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lilyinmysoul · 4 months ago

Text

Incomprehensible

JacksonJoel x F!Reader

WC: 4k

Summary: Old man Joel is having trouble lasting a whole round on top.

Warnings: Smut, piv, sub joel, kinda angsty, comfort, Joel feels all sad and like he’s not good enough, Joel is 57 with back problems, handjob, vivid descriptions of bodily fluids, praise kink, domestic Joel, soft dom reader, reader calls Joel ‘old man’ once or twice, joel grips the headboard, (implied) age gap

Note: I’ve wanted to write subby Joel for a while, and I don’t think I went subby enough but I still love this fic. I took way too long writing it, so, no proofread. If there’s any mistakes, tell me. If you have any tips, tell me. Please reblog if you like, and if you want more fics like this, tell me, because I love my Jackson Joel and I have a kink for babying old men

As Joel trudged tiredly up the driveway, he watched the porch light flicker and dim, only to return to its original warm glow a moment later. The bulb was old and it would be difficult to find another; he didn’t want to think about it, he had a long enough list of things to do already.

As more people moved into Jackson, more babies were born, and more houses built, there was more work to be done around town and more responsibilities to be dealt with. Joel’s hair had greyed significantly in the past year, and still his patrols were getting longer. Even though his muscles felt extra sore after a long day of scavenging, he’d still have to get up the next morning and do it again.

Joel was fifty-seven two months ago, and as winter settled upon the town and rain puddles took a permanent residence on the sidewalks, he was becoming increasingly aware of it.

In recent weeks, light dustings of snow would fall from the sky, previews of the inches yet to come as the cold months approached. Joel’s heavy boots clomp against the cement path to your shared home, stepping in slush that crunches, half frozen, under his feet.

In his age, his fingers were especially sensitive to the cold, and it was likely that his brown leather gloves were the only thing protecting them from turning purple in the frosty air. Even so, he feels numb, and he rubs his covered hands against each other. Joel steps onto the porch, the only sound being his bulky shoes against the hollow wood of the deck. With a deep and breathy exhale and a glance up at the glowing window—you were awake—he fishes the house key from his pocket and slides it into the lock. It was a rewarding sound, one he looked forward to each day. It meant a night of rest, a warm plate of food, and the chance to see you.

He turns the cold brass knob and the door creaks open, emitting a squeal from its old and rusty hinges. The house was clean and tidy, but it had been built so long ago. No matter how clean the two of you kept it, the wood in the walls was weakening and the roof tiles continuing to wear under the rain. It reminded Joel of himself. He breathes in and closes the door, turning the lock as he takes in the smell, a fusion of both of your unique scents, traced with the aroma of old books and wood.

His boots are muddy, so he makes sure to rid them by the door. Under his feet, the floor creaks lightly and once you register the sound of movement downstairs, you practically prance down them.

You find him in the kitchen, still in his jacket and gloves as he leans on the counter with a glass of water. He takes a sip and places down the cup, its clink against the surface obscured by his deep, southern voice.

“Sweetheart,” he greets, the bags under his eyes deeper than usual, and his voice less steady. You could practically feel his exhaustion—now, and in weeks past. Regardless, your mouth turns up in a smile.

“Long day?” Your hand takes one of his, fingers working to peel the leather from his skin. “I made dinner. Chicken, the way you like.” You move on to his other hand before setting down the gloves and lacing your fingers with his freezing ones. You squeeze.

“Thank you, baby… s’just… freezin’ out there. Cold gives me a damn headache.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as your fingers find the brass zipper of his big brown jacket—the one he always wore and that you’d never tire of seeing him come home in. You pull down and free his strong arms as he stretches them above his head, sighing. You hear a pop from a joint of his, a hollow crack that rang out habitually each time Joel broke free from a spell of motionlessness. Soon, his jacket is forgotten and draped over a chair as you fetch a plate from the wooden cabinet.

The plates were china, their condition nearly mint and preserved for all these years. From the pot on the stove, you heap his plate with food. It was warm and steaming, and you found little as rewarding as watching him scarf down your cooking or drink down your tea after a long day of work. Perhaps it was your love language; a humble exchange for the drawers he’d fix and mend, or the shelves he’d put together when you needed more space for the trinkets he’d bring back for you, swiped from the shelf of an empty home he’d cleared.

You place the dish in front of him on the table, setting a fork next to it and a topped off glass of water. Across from him, you sit, having already aten. This felt optimal, allowing you to rest your chin in your hands and watch him, talk to him, hear about his day.

Joel nearly groans as he takes the first bite, his exhaustion even more evident. “Tastes like heaven, baby,” he mutters between bites.

“I made extra for you to bring on patrol tomorrow. Lunch, or something.”

He hums in acknowledgement, a quiet thanks as he enjoys his meal. A drink from his glass, then he breaks the silence, a hand palming at the back of his neck. “‘M so damn sore.”

You frown. It upsets you to see how much Joel is working, and saddens you further to witness how it affects him. More often than not, his back is sore, or his legs achy. As prideful as he was, it was clear that he needed a break. And although Joel warned you against bringing it up to Tommy, the idea was getting increasingly tempting. It’s becoming a priority of yours to get him off that damn schedule.

“I’m sorry,” you soothe and stand up, topping off his glass once again, before your hands come to rest on his shoulders as you stand behind his chair. Your fingers squeeze at the muscles there, taut and stressed as he inhales deeply and takes another bite. “I can massage it if you want.” A beat, before you speak again. “Maybe you should ask Tommy if someone else can pick up your shift.”

Joel says your name in a stern, yet exasperated tone that says, ‘drop it’. You wonder what exactly it is that stops him from asking for help.

“Okay,” you agree, forcing the topic out of your mind and out of your mouth, hands still working at his tense and knotted muscle. “I just worry about you. I just don’t want to see you hurting, I want you to feel good.”

“I’m just… gettin’ old, is all. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with work, I’m… I’m okay.” Joel grunts as your hands work, and you don’t believe him one bit—not even a little. Either way, you don’t argue. Instead, you lean down and kiss the top of his head, your lips pressing against his soft, graying hair.

“Alright,” you agree. He hums as he feels your lips.

“Plus,” he adds. “I can still keep up with you, I reckon.”

“Sure can, old man,” you squeeze one of his arms, a thick bicep only barely softened by age. You very strongly appreciated his strength—muscles formed through vigorous labor; initially, fixing roofs in the sun, and eventually, fighting infected with his bare hands. Granted, he is more comfortable now. His life is stable in Jackson, allowing his tummy to soften up a bit because he has food to eat and a bed to lounge in. Even so, he could still pick you up and carry you out in the snow, and when he would grunt a little deeper now with the effort, you reveled in the sound.

He takes a bite. “So long as you don’t get sick’a me.”

“Never.”

A deep chuckle from Joel, and his plate is clean. He looks up at you, and you take the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, hands finding the sides of his face as your lips move to envelop his. Your mouth moves tenderly over his as he emits a soft hum.

You pull your lips away softly, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before it breaks and your eyes rake over his face as it still rests in your hands.

“I feel better already,” he states.

“I’m sure,” you smile, gaze flicking down to the bulge in his pants, a tent beginning to form.

“Feels nice,” he says, referring to nothing in particular. It was all so pleasant—the way you made him dinner and fed him with such care, how you worked out the stiffness in his muscles and kissed away his trepidation—he never had enough of it. He was never entirely sure why you chose him—grumpy and hardened, old and weary—but you never let him spend too much time mulling it over. You loved him so entirely that it was nearly impossible to doubt, every past loss and failing managing to fade to nothing when he would meet your eyes.

Your hands drop from his face and you pick up his plate and empty glass, your feet carrying you the short distance to the kitchen sink. Over your shoulder, you see him watching you, on his eyes a look of admiration combined with a hint of lust. Joel’s absolute love for your nurturing nature was something that he would rarely voice, and that nobody else would ever guess. You wipe the plate clean and set it in the sink, rinsing your hands and wiping them dry.

By now, Joel has stood, meeting you again in the dim light of the dining room. You smile lazily at him, relieved that the day’s responsibilities were done and dealt with. To you, having Joel around in the evening after a long day is the best gift, and you find his occasional night patrols to be cruel and unusual punishments. When your arms wrap affectionately around his middle, his hand rests on the back of your head, fingers splaying over and entwining with your hair. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re s’beautiful…” he murmurs into your skin, his words so honest and caring. He hums softly before tilting your head up and taking a kiss. Joel felt that it was the most reassuring thing and so wholly intimate. Your lips, he felt, belonged on his, slotting onto one another like pieces of a jigsaw. Your hand rubs up his back as one of his cups the back of your neck, guiding your head gently. He pulls your body lightly against his, the movement firm but not aggressive. He’s sleepy and sapped, but that doesn’t stop his hands from coasting greedily over your body. Your warm skin always soothes him—evidently, he is harder now, and you feel the pressure wedged against your lower stomach.

Your lips drift apart, still tangled in the other’s arms. It’s clear where Joel wants this to go, and you second the thought.

“You’re gorgeous…” he mutters another compliment, pushing aside a strand of hair from your face. “Just wanna have you forever. I could. Again and again…”

It isn’t clear if Joel entirely knows what he’s saying, but his musings sound promising either way. “You sure you have the stamina for that, old man?” You tease him into his shoulder, your close embrace both tempting and comforting.

“Yes, ma’am,” he states, paying no mind to his own lassitude and achy muscles. How could they even cross his mind? He had you in his arms, your body at his fingertips.

In a mediocre attempt at assuming Joel’s southern drawl, you ask, “Are you fixin’ to prove it to me?”

He chuckles, his voice low and thick. “If that’s what you want,” he feigns nonchalance—albeit, poorly. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Mhm…” By now, your mind is empty, save for one thing. Memories of Joel’s busy schedule have departed from your head, along with all of your external worries, and he is leading you upstairs.

When your back hits the mattress in the palely lit bedroom, you smile softly up at Joel, who is unhooking his belt, pulling it free from the loops. His gaze is roaming over you hungrily, and you can tell that his day has been particularly long by the wanting look in his eye.

You squirm out of your shorts and pull your top over your head as you lay against the cold covers. Dropping the discarded clothes on the floor by the bed, you catch Joel’s eyes as he pushes down his worn and worked jeans, faded dirt staining the heels. His boxers are dark and tented, his necessity for you abundantly clear. He’d like to crawl into your arms, but first, he has to give you what you want and assuage his own frustration. He lifts his shirt over his head, dropping it absentmindedly on the floor.

The bed dips slightly when the weight of Joel’s knees comes to rest on it. You peer up at him as he looks down at you, a dazed and loving smile on his face as his hands are set on your knees, pulling them apart and making room for his broad body between them.

Joel’s lips kiss along your jaw, nipping lightly at your neck. He props his body up with one elbow, the other hand coursing over your skin, trailing over the lace of your bra and down to the fabric of your soft panties. He mindlessly toys with the band, his mind focused on your neck, but quickly shifts his attention to the rest of your body.

Joel is particularly desperate tonight, his hands both restless and spent as they hook under and pull at your underwear. They come off fully, tossed aside on the bed. The air in the room is chilly, but Joel’s form radiates warmth, encasing you with it. You smile softly as his briefs are finally let down and a strong, veined hand wraps around his length. Joel pumps it a few times before teasing his tip along your entrance, and you inhale through your teeth.

You chuckle breathily at the focused look on his face as he nudges himself into you. You brace yourself for the stretch as your eyes watch where his cock hitches inside, before your gaze coasts up to the trail of hair that leads to his belly button, then at his strong chest, and ultimately his face. He slides in before you can look back down, and your eyes narrow as your mouth falls open slightly.

The look on your face was priceless—one Joel had seen many times—but priceless, nonetheless. His first few strokes are slow and relishing, but his impatience forces him to speed up. He has spent the day thinking about you, and will continue to do so long after he drifts to sleep; so, his energy has nowhere to go but into his movements, his hips tapping yours as the room fills with the soft click, click, click of your bodies touching, fluids exchanging.

Your husband’s mouth no longer has the power to contain his grunts of pleasure, soft noises escaping his throat with each movement. Your heavy breaths align with his like a melody, sounding synchronously into the dim bedroom, limbs tangled in blankets and damp skin.

Above you, Joel’s brow is slightly dampened with sweat, his body trying not to succumb to his enervation. Of course you couldn’t hear it, but you could only guess that his heart was beating a bit quicker than it usually did. His hands grip at your hips a little harder as his thrusts hasten, your velvety skin on his fingers consoling him.

Joel might be getting up there, but he was still big. He always would be, and a sound no short of a whine leaves your mouth as your hand rests over his on your hip—a comforting gesture to both him and yourself. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and they slicken Joel’s in turn when your bodies touch.

“Baby…” Joel grumbles, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

Your response is a feeble hum, an affectionate reassurance. “Hm…”

“I’m… shit, I…” his voice trails off. One hand of his is still tightly holding the bone of your hip, guiding and grinding it against his own as his cock disappears into you. His other wipes away the perspiration on his forehead before landing to tightly grip the wooden headboard, the structure bracing Joel’s weight as he drives into you.

“So good, Joel…” you mutter, your eyes drifting shut as he moves inside of you, tip kissing your cervix again and again. Repeatedly, your insides stretch and your pleasure mounts, your eyelids still closed in sheer bliss, stomach tingling from your approaching orgasm, along with your proximity to the man you love.

You swear you hear the wood crack with how hard he holds the head of the bed. His movements become more tense, deliberate. His breath huffs deeply, and at first you suspect that he might be getting close. He usually takes longer than this, but you cannot blame him—his day’s been hard, and he’s needed you. But soon enough, almost as abruptly as he had started, his movements cease. He doesn’t slow, or pull out to finish on your stomach—he stops. Your hips buck imperceptibly at the cessation.

“Sweetheart…” Joel mumbles defeatedly, his hips drawing out a few more slow and shallow strokes before coming to a complete halt. “I can’t. M’ too tired.”

You blink at his admission. You fish deep in your brain for something to say, a caring response, but before you do, he does all he can to hide his reddening face in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, he stays there. His head rests on your shoulder in silence before he breaks it. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry baby.” He mumbles something about a hard day and getting old. You can’t help but card your fingers through his hair, dark and streaked with silver like a tree turning red in autumn. Except, when his leaves fell, they would not be growing back. They would not rejuvenate themselves come spring, ready to dance again in the summer breeze. But you don’t think that winter needs to be hopeless or sad. There isn’t a bone of Joel’s that you don’t love, or a wrinkle you won’t worship. Every doubt—if there ever were any, at all—is waved away, lost to what you love the most about him; and so you giggle into his hair.

“Don’t laugh at me…” he murmurs, embarrassment still permeating his voice.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby. It’s okay,” your head pats lightly on the back of his head. “It’s okay. You’re working like hell.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He’s a proud man, and letting you down feels like a firm blow to the chest.

“Don’t say sorry,” you smile sweetly as you tilt his head up towards yours. After laying a gentle kiss to his forehead, you add, “It’s alright, Handsome.”

He scoffs under his breath, but can’t stop a sheepish smile from spreading across his lips. He buries his head back into the crook of your neck. As soon as he does, you tilt his face back up again and speak.

“What, you don’t agree?”

He avoids your eyes, looking up off to the side. “I just… y’sure? You think I’m handsome? Y’don’t think… I ain’t enough for you?”

The question catches you off guard and you continue to gaze down at him, your thumb gliding over the side of his face. “Are you being serious?”

No answer on his end, just the same apprehensive look on his face as he refuses to meet your eye.

“Of course I do, Joel. You’re so handsome. Don’t be ridiculous.” You say before adding, “And I think you’re the best guy I could ever ask for, and it doesn’t matter if you’re a little tired sometimes.” You smile.

Joel only grunts when you shift your body until his back is on the pillows. You’re now sitting on his hips, his cock still buried in you—throbbing but forgotten. His hair is disheveled and he looks rather dazed, gazing up at you with a look of admiration and necessity.

Your hand finds its way to cup the side of his face, a position it often assumes; the spot feels like its home. You feel the prickle of his beard on your skin, and you lean down to press a kiss to his lips, wet and a bit chapped from the cold outside. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips, a gentle and slow movement that Joel reacts to, one of his hands coming to grip onto your hip and the other draping over his eyes out of both insecurity and overwhelment.

A heavy breath leaves his mouth as you pull his hand away from his face. He still isn’t quite able to look you in the eye, so you tilt his face toward you once again, your hips rolling in treacherous circles.

A hum leaves your mouth, the look on Joel’s face fueling the fire between your legs. As you move, you let your mouth drop open slightly, wanting to make your pleasure clear to him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” you murmur. “Keep looking at me,” you instruct. You weren’t sure exactly how to get his confidence back up or make him feel better. His head seemed to be in another place, one of penitence and embarrassment. “Y’never told me how nice it is to be on top. Might have to try it more often.” You feel him twitch inside of you. Your fingers continue to trace along his jaw.

Joel groans as your hips grind into his a bit faster, the view of you peering down at him heating up his stomach. “It’s… okay? You’re not disappointed?” He asks, more so to reassure himself.

You chuckle lightly under your breath, his still moving as you choke out, “Of course not…” You hear something close to a whimper leave Joel’s mouth, and you take one of his hands and hold it to your center, between your legs as his thumb begins rubbing your clit. “There you go…”

He is happy to help. Any way you can make him feel appreciated will make him groan under you.

“Oh, wow, Joel…” you continue, your noises growing more prolonged. By now, you could almost cum from his sounds alone, desperate and almost pitiful. His fuck-up hit him hard, and has left him yearning to either make it up to you or push it from his head. His thumb circles you in just the way you like, sending jolts through your body that further energize you, hips still rocking with care and want. A hand laced up into his hair, you murmur, “I’m gonna cum… you’re making me cum, Joel… shit.”

