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thebirdandthebee · 10 months

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Back to Sleep (18+)

A little something to try to get back into writing - let me know what you think! 18+ only! This is not edited, so please excuse any glaring issues.

Title: Back to Sleep Ain't sorry that I woke ya. WC: 1839

“Baby, you almost done?” Jake asked from the kitchen, where he’s just finished loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters. “Come on, let’s be couch potatoes,” he insists.

It’s tempting, it really is, but you’ve got so much work to get done to stay ahead of schedule. Perched at the dining room table, your hair was tossed up in a ponytail as you focused on the laptop ahead. Yes, you were first in your class in your occupational therapy program, but final exams were coming and you were gunning for the number-one spot.

“You go ahead and I’ll meet you,” you said, tipping your head back for your fiancé to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“You’ve been studying like a maniac for weeks,” Jake pointed out, one hand gripping the back of your chair and the other braced on the corner of the dining table, “one night isn’t going to break your streak – exam isn’t for a few weeks, still.”

“I know, I promise, give me thirty minutes,” you insisted, looking up at him through your blue light glasses that you knew he loved.

“Thirty minutes,” he repeated, kissing you again.

But thirty minutes came and went, and you were still staring intently at your computer. Admittedly, Jake got swept up in Thursday Night Football, and at halftime, he shook out of it.

“Excuse me,” he called from over the back of the couch, “Where is my fiancé?” He asked. You peeled your eyes off of your study cards, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Twenty more minutes!” You called back, tucking your hair behind your ear. But as twenty minutes passed once again, you found Jake dragging your chair back from the table. “Jake, please, I’m on a roll,” you whined. You barely had time to grab up your notecards before Jake lifted you from the chair to bring you over to the sofa.

“You can study from the couch if you must,” he said, only somewhat dramatically.

And that’s how the evening progressed, with you flipping through notes and Jake’s arm firmly around your shoulder as the clock ticked later and later. Soon, you were yawning and focusing more on the back of your eyelids than your flashcards.

“Jake,” you murmured, eyes still shut. “I gotta sleep,” you said, reaching over and patting him on the stomach twice.

“I’m going to finish the game, be up in a second,” he assured. You dropped another sweet kiss on his lips before making your way upstairs, flashcards in hand. After changing into a pair of Jake’s boxer briefs and a big t-shirt, you crawled into bed, still flipping through your notes.

Jake was surprised to see you still awake when he came up to bed about forty-five minutes later. Leaving the bathroom door open, he quickly showered and brushed his teeth

“Baby, time for bed,” he gently plucked the cards out of your fingers, tossing them onto his nightstand. You groaned quietly but snuggled up to his side instead. You’d been hitting the books hard and it was finally catching up to you. Jake’s warm, vetiver skin lulled you quickly to sleep.

However, much later, during the wee hours of the night, Jake awoke to find your side of the bed empty. His eyes strained in the dark night and if he listened carefully, he could hear the soft clicking of a keyboard.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Jake muttered, wiping at his eyes as he rolled out of bed, lazily pulling his sweatpants up his hips to pull the drawstring tight. He padded down the stairs to see you yet again perched at the dining room table, the chandelier above dimmed to the lowest setting. “What are you doing?” He asked, eyes still adjusting to the light, “it’s almost three in the morning.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to see your fiancé frowning at you in the soft light.

“I know, but I had a dream that I showed up for exam day and couldn’t remember the steps to the malleability scale and I woke up panicking,” you listed off. “I just thought if I could re-arrange some of these class notes into a more visual aid, it would help me remember,” you gestured to the computer, a giant yawn overtaking your face.

“Babe, it’s time for bed,” Jake said, stepping closer. You protectively splayed your hands across your notebook on the table.

“I’m not done,” you said quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Jake reached over closing your laptop.

“You’re done. Bed, now,” he ordered, which gave you a little shiver, but you complied nonetheless – dragging your feet down the hall. Luckily for you, you could turn the brightness down on your phone and run through the study guide your leading MD sent out.

After tucking into bed yet again, Jake rolled over, invading your space.

“Phone,” he said, holding out his empty palm.

“Jake,” you began to protest. He tipped his chin up in a challenge. “I need it for my alarm,” you weakly argued.

“We have an alarm clock and I’ll make sure you’re up,” he reassured as you reluctantly placed your phone in his hand. Jake rolled over, his back to you as he set your phone on the side table before snuggling down into the mattress.

“M’not even tired,” you lied with a petulant tone. Jake rolled his eyes, not that you could see it. You spent the next minute being dramatic, sighing heavily and flipping all around to find a comfortable position.

“Baby, go to sleep,” Jake grumbled. You glared at his back for a moment before flopping on your back, arms crossed over your chest, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if you could remember what the study guide looked like from memory.

A few beats passed.

“I swear to god just you being awake like this is keeping me up,” Jake said with finality, rolling over to face you, a stern expression on his face.

“You could have kept sleeping if you just left me alone at the table,” you pointed out.

“You have to sleep or that pretty little brain aint’ gonna remember shit,” he countered, nearly taunting. With a huff, you turned to face away from him, lying on your hip with one knee bent up.

“M’not even tired,” you mumbled again. Ten seconds later, you jumped when you felt Jake’s full body pressing into you from behind.

“You’re not even tired, huh?” Jake asked, knowing damn well you were just being a brat.

“No,” you grumbled, trying to keep in a squeal as his stubble scraped against your neck.

“You want me to put you to sleep?” He breathed into your ear, big hand landing on your upper thigh, just below where his boxer briefs had ridden up your leg with all your tossing and turning.

“You can’t,” you replied, still feeling put off by Jake confiscating your flashcards.

“Sure I can,” he said, hips shifting so you could feel his soft erection against you.

“Bet I can get you to sleep in twenty minutes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“Not even tired,” you tried not to gasp as his fingertips slipped below the stretchy band of your borrowed shorts.

“How can you be tired when you’re this wet?” He asked, swiping his fingers through your sex, making you huff.

“You know I like those boxers on you,” you muttered, embarrassed, but at least you were honest. “You’re on the clock, Hangman,” you reminded. Jake gladly cradled your clit between his two fingers, rolling them up and down against your skin. The way you almost avoided his touch by pressing your hips down into the mattress made him grin. Sometimes it was almost too easy. You frowned softly into your pillow as you felt Jake’s hand retreat from your body, but squealed as he quickly dragged the waistband of his boxers all the way down to your ankles.

Jake softly huffed as he pressed his blunt tip against your sex, jaw clenching at the resistance as he sunk in further and further. Turning him further beneath you, your front was pressed down into the mattress.

“How’s that, hmm?” He murmured in your ear. “Gonna listen to me when I tell you to go to sleep, smart girl?” You simply whined gently at the feeling as he filled you. “You hear me?” He asked, knowing he was being haughty.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pushing your hips back against him. Jake reached underneath you, palming your breast in his hand as he continued to fuck you gently down into the mattress. “Jake,” you huffed softly.

“I know, pretty girl,” he cooed patronizingly. “Put you right back to sleep tonight,” he snapped his hips, making you jump. His hand traveled down your stomach, the other braced against the bed so he didn’t squish you entirely, to find your clit again, and gently circling it.

You could feel it start to tickle at the soles of your feet – a telltale sign of impending orgasm.

“More,” you murmured, eyes shutting gently both from pleasure and pure exhaustion.

“More?” Jake asked, pulling his hand out from between your body and the mattress, dipping his fingers in his mouth as his hips continued their steady thrusts. Zeroing in on your clit once more, he knew you were getting close – after this long together, he could read you like a book. He didn’t mind, he was close as well. “Going to fill you right up with a sleeping pill,” he didn’t care that he sounded corny, he was putting his money where his mouth was. One more strategic roll of his fingers and you were fluttering around Jake’s cock, toes curled tight at the end of the bed.

“There we go,” Jake grunted, meeting his own orgasm as he pumped into you dutifully. “That’s a good girl,” he exhaled.

You hated it when Jake was right, because now, your eyelids felt like they were being weight down with bags of cement. Whining once more as he withdrew, you jumped when he tapped the head of his spent cock against your clit.

“Wait right here, precious,” he said, pressing a kiss to the round of your hip.

As if you were going anywhere now. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you knew an alarm was set for the morning, because now you simply couldn’t be bothered to lift your head from the pillow.

“Warmed it up for you, baby,” Jake murmured as a warning before a wet washcloth swiped through your folds. “I know, I know,” he hushed. Jake wiped himself down before padding across the room to drop the towel in the laundry hamper.

Crawling back onto the mattress, he threw a blanket over the two of you, double checking his alarm once more before tossing an arm over your waist. Your lashes laid across your cheekbones in pure serenity as you entered deep sleep.

“Thought you weren’t tired, huh?”

#jake seresin smut #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman fluff #hangman smut #hangman fic #hangman x reader

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rehenys · 1 month

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Cherry Red ~ T.Wolff

Tw: Smut, Swearing, Age Gap, possessive, usage of Brat, BJ. Synopsis: Toto and his Girlfriend have a bit of fun at the pool

Torger never thought he would have a young girlfriend at 45, but here he was with his bratty girlfriend who was dressed in a skimpy bikini lounging by the pool at his summer house. Her soft lips wrapped around a cherry red lollipop, His swim trunks tighten just watching her causally sucking on her lollipop while reading her novel. Fucksake she looks irresistible.

He groans inwardly looking down at his tightened trunks, he was working today and she didn’t like that, fucking brat! She always gets what she wants and Torger will do anything to give her what she wants, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have fun while doing it and right now all she wants is him.

He smirks, if she’s going to play that game he can too. Moving his laptop away, she watches his every move. She pushes her white sunglasses to the tip of her nose, with that darn lollipop between her lips.

Leaning back Torger deliberately unties his drawstring as slow as possible even though every movement of his trunks against his cock makes him groan, finally he unties it languidly stoking his cock making him groan even louder than before, he knows he has her attention when he hears the thud of her book on the side table as she slowly makes her way to the patio while her glasses lay haphazardly on the lounge chair. She takes her time, her piercing blue eyes never leaving him, she unties the knot on the front of her top dropping it into the pool, her perfect tits on display, His hands itching to touch her. She takes off the bikini bottom throwing it behind her, Torger’s eyes following her hips sway from side to side and the little tattoo on her right hip Just a simple bunch of bright red cherries with His name next to it forever etched on her skin. It makes him even harder than before just looking at it, her perfect body on display for him and only for him driving him crazy. She finally reaches him before swiftly sinking to her knees and taking all of him into her mouth, involuntarily groaning and throwing his head back. He loved his bratty girl. As she swirled her tongue around the tip before howling her cheeks, he groaned again as he bucked his hips towards her, wrapping his palm around her ponytail but she stopped him, giving him that look as she mouths No, he immediately let go of her, Pulling her onto his lap, she giggles into his mouth as Torger tastes himself and artificial cherry on her tongue.

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7clubs · 4 months

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yoohan yuri forever.........

[ ID from alt: Yoo Joonghyuk in Punisher form alongside (the much smaller) Han Sooyoung, who has her arm wrapped around Joonghyuk's waist.

Joonghyuk is standing with a neutral expression and a hand on her hip, carrying her black jacket. She's wearing a sheer dark crop top over a black bra, and pants with belt loop chains.

Sooyoung has a smirking cat mouth expression, and is holding a lollipop in hand. She has a sporty look, her hair is up in a ponytail and she's wearing a white baseball cap, grey sports bra, drawstring pants, and a blue jacket worn slipped off her shoulder.

They have matching wedding rings. The background is deep indigo with pink lines, flowers, and starry halos around the two's heads. End ID ]

#orv #omniscient reader #omniscient reader's viewpoint #yoohan #yoo joonghyuk #punisher #yjh #han sooyoung #hsy #feb 2024 #2024

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vmpiires · 6 months

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𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

„𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘”

𝐂𝐖;; mature content. afab!reader, stoner!choso, mentions of anxiety (once), non-curse/sorcerer AU, no uses of y/n. not proofread so i apologize in advance for any mistakes if they’re made.

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓;; it’s finally fall during the mid 90s in shibuya, tokyo, japan. choso is a pretty hard working guy. he works as a bartender at a local bar on the evening shift. his baby brother yuji, who he thoroughly looks after and loves unconditionally, is babysat by some trusted neighbors. they also had a kid, so yuji wasn’t lonely. aside from his tendency to be disassociated, he meets someone so different…yet so alike.

