Social media headcanons for Ted Lasso (taken from a prompt on Twitter).
Jamie, Keeley, and Roy all have official instagrams. Roy does not have the password to his account; just Keeley. Roy doesn’t want the password, and if she’s being honest, Keeley doesn’t trust him with it anyway.
All three also have finstas, but Roy only uses it to follow Jamie and Keeley.
Roy used to have a Twitter account, but he called Elon Musk a racist cunt who didn’t know his arse from his elbow, and then he got banned. Keeley can’t even blame him really.
Jamie has a TikTok and it stresses Keeley out to no end because that’s where he posts his most unhinged shit. Roy knows it exists and that he sometimes features in it, but he refuses to engage.
Jamie also has a burner Reddit account that he only uses to sock puppet in the football RPF threads. It brings him no end of joy. When he’s bored, he drops bits of RoyJamie RPF fic. It’s *extremely* filthy.
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Jamie: I have something to tell you. Roy and I are dating.
Sam: I've known for the last couple years. You two are inseparable.
Jamie: Years?? We've only been together for a couple weeks.
Sam:
Sam: Then what the fuck were you doing before that??
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”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”
He should've never let him play. When Jamie stormed into the locker room, running late and snapping at his teammates for asking why, Roy should've seen the red flags for what they were.
Everton at home wasn't the same as Everton away; he could've spared them all the misery. They could've spared Jamie, except that it was Roy's debut season as manager of AFC Richmond, and if he had a pound for every time that season Jamie had shown up to training in an utterly foul mood, he'd have more pounds than Phoebe.
So instead he'd barked, "Oi! Check the prima donna act at the fucking door. You're ten minutes late, and you've got sixty seconds to kit up or else you're watching the game from the bench. Got it?"
Fire flared in Jamie's eyes. That too should've been a warning sign. But he put his head down to undo his laces with a muttered 'yes Coach' and Roy, stupid as he was and knee deep in therapy he didn't like, counted his breaths and decided that this was a fight that could wait for later.
The match was a disaster from first touch.
The fight didn't wait for later. Whether it was how he walked onto the pitch or how he immediately set about cutting Everton to pieces, the opposing team picked up on Jamie's mood and magnified it back with an intensity that could set the grass on fire.
Jamie matched it back tenfold - once per each player outside the goal area, and only then because Richmond's press couldn't make it that far down the pitch.
The first yellow card failed to appear at the six minute mark. That set the tone for the rest of the match.
By the time a third dirty tackle sent Jamie's legs flying out from under him, even Sam was shouting at the referee to do something. The team's interim captain gestured furiously at Jamie, who shrugged off his teammates help, slapping them away as he limped onto his feet.
Jamie tested his leg. The second he put weight on it, he flinched. He turned towards the coaches, demeanor stoically blank apart from the obvious question in his eyes.
Roy stared back. After a few moments, Jamie nodded. He fell back into position and the ref motioned for the game to resume.
Sam sent a decidedly dirty glance in Roy's direction. His disappointment cut sharp.
So many red flags.
Roy had plenty of chances.
A few minutes later, Jamie snapped something at the Everton player marking him. Something cruel by the sneer across his lips and the way it painted the opposing player's face an even deeper shade of red.
The man reared back like a bull. In one quick motion, he headbutted Jamie square in the face.
The ref finally blew his whistle.
Jamie didn't get back up.
After the match, Sam followed Roy to hospital.
"You should not have done what you did today." Those were the only words the younger man offered on the ride over.
Fair enough.
Concussion, the physios had reported, as if that weren't fucking obvious from the loss of consciousness.
All things considered, if they'd arrived at hospital to find Jamie confused, dizzy, and a little deflated, things probably would've gone smoother.
Instead they walked in to find bristles and a scowl. The nurses fluttered around him, making soft noises as they briskly addressed his bruises- and there were a lot of bruises. Hard not to be banged up after a match like that, but there were an awful, awful lot of them and not all of them looked new. Roy's chest twisted as he tried to recall if at some point in his bullheaded inattention, he'd missed the signs of Jamie pushing himself too hard again.
The nurses left, packing away their tapes and tubes and syringes and all the other bits they used to mend things whole. Then all that was left was Jamie, Jamie's attitude, Sam, Sam's disappointment, Roy, and Roy's fury fighting for space in the tiny hospital room.
