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jadeee · 6 months

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Golden Frame

After your date at the art museum, Nanami shows you how much you mean to him.

Word count: 2.6k

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Author's Note: We can call this a self-insert...

Music played softly in the background as Nanami drove towards your date destination. You looked beautiful, as always. He was enjoying your company, as always ... but something felt different. His eyes were still on the road but every now and then they glanced over to your bare legs in the passenger seat. It was the first time you wore a skirt. A soft crease formed between his brows while he crafted theories in his mind. When you were looking out the window, he glanced at your lips... no lipstick. He faced forward with knitted brows but the crease softened at the sound of your voice.

"Do you have a favorite art piece?"

"... actually, I'm not sure ..." he answered half shocked, "I haven't been to an art museum in a while so I look forward to going."

"Really?! This is one of my favorite places."

"That makes it all the more special."

He wanted to reach over and take your hand in his but he recalled how nervous you were the last time you two were together. Alone and on his couch. More importantly, how you seemed to shrink into yourself when his hands reached for your hips and how you kept repeating "I'm sorry, I can't,". He prided himself on being patient, when it mattered, and you mattered to him; so, he simply smiled at you instead.

Your eyes scanned the room and took in the large golden frames, various sculptures, and prints on the wall. Nanami happily followed you to the first thing that caught your eye. The two of you spent the next few minutes walking near each other, only to lean over then whisper about the artwork you were studying.

"How do you think they do it?"

"With patience and practice." he silently repeated the words to himself.

"I have an idea,"

The golden haired man faced you. Oddly enough, he looked like one of the men in the paintings in that moment. Strong and stern with a hidden softness that only the artist could capture.

"Why don't we split up and meet back here in thirty minutes? We can show each other our favorite piece."

"Okay," he nodded then watched you start to walk off.

You walked along a glass pane which held a large painting toward the center. He followed your every step on the opposite side and a smile blossomed on his face whenever you glanced back at him. When you reached the end and saw he wasn't there, your smile shrunk. However, our love drunken fool was standing in the center of the painting, watching the scene unfold. When he thought about it, he felt light like a Monet painting. As his eyes scanned the artwork on the walls, he couldn't help but see your face.

You were standing in front of a sculpture when he approached you from behind.

"Has it been thirty minutes already?"

"No," he slid his hands in his pockets "I just couldn't resist."

The soft laugh that came from you filled his heart. He read the title card of the sculpture, Psyche Revived By Cupid's Kiss.

"Are you familiar with their story?"

"I am. You kind of remind me of him."

The corner of his lip turned up, "How?"

"You hide yourself sometimes ... at least until you trust others."

He looked forward and tried not to smirk at your well thought analysis.

As you two stood side by side once again, you felt his fingertips brush against your hand. Without hesitation, you took them in yours.

Your heart beat faster as you crossed the threshold. He helped you out of your jacket then set aside your purse while you took off your shoes. The wheels turned and creaked in your mind as he offered you a drink. You responded with your choice of poison before making your way to the couch - where it always started and ended. Kento's shoulders dropped slightly when his eyes landed on you sitting on the couch. He studied your frame as he handed you your glass. Grateful for the liquid courage, you quietly thanked him and hoped it would ease your anxieties.

Too nervous to stay still, you rose to your feet and studied what little art Nanami did have on the wall.

"Do these mean anything?"

He stayed in his seat "No, not really. It's just for decoration."

"Hm ... If you did have art with meaning though, what would you have?" you faced him with a playful smirk.

He sipped his drink to hide the effect you were having on him. "Well," he stood then walked toward you "Psyche revived by Cupid's kiss."

"Oh, you're just saying that because we saw it earlier."

"No, I'm saying that because it means something to me."

When you felt his hands hold your face, you backed into the table behind you.

"What's that?" you held his gaze.

He pressed his lips against yours in a soft and tender kiss in response. His body felt warm as your hands finally held him for the first time that night. Within minutes, you ended up where you always do on nights like this: the couch, his couch, with him hovering over you and your fingers starting to comb through his hair when you say,

"I cant, I'm sorry." you cover your face.

His hands pressed into the couch cushion.

"What's wrong?" his hands gently pull yours away from your face, "You can talk to me."

Your eyes dart to the wall then back up at him "I'm just a bit ... embarrassed. I try to control myself around you but I can't."

A soft smile showed on his face "You don't have to."

"I know but ... I don't want to get my hopes up and it doesn't last." your eyes flicked up at him "Us, I mean. Not the sex." You chuckled nervously from the simple misunderstanding and covered your face again.

He smiled to himself as he pulled your hands down again.

"Hi."

You grinned, "Hi."

He cupped your cheek in his hand, "Why are you so nervous all of a sudden?"

Your heart skipped a beat when he continued to caress your skin as you tried to find the words.

"Because I don't know who I am around you. It's like I become this whole other person..."

His hazel eyes noticed the softness and slight fear in your eyes paired with the small sound of your voice. The softness coupled with the ounce of fear and the hope that he'd understand. When he placed a gentle kiss on your lips and felt you grip the sides of his shirt, he suppressed a moan.

"You're my girlfriend," and possibly my wife, he thought to himself "and there's nowhere else I'd rather be than by your side."

Your lips faltered when you tried to respond but he saw the tears form in your eyes and only saw fit to wipe them away.

"I'm your what?"

"You're my girlfriend," and Mrs. Kento - in - waiting, he planted a kiss on your forehead.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth which was stuck in a shocked grin, "What?"

"Nothing... it's... we haven't had that talk yet and I didn't know..." you ended the sentence with a chuckle.

"I should've made it more obvious," Nanami gave you another gentle kiss then got up from the couch. He grabbed your glasses and headed toward the kitchen "We can talk if that's what you wa--"

It took everything he had to not drop the glass cups when you tugged on his shirt and pulled him toward you in a kiss. The two of you held onto each other as he walked backwards to the nearest counter top and set the glasses down. You let out a loud laugh when he picked you up unexpectedly and carried you to his room.

His kisses started out sweet and innocent but with each second he spent holding you, gripping your skin, you felt his hunger. It'd been a while so you couldn't blame him. Plus you were wearing that skirt. Not to mention, the way you purposely left those top buttons undone on your blouse. He was hovering over you again, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck when he confessed "I lied earlier when I was talking about my favorite art piece. It wasn't that painting I pointed out. It's you."

Despite the compliment and the sincerity behind it, he saw the slight doubt in your eyes.

"You're gorgeous and no picture can ever fully capture that."

You smirked and laughed.

"You don't believe me?"

"I didn't say that," you sat up slightly and he moved to give you some space.

"What is it then?"

You tilted your head as you mulled it over then nodded "Okay, maybe I don't believe it."

Although you tried to play it off, Nanami still had that aura of stern softness on his face.

"Would it help if I show you?"

A smirk showed then and you felt something you'd only felt on lonely nights; yet this time you weren't alone or lonely. Your nod gave Nanami the permission he needed and so desperately craved. Despite his seemingly insatiable appetite for you, he moved with a slow, passionate deliberateness. His tongue pushed into your mouth as his hands wrapped around your torso, with his legs straddling you so you didn't have anywhere to go. He wanted you all to himself. He wanted to cherish you. He wanted to treat you like art, a masterpiece. Careful, slow and steady, meticulous.

His mouth worked down your neck and made a short visit to your chest. Your breath picked up as his kisses continued downward, slowly peeling away the layers that were between you two. His eyes looked up at you when he slipped off your skirt. A small smirk rested on his face when he saw your brows go up and mouth part slightly in anticipation.

The soft kisses on your inner thigh elicited a moan from you. The sound alone was enough for him then but he wouldn't stop. Not because he wasn't satisfied but because he wasn't done worshipping you yet. Your noises filled the room as he licked, nipped, and sucked on you. When your hands gripped at his hair, he moaned and you felt the hum move throughout your body. He pushed his tongue deeper to get more of your taste.

