#tartt9

[nameless-jamie-blog]

Offside Tension - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Chapter 2: Clash on the Pitch

The air was crisp, and the first rays of sunlight peeked over the tops of the training grounds as Y/N unlocked the door and stepped onto the pitch. It was only her second day at Richmond, and she’d made sure to arrive early, determined to hit the ground running.

The grass was still damp with morning dew, and the faint smell of freshly cut turf lingered in the air. The silence was peaceful, even calming, though her nerves hadn’t entirely settled. She jogged to the middle of the pitch, taking in its vastness. It was hers now too, in a way, though the thought was both exciting and intimidating.

The sound of a door opening behind her broke her train of thought.

“Y’know,” Coach Beard’s voice called out, “most people don’t show up this early—especially not on day two.”

She turned to see him strolling across the pitch, a steaming mug of coffee in hand and a faintly amused look on his face.

“I’m not most people,” Y/N said with a grin, trying to let her confidence outshine the lingering second-day jitters.

Beard tilted his head slightly, appraising her. “Ted mentioned you’re ambitious. That’s good. Just… don’t burn yourself out trying to impress everyone at once. It’s a long season.”

She nodded, appreciating the advice. “Thanks, Coach. For the record, I’m not trying to impress everyone. Just trying to do my job.”

Beard’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Fair enough. Don’t let Jamie Tartt get under your skin too much today.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t hide her smirk. “Why? Does he try to get under everyone’s skin?”

“Only when he’s breathing,” Beard deadpanned before walking off toward the office.

As the team trickled in, Y/N took the opportunity to explore more of the facilities. Passing the kit room, she noticed a whirlwind of motion—someone darting back and forth between racks of jerseys and shelves of gear. She knocked gently on the open door, and a young man spun around, nearly dropping a stack of neatly folded shirts.

“Oh, hi! You must be Y/N!” Will said, his grin wide and genuine.

“That’s me,” she said, stepping inside. “And you must be Will. The kit room looks incredible.”

“Thanks!” he said, practically beaming. “I try to keep it organized—you know, controlled chaos and all that.”

She laughed. “Well, it’s impressive. If I ever need anything, I’ll know who to come to.”

“Absolutely,” Will said. “Extra bibs, cones, anything. Just say the word.”

Y/N left the kit room feeling lighter, her confidence bolstered by Will’s enthusiasm. She was making her way back to the pitch when she nearly bumped into Nate, who was pacing near the office doors, muttering to himself.

“Whoa,” Y/N said, holding up her hands to steady herself.

“Oh! Sorry!” Nate said, his eyes widening. He quickly straightened his jacket, looking flustered. “I didn’t see you there.”

“All good,” Y/N said with a smile. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly, though his expression betrayed his nerves. “Just… going over a few things for training. You know, trying to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“Sounds like we’re in the same boat,” Y/N said, offering him a reassuring smile. “If it makes you feel better, I’m still figuring things out too.”

Nate gave her a small, grateful smile before heading off, and Y/N made her way back to the pitch, stopping briefly by her little office space shared with Roy.

“Y/N, the girl, the myth, the legend—I know it’s only your second day, but are you up for running the second half of training later?” Ted poked his head through the office door, his enthusiasm far too much for a Tuesday morning.

Y/N hesitated but felt like she had to prove herself to a group of coaches that included a former Champions League player and two Americans. “I’m up for it, I suppose,” she said, smiling, though her uncertainty was evident.

Later that day, Y/N straightened her shoulders, clutching her clipboard. Alright, she thought, if they’re testing me, I’ll pass with flying colors.

“Morning, Coach,” Sam greeted warmly as he jogged by, his easy smile offering her a thread of encouragement.

“Morning, Sam,” she replied, forcing her nerves to settle. She returned her focus to the drills she’d planned, hoping they’d strike the balance between challenging and effective.

Just as she was organizing the cones, Jamie sauntered onto the field, his pace deliberately slow, his face lit with that trademark cocky grin. He wasn’t saying anything, but the way his eyes scanned the setup made it clear he was judging her methods.

