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merchen-aeravellae · 7 months ago

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A Yandere Through Time

Yandere Time Traveler x Royal Reader

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, forced confinement, obsession

No one knows who created it, but every owner of the mysterious mirror has met a fate so tragic it chills anyone to the bone. The mirror appeared out of nowhere, wandering from hand to hand, from life to life. At first glance, it seems like a blessing, but in reality, it is a curse in disguise. If you cross paths with it, beware: it offers you your deepest desire, but the price is your sanity.

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Yandere Time Traveler who is dedicated to collecting antiques, a passion that has been passed down through generations in his family since the famous Rosa Era. Each member of his lineage has their own personal museum. His collection not only includes legally acquired pieces but also artifacts that the world does not know exist and are in his possession.

Yandere Time Traveler who is mainly dedicated to purchasing items from the Roja Era, not because it is his favorite time period, but because his favorite person lived during that time. The fifth child of a king who ruled what is now his city, the castle where they lived still stands proudly on the outskirts of the city, now converted into a museum that he visits weekly as a way to be close to his beloved

Yandere Time Traveler who has been intrigued by your story since childhood: a member of the royal family beloved by his family, the common people, and even his enemies. One day, you disappeared from your own home, and no one ever heard from you again. Everyone searched exhaustively for decades but never found you. A group of people tried to exploit the situation by impersonating you to gain all the luxuries and privileges that rightfully belonged to you. Only one person resembled you both in appearance and manner of speaking. The only problem was that nearly 70 years had passed since your disappearance, and this person was too young to be you. In the end, their husband had to clarify that they were suffering from mental issues, and as a result, no one took them seriously.

Yandere Time Traveler who feels like a lunatic: how could he be in love with someone who lived nearly two hundred years ago? However, he has always felt a connection to you, and the only way he finds to be near you is by acquiring all your belongings through illegal auctions. Selling and buying items related to you is prohibited in his country; museums tirelessly search for all your belongings across the continent to display them alongside those of your family. But he is faster and acquires everything before the museums can get their hands on it.

Yandere Time Traveler who, of all your belongings, has searched the black markets most fervently for your hat. In the Roja Era, royalty did not use crowns to show their lineage; instead, they used special and unique hats to demonstrate their noble position. The hats of your sisters and brothers are in the castle museum, but yours was never found. The theory is that you wore it the day you disappeared, and wherever you are, the hat is with you.

Yandere Time Traveler who acquired a mirror from an antique shop during a sale. He didn't know what era it was from, but its beauty convinced him to place it in the room dedicated to you. The mirror carried a dark legend: all its owners ended up losing their sanity or disappearing without a trace. However, he was not intimidated, believing it was just people's tales. He was sure you would have been fascinated by it, imagining you using it to admire your reflection while trying on clothes.

Yandere Time Traveler who, one night, woke up startled by strange noises coming from a nearby room. With silent steps, he approached to discover the source of the sound, but his concern grew when he realized the noises were coming from the room dedicated to his beloved. He immediately thought someone had broken in to steal something from his valuable collection. Wasting no time, he grabbed a bat he had purchased a couple of weeks ago, perfect for defending himself against an intruder. Upon entering the room, he found no one, but the mirror looked different. Strange figures were forming on its surface, and he couldn't resist the temptation to touch it. It was as if the mirror was calling to him. However, the moment his fingers brushed against the glass, he lost consciousness.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up with a terrible headache. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying on a wooden bed that creaked with the slightest movement. The room was unfamiliar, filled with objects that didn’t match his home. The walls were made of wood. Various items adorned the space, from wooden toys to old tools, along with portraits and simple household decorations. As his vision adjusted, he noticed a small window allowing the morning sunlight to illuminate the room. The smell of wax, burnt wood, and a faint scent of food filled his nose.

Yandere Time Traveler who panicked. He tried to get out of the bed to figure out where he was, but only succeeded in worsening his headache from the sudden movement. He heard footsteps coming toward him. Fear took over as he desperately looked for something to defend himself with. But before he could act, the door opened, and an old woman entered the room, calmly looking at him.

Yandere Time Traveler who discovered that he was in the house of an elderly couple. They had found him unconscious at their doorstep and, out of compassion, had taken care of him ever since. Maybe he had gone mad because nothing made sense. The date on the calendar in their house showed that it was 200 years before his own time. It wasn’t possible that he had traveled to the past. Maybe he had hit his head, and all of this was just a delusion, a hallucination caused by the injury. Perhaps he was in a hospital, in a coma, dreaming a nonsensical fantasy.

Yandere Time Traveler, unable to find a way back to his own time, was now trying to adjust to his new life. The elderly couple who had taken him in gave him work in their small antique shop and allowed him to live in their home. In return, he had to handle the heavier tasks, like feeding the animals, repairing anything that broke, and keeping the shop in order.

Yandere Time Traveler was organizing some items in the shop when he heard the bustle of a crowd outside. The voices and shouting filled the street, but he didn’t even bother looking out the window. He didn’t care what celebration or festival was taking place outside. Everything went quiet for a while until the shop bell rang. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, but it was his job. With a fake smile, he greeted the customers who had entered.

Yandere Time Traveler was startled to see a familiar face. It wasn’t someone he had met in person, but someone he had seen in portraits—it was the crown princess of Adrionia. Adrionia was the name of his city when the monarchy still existed. Although he knew he was in the Roja Era, he never imagined he would meet a member of the royal family in a place like this. The heir was about to speak when a pair of voices interrupted from the hallway in front of them.

Yandere Time Traveler who was shocked to see the rest of the royal siblings there. His heart swelled with longing; if they were here, it meant that you must also be here. He couldn't help but search for you among the crowd, but he couldn’t find you. His hope deflated into sadness, until someone emerged from one of the back hallways, holding a trinket in their hands.

Yandere Time Traveler who wanted to die right then and there—you were standing before him, the love of his life. As you asked your sister to buy the trinket for you, he couldn’t help but admire you. You were even more beautiful in person; the paintings didn’t do you justice. He wanted to leap over the counter to be closer to you, but he knew if he did that, he'd be thrown into the dungeon. All he could do was watch you from where he stood, his heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour.

Yandere Time Traveler who felt you so close, yet so unattainable. As he rang up your sister’s purchase, he never took his eyes off you for a second. He watched you with a mix of fascination and desperation, knowing that this might be the only time he’d ever be so near you. And just as you had appeared, you left. His world crumbled with each step you took toward the exit, moving further away from him.

Yandere Time Traveler who couldn’t stop thinking about you after that encounter. His heart filled with yearning to see you again. Now that he had seen you in the flesh, he couldn't allow everything to end with just one brief meeting. He needed to see you once more, needed you in his life in a more permanent, closer way. But he knew he couldn’t just approach you without a plan—and for that, he needed to scheme carefully.

Yandere Time Traveler who decided to use his knowledge of the past to his advantage. He began calling himself a prophet and would go out to the town square to “predict” events he already knew would happen soon. At first, people looked at him with skepticism, and many called him crazy. But when his predictions started coming true with eerie accuracy, everything changed. Word spread throughout the kingdom about his visions, and people gathered in the square to hear him speak. It wasn’t long before the royals heard of him and summoned him to the castle. Everything was going according to plan.

Yandere Time Traveler who was tested by the court, but he was ready for whatever challenge came his way. He “predicted” the betrayal of a court member, and a week later, a respected and seemingly unblemished noble was discovered stealing large sums from the royal treasury. The impressed kings offered him a permanent position at the castle. His goal was now within reach. Every day, he grew closer to you. He knew you better than you knew yourself and was confident that soon you would fall in love with him.

Yandere Time Traveler who, over time, befriended the royal family, but you were different. You seemed deeply distrustful of him. Every time he tried to approach you, you fled. If he entered a room through the door, you left through the window. The more frequent these encounters became, the more frustrated he felt. He left you gifts, but you discarded them. The letters he sent, you burned in the fireplace. And every time he tried to speak to you, you ignored him. Couldn’t you see that destiny was bringing you together? Why did you run from him as if he carried some contagious disease?

Yandere Time Traveler who knew he had to be patient, but every moment away from you felt like a blow to the heart. Then, during a casual meeting with your brothers, everything he had worked for unraveled. Without meaning to, your brother let it slip that you were seeing someone in secret—a mere guard, someone far beneath him. He had to keep his composure; he couldn’t afford to break his facade in front of them. But all he wanted to do was rush out and bury that filthy man deep in the earth.

