Archive of Our Own ^beta

Walking into Richmond after getting called up to play in the World Cup for England, and leading England to bring the cup home as their captain, Jamie was greeted by yells and cheers from his teammates. He couldn’t help but grin, his tongue coming out as he did, and his mates all piled on him, slapping his back.

“Oi, Bruv!” Isaac called as the noise dimmed.

Jamie looked up. “Sorry m’late, Skip. Dun’t worry I’ll pay me fines, yeah? Were just a little busy,” he grinned. He couldn’t help but feel fucking proud of himself, captain for England was pretty fucking huge, and his first World Cup as captain, winning the thing, an absolutely massive achievement. His profile as a player had never been higher. According to his agent, teams were offering obscene amounts of money for him, but he was truly Richmond ‘til he died now; well unless Roy decided to sell him.

The team laughed at Jamie’s joke, Jeff punching him in the arm. “Still a fucking twat, mate,” he laughed. 

Isaac approached Jamie and held out the Captain’s band. 

Jamie looked at the band and then at Isaac. “Mate, what the fuck? Dun’t tell me you’re fucking retiring before the season’s even started,” he protested. He looked over at Sam, even if Isaac was retiring, why the fuck was he giving him the band? 

“Nah, Richmond ‘til we die, innit. But Bruv, we took a vote, yeah. Captain for England, should be captain of his home team,” Isaac stated.

Jamie looked around at the team, all looking at him, there were a few new faces he didn’t recognise, summer transfers or new lads they’d scouted, but most were lads he’d know for years now, his mates, who’d known him back during his loan, then under Lasso. His eyes landed on Sam. “Took a vote?” He checked. 

“It was unanimous, Jamie. You will make a great captain, Skipper,” Sam insisted.

“Should’ve done it last season, we play through you Jamie, you are our centre cog,” Moe pointed out.

“Position has been yours unofficially for a while, boyo. You call more plays than Isaac does these days, and we all listen to you when you do,” Colin added. Then there was whatever Jamie had going on with Roy, that none of them could name, or talked about, as it was just them.

“Spend more time with the Rookies too, Bruv. Better at that shit than me. Fucking take it, Skip,” Isaac pressed. He pushed the band towards Jamie again, looking at him seriously. 

Jamie couldn’t control the grin that slowly but surely spread across his face as he took the band. 

The team erupted in cheers, pouncing on to Jamie again. 

“Oi! Tartt!” Roy barked from the door to the coach’s office. 

The team fell silent instantly and backed away from Jamie a bit, no one wanted to get between their gaffer and the target of that tone. 

Roy folded his arms over his chest and shot Jamie an unimpressed look, waiting for the moment the muppet started to squirm and wonder what the fuck he could had done wrong. “Excellent fucking job, Skipper. Congratulations. Did us proud out there. Expect you to keep that up this season,” he praised. He walked over to the lad and drew him into a hug. “You deserve that band, Jamie,” he murmured in his ear. If someone had told him, when he’d been playing with the prick, that someday Jamie Fucking Tartt would be captain for fucking England, he’d have laughed in their fucking faces, probably nutted them too for good measure. Now, thanks in a large part to Jamie, and the other lads of course, Richmond themselves were a top of the Premier League team, with FA cups, Champion cups, and Premier cups to their name. Other teams were offering Richmond stupid amounts of money for a lot of their players, especially Jamie, and it was extremely fucking satisfying being able to say ‘fuck no’ to any offer for Jamie that came through.

Jamie hugged Roy back, beaming, before he pulled back and gave him a small shove. “Fucking arsehole. Thought you were proper fucking mad at me for sommat,” he complained. He couldn’t stop grinning however, so that took any credibility of his complaint away. 

Roy cuffed the back of Jamie’s head. “Fucking muppet,” he tsked. “Alright you lot! Get fucking dressed and get out onto the fucking pitch! Your new skipper is going to lead you through your fucking warm up and stretches!” He ordered. They had a game on Saturday, just a friendly, it didn’t give Jamie a whole lot of time to get reacclimatised with the team, but apart from their new lads, the team had been playing with Jamie for long enough that it should be second nature to them all. 

“YES, COACH!” The team yelled back. 

Jamie expected a little push back on him becoming Richmond’s Captain from the pundits and press. To his surprise, everyone was supportive, even the pundits saying it was about time that he’d gotten the band. Jamie had worried they’d bring up his temper and the various fights he’d gotten into on the pitch, but everyone seemed to agree that he’d done well and his temper wasn’t an issue anymore. The only slight negatives came from the pundits wondering if this was a desperate attempt from Richmond to keep him from looking at other teams that were surely offering him the captain’s position, and asking questions about Isaac and Sam’s feelings towards the change. They’d put that to rest by holding a presser with the three of them, Jamie giving praise to Isaac first, about how good of a captain he’d been and then praise to Sam. Isaac took over and explained how it had been an honour to be captain, but the role was rightly Jamie’s now. When it was Sam’s turn, he insisted that he was not disappointed in the slightest, that he fully supported Jamie as his captain, and that he looked forward to playing under his leadership.

Of course, there was some ribbing from the team, all good natured, as they emphasised calling him Cap, Skip, Captain, and Skipper and regaled the new players with some of Jamie Tartt’s greatest hits – which mostly involved talking up the cracks he’d taken from Roy. Jamie took it all with grace and a laugh, feeling just too happy to be truly upset or offended. There was some joking and teasing about when Jamie, who definitely held the record for being the most paddled player and having the highest counts for things, would have to crack one of them. Although it wasn’t common, Isaac had on occasion used the paddle; but Jamie had insisted he wasn’t ever going to do it, he’d leave that up to Roy. He just couldn’t imagine cracking Colin, Moe, Sam, Jeff, or any of the lads, they were his mates, it would be just too weird. 

Settling back into rhythm with his team hadn’t taken Jamie long, even with their new players, and Jamie took the time to get to know the new transfers and especially their young Rookie. Jack was the first Rookie to come up from Richmond’s reinstated Academy program. After the success of the women’s team, who were still doing well; restarting the Academy that Mannion had shut down seemed like a worthwhile investment. Jury was still out on whether or not it was going to work out well, but Jack had caught Roy’s attention and could fill in a gap that Jamie being moved to centre cog had left open. 

Jack had the same ability Jamie had to get in the other team’s heads and drive them up the fucking wall. He wasn’t as good at it as Jamie had been, Roy didn’t think anyone would ever be as good at that as Jamie, there was only one Prince Prick of all Pricks after all, even if that title didn’t really fit Jamie anymore. Still, it was good to have someone on the team up the front who could mess with the other team’s heads. Especially since the opposing teams were putting up stronger and stronger defensive lines to try and combat Richmond’s ‘pinball machine’ as they were being called. Jamie was still extremely good at it, but with his reputation now, Jamie being a cocky little prick wasn’t as effective. New little Rookie though, mouthing off, being a cocky little prick against more experienced players, showboating, now that was effective. Fine tuning when the best time to give Jack the signal was something they needed to work on; Jamie hadn’t needed a signal in a while, just knew how to read the pitch and know what was needed.

Jamie quickly found he liked the young Rookie, the kid was a cocky, confident, smart mouthed little shit, and Jamie saw a lot of himself in the lad. Jack also had a bit of the same hero worship for Jamie that Jamie had for Roy, he wasn’t as much of a fanboy as Jamie had been, but it was clear Jack looked up to Jamie. Jamie was happy to take the kid under his wing and step up to be a mentor, staying late after training to work with Jack, helping him improve in the areas the lad felt he struggled. 

Roy couldn’t help but feel proud of Jamie whenever he caught the pair working on drills after training, and also a little bit ashamed of himself. Jack wasn’t an absolute fucking prick to his teammates the way Jamie had been when Jamie had first arrived on loan to Richmond, but seeing how Jamie was now, with the right handling, Roy wished he’d done better by the lad. Knowing how much his opinion of the lad meant to Jamie, even back then, when he was all fucking mouth and nasty fucking attitude and Roy had to stop himself from killing the little prick, Roy knew he should have done fucking better. Of course, Jamie was still in his fucking prime, he wasn’t looking down at his imminent retirement from the only life he’d known for nearly twenty years, and Jack wasn’t some twat player calling him old and bragging about how much better he was than him. That wasn’t really an excuse however, Roy knew he hadn’t done right by Jamie back then and he should have. 

Jack wasn’t a prick to his teammates, and didn’t act like he was fucking God’s gift to footie, like he was better than everyone else on the team, but it didn’t take long for his cocky attitude to land him in the court of the paddle. 

Jeff and Jamie were reminded vividly of when Roy had come back as a coach and dusted off the Richmond Club Paddle and Jamie had quickly racked his count up high for fucking backchat. It wasn’t something the whole team knew, Jeff was the only one Jamie had sent photo evidence of the paddle marks too, but there had been a couple more public scenes with the whole team when Jamie had let his mouth get away from him; so his count on that charge was not exactly unknown. As a result of that, some of the team had started playfully calling Jack, Jamie Junior, when he’d sass or backchat Roy or Jamie himself, or when his temper flared. That made Jamie a little uncomfortable, thinking of his own dad, and how, when he’d seriously fucked up and let his temper get the better of him, Roy would call him James Tartt Junior, which he fucking hated. So Jamie had taken to calling Jack, Jackie, and sometimes even, ickle Jackie, when the lad was throwing a strop. It made the kid protest and splutter and snarl that his name was fucking Jack, not Jackie and not- not that. But it worked to knock off the strop when Jack tried it with Jamie, and prevented Jamie from having to put the lad over his knee or reach for the paddle himself – something Jamie was fucking determined not to do. 

The first time there was a big public scene with Jack, Jamie had been extremely confused over what exactly had set Jack off. 

~o~

Jamie was walking to the coach with the team for an away game against West Ham. As usual there were fans lined up to see them off. Jack wasn’t likely to be doing much more than bench warming against West Ham, but if Jamie could get them enough of a lead, he thought Roy might put the kid on for a few minutes near the end. West Ham were a strong team though, they needed to put on their best players, West Ham had finished third in the Premier League last season, so they were in the Champions League with Richmond this year. Jack was good, and potentially could be very useful, especially against West Ham’s defense, but it was too much of a high pressure game for the kid. Jack had already made his Premier League debut against Burnley and Jamie had even been able to set the lad up for a goal, which he’d put away nicely. Once the Champions League and FA cup games kicked off Jack would see more playtime. Jamie signed what was put in front of him, smiled at the fans, took a couple selfies with them – he was not calling them usies – and shook hands with, or high fived, the fans that wanted it. He wasn’t even paying much attention to Jack, kid was a Rookie, barely known yet, this would be the season he would start to build his reputation. 

Jamie clocked the group of teenage lads, all being a bit twatish, but Roy had clocked them too, so he wasn’t worried. They were yelling for someone called John, or Johnny, which was confusing, but Jamie assumed they were talking to another mate on facetime on their phones since they had them all out. “Hey, lads,” he acknowledged as he walked past them. They didn’t seem to want anything from him, too interested in someone behind him. He glanced behind him to try and spot who they were focused on, he couldn’t put his finger on why, but he just sensed trouble from the twats. 

“Fucking hell, you’re him ain’t you? Jamie Tartt?” One of the lads burst out. 

Jamie turned back to the lads and gave his polite public smile. “Yeah, that’s me. You lads coming to our next home game?” He asked. The weird fucking whooping and hollering his question got made no fucking sense, but then teenagers were fucking weird little shits at the best of times. 

“Yo! John! John-boy! Johnny! You told Tartt about your fucking obsession with him yet!?” Another of the lads yelled. 

“Fucking piss off, you fucking wankers!” Jack snarled. He shoved at Jamie to get them to move. “Can we just get on the fucking coach, please, Jamie,” he huffed. He had to get Jamie away from his old classmates, they were fucking idiots and he knew they would say something to utterly humiliate him, especially in front of Jamie Tartt. They’d always given him shit, and he’d gotten in fights with them before, usually backed by his mates, but he had the whole team behind him now.