: ̗̀➛ art creds by;; currently unknown. dividers are not mine, if you own these, you may claim them in comments.

: ̗̀➛ WORD COUNT;; 2.O4K

dark mode recommended

do not copy this plot. i’m perfectly fine with inspirations but give creds. if this plot his stolen in any way, the post will be taken down and you will be blocked.

𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ✉️🖇️;; i really like this concept. i just randomly thought of it because i was struggling to make up a plot buttttt i think this gone be good. hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meeee and if you want more :D

another note: might make a part 2 of this. if this does good i’ll do it :P

₊❏❜ ⋮ continue to part two ⌒

it was a breezy autumn morning and sunlight started to creep through the cream curtains that hung up over the window. a groan rattled from under the large navy covers on the king sized bed. an arm slowly slid out from under the covers and pulled it down from over the owner’s head, revealing the one that was hidden underneath.

the digital alarm clock on the nightstand read ‘9:55 AM’. it made the male groan at how early in the morning it was. sitting up, choso would thread his hand hand through his brown medium length hair before slowly getting out of bed.

choso entered the bathroom and took a look at himself. the male wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of joggers with his boxers partially showing underneath. the drawstrings were untied. he didn’t even bother to tie them up again since he was about to shower.

after he had done his hygiene, he would take the rubber bands that were wrapped securely around his wrist and put his hair up in two high ponytails, making sure to tie them tightly. choso would examine the weeping wound across the bridge of his nose before covering it up with a bandage. something he normally did to forget about it being there. it made him insecure.

it was 10 AM now and choso was making breakfast for him and baby yuji. well, he wasn’t really a baby. he was five years old at the time so that meant choso didn’t have to fuss while feeding the pink haired boy baby food and he was old enough to eat foods like scrambled eggs and bacon.

with half-lidded eyes, choso’s signature face of apathy and boredom was plastered onto his pale skin. the male would light a cigarette and inhale the smoke before exhaling again shortly after. he was aware that smoking would lead to his demise but it wasn’t like he cared.

“yuji, wake up.” his deep voice echoed throughout the house, pushing the cigarette back between his lips when he realized that yuji wasn’t answering his call. he glanced at the now cooked food on the counter, carefully placed on two plates before making his way to yuji’s room.

the small boy was sleeping peacefully. curled up in the blankets and hugging the pochita plushie that choso had gotten him for his birthday. choso couldn’t help but smile. he quietly walked over to the bed and sat down on it.

“come on, yuji, get up. i made you breakfast and it’ll get cold if you don’t wake up.” he said quietly, gently rubbing his brother’s shoulder. it took a moment but yuji finally woke up, his eyelids fluttering as he did.

“morning, choso,” yuji answered drowsily. choso smiled and returned the greeting before picking the boy up and carrying him to the kitchen.

“alright, after you eat, get ready to take a bath, okay? you know i have work today and i want you to be ready before later.” choso would place the plate down in front of yuji simply watched as he quickly cleared his plate.

‘i guess i’m the one that needs to finish my food.’ he thought.

bath time was a bit of a hassle…like every other time. yuji would splash water everywhere, getting the bathroom floor and choso wet. the male was lucky to not be wearing his violet eyeshadow because he knew if he wiped the water from his face, it would smear all over his face and sweater.

“calm down. you know that’s more for me to clean.” choso mumbled as he cleaned his baby brother with the soapy rag. yuji would only laugh and play with his bath toys, not completely listening to what choso had to say, regarding the bathroom turning into a watery mess.

noon rolls around and choso is picking out clothes for yuji to wear. it was getting a little cold out, so he made sure to take out a long sleeve shirt, some joggers, and some clean socks that would keep his small feet warm.

though, choso’s shift didn’t start until 5, the male always liked to be ten steps ahead. he’d pack yuji a lunchable and a turkey sandwich, neatly placed in a ziplock bag with two capri-sun’s along with a pack of chips. in yuji’s small backpack, there was his DS with the charger just in case and all of his favorite games, a couple of his action figures just in case he got bored with the DS, pokémon themed headphones, a couple more snacks, and a change of clothes just in case.

“choso, can i take my coloring book too?” yuji asked. the tall male looked down at yuji and sighed.

“your backpack is a bit small, you know. i don’t think your coloring book can fit.” choso said. “unless you want me to get you a bigger bag to take with you.”

“a bigger bag, please.” yuji answered. choso wanted to roll his eyes. everything in the bag was neatly packed. now he had to do it all over again…but in a bigger bag. he couldn’t be angry, though. he wanted yuji to be comfortable while he was away for a few hours.

everything was completely in order when it was time to walk yuji next door. there was a boy around his age that went by the name of megumi. he always looked bored for some reason, which choso thought was odd for a five year old.

“okay, you have a good time. don’t lose anything and keep everything close to you. um…call me if you—” choso rambled until he realized yuji was already off playing with megumi.

“call me if you need me.” he finally added.

choso was at work now. he got there earlier than he usually did, so he was able to clean the space off quickly before starting his shift.

the night went on smoothly. with him being so quiet and disassociated, it was easy for him to avoid interacting with others if he didn’t have to. as he worked, choso’s hair flowed gracefully as he moved around. he didn’t want to look too childish as a twenty three year old man, so he removed his high ponytails in the bathroom. like that morning, he had his rubber bands secured around his wrist, worn as bracelets.

that’s when you entered the bar area. you’d sit down on one of the stools, watching as each bartender made their way around. tonight was one of your nights where you just wanted to get away from your life’s problems. you needed a break.

“can i help you?” a tall male with medium length brown hair and tired eyes spoke. his voice was deep as if he hadn’t spoke in a while. his voice catches you off guard but you play it off and throw a small smile on your face.

you order yourself a strawberry lemonade that came with a cute little lemon on the side of the glass. you also ended up getting some mozzarella sticks that came with both ranch and marinara sauce. you weren’t much of a picky person, so you dipped the cheese sticks into both condiments.

“how long have you worked here?” you start, trying to spark a conversation with the male that served you. you noticed that he was getting ready to go on break. he had a pack of cigarettes sitting on the counter with a black lighter on top.

he had a black earring in the cartilage of his left ear, a couple rings on both of his hands, and violet eyeshadow around his eyes. that’s what made him look like he didn’t get any proper sleep.

he had on a black formal shirt with black pants. the same outfit the other bartenders had on. the only difference is that he wore black combat boots and everyone else had on sneakers.

choso was a bit taken aback by the question since no one else really asked him anything unless it was work related.

“for a couple years now.” he replied, his deep voice catching you off guard again. “i have a little brother to take care of. i just need money to keep the house up.”

you watch as he picks up the pack of cigarettes, his rings scraping the counter as he did. the lighter clicked before it finally caught a flame.

“you come here a lot?”

“oh, no…i only come here occasionally. tonight just so happened to be one of those nights.” you answer. life was truly kicking you in the ass. with college and everything shaking up your schedule, you found it a bit hard to focus.

“i see,” choso mumbled, taking a drag from his cigarette before pushing the pack towards you, subtly offering you a cigarette to alleviate your nerves. you weren’t a smoker and usually your first instinct would be to kindly decline the offer but this time you went against that.

the two of you talked for as long as you could, managing to get free refills on your lemonade without being charged at all. if you asked any one else, you’d be coming out fifty cents each time you wanted a refill.

you realized that the more you spoke to choso, the more you seemed to take a liking to him. the two of you weren’t the social types and you both usually kept to yourselves. there was a list of things you two had in common. the only difference was the fact that you didn’t have to worry about any younger siblings.

the night ended with the two of you exchanging numbers. you both seemed to really like each other.

choso had come home from work, carrying yuji back to his room because he had fallen asleep while spending his time with megumi and anyone else who may have arrived at the neighbor’s home.

he stared at the phone number on his wrist and he sighed. he enjoyed you. it was the first time he was actually pretty engaged in a conversation with anyone and not disassociating himself. but he couldn’t do it. he didn’t have time for a girlfriend.

he didn’t have the time to fall in love. he had better things to worry about. he couldn’t sit around worrying his tired mind about a woman that he just met.

choso was in deep thought, lying in his bed comfortably with his hair sprawled out over the pillow and his eyes closed, occasionally running a finger across his nose to make sure the bandage was still covering his nose. the male had on his usual tan sweater and some black baggy pants and white socks.

he was in a state of peace. the house was quiet and there wasn’t anyone to bother him. not even his odd intrusive thoughts came in to disturb him. but that peace was derailed when he felt a smaller pair of hands touch his.

“who’s number is this?” yuji asked, holding onto choso’s hand to read the number. he would mumble the numbers to himself. choso exhaled from his nose. it was a start since he wanted yuji to learn his numbers.

“no one’s. i just wrote them down when i was at work.” choso replied, keeping his bored, apathetic expression on his face but this response only made the little pink haired boy smile.

“is it a girl? do you have a girlfriend?”

suddenly, choso could feel the heat rising up in his cheeks, now having a flustered expression. a complete turnaround from his usual appearance.

“no, it isn’t a girl—it…it’s just a couple numbers.” choso was stumbling over his words, trying his hardest not to sound embarrassed by the sudden question.

“do you like her?”

choso sighed, realizing that yuji wasn’t letting up. hiding the truth wasn’t much of an option anymore. the male would smile a bit at his little brother and ruffle his hair gently.

“listen. we have a lot in common and she’s really pretty…i just don’t have the time for a relationship. i have to take care of you, i have work, and i have appointments. you know my anxiety is really bad.” choso rambled. “i’m always nervous about this stuff and—”

“choso?”

“huh? yes?”

“calm down.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

⋆｡࿇ ·࣭࣪̇˖ 𖦹°༅༚

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dhrubajjj · 8 months

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pomefiore pirates/seven au!

pomefiore had a super vague theme in my mind compared to the other 2 dorms i've done, regal and fancy, which doesn't give me much to work with. surprisingly so far they're my favorite of the bunch i've designed and feel pretty coordinated which was what i wanted.

more under cut (i figured out how to do it + got a lil rambly)

vil -> he took me the longest to design and is the one i'm least pleased with out of the three of them, if i changed anything it'd be his top, that is the main thing that bothers me. but putting that aside i wanted to keep his regal 'i'm better than you' vibe hes kinda got, his dress (cape?) thing drags behind him and is made of raven feathers which is a reference to the evil queen's pet raven. his design was pulled heavily from his dorm uniform which is one of the things that bothers me but overall he looks cute.

he's more of a singer than an actor in this au since i don't think as a sea fairing pirate theres gonna be too many people wanting you to act in their plays. vil tends to work at the mostro lounge at times, either to repay a favor or for his own benefit, singing songs and sometimes when the mostro lounge puts on a performance he'll play a part in it too.

ortho has taken an interest in vil and the two chat whenever they're both there, mainly when idia just meets up with azul to play their games, but the two of em have become friendly. vil teaches ortho how to sing or act and ortho pays attention (drama club canon wow)

rook -> his design was based on his masquerade outfit which made my job super easy. the leather armor, or protection, on his left arm is the protect his arm from the drawstring of his bow whenever he shoots which was a fun bit to add. his collection of vials and the bottle on his belt i took from his science clubwear, then there's his hat, the black feather on his hat is actually a raven feather from vil's outfit.

i can imagine rook showing up to every one of vils performances at the mostro lounge cuz that's just how he is. floyd hates him, whenever rook shows up at the lounge its hard to find floyd which only spurs rook to harass floyd further even if his actions are motivated by curiosity.

i think how rook went from being apart of savannaclaw crew to pomefiore probably went like a couple of fights, vil threatens to kill him and then rook is just like "wow!!!!!! beaute!!" then he joins them or smth ill figure it out

epel -> another easy one since he has a masquerade outfit, his scarf and socks were made by his grandma before he joined vils crew. his design is pretty simple compared to the rest of them but i like it, the tassel on his belt is from his dorm uniform and the gloves were taken from his masquerade outfit. i pulled his hair into a half ponytail hairstyle(?) which just clicked w/ me.

epel does a lot of the heavy work around the ship despite being oh so small and while he doesn't mind going to the mostro lounge it isn't his favorite place. i can see it being too fancy for his taste.

anyways 3/7 dorms done! i might do ramshackle for funsies but characters like the staff and other students/family depends on my mood.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst art #dhrubajj art #twst fanart #disney twst #seven seas au #pirate au #vil #vil schoenheit #rook #rook hunt #epel #epel felmier #vil twst #epel twst #rook twst #pomefiore

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 11 months

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Something There (Chapter 3)

7.1k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, some angst, putting the "enemies" in "enemies-to-lovers", some sexual references, more childish arguments between adults who clearly want each other

Series Masterlist

“Oi! Coach Buck! Need a hand?”

