
Filthy smutty smut y'all. You've been warned! This is also a part 3 to Complaints Procedure & Noisy.
~~~~~
He was gone.
You'd seen the tackle, watched from home as Jamie Tartt knocked him to the floor and damaged his knee for good. He hadn't needed to do anything for the paperwork, Ted had it all under control, and it allowed Roy the distance he needed from Nelson Road. You wondered if you'd even crossed his mind. The boot room hadn't been the end of it. You'd never instigated anything yourself, but he'd sought you out occasionally. You'd let him lose himself in you, always slightly demanding but never degrading, you'd challenge him and go toe to toe on who had the upper hand. He'd wanted to fuck his frustration and anger away and you were a willing participant. It was no strings, no commitments and while you knew it wouldn't last, you didn't expect him to just disappear without a backward glance.
No one seemed to know how he'd fared since he was last seen at Nelson Road and you had no real reason to check in on him. So how you found yourself knocking on his door at 11pm on a random Tuesday night was utterly beyond comprehension.
"The fuck are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too."
"I mean it, why are you here? Did he send you?"
"Ted? Why would you think that? I thought I'd check in and see how you were?" He grunted.
"Or you fancied a good fuck?"
"Y'know what, forget I came. I didn't come here to be insulted." You turned to leave,
"No, praise is your thing isn't it? Like to be told you're a good girl." He sneered, leaning against the door frame.
"Fuck you Roy, you're obviously fine. I'll leave you to it."
"What's up? You're usually into this little fucking game we play?"
"Yeah, when it's mutually good. You're just being a dick for the sake of it. I'm the idiot who thought you might need someone to talk to, I needn't have bothered." You're halfway up his drive when he responds.
"Don't go. At least come and have a drink. You can tell me all the shit everyone's been up to." You cock your head to one side, "I'm sorry for being a dick. I shouldn't have been rude to you." You still hesitate. "You're a sight for sore eyes. It's been too long."
"Who's fault is that?"
"Mine." He admits with a self conscious shrug.
"You're fucking right it is." Your brushed passed him and into the house, "and I'll have a glass of wine please." You weren't new to small talk with Roy, though it did usually occur after he'd made you come multiple times. You made yourself comfortable on his sofa and watched him in the kitchen, pouring wine from the fridge for both of you.
"I didn't mean to upset you." He puts the glass down in front of you.
"You didn't. You know I'm not easily offended, but there's a difference between our usual tête-á-tête and you just being plain fucking mean after 3 months of solitary confinement."
"It's not been solitary."
"I heard you coach 9 year old girls now?"
"Who told you?"
"My niece is one of them, Quinn."
"She's fucking class."
"Hmm. Future England player maybe, according to my twat brother. You're still better than that, though," you drink more, looking for courage in the bottom of the glass, "and I wondered if you might call. More fool me."
"You don't want me to call."
"Says who? You?"
"You deserve better." He sighed.
"Do I? Is that your conclusion or do I get to make my own?"
"Are you just going to keep questioning my opinion, or actually offer any of your own?" He countered. You smirked over the edge of your wine glass at his frustration.
"Well, you haven't let me have an opinion yet, have you? You've decided that I don't want you to call and that I deserve better, all by yourself. Shall I just submit all future decisions to you from now on?" He shook his head,
"I've fucking missed your attitude." He stood, taking the empty glass from your hand and putting it on the table, and then gripped your wrist gently to pull you to standing. "I'd carry you, but -"
"You're a fucking idiot," you finished for him, reaching on your toes to kiss him. His arms circled your waist,
"I'm a fucking idiot," he agreed with a mumble, his lips not leaving yours. You let him lead you to his bedroom.