“I’m… me too,” you hear him choke out. He looks entirely out of it, his gaze shifting from your face down to where your flesh surrounds him. You smile, taking a few more rolls of your hips before slowing, pulling out of you his thick length, tip angry, red, and swollen from being still without release. You let your hand run up and down his cock, further smearing the liquids that coat it as you rub him, his mouth falling open slightly.

“Yeah… you’re so pretty, Joel. You’ll always be pretty. Handsome… sweet…” you list, mumbling off whatever kind words you could think off as you stroke his cock, rubbing it occasionally against your clit.

He hisses, pleasure mounting at your tenderness of your touch and the sweetness of your words. Each time your hand travels up his length, he gets closer, and he’s unable to stop himself from spilling over your hand. His thick ropes of cum leak from his weeping slit, a low grunt sounding from somewhere deep in his throat.

A smile spreads across your face, the dribble of white down your hand doing something to you—it always does. “There you go, baby,” you coddle, a kiss to his cheek. “As simple as that.”

Thanks for reading!! feel free to send me an ask

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rafedarling · 6 months ago

Note

i love to see when wife still pregnant with Rustyn or Sissy, she can’t eat anything because of her morning sickness so Drew make her favorite food to help her feel better. Drew would carefully preparing a spread of fresh fruit, toast, and ginger tea—anything that might ease her nausea. I know that man would be so sweet and take care of both of them 🥹

𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: four months into your second pregnancy, morning sickness hits harder than you ever expected. with drew’s unwavering support and rustyn’s adorable attempts to cheer you up, you realize that even in the most exhausting moments, your family’s love makes everything better.

warning(s): english is not my native language. pregnancy symptoms (morning sickness, fatigue), mentions of food, and extreme fluff.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

It’s 4:07 a.m., but it feels like time has stopped. You’re sitting on the cold bathroom floor, your back against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. The nausea that’s plagued you all week is worse tonight, a relentless wave that refuses to let you rest. Drew crouches beside you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, the other brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.

“Baby, are you feeling better now?”

Drew asks, his voice laced with concern.

You’re too exhausted to answer, your body drained from the constant sickness. Instead, you give him a small nod, leaning your head against the cool tiles.

It’s been four months into this pregnancy, and you’ve already noticed how much more challenging it is compared to when you were carrying Rustyn. Back then, the nausea was manageable, and you had bursts of energy to get you through the day. This time, the morning sickness is… unforgiving, leaving you weak and overwhelmed.

Drew watches you carefully, his blue eyes filled with worry.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll be downstairs making you a matcha tea.”

His voice is gentle, like he’s afraid to disturb your fragile state.

“Thank you, baby,”

You whisper, your voice barely audible. You let him help you back to bed, lying down slowly, grateful for the comfort of the sheets. Drew tucks you in with a kiss on your forehead before heading downstairs.

Unbeknownst to both of you, a sleepy-eyed Rustyn has woken up and shuffled out of his room, clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur, already intuitive, sensing when something’s off. Hearing the sounds of his dad in the kitchen, he pads down the stairs in his little dinosaur-print pajamas.

“Dada?”

Rustyn calls out, rubbing his eyes as he enters the kitchen.

Drew turns, surprised to see his son awake at this hour.

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing up? It’s still early.”

Rustyn blinks up at him, his voice soft.

“Mama sick?”

Drew crouches down to Rustyn’s level, brushing his curls out of his face.

“Yeah, Mama’s not feeling so good this morning. She needs some rest.”

Rustyn’s little face scrunches in thought before he tugs on Drew’s sleeve.

“I want to help Mama?”

Drew smiles, his heart swelling at Rustyn’s determination.

“You want to help me make something for her?”

Rustyn nods enthusiastically, his sleepiness forgotten.

“Soup!” he exclaims, the word coming out in a high-pitched squeal.

Drew chuckles.

“Alright, soup it is. Let’s make some chicken soup for Mama.”

Rustyn climbs onto a stool by the counter, watching intently as Drew gathers the ingredients. He’s too little to do much, but Drew lets him “help” by handing him pre-washed herbs to place in a bowl.

“Good job, buddy,” Drew says, ruffling Rustyn’s hair.

Rustyn beams, proud of his contribution.

“Mama loves soup.”

“I think she’ll love it,”

Drew replies, his heart melting at how much Rustyn cares.

While the soup simmers, Drew brews some matcha tea, making sure it’s not too hot. He pours it into your favorite mug, setting it carefully on a tray alongside a bowl of soup.

“Breakfast in bed for Mama,”

Drew announces, lifting the tray.

Rustyn trails behind him, clutching his stuffed dinosaur.

“Me too!”

When they enter the bedroom, you’re lying on your side, your eyes half-closed. The sound of Drew’s voice and Rustyn’s little footsteps make you stir.

“Morning, Mama,” Drew says softly, setting the tray down on the nightstand.

Rustyn climbs onto the bed with determination, his little hands reaching for yours.

“Mama, we make soup!” he says proudly, his face lighting up as he hands you the stuffed dinosaur.

“Dino make you feel better!”

You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of your son’s effort.

“Thank you, baby,” you say, pulling him into a hug.

“And thank you, Dino.”

Drew sits beside you, helping you sit up slowly.

“Here, take it easy,” he says, handing you the mug of tea.

The warmth of the tea and the smell of the soup make you feel a little more human. You sip the tea, letting the bitterness calm your stomach. Rustyn snuggles up next to you, his tiny hand resting on your growing belly.

“Mama, is baby in there?”

Rustyn asks, looking up at you with curious eyes.

You nod, placing your hand over his.

“Yep, your little sibling is in there.”

Rustyn grins, his excitement contagious.

“I’ll be big brother!”

“You’ll be the best big brother,”

Drew says, leaning over to kiss the top of Rustyn’s head.

“Mama and the baby are so lucky to have you.”

Rustyn giggles, his laughter filling the room.

After finish your tea and manage a few spoonfuls of soup, you feel a little better, though still tired. Drew takes the tray and sets it aside, lying down next to you. Rustyn climbs onto Drew’s chest, his favorite place to cuddle, and the three of you settle into the quiet comfort of the morning.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your eyes meeting Drew’s.

“For what?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“For being you. For taking care of me. For teaching Rustyn to be so thoughtful.”

Drew smiles, his hand resting on your belly.

“We’re a team, remember? And you’re the strongest person I know.”

You lean into him, feeling grateful despite the challenges of this pregnancy. With Drew’s unwavering support and Rustyn’s adorable enthusiasm, you know you’re not alone.

As you drift off to sleep, Rustyn’s tiny voice cuts through the quiet.

“Mama, baby okay?”

“Baby’s perfect,” you murmur, your heart full.

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew x reader #drew starkey x reader #drew #dad!drew starkey x mom!you #dad!drew starkey x mom!reader #dad!drew starkey #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey series #drew starkey one-shot #drew starkey clurb #drew starkey smut

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1d1195 · 30 days ago

Text

Under Construction II

Read Under Construction here | ~7.1k

From Me: a bit of a slow burn

Warning: a little angsty mayhaps. otherwise fluffy

Summary: “Interesting,” she practically sang. “He seems... friendly.”

“M-hmm.”

“Attractive,” Eleanor continued.

“Yup,” she nodded and scooped some dip onto her plate and grabbed a handful of chips. “What?” She asked, finally.

“Can I be maid of honor? Are you gonna invite your class to be part of your wedding? Do you want a summer wedding because it will be easier to plan around school?”

She sighed and ate her buffalo chicken dip as Eleanor rambled on about it. “It’s not happening.”

Louis and Eleanor were already sitting in their regular booth when she arrived. Her eyes were half closed despite the coffee she drank. “Oh, come on, babe, rally please,” Louis frowned at her approach. She sighed. She wanted to go home. As much as she loved her friends she was just drained and wanted to be alone.

“I love this dress,” Eleanor smiled excitedly.

She grinned weakly and dropped into the booth before putting her head on the table. “What did you order?” She asked.

“Buffalo chicken dip.”

“God Bless,” she sighed. “Did you order me a drink?”

“You sure you can drink in your condition?” Louis asked, lifting her arm and letting it flop lazily on the table.

“I’m rallying,” she mumbled into the wood.

“You can tell,” Eleanor patted the back of her hair. “How was your day?”

Her day was wonderful. She was sure she was going to get a cold any minute. The kids were behind in math because of a fire drill and there had been indoor recess for three days straight due to rain. It was madness and this Friday was the first reprieve in ages.

Plus, Harry came back around for the second week in a row to look at stuff around her classroom.

She hadn’t told Louis and Eleanor about the cute guy working next to her school. She knew Eleanor would be bursting at the seams and Louis would make one too many jokes about Harry and his tool(s).

She sat up and shook her head a bit before answering. Trying to perk herself up. Perhaps she should have ordered an espresso martini. Something with caffeine would have helped. “It was good, the kids are doing really well,” she nodded. “I’m a little worried about Milo socially, but overall, they’re a great group,” she said proudly. “I love them so much.”

“You always do,” Louis grinned almost as proudly as she did. He too thought his best friend was a superhero teaching little ones. Having grown up with a host of younger siblings, he knew how important teachers were. He couldn’t believe how kind, compassionate, and patient she was in every facet of her life. Watching his best friend do this made him more appreciative.

“Do you get to rest this weekend?” Eleanor asked.

But Louis also knew she devoted so much of her time in and out of the classroom to these sweet kids.

In theory, she would rest. But even on weekends she had a pretty packed schedule. There were errands, cleaning, laundry, and hopefully getting outside to enjoy the fall weather. “Yes,” she nodded. “One of my kids asked me to go to their soccer game tomorrow though, it’s at the school, so I figured I could swing by.”

“That’s kind of you,” Eleanor grinned. “Any dates in your future?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

She sighed. The thought of dating the handsome construction worker crossed her mind. But after her previous relationships, it just made more sense to be alone for the time being. Until she got her footing and found a balance that worked for her. It wouldn’t be long now; she was getting there. But these kids were her whole world, and she loved being there for them. They were young, adorable, and they valued those who showed up—especially if people in their lives weren’t showing up. “No dates.”

“None?” Eleanor pouted. “Babe, it’s been...forever.”

“Don’t remind me,” she sighed. “I’ve just been busy.”

“But it’s good for you. You don’t have to sleep with every guy, and you don’t have to marry the first guy you find,” El continued. “I know you love those kids and they’re your whole life; I get that. But the right guy will let you have that.”

“It’s hard,” she explained. “I don’t want it to be like last time,” she shrugged. It was so casual. As if it wasn’t the worst break up in the history of the world. If she pushed it down and didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t bother her like it used to. She wouldn’t worry about it.

“Bird?”

She nearly broke her neck with the way it snapped to the voice before she could stop it. Eleanor’s gaze turned to the sound as well. Her jaw dropping as Harry approached. He smiled that sweet, sexy way with the pretty dimples. He was wearing a polo shirt instead of his company’s T-shirt and his dark pants replaced the ever-present work ones he wore on the job site. His work boots were now just a pair of casual trainers. It was clear Harry would look hot in a trash bag, but part of her missed the construction outfit.

“Harry,” she said softly and standing outside the booth to greet him. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi, Bird,” he grinned a little brighter. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Um,” she shook her head. “These are my best friends: Louis and Eleanor,” she gestured. “This is Harry,” she said to them.

“Hi,” he waved briefly. “Did y’come right from school?” He asked, glancing at the dress he saw her in only hours before.

Well, yeah. She hadn’t anticipated anyone from work seeing her in the same outfit. “Um...yeah. I stopped at my sister’s house to help her with something. Didn’t leave time to change.”

“Y’look beautiful,” he said reassuringly, his smile unmoving from his face. She felt her face warm at the compliment knowing Eleanor was eating it up. “Jus’ wanted t’make sure y’weren’t there for hours and hours on your own.”

She bit the inside of her lip knowing that Louis and Eleanor were going to give her an earful as soon as he left. If he left. Fortunately, at that moment, the waitress came by and placed the buffalo chicken dip on the center of their table. Her stomach growled at the sight of it. “Do you two want to order a drink?” She asked of herself and Harry.

“Oh, I need another minute to look over the—” She started hoping it would give her a moment to rid her space of Harry. Not that she really wanted him to leave. But she didn’t want the first time seeing him outside her classroom to be overshadowed by her faux parental figures eating buffalo chicken dip with her who at any moment were going to go at it about the guy she was hiding from them.

“Harry, please sit,” Eleanor begged. “We never finish this with the three of us,” she continued.

Harry looked at her and noted the uneasiness clearly on her face as her two little worlds collided. “S’okay, thank you. M’here with m’friend Niall. Jus’ coming back from the bathroom and thought I saw you in y’pretty dress,” he winked. Her face felt hot, and she wondered if she was going to start sweating. She needed to have a bite of the dip in hopes of playing off the heat she felt spreading through her body. “I’ll see you Monday?” He pressed a hand to her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze before he said goodbye to her friends. As soon as he was out of ear and eye shot, she turned toward her booth with her friends and waited for the onslaught of questions.

“Who’s Harry?” Eleanor began crunching on a chip.

“Uh... he’s a construction worker. He’s the foreman on the job site next to the school.”

“How’d you meet?” Louis smiled excitedly.

“I had to show the kids all the scary noises, or I was never going to get anything done.”

“Oh,” Eleanor brightened. “When did you meet him?”

“Last week,” she admitted.

“Interesting,” she practically sang. “He seems... friendly.”

“M-hmm.”

“Attractive,” Eleanor continued.

“Yup,” she nodded and scooped some dip onto her plate and grabbed a handful of chips.

“How did he know you would be in your classroom for hours on end?” Louis asked. It was ridiculous she was making them practically beg for details, but she didn’t want to get their hopes up.

“Uh...” she sighed. “Janie may have told him that my desk was crooked, and if he could fix it that would be nice.” Louis and Eleanor grinned liked maniacs as they continued eating. She knew it was coming but she did her best to ignore their stares and insinuating smiles. “What?” She asked, finally.

“Can I be maid of honor? Are you gonna invite your class to be part of your wedding? Do you want a summer wedding because it will be easier to plan around school?”

She sighed and ate her buffalo chicken dip as Eleanor rambled on about it. “It’s not happening.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

For about ten thousand reasons. The main one being she wasn’t going to be in a relationship when she didn’t feel she could devote her time to it the way she needed to. Neither her nor whomever she decided to date deserved that. “You know why.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Louis rolled his eyes. “You spend a lot of time on your students, yes. But it’s no worse than a hobby like knitting or video games,” he said pointedly. She knew where it was headed because they had been having the same conversation since her breakup almost two years ago. “Evan wanted your attention when he had time for you, it’s no different. You shouldn’t let his stupid behavior or ideas get to you and dictate your dating life.”

She frowned around her next bite of chip and dip. Louis was right, to a degree, but Evan had some pretty decent points. She did spend a lot of time and energy on her kids to the point of ad nauseum. There was only so much someone probably wanted to hear about in a group of twenty random five- and six-year-olds.

When the waitress returned, she ordered her drink and finally felt her stomach pain relieved once the food settled in. She liked the music that was playing around the room. Nothing over the top, but people were dancing. This was one of her favorite spots. Not too casual, not too fancy. Not too clubby, but not too hole-in-the-wall either.

But she didn’t dare look around to find the handsome foreman roaming about the room.

After a few more questions about Harry, a conversation about dinner plans for the following week, family chat, a second drink (and a third), along with another app (this time fried pickles that she was pretty sure Eleanor and Louis only got two of total before she devoured them) and more chatter about her cute kids, the night seemed longer than she imagined she could last. The bill was placed on their table, and she frowned almost immediately.

“My drinks are missing,” she told the waitress.

“Oh, the gentleman that was here earlier insisted your drinks go on his tab,” she explained with a kind smile.

Her face warmed again, and she could feel Eleanor and Louis positively beaming. “Oh,” she mumbled. “That was very nice of him,” handing her card over.

“Go thank him!” El smiled. “Please! It’s obvious he likes you.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know how insane I am about the kids.”

“I could kill Evan,” Louis mumbled sipping the last of his drink. “Just go thank the cute guy for Christ’s sake. It’ll give him something to think about tonight.”

She scratched her eyebrow with her middle finger while glaring at Louis. As casually as she could, glanced around the place looking for signs of the hot guy. “I wouldn’t have had three drinks,” she mumbled.

“Go tell him that! I’ll guard your credit card. Just go find him, please!” Eleanor begged. “You deserve a cute guy buying you drinks.”

“I’m not going to go find him. I’ll just see him on Monday and thank him then,” she offered. “But I do have to pee; even the teacher bladder can’t hold all this in,” she explained sliding out of the booth once more.

“Please run into him, please run into him, please run into him,” Eleanor murmured to herself, miming a praying motion as she walked away. She rolled her eyes and headed across the room to the bathroom.

As soon as she turned the corner to the bathroom, Eleanor’s prayers were answered. His profile was in view as he hung at the bar watching the game while he and Niall sipped their drinks. They had smiles on their faces, laughing at something, and enjoying the moment. She seriously hated that she was going to have to walk right by them to get to the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, she headed their way. When she was close enough that she could hear his voice and his intoxicating laugh, he did a double take as she approached. “Hi Bird,” he grinned so sweetly she could feel her cheeks warm.

“Hi,” she smiled in return. “Thanks for getting my drinks... I wouldn’t have gotten that many if I knew you were paying,” she frowned.

He shook his head brushing her off quickly. “S’why I did it,” he said reassuringly. “And three is not that many after the week y’had,” he reminded her with that smile that could light up a black hole. Fuck he’s pretty. “This is m’friend, Niall. He’s also on the crew. This is Miss Bird, Miss Bee for short,” he explained, her heart skipping a beat as he remembered what the little ones said. “She was in charge of the cute kids last week.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Miss Bird,” he held his hand out to shake it. “I heard you have a lovely classroom.”

