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renovationgroup · 7 months ago

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Professional Roof Tarping Service After Storm Damage

When a storm hits and leaves roof damage in its wake, taking immediate steps to protect your home becomes essential. Roof tarping is one of the most effective temporary solutions for covering damaged areas, keeping rain, wind, and debris out, and preventing further harm to your property. While some homeowners may consider DIY tarping, calling a professional roof tarping service is often the smartest choice, ensuring both safety and reliable protection. Here’s why hiring a professional roof tarping service after storm damage is one of the best decisions you can make for your home.

1. Immediate Action and Protection

After a storm, time is of the essence. Even small roof damage can rapidly turn into a much larger issue if exposed to further rain or wind. Water infiltration, in particular, can seep through small cracks and gaps, damaging insulation, walls, ceilings, and even electrical systems. Roof tarping acts as a shield, blocking out the elements until permanent repairs can be made.

Professional roof tarping services can respond quickly, often within hours of a call. They know that immediate action is crucial to protecting your home from escalating damage. By hiring professionals, you ensure that your roof is covered with a heavy-duty tarp, securely fastened to withstand additional weather. This protection buys valuable time to plan for repairs and minimizes the risk of costly, long-term damage to the structure and interior of your home.

2. Ensuring Safety on a Damaged Roof

Working on a roof is inherently dangerous, especially after a storm when surfaces may be wet, damaged, or unstable. Climbing onto a roof without proper experience or equipment can result in serious accidents or injuries. Professional roof tarping services are well-trained in safety protocols, and they come equipped with harnesses, ladders, and other necessary gear to work on roofs safely. They are skilled at assessing and navigating the roof’s surface to secure the tarp without risking injury.

Professional roofers are also adept at identifying hazards that may not be obvious to a homeowner. After a storm, roofs often have hidden weak spots, loose shingles, or structural issues that could be dangerous to step on. Professionals understand these risks and know how to safely install a tarp in compromised areas, ensuring the roof and tarp remain stable until permanent repairs are made. By hiring a professional, you avoid putting yourself in harm’s way and leave the job to experts who can handle it safely and efficiently.

3. High-Quality Materials for Reliable Protection

Not all tarps are created equal. Professional roof tarping services use high-grade, weather-resistant materials designed to provide strong, long-lasting coverage. Heavy-duty polyethylene or vinyl tarps are commonly used by professionals for their durability, UV resistance, and waterproofing. These tarps are much stronger than typical store-bought versions, meaning they’ll last longer and provide better protection against the elements.

Additionally, professionals use proper fastening techniques to secure the tarp in place. They know how to prevent the tarp from shifting or lifting in high winds, using materials like sandbags, wooden planks, or specialized fasteners. This secure installation ensures the tarp stays in place even in harsh weather, keeping your roof and home protected until a full repair is scheduled. When you invest in professional tarping, you gain peace of mind knowing that the materials used will offer reliable protection.

4. Compliance with Insurance Requirements

After storm damage, many insurance policies require homeowners to take “reasonable steps” to mitigate additional damage. By hiring a professional tarping service, you’re showing your insurance provider that you took immediate action to protect your home, which can be important in claim processing. Delaying action can sometimes result in reduced claim coverage or even claim denial, as insurance companies may argue that further damage could have been prevented.

Professional roof tarping services can provide documentation, such as photographs and a report, that details the damage and the steps taken to secure the property. This documentation can be crucial when submitting an insurance claim, as it demonstrates that the homeowner acted responsibly. By choosing a professional tarping service, you not only ensure protection but also help support a smoother, more efficient claims process, potentially speeding up reimbursements for repairs.

5. Prevention of Long-Term Damage and Cost Savings

While hiring a professional roof tarping service comes with an upfront cost, it often saves money in the long run. A tarp prevents rainwater from seeping into your home, which can lead to significant damage to insulation, drywall, floors, and personal belongings. Water exposure can also result in mold growth, a costly and complex problem to resolve. By stopping leaks before they start, tarping minimizes the risk of mold and structural deterioration, which can add thousands of dollars to your repair bill.

Additionally, a professionally installed tarp prevents roof damage from worsening, which means that when permanent repairs are conducted, the scope of work—and cost—is likely to be less extensive. A well-secured tarp effectively preserves the integrity of the roof, saving you from having to deal with widespread damage and higher costs. In this way, professional tarping acts as an investment that protects not only your property but also your finances.

6. Expertise and Peace of Mind

After experiencing roof damage, dealing with repairs and insurance claims can be overwhelming. Calling a professional roof tarping service relieves some of this burden by allowing experts to handle the initial response. Professional roofers are skilled at evaluating damage, installing a tarp efficiently, and providing the necessary documentation. Their expertise and quick response allow homeowners to focus on other pressing tasks, such as coordinating with insurance adjusters or finding a contractor for permanent repairs.

Hiring a professional also provides peace of mind that your home is truly protected. DIY tarping may result in leaks or gaps if not done properly, leading to further anxiety about whether your home is secure. With a professional tarping service, you know that experienced technicians have inspected and protected your roof effectively, allowing you to concentrate on other aspects of recovery without constant worry about the state of your roof.

The Smart Choice for Protecting Your Home After Storm Damage

Professional roof tarping services offer essential, immediate protection for homes following storm damage. By covering exposed areas and securing the roof with high-quality tarps, these services provide a barrier against further weather exposure, protecting your home and your investment. Hiring a professional service ensures safety, compliance with insurance requirements, and access to durable materials that provide reliable coverage. While some may consider attempting DIY tarping, the expertise, materials, and documentation provided by professionals make this service a wise choice.

When storms strike, leaving your home exposed to additional risks can be costly and dangerous. Choosing a professional tarping service ensures that your home remains safe, your insurance claim is supported, and you can focus on arranging for permanent repairs without added stress. For homeowners facing the uncertainty of storm damage, a professional roof tarping service is an invaluable asset that protects your property and brings peace of mind.

Learn More: roof tarping

#Roof Tarping #Emergency Roof Repair #Storm Damage Protection #Roof Damage Solutions #Home Protection Tips #Temporary Roof Repair #Professional Roof Services #Roof Repair Safety #Insurance and Roof Damage #Water Damage Prevention #Roofing Experts #Roofing Experts Services

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housejoycleaners · 11 months ago

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Roof gutter cleaning in canberra

Maintaining clean and functional gutters is crucial for preserving the integrity of your home in Australia. With its diverse weather patterns, including heavy rains and occasional storms, Canberra homes are susceptible to water damage if gutters are neglected. Clogged gutters can lead to water overflow, which may seep into your walls, ceilings, and foundation, causing costly repairs and compromising structural integrity. Professional Roof Gutter Cleaning Services in Australia.

Our Professional Roof Gutter Cleaning Service

1. Experienced and Trained Technicians 2. Comprehensive Cleaning Process 3. Use of Professional Equipment 4. Preventative Maintenance 5. Enhance Curb Appeal and Property Value 6. Affordable and Reliable Service

#Roof gutter cleaning #Gutter cleaning Canberra #Professional gutter cleaning #Gutter maintenance Canberra #Roof maintenance #Water damage prevention #Home maintenance Canberra #Clogged gutters #Affordable gutter cleaning #Gutter cleaning service #Canberra gutter experts #Debris removal #House protection #Residential gutter cleaning #Canberra home care.

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massivechildtidalwave · 1 month ago

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Its a terrifying scene. The camera angle revealing parts of a science lab straight out of hell. Kitchen knifes and scalpels lay dripping on a table.

On the dissection table- because thats all it could be- lays a small child. Small but noticable gills on the neck, the occasional fleck of scales and webbed fingers mark them as merfolk.

Viewers watch on in horror as the table is bloodied. A steady incision made in the left leg. The Justice League had been contacted but there was no indication they would make it in time to help.

A large Bang! went off in the background of the video, clearly catching the duo off guard. The man turned to his (wife?) with a weird moniter in his hands going off the charts and with an excited yelp they both took off running up the steps that were just barely in frame behind them.

A few long moments later, two teens sneak into the lab. The boy rushed over to unchain their parents 'test subject' while the girl kept watch.

Freshly released limbs had bloody wounds rubbed into the pinned down areas and quiet whispers of empathy were only just picked up by the audio. One of the viewers pointed out that the boy himself had scars in similar places.

The boy picked up the kid and the trio quickly slipped away out of camera view. Soft thuds mark their escape from the house, seemingly unaware of the Livestream their parents were apparently trying to make.

--------------------------

The story makes international news and leaves everyone on high alert. Government agencies scramble to prove they had no connection to the couple, the GIW undergos mass arrest when their names Maddie and Jack Fenton come up on their payroll. A channel is made to document any sightings of the kids.

The first one is posted after a day. It's security footage from a fast food restaruant. Four teens- the two from before plus a goth and someone named ''Tucker''- along with the comparitively tiny Mer sit in a booth. ''Tucker'' and "Sam'' argue about possible dietary restriction before seemingly ordering one of everything. There is soup, and a burger, the largest cup filled with water they could find in the back, chicken tenders and salad.

When the server goes to deliver everything, the four watch them like hawks, understandable given the previous day.

(Did any of them even know Half the world knew what went down? )

(Did any of them know how Aquaman was taking the news of one of his subjects being injured like that? )

( Did any of them realize that their choice to protect the kid was one of the main reasons war hadn't been declared yet on the human race?)

Jasmine is heard softly encouraging the tiny Mer to eat something, anything and eventually the soup is downed and apparently liked enough that she gets up to order more.

Right before they leave, while under the relative safety of a roof, they swap the bandages wrapped around most of the kids leg and arms and slowly tell them about future plans despite the fact that they probably can't understand the language.

(Jasmine points at a laptop screen filled with a view of the ocean. "We" she circles the group with her pinky "are going there to get you home." The atlantian can't speak english but the way their eyes light up and they relax further into Sams side shows they understand the basic message)

(The sight- of the child definitely scared but trusting them enough to get so close- helps calm the atlantians with access to the internet. Somewhere Aquaman finds himself able to breathe slightly easier.)

#ectoplasm and a glowing core #Dc x DP #aquatic ghosts au

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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As relentless rains pounded LA, the city’s “sponge” infrastructure helped gather 8.6 billion gallons of water—enough to sustain over 100,000 households for a year.

Earlier this month, the future fell on Los Angeles. A long band of moisture in the sky, known as an atmospheric river, dumped 9 inches of rain on the city over three days—over half of what the city typically gets in a year. It’s the kind of extreme rainfall that’ll get ever more extreme as the planet warms.

