Summary: In which Jamie Tartt and the new assistant coach, Y/N, can’t stop teasing each other with their cheeky banter, but what starts as playful flirting quickly turns into something much more complicated.
Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem! reader
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.
A/N: If you have any ideas for blurbs or imagines about this fic you can tell me and i'll try to write it!
Y/N sat on the edge of her sofa, elbows on her knees, hands tangled in her hair. The television was on, some random late-night rerun humming faintly in the background, but she wasn’t watching it. The air in the flat felt stifling, as if the walls were pressing in, shrinking with every minute she spent replaying the day in her head.
The pub. Jamie. His words. His smile. That look in his eyes when he’d said, Don’t shut me out.
She groaned, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling as if it would offer her some kind of answer. But it didn’t. All she could hear was her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and all she could feel was the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest.
She’d spent her entire life on football pitches. The smell of fresh-cut grass, damp leather boots, the sharp whistle of a referee, the thunderous roar of a crowd—they weren’t just familiar; they were home. When her playing career had ended, it had felt like losing a piece of herself, like she’d been cast out into the world without a map.
But coaching had brought her back. It wasn’t just about strategy and drills and matchday speeches. It was about being part of something bigger than herself, about helping others find their place on the pitch—just like she had all those years ago.
And now here she was, trying to make sense of it all, trying to separate her role as a coach from the feelings she’d started to develop for Jamie.
Her eyes flicked to the duffel bag in the corner of the room, still packed from training earlier that day. Without thinking, she grabbed it, slinging it over her shoulder as she grabbed her keys. The flat felt too small, her thoughts too loud.
She needed space. She needed clarity. And there was only one place she knew she could find it.
Y/N pushed open the side door, her key clicking softly in the lock. The stadium was dark, except for the faint glow of the emergency lights lining the hallways. She walked down the familiar corridor, the soles of her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor.
When she stepped out onto the pitch, the floodlights flickered to life with a low hum, illuminating the empty stands and the pristine grass. It was like stepping into another world, one where time slowed down, and the weight of the world disappeared.
She dropped her bag by the sidelines and pulled out a ball, rolling it beneath her foot as she stared out at the goalposts.
This is where I belong, she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the lights.
She set the ball down and took a few steps back, her body moving on autopilot as she lined up her shot. The moment her foot connected with the ball, a rush of adrenaline coursed through her veins. The ball sailed into the net with a satisfying thud, and for the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe.
She grabbed another ball and did it again. And again. Each kick was a release, a way to channel all the frustration and confusion swirling inside her.
The stadium was eerily quiet at night. Y/N walked across the empty pitch, her footsteps muffled by the damp grass. The floodlights hummed softly above, casting long shadows that stretched across the field. She felt like she was standing in another world—one that belonged only to her, stripped of the noise and chaos that usually defined her days.
She reached the penalty spot and stared at the goal ahead. Her chest felt tight, her mind a tangled web of thoughts she couldn’t untangle. Jamie. Coaching. Jamie. Doubts. Jamie. Her career. Always Jamie.
Frustration bubbled up, and before she could think twice, she kicked one of the stray balls scattered on the pitch. It sailed into the goal with a satisfying thwack. She grabbed another ball and did it again. And again. Each kick was harder, more forceful than the last, as though she could release all the emotions clawing at her chest.
Jamie Tartt couldn’t sleep.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint sound of traffic filtering in through the partially open window. His body was tired—training had been grueling—but his mind was restless, replaying every moment of the day over and over again.
Y/N.
She was all he could think about. The way she laughed, the way she challenged him, the way she looked at him like he wasn’t just a footballer, but a person with depth and worth.
And the way she’d pulled away.
It wasn’t rejection. He knew that. He could see the conflict in her eyes, feel the tension in the air whenever they were near each other. But knowing she was holding back didn’t make it any easier.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair. His flat felt too quiet, too empty, too... wrong. He needed to clear his head, to do something other than lie there and drive himself mad.