Yandere Time Traveler who now understood everything. You had always rejected his efforts because you already had someone in your life. The idea of you being with someone else was unbearable. Every touch, every word shared between you and that guard ignited a wildfire of jealousy within him. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He needed to devise a new plan, so he decided to accuse your lover of trying to seduce you to rise in high society. The kings were furious with both you and your lover. The execution seemed imminent. However, something unexpected happened. On your knees, you begged your parents, saying it was all a misunderstanding. At other times, he would have loved to hear your voice, but at that moment, he wished you'd be quiet. You were ruining his plan and breaking his heart as he watched you plead for another man.

Yandere Time Traveler had to leave the castle for a few days; the whole situation was overwhelming him, and he feared he might do something that would compromise his facade. He returned to the shop where he had worked at the beginning. The old man greeted him cheerfully, happy to see him after such a long time. While the older man talked about everything that had happened in his absence, he wandered around the shop, looking at the new antiques that had arrived, hoping to distract his mind. Suddenly, something caught his attention: a mirror that seemed too familiar, sitting in a corner. He now knew how it had ended up in the couple's home. As he stared at it, an idea formed in his mind: "If I couldn't have you in your world, maybe I could in mine." With that thought in mind, he decided to buy the mirror, flashing a disturbing smile.

Yandere Time Traveler returned to the castle with his new treasure, eager to figure out how it worked as soon as possible, though it was easier said than done. It was during a fit of rage that he grabbed the bat he had brought with him to smash objects and vent his frustration. You had convinced your parents that your lover was a good man, and they had allowed you to marry him. He should have been that man, the one who would marry you, but his place had been taken. After breaking several objects in his fury, he left the bat leaning against the mirror and stormed out of the room, not noticing that the reflection in the mirror had begun to change.

Yandere Time Traveler who could only watch as you prepared for your wedding felt as if you were mocking him. Unable to bear it any longer, he retreated to his room to devise a plan. He would not let anyone else have you. Upon entering, he found something magnificent: the portal in the mirror was in all its glory. He gazed at the bat and suddenly, the idea of how it worked came to him. He had been so foolish; the answer was so simple, and he hadn’t seen it before. Now, you would be where you belonged, by his side, living in his own time, where you could never escape.

Yandere Time Traveler who sent you a letter pretending to be your brother to get you to the library. If you had known it was him, you never would have gone to meet him. The mirror was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t see it at a glance, and he would ambush you from behind. Hearing your footsteps approaching down the hallway, you entered and called out for your brother. He stood momentarily stunned, witnessing something he never thought he’d see: you were wearing your hat, the object he had longed to see all his life. But that feeling quickly faded when, angrily, you yelled at your "brother" to come out of hiding because you had a date with your fiancé and needed to leave immediately. The mention of the other man and the fact that you wore something as significant as your hat just to see his rival gave him the strength to push you into the portal, following closely behind.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up on a floor that seemed familiar, was back in his own home. He watched as you lay unconscious beside him, and since he had already gone through the experience of the portal, he managed to get up before you. He reinforced all exits to ensure you couldn’t escape and then let you rest in what would now be his shared bedroom. Hours later, he heard a blood-curdling scream. He rushed to his room, but you were not there. He found you in the room he had dedicated exclusively to you. You tried to escape, but seeing such a room had frightened you so much that you couldn’t help but scream.

Yandere Time Traveler who pretended everything was fine for a while. You stayed at home while he went to work. It didn’t matter that you did nothing all day; he believed your hands weren’t meant for work. He preferred to do everything himself to keep you content. One night, upon returning from work, he noticed something strange: the house felt too silent. Although he was convinced there was no way you could have escaped, his home felt empty. He searched every corner, but there was no sign of your presence. As he pondered where you could be, his gaze fell on the mirror.

Yandere Time Traveler who had underestimated you. You had managed to find a way to use the mirror while he was away, but he already had an idea of where you might be. Using the mirror, he traveled 70 years after the date of your disappearance. True to his assumption, he quickly found you; everyone knew you for trying to claim that you were the missing royal member, even though that was now impossible. He approached you slowly from behind while you were talking to a couple of people, trying to convince them of your identity. He placed an arm around your shoulders, noticing how your skin prickled. He was too angry to care about the effect he was having on you. With a fake worried look, he explained to the people that you were his fiancée, but that you were suffering from dementia. The people left, leaving the two of you alone.

Yandere Time Traveler who took you back to his time, determined not to make the same mistake. With the bat he had used earlier, he gathered all his strength and smashed the mirror into pieces while you screamed for him to stop. His rage was relentless; he hit the mirror so many times that it became irreparable. When he finished, he embraced you while you cried out loud, knowing that your only escape had been destroyed. He tried to comfort you, whispering soothing words, but his attempts at calm only had the opposite effect. Every whisper and every caress only heightened your desperation, reminding you that you were now trapped with a lunatic, with no hope of returning.

Yandere Time Traveler "No matter what era you're in, I will always find a way to find you."

#yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere time traveler #yandere x darling #x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #margo #merchen

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helen-with-an-a · 2 months ago

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could you write a jessie fleming x Putellas!sister!reader

reader is really shy and doesn't talk much so alexia thinks reader is still single but at the friendly match between canada and spain jessie gets fouled badly and reader sprints across the field do comfort her and be there for her

Hiiiii - so I'm combining this with another ask for a multi-part Jessie series and a little idea that has been floating around in my head. This is the first part of a multi-part blurb story that follows a loose timeline but is also not really. Each part is based on the 1 of the 5 senses plus a bonus. I hope you enjoy it.

Sight

Sight : Sound : Smell : Taste : Touch : Cryptaesthesia

Jessie Fleming x Putellas!Reader

Description: R sees Jessie for the first time

Word Count: 1.7k

Growing up with Alexia as your sister was hard. Not bad, not negative – just a constant ... challenge. It felt like being a part of something extraordinary but knowing you’d never be the star. Alexia was Alexia Putellas, a name that carried weight, a name that carried talent and recognition. You were just ... you. While Alexia’s accomplishments lit up the room, you often felt like you were always a beat behind, your achievements cloaked in her shadow. It was impossible not to feel the subtle comparisons, the whispered remarks about being “Alexia’s hermanita,” as if that alone defined you. You never scored as many goals or had as many trophies, everything you had ever done, Alexia had done before you. Make it into La Masia, play for Barça B, play for the first team, break into the national team, receive your first cap, your first goal for La Roja ... Alexia had done it all before, you had usually gone on to do even better things.

Maybe that’s why, when the chance came, you decided to say 'fuck it' and move to Chelsea. Ona was heading to Manchester, eager for a chance at some more playing time that just wasn't happening at Barcelona. You chose London, craving change – a place where you could define yourself, beyond your last name and your big sister. You were just twenty-two, still piecing together who you were outside of Alexia’s Hermanita, and yet here you were, packing up and moving to another country right in the middle of a global pandemic. The Blues had come knocking over the summer, Emma had seen videos of what you could do, of who you could be on the pitch. She had taken a chance in making the phone call, and you had taken a chance in saying yes.

It was daunting, nerve-wracking, exciting, all at once. You’d be alone, out of your comfort zone, away from family and everything familiar. A new language, new weather, different culture, new people. But maybe ... maybe that was exactly what you needed: a fresh start, a space to breathe without the shadows, a chance to be more than “just the hermana.” What was there to lose?

And then you saw her. Jessie.

She stood a little off to the side, almost as if she wasn’t sure she belonged there, but her presence filled the room all the same. Your eyes caught hers for just a second, and that was all it took. There was something about her that felt disarming and comforting all at once – a softness in her expression that drew you in like nothing else had since you’d arrived in London. You no longer felt the nip of the autumn air, you were no longer completely lost, surrounded by people you barely understood. You were ... you weren't quite sure what you were, but something had definitely shifted.

Her smile was shy, barely there, but it made your heart lurch as though you’d known her forever. She wore a slightly oversized Chelsea hoodie that made her look small and cosy. The sleeves were pulled over her hands, and she had a baseball cap perched on her head, tilting just enough to let wisps of hair escape. You could see her gaze flitting around, a bit uncertain, like she was trying to take everything in without being seen herself.

“Uh, hi,” Jessie said, her smile gentle as she extended her hand toward you. Her eyes met yours with quiet confidence, even though her cheeks were tinged with a soft pink.

“H-hi,” you replied, wincing a little at the way your English sounded, thick with the nervousness you couldn’t shake off. You’d spoken English so many times before, but something about this moment ... about Jessie ... made it feel clumsy, like you were learning the language all over again. You had a far better grasp of the language than Alexia had, one of the few things you could pride yourself on being better at, yet here you were, stuttering and stumbling over a simple word.