Where the fuck Jack had come from, Jamie didn’t know, nor did he have a clue why the lad’s temper was way up. “Hey, Jack, simmer down, yeah,” he cautioned softly. He spoke directly into Jack’s ear, he didn’t want to embarrass the lad, but that wasn’t how you spoke to the public, especially not when you were representing the team. He also had no idea why Jack was shoving him, he pushed his hands away when Jack went to shove him again. “Oi, cut that out, Jack,” he ordered firmly. “You need to apologise to these lads,” he prompted. Couldn’t go around swearing at the public like that, unless you were Roy Kent, it harmed your reputation and Jack was only seventeen, a good lad, he didn’t need a reputation like that starting. 

“Yo, yo, Johno! Little Johnny! John the Man!” The third lad jeered. 

“I told you not to fucking call me that, stupid cunt! My name is fucking Jack!” Jack snapped furiously. 

Jamie was seriously confused at why these lads were calling Jack, Johnny, that didn’t make any sense, but it was probably some weird fucking teenager shit. Some of the stuff Pheebs came out with went right over his head now, and teenagers were the fucking worst. He noticed Roy approaching, hopefully to tell the lads to piss off if they were just going to be shits. He went to grab Jack’s arm, trying to prevent Jack from earning himself cracks from Roy, rolling his eyes at the immature crap the lads were spouting, fucking teenagers! He was surprised when his hand grabbed nothing and looked to find Jack had launched himself half over the fucking fence and was fucking brawling with one of the lads. “Fucking hell!” He gasped. Fortunately Roy was already there, living up to his chant of here, there, every-fucking-where, even now. 

Roy grabbed a good fucking handful of the back of Jack’s jacket and fucking hauled him off the other little twat. “Everyone! Get on the fucking coach! Right the fuck now!” He roared. He didn’t release Jack, marching him up onto the coach. He couldn’t help the sense of fucking satisfaction he felt as his lads all fucking rushed onto the coach, yeah he’d got his lads trained well – most of the time. “Get them fucking out of here!” He barked at security, referring to the three little fucking twats that were hooting and hollering with fucking laughter. He gave the squirming and struggling little shit in his grip a shake. “Pack it in! You are in so much fucking trouble!” He growled. He watched to make sure the rest of the lads got on the coach, shooting Jamie a fierce fucking glare when the fucking prick stood on the steps. “Move!” He ordered. 

Jamie paused on the steps of the coach, looking at Roy and feeling a little bit sorry for Jack, it had seemed like the other lads were trying to wind Jack up and he wanted to defend the kid. He shrank back at the sheer force of the glare Roy was sending him, shot Jack a small sympathetic look, and darted up the stairs – almost before Roy ordered him to move. 

Jack couldn’t help looking around with wide eyes when Roy declared he was ‘in so much fucking trouble’ trying to see where his old classmates where, and if they’d heard that. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he’d lost his fucking temper. It was just those fucking twats! His old classmates had been right fucking cunts about his name for the whole of secondary school, since his arsehole of a maths teacher had refused to call him anything but Jonathon. Every male on his mum’s side of the family was called Jonathon, it was a stupid, shitty, family tradition he was fucking determined to break if he ever had a kid. His dad had only agreed when his mum pointed out that he could go by Jack, which was technically a nickname for John, not Jonathon, but at least he was the only Jack in the family. “Coach, I…” he started. 

“Jack Turner, if you know what’s fucking good for you, you will fucking shut up and speak only when I fucking ask you to,” Roy growled. He shoved the kid in front of him, mentally reciting the little shit’s date of birth in his head reminding himself over, and over again, that he was just a fucking kid. He frogmarched the kid up onto the coach and dragged him over to his seat, accepting the paddle from Beard as he passed him. He sat down, standing Jack in the aisle as he sat sideways in his seat. “Right, what the fuck was that, Jack?” He demanded. 

Jack stared in horror at the fucking club paddle. “Coach, please, not here,” he begged. His whole face burned with embarrassment as he tried desperately to avoid looking at any of the team. 

“Oi! I asked you a fucking question. Fucking answer it!” Roy barked. 

“Think the other lads were trying to wind him up, Coach. Were calling him Johnny, were proper weird, like,” Jamie spoke up when it seemed Jack wouldn’t. 

“Tartt, sit there and fucking shut up, unless you want to be fucking next for interfering,” Roy warned. He watched Jamie sink back in his seat and turned back to Jack, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

Jack shifted unable to take his eyes off the fucking paddle. “Eh, pretty much what Jamie said, Coach. They um… I know ‘em, from school, they’re fucking twats, always fucking call me Johnny or shit, do it just to piss me off,” he muttered, getting a little heated once more. He wasn’t going to repeat what Grant had fucking said that sent him over the edge, that was far too fucking embarrassing, he’d never, ever live that down. It was bad enough Jamie had heard, he couldn’t repeat it to the rest of the team, he hoped Jamie didn’t actually listen to what they had said, or believe them. 

Roy narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have an issue with any of his players going by whatever fucking name they wanted to call themselves, he’d called Zoreaux, Van Damm, when he said that was his name now, and Zorro, when he said he wanted to be called that instead. He didn’t know yet if this was a minefield he needed to carefully avoid with this kid, or if it was just a lad with history with the twats throwing a fucking strop. “Got a fucking problem with your name, lad?” He checked. 

Jack tossed his head and stomped his foot. “S’not my- I don’t- fucking! It’s fucking stupid! Every fucking male on my mum’s side is called Jonathon! Stupid arse family tradition crap. Fucking hate it! And they fucking know it! Do it just to piss me fucking off!” He spat.

Roy’s eyes hardened. “Jonathon Turner! Are you fucking telling me you attacked a member of the fucking public because you were throwing a strop over three little fucking nothing twats calling you by variations of your fucking name?” He roared furiously. 

“Don’t call me that!” Jack snarled. 

“It’s your fucking name, Jonathon Turner. On your fucking contract. I don’t give a shit what you want to be called, you do not have the fucking right to get into fucking brawls with members of the public for any fucking reason, not when you’re on my fucking team. Least of fucking all because you’re throwing a fucking strop over a bunch of fucking jealous little twats!” Roy scolded. 

“They fucking deserved it! They fucking started it!” Jack protested. 

“No, they were being stupid little fucking pissants! Getting in your fucking head, like you fucking do to the other fucking team when you play. They were being pathetic little fucking school boys, trying to get a fucking rise out of a Premier League professional fucking athlete. You were the twat storming over, swearing, temper un-fucking-checked,” Roy corrected, a dangerous note to his voice. “Tartt, what did you tell this little twat to do when he came over, spitting, snarling, and swearing at fucking school kids?” He demanded. He couldn’t be fucking sure, not until Jamie answered him, because he hadn’t heard whatever Jamie whispered in Jack’s ear, but he would put good fucking money on Jamie having told Jack to calm the fuck down. He had heard Jamie tell Jack to stop shoving him and to apologise.

Roy wasn’t even looking at him, but Jamie shifted further back into his seat because, fuck, he’d had that tone directed at him more times than he wanted to fucking admit and it wasn’t fucking fun. “Eh, told him to settle down, to quit it with the shoving me, and apologise,” he murmured. He shot Jack an apologetic look, hating that Roy was making him drop the kid in it. “They were being right gobby little shits, Ro-Gaffer. When Jack lost it, being proper fucking twats,” he added. 

Roy did shoot Jamie a fucking glare, silently warning him to shut his fucking mouth before he talked himself into a set of his own fucking cracks. Seeing Jamie blanch, he turned back to Jack. Growling at the heated fucking glare the little shit was shooting Jamie. “Oi! Any fucking reason you decided to ignore your fucking captain, Jonathon Turner? When he fucking told you to calm down and to fucking apologise? When he was trying to fucking help you?” He growled.

Jack balled his hands into fists, tossed his head, and stomped his foot. “Don’t fucking call me that!” He roared. 

Roy moved fast, he knew what to do with a naughty little lad throwing a fucking strop, had dealt with enough of Jamie’s hadn’t he? He grabbed Jack’s elbow and swept the little shit’s feet out from under him, knocking him down over his knee. He put an elbow in the little prick’s back to keep him in place as he yanked down his joggers and pants, and immediately started bringing his hand down hard on his arse. 

“Ah! Fuck! Coach! No!” Jack spluttered. He immediately started twisting and turning, or trying to, attempting to get away from his coach, feet flailing against the floor as he scrambled for purchase. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, here, on the coach, with the public just outside! He flung an arm back to try and stop it.

Roy caught Jack’s hand with well practiced ease, it was far from the first time he’d yanked a lad over his knee mid strop, had done it with Jamie more than enough, until the lad had learned to take his with some show of willing. “You want to throw a fucking strop, stomp your fucking foot at me, yell at me when you’re up on fucking charges? Well this is what I do to little fucking boys who throw fucking strops when they are up on fucking charges!” Roy lectured. 

Jack shook his head, his face burning with utter humiliation as he realised he was facing down the coach, facing the whole team. “Wasn’t throwing…” he denied. Everyone’s eyes were on him and he knew it was because you were supposed to learn the lessons of another lad up on charges, but he fucking wished they’d just look the fuck away!

“Oh yes you fucking were, throwing a big fucking strop, like a little fucking boy!” Roy corrected. He continued bringing his hand down on Jack’s arse hard, pinning him in place, even as the lad fought to try and get up. He threw his bad leg over Jack’s two to further pin him, the little shit wasn’t going anywhere until he was done with him. 

Jack shook his head stubbornly. “Just don’t fucking call me that!” He spat.

“Oh no, that is not what we are doing, Jonathon Turner! You don’t get to fucking dictate what fucking happens here! You don’t want me using your full fucking name like you’re a fucking child, then don’t fucking act like one! You are a Premier League football player! A professional fucking athlete! You don’t get to throw a fucking strop because idiot little fucking school boys are calling you something you don’t fucking like!” Roy scolded.

“They- they fucking…” Jack tried.

“They fucking what? They, who have nothing fucking better to do on a fucking Saturday than to hang around hoping to harass an old school peer who is already making more fucking money and is more famous than they’ll ever hope to be!? They fucking what, Jonathon Turner? They are nothing more than jealous little twats who are fucking nothing next to you! Are you going to let jealous little nothing twats ruin your fucking career and life before it even gets fully started? Do you want to go to fucking court for attacking stupid little pissant school boys who’s biggest fucking achievement is that they knew you. You, who gets to play for fucking AFC Richmond, gets your name on the back of shirts, have kids wearing your name on their fucking shoulders, your number on their backs!” Roy continued. 

Jack gasped and spluttered, “but…”

“But fucking nothing, boy! You want to get into fucking brawls with stupid immature fucking school kids, who are fucking nothing next to you, jealous of you and the fucking opportunities you have? You don’t do it on my team! You are fucking better than that, Jonathon Turner. Richmond Academy lad, fucking first one called up to the Premier League, by me. Your fucking name on shirts, scored a beautiful fucking goal on your debut, assisted by Jamie fucking Tartt, Captain of England. That’s who you fucking are! Who are those stupid fucking pissants? Huh? Do they get to fucking sub in for Dani fucking Rojas? Star fucking striker for Mexico? Get to train with Colin fucking Hughes? Starting Left Wing for the Welsh national team? Get to play on the same fucking team as Sam Obisanya? Starting Right Wing for the Nigerian national team?” Roy demanded. 

“That’s not…” Jack protested. He slapped his hand down on the coach floor gritting his teeth against the tears that were stinging his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of the whole fucking team whilst getting his arse smacked like a little fucking kid. It was one thing to cry at paddle cracks, Jeff and Jamie assured him they both fucking wailed, Jeff admitting he couldn’t take one without crying like a fucking infant, but crying over a hand spanking was a totally different thing!

“That is exactly the point, Jonathan Turner! They are fucking jealous! They have nothing better to do with their shitty little lives than try to get a fucking reaction out of you! And you fucking gave it to them! Got the fucking pundits talking about your fucking stellar debut. The fuck you think they are going to say about your unchecked fucking temper with fucking school boys? Huh?” Roy pressed. 

The dam broke and Jack slumped as the tears spilled down his cheeks and he buried his face in his free arm to try and hide his fucking crying. 

