#the greyhound club | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 10 months

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𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 4.2k

summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

warnings: a mild start of a anxiety attack at the beginning, suggestive dancing, stripping, coming untouched, awkward moments, reader's first time at a strip club, unprofessional situations, mutual pining, sexual tension, use of good girl once

a/n: this idea was born whilst we were talking with @fuckyeahdindjarin about stripper!frankie and ofc since both of us are unhinged about a certain cowboy, the conversation steered naturally in the direction of stripper!jack ❤️‍🔥 I'd like to add that I've never been to a strip club and everything here (especially the dances) are born from me watching way too many male stripping tutorials and google searches, so it might not be %1000 authentic buuuuut hopefully it's fun nonetheless!

click for part two of the stripper!jack series

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

Your eyes are glued to the neon sign right above the bar. It flickers a bright pink, then purple, then red. In capital letters, it says: PEEP SHOW, and underneath it there’s a heart and in that, a keyhole.

The music isn’t loud enough to leave you deaf, thankfully. You’re not sure you could’ve handled music blaring from the speakers like you were in a dance club. Make Up Sex by SoMo plays in the background, you gently sway with the rhythm refusing to look at the stage. The thumb of your right-hand traces over the knuckles of your left. You notice the bartender and tear your gaze from the sign.

He stands behind the counter, his presence radiating a magnetic charm. With a physique sculpted to perfection, he possesses an air of rugged masculinity. His hazel eyes hold a captivating depth, and his confident smile hints at a mischievous nature. As he moves with grace and confidence, he threads his fingers through his tousled chestnut hair.

“You look like you might need a drink,” he teases, his smile bright and comforting. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Uh. . . a greyhound please?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he replies, taking a step back as if about to leave. But then, he pauses, leaning in close. His breath gently fans your skin, a rush of excitement flooding your veins. “And just some friendly advice, try to relax. We promise we don’t bite,” he says with a wink and goes off to prepare your drink.

You’re frustrated. Have you truly been that obvious? Who are you kidding— of course you have. You’re alone at a male strip club staring at the neon sign rather than the stage. Of course, they can tell you’re new here. You sigh and look around. The establishment is surprisingly neat. You notice a bachelorette party taking place not that far away from you, they seem to be having fun, screaming as a stripper sways his hips from side to side. He looks good. Chiseled abs, shiny chest, the whole thing shebang.

Your heart sinks into your chest. You hate being alone and you’re so incredibly tired of it. Everyone you know is either busy or doesn’t care enough to spare you even an hour. It’s been two years since your last relationship and you swear the lack of company is eating you alive. It would be fine if you had a couple of distractions, like going out with friends maybe, but that proved to be an impossible ask. You’re not even sure why you’re so bothered. You do a lot of things alone. You enjoy your own company. Yet, for some reason seeing everyone together, having fun is more difficult today compared to other days. Your chest collapses on itself, your pulse quick under your skin.

Suddenly it's very hard to breathe.

You take short, sharp breaths, filling your lungs with the scent of musk and strawberries.

Your chest continues to heave—Shit, are you about to have a panic attack in a freaking strip club? Now that will surely be in your top five most embarrassing moments. Nothing even happened, why are you feeling like this?

“You a’right there darlin’?”

A voice smooth as honey reaches your ears. It curls around your body and keeps you still. Goosebumps flare across your skin, the small hairs that are scattered over the back of your neck standing with attention. Slowly, you turn.

It’s one of the strippers, at least you assume it’s one of the strippers. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, a leather jacket, and some low-hanging jeans. He’s wearing a white mesh top underneath. You find yourself unabashedly gawking at him. You’re not sure how long you stare but you’re hoping it only lasted for a second. And if you’re really lucky, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

In contrast to the other strippers you’ve seen so far, he appears slightly older with a softened stomach, yet possesses a lean physique sculpted by years of dance.

You swallow thickly, forcing your gaze back up. He’s clean-shaven except for a dark mustache, he’s smiling but you see a hint of worry in his gaze. Narrowing your eyes, you notice a small gold sticker in the shape of a star under his right eye.

“I’m. . .” you swallow again and shake your head. You’re dumbfounded. “I’m okay, thanks.”

The bartender places the greyhound you ordered, at the same time the stripper extends a hand, “Whiskey,” he says in a sultry way. You squeeze his hand and raise your eyebrows, your shake is a bit weak.

“Whiskey?” you ask. He lets go of your hand and you bring it to your forehead, nervous laughter escaping you. “Oh, it’s your stage name. Of course.”

His crooked smile is intoxicating, the tip of his tongue moves over his teeth. “My parents would have to hate me to name me ‘whiskey’ sugar,” he answers, rubbing his chin. A moment of silence follows as he thinks, ”Well, my real name ain’t any less embarrassing now that I think about it.”

You want to ask him his real name but end up biting your tongue instead. You can’t ask him that, it would be rude, and even if you did you doubt that he’ll tell you. Pressing your lips tightly together, you drop your gaze to your drink. You curl your fingers around it. The sudden cold against your skin calming you.

“First time?” he asks and you nod. “May I ask why you’re here then, so I can be of service?”

That’s a good question. Why are you here?

“I think to have some fun,” you mutter as you drag your thumb over the cool condensation. “I’m just. . .” you shake your head. “Nevermind, that’s stupid. Let’s just say I’m here to have some fun.”

Whiskey observes you for a moment. His chocolate gaze taking in every detail of your expression. Are all strippers this attentive? you think, heat crawling up your spine. His hand slowly slides over the smooth bar until his fingers are gently resting above your wrist. You suck in a breath. His thumb moves over to the inside of your wrist, tracing the vein that pulses violently.

“How about a private dance?” he asks slowly, as if you might bolt out the doors at any given second. “I promise to entertain you thoroughly, sugar.”

You blink, “Really?” you ask instantly feeling foolish at the question. It’s a service he provides, that you will be paying for, of course he means it. Nonetheless, he seems amused by the question. He grins proudly, crowding your personal space. He tilts his head. Your fingers twitch around the glass and your eyes drop to his lips.

Man, he’s dreamy. You’re starting to understand the appeal of these establishments.

“Really,” he parrots back at you. “Follow me, darlin’.”

With shaky legs, you do.

The private room is a sanctuary tucked away from prying eyes.

Your eyes follow the sumptuous drapes of deep velvet cascading from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room stands a circular stage much smaller compared to the one outside, its surface gleaming. Positioned in the middle of it, a solitary chair, adorned in lavish leather, and next to it a small table with a small remote on top. Whiskey closes the door as you enter and walks with confident steps. You stand awkwardly until he gestures towards the sole seat with his head.

“Take a seat, sweetheart. Get comfortable.”

“O–Okay.”

You’re not aware of how close he is until you take a seat, he immediately follows, dipping low. He curls two thick fingers under your chin and tilts your head up, his gaze searching.

“Tell me if anythin’ starts becomin’ too much, understood?”

“Understood,” you squeak, cheeks growing warm. Without any hesitation, he starts the music. Acquainted by the Weeknd starts playing softly through the speakers. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The way he walks now is different from the way he walked when guiding you here. He saunters over to you, his shoulders rounding as he starts feeling the music moving through him.

He stands in front of you, movements fluid and confident. You’re mesmerized by him. He stalks even closer to you, and you feel the electric heat radiating off of his body. He slides his hands down your arms and you can't help but let out a little gasp.

Whiskey continues to study your expression, He moves with grace and purpose, his body sliding and swaying sensually to the music. His hips rock back and forth in time, seemingly choreographed flawlessly. His hands glide down his body, tracing the contours of his definition before slipping up his torso. His movements are punctuated by smoldering gazes and slow, deliberate breaths. He rolls his shoulders, his leather jacket sliding to his elbows and falling to the floor a beat later. Your mouth waters.

Suddenly, he turns and bends his knees, straddling your thighs. Your gaze drops, turning into saucers as you take in the sight of his tiny little ass. You exhale a sharp breath from your nose, nostrils flaring. He draws circles with his hips, nearly brushing against you but not quite, he gently holds your wrists, placing them in his inner thighs. His touch is feather-like and with two fingers, allowing you the chance to break free if needed. Your skin feels taut over your muscles, sweat building at your tailbone—he’s so close. You don’t even remember the last time you were this close to a man. It’s dizzying.

Whiskey slowly extends his legs and slides your hands up, your fingers skim the apex of his thighs until he’s standing.

Arousal builds between your legs, your lips a tight, thin line.

Your hands are on his crotch.

Oh god, you think you might actually faint. Wouldn’t that be fucking hilarious?

Fuck he feels warm under your palms—

Scratch that, he feels big.

He drops down as he rolls his hips, his body slides under your hands like a snake and your fingers move up his chest with the movement, feeling the mesh fabric and the firm chest underneath. Very inappropriately, your nails bite into his skin. If your eyes weren’t glued to this gorgeous man’s back, you would’ve missed the moment his hips stuttered, the smallest grunt echoing from the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” you squeak, fingers twitching.

“Don’t worry about it darlin’, just enjoy the show.”

He stands back up again, guiding your hands down to his hips as he squats low. Before you know it, your hands are resting on his pelvis once more, feeling the underlying heaviness. He grinds forward, hefty bulge filling your palms.

The music fades to the background. His steps in slow motion, he turns and straddles you normally, knees dipping as he raises his arms and grinds his hips towards you. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so close. With his every move, you can smell the leather coming off of him, it takes you everything not to close your eyes and just inhale his scent. He steers your hands towards his ass, placing them against the firm mounds.

You know that this is a strip show. You know that you’ll be paying him afterward—and tipping him generously.

