Robby who's crying during sex, begging you to make a baby with him. "Please, sweetheart, please. I've spent so long—" His hips stutter and he hisses a sharp breath. "Without a mother until you. There's other things I want and you're the only one—the only one who can give them to me. Fucking please."
His tears are dripping onto your breasts & clavicle. His eyes are bloodshot. His lip is trembling. His chin is wobbling. He's clutching helplessly at the pillow your head rests upon, pleading with his eyes for you to say yes.
Finally, you curl your fingers in his unkempt beard and pull his lips back down to your own. Taking that as a form of silent agreement, he reaches between his legs and peels the condom off before sinking back inside of you.
♡ synopsis: able only to find relief between your legs, robby expects to be given access to what lies between them each night after walking through the door after a traumatic day at work. now sore because his beard has rubbed you raw, you think to tell him to wait a few days, until he insists. and when he looks at you like that...how can you deny him anything?
♡ content: oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, robby has ed (hehe), body worship
♡ a/n: based on this request, ty!
You don't entirely understand why Robby shoving his face between your thighs and not stopping until you're whining and coming all over his tongue became his chosen method of relaxation after particularly difficult shifts, but you most certainly never thought to speak a word of complaint about it.
He followed the same formula every other night—as of late, though, every night: the two of you would arrive at home, you would scamper off to the shower before he could stop you (there's no way in hell you were letting him even near your privates after a 15 hour shift without washing first, even if he at times insisted otherwise, and quite impatiently, at that) and then he would order you to lay back on the bed with your legs spread before he sank to his knees and worked and worked and worked at your pussy until you were an overstimulated, dripping mess.
You've tried to encourage him to talk instead like any decent lover and partner, but he clearly has other uses for his mouth that shuts both of you up so he doesn't have to worry about treating you as his personal therapist. As if you could ever mind as much.
He figures that this way, at least he's keeping you happy. If he told you half the shit that goes on in his head, he fears you'd leave him and not look back.
He doesn't know how much further in life he'd get without you there by his side to hold at night, or to gaze at across the ED after a heavy case. Not to mention all the times in-between, like when he's driving you around in his truck running errands and holding your hand all the while, or when he pulls up a stool in the kitchen to taste test while you cook.
So many small moments that verge into something so much bigger that he'd rather die than lose.
Jack had warned him against codependency once, so Robby told him to mind his own damn business before going home to you.
But you adore him, so you've little reason to ever let your eye wander. You do all you can to ensure he knows this. You're worried that when he gets in tonight, however, he's going to wind up in a mood when you have to deny him his release.
You jolt when the door slams shut, followed by the sound of jangling keys being tossed onto the entryway end table. Robby kicks off his shoes, then marches with even steps toward you.
You remain staring ahead at the TV, circulating the speech you've prepared when you have to deny him the only thing he ever asks you for tonight.
God, you hate disappointing him.
Sliding his calloused hands beneath the old t-shirt of his that you wear, Robby gently massages your bare shoulders. "What're you watching?"
You shrug slightly, knowing he's just pretending to make small talk before he demands access to what's between your legs. He doesn't care about what's on. "Just some movie. I only tuned in halfway through."
He hums in feigned interest before tugging off his scrub top on tossing it onto the back of the couch, leaving himself clad only in the long-sleeve flannel he has on underneath. Robby rounds the arm of the sofa, picks up the remote, turns off the the television, then nods toward your waist. "Take off your panties."
You push yourself into a more proper sitting position. "I can't."
He raises a brow in challenge, thinking you're trying to tease him. "Can't?"
You nervously chew your bottom lip. "I'm pretty sore down there, sweetie. You've been...very attentive lately. I stuck an ice pack on it today trying to get the irritation to subside."
His brows knit together. "I've always been gentle with you—"
"I know," you interrupt. "I think it's your beard. It can feel kind of rough against such a sensitive area. I liked it at first, but now—"
He takes a small step to the side. "I'll go shave it off."
Your eyes widen in panic.
Okay, so him giving you oral apparently means way more to him than you previously anticipated. If he's willing to shave off all his facial hair that he spent so long trimming until it was perfectly manicured, then it really is about a much-needed sense of relief.
"No!" you yelp while planting your feet on the floor. "Please don't. Robby, why don't you just take a Viagra, and then we can—"
He shakes his head. "You know I don't have the patience to wait for it to kick in."
Not to mention that he has a bush down there as well...
You curl your toes nervously against the hardwood floor beneath them. "I really would prefer if you didn't shave it off."
He rubs at his eyes. "Well, I really don't see what other option I have." He drops his hand to his side while settling the other on his hip. "How sore are you, exactly? Can you make it through one more night? Today was..." He shakes his head while glancing away. "Honey, I need you. I need this."
You sigh, then stand. Maybe the ice will have helped more than you thought? Worth a try, you suppose.
He twines his fingers between yours and leads you back to the bedroom.
Hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, Robby pulls them down your legs in one fell swoop before discarding them onto the floor, followed by him sinking to his knees and pulling at your hips to bring you closer to the edge of the bed.
He's fallen away from his childhood faith, but kneeling here before you, he takes no issue with the idea of worshipping at your altar. Only you grant him peace as it is.
Robby throws each of your thighs over his shoulders before swiping the width of his tongue through your folds. You jolt—already knowing you're not going to be able to last as long as he usually needs you to until he's good and sated, you're still that tender.
Robby plants a few wet kisses against your labia before spreading it apart with his fingers and properly getting to work.
Now is when he usually loses himself.
Like a man starved, he laps at your cunt feverishly, like he can't lick your juices up fast enough, as if he's parched for water. Wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you securely in place, he prods at your tight entrance with the tip of his tongue before burying his head impossibly deeper.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you bite your lip to keep quiet for his benefit. You know he needs this, but God you're not going to be able to walk tomorrow.
Robby groans against your slick entrance before planting his entire mouth against it and sucking on your clit.
You whimper as his beard scratches against your taint when he drags his mouth upward, then back down.
You clutch the sheets beneath you when he begins to slurp. It always makes you want to burst into laughter when he makes that sound, but he hardly seems to even notice, he's so lost in the escape that is you.
You twist slightly to the side, unsure of where to even guide him to, so as to give yourself a moment of respite...until he shoves your hips back down against the downy mattress.
You're all too glad to see him lift his head, until he levels you with a dark gaze. "Hold still," he rumbles before diving back in.
Sucking your labia into his mouth, he releases it with another slurp before his body shudders in pleasure. "God, I missed you today," he mumbles before flicking his tongue against your clit and running a hand up your stomach.
Whether he's talking to you, or your cunt, you're not totally sure.
You wiggle your hips, then draw in deep, even breaths. Okay, you can do this. He's only been at it for—you turn your head to the side and your eyes grow wide when you look at the digital clock on his side of the bed—5 fucking minutes.
And he never takes any less than half an hour.
Oh, this is a disaster.
Just the idea of 10 minutes makes you want to burst into tears because it already feels that hot between your legs.
Maybe if you just come more quickly he'll be content?
"My clit," you whine, and eager to please, he does as you request.
Focusing solely on your fleshy bundle of nerves, he sucks and kisses and flicks it repeatedly with his tongue until you very quickly—just as you'd desperately hoped because things are that overtly sensitive down there right now—fall over the edge while sinking your fingers into his hair.
There. That wasn't so—
Why is he still going?
Oh God.
Oh no.
Circling the mess he's made between your legs with his tongue, Robby pushes a single finger between your sore, pulsating walls and moans. "That's it, sweetheart," he says calmly. "Come for me again when you're ready."
"A-Again?" you whimper.
He hums. "As many times as you want."
When he lifts his chin and his beard scratches against your swollen clit, you cry out in pain and twist to try and get away, but he holds firm. Robby's head shoots up, and you stare down at his damp, glistening face. "Please, I can't. I can't take anymore."
He frowns. "Can you come just one more time for me? Just one and then we'll call it a night."
You silently debate with yourself for a moment.
The fact that he's practically begging makes you want to say yes. And your pulsating cunt clearly shares those sentiments as well.
And, well, when he looks up at you with big brown dewey eyes like that...
"Okay," you murmur.
Diving back in, you quietly cry as he eases a second finger inside you.
He shakes his head back and forth while swirling his salivating tongue against your core, and when it meets with your clit, your back arches off the bed.
"Oh, fuck," you curse.
He stops for a moment. "If you're that raw—" he rasps.
Yes, it's painful, but somehow it's only turning you on even more. Is it strange if you want to be bawling by the time he's done because you're that overstimulated and your pussy that overworked?
"No," you insist through bleary eyes. "I like it. Keep going. I'll tell you if I need you to stop."
He smashes his mouth against you with such force that it causes his teeth to clack quietly together.
Tugging off the oversized t-shirt of his that you put on after your shower, you tug at your nipples as tears slip from your eyes. "God, it's so sore, Robby."
He arches his fingers upwards in exploration of your tight walls that squeeze around him and makes a beckoning motion inside you that causes you to squeal.
He chuckles against your warmth, then dives back in.
Every time your walls flutter around him, a fresh sob breaks past your lips, leading you to eventually tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him impossibly closer. "Please," you whine. "It hurts."
He gasps for breath, but before he can ask once more if you need him to finally stop, you're shoving his head down between your thighs. "Wanna come," you pout. "One more."
Swiping his tongue continually along your protruding bundle, Robby listens with attentive ears as you mewl his name while softly weeping.
Your thighs squeeze around his head—tight enough that it blocks out all sound until you are all which is left in the world.
He wishes he could drown in you. Die between your legs, or in your arms, or with your lips pressed against his.
God, he fucking loves you so much that sometimes it's more than he can bear. It sucks the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his head, the sleep from his bones. You, you, you are all there is.
"Robby!" you scream while practically tearing at his hair with heated fervor. "Yes, yes, yes," you cry from between clenched teeth while rubbing your cunt all along his face—from his nose down to his chin.
He slathers you in drool while swallowing the holy water which drips from you; blessing and washing away the sins he's committed by failing so many.
He never will you. Never. His angel and saving grace. He knows sometimes that he takes too much, but you're just so giving—including now. How can he not love you wholly for it?
Everyone else has left—every woman from the past, including his mother... Only you have stayed.
He'll do anything to ensure he keeps you until you're both lain in the ground next to each other.
You can't be apart.
Crawling atop the bed, Robby pulls your quivering body against his own while tugging blankets around your soft, naked form for warmth. You burrow into his chest while sliding a leg between each of his. "Thank you," he mutters against your forehead before pressing an affectionate kiss to it.
You nod while yawning and press yourself against his soft middle. You're so glad he doesn't bother with the gym. You like him older with the body to match. "You're welcome," you say with a fond smile. "But no more for awhile."
Though he hates to be told as much, he knows you need time to recoup.
He glides a palm along your back. "I know, sweetheart." Moving his hand back and over your hip, he slides it upward until he's gripping one of your breasts in his palm. "There's plenty more of you for me to concern myself with, though."
You sigh while snuggling closer. "I'm going to need to pick up nipple cream, aren't I?"
He grins. "I can probably swipe a tube from the hospital to save us a few bucks."
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH who... somehow ends up on the dance floor with you?
Contains: 18+ MDNI, grinding on the dance floor, unprotected p in v sex, bathroom-at-the-bar sex, little bit of dirty, talk, absolutely not proofread, about 2.2k words
It's late. Too late for any wise decisions to be made. Maybe that's why you sway your hips, run your hands through your hair. It has nothing to do with feeling your attending's eyes on you from across the bar.
You were surprised to see him waltz into the day shift's monthly happy hour, loose Carhartt's slung low on his hips, meeting a dirty pair of work boots after a long day. The image of him in the entrance of the dive, emerging like a hero from a cloud of nicotine smoke puffing in from outside, sears itself in your brain.
Twirling around to the beat of your favorite song, you manage to sneak a quick glance his way. His jaw clenches when you make eye contact, hand gripping his drink tighter. It's electric, the way his gaze burns into yours, sends waves of fire through your veins.
You flip your head the other way, hair swishing down your back as you continue your little show. The problem is, he's not the only one who's noticed. Turning around, you come face to face with a generic, fraternity looking boy making his way to you.
He squeezes through the crowd, eyes almost predatory in the way they scan your body. He saddles up in front of you, and his eyes go wide before he can extend his hand.
A sturdy pair of arms wrap themselves around you, and you tense only for a moment before realizing who it is. Woodsy cologne floods your senses, the plush of Robby's tummy an instant comfort.
What you don't expect, is the kiss he plants on your temple, turning his gaze to the now slack jawed Chad, frozen in front of you.
"Sorry I left you alone too long, baby," he mutters, eyes venomous as he stakes his claim. "Bathroom line was crazy long."
He punctuates this with a wave, grabbing your hand and spinning you to him. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you meet his pretty, satisfied face.
"Doctor Robinavitch!" You scold, lightly swatting his bicep. "What was that all about?"
It's then that realization dawns on his face, his cheeks going pink, a sheepish smile on his lips.
"I just…" he trails off, averting his gaze and shaking his head. "Couldn't stand the way he was looking at you."
As he speaks, his hands trail down from your back, to your waist, to the spot right above your ass. You sway in his arms a little, a hopeful hint for him to continue his journey. He smiles, a sardonic thing that spreads across his face like poison oak. It's infectious, spreading through your entire body.
"I love this song," you whisper, your noses grazing as your rhythm picks up, reaching back to link his hands between yours.
"I don't know it," he responds, still a bit sheepish for a man already growing hard against you.
"You're about to," you whisper, turning your body around so your ass flushes against his hips.
Your nails scrape up the back of his neck, something you see him do often in the ED, and it has its desired effect. He shivers against you, a light groan of surprise escaping his lips.
You smile, your hands reaching his hair, giving a few scratches before pressing his face into your neck, the point of his nose running down the length of it. His lips are eager, you can tell by the pants fanning your neck, so you turn your head to his ear.
"You can kiss me, it's okay, Dr. Robby," his title drips off your tongue like syrup, sticky and sweet and oozing through his body.
"God, you can't fucking call me that while I've got a hard on pressed against your ass in front of everyone we work with," he breathes, pressing one sweet kiss to your neck. "Not here, though, you hear me? We're gonna finish this song and then you're gonna meet me in the bathroom, nod if you understand me."
It's almost pathetic, how eager you are, his sardonic laugh flowing through you like lava. His hands find your hips, speeding them up, grinding them back against his cock. Butterflies release in your tummy, your heart pounding at the need coursing through you.
The song is sensual, some R&B singer talking about loving on his woman all night. You can only hope it's a manifestation of your night to come. You continue to maneuver your hips against his, heat rising between you like a sauna.
The way he grinds against you is easy, bodies fitting into place like puzzle pieces. You wiggle your own a little, moving down against him and back up, his hands grabbing your hips, your waist, desperate clutches for any piece of you he can have.
Throwing your head back, a light gasp spills from your lips. You turn your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper,
"I've always wanted you, Robby," he shudders at your confession, pressing you harder against his prominent length. "You're so hot when you're in charge, did you know that?"
He shakes his head no, eyes squeezing shut as you pout and coo.
"That's such a shame," you press a kiss to the shell of his ear, giving a little bite when he shivers. "When I go home, after a long day, and I reach my hand in my panties, I think about how you murmur in my ear when you help me intubate, I think about how you take your hoodie off when you get too warm, I think about-"
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls, abandoning his own rule as he drags you off to the bathrooms.
You make the mistake of glancing over to the PTMC booth, which is full of slack jaws and wide eyes. You find Trinity, giving you a surprised thumbs up as you trail behind the chief attending.
You thank whatever deity lies above when the bathrooms reveal to be single stall, and available. Robby nearly tosses you in there, locking the door and resting his forehead against it.
"Did you like that?" He asks, and you quirk a brow, even though he can't see. "You like making me hard in front of my entire staff?"
He turns now, the look in his eye dark, cunning. Sinking your lip to suppress a smile, you nod, slinking over to him. He stays put, and you press him up against the door with your body.
"I really liked it, Robby," you whisper, grazing your lips over his.
"Call me Michael when I'm about to fuck you, understand?" He asks, waiting for a nod before crashing his lips into yours.
You let out a muffled 'mmph!' against him, eliciting a light chuckle from his throat. Teeth clacking, you nearly devour each other as you stumble backward, clamoring behind you for the counter.
He lifts you up, your short dress hiking around your waist as you spread your legs. Lifting his head back, he takes in the wet patch on your pink panties, a low 'ffffuucckkk' leaving his lips.
"You got this wet just from dancing with me, baby?" He coos, finger tracing the gusset of your panties.
You nod, biting your lip.
"I told you I want you, Michael," you try out his name, feeling formal on your lips. "Think about this all the time."
"Really? God, am I lucky?" He mutters, peeling the flimsy fabric down your legs. "Holy shit, look at that," he whispers, eyes wide as a string of your wetness clings to your panties.
"Can I put my fingers in you? Need to stretch this pretty pussy out, is that okay?" He asks, looking up at you as he kneels, now face to face with your glistening heat.
You nod, mumbling out a sweet, "Yes Michael, please."
He pouts, and you ache to lean down and kiss him.
"So polite," he muses, pressing the tip of his finger to your entrance.
Your head falls back, a light 'ah!' falling from your lips. The breach is intrusive, already feeling full. You have no idea how you're going to take his cock, but you're eager to find out.
Once he's reached the knuckle, he curls his finger, reaching a spot that sends electric shocks through you. You kick your legs out a little, squeezing your eyes shut with a moan.
"There it is, that's the spot, hm?" He asks, and you nearly weep.
He starts to thrust, moving his finger in and out as his lips find your clit. The feeling is euphoric, suckling mixed with yet another finger nearly pushing you over the edge already.
"So soon?" He murmurs against your clit, and the coil in your belly tightens even more.
"I'm sorry, Mikey, it just feels too good," you whine, and he releases a grunt against you.
"Fuck, love when you call me that, honey," he growls, and you look down to find him rocking his hips against the hard cabinet beneath the counter.
You chuckle, eyes glossy as you sink your fingers in his hair.
"God, Michael, you're just as desperate as I am," you remark, and his playful brown eyes find yours.
"That's right, princess," he says, placing a kiss to your button. "So you better hurry up and cum for me so I can sink my cock into that pretty pussy, hm?"
This does it, the coil in your belly snapping as euphoric waves wash over you. Your head hits the mirror as his fingers ride out your high, maneuvering your walls until you're shaking around him.
"That's it, that's a good girl," he murmurs, and you let out a sweet cry before you slump against the mirror.
He pops up, the cracking of his knees accompanying the lust in the room, and you let out a sweet chuckle. His cheeks go red, and he shakes his head, fiddling with his belt.
Your eyes are hazy as you watch, big hands quick and nimble against his button, his zipper. He pulls himself out, giving his thick length a few strokes. It's big, the biggest you've ever taken, and your wide eyes give you away immediately.
"I've got you, not gonna let it hurt, okay?" He reassures, and you nod.
He clears his throat, lining himself up against you as you grasp his biceps. There's a brief moment before he sinks in, where you spot his tattoos, Momento Mori. You run your thumb against it, resting your temple against his chin before placing a sweet kiss there.
"You done?" He asks, fondness dripping from his tone.
You nod, leaning back and spreading yourself even wider. He takes this as the invitation it is, pushing his head in. You gasp, nails sinking into the skin of his arms.
"Oh my God, Michael!" You whine, wiggling your hips to get more of him.
"Patience is a virtue, baby," he teases, giving you another inch.
He caresses your head, pushing your wild hair out of your face as he rests his forehead against you.
"So pretty, should tell you that a lot more," he murmurs, finally sinking into you all the way. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening around him at the compliment. "Yeah? Like being my pretty girl? Prettiest girl in the whole ED, smartest, too."
You whine, your pussy throbbing around him as he starts to rock his hips.
"Yeah, you like being my pretty girl, don't you?" He asks, and a tear almost slips out.
He licks his lips as he watches you, picking up his pace to the perfect rhythm. A light moan escapes your lips, raking your nails up his chest as he moves.
"'m all yours," you nod. "Your pretty girl."
His balls slap against your ass with lewd smacks as he nods his head, his eyes aglow.
"Fucking. Mine," he grumbles, leaning down to suck your neck into his mouth.
His hands find your tits, squeezing and pulling at the taut skin.
"So fuckin' pretty, gonna blow my fucking load baby," he rasps, his pace growing sloppy against you.
"Please cum in me, Michael," you keen. "Need you to fill me up."
He reaches down to rub your clit again, and the added pressure has you right at the edge.
"Please cum with me, baby," he practically begs. "Gotta feel you tighten around me while I empty these balls, got it?"
You nod, tears finally spilling as your second orgasm hits. The Earth stutters on its axis, mini explosions bursting through your tummy.
"Fuck yes!" He groans, his cock twitching inside of you. "That's it, that' s my girl, cummin' for me so good."
All you can do is nod, brain mush and body soup as your orgasm continues to pulse through you. Robby thrusts into you one last time, pulling you in for one last sweet kiss.
Soon enough, all you can hear is the heavy breaths exchanged between the two of you, followed by some sweet chuckles. Reaching up to the nape of his neck, you play with his hair and say,
"I don't know about you, but I'm not going to be the one to face our coworkers after all of this."
He laughs, cheeks going pink as he pulls out. Cleaning you up, he murmurs,
"I'll take care of it. You're my girl, remember?" You nod. "That means you don't have to worry, that I'm gonna take care of you."
Thinking about Robby who's a cunt/misogynist because he fumbled the baddest bitch of his life a few years back and is YEARNING for her again.
You took care of him, babied him, fucked him until he swore he'd seen God, whispering sin into his ears and making him your dumb puppy.
He lost you, to his own insecurities, his own fears of him not being man enough for you. and he regrets that day every damn time he breathes.
it's not like he hasn't reached out, he has, everyday, twice a day, since the same hour you left his house with your deep red luggage and an annoyed look on your face as he pleaded on his knees.
You don't answer him, making him work for it, only sometimes giving him the reward of you reading his texts. He sends you a video of him stroking his dumb, fat cock, every single time. he never cums, not once, not ever. you're the only one that can get him there, and the only one he wants getting him there.
You come back into Robby's life with your head held high and a mission. You smile graciously at the doctor who directs you to him, a soft 'thank you' murmured.
you overhear him as he berates someone, a woman of color, beautiful of course, he's never been good with pretty ladies. It's disappointing to you, how he's forgotten his manners.
"-beacause of your mommy issues?" you frown as he lets out an incredulous laugh in her face, head tilting back as he does so.
"is that really how you treat your peers, Micheal? thought I taught you better than that." His eyes widen at the voice behind him, blood rushing south and stomach in his throat. His adams apple bobs as he tries to hide himself, shield his fear.
"used to be my good boy, this one." you say, partially to the others in the room, embarrassing him as he's done to the woman in front of him.
"an obedient little thing. now look at you." tears well up in Robby's eyes, confusion seeping in as his body tries to decide between if he'll run or if he'll get hard and beg for forgiveness.
you're closer now, heels clacking as you walk towards his frozen body, smirking lips grazing his ear as you whisper. "should punish you, teach you manners. step on that pretty cock until you cry."
you pull away faster than he'd like and a whine makes it's way out of his throat before he can stop it, turning to face you as an instinct from you pulling away.
"I-" you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him not to speak unless you tell him. your tits press to his chest as you lean in, hand sneaking down his tummy to squeeze his cock, hiding this view from others. "shut up. you speak when spoken to, remember?" Robby nods dumbly, gulping with weak knees and a face flushed crimson. "just like old times, hm?"
💋 ﹕𓏼 the power of lust. — andrew 'pope' cody convincing you to stay home . .
಄ ﹕𓏼 brought to you by laluhlove || not beta-read, we die like real men.
Summary: pope was just a man at the end of the day. a possessive, jealous man who never wanted you to stray away from his sight. so maybe he could convince you to stay home instead of going out with your friends he keeps telling you were “all trouble”.
Tags: SMUT!! overly jealous pope! possessive behaviour, established relationship, dub-con/cnc(consent is given prior to this piece), controlling behavior, oral(f receiving), creampie, multiple orgasms, pope being a certified munch, fingering, pope separation anxiety(at the start), slight cockwarming at the end, condescending/mean pope, overstimulation, manhandling
Pairing: andrew ‘pope’ cody x fem!reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Author's Note: nnnghhh controlling pope one chance PLEASE. this is kinda a thing that wormed into my head shh.. also first smut fic in a while, kinda nervy im scared.. wrote this with s1 pope in mind. also pope might be a bit ooc im SAUR sorry </3
⤷ reqs: OPEN || masterlist
“gonna go out with the girls later tonight after my shift! xoxo”
that was it. one text message to trigger this clawing sense of panic in pope’s gut. he had never sped home so fast.
sure, smurf was telling him about a job. sure, his brothers joked about him being whipped like a fucking dog. they didn’t know how much he needed you, so who gives a fuck about them?
by the time he got to yours, the sound of your shower running met his keen ears. the sight of your deep red dress—revealing and absolutely gorgeous on you—laid out on the bed along with the black heels you planned to wear tonight met his eyes next. his brows furrowed… you would be wearing that.
outside.
at the club.
where other people could see you.
now he couldn’t have that, could he?