Jamie shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Bruised ribs, the nurses had mentioned, and Roy could strangle the twat for not saying something sooner- for not pulling himself off the pitch sooner. What the fuck was he thinking?
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
Jamie recoiled on the bed. He blinked stupidly at Roy.
"Do you think this is a fucking joke?"
Their injured player opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I don't?"
"Oh really." Roy stepped forward until all that separated them was the rail at the edge of the hospital bed. "Because you could've fooled me. Seems to me like you were goading Everton into taking the first hit."
Jamie's jaw clenched in response. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and it made the anger simmering in his chest threaten to boil over.
"Who cares, mate? It's just Everton, yeah?" Jamie said casually, like they were discussing the merits of Aston Villa's new away kits. Like he wasn't laid up in fucking hospital. "Not like they hit that hard anyways."
Roy saw red.
"Sorry, am I the one who hit my head? Am I the one who missed the back half of the match? We lost three-nil you little twat, all because your teammates were too busy worrying about you to focus on the game. You lost us the match, you prick."
"Roy," Sam objected.
His breathing came sharp and fast, and it was almost dizzying the way he couldn't seem to suck in enough air. Tightening his grip around the edge of the bed, he growled, "For fuck's sake, Jamie. If we wanted to watch you get knocked around on the pitch, we'd just do it ourselves-"
"Roy!"
Sam's bare-faced outrage doused him in ice.
He'd crossed a line.
Under Roy's looming presence, Jamie looked very small.
He took a shallow step back, feeling sick to his stomach. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swore, "Shit. Jamie-"
"Shut up."
When Sam Obisanya told you to shut up, you shut up.
"That was uncalled for," Sam said levelly. He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in deep, dealing damage to Roy the whole way down. Then Sam refocused his attention on the person more deserving of it.
"Jamie, Roy didn't mean that. He is upset - as we all are - but that is no excuse for him to speak to you in this manner."
Jamie's mouth twitched into an uncertain shape. It made him look softer, and younger, than he'd look in months, but it also made the damage stick out vividly, the bruise across his head dark and bleeding under his skin.
A strangled little noise bubbled out of him. He swayed towards Sam like a sunflower to the light, and he sounded oddly hoarse as he tried to quip. "Thanks, twenty-four. Nice to know that someone's got my back against that hairy arsehole."
"But you are also in the wrong."
Jamie faltered, something lost and sad filtering through his defenses. "But you just said-"
"You went into that match with no regard for yourself," Sam snapped. ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”
Jamie's mouth clicked shut. In the resulting quiet, only Sam's harsh breathing punctured through the beep of the medical equipment.
"It is not fair-," said Sam, his fists clenching at his side, "-for you to treat yourself with such disrespect. Not when there are so many who love you and want to see you well."
Jamie swallowed. A mistiness glimmered in his eyes. "Sam-"
"Jamie-"
Tripping over each other's words, they both stuttered to a stop.
Sam cupped his hand over his mouth. To Roy's horror, his chest shook as he stifled a violent sob.
"I can't do this right now," he said mournfully, their titan of a captain clearly close to crumbling. Blinking rapidly, he murmured, "Excuse me."
As he turned to leave, he stopped to level Roy with look so full of misery it made him want to sink through the floor.
"Fix this," he whispered, full of sorrow and love.
Sam left the room.
In the wake of Sam's departure, arguing about anything else felt... petty.
"That was uncalled for," Roy admitted in a harsh rasp. It was the bare minimum he could say- that he needed to say. "Sam's right, I shouldn't have..."
He gestured lamely to the room at large. At the shadows his anger had left, and Jamie sitting weakly in a hospital bed, and the overall fucked-ness of the situation in general.
"Sorry," he finished lamely.
Jamie blinked at him wearily. Now that some of the anger had fizzled out, the obvious signs of the concussion clamoured for attention. He wasn't quite tracking Roy's position, and the way he held himself stiffly made Roy suspect he was bracing himself against a tidal wave of dizziness.
Honestly, Sam should've kicked dirt over Roy on the way out, what with the hole he'd dug himself.
"Whatever. Was being a prick, so I probably had it coming, yeah?" Jamie shrugged. "Didn't even have the signal, did I?"
"You haven't had it in a while," Roy pointed out. "Not that that seems to be stopping you lately."
He half-meant it as a joke, but Jamie didn't respond.
