Delightful details from Uncle's Day:
Roy's sister blowing the party horn just as enthusiastically as Phoebe
Phoebe calling her mum 'mummy'
Her mum calling her 'Phoe'
The actress having similar high-note / mannerism to Phoebe when going down the list of Phoebe's Favorite Holidays
"Any day that annoys Roy, holiday for meee~!" with the pointed sibling grin
Phoebe's handmade, handdrawn Uncle's Day sign
A collection of novelty / graphic mugs
Rose-tinted wine glasses on the cabinet
How cosy and warm their home looks. It's not loud but its colorful and bright. Butterfly decals decorating the walls with no rhyme or reason. Full of toys and a big ol' calendar on the fridge and just. Signs of a kid lives here.
"She might be an old soul, but she's a proper fucking dweeb, isn't she?"
The implied agreement between Roy and his sister that Phoebe is an old soul
"Is that your Range Rover outside as well?" I fucking love him so much
The way it looks like Phoebe was dragging Jamie forward by the hand
They planned this
"Hello, Uncle Roy"
His sister not chiming in at all. Just snacking away
"Who's your best friend, Jamie?" "Probably Isaac." "Fuck off."
The gift. THE GIFT
Jamie immediately jumps explain the gift the second it's opened
THE SINCERITY. "I GOT THEM TO CHANGE THE 'E' TO A 'U'."
The fried eggs on the wrapping paper of Phoebe's gift
Roy's sister's face journey at the tie-dye shirt
Jamie's been here for 2 minutes and he's been fined twice
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Roy loves to hold hands
Absolutely adores it
It makes him feel close to his partner, let’s him feel connected and soothes his protective instincts when out amongst crowds.
It’s not about whether his partner needs that protection, Roy just needs to provide it and being allowed to hold their hand lets him keep them close and move them when necessary.
Keeley had understood intrinsically what his holding his hand out meant, they hadn’t even needed a conversation about it, she’d just taken his hand or his arm, or both, and stayed close.
He has to chase Jamie anywhere they go
Not just because of his knee, but because Jamie is a butterfly. Socially and in his flitting rapid movements as his mind leaps from one thought to another
Amsterdam had given him a taste, but they’d just been friends then, and barely at that, now, as boyfriends, (they’re keeping it quiet for now, though all the important people know) he’s chasing Jamie so much he debates getting him a leash for outside the bedroom
He can recognize that holding hands in public isn’t keeping anything quiet, but he longs for the feeling of Jamie’s fingers slotted with his, the warmth of his body against his side as they walk and Jamie chatters about whatever that days hyperfixation is.
So he starts holding his hand out. Quietly, never remarking on it, or demanding anything, just waiting to see what Jamie will do.
It takes a few days before Jamie starts handing him things, a flower, his ticket for the movie, and on one memorable occasion a wad of cash to pay for dinner
They’d genuinely fought about that one, Roy is a provider at heart, and he always pays. Always.
Then slowly, carefully, Jamie starts to inch closer when they’re out.
Lingers at Roy’s side a little longer, and then a little longer than that.
He naturally moves to the interior side of the sidewalk now, let’s Roy open doors, pull out chairs, and Roy just steadily holds out his hand, waiting.
Jamie brushes their pinkies together, links them for a moment that nearly stops Roy’s heart before he’s distracted by a window display and then off rambling about a topic Roy didn’t catch, feeling like all his blood rushed to that one finger.
Jamie is never shy when they’re alone, or amongst the team, but out in public, out amongst strangers, he’s skittish.
Roy understands and it’s still infuriating, he’s not as chill about keeping their relationship “quiet” as he once thought
He’s proud of Jamie, that’s his lad, and he wants people to know that they’re together, that Jamie is not in fact up for a quick tumble, and will never be again.
(That ring in his sock drawer feels like a physical weight sometimes, but it’s too soon, he’s going to do this right)
But he’s trying not to pressure, not to move on his own timeline and run over Jamie’s.
So he just holds out his hand and (not so) patiently waits.
It’s after a match, they’d been nearly beaten off the field, pulled a win by the skin of their teeth and they’re all stiff and exhausted as they make their way home.
The crowds are still thick, Jamie still had his muddy kit on, got caught up with Beard and Rojas and just laughingly said he’d shower at home.
Roy is a few steps ahead of him, even though they’re going to the same place, and on a whim holds his hand out behind him.
Jamie locks onto his hand like Mjolnir to Thor, and their fingers lock together with an almost audible click, Roy’s heart nearly leaps from his chest, and Jamie uses the leverage to pull himself to Roy’s side, holding his hand and leaning into him, sweaty and muddy and grinning, and Roy can see the flashes of cameras and the click of phones and he can’t care, because Jamie is holding his hand and grinning up at him like he set the sun, and Roy is absolutely going to break out the bedroom leash when they get home.