She blushed darting her eyes to Harry’s ever-present smile. and then returning to Niall. “Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “It’s kind of a work in progress.”

“You don’t have to explain that to us,” Niall chuckled making her grin.

While she interacted with Niall, her body felt the warmth and weight of Harry’s stare on her skin. That smile of his was doing things to her—none of which were what she would call healthy. It was like goosebumps, a flutter of her stomach, her heart was flying. It felt like her little ones explaining their tummy aches and she was suffering every second of it.

“Well, I won’t keep you both... I was heading to the bathroom, anyway. But... thank you again,” she said appreciatively to Harry.

“Course, bird,” he nodded politely. “See you Monday?” He asked.

She nodded. “Monday,” she agreed.

“She’s cute,” Niall grinned. “I can see why you like her.”

Harry smiled at the glass in front of him like a love-sick fool. He was doting after her every Friday doing little repairs. He had massive plans for things she mentioned she wanted once he gained more of her trust. It seemed too grand of a gesture to do it all after only setting foot in her classroom three times.

She was so pretty. The kind of pretty that Harry would have blushed over when he was young. Like when he first learned that he was allowed to like girls and that they were supposed to put butterflies in his stomach. He liked the bright colors she wore and the way she spoke to her students. He was overwhelmed by her. Each time she smiled, he swore he heard music. Her laugh rivaled the sound of symphonies. He liked everything she did, the way she wore her hair, how she pursed her lips when she was doing her planning for the coming week—all of it. He could admit he was a little obsessed. He wasn’t too proud to say it. She was lovely from every angle. The way she thanked him for silly little things. How she was so meticulous in her cleaning or even the cutting of paper for her students’ projects.

“She’s so sweet,” Harry sighed. “M’lucky I can talk around her.”

“Why don’t you ask her out?”

“Did y’not jus’ hear me say m’lucky I can even talk around her?”

He smirked into his drink. “Well, you better find some luck; she’s coming back.”

Harry turned to her approaching again. She looked a bit frazzled, her cheeks a cute shade of red that matched the pants she wore the first time he saw her. She took a deep breath. “Hi again, I’m sorry to bother you guys,” she sounded sincere and embarrassed.

“Not at all, Bird, everything alright?” Harry was quick to ask.

“Here, you sit,” Niall offered. “I was going to use the restroom myself,” he clapped Harry on the back and walked away before he could say anything else. Harry turned his full attention towards her.

“I’m fine... My friends... they’re kind of the... pranking type. They knew you were here so... they kind of left me... and took all my stuff,” she rolled her eyes. “Could I use your phone to order a ride?”

He chuckled. “These are your best friends?” But he could see Niall doing something like that. Maybe she did like him but was too shy to do something about it. He was surprised Niall didn’t think of doing the very same thing before her pair of friends did. The best Harry thought he could do was buy her drinks but instead he would get an extra fifteen minutes, outside her classroom, alone with her. This would be extra lovely.

“Well, not anymore,” she grumbled.

Harry laughed again. “I can take y’home?” He offered. “Or wherever your stuff is.”

She shook her head quickly. “Thank you, but I don’t want to put you out. Louis and Eleanor live across town and I’m just a five-minute drive so I can just call a ride.”

Harry paused briefly as he looked her over, assessing if she would really hate him for insisting on helping her out. “I really don’t mind, Miss Bird. Told you I was at y’service,” he reminded her gently.

Her heart skipped several beats. Not just one. He threw her heart totally out of sync. Her ex-boyfriend never visited her classroom and yet this stranger was happy to be there. Happy to help her. Wanted to help her. “I appreciate it, not that you need to do the other stuff for me either, but this is really above and beyond.”

“Think society should go above and beyond for the teachers that go above and beyond all the time,” he shrugged and finished the last of his drink. “I also don’t want you t’get in a car with a stranger without any of your stuff.”

She knew that Harry wouldn’t let her do it, probably just the same as Eleanor and Louis knew he wouldn’t either. She didn’t really want to go alone, but she also knew that Eleanor wouldn’t come back unless she was desperate. But El must have known that Harry wouldn’t let her find her own ride home alone late in the evening. Even from the few interactions she had with him, it was evident that Harry was a good person. As a kindergarten teacher, she believed she was an excellent judge of character. It was important when on field trips to know if people were going to be good to her little ones or not. It made her wary of people walking by the playground at recess. Of course, it also helped on parent night figuring out if a parent was going to be a headache or not throughout the year.

There was no way Harry was going to let her get into a car with a complete stranger to drive her home late in the night without her belongings. For safety purposes first and foremost.

Also, because he was fairly certain he was in love with her, but that truly was secondary. Maybe.

“I’m not going to hold you and Niall up?” She asked.

“M’pretty sure Niall left,” he admitted signing the receipt for all the drinks he had bought this evening. Niall was long gone; he waved at Harry when he exited the bathroom making obscene gestures with his fingers and a waggle of his eyebrows as he left. Harry obviously ignored him.

She smiled. “Some friends we have,” she joked.

But they were. For making them spend time with one another. “The very best,” he nodded in agreement.

Harry opened the passenger door of his car for her to get inside. The small gesture didn’t go unnoticed. The chivalry was something she wasn’t completely used to. She was more of a DIY kind of girl, yard sale and paint it kind of vibe. Fix her skirt with a safety pin before giving up on it. Doors weren’t held open for her, people couldn’t get there fast enough. But she didn’t need it either. She didn’t need doors opened for her or a knight and shining armor to come to her rescue. One of the many things her mentors taught her was to be resourceful.

But Harry opened her door anyway and she thought that maybe it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world to be a little less resourceful. “Thanks,” she mumbled quietly.

He winked at her. Winked. Then headed to his side of the car. “Y’can play with the temperature and music if y’feel so inclined,” he told her as the car started.

“I’m comfortable right now, thank you,” she said softly.

In the creepiest of ways, he wanted to know where she lived. Maybe he would surprise her with flowers or something equally stalker-ish or serial killer-like. Therefore, it was probably for the best he was taking her to Louis and Eleanor’s. She put the address into his GPS, so she didn’t have to give him directions (bad ones at that). It felt a little awkward in the car for about two minutes as she tried to think of what to say. Her whole life revolved around six-year-olds and from previous experience it felt like a bad idea to talk about them to a new guy who knew very little about her.

Fortunately, Harry broke the ice quickly. “What do y’have planned for your class this week?” He asked.

She blinked wondering if he could hear her thoughts. But despite his question, she wasn’t going to bombard him. “Oh, just the normal kindergarten things,” she summarized.

He chuckled. “Y’can chat ‘bout the more specifics if y’want,” he said following the GPS to the right.

Her heart felt so excited and heavy all the same. He was going to make her fall in love with him so quickly it was embarrassing. “Um...” she thought of the weekly planner on her now evenly laid desk that didn’t wobble when she wrote on the surface. “We’re going to start our shapes unit in math,” she started. “We’re still reading Charlotte’s Web and they’re working on their handwriting while we do our reading comprehension stuff.”

“That’s a lot for kindergarten, no?”

“It’s a ton, actually,” she nodded. “I think the standards have gotten harder since I was in kindergarten. They need to know about a hundred more things than I ever did. It’s overwhelming,” she explained. “So I try to make it fun and engaging because there is so much.”

“If the way your kids talked t’me a couple weeks ago is any indication, they love you and your class.”

“I think so too,” she admitted shyly.

“Y’should be proud of that, Bird,” he chuckled. “Y’sound like s’not the coolest thing in the world.”

“It’s not... not really.”

He frowned, and part of her wished she never made him do it. His mouth was too pretty to be making a sad face. He was too pretty to be anything but happy and she didn’t want to be the cause of upsetting him no matter how minor it was. “But it is,” he assured her.

“Well... thank you,” she said sincerely. “How about you? What’s up for this week?”

“Well, we’re finally going t’pour the forms for the foundation. We spent all this past week digging and prepping and getting things inspected,” he explained.

“Is it hard to time things?”

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I have an outline of what supposed t’get done and when. There’s room for error. S’the biggest project ‘ve ever worked on so I have t’estimate based on the smaller projects ‘ve done. The weather is what can really do us in on a big project like this.”

“That makes sense. How long is this project projected to be?”

“We’re thinking a little over a year start t’finish.”

“That’s so much,” she said in surprise. “And it’s going to be a whole police and fire station?”

“S’the plan,” he smirked.

“That’s incredible. Truly. I couldn’t do anything like that.”

“S’not so bad. Time feels like s’flying already.”

“That’s fair, can’t believe it’s almost Halloween.”

“What are y’going t’be? Do y’do dress up for your students?” He asked. She nodded.

“I put in my newsletter at the beginning of the year that I want to dress as your future profession or dream job.”

He grinned while watching the road even though he would have preferred to stare at her as he asked his next question. “So you don’t need a costume?”

“I’ll probably dress up as something silly, like a donut or a crayon. Something to make them laugh and enjoy. I already have my dream job,” she said so casually. Harry felt his stomach flip over her passion. She was so unbelievably good.

Harry cleared his throat before he told her he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life fixing up her classroom to be anything she wanted. “Any construction workers in the bunch?”

“Oh, at least five,” she giggled. “I have a list of questions for you too, that I’ve been holding over their heads, so they’ll be quiet during math,” she admitted with another laugh.

But Harry frowned. Had he known she had a list of questions, a way for him to spend more time with the pretty woman, he would have all but begged to be in her classroom. “Why didn’t y’tell me? I’d come in and answer questions,” he offered.

She looked toward the window briefly. “They’ll forget about it eventually, I don’t want...” she took a deep breath. “I am not holding you to it, is all I mean.”

Harry followed the GPS for another minute through a series of turns. “S’not a problem. Jus’ tell me the time and I’ll be there.”

“It’s really no big—”

“You’re right, Bird, s’no big deal. None at all. So m’happy t’come in,” he assured her.

She bit the inside of her lip as Harry pulled into the driveway. “You’re very kind Mr. Styles,” she said quietly looking at her hands in her lap.

Now parked, Harry turned toward her and nodded. “So are you, Miss Bee.”

“I knew we forgot someone!” Louis shouted from the doorway.

She rolled her eyes rolling down the window. “You guys suck. Harry already thinks you’re insane and never wants to see me again.”

Eleanor skipped down the steps and leaned onto the window frame. “It’s why we’re friends, Harry. Get on board or you can’t be with her. Or whatever The Spice Girls said.”

He smiled. “S’okay, I appreciated the alone time,” he winked at Eleanor without so much as a glance at her. She was grateful for the dark to cover the shade of red on her cheeks. “Are y’staying the night?”

“It’s either she stays here, or the Styles-Taxi will have to bring her home,” Eleanor said impishly.

“Nope, I’ve inconvenienced Harry enough for a lifetime, thank you,” she said shoving El away from the car and opening the door. Harry smirked.

“Will you tell her she’s not an inconvenience?” Louis asked a few steps back from the window.

“That’s very kind of you, Louis. Ask my only real friend right now, who didn’t abandon me and drove me out of his way to get me back to you lot,” she rolled her eyes, “to tell me I’m not an inconvenience.”

Harry laughed softly. “You’re not,” he assured her. “I’d drive y’home if y’needed me to.”

She nodded and looked at him shyly. “Thank you, but we’re going to one of my students’ soccer games tomorrow, so I don’t mind spending the night here.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, Miss Bee.”

“She doesn’t turn it off,” Louis rolled her eyes. “We’re going to her sister’s dance recital on Sunday and... what are you doing tomorrow evening? Babysitting or tutoring?”

She ignored Louis. “Good night, Harry, thank you for the ride,” she said softly and waved heading for the door with Eleanor.

Louis sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. “We didn’t think you’d really kidnap her but thank you for bringing her home anyway.”

“Anytime,” he smiled. “She’s... really lovely,” he murmured gazing after her retreating figure. “Here’s m’number... in case she gets stranded and y’need m’taxi services,” he handed off a dark navy business card that stated his name and number along with Handy Man Services and a graphic of some tools in silver leaf lettering.

“Pleasure to meet you, Harry. Thanks for taking care of Miss Kindergarten.”

“Course,” he nodded and waved as Louis headed for the house after the girls. Harry sank into the scent of her perfume that lingered in the car as he drove away with a smile on his lips.

Harry could see it was her from the job site when she was out at the playground monitoring the little ones. He wondered if she was constantly doing a headcount. Or if she trusted they wouldn’t stray too far. With the weather getting a little cooler, her pink coat turned into a bright blue, thicker in appearance. She still wore dresses, but not as frequently—only when the weather cooperated. There was a walkie-talkie in her hand as she walked the perimeter checking the watch on her wrist every so often—was she doing a step count? She must have walked six miles at work while toting her students around the building and playground.

The kids often didn’t leave her alone. Or they were constantly calling out for her. There were other students out there too, other teachers as well. But no one was called upon the way she was.

It had to be hard to be needed so much. But he couldn’t blame them either. He would call out for her too if he could.

“Is this why you’re taking your lunch break so late?” Niall asked sipping his water while he looked at Harry meandering near the fence by the field. He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Hmm,” he hummed shaking his head. “Lovesick.”

“Maybe,” he repeated watching her again.

“Did you ask her out when you drove her home?”

“No, didn’t want t’put her on the spot. Didn’t want her to think she had to say yes.”

“Mm. I’m sure watching her and her students on the outskirts of a playground is helping your case.”

“Mr. Harry!” Someone shouted.

Her head instinctively turned toward the job site, and Harry felt a little smug that her eyes caught his from across the way. The little ones bounded toward the field. A little gaggle of six-year-olds rushing toward him. It was adorable.

Their pretty teacher followed behind at a leisurely pace. “Miss Bee said we can ask you our questions if we’re really good during math time,” Harry only remembered the names of the three that asked him questions a couple weeks prior and unfortunately neither Mae, Milo, nor Zara was the one talking now.

“Sounds like we need t’be good during math time. We’re learning shapes, yeah?” He asked.

The little heads bobbed in agreement. A little girl closest to the fence was staring straight up, her neck bent back at a ninety-degree angle to look at Harry. “Do you know what a rhombus is?”

Harry chuckled. “I think so, do you want to tell me?”

“It has four equal sides. It looks like a square, but it’s squished,” Mae explained.

“You can make it out of two equal-literal triangles,” a little boy continued.

“Equilateral, my love,” she said gently approaching. Harry gave a small wave as did Niall.

“We love triangles on the job site,” Niall said knowingly.

“Really?!” Another little girl piped up excitedly.

“Yeah, they’re the strongest shape,” Harry explained. “When we start framing the building—”

“What’s framing?”

“Mr. Harry was speaking, Brayden,” she chided softly. “It’s rude to interrupt, right my love?” She asked.

“Sorry, Mr. Harry,” Brayden frowned.

“S’okay, lad. S’a good question,” he said reassuringly.

Niall answered in response for Harry. “It’s putting all pieces up around the sides into the foundation of where the building would be.”

They tilted their heads up at him, their little eyes looking on curiously. Confused by the word foundation for sure. “It’s like when you put the edges of a puzzle together first,” her voice was so kind and soft. Their heads bobbed once more in recognition of something they had done, finally understanding what Niall and Harry meant. Her ability to make analogies for the little ones made Harry fall a little harder for her.

“So we put in these diagonal pieces,” Harry explained. “Makes the building stronger.”

“What’s a diagonal?” Milo asked.

“It splits a shape in half from corner to corner,” Niall answered.

“Have you ever had a PB and J cut into triangles?” She asked Milo.

“Triangles are the best kind for PB and J’s,” Mae nodded excitedly.

“I like rectangles more!”

“My mommy cuts mine into a heart.”

She smiled as the little ones all said their favorite sandwich shapes. “Miss Bee,” a little one tugged on her pant leg. “Could we have a sandwich party with shapes?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea, Kai,” she grinned.

“Mr. Harry, can you and your friend come to our party?”

“This is Mr. Niall,” Harry gestured to his friend beside him.

“Hi Mr. Niall!” They all sang in unison.

“Can they please come Miss Bee?” Kai asked.

“Mr. Harry can answer all our questions!”

The excitement was bursting from them before she could answer. Their chatter was a little overwhelming. “Watch this,” Harry murmured to Niall, a smile on his face as the pretty woman looked at all the children. The awe he had for her was probably evident on his face. Niall could see the adoration in Harry’s eyes as he watched.

“Tootsie roll, lollipop!” she called out with a slightly louder voice.

“We’ve been talking, now let’s stop!”

Somehow getting a group of six-year-olds to stop chattering with a simple phrase was one of the hottest things Harry had ever seen. Niall swore Harry was going to start drooling over her. Niall chuckled but was nonetheless impressed. “Should try that on the crew.”

“Mr. Harry and Mr. Niall are doing their jobs, remember? They can’t just come to our party.”

“What if we make invitations? I made invitations for my birthday party!”

“Amara, we can discuss it back in circle time, but you know how we can’t just go to specials whenever we want? Mr. Harry and Mr. Niall can’t just come to our party in the middle of their jobs,” she explained.

“Oh,” the little one pouted.

“We would love t’be there,” Harry said knowingly. “If we can arrange a time, we can try t’make it.”

“Why don’t you guys go line up with the other teachers,” she suggested. “Say bye to Mr. Harry and Mr. Niall.”

“Bye!”

“Thank you,” she said kindly to the pair of them. “That was really cool to talk about shapes,” she smiled.

“No problem,” Niall assured her. “I gotta get back to my task, but it was nice to see you again, Miss Bee. Let me know when our sandwich party is.”

Harry smiled brightly at her. “Hi.”

She looked at him shyly, her cheeks blushing once more. “Hi.”

Harry put his hand on the fence dangerously close to hers. He could feel the warmth of her pinky near his. “Can I come see y’later in your classroom?” He asked.

