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laiqualaurelote · 17 hours

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Ok but for the file thing, I'm DYING to know more about "The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign" pls <3

thank you for this ask for the WIP game! this is an extremely cracky AU in which the Richmond Players all start manifesting superpowers.

The first thing Isaac chopped in half with his hand was the BELIEVE sign. The second was Zoreaux.

To be fair to Isaac, he had failed to chop Jamie in half. (More on this later.) Thus, while Jamie went off to sulk and Zoreaux ambled up to poke at the broken sign saying, “Maybe we can make a new one?” Isaac thought nothing of clapping him on the back and replying, “Sure thing, bruv.”

His hand went through Zoreaux like a hot knife through butter. Zoreaux didn’t exactly fall apart, but he did sort of peel away in two halves like a melted clock in a Dalí painting. He was screaming the whole time. It was the modern art mash-up nobody wanted to see.

Isaac gaped at him in horror. The other players were yelling. “Bro! What did you do!”

“I didn’t – ” began Isaac.

Zoreaux was still screaming. Weirdly, there was no blood or anything. The edges of him seemed to have been pinched off, like Play-doh.

“We must put him back together!” shouted Dani. He and Richard were on their knees, trying to jam the two halves of Zoreaux back together, only Zoreaux seemed to be drooping and stretching through their fingers. “Mon dieu,” gasped Richard. “He is like cheese! But not good cheese! Like the cheap mozzarella from Pizza Express!”

“Osti de tabarnak de sacrament!” shrieked Zoreaux. “What the fuck is happening!”

“I got the duct tape!” called Will, rushing in. He tossed the roll to Sam, who began trying to tape Zoreaux back together as the rest of the players rushed in to try and help.

“Wait, wait.” Something was happening as Sam’s hands brushed against the halves of Zoreaux. They seemed to be melding back together. “Sam!” cried Dani. “It’s you! You are healing him!”

“Wow,” said Sam, staring at his hands as they knit Zoreaux back together. “Wait, I need to make sure he’s aligned properly. Can I get more light?”

Everyone was temporarily blinded as Dani burst into a blazing ball of brilliance.

“...okay,” said Sam after some time, “way more light than I needed, but thank you.”

“De nada, Sam!”

It was at this point that Trent Crimm walked into the room. He stopped and put on his glasses, as if that would clarify the tableau of the AFC Richmond team duct-taping their cloven goalkeeper together while one of their strikers was blazing like a lighthouse beacon and their captain stood in the corner with his hands apologetically raised in the air.

“What,” said Trent, “the actual fuck?”

Trent’s first thought was that he would have to re-pitch his book as a fantasy novel, because nobody was going to take it seriously as non-fiction any more.

“So you’ve got healing hands,” he repeated to Sam.

“I think so?” Sam stared at his hands. “Or maybe I just have the ability to stick things back together. I don’t know. Perhaps I should test it on another injury?”

Across the locker room, O’Brien cleared his throat. “Sam? Can you touch my butt?”

Trent and the players turned to stare at him.

“Not for gay reasons,” O’Brien clarified. “For science.”

“Both of those are valid,” said Sam. “I would be happy to touch your butt for you.”

Trying to ignore O’Brien casually dropping trou in the corner, Trent removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dani’s brightness was giving him a migraine. “I’m sorry, bruv,” said Isaac to Zoreaux for the thousandth time.

“It’s okay,” said Zoreaux. They had yet to remove the duct tape, just in case, so he looked like a very poorly-wrapped package. “It didn’t actually hurt. I was just freaking out, bro.”

Babatunde was holding on to Zoreaux’s little finger and walking across the room while Bumbercatch followed him with a measuring tape to see how far the finger could stretch. “Three metres!” yelled Bumbercatch as Richard tried to cross the room to his locker and ended up having to do the limbo under the finger. “Okay, take it around the corner!”

“I just thought,” went on Isaac, “‘cos I touched Jamie, and I didn’t chop him in half…” He trails off.

“What?” said Jamie. And then, as Isaac made a move towards him, “Whoa! Are you fucking mental?”

“Sorry.” Isaac backed off.

“Could I test a theory?” ventured Trent. “Bearing in mind that I mean this as a purely scientific inquiry.”

“Sure,” said Jamie. “Whatev – oi!” he yelled as Trent stabbed him in the hand with his pen.

The pen snapped in two. Ink splattered over Jamie’s hand, the skin of which remained unbroken. Jamie screwed up his nose. “That’s disgusting, man.”

