#Declan O’Hara imagine

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

[stellamarielu]

we shouldn't

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: you probably shouldn't be stealing glances at your best friend's dad. but you DEFINITELY shouldn't be sitting on a kitchen table with him between your legs.

content: nsfw, 18+, smutty smut smut smut, age gap, dirty talk, fingering, best friend's dad just hits different i'm sorry

author's note: i saw a comment that said declan definitely talks you through it and i couldn't agree more. so here we are!

—

You sit stirring the cup of tea in front of you in an effort to keep your hands busy. You had found yourself in your best friend’s kitchen on a Saturday night only she wasn’t home. So instead of spending your evening with her, you were now having a cup of tea with her incredibly dreamy father. Although this was a scenario you had dreamt about, you hadn’t come over here expecting to see Declan.

You were here because Taggie had once marveled over the local produce available at the farmer’s market held in town so you grabbed some earlier that morning with the intention of dropping it at the Priory for her. You knew going into town was a bit of a drive for the O’hara’s and you lived a block away from the market, so it was an easy task for you. You showed up at her front door expecting to hand her a bag full of veggies and were instead met by her brutally handsome father.

You hadn’t lived in town long but from the second you and Taggie met there was an unspoken friendship solidified between the two of you. The bond was most likely due to the fact that you were both twenty-something year old girls in a town full of middle-aged married couples. Nonetheless you enjoyed each other’s company. She taught you how to bake blueberry muffins from scratch and you helped her take a step back from her responsibilities and let loose from time to time. It was a win-win. 

What Taggie didn’t know was that you and her father had been shamelessly flirting with each other for weeks. 

It started with stolen glances at Declan when he would walk around the house shirtless. His broad shoulders and hair covered chest had you in a trance, so much so that it took you a minute to notice when he caught you staring. Wearing a smug expression he threw you a quick wink before walking out of the room, his small chuckle echoed in his absence and you knew you were fucked. 

Ever since that day the two of you shared many coy smirks, crude jokes and light brushes of the hands but nothing beyond that. You couldn’t deny how badly you wanted him. You knew it was wrong to think that way about your best friend’s dad. You knew it but you kept thinking about what he would be like in bed. God- you were such a bad friend. 

So now you were sitting in the kitchen of the Priory without Taggie. She had failed to mention that she had a job catering one of Valerie Jones’ parties tonight. Of course, when you realized she wasn’t home you offered to leave the groceries and head back home but Declan insisted on you staying for a cup of tea. You joined him in the kitchen watching his large hands fumble with mugs and tea bags and thinking about other places his rough hands would work well. Jesus you couldn’t even let the man perform a simple task without drooling over him. It would have been ridiculous if it weren’t for the way his lips turned up into a cheeky smile knowing you were watching his every move. The smug bastard knew the ways you thought about him and he relished in it.

“Taggie normally tells me when she has a gig.” You state still stirring your tea.

“This came up last minute” Declan stood at the kitchen counter sipping whiskey, he wasn’t much of a tea guy.

“Even I was surprised. She hasn’t been workin’ weekends as much since you’ve come into the picture” He finishes speaking taking another swig of his drink.

“You’ve somehow done the impossible task of gettin’ that girl out of the house and enjoyin’ her life on Saturday nights. I’ll forever be grateful to you for that.” He raises his drink to you causing a small laugh to leave your lips.

“Yeah well, Taggie’s a good time. I don’t think you give her enough credit” You finally stop messing with the spoon in your hand and take a small sip of the tea in front of you.

“While that may be true, I think you help her come out of her shell. You’re just so-“ he stops and just stares at you for a moment like he’s trying to think of the word he wants to say. 

“lively.” He finally says.

you smile at the adjective. 

“And vibrant and captivating” He abruptly sets his glass on the countertop and begins slowly walking in your direction.

“You’re absolutely stunnin’, you know that?”

You feel your heart begin to race as he comes to stand in front of you. 

“I keep tryin’ to push away the way you make me feel.”

“But it’s impossible to ignore when I walk into a room and immediately feel your presence. So bright and mesmerizing.”

You feel frozen by his words. You’ve played out this exact moment in your head every single night but never imagined it would come to fruition. Now Declan is standing just inches away, the tension palpable.

“Not to mention you’re always fuckin' here.” He waves his hands gesturing to the massive home you’ve both found yourself alone in tonight. “Always around remindin’ me of what I can’t have” 

The words barely come out of his mouth before you’re on your feet slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. His lips crash onto yours and he wastes no time savoring the taste of your lips. His kiss is hungry and methodical, and you think you might melt. 

He breaks away for a split second,

“We shouldn’t” he says breathless but then his lips are back on yours in an instant, showing no signs of stopping. 

“Declan. Please” You practically beg him to keep kissing you.

It must be the way you say his name because he throws any restraint he previously had out the window. Picking you up and sitting you on the kitchen table in one swift movement.

His hands find their way up your skirt lightly gripping your thighs, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on your skin just inches away from where you really wanted him to touch you. 

He leans in close whispering coarsely in your ear

“I’ve dreamt about this.” 

The attention of his lips shifts from a soft whisper to a gentle kiss right below your ear. 

“Me too” you admit.

Your voice is breathless as he continues placing kisses down your neck every now and again nipping and suckling at the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. 

“Tell me love, what is it you think about?” He says sending sweet vibrations into the crook of your neck.

“Do you think about me touchin’ ya?”

He runs his hands roughly up and down your thighs pushing your skirt up so that it’s bunched at your hips.

“Do you think about how good I could make you feel hmm?”

The words coming out of his mouth have you all but dripping between your thighs. His hands find the hem of your underwear, playing with the material between his fingertips he tugs them down your legs at a painfully slow pace. 

He pulls away so his gaze is on yours. Your foreheads meet as his hands find their way back to your thighs, carefully spreading them open just a bit more. 

“I think about it constantly” 

He takes his time trailing his fingertips up your inner thighs, so gently that the featherlight touch makes you shiver. The corner of his mouth curls into a smile knowing the effect he has on you. 

You almost squeal when you feel his pointer finger circling your entrance. He keeps it there, taunting you with anticipation.

“How your cunt would feel wrapped around my fingers” 

He lets his digit sink inside you with the slightest pressure. The gentleness of his touch contradicting his dirty words. 

Your eyes fall shut and you let out a soft moan of relief. 

The sound of pleasure causes him to add another finger. He curls them in just the right way making you grab at his forearm and whimper his name. He keeps playing at the spot that elicited such a strong response from you causing you to squirm in pleasure. 

“God you feel s’good. Your pretty little cunt squeezin’ my fingers like that. Can’t imagine how you’d feel on my cock”

You bite back a groan at his words. If he kept talking to you like this, you might cum in record time. 

He picks up the pace of his fingers, moving them at a deliciously perfect rhythm. You squeeze your eyes shut focusing on the pressure building in your abdomen. 

“Look at me love, I wanna see ya.” His voice is low and rough.

You open your eyes and it takes everything in you not to come undone at the sight. His curls falling in his face, his jaw slack, and his eyes clouded with lust.

“That’s it, s’pretty for me” 

You’re putty in his hands at this point, sitting on his kitchen table, legs spread wide, One of his hands on the back of your neck holding you steady the other inside of you. 

As if the carefully arched thrusts of his fingers weren’t enough to push you over the edge, he begins gliding his thumb over your clit. The added sensation makes your body jolt and you fight to keep your eyes open.  

His movements work together like a perfectly timed symphony and you find yourself reeling closer to the edge of ecstasy. You moan Declan’s name again, an indulgent praise, and he groans in response. You’re so close, the tension in your body is looking for release causing your thighs to clench around Declan. 

The fullness of his fingers inside of you and the constant attention on the bundle of nerves between your legs has you seeing stars. But it’s the filthy words he speaks to you that finally finish the job.

“Atta girl.”

“You’re doing s’good”

“Let go for me”

With those words you feel the tightness in your core come undone and let out one final drawn out sound of pleasure. You’re clenching and dripping and heaving and Declan is just staring. Forehead still resting on yours, breathing heavy, he softly smiles and places a gentle kiss on your lips. 

It takes a few moments for you to regain some sort of composure and then you finally speak,

“We’re fucked”

“We are so so so fucked, I can’t believe how fucked we are.” You allow your internal dialogue to spill out. 

Declan just chuckles darkly. 

“Perhaps we are.” He toys with your skirt still gathered at your hips.

“But if we’re goin’ down we might as well have a little more fun.” Chuckling through his words he picks you up off the table so your legs are wrapped around him and begins carrying you upstairs.

“If you thought I was done with ya love, you are sorely mistaken”  

my masterlist

[ladywuvly]

𝜗𝜚 press release (declano’hara x journalist!f!reader)

summary|| Being part of Corinium has always been a dream come true. However, when your boss, Tony Baddingham, brings on board the boisterous Irishman from the city, you realize that your once pleasant workplace is about to change for the worse. wc: 5.5k

warnings|| MDNI; 18+ content, smut, infidelity/cheating, dirty talk+swearing, size kink, fingering/oral/spanking (f!receiving), choking, unprotected sex (p!v), rough sex, bodily fluids (cum), agegap, begging, breeding;

masterlist. socials. recs.

Declan O'hara; an Irishman, determined journalist, cutthroat talk show host, loving father, and devoted husband. 

As well as the most sexy, intelligent man you'd ever met. 

The time you'd spent working at the studio, you'd never met anyone like him. Compared to him, James Vereker looked like a schoolboy, and Sebastian Burrows a child. Declan O'Hara had been more man than anyone you'd met, and it was hard to ignore. 

The way his voice carried around the office. It was earthy, his vowels were long and soft, but there was a flatness that gave it roots. You'd come accustomed to it, echoing around the building the more he tested Lord Baddingham and Cameron Cook. 

It had been New Year's Eve the first time the two of you had spoken. You were leaving early for the day, hoping to get a table at your favorite restaurant before going back to your humble abode. 

You entered the elevator turning around to press the lobby button only to be met with the front of Declan O'hara's chest. 

Taking a quick step back before you crashed straight into him, he crowded your space, pushing you farther into the elevator. 

"Floor." His voice was harsh, as it hummed in your ears. The look on his face was stern and impatient. 

"Excuse me?" You asked in confusion. 

His face relaxed and his voice softened. "Which floor, love?"

oh! "Lobby." You said quickly, stepping to the side, creating more space between the two of you.

The ride down felt awkwardly long, the tension lingering. You anxiously stood next to him. Fixing the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder and adjusting the jacket folded across your arm. 

His gaze, not leaving you as the elevator continued its descent. You definitely could feel the way his eyes shamelessly gawked at your figure. The buttons on your blouse became tighter, and the length of your skirt suddenly felt too short. 

"Declan." His name broke the silence, causing you to look over at him. His hand was stretched out toward you, waiting for your own. 

You hesitated before reaching out, and when your fingers brushed, shocks shot through your hand. You mewled out your name, followed by a "...nice to meet you".

With a nod of his head, you bitterly slipped your hand from his, letting it fall back to your side. 

Casually eyeing you up and down. His gaze raking over you, his eyes seem to betray a mixture of desire and restlessness. 