"An actual bed? Jesus Roy, you're spoiling me." You laugh, pulling his t-shirt off before taking a step back and slipping your own summer dress off and letting it fall to the floor. Your usual frenetic dalliances have meant that despite knowing your body intimately, he's never actually seen you naked. He drinks in the sight of you in summery coral lingerie in the dim lamplight, his eyes dark as you reach behind to unclip your bra and let it slide down your arms. You drop to your knees in front of him, pulling his shorts down over his hips. He's already half hard. You pull his shorts all the way off, and he steps out of them. On your way back to your goal, you pause just long enough to press a kiss to the inside of his bad knee. You hear the shaky breath leave his body and focus your attention elsewhere which allows him to do the same thing. This is not pity you try to convey with your actions. Your mouth waters in anticipation, all this hurried sex and you've never once had the chance to see him like this, to feel the weight of him in your mouth. You slide your tongue up the underside of his cock and swirl it around the hot tip. He rocks against you, his hands fisted at his side. You take his hands one at a time and put them on your head, looking up his long body to watch his reaction to you pumping his cock with kiss swollen lips.
"Fuck me, you look so fucking good -" He rasps, his voice strained. You hum in agreement, the vibration running through his body. He tugs your hair lightly, the sensation sending waves of desire to your core and making your thighs rub together in desperation. When he pulls again, it's a request for you to stop, "I need to be inside you," he practically whimpers, pulling you up by the hand. You guide him the couple of steps back to the bed and he sits down heavily, dragging you into his lap as he does. You lift up onto your knees hands on his shoulders for balance as you line him up against you, shifting your underwear to one side. He cups your heavy breast with one hand while the other grabs the swell of your ass as you lower down onto him. With your thighs spread wide over his, the depth is incredible and takes a second to adjust to. His tongue follows his hand across your nipple, taking it into his mouth, rolling it and biting gently. It's enough to have you grinding against his cock and arching your back to have him fill you right to the hilt. Then he echoes the words you've always told him in a desperate whisper, "fuck me." Your forearms on his shoulders give you the perfect leverage to rise and fall on him over and over, the proximity means he's able to lavish attention on your breasts while his hands kneed and grasp your hips, helping you keep your rhythm while his cock splits you open. "God, you're so fucking beautiful," he groans, capturing your mouth in a rough, needy kiss. Considering your previous interactions left you the one feeling needy and yielding, you're currently feeling like the powerful one. He brings his hand up to your mouth, running his thumb across your bottom lip and letting you suck it. He uses it to brush against your clit and you lean back in his arms, partly to give him access and partly so he can watch as you take his cock.
"See how you fill me up so perfectly?" You breathe, gasping as his circles against your clit bring you closer to release. "Do you even know what you do to me?" You ask, pulling him closer again with a kiss. "This is what I fucking want, this is what I deserve." You tell him. You'd say more, but your words have his hips stuttering as he comes inside you, the feeling pulling you over the edge with him and your words turning to incoherent affirmations and praise. His hands still your hips as you collapse into him, your head falling to the crook of his neck. He kisses your shoulder and up into the spot behind your ear that makes your body unintentionally buck against him.
"Fucking hell, I'm never avoiding you for 3 months again. You'll be lucky if you get 3 minutes of peace from me ever again." He mutters, biting your earlobe.
Hey! Wondering if you would write a Roy Kent x reader established relationship fic
Something angsty with a nice fluffy ending ??
Thanks! X
stay, stay, stay
roy kent x reader
a/n: apologies in advance im awful at writing angst but i loveee writing for roy <3 thank you for requesting!
Roy Kent was a grouchy old man. Or at least that’s how he saw himself. He was moody and short temped, he fucking hated talking about his feelings and could barely walk up a fucking flight of stairs. And after that fucking Man City match and Jamie fucking Tartt he wasn’t even a footballer anymore.
You were a heaven-sent fucking angel. Or at least that’s how Roy Kent saw you. You were smart and caring and funny and so fucking gorgeous. Roy knew how lucky he got with you, he heard it all the time, from tabloids to in the locker room, even from his own sister. How did someone as sweet and sickenly fucking perfect as you end up with a jaded man like himself.