“I think you’re invulnerable, Jamie,” said Trent.

Jamie considered this. “That mean I can’t be hurt?”

“I believe so, yes. We’ll have to run more tests to be sure.”

“Huh,” said Jamie. “Sick.”

“It worked!” O’Brien yelled from across the room. “It’s a miracle! I’m healed!”

“Okay,” said Trent wearily, “so we’ve got…five superpowers that have manifested so far. Anybody else feel a superpower coming on?”

“I got one,” called out Jan Maas. “I’m always right.”

The locker room erupted in laughter. “Shut the fuck up, Jan Maas,” they chorused.

Jan shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

#wip ask game #procrasktination #ted lasso #isaac mcadoo #thierry zoreaux #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #dani rojas #jan maas #trent crimm

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 2 days

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Bedroom Eyes Like a Remedy

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

3.6k words (kind of a long one!)

Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting, some spice, mentions of drinking, "locker room talk", protective dad

Staying up all night with a professional footballer sounded good at the time, you reasoned with yourself as you stifled a yawn. But now, walking down the hall to grab one of the coaches a breakfast sandwich, you were almost regretting it.

Almost.

You were nearly at your destination when a hand grabbed your wrist. When you whirled around, Roy was smirking at you.

“You busy tonight?” he murmured in place of a greeting.

Melting at the sight of him, you leaned against a wall and batted your eyes flirtatiously. “Depends, are you making me an offer?”

Roy bit his lip and shrugged. “Homemade dinner. Horribly expensive bottle of wine.” He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “Finish what you tried to start last night.”

He definitely noticed the way your thighs pressed together at his suggestion. “Sounds like a plan, Kent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else-

“Oi, Kent!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your dad was striding down the hall, head tilted at the sight of you and Roy clearly in the middle of a conversation. Oh hell, did he notice the way your eyes were wild for the midfielder? Did he catch Roy’s tiny step back to put distance between you? Shit, did he see Roy whisper suggestively in your ear?

Roy stood like a soldier at attention as your dad approached. “Weight room,” your dad said sharply.

“Coach.” With a nod to your dad and not a second glance at you, Roy walked briskly down the hall in the direction your dad instructed.

You tried to sidestep to get back to your task, but the sound of your dad clearing his throat had you freezing like Roy did. “What were you and Kent chatting so intensely about?” The question came out slowly, as though he was dreaded your answer.

“A book he recommended to me,” you blurted out quickly. Roy and you suggested books to each other from time to time; your dad knew that well. “Kent wanted to know how I was enjoying it.” You shrugged. “Sorry for keeping him from training,” you added, hoping your face was innocent enough to convince your dad.

He nodded, a slow nod, processing your words. “You two seem to be quite chummy lately,” he observed. “Smiling at each other, whispering in corners.” He narrowed his eyes. “Anything you need to tell me?”

You were thrown back to being a teenager, caught coming home past curfew, caught with a boy in your room, caught with alcohol on your breath. Each of those times, you had been honest with your dad. Each of those times had concluded with a firm but loving conversation, a hug between father and daughter, a better understanding of each other.

But not this time.

“No,” you lied. “Just being friendly. But I won’t distract him from work anymore, I promise. We’ll save our chats for after practice.”

A small shove from your dad told you that you were off the hook. “Alright,” he conceded. “But be careful with Kent, alright? I don’t have to tell you about his reputation. Not that he’d be daft enough to go out with you.” He let out a light chuckle, one you returned with a weak smile. When he caught the absolute mortification on your face, his own grin dropped. “Because you’re my kid,” he clarified firmly. “And Roy Kent knows better.”

Apparently not, you thought to yourself. “Dad…” You cleared your throat. “D’you think it would really be so bad if I… if we…”

“Don’t.” Your dad’s voice was a sharp knife to your abdomen. “Come on, love. You know how these guys are. Talented as hell, but not boyfriend material.” He shook his head. “I know you probably think he’s a nice guy, he’s good-looking and famous, but you’ll only wind up hurt, and I’ll wind up in an awkward situation here.” He smiled at you. “There’s plenty of other fellas you can go after. Leave Roy Kent and the rest of them on the pitch.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, missing the distressed look on your face. “Think you could grab me a breakfast sandwich too?”

You pretended you weren’t struggling for air as you nodded. “Sure, Dad.”