There was something so enticing about you and the more he looked at you, the more his interest piqued. All this time he'd been working here and he hadn't noticed a woman like you walking around. 

The silence dragged, and he felt the words build on his tongue. "Are you going somewhere?" He asked.

"What?" You answered, surprised he was still speaking to you. 

He chuckled deeply at your tone, leaning his shoulder against the wall, getting closer. His head turned in your direction, his gaze fixed intently upon you. 

"For New Year's, are you going somewhere?" He repeated slowly, his eyes never leaving yours once as he waited for a response. 

The lilt of his voice made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The Irish was thick and sultry on his tongue, his accent like rolling thunder.

"I was going to dinner." You answered hesitantly, unsure why he was even asking. In the soft light of the elevator, he took in the details of your face, the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fidgeted nervously. 

You were a quiet one, most women he'd come in contact with had done anything to gain his attention. Yet you stayed quiet, reserved, shy. A woman so beautiful, so… alluring, could have easily caught his eye, yet he'd never even noticed you. "Was?"

"I'm afraid I've waited too long, missed the reservation window." You told him, and he chuckled again. That earthy sound that seemed to completely fill the space. 

Taking in a deep breath, you were suddenly encompassed by his scent, a mix of musk, and tobacco, something manly. You'd never known a man to have such a presence, the way he filled the room made you feel so small next to him. 

"Pity." He hummed, the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile, his gaze roaming your face slowly, taking in every fine feature. "You should come by my wife's party tonight, then. She's invited the whole office, you're welcome to join." 

"Thank you, Declan. That's very kind of you." You said quietly, your eyes falling down to the floor. The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around in a panic. 

Did he just invite you to his house for New Year's?

Your mind was still racing, unsure of how to respond. You had just met the man, but the way he was looking at you made your head feel fuzzy, and you couldn't bring yourself to say no. 

The thought of spending an evening in his presence was both thrilling and terrifying. "Of course..." You stuttered, trying to keep your voice steady. "...I'll try and make it."

As soon as the words left your lips, a satisfied smile spread across his face. "The party starts at eight o'clock." He spoke, tilting his head. 

The elevator dinged loudly, signaling that you'd reached the lobby. The doors opened slowly and Declan stepped out of the lift. "I hope to see you there." His accent seemed to make his words sound almost teasing as he said his farewell, and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. 

I hope to see you there…

The words echoed through your mind like a mantra.

The doors started to close, blocking him from sight, and it brought you back to reality. You quickly shot your arm out to stop them from shutting and stepped into the lobby, taking a deep breath. 

The party was in full swing, and you arrived in the midst of it all. It was a typical extravagant upper-class party, the house was lit with an array of colorful, sparkling lights. The house was filled, everywhere you looked there was a person.

You caught glimpses of unfamiliar faces, all blending together into a sea of strangers. You took a moment to look around the room, in search of that familiar head of dark chestnut hair. 

The warm ambiance of the room helped ease the tension in your shoulders, and you couldn't help but hope, looking for any sign of Declan, he wasn't a hard man to miss.

Despite the crowd, it didn't seem like Declan was anywhere to be found. You couldn't help but wonder where he was, the thought of spending the night searching for him made you anxious. 

Across the room, leaning against the wall beside his daughter's, was Declan; his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the room with a watchful eye. His gaze roamed over your figure shamelessly, taking in the way your dress clung to you. 

Your petite frame, the way your skirt hung around your thighs, the length of your hair. There was a shyness, something timid and he fixated on your body, the way your eyes darted around the room.

A loud commotion caused everyone to turn their heads in the direction of the entrance to the living-room. A woman dressed in a bright green dress entered, riding in on a camel?! 

"Jesus christ." Declan said, the sound of his voice drawing you to him.

He stood a few feet away, dressed handsomely, his dark hair slicked back, and a hint of a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. He was wearing a crisp, tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, and a pair of trousers that hugged his muscular legs. The sight of him was almost intoxicating.

The crowd of guests parted as the woman in the vibrant green dress dismounted from the camel. Cheers erupted throughout the room as she stood there victoriously. You watched as people congratulated and welcomed her. 

Your eyes went to Declan, seeing his gaze had already made it back to you. Standing solely amongst the crowd, looking like a mouse in the center of a lion's den. 

He almost looked embarrassed, Declan could feel his shoulders tense in annoyance, a scoff escaping his lips. He hated when Maud did things like this, rightfully so when he was the one paying for it. It was one thing that had initially attracted Declan to her, but now, it felt like an old pony trick. 

He'd never understood her need for attention. There was no doubt in Declan's mind that this party was more for her than it was for their son. She was thriving off it, soaking up every last bit. He clenched his jaw, frustration building within him. 

The night pressed on. The room slowly returned to its normal pace as people continued with their conversations, drinks in hand. 

The guests now mingling together comfortably, the music softer, more gentle. The lights were dimmer now, allowing for a much more intimate setting. 

Declan, stood among the others, and his eyes caught sight of you once more. 

You were sitting on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you. A soft smile appeared on his face as he watched you, unable to take his eyes away. 

You looked up, your eyes meeting his as he approached. "Having fun?" He asked, his deep voice, gravelly and laced with whiskey. 

He gives you a charming smile as he steps closer, his gaze drifting down your figure, pausing at the low plunge of your dress before returning to your face.

Taking a seat next to you, he leaned back, his body turned towards you; his eyes drifting over your figure. 

A sly smile tugged at his lips as he watched you blush under his intense stare. He chuckled gruffly, finding your reaction endearing. The way you tried to hide your bashfulness, but couldn't help the way your body betrayed you.

He noticed the way you fidgeted nervously. It made his heart swell in his chest. He couldn't help but enjoy the effect he had on you, as your cheeks flushing an attractive shade of pink. 

The tips of your ears burned when you realized just how close he was. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on him while resisting the urge to look away.

Why the hell was he looking at you like that?

He was older than you, a man of authority and power, and yet, right now he made you feel like a shy schoolgirl with a crush. You couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at you this way, like you were the only person in the room

"I'm glad you decided to come tonight." He spoke low enough that nobody else could hear him but you. His voice rumbled in your ears, and sent a shudder through your body.

His gaze drifted down to your neck, a soft smirk forming on his lips as he watched the chill run down your spine. 

"So am I. Thank you, for inviting me ...and for the booze." 

He continued to look at you, his gaze roaming over you openly without any shame or reservation. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving your face. You were a sight to behold in this light, soft skin, wide eyes, it was almost hypnotizing. 

"You look lovely." He hummed, his eyes still wandering over you. His gaze was intense, his voice deep, and velvety. 

You thanked him softly, your breath catching in your throat when you noticed the desire in his burning gaze. His body was pressed up against you; his thighs touching yours, you could feel each breath with the rise and fall of his chest against your arm. 

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, the tension in the air thick. You tried to distract yourself, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that made you feel like a bird trapped in a cage. 

Your heart rate quickening, and a warmth spreading through your chest. His gaze felt like a physical touch, making your skin tingle. His deep voice rolling off his tongue, the sound was like a low rumble, making your body hum with something you'd never felt before.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He asked, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, quiet, meant just for you. 

"Y-yes." You managed to stutter, your heart racing. "Quite."

"You looked a bit lost earlier." He chuckled in reply, his eyes never straying.

"Not lost." You confessed, your voice small in the presence of his dominating aura.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer, his body almost pressed flush against your shoulder. "Then what?" He asked, his voice now a mere whisper, deep and seductive  

His hand reached out, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his touch linger for a moment longer than necessary. His fingertips were rough but warm, as he gently brushed the hair behind your ear.

You could feel his hot breath against your neck, his eyes fixed upon you intently, like a man possessed. You tried to maintain a sense of composure, but it was difficult when he was this close to you, his face was inches away from yours.

He was close enough that you could make out every small detail; the indentations in his lips, the faint shadow of stubble around his jawline, the way his eyes seemed to darken with each passing minute.

"I've noticed you've spent most of your evening alone." He began, his lips almost brushing your ear. 

His fingers still playing with the loose locks of your hair, his knuckles just barely grazing your skin. You felt your heart skip a beat at his touch. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment too long, leaving your skin buzzing with electricity. 

He leaned back, his demeanor calm and collected, but a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I haven’t been a very good host, have I?" He said softly, taking a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on you.

For a moment, the room around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this secluded little corner. The sounds of chatter and laughter felt distant, as the world seemed to slow to a halt. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked back at him. He was watching you again, his eyes boring into yours, drinking you in. Your body was alive, your skin burned where it touched his. 

He was older, more experienced, and had a presence that demanded attention. There was something dangerous about him, like a predator stalking its prey. Yet, he was charming and smooth, and there was an undeniable attraction pulling you to him. 

"Declan..." You stuttered, feeling your nerves kicking in.  

His eyes scanned your face, pausing briefly on your lips. His dark eyes seemed to look right through you, and you found yourself unable to pull away from him.

"Just hear me out..." He rushed, his hands getting comfortable as they slid down your hips, but the glimmer of his wedding band on his finger made your stomach sink. 

You stood up quickly, stumbling as your legs adjusted to the amount of alcohol you'd consumed. "No... I-I don't... you're married, Declan."

Declan watched as you stumbled, a look of surprise etched on his features. He stood up quickly, reaching out to catch you, his hands gripping your waist for stability.

He held you like that for a moment, your eyes filled a mix of fear and contemplation. His fingers tightened involuntarily against the softness of your hip. The heat from his touch burned through the fabric of your dress.

"Wait-" He spoke, his voice a deep grumble, almost primal, that made your hairs stand on end.

"Let me go..." You muttered breathlessly, trying to break free from his firm grasp. He held you tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip.

He paused for a moment, his jaw clenching, his eyes flickering down to your trembling lips. He slowly let go of your waist, his hands lingering for a moment before they fell.

He still had you trapped, a few feet from the nearest group of people, the only way out was through him. His breathing was uneven, hot against your face, and the only thing you could hear was your heart thudding loudly in your ears.

"Can we just go somewhere quiet …to talk." His voice was commanding, but laced with desperation. 

You swallowed hard, the thought of being alone with him made your heart skip a beat. 

You gave him a slight nod, and his body turned, angling away from the crowd.

He slowly began making his way through the crowd, his hand resting on your lower back, gently guiding you. 

Everywhere his skin met yours left you burning, his touch sending a wave of fire through you. He led you through the room and into a hallway.

The music and chatter faded as you turned the corner, and suddenly it was just the two of you. 

Declan pushed a door open at the end of the hallway, guiding you into what appeared to be his office. You stood awkwardly for a moment, the room was small but cozy, a desk and a chair were positioned in the corner along with a leather couch.  

The glow of a lone desk lamp illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows across the walls - which were covered in framed pictures; various awards, certificates, and one lined in bookshelves.

He leaned his back against the door, and for a long moment he stayed silent, watching you. His eyes were sharp underneath the dim light, his lips parted slightly, before his jaw clenched.

He couldn't keep the desire hidden, he let his eyes roam up and down your body. The way the dress hung on your hips, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the way your hair fell around your face. It was enough to drive him mad. 