Jessie must have noticed your hesitance, because she gave you an encouraging smile and then took a deep breath, braving a few Spanish words herself. “Estoy encantad...o… encatada?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her effort, the way she scrunched her nose slightly, clearly uncertain of the words. It was charming and utterly adorable. “Encantada,” you corrected her gently, watching her try the word on her lips.

“Encantada,” she repeated, a little more confidently this time, her voice soft and almost musical as she looked up at you.

Then she took a breath, as if gathering herself, and said, “Estoy encantada de conocerte.”

It was imperfect, yet so endearing, and you felt your heart skip as her words hung in the air. It was a simple phrase, but it felt like the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“You are… Canadiense, sí?” you asked, testing the waters, wanting to know just a little bit more about her.

“Canadiense? Oh, Canadian?” Jessie’s face lit up as she caught on. “Yes, uh, sí.”

“Do ... you speak ... French?” you asked, each word slow and careful as you sifted through your English, hoping you hadn’t lost her.

Jessie laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t speak French, unfortunately. We had to learn it in school, but nothing really stuck. I didn’t try as much as I should have in the lessons…” She paused, a sheepish smile appearing as she realised she was rambling. “I just really didn’t care at the time, and now that I’m out of school – and out of Canada in general…” She trailed off, catching herself, cheeks going pink as she realised how fast she’d been talking. “Sorry,” she apologised, her voice a little softer, almost embarrassed.

You shook your head with a reassuring smile, though you’d only caught pieces of what she’d said. Truthfully, you hadn’t been concentrating much on the words themselves; you were too mesmerised by her expressions, by the way she talked and the way her mouth moved as she spoke.

Her hands twisted together, fingers nervously playing with the hem of her hoodie. Her chocolate-brown eyes sparkled with hints of light you couldn’t look away from. Every so often, her gaze darted back to you, checking if you understood, if she hadn’t lost you entirely, but to you, the details hardly mattered. You felt a warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you’d never wanted to listen to anyone quite as much as you wanted to listen to her.

The first few weeks at Chelsea were a blur of excitement, nerves, and blushing uncontrollably whenever Jessie was around. It seemed like she could simply walk into a room, and your cheeks would betray you, heating up despite your best attempts to play it cool. Every time you were near her, words tangled in your mouth, your mind going blank as she flashed you that easy, shy smile. You’d catch yourself stealing glances, mesmerised by the smallest details – the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the quiet focus in her eyes, the subtle hints of laughter that danced on her lips when she was listening.

But on the pitch, Jessie was something else entirely. Watching her play was like watching art in motion. She moved with a confidence and skill that felt almost otherworldly, commanding every inch of space around her with a natural grace and intensity that left you breathless. You had seen good players before. You had watched Alexia win all of her accolades, but this ... Jessie was something entirely different.

You couldn’t help but be captivated by her. There was a beauty in her game that went beyond skill; it was something deeper, something raw and magnetic that had you spellbound.

“Hola,” Jessie greeted you with that soft smile, walking over as you both lingered in the changing rooms after training one afternoon.

“Hi, Jessie,” you replied, already feeling the blush rush to your cheeks.

She shifted her weight slightly, her fingers curling around the strings of her hoodie, a familiar gesture you’d noticed before – a nervous habit that only seemed to surface when she was around you. “I was wondering…” she began, her voice quiet, almost shy. Then, after a short breath, she asked, “Puedo invitarte a cenar alguna vez?”

The Spanish threw you, startling you out of your own thoughts. “Que?” you blurted automatically, your mind scrambling to catch up with what she’d just said.

Jessie’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she looked down, her gaze dipping as if she suddenly wished she could disappear. “Did I say that wrong?” she mumbled, her voice muffled with embarrassment. “Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.” She shifted, her hands clutching her hoodie strings a little tighter. “I… I was trying… am trying…” She paused, taking a deep breath before looking up at you, eyes wide. “Could I maybe take you out to dinner sometime? Like… on a date… I don’t know.”

You felt a rush of warmth bloom in your chest, realising what she was asking.

“Sí,” you managed to say, a shy smile spreading across your face as warmth bloomed in your cheeks. “Uh … yes, Jessie, me encantaría eso.”

Jessie’s brow furrowed slightly as she tried to process your words. “You… encantar…?” she repeated, her expression a little puzzled, eyes full of that earnest concentration you found so endearing.

You chuckled softly, “I would like that.”

“Oh!” she said, her smile returning, wider and more certain now, her fingers finally letting go of her hoodie strings. There was a new spark in her eyes, a look of pure relief mixed with excitement, and it made your heart skip. She looked so genuinely happy, her gaze locking with yours in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

“Good,” she whispered, almost to herself, her smile turning soft and shy again. “Cool ... I … I’m really glad.”

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rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world · 2 months ago

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IMMIGRANT RIGHTS RESOURCES (forwarding from a friend -- share widely)

Hope you are having a blessed day! With the help of a friend, I have compiled a list of resources that provide info in several different languages regarding immigrant rights. I am sharing these links to resources with you and others because we never know who will come into our orbit that might need help or the orbit of others dear to us. This is by no means a complete list but it useful and helpful nonetheless.

Immigrant Rights Resources

Flyers regarding immigrant rights if ICE raids the home, workplace or arrest them in the street.

https://www.aila.org/library/know-your-rights-handouts-if-ice-visits-public

Red Cards (template to be printed and laminated) are small cards that immigrants can carry in their language which would have course of action if they get stoped but also in the back it explains to the ice agent in English that the person being stopped is instituting their rights under the la which applies to them.

https://www.masslegalservices.org/content/red-card-templates

https://www.ilrc.org/red-cards-tarjetas-rojas

National Immigration Law Center Press Release:

https://www.nilc.org/press/nilc-statement-on-reports-that-trump-plans-to-revoke-policy-safeguarding-schools-churches-from-ice/

Undocumented Immigrants’ Rights Under the United States Constitution

https://www.accessiblelaw.untdallas.edu/post/undocumented-immigrants-rights-under-the-united-states-constitution

Daily Immigration News Clips 2025

https://www.aila.org/library/daily-immigration-news-clips-january-14-2025

Also here are some local immigrant rights groups throughout MA that could be helpful to people (depending on geography)

Massachusetts Immigrant rights groups!

https://miracoalition.org/

https://www.ifsi-usa.org/

https://braziliancenter.org/

https://www.truealliancecenter.org/8203achievements.html

https://bcnc.net/

https://cct-newbedford.org/

my addition: https://www.beyondbondboston.org/

#human rights #immigration #immigrants #immigrant rights #chinga la migra #fuck ice #massachusetts #resources #we protect us

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nameless-jamie · 1 month ago

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Hi, I was wondering if you could write a Jamie x reader story but y/n is a footballer just like Jamie and they kinda have similar personalities. You can choose if she plays for Richmond’s women team that they showed in the final episode or for another club. But i think it would be both hilarious and cute to see Jamie hit it off with someone similar to him, like he both finds her insufferable because she’s so cocky but he also thinks it’s hot. Thank you so much in advance ❤️‍🔥

Princess of Pricks

One Shot - Jamie Tartt x fem! reader

Masterlist

Pairing: fem! footballer reader x Jamie Tartt

TW: cursing, suggestive scene/language, very long ff

Summary: Y/N, an Irish striker on the Richmond women’s team, faces off against the cocky Jamie Tartt when the teams are forced to train together. The two banter back and forth, challenging each other on the pitch while their rivalry turns into something more.

Part Two is on its way!

The AFC Richmond Women’s locker room was already buzzing that morning. Boots thudded against the floor, shin pads snapped into place, and someone—probably Niamh, the team’s right winger—was arguing over whether tea or coffee was the superior pre-training drink.

“Irish tea is the only correct answer, gals,” Y/N declared as she tied her boots, her thick accent cutting through the chatter.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re Irish,” Niamh shot back.

“Exactly. Therefore, I’m right.”

A chorus of laughter rippled through the room as the team finished getting ready. They were in good spirits today—there was a big match coming up, and Roy Kent, their gruff, permanently scowling manager, had been particularly fired up during the last few training sessions. Which, for Roy, meant extra yelling and even more creative swearing than usual.

Y/N stood, rolling her shoulders. She was already itching to get on the pitch. As Richmond’s star striker and number 9, she thrived on competition. Nothing got her heart racing like the promise of a match—whether it was in a stadium packed with fans or just a training session with her teammates.

“Come on, then,” she called, leading the team out into the hallway and toward the training pitch.

