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fuckyeahgoodomens · 2 months

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The Chic Magazine interview with the Good Omens cast and crew by Keeley Ryan, August 2023 :)

'It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together'

There were plenty of miracles, mysteries and mayhem when Good Omens returned to the small screen for a second season.

The PrimeVideo series, which was originally based on Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's best-selling novel, is heading beyond the source material this season.

The six-part series highlights the ineffable friendship between Aziraphale, a fussy angel and rare-book dealer, and the fast-living demon Crowley.

And while the duo put a stop to the apocalypse last time, there are the sparks of a new mystery that will take viewers from before The Beginning, to biblical times to grave robbing in Victorian Edinburgh; the Blitz of 1940s England to the modern day.

The cast includes David Tennant and Michael Sheen as Crowley and Aziraphale, Jon Hamm, Maggie Service, Nina Sosanya, Miranda Richardson, Shelley Conn, and Derek Jacobi also star in the series.

And Michael Sheen told how the Good Omens "world has grown" with season two - and opened up about his first day back at Aziraphale's bookshop.

In an interview conducted before the SAG strike, he said, "It was lovely to be back in the bookshop after having seen it burnt down the ground.

"Clearly I had managed to save a few books! Actually, it was extraordinary - your brain does a double take - my desk, the cash machine, the record player - everything is all so familiar even though it is a totally different location.

But we have expanded - there is much more of the world of Soho here including Aziraphale's favourite the magic shop and my favourite the pub - our world has grown."

The actor also praised Neil Gaiman's writing, noting how there's "something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary."

He said, "His writing has such a breadth of reference and yet is so accessible and entertaining even when taking on big epic or philosophical issues.

There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary. When things filter through his imagination they emerge in an entirely unique way and yet it feels like it's always been there.

Add in the sprinkling of the imagination of Terry Pratchett and cocktail has been created - utterly familiar."

Producer Sarah-Kate Fenelon told Chic how the second season of Good Omens is "building on the universe" - and how they had been "sowing the seeds of a second season without anybody knowing" last season. "

She said, "I work with Neil Gaiman and know in part that Gabriel, who is played by Jon Hamm, his character is not in the book of Good Omens - but it was included in the first season. We were sowing the seed of a second season without anybody knowing.

"That character was written by Neil and Terry as a potential second book. They never got to write it, but now we're able to tell Gabriel's story. It's kind of a lovely evolution, where we're just expanding the universe.

"A lot of locations on the set are locations from season one. We've also been able to explore new shops, like we've got the record shop and we've got The Dirty Donkey pub, which we go into - it was in season one, but we never got to go into it.

"Season two is just building on the universe."

The Wicklow native added that it was "wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together" for a second season.

She said, "We were lucky that a lot of our crew and creative talent were able to come back for a second season. But also, we had our cast return. Miranda Richardson plays a totally different character this season and we have a new Beelzebub.

"And then obviously, we've got Maggie and Nina playing themselves, Maggie and Nina, as written by Neil. It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together again."

Noel Corbally, who works as an associate producer on the series, recalled how they marked a special anniversary of the first season's release while prepping for season two.

The Irishman said, "We went for dinner that night to relive the celebration, happy to be back again.

"Even now, it's been more than a year since we wrapped and to be able to come back into the studio that's just been frozen in time with everything wrapped up — we had a week to turn it back to life, have it be a live street again.

"It's been a week. But it's been amazing. We had our original lighting team come back, our original art department — and they've just done a fantastic job."

And while there are plenty of easter eggs for fans to spot throughout the six episodes, the pair shared their favourites.

Noel shared, "I think that my favourite easter egg is actually in the record shop. It's a song that we play in the background. It's so subtle, but it's from the musical Happy As A Sandbag.

"Maggie's character Maggie runs the record shop, which was owned by her grandfather in the story. But the musical, Happy As A Sandbag, Maggie Service the actress - her mother and father met on the musical and fell in love. Having that was an homage to them for bringing us Maggie."

Sarah-Kate said, "I quite like the easter eggs in the title sequence. If you look really closely, there is a Gabriel or Jim in every shot, which people tend not to notice. It's like Where's Wally?"

Rob Wilkins, who manages Terry Pratchett's estate and serves as narrative EP, told how he was "elated" for the second season to be out — and about moving beyond the book's source material.

He explained, "There were lots of nerves, because there is no source material. There's no book. I went through the whole of season one with the mantra that we've got a beginning, a middle and an end.

"And at the end of season one, which was the only season at the time, I felt very relaxed - we're all grounded through Terry and Neil's words, and that's fine. We know where we're going, we've got the novel to refer to.

"And so with season two, of course there's going to be nerves — there's no source material.

"But Neil is 50% of the creative team that brought you Good Omens, so in him we trust. And we genuinely do, from the bottom of my heart - of course we do.

"There's excitement about what Neil is going to bring from the page and from the page to the screen, but trepidation as well — I'm a fan as much as anybody else, I want to know where the stories are going."

Rob added that some of his own favourite easter eggs within the second season include a nod to Terry in The Dirty Donkey pub - as well as a special sight in the bookshop.

He said, "I love the fact that in the bookshop, Teny's hat and scarf are just hanging there. Terry, as a huge patron of bookshops around the world, he just left his hat and scarf in there and moved on one day and left them behind.

"That's a lovely one for me, as well - it means more to me, I think, than anything else."

Rob opened up about the success of the first season - and why it was something that he didn't necessarily expect.

He continued, "There's the Terry Pratchett fandom, there's the Neil Gaiman fandom and push them together and there's a big crossover. But what we created with season one, we created Good Omens fandom from the show.

"People came to Neil's work and Terry's work through the show. It created something entirely individual of its own making, and that freaked me out because I didn't see that one coming.

"I didn't see that as a thing. I thought the fans would be rooted in Terry or Neil. I didn't realise that the ineffable husbands in all of that - I love David and Michael, but I didn't realise the love people would have for them as our demon and our angel.

"I shouldn't be surprised. It's just my admiration for them as actors and for what they do, and for people getting it I think that that's the thing that's meant a lot to me, that people have understood what we tried to do."

Costume designer Kate Carin told how having the opportunity to join Good Omens' second season was a "gift" - and opened up about why it was impossible to pick a favourite scene.

She explained, "When you see the whole show - you think, when you're watching episode one, you're like, 'oh my god, that's the best'. But then you watch something in episode two and it's like, 'that's awesome!'

"I would say that I'm a disciple of the show now. I didn't know the book when I was approached about the job. I'd obviously heard of it, and I'd seen season one — as a punter, I watched it.

"To get the opportunity to come and work on season two, it's a gift for a costume designer.

"You do fantasy, you do period, you do contemporary and all of the wavy lines in- between - you're given a lot of rope to play with."

The character of Shax, played by Miranda Richardson, was a "really fun character to design for" - as Kate told how plenty of ideas jumped to mind after reading the description.

She said, "When Neil writes on the page that you have a 50s inspired female demon, that gives you a lot of scope to play with. "

And when I started drawing her, I actually had to stop myself because I kept coming up with ideas."

And with the series jampacked with magical moments and settings, set decorator Bronwyn Franklin told how there was one particular shop that has a "certain magic'!

She said, "I actually think the magic shop is my favourite shop. The bookshop used to be, but now that l've done it twice - it's still beautiful. It is Aziraphale's home. It feels more magical because Aziraphale lives there, and there's the whole angelic side.

"But this one, it really has a certain magic. From a set decorator's point of view, it's a joy. Will Godstone, he gets to sit there and he's got his little cash register and if he's got no customers, he can sit there and have a little cup of tea.

"You just have to feel that person, live that person and think that it's yours. I always come into a space like this and think, 'how would I like to be?' Because if it makes me happy, it'll make the cast member happy, it'll make the viewers happy."

Michael Ralph, who is the series' production designer, told how while it's impossible to pick a favourite set, the bookshop is "one that will resonate most'.'

Aziraphale's bookshop contains more than 7,000 real books and Michael noted that it was important for the setting to feel real, not just for the audiences at home but for the cast and crew.

He said, "There's not a fake book in here. Couldn't do that. In a way, if you look at any bookshelf - I spent almost a day just moving books around, to make the bookshelves look like they're real. They could be flat dressed, and then they're not real. But this is real, when they're just moved around a little bit; or people have pulled them out and put them in incorrectly.. .that's what's real about a bookshop."

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its-time-to-write · 11 months

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three times ‘cause i’ve waited my whole life

I am apparently incapable of writing anything short. This has no plot. I think the only warnings are like swearing and innuendo. It is literally just Jamie and the reader being in love. I cannot stress enough how little plot this has. Enjoy.

three times ‘cause I’ve waited my whole life It’s one of Richmond’s biggest games. They’re facing Man City on their turf, an away game, and it’s a big deal.

