#sam obisanya fic

[katsu28]

hii!! i love your writing (especially your ted lasso works, although, i am a tad bit biased), and i was wondering if you could do 'orange rose' for the flower prompts with my bby sam obisanya? i've noticed an extreme lack of fics about him, but i absolutely adore him

thank you so much my dear!! sam is such a ray of sunshine and such a criminally underrated character and he deserves so much more love (and i will give it to him)

orange rose: experiencing constant as well as distracting thoughts of the other person, sam obisanya x reader, reader is the team physio (except my medical knowledge is basically nonexistent pls forgive any concussion inaccuracies oops), 1.3k

Sam’s mind was not with him on the pitch today. He’d been distracted during practice before, but never like this. He attributed it to you. It was always you. 

He saw you everyday, sometimes even multiple times a day, always volunteering to pop into the treatment room if one of the boys needed ice or tape. Sometimes he visited you without having an actual reason other than wanting to talk to you for a little bit. You were always a nice change from locker room talk (and you smelled a lot nicer too). 

You plagued his thoughts day in and day out, often distracting him from whatever he was doing because he was too busy thinking about what it would be like to do things with you. Mundane things like making breakfast together. Taking an evening stroll around Richmond. Helping him test out new recipes for Ola's.

There was a rather specific reason why you were the source of his distraction today, though. 

------- 

Sam heard his name echo through the empty car park, looking up from his phone in bewilderment that soon turned to joy when he spotted you jogging towards him.

He slowed his pace to a crawl, giving you time to fall into step with him on the way towards the facility entrance. You looked almost unbearably pretty like you always did. 

“Good morning,” He said cheerfully, smiling brightly at you. “How was your night?” 

“Good! I stayed in, so it was pretty quiet, just the way I like it.” Your arm brushed against his as you moved to let another person squeeze past you, and Sam swore his heart raced double time in his chest. He had to ward off thoughts of spending quiet nights with you before you noticed him acting weird. “Any fun plans tonight after training?” 

“Yes, actually! One of my friends is having their engagement party at Clos Maggiore, near the Royal Opera House. Maybe you know it?” 

“No way! I’ve been dying to try that place, but the waitlist is miles long. I’d probably be geriatric by the time I could get a table.” You sighed, offering him a shrug. A brilliant plan sprung to Sam’s mind at that very moment, and he decided to take the plunge and outright ask you what he wanted to. 

“Would you maybe want to go with me?” He asked, rocking back on his heels nervously. The corners of your mouth turned up into a small, hopeful smile. “As my date.” He added, praying that he wasn’t overstepping his bounds. 

That got a much bigger smile out of you, a beam whose magnitude could quite possibly rival the sun, in his opinion. It was one of Sam’s favorite things about you. 

“I would love to be your date, Sam.” 

“Really?” 

“‘Course. Dunno if you’d noticed, but I like you.” 

Sam’s answer was immediate. “I like you too.” 

He wanted to continue the conversation so badly, but you’d somehow arrived at the locker room without him even noticing. Normally he’d make an attempt to prolong the conversation, offering to walk you to your office, but he could see most of the team already booted up and ready to train. 

“I have to go.” He said, sounding a touch disheartened. You must’ve noticed, because you snaked your hand into his for a quick second, squeezing fondly before dropping your hand back down to your side. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight then. Six o’clock? Don’t be late.” You called, backpedaling down the corridor with another sunshine smile aimed his way. Sam nodded furiously. 

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

-------

“Sam! Sam, watch—” 

Sam shook himself out of his thoughts, but not in time to see the ball hurtling right towards his face. 

Had he been paying attention, he would’ve seen the beautiful cross-field pass Jamie had lofted his way upon seeing that he was unmarked. Since he wasn’t, it slammed into the side of his head, sitting him right down on his ass in a sprawl of limbs. 

There was a symphony of shouts and the boys were by his side in an instant, crowding around him nervously as they waited to see if he was okay. Sam sat up slowly, rubbing his temple with a bewildered look aimed at his teammate. 

“You were lookin’ right at me, man, I thought you were open!” Jamie protested, raking his hands through his hair. “Did I break anything??” 

“Yeah bruv, did he crack your skull?” 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Do you remember how much money I owe you?” That one was Jan Maas, and it earned him an elbow to the gut. “What? I don’t want to pay him.”

“Sam! Do me a favor and come over here a sec!” Ted called, beckoning Sam over to the sidelines. “The rest of you boys head on over to Coach Beard for defense drills, chop chop!” 

With another shake of his head, Sam headed over. “Yes, Coach?” 

“First of all, you alright, son? Pretty nasty knock to the noggin you just got.” Ted looked genuinely concerned, but when Sam nodded, his mouth flattened into a rather disappointed line. “Good. Glad you’re okay. Second of all, your head’s further away from this pitch right now than E.T. from his home. Wanna tell me what’s going on, or do I gotta get all stern coach on you and make you tell me?” 

“Sorry Coach, I am just…” Sam trailed off, racking his brain for the right word to describe how he was feeling without having to tell Ted that he was distracted because he was thinking about you. Telling his coach he wasn’t one hundred percent into his training was definitely not a good move. “It’s nothing. I promise I won’t lose focus again. You have my word.” 

Ted tilted his head at the young player, as if contemplating whether or not to force the reason out of it. Eventually, he just shrugged. “Alright, well, why don’t you mosey on over to the treatment room to pay the good doc a visit? See if she can’t fix you up, make you right as rain again.”

Sam nodded, his eagerness to get back onto the pitch (and maybe at the prospect of seeing you again, even for just a little bit) sending him hurrying through the facility quickly. 

The door to the treatment room was ajar when he arrived, but he knocked anyway, poking his head in to scan for you. 

“You just couldn’t wait until after training to see me again, hm?” You sighed, smiling at him warmly from where you were looking over a chart. Sam offered a rather bashful smile and a soft greeting back, boots clicking on the floor as he shuffled into the small room. “Alright, come sit. Tell me what happened.” 

“The ball hit me in the head.” He mumbled, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. You clicked your tongue, fingers pressing against his scalp for any bumps or abnormalities. Your touch and close proximity made him shiver, but he liked to think he kept it under wraps quite well. 

“Do you have any nausea? Dizziness? Trouble remembering things?” Sam shook his head. He enjoyed being doted on by you, even if you were just doing your job. You patted his cheek goodnaturedly. “Well, other than that nice sized bruise where I’m assuming the ball hit you, I’m not seeing any signs of concussion.” 

“Thank god. I would’ve hated to disappoint the team.” 

“Just take this cold pack and ice your head for a while. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off, and repeat. The swelling should go down fairly soon, but I want you to let me know if you start feeling off.” You went to grab a bag of ice and a washcloth to wrap it in as you spoke. Sam’s eyes never left you, even when you came back to place the cold pack in his hand. “Would hate to lose out on Clos Maggiore because you got knocked on the head.” 

He nodded slowly, bringing the ice up to his head. “So you are only using me for my connections, I see.” 

“Pretty obvious, innit?” You winked playfully and getting hit in the head suddenly didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. “Right, well you should get back to the pitch. Tell Ted you’re cleared for training after you ice.” 