It was a crisp morning, the kind that promised a good session. The team walked through the tunnel, laughing and chatting—until they stepped onto the sideline and saw Roy standing with the pitchkeeper, arms crossed, looking like he was seconds away from punching something.

Y/N’s steps slowed. That was never a good sign.

The pitchkeeper rubbed the back of his neck. “Pipes under the pitch are fucked.”

“Fucking brilliant,” Roy muttered under his breath. He turned toward the team, voice gruff. “Pitch is flooded. Can’t train here.”

A collective groan rose from the women.

“What d’you mean can’t?” Y/N frowned, glancing at the field. Sure enough, there were massive puddles of water soaking the grass, turning the pitch into a swamp. “We’ve got a match in a few days. We need to train, coach.”

Roy exhaled sharply, clearly thinking. Then, with a grumble, he pulled out his phone. “I’ll sort it.”

The team exchanged glances as Roy stomped off, phone pressed to his ear. A few seconds later, his voice carried back to them.

“Oi, Ted. Yeah, I need a favor.”

Y/N arched a brow.

Ted Lasso? Well. This would be interesting.

Roy returned ten minutes later, his usual scowl firmly in place. “Right,” he grunted. “You lot are training with the men’s team.”

A murmur rippled through the squad, half-surprised, half-amused.

“Wait, seriously?” Niamh asked.

“No, I’m fuckin’ joking.” Roy glared. “Ted’s agreed to let us use the pitch, but we’re combining sessions. So unless any of you delicate fuckin’ flowers have a problem with that—”

He was cut off by the sound of boots against the pavement. The women turned to see the AFC Richmond men’s team already on their pitch, mid-training.

Y/N squinted toward the field, watching them pass the ball around in warm-ups. Richmond’s usual stars were all there—Sam Obisanya, Dani Rojas, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes—along with a few new faces. And then there was him.

Jamie Tartt.

Richmond’s number 9.

He was cocky, arrogant, and, as far as Y/N was concerned, the definition of a twat.

She had, of course, seen him play before—both in matches and in training when the men’s and women’s teams had shared the stadium. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was good. He played with a kind of self-assurance that she recognized all too well. The same way she played.

Annoyingly, he also happened to be fit as fuck, but that was beside the point.

Y/N was still watching him weave through defenders when her teammate Aoife suddenly cupped her hands around her mouth and whistled toward the men’s team.

“Oi, lads! Lookin’ good out there!”

The women’s team burst into laughter as a few of the men looked over in surprise. Dani Rojas grinned and waved enthusiastically. Colin smirked. Sam shook his head, chuckling.

Jamie, though—Jamie clocked Y/N immediately.

His eyes flickered over her, sharp and assessing, before he smirked. “You lot finally decided to watch some proper football, yeah?”

Y/N scoffed, folding her arms. “Oh, don’t feckin' flatter yourself, lad.”

Jamie’s brows lifted, clearly not expecting the immediate pushback. But then—annoyingly—his smirk deepened. “Irish, huh? That why you’re runnin’ your mouth?”

“Oh, you ain’t seen anythin' yet, Tartt.”

Ted’s whistle cut through the air before Jamie could respond. The men’s team jogged toward their coach, only sparing a few more glances at the women.

Roy turned toward the squad. “Alright, we’re splittin’ the pitch. Half and half. You lot do not get in each other’s way.”

Y/N rolled her shoulders, already focused on training. But as the whistle blew and they started drills, she could still feel Jamie’s eyes on her.

Fine, then. If he wanted to watch, she’d give him something to look at.

Jamie Tartt wasn’t used to being surprised.

But as he watched the women’s team train, eyes tracking Y/N, he found himself… well, stumped.

She played exactly like him.

Same flashy footwork. Same cocky confidence. Same absolute refusal to take the easy pass when she could humiliate a defender instead.

He’d seen plenty of talented players before—hell, he played with some of the best—but he had never seen someone who moved like him.

It was annoying.

And a little bit hot.

Jamie frowned, standing near the midfield line as the men continued their passing drill. He hadn’t realized he was openly staring until Sam nudged him.

“Careful, mate,” Sam teased, a knowing smile on his face. “You’re looking a little… distracted.”

Jamie scoffed. “Nah. Just—watchin’, innit.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam exchanged a look with Dani, who grinned.

“She is very good, yes?” Dani said. “A proper joy to watch!”

Jamie didn’t like how much he agreed.

His frown deepened as he watched Y/N take on two defenders at once. Instead of passing, she feinted to the left, rolled the ball under her foot, and absolutely sent one of her teammates with a fake shot before burying the ball in the top corner.

The women’s team cheered. Y/N turned, beaming, and Jamie could feel the smugness radiating off her from across the pitch.

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath.

At that moment, Ted’s whistle cut through the air again.

“Alright, folks, bring it in!”

The teams gathered in the middle of the pitch, forming two loose circles. Ted, ever the optimist, was practically beaming as he clapped his hands together.

“Well, I gotta say,” he said. “I am lovin’ what I’m seein’ today. Y’all are puttin’ on a clinic out here.”

“‘Cept for Tartt, who’s too busy ogling instead of trainin’,” Isaac muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The men chuckled. The women did too, though Y/N just arched a brow, looking Jamie up and down like she was deciding whether or not he was even worth her time.

Jamie crossed his arms. “Ain’t oglin’.”

“Oh, so you weren’t checkin’ me out?” Y/N shot back. “That’s scarleh, Jamie. Here I thought I had a fan.” (scarleh = Irish. embarrassing/tragic)

A couple of oooohs went up from the women’s team.

Jamie felt a flicker of irritation. He tilted his head, smirking. “I mean, you are a bit of a show-off, yeah? But you can’t be all that if you still play for Richmond.”

Y/N didn’t even flinch. “You play for Richmond too, ya tosser.”

Jamie opened his mouth—then shut it.

Roy, who had been listening to this whole exchange with an ever-deepening scowl, cut in. “Alright, that’s enough.” He exhaled sharply, looking between the two teams. “Since you lot can’t seem to shut the fuck up, I got an idea.”

Ted grinned. “I think I know where you’re goin’ with this, Coach.”

“Men against women,” Roy said. “One half. See who’s actually worth talkin’ about.”

The teams erupted in noise—cheers, laughter, shit-talking from both sides.

Jamie, though?

He just looked at Y/N.

And she looked right back.

A challenge.

Jamie’s smirk returned. “You sure you wanna embarrass yourself like that, Irish?”

Y/N took a step closer, tilting her head. “I dunno, Manc. You ready to lose to a girl?”

Jamie’s heart thumped.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

The teams spread out across the pitch, both sides brimming with energy. The men’s team looked confident—maybe too confident—while the women were locked in, ready to prove a point.

Y/N stood at the center circle, rolling her shoulders as she prepared for kickoff. Jamie was only a few feet away, arms crossed, watching her with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“You nervous, Irish?” he drawled.

Y/N exhaled a laugh. “Mate, the only thing I’m nervous about is how bruised your ego’s gonna be after this.”

Jamie just grinned. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The whistle blew.

And just like that, they were off.

Sam passed the ball back to Jamie, who turned smoothly, scanning the field. But before he could even make his first move, Y/N was on him—closing the space, pressing high, forcing him to act fast.

Jamie barely got his pass off before she nearly nicked the ball off him.

He frowned.

Alright.

That was how it was gonna be?

Fine.

The match played out fast—faster than Jamie had expected. The women’s team weren’t just holding their own; they were giving it to the men.

Y/N was relentless. Every time Jamie got the ball, she was right there, tracking his movements like she’d been studying him for years.

And it was pissing him off.

She played like she had something to prove. Every touch was clean, every movement sharp, every decision calculated to make Jamie’s life harder. She wasn’t just playing to win—she was playing to embarrass him.

And it was working.

Fifteen minutes in, the women’s team broke through on a counterattack. Niamh sent a gorgeous ball over the top, perfectly weighted, and Y/N—of course it was Y/N—was already sprinting onto it.

Jamie turned and chased, pushing himself harder.

They were shoulder to shoulder now, both flying toward the box, neither willing to back down.

Y/N threw a quick feint, shifting her weight like she was about to cut inside—then didn’t, instead nudging the ball forward at the last second.

Jamie took the bait.

Just for a fraction of a second.

But that was all she needed.

In one fluid motion, she pulled away, her left foot striking the ball cleanly—

—And burying it in the bottom corner.

The women’s team erupted.

Jamie, breathing hard, could only watch as Y/N slowed to a stop, grinning.

And then—just to really piss him off—she did his celebration.