“Thanks Jamie.” I smiled as I handed my duffel bag to a smiling Jamie Tartt. Just as I was about to ask where he got his adorable headband a gruff voice barked out-

“Whistle!”

With a groan, I turned my attention to the middle of the parking lot, which was full of Whippets and Greyhounds, who, up until a moment ago, were mingling and chattering as they loaded their luggage onto the two team buses. In the center of it all stood Rebecca, still managing to look like an absolute goddess in her ponytail and activewear that probably cost more than I could ever afford, and Roy, standing like a drill sergeant in a black tracksuit, scowling at everyone. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was just angry to be in a parking lot at six in the morning with two professional soccer teams who were acting more like teens going on an overnight trip. But, knowing Roy Kent, that was just his stupid, rugged face.

Rebecca plastered on a smile as everyone turned in their direction. “Thank you, Roy,” she hummed. She turned to the two teams. “Good morning, all!” Everyone called back either mumbled or enthusiastic greetings- nothing in between, although I did notice that most people seemed excited. “Right, so thank you all for being on time. We are just about ready to head on out. But we thought, in the spirit of this weekend, that we shouldn’t all be on our separate buses. Instead, you will be seated with someone from the other team, Greyhounds and Whippets.” There was a pleased buzz among the players. “Just a way to start getting to know each other and becoming that united Richmond community I know we can be.” With those last words, her eyes pointed meaningfully at Roy and then me.

It was all a bit embarrassing. There was no secret at Nelson Road that the reason for the “First Annual Pre-Season Retreat” was because of us. It had become something of a joke. Someone even tried to start calling us “lovebirds” after Rebecca’d screamed at us in the hallway, but Roy had very quickly put a stop to that with just a growl. Of course, no one could stop Lucas from making those same jokes to me in private as we watched Lust Conquers All at my place.

“So, Whippets, you’ll report to your dear Coach Lucas-” Rebecca pointed at Lucas, who stood between the buses holding a drawstring bag. “-and you’ll pull out the name of one of the Greyhounds. Once you have your seat partner, you can start climbing aboard.” She offered me that same tight smile she’d had that day in her office after she screamed at Roy and me. “Coach Buck, why don’t you lead by example?”

Praying my blush wasn’t as bright as it felt, I made my way to Lucas, who looked suspiciously chipper as I dipped my hand into the bag. I felt around the papers before grabbing one, praying I’d get Jamie, or Dani, or Sam, or Nate, literally anyone but-

“Roy Kent,” I read flatly, narrowing my eyes at the still-grinning Lucas. “This thing’s fucking rigged,” I grumbled.

“Of course it’s rigged,” confirmed Rebecca, who I hadn’t realized had moved towards the buses. “You two are the whole reason we’re here in the first place. Now on you go.” She gestured towards the Whippets’ bus. “Any two seats as long as they’re together.” She turned to Lucas. “Go ahead and put the real papers in, please.”

I watched with utmost betrayal (and a little admiration) as Lucas emptied out the bag- which I now realized was full of papers just bearing Roy’s name- and filled it with fresh pages, which held the names of people I’d actually want to sit with.

Roy, whose pained expression probably matched my own, scowled down at me as we headed towards the bus doors. “You don’t get fucking carsick, do you?”

“Nope.” What the fuck?

He nodded. “Good. We’re sitting in the back. Dunno about your team, but mine’s annoying as fuck on road trips, and I want to be as far away from them as possible.” He stomped up the steps, not bothering to glance back to see if I was following him. I let out a deep breath and adjusted my backpack on my shoulder.

When I stepped onto the bus, Roy was already sitting in the very back, arms crossed and eyes focused on the window. Because, obviously, he took the window seat. With a huff, I plopped down next to him, stuffing my backpack between my feet.

“Coach! Can we sit with you?” Jamie had stepped onto the bus, followed by Kira, the Whippets’ newly dubbed captain.

“No!” Roy barked, rolling his eyes.

Despite Roy’s answer, Jamie and Kira sat down in front of us, with Jamie assuring Kira that Coach Kent was just joking. He turned and sat up on his knees to look over the seats at us while the rest of the bus filled up.

“Coach, can we roast marshmallows tonight?”

Roy looked comically disgusted, either by Jamie’s suggestion or the simple fact that the striker was talking to him. “Fuck no.” He turned back to the window.

Jamie pouted and turned his attention to me. “Coach Buck would let us roast marshmallows, wouldn’t ya, Coach?”

“That’s more Rebecca’s call, she’s the one planning this thing,” I reminded him. “Besides, did you even bring marshmallows?”

“Oh, no.”

With a grunt, Roy looked back at us. “Then this is a fucking pointless conversation, isn’t it?”

Jamie lit up again. “Sam brought the marshmallows, actually. I was in charge of chocolate.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed at his player before he looked back at me. “’m taking a fucking nap. If I wake up with a dick Sharpied on my face, I will make sure to find a lake to throw all of your clothes into.”

“I’d be doing you a favor,” I muttered like a child, folding my arms and slouching. “A dick on your face would distract from what a dick you are.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted us. In unison, we looked up to see Rebecca, eyebrow arched as she gazed down at us. Fuck, that was the exact face my mom would make when she had to pick me up in the principal’s office.

“Jamie, could you keep an eye on the gaffers here? Make sure there’s no fighting?”

The striker nodded earnestly, clearly intent taking his job seriously. “You got it, boss.”

Next to me, Roy snorted. “What, you don’t want to do babysit us yourself?”

“Oh, no,” Rebecca scoffed. “I’ll be on the other bus. I am not subjecting myself to the two of you for the next two hours.” With that, she whipped around and strutted off the bus, offering us a teasing wave before climbing down the stairs.

I slumped further down in my seat, determined not to look at Roy for what I knew would be the longest two hours of my life.

Roy wasn’t sure how long he’d been napping. He just knew that when he opened his eyes, there were trees everywhere, the sky was overcast, the players had finally stopped singing Taylor Swift songs, and someone’s head was on his shoulder.

He looked down out of the corner of his eyes. Her eyes were closed, and her eyebrows were scrunched, and the way her lips twitched made Roy wonder what she could be dreaming about. Him? She’d probably say that was a fucking nightmare.

A small, idiotic part of Roy wanted her to stay there, close to him. Wrapping an arm around her was almost fucking tempting, especially when she shifted closer and he caught a whiff of- was that lavender? Fuck, why did she always smell nice? Another part of him- the logical part, he assured himself- wanted to wake her up by shoving her off of himself and chastising her for drooling on him.

But the part of him that didn’t want Jamie fucking Tartt to narc on him decided just to pretend he was still napping and sit up a little, gently, so that she would slowly wake up, realize how fucking close she was to him, and get the fuck off of him. So, that was what Roy did.

Sure enough, as soon as he shifted, her eyes fluttered open. Quickly, she pulled herself away from Roy, checking that he was still asleep- or at least appeared so. Relieved to see his eyes closed, she turned her face towards the aisle, hoping none of the players had seen her admittedly embarrassing moment.

That stupid part of Roy missed her warmth.

After a bit, figuring she wouldn’t suspect a thing, Roy pretended to wake up, wondering why he fucking cared so much going through all this trouble to save her the embarrassment of being caught using his shoulder as a pillow.He glanced over at her; as if she could feel his gaze, she turned in his direction, her cheeks growing in color the moment their eyes met.

“Don’t worry,” she hummed, cool as ever. “Didn’t draw a dick on you. Couldn’t find my Sharpie.”

Instead of the small chuckle that grew in his chest, Roy gave a little grunt of acknowledgement before pressing his forehead to the cool window, not sure what he’d do if he kept looking at her, in those leggings and that cozy-looking fleece jacket with the little Whippets logo embroidered right over her heart. He spent the rest of the bus ride sitting like that, watching the trees whizz by, listening as Jamie turned around and engaged her in an animated conversation about the places she’d visited in England so far, with both of them giggling when Jamie mentioned that club. Roy’s ears grew white-hot as he remembered that night when all three of them were there. Fucking idiot.

What if he’d been in a good mood that night? If he’d smiled and helped a pretty stranger order her drink? If he’d asked where she was from and discovered she was American? If he inquired about what brought her to England and discovered who she was? Hell, what if he’d done his homework and read the damn report Keeley had written? He’d have recognized her immediately and probably put in the effort to introduce himself. Maybe even bought her that drink, welcome her to Richmond. And they’d smile at each other at work and have pleasant conversations and chat as they ran on the treadmills at the end of the day and share the Dog Track like mature adults and maybe one day, down the road, Roy would ask what she was up to some weekend and if she would maybe be interested in-

Nope. Nope. Shut the fuck up, Roy. Just keep staring at the fucking trees.

When the bus finally arrived at the campground, Roy did some quick math, and realized they’d napped together for about forty minutes. Forty minutes of her sleeping with her head on his shoulder, their faces just centimeters away from each other without anyone shouting or arguing.

Not that it fucking mattered.

Everyone loaded off the buses, chattering excitedly. Finding a good opportunity to put some space between them after the too-close bus ride, Roy helped unload the luggage from the Whippets’ bus, relishing the chance to throw Jamie’s bright pink leather duffel bag in his face.

Once everyone had their belongings, Rebecca waved to get everyone’s attention, projecting her voice in a way that impressed even the gaffers. “Right then. So, we have just a short trek to the cabins. Ladies will be one way, gentlemen the other, and coaches-” The coaching staff perked up. “We’ll be in the middle.”

Roy threw his head back as Rebecca warned the players against turning the weekend into the Olympic Village, which caused more than a few Greyhounds to pout. All of the coaches would be sharing a cabin? More of this co-ed shit? Sharing with anyone would be bad enough, Roy would rather sleep on the fucking bus than have to listen to Coach Beard’s snoring, but having to spend his weekend sleeping in the same room as-

“You know you’re in the way.”

“Fucking seriously?” He turned around and glared at the coach as she adjusted her duffel bag on her shoulder, ponytail bouncing like she was in a fucking shampoo commercial. “There’s an entire fucking forest. Just fucking go around me.”

Jamie Tartt clicked his tongue as he walked by. “Careful, you two, or I’ll have to tell Rebecca you’re bickerin’ again.”

“Fuck off, Tartt,” Roy grumbled, just as Coach Buck muttered, “Can it, Jamie.” The two coaches blinked at one another before following the group along the path, neither of them saying anything more as they walked side by side.

“Bunk beds. Of course it’s fucking bunk beds.” Roy Kent scowled and dropped his bag on the cabin floor, right in front of the doorway.

“Seriously, Kent?” I groaned, glaring down at his stupid duffel bag. “Move your fucking bag.”

He rolled his eyes, but nevertheless Roy picked his bag back up and moved further into the cabin. I followed him in, tossing my own bag onto the closest bunk I could find. Slowly the other coaches and Rebecca filed in, all carrying their luggage.

Sitting on one of the bottom bunks, Roy scowled. “Any chance I’m allowed to sleep outside and hope a fucking badger mauls me?”

Before I could second that idea, Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Roy, I will assign you and your shit knee to a top bunk if you don’t watch it. Besides,” she continued, “just think of this as one big sleepover. We’ll stay up late, tell ghost stories, share our deepest secrets, and drink the booze I know Coach Beard has in his backpack.”

“Moonshine always makes me feel better when I’m feeling a little homesick,” Beard explained, winking in my direction. I grinned back.

“Right,” Rebecca hummed. “Well, we are all meeting in that big open space once we’re settled in.” She checked her watch. “Doctor Sharon should be arriving soon.”

Nate lit up as he unzipped his suitcase. “Doctor Sharon’s coming?”

Rebecca nodded. “She’ll be running this weekend basically. She’s kind enough to drive back and forth to be with us.”

“We could’ve just driven back and forth?” Roy groaned, throwing his head back. “Fuck!”

I scoffed as Lucas tossed his own bag on the bunk above mine. “You really think Rebecca’d give us that option?”

