#roy kent fan fic

[starryevermore]

celebrating you ✧ roy kent

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader

summary: you’re used to no one celebrating you. but roy proves to you that he’s not like the others. 

word count: 1,486

warnings?: fluff fluff fluff, no use of y/n, not proofread

a gift for @captainsbestgal happy birthday bestie 🥰

Since you’ve entered adulthood, your birthday was never anything that you put a lot of weight onto. There was something different about adult birthdays, you supposed. Something that made people not want to put any effort into celebrating others. Or, at least, something made people not want to put any effort into celebrating you. 

Ever since you finished school, it felt like you were pulling teeth just to get someone, anyone, to give you an ounce of attention and affection that they were ready to give to anyone else. Whether it be a promotion or a life milestone or your fucking birthday, it seemed like no one wanted to show up for you the way you would for anyone else. The way they would for anyone else. All of your friends would throw surprise parties and take each other out to fancy dinners whenever something great would happen. Your work would get balloons and a simple gift card for people’s birthdays. But for you? Crickets. 

Anytime you tried to bring up the difference in treatment, people acted like you were out of your mind. Surely you understood that they had busy lives? That they can’t just drop everything at the tip of a hat? That these things take time, and energy, and coordination, and they don’t always have the capacity to meet those demands. And you understood! Really, you understood more than most. Often, you were the one playing host, or the one making incredibly personalized gifts, or the one just shooting a “Happy Birthday!” text when things got busy. You understood about not always having the capacity to show up. It’s just…Odd that you were the one who always got the short end of the stick. 

Nowadays, you don’t even bother reminding anyone about your birthday or try to set something up on your own. It was too much effort, and too much heartbreak to see no one even care. 

You expected this year to be more of the same. Nothing was particularly different, except that you had a boyfriend for a few months now. But the relationship was still new, so you didn’t expect Roy to do anything special for you. But, oh, you should have. The second you had mentioned in passing that you were taking a day off work for your birthday, Roy had a plan set in motion. 

The morning of your birthday, you woke up to soft kisses being peppered across your face. Your nose wrinkled, slightly confused as to what was happening. But as you opened your eyes and saw Roy hovering over you, a goofy smile on his face, you couldn’t help but kiss him back. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” you asked between kisses. 

“It’s your special day. Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”

You pulled away for a moment, your brows knit together. This was…odd? Unexpected? But, also appreciated. “Well, aren’t I lucky, then?”

Roy kissed you again then got out of bed. You whined at the loss of warmth, reaching out and trying to pull him back into bed. He batted your hands away. “Nuh uh, none of that.”

“You can’t just wake me up with birthday kisses then take it away!”

“I can if I’m going to make you birthday breakfast while you get ready,” Roy said. But he leaned down over you and kissed you again. “Was planning on taking you to the zoo.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really? Oh my god, I love the zoo.” Then you frowned. “But you have work?”

“You’re not the only one who can take the day off, love. Now, c’mon, I got a lot planned for you today.”

You started to push yourself out of bed, watching as Roy started to leave to go get breakfast made. But, then you called out to him. As he turned,  you said, “I really appreciate you.”

“Get ready to appreciate me even more,” he teased. 

After getting dressed and eating a breakfast of your favorite foods, you and Roy headed to the zoo. You were beyond excited to go. You hadn’t been to the zoo in years, having been too busy with other aspects of your life. You had once mentioned in passing, months ago, to Roy that you were itching to go.

“I can’t believe you even remembered this,” you had said as the two of you walked around. 

Roy turned to look at you. His brows pinched together. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

You shrugged, pointing to a monkey that was swinging around. “It was so long ago. And it wasn’t really anything that was important. I mean, I barely remember what we had for dinner last night.”

“Yeah, but what you say is important to me.”

The way he said it, the way it sounded so definite, so sure, it made your heart squeeze. God, could Roy be anymore perfect? Was it not enough that he was completely devoted to you and handsome to boot? Did he have to so considerate? You leaned your head against his arm, smiling. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Roy take out his phone and snap a selfie of the two of you. 

“Wait, I wasn’t looking!” you giggled as he pocketed his phone. 

“But you looked beautiful.” He nodded over to a different habitat. “C’mon, I heard a kid shout that the lemurs were out.”

“Ooh, I love lemurs!”

You didn’t think the day could get any better than this. You were a bit surprised at how into the zoo Roy was. In some ways, you still had the public image of Roy painted in your head—all stoic, the traditional “masculine man”. The kind of guy that would grumble and groan at the idea of spending a day at the zoo. But Roy wasn’t like that. He was just as giddy as you, just perhaps a little less outward about expressing it. He let you pull him to every habitat you wanted to, pointing out a few that you missed. He took pictures of you—many candids where he called you the most beautiful woman in the world, as well as some posed pictures where he acted like you were walking the red carpet. Your favorites, though, were the silly selfies he would take with any animal that would wander near him. The day was so perfect. It actually made you start to like your birthday again. 

As the two of you returned home, you couldn’t stop gushing about how amazing the day was. Talking about all the things you did. Roy didn’t even mind that you were talking about things he was literally present for. He loved your little recaps of the day, even adding on things that you forgot about. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in excitedly talking about the day, you would have noticed the giant grin on his face as he walked you up to the house. 

“And, oh my god, the snow leopard! She was so sweet and—” you were saying as you unlocked and opened the door. 

“SURPRISE!”

You jumped back, hitting Roy’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you, swaying you side to side as you processed that the entirety of AFC Richmond, Rebecca, and Keeley (and those guys who were always at The Crown & Anchor?) were standing in the middle of the living room. You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “Did you plan this?”

“Nah, just let all these fucking idiots breaking into my house,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. 

Keeley ran up to you, throwing her arms around you. “You bet he planned this! I was practically shitting myself trying to keep it a secret, because, I was so upset you didn’t even tell me your birthday was coming up, babes! But I couldn’t even reveal I knew without revealing everything, and I think Roy would have killed me—”

“I wouldn’t have killed you,” Roy protested. 

She waved him off. “Anyways, come in! You have got to see the cake Rebecca got you. It’s fucking gorgeous. I mean, something straight out of a magazine!”

Keeley grabbed your hand, dragging you into the house. As you were pulled away from Roy, you threw one last glance at Roy, a wide smile on your face. “I love you, you big softie!”

“Oi, don’t just go shouting that! I got a fucking reputation to uphold!” he laughed. 

“So I shouldn’t post your selfie with the elephant?”

Will’s, who practically materialized beside you as if you were hiding in the boot room, eyes lit up. “Ooh, can I see that photo?”

Roy chased after you, growling lowly. “You’re fucking lucky it’s your birthday.”

You laughed. 

Hmm. Perhaps you liked your birthday after all. All it took was someone showering you in the attention you deserved. Yeah. Yeah, you weren’t going to let Roy go after this. 

#roy kent imagine #roy kent x reader #roy kent x fem!reader #roy kent x female reader #roy kent x you #roy kent x y/n #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fan fiction #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fan fic #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #starrywrites #starryevermore

[indigo-graves]

|After| A Roy Kent One-Shot

Summary: Follow-up to "Soft." Roy Kent shows up on Alex's doorstep with a whole lot to say. What happens once she lets him in to discuss his feelings further?

Word Count: 2,536

Status: Complete

Pairing: Roy Kent/OC

Warnings: SMUT! Roy’s filthy mouth.

a03

ff.net

wattpad

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fan fiction #fan fiction update #fanfic #fanfic update #jamie tartt #roy kent #roy kent ao3 #roy kent fan fic #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso #roy kent fan fiction #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent/oc #roy kent fanfic #smut #ted lasso smut #roy kent smut #smut fic #oneshot #ted lasso one shot #ted lasso oneshot #roy kent one shot #roy kent oneshot #roy kent x reader #roy kent/reader #wattpad smut #wattpad fic

[fangirl-k8ee-ladyknight]

Is there/could there be a fic where

1) Roy takes the yoga mums to the charity gala after he’s been promoted to gaffer and just tells them it’s a work thing that he thinks they’ll have fun at and he buys them all glorious outfits and gets them a limo, the whole nine, and all they have to do is bid on Jamie for him.

2) Roy asks Jamie “do you trust me? Then have fun. Peacock. Pull an audible and tell the bidder they can pick the date. Enjoy your prick self.”

