Offside Tension - 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.
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. 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, calming even, though her nerves hadn’t entirely settled. She jogged to the middle of the pitch, taking in the vastness of it. 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 thoughts.
“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, her confidence trying to 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. And 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. “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, smiling. “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, but not before stopping by her little office space that she shares with Roy.
"Y/N, the girl, the myth, the legend - I know it is only your second day, but are you up to run the second half of training later?" It was Ted that put his head through their shared office space door in a way too enthusiastic way for a tuesday morning.
Y/N was unsure at first, but felt like she kind of had to proof herself to these coaches that consist of a former champions leaugue player and two americans. "I‘m up for it, I suppose.“ she said smiling rather unsure.
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 bit unsure.
“Fine,” Y/N said, dropping her clipboard. “Let’s make it interesting. A one-on-one. First to three goals wins. If I win, you stop undermining me and actually listen during my drills.”
“And if I win?” Jamie asked, his smirk returning.
She thought for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken. “Bragging rights.”
“Deal,” she said, stepping onto the pitch. Ted stops her. "I don‘t wanna question any good ole‘ coaching methods but are you sure about this, Y/N."
"I don‘t know, but it seems like he needs his ass handed to him on some occasion or the other and I‘m willing to do just that.“ Even Roy was smiling at that statement, clapping in his hands twice with a little smile.
"Well, I like her better than all of you.“ Roy looked at Ted and Beard specifically, to which the latter just shrugged. That‘s a good sign I guess, Roy Kent likes me, she thought.
"Ok its on Tartt, get your ass on the pitch.“ she said which made him 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 someone understands the pressure of the football industry and how an injury can effect an entire carrer it‘s definetely 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 once was a big part of her life and she keeps holding on to that 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 played professionally and now she‘s here trying to help others achieve perfection in a sport she, or rather they both love. A certain respect and need to protect her at all costs rose up in Jamie.
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