The city’s water managers, though, were ready and waiting. Like other urban areas around the world, in recent years LA has been transforming into a “sponge city,” replacing impermeable surfaces, like concrete, with permeable ones, like dirt and plants. It has also built out “spreading grounds,” where water accumulates and soaks into the earth.

With traditional dams and all that newfangled spongy infrastructure, between February 4 and 7 the metropolis captured 8.6 billion gallons of stormwater, enough to provide water to 106,000 households for a year. For the rainy season in total, LA has accumulated 14.7 billion gallons.

Long reliant on snowmelt and river water piped in from afar, LA is on a quest to produce as much water as it can locally. “There's going to be a lot more rain and a lot less snow, which is going to alter the way we capture snowmelt and the aqueduct water,” says Art Castro, manager of watershed management at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. “Dams and spreading grounds are the workhorses of local stormwater capture for either flood protection or water supply.”

Centuries of urban-planning dogma dictates using gutters, sewers, and other infrastructure to funnel rainwater out of a metropolis as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. Given the increasingly catastrophic urban flooding seen around the world, though, that clearly isn’t working anymore, so now planners are finding clever ways to capture stormwater, treating it as an asset instead of a liability. “The problem of urban hydrology is caused by a thousand small cuts,” says Michael Kiparsky, director of the Wheeler Water Institute at UC Berkeley. “No one driveway or roof in and of itself causes massive alteration of the hydrologic cycle. But combine millions of them in one area and it does. Maybe we can solve that problem with a thousand Band-Aids.”

Or in this case, sponges. The trick to making a city more absorbent is to add more gardens and other green spaces that allow water to percolate into underlying aquifers—porous subterranean materials that can hold water—which a city can then draw from in times of need. Engineers are also greening up medians and roadside areas to soak up the water that’d normally rush off streets, into sewers, and eventually out to sea...

To exploit all that free water falling from the sky, the LADWP has carved out big patches of brown in the concrete jungle. Stormwater is piped into these spreading grounds and accumulates in dirt basins. That allows it to slowly soak into the underlying aquifer, which acts as a sort of natural underground tank that can hold 28 billion gallons of water.

During a storm, the city is also gathering water in dams, some of which it diverts into the spreading grounds. “After the storm comes by, and it's a bright sunny day, you’ll still see water being released into a channel and diverted into the spreading grounds,” says Castro. That way, water moves from a reservoir where it’s exposed to sunlight and evaporation, into an aquifer where it’s banked safely underground.

On a smaller scale, LADWP has been experimenting with turning parks into mini spreading grounds, diverting stormwater there to soak into subterranean cisterns or chambers. It’s also deploying green spaces along roadways, which have the additional benefit of mitigating flooding in a neighborhood: The less concrete and the more dirt and plants, the more the built environment can soak up stormwater like the actual environment naturally does.

As an added benefit, deploying more of these green spaces, along with urban gardens, improves the mental health of residents. Plants here also “sweat,” cooling the area and beating back the urban heat island effect—the tendency for concrete to absorb solar energy and slowly release it at night. By reducing summer temperatures, you improve the physical health of residents. “The more trees, the more shade, the less heat island effect,” says Castro. “Sometimes when it’s 90 degrees in the middle of summer, it could get up to 110 underneath a bus stop.”

LA’s far from alone in going spongy. Pittsburgh is also deploying more rain gardens, and where they absolutely must have a hard surface—sidewalks, parking lots, etc.—they’re using special concrete bricks that allow water to seep through. And a growing number of municipalities are scrutinizing properties and charging owners fees if they have excessive impermeable surfaces like pavement, thus incentivizing the switch to permeable surfaces like plots of native plants or urban gardens for producing more food locally.

So the old way of stormwater management isn’t just increasingly dangerous and ineffective as the planet warms and storms get more intense—it stands in the way of a more beautiful, less sweltering, more sustainable urban landscape. LA, of all places, is showing the world there’s a better way.

-via Wired, February 19, 2024

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ultrafacts · 4 months ago

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The Japanese village of Shirakawa, known for its historic thatched-roof houses, has implemented an automatic sprinkler system to protect these structures from fire. This system is cleverly concealed within huts that blend seamlessly with the traditional architecture. In the event of a fire, the sprinklers activate to douse the area with water, mitigating potential damage.

#facts #fact #ultrafacts #history #ultrafact

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girlkisser13 · 9 months ago

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percy jackson nsfw headcanons

• percy can lose himself very easily in sex. he gets caught up in the sensations around him and the wonderful feeling of your touch.

• french-kiss lover, and fuck, he’s good at it. swiping his tongue against yours, licking the roof of your mouth, and sucking at your tongue as he pulls away from you, he does it all. he just loves to see you breathless with kiss-bruised lips.

• this man LOVES taking you from behind, his hands using your hips as handlebars. going rough and then slowing it down by pressing you deep into the mattress, his chest against your back, and his arms linked with yours.

• his stamina is off the charts. his demigod genes give him enough strength and stamina to go all night if he felt so inclined. he is very perceptive of your energy and will happily pull you onto his cock until you start to get riled up again.

• the two of you have makeout sessions to the kitchen to grab water or snacks in between rounds, he’ll even carry you to the bathroom.

• nothing, nothing, gets him riled up more than seeing his cum on you. he is addicted to the sight of his cum on your body. your stomach, on your tongue, face, chest— you name it, he loves it.

• he’s pretty well groomed. he keeps things clean and healthy to keep up a hygienic routine. shaving, waxing, or even trimming takes time he just doesn’t have when he’s busy fighting monsters.

• if he knows ahead of time he’s meeting up with you he will take the extra time to clean himself and trim to the best of his ability. sometimes he gets bored and will trim a triangle for your amusement.

• percy enjoys experimenting with things. he’ll try just about anything once, just for the shits and giggles.

• this man is such a tease. he’s constantly trying to rile you up in a situation where you know that you can’t have him yet. the frustration building up in your eyes while you shoot him the most venomous of glares greatly amuses him.

• he’ll give you an innocent grin, pretending he wasn’t just brushing his thumb— "accidentally"— against your clit when resting his hand against your inner thigh.

• percy loves receiving. he loves seeing you struggle to take all of him and make a mess of yourself. he’ll gather all your hair, so that it’s out of your face and grip it to encourage you through the experience. he’s not shy, he’ll happily kiss you with the taste of him still on your lips, praising you every time for taking him so well.

• he enjoys giving just as much as receiving. it’s his way of worshiping you and giving you immense pleasure by his mouth alone. he can get really into it so either ride the overstimulation, squirm and fight against his grip on you, or tug on his hair just to see him pull away with a disappointed grunt.

• percy is a SUCKER for quickies. he enjoys romantic, traditional sex as much as the next guy, but he will never turn you down when he’s in the mood.

• he just wants the quickies to be in a safe area because he doesn’t want to have to worry about protecting you while having an intimate moment— that will not stop him, however, from taking you behind a tree in full battle armor during capture the flag.

• percy isn’t the loudest person in the bedroom. he’ll grunt here and there with a rough breath, maybe a few groans if you really hit a sweet spot. otherwise his breathing is the main indicator of his pleasure.

• his breathes shorten and hitch with each new wave of pleasure. the longer he’s in the mood or the longer you two go on, the more he’ll lose himself in the pleasure and make the beautiful noises that only you get to hear.

• don’t underestimate the power of a quick handjob with this guy. something about it— quick, dirty, maybe with an undertone of constructed panic or need to hurry— makes his eyes roll back so easily.

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em1i2a3 · 7 days ago

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Good Grief

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Enhanced!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob is spellbound when he watches you train. It’s his favourite part of the day, and it’s his way of getting to know you. This is how the two of you grow a bond that is practically inseparable, and extremely protective.

Warnings: Hints of Angst and Fluff, Mentions of Violence (because of the training), Reader purposely puts themself in danger to coax out Sentry (this is to test a theory), Accidental Training ‘Injury’, Reader is Enhanced (super strength pretty much)

Author’s Note: I liked this request and the idea, and I kind of ran with it a bit and spiced it up at the end! So I’m glad I could write a nice little blurb for it! Thank you for the request! :)

P.S. I may or may not miss a day this week to upload something for a different Lewis Character….I won’t say who…But some people might know who it is for lol 🤓, or we might get a double update day! Who knows. Just thought I’d put that out there though.

Word Count: 6,163

The training bay was silent except for the soft slap of bare feet on mat and the distant hum of ventilation through the compound walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows that pooled at the edges of the room. The space smelled faintly of sweat and vinyl, clean but lived-in, the kind of place where discipline lived in every corner.

Half a dozen padded dummies stood propped in a wide arc across the center of the mat. Each one anchored with care, their placement intentional–neither random nor symmetrical. You’d paced the bay in slow circles earlier that morning, nodding to yourself before gesturing for Bob to help shift one a few inches to the left, another slightly forward. He followed your directions without question, even if he didn’t quite understand the pattern you saw.

He stood beside you, palms resting awkwardly against the top of the shoulders of one dummy, eyes flicking between them.

“Yo-You sure you don’t want to go one at a ti-time?” He asked, his voice soft but edged with concern.

He didn’t mean to doubt you–he never did–but this setup was different. Not just reps. Not just sparring. It looked like a battlefield mapped from memory, and you were the only one who knew how to walk it.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile. “Trust me.”

And he did.

You stepped away from him, shedding the lightweight black zip-up that clung damply to your arms from your warmup. Underneath, you wore a ribbed charcoal-grey sports bra, cropped snug against your chest, the hem riding high enough to show every breath you took. Your training shorts were low on your hips–matte black, skin-tight, with thick waistband support and slits up the sides for flexibility. Scuffed tape wrapped around your knuckles and a faint sheen of sweat already coated your skin, catching on your collarbone, and the dip of your stomach.

Bob was doomed from the start.

He took his usual place–cross-legged at the edge of the mat, your water bottle already in his hands–and watched.

And then you began.

A sharp inhale, a roll of your shoulder, and the first strike landed–clean and fast, a side kick directly to the gut of the closest dummy. You barely touched down before twisting, rolling into a shoulder drop and springing up again in a tight coil of movement. Your limbs snapped into each new angle like memories were guiding you. Like your body had done this a thousand times in another life.

Bob’s grip tightened on your water bottle.

You had told him once–over take out cartons on the roof of the Watchtower–that you were a gymnast before any of this. Before the field ops program. Before the blacksite conditioning and chemical rewrites. Before they molded your hands into weapons and trained you to end lives instead of chasing crappy medals that meant nothing.

That past still lived inside you though, and every single movement was proof of that.

The way you twisted midair and landed softly on the ball of your feet. The perfect, calculated bend of your back as you rebounded into a cartwheel, launching into a split aerial that folded into a kick. It was impossibly smooth–violent and beautiful all at once.