“Yes, doctor.” He hesitated a moment, then crossed the room to press a quick kiss to your cheek before he could chicken out. “See you tonight.” 

Had he stayed a second longer, he would’ve seen how big your smile had gotten at the simple action. 

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[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

pov: your camera roll if you were a photographer dating sam obisanya 📸

[chaoticwhoknows]

do you guys ever think about jamie tartt and sam obisanya bc i do. constantly. they take up so much room in my brain. going from “no one in my entire career had made me feel worse about myself than jamie did” to sam and jamie being comfortable enough to constantly tease each other like siblings and swarm each other during goal celebrations and SAM being one of the first people (along with roy) who we see being concerned about jamie in mom city. JAMIE WEARING SAM’S NUMBER WHEN HE PLAYED FOR ENGLAND. season 3 jamie and sam are so… just so… they’re soooooooo!!! and season 2 jamie and sam are like hey what if i reached out to you through a series of seemingly small gestures in very vulnerable moments of yours bc i don’t know how to properly show that i care about you given the history between us until eventually we were just completely in sync with each other? what then?

and don’t even get me started on the parallels between them. ladies and gentlemen THE PARALLELS. the JUXTAPOSITIONS. the OTHER WORDS. their relationships with their fathers alone is so much to unpack. them cutting to JAMIE’S reaction when ola walked in and hugged sam in the locker room separately from the reaction of the rest of the team. the creators knew what they were doing with that

[lailasdermotts]

REAL FOOTBALL IS BACK (ted lesso season 4 renewal)

[wlntrsldler]

crush | sam obisanya

based on crush by tessa violet

description: you started getting origami hearts from a secret admirer. you secretly hoped it was a certain richmond player.

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect?; kissing! a looootttt of smiling from sam, richmond himbos, sam and jamie bffs

pairing: sam obisanya x f! reader (she/her)

word count: 2.8K

ted lasso requests are open! | main masterlist

It started on a random Tuesday. 

You walked into the coaches’ office where your temporary desk was located– Beard nearly begged you to take Trent’s old desk because the office without Ted or Trent just felt too empty– and you saw it sitting on top of your work laptop. 

It was a red, origami heart. 

You looked around, puzzled, trying to figure out who left it, or at the very least, if everyone else had one on their desks too. You tried to catch someone’s eye, perhaps they’d reveal who left it on your desk, but all the coaches were in the locker room talking strategy with the entire team. 

Maybe the coaches did get one and they just put it away before you got here. After all, you got to work an hour after everyone else did. You picked up the heart and turned it over to find something scribbled on the back. 

“If I were loved, as I desire to be” - Lord Alfred Tennyson

You furrowed your eyebrows, holding the origami heart gently as you ransacked your small bookshelf beside your desk. Your fingers traced the spines of the books you had laying around, stopping on your copy of Tennyson’s Poetical Works. A bookmark was peeking from the top of the book and you knew exactly what poem it was. 

The small smile on your lips threatened to get bigger as you read the poem over and over again. You were sure you read the poem about fifty times before you shut the book. By the time you got yourself situated, and placed the origami heart with the rest of the trinkets on your desk, it was time to join the coaches in the locker room. 

As you walked in, your eyes met Sam’s. He offered a small wave which you returned happily. Sam was the first friend you made at Nelson Road. When you were hired by KJPR to manage Richmond’s social media and newsletters, your time was split between the KJPR HQ and the facility. It wasn’t because Keeley needed you at KJPR, but more so because you were too nervous to work at a football club every day. 

Turns out, there was no reason to be nervous. About two weeks into your job, you found yourself itching to work onsite at Nelson Road. You loved the community they built there, their camaraderie, and their mutual trust, respect, and love for each other were more than admirable.

And sure, it also helped that Sam Obisanya was here, but that was neither here nor there. 

When Keeley and Rebecca first found out about your crush on Sam, which they had to force out of you– in your defense, you knew about Rebecca and Sam’s history and you didn’t want to step on any toes– they lost it. Rebecca, of course, reassured you that it was alright with her, especially since she was with her Dutchman now. The two women would make googly eyes at you whenever they saw you talking to Sam. 

“Y/N! Why else would he come into your office so often? He fancies you!” 

“He’s just borrowing a book, Keels,” you frowned, “Jan Maas and Bumbercatch do the same thing.” 

Rebecca rolled her eyes, “But they don’t do it as often.” 

You shrugged, “Maybe Sam just reads fast.” 

“Hopeless.” The two women said in sync, laughing as you threw a pen in their direction. 

Stuck in your little daydream, it was Roy’s booming voice that snapped you out of your thoughts. You blinked a few times, surprised to find Sam’s eyes still on yours. You blushed under his intense stare and decided to be the one to break the connection. You walked out behind Nate, pretending to scribble on your notepad. 

“Y/N!” Colin called, running to catch up with you. He threw an arm around you, “How’s my favorite social media and branding manager?” 

You eyed him wearily but played along. You’d need a few more seconds to figure out what he wants, “I’m alright. How about you, Hughes?” 

“I’m doing fine, as well. Say, did you do something new to your hair? It looks absolutely lovel-”

“Give it up, mate,” Sam chimed in, removing Colin’s arm from around you, “She is not taking down your promo pictures from the grid.” 

You feigned a look of hurt, “And here I thought you were just being kind to me!”

Colin let out a long groan, sounding like a toddler throwing a tantrum, “The pictures aren’t flattering, Y/N! I look hideous.” 

You shook your head, leaning up to squish Colin’s cheeks together, “Impossible. You’re proper fit. All of you are.” 

While your (failed attempt) pep talk didn’t lift Colin’s spirits– he then went to Isaac and complained even more as he was stretching– Sam’s ears perked up at your words. Did you think he was fit? No, no, you couldn’t have. You were just saying it to make a point to Colin, right? You said the whole team was fit, not just him. 

You waved goodbye to Sam, smiling at him once again, and he swears he felt his knees buckle from under him. How he managed to make it the rest of the way to the pitch and how he managed to remember how to play football after that was truly beyond him.

“Lord help me,” Sam muttered, leaning down to touch his toes. 

“Yeah, lad,” Jamie grimaced next to him, though his tone was teasing. He watched the entire situation unfold. He knew about Sam’s pining and has been on the receiving end of many of Sam’s “Y/N is so lovely. Y/N is so smart. Isn’t she great?” ramblings. “You need some divine intervention because you’re pathetic.” 

Sam just shoved Jamie, but he knew he was right. He was a goner. 

You figured that the origami heart was a one-time thing, but to your surprise, you found another one on your desk the following day. This time it was blue. Excited to find out what lies behind the paper, you picked it up hurriedly, already smiling ear to ear before you even read it. 

“In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.” - Virginia Woolf

“What do you have there?” 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” You jumped at the sound of Keeley’s voice. She was leaning against the doorframe, smirking at your caught reaction. You held the heart between your pointer finger and thumb. You walked over to her, “This is the second one I’ve gotten.” 

