#jamie x isaac

[caslutz]

Ted Lasso Text Posts: Part #5

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

[trentcrimmisgay]

i’ve been clearing out old screenshots in my camera roll but i have ted lasso brain rot so you all have to see what they made me think of (part five. more posts)

[rqgnarok]

Hello! I loved your Jamie Tartt angst and would love more angst that leaves you hurt but resolves itself (I’m too mushy for things ending at angst) maybe self sabotage? I feel like season two Jamie would be good at that since he does want to be better but doesn’t fully believe in himself. Or Jamie is still into Keeley and reader likes Jamie and is icing out Jamie to protect their self? Literally anything there is a Jamie angst deficit 😩 mwah <3

hi anon! sorry it took me so long, school and then writer's block kicked my ass. full disclosure, i didn't read this after i wrote it so sorry for any mistakes! enjoy <3

“Thought you left.”

You close your eyes in despair, thankful at least that Jamie can’t see you. You’d been sure your escape had been a subtle one but here he was– the very person you were trying to avoid following you to the balcony on the less crowded side of the restaurant.

You didn’t think he’d notice. He hadn’t yet– looked at you or talked to you since he came into the team event with Keeley wrapped around his arm, looking gorgeous and worthy of his attention. She had smiled at you, genuinely happy to see you, which made this whole thing entirely more ridiculous. 

You’d thought this was a date. After replaying the interaction between you and Jamie for the umpteenth time, you’ve come to the conclusion that your own excitement blinded you to the reality of it all. When Jamie had asked, all nonchalant without making eye contact, if the PR team would be at the annual team dinner in a non working capacity, you’d let yourself imagine something you couldn’t have only to be left a fool. 

Well. Here you are now, paying the price.  

“Just needed a second,” you try to sound like there’s a smile gracing your lips despite how close you are to tears, but won’t look back to meet Jamie’s eye. He settles at your side soon enough, hands in the pockets of his suit while yours remain gripping the railing, hoping for a full breath that just won’t reach your lungs. “There’s a lot of people in there.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says, hitting the nail on the head regarding your anxiety in crowded places. There’s a reason you work behind the camera, making other people look good while getting to stay away from the limelight. “It’s just the team, right? You’re okay with us.”

You can’t help but agree, even if it sounds a little miserable. “Yeah.”

Jamie doesn’t follow up and you find yourselves enveloped by the silence and the sounds of the street life underneath you. Cars passing by, people chatting and talking, the whistle of the air as it threads through your clothes and bites at your skin. 

“Are you cold?” he asks when you shiver, shifting to take off his jacket and wrap it around your shoulders. You really wish he wouldn’t, stopping him before he can.

“I’m fine,” your voice betrays you and breaks, and you don’t have to look at Jamie to know he’s looking at you now, urgently searching for a sign of discomfort. “I’ll go back in a minute, yeah? I’m right behind you.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, surer than anything else he’s said so far. There’s a steel to his voice now that he’s realized you’re not fine at all, willing to protect you even from yourself. “I like keeping you company.”

“Jamie–” 

“Are you alright?” you have to, you have to look at him, and there’s a furrow to his brow that frames his face so, so nicely. Eyes wide and concerned, one of his hands leaves his pocket to reach for you. He says, softer. “You’re crying.”

“Am not,” you say peluntantly, because you’re not. Not yet at least. You’re cold and tired in your fancy attire and fancier shoes, but you’re not crying. You won’t until you’re in the safety of your apartment, away from the people who care about you. “I’m okay, Jamie, please go back inside.”

“Love,” he says knowingly, tilting his head. His searching hand, after a moment too long of hesitation, touches your cheek. He’s frowning still. You wish he didn’t look so handsome doing so. “We’ve barely talked tonight. I was hoping…”

He drifts off when a loud laugh from inside catches him off guard, quickly retreating back to himself and digging his hand back into his pocket, taking a step back from you. 

It’s such a terrible sequence of events in such a short amount of time that it makes you laugh, a sharp sound that surprises Jamie as much as it seems to hurt him. “I–” he begins, then cuts himself off. 

It dawns on you that this might not be the first time Jamie has been rendered speechless, but it is the first time you’ve seen him scared. 

“It’s fine,” you say. And it’s not. It’s not, but– “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You turn back into the night and wait one, two, five arduous seconds in which Jamie doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself before you hear his steps begin to retreat. Breathing out, you think the worst is over until he speaks, “you look beautiful tonight.”

He stutters. “Always, y’know, but tonight. You do. You do.”

“Can we… can I see you? Before you go?” he wonders.He calls your name when you don’t take the bait, frustration coating his tone. “Come on, I’m tryin’ here, sweetheart. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” you say, soft, so soft you’re sure he doesn’t hear it. “Nothing, Jamie.”

“Okay,” he says. Then– “I’ve been tryin’ to ask you out for over a month and you won’t let me.”

You want to be angry, but the statement only makes you sad. “Go back to your date.”

Jamie splutters in disbelief. “What?”

“Keeley’s probably wondering where you are,” it sounds accusing even to your own ears, and you hate it. You never intended to get him into trouble or bother him with your feelings for him. “Go back to your date, Jay.”

“That’s not– she’s not–” he blabbers. “Love, please–”

Isaac and Dani, drunk out of their minds, crash into the balcony to wrap their arms around Jamie, too out of it to notice your distress or that you’re even there. They call his name to the melody of Baby Shark, loud and basked in laughter. 