Bob could feel Sentry stirring the way a storm stirs just beyond the clouds. A pressure in the center of his chest. A weight behind his eyes.

“God she is beautiful…” Sentry whispered.

Bob exhaled shakily.

He had never seen anyone move like you before, and he was obsessed with it. He wished that he was able to see you on the field, to watch you take down actual threats, but ever since he voided the majority of New York's population, they had him sitting out until he could fully control himself. So this–this was all he had. And still, he couldn’t imagine anything more intoxicating than what he was watching now.

Your punches echoed through the room like cracks of thunder. Each one landing with calculated force, a precise explosion of movement that rolled through your shoulders, down your spine, and out through your fists. Bob could feel the vibrations in the air.

He sat perfectly still, barely breathing, with your water bottle gripped between his palms, the plastic creaking faintly under his thumbs. Steam hadn’t started yet, but it would, and he could feel it building under his skin.

You didn’t look tired, but there was a sheen of sweat forming now–glowing against the line of your throat, collecting at your lower back, glistening on your collarbones with every twist–but you didn’t breathe heavily, and your pace didn’t falter. If anything you moved faster, like the rhythm inside you had finally caught up to the shape of the room.

Bob’s eyes followed you like a man possessed.

You twisted, and ducked, and rolled seamlessly into a sweeping leg kick that took one dummy down with a harsh crack. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t hesitate. You flipped up onto your hands and spun into a tight, two-point kick, knocking a second dummy halfway backward before landing clean, knees bent, palms open.

It wasn’t training anymore. It was a ritual. It was instinct. A muscle-deep, cellular kind of memory, more ancient than tactics and more intimate than breath.

Bob could feel his throat tighten.

Your fists snapped with brutal precision, thighs flexing with each powerful step. And your eyes–glistening with anticipation–were locked on the next target with such focus that it felt like gravity bent towards you.

You landed on one hand, and kicked upward with explosive strength, sending a dummy rocking on its base.

Then–you pivoted low, gathered your weight and launched.

A scream of momentum–nothing verbal, just kinetic energy in its purest form.

Your shoulder slammed forward, with one final strike, and the last dummy flew.

Launching across the room, skidding off the mat with a plastic-laced screech before it smashed into the far wall–loud enough to echo with a thunderous boom.

Silence followed.

Thick. Charged. Unmoving.

You straightened slowly in the center of the mat, chest still rising in a quiet rhythm, arms loose at your sides. A fine mist of sweat clung to your stomach and thighs. You tilted your head just slightly, watching the dummy slump on the other side of the bay with a smirk on your face.

Bob stared at it as well, not blinking, nor breathing.

“Oh to be a dummy…I’d let her launch me across a room.” Sentry whispered, “I’d kneel at her feet, just to feel her shadow pass over me.”

The water bottle in Bob’s hands began to hiss.

Not audibly, it was just a faint pressure, a heat coiling inward, steam threatening to rise. The plastic beneath his fingers had begun to soften, warping faintly where the heat of his palms pushed in. But he didn’t even notice, because his senses weren’t registering anything except you.

You were still on the mat, framed in the center of his vision like some living storm–shoulders rising and falling in slow rhythm, now a towel slung lazily around your neck, with its ends brushing the curve of your chest as you dragged it across the glistening lines of your collarbone.

You looked like power incarnate. Like something divine caught in a human frame. And Bob? Bob was drowning in you.

You ran the towel down your stomach, catching the sweat that shimmered on your skin like dew on glass. You weren’t even looking at him yet, but he still flinched when you finally turned and strode toward him with that same slow, dangerous confidence you carried on the mat.

“How was that?” You asked casually, voice still slightly breathless. “Good form?”

Bob blinked.

Then blinked again.

And the world snapped back into sound with a pop.

Literally.

The lid of the water bottle burst off with a sharp crack, steam hissing faintly from the top as the pressure released, shooting the cap somewhere behind him. It clattered to the floor and rolled in a lazy half circle before spinning to a stop.

“Oh…Oh Je-Jesus.” He breathed, glaring down at the now-lidless bottle in his hand. You laughed–a puff of amusement–as you stepped towards him, holding out your hand.

“I’ll take that from you now,” You said. Bob’s eyes widened still fixated on the warped bottle in his hands.

”I-I could get you a new one…Th-This one is basically boiled.” You shrugged, stepping even closer, your shadow now brushing over his lap like a tide coming in.

“Water is water,” You commented with a lazy smile, “I don’t mind.” He swallowed hard, the sound thick in his throat. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to not hand you this half-melted, Sentry-steamed, probably-dangerous bottle of lava–but your fingers brushed his anyway, curling lightly around the neck of it.

Bob relented, blushing furiously as he let go.

You brought it to your lips without hesitation. The plastic crinkled under your grip as you tilted it back and drank–really drank–head tipped slightly, throat working, the rise and fall of your chest steady despite the heat. The soft sound of water hitting your mouth was too much, and Bob had to look away–eyes darting to the dummy you launched, to the vent above the door, anywhere but at the way your lips wrapped around the bottle’s edge.

You drained it in a few long gulps.

Then–with a snap of finality–you crushed the softened plastic in one hand and passed it back to him, like it was a token from a battle won.

A droplet clung to your bottom lip, and you licked it off slowly. Like it meant nothing. Like you had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Tell Sentry thanks for the impromptu tea,” You murmured, voice all syrup and smoke. Then you slung the towel back around your neck and turned away, already walking toward the locker room. “I’m gonna go shower off. Meet you on the roof?” Bob couldn’t look at you.

Not when his entire face felt like it was glowing. Not when Sentry was humming in his veins like molten sunlight.

He nodded, eyes on the mat. “Y-Yeah. I’ll–I’ll be there.”

—————————

The roof was quiet except for the soft rustle of wind and the distant city stirring far below.

Bob stood near the ledge, forearms braced loosely against the cool concrete, the weight of his body leaned into it like he needed the grounding. His hair was still damp from a quick rinse, curls pushed back by a hand that kept running through them nervously. The sun hadn’t fully crested the skyline yet, but the horizon was blooming in soft bands of color–mauve to gold to the faintest hint of fire. The sky looked half-awake, as if the day hadn’t decided yet whether to stretch or sleep in.

Behind him, the rooftop door gave a soft clunk as it opened.

You stepped out into the cool air wearing a hoodie that hung a little too long at the sleeves and a pair of loose sweatpants rolled once at the waist. Your socked feet were shoved into slip-ons, and your hair–still damp from your shower was clipped back, the ends brushing against your collar.

You were a completely different version of the woman who had just launched a dummy across the mat, and somehow, to Bob, you were even more dangerous this way.

He heard your footsteps before he saw you. You weren’t trying to be quiet–you never did up here–but there was something about the way you moved that always gave him pause. Even when you weren’t fighting, even when you were soft and warm and dressed in clothes he’d seen you nap in, you moved like a threat. Like someone who could shatter him without ever raising a hand.

He turned when you stopped beside him.

You held out one of the two containers tucked under your arm–clear plastic, condensation fogging the inside, layers of oats, berries, protein powder, almond butter, and a mess of chia seeds and yogurt.

“Added extra almond butter for you,” You said casually, like you hadn’t just left him speechless fifteen minutes ago in the training bay, “I’ve seen you eating it by the spoonful.” Bob smirked, and took the bowl from you with a soft, stuttered thanks, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.

You leaned against the ledge beside him, shoulder nearly brushing his as you opened your own container and sat it down on the concrete ledge. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The wind tugged at the strings of your hoodie, and your eyes stayed on the skyline.

It had started as a fluke, months ago. You had finished training early, Bob had offered to bring you a smoothie he’d prepped the night before, and you both ended up watching the sun rise in silence, chewing half-thawed berries in tired satisfaction. But the ritual had stuck. And now…This was just what you did.

Watch the city wake up. Together. Every time you trained early.

Bob peeled the lid off his breakfast bowl and picked up the spoon you’d shoved into the side.

“Th-this is my favorite one,” He said softly, glancing sideways at you, attempting to break the silence. You didn’t look away from the skyline when you responded.

”I know…You’ve told me.” That made his cheeks pink again. But he didn’t look away this time.

You were quiet for a moment. Chewing. Thinking.

Then, just barely loud enough to hear:

”I got a…Curious question for you.” Bob gulped softly, the sound nearly lost to the wind curling off the rooftop. His spoon paused midair, a dollop of almond butter sliding off into the bowl. He glanced at you, cautious but attentive, like someone approaching a line they didn’t know they were ready to cross.

“A-Alright…” He said carefully, the word sticking to the back of his throat.

You didn’t meet his eyes.

Instead, you scooped a spoonful of frozen berries from your container, crunching down slowly as the chill settled into your jaw. Your lips pressed together in quiet concentration, almost like you were tasting your words before saying them out loud.

“If Sentry is in there…” You said around the fruit, eyes still on the horizon, “Why haven’t I met him?” Bob’s eyebrows rose, and he blinked at you like you’d reached across the space between your shoulders and tapped directly on his soul.

”I do-don’t know,” He replied quietly, “Why do you ask?” You finally looked at him.

Not with challenge, not with anything harsh–just honest curiosity, softened by morning light and the glint of something deeper.

“I kind of want to see him, that’s all,” You said with a shrug. “Sometimes I can feel that he’s there, behind your eyes…” You gestured loosely to the general space around his face, your hand lifting just enough to draw a vague halo around his features. “But I just haven’t seen him. And I’m curious. That’s all.” You looked down into your bowl for a second, then added, “Yelena mentioned he talks differently too, so I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Bob choked on a breath.

Not dramatically, not loud–but just enough for his shoulders to twitch and the tips of his ears to go scarlet.

“Y-Yeah, well…He–He kind of only comes out in ex-extreme cases…” Bob glanced away again, fidgeting with the edge of the plastic lid. “I’ve been able to get a little bit of co-control over him these past few months but…I-It’s not like switching a light on…Not yet at least.”

“Extreme cases?” You echoed, your tone gentle but laced with curiosity. You swirled your spoon around the half-melted oats in your bowl, watching the almond butter spiral through the yogurt like a lazy storm. “What do you mean by that?” Bob cleared his throat. He adjusted his stance slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I–uh–I-if anyone I care ab-about is in danger…” He explained, voice tight, eyes fixed somewhere just past the edge of the roof. “Th-that typically triggers him.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him.

Anyone I care about.

The air seemed to pause for a moment. Not in a dramatic, thunderstruck way—but in that quiet, split-second beat where something subtle shifts. Where the wind changes direction.