He looked relaxed yet on edge. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a deep breath. This time there was something different in his eyes, something you couldn't quite place. Still a mixture of desire, and frustration, but something else. 

"You're right. I'm married." He said, his voice firm, almost cold. "And I'm not trying to pretend otherwise." He began, his eyes fixated on your face.

He stepped closer, his body pressing against yours as he spoke. His hands reach out towards you again. He touched your chin, gently tilting your head back, forcing you to look at him. Your breath shuddered as his touch sent a shiver down your spine. 

Declan's brow was low, making him look almost intimidating, but his eyes remained soft, almost pleading. "I'll just say one thing?"

"It's …complicated ...bird." He spoke slowly, his voice a low rumble. "I can't tell you it's perfect ...but I'll be damned if I don't admit that I want you."

The look in his eyes was fierce, possessive almost. His eyes watched every minute reaction your body had to the way his hands held you. 

He wanted to keep you close, the way you leaned into him made his pulse race. His fingers moved from your hip, slowly trailing down the side of your exposed thigh, his touch was hot.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand glided down your skin, leaving a trail of fire on your flesh. His words echoed in your mind, confusing you and sending your heart racing. You should be outraged, you should be pushing him away. 

Declan's mouth dropped open as you forcibly shoved him away. Your hand sting as it connected with his cheek. 

He stood there for a moment, heart hammering against his chest. His fingers brushing the red mark appearing on his cheek where you'd just struck him.

He looked at you, brow furrowed as his wild eyes searched your face, trying to gauge the situation.

Finally, he spoke from behind his hand. His voice low, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry."

The room was deadly silent, the only thing you could hear was the faint hum of music as your heart pounded heavily in your ears. 

"You're sorry?" You repeated, your voice trembling as you spoke. "You're married, and that's all you have to say?" You said incredulously, your voice shaky. "You're sorry?"

Declan's eyes are glued to yours, a mix of regret, shock and pain etched across his face. He looked almost guilty, his eyes falling to the floor.

Your breathing was heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly, a mix of anger and attraction coursing through you.

This man, this married man, had just told you that he wanted you, had just touched you in a way no man should ever touch a woman who's not his wife, and it sent pleasure through your entire being. 

He winced as you spoke, his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. He looked at you with a mixture of remorse and hurt, you knew better, he didn't deserve your sympathy. 

Declan took a deep breath, his eyes flickering back to you. "It's not…" He paused, his voice low and rough. "…that simple." Even still, something about the way he looked at you, the way he spoke, it tugged at something deep inside your chest. 

He wearily took a step forwards, reaching ever so slowly to hold you. Only you backed away quickly, trying to put distance between the two of you. 

"That's what they all say." The words come out harsher than you intended, and you watch a flicker of pain in his eyes. 

You stumbled back against the wall as he quickly closed the distance between you. "For god's sake …it's the truth." He breathed, his pleading eyes never straying from yours. 

It was a strange feeling, to feel pity for a man who had just confessed his feelings for you. 

Yet, watching his pained expression, and the way his eyes seemed to implore you, it made your stomach twist. "That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

Declan's body pressed against yours, trapping you against him. "Fair?" His accent thick as he spoke in a low rumble under his breath, almost like a growl. "You think I give a fuck about fair?"

Declan made the space between you completely non-existent. One hand rested on the wall beside your head, his face inches away from yours. His other moved up to your cheek, fingers tracing the side, before cupping your jaw. 

He could see the hurt, the fear, the confusion. Yet, underneath it all, he could see the heat, the want, the need in your eyes. 

He leaned forwards, his lips hovering just above yours. You swallowed hard, your mind racing. You knew he was wrong, you knew this was wrong, your body betraying you as you fought against yourself. 

His kiss made you feel unsteady. The way his hand tangled in your hair, his arm wrapped around your back kept you close to him, and his firm hold on your hip made your head fuzzy.

You breathed him in, and the soft sound of vanquish that escaped your lips filled him with pride as he savored the flavor of you for the first time.

With a hand pressed firmly against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. The other, clutched at the wrist of his that had drawn you into him.

"You know what's unfair? How much you torture me in this dress. How I've had to hold myself back from pulling you into the nearest room just to rip it off of you ...and you want to talk about being fair?"

Declan gently turned you around, guiding you a few steps backwards until your lower back met the surface of his desk. His lips kept you quiet as you wrestled with the realization of what was happening.

Suddenly, he took you by the shoulders, spun you around, and bent you over the wooden surface. With your arms down at your sides, you felt his presence looming over you, his hands gliding down your back and across your hips.

Standing on your tiptoes, barely grazing the floor, as he pressed himself against you from behind.

You could feel him everywhere; tangling through your hair, delivering a playful smack to your backside that made you gasp, humping against your core as your skirt rose higher and higher.

"There ...now we're even." He hummed teasingly, soothing the sting by gently massaging your heated skin.

You let out a scoff, subconsciously rocking into him. A smirk played on his lips as he slowly sank to his knees.

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your skirt, his strong hands parted your thighs before he pressed his warm mouth against your panty-clad center.

You gasped his name, your back arching as you shot up from the table. Your feet nearly slip out from beneath you, threatening to send you tumbling face-first into the desk.

He stood back up quickly, keeping you from moving anymore. His face crowded your senses, his mouth was wet and hot as he buried it into your cheek.

His hand gripped the nape of your neck, as he swept your disheveled hair to one side. "You like that, birdie? You want my mouth on you, is that it? Need to get off on my tongue before you're wet enough to slip my cock into, hmm?"

Your eyes closed as you tried to take a breath, only that was a mistake.

The subtle scent of alcohol mixed with desire enveloped you; he smelt like sex and temptation.The image of him leaning in to kiss his wife goodnight, the lingering taste of you on his lips, was undeniably provocative. Scandalous and enticing, and yet you felt yourself become even wetter at the thought.

He gently pushed you back down, laying you flat on his desk, the cool wood contrasting with the warmth of your flushed cheek.

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips lingering, before capturing your hands and guiding them to rest beside your thighs at the table's edge.

"Sit still." He whispered softly while trailing down your body, eventually finding himself back on his knees.

His fingers danced along the edge of your panties before gently pulling them aside. Your hips fell limp against the edge of his desk, your knees buckling beneath you. His hot breath fanned across your soaked core.

His slick tongue flattened, delivering a long, tantalizing stroke, before enveloping your cunt with his mouth. His mustache rough against the tender skin of your supple thighs, igniting a searing heat that flowed like molten lava, feeding into the deep ache in your belly.

"ohmygod..." You shrieked, a hand shooting out to grip onto his hair. "Declan!"

You bit down on your lip, trying to suppress the moans that threatened to escape as he eagerly devoured every inch of you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair; you began to tug his mouth off of you, as the overstimulation became almost too much to bear.

He yanked your hands away, pinning them down, crossing your wrist over your lower back, before you felt the slip of his fingers part your wet folds. He pressing them into your entrance.

The combination of both, his fingering and his tongue prodding you open quickly sent you over the edge, and you shuttered against his parted lips. "Please, Declan ...don't stop.”

You cried out his name, as his tongue drank up the mess you made all over his mouth- which remained attentive but gentle, even once your body stopped convulsing, and you could only shiver at the overstimulation.

Standing up as quickly you could on fawn-legs, you spun around to face him. His lips met yours, as his hands found their way to your hips. Bunching up your skirt, he laid you out over his desk.

He pushed you back, his strong hands reaching up, peeling your dress off your shoulders and chest, gripping at every new part of your soft skin he exposed.

Pinning you in place by your neck, he reached down. The pinching and snapping of flimsy fabric felt raw, carnal, against your skin as he tore your panties from your body. "You like it when I'm rough with you, don't you birdie?"

His hand reached down to undo his belt, you squirmed beneath him, pulling your arms the rest of the way out of your dress. You reach for the buttons of his shirt, despite the anxious shake of your hands, meeting him half-way, after he'd rid himself of his tie.

You pushed his pants down just enough to reach inside and pull out his aching cock, swollen and eager, leaking pearls of translucent pre-cum. Gently thumbing at the tip of him, red hot and slick in your grasp as you coated him in his own release.

His hands reached for you, gripping your hips to help line himself up with your entrance, before taking your face gently in his other. A gasp escaped your lips, as the tip of him brushed against your sensitive clit while he parted your swollen cunt.

He pushed into you eagerly, and the stretch of him filling up you was thrilling. Declan caged you between him and the sturdy desk, his body like a furnace against your skin.

Your hands fell to his chest, dragging the nails of one over his shoulder, and latching onto his muscular back.

A shaky moan slipped from your lips as he delved even deeper, his tip igniting a spot you'd never been able to reach. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pulled back slowly, then dove back in forcefully.

It was tight, the sheer size of him had you second guessing your confidence, yet as the tip of his head grazed your cervix it eased the ache in your lower abdomen. Your heart races at the realization that he has completely ruined you for anyone else.

You flushed, the feeling of his body against yours was too much; the smell of his skin, the way his chest hummed against yours with every groan he released against the crease of your neck, his breath a cloud of spiced whiskey and you.

The hand gripping your hip, tangled in your hair, gently cradling the back of your head as he pressed his wet lips against yours. The pressure of his kiss and the warmth of his breath pulled the air from your lungs, instinctively parting your lips and allowing his tongue to lick into your eager mouth.

The coarse hair of his pelvis brushed against your clit, causing your eyebrows to furrow in delight. "Declan!" His name, a prayer on your lips as he leaned his forehead against yours.

"Shh, Shh, Shh..." You could feel him in your throat. Each thrust was forceful, causing the desk to shake with every merciful connection of your hips.

"Jesus ...you feel so good, birdy. Gripping me so tight, such a good girl." He mumbled breathlessly against your skin.

He couldn't stop himself from gripping onto you tighter, his nails digging into the soft flesh as his hips rut into you over and over, continuing their own steady rhythm, perfectly meeting every one of your thrusts.

The sensation is overwhelmingly intoxicating; it’s a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. You’ve never experienced anything quite like this, intertwining soft cries of bliss with whimpers of overstimulation, creating the most beautiful symphony of pleasure.

Your hands grip onto his shoulders, anchoring you as you fell apart in his hands, your hips moving eagerly, chasing that sweet moment of release.

"You're so well behaved when you finally get some cock in you."You flutter around him, his tongue teasingly tracing your pulse, your walls gripping him tightly too helpless to reply.

A gasp of delight escaped your lips as he, as he continued to abuse your sensitive cunt.

"So warm, and tight ...so good to me when you're getting what you want." He breathed heavily, his thrust remained unwavering.

"Declan, please..."

"What? What is it birdy, use your words." Declan playfully taunted, gently nibbling on your lower lip.

"P-please-oh god! Please d-don't stop ...please, I'm gonna cum."

Your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers weaving through his tousled strands as you drew him down for a searing kiss.

He silenced your moans of pleasure, your cries for him fading away as your body writhed beneath him.

It only took a few moments before he joined you. With a firm grip on your hip, he pulled you closer to him. His body stilled, pumping you full of his seed while your tongues danced together in tandem until his shoulders sagged and you began to tremble.

"You're mine now, birdy ...y'understand that."

© ladywuvly please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

[rivalsispunk]

Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.

A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating. 