“Ayo, lover boy!” Isaac barks, wiggling his brows suggestively. “Your girl’s lookin’ all over for you! I think she’s ready to go home if you know what I mean.”

“Fuck off,” Jamie snaps, thoroughly upset but barely heard above Dani’s teasing ohhhhh. “Can’t you see I–”

You abruptly turn, barely sparing them a look as you excuse yourself meekly, voice wet and hushed. Jamie tries and fails to hold onto you, calling your name. You only feel the brush of his fingertips on your bare elbow as you escape his grip and leave him behind.

[elloras]

Ted Lasso: Big Week

[coolpointsetta]

jamie: do we still have to get up at 4am to train?

roy, down on one knee (which took him a few minutes to do), literally proposing: is that really what you’re worried about right now?

[rosie-tyler]

Top 10 Ted Lasso episodes according To IMDb

[walnutmistjamie]

fave Ted Lasso moments 21/? : Making his debut for England, Jamie Tartt!

[you-see-something-strange-here]

If you think the team didn’t have a longterm bet going on about whether Roy and Jamie were fucking after Amsterdam, you’re wrong. Also, all bets were conducted with the Honorable Judge McAdoo presiding over them.

[ohdeargodwhy]

Ted being attracted to men in Seasons 1 and 2 of Ted Lasso

[lokiiied]

obsessed with this shot like…not only do we have two aces boyfriendism going on the back, we also have whatever’s going on with jan and richard there (did he just boop him?) and colin acting out charades trying to make his bumbercrush laugh and isaac is probably recalling this moment when he guesses who colin thinks is the fittest on the team AND THE FOUND FAMILY OF IT ALL

[caslutz]

Ted Lasso Text Posts: Part #2

1 / 3

[softspaceboibrian]

Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago || Jamie Tartt

Chapters: 1 - more to come

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Y/N - Social Media Manager for 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!

Summary: When Y/N received that email, she couldn't believe it. He was coming back.

Warnings: maybe some swear words. hints and mentions of sexual acts (still SFW). S1 Jamie Tartt aka a dick. a little angsty. Sam being is lovable self.

Characters: Jamie Tartt, Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes, Dani Rojas, Ted Lasso, Rebecca Welton. Some others may appear as mentions.

Wc: 3800 (this works as a pilot or a prologue, to set up the story)

A/N: this story is based on this idea I had and that a few people seemed to like. hopefully you enjoy this first chapter/prologue. and if you want to read more, feel free to leave a comment. If enough people like it, I was thinking to do a taglist, so that people can stay updated. anyways, thanks for reading &lt;;3

When you first heard the news, you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that they could do such a thing. Not to the team, not to you. That was the reason you were stomping up the stair, the clinking of your heels echoing against the walls, as you reached Rebecca’s office.

You didn’t knock, you didn’t wait for them to welcome you in. They knew you were coming. Especially after the email they had sent out. The email had been sent only to the “necessary” people that needed to be involved, and you, being the social media manager for the club, received it. It was probably a way for them to warn you to start preparing the content for the announcement. But you obviously didn’t take it well. They knew about your history, they knew how things had gone down. They had to be expecting you.

“How could you?” Your loud, clear voice, full of anger and disappointment filled the room.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Ted’s cheerful greeting made you want to scream. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” The sarcasm was obvious.

“How could you? After what he did to the team? After what he said about you?” Your tone was loud, so much so that you were sure people from downstairs could clearly hear every single one of your words. “How could you?” You choked on your last words, and as you finally met Rebecca’s gaze, you could feel the familiar sting of the tears that threatened to fall, spill, pour.

The woman sighed, getting up from her chair to make her way around the big desk. “Listen, love, he’s a great player. When Ted told me about their talk, I knew we had to get him back.” She explained, walking over to her. “We cannot let our feelings get in the way of the team’s success.”

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I never thought you would become this cynical.”

“I’m not cynical, just rational.”

“It’s all the same thing. He’s a prick. And pricks don’t change.” You were furious. “And it’s not just my feelings, but the team’s feelings. But you obviously don’t remember how he used to treat everyone.” You lingered on that last word, looking briefly at each of them, before turning around and making your way out of the office and down the stairs. “No one understands.” You whisper, your fists so tight you started to feel that burning sensation of your nails leaving marks on your palms.

Keeping your head low, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face, you made your way to the changing room. You knew you couldn’t say anything to any of the boys yet, but still, you needed some comfort. You needed Sam.

You quickly reached the locker room and knocked, waiting for them to give you a sign to let you know you could come in. And, as soon as you opened the door, you ran straight to Sam, immediately burying your face in his chest.

“Hey, Y/N/N. What is going on?” His thick Nigerian accent immediately bringing comfort to you. “Did something happen?” He asked as he tried to pull away slightly, trying to understand what was happening.

“Just… hug me… please.” You pled, the voice muffled by his jersey. And he did. He wrapped his arms around you, softly placing a kiss on top of your head, before laying his chin in the same spot. You’re immediately comforted by the warmth of your best friend’s embrace. However, you didn’t fail to notice how the familiar chatter of the changing room had started to slowly simmer down until it ultimately came to a halt. A sense of pain and anxiety washed over you at once, and your head started again to fill with the same questions you had asked Rebecca and Ted. Why? Why him? Why now? How could they?