"Na- Ken-," your thighs started to close in on him but he didn't budge. When you started to push him away, he felt conflicted. He decided to pull back slightly, "Do you want me to stop?"

"I-" you moaned at your ongoing orgasm and he gently rubbed at your bud.

"Fuck, Nanami." you whined softly as you pressed your head deeper into the pillows.

His fingers moved in a slow circular motion as he inched closer to your face "Do you want me stop?" he asked again softly then put his mouth on your nipple. The feeling of his tongue going over your flesh gave you goosebumps.

"N-no," you stammered with eyes shut.

"Are you sure?" his fingers moved a bit faster at your bud.

You started to pant and nodded helplessly. He smiled at the scene then kissed your cheek, "I won't go easy on you." His fingers slipped inside of you effortlessly as his mouth attached itself to your bud once more. You cried out and gripped his hair which made him grunt... which made you cum... which only made him push his tongue deeper into you.

You moaned then moved against his mouth. He wouldn't admit it but he was already thinking about wedding bands in his head then. When you came on his fingers, he pulled them out and replaced them with his tongue.

"I can't take it!" you clutched onto his sheets which you perfectly ruined as soon as you two started this little dance. He pulled back for a short moment only to say "Yes, you can," he kissed your bud "you're doing so good."

"Nanami," you whimpered as he continued to make out with your cunt. He wasn't satisfied until you started to climax and even then he wasn't done.

Moments later, he was pounding into you, gripping the headboard in one hand and holding yours in the other. At one point, you both heard a crack but didn't pay it any mind. He was kissing your face and neck until he started to reach his own climax; when he buried his head in the crook of your shoulder and grunted repeatedly. You were already on your umpteenth wave of ecstasy by then. All you could do was clutch onto him and that was enough.

This must be what it's like to feel at peace, Nanami held you in a warm embrace. The last few minutes consisted of you two being like this. Holding each other, drawing imaginary lines on skin, and smiling whenever you looked into the other person's eyes. The only difference was that his smile remained even when his eyes weren't locked on yours. He couldn't look away and he didn't want to, even if it did seem creepy.

You noticed the soft look on his face, "What?"

"I'm just admiring you, that's all."

He didn't expect you to say anything back but he was grateful for your small smile.

"I was going to wait but I think now is a good time."

You watched him with raised brows as he reached for something. He handed you a postcard which had your favorite piece of artwork on the cover. You took it in your hands then flipped it over and read his handwriting on the back:

Truly beautiful but I can think of something better.

When you looked at him, you saw the sparkle in his eyes.

"Thank you."

He held your face in his hands and kissed your forehead.

Normally, he'd be making coffee by now but he decided to indulge himself. Besides, how could he leave you in bed alone? He didn't want you to wake up and think the worst. You could talk a good game but you were the nervous type. He traced the curve of your brow lightly with his fingertip and chuckled when you crinkled your nose.

When you did wake up, he was there, ready to greet you with a soft smile. You were half awake and only heard the word 'breakfast' to which you just nodded. He chuckled to himself when you held onto his hand as he tried to get out of bed. A gentle blush spread across his cheeks as he sat down by your side again.

"Take all the time you need." he rested his lips against your forehead for a brief moment then caressed your cheek, which would become a daily habit. With your eyes still shut, you took his hand in yours and kissed it, tucking it under your chin as if it were for safe keeping. Nanami found himself moving closer to you so you could rest your head in his lap.

After a few minutes, he reluctantly left the room to cook breakfast and so you could get more rest if need be. Soon the smell of whatever he was making woke you from your dreams. You held your hands behind your back as you stepped into the kitchen. When he faced you, he felt the blood rush to his cheeks at the sight of you in his shirt and boxers.

"Do you have to work today?"

He leaned against the counter as he took in the view of his favorite artwork "I can be a few minutes late."

Later, when his colleague asked why he was late, Nanami simply responded "I had some important business to tend to."

Author's Note: Just when I thought I was done writing for Kento, I come up with this. He really does smthn to me 🤧anyway, thanks for reading! As always, reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated 💓

p.s.: i think the painting he would've picked as his favorite would've been something like a house on a hill. he yearns for tranquility {and domesticity} so a simple painting like that would tug at his heart strings.

#madebyjade #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento smut

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 11 months

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Sweet Nothing (Superstar Chapter 6)

They said the end is coming

Everyone's up to something

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they're push and shoving

You're in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

Roy and the Reader enjoy simple domestic bliss.

Roy Kent x Reader

8.3k words

Warnings: Language, mind-numbing fluff, an overprotective dad, allusions to smut

Wow, this came out kind of long! It was fun to write and I hope all this fluff was worth waiting for!

Keeley eyed me carefully as we ate lunch in my office, door closed to keep out all the men. After the Paris trip, we’d had a hard time synching up our schedules, so she’d finally cornered me and demanded a lunch date, kicking Roy out of the office in the process. We sat on the floor, shoes kicked off, stabbing at the salads she’d picked up for us.

“So, what about after the game?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “Did you join the boys’ clubbing? Jamie didn’t mention if you did.”

“Oh, no,” I admitted, taking a sip from my water bottle. “They asked me to, though.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then why were you all dressed up?”

Suddenly, the tomato on the end of my fork looked really interesting and required all of my attention. “Who said I was dressed up?” I asked in my most disinterested voice.

“Only all the guys,” Keeley said with a giggle. “That little red number from the gala- you’re welcome by the way- and some heels with your hair all sexy.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think there’s a couple little crushes in that changing room, you know.” A smirk played on her lips. “Not as big as the one Roy has on you, of course,” she added.

I looked at the non-existent watch on my wrist. “Damn, is my lunch over already?”

“Come on,” she urged, giving me a friendly shove. “Where’d you go all dressed up?”

My story was ready to go. “Just went out exploring and wandering about. Found a nice little bar to sit in, read a bit on my phone.” I shrugged. “Nothing too exciting.”

“What about Roy?”

Once again, my salad was fascinating. “What about Roy? Didn’t he go out with the guys?”

“Nope,” Keeley answered, popping the “p” loudly. “You sure he didn’t join you at the bar?”

“He did not join me at the bar.”

You’re not lying, I thought to myself as I remembered our date at the Louvre, eating dinner with the Mona Lisa, followed by slow dancing in front of the statue of Cupid and Psyche. After that, we strolled around the museum, champagne in hand, gazing at the art. The whole time, I found myself wondering if I’d wake up back in my old room, its walls covered with Roy Kent, to discover the last four months had been a dream. Instead, I had woken up to find he’d run out to grab me a chocolate croissant for breakfast before the sun was up.

But Keeley didn’t need to know any of that right now.

Not that keeping Keeley in the dark was something I liked. Outside of a couple of my really good school mates, Keeley was quickly becoming my best friend. She was sweet, savvy, kickass and independent, and a great hype woman who made anyone feel like they could do anything. There was a part of me that was dying to grab her by the shoulders and scream, “I’m shagging Roy Kent and I think I’m in love with him!”. But I was loving the small bubble Roy and I were living in, where only Jamie Tartt knew about our existence and was threatened into silence. The little bubble where we were constantly holed up in my flat or his house, watching movies or making dinner together, drinking on his back porch and whispering sarcastic jokes late into the night, not having to answer anyone’s questions about how we got together or who liked who first or how someone like me got someone like him. No, thank you. Roy and I would stay in our happy little bubble for as long as it suited us.

“How do I look?”

I poked my head out of Roy’s bathroom to look at him. He was wearing- surprise, surprise- all black: black jeans, black shirt, black jacket.

“You look like Roy Kent,” I answered, running my brush through my hair. “Dunno why you’re so nervous. You’ve met them before. Don’t you remember my dad tackling you?”

Roy sighed and traded one black jacket for another nearly identical one. “Yeah, but that was as ‘Roy Kent, football legend’. This time it’s ‘Roy Kent, old man sneaking into your daughter's hotel room in Paris’.” He turned to me, waiting for my verdict on his outfit.