Keeley’s eyes widened as she read the words on the back. She squealed, rushing to you to shake you by your shoulders, “Babe, you’ve got a secret admirer! Oh my gosh, this is so cute!” 

Keeley, bless her, was never one to be discreet when it came to all things romantic. Everyone in the locker room turned to look at you and Keeley in the coaches’ office, most with a confused expression on their face. You awkwardly waved before reaching over to pull Keeley into the covered part of the office. Sure, it wasn’t soundproof, but at least they didn’t get to see your embarrassment. 

“Hush,” you tutted, taking the heart back from her. You placed it beside the red one, smiling at how it made your desk look more colorful. “I do not have a secret admirer. Whoever is doing this obviously just has an affinity for good literature and wants to share it with me since I’m a reader.” 

“Right well I have an affinity for good champagne, but you don’t see me popping bottles with you every chance I get,” Keeley rolled her eyes, sitting on your desk. She picked up the origami heart from yesterday, groaning in disbelief, “Seriously, Y/N! How much more obvious can they get? They literally confessed their love for you in this one!” 

“I do not have a secret admirer.” 

“Who has a secret admirer?” 

You, once again, jumped at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. Her eyebrows were raised as she walked into your office, munching on some cookies. They weren’t better than Ted’s but she’d gotten used to having cookies for breakfast that she had to make do. 

“Y/N has a secret admirer, look!” Keeley ran to Rebecca, holding the two origami hearts in her hand. “Look at how cute these are.” 

Rebecca studied them closely, a large smirk on her face when she locked eyes with you, “This is Sam.” 

You blushed at the mention of his name, “It is not Sam because I don’t have a secret admirer. Now if you excuse me, I have work to do.” 

You tried your best to steady yourself as you walked out to the locker room. The coaches had finished their talk and the team was just doing some final things before they headed out to the pitch for training. 

Sam walked over to you, head tilted in question. “What was that about?” 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “Keeley and Rebecca are just being silly.” 

He nodded, “Hey, I’m almost finished with the most recent book you loaned me.” 

“Are you?” You grinned at him. He mirrored you. “I love that book.” 

“I know,” Sam’s eyes drifted briefly to your lips. Oh, what he would give to feel your lips on his, even just for a second. He couldn’t help but keep staring at you as you went on about your favorite parts. Sam could picture the hundreds of outlined quotes you had in the copy he borrowed, different colored sticky notes and highlighters for different things. He noticed that as you spoke you stayed within the confines of the first part of the book. Sam realized later that it was because you didn’t want to risk spoiling anything for him. His heart warmed at the thought. 

By the time you finished recounting the book, you were red and out of breath. You placed a hand on Sam’s bicep, not missing the way he tensed under your palm. You could feel the outline of his hard muscles under his kit, which made you suck in a breath. “I’ll see you around, Sam. Come find me when you finish the book and I’ll let you talk my ear off about it. Only fair since I just did it to you.” 

He chuckled, watching you disappear into the hallway where Higgins' office was, the opposite way of the pitch where he was headed. His eyes followed your figure until you fully disappeared, which meant that he was not paying attention to where he was going. Right before his body crashed into a pole, Jamie grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him toward the walkway. Sam, who seemed to awaken from his trance, shyly looked at Jamie. 

Jamie chuckled quietly at Sam. He whipped Sam playfully with a rolled-up towel. He jogged lightly and called out to him with his Mancunian accent, “Come on, lover boy. We got trainin’ to do.” 

After the fifth day of receiving origami hearts, you decided to take it upon yourself to investigate. Without telling anyone of your plans, not even Keeley or Rebecca who were still convinced it was Sam, you arrived at Nelson Road ten minutes after the call time for the team and coaches. 

You entered from the back of the facility, knowing that you had closed your blinds before you left work yesterday. If there was someone in your office, they wouldn’t see you coming in. As you approached the coaches’ office, the outline of someone leaning across your desk caught your eye. 

Bingo. 

Your heart swelled when you realized who it was. You cleared your throat, “Sam?” 

Sam turned around quickly, staring at you like a deer in headlights. He rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh hey, Y/N! You’re here early.” 

“Yeah, I have a few things to get done today,” you lied, walking over to your desk. “What are you doing here?” 

“Oh, right, um,” he held out the book you let him borrow from behind him, “Just wanted to return this. I was just gonna leave it on your desk, but since you’re already here, here you go.” 

“Oh,” you tried to mask your disappointment as you reached over to grab the book from him. Your fingers grazed his, sending shocks throughout your entire body. You looked down on your desk and found an origami heart on your laptop once more. This time it looked like a different type of paper. It was lightly colored and patterned instead of the usual solid color.  You looked at Sam, “Did you see who left this here?” 

Sam, who was already halfway out the door, shrugged, reaching up to rub the back of his neck again, “Nope. It was there when I got here.” 

Sure, you always denied that the secret admirer was Sam whenever Keeley and Rebecca teased you for it, but you would be a liar if you said you didn’t also secretly hope that it was him. You really liked Sam. Ever since you started working for AFC Richmond, Sam has shown you nothing but kindness. He asks you how you’re doing, and genuinely cares about your response. He pops in every week or so to borrow a book from your personal library. Then, he sits in your office after training when he finishes a book to talk about it with you. That was your favorite part of your job. 

The entire day, you felt dejected and defeated. You’re never going to figure out who was leaving you these little hearts. You didn’t join the team on the pitch or leave your office. At the end of the day, you found yourself staring at a blank Word document. A knock on your wall pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up and found Sam, standing in your doorway with two bags of takeaway in his hands. 

“Ready to talk Normal People?” Sam asked, walking in to take his usual spot across your desk. “I brought yummy food.” 

“Ola’s?”

He nodded, unwrapping the boxes of food to lay out on your desk. “Of course.” 

“Yes!” You cheered, reaching for your hand sanitizer. You offered some to Sam, which he gladly accepted. You pumped some into the palm of his hand and watched in concern as he hissed in pain when he rubbed it into his skin. “You okay?” 

He shook his hands to air dry them, a grimace still on his features. “Yeah, just forgot that I had paper cuts.” 

The admission almost flew over your head. Almost. It wasn’t until Sam muttered the word “Shit,” under his breath did you realize what he said. Sam rarely ever cussed, and when he did, it was because of something big. When you looked at him, he was staring at you with a nervous look on his face. 

“Sam…” you trailed off. 

Sam, taking your tone as a rejection, balled up his fist and bit his knuckles in anticipation. When you couldn’t find the right words, Sam interjected, “Okay, Y/N, before you get mad, hear me out please.”

You continued to stare at him in disbelief, unable to accept that it was him. He pushed his chair back, giving himself more space as he began his explanation. “Alright, so… Yes, it’s me. I have been leaving these little hearts on your desk. I’m sorry I lied to you this morning, but I panicked! I didn’t know you were coming in early. Also, I promise that I was going to tell you eventually. I was just nervous because I don’t want to ruin what we have now.” 