But soon, your stream of thoughts was interrupted by Isaac’s voice. “Who do we have to kill?” You didn’t need to raise your head from Sam’s chest to know that the feeling was shared by most if not all the team’s players.

“No one. Yet.” You mumbled, sniffling. “It’s complicated.” You added as you finally pulled away from Sam, yet still remaining extremely close to him, as if his presence was the only thing keeping you sane and calm at that moment.

“When the moment comes, just call, okay?” You gave a quick nod to the team captain, accompanied by a shy smile. To any casual passer-by, the comment may have seemed sarcastic, the usual banter between friends that care about each other. But the team knew that that was not sarcastic at all and that Isaac would indeed, without a shadow of a doubt, kill someone for you.

You couldn’t exactly remember when, but somewhere down the line, the team had become your chosen family. However, you could clearly remember how that process had started.

You had started working for AFC Richmond around the same time that Ted and Coach Beard did. You didn’t care much for football or sports in general, but you had just recently graduated from university and had found this work through Keeley. You and her had met at your cousin’s going away party a few years before, when he had decided to move to Greece to become an archaeologist. You had immediately bonded over who can even remember what, and remained close friends ever since. So, when she heard that the position had just opened up, she immediately sent your CV to Rebecca, without warning you first. You found out about the job only when you received a call from a certain Mr Higgins, who told you that they had read your curriculum and found it really interesting. And so, you ended up moving to Richmond-upon-Thames and started working for the club.

It didn’t take you long to get to know the team and become friends with them. Obviously, you had your prejudices against footballers, who you thought were self-centred egomaniacs – and you weren’t completely wrong about that – but, to your surprise, most of them turned out to be great people. You quickly became very close with Sam; Roy tolerated you; Isaac and Colin were always kind to you. Even Jamie Tartt, the prick of the team, would usually drop his dickhead persona when he was with you. And that was how you two ended up together. For the first month or so, you would notice his constant flirting, but you never really gave it too much thought. You had read about him in the tabloids, and you knew how he was famous for having a different girl every week. You weren’t that oblivious, you knew he was fit. But, every time he would flirt with you, you would play along for a while, before brushing it off and going back to your business. I’m just his latest challenge, he will move on sooner or later, you thought. Until, roughly a month and a half after you had started working there: he started waiting for you outside the clubhouse, asking you if you needed a ride home. Which then turned into him asking you to grab a coffee with him one day before practice. Then it was dinners. Movie nights at his place. Stolen glances in the hallways of the clubhouse. Sneaking in the boot room to secretly make out. And sooner than you could realise, you were sleeping over at his place most of the time.

You asked him to keep things private for a while. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of him. You just needed to be sure about him. So, you kept sneaking around. Avoiding each other as much as possible, too worried that the team might just figure it out. Let me show you off, Jamie would whisper into your ear, in-between wet kisses, as he stood behind you in the kitchen in the morning, wrapping his arms around your waists. Let me take you out to a restaurant, on a proper date, he insisted. But you kept declining his offers. Not yet, baby, you would reply, as you slowly melted under his touch, I need a little more time, you said as you turned around in his arms. And the conversation would die there, with Jamie immediately picking you up and placing you on top of the kitchen counter, his lips trailing their way down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, down, down, until your vision turned hazy and you had to grip onto the marble countertop with all the strength you had in your body, too afraid you might fall off of it, as his lips met finally met your core.

You were able to keep your relationship private longer than you had expected. It was after almost 4 weeks that Nate eventually walked in on you two in the boot room. You weren’t doing anything too private, you were merely making out. But Nate being Nate, froze on his feet as he saw you two holding onto each other, too stunned to move. I was… I needed to… sorry… I didn’t…. As usual, he was too embarrassed to form a complete sentence, so he simply left the room. You two looked at each other and knew that it was only a matter of time before your secret would be out. And you were right. The secret didn’t last the entire day, and when it was time to go home after practice, you were met by a horde of football players, asking you when it had started, how long had that been going on, if you two were official, and so on.

Somehow, but still not completely unexpectedly, the news reached the press in less than a day. The next morning, as you lied in bed with Jamie’s head on your chest, you were woken up by the constant buzzing of your phone. Check this article from The Sun, said a message from your high school friend, with a link attached to it. Is it true? Asked your mother. Congratulations! read the message from your aunt from whom you hadn’t heard in ages. And the messages kept coming. Yes, it was true. You were now in a relationship. Yes, your boyfriend was a famous footballer. Yes, you knew about his fame. Still, you didn’t care. Because, when Jamie was with you, he wasn’t Jamie Tartt, star striker for AFC Richmond, but just Jamie. And you loved just Jamie. He was sweet, he was passionate, he was kind, he always made sure you were feeling well, he brought you flowers once a week, he left some coffee for you in the pot in the mornings, he always made sure you were sexually satisfied – something he was really proud of.

Sadly, you hadn’t realised that, with going public, also came the hate from his fans, who thought that you would be too distracting for their beloved favourite player, and from the girls, the actresses, the top models, the reality tv stars, who had hoped to one day end up with him and whose dream you had shattered overnight. You pulled through it, and that was also thanks to Jamie, who never missed the chance to remind you how much he loved you and cared for you.