It’s not important in that it really matters to their status in the premier league, but important because it’s Man City. Jamie has thrown himself completely into training, so you rarely see him except to eat dinner and then fall asleep, his arms around your waist as you watch tv, fingers combing through his hair. He’s awake before you are, but as soon as you hear him switch on the bathroom light, you make your way downstairs to make him breakfast. The team nutritionist had a strict diet for him, one modified by Roy to account for all the extra training. You rub sleep from your eyes as you brew a pot of tea, waiting for Jamie to come downstairs.

Arms snake around you as you wait at the stove for the tea.“You don’t have to do this,” Jamie says, kissing your neck. You smile and reach back to him.

“I know,” you reply, “It’s just the only time I really get to see you.”

Jamie pulls away and turns you around. You see that he’s frowning.

“I haven’t been a good boyfriend recently, have I?” he asks.

You smile, lacing your arms around his neck. “Jamie. This is just a part of life. You have a big game, you disappear for a while, I miss you and I adjust. You finish, win or lose, and we’re back. I knew what I was signing up for.”

He puts his hands on your wrists. “Yeah, but, like, we’re supposed to be talking to each other and shit. And I’m so tired all the time that I can’t think of anything to say. I also’ve been a shit listener. Can’t even remember what we talked about yesterday.”

You sigh, move his hands back to your waist, and then reach up to smooth the furrow in his brow.

“Remember when I had all that extra work last month and ended up working 60 hours a week because of everything that had to be done? I was up late every night, and all you did was bring me food and kiss me, then you left me alone. I think the longest we were together was when you let me sit with my legs on your lap for two hours. I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Yeah but-”

You cut him off: “Jamie. It’s just life right now. It’s not forever. It’s ok.”

He looks like he has more to say, but is interrupted by the kettle whistling. You give him a quick kiss and then point to his breakfast on the counter. You sit on the kitchen island while he eats, with your head on his shoulder until Roy comes.

—

Here’s the thing; no one knows you and Jamie are together. Sure, Roy knows. But Jamie loves Roy. Keeley knows. But Jamie said you’d love Keeley. (You did). Ted and Beard know, but only because they saw you two walking around the Richmond green late, late at night. (What they were doing on the Richmond green that late is beyond you, but hey). It wasn’t long after that that Jamie put a picture of you two up in his locker, so then all of AFC Richmond knew. But you weren’t public public. You had yet to show up in a tabloid or be seen with Jamie at a game or public event. You went to his games, absolutely, but you stayed in the stands, not the box.

He always got you a spot as close to the field as possible, but you would always meet up with Keeley and Rebecca after games to rendezvous somewhere else later.

You don’t mind. It doesn’t feel like Jamie is ashamed of you, especially because the people he cares about know. But you also know that you can handle it, and if he wants to go public and kiss you in the stands after a win, you would be ok with that. (You might be more than ok with that).

But as it is, no one knows about you. He knows where you stand on it, so the ball’s in his court. It’s been a year of this, but you just wonder how long it’s going to last.

—

Finally, finally it’s the week of the game. You had been staying in Manchester with Jamie’s mum, which was absolutely terrifying at first. It was not your first time meeting her, just your first time staying with her without Jamie present. You left a day before the team, so when they arrived Jamie sneaked away to come visit. You are sitting in comfortable silence on his mum’s porch looking up at the night sky, when he turns to you and says, “do you love me?”

You’re taken a little aback. “What kind of question is that?” you say. “Of course I love you.”

Jamie’s forehead is all scrunched up again, like it was that early morning. “What if I fucked my leg so badly I could never play football again?”

You laugh. “Not sure if you’ve noticed babe, but I’m not really a big football person. I’m more of a you person, so I guess there’s some overlap.”

Jamie is still weirdly nervous. “What if I play football till I’m forty, and you barely see me like it’s been? What if I’m always on the road and always training and all we get are dinners and shitty 3am breakfasts?”

He’s removed his arm from your shoulders at this point and you shiver, puffing out a breath into the cold air. He notices without saying a word and drapes his jacket around you.

“Jamie,” you reply slowly, trying to formulate your thoughts, “where is this all coming from? You know I love you. We’ve been together for a year, and this has never been an issue before.” As you’re speaking, you’re seized by a sudden, terrible thought: “Are you breaking up with me?”

The words tumble out so fast, you’re not sure he hears you until he’s looking at you, aghast.

“No, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” you reply. “But you’re acting all weird, and we’ve been together for an entire year and that’s the longest you’ve dated anyone and I just thought that maybe this was your way of letting me know gently that you’re over me.”

Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest.

Jamie breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh. No. I’m not ending things. I want to be with you forever. I just get all freaked out in me head before games like this, and it’s been fuckin weird coming home, and I just want to win, you know, so that way all this time away is worth it.” He pulls you close to him again and you can feel his heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace, in sync with your own.

You sit there till his mum comes out to remind him that it’s time to go get some rest, and it’s not until you’re half asleep in Jamie’s childhood bed that your mind replays his words:

I want to be with you forever.

—

It’s game day. You send Jamie a quick love you! text and then slip into your Jamie Tartt jersey. It’s from one of his old kits so it’s a little worn, but you always put it into his laundry pile so it comes out of the wash smelling like him. It’s not something anyone would notice, but you know, and it makes you smile. You get to be in the stands and know that Jamie Tartt loves you and you love him, and at the end of the day he’s the one you get to hold. You give yourself a shake, and open your phone to figure out where you’re meeting Keeley.

—

“And Richmond wins, 3-2 with a smashing goal by number 9 himself, Jamie Tartt!”

You’re screaming and jumping in the stands, overwhelmed by the fact that we won, we won, we won! The Richmond team are piling onto each other, Dani on Isaac’s back, Sam and Jan Maas jumping up and down like kids. You lose sight of Jamie in the mix.

“Well Arlo, it looks like Richmond has once again, exceeded all of our low expectations.”

“That’s right Chris, all thanks to Jamie Tartt’s brilliant goal. Looks like he’s having a good time celebrating with the Richmond lads. Wonder what they’ll get up to tonight? But what’s this? It looks like Tartt has broken away from his teammates and is running to the stands! He’s stopped in front of a fan and it looks like he is kissing a very lucky Richmond fan full on the mouth!”

“Have you ever been so caught up in a moment that you’ve made out with a stranger, Arlo?”

“Can’t say that I have, Chris. Can’t say that I have.”

It all happens so fast, that you don’t even know how to process it. One moment you can’t find Jamie and the next he is leaping over the stands, catching you in his arms, and kissing you in front of the whole stadium as if no one else is around. When you finally pull away, breathless, he takes your hand and helps you hop over the wall onto the pitch. Not usually allowed, but you suppose they’ll let it slide for football’s golden boy. AFC Richmond has caught up to Jamie, and you’re all on the field, screaming your heads off out of the sheer joy of winning.

—

“You’re coming tonight, yeah?” Isaac asks you as you wait for Jamie by the team bus. It’s the day after the Man City game, and you’re back in Richmond with a plan to hit the town yet again, as though the night before wasn’t enough for them. (You actually wouldn’t know, because you were in a very nice hotel room with a certain striker).

“Yeah, you know the only reason we invited him anywhere is in the hopes that you’ll finally be able come along,” Colin adds.

Any story of Richmond’s win had a somewhat fuzzy picture attached of Jamie kissing you in the stands with some variation of the title “Tartt’s mystery girl.”

You laugh. “Yes, we’ll be there. It’ll be nice to actually be out and about with you guys. Family dinners are fun, but there’s more to life.”

Once you found out that Jamie’s whole team knew you existed, you made him invite them over for dinner once a month. It’s one of your favorite things, especially because they all bring food to share. When it’s warm you do pool parties and when it’s cold you play bracket uno. It was nice to meet Jamie’s family, whether he’ll admit that’s what they are or not.

“You ready, babe?” Jamie asks as he slings his arm around you.

“BYE TED!” you yell. “Ok. Now I’m ready.”

—

Sam closed his restaurant special for you all, and turned it into like a private club. You say like because it is, at its core, a restaurant. However, under Isaac’s supervision and creative design, he apparently has transformed Ola’s through rearranged furniture, dimmed lighting, and music into a place where AFC Richmond can celebrate their win without feeling crowded by strangers. You’re secretly grateful, because clubs are not really your scene. You’ll get all dressed up, sure, but you never know what to do with yourself once you’re there.