“No one fucking asked you,” he mumbled, loud enough that only we could hear.

Lucas gripped my shoulders and steered me towards the doors. “Why don’t we head on out before Rebecca schedules you two some couple’s counseling, hmm?”

About thirty minutes later, both teams were assembled in the amphitheater behind the coaches’ cabin, listening as Doctor Sharon explained what the weekend would consist of.

“… and I did make sure to schedule time for team-building games,” she was saying, which was rewarded with a giant whoop from Isaac McAdoo. “Now, there will be a block of time in the afternoons where you’re able to train with your coaches-” She gestured towards us. “-and I will be set up to meet with anyone who just needs to talk one-on-one during that time.”

My eyes wandered as Doctor Sharon continued to talk about the small groups we’d all been assigned to. It was almost impressive to see the Greyhounds pay such attention; they could be absolute toddlers sometimes with all that energy, but apparently something about Doctor Sharon commanded their respect and attention. She and I had only said hello a couple of times, but already I liked her no-nonsense attitude.

As I continued looking around, a pair of brown eyes locked with mine across the amphitheater. Fucking Roy Kent, making me spend my weekend here, I thought with an instinctive scowl, which was quickly returned by the bearded man.

“Hey,” Lucas hissed as he elbowed me. “Stop undressing that man with your eyes. I don’t care about how much you want to run your hands through his chest hair and let him have his way with you. You are in public, Bucky.”

I broke the staring contest to gape at Lucas. “Quit saying shit like that! Someone’s going to fucking hear you one of these days.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly a huge secret. Everyone knows you two want to shag.” He loved using British slang now, especially when he was being obnoxious. “Well, except maybe you two.”

“Luke, I swear to-”

“So, go ahead and get into your groups,” Doctor Sharon was saying. “And we’ll start our ice breaker.”

Lucas stood and pulled me up with him. “Gee, I wonder who’s in your group.”

“Bite me,” I grumbled as I left him to walk over to Dani, who I knew was in my small group based on the lists Rebecca had given everyone.

“Hola, Coach Bucky!” he greeted with that dazzling smile. “I am so excited that we are in the same group for this weekend!”

I couldn’t help but return his infectious grin. “It’ll be fun,” I agreed. Of course, I immediately regretted my words when Roy strode over to us, already frowning.

“Can’t believe we’re in the same fucking group,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Really?” I scoffed as Kira, Olivia, one of my defenders, and a couple more Greyhounds- Colin Hughes and Richard Montlaur- strolled over. “You think Rebecca wouldn’t use this as an opportunity to punish us even more?”

He only growled in response, which I’d realized was his way of admitting that I was right about something without actually telling me I was right. Fucking idiot. Against my will, Lucas had given me the lowdown on Roy Kent’s romantic history; how the hell did he get models and actresses to sleep with him? He was so damn weird.

Okay, well he had been a successful soccer player and was a pretty solid coach now. Which meant he was famous. And probably pretty wealthy. And obviously in shape. And I could see how some people would think he was attractive in a rugged, lumberjack kind of way way. And even I had to admit that there was something kind of sexy about that growling way he spoke-

Realizing I was staring at Roy still, I turned my attention to the players who’d joined us. “Hey Colin, how ya doing?”

He nodded. “Good, good. Just kind of cold.” He rubbed his bare arms.

Before I could point out his lack of jacket, Doctor Sharon called for everyone’s attention. “Right. Just to start things off simply, we are going to play Human Knot. It’s a great way to practice cooperation and communication. So, please, circle up, grab hands, and, well, you know the rest.”

Our group did as we were told, quickly thrusting our hands into the center and grabbing whoever we could. The next few minutes were full of tugging and climbing over arms and ducking under arms. Despite Roy’s growling, I found myself having fun, laughing with the players as we tried to solve our self-made puzzle, determined to be the first group finished. It wasn’t until we were nearly done that I realized whose hand was holding in my left.

“Whoo! Bucky!” Lucas called across the field as my group spread out into a perfect circle, finished with our game.

Roy’s eyes were fixed on our joined hands, a scowl on his bearded face. I wondered if my hand was warm in his, like his felt in mine. Not that it mattered; the moment Doctor Sharon declared our team the winners of the game, he yanked his hand out of mine, nearly ripping my arm off in the process.

“Dick,” I hissed, rubbing my now sore shoulder.

“Priss,” he shot back, rolling his eyes.

“How are we doing here, coaches?” Rebecca, who’d appeared with the stealth of a ninja, clapped her hands on our shoulders, beaming at us with scrutiny behind her eyes, daring either of us to complain.

In unison, we both plastered on fake smiles and chirped, “Great!”

When everyone was dismissed for lunch, Roy watched as she waved goodbye to everyone except him, then went on her merry way to Lucas so they could walk to the dining hall together, hating the feeling he got in his stomach as he watched her figure stroll away.

It was the longest fucking morning of Roy Kent’s life. He’d had to play childish icebreaker games, do a fucking relay race that killed his knee, and sit in some fucking hippie circle talking about what it means to be a good listener or some shit. Worst of all, he had to do all of it while trying not to stare at the only other coach in his group.

“How’s it going?”

Because this was shaping up to also be the worst day of Roy Kent’s life, Jamie had appeared at Roy’s side; Roy wondered if the striker had caught him staring at the Whippets’ manager.

When Roy only grunted in response, Jamie continued talking as the two men began walking. “Boy, you really got it bad for Coach Buck, don’t ya?”

Roy stopped in his tracks, fists clenched at his side. “The fuck did you just say?”

Jamie cocked his head. “Coach Buck. You like her, right?” Receiving no answer, Jamie shrugged and kept walking; Roy reluctantly followed suit. “I mean, I don’t blame ya. She’s mad fit and smart and obviously likes football and she’s the only person I’ve ever seen get under your skin more than I do.”

“I don’t fucking like her,” Roy spat, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear Jamie’s lunacy. “Can’t fucking stand her, actually. And the feeling’s mutual so don’t worry about me hurting her fucking feelings.”

A small O formed on Jamie’s lips. “Oh fuck, you’re in complete denial then? Shit, I thought you were just trying to keep it a secret until you figured out how she feels.” He patted his coach’s back. “Let me know when you realize you fancy her so we can have a proper chat, yeah?”

Not bothering to wait for Roy’s inevitably expletive-filled answer, Jamie jogged ahead, slowing down so he could walk backwards while chatting with a trio of Whippets.

Finally alone, Roy sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. You’re in complete denial then? Fucking Jamie Tartt, he really was stupider than he looked. Roy didn’t like her; on the contrary, he thought she was the most infuriating person he’d ever met. So fucking argumentative. He’d yet to have an actual conversation with her; how was he supposed to tolerate her, let alone like her?

Roy didn’t like her. Roy didn’t like her. Roy didn’t like her. Roy didn’t fucking like-

“Coach Kent.” Doctor Sharon offered a small smile as she approached him. “Mind if I walk with you?”

Roy cleared his throat and his mind. “That’s fine.” He bobbled his head from side to side. “Can’t believe they got you to drive up here for this shit.”

Doctor Sharon’s smile became a smirk. “Can’t believe you’re the reason for ‘this shit’, as you call it.”

“Oh no, not you too,” Roy groaned, throwing his head back. “Listen, I’m fucking sorry everyone has to give up their weekend, but come on, we all know Rebecca was the one who came up with this idea, fucking blame her.” He shrugged. “She could’ve just sent us to go do some fucking mediation with you and be done with it.”

The doctor shook her head. “Roy, this is about more than the two of you. This is about two teams becoming a community. It’s something Ms. Welton feels quite strongly about. She wants the Whippets to be successful, and she thinks having the Greyhounds in their corner is a key part of that. You can understand that, right?”

Roy shrugged. “Fucking guess so,” he mumbled as they approached the dining hall.

“And it doesn’t help things when her two managers are at each other’s throats all the time, does it?” Doctor Sharon asked pointedly.

“No,” Roy admitted with a defeated sigh as they joined the line for food.

Once they’d loaded their trays with whatever food Roy couldn’t be bothered to try to identify, Roy heard someone call his name. When he turned, he saw Coach Lucas waving at him from a table with all the coaches and Rebecca; only one of them looked annoyed at the sight of him.

“Come on, then,” Doctor Sharon said as she nudged Roy. “Good opportunity for you two to practice being civil.”

Roy reluctantly followed Doctor Sharon to the coaches’ table, grunting as they were greeted. Internally, he groaned when he realized he was sitting directly across from the Americans.

While everyone ate, Roy did his best to focus on Beard sitting to his right, he really did. But he kept feeling his gaze shift across the table, where he’d catch glimpses of her smiling, laughing, joking. He especially hated the way his eyes lingered on her mouth when she sipped her water through the straw of her water bottle; even without her red lipstick, he couldn’t help the way his eyes continually settled there, wondering if those lips were as soft as they looked.

“Roy? Did you hear what I said?”

Blinking and praying to whatever deity was listening that no one had caught him ogling, Roy turned to look at Nate on Beard’s other side. “What?”

Nate leaned forward. “Rebecca was telling us about a nearby field we can use for training. D’you want me to go ahead and set up cones to make the pitch?”

Roy nodded. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

The lips he really wished were out of his eyeline started moving. “You want some help Nate?” Her eyes flickered to Roy for a brief moment. “We’ll be using it too, after all.”

“That would be lovely, thanks Coach!” Nate beamed and picked up his plate. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes returned to Roy as she grabbed her plate. She stood up and stared at him for a moment, head slightly tilted. It was an unreadable stare, one that didn’t hold her usual fiery anger. It was a look that made Roy’s stupid heart flutter for a brief moment.

Of course, she couldn’t know the effect she had on him. Fuck no. So, he let his eyes narrow at her suspiciously, much to the chagrin of an observant Doctor Sharon and the amusement of a perceptive Coach Beard, and was rewarded with an exasperated eyeroll.

“You’ve got fucking spaghetti sauce on your shirt, Kent,” she huffed.

Roy didn’t check his shirt until she had turned on her heel, put her plate in a stack of dirty dishes by the kitchen, and strutted out of the dining hall with Nate right behind her. It was only once she was out of sight that Roy looked down at his chest, where a small splatter of red stained the bright blue of his Richmond jacket, right above his stupid, stupid heart.

Fuck.

As much as Rebecca wanted to torture us that weekend, she still wanted winning teams. So, after Doctor Sharon’s presentation on “healthy communication methods” (during which Roy Kent communicated his annoyance by healthily glaring at me pretty much the whole time), the teams were dismissed to go to the pitch Nate and I had set up.

“Oi.”

I turned away from Lucas, who’d been asking about our warm up. Roy towered over me, his fingers twitching slightly as he stared at me. He looked like the slightest movement would spook him, so I simply raised my eyebrows to let him know I was listening.

He cleared his throat. “If you want, we can work on the north half of the pitch. You can have the shade.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lucas’s jaw drop slightly. It was hard to blame him; Roy Kent was speaking to me civilly. Even worse, he was offering to do something nice. Nate had to have put him up to it. Or Beard. Hell, knowing Rebecca, she’d probably threatened him into it.

Not that I was going to turn it down.

“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. Lucas nudged me sharply. “Thanks,” I quietly added.

“Hmmph.” With a curt nod, Roy headed to the north side of the field, where, with an earsplitting “Whistle!”, he gathered his team.

Lucas blew his actual, physical whistle and had Kira lead the Whippets in warming up. With the team occupied, he turned to me. “Well, wasn’t that sweet,” he hummed, waggling his eyebrows.

Eyes glued to my players, I scoffed. “It was the least he could do, considering how we landed here in the first place. Besides, everyone’s chomping at the bit to rat on us if we start fighting. He’s probably just trying to make it look like he’s the bigger person.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Lucas laughed, turning his attention back to the team. “But hey, stay in denial, that’s fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you wake up in that man’s bed someday.”

The punch that landed on his arm would end up leaving a bruise that lasted for several days.

On the bright side, at least my assistant coach shut up and focused on practice. Sharing the field proved a bit difficult, but I found solace in the fact that Roy Kent was suffering just as much, having to pause when one of our balls ended up on their side or realizing he didn’t have enough space for a certain drill. As the afternoon came to a close, I blew my whistle and called my team over.

“Great job, all,” I declared. “I know it wasn’t our normal practice, so I really appreciate your patience.” I glanced at my watch. “You’ve got about forty minutes til dinner, so you’ve got some free time. Shower, rest. Don’t forget Doctor Sharon’s available, too.”