The knots in your stomach from your conversation with your dad were still there that night as you stood in front of your closet. No one likes lying to their parents, you reminded yourself as you pulled out your favorite dress, the one you usually saved for clubs and birthday dinners. But sometimes, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. And what you had to do was dress yourself up and go see Roy Kent at his flat, even if it meant looking your father in the eye and lying through your teeth about going out with your girlfriends.

As you drove the now familiar route to Roy’s, you were struck by the realization that your alibis had one thing in common: your recently neglected friends. Shit, you thought. You needed them to be in on your secret if you were going to keep this up. You fished your phone out of your bag and quickly dialed the friend whose name had slipped out of your mouth a lot lately.

“She’s alive!” Angela shrieked when she answered.

The chuckle you let out was tinged with guilt. “Hey,” you greeted. “Sorry for falling off the face of the earth.” You cleared your throat, trying to figure out where to start. “See, there’s uh, this guy-”

“He must be fit to have you forgetting your friends,” she teased.

A dreamy smile crossed your face as you thought about the sight of Roy in the changing room. “He is,” you assured her. “But… he’s also kind of a secret.” You sighed. “And I’ve kind of been using you as my excuse to leave the house to see him.”

Angela tsked at you jokingly. “Dating a guy Mum and Dad don’t approve of? Naughty girl.”

“Well, Mum might approve if she got to know him.” You paused for a long moment. “But Dad-”

“He’s not a footballer, is he?” Angela laughed. “Let me, guess, you finally shagged Roy Kent?”

She’d meant it as a joke; all of your mates knew how much you drooled over the midfielder. They teased you constantly. But they also knew your dad’s feelings about his players, having heard his warnings first-hand once you had all grown up and found yourselves looking at his team in a new light. They knew his one rule for hanging around Chelsea FC was staying away from the fellas. And here you were, his own daughter, completely breaking that rule.

“I mean…” You let out a deep exhale. “I haven’t shagged him yet,” you explained pathetically. “I’m actually on my way to his flat now for…” Your face was burning hot. “That.”

A choking sound came through the phone. “I’m sorry,” Angela scoffed. “You’re sneaking around with Roy Kent?”

You paused for a moment. You could tell her you’re joking, that you’re seeing some nobody and you just want to keep things private. But shit, you had to tell someone. “Yes,” you quietly confirmed.

There was a long silence on her end; for a moment, you worried that she’d hung up to call your father and tell him everything. Finally, her voice returned. “Well shit,” she laughed. “Good for you, girl!”

The breath you’d been holding flew out of your mouth. While Angela promised to help keep your secret, you arrived at Roy’s place. After agreeing to get together soon so you could give her all the details, you hung up, satisfied that you had at least one person in your life who was happy for you and your relationship with Roy Kent. Not that you considered this a relationship relationship, you quickly scolded yourself. Maybe fling was the better word. No, that didn’t quite cover the way Roy looked at you while eating hot dogs the night of his photoshoot. Romance? Sure, you told yourself. This romance with Roy Kent.

Roy was certainly feeling romantic, it appeared. He greeted you with a slow kiss in the doorway before taking your coat and purse from you and ushering you inside. A couple of candles were lit in the otherwise dim living room, and from his stereo you could hear soft music playing. He took your hand and led you to the dining room, which up to this point was just the room you passed through on your way to the kitchen. Tonight, however, the table was set for two, with candles and wine and a vase of flowers sitting on a white tablecloth. You eyed the tablecloth carefully; you wouldn’t have thought of Roy Kent as the type of man to own a tablecloth, if you were being honest.

He must have caught the way you blinked in surprise at the setup, because Roy cleared his throat as he held out your chair for you. “Figured, my first time making you dinner, might as well do things properly,” he mumbled as you sat down.

“It’s lovely,” you assured him. You stared at him, with his hard expression and twitching fingers. “Thank you. Really.”

A pleased look twinkled in his eye as he turned to the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.” He returned with a pair of plates accompanied by a heavenly smell. “It’s, uh, a pesto gnocchi,” he explained as he set the plates on the table.

As the two of you tucked in, you stole a glance at him. He had a hard look on his face, stony and expressionless as he stared at his plate. But when you looked at his hands, you caught the way they twitched and fidgeted, betraying how… nervous he was? Excited? You hoped happy was somewhere in the jumble of emotions it looked like Roy was feeling.

