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softspaceboibrian · 2 years ago

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The Heart Wants What It Wants || Jamie Tartt

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Y/N where Y/N works at AFC Richmond || I used she/her pronouns, but there is no actual physical description, so the pronouns can be switched with whatever anyone wants or prefers!

Characters: Jamie Tartt; Keeley Jones and Rebecca Welton (Y/N's best friends); Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes and Dani Rojas (Jamie's support team); Roy (being his usual grumpy self).

Summary: when Y/N goes into Rebecca's office to have her usual morning chat with her best friends, she doesn't expect it to result in a very messy confession from her crush.

Warnings: bad language, like a lot. slight sexual harassment. Roy being harsh with Jamie. Jamie being all over the place with his feelings. fluff, a lot of pining and crushing. just bad writing, really.

WC: 8355 (it's kinda long, I know... but I didn't know where to stop! sorry!)

A/N: This is my first time writing for JAmie or any Ted Lasso character in general. I hadn't written anything in months, and I guess it shows. but I was so sad that there weren't enough Jamie fics on here that I thought I could just write one of my own. hopefully people like it! I'm in the middle of my exam session, but if you have any requests or suggestions, feel free to write me!

this gif is completely unrelated, i just love phil dunstan

“Come in” Rebecca’s voice was clear and loud as always, even through the closed door. As you walked in, you took in the smell of hot tea permeating the door – definitely something you could always count on.

You greeted both Rebecca and Keeley, before plopping down on the sofa right in front of the big windows looking out onto the field. You looked out for a moment, noticing the team making their way outside to finally begin practice. You had been working at AFC Richmond for almost a year now, all thanks to Miss Keeley fucking Jones, obviously. Ever since you first day there, everyone had immediately started treating you as if you had always been part of the family, especially Rebecca. “If Keeley likes you so much, it must definitely mean something.” That was her excuse when she invited you out for drinks with the two of them on the second day. “Also, there’s only so many women working at AFC Richmond, we have to stick together, don’t we?” And the rest was history, as some author would say. Even the team had liked you since the get-go. Some more than others. There should be a disclaimer here: you had never cared for football, in any of its forms. But Keeley had been so persuading, making the job sound like a party. And she wasn’t lying. Being with the team was more fun than you could have ever imagined. Yes, some of them were self-centred, and some were self-centred pricks, even. But somehow, you had taken a liking to all of them. And now, after an entire year of working there, you knew them so well that she could even make out who was who all the way from Rebecca’s office.

You were so lost in your own thoughts, that when Keeley talked, you almost jumped out of her seat. “Babes, is everything alright?” Her voice was kind as always. “You seem off today.”

“Everything is fine.” You fixed yourself, turning around so to face both of your friends.

You smiled, or rather you forced yourself to make your smile feel as real as possible. But when you met Rebecca’s gaze you froze. She was holding one of those shortbread biscuits that Ted brought her in every morning and that you only had the pleasure to taste once and, well, you completely understood why Rebecca loved them so much. “I call bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said I call bullshit.” The woman put the last remaining bit of biscuit in the small, pink cardboard box, as to save it for later, and then made her way on the couch with you and Keeley. “You have been off for, well, quite a few days now. And I love that you’re an independent woman and everything, but Keeley and I are your friends. Actually, I would like to believe that we are your best friends. We care for you and we would very much appreciate it if you would trust us enough to come to us with your problems and thoughts.”

“Yeah, babes. You know we’re always here for you.” Keeley moved closer to you and leaned against the back of the couch.

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. You had wanted to talk with them for a while now, but you were always too afraid they wouldn’t care about it, or you were too embarrassed about how they might react to it. But this time it was them that asked you to tell them. And they seemed truly interested in knowing what was going on in your mind.

“Chop, chop, out with it.” Rebecca let her heels fall to the ground and set herself comfortably in the corner of the couch. Yeah, well, as comfortable as that extremely fitted pencil skirt gave her permission to.

You bit your lip for a moment, gathering all the courage you had. “It’s stupid, really.” You tried to laugh it off, hoping that they would just let it go.

But they didn’t. “It’s not stupid if it’s making you feel like this.” Keeley said, putting a hand on yours.

“Fine.” You sighed, looking off in front of you. “I think I may have feelings for Jamie.” You blurted out as quickly as you could.

“Our Jamie? Like, Jamie Tartt?” Keeley asked.

“I know it’s stupid. I shouldn’t like him, right? I know you think it’s stupid. I know you think he’s a prick, and you’re not wrong. I know that he’s a prick. Fuck, that makes me hate myself even more. How could I like a prick? Well, he had changed a bit, and now he-s a bit less of a prick. But still, he’s Jamie fucking Tartt, he’s probably one of the hottest footballers out there, in any way possible. He could fucking have whoever he wanted. Hell, he could have a fucking model. I’m sure he had model. He had you, Keels. And I’m just me. I fucking hate that I’m feeling this.” You started rambling on aimlessly, putting out there in only a few seconds all the fears and insecurities you had been holding in for the past who knows how long.

“Hey, love. Just, wait a minute.” Rebecca’s voice broke your train of thoughts, thankfully just in time, or who knows where you could’ve ended. “Let’s just calm down a moment, okay?”

“It’s just-” You sighed. “I hate that I’m feeling these feelings. I don’t want to feel them. Not for him. I don-t want to be his latest conquest that he’s going to move on from and forget as soon as he finds someone more interesting. I don’t want this. But I can’t help it. I… Fuck, I feel like I’m back in middle school. Shit, shit, shit. How old am I? 12? No, I’m not. I’m 25 years old, for fuck’s sake. I should fall for proper man. Not people like him.” Your eyes filled up with tears, which you tried to hide as best as you could, even though you knew that the other two would notice them, nonetheless.

And they did. Rebecca and Keeley shared a quick glance, before sliding even closer to you, both immediately wrapping their arms around your figure. “Listen, babes. You said it yourself. I’ve been with Jamie, and he was in his top prick form back then. Now he’s… he’s changing. I don’t know if it’s the training with Roy or if it’s Ted finally rubbing off on him, but he’s no longer the dickhead I dumped almost two years ago.”

“She’s right. He has changed.” Rebecca agreed with Keeley. “Also, you cannot tell your heart what it should and shouldn’t feel. It will only cause you more pain, and we definitely don’t want that.” The woman had this motherly instinct that you had always loved. She always knew what to say to make you feel better, or at least less shitty about yourself. “And remember, you could never do worse than me. I was married to the king of the shitheads.” She added, which made both you and Keeley laugh.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Keeley got up and ran to the door, only to lock it and run back to the couch. “If it’s alright with Rebecca, we’re going to take the morning off to talk, just the three of us.”

“Sounds perfect to me. I really didn’t have much to do anyway.” Rebecca was a great liar. You knew she probably had so many documents to read through and to sign. But she always made time to help you with your problems. And that’s why you loved her so much. “Is that right with you, love?”

You didn’t even need to say anything. You barely nodded, and next thing you knew, the three of you were sitting on the couch with no shoes on, a warm cup of tea each and a big chunky blanket on your legs. You never really thought they would be this open with you. Yes, they had made it clear ever since the beginning that they liked you and that they cared for you. But you had never thought that you could go to them for something like that and they would do all of that for you. But they did.

“Okay, let’s start with one simple question: are you two talking? Or, I don’t know, did you go on a date?” Keeley’s question was very straightforward and made completely sense. However, the answer wasn’t as easy to give.

“Well, we haven’t really gone on like a proper date. But we did spend quite a lot of time together last week.” You looked at the other two and you could feel them asking for more information with just their eyes. “It didn’t start as the best of situations…”

------------------------------ FLASHBACK ------------------------------

You didn’t really want to go out that night. It wasn’t really your thing. You usually spent your nights at home, reading a book or watching a movie. Or, if you were lucky, you would go out with Keeley and Rebecca for dinner and drinks, which you loved. What you didn’t love was going out for drinks with people you weren’t as comfortable with. But you had never really learnt how to say no to people, so when your old high school friend – who had moved to America for college and you hadn’t heard from since – messaged you on Instagram, saying that she was back in London for a few days and wanted to go out with you to “catch up”, you couldn’t really bring yourself to decline the offer or make up an excuse. So, you just agreed and made plans to meet up with her in front of a very busy and very fancy place downtown. You hated clubs, especially busy one, but even more you hated going to new places without people you knew. But you knew the girl, in a way. You were really close in high school, so things shouldn’t be too bad, right?