“I like being friends with you,” he started to say, then cringed at his own words, “Okay, let me rephrase that–  I enjoy being your friend, but I do want something more. I really like you, Y/N. I have never really been good at expressing my romantic feelings to people so I figured the greats could do it for me so I started making these little origami hearts with my favorite works and quotes on the back. I was getting quite good at it until I switched the paper I was using. Thus, the paper cuts.” 

“Sam, I-”

“Also, I just want to add, you are absolutely under no obligation to go out with me or anything like that. Unless, of course, you want to. Then, that would be great! I would love to go out with you.” He looked at you, like truly looked at you, for the first time since he began his little ramble. He groaned,  “Christ, you didn’t even ask. Wait– I didn’t even ask you to go out yet.” 

“Sam, please,” You laughed, getting up from your chair to stand in front of him. “I was hoping it was you who was leaving these origami hearts.” 

“Really?” he asked, breathless. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “You are not disappointed that it was me?” 

You backed off a bit as he stood from his seat, walking over to you. You shook your head no, “I was absolutely devastated when you said it wasn’t you who put it on my desk this morning.” 

Before you could say anything else, Sam placed his lips on yours. His hands found the side of your face, holding you at an angle that made it easier for your lips to glide against each other. Your hands lay flat against his chest, feeling the rumbling of his heart easily. As you slipped your tongue into his mouth, a deep groan escaped him, which fueled your actions. After a few moments, you pulled away from him but kept him close. 

Your arms were wrapped around his neck as you looked up at him. “So what do you think? The paper cuts worth it?” 

“Oh, 100%,” Sam easily replied, laughing as he squeezed your hips. He leaned down once again, unable to keep his lips away from yours any longer. 

Needless to say, you didn’t get to talk about Normal People, but neither of you cared.

[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 <;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

[faramirsonofgondor]

I’ve seen a lot of people talk about Roy’s blanket and Jamie’s boot while discussing the bonfire scene in Ted Lasso but I think it’s important to acknowledge that Sam’s photo of the Nigerian team is also extremely sentimental and an important item! I’ve seen so many say that Roy & Jamie were the only ones who gave up something important or sentimental to them and that’s just not true! And unlike Roy & Jamie’s items, Sam’s photo wasn’t just tied to his past, it held his goals and drama for his future as well. And sure he can always get a new photo, but he specifically says that he vowed not to take that one until he made the Nigerian team himself. But he offers it up anyways! And I honestly think that afterwards he very well might’ve been sad/upset about giving it up even though he might not necessarily regret it, because it did mean something to him.

I also think his item is a great juxtaposition towards Jamie’s item and establishes a good connection towards the differences between them. Jamie’s item used to serve as a reminder for why he decided to start playing football in the first place, but eventually he lost his way and hasn’t done what he set out to do and he only begins to realize it as he’s giving up his item. Meanwhile Sam’s item serves as a reminder for what he wants to accomplish in football, and I think him burning it is the start of him gaining more confidence and realizing that he can achieve his goals.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

For this week’s @ficwip word: motion

“Now, Sam, I don’t trust Jamie to tell me. He’ll just say something, so I don’t worry. Tell me the truth, how is he?” Georgie asked.

Jamie made a motion cutting across his neck, trying to silence the truth before turning the phone back to himself. “I’m fine, Mummy, I just need to rest a couple days. I’ll probably be playing in the match next weekend.”

“Georgie! He is lying,” Sam said leaning over to be in view of the Facetime.

“Come on, mate!”

Sam pulled the phone from Jamie’s grasp.

Update! This story was posted here.

[jamiesfootball]

”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

He should've never let him play. When Jamie stormed into the locker room, running late and snapping at his teammates for asking why, Roy should've seen the red flags for what they were.

Everton at home wasn't the same as Everton away; he could've spared them all the misery. They could've spared Jamie, except that it was Roy's debut season as manager of AFC Richmond, and if he had a pound for every time that season Jamie had shown up to training in an utterly foul mood, he'd have more pounds than Phoebe.

So instead he'd barked, "Oi! Check the prima donna act at the fucking door. You're ten minutes late, and you've got sixty seconds to kit up or else you're watching the game from the bench. Got it?"

Fire flared in Jamie's eyes. That too should've been a warning sign. But he put his head down to undo his laces with a muttered 'yes Coach' and Roy, stupid as he was and knee deep in therapy he didn't like, counted his breaths and decided that this was a fight that could wait for later.

The match was a disaster from first touch.

The fight didn't wait for later. Whether it was how he walked onto the pitch or how he immediately set about cutting Everton to pieces, the opposing team picked up on Jamie's mood and magnified it back with an intensity that could set the grass on fire.

Jamie matched it back tenfold - once per each player outside the goal area, and only then because Richmond's press couldn't make it that far down the pitch.

The first yellow card failed to appear at the six minute mark. That set the tone for the rest of the match.

By the time a third dirty tackle sent Jamie's legs flying out from under him, even Sam was shouting at the referee to do something. The team's interim captain gestured furiously at Jamie, who shrugged off his teammates help, slapping them away as he limped onto his feet.

Jamie tested his leg. The second he put weight on it, he flinched. He turned towards the coaches, demeanor stoically blank apart from the obvious question in his eyes.

Roy stared back. After a few moments, Jamie nodded. He fell back into position and the ref motioned for the game to resume.

Sam sent a decidedly dirty glance in Roy's direction. His disappointment cut sharp.

So many red flags.

Roy had plenty of chances.

A few minutes later, Jamie snapped something at the Everton player marking him. Something cruel by the sneer across his lips and the way it painted the opposing player's face an even deeper shade of red.

The man reared back like a bull. In one quick motion, he headbutted Jamie square in the face.

The ref finally blew his whistle.

Jamie didn't get back up.

After the match, Sam followed Roy to hospital.

"You should not have done what you did today." Those were the only words the younger man offered on the ride over.

Fair enough.

Concussion, the physios had reported, as if that weren't fucking obvious from the loss of consciousness.

All things considered, if they'd arrived at hospital to find Jamie confused, dizzy, and a little deflated, things probably would've gone smoother.

Instead they walked in to find bristles and a scowl. The nurses fluttered around him, making soft noises as they briskly addressed his bruises- and there were a lot of bruises. Hard not to be banged up after a match like that, but there were an awful, awful lot of them and not all of them looked new. Roy's chest twisted as he tried to recall if at some point in his bullheaded inattention, he'd missed the signs of Jamie pushing himself too hard again.

The nurses left, packing away their tapes and tubes and syringes and all the other bits they used to mend things whole. Then all that was left was Jamie, Jamie's attitude, Sam, Sam's disappointment, Roy, and Roy's fury fighting for space in the tiny hospital room.

Jamie shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Bruised ribs, the nurses had mentioned, and Roy could strangle the twat for not saying something sooner- for not pulling himself off the pitch sooner. What the fuck was he thinking?

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Jamie recoiled on the bed. He blinked stupidly at Roy.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke?"

Their injured player opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I don't?"

"Oh really." Roy stepped forward until all that separated them was the rail at the edge of the hospital bed. "Because you could've fooled me. Seems to me like you were goading Everton into taking the first hit."

Jamie's jaw clenched in response. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and it made the anger simmering in his chest threaten to boil over.