—
you had only taken a few steps outside from the steamy shower you just had—your hair up in a towel with another around your body—when you felt two buff arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up.
“wha- hey!-” you yelped, immediately feeling whomever’s arms it was tighten around your core, lips finding your neck, planting kisses and soft nips that made you shudder.
“‘s me, babe.” pope whispered into your ear, his other hand moving up to cup your breast while the other kept you pressed against him. “who else would it be, hm? you not cheatin’ on me, right?” he murmured as he moved you two to your bed…
—
well shit.
the moment your back hit the soft fabric of your silken sheets, you knew it was over.
he was on top of you immediately, not giving you even a moment to get your bearings together as he pinned your wrists on either side of your head. his lips were on yours, firm and unrelenting in their roughness that resembled a starved man in its fervor.
then his lips drifted.. down your jaw, to the crook of your neck, down to your collarbone while he adjusted his grip, his hand now pinning your wrists above your head as his other hand moved to yank your towel off roughly.
“wont be needing this anymore, pretty.” he hummed against your skin, pulling back a moment to take in the sight of you.
breathless, flushed, and his.
he couldn't hold back his smirk as he leaned down to meet your eyes while his free hand traced down your body, roaming over your curves and settling for the space between your legs. he traced your inner thigh, tracing up and down before he went to your now-wet pussy.
“you goin’ somewhere tonight, yeah?” he cooed, almost mocking in the way he gave an almost feral grin at the sight of your parted lips giving out sighs and moans while he drove his fingertips in slow circles over your clit. “anythin i can do to make you stay w’me.. or is my baby all set in her decision?” he spoke, voice gruff as he felt himself grow harder at the way you reacted to his touch.
“mmgh- andy.. p-please theyre w-waiting f-f’me-” you gasp out, eyes widening as he slips a finger in.. going at a slow and steadily torturous pace. teasing you.
“yeah? your friends waiting on you? for what.” he spoke through grit teeth, as if the thought of you leaving him tonight was unacceptable. “you know me well, dont you babe? you think im gonna let you doll yourself up and slut yourself out for them, hm?” he growled out, adding another finger as he sped up his pace, eyes never leaving yours as you moan, letting out whimpers and sounds that made his head spin.
“fuck.. look at you. you’re so set on going out like a big girl, yet you're blissed out on my fingers. gonna go out there lookin’ all blissed out, babe?” he drawled out.. feeling your hands budge against his as you protested.
“f-fuck- andy- please w-we cant-” you cry out. he hummed, shaking his head.
“the hell we can't." he grumbled as he leaned down, kissing you once more and swallowing each sound you made.
his hands continued working. his mind set on one thing.
hes not letting you leave this house until youre fucking dripping of him—if you even had the energy to leave once he was done with you.
after you came undone on his fingers, he leaned back up, looming over you as he took his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling as he reveled in the taste of you.
“all perfect. all mine.” he chuckled, leaning down and giving you a kiss.. one that drifted once more down the column of your neck.. down your chest, then your abdomen.
as he kissed down your body, he felt your legs try to close… he pried them open with ease, whispering against your skin in annoyance.
“do i have to tie you up or are you gonna let me eat you out, dolly?” he glared up at you, which you caught through the haze of pleasure he gave you.
as soon as you relaxed, letting him spread you open with ease, he smiled.
“there's my girl.” he praised as he continued the worship of your body like it was something sacred. his hands kneaded into the flesh of your hips and waist, down to your thighs where his head found its home between them.
he let out a slow breath as he took in the sight of you… dripping cunt all spread out and wet. all for him.
the sensation of his breath caused your legs to buck. he was such a fucking tease.
not for long, though.
he gave a slow lick, drawing a stripe up your slit, before his tongue dove in.
god, he always ate you out like he was starving for you. that with his fingers pumping in and out of you, drawing out your sounds of pleasure he took in like a trophy.
your hands went to his hair, tugging and causing him to give a whimper.
“j-jesus christ.. andy..” you moaned.
“youre not fucking leaving me, [name].” he whispered, kissing and lapping like a man starved having his first 5 star meal. “not tonight. not fucking ever.”
at his words, you were embarrassed to admit the fact that you came. you came embarrassingly quick. the shaking of your legs, the quick pants of “andy!” as if they were a prayer meant to save you, and the way he felt you clench around his fingers.
but no, he wasn't done. of course he wasn't done.
he had given you a minute or two to recover, kissing you and just making out.. before you heard it.
the clink of his belt being undone.
he quickly undid his belt, shedding his pants as the weeping tip of his uncut dick pressed against your entrance. prodding.
you barely had time to process before he slammed in, bottoming out. it had taken you a bit to adjust to him before, he was a girthy one.
he moved slow, trying to keep the semblance of self control he had. but shit, you felt so fucking good.
“fuck.. fuck.. s-so good.. so good for me. so fucking good.” he panted out, grunts escaping him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, pistoning in and out of you with a pace that seemed to increase with each thrust.
“s-slow down, andy-” you cry out, holding onto him, he gave a quick grunt, forcing himself to slow down even if he wanted to just go until he couldnt help but to cum in you… maybe he should.
“I-im not leaving- f-fuck-” you spoke through breathless pants, to which he chuckles at.
“yeah.. youre not leaving.. mmhm..” he hummed, kissing your neck and giving a bite. “gotta fill you up.. gotta fuck you till you have m’baby in you.”
it only took a few moments more of straight feral thrusts for him to slam into you, cock pulsing and twitching as he came straight into your warmth.
you moan at the sensation as he plopped down beside you, pulling you into him… grumbling.
“pull out..” you whisper… but he didnt, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, keeping his dick in you.
“waste of my cum. rather not.” he spoke… before he whispered.. “you still leaving?”
you pause.. thinking for a moment as you caught your breath.
“uh.. dont think so.” you chuckle.
pope chuckled in turn, smirking. “did too good?”
“legs feel like jello. you did fucking amazing.” you hum with a kiss to his cheek.
SUMMARY: Jack Abbot values his routine and structure. Work, SWAT, gym... and for the past six weeks, spending his Sunday mornings admiring the enigmatic single mom who's apartment balcony sits across from his.
WARNINGS: chaotic toddler and reader, mentions of dead beat parents, swearing, slight flirting, Jack being an absolute softie and some of his internalized angst over his wife and the life he never got with her :( also meet cute!!
A/N: I've been so excited to write and share this with you guys and I have SO much planned for this series. The toddler in this is very much inspired by me niece who is also three years old, most of the dialogue for her is stuff my niece has actually said so brace yourselves lmao.
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 3k
SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack Abbot is a creature of habit. Structure and routine are infused within the very makings of him, written in bloodwork and DNA if anyone looked close enough.
He likes to stay busy; working nights at PTMC, helping out as a field medic for SWAT, going for a run every other morning, and squeezing in the gym four to five times a week. And every Sunday morning, when it reaches 10 a.m. and the city lazily turns in motion, Jack sits out on his balcony with a mug of coffee and tunes into a half hour episode of his favorite show.
The single mom in apartment seventeen.
Large windows that offer a clear view of the inside of your apartment; a mirror layout to his, like all complexes in Vanguard Plaza, but furnished in the most eclectic and chaotic way. The building wraps in a U-shape, your balcony doors propped open, and just like every Sunday, music pours through your kitchen and drifts across the barely thirty-foot space to Jack’s balcony.
The first Sunday that Jack noticed the presence of new neighbors, you were blaring nothing but Tame Impala. Week two was Fleetwood Mac. Week three was a mix of Lynyrd Skynyrd and Adele. Week four was filled with anything and everything country, and last week consisted of Paolo Nutini.
This morning, it’s Nelly Furtado’s entire discography.
Like every Sunday, Jack sits and listens. Echoes of loud giggles and shouts of singing from two sets of healthy lungs. Watches from a distance; ungraceful twirls, obnoxiously playful dancing, until a small body is standing on the counter and dancing too.
The girls in apartment seventeen have wiggled beneath his ribcage and into a secret crevice of his heart. The place that warms every time he hears the laughter, every time he watches the most wholesome mommy-daughter time.
He doesn’t know your name, nor your daughters. But he knows you love music, that it’s bled into your child in the most copy and paste way. She dances like you, uses wooden spoons for microphones, chopsticks for drum sticks, and her imagination for an electric guitar.
It makes Jack’s heart swell and sting at the same time.
His wife didn’t want children, a decision that he always told himself he was okay with. They were both slight workaholics, both too selfish to give up the idea of financial freedom. She didn’t think she’d be a good mom, no matter how much Jack disagreed. And then she died.
Left Jack with nothing but fading memories and a big house that felt too suffocating until he sold it five years ago. He keeps her photo in his wallet, a frame on his nightstand, his wedding band around his finger. Six months married and then she was gone. They didn’t even make it on their honeymoon.
Perhaps that’s why he relishes these Sunday mornings. He knew he’d never have that life with his wife, he knows he most probably won’t ever…but it’s a secret desire he wishes for. So he tucks it deep away, close to his chest, close to his wife.
The bitter coffee doesn’t chase the ache away. It still festers beneath his ribs, an itch that he can’t rid himself from. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time just allows you to grow around it.
Jack allows himself five more minutes in the captivity of apartment seventeen before retreating back inside in search of sleep.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
“Phoebe, Grandma's on the phone!”
You hear the tornado of flat feet smacking against the floor before you even finish your sentence. Your mom laughs on the screen, a screech of excitement tearing through the three-year-olds throat as she barrels onto the couch and snatches the phone from your grasp.
“Hi, Diva.” She beams wide, panting for breath and attempting to swat the sweaty hair from her face. “Are you coming to my house to play today?”
You bark out a laugh at that, her unashamed favoritism when it came to your mom.
“Not today, pickle. Grandma is on vacation with Grandpa, remember?”
Phoebe huffs and nods. “Can you bring me back a fridge magnet?” She asks instead, a question both you and your mom saw coming.
Your eyes dart over to the refrigerator. Covered in magnets and drawings and post cards… you’ll have to do some reorganising if she wants to fit another one on there.
“Absolutely, I’ll even bring you back some new shoes.”
Your eyes roll fondly when Phoebe’s lights up, an excited squeal falling from her lips as she nods her head vigorously. You press a kiss to her head before leaving her on the couch, pulling the phone closer to her face to speak.
Their conversation is a muffled background noise as you start to clean up the mess of her toys, the thirty-something articles of clothing strewn across the floor from her fashion show this afternoon. Plastic princess heels, a tiara, fairy wings…you’re sure she has a pirate’s outfit somewhere in the mess, too.
Your eyes flick to the time flashing on the microwave. 16:30.
Your shoulders drop, heart sinking. Thirty minutes late, you can try to hold out hope. But when it gets to the hour mark, you know it’s yet another no-show. Another night of tears with Pheebs and fast thinking on your part to distract her.
You learnt your lessons months ago. You know better than to tell her when she’s supposed to be seeing him. It only sets her up for disappointment and resentment. Let her come to the decision about him when she’s old enough to understand. Not when she’s three, upset and feeling like he doesn’t want to spend time with her.
You’ll shelter her from the truth of him for as long as you possibly can.
Throwing her outfits into her dress-up box in the corner of the lounge, you turn to your daughter with a heavy heart and the brightest smile you can muster.
“Alright, Diva. Go put your shoes on, let's go out for pizza.”
Phoebe doesn’t even offer your mom a goodbye. She throws the phone to the side of the couch and leaps to her feet, little legs scurrying toward her bedroom to no doubt retrieve the bright pink Crocs she’s recently become obsessed with.
You reach for your phone, sharing an exasperated laugh with your mom before she settles and tilts her head at you through the screen.
“What’s the excuse this time?” she asks.
You sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine. No calls or texts, just a no-show.”
Your mom’s lips form into a thin line, a look of disapproval that only ever seems to be reserved for him. “I take it Pheebs doesn't know?”
You shake your head, toeing your own shoes on as you wait for her. “No, I stopped telling her when she’s supposed to be seeing him months ago. Unnecessary upset, you know?”
Your mom hums, a contemplative look crossing her features. When she notices the disappointment in your eyes, she softens. “You are all that she needs, baby.” She reassures you. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing by her, and you are. But when she’s older, she’ll realize it for herself.”
Shoulders sagging and heart aching, you sigh again. “I know, it’s just not fair on her. Wish I could shield her from it forever, you know?”
“I know, but you are doing fantastic. Me and Dad are so proud of you.”
It’s a struggle to blink back the tears. In truth, you likely wouldn't have coped at all if it weren't for your parents. You were young when you fell pregnant, just shy of turning twenty-three. No real job, no real qualifications. Still living at home and accidentally knocked up by a douche of a boyfriend you were trying to figure out how to break up with.
But your parents…they were a rock for you. They supported whatever decision you wanted to make. They let you stay at home until you had the money to move out, took you to every appointment, helped you turn your dad’s office into a nursery without a hint of annoyance.
Your mom held your hand when you were rushed into hospital to deliver Phoebe, and she sang to you softly when you had to go in for emergency surgery.
Your parents were the ones to encourage you to go back to college. They were the ones to babysit while you worked for your degree, when you had last minute interviews and meetings. And they were the ones you thanked and celebrated with when you finally made it.
When your first book got published and made its way to a New York Times Bestseller within the first week of its release, they were the ones you celebrated with. It was their mortgage you paid off with your very first cheque.
It was only at that point that Tom decided he wanted to be in Phoebe’s life again. That he had apparently made a terrible mistake and wanted to be a ‘family’. You’d allowed him access to his daughter but denied him ever having any access to you.
“Get out of that brilliant head of yours.”
You blink as your mom’s voice drifts you back to the present and you smile, slightly wonky. “Have a cocktail for me and keep Dad away from the dirty martinis. I doubt half of Cabo wants to hear his Elvis impression.”
She barks out a laugh at that, blowing kisses to the phone and promising to call back tomorrow before hanging up.
“Mommy!?” Phoebe calls out to you from her bedroom.
“Coming!” You call back, feet slowly moving you down the hall toward her bedroom. Stopping short with a sigh when her next words echo from her room.
“I pooped my pants again.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Phoebe’s tummy is filled quite comfortably with a veggie pizza and three scoops of chocolate ice cream. A dinner of champions, in her humble opinion, and a day well spent with you.
Her legs bounce her along the marble floors of the complex entrance, a skip in her step which is slightly making you regret that third scoop of ice cream. A sugar rush right before bed is not something you have the energy for.
“Hold up for a moment, baby. Mommy needs to check the mailbox.”
Her sassy huff is the only response you get, but she listens. Trudges back to your side with less enthusiasm than before. You can hear her clicking her tongue and jumping on the spot when you unlock your designated box, rifling through some letters and the package you’ve been eager to receive.
The first print of your newest novel.
It’s not until you’re locking the box back up that you notice Phoebe isn’t to the left of you anymore. Instead, she’s to your far right with her hands behind her back and her small neck craned up to meet the gaze of a middle-aged man walking toward the main front doors.
“Hi, my name is Phoebe." Her small voice speaks at his legs and the man stops short at the sound of it.
His neck whips down to her, a small kiss of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth before it morphs into a friendly smile. Jesus Christ.
He blinks at her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Phoebe. I’m Jack.”
His voice is like slowly crystalizing honey. Soft and smooth yet a slightly raw register as he lowers his tone to address the toddler. You swallow as you watch, a little taken back by the sight of him.
Salt and pepper curls with a mostly salt stubble, slightly tanned skin and bulging biceps that threatened to tear through his––is that a scrub vest—
“Are you a doctor?” Phoebe asks the question aloud that you silently ask in your head.
Jack smiles, nods his head and reaches to pinch the ID badge clipped to the pocket of his pants. “I am.”
You realize yourself then, tucking the mail under an arm and moving to approach the two. Your hand comes to rest on Phoebe’s shoulder and Jack’s eyes lift up your body before settling on your face.
“Sorry, she’s a bit of a social butterfly. She’ll chat your ear off all day if you let her.” It’s a slightly nervously laugh that bubbles from your throat and you’re completely unsure why.
You don’t get nervous. Not usually. But it’s also not every day that your daughter is introducing herself to a hot older man who happens to be a fucking doctor. More than that, and maybe it’s just his age, but it’s also not every day that you meet a man with such intense eye contact.
The moment his gaze meets yours, it doesn’t look away.
Jack laughs breathily, offering an open palm just above Phoebe’s head. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m Jack.”
His tone holds a flirty lilt—light and airy and far too comfortable for someone you’ve just met. Your palm meets his in a gentle greeting, skin rougher than yours, palm bigger than yours. You shake his hand with as much mirth as he does to yours.
“Y/N, this is my daughter, Phoebe.” You say softly, retrieving from his hold and resting your hand back on her shoulder again. “I think you’re the first normal neighbor we’ve met. We only moved in like six weeks ago.”
Jack’s smile widens just an inch as his hand moves to the strap on his backpack, his laugh something understanding, like you already have an inside joke. “Seventeen right?”
Your brows pinch slightly, head tilting. “Yeah… how—”
He points a finger to the ceiling. “I’m fourteen. Your balcony is opposite mine,” he turns his attention to Phoebe with a playful smile. “I’m pretty jealous of yours and mommy’s Sunday morning parties. They sound like a lot of fun.”
Color stains your cheeks but Phoebe grins at that. “We call it Sunday Funk Day. Music, chores, and pancakes for breakfast,” she counts them off on her chubby fingers, her tone slightly bordering authoritative, but Jack only seems more entertained.
“I didn’t realize we had the music on so loud… I’ll keep it down next time.” You apologize quickly. Another thing out of the norm for you. But you’ve been trying to teach Phoebe to be a bit more considerate of other people the older she gets.
Jack waves you off with a scoff. “No way, it’s nice to have a neighbor with good music taste. Not like apartment twelve.” He says the last part a bit quieter, like he too doesn’t want to influence your daughter with his less than kind opinions.
Your eyes widen, the sound of a scoffed laugh scratching the back of your throat. “Is that the crazy bird lady?” You mirror his pitch.
Jack’s lips part. “So that’s what that noise is. I’ve been calling her Chirpy in my head for the last six months.”
You laugh louder at that, stopping yourself just short of snorting. The way he speaks makes you feel strangely warm. His words and voice are relaxed, lazily drawled together with a slight accent that you can’t quite place.
Phoebe scrunches up her nose. “Mommy says people can listen to what they like, but I don’t like screaming music.” She shakes her head.
Jack has to stifle a laugh, expression mirroring yours as you close your eyes and take an exasperated but fond breath. “While I agree with your mommy, I have to say that I agree with you too, kid.”
An insistent buzzing echoes through the silence between you. You notice the brief movement of his hand cupping his pocket, realize that he’s being paged or called but too polite to check or excuse himself.
You squeeze gently on Phoebe’s shoulders. “Okay, we need to get you bathed and ready for bed and I think Jack needs to go to work.”
He offers a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes but doesn’t feel forced. His eyes flick between you and Phoebe, a soft look of fondness relaxing his features for a moment. “It was nice to finally put names and faces to the lovely singing voices I get to hear.”
You smile warmly, albeit a little bashfully, before guiding Phoebe to your side to hold her hand. Jack lets his gaze fall on you again, warmth in his smile as he offers a slight nod.
“Have a good night.” His voice is tender and soft, heavy with security and you don’t understand how it feels so foreign and familiar at the same time.
“You too,” you say softly, turning at the same time he does to go your respective ways.
Phoebe turns her full body to look at him, hand waving frantically in the air. “Bye Doctor Jack!” She shouts at him, despite there being only a ten-foot distance between them.
You turn just in time to see Jack do the same, a small wave of fingers over his shoulder as he shouts back softly, “Bye Phoebe.”
Then he’s gone out of the complex doors and you’re ushering Phoebe into the elevator, unaware of the small smile that curls at the corners of your mouth.
“I like Doctor Jack.” Phoebe hums, pressing the button she has learnt for your floor. You smile down at her as the doors close and the elevator begins to hum and shift.
“Yeah? What do you like about him?”
She shrugs a shoulder, uncommittingly and swipes hair from her face. “He has kind eyes.”
Blinking slowly at her, your heart seizes. You find yourself wondering how your daughter comes up with some of the things that she does, how attuned she is to the people around her and the way her judgement of character grows every day.
You barely know the man, yet you can’t help but agree.
“Yeah, baby. I guess he does.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
NEXT PART
Cute little meet cute for our single mom, Phoebe, and Jack!! I am almost busting at the seams with excitement for what I have planned for these guys; little moments and big!! There will lots of tiny hidden references in this series that I would love to know if you guys pick up on, and I also have a very comical and painful scene that I've already written for later on in this series hehe.
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
The tag list for this series is open so if you'd like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!! <3
CW: harry is a hot shot ceo, and y/n is his shy, new PA! minors please dni!!! enjoy!! longer an at the end!
WC: 13.1K
PREVIEW:
He made the familiar walk to his office, hand stuffed into his pocket and phone secure between his fingers. The lights were on, from what he could see from the outside, and the blurred glass made way for a figure standing right by his desk. Confusion lurked in Harry’s head as he wondered who could possibly be in his office without his permission. Without a second thought, he threw the door open and walked right in, “who are you?”
His voice was gruff and cold, a complete opposite to the sugary sight before him. Stood by his desk was a girl— a very pretty one, in fact. Big, round eyes looked at him, resembling a deer, and a plush mouth was left agape as she eyed him up and down. She was wearing a sweet ensemble; a pretty pastel blue dress that fell just past mid-thigh and had a tiny slit on it. Her hair was swept back over her neck, tamed and neat.
He lingered his gaze on her as she straightened up from where she was bent over his desk and cleared her throat, “hi, Mr. Styles, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she extended a hand for him to shake, “I’m Y/N. Your new assistant.” The slight rise and fall of her chest gave her nerves away but her eye-contact never faltered. Her hand was warm and soft when he took it, and only then did the last-minute text from Mitch come back to him.
By the way, you’ve got a new assistant starting this week. Be nice to her.
This was her. Of course. He gave her a firm handshake, “Harry.”
Y/N never thought life after university would be like this. When she first pursued her bachelors in business degree, she had dreamt of a future where right after graduation, she’d be offered all these hot-shot jobs and she’d go on to become a big, powerful business woman. Some might think this dream of hers was far-fetched and unrealistic, but when you graduate from a highly prestigious university, first class with honours, well, it’s at least a little bit fair to have such expectations.
She worked her ass off when she was still in school— nailing every exam and assignment, doing summer internships and for a moment she thought about applying for a masters degree, but that was quickly shot down when Y/N checked in on her accruing student debt. She might pursue it some time down the road, but for now, her main goal was to get out of this shit-hole of a cafe where she worked and get her ass to a big firm, just like she was promised by all the career counsellors at university.
She was applying consistently to a million different firms, and at this point, she’d be happy if she could even be a receptionist at one of them. She had exhausted all of her connections made in university in hopes of anyone linking her to a decent job, but she turned up with no luck as of yet.
She had been working at Bluebird cafe all throughout her degree and she was working there even now, seven months post graduating. Disappointment welled deep in her guts every time she saw herself in that same old uniform and cap, greeting the same customers and making do with the same lousy cheque.
It was another dreadful morning at said cafe when Y/N was preparing a humongous order for at least twenty six people. She assumed it was for an office or corporation, judging by the jittery young man who placed the order at the counter. He read carefully off a piece of paper every single order and made Y/N recite it back to him to ensure the drinks were perfect. He ended up handing the paper to Y/N so she could once again make sure everything was according to the requests, and it was on the paper Y/N recognised the prestigious navy logo stamped on the top right.
Grapejuice Inc.
One of the biggest textile corporations in the world, run by the famous Styles’ family. Y/N could only dream of a job there. It was suddenly understandable why the young man was nervous before her. The drinks must probably be for a big, senior meeting or something.
Y/N took her time perfecting them, writing the details of each order on the cups to make it easier for the man to allocate them. She slowly placed them in six separate paper cartons, stacking them on top of each other carefully. The man sighed graciously and took the bag from her hand ever so slowly before walking out of the cafe. She sighed, wiping her hands on her black apron. Behind her, Niall enthused out loud, “how much d’ya think they pay the poor boy to get ‘em their morning drinks?”
Y/N turned to face him, watching him rinse out the alternate milk blender, “probably thousands. It’s a huge company.” Niall hummed, “maybe. But usually such prissies have a hard time paying their employees well.”
Y/N was distracted by an order that pinged on their little UberEats tablet, and started prepping the two drinks and almond croissant. She hummed at his response. “Prissies or not, they’re one of the most influential corporations in the world.”
Niall nudged her shoulder and smirked, “don’t go around licking their asses already. They haven’t hired ya yet.”
”Ha. Let’s all make fun of my inability to find a proper job, now,” she mumbled sarcastically. She took her anger out on the oven door, slamming it shut after she put the croissant in there to warm up. Niall wiped his hands on a towel and rubbed them up and down her arms, comforting her, “hey c’mon, babe,” he said gently, noticing her frustrated frown. Seeing that man working for such an amazing corporation made her slightly jealous. It was a sour, unpleasant feeling which Y/N hated. Niall pulled her into his chest in the empty cafe, save for another employee, Mina, who wiped down the tables.