Grabbing his jacket, he headed out into the night, his feet carrying him down the familiar streets. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he rounded the corner and saw the glow of the floodlights in the distance.
Y/N was mid-swing when she heard a voice behind her.
“Blimey, remind me never to get on your bad side.” Jamie's voice rang in her ear. “Didn’t know breaking and entering was part of your coaching style.”
She spun around, startled, to see Jamie standing at the edge of the pitch, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets and a cheeky grin on his face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless.
“Could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his lips curving into a half-smile. “Saw the lights on and figured someone was nicking the grass. Turns out it’s just you, takin’ out your frustrations on innocent footballs.”
She shrugged, gesturing to the goalpost. “Sometimes you just need to kick a ball around.”
He smiled, but there was something softer in his eyes as he looked at her. “Mind if I join you? Again...”
She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Sure.”
They kicked the ball back and forth for a while, the steady rhythm of the game filling the silence. Jamie cracked a few jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but he could tell something was weighing on her.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips during their wordless interaction. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.” He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he took her in. “You alright?”
The simple question made her throat tighten. She looked away, toeing the grass with her shoe. “I don’t know.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”
“Alright,” he said, stepping closer. “Then I’ll talk.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers. “You don’t have to say anything. But I need you to know that you’re not just a coach to me. You’re... everything.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him.
“You make me better,” he continued, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Not just on the pitch. You make me want to be better, to do better. And I know I’m not makin’ this easy for you, but I need you to know that I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Because you’re worth it.”
Eventually, she stopped the ball beneath her foot and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how to do this, Jamie.”
He tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Do what?”
“This,” she said, gesturing between them. “You. Us. Coaching. Feeling…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s all so much.”
The rain started softly, the cool droplets kissing her skin. Jamie laughed, looking up at the sky. Their bodies were now mere centimeters from each other.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “We really do look like a rom-com right now, don’t we?”
She laughed despite herself, the sound breaking through the tension. “Yeah, we do.”
Their laughter faded, and when her eyes met his again, the air between them shifted.
“This feels familiar,” she murmured.
“Déjà vu, it's kind of our thing,” he said with a small smile. “Guess the universe is tryin’ to tell us somethin’.”
She laughed at his little banter in this serious moment. "I guess the universe wants us to finally get it right."
Her heart pounded as he stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t shut me out, Y/N.”
And this time, she didn’t.
“Jamie…”
He tilted his head, his voice a whisper. “Yeah?”
She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she closed the distance between them, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as she pulled him into a kiss. The moment their lips met, it was like the world disappeared. The rain, the floodlights, the empty stadium—it all faded into the background.
Jamie’s hands cupped her face, his touch gentle yet firm, as though he couldn’t believe this was real. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting together.
“About time, love,” he said with a grin, his voice low and warm.
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Shut up, your moves were lacking too.”
"Jamie Tartt has all the moves, baby," he smirked, but it faltered. "But you had my head proper fucked. This whole unrequited love thing really messes with your head, and I just wanted to kiss you the whole time, but the moment wasn't right and—
Y/N stopped his rambling with her own. "What the hell, unrequited—wait, love? Don't tell me you fell in love with your coach, Tartt. That is totally unacceptable."
Y/N smirked, still teasing him a bit for his sudden confession after the best kiss she'd had in her life.
"Oh, come off it, babe. The coach had her eye on me since day one. Love at first fight, that's what you call that."
Y/N laughed at Jamie's cheesy wordplay. They did banter a bunch, but that was just them. "Love is the right word to describe it, Tartt."
And with that, a smile broke out on both their faces, brighter than anyone had ever seen them smile.
They stood there for a while, letting the rain wash over them, neither of them wanting to break the moment.
For the first time in weeks, everything felt right. Let’s see what the future holds for Jamie Tartt and Coach Y/L/N.
The tension between Y/N and Jamie had been simmering ever since the team bonding dinner. Moments of lingering gazes and almost-confessions hung like unfinished sentences between them. But all it took was one misstep to crack the fragile ground they were standing on.