"Who cares, mate? It's just Everton, yeah?" Jamie said casually, like they were discussing the merits of Aston Villa's new away kits. Like he wasn't laid up in fucking hospital. "Not like they hit that hard anyways."

Roy saw red.

"Sorry, am I the one who hit my head? Am I the one who missed the back half of the match? We lost three-nil you little twat, all because your teammates were too busy worrying about you to focus on the game. You lost us the match, you prick."

"Roy," Sam objected.

His breathing came sharp and fast, and it was almost dizzying the way he couldn't seem to suck in enough air. Tightening his grip around the edge of the bed, he growled, "For fuck's sake, Jamie. If we wanted to watch you get knocked around on the pitch, we'd just do it ourselves-"

"Roy!"

Sam's bare-faced outrage doused him in ice.

He'd crossed a line.

Under Roy's looming presence, Jamie looked very small.

He took a shallow step back, feeling sick to his stomach. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swore, "Shit. Jamie-"

"Shut up."

When Sam Obisanya told you to shut up, you shut up.

"That was uncalled for," Sam said levelly. He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in deep, dealing damage to Roy the whole way down. Then Sam refocused his attention on the person more deserving of it.

"Jamie, Roy didn't mean that. He is upset - as we all are - but that is no excuse for him to speak to you in this manner."

Jamie's mouth twitched into an uncertain shape. It made him look softer, and younger, than he'd look in months, but it also made the damage stick out vividly, the bruise across his head dark and bleeding under his skin.

A strangled little noise bubbled out of him. He swayed towards Sam like a sunflower to the light, and he sounded oddly hoarse as he tried to quip. "Thanks, twenty-four. Nice to know that someone's got my back against that hairy arsehole."

"But you are also in the wrong."

Jamie faltered, something lost and sad filtering through his defenses. "But you just said-"

"You went into that match with no regard for yourself," Sam snapped. ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

Jamie's mouth clicked shut. In the resulting quiet, only Sam's harsh breathing punctured through the beep of the medical equipment.

"It is not fair-," said Sam, his fists clenching at his side, "-for you to treat yourself with such disrespect. Not when there are so many who love you and want to see you well."

Jamie swallowed. A mistiness glimmered in his eyes. "Sam-"

"Jamie-"

Tripping over each other's words, they both stuttered to a stop.

Sam cupped his hand over his mouth. To Roy's horror, his chest shook as he stifled a violent sob.

"I can't do this right now," he said mournfully, their titan of a captain clearly close to crumbling. Blinking rapidly, he murmured, "Excuse me."

As he turned to leave, he stopped to level Roy with look so full of misery it made him want to sink through the floor.

"Fix this," he whispered, full of sorrow and love.

Sam left the room.

In the wake of Sam's departure, arguing about anything else felt... petty.

"That was uncalled for," Roy admitted in a harsh rasp. It was the bare minimum he could say- that he needed to say. "Sam's right, I shouldn't have..."

He gestured lamely to the room at large. At the shadows his anger had left, and Jamie sitting weakly in a hospital bed, and the overall fucked-ness of the situation in general.

"Sorry," he finished lamely.

Jamie blinked at him wearily. Now that some of the anger had fizzled out, the obvious signs of the concussion clamoured for attention. He wasn't quite tracking Roy's position, and the way he held himself stiffly made Roy suspect he was bracing himself against a tidal wave of dizziness.

Honestly, Sam should've kicked dirt over Roy on the way out, what with the hole he'd dug himself.

"Whatever. Was being a prick, so I probably had it coming, yeah?" Jamie shrugged. "Didn't even have the signal, did I?"

"You haven't had it in a while," Roy pointed out. "Not that that seems to be stopping you lately."

He half-meant it as a joke, but Jamie didn't respond.

"Come on," Roy tried, letting his voice drop into something quieter. "Talk to me- what's been going on with you, eh? Showing up late to training; skipping out of dinner at Sam's. Now you're snapping at Colin when he asks to borrow deodorant and ignoring play strategy to pick fights during matches? The fuck's going on here? This isn't like you."

"Maybe it is," Jamie grumbled. He picked mulishly the sheets, and Roy could strangle him for how fiercely the worry scratched at his chest. "Maybe I'm the same prick I've always been, and I'm just not fighting it anymore."

"Bullshit," growled Roy. "You're better than that, Jamie."

Jamie flinched back as if Roy had struck him.

He didn't argue.

He just sat there, picking at the sheets, twisting everything into knots, and pretending like Roy wasn't even in the fucking room.

Roy scoffed. Despair filled his chest, mixing with worry and anger and a deeply frightening sort of love that made him want to go up to the roof and scream until the clouds came crashing down. Maybe Sam had the right idea, removing himself from the situation. Roy needed to take a moment to collect himself, lest he dig the hole deeper saying words he'd only regret.

Roy turned to leave.

You couldn't help someone who didn't want-

"Coach?"

Roy paused at the doorway. Jamie, carefully looking down at his restless hands, still wouldn't look him in the eye. His shoulders curled up like he was bracing for a fight.

"I know you're busy and stuff. Being the gaffer and all. But-"

He paused. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands against his thighs. Roy frowned; he was missing something here, but he couldn't make the dark forest for the trees.

When Jamie continued, it was in a low mumble that was hard to hear over cacophony of the machines. "Do you think that maybe we could start doing morning trainings again? Doesn't have to be a full one - could just do half. That way we could start at six, and you'd still have the time at night to recharge your Terminator batteries."

A sharp snort escaped Roy. Down the hallway, some sort of alarm started going off, and he shut the door to block it out.

Crossing his arms, he looked Jamie up and down. "Why?"

Jamie shrugged. "Miss it, is all. Plus it's nice, innit? Having a reason to get out of the house."

In the forest Roy couldn't make out, something lurked in the dark. Some sort of low level radiation, maybe. It was like they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into Chernobyl without knowing.

Perhaps the way out was back the way they'd came.

(And honestly, he'd missed it too.)

"Fine. After you're cleared for play again. 6am."

An alarming amount of gratitude flooded Jamie's eyes. A sunflower reaching blindly for the heat of the sun.

"Thanks, Coach."

Roy grunted. This bit, at least, he didn't feel like he'd messed up too bad.

He thumbed at the door, where the hallway and the journos and the rest of the world waited. "I'm going to check on Sam. Then I'll update the team. Anyone else I should call? Your mum?"

"No!" Jamie blurted out. He tried to shake his head, only to remember too late that he was still concussed. He buried his head in his hands, hissing in pain. He tried again, "No, no need. Don't want to freak her out, or she'll drive down here and- I'll call her later. For now just tell the lads I'll make it up to them, yeah?"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Fucking hell. Look, that was a shit thing for me to say, alright? No one actually blames you for losing the match. Not them and not me. It'd be a dick move to blame someone for getting carted off after a blow like that."

On the bed Jamie turned an ashen grey. He looked like he was about to throw up.

"Oi, you good?" Roy scanned the room. "What's going on- do you need a bucket? Or a nurse?'

"Huh?" Jamie jumped. He looked startled to find Roy still standing in his room. "Oh, uh. I'm good, Coach. Just thinking you're probably right.