Kira Malone spoke up. “Actually, Coach, we’re staying out here for a bit. You’re welcome to watch if you want.”

Lucas and I exchanged looks. “Okay,” I said slowly, trying not to show my confusion.

The Whippets stayed on the field, kicking around a couple of balls. It took a moment, but I realized they were watching the Greyhounds; no, they were waiting for the Greyhounds. The moment Roy dismissed the men, they jogged over to the women, and everyone began chattering excitedly.

“What the hell are they doing?” Lucas whispered as we planted ourselves on the grass.

I shrugged. “No clue.”

Each team lined up at one end of the field, everyone looking exhilarated, bouncing on their heels and smiling. Nate strolled over to us, holding a ball in his hands.

“You two staying to watch?”

Lucas tilted his head. “What exactly are we staying to watch, Nathan?”

A knowing grin spread across the assistant coach’s face. “Oh. You’ll see. Isaac and Kira had the idea during lunch.” He turned and walked to the center circle, where he placed the ball as if a game were about to begin. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Roy and Beard standing by the goal post, watching with just as much interest and muttering to one another.

When Nate, who’d moved off the field, blew his whistle, Isaac and Kira, who were first in line, sprinted forward, racing towards the ball. Kira reached it first and began making her way towards the men’s goal; Isaac managed to steal and ball and take it the other direction. After a bit of back and forth, Isaac scored, eliciting thunderous cheers from both sides. Lucas and I exchanged glances. What the heck?

Colin Hughes and Cheri Willis competed next. Then Sam Obisanya and Sandra Finley. On and on. Eventually, every player had ran up to the ball and had a little one-on-one with a member of the other team. When Kira and Isaac ended up at the front of the line again, both lines rushed forward and, keeping their lines, exchanged giggly high-fives- as if they were children after an AYSO game instead of professional athletes.

As the players mingled and laughed, Beard and Nate made their way over to us; Roy followed, keeping his usual distance.

“Did you guys know about that?” Beard asked, eyebrows raised over his sunglasses.

We shook our heads. “You?”

Nate perked up. “Isaac told me about it during training. I guess during lunch one of the Whippets mentioned how much she liked doing playing that after practices as a kid, everyone thought it sounded like fun.” His smile turned thoughtful. “That looked like a blast for them. I had fun just watching them,” he added.

“Me too.” We all turned; there was Rebecca, watching us with an amused grin. “That is what this weekend is about.” She pointed to the players, who were beginning to make their way to cabins and showers, laughter on their lips and springs in their steps. “Respect. Collaboration. Community.” She eyed me and Roy, who’d slowly made his way over once he’d caught sight of Rebecca. “Something we could all learn, hmm?”

Roy and I turned our gazes to one another; I could tell he was trying just as hard as I was not to narrow or roll his eyes, or let out an annoyed huff, or make a snarky comment. We both knew Rebecca was waiting for us to surrender and call a truce. Maybe even pay a compliment about each other’s coaching. Hell, just a mutual nod of agreement would be enough. Just offer her some glimmer of hope that the entire season wouldn’t be all bickering and screaming.

But neither of us was willing to yield first.

“Gonna go take a fucking shower,” Roy mumbled, turning and following the players back up towards the cabin, his head ducked downward, as if he felt the same embarrassment I felt. I wondered if he was also asking himself, Why is this so fucking hard?

Roy banged the back of his head repeatedly against the cabin wall. This was stupid. Childish. A fucking waste of time. And he wasn’t positive, but he thought it might be a human rights violation.

Despite the players’ little game and Rebecca’s “one happy family” moment after training, they’d found a new opportunity to argue: Roy had left his towel hanging from the wrong bunk. And of course, that was a fucking problem. Because everything was a fucking problem, apparently.

“Alright, I’m done!” Coach Beard scolded, reminding Roy more of an exasperated father than an assistant coach. “You two, with me.”

The still seething managers reluctantly followed Beard along the dirt path to a small cabin, more of a shed really, filled with tools and gardening equipment. Beard opened the door and gestured for them to go inside.

“Excuse me?” she had squeaked as Roy grumbled, “What the fuck, Beard?”

With an eerie calmness that made Roy’s blood go cold, Beard nodded towards the shed. “Go inside. Do not come out until you figure out how to get along. Or you’ve banged this thing out of your systems. Or one of you is dead. At this point I don’t care.”

“I doubt Rebecca’d be okay with this,” Coach Buck tried, clearly as desperate as Roy not to go inside the shed. “Or Doctor Sharon.”

Coach Beard laughed in their faces. “Do you two really want Rebecca to know you’re fighting again?”

Fucking Beard. He had a point.

So now Roy sat on the floor of a fucking storage shed, with no light but a bare bulb above them, trying to stay in his little personal space bubble as best he could, trying not to flinch every time their knees bumped, each tiny touch sending Roy’s heart into overdrive.

“Can’t believe I’m missing the fucking s’mores to sit in a shed with you,” she sighed, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the same wall Roy was trying to kill himself on.

Roy snorted. “Really? You’re upset over marshmallows? That’s the most American shit I’ve ever heard. And I played for fucking Lasso.”

She tilted her head towards him, the soft light on her face making his chest tighten almost painfully. “Yeah, Kent. I’m upset over fucking marshmallows.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m missing a bonding experience with my team, idiot. You’ve coached the Greyhounds for what, three years now? And you played with most of those guys, right?” She wiped some dirt off her knee, brushing his knee as she did. “I’m still getting to know my players. Earning their trust. And I’m missing an opportunity to spend time with them off the field because I have to sit in this shed with you.”

There was a heavy silence as Roy took in her words. She was always pointing out the differences between their experiences; he was experienced, she was new, he was home, she was an outsider, he was a man, she was a woman.

Of course, when she was feeling particularly feisty, she’d also remind him that she was an Olympic champion. Which he was not.

To his surprise, she broke the silence. “Tell me about Lasso.”

Roy furrowed his brow and stared at her. “What?”

“Ted Lasso.” She shrugged. “You all keep talking about the guy. This American manager who got Roy Kent to actually tolerate him.” She narrowed her eyes, a hint of playfulness behind them this time. “Kind of curious how he managed that.”

The snort that came out of Roy’s nose surprised them both. “Dunno. He fucking wore me down with how fucking kind he is. Made me fucking soft. Wanker.”

She nodded. “So, if I’m aggressively nice, you’ll stop rolling your eyes every time I walk into the room?”

“Maybe.” Roy didn’t bother to stop the corner of his mouth from tugging upwards. “You’ve got to be real fucking annoying about it, though.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Everyone knows you think I’m annoying as fuck already.”

Both coaches let out breathy chuckles, each thinking about how silly, and ridiculous, and stupid this whole thing was. They were fucking adults, after all. Professionals. They both wanted to lead their teams to victory; and, if they were being honest, both wanted the same for the other coach’s team.

So why the fuck were they in a fucking shed in the middle of the woods?

Roy took a shaky breath, not sure where he was going with this. “It’s impressive, you know,” he murmured. “The whole moving to a new country to start a new team shit. Don’t know how you did it.”

Even in the dim glow of the lone bulb, he could see her face tint pink. “It’s kind of fucking scary,” she admitted softly. “But it’s also kind of the coolest shit I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah,” Roy agreed, shouldering her playfully, amazed by his own actions. “Even I have to admit, it’s pretty fucking impressive.” He bobbled his head and rolled his eyes. “Almost as impressive as an Olympic gold medal.”

He liked the sheepish grin she shot him. It looked good on her. “Alright, I might bring that up a lot. But no one gets mad at Michael Phelps for talking about his.”

“That bastard has, like a million of them,” Roy laughed, feeling his shoulders relax for the first time since he’d walked into the changing room on her first day. “But I guess you have a fucking point. It’s impressive,” he repeated.

“You know what’ll be really impressive?”

Instinctively, Roy leaned closer, not caring if she noticed the way his eyes flickered down to her mouth, still gorgeous even without that red lipstick. “Hmm?”

Her raised eyebrows told him that if she noticed, she didn’t mind. “When both of our teams win the whole fucking thing at the end of this year.”

“I hate to break it to you, but Chelsea did that a few years ago,” Roy informed her.

“So? Fuck Chelsea.” She was completely grinning now, a sight Roy couldn’t believe was all his to witness, rather than stealing a glimpse of a smile meant for someone else. “We’re fucking Richmond. You guys are, like, perennial underdogs, and we’re a brand-new team led by an American. That’s some fairy tale shit.”

Roy nodded softly. “Fairy tale shit,” he repeated. “I like it.”

Before Roy could do something about the warm feeling in his chest that he hoped she was also having, there was a buzzing noise coming from her pocket. With a frown, she pulled out her mobile, clearing her throat as she glanced at it. Unable to help himself, his eyes flickered to the screen, where he saw fucking George Willows’s name above a text message.

“Guess I finally got a fucking signal out here,” she joked, locking her phone and darkening the screen. She looked back at Roy. “So, fairy tale shit?”

Roy leaned back, putting distance between them again- physical and metaphorical. “It’ll be a good season,” he said bluntly, ending whatever moment he decided was one-sided. “I’m sure your team’ll do fucking fine.” He paused, finger tapping on his bad knee. “D’you need to text fucking Willows back? Set up an interview or some shit?”

This time, the color on her cheeks wasn’t for Roy. “Oh, yeah. He wants to do some profiles on the Whippets, so we’re setting that up.”

Roy let his head fall back against the wall, wondering how hard he’d have to hit it to give himself a concussion. “Shouldn’t you let Keeley deal with the devil? It’s part of her job.”

She sighed. “He’s not the devil. He’s a nice guy. And I don’t mind helping out.” Smile now completely gone, she frowned at Roy. “And I don’t have to justify myself to you, Kent.”

“No,” he agreed. “Guess you fucking don’t.” He stood as suddenly as his knees would allow, nodding towards the door. “Come on. Let’s just fucking tell Beard we apologized to each other and agreed that ignoring each other is the best course of action.”

“Fine.” She hoisted herself up, slower and more carefully than Roy expected. “Thanks coming up with that idea right now instead of, oh I dunno, an hour ago.”

Not quite looking at Roy, she brushed past him, giving his shoulder a little shove with her own, and threw the door open. Roy stood in the doorway and watched as she walked, not to the campfire, where the sounds of laughter and joking and even singing could be heard, but instead to the coaches’ cabin, her shoulders slumped and head down.

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kinkycurlyyaki · 1 year

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adore-laur · 7 months

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ORANGE SLICES & POCKET LEMONS

— a girl falls for her niece’s charming & flirtatious soccer coach 🍊

——

Amaya's fingertips tap to the beat of an overplayed pop song, her hair whipping from the warm breeze from her car's rolled-down windows.

"Can we get McDonald's?" asks a soft-spoken voice behind her.

She turns the radio's volume down to hear her niece better. "Not today, Willow. I don't want you running on a full stomach. And I thought you ate lunch before I picked you up!"

Willow groans at her logical answer, her head dramatically lulling against the headrest. Amaya reaches back and pinches her knee. "Ow!" she squeals with a pout. "I did eat lunch, but I really want fries."

"We're pulling into the school right now," Amaya says, turning left into the parking lot. "You need to ask me ahead of time."

It's half past noon, and she's dropping her eight-year-old niece off at the local high school's athletic field for her first day of soccer camp. Amaya's sister works long hours at an office, so she happily agreed to take Willow to and from the sessions when needed.

The camp is held three times a week for the entire month of July, and she has no idea what to expect. She doesn't know who the coaches are or what they'll do activity-wise during the two hours each day. All she knows is that Willow looks adorable with her frizzy ponytail, pink shin guards, and matching cleats.

As Amaya pulls into an available parking space, she observes many cars and loitering families. Sticking her thumb's fingernail between her teeth, she nervously bites it. Most people here are probably snobby soccer moms who act above everyone else just because their child can kick a ball. Big whoop. Because of that, she always feels a little out of place in the town she's lived in her entire life, but she doesn't necessarily feel wrong about judging the locals. Her assumptions usually present themselves to be true.

Amaya steps out of the car, walks over to the side where Willow sits, and slides the door open. As she hops out, Amaya grabs what Willow needs from the trunk, including snacks and water bottles in a drawstring backpack, completed registration forms, a regular pair of shoes, and a headband if she needs something to hold her untamed hair back. She passes everything over to Willow, who's trying to break in her new cleats by jumping up and down.