“It’s not Friday,” the pinch of her brows coming together.

“I can’t wait till Friday,” he said knowingly those pretty dimples of his making her melt a bit.

She bit her lower lip and nodded, a smile twitching on her mouth. “Later,” she agreed and walked away.

Harry felt practically giddy as he walked back to the site.

The outside door was propped open when he arrived. Quickly he found her sitting on the carpeted floor of the classroom in a circle of colorful paper, her laminator in the middle beside her and the smell of warm plastic. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“I have to cut these pumpkins up,” she explained. “I want to laminate my decorations for November too,” she continued.

Harry sat beside her. Cross-legged. His tall frame, his T-shirt stretching over his muscles. His clunky work boots. Everything about him was broad and masculine. His expression was extremely concentrated as he picked up a pair of scissors and got to work cutting up the bright orange paper. “How’s this work?” He asked pointing to the laminator.

She demonstrated with the paper and plastic she had in her hand. Harry watched with rapt attention. “I like to save the plastic as much as possible, so I put a lot on one sheet,” she told him. He nodded. He took some paper and plastic cover sheets from her. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I’m sure you don’t want to spend a Tuesday afternoon doing this,” she mumbled.

“S’no bother. I like spending time with you,” he reminded her. “Why are you on the floor, though?”

“I can only sit in a chair that’s made for a six-year-old for so long, my desk isn’t big enough for everything and the outlet by my desk is a little sketchy at best,” she smiled. “And I love my rocking chair, but it’s not really conducive for paper cutting and stuff...” she glanced at Harry again and his large body. He was so hot. “Do you want to sit in a real chair? You probably don’t want to sit on rainbow carpet after a long day at work,” she frowned.

“No,” he chuckled. “M’okay,” he assured her.

“Do you want a snack or a drink or anything?”

“M’really fine, Bird. Jus’ happy t’help you. Happy t’be spending time with you.”

“Cutting paper,” she stated, accusation laced in her tone.

“Cutting paper,” he repeated and nodded at the same time.

“On a Tuesday.”

“I could help on a Wednesday too,” he shrugged.

She swallowed. “Harry,” she said softly. Her fingers paused using the scissors, and some of the paper slid off her lap.

“Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“M’sure y’know why, Bird. You’re a brilliant, educated, beautiful woman.” Her cheeks flushed with color and Harry smiled gently at her. “I like you, Bird. You know I do.” Her lap was covered in orange, black, and yellow paper. She was so pretty. Her hair piled on top of her head, at least three pencils sticking out of the bun at every which angle. She probably thought it looked messy, but Harry just thought she looked like the prettiest art sculpture ever created. The cardigan on her shoulders slipped to one side and Harry thought a plain white T-shirt beneath it might be the sexiest thing he ever saw. “Bird?” He said quietly.

“I spread myself really thin. I have a family, my friends, my students, I barely take care of myself, and I don’t care because I love every single thing I do,” she explained. “I thought I put my ex first, but he didn’t feel the same way. If you ask Louis and Eleanor, they’ll tell you he was the worst, but I think he may have been right,” she swallowed. “I put so much into this job and I love it and I don’t think—”

“Do y’think m’going t’try and change that?” He interrupted. “Your passion is exactly why I like you. M’not going t’change that. If I only get t’spend time with you by cutting up paper and laminating it on the floor of your classroom once a week then I can’t think of a better date. This is more than enough. I don’t need a lot.”

“You might not need a lot, but it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a lot.”

God, she was perfect. “S’more than enough jus’ t’know that, Bird. Truly.”

She rolled her lips into her mouth. “Really?”

“Besides, if I help y’get all this done, then it goes by faster. Right? Maybe then I could take you t’dinner?”

“But—”

“Please, let me take you t’dinner,” he offered, his voice soft. “It doesn’t have t’be a date. Can jus’ be us going as friends.”

“I really don’t want to send mixed signals and I just—”

“Bird,” he smiled. “M’not afraid t’beg. There’s no expectations. Jus’ dinner or lunch. Or breakfast. Whenever you’re free.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and pulled out her phone and tapped on the screen a few times. “I’m free Friday night,” she said softly.

“After a long week?” He chuckled. “Y’were practically falling asleep with y’friends on Friday. Pick a different day. Any day. Sunday afternoon, Monday night, or four in the morning on a Thursday. I don’t care.”

“You’d go on a date with me on a Monday night?”

“I’d go on a date with you during your lunch hour.”

“Lunch hour,” she laughed. “I get twenty-four minutes,” she shook her head.

“Then it would be the best spent twenty-four minutes I can possibly think of,” he promised unbothered by the amount of time. Harry would take fifteen seconds of time with her. As much as she could offer, he would take it.

She pursed her lips. “You really want to do this?”

“I really want t’do this.”

There was a long pause as they gazed at one another. Harry thought she was the prettiest person in the world. How anyone let her slip away was a mystery to him. If she gave him a chance, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. No matter how hard she tried to push him away for his own benefit.

“Sunday afternoon sounds kind of lovely,” she admitted quietly.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

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brookghaib-blog · 2 months ago

Text

The ghost I left behind - II

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Words: 7,03k

Chapter I , III

18 months ago

The dinner rush had slowed to a crawl.

It was one of those mid-week slumps where time dragged its feet, and the only people who came in were either regulars who knew the staff by name or wanderers with nowhere better to be. Y/N moved between tables with practiced rhythm, balancing plates and coffee refills like second nature, her back sore and her feet aching in shoes she’d long worn past comfort.

The little bell above the entrance jingled.

A man walked in—mid-fifties, pinched face, suit slightly wrinkled like it had seen better years. He looked around with thinly veiled disgust before huffing and plopping himself into the booth by the window—Table 9. The corner one. The one nobody liked serving because the light always flickered overhead and the booth’s cushion was partially split.

Y/N forced a smile and approached, flipping open her notepad.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to Cluckin’ Bucket. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He didn’t look up. Just waved his hand in the air like she was a gnat.

“Coffee. Black. And make sure it’s fresh.”

“Of course,” she said gently, tucking the pen behind her ear.

A few minutes later, she returned with a mug, carefully setting it in front of him.

“I’ll give you a moment with the menu—”

He cut her off without lifting his eyes. “Jesus, you’re slow. Do you people even train here, or just pick up anyone who needs cigarette money?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I… I’m sorry?”

He finally looked at her, and his smile wasn’t kind. “You should be. You’re lucky anyone even eats here with the way this place is run. What are you, twenty? You going to be slinging grease until you hit thirty? Classy.”

She stiffened, drawing a steadying breath. Her fingers clenched slightly around her notepad.

“Sir, I’m doing my best. If there’s something wrong with the service, I can ask someone else to take your—”

“Don’t get huffy with me, sweetheart. Just bring me a two-piece meal. And none of that soggy crap you people usually serve. If I find a hair in it again like last time, I swear to God…”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, and something heavy pulled at her chest.

“I’ll put in your order,” she said, voice quiet, calm—but the burn in her throat was rising fast.

As she turned, he muttered just loud enough to hear, “No wonder your kind ends up in jobs like this.”

She froze, mid-step.

No scene. No yelling. Just a single breath, then another. Her hands were shaking now, and she didn’t want to let them see.

“I’m taking five,” she murmured to the shift manager, barely audible as she walked past the kitchen.

She pushed through the back door that led into the alley behind the restaurant, where the dumpster smell mixed with exhaust and the quiet hum of city traffic. The cold air hit her like a slap. She pressed her back to the brick wall, closed her eyes, and finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

The burn in her chest wouldn’t go away.

She hated how easily people like that could unravel you. How fast kindness could be swallowed up by cruelty. She’d been so tired lately. Not just in her body but deep in her bones.

She wiped her eyes quickly. No tears, not here, not for that man. Just five minutes. That’s all she needed.

Then, just as she stepped away from the wall, she heard movement.

Around the corner of the building—behind the employee entrance—was a dim alcove where the employees usually went to smoke or cool off in costume. She walked quietly toward the sound, expecting maybe someone to be hiding out like her.

Then she saw him.

Bobby.

Still half in his chicken suit, the headpiece sitting on the crate beside him. His back was to her, hunched over something in his hands. The foil glinted faintly. A tiny click. The smell hit her first, acrid and chemical and sharp. The pipe. The lighter. The slow drag.

She stopped cold.

He turned his head slightly—just enough to catch her from the corner of his eye.

And froze.

They didn’t speak.

He looked at her like a child caught red-handed—eyes wide, mouth parting with some silent, unspoken apology already dying in his throat. His shoulders drooped, the weight of shame dragging him down like a stone.

Y/N didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at him. Everything in her face was quiet—but inside, it cracked.

She had always known, somewhere. The strange mood swings. The occasional vacant look in his eyes. The way he’d sometimes vanish after work and come back different.

But she told herself it wasn’t often. That he was better now. That he was trying.

And now, here it was. Not suspicion. Not a maybe. A truth, in sharp relief.

She blinked slowly. Her chest rising and falling like she’d just been punched there.

Bob didn’t speak. He didn’t run. He didn’t even look away.

She did.

Y/N turned and walked back inside without a word, the door swinging shut behind her.

She didn’t cry. She didn't say anything. Not yet.

She had a shift to finish.

The conversation would come later.

But in that moment, something inside her was already breaking.

The walk back to her place was drowned in silence.

The city buzzed around them — car horns, laughter, the occasional bark of a street vendor — but between Y/N and Bob, there was a vacuum. Her steps were steady, controlled, but her jaw was tight, eyes forward. Bob trailed a little behind, hands buried in his jacket pockets, shrinking into himself like a child expecting punishment. Shame clung to him like smoke.

They reached her apartment. It had become a second home to him — familiar, warm, soft in the corners where his own life was harsh. He’d left extra clothes in her drawers, knew how her kitchen light flickered when the microwave was running, had memorized the scent of her shampoo from the pillowcases.

He watched her unlock the door. She didn’t speak, just moved to the bathroom, turned the shower on. Steam soon crept under the crack in the door.

Bob stood there, frozen. A picture frame on the wall caught his eye — the two of them at the park, that first sunny date. She was kissing his cheek, laughing. He looked dazed, goofy, stunned by her affection. He still felt like that. Always stunned.

The door to the bathroom opened a while later. She came out in clean clothes, her damp hair pulled back in a loose bun. Wordlessly, she moved to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients like muscle memory. The rhythm of chopping vegetables, setting the water to boil, flipping something in a pan — it was too normal. Too quiet. It was the kind of silence that screamed.

Bob sat on the couch. His leg bounced. His palms were sweaty. The sound of a spoon clinking against a pan made his chest tighten.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

"Y/N," he croaked.

She didn’t turn.

He stood up slowly, walked a few steps toward the kitchen. "Please. Just say something."

The chopping stopped. She placed the knife down and leaned her hands on the counter, head bowed.

“Why?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Why do you do it?”

Her voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusing. It was sad. It was tired.

Bob swallowed hard. His throat burned. He opened his mouth, but for a moment, nothing came out.

Then he spoke, slowly, quietly. A confession years in the making.

“I was sixteen the first time I tried it,” he said. “It was just supposed to be for fun. Some kids in my neighborhood — we were bored, angry, messed up. I didn’t think it’d be a thing. But it stuck.”

He looked down at his hands like they weren’t his own.

“My brain… it’s not right. Hasn’t been for a long time. There’s this weight I carry every day. Like the world is pressing down on my chest, and everyone’s expecting me to breathe like it’s nothing. Some mornings I don’t even want to get up. Some nights I wish I wouldn’t wake up.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now.

“The meth — it made it quiet. Just for a while. It made me feel like I could do things. Like I wasn’t a loser, a disappointment. It tricked me into thinking I was normal.”

He stopped and turned to face her. His eyes were glassy, his voice breaking.

“But then I met you. And for the first time, I didn’t need it to feel okay. You made me want to stay clean. You made me believe I could. And I was trying, I swear, I was trying so fucking hard.”

He stepped closer, his voice desperate.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want to lose this — lose you. You’re the only good thing that’s ever really been mine.”

His knees buckled slightly as he dropped down to them in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I hate that I messed this up. I hate that I let you down. Please… please don’t give up on me. I swear I’ll get clean. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll go to meetings, therapy, rehab — anything. Just don’t walk away.”

Tears streamed down his face now, dripping onto the floor.

“I know I’ve got a thousand reasons to hate myself. I know I’m broken and messy and hard to love. But you… you make me want to be better. And I will. I promise. Just… don’t let this be the end.”

Y/N stood still for a moment, frozen, her hands still gripping the counter behind her.

And the only sound in the room was his quiet, wracked sobbing, and the distant clatter of boiling water on the stove, as dinner burned, untouched.

Bob stayed on his knees, eyes red and rimmed with shame, when his voice returned — quieter now, like a wound being exposed.

“My dad used to hit me,” he said. “Not just when he was mad — sometimes, I think, just because he didn’t know how else to talk. Or maybe he did, and he just liked watching me flinch.”

His eyes weren’t focused on her now. They stared past her, through her, into a corner of memory he rarely let himself go back to.

“He was a drunk. A real mean one. He’d come home and if the dishes weren’t done, or the TV was too loud, or I looked at him the wrong way — that was it. And my mom… she didn’t stop him. She just… endured. Like it was normal. Like it was just what families were.”

Y/N’s hands had gone still behind her on the countertop.

“I used to hide under my bed, back when I was little. I’d count the cracks in the floorboards, try to breathe as quietly as I could so he wouldn’t hear me. I remember thinking if I could just disappear for long enough, maybe he’d forget I existed.”

He laughed once — a low, broken sound that barely resembled laughter. “I used to wish I could disappear entirely.”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, but she said nothing yet. Let him speak.

“When I got older, I fought back. Not well. But I tried. And when I was seventeen, I left. Packed a trash bag with clothes and took a bus out. Thought I’d figure it out. Be free.”

He looked up at her then — just barely.

“But the thing is… when someone teaches you your whole life that you’re worthless, it doesn’t go away just because you leave the house. It follows you. It lives in you.”

His hands shook now, resting on his knees.

“I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I’m seconds away from falling apart. Like no matter how good something feels, I’m gonna ruin it. And I thought— I thought maybe if I numbed it, if I buried it, I could be normal.”

He exhaled, tears slipping freely now.

“But then you showed up. You, with your stupid coffee orders and your sweet laugh and the way you looked at me like I wasn’t a fucking disaster.”

His voice cracked, almost too much to continue.

“And now you know. Everything. The drugs. The lies. The damage. You know it all. So if you want me to leave, I will. I won’t fight it.”

Y/N moved then, slowly, quietly kneeling down in front of him. She reached for his face — her touch soft, careful — and wiped the tears from his cheeks, her own still silently falling.

“You’re not leaving,” she whispered, her voice firm despite its softness. “You don’t get to push me away, Bobby. Not tonight.”

He blinked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“I’m gonna help you,” she said. “Not because I think I can fix you, or save you, or any of that hero complex bullshit. But because I see you. I see who you really are underneath all of it.”

She gave him a small, fragile smile. “And I know what it’s like. To fight temptation. To almost fall. You think I don’t get it? That I didn’t come close to things I don’t even like to think about now?”

Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, gently.

“The only difference is, I didn’t fall. Not back then. But you— Bobby, you got up. You got up today. You came home. That counts for something.”

She leaned in and kissed him, soft, slow — not fiery or frantic, but grounding. A tether to the world he was convinced he didn’t deserve.

And when she pulled back, his arms wrapped around her like a man clinging to the last piece of a life raft. His grip was tight, desperate. His body trembled against hers.

“Why…” he whispered, breath shaky against her shoulder. “Why do you love me?”

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. Her own were glassy, full of heartbreak and something stronger — belief.

“Because I see the man you’re trying to be,” she said. “Because even when you’re at your lowest, you still try to protect me. Because you never looked at me like I was broken, even when I told you all the reasons I could be.”

He shook his head slightly, disbelief etched across every inch of his face.

“How…” he whispered. “How can someone have so much love for me?”

And she didn’t answer right away. She just kissed his forehead, brushing the damp hair from his face, and pulled him close again.

In the quiet of that little apartment — with the burnt dinner on the stove, with their photograph still crooked on the wall — Bob let himself cry like a child for the first time in years.

They forgot about their surroundings and just laid against the couch, and Y/N held him through it all, her love a quiet, unshakeable force wrapped around him like armor.

Still. Steady. Like she wasn’t afraid of what he’d just shown her.

He couldn’t even look at her when she said, softly, “You’re not the only one with ghosts, Bobby.”

He glanced at her. She wasn’t looking for sympathy — just understanding. Her voice didn’t shake. It was tired, but honest. Worn down from years of holding things in.

“I’ve never told anyone everything. Not like this,” she said. “But… did I ever mentioned to you about Jordan? He was my first love.”

Bob turned toward her, the lump in his throat tightening again.

“I wasn’t always like this. Quiet. Careful,” she said, a hollow laugh passing her lips. “I used to be… wild. Not in the good way.”

She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were shaking.

“My mom — she’s the kind of woman who never wanted a daughter. Especially not one who reminded her how much time she’d lost. She was beautiful once. And she hated that I got told the same thing. She treated me like I was competition in her own house. Constantly picking at me. My clothes. My body. My laugh. Everything I was, she hated. It’s like I walked into a room and reminded her of all the choices she didn’t make.”

Bob’s brows drew in, his mouth a tight line of hurt on her behalf.

“And my dad?” she scoffed. “He was a college professor. Brilliant. Poised. Married to appearances. When I turned twelve, he started spending more nights in his office than at home. Eventually, he ran off with one of his grad students. Left a sticky note on the fridge. ‘Don’t let your mother go crazy.’ That was it.”

She blinked hard, not wanting to cry again. Not for them.