Tossing my brush on his bed, I strolled over to him and adjusted his jacket, fixing the neckline. “How about ‘Roy Kent, boyfriend who makes their daughter really happy’?” I offered.

A smile cracked through his nerves. “I like the sound of that guy.”

“Me too.” I kissed his cheek. “Now, let’s go so you can stop bugging me about my mum’s pasta.”

The drive to my parents’ was quieter than our usual car rides. It wasn’t hard to figure out why; Roy had already told me that he hadn’t met too many parents in his previous relationships. He was never really with someone long enough to reach that step, and the few times he did, it didn’t go great. He was especially embarrassed to talk about the mother who had propositioned him when her daughter was out of the room. Stories from Roy’s past made me sad sometimes; he’d had a hard time finding people who made him feel cared about for himself, not his skill or fame.

No wonder he clings to Phoebe and his sister, I had realized one day. I hoped my parents would join the apparently short list of people who made him feel special for just being Roy.

We easily found parking in front of my parents’ house and quickly made our way to the door. I carried a pie we’d picked up on the way over, and Roy held a bouquet of flowers he’d brought for my mum. As I unlocked the door, I glanced at him; he looked more nervous than the teenage boyfriends I’d brought home during my school days.

“Relax,” I whispered, planting a small pack on his cheek. “They already adore you.”

As if on cue, my mother yanked the door open, nearly ripping my arm off in the process. “We thought we heard something!” she greeted, ushering us in. She took the pie out of my hands as she kissed me on the cheek. “How was Paris?”

“Great,” I managed, closing the front door behind us. “The team won, and I got to check out the Louvre with Roy.” I shot Roy a knowing look, which seemed to relax him slightly. It also captured my mum’s attention.

“Roy, we’re so glad to have you over again,” she gushed, giving him a half hug that had him frozen in place.

When she pulled away, Roy cleared his throat and held out the flowers. “These are for you,” he stated, a bit stiffly. “I, uh, felt bad for interrupting your dinner last time without bringing anything so…” He trailed off, glancing at me as my mother took the flowers.

I slid my hand into his, giving it a small squeeze. “Where’s Dad?” I asked my mother, trying to put Roy at ease by taking some of the attention off him.

“Dad’s in the kitchen. Hope you don’t mind, we sent the boys to a friend’s house, so it’s just the four of us.”

Atta girl, Mum. My brothers were great boys, but they’d be positively tickled at the idea of having Roy Kent at their dinner table again and would probably be all over TikTok bragging about their “future brother-in-law” before we’d even had dessert. Just the four of us would mean that Roy could just be Roy, my boyfriend getting to know my parents, not Roy Kent, football legend and my lifelong crush.

My dad greeted Roy with a firm handshake, much calmer than the last time he’d seen us together. “How’re you doing, Roy?” he asked in a detached voice, as if he hadn’t been smothering the guy in the entryway just a few months ago.

“Good, sir,” Roy answered, more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “Yourself?”

Dad nodded, letting go of Roy’s hand. “Fine, thanks.” He quickly led us to the dining room, where Mum had clearly gone all out.

On the table was my parents’ best China that usually only came out when my dad’s boss visited or for my gran’s birthday, and there was a bottle of wine that I knew was twice as expensive as the kind they normally drank. Much to my relief, they (most likely Mum) had had the foresight to tuck away any embarrassing photos from my awkward teenage phase as well as that one photo my dad had of an extremely drunk me on my 21st birthday kissing my Roy Kent cardboard cutout, which currently laid flat under my bed at home, where Roy would hopefully never find it.

Roy pulled out my chair for me and then took the same seat he’d been in the night of my dad’s birthday. He shot me an awkward glance; God, this man had played in the freaking World Cup, yet here he was, jiggling his leg and blushing like a schoolboy on his first date.

Fuck, he must really like me, I thought to myself, feeling a bit stupid at such an obvious revelation. Of course Roy liked me; we spent every free moment we could together and when we couldn’t, we were constantly texting or calling each other. Heck, he’d even started using the Snapchat account Ted had made him sign up for so he could send me pictures of his uncle-niece dates. The man was clearly smitten, and the feeling was completely, totally, absolutely mutual.

My mother urged us to load our plates with pasta and salad, which Roy did not need to hear twice. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that he didn’t start eating until I’d taken my first bite; a gentlemanly gesture I’d never had a boyfriend do.

Once we’d all served ourselves food and wine and begun eating, my dad cleared his throat. “So how long… er, when did…” He gestured to the two of us. “When’d this start?”

I shot Roy a glance as I sipped the suddenly very necessary wine; his face had gone a little pale. Apparently I’d have to field this question myself. “Actually, when Roy popped by on your birthday,” I admitted. “Believe it or not, he saw all the posters in my room and didn’t run away.” I took Roy’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “Since it was painfully obvious that I liked him, he asked me out the following weekend, and we made things official about…” I glanced at Roy, doing math in my head.

“A month ago,” he finished for me promptly, a shine in his eyes. “We went to this fundraiser thing hosted by the club owner and…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Dunno, we talked, realized we like being together, and made it official.” His eyes shifted to my dad, as if Roy was hoping he’d be okay with all this.

My dad was staring at Roy with an intensity I’d never seen in my life. Part of me could understand my dad’s hesitation to be as enthusiastic as my mum about this relationship; Roy had about a decade on me (though honestly, neither of us felt it), his temper on and off the pitch was nothing short of legendary, and, thanks in part to my stalker-like tendencies, my dad knew quite a bit about the rotation of gorgeous women who made up Roy’s dating history. During his last visit, Roy had just been someone I shared an office with, so Dad could fawn over him without a second thought. Now, Roy wasn’t just some girlhood crush on my walls, but a real, viable romantic partner. The concept must have been a bit terrifying for the father of an only daughter.

After the longest minute of my life, my dad spoke directly to Roy. “And you… you like my daughter?”

Based on his wide-eyed stare, Roy was not prepared for such a blunt question. “Oh. Um, yeah, of course, I really fucking like her.” Somehow his eyes grew wider. “Shit. Sorry. I mean-” He screwed his eyes shut and let out a tiny growl. With a sigh, he opened his eyes again. “Yes, I like your daughter. A lot.”

Dad didn’t seem ready to let up. “And you treat her well?”

Roy shrugged. “I’d like to think so. I respect her and try to make sure she knows I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. I like making her laugh. And once she decides she’s sick of keeping us gaffers in line, I’ll support her whatever she ends up doing.”

My dad stared at Roy hard, his jaw set. Come on Dad, ease up, I prayed. Go back to worshipping the grass this man walks on. Remember the way you sobbed when he walked off the field during his last game. Remember how much you want me to be happy. Please.

Finally, my dad nodded slowly. “Alright then. Thank you for your honesty, Roy.” He took a long sip of his wine as the rest of the table stared at him expectantly. At last, he set down his glass. “So, how d’you think the Greyhounds’ odds are for avoiding relegation this season?”

And that was it. The rest of the evening was a blur of laughter and stories and Roy getting second and third helpings of my mum’s pasta. By the time my mum brought out the pie, Roy and my dad had made plans to grab a drink later in the week to watch a football game together and my mum had promised to have us over for dinner again the following week. Roy’s face was full of relief as my mum gave him a hug and my dad shook his hand warmly.

“Was that so bad?” I teased once we were settled in the car.

He shrugged as he started the car, not hiding his smile. “I had a good time. Your parents are pretty great.”

I cleared my throat, keeping my eyes on the road. “Sorry about my dad, though. Not sure what came over him when we sat down.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “You’re his only daughter. I’m an old man who has something of a reputation. Can’t blame him for not loving the idea of us together.” His voice was thoughtful. “But I hope he believes me when I say I really fucking care about you.” He took my hand. “And I hope you believe it too.”

I turned to look at Roy, who was already glancing at me. “I do,” I assured him. “And I really care about you too.”

Turning his gaze back to the road, Roy nodded. “Good.” He paused for a moment, clearly thinking hard about something. “Just… please don’t tell your dad about our sleepovers. Because with my shit knee, he may be able to outrun me.”