Roy stopped bringing his hand down on the red fucking arse over his knee and released Jack’s firmly held hand back to him. He rubbed Jack’s back in small circles. “Done with the fucking strop?” He checked. 

Jack could only give a miserable nod. 

Roy brought his hand down with a hard crack on Jack’s arse. “Fucking speak!” He ordered.

“Yes! Yes, Gaffer. Done with the- the- that!” Jack promised. 

Roy allowed himself a small smirk of amusement, all the lads fucking hated being told they were throwing fucking strops, like little fucking kids. “Want to try a-fucking-gain? Tell me what the fuck that was with those fucking lads?” He prompted.

Jack squirmed, hating having this conversation whilst he was laying over his coach’s knee. “Lost my temper, hit in anger, Gaffer,” he admitted. “And uh, didn’t listen to Ja-my captain, when he said to knock it off, to calm down, and apologise,” he added. 

Roy gave a grunt of agreement. He reached behind him and picked up the paddle from the empty seat he’d tossed it on when he’d pulled Jack over his knee. “What’s your count, for hitting in anger, Turner?” He demanded.

Jack took a deep breath. “Ten, gave me ten last time, Gaffer,” he muttered. He’d lost his fucking temper and punched Dani when Dani had just been trying to help him, but he’d been fucking wound up. Dani hadn’t seemed all that upset about it, but Coach Kent had been furious. 

“Fifteen then. And your count, for not listening to your fucking captain when he’s trying to fucking help you?” Roy asked. 

Jamie had to bite his tongue not to say something then, to not tell Roy that he wasn’t upset about that, that he didn’t need it to be a charge. Kid had been upset, the twats had been trying to wind him up, if any one he’d known had said the shit they’d said that sent Jack over the edge to him, in Roy’s hearing, at seventeen, he’d have fucking pummelled them. 

“Eh, that’s um, new one? So- so just five?” Jack checked. He didn’t always listen to Jamie when he probably should, when they did their one on one training sessions, gave his captain more fucking attitude than he should, but it was his first time facing charges for it. 

“Five,” Roy confirmed. He would bet a whole fucking lot that Jack didn’t listen to Jamie more than just this one time, but that was between him and Jamie. “What’s five and fifteen, lad?” He prompted.

“S’twenty, but Coach, please…” Jack begged. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He couldn’t even lift his head because then the whole team would be looking at him.

“Twenty. Let’s get this over with so we can get on our way to our fucking match,” Roy stated. He looked at his lads sitting on the coach, checking in with his more nervy lads, the ones who didn’t fucking like watching. Even now Jeff had a fucking hard time of it, Tommy too. Jamie was even looking a little shifty, but Roy knew he fucking felt for the lad, didn’t he? “Oi! You lot, what are you going to be fucking doing whilst Jack takes his cracks!?” He called. 

“LEARNING HIS LESSON, COACH!” The team answered back. 

“Fucking right,” Roy confirmed. He lifted the paddle up and brought it down hard on Jack’s arse.

Jack had taken cracks of the paddle from Coach Kent before, hadn’t faced as many as twenty before, but had already taken fifteen for backchat. Hadn’t taken cracks on an already spanked arse though, and although he had no proof of it, it felt like Coach Kent was putting extra force into the cracks. He couldn’t help but burst into spluttering cries from the first crack, and he beat his fists against the floor to try to vent some of the pain somewhere, and prevent himself from launching himself off Coach Kent’s lap. 

Jamie never found it easy to watch one of his teammates up on charges, facing the fucking paddle, in the past he’d usually be up on charges with them, so some of his attention was on the fact he’d either just been paddled himself or was waiting for his cracks. That wasn’t always the case, sometimes he was just a reluctant fucking witness and it sucked. Watching Jack take his cracks felt extra fucking miserable, if only he’d fucking clocked the situation sooner, known that Jack’s full name was Jonathon and those twats were trying to rile him up. Maybe then he could have done something to save Jack from his, grabbed him and shoved him onto the coach? Roy might still dress him the fuck down for snarling and swearing at members of the public like a little shit, but that wouldn’t be a fucking charge. It was almost as hard as watching Jeff take fucking cracks, and Jeff was his best mate.

Roy gave Jack fifteen good hard fucking cracks, putting a little extra into them, because he was not having his players getting into fucking brawls with members of the public. He paused after the fifteen. “Last five, lad. When your captain is trying to fucking help you, you fucking listen to him,” he stated. He looked up and briefly caught Jamie’s eye, letting him know he deserved the lad’s fucking respect. 

Jamie blinked when Roy was suddenly looking directly at him but gave a small nod of understanding. 

Roy did not soften the cracks for the last five, he made sure Jack felt them just as hard as he had the previous fifteen. The other lads had chosen Jamie as their captain, and yeah they teased the little prick, but they still respected Jamie on the pitch and in training. He knew Jamie didn’t want to have to paddle any of the lads, and he would do his best to make sure Jamie didn’t need to until he was ready. 

Jack wailed at the last five, shaking as he fucking sobbed over Coach Kent’s knee. His arse fucking blazed like it never had before and he was never, ever going to lose his temper over his stupid fucking name, or not listen to Jamie, again! 

Roy tossed the paddle onto the empty seat behind him again and rubbed Jack’s back, giving the lad a minute to just sob it out. “Next time your captain tries to fucking help you, what are you going to do?” He prompted once the sobs calmed a little.

“Fucking listen, Gaffer. Going to fucking listen!” Jack insisted.

“Too fucking right. And if you ever hit a fucking member of the public in anger again, I won’t fucking add five, I’ll fucking double it! I don’t give a shit what the fuck they say. Professional fucking footballers do not fucking put hands on members of the public in anger. Is that fucking clear, Turner?!” Roy growled. 

Jack nodded his head rapidly. “Yes, Coach! Crystal clear, Coach!” He promised. 

Roy nodded in approval. He continued rubbing Jack’s back until the little shit was squirming like he was ready to get up. “Ready for your feet, lad?” He checked. 

Jack nodded. Before he could give a verbal response Coach Kent’s arm was there helping him up and helping him to stand. He yanked his boxers and joggers back up, hissing and balling his hands into fists to stop himself trying to rub the fucking fire out, breathing hard through his nose. 

“Go take your seat,” Roy ordered, jerking his chin towards the back of the coach. The lads would look after the kid. He didn’t tell the lad he wouldn’t be getting to play today, that would be digging the boot in, and the little shit probably already knew that. Might even be a little grateful for it since he was fucking limping down the coach. He caught the lads shuffling about, Jeff moving over to sit with Dixon, Jamie shifting over to the window seat to allow Jack to sit next to him, immediately throwing an arm around the lad’s shoulders when he gingerly lowered himself onto the seat. He gave Kenneth a nod when the man shifted to check if they could leave now and tuned out the conversation that slowly bubbled up behind him.

~o~

Roy had had words for Jamie after that, talking to him about his responsibility as captain to the new team members. It was one thing that he was mates with most of the team, a good fucking thing too, he should be mates with them, but with their new young members he was supposed to help raise them up. Jamie had whined about it at first, he didn’t want to have to fucking paddle anyone, seemed fucking hypocritical, didn’t it? But Roy quelled his whining with just a fucking look. The idea of giving fucking Isaac cracks seemed absolutely ludicrous to Jamie, but he wasn’t going to argue with Roy about it.

Fortunately the issue of having to paddle one of his teammates hadn’t come up, not properly anyway. There had been a few times where Jamie thought maybe he should have given Jack a few cracks during their one to one sessions, Roy certainly wouldn’t have let Jamie get away with what Jamie let Jack get away with, but Jamie just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Their season was going brilliantly, they’d won every match they’d played in so far, and although Jack hadn’t gotten put on for the away match against West Ham, he’d still be getting good minutes in other games. 

Their game today however was not going their way. They were up against their main rivals, Crystal Palace and their defenders were being fucking brutal. Jamie had been fouled three fucking times already, and his own temper was fucking up. Had to look over at Roy for a good fucking minute to settle himself back down, he knew they were playing this way just to fuck with their play, but nothing had tested his temper like this in a long fucking time. 

Seeing Roy looking mad enough to commit fucking murder himself, helped Jamie settle himself down. He shook himself out as Jeff got possession back and kicked the ball to Isaac. Jamie ran forward, knowing Isaac was going to boot the ball up to them, looking for Dani, Colin, Richard, and Sam, taking in their positions and working out the play. He caught the ball on his chest and controlled it forward, finding Dani and putting it exactly where he knew Dani was going to be to receive it. 

“What the fuck was that!” Jamie yelled. One of Crystal’s defenders had slammed into Dani in a dirty fucking tackle. He looked immediately to Roy, who was already yelling for the ref. The lack of even a fucking yellow card had Jamie fucking seething, but then Dani wasn’t getting back up.

Jamie ran over to Dani, hearing him muttering in Spanish as he gripped his knee. “Fuck, is your knee okay, mate?” He checked. He crouched down next to Dani as Colin joined him.

“No, no, mi amigo, not good,” Dani panted. 

Jamie swore and looked up, looking around for Roy, letting him know silently they needed the fucking physios and med team. 

“Can we get you up, boyo?” Colin asked. 

Sam had joined them. “Is Dani okay?” He checked. 

“S’his knee, mate. That fucking tackle fucked it up,” Jamie forced out through gritted teeth. 

When the physios made it over Jamie stood back up and backed away to give them space. He looked over at Roy, glancing at Jack.

Roy met Jamie’s look, it was early to put Jack on, Declan, or Robbie would be his first choice, since they were only twenty minutes into the first half. He raised a single questioning eyebrow at Jamie, a silent question. Was he sure? Jamie stared back at him, jaw tight, that fucking look in his eyes. “Turner, fucking warm up,” he barked, not looking back at his Rookie player. He could pull Jack at the half if he needed to. 

The physios had to run back and get the stretcher for Dani, and all Jamie could think about was the injury that Dani had sustained back when he’d started at Richmond, barely an hour into the preseason training, the reason Jamie had been loaned to Richmond in the first place. Fuck, he hoped Dani would be okay, he shook his hands to try and shake off the boiling tension in him, kicking his feet out. 

Colin slapped Jamie on the back. “He’ll be okay, boyo. Took that tackle against Barcelona on Wednesday, didn’t he? Should have probably sat out of today’s game,” he pointed out.

Jamie gave a dry humourless chuckle. “Football is life,” he muttered. 

Colin shook his head. “Boyo’s proper mad. Who’s Royo sending on for us?” He asked.

“Asked him to send Jack on, getting that twat off our fucking pitch,” Jamie snarled. 

Colin could never wrap his head around the way Jamie and Roy could communicate silently, it was extremely useful, on the pitch, and it was definitely a factor in him voting yes when Isaac suggested making Jamie captain. “Good call, Skip. Rookie’ll get him taken off,” he agreed. 

Roy grabbed Jack to stop him running onto the pitch. “You fucking listen to Tartt out there. Remember he’s your fucking captain. No fucking messing about. You get in that defender’s head, get him to get himself carded, then you knock it off, clear?” He growled at him. “I will fucking pull you at the half if you can’t wind it back in after,” he warned. 

“Got it, Gaffer. Get him off, then pack it in, and listen to Jamie,” Jack confirmed. He was bouncing on his toes in excitement, he’d never been put on this early, second half was as soon as he’d been put on before, and well that time he had struggled to settle down after making Newcastle’s Left Back foul him. Even after Jamie yelled at him to knock it the fuck off, he still hadn’t been able to pack it in, so Coach Kent subbed him off and he’d been forced to stand in the corner of the dugout for the remainer of the final half. 

Roy glared at the lad, his energy was way too up, but he released his arm, sending him onto the pitch with a hard bum pat. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked hard at Jamie. 

Jamie caught the look and jogged to meet Jack coming on. “What did Ro-Coach say?” He checked. He knew the new players felt it was weird that a lot of them called Roy, well Roy, but they hadn’t played with Roy like the rest of them had, and didn’t have the same relationship with him. Jamie tried to remember to call Roy, Coach, more, or Gaffer, when talking to the new players. He never meant any disrespect by not calling Roy, Coach, but he knew it was something other coaches might find disrespectful.