“So, you’re working for a football club! Never thought it would happen!” The girl shouted over the loud music which you were already hating with all your guts. But you just pulled through it.

“Yeah, it’s a good job.” You hated having to raise your voice so much, but it was the least you could do if you wanted to have a conversation with her.

“Do you know any famous footballer?”

“I mean, I know the boys from the team. I suppose they’re famous now. But yeah.”

“Would you introduce me to any of them?”

There it was. You had been talking with her for half an hour and, knowing how she was back in high school, you had been wondering how she hadn’t yet asked you about the guys. A small part of you really wanted to believe that she had changed and that she had stopped sleeping around with guys just because they were hot. But apparently, you were wrong. “Well, it’s complicated. They’re in the middle of the Premier season right now, and most of them are training really hard hoping to be rostered for their national teams. Plus, you’re only going to be in town for a few days, so that wouldn’t really work.”

“I wouldn’t mind moving my flight back for a footballer.” She smirked.

“Maybe next time.” You fake-smiled. “Also, who would want to go out with a football player? Most of them are self-centred assholes who only care about winning.”

“But they are sexy and they have money.”

“But you’re studying law in an ivy league college, you could be the one with money in the relationship.”

“Nah, I don’t really care about that. If a hot guy with money wanted to be with me, I would literally give everything up.” She said, as if that was the most obvious answer. Now you were remembering why you never reached out to her after high school was over.

You spent another half hour listening to her blabbering about something you didn’t really care about. And you could tell that she knew, but didn’t say anything. That was how things had always been between the two of you back in school: she was the popular one, with guys running after her, and her constantly cancelling plans that you two had made to go on a date with a different guy, while you spent your afternoons with the drama club, putting on the next show, to which she was always invited but she never came. It wasn’t all bad. You actually had good times with her. You spent a lot of time over at her house, and you were almost part of her family. But once you were no longer forced to see each other every single day at school, it didn’t take long for you to realise you were completely different. So, you just stopped looking for each other, making plans or going out. That’s why, when the messages stopped coming altogether, it didn’t really hurt you, since you were the first that had started to back out from that friendship. But years had passed and you had really hoped she had grown out of that phase of her life. But you were wrong. People never change, that was what you said to yourself as you were absentmindedly nodding to whatever she was saying now.

“Listen, Y/N, do you mind if I leave you alone here for a moment? There’s a guy over there that has been eyeing me for a while now and, I don’t know, I have this feeling I should go over there.” That was her usual excuse. I have this feeling. As if sexual craving could be described as an actual feeling. But you didn’t care, you actually wouldn’t mind to spend a few minutes by yourself. So, you just told her to go. And she did. Not a single “are you sure you don’t mind” nor an “it will be quick, I promise”. She simply picked all her stuff up and left.

And then you were alone.

You thought about leaving a couple of times, but you thought it would be rude because what would happen if she came back and you weren’t there?

So, you just remained seated there, in the small booth, waiting. And waiting. You looked around, studying the crowd, and hoping that she would just come back, or at least text you to let you know her intentions for the rest of the night. But that message never came. And you waited there, alone.

Until, after almost twenty minutes, a random man approached you. He had to have been at least 15 years older than you. He was dressed all fancy, a black blazer and jeans, a white shirt with the first couple of buttons left open to show a few sparse grey hairs on his chest, as if that was something that all women found sexy; I mean, who did he think he was? Roy Kent? He walked over to your table and leaned on it to get closer to you. “Is this seat taken?”

The first thing that hit you was the almost nauseating amount of perfume and aftershave, closely followed by the stench of cigarette and alcohol as soon as he opened his mouth. “I’m waiting for a friend.” You replied, hoping that would be enough to send him away.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been sitting here alone for quite some time now.” He smiled, and you wanted to throw up. “And I don’t she’s coming back. She and that boy looked very intimate if you know what I mean.”

That comment sent shivers down your spine. How long had he been looking at you? “I’m waiting for another friend of ours.” You said, hoping that he would buy it.

He moved closer to you. “Let me wait with you. I wouldn’t want to leave such a pretty girl out here on her own.”

You hated when people called you a girl. You were a grown woman, for god’s sake! But you hated it even more when that comment came from creepy old men that were nonchalantly flirting with you.

“They should be here any minute now.” You replied quickly. “And I actually prefer to sit alone.”

“Nonsense! Let me keep you company!” He smirked, sliding even closer to you. You were on the verge of tears, feeling this awful sensation in your stomach. You felt like you were going to throw up, and you weren’t sure whether it was because of his terrible taste in perfumes, the horrible stench of smoke, or just his presence in general. You wanted to just get up and get away, but it was as if your legs had forgotten how to move. You tried to insist, telling him that you were going to meet them outside, but he wouldn’t let you go. He started moving his hand, and you knew that, if you didn’t move, he would put it on your thigh. But, with tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, your body completely froze.

“Y/N!” A voice called your name. You turned around to look at the source. Your vision was hazy from the tears, and the strobe lights weren’t exactly helping you in that moment. “I’m sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find a spot to park me car.” He walked over to your table and waited for you to do or say something to sit next to you.

“You’re Jamie fucking Tartt!” The old man exclaimed. “Fuck, man. You’re great! My mates and I don’t really like Richmond, but you’re the best player in the team. You and that Oby- Obe-, you know, the Nigerian guy.”

“Yeah, cheers, man.” Jamie replied, taking a seat next to you. “Now, would you mind leaving us alone?”

“Is she your date?” The man asked, and you could tell that he was confused because why would a star like Jamie Tartt go out with a normal girl like you?

“Do you have a problem?”

“No, no!” The old man finally stood up from the table. “You enjoy her.” He smirked and gave him a wink, before looking at you up and down for the last time and eventually leave.

You finally could feel your body relax again when your attention was caught by Jamie talking. “What a fucking creep.” He shook his head, before finally looking at you. “Are you alright? Did he do anything to you?”

You shook your head. “I think you got here just in time.” You smiled at him, almost feeling guilty for probably having ruined his night.

“Were you here alone?”

“Well, not really. I was here with a friend but she left with a guy.” You stopped, quickly looking around. “But I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“Some kind of friend.” He sighed, still looking at you, as if he were studying you, trying to understand if everything was truly okay, trying to assess the situation. “Do you want to leave?”

“What?”

“I said, do you want to go out, maybe grab a bite?” He raised his voice, thinking that you might have not heard him over the loud music.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay. You can go back to your evening if you want. I’m fine, I swear.”

“I was here on me own.”

“You go to clubs alone?”

“Well, yeah.” He looked at you for a moment. “Listen, really, I don’t have anything to do here. And in any case, I would much rather spend time with you. So, if you want to leave and do something actually funny instead of waiting for some shitty friend to hopefully come back, then count me in.”

------------------------- END OF FLASHBACK -------------------------

“Did you go with him?” Keeley asked, looking at you as if she was watching the latest episode of a soap opera, completely hooked up to the story.

“We spent the entire night together.” You said shyly.

“Doing what?” You had never seen Rebecca so shocked and interested in a story in a while.

“We ate in a chicken shop; we stayed there talking for a while and then we took a walk.”

“How long did you stay out for?”

You could feel both Keeley’s and Rebecca’s eyes on you, demanding an answer, wanting to know more, to know everything. “Well, we took the sunrise as our cue to go home.”

“Babes! You’re telling me that you stayed up all night talking with Jamie?” Keeley squealed, jumping on her knees. “Like, you found topics to talk about for, what, 7? 8 hours?”

“It wasn’t that difficult. I didn’t even have to force it.”

“What did you talk about?” Asked Rebecca. And all of a sudden, the almost 50-year-old and 30-year-old women in front of you turned back into their high school personas and you almost wanted to laugh at how adorably funny that scene was.

“Well, a bit of everything, you know. Our lives, where we grew up, our favourite things, favourite food, favourite movie, favourite city, the books that have impacted us the most, the cities that we dream of visiting one day. Normal stuff.”

Keeley looked at you, in complete shock. “You talked about books. With Jamie. How?”

“He said that he had noticed I like to read and asked me about my favourite book. I told him and then asked him the same thing. And he told me.” You replied, as if that was obvious. But it was only then that you remember that Keeley had been with Jamie in the past and, if she was that shocked, it must have meant that, when they were together, he didn’t read. Possibly at all.

