clayton x milf reader where u guys are fooling around n you have an emergency and need to bolt so clayton needs to watch the kid
you’re half naked under clayton, knees hooked around his hips, tongue tangled in his when the phone on your nightstand starts vibrating like it’s possessed. you groan, trying to ignore it, but the ringtone keeps screaming. he trails kisses down your neck, murmuring, “don’t answer,” voice already thick, hand sliding under your panties. you want to obey. the heat between your legs says obey. but the third vibration is followed by your sister’s name flashing across the screen. that means family emergency, no exceptions.
you push at clayton’s chest, breathless. “i have to take it.” he curses under his breath but rolls off, propped on an elbow, watching you with impatience and a hint of worry. you grab the phone, sit up, answer. within seconds, your face drains. your sister is frantic about a sudden trip to the hospital—some scare with your mom, nothing life-threatening but urgent enough that she needs you to meet her there. you throw on leggings and a hoodie with shaking hands. clayton sits up, brow furrowed. “what’s going on?”
“mom had a fall,” you say, voice tight. “my sister’s freaking out. i have to go.” you’re already jamming your feet into sneakers. clayton tries to catch your arm.
“okay, yeah, go,” he says. “what do you need me to do?” he looks ready to drive you, to fight whoever needs fighting. the problem hits you like bricks: your toddler is asleep down the hall in her new big kid bed. she still wakes at night, needs soothing, needs stories and warm milk. you look at clayton, this twenty-something hockey player who has never even met your daughter properly because you haven’t crossed that line yet. he reads your expression and shakes his head instantly. “no, wait. baby, i don’t know what to do with a toddler.”
you’re already grabbing your keys. “i don’t have time. please, just stay with her. if she wakes up, tell her i’ll be back soon. she likes warm milk and her bunny. you’ll figure it out.” you lean in, kiss him quick, anxiety buzzing. “thank you. i’ll call when i can.”
he catches your wrist. “i have no idea what i’m doing,” he repeats, voice rising. “please don’t leave me with a baby. i’m gonna mess this up.”
“she’s almost three,” you remind him, breathless. “she’s not a newborn. just keep her safe. i trust you. i have to go.” he looks terrified, but you pull away, bolting down the hall and out the door. his protest follows you down the stairs—“please don’t go!”—but you’re already gone.
clayton stands in the hallway like a soldier on foreign soil. the toddler monitor on the coffee table glows, showing your daughter’s sleepy face. he runs a hand over his hair, mutters, “okay, okay, don’t panic.” he peeks into her room. she’s tiny, curled up with a stuffed bunny, breathing softly. relief floods him. maybe she’ll sleep through the night. he retreat, sits on the edge of your bed, stares at his phone, waiting for you to text.
ten minutes later, a soft wail echoes down the hall. he freezes. the monitor flickers as your daughter sits up, rubbing her eyes. “mommy?” she calls. “mommy!” the cry edges toward sob. clayton’s heart slams. he jumps up, jogs to her room, and knocks softly before easing the door open.
she’s standing on the bed, hair a halo, stuffed bunny clutched tight. she squints at him. “where’s mommy?” her lower lip trembles.
clayton steps inside, cautious. “hey, kiddo. your mom had to go help grandma. she’ll be back soon.” he tries a smile. “i’m clayton.”
“i’m… a friend,” he says lamely. “your mom’s friend.” she stares, suspicious. he remembers you saying she likes warm milk. “want some milk?” he offers. she nods slowly. “okay. stay here. i’ll be right back.”
he hurries to the kitchen, heats a small mug of milk like he’s seen you do. back in her room, he hands it over carefully. she grips it with both hands, taking a tentative sip. “i’m ellie,” she tells him through hiccups.
“hi, ellie,” he replies. relief washes through him. “you have cool pajamas.” they’re covered in cartoon dinosaurs. she beams, showing tiny teeth.
“rawr,” she says, making a claw motion. clayton laughs, tension easing.
“very scary,” he agrees. she finishes the milk and hands the mug back. “can you stay till mommy comes?”
“yeah,” he says immediately. “of course.” he sets the mug aside, sits on the edge of her bed. “do you want to lie back down?” she shakes her head, eyes wide.
he’s out of his depth, but he nods anyway. “sure. which one?”
she grabs a picture book from the nightstand and thrusts it at him. he settles beside her, back against the headboard, and begins reading. his voice is soft, halting at first, but he gets into it. ellie cuddles against his side, blanket pulled up, bunny tucked under her chin. halfway through, she yawns, eyelids drooping. clayton keeps reading, rubbing her back gently like he remembers you telling him. by the time he finishes the story, she’s asleep again, breaths slow against his ribs. he exhales, heart melting. he shifts carefully, but she grabs his shirt in her sleep. he sighs and stays put, wrapping an arm around her, letting her use his chest as a pillow. he whispers, “you’re okay,” just in case she can hear.
an hour later, you return, exhausted but relieved. the emergency turned out to be manageable—a sprained ankle for your mom, nothing more. you slip off your shoes silently and head to ellie’s room, heart pounding. the door is ajar. you peek inside and stop dead.
clayton is propped against the headboard, sound asleep, mouth parted slightly. ellie is curled against him, cheek on his chest, tiny hand fisted in his necklace. he has one arm around her protectively, the other resting on her stuffed bunny. the nightlight paints them in soft gold. you bite back a gasp, eyes stinging. the sight hits somewhere deep. clayton, who swore he couldn’t handle a toddler, looks natural holding her. there’s a smudge of drool on his pec from where she’s been snoozing. his hair sticks up, lashes casting shadows. it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.
you stand there, hand over your mouth, smiling so hard it hurts. this man—your casual fling, the young athlete who chased you for fun—stayed. he calmed your daughter, read stories, let her cling to him. you step into the room softly, kneel by the bed, and brush ellie’s hair back without waking her. you kiss clayton’s cheek. he stirs, eyes blinking open. the second he sees you, relief floods his face.
“hey,” he whispers, voice scratchy. “she woke up. i did the milk thing. we read a book. i had no idea what i was doing.” he looks almost sheepish.
you smile, kissing him again. “you did perfect,” you murmur. “thank you.” he blushes, eyes softening. “how’s your mom?” he asks.
“she’ll be fine,” you say. “thank you for staying. i owe you.”
he shakes his head. “nah. i’m… glad i was here.” he glances down at ellie, who cuddles closer in her sleep. “she’s awesome.” he grins, tender. “you make cute kids.”
you chuckle, emotion clogging your throat. “you look good with her,” you admit. he swallows, eyes meeting yours, something tender and terrified blooming between you.
“maybe i’m not as terrified as i thought,” he whispers. “maybe i could… learn.” he squeezes your hand. you squeeze back, heart racing for a different reason now. the emergency is over, but something else just began, quiet and warm.
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