"Ready?" Amaya asks while closing the trunk, knowing Willow has patiently waited for this for weeks.

"I'm ready," she answers excitedly with a crooked smile. "I see where we need to give them my papers."

Willow walks toward the people handing in their registration forms, putting her backpack on with a skip in her step. Amaya shields the sun from her eyes and follows her to the canopy tent. Two men are sitting behind a folding table and attending people, so she guides Willow to the line forming on the right where only a mother and her son stand. The son gets a stamp on his hand and then begins walking to the field with his mother. Amaya can't stay and watch since she has errands to run, but her sister said she trusts the people who run the camp, so she's not too worried about leaving Willow for a short time.

Willow shuffles forward, and Amaya opens her backpack to take out the forms. A man wearing a grey hoodie and a black beanie looks up as he stacks a pile of papers. It's humid out, so she wonders how he's not dying from heat in his outfit.

"Afternoon, ladies," he says in a deep and friendly voice. "I can take those from you."

She hands over the forms, and he gives her a closed-lip smile. He's very handsome, with his clean-shaven face complemented by green eyes that sparkle from the sunlight upon a portion of his face. She subtly glances down and sees athletic shorts adorning his thighs, which are spread slightly on the chair he sits on. Tight compression shorts peek out from under them.

He skims the papers and checks whether Willow's name is on the list of kids who signed up. He then uses a highlighter to mark off her name before throwing a sugary orange slice from a bag next to him into his mouth.

"Nice to meet you, Willow," he says with calm enthusiasm. Willow holds her hand out, and he stamps it gently, the washable ink leaving an outline of a soccer ball on her skin. "I'm Harry, and you'll be in my group today. You can head to the red cones by the furthest soccer goal to warm up and make friends while we get everyone situated."

Amaya peers at Willow and finds her looking up at her eagerly. With a ruffle to her hair, she tells her, "Have fun, okay? I'll see you in a couple of hours."

With that, Willow is off and running toward the field with all her belongings.

"Thank you so much for coming out today," Harry says, resting his elbows on the table. "I'm the head coach for the camp, so if there are any concerns, questions, or emergencies, my phone number and email are listed on our fliers" — he picks one up and offers it to her — "or on our website."

"Perfect," she replies, taking the leaflet from him.

"And what's your name?"

"I'm Amaya, Willow's aunt. Am I all set?"

"All good to go, Amaya. Just so you know, everyone is allowed to stay and watch. There are chairs and bleachers available."

"Oh, cool. I actually have to run some errands, but I'll be able to stay tomorrow." Amaya begins walking away, waving at him. "Have a nice day!"

"You as well!" he calls out, chewing on another orange slice.

On Amaya's drive to the grocery store, the thought of seeing his face several more times throughout the month leaves her with an unexplainable feeling in her stomach.

——

After crossing off all the errands on her list, Amaya arrives back at the high school two hours later. On the way, she decides to get Willow fries from McDonald's, knowing she'll love her forever for it.

Walking to the field, she sees the kids just starting to pack up. She spots Harry, his beanie replaced with a baseball cap turned around on his head. His hoodie is also off, and his white T-shirt is damp with sweat on his body. He has a coach whistle around his neck and a clipboard in his hand, occasionally writing stuff down while chewing gum. Occasionally, a kid will pass him on their way out, and he'll give them a fist bump.

Amaya scans the area and finds Willow trying to remove her cleats. She seems to struggle a bit, huffing in frustration and slapping her hands on her thighs after each failed attempt. A few seconds pass before Harry strolls over to her, handing his clipboard to another coach. He kneels in front of her as his mouth moves to form a question. Amaya can't hear him from where she's standing, but she assumes he's asking Willow if she needs help. She nods defeatedly, and he doesn't hesitate to set one of her cleats on his bent knee, untying the tight laces with ease. He untangles the other one and then stands with a smile. Amaya watches them exchange a couple more words before he gives her a fist bump.

Harry smacks his gum and looks around, quickly recognizing her and pointing so Willow can see. She ungracefully grabs her stuff and begins running toward her, and Harry follows, his hands clasped behind his head. The hem of his shirt rises, and Amaya can't help but let her eyesight drift down to his soft, defined stomach with two tattoos symmetrically inked above the waistband of his shorts. He smiles, maybe even smirks at her, before returning his arms to his sides. She's luckily saved from any further embarrassment since he gets whisked away by a mom nearby.

Amaya clears her throat as her eyes focus on Willow instead. "How was it?" she asks, taking her cleats from her.

"So much fun! I'm tired."

"Good. Your mom will be happy about that."

Willow grabs the container of fries and begins stuffing her face with the salty snack. Amaya laughs before looking up to find Harry returning to them. He's lifting the bottom of his shirt and wiping sweat from his neck. It takes everything in her not to look at his abdomen again.

"Hey," he says through heavy breaths, standing in front of her with his hands on his hips. "Not a very healthy snack to have after physical activity, eh?" he teases, nodding at the fries in Willow's greedy grasp.

"I had some of your orange slices, which are healthy!" Willow says. Amaya is surprised by how comfortable she seems with him already. It fascinates her how kids can befriend just about anybody in a couple hours.

"They're covered in sugar, you maniac!" Harry argues playfully, making Willow giggle.

"Wanna trade?" Willow asks, giving him her best gap-toothed smile and offering him one of her fries.

Harry pretends to mull it over before accepting her offer. His jaw flexes as he chews, and his eyes move to Amaya. He raises his eyebrows and smiles mischievously, flicking his knuckle under his nose.

"Hi," she says eventually, shifting her footing. "It seems like she had a great time. Thank you."

"We had a wonderful time. Right, Willow?" He glances at her, and she nods excitedly.

"I'll be here to drop her off tomorrow. At this point, I'm basically her chauffeur."

Harry laughs, deep dimples appearing. Willow is distracted and talking to a girl her age, leaving Amaya basically alone with him.

"She's delightful," he mentions, bending his knee and stretching it. "Fast learner, too. We had tons of fun today."

"I'll be sure to tell her mom. Speaking of, I should get her home.

"Yeah, of course. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, you will. I think I can stay and watch next time."

"Cool. Have a nice rest of your day, guys." He steps toward Willow and holds his fist out to her. She bumps it while he steals one of her fries and tells her, "Take care, kiddo."

Once they're both back in the car with the air conditioning blasting, Willow says, "I like my coach. He's funny and gives us orange slices. He also told me to tell you to bring an umbrella tomorrow since it might rain."

Amaya's heart skips a beat, her hands tightening around the steering wheel. He said that? Why? It seems odd that he'd go out of his way to prepare her, a mere stranger, for the weather. But she's not going to complain. She has a bad habit of forgetting to check the forecast.

She shakes those thoughts out of her head by turning the radio on and letting lackluster lyrics fill her brain the entire way to her sister's house.

——

On a dreary Wednesday, Amaya drives Willow to her second day of soccer camp.

Her sweatshirt is haphazardly thrown over her body as she impatiently waits for the traffic light to turn green. She was running behind this morning and was only slightly speeding so they could make it to the high school on time. This session is held at nine in the morning instead of the afternoon, so her body is still waking up. She didn't get to make coffee before she left. However, Willow is wide awake, looking out the raindrop-covered window as she practically bounces in her seat.

The town streets are slick as Amaya turns into the parking lot. Thankfully, they're only three minutes late. As she shuts her windshield wipers off, she suddenly remembers forgetting an essential item — an umbrella. She was so rushed to get on the road that she forgot to pack one. It's not raining too hard, and she has a hood, so she'll just have to suffer through it. Maybe a mom will kindly lend her one, but she doubts it. They'll be too worried about their highlighted hair getting drenched.

Amaya and Willow walk to the field after they grab their stuff. Everyone is already warming up — kids are running around, soccer balls are being passed, and fast feet splash in shallow puddles forming on the grass. The rain has now subsided to a sprinkle, but a gloom still dulls the sky.

Coach Harry is easy to identify, obviously being much taller than the kids, but also because he's wearing a multi-colored, retro-esque windbreaker with its hood thrown over his curls. He's holding a clear cup with green liquid while juggling a soccer ball with his feet. She watches his eyes focus entirely on the task below him. There's also another bag of orange slices peeking out from his pocket.

Willow joins her fellow campers, dropping her backpack on the short journey toward Harry. In Amaya's peripheral, she sees a heavily pregnant woman walking past her while holding her daughter's hand. Harry seems to have a sixth sense since his attentive gaze immediately spots the woman. He effortlessly kicks the ball into the nearby goal and then jogs over to her while sipping his drink. The woman waves and sends her daughter off, but not before Harry gives them each a fist bump. They must know each other well because he soon places one hand on her shoulder and the other on her rounded stomach as they converse, laughing and smiling.

Amaya looks away before she gets caught.

Crossing her arms, she centers her attention on Willow, who's kicking a ball back and forth with a boy. She looks like she's in her comfort zone. It'll be nice to watch her today.

It's hard not to notice Harry going down the line of parents, shaking hands and conversing briefly with each one. She realizes she's at the end of the line, and anxiousness transpires. He reaches the person next to her, putting on a charming smile. She can immediately tell that the mom is trying to flirt with him since she's twirling her hair and looking at him like he deserves eternal worship.

Harry smoothly moves the conversation along, waving at the woman before standing in front of Amaya. "Hi!" he says, surprised to see her, reaching his hand out for her to shake.

"Hey, how are you?" she replies, shaking his hand gently.

"Good, good. I'm happy to have you stay this time. The weather's a bit rubbish, but we'll manage."

"Yeah, I forgot my umbrella at home. It's not too bad, though. It could be a downpour, I guess."

"Here, I'll grab mine," he offers, already jogging toward the bleachers and opening a large duffel bag she assumes to be his. He strides back, opens a black umbrella, and hands it to her.

"Thanks," Amaya mumbles shyly.

"Anytime. I'll talk to you after the sessions, yeah?"

"Oh, um, sure." She clears her throat. "By the way, I really like your jacket."

"Thank you. One of the kids said I look like his grandad, so it's nice that someone appreciates it."

"It's very eighties."

"And there's nothing wrong with that, eh?" he says, smiling with his mouth wide open.

She just laughs, not knowing how to respond to his charm.

"All right, I'll leave you be. Behave," Harry tells her with a wink before returning to his group of kids.

With a small sigh, Amaya mentally prepares herself for the next two hours.

——

The kids run to pack up their things when the final whistle is blown, indicating the end of today's activities. The sun had made a glorious appearance about an hour ago, yet the itchy humidity after the rain is making Amaya's forehead and upper lip sweat.

As she's observing Willow gulp down water, the sprinklers on the field suddenly turn on. Every kid gasps and immediately runs back over. The bliss of being that young and carefree is always something Amaya wishes she could experience again.

A few coaches bring out super soakers and spray the kids without warning. An eruption of screams and laughter travels through the air, the scene unfolding lifting the mood of everyone around. Amaya finds Harry curling his fingers in a beckoning motion to sneakily acquire a super soaker from a nearby coach. He catches one before sprinting down the field and blindly spraying behind him. The other coaches toss squirt guns on the field for the kids, and they clamber over each other to get first pickings.

It's absolute chaos, but her cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Willow goes after Harry by spraying his back relentlessly. He dramatically falls to the ground and plays dead, spreading his arms and sticking his tongue out. Willow giggles infectiously, attacking him again while other kids gang up on him. He's crying out in faux pain, acting like they're doing considerable damage. The white shirt that he has on (he took off his windbreaker when the sun came out) is now utterly soaked. It sticks to his abdomen, revealing a dark outline of something there.

Harry eventually stands, holding his hands up in surrender as the kids get distracted by their parents chasing after them. Amaya's breathing becomes shallow when he takes off his shirt—even more so when she sees his tattoos. His body is buff, and his tattooed arms are covered in sweat. Her mind has an impulsive thought of wanting to bite them. Is that too far?

He bends over and shakes his wet hair like a dog. The whistle and gold chain around his neck glimmers from the sun as he looks around, ensuring no one else will attack. He does a double-take when he catches her eyes. Grinning lopsidedly, he salutes her using two fingers. She waves as he heads over to her, grabbing a backpack and water gun, his shorts riding low on his hips. Is that a tattoo on his thigh?