3) the mums buy his date and tell him he needs to wear clothes he can be *flexible* in and roy just tells Jamie to go with it.

4) date is just regular yoga night with Roy and the mums with wine (that Roy lets Jamie have TWO glasses of) and reality tv show watching and boy problem bitching and he has an absolute blast.

5) the mums “misunderstand” and make comments about how cute a couple they’d make all night.

Either pre-relationship or getting together.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #Jamie Tartt #Roy Kent #Jamie tartt/roy Kent #Jamie fucking tartt #Roy fucking Kent #Roy x Jamie #fan fic #fan fic prompt #throw in some teddependent to be cheeky #yoga mums #Roy spoils the people he loves #Roy looks out for the people he loves #yoga mums still remain oblivious to Roy Kent being a footballer #yoga mums only know Jamie tartt from lust conquers all #Jamie joins the weekly yoga group #please direct me to this fic #I’m begging

[lunar-years]

Curious about your plan for the Jan Maas square on your bingo card. (I have him too!)

this is one of the hardest squares for me 😭 it all depends on how confident i'm feeling in my ability to write jan maas, LOL. which at the moment is not very, but my idea for it would involve him quite a bit.

so my initial concept is established longterm relationship royjamie have an anniversary coming up and Roy wants to plan a surprise trip for Jamie to Amsterdam. Jamie usually plans their travel because he loves doing the research and compiling fun facts about each place/culture to share with Roy when they're there, but this time roy just really wants to do something for Jamie. he enlists his travel agent as his old standby, but all of her suggestions/ideas aren't good enough. He doesn't even know why, or what exactly it is he's looking for, he just knows it needs to be perfect. so he turns to jan maas for travel tips! jan maas is back living in amsterdam playing for the amsterdam football team whose name i've forgotten. anyway, he not only helps roy plan out a great itinerary, he also invites them to a match and then back to his for dinner so they can all catch up.

at dinner Jan asks Jamie where his ring is, and Jamie is like ??? what ring, Jan Maas. what ring. So Jan says, "well this was an engagement trip, yes? I was under the impression Roy was planning to propose. I told him all the most romantic spots to do it?" Cue a bit of fun lowkey chaos because 1) RoyJamie's relationship has been a "secret" this whole time and they were not aware jan even knew they were together. (it was obvious to the entire team, and Roy's "i'm planning this trip for my Best Friend Jamie" text to Jan could be seen through about a mile away, lol, but royjamie are just kind of silly goofy (dumb <3) and think they've been sooo great at keeping this secret. so they're stunned. 2) Roy was in fact not planning to propose on this trip, but now he cannot stop thinking about it. 3) Jamie in turn Cannot Stop Thinking About It.

you see where i am going.

#my writing #royjamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #jan maas #fic: jan maas #this one's so outside my comfort zone tbh like jan maas engagements AND no keeley (which makes me deeply sad)??? #truly would be doing this one for the fans (jkjk) #ship post

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Roy/Jamie prompt: Roy and Jamie hit the mother of all rough patches. They are constantly at each other’s and it all started over something mundane and stupid. Plenty of angst but also hilarious pettiness ensue between the two dumb dumbs. Until it all comes to a head in the form of this massive nuclear argument where they say all manner of insulting things but that somehow culminates in the two of them tearfully declaring their undying love for each other and making up. They are it for each other and fighting over stupid shit is gonna inevitably be part of it.

heheheheheheh

(I think they could normally talk it through but this was a great time)

Jamie was over it. If he finds one more goddamn fucking towel not on the heater he’s going to strangle Roy.

“Roy did your hands magically break or fucking fall off in the last twenty minutes?? Because if not you’d better have a fucking fabulous plan explanation for the towels being cold again.”

Jamie hears Roy let out a laugh. He throws the towel on the floor going back into their bedroom.

“Jamie pick it up it’s going to mold”

“Fuck off Roy not now.”

Roy snaps his book closed, he sets it on the bed and sits on the edge. “Christ are you as much of a child as I feared? Just pick it up Jamie.”

Jamie spins from where he was pulling on sweats, he points a finger at Roy. “And you must be as old and fucking deaf as I feared because you can’t ever hear me when I say to heat the towels.”

“Jamie don’t start I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re not in the mood? Roy I don’t care it’s fucking annoying.”

Roy stands up, he grabs his phone and headphones from the side table. “Going out I don’t want to fight this with you.”

Jamie side steps into the door frame, “no we gotta talk about it, you refuse to talk about this kinda thing Roy.”

“Fucking Christ Jamie maybe because it feels like I’m talking with a therapist and not my goddamn boyfriend.”

Jamie blinks, okay ouch that one hurt. Fine. Roy goes low he’ll go lower.

He taps Roy’s chest. “If you actually went to those therapy sessions maybe I’d feel like your boyfriend and wouldn’t have to quote my therapist to you.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Christ fine I’ll make the appointment. Get off about it.”

“God Roy I complained about the therapy because I love you and I love us. I want us to work. I can’t do it all.”

Jamie slouches against the door. He’s so tired. He feels tears start. Christ no he can’t cry now.

Roy steps forward. He touches Jamie’s shoulder, “hey no I’m sorry you’re right. I should work on stuff. Not take it out on you.”

Jamie sniffs. Roy reaches out and brushes the tear that managed to escape, Jamie does what his therapist calls a distraction tactic.

He punches Roy’s shoulder.

A bit childish but sue him.

“Ow Jamie what was that for??”

“Making me cry.”

Roy flushes. He pulls Jamie into a hug. “I love you stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Jamie you did not just fucking quote hit the floor at me.”

Jamie pulls away with a laugh. He holds Roy’s face, “you bet I did.”

“I love you too Jamie. Don’t doubt that ever. I’m a prick but I love you. I’m always going to choose you.”

Jamie shoves Roy back to the bed. “I’m gonna pick you too stupid. You’ve just gotta remember that.”

Roy lands on his back with Jamie in his lap.

They both know it’ll be fine. Literally the night before they were talking about suit colors for a imaginary wedding.

They love each other, it’ll be fine.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #jamie x roy #headcanon #royjamie #thanks for the ask !! #roy kent x jamie tartt #absolutely loved this #I hope you like it!! #did I bring my love for hit the floor into fan fic again? absolutely I did

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Six Sentence Sunday

Trent shifted in the seat next to Roy. He prayed the journalist didn’t say anything. The last thing he needed now was someone writing a book about his fucking mental breakdown.

Fuck.

Trent was writing a book about the season.

Trent was writing a book about the season.

#fic: there is no other land #aka the Roy Kent sliding doors fic #Roy thinks he might’ve found a cheat code to fill in the last 6 months for him #roy kent #trent crimm #ted lasso fan fic #six sentence sunday

[fallenangelontheceiling]

" 'I'll email you a training plan.' He doesn't need Jamie's crumpled expression to tell him that wasn't what Jamie was asking about. The nasty thing in Roy howls. It isn't capable of feeling pleased; this is as close as it can get. Roy turns on his heel. He throws the boot room door open with such force that it bounces off the wall. It makes Jamie flinch; Roy doesn't need to see to know that either.

As he leaves, Roy hears Will tell Jamie, 'Your life would make good telly. Like a dramedy. Oh, shit.' He's swearing, no doubt, because Jamie has started to cry. Roy's too far away to hear what Will does or doesn't do about it, but he hates any option. Either Will keeps his distance and Jamie cries alone, which is an infuriating tragedy and just one more thing that's Roy's own fault, one more thing to burn him up from the inside, one more thing for the universe to punish him for.

That. Or, Will comforts Jamie. He hugs him. Holds him. Puts his soft little hands on Jamie's strong body to hold all the fragile intangible parts inside, and Jamie lets him. One more better man to replace Roy. One more less broken man to do what Roy did but easier and gentler and nicer and just fucking better."

take away the glass by @izzyspussy

#jamie x roy #roy x jamie #roy/jamie/keeley #jamie tartt #roy kent #ted lasso #fan fic rec #fan fic #ot3: perverse and pavlovian

[darkmacadamien]

Whumptober 2023, No. 4: "You in there?"

“Bruv, I dare you to drink it,” Isaac says, pointing to the crystal decanter containing a mysterious purple liquid sitting on Coach Beard’s desk.

Jamie scoffs. “Fuck off, man. I ain’t got a clue what’s in there. What if it kills me?”