“Really?” You said, just barely above a whisper. Bob nodded, slow and honest.

You bit your bottom lip.

Then you looked away–at the skyline, at the bowl in your hand–and cleared your throat softly. “Huh.”

Bob glanced over, unsure what that huh meant. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could speak, you placed your container down on the ledge beside you with a faint plastic clack, and then–you pushed yourself up onto the ledge.

Bob froze.

His breath caught like you’d pulled a pin from a grenade.

You didn’t do anything wild–not yet–you just perched there, casual as ever, one leg dangling off the edge of the rooftop and the other folded beneath you. The city stretched wide below your feet, vast and golden and humming with distant morning traffic. But Bob only saw you.

And your eyes–when they turned to meet his–were gleaming with something dangerous.

Playful. Calculating.

“I wonder,” You said slowly, tilting your head, “How close to the edge I’d have to lean before he decided to show.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “Wh–what? N-no, no, don’t–don’t you dare–”

You grinned.

“You just said it yourself…Extreme cases of danger.” Bob stepped closer immediately, alarm blooming in his chest, his breakfast long forgotten.

“P-please get down. Th-that’s not funny.” But you just arched an eyebrow, the wind tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

“I’m not gonna fall. I’ve done this a hundred times.” Bob’s pulse was a living thing in his throat.

He watched–helpless, breath caught, fingers twitching–as you stood.

One slow, deliberate motion. A shift in your hips, a plant of your foot. Then the other followed. Smooth. Balanced. Effortless.

You rose from the ledge like it was solid ground, and there wasn’t a ninety-story drop waiting just inches behind your heels. His entire body went tight.

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

“P-Please,” Bob choked, one foot already shifting forward as if sheer will might anchor you back. “Please don’t–just–get down, okay? I–I’m serious–”

But you weren’t listening. Or maybe you were–and that was worse. Because your gaze was steady. Calm. Amused. The wind tugged strands of hair into your face, and you didn’t even blink.

“Bob…I used to be a gymnast. I’m fine.”

Your foot shifted ever so slightly on the ledge—only an inch, maybe less—but the wind caught just right, and your body flinched. Just a twitch. A minor, involuntary jerk of balance.

And that was all it took.

One blink.

And then–

He was there.

A rush of gold.

A flash of heat.

Your breath hadn’t even finished catching before arms like tempered steel wrapped around your middle, yanking you from the ledge so fast your feet barely had time to register air. The skyline spun, the wind cracked, and then–you were grounded again.

Back pressed to a broad, heaving chest. Hands banded across your ribcage, fingers splayed like molten iron beneath your hoodie. You burst into laughter–a sharp, bubbling giggle that sounded almost wrong in contrast to the divine tension crackling through the air now.

The grip on your waist didn’t ease.

It tightened.

And when you tilted your chin back to look behind you–just slightly, just enough–you saw them.

Gold….His eyes that burned like sunlight through glass, pupils sharp as stars. Sentry.

“Hi,” You said cheerfully, still grinning, breathless from your own stunt.

”No,” Sentry replied, voice rich and low, echoing like thunder rippling through marble, “No ‘hi’…You almost fell off the roof.” It wasn’t a reprimand exactly…But he took the kind of tone that was reserved for things that were precious, vulnerable, and untouchable. His voice vibrated against your spine like something too old and too vast to be fully human.

You glanced down at the way his arms were locked around you–solid and certain, pressed against the soft fabric of your hoodie, heat blooming where his skin met yours.

“I won’t climb back up…I just did that to bring you out, you can let go.” His grip didn’t ease right away. You could feel the tension humming in his limbs. Like holding you was the only thing anchoring the storm.

“Can’t believe you did this deliberately.” He stated, words molten. You smirked at his comment.

”I knew you cared about me.” You teased, then there was a beat of silence. Not empty, not cold–but charged. Like lightning was being held back by sheer force of will.

And then Sentry groaned softly, tipping his head forward, forehead nearly brushing your shoulder

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” He murmured, his breath warm against your neck. You swore you felt the heat of a small sun in that exhale.

“I think my plan worked perfectly actually,” You replied, twisting in his grip slowly until you were facing him. He let you go gradually–arms loosening, like letting go was something he didn’t quite want to do. You stood in front of him now, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“You’ve been watching me,” You added, softer now. “So I thought I’d introduce myself.”

Sentry stared at you, golden gaze intense, unreadable.

“And how do you know I’ve been watching you?” You shrugged.

”The room kind of gets super hot whenever I’m around you,” You trailed off, playfully, and then added, “And the boiled and semi-melted water bottle during my training this morning really confirmed my suspicions.” Sentry’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment–longer than most people could withstand without blinking, without looking away, without shrinking under the weight of something celestial sizing them up.

But you didn’t shrink.

You just stared right back, lit by the bleeding edge of sunrise, hoodie sleeves bunching slightly as your arms crossed beneath your chest

He inhaled deeply through his nose.

The kind of breath that stirred the wind around you. Like he was tasting the moment.

Then–

“Well…” He exhaled slowly, gold eyes narrowing faintly, heat rolling off his skin like he hadn’t quite put the sun back in its cage, “We like watching you train, so…” A slight smirk, nearly imperceptible, “Sue me for melting the water bottle.”

You laughed, head tilting, teeth catching your bottom lip for a second before you let it go. “Oh, you do?” You echoed, all exaggerated with mock surprise. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”

He said nothing.

So you stepped a bit closer, toe to toe now, looking at him, chasing eye contact.

“Anything else you want to tell me?”

The question hung in the air between you like a dare. A thread. A fuse.

Sentry’s jaw tensed.

Then slowly–very slowly–he bit the inside of his cheek and glanced away, gaze drifting out toward the edge of the city as though it might offer him a safer answer than the truth.

“Not that I know of.”

Smooth. Measured. Deceptively calm.

And a lie.

You could feel it ripple through him like static.

Your eyes narrowed just slightly, catching the minute shift in his expression. The way his mouth twitched like there was something sitting right behind his teeth that he didn’t trust himself to say.

But he wouldn’t betray Bob. Not even a little. Not even now, not when his hands still remembered the shape of your waist and the weight of your pulse thudding wildly against his palms.

You let the silence stretch, the smirk pulling at your lips again.

“Liar,” You muttered, voice low. Not accusing. Not even disappointed. Just certain.

His eyes flicked back to yours–sharper now, searching.

And for one breathless second, you swore the skyline bent around the shape of his frame. Like the sun tilted its arc to catch the side of his face, painting him in a soft gleam of fire and gold.

“Maybe,” He murmured finally, voice like molten glass. “But I’m not the one you want to hear it from.”

Your stomach fluttered.

Not because you didn’t know what he meant.

But because you did.

And for once…You didn’t push.

Instead, you stepped back, just enough to give him space. Just enough to keep the tension intact.

————————

You stood at the center of the mat again, barefoot, hands wrapped, shoulder blades flexing beneath a sleeveless compression top. You were rolling your neck in lazy circles as you waited for your new sparring partners to get their shit together.

“Jesus, how many wraps does it take you to tie your boots, Walker?”

John scoffed without looking up, still crouched in the corner tightening the laces on his combat shoes. “Some of us don’t train barefoot like monks on a mountaintop.”

“That’s because you’d trip over your own ego,” You muttered under your breath.

“C’mon now,” Bucky called from across the mat, stretching his arms behind his back, black long-sleeve rolled to his elbows. “Play nice, kids. I’m not pulling any punches today.”

From his spot on the edge of the mat, Bob looked up quickly at that–eyes flicking between the three of you, concern flickering across his face like a warning light. He was already perched where he’d always sat during your solo drills, long legs folded under him, with your water bottle in hand–now reusable and stainless steel–watching quietly like you were the only thing in the world that moved in color.

Walker clocked it immediately.

His head turned toward Bob with a crooked grin, already half-laced boots squeaking faintly as he stood. “Does he always sit there like that?” He asked, nodding toward Bob. “Watching you like it’s a one-woman stage play?”

You didn’t even blink.

“He always does,” you replied smoothly, turning your wrist in a light circle to loosen your shoulder. “Is this a new thing you’re just realizing?”

Bob flushed–brilliant red blooming beneath the collar of his navy crew neck–but said nothing, just curled his fingers more tightly around the water bottle.

Walker smirked. “What–you need an emotional support human to pummel some dummies?”

You turned toward him fully then, one brow raised, lips already twitching. “I’m glad you’re calling yourself a dummy so I don’t have to.” Bucky let out a laugh from his spot near the wall, shaking his head.

“Alright, alright–enough with the bickering. Let’s go for another round, huh?” He rolled his shoulder and stepped toward you, that slow, loose gait of someone who’d seen more fights than birthdays. You nodded once, tightening the wraps on your wrists.

“Let’s.” You muttered.

Bob settled deeper into his spot at the edge of the mat, posture stiff but eyes locked on you. Sentry stirred beneath his skin again–he could feel it like pressure in his spine, heat behind his ribs. Watching you get ready, watching you glow with motion and discipline, was like watching a match hovering over gasoline.

And then you moved.

You and Bucky danced the way soldiers did–tight and calculated, strike and recover, quick feints that turned into fast contact. He wasn’t going easy on you, and you wouldn’t have let him if he tried. Walker hung back at first, arms crossed, smirking, tossing in the occasional jibe about your stance or form.

Until you spun low and landed a solid elbow to Bucky’s ribs. He let out a grunt, rubbing the area with the flat of his hand.

“Had my guard down,” he muttered, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

You cocked your head. “You always do.”

Walker snorted. “Alright, let me get in on this now.”

You cleared your throat, barely disguising your amusement. “Don’t be shocked when you get humiliated.”

“Big words for someone who’s at a one man disadvantage.” He said, cracking his neck as he stepped forward onto the mat.

You rolled your shoulders. “Yeah? Let’s see what you’ll be saying when you’re on your ass.” From the sidelines, Bob’s grip on the water bottle tightened.

It started slow–Walker lunged, you ducked, Bucky feinted–and then all at once, it shifted.

The three of you moved like an orbit, tight and reactive. A storm of limbs and instinct.

Walker threw strength. Bucky threw precision. You threw heat.

And Bob? He watched like he was studying scripture.

Your body was in constant motion–every movement timed perfectly, every dodge low and tight, using Bucky’s stance to redirect Walker’s force, using Walker’s height against him to launch yourself higher. You pivoted with a fluid snap, stepping off Bucky’s knee to catch Walker’s shoulder with your heel, spinning out of reach before either of them could tag you.

You were alive in a way that made the room bend around you.

Bob had stopped blinking. His heart beat like a war drum behind his ribs, the kind of rhythm that only came when Sentry hovered near the surface, watching through his eyes like a god hungry for movement.