The warm-ups began smoothly enough. Y/N kept her instructions clear, her voice steady as she guided the players through each step. The drills were simple but purposeful, designed to sharpen their precision. She was just beginning to feel at ease when she heard it—a loud, exaggerated scoff from behind her.

She turned, already knowing who it was. Jamie stood with his arms folded, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Really?” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is what we’re doing today? My nan could do these drills, and she’s got one hip replacement and no bloody idea what football is.”

A few of the players stifled laughs, but most exchanged uncomfortable glances. Y/N raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

“You’ve got something to say, Jamie?” she asked, her tone calm but pointed.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping forward. “These drills are a waste of time. We don’t need to go back to basics. We’re not some under-12s team playing in the park, love.”

Y/N tilted her head, considering him and at the same time completely ignoring the nickname he gave her, which totally didn’t make her blush. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “It’s funny,” she said lightly. “You talk a big game, but I’ve noticed you struggling to keep up with some of the lads in these basic drills.”

The players erupted in oohs and laughter, and Jamie’s smirk faltered for a split second. He recovered quickly, though, his grin sharpening.

“Alright then,” he said, his voice full of challenge. “If you think you’re such an expert, why don’t you show me how it’s done? You’re a coach—you should know how to play, right?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Is that a challenge? Because we don’t back down from them where I’m from.”

Jamie shrugged. “Call it what you want. Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are, Coach.”

The tension crackled in the air, and the players immediately began to gather around, sensing the showdown. Even Roy, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, seemed intrigued. Ted, on the other hand, looked a little unsure.

“Fine,” Y/N said, dropping her clipboard.

Ted stepped in. “I don’t want to question any good ole’ coaching methods, but are you sure about this, Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But it seems like he needs his ass handed to him at some point, and I’m willing to do just that.”

Even Roy cracked a smile at that statement, clapping his hands twice in approval.

“Well, I like her better than all of you,” Roy said, looking pointedly at Ted and Beard. The latter just shrugged.

“Alright, it’s on, Tartt. Get your ass on the pitch,” Y/N said, which made Jamie smile—just a little.

The players hooted and hollered as the impromptu match began, forming a loose circle around the two of them. Jamie, ever the showman, played up the crowd, grinning and waving like he’d already won. Y/N, on the other hand, focused on the ball, tuning out the noise.

The first goal came quickly—hers. She weaved around Jamie with ease, her movements sharp and precise. The players cheered as she sent the ball sailing into the net, her expression calm and composed despite the thrill of victory.

“Lucky shot,” Jamie muttered, retrieving the ball.

“Sure,” she said, smirking.

The second goal was his, and he made sure to celebrate obnoxiously, his grin practically splitting his face.

“Still think I’m struggling?” he called, winking at her.

She didn’t respond, instead resetting for the next round. The third goal took longer, the two of them battling fiercely for control. Every time Jamie thought he had the upper hand, Y/N surprised him, her quick reflexes and sharp instincts keeping him on his toes.

Finally, she broke away, her eyes narrowing as she lined up her shot. The ball sailed past Jamie and into the net, and the players erupted into cheers.

“Three-two,” Y/N said, her breath coming fast but her smile triumphant.

Jamie stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, his face a mixture of frustration and something else—something warmer. Finally, he stepped forward, extending a hand.

“Alright,” he said, his voice grudging but sincere. “You’re better than I thought.”

Y/N took his hand, her grip firm. “Told you,” she said lightly.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. There was something in his gaze—something intense and electric—that made her heart skip a beat. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks and quickly let go of his hand, stepping back.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Glad we got that sorted.”

Jamie smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t get used to it, love.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she shot back. There was that word again—love.

As the players began to disperse, the buzz of excitement still lingering in the air, Y/N stayed behind to collect the equipment. She was just finishing up when Roy approached, his expression unreadable.

“You handled that well,” he said gruffly.

Y/N turned to him, surprised. “The match or Jamie?”

“Both,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, wiping sweat from her brow.

Roy hesitated for a moment before asking, “You ever play professionally?”

Y/N paused, her smile fading slightly. “I wanted to. But I got injured when I was a teenager. Tore my ACL. Doctors said I’d never play at that level again.”

