Summary: When Hank Palmer returns to his hometown for the summer, you’re home from college too—no longer a kid, no longer easy to ignore. What starts as harmless teasing turns into lingering looks and late-night conversations that feel too intimate. He’s your dad’s best friend. There’s an age gap. There are lines you shouldn’t cross. But the tension keeps building, and neither of you can pretend it isn’t there.
Warning/Rating: 18+; age-gap romance, dad’s best friend trope, slow-burn tension, emotional angst, divorce themes, power imbalance, small-town setting, lingering sexual tension, future smut
Word Count: 3.1 K
The Christmas tree in the living room looked the same as it had every year - white lights, red and gold ornaments, the angel on top that your dad had to use a ladder to place. But this year, you felt like you were watching it all from behind glass. Present but not really there.
You'd been home for a week now. Finals were over. The semester was behind you. And you were fifteen weeks pregnant with a small but undeniable bump that no amount of loose sweaters could hide anymore.
Your mom found you standing in front of the tree on a Tuesday morning, your hand resting on your belly - a habit you'd developed without realizing it.
"Sweetheart," she said softly. "You've been staring at that tree for ten minutes."
"Have I?" You blinked, pulling yourself back to the present.
She came to stand beside you, her arm sliding around your shoulders. "I know this isn't the Christmas you imagined."
"No." Your voice came out flat. "It's not."
"But it's still Christmas. And you're still here. And…" She placed her hand over yours on your belly. "This baby is still coming, whether we're ready or not."
You felt your throat tighten. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready."
"No one ever is." She squeezed your shoulder. "But we can start preparing. We can make this real in a good way, not just something you're dreading."
You looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean -" She smiled gently. "Let's go shopping. Let's look at baby things. Let's start building something instead of just waiting for it to happen."
An hour later, you were walking down Main Street with your mother, the December cold biting at your cheeks. The downtown was decorated for Christmas - garlands wrapped around lampposts, wreaths on every door, white lights strung across the street.
"I haven't been downtown in months," you said, pulling your coat tighter. The coat didn't quite close over your bump anymore.
"I know. You've been hiding." Your mom’s voice was gentle but firm. "And I understand why. But you can't hide forever."
You wanted to argue, but she was right. You'd been hiding since August. Hiding from your parents, from Hank, from the reality of what was happening inside your body.
"There." Your mom pointed ahead. "Baby Bliss. Let's start there."
The store was small and warm, painted in soft pastels. Through the window, you could see displays of tiny clothes, cribs, strollers, everything you'd need and hadn't let yourself think about.
"I don't know the gender yet," you said, hesitating at the door.
"Then we'll look at gender-neutral things. Yellows, greens, whites." She took your hand. "Come on. Just looking."
Inside, the store smelled like lavender and new fabric. Your mother immediately gravitated toward a display of onesies - soft cotton in pale green and butter yellow, with little animals embroidered on the front.
"Oh, look at this one." She held up a yellow onesie with a tiny elephant. "Isn't it precious?"
You touched the fabric, impossibly soft. "It's so small."
"Newborns are small." Your mom smiled. "You were barely six pounds. Fit in your father's hands."
The image made your chest ache. You tried to picture Hank holding a baby - his baby - and couldn't. He didn't even know this baby existed.
"Are you going to find out?" your mom asked, moving to a display of blankets. "The gender?"
"I don't know yet." You followed her, running your hand over a soft white blanket with yellow stars. "Does it matter?"
"Not to me. But some people like to know. Like to plan." She picked up a green sleeper with little ducks on the feet. "Your father wants to paint the nursery. He's been researching cribs."
"He has?" The thought of your father - who'd been so angry, so hurt - researching baby furniture made your throat tight.
"He's excited." Your mom’s eyes were soft. "We both are. I know this isn't how we imagined it happening, but you're our daughter. And this is our grandchild. We're going to love this baby so much."
You felt tears prick your eyes. "I'm scared."
"I know, sweetheart. But you're not alone." She pulled you into a hug. "We're going to do this together."
Twenty minutes later, you were standing outside the store with a small bag of purchases - three onesies, a soft blanket, a pair of tiny socks that made your mom tear up. The winter sun was bright, the air crisp and cold.
You stood in front of the window display, your hand on your belly again, looking at a white crib with a mobile of stars and moons hanging above it.
"That's beautiful," your mom said, following your gaze.
"It is." You could almost picture it - a nursery, a crib, a baby sleeping peacefully. For the first time in weeks, the future didn't feel quite so terrifying.