"Come on," Roy tried, letting his voice drop into something quieter. "Talk to me- what's been going on with you, eh? Showing up late to training; skipping out of dinner at Sam's. Now you're snapping at Colin when he asks to borrow deodorant and ignoring play strategy to pick fights during matches? The fuck's going on here? This isn't like you."
"Maybe it is," Jamie grumbled. He picked mulishly the sheets, and Roy could strangle him for how fiercely the worry scratched at his chest. "Maybe I'm the same prick I've always been, and I'm just not fighting it anymore."
"Bullshit," growled Roy. "You're better than that, Jamie."
Jamie flinched back as if Roy had struck him.
He didn't argue.
He just sat there, picking at the sheets, twisting everything into knots, and pretending like Roy wasn't even in the fucking room.
Roy scoffed. Despair filled his chest, mixing with worry and anger and a deeply frightening sort of love that made him want to go up to the roof and scream until the clouds came crashing down. Maybe Sam had the right idea, removing himself from the situation. Roy needed to take a moment to collect himself, lest he dig the hole deeper saying words he'd only regret.
Roy turned to leave.
You couldn't help someone who didn't want-
"Coach?"
Roy paused at the doorway. Jamie, carefully looking down at his restless hands, still wouldn't look him in the eye. His shoulders curled up like he was bracing for a fight.
"I know you're busy and stuff. Being the gaffer and all. But-"
He paused. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands against his thighs. Roy frowned; he was missing something here, but he couldn't make the dark forest for the trees.
When Jamie continued, it was in a low mumble that was hard to hear over cacophony of the machines. "Do you think that maybe we could start doing morning trainings again? Doesn't have to be a full one - could just do half. That way we could start at six, and you'd still have the time at night to recharge your Terminator batteries."
A sharp snort escaped Roy. Down the hallway, some sort of alarm started going off, and he shut the door to block it out.
Crossing his arms, he looked Jamie up and down. "Why?"
Jamie shrugged. "Miss it, is all. Plus it's nice, innit? Having a reason to get out of the house."
In the forest Roy couldn't make out, something lurked in the dark. Some sort of low level radiation, maybe. It was like they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into Chernobyl without knowing.
Perhaps the way out was back the way they'd came.
(And honestly, he'd missed it too.)
"Fine. After you're cleared for play again. 6am."
An alarming amount of gratitude flooded Jamie's eyes. A sunflower reaching blindly for the heat of the sun.
"Thanks, Coach."
Roy grunted. This bit, at least, he didn't feel like he'd messed up too bad.
He thumbed at the door, where the hallway and the journos and the rest of the world waited. "I'm going to check on Sam. Then I'll update the team. Anyone else I should call? Your mum?"
"No!" Jamie blurted out. He tried to shake his head, only to remember too late that he was still concussed. He buried his head in his hands, hissing in pain. He tried again, "No, no need. Don't want to freak her out, or she'll drive down here and- I'll call her later. For now just tell the lads I'll make it up to them, yeah?"
Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Fucking hell. Look, that was a shit thing for me to say, alright? No one actually blames you for losing the match. Not them and not me. It'd be a dick move to blame someone for getting carted off after a blow like that."
On the bed Jamie turned an ashen grey. He looked like he was about to throw up.
"Oi, you good?" Roy scanned the room. "What's going on- do you need a bucket? Or a nurse?'
"Huh?" Jamie jumped. He looked startled to find Roy still standing in his room. "Oh, uh. I'm good, Coach. Just thinking you're probably right.
"You'd have to be a real dick to blame someone for losing the match like that."
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ooooh if you’re still taking those prompt drabble requests, i would absolutely ADORE to see you tackle “they can’t hurt you any more” 🩷
(drabble, uh, not so much) from this prompt game.
Almost a year of early morning training had conditioned Roy that when his phone vibrated at 4 am, it was likely his alarm. But this morning, it wasn’t his alarm, no, someone was calling him. Dread filled his stomach. There was no good reason for anyone to call him this early. His brief hope that that was some terrible accident and Ruth was being called to work was when he saw the name on the caller ID.
Jamie Tartt.
“Jamie?” Roy answered on the third try, his fingers missing the little green button the first two tries.
There was no answer on the other line. Dread crawled up Roy’s spine when he heard rustling, then finally, Jamie’s voice reached his ears, distant and muffled.
“Get the fuck out!”
Roy wasted no time pulling on trousers, and his boots, and the phone was on speaker phone in case there was more to hear.
Roy wished there wasn’t more to hear or Jamie come on the line.