”They’re missing out on the biggest brain in the city,” he flicked her cap playfully, “the right job will come along, I know it. Don’t worry your pretty head over it.”
Y/N appreciated the comfort, leaning into him. She was grateful for his presence, and for his reassuring touch that grounded her. He pulled back and pinched her cheek playfully, “cheer up, buttercup. We’ve got lattes to make for abusive boomers!”
Y/N sighed. She only prayed that Niall's previous words had some truth to them.
-
That night when she got home, Y/N followed her usual routine of feeding her cat Pebble and then turning the shower on, waiting for it to warm up. In the meantime she prepped for dinner and picked out her pyjamas. Once she was all showered and fed, she climbed into bed and pulled out her laptop to do her nightly job search. Numerous sites were searched, Linkedin was scowered and her CV was passed around like a blunt at a party.
She might have applied for a position at Grapejuice Inc, in her sleep-driven haze. It might have been an assistant position for one of their senior management… could have been the Secretary… or the CEO. She doesn’t remember, as she passed out in front of her computer screen, the light glowing and illuminating her peaceful features.
-
When Y/N was in high school many years ago, she met a boy named Landon. They were both in the same Art History class, and the teacher paired them up for a project where they had to analyse and present on a popular period piece. She ended up spending long hours with him during the week, and Y/N being the hormonal teenage girl she was, fell for Landon’s shaggy blonde hair and toothy grin. He was sweet and caring, taller than her and called Y/N ‘sweets’ and four months after they first met, he asked her to be his girlfriend and took her out on her first date.
Landon had taken most of her firsts. He was the only boyfriend she ever had and the only person she ever kissed, but that was it. They never did anything beyond that. The most they ever dabbled in was maybe a hand on her ass or slipping under her shirt to touch her tummy while they made out, but it was never anything more. Y/N blamed the distance for that.
After high school, both Y/N and Landon had big dreams for university. They both wanted to go to one of the big schools, but the problem was that the one Y/N wanted to go to was ten hours away from the one Landon got into. Education was something that was important to both of them, so compromising it for the sake of their relationship was out of the question. They decided to make do with the distance and promised to each other they would remain loyal despite the land that separated them.
It was hard at times, especially in university when all of Y/N’s friends were able to go out and bring whoever they wanted home, date different people and have new experiences while she sat feeling lame because she missed her boyfriend. They still made an effort to try and see each other— oftentimes during semester breaks Y/N would visit Landon and Landon would try to visit Y/N. It was those fleeting days that kept Y/N sane during the course of their relationship.
She spoke to him everyday still, texting him little updates of her day, and he’d text her his. They called every couple of days, though they were pretty short since they were out of words to say thanks to their texts.
Y/N knew that Landon was currently working at his new job as a junior editor after he graduated with his English degree. She was happy for him, of course, but his new commitment meant she was hearing less and less from him. Although there were the daily ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts, these days she was seldom seeing those as well.
It was her day off today, a quiet Tuesday afternoon where Y/N decided to go to the farmers market a little ways from her apartment. She was sitting down at a small restaurant, a cold drink battling the summer heat resting in her hand, but her attention was somewhere else. Her lip was abused under her teeth as she typed up a message to Landon. She missed talking to him, and was penning all her frustrations and thoughts in a long paragraph when she was interrupted by her phone ringing.
The phone number was unfamiliar, making Y/N’s eyebrows furrow. She answered it cautiously. “Hello?”
”Good morning, am I speaking with Miss Y/N L/N?”
Confusion crept upon her. “Yes, this is her.”
”Hi, Miss L/N. This is Mitch Rowland calling from Grapejuice Inc, how are you today?”
Now that rendered Y/N speechless. Her heart dropped and her mouth fell open in surprise. The sound of a child shouting nearby shook her from her thoughts as she regained her consciousness and straightened up, “I’m well, how are you?”
”Pretty alright. Listen, we saw your application for senior assistant to the Chief Executive Officer and loved your CV. How are you placed for an interview sometime this week? Say, Thursday at nine?”
Y/N could not believe the words she was hearing through the phone. She wanted to scream and dance and hug this Mitch guy all at the same time. Her cheeks heated up and a big smile spread across her face, “yes! Thank you for calling me, of course, Thursday at nine is perfect.”
”Great! I’ll text you the address. You can come straight to the reception. Sheila will have your name and will let you through to the interview room. I look forward to meeting you.”
Y/N wished him a confident ‘me too’ and said goodbye, her heart still racing. She took a moment to bask in the reality of the situation. It felt so surreal— Y/N only ever dreamed of getting to work in such an amazing corporation, that too at such an amazing position.
Suddenly, the sun wasn’t harsh like before and her drink was sweeter. The chatter of children nearby made her feel peaceful instead of irritated. She didn’t even find it in herself to care about Landon’s lack of communication as she excitedly dialled Niall’s phone and screamed the news into his unsuspecting ear. An unfamiliar sense of hope filled her heart. Maybe things would finally start to look up for Y/N.
-
The two days leading up to Thursday were the longest ever. Y/N was nervous and excited at the same time, jittery while she was at the cafe serving customers. Niall hyped Y/N up, mumbled a million ‘I told you so’s and tried to ease her nerves when she went on and on about what she should say at the interview.
She asked Mina to cover her Thursday morning shift and ran to the mall the night before to browse for a new blazer, wanting to dress professional but also cute. It was also a million degrees out, so she would probably only wear the blazer indoors for an hour or two, depending on how long the interview was.
She still hadn’t texted Landon about it. Maybe once the job was secured she would, but she didn’t want to get his hopes up just to shatter them if things somehow did not work out.
The morning of, Y/N was too nauseous to eat anything. She usually got that way when she was nervous or anticipating something, so her lack of appetite didn’t come as a shock. The top she wore clung to her body nicely, a light pink colour which matched the kitten heels she had on. The blazer and skirt were of the same dark grey colour, complementing each other nicely. She felt pretty with her hair done neatly and makeup light. Hopefully she made a good impression on Mitch and whoever she met.
Driving to the office was somewhat of a dream. Y/N never thought she would be in this position, especially with how things were looking the past few months. Constant disappointment almost rendered her hopeless, but she was proud of herself for sticking through it. Now, she prayed that she got the job and could finally stand on her own feet, with a job she rightfully earned. She felt giddy thinking about what it would be like if she got the job. She would hand in her notice to the cafe immediately. Then she’d call her mum and Landon. They would be so happy for her, she just knew it.
The place was gigantic— an intimidating building that loomed over her jittery body. Y/N stared up at it. It had to be at least forty storeys. She took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to walk in, a smile gracing her features. Following Mitch’s instructions, Y/N went straight up to the lavish reception and caught Sheila’s attention. Sheila, who was gorgeous; long brown hair cascading down her back, and adorned in a baby blue dress. She flashed Y/N a friendly smile. “Hi! How can I help?”
”Hi, my name’s Y/N. I’m here for an interview. Mitch called me,” Y/N said. a look of recognition came across Sheila’s face as she grinned, “of course. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Just follow me through here.” Grapejuice Inc was just as grand on the inside as it was on the outside— immaculate architecture and wide, open spaces. There were large windows on all walls allowing sunlight to filter into the space, brightening up the area. Y/N followed Sheila to the elevator, “it’s the twenty second floor, fourth door to your right,” she informed Y/N easily.
Doing as she was told, Y/N soon found herself outside of a large room with double doors. The hallway she was standing in was mostly empty, littered with artwork on both sides. It felt like no one was even on the floor, silence flooding the area. As soon she thought about knocking on the doors, they swung open and she was met with a tall, brunette man.
He had long hair which was tied back neatly, and he smiled warmly at Y/N, “you must be Y/N,” he said, “my name’s Mitch. We spoke on the phone a couple of days ago.”
Y/N grinned and held out her hand, “right. Nice to meet you in person.” His handshake was solid— professional and perfected as he guided her into the room. It was a large room with a long conference table in the middle. On one side a bunch of papers were scattered. That was probably where Mitch was sitting. He motioned for her to take a seat across from him. A jug of water rested on the table along with a paper and pen. Y/N bit her nails into her palm to ground herself.
“Sorry about the mess. I’ve been doing these interviews all morning,” he started sheepishly. Y/N waved him away, “that’s okay. Don’t have to apologise.” Mitch cleared his throat, “let’s get started then…”
-
The interview ran for about an hour and a half. Y/N felt like Mitch was eating away at her brain, throwing a million questions at her at such a fast rate. She tried her best to answer diligently, taking her time to really think through what he was saying to give the best possible response. Y/N knew such opportunities were hard to come by, and she wanted to make the best of it.
The job he was describing was mostly administration stuff; keeping track of the CEO, Mr. Styles’, meetings, planning his trips, scheduling, filing, invoicing, organising. All the things she had mastered at school and during her internships. Mitch wanted Y/N to meet Mr. Styles in person, but he was away for a business conference in Japan.
“Well, all I can say right now is that I’m really glad I called you, Miss L/N,” he said, resting his hands on the table, “this has been great.”
Y/N felt her face heating and smiled gingerly, “thank you.”
“I know we spoke about this plenty, but keep this job description,” Mitch slid a piece of paper her way across the table, “feel free to familiarise yourself with it. I’ll have a chat with the team and let you know about the outcome of this interview latest by Monday.” He got up and held the door open for her, “thanks for coming in.”
Y/N shook his hand again and bid him goodbye, giddy as she walked out of the interview room and into the elevator. The sheet of paper was clutched between her fingers and she let out a deep breath. Although the interview was tiring, she was feeling hopeful about the job. Mitch was great and helpful, answering all of her questions easily and explaining the role to her in depth. She waved goodbye to Sheila and made her way out of the building, and when she was finally in the confines of her car, she squealed to herself; everything was slowly falling into place, and she couldn’t be more grateful.
-
Friday at three PM Y/N was at the cafe, mindlessly wiping down the counter. A startled Niall walked in from the back, “Y/N your phone was ringing. T’was an unknown number but I think they left an email or something.”
Y/N turned around in confusion. She saw as Niall stared down at her illuminating screen and tried to take her phone from him, “what? Who is it?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “it’s from someone called Mitch Rowland. I think… I think you got the job.” Her eyes widened, “you’re joking. Show me.”
He passed her the phone, and there it was. An email from Mitch. She read it over and over and over. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she realised she wasn’t dreaming. Y/N was going to be working at Grapejuice Inc. They wanted her as soon as possible.
Niall saw her dazed face and squeezed her tightly, his arms near suffocating her, “I told you! I knew you could do it, so fucking smart you are,” he kissed her hair, “I’m so happy for you, pet. They’re gonna love you.” She peeled back from his chest and looked at him with her tear-soaked face, “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” she laughed in disbelief, “this whole thing feels like a dream.”
-
If Harry didn’t know any better, he could probably be convinced that this was what heaven felt like.
The way he jabbed into the back of the pretty girl’s throat had him throwing his head back and moaning uncontrollably, and he felt like an angel was personally taking his hand and leading him to eden. His palm came down on the kitchen counter in front of him, the other hand weaving into her hair to pull her further on his cock, “oh, fuck me.” The girl beneath him, Sophie, gagged around him loudly and then popped off of him, strings of her saliva connecting her to him. She smirked up at him, twisting her hand over his length as she gave her mouth a break.
“Yeah? You like the way I suck your di—”
He didn’t bother to hear the end of her poorly executed attempt at dirty talk and groaned, shoving her back on his cock. The action took her by surprise, and a wet filthy sound came from her throat as she swallowed around him desperately. Harry whimpered a little, head falling back on his shoulders. He held her there for about twenty seconds, throbbing in her mouth and letting his hair tickle her nose. When he saw tears prickle in her eyes, he decided to let her off for a bit. He loosened his grip on her hair and opted to softly scratch his nails against her scalp as she returned to bobbing her head.
It didn’t take much longer after that to make him come, a train of curses falling from his mouth as he held onto the counter tightly and whined, “fuck, fuck— Sophie, fu—” Hot, white ropes of his come spilled into her mouth which she took in willingly, eyes screwed shut and tongue out. He came for a while, and he came a lot; some of it dripping down the side of her mouth and on her chin. When he was finally done, his hand in her hair slipped to her jaw which he held tightly, prying her lips open.
Harry let a glob of his spit fall into her mouth, mixing in with his come on the well of her tongue. Sophie whined highly as he did, and moaned when Harry slapped her right cheek, soft enough that it didn’t seriously hurt her but hard enough that the zap went straight to her clit. He pushed her cheeks together and closed her mouth, “swallow.”
She did so obediently, before Harry backed up and let her stand to her full height. His eyes raked shamelessly over her figure, adorned in nothing but his office button up, legs bare and chin spit-slicked. Her blonde locks were a mess as she put her hands on his chest and giggled, “did you like that?”
Harry pulled her wrists off and thumbed at her cheek, “mhmm. I have to go to work,” he told her. Sophie pouted, “can’t you take one day off? You must be so tired after such a long flight…,” she ran her clean hand through his curls, “don’t go today? For me?”
He could have laughed in her face for that. If she thought she was anything more than an easy fuck for him, she was sorely mistaken. It didn’t matter that he had known her for over a year now— Harry didn’t date or commit. He hadn’t for a couple of years now. One night stands and fuck-buddies were more than enough to satiate his needs.
Sophie frowned when he stepped away from her and pulled his pyjama pants back up over his hips. He sighed, “I can’t stay, Sophie, I’ve a company to run.” She huffed and stomped her foot like a child, “but I missed you so much, H.” Her voice was nasally, suddenly annoying him to no end, especially when she tried to wrap her arms around him again. Harry dodged her and picked up his phone instead. “This was nice, Soph, but you have to go. I’ll call you a car and have Jared drop you off,” he patted her hip, “talk soon.”
He didn’t wait to hear her response and slipped upstairs to his large bedroom, shutting and locking the door in case she tried to follow him up. He really was tired and jet-lagged after the twelve hour flight. A couple of days off might do him some good, but as much as he hated to admit it, he was a workaholic who would choose a productive day at the office over a day off ninety percent of the time. He took a quick shower and got dressed, tugging on a crisp, dry-cleaned navy blue suit. His eyes flitted about his room as he sprayed on some cologne.
The sheets were awry and there were silk ties hanging off his headboard. Memories of the past night flooded his mind as he put on his cuff-links and gelled his hair. The way she felt around him, wet and soft, gushing on his cock. The way she tasted and writhed beneath him, coming over and over until Harry had to tie her down and force her to take what he gave her. Fucking her over and over again, bruise marks on her round ass, a warm mouth wrapped around his cock. It really was a lot of fun.
After making sure he had his phone and wallet, Harry rushed down the stairs and was glad to see that Sophie had left. At least he was safe from another awkward goodbye where she would whine about her feelings for him and he would have to let her down gently. She kept saying Harry was leading her on, but he didn’t see how.
He told Sophie from the beginning that he only wanted sex and she was fine with it. The first time she alluded to any sort of feelings, Harry told her he wasn’t interested in that way. She was hurt and she cried a bit, (which was Harry’s worst nightmare because he really had no idea how to react in situations like that), but she still showed up the next time he called her. He just assumed she was over him. Harry was a huge perfectionist, and if he wanted a relationship, he would have to put a lot of time and effort into it for it to be the sort he was looking for; time that he unfortunately did not have, since he was so busy making sure Grapejuice Inc ran smoothly.
As he left, he made sure to leave a note on his fridge for his cleaner letting her know that his sheets needed changing and the clothes on the floor needed to be dry cleaned. He put down what he wanted the chef to meal-prep for and called the elevator to go down to his car. He lived in the top floor penthouse apartment of a luxury accommodation in the middle of the city— a location which was convenient for him in more ways than one. It was close to where he worked, and he enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the city below him. The large windows in his place were his favourite since he could people-watch all he wanted (and he enjoyed the occasional fuck against it when it was dark enough).
He greeted Tomas, his driver, as he pulled the door open and let Harry into the car. They made small talk and Harry asked Tomas about his son who just started high school and his wife who was battling an illness. Tomas was Harry’s father’s driver as well, and he watched Harry grow up in front of him. He would drive Harry to daycare when he was a baby, soccer practice when he was a schoolboy, concerts when he was a teenager and now here he was, driving him to the same office he used to drive his father to. Harry felt oddly connected to Tomas, and couldn’t let him go no matter how much his age persisted.
They reached the building pretty quick and Harry thanked Tomas as he stepped out. Sheila smiled and greeted him as he walked in, and every cubicle he passed on his way to the elevator mumbled a ‘good morning, Sir.’
He made the familiar walk to his office, hand stuffed into his pocket and phone secure between his fingers. The lights were on, from what he could see from the outside, and the blurred glass made way for a figure standing right by his desk. Confusion lurked in Harry’s head as he wondered who could possibly be in his office without his permission. Without a second thought, he threw the door open and walked right in, “who are you?”
His voice was gruff and cold, a complete opposite to the sugary sight before him. Stood by his desk was a girl— a very pretty one, in fact. Big, round eyes looked at him, resembling a deer, and a plush mouth was left agape as she eyed him up and down. She was wearing a sweet ensemble; a pretty pastel blue dress that fell just past mid-thigh and had a tiny slit on it. Her hair was swept back over her neck, tamed and neat, perfect for an office atmosphere.
He lingered his gaze on her as she straightened up from where she was bent over his desk and cleared her throat, “hi, Mr. Styles, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she extended a hand for him to shake, “I’m Y/N. Your new assistant.” The slight rise and fall of her chest gave her nerves away but her eye-contact never faltered. Her hand was warm and soft when he took it, and only then did the last-minute text from Mitch come back to him.
By the way, you’ve got a new assistant starting this week. Be nice to her.
This was her. Of course. He gave her a firm handshake, “Harry.”
She smiled at him softly, a strand of her hair falling over her eye. Harry itched to tuck it behind her ear, maybe feel how soft her skin might be under her jaw, but he refrained. “I was just sorting out some of your files. I know you’ve been away so I—”
“What did you touch?”
He spoke sharply, eyebrows furrowed as he set his phone down on his desk and sat on his chair. “Just the documents in the filing drawers. I didn’t touch your desk, don’t worry.” Harry hummed. He watched as she stood in the middle of the room, twiddling her hands behind her back, “I… I colour coded and arranged them alphabetically. Cleaned up your schedule and added the reminders feature to your Teams as well,” she trailed off. She took his silence as her queue to continue. “I also re-recorded your voicemail for the phone and—”
“You can clean whatever you want, just don’t touch my desk. I take my coffee at nine, black, no milk and no sugar. Nine-fifteen, you’ll be in my office with my schedule. You will take orders from me and me only, and I should not have to buzz you twice if I need to see you. You’re off when I say you’re off, and don’t worry about lunch breaks, I tend to have them outside.”
He explained all this sternly, eyes sturdy and fixated on her. She let out a quiet breath and nodded, firm, “Noted. I’ll…” she glanced at the clock above his head. 8:47AM. “I’ll go and get your coffee, sir.”
With that, she smiled once again and scurried out of the room. Harry could tell she was a sweet little thing, just eager to please. Maybe it would be nice to have a pretty face in the office. His days might become less dull. He knew she was getting paid a lot for this job as his assistant, so he had a lot of expectations from her too. Hopefully she could bring a little warmth to his frigid reputation.
-
As the days passed with Y/N acting as Harry’s senior assistant, he had come to realise she executed the role much better than most of his previous assistants. The instructions he gave to her on the first day she seemed to have tattooed on her heart, and she stuck to them diligently. His coffee was at his desk everyday at nine sharp, she had a printed schedule she would read to him and then leave with him once she was done, she would organise some new cabinet of his or folder in his emails everyday and she was on top of his meetings and notes. Harry thought he might have to take Mitch out for a drink or something for managing to hire such an efficient assistant for him.
On top of all that, she had a pretty face which Harry occasionally enjoyed to ogle at. Though he wasn’t one to mix business and pleasure, he figured a little eye-candy never hurt anyone. It was not like he would ever act upon it, no matter how badly he wanted to bend her over his desk and fuck the life out of her.
Today was one such day as she came in wearing a tiny little red dress and matching heels. It was like she walked right out of a hot office fantasy, pencil in her hair and glasses on her nose. She was wearing a blazer on top earlier, but she took it off soon after arriving at work.
When she was reading out his schedule and setting his coffee on his desk, Harry struggled to not stare shamelessly at her figure which filled out the dress just perfectly. A few minutes in, she dropped a pencil on the floor and Harry felt like a teenage boy seeing boobs for the first time as she bent to pick it up.
Unsurprisingly, her pretty face didn’t go unnoticed by many. He realised that when they went into the monthly Senior Leadership Team meeting today, and most of the managers and team directors said hello to her tits first and then her face. It wasn’t even like the dress was provocative in any way— it was summer and a gazillion degrees out, Harry didn’t expect her to walk in wearing a wool jumper and sweats. Plus, the dress did cover most of her skin, it was just her legs that were bare, and that was only a little before her knees. Although Harry did think she was gorgeous (particularly today) he didn’t stare so blatantly and deliberately make her uncomfortable.
Once they said their greetings to everyone, Y/N settled in next to Harry with her notebook and pen on the table before her. He could smell her since she was right beside him, warm vanilla and caramel, a sweet scent that could put him to sleep. She was really testing him today, and the worst part was that Harry didn’t think she knew she even had that effect on him and almost everyone she met.
She asked him if he was okay when he didn’t move for a bit, to which Harry clenched his jaw and nodded tightly. Willing away his scandalous thoughts, Harry cleared his throat and pulled open the meeting notes Y/N prepared for him beforehand, “I hope you’re all having a good morning,” he looked around the room, “we’ve got a couple of important things to go over today, so make sure you’ve got your ears open. I need fresh ideas on the table…”
He listed off the BAU for the week and they went around the table to hear monthly updates from each of the department heads. Y/N penned every important detail vigorously with her lip between her teeth, but one particular discussion had her ears perking up. “I think it’s better if we stick to our suppliers in China and Bangladesh. It’s cost efficient and we’re meeting all of our KPIs,” one of the team members spoke up. Harry watched as another retorted, “I understand that it’s cost efficient, but we have to draft our yearly financial report in two months where we have to talk about our suppliers and sustainability. Large shipments of textiles every year is anything but.”
Next to him, he could feel Y/N’s nervousness wafting off in waves as she sat up straight and cleared her throat. Her soft voice quietly followed, “I… I think we can try switching to internal suppliers instead of external,” she glanced around the room looking for reassurance and settled her eyes on Harry who nodded at her. Although it wasn’t in her exact line of work to advise on this matter, she was still a valued member of the team who brought new input to the company. She continued, “it would be good for our brand image and we won’t have to fabricate our annual report. It’ll be ethical and sustainable, and that’s what consumers are looking for nowadays. We can even market it a—”
“Who are you?” Jerry, one of the team heads, suddenly cut her off. His eyes dug daggers into hers as he raised his brows. Y/N stuttered, “Y/N…I—I’m Mr. Styles’ senior assistant. I just had a few ide—”
“Save it,” he raised his palm, dismissing her thought, “I was thin—”
Harry’s loud voice cut Jerry off, “I believe Miss L/N was saying something before you so rudely interrupted her, Jerry. I do not permit anyone but me to give orders to any of my personal staff. Next time, I suggest you learn how to respect your peers in a meeting before walking into an esteemed room such as this.”
Y/N’s chest rose and fell nervously as she watched the exchange with wide eyes. Jerry immediately dropped his shoulders and darted his eyes away from both Harry and Y/N, now looking down at his notebook, “apologies, Mr. Styles.”
“Don’t apologise to me. Apologise to her.”
Now it was Jerry’s turn to have wide eyes as he looked at Y/N, “but she’s a—”
“We don’t have a lot of time here.”
A few moments passed as Y/N twiddled with her hands and looked at Harry before looking back at Jerry who didn’t meet her eyes as he quietly mumbled, “sorry.” She smiled softly. “It’s okay.” Harry could feel the heat radiating off of her; her face had gone pink and she was squirmy under the attention of the whole meeting room. He decided to close the chapter, “good. Keep these etiquettes in mind next time you walk into another meeting. Y/N, draft your initiative and send it to Analytics. I want to see the pros and cons of switching to internal suppliers by next week. You’re all dismissed.”
-
The whole exchange at the meeting had Y/N’s heart beating like crazy as they left the conference room. “Are you okay?” Harry checked in on her as they walked to his office. “Yep.”
She didn’t want to bother Harry with her anxious thoughts and worry him more than he already was as a CEO of such a big company. Her heart was still racing, “I’m gonna go for a quick walk,” she told Harry before grabbing her phone and heading to the elevators. Hopefully a little fresh air would do her some good. As she stepped outside into the bustling city, she took a deep breath and began walking to the courtyard where there was a big water fountain. She liked sitting by it and hearing the pitter-patter of the water. Her phone pinged when she sat down. It was Landon. The notification made her heart drop just slightly. Ever since she told him about her new job, he had been very distant. There was an initial excitement, but then he asked her how much she was getting paid. That’s when things went downhill. Grapejuice Inc was a big firm, and she had an important position. Her bank account was going to fatten up a little, but his reaction just had her a little disappointed.