Roy nodded, his expression softening. “That’s tough.”

If anyone understood how an injury could derail an entire career, it was him.

“It was,” Y/N admitted. “But I found other ways to stay in the game. Coaching lets me stay close to the sport, even if it’s not the same.” Her eyes were sad but also hopeful—the sport had once been a big part of her life, and she held on to it like a last resort.

Jamie, who had lingered nearby, overheard the conversation. He glanced at Y/N, his expression thoughtful. She could’ve been bigger than him if she’d played professionally, and now she was here, helping others achieve perfection in a sport they both loved. A certain respect—and a need to protect her at all costs—rose up in Jamie.

[ephemaera]

@tartt9 sent 🎁 for a spotify wrapped starter from jamie for keeley! ( masquerade from stereophonic )

'why can't i forget your eyes?'

[fxckingmoran]

~ @tartt9 || ❝ i'm doing some of my best work here and you don't even have the decency to roll your eyes at me. honestly it's hurtful. ❞ ~

Sebastian's lips quirk upwards. "Fuck me, you're an annoying prick." It's said with a touch of endearment, clear that it's meant in a weirdly caring way. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees. "Go on then, I'm watching. Show off the footwork, twinkle toes." And then - "Oh, I've an idea. Why don't I go in goal and distract you with my sexy good looks whilst you try to take penalties."

[belayadeath-goner]

JAMIE TARTT: say it in plain english. @tartt9

HER SILENCE IS DEAFENING, ENOUGH TO SET EVEN THE. MOST CONFIDENT PEOPLE ON EDGE. the sharp line of her jaw tightened when she shook on her head, almost unsure of what part exactly he was referring to. “  which part did you not understand?  ” her pointer finger had gently tapped against the wood of the table beneath it, an absent - minded twitch that she hadn't been able to shake. “  was it the part when i said i wished to drink alone, or the part where i said that i don't watch football?  ” bianca cocked an eyebrow as she reached for the drink that sat before her and took a sip, only for her index finger to continue its tapping against the glass instead. “  because i thought that was pretty simple.  ”

[accruing]

❛❛  that was an excellent score today.  congratulations.  ❜❜ 

@tartt9.

[mazur5s]

" long time no see. " the captain smirks, holding out a small (dumb) lion jellycat, " this is from noa. " @tartt9.

[throwsdiamonds]

JAMIE TARRT AT @tartt9.

‘‘ ohmygod, i barely recognised yer' ! ’’ the laugh comes across so genuine, so sugary-sweet, like someone whose head was lightly spinning from an alcohol-buzz. THOUGH IT WASN'T. she didn't partake whilst working. but rach knows how to put on a show. she's handsy. palm discreetly run up his arm, far and away from the cross-body bag he's wearing but — everything in due time. ‘‘ truly my lucky day, ay? ’’

[allroundher]

@tartt9. call.

ㅤ“ Oi, Jamie. ” Penny says it like a question, quickening her step a little to be able to catch up with him down the corridor. She doesn't spend that much time with Richmond's men's team. Not for any reason, mind, it's just how things seem to have worked out. But she's homesick, see. She's never lived so far from home before, least of all in London, and Jamie just so happens to be The Other Mancunian. It is what it is. She misses the drawl. “ Are you doing owt tonight? Summat I can invite myself along to, at least. ”

[nameless-jamie-blog]

Offside Tension - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

A/N: short but important chapter.

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Chapter 3: New Alliances

Y/N arrived early the next morning, well before the players or even most of the staff. She liked the stillness of the stadium before it came alive with activity, the echoes of her footsteps on the empty pitch. It gave her a sense of clarity—a moment to remind herself why she was here.

She set down her bag near the sideline and began prepping for the day, jotting down notes and organizing drills for the players. The events of yesterday—the impromptu match, Jamie’s grudging respect, and Roy’s unexpected kindness—lingered in her mind. Her competitive side had loved the win, but the weight of opening up about her injury to Roy left her feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

The faint sound of footsteps broke her train of thought. She turned to see Coach Beard strolling onto the pitch, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

“You’re early,” he said, his tone neutral but tinged with a hint of approval.