However, two months after going public, things started to change. You couldn’t understand why if it was something that you had done or said, but he started to become distant, cold. He would invite you less and less over to his place, and when he did, it was mainly to have sex, to ‘release the tension from practice’. And whenever the team lost, the sex would be rough. He was always on his phone, texting, dming, emailing. A part of you knew it was girls he was talking to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him about it, so you just said nothing and held on. He soon stopped asking you how you were, telling you how much he loved you. You tried asking him what was going on, but he would always deny everything, saying that you were imagining things, that you were just paranoid, and that everything was fine. Fine. Oh, how you came to hate that word. You asked him how he was. Fine. You asked him if he wanted to spend the night together. Fine. You asked him if he wanted to drive to the clubhouse together. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. You hated fine. In Jamie’s language, fine meant if you really have to, or I would rather you left me alone, or I don’t really care. You hated it. And you hated what your relationship had become. But still, something stopped you from leaving him, maybe the hope that soon things would go back to normal, that soon he would go back to being just Jamie.

But that never happened.

And things only got worse when Ted decided to take him out during a match. You knew that Ted was doing it to teach him a lesson, and he was right to want to do so. But as you watched your boyfriend leave the pitch, you knew things would only get worse. So, you stopped constantly looking for him. You stopped texting him every day. You only met when he asked you.

It was in that period that you grew closer to Sam. You could distinctly remember the day he walked into your office to ask you for a few suggestions on how to make his Instagram page more appealing. Instead walked in on you sitting on the floor, with your back against the wall and your hands in your hair. You didn’t even have the strength to pretend things were okay, so you simply looked up, black lines scarring your cheeks, and met his eyes. “Sorry, Sam, it’s… not a great moment.” You struggled to get the words out.

But Sam didn’t say anything. Instead, he closed the door behind him, made his way across the room and took a seat on the floor next to you. “Is it Jamie?” He asked with his thick Nigerian accent that you would grow to love and even find familiar. You nodded silently. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “Do we just sit in silence?” A nod. A beat. Then your head slowly fell to the side, until it found its resting place on his shoulder.

You don’t exactly know how long you stayed there, on the floor, in silence. It could have been a few minutes or entire hours. In either case, Sam stayed there, and didn’t leave your side. He never once took out his phone to check his messages, even though you could feel it buzzing in his pocket. He only changed position once, to move his arm and wrap it around your shoulders. That was the first time you had spent that much time in silence with someone without feeling the need to fill it with superficial chatter.

From that day forward, you and Sam were inseparable. There was something about him that simply brought you comfort, a comfort that not even Jamie had been able to give you. Whenever you weren’t sleeping over at Jamie’s, he would come to pick you up and drive you to work. He would drive you home in the evenings, making sure you were all the way inside your house, before sprinting off the road to go home himself. You would start having lunch together, usually joined by some of the other guys – in all of this, most of the time Jamie was nowhere to be found. And whenever your boyfriend acted like a dick with you in front of everyone, he would speak up. Are you his boyfriend now, Sammy? Jamie would mock him, using your nickname for him. I don’t think so. She’s me girl, so I’ll talk to her how I want, a’ight? He would puff out his chest, trying to look bigger and intimidating.

That evening, after practice was over, Jamie sprinted off to who knows where or to who knows who, leaving you there, alone. And, as per usual, Sam would come to the rescue, offering you a lift home.

“Why are you still with him?” Sam asked you as he stopped in front of your house. “You deserve better, not an asshole like him.”

You shook your head. “He’s not like that when it’s just the two of us.” You would always find a way to make excuses for him.

“I don’t care how he is when he’s alone with you, Y/N! If he really loves you, he should treat you well in public as well!” You had never really heard Sam raising his voice before, and it would have been a lie if you had said that you were not intimidated. But, despite everything, you could feel the care and preoccupation in his voice. “You deserve someone that truly cares for you, and that isn’t afraid to show it!” You knew he was right. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say something, to break up with him.

But you never had to.

It was maybe a week after your discussion with Sam when you showed up unannounced at his place. It was cold outside, and you were only wearing a thick jumper. You stood there, in front of his door for at least three whole minutes, before finally knocking on his door. You knocked instead of ringing the bell so that if he was already asleep, you wouldn’t wake him. But he had heard it, and less than 10 seconds later, he was opening the door.

“Y/N, what are you-” He didn’t even finish his question. He took one look at you and knew exactly what had happened. He took your hand gently in his, and immediately pulled you inside, guiding you to the living room. “Wait here a moment.” He said, making you seat on the couch, before running off in search of a blanket. “Okay, wrap yourself in this while I put the kettle on.” He opened the blanket and put it around your shoulders.

“Stay here, please.” You whispered, grabbing him by the wrist before he could move away again.

“But you’re shivering.”

“Just… please.”

As soon as he met your eyes once again, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. He had seen you in distress before, he had comforted you multiple times after your fights with Jamie. But this time he didn’t even need for you to tell him what had happened, he already knew. He took a seat next to you, fixing the blanket so that it was properly covering your entire body, before pulling you to his chest.

“He said that I was too much work.” The words left your mouth watery. “That I asked too much of him. And that, since he was going back to Man City, it was better to call it quits.” You whispered. You could feel Sam’s body tense, the air blowing through his nose. You knew he wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to tell you that he was a dickhead, that he never realised what he had in front of him, that he had just lost the best woman he could ever find, that he was a moron, a jerk, an idiot, a fool. But he didn’t. He remained silent. And he did the best he could to comfort you. He stroke your hair and your back, he rocked you and hummed to you, until you fell asleep.