“C’mon love I wish you would talk to me” You took a seat by your boyfriend on his cold leather couch and handed him a cup of tea just how he liked it.
Roy only grumbled in response, to which you shot him a pointed glare back, ‘Don’t know what there is to talk about, I’m a old fucking man who fucked his knee and now can’t play fucking football anymore. That’s fucking that.”
“No that’s not ‘that fucking that’, Roy” you set your tea down to face Roy, “This is a big fucking deal and you are allowed to be sad or upset or just fucking angry.” your voice began to raise in frustration, “I just wish-I wish you would talk to me, or someone about this, Roy” your angered turn into desperation and your glossy eyes and furrowed brows made Roy’s heart feel like it was being squeezed dry.
“I don’t need to talk to someone” he spat.
“Roy-”
“God you always fucking do this. You treat people like little fucking broken toys and are just dying to fix them all, aren’t you? Well I'm not going to be one of your toys to mend back together, alright? So why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone”
The second Roy saw your trembling lips and the pool of tears that welled up in your eyes, he immediately regretted what he had said. He didn’t even know why he said it in the first place. It wasn’t even true, he knew that. But in the moment Roy would of said anything to avoid admitting how much the prospect of retiring from the only thing he felt good was killing him.
You stared at him blankly for a moment, stunned at what just happened. Roy, your Roy, your beautiful and loving Roy had just practically cussed you out. A simple “Fuck you, Roy” was all he heard as you grabbed your purse and marched out of his house making sure to slam his door.
The sound of your car starting up in his driveway was enough to snap Roy out of his trance, and immediately a feeling of disgust washed over him. “Fuck.”
You woke up the next morning with puffy eyes and a throbbing headache. A sore reminder of last night's events. After storming out of Roy’s house you contemplated calling Keeley and Rebecca and asking for an emergency girl’s night. Instead you opted for weeping in your bed and getting sloshed in the comfort of your own home.
Since usually your Sundays consisted of lounging around the house with Roy, you didn’t have any plans for the day, you refused, however to sit around a mope in bed all day long so you sent a text to Rebecca and Keeley
“Brunch this morning? In desperate need of a mimosa x”
To which Keeley instantly replied
“Course babe! I can pick you up at your place around 11? xx”
“Perfect.”
Rebecca just liked your original message, which you knew was her way of agreeing. So you dragged yourself out of bed and put on your favourite sundress (which also happened to be Roy’s favourite as well, but you didn’t want to think too much about that) and started to head out the door, but before you could get your keys, the doorbell rang. Expecting it to be Keeley you scurried to the door, only to find your boyfriend looking like a sad puppy.
“Roy” was all you could manage to say.
“What the fuck you look beautiful” he breathed. This made you notice how truly disheveled Roy looked, which admittedly made you feel slightly better.
Your silence pushed Roy to keep talking “Fuck listen I don’t think I’m ready to talk about football or my knee or Jamie fucking Tartt but I want you to know that I’m so fucking sorry and I was the biggest prick last night”
“You’re right, you were” you scoffed “but I get it, you’re going through a lot of shit right now and you deserve to be a little prick sometimes. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about whatever you’re feeling, I mean come on I’ve seen you cry over the List Conquers All finale, I don’t think it can get much worse than that” you both laughed.
“I fucking love you, you know that” Roy reached forward grabbing your waist, shutting the door behind him and attacking your neck, making you sigh into his embrace.
“Mmm no I don’t think I do” you teased.
“Well I do. I love you.” he kissed your neck “you’re so sweet” next your jaw “and brilliant” then your temple “and so fucking sexy in that goddamn dress” he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist prompting a loud giggle from you.
“Fuck what time is it?” you pulled back from his dizzying kiss.
“Why, you’re gonna time me?” he smirked suggestively.
You swatted his chest, “no I'm going to brunch with Keeley and Rebecca”
“Fuck no, you can’t leave me here when you’re looking like that”
“Consider it your punishment for last night” you hopped down from Roy, already missing the feeling of his body against yours.