“Oh no, Roy. He could definitely outrun you.”

“Here you go, dear.”

“Thanks, Rose,” I murmured, taking my drink from her. I turned back to Roy. “Alright. Now you can tell me about practice.”

Roy sipped his beer. “Actually, I had something I’ve been thinking about lately that I wanted to ask you about.”

I tilted my head at him. “Anything wrong?”

“Well…” Roy bobbled his head a bit. “Just thinking about how unfair it is that I’ve met your family twice now, but you haven’t met mine.” He glanced at me, playful suspicion in his eyes. “Unless you’re one of those women who thinks it should be all your family all the time and my family can go fuck off a cliff?”

Puzzled but intrigued, I leaned forward. “Absolutely not. Did you have something in mind?”

He tapped the side of his beer bottle. “’ve been promising Phoebe I’d take her to see this fucking stage production of The Sound of Music on Friday. Take her out to ice cream or some shit after. You want to join us?”

While he spoke in that disinterested voice he often used, I could sense the apprehension beneath it. He wanted me to say yes so badly, to be excited to meet the most important person in his life. To be interested in every part of his life, not just football. This would be a key moment in our relationship, and Roy obviously knew it.

“That sounds great,” I gushed, taking his hand. “If I’m being honest, I’ve really been looking forward to meeting Phoebe.”

“She’s dying to meet you too, actually.” He rolled his eyes, as if he wasn’t talking about his precious little niece who was the absolute light of his life. “Been bugging the shit out of me about it ever since I first told her about you.”

A flutter ran through my heart. “You talk about me to Phoebe?”

“Fucking course. Don’t tell her, but that little idiot’s probably my best friend.”

“Don’t let Jamie hear you say that,” I warned with a grin. “He’ll get jealous.”

Predictably, Roy bared his teeth at me. “I’ve told you a million fucking times, Jamie Tartt is not my best friend. He’s not even my friend. I fucking hate that prick. I want to cut his face off and hang it up as a Halloween decoration so I don’t have to pass out candy to fucking trick or treaters.”

“Wow, your best man speech at Jamie’s wedding is gonna suck.”

Despite his best attempt at annoyance, I could see the grin Roy was trying to fight. “Do I have to do that shit where I kiss you just to shut you up?”

I shrugged. “Can’t guarantee it’ll work. But you’re very welcome to try.”

Work that Friday seemed to go in slow motion. It took all my restraint to stop myself from asking Roy a million questions about Phoebe, what she liked, what she knew about me (about us, really), how to make a good impression on her. Instead, I scurried around making sure Ted had a Spanish-to-English dictionary available for a Zoom call he had late in the day and giving Rebecca a non-answer when she asked about my weekend plans.

Finally, Roy and I packed up our things and hopped into his still ridiculous car, stopping at his place to change into what he told me Phoebe called “fancy theatre clothes” before finally going to his sister’s place to pick up Phoebe.

Shit, is this how Roy felt at my parents’? I asked myself as I shook Dr. O’Sullivan’s hand. Of course, I knew her face from the photos of her at Roy’s place, but God, she was beautiful in person. And the smile she wore told me that Roy had definitely mentioned me at least once or twice.

“Is Phoebe fucking ready or what?” Roy sighed after introductions had been made.

“Uncle Roy! Uncle Roy!”

A blur of blonde and pink launched itself at Roy, nearly toppling him over. Phoebe clung to her uncle and gazed up at him, her face full of that love that a small child had for her hero. My entire body melted at the sight of this little girl in a pink dress hugging him tight. Feeling like I was being watched, I glanced over at Roy’s sister, who was looking at me with a pensive expression. We exchanged soft smiles before both turning our attention back to Phoebe.

Roy crouched by Phoebe, ignoring the small crack coming from his leg as he did so, and gestured towards me. “Phoebe, this is-”

Before Roy could finish, Phoebe hurled herself at me, giving me a tight hug. “Oh my gosh. I’m so excited to finally meet you!” Her smile was infectious. “My uncle Roy really likes you.”

“No shit, Phoebe,” Roy growled. “Let’s get going. If you make me miss the opening song, I’ll leave you there and you can become another Von Trapp brat.”

During the ride to the theater, Phoebe asked me a million questions: about my job, my friends, my family, my flat, and what I thought the best ice cream flavors were. In turn, I learned about her school, her friends, her mother, which of her stuffed animals were her favorite, and all the things she loved about her Uncle Roy. By the time we’d found our seats in the theatre, Phoebe was holding my hand like we were the best of friends and begging Roy to let her sit next to me, since he got to sit next to me in the car.

“It’s only fair,” I pointed out to Roy, who smiled and rolled his eyes in that goofy way that made my knees go weak.

The first act of the show was as wonderful as I expected. Phoebe was entranced the entire time, and on her other side I could see Roy mouthing along to every song. We locked eyes a few times, especially when Maria and Captain von Trapp were onstage together. Each time we exchanged bashful smiles, as if we were kids with crushes rather than two adults in a fairly serious relationship.

At intermission, we found seats in the lobby. Roy headed to the line at the bar to get us something to drink, leaving Phoebe and I alone.

“Are you enjoying the show?” I asked, offering her my softest smile.

“Very much,” she said. “Uncle Roy’s made me watch the film about a million times, so we know all the songs. Do you like it?”

I nodded. “It’s one of my favorite movies, too. Can I tell you a secret?” Phoebe nodded earnestly, clearly excited to learn something so important. “I nearly always cry when Maria and Captain von Trapp admit they love each other.”

Phoebe giggled good-naturedly. “My uncle Roy reminds me of Captain von Trapp. Always yelling, but he’s really very nice.” She gazed up at me, a pondering look on her little face before she broke into a huge grin. “I guess that makes you Maria!” My tongue was suddenly too tied to reply, so she continued. “You know, Uncle Roy talks about you all time.”

Clearly, this was the topic Phoebe was most interested in. “And what does your Uncle Roy say about me?” I asked, humoring her.

“Well, the first time he talked about you, he was telling my mum that you had started working at Richmond and he was kind of mad that he had to share his office with you. But then Mummy asked if you were pretty, and he told her to shut up, but he was smiling.” She thought for a moment. “He also says you’re very nice and very smart and that the team would fall apart without you. And he told me that being nice to you is very important because you’re his girlfriend.” She glanced down at her sparkly shoes. “Uncle Roy never introduces me to his girlfriends.”

Part of me knew I should change the subject, but the part of me that turned into a giggling teenage girl whenever I thought about Roy couldn’t resist. “No?”

She shook her little head as she looked back up at me. “No. But my mum says you’re different. She thinks Uncle Roy is going to marry you someday. Would you let me be your flower girl?”

Before I could manage a response, Roy appeared, holding three glasses. “Here. Shirley Temples.” He handed one to each of us. “Don’t fucking spill on your dress,” he warned Phoebe. He sat down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What were you two chatting about?”

Of course, Phoebe pipped up before I could open my mouth. “Our favorite songs in the play. Mine’s The Lonely Goatherd.”

“That’s a shit choice,” Roy snorted.

While he went on a rant about why Edelweiss was a perfect song, I turned my gaze to Phoebe, who was already smiling up at me knowingly. Something in my heart warmed with the realization that I had made a new little friend.

The rain pitter-pattered against the window as I folded the laundry I’d managed to avoid for a couple of days. Some cheesy movie played on the television, more for background noise than anything else. My mind was occupied with thoughts of the weekend before, when we’d taken Phoebe on our second outing together: the zoo. She’d been thrilled to hold both our hands and explain everything she knew about each animal; she was especially excited to tell me all about how her Uncle Roy reminded her of the giant gorilla in its enclosure when it banged on the glass.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, Roy interrupted my thoughts with a phone call.

“Hey,” I greeted casually, pretending my heart didn’t skip a beat every time his name lit up my mobile screen.