After that night, it didn’t take long for the rest of the team to find out what had happened, and how it had happened. Every single one of the boys sent you a text, saying, each in their own way, that they were sorry, that Jamie was a dick, and that they were there for you if you needed them. And you were glad to know so many people cared for you, people that up until a few months ago didn’t even know you and that you would have never expected in your life to end up being friends with. They all stopped and hugged you when they met you in the corridor for the first time after it had happened. But some of them surprised you.

You hadn’t been able to sleep for the last few nights, which was made obvious to everyone by the way you dragged your feet against the floor whenever you walked around the clubhouse, your legs too heavy for your exhausted body to properly move. You had also stopped taking care of yourself. Yes, you showered and brushed your teeth because you hated not being presentable for work. But you had stopped brushing your hair every morning and every night, like your grandmother had thought you when you were little. And you had stopped wearing make-up. Not that you would normally put on a full face every day, but you stopped using mascara because it made your eyes burn whenever you cried, and the light concealer you used under your eyes to make yourself look fresher, more awake. And now your puffy red eyes and dark circles were there, on display, for everyone to see, a reminder of how you were feeling.

That morning you had opted for a very comfortable pair of sweatpants and a warm AFC Richmond hoodie. Using supportiveness as a way to hide your depression. Smart, you thought. Sad. You were sitting in your office, alone, working on the new social media campaign, when suddenly you heard someone knock on your door. “Come in.” You said flatly. As the door opened, you looked up from your laptop, only to see Sam walk in, followed by Isaac, Colin and Dani. “How can I help you, boys?” You forced a smile on your face.

“Want to watch a movie with us tonight?” Asked Isaac, taking the lead. You looked at the quartet in front of you, unsure of what to say. “We can watch whatever sad movie you prefer, and Dani can bring some Mezcal.”

“Boys, I-” You started, but you were instantly cut off.

“Uh-uh!” The Welsh stepped forward. “We don’t want to hear any I’d rather be alone or I don’t want to be a bother bullshit, okay? We want to do this.”

“Yes, we only asked to be nice, but if you say no, we will just kidnap you and force you to do it.” Said Sam, a soft, warm smile on his face, as he leaned over your desk.

“Por favor, Y/N” Dani pled, showing you his big, brown puppy eyes.

“Fine!” You gave in. “On one condition: we order Chinese.”

They all look at each other, before bursting out laughing.

A/N: if you read all the way through, thank you ! feel free to leave a feedback/comment. i would love to know what you think about it and if you would be interested in reading more of this story. let me know if you would like to be put in a taglist for this fic! love you <3

[rqgnarok]

delicate - jamie tartt

fandom: ted lasso

wc: 3,589

warnings: no mentions of specific pronouns for reader, jamie being a lil self deprecating, mentions of his dad, allusions to smut but, like, barely. set in season 2.

summary: jamie hadn’t planned on dating. his reputation’s never been worse. but then he met you.

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

Jamie’s nervous.

This shouldn’t even be happening. Dating had been the last thing on his mind after his life fell apart. Leaving Man City, joining and being kicked out of a reality show, and coming back to Richmond with his tail between his legs– it had all been a domino effect; a very bad, terrible, decision after another. 

Jamie hadn’t planned on dating. His reputation’s never been worse. But then he met you. 

He’d gone out to some dive bar with a so-called friend of his– some guy he met during the production of Love Island that loved weed and Jamie’s connections– on a fucking Tuesday, of all days. Jamie was supposed to be in bed because training started at 7 sharp the next morning, and the last thing he needed was to show up late and tired. Instead, he’d been in a back alleyway behind a club downtown, moping and drinking his third fruity drink of the night, sweet and heavy with alcohol. 

It was a stupid idea, but he was lonely. The certified-prick plaque that he usually wore so proudly wasn’t so shiny anymore and his dad had been blowing up his phone about everything he was doing wrong– what he wore, how he combed his hair, who he hung out with, the failures that landed him back at Richmond. 

Jamie had been in need of alcohol and human company and up to that point of the night he was 50% on his way. He was considering finishing his drink and calling it a night when the muffled beat of the music inside the building exploded behind him, becoming so much louder it rattled his teeth.

Someone came out the back door, he realized. You; pretty with your own drink in hand, looking around. Your eyes fell on him and he sat a little straighter on the curb, unsure of what kind of attention he was gonna get.

You blinked. “Oh. Hi. I wasn’t expecting anyone here.”

“Sorry,” he answered automatically. He’d been doing a lot of apologies as of late. “Was a bit stuffy in there, ain’t it? It’s usually alone in here.”

He expected his accent to be a dead giveaway, gearing himself up for a photo or an autograph or a rant about something he’d done to upset you somehow. Instead, you smiled at him and turned towards the ground, shy.

Cute, Jamie had thought. He’d been doomed from the start. 

“Yeah. Don’t know what we were thinking, going out on a Tuesday,” you’d rolled your eyes, referring to the group of friends that had refused to take no for an answer and dragged you clubbing not even halfway through the week. “Like a hangover’s exactly what I need to get through this week.”