“Then we will remember you fondly, Jamie Tartt,” Dani proclaims.

Jamie pretends to think about it for a moment, then rolls his eyes. “Uh, nah. Still ain’t doing it.”

“Okay then, boy-o,” Colin interjects, “how about this— I double dare you to drink it.”

“Oooh,” the whole team choruses.

“You cannot turn down a double dare, my friend,” Sam says. Colin and Isaac nod in agreement, the fucking traitors.

“That ain’t fucking fair,” Jamie protests. “Why’re you picking on me, anyway? Richard’s the one with the iron stomach.”

“You were standing closest to me. Sorry, bruv,” Isaac apologizes, though he don’t sound very sorry.

“Philistines,” Jamie grumbles, but he picks up the fancy glass anyway. Unfortunately, Sam is correct: you can’t just not do a double dare. It’s practically one of the Ten Commandments, or something.

Jamie pops the cap on the bottle and gives the contents a cursory sniff. It smells cloyingly sweet, like those shitty perfume samples you get from magazines. “I think this might be alcohol,” Jamie says, running the bottle under his nose again. The scent is so strong it makes saliva well up in his mouth.

“All the more reason for you to drink it,” Jan Maas points out.

“Mate, you know I’m a lightweight. Roy will literally fucking kill me if I show up to training drunk.”

“Sorry,” Colin says, faux sympathetically, “but rules are rules.” He claps Jamie on the shoulder. “Drink up.”

Jamie sighs but concedes the point, and downs the shimmering purple liquid in one quick swallow. It tastes surprisingly light, like green tea, with hints of earthy spices, but it goes down like liquid fucking fire.

It’s worse than the highest-proof alcohol Jamie’s ever had, which had nearly made him vomit from one sip (there’s a reason he drinks vanilla vodka, for fuck’s sake).

Jamie chokes on the aftertaste, coughing and spluttering like he’s drowning. “Water,” he croaks, and a bottle is immediately thrust into his hands. Jamie guzzles it down, but it does nothing to soothe his burning throat.

A strange warmth begins emanating from his stomach where the liquid had settled like a ton of bricks. Jamie clutches at it, suddenly feeling faint.

“Something don’t feel right,” Jamie says.

Then he explodes into a large cloud of purple dust.

“Shit,” Isaac says grimly, when the dust settles. “I think we killed him.”

Where Jamie had once been standing, a figure lies crumpled on the ground.

“Jamie,” Dani cries, diving towards his friend and turning him over. When he catches sight of Jamie’s face, Dani jumps back like he’s been shocked. “Ay, Dios mío,” he shouts, crossing himself.

Colin puts his finger firmly on his nose, and says, “I am not explaining this to Roy,” because there, lying on the ground, is an unconscious child-size version of Jamie Tartt.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Isaac goes to find Ted, because Dani has devolved into hysterics and Ted is the least likely to start shouting and make things worse.

“Watch him,” Isaac orders Colin, pointing at child-Jamie, who’s still (blessedly) unconscious. Then he leaves Sam in charge. “Whatever you do, do not let Roy or Coach Beard into this room. If Roy starts threatening to punch dicks, call Keeley.”

Sam nods grimly. “I understand, Captain.”

“You’re a brave man,” Isaac tells him, and then he’s off.

It doesn’t take long to find Ted; he’s where he usually is at this hour, which means he’s riding around the pitch on the lawnmower.

“Coach! Coach, we have an emergency!” Isaac shouts, waving him down. Ted shifts the lawnmower into gear and rides over at an excruciatingly slow pace. Five minutes later, he’s pulling over in front of Isaac and killing the engine. “What’s up, buttercup?” he chirps.

“It’s Jamie,” Isaac says. “He drank the magic purple stuff on Beard’s desk and now he’s a kid.”

“Well,” Ted says, blinking slowly, “I must admit, I’m a little confused. Do you mean kid, as in…?”

“A child. Like, a youngster, or whatever they say in America. He can’t be any older than thirteen.”

“Oh, wow,” Ted says. “I think this might be a little above my paygrade. You said he drank something off of Coach’s desk, right? Sounds like we need to track him down and see what he has to say about all this.”

“Wait,” Isaac barks. “Won’t he be mad that we messed with his stuff?”

“I’d say it’s probably his fault for not putting a ‘No Touch’ sticker on it, wouldn’t you?”

Isaac shrugs. Fair enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“It’ll wear off in about twenty-four hours,” Beard tells the team, standing ominously over Jamie’s unconscious body.

“And there won’t be any weird side effects?” Isaac asks.

“Nope,” Beard says. “Once he switches back, he’ll be exactly the same as before.”

The team lets a collective sigh of relief.

“Why’d you even have something like that laying around, Coach?” Isaac asks.

“I didn’t,” Coach Beard says. “Jane must have snuck in and left it for me.” He sounds properly charmed by it, the bastard.

Out in the hallway, Roy passes by the dressing room and then promptly turns around once he realizes the entire team is gathered inside, still fully kitted out. “Oi, what’s this? Are we having a fucking party or some shit?”

The team moves in unison to hide Jamie’s unconscious body. “Nothing unusual is going on here, Coach,” Sam says, sounding like he’s reading directly from a script.

Roy shifts, widening his stance and squaring his shoulders, looking as if he’s rearing up for a fight. “I didn’t say I thought something unusual was going on,” he says evenly. “Out with it, then. What the fuck is going on here?”

When everyone remains stubbornly silent, Roy sighs, sounding put-upon. “Okay, let’s try this again— either someone speaks up, or I start punching dicks.”

The team parts like the Red Sea. Roy’s eyes immediately snap to Jamie’s unconscious figure. “Is that Tartt?” he asks. He walks over and pokes him with his foot.

Isaac clocks the exact moment Roy realizes that Jamie is about a foot shorter than he’s supposed to be.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK have you muppets—”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Roy reams the entire dressing room out for a good ten minutes. Not even Coach Beard and Lasso are spared, which in other circumstances might’ve been comical, but mostly it was just terrifying.

So terrifying, in fact, that no one notices a tiny Jamie Tartt come to consciousness and sneak out of the changing room.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Thirteen-year-old Jamie Tartt has no idea what to think when he wakes up in a strange dressing room with a much-older-than-he-remembers Roy Kent ripping into a team that he vaguely recognizes as AFC Richmond (although the kits look a little different than he remembers, too).

Jamie spares a thought to wonder why he’s lying on the ground, and then another to wonder how in the fuck he got here, because last time he checked, Richmond was hours away from Manchester.

The last thing Jamie remembers is his dad knocking him around the head, which might explain why he was unconscious, but past that, all semblance of sense goes right out the fucking window.

So, Jamie starts devising a plan to get the fuck out of there, ‘cause even though he was basically Roy Kent’s biggest fan, watching the man have a bitch-fit in person was much scarier than it was on TV.

And also, maybe, he’s just a little afraid that Roy Kent might start yelling at him, too. So, Jamie plays unconscious for a few moments longer, opening his eyes just a tick so it looks like they’re still closed, and scopes the room out, noting the nearest exit. Jamie maps out the quickest route to get the hell out of there, which doesn’t take long ‘cause Jamie happens to have a lot of practice escaping precarious situations.

Roy Kent has the team (and what looks like two coaches, what the fuck is that about?) cowering with their backs turned, so Jamie rolls over, shifts into a crouch, and creeps out of the room, real light on his feet. The moment he hits the hallway, Jamie sprints for the exit.

Well, he tries to, but a wave of dizziness sends him careening into the wall. His vision blacks about for a moment, and when Jamie comes to again, he’s half-sprawled on the floor.

Apparently, he’s in much worse shape than he thought.

Further down the hallway, the doors to the entrance fling open, and a tall blonde woman comes strutting in, heading straight towards Jamie. She hasn’t spotted him yet, but he’ll be impossible to miss once she looks up from her phone, so Jamie makes a dive for the nearest storage closet. There ain’t no way he’s making it past her without getting caught, and for some reason, she scares Jamie more than The Roy Kent, so it really ain’t worth risking it.

He clicks the door quietly behind himself, plunging the tiny room into darkness, and turns the lock. His jumping pulse thrums just below the surface of his skin. It’s much quieter in here; the only things that Jamie can hear are his own labored panting and the muted sound of the scary woman’s heels clicking past the storage closet and down the hallway.