Jack rolled his eyes, “get the twat carded then be a good ickle boy and knock it off.” 

Jamie elbowed Jack for his attitude. “Watch it, yeah? Gaffer can pull you and we fucking need you to teach those fuckers a fucking lesson. Fucked up Dani’s knee. So, you give ‘em fucking hell and dun’t do nowt stupid t’get yourself fucking carded, and I’ll convince Coach t’keep you on for the second half,” he offered. 

Jack’s eyes lit up. “You’ll convince Coach to let me stay on?” He checked. 

“If you keep yourself in fucking check,” Jamie confirmed. 

“You got it, Skip!” Jack promised. 

Jamie drew Jack to him and pressed his forehead to the lad. “Remember, no fucking cards for you, make ‘em get the cards. Fucking Grett. Two yellows or a red. Want him off this fucking pitch,” he spat. He sent the lad into position with a light headbutt and shoulder squeeze, motioning to Richard to take the throw in when the ref whistled for play to resume. He glanced over at Roy, a small questioning look on his face, feeling something settle in him when he got Roy’s nod of approval. 

Beating them wasn’t enough now, Jamie wanted to slaughter the fuckers, pay them back for that dirty fucking tackle against Dani, and he was going to make sure they fucking did. 

Jack did not have Jamie’s talent for getting into another player’s head, but within ten minutes he got Grett to foul him for the first time and to earn himself a yellow, getting them a free kick. As much as Jack wanted to take the free kick, Jamie had been training him in free kicks, where he’d have to take it was where Jamie was famous for scoring from. He still had to shake it off before he could hand the free kick off. 

“Good lad,” Jamie murmured. “When you get the twat his next yellow, you can take the kick,” he allowed. He smirked seeing the look of rage on Crystal Palace’s manager’s face. He couldn’t help but stick his tongue out as he grinned and got ready to take a free kick from just a few yards off the fucking half way line. Richmond were going to fucking humiliate Crystal, fucking stomp them into the ground and it started with this. He stared directly at Grett and blew him a kiss before he took the kick, sending the ball into the net with a kick he knew other teams manager’s would be fucking studying the tape of. 

The team ran to celebrate with Jamie, jumping on him and cheering. 

Jamie took a moment to celebrate then sent everyone back into position, catching Jack just before he ran off. “Get ‘im off the fucking pitch. Remember, next kick is yours if you can,” he encouraged. 

“You got it, Cap!” Jack grinned. He bounced off back into position, immediately running his mouth as soon as he got within Crystal defenders’ hearing. 

Jamie bounced on his toes, waiting for the ball to come back into play. 

The next ten minutes of play were fucking brutal and Jamie wanted to fucking scream, Crystal’s defenders were playing fucking dirty as fuck. He no longer just wanted Grett off the fucking pitch, he wanted them all off. Finally, five minutes before the whistle, Jack managed to get Grett to take a swing at him, it didn’t connect, thank fuck, but it was enough for the ref to throw up a red and Grett off the fucking pitch. 

Jamie jogged up to Jack. “Are you hurt?” He snarled. 

“Nah, s’all good, Skipper. Didn’t fucking touch me,” Jack grinned. “Too slow old man!” He jeered to Grett’s retreating back as he stormed off the pitch. 

Jamie knew he should tell Jack to knock it off now, to fucking settle, but fuck that shit, he wanted Crystal to fucking pay. “Your fucking kick, make ‘em fucking hurt,” he ordered sharply. 

Jack was fucking flying, he was actually being allowed to take a free kick! And it was one he could score off! He bounced and wriggled, working himself up for it, but he knew as soon as his foot touched the ball it was off. He swore, furious at himself, but Colin was right there and managed to header the ball in. It was harder than it should have been to join in the celebration, that should have been his goal. 

“We’re getting one fucking more before the half,” Jamie declared to his team. “We’re finishing this fucking half three-nil,” he spat. “For Dani!” He added. He motioned to the bench, where, thank fuck, Dani was sitting there, ice pack strapped to his fucking knee, but clearly okay.

“Yes, Skipper! For Dani!” The lads cheered. 

Crystal worked to make it as hard as possible for Richmond to get the ball back, but Jeff managed another beautiful fucking steal and immediately kicked it up off to Moe. Jamie was already in fucking position when Moe passed it to him and he took the ball and fucking ran with it. Crystal were on Sam, Colin, and Jack, and Jamie could see Jack was still fucking going at it with his defender. The Richmond pinball machine was fucking famous now, but apparently they’d neglected to remember Jamie Tartt, prick star striker, who could solo goals. After flying up the pitch, Jamie faked passing the ball off to a just barely open Colin, and instead, knocked the ball into the net with only thirty seconds left on the clock for the first half. 

Roy followed his lads into the changing room at the half, almost as fucking pissed off as they were. Not at his lads though, they were fucking playing brilliantly, even Jack. Crystal were playing in a way that would have had Jamie throwing punches just a few years ago, and Roy could see him fucking looking to him when he needed to, and he was so fucking proud of the man Jamie had become. “Right, first things fucking first. Turner, are you fucking okay?” He barked. It didn’t look like the punch connected, but he wanted to fucking make sure.

Jack rolled his eyes. “M’fine, Coach. Know how to avoid a punch. Ain’t stupid,” he grinned. He was going to get the play the second half too, Jamie said he’d get Coach to let him. He’d make up for his missed free kick, he was sure Jamie would set him up for a goal, especially since it would rub it in Crystal’s face that the Rookie scored against them. He bounced over to Jamie to tell him that, with only three defenders on the pitch now, he might be able to persuade Jamie to set him up for a brace.

“Oi! Fucking listen! Secondly, you’re all playing really fucking well. Jamie, beautiful fucking goal at the end of the half there. Colin, fucking smashing header. Jack, good fucking job getting into their fucking heads, well fucking done keeping it under fucking control,” Roy praised. He gave praise to his other lads too, congratulating Jeff on his brilliant steals, Isaac on his long kick. “I know they are playing like fucking cunts, but you’re all fucking better than that and proving it. Dani’s going to be fine, might have to sit out a couple games, but should be back within two weeks,” he promised them.

Trying to decide with Beard who they should put on for the second half for Dani was hard. They were three up, they should put on one of their newer lads, one of their less experienced players, let them get more familiar with the Richmond pinball machine, but Crystal were playing fucking dirty. They were down a defender now, but Roy didn’t know what kind of line up they’d be coming back with for the second half. After ending with a score of three-nil at the half, Crystal weren’t going to want to concede anymore goals. 

It was not common for coaches to ask players opinions on things like this, it was Roy and Beard’s jobs to make the calls and call the plays, but Roy fucking valued Jamie’s opinion. He also knew, as a player, Jamie would have a better fucking read of the pitch  “Oi, Tartt,” he called. 

Jamie knew he should get Jack to calm down, the kid’s energy was way up, approaching the danger zone, but Jamie was trying to settle himself down. Seeing that fucking prick swinging at Jack, even if the punch hadn’t landed, made Jamie want to fucking clock him one. “We’ll fucking see, Jack,” he bit out. He jogged over to Roy. “Yeah, Roy?” 

“Who do you want on for Dani for the second half?” Roy asked. 

Jamie didn’t even have to think about it, even if he hadn’t told Jack he’d convince Roy to let him play the second half, he knew he wanted him on the pitch with him. “Want Jack,” he stated firmly. 

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, Jamie. He’s done fucking good, yeah? Know you like the little prick, but need someone with more experience with you,” he countered. 

Jamie shook his head. “Need someone who can keep fucking with the defenders. Grett were a fucking cunt, but so’s the rest of ‘em. Jack’s got the lot of ‘em fucking riled up, need to fucking keep ‘em that way,” he insisted. 

Roy gave Jamie a hard look, he was riled up, but then they all were. “Jamie…” he cautioned. 

Jamie tossed his head. “Roy,” he returned stubbornly. 

Roy folded his arms over his chest and used the extra two inches he had on Jamie to his advantage, looking down on his player. 

Jamie looked up at Roy, jaw set, meeting his eyes.

A long moment of silence passed between the pair, the only indication that they were doing anything but staring at each other were the small shifts in facial expressions and small movements. 

Finally, Roy conceded with a sharp nod. “Fine, but you keep him on a short fucking leash, got it?” He demanded. 

Jamie let out a huff of air. “He’ll behave himself. ‘Sides, dun’t want him on a short leash, Roy. Need him to keep them fucking riled up,” he countered. 

Roy narrowed his eyes. “Play a clean fucking game, Tartt. Don’t stoop to their fucking level,” he growled. The implied threat of what he would do if his team did was clear in his fucking tone.

Jamie jerked his chin up. “Won’t stoop, Coach. Gunna fucking stomp ‘em, but clean,” he declared. 

Roy slapped Jamie on the shoulder approvingly. “Good lad,” he muttered. 

Jamie nodded and jogged back to his cubby, catching the bottle Jeff tossed at him and taking a deep drink.

Beard raised a single questioning eyebrow at Roy. Jack was not the best choice here, he wasn’t even someone they’d be considering. 

Roy ignored the look. “Oi, Turner. You’re going in for Dani for the second half. Keep doing what you’re doing out there, but keep yourself in fucking check. Don’t get yourself carded,” he warned. 

Jack beamed in excitement, Jamie had done it, he’d persuaded Roy to let him keep playing. “You got it, Gaffer!” He grinned. 

When the half ended and they jogged back out onto the pitch Jamie couldn’t say he was surprised to see how Crystal had changed their line up. Dropping a forward wouldn’t help them score, but keeping their defensive line strong was about the only chance they had of combatting the Richmond pinball machine. Jamie rolled his shoulders and bounced on his toes, shaking his hands out. He glanced at the sidelines and smirked seeing Grett sitting fucking tenderly on the Crystal bench, fucking served the cunt right. “Jack. Fucking do your worst, yeah?” He called. 

Jack bounced in place. “You got it, Captain!” He beamed.

The half time break had apparently not been good for Crystal because they were extremely riled up and playing even more fucking nastily than before. Jamie could tell Jack to knock it off now, the way the Crystal players were playing they were going to get themselves all manner of cards without his help. He knew in the back of his mind he should tell Jack to wind it back at the very least, before the little shit got actually hurt, but he wanted Crystal hurting, so he said nothing as he heard Jack mouthing off and writing checks that, if they weren’t on a pitch, would be getting him punched. 

A fucking dirty tackle on Colin, earned Musa his first yellow. After making sure Colin was okay, Jamie nodded meaningfully at Musa and Jack, letting the Rookie know he wanted Musa off the fucking pitch. “You want this kick?” Jamie checked with Colin.

“Take it, get a fucking hattrick. Rub it in their faces, boyo,” Colin snarled. 

Jamie gave a tight nod. “Going to humiliate them, teach ‘em to fucking play like this,” he snarled back. He was worked up, but this wasn’t even a tricky fucking spot, he could have scored from here back when he’d still been in primary school, before he was even scouted. Jamie could see Jack really wanted the kick, but Colin had been the one fouled and he told him to take it, so he gave a small shake of his head, nodding towards Musa again, before he took it and scored their fourth goal of the game. 

When Musa launched himself at Jack, they were there- Jamie, Colin, Richard, and even Sam- instantly getting between the two and guiding Jack back as Musa’s team dragged him off, but it was enough to get the cunt his second yellow and taken off the fucking pitch. Jamie grabbed Jack and quickly told him the play, he could score again from here, but he wanted to give Jack the goal. 

Jamie took the kick and started their play, using the advantage they had of Crystal being a defender down to slip their net and running at the goal before he kicked the ball back to Jack and watched him score off his assist. 

Roy wasn’t surprised when Jack’s goal caused Crystal’s manager to sub off one of his midfielders for another defender. Even playing two men down he was desperate to try and stop Richmond racking up the score any higher. It was a stupid play, with only three midfielders and one forward they had no hope of keeping possession or getting past Richmond’s defenders to at least try and lessen the humiliation. When Crystal put on López, Roy caught Jack’s attention and gave him the signal to pack it in. 