Maybe even that ring in his drawer.
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Tap on My Window, Knock on My Door
I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You
Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader
1.4k words
Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting, heavy kissing
The next couple of days were a blur of making eyes at Roy on the pitch and lying to your parents about your whereabouts as you ran out the door to meet the midfielder for takeaway, movies, and snogging. Finally, your dad reminded you that it was Tuesday night; family dinner night. You plastered on a smile and assured him that of course you remembered, you’d never forget Tuesday night dinner. Once your dad seemed satisfied, you scurried upstairs and made a quick call to cancel your plans to meet Roy. Your heart couldn’t help but swell at the disappointment that he couldn’t hide from his gruff voice; Roy Kent wanted to see you as much as you wanted to see him.
The thought had you smiling all through dinner and offering short, dreamy replies to your parents’ and younger brother’s conversations. Your parents exchanged looks over their plates, but you barely noticed. Not when Roy Kent was on your mind.
After you and your brother cleared the plates into the sink, your dad pulled out a deck of cards; another Tuesday night tradition. As your dad began to deal out the cards for a game, you wondered what Roy would think of a family dinner. Not that you were thinking of inviting him over or anything anytime soon; this thing was so incredibly new, and you weren’t even sure what this thing was. Most of all, Roy didn’t seem like the family dinner type of guy; he seemed much more comfortable sneaking around for clandestine meetings. And you had to admit it was kind of fun too.
In your bed that night, you turned on your bedside lamp and tried to read. You really did. But your mind just kept wandering. It was like you were a teenager again, thinking about some beautiful boy. But this wasn’t some guy in your class; this was a gorgeous, famous footballer who, for whatever reason, decided he wanted to spend his time kissing you. It was more than a bit mind-boggling, if you were being honest.
Trying to figure out what your love life had become was interrupted by your mobile ringing. You snatched it up quickly, not wanting the sound to wake your parents.
“Hello?” you whispered into the phone, not needing to check to see who was calling. It tended to be one person these last few days.
“What’re you doing?”
That growling voice had you smiling into the receiver. “Reading,” you answered quietly. “You?”
“Waiting for you to open the fucking window.”
With a perplexed frown, you stood and went to your bedroom window. Sure enough, Roy Kent stood in your backyard, mobile to his ear and grin on his face. He offered a small wave when he saw your figure.
“Open the window,” he hissed into the phone. “’m coming up.”
Scoffing, you hung up and did as he asked. It was a fucking sight, watching Roy Kent climb the giant tree outside your window and tumble into your childhood bedroom. He winced when he hit the carpeted floor with a small thud and offered you an apologetic smile as you closed the window. After stuffing a t-shirt under your door to muffle your voices and double-checking the lock on your door, you turned to Roy, who still sat on the ground.
“What’re you doing here?” you asked incredulously as you perched on the edge of your bed.
He shrugged. “Wanted to see you.”
The smile you wore was pure dopiness, but you didn’t care. Not when those brown eyes were sparkling at you.
Roy stood, rubbing the elbow he’d landed on in his less-than-stellar landing. “Your dad cuts those branches too short,” he grumbled. “Almost broke my fucking neck.”
You stuck your chin out haughtily. “I used to use that tree to sneak out all the time as a teenager,” you gloated. “And I never had a problem.
He narrowed his eyes at you before he began strolling around your room, looking at your walls. “Well, I spent my teen years training for a football career, not climbing through pretty girls’ windows. Gimme a fucking break.” He stopped in front of a Chelsea poster, smirking at the sight of himself and his teammates. “You kiss this before you go to bed?” he teased.
“I use it for dart practice,” you snarked. “Can’t you see the holes in your face?”
Roy let out an annoyed huff as he sat beside you, the bed giving the softest creak. “Oi, be nice. I did just climb a fucking tree for you, you know.”
“I suppose I could cut you some slack, just this once.” Your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close your faces were, how Roy’s smirking mouth was just a whisper away from yours. “Hi,” you murmured.
“Hi,” he hummed back. He cupped your face and closed the gap between your lips.
You sighed against his mouth and closed your eyes, letting him guide you onto your back and climb on top of you. His hands gripped your hips as his mouth explored yours, swallowing the soft groans you tried to hold back. Roy’s tongue was dizzying as it danced with yours, making you wonder how it would feel in other places. Your legs tangled together as you both brazenly began to grind softly against each other’s bodies, unashamed of your need for the other to provide friction.
“Fuck,” you whimpered against his cheek as his mouth made its way to your jaw.
He gently shushed you. “Is everyone asleep?” His breath was hot on your skin and sent a shiver down your spine.
You nodded as your hands roamed his back. “Yeah,” you assured him quietly.