“That bad, huh,” Jamie raised his eyebrows in amusement, watching you huff and puff under the streetlight the back of the club offered. He hoped you couldn’t see him very well, his dark jeans and Nikes along with his designer shirt were pretty much footballer prick Jamie Tartt’s trademark, recognizable even to the worst of drunks. But Jamie didn’t want to be recognized, he just wanted to talk to someone. 

“You wouldn’t believe me,” you huffed, sipping your drink and obviously giving him an out. You’d both come out here for some peace and quiet, after all, but Jamie was done with quiet. 

He wanted his friends back. He wanted his efforts to be noticed, for his dad to leave him alone, and to enjoy the company of a pretty stranger at the back of a bar. 

So instead of following your cue, he patted the spot next to him, looking up at you with an attentive expression. “Try me.”

And so you did. You sat next to him and talked until three in the morning. Suddenly the bar was closing and the dark cloud that hung over Jamie’s head for months was momentarily dispersed in your presence. He went home with your number on a napkin and less than four hours to catch up on sleep before he had to go to work, but a happy man.

And, okay, look. Jamie’s popularity is– in the dumps, really. It’s all negativity at this point, and he usually balanced it with good football, but that was back when he took any honest criticism of his person as petty jealousy. Now, with his shattered self-image and after becoming the internet’s laughing stock, he’s been trying his best to keep his head down

since the media and most of England trashes him whenever he dares to take a breath in public. 

At least his mum’s talking to him again, or rather Jamie’s finally picking up when she calls, but things still don’t feel right. He’s playing and getting enough minutes but it’s not a victory if he can’t hug his teammates when he scores a goal. If he comes home to an empty apartment and no messages on his phone, no one to celebrate the night with. 

So, pretty much everyone hates him. Even Keeley’s bordering on forced politeness these days, which says a lot about how badly Jamie’s done it this time, and yet–

And yet. 

“The fuck are you smiling about?” Isaac grunted when he caught sight of Jamie biting back a grin while typing, lacking his usual bruv. Still in the doghouse, apparently. “Won’t kill you to be early for once, ey? Put that fucking thing away.”

Jamie did, not before a quick look at his texts before pressing send.

hey 

its jamie from the bar??

was wondering if u wanted to go out sometime. i really enjoyed spending the other night with u

He spent all training missing his cues, taking fouls from his teammates, and making Ted’s mustache twitch with… not disappointment but something. It made him a little nervous, but any thought about it flew out his head when he got his hands on his phone at the end of the day, your notifications on his lock screen.

Hi, I’d love to!

I really enjoyed being with you too :) 

Is tomorrow night too early?

It wasn’t. But your schedules were nightmares to line up and you spent almost three weeks trying to catch up to each other. You had a work thing, Jamie came back too tired from a game, you had a friend visit, another game was rescheduled… You name it. Anything that could’ve stopped that date from happening happened. 

But neither of you were giving up. While you couldn’t see each other, your text thread grew and grew and grew, never running out of things to talk about. Despite having seen you only once in person, Jamie was pretty sure he knew you better than he’d ever know other girlfriends and boyfriends he’d had. 

When you texted him to get a good night's sleep and when he told you to get home safe, he pretended, only with a little shame, that this was something you did all the time. That when you were on your way to your place he’d be there waiting for you, asleep on the couch because he tried to stay up for you. When you wished him sweet dreams he’d imagine you next to him, tucked close against his side.

He pretended he was yours. All the damn time.  

And this– today– when the planets finally align and a version of his illusions happens to come true, he’s nervous. Can’t help it, no matter how well it’s going. And it is going well, with Jamie in your apartment where you’d set up a nice dinner for both of you, the date you’ve been talking about for almost a month. He would’ve suggested his own place, but it’s filled with football memorabilia and awards he doesn’t want to explain yet. 

He likes how you treat him. You talk to him like he’s a normal bloke you met at a bar and not a celebrity you’re too afraid to even joke around with. 

“Oh, dinner looks ace, love.”

“Yeah? If I accidentally poison you at least it’ll taste good.”

“I’ll die chuffed, at least.”

A snort. “You’re so fucking British.”

“Oh, bug off, please! Thanks! Cheerio!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Didn’t know you were so religious.”

“What can I say, Jay, you make me feel closer to God.”

“Ha! Haven’t even kissed you, yet.”

“You seem awfully confident.”

“Night’s very young, angelface.”

It’s so easy, being with you. Being himself with you. 

So what if you barely even know each other? He already knows all about your childhood dog and you’ve been made aware of what’s it like to grow up in Manchester. But shit, just because Jamie wants to bare his soul to you maybe it doesn’t mean he should. He could at least wait until you’ve seen each other in person more than twice, and yet.

And yet. 

He’s at your place, looking at your record collection, running his fingers over the spines of the books on your shelves. He just ate the pizza you cooked– vegan, because he did mention sometime in the past weeks that he’s on a strict diet regime and the fact that you remembered makes him wanna cry a little. 

He likes you so much. Doesn’t he owe it to you to be honest?

“I gotta tell you something,” he pipes up, obviously catching you off-guard.

“Alright,” you say slowly, leaving your wine glass on the coffee table and scooting to give him space on the couch, arms wrapped around your legs. “Sure. Shoot.”

Jamie sits, messing with his hair and avoiding your eye. He looks behind you at the picture frame hanging on the wall, a photo of you with your friends on a trip you took to the States last summer. The stories you told about them made him laugh so hard that he’d snorted and spilled his drink everywhere.