The unmistakable sounds of a fight reached through the phone louder than a siren.
Fists connected with flesh.
Pained grunts filled the speaker.
Furniture splintered and broke.
All the while, Roy prayed to hear Jamie’s voice again.
The phone connected with the Mercedes Bluetooth as Roy threw the car into drive, thankful for the empty streets as he sped through West London towards Jamie’s house.
“Jamie? Please, Jamie, say something,” Roy begged.
Instead, Roy heard laughing, but it wasn’t Jamie’s laugh. It wasn’t the laugh that Roy’s had come to recognise in a group of rowdy footballers, the laugh that relaxed him when he’s worried, the laugh that made him smile even when he was in a shit mood. No, it was a laugh that sent shivers down Roy’s spine. A laugh that Roy wondered how many times meant danger for Jamie.
Roy hung up and called 999 and prayed he wouldn’t be too late.
-
The first thing Roy heard when he entered Jamie’s house was deadly silence.
Roy expected screaming. He expected more sounds of a fight. He expected chaos. But what met him was an alarming quiet.
“Jamie?” he yelled, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Jamie?”
The first thing Roy saw when he entered Jamie’s living area was destruction.
Roy expected chairs overturned. He expected broken tables. He expected chaos. But what met him was even worse than that.
“Jamie?” he yelled, again, frantically scanning the destroyed room. “Jamie?”
The first person Roy saw when he finally laid eyes on someone was James Tartt.
Roy expected Jamie to be waiting for him. He expected the men to still be fighting. He expected Jamie would need his help. But what met him was a seemingly unconscious James Tartt and a missing Jamie.
“Jamie?” he yelled again, stepping over debris to move throughout the room. “Jamie?”
“Roy?”
The voice was little more than a croak but at that moment Roy couldn’t think of a better sound. Roy skidded to his knees in front of Jamie, who was on his hands and knees on the other side of the couch. Roy guided him to sit with his back against the glass walls that led to the garden, knowing Jamie would feel safer if he could see the room, see everyone who came in, see his father still unconscious by the kitchen table.
“It's okay, Jamie. He can't hurt you.”
“I didn’t, I didn't, I didn’t mean to,” Jamie stuttered as he shook his head back and forth, not making eye contact with Roy, only staring at his father’s body.
“Hey. I know, it’s okay,” Roy said, moving his body in between Jamie’s eyesight and James.
Roy’s eyes ran over Jamie’s body, looking for wounds or injuries. The footballer was curled into himself, seemingly smaller than his frame. There was swelling and redness that Roy knew would bloom into bruises and cuts bright red against too-pale skin. Roy wondered at the damage hidden beneath Jamie’s clothes and feared the emotional damage hidden beneath the pliant personality.
“Hello? Did someone call 999?” came a shout from the entryway.
Roy had left the front door open, hoping help would arrive soon after he did.
“Back here,” Roy stood and yelled.
A man and a woman came into the room then, each carrying a large bag. They eyed Roy and Jamie but stopped at the unconscious man first. The male paramedic said something into his radio but Roy couldn't catch it. Roy held his breath as they knelt next to a prone James Tartt and checked for a pulse. Maybe Roy should have done that, but hadn’t been able to muster a care at the time when Jamie was potentially injured. Still, Roy exhaled with relief when they found one. James Tartt might not deserve to live in this world, but Roy didn’t want Jamie to have to deal with the pain of being the one to remove him from it.
“Roy, Roy,” Jamie said quietly, hands desperately grabbing at Roy until he bent down and held Jamie’s hands in his own.
“He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s okay, just close your eyes. I’m right here, I’m not leaving you.”
Jamie did as he was told, but Roy doubted he could do more than follow Roy’s orders right now. Still, Roy moved his body to block the view of the paramedics.
“It's okay, you’re okay, it's gonna be okay,” Roy repeated, rubbing a thumb across Jamie’s fingers, careful of the raw and bleeding knuckles.
“I didn’t, I didn't mean to,” Jamie
A noise behind Roy startled him, as the paramedics moved the loaded gurney from the sitting room towards the door, towards the awaiting ambulance, towards a hospital.
“Fuck off,” James said behind him.
Jamie’s body trembled under Roy’s hands at his father’s voice.
“This ain’t over, Jamie. Don’t forget where you fucking came from, don’t you fucking forget–”
“Get him the fuck out of here,” Roy turned and stood faster than he thought his knee could move him, almost knocking a chair over as he rose, not that it would have mattered in the mess.