Just as you were trying to decide what to say to break the quiet, Roy looked up at you, eyebrows scrunched. “The fucking candles aren't too much are they?” he blurted.

A soft smile graced your lips. Nervous, you decided. Roy was definitely nervous. “Everything is perfect,” you murmured, feeling bold enough to touch his hand. “Especially this food. Holy shit, who knew Chelsea’s superstar could cook?” You smirked at him. “I bet you learned to cook just to impress women, Kent.”

He rolled his eyes as the corner of his mouth curled upwards. “Fuck off, I actually enjoy cooking.” He chuckled and added, “But yeah, it does seem to be…” He bobbled his head. “Impressive.”

You decided to shove down the pang of envy at the idea of other women, gorgeous models and famous actresses, sitting in this same spot, eating this same dish and drinking the same wine from the same glass. Instead, you focused on the warmth of Roy’s eyes as he gazed at you. “Well, consider me impressed.”

You tried to think of the last time you had such a perfect date. It wasn’t as if you went out with losers; the guys you dated were always good-looking enough, smooth enough, smart and clever enough. Most of them were decent enough in bed. They knew the right places to go and the right things to say. They were fine. Hell, some of them were even great.

But none of them were Roy.

Roy who rolled his eyes playfully and told stories that made you laugh and made faces at you when you called him a prick. And gazed at you with the softest brown eyes known to man and offered up small smiles when he listened to you talk. And asked about a million times if you liked the food and made sure that you had enough of the wine that you knew the campus pub would never carry.

Roy Kent was nothing short of the perfect date.

The empty plates lay in front of you for a long time, ignored in favor of chatting about football, university, mates, books, everything and anything either of you could think of. While telling you about being a kid in Sunderland, Roy eventually trailed off, clearly preferring to lean his elbows on the table and smile gently at you in the candlelight. You wondered if you had the same look on your face, a look full of fondness and bliss that carried words that felt far too scary to even entertain.

“Thanks again for visiting me last night,” you murmured, tracing the rim of your wine glass. “I think you should climb through my window more often.”

He chuckled lightly and reached out for your hand. “Well, if it gets me more dinners like this, I might have to.” He leaned forward, his rapidly moving eyes betraying the calculations he was doing in his mind. “Especially if… you want to continue from last night?”

Every inch of your skin burned in anticipation. “That… sounds like a good idea,” you breathed. You bit your lip gently. “You’ve seen my room. Guess it’s only fair you show me yours, right?”

“Right.”

This wasn’t the first time Roy Kent had taken a woman to his bedroom. Not by a longshot. Just like this wasn’t your first time letting a guy lead you to his room. But something about this felt… different. There was something in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, as you held Roy’s hand and walked through his posh apartment. Something thick and heavy that you could feel in the tips of your fingers and the pit of your stomach.

But you didn’t dwell on whatever that something was. Not when Roy Kent was lying in bed on top of you, his mouth on yours, demanding your full attention. Your hands pulled and tugged at his shirt, already desperate to get him out of his clothes. He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his own rough hands were shifting the skirt of your dress upwards. In a tumble of soft moans and even softer giggles, the two of you managed to remove each other’s clothing until you were both down to your undergarments. With only his boxers and your favorite pair of panties between you, Roy’s hardness rubbed against your heat sinfully, providing you with more of the friction he’d begun to give you the night before in your bedroom.

“Fuck,” you groaned as he bit and licked at your neck, not caring if he left little marks on your skin. He rocked against you lazily, a preview of the pleasure you knew you were in for. When his tip brushed against your clothed clit, you let out a sharp gasp. “Fuck, Roy.”

He stilled for a moment, smirk against your skin. His chuckle hit your ears like music.

Shit, had you done something wrong? “Everything alright?” you breathed.

Roy lifted his head, smile wide on his face. “I’ve just realized… I haven't heard you say my name since the day we met.”

Confusion flooded your face as you tilted your head at him. “What the fuck are you on about?” You couldn’t help but return his grin with a quizzical smile of your own. “I say your name all the time.”

“Nope.” He shook his head emphatically, his scruff tickling your bare skin. “You always call me Kent. You never call me Roy.”

The two of you blinked at each other, both trying to remember an instance, any instance, where you’d used his first name. Hell, now that you thought about it, you didn’t think he ever said your name either; it was always ‘princess’. It was nothing short of ridiculous, now that you thought about it properly. You were in bed with the man, practically naked, and you’d never even spoken his given name before or heard him use yours. As if you both came to the realization at the same time, you burst into fits of laughter, pressing your foreheads together the way you had in your bedroom the night before.