Speaking of getting dressed up, you were feeling yourself. You had a light blue mini dress, with an asymmetrical neckline and a single puffed sleeve. It was more a-line than bodycon, but hey. You like a little bit of a twirl when you spin. Your absolute favorite part though was that you were wearing two-inch silver block heels, with straps around your ankles. The dress plus the shoes made your legs look magical.

You and Jamie are in the bathroom getting ready, you fixing your makeup and him fixing his hair. He half-turns to you and points to his hair with a questioning look. “Lookin’ good,” you smile, and he smiles back.

“Oh, babe,” he says, tweaking his hair one final time, “I left my sunglasses back at the locker room, and I was wonderin’ if you’d be ok getting them with me before we head to the party? I just don’t want Bumbercatch stealing them.”

“Why would Bumbercatch steal them?” you ask.

Jamie shrugs. “Something about ‘no name, fair game.’ That’s how Jan Maas lost his favorite socks.”

You shudder. Why Bumbercatch would want Jan Maas’ dirty old socks, you have no idea. They must be really amazing.

You reply, “Yeah sure, I hate being too early to things anyway,” as Jamie absentmindedly kisses you on the forehead with a “thanks babe,” as he heads downstairs.

—

You don’t live far from the Richmond pitch, so you’re walking across the dark parking lot in no time.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Jamie says.

He’s swinging your hands as you walk. He looks nice, the sleeves of his cream shirt rolled up. Nice pants, nice shoes. Nice ass.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, momentarily distracted by the fact that this man is going to get laid tonight.

“No, I mean you’re always down for what-fuckin-ever, and you just let things bounce off you. And you like me, for my personality for some fucking reason? And I think about you all the time, when I’m gone or when, like, I have early training with Roy. And you make laugh because you stopped being afraid to be yourself around me. I just like you. And I meant what I said the other day, I do want to be with you forever. Not to freak you out or whatever.”

He’s stopped right at the doors and he looks so uncomfortable and earnest in a way that you’ve never seen before.

“I’m not freaked out, Jaim,” you say. “I love you, and you know I’m in it to win it with you. Now, let’s get those sunglasses and for the love of god, please don’t act this weird tonight.”

This elicits a chuckle, and he nods in concession. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The halls are dark and quiet as you walk to the Richmond locker room. It smells clean, for once. Like lavender. There’s a faint glow coming from the doors and Jamie pushes open the doors to the most magical thing you have ever seen.

There are candles on the benches and twinkle lights strung across the lockers. There’s a bouquet of flowers in the middle of the room and as you turn to Jamie, awestuck look on your face, you see him kneeling behind you, small black box in hand.

“Jamie,” you say.

“Yes, love,” he replies.

“What are you doing.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it comes out more wobbly than you’d care to admit.

He cracks a smile. “Eh, I hope it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing.”

You can feel a fucking tear forming in your eye and you will it to go away. You refuse to have streaky foundation.

“Love of my life,” Jamie begins.

“Yes,” you say.

“Oi, you’ve gotta let me finish.”

“Right, sorry, as you were.” You think your face is going to split in half with the size of your smile.

He takes a breath then continues, “there’s no one else I’d rather have shitty 3am breakfasts with, no one else I’d rather beat at MarioKart, and no one else I’d rather do life with. Will you m-”

He’s cut of by you kissing him like you have never kissed him before. After a moment, he pulls away and asks, “Is that a yes?”

You can’t help it, the furrow in his brow gets you every time so you laugh and reply, “Of course it’s a yes, you dummy!”

Jamie smiles and then yells, “Lads, she said yes!” and the blinds go up from the coaches office as the entire AFC Richmond team storms into the locker room. Dani and Richard are spraying champagne in the air as people hug you and slap Jamie on the back.

You find his hand amid the chaos and squeeze it.

“Can’t believe I were so nervous about this,” he says into your ear.

“Can’t believe you think you beat me at MarioKart,” you respond.

“Oi, we are not getting into this again-”

“There’s only one way to settle this.”

Jamie looks at you, then to all your friends celebrating, then back to you. “Think they’ll even notice we’re gone?”

You shake my head. “Nah,” you say, “let’s get out of here.”

Jamie smiles at me as you slip through six different lynx scents out the door. “You’re going down, Mrs. Tartt.”

“Only one of us is going down tonight, Mr. Tartt, and I can assure you it is not me!”

“You can say that again.” Jamie sticks out his tongue and wiggles his eyebrows at you, and your laughter echoes up into the night sky.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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iamnotoriginalphil · 3 months

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Request: some jealous Rebecca Welton x oblivious reader where reader just cannot tell when someone is flirting with her one of the many reasons also why it took so long for Rebecca and reader to officially start dating

Jealousy

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: some swearing

Rebecca’s fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, the plastic groaning from the pressure. She ignored it, eyes trained on your figure. Your laugh made her heart thump hard behind her rib cage, the bruise left in its wake due to not being the one to coax that laugh from you. You flipped your hair over your shoulder, listening to Isaac as you lent closer.

His arm slid over your shoulders, leading you further down the hallway. Something ugly gnawed at Rebecca’s stomach. She had to turn away or risk hurting someone. Taking some deep breaths, she peeked over her shoulder. You were looking back at her, not realising the way Isaac’s eyes were sweeping down your body.

The smile you gave her was brighter than any you’d given Isaac. Her own lips curled up, an unconscious response, never able to not give in to the impulse when it came to you.

Extracting yourself from Isaac, you said something quietly before making your way to Rebecca’s side. Isaac’s eyes lingered on your retreating back, dipping down to follow the sway of your hips. She bit back her growl, that ugly feeling sink its teeth into her stomach again.

“Hi,” you said, looking up into her face, your smile broad.

“What did Isaac want?” she asked, knowing her voice was harsher than she intended.

“Oh, he was inviting me to the party tonight. Why didn’t you tell me about it? Apparently all of the guys want me there,” you said, “you’re going right?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, despite having previously declined an invitation. A groups of sweaty football players in a darkened room with loud music was hardly her idea of an enjoyable evening. You in a darkened room, however, was a different matter altogether. Especially if that room was full of sweaty football players with testicles bigger than the size of their brains.

Your smile widened and your eyes sparkled. You reached out, hand landing against her forearm, burning through the silk of her blouse. You bounced onto your toes, face drawing just a bit closer to hers.

“You’ll really come?” you asked.

“For you, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, just waiting for the words to hit your brain. She could see the moment it did. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you tried to contain your grin and you were looking at her like she hung the moon.

“Tonight is going to be ace,” you said, letting her arm go, “I’m going to go buy something to wear. I’ll see you later tonight.”

She felt bereft as you stepped back, taking one then another away from her. You waved to the guys before pushing out of the door into the sunlight that swallowed you up. You glanced back, just long enough to meet her eye, flashing her another one of your bright smiles. The way it warmed her, you could have been the sun that flooded into her club.

She was distracted the rest of the day, the image of the boys flirting with you distracting her from her work. Who could focus on contracts when those very men were trying to steal you from her? Your bright smile was meant to be turned in her direction, not laughing at one of the boys dirty jokes.

“Hey good looking,” Keeley said, strutting into the room, “why are you wearing ‘someone’s going to die but I’ll look fit while doing it’ face?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” she said.

“The boys invited her to the party?” she asked.

“Yes, and now I have to go or wonder which of them are putting their dirty mitts on her,” she replied, lips pursing.

“You know she’s crazy about you. You don’t have to worry,” Keeley said, nudging her.

“I’m not worried about her. It’s them I’m not happy with. I don’t like them… thinking they have a shot with her,” she said, hands flapping as she tried to put into words her anger.

“So you need to look hot tonight. Show them there’s no competition. A bunch of sweaty hairy guys? They’ve got nothing on you,” she said, “you’re well fit.”

“Thanks,” she said, a small chuckle on her lips, “you really think I have nothing to worry about?”

“Come on, Rebecca. She looks at you like you’re the greatest thing she’s ever seen. There’s literally not even a competition going on,” Keeley replied.

“You’re right. Of course your right,” she said, “I should wear the red dress, shouldn’t I?”

“Fuck yes!”

Rebecca laughed, head tipping back, the vestiges of her jealousy seeping away. Of course she had nothing to worry about. It’s not as if you were going to the party with Isaac. You’d asked her if she was going. It mattered to you.

So why, when she arrived, did Isaac have his stupid hairy arm around your shoulder, passing you a drink while you smiled up at him?

She did her best to ignore it, striding past to find her own drink, missing the way your eyes lingered on her. Something not in a plastic cup if she could avoid it. She hadn’t done that since her university days. She wasn’t about to start doing that again, just to be like the boys.