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

And why do you want to watch him do it again?

“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”

Liar, you think.

“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.

“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”

Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him. 

“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”

Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.

“So, can we count you out of belting Livin’ On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.

“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”

“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.

“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted. 

Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust. 

He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.

“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”

His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”

“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”

God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again. 

Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”

“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.

“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.

“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.

“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”

“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”

“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."

Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.

“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”

“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”

“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.

“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.

“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.

Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?” 

Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”

“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.

There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.

Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.

The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.

The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match

“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.

“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.

“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”

Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.

“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”

Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus. 

“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.” 

You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.

“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.

“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement. 

“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.

“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear. 

“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.

“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”

Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.

“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”

“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you. 

Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again. 

“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”

The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you. 

By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch. 

Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause. 

“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.

“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.

You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.

“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world. 

Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?

You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.

“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”

Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.

“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again. 

“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”

Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”

“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.

“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid. 

But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.

Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick. 

“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.

“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.

“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”

“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin. 

“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.

“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.

The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.

Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat. 

“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door. 

“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.

The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.

After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.

After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead.  “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.

Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag. 

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare. 

The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him. 

“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.

“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.

“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before. 

“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.

“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.

“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”

“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."

“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.

“Oh, yeah?”

Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.

“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”

“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words. 

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."

"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"

“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you. 

You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Be crazy not to."

"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.

"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall.  A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"

"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook. 

"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.

"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"

"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam. 

"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"

"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan. 

He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"

"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.

"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre. 

Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.

Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.

“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business. 

“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”

The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.

“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.

You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”

“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”

“For God’s sake, read what?”

“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”

“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”

Yes, poor Declan. 

Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.

The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.

“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.

His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”

“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”

Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.” 

Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?” 

“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”

He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”

He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.

“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.

Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one? 

“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.

It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.

“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library. 

“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”

Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”

Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.

“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”

You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?” 

“Of course not!”

“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.

“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest. 

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”

“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.

Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“It’s not fair. On either of us.” 

“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.” 

The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?

It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?” 

Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip. 

“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.

You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.

“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall. 

Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing. 

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.

“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”

Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you. 

The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.

After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—

Knock knock knock.

The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time. 

“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”

“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.

“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”

“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”

The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan. 

The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.

How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.

The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.

“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”

“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.

“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”

The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this. 

Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.

“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”

“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.

“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.

“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.

"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.

Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?

When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy

[rivalsispunk]

Exactly how I imagine Best friend's dad/boss!Declan falling back against the hot tub after Taggie wrecks that moment: wishing she’d interrupted sooner, wishing she’d never interrupted at all…

Chapter 2 of When We’re Alone out now!!

Masterlist

AIDAN TURNER as DECLAN O’HARA

RIVALS (2024-)

[tricksters-captain]

Declan O'Hara imagine - I'm not doing this.

A/N: I thought about this one shot weeks ago... finally writing it. Probably been done already by someone else but who isn't obsessed with rivals atm. I also haven't written in years.

Summary: Declan is fighting against himself and everything he believes in when you come into the picture.

Warnings: Age Gap, fem!reader, NSFW content 18+, strong language, bit of a slow burn.

"Taggie, honestly, I don't know why you'd ever willingly add Brussel sprouts to anything." You chuckled as you both crept through the door to the kitchen.

"They're good for you!" Taggie tried to defend her culinary choices for her Sunday lunch.

"If they're good for you then I always want to be bad."

"Who's being bad?" A thick Irish accent filled the room as Taggie's dad sauntered in, a mug of coffee in one hand with his other burrowed deeply into his trouser pocket.

"Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N) was just objecting to my sprouts."

"Oh yeah, I agree, terrible things. Even the dog won't eat 'em" Declan brought his mug to his lips, smirking through the thick moustache that hid his upper lip.

You felt your insides alight at his dark, playful expression as he teased Taggie.

That was the first time you knew you were a bad friend. A bad friend who wanted your new friend's father to lift you onto the kitchen table and bury his head between your thighs.

The thought made your cheeks burn red as you laughed at Declan's remark and Taggie's complaints against him.

The man left the kitchen when his eyes flitted back to you, sending you a nod and a 'lovely to meet you, (Y/N). '

You couldn't help but replay the way he said your name in your head over and over and over again until you were desperate for his voice to sing it again.

The next time you saw Declan O'Hara was at the O'Hara New Years Eve party.

"You better not spend the whole time in here. I'd actually like you to put a dress on and come out to dance at some point tonight." You pleaded with Taggie as she clasped your necklace for you.

"I'll try but I can't make any promises. Anyway, you're out there to be my eyes and ears. You need to tell me if anyone complains about the food, okay?"

"Yes, Taggie. But no one will because you are amazing and your food is amazing and you are so right for not letting me help you cook or serve after I burnt the soup last time." You faced her as she continued to prep the ingredients she would need for the feast she had planned.

"You are a great friend but you are a terrible cook." Taggie agreed. You felt a lump in your throat at the words. Were you a great friend for literally fantasising over her father after almost every time you had an interaction with him? "Now please go next door and make sure that all the tables have the right cutlery for me?"

"Anything for you, Agatha!" You headed to do as you were told. Looking down to smooth out your dress when you felt yourself collide with something solid.

"I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see Declan turning, laughing softly at your clumsiness.

"It's okay, love." Declan's own eyes fell down your body, his lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you all dressed up. He knew you were an attractive girl but you were Taggie's age and one of her only friends in the surrounding neighbours beside Lizzie. "You look beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice caused a chill to roll up your spine.

"Thanks. You look very handsome too, Mr. O'Hara." You didn't know why you felt so shy around him. You were so used to owning your space and holding your confidence when you fancied someone.

"That's very kind, (Y/N). And it's Declan. I don't want to tell you again." Declan send you a wink as he started to pass you. "Hey, and no snogging my son at midnight. You're way too good for him."

Your heart squeezed at the taunt. Patrick was a gorgeous boy and he had tried to flirt with you when he met you but you were far too interested in Declan for Patrick to make any dent in your crush.

"He's not my type anyway." You managed to find your tongue to quip back an answer.

"Good girl."

Good Girl.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself replying something entirely inappropriate in response.

As the night went on, you felt your heart drop more and more. Declan was obsessed with his wife. His wife was obsessed with anyone else.

You were desperate to try and make more conversation with the man but almost everyone was grabbing his attention to discuss some work matter or other.

As the countdown began, you gut wrenchingly watched as Maud and Declan kiss. You put on a smile and exchanged celebrations with those around you. Giving Lizzie a kiss on the cheek as her husband blanked her as he usually did.

"Happy New Year, chicken." Lizzie pressed on a faux smile as you did.

"Happy New Year, Lizzie."

"A little advice for your new years resolution if I may?" Lizzie whispered as she drew you closer.

"You may want to get better at hiding your admiration for Taggie's father. I know nothing hurts more than something you can't have." Lizzie's words took you back, you felt your cheeks burning red and your smile drop.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm mortified! Please don't tell Taggie." You begged.

"Not a peep." Lizzie motioned locking her lips with a key before grabbing your hands to singing sway along with the room.

The night went on and Lizzie tried to encourage you to join in festivities. You drank more and more, being forced away whenever you tried to help Taggie wash up, and you soon found yourself needing some quiet time.

You let yourself into Declan's office, leaning against the desk, fingers gripping the underside to give you some stability when the room started to ever so slightly spin.

You closed your eyes. Inhaling a shaky breath when you heard the door creek open.

"I thought someone unwanted had decided to sneak through my things." Declan's melodic accent forced your eyes open.

"I'm wanted, am I?" You smirked slightly, through the sickness as your eyelids closed again.

Declan didn't respond. Instead he just studied you from across the room. His hands in his pockets, his stance leaning back just ever so slightly.

"You struggling there?" Declan was amused at your state.

You tried to push yourself off the desk but instead felt yourself stumble forward.

Declan's amusement quickly turned into concern as he stepped forward to catch you.

"Steady on." Declan had managed to stop you from hitting the floor, your face pressed against his chest, his strong arms engulfing you as he pulled you up towards him.

"I'm so sorry..." You mumbled as you leant away to look up at him.

His features were so strong up close. You could smell the whisky on his breath as your eyes lingered on his lips.

"Maybe we should get you some water and put you to bed."

Declan's words drew your eyes to his own. His chest seemed to go tight as he starred down into your glassy (Y/E/C) eyes.

"You can take me to bed any time you want, Mr O'Hara." Your words slurred together with your weak attempt of drunkenly flirting.

"It's Declan."

"Okay, Declan..."

That was the first time Declan had heard you say his name. Something inside him knew he wanted to hear you say it again but he fought against the thought, pulling away from you as you gained your stance.

"Let's hope you don't remember this in the morning, ay?" Declan tried to make light, convincing himself the electric feeling he had was nothing.

"Why? I finally got my chance in your arms. My dream come true."

"Yeah, you really won't want to remember this in the morning. Come on..." Declan opened the door, waiting for you to follow suite. The noise of the party echoed around you; you had almost forgot it was still going on outside.

"Have you ever thought about me?" You had no idea where this liquid confidence had stirred from.

There was a pause before he answered.

"No." He was lying. He knew he was lying. He watched the disappoint subtly encase your eyes as you pursed your lips into a thin smile.

"If I was dreaming, you would've said yes. Goodnight, Mr O'Hara."

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

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

As the weeks went on, rivals became friends. Friends became rivals. You grew closer to the O'Hara family and the moment from NYE had simply been forgotten. Or so you thought...

The dread that had filled your gut that New Years Day after you remembered the incident brewed inside of you for weeks. You had successfully avoided Declan, only seeing him in group scenarios and meetings for Venturer.

"(Y/N), I left some of my flyers on the table in the living room if you want to use them." Taggie climbed into her car, shouting over at you as she rushed off. You both had been going door to door for Venturer in different areas to cover more ground but you had run out of flyers to hand out.

"Thanks, Tag!" You rushed inside, running through the house that still held a cool air inside despite the early summer warmth outside.

"Careful!" You heard a voice proclaim as your bodies hit.

Within the blink of an eye, you had hit the floor with a body on top of you.

"Are you alright?" Declan groaned as you winced underneath his weight. The hard floor sent a wave of pain through your back but you had managed to not hit your head.

"Ow." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Did you hit your head?" Declan propped himself up on his arms, examining your face with a furrowed brow of worry.

"No." Was all you managed to say.

"I thought we had left bumping into each other for last year." Declan recalled on when you knocked into him last New Years Eve before the party had started.

"Clearly I'm not very good at keeping to New Year's resolutions."

Declan chuckled, pushing himself up before offering his hand.

You felt the warmth of his body leave you and the coldness of the floor pierce your bones.

You took his hand; hauling yourself to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Declan insisted. His hand reached out to take grip of your waist, his thumb and finger burning against your skin that had been revealed by the edge of your venturer top riding up. His other finger waved past your eyes, checking for concussion.

"I'm fine. No more running in the house with blind corners." You took a step back from the man, straightening your shirt to try and control the lingering feeling of the mans hand on you.

"Now... are we okay?" Declan rephrased,

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), don't play stupid. You've avoided me for almost half a year now. You won't even walk around the house without Caitlin or Taggie next to you."