Plus he kept asking her all these questions about the people she worked with, and not in a cool, interesting way. It was very stalker-ish and accusatory. She didn’t like it one bit. With a sigh, she ignored the message and shut her eyes, feeling the breeze against her face and trying to forget what happened in the meeting today.
-
About a week later, Y/N finally began feeling more comfortable in her role. She was getting to know Harry’s needs better and better as the days passed, and she tried her best to exceed his expectations as much as she could. Ever since he stood up for her in the meeting, she felt like she owed him that at least. It had been a long week at the office, with Harry slipping in and out of meetings which Y/N had to join him for, so she was particularly happy today as the week ended and the weekend approached.
She set her stuff down on her desk when they walked out of the last meeting of the week, “I’m just gonna get a coffee really quick. Did you want anything?” Harry was distracted by his phone, his eyes never straying as he walked past her.
“I’m alright, thanks,” he replied. Once he was in the confines in his office, Y/N let out a deep breath. Her hands slid down her skirt as she made her way to the office kitchen on the third floor, walking in to see a handful of people heating up lunches and waiting for the coffee machine. She reached up to get a cup and was startled when she suddenly felt a presence behind her.
A very unladylike yelp left her mouth as she turned to see the same guy she saw at Bluebird cafe a couple of weeks ago. “I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!”
She held a hand to her chest and closed her eyes, a long breath escaping her lips, “you scared the living daylights out of me.” The man chuckled and backed up giving her space to lean back against the counter. “Sorry… though the sound you made was quite funny.” Y/N rolled her eyes and faked a dry laugh.
He grinned as he looked at her, before she saw his eyes narrowing, “wait, you’re the girl from the cafe a while ago. You made those twenty six drinks for the annual conference.” Y/N watched as realisation dawned upon him and he examined her like she was a bug under a microscope, “yeah. I remember you, mister so-nervous-I’m-shaking.” She watched as his cheeks turned pink. He looked down, making his dark hair flop over his forehead, “yeah. It was a big meeting, but they all really liked the drinks, so thank you for that.” It was then Y/N noticed how tall he was, towering over her with his brown eyes peering down at her.
“No problem. It was kind of my job at the time so…” Y/N turned to use the coffee machine, leaving him still blushing and staring at his shoes. She followed the prompts on the machine until her desired coffee poured out of the snout. “You’re Mr. Styles’ new assistant aren’t you?” He asked from behind her. Y/N hummed and nodded. “What’s your name?”
He giggled again, “oh right. I totally forgot to introduce myself. I’m Logan, I’m an administration coordinator.” Logan held out a hand for her to shake which she took, smiling, “nice to meet you, Logan. I’m Y/N.”
“I heard about what happened in the meeting last week,” this had Y/N turning around fully to look at him, an eyebrow raised, “word travels surprisingly fast in an office like this.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what he expected her to say after making that statement. She kind of hated that the first thing he associated her job title to was the speck of drama that went down in the meeting. Her heart hurt a little— she wanted to be recognised for more than just some petty spectacle.
Next to Y/N, another girl stood by the second coffee machine. She must have been listening to their conversation because she spoke up first, “we all heard what happened. Not gonna lie, it was a little bit shocking to hear that Mr. Styles told Jerry off for talking down to an assistant. He usually loves Jerry.”
Y/N’s lips parted, “he didn’t tell anyone off, he just… told him to somtimes let other people have the floor in meetings. It’s common manners.”
The girl smirked, “Mr. Styles doesn’t do that for just anyone. He’s very… cold.” Y/N furrowed her brows, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say to me.” The blonde only scoffed and flicked her hair over her shoulder, “oh, I think it’s very clear what I’m trying to say. One doesn’t just score a job like yours and become Mr. Styles’ favourite little pet,” she raked her eyes up and down Y/N’s body, “compensation has to be… paid, somehow.”
What she was implying had Y/N’s stomach churning. Not only did she feel utterly disgusted at such an accusation, but she was hurt beyond belief. The words were disrespectful and not true. Y/N did not work her ass off to get into Grapejuice Inc just for it to be reduced to nothing by some employee.
Just as she was going to retort back with something fiery, a deep voice beat her to it, “I hope this little party is about the new marketing strategy your team is implementing, Becca.” Y/N turned to see Harry standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. The blonde girl— Becca’s eyes widened, “Mr. Styles! Yes, I was just asking Logan ab—”
“I hate a fibber.”
Becca stammered over her words. “Sorry, Mr. Styles. I was just getting back to my desk.”
“Good,” Harry said, stopping her in her tracks, “I also hate petty gossip, especially in my office. If I hear another word of false accusations about anyone from anyone’s mouth, you’ll be hearing from HR.”
Y/N raised her brows at his comment and saw how Logan passed her a look of surprise as well. Becca mumbled a ‘sorry’ and left the kitchen soon after, scurrying past Harry. He didn’t even spare a glance her way as he looked at Y/N. “Get back to work.”
“Yes, Mr. Styles.” She told Logan goodbye before leaving the kitchen. Her coffee was clutched tightly in her hands the whole way to her desk as she wondered what the fuck her day had been.
-
It was later on the same day as Y/N sat at her desk with her head in her hands. She had a long tiring day running around in meetings and scheduling appointments for next week. Plus, Becca’s earlier comments still weighed heavy in her mind. The words affected her more than she would like to admit. On top of all of that, Landon was still being cold over text. He gave her one-word answers after leaving her on delivered for ages. She was wracking her brain trying to figure out why he was acting this way— was it jealousy? Or did he just miss her? She hoped it was the latter.
Her head was pounding and she glanced at the clock to see it was six PM. Way past her home time. She just had so much to do. The pressure got to her head as she dug her fingers into her scalp, trying to relieve some pain. Things only got worse when she felt tears prickle her eyes and spill past her waterline. She just felt so stupid.
She felt pathetic crying at her workplace and letting her tears stain her to-do list which was littered with a bunch of little tasks. Taking a few breaths to contain herself, she didn’t even notice when Harry stepped out of his office for a breather. Her sniffling caught his attention. “Miss L/N? What are you still doing here?”
She quickly wiped her tears and straightened up, “I was just finishing a few things up,” she mumbled. She kept her head low but Harry saw right through her. The whole building was dark and quiet as everyone had gone home. The only light on her desk was from her lamp. Harry leaned against it and looked down at Y/N. “Y/N,” he called her by her first name, “what’s wrong? Are you… are you crying?”
A dry chuckle left her mouth. Her wet eyes met his and his shoulders deflated. This was his nightmare situation. He was the worst at comforting people. His hips shifted nervously. “A—are you alright?”
“Clearly no.” She shook her head and looked down into her lap, cheeks heating up. Harry didn’t want to overstep any boundaries but he also couldn’t just leave her sobbing at her desk. “Do… you wanna talk about it?”
She shot him an incredulous look. Even if she did want to talk about it, her boss was not the ideal person. Y/N tried to dismiss him without hurting his feelings. “I’m fine, really,” she sniffled and wiped one more tear. Although Harry was terrible with emotions, he wasn’t an idiot. Clearly something was bothering her to the extent that she had to cry at her desk. He sighed, deciding to ask one more time, “are you sure?”
If it was him in her shoes, he’d probably tell the other person to fuck off and mind their own business, just because he was terrible at being vulnerable. But this was Y/N— sweet Y/N who brightened up his mornings with her pretty smile. He might not know her too well, but he knew she had a good heart.
A long breath escaped her nose as she shut her eyes and held a hand on her forehead, “I just… it’s just been a lot recently.”
Harry’s eyes widen, “is it the workload? You can tell m—”
“No! No, it’s not that. Things have been shaky in my personal life and I… I can’t stop thinking about this morning with Becca a—”
“Did she say something again?” He cut her off, stern. Y/N’s head snapped up, “not after you warned her, no. But before you came she said some nasty things which obviously weren’t true and I can’t get them out of my head. It’s stupid.”
She sniffled and Harry frowned. He heard the conversation just as he was approaching the kitchen. Becca’s words were sharp enough to hurt someone, especially someone as educated and well-performing as Y/N. Harry knew what it was like when people tried to blame your success on things like sex and connections, having been from a big family. Older CEOs and managers often under-estimated him, assuming he was where he was because of his family. That just wasn’t true. He worked really hard to be where he was. It wasn’t like his father made it easy on him.
He took a step closer and hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was awkward but he wanted to offer her some form of comfort, “what she said was obviously not true,” he watched as she winced, realising he heard the conversation, “it shouldn’t matter what she says. Or what anyone says. You can’t get hung up on petty things like that if you want to go far in this line of work. People will always talk down and project their failures on you but you can’t let that get you. Unless you want to get walked all over.”
Y/N’s shoulder burned where he touched her, his palm almost electric. Physical touch was something she rarely got since Landon was so far away, and really, how clingy could she be with Niall before he got pissed? She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, “yeah,” sniffle, “yeah. You’re right.”
Harry watched as she closed her eyes and composed herself. He slowly took his hand off of her, noticing how she deflated with… disappointment?
A few moments passed and he heard her tummy grumble loudly. The sound brought a small barely-there smile to his lips as she blushed furiously, “sorry, I—”
“Why are you apologising? For having normal human functions? Have you not eaten yet?”
Y/N shook her head, twiddling with her hands. Not only was she embarrassed that she cried in front of her boss, but her stomach’s loud protests had her all red. She didn’t have time to get lunch today since she was so busy, running on coffees all day. Harry sighed, “c’mon. We’ll go get something to eat.”
Her eyes widened, “wh–what?”
Harry raised his brows, “let’s go.”
She couldn’t say anything after that as Harry left to grab his coat and phone from his office. Y/N watched as he shrugged it on, admiring his biceps bulging against the button up. The soft, dim lighting of the area wasn’t making things any easier. He cleared his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts, “I’ve called for Tomas, my driver.”
Nodding, Y/N grabbed her purse and phone. They took the lift together. There was an odd tension as they stood silently, stealing glances at each other occasionally. Y/N played with her fingers in the oddly long ride, filling the silence by humming quietly. Harry smiled to himself upon hearing her.
When they reached, he led her out and towards the car Tomas brought out front. Tomas smiled at both of them and Y/N shook his hand. His stare lingered on her puffy eyes but he didn’t say anything. “I hope you like Italian,” Harry murmured. He opened the door and let her sit first and then followed. There was a whole seat empty between them where Y/N settled her purse. She still couldn’t process what was happening as she nodded at his words.
“La Vita Vino, please, Tomas.”
“Yes, sir.”
A couple of beats of silence passed. Harry’s face was illuminated by his phone as he scrolled. In the meantime, Y/N’s lip faced the wrath of her anxiety. She decided to speak up, “you really don’t have to do this, Mr. Styles. I—I’m very grateful but I hate putting you through so much troubl—”
“It’s no trouble.”
He shut his phone and glanced at her. Just the look had her skin burning. Y/N blamed the nerves.
“Okay.”
A car honked.
“Thanks though,” Y/N said.
“You’re welcome.”
The rest of the drive was silent. Y/N saw how Tomas spared glances at the two of them, eyes lingering on the empty seat between them. She might have seen him smile, but that could be her imagination. She was feeling quite out of it, especially after that cry.
They soon arrived at a beautiful restaurant. It had soft, yellow lighting and an outdoor patio. It was oddly romantic for a CEO-personal assistant dinner, but Y/N bit her tongue. Just the fact that he bothered to take her out meant so much to her. She didn’t want to ruin the moment with anything. She said thanks to Tomas as he held the door open for her.
When they walked in, Y/N couldn’t help but look around in awe. It had a gorgeous interior with intimate seating. She watched as Harry walked up to the hostess and requested his ‘regular’ table. The hostess smiled, “of course, Mr. Styles.”
Y/N saw as Harry followed the waitress, looking back at her, “c’mon.”
She was snapped out of her daze, allowing the hostess to lead them to a small table around the back. Thankfully it wasn’t candle-lit. That would make the dinner look like something it most definitely was not. The hostess pulled out a seat for Y/N and then Harry. “Can I get you started with some wine, sir?”
Harry glanced at Y/N, “any preferences?’
“Oh, I don’t drink,” she bit her lip. His brows dipped just slightly but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll have a serving of Masseto, please.”
“Of course, sir. Perhaps water for the missus?”
Y/N’s eyes almost shot out of her skull when she heard the hostess. She stammered over her words, “Oh, we—I’m not—”
“Yes, please.”
The hostess smiled and left, promising to come back with their drinks. As she left, Y/N turned to Harry, still flustered, ‘“sorry! I don’t know why she said that.” He looked at her like she was crazy, “why are you apologising?” He repeated for the second time that night, “it’s not like you told her to say that.”
Her mouth shut at that. She relaxed into the seat, still unable to meet his eyes, “yeah… I guess you’re right.”
Harry hummed approvingly. He slid a menu towards her to have a look at. Wordlessly, she picked it up and scanned the items. They were all crazy expensive— almost a week's worth of her wages for one dish. Plus, she could barely even read some of these names. Nervously she glanced at Harry, “what do you usually get?”
“I like their Agnolotti del Plin,” he said, not looking up from the menu. She put hers down and sighed. His eyebrows furrowed as he met her eyes, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ll get what you’re having. The agnal thing.”
“Agnolotti del Plin?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
The waitress came back to their table and asked them if they were ready to order. Y/N let Harry do the talking, afraid to mispronounce anything. She watched in awe as the Italian rolled off his tongue so easily. The waitress nodded and told them she’d be back with their dishes soon. When Harry turned back to her, his brows were still furrowed.
“Have you… ever had Agnolotti del Plin?”
“... yes,” she lied.
“Oh. Right.”
It was silent again. Their dynamic was so odd that Y/N didn’t know how to make conversation with him. What would they even talk about?
“Do you feel better?” He referred to her earlier breakdown. A breath escaped her mouth, “yes. Thank you Mr. Styles.”
“I don’t want to pry, but if there’s anything you want to talk about…” Harry said. Getting the sentence out was a feat. He was smart enough to know that talking about your feelings helped you feel better but he didn’t know what he would do once she started talking. Should he be touching her shoulder again? Rubbing her arm for comfort?
“I don’t want to bother you with my problems.”
“It’s no bother, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. But I understand if you don’t want to talk.”
“Thanks,” she said for the millionth time that night. She wasn’t quite ready to spill her guts in front of her boss yet, no matter how vulnerable the crying made her seem. They remained quiet until the food was placed before them.
The dish was amazing— ravioli packed with smoked pigeon and covered in truffle sauce. It was when she smelled it that she realised how truly hungry she was. Once it was presented to her, she had her head down, engrossed in the food. Harry could understand completely. He himself was starving when he walked out of his office earlier. The only reason he really left was to go see if there was anything in the office fridge he could snack on.
About midway through their meal, her phone pinged. She ignored it when it went off once. But then it pinged again and again and again. Ignoring it for the sake of having good manners, Y/N turned it over and tried to continue with the meal, except it began pinging even more. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, putting her fork down and picking up her phone. It was Landon.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared down at the texts. He demanded to know where she was since she hadn’t texted him in a couple of hours. She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man; he didn’t respond to any of her texts all day and still expected her to continue texting him even after he made it clear he didn’t want to speak to her. Her irritated expression didn’t go unnoticed by Harry.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah… yeah, it’s just my boyfriend.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You have a boyfriend?” He blurted out.
Y/N met his rounded eyes. “Yes. We’re long distance.”
“Oh.”
“He’s been weird ever since I started working at Grapejuice Inc,” Y/N continued. “I don’t know. It’s just stressing me out, I guess.”
Harry hummed. It wasn’t his place to say, but he knew that if a relationship was stressing someone out, then it probably wasn’t healthy. He bit his tongue when he saw her furrowed brows. She huffed and put her phone on silent, not bothering to respond as she went back to her food.
They finished eating soon after. Y/N insisted on splitting the bill but Harry looked at her like she had grown a second head, snatching the bill from her hands. He slid his platinum card inside and gave it to the waitress who found their exchange amusing. After she brought them the receipt, Harry called Tomas to come up front. “Where do you live?” He looked at her expectantly and held the door open for her.
“Oh, just down nine and fifth avenue. It’s the house with the purple mailbox.”
Tomas nodded at her words and began driving. This time, Y/N had her purse in her lap. Her hand was resting on the middle seat. Harry was looking out of the window as they sat in silence. She admired him for a little while, appreciating the cut of his jaw and his plump lips. It was almost aggravating how pretty he was. His hand, ringed and tattooed with a cross by his thumb, rested on the middle seat as well.
His eyes never wavered from where they looked outside at the passing lights. Y/N shut her eyes and rested her head back against the seat. It had been an insane day and she couldn’t wait to go home and get under her covers. She must have relaxed a little too much, though, because a few moments later she felt her pinky collide with his. Surprisingly, neither of them jumped at the feeling. His hand was warm and her heart was racing.
They grazed each other again. For a second, Y/N felt his pinky rest completely on top of hers, though he didn’t stop gazing out the window. They both jumped as Tomas suddenly sneezed, pulling their hands away. Harry cleared his throat and Y/N told Tomas ‘bless you.’ The whole interaction had her breathing erratic and lip worried.
She finally recognised her street when they turned around the familiar corner. A grateful smile graced her features. She thanked Tomas first and then turned to Harry. She was immensely thankful for his comfort and for providing her with a full belly by treating her to such a luxurious meal. “Thank you, Mr. Styles. I had a great time and I feel so much better.”
He met her smile with a small one. “It was my pleasure. Have a good night, Miss L/N.”
“Night.”
-
Y/N relayed the night's details to Niall the next morning over coffee. He gasped dramatically and went on and on about how this was Y/N’s ‘romcom’ moment and that she was the main character who had a hot CEO boss obsessed with her. Y/N only laughed at how ridiculous he was, smacking his head when he wouldn't shut up and began narrating detailed, graphic, office fantasies that he most probably saw in some cheap porno.
“It doesn’t matter, Ni. I have a boyfriend,” was what she told him, trying to brush him off. “A boyfriend who lives a million miles away and doesn’t care if you live or die.” Those words did make her frown a little bit. Maybe Landon was a little bit weird and possessive, but surely he would care if Y/N dropped dead out of nowhere. She tried to give no weight to Niall’s words. She had enough on her plate to worry about.
When she finally decided to confront Landon, he demanded she tell him where she was last night. Y/N lied and said she was having dinner with Niall, but Landon didn’t even like that response. Any friend of Y/N that was a male was automatically disliked by Landon. It was a stupid habit of his, but then Y/N put herself in his shoes and thought about how she would feel if he began hanging out with a bunch of girls. It would leave a sour taste in her mouth but would she really react like he did? So dramatic and accusatory?
She tried her best to ignore the pestering thoughts as she walked into work the following Monday. She wondered if the air between her and Harry would be any different now that he had seen her in such a vulnerable state. But then again, he was known for his cold exterior, so maybe not. She took a deep breath as she walked in with his coffee in hand at exactly nine AM. He was busy on the phone and typing something on his computer at the same time, sparing her a glance and a small nod.
Whispering a small ‘good morning’, Y/N set the coffee down on his table. It was then she realised how dark and stuffy it was in his office. He probably forgot to open up the windows again on Friday before leaving. Deciding to open them up to encourage some air circulation, she walked behind Harry’s desk. The blinds were behind his chair and Y/N tried to squeeze herself between the small gap to open them up. Harry was too preoccupied on the phone to notice her.
The space was quite narrow so she had to really get in there to get the blinds open, stretching slightly and getting on her tippy-toes. Behind her, she heard Harry put the phone down. Suddenly, she felt as she lost her footing, a yelp escaping her mouth as she prepared to collapse face-first on the floor.
Except she didn’t collapse.
A firm, warm pair of hands settled on her waist, preventing her from face-planting into the floor. She was standing in between Harry’s legs, leaning over him so his breath washed over her face. Her hands were planted on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there and he held her waist tightly. Her breath was stolen from her lungs.
“You okay?”
For some reason, she struggled to tear her gaze away from his mouth as he spoke, mesmerised by the way his lips moved. She almost relaxed into his hold. “Y–yeah. Thanks.” Now it was Harry’s turn to stare at her mouth. He met her eyes, then her lips, then her eyes, then her lips. They were painted pink and parted, practically begging Harry to kiss them. It was like he couldn’t help it as he leaned in closer— like her lips personally called to him to be tasted.
His thumbs dug into her ribs. She made a small sound which sounded awfully close to a whimper. That was ultimately what pushed him over the edge as he threw all resolve out of the door and caved in to the taste of her mouth. He had been thinking about what she might taste like for the longest time now, the night at the restaurant not making things any easier as her mouth plumped up in constant pouts.
Now, though, Harry was in heaven. She was sweet, like mango juice as he kissed her more firmly, letting her relax in his hold. His grip on her waist was all that was holding her up now as she suckled on his bottom lip and grabbed his shoulders harder.
This was so, so wrong. It was so inappropriate for him to be making out with his assistant in his office, lost in the taste of her and the sight of her in that little floral sundress. He groaned against her when she slid her tongue into his mouth. Her movements were bolder than he expected as she bit his lip softly.
The shrill sound of his phone ringing was what made them part, a filthy sound resounding when they pulled away, and strings of spit connected their mouth. He looked into her eyes as she wiped his mouth with her thumb and finally stood up. She looked flustered and fucked out— cheeks flushed and lips spit-slicked. Her dress had ridden up but she quickly pulled it down. Harry tried desperately to will his hard-on away, eyes never leaving hers despite the sound of his phone ringing in the office.
She was a little out of breath, “you… you should probably get that.”
He nodded, snapped out of his daze. “Yes. Yep. I’ll, uh… I’ll get that.”
“Cool.” Cool?
Turning on her heel, she left his office. When the door shut behind her, Y/N slid a hand through her hair and bit her thumb. She just made out with her hot CEO boss. In his office.
Although the kiss was amazing and her heart was racing, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. She had a whole boyfriend who trusted her to remain loyal and this was what she decided to do? Her heart sank a little in her chest, but she realised it didn’t outweigh the giddiness in her body and wetness between her thighs, all because of a little kiss. She groaned.
Y/N was fucked.
-
It was nearing lunch-time and Harry was still hung up on that fucking kiss. He felt so stupid for letting himself slip like that. How could he have made such a big mistake? Getting hot with your employees was one of the biggest no-nos of being in-charge of running a whole company.
But he just couldn’t deny how good it felt.
How nice she tasted, how she felt under his hands. The sounds she made and her confidence as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She was exactly how he thought she would be— addicting. He couldn’t stop thinking about her; not as he went about his day to numerous meetings, attended a morning tea and interviewed an important client.
His every thought started and ended with her ever since she cursed him with that fucking mouth. Soft, warm, wet… he could only imagine how she felt in other places. Running a hand down his face, Harry sighed heavily. This wasn’t healthy. He had to either stop thinking about her or figure out a way to deal with this situation head on. Somehow the latter seemed easier.
He thought back to a couple nights ago when she was stressed and crying right in front of him. He knew the poor girl had a lot going on in her life, and with her boyfriend being long distance, he assumed she didn’t have a lot of means to release some of her frustrations. Plus, from what she told him, her boyfriend sounded like an absolute shit-bag so Harry automatically assumed he wouldn’t be able to give Y/N the satisfaction she needed anyway.
Pacing in his office, a crazy idea popped into Harry’s head.
Since just buying her dinner made her so happy and stress-free, Harry wondered what else he could do for her to make her feel good again. He wasn’t just thinking about pleasuring her anymore. He wanted to spoil her. He wanted to make her feel special. Not only would it help with her frustrations, but it would be a good outlet for him as well. It was not like he had plans to marry and start a family soon and he had heaps of money just sitting in his bank accounts. Money that had no use apart from paying for his bills and groceries.
Money he was willing to spend and that would probably be appreciated more elsewhere.
He wanted to propose an arrangement to Y/N, like the business-man he was. He’ll spoil her to the ends of the world, till her heart’s content— till he pleases. In return he would request her time and affections. In the way he craves, like a starved man. It was crazy to think that just the touch of her lips was driving him to take such steps— he felt like a spell had been cast on him. He had to see her. He had to tell her.
Finally deciding to grow a pair, Harry threw his door open and strutted out of his office, hair messy thanks to his fingers and eyes wide. However, his stomach sank when he turned to see if Y/N was at her desk.
The good part was that she was there like he hoped, looking all pretty in her sundress and hair left down. The bad part was that there was a blonde man standing before her, handing her a bouquet of flowers and pulling her in for a kiss.
The same lips he kissed mere hours ago.
The same waist he caressed was being hugged tightly as the boy lifted her off her feet and she smiled into his mouth, blinded to the shattering of Harry’s heart as he stood there by the door, disappointment overcoming his hard features.
-
Kissing Landon was very different to kissing Harry.
Whereas Harry met Y/N gently, like she was made of glass, puckered his lips tenderly and pressed sweet little pecks against her pouty mouth, Landon was quite… harsh. His arm slithered around her waist the same time he kissed her; rough, oddly possessive and a little painful, if she was being honest. He smashed his mouth into her teeth too hard, and paired with the grip he had on her waist, Y/N almost felt like she was being punished for some horrific crime.