She rifled through the cupboards to find a glass to pour some of the cheap wine into. With a sigh, she took a long drink from it, just able to see you through the door. The moment your gaze landed on her it was like electricity struck. Your eyes lit up and you ducked out from under Isaac’s arm, practically tripping over yourself to reach her side.

“You came,” you said, beaming up at her.

“Of course. I told you I would,” she said.

“Yeah, but I mean this isn’t really your scene,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at the dim living room. You snorted when you saw the boys.

“Anywhere you are is my scene,” she said.

Your smile brightened, “aw, that’s really sweet. Thank you.”

You hauled yourself up onto the counter, legs swinging, heels kicking against the wooden doors. The skirt of your dress lifted, skin on display making her feel crazy. She longed to touch it, to feel your skin against her fingertips as she dragged them upwards until you moaned her name.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you said, “it’s nice not being the only girl. Keeley said she was coming later but when she does Jamie is going to up the idiocy and then Roy will growl and Keeley will be distracted. It’s nice to have someone bring a bit of class to this thing. Plus, you’re like my favourite person so know I won’t have to leave early to see you.”

“You don’t want all those boys to yourself?” she asked, sidling up to you, arm brushing your leg.

“Them?” you scoffed, “you’re clearly the best one here.”

“Well, after you,” she said.

Your smile was so pretty when you looked at her. Sitting on the counter, your were face to face with her, something she didn’t often get to enjoy. You shifted closer, leaning into her. She did her best not feel flustered at the feeling of your arm pressing against hers. Even after all this time, she still felt like a girl in the grips of her first crush.

“You know, if you wanted to, we could-“

“There you are,” Sam interrupted, walking into the kitchen, “I was hoping to see you here.”

“Sam,” you said, turning that smile on the young football player.

You reached over, pulling him into a hug. She didn’t want to focus on how easy it was for you, doling out your affection.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, drawing back as his eyes slid over your body.

“Oh this old thing,” you giggled.

“You really do. You’re lighting up the room,” he said.

“Thanks Sam,” you said, teeth sinking down into your lower lip.

“Come, there is dancing. Someone as beautiful as you should be shown off.” He held out his hand to you.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, “I might just stay here and talk to Rebecca.”

“We need your radiance to remind us to be civilised. A pretty girl like you should be dancing,” he said.

“Really. I’m okay,” you said, “but you go have fun for me.”

“I must insist. You dance with an elegance the rest of us can only dream of,” he said.

“Well, if you’re insisting.”

You took his hand, letting him help you down from the counter. Rebecca opened her mouth to say something then snapped it shut, not wanting to ruin your fun. She lingered in the doorway, watching as Sam’s hands landed on your hips and your head tipped back as you laughed. Her fingers continued to tighten on the glass in her hand. She downed the wine in one swig.

You spun from Sam’s arms, straight into Dani’s. You were laughing and he was holding you closer and Montclaur was eyeing you up. She turned, leaving you be, needing another drink. Scooping up the bottle of wine she’d poured from earlier, she left her glass in the sink and slipped out the back door.

The garden was small, just a bit of grass and a few chairs. She sunk into one, not bothering to think about the dirt she’d be getting on her dress by sitting. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she let herself have a moment to wallow. She wanted that attention on her, to be in your atmosphere.

She tipped her head back, looking up at the night sky. A few stars winked down at her, just seen through a small gap in the clouds. Sighing, she took another drink. She knew it wasn’t the same as with Rupert, that you weren’t the one going around hitting on anything that moved. But the old insecurities were rising again.

She knew all the reasons you shouldn’t be with her. She’d been on cloud nine since the first time you’d kissed her but even then she’d known that she didn’t deserve you. She was no better than Rupert, going after a younger woman. A young woman who shone so brightly of course everyone else was drawn to you. She took another long drink.

“There you are.”

You were standing just outside the door, your arms curled around your body. Given your dress was skin tight, she could see the way you were shivering. You walked towards her, your smile bright despite how cold you looked.

“Why are you out here?” you asked.

She held out a hand to you, drawing you closer. You didn’t hesitate to settle yourself on her lap, curling an arm around her neck. Her own hand rested on your hip, the other gentle as it rested on your thigh. Skin on bare skin was enough to make her crave you with every fibre of her being.

“Baby?” you asked.

“You seemed busy so I decided to get some air,” she replied, not wanting to admit just how much she couldn’t bare to watch you dance with those men.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, snuggling closer to her.

“Not with you here,” she replied, “you’re warming me up.”

Your lips pressed to her cheek, soft and chaste. Her fingers tightened on your thigh, a reflex to the feeling. You hummed, your lips ghosting over her skin, pressing to spot under her jaw that you knew drove her wild. Her sharp inhalation of breath was a surprise to her and yet she was melting under your touch.

“I love this dress on you,” you murmured into her skin, “you look so hot.”

She flushed from the compliment.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really out here?” you asked, “did the boys make you feel unwelcome since you’re the boss?”

“No,” she sighed, tipping her head back, giving you better access.

“Please, Rebecca,” you pleaded, drawing back, looking at her with those big eyes, swimming with concern. She cursed under her breath, knowing she couldn’t say no to you, not when you were looking at her like that.

“I don’t like the way the boys flirt with you,” she admitted.

“They boys? They’re not flirting,” you said, shaking your head.

“Of course they are. Isaac can’t keep his hands off you. Sam was drooling over you in the kitchen. Montclaur was leering at you. I heard Dani asking you on a date. They’re not even hiding it from me, the fuckers,” she said, looking back up at the night sky.

“They’re just being nice,” you brushed off.

“They’re fucking not,” she snapped.

You drew away from her and guilt curdled in her stomach. There was no point getting angry at you. It wasn’t your fault. You were so gorgeous it was no wonder everyone you met wanted you. She had. It would be hypocritical to not understand why other people would want you.

“Baby, are you jealous?” you asked.

“No,” slipped from her too fast to convince anyone, “yes. It’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important,” you said, “I don’t want you feeling like this over nothing. You know I have no interest in any of those boys, right? They’re all hairy and sweaty and gross.”

“Really?” she asked, hating that she needed the reassurance.

“No one even comes close to comparing with you. You’re the greatest person I’ve ever met. And the most beautiful. Like, if I could I’d be with you all the time. I don’t want to be with anyone but you.” You gently cupped her cheek in your warm palm, “I love you, Rebecca. No one is going to change that.”

“You love me?” Those words were branded into her brain, none of the rest of it penetrating after that.

“I was planning on telling you at a nicer place than this but yeah. I love you. I thought you might have figured it out already. I don’t think I’m very good at hiding it.” You gave a little self conscious chuckle, “but I love you so much and so I don’t want you to worry that one of those boys could ever steal me away. You’re the only one for me.”

She stared down at you, not able to comprehend that you loved her. That you were choosing her. That you wanted her. You were smiling, so close to her, looking so beautiful, loving her. Your smile dimmed a little and she realised she hadn’t said anything for too long.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

Your grin returned as you lent forward. Your lips brushed hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from pulling you in further, her tongue running along your bottom lip. You moaned into her mouth and she knew she could spend the rest of her life listening to that noise.

Someone wolf-whistled and you drew away, ignoring the way she tried to pull you closer again. Looking over your shoulder, she was ready to tell off whichever of the boys was interrupting her time with you. Keeley was grinning at the two of you, sparkling like the amazing woman she was, leaning in the doorway.

“Keep it in your pants, Welton,” she called, making her way towards the two of you, “leave some for the rest of us.”

“Very funny,” she called back.

You giggled, pressing your face into her shoulder, doing your best to stifle them. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head. She wasn’t ever going to get tired of this.

“Looks like you two are having fun,” she said, perching on one of the other chairs.

“We are,” you said, emerging from your hidden spot. She tightened her arm around your waist, making you press closer.

“We could get out of here, if you want to,” she murmured into your ear.

“Okay,” you said, “but can we get some ice cream on the way back to your place?”

“Of course.”

You climbed off her lap, holding out a hand for her. You tangled your fingers together, tugging her away from the chairs. Rebecca passed the wine bottle over to Keeley, leading you towards the gate to let you out of the backyard.

“Have fun you two,” Keeley said, giving a salacious wink as she passed you to re-eneter the house.

Having you leave with her, sliding into her car, smiling at her like she was the greatest thing you’d ever seen, it was enough to make her not even able to remember why she’d been so jealous earlier. Of course you’d choose her. You loved her.

There was absolutely no one to be jealous of.