You slid under a punch, twisted Walker’s momentum to force a stumble, and kicked Bucky’s thigh hard enough to send him back a pace. The two men glanced at each other then—silent communication—and came at you together.

You grinned like you were being handed a gift.

Your foot landed on Bucky’s shoulder and you pushed off, flipping neatly in the air, body tightening mid-rotation. Your leg caught Walker’s bicep and you twisted, but his center of gravity adjusted quick–too quick–and suddenly–

Your body slammed into the mat.

Hard.

The noise cracked through the air.

Bob surged to his feet.

You wheezed–chest collapsing, eyes wide, lips parted but no air catching–and for one sickening second, you didn’t move.

And that was all it took.

The heat slammed into the room like a detonated sun.

Sentry burst through Bob like goldfire ripping seams in his skin. One moment it was Bob’s widened eyes and open mouth–

And the next?

The mat shook under the force of Sentry’s arrival.

He was halfway across the floor before anyone could react, a golden blur slicing through the fluorescent haze. The floor steamed faintly beneath his bare feet. His fists were already clenched, molten lines of fury pulsing under his skin like veins lit with solar flares.

He didn’t think. He moved.

Straight toward Walker.

“Hey!” Walker shouted, palms already lifted as he stumbled back a step. “Jesus Christ–It’s not like I meant to do it!”

Sentry was drowned in the roar of protection and wrath, his eyes wild, glowing like twin cores of a star gone supernova. His mouth opened, teeth bared like something celestial barely contained in a human shape.

“You hurt her.” The voice wasn’t loud–it was deep. Like stone cracking under pressure. Like a threat too old to need volume.

Bucky stepped in without hesitation.

“Whoa–hey! Hey, easy! Stand down!” His voice was sharp but not panicked, hands up in a calm brace, body angled between Walker and the god.

Sentry didn’t listen.

Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just stood there, vibrating with heat, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Walker like he was calculating exactly how many bones to break.

On the floor behind them, you coughed–one harsh, painful breath, then another. You rolled onto your side slowly, eyes blinking hard against the light, one hand braced on the mat as you forced yourself upright.

“Sentry–” You wheezed, chest still hitching, still attempting to catch your breath.

His head snapped toward you. Immediately.

“I’m fine.” You said, firmer this time. You winced as you sat up straighter, hand pressed against your ribs. “Don’t…Don’t worry. I’ve had worse happen. Calm down.” Sentry’s eyes flicked from you…To Walker…Then back to you.

His chest rose and fell once. Sharp. Controlled.

And then–like a pressure valve easing open–he exhaled. The heat softened just enough that Bucky didn’t feel like he was standing in front of a furnace. His fists slowly loosened at his sides, muscles still taut, but held.

Sentry turned fully toward you, and for the first time since appearing, his voice shifted–just barely.

Lower. Softer. Still fire-wrapped, but laced with something else.

“He slammed you.”

You gave a weak smile through your breath, “We’re…We’re sparring, accidents happen, you don’t have to…Scare the crap out of Walker.” Sentry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

“Yeah, no need to scare the crap outta me,” Walker echoed, huffing a laugh like he was trying to keep things casual even though his heartbeat was still visibly pounding in his neck. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking between the three of you. “And also–when the fuck did Sentry suddenly come back?” He asked, motioning to him.

“He’s been coming back for a while.” You blinked at Walker, still cradling your ribs lightly, and shrugged.

“You’re the one that triggered him by hurting me, moron.” Walker’s mouth opened in disbelief.

“Me?!”

“You slammed me,” You clarified, not unkindly, but with a smirk twitching at the edge of your lips. “Like…full-body slammed me.”

“You jumped on me!”

“You adjusted your center too fast–”

“Guys,” Bucky said mildly, hands raised, “No more arguing please.” Walker, still shaken, jabbed a finger toward Sentry, who was still standing like a stone beside you, radiating enough heat to keep the entire bay at a slow simmer. His golden gaze hadn’t left you once.

“I’m just saying,” Walker said, eyes narrowed, “You make it sound like we should’ve known. Like this was a thing. I’m still caught up in the fact that we haven’t seen him appear in almost a year, and now suddenly he’s back up and running—no warning, no update, just–” He gestured to Sentry’s still-glowing hands. “–bam, golden demigod about to fry my ass.”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky said, his voice quiet, but laced with warning.

Walker rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m saying it’s insane.”

You leaned your head back, letting out a slow breath. Sentry’s hand moved–just barely–hovering again near your spine like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to touch you. You shifted to sit up straighter, letting your shoulder brush his forearm gently.

“It’s not like Bob can snap his fingers and summon him,” You said, keeping your tone level. “Sentry shows up when he wants to. Or when Bob needs him.”

“Which is usually when someone’s in danger,” Bucky added, folding his arms and glancing at Walker meaningfully. “Someone Bob—or Sentry—cares about.”

Walker stared at that. Then looked at you. Then back at Sentry.

The dots were not subtle.

Sentry still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need to. His silence was heavy. Watchful. The sun pressed into a man’s body.

You reached out and gave his wrist a light touch, enough to feel the heat still thrumming beneath his skin. “It’s alright,” you murmured, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. “I can breathe now.”

Sentry blinked slowly. Then–almost imperceptibly–nodded.

The heat around him dropped by a few degrees.

Not gone.

Just…Tempered.

Walker, still trying to reconcile what had just happened, ran a hand over his face. “Look, I didn’t mean to–if I’d known he was even still awake in there, I wouldn’t’ve–”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” You interrupted, waving him off, wincing a little at the motion. “You’re just an idiot. But that’s not new.”

That earned the tiniest snort from Bucky.

Sentry, finally, tilted his head just slightly. “You’re in pain.”

You turned to look at him.

The golden light in his eyes had softened–just a touch. It was still otherworldly. Still ancient. But there was concern there. Sharp and clear.

“I’m sore,” You corrected. “Not dying.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Come on,” Bucky said, stepping forward, placing a steady hand on Walker’s shoulder as he glanced between the rest of you. “Training’s over. Let’s all cool off before someone actually does get launched through a wall.”

Walker muttered something under his breath and turned toward the exit.

Bucky lingered a moment longer, looking at you. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Just bruised, but I should be fine.” Bucky’s gaze slid over to Sentry.

”Should I be worried he’s gonna explode if you ever truly get hurt?” You smirked faintly.

”Let’s hope we never have to find out the answer to that question…”

888 notes · View notes

lilyinmysoul · 3 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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floatyflowers · 4 months ago

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Dark! Dracula x Single! Mother Reader

After the mysterious death of your husband, you meet the man he had been working for at the funeral, and it turns out to be none other than Count Dracula.

He offered you refuge at his castle, claiming your husband was a dear friend. He insisted he could not possibly allow his friend's widowed, pregnant wife to live in a financial crisis.

At first, you reject the idea, claiming it is improper. But after much pressuring, you accept his offer, feeling ashamed of yourself.

You only want your baby to avoid suffering from poverty.

Things seemed like a dream at first.

Dracula's servants treated you like a countess rather than a guest; anything you needed was granted to you on a plate of gold.

However, things take a sinister turn when Dracula begins to assert a possessive claim over your unborn child, referring to it as his own.

This unsettling behavior escalates as he prepares for the baby's arrival, going so far as to construct a nursery within his castle.

Disturbingly, he has even chosen both a male and a female name for the child, further solidifying his intention to claim it as his own.

You understood why the count had been acting so strangely when you walked in on him one day, catching him in the act of drinking the blood of one of the servants.

He hadn't noticed you as he drank, a look of predatory satisfaction on his face.

The servant didn't even have the energy to scream, their skin drained of color.

At that moment, the horrifying reality crashed down on you. All the strange deaths happening in town, the whispers of a bloodthirsty creature lurking in the shadows, it was him all along.

And the two puncture marks on your husband's neck, the ones you had attributed to an accident, were from his own sharp, elongated canine teeth.

"You are the devil," you hiss, the words escaping your lips like a venomous breath.

Moments before, you had fled the noise and chaos of his study room, seeking solace in the quiet of your chambers.

He had followed, his presence as unwelcome as ever.

"Devil? No, my dear," Dracula chuckled, his voice calm.

"I am merely a provider, ensuring the continuation of my lineage."

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

Lineage. Your child.

This wasn't about friendship or kindness; it was about possession.

He saw your unborn child as his heir, a thought that made you feel physically ill.

"You won't have my child," you spat, clutching your swollen belly protectively.

Dracula's eyes, usually filled with a charming warmth, turned cold.

"You have little choice in the matter," he stated calmly, taking a step closer.

"You are under my roof, under my protection. This child," he paused, his gaze piercing through you,

"Will be raised as mine, and you will become my wife."

Panic welled up inside you, choking you with its icy grip, as he reached for your face. His long, cold fingers with perfect, long nails traced your skin.

"I don't want to stay here any longer. I will leave, and you won't hear about me anymore," you declare, your voice trembling with determination you hope your body will soon follow.

"You are not going anywhere," he scoffs, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Because you have nowhere to go, have you forgotten how people view widows? Especially pregnant ones who refuse to remarry? You will be shunned, left to fend for yourself and our child. This is your new and better reality, and you will learn to accept it."

A sharp pain forms in your abdomen, causing you to quickly place your hand on it.

Feeling witness, you look down only to acknowledge that your water has broken.

The vampire count also takes notice, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"It seems our child has decided to grace us with their presence a little earlier than expected," he purrs, his voice laced with an eerie excitement.

He claps his hands together once, and two servants immediately appear at the doorway.

He commanded in a sharply authoritative tone.

"Prepare for Lady (Y/n)'s delivery. And ensure that everything is perfect in the nursery for our child."

You try to protest, to fight against the iron grip that seems to have closed around your arm, but your words are lost in a wave of pain as another contraction rips through you.

⋆☽◯☾⋆

The piercing cries of a newborn echoed through the stone halls of the castle.

The sound should have brought you relief, but instead, dread coiled tightly around your heart.

Sweat clung to your skin as you lay exhausted in the grand bed of the lavishly prepared covers.

Yet, as you gazed at the tiny, delicate features, the baby now is calm against your chest.

While Dracula stood at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes drinking in the sight before.

He has a family now, a wife and a son.

Walking to your side, he slowly leans down, placing a gentle hand on the baby's head, his touch lingering for a moment as he admires the sleeping child.

Not having the strength to fight him after a long labor, you allow him to have his way this time.

Dracula's smile grows wide as the child opens his eyes, finally deciding on what to name the baby.

"His name shall be Alucard."