Jamie presses his ear against the door and sighs in relief when the footsteps finally fade into silence. He leans back, slouching against a set of metal shelves.

Now that he has a moment to catch his fucking breath, Jamie does the exact opposite and starts panicking. He has no fucking clue how he’s going to get back to Manchester, but the first, most obvious step is to find a phone and call his mummy, ‘cause she always knows what to do, ‘cept Jamie doesn’t have a fucking phone on him, and after a cursory check of his pockets, he finds he don’t have any change on him, either, so a payphone is out, too.

The only person he knows in this entire building is Roy fucking Kent, but the thought of getting yelled at by him makes Jamie literally want to throw up, like. And Roy Kent had seemed pretty angry, and Roy Kent is the type of guy to yell at the sun if it shines too bright, so. Roy Kent is probably out, too, unless Jamie wants to send himself into early cardiac arrest, or whatever.

Jamie seems to be doing a pretty good job of inducing a heart attack all by himself, though, if the pain in his chest is anything to go by. It’s just— he can’t fucking breathe, and his head is on fucking fire, so Jamie reaches back to touch the crown of his head, where the pain is emanating, and his fingers come back wet. He can’t fucking see anything ‘cause the room is pitch black, so he sticks a finger in his mouth, and yeah. That’s the taste of iron, which means the sticky viscous liquid coating his fingers is blood. Jamie is bleeding.

Fuck.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It takes approximately five minutes after Roy stops yelling for everyone to realize that Jamie had somehow disappeared, and then another five minutes after that to organize a cohesive search party (mainly because Roy had started yelling again and it had taken Isaac, Colin, and Jan Mass to calm him down). They trample out of the room like a herd of elephants, each player heading to a different part of the complex to search. Ted hangs back for a second, long enough to catch his breath. Thinking about a tiny version of Jamie Tartt (hardly older than his own son) wandering around alone and confused makes his chest feel tight.

Hell, even thinking about adult-Jamie getting upset is enough to raise Ted’s pulse or make his breathing go all staccato-like.

Down the hallway, Ted can hear Roy and the rest of the team shouting for Jamie at the top of their lungs. Ted forces himself to relax; Jamie can’t have gotten far, and with twenty-some people looking for him, it’s unlikely that he’ll stay lost for long.

Then Ted notices that there’s blood on the floor, and his heart drops into his stomach.

It might not be Jamie’s blood, Ted rationalizes. They’d just wrapped up practice, after all, and scraped elbows and knees practically come with the territory. It could just as easily be Zoreaux’s, who had taken a nasty dive in the goal today. Or Sam’s, who could’ve re-opened the wound on his hand from when he’d helped out at his restaurant the other day. What Ted’s trying to say is: the blood could be literally anyone’s.

But somehow, Ted knows it Jamie’s. It sticks in his mind like caramel in your teeth when you eat a Snickers bar.

It’s not even that much, either. But Ted worries.

So, he follows the trail of blood out into the hallway, stepping around it carefully so it doesn’t get on his shoes, until it leaves him standing in front of a supply closet just a skip away from the locker room.

Not far, indeed.

Ted gently knocks on the door. “Jamie, kiddo? You in there?”

It’s silent for a long moment; long enough that Ted considers trying the handle, but then, he hears rustling behind the door.

“How th’fuck d’you know my name?” Jamie spits.

Ted sighs silently in relief. Target acquired. Now, for some damage control.

“Ouch,” Ted jokes. “You sound about as angry as a trampled-on copperhead, which I would know, because I’ve stepped on one before. Luckily for the both of us, I know a thing or two about venomous snakes. Now, I bet you’re real confused right now, but that question is going to need a lot of explaining and it might be easier if we have this little chat face-to-face, if you get my meaning.”

There’s the telltale snick of the lock disengaging, and then the door swings open, revealing Jamie, brandishing a broom like a weapon. A thin line of blood is trickling down the side of his neck, saturating the collar of his shirt.

God, but he looks so young, with lanky arms and legs that he hasn’t quite grown into. His face is still soft with baby fat, and his hair is longer than Ted’s ever seen it, falling over his forehead in dark waves.

“I only opened the door ‘cause I can’t understand you with that stupid American accent,” Jamie says. “Try anything funny and you’ll regret it, swear down.”

“Whoa there, buddy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Why don’t we set that broom down, huh?” Ted suggests, holding his hands out placatingly.

Jamie doesn’t move— in fact, he tights his grip on the handle, staring at Ted distrustfully.

“Or not— hey, I can work with that. You ever see that movie Alice in Wonderland?”

Jamie’s face twists up in confusion. “Mate, what the fuck are you on about?”

“Nevermind,” Ted says, waving dismissively. “I don’t know why I started with that. Bad metaphor. Anyway, long story short, you used to be an adult, but then adult-you drank a magic potion that turned you back into a kid.”

“Oi,” Jamie barks. “M’not a fucking kid.”

“My mistake,” Ted concedes. “A distinguished young gentleman.”

Jamie looks at him with thinly veiled disgust, but at least he sets the broom down. “Are all Americans this fucking weird?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Ted says. “Anyway, older-Jamie currently plays in the Premier League for AFC Richmond, and so that’s how I know your name.”

“AFC Richmond?” Jamie asks, miming a gagging noise. “Jesus, why? Did they get rid of Man City, or something?”

“Oh, no, Manchester City is still a thing,” Ted assures him. “You had your reasons for coming here instead, though. We can get into that later, but first I think we ought to get that bump on the back of your head looked at.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Jamie says. “Hey, uh, was that really Roy Kent in the changing room?”

There’s a curious inflection in Jamie’s voice when he says Roy’s name— like he normally adds the in front of it, like The Roy Kent. “Uh oh,” Ted says. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a fanboy.”

“No,” Jamie bluffs, in the way that all teenage boys do when you accuse them of having a special interest. His cheeks flush immediately, though, giving him away. “Well, I mean, I’ll watch his matches if they come on the TV, but like. It’s football, you know? Of course, I’m gonna fucking watch it.”

When Ted fails to say anything, Jamie coughs awkwardly. “I mean, like, he’s a pretty good player. Objectively, or whatever. Like, that’s what I’ve heard other people say.”

“Mhmm,” Ted agrees, struggling to hide his grin.

Jamie sighs, giving up the façade altogether. “Actually— yeah, I’m kind of his biggest fan. I have a poster of ‘im and everything. Do you think he’d sign something for me?”

“Buddy,” Ted says, “if you come and see the doctor with me, I’ll get him to sign whatever you want.”

“You can do that?” Jamie asks. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Who, little old me? I’m the coach around these parts, but you—” Ted points to Jamie, “—can call me Ted.”

“Holy shit, you’re the gaffer?” Jamie says, disbelieving. “Man, football has changed.”

“Hm, yeah. So, what do you say? We got a deal?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jamie says, still looking a little shell-shocked.

“Awesome!” Ted shouts, pumping his fist. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Patching Jamie up doesn’t take long; he sits on the treatment table and follows the doctor’s instructions obediently. The cut doesn’t need stitches, luckily, but it still needs to be cleaned and bandaged. In the meantime, Ted unlocks his phone and shoots Roy a text:

Found Jamie. He’s fine, send everyone home

And then, remembering his deal with Jamie:

You mind stopping by the treatment room on your way out?

Roy likes the message but otherwise doesn’t respond.

He arrives a couple of minutes later, just as the doctor is putting the final touches on the bandages wrapped around Jamie’s head. “It’s a little bruised, so I’d recommend icing it when you get home,” the doctor tells Ted. “He’s also got a concussion, but you don’t need me to explain how that works, so I’m heading out. Have a good day, everyone. And for the record, this is so weird.” Then she packs up her supplies and leaves.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Roy asks.

“Jamie wanted to ask you something,” Ted tells him, looking at Jamie entreatingly.

“Traitor,” Jamie hisses. “You said you’d ask him.”

“Don’t twist my words, young man,” Ted says firmly. “I said I’d make him do it if he told you no.”

“Oi, nobody is making me do anything,” Roy interrupts. “Hypothetically, though, what am I supposed to be doing?”

Ted continues to look at Jamie pointedly, who averts his gaze and scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor. He mumbles something, low and quiet.

“Fucking what?” Roy barks.

Jamie snaps his head up, glaring at Roy furiously. “I said, can I please have your autograph?”