"You'd have to be a real dick to blame someone for losing the match like that."

[someplace-darker]

In The Static | Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader (no y/n) Wordcount: 2.1k Warnings: panic attack/talks of panic attacks, vague mentions of trauma. That's about it I think, it's a touch angst and hurt/comfort I suppose. Fluff. Summary: Ted thought he was past his panic attacks until he encounters another, and you follow him to make sure he's okay. A/N: "now jay" you might be saying "wasn't the last thing you posted smut almost a year ago?" and the answer is yes. But i've recently become insanely attached to Ted Lasso, and I dipped my toe into writing more than a wip. SO here's my middle aged white man of the month. Enjoy :)

“REFEREE!!!” Keeley stands with a force that causes her to latch onto your arm to keep from falling forward. It continues to astound you that for such a tiny lady, she really contains an insane amount of spunk. One of the opposing team’s men had just slid Sam’s legs out from under himself, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. The game had been a rough one so far, more aggressive and bitter than most. Richmond had been respectful at first (as per usual) but the second their opponents had started playing violent and dirty, that changed.

Roy and Beard were obviously shouting and pointing angrily, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying from your seat in the box. Ted, however, was standing stiffly with his balled fists shoved into the pockets of his Richmond zip-up. You can feel that something is off. Even if you can’t see his face, you know him well enough to read his body language. There’s mere minutes left in the game and the teams are tied.

Rebecca is already standing and gathering her belongings to head back in, gesturing for the lot of you to follow. That’s exactly what you begin to do before the crowd goes ape-shit, jumping from their seats and screaming so loud it makes your head thrum. 

“ROJAS INTERCEPTS THE KICK AND PASSES TO TARTT AND JUST LIKE THAT-”

You turn just in time to watch Jamie kick the ball into the net, the stadium erupting in cheers that shake the ground.

“AFC RICHMOND TAKES ANOTHER VICTORY 2-1 IN A SHOCKING LAST SECOND SCORE”

Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca rejoice, grabbing at each other in shock. Placing your fingers between your lips you let out a piercing whistle, jumping up and down as thousands of chants echo. You look down to your coaches, expecting to see all three soaking in the sweet relief of not gaining another loss. Instead, you see Ted darting for the locker room, head down with his phone held two inches from his face. It was obvious to you that he was trying to use it as a cover. 

“I’ll meet back with you guys later, I’ve gotta check something real quick.” 

They smile and wave you off, relishing in the buzzing excitement clearly felt throughout the facility. As much as you wish you could join them in celebration, you were pretty sure Ted needed you more. So you slip through the small crowds with ease, having much practice during your time with Richmond, taking the back staircase to the locker room hallway. 

At first you check his office, finding only his jacket laying on the floor. The second spot you search is the right one, opening the door to darkness. You almost turn and leave but a staggered breath gives him away. 

“Ted?” you whisper, stepping into the boot room and closing the door gently. He sniffles almost silently and hums in response, curling in on himself when the lights flicker on at your touch.. You’ve never seen him look so small before, his entire body condensed into half of his height in the corner of the room, the sight moving you to shut the lights back off for his sake.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. He has his head placed between his knees, hands on the back of head with his fingers intertwined tightly. As much as you know of his panic attacks, you’ve never been present for one. Something tells you he tends to keep it that way with everyone around him. 

However, you’re well versed with them yourself.

“I’m gonna sit beside you, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.”

You lower yourself onto the ground, the floor cold beneath your already freezing ass. England's weather was not kind to the warm blooded. Ted doesn’t lift his head all the way, simply angles it towards you just enough for an eye to peek out from behind his arm. He looks at you with the gaze of a wounded puppy, eyes red and wet, smeared with warm tears.

The silence that follows is deafening, a faint ringing the only thing you hear. Ted looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s not like you can blame him. The last time he opened up to someone he considered close about his panic attacks, it ended up plastered on every magazine and tabloid across the country. Trust within himself and others had been fractured- not broken. No one could ever betray Coach Lasso enough to break that within him, it was fundamental to who he was as a person.

After a few more minutes of silence his foot slides over to yours, just barely nudging it. He lifts his head and sniffles, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of tears and snot off his face.

“I want to tell you about it, I do. I’m just… stuck. Feels like if I tell you, it’ll be too much,” he murmurs, keeping his foot pressed to yours.

“I understand, Ted,” you whisper. “I started having panic attacks before I was even a teenager. I’d been through things- rough things -and they plagued me for years.” He begins to unfurl himself, listening intently to every word you say, the blatant honesty and vulnerability easing his anxiety. “It took me a while to open up to anyone about them, let alone a therapist. I spent so long trying to hide them, that when I finally did get help I felt like a fake.” 

Ted adjusts himself to sit up straighter, shimmying closer so your shoulders touch. You can tell he’s trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the man is known to be anything but subtle.  Outside you can hear the boys begin filing into the hallway, headed for the locker room surely for some type of victory activity. Their shadows dance across the wall in the darkened boot room, slashed into segments by the blinds slanted slightly open. Both of you seemed to have held your breaths as they passed, because as soon as they’re gone there’s a simultaneous exhale of relief.

An amused breath comes from Ted, palm pressing from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone to wipe away the stray tears. He knocks his knee against yours and dares to glance at you, opening up enough to make eye contact. Here in this room, he looks more human than you think you’ve ever seen him. For the most part he keeps his mood insanely optimistic, tending to care more about others happiness than his own. It gave him an almost otherworldly bounce to his step and light to his eyes. 

But now that he’s sat no more than two inches in front of you with puffy eyes and a chewed lip, Ted is just… a broken man. 

“You’ll never be too much, Ted. It’s normal to feel stuck, and it’s okay to not be able to talk about it yet.” His eyes flick to your hand when you lift it towards him, a lifeline of trust, openness in the form of warm skin and an upward facing palm. Internal conflict tugs at his lungs, his breath hitching as he weighs his options for all of five seconds before taking your hand. You are someone Ted knows he can always find solace in. 

Someone who he could spot in a crowd of thousands, someone who he will always seek out. 

His other hand reaches to pat the top of yours, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing circles. A shuddered breath begins to pass his lips, but he smothers it to ashes with the cool press of a kiss to your wrist. 

Humming amusedly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, you lean your head on his shoulder, moving slightly as they lift with the intake of air into his lungs. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel bad that I haven’t spoken to you ‘bout it,” he tsk’s softly to himself, carefully navigating his brain for the right words. 

“I was fine out there, y’know? I’ve been doin’ better, Sharon’s helped a lot. But it just got so loud, and everything felt out of my control- out of any of our boys’ control and I- I just couldn’t breathe. Tunnel vision, boom, just like that.”

You whisper encouragements softly under your breath, murmurs of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can keep going’ pushing him gently in the right direction. Voices can be heard from the locker room, loud cheering and chanting from the team acting as muffled background noise for Ted’s moment of vulnerability. 