#rebecca welton #rebecca welton x reader #rebecca welton imagine

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benedictscanvas · 11 months

Note

Hi! I’m such a huge fan of your Ted Lasso fics! I completely agree that there’s not enough Roy Kent fics out there. I was wondering if I could request a fic where Roy has feelings for the physiotherapist on the team and she has feelings for him too, and he’s all upset after his final game because he won’t be able to see her anymore and he’s worried she’s upset because he undid all her hard work rehabbing his knee, but it’s all sweet and yearning. I know that’s a lot so if it’s not your thing, absolutely no worries!

i've been meaning to get to this one, because i really like it!! and i just want to thank you for ur support because ur user pops up a lot in my notifs and i appreciate you so much <3 also i've made up roy's injury and keeley is with jamie in this ahaha | 2k words (!!), tw language, hurt/comfort

Roy is barely holding himself together.

He sinks down onto the bench in the dressing room and stares straight away, eyes burning. It's like his whole body is on fire and he knows if he held his hand in front of his face, it would be shaking. He doesn't try it, instead curls his hands into fists, clenching the bench below him.

He's fucked it.

His knee. His career. His life. It had been coming, he knew, but he still expected to have a year or two left in him. Some time to come to terms with his whole world coming crashing down around him. Instead he does one stupid fucking tackle on Jamie fucking Tartt and now he's done. Even the crowd had known it. The thought of them chanting for him brings back a lump in his throat.

He sees a shadow at the door and hangs his head. Knows the outline of you too well to pretend it's anyone else. You've come to shout at him, or slap him around the face, or maybe mock him. Whatever it is, he doesn't want to hear it.

You enter silently other than the door clicking shut behind you, but Roy doesn't look up to greet you. He keeps his eyes on the floor.

"I don't-" he clears his throat when his voice comes out all hoarse. All wrong, "I don't want to hear it. I fucked it, I know, and I don't want to fucking hear it."

You don't respond, instead walking further over to him and crouching down in front of him. He'd waved you away on the pitch, surprised that you'd let him stand up and walk off. He didn't look back at you when he did, knowing all he'd see would be disappointment.

You've got your physio bag, he notices, and you're unzipping it, rifling through the contents.

"There's no point. Get out, Y/N," he tries again, voice more desperate this time, "Please."

"Would you just shut the fuck up?" you say suddenly, louder than the quiet room deserved. You sigh, at yourself it seems, but Roy is frozen in place. He'd prepared himself for you to come and shout at him, but still hadn't expected you to really do it. You never shouted.

Still, he did as he was told, because he was too stunned to argue with you.

You get an icepack on his knee immediately, grumbling under your breath but he can't make out the words. There's some gel that you rub on too, and that eases some of the pain he's in, not that he can bring himself to say thank you. When you've properly secured the icepack to his knee, you finally look up at his face.

"You might have hurt yourself more by refusing that stretcher, you twat," you spit out, and he can see the anxiety swirling across your whole face, "Why do you have to be so..."

You trail off, scoffing to yourself without finishing your sentence as your gaze drops back down to his knee. Roy is tired and in pain and frustrated - all three of which were reasons for not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"Reckless? Fucking stupid? Old as shit? It's just what I fucking am, alright? I couldn't let that shit score, and now it's over. Fucking all of it."

He hears his voice get small towards the end. You're back looking at him and shaking your head before he's even finished.

"For the season, yeah. Then we get back to fucking work, Kent. We can start you on the slow stuff, rebuild the strength. I can assess whether you'll need an op-"

"Y/N."

"Don't," you say harshly, pointing up at him, but there's a break in your voice he doesn't know what to do with, "You're not done."

"We both know that it's my fucking ACL. Two years recovery time, more 'cause I'm fucking ancient. It's over."

He sees the tears in your eyes then. Fuck. One minute he thought you were unbearably angry with him, now you were on the verge of crying? He felt slow in a whole new way, unable to keep up with where this was going.

"You've worked so fucking hard," you grind out, "It can't just...if I'd done more on your knee the last few weeks maybe...We knew it was a problem. I could have-"

It hits him like a freight train when he realises all your anger is directed at yourself. That you're blaming yourself, not him. He gulps, watches you staring off in the direction of Ted's office as your tears fall.

You've worked together ceaselessly this season. He needs a lot of treatment in a lot of areas nowadays, not that he likes to admit it. You've been there every step of the way, poking and prodding and kneading out every knot, but also laughing. Eating the occasional breakfast when he comes in early for you to work on him.

He's not sure he's ever been this into someone before. Where it's crept up on him slowly and then washed over him all at once - about a month ago when Phoebe visited Richmond. Seeing you with her was like seeing some kind of future he never thought he'd have.

He still didn't think he'd have it. This injury was proof enough that good things didn't have a habit of coming his way. It was why he'd kept quiet about it ever since he realised rather than pouring his heart out to you.

"Hey," he says gruffly, completely out of his depth, "You're blaming yourself? I thought you were fucking livid with me."

Your eyes shoot back to his despite their bloodshot nature. Despite the situation, he watches as you giggle in disbelief.

"Angry with you? When has that ever fucking happened?" you say wetly, wiping at your face with rough fingertips, "I'm your physio, Roy, I'm meant to prevent this shit. And fix it. And now I can't fucking do either."

A fresh wave of tears bubbles up over your eyelids and travels down your face as you let out a sob. It's the first time he thinks about another side effect of his career ending - he'll have to leave Richmond. All the people he's come to love, despite really not wanting to. That would include you.

With an instinct he didn't know he had, he reached out to tug on your hand. You looked up at him in surprise, but he helps to pull you up with a small groan when you don't really let him take any of your weight. He guides you to sit next to him on the bench, so you do, sniffling uncontrollably.

"You've done a fucking lot for me these last few years. Especially this season. Don't fucking beat yourself up about this. I'm the one who made the stupid tackle."

"He was through on goal. You stopped him."

"And it might not make a fucking difference."

"It might," you try, crying slowing down as you switch into protective mode. He's seen you do it many times, but it never fails to bring warmth to his face, "Look, if I can't beat myself up, neither can you. Let's just blame the fucking universe, yeah?"

He considers it. Sounds like a good way to vent his frustration without falling into a spiral of self-hatred, but it might also get you to stop crying which is all he wants in the fucking world at this moment.

"Fine. Fuck the universe."

"Fuck the universe," you agree, bumping your shoulder lightly into his own, "Now would you start crying, please, so I'm not the only one embarrassing myself?"

Roy smiles despite himself at that, happy when he turns your way and sees you smiling too.

"I'm going to cry later, in the privacy of my fucking home," he says, wrapping an arm around you because it feels like both the right time and the right place, "Like a normal fucking person."

"Fuck you," you laugh, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. Roy spots a stray tear on your collarbone and reaches to smudge it away without thinking. You shuffle closer to him, his arm still around you, and put your own hand on his thigh.

Roy's brain short-circuits.

"I'll be leaving," he says, sudden even to himself, "Can't fucking stick around if I'm not playing."

"I know," you say softly, tucking your head into his shoulder. He can't let his own head rest against yours, because he knows he'd get too comfortable. Knows he'd never want to move again.

He takes a moment. He knows what he wants to say, he's just not sure he can.

"I don't want to fucking leave," he gets out through gritted teeth, but he's left out the most important word.

You. I don't want to fucking leave you.

It's stuck in his throat as he peers down at the top of your head, still resting on him. He kicks himself inwardly when he can't get the extra word out before you start talking, index finger tracing gentle patterns just above his knee.

"Yeah, I don't want you to fucking leave either," you say, as if you're admitting something terrible. He can tell you're watching the movement of your own hand to avoid looking up at him. "You won't stick around, join the coaching staff?"

"Fuck no," he barks out, feeling you chuckle against his side, "I couldn't do that shit."

"You could," you insist, "But it's okay if you don't want to. I just thought maybe I could look after you if you did."

He tries to move away from you to look at your face with a smirk, but you stay rooted to the spot and stop drawing your patterns on his leg abruptly.

"Your knee! I meant look after your fucking knee, Jesus."

It's now or never. He's so sick of never saying what he fucking means around you, but if he can't do that, he'll settle for the next best thing.

"Do you make house calls?"

It's the worst line he's ever used. But you're here rather than watching the end of the match, and your head is on his shoulder, hand on his thigh. He wonders if maybe, his luck might be balancing out, if maybe you'll understand what he's trying and failing to say.

"Huh?"

He stifles his own chuckle at the confusion in your voice. Willing himself to just fucking do something, he takes your hand from his knee and holds it in his own, clasping on tightly. There's a spike in his heart rate when you grip his hand right back.

"I'm asking-" he begins, hoping you can't hear his heartbeat, "-if you do house calls. To look after my knee, and shit. Once I'm gone."

"Oh."