“I became the adult in the house before I hit puberty. My mom drank. Screamed. Slept through entire weekends. I cleaned. I cooked. I learned how to smile and make it look real. I still loved her tho, I never really blamed her for being the way she was, maybe she had reasons and I just… came in the wrong timing.”

She leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might hold something safer than the past.

“By the time I was sixteen, I was going out every night with older friends. We used fake IDs, got into clubs. I was… reckless. Desperate to feel like someone wanted me. Like I wasn’t invisible unless I was being yelled at.”

She turned to Bob, finally, her eyes watery.

“That’s how I met Jordan.”

Even saying his name made her stomach twist.

“He owned the club. Rich. Handsome. Wore these stupid expensive suits like he was always playing dress-up for some fantasy life. And he noticed me. Like… noticed me.”

She laughed bitterly. “I thought I’d won the lottery. I was seventeen, and he was thirty-two, and I felt like I was starring in some tragic love song. He gave me everything. Drove me around in his sports car. Bought me designer dresses. Called me ‘his girl’ in front of everyone.”

Bob stayed completely still, listening with his whole soul.

“But it wasn’t love,” she said. “It was manipulation. Control. He liked that I was pretty and broken. Liked that I thought being chosen by him meant I was worth something.”

Her hands tightened in her lap.

“Then one night… he took me home after a club party. I’d said no. I remember saying it. I was tired. I didn’t want to stay over. He gave me a drink, just so “ we could relax”— I didn’t know something was in it. I passed out in his bed.”

Her voice cracked then, finally.

“When I woke up, I wasn’t wearing my dress anymore. Just a sheet. He was in the kitchen making coffee like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

She looked at Bob, her voice hoarse.

“I didn’t do anything. I just… laid there. Crying. Because I realized right then — I wasn’t looking for love. I was looking for someone to lie to me sweetly enough that I could pretend it was real.”

A long pause followed. Bob’s hand found hers, trembling but firm.

“He never went to jail. Of course not. I didn’t tell anyone. Who was gonna believe me? I was just some ‘party girl’ sneaking into clubs with an older man.”

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

“So I went numb. For a time, I just thought that dating would lead me to the same path my mother went into. I told myself I deserved it for being stupid. For needing love too much. Life stopped being colorfull, and just went with the whatever the wind took me, and it was not far. I got out of the house, never truly cared to repair the relationship with my parents, but going with no money wasn't very smart, didn't even got the education I desired, got away from my friends. And when I realized I was stuck in a loop, always stagnant, never really improving, and I just accepted it.”

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, breath shaky.

“But then… you.”

Bob’s eyes locked with hers, wide and wet and full of disbelief.

“You came into that stupid fast food place in a chicken suit. Nervous. Sad. So fucking awkward. But you were kind. And you made me feel… safe.”

She smiled through the tears.

“And every day, even on your worst days, you looked at me like I was something worth staying sober for. And that meant everything, Bobby. It still does.”

She moved closer to him, took his face gently in her hands.

“I know what it’s like to carry pain that eats at you. I know what it’s like to feel like your story’s already been written — and it ends with you broken. I don’t judge for the path you took, sometimes I…I thought about it, I hang out with the wrong people, of course I have done it before, I didn’t rely on it but…I just I don’t know, I was lucky I guess.”

Bob was crying now, hard, his face buried against her shoulder.

“But it’s not over,” she whispered. “We’re not done.”

He looked up, shaking.

She brushed a tear from his cheek and smiled through her own.

"I see you. Not the addiction. Not the mistakes. You. And I love you… even the parts you hide.”

Bob let out a trembling breath and held her tighter, like he’d never let go again.

And in that moment — surrounded by all the wreckage, the shadows of what they'd both survived — two broken souls found something whole.

Present day

The days bled into each other now.

She moved like a shadow through the fluorescent-lit diner, apron tied tight around her waist, sneakers dragging just a little more than usual. The name tag still read Y/N, though the letters were beginning to smudge. No one commented. No one really looked.

“Welcome to Cluckin’ Bucket. What can I get you?” “Refill’s free. I’ll be right back.” “Fries come with that. You want ranch or ketchup?”

Her voice didn’t change. Not cheerful, not cold—just flat. A practiced cadence with just enough inflection to pass as human. The kind of tone that no one questioned. That no one cared enough to dig beneath.

Her coworkers passed by in a quiet shuffle. No jokes. No checking in. Just nods and tray exchanges. Maybe they could sense it—the weight around her like a storm cloud that never lifted. Or maybe they were used to it by now.

She stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom during her ten-minute break and didn’t recognize her own face. The bump beneath her uniform was unmistakable now. She didn’t bother trying to hide it anymore. There was nothing left to hide behind. No more stories. No more pretending that he might show up mid-shift and scoop her into his arms like it was all some misunderstanding.

The clock ticked by. Her shift ended without fanfare.

She changed in the back room, put on her coat, wrapped her scarf around her neck. No goodbyes. Just the squeak of the door as it closed behind her.

The night was cold but clear. A rare calm in the chaos of the city.

She walked with her earbuds in, phone buried deep in her coat pocket, letting the random shuffle take over. Whatever came on, came on. She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t have preferences. She just needed something to drown out the silence.

Halfway home, her feet started to ache. She spotted a bench tucked beside an empty bus stop, under a flickering streetlight. It wasn’t much, but it was empty. And it was still.

She sat down slowly, one hand instinctively resting on her stomach.

The music kept playing.

And then, like fate—like punishment—their song came on. That stupid song, that she could not stop listenning. "Yours" - maye.

That one he used to hum under his breath while frying chicken in the kitchen. The one they danced to once in the middle of their living room at midnight, barefoot and grinning, cheap wine on the counter and nothing but love between them.

Her throat tightened.

She stared down at the cracked pavement beneath her feet, the light above humming faintly as it flickered.

He loved me, she thought. He really did.

That was the cruelest part. He hadn’t been faking it. She’d felt it in his touch, in the way he held her in the mornings, the way he kissed her forehead when she cried after a long shift. It wasn’t pretend. He loved her.

But he left anyway.

He loved her, and he left.

The thought came like a stormcloud, suffocating the warmth before it could grow.

He had made a choice. She knew that now. The police confirmed it. He had planned it. Saved up. Booked a ticket. Crossed oceans not to be found. She spent her free time removing the flyers she had put up for him.

She wanted to scream at him. Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t the baby enough? But screaming wouldn't help. It never did. It only made her feel hollow afterward.

Still, her mind wandered—always back to him.

Maybe he regrets it, she thought. Maybe he’s out there, wishing he could come back. Maybe he thinks about her. About this child.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Every hopeful thought fought against the brutal weight of reality like a war inside her skull.

She was tired of the battle. Hope hurt almost as much as the truth.

She lowered her head into her hands and let the music keep playing. The baby shifted inside her, a small, fluttering reminder that she wasn’t completely alone.

But she felt like she was.

She lived in limbo now. Between memory and disappointment. Between what they had and what was left behind.

The bench was cold. The city was loud. But she stayed there for a long time, because going home meant facing the silence of their apartment again.

And she wasn’t ready for that yet.

Meanwhile, in Malaysia- 2 months ago

The air in Malaysia was thick — not just with humidity, but with something heavier. Guilt didn’t have a scent, but if it did, Bob imagined it would smell like the sweat-drenched room he was holed up in. Ceiling fan rattling overhead. One bare light bulb swaying from a cracked ceiling. A single mattress on the floor. A half-empty bottle of water at his feet.

He hadn't spoken more than a few words to anyone in days.

The job they’d given him was temporary, meaningless. He moved crates from one side of a warehouse to the other. A ghost with hands. No one asked his name. He didn’t offer it.

Every night, he collapsed onto the mattress like a dying star — heavy, slow, and silent. And every night, her face found him again.

Y/N.

He could still see the way her hair fell across her face in the morning when she leaned over the stove, cooking eggs in his worn-out T-shirt. The way she would hum softly under her breath while drying dishes. The way her fingers curled instinctively over the swell of her belly the day she told him they were going to be parents.

He had kissed that hand.

And then he left.

Because he was a coward. Because the drugs were easier. Because he’d convinced himself she was better off without him.

But the truth was uglier than that.

He missed her so much it made him physically ache. Not just her body, her warmth — but the space she created around him. Safe, forgiving, real. She was the first person in his life who hadn’t looked at him like a lost cause.

And he’d proven them all right.

He rubbed at his face, scrubbing tears away before they could fall. But it was useless. They came anyway.

He reached under the mattress and pulled out the photo.

It was wrinkled, faded from being handled so many times. It showed the two of them sitting in the park on their first date — the one where she packed the entire meal and insisted he try her potato salad. He hated eggs, but he ate it anyway because she’d made it with so much love.

She was laughing in the photo. He remembered that moment. He'd just made some dumb joke about the squirrel trying to steal her sandwich. She had leaned into him, eyes crinkling, and he thought, I’m never letting go of this.

He traced the edge of her face with his finger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He’d whispered it every night since he left. Sometimes louder. Sometimes choked out between sobs. But she couldn’t hear him. She would never hear him.

He imagined her now — back in that little apartment. Alone. Tired. Maybe crying. Maybe angry. Maybe both. Maybe she hated him. He wouldn’t blame her.

But maybe… just maybe, some part of her still believed in him.

And that was the cruelest hope of all.

Because he didn’t deserve it.

He stared at the ceiling, hands trembling. The meth wasn’t hitting like it used to. The numbness didn’t come fast enough anymore.

And still, in his mind, her voice lingered.

"You’re stronger than this, Bobby. You’re not your worst day."

He closed his eyes and clutched the photo to his chest.

But in this place, across oceans and guilt, those words felt like they belonged to someone else. Someone better than him.

Still, he held onto them.

Because it was all he had left.

Night came early in this part of the city.

Not because the sun set any quicker — but because the shadows here swallowed light before it could settle. The alleyways twisted like veins, pulsing with neon flickers and muffled shouting from nearby vendors. The street smelled like oil and rot and burning sugar. Bob barely noticed anymore.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. Just nodded off in strange places — under stairwells, on benches, wherever his body finally gave in. He was five days clean and forty-eight hours high. Maybe more. Time didn't work right anymore.

His hands shook as he walked. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back. His mouth was dry. Eyes too wide. He was running low — the last dose hadn’t been enough. Not by a long shot. The pain crept in again. The ache behind his eyes, the guilt in his ribs. Her voice in his head.

"Bobby, don’t lie to me." "We can get through this." "I love you, even when you don’t love yourself."

He gritted his teeth and shoved her voice aside.

She wasn’t here. She wasn’t real anymore.

He needed to make her go away.

He ducked down a narrow side street, where dealers sometimes drifted like ghosts, offering plastic baggies with eyes too old for their faces. But tonight, no one was there. Just the hum of faulty streetlights and the sting of desperation in his chest.

“Looking for something?”

Bob stopped.

The voice was smooth — too smooth. Like glass over ice. It came from a man leaning against a rusted metal door, half-shrouded in shadow. White shirt, dark blazer, not a bead of sweat on him despite the thick air. He looked out of place here. Clean. Controlled. Dangerous.

Bob didn’t answer. Just stared with hollow, half-blown pupils.

The man stepped forward slowly, like he already knew the answer.

“You’re not from here. You don’t belong. You’re just trying to disappear, aren’t you?” His smile was thin. “I know that look. Like you’re trying to burn every part of yourself out so there’s nothing left.”

Bob blinked, confused. Agitated. “You got something or not?”

“I have something,” the man said. “But it’s not what you’re expecting.”

That should’ve been a red flag. Maybe it was. But Bob had walked past every red flag he’d ever seen without blinking. His curiosity was frayed, his caution dulled. The man held out a card.

“Come with me. Right now. We’re looking for volunteers. People like you — no strings, no questions. You let us do what we need, and in return...you won’t feel a thing ever again.”

Bob stared at the card. It was black. No writing. Just a silver symbol — something sharp and angular, like a thunderbolt wrapped in a serpent. "O.X.E"

“What is this?”

“A way out,” the man said simply. “You’ve tried everything else. Let this be your last door.”

Bob hesitated.

His skin itched. His teeth clenched. His knees ached. His chest hurt. Not from withdrawal — but from remembering her. From remembering what he left behind. The girl with stars in her eyes who made him believe, for a little while, that he could be worth something. That he could be whole.

He swallowed hard.

“Will it make me better? Like... a better person? Useful?” he whispered.

The man’s smile didn’t change. “Eventually.”

Bob nodded once.

That’s all it took.

And just like that, he followed the man into the dark, down a corridor lined with flickering lights and metal doors — unaware that the choice he just made wouldn’t numb his pain.

It would unleash it.

Present day, 7a.m- New York

The weak morning sun slanted through the café windows in narrow ribbons, cutting through the steam rising from two mismatched coffee mugs. The air smelled faintly of burnt toast and the overworked espresso machine. It was too early for the place to be busy, and too quiet for comfort. A tiny bell chimed each time the door opened, but no one came in. Not yet.

Y/N sat across from Officer Cooper, her hands wrapped tightly around a chipped mug like it was the only thing anchoring her in place. Her eyes were tired. Dark crescents hung beneath them, untouched by makeup. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose across her face. She looked thin — too thin — except for the roundness of her belly, which pushed gently against the edge of the table.

She stirred her coffee slowly, even though she hadn’t added sugar. Or cream. Just for something to do with her hands.

“I’m sorry I called,” she said, her voice quiet. “I just didn’t know who else…”

Cooper, across from her, shook his head. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I told you before — if you need something, you call. That wasn’t just some empty promise.”

She offered him a small, broken smile. It didn’t last.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “Been thinking about things I shouldn’t. Options.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of options?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers moved to the base of her belly, holding it gently, protectively. Her gaze dropped to the table, then shifted to the window. She didn’t want to see his face when she said it.

“I’ve been looking into adoption,” she said finally. “Private. Families who… who can’t have kids. People who want this. Who have homes. Stability. Money. Things I don’t.”

Cooper leaned back, visibly stunned. His coffee mug clinked softly against the table as he set it down, forgotten. “That’s a serious thing to say, Y/N.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

He studied her. The deep-set sadness in her eyes. The stiffness in her shoulders. The fragility in her voice that she was trying so hard to hide.

“Do you want to give the baby up,” he asked gently, “or is this the last thing on a long list of desperate maybes?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Her lips trembled, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop it. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. She turned her face toward the window, where early morning joggers passed by, carefree. Laughing. Living.

“I love this baby,” she said, her voice breaking. “So much it makes me sick. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even have enough money for rent next month. My job’s cutting my hours ‘cause I’m showing too much. I can't stand on my feet that long anymore. I’ve sold half our stuff just to make it through. And every time I think I’m crawling forward, I just— I slide back.”

Cooper reached across the table and placed a weathered hand over hers. It was warm. Solid. Like a rock in a storm.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Feels like I am.”

“You don’t have to make this decision today. Or alone. There’s help out there. I can pull some strings — get you in touch with someone who can offer a better job. Something safer, something that won’t drain the life out of you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if I have to. In the meantime, I can help, I told you I'm a grandfather, I can give you stuff for the baby, stuff that my granddaughter outgrown, I don't know, I can give you some money, help you get on you feet.”

She finally looked at him, eyes shimmering.

“You’d do that?”

He nodded, serious. “I would. I told you I have a daughter like you, I know my help would be for a good outcome.” He let out a deep breath. "I know you're just a good person with unresolved past damaged, and I could I look at someone who resembles my babygirl and let them suffer the consequences of other people's actions Y/N."

Y/N looked back out the window, her shoulders shaking slightly as the tears finally came. But she didn’t sob. She cried quietly, like she’d gotten good at it. Like it was part of her morning routine.

“I keep thinking about him,” she whispered. “Not the one that left. The one before. The one who came home with flowers after a long shift. The one who said I made him feel like maybe he wasn’t broken.”

She wiped her cheeks, her hand trembling.

“I have the photos. And this baby. And some dumb song we used to play every Sunday morning while cooking pancakes. That’s all I have left of him.”

She exhaled shakily, resting a hand over her bump again.

Cooper was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, but firm.

“What was it about him, Y/N?” he asked. “What made him worth all this pain?”

She looked at him, startled.

“I mean it,” he said. “You’re holding onto something that’s dragging you down so far, I’m afraid you’ll never come back up. What was so special about Bob Reynolds that even your love for this baby’s not enough to let him go? You spent months knocking at my door every single day, demading those lazy bastards to do something, persisting, looking for him. Losing yourself for a guy who planned leaving while sleeping by your side.”

Y/N didn’t answer, not right away.

Y/N didn’t look at Cooper when she spoke.

Her gaze stayed pinned to the window, as if the right answer might walk by, wearing Bobby’s face.

“I know him,” she said quietly. “That’s why I can’t let go. Not because I’m stupid or weak or in denial. I know Bobby.”

Cooper leaned forward slightly, listening.

“I know how dark his thoughts can get. How he used to wake up some mornings and just… sit there. Quiet. Staring at the floor like the weight of being alive was too much. And he’d smile at me, pretend everything was okay, but I could see it. That hollow look in his eyes. I know how much he hated himself for the things he did. How ashamed he was of the drugs. Of needing them.”

Her voice cracked, but she pushed through.

“He thought I didn’t know how deep it went. But I did. I always did. And I never once judged him. I just wanted him to stop because I loved him. Not because I was angry. Not because I wanted to fix him. Because I wanted him alive. And he tried, God, he tried. Even when he failed, he tried again.”

She paused, drawing a shaky breath.

“You’re asking me why I can’t let him go?” she said, finally turning to Cooper, eyes brimming with exhausted pain. “Because he never let go of me. Even when he was breaking, even when the drugs were louder than my voice — he’d still look at me like I was the only good thing he had left. He knew everything about me, Cooper. The ugly things. The things I never told anyone.”

She looked down at her hands, as if the secrets were written in her palms.