Then you heard footsteps behind you. Fast, urgent.
Hank sat in the back seat of his brother Glen's car, only half-listening to the conversation happening around him. Glen was driving, Warren in the passenger seat, both of them talking about the restaurant they were headed to for lunch.
"You even listening?" Warren turned around to look at him.
"Yeah. Restaurant. Lunch." Hank forced himself to focus. "Sounds good."
"You've been like this since you got here," Glen said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "Distracted. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just work stuff."
"It's Christmas break. There is no work stuff." Warren studied him. "This about Lauren?"
"No." Lauren was doing good. "Just tired."
Glen turned onto Main Street, driving slowly through the downtown traffic. Christmas shoppers crowded the sidewalks, carrying bags, bundled in coats.
Hank looked out the window without really seeing anything.
Until he did.
His brain registered it in pieces: a woman standing outside Baby Bliss. Dark hair. Familiar profile. Hand on her belly.
His heart stopped.
"Stop the car."
"What?" Glen glanced back at him.
"Stop the fucking car." Hank was already reaching for the door handle.
"Hank, what -"
But he was out before Glen could finish, the car barely pulled over, horns honking behind them. He didn't care. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
She was pregnant.
She was standing outside a baby store with her mother, visibly pregnant, her hand on a small but undeniable bump.
And he'd had no idea.
His feet carried him across the street before his brain caught up.
You spun around at the sound of his voice, and the world tilted.
Hank stood five feet away, his face pale, his eyes locked on your belly like he'd been struck. After four months of silence, after walking away without fighting, after leaving you alone with this - it was him.
The shopping bag slipped from your fingers.
"What are you -" You couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe. The sight of him after all this time, after everything, made your chest feel like it was caving in.
"You're pregnant." His voice was hoarse, disbelieving. His eyes hadn't left your belly - the small but undeniable curve visible even under your winter coat. "How far along?"
The question detonated something inside you.
"How far along?" Your voice came out sharp and loud enough that people nearby turned to look. "That's what you want to know? That's the first thing you say to me?"
"I -" He looked up at your face finally, and whatever he saw there made him take a step back. "I didn't know. I had no idea."
"Of course you didn't know!" You were shaking now, fury rising like a tidal wave. "Because you walked away! You left me standing on that dock and you never looked back!"
"That's not -" He ran his hand through his hair, his own voice rising. "That's not fair. Your father -"
"My father what?" You stepped toward him, your hands clenched into fists. "My father told you to leave and you just did? Without a fight? Without even trying?"
"Sweetheart…" Your mother's hand found your arm, but you shook her off.
"Don't." You kept your eyes on Hank. "Don't you dare make this about him. You made a choice. You chose his friendship over me."
"I was trying to do the right thing!" Hank's voice cracked. "I was trying to -"
"The right thing?" You laughed, and it came out bitter and broken. "The right thing would have been to fight for me! The right thing would have been to tell my dad that you loved me and you weren't going to just disappear!"
"I do love you -"
"You don't get to say that!" Your voice was loud enough now that a small crowd was forming, people stopping on the sidewalk to watch. You didn't care. "You don't get to say you love me when you walked away without a word! When you left me alone for four months!"
"I thought…" He looked desperate now, his hands reaching toward you before dropping. "I thought it was what you needed. Space. Time to -"
"What I needed?" The word came out like a scream. "I needed you! I needed you to be there when I found out I was pregnant and terrified and completely alone!"
His face went white. "When did you find out?"
"September." The admission felt like ripping open a wound. "Late September. I've known for almost three months."
"Three months." He looked like he might be sick. "You've known for three months and you didn't tell me?"
The accusation in his voice made you want to hit him.
"I tried to tell you!" Your voice broke. "I called you! Multiple times! But you blocked my number, so -"
"I didn't block you." He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking. "I never… I wouldn't do that."
"Don't you dare lie to me." You were crying now, hot angry tears streaming down your face. "I called you three times three weeks ago. It went straight to voicemail. No ringing. Nothing. You blocked me."
"I didn't!" He was scrolling frantically through his phone. "I swear to God, I didn't block you. I would never."
"Then why didn't it ring?" You were shouting now, and more people had stopped to watch. Your mother was trying to pull you away but you wouldn't move. "Why couldn't I reach you? Why have you been completely unreachable for four months?"
"I don't know!" He looked genuinely panicked. "I was in meetings - the merger meeting that week, my phone was off for six hours."