“So are you,” Y/N replied, meeting his energy with her own.

Beard tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. “Touché.” He paused, studying her for a moment. “Nice job yesterday. Tartt needed a little humbling.”

Y/N smirked. “Happy to help.”

As Beard wandered off, Nate and Will arrived, the former offering her a polite nod while Will beamed at her.

“Morning, Coach,” Will chirped. “Heard you wiped the floor with Jamie yesterday. Nice one.”

Y/N chuckled. “Thanks, Will. It was… satisfying.”

Nate, ever the perfectionist, cleared his throat. “It was a good match, but don’t let it go to your head. Jamie’s not one to take a loss lying down.”

“Noted,” Y/N said with a grin.

The morning routine unfolded smoothly, the players trickling in one by one. Jamie, of course, arrived last, his signature swagger on full display. He shot her a look—half smirk, half challenge—as he passed her on the pitch.

“Morning, love,” he said, his voice dripping with that infuriating charm.

“Morning, Tartt. And it’s 'morning coach' on the pitch for you,” Y/N replied coolly, refusing to let him see how much the nickname made her pulse quicken.

"What is it off the pitch then?" he replied, flirtier than she’d expected. Not waiting for an answer, he swaggered to his usual spot.

Practice was normal that day. Y/N noticed a slight change in Jamie’s demeanor, though. As if he suddenly was very eager to learn from her. A hint of mutual respect seemed to float in the air.

Ted caught Y/N just as she was packing up after practice. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, his usual upbeat tone carrying a hint of something mischievous. “Got a little surprise for ya. Rebecca and Keeley want to meet you—thought it’d be nice to give you a proper welcome.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected the boss and her PR maven to take an interest in her so soon. “Oh, um, sure. That sounds great.”

Ted beamed. “Perfect! They’re upstairs in Rebecca’s office. And don’t worry—they’re lovely. Like, warm-scone-and-butter kind of lovely.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Y/N said with a laugh, following him up the stairs.

Rebecca’s office was as grand and intimidating as Y/N had imagined, but the woman herself was the exact opposite. Rebecca greeted her with a warm smile and an outstretched hand.

“Y/N, so lovely to finally meet you,” she said, her voice rich and welcoming.

“It’s an honor, Ms. Welton,” Y/N replied, shaking her hand firmly.

“Oh, please, call me Rebecca,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Keeley, sitting on the couch with a bright smile, practically bounced up to hug her. “You’re the new coach, right? I’ve been dying to meet you! You’ve already made quite the impression—Jamie’s still sulking about losing to you.”

Y/N laughed, feeling some of the tension ease out of her shoulders. “I’m glad I could provide some entertainment.”

Rebecca gestured for her to sit, and Keeley immediately began peppering her with questions about her background, her coaching philosophy, and her thoughts on the team.

As the conversation flowed, Y/N found herself relaxing. Rebecca’s sharp wit and Keeley’s infectious energy made her feel like she belonged. They shared stories about the team, teased each other gently, and even got Y/N to open up about her early days in football.

“You’re going to fit in here just fine,” Rebecca said, her tone reassuring. “And if you ever need anything—advice, a sounding board, or just a drink—my door is always open.”

“Mine too!” Keeley chimed in. “We’ve got to stick together, right? Girl power and all that.”

Y/N smiled, genuinely touched. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Finally, someone she could open up to without feeling too exposed. Roy is cool and all, but he’s not great with emotions.

As Y/N made her way back to the locker room, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and camaraderie. The day had been long, but it was worth it. She was starting to find her place here, even if Jamie Tartt continued to test her patience in many ways.

Speaking of Jamie…

She spotted him lingering by the training equipment, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He seemed to be debating whether or not to approach her.

“Need something, Tartt?” she called out, stopping a few feet away.

Jamie looked up, his usual smirk slipping into something softer. “Nah. Just… wanted to say good match yesterday.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Is that an apology for being a pain in my ass?”

He grinned, the cockiness returning. “Don’t push it, love.”