But, fuck, the way he’s looking at you shouldn’t be allowed. Something dark swirling in them, something ravenous. His smile is knowing, teasing, like he can read your mind and it’s unnerving. How does anyone leave this strip club not being a mess for this man?

His fingers delicately trace the column of your neck, moving over to your shoulder and coming back. He’s observing you, eyes fixed on you as he searches for any kind of discomfort. Then he gradually wraps his hand around your neck. There’s no pressure and it feels slightly ticklish.

He moves closer in tune with the music, his lips brush against your neck, your nipples tightening at the touch. He takes your hands and guides them up his chest and broad shoulders. His lips are barely touching yours and you can feel his softly blowing breath. He thrusts his hips, clothed cock nearly touching your chest, suddenly you’re holding your breath wishing nothing more than his touch. His ass flexes under your hand, firm and warm.

Till this point, you were trying really hard to ignore how wet you’ve gotten. Subtly, you’re moving your hips, trying to add pressure to your throbbing clit. The wet fabric of your underwear grazes against the bundle of nerves, dipping between your wet folds. Your chest heaves and you swallow down a whimper. It’s been so fucking long since you’ve felt anything like this. Tension curls around your thighs and moves up to your stomach, arousal heavy between your legs. He must be used to this right? You can’t be the only one to get this worked up.

Even if Whiskey does notice your weak attempts at relief, he doesn’t say anything.

All your senses narrow on him as he kneels in front of you, the music dropping with him. With a wink, he takes your hands and guides them down his chest while leaning back to sit on his heels. Your hands slide down his torso, once again just shy in touching his length. With a body roll, he comes back up and grips the armrests of your chair, popping up into a bridge position. Your thighs are spread and he drops his head low, you swear you feel his breath on you before he slithers up again, lips nearly brushing the valley of your breasts. His face is an inch away from yours, only charm. He tilts his head, coming in closer as if he’s about to kiss you, then moves away again.

You’re mortified when you find yourself instinctively chasing after his lips.

He hums, the sound barely audible over the music, his smile never fades, “Good girl,” he mutters as his hands slide down to gently grip the back of your thighs.

You’ve never been more aware of not touching someone in your life.

Whiskey pushes himself closer and lifts your legs. Despite the clothes that separate the two of you, you feel the sinewy fabric of muscle hidden underneath as your legs frame his narrow hips. He presses closer, positioning his length against you. You feel it. His cock throbbing and aching under those tight, tight pants. Your throat moves, the muscles in your jaw clenched. He grazes one hand up and up and up until the width of it rests over your hip.

He continues his grinding, his jeans rubbing tantalizingly against your inner thighs. You feel his hardness through the thin fabric separating you; all you can think is how good it feels to have him there. His hands rub lazily across your hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Whiskey's hands snake up your sides, his fingers weaving through the flesh of your waist. His pelvis moves rhythmically against yours, each thrust accompanied by a low moan that you’re desperately trying to bite down.

“You seem tense darlin’,” his breath is hot and heavy in your ear as he gently nibbles the sensitive lobe, tantalizing you further. “Could see it in your eyes as soon as I spotted you alone at the bar. Let go, sweetheart. It’ll be our little secret,” His hips sway in and out, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You feel your breath catch and become labored, is—is he actually suggesting what you think he’s suggesting?

God, you just don’t have it in you to care anymore. You’re too worked up, every touch feels doubled with the way he moves, smiles, and looks at you.

You can’t help but relax into his motions. He moves slower, teasing you as he coaxes your inevitable fall. He builds you up, and normally, you would bask in the relief that he would tear you apart soon enough—but the thing is. . . you two aren’t actually having sex. There’s a very high chance the build-up would last forever, that is, until the time was up. You’re being edged in the best way possible but you fear you might have a hearty breakdown if you can’t, as how he put it; “let go”.

He must’ve sensed your worries because for the first time, his smile falters, brows furrowing with concentration. His eyes flit over yours briefly before cupping your chin and raising your head. You expect him to say something, anything—maybe call you his good girl again—but nothing escapes those lush lips. Your eyes drop to the divot of his bottom lip and he leans closer, cock fully moving over your puffy clit. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek. Your stomach bottoms out, there’s a faint buzzing in your ears as the pressure in you grows and grows until you feel it in the back of your eyes.

Fuck—Are you about to come?

Nonononononono—

Your body spasms in pleasure, an orgasm building from deep within you as the music and his body surround you. He smells of pine and leather and the scent assaults your lungs. Your insides begin to clench and your muscles carry on a delirious dance of its own as warmth starts to spread in waves throughout your body. Your toes curl and every nerve ending in your body is brought alive. You squeeze your eyes shut, your breath quickens. You swallow down all the noises that threaten to spill out. All you can think of is how embarrassing this is, your cheeks are left burning, your orgasm washing over you in large waves against your better judgment.

Whiskey barely slows, still rolling his hips with the guide of the slowing song. He does pull back eventually and you’re grateful for it. The inside of your mouth is dry, your eyes watered, the inside of your panties soaked.

“S-Shit,” you whisper. “I’m . . . I’m—”

He lets out a content sigh, if anything, he seems delighted by the whole ordeal.

“Like I said darlin’,” he rasps, breath ghosting your lips. “This will be our little secret.”

The music ends and you know your time is up.

Hanging out at a strip club isn’t actually as mortifying as you thought it would be.

After your first encounter with Whiskey, you thought you would never step into the glitter and glam of the club ever again. However, after a particularly tough day, you found yourself at the door once more. The bartender, who later introduced himself as Tequila, greeted you enthusiastically, and from that point on, you became a regular.

Despite being a regular, names were still off-limits, and you didn't mind. Everyone was entitled to their privacy, and it made it all the more special for the time when Whiskey might eventually reveal his real name, if that day ever came. You're still not sure where you stand exactly on the spectrum between being a customer and a friend.

You could never afford another private dance though, at least not if you wanted to have enough money for food this month. Nevertheless, you were content with just watching the performances, and seeing Whiskey entertain endless bachelorette and bachelor parties was always a delight.

And hey, surprisingly, Tequila made some killer iced coffees, which you greatly appreciated since you weren't the biggest drinker and a bit of a lightweight. The last thing you wanted was to get drunk with Whiskey around, as you had already embarrassed yourself enough. However, he was a man of his word. He never mentioned the incident that took place during his performance. In fact, he behaved as if it never happened. For a minute there, you even thought that maybe you had imagined the whole thing.

However, there were moments when he would simply give you a certain look, and in that instant, you knew for certain that he did remember.

“Here you go gorgeous,” Tequila says, pulling you from your thought as he places an iced coffee in front of you.

Your eyes widen as you see whipped cream with a lavish cherry on top. 'Is there a special occasion I'm not aware of?'

He shrugs, “I was bored, it’s a slow night.”

Thanking him, you turn in your seat. It was a slow night, with only a handful of people present. There was a couple seeking a good time and a couple of corporate-looking ladies. Whiskey was entertaining one of them, employing his Southern charm as he winked at the woman and tipped his hat. Over the passing days, you had come to recognize his dance choreography. It seemed he genuinely enjoyed what he was doing, which made you happy in return.

Sometimes you do wish you had met the man outside of these walls though. You can’t fight the longing you feel whenever you see him. Other than being ridiculously attractive —and knowing how to make a woman come without touching them— he was kind to you that day. He saw how miserable you were and tried to cheer you up. Sure, you were a customer, but still, he didn’t have to go the extra mile.

You often thought about meeting him at a supermarket or something instead. Would he be as kind? Would he be as attentive? Maybe he wouldn’t even give you a second glance as he buys a box of cereal—you frown, when you think about it like that, maybe meeting him in a strip club wasn’t that bad after all.

Whiskey's dance comes to an end and you have to fight every fiber of your being not to eat him with your eyes like a hungry, horny, wolf. You try to look disinterested, eyes moving to one of the other dancers. It’s too late though, his gaze catches your own. He smiles as he struts towards you.

“How are you sweetheart?” he asks, pink tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Is Tequila here treatin’ you well?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” You grin, gesturing to the whipped cream and cherry on top, as if it's obvious. His eyes drop to the fruit, glistening and wet. Without waiting for you to say anything, he picks up the fruit by the stem and sticks his tongue out. He catches the cherry with his lips, slowly drawing it into his mouth, and you watch, transfixed, as he chews. His jaw works over the cherry, then, a moment later, he shows you his tongue once more.

On the tip of it, lays a neatly knotted stem.

“Holy hell,” you whisper. “I should be mad because I was looking forward to that cherry but I’m too impressed.”

With two fingers Whiskey calls for Tequila, “Get the pretty lady another cherry,” he says.

“Show off,” the other man mutters but complies anyway. A quick moment later, there’s another cherry on a bed of white.

You eye him warily, “You’re not gonna eat this one too, are you?”

He laughs, “No darlin’. Don’t worry, enjoy your overly sweetened fruit.”

Still not trusting him, holding it by the stem, you stick the cherry between your lips and quickly chew. He draws his brows together, “No show?”

“If I was that talented with my tongue I wouldn’t be single.”

“There’s more to relationships than a good tongue,” he answers. “I would know.”

He’s single?

You don’t know why the revelation shocks you, but it does. You didn’t want to assume anything based on his career choice and by personality alone, you didn’t really think he would be in the same boat as you.

“You can act a little less surprised you know,” he teases, leaning against the bar with a curled lip.

“S-Sorry, I just never thought you would be single you’re just so. . .” cutting yourself off, you press your lips together. He leans closer, teasing smile now shifting into a full toothy grin.