“Babes, remember when I told you he had changed since I had broken up with him, right? Well, that’s an understatement. When we were together, it was fun, but we didn’t really talk about that kind of stuff. He was much more superficial. I don’t think he never really asked me what my favourite food was. And the fact that he was taking an interest in all of those things about you, well, it definitely means something. I wouldn’t take that for granted.” Hearing Keeley, someone you trusted with all of your heart, someone you loved and looked up to, someone that truly knew who you were talking about, saying all of those things, made you feel things. You didn’t know what those things meant, but they were things you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for the first time in days, you were finally accepting the idea of having feelings for Jamie Tartt.

After a few moments of silence, Rebecca asked you “Was that the only time you spent time together?”

“Well, no. I mean, we’ve been talking basically every single day. He sends me a good morning text almost every day, and we talk a lot at night. Sometimes he calls me.”

“Okay, okay. That’s good.” Rebecca said, almost as if she was an investigator gather all the evidence. “But you didn’t answer my question: did you go out another time?”

You immediately felt heat rising to your cheeks. “We didn’t really go out.” You looked at the two women in silence for a moment. “Last night he… ehm… he showed up to my place.”

“What?” They both almost screamed at the same time.

------------------------------ FLASHBACK ------------------------------

You had just finished putting on your pyjamas after a long warm shower. You still had to decide what you wanted to eat, something you always dreaded because, as much as you loved cooking, you hated preparing food for one. You started making your way down the stairs and to the kitchen when your doorbell rang. You weren’t really expecting anyone, so the sound left you confused. You looked through the peephole before even saying anything, so that if it was someone you didn’t know, you could jut pretend you weren’t at home. But, when you looked through it, you were surprised to see Jamie standing right outside of your door.

You immediately took a look at yourself in the mirror right beside the door, trying to make yourself look at least presentable, before finally opening the door. When Jamie’s entire figure came into view, you noticed the food boxes in his hands. “Jamie?”

“Hi, Y/N! Ehm, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this but… ehm… I thought we could spend some time together, you know?” Was Jamie blushing?

You stood there, a soft smile on your lips, looking at the man in front of you. “Sure.” You giggled, moving to open the door even more, as a way to let him in.

“I’m sorry, I should have texted or called. That was stupid. If you’re busy I can just-”

You cut him off. “Jamie. I’m not busy. You can come in. I just wasn’t expecting visitors, so the house is, well, it’s not tidy.” You take a step forward to take some of the boxes off of him. “What’s with all of this food? Did you rob a supermarket?” You laughed, nodding your head as a sign for him to follow you, before making your way to the kitchen.

“No!” He laughed, and suddenly you felt this weird sensation in your stomach. “I didn’t know what you were craving and so I got everything that you told me you liked.” He said, while putting the boxes on the counter. “I got us a pizza to share, because you said you’re not a huge fan, but that you like to eat it while watching movies. I also got us kebabs because they’re always good, and sushi because why not. Oh, and I also got us those spicy Korean rice thingies that you said you love so much. What’s their name? Tee- To-”

You laughed as he struggled to say the word. “Tteokbokki.”

“Yeah, those.” He smiled, putting his hands on his sides.

“Just a question.” You walked around the kitchen gathering cutlery and plates to eat. “How many people did you think were going to be here? There’s enough food to feed an army.”

He looked at you and then the food, before bursting out laughing. “I told you! I didn’t know what you were craving. And I wanted to do something nice for you, but I overdid it.”

You put the plates on the counter and turned to look at him. “It’s okay, I appreciate it anyways.” You smiled. “But why would you wanted to do this for me? It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“I just… I had a very good time with you the other night.” Was Jamie blushing? Again? “And I was really in the mood to watch a good movie. So, who better than you to watch it with.”

You smiled, trying to hide the blushing coming onto your cheeks as well by turning your attention to the food on the counter. “Did you have a movie in mind?” You asked, while putting the different foods on the plates.

“You said that you really like Dead Poets Society, right? And that you think everyone should watch it at least once in their lifetime, right? So, I thought, since I’ve never seen it, we could, I don’t know, watch it together. If you want to, obviously.” He waited for you to plate the food to pick a couple of plates up and follow you into the living room.

“That actually sounds like a perfect plan, Mr Tartt.” You smiled, while taking a seat on the couch, waiting for him to join you.

------------------------- END OF FLASHBACK -------------------------

“Fucking hell, that’s adorable!” Keeley exclaimed. “He never did that for me! When he showed up uninvited, it was usually because he wanted to have sex.”

“Well, this is good!” Rebecca joined in. “He has changed. He listened to what you told him, he remembered your favourite food and your favourite movie. And before you say something like ‘but that’s not a big dead!’, yes it fucking is. It is a huge deal. Men aren’t always reliable. Rupert never was, at least. I vividly remember telling him my favourite drink at least a dozen times. And every single time he would get me something completely different. At the beginning I was too afraid to say anything, so I just drank it. But then I started to speak up. And still, he didn’t remember.”

“Yeah, okay, but him remembering that I like pizza only when watching movie doesn’t mean he feels anything for me.” You said, throwing your head back.

“I’m sorry, babes, didn’t you say that he told you that he wanted to spend time with you?” Keeley asked. “You said it yourself: he came to your place with all the food you had told him you liked and suggested to watch your favourite movie together because he had had a good time with you and wanted to do that again.”

“He decided to spend time with you rather than going out with other people or spend the night texting some random girl on dating apps.” Added Rebecca. “He chose to be with you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” You sighed. “I still don’t think he has feelings for me, though.”

“Whatever, babes.” Keeley took a sip out of her mug, before refocusing on you. “What happened next? Did you watch the movie?”

“Yes, we did.” You smiled at the memory. “He got emotional at the end. I’m not saying that he cried, but he definitely had glossy eyes by the time of the ‘O Captain, my Captain’ scene.”

“Which means he feels comfortable enough to show his emotions in front of you.” Rebecca noted. “And what happened next? Did he leave or did you spend another night talking?” She smirked, trying to make fun of you in a friendly way, almost mom-like.

“Well, he stayed a while longer.” You looked at the two women. “We talked a little about the movie, he told me what he thought of it, we discussed a little about why I thought it is a very important and still relevant movie, and he agreed with me. At first, I have to be honest, I thought he was just agreeing with me to not make me feel bad. But then he added to my argument and I stood corrected. He had truly understood the point of the movie and of my thoughts. For the first time in, gosh, I don’t even know how long, I felt seen, listened and understood by someone that wasn’t you two or Sam.”

Keeley brought a hand to her chest. “I have conflicted feelings because, by the way you’re talking, I want to tell you to just run out of here and into this man’s arms; but at the same time, every now and then, I remember you’re talking about Jamie, and it feels so weird because he’s so different from what I remember him to be like.” She explained. “Which is good, but kind of unsettling.”

Rebecca nodded along with what Keeley said, before eventually turning once again to face you. “What happened after you talked?”

“We decided to watch Modern Family, you know, to cheer ourselves up after the movie.”

“And?” Asked in unison the two women.

“And nothing.”

“I call bullshit.” Said Rebecca.

“Agreed.” Added Keeley. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Nothing!”

“That’s not true!” They once again spoke in unison, which was starting to become quite weird.

“Nothing happened. We just… fell asleep.” You almost murmured those last words, almost too scared to say it out loud in front of them.

“I’m sorry, what?” Asked Rebecca, who had obviously heard and just wanted you to say it again out loud.

“We fell asleep!” You shouted. And you were so glad that Rebecca’s office was so high up and far from others. “As we were watching the show, he started leaning into me. At first, he laid his head on my shoulder, and then, somehow, we ended up with his head in my lap and my hands in his hair.” You could feel your cheeks burning up.

The two women shared a quick look, before turning back to you, huge smiles on their faces. “When did he fall asleep?” Asked Keeley.

“I don’t know.” You looked down at your own hands. “I fell asleep as well. I don’t know how or when, but when I woke up, it was like 3 in the morning, and we were lying on the couch. He had his head on my stomach and an arm draped over my waists.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” You were fidgeting with your bracelet, too embarrassed to look up and meet your friends’ eyes. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want him to go away.” For some reason your eyes started filling up with tears.