Out of the corner of his eye Jamie caught Roy signalling for Jack to pack it in, he gnashed his teeth, but he wouldn’t directly override Roy’s order. He grabbed Jack. “We’re getting you another fucking goal, getting you that brace,” he snarled. If he could, he would make it a fucking hattrick, really fucking rub their noses in it.

Watching Jamie talk to Jack had Roy nodding approvingly, assuming Jamie was reinforcing his signal for Jack to knock it off. He didn’t want to have to watch the Rookie take a punch, Richmond were done with the dust ups and everyone was far too on edge to take Jack getting punched and not turn it into a fucking brawl. Roy was sure even Sam would be joining in if someone actually landed a hit on Jack, he was their youngest player, and it would trigger Sam’s urge to stand up to bullies. 

Gaining back possession from Crystal was easy. Moe swooped in with a steal before the ball could even reach their defenders and got the ball back up to Jamie. 

Jamie only just managed to catch himself before his head slammed into the pitch at the fucking foul from Boudet. The only thing stopping him from fucking launching himself at the French prick was that Richard, Sam, Jack and Colin were already there before he got back up, screaming at the twat, and the ref between them, waving them back and throwing a yellow card at the cunt. Jamie spat furiously onto the pitch, his eyes searching for Roy, needing to see him to get himself under fucking control before he earned himself a fucking red and the belt for losing his temper; because fucking hell right now he was angry and he wanted to hurt that twat. Roy’s look of damn near apocalyptic rage allowed Jamie to take the deep breaths he needed to take to stop himself, even as his fists shook with how fucking furiously angry he was.

“Gunna get ‘im off your fucking pitch, Skip,” Jack snarled in promise. 

Roy had told Jack to stop, had told Jack no more, and Jamie knew he should enforce that, it was his fucking job, as captain, but he was too fucking angry. He could see Jack was far too wound up as well, he really did need to tell Jack no, to leave it, but he just fucking couldn’t. “Can you score!?” He demanded furiously. “If I give you this fucking kick, will you put it in!?” He growled. 

“Fucking yes, Cap! You know I can! Trained these with me,” Jack insisted. 

“Then fucking score!” Jamie ordered. He handed the ball off and got in position, stepping near Boudet. “Ickle fucking Rookie’s ‘bout score a fucking brace against yuh. Barely out of Academy and fucking schooling yuh. Two goals, an’ a assist. Just fucking seventeen, never even played a full ninety for us yet,” he taunted. “Thinking ‘bout it, might even set him up for a hattrick, once he gets your arse sent the fuck off,” he added. 

Jack scored and the team fucking pounced on him, five-nil up!

“Fucking humiliating ‘em, boyo!” Colin cheered. 

Jack couldn’t have stopped now, even if he wanted to, he was absolutely flying. He was buzzing from rubbing it in Boudet’s face. He should have seen it coming, but the punch that knocked the wind out of him took him by surprise. 

Fortunately for Jamie he didn’t see Boudet punch Jack or he’d have taken his fucking head off, as it was he joined the team yelling at the ref. The red card he gave Boudet barely put a dent in his fucking fury.

“About fucking time you fucking cocksucker! They fucking paying you under the table or some shit!? Do I need to suck your fucking dick to get you to actually do your fucking job!” Jack jeered at the ref.

The yellow card thrown up in Jack’s face was expected, couldn’t be yelling at and mouthing off to the refs like that, but it was like a bucket of ice down Jamie’s spine. He immediately looked over at Roy; the look he was shooting Jack made Jamie feel even fucking worse. Fuck. He grabbed Jack and hauled him away from the ref. “Fucking enough!” He shouted before the stupid twat could open his mouth again. 

There was only ten minutes left of the game, Roy could have let Jack play out the last ten minutes, but he’d already watched the little prick fucking ignore him and ignore Jamie. He’d already sent De Maat for the fucking paddle and had been debating subbing Jack off, only waiting for Jamie to look to him to ask for it, since Jamie had wanted Jack on the pitch. “Roberts, fucking warm up, you’re going on!” He barked. He called the substitution, glaring furiously at Jack, watching in approval as Jamie gave him a shove towards the sidelines when the little shit started to argue.

“What the fuck? Why am I being subbed!?” Jack protested. 

Jamie resisted the urge to smack Jack himself. “You fucking got yourself carded you stupid fucking prick! Were fucking lucky it weren’t a red! Going off on the fucking ref like that! Fucking go! Before you make things fucking worse for yourself!” He snapped. 

“You said I could play the whole half!” Jack spat.

“Fucking go, Turner! If I hafta drag you off this fucking pitch, the fuck you think Coach will do to yuh?!” Jamie roared. He shoved Jack forward hard, pointing towards Roy. 

Bristling with fury, Jack flipped Jamie off and stormed off the pitch. 

Roy grabbed Jack the second he was in reach and brought the paddle down hard on his arse right there at the sideline. He gave him five, hard, toe lifting fucking cracks. “Get your arse to the fucking corner and stand there before I let, God, the Angels, King and fucking country see you bare arsed over my knee taking your fucking cracks! I sub you off, you fucking hustle! You don’t throw a fucking strop with your captain!” He growled. He shoved the lad towards the dugout getting Jack away from him before Roy inflicted serious fucking harm onto the lad. He once more repeated Jack’s date of birth in his head, reminding himself firmly that the little shit was just a fucking kid. 

Jack howled at the unexpected cracks that almost lifted him up off his fucking toes. Having to stand in the corner of the dugout was utterly fucking humiliating, but like hell was he even going to try to argue with Coach Kent right now. He swiped at the tears dripping down his cheeks and clenched his hands into fists to prevent himself from trying to rub the fucking fire out of his arse. Even over his fucking kit shorts and pants he was sure he’d never taken such fucking hard cracks with the paddle. 

Seeing Roy crack Jack right there on the fucking sidelines worked like a fucking ice bucket being tossed over their heads for the whole team. The bristling, boiling, bubbling anger that had them all snarling and ready to turn this match into a fucking bloodbath for Jack, was instantly doused. 

“We finish this fucking clean,” Jamie forced out. “No more fucking cards. They are three players down, we’re six-nil up, we’ve fucking humiliated them, paid them back in full for Dani’s knee. We keep it fucking clean,” he told them all firmly. He looked at them all as seriously as he fucking could, reminding them that no one wanted a repeat, or heaven fucking forbid escalation, of ‘the game’. 

“Yes, Skip!” The team agreed together.

Crystal were still playing fucking dirty and rough, but the Richmond pinball machine was on full form and they just kept the ball moving, once Jeff stole back possession. Roy watched his lads carefully, relieved to see they’d managed to collect themselves after he’d pulled Jack off the pitch. He was sure the pundits would have a lot to fucking say about this match, but other than Jack, his lads had handled themselves fucking brilliantly and it would be Crystal getting ripped to shreds. 

Despite winning seven-nil, Jamie having set Colin up for a second goal in the stoppage time, the mix of the utterly brutal game and knowledge that they were about to watch Jack get serious fucking cracks, had the whole team slightly subdued as they headed off the pitch and into the tunnel. 

Roy waited until every one of his lads headed into the tunnel before retrieving Jack from the corner, grabbing hold of his bicep and marching him along in front of him. He was still fucking furious at the little shit, but watching his lads work so hard to play a good clean last ten minutes and stoppage time had tempered his fury slightly. 

Jack would normally protest being fucking marched about like a child, but for once in his life he shut his mouth and tried to save himself some fucking trouble. Coach Kent was already mad enough, making it worse did not seem like a good fucking idea. 

Roy marched Jack into the changing room. “Go sit in your fucking cubby!” He ordered. 

Sitting on those fucking benches was about the last thing Jack wanted to do, but his feet were already moving. He lowered himself gingerly into his cubby, hissing as his arse met wood, and squirming.

Roy looked at his team of fucking muppets and let out a sigh at their fucking downtrodden looks. “Oi, fucking listen up. That was a brutal fucking game, but you fucking trounced them. Showed them how the fuck it’s done and played fucking well! The pundits are going to fucking tear into Crystal for that fucking display whilst the absolute fucking worst thing they can say about us, is we have a fucking mouthy little shit of a Rookie who doesn’t fucking know when to shut his fucking mouth! You kept your fucking heads and showed them fucking why Richmond is fucking top of the League and why every fucking manager out there watches our tapes, obsessively trying to find a way to beat the Richmond pinball machine, which they fucking can’t,” he stated. “You fucking beat them, seven-nil, they thought taking Dani out would fuck with you, throw your off your fucking game, they were fucking wrong. That’s a defeat they won’t fucking live down fast,” he added.

Roy’s somewhat shouty, gruff, grumpy, and sweary words of encouragement lifted the spirits of the changing room. 

“Fucking murdered ‘em Bruv. Got yourself a fucking hattrick, and the Rookie and Colin braces each,” Isaac declared, nodding at Jamie. 

“Didn’t let them keep possession at all. Never stood a fucking chance,” Declan pointed out. 

“Showed everyone that playing like cunts wouldn’t fucking stop us,” Yosef added.

Roy let the team bolster each other back up. “And in a minute, you can all fuck off and go celebrate that fucking drubbing you gave them. Right now though, we have a fucking yellow to take care of,” he reminded them. It was unfortunate, having to bring them back down, but this was the second time Jack had blatantly ignored orders from himself and Jamie to pack the prick shit in, and he was going to make sure it was the fucking last. 

Jack shifted as all eyes fell on him. “Coach, the ref was being a right twat, he was letting them get away with everything. I know I shouldn’t’ve gone off on him like that, but he was being a cunt,” he defended. “Crystal were playing fucking brutal, you said it yourself, they were playing nasty and the ref didn’t do shit about it. Didn’t even card Grett for his tackle on Dani that fucked his knee,” he added. 

“He didn’t card Grett then, because it was a rough but, unfortunately, clean fucking tackle. Beard and I reviewed the tape, was a nasty fucking tackle, but not a foul, un-fucking-fortunately. The ref was doing his fucking job. Just because Crystal was fucking toeing that line does not mean you get to start fucking yelling at the ref, Turner!” Roy corrected sharply. 

Jack opened and closed his mouth.

“If you have a fucking problem with a call the ref makes, what do you fucking do, Tartt?” Roy demanded. 

Jamie swallowed. “Engage the formal review process, Coach,” he answered crisply. 

“Engage the formal review process. You do not run your fucking mouth with the refs, Turner. You disagree with a fucking call, you tell me or your fucking captain and you let us fucking deal with it,” Roy explained tightly. This was something Jack should fucking know and shouldn’t need fucking explaining, but he was doing it anyway because the lad had fucking cracks coming for that.

Jack shrank back in his cubby. “Yes, Gaffer,” he muttered. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he’d really hoped to buy himself some leniency. 

“Should’ve fucking subbed you off after you ignored my fucking orders, ignored your fucking captain, again. This going to be a recurring fucking problem is it, Turner? You deciding mine and your captain’s orders don’t fucking matter?” Roy growled.

“Eh, Coach,” Jamie murmured softly. “Not trying to interfere or nowt, swear down. Will shut up if you say so, but eh, think yuh need to hear this,” he stated calmly. 

Roy turned to Jamie with a frown. When Jamie was interrupting he was not usually so fucking polite about it, would just run his mouth, but he was waiting for Roy to let him speak. He regarded Jamie silently for a moment, reading him, checking in with the lad, wanting to make sure this wasn’t about trying to run interference for Jack. “Speak,” he finally allowed with a warning growl. If this was Jamie trying to fucking interfer then he was going to give the lad a set of cracks he would not be fucking forgetting in a fucking hurry.

Jamie met Roy’s look evenly, he really did think he needed to say this, and say it now, although Jack could defend himself and he would back Jack up, he needed to own up himself. “Jack din’t ignore me orders. I, eh, when you signalled to knock it off, me own temper were up, were proper fucking pissed at the cunts, so I din’t say nowt t’Jack ‘bout knocking it off,” he explained. “Ran me own mouth too, talked fucking shit. Then when Jack said he were gunna get Boudet off the pitch, even though you said no more, and I know I should’ve told ‘im not to, I din’t. I din’t do nowt to help ‘im calm down an knock it off. Saw you signal to, ignored it, saw he were too riled up, din’t do nowt to help, might’ve even made it worse, encouraged it like. I en’t saying I deserve none of his, but… should probably be up on charges meself, for being a shit skipper, ignoring yuh an’ yuh orders, and not making ‘im knock it off when you said too an’ I could see he were too worked up,” he admitted. 

