#there will also be angst bc i am constitutionally incapable of writing anything completely angst-free

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

🌈 and ⛅️

🌈 something soft/fluffy from your wip

But for now, Jamie was deep asleep on his chest, fingers wrapped loosely in the fabric of Roy’s shirt, ribcage expanding and contracting in a steady rhythm against his own while on his other side, Keeley sprawled on her stomach, right arm dangling off the edge of the sofa bed. It was the first time Jamie’d slept through the night since his dad called, and Roy held himself still, scratching a hand through his hair as he stared up at the ceiling, carefully unmoving in a way he hadn’t been since Phoebe was a baby and woke at the slightest movement.

🌤️ favourite line of dialogue from your wip

“I need to postpone the surgery.” Keeley offered a gentle smile. “It’s normal to be scared—” Roy growled. “—But the doctors do it all the time, babe, and you know they said you’ll regain more mobility the sooner you have it done.” “Won’t be enough mobility to play, will it?” he snapped, harsher than he’d meant. Took a deep breath, pressed another kiss into her hair in apology. “It’s not about that. Not about some fucking… tough guy footballer shit, either, okay?” At Keeley’s skeptical look, he pressed on, quieter. Jamie was still deep asleep, snoring faintly. “I just— look, it doesn’t fucking matter if I can use the fucking knee. It doesn’t. And he’s fine now but you know it’s only a matter of time before everything that fucking shitfucker put him through catches up, and what if he needs me, Keeley, and I can’t—” he cut himself off abruptly, chest heaving.