You've definitely understood his meaning. In past months, he'd be tearing his hair out over trying to read between the lines, probably taking it out on Ted or Jamie or Isaac or whoever was nearby to be shouted at. Now he's positive, as you cling to his hand, that you know what he's trying to say.

Even if he's not sure of your reaction yet, there's already a weight lifted from his chest. And whatever that fucking gel you put on his knee was, he hasn't felt the pain in it since.

"As a club physio, no," you answer slowly, but he knows that's not the end of your sentence, "No house calls. Also no going into the dressing room during a match, no putting numbing cream on an injury just cause you don't want a player in pain, no holding a player's hand."

He's grinning now. Maybe because you can't actually see him doing it, but then he locks in on something you've said amongst the floating feeling that's taken over his body.

"Wait, you put fucking numbing cream on me?"

"You're welcome," you retort, "My point is that I've clearly broken a few rules for you already. So, house calls it is. For the sake of your knee."

He squeezes your hand.

"For the sake of my fucking knee, yeah."

And because it doesn't feel so scary anymore, he puts his head on top of your own and reminds himself that he was going to cry later, not now. For now, with your hand lodged tightly in his own, he decides to think about that future he didn't think he'd ever get, instead.

---

please see this post if you would like to request your own roy/jamie drabble!! closing soon <3

#roy kent x reader #roy kent #ted lasso #ted lasso x reader #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #roy kent fluff #roy kent oneshot #busy week drabbles!#like real people queue

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daydreamgoddess14 · 10 months

Text

Saturday Mornings

MASTERLIST

🤸‍♀️ Well , well, well, didn't take long to get me back on my bullshit, did it? 🤣 I bring you a Roy Kent smutty one shot. Enjoy the gorgeousness of this man 🥵

Roy doesn't have a thing for Phoebe's dance teacher. Until he does. 👀

For @littleesilvia 😘

Saturday Mornings

Saturday morning had always been for Phoebe. From the day she was born, Roy had dedicated every Saturday morning to her. In the first weeks of her birth, he'd let himself into his sister's house and picked up a squawking Phoebe from the moses basket and taken care of her from 6-10 am so his sister could get more sleep. In those early days, he'd spoken to her in his deep, gruff voice while she drifted in and out of sleep. Then they'd go for a walk to the shop, the neighbours peeping into the buggy until Roy had growled at them to "Fuck off and stop gawping at her, she's trying to fucking sleep." As she got a little older, it became cartoons and cereal - devoured together on the sofa, and then a trip to the park. He'd arranged everything for 9 years around his Saturday mornings with Phoebe. Even away matches with a midday kick off didn't stop him, it didn't matter if it was an hour, or five hours - match day or no match day, rain or shine, if he was single or not, Uncle Roy would be there. Their time alone together moved through her swimming lessons phase, gymnastics phase, and morphed into his coaching her kids team. He wanted to be on board with this next phase - really, he did.

After 8 weeks of lessons, he'd finally put his finger on what the problem was. The dancing was nothing new, Phoebe had tried ballet, tap, some weird toddler baby dance shit. 16 weeks ago, she'd switched to some kind of pop/tween dance class with a lovely older woman who mostly sat to one side and pointed to each move, each music transition. It had been great, 8.30-9.30am every Saturday, fucking wonderful. Then 8 weeks ago, that woman had switched classes and you had taken over. You, with your tight Tik Tok leggings and your cropped t-shirt. You who showed the kids each move over and over again. The number of dad's attending the class had suddenly gone up. It had been 6 months since he thought that he and Keeley could try again, but she'd made it clear that that was not the case. He'd been single for longer than 6 months before, sure, but not for a long time. Back then in his younger days, he'd thought nothing of a mutually convenient resolution with a friend until he met his next significant other. He’d come to the conclusion now that he was too fucking old for a friends with benefits situation.

If it was just Saturday mornings that were the problem, he could live with that. He started out by taking a book and ignoring the class completely, but Phoebe did not like that at all. So he switched to audiobooks, brought a pair of fucking ear buds so he could drown out the sound of your voice, your gentle encouragement and the giggles. If it wasn’t the leggings going to tip him over the edge, it was going to be the giggles. Or the praise. Weird, he didn’t realise he had a bit of a praise kink before. Then he heard you in a breathy voice saying something that definitely could apply to situations other than a 9 year olds dance class and nearly had to leave the room. No, it wasn’t just Saturday mornings anymore. You came to mind now at the most inconvenient times. Sitting on the bike while Jamie pulled him along at 5am when shouting at Jamie in the street would have been frowned upon and they instead trained quietly, whenever one of the kids dance routine songs came on the radio and he was forced to relive watching you teach them, at night in the dark when he was alone, in the shower… He absolutely had to stop thinking about you like this. Like you’d see it in his eyes when you waved good morning, or when he held his bank card over your little hand held machine to pay for the classes. He also couldn’t stand the very much married men who flirted so openly with you. Clearly telling their wives at home, no love, I’ll take little… Mabel to dance class, you stay here and have a lie in and a cup of tea.

It was funny how they’d migrated from the later morning class which was run by a woman who had the body shape of a fucking pencil. Beautiful, yeah she wasn’t bad. But she didn’t have the strong thighs you did, the sweeping curve of your hip into a cute little waist. He couldn’t go another week like this. Had to stop now, stop being so pervy. He was no better than the other blokes who came to watch their kids' class. Except he was slightly better, because he was actually single.

“Uncle Roy, we’re here, come on!” Phoebe was already half out of the car. He braced himself for another week of torture.

“Good morning guys! Come in, I’m just getting set up.” You called out from across the room. He was a bit too early really. Not intentionally, of course not. You were still in your hoodie, still setting up the portable speaker and drinking a Costa coffee. You put a song on in the background and he had to hold his breath while you pulled off the warm grey sweater. As it came off, it pulled the baggy cropped t-shirt up as well, exposing your sports bra underneath, the soft skin of your stomach. It was definitely soft whenever he thought about it anyway. You straightened yourself out and sat on the floor, stretching your legs out in front of you and reaching forward to your toes. Phoebe lept out of her seat, threw her coat at Roy and plonked herself down in front of you, mirroring your pose. “Joining me for a warm up Phoebs?”

“It’s important to warm up. My Uncle Roy is a football coach and he says it’s the most important part.”

“He’s not wrong.” You smiled, moving through some other poses and stretches. He was a dead man. This was it. The end, this was how it was going to go. You stretch your arms up as far as you can reach them, stretching out your back with a little pop. He tried to ignore the fucking Grecian vase shape your body made, truly. Until you’d made a noise a little too close to a moan for his liking, followed by, “Holy shit that feels good.”

Fucking hell. Fucking hell .

“Sorry Phebs, didn’t mean to swear.”

“It’s ok. I’ll let you off the first time, but you owe me a pound next time.”

“Aww thanks.” The class soon filled up, he wished he’d taken a seat way at the back, out of the way so he could either look at you without it being so noticeable, or ignore you completely. He totally respected your classes, he really did. It was a tricky thing, conducting an age appropriate class for 9 year olds which avoided sexualising dance moves but also made them feel like they were able to move their bodies how they wanted to. Of course, it’s not always the dance moves themselves which could be seen as sexual, more often it’s the person watching who makes that connotation. And he tried so, so hard not to do that. Tried desperately to not think about how your body would move underneath his, on top of his, the beautiful sounds he could draw from you. He needed to get out, feigned a phone call, holding up his phone as he got to the door so you knew he’d be right outside if Phoebe needed anything. He didn’t think you’d even seen him until you gave him a little thumbs up.

At the end of the class, you encourage the kids to just sit for a minute. You all usually end up sprawled on your backs, not having to make eye contact makes it easier for some of the kids to talk openly if they wanted help or an opinion on something. It was somewhat of an eye opener for the parents as well. This week, you had the kids sit up so they could see you,

“I thought I might take you on a little trip, if you guys fancy it? I was going to go and see the new Barbie film after class next week. If any of you want to come with me, with your grown up - of course - then we could have a really exciting morning! I’m not allowed to take any of you without another grown up though, ok? So you’ll have to check with them first.” You handed each of them a little pink party invite. He already knew before Phoebe asked. Their match next week was on Sunday so he was free all of Saturday morning. He had no excuse to not take her, he also didn’t think he wanted one.

He hoped you were a little bit dumb. It was a horrible thought, he knew that, to wish stupidity on someone. But if there was any chance of him making a full recovery and banishing you to the depths of his mind, never to turn up again - especially not when he was in the shower with his hand around himself, he really fucking hoped that you were dumber than a box of rocks. You weren’t. He already had an inkling of that, but he could still live in hope.