The stupid little wrist-kiss, hands-to-the-sky thing he always did.

Jamie’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, you fuckin’ did not just—”

Y/N turned to him, smirking. “What’s wrong, Tartt?” She tapped her wrist like she was checking a watch. “Don’t like the taste of your own medicine, do ya?”

Jamie blinked. His whole brain short-circuited for a second.

And then he burst out laughing.

Because fuck.

He might actually be in trouble with this one.

The game didn’t slow down after Y/N’s goal. If anything, it got worse.

Jamie played harder. Not just because his pride was at stake, but because every time Y/N touched the ball, she made something happen. It was driving him mad.

Every flick, every trick, every little smug look she sent his way—it was like she was daring him to keep up.

And, fuck, he wanted to.

The match ended in a 2-2 draw—Dani and Colin had pulled the men’s team back, but Y/N had assisted a late equalizer that shut them right up.

When the final whistle blew, neither team looked disappointed. The women had proved their point. The men, despite their initial cockiness, were grinning, clearly impressed.

Except Jamie.

Jamie was frustrated.

Not because of the match—well, partly because of the match—but mostly because he’d never met anyone who made him feel like this.

It wasn’t just the competition. He loved competition. It was the fact that Y/N—this loud, cocky, Irish striker—had waltzed onto his pitch and played like him.

She got under his skin in a way no one else ever had.

And worse, he liked it.

The teams gathered near the sidelines, clapping each other on the back, exchanging handshakes and playful shit-talk. Y/N, of course, was in the middle of it all, glowing like she’d just won the fucking World Cup.

Jamie found himself walking toward her before he even realized what he was doing.

She spotted him approaching and smirked, hands on her hips. “What’s wrong? You look a little tense.”

Jamie exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, just tryna figure out how someone with your weak-ass left foot managed to score on me.”

Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Oh, you wish my left foot was weak.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah? Prove it.”

Y/N stepped closer, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Careful, Tartt. You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ll think you fancy me.”

Jamie’s smirk didn’t falter. “Yeah? What if I do?”

Y/N blinked.

For a split second, Jamie swore he saw her falter.

But then—just as quick—she recovered, laughing like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Oh, you’re a cocky little shit, aren’t ya?” she said, grinning.

Jamie tilted his head. “Takes one to know one, Irish.”

Y/N just hummed, looking him up and down. “You’re not completely hopeless, I s’pose.”

Jamie watched as she turned, walking back toward her team without another word.

And fuck.

He was definitely in trouble with this one.

The next morning, Y/N arrived at training to bad news.

“Still flooded,” Roy announced as the women gathered around him, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Pipes are completely fucked. Dunno when they’ll be fixed.”

A collective groan rippled through the team.

“You’re jokin’,” Aoife muttered.

“Do I look like I’m fuckin’ jokin’?” Roy shot back, eyes narrowing. “We’re training with the men again.”

"Let's leg it, ladies," Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. It wasn’t that she hated training with the men’s team—okay, maybe she did a little, but only because it meant spending more time with Jamie Tartt.

And she was already very fucking sick of Jamie Tartt.

As if the universe was trying to make her life harder, the teams were partnered up for drills—and of course, Roy, in his infinite wisdom, put her with Jamie.

The second his name was called next to hers, Jamie grinned.

“Oh, you feckin’ planned this, didn’t you?” Y/N muttered at Roy.

Roy, in classic Roy fashion, just grunted and walked away.

“Relax, Irish,” Jamie said, stepping beside her, smug as ever. “It ain’t that bad.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Jaysus Christ. Let’s just get this over with.”

The first half of training was tolerable. Barely. They did passing drills, finishing exercises, one-on-ones. It was competitive—way too competitive for training—but at least they weren’t actually touching each other.

Until suddenly every drill became a war.

Sprints? She had to beat Jamie. If she ran a 12.3-second sprint, Jamie would push for 12.2. If Jamie hit 15 keep-ups, Y/N would make sure she did 16.

It wasn’t just competition anymore. It was personal.

During a finishing drill, Y/N watched Jamie attempt a ridiculous Rabona shot from outside the box. It went in—just—but she rolled her eyes anyway.

"Show-off," she muttered.

Jamie turned to her, smirking. "Oh, please. You love it."

Y/N scoffed. "Mate, I’ve seen under-12s do better."

"That so?" Jamie arched a brow, stepping closer. "Alright, then. Let’s see you top it, Irish."

Y/N wasn't about to back down.

She grabbed a ball, took a few steps back, and, without breaking eye contact, executed the filthiest outside-foot curler into the top corner.

The entire team howled.

"Fucking hell," Colin muttered.

"She is better than you, Jamie," Dani chirped.

Jamie, to his credit, just chuckled. But Y/N could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes.

He liked the fight.

And fuck, so did she.

Until they got to the last drill.

The worst, though—the actual worst—the partnered stretching.

Y/N immediately turned to Roy. “Are you takin’ the piss, ya feckin' chancer?”

Roy ignored her, just mumbled something that sounded like watch it.

Jamie, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“What’s wrong, Irish?” he teased, stepping closer. “Scared to get a little close?”

Y/N should have walked away. Should have told Roy to swap her partner.

She was already annoyed that she’d been paired with Jamie, and now she was sitting on the grass across from him, her hands pressed against his shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that he was stupidly warm under her palms.

Jamie smirked as he spread his legs into a seated stretch. “Go on, then. Show me what you got.”

Y/N shot him a look. “If you make one inappropriate comment, I will kick you in the face.”

Jamie grinned. “No promises.”

She ignored him, placing her hands on his shoulders again, this time steadier, pushing gently to deepen his stretch. His muscles tensed under her palms, solid and warm, and fuck—why was she noticing that?

Jamie held her gaze, still smirking, but there was something else in his eyes now. Something sharp. Something teasing.

Something interested.

Jamie smirked. "Enjoyin’ yourself there, Irish?"

She pushed harder. "Touch me again, and I’ll break your fingers."

Jamie chuckled. "Touch you again? Babe, you’re the one feelin’ me up."

Y/N shoved him.

Jamie just laughed. Roy gave both of them a warning look from the sidelines.

Y/N cleared her throat and put her hands on Jamie's shoulders again, this time pushing harder than necessary. “Oi, what? You can handle Premier League defenders, but not a simple stretch.”

Jamie chuckled, voice lower now. “Nah, I can handle it.” He let his gaze drop—just for a second—then met her eyes again. “Question is—can you?”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

She hated him.

She really, really hated him.

And yet, when they switched places and Jamie grabbed her hips to pull her into a stretch, she damn near forgot how to breathe.

Jamie’s hands slid to her hips, firm, fingers pressing just enough to send something dangerous skittering up her spine.

Oh, she was in trouble.

"Relax," he murmured, voice lower now, more amused. "Ain't gonna bite."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Pity. You look like the type to."

Jamie blinked. Then—so fucking slowly—it turned into a smirk.

"Wouldn't dream of it, although you look delicious," he said.

Y/N yanked herself out of the stretch immediately.

The problem with training together every day from now on was that accidents happened.

Too many players in too little space. Too many challenges. Too many bodies moving too fast.

And somehow, somehow, in all the hustle and bustle on the pitch Y/N and Jamie kept ending up right on top of each other.

One-on-one drills. Y/N tackled Jamie so hard they both hit the grass, tangled together in a heap.

"Jesus, Irish," Jamie grunted, blinking up at her. "You tryin’ to kill me?"

Y/N, still half on top of him, smirked. "What, can't handle a little pressure?"

Jamie’s hands tightened around her waist for half a second—too long to be innocent—before he smirked at the position they are in. "I'm good with pressure—even better with you on top of me."

Y/N scrambled off him so fast she nearly tripped.

By the end of the week, everyone was talking about them.

"You see them today?" Colin muttered to Isaac as they finished up a passing drill. "It's weird, right?"

"So weird," Isaac muttered back. "They're like... the same person. Different accent."

"They even run the same," Sam added, frowning.

Dani, of course, was delighted.

"They are meant to be!" he declared, positively buzzing. "A true football romance!"

Ted, overhearing, grinned. "Now that is somethin’ I can get behind."

Roy, standing nearby, grunted.

He had been watching, too. Watching the way Y/N and Jamie bickered. Watching the way they shoved each other, how they competed, how Jamie looked at her.

He knew exactly what was happening.

And he did not like it.

"Oi, Tartt," he barked.

Jamie turned, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Stay focused."

Jamie grinned. "Always, Coach Kent."

Roy scowled.

He was gonna have to keep a fucking eye on this.