"Am I in the clear?" he whispers, looking behind each of his shoulders as he tucks a water gun in his shorts, but not before flipping it theatrically like he's in a Western movie.

"I would hope so, but they might sneak up on you," Amaya replies, trying to keep her eyes off his body.

"Keep an eye out for me, yeah? It's brutal out here."

"I've got you, don't worry." She smiles. "This was a pleasant way to end the session."

"We try to do fun things for them after they work hard." He twists the bottom of his shirt and wrings it out. "Willow got me good; did you see that? She straight up attacked me!"

Amaya laughs and nods her head. She suddenly remembers that she has his umbrella next to her feet. She picks it up and hands it to him, saying, "Thank you for letting me use this."

"Of course," he says as he takes it. "I'm pretty sure the mothers were jealous of you, by the way."

Her eyebrows twitch in confusion. "What?"

Harry leans in closer. "They constantly flirt with me, and it's so annoying. One lady even squeezed my bicep all sexually."

"I mean, can you blame them?" She pokes his firm bicep. "Look at those muscles."

He bites his lip and smiles widely, looking a little flustered. He then opens his backpack and pulls out a bag filled with candy orange slices. "Want some?" he asks. "I've got a bunch of extra for the kids on their way out."

"I would love some."

"They're my favorite. I love fruit. Do you? What's your favorite fruit? You look like an apple kind of girl. Granny Smith, perhaps?"

"Granny Smith is actually my favorite! Good guess." Harry beams with sparkling eyes before opening the bag of sugary treats and handing it to her. "Thank you kindly, sir," Amaya says as the sky clouds over, a grey gloom suddenly hanging over the field.

"A fair exchange for watching my back," he replies with a wink.

As if on cue, a sneaky Willow comes up behind Harry, and before Amaya can warn him, she unexpectedly sprays her. "Willow!" she shrieks, mouth open in shock. "You're supposed to get Harry, not me!"

"Hey," Harry says, sounding wounded. "Give me those back, then. You're a traitor." He reaches for the orange slices, but she throws them to Willow.

Willow catches them and quickly eats one before running away with the bag and her squirt gun. Amaya shakes her head as a raindrop hits her cheek. She glances up at the sky—it looks like it's going to rain again.

"Shit," Harry mutters to himself. "I have to shut the sprinklers off. Don't leave yet, okay? I want to talk to you some more." He runs off to grab his shirt, then continues toward a shed by the bleachers.

It's drizzling now, so Amaya puts her hood back up. Harry soon jogs back with his shirt back on his body and opens his umbrella before standing beside her, holding it over both of their heads. It's strangely intimate.

Parents and children are now filing out, surely not wanting to get caught in the eventual downpour. As Harry chats with a coach beside him, Amaya feels her phone vibrating. It's a text from her sister.

It's storming bad where I'm working. The roads are terrible, so I'll be stuck here until it passes. Can you please take Willow to your apartment for a little bit? I'll keep you updated. Drive safe!

Amaya replies with no problem, then puts her phone back in her pocket as a distant rumble of thunder echoes over the field. Not even a minute passes before it starts pouring out of nowhere, and Harry instinctively brings the umbrella closer to their heads as everyone starts rushing to the parking lot. The coaches and remaining parents help pack the equipment. The grass quickly becomes muddy and slippery.

Harry looks down at her after the coach he talked to walks away to put the cones away. "Where's Willow?" he asks, his eyes showing concern.

Amaya points to where she is and says, "Helping pick up soccer balls."

"Can she get any cuter?" He cups his hands over his mouth and yells, "Willow! Your aunt doesn't want to get any more wet, so let's go! And give me my orange slices back!"

Willow's head snaps toward his bellowing voice. She kicks a soccer ball over to the netted bag and then runs carefully on the grass to them. The thunder has gotten louder, and there are flashes of lightning every so often. The rain comes down in sheets, and it looks like the beginning of the worst storm the summer has seen so far.

"Are you driving her home, or is she getting picked up?" Harry asks, fitting Willow's small body under the umbrella.

"My sister just texted me and said that she's waiting for the storm to end, so I'm taking her to my place," she replies while matting down Willow's hair.

"The roads will be terrible, Amaya," he advises gently. Listen, I have to lock up the concessions building. We can go under the roof and chill until the storm passes—if you want to, of course. It's just that everyone's leaving at once, and the roads will be dangerous, you know?"

"Yeah, you're right. My sister wouldn't want me driving home in this with her kid." Amaya looks down at Willow and asks, "Does that sound good?"

She nods. "Can I get another snack? I ate all the orange slices. Sorry, Coach Harry."

Harry laughs, huddling closer to her. "Don't worry about it. I've got enough to feed an army. Uh, you take this and head over," he says, moving the umbrella to Amaya's grasp. "And I'll meet you guys over there shortly."

"C'mon, Willow, think of what you want for a snack."

They walk under the concessions building's roof. The garage window is open, displaying a variety of snacks, candies, and drinks. There's no one behind the counter, so Amaya sits down at one of the tables while Willow hungrily grazes her eyes over the food selection.

"I want nachos," she says firmly after contemplating.

"Can't you just get a candy bar or a bag of chips?" Amaya asks, looking out at the field and seeing Harry run over, his windbreaker now on. He runs around the back of the building and appears seconds later behind the counter, sticking a pen behind his ear and leaning his forearms on the surface.

"What can I get you ladies? Willow helped clean up, so it's on me today."

Willow points to the chips and crockpot of cheese sauce in the back, and Harry fist-bumps her. "Solid choice. I think that just promoted you to my favorite camp kid. Even if you ate all my orange slices."

He turns around and pours a bag of nachos into a cardboard tray, and Willow skips over to sit with Amaya. Thunderclaps and rainfall are nice background noises under the concession stand's soft lights.

"And anything for Willow's chauffeur?" Harry asks with a sly glance toward Amaya while pouring hot cheese sauce over the chips.

"You pick."

He looks at the food choices and murmurs, "Brave choice. Let's see... you mentioned you liked Granny Smith apples. And look what we have here!" He pulls a caramel apple on a stick from the stand and presents it to her like an award. Amaya stands up to grab the nachos and apple, taking two napkins out of the dispenser.

"Solid choice," she repeats with a smile.

"Pretty convenient if I do say so myself. I would've given you our signature stale beef jerky if we didn't have any caramel apples."

"Very funny." Amaya shivers from the slight chill in the air. "Hey, are we allowed to sit back there? It's getting kind of cold."

"Yeah, there are stools back here. I'll sit on the counter and look pretty while you eat."

She decides to hop over the counter, not wanting to go back out in the rain to go through the back door. She picks Willow up first, having her hold her candy apple while Harry gently maneuvers her to the other side. Amaya is next, and she hopes this doesn't quickly become one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. Reaching his hand out to her, Harry helps her hop up backward on the counter. She slides her body around, and his other hand goes to her lower back to make for a gentle landing. She gives him a grateful smile as she sits on a stool next to Willow.

Harry jumps up on the counter to sit across from them both, his windbreaker rustling while Willow crunches on her chips.

"Aren't the coaches going to wonder where you are?" Amaya asks, taking a bite out of the apple.

"Nah, I told them where I'd be," he replies nonchalantly. His features appear softer, his eyes clearer. Amaya isn't used to seeing him so up close and in dim lighting. He's mesmerizing.

"I can't believe everyone else felt safe enough to drive home. I get anxious if I'm on the road and it's even a little bit windy. Then again, they're parents, so they have more experience."

"Hey, don't put herself down like that. Better safe than sorry, right?" Harry kicks his legs against the counter and asks, "How old are you, by the way? You don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable,".

"I turned twenty-four last month. What about you?"

"Twenty-five," he says. "I'm getting old, right, Willow? She called me old today because I said my knee was hurting."

"Yeah, you're old," Willow says distractedly, her eyes zoned out on the rain. "I'm eight, so I'm allowed to say that."

Harry scoffs and reaches his foot out to gently kick her cleat. He then does the same to Amaya's sneaker, getting her to look up at him.

"Are you not even going to defend me?" he says jokingly, pulling the bottom of his shorts up his thighs. "This is the second betrayal of the day, love."

The pet name startles her. And so does his fully-revealed thigh tattoo.

"Sorry, but you're pushing thirty," she taunts innocently, smirking at his offended expression. "Get it together."

"Wow. I lend you my umbrella, give you orange slices, try and get you to like me, and this is what I get in return." He's acting like he's speaking to an invisible crowd, waiting for someone to defend him.

"I already liked you," Amaya mutters, her eyes falling to her fidgeting hands. Willow is too distracted with her nachos to pay attention to what either of them is saying.

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the rain." His feet trap her own that are perched on the stool. "One more time?"

Her lips form a thin line as she tries to move her feet away, but she purposely gives up because she secretly likes it. "I said I already liked you. You don't need to try. You're likable, and I'm sure the camp kids agree."

"I like you, Coach Harry," Willow attests out of nowhere. "You're fun, and don't yell at us if we mess up."

He laughs, but Amaya can tell it's out of bashfulness. "You two are boosting my ego. Better stop before I float out of here with a big head."

"You're great at your job, and I've only watched you once," Amaya adds, flattering him even more. "I can tell you enjoy teaching these kids something you're passionate about. That's super special."

Harry gazes at her, eyes softened, and taps her foot with his before releasing them from his trap. "Thanks. It's demanding work, but every day, I come to the field and aim to have the kids go home having learned something. If not that, then the least I want is for them to go home happy, you know?"

She nods, finishing her apple. It's admirable that he talks so highly about what he does and what he wants the kids to get out of it.

"How long have you been coaching?"

"I coached a middle school team about four years back," he answers with a reminiscent look. "Then, once I had to get an actual job at university, I stopped because I no longer had the time. I also lost my love for it with all the stress from my job and classes. After I quit that job, which was a blessing in disguise, I started this summer camp with a couple of friends two years ago. I got my passion for soccer back and became much happier with my life. I do this in the summer and work as an assistant P.E. teacher during the school year. I love it so much."

"That's so incredible, Harry," Amaya commends, smiling at him with genuine awe. "Honestly, what you're providing for these kids is inspiring. I guarantee they go home and talk whoever's ear off about what they did."

He sighs, leaning back on his hands with a soft smile. Willow then hops off the counter and reaches up to hug him. He freezes for a moment but quickly wraps his arms around her, rubbing her back. He whispers something in her ear, and she giggles.

Amaya looks outside to see that the weather has calmed significantly, so she supposes she should get Willow home. "Ready to go?" she asks her. "The storm looks like it passed."

"Do we have to?" she whines.

"Your mom misses you, so yes."

Harry stands. "I can walk you to your car. Think I'll head out too."

He locks up the garage window as Amaya throws away the garbage. Harry then leads them out the back door, locks it, and grabs his backpack on the way out. Standing under the narrow awning, he bends down, encouraging Willow to climb on his back.

"I don't want her cleats to get muddy," he explains as Willow drapes her arms and legs over his body.

When they arrive at the car, Amaya unlocks it and slides the back door open. Willow sits sideways so Harry can take her cleats off and set them under her seat. She holds her fist out to say goodbye, and he bumps it, moving a wet strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks for your help today, Willow. I'll make sure to get you nachos before we do drills tomorrow, so tell your aunt to be here early."

Willow gasps in excitement, and Amaya rolls her eyes playfully. She closes her door and walks to the driver's seat. Harry follows with the umbrella as she leans back against the door, looking up at him.

"Thank you again for the umbrella. And the food. And the company."

"No worries at all. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Yep. Hopefully, the weather will be nicer. I'll try to be here early so Willow can get her nachos."

"Sweet. Thank you for the company as well. And for the kind words. We'll have to do it again sometime."

"I'd like that." She hands him his umbrella and opens the car door. "Get home safe, Harry."

"Bye, Amaya." His deep voice bids farewell, saying her name like it was meant to be said. Harry then knocks on Willow's window and waves goodbye. "Bye, Willow. Meet me at concessions when you get here."

She nods eagerly. Harry takes his keys out of his pocket and spins them around his pointer finger while walking backward toward his car, the rain dripping off his face and clothes.

Amaya gives him a peace sign before closing the door. She sees him accidentally stepping in a puddle through the window, thoroughly soaking his shoes. He glances back at her and laughs, then turns around to get into his convertible. She puts her Minivan—which is quite embarrassing in comparison to his car—into reverse and pulls out of the parking lot.