Once your giggles died down, Roy stole a kiss, a long, affectionate one. “I like how you say my name,” he mumbled against your lips. As he spoke, his hand snaked between your bodies, travelling down your figure until he reached your panties. With a smirk, he began sliding them down your thighs. “Bet I can make you say it again.”

For once, you didn’t tease or playfully argue. Because for once, you had to admit that Roy Kent was completely and utterly correct.

Once you’d caught your breath, you glanced up at Roy, whose chest you were resting on. He looked so blissful and gorgeous like this, with his bare chest and flushed face and dreamy eyes. Some part of you- alright, all of you- wished you could just stay like this all night, curled up against him.

But you didn’t think that was an option.

“I should get going,” you murmured, starting to sit up. “You've got training tomorrow and all.”

Roy’s firm grip around your middle pulled you back down to him. “You can stay,” he urged. He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. “Unless now that you’ve gotten me in bed, you’re done with me,” he joked, as if he knew you were fighting not to suspect the same thing of him. “Because I don’t know about you-” His arms pulled you close. “-but I would like to repeat that a few times, princess.” He planted a kiss to the top of your head. “The whole date, I mean,” he clarified. “Good food, good conversation, good sex…” He raised his eyebrows at you. “Not a bad deal.”

Although his voice was light and full of teasing, you didn’t miss his meaning: Roy wanted to keep seeing you. While you weren’t totally sure what that would entail- going public, being exclusive or not, putting labels on things, telling your dad- you knew you were in. You would be in for anything this man suggested so long as it involved the two of you spending time together, in and out of the bedroom, sharing smiles and kisses and jokes and your bodies. Whether or not it was smart, you knew you were seriously falling for him. And the realization was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“Yeah, Roy,” you hummed, kissing his bare chest as he held you tight. “It’s a pretty good fucking deal.”

It was nearly four in the morning when you tiptoed back into your house, thanks to the alarm Roy had been thoughtful enough to set for you. It had been a challenge to remove yourself from his arms and his warm bed, and an even bigger challenge removing yourself from his lips when he insisted on walking you to your car. It was almost silly; you’d be seeing him in a few hours, but he kissed you like he was a soldier saying a final goodbye before shipping off into the unknown. Then again, it wasn’t like you could act like this during training, not under the gazes of an entire football squad and coaching staff and one very protective father.

Later that morning, that protective father walked down the hall beside you with a pensive look on his face, as if he wanted to say something, but never opening his mouth. He’d done it the night before, when he watched you walk out in your little dress and giant heels. And he’d done it this morning, before finally asking what time you’d come in and if you’d had a good time with the girls.

Roy wasn’t in the changing room when you began organizing your father’s desk for the day. He’d mentioned something to you about going in extra early, since he was already awake, so you assumed he must be in the weight room already. Perhaps it was better; no chance of your dad seeing you exchange goofy smiles this early in the morning.

Your dad was reading over a report when you saw him perk up at a conversation going on in the changing room.

“-Kent totally got some last night,” a young striker was saying.

“He say with who?” the defender he was speaking with asked, his voice dripping with gossipy curiosity.

A soft chuckle wafted into the office. “Nah. He didn’t even say anything happened,” came an admission. “But you knew Kent. He’s got that dopey smile and he keeps stretching his back, the way he always does after- ahem- strenuous activity.”

The defender laughed. “If he’s not saying anything,” he mused, “it must either be someone really fucking famous, or it’s something serious. Kent always kisses and tells.”

“Just don’t tell Coach’s girl.” Your dad tensed at the mention of you. Your eyes remained trained on his desk, as if you couldn’t hear a word from the changing room. “She’s been mooning over Kent more than usual lately, poor kid.”

“I think she’s a great gal,” the defender countered. “If Kent wasn’t… Kent, then maybe she’d have a shot.”

The two players continued their coarse chatter as they left the changing room, speculating who the mystery woman could be and recalling some of Roy’s more memorable conquests. Your dad looked over at you, mouth in a straight line and eyebrows raised. You simply blinked at him, refusing to be the first to say something, lest you betray yourself.

“See?” he finally said softly. “Leave. Him. On. The. Pitch.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured as he turned back to his report. You quickly tugged at the sweater you wore, hoping its high neckline would hide the hickeys Roy had left you with the night before.

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