“I didn’t know how…” he sighs, figuring there’s no use beating around the bush. “Haven’t been completely honest with you, love. About… what I do. Who I am.”

“Jamie–” you begin, consoling and standing up straighter, reaching to place your hand on his arm. He shakes his head.

“I just– I didn’t know how to tell you,” he rushes out, meeting your eye with a pleading expression. How scared he must look right now he doesn’t know, but your features soften even further into something sympathetic, kind. He doesn’t deserve you. “And– and I know we– we’ve barely gone out, yeah, but I– I like you. Fuck, man, I like you so much, but you deserve to know–”

“Jamie,” you say again, firmer. You duck your head to try and meet his eye, searching for his stare. You’re still smiling. You haven’t stopped smiling at him since you met him. “I know. If this is about you being… famous, I know, okay? About everything.”

The anxiety that’s been clawing at his throat freezes and fades, just a little. “You… do?”

Your smile turns sheepish, a little guilty. “I… kind of recognized you the night we met. It took me a minute, but I knew I’d seen you somewhere. Your voice helped, too. I think I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He still wants to cry a little, but it’s less hysterical now. He manages to feel safe in your apartment, a space that screams you everywhere he turns to look. Your photos and posters on the walls, your chipped mugs in the kitchen, your colorful rug under your coffee table with one leg shorter than the others, held up with books underneath it. 

“I sound like a creep,” you admit, embarrassed yourself. “I’m a fan of the sport, is all. But I figured you wouldn’t like to talk about your life with a stranger, so I didn’t push. I’m sorry.”

Jamie shakes his head, finally reaching for the hand you have on his arm. You haven’t been a stranger since that first night. “Don’t be. I should’ve told you from the start. You deserve better than that.”

“Than… you?” Jamie doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens and your voice turns reproachful. “Jamie–”

“The public hates me,” he cuts you off. He hates to say it but you need to hear it. Even if you think you know what his life’s like right now, you don’t know the depth of the mess he’s in. “You… being seen with me will probably ruin your life. Wasn’t fair of me to ask you out and not tell you what comes with it.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Jamie,” you say, instantly fierce and defensive of him. You’re defending him for some reason, and you don’t know half of the things he’s done. “Not the truth, not a damn thing. You don’t need to put your whole life on display just to get me to… to trust you, or something.”

Tears blur his eyesight, but he refuses to cry in front of you. Not on the first date at least. Or is it the second one? Does your late night at the dive bar even count as a date?

“Love,” he says gently, threading lightly. “I’m serious. Wasn’t bluffing when I said I like you. A lot. And I know it’s only been, like, one date–”

“Two,” you pipe in. Jamie can’t help his amusement. That answers his question, he guesses. 

“Two dates, then,” he continues, rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles with his thumb. Your eyes go back and forth from his face to the touch, mesmerized. “But this could be somethin’, you know? Somethin’ good and I don’t want you comin’ into it blind or whatever. I’m not– I ain’t exactly a good person.”

You don’t even blink. “I don’t believe that.”

You’re stubborn. It’d be endearing if Jamie wasn’t so convinced of his shortcomings. “Love, I’m a twat. I’m mean to everyone I know, even people I like. I don’t tip enough at restaurants. Never been a very good boyfriend either. ‘m not sayin’ it to be mean. ‘s just who I am.”

You cup his face with your free hand and Jamie melts into it. It’s the first caring touch he’s been offered in fuck knows how long. “What if I like who you are? Public suicide and all, what if I want to be with you? What if you make me happy, Jamie?”

Jamie can’t see how he would but he doesn’t you to leave, either. Like, ever. “You make me happy, too. It’s like I know you already you know?. From a past life or somethin’, does that make sense?”

Your shocked silence makes him hesitate, his hands twitching in discomfort. “Is that… cool?”

“Cool,” you say, eyes full of wonder and voice a little emotional, pulling him closer before he can do something stupid like let you go. “Jamie, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you.” 

A pleasant surprise washes over him, warm. He says, a little choked. “Cool. That’s– that’s cool.”

You grin, trying not to laugh, and cup the back of his neck to bring his mouth to yours. “Cool.”

There’s little talking after that, and who would’ve known your couch is the perfect make out spot? Jamie’s mouth is pilant and responsive against yours, his hands wandering for any skin he can reach and making tiny sounds at the back of his throat that you swallow greedily, unable to get enough of him. 

He leaves your place that night disheveled and happy, kissing you goodbye at least five times (two of them in the hallway before he finally scurries off) and not without making you promise to watch Richmond’s game this weekend. 

It takes you a little too long to clean up after, even if Jamie did wash the dishes you used during dinner (“what kinda guest would I be if I didn’t help? Ma would have a heart attack!”) because you keep bringing your fingers to your lips, tilted upwards in a dreamy smile. 

You make it work. Both you and Jamie continue with your lives trying to be subtle about this new development and a new routine is created; he comes to your place after most games and training unless he’s too tired. Then you meet him at his house, avoiding taking the same roads in case the paparazzi get a bit too creative. 

It’s a little weird. Definitely new, but you find yourself trying to spend as much time as you can with Jamie. Dates at smaller spots and at weird hours; he even takes you running at 4 am once, to which you responded with never again and I’ll forgive you for doing this to me if we share a shower. Needless to say, the early morning wasn’t a total loss.