"So you're saying it was just a coincidence?" The word came out like poison. "That the one time I finally worked up the courage to tell you I'm pregnant with your child, you just happened to have your phone off?"
"Yes!" He stepped closer, his voice desperate. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying! I didn't know you were trying to reach me. I've been checking my phone every single day hoping you'd -"
"Well, I did reach out!" You shoved him, both hands against his chest, and he stumbled back. "I tried! And when I couldn't get through, when I thought you'd blocked me, I realized you'd made your choice! You'd chosen to erase me completely!"
"I didn't!" His voice was rough now, angry. "I didn't erase you. I've thought about you every single day. I've been -"
"Oh, you've been thinking about me?" You laughed again, harsh and broken. "How nice for you. While you've been thinking about me, I've been throwing up every morning. I've been lying to everyone. I've been going to doctor's appointments alone. I've been carrying your child and wondering if you even remember my name!"
"Of course I remember -" He reached for you and you jerked away.
"Don't touch me."
"Please." His voice cracked. "Please, just let me explain."
"Explain what?" You were shaking so hard you could barely stand. "Explain how you walked away without fighting? Explain how you chose the easy path? Explain how you've been in Chicago living your life while I've been here dealing with this alone?"
"I haven't been living my life!" He was shouting now too, his composure finally cracking. "I've been barely functioning! I've been - Christ, I've been in hell since August!"
"Good!" The word came out vicious. "Good! Now you know how I felt!"
"Sweetheart, please." Your mother was pulling at your arm now, her voice urgent. "People are staring. Let's go home and -"
"I don't care if people are staring!" You spun to face her, then back to Hank. "Let them stare! Let them see what he did!"
"What I did?" Hank's voice was rising again, defensive. "What about what your father did? What about the fact that he threatened me? That he told me to leave and never contact you again?"
"And you just listened!" You were screaming now, your voice breaking. "You just did what he said! Like I didn't matter! Like what we had didn't matter!"
"You did matter!" He was close enough now that you could see the tears in his eyes. "You mattered more than anything! That's why I left! Because I thought -"
"You thought what?" You shoved him again, harder this time. "You thought abandoning me was protecting me? You thought leaving me alone and pregnant was the right thing?"
"I didn't know you were pregnant!" His voice was raw now, desperate. "If I'd known…"
"If you'd known, what?" You were in his face now, your voice dropping to something cold and vicious. "You would have stayed? You would have fought? Or would you have just found another excuse to walk away?"
He flinched like you'd slapped him. "That's not fair."
"Fair?" You laughed, and it came out broken. "You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that I've been dealing with this alone? Is it fair that I thought you'd blocked me? Is it fair that I'm sixteen weeks pregnant and the father of my child is a coward who chose to walk away over me?"
"I'm not a coward."
"Yes, you are!" You were crying so hard now you could barely see. "You're a coward! You walked away without fighting! You left me alone! You -" Your voice broke completely. "You said you loved me and then you just left."
The words hung in the cold air between you, and for a moment, everything was silent except for your ragged breathing and the murmur of the crowd that had gathered.
Hank's face was pale, his eyes red. "I do love you," he said quietly. "I never stopped loving you."
"Then you should have fought for me." Your voice came out flat, empty. "You should have told my dad to go to hell. You should have called me. You should have." You stopped, wiping at your face with shaking hands. "You should have done literally anything except walk away."
"I know." His voice was barely a whisper. "I know that now. And I'm - I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this." You looked at him, at the devastation in his eyes, and felt nothing but exhaustion. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that I've been alone for three months. Sorry doesn't change the fact that you chose the easy path."
"Please." He reached for you again and you stepped back. "Please, just - let me be here now. Let me be part of this. I want to."
"What you want doesn't matter anymore." Your voice was cold now, final. "You made your choice in August. You don't get to change your mind just because you saw me on the street."
"That's not -" He looked desperate now, his hands shaking. "That's not what this is. I've been trying to figure out how to reach out to you. I've been -"
"For four months?" You cut him off. "You've been trying for four months and you couldn't figure it out? You couldn't send a text? An email? You couldn't drive down here and knock on my door?"
"I thought you hated me." His voice broke. "I thought -"
"I did hate you." The admission felt like ripping out your own heart. "I do hate you. But I also…" You stopped, your hand moving to your belly. "I also have to think about this baby. And I don't know if I can trust you to be here. I don't know if I can trust you not to walk away again."