“So. . . what?” he asks. His finger dips into the whipped cream, and he brings it to his lips, his deep gaze never leaving yours as he sucks it off slowly. “Dazzling, charming, talented?”

Your throat goes dry and you have to swallow, “Well yes, all of those and. . . handsome.”

“Compliments don’t get you a free dance, sweetheart,” he winks. “Just sayin’.”

Your lips quiver, a hesitant smile curving your lips. Your cheeks warm under his gaze.

Talking to him comes easy to you. You also enjoy his confidence, he knows he’s good looking and he doesn’t shame you for stating it, or make you feel less of a person for admitting. It’s freeing. Maybe that’s why you’re always visiting the club. He grants you a place to just be yourself, even if he does so intentionally or not, you appreciate it.

“You, giving out a free dance?” you exaggerate every word, you mirror his movement and stick two fingers in the whipped cream. You bring them to your lips, savoring the sweetness. It’s subtle, but you catch the way his breath hitches. Your smile grows. “I never would expect such a thing.”

“Good,” his voice drops dangerously low, almost sounding like a growl. Inching closer, his breath fans the side of your neck and you feel the rough scrape of his mustache against the shell of your ear. A whimper rattles your throat. “I would hate to be misunderstood.”

He pulls back with a wink, he flashes you his canines, and drags his tongue over them. “See you around, sunshine,” he says, voice returning to normal. The words die in your throat as he disappears towards the back, presumably to get ready for his next show.

You’re left staring, mouth agape. Flustered, you stir your iced coffee to feel the soothing sound of ice clanking around.

You frown when you realize all the ice had melted.

Thank you for reading everyone! This one definitely tuckered me out but I think it ended up not being that bad?

Normally this was always going to be a two-parter but then the first part ended up being way longer than I intended (almost 8k) so I decided to split it into two chapters since didn't want it to be too long. Therefore, this little series will be three parts in total. I've written most of chapter two since it was meant to be a part of chapter one so it'll be out relatively quick!

That's it for now, sending everyone love and many hugs 💜

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x female!reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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musingsbycaitlin · 2 months

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3,500 words into drafting The Greyhound Club yay

#writeblr #my writing #wip #the greyhound club

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yelena-bellova · 10 months

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Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: People Watching

Plot: The Greyhounds take another hit in Amsterdam, and a night out brings about revelation and realization for Y/n.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: language, discussion of child neglect

A/N: AMSTERDAM!! This is the one that really ties the whole thing together and sets up the rest of the series. I think it’s also my favorite so far. Very little of any other characters (sorry to my Jamie girls) but I promise it pays off ☺️

Enjoy!!

(Yes, this chapter is titled after the Conan Grey song. It fit too perfectly)

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The Amsterdam match, while not counting for anything, was a tremendous defeat.

The Greyhounds lost to Ajax, 5-0, unable to score a single goal against the Dutch. The boys hung on the field despondent, the home crowd booing and taunting them as loud as they could.

Y/n watched from the suite, seated between Keeley and Higgins, her eyes drifting across the crowd. Rivalry between fans had never bothered her, until Richmond had become her club. Now she was feeling every insult as if it were directed at her.

“Rebecca,” Marjolein, a high-up at AFC Ajax took the chair next to the blonde, “My apologies. Now, you’ve come all the way to Amsterdam and we at Ajax have been such rude hosts.”

The woman gestured to the scoreboard that the foursome couldn’t bear to do more than glance at.

“Marjolein, you’ve been more than gracious,” Rebecca replied, “Especially given the circumstances.”

The cruelty towards the Greyhounds had been particularly hard to handle because it all tied back to the golden boy. Zava. The signs, the banners, the cheers against them…without the prick, apparently AFC Richmond was worthless.

As the whistle blew, the match officially ended and the teams headed off the field. Y/n, Keeley, Higgins and Rebecca stood to their feet.

“Till next time,” Rebecca thanked and shook Marjolein’s hand. Keeley and Y/n followed suit.

“Truly was an honor to play here at the Johan Croyff Arena,” Higgins complimented.

Marjolein touched her hands to her chest, “No. The honor is ours completely. But it is pronounced Johan Cruijff.”

“Oh,” Higgins nodded, “Still.”

Left to themselves, the foursome listened to the stadium chant the words to Three Little Birds as it played over the speakers. Salt in the wound that was still actively bleeding.

“This song’s depressing,” Rebecca muttered before downing the last of her champagne.

Higgins gagged, his tell-tale sign that he was uncomfortable. Y/n put her hand on his shoulder and took it upon herself to lead the group out. When the boys came off the pitch, her job began.

Higgins, Keeley and Y/n went to the locker room, the two women waiting outside as Higgins collected who they needed.

“I hate him,” Y/n complained, leaned against a wall, staring up at the bright florescent lights, “I hope a storm comes through and just wrecks that avocado farm.”

Keeley managed a snort while pacing the hall, she was tense about something other than the match.

Y/n peeked over at her boss, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Keeley said quickly, picking at her nails a little before she stopped in front of Y/n, “I have something I need to tell you.”

Barely opening her mouth to ask what it was, Y/n was stopped by Higgins emerging from the locker room, Jan Maas and Roy in tow.

“Let’s get this over with,” Roy grunted, walking alongside Higgins down the hall.

“If you’re gonna fire me,” Y/n looked back at Keeley, “Do it now.”

“No,” Keeley replied, hurrying to catch up, “It can wait.”

They stood to the side with Higgins as Jan Maas spoke in his native tongue, his tone surpassed the language barrier. The team were hurting.

Eventually, the interviewer turned to the coaching side. “And so, Roy Kent,” he began, “Don’t you think Richmond’s objectively poor performance is due to the fact that you’re nothing without Zava?”

Y/n inhaled, holding her breath after, “Here we go…”

“Who cares?” Roy replied, “It’s a fucking friendly. A friendly is a pretend match. This is a pretend conversation. You’re a pretend person with a pretend job. And I’m having a really hard time pretending to give a shit.”

If Zava didn’t give them enough headlines to clean up, Roy certainly did.

Will passed them in the hallway with armfuls of bags, whispering hellos to Keeley and Y/n, before Rebecca returned.

“Okay, a night out in Amsterdam it is,” she said quietly, “Let’s make the best of it. What’s the plan?”

“Ooh, I’m spoken for, I’m afraid,” Higgins replied, “It’s my first time in Amsterdam and I have a date with someone special in the red-light district.”

Rebecca, Keeley and Y/n watched their co-worker leave, staring in confusion.

“Nah,” they all said in harmony. There was no way.

“Just us, then,” Rebecca smiled at the two women.

Between the loss and her general stance on spending time together outside of work, Y/n already had her excuse prepared. “I’m exhausted,” she said, “I’m just gonna order dinner and turn in early.”

Keeley’s nervous smile returned as Rebecca turned to her expectantly, “I’d love to-“

“That’s a quick cancellation,” Rebecca replied.

“How’d you know I was gonna cancel?” Keeley asked.

“Because there’s a certain note in your vocal range that you only ever hit when you’re being preemptively apologetic,” Rebecca explained, glancing over to Y/n, “Am I right?”

Y/n scrunched her face at both her bosses, landing on Keeley. “Just a…little.”

“Come on,” Rebecca continued, “Out with it.”

“All right,” Keeley sighed, “Apparently, tonight is the best aurora borealis ever. Like it’s the aurora ‘boreal-iest.’ In Norway.”

Rebecca nodded understandingly while Y/n tilted her head. “How are you getting to Norway?”

Keeley ever-so-slightly shifted between feet, “And Jack and her plane are waiting for me at the airport right now,” she looked nervously to her employee, “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Y/n’s mouth opened and closed, her mind trying desperately to find words opposite to what she truly wanted to say. Keeley. Jack. Keeley and Jack. A thing. The boss and the boss-boss. What could go wrong? Everything.

Luckily, Rebecca spoke first. “Subtle,” she smiled at her friend, “And amazing.”

“Yeah, that’s,” Y/n’s total discomfort with the situation cut off the signal to her brain. She awkwardly made a fist and raised it, “Great. So great.”

Keeley was so in her own world, no doubt one that sat on a Dutch runway, she didn’t notice Y/n’s terrible performance.

“Go,” Rebecca nodded toward the end of the hall.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Keeley grabbed Rebecca’s hands.

“Yes, you will,” the older blonde replied.

“Oh,” Keeley caught Jan Maas heading down the hall, interview completed, “Great job, Jan.”

“Yes, seriously,” Y/n added, “Thank you so much.”

The Dutch man smiled at the two and gave a wave.

“And, Roy,” Keeley called to her ex, “Thank you again for doing this.”

“Yeah,” Roy nodded, “Anytime.”

Keeley squeezed Rebecca’s arm, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Rebecca repeated.

“I love you,” Keeley grabbed Y/n’s hands, “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Y/n forced a laugh, nothing was actually funny at the moment, and watched as Keeley ran down the hall, Norway bound.

Rebecca, having spent enough time with Y/n, could sense her unease. “What are you thinking this very moment?”

“I’m watching my career get blown up because of a stupid night sky,” Y/n grinned, her eyes following Keeley’s fluffy pink coat bounce up and down.

Roy left the interviewer, coming to stand between the two women. It gave him a prime spot to watch his ex-girlfriend bound out. “Where’s she going?”

“Somewhere that believes they deserve her,” Rebecca replied, letting the thinly veiled comment smack Roy. She touched Y/n’s arm in goodbye before leaving the same way Keeley had.

Y/n let out a sigh, her and Roy turning to one another in silent resignation over separate matters. Y/n’s eye caught on the poster beside them, her face shifting with disgust.

Zava.