“Hey, babes. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not!” You almost shouted, tears finally falling down your face. “It’s not fucking okay. I hate feeling like this.”

“Love, hey, just… wait a second. Take a deep breath.” Rebecca moved closer and wrapped her arms around you. “Why do you hate it?”

“I don’t know. I’m feeling all these things for someone that doesn’t even like me back.”

“You don’t know that, Y/N.” Keeley moved closer as well, taking your hand in hers and leaning her head against yours. “I mean, you’re the coolest person I know, you’re fucking smart and interesting, and you’re fit as fuck. I think most of the team has at least a tiny crush on you.” She smiled, hoping to cheer you up. But that didn’t work.

“Listen, love.” Rebecca squeezed you, before pulling away slightly. “As that song says, the heart wants what it wants. I know feeling like this is terrible, but there’s only one thing that you can really do, and that’s talking to him.”

“But what if he says that he was just being a good friend? What if I misread every single thing he has done and said to me up until now?”

“And what if you haven’t?” Keeley asked. “Finding you at that club was completely random, pure luck. But he then chose to spend the entire night with you. Just like he chose to send you a good morning text every single day, and he chose to come and spend the evening with you. Also, I’m almost 100% sure that he woke up as well during the night, but didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to go, just like you didn’t want him to leave.” Keeley brushed a rogue strand of hair out of your face. “I know it’s hard, but you have to act.”

“But I’m scared.”

“Which means that you care.” Rebecca smiled. “You care about him and about your relationship.”

You looked at the two women in silence for a few moments. You wanted to cry, and you wanted to scream. You wanted to run out of there and straight to Jamie. You wanted to hug Keeley and Rebecca ad tell them how much you loved them. But all you could do in that moment was smile and be glad for the wonderful friends you had. “So, I should go and talk to him?”

“Yes.” Keeley smiled.

“And you should do it right now.” Said Rebecca, standing up from the couch. “The team is going back inside, which could be a good moment for you to swoop in and talk with Jamie.” She seamlessly slipped back in her high heels and fixed her blouse. “And if anyone has anything to say about it, they will have to come to me. I’m the owner of this club, after all.” She winked.

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The team had just made their way to the changing room, ready to hear Roy giving them “pointers”, or rather making sure they knew every little thing they had done wrong. But Jamie didn’t really care about that. Jamie knew that he had played like shit, but he couldn’t help it. His head was someplace else.

“Oi, Tartt!” Roy’s voice echoed in the room, and everyone’s head turned to look at the man sitting in front of his changing station. “What the fuck were you thinking, uh? You fucked all the assists. The team was constantly looking for you, and you were nowhere to be found!”

Jamie’s eyes remained low on the ground. “’m sorry, coach.” His voice was soft. “I’ll do better next time.”

His teammates couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Somehow, in the span of 24 hours, Jamie had lost all of his confidence. They looked at him and almost couldn’t recognise him. And the worst past was that no one really knew what to do with him, how to talk to him, how to cheer him up. Because that’s the thing with teams: you’re a family, you’re all extremely close, but you’re still a bunch of men that don’t know how to handle emotions and how to talk about their feelings. So, they just bottle everything up and hope that, sooner or later, it will just go away.

But right now, looking at Jamie, Sam felt compelled by something to just stand up and walk over to him, to say something. “Is everything all right?”

Sam’s voice startled Jamie, who was so deep in his thoughts he had almost forgotten he was at the clubhouse. “Uh?” Jamie looked up and was met by Sam’s concerned look. “No, yeah, everything is fine.”

“It don’t look like it, bruv.” Isaac joined in the conversation.

Sam took a seat next to Jamie. “You don’t have to talk to us about whatever is on your mind. We’re not going to force you. Just know that we’re here for you.”

“Sì, muchacho. We’re a familia.” Dani and Colin walked over as well, almost forming a barrier between him and the rest of the room, creating a safe space for him.

No one said anything for a few moments, most of them unsure of how to act, of what to say to him. They wanted to ask him, to help him, but they had no idea how. So, they all remained quiet, until Jamie broke the silence. “I feel so stupid.” Jamie’s voice was low. “I… I feel like a middle schooler.”

“What do you mean?” Colin asked.

Sam immediately turned to look at Jamie. “Did something happen with your dad?” And Jamie could feel the worry in Sam’s voice.

“No, no, I haven’t talked with me dad since Wembley.” He shook his head, rubbing his face. “No, I… You’re going to laugh…” He looked up, but all he saw was seriously interested faces, the faces of friends that were genuinely concerned for him. “I have a crush…” He almost whispered, but it was still loud enough for them to hear. They all shared a quick look amongst themselves, before turning to look again at the man sitting before them. “I feel so stupid because, usually, I have all this confidence with women, right? I’m so sure about me self that I don’t worry about the possibility of a rejection. It doesn’t affect me, usually…”

Sam nodded along with everything that Jamie said, as if he could relate to every little detail. “But with this woman in particular, you’re scared.”

Isaac asked the question that everyone wanted to ask. “Who is this woman?”

Jamie looked up from the ground, meeting everyone’s eyes. He could tell that his friends wanted to help him, but something was stopping him, almost too afraid to admit he had feelings for her, too scared that they would laugh in his face and say that she deserved better than him.

“Muchacho, you’re a beautiful man, and every woman would be lucky to be with you.” Dani always had this way of talking that could give confidence even to the shiest and most introverted person in the world.

“No, you don’t understand. This woman is different from the others.” He sighed. “She’s not a top model or an aspiring actress that wants to be with me because I’m famous. She’s… she’s different.” Jamie started fidgeting with the ends of his shoelaces. “And I’m different. I’m not the same person I was two years ago, I know that. And I think that’s why I’m so scared. Like, what if she doesn’t like me? What if she still thinks I’m a prick? Uh?”

“Listen, boyo. You said it yourself; you have changed. And if this woman doesn’t like your new you, then too bad for her.” Colin took a seat next to Jamie, opposite to Sam. “But if you truly like her, you should tell her. Don’t let your fear get in the way of your happiness, okay?”

“Yeah, like Selena Gomez said in her song, the heart wants what it wants.” Smiled Dani.

Jamie looked at those people around him, and for a moment he felt all the guilt for how he had treated them two years before rise to the top. Did they forget everything he had done to them? Did they forget how bad he had made them feel? He had treated them so poorly, and yet, now they were there, next to him, showing care and interest in how he was feeling. “Thank you, boys.” He smiled softly.

“You know we’re here.” Sam smiled, giving him a small push with the shoulder. “We’re family.”

“Yeah, bruv.” Isaac added. “But are you going to tell us who this woman is or not?”

However, their conversation was cut short by the door to the changing room opening, and Y/N walking in, looking around, clearly searching for someone. And that was when the boys realised Jamie didn’t need to tell them anything, because as soon as he saw her, he stood up. He fixed his hair and immediately took a step forward. None of them said anything. They just remained quiet and watched the scene unfold in front of their eyes.

“Jamie.” You smile once you finally met his eyes.

“Y/N” He replied, softly, taking another step towards her.

“Do you… do you think we could talk for a moment? Alone?” She said quietly, but the silence in the room made it extremely complicated for her not to be heard by everyone.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You smiled, turning around to exit the changing room. Jamie took a deep breath, turning quickly to look at the four guys standing a few steps away from him. He nodded to them, and they nodded to him in return, as a way to say ‘you got this’ or ‘go get her’. So, he took one more deep breath, and followed her outside.

Once he stepped into the corridor, he noticed Keeley and Rebecca standing in the middle of it, looking at the two of them. Keeley smiled, which gave Jamie a boost of confidence, Whereas Rebecca was looking at him in such an intimidating way that immediately sent shivers running down his spine. He knew they were there for you, and he knew how much they cared for you, so it wasn’t difficult for him to understand what Rebecca’s gaze meant: ‘break her heart and I’ll break you’.

He greeted the two women with a quick nod, before realising you were still walking down the corridor. “Wait up, Y/N!” He said, jogging after you. “Where are we going?”

“Boot room. It’s the quietest place in here.” You looked at him, noticing his expression, as if he wanted to say something. “I already asked Will to leave us alone in there.” You replied, quickly grabbing him by his hand and pulling him through the doorway.