Roy didn’t turn back around until he watched the gurney roll through Jamie’s front door into the cold morning, James yelling the entire time. Before Roy can turn back to Jamie, the female paramedic stands in front of him.
“We should take a look at him,” she nods at Jamie.
Roy turned to examine Jamie again himself. The cuts looked superficial, but Roy worried Jamie wasn’t simply in shock but had suffered a concussion. The erratic breathing could be from nerves, or it could be due to broken ribs. Could Jamie stand? Could he walk? All questions Roy needed answered before he would begin to think about Jamie being physically okay.
“They’re just going to check you out, Jamie, make sure you don’t need to go to hospital.”
“No, no, hospital,” Jamie said, eyes wide and scared. He stood quickly and Roy thrust an arm to steady him. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Mr. Tartt, we should really make sure you’re alright.”
“Roy,” Jamie pleaded, his fingers digging into Roy’s arm.
“The police will want to speak with him when we’re done,” the paramedic warned.
She heard the threats from Jamie’s father, smelled the alcohol on his breath, cleaned the matching gashes on his bloody knuckles.
“Thanks,” Roy said, wishing he could imbue just how much he meant it. “I’ll make sure he’s checked out.”
Whether by Ruth or someone at Richmond, Roy planned to make sure Jamie was checked out head to toe. The woman took one last look at Jamie before she pulled a couple ice packs and some butterfly bandages from her kit, leaving them on the table with a thanks from a grateful Roy. Roy guided Jamie to sit at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, grateful he wasn’t limping but nervous as to how unsteady he was on his feet.
The antiseptic smell the woman left behind still lingered in the air when a police officer appeared in front of Roy.
“We just have a few questions for Mr. Tartt.”
“Is he under arrest?”
“No, we just need to ask him a few questions.”
“I don’t think he’s in the proper head space right now to answer any fucking questions. You heard his father, Jamie was just defending himself.”
“Maybe. But we just need–”
“The only need I give a shit about right now is what Jamie needs, and that’s not to talk to you. If you have any questions, you can contact Richmond’s legal counsel, Dana Heinen, if you need her number, fucking Google it. Now get the fuck out.”
Roy followed the reluctantly leaving officer to the front door, looking back at Jamie as he did. He needn’t worry about Jamie going anywhere. Roy was unsure the younger man even breathed the short time he was gone.
“They’re gone,” Roy told Jamie, pulling his phone from his pocket to call Ruth. “It’s just us.”
“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, the dam finally broke open as tears fell freely from Jamie’s red rimmed eyes.
Roy quickly canceled the call, pulling another chair as close to Jamie as possible and placed his hands on Jamie’s knees. “Jamie you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I let him in, I, I forgave him. For what? I’m so fucking stupid, Roy, why the fuck would I ever think he could change?”
Roy pulled Jamie into a hug, careful of any injuries hidden by the naked eye and rubbed his back as he whispered to him, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
Jamie latched onto him like a life raft as he sobbed on Roy’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, he can’t hurt you anymore.”
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So like.... do we want a little sneak peek of that Chelsea!Roy and Coach's Daughter thing? 👀
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Contemplating the possibility that Phoebe isn’t just inviting Jamie to Uncle’s Day on the innocent assumption that obviously Roy must want his best friend there, but is rather trying her young hand at a tiny bit of naive nudging. After all, she’s seen her uncle “being stupid” with Keeley before, initiating a break-up even when it’s painfully clear that he still loves her, which leads Phoebe to the (not exactly wrong) conclusion that Roy can’t be fully trusted to manage and maintain his relationships properly. (She wouldn’t put it like that, of course, she’s still a little kid. Then again, she’s precocious as all hell, so maybe she would.)
Like, Roy spends every day with Jamie and talks about him a lot and it is obvious that they’re best friends, but Phoebe isn’t completely sure that it’s obvious to Roy, so yeah, she’ll help him out, same way he’s always helped her, ‘cause everyone needs a bit of a hand once in a while, right, and he’s her uncle Roy and he deserve all the good things and a best friend, even though he’s too stubborn and stupid to see that sometimes.
Don’t worry, Uncle Roy. Phoebe’s got your silly head covered.