And well, now that she pondered over it, maybe she deserved a distasteful kiss. She wasn’t really the ideal girlfriend these past couple of days which she spent daydreaming about her hot CEO boss, wondering what his soft words and lingering touches meant. Then when he kissed her mere hours before Landon surprised her, for those couple of minutes, the fact that Y/N even had a boyfriend slipped her mind completely. All she could think about was the strong, caring man in front of her, kissing her with so much passion and his hands on her sides, which pressed into the warm skin, bunching up her dress, and maybe if the phone didn’t ring and they didn’t have to stop, he would have pulled her onto his lap and slipped his fingers beneath her dress—
She was truly a terrible person.
She was a horrible, nasty, disgusting person for cheating on her poor unsuspecting boyfriend and kissing another man behind his back. The moment she stepped outside of his office, breathless with swollen lips, guilt swarmed her belly and made her insides turn black. Like she was rotten. And she felt rotten, but that wasn’t the worst part. Something else dug into her whirlwind of a brain, rattled her bones and made her breath tremble.
Despite the guilt that ate away at her heart, Y/N couldn’t deny that she liked it.
She liked the way he latched onto her bottom lip, and she liked the way he held her like she was going to slip away if he loosened for even a second. She liked the sounds he made and she liked the look in his eyes when she pulled away— hazy, like he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her spit-slicked lips. And perhaps she liked all of these things a little too much… perhaps they outweighed the guilt in her tummy.
God, she was just an awful human. She spent the next three hours following the kiss internally fighting herself over this dilemma, going back and forth feeling guilty and then feeling horny. Her panties were uncomfortably soaked and she had to make an embarrassing trip to the mall by the office just to grab a new pair of underwear— over a fucking kiss.
A kiss. That was literally it. They didn’t do anything further, he didn’t slide his hands between her legs, didn’t kiss down her neck— just showered her in honeyed purses of his lips and she was such a fucking mess. In her defence, she hadn’t been touched in any way in a long, long time. With Landon living ages away, Y/N often had to go months upon months without any physical affection. Even when they did get to spend time together, he didn’t let their kisses get too frisky. Didn’t let it progress to anything further, no matter how much she wanted.
She asked him about it too, but he would always go on some long spiel about how he was saving it for marriage and how amazing their first night together would be once they were husband and wife and they could finally have sex. Outwardly, she’d agree. Landon was always sort of sentimental— someone who was sensitive and wanted everything to have some deep meaning they could uncover together.
But Y/N was only just a girl. She had needs. Needs which her boyfriend was not meeting and needs for which her vibrator was just not enough anymore! That was why she was so ready to take things further with Harry. She wouldn’t have minded if he yanked her on his lap and grinded her against his bulge. She wouldn’t have minded if he touched her ass and pushed her dress up, tucked his fingers into her panties an—
This was becoming a problem. Her fucking boyfriend was standing right in front of her yet all she could think about was what Harry’s palms would feel like on her thighs.
Her fucking boyfriend was standing right in front of her and— wait. Why was he standing right in front of her?
Her jaw dropped when he stepped out of the elevators and came into her view; tall, beaming, blonde hair pushed back and a bouquet of roses in his hands. Her jaw stayed dropped when he sauntered towards her, one arm stretched wide like he was presenting himself, “surprise!”
And then:
“Oh my god! Landon!”
She stopped lagging and forced herself to a stand, watching as he jogged towards her and engulfed her into his chest. Landon felt familiar. He was warm, sturdy, built with strong muscles and broad shoulders which she wrapped her arms around. Citrus and musk invaded her senses; a scent which usually brought her comfort. Usually reminded her of home and date nights, cuddles and walks in the park.
Now it made her sick. Nauseous. Her stomach had been churning ever since she left Harry’s office that morning and his harsh cologne was not helping. Her nose was squished into his neck and his arms were wrapped around her like cling-film, nearly smothering her. She felt like she was suffocating, and she would have, had she not put her hands on his chest and gently shoved him off of her. Then came the initial shock, “wh–what are you doing here? How did y—”
“I wanted to surprise you, sweets. I missed you and I barely heard from you. Are you not happy to see me?”
Now, how could Y/N ever tell him she was anything but?
AN: BHHEHE GUYS SORRY I COULDNT HELP MYSELF WITH ALL THE TOUR CONTENT AND THE BUSINESS CASUAL VIBE IT WAS DRIVING ME NUTSSS!!! I HAD TO PULL TIS ONE OUT OF THE BAG!!! I THINK IMMA CONTINUE THIS SERIES I HAD SM PLANNED AND IT IS ONE OF MY FAVS!!!! HOPE U ENJOY!!! LET ME KNOW UR THOUGHTS!! also i know my fic plans are ALL OVER THE PLACE just trust im waiting to be done with uni and IM LOCKING INNNNN
Balancing your life as a nurse and a single mom to a five-year-old is hard enough. Love is the last thing on your mind, until Tommy Conlon walks into your life and makes you wonder if maybe there’s still room for it after all.
warning/tags: based on this ask, smut, minors DNI, porn with plot, no slowburn, grinding, unprotected piv, over the clothes handjob, fingering, creampie, no physical descriptions of reader except she has hair, a little fluff, long af so read it with time, mentions of DV (like in the movie)
You hated the night shift with a bone-deep resentment. It wasn’t just the parade of drunks and crazies who stumbled through the ER doors after midnight. It was knowing that every extra hour you spent here meant another chunk of your already pitiful paycheck vanishing to the sitter. Lila deserved better than a string of late-night strangers watching over her, and you deserved to be the one tucking her in instead of dragging yourself home at dawn, smelling of hospital.
It was close to one in the morning when triage called your name. “Room four. Walk-in laceration. Deep cut to the eyebrow. Came because the bleeding won’t stop.”
You nodded, tugging on fresh gloves as you headed down the hallway. You expected the usual, maybe a drunken stumble, or a bar fight. You stopped on your feet as you pushed the curtain aside.
The man sitting on the exam table looked like he’d stepped out of a gym magazine. His broad shoulders were impressive even under a plain grey hoodie, and you spotted right away how scabbed and bruised his knuckles looked, a typical sign of a bar fight. He kept his head low, his elbows on his knees, while pressing a wad of gauze to his brow with his hand.
He lifted his head when he heard you approach, looking at you with ocean-deep blue eyes. There was a cut slicing through his left eyebrow, still weeping blood that had already trickled down the side of his face. And yet, despite the obvious injury, he didn’t flinch or scowl.
For a moment, you forgot the room around you. You shook it off, stepping closer.
“Looks like you took a pretty good hit there,” you said, doing your best effort in order to keep your voice even. “Let me take a look.”
He didn’t move at first, almost like he was surprised someone was speaking to him so gently. Then he took the gauze away, revealing the full split in his skin. The cut was deep enough that the edges wouldn’t sit together on their own. It definitely needed stitches.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean t’ bleed all over your floor.”
You gave the faintest, amused exhale. “Trust me, this floor has seen worse.”
Something like humor flickered in his eyes. You stepped between his knees to get a closer look, clicking on your penlight. He smelled faintly of sweat, and his breath hitched almost imperceptibly when you tilted his chin with two gloved fingers to move his face toward the light.
“This is going to need sutures,” you said, meeting his eyes again.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Figured.”
“Did you get in a fight?”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and you wondered if he’d pretend it was something else. But then he gave a small shrug. “Somethin’ like that.”
You didn’t pry, people lied, people hid things, and your job was just to patch them up and send them out, not listen to their life stories. You prepped the tray, laying out the needle driver, the suture kit, and the anesthetic. Tommy’s gaze followed your hands, like he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
“Little pinch,” you warned him, holding the syringe.
He barely blinked when the needle slid in, no hiss or flinch from him. You found yourself glancing at him longer than necessary, studying the way he seemed to be used to pain. As you waited for the anesthetic to take effect, you cleaned the dried blood from his cheek. You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t speak.
“So,” you said lightly, trying to fill the quiet, “you planning to tell me what did this? Or am I supposed to imagine something dramatic?”
An amused breath escaped him. “You probably got a better imagination than the truth.”
“Oh? Try me.”
He was quiet again, but the corner of his mouth twitched just barely, enough that the tiniest curve softened his face. “Gym sparrin’,” he muttered finally. “Caught a bad elbow.”
“That’ll do it,” you said. “Well, next time, try blocking with something other than your face. It’s not the ideal choice.”
This time, the exhale he gave was unmistakably a laugh, but he choked it down fast as if he wasn’t used to letting something like that out. “Thanks for the piece of advice. Hadn’t thought of it.”
You stepped closer, lifting his brow to test numbness. “Feel this?”
“Nah.”
“Good. Try not to move.”
He locked his gaze on yours as you threaded the first stitch. And though you’d done this a thousand times, there was something strangely intimate about holding his skin between your fingers, guiding the needle through with precision.
He watched you work, his eyes never leaving your face, and you felt the heat of his stare, making your cheeks grow increasingly hotter.
“You’re good at that,” he said quietly.
“I should hope so,” you replied with a faint smile. “I’ve stitched up more eyebrows than I can count.”
You kept working, closing the skin while he sat still, keeping his arms on his knees and hands clasped.
“So, I take it you fight. What is it? Boxing?”
.
“MMA,” he replied without elaboration.
“How long you been doing it?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, trying to ease the tension.
“Long time,” he murmured. “Since I was a kid.”
“You do it professionally?”
He hesitated, and you could tell he wasn’t used to people being interested in him, not like this. “Kind of,” he said. “Just… doin’ what I know.”
You’d placed half the stitches when you noticed how his shoulders had relaxed, how he was letting his guard slip the tiniest bit under the sound of your voice. “Almost done,” you said softly.
He nodded once, and when the last knot was tied and the final suture trimmed, you stepped back. “There,” you said, removing your gloves. “Good as new.”
He reached up to touch the area by habit, then stopped himself at the last second before brushing against the fresh stitches. “Looks alright?”
“You’ll have a scar,” you said, “but honestly, you strike me as someone who can pull off a few of those.”
He huffed again, a stifled laugh that seemed to surprise him as much as you. You handed him the aftercare sheet. “Keep it clean, watch for infection, come back if anything seems off.”
He took the paper from you, brushing his fingers against yours for a second. A single second, but it was enough to send a warm, startling jolt through your arm.
He flicked his eyes up to yours, and for one suspended heartbeat, he let the truth flash through him, how beautiful he found you, how utterly unexpected it was to be sitting in an ER room at one in the morning, being touched gently by someone who looked at him like he truly saw him. Then the walls snapped back up.
“Thanks,” he said. “For… all that.”
“It’s my job.”
“Still.” His gaze dipped once to your lips, not long enough to make it obvious, just a flicker, and then away so fast it might have been imagined. “You were… real kind about it.”
You smiled. “Come back if you need anything else.”
He stood, pulling his hood up, towering over you close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep his face in view. Tommy looked at you for a long second, like he wanted to say something more, but he swallowed it. He just put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the door.
Tommy had been hit in the head more times than he could count. He’d been punched, kicked, slammed, choked out, elbowed, kneed, and wrestled by men bigger and meaner, and he’d always managed to keep his mind blank when he needed to. Keeping his mind blank was safer. Blank meant control, meant distance, meant nothing could get inside the places he’d spent years boarding shut. But ever since that night in the hospital, since the warmth of your hands against his skin, Tommy’s mind refused to stay blank.
The next day, he woke before dawn like always. The apartment where he’d been living for two months now, ever since he returned to Pittsburgh, was cold, and the floorboards creaked under his feet. He splashed water on his face, checked the stitches in the mirror, and saw the neat line you’d left on his eyebrow. He stared at it too long, he didn’t even know why. Then your voice echoed faintly in his head, warm enough that it had landed somewhere in him he hadn’t expected. It’d made him feel a way he hadn’t felt in way too long.
Tommy gripped the sink. “Fuck,” he muttered, as if cursing at his own reflection would shake you loose.
But it didn’t. He went to the gym before sunrise, wrapped his hands mechanically, and even then, he could feel you haunting the edges of thought. When he started hitting the bag, your face came back anyway, every time he blinked, he saw that moment your fingers brushed his, just for a second. He saw your eyes, the way you leaned close without flinching, the way you didn’t look at him like he was something dangerous or broken or barely-held-together. You looked at him like a person, like a man, like he was allowed to sit there with his guard half-down and not be punished for it.
Two days passed quickly, and nothing changed. If anything, the thoughts got louder. Tommy wasn’t used to wanting things. Wanting was dangerous, wanting made you weak. And wanting a woman felt like standing on the edge of a long drop he wasn’t sure he could climb back from. This was stupid, he didn’t do this. He didn’t get stuck on people, didn’t let himself feel drawn, pulled, warmed, whatever the hell this was, but he couldn’t get you out of his head.
Tommy tried everything. He trained harder, ran until his lungs burned, lifted until his arms shook, went home exhausted, hoping fatigue would scrape you from his thoughts. Instead, exhaustion made it worse. His defenses were lower, he closed his eyes and felt again the moment you’d leaned in close enough that he’d felt the faintest warmth of your breath on his cheek.
By the eighth night, his stitches itched a little, it was normal, he knew that. He’d had enough cuts in his life to recognize healing when he felt it. The area wasn’t warm, wasn’t swollen, wasn’t red. It was perfectly fine. But he needed an excuse to see you again.
What was he supposed to do? Walk back into the ER like some guy who didn’t know how to take care of a cut? Tell you he was worried about infection when it was healing cleanly, neatly, exactly like it should?
He shouldn’t go, it was ridiculous, it would look pathetic. What would he even say? Hey, uh, I’ve been thinkin’ about you nonstop for a week like some kinda idiot, so I made up a reason to see you again.
He snorted and shook his head. Absolutely not. You’re not goin’. No way. Not happenin’.
So the next day, there he was, standing at the hospital’s entrance. He almost turned around, but he kept moving, with slow steps down the hallway. And then he saw you. You were at the counter, typing something into a chart, with your hair slightly out of place from the long shift, the concentration softening your features. A stray strand fell toward your cheek, and you brushed it back, and Tommy felt something far too warm flood through him.
He froze. Every instinct told him to leave, to protect himself, to turn around and go back to how his life was before he’d met you, where nothing hurt, and nothing tempted him.
But you looked up before he could, your eyes found him like you’d been expecting him without expecting him, like time paused for the briefest second when you recognized him. You lifted your eyebrows slightly with surprise.
“Tommy?” you said, stepping around the counter. “What are you doing here?”
He swallowed and cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to the floor before he forced them up again. “Uh… thought maybe, uh… the cut was… infected,” he muttered, hating how rough his voice sounded. “Feels… weird.”
He felt stupid the second the words came out. Like a huge fighter pretending to be concerned about a ten-day-old eyebrow stitch.
But you didn’t laugh, you didn’t even doubt him. As you stepped close and touched his arm lightly, you guided him toward one of the exam rooms. “Let’s take a look.”
Inside, under the light, Tommy sat on the edge of the table again, just like before. You put on gloves, pulling the curtain closed. Tommy watched you with intensity, like he was soaking in every detail he didn’t let himself look at the first time. You stepped between his knees again, and he felt his breath catch.
You lifted his chin with your fingers, and he went very still. The warmth of your skin through the glove seeped straight through him as your thumb brushed near the cut, not touching the stitches, just the skin nearby.
“You’re healing beautifully,” you said after a moment. “No redness, no warmth, no drainage. No signs of infection at all.”
Tommy’s chest tightened. “Oh,” he said quietly.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Any fever?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think it’s infected?”
Tommy hesitated. He shrugged. “Just… felt weird.”
You studied him for another moment, then let go of his chin. He missed the touch instantly and hated himself for it.
“It’s probably just the stitches tightening as the skin closes,” you said, stepping back. “Nothing to worry about.”
Tommy nodded. You started taking off your gloves. “I’m glad you came in, though. Better safe than sorry.”
He lifted his head slightly and saw the way you were smiling at him, like you were genuinely glad he was here.
His pulse thumped once, hard enough he felt it in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess so.”
You scribbled a quick note on the chart, then looked at him again with that same gentle calm that had snared him the first night. “How’ve you been feeling otherwise?”
He swallowed. “Fine.”
“You look tired.”
He let out a faint breath, something between a laugh and a grunt. “Been trainin’ a lot.”
“Fighting?”
“Yeah.”
“You should be careful with your face then,” you teased lightly. “I worked hard on that eyebrow.”
Your smile deepened, but Tommy’s didn’t, he had so many things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed to go past his lips. How could he be so brave in the face of death, but be scared shitless when it came to talking to you?
“If it gives you any trouble, come back.”
He met your eyes and held your gaze longer than he should have. “I will.”
Tommy didn’t even make it to his car. As soon as he pushed through the sliding doors of the hospital, he just walked across the parking lot, pacing back and forth.
He ran a hand over his face. This was stupid, he wasn’t a kid, he wasn’t some teenager trying to gather the courage to ask someone to the school dance. He wasn’t the kind of man who stumbled over simple things. He fought grown men in cages and rings, and gyms. He took punches that would break the average person’s skull. He’d lived through things that should’ve shattered him.
But asking you out? That terrified him. He paced faster, told himself to leave. Go home. Forget the way she looked at you. Forget the warmth in her voice.
He made it halfway to the edge of the lot before he stopped again. He realized he couldn’t stand the idea of you not knowing. Not knowing that you mattered to him. That you’d gotten into his head, his chest, deeper than you had any right to, and he didn’t want you out.
He turned around. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Alright. Go.”
He took a step and stopped. “What’s the worst that can happen?” he growled to himself. “She says no. That’s it.”
He could take rejection, he could take a hit. He could take anything, except the regret of not trying. He forced himself forward, and the automatic doors opened again. You were behind the nurse’s station again, writing notes. You didn’t notice him right away, you were concentrating, your bottom lip tucked slightly between your teeth in a way that made his stomach tighten.
Then you looked up, and your eyes found him. “Tommy?” you said slowly. “Did you forget something?”
He stopped halfway between the door and your desk. He stood there, looking big, broad, and intimidating to anyone else, and looked at you like you were the only thing in the room.
His voice came out rough. “Uh… yeah. Kinda.”
You waited, lifting your brows gently.
Tommy swallowed, feeling the hammering of his heart. He took a few steps toward you, each one careful, like he was approaching something fragile. When he reached your desk, he stopped again.
He cleared his throat. “I… wanted t’ ask you somethin’.”
Your eyes softened. “Sure. What is it?”
Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. He looked like he’d rather take a punch than say the words, but he forced them out. “You wanna… maybe go out… sometime? With me.”
The world didn’t end, and nothing exploded. He’d finally dared to say the words.
You shook your head slightly. Not a no, more like disbelief. “Tommy… I… I don’t think you really want to go out with me.”
He snapped his eyes to yours so fast the movement almost startled you. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “I do.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he beat you to it, leaning his elbows slightly on the counter as if closing the distance made it easier to say things he’d never said before. “I ain’t… good with this kinda thing,” he muttered. “But I been thinkin’ about you. Since that night. A lot.”
His words got your pulse jumping, and Tommy just kept going. “And I ain’t gonna pretend I’m not, or act like I came here for any other reason. I wanted to see you. Wanted t’ ask you properly. Didn’t wanna keep talkin’ myself outta it.”
You felt the warmth climb your chest and into your throat. He looked vulnerable, stripped down, unguarded. “Tommy…” you breathed.
He shook his head slightly. “You can say no. It’s fine. But don’t say it ‘cause you think I don’t mean it.”
You looked at him, and at the way his shoulders were tense, but his eyes were open, at the way he stood there waiting, bracing for a hit that wasn’t coming. And suddenly, saying no wasn’t even an option.
You said the thing that made his heart thump hard enough he actually felt dizzy for a second. “Okay,” you said softly. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”
Then his chest rose in a deeper breath, the kind you take when something heavy lifts off you. “Yeah?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling.
He looked down for a moment, then gave the smallest huff of breath. “When?” he asked.
“Whenever you want.”
“Tomorrow night,” he said instantly without hesitation. “If you can.”
You nodded. “I can.”
Tommy pushed a hand into his pocket, like he didn’t know what to do with it, then lifted his gaze to you again. “I’ll pick you up. Somewhere nice. Dinner.”
“Alright, Tommy,” you said softly. “Tomorrow night.”
He nodded once, firmly, like he’d just been given a mission, then he stepped back slowly. He didn’t want to leave just yet, but he needed to let you work. As he walked toward the exit, and for the first time all week, everything in him felt sure. He was taking you out, there was no turning back.
You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, at least not feeling the excitement warming your chest, not with that sense of anticipation that kept sneaking up, no matter how hard you pretended to stay calm. The bathroom mirror was fogged at the corners from your shower, and you had your hair pinned halfway up, with strands falling in curves around your shoulders. You were still in your towel, rushing from the sink to your bedroom to your daughter’s room and back again because, of course, your life never seemed to pause when you needed it to.
“Mommy, where’s my bear?” a small voice called from the other side of the hallway.
“On the bed, baby,” you answered, stepping into your room and rifling through your drawer for the necklace you swore you’d left on the nightstand.
The soft patter of feet followed you. “No, it’s not! He’s lost. I lost him, mommy. I lost him forever.”
You suppressed a laugh, leaning toward the mirror to swipe liner under your lashes. “He’s definitely not lost forever.”
Your daughter appeared in the doorway, her curls bouncing around her small face. Five years old and bright as a spark. She was wearing mismatched socks and holding three crayons in one hand, her frustration already forgotten as she saw the makeup scattered across your vanity.
“Are you gonna be a princess?” she asked, climbing onto your bed and bouncing once.
You smiled, grabbing your dress from the closet. “Not a princess. Just… Mommy on a date.”
She blinked. “What’s a date?”
You hesitated a moment. “It’s when you go out with someone you like,” you said finally, simple and honest.
She hummed, contemplating this deeply as only a child could. “Do you like him?”
The question hit more directly than expected, making your fingers pause on the zipper of your dress. “Yes,” you said softly, because you’d never been one to lie to her. “I think I do.”
You slipped into the dress carefully, a simple one, but pretty, black fabric that ended barely above your knee. You looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how long it had been since you felt this… alive.
Tommy would be here in less than twenty minutes, and you still had to put on shoes, finish your hair, grab your purse, check on your daughter’s dinner, and…
“Wait,” you said suddenly, turning. “Honey, did you brush your teeth after your snack?”
She froze, her eyes widening comically. “I forgot!”
“Go,” you said, pointing toward the bathroom and laughing.
She sprinted down the hall, and you moved fast, slipping into your heels, adjusting your dress at the waist, spritzing a little perfume on your wrist. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. It’d been so long since a man made you feel this anticipation… this excitement.
You checked your phone. It was 6:48 PM. and that meant the babysitter should be there any minute. Your daughter shouted something from the bathroom about SpongeBob toothpaste, but you didn’t have time to investigate, so you called back, “Rinse carefully!”
Just as you reached for your earrings, your phone buzzed. Great, that must be her.
You picked it up, but the second you saw the text, the smile you had on your face vanished.
babysitter: Hey! I’m SO sorry, something came up last minute. I can’t make it.
I know it’s late but I really can’t get away.
I owe you!!
You stared at the screen. No no no no no. You read it again, hoping maybe it would magically say something different the second time, but it didn’t.
You felt your stomach dropping, but you didn’t have time to sink, because your daughter came skipping back into your room, proudly opening her mouth. “See? Clean!”
“Yeah,” you managed to say, touching her cheek with a shaky hand. “They look great, sweetheart.”
She didn’t notice the tension in your voice, she was too little for it. She climbed back on your bed, reaching for her crayons, content while your entire night threatened to collapse.
Your date, your first date since… well, since before you had her. And a man who had looked at you like you were worth it, with a man who had paced a parking lot working up the courage. With a man who probabl wouldn’t understand if you suddenly cancelled right before he arrived.
You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, okay… think.”
Call another sitter? Impossible in ten minutes. Ask a neighbor? Not an option, you didn’t know any of them enough to trust them with your daughter. Bring your daughter? You laughed weakly at the thought. Absolutely not. What would he think if you suddenly showed up at the diner with your five-year-old daughter in tow… the same daughter you’d conveniently forgotten to mention existed?
Maybe this was your fault. You should’ve told him from the beginning, laid it all out before saying yes to the date. But you knew how it went: men in their early thirties didn’t exactly line up for single moms. Most of them bolted at the first whiff of responsibility that wasn’t their own. When Tommy had asked you out, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes, you’d just wanted one night to feel like someone else. Not the exhausted nurse, not the mom scraping by, just… you. nd, in any case, you weren’t planning to hide her forever. Just long enough for him to fall irrevocably, stupidly in love with you, so the news wouldn’t feel like a dealbreaker. So he’d look at Lila and see something worth staying for instead of an “extra package” to run from. Stupid, maybe. Selfish, definitely. But hope had a way of making you lie to yourself, and you’d been lying for weeks.
Your throat tightened, and the disappointment was rushing in, just when you’d been so excited. And now… A soft knock sounded on the door.