“You always think about everything.” He chuckled, getting into the room. He never really understood when or how that room had become like a sort of therapy room for the team, where most of them went when they needed to get something off of their chest or just be alone, but couldn’t leave the clubhouse. That place stank like hell. But he was glad nonetheless for the privacy. “You had your supporters with you as well, uh?” He smiled.

“Yeah.” You laughed under your breath. “They are actually the ones that forced me to come and talk to you.”

“Should I be scared, then?”

“No! No.” You shake your head. “I don’t think so.” You started pacing around the room, trying to give order to all the things you had in your head at the moment.

“Is everything alright?” Jamie looked at you, slightly worried.

You looked at him, taking a deep breath. “Yes.” You nodded. “Just give me a moment because I haven’t really thought about what I want to say to you. Or rather, how I want to say it to you.”

Jamie nodded, taking a step towards you and catching your hand before you stepped away again. “Do you mind if I go first, then?”

You looked at him, surprise painted all over your face. You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded, waiting for him to talk.

“Okay, so, first of all, I wanted to tell you that last night was… well, I really enjoyed spending time with you, and I really wish we could do it more often.” He smiled, squeezing your hand as a way to catch your attention. “And then to the difficult part... Okay. The boys told me to just be me self. But it’s difficult, you know? Because, like, I am always me self, but when I’m with you, I’m different from how I am with the others. Not in the sense that I’m not truly me self, but in the sense that, when I’m with you, I’m me self even more than usual.” He stopped, looking down. “Sorry, I didn’t really have anything prepared either.” He chuckles.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Go on, you’re doing great.” You said, trying to look at him in the eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m truly me self. Like I’m the most authentic version of me. And I like it. I want to be like that always. But I feel like I can only be like that when I’m with you.” He looks at you. “I lied before. I don’t want to be with you more often.” You stopped and looked at him completely confused. “I want to be with you as much as I can. I want to be with you every fucking day.” You giggled, feeling the blood rushing up your neck and to your cheeks. “I want to make lunch for you. Well, no, okay. I want to learn how to make lunch for you. I want to take you out to dinner. And I also want to order in and watch a movie on a couch like we did last night. I want you to play with me hair because, fuck, that’s the most relaxing shit ever.” You bit your bottom lip, trying to contain all the happiness that you were feeling in that moment. “I want to go out with our friends and be able to show you off. I want to hold your hand as we walk down the street.”

“Jamie…”

“Wait a second.” He interrupted you, pulling you even closer. “I want you to wear my jersey at matches. And to cheer for me. And I want to kiss you whenever we win a match. In front of everyone. I want to go out and celebrate with the team, and while we’re there, I want to hold you close while we talk with them, and then be able to just walk home together and celebrate just the two of us. And I don’t mean have sex. I mean, that would be fun, but I meant like having a party just the two of us. Drinking, and dancing and laughing. Or we don’t have to go home, and we can just walk around town all night, like we did that time.” He became all serious all of a sudden. “I want to be able to protect you from creepy old men. Actually, no. That wouldn’t be necessary because you would never need to go out by yourself ever again.”

“Jamie, I…”

“Wait, I’m not done.” He interrupted you once more. “I want to be able to sleep over at your place and you over at mine. I want us to buy toothbrushes to leave at the other’s house. I want to wake up next to you like we did today, but I want that every single day. I want to have me clothes at your place and your clothes at mine. I want to drive Roy mad by telling him last minute that I’m sleeping over at your place, so he has to come all the way there. And after I’m done training with him, I want to stop at a cafe as I get back home and I want to buy your favourite latte, so that you can wake up to the smell of warm coffee every day.”

“Jamie!” You shouted, trying to stop him from talking.

“What?”

“Just-” Your hands found their way to the back of his head, as your eyes remained fixed on his. “Just kiss me, will you?” You laughed, before pulling him down towards you.

When your lips finally crashed against one another, you could feel the tension you had been holding in your stomach finally releasing. You pushed yourself on your tiptoes, as Jamie’s hands slowly and softly found their resting place on the small of your back, helping you up, and pulling you closer to his chest. Your hands played with his hair, and in that moment, you were sure he could feel your heart beating like crazy in your chest.

“So…” He whisper while pulling slightly away, only to press his forehead against yours. “Did you want to say something?”

You kept your eyes closed, too afraid to open them and realise that it was only just a dream. “I think you said everything.” You chuckled, trying to get some air back in your lungs.

“Well, if you wanted to say something…”

“Jamie.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

A/N: sorry, this was so long! so, if you read it all the way through, then thank you! please, feel free to leave me any kind of feedback and don't forget to send me suggestions or requests if you have them! thank you again! ily <3

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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crazyk-imagine · 2 years ago

Text

Mended Relationships and the Future

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Fem!reader Characters: Fem!reader, Ted Lasso, Coach Beard, Keeley Jones, Jamie Tartt, Rebecca Welton, Isaac Mcadoo, Colin Hughs, Sam Obisanya, Dani Rojas, Jan Maas, Roy Kent, literally all of the players (I just can’t think of their names) Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, cursing, mentions of pregnancies, mentions of reader not taking care of themselves (don’t do this), Jamie being sweet, reader and Jamie being dummies for a second, the team being so goddamn adorable, the team gives such family vibes, Jamie pretending the reader and he are engaged so he can stay with her, Ted and Beard are a powerful duo, this is my favorite TL fic that I’ve written Word Count: 3,783

A/N: Bits and pieces are based on this post

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You walk into the coach’s office with your hands in your hoodie pocket, clutching onto your phone to keep your hands busy. "Why did you wake me up and force me here, Ted?"

"That's not a can-do attitude."

Your expression doesn't change, if anything, you look more tired and drained. Another reason why the mustached man got you out of your home. "Ted."

He sighs. "I wanted to check in on you, haven't seen you in a minute."

You sigh. "I would prefer it if I were in my bed right now to be honest with you."

"After we go out to lunch."

"I want to be out of here before I run into..." You pause when you almost say his name. "You know what- I'm just- I’m gonna go." You barely turn around and hear the door open.

It takes you less than a second to duck, which makes Ted feel a little bad but doesn't change his mind.

He knows you two need to talk, especially when neither of you want to admit who broke up with who... or why it happened.

Your emotions take a toll on your body again and you crawl towards the trash can, dry heaving until you feel it coming up (again).

Beard kindly closes the door before anyone could walk in or hear you as Ted rubs the space between your shoulders.

"How long have you been feeling like this?"

You shrug.

"How long?" He asks again.

"A few weeks."

Ted glances over at his long-time buddy with wide eyes. "Please don't get upset or take offense when I ask this but have you-"

'Play dumb. Play dumb.' "Have I what? Use words, my brain isn't functioning off your noises."

"Is there a possibility that you could be, you know, with child?"

Your head snaps up. 'He knows.' "Why would you ask that?"

"You have a few of the signs."

"When was the last time you went to a doctor?" Beard chimes in.

"A while ago."

"So, you know?"

"Whether or not I'm pregnant with my ex-boyfriend’s baby, who coincidentally told me he doesn't want kids just as I wanted to tell him I do. Yeah, it was right as I was about to tell him I am with child, which is why I've been dodging all of you but you and Beard here," you point to Ted's sidekick, who waves. "Dragged me out of my house."

"Oh, honey."

"Does he know?" Coach beard intervenes (again).

"What do you mean?"

"You said, you wanted to tell him... did you?" Ted politely asks.

"He broke up with me, so I didn't give him my surprise, but I tell people it was mutual because he asked me if," the tears roll down your cheeks. "If it was okay. The fucking ex-cockiest player of all, asked me if I was going to be okay, so of course I said yes and then he left. We haven't spoken since."

"He should know."

"I know but he is scared to death to have his own kids. Why would I-" You scoot back and rest your head against the wall. "I want to go home. I have a few things coming later today and I need to be there for them. It’s time I start," you take a deep breath. “Getting things ready.”

"We can get those later, I've gotta make sure you're okay right now."

"I'd be better if this nausea, vomiting combo would go away."

"Do you want me to have Keeley get you a ginger ale or something?"

"Yeah."

The door opens and there she is. She stares at you with the same look she gives you every time you throw up. "I had a feeling you were going to need this."

Jamie sees what he imagines is a glimpse of you sitting in his coach’s office. He furrows his brows, wondering if it was really, you or if it's a figment of his imagination... again.

It wouldn’t be the first time this week.