Roy raised an eyebrow at Jamie, because he’d fucking seen him talking to Jack after he’d given Jack the signal to knock it off. “Are you fucking telling me, Tartt, that you saw me tell Turner e-fucking-nough, and you did what? Told him to fucking ignore me?” He growled. 

Jamie shook his head rapidly. “No, R-Coach. Swear down. Wouldn’t. Just… din’t tell ‘im meself, when it were clear he were gunna ignore you. Saw it, an just told ‘im I were getting ‘im a second goal. Din’t tell ‘im nowt ‘bout cutting it out,” he stated. 

“Is that so…” Roy asked dangerously. He turned back to look at Jack. “Turner, be fucking honest. When your captain told you he was getting you a second goal, after I’d told you to fucking pack it in, did that fucking feel like your captain telling you, that you could fucking ignore me?” He demanded. 

Jack looked at Jamie, then at Coach Kent. “Eh, well, um, not… not exactly. Knew I was supposed to listen to you, but um, kind of felt like maybe J-Cap was giving me permission to keep going,” he murmured. 

Roy nodded, “and when you told him that you were going to get Boudet off my fucking pitch, and he again didn’t tell you not to, even after I told you to fucking. Knock. It. Off. Did that feel like you had his fucking approval to ignore me?” 

Jack opened and closed his mouth again before finally giving a small nod. “Maybe a little, Coach,” he admitted. 

Roy gave an approving grunt, then turned his attention fully to Jamie, looking at him expectantly. 

Jamie swallowed. “Sorry, R-Gaffer. Undermined your authority. ‘Cause me temper were up. Were a proper shit thing to do and shouldn’t’ve. Were proper out of order. Were a shit skipper to Jack. Saw he were too wound up, saw he were gunna get hit, an’ let it happen. Weren’t right. Supposed to help ‘im settle down, be his fucking captain, weren’t, and din’t. Saw you tell him, enough, saw he weren’t gunna listen an’ din’t do nowt t’make him, did the opposite, like. Made him feel it were alright to not listen to you. Made it all fucking worse running me mouth too, ‘cause me temper were up,” he fessed up. “On the pitch it’s me responsibility to make sure everyone follows your orders, as captain, an’ if they en’t, fucking supposed to yell at ‘em to make ‘em. Din’t do me job, an Jack got punched for it,” he added. 

Roy gave a long slow nod. “Undermined my fucking authority. Been such a shitty skipper. Didn’t fucking keep your lads in fucking line. Let and encouraged one of your lads to ignore my direct fucking orders. Ignored my direct fucking order yourself. Saw me tell Turner enough, decided you knew fucking better. Ran your own fucking mouth when you could fucking see the other team were ready to throw fucking punches. Didn’t do your fucking job and our Rookie took a punch because you decided you knew fucking better than me, because you lost your own fucking cool and decided not to be a fucking captain to your lads,” he confirmed. 

Jamie felt about two inches fucking tall when Roy scolded him like that, the utter disappointment in the man’s voice cut through him. “Yes, Ro-Coach. I did… did all that,” he confirmed, voice wobbling just a bit. 

“Charges!” Roy demanded. 

“Eh, I dun’t- eh. Undermined your authority, that’s one,” Jamie half said half asked.

Roy nodded tightly, “what’s your count, on undermining my authority?”

“New one, en’t- s’new one, so- so five?” Jamie checked. 

Roy just nodded. He stared hard at Jamie, letting him know silently to keep fucking going.

“Being a shitty fucking skipper, not doing me job, not keeping me lads in fucking line, letting one of ‘em ignore your direct orders,” Jamie listed off.

Roy raised an eyebrow but nodded again. “And your count, for being such a shitty fucking skipper?” He pressed.

“N-new one, ‘gain, new one. S’five, ‘gain,” Jamie murmured.

Roy narrowed his eyes. “You’ll do ten,” he stated. “For being such a shitty fucking skipper,” he reinforced. 

Jamie could only nod, taking a moment to fight back the tears that were already welling up. “I-ignored your direct order, because me temper were up. Throwing a strop an’ ignoring your direct order,” he forced out, his voice breaking a bit as he did. That wasn’t a new charge, his count on that one was high.

Roy looked at Jamie carefully. “And what is your count, for throwing a fucking strop and ignoring a direct order from me, as captain?” He asked.

Jamie’s head jerked up to look at Roy, because adding ‘as captain’ made that a new charge. He read Roy’s face carefully and felt a wave of relief hit him, he didn’t think he could take his old count plus the additional charges, no arse could take that, well except maybe Jeff’s. “New one, so, five?” He checked. 

Roy looked at Jamie for a long moment before finally giving a grunt of agreement, nodding at him to fucking continue. 

“Running me fucking mouth, when the other team were already looking for a fucking fight,” Jamie continued. 

Roy twirled the paddle in his hand. “Your count, for running your fucking mouth, as captain?” He asked. It was another charge Jamie had a fucking high count on, although not as captain. He was a hard fucking coach, didn’t let his lads slide on anything, but he drew the fucking line against being abusive. 

Jamie’s shoulders relaxed just a touch. “New charge, five,” he stated. Roy was a hard man, a hard fucking coach, called you up to the court of the paddle and made you face your fucking charges, but he was not a bastard about it, at all. 

“Five,” Roy confirmed.

Jamie shifted under Roy’s demanding look, trying to figure out what other charges he had.

“Loosing your fucking cool and letting one of your lads take a punch because you decided not to be his fucking captain?” Roy growled.

“Oh, yeah. Eh, that- that too,” Jamie nodded. “S’new one, another new one, so, five?” 

Roy nodded firmly. 

Jamie sucked in a breath and tried to think if there were any more charges he needed to list. “Eh, I think… think that’s everything, Coach,” he murmured hopefully. He really hoped it was everything, his count was already high, just because it was mostly fives for first times, those added up.

“So, what’s your count, for all those fucking charges, Tartt?” Roy demanded. 

Jamie almost couldn’t look at Roy, the sheer weight of his disappointment in his tone was worse than any fucking paddle crack. “Thirty, me count’s thirty,” he whispered. 

How the fucking muppet still managed to look like a fucking kicked puppy, with those big, sad fucking eyes, looking up at him through his thick fucking lashes, Roy didn’t fucking know. “Thirty,” he confirmed. He sat down on the centre bench, raised a single eyebrow and looked expectantly at Jamie. 

Jamie’s stomach twisted sharply and he took a second to close his eyes and take a shaky breath. He pushed himself to his feet, trying to kick out some of the tension, he shook his hands out before stepping forward and walking himself over to the centre of the room and Roy, the tips of his ears burning. Most of the lads had seen variations of this show more than Jamie liked to think about, he’d had a hard fucking time keeping his nose clean back then, but more recently he’d been doing a much better fucking job at keeping himself in check. Stood to fucking reason the first time he found himself in trouble again, it wouldn’t be something fucking small; go big or go home, yeah? 

Roy allowed just a small flash of pride to show in his eyes at Jamie approaching on his own fucking accord, wasn’t so long ago that Jamie couldn’t face charges without making things fucking worse for himself. He shifted his position just slightly, so his lap was clear for one Jamie Tartt to put himself over, and continued to look expectantly at him. 

Jamie saw the look of pride and it fucking helped. He sucked in a sharp breath and before he could lose his fucking nerve shoved his hands into the waistband of his kit shorts and shoved them and his pants down, quickly half throwing himself, half tripping, over Roy’s lap. He made sure to catch himself before his weight could land heavily on Roy’s knee, before lowering himself down the rest of the way. He felt Roy’s hand settle on his back and let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Good lad,” Roy murmured. And he was, really, Roy was fucking proud of the man Jamie was now, seriously fucking proud. He’d made a fucking poor call out there, but considering the fucking brawls Jamie had gotten in, over far fucking less at times, it was a vast fucking improvement. Plus, Jamie had fucking owned up, copped to fucking everything on his own, no prompting from Roy himself. Jack probably would have protested heavily that he hadn’t ignored his captain’s orders and Jamie would then have had to sheepishly admit to not telling Jack to knock it off, but Jamie had owned up all on his fucking own. That didn’t change the fact he’d fucking let the lad down out there, or that Roy now had to remind him, and all the lads, what was fucking expected from Jamie as the team’s fucking captain, but it did make Roy seriously fucking proud. 

Roy’s praise had another bead of tension being released and Jamie settling just a little more over Roy’s lap. 

“What are you up on, Jamie?” Roy prompted. 

“Being a shitty fucking skipper, undermining your authority, throwing a fucking strop an’ ignoring a direct order, running me fucking mouth, and losing me fucking cool an’ forgetting to be the lads captain an’ letting one of ‘em take a punch,” Jamie listed off. “M’sorry, Roy. Let you fucking down, won’t ever do again, swear down,” he vowed.

“We’ll make fucking sure of that, lad, don’t you worry,” Roy promised. He looked around at the lads watching, most of them were fucking familiar with scenes like this, so it was his new lads Roy checked on. Jack, in particular, looked fucking horrified, which, fucking good, lad needed to learn his actions didn’t just effect him. Jack was not responsible for Jamie’s choices and actions, and Jamie had earned every single one of the cracks he was about to get, but it was Jack’s decision to ignore his orders that created this situation. “Oi. Everyone fucking watching?” He barked at the lads. 

“YES, COACH!” They shouted back as one.

Dixon lightly kicked Jack, nodding pointedly at Roy.

“Eh, yes, Coach,” Jack choked out. 

“Let’s learn,” Roy stated ominously. He raised the paddle and brought it down with a ringing crack across Jamie’s arse, quickly followed by a second. 

Jamie drummed his feet against the floor, pounding his fists against it, he was hissing and spluttering by three, his back bowing and arching as he fought to stay in position. By ten he was wailing and the wailing didn’t stop. He lost count around sixteen and just a few cracks later, slumped down over Roy’s lap, just fucking sobbing. 

When Jamie collapsed down across his lap, Roy sped up for the final ten, wanting to get his over with. After delivering the last crack, he set the paddle down and rubbed his hand up and down Jamie’s spine, letting him sob. Jamie’d taken his cracks fucking well and even more than that, he’d accepted them with a fucking grace that Jamie never could have done just a few years ago. He let Jamie sob over his lap until his sobs started to calm. “You going to remember that you are the fucking captain out there and keep your fucking lads in line if they fucking need it? Make sure none of them take fucking punches?” He growled.

Jamie nodded his head rapidly. “Fucking, yes! Yes, Coach! No more punches, not one!” He choked out.

“And if I give any of you a fucking order, whilst you’re on my fucking pitch, what are you going to fucking do?” Roy pressed.

“Enforce it, Roy. Swear down. Make ‘em fucking follow it. An’ follow it meself, won’t throw a strop an’ not follow it,” Jamie vowed, desperately.

Roy kept rubbing Jamie’s back, moving to rubbing soothing circles. “You going to be the skipper your lads fucking deserve out there, be worthy of that fucking band they gave you?” He asked.

Jamie let out a choked gasp as he nodded. “Won’t let ‘em down ‘gain, won’t let you down neither,” he promised. 

Roy wanted to tell Jamie that far from letting him fucking down, he was doing him fucking proud, but those were words for later. “Know you fucking won’t, made sure of that,” he stated. He tapped Jamie’s well paddled arse for emphasis. “And what about your fucking mouth? You going to fucking run your mouth when everyone is already spoiling for a fucking brawl?” He checked.

Jamie shook his head. “No, Roy. Won’t. Never ‘gain. Won’t egg it on when everyone’s fucking riled,” he sobbed. 

“Good lad,” Roy praised. “Lesson fucking learned, yeah?” 

“Swear down, Coach. Won’t do none of that ‘gain,” Jamie insisted. 

Roy nodded approvingly and lightly tapped Jamie’s back. “Ready to get up, lad?” He asked. 