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part 108482 me making everything royjamie
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"Don't look down" for the dialog in prompts 👀
Once they've reached the very peak of the ferris wheel - which should mean that it's all going to get easier from here, and Roy can slightly relax his iron-clad, sweaty grip on the small metal lap bar standing between himself and a fall to certain death - Jamie fucking stands up.
The sudden movement sends their tiny, rickety cart into a cacophonous fit of rocking, like it's going to detach from the hinges and come crashing down from its great height.
Roy's stomach drops to his shoes.
"Sit down!" He shouts, gripping the lap bar impossibly harder.
Jamie - who doesn't appear to have a care in the fucking world - pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it out above his head, trying to capture a photo that just really demanded one extra meter of height.
Clouds and fairgrounds: a view to die for.
"Relax, mate," Jamie says, like he's not teetering precariously on the edge of an enormous, straight drop.
The lad is going to be the death of Roy; if his hands weren't glued in place by sheer terror, he'd grab Jamie by the scruff of his neck like a badly behaved kitten and drag him back into his seat.
"Just sit the fuck down. You're gonna get us both killed."
Jamie turns around (moving the cart again - fucking hell), his mouth open as if to say something stupid, but freezes when he lays eyes on Roy.
"Oh, shit," he laughs. "Wait. Are you scared?"
Roy scoffs.
"No. I'm just - no."
"Yes, you are. You're scared of heights! Why didn't you tell me, man?"
"I'm not scared of heights. I just don't fucking like them, because I'm not a fucking masochistic, adrenaline junkie little shit with a death wish."
Jamie sits down - thank fucking Christ - and places a hand on Roy's arm.
His warmth and weight are a comfort, and Roy relaxes slightly.
"Hey," Jamie whispers, squeezing Roy's forearm. "It's fine. They wouldn't let people on this thing if it weren't safe."
Roy shrugs.
It's not strictly true - people die on these rides all the time, after all - but he's willing to accept the reassurance. Just to placate Jamie. Not because he needs it.
Jamie puts an arm around Roy's shoulders and points out at the horizon.
"See, you keep looking down. That's your problem. Don't look down. Just look out there. Ain't it nice?"
Roy looks where Jamie's pointing.
The sun is just beginning to set, painting the clouds dusky, bashful shades of pink and orange, and the distant lights of the city twinkle against the watercolor backdrop like stars.
"It's alright," he concedes, removing his hands from the bar and leaning into Jamie's touch.
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now we need a fic where roy gets tagged a lot to meet the person behind the roy kent stan account bc of it raised a bunch of money for cancer or something, and keeley is like "this'll be great pr you're doing it roy." and then there's shenanigans with jamie trying to get out of it without revealing his secret. everyone assumes the account is run by a 13 year old girl bc the emojis and misspellings and also the handle is like "msroykent4ever"
Lol except Keeley already knows exactly who the stan account is and they’re just trying to wind Roy up 🤣
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Thinking about Roy becoming sort of obsessive about Jamie not having to go through the same struggles to the same extent that he did when it comes to retirement, and so drilling into him early on that he needs to have a Plan in place for After and think about After and mentally and physically prepare for After. And also, he’s doing whatever he can to make sure Jamie doesn’t burn himself out like Roy did and takes care of his body in a healthy way and avoids playing injured…basically doing everything in his power to prevent Jamie’s retirement from being capital-B Bad™️.
And then, because there’s only so much you can control, and because no amount of preparation in the world can really prepare you for losing a thing you love, and because it was always going to be at least a little devastating for the both of them, wasn’t it? …What if, when Jamie does retire, after all that effort to avoid it, it still is capital-B Bad? Because for Jamie, Roy’s determination to make sure he’s Okay is really only another sort of Pressure making him feel like he HAS to be Okay (and even though he knows Roy doesn’t think of it like that, he can’t stop the way he feels). So he pushes aside that he’s struggling in order to pretend like the Plan and the Preparation is all working and he’s Totally Sound. Meanwhile, Jamie’s cheery insistence that All is Well is fucking disconcerting to Roy, who keeps waiting for the breakdown that feels inevitable despite himself because deep down he knows Jamie can’t be Okay so why is he acting SO Okay?