"What?" She practically screams when Ted tells her on behalf of you, the Jamie not knowing part; she already knew you were pregnant, but she thought he knew and decided not to be in either of your lives. Now she feels a little bad about not being nice to him.

You bury your head in your hands. "Shut up. Don't shout anymore, please."

"Can you blame me? That's big fucking news babes. I thought he already knew."

"Yeah, I know. Just, shut the door please."

She doesn't, so you push yourself up and close the door.

You sway as you take a step back, “oh, boy.” You can hear their voices but not hear their words. You feel yourself falling backwards before it fades to darkness.

Ted and Beard catch you, carefully laying you down so the latter can call for an ambulance.

Jamie steps closer to the office, sensing something’s happened. He opens the door and his jaw dropped as he’s about to ask what's going on until his eyes land on you.

He immediately falls to his knees beside you, holding your face in his hands, not caring about the rug burn that’s going to ache later. "What happened?"

No one responds.

"What fucking happened?"

Ted doesn't feel he should be the one to tell him and does all that he can to try and calm down his player. "She's fine, she probably didn't have enough to eat for breakfast, is all."

"Bullshit. She's done that before and never fainted before." He stares down, studying your face. "So, why is she fucking unconscious?"

You don't know anything that happened within the last few hours.

All you know is that there is an annoying beeping sound coming from the side of you and your one hand is warmer than it normally is.

You slowly open your eyes, blinking multiple times as you try to adjust to the lighting. You look for the source of the warmth and find Jamie, holding your hand with his head rested on his arm with his head facing you.

The door opens and you find Ted peaking in.

The way his shoulder sags in relief makes you feel bad.

He tiptoes closer and lets you know what happened.

"Why is he here?"

He smiles as he peaks over at the sleepy man. "He didn't leave your side."

"How did he know?"

"He came in as we were calling for an ambulance. You scared him, he would barely let the paramedics help."

"Isn't family only allowed in here?"

"Apparently you two are engaged."

You owlishly blink. "What?"

"He said you two were engaged and he needed, no, no. That's not right, he demanded, there it is. He demanded to be in the room with you. I wasn't here for most of it. In the room I mean but I think he knows because he looked very shocked and then came in here when they told him he could and hasn’t left since."

The coach ignores the fact that your heart monitor spikes as you ask, "he knows?"

"I think so."

Jamie moves a little in his sleep.

"That's my cue to leave."

"Wait- no. Ted. Come back." You glance between him and Jamie. "Ted," you hiss. "Come back here."

Jamie squeezes your hand as he slowly begins to wake up.

You look back at him just in time to hear the door close. You throw your head back and sigh.

"Sweetheart?"

You slowly turn your head to stare at him, your eyes becoming sad.

His shoulders sag in relief as a slow sigh escapes his parted lips. "How are you feeling? I should- I should go get the doctor, shouldn't I?"

You reach for him, grabbing onto him before he could leave. "Jaim. Jaim?"

He doesn't turn around but settles back into his seat.

"Jam-Jam?"

A sniffle fills the room.

"Jamie, look at me."

He shakes his head. You tighten your grip on his arm, ignoring the familiar burning sensation in your nose. "Jamie, I need you to look at me."

"Why?" He sniffles, staring at you with his now, bloodshot eyes. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Don't throw that question my way, Tartt."

"No more, Jam-Jam?"

"I was going to tell you."

"What? After the birth?"

"I'm more tempted to now." You wipe the stray tear that tipped past your eye lid before he could see. "I initially planned on telling you right when you broke up with me but, we see how well that turned out."

“Wh- is that what you had been trying to do the whole time?”

You nod and lean forward, drawing him into you; needing to comfort him and be comforted all at once.

He moves closer to you, closing his eyes at the feeling of your hand against his face; something he hasn’t felt in what feels like, forever. He hadn’t realized you were wiping away his tears.

“I wanted to figure out the best way to tell you because, I mean we hadn’t exactly talked about us having kids before and I kind of figured that with everything that went on with your dad. I thought it was going to make it hard for you to think that you could be a good dad. Which, I think is stupid.”

He opens his mouth to ask what you mean until you continue.

“I mean, how could you not be a good dad because personally I think you’d be absolutely fucking phenomenal.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, “big time. You’re already doing better than your dad.”

“What do you mean?”

You smile and sniff. “You’re not making any of the stupid decisions he has.”

“I made one.”

You tilt your head. “What was that?”

“I broke up with you. I just-” He pulls back from you (something he does when he feels like he’s undeserving of something). “I thought- I thought you were pulling away to break up with me and you couldn’t figure out how to do it, so I-”

“So, you thought breaking up with me first, was a better option?”

He nods, scratching his head.

“Come closer.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he weakly argues.

“Come here.”

He scoots the chair closer.

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask these questions, okay?”

He nods.

You sigh through your nose and reach for his hand. “Is there any part of you that does not want to be a part of either of our lives?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to leave any time soon?”

“The fuck do you take me for? I’m not going to leave you ever,” he stands up and bends down, staring into your eyes before leaning down to kiss you. “Okay? I love you too fucking much to let you go again. I hated being away from you.”

“Same here but, I’m really happy you’re here… even if it was because I fainted.”

“Speaking of, why did that happen exactly?”

“I- well- I hadn’t had anything-”

“Let’s just cut the bullshit, have you been taking proper care of yourself since we were separated?”

You shamefully shake your head.

He doesn’t show his disappointment, but you know it’s there.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. Isn’t that- crying is stressful on the baby, ain’t it?”

“Not so much- I mean, maybe?”

“Okay, well.” He grabs your hands, bringing your attention to him. “Let’s take a few deep breathes so we can calm down for Baby Tartt.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Do do do doo.”

“Listen to you. Guess I rubbed off on you, eh?” You roll your eyes, not believing that for a second. “Does any of what you’ve said within the last two minutes sound anything like what your dad could say?”

“Not in the least bit.”

“See, exactly. It further proves you’re different and how much you’ve grown from the cocky man who couldn’t care less about anyone else.”

“Hey. That’s someone we don’t speak of.”

“Of course,” you salute him. You two can barely keep your amusement to yourselves and break into a fit of smiles and giggles.

He stares at you, watching as you wipe your cheeks and leans up, kissing your forehead before placing his on top of your head. “I was,” he hesitates to finish his sentence.

You nod and cup his cheek, letting him know you’re there, a simple gesture to let him know you want to hear what he has to say.

“-so scared when I saw you lying there unconscious.”

Your heart drops at the way his voice cracks. “Jaim. Jaim. Look at me.”

He shakes his head.

You don’t push any further and instead opt for bringing him closer, letting him rest against your chest, squeezing you in a hug.

It takes a few minutes before Jamie manages to calm himself down enough to revert back to your adorable boyfriend. “Oh, shit. I didn’t hurt the baby, did I?” He asks, now scared to touch you.

“No. You didn’t.”

You hold out your hand for him, “do you trust me?”

He nods, “’course I do.”

“Give me your hand.”

He slowly inches his hand closer and closer to you.

You huff and reach for him. “Are you ready?”

He doesn’t move or make a noise as you place his hand over your belly. “Am I supposed to be feeling anything?”

“Other than knowing the fact you are going to be a father soon enough, no. I’m not that far along for us to feel any kicking.”

He bends down as a breath of relief escapes him. “Thank god, I thought I was supposed to feel kicking or something and I didn’t, which scared me the hell out of me because I thought he already hated me.”

“He?”

“I mean, hello,” he gestures to himself. You roll your eyes and take your hand back from him. “You’re so going to be cursed with girls.” “How can you say that?”

“Have you met yourself?”

“I have and we’re actually quite happy together, sorry for the late notice, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh.

Ted peaks his head in through the door. “I see you two have talked things out? Hopefully, if not. No pressure. Well, maybe a little seeing as I have everyone waiting in the hall.”

“Everyone?” You repeat.

The coach nods. “Give me second.” He looks back over his shoulder, pretending to count, “one, two, four. Yep, everyone.”

You place your hand on your forehead. “Suddenly the thought of everyone knowing makes me nauseous.”

“Hey, hey. Look at me.”

You turn your head and look at your favorite person ever… for now.

“If we can get through the team being little shits and the press making unnecessary comments about our relationship, we can get through the team knowing.”

“We can?” He gives you an affirmative nod, “we can.”

“We can.”