“What’re you up to today?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

I lowered the volume on the television. “Told you, I’m having my girlfriends over to have a proper catchup and grabbing drinks with them. I haven’t seen them since before Paris and I feel like I’ve been a shit friend since I started at Richmond.” Since you decided to take up my every waking thought.

“That’s not til tonight, right?”

Onscreen, the two romantic leads began their big blowout argument that threatened to break them up. “Yeah. But I’ve gotta tidy up a bit.” My curiosity got the better of me. “Why?”

“Got an errand to run and wanted your help.”

My curiosity increased. “What sort of errand?” I tucked my mobile between my face and shoulder so I could resume folding.

Roy sighed. “Phoebe’s been bugging her mum about getting a fucking dog, but there’s no fucking way my sister has time for one. So, I was thinking I might as well go down to the pound and get one myself so she can shut up already.”

I scoffed. “I’m sorry, you’re going to adopt a dog just to make your adorable little niece happy?”

There was a pause on Roy’s end. “Yes. That a problem?”

A smile crept across my face. “No. Just trying to figure out what Nora Ephron movie you walked out of.”

“Fuck you.” I could hear Roy’s smile through the phone. “You take that shit back.”

“Nope,” I insisted, my grin growing. “Sorry, you’re a regular Billy Crystal now.”

Now he scoffed, clearly offended. “Billy Crystal? Really? Can’t I at least be Tom fucking Hanks?”

Damn, I love a man who knows his rom-com leads. “If it’ll make you happy, fine. You’re Tom Hanks. Congrats.” I remembered the reason for Roy’s call. “So, why’re you asking me to go with you to get the dog? Not that I mind, but shouldn’t it be Phoebe? She’s the reason you’re getting one to begin with.”

There was a long pause on Roy’s end. With a deep breath, he mumbled, “Well, I kind of wanted to surprise her the next time she comes over. And I also kind of figured… I dunno, you’re my girlfriend and you’re here all the time, you’re gonna see the fucking dog a lot, I wanna make sure you like it too.” He paused a moment. “You could even help me name it and shit. If I let Phoebe name it, I’ll have a dog called Princess Sparkle Rainbow or something equally fucked.”

It wasn’t a big request; just go help Roy pick out a dog, maybe pop in a pet shop to get toys and food and a collar, talk him out of naming it “Fuckface” or some name Phoebe wouldn’t be allowed to say. An easy Saturday morning. If anyone else in the world was asking, it’d be an easy “Sure” and I’d have my shoes on already. But because it was Roy asking, the invitation to join him felt heavier, like it held some meaning other than “Come keep me company”. He wanted my opinion on this multi-year commitment he was making to whatever dog he found; that meant he expected me to stick around for a while, right?

Maybe Phoebe wasn’t so off base when she divulged her mother’s thoughts about Roy and me.

“Sure, Roy,” I answered after what was probably too long of a pause. “I’d love to help you pick a dog.”

Half an hour later I heard that familiar knock at my door. When I opened it, Roy immediately leaned forward to peck my cheek before he entered my flat, twirling his keys in his hand.

“You ready then?”

I nodded, closing the door behind him. “Just need to grab my shoes.” He lingered near the door as I quickly ran to my room to put on some trainers. When I came back, Roy was snickering to himself. “What?”

He shrugged, trying to compose himself. “Nothin’. I just really like your sweatshirt.”

Confused, I glanced down. Dark blue AFC Richmond sweatshirt, one of a million I’d collected over the years. This one, my usual go-to, was pretty simple, with just a small Richmond logo above my heart. It wasn’t like Roy hadn’t seen me wear one a million times at this point, especially on game days.

“The fuck are you on about?” I asked, feeling like I was missing an obvious joke.

Biting his lip, Roy grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “It’s honestly kinda hot seeing you wear my name.”

Oh. Despite the sweater being my favorite, I had found it that morning hung in the back of my closet, untouched in quite a while. Now it made sense why: Roy’s last name and number were emblazoned on the back in large white letters. I hadn’t even noticed when I tugged it on after my shower, especially since I had no plans to see Roy that day.

My cheeks warmed with the reminder that not too long ago, I was just an adoring fan. But Roy’s tightening grip on me brought me back to the moment.

“I’ll just go change really quick,” I breathed, trying to focus on anything but Roy’s hand that had moved firmly to the small of my back.

He shook his head, eyes burning into mine. “Absolutely fucking not. I like seeing my name on you.”

I managed an awkward chuckle. “Come on, Roy. Me wearing your name while I’m out with you in public might be asking for a little bit of trouble, hmm? All it takes is one picture and bam, front page of some rag tomorrow morning.”

Roy stared at me for a moment, his grip softening slightly on my back. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Was that a tinge of disappointment in his voice? If it was, he quickly recovered, adding, “That sweater should be your new pyjamas at my place. Let me see you in it more often.”

“Deal,” I agreed, kissing his cheek before dashing my room to put on a more inconspicuous sweater.

In the car, Roy told me all about Phoebe’s great longing for a dog. She was constantly looking up photos of different kinds of dogs, only wanted dog stuffed animals when out shopping, and had a very long list of possible dog names scribbled in her diary. Despite his ever-constant scowl, I could see the delight in Roy’s eyes when he talked about how “fucking feral” his niece would go once he introduced her to the dog.

At the shelter, Roy got plenty of double takes from employees, but he ignored them, completely focused on the pups in their kennels. He paused in front of one and knelt down beside it. After staring intensely into the crate for a moment, he waved for me to join him.

“What d’you think?”

The medium-sized dog was clearly a mix of about a few different breeds and his black fur looked like he desperately needed a wash. More importantly, his eyes were bright and eager, and he jumped as best he could in his confinement as he gazed at Roy.

I couldn’t help my smile. “I think this might be him.”

An older employee brought us and the dog to a small side yard where we could see him outside the kennels. He immediately jumped on Roy, licking his hands with excitement. Then he turned his attention to me, laying his paws on my thighs. For about five minutes, Roy and I tossed around a toy, watching the dog run around to find it and bring it back to one of us.

After the millionth successful round of fetch, the employee spoke up. “It’s amazing, he’s usually a bit of a grouch. Not aggressive,” she clarified. “But he’s not usually this friendly.” She smiled at us. “He must like you two.”

I turned to Roy, who was on the ground with the dog. “So? You want to take him?”

He gazed up at me as he scratched the dog behind his ears. “Do you like him?”

From the look in Roy’s eye, I knew the answer to that question mattered just as much- maybe even more- than what Roy himself thought of the dog. The idea caused my heart to skip a beat, another reminder that I really mattered to this man.

“I kind of love him already,” I admitted with a chuckle, reaching down to give the dog a pet. “But it’s your choice.”

He nodded, a smile slowly forming. “Yeah, I think he’s the one.”

We spent another five minutes sitting on the grass with the dog, tossing names back and forth, rejecting classics like Max or Fido, deciding against naming him after any footballers, and me forbidding Roy from using any swear words in the name.

Finally, I felt the lightbulb switch on in my brain. “Oscar.”

Roy furrowed his thick eyebrows. “Oscar?”

“For Oscar the Grouch,” I explained, as if it were obvious. “Phoebe told me the two of you always joke that you’re basically Oscar the Grouch. And this guy is supposed to be a grouch, but he loves us. Just like-” I stopped, knowing the next words that almost tumbled out:

Just like how you’re a grouch, but you love me.

Right?

Roy nodded, understanding what I meant. “Oscar,” he murmured. He patted the dog on its side. “What d’you think, fella? Feel like you can live with being called Oscar?”

Immediately, the dog sat down, gazing at Roy expectantly.

“Guess his name’s Oscar,” Roy agreed, his smile widening as he looked at me.

By the time we bought everything Oscar would need for his first few days at home and I helped Roy set his house up, I had to hurry home and finish getting my flat ready for my friends. Roy drove me home and walked me up, his arm wrapped lazily around my shoulders.