Jamie took a couple shuddery breaths before nodding and letting himself slide backwards onto his knees. He pressed his face into Roy’s thigh, seeking a brief moment of comfort, sinking slightly into Roy’s hand when he felt it cupping the back of his neck, then let Roy help him to his feet. He did not want to pull his fucking kit up, not with his arse blazing how it was. Fuck. Roy hadn’t been fucking messing around, they weren’t quite cracks, but they were more than just Roy giving cracks to enforce his rules. He’d wanted to make a fucking impression, and he fucking had! Jamie didn’t think he could sit through Jack’s cracks, even though he knew it was what he was supposed to do, but he’d never been able to just stoic it, not after taking cracks from Roy. 

Roy reached down to give the back of Jamie’s neck a comforting squeeze when he felt the lad press his face into his thigh. He looked at Jamie searchingly after helping him to his feet, seeing the all too fucking familiar freshly paddled hop. He knew Jamie wasn’t going to fucking like what he was about to tell him to do, but he knew it was what had to fucking happen. 

Knowing Roy wouldn’t make him sit, Jamie finally reached behind him and pulled his kit back up, although he’d much fucking rather not, would rather have his arse out with it this fucking blazing. The lads wouldn’t even care, but Roy was fucking decent about not making him sit, the least he could do was pull his fucking kit up.

Roy stood and caught Jamie’s elbow before the lad could limp back to his cubby. “You want to be these lads’ fucking captain, be a good fucking skipper to them?” He checked.

Jamie paused when Roy stood, feeling a little confused, but figured Roy was going to have Jack bend over and put his hands on the bench for his. He looked down at Roy’s hand on his elbow before looking up at him confused. “Course I do, Roy. Swear down. Won’t let you or ‘em down ‘gain. Gunna do better. Never gunna be such a shitty fucking skipper again. Won’t,” he vowed. 

“I know you won’t, lad,” Roy assured him. He looked at Jamie, letting him see how much he did know Jamie wouldn’t let him or the lads down again, let Jamie see the trust and belief he had in him to do the right thing next time. “But there’s one more thing you have to do now,” he sighed. He released Jamie’s elbow, trusting him to stay there, and bent to pick up the paddle. “Turner!” He barked. 

Jack jumped half out of his skin when Coach Kent barked his name. He’d never taken thirty, and seeing Jamie take a paddling like that, because Jack been a fucking twat and decided to ignore his coach’s orders, had him rather shaken up. “Yes, Coach?” He asked.

“Here,” Roy ordered.

Jack practically leapt up to his feet and darted across the changing room, Coach Kent’s order having him moving before he’d even fucking consciously decided to. 

Jamie looked at Roy completely bewildered. The only thing he could think of was that Roy wanted him to apologise personally to Jack and, well, the lad fucking deserved it, didn’t he? It was Jamie’s fucking responsibility to keep Jack in check on the pitch and Jamie straight up hadn’t, had done the opposite. 

Roy turned to Jamie and flipped the paddle in his hand, holding it out, handle first, to him. “See to him. Make sure he never disobeys a direct fucking order from me on my pitch again,” he declared. 

Jamie took a step back. “Ro-Coach! I… that’s… he…” he started.

Roy stepped with Jamie, following him. “You’re his fucking skipper, Tartt. Just fucking ‘swore down’ to me that you wouldn’t be a shitty fucking skipper to your lads again. Your lad fucking needs to you be his fucking skipper now. It’s your fucking responsibility, when you’re out there on my pitch, to make sure your fucking lads knock it the fuck off when they are going too far. Time to do your fucking job, Tartt,” he commanded. 

Jamie could only stare at Roy, silently pleading with him not to make him do this.

Roy met Jamie’s eyes with a hard look. Jamie had set an extremely poor precedent with Jack, undermining his authority the way he had, Jamie had to be the one to enforce this lesson. Jamie needed to do this, Jack needed Jamie to be the one to do this, and frankly the rest of the lads needed Jamie to be the one to do this too. 

Jack looked back and forth between his coach and his captain. He wasn’t entirely sure who he wanted to win this one, Coach Kent had a heavy fucking hand with that paddle, it fucking hurt, cracks from Jamie couldn’t possibly be as fucking hard, but it was Jamie, Jamie who was more like a buddy than a captain really. He settled, Jamie wouldn’t do this, it was ridiculous, Coach had just paddled Jamie, there was no way Jamie was now going to paddle him.

“Unless you want to hand that band over, give it back to Isaac, or give it to Sam, let someone else be skipper for your team?” Roy questioned. He could see the wavering, the uncertainty; he knew Jamie needed just that little push to bring himself to do it.

Jamie briefly dropped his head before reaching out with an only slightly shaky hand and taking the paddle. “How many?” He whispered. 

“You’re his fucking captain, your fucking call. Just sort him out,” Roy stated. He gave Jamie a look of pride, letting him know, silently, that he was fucking proud of him, that he believed in him, that he knew he could do this, and that he was right there if he needed him. 

The paddle had never felt so fucking heavy in his hand. Jamie had carried the paddle plenty, having to take it out onto the pitch and hang it up in the dugout, even having to go fetch it for Roy to paddle him with. He’d even hidden the paddle, stolen it too – painting yellow and with Ted’s stamp with Moe. But holding it now, it felt like it weighed more than what he could bench press. 

Roy squeezed Jamie’s shoulder supportingly before stepping back away from the centre bench, going to stand by Beard, keeping an eye on the rest of the lads, making sure they were learning both parts of this lesson. To fucking listen to his orders when he gave them, but also to respect Jamie’s fucking authority as captain. He wasn’t worried so much about the lads who had come up with Jamie, those who had known him since his loan, the team that had been together with Ted, it was the new lads that had come in since Lasso that he was more concerned about. He folded his arms over his chest and glared. 

Jamie swallowed and forced himself to sit down, hissing a little as he did. Fuck. He’d never had to sit on an arse this fucking blazing, and it fucking hurt. He took a second to just fucking breathe before looking up at Jack, seeing the wide eyed look of shock and horror on his face. “Jack…” he started. 

“Fucking no. No. You can’t. You fucking can’t! You’re- you’re you! Jamie c’mon, man, you- it- this- no!” Jack spluttered. He stepped backwards, shaking his head, hands up. Sure Jamie was technically his captain, and technically he could do this, but it was Jamie! Jamie wasn’t Coach! Coach Kent, who had fucking paddled that twat from Arsenal whilst Arsenal’s manager had paddled Jamie at half time for getting in a fight. Coach Kent, who came up under Mourinho and taken a hell of a fucking paddling on the pitch, then turned around and took the other teams paddle and paddled half the rest of the fucking team, an event that had become legendary. Taking cracks from Coach Kent when playing for Richmond was fucking standard. He couldn’t take cracks from Jamie, Jamie was his mate, Jamie stayed after training to have fucking kick abouts with him, helped him, fucking called him ickle Jackie and dropped him on his arse when Jack was getting all wound up and in his head. Jamie, who joked with him, teased him, told him stories about the cracks he’d fucking taken from Coach Kent.

“Jack, c’mon, lad” Jamie tried.

Jack shook his head again, still stepping back. “This is bullshit,” he insisted.

“Hey, Jack, that’s enough, yeah?” Jamie scolded, allowing his voice to go a little sharp.

“Fuck. No. Can’t- fucking won’t! Won’t!” Jack denied. He looked at Coach. “You- I’ll take it from you! I know I fucked up, should’ve listened to you, and I’ll take what I got coming from you. Not- not from Jamie,” he declared. 

Roy said nothing, simply stared unimpressed at Jack. Unfortunately for the lad, and for Jamie, Jack’s reaction was just reinforcing why this was necessary. 

“Oi! Turner! I am your fucking captain and I am dealing with you right now. Now come back here!” Jamie barked. 

Jack stopped moving backwards but shook his head stubbornly. “Jamie, c’mon, mate. You can’t do this!” He pleaded. 

A small part of Jamie could see this was why Roy was making him to this, even if he was still a fucking bastard for it. “Turner, you either get your fucking arse over here, or I will come and fucking get you, and you won’t fucking like that,” he told him. 

Jack let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Already don’t fucking like this, mate!” He spat. He looked around, looking for an escape. 

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Dun’t even fucking think ‘bout it, Jack Turner. It en’t worth it, fucking trust me,” he warned. 

Roy shifted subtly to get closer to the door, ready to grab the little prick should he try to run, to save Jamie having to chase the twat down through the halls. 

Jack shot Jamie a heated fucking glare, looking between the door to the tunnel and the exit. Coach Kent was a little too close to the exit, but with his knee Jack should be able to make it. “Fuck off,” he snapped at Jamie.

“That’s fucking enough, Turner. Get your fucking arse here, or we’ll fucking add five to what you already have coming,” Jamie hissed. It was Roy shifting again that gave it away, Jamie didn’t know exactly what Roy had seen, but it was clear enough that he thought Jack was going to fucking try to run. Jamie let the paddle drop to the bench and jumped up, moving quickly, even with a fucking limp, to grab Jack’s bicep and drag him back towards the centre bench. Fuck. He owed Roy so many fucking apologies for being such a fucking shit before. “Pack it fucking in!” He snapped, giving the lad a hard shake when he tried to dig his heels in. 

Jack swore when Jamie was suddenly fucking there, as he was trying to decide which exit offered his best fucking chance. “Ge’off me! Let me fucking go!” He protested. He let out an undignified yelp at the shake and almost lost his footing. 

Jamie sat down heavily, barely swallowing a string of fucking curses as he did. He swept Jack’s legs out from under him and managed to somewhat awkwardly catch him and yank him into place over his lap. Holding a struggling professional fucking football player over his knee was not as fucking easy as Roy made it look. Although he had usually been the one needing fucking hauling over Roy’s knee, Jamie had witnessed some others needing yanking over when they were all worked up, he’d seen what to do. He tugged down Jack’s kit and pants and immediately started bringing his hand down over his bared arse. 

Jack let out a stream of insults and swearing, fighting to try and get off Jamie’s lap, his whole face burning at the complete fucking embarrassment of this. 

Jamie was almost amused, fucking hell the little twat sounded like him the first time Roy had spanked him, spitting, hissing, and snarling in fucking fury. Almost being the operative word. “Fucking enough! Turner. You signed your fucking contract, you agreed to this. I am your captain and that means I have every fucking right to turn you over me fucking knee and paddle you if yuh earn it,” he interrupted.

Jack flung an arm back. “You’re such a fucking cunt! Thought you were my fucking friend!” He snarled. 

Jamie managed to catch Jack’s arm and held it tightly in his and pinned it up between his shoulder blades. “We’re teammates, Turner. But on the pitch and when you are up on charges with me, I am your fucking captain and it’s your job to listen to me, an’ do what I tell yuh. Do what Ro-Coach tells you,” he corrected. 

“You’re only doing this because Coach Kent is making you!” Jack whined. 

Jamie tugged Jack back into position when his struggling and kicking was getting a bit much. He remembered belatedly about Roy tossing a leg over his to keep them in place and quickly figured out how to do the same. “No, m’doing this because you think you have the right not to listen to me. Because you were going to fucking run, like a little kid. I dun’t want to do this, s’true, but you need me to, and I’m your fucking captain, an’ am gunna do right by yuh. Coach’s right, s’my job, when we’re out on his pitch, to make sure you listen, an’ I din’t. I let you down out there today, and I en’t gunna do that anymore. If that means fucking hauling you over me knee and giving you the fucking cracks you earned, then that’s what we’ll do,” he explained. 

Jack shook his head. “Not fair!” He protested. 

“No, what en’t fair were listening to you go off on that ref, ‘cause you were all wound up. Having you fucking argue with me ‘bout Coach subbing you off. You get subbed off, you fucking listen! You listen to Coach when he tells yuh what to fucking do. When he tells you enough, yuh listen and do what you’re told! You dun’t get to decide you know fucking better,” Jamie lectured. Sitting still with the added weight of Jack over his knee was absolutely fucking impossible, but the little shit was struggling so much he probably couldn’t even feel how Jamie was squirming about himself. 

“You ignored him too!” Jack pointed out. 