“After everything that happened with Nate, I learned to mask it a bit better I guess. That’s the fancy word Doc told me about,” the corner of his lips quirks up “I figured I’d be okay in here for a bit anyway, then you walked in.” Your brows furrow and you pull away from his shoulder, opening your mouth to apologize for intruding but he beats you to it.

“No, no, that sounded different than I meant. I am very glad that you found me here. I needed you even if I didn’t know it,” he traces the details of your face with his eyes, not stopping you when you move your head back down to his shoulder. 

“I think you’ve worked on it so much quicker than you realize, Ted. It wasn’t that long ago, yeah? Healing and improving takes time, and it’s okay that it takes time. I certainly took my time,” you muse, channeling your own therapist’s word. “But I think it’s right on par with who you are, who I know you to be, that you got on it as fast as you did. Even if it was begrudgingly at first.”

“Yeah, Doc definitely had her work cut out.”

You laugh, normally at first but then Ted snorts and you both lose it, bodies bumping against each other with the shakes that come with post-meltdown laughs. Soon enough you’re both wiping away tears of a different variety, the air in the room much lighter than before. You take that moment to push yourself up and off the floor, lending a hand to Ted to pull him up.

“I am immensely proud of you, Coach Lasso. So is the team. You have a very large family backing you up, as unorthodox as said family is.” You take one step closer, hand still holding onto his, pressed between your bodies. Taking your free hand, you hold the side of his face and lean in to kiss his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. 

Ted presses into your lips, chasing your touch even when you turn to the door. Twisting the knob open you find Will standing there, boots tied by their laces hanging over his shoulder, hand outreached to grab the now absent handle. 

He blinks at the two of you for a second, gaze one of vague shock, before curling his lips in an embarrassed smile and stepping out of the way.

“Not a word, Will,” you sing-song when he opens his mouth, pulling Ted down the hall to stand outside of the locker room door. 

You can hear Roy in the middle of a somehow happy/angry sounding congratulation speech that only he is capable of, grinning and turning to face your Coach once more. “Now, get your butt in there and relish in the sweet taste of winning.”

“I mean, relish is pretty tasty-”

“Ted.”

“Yep,” Ted takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing your hand “you coming in with me?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on your moment, Coach.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and pushes the door open, dragging you with him. The boys’ faces light up, immediately rushing to storm him, all reaching to touch him and jumping up and down. Their team song buzzing and bouncing along with them.

“WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE KNOW WE ARE, WE’RE SURE WE ARE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE”

You slide past the group, safely reaching Roy and Beard without your feet being stomped on. The smile on your face is one of pure joy and contentment, not faltering when Beard slides to your side, bumping your elbow. 

“Thanks,” he speaks, nodding towards Ted. It’s easy to know what he means immediately, always one to be of few words. 

“No need to thank me,” you reply easily, watching your family bond even more “it’s what we do.”

[jamtartandsunshine]

It starts small, inconsequential really. But Roy, he knows the signs, this isn't his first rodeo, as Ted would say. That thought makes him curse beneath his breath. Sounds like something fucking Lasso would say. It makes Roy's blood boil a little. He hates that the fucking cowboy coach has gotten into his head. But the point is, Roy notices. It's small but its there. Roy notices the way Jamie tips back the protein shaker, as he stands in the locker room laughing with the boys, but the liquid inside doesn't actually seem to go down. He notices the way Jamie's hands sometimes tremble as he picks up his water bottle in the gym. Having pushed himself harder then any of the rest of them. He notices the way Jamie jots down notes in a little pocket notebook at lunch. Roy doesn't see what's in it, but he'd bet his championship trophy its that stats of whatever Jamie's eating at lunch. Its not new. Everyone has macros to track, protein goals to reach. Carefully controlled carb intakes, but there's a darkness to Jamie's eyes as he scribbles hastily in his little notebook. Roy knows that look, and a part of him wants to look away, pretend he didn't see it, pretend he doesn't know the signs for what they are. He looks around the room, everyone is eating and laughing, they don't see what Roy is seeing. Most of them barely even spare Jamie a glance. Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck it. It has to be Roy, it can't be anyone fucking else.

[babytarttdoodoo]

kind of a rouge prompt idea but “i just told a story at work about my childhood that i thought was really funny but now everyone is super quiet and someone said i’m so sorry” but it’s jamie + the team edition. like he talks about a traumatising James Thing and has no idea how horrifying it is until they’re all like …… wtf

love your writing! <3

Thanks for the prompt (and the lovely compliment)!

I’ll preface this by saying I have next to no knowledge of dentistry and you should not assume any medical assertions made here are correct.

((I also feel like I should add that I finished this one off while more than a little tipsy.))

Enjoy the himbo chaos.

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

“Ay, dios mio, it was terrifying.” Dani put an emphatic hand to his chest. “Earl. He still haunts me.”

“Thought you were over that, bruv.” Isaac frowned up at him from his usual spot on the locker bench.

“On the pitch, yes. But at night…” Dani shook his head mournfully. “I have dreams of being chased in the dark. I know it is him.”

“I used to have dreams like that.” Colin piped up, pausing in tying his laces and looking haunted. “‘Cept it was my nana chasing me, on her mobility scooter.”

A few people sniggered and Isaac clapped Colin’s shoulder. “That’s fucked up.”

“I never remember my dreams,” Sam mused. “But I have always been a very deep sleeper. My father says I was the envy of all other parents when I was a baby.”

“I have only ever had one nightmare.” Richard declared. “All of my beautiful little teeth fell out of my mouth and I was ugly. Who will kiss me if I have no teeth?”

“Who’s losing teeth?” Jamie asked, joining the conversation from the doorway with a furrowed brow.

“We are discussing nightmares,” Jan explained matter-of-factly, then turned back to Richard. “Dreams about losing teeth are commonly attributed to stress.”

Jamie shook his head, still looking confused.

“Nah, don’t get that one, mate. Your dentist can just stick ‘em right back in, can’t they?”

That sparked a round of horrified protests and Jamie flapped his hands like a conductor to quiet the rabble.

“Eh, eh, I’m right!”

“Actually…” Sam held up his phone, open on an NHS webpage. “Jamie is correct.”

The locker room erupted into disgust and outrage while Jamie grinned smugly and tipped his I,COG cap to Sam for the assist.

“Hold on, how did you know that?” Isaac demanded, staring at Jamie like he had two heads. That quietened the team a little as heads swivelled in Jamie’s direction.

“Knocked two of ‘em out when I were, like, 10.” He shrugged and tapped a fingernail against one of his front teeth in demonstration. “Mum’s friend were a dental nurse. Told her to put them in some milk and take me to hospital.”

“You were very lucky.” Sam commented, still scrolling through the information he had found. “A significant gap in your teeth can lead to premature ageing.”

“And what a tragedy that would have been, eh?” Jamie beamed, gesturing to his face. “To think I might have deprived the world of this top tier mug.”

Other players groaned and laughed, a few tossing socks or discarded shirts in Jamie’s direction while he ducked, sniggering.

“How do you know they gave you your real teeth back?” Bumbercatch questioned, with an air that suggested great suspicion of the dentistry profession as a whole.

Jamie considered that. “Fair point,” he conceded. “They feel like mine, though.”