“Thank you again,” he said once we reached my door. “I really appreciate you helping me find Oscar. I think Phoebe’s going to fucking love him.” He leaned against the wall, looking at me carefully. “So, your friends are coming over, huh?”

I nodded, fiddling with my keys. “Yeah, we’re going to meet here, then head out to grab a drink. It’ll be nice to catch up with each other.” I shoved Roy playfully. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about how Roy Kent and I have regular sleepovers.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a small huff of a laugh. “Hmm. Yeah, guess you shouldn’t.” His eyes lingered again. “Why don’t I pick you up from the bar once you’re finished? You can spend the night. Help me with Oscar tomorrow.”

“Oh, Roy, I dunno what time we’ll be done, I couldn’t ask-”

“I want you to ask,” he interrupted bluntly. “I don’t want you driving home if you’ve been drinking or getting a ride from someone who has. And I don’t want you taking a fucking Uber when you have a boyfriend who is more than willing to give you a ride home. Even if you make fun of my car.” He held my chin tenderly. “Alright?”

I melted into his touch, unable to look away from the look of intense affection in his eyes. Roy Kent wants to take care of me. And I wanted to let him.

“Alright,” I whispered bashfully, trying not to grin too hard. I stood on tiptoe and gave him a small kiss. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to come home.” I paused. “I mean, when I’m ready to be picked up.”

He nodded. “Good.” He gave me one more quick kiss. “Be safe, alright?”

Of course I’d be safe. It was just me and two of my close friends from school, women I’d known for what felt like forever. I had just tucked away a photo of Roy and me in Paris when I heard a commotion outside my door. When I opened it, I was tackled from both sides- Carly and Allison.

We squealed like children as we hugged and chattered about how good each other looked and how mad we were that we’d gone so long without hanging out together. We sat on my couch for a bit, gossiping about old schoolmates and the things they overshared on social media, before finally getting up and piling into Allison’s car to find a pub not too far from my place. Once we had settled a high-top table, drinks in front of us, we were ready to properly catch up.

“So, how’s life at Richmond?” Allison asked, emphasizing the team name the way all our dads always did. “The team’s actually winning these days!”

I shook my head. “It’s amazing. Believe it or not, the American knows what he’s doing. And he’s honestly the nicest guy in the world.”

Carly leaned forward, clearly already feeling her drink. “And is Jamie Tartt really that pretty in person?”

A snort caught in my throat. “Oh, Jamie’s beautiful,” I assured her. “And his very serious girlfriend Keeley is otherworldly gorgeous and the kindest person I’ve ever met. Sorry.”

Allison nudged me. “Who’s single, then? Because I am obsessed with Dani Rojas. That accent, that hair.” She fanned herself with a napkin.

“Or what about Isaac McAdoo? The things I would let that man do to me…” Carly purred.

I couldn’t help laughing. “Oh God. I’ve seen these guys puke after being run too hard at practice or with bloody noses because someone kicked a ball wrong or playing a game of ‘the floor is lava’ in the changing room or drooling in their sleep on the way home from away games. These are not sexy to men to me.”

“Oh, I know what the problem is,” Allison hummed, shooting me a wink. “She’s got eyes for a certain coach.”

My cheeks warmed. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” I answered, taking a sip of my drink and hoping I looked casual.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Come off it, we’ve all seen the shrine. Hell, I bought you some of those posters.”

“If you marry him, you’ll be just like Princess Kate with her William poster!” Carly giggled.

I turned to Carly. “You know Kate said that never actually happened, right?” I asked, trying to shift focus.

Allison caught my game. “Don’t change the subject! Come on, give us the details. Does Roy Kent, love of your life, know you exist?” She shot me a playful wink.

Despite my flushing face at the sound of his name, I snorted. “He better fucking know I exist, we share an office. We eat lunch together almost every day.”

“What’s he like?” Carly asked dreamily.

I paused. I couldn’t tell them about us dating, but surely that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell them about the Roy Kent I knew. “He’s… surprising,” I finally murmured. “He’s actually very kind and thoughtful. Like if he grabs himself breakfast on his way to work, he usually brings me something. He’s got this little niece he absolutely dotes on, and she positively worships him. And fuck, Roy Kent was a great athlete, but I can’t even begin to describe him as a coach. The man’s kind of brilliant but refuses to take any credit for the team’s success. And he’s funny as hell. Very sharp and witty.” I stopped, realizing that I was completely gushing at this point.

My friends stared at me with looks filled with a mix of surprise, fondness, and a bit of pity.

Allison finally spoke. “Fuck, this goes beyond the posters and teenage idol worship. You’re actually in love with the man.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stuff it. So, I’m a bit attracted to him, big whoop. People get little crushes on their coworkers all the time and do nothing about it. It’s not a big deal.” We’re just in a full-blown relationship. No big deal.

“But most people don’t work with someone they have twenty-seven posters of in their bedroom,” Allison pointed out, giggling over her drink.

Carly sat up. “Twenty-eight,” she corrected. “Don’t forget the shirtless poster in her closet that she was hiding from her dad.”

My jaw dropped at the betrayal from my friends. “You’re both off your rockers,” I scoffed. “Roy Kent’s a nice guy, we’re friends, end of story.”

Somehow, I managed to get the girls to find other topics to focus on. At some point I lost count of how many drinks we’d had; it was easy to lose track when having fun with friends. Once I could feel our energy start to fade, I took out my mobile and shot Roy a quick text telling him where I was.

On my way, he answered.

Once our tab was paid, we headed out of the pub, with me assuring my friends that I had a ride, hoping they would assume I had ordered an Uber. They wouldn’t be thinking that once we actually stepped outside, though.

There was Roy, leaning against his stupidly giant black car, looking every bit like my personal teenage fantasy in his tight black jeans with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His face lit up when he saw me, as if I were a Victoria’s Secret model and not his girlfriend stumbling out of a pub.

“Need a ride?” he called out casually; he knew exactly how sexy he looked and was really leaning into it. Prick.

The amount of alcohol in my system was enough to make me forget everything except how fucking happy I was to see him. I ran at Roy and jumped on him, enveloping him in a giant hug. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around me casually, mumbling “Fucking hello to you, too” into my hair.

My friends’ faces were a jumble of shock, giddiness, and a giant helping of confusion. Their eyes darted back and forth between Roy and me, waiting for some sort of explanation.

Keeping his arm around my shoulder even after I’d let go of him, Roy offered the smallest of smiles to my friends. “Hi. ’m Roy.” He gave a little wave, as if they somehow had no clue who he was. He nodded towards me. “I’m giving this one a ride home if that’s alright.”

Mouths slightly agape, the girls nodded. Still feeling tipsy, I waved to them. “G’night!” As Roy opened the door and placed his hand on my waist to help me into the car, I looked up at him, a dopey, lovesick expression on my face. “Roy?”

“Hmm?” His smile was softer than I’d ever seen it.

“You know I exist, right?”

He nodded, looking at me like I was some magical thing instead of a very sloshed woman. “Yes, I know you exist. Now get in the fucking car before I have to throw you in, hmm?”

Roy managed to get me in the car and then managed to not kick me out of it despite my incessant talking the entire ride back to his place. Instead, he walked me inside and helped me change into one of his sweaters, the one I loved to sleep in. While he changed himself into his sweats, I sat cross-legged on the floor, petting a very sleepy Oscar, now drunkenly explaining to Roy why Paul McCartney was the best Beatle.

As I expressed how much I loved “I Saw Her Standing There”, Roy joined me on the floor, watching me with admiration in his eyes. He absently rubbed Oscar behind the ears, nodding and offering small “Uh-huhs” from time to time.

“You going to kiss me so I can fucking shut up already?” I joked, realizing that he’d never let me go uninterrupted for this long.

Instead, he shook his head. “Nah. I like listening to you.” He paused, his face turning thoughtful. “I really fucking like listening to you.”

I leaned forward and kissed his face. “Thanks,” I murmured, my body now buzzing from the look in his eye rather than the alcohol.