You didn't think that Declan would've noticed with how busy he was with work and his life. Why would he have cared where you were or what you were doing in the house?

"I'm still living down my behaviour at New Years." You reluctantly admitted.

"What, that? Everyone says stuff they shouldn't when they've had a few too many. Doesn't mean you have to never look me in the eye again."

"What I said was completely inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. You're the same age as my daughter and I'm a married man but I'll have to admit I'm a little flattered." Declan tried his best to ease your anxiety. "I don't exactly see myself a teenage heart throb."

"I'm not a teenager." You bit back, the harshness your voice surprising you both.

"There's not much difference. You're practically a child and should be going for someone your own age." Declan quit the joking tone he had been using, taken back by your defence.

"Don't call me a child. I'm not the same age as Caitlin. I am older than Taggie and I've been with men before so I'm not playing silly little girl games over here. This isn't some school girl crush on a handsome teacher. You're right my feelings for you are inappropriate because you're a married man and I'm friends with your daughter but not because of my age. I know who I am and what I feel." A fire lit up your chest as you finally had broken out of the timidness you hated.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Declan took a step closer to you, his stare burning into you as he lowered his voice.

"You're the one who reads people. Tell me what you see in me." You matched him, standing so close to him you could feel his breath on your face as you gritted your teeth.

The air was thick. The silence of the house engulfing you both, your breath audible and quick. You thought you could almost hear your heart thudding against your chest.

Declan was the one to break away. Storming to his office with a hard slam of the door.

How did your conversation turn so heated?

That night Declan tossed and turned, his head filled with moments of you. He rolled over and gently woke up his wife with soft strokes on her shoulder blades.

"What?" Maud hummed, rolling her head over her shoulder to Declan.

"I'm awake." Declan pressed himself against his wife.

"I can feel that." Maud looked at him through a sleepy gaze.

"Let me touch you." His fingers glided over her skin until he reached the space between her legs. Maud moaned quietly as Declan began to part her folds with his finger.

"Declan..." Maud sighed as she pressed her backside into him, feeling his member hard against her.

Declan wasted no time in entering her. He closed his eyes as his dick pressed inside his wife. And all he could see through the darkness was your eyes looking up at his. The first time he had seen you in the kitchen. The bump in the hall, the incident in his study, every time he had caught you intensely listening to one of his speeches to the group, the crash against the floor. You underneath him. The tiny bit of skin his hand had managed to caress from the bottom of your shirt.

He had never thought of you before. Not with Maud, not with his own hand and imagination and he couldn't make sense of why that night he finished almost as fast as his inexperienced teenage self had once before.

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

It had been Declan's turn to avoid you from that day. He couldn't be too close to you without feeling his throat go dry, a sickening guilt and twisting conflict rising with it.

It was the evening you'd find out whether Venturer was a real contender against Corrinium.

The O'Hara house was filled with people eagerly waiting except one who had decided to leave the house for good.

The house erupted in cheers and celebrations as the phone call confirmed it for you all.

You watched through the window as Maud drove off, leaving Declan and Taggie behind.

"We did it!" Taggie squeezed you tightly before embracing her father and to your surprise, Declan had also pulled you into a tight hug. You had hoped no one picked up on the slight awkwardness that left the embrace when Declan moved onto join the others. You couldn't help but feel it.

The party went on and you tried to keep an eye on Declan without making it too obvious (like Rupert and Taggie had failed to).

When Rupert left Declan's side for another whiskey, (Taggie swiftly disappearing just after), Declan slipped away to his study. You followed.

"I'm sorry about Maud." You made your presence known as you watched him place his glass down on the desk, his back to you when he replied.

"Don't."

"Fine." You clenched your jaw, unsure of what to say next at the warning in his tone.

"What do you want from me?" Declan's voice had a hint of desperation. He turned to face you. You had seen this look before.

"I don't––"

"––No 'cause you followed me in here. You are everywhere I look. I can't even get a wink of sleep most nights without dreaming of two things. You or beating Tony fucking Baddingham. And I can't think of you because you're young enough to be my daughter and I'm a fucking hypocrite for telling Rupert to stay away from Taggie when I look at you in that dress and wonder what you would look like with it on this floor right now. I'm not doing it. I can't do this."

Declan's outburst kept your feet frozen in place. Had he really just admitted to wanting you as badly as you wanted him.

You felt your hand roll the zipper of your dress down your side, your body moved without force as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Fuck..." Declan barely breathed out the word. His stare devouring every inch of your skin.

"I'm not doing this." Declan uttered again barely even audible as if only to himself before striding towards you. His fingers found your hips as he thrust you against the door.

His lips were on yours before your back found the solid wood behind you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up towards him, trying to bring your body as close to his own as possible. You needed every gap between you gone. You wanted to feel the heat of him even on this sticky summer evening.

"What am I doing?" Declan broke away and dropped to his knees, placing a firm hand on the middle of your stomach to hold you flush against the door.

There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, never breaking his gaze from your face to almost check if what he was doing was allowed.

You threw your head up, trying to find the air he had stolen from you, one hand finding a grip within his dark curls as your welcome reply.

"Please." You whispered.

Declan moved your panties to the side, a finger running over your folds, sending fire against your skin before he closed his mouth around you.

You let your eyes roll back as his tongue darted across your clit. Electricity filled your body with every moment of contact.

You felt his fingers circle lightly around your entrance. Your hand jumped from his thick curls to tightly grip the back of his own that pushed against your stomach. His grip on you felt as if it were all that was holding you up.

"You want me this badly?" Declan asked with a mixture of teasing and shock. The wetness of your heat coated the tip of his fingers and glistened on the dark hairs of his moustache.

"I've imagined this so many times." You admit honestly.

"I best live up to your expectations then." Declan inserted a finger inside of you, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips, which made Declan's cock twitch inside his boxer shorts. "Shhhh"

You placed your free hand over your mouth to which Declan smiled a toothy grin at you.

"Good girl" he purred.

Declan rose to his feet as he placed another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you in a painfully slow motion that only made you ache for more.

Declan turned the lock on his door with his other hand before pulling himself away from you completely.

You pouted at the lack of contact to which he tutted.

"So impatient." He uttered as he undid his belt, pulling it from its loops and then kicking his trousers down.

Your eyes fell on the large member pressed against his underwear. The tip seeping precum through the material in a dark stain.

"Go to my desk." Declan ordered.

You almost ran over, Declan caught you by the waist and lifted you up onto it. Spreading your legs with his knee.

"Are you sure you want this?" Declan stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his chest covered with dark thick hair that you reached out to touch. This didn't feel real.

"More than anything." The words were so quiet but Declan seemed to hear them as he freed himself from his underwear.

You reached behind and unclasped your bra.

"Jesus..." He took a handful of your breast, squeezing you firmly as he stroked his member.

"Declan, please." You couldn't wait any longer. The ache pained you.

Declan didn't need to be told twice.

He tore your underwear down your legs and pressed his tip slowly into you.

You bit down on your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise.

"Holy fuck..." Declan failed at being quiet. You were so tight against him he felt he could've finished inside of you within minutes.

You reached forward and hooked a grip behind his neck, encouraging him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me please." you pleaded, trying to move your own hips to create some friction.

Declan took the hint and began thrusting into you quickly. His fingers almost bruising your skin as he held you steady on the desk.

The rattle of the belongings on the desk seemed to echo around the room alongside the slapping of skin.

Declan lifted you up, still inside of you and gently placed you down on the floor.

He hovered above you, just like he had once before, watching your face twist in pleasure as he fucked you.

You squeezed his shoulders, your nails leaving an impression whilst he brought you closer to your climax. You pressed your hips up into his creating hot friction against your clitoris, making you throb inside.

"Declan..." You tried to let him know; still trying to whisper to stay quiet.

"Cum for me, princess." Declan smirked, his stare never faltering as he rode you through to your end. He could feel you tighten around him only encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

You bit down on your hand as your climax convulsed through you. Your body shaking in between Declan and the floor.

Declan moved you both effortlessly, lying on his back with you sat on top of him.

You leant ever so slightly forward, steadying yourself with your hand stretched out against his chest.

You smiled wickedly at him as you rolled your hips.

You felt exhausted by your own finish but knew you wanted to see the older man in the same state.

"That's a good girl." Declan held onto your hips, helping you pick up your pace.

His lips parted as he watched you ride him, sweat dripping down your skin mixing with his own as his dick twitched inside of you.

"Fuck (Y/n)." Declan cursed.

You shifted your hand to his neck, Declan almost laughed, flipping you again so that he was behind you. Both of you on your knees as he held you against his chest, his hand wrapped firmly around your neck with his opposite arm securely around your middle.

The sensation was almost unbearable as his thick member pumped in and out of you at such speed.

"You think you want to be a bad girl?" Declan hissed in your ear.

You could only shake your head.

"Bad girls get punished." Declan bit hard down on your shoulder and you fought to not cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine now." Declan's own proclamation brought himself to his own climax. He pulled out, spilling his seed over his own thighs to avoid finishing inside of you much to your own disappointment.

"I know you wanted that inside of you like the dirty girl you are." Declan teased you as he gave your throat one final soft squeeze.

You fell against him, both trying to catch your breath.

"Declan?" A voice and a knock came at the door.

"Shit..." The realisation of what had just happened and where it just happened hit Declan like a cricket bat to the face.

"I'll be out in a mo." Declan scrambled for his underwear and you did the same.

"Hurry up! I know that's where you're hiding the good stuff!" Bas' voice was more evident now and whilst he was definitely talking about the whiskey. The both of you couldn't help but laugh.

[prettycoolgirl]

adicto

pairing: bfd!declan o'hara x f!reader.

summary: declan, your best friends dad can't wait any longer to be alone with you

a/n: small fic to celebrate that i finished my finals, i just watched rivals too and guys i loveeee declan, but this was a small one shot feel free to send me concepts! & requests are open as always, oh and breeding kink with declan fic coming soon!

warnings: 18+. smut. cheating. age gap once again (reader is in her 20s). fingering. dirty talk. definitely more warnings…

word count: 1k

as the party flowed, you became more drawn to declan once again. It felt so wrong to be eyeing him especially because his family and friends were present all around. yet you also couldn’t help but notice how he looked at you, affection and desire plastered over him. taggie, your best friend was busy chatting with rupert, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve been sleeping with her father for the past couple of months. 

night slowly creeping in, the tension between you and declan had eventually had enough. he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "meet me in the bathroom in five minutes. i need you, alone." his voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for you to even argue. with a nod, you eventually managed to slip away from your conversation with lizzie, heart racing with anticipation.

you quickly slipped into the bathroom, with your flushed cheeks. meanwhile, declan is already there. his presence filling the room, his voice a low whisper, "shut the door." he turns to face you, his eyes darkening possessively as he sees you. "declan, i promised taggie i'd help her finish up the pastries. i can’t be gone for too long" you whispered, biting your lip as you approached him. he reached out, hand cupping your face possessively. "we’ll be quick angel," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. he knew it was all wrong, that their secret affair could ruin everything.

yet he couldn't stop himself. his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. "lock the door," he ordered gruffly. as the lock clicked into place, he unbuckled his belt, eyes locked on yours. "come here," he said, patting his lap.

you hesitant for a moment, heart-pounding and body betraying you. as you moved forward of its own accord. sitting directly on his lap, short dress riding up to reveal your bare thighs. 

declan groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly. "i've been bloody hard watching you all night. seeing you in this dress, christ," he muttered, hands already working on the zipper of your dress. you carefully bit your lip, trying to be quiet as he pulled the dress down your arms, leaving you just with bra and panties. he stood up, holding you in his arms, and setting you on the counter. "spread your legs,"

he instructed, his voice low and commanding. doing as what you were was told, as your legs trembled slightly. declan stepping between your thighs, his large hands hooking into your underwear. "lift up,"

"christ, you're wet," he growled, his fingers brushing against your already damp panties. "always ready for me, aren't you?" his other hand reached up to cup your breast.

declan hooking his fingers into your underwear and slowly tugging them down your legs, revealing yourself to him completely. spreading your legs wider&stepping closer. "look at me," he ordered gruffly, his fingers splaying on you. "god look at you, you're dripping,"

"so fucking tight," he muttered, running his calloused finger along your slit. "always so tight for me, aren't you? like you were made just for my cock."

he brought his finger up to his mouth, sucking your juices off his finger before pushing two inside you. quickly you let out a quiet gasp, back arching off the counter as he fingered you roughly. "love when i have you like this,"

he growled, adding a third finger and pumping them in and out of you quickly. "I can't wait to bury myself in you, and fill you up." He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a rough kiss as he continued to finger you.