“I told him how I used to be, I was really a bad person for myself, specially in my teeangers years. God... So much shit that I don't even understand how I let all of it happen, but you know what?”

Her voice softened to a whisper.

“He kissed me. Just kissed me, and said, ‘That doesn’t change a thing.’ Like none of it made me less. And I know it did, that's how I ended up here, not pregnant and alone, but here. And was doomed before him, anyway, we were eachothers only light.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks now, freely, silently.

“I didn’t have to pretend with him. I didn’t have to be strong every second of the day. He’d remind me — every single day — how far I’d come. Even on the days I couldn’t see it. Even when he couldn’t see it in himself.”

She pressed a hand to her belly, as if grounding herself.

“That’s why I can’t stop loving him. That’s why I keep hoping. Because the man I knew wasn’t just an addict. He was kind. And scared. And trying. And maybe… maybe he left because he thought I deserved better. Maybe he thought disappearing was mercy.”

Her voice was almost gone now. Just a whisper, like she was talking more to herself than to Cooper.

“But I didn’t need better. I just needed him.”

The silence between them settled like dust.

Cooper said nothing. What could he say? There was no law or logic that could dismantle the truth of what she'd just laid bare. No policy, no report, no advice to hold against the unshakable bond she'd painted with her words.

So he just sat there, eyes on her, while she stared through the glass at a world that kept moving without her.

#robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #marvel #thunderbolts #sentry x reader #sentry #void x reader #thunderbolts*#marvel x reader #mcu fandom #marvel x you #marvel mcu #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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emacrow · 5 months ago

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The Justice League hasn't heard from John in four months. It was Zatanna who got concerned first when his phone was disconnected.

Batman found out that he died saving an important little girl named ellie from a group of drug trafficker using her as a battery. How paled zatanna was said about the girl and John's deceased body disappeared in a green portal afterward, telling him what level of apocalypse could have accurate if she had died.

Zatanna Investigating the house of mysteries was the next plan of action, considering only Zatanna and Deadman knew that house was claimed by John with an amount of cursed items, books, and every other apocalypse related items.

Zatanna was only going to place seals upon and inside the house, so nobody would attempt to enter ever, except the house wouldn't let her open the front door.

Her blood felt ice cold as she kept trying to pull the door open, but no budge.

That was where she brought the Justice league in, thinking only someone sinister and patience enough placed a claim on the house after John died because if they did.

This was a code blood moon to them. This could be the universe ending on the other side if whoever had control in the house has every cursed item, weapons, and apocalypse making ritual books imaginable that John had collected over the years.

Before J'onn could slip intangible through the house, the door opened to reveal.... Ellie?

The girl who disappeared, wearing a red beanie and a bright smile.

"Oh good, John said you all would probably come here like headless chickens. Come in!" Ellie said, leaving the door open as she floated back inside.

The Justice League and zatanna look dumbfounded before J'onn, the brave soul went in first, saying that he felt no threat.

The house of mysteries seems to have a new type of decoration done, though still very creepy. Safety baby locks, anti plug in, and a bunch of ghost related toddler toys lay around.

A very massive in height man wearing a gravity defying cloak full of stars, hair whiter then snow with constellations braids with the stars themselves sat in the couch that was obviously too much for his massive form.

A squealing little toddler wearing a soft orange jumper with purple hair giggling loudly every time he smack his tiny hands hard onto a board with a bunch of green blob in 9 holes popping out randomly like some ghost theme whack a mole.

Zatanna glanced, looking down at the little boy and then back at the familiar massive tower entity smiling softly, his stardust freckles luminous glowing green with the frozen frost crown with nebula emblems inside floating innocently on his head as her eyes widen a bit.

"Zatanna, who is this guy?" Superman said, concerned in the back. The Justice League didn't know where to go defensive mode or stand down as there was a child present.

She bowed on her knees immediately on the ground, her eyes teary up with a sense of relief.

"I greet thy infinite Realm, Danny Phan-"

"Zatanna, I told you four times in a role. It's not worth repeating my whole titles. You can call me Danny, and no, i didn't win John's soul... I merely adopted him." Danny waves his hands lightly, miniature dwarf star float around lightly before reabsorbed back in his palm.

"It took me 5 years of planning with clockwork and ellie after John helped my realms from the GIW and their plan to make my people into non-living, and living batteries, even though the Justice League had help along with disbanding them. He grew onto me and my family, and seeing what would've become his cheese grated soul after he died was a big no-no in my book." Danny said softly, Ellie popping behind from his mass of white hair.

"I helped, even though now I'm a bit younger than I am now after that whole pretend to get captured by amateur traffickers, but I'd owed constantine for that prank idea for Dan."

The Justice League awkwardly sat on the opposite couch that suddenly appeared, zatanna sitting on the floor a few feet away from John, still playing on a ghost themed whack a mole board.

"Why is John acting like this?" Zatanna asked softly, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her moisten eyes.

"Well, with the combination added years of his much overdue life, by cheating, swindling and dealing with the Supernatural, Gods, faes, and demons alongside the amount of pushed down trauma and PTSD John accumulated in his barely to be call a soul piece after dying in a perfect way for ectoplasm to fixed all of that to made him into a halfa." Danny continues to explain softly.

"His halfa core couldn't handle the weight of it all his soul pieces put together again, especially with his main soul piece being the size of broken miniature ball even after the others entities figured out I claimed and relinquished their contracts because they know I outrank them all, but John's core couldn't handle being put together all at once like that, especially how long he was with barely much of his soul left in the end once he died."

"In a simple way, all His memories, skills and everything in each soul pieces that was taken in between like a giant block of cheese being forced into a tiny mash sieve that was his current mind and body state right now, what Frostbite explain to me." Danny explained simpler with conjuring a solid glob of ectoplasm in his left hand, being pushed in a mold of mini sieve, barely any being pushed out except a couple of glowing liquid dripping.

"John is still the same John, only at where he was his safest mind state before all those deals, trauma, and everything that resulted into what he was, then that slowly returns with time. Only he is free now." Danny finished softly smiling, watching John ripe out a oooing blob ghost from the board with a gleeful squeal, smacking it on the board with delight, his tiny legs kicking in excitement.

Part 1 here <- part 3 -> here

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcxdp #danny is the ghost king #de aged john constantine #justice league were ready to fight some bad guy who took over the house of mysteries #only to find the Infinite king #Ellie #and baby john who having the time of his halfa life #zatanna is having a hard time resisting the urge to cry from the beginning to tears of joy when she saw Danny #danny told her everything will be fine before John died and he was right #John's mind and core became Swiss cheese as consequences from all those souls piece trading #his mind regressed the moment his soul pieces merged together in that room #danny panic for a good 7 minutes #holding onto an uncontrollable crying toddler before going to Frostbite for help #frostbite said john is just being newborn halfa #here prescription ectoplasm food for him for his size #and I'll show you to the baby store in the nanny store across Princess dorathea haunt

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erosmutt · 10 days ago

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　★　Stay at Home　⨟　H. Christensen

﹙characters﹚︰ Hayden Christensen

﹙pairing﹚︰ SICK!HUSBAND!Hayden x WIFE!Reader

﹙request﹚︰ "sick Hayden christensen with fem reader, gf or wife takes care of him. he gets sent home from filming a project because he was way too sick with a bad flu or cold. but tried to push through anyway." — In which Hayden has come down with a cold and his sweet wife cares for him.

﹙content warnings﹚︰ none! just a fluffy sickfic <3

﹙word count﹚︰ 1.2K

﹙notes﹚︰ My first commission! Thank you so much @pmak2002 🩶 commissions info.

Downright miserable is how Hayden has been feeling all day. He sits on set, one hand covering his eyes and the other holding his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact. The director told him to go home, and he knows he needs to listen. He can barely register what's happening—his head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton and his sinuses are slowly clogging by the second. He needs you to come get him.

When Hayden called you, all stuffy-sounding and on the verge of tears, you were on your way in an instant, and when you got there, you saw just how miserable he was. You told him that morning not to go, that he had something coming on, but he insisted on just masking up and going to continue filming. Now, he's paying the price for not listening to you.

"What did I tell you, Hay?" You chide softly, helping him into the car and closing the door behind him. When you get into the driver's seat, you look at him and smile apologetically. He's sitting there, lips parted because he's so stuffed up he can't breathe out of his reddening nose. "Don't," he warns, not wanting to hear the 'I told you so' spiel. You raise your hands in a placating gesture before clicking your seat belt in and focusing on getting him home.

Hayden has his eyes shut tight, his arm covering his face. He can feel himself getting progressively warmer as the ride stretches on. His throat is hurting, he can't breathe, his muscles ache—he needs something. Something to take this pain away.

Once the two of you are back home and in the house, Hayden immediately flops onto the couch, groaning in agony and agitation. Meanwhile, you're in the bathroom, rummaging for the cold medicine. "Hold on baby, just gimme a minute," you call to the living room, quickly screwing the cap off the bottle of dayquil you've finally found. As you rush out to the living room, Hayden sits up, taking the tiny cup of medicine that you poured out for him. He knocks it back and frowns immediately afterwards, gagging at the taste. "Eugh," he hands it back to you, and you giggle, going to the bathroom. "Need a chaser?" You tease, rinsing the small cup and drying with a wad of toilet paper before putting it back onto the cap of the medicine.

He gags again, shaking his head, a shudder wracking his entire body. "No," he rasps as he collapses back down onto the couch. Coming back with a thermometer and gently pressing the back of your hand to his forehead, you can tell he has a fever just by touch, but you want to know how high it is, so you uncap the thermometer and hold it up to him after turning it on. "Say ahh, lift your tongue," he does so, and the two of you sit for a moment before it beeps. You read the small screen. 102°F / 38°C. Oh, no. He's absolutely burning up. "Hay, let me get you something to eat, yeah?"

After dumping some canned chicken noodle soup into a bowl and popping it into the microwave, you come back and take a seat on the couch, letting out a soft sigh at just how miserable he looks. "Come on, can you sit up for me, love?" Hayden groans again, pushing himself up into a sitting position once more. He takes the bowl from you with a heavy exhale, his hands trembling, and you observe him for a moment before taking it back. "Here, you can rest on me. You're so weak, aren't you? Your body's hurting?"

Hayden nods, watching as you take some of the soup and hold it up to him, smiling fondly as his lips wrap around the spoon, letting out a soft noise of approval—although he can't taste anything. But, he knows it's yummy. "Is it good?" You ask, completely forgetting about his dulled senses. Unable to hurt your feelings, he nods as he swallows the soup with a grimace, his throat stinging. "Uh huh, 's really good," he gives you a weak smile, and your chest feels warm with affection. "D'you want something to drink? some tea? let me make you some tea."

Once again, you disappear to the kitchen and he groans, left to his own devices. Even though he isn't hungry and he can't taste or smell anything, you're going through all this to care for him. You're his wife—of course you would do anything for him, even if you are a bit unaware. It isn't long before you come back with a cup of tea. "Thank god for electric kettles, right?" You giggle, and he nods, unable to conjure up the energy to smile at you. You lift the cup to your own lips, gently blowing it off a few times before holding it up to him. He takes a sip and closes his eyes. "Mmh... thanks," he rasps, internally cursing at himself for how horrible he sounds. "Anytime love, I'm always here."

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

The entire week has been a nonstop of Hayden begging you to let him go back on set, and you adamantly declining, checking his temp and hoping for his fever to break, and lots and lots of chicken soup. Luckily, with his throat feeling better, he's graduated to tomato soup and grilled cheese.

Hayden sits up in bed, his body feeling better overall despite his remaining stuffiness and the slight ache in his muscles and his small fever. At least he's much more mobile compared to a few days ago. You sit beside him on the couch, absentmindedly rubbing his legs that lay over your lap as you flip through channels on TV. He looks at you, hesitating for a moment before laying his head on your shoulder. "You know," he begins hesitantly, already anticipating your response, "I think I'm better enough to go to—" "No," you swiftly cut him off, making him frown.

He stares ahead, contemplating his response before speaking again. "I'm not a baby, you know." You look down at him and smile, helping him sit up. You throw an arm around him and pull him close against my side. "Maybe no, but right now, you're acting like a big baby." You tease, your other hand coming up to grip his face and squish his cheeks. He blushes and can't hold back a chuckle, his pretty blue eyes landing on you. "Unhand me," he murmurs, playfully shoving your hand away. "Seriously," he takes a breath through his mouth since his nose is still giving him trouble, "I'm fine."

You sigh. "You still have a fever. You are not fine. Here, how about this, after your fever breaks and you can breathe, I'll think about letting you go back. Can't say your lines sounding like a penguin." Hayden exhales heavily. "You're right. Won't be able to say my lines sounding like a penguin." He leans down and presses a hard kiss to your lips. "Neither will you."

#₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ bnuuy's fics!#erosmutt #hayden christensen #bnuuy's commissions!#hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x fem reader #hayden christensen imagine #haydenchristensen #x reader #sickfic #pmak2002 #haydie™ 🍂

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 year ago

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction.

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says.

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit.

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement.

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge.

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore.

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?”

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm.

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together.

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth.

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him.

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth.

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand.

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his.

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment.

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed.

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready. But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own.

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent.

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both.

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie.

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case.

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back.

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up.

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken.

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it.

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed.

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

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chlorinecake · 2 years ago

Note

imagine taking care of riki while he’s sick and he can’t resist the urge to give you kissies all over bc he’s so inluv with you :(

[Vitamin C]uddles —⊹ N.RK (西村力) 🛏️

Pairing… ⊹ ࣪ ˖ sick boyfriend!niki x gf!reader

Warnings… ⊹ ࣪ ˖ kissing, lots of teasing, fluff

Words… ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 521 -> “I’ll take care of you. Duh.”

Despite his usually intimidating appearance, Niki was a huge baby on the inside, and those attributes were only amplified whenever he wasn’t feeling well.

The poor boy had been sick ever since he got back from traveling, so you took it upon yourself to care for him until he got better.

“Hey, this needs more soy sauce… I can hardly taste it,” Niki whined, taking a dissatisfied sip from the chicken soup you ordered.

“Niki, there’s already so much in here that the broth turned brown. Now eat up before it gets cold,” you said, placing a napkin on the table tray beside him.

“I will, but only if you stay with me this time.”

You turned your head at his words, “Aww, d’you miss me?”

“No, I’ve been in bed all day and I’m just bored.”

“Riigght,” you said, spoon feeding him a glob of the grape flavored medicine.

He made a weird face, trying to get over the bitter taste of the cough syrup, “My God, that tastes like poison!”

You giggled at your boyfriends words, climbing in bed next to him with a large plate of assorted sushi rolls, “Try some with wasabi, too! It might help unclog your sinuses.”

Using the chopsticks, you dipped a sushi roll into the chunky green paste, bringing it to his mouth with an airplane motion.

You must’ve put too much, because his eyes immediately started watering as he ate it.

“Do you have any other talents aside from torturing me everyday?” He asked, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Yup,” you said plainly, escaping his side, “I’m pretty good at leaving sick people to fend for themselves.”

He watched as you walked toward the door, “Byeeee… wait! NOO!! I miss you already!”

“But you just said bye?”

“I didn’t mean it, baby. Come back please!! You forgot to give me vitamin C.”

“Vitamin what?” You asked, turning to face him with your arms crossed.

“Vitamin C… for cuddles,” he clarified, pouting.

“Fine,” you said sharply, “but only if you promise not to say anything else stupid… or mean.”

“Ok, ok, just stop stalling and get over here already!”

You walked back to the bed, lying next to Niki under the covers as he put the sushi platter on the bedside table.

“Wahhh, you’re so warm,” you giggled, your silly boyfriend swinging his leg over your body.

“Okay, now what are you doing?”

“Making a cage for you, my naughty little kitten,” he smiled, poking your nose.

“But I don’t like cages,” you sulked.

“Well then pretend it’s a seatbelt instead,” he chirped.

“Fine…”

“Double FINE! Can I get a kiss now?”

“What? No, what if you get me sick?”

“Then I’ll take care of you. Duh… and before you ask, yes, I promise,” he chuckled, resting his hand on your neck before cradling your face in his hand, leaving feather light kisses all over your face.

“Thank you for not rejecting my heebie-jeebies,” he said in between pecking your cheeks.

“Well when you put it like that, it kinda makes me want to,” you teased, squirming in his warm embrace.

More like this: Kisses with Riki in the dressing room

౨ৎ Thank you for reading this quick little fic, and special thanks to the lovely anon who requested this piece!

౨ৎ Feel free to check out more cute and fun reads like this at the pinned post on my blog :3

౨ৎ Tags: kinda got lazy here but bear with me ~ @squoxle @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @nikisdubblchococake

update 12/03: Thank you all so much for 1,000 likes!!

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thebearme · 5 months ago

Note

…petey headcanons? *holds plate out like a starving Victorian child*

Don't worry victorian child, you will be fed.

Petey is ace, particularly greysexual.

Petey has that scary cute cat yawn where they just unhinge their jaw then belp :P

He has shrimp posture sitting and standing, his back is wack.

Not so fun fact, his back is messed up because of his tail being chopped. The tail is connected to the spinal cord after all.

He was a BIG gifted child when he was little, he always wanted praise for his accomplishments. Which made alot of the kids around him hate him, and lead to the whole critter scouts thing.

And after awhile he became the exact opposite, he acted up in school for justified reasons but because his teachers wouldn't care to understand and just punished him. They saw him as a trouble child and the kids thought he was a bad kid, so with the change in perspective Petey started to believe it.

Luckily he had Big Jim growing up, he may have been mean to him at the time but nowadays Petey truly appreciates him and wants to apologize for behavior towards him.

Petey HATES getting sick for many reasons but the main one is that it makes him feel weak. So if Dogman or Lil Petey got sick he'll probably be in a hazmat suit before giving them a box of tissues.