But your homes turn out to be the safest places to turn to. He becomes ingrained in your apartment as do the flowers he buys for you and puts in a vase on your kitchen table: red chrysanthemums and white clovers, daffodils and heliotropes, blue salvia. 

You once use his phone to order takeout and he has a website on flowers and their meanings open. When he sees you carefully put some of the flowers in a book for safe-keeping, Jamie's face fills you with a need to keep him safe, too, coped up in your home and away from the world that keeps asking too much of him.

His teammates are warming up to him, albeit slowly. Jamie has reassured you he’s alright, that he knows mending the bridges he’d burned on his way out of Richmond will take longer than he’d like, but he’s hopeful about the way things are turning out. 

You feel bad sometimes for keeping him distracted at such pivotal moments in his life of self-reinvention, but he outright refused when you offered to distance yourself a little so he could spend more time with the friends he very clearly cared much about. He was almost offended about it.

We could wait if you want. Maybe it’s too soon to do this yet. I know it’s a delicate situation Jamie, and I don’t wanna rush you into anything.

I don’t wanna wait, Jamie had answered, stubborn. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, pressing you against the kitchen counter. His eyes wouldn’t leave your face. I want you. 

And he has you. Completely and undeniably; this thing between you, this relationship, however delicate, becomes steadier as time passes. You’re already talking about meeting his mom and taking him back to your hometown for a visit, possibilities Jamie could never have dreamed of when he first met you. 

You’d told him during those first dates how unpredictable relationships could be. And neither of you can deny how your personal situation makes things even harder, but that doesn’t mean you’re not willing to try. 

I can’t make any promises of what’ll happen next. No one knows shit these days, Jamie. But I can be with you. And I can make you a drink, if you want. 

He tells you about his dad, too, eventually. In his effort to be more honest with you, even if you tell him multiple times he’s got nothing to make up for. He tells you anyway, wrapped in your arms on your couch while a movie plays in the background, the only source of light in the room. 

Me dad weren’t… you know. Good, or whatever. He’s always thought ‘m too soft and shit. And when I try not to be I… I’m someone I’m not, y’know? Someone I don’t like.

It puts a lot of things into perspective. About when you first met and how he later tried to push you away, convinced he was a terrible person and you wouldn’t want to be with him if you truly knew him. 

What you do want is to track down his dad and, like, throw a brick at his window or something. But you only embrace Jamie tighter, kiss his hair, and don’t mention how tightly he holds your arms to keep them around his torso. If he cries a little, then that’s between you and God, and you’ll die before you ever make fun of him for it.

You wake up one morning to find Jamie staring at you, eyes lidded and sleepy. 

“Dreamin’ of me, angel?”

Your first action of the day is to snort thanks to your fantastic boyfriend. “You wish, handsome.”

“I do wish,” he grins wolfishly. You see his hand sliding through the sheets, moving smoothly and calculated towards your naked body. 

“If you think I’m up for anything before you get some food in me, you’re gonna be awfully disappointed,” glee shines on Jamie’s face and you push it away with your hand, groaning at his dirty-mindedness. “Food, you shameless bastard, I said food. How do you get anything done with your mind stuck in the gutter all the time?”

“Takes some effort,” he says, pride unhurt and still reaching for you. You relent quickly enough, loving the feeling of his hands on you. “Come on, babe, I’ve gotta be up for trainin’ in an hour. We’ve more than enough time, huh?”

“That depends,” you support your head in your hand, elbow digging into your pillow. “What’s in it for me?”

“C’mere and I’ll show ya,” he promises, an endearing frown on his features. “What’re you doin’ all the way over there, anyway?”

He pulls you towards him with ease and you let yourself be caged in his arms, kiss after kiss after kiss.

________

AHHHH HERE IT IS, HERE IT IS

i hope you like it! i kept ya’ll waiting a little but the response was insane!!! i wanted to give you the best i could write AND i wanted to use this fic to thank you for 1.1k! thank you for making me feel so welcome when venturing back into writing and for trusting me with your favorite characters <3 and prepare yourselves bc im making myself put as many fics out this month as i can!

<3

________

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[elloras]

Ted Lasso: The Hope That Kills You

[coolpointsetta]

jamie: oh, to be a bored heir to the throne who keeps rejecting marriage proposals due to being secretly in love with the cute gardener.

roy: oh, to be a cute gardener who secretly places roses in the heir’s room because they are in love with them.

isaac: oh, to be the palace guard who discreetly helps to boost the cute gardener up the wall for their secret deliveries in the middle of the night.

sam: oh, to be the heir’s best friend witnessing the two fools dance around each other while knowing damn well that the two like each other.

keeley: oh, to be the noble suitor from another royal family who comes to know of their love instantly and creates an entire plan to get them their happy ending.

moe: oh, to be a medieval peasant who knows nothing about the heir’s personal life and dies attempting to overthrow said monarchy at age 23.

[svld99]

Richmond having a pride night and Isaac giving Colin the captain arm band for the game. Every single one of the himbos in having their pride flag on their kit. Jamie, Sam, Isaac have a bi flag patch Colin has the gay flag. Jan definitely has an ace flag. Ted and Roy also have a little bi flag pinned to this jackets for the game. Trent handles the press for the game and hand picks who gets to be in the press room.