"I won't." He stepped closer, his voice urgent. "I swear to God, I won't walk away again. Just - please. Let me prove it."
"No." The word came out firm, final. Your mother's arm was around your shoulders now, pulling you away. "No. I can't - I can't do this right now."
"Please." He was following you now, his voice desperate. "Please, just - can I call you? Can we talk about this?"
"I don't want to talk to you." You turned to face him one last time, and the look on your face made him stop in his tracks. "I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear from you. I need - I need time to figure out what I'm going to do. And I need to do it without you."
"But the baby -" His voice cracked. "That's my child. I have a right."
"You have a right?" The words came out like a slap. "You gave up your rights when you walked away. You gave them up when you left me alone for four months."
"That's not -" He looked like he was drowning. "That's not how this works. I'm the father. I have -"
"You're a sperm donor." The words were cruel and you meant them to be. "That's all you are right now. And if you want to be anything more than that, you're going to have to prove it. And I don't know if you can."
His face crumpled. "Please. Please don't do this."
"I'm not doing anything." Your voice was empty now, all the anger burned out. "You did this. You made this choice. Now you have to live with it."
Your mom was pulling you away now, guiding you down the street toward where you'd parked. You let her, your legs moving automatically.
Behind you, you could hear Hank calling your name, his voice breaking. You didn't turn around.
"Sweetheart," your mom said quietly as you reached the car. "Are you -"
"I'm fine." You weren't fine. You were shaking so hard you could barely stand. But you got in the car anyway, your hands gripping the door handle.
Through the window, you could see Hank still standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by staring strangers, his face pale and devastated.
He looked destroyed.
Good.
Let him feel what you'd felt. Let him know what it was like to be abandoned. Let him understand what he'd done.
Your mom started the car and pulled away from the curb, and you watched Hank disappear in the rearview mirror.
And for the first time in three months, you felt something other than sadness.
You felt powerful.
You felt strong.
You felt like maybe you were going to survive this after all.
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being a kid and hearing adults say stuff like "woah 2011 was 4 years ago haha" didn't really convey the fucking horror of a youtube video crossing my recommended labelled "9 years ago" and it's from 2017. that's not true. 9 years ago is 2010 or something. don't lie.
Summary: When Hank Palmer returns to his hometown for the summer, you’re home from college too—no longer a kid, no longer easy to ignore. What starts as harmless teasing turns into lingering looks and late-night conversations that feel too intimate. He’s your dad’s best friend. There’s an age gap. There are lines you shouldn’t cross. But the tension keeps building, and neither of you can pretend it isn’t there.
Warning/Rating: 18+; age-gap romance, dad’s best friend trope, slow-burn tension, emotional angst, divorce themes, power imbalance, small-town setting, lingering sexual tension, future smut
Word Count: 1.1 K
The anger carried you through finals week, through the last papers and presentations of the semester. But by mid-December, as campus emptied for winter break and your dorm room grew quiet, the fury began to crack around the edges.
You stood in front of the mirror in your room, your shirt pulled up, examining the undeniable curve of your belly. Thirteen weeks. Almost fourteen. The bump was small but present - no longer something you could attribute to bloating or too much pasta. This was real. This was a baby.
This was Hank's baby.
And he didn't know.
"You can't hide this forever," you said to your reflection. To the baby. To yourself.
Chelsea was packing for her flight home to Boston, folding sweaters into her suitcase with practiced efficiency. She glanced up at you. "You're thinking about telling him."
It wasn't a question.
"I have to." You dropped your shirt, turning away from the mirror. "I can't… I can't make this decision alone. He has a right to know."
"Do you want him to know? Or do you think you should tell him?"
"Both. Neither. I don't know." You sat on your bed, pulling your knees up carefully. "I'm so angry at him, Chels. I'm furious. But he's still the father. And I keep thinking - what if I don't tell him and the baby asks about him someday? What do I say? That I never gave him the chance?"
Chelsea set down the sweater she was holding. "Okay. So you tell him. How?"
"I don't know. Text feels wrong. Email feels worse." You picked at the edge of your comforter. "I think I need to call him. Hear his voice. Let him hear mine when I say it."
"And if he doesn't answer?"
"Then at least I tried."
Chelsea studied you for a long moment. "You're scared he won't care."
"I'm terrified he won't care." Your voice came out small. "That he'll just confirm that I was never worth fighting for. That this baby isn't either."