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #possessive #romantic yandere #pregnant reader #mother reader #yandere dracula #dracula x reader

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braa198200311 · 2 months ago

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🔻 🚨 🔻

Sarah from Gaza🍉, a mother of three children: Youssef, Sham, and Ahmed.

My home used to be a safe haven for my children, but now only rubble remains😥. The army forced us to flee under relentless bombing😭, and all I could do was hold my children close💔. Youssef suffered a broken arm from the shrapnel, and we had to do surgery in the middle of this terror. The twins, Sham and Ahmed, should be playing, learning, and dreaming… but the war stole their childhood.

Today, we have no food, no water, and no safety. Prices are skyrocketing, and we have no income or any assistance. My children are terrified all day by the sound of the missiles and explosions.

All I’m asking for today is a moment of empathy:

💸 Even a small donation can bring a smile back to my children’s faces.

🔁 Or just sharing this post, maybe it will reach someone who can help.

Every bit of support makes a huge difference🙏🥺, even if it’s small. Please, help me protect my children from hunger, cold, and the bombings.

With love and hope in all of you,

Sarah and her children.

🔻🔻

#gazaunderattack #gaza strip #gaza genocide #free gaza #gaza #all eyes on palestine #palestine fundraiser #i stand with palestine #save palestine #free palestine

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yamujiburo · 2 years ago

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Ketchum vs. Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

Woo! Finale time! I wanted to make this final battle feel special and give it more substance than I could do with just a comic. So! I got the help of @cyberwulf to write out this ending in fanfic form! Check it out here on AO3 if you prefer! If not, the journey continues below the cut~

prev / END

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / [X]

James Sidestory / Meowth Sidestory

A lot has happened since our Poké Moms began their journey. After a rocky start…

“*SQUAWK*”

…they’ve managed to catch some new Pokémon…

“Run! Run! Run!”

…in their own way.

“What a cute baby! You know, I have a son, too!”

With their month on the road almost up, Delia had just one more thing she wanted to do…

“I want to beat the Cerulean City Gym!”

But little did Delia know, there was a surprise waiting for her in Cerulean City!

“MOM??? JESSIE???”

“Let’s have a double battle! You and Ash versus Jessie and I!”

“You’re on! But I’m not going easy on you just cuz you’re family!”

“…What’s going on?”

Poké Mom Adventures

EP009

Ketchum vs Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

The water of the Cerulean gym battlefield glistened in the sunshine streaming through its crystal glass roof. Both teams gazed at each other with steely determination (and some lingering confusion, in Misty’s case) as above them, the Drone Rotom announced the rules.

“This will be a double battle between Gym Leader Misty and Champion Ash, and the challengers Delia and Jessie.” It projected a holographic image of both teams. “For today’s battle, each trainer may use two Pokémon. The battle is over when all of one team’s Pokémon can no longer battle.”

“All right!” Misty declared. “This is an official League battle for the Cascade badge!”

“And bragging rights!” Jessie added with a smirk.

“We’ll see about that!” Ash retorted. Misty glanced at him, taking in his clenched fists and gritted teeth. She’d seen Ash determined before, but… there was something here that she was missing. However, with the Drone Rotom hovering expectantly overhead, finding out what that something was would have to wait.

“Come out – Corsola!”

The Coral Pokémon landed on the rock in front of her, eagerly crying its name.

“This is a water-themed gym, so I’ll go with a Water-Type,” Ash remarked. “Oshawott, I choose you!”

“That’s the spirit, Ash!” Misty exclaimed. “It’s the job of a Gym Leader to help trainers learn type advantage and weaknesses by specialising in one kind of Pokémon, and around here that’s Water-Types!”

“Water, huh?” Jessie frowned as she considered the three Pokémon she had on hand. “Well, I don’t want my delicate little Ziggy to get her fur wet.” With a flourish, she tossed a Pokéball high in the air. “Go, Venomoth!”

The Poison Moth Pokémon emerged, hovering over the water.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any Grass or Electric-types,” Delia mused. “I guess we’ll just have to do our best with what we have.” Pushing her bangs out of her face, she called, “I choose you!”

Ash and Misty’s jaws dropped as the light from Delia’s Pokéball coalesced into a very large, very stern-looking Kangaskhan.

“I didn’t know your mom had such a strong Pokémon,” Misty whispered.

“Neither did I,” Ash whispered back. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked down at his starter Pokémon. “Something wrong, Pikachu?”

“Pika…”

Pikachu gazed across the water at Kangaskhan, ears and tail up, alert to… something. But before anyone could figure out what had caught his attention, there was a small cry.

“Kangaskhan!”

The baby squirmed, spooked by the glistening water lapping all around the rock. She buried her face in her mother’s belly and cried again. Cradling her young protectively, Kangaskhan gave Delia an apologetic look.

“Oh, of course!” Delia exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Kangaskhan, return.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called across the battlefield. “That doesn’t count as one of my Pokémon, does it?”

“Of course not, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty shouted back. “Please choose another Pokémon!”

“If she’s got one,” Ash said with a confident smirk. “I’m betting she’ll send out Mimey.”

“I choose you… Clefairy!”

“Looks like you bet wrong, Ash,” Misty laughed as Ash stared in surprise at the Fairy Pokémon.

Above them, the Drone Rotom moved into position.

“Begin!”

“All right, Oshawott!” Ash called out. “Open up with an Aqua Jet!”

With a determined cry, Oshawott blasted a jet of water across the field, hitting Clefairy square in the belly and knocking the Fairy Pokémon off the rock and into the water.

“Ash Ketchum!” Delia exclaimed reproachfully. “That wasn’t very nice!”

Thrown off-guard, Ash gulped. “S-sorry!” (Oh man - I can’t believe I’m actually battling my mom!)

On the opposite side of the battlefield, a wet and bedraggled Clefairy clambered back up on the rock ridge, scowling at her attacker.

“Shake it off, Clefairy!” Delia urged as her Pokémon did just that, sending a fine shower of water droplets flying from her pink fur. “Use Disarming Voice!”

With a deep breath, Clefairy shot a vortex of pink hearts towards Oshawott, taking the Sea Otter Pokémon by surprise and knocking him into the water.

“Good work, Deerling!” Jessie shouted triumphantly. “Now it’s my turn!” She pointed at Corsola. “Venomoth, use Poison Sting!”

Venomoth hovered uncertainly for a few moments, then looked back at her.

“It doesn’t look like Venomoth knows that move, honey,” Delia remarked.

“Well, Dustox knew that move!” Jessie protested. “Venomoth should know it too, aren’t they both Bug-types?”

Venomoth just blinked at her.

“You really don’t know what moves your Pokémon knows?” Misty asked incredulously.

“Of course I do, just – just let me think!” Jessie spluttered, clenching her fists. “All right, Venomoth – use Gust!”

Venomoth didn’t move.

“Whirlwind!” Jessie tried. “Psybeam! …Tackle?”

Venomoth looked back and forth between Jessie and the battlefield as it fluttered about agitatedly, utterly confused by the barrage of unfamiliar orders.

“This is just sad,” Misty muttered, getting a nod of agreement from Ash. Raising her voice, she called out, “Corsola! Use Spike Cannon!”

Corsola glowed, and a split second later a shower of glowing white spikes slammed into Venomoth, driving it backwards towards the trainer box.

“Oh, no!” Delia groaned in dismay, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should’ve practiced with our new Pokémon before coming here!”

“We’re not giving up!” Jessie snarled, clenching her fists. “Venomoth! Get back out there!”

With a trill, Venomoth shook off the spikes, and floated towards its opponents again.

“Corsola!” Misty called. “Hit it with another Spike Cannon!”

Corsola began to glow.

“Well don’t just hover there!” Jessie barked out. “It’s about to attack again!” Venomoth looked back at her, and Jessie gestured angrily towards the battlefield. “Just do something! Anything!”

Once more, glowing white spikes shot towards Venomoth. This time, however, Venomoth dove towards the attack, sweeping its wings in front of itself at the last minute. Blue blades of light cut through the barrage of spikes, one hitting Corsola and driving it back.

“That’s Air Slash!” Ash exclaimed.

“Air Slash, eh?” Jessie shot her opponents a triumphant smirk. “Venomoth! Use Air Slash on that pitiful pink Pokémon again!”

“Hang in there, Corsola!” Misty called as her Pokémon was driven back for a second time. “Use Recover!”

“Don’t let it recover, Venomoth!” Jessie yelled. “Air Slash again!”

As her Pokémon geared up for another attack, she noticed Delia gazing at her in rapture.

“You’re so ferocious when you battle, Smoochum,” Delia remarked dreamily. She lowered her voice, waggling her eyebrows. “It’s kinda hot.”

Jessie blushed and giggled. “Baaabe, not in front of the twerps.”

Misty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “…Smoochum?”

“Freak out later, Misty!” Ash yelled. Venomoth was bearing down on Corsola, and the Coral Pokémon didn’t have much left. “Oshawott! Use Hydro Pump on Venomoth to protect Corsola!”

Leaping high into the air, Oshawott sent a powerful jet of water directly at Jessie’s Venomoth. With a cry, the Poison Moth hit the floor between Jessie and Delia, bounced once, and fainted.

“Hey, no fair!” Jessie bellowed, stamping her foot. “I was distracted!” She recalled Venomoth with a scowl. “I ought to ground you for making me look bad!”

“This is really weird,” Misty mumbled.

“You have no idea,” Ash sighed wearily.

“All right, you big blue blob,” Jessie growled to her faithful Patient Pokémon, “get out there and let’s win this thing!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet waddled forward, straight into the water. Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose as Wobbuffet awkwardly clambered up onto the protruding rock.

“Wobbles can’t attack unless he’s attacked first,” Delia murmured to herself. “Oshawott is strong, and Corsola can use Recover to gain back health. That means I’ve got to make this next move count!” She looked to Clefairy, wet and winded but not out of the battle. It was risky, but…

“Clefairy! Use Metronome!”

“Metronome?!” Misty exclaimed as Clefairy began to move her fingers hypnotically back and forth. “Now anything can happen!”

“Hold tight, everybody!” Ash called, just as the Fairy Pokémon’s fingers turned white.

Razor-sharp leaves whipped through the air, striking Oshawott and Corsola. The Grass-Type move was too much for the dual Rock/Water Type, and Corsola collapsed into the water, fainted. Oshawott was driven back against the rock ridge, and Ash held his breath, but the Drone Rotom only counted Corsola out.

“Oshawott! You hanging in there, buddy?”

With a grimace, the Sea Otter Pokémon gave him a determined nod. “Osha!”