He continued to press sloppy kisses to your neck, eliciting soft gasps from you. When your back arched off the bed, he smirked against your skin. For a while now, you’d given in to your curiosity and read all about Roy Kent, the already legendary lover, in trashy tabloids. And if his kissing was anything to go by, every single rumor was one hundred percent correct.
Deciding that you needed to collect more evidence, you slowly slid your hands down his back and around his front, until you found the button on his black jeans. He let out a small, curious hum and shifted; when your hands followed their target, he pulled away from your neck, eyebrows raised.
“And what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”
Your face was furiously hot as you stared up at Roy, whose eyes were dark and lips were already swollen. “I want you,” you whispered, too desperate for him to feel an ounce of embarrassment.
Roy’s chuckle was low, an almost tortured sound as he let his face fall into the crook of your neck. “There is no fucking way,” he hissed, “that I am taking off my pants with your dad down the hall.” He glanced back up at you. “You’re worth a lot of things, princess, but I’m not sure being murdered is one of them.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, a soft one now, and shook his head at you. “Needy thing,” he teased, rolling off of you so he laid on his back beside you.
His hand found yours as you stuck your tongue out at him. “Coward.” But you couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Roy Kent in your bed, looking as if he belonged there. It was a sight you wouldn’t mind getting used to. “Thanks for climbing a tree to visit me,” you whispered, turning onto your side to face him.
He turned to mirror your position and lifted a finger to trace the shape of your nose. “I’d climb any fucking tree for you, princess.” His smile was playful, but you knew he meant it. “I’d probably do a lot of things for you.” He leaned close, pressing his forehead to yours. “But getting naked while your dad’s home is not one of them.”
The two of you laid like that until scandalously early in the morning, whispering and exchanging soft kisses. Finally, when the clock on your nightstand got close to three, Roy reluctantly removed himself from your bed and made his way back to the window, where he said goodbye with a searing kiss.
“I’ll call you later,” he whispered against your mouth. “Sweet dreams, princess.”
As if you could have any other kind of dream when they were filled with Roy Kent.
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🌹🌺🌹🥀🌹🌷🌹🥀🌹🌷🌹🥀🌹🌺🌹
slowly but surely I will chomp all the flowers!
From You're Gonna Go Far, Kid
The ride in the next morning is tense as fuck.
In the light of day, the bruising on Jamie's face looks even worse than it had in the quiet starkness of Roy's kitchen. He was only able to coax Jamie into a brief nap on the couch before the drive into work, and in the short handful of hours the cut below his lip had swollen from the bottom of his jaw to the edge of his lip. Their reward for Roy cleaning the road tar out of the scrapes on his face is that the red scratches are even more inflamed, agitated and likely stinging under a layer of carefully applied ointment.
There's no hiding it.
Not that Roy could make himself stomach saying the words, 'Do you want to cover it up?' But fuck, for Jamie's sake, he'd almost prefer it if he had the illusion of an option.
Jamie doesn't speak the entire drive in. His hands lay limp in his lap. His fingers and knuckles are covered in plasters because Roy had overcompensated towards the only part of him able to take a bit of protection. He's not on his phone because his phone is turned off, out of charge with a cracked screen, and sooner or later one of them needs to bring up whether or not Jamie's going to the police or if he's going to wait it out and see what his dad does first, and the entire thing is a gargantuan fucking shit show.
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Roy Kent is prickly. He can’t help it. He also doesn’t want him to behave the way he’s behaving, he’s working on it, but it’s a complicated process learning that he’s worthy of more than breaking his body down to play a game.
He hates the healing process, he’s never been good at being vulnerable and it feels like a personal attack every time he has to be. He resents it. It infuriates him, and he doesn’t want to do it.
But he does want to hold Jamie’s hand and kiss his forehead and make him smile.
And he wants to be able to support Keeley and show up for her how she needs without bending himself unnaturally in the process.
He wants to keep his friendship with Ted and Beard, and god help him Trent.
He wants to be able to stand solid and strong for his team. To care for them and help them grow
To be able to support Colin if he ever chooses to come out officially even as he won’t be the first, not anymore, (Jamie isn’t subtle and it turns out neither’s Roy, but honestly getting outed because he couldn’t resist slipping a hand down Jamie’s pants at a benefit is a little embarrassing)
He wants to just be calm and happy and content without the constant nagging voice in the back of his head that says he’s not doing enough to keep the people in his life close, that he’s a ticking time bomb of needy, clingy, desperation and the only way to avoid people leaving is to keep them at arms length
(Keeley pulled away at his most vulnerable moment)
It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, learning how to be a person in his middle age, but Roy Kent is nothing if not stubborn and he’ll conquer this as he has everything else.
* Roy Kent going to therapy and actually healing makes me emotional because every time he’s just a little too vulnerable he gets defensive and grouchy and he is me and I am him, and I just adore this perpetually depressed man and I miss him.
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