It happened after practice, during a routine video review session in the conference room. Jamie had been particularly cheeky that day, pushing Y/N’s buttons in a way that made everyone laugh but also grated on her nerves. She had managed to keep her composure in front of the team, but when Jamie rolled his eyes at her critique of his positioning during a play, something snapped.
“Tartt, if you don’t want to take this seriously, you can leave,” Y/N said sharply, her tone colder than intended. The room went silent, the laughter dying instantly. Jamie’s smirk faltered, replaced by a defensive glare.
“I am takin’ it seriously,” he shot back, his voice tight. “But maybe if you weren’t so busy overanalyzin’ every bloody thing—”
“Out. Now,” Y/N interrupted, her words like a whip crack. Her heart sank the moment she said it, but it was too late. Jamie stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He didn’t say another word as he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.
The room remained silent, the players exchanging uneasy glances. Ted, standing in the corner, cleared his throat. “Alright, folks, let’s refocus. Back to the tape.” But the tension lingered, a heavy cloud over the room.
The locker room was abuzz after practice. Jamie sat on the bench, aggressively untying his boots while the rest of the team tried and failed to act nonchalant.
“Oi, what’s with the face, bruv?” Isaac asked, leaning against the lockers. “Lookin’ like someone nicked your favorite hair gel.”
Colin chimed in, a grin tugging at his lips. “Or maybe Coach finally told you she’s immune to your charm.”
“Piss off,” Jamie muttered, his voice lacking its usual bite. But his reaction only fueled the team’s amusement.
“What’s wrong, Jamie?” Dani asked innocently. “Did she call you out on your… how do you say… bullshit?”
The locker room erupted in laughter, but Jamie wasn’t laughing. He slammed his boots into his bag and stood, his jaw clenched.
“Maybe she did,” he snapped, glaring at them. “Not that it’s any of your business.” He grabbed his stuff and stormed out, leaving the team in stunned silence.
Isaac shook his head. “Man’s in a proper mood. Someone should tell Coach she’s livin’ rent-free in his head.”
Y/N didn’t have much time to dwell on the argument before Roy Kent cornered her in the hallway outside the training room. His arms were crossed, his signature scowl firmly in place.
“Kent,” Y/N greeted warily. “What can I do for you?”
“You can stop actin’ like a twat,” Roy said bluntly.
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
Roy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he couldn’t believe he had to explain this. “Tartt’s a pain in the arse. We all know that. But he’s also playin’ the best fuckin’ football of his life right now, and it’s because of you.”
“Roy, I—”
“Shut up. I’m not done,” he interrupted. “The prick cares what you think. Probably more than he’s ever cared about anyone’s opinion. And you’ve got him thinkin’ he’s fucked it all up. So sort it out.”
Y/N stared at him, speechless. Roy’s scowl softened, just a fraction.
“He’s not just your player, Y/N. He’s a person. Don’t forget that.” With that, Roy turned and walked away, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.
That evening, Y/N found Jamie in the gym, alone. He was going through a series of drills with an intensity that bordered on punishing. She hesitated in the doorway, her heart heavy with guilt. Finally, she stepped inside.
“Jamie,” she called softly.
He didn’t look at her, his focus on the weights in his hands. “What?”
She took a deep breath. “I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”
Jamie set the weights down, his movements deliberate. When he finally turned to face her, his expression was unreadable. “You were right, though. I was bein’ a knob.”
“Doesn’t mean I handled it the right way,” she admitted. “I… I’m still figuring out how to balance all of this. Being your coach, being your friend…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish.
Jamie’s gaze softened. “It’s not easy for me either, y’know. You’re not just some coach to me.”
Her breath hitched at his words, the vulnerability in his tone slicing through her defenses. “Jamie…”
He took a step closer, his voice low. “I don’t want to mess this up. But I don’t know how to pretend it’s not there, either.”
The air between them crackled, the tension unbearable. Jamie’s hand hovered near hers, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Y/N’s heart pounded as he leaned in, his eyes searching hers for permission.