For the past two weeks, training had been hell.

Jamie and Y/N hadn’t stopped competing, hadn’t stopped pushing, hadn’t stopped getting in each other’s heads.

And today?

Today, it boiled over.

It started during a small-sided game—men versus women, just like their first match.

Jamie and Y/N were marking each other. Because of course they were.

Neither had backed down the entire session. Every pass, every run, every fucking look they exchanged was a silent dare.

Then, Y/N got the ball.

Jamie closed in immediately, pressing high, forcing her to turn her back to goal.

She was strong, but Jamie had trained against some of the best defenders in the world. He stepped in, body to body, using his weight to push her off balance.

Y/N dug her cleats into the grass. Held her ground.

Jamie smirked. “Gonna need to do better than that, Irish.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shifting her weight—then spun him, hard, using his momentum against him.

Jamie stumbled.

And that was it.

That was the moment he snapped.

She was gone, sprinting toward goal, but Jamie didn’t think. He just reacted—lunging forward, going in for the challenge with more force than he should have.

Their legs tangled.

Y/N went down.

Hard.

Coach Beard's whistle blew.

And suddenly, Y/N was on Jamie, shoving at his chest.

“The feck was that Jamie?” she snapped, furious, eyes blazing.

Jamie stepped closer, jaw tight. “It was a tackle.”

“No, it was a fucking cheap shot, you arsehole!”

Jamie should have backed off. Should have apologized. Should have done anything but what he actually did:

He laughed.

“Oh, piss off,” he muttered. “You give it, but you can’t take it?”

Y/N shoved him again.

Jamie’s smirk vanished.

It was too close now.

Too much heat.

Too much everything.

Y/N’s chest was heaving, her hair a mess, her hands still curled into fists like she was deciding whether to hit him or grab him by the collar.

Jamie clenched his jaw. “You done?”

Y/N glared. “Fuck you, Tartt. You're a right pain in the hole.”

And before either of them could do something really stupid—

“WHISTLE. ENOUGH.”

Roy’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

The entire pitch went silent.

Roy marched over, face thunderous, eyes locked onto Jamie and Y/N like he was about to personally kill both of them.

Jamie huffed a breath, stepping back. Y/N crossed her arms, still fuming.

Roy glared. “You two—inside. Now.”

Neither of them moved.

“NOW.”

Jamie and Y/N exchanged a look—one last sharp, defiant flash of heat—before stalking off toward the locker room.

Roy followed.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Roy paced for a second, rubbing a hand down his face before turning on Y/N first.

“What the fuck was that?” he snapped.

Y/N’s eyes blazed. “Ask him,” she shot back, jerking a thumb toward Jamie. “He’s the one who went in like a fucking pox—” (pox = Irish: annoying person)

“Oh, please—” Jamie started, but Roy cut him off.

“Shut the fuck up! You both are acting like the prince and princess of fucking pricks.”

Silence.

Roy exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look,” he muttered, voice gruff. “I don’t give a shit what’s goin’ on between you two—”

“Nothing’s goin' on,” Jamie and Y/N said at the exact same time.

Roy’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, fuckin’ really?” he muttered. “Then explain why the entire fucking team won’t shut up about you two? Explain why you spend every second of training staring at each other? Explain why you’re both actin’ like a pair of horny, brainless fuckin’ teenagers?”

Neither of them spoke.

Because—fuck.

They couldn’t.

Roy scowled. “Listen, I don’t care what the fuck this is, but it stops now. You hear me? I ain’t havin’ my best player distracted because some little Manc twat’s makin’ eyes at her.”

Jamie bristled. “Ain’t makin’ eyes—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Jamie,” Roy snapped. “You are, and it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.

Roy turned back to Y/N.

“I mean it,” he said, voice low now, serious. “You’re better than this shit. I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to get distracted by—”

He stopped. Cleared his throat.

Y/N blinked.

Oh.

Oh, that was what this was about.

Roy Kent, legendary footballer, had been there. He’d been young, cocky, talented. Had been distracted. Had let himself get derailed.

He wasn’t just pissed—he cared.

Y/N swallowed, shifting her weight. “It’s not like that,” she muttered.

Roy just looked at her.

Y/N sighed, looking away. “Alright. Fine. We’ll knock it off.”

Roy didn’t look convinced but grunted anyway.

“Good.” He turned to Jamie. “And you—you pull that shit again, I’ll fucking end you. Fouling my best player in a fucking training match.”

Jamie gave a lazy salute. “Understood, Coach.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at both of them, then turned and walked out, muttering under his breath the entire way.

As soon as the door shut, Jamie sighed dramatically and leaned against the lockers.

“Well,” he drawled. “That was fun.”

Y/N scoffed. “Fuck off outta here, Jamie.”

Jamie chuckled. “Oh, come on, Irish,” he teased. “You’re not a little bit turned on right now?”

Y/N threw her water bottle at his head.

Jamie ducked, laughing, and Y/N—despite herself—felt the tiniest pull at the corner of her lips.

Yeah. She was in so much fucking trouble.

Y/N was determined.

Roy was right.

Jamie Tartt was a distraction.

So today, she was going to do what she should’ve done from the start—shut it down. No banter. No competition. No lingering looks.

Just football.

It lasted exactly twenty minutes.

Y/N ignored him in the hallways of Nelson Road.

She ignored him during warmups.

She ignored him when they lined up for passing drills and he smirked at her like he knew what she was doing.

But Jamie? Jamie lived for this shit.

“Oi, Irish,” he called as she settled into position for the drill. “You alright? You’re awfully quiet today.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. Did not look at him. Did not engage.

Jamie grinned. “Awww. You miss me already.”

Nothing.

Jamie hummed, juggling the ball lazily. “Y’know, studies say that bottlin’ up emotions ain’t good for you. You can tell me if you like havin’ me around.”

Y/N focused on her breathing. In. Out. Don’t kill him.

The team was already starting to notice.

Sam, standing nearby, bit back a laugh. Dani practically vibrated with excitement. Colin muttered, "This is a bad idea," for the fourth time that morning.

But Y/N refused to break.

Which, of course, only made Jamie worse.

During sprints, he jogged next to her, flashing a shit-eating grin every time she glanced his way.

During keep-away drills, he intercepted one of her passes, then leaned in as he returned it.

“Bit sloppy, that,” he murmured. “You feelin’ alright?”

Y/N clenched her jaw. Don’t react.

She went to the gym late that night, hoping to clear her head. The gym at Nelson Road was usually empty this late. The men’s and women’s teams had long since finished for the day, and most of the staff had gone home.

But when Y/N pushed open the door, she immediately spotted him.

Jamie Tartt.

On the treadmill.

Shirt damp with sweat.

Hair a mess, sticking to his forehead.

Moving at a ridiculously fast pace, like he was trying to outrun something.

Like her.

Y/N swore under her breath. Of fucking course.

Jamie must have heard the door because he glanced over his shoulder—then immediately slowed to a jog, a smirk curling at his lips.

“Can’t stay away from me, huh?”

Y/N let the door swing shut behind her. “I could say the same to you.”

Jamie huffed a laugh, tapping the treadmill speed down until he came to a stop. “This is my routine, Irish.” He grabbed a towel from the side, wiping the sweat from his neck. “You, though? This is new.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’ll be gone in twenty.”

Jamie tilted his head. “Oh, come on, Irish. Don’t pretend you don’t love this.”

Jamie was watching her as she grabbed a dumbbell and dropped into a lunge, not dignifying him with an answer.

“You alright?” he asked, voice lighter now. Less teasing.

Y/N exhaled. Focused on her form. “Fine. Grand.”

Jamie hummed. “Dunno. You looked real wound up today.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. Ignored him.

“Didn’t say one word to me all session,” Jamie continued, grabbing his water bottle. “Thought maybe you’d lost your voice.”

Y/N switched legs. Didn’t look at him.

Jamie smirked. “Or maybe you were just trying to ignore me.”

Y/N dropped the dumbbell louder than necessary.

“Jaysus, Tartt.” She turned to him, exasperated. “Do you ever shut up?”

Jamie grinned. “Nah.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. Shook her head. Reached for another weight.

And then—

Jamie stepped off the treadmill and closer to her.

Not much. Just a fraction. Just enough that she could feel him now, warm in the quiet, empty gym.

His voice dropped. “So, which is it?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Jamie tilted his head. “You ignoring me ‘cause you hate me? Or ‘cause you don’t?”

The air changed.

Y/N’s grip tightened on the weight. “Would ya ever fuck off, Jamie?”