Roy turned and faced it, a small shrine to the legend’s short stint at AFC Ajax, and pounded his fist against it. It fell to the floor where Roy promptly landed a few kicks before casually walking off.

Y/n looked down the hall to where the interviewer was still filming, watching in shock as Roy stalked off.

“We’ll pay for that,” Y/n smiled.

“No, we won’t,” Roy called out.

Sneering once more at Zava’s arrogant grin, Y/n marched off toward the exit, ready for the day to be over.

—————————

Of course, by the time she got back to her hotel, it was barely 6PM. There was a whole evening to kill.

Y/n ordered room service, snacking as she scrolled the social media reactions to the match. When it became fruitless trying to find anything positive, she set her phone down on her nightstand and grabbed the tv remote instead.

She flipped between stations, finding most of the programming to be in Dutch. Eventually, she settled on the hotel’s channel that showcased their amenities and the city’s activities.

Y/n dropped the remote in shock, “Oh my gosh.”

With a Dutch overdub, a very out-of-fashion Keeley described some feature the hotel rooms had.

Y/n laughed, covering her mouth as she watched her boss over-exaggeratedly move around the screen. The sight was bringing her thoughts on Keeley back around to a more positive place.

It was eating at her, though, Keeley and Jack. Both of them were perfectly lovely, and Y/n had been witness to their natural chemistry. But dating the person that financed your company? That could decide at the drop of a hat to pack you up and dissolve everything you’d worked for?

Not that Jack would do that. Y/n reminded herself that the woman was level-headed and genuinely believed in Keeley’s vision. But there was always the great big “…what if?”

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, sitting on the edge of her bed. How could anyone be comfortable taking such risks with their career?

Deciding that she’d spiral if she stayed in her hotel room any longer, Y/n went to her suitcase and grabbed a change of clothes. She threw on her sweater and jeans, collected her wallet, phone and coat, and headed out the door.

She felt a twinge of guilt, telling Rebecca she was staying in and leaving the woman to fend for herself. But it wasn’t enough remorse to get Y/n to send a text.

Once she reached the lobby, she had to pass through the lounge to get to the exit. She quickly stepped back behind a wall when she spotted the entire team seated together, in deep conversation. Y/n couldn’t turn down another invitation, nor did she want to answer any questions, good-natured as they may be. She waited until a bellboy came through with a full luggage cart, hurrying alongside the suitcases that formed a perfect shield.

In the clear, Y/n stepped out into the evening air, inhaling deeply. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was going to enjoy herself. If nothing else, she was going to leave saying that she’d spent a night out in Amsterdam.

She wandered down to a busier part, not so stupid to think that as a single woman she could roam the city freely. In the more touristy section, there were buskers, much like in London. They provided a pleasant soundtrack as Y/n weaved through the crowds, searching for the first place she wanted to stop. Eventually, she spotted a street vendor, selling coffees and pastries, and decided that was as good as anything else.

Y/n walked until she found an empty bench, claiming it for herself. She ate her pastry, sipped her coffee and watched the crowd, listened to the chatter of the people passing by. There was something about being in a new city that electrified her, it was the same feeling she’d had when she’d first arrived in London. Everything was fresh and exciting and full of possibilities, even if she didn’t take any of them.

“And here-“

A familiar voice broke through Y/n’s thoughts. She traced it to find Jamie jogging down the cobblestone street.

“Is the most beautiful girl,” Jamie announced, running in place in front of Y/n and gesturing to her, “In all of Amsterdam!”

Spotting Y/n a grin, Jamie went on his way, leaving her laughing as he left. Ten seconds later, a well-worn Roy stopped to catch his breath.

Y/n smirked, knowing that Jamie was exhausting him. She lifted her leg to show her sneakers, “You want me to-“

“No,” Roy panted, keeping one eye on Jamie, “Don’t give him any more fucking energy.”

Roy took off once more after his protege. Y/n watched the two men disappear into the night, smiling and shaking her head.

With nothing else to do, she decided to call her sister. Her and Caylee had a standing catch-up each Sunday and she wasn’t going to miss it.

The dial rang twice before it picked up, “Hey.”

Y/n smiled at the sound of the familiar voice, “Guess where I am?”

“Where?”

“Sitting along a canal in Amsterdam, sipping a coffee, surrounded by people I don’t know.”

“Look at you,” Caylee cheered, “Being all spontaneous and shit.”

With a full mouth, Y/n laughed. “I mean, I knew I’d have the time. Not sure that counts.”

“Still, it’s good to know you’re out. You with anyone?”

“No,” Y/n said, watching one of the boats float down the canal, “Just me.”

Caylee’s silence was deafening, and predicted. By them both.

“So not your boss, who you said keeps inviting you places?” Caylee asked.

Y/n chuckled, “My boss is in Norway right now.”

“And not your other boss who, quite frankly, sounds fucking amazing?”

Y/n sighed, thinking of Rebecca’s earlier invitation. “She…had plans.”

“Not the coach who home invaded you to deliver fresh baked cookies?”

“No,” Y/n was starting to squirm under Caylee’s interrogation, “And they were biscuits.”

“And not the ridiculously hot footballer who’s basically just dropped himself in your lap?”

Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose. Jamie had texted her multiple suggestions on how to spend her night in the city. She’d felt bad ignoring them.

“It’s not-“

“Yeah, I know,” Caylee cut her off, “It’s not like that. That’s not the important part of what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’ve got all these people who are jumping to be around you and you keep pushing them away, and quite frankly, it’s kind of ridiculous.”

Her tongue poking her cheek in frustration, Y/n let her free hand fall to her lap. “Why is it ridiculous?”

“Because you’ve got no reason to be doing it,” Caylee said, no doubt with a shrug. Y/n was inhaling to argue back when she was cut off again. “You’ve got every reason to. I do too. Except these people actually want to be with you. They’re fucking proving it every Sunday night you call me and tell me how you had to dodge another invitation to a birthday party or another drink after a match…”

Y/n felt backed into a metaphorical corner, all too exposed. She kept searching for some comeback, some solid point to make, but couldn’t find one.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that, Caylee,” she said, trying to steady her voice.

“It’s really not,” her sister replied.

“Yes, it is,” Y/n’s tone jumped, “You make it sound like all I have to do is go out for a coffee with my boss and all my issues are magically solved.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Caylee, to her credit, didn’t drop her even tone.

“That’s exactly what you’re saying,” Y/n retorted, her brain and her mouth working at different speeds, “Y-you’re saying that I should— I-I should jus-just let them into my life and-“

“When are you going to stop punishing everybody else for what Mom and Dad did to us?”

Y/n’s breath caught in her chest and her stammers stuck to her throat. The truth could paralyze you like that.

Caylee didn’t speak, letting the question wash over her sister. Eventually, after watching someone self-destruct for long enough, subtlety was useless. Sometimes you had to hurt them to help them heal.

“I love you,” Caylee said softly, “But you deserve a better life than this. The only thing standing in the way…”

The sentence didn’t need to be finished. Y/n knew.

“You can hate me if you want.”

Y/n chortled, looking down at her coffee cup. “I’ve tried. Doesn’t work.”

Caylee hummed, her smile somehow vocalized as well.

“I love you,” Y/n returned, “And I’m…sorry. For everything.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing you need to stop doing,” Caylee pointed out, ��Stop apologizing for our shitty childhood. You didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, well, you’re my baby sister,” Y/n sniffled, trying to stop the tears before they’d even formed, “Bit of a habit, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, I turned out fine,” Caylee chuckled, “Boyfriend, job, friends…I’m happy. I just want the same for you.”

Y/n smiled, she was so proud of her sister. She’d built her own life, and had found an inner peace regarding their childhood that Y/n had yet to discover. She wasn’t envious, she longed to understand how Caylee had done it. How she seemed to be able to pack up their parent’s negligence in a box and stick it under her bed. It was all Y/n had wanted since moving to London.

“Well, not that this isn’t fun, getting a verbal finger wagging,” Y/n sighed, “But-“

“Go,” Caylee urged, “You’ll never be in Amsterdam again.”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “I might.”

A sisterly silence crackled between them.

“You’ll never be in Amsterdam again,” Caylee grinned, imagining her tightly-wound sister in a city of such debauchery.

Y/n laughed, “Probably not.”

“I love you,” Caylee repeated, “Really.”

“I love you too,” Y/n echoed, “I’ll call you Sunday.”

“I’ll be here.”

Without another word, the siblings hung up, returning to their corners of the world.

Y/n took a breath, looking down at her coffee as if it held all the answers. She couldn’t very well sit on the damn bench all night, not after that conversation. She needed to do something.

Amsterdam. Tulips. That made sense. She needed to see tulips in their native soil.

Y/n searched the map on her phone and found a nearby garden, less than a half mile’s walk away. She could do that no problem.

On the way over, her thoughts managed to leave her alone. The weight of what Caylee’d said hadn’t fully landed. Weaving between tourists and dodging the drunken ones was certainly enough to keep Y/n occupied. She could keep herself in semi-excitement about her destination.

Upon arriving and paying for admission, she found the gardens to be surprisingly quiet. It was close to closing time and a fair share of parties were heading out the way she was coming.

Y/n strolled through the greenhouse. She found the path to the outer section, the pebbles crunching under her sneakers as she followed the signs with floral markers. Her head stayed quiet.

The sprawling tulip patch was stunning. The marketplace ones Y/n had bought and placed in her kitchen window didn’t do the real thing justice. These bloomed with the kind of radiance that only came with being in the place they truly belonged.