And my god would it be worse if Jamie is forced into retirement earlier than expected because of an injury (something entirely plausible yet completely out of their hands). Because then Jamie feels guilty for being injured even more so than he feels devastated about it ending his career early, as if it was his personal choice to ruin the Plan they’d spent so much time on and as if his body giving out on him despite Roy’s careful honing and perfecting of it is a Personal Jamie Shortcoming. He’s been in therapy long enough to know, realistically, that that’s his demon pigeon-brain speaking but he also can’t Stop. And for Roy of course, seeing his loved one injured like that despite spending a good decade trying to stop that from happening is devastating on many levels. Namely, that he hates nothing more than seeing Jamie in pain, but also that he hates seeing Jamie cover up his pain, and thirdly that it’s dredging up a lot of shit about his own retirement again that he was SURE he had finally fucking processed and accepted after YEARS of putting in the fucking Work.
So it’s all a bit of a mess until things finally come to a head and explode and Feelings are aired out at last and they both have a bit of a cry about it and then they are able to emerge on the other side of it, together. :)
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March Patron poll asked for RoyJamie + Partner Yoga
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To Love and be Loved in Return - Chapter 5: The Morning After
Roy Kent x Reader
Chapter 1 2 3 4
Word count: ~1.7k
Description: Will drunken confessions lead to sober actions? Of course they will, this is a romance story for fuck's sake.
• • •
Roy tosses and turns on your couch throughout the night. He tries telling himself that it’s just because the couch isn’t comfortable, but he knows it’s more than that. He is wrestling overwhelming excitement over the night’s revelations and crippling doubt that maybe you’d regret it all in the morning.
As he stirs for about the 5th time tonight, it isn’t his own thoughts that wreck his sleep, but a clambering sound from the kitchen.His eyes wrench awake to see you searching through your medicine cabinet.
“It’s on your night stand.” He says, his voice made even more gruff by tiredness.
You jolt at the sound from across the room. You let yourself relax a little once you realize who those words were from and turn to face him with your brows knit in confusion.
“The aspirin. It’s by your bed along with a glass of water.”
“Oh. Thanks.” In your groggy confusion you add, “Why are you in my flat?”
“Good morning to you too.” You flip him off in response, your headache eroding your patience to nothingness. He chuckles to himself as he follows you towards the bedroom, stopping in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Gonna go out on a limb and say you have no memory of last night?”
You groan at that and flop down on your bed. You have no idea what happened after you called him to pick you up, but that knowing tone lacing his words didn’t bode well for you.
Roy comes closer and grabs the glass of water and ibuprofen and holds them out to you. “Sit up and take these sweetheart. That headache isn’t gonna get any better on its own.”
You slowly sit up, stretching as you do. You take the pills from him, eagerly awaiting the moment the throbbing at your temples fades away. With a large gulp, they’re gone and you’re left with nothing to do but try to piece together the end of the night before.
“So what exactly happened last night?”
“Oh not much,” Roy puts far too much effort into seeming nonchalant as he adds, “just you confessing your undying love for me.”
You don’t process the way that Roy is smiling or that he called you a pet name just moments ago, you are too consumed with self-doubt when you practically beg, “Please tell me you’re joking.”
He tries to seem unconcerned when he replies, fearing you may not have meant your words, despite everything, including Keeley pointing to them being true. “Did you mean it?”
“No. Yes. Fucking hell.” You slam your face into a pillow both out of frustration with yourself and to avoid having to see his face as he inevitably rejects you. With a long sigh you continue, “Yes I meant it. No I didn’t mean to say it.”
The tension that had taken hold of Roy is finally released along with the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding in. He knows your feelings, so now he can finally let loose and tease you a bit. “So did you also not mean to say yes to being my girlfriend?”
You slowly lift your face from your pillow and Roy falls in love with you again as he can practically read the thoughts on your face as you process his words. “You fucking asshole!” you toss the pillow at him and he only annoys you more by catching it. “You couldn’t have started with that?”
He lets out a hearty laugh at your outburst. “Well I wasn’t sure you meant it and I didn’t want to assume.”
“Of course, I want to be your girlfriend Roy.” you roll your eyes, “Wait, is that why you slept over? Did we do something last night?”
He softly shakes his head, “That’s why I slept on the couch love. I didn’t want to do anything you wouldn’t remember or worse, might regret in the morning”
“That’s very sweet, though I could never regret you.”
Roy can’t fight the smile that crosses his lips at that. “Let me make you breakfast.”
**********
After breakfast you take over cleaning up since he did all of the cooking. You’re about halfway done when Roy comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he mumbles against your neck.
“And watching me do dishes is what made you realize this?” you say in disbelief.