“fuck, i need you declan” you whispered.

"shh," he murmured against your lips, whilst fingers curling inside you. "not yet," he warned, straightening up and wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull your legs over his shoulders. "i need to make sure you can take me," he growled, pushing his fingers deeper.

declan with his fingers hooked inside you, stretching you out. "look down," he ordered gruffly. you peering down, watching as he fingered you open. "i want you to look at me while i stretch you out,"

"fuck, i can't, it's too much," you panted, squirming on the counter as he stretched you out. “you can” declan growled, once again slamming three fingers inside you and scissoring them open wide.

"oh god, oh god, oh god," eyes rolling back as he stretched you impossibly wide. "declan, i can’t" you whimpered, hands scrabbling at the counter.

"too bad," he snapped, fingers once again curling up inside you. "spread your legs wider," he demanded, his voice thrumming with barely contained anger. "there we go, good girl ."

"fuck, declan," you hissed, legs shaking as he forced you open. "declan, we have to hurry someone gonna suspect," you begged, voice cracking with desperation. but declan just ignored it, fingers moving faster and harder inside you.

"you should've thought about that before you bent over in this tiny dress," he growled, pulling his fingers nearly out before slamming them back in. "spread those knees wider," he commanded, pressing his thumb against your clit hard enough to make you cry out.

"declan!" you shrieked, back arching off the counter. "i-i'm going to- fuckk" you were cut off by a loud, wracking sob orgasm crashed over you, while you clenched around his fingers.

both of you trying to catch your breaths, faces inches apart, declan nuzzled into your neck. "you're absolutely perfect," he murmured. you smiled, arms wrapped around him possessively. "and yet you're still the worst," you giggled. 

declan zipped up your dress back up, and gently pulled your panties back up your thighs, adjusting them carefully. "love, are you sure you're alright to walk out like this?" he asked, eyes crinkling at the corners as you nodded, face flushed.

he helped you fix your hair, straightening your dress once more. "ready?" he murmured, his hand gently patting your thigh. "ready," you said. he watched as you took a deep breath and prepared to go back out to the party.

as you both walked through the halls with loud music blasting, declan sure to keep a discreet distance behind you, eyes never leaving your back. both soon found themselves face to face with rupert, who looked at you two with a knowing glint in his eye. "well, well, well," he chuckled, gaze flicking between you and declan.

[thefanficmonster]

What friends are for...

Declan O'Hara x Reader (Female) [Rivals TV]

Warnings: SPOILERS for Rivals S1, Mild Infidelity, Recreational Drinking, Swearing

Genre: Best friend's dad (Reader is 21 years old), Romance, Fluff

Summary: Y/N is typically good under pressure. But with alcohol lowering her inhibitions, allowing a brewing crush to swim up to the surface, she panics a little when she needs to pull through for her friend Taggie

"Alright, doll. I've had enough watching you run around this kitchen like Cinderella. Go on and mingle with the bourgeoisie." Y/N sighs, swiftly stealing the plates Taggie was carrying with one arm while her free hand cradles a glass of whiskey.

She carries the plates over to the sink, letting Taggie's complaints play in the background as background noise as she finishes off her fourth drink of the night and sets the glass down in the sink.

"Do you see this mess?! I can't possibly let loose knowing all this work is waiting for me at the end of the party." Taggie grumbles, folding her arms over her chest, "Besides, I don't even like most of those people."

Y/N can't help but gasp dramatically at that proclamation. In all the years she's known Taggie, she's never once managed to pry out a bad criticism from her in regards to anyone. She'd have to pat spy-like attention to her best friend's facial expressions in order to gauge all those feelings she knows she'd never say out loud.

Y/N had originally formed a friendship with Patrick who was in her grade at school. However, she formed an even stronger bond with his year younger sister. It's a girls' thing, she'd tell Patrick, we're all wired to be closer to one another than we'll ever be to a man.

And her statement still rings true nearly a decade later. It's Patrick's birthday and yet Y/N is finding far greater entertainment in the kitchen with Taggie rather than mingling with the crowd of London high society. She gets more than enough interaction with them during her daily internship at the Corinium, she doesn't need her New Year's Eve poisoned by them as well.

That being said, she shares Taggie's sentiment to the full extent. But she's not about to let up on her convincing, not with Rupert Campbell-Black in attendance.

"You don't have to like them all, Tag. One sometimes makes all the difference. And that certain one of yours is in the building, no doubt looking for you amongst the crowd. Yet you're cooped up here, dodging him as if he matters to you as much as those grease-pole climbers and cheaters." Y/N playfully scolds her.

"Don't speak ill of the cheaters, they are his prime area of expertise." Taggie chuckles into the back of her hand as if shocked by the words coming out of her own mouth.

Y/N snorts, throwing a smirk her friend's way over her shoulder, "I don't remember ever saying any names and yet you knew exactly who I was implying. Hmm...." The older girl teases, only to have a dish rag tossed at her head by a blushing Taggie.

"You're in-insufferable, you know that?!" She says, glaring daggers at her best friend.

Y/N laughs heartily, stepping away from the sink. She reaches one hand behind herself, starting to unfasten the corset she has on to keep her emerald dress snug and tight while using her free hand to pinch Taggie's cheek, "And you're absolutely adorable when you're flustered, love." She uses that same hand to yank Taggie's shirt free from her jeans, "Get that off, hun. Don't worry, I'm not looking." She adds the last part with a laugh and a roll of her eyes as she continues battling with the lace fastenings of her corset.

If it were anyone else asking - or rather instructing - her to do this, Taggie would've probably protested and refused. However, if there's one thing she's learned over the nearly decade long friendship with Y/N is that, although her ideas sound like trouble, they're always a recipe for a good time. Tag wouldn't exactly say she's had an exciting life but those pockets of adventure and excitement and thrill that she can recall she owes to Y/N. And so, she complies, lifting her shirt over her head just as her friend frees herself from her corset, causing her dress to hang more loosely around her body but still catching on her curves at certain areas.

"Good, turn around for me." Y/N instructs yet again as she unclips Taggie's bra before quickly putting the corset on her, glad they didn't flash anyone in the split second the action took. Once she's finished lacing it up, Y/N's hands lazily rest on her best friend's shoulders, turning her around to see if her vision looks just as good in reality as it did in her mind. "Dashing, my darling. Take a deep breath for me, hm?"

Tag again complies without complaints, expanding her chest with a deep inhale to see if the corset needs any loosening but it is perfectly snug, still allowing her to breathe freely though. "You really think so?" The younger girl asks, a hopeful twinkle in her eyes.

"I swear on all that's dear to me, love." Y/N says, giving Tag's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "One more thing...", she mumbles, leaning in to press a kiss to each of Taggie's cheeks, leaving behind lipstick stains on her skin which she later smears to give her a natural looking blush. "Voila! Now go knock Campbell-Black off his high horse and into your bed, doll."

Using the grip she has on the girl's shoulders, Y/N practically ushers her out of the kitchen and into the sea of partygoers before retreating into the quiet solitude herself.

She enters her fairy godmother mindset as she prances around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess around the kitchen, letting the rhythm of the music carry her movements. She periodically refills a new whiskey glass she got from the cupboard. She had really intended for it to be her last drink when she set her previous glass in the sink earlier but she gave up when she saw Mr. O'Hara's whiskey collection. With all these people around, she's certain she'll get away with sneaking a couple glasses of one of the more expensive looking bottles.

"Ah, I see the kitchen mouse has gotten into the good stuff."

Y/N damn near chokes on the amber liquid she just downed when she hears the voice of none other than Declan O'Hara.

She turns around slowly like a scene from a horror movie, or rather a kid getting caught red-handed stealing from the cookie jar. Only worse, more embarrassing considering this isn't her house. Although if she were to say that out loud all three O'Hara siblings and their father would be quick to tell her off.

An array of apologies circles around her head, none sufficient enough to mend the situation - especially not when Declan is smirking at her like that from the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets. So, instead she settles for the truth: "I was hoping you wouldn't catch me."

Declan only chuckles in response, the sound rich and sweetened by the numerous drinks he's had throughout the night. He's nowhere near drunk but he's had enough to drink to accentuate his natural charm and charisma, softening his otherwise sharp edges.

Edges nearly everyone at Corinium has been cut on since he started working there. And when I say 'nearly' I mean very few have managed to avoid Declan O'Hara's spitfire - Y/N being one of the lucky few despite typically being bad at following orders due to her stubbornness. She isn't sure what exactly it is about her best friend's father that tames that snippy, downright bratty side of her. All she knows is that when he looks at her with those warm, kind eyes and asks rather than tells her to do something, adding a little 'darling' or 'love' at the end, she folds like a house of cards in the wind.

Declan strolls in with an easiness in his step, his eyes never leaving her. As he nears her vicinity, he holds out his own glass, "Care to treat me to my own whiskey, sweetheart?"

Well would you look at that - there she goes folding again. Or more so melting into a puddle at his feet on the tiled kitchen floor.

Words have dispersed into unconnected letters in her head and all she can manage to do is nod as she picks up the whiskey bottle with a trembling hand, pouring a good amount into his glass.

"Thanks, love." He gives her a lopsided smile, lifting his glass, "To the new year."

Y/N is suddenly reminded that she is still in one piece physically - not a pathetic puddle of herself - and in turn she needs to function like a normal human being and avoid embarrassment that will keep her up at night for the upcoming century.

She schools her expression in a faux easy smile as she clinks her glass against his, "To the new year." she repeats before they both take a sip of the lovely whiskey Y/N had helped herself to.

After taking a moment of silence to revel in the pleasure of the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, Declan's eyes focus on her, giving her a head-to-toe scan before speaking, "Where'd your corset go?"

