spotify wrapped is out and everybody is always posting their top 5 songsâŚ.. letâs see some love for number 6 that didnât make the cut. rb and add your number 6
hey big fan of your writing!! you write jamie so perfectly đ pls forgive me if youâve already written something about this (i havenât been able to find it if so) but could you write something post-mom city episode with the reader taking care of jamie when heâs hurt after the game and telling him how proud she is?? 𼚠thank you!!
This oneâs canon compliant with you donât want to know me for no reason other than the fact that I like to make my fics match up. Itâs fun for me to pretend like I could write something with chapters somedayđ Hope you like it!
youâre in the kitchen humming
Of course, the one game you canât go to is the one where Jamie gets injured so badly he has to come home on crutches. Heâs not even the one who texts you about it. Itâs Ted who writes, Your boy got hurt pretty badly. Might want to come pick him up when we get back.
So now youâre headed to AFC Richmond because Jamie only just let you know theyâre back.Â
weâre in the treatment room, he says, and you donât even take a moment to ask who we is.
Itâs Roy and Keeley, and you arenât a little bit surprised. Theyâre been passing around a bottle and laughing, so obviously Jamie canât be hurt that badly. His right foot is stuck in a bucket of ice, so you get him up, say goodnight to Roy and Keeley, and help him tipsily hop to your car. Jamie chatters on about the game the whole ride home, only leaving room for you to interject the occasional âmhm,â or âIâm so proud of you!â
Itâs somewhat of a chore to get him out of the car, mostly because heâs laughing so hard at the sheer absurdity of the situation, humor exaggerated by the champagne.Â
You finally maneuver him onto the couch and get him laid down, leg elevated. Heâs still giggling.
You flip on the kitchen light to make him some food. You wonder briefly how many times youâve done this: put Jamie on the couch, made him food, and let him take you to bed. Itâs been a few yearsâ worth.
Youâre at the stove humming softly, when you hear a tap thump, tap thump as Jamie hobbles over to wrap his arms around you from behind.
âOi, you need to be lying down, mister,â you scold.
Jamie just presses his face into the crook of your neck.
âCanât get comfortable. Iâm still in my kit and I need help getting it off.â
His words are laced with a suggestive tone, made more apparent by the fact that his hands are no longer on your waist per se, but more under your waistband.
You put down the spatula and turn off the stove.
âJamie Tartt,â you say in a tone that means listen the fuck up, âif you want even half a chance of getting in my pants tonight, youâll go back to the couch and put ice on your ankle.â
His hands slip away and he groans, but complies. You shake your head and slide the eggs onto a plate.
You hate eggs, but theyâre Jamieâs go-to post-match food. You asked him why once, and he said something about his mum and it being the only thing she could cook without burning.
So you suck it up and make him scrambled eggs every time he comes home from a game, whether home or away. Tonight, you bring him his plate on the couch, sit next to him, and hold it for him to eat.
You say softly, âIâm really proud of you, Jaim,â as he pushes himself into a sitting position. âDidnât really get a chance to say it, but I am. You absolutely smashed it today.â
Jamie smirks. âI got your emojis,â he says. âHad twenty-one missed texts from you, none of âem containing a single word.â He puts down his fork and reaches into a pocket for his phone. âGot a fuck-ton of hearts, some fireworks, and one squirrel.â
You blush. Ah yes. The squirrel.
âDonât think I can make it up the stairs,â he laments. âMight just have to stay on the couch all night. Sad. Alone. Fucking horny.â
You roll your eyes and flick his arm with your free hand. âYou done eating? Because you need a shower. You smell, and Iâm not fucking you until youâre clean.â
Jamie grins. âBut you are going to fuck me.â
You shake your head. Yes, you are. With a goal like that, how could you not? Plus his footâs injured, and he must be in pain. He could use a good distraction.
Jamieâs mind has to be going in a similar direction because he asks, âYou gonna shower with me? I hate showering alone.â
âObviously,â you respond. âYou can barely stand on your own and youâre going to need help with your hair.â
â
This shower is a lot less sexy than some might imagine. Jamie is trying to keep his balance without putting weight on his foot, but itâs difficult because itâs slippery. Youâve made it through most of his shower routine (and yours too) but now youâre at the final step. Conditioner.Â
You grab the bottle and Jamie frowns. âYou remember how much to use?â
You nod, but heâs not convinced. âLet me put it on your hand,â he says, grabbing the bottle and forgetting to be careful of his ankle. He puts too much weight on it and it gives out with a âfuck,â leaving Jamieâs lips.Â
Heâs slipping and trying to grab onto something and that something is you so now youâre both tangled on the floor of the shower, water running in your faces and Jamie grimacing from pain.
â
You do manage to get him back up and condition his hair to his satisfaction (âItâs a delicate balance, babe,â) but the slip was not good for Jamieâs ankle. You have to go back downstairs for more ice, so now heâs lying flat on his back on the bed, towel wrapped precariously loose around his waist. When youâre satisfied that the ice is secure and Jamieâs foot is at a good angle, you flop down in the bed next to him. Youâre still in your towel, too.
âI canât stop thinking about that kick,â you say.
Jamie asks, âWhich one? I did a lot of those,â and you laugh.
âThe one to block Man Cityâs goal. The one where you landed wrong. It was probably the most amazing thing Iâve ever seen. Iâm so, so proud of you. I just canât get over the fact that you can do all that and then you come home to me. It boggles my mind.â
Jamieâs blowing tickly breaths in your ear to make you shiver. âI was pretty sexy, werenât I?â
You laugh again. âEverythingâs always about being sexy with you, isnât it? Sure, Iâll admit you were sexy. But you were also admirable and selfless and brave and amazing. You canât sell yourself short.â
Jamieâs silent for a moment, and you think heâs fallen asleep. You look over to see him staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes.
You ask, âAre you crying?â and the words are barely out of your mouth before Jamieâs saying fuck no but you know he means fuck yes so you roll over to kiss him, because sometimes itâs better to leave some things unsaid. Heâs pretty great, and youâre glad youâre the one who gets to tell him.