Y/n tried to admire them, but had never been more aware of her solitude. There were families strolling past, couples gazing at the flowers, hand in hand. The bustle of the Amsterdam streets had melted away, the peaceful silence of the gardens provided no escape from one’s thoughts.

She’d been at Richmond four months, growing more and more pleased with the job each day. Except it wasn’t the work that made her happy. She didn’t get a pit in her stomach at the thought of exchanging emails with some sneaker company. She didn’t feel jolts of electricity down her fingers from scrolling Twitter to see how a press conference was received.

It was the matches that thrilled her. Sitting in the owner’s box at Nelson Road. Being squished between Keeley and Rebecca and Higgins. Watching the team run up and down the pitch. Cheering and screaming when one of the boys scored a goal. That was what made her happy.

The tears built as a supercut of moments played in Y/n’s mind. The team, inviting her out after nearly every match, genuinely disappointed each time she declined. Keeley, clawing and scratching her way into Y/n’s life, desperately trying to be a friend. Rebecca, as intimidating as she was, constantly praising Y/n on her talents, always encouraging her. Ted, offering time and time again to be there for her, to welcome her into their fold. Jamie, texting her a full fucking itinerary for a night he wouldn’t even be there for. Helping her find an apartment. Listening to her talk about her shitty childhood.

Being there for her.

They all wanted to be there for her.

And she was too fucking scared to let them.

Y/n sniffled, her eyes so blurred that the tulips turned to watercolor blobs.

“Ahem.”

She turned to her right, a grey haired man taking slow steps toward her, pulling something from his jacket.

“Here you go, dear” he said, offering her a handkerchief.

“Oh,” Y/n tried to collect herself, inevitably failing and taking the cloth, “Thank you.”

“No need,” the elderly man held up a hand, he spoke with a thick Dutch accent. “It is easy to recognize a broken heart.”

“Oh, no,” she denied as she dried her eyes. She tried to give a small smile, “I’m just a little lonely. It’ll pass.”

“Ah,” he came to stand beside her, facing the tulips, “I would not say that.”

Y/n stayed silent, sensing the stranger had more to say.

“Loneliness…it is like a warning. A wave lapping at the shores,” he smoothed his hand over the air, “It grows a little bigger, and it starts to hit the shore. And out in the distance, more begin to build. But still,” he shrugged, “No storm, no worries. It is simply a wave. Until the skies darken, and the storm shows up,” he moved his hand to simulate bursts of thunder and lightning, “And everybody is running and asking ‘Ahhh! How? How did this happen? Why did no one tell us this was coming?’”

Y/n smiled slightly as the man clasped his hands together, speaking higher for the imitation.

“And the storm says,” he cleared his throat, “‘I did tell you. The waves grew wilder and wilder, but it was of no concern to you. You laughed and continued on, saying that it was nothing...that it would pass.’”

Y/n clenched the handkerchief tighter in her fist.

“Loneliness is not to be isolated further,” the man mused, smiling grandfatherly at Y/n, “Rather, to be smothered in the company of good friends, a lover. Family.”

Whether he was an angel or a hallucination, the man was telling Y/n everything the part of her mind she didn’t listen to did. She’d hidden away all her life, terrified to let anyone in. The effort had finally beaten her. She was tired of the loneliness, tired of lying, tired of fending off the efforts of those who were already in her heart.

Y/n gave a watery smile, “You might be right.”

He smiled back, “Maybe.”

With a wink, he started back up the path he’d come.

“Wait,” Y/n held up the handkerchief, “You forgot this.”

The man looked back and waved a little, “Keep it. A little reminder not to be alone for too long.”

He went off then, Y/n watched him until he disappeared around a corner, feeling dumbstruck. Terrified. Relieved. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but her feet set off with such purpose, it didn’t matter if she knew. She was on the right track.

She ended up in the red light district, of all places. There was no one to call, each of the Greyhounds off on their own adventures, but Y/n was determined to be somewhere there was life. To do something. Not stand on the sidelines and pretend she had no desire to be in the middle of it all. A jazz club seemed like the perfect answer.

The establishment she decided on was busy, but not too crowded. She took cautious steps through, hoping she didn’t pick too rowdy of a place. Soft jazz played from the stage at the back of the smoky room. She was about to settle at the bar when she spotted the backs of two heads she knew quite well.

Walking up to the two men, Y/n tapped Higgins on the shoulder.

“Y/n,” he exclaimed, no doubt a little tipsy, “What are you doing here?”

“Just wandered in,” she replied, looking past him and giving a little wave to Will, “You mind if I join you guys?”

“Oh, please,” Will gestured to the table, jumping up from his seat to help Y/n into a chair.

“The more the merrier,” Higgins added before going back to playing the upright air-bass.

Y/n tried not to laugh, she’d never seen him off-the-clock. She suspected Will hadn’t either as the two of them caught each other’s eye, sharing a look of mutual amusement.

“Has he been like this all night?” Y/n asked.

“Uh, little bit, yeah,” Will answered, Higgins scatting in the background.

One of the women that had been playing on stage made her way down to the Richmond table, scrunching down to Higgins’ level. She raised her voice over the music, “Do you play?”

Higgins startled, stumbling over his words due to surprise and liquor. “Uh…um…”

Y/n smiled and turned to the woman, “He does.”

“Yes, he— Yes, he does,” Will was quick to follow, “He plays bass because Chet Baker- Chet Ba- Do you know who Chet Baker is?”

The woman smiled sweetly at Will.

“All right, okay,” he replied, settling back in his chair and looking to Y/n, reminding her of an excitable puppy.

“What do you say, Higgins?” Y/n asked, looking over at her co-worker.

He looked to be wrestling with an already made decision. Will patted him on the shoulder, urging him to accept the unspoken offer. Buoyed by his co-workers, Higgins scooted his chair back and followed the woman up to the stage. Will and Y/n cheered him on.

“We went to see where Chet Baker killed himself,” Will said, his grin didn’t quite match his words.

Y/n raised her brows, still smiling. “Well, that must’ve been fun.”

“It was,” Will replied, “What have you been doing?”

Higgins took hold of the bass, getting a feel for it before playing a complex intro to a song.

Y/n’s eyes never left the stage, “Nothing as fun as this.”

“Let’s get lost now!” Higgins called to the crowd.

Everyone let out a shout of approval, Will and Y/n’s the loudest, and the rest of the band kicked in. Y/n pulled out her phone and opened her camera app, she hit record just as the woman who’d pulled Higgins up began to sing.

As the song played, for the first time in four months, Y/n smiled so broadly, her cheeks hurt. When Higgins went into a solo, she grabbed Will’s arm and the two of them watched ecstatically. She felt like she’d come to an oasis in the middle of a desert, not even realizing how in need of water she was.

When the song ended, she was the first one to her feet.

—————————

The next morning, the Greyhounds were surprisingly sober aboard the Coach. They went about their separate conversations, waiting for the last of them to find their way onto the bus.

An unfamiliar pair of shoes slapped up the steps, drawing a couple of eyes upward.

Y/n stopped at the front of the bus, holding up a beanie.

“This,” she said loud enough to get all the player’s attention, “Is a collection plate. It will be sitting at the back of the bus, where at some point during the eleven hour drive back to our lovely nation, you will each place an unspecified amount of money which, in total, will amount to what we owe the hotel in damages to pillows,” Y/n held up a finger, smiling annoyedly, “And keep in mind, I do know your salaries. Give accordingly.”

There was a mixture of shame and amusement on the Greyhound’s faces, but no real regret. Nor was Y/n actually mad. She had questions, but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing when she came down to the lobby and saw Higgins doing damage control at the concierge desk over the feathery mess.

She made her way to the back of the bus where Ted and a very dressed-up Beard sat.

“Hey, stranger,” Ted greeted, looking up from his notebook, “How’d Amsterdam treat ya?”

“Alright,” she replied, looking at the empty spot next to Ted, “Do you…mind if I join you guys?”

Ted smiled, surprised but delighted. He knew if he said too much he might scare Y/n right back off the bus, “You kiddin’? Scoot your boot, c’mon.”

Sliding in beside him, Y/n exhaled against the plush seat. Will had already packed her bags in the luggage compartment and she’d texted Rebecca to let her know she wouldn’t be joining her on the jet back to London.

She finally got a full look at Beard’s ensemble. A big snout and pig ears, a glittery jumpsuit with silver platform boots, and an unmistakable blue and red lightning bolt painted across his face.

“I hate that I know what you’re going for,” Y/n remarked across the table.

“Don’t hate it,” Beard replied, spreading his hands, “Embrace it.”

Y/n chuckled before the cheering from the Greyhounds caught her ear. She glanced down the aisle to spot Rebecca making her way towards them.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey, boss,” Ted added as Rebecca slid in next to Y/n, looking more relaxed than ever. “So, twelve unanswered texts, three un-haha’ed GIFs. We good?”

“I’m sorry, Ted,” Rebecca smiled, speaking slowly, “My phone is at the bottom of a canal.”

Ted pondered the answer, “Is that Keats?”

Rebecca shook her head, “Nope.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t need to send that text,” Y/n commented, “I won’t be on the plane home, by the way.”

Rebecca gave a breathy laugh, reaching over to pat Y/n’s hand. Out of character as all get out, but Y/n was happy to see her boss so…at peace.

“Hey, Will,” Ted called down to the kitman, “How we looking?”

“Uh, we’re two short,” Will answered, “Who’s missing?”

Y/n had clocked the missing presences the second she’d stepped on the bus. Being the closest to the window, she was the first to spot them, but she didn’t quite believe what she saw.

Jamie rode up beside the bus on a bike, Roy sitting behind him and hanging on with one arm slung round Jamie’s hips.