Her heart skips a beat at both the way his gaze is running over the length of her body and the question that insinuates he'd noticed her outfit to begin with. His eyes on her feel like a palpable heat, almost like the feather like touch of a hand. "I-I, um, I lent it to Taggie for a bit. I wanted to doll her up a little and force to enjoy herself. Let loose a little."

Declan nods, a small hum leaving his throat, "Well you've done a good deed, my dear. And a great job taming the kitchen into something presentable. You're a great friend, dear. I'd say you've earned your stolen whiskey." He adds the last part with a quick wink that turns her brain to pudding.

Y/N smiles in response although she wants to absolutely kick herself for involuntarily making bedroom eyes at said friend's dad. She cannot seem to morph her expression into anything other than an openly 'well I'll be damned...' look. So she opts to look away from him instead.

"Oh please, sir, it's nothing. That's what friends are for..." She instinctively takes a sip of her drink to cool down only to be rudely reminded it's whiskey and it has the complete opposite effect to the one she was hoping for.

Speaking of a friend's duties...

Just over Declan's shoulder, Y/N catches glimpse of Rupert and Taggie in the comfortable embrace of one another on the dance floor. Although, judging by the proximity of their faces, dancing isn't their priority at the moment. A split second and a millimeter is all it would take for Y/N to rejoice that her agenda had been successful.

But that's also precisely what it would take for Declan to catch sight of it and lose his everloving shit which would undeniably cause a rift in the mission.

Just to the girls' luck, the moment Rupert's lips touch Taggie's is the exact moment Declan starts turning around - or at least that's how Y/N perceives it.

And Y/N would be damned if she let him.

Before she can think better of it, the alcohol in her system takes a seat behind the wheel and all rational thinking is tossed out the window. At least that's the only way she can explain her following actions.

There isn't a single sober thought behind it when her hands firmly rest on Declan's shoulders, instantly grabbing his attention and prompting him to turn to face her once more. And in that split second, Y/N pushes up on her tippie toes, her lips colliding with his in a kiss that momentarily stuns them both.

The last bit of sobriety fights to regain control of her mind mere seconds after their lips come in contact. It's not much but it's enough to scream at her to pull the fuck away and then run the fuck away. And she would've done just that had Declan's hands not come up to wrap around her waist and pull her closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss which she instinctively - and eagerly - allows.

All thoughts - both sober and drunk - fall silent in her head. The party in its entirety falls silent around her. All she can hear is her own heartbeat in her ears, mingled with his slightly labored breathing as the kiss reaches new heights in passion and heat with each passing second until they both run out of breath - the lack of oxygen being the only thing to force them apart, not at all the notion of how wrong what they're doing is.

Again, apologies stack themselves sky-high in her brain but none reach her whiskey coated tongue. Instead, she looks up at him wide-eyed and breathless, her now lipstick-void lips parted as she blurts out the first thought that manages to slip past the fog of shock.

"Taggie's gonna kill me"

Declan's own stunned expression gives way to a wide smile as he chuckles breathlessly at her panicked statement, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, darling."

Even in the midst of her panic and moral crisis, Y/N can't help the flutter in her heart at the petname. "You....you won't tell her, will you?"

Declan clicks his tongue, shaking his head as one of his hands comes up to cup her cheek, "Of course not, my dear. I can keep a secret. That's what friends are for, after all."

Y/N is just about to throw all hesitance to the wind and lean into him fully, reconnect their lips and give herself over to him entirely when - for better or for worse - the clicking of heels approaches the kitchen entrance, sending them on opposite sides of the room like same charges of a magnet. The poor flustered girl is left frazzled, standing on weak knees without Declan's arms to hold her up. Luckily, however, she finds herself on the side of the kitchen where the door to the backyard offers her solitude and salvation within arm's reach. And she takes it a mere second before Maud strolls into the kitchen to show her husband a fraction of the affection she's been showering the other partygoers with all night.

Regardless of the state of Declan and Maud's marriage and their relationship as a whole, what they just did is wrong from all angles and aspects. It's a betrayal to Maude, to Taggie, to Caitlin and Patrick, to Y/N's parents who Declan has known and been friends with for years.

And as such they deserve to be drowning in guilt and remorse for their actions.

One problem: they're not. Not in the slightest. Especially not Declan who cannot seem to tear his gaze away from the backdoor Y/N disappeared through even as his wife finally graces him with her attention and presence.

Attention, presence and affection Y/N would love to give to him and only him. No division or sharing, no inhibitions or reservations.

No wrong or right.

Just a little secret amongst....friends

[luvvyouforever]

declan o'hara - nsfw alphabet

ᡣ𐭩 for all my declan lovers (including me) ᡣ𐭩 nsfw content, mdni, 18+ ᡣ𐭩 more declan writing will be coming soon, don't worry! these are easy to fill out and write so hopefully this sates you all mwah

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

his aftercare takes a minute to start. he's usually so intense that the both of you really need a moment to catch your breath and come back down to reality. once he's reverted to normal, he can check in on you, offer a warm cloth, or cold glass of water. when the two of you are physically feeling better, he'll pull you into his big chest, all warm and protected, and probably light a cigarette.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves his arms and shoulders. it's not that he really works out and carves them, but he knows he's a big man and flexing them the right way gets you going. he likes being able to encase you in them, holding you as close as possible.

as for you, i think he's an ass man for sureeee. his hands always fly to your cheeks, both in the bedroom and outside of it. his palm covers so much of the skin and he just loves the feeling of squeezing it between his fingers. please wear some tight dresses and pants and bend over directly in front of him.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he wants to cum in you every single time. you might want to consider going on some sort of birth control too just in case. he just loves fucking into you so deep and just as he's finishing, he'll push in to the hilt and fill you up with himself. he could genuinely go for a second round in just a second once he sees the mix of your cum and his seep out of you. gosh, he's dirty.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

has so many fantasies in his head of what he wants to do to you, especially in a more roleplay style too. like he imagines you as his receptionist that he can bend over his desk, hike up your tight pencil skirt, and use you. or he daydreams about coming home to you in the kitchen with a skimpy outfit and apron on and eating you out against the kitchen counter.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he's pretty experienced, but not as much as other characters in the show (hint, hint). like he knows how to make someone feel good and is pretty confident in his skills too! his body count may not be as high, but to him, the quality really matters more than the quantity. and with the way he undos you during sex, you'd certainly agree.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

he loves anything where he can grip and squeeze and smack your ass. he enjoys doggy because it offers him the easiest access to your ass. when he's feeling really intimate and serious, he loves laying you flat on the bed and pushing himself on top of you. makes him feel so close to you, but also enjoys the way your ass can push against his hips.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he's so serious when he has sex. it's all about you and him and everything else fades out. in the lead up, he might be full of some dark chuckles at your neediness or quiet laughter while you're flirting. but once his lips are on yours and his hands are roaming your body, he's replaced with this stoic, dominant declan.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he's not like a jungle, but he certainly doesn't groom himself to the point where he's clean shaven. i mean, look at his chest and his mustache. woof. he probably trims it to a reasonable amount, but doesn't put much effort into it otherwise. it's curly and wavy though, like his hair.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he's much more of a spur of the moment, making out from the front door to the bedroom kinda guy. i don't see him as the man to decorate your bedroom in rose petals. that doesn't mean he isn't intimate and romantic in the act though! he's all about whispering sweet and kind, but also terribly filthy things in your ear while he's unraveling you below him. he makes sure you know just how beautiful he finds you the whole night.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he's not above jerking off, but he knows he'll be coming back to your delicious body every night, so why would he? unless you're gone for a while, or he's off doing stuff for venturer overnight, he'll probably hold off. that isn't to say though that when you might be sending him particularly raunchy texts (for modern declan) or have left him wanting more of you, he won't go into the bathroom and ease the painful bulge beneath his pants. it's just not very common when he'd rather be on you as soon as he steps in the door.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

he's pretty dominant and enjoys taking control in the bed. he wants you to listen to him and give yourself over to him. it's the highest compliment. he loves biting and marking badddd. gets so aroused in the morning when he sees the hickeys he left on your skin from the night before. loves cockwarming on lazy days inside. i don't think he's a full sadist, but really gets off seeing his large red handprint on your ass. he's just possessive and loves making you his every night. also likes being called daddy in the right headspace.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

loves doing it anywhere in the house. not a very public sex person, but if its within the confines of his home, he's on. probably likes the bedroom the most, but for spur of the moment quickies, he likes taking you against the kitchen counter or on the couch or even on the floor by the fireplace after a failed movie night.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

unfortunately, one of his most toxic traits is that arguments and fighting really get him going. if he ever feels threatened by someone else, he'll take it out of them depending on the severity, but then fucks you within an inch of your life, reminding you in a deep voice who you belong to. he's also the type of person to get really turned on seeing you disheveled, or even just with a messy bun and pajamas.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

could never be fully submissive. definitely wouldn't mind handing you some of the reins and letting your hands guide him where you want him, but don't expect him to get on his knees anytime soon and bend to your every will with a "yes ma'am." another turn off is probably being rude or dismissive to his children. like, if he heard that you had made taggie upset someway, he would lose a lot of attraction to you.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

is such a munch, good lord. loves getting so messy with it. isn't very calculated with his movements, but instead dives in passionately with his tongue flat. he comes up for air disheveled, mustache and lips glistening, then goes back in. if you allow him, he'd spend forever down there. as for receiving oral, he loves it. unfortunately though, he has to stop before he cums so he can keep going the rest of the night. he likes to hold your hair tight and control your pace, but will be receptive if you're uncomfortable or in pain.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

majority of the time, he's fast and rough. especially after an argument or while he's jealous. but he can be slow and sensual!! sometimes he's tired or had a bad day or just really really feeling love for you and he wants to take his sweet time unraveling you and showering you in as much love as he can. those moments are just more uncommon than him fucking you with as much passion as he can.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he doesn't mind them, but they're not his favorite. he'd prefer to take his time with you, but sometimes the timing just isn't right and he needs you now. or maybe you're just looking too damn fine and you have the house all to yourself and he lifts you against the kitchen counter. his quickies are rough and needy and sinful. he's grunting as sweat beads along his brow. he finishes inside of you and when he has to go about the rest of the day, he just thinks about you going about your day with him still inside you. freak.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's down to try things out! like, if you're reading a particularly filthy romance novel and he manages to figure out what about it is enticing to you, he's so willing to try it out himself. there's only a few things that he'll immediately reject, but he loves making things fun in the bedroom for the two of you. honestly, though, he's kind of impatient and doesn't really like doing things by trial and error, so he usually looks into how to make certain things work before trying it for the first time. as for risks, he's down for some things. wouldn't particularly mind risky settings, but he is somewhat of a public personality so there a few things he'll deny if it gets too risky.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go for like two to three rounds before he's pretty spent. this number might be a lot bigger if he's one of those bouts where he's pouring himself into his work and doesn't get to devote as much time to his personal life. he can make himself last for a pretty long while. he just has to stop you before cumming because he can get to into the good feeling and before he realizes it, he's finished and now can't give as much of himself to you as he wants.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i think he's old fashioned in that the best tools are on his body already. i don't think he'd mind if you had a vibrator or something similar to use when he's not there, but he's not going to be reaching for it in the middle of sex. honestly, i feel like he'd see a vibrator as a competition and try to make you finish better than it can. fic idea?