Your heart jumped. Tommy was already here. You froze in place, but your daughter hopped off the bed, excited to meet this mysterious man who was supposed to take you out on a date. “I’ll get it!”
“No—!” you called, but it was too late, trying to grab at her arm only to catch air as she streaked down the hall like a comet.
Your heels clicked on the floor as you chased after her, but by the time you reached the door, she’d already swung it open.
And there he was. Tommy, standing on your doorstep in the fading evening light, wearing a clean black jacket over a dark shirt. His hair was neat, and you could smell the faintest scent of cologne drifting with the cool air. He looked painfully good, so handsome and broad.
Your daughter looked up at him with awe. “You’re big.”
Tommy blinked once, then, one corner of his mouth tugged upward, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. He didn’t react outright to the little girl standing in the doorway. No flinch, no widening eyes, no flash of irritation or surprise that you’d braced for.
You searched his face, trying to read the unreadable. Was he that good at hiding it or did he genuinely not mind?
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess I am.”
You stepped behind her, catching your breath as his eyes lifted to yours. He stopped breathing for a moment, then he said, very quietly, “You look… beautiful.”
The words made you feel warm all over your body, but the panic returned in an instant. “Tommy,” you said, stepping into the doorway. “I—there’s a problem.”
His shoulders tensed slightly. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“My babysitter cancelled,” you said. “Ten minutes ago. I’m so sorry. I can’t leave her alone, and I can’t find anyone else, and—I’m really sorry, I know you came all the way here, I just… I can’t go out tonight.”
Your daughter leaned into your leg, looking between the two of you with curious eyes, sensing something was wrong but not quite understanding what.
Tommy flexed his jaw once. He didn’t seem angry, just thinking. He looked at you, then at your daughter, then back at you.
For a moment, you expected him to nod, say “it’s fine,” and leave politely, disappear into the night, and never contact you again.
But he didn’t, he stepped closer, lowering his voice to speak to you. “…then we don’t go out.”
Your breath caught, but Tommy held your gaze. “We can stay right here,” he continued softly. “We can order food. Talk. Watch somethin’ with her. Whatever you want.”
He wasn’t disappointed, he wasn’t irritated or backing away. He was offering himself into your real life, into the messy, chaotic truth of you. A truth that included a five-year-old girl.
You felt your throat tighten. “You’d… be okay with that?”
His eyes softened in a way that made your knees feel unsteady. “I’m more than okay,” he murmured.
You stepped aside, smiling despite everything. “Come in, Tommy.”
He did, Tommy stepped inside your house like a man walking into unfamiliar terrain. He took everything in quickly, the soft light of the living room lamp, the scattered crayons on the coffee table, the half-drawn pictures on the floor, the faint smell of laundry detergent in the air. Your home felt lived-in and warm. Nothing like his apartment with bare walls and empty shelves.
“So, this is Lila.” You crouched a little, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder as she peeked up at him with wide eyes. “My daughter.”
You straightened, offering him a small smile, the one that said. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I let it get this far without being honest. I’m sorry if this changes everything.
Tommy’s gaze dropped to Lila for a long beat, taking her in, then he lifted his eyes back to yours, and he pressed his mouth into a flat line, not quite a frown, not quite a smile, just acknowledgment. He gave a single, slow nod, the kind that said he’d heard you, he’d seen her, and he wasn’t running for the door.
Your daughter immediately sprinted back to the couch, climbing onto it, and bouncing once before plopping down with arms spread wide.
“Mommy! Can we watch the movie with the dragon?” she called.
You rubbed your forehead with a tired laugh. “Which one, baby? There are about four thousand dragon movies.”
“The one where the girl is a warrior!” Lila’s voice pitched higher with excitement, her tiny fingers ticking off each detail like she was checking boxes. “And she has a little dragon, and a black horse, and a cricket, and she fights, and—”
“That’s Mulan, baby. Why don’t you go look for it on the DVD rack? It’s probably with all the princess ones.”
Lila gasped, already spinning on her feet toward the shelf. Tommy stood awkwardly near the door, keeping his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shifting his gaze from you to your daughter and back again. He clearly didn’t want to intrude. His presence, normally towering, felt strangely tentative here, like he was trying to shrink himself out of politeness.
You stepped toward him, giving him a grateful smile. “Come in. Really. It’s okay.”
He nodded, stepping further into the living room. He lingered near the armchair, unsure if he should sit, wait, or stand at attention. Your daughter solved the dilemma by pointing at him and declaring loudly, “YOU sit THERE.”
Tommy blinked, and you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “Honey… let him sit wherever he—”
But he didn’t look offended, just startled. And then… a little amused. “Yeah?” he said quietly. “That my spot?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded, kicking her feet against the couch cushions. “You’re big. You need the big chair.”
Tommy glanced at the chair, then at her, then at you. His voice softened, it was clear he was making an effort into sounding less rough, especially when it came to speaking to a little girl, but clearly had not much experience in it. “Alright. Big chair it is.”
“WAIT! You have to ask it for permission first.” Lila pointed solemnly at the armchair, like it was a living thing that deserved respect.
Tommy paused mid-step, glancing around the room as if expecting someone to jump out and yell “gotcha.” No one did. He dropped his eyes back to Lila’s upturned face, completely serious. She stared right back, expectant.
He cleared his throat, and turned to face the armchair. “Can I sit down?” he asked, just doing what the kid said.
Lila’s face lit up like he’d passed some test. “It said yes!” she exclaimed, bouncing both legs so hard the couch creaked. “You can sit now.”
Tommy gave the smallest nod, and he sat carefully, as if the furniture might break under him. It didn’t, but the chair did creak in protest, earning a delighted giggle from your daughter. “It made a noise!” she squealed.
Tommy almost smiled, and you felt something warm spread slowly through your chest watching him try.
You picked up the phone. “Okay, how does pizza sound?”
Your daughter hopped up again. “Yes! Yes! Pizza!”
Tommy cleared his throat softly. “I can, uh… pay for it.”
You shook your head instantly. “No. Absolutely not. I feel too embarrassed already for ruining the date. I’m not letting you pay for takeout.”
He looked ready to argue, but your daughter tugged on the leg of his chair, distracting him. “Do you like cheese pizza?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Ain’t had pizza in a while,” he admitted.
Her eyes widened. “What? Why?”
Tommy opened his mouth, ready to explain that with training and fighting, he usually took much care into what he ate, but that seemed too confusing and complicated to explain to a five-year-old, so he lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “Just… don’t get it much.”
She gasped dramatically. “That’s SAD.”
Tommy blinked, and you burst out laughing. Slowly, he did too. A small exhale, a twitch of his mouth, a softening in his eyes. Like he didn’t remember the last time a child had spoken to him at all, let alone made him laugh.
You ordered the food while your daughter climbed onto the couch again, dragging a blanket with her.
You glanced at Tommy. “You okay with animated movies?”
He nodded, then frowned slightly. “Uh… can’t say I’ve seen a lot of ‘em.”
Your daughter gasped again as though this were a tragedy. “Mommy, he didn’t watch the dragon movies OR eat pizza?”
“Baby, I think he did eat pizza,” you corrected gently. “Just… not recently.”
“Oh.” She nodded as if this were a great revelation, then she turned to Tommy. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”
Tommy stared at her, unsure how to respond, then gave a tiny nod. “Alright.”
You slid the DVD inside the player and clicked play once the film had loaded. Tommy watched you sit beside your daughter on the couch, pulling her into your side. She rested her head on your shoulder immediately, humming contentedly.
“It’s about a girl who goes to war to fight really bad guys,” Lila launched in, barely pausing for breath, “and there’s a lucky cricket, and a funny dragon, and a horse, and the girl falls in love wi—”
You laughed, reaching over to gently tap the tip of her nose. “Baby, don’t spoil him too much, you’ll ruin the whole movie for him.”
Lila’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence, like she’d just realized the gravity of her near-betrayal. She clapped both hands over her lips, then whispered through her fingers, “Oops. Sorry, Tommy.”
Tommy, still sunk into the armchair like he belonged there, gave the tiniest lift of one shoulder, but his eyes flicked to you for a split second before he looked back at the screen. When the movie started, your daughter scooted forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, fully absorbed. Tommy sat stiffly in the big chair at first, with his back straight and his hands on his thighs like he was waiting for instructions. But after a few minutes, he relaxed a little, leaning back. His eyes flicked to you often in stolen glances he tried to hide. Watching you laugh, watching you smooth your daughter’s hair back, and the way you mouthed some of the lines because you’d clearly watched this movie a hundred times.
And then, unexpectedly, he laughed at something from the movie. It slipped out of him, a soft and yet rough sound that made your heart squeeze.
Your daughter gasped again with delight. “You laughed!” she shouted, pointing at him.
Tommy seemed startled. “Yeah.”
“Do it again!”
“That’s… not how it works.”
“Yes, it is!” she insisted.
You covered your mouth to hide the grin forming. “Honey, let him watch.”
She huffed dramatically and settled back down. Tommy shook his head once, faintly amused. There was a softness there, an unguarded warmth he didn’t usually show, but he couldn’t help it around you.
When the pizza arrived, you all moved closer to the coffee table. Your daughter took two bites before launching into a monologue about kindergarten and her favorite teacher and how she once fed a squirrel at the park and how she thinks dragons were real.
Tommy listened. Sometimes, he blinked slowly, not understanding a word she said about stickers and glitter, but he tried. He nodded at all the right moments, murmured “yeah?” and looked at you sometimes for translation.
Your daughter finally pointed at him with a crust in her hand. “Do YOU have a kid?”
Tommy froze and shook his head once. “No. I don’t.”
Your daughter nodded like this was reasonable. “You should.”
Your heart stopped when you heard those words, feeling your cheeks burn. “Honey,” you said firmly, but your daughter kept going.
“He’s nice,” she said to you, as if announcing it. “And he’s big and strong. And he sat where I told him. And he laughed at the movie. So he should be a dad.”
Tommy made a strangled sound in his throat, caught between confusion and embarrassment. You covered your face with your hands. “Oh, my God. Please, don’t mind her, you know how kids are, they just say whatever pops into their minds. No filter.” You laughed awkwardly.
Tommy’s ears were slightly red. “It’s alright.”
He wasn’t upset, ot uncomfortable, not really. Kids weren’t part of his world, he had zero practice, no blueprint for how to talk to them, what made them laugh, or what scared them off. But sitting here, in your old armchair, watching Mulan on the TV, Lila curled against your side… he didn’t feel out of place.It made sense in a way nothing else had in a long damn time. It all settled over him like something familiar, like he’d stepped into a room he hadn’t known he was looking for.
Your daughter munched pizza for a moment, then leaned sideways into you, already sleepy from a full tummy. You brushed her hair back, and Tommy watched your hand move gently over her curls. He watched your daughter’s eyes flutter closed, and how you lowered your lips to her forehead and whisper something soft.
As Tommy watched you with Lila from the armchair, something in his chest tightened, sank, really. He couldn’t look away, even though part of him wanted to. The way you brushed her cheek with gentleness, the way in which you spoke to her in that soft voice that made everything okay again, it was too familiar. Too close to memories he’d spent years trying to bury. He remembered his own mother like that: the gentle scrape of her fingers through his hair when nightmares kept him awakeunder the covers, the murmur of lullabies she sang until his breathing evened out. She’d looked at him the same way you looked at Lila now, fierce and protective, like the whole world could burn and she’d still stand between it and her kid. That primal, bone-deep love only a mother had fro her child.
When the movie ended and your Lila’s breathing had grown steady against you, you looked up at Tommy again. He was already watching you. “She’s real sweet,” he murmured.
You nodded gently. “Yeah. She is.”
“You’re good with her,” he said.
“I try.”
He shook his head softly. “No. You… you’re good. Real good.”
You smiled. “Thank you, Tommy.”
He swallowed, dropping his sight briefly to your daughter curled against you, then lifting again. “Thank you. For… lettin’ me stay.”
“Of course,” you whispered. “I’m glad you did.”
You lifted her carefully, and she made a soft little noise, a sleepy hum. “Let me put her to bed.”
Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Take your time.”
You carried her down the hallway to her room, tucking her under her blankets, kissing her forehead, and standing there for a moment watching her breathe, letting the peacefulness of it wash through you.
Then you went back to the living room. Tommy was sitting where you left him. He stood instantly when you appeared. You smiled and gestured to the couch. “Do you… wanna sit here? It’s more comfortable.”
He hesitated, but then nodded. He moved slowly, like he was afraid of breaking something, and took the spot on the couch’s far end, leaving a respectful amount of space between you.
You sat beside him, still warm from carrying your daughter, smoothing your dress over your knees. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You folded your hands in your lap.
“I’m really sorry,” you said gently. “That everything tonight got… messed up.”
Tommy’s brows pulled together, his expression denoting his confusion. “Wasn’t messed up,” he said.
“I mean… movie night? Pizza? That wasn’t exactly the dinner date you planned.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“You should’ve had a proper date.”
Tommy shook his head slowly. “This was fine. Better than fine.”
You searched his face, and could see clear as day that he meant it. As you swallowed, you dropped your eyes for a moment before lifting them again. “And… I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that I have a daughter.”
He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with the apology at all. “You didn’t have t’ tell me right away,” he said.
“I feel like I should have,” you continued. “It’s a big part of my life, obviously. And some men don’t want to deal with that. And I get it if it’s a deal breaker. I really do. So if you don’t want to see me again after tonight, or if it’s too much, or—”
“Stop.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through your words instantly. You looked up, Tommy was watching you with that same intense focus he had the night you stitched him up, like he was giving you his full attention because what you were saying mattered. “You think I’d walk away ‘cause you got a kid?” he asked quietly.
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Well, I would,” he said.
“What?”
He shifted a little closer, not much, but enough that you could feel his attention settle on you. “I ain’t the kinda man that scares easy,” he said. I’d be an idiot to walk away from you just because you have a kid.”
“My life is… complicated, Tommy.” And complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. Between the endless string of twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, and the nonstop orbit of a five-year-old who needed snacks, stories, bandaids, and bedtime songs all at once, you barely had scraps of time left for yourself. Forget carving out space for someone else. Dates? Conversations that weren’t interrupted by “Mommy, I’m thirsty”? A night where you didn’t collapse into bed? Those felt like luxuries
“Yeah,” he murmured. “So’s mine.”
You let out a shaky exhale, leaning back slightly into the couch. He watched you for another moment, then looked down at his hands. “Look,” he said slowly, “I ain’t been around… families. Not much. Not really ever. So I might be… awkward. Or quiet. Or not know what the hell I’m doin’ around little kids.”
“You did fine,” you whispered.
He huffed a soft laugh. “I talked to a chair.”
“She loved it.”
“Yeah.” His eyes softened. “I could tell.”
There was a pause before he said the next words. “I liked watchin’ you with her. You’re a good mom. It’s… nice. Seein’ that. Real nice.”
Something inside you loosened, unwound, melted, whatever word fit the way your heart warmed and softened all at once. You sighed, looking down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “So… you’re not scared off?”
“Not even close.”
You tried to smile, but the emotion in your chest made it tremble.
Tommy looked at your face, almost carefully, like he was trying to memorize something without making it obvious. “Why’d you think I wouldn’t wanna see you again?”
You hesitated, saying it out loud sounded stupid, but you’d been there before, when guys suddenly made up any excuse to get away with you the moment the word “daughter” left your mouth.
“Because… guys don’t usually want a woman who comes with… baggage.”
“I ain’t other guys. And your daughter isn’t baggage.”
“I didn’t want to… trap you into a situation you didn’t sign up for,” you whispered.
Tommy leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, turning toward you. “I asked you out, not some perfect single version of you. Not some pretend life. You. The real you. Whatever comes with that. So don’t go tellin’ me what I do and don’t want.”
Your lips parted slightly with disbelief about how nonchalant he appeared to be with it all. The room felt warmer suddenly, or maybe it was Tommy leaning closer. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, stripped of the walls he usually kept wrapped tight around him.
You nodded once. “Okay.”
He studied your face for another moment. “If tonight made you think I’d disappear… you don’t know me very well yet.”
“Then tell me,” you said. “Help me get to know you.”
His breath caught. No one had said that to him in a long time, maybe ever. He leaned back against the couch, glancing down as if choosing his words. “What do you wanna know?” he asked.
“Anything you want to tell me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… don’t talk about myself much.”
“I noticed,” you teased him.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, and he looked at your coffee table, your daughter’s drawings, the empty pizza plates… then back at you. “You make it… easy.”
Your heart warmed so deeply it almost hurt.
“What about you?” he asked suddenly, like he wanted the attention off himself as fast as possible. “What’s… your story?”
You shifted to face him more fully, tucking a leg under you. You told him small things, how you became a nurse after your mother because of how much you admired what she did for others, how long you’d lived here, one year now after you moved, because your old apartment had become too small for a little girl who practically climbed up the walls. You told him about long nights at the hospital, about balancing work and motherhood, about the challenges and the joys.
Tommy listened, and most importantly, he asked questions, simple ones, but thoughtful. He watched your eyes as you spoke, like the way you told your stories mattered as much as the stories themselves. He leaned in when something made you laugh, softening further each time.
You kept talking a little more, but then the conversation quieted. Not because it was awkward, but because there was a natural pause. Tommy shifted slightly, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Then he cleared his throat, a small sound but it was enough to draw your eyes to his.
“Can I ask you somethin’?” he murmured.
You nodded. “Of course.”
“It’s about her dad.”
The words were soft, almost reluctant. “You don’t gotta answer if you don’t want to,” he added quietly. “I ain’t tryin’ to pry. Just… curious.”
You inhaled slowly, the question you’d answered many times before, it was something everyone was curious about when you mentioned you were a single mom, but it still stung a little. You picked at the seam of a couch cushion before speaking.
“It’s okay,” you said gently. “You can ask.”
Tommy waited, giving you the silence you needed, not rushing you or pushing you. Just waiting. You folded your hands in your lap. “He wasn’t around much,” you said finally. “Not when I was pregnant. Not when she was born. Not after.”
Tommy’s eyes darkened, not with anger at you, but anger at someone who had hurt you without ever meeting you.
“He… disappeared,” you continued. “Called twice. Maybe three times. Always with excuses. And then nothing.”
“He ever meet her?”
“No.”
“Ever try?”
You shook your head. “I don’t think he wanted to. And I stopped waiting for him to.”
Tommy exhaled through his nose. He looked at your daughter’s photograph hanging on the wall, at her tiny shoes near the hallway, then back at you. “Sometimes…” he said quietly, “it’s better not havin’ a father at all… than havin’ a shitty one.”
The truth in his voicemade you shiver. There was something in the way he said it, in the rawness of your voice that made you believe he knew what he was talking about. “You say that like you know.”
He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but more like a huff. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”
You waited to see if he’d say something more, not wanting to look intrusive. Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor for a moment like he wasn’t sure where to start. “My dad… wasn’t exactly father of the year.”
You didn’t interrupt, and he kept going. “Man drank more than he breathed. Had a temper. Big one. My mom took most of it. My brother and I took the rest.”
You watched the pain flickering across his face, it looked like a wound that time had attempted to heal, but it was still somewhat open. “You have a brother?” you asked softly.
“Yeah. Brendan.” A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “Good guy. Real good.”
You could tell, immediately, how much that meant. “Your dad… he hurt you?” you asked carefully.
Tommy swallowed. “Yeah. A lot. Enough.”
“You can stop if you want to.”
He shook his head. “Nah. You asked about him. Just givin’ you the real.”
He leaned back slightly but didn’t put distance between you, just shifted into a position that felt more honest. “I figured out pretty young I had two choices,” he said quietly. “Learn how to hit back, or learn how to take a hit.”
“Did you hit back?”
“Eventually,” he murmured. “But… mostly I got good at takin’ them.”
The admission was so quiet that you felt something ache deep inside your ribs. “And then I got out,” he added. “Joined the Marines. Figured if I was gonna fight… might as well fight for somethin’. Do somethin’ that meant somethin’.”
“Did it?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It did. But it fucked me up too.”
Your heart tightened again. “Tommy…”
He didn’t flinch at the softness in your voice. If anything, something in his expression eased “Lost a lot over there,” he continued. “Friends. Brothers. Pieces of myself I don’t think are ever comin’ back.”
You didn’t speak. You just let him talk, let him unspool himself. “When I came home…” he shook his head. “Didn’t know how t’ be in the world again. Didn’t wanna talk. Didn’t wanna sit still. Just wanted to… disappear. Keep movin’. Fight, not think.”
“And now?” you whispered.
“Now I’m… tryin’,” he said. “Tryin’ not to run all the damn time. Tryin’ to… talk. A little.”
“You’re doing a good job,” you whispered.
He let out a tiny, disbelieving breath, almost a laugh. “You think so?”
“I really do.”
His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back, then he leaned back again, but only enough to exhale. “So yeah,” he said, returning to your earlier confession. “Sometimes missin’ father figures ain’t the worst thing. Sometimes it saves you from growin’ up broken. She’s got you, that’s enough.”
Your heart squeezed so hard you had to look away for a second, but he wasn’t done. “And if her dad walked away?” he said, voice softening in a way you hadn’t heard from him before. “That ain’t on you. That ain’t on her. That’s on him. He walked out on the best part of his life.”
Emotion swept through you, Tommy saw it, and he just held your gaze with a grounding calm.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this. It’s a lot.”
“Nah,” he told you. “You gave me real. I gave you real. That’s fair.”
Suddenly, he seemed to realize how dark it had gotten. He glanced at the window, blinking slowly, like he hadn’t meant to stay this long, like he’d slipped into your world and forgotten time existed.
“I should… probably go.”
You nodded, and he stood first, moving with a kind of heaviness, like leaving wasn’t as easy as standing up and walking out the door. You rose with him, smoothing your dress automatically as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Want me t’ walk myself out?”
“No,” you said. “I’ll walk you.”
You crossed the quiet living room together, his footsteps soft behind yours. When you opened the door, the night breeze slipped in. Tommy stepped out onto your small porch, and you followed him out. Tommy turned to face you. The porch light cast a gold glow across his face, catching the scar at his brow, the sharp lines of his jaw, and the softness of his eyes that he didn’t give to just anyone.
“Thank you for coming,” you said softly.
He huffed the faintest breath through his nose, almost a smile. “Thank you for lettin’ me stay.”
He took a slow step closer, and you felt the heat of him, he wasn’t touching you, but he might as well have been. Another step, he was so close now… close enough that if you leaned forward even an inch, your chest would brush his... close enough to feel his breath ghosting softly across your cheek.
“You’re real easy t’ be around,” he said quietly. “Feels… good. Bein’ here.”
Tommy watched the way your breath caught, and his eyes dipped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Can I…?”
The question trailed off, he didn’t even finish it. You lifted your chin just a fraction, giving him all the permission he needed with that small motion.
And Tommy moved, he stepped into you with intentionality, but still giving you every chance to stop him. His hand came up first, brushing your jaw carefully, grazing your cheek with his thumb. Then his other hand lifted to your waist, sending electric warmth spiraling up your spine.
He dipped his head, brushing your mouth, nothing but a careful press of lips that felt like a question. He tightened his hand on your waist gently, drawing you closer but not pulling you, just guiding. You felt his chest rise against yours, the tiniest shake of breath he didn’t mean to let slip.
You kissed him back, dragging a low sound from the back of his throat. His fingers slid from your jaw to your cheek, holding you like you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.
The kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or rough, but hungry in a quiet way, like he’d been holding back all night and this was the first crack. He stroked his thumb over your waist once, and then he moved his mouth from yours to the side of your lips, then lower, across your neck.
You gasped softly as his lips touched your skin, and Tommy froze for a split second, but you didn’t pull away. His lips found the curve of your neck, barely a kiss and almost like a breath, soft enough to make your knees weaken. He dug his fingers gently into your waist, holding you steady while he pressed another kiss, deeper this time, to the side of your throat.
You whispered his name without meaning to. “Tommy…”
His mouth paused against your skin, then he kissed one more time, he brushed his mouth just beneath your ear, and as he dragged his mouth up toward your jawline again, you placed your hand gently on his chest.
He stilled instantly, his body freezing, but not in rejection, in respect. “We should stop,” you whispered. “Before we get ahead into something we can’t finish.”
He stayed close for a few seconds more, with his forehead nearly touching yours and his hand still warm at your waist. Then he pulled back, and you watched a smile paint his face.
“I wanna see you again,” he said without a second of doubt.
Warmth bloomed in your stomach. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I want to see you again too.”
He exhaled a breath that almost sounded like relief, and held your hand a second longer, brushing his thumb across your knuckles, then he reluctantly let go.
“Goodnight,” he murmured, stepping backward down the porch steps.
“Goodnight, Tommy.”
He walked to his car, turning once to look at you again, before he opened the door. Even long after his taillights disappeared down the street, you could still feel his lips on your neck.
The week unfolded with a new brightness that was woven into the edges of your days. Tommy didn’t text often, but he did text, and that surprised even him. It started the morning after the kiss. You were making your daughter’s breakfast, half-awake, wearing pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, when your phone buzzed on the counter.
tommy:
Did you sleep good?