She shook her head, biting back a smile. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

As she walked away, she could feel his gaze on her, lingering just a little too long.

[arachnidiots]

🍓 tartt9

S IS FOR SPECTACULAR! i adore @tartt9, and i thank s every day for being so truly patient with me because i take forever on our threads, but i do enjoy them soooo much because s is just so brilliant of a writer and i think as far as portrayals go, i’m floored every time by the way s is able to bottle jamie up and present him in just a small paragraph. i also love their enthusiasm for football & while i know very little it’s nice sometimes to see something i don’t know about & learn and be in the know

@ mutuals send me a 🍓 (+ an optional url) and ill compliment u!

[10power]

@tartt9. call.

"Jim, I'm bored," is the first thing she says when he's picked up his phone. Injuries will do that to you. Nothing career-ending, mind, and she hurt herself playing for England, so she isn't that mad in the grand scheme of things. (A win that meant anything might have made all this feel better. You can't have everything.) She's been told to rest, though, and, honestly, there's only so much time you can spend at home not being able to go work before you start losing your mind. Penny made it three days, and now she's making herself Jamie's problem because he made the mistake of giving her his phone number. "Are you doing owt?"

[neverrcryarch]

@tartt9 : don't ask me to fetch that stick.

could he read my fucking mind? i had been debating it, as a joke ... of course. thought it might be funny. which is why i can't help but let a smile stretch across my face, followed by a chuckle. "would be pretty fuckin' funny though, if i did." my hand reaches out, giving jamie a playful shove. i clear my throat, forcing my laughter to die down. "you'd do it, wouldn't you?" i can't help but ask, smirking as i do so. "if i asked you to. always so well behaved, for me at least. i did a good job training you."

[fxckingmoran]

~ @tartt9 || ❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜ ~

"Fuck me, Jamie - Didn't there was much going on up there in the first place." Sebastian's lips lift into a cheeky grin as he places the wanky little drink down in front of him, along with a plate of nachos that he'd robbed from a nearby table. "Right -" He sits, pint in one hand, cigarette in the other. "What's on your mind then? Is it football or relationship related?" A pause. "Or is it both? Have you finally shagged Kent?"

[arachnidiots-a]

JAMIE TARTT & LIAM KAZ.

“look if you don’t want it,” liam holds out what’s clearly a diy-ed friendship bracelet, “then you don’t have to take it.” across the beads it spells out the other’s name in mismatched bead letters. “but this is the product of some really fine handy work, and i don’t want to have to go back with it. it would crush the hard workers who spent so much time on it. hopes and dreams would be crushed.”

@tartt9 liked for a starter !

[g0atkeepermoved]

@tartt9 liked _ !

“      ⸺ explain to me how that happened. "

[nameless-jamie-blog]

Offside Tensions – Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Disclaimer: This FF is set after season 3 in a kind of alternative universe where Ted never left and Jamie is over Keeley. Just fyi.

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Chapter 1: New Kid on the Block

Y/N sat by the window of the train, the countryside whirring by in patches of green and gold. The morning light slanted across the fields, turning everything soft and golden. Her stomach churned—not unpleasantly, but in that restless, jittery way that only big moments could summon.

Richmond. AFC Richmond.

She let the thought settle for a moment, looking at her reflection in the train window. It didn’t feel real yet. All those years of grinding it out in the lower leagues, working with young athletes, pulling late nights in front of performance stats—it had all been leading to this: a chance to work with a Premier League team.

The announcer's voice crackled through the speaker, jolting her from her thoughts. “Next stop: Richmond.”

The train pulled into the station, and as Y/N stepped onto the platform, she was greeted by the crisp bite of early spring air. Richmond unfolded around her like a scene out of a storybook—winding cobblestone streets, little shopfronts with flower boxes perched on their windowsills, and a faint hum of life as the town began its day.

A taxi took her from the station to Nelson Road Stadium, and Y/N spent the ride trying to absorb everything. The town was idyllic in a way that felt almost disarming—the kind of place where locals probably knew each other by name, where time moved just a bit slower.