“Well, fuck, why didn’t you just say so,” Roy says, whipping a pen out of his pocket. “What am I signing?”

Jamie’s face shifts from anger to surprise, like he didn’t think he’d get this far. “Uh, I don’t know. I ain’t go anything on me,” he says sheepishly.

“How about this?” Ted suggests, holding up an old receipt he’d dug out from one of his pockets. Roy shrugs and gestures for it, and then spreads it flat on his thigh so he can sign it. “How’d you hit your head, anyway? Run into a fucking wall or something?” Roy asks casually, uncapping the pen.

“Roughing about with me mates,” Jamie replies instantly, and Roy’s hand freezes. It’s eerie, Ted thinks, how practiced that response sounds. The worst part is, it’s actually a pretty decent excuse, and it probably would’ve worked on anyone else, but after two years with Jamie, Ted is pretty familiar with his nervous tics, and one of them is the way he runs a thumb along his eyebrow when he’s lying. Which he is currently doing, the offending appendage still picking absentmindedly at the thin hair along his brow.

And if Ted picked up on it, then Roy, who spends practically every hour of the day with Jamie, absolutely noticed it.

“Wanna try that again?” Roy asks evenly, finishing his signature.

“Eh?” Jamie asks.

“You fuck with your eyebrows when you’re lying,” Roy says. “You’re doing it right now, which means you just lied straight to my fucking face.”

Jamie snatches his hand away from his forehead like he’s been burned. “How the fuck do you know that?” he asks.

“I’m your best fucking friend, you muppet,” Roy bites back. “I know lots of things about you. For example, I know that your dad’s a fucking deadbeat, who doesn’t deserve you, and I also know he likes to knock you about, so I’m willing to bet everything that I own that he’s the reason you’re bleeding out the back of your head right now. Am I wrong?”

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jamie hisses. “I don’t know what adult-me told you, but he’s fucking lying. About all of it!”

“He didn’t have to tell me shit, because I saw it with my own two eyes,” Roy roars back. “That’s how I know it was your fucking dad, because you only fucking lie for him!”

“So what if it was? It doesn’t fucking matter, man! Why are you making such a big deal about it?” Jamie shouts back, and then immediately bursts into tears.

Roy sighs, like the sight of tears is enough to immediately drain the fight out of him. Ted finds it amazing, how quickly these two can wind each other up and then let it all go. “It does matter, Jamie, because you don’t deserve to be treated like that,” Roy says quietly, and then wraps Jamie up in a hug.

“This is fucking humiliating,” Jamie sobs into Roy’s shoulder. “You’re like, my hero. I’m not supposed to be crying, I had so many questions I wanted to ask, and—”

“Stop,” Roy commands. “Look, we’ll go get ice cream or something, and then you can ask all the stupid fucking questions you want.”

Jamie leans back, still sniffling. “Really?”

“Yes, you little prick,” Roy says fondly. If Ted were a romantic, he might call his tone fond. “Come on then, up you get,” he says and helps Jamie off the table.

“Lasso, you’re with us,” he barks when Ted fails to follow them down the hallway. Ted scurries to catch up.

“Ope, my bad. Looks like I misread the situation there, fellows. I thought this was just gonna be a Roy-and-Jamie event—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yup.”

(And if the next day, after Jamie turns back, he hangs the signed receipt up in his locker, nobody says a word.)

(Also, nobody touches anything on Beard’s desk, magic potion or otherwise, ever again.)

#whumptober 2023 #no. 4 #“you in there?” #ted lasso #fic #referenced child abuse #jamie tartt #roy kent #afc richmond #sad jamie tartt #hurt jamie tartt #age regression #de aging #hurt/comfort #angst #happy ending #Jamie Tartt is literally Roy Kent's biggest fan

[kentray]

New Roy/Keeley fic coming soon...

It's time for some "fix it" fics. I finally found myself able to write after the devastating ending to Roy & Keeley's relationship that was S3.

Time to make things right again...

Here's a sneak peek. It should be finished in the next couple of days. I hope people will still want to read.

Keeley and Rebecca both gave each other the eye, then Keeley walked straight over to one of the locker room doors, peeking in to see Roy in his office, hands on his forehead, staring straight down on his desk.

Joining Rebecca again, she said, “Oi, you go on ahead. I’ll chat with you tomorrow, yeah? I think I’ll stay a little longer, see if Roy’s alright.”

“Keeley…” Rebecca warned.

“No, yeah, right. I just wanna see if he’s okay. Can’t stop caring, you know, Rebecca.”

#roy kent #keeley jones #roy x keeley #reeley #roy and keeley #roykeeley #keeley x roy #keeley and roy #ted lasso #fan fic #fanfiction #keeley/roy #roy & keeley #roy kent keeley jones

[araivallejo]

Thank you to the wonderfully talented fic writers in the Ted Lasso fandom. Such an impressive group who have kept me shirking my duties at work and home. I regret nothing! 💜

#ted lasso #fan fic #rebecca welton #roy kent #keeley jones #tedbecca #coach beard

[indigo-graves]

Soft || Roy Kent

Summary: AFC Richmond's captain Roy Kent is rigid and resistant to new management. New owner Rebecca Welton is willing to do whatever it takes to ruin the club her husband held so dear. New coach, Ted Lasso, is the American hired to lead the team to destruction. Alexandra Banks, the team's new physiotherapist, may just throw a wrench in everyone's plans.

Word Count: 7,192

Chapters: 4/12

Rating: M for Roy’s filthy mouth

Ao3 link

#ted lasso #ted lasso preference #ted lasso imagine #roy kent #roy kent fan fic #roy kent fan fiction #ted lasso fan fic #ted lasso fan fiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ted lasso ao3 #roy kent ao3 #ao3 author #ao3 story #ao3 works #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fan fic #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent imagine #roy kent preference #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fic #roy kent fic #ted lasso fic #roy kent/oc

[riversfire]

Writing Roy fanfic is so fun, it feels so powerful to make “no” a complete sentence

#roy kent #ted lasso #fan fic

[its-time-to-write]

Can you write a Jamie Tartt request where he and the reader are in the "between lovers and friends stage" and they finally get together when he has her sleepover at his place after finding out her ex was loitering by her apartment?

I’m alive (mostly!) and I’m starting to go through the asks in my inbox again! Sorry to all y’all who have been waiting. I love you!😇😍

p.s. I’ve been obsessed with the song “Margaret” by LDR, which is where the title comes from

(oh also I barely responded to this prompt so that I could write this dumb fic that’s been on my brain forever. so. apologies for that too)

maybe tomorrow you’ll know

It goes like this: boy meets girl, they go to the same primary school, girl kicks around football with boy and sneaks into his room to hug him when his dad’s a prick, boy moves away to become a Premier League footballer and girl cries her heart out because they’re best friends.

Fucking typical.

And yet, he still picks up every phone call. Still answers every text you send. He’ll never say the word “love,” especially not when he’s with Keeley Jones and their faces are all over tabloids and instagram. But you’ll feel it in the way he’s a prick to everyone but you. It’s in the way his voice goes soft when you call him at 2am crying about being dumped by your first boyfriend.

He doesn’t visit, doesn’t phone his mum, but he’ll send you a quick voice message when he can. Usually not saying much, just a snip about training. First it’s all about Pep and the lads at Man City, then it’s about some gaffer named Cartrick and the fact that he’s teammates with Roy fucking Kent.

Jamie never tells you that Roy absolutely fucking hates him, but you know anyway.

Jamie also doesn’t call you when Keeley breaks up with him. In fact, you don’t even find out about it until pictures of Roy and Keeley surface online. You call him as soon as you can, and in typical Jamie fashion, he picks up on the second ring. 

You don’t ask him about Keeley, just let him talk about football and the new manager from America, and the fact that maybe Richmond isn’t so bad and maybe he can let his armor down just a little bit.

He’s sent back to Manchester the next day.

The bonds of childhood friendship run strong, because he’s on your doorstep in no time at all, and though it’s been years since you’ve seen him in person, there’s a part of you that feels like he never left. 

It never goes beyond friendship with you two. You don’t allow yourself to consider him in any other light because this friendship is special and important and neither of you will let anything ruin it.

It’s so strange sometimes to see him on tv or in an interview, eyes sharp and mouth full of barbs. Always on the offensive, always cutting others down before they have a chance to do the same to him. You have a hard time believing it’s the same boy who’s on your couch staring at the ceiling as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

He’s never spoken that way to you, and you have a hard time believing he ever will.