Jamie chuckled, voice lower now. “Awww, c’mon, Irish.” He took another small step, invading her space, gaze flickering over her face. “Admit it.”

Y/N refused to look up. “Admit what?”

Jamie leaned in. “You like it.”

Y/N swallowed. “Like what?”

Jamie’s smirk deepened. “That I get under your skin.”

Y/N’s entire body tensed.

Because fuck him. Because he was right. Because he wasn’t supposed to know that.

Jamie watched her—watched the flicker of something dangerous cross her face, watched the way her hands tightened, watched the way her breath hitched just slightly.

Then, so fucking slowly—

He reached past her, grabbing a towel from the bench behind her.

Their arms brushed.

Y/N froze.

Jamie’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, his teasing edge dropped.

It was just quiet now.

Just them.

His eyes flickered to her lips.

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Jamie inhaled—sharp, steady, deliberate. His fingers twitched.

Y/N felt it happening—that moment. The one where she knew she should step back but didn’t. The one where Jamie should make another joke but didn’t. Everything felt slow.

And then—

The door swung open.

“Oi, anyone in here—oh, fuck, sorry.”

They sprung apart.

One of the Richmond Men's kit men—some kid barely out of university—Y/N thinks his name is Will—stood in the doorway, looking wildly uncomfortable.

Jamie cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, mate. We’re—uh—just trainin’.”

The kid looked between them. Clearly didn’t believe a fucking word.

“Right,” he said. “Well. Carry on.”

Then he bolted.

Silence.

Y/N exhaled slowly. Didn’t look at Jamie.

Jamie pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Dragged a hand through his damp hair.

“Well,” he muttered. “That weren’t fuckin’ awkward at all.”

Y/N let out a breath—half a laugh, half fucking hell, what just happened?

Then, without another word, she grabbed her bag and left.

Because if she stayed, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk away again.

And fuck, was that a problem.

To be continued...

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt imagine

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steadypet101 · 1 year ago

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(TW bullying mention, transp*obic and homop*obic mention, and rac*sm mention if you don't want to read the description below)

Meet the nastiest, narcissistic, egotistical, cruelest, heartless, cold-hearted, floozy, dirty, manipulating, biggest bully in the Mutant Mayhem universe, Carrie Rojas! She is the queen and rules Eastman High. As the queen bee and the crowned prom queen, Carrie is the most beautiful and the most popular girl you'll love to hate. She'll bully others mercilessly and enjoy hurting people in her own way possible. She hates the Reece sisters and the Drake sisters. There are others who love and adore her, and she can claim any boy she wants, taken or not as long as they're handsome to her. She's the queen of lies and rumor spreading. One bad judgment to her, or calling her a loser, bitch, ugly, slut, etc., or try to upranking her on the social ladder, or to challenge her, or to steal her place as prom queen, or even stood up to her, she'll make up a false rumor about them and crush them so hard that their heads will spin. She has no respect for anyone or anything but herself. She is also racist towards to the Mexicans.

She has her own crew, known as the Hive Ladies (her six friends will have a change of hearts and abandon Carrie later on, eventually). She's a type of girl who doesn't "touch" the gays or the transgenders. She especially doesn't want to have to deal with the Ninja Turtles or their mutant family. As pretty she is, others are blind to see her cruel and ugly side of her because she's internet famous. She is like Regina George, Junko Enoshima, Chris Hargensen, Mertle Edmonds, Sunset Shimmer (formerly self), Velvet (Trolls Band Together), Verosika Mayday, and Katie Killjoy all in one. Not to worry, though. She'll always get instant karmas like all the female fictional bullies in movies and TV shows.

Anyway, I hope y'all like this piece.

#my art #my post #my ocs #my oc art #tw bullying #tw homop*obic mention #tw transp*obic mention #tw racsim #tmnt oc #tmnt mutant mayhem #tmnt mm #stop the bullying #stop the hate #traditional art #traditional drawing #carrie rojas #bully oc

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janeyseymour · 10 months ago

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Far From Home

for @jeridandridge

Summary: you're far away from home when you meet another Phillie's fan.

WC: ~3k

It’s just Melissa’s luck that her flight would get cancelled because of a hurricane sweeping over the Atlantic at this very moment. After a near brawl with one of the attendants because she insisted that it’s safe to fly (and it very much is not safe to fly), the redhead finds herself lugging her carry-on over to the restaurant bar with a huff.

“Whiskey, neat,” she sighs as she hands her card over to the bartender. “Please.”

“Flight get delayed?”

“Canceled,” she huffs. “They said they’d put me on the next flight out to Philly.”

“You’re a long way from home,” the bartender states softly. “Why you come all the way out here?”

“To Italy?” Melissa chuckles softly. “Because it’s Italy… and I was visiting my nonna.”

“So then why are you in such a rush to get back?”

“My baseball team is playing, and I have real nice tickets for tomorrow’s game,” the redhead explains. “Damn… they’re playing right now too. Any chance you get American sports to play over here?”

The bartender shakes his head. “But if you got an iPhone and can pull it up on there, I can cast it to the television so you can at least watch on the big screen while you figure everything else out.”

Melissa looks impressed and pulls out her phone. After a bit of work, the Phillies game is up on the screen, and the redhead is cheering along for her team with a beer now in hand.

Your flight from Italy back to the States was canceled. Of course it was. After a more than disastrous trip to Italy with your now ex-girlfriend, all you want to do is be in your apartment and curled up in your bed with a tub of ice cream and a glass of wine in hand. But now… you’re sitting in a restaurant bar while you wait for confirmation that the airline has put you on another flight home and seeing if they can put you up in a hotel for however long it will take to get back to Philly.

You have half a mind to go try to sleep off your exhaustion and anxiety, but something catches your eye. There’s a Phillies game on the big screen… in Italy? So, instead of finding a deserted corner, you sit down at the restaurant bar and pull out your phone. The bartender comes your way and pours you a drink when the Phillies are able to pull ahead of the Mets- the rival team.

“Hell yeah!” you raise your glass in the air with a smile. Schwarber was able to deliver again.

“You a Phillies fan?” the bartender chuckles.

“I bleed Philly,” you smile as your eyes stay trained on the screen. “Why do you even have this game playing? I didn’t think the Italians cared about baseball the way that Philadelphians do.”

“You aren’t the only Philadelphian in here,” he laughs as he points down towards the redhead at the other end of the bar, eyes also glued to the screen.

You cock your head to the side. “Wow.” She’s… really, really pretty. But you’re able to cover up that little gasp with the afterthought of, “Two Philadelphians in one little bar across the ocean.”

“She’s casting it from her phone right now,” the man tells you. Then he slides his way back down the bar to check on that beauty.

There’s something inside of you that wants to go over and talk to her- let her know that you think she’s beautiful. But… then you remember what you’re doing here. You just got dumped, and you don’t want to be that asshole who uses someone as a rebound. Especially not someone as stunning as her. So, you keep to your end of the bar while she keeps to hers. You don’t know it, but while you’re entranced by the screen and watching as Bryce Harper hits a ball that goes flying and Johan Rojas goes flying around the bases, she looks down to you, licking her lips subconsciously.

Your cheering at the screen as Rojas comes home and Harper slides into second pulls the redhead’s eyes from you and back onto the screen. Damn, she missed how that all went about.

She glances back in your direction, and your smile warms her heart. Deciding to take a leap of faith, she picks up her drink, gathers her bags, and makes her way down the bar.

“I missed what was happening,” you hear a voice. “Tell me what happened?”

“Rojas was on second, Schwarber and Realmuto struck out, and Harper hit a ball that found its way through. Rojas scored, Harper’s on second,” you recite the play, eyes still trained on the screen as Bohm tries to further the inning.

“Bohm’s gonna strike out,” the voice tells you.

“How do you know?”

“Just a hunch,” the woman sighs. The truth is that she got the notification on her phone that he struck out and the inning was over.

She’s right, and as a commercial comes on, you finally turn. You don’t expect it to actually be that beautiful woman from the other end of the bar to be sitting next to you now, eyes watching you with wonder.

“Wow,” you whisper softly.

“What?” she asks you.

“I saw you from across the bar and thought you were pretty, but,” you cough awkwardly. “You’re more gorgeous than I thought.”

The woman smirks, and her eyes sparkle. She sticks out her hand for you to shake while saying, “Melissa.”

“Y/N,” you tell her as you shake her hand. “The bartender told me you’re the one casting the game right now?”

“I am,” she tells you. “Born and raised a Philly fan from South. You?”

You break out into a smile. “Born and raised in the ‘burbs of Philly, moved to Center City Philly a few years ago for work… I’ve been cheering for Philly teams since I could talk.”