His face screwed up, like he was debating something. “I love you, you know,” he finally breathed. “Like, I really fucking love you.” His shoulders tensed as he stared at me, waiting for me to say something, anything.

Roy Kent loves me. Roy fucking Kent loves me. Roy Kent fucking loves me.

“Holy shit. I love you too,” I blurted, my heart hammering. I blinked a few times. “Wait, you really said that right? I’m not just that drunk?”

Roy’s entire body relaxed, and he laughed so loud he made Oscar jump. “Yeah, I really fucking said that, you sloshed little muppet.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my lips. “I love you,” he mumbled against my mouth. “I absolutely fucking love you.”

When I woke up the next morning, Oscar was in his bed, but Roy wasn’t in his. With a small hum, I got up and headed downstairs, where I found Roy sitting on the couch and reading. He gave a small salute when I walked in with the dog at my heels.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, scooting over so I could sit beside him. He pecked my cheek. “Sleep well?”

Despite my giant yawn, I nodded. “Yourself?”

“I always sleep well when you’re here,” he answered nonchalantly, eyes returning to his book. “You hungry?”

I shook my head. “Could go for some tea though.”

He started to get up. “Let me put the kettle on.”

“I’ve got it,” I insisted, standing back up. “You keep reading-” I glanced at the title. “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?”

“Phoebe roped me into her fucking book club,” he grumbled, turning the book so he could glance at the yellow lion on the cover. “We’re doing the whole series. You want in?”

I chuckled. “Sure.” As I turned to head to the kitchen, he grabbed my arm.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking up at me. “I love you.”

Color flooded my cheeks as I smiled down at him. “I love you too.”

He nodded. “Just… wanted to make sure you heard me say it when you’re sober.” He leaned back and returned to his book. “Go on, then.” His eyes flickered up playfully as I made my way into the kitchen put some water on. While I waited for the water, I could hear ping ping ping from the next room.

“No fucking shit,” I could hear Roy exclaim.

Curious, I grabbed my own mobile and looked at it. Despite it being early on Sunday morning, there were several texts on the thread between Ted, Beard, Rebecca, Roy, and myself.

We got Vargas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The following messages were all emojis and gifs sent by Ted, a simple thumbs-up emoji from Beard, and several smiley faces from Rebecca. I rushed into the living room, where Roy was gazing at his mobile. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“This is fucking huge,” he said. “I mean, this deal was more Beard’s doing, I don’t know fuck all about the guy, but my understanding is that Vargas is supposed to be a big fucking deal very fucking soon.”

I nodded, scrolling through the still-incoming texts. “I can tell,” I chuckled. My mind was already running, thinking about all the things I’d have to get done on Monday: helping Keeley schedule a press conference, making sure Will was on top of things in the changing room, getting Ted a new Spanish-English dictionary, because goodness knows he’d already lost the one I’d just bought him.

As if he could feel my to-do list building in my head, Roy waved me over. “Get over here,” he grumbled. “We’re gonna have a fucking busy week, so let’s just be lazy today, yeah?”

A lazy day with Roy. Roy, who drove me home when I was drunk and wanted me to help pick his dog. Roy who loved me.

“That sounds great,” I agreed with a smile. “Let me just grab my tea.”

Once I had my cup in hand, I settled back onto the couch, tossing my legs over Roy’s lap. Oscar settled himself on the rug, clearly satisfied with his new living arrangements. Outside, I could hear the rain begin to pitter-patter as Roy rested a hand comfortably on my shin. A perfect, lazy day indeed.

“Oi, I picked you up one of those fucking rags when I was at the shop the other day,” Roy muttered, nodding towards the coffee table. “Clerk looked at me funny, the prick.”

I snorted and leaned forward to grab it. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” I retorted, flipping the gossip magazine open. We sat in happy silence as I turned the pages. Suddenly, a photo caught my eye, the sight making me choke on my tea.

Roy eyed me with mild concern. “Alright there?”

“Er, yeah.” I nodded. “I just, uh, I figured out where I know Dario Vargas from.”

“Oh?” Roy could not be less interested.

I folded the page back and handed the magazine to Roy. “I’ve seen him in paparazzi photos before. With his girlfriend.”

There, in full color, was a photograph of who I could only assume with Dario Vargas, with a sickeningly gorgeous woman on his arm. Below them was a simple caption: Football star Dario Vargas out for a night in Rome with supermodel Brittany Brett.

#Roy Kent Superstar #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #Roy Kent #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent fanfic #roy kent x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fluff

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iknowwhereyousleepatnight · 9 months

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babe wake up i’m drawing lawlight angst again

based on Theodor Friedl’s Cupid and Psyche:

#death note #death note fanart #l lawliet #light yagami #lawlight #my art #every statue i’ve seen of psyche and cupid is just so perfect for every vibe ever #i found another one that is 10/10 but was stolen and the only pics i can find are v rusted so i might not do that one #but i have a list of other statues that i want to do #but i’m probably going to go back to my cartoon style next bc i’d like to avoid artblock thank you very much :3

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youryurigoddess · 5 months

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A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop and its statues, part 2

Welcome to the second part of my insane deep dive into Aziraphale’s world of slightly outdated decor, golden-colored trinkets, and their ostentatiously Greek (especially for a representative of an originally Judeo-Christian mythology) symbolism. As a short recap, the last installment covered six pieces in the northern and central sections of the bookshop plus a plot-important medal previously displayed on one of them, but currently left with the other bibelots on the bookseller’s desk. We’ll start right there, where we previously left off.

While a lot of the bookshop action plays out in the circle between the formerly discussed statues, its office part is especially close to Aziraphale himself. As the titular Guardian of the Eastern Gate, the angel consciously spends most of his time in this small space in the Eastern part of the bookshop, confined to his desk or reading stand. This means that the decorations of this area have more personal significance and are most probably used as daily reminders for him to keep his thoughts and priorities on track as much as provide pleasant distraction from the weary eyes.

The two windowsill figures of the Art Deco dancers from S1 were replaced by a somewhat similar set of twin statues by Ernest Rancoulet called Retour des Bois (Return from the Woods). Depicting a young woman accompanied by a putto, Aphrodite and Eros, frolicking in a dance through the woods and meadows. This bucolic fantasy with Aphrodite makes some sense when we consider how Aziraphale’s personal love story started (and will presumably end) in a garden, but let’s deep deeper into its protagonists. Or protagonist, actually, because what else can be told about Love itself?

Eros as the god of Desire is usually presented in art as a handsome young man, though in some appearances he is a boy full of mischief, ever in the company of his mother. It is usually under the guidance of Aphrodite when he employs his signature bow and arrows to make mortals and immortals alike to fall in love. His role in myths is mostly complementary, as a catalyst for other mythological figures and their stories, with the notable exception being the myth of Eros and Psyche, the story of how he met and fell in love with his wife.

In short, they are the original star-crossed lovers from entirely separate worlds who meet and fall in love by divine happenstance, only to be separated by Psyche’s family. Convinced by her sisters that her husband is, in fact, a vile winged serpent, Psyche breaks his one rule and the attempt to kill the monster leads her to falling in passionate love with him. Eros flees and Psyche wanders the Earth searching for him and succumbing to a series of impossible tasks reminding of those from the Scarborough Fair ballad or the more modern fairytale about Cinderella. She ultimately fails, but is saved by the healed Eros, granted immortality and the status of his equal, after which they can properly marry with a huge wedding banquet, a real feast of the gods.

In the Christian Middle Ages, the union of Eros and Psyche started to symbolize the temptation and fall of the human soul, driven by the sexual curiosity and lust from the Love’s domain, mirroring the original sin and the expulsion from Eden.

Oh, and their Latin names? Cupid and Anima. C+A.

We’ll get back to them in a minute.

According to unnecessary but extensive research, the two mid-century table lamps standing over the desk were most probably produced in France after another unspecified 19th century sculptor like the example above, although this particular putti design can be also found in the so called Hollywood regency style of the same time period. The putto is holding onto a cornucopia, a classical antiquity symbol of plenty, which then continues to the bulb section.