“Fancy the Barbie movie next week?” You’d asked brightly as he’d held out his card to pay, he wasn’t sure if it was the physical and mental turmoil of having to watch you for the last hour, but he thought he could detect a sliver of hope in your voice.

“Fucking probably, she won’t let me say no.” Phoebe held out a hand for her pound. “Add it to my tab.”

And of course, that’s how he found himself in a dark cinema the following week with a gaggle of kids around him. He was still trying to work out if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d ended up sitting next to you - it had certainly earned him glares from one or two of the other grown ups. As you laughed again at another joke aimed to sail just over pre-teen heads, he knew it was a curse. It had to be. Forced to listen to that laugh for two hours? Fucking torture. When you cried, he knew he was done for. He reached over, just a little and patted the back of your hand in comfort. Just a little there, there gesture. You’d only fucking gripped his hand and squeezed it, he stole a glance at you and you’d given him a watery smile and a little lopsided shrug. Then you’d let go of his hand, and turned back to the movie. He had to spend the remaining 45 minutes of the film trying not to think about your warm hands carefully exploring his body.

The following week, he did it.

“Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?” He asked quietly as his card payment went through. He didn’t think you’d heard him until you looked up sharply.

"Aren't you like way out of my league?"

"What league is that then?”

“Well, you're in the ridiculously fit footballer league? Y’know for people who date supermodels and influencers?”

“I wouldn't fucking know about that.”

“I'm sure you would, I'm sure they don’t kick you out once you retire. Once a fit footballer, always a fit footballer? Is that the name of it? The… F. I. T? Or is it just the R.F.F.L?”

“What's that stand for?”

“No idea, it's your league, you tell me. Footballers Into Tits?”

“That’s a shit acronym”

“I know. I can do better, promise. Give me a minute.”

“I'm sure you'd be alright in that league” He said quietly,

“Excuse me? That was very cheeky. Ohh, maybe it could stand for ‘Filthy rich but Impossibly Tedious’?”

“That’s pretty good, definitely suits some footballers I know. Alright, fine. What fucking league are you in, then?”

“Whatever the Conference equivalent of the F.I.T is.”

“Now that can’t be true.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I just fucking do. Is it a yes to coffee?”

“I mean, I still think you’re way too high up the F.I.T for me, but sure.”

“It’s the R.F.F.L actually.” He smirks as you hand him a flyer for the class.

“My number is on there.” You tell him, then you’d walked away without taking his number, which meant he was going to have to be the one to contact you first. No, you definitely weren’t dumb. Shit .

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a combination of factors really, a busy week at work meant though he’d messaged you quickly, he wasn’t actually able to meet for coffee until the end of the week. So you’d spent all week in a message exchange which had ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.

“Would you rather fight 100 tiny Jamie Tartt’s or 1 giant one?”

“100 tiny ones. I’d fucking stamp on them all.”

“Figured out what league you’re in.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Champions League.”

“Fuck off am I. I’ve wikipedia’d your dating history mate. Gina Gershon? I think I should cancel coffee now…”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Do you always try so hard to look like you’re not looking at dance class?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uhuh. Ok.”

“Yes, I do. Every week is torture.”

“Jamie says I’m too old for the R.F.F.L.”

“Maybe that works in my favour. If I’m up against Gina fucking Gershon, I’d have no chance.”

“You’re not up against anyone.”

“I've been thinking about you all morning.”

“Was that flirting? Were you just flirting with me?”

“Shut up. See you later.”

And now… well. Coffee at 3pm on a Friday turned into dinner at 6pm, dessert at 8pm and a nightcap at 10pm in his kitchen. You tapped the edge of your empty tumbler,

“Another?” He asked, leaning against the counter just across from you.

“No, thank you. I should… go.” The lift at the end meant it could have been a statement, could have been a question. He nodded,

“Early class.”

“Yep. I think we lost track of time.”

“Or not,” he offered,

“Or not,” you bit your lip and he felt indecision fluttering in his chest. He pushed off the counter and closed the gap between you both in only one step.

“If I kissed you now, would you be mad?” He asked softly, he could see your body tremble with the breath you took.

“Think I’d be more mad if you didn’t.” He watched you hold his gaze for as long as you could before looking at his mouth. He took the tumbler from you and put it on the counter before placing a careful hand on your hip and leaning down to kiss you. The warm whisky taste of vanilla and honey mingled with the chocolate from your dessert and Roy realised that no, he hadn’t been tortured before, watching you teach a bunch of kids how to dance wasn’t the way he was going to go. This was. Right here in his kitchen with your arms winding around his neck and bringing him as close as you could possibly get him. Your fingers scratching through his hair. He pressed you into the counter,

“I’ve thought about doing this for a long time,” he whispered, kissing down your neck, making you gasp. He pulled away quickly, worried that it was too much too soon, “Shit, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He went to move further back to give you space but your hands gripped his shirt to pull him back in,

“Please, I don’t want to stop,” you breathed heavily, “I don’t want you to stop.” You said, more firmly. He was against you again in an instant,

“Sure?” He asked, “You’re sure?” You stepped up to kiss him, making your feelings very clear,

“I’m sure.” Your fingers flew to the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first couple. He pulled you away from the counter, strong arms wrapped around your back and lifted you enough to move you both to the sofa. You stumbled against the cushions, falling backwards and pulling him with you so that he landed heavily on top of you.

"Oof."

“Fuck, sorry. You ok?” He sits back up on his knees, allowing you to automatically move your legs to either side of his and sit up,

“Never better,” his smile catches you off guard, “fuck, you’re gorgeous.” You mumble, reaching for him. The feeling is more than mutual. He needs to feel your kiss again, desperate to feel your skin on his. It’s better than anything he’d spent the last 8 weeks dreaming of. And the sounds you made as his hands and kisses explored your body were enough to drive him insane. He moves further down your body, pulling your skirt down with him and immediately turns to trail kisses and little bites along your inner thigh while his hand reaches up to link fingers with yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot against your hip. The simple request alone made your body turn to liquid against him. He’d spent so long thinking about (denying, debating, ignoring) the effect you had on him, he hadn’t actually considered that you would be just as affected by him. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he looked y’know, alright , for an older bloke. But still, seeing it first hand… seeing it first hand, hearing it first hand, from you was really something else entirely. You tugged his hand to bring up back up to you but he shook his head, his beard catching the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, “busy,” he said, his voice muffled. He focused on nothing but you, losing himself in each gasp, moan and clutch of your hand still holding his. He worked you through one bone-shaking orgasm without stopping, leaving you a shuddering mess as he went straight for another. Looking up at you, he could see the hand that wasn’t clinging onto him had covered your eyes. This time when you squeezed his hand, he made his way back up your body and settled between your legs. “You ok?” he asked, leaving soft kisses on your jaw before finally capturing your mouth in a filthy kiss. You didn’t speak, just shook your head. “You taste fucking incredible.” He kissed you again and you whimpered, finally moving your hand away from your eyes.

“I’ve got a problem.”

“Oh yeah?” He said, moving back to your neck, a hand slipping behind you to unclip your bra.

“Yeah I thought you’d only want a one night thing but that’s impossible now.”

“It was fucking impossible anyway. One night is definitely not enough time.”

“Oh,” you whispered weakly. “Good. Please-, oh fuck,” he caught a nipple lightly between his teeth, “please don’t stop.” So he didn’t, and he never would again if it was up to him. When he’d been (much) younger, he fully grasped the importance and concept of consent. He was a professional footballer - it wasn’t just important, it was crucial. But as he’d gotten older, he finally realised just how much better saying, and hearing, the words made everything. Being able to ask, “may I?” and “I need to hear you say it” and waiting, waiting, waiting, for the breathy response had never left him so wrecked before. He pushed into you in long, slow strokes while you met him with each roll of your hips. When you hold his jaw tightly to bring his gaze to yours, he nearly falls apart but he's determined to get you there first and he knows you're so close. "You feel so good-," you whisper, "So good."

"Fuck, I need-"

"I know, I'm right with you." His name is on you lips as you come and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. When he joins you, he kisses you with such depth it's like you were made for him. You lay still together for a while as you catch your breath. He keeps his nose in the crook of your neck while his hand softly smooths across your ribs and the side of your breasts. Your legs no longer lock around him, you stretch out and enjoy the weight of his body covering you.

"'M crushing you," he mumbles. His voice so low in your ear makes you shiver and despite you not being ready for another round quite so soon, your hips buck, "Fucking hell, give me a minute," he laughs.

"You're not crushing me, and I'm not ready yet either," you grin into his hairline and kiss his temple.

"Hmm if you say so." He rocks against you, half hard again already, needing to hear the broken little moan that ghosts over his head. "Come on, I want you in a bed this time."