“Yeah, I did do that. I did. An’ you just saw him give me such a fucking paddling, yeah? You saw me take me fucking cracks. All thirty of ‘em. Over his knee. Right in front of everyone. Because I fucked up, were a shitty fucking skipper, and everything. Let everyone down. Well, en’t doing that no more. Gunna be the skipper you fucking deserve. Do right by you. That means making sure you fucking know to listen to Coach when he says enough. Making sure you know not to fucking yell, swear at, and insult the ref. You think he’s making shitty calls, yuh come to me. You tell me, or Coach, and let us deal with it,” Jamie reminded him. 

“Fucking hypocrite! You punched a ref! Saw you do it at a match!” Jack spat accusingly. 

“Yeah I did. Were such a fucking cunt an’ lost me fucking temper. Hit ‘im. Got a red. Let the whole team down. They had to play without me, when they needed me. Told you ‘bout the cracks I took for that one. Why we don’t fucking have it out with the refs, yeah? Why we fucking engage the formal review process, yeah? Learn from me mistakes, Turner. Dun’t get after the fucking refs, en’t fucking worth it. Just doing their jobs,” Jamie scolded. 

Jack let out a wordless noise of protest. 

Jamie shifted again, trying to find some position that wouldn’t hurt so fucking much, but with Jack’s added weight over his knee he didn’t think it was possible; although even without Jack’s weight sitting after cracks from Roy was something to be avoided. He knew what really got to him, when Roy had to deal with him and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Jack. Let you down, out there today. Were a shitty fucking skipper to you. Shouldn’t’ve lost me cool how I did, should’ve done better by yuh. I swear down, gunna do better by yuh from now on. Gunna be the captain you deserve to have,” he promised.

Jamie apologising to him, turning it around like he did and being nice, even whilst still bringing his hand down hard on his arse was too much for Jack. He slapped his hand down on the floor and let out a soft sob as he began to quietly cry. 

Jamie stopped when Jack gave in and rubbed his back, releasing his held arm and his legs. 

Now he wasn’t fighting Jamie, Jack could feel Jamie shifting underneath him and realised he was sitting on a fucking paddled arse to deal with him and tried to get up.

Jamie pushed down on Jack’s back. “Not yet, Jack. Still got to deal with your charges and cracks,” he reminded the lad softly. 

“I can bend over for them! Don’t need to be over your lap!” Jack insisted. He didn’t keep trying to get up though, letting Jamie’s hand keep him in place.

Jamie shook his head. “You’re fine, lad. Settle, yeah?” He urged. He rubbed Jack’s back a little more, trying to encourage him to relax too, although he knew it was hard when you knew cracks were coming.

“But- but your arse!” Jack blurted out.

“Earned me cracks meself, Jack. Everything I got, I earned fair. Dun’t worry ‘bout me. Just worry about you,” Jamie stated. “Ready to talk ‘bout your charges now? All done fighting me?” He checked. There might be more dignity in bending over and bracing against the bench for cracks for some, but Jamie knew he would choose going over Roy’s knee more than bending over. It would certainly be easier for him now, having Jack bend over the bench for his cracks, but it would feel better for Jack over his knee, so he’d suffer through having to sit for him.

Jack groaned but shifted so his weight was off of Jamie’s lap, shifting onto his fingers and toes in a plank. “Yeah, sorry, Cap. Sorry. All done fighting you,” he promised. 

Jamie tapped Jack’s back. “Hey, you dun’t need to do that. Me arse blazes, yeah, but can take your weight, okay. Held yuh just fine just now, din’t I?” He reminded. 

Jack nodded, but didn’t drop his weight onto Jamie’s lap. 

Jamie sighed and shook his head again. “Alright, lad. What did you do that you know you shouldn’t’ve?” He asked.

Jack couldn’t exactly squirm much like this, not without risking losing his balance. “Uh, didn’t listen to Coach, ignored his direct order, and yelled and swore at the ref, got a yellow,” he half stated, half asked. 

Jamie nodded. He picked up the paddle. “Twenty. Ten for not listening to Coach, an’ ten for what yuh said to the ref and the yellow,” he declared. Roy said to sort him out, to make sure he didn’t ignore his orders again, and he hoped twenty was enough. He had to fight the urge to look back and check in with Roy. Roy trusted him to do this right, and he wasn’t going to let him down again. He cleared his throat and looked at his team around him. “And what are you lot going to do, whilst Turner takes his cracks?” He asked. 

“LEARN HIS LESSON, SKIP!” The team responded

Jamie swallowed past the lump in his throat, briefly catching the supportive look from Isaac, seeing the trust in his eyes and catching the nod. The approval from his former captain, who’d given him the band himself, helped settle Jamie. “Pay attention! His lesson is for you too. We don’t ignore orders from Coach, and we don’t earn fucking yellow cards yelling at the ref!” He ordered.

“YES, CAP!” The team all replied back.

Jamie took a second to stretch his neck out before he finally brought the paddle down. The crack of it was fucking familiar, he was more than used to the sound, he’d just taken thirty fucking cracks from it, but being on this side of it made it seem so much louder. He kept his hold on the paddle by sheer force of will and instantly regretted deciding on twenty. Fuck. He had to give twenty with this thing? It was the tiny approving grunt he heard from Roy behind him that gave him the strength to continue. He brought down the next crack and tried to find a rhythm. 

Jack gasped and spluttered for five cracks before bursting into tears. He’d been sure Jamie wouldn’t have as hard a hand as Coach, and truly they weren’t as bad, but that didn’t make them fucking easy! By ten, his arms were shaking fiercely and he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. He dropped down onto Jamie’s lap. “Sorry, Skip. Sorry!” He spluttered out.

“Told you, you din’t need to hold yourself up, lad. You’re fine,” Jamie assured him. He sped up some for the final ten, getting a better feel for the paddle now, and wanting this over with, for both of them. 

Jack could only nod as he wailed through the next five, finally bursting into sobs at crack fifteen. 

Jamie brought the final five down just a fraction harder and faster, leaving an impression, making this paddling memorial, so hopefully Jack wouldn’t be eager for a fucking repeat, since he certainly fucking wasn’t. He finally set the paddle down and rubbed Jack’s back once more as he sobbed over his lap. “S’alright, lad. Took that well, yeah? You’re all done now,” he murmured. 

Jack tried to push up, feeling his captain still shifting underneath him, feeling certain his skipper needed to get up off his arse.

“No, Jack, take your minute. M’fine, lad. Settle now. There’s a good lad. You’re good. En’t no rush,” Jamie assured him. “Calm down some first, yeah?” 

Feeling fucking guilty about it, since it was his fault his captain had gotten cracks in the first place, Jack did as he was told and settled, letting himself just cry over his skipper’s lap. 

“There’s a good lad, just take a minute,” Jamie encouraged. He kept rubbing Jack’s back, fighting back tears of his own, although he wasn’t sure why he wanted to cry himself. Only once Jack’s cries started to settle and taper off did he help the kid to his feet. “You good, Jack?” He checked. 

Jack pulled up his pants and kit shorts as soon as he was on his feet, hopping as his hands hovered just off his arse. He knew it didn’t do any good to rub, not after cracks from the fucking paddle, but his blazing arse hurt! He nodded at his skipper. “Yeah, Skip,” he sniffled. 

“Next time Ro-Coach gives an order, what yuh gunna do?” Jamie asked. 

“Obey it, Cap. Promise. I’ll obey it!” Jack vowed.

“And when yuh dun’t like what the refs’ saying or doing?” Jamie pressed. 

“Come to you, or Coach. Engage the- the formal review process,” Jack hiccuped. 

Jamie nodded approvingly. “Good lad,” he praised. 

“Sorry, Cap. Shouldn’t’ve done none of that today. Was my fault you got cracks,” Jack mumbled to the floor. 

“Oi. You want another five, Jack? None of what I got were your fault, lad. That were all on me. I earned me cracks meself. Just like you did, yeah? I should’ve done right by you, an’ I din’t and that were all on me. Won’t do it ‘gain. Understand? What I did were all on me and none of it on you,” Jamie corrected firmly. 

Jack’s eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly. “No, Cap. Don’t want any more. What you did is on you, not on me,” he repeated quickly. 

“Fucking right it is,” Jamie agreed.

“Alright you lot! Go fucking shower, piss the fuck off, and go celebrate that fucking drubbing we gave Crystal. Tartt, with me!” Roy barked out. He turned and walked into the coach’s office.

Jamie got up and gave the back of Jack’s neck a squeeze, wanting to make sure he was truly okay.

Colin stepped up to Jamie and Jack. “We got him, Cap,” he promised. 

“Yeah, Bruv. Don’t leave R- uh- Coach waiting, yeah?” Isaac backed up. 

Jamie nodded. “Thanks, lads,” he murmured. Feeling oddly shaky, he followed Roy into the coach’s office, letting the door close behind him. Briefly taking note of the fact the blinds were down, which wasn’t exactly normal, but not outright strange either. He blinked seeing Roy stood there with his arms open and instantly half threw himself into Roy’s arms, wrapping his arms around his neck as he buried his face into Roy’s shoulder and burst into tears.

Roy wrapped his arms around Jamie, holding him tightly as he let the lad cry. Wasn’t easy paddling the lads under your care, and he knew it would take an emotional toll on Jamie who wore his fucking heart on his sleeve. All heart was Jamie. “You did fucking good there, so fucking proud of you. Know that was fucking hard, but you did it. I know it’s easier to be his mate, but he needs you to be his captain too, and you did that,” he murmured into Jamie’s ear. 

“You’re a fucking bastard making me do that,” Jamie muttered.

Roy nodded. “Yeah, but he needed it, and you did too, lad. The lads needed that from you as well,” he pointed out. 

Jamie gave a huff. “Yeah, know he did,” he sighed. “Sorry, Roy. Know I let yuh down out there today,” he murmured. 

Roy peeled Jamie back from him slightly and took his chin, tilting his face up to look at him. “Oi, you made a bad fucking choice, but you fucking paid for it, yeah? Ain’t going to repeat that one, are you?” He growled. 

Jamie went to shake his head but Roy had his chin in a firm grin. “No, Roy. Swear down. Won’t ever ‘gain.” He promised. 

“Then that’s that, yeah? You stood your charges, took your cracks, made me fucking proud how you did that too, lad. Owned up on your own, took responsibility. I’m fucking proud of you, Jamie Tartt. So fucking proud,” Roy stated firmly. “You’re a good fucking man, Jamie Tartt.” He drew Jamie back into his arms and let him rebury his face in his shoulder and held him tight.

It didn’t take Jamie long to calm down and pull himself together, not with Roy’s arms around him and Roy telling him how proud he was of him. He pulled back once his tears had stopped. 

Roy held Jamie at arm's length, reading him, checking in, making sure he was okay. “Go fucking shower. Make sure Colin and Jack stay behind, press might want to talk to you three, fucking hattrick and two braces. Jeff too, those steals are why managers watch his tape,” he ordered. 

Jamie nodded, “Aye, Coach.” 

Roy watched Jamie walk away, looking calm and fucking settled and let out a breath of relief, his lad was going to be just fine. 

The Press did want to talk to the lads, and the whole team stayed behind in the changing room to wait for them, so they could go out to celebrate together. Before they could go however, Roy handed Jamie two bottles of water, looking at him pointedly. 

Jamie took both bottles and tugged the first open with his teeth, taking a drink without having to be told. He nudged Jack, offering him the second bottle, knowing, without Roy having to say, that the second was for him. 

Jack looked at the bottle, he was exhausted, just wanted to go home and sleep, he wasn’t even sure he was up for celebrating with the lads. “Nah, mate. M’good ta,” he murmured. 

“Jack. Drink,” Jamie ordered sharply. 

Jamie’s tone had the whole team looking at him, recognising Jamie’s new ‘captain’s’ voice, and taking note of it. 

Jack took the bottle. “Yes, Cap,” he agreed quickly. He took a long drink from the water bottle, embarrassed to find it did actually help him feel a little better. 

“Good lad,” Jamie praised, reaching out to ruffle Jack’s hair affectionately. 

The edges or Roy’s lips curled up in a smile and he nodded approvingly at Jamie, his eyes echoing Jamie’s ‘good lad’ to Jack, right back at him.