“Atta girl.”

“Alright, guys. They said okay,” Ted waves everyone in.

“I suddenly realize how many of you there actually are,” you comment.

Sam, Dani, and Colin chuckled.

“As captain, I feel like it’s my duty to ask,” Isaac leans closer to you, talking to you in a softer tone than his normal one. “How are you?”

You smile, “I’m better now.”

“Good, that’s what we like to hear. Ain’t that right, team?”

“Yes, coach!”

“And now I’m scared.”

“Oh, don’t be scared especially when you’re carrying a special bundle of joy,” the mustached man points out.

“Oh fuck.”

“Something the matter, Roy?” Ted asks.

“Yeah. She’s carrying Tartt’s baby.”

“I’m pretty sure they covered that topic back in school but continue.”

“There’s going to be a baby brought into the world soon.”

“Yeah?” Ted glances over at Beard, who shrugs.

“With his blood coursing through its veins,” he points to your ex-not-ex-boyfriend.

It’s quiet for three seconds before everyone groans and rolls their eyes, they think about what it could be like with a baby Jamie.

“Hey, hey now. Let’s not think about something as crazy as that because this baby is a good thing.”

“Yeah?” Jamie whispers, glancing back at Ted, not letting go of your hand.

“Yes, it is,” the coach nods. “You’re going to go through one of the many joys life brings you.”

“What’s that?”

“Fatherhood… that, may or may not mix with a lot of uncles and two aunts who decide they want to spend time with the little booger.”

“Would one of those many figures happen to include you, coach?”

“No,” Ted shakes his head.

“Not at all, Beard.”

The door opens and heads turn.

“Hi, I’m just here to-” The nurse takes note of the number of people in the room. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask anyone but the father and mother of the child to leave.”

“Is it not believable that a woman could have this many boyfriends?” Jan asks.

“Shut up.” A shoe aimed at his head, hits the wall and lands on the floor with a thud.

The guys decide it’s time for them to leave, which lets you two see the few things the team has gotten, and it makes you tear up, freaking Jamie out.

And he doesn’t want to admit it out loud, but it was really nice of them team to do.

“Should we open some presents?” Ted softly asks, placing one in your lap.

“Didn’t the nurse just kick you out.”

“I’m your dad.”

“We’re your dads,” Beard adds.

You glance over at Jamie.

He shrugs, not completely hating the idea of having these two around. “I would’ve liked to know about my new parents beforehand. What’s next? Roy’s my uncle.”

“No, he’s a granddad more than anything,” Jamie chimes in.

You wipe your cheeks and smile at him before gently pulling the tissue paper out of your way. You pull out a onesie that looks normal, until you unfold it and inspect it. You sniffle as you hold it up for Jamie to see.

He doesn’t realize why you’re crying until he reads what the back of it, “Tartt 9”. He doesn’t feel the tears trickling down his cheeks until you wipe his cheeks.

“Jaim?”

He shakes his head and pulls you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head, over and over again.

Ted smiles behind his phone.

“We should probably give them some time alone.”

“You think?” He asks.

Beard nods.

Ted sighs, “okie dokie.”

They hold their hands up to wave, only to find your face squished against Jamie’s chest, barely able to wave them off.

You and Jamie wind up opening every one of the other gifts, enjoying each other’s company after being apart for so long.

“I think we should name it Jamie.”

“Baby Tartt is not an it, it’s a baby,” you argue.

“And we’re not naming them Jamie.”

“Why not? It’s a good name.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad name but, we want our little pumpkin to be able to grow into their own, right?”

“We-” He sighs, thinking about it, already knowing you were right. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Was that everything?”

“I don’t know.” He glances over, finding a bag left on the floor, partially hidden so you couldn’t find it unless you were really looking. He grabs it and sets it in your lap. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug and move it closer for him to open (feeling you’ve done enough of the unveiling with presents).

He pulls a figure out of the bag. “A bike?” Jamie brows furrows together in confusion until he thinks about it. The light bulb goes off in his head, everything clicking together, and he smiles.

“Is there a card?”

“I hope so.”

Now you’re confused.

He pulls out what looks like a plain index card. “Free one learn how to ride a bike pass.” He chuckles.

“I’m lost.”

“Remember how I told you I had something funny I wanted to tell you a couple months ago, but I couldn’t because the shithead was making me train, even though Ted gave us the night off.” He huffs and sits back in the chair.

“Okay, I don’t need the background information, just give me the synopsis.”

“Right,” he straightens his back. “I taught Roy how to ride a bike in memory of his granddad.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” he nods with a smile.

“And he let you?”

“Not without trying to hurt me but I did it.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Yea- really?”

“Of course, I’m proud of you. You taught the world’s grumpiest man how to ride a bike and lived to tell the tale.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right.”

“I hope the baby doesn’t get your cockiness.”

“My cockiness? What about yours?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“You lie.”

He fake gasps and slaps his hand on his chest. “I take offense to that.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“You should be. We don’t want this one’s first word to be a lie.”

“It wouldn’t, don’t be mean,” you whine.

“I’m not. I’m just being me.”

“Yeah, and that’s mean.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

You start folding a few of the blankets the guys got, feeling the need to do something. “Hey, look. They got one with sharks.”

“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Girls can like boy things too.”

“Do you really want to be asked if we have a boy or a girl every day.”

“Don’t be mean.” You smile, holding it close to your chest. “I like it. Baby Tartt, do do doo doo. Baby Tart, do do doo doo.”

He groans, “please stop.”

“Never.”

You stiffle a yawn.

“Come on,” he takes away the few things on your lap and blanket from your hands. “You need to rest.”

“But I don’t want to.”

He smiles at the whining tone in your voice. “I know but it’ll do the two of you well.”

“Fine,” you tell him with a pout. “But sit by me. I… I’ve missed you.”

“How can I say no to my girlfriend?” Jamie settles beside you and lets you lay against his chest.

As you sleep and he’s bored, searching through the hospital’s shitty channels, he stumbles upon something interesting, an old childhood show he used to watch.

You open your eyes to hear the song you briefly sang earlier.

“Doo doo. Baby Tartt, do do doo doo.”

“Jam-Jam?”

“Hey,” he clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. What were you doing?”

He shrugs.

You smile and snuggle back into him. “I won’t tell anyone.”

#ted lasso #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #jamie tartt #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt imagines #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x fem reader #jamie tartt x fem!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #jamie tartt x you #crazyk-imagine

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cantstoptheimagines · 2 years ago

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Golden Boy (Dani Rojas | Ted Lasso)

Summary — All Dani wants is your attention.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Fluff; co-workers to lovers; some canon-typical cursing (mostly from Roy); feigning excuses to see one’s love; Dani being Dani (a golden retriever); Roy being a frustrated, unintentional wingman; Reader is a physical trainer for AFC Richmond.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 1,735. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ This work has a visual edit!

“He’s doing it again.”

Ted furrowed his eyebrows. His eyes sharpened beneath his dark sunglasses. Next to him, Roy and Beard had their attention focused on something other than the players on the training pitch. Nate was merely shaking his head. Ted, however, felt his face burst into a cheerful expression when he noticed what he gained their attention.

Across the pitch, Dani Rojas was very slowly going through some drills, weaving between some cones with an occasional limp as he gently kicked a ball. It would be very unlike him to be so subtle during practice, if he didn’t have his preferred audience, that is.

From the sidelines, you were watching him carefully. Your hands rested on your hips while your eyes were unwaveringly set on his left ankle. It was something he had been complaining to you about for a few days.

“That’s the third fucking time this week.”

Roy’s grumbles forced Ted out of his thoughts. He tilted his head and grinned, “Oh, c’mon, Roy! Don’t tell me you never had a crush someone? Dani’s just experiencin’ some classic symptoms of puppy love right now. I say we let this run its course.”

Ted ignored the way Roy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Even from the other side of the training pitch, it was easy to see how well you and Dani got along. Dani was always happy, of course, but whenever you came around, his smile had a tendency of becoming ten times brighter.

But what was good for Dani wasn’t always good for the team, much to Ted’s disappointment. Richmond’s happy-go-lucky striker had gone from Greyhound to Golden Retriever the moment he met you. And the fact that you were one of the team’s physical trainers didn’t help. You practically had Dani at your beck and call without even realizing it.