Maybe one day she'll ride in his car with him, watching the sunlight hit his face as she learns more about the man who's effortlessly stealing her heart.

——

The next day, Amaya arrives at the high school early so Willow can get her nachos and so she can steal some alone time with Harry.

It's a sunny afternoon, with weather that's not too humid and not too chilly. She's wearing a white romper with sandals, two daisy clips in her hair, and sunglasses. Now that Harry is paying attention to her, she may or may not have gotten dressed up.

Willow springs out of the car, hauling all her necessary stuff, and immediately heads over to the concessions building by the bleachers. She hasn't eaten anything since lunch to save her hunger for the nachos. The camp starts at three today, so she's definitely starving.

Amaya follows her, already seeing her jumping up and down near the open garage window jumping up and down. Then she sees Harry behind the counter with a tray of nachos already made. Damn, he looks good. He wears sunglasses, a red bandana holding his hair back, and a black athletic jacket. For some reason, he looks more like a soccer coach today than the previous days.

She catches Harry's eyes, and he smiles while jerking his chin in greeting. She boldly hops onto the counter and sits cross-legged as Willow settles at the table and braids her hair.

"Hello," he says, poking her daisy hair clips with his fingers. "I love those. Are you going somewhere fancy after this?"

"This is fancy to you? But no, I just wanted to get a little dolled up." She shrugs, trying not to blush. "It's Friday."

"Got any plans tonight?" he asks, fidgeting with his car keys on the counter.

"Nope. Just me in my apartment with my dog."

"Cool, cool. Nice. Uh, did you want a snack?"

Amaya senses a hint of nervousness in his actions and tone. "I'll take some Skittles, please."

Harry reaches into the fridge for the candy and then slides the package to her. She takes it and then lightly touches the bandana that secures his curls.

"I like your bandana."

"It'll be so fuckin' sweaty by the end of the day," he mutters quietly so Willow doesn't hear his foul language.

"Gross," she says with a grimace. "At least it's not raining."

"Yeah, that's true. Did you guys get home safe and sound yesterday?"

"It wasn't too bad of a drive. You?"

"I had to put the top up on my convertible for the first time in a while."

She opens her Skittles and pops one on her tongue. "Your car is so sick, by the way. Kind of sexy."

"Amaya!" he scolds playfully, looking around like what she said was controversial. "You can't be talking to me like that with your cute little outfit."

Her skin heats profusely as she shoves more Skittles in her mouth. Suddenly, and thankfully, a coach walks over and signals Harry to get back to the field since the kids are starting to arrive.

"All right, you two get outta here," Harry says. "See you in a bit."

"Willow, let's go," Amaya says, heading toward the field while throwing the empty nacho tray into the trash. She really scarfed those down.

When she glances behind her at the concessions stand, she sees Harry walk around the building with two items in his hands. Some fateful type of magnetism causes her to go back and meet him halfway.

Once the distance is closed, she sees an orange in one of his hands and a lemon in the other. She furrows her brows, wondering why he randomly has two fruits. Harry starts juggling them as he casually approaches her while whistling a tune. She smiles wide and slowly shakes her head, wanting to question his weird antics.

He stops in front of her, still juggling, until the lemon slips from his hand and drops to the ground. He picks it up and waves jazz hands. "You think I should quit coaching and join the circus?"

"Very impressive," Amaya says, admiring his large hand that effortlessly holds the two fruits. "May I ask why you have an orange and a lemon?"

He shrugs cutely. "A magician never reveals his secrets." She narrows her eyes at him with a twitch of a smirk pulling at her lips. He's acting strange. "Well, I've gotta dip and coach some kids," he adds breezily, tossing the orange up and down.

"All right, you go do that. Have fun with your... fruit."

When he brushes past her, he sneakily slips the lemon into the pocket of her romper. She turns around and stares at him in bewilderment, yet he just smiles innocently at her. The short interaction with him felt like a fever dream.

Amaya stuffs her hand in her pocket and takes the lemon out. Her breath hitches when she looks at it. There's something written on it with a black marker.

262-437-4584

Call me.

- H

She looks up and finds Harry distracted by talking to a coach as they write things on their clipboards.

She puts the lemon back in her pocket for safekeeping and stands on the sidelines, a giddy feeling swirling around with butterflies in her stomach.

——

When the kids are packing up again, Amaya spots Harry walking over, phone in hand, while typing something. Willow is getting picked up by her mom today since it was an evening session, so she decided earlier to stick around and hang out with Harry. She had already said goodbye to Willow before waiting for Harry on the field as he finished his coaching duties. He gave Willow his signature fist bump and a hug before she left.

Harry shuts his phone off when and then jogs the remaining way, placing a gentle arm around Amaya's shoulders. Leaning close, he murmurs, "I was so nervous you'd think that lemon thing was weird, so I apologize for not paying attention to you for the past two hours. I was scared I would look, and you'd be gone."

She laughs and heads toward the concession stand, thoroughly enjoying the weight of his arm on her. "I have to say, no one has ever given me their number on a lemon before. You get extra points for that."

"I don't know why I did that. I was waiting for you and Willow to get here, then finally got the balls to make a move. And I didn't have anything to write my number on, so I stole a lemon from the fridge. It's a scientific fact that it's a close substitute for paper." Amaya snorts a laugh and subtly leans into his side as they clumsily walk under the awning. "I made that up," he adds quickly, guiding her to a table.

"I figured," she replies as she sits next to him.

The sun is taking its time going down, causing golden hour to be in full swing. Harry takes his jacket off, leaving him in a grey T-shirt, and Amaya feels like she could look at him forever. His tanned skin is glowing from the orange hue of the sky, and his eyes are bright with flecks of gold that look like they were taken from the sun. His lips look more pink and inviting than usual.

Harry reaches into his back pocket and takes out a packet of skittles. "I, uh, put these in the cooler so they wouldn't melt," he mumbles, ripping open the package and shaking some out in her palms. "They're for you."

She eats a red one first — the best flavor — before saying, "Thank you, Harry. That's very thoughtful."

He clears his throat and bounces his knee. "So, I know we'll be seeing each other during camp for the rest of the month, but I would really like to see you outside a soccer field filled with kids. We could maybe go bowling or mini-golfing. Something fun, you know?" He shakily runs a hand down his face. "A date is what I'm trying to say. And you can totally reject me. I gave you my phone number on a lemon, so I'd understand."

Amaya places her hand over his so it stops fidgeting. "Harry, I'm not going to reject you. I'd love nothing more than to go out together. I really like you."

He goes still, looks up at her, then exhales sharply, shifting his legs to straddle the picnic table seat. "Yeah? You'd seriously like that? You can pick where we go. I don't care. I just want to hang out with you."

She nods and flips his hand to intertwine their fingers. Harry nudges his foot with hers under the table with a radiant smile. They end up scooting closer to one another, and Amaya peeks behind her to check if people are lingering, but everyone seems to have left.

"I haven't gone mini-golfing in ages, so we should do that," she says, staring at the horizon. "I should get home now, though. I have to feed my dog."

Harry stands and releases her hand. "Mini-golf it is, then. Let me walk you to your car."

He quickly locks the concession stand and then strides over to Amaya, slinging an arm around her waist. They make it to her car, and she leans against the trunk while reaching up to delicately drape her arms around his neck. However, she feels a weight in her pocket when she lifts them up. She forgot about the lemon.

Taking it out, she smirks at Harry. He shyly rests his forehead on her shoulder and mumbles something incoherent. She moves his head away and asks, "What did you say?"

He sighs dramatically and lifts his head, poking at the fruit's wrinkly skin that spent hours in the summer heat. "I said I thought it would be romantic, but now I feel stupid. Look, it's starting to shrivel."

"Harry, it's incredibly sweet. I'll remember this forever."

"You could dry it out and frame it," he says with a breathy giggle.

Amaya throws her head back, laughing, her cheeks aching from smiling all day. "Honestly, it's not a bad idea," she says, rubbing a hand across his firm chest. "But seriously, I can't wait to see you for our date—and to see you in something other than athletic wear."

"Oh, get ready. I'm going to mini-golf in a full suit—perm, eyeliner, the whole shebang."

"I wouldn't care. You'd annoyingly pull it off."

Harry becomes silent before inhaling deeply and stepping closer to her. She places her hands around his neck again. "Drive safe." His hands squeeze her waist. "We'll talk on Monday about our date, yeah?"

"Absolutely." She stares at his lips, and he instantly wets their plush skin. "Can I kiss you? Please?"

"Please," he whispers.

Amaya meets his warm lips, kissing his bottom one with pure infatuation. She feels the slight scruff on his cupid's bow, liking how it scratches against her flushed skin. Harry kisses her back as he presses her closer to his body. His tongue parts her lips and strokes hers with his, getting lost in the heat of the moment like two students trying not to get caught by the principal.

Harry eventually parts from her before kissing down her neck, starting with small pecks and then moving to slow, open-mouthed kisses, nipping softly every so often. Amaya leans her head back, tangling her fingers at the nape of his neck and playing with the knot of his bandana. He moves back to her lips and kisses her, making her quietly whine because she wants more, but she realizes they're in a public parking lot, and she needs to get home. They have all the time in the world to do this on their date.

Resting her cheek on his collarbone, she regretfully says, "I have to go. I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"That's too long," Harry says with a pout.

"It's only three days away."

"I know. Hey, can you wear these again on Monday?" he asks, fiddling with the daisy clips in her hair.

She takes one out and clips it in his hair. "Yes, anything for you." He lifts her off the ground, and she squeals. "I'm leaving now. Behave."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, setting her down and stepping back before another make-out session ensues.

Amaya opens her car door and slides in. Harry taps the top of her Minivan twice before kissing her cheek softly. "I'll miss you, Amaya," he murmurs against her skin.

She shivers at his raspy voice and kisses his dimple. "Bye. I'll miss you, too."

She shuts the door and starts the engine, rolling her window down and watching him walk backward to his convertible a couple spaces away. She notices he's a terrible parker.

"Nice park job, dude," she says while pointing out his car, which has its front right wheel over the white line.

Harry glances over his shoulder to survey his parking. He's still walking backward with his hands in his pockets, his brows furrowed. He trips over his own two feet and stumbles slightly before regaining balance. He looks up at her as she starts laughing at him, and he jokingly flips her off while turning around to get in his car.

He jumps over the door like a charming idiot.

Amaya can't wait to see him again.

Before he can leave, she spontaneously decides to return his romantic lemon gesture. She takes it out of her pocket and grabs a black marker she keeps in her center console, which is full of random junk. She writes her number on the other side, which is luckily not too shriveled, and then adds a heart next to it.

She honks the steering wheel's horn as Harry puts on his seatbelt, and he jolts and gives her the middle finger again. She claps her hands twice and opens her palms, motioning for him to mimic her. He does with a confused expression on his face. Blowing on the lemon so the marker dries, she holds it up. His brows dip even more, but she gets ready to throw it. His hands are in a baseball umpire position as she throws the lemon over to his car, and he reaches forward and catches it with one hand, looking at it with a perplexed frown.

He rolls it around in his hand and then finally sees her number. He slowly smirks and glances up at her.

She waves at him before reversing out of the parking space. She watches him from outside the window and sees him peck his lips on the lemon.

Slowing down her car, Amaya calls out, "Text me tonight! Drive home safe and stop parking like an asshole!"

Harry smiles infectiously while biting his lip, his teeth peeking out. "We can video call if you're comfortable!" he calls back. "I'll miss your face as soon as you leave!"

She rolls her eyes at his cheesiness. "By the way," she adds with her foot on the brake, "what did you whisper to Willow yesterday at the concession stand?"

Harry tilts his head and smiles as he remembers. "I said her aunt is a beautiful woman." He rolls the lemon around in his palm. "And that I really like her."

Blood rushes to Amaya's face as she stares at him in awe. She waves goodbye one last time before driving away, and as she adjusts her romper, she feels something in her pocket. She reaches in and pulls out a bag of orange slices that Harry must have slipped while they were kissing.

On the bag is written:

For Amaya, the one I desire.

(Pretend that rhymes)

- H

She squeals happily like a middle school girl who just found out her crush likes her back, then takes an orange slice out and bites into it.

She lets Harry's sugary sweetness take over her senses the entire way home.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles #adore-laur #orange slices and pocket lemons

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