“You lovely people,” Jamie called out as Roy eagerly hopped off.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Y/n remarked.

“Don’t fucking ask,” Roy groaned as he came down the aisle, “Let’s go.”

Just as he’d taken his seat, Jamie jumped aboard, holding his fists in the air. “We saw a windmill!”

The Greyhounds cheered, high-fiving Jamie as he found a seat. He caught Y/n sandwiched between Rebecca and Ted, the two of them sharing a grin.

“You take my advice?”

Y/n shook her head, “Not a bit.”

Jamie clutched his chest, letting himself fall into one of the chairs. “I’m hurt,” he called over the chatter.

Rebecca slid her feet up onto the table, shutting her eyes as if she meant to go to drift off. This was the most relaxed Y/n had ever seen her, and she suspected the same went for Ted.

“Everything okay, boss?” Ted asked.

Waiting a moment, Rebecca responded with a tune that had had a much different meaning the day before.

“Don’t worry,” she sang, “‘Bout a thing. ‘Cause every little thing’s, gonna be all right.”

“Well,” Ted smiled, “I appreciate it.”

“Singin’ don’t worry,” Beard continued, singing back quite nasally, “About a thing.”

Y/n laughed, what else was there to do? She was watching a man in a David Bowie/swine get-up sing Bob Marley, and there was literally no place she’d rather be.

“‘Cause every little thing,” Rebecca sang along with Beard, “Gonna be all right.”

Ted chuckled alongside Y/n, “Ready for eleven hours of this?”

“Definitely,” Y/n nodded.

“Everybody!” Beard called to the bus before continuing the song, “Don’t worry…”

As she sang with the team, Y/n felt the four month old tension she’d been holding melt away. This was where she belonged, this was where she wanted to stay.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @mentalistfan @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove

#ted lasso imagine #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #jamie tartt x reader #rebecca welton x reader #keeley jones x reader #ted lasso x reader

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

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Something There (Roy Kent x Reader)

Things are going fine for Roy Kent. Just fine. He's manager of the Greyhounds, he's sort of friends with Jamie, and he hangs out with his niece every day. Life is easy. But when Keeley and Rebecca come up with the brilliant idea to start a women's team, his world is thrown into chaos. Not only does his club have to now share Nelson Road, but he finds himself butting heads with their American coach, who doesn't seem to like him very much either.

So why can't he stop thinking about her?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5*

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10*

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Roy & Bucky Blurbs

Tricks & Treats*

Everything Will Bring a Chain of Love

Chapter 10 Mood Board

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

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instantcaramel · 9 months

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A month ago I went to Amsterdam and visited all the filming locations for Ted Lasso‘s „Sunflowers“, so I figured I‘ll finally put something together here.

First of all, basically all the scenes involving the majority of the Richmond himbos were not shot on location - their epic discussion followed by pillow fight was filmed in an abandoned hotel in London. (Info per David Elsendoorn). The same would go for Ted & Beard‘s room. Scenes on the bus or outside it were also filmed in Richmond.

The only Greyhound who doesn‘t have his own larger plotline in the episode who was actually in Amsterdam was David Elsendoorn, because they did film the first scenes at Johan Cruijff (you know how to pronounce it now!) ArenA, the home of Ajax Amsterdam (which is also the one place I didn‘t have time to visit). They could have easily filmed that in London in a different stadium but I guess they didn‘t want to pass up the opportunity - and give David something to do on his home turf.

Edit: I visited 3 months later, so here‘s some pics from the ArenA, I couldn‘t find out which hallway they used/dressed up for the press interviews, but here‘s some shots from the stadium and the VIP lounge we see at the beginning.

So, first up is Roy & Jamie‘s adventure: Jamie takes him sightseeing against his will, and the first place they stop on is Magere Brug (Skinny Bridge). (They run up the street to that before.)

Edit thanks to @warriorhoneybee: Roy grabs Jamie’s wrist at Diamond Factory on Rokin and then tells him he can‘t ride a bike outside Lyppens Jeweler at Langebruugsteg.

They go around the corner to Oude Turfmarkt (which is what I took a picture of) for Jamie to teach him how. For Grandad!!!

The fucking windmill they see before they lovingly gaze into each other’s eyes is De Riekermolen at the Southern end of Amstelpark, where they also cycle. (It‘s actually realistic for them to do that, it would be about half an hour between those locations by bike).

Rebecca doesn‘t see the obvious bike lane (that doesn‘t actually exist there) and falls into the gracht at Raamgracht. Boaty McBoatface‘s houseboat is still there, they just had it dressed up a bit with plants and such when they filmed. (Unclear if anyone currently lives there). The interiors were shot in a studio.

Trent follows Colin to Prik night club (which was absolutely buzzing when I was there, I really want to go back).

And then they sit at the Homomonument, the Pink Triangle memorial at Westerkerk, having that tearjerker of a conversation, before returning to party. (It walked that distance at night, it‘s a beautiful stroll and less than 10 minutes). When I visited someone had left sunflowers. 🌻

Leslie & Will first go to Hotel Prins Hendrik in the Red Light district (and steps away from Amsterdam main station) where Chet Baker died. They then make their way to Jazz Café Alto, which is just down the road from where Boom Chicago used to be on Leidseplein. (It‘s about 30 mins on foot between those two locations so they could have walked or just taken the tram for a few stops. The interiors were done at a studio though).

Ted of course visits the studio-filmed fictional themed restaurant where he has a BBQ sauce induced, Corey Burton-narrated epiphany about triangles, but first he sees Vincent‘s „Sunflowers“ at Van Gogh Museum during Museumnacht (which btw would mean the episode is set first weekend of November). As you can tell they moved some things around, so at least currently the painting isn‘t hung on that beautiful blue wall anymore.

As a bonus, here is a picture of where Boom Chicago used to be when Jason Sudeikis, Brendan Hunt and Joe Kelly performed there - Brendan also used to live above the McDonald‘s on Leidseplein just steps away for a while. And the other picture is the current Boom Chicago on Rozengracht, definitely go enjoy a show there if you can.

Anyway thus concludeth my trip around Ted Lasso‘s Amsterdam. I visited for the Boom Chicago Comedy Festival and fell in love with the city, it was … magical / gezellig. I will never forget it, but then again, some people get Alzheimer’s.

#ted lasso #filming locations #amsterdam #boom chicago #jason sudeikis #brendan hunt #david elsendoorn #ted lasso cast #brett goldstein #phil dunster #hannah waddingham #matteo van der grijn #rebecca welton #roy kent #jamie tartt #leslie higgins #will kitman #charlie hiscock #jan maas

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kanerlove88 · 23 days

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I am always thinking about post-canon RoyJamie. Roy moves out of his own way. All that work they put into becoming better people and becoming friends works out so well. They’re beautiful together, Roy and Jamie. Incredibly codependent and god, they’ll live under each other’s skin if they could but boy do they make it work. It baffles everyone around them but they don’t even realise it’s not normal to spend that much time around your partner. Freak4freak but very much in love about it.

They’re not perfect of course. They fight like any couple would. Probably more than most couple even. Neither of them are easy individuals. They both learned to hurt each other long before they ever fell in love and it shows sometimes. But they learn to give each other space, to take a breather when they’re furious. This understanding comes with time and a lot of therapy of course. They weren’t always so good at that but they learn to be patient with each other.

Even if talking about feelings always feels like pulling teeth, they force themselves to do it. It’ll never come naturally to them but it does become easier over time.

Anything they can’t solve themselves, they go to therapy for. They go to couples therapy because you don’t only need help when your relationship is falling apart. You’re gonna need help along the way and they know not to take that for granted. Both of them still see Dr Sharon individually too. They’re better off for it.

Jamie loves Phoebe. They get along like house on fire and it makes Roy so happy, to see his favourite people get along this way. It doesn’t take long before Jamie becomes Uncle Jamie. The next Uncle’s Day, Phoebe has two Uncles to celebrate and she tackles it with gusto. Jamie definitely will cry a little about it. That boy staring at his Roy Kent poster in his childhood bedroom could have never known that one day he’ll have all the love he could have ever asked for and it’d come from Roy Kent himself.

They’re it for each other, that much they both know. Roy worries, of course he worries. A 15 year age gap looks like a lot when you’re 40 and your partner is 25. Worries he’s too old for Jamie, that he’ll hold him back. He’s 40 and all he wants to do is stay at home and read a book cuddled up with Jamie but would Jamie want that too or would he be giving up nights out at clubs for him?

Jamie, who used to wake up at 4am to train with Roy. Jamie, who is very much aware of the age gap and has definitely thought about what it’ll be like as they both grow older. Jamie who would live in Roy’s ribcage if he could. Jamie who will choose Roy no matter what. Roy will understand soon enough. And what do you know? A 15 year age gap doesn’t look too bad when you’re 85 and your partner is 70.

Their wedding is beautiful. 2 years, maybe 3 years after getting together. Roy proposed but Jamie had a ring too. When they get married, every greyhound who has ever played under Ted will descend onto London, Ted included. It began with Roy and Jamie in the locker room, touching foreheads in anger and it ends with Roy and Jamie at the altar, touching foreheads, so in love with each other. Husbands. What a beautiful life they will live together.

#I’m very shy about putting this in the ship tag #this is just a word vomit about all of my post canon RJ feels #probably wildly OOC #do not care #they’re still freaks4freaks #but they’re very soft too #royjamie

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illiterateaffairs · 9 months

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behind the scenes chapter two | the proposal

masterlist | prev | next

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 4,116

summary: jamie makes you an offer you can’t refuse...or can you?

a/n: hi everyone! while this took a little longer than i hoped, i proudly present chapter 2 of behind the scenes! we are finally ramping up folks. i wish i could promise a regular upload schedule for this story, but i have had a lot going on this summer. but i have a free weekend now so hoping to get some chapters written that i can share a little at a time. for now, i hope you enjoy this new installment and i cannot wait to hear what you think!