Petey believe it or not, has a fixation on robots. AND I MEAN ALL ROBOTS, he would watch robot movies, have robot pjs, robot posters, robots toys on his shelf, robots anything and everything. I was able to show abit of it in my human Petey design with two of his tattoos (one of them being the robot from the day the earth stood still) and him in a transformer shirt. Why else would he make the most mundane things into robots? Cuz they're COOL!

Speaking of which, Petey fucking cried when he heard Opportunity's last words.

Petey gave up on getting an outside job and went freelance, It's not like the job market was that great anyway.

I imagine Petey, to the surprise to everyone but Dogman, is pretty strong. He may look twiggy, but he is an engineer! You NEED upper body strength to do work. Heres a post I made about it

Petey has a depression shaped pit in is bed. He didn't buy that pit, it's something he earned with hard work and so can you. Lil Petey likes loafing in it.

Petey can easily keep working in his workshop for the whole day without eating or using the bathroom if you don't make him take a break. When he's in the zone he forgets he got a body that has needs and can drop dead if he doesn't fulfill those needs.

Petey knew how to cook from his mom but didn't really start cooking till he got Lil Petey. He just ate takeout EVERYDAY cause he was too busy and depressed to cook, and his butler didn't give af to cook for him if he's just gonna to complain. But of course after getting Lil Petey he wasn't going to fed him takeout! So it went from frozen chicken nuggets and apple sauce to homemade pork stirfry and curry rice.

That care in cooking for others also goes to Dogman as well, neither of them had healthy eating habits so they made a deal to help each other in their journey. Dogman would eventually get told by the doctor that he needs to cut the dogfood cause his human body can digest all of that, so Petey is now cook pack lunches for him as well. And personally meals that taste good for his dog tongue, and Dogman gives him the biggest kisses for that.

I'm currently working on a comic for this next one but Petey feels like has no friends. He never just hanged out with any of the gang just to hangout by themselves. He feels like everyone is close friends with each other but not him, they all hang out around him because they're friends with Dogman. And the only reason they knows so much about him is because he trauma dumps on them. But he'll later learn that they do care about him outside of being close to Dogman and they'll hangout and get to know each other more.

Petey has sensitive beans, particularly to the cold. He's gonna be wearing socks and mittens if there's no heating which is funny cause cats usually hate them.

Petey is actually fluffy but just licks his fur down.

He's tail always is bent and not in a normal way but if you crushed paper and tried to lay it back, it still is bent and slowly goes back to that bent form. The only way to make Petey's tail go completely straight is if you surprise him or made him relax to the ninth degree.

Petey still has cat behavior just like how Dogman has dog behavior but unlike him, Petey controls his behavior. He basically masks everyday because of a whole social class stuff I can't explain rn. Cuz he wants to be taken seriously and not just seen as some house pet.

He once made a throne out of boxes and sat in it till Lil Petey or Dogman came back home. No reason for it, he just wanted to feel like a king.

Petey loves midday naps but the sun cuz he's a cat and old. It's true that you'll need more midday naps when you're older.

If I had to give a inuniverse reason for how he understands sign language it's because Petey learned from his mom. When Petey was younger and had a moment where he mad and overwhelmed he would have a hard time explaining his thoughts. Grace taught him sign language so he can explain his thoughts even if all he can verbally do is scream.

When Grace died, Petey was put into adoption and stayed there for a while because of his age and his behavioral problems. But he eventually got adopted by Dr Dilbert Dinkles, he was perfect for his needs, not a child so he won't cry, a cat can take care of themselves and behaving poorly is exactly what villains in training need to be bad. So Petey got adopted by the worst person possible and we know how the rest of the story goes.

Despite that fact that Dilbert is a doctor, Petey had the upper hand on him. He has street smarts, and when you know to build robots and know to use the robots to their full evil potential then you become a true villain to fear.

Petey and Flippy could very well be friends but Petey is literally just holding a grudge against him for some reason? Seriously idk why they're not friends, I think Flippy wants to be friends with him too but it just Petey that's in the way of that in canon. Like- please stop being an ahole for a second and just talk!

Petey also try his hand at gardening... Dogman keeps rolling on his flowers.

And that pretty much all the headcanons I can think of, I still do have my visual hc but yall always know it

heres a lil collage I made from my petey moodboard

And you already know the playlist

#ask #dogman #dog man #dog man petey #petey the cat #dogman headcanons

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pupkashi · 1 year ago

Text

gojo isn’t a baby when he’s sick (shocker!)

a/n: just a little drabble I’ve had in my head for a while now :P i just think satoru is so thoughtful and amazing ok bye

masterlist

gojo takes colds like a champ. he doesn’t complain or writhe around in pain, on the verge of tears and begging for all your attention. instead he calls ijichi telling him he’s staying home and rolls back into bed, pulling the covers closer to his feverish body.

you’re awake minutes later, vision fuzzy and hair a mess as you reach over to hug your lover, fully expecting to end up grabbing cold sheets as usual. you almost jump out of your skin when you feel satoru’s warm body.

“angel you okay?” you whisper, worried as to why he wasn’t at jujutsu tech by now.

“sick” is all he says, sniffling a bit and turning around to face you, covering his mouth with the blanket, “took medicine already” his voice is muffled and you pout at him.

his face is flush from the fever you’re sure he has, strands of hair sticking to his forehead as you push his hair back, running your fingers through his hair. you motion for him to come closer, rolling your eyes playfully when he hesitates, worried about getting you sick.

“I’ll be fine, c’mere” you smile, holding him tightly when he finally gives in, relishing in your body heat.

the two of you doze off again, but by the time you wake up satoru is already out of bed. you can smell freshly made chicken soup as you get closer to the kitchen, finding satoru curled up in a blanket with an empty bowl on the coffee table.

it’s something that takes you by surprise, fully expecting him to follow his usual absurdly clingy and pouty routine dialed to 100. instead he’s incredibly self sufficient, taking his medicine and making his own food. he rarely complains to you, only telling you he feels like shit when you ask how he’s feeling.

satoru motions for you to join him on the couch, laying his head in your lap and closing his eyes when your fingers find his hair, playing with the soft snowy strands.

“y’know i expected you to be all clingy and helpless” you admit, smiling down at your lover, who by now is in and out of micro sleeps.

he hums a ‘nu uh’ pausing for a second before speaking up, “don’t wanna make myself your chore when i can take care of myself” he mumbles, “you’ve got ‘nough on your plate.”

his response takes you by surprise, a soft smile pairing your lips as your eyes soften at the man in your lap. how’d you get so lucky?

“thank you hun, but you aren’t a chore” you reassure him, fingertips softly tracing his jawline, then moving to trace down the slope of his nose. “i love taking care of you, angel boy.”

you can see his smile growing wider as you talked, dimples peeking out as his blue eyes fluttered open softly. satoru moves so he’s laying on his back, watching as you admire him, slowly scratching at his scalp once more.

“I’ll take care of you when i can” you whisper, brushing any stray strands of hair out of his eyes. it’s a small gesture, but it makes satoru’s heart leap out of his chest, body warm from both your love and the virus wreaking havoc on his immune system.

satoru takes your words lightly, he won’t cry and complain every three seconds because he’s sick. he’ll take his medicine and pout a bit, but he’ll never be too dramatic.

he will let you take care of him though, never saying no to your cuddles or soups, loving the way you fuss over him.

taglist: @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls

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cosmicalily · 8 months ago

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ʚɞ "pilates princess" a 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒃𝒊𝒏 oneshot by @cosmicalily ★ view 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 ʚɞ

୨ৎ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the inevitable babygirlification of bf!seo changbin ♡ 900w

ʚɞ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: i was talking to @thevampywolf this morning about how there's a proper lack of changbin fluff fics on tumblr atm and i decided to make it my mission of the day to change that! i absolutely love binnie, he's the silliest, sweetest guy and i was thinking of how to blend his gym obsession with his adorable personality, and a (very much so in love) pilates princess was born!!

Seo Changbin did not have time for girls.

According to his roommate, Han Jisung, his one and only true love was the gym, where he spent almost every spare second of his day. His diet consisted of protein powder, chicken breasts, green smoothies and instant ramen. He only drank cold brews with absolutely no sugar, because he couldn’t stand sweet things.

He was pretty quiet and some would say intimidating. Didn’t say a lot, didn’t do a lot.

But now, watching you, he felt something different. He felt strange. He felt soft.

Changbin looked over at you curiously from the bench press, pausing to catch his breath for a moment as you stretched your body like a cat, toes pointed, shoulders straight.

Dressed in a pale pink sports bra with a matching long-sleeved ballet wrap and black leggings, to say you looked a little out of place in a predominantly male gym was an understatement. Your hair was pulled back with a ribbon, a sticker-decorated water bottle by the side of your mat and an iced milky-green drink beside it.

You breathed slowly, stretching your arms forward and touching your toes before sitting straight, cocking your head at your one-man audience.

“Why are you watching me?” you wrinkled your nose in disgust, self-consciously placing a hand over your chest. “I’m here for the exact same reason as you, it’s not my fault the girls’ dorms don’t have a gym.”

Changbin flushed. “I’m sorry. It probably seemed creepy, fuck, it’s not, I promise. I’m just . . . curious. What were you doing? I’ve never seen anyone exercise like that. Everyone who comes in either beats the shit out of the boxing bag or lifts.”

“Pilates,” you smiled, looking less uncomfortable. “I got my instructing licence a bit ago, but the place I teach at is only open in the mornings. So if I’ve had an early class or lecture and want to work out in the afternoon, I have to come here. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here voluntarily. You guys are gross.”

He pouted. “I’m not. I’m cute.”

“Yeah, sure you are, princess,” you chuckled, taking a sip from the green drink. You noticed him looking at it. “It’s matcha, do you want some?”

“Fuck no, my friend said that tastes like grass,” Changbin shook his head furiously.

You laughed at him, inching the cup closer to him. “C’mon, try a sip. You’ll like this one, it’s sweet. I always get vanilla in it since I can’t stand bitter drinks.”

He very cautiously leaned forward, looking at you carefully in case you recoiled when he pressed his lips on the straw. You didn’t, seeming less and less shy by the second, watching him eagerly as he swallowed.

“...and the verdict is?” you prompted.

“Where can I get my own?”

Jisung looked around Changbin’s room in shock, eyes comically wide as he took in his surroundings. Sure, it had been a week while he’d been staying with his parents, but surely Changbin’s life hadn’t changed so . . . drastically? Or had he somehow been invaded by some kind of pink fairy?

A pale pink sports bra lay strewn on Changbin’s bed, accompanied by a pair of soft grey flared leggings and a drink bottle. There was a handbag too, with ribbons and cute fluffy keychains, all belongings that most certainly were not his. But there were slightly more permanent looking changes, too. A pink MyMelody sticker on Changbin’s previously pristine laptop. A little beaded bow charm on his duffle bag. Two polaroids pinned above his bed; one of a girl making a kissy face, another of her with Changbin, pinching his cheek as he beamed at her adoringly.

Did Seo Changbin have a girlfriend?

And why wasn’t she a black-donning, gym obsessed weirdo like he was?

“Oh hi, Ji, you’re back!” Changbin smiled wide, something that Jisung swore he had never seen in all his time being his roommate. Or at least, not for a very long time. But Changbin had a whole different air about him; his body, although still buff, didn’t seem as tense as it usually was. His brow wasn’t furrowed and there was colour in his cheeks. And, for the love of God, had he blow dried his hair?

Jisung smiled back. “Hey, Bin. What are you drinking? New protein powder?”

“It’s a vanilla matcha, you should try it,” he handed it to Jisung, who took a tentative sip then stared, open-mouthed in shock.

“That’s . . . sweet.”

“No shit,” Changbin laughed at him, thumping his friend on the back. “It’s good, right? Y/N introduced me to them.”

Jisung handed it back, still suspicious that the real Seo Changbin had been abducted and that the man in front of him was a secret twin. “Oh, nice. Is that her stuff in your room?”

“Sure is,” a sweet voice chuckled from behind Changbin. A petite girl flew through the door, wrapping her arms tight around Changbin’s waist. “I’m Y/N, Jisung. It’s nice to finally meet you! Binnie’s told me so much about you two.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “And you’re . . . ?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Changbin said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, but he’s the babygirl. Everyone knows that,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “He’s a pilates princess now, Jisung, I’ve converted him. Surprised he wasn’t doing it earlier; it’s very him, you know.”

Jisung blinked slowly, taking in the sight in front of him.

“Seo Changbin? A princess?” he mumbled.

“Sure I am,” Changbin shrugged, and Jisung promptly fainted in shock.

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colasapphic · 1 month ago

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dining out | georgia miller

wc: 3.1k (i got carried away)

summary: your date stands you up, georgia steps in so you don’t walk out embarrassed and in return, you take her home.

cw: SMUT MDNI, femreader, strap!georgia, breeding kink? kinda, face riding, tummy bulge, dom georgia realness..

you wanted to cry.

one of your coworkers had asked you out on a date and you excitedly agreed. it was rare to be asked out, since the queer population in wellsbury was surprisingly low for how outwardly ‘liberal’ it seemed. you had spent all day psyching yourself up for it and sure maybe that was a little embarrassing, but you couldn’t help but be excited.

now here you were, hours after your intended date time, downing glasses of wine like you were a millionaire. you had wanted to leave after the first hour, but willed yourself to stay just in case. she never turned up—you were angry at her, but also yourself for being dumb enough to accept the date in the first place.

as georgia entered blue farm, her eyes scanned the room on instinct—vision landing right on you. she made a wince of understanding, piecing together what a pretty girl like you would be doing in a cafe alone right before closing.

she takes it upon herself to strut over, “darlin’ i am so sorry im late! you’ll never believe the traffic” she announces loudly—multiple heads turn in response to the woman’s loud voice. the attention causes you to sink deeper into your chair, because that was certainly not the woman who asked you out. still, the woman sits down right across from her—large grin never leaving her face. she reaches across the table and you half expect her to grab the wine glass, but instead she gently grabs your hands. her hands were surprisingly cold, contrast to your warm ones, “you’re sweatin like a whore in church, peach—what’s your name?” her voice is barely above a whisper now.

“y/n.” you respond shortly, not trusting your voice not to crack under the embarrassment

“well ain’t that gorgeous, im georgia” she introduces herself and you can almost feel your heart swell, feeling much better than you did a few seconds ago. you recognized the name, she had moved in a few months ago. you find yourself chuckling nervously, “it’s great to meet you, have as much wine as you want. i’ve already drained my bank account” you mutter, pointing to the multiple empty and discarded wine glasses. georgia only laughs in response—grabbing a menu, “I’m not letting the girl who was stood up pay for the meal, are you crazy?” she raises her voice at that last part and you raise your eyebrows.

“i’m not really in the mood for a pity date, georgia.” you snap, you hadn’t meant to be so rude—but you were really in a horrible mood after being ditched. she looks up from the menu with a shocked expression, “well. i guess that’s too bad.” she responds firmly, placing the menu down with a triumphant smirk, daring you to contest her—you don’t. joe, who had been walking over to see if you actually wanted to order anything other than wine, gets one look at georgia and immediately tries to walk back behind the counter—to no avail.

“joe joe joe joe joe!” georgia sings, using her hand to wave him over. you notice him sigh in defeat, dragging himself over to the table.

“what can i get you both?” he asks with a strained voice, looking at you instead of georgia.

“i would just love a chicken piccata, joe” georgia speaks up first despite the fact joe wasn’t looking at her, of course she does, it didn’t seem like she had much experience in keeping her mouth shut.

“that’s great, georgia. and for the beautiful woman who’s spent the last three hours draining my wine collection?” your cheeks heat up almost immediately at the way he called you out. you gulp back your nervousness before speaking, “just a turkey club is fine, no mayo or tomatoes.” you respond, then take a few beats before responding, “and no matter what my date says, i’ll be paying for the wine” you finish and joe just awkwardly nods, finally freeing himself from your table.

“no mayo or tomatoes? you sound like my son” georgia teases you and you roll your eyes, though you weren’t really that bad—it was rare for people in wellsbury to be anything other than picket fence perfect and while georgia looked it, she certainly had more spunk than any suburban mom in a 15 mile radius.

“how lucky am i to get a comedian for a replacement date?” you shoot back with an eyebrow raise. georgia surprises you when she actually chuckles at your comment.

“very, i’d say.”

“why’d you even sit with me? chivalry doesn’t seem your style”

“ouch?”

“i just meant—you seem more like the type of girl to be waiting for your prince charming.” the look on her face told you that your hypothesis was accurate. georgia quickly pours a glass of wine at your accusation, finishing off the almost empty bottle.

“i just didn’t want to give those neighborhood vultures something to gossip about” she changed the subject quickly—that was odd. she seemed like such a confident woman, yet the mention of her love life and she’s sent scurrying. “fuck…they really are vultures” your response is breathy, willing yourself to not laugh loudly in such an enclosed space. you find yourself really looking at the woman, she was absolutely gorgeous, you were certain she had everyone falling to their knees before. she was so different than the usual residents of wellsbury, especially the neighborhood moms. you wondered if they‘ve already sunk their claws into her, especially since she mentioned a son. it wasn’t unusual, but it was shocking that she had children—she didn’t look a day over 30. you realize you’ve been staring far too long and been quiet for even longer, so you clear your throat, “i love your accent, where are you from?”

“a little bit of a lot of places, but i was born in alabama.”

“oh damn—the deep south…how was that?”

you see her contemplate a response, almost like she was deciding whether to be truthful or not, “awful. how about you? you born here?”

“unfortunately. but i wouldn’t call it awful, so maybe i’m doing a little better than you.”

“so then it’s a competition?”