So you feed him and make him smile and go to as many matches as you can (he leaves tickets on your kitchen table so you won’t protest) and give him a house key so he can come and go as he pleases.

But then he’s gone again, it’s the off-season and he’s on some tv show and you’re watching him flirt and seduce and pull at people’s heartstrings like they’re marionettes, and you realize (perhaps for the first time) how deep the damage has gone.

He gets absolutely shredded online, called all sorts of names by fans of the show and football alike, and you wonder if you’re the only one who can see what’s happening. That it’s all a show and that person, that Jamie Tartt on the screen is not the Jamie Tartt who used to throw pebbles at your window to come see if you wanted to ride bikes together.

It’s different than when he went to the Premier League. He doesn’t answer your texts.

It’s fine though, because your life doesn’t revolve around him. You have other, real friends and a boyfriend and a nice little flat and a good job. So he can go do what he wants and when he needs someone to pick up the pieces, you’ll go because you understand that sometimes this friendship is a one-way street. 

You miss him, though.

You don’t watch his season of Lust Conquers All until your boyfriend calls you and says, “Hey, it’s been fun, but I’m just not feeling it anymore, thanks for understanding,” and then you binge every episode right up to the current one. 

So now you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re glad it hadn’t gone too far, but his words still stung. But you drown your feelings in ice cream and shitty tv and it’s alright because another episode airs in an hour, so you can see more of Jamie and hope he’s doing okay.

He’s not. He gets voted off and you think that’s stupid but also maybe a little bit good.

—

Jamie just thinks it’s stupid. He’s kicked off his only lifeline, and then Man City flat-out refuses to take him back and he has to find out on live television for fuck’s sake. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Ted Lasso to come back, because of course Ted will take him, what with his yeehaw can-do bullshit. Except Ted tells him no, and now he has nothing.

He’s cut out every friend, every family member and is resigned to life as a has-been before he’s even twenty-five years old.

Now, he’s at home with the blinds pulled. He’s not even sure what time it is anymore because it’s all meaningless, innit? So when there’s a knock at the door, he has to blink a couple times from his place on the couch before turning off FIFA and going to see who it could possibly be.

He hopes it’s you, even though he knows there’s no way. Not after he ghosted you for months. He ignores the uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach at the thought of seeing you, and the way his heart beats a little faster when he thinks of holding you. 

He won’t cross that line. Your friendship (if it still exists) is too important. 

So he opens the door, ready to see who the fuck is bothering him. 

It’s Ted.

Ted asks, “Can I come in?” but he’s obviously not going to accept no as an answer, so Jamie steps back to let him inside.

Ted’s just standing awkwardly in Jamie’s kitchen, not even pretending that he isn’t shocked by Jamie’s decor. 

Jamie isn’t going to defend his choices to Ted of all people. Nor is he going to do anything to lessen his awkwardness. Finally, Ted clears his throat and says, “Well Jamie, it seems we need to revisit our last conversation.”

Jamie stares at him, refusing to speak until he’s sure what Ted is saying, so Ted continues. 

“I think I was a little bit too hasty when I said you couldn’t come back to Richmond. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’d love to have you back.”

Jamie looks at Ted, all rumpled in his sweatshirt and shorts, hair as undone as it’s ever been, and is supremely unsure of what he’s supposed to say. 

Yeah, I’ll come back to Richmond. 

Fuck off, you’re too late.

He’s saved from saying something stupid by the sound of the front door rattling as someone punches in the code. 

“You expectin’ someone?” Ted asks. 

Jamie shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No one has the code, except-”

The door is shoved open and you burst through in a flurry of motion. You call, “Jamie?” but you can already see him in the kitchen so you make a beeline to his location and launch yourself into his arms. 

He’s solid as always, smelling like day-old Lynx. His arms are tight wrapped around you, body warm as you press your cheek against his. 

He sets you down after a moment, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from your face. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, still not quite letting you go. Ted notes that this is a new tone for Jamie. Or at least, the Jamie he’s interacted with. It’s not a performance, not something designed to make people love or hate him, it’s what Ted suspects is the most authentic version of Jamie. Whoever you are, you must be important. 

“Wanted to make sure you were ok. I saw your interview.”

Jamie makes a face. “Fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that shit?”

You shrug. “Hard to miss it. Your mum sent it to me. She’s kind of why I’m here, actually.”

“You know Jamie’s mom?” Ted asks, surprised. It’s only then that you notice he’s in the room. Your face heats up because you wouldn’t have been that grabby with Jamie had you known he weren’t alone.

“Hi, I’m Ted,” he says reaching out to shake your hand, “Seems to me like you know this one from a while back.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Which is why I figured something was wrong when he ghosted me for fucking ever.”

Jamie winces and Ted takes his cue. 

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says. He points a finger at Jamie. “You let me know what you decide, son.”

“It’s a yes, Coach,” Jamie calls as Ted heads out the door. You crane your neck in time to see Ted pump his fist in the air before the door shuts behind him. 

“So,” you say, arms crossed, “you have a big fucking excuse for not answering my calls. But you better never fucking do it again, or I’m showing back up here with Georgie and she’ll kick your ass.” 

Jamie grimaces. Sure, Georgie was never violent with him, but there’s something particularly terrifying about the way she says Jamie Tartt you have got some explaining to do, while her eyes do that thing where they flash and stare straight into his soul. 

“Right, yeah, I’m really sorry,” he says and he’s lucky that his tone backs up his words because if he had one ounce of prick in his voice, you’d make him really sorry. I mean come on, who ignores their family?

The thought passes through your mind just long enough for it to freak you out before Jamie’s tentatively reaching out to hug you again. 

You let him rest his head on your shoulder as you scratch his the back of his head. 

—

You’ve been on Jamie’s couch for the better part of two hours, talking and letting him pretend like he’s not on the verge of tears because at least he’s being open and honest for once, when he shoots up and says, “Jesus Christ, fucking Kyle.”

He turns to you, eyes wide as he asks, “Isn’t he gonna wonder where you are? Shit, and you’re with me. He’s not gonna like that shit at all.”

You shrug infinitesimally while you examine a spot on the wall. 

“We’re not together anymore,” you answer as casually as possible. 

Jamie sighs and settles back onto the couch. “Shit. Glad you finally dumped that prick.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t. He dumped me. And then I found him lurking in my fucking bushes yesterday like a total creeper.”

Jamie’s up again off the couch, this time heading for his car keys as he yells, “For fuck’s sake, love, you should’ve called me.”

“I did!” you shout back. “I did, and you didn’t pick up, did you? Anyway, it’s probably not going to be an issue anymore.”

Jamie returns to the living room, face ashen. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m so sorry.”

You shrug and say, “It’s not a big deal. He decided that he liked certain body parts he owned more than he liked intimidating me. 

Jamie grips his keys so hard that his knuckles turn white as he says, “Right, you’re sleeping over tonight because no one fucking treats my girl that way.”

Then he freezes. 

You’re not frozen, because a single shiver has worked its way up your spine. 

My girl.

It came out so naturally. 

And it implied ownership? But of the mutual sort? And in a way that two best friends simply did notbelong together. 

The entire house is so silent, you swear you can hear Jamie blink. Well, that is, if either of you actually moved a muscle as opposed to staring at each other across the room. 

“What-” you start, but your throat is all weird and tight, so you clear it and try again. “What did you say?”

It still comes out much lower than you anticipated and Jamie has a split second to assess your body language and make a choice. 

You’re fully angled toward him, eyes wide. You’re not giving him a look that says, shut the fuck up right now, Jamie Tartt, so he takes it as permission. 

Permission to take one step closer, then another, then another until he’s standing right next to you. He slowly sinks down on the couch next to you as his says in a low, gravely voice, “I said, ‘no one fucking treats my girl that way.’”

Ah. So this is where over a decade of friendship has gotten you. On Jamie Tartt’s couch as your lips crash against his, both wondering why you hadn’t made a move sooner. 

But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now and you’re sure you won’t waste a single second. 