It was still too early to really say, but the Richmond Greyhounds had a good feeling about this season,

They were coming off of a five game winning streak to start, and no one wanted to jinx it. Even so, they celebrated each win like it was their last, Isaac often treating them to a party at his place or Sam inviting them to his restaurant. Tonight though, Jamie was feeling particularly generous and offered drinks on him at Crown and Anchor. Of course, because he was footing the bill, suddenly everyone was available for a night out. That meant the whole team, the club staff, and their significant others. Including Keeley.

Honestly, Jamie had thought he’d been feeling better about the whole Roy and Keeley thing. But that was until one or both of them gave him that look. The “I’m sorry we’re together while you’re sad and alone” look. But he wasn’t sad. Or alone. He had his whole bloody team surrounding him. And what the fuck was wrong with being alone anyway?

Still it was annoying to accidentally catch Keeley’s eye when she was laughing with Roy and watch her happy face morph into one filled with guilt.

Jamie was enjoying himself at the bar with Sam, when he glanced over at Keeley from across the room. She and Rebecca were currently egging on their significant others who were engaged in a friendly game of darts. Jamie hadn’t meant to linger on her, but when she turned her head and found him looking in her direction, he froze. In an effort to assuage her sympathetic smile, he gave her a bigger one of his own and titled his pint glass towards her. Unfortunately, this just led to the blonde snaking her way through the crowd to get to him.

“Hello, boys,” she greets him and Sam.

Jamie nods at her, while Sam beams, “Hi Keeley! How have you been?”

“I’ve been great! How’ve you been, Sam?”

“Good. Even better after the win today.”

“I bet, you killed it out there,” Keeley nudged the footballer, “That last goal was incredible.”

Sam laughs and accepts the compliment. Keeley quickly turns to Jamie.

“You were amazing, too, Jamie!”

Jamie gives her a tight smile, “Thanks, Keeley.”

Keeley nods with a small smile of her own. Then she turns to the bartender to order a martini.

While her attention is elsewhere, Sam gives Jamie a discreet look that says “she’s still feeling sorry for you?”. Jamie just shakes his head while Sam pats him on the back. Unfortunately, this is the moment that Richard and Bumbercatch decide to call Sam over to their table, leaving Jamie and Keeley alone at the bar.

When Keeley receives her drink, he half expects her to head back over to Roy. But of course not. She parks herself right in the seat Sam used to occupy.

“So, what’s been going on with you lately, Jamie? Feel like I’ve hardly seen you for a bit.”

That’s been intentional. But he can’t tell her that.

He shrugs, “Uh, nothing much. Just focused on playing my best this season.”

Keeley nods, “Roy says you’ve been improving a lot during your trainings.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I can tell he’s really proud of you.”

Jamie huffs. He knows she’s telling the truth. He also knows that she’s not telling him this for no reason.

“You know, though, Jamie, there’s more to life than football?” Keeley adds when he doesn’t say anything else. “I get that you want to be the best. But you deserve a life outside of being a footballer. You should be taking time for yourself. Or going out with other people and doing non-football things.”

Jamie chuckles, rubbing at the condensation on his glass, “I’m doing that right now, aren’t I?”

Keeley laughs, “Well, yeah, but it's with the people you see everyday, celebrating the fact that you won a football match. You should be doing other things. Meeting other people. More friends. People who could be…more than friends.”

There it is.

Jamie sighs, finally facing her again, “Keeley, I promise you I’m fine. I do loads of things outside of football, with loads of people. I can also assure you I don’t need your help finding people to date either.”

Keeley frowns. Before she can attempt to clarify her concern, someone bursts through the pub’s doors, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Leave it to Dani Rojas to show up late with a girl on each arm.

“You guys!” he exclaims, “Some people are closing the streets over here and I saw a couple of trailers around the corner. I think they’re filming that one movie here this week!”

Suddenly the bar is flooded by excited chatter - more than it was before. Not a day has passed without someone talking about the big rom-com shooting in Richmond since production started last week. A couple members of the team head outside to check it out for themselves.

Jamie laughs to himself as he turns back around in his seat. He made a conscious decision to not tell anyone about his encounter with the famous actress starring in said movie. Mainly because no one would believe him. But he also sort of just wanted to keep that memory for himself.

As he goes over that morning, once again, in his head, he remembers the blonde beside him, who is still looking at him with sad eyes. He slowly turns back to face her.

“Jamie, I know your life and your relationships are really none of my business,” she starts off again now that she has his attention, “I just don’t want you to shut anyone out-”

“I’m not shutting anyone out,” he quickly insists.

“But Jamie-”

“Actually, I’ve been seeing someone,” he says before he can stop himself, or even process what he’s doing.

Keeley’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Really?”

Shit.

Jamie instantly regrets his words, but he knows walking it back would make him feel even worse.

“Uh…yeah.” He pathetically responds.

Keeley doesn’t seem to catch his hesitation, electing to be excited for him, and most likely relieved, “Jamie that's great! Who is it? Is it anyone I know? How long have you been seeing them?”

Jamie’s head swirls with her various questions, mixed with his previous thoughts of you and your brief conversation about relationships.

“Um, it's no one you know personally,” he decides to answer very slowly and carefully, “Its new. Really new. And we both want to keep it private.”

Keeley rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder, “Come on, you can tell me.”

Jamie manages a half smile, “If it goes anywhere, I promise you’ll be one of the first to know.”

“Alright, I’ll take that,” Keeley gives him a satisfied smile, “I’m happy for you, Jamie.”

That makes one of them. What had he gotten himself into?

Even though it's only been one week and you’ve shot approximately 3 scenes, you were killing this rom-com if you do say so yourself. You were getting along swimmingly with the cast and crew, especially your co-lead Charlie. He was just as charming as he was the day you auditioned together, and just as sweet when you weren’t rolling. The friendship you were starting to build was nice and you had a feeling it would translate well on screen. Take that haters.

It was now your second week of production; your first full week of actual filming. You were still working on the studio lot today, but soon you’d be on location and you couldn’t wait to see more of Richmond. After a busy morning, filled with exciting scenes, you were now headed to your trailer to have lunch. You were hoping Margot could grab you something from craft services while you changed out of your costume. However, when you arrive at your trailer, you find her already there and looking…anxious.

“Hey…?” you greet but it turns into a question as it drags out.

“Hi,” Margot responds, but doesn’t hide her unease, “So, we have a bit of a situation.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together, beyond curious to know what could possibly be going on. “What is it?”

“There’s this man who showed up to the studio asking for you, claiming he knows you. You know, normally we’d just get rid of them, but apparently he’s some famous athlete here and some execs thought it would be a bad look if we turned him away. His name is James or something…”

“Jamie?” you ask without thinking.

Margot’s eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, you do know him?”

You give a half shrug, “Sort of. We met when I was on my walk last week. He helped me hide from photographers.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I did tell you that!”

“You didn’t tell me the guy was famous.”

You roll your eyes, “I didn’t think it was a big deal, I meet famous people all the time.”

“Ones that show up randomly to your set?” Margot asks incredulously. “Have you kept in touch with him? Did you invite him here?”

“No. And no,” you’re once again brought back to the reality of what’s happening. Why was Jamie here? You were once again out of your mind curious. “Where is he now?”

“In one of the conference rooms,” Margot tells you, “Do you want to go see why he’s here?”

You didn’t just want to. You needed to. So with a bag of Cheez-Its in hand, you and Margot head for the studio.

When you arrive at the room where you’d previously done a table read the week before, Jamie turns around in a swivel chair at the head of the desk on the farthest side of the room like a super-villain. But then he gives you a wide grin, and your previous comparison no longer holds up.

“See, I told you she’d come!” Jamie exclaims to the security guard keeping him company. The man ignores him and gives you and Margot a look, and upon your signal he leaves the room.

“Are you stalking me or something?” you ask in lieu of a greeting as you sit in the chair at the other end of the table. Margot plants herself behind you with her arms crossed.

Jamie smirks at you, “Don’t flatter yourself, love.” Then he frowns, “Wait, have you had a stalker before?”

You pause, “Not in the traditional sense.”

“Alright, I’m definitely going to ask you for that story later,” Jamie shakes his head, “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, why are you here?” you question, ripping open your Cheez-Its as your only form of lunch, “And how did you get here?”

“Let’s just say I’m very persuasive,” he states, the smirk reappearing on his face. Then he looks Margot up and down, “Who’s this?”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Jamie was a lot more cocky outside of his little café hideaway. “Margot. She’s my assistant. And she’s staying in here if that’s what you’re going to ask.”

“Does your assistant go everywhere you go?”

“She does when a strange man is following her boss around,” Margot answers for you.

Jamie nods once, “Fair enough.”

“Jamie,” you sigh, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, although I would have preferred not to be ambushed at my place of work after meeting you once, but can you please just tell me what you’re doing here before the rest of the set gets wind of a rogue soccer player lingering about.”

“First of all, you know that it’s called football over here,” Jamie tsks as he stands up, moving to take a seat closer to you. “Second of all, I’m here because I have a proposition for you. A business proposal of sorts.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “And that is?”

“You know that fake relationship your publicist wants to try out? I’d like to apply for the job.”

Your jaw drops a little, and you hear Margot let out a tiny gasp from behind you, “You told him that?”

You don’t bother answering her, “Why, uh, why would you want to do that?”