But she pulled back at the last second, breaking the spell. “Jamie, I can’t.”
His face fell, the hurt flashing across his features before he masked it. “Right. Got it.”
“It’s not about you,” she said quickly. “It’s… this job, this dynamic. I need to figure out where the lines are.”
Jamie nodded, but the disappointment was clear. “Yeah. Sure. Makes sense.”
Y/N reached out, her hand brushing his arm. “Jamie, please. I just need time.”
He looked at her, his walls firmly back in place. “Take all the time you need, Coach.” The nickname stung, the warmth gone from his tone. He turned and left without another word, leaving Y/N standing alone in the empty gym, her chest aching with regret.
As Jamie walked out into the cool night air, he felt a familiar pang of rejection settle in his chest. But this time, it wasn’t anger that consumed him—it was something much harder to bear.
The buzz of game day was palpable, the air crackling with anticipation as fans flooded Nelson Road, their cheers echoing like a heartbeat. Richmond was set to face one of their toughest rivals, West Ham United, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher. Every player had something to prove—Jamie Tartt most of all.
Y/N stood at the edge of the pitch during warm-ups, clipboard in hand but her mind miles away. She glanced toward Jamie, who was already in his zone, running drills with Isaac and Sam. There was a tension in his movements, sharper and more precise than usual, as if he carried the weight of the entire match on his shoulders.
Since their argument, Jamie had been more focused but also more withdrawn. The playful banter between them had dwindled, replaced by stolen glances and clipped exchanges. Y/N hated how things felt unresolved, like an unspoken question lingering between them.
“Oi,” Roy’s gruff voice cut through her thoughts. He sidled up beside her, arms crossed. “You’re starin’.”
Y/N’s head snapped toward him. “I am not.”
Roy raised an eyebrow. “You are. And he knows it. So maybe sort your shit out before it messes with his head.”
She bristled. “My ‘shit,’ as you so eloquently put it, is fine, thanks.”
“Is it?” Roy shot her a knowing look. “Because Jamie’s been running himself ragged all week tryin’ to prove something. You reckon that’s a coincidence?”
Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but Roy held up a hand. “Look, I’m not saying it’s all on you. But he plays his best when he’s got his head straight, and right now, it ain’t. You’re important to him—more than you realize. Don’t be a coward about it.”
Before she could respond, Roy stalked off, leaving her grappling with his words.
The match itself was a rollercoaster. Richmond started strong, with Sam scoring a brilliant goal early on. But the opposition fought back fiercely, leveling the score just before halftime.
In the locker room, the atmosphere was tense. Ted delivered one of his classic pep talks, light-hearted but motivating, while Beard broke down the tactical adjustments. Y/N hung back, observing the players.
Jamie sat near the corner, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor. She could see the frustration radiating off him, and despite everything, her heart ached.
As the second half began, Jamie came alive. He moved with purpose, weaving through defenders like it was second nature. Every pass, every sprint, every shot—it was as if he was channeling something deeper.
When the final whistle blew, Richmond had emerged victorious, thanks in no small part to Jamie’s last-minute assist that sealed the winning goal. The stadium erupted, fans and players alike swept up in the euphoria of triumph.
The celebration in the locker room was deafening. Players laughed, shouted, and sprayed water bottles in the air like champagne. Ted was in the middle of it, clapping everyone on the back with his usual aw-shucks charm. Y/N hovered on the edges, her gaze flickering to Jamie, who sat on the bench, drenched in sweat but smiling faintly as Isaac ribbed him about the assist.
She turned to leave, needing some space, when a familiar voice stopped her.
“You’re not bailing on us, are you?”
She turned to find Jamie standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets. He looked up at her with a careful mix of nonchalance and hope.
“Didn’t think you were much of a pub person,” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe I’m not,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “But I reckon you should come anyway. Team deserves it. You deserve it.”
She hesitated, crossing her arms. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Jamie pressed, stepping closer. “It’s not like we’re doin’ anything dodgy. Just a pint, some laughs. You might even enjoy yourself.”