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[benedictscanvas]

Hi! I’m such a huge fan of your Ted Lasso fics! I completely agree that there’s not enough Roy Kent fics out there. I was wondering if I could request a fic where Roy has feelings for the physiotherapist on the team and she has feelings for him too, and he’s all upset after his final game because he won’t be able to see her anymore and he’s worried she’s upset because he undid all her hard work rehabbing his knee, but it’s all sweet and yearning. I know that’s a lot so if it’s not your thing, absolutely no worries!

i've been meaning to get to this one, because i really like it!! and i just want to thank you for ur support because ur user pops up a lot in my notifs and i appreciate you so much <3 also i've made up roy's injury and keeley is with jamie in this ahaha | 2k words (!!), tw language, hurt/comfort

Roy is barely holding himself together.

He sinks down onto the bench in the dressing room and stares straight away, eyes burning. It's like his whole body is on fire and he knows if he held his hand in front of his face, it would be shaking. He doesn't try it, instead curls his hands into fists, clenching the bench below him.

He's fucked it.

His knee. His career. His life. It had been coming, he knew, but he still expected to have a year or two left in him. Some time to come to terms with his whole world coming crashing down around him. Instead he does one stupid fucking tackle on Jamie fucking Tartt and now he's done. Even the crowd had known it. The thought of them chanting for him brings back a lump in his throat.

He sees a shadow at the door and hangs his head. Knows the outline of you too well to pretend it's anyone else. You've come to shout at him, or slap him around the face, or maybe mock him. Whatever it is, he doesn't want to hear it.

You enter silently other than the door clicking shut behind you, but Roy doesn't look up to greet you. He keeps his eyes on the floor.

"I don't-" he clears his throat when his voice comes out all hoarse. All wrong, "I don't want to hear it. I fucked it, I know, and I don't want to fucking hear it."

You don't respond, instead walking further over to him and crouching down in front of him. He'd waved you away on the pitch, surprised that you'd let him stand up and walk off. He didn't look back at you when he did, knowing all he'd see would be disappointment.

You've got your physio bag, he notices, and you're unzipping it, rifling through the contents.

"There's no point. Get out, Y/N," he tries again, voice more desperate this time, "Please."

"Would you just shut the fuck up?" you say suddenly, louder than the quiet room deserved. You sigh, at yourself it seems, but Roy is frozen in place. He'd prepared himself for you to come and shout at him, but still hadn't expected you to really do it. You never shouted.

Still, he did as he was told, because he was too stunned to argue with you.

You get an icepack on his knee immediately, grumbling under your breath but he can't make out the words. There's some gel that you rub on too, and that eases some of the pain he's in, not that he can bring himself to say thank you. When you've properly secured the icepack to his knee, you finally look up at his face.

"You might have hurt yourself more by refusing that stretcher, you twat," you spit out, and he can see the anxiety swirling across your whole face, "Why do you have to be so..."

You trail off, scoffing to yourself without finishing your sentence as your gaze drops back down to his knee. Roy is tired and in pain and frustrated - all three of which were reasons for not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"Reckless? Fucking stupid? Old as shit? It's just what I fucking am, alright? I couldn't let that shit score, and now it's over. Fucking all of it."

He hears his voice get small towards the end. You're back looking at him and shaking your head before he's even finished.

"For the season, yeah. Then we get back to fucking work, Kent. We can start you on the slow stuff, rebuild the strength. I can assess whether you'll need an op-"

"Y/N."

"Don't," you say harshly, pointing up at him, but there's a break in your voice he doesn't know what to do with, "You're not done."

"We both know that it's my fucking ACL. Two years recovery time, more 'cause I'm fucking ancient. It's over."

He sees the tears in your eyes then. Fuck. One minute he thought you were unbearably angry with him, now you were on the verge of crying? He felt slow in a whole new way, unable to keep up with where this was going.

"You've worked so fucking hard," you grind out, "It can't just...if I'd done more on your knee the last few weeks maybe...We knew it was a problem. I could have-"

It hits him like a freight train when he realises all your anger is directed at yourself. That you're blaming yourself, not him. He gulps, watches you staring off in the direction of Ted's office as your tears fall.

You've worked together ceaselessly this season. He needs a lot of treatment in a lot of areas nowadays, not that he likes to admit it. You've been there every step of the way, poking and prodding and kneading out every knot, but also laughing. Eating the occasional breakfast when he comes in early for you to work on him.

He's not sure he's ever been this into someone before. Where it's crept up on him slowly and then washed over him all at once - about a month ago when Phoebe visited Richmond. Seeing you with her was like seeing some kind of future he never thought he'd have.

He still didn't think he'd have it. This injury was proof enough that good things didn't have a habit of coming his way. It was why he'd kept quiet about it ever since he realised rather than pouring his heart out to you.

"Hey," he says gruffly, completely out of his depth, "You're blaming yourself? I thought you were fucking livid with me."

Your eyes shoot back to his despite their bloodshot nature. Despite the situation, he watches as you giggle in disbelief.

"Angry with you? When has that ever fucking happened?" you say wetly, wiping at your face with rough fingertips, "I'm your physio, Roy, I'm meant to prevent this shit. And fix it. And now I can't fucking do either."

A fresh wave of tears bubbles up over your eyelids and travels down your face as you let out a sob. It's the first time he thinks about another side effect of his career ending - he'll have to leave Richmond. All the people he's come to love, despite really not wanting to. That would include you.

With an instinct he didn't know he had, he reached out to tug on your hand. You looked up at him in surprise, but he helps to pull you up with a small groan when you don't really let him take any of your weight. He guides you to sit next to him on the bench, so you do, sniffling uncontrollably.

"You've done a fucking lot for me these last few years. Especially this season. Don't fucking beat yourself up about this. I'm the one who made the stupid tackle."

"He was through on goal. You stopped him."

"And it might not make a fucking difference."

"It might," you try, crying slowing down as you switch into protective mode. He's seen you do it many times, but it never fails to bring warmth to his face, "Look, if I can't beat myself up, neither can you. Let's just blame the fucking universe, yeah?"

He considers it. Sounds like a good way to vent his frustration without falling into a spiral of self-hatred, but it might also get you to stop crying which is all he wants in the fucking world at this moment.

"Fine. Fuck the universe."

"Fuck the universe," you agree, bumping your shoulder lightly into his own, "Now would you start crying, please, so I'm not the only one embarrassing myself?"

Roy smiles despite himself at that, happy when he turns your way and sees you smiling too.

"I'm going to cry later, in the privacy of my fucking home," he says, wrapping an arm around you because it feels like both the right time and the right place, "Like a normal fucking person."

"Fuck you," you laugh, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. Roy spots a stray tear on your collarbone and reaches to smudge it away without thinking. You shuffle closer to him, his arm still around you, and put your own hand on his thigh.

Roy's brain short-circuits.

"I'll be leaving," he says, sudden even to himself, "Can't fucking stick around if I'm not playing."

"I know," you say softly, tucking your head into his shoulder. He can't let his own head rest against yours, because he knows he'd get too comfortable. Knows he'd never want to move again.

He takes a moment. He knows what he wants to say, he's just not sure he can.

"I don't want to fucking leave," he gets out through gritted teeth, but he's left out the most important word.

You. I don't want to fucking leave you.

It's stuck in his throat as he peers down at the top of your head, still resting on him. He kicks himself inwardly when he can't get the extra word out before you start talking, index finger tracing gentle patterns just above his knee.

"Yeah, I don't want you to fucking leave either," you say, as if you're admitting something terrible. He can tell you're watching the movement of your own hand to avoid looking up at him. "You won't stick around, join the coaching staff?"

"Fuck no," he barks out, feeling you chuckle against his side, "I couldn't do that shit."

"You could," you insist, "But it's okay if you don't want to. I just thought maybe I could look after you if you did."

He tries to move away from you to look at your face with a smirk, but you stay rooted to the spot and stop drawing your patterns on his leg abruptly.

"Your knee! I meant look after your fucking knee, Jesus."

It's now or never. He's so sick of never saying what he fucking means around you, but if he can't do that, he'll settle for the next best thing.

"Do you make house calls?"

It's the worst line he's ever used. But you're here rather than watching the end of the match, and your head is on his shoulder, hand on his thigh. He wonders if maybe, his luck might be balancing out, if maybe you'll understand what he's trying and failing to say.

"Huh?"

He stifles his own chuckle at the confusion in your voice. Willing himself to just fucking do something, he takes your hand from his knee and holds it in his own, clasping on tightly. There's a spike in his heart rate when you grip his hand right back.