“No, you walking into my office the day we met is what made me realize that. I just haven’t been allowed to say it until now.” He kisses at your neck and you squirm in his arms.
“Roy, I need to finish the dishes and you are not making that easy right now.”
“Oh am I distracting you?” He teases.
“Yes, you are. I’d like to not have dishes to do later if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind.” He reaches around and takes the dish and sponge from your hand, discarding them into the sink. “I’ll take care of them later if you’ll let me take care of you now.”
You turn in his arms, “You better put them away in their spots too.”
With that he nods and finally locks lips with you. Your thoughts melt away as need courses through both of your veins. The kiss is almost painfully slow at first. His lips barely touch yours in a soft, tender kiss. “I’ve waited so long for that.” He sighs as he presses his forehead to yours.
“Then, why’d you stop?” With that, he crashes his lips against yours. The intensity of this kiss consumes you as he slides one hand off of your hip along your side before having it rest at your neck, holding you close to him.
You gasp and he deepens the kiss. As if moving of their own accord, your hands settle on his chest, feeling his strong muscles tense as he pulls you flush against him. His hand against your neck moves slightly upwards, entangling itself in your hair. He pulls at it ever so slightly, guiding you to tilt your head, granting him unfettered access to your neck.
Roy leaves a trail of kisses down your jaw as he finds his way to your neck, leaving warm, hot kisses in his path. He zeroes in on your pulse point and you let out a moan. His hand at your hip slides down to the top of your thigh, toying with the hem of your pajama shorts. You can’t help the shiver that takes over your body at this teasing touch.
He lets out a pleased hum at your reaction and lets the hand that was in your hair drop to the hem of your shirt. He slides your shirt up just enough to let his warm hand settle against your now bare waist. You grind up against him eagerly as you feel his arousal against you and he practically growls.
Both of his hands drop to just below your ass to lift you up onto the counter. You slide your shirt up and off and he pulls back to openly oggle you. “You’re so fucking sexy babe.” he groans. His mouth latches onto one nipple, and your back arches as you get the attention you have been craving from him for so long.
His hands tease at your inner thighs and your hips buck desperate for him to touch you. One of his hands settles at the apex of your thigh and right as he lightly grazes your clit with his thumb you hear your phone loudly ringing in the other room.
“Fuck.” you both groan simultaneously. He pulls away and you rush to answer your phone. He follows, hoping maybe this will be quick and you could pick up right where you left off.
“Hey Keeley, what’s up?”
“I’ll be there in like 5 minutes.” she replies.
“What?” you ask.
“We’re going dress shopping, remember?”
“Fuck, I totally forgot. I’ll need a bit longer than that to get ready. I’ll text you when I’m ready and then you can head over.”
“I’m already in the car, I don’t mind waiting in the living room while you get ready.”
You can’t think of a good reason to say no, so the panic sets in as you say, “Of course, see you in a few.”
Roy cocks his head at you. “Keeley’s coming over?”
“Dress shopping”
“Shit.” He groans.
“We can’t tell her this happened yet,” you say gesturing between the two of you, “she’ll be way too smug about it.”
He nods curtly as he frantically gathers his keys and coat to go hide in your room. You’re brushing your teeth when you unlock the door for Keeley. You gesture silently to the couch as you rush back into the bathroom to finish getting ready.
Once you finish getting ready, you quietly kiss Roy before leaving with Keeley.
**********
After hours of shopping and chatting, you settled on the perfect dress for the gala and she pulls up to your flat to drop you off. You grab the dress bag from her trunk and come back to tell her goodbye.
As you start to walk away she calls after you, “Tell Roy I said hi!” and that makes you stop dead in your tracks. You turn back to her and try to play dumb but before you can get out an excuse she cuts you off. “You smell like his cologne and his car is literally right there babes.”
Tempted to try to deny it anyways, you think better of it and reply, “You knew the whole time didn’t you?”
“Since before I stepped foot into your flat.” she nods. “Love ya! Have fun with Roy.” She waves with a wink before pulling away. As you bound up the steps to your flat, a flush crosses your face in both embarrassment at being found out so quickly and in excitement that Roy didn’t leave.
• • •
Sorry for my absence y’all! Life’s been crazy, my pipes burst twice, I’m getting a promotion at work and I got engaged.
Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @taytaylala12 @siriuslyreads @ashy-kit @isla-finke-blog @laukora1030 @tamberjo @queen-of-the-downtown-scene @harry-bowie-mercury
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