“I could think of a few much more fun ways to punish me”
“I’ll see you in a couple hours” you dismissed, trying to hide the blush behind your cheeks.
“I’ll be waiting” and he shot you one of his dizzying and incredibly rare Roy Kent smiles leaving you with one thought.
You just might have to cut this brunch a little shorter than expected.
i wanna start writing again so if anyone wants to send in requests for ted lasso or succession feel free i basically write for everyone in the tagged <333 or if u wanna be mutuals
The wedding rehearsal brings more opportunities to show off a fake relationship with real feelings.
Roy Kent x Reader
1.7k words
Warnings: Language, mentions of champagne, tiny jealous moments, lots of fluff and pining
Series Masterlist
Dressed in his black slacks and button-down shirt, Roy sat on the bed, scrolling mindlessly though the pictures on his phone while you finished getting ready in the bathroom. He loved going back through pictures of the two of you; childhood photos your mum had found and sent to you both, posed photos with his sister or Phoebe or friends at parties, drunken selfies at pubs, Snapchats he’d saved, not caring that you could see. His favorite picture was taken a couple months after Jim had broken up with you, and Roy had taken you out to try to get your mind off things. You’d allowed yourself to get completely sloshed, knowing that, as always, Roy Kent would take care of you. After another shot of whatever you’d been drinking, you’d snatched his phone out right of his hand and brought him close for a selfie, planting a big kiss on his cheek as you snapped the picture. When he sent it to you the next day with a simple smiley face emoji, you were mortified, but he loved it. He even set it as your picture on his phone, so he could see it every time you called- which was never often enough.
“Is this too much?”
Roy nearly dropped his phone when he looked up. He’d seen you dressed up plenty of times over the years, and each time made him fall a little bit more in love. But this time he was caught off-guard by the way this dress- one he’d never seen- hugged every curve he’d spent far too much time thinking about. The sight of you in that tight dress was more than enough to make Roy forget to care about closing his dropped jaw.
His clearly impressed reaction made your heart slam against your chest. “Roy?” you asked, more of a nervous squeak this time.
The sound of your unsure voice brought him back. “Oh. No, no, not too much at all,” he rasped, shaking his head, as if that would somehow erase the million thoughts running through his mind. “You look fucking perfect.”
Your smile made things even worse. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” You held out your hand to him, letting yourself imagine, just for a moment, that this was real. That you and Roy were home- your place? His place? Maybe somewhere you shared?- and heading out to some sort of event. Maybe another wedding, one for people you actually liked. Maybe an awards ceremony. Maybe that big charity event his team held every year, the one you always secretly hoped he’d invite you to. And that the two of you would go out, and be exactly the way you were this weekend, and that you’d go home together at the end of the night, laughing and kissing behind closed doors, so in love.
Instead, you’d have to settle for your gorgeous fake boyfriend holding your hand as you headed down to the wedding rehearsal of your sister and ex-boyfriend.
You instinctively tightened your grip on Roy’s hand once you were out the doors and headed into the garden. For the millionth time, his warm breath was in your ear.
“I’m right here.” He punctuated his promise with a soft kiss to your temple; you let yourself melt into him, wishing you could just freeze time and stay right in this moment-
“We’re over here.”
Your sister’s blunt voice interrupted your moment of bliss. Roy let go of your hand in favor of wrapping his arm around you as you walked to the space set up for the ceremony, with white chairs and endless flowers and a lilac runner down the aisle. Somewhere in the back of your head, you thought about the way you’d envisioned your wedding: this same garden, those same chairs, maybe a soft pink runner, less flowers, more greenery. The pit in your stomach grew when you caught sight of Lauren in her pretty white dress, the one she’d sent you lots of pictures of, clutching Jim and beaming up at him triumphantly.
A soft “Oi” got your attention. Roy was smiling down at you.