A simple message, but enough to light up your morning, to know he was still thinking of you first thing in the day. You smiled before you could help it.
you:
I did. What about you?
It took him a full minute to respond, you imagined him staring at his phone for a while, thinking for a long time before typing.
tommy:
Yeah.
Been thinkin bout last night.
you:
Me too.
tommy:
Good.
He texted again that afternoon, and the next day, and just enough the day after that. Never too much, or anything that felt forced. But every message felt sincere.
tommy:
How’s your girl doing?
you:
She’s good. She’s making you a drawing
tommy:
For me?
you:
Yeah, she’s been asking when she can see you again
tommy:
I’d like to see her soon
Both of you
By Wednesday, he started to send more than short answers. He’d ask about your day, about your daughter’s school, or what movie she watched that afternoon. You told him small things, and he surprised you almost daily by engaging, asking questions, and remembering details.
tommy:
She still likes dragons?
you:
Obsessed.
tommy:
What’s her favorite one?
you:
She likes purple ones with wings
tommy:
Friday.
I wanna take you out. If you’re free.
you:
I’m free.
tommy:
Good.
I got somethin in mind.
you:
Oh?
tommy:
There’s a big fair down by the water going on all weekend.
I used to love the fair when I was a kid.
you:
That sounds amazing.
tommy:
Thought maybe your girl might wanna go.
If that’s okay.
You blinked, like the words might rearrange themselves if you stared long enough.
You read the message once, then twice, then a third time. He wasn’t just asking you out again, wasn’t pretending Lila didn’t exist, or skirting around the obvious complication like so many others would. No, he was asking for both of you. This wasn’t avoidance or tolerance, this was him reaching out, deliberately, to pull her into the picture, to make space for her the same way he was making space for you.
you:
Are you sure?
I mean… I thought maybe you’d want us to do something alone.
tommy:
If your daughter’s important to you then she’s important to me.
Ain’t no part of you I wanna avoid.
You pressed a hand to your chest because the emotion hit too fast for you to brace for it.
tommy:
If you wanna do something alone we can.
But I want to know her if that’s okay with you.
you:
It is. It’s really okay.
tommy:
Good. Feels right.
you:
She’s going to be SO excited.
tommy:
I’m excited too.
Been thinking about this all week.
I want this. You, her, the whole thing. I wanna try.
You set your phone down for a second, pressing your palms into your eyes because the vulnerability and honesty were overwhelming.
you:
I want to try too.
tommy:
Friday.
Pick you both up around 5.
Friday evening came. The sky was painted in gold, fading into lavender. And Tommy stood on your porch holding a small stuffed dragon. You opened the door to find him wearing a dark jacket, jeans, and boots. His hair was a little neater than usual, and he’d shaved. He looked… good. Handsome and strong. But under his rough edges, he looked almost shy.
Your daughter came barreling toward him with the force of a hurricane. “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!”
He stiffened instinctively, just a fraction, then adjusted his stance like he’d prepared to catch a football. She skidded to a stop right in front of him, staring wide-eyed at the dragon in his hand.
“What’s THAT?”
Tommy looked down at it like he’d forgotten he was holding anything. “Oh. Uh…” He cleared his throat, then held it out awkwardly. “This is for you.”
Your daughter gasped with a sound so dramatic and joyful that it made you laugh. “For ME?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thought you might like it.”
She snatched it from him with both hands, clutching it to her chest. “It’s purple!” she squealed. “With wings like my favorite dragon!”
Tommy blinked in surprise at how much emotion a five-year-old little girl could hold in her small body. “Yeah. That’s… that’s why I picked it.”
Your daughter leapt immediately onto his legs, hugging him with the ferocity of a small bear. Tommy froze like his system had shut down, before slowly, carefully, lowering a hand to pat her back gently.
It was the single most cautious pat you’d ever witnessed, and you had to bite back a smile. “She likes you,” you murmured as you locked your door behind you.
Tommy looked almost startled. “Yeah? Really?”
“She loves the dragon,” you corrected softly. “But yes, she likes you too.”
He looked at your daughter again. “Good,” he muttered.
The fairgrounds exploded into color as you approached, with strings of lights arching over food stalls, the Ferris wheel turning in circles, people laughing, and music booming from the speakers of the carousel.
Your daughter’s eyes went wide. “There’s EVERYTHING here!” she screamed.
Tommy exhaled softly, looking around. “Ain’t been to a fair in years.”
“You said you liked them when you were little,” you said.
He nodded, drifting his gaze over the crowds. “Used to go every summer with my brother. Ride all the coasters. Eat too much shit food we got sick in the car on the way home.”
You laughed. “That’s how you know you did it right.”
Your daughter tugged his sleeve. “Tommy, can we ride the dragon ride? There’s a dragon there. LOOK.”
Tommy followed where she pointed, toward a kiddie ride shaped like a dragon winding in a small circle. He stared for a few seconds. “…Yeah,” he said. “We can do that.”
Your daughter grabbed his hand, and Tommy froze again. Then, slowly, like he was testing the waters, he closed his fingers around her tiny hand.
You felt something soften so deeply inside your chest that your breath caught. There he was, this big man, holding something so small and fragile. Lila’s tiny hand wrapped trustingly in his much larger one. No hesitation or awkwardness, it felt just… natural. Like he’d done it a hundred times before, even though you knew he hadn’t.
The ride line was short, just a handful of kids before you. Tommy stood rigidly beside your daughter in the queue, painfully aware of the parents around him. Every so often, he’d glance at you like he needed reassurance that he wasn’t doing something wrong.
He leaned close. “She’s… uh… allowed to ride by herself?”
You smiled. “She’s five, Tommy. She’ll be fine.”
“And you’re okay with this?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Go put her in the dragon car.”
He took a slow breath, nodded once like he was prepping for battle, and guided your daughter forward. She sprinted to the front, choosing the very first seat in the dragon-shaped car. She climbed in, and Tommy helped her buckle the seat belt, fumbling with it and double-checking the latch.
“Is it too tight? Too loose? You good?” he asked.
She giggled. “Tommy, it’s good!”
“You sure?” he insisted.
“YES!”
He finally stepped back just as the operator started the ride, and you moved to stand next to him. “That wasn’t so hard,” you teased.
Tommy crossed his arms, watching your daughter like a hawk. “I’m keepin’ an eye on her. This thing goes pretty fast.”
“It goes like three miles an hour.”
“She’s too little.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’re sweet with her.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the ride. “I’m tryin’.”
“She sees it.”
“Yeah? Hope so.”
The ride kept moving, and your daughter screamed in pure joy, waving at you both with enthusiasm. Tommy’s stance softened instantly, whenever she passed in front of him, he lifted his hand in a small wave. It was awkward, a little hesitant… but real.
You spent the rest of the evening wandering through the fairgrounds. Your daughter wanted everything, balloons, popcorn, glow sticks, and face paint.
She pointed at a balloon cart. “That one! The unicorn!”
Tommy crouched down beside her, lowering himself to her height with surprising gentleness. “Okay,” he said softly. “Pick one, alright?”
She pointed again. “That one!”
“Alright. Stay right here. Don’t move.”
He looked at you next, checking if he was doing it right. You nodded, and Tommy bought her a balloon. She shrieked with delight, hopping in a circle before grabbing his pant leg and wrapping her free arm around him in a sudden hug. Tommy froze again, but slightly less than before. His hand hovered, and then landed gently on her back, giving the lightest squeeze.
Later, you all sat on a picnic bench near the food stalls while Lila devoured a cup of ice cream. Her face was sticky, and she was humming between every bite.
Tommy watched her with awe. “She’s somethin’,” he murmured.
“I know.”
“You do a real good job with her.” His voice was quiet but still carried firmness. “Real good.”
You looked at him, and he didn’t look away. “You’re doing a good job too,” you whispered.
His brows lifted, and he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “I ain’t doin’ much.”
“You’re trying,” you said. “That’s more than most.”
He swallowed as his voice dropped to something almost vulnerable. “I don’t know how to… be around kids. Never had any. Never been around them.”
You touched his hand lightly. “She doesn’t see that. She sees someone who cares.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, looking at your linked hands for a long moment, brushing his thumb slowly across the back of your fingers.
Ten minutes later, your daughter had spotted the carousel next and dragged Tommy by the hand once more. This time, he didn’t freeze, he let her tug him along, only glancing back at you once to smile. When she chose the biggest horse on the ride, Tommy helped her climb up. You stood beside him, both of you watching your daughter beam, her hands gripping the pole and her legs swinging excitedly.
Around you, the carousel lights spun, the music filling the air, and your daughter laughing brightly. Tommy’s hand brushed against yours again, and this time he threaded his fingers slowly between yours. And as the carousel turned and your daughter laughed into the night, the two of you stood side by side, with your hands linked.
By the time the fair was winding down, the sky had turned a deep blue adorned with bright stars. The music softened in the distance as families drifted toward the parking lot.
Your daughter lasted exactly twelve minutes into the drive before sleep won. One moment, she was talking and giggling excitedly, with her balloon bouncing on her wrist and the dragon toy gripped in the other hand. The next, her head was slumped sideways, her breathing slowed, and the balloon slipped from her fingers and floated until it bumped the roof of the car.
Tommy looked back at her in the rearview mirror, the sight of Lila sleeping so peacefully softened his features so noticeably that your heart swelled.
“She out?” he asked.
You turned, brushing hair from her forehead. “Completely.”
Tommy drove the rest of the way with the volume turned low, one hand steady on the wheel, the other draped loosely on his thigh. He kept checking the backseat every few minutes, not out of worry, but something gentler, maybe even protective.
By the time he pulled up to your place, the night was quiet except for the soft breathing coming from your daughter’s seat. You reached for your purse, unbuckled your seatbelt, but before you even opened your door, Tommy was already out of the car and circling to the back.
“Tommy—” you began, following him.
He held up a hand gently, not to stop you, just to wordlessly say he’s got it. He opened the back door carefully. Your daughter was curled on her side, hugging the stuffed dragon to her chest, her lips parted in the softest sleep.
Tommy looked at her like she was something fragile and precious. He hesitated for half a second, checking with you. With a small nod, you stepped aside.
“I’ve got her,” he slid his arms under her tiny body with surprising tenderness. She barely stirred, only mumbled one sleepy sound as her head fell against his shoulder. Tommy adjusted her gently, supporting her head with one big and careful hand.
You had never seen a man so powerful move so delicately.
“She’s okay,” he whispered, like you might be worried. “She’s good.”
“She is,” you whispered back, trying not to melt at the sight of him.
He carried her through the parking lot, up the stairs, into the house, quiet as a shadow despite his size. In her room, you pulled back the blanket while Tommy slowly lowered her into bed. His movements were so careful it almost didn’t seem real, his hands easing away, fingers brushing her little curls by accident, freezing as if afraid he’d wake her.
She sighed, rolled onto her side, and hugged her dragon again. Tommy stepped back, relaxing only when he realized she was still asleep. His eyes held something strange and soft, a tenderness he didn’t think he had in him.
You whispered, “Thank you.”
He nodded, stepping out of the doorway so you could tuck her in. After a final kiss to her forehead, you turned off the light and closed the door behind you, leaving her in the warm quiet of her room.
The house felt different when you walked back into the living room with Tommy, more intimate. Tommy… he stood there like he wasn’t sure what to do now, like the vulnerability of the whole night had shaken him loose and left him standing softer than he meant to be.
You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Do you… want a beer?”
He paused, then slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
You grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge, popped the caps, and handed him one. He took it with the same care he’d shown carrying your daughter, brushing his fingers against yours for a second longer than needed.
You both sat on the couch, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, not close enough to touch
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
Tommy looked at you. “For what?”
“For tonight,” you whispered. “For the fair. For carrying her inside. For being so sweet with her.”
He stared at his beer like he needed something to focus on. “Ain’t nothin’.
“It wasn’t nothing,” you said gently. “It meant a lot.”
He took a slow sip. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Meant a lot t’ me too.”
You let out a breath, leaning back into the couch. “And I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.
Tommy snapped his head up. “For what?”
“For her asking for a million things,” you said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “For dragging you to rides and making you chase balloons and spill ice cream and—”
He cut you off firmly. “Don’t apologize for her. Or for any of it. I mean it,” he said, turning toward you fully now. “She’s five. She’s excited. She’s a kid. That’s how it’s supposed t’ be.”
You swallowed, feeling surprised at his certainty. “And you ain’t gotta be sorry for me bein’ there,” he added. “I wanted t’ be. She’s important to you, so she’s important to me.”
Your throat tightened again. “Tommy…”
“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted. “Not around kids. Not around… all this.” His hand gestured vaguely to your cozy living room, the toys in a basket, the tiny shoes near the door, the warmth he wasn’t used to. “I ain’t had much of it, but I’m tryin’. And I wanna keep tryin’.”
You felt tears threaten, not sad tears, but something warm and overwhelming. He wasn’t trying to impress you, he wasn’t performing. He was telling the truth. Tommy was offering you something you hadn’t dared to hope for anymore, a man who wanted all of you. Not just the easy nights when you could laugh and flirt without interruption, but every single tangled part, the messy, the real, the part that came with responsibility and no off switch.
He wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t making excuses or quietly fading away. He was staying, and he didn’t just look comfortable. He looked… glad. Truly glad, like being part of this chaos, this small and imperfect family you’d built on your own, was exactly where he wanted to be.
You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand found his, resting on the couch between you. His fingers froze for a second, then curved gently around yours, brushing the back of your hand in slow strokes.
“You did good tonight,” you whispered.
He huffed a breath, almost a laugh. “Didn’t drop her.”
“You did more than not drop her,” you said. “You listened to her. You were patient. She adored you.”
His jaw tightened with emotion he didn’t know what to do with. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I adored you too.”
He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, like he was trying to ground himself. “It’s been a long time since I… since anythin’ felt like this.”
“Like what?” you asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he looked at your hand in his. “Ease,” he murmured. “Warmth. Like I’m supposed t’ be here. In this room. With you. And her.”
Your chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.
“Tommy…”
He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, jaw clenching. “I ain’t used to that. I’m used to walls. Distance. Hurtin’ people or gettin’ hurt. But this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “This is… good. Scares the hell outta me.”
You slid a little closer on the couch, closing the space by inches. “It scares me too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your knees touched, and slowly, so slowly you felt every second, he shifted toward you, angling his body closer, his hand releasing yours only to slide up your arm, tracing a path so light it made your skin shiver.
You didn’t stop him, so Tommy leaned in a little more. The space between your mouths narrowed until you could feel his breath trembling with restraint.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, almost pained.
You didn’t even think. “It’s perfect.”
A low and relieved exhale escaped him, and then Tommy slid his hand to your jaw, curling his fingers behind your ear, guiding your face up as he leaned down.
The first kiss was soft, barely there, like he was remembering the shape of your lips before claiming them. He pulled back half an inch, resting his forehead against yours, and he kissed you again. Deeper this time, his mouth was warm and sure against yours, the kiss was unfolding like something he’d held back all night. You sighed into it, catching his shirt and pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat and moved over you, guiding your body backward until your spine met the couch cushions.
He hovered above you, braced on one hand, the other sliding around your waist, gripping just enough to feel the shape of you under him. You arched instinctively, making him groan.
“Jesus…” he breathed. “I want you so bad.”
Your breath hitched, before his mouth crashed back onto yours hungrily. He shoved his tongue deep, fucking into your mouth like he was starving for it, curling around yours until you moaned into him. His heavy body pinned you harder against the couch, but it still wasn’t enough. You hooked a leg high around his leg, yanking him flush, grinding up shamelessly so the thick ridge of his crotch slotted right against your soaked cunt through your clothes.
He groaned as his hips jerked forward on instinct. You could feel every obscene inch of him, rock-hard and straining painfully against the tight denim, the head of his dick throbbing insistently like it was trying to punch through the zipper just to get inside you. The rough drag of fabric between you only made it worse, his erection pulsing right where you ached.
“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, almost a growl. “You’re… you’re killin’ me.”
He moved his lips down your throat, each open-mouthed kiss leaving your skin on fire. Tommy slid a hand up your side, stopping just beneath your ribs, holding you like he wasn’t sure if he should pull you closer or let you breathe.
You arched your neck as he lingered on the curve where your pulse fluttered. “Tommy…” you whispered. He lifted his head instantly, checking you. You cupped his cheek. “It’s okay,” you breathed. “Just… not too far.”
His eyes darkened with both desire and restraint. “I know,” he whispered as he kissed you again, his nose brushing yours. “I know. I won’t. I swear.”
But his body pressed closer anyway, like he physically couldn’t stop himself. He rolled his hips forward in a slow grind, and when you didn’t pull away, he rutted into you shamelessly, with deep strokes that notched the swollen head right over your clit every time, chasing relief for the aching throb in his groin while stoking the wet heat between your thighs until you were clenching around nothing, desperate for more.
He kissed you, sliding his tongue against yours in lazy strokes that left your lips swollen and tingling. Again and again he came back for your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to sting, then soothing it with another slow lick, until your head spun and your whole body felt molten under him.
His hand roamed with tenderness, splaying his palm over your waist, digging his fingers in like he needed to anchor himself; sliding up to cup the underside of your breast, brushing the stiff peak through your shirt until you arched into it, then down again, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, pulling you tighter against the insistent grind of his erection.
He never shoved under your clothes, never rushed past the line, but every touch made your breath shake, like he was memorizing every inch of you while barely restraining the urge to tear everything off and bury himself deep.
His voice was low against your collarbone. “God, you feel good…”
His mouth traveled back to yours, capturing your lips one more time before he slowed, then stilled, breathing hard above you. He pressed his forehead to yours. “I should stop. Right now. Before I do somethin’ I shouldn’t.”
You cupped the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the short hair there. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He let out a shaky laugh. “If I stay any longer, I will.” He kissed you once more time before pulling back. “It’s late,” he murmured.
“I know.”
He pushed himself up off you slowly, like every inch of separation cost him something. Tommy dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the roots as if the sting might ground him back to reality. His chest rose and fell too fast from the way he’d been grinding into you like he could fuck you through the clothes if he just pressed hard enough.He shifted his weight, dropping one hand low to discretely adjust the thick, straining bulge in his jeans. The denim was stretched tight over his cock, the outline unmistakable now, still throbbing from all that relentless rutting against your heat. He tried to angle away as he stood, but you’d already felt every pulsing inch of him notched right where you ached most.
Tommy snagged his jacket off the back of the chair, then his eyes found yours, the look wasn’t polite. It said I’m walking out that door because if I don’t, I’m gonna bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until neither of us can stand.
He walked to the door, cupping your waist one last time. “You’re somethin’ else,” he said.
“So are you.”
He stepped outside onto the porch, breathing in the cool air like he’d been holding his breath beside you. “I’m seein’ you again,” he said, no hesitation at all.
“I hope so.”
“You will.” He paused, looking at your lips again with that hungry restraint. “Soon.”
You whispered, “Goodnight, Tommy.”
He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Goodnight.”
And he walked away slowly, every few steps looking back at you before getting into his car and finally pulling off into the night, leaving you breathless on your porch, and wanting him even more.
The next day, Tommy had texted you, already planning the next time he was gonna see you. Dinner, together on Friday night, this time only you and him alone.
Friday came fast, all week, your mind kept circling back to him. His hands on your waist, his body over yours, the way he whispered how good you felt. By Friday morning, you were already checking the clock too much. By the afternoon, you were useless, picking up the same objects twice, staring into your closet like none of your clothes were good enough.
Your daughter sat on the living room floor, drawing a dragon with concentration, her tongue sticking out just a little. You peeked around the corner and said, “Honey? I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t look up. “Is it about TOMMY?”
Your heart fluttered. “Yes,” you laughed. “About Tommy.”
She turned all the way around, looking at you with her big eyes wide open. “He’s coming to play dragons?”
“No, sweetheart,” you said gently. “Tonight he’s taking mommy out. Just him and me.”
Her mouth made a perfect O. “A date?”
You swallowed softly. “Yes. A date.”
She crawled closer on her hands and knees like a kitten. “But… why?”
Your heart melted at the blunt innocence. “Because I like spending time with him. And he likes spending time with me.”
She squinted at you like she was a detective. “Like friends?”
“Like… something that might become more than friends.”
She blinked, then asked the most important question in her mind. “Will he bring me more dragons?”
A laugh escaped you. “Maybe next time. Not tonight.”
She nodded solemnly. “Okay. But tell him I said hi.”
“I will.”
You kissed her forehead, ruffling her hair. “Now I have to go get ready, alright?”
“Can I watch you get pretty?”
You hesitated, but she was already scrambling to her feet. How could you say no?
You stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide between two dresses. Lila flopped dramatically onto your bed with a gasp.
“That one!” she declared, pointing to the dress you weren’t even holding.
You laughed. “Sweetheart, I’m not wearing the Christmas dress to go out.”
“But it sparkles!”
“It does,” you agreed, “but I don’t want to blind Tommy.”
She hummed thoughtfully, then poked your leg. “Wear the green one.”
That was the one lying across the back of your chair, a soft green dress that hugged your waist and was backless, simple but elegant. “You think so?” you asked carefully.
She nodded enthusiastically. “It makes you look like a princess.”
“Well… okay then.”
You slipped it on. Your daughter rolled onto her stomach with her chin in her hands, watching you like you were a princess from a movie. You brushed your hair, then curled a few pieces.
“You’re so pretty,” she sighed. “Tommy’s gonna FALL OVER.”
You choked on a laugh. “Let’s… hope not.”
Next came a tiny bit of makeup, nothing heavy, just a shimmer across your eyelids, mascara, a soft hint of color on your lips.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
You thought about it, lowering your hand after finishing applying your mascara. “Because I really like Tommy,” you admitted.
She nodded like she understood the weight of that. “It’s okay to like him.”
You smiled. “I know.”
“Is he going to be your boyfriend?” You froze, and her eyes widened at your silence. “Oh.”
You sat beside her on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back gently. “I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. “But… maybe in the future. If things go well.”
She considered this with the seriousness of a little kid. “Well,” she said decisively, “I like him. He’s big, but he’s not scary.”
“You don’t think he’s scary?” you teased.
She shrugged. “He’s nice big. Like a bear. Or a giant.”
“Well… I’m glad you like him,” you said, pulling her into your lap for a hug. “That means a lot to me.”
The babysitter arrived ten minutes early this time. They exchanged greetings, and Lila immediately began showing her the newest dragon drawing.
“You going somewhere fancy?” the sitter asked with a smile when she saw your dress.
You tried hard not to blush, imagining Tommy’s reaction when he saw you. “A little.”
“Well, you look great.”
Your daughter burst in before you could respond. “My mommy looks like a princess, and Tommy is her knight!”
You covered your face. “Okay, sweetheart, that’s enough.”
The babysitter laughed reassuringly. “Go. Have fun. She’s in good hands.”
You knelt to your daughter’s level. “Alright, honey. I’ll be home in a few hours. Listen to the babysitter, okay?”
“Tell Tommy I said he BETTER bring me a dragon next time.”
You laughed softly. “I’ll pass the message.”
You kissed her cheek, hugged her little body, and stood. As you grabbed your purse, you took one last deep breath and stepped out into the cool night air. The moment the door closed behind you, your heart began to race, and at the bottom of the stairs, leaning casually against his car was Tommy.
He straightened when he saw you, dragging his eyes slowly over you, taking in your dress, your hair, the soft color on your lips, and the look that crossed his face was equal parts heat and disbelief. “Jesus…” he murmured. “You look…” He swallowed like he needed a moment to compose himself. “…you look incredible.”
Your heart fluttered wildly. “You cleaned up nice too.”
“Ready?” He asked, you nodded and walked toward him.
Tommy opened the car door for you like he’d rehearsed it. The door swung open, his other hand hovering near your waist as you climbed in, like he wanted to help but didn’t want to presume. When he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you again, just a quick look.
“You look real good,” he said, catching on your lips for a half-second too long.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “You too.”
He huffed a quiet laugh like he didn’t quite know how to take a compliment. “I tried.”
The drive was smooth, Tommy kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped loose over his thigh. Every so often, you caught his eyes flicking your way, then back to the road, like he couldn’t help it.
After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “You nervous?” he asked.
You smiled at how transparent he could be around you. “Yeah. You?”
He didn’t even pretend. “Yeah,” he admitted. “A little.”
You rested your hands in your lap. “It’s a good kind of nervous.”
He glanced at you then. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”
After a couple of minutes, the restaurant came into view, and it was nicer than you expected. One of those intimate and romantic places that look like they come from out of a romantic movie.
Tommy parked the truck, got out, and walked around to open your door again. You took his offered hand as you stepped down. He curled his fingers around yours firmly, as if he didn’t want to let go too quickly.
Inside, you were seated in a small booth in the corner, with a candle flickering softly between you. Tommy sat across from you, his posture was alert but comfortable, you noticed it in how relaxed his shoulders looked. The table was small enough that your knees brushed under it, but neither of you moved them away.
“So…” you said, picking up your menu with a grin. “Do you come here often?”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You makin’ fun of me?”
“Maybe,” you teased.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t. Been here a few times. Figured it was… nice. For a real date.”