"I'm asking-" he begins, hoping you can't hear his heartbeat, "-if you do house calls. To look after my knee, and shit. Once I'm gone."

"Oh."

You've definitely understood his meaning. In past months, he'd be tearing his hair out over trying to read between the lines, probably taking it out on Ted or Jamie or Isaac or whoever was nearby to be shouted at. Now he's positive, as you cling to his hand, that you know what he's trying to say.

Even if he's not sure of your reaction yet, there's already a weight lifted from his chest. And whatever that fucking gel you put on his knee was, he hasn't felt the pain in it since.

"As a club physio, no," you answer slowly, but he knows that's not the end of your sentence, "No house calls. Also no going into the dressing room during a match, no putting numbing cream on an injury just cause you don't want a player in pain, no holding a player's hand."

He's grinning now. Maybe because you can't actually see him doing it, but then he locks in on something you've said amongst the floating feeling that's taken over his body.

"Wait, you put fucking numbing cream on me?"

"You're welcome," you retort, "My point is that I've clearly broken a few rules for you already. So, house calls it is. For the sake of your knee."

He squeezes your hand.

"For the sake of my fucking knee, yeah."

And because it doesn't feel so scary anymore, he puts his head on top of your own and reminds himself that he was going to cry later, not now. For now, with your hand lodged tightly in his own, he decides to think about that future he didn't think he'd ever get, instead.

---

please see this post if you would like to request your own roy/jamie drabble!! closing soon <3

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[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Six Sentence Sunday

Roy is heartbroken, and he wakes up in a cold sweat. He lies in bed for a long time, thinking about the dream. He knows that it was only a dream, but it felt so fucking real. He can't help but wonder if Keeley really is in love with Jamie. He knows that he should move on, but lying in bed, alone, still slightly drunk, with the two people he cares the most about after Phoebe and his sister, together an ocean away, he can’t help the dark intrusive thoughts.  Would Keeley and I have gotten back together if I never trained Jamie?

#jamie tartt #roy kent #keeley jones #untitled roy kent sliding doors fic #ted lasso #ted lasso fan fic #six sentence sunday #sunday

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

A Little Love

Part of my 900 Followers Celebration! Request: Hiya 😊 Your Roy fics are THE BEST!! It was so hard narrowing down the prompts, but would you please write something for Roy from whichever one of these inspires you most? Thank you 💕 “You have NO IDEA how long I’ve wanted to do that” “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that” Roy Kent x Reader 1.2k words Warnings: Language, fluffy fluffy fluff

Rebecca’s assistant. Rebecca’s fucking assistant. If he wasn’t so damn lovesick, Roy would marvel at how almost funny it was that he kept falling for women who were close to his boss.

But he felt much too tortured for that. He had to watch you trail after Rebecca day after day, and, even worse, he had to make small talk with you whenever you came down to his office on some errand for Rebecca. He loved and hated it. The way you smiled radiantly at him. The way you held his eye confidently when he managed to speak. The way you laughed at the stupid shit he said, as if Roy Kent was capable of being funny. The way you sometimes swayed onto your tiptoes when you spoke to him, almost as if you were trying to get closer to him. The way your fingernails tap-tap-tapped on the shell of your tablet, something he didn’t realize was a nervous habit of yours.

The best and worst thing about match days was that he barely saw you. You were usually in Rebecca’s office before the game, and then you’d head to the owner’s box with Rebecca and Keeley, reminding Roy of a princess in a tower, far out of reach from a grumpy old knight like himself.

Today, however, he really, really wanted to see you. With a win, the Greyhounds would perform a miracle and be named the Premier League champions. And, for some reason, he felt sure that seeing your face- even just a glimpse- would be enough to ease his nerves.

“Good morning, Coach!”

Roy whirled around. There you were, adorable in your Richmond sweater and ponytail, beaming at him.

He cleared his throat, nearly dropping the playbook he held in his hands. “Morning,” he grunted.

You were undeterred by his gruff greeting; you were quite used to it by now. It was charming, in Roy’s grumpy way. You liked it. It probably helped that you thought he was ridiculously handsome, but no one needed to know that, least of all Roy Kent.

“I, er, just wanted to say good luck today.” Your hands fiddled with the cuff of your sweatshirt- another nervous habit. “Big day.”

No matter how the match went, Roy already felt really fucking lucky thanks to the way you gazed up at him. “Thanks,” he managed. “Means a lot.”

You looked as if you were about to say something more, but you stopped; instead you simply reached out and gave his hand a small squeeze. “I’ll see you later,” you chirped, not bothering to look at his reaction to your small touch.

If you had, however, you would have seen Roy Kent blush harder than he had in his entire life.

~

“Let’s go Greyhounds! Go Roy!”

Amused, Beard turned around, pushing his sunglasses down as his eyes scanned the owners’ box. “Sounds like you have a fan, Coach,” he hummed, raising his eyebrows at Roy.

Rolling his eyes, Roy glanced in the direction Beard had been looking in. Sure enough, there you were, your smile radiant even from the pitch. “She’s just being nice,” he grumbled. Still, he gave a little wave in your direction, which you returned with unashamed enthusiasm, ignoring the knowing looks Rebecca and Keeley shared.

“You should ask her out, Roy,” Nate murmured as the coaches watched the starting lineup take their places on the pitch. “She obviously likes you.”

“’m not asking her out,” he growled, trying to focus his attention on the pitch.

Beard tsked at him. “Guess we can let Jan Maas know he can go ahead and ask her out, then. Said something about it being more respectful to wait for you to get rejected first, since you’re his manager and all.”

“Fuck Jan Maas,” Roy spat, forgetting where he was for a moment.

“What, Coach?”

Oops. Right, Jan was on the bench. “Nothing,” he barked over his shoulder. He looked back at his fellow coaches. “I’m not asking her out,” he repeated. Still, he couldn’t help taking one last glance at the owner’s box before giving his full attention to the match unfolding in front of him.

~ Roy didn’t know the last time he felt so elated. He watched with glee- actual fucking glee- as his team shouted and jumped into each other’s arms, their mouths wide with joy. They’d done it. He’d done it. A.F.C. Richmond were the champions of the Premier League.

He had let Nate jump into his arms, and brought Beard into a tight embrace, and even squeezed Jamie Tartt around the waist. Now he was standing on the pitch, watching the celebrations around him, when he saw you practically skipping arm-in-arm with Keeley, eager to join the team in their reveling.

When your eyes found his, your entire face lit up. He couldn’t help but notice the way Keeley shoved you in his direction with a wink; there was something sweet and childish in the action, like kids on the schoolyard around Valentine’s Day.

And he felt just as nervous as a boy waiting for his crush, standing still as a statue as you walked through the throngs of jumping and hugging people, not stopping for anyone who tried to hug you. Your feet carried you straight to Roy.

“Congratulations,” you said, gazing up at him.

In the same moment you opened your arms for a hug, he stuck his hand out for a handshake. Fuck fuck fuck.

You stared down at his hand and gave a little twinkling laugh. “Feeling a bit formal?”

“Fuck, sorry.” Roy reached out and pulled you into a hug. Your hair smelled great. Of course your hair smelled great. It smelled like fucking lavender and sunshine and every good thing a prick like Roy didn’t deserve.

Although he released you from the hug, you still held onto his arms, nervousness crossing your expression, something Roy couldn’t remember ever seeing before.

��Should let you go,” you hummed, eyebrows knitted together. “Your girlfriend’ll probably want to come give you a big kiss on the pitch. Be all cute and romantic.”

Roy cleared his throat, wondering if his beard was doing anything to hide his blush. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” You gave his arm a squeeze. “So, who’s going to kiss you, then?”

“Jamie, if I fucking let him,” Roy snorted, rolling his eyes.

Your teeth caught your bottom lip. “Think he’d be mad if I beat him to it?”

Before Roy could ask what the fuck you meant, you pushed yourself on tiptoe and planted the smallest kiss to Roy’s lips. Instinctively, his hands returned to your waist, holding you still so he could properly return the kiss, unsurprised and overjoyed to discover that you had the softest lips he’d ever felt.

When you pulled back, your smile was somehow brighter than he’d ever seen it. Roy let out a dry chuckle. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he confessed, his thumb stroking the material of your sweatshirt gently.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that,” you countered with a giggle. “Think I could get another?”

He nodded and pulled you tight against himself. “Oh, definitely.”

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