Jamie’s bravado falters a little. He glances at Margot again, but decides he can still admit it in front of her, and you, “You know that girl I told you about? The one I still see all the time?” you nod, “Well, it’s getting progressively harder to be around her, especially when she’s always giving me these guilty looks. It drives me insane. And last night she made a comment about how I need to put myself out there and meet someone, and I just snapped. I figured if she thought I had met someone, she’d let it go and things could start to go back to normal.”

Your stomach lurches. You feel for him, you do. But this was just absurd.

“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, actually ask someone out? Or just find another random girl to pretend to date you? I thought Jamie Tartt had no problem finding girlfriends.”

His lips quirk up just a tad, “Ah, you remember that?”

This time you do roll your eyes, “Jamie.”

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, yeah, sure I could probably find someone else. But that wouldn’t work. My ex knows I’m not looking for flings anymore. And some other random girl isn’t going to be convincing. Fake dating you makes the most sense, because you’re already good at acting-”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome - and this would benefit you too for all the reasons you told me the other day. It’s win-win,” When he sees the thoughtful yet hesitant look on your face, he continues, “Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to do this forever. You’re filming this movie for three months right? We play pretend while you’re here and get your publicist off your back. Then, we can fake break-up before you leave, and you won’t have to worry about bringing me home for Christmas. What do you say?”

You continue studying Jamie, and you can’t believe how serious he sounds about all of this. After a few moments, you also glance at Margot who, despite looking a bit apprehensive, also seems…intrigued by his offer. When she catches your eye, all she can manage is an unsure shrug. Fuck.

Finally turning back to Jamie, you take a deep breath, “I say…no.”

The hopeful look on Jamie’s face immediately falls. “What? Why?”

“I just…can’t. I don’t want to do it.”

“But…”

You shake your head, as you start to stand, “No, Jamie, I’m sorry. I understand how you feel. I really do. But I don’t want to do it. I told you the other day. I don’t want to,” As you brush past Margot and reach the doorway, you turn back to Jamie, “I’m sorry.”

All Jamie does is give you a tight smile and a nod before you take off down the hall towards your trailer.

Margot is on your tail, and as you get ready to resume filming, you can tell she wants to ask about everything that just went down. But you just shake your head, and she gets the memo.

Unfortunately for you, your brain doesn’t get the memo, because Jamie’s offer is all you can think about the rest of the day. In between takes and set-ups, your mind wanders back to your conversation and the desperate look in his eyes when he describes his situation with his ex. It’s clear he’s hurting; both from her rejection, as well as the constant interaction with her and the man she chose instead of him.

You think that’s what scared you; that Jamie was so invested in this pretend scheme. It made it intense; real even though the whole point of the idea was far from it. You didn’t like the risks a PR relationship posed - you never had - but doing it with someone like Jamie made the stakes even higher. If something went wrong, not only were you going to be hung out to dry in the tabloids, but Jamie would have to deal with the consequences of having his ex and their friends know that he had lied. And that wasn’t going to make their situation any better.

But there was something else holding you back. A fear you couldn’t place, one that makes your chest heavy.

Of course it was at times like these, when your thoughts were already spiraling, that you make the self-destructive decision to feed them by reading about yourself online. Most comments or tweets or articles were kind, but those did little to nothing to improve your mood, when one negative post did everything to destroy it. And on your commute home, you found yourself hyper-fixating on one particular tweet by a user pointing out your biggest insecurity at the moment.

The tweet was in response to an article about the movie you were filming.

“A rom-com starring Y/N Y/L/N makes no sense when no one wants to date her irl”

It was the kind of thing Harry was talking about. While deep down you knew the sentiment was far from the truth, it didn’t mean people didn’t think that on account of your public persona. Nevermind that you preferred to keep things private; no public relationships meant you were an unlovable loser. And while a majority of people would argue against it, or just not give a shit about your dating life, it still stung.

So, without much thought, you told your driver not to take you home, but instead to a local café for a late night pick-me-up. And you could only hope, some company.

Jamie knew his plan was a stupid idea. He knew as soon as he lied to Keeley about seeing someone that it was going to bite him in the ass. But he couldn’t help but get his hopes up that maybe this would give him the out he’s been looking for around Keeley and Roy; an escape from the sympathy and third-wheeling. At least long enough for them to stop feeling like their relationship was an inconvenience to him.

Of course, deciding to fake-date a famous actress was a long shot in and of itself, but you had brought it up first. And a part of him thought you really hit off that day at the café.

Which is how he ended up right back at the same place. He’d unconsciously walked himself here after training and had been wallowing over cups of tea ever since.

He rather enjoyed people watching when he wound up sitting alone. Very interesting people wandered in and out of this café. He assumes they’re also the type of people that prefer keeping to themselves. He often made up stories about them in his mind to keep himself entertained or when he wanted to get his mind off of his own life.

Today he was particularly interested in an older man perched at a table facing the window. He’d been there just about as long as Jamie had, working through a word-search book. He appears to be nearing the end of the book, and Jamie decides he has grandchildren - five of them to be exact - that buy him a new word search book for every birthday and Christmas. He also decides that he and late-wife were regulars at this café, and even though she isn’t around anymore, he still comes here every week in honor of her memory.

Jamie’s almost made himself emotional over his made-up story for this stranger, when the bell above the door rings. Ah, hopefully someone he can come up with a less depressing story for. However, he realizes he already knows a thing or two about the new customer that has entered the room.

It’s you.

He has to force himself not to look shocked by your presence, as you scan the room, eyeing each patron one by one. When your eyes finally land on him, you seem to be relieved to see him. Jamie quickly becomes hyper-aware of the fact that he’s sitting in the same spot the two of you had occupied when you were here last week, and he hopes you don’t dwell on it.

You walk further into the café, but instead of immediately going over to him, you approach the barista. After a few minutes, you slowly head over to Jamie and hesitantly place a to-go cup and blueberry scone onto the table.

“You must’ve really liked their scones to come all the way back here,” Jamie comments after a beat.

You push the scone closer to him, “I actually got it for you.”

Jamie’s taken aback, “Oh. Thanks.” After a couple of seconds, he adds, “Do you want to sit?”

You nod, pulling out the chair across from him. He is once again overwhelmed that he’s casually speaking to you, even though it's the third time he’s done it and he was particularly over-confident the last time.

“I actually came here to see you,” you admit eventually.

Though he’d expected that, it still felt weird to hear. “Oh?”

You nod again, “I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“You want to apologize?” Jamie can’t help but ask bewilderedly, “I’m the one who ambushed you with a dumb idea.”

You bite your lip, “...It wasn’t that dumb.” Jamie’s eyes widen just slightly so you quickly continue, “I’m sorry that I shut you down so quickly. I think the idea of actually doing it freaked me out.”

“Can I ask why?”

You’re unsure if you have a clear enough answer to give him since it wasn’t so clear yourself all the reasons it scared you, “I think it felt like there was a lot weighing on it, with how badly you wanted it to work out. It also kind of feels like giving into the whole idea means validating the people online complaining about me, you know?”

Jamie nods slowly, “Yeah, that makes sense. I guess it’s sort of similar in my situation.”

“Yeah. And I know eventually we'll prove them wrong. Like when you’re ready to move on or next year when this movie comes out and they see how amazing I am in it.”

Jamie chuckles lightly. “No, yeah. You’re right.”

“But I don’t want to wait,” you say defiantly, surprising Jamie again, “I’m tired of hearing about why I'm not good enough to be in a relationship, even one in a fucking movie, and if that means pretending to be in one in real life for a little while, I’ll do it.”

“Wait, really, you changed your mind?” Jamie asks, sitting up straighter than he’s ever been.

“Yeah, fuck it, I’ve got nothing to lose,” you shrug, “And like you said, I’m a good actor.”

“Hell yeah,” Jamie smiles for a brief moment, before it drops, “Wait, are you going to do it with someone else, or were you still talking about doing it with me?”

You give him an amused smile, “I was talking about you.”

“Okay, good. I got worried there for a second.”

You chuckle, “Honestly, it works out really well. Dating a soccer player from overseas that I met while filming here seems a lot more plausible than some other A-List actor I’ve never met out of the blue.”

“Okay you’re really going to have to work on calling it football, that’s a real deal breaker for me.” Jamie corrects, but there’s still a smile on his face.

“Got it. Well we can work through a list of demands later, but for now I should probably get home. My driver is waiting outside and I have a call-time at the crack of dawn.”

As you push out of your chair to stand up, Jamie remembers something, “You’re filming around Richmond starting this week right? My teammates saw trailers being set up near a pub we go to a lot.”

You nod, “Yeah we actually start filming around town in a couple days. Maybe I can pop in one day after work and say hi to my fake-boyfriend’s friends.”

Despite the word fake, Jamie finds his cheeks warming up, “They would shit themselves.”

You giggle, “That makes it more fun.” Reaching into your pocket, you slide your phone across the table, “Put your number in so we can talk strategy soon.”

Jamie nods and eagerly does so. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, “Good night, Jamie.”

He watches you exit the café with a smile on his face, feeling giddy all of a sudden. Not just at the idea of stopping Keeley and Roy’s guilt train, but getting to know you better.

You were right. This was going to be fun.

Taglist: @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @royalestrellas @loveslide @torpedo--belly @skewedcherries @littlemisssunshine192 @hopefulromances @breakmyheartlater @ohpuckyeah @alipap3 @meg-ro @rexorangecouny @pythagothug @gcidrvsh @lightninginab0ttle it wouldn’t let me tag the last couple of you, but i will keep trying <3

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #behind the scenes series #mine

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