“Today and tomorrow,” he started softly, “I will be sitting right there. And I will have my eyes on you, and only you, the entire fucking time. So, if you start to feel like you need an anchor, something to keep you steady, you just look at me. And I will make this fucking face at you.” He crossed his eyes and bared his teeth, an exaggerated scowl you’d often seen him share with Phoebe when they played.
The giggle that escaped your lips relaxed you. “Thank you,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his lips, the tips of your fingers tingling when he kissed you back.
He pulled back with a tiny, growling sigh, as if letting you go was killing him. “Right. Fucking go on then.”
With the feeling of Roy’s kiss still on your lips, you had to resist the urge to skip down the aisle where most of the wedding party was already assembled.
Paul winked when he saw you. “Yours is next, right?”
“We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of months,” you mumbled, trying to play cool.
“So?” Jen asked from Paul’s side. “You’ve known each other your entire lives and have been in love with each other forever. I can’t see the two of you wasting time with just dating.” She turned to Paul. “They’ll be engaged within six months.”
You let out a scoffing laugh, pretending that the idea didn’t sound like a dream come true. “You two really need to stop betting on my love life, okay?”
Before either of them could tease you further, Lauren called for everyone’s attention to start rehearsal. You snuck one more look at Roy, who sat about halfway back and had his eyes already glued to you, as promised. The moment your gazes locked, there was that silly face; you didn’t know you could fall any harder for Roy Kent, but, in that moment, you absolutely managed.
Even if he hadn’t made you a promise, Roy would not have been able to keep his eyes off of you at the rehearsal. It wasn’t just the dress you wore (though he wasn’t fucking complaining); it was you. It was knowing that after this he’d have an entire evening with you by his side, where he could kiss you all he wanted. Sure, he knew it wasn’t real, but did he really care? He’d worry about the aftermath on Sunday when he dropped you off at home, back to your normal lives where you were just friends. Where you saw him as just your best friend’s big brother.
He watched as you laughed at something your older sister said, pleased that you had at least a couple of people who made you feel comfortable up there. He tried his best to not feel some sting of jealousy when you locked arms with a groomsman, some friend of Jim’s who smiled a bit too big when he saw you and whose eyes wandered a bit too boldly. But any feeling of envy disappeared when you locked eyes with Roy and shot him a wink, an assurance that, at least as far as all the wedding guests knew, you were all his.
Once Lauren was satisfied with everyone’s ability to walk in a straight line and stand perfectly still while she and Jim exchanged vows, you practically ran to back Roy so you could head in for the rehearsal dinner.
“Fair warning,” you said in a light voice as his hand found its home on your waist. “Because everyone came up for the polo game, this thing is going to be as big as some people’s wedding receptions.” Your eyes wandered to one of the other bridesmaids, one of Jim’s cousins, the one that made you nauseous with how pretty she was. Especially when her eyes lingered on Roy’s handsome face for just a moment longer than was necessary.
“I don’t think I’ve said it often enough today, but you look fucking gorgeous,” he murmured as you entered the rehearsal dinner, where most of the other guests were already milling about with drinks in their hands as they waited for the bridal party.
Following your gaze as he often did, Roy noticed too. He also noticed the way your cheeks turned pink at the sight of another woman looking at him. He couldn’t resist feeling just a smidge of pleasure at the idea that you were, maybe, just a little bit… jealous?
Not that you needed to be.
Desperate for something to distract you from the butterflies in your stomach, you grabbed a glass of champagne from the large table of drinks and mostly picked over appetizers. “Oh stop,” you huffed, giving the inside of your cheek a small bite to keep yourself from beaming too widely.
Roy shook his head, grabbing himself a glass. “No, I’m fucking serious.” He took a long swig of champagne, craving a bit of courage. “Not saying it as your ‘boyfriend’ or your best friend’s brother or even your friend.” He averted his eyes, knowing he was crossing into dangerous territory as his growling voice went soft. “I’m saying it as someone who always thinks you’re the most stunning woman in the room.”