“Ha!” Jessie cried triumphantly. “Now we’re even!” She clenched her fists, calling tauntingly across the battlefield. “Who’s next, twerpette? Togepi? Psyduck?”

“She sure is cocky for being down to just Wobbuffet,” Ash muttered.

“Not for long,” Misty replied with a smirk. She plucked her second Pokéball from her hip.

“Go – Gyarados!”

Delia’s eyes widened and Jessie took several steps back as the gigantic Pokémon appeared in the water. It glowered down at both trainers, making Delia swallow hard.

(Now’s not the time to lose my nerve! Gyarados is just a Pokémon like any other. All I have to do is-)

“Hey!” Jessie exclaimed angrily. “No fair using such a powerful Pokémon! What, are Staryu and Starmie at the Pokémon Centre or something?!”

Taken aback, Misty gaped at the former Team Rocket member in disbelief. “Since when do you care about playing fair?”

“Since you decided to use that monstrosity on a first-time trainer!” Jessie retorted with a shake of her fist. “That’s cheating!”

Misty paused, almost second-guessing her choice of Pokémon, when she remembered who she was dealing with. Squaring her shoulders, she shot back, “You’re not a first-time trainer!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ash muttered.

“I heard that!” Jessie bawled.

“It’s okay, honey,” Delia murmured, placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “We can beat them. We just need to use strategy!”

“Gyarados!” Misty called out. Jessie may not have been the best trainer, and her track record with him was hit or miss, but Wobbuffet could reflect almost any attack. It might just have been luck, but Clefairy’s Metronome had taken out Corsola and left Oshawott just barely hanging on. There was only one choice of target.

“Use Hurricane on Clefairy, now!”

Rearing back, Gyarados shot a powerful blast of air directly at the Fairy Pokémon, sending her flying back to the trainer box.

“Oh no!” Delia cried. She knelt by her stricken Pokémon’s side, but it was obvious even without Drone Rotom saying so that Clefairy couldn’t continue. “You did a wonderful job, Clefairy.” Recalling her Pokémon, she rose, pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and called her second Pokémon.

“Mimey, I choose you!”

Ash clenched his fists. No more surprises – he knew what Mimey was capable of. Oshawott was tough, but he’d taken a lot of damage. If the Sea Otter Pokémon only had one move left, then Ash had to make it count.

“Oshawott! Hit Mimey with Aqua Jet!”

“Mimey, dodge it!” Delia cried out.

The Barrier Pokémon leapt high in the air, leaving Ash to watch, powerless, as Aqua Jet splashed harmlessly on the ground between his mother and Jessie. But before he could call out another attack –

“Now, Mimey, Focus Punch on Oshawott!”

There was no time for Oshawott to get out of the way. Mimey dove straight down, fist outstretched, and scored a direct hit. Both Pokémon vanished underwater. All four trainers held their breath. After a few seconds, Mimey burst out of the water, effortlessly leaping onto the rock. A moment later Oshawott floated to the surface, fainted.

“Good work, Oshawott,” Ash murmured as he recalled his Pokémon. He turned to Pikachu. “Looks like my mom’s a tougher trainer than I thought. You ready, Pikachu?”

The yellow mouse nodded, one tiny fist raised. “Pika!”

“You be nice to us now, Pikachu!” Delia cheered brightly.

Jessie was less optimistic.

“Babe, this isn’t looking good,” she murmured urgently. “I’ve been beaten by that Pikachu a zillion times! And that Gyarados looks strong. And mean! I don’t know if…”

She trailed off as the other woman took her hands.

“Now you listen to me, Jessie Ketchum.” Delia gazed into her eyes, a look of fierce determination on her face. “A zillion battles. A zillion losses. Against that very Pikachu. And you never gave up. So you’re not gonna give up now! Okay?”

Jessie stared back at her. Time seemed to stand still. Delia’s fingers were warm on her own as her words of encouragement hung in the air.

“Jessie… Ketchum?”

With the briefest of nods, Delia turned to face their opponents.

“Ash honey, don’t you hold back just because I’m your mom!” she called. “We’re going to give it our all, even if we lose!”

“She’s a lot like you, Ash,” Misty laughed. As Ash tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his blush, she raised her voice and called to the challengers. “You’re doing great, Ms. Ketchum! I’m really impressed by your abilities as a trainer. Now show me you’re worthy of the Cascade badge!”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled indignantly. “What am I, chopped liver?! My Venomoth pushed your Corsola to the brink!”

Misty grimaced. This was all still too strange – Jessie was a good guy? Jessie and Ash’s mom were… partners? She struggled for something positive to say about Jessie’s performance so far.

“Uh – yeah!” she managed. “It was, uh, really great how you figured out that one move.”

Jessie put her hands on her hips. “Ugh, could you sound any more insincere?!”

With a growl of impatience, Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled across the battlefield. “Hey! Are we gonna battle or what?”

“Oh, we’re battling, twerp,” Jessie shot back. “And we’re gonna win!”

Ash grinned. “You ready, Pikachu?” The yellow Pokémon turned to look at his trainer. Ash pointed. “Quick attack!”

“Ha!” Jessie scoffed as Pikachu zigzagged along the rock ridge. “Wobbuffet, use Counter!”

Pikachu leaped forward…

“On Mimey!”

Delia and Jessie gasped as Pikachu pivoted and went straight for the Barrier Pokémon. Taken by surprise, he took the full brunt of the attack, losing his balance and hitting the water.

“A fake out!” Delia exclaimed. She beamed at her son with pride. “That was so smart of you, honey! You had us completely fooled!”

“Baaabe!” Jessie hissed. “I get that you care about him – I do too – but right now he’s the enemy!”

Delia tapped her fist against her head, grinning nervously. “Oh, right!”

“This is hurting my brain,” Misty groaned.

“How do you think I feel?” Ash grumbled.

Delia took a moment to centre herself and assess the situation. Pikachu didn’t have a Type advantage, but his Electric attacks were powerful – not to mention that Mimey was still wet. Of course, using them ran the risk of electrifying the entire battlefield, including Gyarados, but only one Pokémon needed to be left standing in order for that Pokémon’s team to win.

“Mimey!” she commanded. “Use Psychic on Pikachu!”

“Mr Mime!”

Mimey fixed Pikachu with an intense stare, his eyes and hands glowing blue. Blue light enveloped the yellow mouse as he was lifted into the air. Pikachu strained and struggled, but couldn’t break free.

Ash groaned in exasperation.

“Misty, go for Mimey!” he called. “If you weaken him, maybe Pikachu can break free. Plus, he’s a lot stronger than Wobbuffet!”

Misty nodded. “Right!”

“Hey!” Jessie objected. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it!” She shook her fist at them. “I raised you better than that, Ash Ketchum!”

“Wha – ” Ash took a step back, flabbergasted. “You didn’t raise me at all!”

“The heck I didn’t!” Jessie retorted. “Who kept an eye on you while you twerped your way through eight regions, huh?!”

Misty rubbed her temples. The whole situation was giving her a headache.

“Gyarados!”

The Atrocious Pokémon stirred itself and looked her way.

“Use Crunch on Mr. Mime, now!”

“Oh no, not Crunch!” Delia fretted, as Gyarados reared back, a sinister purple aura swirling around its fangs. “That’s a Dark-Type move!”

“Wobbuffet!” Jessie barked. “Get between Mimey and Gyarados and use Counter!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet leaped in front of Mimey, his body outlined in orange light. Crunch hit, hard, and bounced back twice as hard. Both Gyarados and Wobbuffet recoiled from the damage.

“Wobbles!” Delia cried out, as Mimey caught Wobbuffet in his arms.

“Don’t you quit on me now, Wobbuffet!” Jessie shouted.

Wobbuffet saluted weakly as Mimey pushed him back onto his paws. The distraction worked, and Pikachu dropped back to the rock, freed from Psychic.

“Keep the pressure on, Pikachu!” Ash yelled. “Use Iron Tail on Mimey, now!”

“Quick, Mimey!” Delia shouted as Pikachu somersaulted through the air, tail glowing white. “Use Reflect!”

Pikachu hit the invisible barrier and flew backwards, landing in the water.

“Gyarados!” Misty commanded. “Use Crunch again!”

“Mimey, keep using Reflect!” Delia shouted. “Don’t let them in!” She had to think. Poor Wobbles, he didn’t have much left – one more shot from that big Gyarados and that would be it. Not to mention that if Crunch hit Mimey, the battle would be over! She’d completely forgotten Gyarados could learn that move! Oh, maybe she should’ve used Zaggy instead…

Mimey obediently continued to use Reflect as Gyarados and Pikachu attacked from either side. Slowly the invisible barriers began to box them in, till Mimey and Wobbuffet were crowded together on the rock.

“Babe!” Jessie urged. “We have to do something or we’re gonna lose!”

“I know!” Delia groaned. “I just…” She cupped her face in her hands, pulling down on her cheeks. “…I don’t know!”

“Ms Ketchum!”

Delia lifted her head.

“You can’t let us back you into a corner!” Misty called. “Use your environment to find a way out!”

Ash shot her a glare. “Hey, whose side are you on?!”

“It’s my job as a Gym leader to help trainers to learn,” Misty explained with a smile. “Did you forget?”

“You didn’t help me when I battled you for the first time!” Ash replied indignantly, poking his thumb into his chest.

Misty glowered at him.

“That’s because you still owed me a new bike, Ash Ketchum!”

“Aaagh!” Ash placed both hands on his head, tugging his hat down. “Can’t you let that go already? It got repaired, didn’t it?”

While their opponents bickered, Delia had taken Misty’s words to heart.

“Use the environment…” she mused. There was only one place Mimey and Wobbles could go – but first they had to do something about the double attacks coming their way.

“Jessie!” she hissed, beckoning her partner to come closer. “Can you have Wobbles use Counter?”

Jessie looked at Wobbuffet, sweating nervously as he stood behind Mimey. She nodded.

“Okay,” Delia replied. She whispered quickly in the other woman’s ear. Jessie grinned, then straightened up.

“Wobbuffet! Use Counter on both those attacks!”

Without any hesitation, Wobbuffet moved in front of Mimey, body once more enveloped in an orange glow. Crunch and Iron Tail came back double on Gyarados and Pikachu, sending the two flying backwards. Both Pokémon landed hard on the rock, Gyarados almost wrapping around it with the force of the blow.

“On your feet, Pikachu!” Ash called. “It’s not over yet! …Huh?”

He blinked at the empty battlefield. Mimey and Wobbuffet had both disappeared. Ash tensed as he scoured the water for any sign of the enemy Pokémon, but the surface was still settling from the last bout of attacks. The sunlight streaming through the roof didn’t help either – it made the rippling water glitter.