“Yeah?” Melissa chuckles.

After a few taps on your phone, there’s video of you at the age of two dressed in an Eagles cheerleader outfit and singing the fight song playing.

The redhead next to you grins as she watches. When it’s finished, she hands you back your phone. “That’s fuckin’ precious.”

You blush. “It’s… definitely something.”

She goes to say more, but the Phillies broadcast comes back on, and you’re both taken to the screen. The two of you cheer together and boo the other team together as the game continues.

In between innings, you chat and get to know Melissa more. You come to find that she’s a second and third grade teacher at a public school in center city- one that you pass by on your walk to work almost everyday. You find that she knows a lot of people. You also find that she’s somewhat of a legend when it comes to the casinos down in Atlantic City- as it turns out, she’s the ‘Red Hot’ that you hear people talking about as you would mill around the casino floor. But you also learn that her eyes sparkle when she talks about the things she’s passionate about. You discover that her laugh is a source of happiness for you. You’ve also learned that her smile is something that could light up Center City Philadelphia all on its own. She has you absolutely enchanted with her being.

It isn’t until the bottom of the ninth inning when you recognize the fact that she’s holding your hand in anticipation, and she has been holding your hand since… since the first full inning that you watched together.

When it’s announced that the Phillies won, she’s jumping up out of her seat and hugging you tightly. You of course embrace her back with the same ferocity.

But now that the game is over, nothing is keeping her from sitting next to you. And you feel… disheartened by that? Upset that she’s probably going to leave and you’ll never see her again? You don’t know.

It doesn’t matter though, because she’s sitting back down on her barstool, taking your hand again, and sipping her beer. “So…”

The two of you continue to talk for hours. It isn’t until both of your phones ping that you look away from each other.

“Uh,” you sigh. “They put me up in a hotel room, so I guess I should head out.”

“Me too,” the redhead breathes quietly.

“I had a really nice time watching the game with you,” you tell her softly. “Like… it made me feel like I wasn’t stranded in the middle of another country without a way to get home for who knows how long.”

“Where did they put you up?”

You rattle off the name of the hotel, and her eyes light up. “That’s where I am too. Should we split a cab to get there?”

When you do get there, she checks herself in and then helps you check in. It’s a sweet gesture, and your rooms are next to each other as luck would have it.

“Would you want to come in?” she asks you as she unlocks her own door.

You smile. “Just give me a few to settle in, but then I’ll be over.”

Melissa and you spend the rest of the day together, walking around the little city that you find yourself in, picking up beer and wine, and then spending the rest of the time in her hotel room drinking and talking about everything. It’s not anything like what you expected being stuck in another country alone would be like. You’re not alone now though, Melissa is keeping you company. A small part of your mind wonders what your ex-girlfriend is doing… because she’s stuck in Italy now too- probably finding the first woman who was gay and throwing herself at her.

You’re in a tipsy haze as the two of you lounge on her bed watching whatever show in English you can find. And then… her lips are on your own. Oh god. She’s kissing you.

You pull away gently and sigh. “Melissa, I-”

“I read the situation wrong,” she says immediately and pulls away. “I’m sorry. I- I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t read the situation wrong,” you promise her. “I just… fuck. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and as much as I am attracted to you, I don’t want to use you as a rebound.”

“Oh,” Melissa’s mouth forms into a small ‘O’. “Oh.”

“I don’t want to be the jackass who uses someone as beautiful and as sweet as yourself to rebound,” you say again. “I just… I’m not like that.”

She sits up just slightly. “I respect that. Thank you for… for not doing that.”

You just nod. “I suppose now that I made it awkward, I should see myself-”

“Stay,” the redhead tells you softly. “Just because we aren’t going to hook up doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your company- as a friend.”

You settle back down onto the bed.

That was two days ago. In the two days since that kiss, you’ve still spent all of your unexpected time in Italy with Melissa. She’s… if you weren’t in the situation you’re in, you would be all over her. Maybe… maybe once you get back to the states and a respectable amount of time has passed. But for now, the two of you are getting ready to get on the flight back to Philly.

You’re not sure what strings she pulled, but you’re seated next to each other for the nearly nine hour flight. The two of you are already seated when your ex-girlfriend passes by, arm linked with a very pretty girl. She sneers at you.

“That her?” Melissa asks.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Already moved onto the next.”

“You could do better,” the green eyed woman smirks. “And you’re a better person for not doing what she’s doing to me.”

In your own dozing state, you feel Melissa’s head drop down to your shoulder, and it brings you a small sense of happiness. You let her continue to rest that way until you know her neck is going to be paying for it if she sleeps that way any longer.

“Mel,” you shake her gently. “Mel, you gotta wake up, or your neck is going to be killing you when we land.”

She blearily opens her eyes and looks at you, confused. Right… she’s wearing earplugs and headphones and can’t hear you. You type out on your phone what you’re trying to convey, and she nods. ‘Thank you,’ she mouths. It’s only a few minutes later that you feel her head again, although this time she’s laying across the middle seat and has her head in your lap. You just smile to yourself as you close your eyes again, a hand draping itself gently over her hip.

The next time the two of you wake up, the flight attendant is looking at Melissa very unhappily. The seatbelt light had gone on while you were both asleep, and you were beginning the descent. With a frustrated huff, the redhead sits up and buckles her seatbelt.

Once the plane lands, all hell breaks loose as it always does what with everybody in a rush to get off the plane and home. And in the chaos, you lose sight of Melissa. You go to text her or call her before you realize that you never actually got her number. The time that the two of you spent together was constant, and there was no need to be able to contact each other over the phone when she was always right next to you. Exhausted and frustrated, you let out a groan.

Deciding that you should probably just get your belongings and try to hail a cab to head home, you make your way to the luggage carousel. You wait for what feels like forever- hoping that Melissa will make her way over to you. Only once you’re positive that there is no more luggage on that particular belt do you give up and go home. You don’t know that she’s doing the same thing on the other side of the loop. There’s a pole blocking your sight.

You think about her on the Uber ride home, you think about her while you eat dinner, you think about her while you’re preparing for bed and when you’re crawling into bed. You dream of her. You can’t believe you were stupid enough to not get her number after spending three entire days with her.

Similarly, in a townhouse not too far from where you reside, Melissa is kicking herself. She knows that you’ve just broken up with your girlfriend- she knows that you don’t want to use her as a rebound. And somehow, she’s still mad that she didn’t get your number. She… she wouldn’t mind being your rebound, and she doesn’t have a doubt that it would turn into something more than just a rebound… if she had your number to contact you. She supposes what happens in Italy stays in Italy.

On Monday morning, you still can’t get that redheaded beauty out of your head- you can’t even why you try to busy yourself with literally anything else. So… you take fate into your hands. You know she works at the school down the street from your office, so you take it upon yourself to call in late to work, explaining that you have a few personal things to take care of as you pull into the Abbott Elementary school parking lot.

You see her pull in, and after a quick glance at your appearance in the rearview mirror, you deem yourself put together enough to face again. You slide out of your car and call her name.

She looks… shocked. Her jaw drops open as she watches you step out of your car.

“Y/N?” she calls out.

You jog up to her car. “Listen, I know I’m probably coming off as a stalker right now, but

I just… I couldn’t shake you from my thoughts as we lost each other in the airport. I wanted to call or text, but I didn’t have your number. And then I remembered you work here, and I literally work right down the road, and my boss is probably going to kill me for being late on my first day back in two weeks, but-”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either,” she cuts you off as she reaches for your hand.

You pull her into your arms gently before pressing your lips to hers. “Look, I’m… I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I knew I couldn’t let you go that easily, and I don’t want to be a jackass and use you as a rebound, but-”

“I’m here,” Melissa whispers to you as she pulls you back in for another kiss. “I’m here when you’re ready for whatever you think this might turn into. For now though, we can be friends… we can hang out like we did in Italy.”

“Yeah?”

The teacher smiles at you. “Of course. I actually have two tickets for tomorrow’s game if you wanted to come with me?”

“I thought you had tickets for the game while we were Italy?”

She shrugs. “I told you, I know a guy… I was able to contact him while we were there, and he just exchanged my tickets.”

You grin. “I would be delighted.”

Her smile matches yours. “Wonderful. If I could just get your number so we could arrange to meet tomorrow? And then I really do have to get into my classroom… prepping a science lesson.”

“Yeah, of course,” you fumble for your phone in your bag and hand it over. She texts herself with a smile.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” you ask hopefully.

She kisses your cheek. “For sure.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction

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