Your cheeks had never felt so warm. “Roy-”
“You two should find your seats.” Jim had appeared out of nowhere; he spoke to you both, but his eyes were glued to Roy’s hand on your waist. “Dinner’s starting in a moment.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Roy buried his face in your shoulder, his breath warm on your bare skin. “Yeah, thanks, Jim. We’ll get right on that.”
Jim simply rolled his eyes and turned away, quickly slaloming around the other guests who were still wandering around, until he was at Lauren’s side, at the ready, the ever-obedient fiancé.
“Come on, then,” Roy grumbled, urging you to the table where your family was seated. Everyone smiled- that knowing, mischievous smile you’d been seeing all weekend- as Roy pulled out your chair for you.
As annoyed as he’d been at Jim’s interruption, he willed himself to continue his doting boyfriend act- wondering if maybe, just maybe, in agreeing to come to this wedding, he’d accidentally stumbled upon the perfect opportunity to tell you how he felt.
He'd just need a lot more than one glass of champagne first.
could i request short fic about falling asleep on knox while watching cartoons with him??
thank you <3
pairing : johnny knoxville ( x reader )
summary : knox wants his stressed out girlfriend to relax a little
warnings : none , pure fluff
notes ! . . . i’m stressed about school ( already ) so that’s the inspo for this- didn’t proof read
⠀ ∗ ᵎ ִֶָ ִ ۫ ּ
“turn that down!” she hollered from the kitchen. loud bop’s, bang’s, and pow’s echoed throughout the house, accompanied by a string of johnny’s grandiose belly laughs. she was hunkered down at the kitchen island. papers were strung out across the countertop, each stained with their own ring of coffee-mug-residue. she leaned down toward her bright computer screen. the words on it seemed to float about, her tired eyes straining to make out the paragraph in front of her.
“why doncha jus’ join me,” he was behind her now, hands snaking around her middle, his lips gently pressing a kiss into her temple. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen, “nope. i already told you, i seriously have to get on track tonight. i don’t have time to watch looney toons with you. not to mention, i’m not five- and, i mean, i’ve got eight more pages to write and-“ her tangent met it’s end rather quickly. johnny hoisted her from her stool, waddling backwards to drag her towards the living room. all the while she fought off giggles, knowing fully well she couldn’t over power her 6’0 boyfriend.
they fell backwards onto the couch. he held her close to his chest, their legs already tangled and stretched across the length of the cushions. she sat up, “knox, i really shouldn’t. i don’t have time,” she looked back at him, a grimace creasing her brow. he returned the serious frown, “everyone has time for ol’ tom ‘nd jerry, doll.” for a moment, it was a staring contest. he dared her to smile, and she caved, a tired little grin stuttering onto her lips. she feigned annoyance, begrudgingly rolled her eyes, and shifted onto her side. she laid her head on his chest.
he quickly enveloped her in warmth. he pulled a blanket from atop the couch, draping it over the two of them. a hand fell into her hair to brush out small strands between nimble fingers. the smell of cinnamon and apple scented candles filled the air, yellow flames flickering against white walls. she could die here. johnny’s soft tshirt against her cheek, his gentle fingers in her hair, the pitter-patter of his heart against the shell of her ear. the little brown mouse bounced across the tv screen as johnny hummed, “tired yet?“ she wearily shook her head, “you’re evil,” she mumbled. a hearty laugh rumbled through his chest.
“i left my laptop open,” she couldn’t move to get up, he was already tightening his arm around her shoulders. he whispered, “no more laptop tonight.” she smiled, eyes feeling particularly heavy. in all honesty, she was more than happy to have a distraction from the thousand-something word essay and the overcomplicated ( to the tired mind ) playwriting of tennessee williams. the mere thought of stanley kowalski had her succumbing to the dreary feeling hanging over her head.
as her eyes fluttered shut, and tom flattened under the weight of an anvil, johnny’s fingers raked through her hair once more. it sealed the deal. she could barely peek an eye open when he sighed, “there we go.”
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