“it’s not…but if it were…i’d be winning”

she laughs and rolls her eyes playfully—in response you feel your heartbeat quicken, how did you get so lucky? this beautiful woman didn’t want you to feel humiliated so she pretended to be your date? miracles really do happen.

your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of porcelain clanking against the wood table—your food had arrived, “thanks so much joe” georgia beams with a toothy grin and before you can thank him, he’s muttering a quick “of course” and walking away once more. you wanted to ask more about georgia, but you held your tongue—you guys weren’t even on a real date…right? clearly georgia had other plans, as she strikes up conversation once more.

“being stood up is the worst, peach. but keep your chin up, show them that you don’t care what they think” she sticks her chin up in demonstration, leaving you to chuckle gently.

“you? stood up? please..”

“happened more than you’d think…when i was younger at-least. this happen a lot to you, darlin?”

“i don’t really…go on dates. the dating pool is scarcely low for me.” your voice gets quieter as you continue talking—thinking your best option was just to stuff your face with food so you had no choice to stay quiet. the woman nods her head in understanding, shooting you a sympathetic look—you hated that.

the rest of your so called date is spent in mostly silence, saved for the occasional question asked by georgia, she was a surprisingly curious woman. once you had both finished, she excuses herself to the bathroom—really walking up to the counter and pulling her wallet out. she pulls her card out and waves it around in front of joe, “for table 5” she states and joe lifts a brow at her words, but takes the card.

“how’d you convince her?”

“i didnt, so hurry up and scan that damn card joe.”

the man huffs, but scans the card—handing it back to georgia. the woman casually struts back over to the table, “tonight was the most fun i’ve had since i moved in, so i decided to get the bill for you”

your eyes widen in shock, abruptly standing up, “georgia! no!” you scold—ready to match up to the counter and give joe a piece of your mind, but georgia grabs your arm, “let the man close. it’s fine, peach.” she reassures as she slowly lets go of your arm. you sigh in defeat, you had done so much pity drinking it was unfair to drop that all on her. you run your hands through your hair in a stressed manner, “you okay to drive?” georgia asks, eyeing the glasses of wine on the table.

“i walked”

“wow, that really eases my nerves” georgia’s voice is laced with sarcasm as she speaks to you—then it softens, “let me drive you, peach.”

ᯓ★

once she pulls up into your apartment complex, you sigh while unbuckling. this was the best date you’d ever been on and now it was likely you’d never see her again, might as well make the most of it.

“you wanna come inside?” your voice is low, more flirtatious than you’d intended to lead on. georgia only smirks, cocking an eyebrow in response, “sure thing, peach” is all she says, exiting the car at the same time as you.

the walk up to your apartment is dangerously silent, but as soon as georgia gets you inside she has you pinned against the door, kissing you desperately. you moan into her mouth, grabbing her waist and pulling her impossibly close. she ruts against your thigh as she shoves her tongue in your mouth—this makes you grip her waist tighter, her dress riding up as she grinds against your jeans. she pulls away from you to attach her lips to your neck, nipping and sucking in all the right ways. you pant, using her hips to push her off of you, “bedroom” it was a demand and your lips capture hers again. you lead her back into your room, and it’s safe to say she could barely keep her hands off you. she shoves you down onto the bed, causing you to breathe out a “jesus georgia” as she crawls onto your lap, leaning down and kissing you once more. she grinds against your lap as you intertwine your fingers in her hair, thrusting upwards to give her more friction.

“again” she mutters—and you comply almost immediately, “good—that’s good” georgia praises you, turning your entire body hot with need. when you feel her lift herself onto her knees you’re confused. you open your eyes to find her shimmying her panties off, albeit having a difficult time due to being sprawled out above you.

it takes a few more moments before georgia huffs in defeat—sliding off the bed she lets her panties fall to the ground, then uses her foot to fling them across the room, you can’t help but chuckle quietly. she moves back on top of you, slowly crawling up you until she’s kneeled right below your face.

“you’ll let me sit on your face, right peach?” she asks, bringing her fingers down to press against your lips. you notice the way her hips sway in desperation, she wanted this deeply. you find yourself smirking, “i dunnoooo” you begin to tease, but the fingers on your lips grip your jaw, not tightly—it was almost shocking how gently someone could grip your jaw while still being demanding, “i know you want it” georgia purrs…and fuck. she was right. so you nod, “of course, clearly you know everything” you claimed somewhat sarcastically, expecting something just as cheeky in return, but it doesn’t come. in response, georgia just slowly sinks down onto your mouth, gripping the head board tightly as you grab her thighs and immediately stick your tongue out.

you slowly lick up her folds, at an agonizing pace. georgia whines above you, rocking her hips and bringing one of her hands down to grip your hair—which makes you gasp into her. you grip the fabric of her dress as you suck on her clit. the little noises that escape her are like heaven to you, urging you to keep pleasing her. your mind almost seemed to blur as the woman rode your face, it made heat pool in your jeans, desperate for any kind of friction. georgia’s grip on the headboard became harsher, thighs locking against your head as she mindlessly rutted against your mouth.

“so close—fuck don’t stop” she babbled and it almost made you want to stop, to see how she’d fall apart and beg, but you didn’t. her words encouraged you to press on—to cum all over your face. you feel her nails dig into your scalp as you devour her with your tongue, a certain movement sending her over the edge. she doesn’t scream, which you almost expected, instead it’s a quiet moan—almost a whine.

her knees shake as she lifts herself off you, but you don’t let go of her hips. she reaches her hand down once more and wipes the juices off your face—smirking as she does so, “you’re good” georgia praises and you find yourself mindlessly rubbing her hips.

“thanks? i think?” you say nervously, pushing her hips down to your lap and sitting up—kissing her gently as you bring your hands up to run your fingers through her hair. georgia lays a hand on your chest, pushing you away gently, “i’ve got you.” she whispers, gently dragging her pointer finger down your body to your belt buckle, working on getting it off. once she does, she tosses it onto the floor. though out of the corner of her eye, she notices a box poking out of your closet, “is that a sex toy box?” your eyes whip over to your closet upon hearing those words.

“kinda? it’s a strap on. stupid gag gift from my friend really” you admit, there was no point in lying to her.

“can i use it on you?”

“have you ever used one before?”

“no.. but men do it all the time, how hard can it be.” she lifts herself off the bed and walks over to the closet, grabbing the box and opening it, “help me put this on, darlin”

you walk over as if you were on autopilot, unzipping her dress and taking the box from her so she could slip it off. with her dress discarded you pull out the harness and help her get the harness on and attach the dildo. georgia messes with the harness straps and you’re unsure why, but before you can dwell on it she unbuttons your jeans and yanks them off for you, shoving you back down onto the bed.

her next kisses are hungry and desperate, her long hair falling in front of her face to frame you both.

georgia pulls your panties aside and grins upon sliding two fingers inside of you, “you’re so wet, peach” she mumbles into your mouth, pumping her fingers in and out of you—using her thumb to rub your clit. you moan into her mouth and buck your hips against her hand, she pulls away from your lips once more to attack your neck with bites and kisses, things that would surely leave marks.

“the girl who stood you up will know how much fun you had without her” georgia mutters into your neck, her breath against your throat sends a shiver down your spine. you close your eyes in anticipation—feeling your climax nearing, but as it inches closer, georgia pulls her fingers away.

“georgia—c’mon” you whine out, but she only shushes you. she rubs your clit quickly as she slowly presses herself inside you—causing you to shut your eyes and groan. your breathing picks up as she bottoms out inside of you, grabbing your knees to spread them out further.

“how’s that feel, peach?” she purrs, cold hand grazing over the bulge made on your stomach. your body lurches at the cold touch, only accentuating the bulge further, “use your words, you like me deep inside you like this?”

“yes—god. please fuck me” you beg, grinding down against the strap before she starts to move her hips slowly, adjusting to the feeling of the strap. once georgia gets more comfortable, she smirks, her thrusts getting harder and deeper—all sorts of noises begin falling from your mouth.

“you take me so well” she drawls, knuckles turning white due to the grip she hand on your thighs to keep her balance.

her thrusts become harsher and you arch your back, grinding down against her strap desperately, “so needy— stretching you out real good and you still want more?” georgia speaks in faux innocence, pressing a hand against your bulge clumsily as she thrusts into you.

this movement causes a cry to leave you and you could feel your orgasm building up once more

“are you close, darlin?” her words feel like ice on your hot body—you don’t respond, but the way your legs lock around her hips gives her the answer she wanted.

leaning forward she breathes heavily in your ear, “lockin’ your legs, it looks like you want me to cum inside you” her voice is husky and out of breath—any words you try to speak would be incoherent, so you nod and whine.

“filthy lil thing, i’ll fill you up”

those words were all you needed to send you over the edge, desperately holding onto georgia as you came, who was kissing up and down your jaw—her thrusts only slowing when you came down from your high.

your hand finds its way to your face, wiping sweat off your forehead before just letting your hand lay there.

you can hear georgia chuckle as she pulls out of you—then you can hear her fumble with the harness as she manages to finally get it off. you breathe heavily, losing focus on your surroundings for god knows how long before georgia speaks up, “help me with my zipper, darlin?” she asks sweetly—your hand slides off your face and you look at her, sitting up as she walks over. you slowly zip her up, “i’ll fill you up” you mock in georgia’s southern accent, laughing gently.

“oh hush, i was recycling from old boyfriends”

“oh so it’s what you like?”

“im demonstrating for next time.” georgia smirks, leaving a piece of paper on your bedside table, it looked like a number—probably hers. before you can react, she was gone.

next time..?

a shower. that’s what you needed. a shower.

ᯓ★

a/n: this kinda dragged me out of my writers block….

#georgia miller #georgia miller x reader #ginny & georgia #ginny and georgia #ginny and georgia x reader #ginny & georgia netflix

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eternal-sunshine-222 · 8 months ago

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Omg hii I saw that you are writing for Judd birch. I’m so happy to see that the tag is getting a little more active now. Could you please write a blurb for Judd x alt!reader where Judd and reader are just hanging out and someone in the birch family catches him being all soft and cuddly with reader?

Hii! I will tell you right now I just recently started watching Big Mouth so I don't know too much about many of the characters, but I will do my best! This is my first request on here and to be honest I'm really glad it's for Judd. I didn't think many people would want me to write for him so I'm excited. I hope you like it! <3

YOU BIG SOFTIE, YOU - Judd Birch x Alt!Reader

Characters: Judd Birch, fem!reader, Nick Birch, Diane Birch, Elliot Birch, Leah Birch

Warnings: light cursing

Contains: lots and lots of fluff

Judd Birch was not a people person at all, not even with his own family. He preferred to stay by himself, his only company being his battalion of raccoons and he was perfectly fine with that. He didn't need someone constantly nagging him. Now, cliche as it is, that all changed when he saw her. He would do anything for her, anything at all.

Y/n was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, with her hair dyed dark crazy colors, bold graphic makeup, and band tees that never seemed to end. She, much like himself, didn't seem to care about social status or making friends at school. She wanted out of that hell hole as soon as physically possible.

The eldest Birch spawn had approached Y/n almost nervously after school one day with plans of asking her if she'd like to come meet his raccoons. But, alas, he chickened out. He couldn't believe that; that was something Nick did, not him! Eventually after watching Y/n for weeks the woman herself approached him outside during their lunch break, ready to beat him down if he was perving on her.

It was almost Christmas break, very cold outside. When Y/n approached Judd who was leaning against the side of the brick school building smoking a cigarette, his black and blue hair lightly blowing in the cold breeze, she could've fainted right then and there. He was beautiful. Y/n had only ever saw him from yards away, definitely not close enough to get a good look at his features. She liked what she was looking at and she liked it a lot. It would be such a shame if he really was perving on her.

Judd hadn't seen who he referred to as the girl of his dreams approaching until she spoke to him for the very first time.

"Hey."

It was such a small, simple greeting yet it caused him to lose all the breath in his lungs and start coughing violently. Y/n jumped slightly, startled at the sudden reaction. She quickly took a water bottle out from her bag and handed it to him, hoping to ease the burning he felt in his lungs. Judd chugged down half of it before handing it back to Y/n with a flushed face and narrowed embarrassed eyes.

"First time smoking?" Y/n joked lightheartedly, a small smile on her face as she glanced up at him from her bag.

Judd's face turned even redder and just nodded at her, stubbing out what was left of his burning cigarette.

Y/n sighed at his lack of words and had mentally decided that she apparently wasn't going to get any answers out of him, but she talked anyway.

"I've seen you staring at me for the past few weeks. Wanted to know what that was all about. Care to tell me?" She raises a thin drawn on eyebrow at him as she tucks her gloved hands underneath her arms to warm them up further.

Judd doesn't answer her immediately, stuck on what to say. Y/n waits a few moments more before sighing and starts to walk away.

'So much for that,' she thinks to herself.

"Go out with me."

Y/n stops in her tracks and whips her head around.

"I'm sorry?"

Judd is silent.

"Please?" He's hopeful.

Y/n walks back over to where he's still leaning against the school building. Her arms are still crossed as she narrows her brows slightly in confusion.

"Is that what you've been wanting? Because you could've just said so instead of being a creep. I mean, look at us." Y/n gestures to their alternative appearances. "It's like we're made for each other!"

Judd smiles, knowing she's joking but also getting a hint of seriousness from her words.

Y/n took Judd up on his offer of a date and the two have been pretty much inseparable ever since. They spent all their time together, skipping school to drive around, going to small diners around the neighborhood late at night for their little dates. But they kept in on the downlow. Both parties felt it was not necessary for people to know what wasn't any of their business. It wasn't until Christmas day that the Birch family found out Judd even had a girlfriend of sorts.

Shortly after school had let out for break Y/n and Judd had spent the day together at her apartment with her parents. They were very supportive of their daughter's relationship. As long as she was safe.

And safe she was. Y/n and Judd swapped gifts early on that morning seeing as she would be going on a small trip to a few states away to visit some family for Christmas. He had gifted her a new pair of large black boots, something she had been eyeing for a while, along with a new pocketknife for which she thanked him thoroughly and showered him with kisses. In turn Y/n had gifted him a lovely soft deep blue sweater and a chain necklace with her initial on it.

Judd loved the sweater she got him but he didn't love it as much as his new chain. He never took it off unless it was to shower. It had quickly become his most prized possession and he would die before he let anyone touch it, let alone take it. Unfortunately, that day came a lot sooner than he would've liked.

Judd woke up midway through Christmas day which resulted in an even later shower. He undressed and before he stepped in he put his chain in the same place he always did: on the little shelf above the sink, careful to make sure it didn't fall off to the side or down into the sink. But when he got out it wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Panic filled his heart and chest, his entire being really, as he searched the entire bathroom from floor to ceiling. After finding nothing he wrapped a towel around his still dripping form and slammed the door open. He almost slipped rushing down the stairs and into the living room where his mother sat on his father's lap and Nick and Leah were on opposite ends of the couch.

"Where the fuck is it?" His voice was harsh and his eyes narrowed, cheeks red.

Diane looked over at her eldest child from the television and smiled kindly.

"Where's what, darling?"

Judd huffed out a breath, impatient and worrying, afraid he might tear up.

"My chain. The one I always wear. Where is it?"

It's only then that he notices Nick with a small smirk on his face as he looks at his phone. His eyes narrow more and he frowns before lunging at his younger brother. The two wrestle for a short time with Judd easily overpowering his youngest sibling before he stands, wet hair ruffled messily and towel askew, held in place by only one hand as his other clutches onto the chain he retrieved from Nick's pocket.

"Stay out of my shit, dickface." He then stomps back upstairs to the bathroom and slams the door shut.

The remaining members of the Birch family all look at each other with curious eyes before Elliot speaks up.

"What was all that about?"

Nick, who is still out of breath with red cheeks, shrugs his shoulders and they all continue with their previous activities.

It isn't until Valentine's Day that the Birch family meets Y/n. The love-filled holiday fell on a weekday this year, meaning his siblings would be in school and his parents would most likely be spending the day out and about going on little dates. He thought he'd have the entire house to himself so he invited Y/n to come over so they could spend quality time together.

Judd and Y/n spent most of their time watching horror movies on the downstairs television, cuddled up under the many blankets that Y/n had brought over with neither getting up unless to use the bathroom or make more popcorn and snacks. It was a laid back, calm day, just how both liked it.

Both Judd and Y/n wished this day would never end.

But unfortunately it had to.

Y/n fell asleep on top of Judd sometime during their fourth movie of the day, her face buried in his neck with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He was starting to doze off himself when he heard the front door unlock and open quickly. As much as he wished his family wouldn't say anything he knew they would. But he wasn't going to take any chances in waking Y/n up so he stayed perfectly still and let them.

Nick and Leah were the first to enter the living room. Leah glanced at her older brother laying on the couch briefly before continuing on to her room. Nick on the other hand stopped in his tracks and stared at the girl laying on top of his brother for an ungodly amount of time before Judd raised a tired eyebrow at him. It was only then that he called out for Elliot and Diane.

Judd quickly reached his hands up and covered his girlfriend's ears, shielding her from the loud voices as his parents entered the room. They, too, stopped in their tracks upon entering the living room but instead of staring they both smiled and grabbed onto each other.

"Oh, Judd, you big softy! I knew there was something going on with you." Diane smiled sweetly at her son and his newly revealed sleeping love. "How long?"

Judd cleared his throat lightly.

"Few months."

Elliot spoke up next.

"Looks like you got yourself a nice one, son. Just like you father." He turns to Diane and the two start to snuggle together.

Judd grimaces and turns away.

"Gross."

But Judd knew his father was right. Y/n was a nice one. The nicest. And he wouldn't change her for anything in the world.

I finally finished it! I really hope you like this, and like I said I just recently got into the show, so I don't know too much about it. I wrote this purely based off vibes alone. Please let me know if there's anything I can improve and don't be afraid to leave comments or ask questions. Thank you so much! <3

#big mouth #big mouth x reader #judd birch #judd birch x reader #judd birch fluff

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