"Then he's an asshole and you raise this baby with people who do care. Your parents. Me. Everyone who actually shows up." She came to sit beside you. "But you won't know until you try."
You pulled out your phone, staring at Hank's contact. The last text was from August. I'm sorry. I wish things were different.
"Not today," Chelsea said gently. "You're not ready today. But soon."
Hank sat in the conference room on the forty-seventh floor of the high-rise, staring at the merger documents spread across the table without really seeing them. His phone was in his briefcase, powered off per firm policy during client meetings. The meeting had been going for two hours already, and his mind kept drifting.
December. Four months since the lake house. Four months since he'd walked away from the only good thing he'd had in years.
He wondered what she was doing. If she was home for winter break or still at school. If she was seeing someone new - someone age-appropriate, someone who wouldn't destroy her family.
If she ever thought about him.
"Hank?" His partner's voice cut through his thoughts. "Your thoughts on the liability clause?"
He forced himself to focus, to engage, to pretend he was present.
But his mind kept circling back to her. It always did.
Three days later, you were alone in your dorm room. Chelsea had left for Boston that morning. The building was nearly empty, most students already gone for break. You were leaving tomorrow, driving home to spend the holidays with your parents.
But first, you needed to do this.
You sat on your bed, phone in hand, staring at Hank's contact. Your thumb hovered over the call button.
He has a right to know.
You can't hide this forever.
Just do it.
You pressed call.
The phone didn't ring. It went straight to voicemail. His voice, recorded months ago, asking you to leave a message.
You hung up without speaking.
Network issue, maybe. You tried again.
Straight to voicemail. No ringing. Just - nothing, and then his voice.
Your heart started to pound.
You tried a third time, your hands shaking now.
Voicemail. Immediate. No rings.
The realization hit you like a physical blow.
He'd blocked you.
Not silence. Not distance. Active rejection. He'd taken steps to ensure you couldn't reach him. To erase you completely from his life.
"No," you whispered. "No, no, no."
You tried again, desperate now, knowing it was pointless but unable to stop.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
The phone slipped from your hands onto the bed. You stared at it, at his name on the screen, and felt something inside you shatter.
This was different from the lake house. Different from him walking away. This was intentional. This was him choosing, actively and deliberately, to shut you out.
The anger that had been holding you together - the fury that had felt like armor - cracked wide open.
And underneath it was just devastation.
You curled onto your side, pulling your knees up as much as your belly would allow, and the sobs came from somewhere deep and raw. Not the quiet crying you'd done in September. This was desperate, broken, the sound of something fundamental giving way.
He'd blocked you.
He'd made sure you couldn't reach him even if you tried.
You were carrying his child and he'd blocked your number like you were a telemarketer. Like you were nothing.
The crying turned to gasping, your chest heaving, your whole body shaking with the force of it. You pressed your face into your pillow to muffle the sound, but it didn't matter. There was no one here to hear you fall apart.
The meeting finally ended at four-thirty. Hank gathered his papers, shook hands with the clients, and made his way back to his office. His paralegal had left a stack of messages on his desk - opposing counsel, a client, his ex-wife about the custody schedule.
He powered on his phone, watching it come to life.
No new messages. No missed calls.
He told himself he wasn't disappointed. Told himself he hadn't been hoping.
But late at night, alone in his apartment, he'd pull up her contact and stare at it. Wondering if he should reach out. Wondering if she'd even want to hear from him.
He never pressed call.
He'd forfeited that right when he'd walked away.
He set his phone on his desk and turned to the stack of messages, forcing himself to focus on the work in front of him.
He had no idea that three hundred miles away, she'd just tried to call him four times.
He had no idea she was pregnant.
He had no idea she was falling apart.
He just went back to work, the same as always, while the distance between them grew wider with every passing moment.
something so special about someone who takes their time to make you come. not edging you, but showing you patience and eagerness in learning how to unravel you. mumbled sweet words to coax your attention back on them when you're getting into your head about 'taking too long'. if anything they just scoff, maybe getting angry on your behalf for whoever made you feel this way in the past. as if getting to taste and feel and worship you for hours isn't the best thing that ever happened to them. their intention is not to push you over the edge in record time but to get to know you inside out, no matter how long it takes. they rather come untouched in their pants than to stop giving you everything you deserve and more. your pleasure is their pleasure.
if your animal is lying on the floor, furniture etc, it’s important to take a picture of them. then, if they move or shift in any way, it’s important to take another picture. with this technique, you can take many pictures of your animal
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