The stadium loomed into view, and her heart gave an excited lurch. It wasn’t as grand as the giants of the Premier League, but it was unmistakably home to something special. The AFC Richmond crest was emblazoned on the side of the building, and banners of the players fluttered in the morning breeze.

Her eyes caught on one banner in particular: Jamie Tartt. His cocky grin stretched across the fabric, the kind that seemed to challenge anyone who looked at it. She knew of him, of course—everyone who followed football did. A rising star, undeniably talented, but with an ego big enough to eclipse the sun.

The cab driver chuckled as he noticed her staring. “Ah, Jamie Tartt. Bit of a character, that one. Good player, though. When he feels like it.”

Y/N smirked but didn’t reply. She had no illusions about Jamie Tartt. But she also wasn’t here to coddle egos.

Once inside the stadium, she was immediately hit by the scent of freshly cut grass and cleaning supplies. The hallways were lined with photos and memorabilia of the club’s history—black-and-white shots of old teams, players hoisting trophies, a timeline of moments that had brought the club to this point.

She didn’t have much time to linger before a voice broke through the quiet.

“Y/N, right?”

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Ted Lasso. He was shorter than she’d imagined but somehow larger than life. His grin was bright and welcoming, and the energy he radiated made her feel as if they’d known each other for years.

“That’s me,” she said, offering her hand.

Ted shook it warmly. “Well, color me thrilled to meet you! Ted Lasso, head coach, accidental wisdom-dispenser, and occasional baker. Welcome to AFC Richmond!”

The tension in her chest eased slightly. “Thanks, Ted. It’s great to finally be here.”

They began walking toward the pitch, Ted chatting the whole way.

“So, tell me, how does it feel? Big, scary stadium, new faces, new town—you doing alright?”

“It’s… a lot,” she admitted, her voice carrying just a hint of the nervous energy bubbling inside her. “But it’s the good kind of overwhelming, you know? Like the night before Christmas or stepping onto a stage for the first time.”

Ted nodded, his trademark grin softening into something more thoughtful. “I get that. Nerves mean you care. Just don’t let ‘em tie you up in knots, alright? And remember, we’re all here to help you settle in. Now, some of us might be better at that than others—”

He stopped suddenly as a figure rounded the corner ahead of them.

Roy Kent.

The man was practically a walking storm cloud—broad shoulders, perpetual scowl, and a presence so intense it felt like the air got heavier the closer he got. He stopped a few paces away, arms crossed, dark eyes narrowing as they landed on Y/N.

“This her?” he asked, his voice gravelly enough to scrape paint off walls.

“Yes, this her,” Ted replied cheerfully, gesturing toward her as if unveiling a grand masterpiece. “Roy, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Roy Kent—our resident grump, enforcer, and occasional source of shockingly poetic wisdom.”

Roy’s eyes flicked to her, scanning her in that sharp, no-nonsense way that made it clear he didn’t believe in wasting time—or words.

“Right,” he muttered, then turned his full attention to Y/N. “You any good, or are you just here to fill a quota?”

The bluntness of the question caught her off guard, but only for a moment. Y/N straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. She wasn’t about to let anyone—even Roy Kent—intimidate her on her first day.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” she replied evenly, a little hint of sarcasm and a lot of poise in her voice.

Roy didn’t smile, but something in his expression shifted, like he was mildly impressed she hadn’t backed down. Seems like he’s finally met someone to match his energy. “We’ll see,” he muttered nonchalantly before stepping past them, his boots echoing against the floor.

Ted clapped his hands together, cutting through the silence Roy left in his wake. “Well, that went better than expected! If Roy didn’t growl at you, you’re already ahead of most folks. Don’t take it personally; he’s like an espresso shot—strong, bitter, but he’ll wake you right up.”

Y/N chuckled despite herself. “Good to know.”

Ted led her out onto the pitch, and the sight stopped her in her tracks. The stadium, though modest compared to some, had an undeniable charm. The grass shimmered under the early sunlight, meticulously manicured and almost unnaturally green. The stands curved around them, a patchwork of faded seats that still managed to exude character. Breathtaking—a word to describe the sight. Y/N’s football heart skipped a beat.