He wasn't happy when you had to tear yourself from his bed at 7am to go home. He wasn't happy when he picked Phoebe up at 8am. He wasn't happy in the drive thru Costa queue at 8.10am. He was happy at 8.20am when he finally got to hand you your coffee and see your smile as you stretched out on the floor of the dance studio. He was perfectly happy knowing that you'd be torturing his Saturday mornings for a while longer.

FIN

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent imagine #roy kent smut #roy kent x you #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff

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iwritefandomimagines · 4 months

Text

NEW YEAR’S KISS — JAMIE TARTT

masterlist

pairing: jamie tartt x reader

description: last time you saw jamie tartt, he’d laughed off your confession of feelings. now it’s new year’s eve, you’re at a richmond party, and he looks so fucking good in a suit.

warnings: swearing, bit of angst, bit of fluff, alcohol consumption, light sex references but no smut

author’s note: eeeek happy new year’s eve and happy new year for tomorrow all !!! sending lots of love n good vibes <3

———

You couldn’t even believe it yourself that you had agreed to attend the New Year’s Eve party that Dani had decided to host.

Sure, you loved any opportunity to hang out with the men you’d grown close to in your time working with the club, but given the way things went the last time you saw a certain Mr Jamie Tartt… You were regretting your agreement to come immensely.

Even worse, the last time you’d seen him was also at a squad event where one too many shots had been to blame for your actions, and you feared this would be repeated.

You’d stupidly let your guard down when he was flirting with you nonchalantly again, and confessed that you had feelings for him.

He’d laughed it off — assuming that alcohol and clouded your judgement instead of just instilling you with the boldness you needed to be honest.

Since then, you’d avoided him like the plague and turned down all of Keeley’s invitations to places you knew he’d be.

Given that you were only working with the club on a temporary basis anyway, avoiding him had been relatively easy.

But now here you were, because you had no other plans anyway and Keeley insisted that you couldn’t avoid Richmond forever — even if she didn’t know the real reason for it and believed you’d just been busy.

“Oh my God Y/N, you look well fit!” Keeley screamed when she saw you, eyes flitting over your frame before she yanked you into a tight hug, “I’ve missed you, babe!”

“I’ve missed you too,” you hummed, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach as you felt all eyes on you, “Sorry I’ve not been around. Lots going on.”

“Too busy for us now, yeah?” Jamie sidled up to your side, a smirk on his face that you couldn’t quite tell the root cause of. Was he just pissing about or was he trying to be snide?

When you looked over at him, you felt your heart race even faster at the sight of him in a gorgeous, well-fitted, and frankly uncharacteristically smart goddamn suit.

Somehow, it made him look even more incredible than usual and only made the feelings you��d fought to deny since you last saw him become impossible to ignore.

You bit your lip, looking down for a minute and not catching the way his eyes scanned over you hungrily.

Your dress was certainly doing wonders for your figure, and he’d have been an idiot not to appreciate it, “Kiddin’, love. You look stunning. We’ve missed ya.”

You nodded for a moment, taken aback by his compliment even though they’d never been rare when you were around him more often, “Uh— thanks, Jamie. You still scrub up well, too. I’ve missed you all.”

Jamie’s smile softened now, reaching out his arm to link it with yours, “Wanna go get a drink, milady?l

You caught Keeley widening her eyes at him with a grin, as if encouraging him.

Oh fuck — did she know what had happened? Were they all laughing behind your back?

“I, uh, yeah sure,” you obliged, almost melting back into being comfortable with him like you used to, “Guess it is nearly midnight, I should probably catch up.”

And catch up you did — champagne glass after champagne glass being knocked back, while you tried your hardest to pretend that Jamie’s hand lingering on the base of your back every once in a while wasn’t driving you crazy.

It also didn’t help that there was a woman hanging around who you didn’t know — a woman who seemed very fond of Jamie, and spent much of her evening gracing him with lingering touches of her own.

He never complained, just smiled and continued about his evening like it was only natural that he was getting female attention.

Well, you supposed, it was.

It was somewhat nice to feel back to normal, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone else was in the loop about something you weren’t.

It was five minutes to midnight now, and you decided that it was best you excused yourself for the countdown and got a little fresh air.

You were overwhelmed by suddenly being back around the Richmond squad — one man in particular — and weren’t sure you could stomach seeing Jamie’s inevitable new year’s kiss with a girl whose name you’d not even bothered to ask.

“What’re ya doing out here, love?”

God, try as you might, you would never get over the sound of him calling you love.

He was stood just behind you, the warmth of his breath fanning over your neck in the winter chill, “‘S nearly midnight.”

“I know,” was all you could muster up as you turned to face him, eyes avoiding meeting his as you took your bottom lip between your teeth.

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched how shy you were, and his hands left his pockets to tilt your chin up to look at him.

“All that time you spent away from us was ‘cos of me, wasn’t it?” his voice was quiet, almost inaudible, but it made your heart race all the same.

You gulped, “I was embarrassed. Didn’t want to see you again and be ridiculed.”

“Ridiculed? Y/N, I wasn’t gonna ridicule ya,” he shook his head, “I shut you down ‘cos I’m trying to be better. Been working on meself and I didn’t want you to do anything you’d regret with me.”

You’d met this Jamie before — this sincere, gentle, kind Jamie who was reserved only for those he held dearest. But it still startled you to hear him tell you all of this.

“I just—,”

“I wanted to kiss you, love, honest,” when did he get so close all of a sudden? “Just didn’t want you to hate me in the morning, or take back what you’d said or nothing.”

You swallowed thickly, “Jamie, I told you I liked you. I didn’t just throw myself at you and say I wanted to fuck you, or-or— anything like that. I was putting my heart out there and you just—you just laughed it off.”

“You were drunk, babe,” he sighed, “I didn’t know if you’d mean it all in the mornin’, that’s all.”

“Well, I did. Although more regretfully, after that.”

His eyes were sad now, almost glassy, as he watched you carefully to see what you’d do or say next.

You stepped back, your own eyes brimming with tears as your back met the fence of Dani’s balcony.

“I never meant to hurt ya, Y/N,” Jamie whispered, once again stepping closer, “I like you too, I just left you alone ‘cos I had some shit to get sorted before I could be good enough for you. ‘Nd I’ve been really trying.”

You finally gave in to the desire to make eye contact again, and felt your whole body crumble at the sound of his words, “You were always good enough, Jamie. I just— I thought I just wasn’t enough for you.”

He scoffed, his hand returning to your chin and his fingers caressing your cheekbones, “You’re too good for me, Y/N. Too good even for Jamie fucking Tartt.”

You let out a giggle at that, followed by a small sob, “What’re you saying here, Jamie?”

He looked down at his watch, “What I’m sayin’ is, it’s 15 seconds to midnight and I’d like to be your new year’s kiss. And, like, not to get ahead of meself… But I’d like to keep kissing you after that. Like, a lot.”

You nodded profusely, wiping away your few stray tears as you heard your friends calling out the final countdown inside, “3, 2, 1!”

He pulled you in close by your face, lips meeting yours with a furious passion as your arms enveloped the back of his neck.

It was everything you could have ever wanted… Even if you did feel fucking ridiculous for never just talking to him about it sooner.

“Happy new year, love,” Jamie smiled into the kiss.

You matched his smile, pulling back for a moment, “Happy new year, Tartt.”

You were silent for a moment as you just gazed at each other longingly, before a realisation hit you, “What about that girl in there, though? She was all over you.”

“Babe, I’m Jamie Tartt,” he shrugged, smiling smugly, “Just ‘cos the girls love me, doesn’t mean me mind hasn’t been focused on one girl in particular, even if she didn’t want to see me.”

“Oi, I wanted to see you, I was just scared to,” you stuck your tongue out as he grinned, “I’m so glad I came tonight.”

“Me fuckin’ too,” he licked his lips, “And in that dress… God, if you could see inside me head right now.”

“Down, boy,” you joked, fully conscious of the fluttering in your own stomach now, “If you’re good, you can take it off me later, yeah?”

Your lips met again hungrily now, your body pressed against the fence as you heard a round of whooping and clapping from your friends who’d found their way to the balcony now.

“A happy fucking new year indeed,” Roy showed the slightest hint of a smile as you and Jamie pulled apart again, blushing crimson, and interlocked your hands.

“Fucking finally.”

———

ok so i may have rushed to get this finish so i could post on nye — sorry if the ending is shit but i hope you enjoyed! pleaaase feel free to request more jamie if you’d like, obsessed again so i’d love that. meanwhile, here’s my masterlist!

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso imagines

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