“Wait, how do you even manage to lose two teeth at once?” Colin interjected, muffled by his fingers as he prodded his own mouth in confusion. “I’ve never lost any after my baby teeth.”

“Took a snooker cue to the face.” The team winced as a collective and Jamie nodded sagely. “Were pretty grim. Blood all over the pub floor and everything.”

“You were 10?” Thierry clarified, face scrunched up. “Do kids normally get into bar fights here?”

“Well, yeah, s’pose not.” Jamie shuffled in place, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “Weren’t a fight so much. Dad took me in to watch a match and it all kicked off a bit.”

An uneasy quiet overtook the general hubbub and more than one face went stony at that revelation.

“Mate.” Jeff looked like he’d rather not be the one probing further, but had bitten the bullet anyway. “Your, uh, your dad wasn’t the one with the pool cue, was he?”

“Eh…” Jamie glanced around the room before answering. “Well, yeah. He was. But I’m, like, 90% sure it were an accident.”

Chaos detonated like a bomb.

Isaac and Richard jumped to their feet, one cursing in French, the other demanding to know how long it would take to get to Manchester. Colin seemed to be googling train times.

Dani had taken to rifling through his bag, looking for god knows what, and Thierry was strapping on his mask like it was war paint (he didn’t even need it anymore, he just liked looking scary).

Jan was a terrifyingly silent pillar in the middle of the storm and Sam… Well, Sam looked like he had been gutted.

“OI!” Roy’s bellow commanded immediate silence, players freezing mid-shout. He was framed by the door to the coaches’ office, arms crossed and typical glare set in place. “What the fuck is going on out here?”

“Close ranks!” Jamie all but squeaked, invoking a hallowed, sacred vow from the team to collectively shut the fuck up.

All eyes turned to Issac who, as captain, had the final say.

On balance, he decided it was probably best that their new manager didn’t get arrested for murder before the season even got underway.

“Agreed.” he finally acquiesced and the whole room affirmed their compliance sullenly. It just wasn’t worth the forfeit to cave in under Roy’s (very effective) glare.

“... right then.” Roy finally allowed, still looking at them all suspiciously. “Then get out on the pitch and stop wasting our time.”

Everyone clamoured towards the tunnel, eager to escape the intense atmosphere. All except Jamie, who was still hurriedly pulling on his kit.

He tried not to seize up when Roy sidled over.

“You’ll tell me later.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question and Jamie knew better than to take it as one. He slumped in defeat.

“Yeah. Probably.”

[its-a-show-stoppin-number]

Me waiting for Isaac Mcadoo, Will Kitman, Sam Obisanya, and Moe Bumbercatch fanfics:

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Roy would definitely let Phoebe paint his nails.

First he only ever lets her do black or dark blue. But then she begs (asks more then once because Roy is a sucker for her) him to match her so there he is walking into the locker room with neon pink nails with a glitter top coat.

Jamie sees them almost instantly and asks if she can do his when he sees her that weekend at Roy’s house because some how that’s something that happens very frequently now, so of course he tells Jamie yes.

Colin overhears all of this and later asks if he can tag along for some gold nails, then Sam asks if she has any blues that would look good on him, Dani is obviously into it so he goes with them and gets polkadots.

They all end up around Roy’s coffee table in the living room blowing on their nails while Jamie leans against Roy’s good leg painting Phoebe’s nails to match his and Roy’s glittery black because “I want to match my uncles!”

(Jamie later cries about the uncle comment and Roy just kisses his head and runs his thumb over the smooth polish)

[laiqualaurelote]

Hello, dearest author,

Please write more of that cracky superhero au as an actual fic? It's really good, and made me smile and laugh.

Thank you,

Azadale, Independent

Dear Azadale! I am so sorry I missed this ask, which has been languishing in my inbox for ages. I am afraid I do not have any more of the cracky superhero AU written but I am happy to share what would have been the general plot, which I once brainstormed with @leupagus.

The superpowers of the AFC Richmond team are, respectively: - Isaac: can chop things in half with his hands - Zoreaux: elasticity - Jamie: invulnerability - Sam: healing - Dani: blazes light - Colin: chameleon, basically invisible - Bumbercatch: X-ray vision - Richard: incredibly sensitive palate - Jan Maas: is always right, or so he says

All the players manifest some kind of superpower, although it takes some time to figure out who has what, since some of them, like Richard's, are not immediately obvious. The sole exception is Zava, who brushes this off by saying that "Zava needs no superpowers for he is already God". It clearly bothers him, however, and he eventually quits the team.

None of the coaches, nor any of the other staff, manifests any powers. Trent, by elimination, speculates that the superpowers may have to do with the showers, since Zava does not shower with the rest of the team. Ted finds Trent standing in the showers, investigating, and their ensuing banter so flusters Trent that he turns on the shower while standing under it, fully-dressed, and is soaked through.

The team debate if it is ethical to use their powers to win the Premier League. They decide it is not and make a pact to refrain from using their powers on the pitch, or for that matter anywhere in public, to keep the whole thing a secret. The one person who does break this rule is Colin, who uses his powers of invisibility to become a vigilante after hours. He hangs around LGBTQ clubs, makes sure young queer folks get home safely, and beats up homophobes who harass them.

Trent's investigations lead him to discover there is an alien spaceship buried in the sewer under Nelson Road, from whence the shower powers spread. He attempts to warn the team during the home match with West Ham, only for the aliens to invade the surface and wreak destruction, forcing the team to use their powers to protect the crowd. Nate is almost exploded by an alien but saved by Jamie shielding him.

Though AFC Richmond save the day, they are subsequently disqualified from the Premier League because their powers are deemed an unfair advantage. As Nelson Road has now been taken over as a government black ops site, Rebecca rebrands AFC Richmond as a crimefighting superhero league and has Keeley handle their PR push. The team thrive at first in their new roles, but find that they miss football. Meanwhile, Ted's depression is worsening, as he feels he has no purpose in London any more and is spiralling more than ever.

Trent eventually works out that Jan Maas' power of always being right, which nobody took seriously even though he described it accurately from day one, means that he can in fact rewrite reality. They decide to have Jan erase everything that happened, so that they can go back to being normal footballers. Only Jan - and, mysteriously, Trent - retains any memory of the alternate reality.

At the end, it is finally revealed that this entire story is a novel written by Trent. The last scene of the fic is his book launch, which the players attend. Jan confronts Trent about whether he has a superpower of his own, since he was also in the showers. Jan suggests that Trent's superpower is metadiegesis - he can move between narrative layers and break the fourth wall. At this point, Trent addresses the reader directly to state: "Reader, I can neither confirm nor deny."

I hope this made you smile!

[wlntrsldler]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

hehe thank u jo (and @too-deviant) for sending me this!!!

let's take a trip down memory lane:

i think he knows: reader x fred weasley (fluff)

tell me that you love me: reader x james potter (angst)

rituals: reader x bucky barnes (angst)

flawless: reader x bucky barnes (smut)

how to disappear: reader x luke castellan (angst)

honorable mention-- crush: reader x sam obisanya (fluff)