The cornucopia is an easily recognizable symbol of abundance, fertility and, to lesser extant, peace and good fortune. Since the horn is phallic-shaped, but hollow at the same time, it combines intimate imagery of both male and female character at the same time, which further ties into notions of fertility. In its role as a fertility symbol, the cornucopia is also usually associated with Demeter, whose small statue is also standing on the bookshop’s counter. Which seems like a recurring theme.

I saw multiple theories about Aziraphale’s centerpiece, but somehow the truth proved to be much less significant than previously thought. This roman soldier, possibly a centurion, driving his two horses in a highly decorated chariot is made from a marble powder resin composite and takes the most visible place in the Eastern part of the bookshop even though it’s seemingly one of the newest additions to Aziraphale’s collection — its author, Lorenzo Toni, was born in 1938 and became a sculpture master by the 1970s.

At first glance, the parallel to the Marly Horses seems obvious and we could leave it basically at what was written recently on Crowley and Aziraphale’s dynamics. But here is where instead of commenting on the antique sculpture that seems to be the inspiration behind this piece or the many intricacies of Roman chariot racing I’ll do something completely unhinged — i.e., play my Greek philosophy card.

In the dialogue "Phaedrus ”, Plato presents the allegory of the chariot to explain the tripartite nature of the human soul or — you guessed it — psyche. The charioteer is the man’s Reason, the rational part that loves truth and knowledge, which should rule over the other parts of the soul through the use of logic. One of the horses, the white one, is man’s Spirit, a motivated part which seeks glory, honor, recognition and victory. The second horse, the black one, represents man’s Appetite — an ever so hungry part which desires food, drink, material wealth and physical intimacy.

And the fun part? This triad is established to analyze the madness of love. In a classical Greek context, that is not between a man and a woman, but erastes and eromenos:

The charioteer is filled with warmth and desire as he gazes into the eyes of the one he loves. The good horse is controlled by its sense of shame, but the bad horse, overcome with desire, does everything it can to go up to the boy and suggest to it the pleasures of sex. The bad horse eventually wears out its charioteer and partner, and drags them towards the boy; yet when the charioteer looks into the boy's face, his memory is carried back to the sight of the forms of beauty and self-control he had with the gods, and pulls back violently on the reins. As this occurs over and over, the bad horse eventually becomes obedient and finally dies of fright when seeing the boy's face, allowing the lover's soul to follow the boy in reverence and awe. The lover now pursues the boy. As he gets closer to his quarry, and the love is reciprocated, the opportunity for sexual contact again presents itself. If the lover and beloved surpass this desire they have won the "true Olympic Contests"; it is the perfect combination of human self-control and divine madness, and after death, their souls return to heaven.

And such a perfect combination of the motifs already introduced to us by the two Eros statues and the Head of the Victorious Athlete.

Aziraphale might be a titular Companion to Owls (or, to be precise, the companion to one particular Nite Owl), but he had also made sure to have at least one owl keeping him company. And of course, the owl of Athena (who was interestingly both a bird and a snake goddess) is an absolutely conclusion here as the universal symbol of wisdom and knowledge in the Western culture, but it can’t be that easy, right?

In the Bible, you'll find that owls often symbolize something unclean and forbidden, as well as desolation, loneliness, and destruction. This symbolic significance is pointed out in Leviticus 11:16-17 and Deuteronomy 14:11-17 where owls are mentioned among the birds not to be eaten. Owls were considered unclean most likely because they are predatory creatures who eat raw flesh with the blood still in it, and that was an even bigger food safety concern for the biblical nomads than to us today.

Owls are also among the wild predators that have long dwelled in the desert lands and abandoned ruins of Egypt and the Holy Land. Both Isaiah and Zephaniah speak of owls nesting in ruined wastelands to paint symbolic images of barrenness, emptiness, and utter desolation. In Psalm 102:3–6, the owl symbolizes the loneliness of the psalmist’s tortured heart:

For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers. My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forget to eat my food. In my distress I groan aloud and am reduced to skin and bones. I am like a desert owl, like an owl among the ruins. I lie awake; I have become like a bird alone on a roof. All day long my enemies taunt me; those who rail against me use my name as a curse. For I eat ashes as my food and mingle my drink with tears because of your great wrath, for you have taken me up and thrown me aside. My days are like the evening shadow; I wither away like grass. But you, Lord, sit enthroned forever; your renown endures through all generations.

It’s a devastating, but still beautiful piece that deals with the feeling of utter rejection, the ultimate bad breakup of the relationship between a human and their God. And this… simply didn’t happen between God and Aziraphale, not even during his Job job. The angel had always considered Her love and ineffability as a given, even when the whole Heavenly Host was against him during the Non-Apocalypse. His allegiance stayed with God, not necessarily Her angels. Which brings us yet again to the motion of Crowley as the owl.

The angel and the demon are the companions to each other's loneliness, but Aziraphale’s needs seem significantly bigger than their Arrangement that he even considered a wooden substitute protectively hovering over him 24/7. He seems to be the one who is the loneliest and most rejected.

Oh, and if you think that putting a small bronze statue of a putto with a bronze putto-shaped candleholder right behind it (visible on the filing cabinet in the bottom right corner) is already a stretch, let me show you what’s on the other side of that wall.

Just like before the bookshop fire, the famous sink in the small backroom is adorned with a perfectly kitschy white plaster sculpture of The Two Cherubs, a small part of a larger painting by Raphael (the painter, not the Archangel) titled Sistine Madonna. In the painting the Madonna, holding Christ Child and flanked by Saint Sixtus and Saint Barbara, stands on clouds before dozens of obscured putti, while two distinctive winged putti rest on their elbows beneath her. with bombastic side eyes and clearly unspoken, but very controversial thoughts about the whole scene and their role in it.

With an attitude like that, there’s no wonder that the putti have inspired some legends. According to one, the original cherubs were children of one of his models they would come in to watch. Struck by their posture, he added them to the painting exactly as he saw them. Another story says that Raphael was inspired by two street urchins looking wistfully into the window of a baker's shop.

The Germans implicitly tied this painting into a legend of their own, "Raphael's Dream." Arising in the last decades of the 18th century, the legend — which made its way into a number of stories and even a play — presents Raphael as receiving a heavenly vision that enabled him to present his divine Madonna. It is claimed the painting has stirred many viewers, and that at the sight of the canvas some were transfixed to a state of religious ecstasy akin to Stendhal Syndrome (including one of Freud's patients).

Their big, seemingly cherubic companion doesn’t seem to have a specific provenance, but what’s left of his limbs might suggest that it could be an infant Jesus as well as another putto. But honestly who knows at this point.

On the other side of the same room, right at the door leading to the big backroom, there are two lamps with Auguste Moreau’s Young Lovers, a bronze sculpture depicting a courting couple on the verge of a physical embrace, holding garlands of roses and hiding under some old vines. Which aligns perfectly with the beloved romcom trope of a rain shelter leading to sudden love realizations, as well as Crowley choosing this part of the bookshop to have a word with his angel in private and then offering his advice on anything related to human love. No wonder that the angel looked at him like that.

This statue carries with it more than one allegorical interpretation, intentional or not. Arguably the most obvious one is the myth of Eros and Psyche, one we already covered in this post. But similarly to his earlier sculpture, Eros also serves here as an allegory for nature and the return to the natural state itself. Like Adam in Eden, he's unclothed and symbolically crowned as a ruler of his domain. Psyche, enamored with his confidence, is about to take her own leap of faith as her fabric restraints fall away. One could say that she's tempted to follow him into nature, deep into the garden of love.

And with that exact thought I will leave you today, dear reader. Through this analysis we learnt many things, among them two significant facts about Aziraphale: firstly, he’s an utter and incorrigible romantic, and secondly, a hoarder. Forget Crowley’s souvenirs — the amount of this angel’s statues is something else. And it isn’t even his hyperfixation!

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