“I’m glad you brought me here.” You could see how much thought he’d put into it,how much this actually mattered for him.
He ducked his head slightly and focused intensely on his menu for a moment. After a few seconds, he said, “You can get whatever you want. Don’t hold back.”
You laughed. “What do you think I’m going to order? A gold-plated steak?”
He smirked. “Dunno. You look pretty fancy t’night.”
You laughed, and the sound seemed to soften something in him, his whole expression shifted into something almost boyish.
It didn’t take long for conversation to start flowing. You told him about your day, about Lila’s latest favorite movie, about the dragon drawings overrunning your fridge. Then you nudged lightly, “What about you? What did you do today?”
He took a sip of water, exhaled, and started talking, slowly at first, then progressively more comfortable as you coaxed him gently.
He told you about training, and you listened. “You must be exhausted after that,” you said.
“Not so bad,” he replied, shrugging. “Been doin’ it a long time.”
“Still,” you said. “You work hard.”
His eyes lingered on you. “You do too. Harder than me, I bet.”
You shook your head. “Tommy…”
“You do,” he said more firmly. “Raisin’ a kid, workin’ at the hospital. That’s real strength.”
The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.
“I’d like for you to come see me fight one day,” he said almost careful, like he was testing the words before letting them out. “I get it if it’s not your scene. But I promise it’s not at rough as it sounds.” He rushed the last part, like he didn’t want you to feel pressured, already giving you the out.
You tilted your head, smiling “I think I’d find it… interesting.” The word came out soft. “And if you don’t win, I’ll be right there in the front row with ready to patch you up. Might even kiss it better.”
Tommy let out a rough chuckle. “Nah. No way I’m losing if you’re there staring at me the whole time.”
Heat crept up your neck, but you held his look. “Then I’ll be the one cheering the loudest.”
Before he could respond, the waiter returned, and you both ordered. When the food arrived, you slipped easily back into laughter and conversation. Tommy told you about Brendan, sharing stories from his childhood, at least the few happy ones he could remember. Later, as plates were cleared and you shared dessert, you noticed the way he watched you, and how every now and then, your knees brushed under the table, and his breath would hitch for a split second before he leaned back in, unable to keep distance for long.
“You’re easy to talk to,” he said quietly at one point.
“You are too.”
He snorted. “I ain’t easy at anything.”
“You’re wrong.”
He looked at you, like he was trying to understand why you kept saying things that made his chest feel strange. “You havin’ fun?”
You didn’t even need a second to answer. “Yes,” you whispered. “A lot.”
You watched as the relief softened his features. “Good.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, then said, “I ain’t had a night like this in… a real long time.”
“Me neither,” you admitted.
When the bill came, Tommy reached for it before you even moved.
“Tommy, we could split—”
He shot you a look that said not to even bother finishing that sentence. “I asked you out,” he said, sliding his card into the leather folder. “I’m payin’.”
You raised your hands, surrendering. “Alright.”
He smirked. “Good.”
Outside, the night air was cool, he walked beside you, close, but not too close. His arm brushed yours once, and he didn’t pull away. You reached the car, and he opened your door again. When you turned to thank him, he stood a little too close. Close enough that you felt his breath and saw the flicker of heat in his eyes.
His voice dropped a fraction lower. “Still nervous?”
“Not as much.”
His gaze dipped briefly to your lips, then he stepped back letting you climb in. When he settled in the driver's seat, he drummed his fingers restlessly against his thigh, like he was trying to work up the courage to say something. He kept glancing at you, then back to his hands, then at you again.
You had to bite back a smile. “Tommy?” you asked softly.
His grip on his thigh tightened. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
He let out a low breath. “Yeah, I… yeah. Just…”
He looked at you then, like he was weighing the risk against his desire.
“Can I… ask you somethin’?” he said finally.
You nodded. “Of course.”
His rough voice was barely above a whisper. “You wanna… come over? To my place?”
For a moment, he didn’t breathe. He looked so nervous it was sweet. With his eyes faintly wide, and his grip tight, like he thought he’d just ruined everything and was bracing for the blow. But you had no doubt. In fact, you’d been waiting and hoping for him to ask exactly that. The night wasn’t ready to end, and neither were you. Your skin still felt hot from the memory of that last kiss on your couch, you’d replayed it too many times since, imagining what would’ve happened if Lila hadn’t been asleep down the hall.
“Yes,” you said quietly. “I want to.”
His exhale came out shaky and relieved. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” you repeated, smiling. “Take me.”
He let out a tiny and disbelieving laugh. “Alright then.”
The drive took only five minutes, but it felt like the air grew warmer with every turn. His apartment complex was modest, tucked behind some trees. He parked, killed the engine, and for a second neither of you moved. Then he got out and came around to open your door, because of course he did. As you climbed down, his hand lingered on your lower back longer than it needed to.
Inside, his apartment was clean and minimalist. The lights were low, but you could see a couch, a coffee table, and a dining table with four chairs.
He closed the door behind you and stood still for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should let you settle in or grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He chose the second.
Tommy stepped in close, allowing you to feel his breath warm against your cheek. “C’mere.”
You didn’t even have time to respond before his mouth was on yours, hungry and impatient, sloppy in the way you’d been craving. He slid his hands to your waist, pulling you in and pressing you against him. You responded by tangling your fingers in his shirt and pulling, and he groaned as he stumbled you backward until the back of your knees hit the couch.
You fell onto it with a soft gasp, Tommy followed, bracing himself with one arm above your head, the other gripping your hip as his mouth crashed into yours again. You tugged him closer by the front of his shirt and he deepened the kiss, settling his body partially over yours, pressing into you in a way that made your head spin.
He dragged his lips to your jaw, then your neck, his breath trembling against your skin. He whispered into the curve between your neck and shoulder. “Fuck… I want you so bad.”
Your fingers sank into his shoulders, feeling the strength there. Tommy kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your mouth. When you finally pulled back to breathe, your lips were swollen, his were flushed, and both of you were panting.
He rested his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, even as his hand slid over your waist.
You shook your head. “I’m not telling you that.”
He let out a strained laugh, kissing you again in a quick press. “Good.”
You leaned back slightly, still breathless. “Tommy… I need to tell you something.”
He froze immediately, his eyes darkening with concern. “What?”
Your hand slipped to his jaw, brushing the faint stubble. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve done this.”
“How long?”
Your voice came quiet. “Since my daughter.”
Tommy’s expression shifted instantly. The desire was still present in his eyes, but it softened into something more protective. “Since… she was born?”
“Yeah, I just… I was busy. A lot changed. I didn’t really date. I didn’t have time or energy for people who weren’t serious. And I didn’t want anyone around her who wasn’t safe or good. So… it just never happened.”
Tommy studied you for a long moment, and then a hand slid up to your cheek, brushing tenderly along your skin. “That’s okay,” he said softly, so softly it almost broke you. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“I just didn’t want you to think—”
“I don’t think anything bad,” he leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not one thing.”
You exhaled shakily, and he rested his forehead against yours until your noses were touching. “And if it helps,” he whispered, “it’s been a long time for me too.”
“How long?”
He shook his head. “Long.”
“Tommy…”
He sighed, brushing his knuckles down your cheek in a careful stroke. “Long enough that tonight feels… important.”
He kissed you again then. "Bedroom?" His touch on your cheek, grounding you even as his hips shifted subtly, grinding just enough to make you gasp. "We'll be more comfortable there. If you want."
You swallowed, nodding, your body already aching for more. "Yeah. I want."
He led you down the short hall, keeping his hand laced with yours. The bedroom was simple too, a bed that wasn’t too big with dark sheets, a nightstand with a half-read book and a water bottle, and a closet.
Tommy turned to you then, stepping close and backing you toward the bed. "You sure about this?" his eyes were searching yours in the dim light. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."
"I'm sure," you whispered, loud enough to be heard over your heart pounding. "I want you, Tommy."
That seemed to unlock something in him. He walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sat, and he followed, kneeling between your legs on the edge of the bed, his broad frame was towering over you in a way that made your thighs clench. Tommy ran his hands up your sides, brushing the undersides of your breasts through your dress.
"Can I take this off?" he asked, hooking his fingers under the straps of your dress. "Wanna see you. All of you."
You nodded, lifting your arms as he peeled the fabric up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling your nipples instantly under the thin lace of your bra. Tommy dropped his gaze to take you in. "Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself, like he couldn't believe you were real.
His hands came up, cupping your breasts gently at first, circling the stiff peaks through the lace with his thumbs. "These are perfect. You feel that? How hard you got me already?" He took your hand, bringing it to the front of his pants just so you could feel the hard press of his cock, already stirring to life.
You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping as he squeezed your tits, massaging them with a hunger that made heat pool between your legs. "Tommy..."
He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the swell of one breast. "Tell me if it's too much," he said between kisses, his voice muffled against you. "Or if you want it different."
"It's good," you breathed, threading your fingers into his short hair. "Keep going."
He unclasped your bra with one hand and slid it off, exposing you fully. His eyes met yours for a beat, checking, before he dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp, swirling slowly, sucking gently at first, then harder as you whimpered. His free hand worked the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to send jolts straight to your clit.
"Like that?" he asked, pulling off with a soft pop, his lips looking shiny and swollen. "Feels good?"
"Yes… god, yes," you panted, guiding his head to the other breast. He obliged immediately, latching on with a groan, sucking deeper this time, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud in a way that had you squirming.
Your heart melted at how attentive he was, how much care he poured into every single touch. He wasn’t just skilled, but considerate too. He knew you were nervous after so long without this kind of contact, without anyone touching you like this, and wanted you to feel good instead of just taking what he needed. Every time he checked in with you, it chipped away at the last of your hesitation. He wasn’t rushing, he was making sure this felt right for you, that you were enjoying every second, that the nerves twisting in your stomach turned into heat instead of fear. And god, it worked, the more he asked, the more he listened, the safer you felt.
His hands were everywhere, kneading, caressing, worshiping your breasts like they were the center of his world. He alternated between them, lavishing attention until they were flushed and aching, every lick and suck drawing out louder moans from you.
All the while, his body pressed closer, one knee nudging your thighs apart so he could settle between them. You felt the hard bulge of his cock against your inner thigh, but he didn't grind, he sucked harder on your nipple, flicking his tongue relentlessly while he trailed his hand down your stomach.
He paused at the edge of your panties, lifting his head to look at you. "Can I touch you here?" he asked, tracing the lace trim. "Tell me if it's okay."
"Please," you whispered, lifting your hips instinctively. "Touch me."
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips like he was relieved, like making you feel good was all that mattered. He cupped your pussy over the thin fabric, pressing his palm firmly against your mound, and you bucked into it, the friction sending sparks through you.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he murmured, almost in awe, as his fingers rubbed slow circles over your clit through the damp lace. "That feel right?
"Yeah… harder," you gasped, and he adjusted instantly, pressing more firmly, rubbing up and down your slit until the fabric clung to you, outlining every fold from how drenched you were. He went back to your breasts then, closing his mouth over one nipple again, sucking in time with his strokes.
You were writhing now, clutching the sheets with your hands, the dual sensations were overwhelming: his hot mouth tugging at your tit, nipping gently, while his fingers worked you over your panties, teasing your entrance through the barrier, circling your clit until it throbbed. "Tommy... more," you begged
.
He lifted his head, kissing the underside of your breast softly. "Want my hand under? Want my fingers inside you?" His eyes searched yours, always checking. "Or we can keep going like this if you want."
"Inside," you nodded frantically. "Please. Need you."
He kissed you, before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs slowly, like he was savoring the reveal. You kicked them off, spreading your thighs wider, exposed and dripping for him. Tommy groaned, settling back between your legs, one hand returning to your breast, kneading it gently while his other hand finally touched you bare.
His fingers were calloused, rough from training, but so gentle as they parted your folds, slicking through your wetness. "God, you're so wet for me," he rasped, circling your clit with his thumb while he teased your entrance with one finger. "This okay? Tell me how it feels."
"Perfect—keep going," you moaned, rocking your hips into his hand.
He slid one thick finger inside you deliberately, letting you feel every rough callus drag along your slick walls as he pushed in to the knuckle. The stretch was perfect, enough to make your breath hitch, not enough to overwhelm. He curled it upward immediately, hooking right against that swollen and spongy spot deep inside, pressing firmly until sparks exploded behind your eyelids and your hips jerked off the mattress on instinct.
“Like that, baby?” His thumb never stopped its relentless circles over your clit. “Feels good? Want it deeper? Tell me.”
“Deeper… fuck, Tommy, deeper,” you pleaded, your thighs already trembling around his wrist. “Another one. Please.”
He groaned against your breast, the sound vibrating straight through your nipple as he obeyed without hesitation. He withdrew just enough to line up a second finger, then pressed both in together, carefully stretching your soaked cunt wider. The burn was exquisite as your walls fluttered and clenched greedily around the invasion, when he sank them to the hilt.
Tommy paused there for a heartbeat, letting you adjust, letting you feel how full you were, how perfectly his fingers filled the aching emptiness you’d been carrying since that night on the couch. Then he started to move with slow pumps at first, dragging out almost to the tips before sliding back in, curling them hard against your g-spot on every upward stroke.
The wet squelch of your arousal filled the room with every thrust, loud enough to make your cheeks burn even as it turned you on more. He scissored his fingers gently between thrusts, spreading you open, working your tight walls until they softened and yielded around him, greedy for every inch.
His mouth found your tits again, he e latched onto one swollen nipple, sucking hard, hollowing his cheeks, flicking his tongue fast and mean over the stiff peak while his free hand kneaded the other breast, rolling the neglected nipple between fingers.
“Feels good?” he rasped against your slick, spit-shiny skin. His fingers were fucking you faster now, deeper as the heel of his palm was grinding down hard on your clit with every brutal thrust. “This what you need? Want me to curl ‘em more? Tell me, baby, I’ll give you anything.”
“Harder… fuck, right there, don’t stop,” you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders, bucking your hips wildly to meet his hand. “Right there, Tommy—”
He growled, the sound was feral, and he gave you exactly what you begged for. He slammed his fingers deeper, curling viciously against that spot on every stroke, slapping his palm wetly against your swollen clit with force. The pressure coiled tighter, a knot low in your belly that kept winding and winding until your whole body felt like it was vibrating on the edge.
He never let up on your tits, they were so sensitive now, flushed and aching, every hard suck and pinch shooting pleasure straight to your core, amplifying the rhythm of his fingers fucking you open.
Your thighs shook, your breath was coming in short and desperate sobs, and the coil inside you finally snapped.
“Tommy—I’m—fuck—I’m cumming—”
He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you through it harder, curling his digits relentlessly, grinding your clit in tight circles, sealing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard as your walls clamped down around.
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you in violent waves, forcing your back to arch off the bed, and your thighs to clamp around his wrist. A broken cry tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and gushed around his fingers, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything. Tommy kept fingering, kept grinding until every last tremor was wrung out of you and you collapsed back against the mattress.
Only then did he ease up, slowing his thrusts to gentle strokes, circling your oversensitive clit with feather-light touches now.
“Fuck… you’re beautiful when you cum,” he rasped as he slipped his fingers free slowly, leaving you empty and fluttering, and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan, never breaking eye contact.
"Need a second? We can slow down if—" He asked, but you didn't want slow down. The aftershocks of your orgasm only made you crave him more.
After five long years without the touch of a man, Tommy had woken something primal in you, a hunger you hadn’t even realized was sleeping inside your bones. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted like that, and now the hunger was awake.
Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt before he could finish, curling your fingers into the soft cotton and tugging upward. "No," you breathed. "I don't need a second. I need you."
Tommy lifted his arms, letting you peel the shirt off him. It hit the floor with a thud, forgotten instantly as your gaze raked over his bare torso. God, he was built like a Greek god, with his broad shoulders carved from years of training, every muscle defined and rippling under his skin. His chest was like a wall, you moved your eyes to the chiseled V of his abs, and the happy trail leading to the place you wanted to see the most.
Your hands explored him greedily, sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. "You're... incredible," you murmured, tracing the lines of his pecs, the way they flexed involuntarily under your touch. He was ripped, every inch of him honed to perfection, like a fighter's body should be, but up close, it was overwhelming. Powerful arms that could pin you down or hold you up, abs that tensed as you scraped your nails lightly over them. You leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone, inhaling the musky, masculine scent of him that made your head spin.
Tommy exhaled, settling his hands on your hips, squeezing gently as you worked lower. "Like what you see?" he asked, a hint of that rare, teasing half-smile in his voice.
"More than like," you replied, your voice a purr as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants. You popped the button, dragged down the zipper slowly, feeling the heat radiating from him even through the fabric.
He lifted his hips just enough to help you shove the pants down his thighs, kicking them off along with his shoes. Now he was down to his boxers, black and fitted, straining obscenely over the massive bulge of his cock. The outline was clear: thick, long, the head already pushing against the elastic, a dark spot of pre-cum soaking through where he'd been leaking for you.
You palmed him over the thin material, wrapping your hand around the hard length as best you could, feeling it twitch and throb under your touch. He was huge, veins pulsing under the fabric and against your palm as you stroked him slowly from base to tip.
Tommy tipped his head back for a second. "Fuck... yeah, just like that."
"I want it," you whispered, squeezing him a little harder, rubbing your thumb over the damp spot where his pre-cum had seeped through. The words tumbled out, bold and needy, your core aching anew at the thought of him inside you.
He looked down at your hand stroking his cock, and then he snapped his eyes back to yours. He reached down, covering your hand with his own, guiding you to stroke him firmer. "Take it," he rasped. "It's yours."
The words sent a shiver down your spine. You stroked him for a while longer, slow pulls that had his hips bucking subtly into your hand and his breaths coming ragged. You watched his face, the way his brows furrowed, how he parted his lips on quiet groans, how his abs flexed with every twist of your wrist. He was beautiful like this, undone, but still so controlled, letting you set the pace even as his cock wept more pre-cum, soaking your palm through the boxers.
Finally, you couldn't wait any longer. You pushed at his chest gently but firmly, urging him back. "Lay down," you said. "I want to ride you."
Tommy complied without a word, shifting up the bed to lean against the headboard, his body stretching out beneath you like an offering. He hooked his thumbs into his boxers and shoved them down, freeing his cock at last. It sprang up, thick and curved slightly, the shaft veined and flushed. Your mouth watered at the sight, god, he was perfect, bigger than you'd even fantasized, and you ached to feel him stretch you.
You straddled him quickly, until your knees were bracketing his hips, your slick folds brushing against his length as you settled over him. Tommy's hands found your waist, steadying you, but he didn't push, just held you.
"You set the pace," he murmured, eyes locked on yours. "Whatever feels good for you. I'm here."
You nodded, reaching down to grip him, lining him up with your entrance. The first press of his head against your soaked pussy made you both gasp, he was so thick, splitting you open inch by inch as you sank slowly.
"Oh god—Tommy," you moaned, bracing your hands on his chest, digging your nails into his pecs as you took him deeper. The stretch was exquisite, burning in the best way, your walls fluttering around him until you bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.
He groaned, tightening his fingers on your hips but not guiding you, allowing you to move however you pleased. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he breathed. "So tight. So wet for me. Take what you need, baby."
You started slow, rolling your hips in experimental circles, feeling every ridge and vein drag against your sensitive walls. The fullness was overwhelming, hitting spots inside you that made you see stars behind your eyes. You built a rhythm, lifting and dropping, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke.
Tommy watched you, transfixed as his hands roamed up to cup your breasts, flicking your nipples in time with your movements. "That's it," he encouraged you. "Ride me just like that. Does it feel good?"
"Yes—feels so good," you panted, speeding up, bouncing harder now, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your tits bounced with the motion, and Tommy couldn't resist leaning up to capture one in his mouth again, sucking hard as you rode him. The added sensation pushed you higher, and you took the lead fully, chasing your release, angling your hips to hit that perfect spot inside, grinding down until he was as deep as possible.
Tommy let you, his groans were muffled against your breast, his hips staying still beneath you, letting you use him however you wanted. But you could feel him throbbing inside you, his control fraying as your pace grew frantic. "Gonna cum," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to your chest. "Tommy—I'm close—"
"Cum on me," he growled against your skin, dropping one hand to rub your clit in tight circles. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock. Cum for me, baby."
Waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your pussy clenching around him as you cried out, shuddering. You ground down hard, riding out the orgasm, milking him with every pulse until you were boneless, collapsing forward against his chest.
That was when Tommy wrapped his arms around you, holding you close for a moment, kissing your shoulder as you caught your breath. But he wasn't done, not even close. You felt him shift beneath you, planting his feet flat on the mattress for leverage, gripping your ass firmly.
Tommy drove up into you with force. His cock slammed home in one punishing stroke, the head battering that spot inside you that made your vision go white and your breath punch out of your lungs in a broken cry.
“Fuck—Tommy—”
He didn’t slow down or ease up. He kept giving you relentless upward thrusts that lifted your hips off him every time before slamming you back down onto his length. His hands gripped your ass harder, digging his fingers into the flesh, spreading you wider so he could bury himself even deeper with every snap of his hips.
.“Still with me?” he growled. Even now, mid-fuck, with his hips pistoning like a machine, he checked. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“Too good—don’t stop,” you gasped. “Harder—please—”
“Like that?” he snapped his hips up harder, the head of his cock grinding against your cervix with every stroke. “You take it so fucking well. So tight.”
The bed creaked under the force as he continued to snap his hips with power, every drive stretching you wider, filling you completely. "Fuck—take it," he grunted, sweat beading on his brow, muscles straining as he pounded into your slick heat. "You feel so fucking good. So tight around me."
It was overwhelming, almost animalistic, his hands were bruising your hips as he held you in place, using your body to chase his release. You moaned brokenly, oversensitive but loving it, the slap of his balls against you echoing with the wet sounds of your arousal and Tommy's breaths that came in harsh pants.
“Fuck! Where do you want it?” he ground out, the words slurring together as he fought to keep control. “Tell me quick… can I… can I finish inside you? Need to know, baby. Right fucking now.”
You clenched around him on instinct and nodded frantically. “Inside,” you gasped. “Cum inside me, Tommy. Fill me up! Please.”
He groaned your name like a curse. “Fuck—can’t hold it—gonna cum—”
One last brutal thrust, holding you down so every inch of him was buried to the hilt, and he broke. His cock pulsed violently inside you, and soon thick spurts of cum were flooding your already soaked channel. He kept thrusting through it, nothing but short, jerky rolls of his hips that milked every last drop out of him, grinding his release deeper while your walls spasmed and clenched around him in aftershocks.
A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, shuddering beneath you as he emptied himself completely, “Fuck… take it all. All yours… all fucking yours.”
For long moments, neither of you moved, his softening cock was still twitching inside you every few seconds as the last pulses faded. “Still okay?” he murmured eventually, pulling you down so you lay fully on top of him.
You managed a shaky laugh against his neck. “More than okay.”
You didn’t want to break the moment. If it were up to you, you’d stay right there all night, wrapped in the solid heat of his arms, his big body curled protectively around yours, the thump of his heartbeat against your back making everything else feel distant. But the clock on his nightstand glowed, it was far later than you’d realized, and Lila was waiting with the sitter.
“I should get going,” you said softly, your voice was still a little husky from everything you’d just shared. “I wish I could stay longer, but Lila—”
“No, no, I get it.” Tommy cut in gently before you could finish, like he’d already anticipated the words. He pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. “She comes first. Always.”
He rolled off the bed. Naked and unselfconscious, he padded to the bathroom, you heard the faucet run, then he was back seconds later, with a warm, damp washcloth in one hand and a soft towel in the other. He knelt between your legs without a word. The cloth was warm against your sensitive folds as he cleaned you with careful strokes, wiping away the mess he’d made. Every few passes, he paused to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to the crease of your thigh, the soft skin just above your knee, the curve where leg met hip.
You shivered again, this time from the tenderness more than anything else. When he was done, he helped you sit up, steady hands on your waist. You reached for your dress, muttering half-heartedly, “I can do it myself—”
“Let me,” he said simply, already gathering the fabric. He slipped it over your head with surprising gentleness for someone so strong, smoothing it down your sides and zipping you up.
Then he stepped back into his own clothes, and finally dressed, he wrapped both arms around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder as he spoke low against your ear. “I had a great night,” he said. “Probably the best night I can remember in… a long damn time.”
You turned in his arms just enough to meet his eyes. “Me too,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his in a kiss. “It was… perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He kissed you back, deep but gentle, like he was memorizing the taste of you, then pulled away with visible reluctance. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
A/N: Soooo, here’s the fic based on an idea someone sent me a long time ago about Tommy Conlon and a single mom reader.
I was writing this and pasting each section into the draft as I went until it eventually reached the limit lol. It was originally meant to be longer and just one part because nobody reads series anymore apparently, but I guess now I’ll have to make a second part to include the rest of what I had in mind. Let me know if you’d like to read that, or if I should just leave it like this.
I feel like I poured a lot of personal details about myself into this, both into the reader and a bit into Lila as well. (Also, I have no idea how a five-year-old is actually supposed to speak or how much they understand about life, so just ignore that haha.)