And Dani was either too shy to start a conversation without having an excuse for doing so prepared or he was genuinely turning into the biggest klutz on the team. After his ‘injuries’ began occurring on an almost daily basis, however, two things became clear.

The first being that, despite his sweet disposition and undeniable good nature, Dani Rojas was a damn good liar when he wanted to be. It had taken everyone weeks to see through his façade.

And you, who seemingly had no clue about Dani’s stunts, had officially become what was potentially the worst type of person in all of sports. The type that every locker room loathed and every coach feared. A distraction.

“Oi! Rojas!”

Ted jumped at the sound of Roy’s sudden angry shout. Despite being on the other side of the training pitch, Dani did as well. While Ted had become lost in his thoughts, Dani had stopped doing his drills altogether. Instead, he had moved to stand mere inches away from you, smiling brightly as he absentmindedly played with the hem of your shirt.

It was something you didn’t even seem to notice, but his teammates, along with Roy, certainly did.

“Get back to fucking practice!”

Ted watched as Dani bid you a quick, quiet farewell. He then scurried onto the pitch to join the rest of his team. If he had a tail, it would certainly be between his legs.

“Sorry, Coach!” he called, face flushing with embarrassment. “Let’s play, mis amigos!”

This was a small victory for Roy. He let out a satisfied grunt, watching with his hawk-like eyes as you quickly made yourself scarce. Ted, meanwhile, couldn’t help but give his fellow coach an exasperated stare. Beard tried to keep a smirk off his face while Nate simply shifted awkwardly.

“Really, Roy?” asked Ted. “Really?”

The man in question scoffed, furrowing his eyebrows with a scowl, “What? He’s back on the pitch, isn’t he? That’s where he’s meant to be! Not off chatting on the sidelines!”

Ted shook his head, quietly muttering, “Seems to me you just don’t want Dani to find true love.”

“Now wait just a fucking minute—!”

“Uh, guys,” said Beard, voice shaking, “hate to interrupt the friendly chat, but I think we’ve got a problem.”

It was then the other coaches realized what he was referring to. On the training pitch, Dani was on the grass, groaning loudly as he clutched his ankle.

“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Roy.

Each of them quickly ran onto the training pitch. Nate quickly grabbed his phone before following, ready to call for help if it ended up being an emergency.

The players had surrounded Dani, trying their best to help him. His face was twisted in pain. He curled into himself and rolled onto his side. Beard kneeled next to him, removing his sunglasses in order to get a clearer view of the situation.

“What’s going on, Rojas?” he asked. “What happened?”

“¡Ayúdame! Coach, please!” exclaimed Dani. “¡Mi tobillo! The right!”

Nate winced, “Do I need to call—?”

“Whistle! Whistle! Hold it!” shouted Roy, eyebrows sinking even deeper into his irritated expression. “I thought it was your left ankle that was fucking you up? Not the right?”

Even Dani himself paused at that. The chaos of the moment dimmed. He could see smirks growing on the faces of some of his teammates while others simply shook their heads and returned to practice.

“That’s it!” grumbled Roy, reaching down and roughly pulling Dani to his feet. “C’mon! We’re settling this shit right now!”

Ted glanced at both Beard and Nate, who each had concern written across their faces. Meanwhile, Roy was practically dragging Dani by the back of his uniform in the direction of the Richmond clubhouse. Ted grimaced at the sight, and muttered, “Why don’t you two stay here and watch the team? I’m gonna try to help ‘em sort this whole thing out.”

Before either of them could so much as blink, Ted had spun around to follow an angry Roy and a shaking Dani. His quick pace led him into the clubhouse. His footsteps echoed loudly as he did his best to catch up to the other two men.

Ted caught up just in time to witness Roy roughly opening the door to your office. It slammed against the wall so hard that Ted wouldn’t be surprised if there was a hole left behind.

You nearly wet yourself at the sudden scare. Your heart pounded within your chest. Adrenaline, along with complete and total confusion, flooded through your body as Roy forced Dani to stand in front of your desk. You hardly even noticed Ted watching the scene from the doorway, anxiously biting his nails.

“You’ve become a fucking problem,” glared Roy.

The disgusted expression that crossed your face nearly made Ted sick. Your lips curled and your eyes narrowed, “And you haven’t? You nearly ripped my door off, dickface!”

Roy paused, seemingly taking in your words as he stared at you. Finally, he grunted, “Look, we just need you to fix him.”

Your eyes followed in the direction he suddenly began pointing. When your gaze met Dani’s brown eyes, Ted and Roy noticed the way your glare softened.

“Dani, I told you this already,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I think your ankle’s fine. Just wrap it up and elevate it tonight with some ice, you’ll be good for the game—”

“He’s not injured,” interrupted Roy. “The team’s ‘golden boy’ here is a liar—”

“Okay!” exclaimed Ted. The look of displeasure once again blooming within your eyes gave him a reason to finally leap into the conversation. “Now, I don’t think Roy meant that in the way it sounded.”

Your shoulders seemed to lose their tension as he spoke. Instead of glaring at Roy, you gave your full attention to Ted. But honestly, Ted wasn’t sure if that was better or worse in their situation.

“We just think Dani’s got somethin’ to tell you about that ankle of his,” he continued, and then he gestured to the footballer in question. “Ain’t that right, Mr. Rojas?”

Dani, who had been admiring you from his place in front of your desk, froze when the three of you looked at him expectantly. He twiddled his thumbs at the sudden attention, “It is true. I have been lying to you, my friend, but I meant no harm by it. My reasons were innocent! ¡Prometo!”

Dani admired the confused expression that overwhelmed your features. You always looked so wonderful to him, no matter the emotion. He only hoped you wouldn’t be upset with him.

With an encouraging nod from Ted, he continued, “My ankle was never injured. I have been lying in order to, well... I only wanted to spend time with you. But my actions seem to have only brought frustration to my teammates. I am sorry.”

You tilted your head with a small smile when his voice trailed off. Leaning back in your chair, you chuckled, “Dani, you’re so sweet... but I already knew you were faking.”

“You did?!”

You blinked in surprise at the sound of all three men shouting in unison. They stared back at you in shock, though Roy in particular seemed to be feeling some irritation as well. You tried not to grin as Ted ripped off his sunglasses, eyes wide with disbelief. And the way Dani tightly gripped the edge of your desk, leaning forward with a dropped jaw, was also quite amusing.

“Uh, yeah! You footballers aren’t exactly what I would call subtle when it comes to flirting,” you shrugged, shaking your head at them. “Plus, Colin told me about it weeks ago when he came in for me to look at his shoulder. I’ve basically just been waiting for you to gather up enough courage to ask me out, but it seems like I’m gonna have to take the first step. So, Dani, why don’t you pick me up at seven?”

Ted had never seen someone look so happy. Dani smiled so excitedly, Ted thought he might put the sun out of business.

“Yes, yes!” exclaimed Dani, back to his usual enthusiastic attitude. “A million times yes! I will see you tonight! Oh, I cannot wait to tell mis amigos! Let’s go, coaches!”

He whooped and cheered loudly as he quickly left your office. Ted and Roy watched him leave. While Ted sported a wide, happy grin, Roy looked on in bewilderment. After a moment, however, he turned to you with yet another glare.

“You couldn’t have fucking done that sooner?!”

#2023 #ted lasso #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso x reader #dani rojas imagine #dani rojas imagines #dani rojas x reader #golden boy

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danistartt · 10 months ago

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tried to find my own fics and i couldn't because tumblr's search system sucks so here is a casual masterlist. unsure if this is all of them but oh well

Jamie Tartt:

4 AM

Prince Charming

Gentleman

Jamie Tartt's Awful Breakfast and Lovely Morning

Dirty, Dirty Criminals

Homesick

Dani Rojas

When Worlds Collide

#jamie tartt x reader #dani rojas x reader #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso #jamie tartt #dani rojas #jamie tart fic #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fluff #dani rojas fluff #dani rojas imagine #dani rojas fanfiction #masterlist

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discokicks · 1 year ago

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THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic.

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry.

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing.

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least.

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it.

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices.

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it.

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple.

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you.

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated.

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing.

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips.

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen.

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this.

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach.

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return.

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders.

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question.

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.”

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you.

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it.

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it.

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too.

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it.

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither.

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does.

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings.

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs.

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now.

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position.

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box.

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss.

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more.

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

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