Misty spotted movement a second too late.

“Look out-”

In tandem, Mimey and Wobbuffet burst through the surface, taking up positions either side of Gyarados and Pikachu, trapping their opponents between them.

“Good work, you two!” Delia cheered. She pointed dramatically. “Now, Mimey – use Psychic on both of them!”

Once more, Mimey’s eyes and hands glowed. Both Gyarados and Pikachu rose into the air, enveloped in blue light.

“Great strategy, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty called, earning a dirty look from Ash which she ignored. “There’s no point going for Wobbuffet – he’ll just Counter our attacks again.”

“Right,” Ash agreed. “We’ve gotta take out Mimey!” He raised his voice. “Pikachu!”

Misty did likewise. “Gyarados!”

Delia grinned. “Just as I thought.” She looked at her partner. “Get ready with Mirror Coat!”

Jessie blinked in confusion. “…Huh?”

“Thunderbolt –”

“Hydro Pump –”

“On Mimey!” both young trainers yelled in unison.

“Mimey!” Delia called, just as both Pokémon charged their attacks. “Drop them, use Light Screen and aim at Wobbles!”

“Aim at WHO?!” Jessie exclaimed.

There was no time to explain. Everything turned on a split second. Pikachu and Gyarados began to fall through the air. Several volts of electricity and a powerful torrent of water hit Mimey’s Light Screen and barrelled towards Wobbuffet.

The diabolical beauty of Delia’s devious plan suddenly caught up with Jessie. That pair of pathetic Pokémon were in for a –

“Now, honey!”

Jessie almost fumbled the command.

“M-Mirror Coat!”

Wobbuffet glowed, shrouded in a reflective aura. Everything seemed to slow down. The attacks hit. They bounced back at Mimey. Pikachu and Gyarados fell. Ash’s mouth opened in a silent noooo.

The timing was perfect.

Gyarados and Pikachu fell in front of Mimey, taking the full brunt of Thunderbolt and Hydro Pump, doubled by Mirror Coat. The sheer force of the attacks drove them along the surface of the water, causing huge plumes of water to rise into the air either side of them. The battlefield disappeared in a shroud of surf and spray.

“Pikachu!” Ash cried out.

All four trainers held their breath as the mist began to clear.

Jessie cried out in dismay on seeing Wobbuffet floating belly-up in the water. Ash groaned on spotting Pikachu doing likewise. Draped over the rock, Gyarados lifted its head weakly, then dropped it again.

Delia scanned the water, a smile spreading across her face as Mimey swam to the rock and clambered up, standing tall with a cry of, “Mr. Mime!”

“Wobbuffet, Pikachu, and Gyarados are unable to battle,” the Drone Rotom declared, as Ash sank to his knees. “The winners are the challengers, Delia and Jessie!”

“I… I can’t believe this…” Ash moaned.

“We…” Jessie couldn’t stop staring at the battlefield, Drone Rotom’s words ringing in her ears. “…we won?” She looked to Delia, and the joyful look on her face confirmed it. “We WON!!!”

Delia shrieked as Jessie caught hold of her and lifted her high in the air, doing a twirl before setting her back on her feet and peppering her face with kisses. “Hahahaha!” She turned to their opponents, pulling down on one eyelid while sticking her tongue out. “Suck it, twe – I mean, Ash and Misty! I knew this day would come sooner or later!”

“Jessica, I know you’re happy, but don’t be a bad winner,” Delia chided gently. “Magnanimity in victory goes a long way.”

“But baaaabe!” Jessie whined. “I’ve never had a victory this magnificent before!”

Delia just smiled and gave her a peck on the lips. “I think poor Wobbles wants you,” she remarked, nodding to the battlefield. “We’ll need to get him to a Pokémon Centre with Venomoth and Clefairy.”

Jessie nodded and went to haul Wobbuffet out of the water.

“Come on, you,” she grunted as she dragged the Patient Pokémon back onto dry land. Briefly she removed her cap and wiped the sweat from her brow. Fine, so she couldn’t taunt the twerps any more. Victory still tasted pretty sweet.

In her arms, Wobbuffet stirred and smiled weakly up at her. Jessie couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about that?” she murmured to him. “You’re a winner, Wobbuffet. I bet you can’t wait to tell the others.”

He managed a salute and a quiet “Wobba…” before Jessie recalled him to his Pokéball.

Ash, meanwhile, remained on his knees in the trainer box. “I can’t believe we lost to my mom.”

“You gotta admit, that last strategy was a thing of beauty,” Misty replied with a smile. She’d made her way out to the rock and was cradling Gyarados’s head, absently rubbing its crest. The big Pokémon opened its eyes and let out a quiet rumble. “I guess now we know where you get your battling skills from, champ!”

Stepping out of her sneakers, Delia carefully negotiated the slippery rock and fished Pikachu out of the water. A couple of vigorous rubs from his head to his tail, and the Electric Mouse Pokémon opened his eyes.

“You were great, Pikachu,” Delia murmured. She tickled him under his chin, getting a weak “Chaaa” in response. She made her way back to the side of the battlefield to find Ash, Misty and Jessie waiting. “You were great too, honey.”

Ash managed a smile as she handed Pikachu to him. “Thanks, Mom.” He gasped as he was pulled into a hug.

“That was such a fun battle!” Delia exclaimed. She loosened her hold just enough to look at him. “I can see why you like this so much.”

“Watch out, Ash,” Misty teased. “You might just have a new rival on your hands!”

Ash let out a distressed yelp.

“Oh no, I don’t have time for that,” Delia assured him with a wave of her hand. As Ash sighed with relief, she cupped his cheek and tilted his head up to look at him. “But travelling around this past month and battling with you today… it’s made me feel a little bit closer to you.”

Ash blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Aw, Mom,” he mumbled with a grin.

“Ahem.”

Ash and Delia turned to see Misty holding out a Cascade badge.

“This is yours, Ms. Ketchum,” the Gym Leader declared. “You made the battlefield, your Pokémon and their moves work to your advantage. I’m impressed!”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really,” Delia replied, blushing as she accepted the badge. Its blue surface seemed to glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the roof. “I’ll treasure this, always. Thank you.”

“That’s how you win a badge fair and square,” Misty teased, shooting a wink Ash’s way.

The Champion rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

All three turned to see Jessie holding out her hand.

“What about me?” she demanded. “The perfect Pokémon battle partner? Trainer of vicious Venomoth and wild Wobbuffet? Where’s my badge?”

Misty sighed. Jessie had been on the winning team, and she had won a badge fair and square, but the whole situation was still bizarre.

“I’ll give you a badge if you explain what all…” She waved her hand between Jessie and Delia. “…this is about.”

“Delia and I dating,” Jessie scoffed with a shrug. “It’s not that complicated.”

“I got that part,” Misty shot back irritatedly, “I just…” She looked from Jessie, standing with her arms crossed, to Ms. Ketchum, who had one hand on Jessie’s hip, to Ash, who looked like he was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. “…you know what, never mind.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a second Cascade badge.

“I can’t believe this is happening, but… you earned this!”

Jessie let out a little cry of joy as Misty put the badge into her hand.

“Oh, Deerling, look how pretty it is!” she gushed. “Do you think maybe we could just get the prettiest Gym badges?”

“I don’t see why not,” Delia replied. “With James to run the restaurant, I can take vacations more often!”

“James is –” Misty glared at Ash, who pulled the brim of his cap down and giggled nervously. “We’re going to the Pokémon Centre and then you’re telling me what’s been going on, Ash Ketchum!”

“Let’s all go to the Pokémon Centre,” Delia suggested. “Our Pokémon battled hard today, they deserve a good rest.”

It wasn’t long before Nurse Joy’s tender care had Venomoth, Corsola, Oshawott, Clefairy, Wobbuffet, Gyarados and Pikachu feeling like their old selves again. Delia squeezed Jessie’s hand, murmuring “that’ll be you one day, Smoochum” as they watched Joy work.

“Well, we should get going,” Delia declared once they had their Pokémon back.

“We were going to stay and have dinner, Ms. Ketchum,” Misty said. She eyed Jessie reluctantly, but made the offer anyway. “…You’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s sweet of you, Misty, but we’ve been away long enough,” Delia replied, to both kids’ relief. “It’s time we headed home. Thank you both so much for such an amazing battle.” She hugged Ash tightly. “Don’t stay away too long, honey.”

“You know I won’t, Mom,” Ash replied, blushing. He shot Misty a grin. “I’ll be home right after I kick Misty’s butt in our rematch!”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Delia murmured. She let go of her son and gave Misty a quick hug and a wink. “Try not to beat him too badly!”

“Hey!” Ash exclaimed indignantly.

Delia stepped back, joining her girlfriend near the door of the Pokémon Centre. She gave her a look and nodded to both kids. With a sigh, Jessie trudged up to Ash and gave him a stiff hug.

“See you at home, kid,” she mumbled. Letting go, she turned to Misty. “Thanks for the battle and the badge, I guess...?”

The two gazed at each other for a few awkward moments, then Jessie took a step closer, slowly lifting her arms.

“Aah!” Misty hurriedly moved back, holding her hands up in front of her. “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

Jessie dropped her arms with a huge sigh of relief. “Great! Me neither.” She offered her hand instead, and the Gym Leader shook it.

Ash and Misty stepped outside the Pokémon Centre to see them off, their goodbyes ringing in the air as Delia and Jessie got on the road. Jessie slung her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Happy, babe?”

“Yes and no,” Delia sighed. “I’m sad my journey’s over, but I couldn’t be happier about how it went. I made three wonderful new friends, foiled a nasty poacher, and that battle today –” She clenched her fists in front of her. “ – I never felt so alive! I can’t wait to tell Professor Oak and James and Meowth all about it!” She slipped an arm around Jessie’s waist. “I’m so glad you talked me into this.”

Jessie preened. “Oh it was nothing, babe, I –”

She broke off as Delia took hold of her hands.

“Thank you for making my dreams come true,” the other woman whispered. Jessie’s heart caught in her throat as she saw tears shining in Delia’s eyes. “Not just today, but every day we’re together.”

Jessie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. Delia deserved more, so much more, for putting up with her, believing in her, loving her. Not to mention all she’d done for James and Meowth too. Maybe one day –

- but before Jessie could continue the thought, Delia leaned up and pulled her into a tender kiss.

THE END

“Oh, I can’t wait to get home to our nice comfy bed!”

“Ugh, me too. I hate sleeping on the ground.”

“…who said anything about sleeping?”

#hanamusa comic #hanamusashipping #hanamusa #fanfiction #jessie #delia ketchum #ash ketchum #misty #my art

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