“Jamie—”
“Please?” he interrupted, his voice softening. “Look, I get it. Things are… weird right now. But this team’s like family, yeah? And you’re part of that. So come celebrate with us. Don’t leave me to deal with Isaac’s karaoke alone.”
Her resolve wavered at the earnestness in his tone. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. But if this karaoke is as bad as you’re implying, I’m holding you responsible.”
His grin widened, the tension between them easing just a little. “Deal.”
The Crown & Anchor was packed, the air thick with laughter and the faint smell of spilled beer. The team had claimed their usual corner, a chaotic mix of tables and chairs where drinks and jokes flowed freely. Y/N found herself squeezed between Sam and Keeley, who was already halfway through her second glass of wine.
Jamie was at the other end of the table, animatedly recounting the match to Colin and Dani. Every so often, his eyes would flick toward Y/N, lingering just a second too long before he looked away. She caught him once, raising an eyebrow in silent challenge, and he had the audacity to wink before turning back to Colin.
“You’re distracted,” Keeley said, nudging her arm.
Y/N sighed, sipping her drink. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been there,” Keeley replied, her smile knowing. “Whatever’s going on with you and Jamie? Sort it. Trust me, you don’t want to waste time second-guessing yourself.”
At some point, Jamie appeared beside her, beer in hand. “Fancy some fresh air?”
She glanced up at him, surprised. “What, again? This is becoming a habit.”
He smirked. “Maybe it’s just the easiest way to get you to talk to me.”
“Or maybe you’re avoiding karaoke,” she teased, but she stood anyway, letting him lead the way out the side door.
The night air was crisp, the sounds of the pub fading into the background as they walked a few steps down the alley. Jamie leaned against the wall, his drink dangling loosely in one hand.
“Déjà vu, huh?” he said, glancing at her with a crooked smile.
She chuckled softly. “Seems like it.”
They stood in silence for a moment before Jamie spoke again. “Y’know, I didn’t mean to mess things up between us.”
“You didn’t,” she said quickly, then sighed. “Not really. I just… I’m still figuring out how to balance all this. Being your coach. Being… something else.”
His brow furrowed. “Something else?”
“You know what I mean,” she muttered, looking away.
Jamie stepped closer, his voice low. “I do. But I want to hear you say it.”
Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. “Jamie…”
“Don’t shut me out,” he said softly, his gaze searching hers. “Please.”
The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much. She opened her mouth to respond, but the door creaked open behind them, and Ted’s voice called out.
“Y’all alright out here?”
Jamie sighed, muttering something under his breath, while Y/N gave Ted a tight smile. “Just getting some air.”
“Well, don’t freeze your bits off,” Ted said cheerfully, then hesitated. “Actually, Y/N, you got a minute?”
Jamie looked at her, his expression unreadable, before stepping aside. “I’ll see you back inside.”
Ted led Y/N to a quieter corner of the pub, away from the noise. He leaned against the bar, studying her with that trademark Ted Lasso warmth.
“You wanna tell me what’s eatin’ at ya?” he asked gently.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated’s my middle name,” Ted said with a grin. “Well, actually, it’s ‘Earl,’ but you get the point. Lay it on me.”
Y/N hesitated, then spilled everything—the argument, the tension, the way Jamie made her feel like she was walking a tightrope between her personal and professional lives. Ted listened quietly, nodding occasionally but never interrupting.
When she finally finished, he smiled. “Y’know, I’ve seen a lotta folks try to figure out what to do with their hearts and their heads. And it ain’t easy. But here’s the thing: you don’t gotta have all the answers right now. You just gotta be honest—with yourself and with him.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ted’s smile softened. “Then you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going. But you can’t let fear keep you from takin’ a chance. Life’s too short for that.”
Y/N replayed Ted’s words in her mind as she headed home, a new sense of clarity settling over her. She knew she couldn’t keep running from her feelings—not if she wanted to move forward.