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

i don't think he's that big of a tease tbh. at least not intentionally. if anything, he's more teasing in that his big palm rests on your thigh underneath the dining table and when he enters into some passionate conversation, he subconsciously grips it and you have to bite your lip to suppress your moan. or he's just looking soooo good in that venturer t-shirt talking to everyone and shaking hands and showing off his arms and he has no idea what he's doing to you.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's such a grunter. and he whispers little "fucks" under his breath. when he gets closer to finishing though, they start morphing into louder groans and when he cums in you, it's like one big crescendo that all comes crashing down. he lovesss hearing the noises he draws out of you though. encourages you to be loud and wants to hear how good he's making you feel.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

probably praises and compliments and talks about you to rupert and freddie all the time. they're all sitting around in a bar drinking and suddenly freddie is asking rupert about cameron and rupert is asking freddie about lizzie and they both turn to declan and ask about you. he gushes about you, then lowers his voice and talks about just how sexy and perfect and wonderful you are. he's got rather loose lips but he'll never reveal the private details. he just wants everyone to know that you are the most perfect person in the whole world and you're all his to enjoy.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he's pretty thick. average length i think, but he makes up for it in the way that he stretches you out. it's a painful pleasure, one that makes you wince at his first entrance, but then makes you throw your head back, eyes rolled in pure bliss once he gets going.

y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

depends on his week, really! sometimes he's so focused on venturer or focused on his next interview that his brain capacity is filled. in times like those, he might need some extra encouragement in the form of you harmlessly flirting with rupert or presenting yourself to him in his study completely naked. if everything has leveled out and he's just having a good week, he could fuck you silly every single night.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

sometimes it can be within minutes if you've gone particularly hard. he falls off you, down to your side where he pulls you into his strong chest and holds you until he starts snoring. sometimes, he might enjoy running his hands along your body, tracing little shapes into them while you're turned on your side, cuddled close to his chest.

need him bad.

[eufezco]

how long is it going to take for you guys to start writing about rivals? bc i want to do it but nobody seems to understand the rivals brainrot

[bowie-frommars]

Can we talk about the Aidan Turner renaissance?!

I've had a crush on this man since I was a kid and would watch Being Human religiously! This man deserves his flowers! Thank you Rivals for getting this man the recognition he deserves.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Forbidden Fruit.

That’s the thing about Declan - he always gets what he wants. It might be wrong… but it feels so right.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. use of the c word. age gap. cheating. declan’s filthy mouth needs its own warning.

word count - 2.3k

authors note - that man is a munch and I cannot be convinced otherwise. my crush on aidan turner has returned tenfold and i’m about to make it everyone’s problem. read declan’s dialogue in that gorgeous irish accent of his for the full experience.

masterlist. inbox.

You’ve fake laughed so much this afternoon that you can’t remember what your real one sounds like.

Finally breaking away from a conversation with Freddie’s wife, you swan across the garden in your sundress towards the food and drink table. You absentmindedly pick at the strawberries, hoping and praying that no one bothers you for a moment. All you need is a minute to yourself, away from all of these faux smiles and boastful exchanges.

Reaching towards a raspberry, you feel fingertips ghosting across your back quickly.

“Y’alright?”

You’d recognise that voice anywhere, of course, and not just because he’s the only Irish man in The Cotswolds.

“Bored out of my mind, actually.”

“You’d never know.”

“I’m a good actress, these days. I’ve done one too many of these stupid garden parties.”

He chuckles all genuine and honeyed, and you’d be lying if you said the sound didn’t settle warmly in your bones.

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

He’s keeping his voice low, inconspicuous. You’ve both turned so you’re looking out over the garden, backs to the table, watching the crowds of people and their gossiping. To anyone else, it looks like an innocent conversation between two acquaintances. They can’t see his hand playing with the hem of your dress behind you, or the way his fingers keep brushing the backs of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

“My boyfriend is coming over. You know that.”

“What time?”

You roll your eyes but answer anyway.

“Nine.”

“So what I’m hearing… is that you’re available from whenever this crap finishes until then?”

“That’s a stupid idea.”

“You usually love my stupid ideas.”

“Well maybe I’m trying to be smarter.”

He laughs with his full chest while you fight to keep the grin off your face, shaking your head.

“You’re already the smartest person here. Any smarter and we’re all doomed.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Declan.”

He pauses for a moment, pressing his side into yours and running his thumb across the soft skin of your thigh underneath your dress.

“I think we both know that’s not true, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters as you will yourself to get it together, desperate to not repeatedly give in to his murmured promises and flirty remarks. It’s wrong. You know it is, both of you do, and yet…

“I want you gone by eight at the latest. I don’t need the two of you bumping into each other on my front step.”

He smirks like the cat that got the cream, looking down at you with lust drunk eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Promise to make it worth your while, yeah?”

“You always do,” you breathe out, so quietly that you’re surprised he hears.

He’s about to reply when you’re both startled by Rupert, striding over with the confidence of ten men and a bottle of champagne in his hand.

“Have they run out of glasses, CB?”

He slings an arm around your shoulder, laughing that rich man’s laugh right into your ear.

“Live a little, darling. Walk with me, will you? I have a story that might be worth your time, and I thought I’d bring it to my favourite journalist before anyone else.”

Rupert all but drags you across the garden, already chattering on about a scandal in the local constituency of the Conservative Party. You cast your eyes back to where Declan hasn’t moved, his gaze roving over your figure as you walk away.

He winks cheekily, dirty smirk slapped across his face.

You hate the way it sends electricity running through your veins in anticipation.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s six forty five when there’s a knock on your door.

The devil himself is standing on your front step, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Hi darlin’.”

His accent is like molten honey, golden and warm and laced with sweetness. There’s mischief running through it though - as there always is.

“Come on,” you urge, grabbing his tie and pulling him inside, worried that one of your neighbours will see.

He laughs as he shuts the door behind him, unphased by your urgency.

“Thought you had a meeting. CB was telling me all about it earlier.”

“Rupert would tell you anything,” he chuckles. “He’s got a soft spot for pretty girls.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you giggle, undoing his tie from around his neck and hanging it on your coat rack.

“No. I have a soft spot for one pretty girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you tease as you roll your eyes, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. “How about you put your money where your mouth is, hmm? We don’t have all night.”

He clicks his tongue, hands finding your hips to pull you against him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush yours. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Less talking,” you scold, grabbing at his biceps to kiss him desperately.

Declan pushes you up against the wall, hips pressing into yours as he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey and those mints he keeps in a tin in his back pocket. He scatters open mouthed kisses across your neck, licking across your skin and sucking the spot underneath your ear.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he mumbles. “Ever since I saw you in this dress.”

“You like it?” you breathe, head rolling to the side to give him more access.

“I fucking love it.”

“Good. Bought it for you.”

He groans, grinding his hips into yours.

“You’re a minx,” he pants, biting at your shoulder. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

With that, Declan wraps his arms around your middle, practically dragging you into the living room to throw you onto the sofa. He pulls your dress over your head, throwing it onto the floor with reckless abandon.

He instantly gets on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs with rough hands.

“Been waitin’ for this cunt all fuckin’ day.”

Your underwear is tugged down and discarded before you can blink, leaving you naked and high on the anticipation of it all. Your lungs are heaving, hands shaking as you will him to do something.

Declan sits back on his haunches, making a show of rolling up his sleeves. He looks so broad and commanding in his blue jeans with his shirt undone. He might be the one on his knees, but he’s definitely still in charge here.

You tangle your fingers into his dark hair and tug, pulling him closer.

“Please, Dec.”

“You sound so beautiful when ya beg.”

He grips your thighs tightly, ensuring they stay apart, as he leans in and presses kisses to any skin he can find.

“Don’t tease.”

“Or what, hmm? What are ya gonna do, sweetheart?”

“Stop it,” you chastise, head dropping back onto the cushions. “Please, baby.”

He chuckles before diving forwards, licking a stripe through your core. He wastes no time, tongue flicking over your clit like he’s done so many times before.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, fingers gripping his hair tightly. “Fuck, Declan.”

You’re convinced he enjoys this just as much as you do. He’ll eat you out for hours, never once expecting something in return - happy to feel you fall apart on his tongue again and again and again.

He knows exactly which spots will have you arching your back, how much pressure to use to have you writhing on the sofa cushions, where to put his hands to push you right over the edge. He can play you like a fiddle, observant and experienced.

His nose nudges your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, messy and wet and completely committed. The grip he has on your thighs is getting tighter and tighter, fingertips bruising your skin. You pray you’ll be able to see the marks when you look in the mirror tomorrow.

You’re teetering on the edge of your release, legs shaking and abdomen tightening. Declan can read you like a book, knowing exactly where you’re at - and taking advantage of it.

Just as you’re about to come, he pulls away and sits back, grinning like a deviant.

“No,” you’re panting. “The fuck are you doing?”

He laughs, leaning down to rest his head on your leg. He looks up at you with a gaze that’s half lust and half mischief, biting at his lip as he watches your chest heave.

“What do you want, darlin’?”

You pout at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“Come on, let me hear you say it. I want you to beg me to make you come. Tell me how you’ve been waiting for it all day, sweetheart.”

“I-Declan, I just-”

“Come on smart girl, use that big brain of yours. Why don’t you tell me all about how you think about me when you touch yourself? No - why don’t you tell me how you think about me while he fucks you?”

Your hips buck up into the air, desperate for any kind of friction. Declan laughs cruelly, wrapping his arms around your thighs again to pull you to the edge of the sofa, the strength he exerts only turning you on more.

“It’s okay,” he soothes against your core. “You don’t have to tell me. Your dripping wet cunt tells me everything I need to know, darlin.”

All you can do is moan, breathing like you’ve run a marathon. All you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel is Declan O’Hara.

“If we had the time, I’d edge you some more. Eat you out until you cried. You always look so pretty when you’re crying f’me.”

He finally takes pity on you, curling his tongue inside you as his nose repeatedly bumps against your clit. He’s practically making out with your core, saliva dripping down your thighs and onto the sofa. You can’t bring yourself to care about the mess, more focused on the older man’s mouth and the skills it possesses.

You’re whining, fingernails digging into his scalp as you grasp for something to hold onto. He’s groaning too, having just as much as fun as you are.

“Come for me, pretty girl. Show me how fucking beautiful you look.”

Your back bows off the sofa as you grind against his face, riding out your climax. Your thighs tighten around his head, desperate for him to keep going for as long as possible.

“That’s it. Atta girl. There we go.”

You’re trying to catch your breath as Declan stands up, sitting down next to you and pulling you into his side. His fingers draw patterns on your hips, absentmindedly calming you down as you nestle into him, seeking out his body heat.

You lean up and kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth eagerly. He tastes like you, and the realisation makes you whinge.

“Let me return the favour, please,” you whisper against his lips.

“As much as I’d love that, darlin’… we can’t.”

You quirk a brow at him in confusion, his rejection more than unusual.

“It’s twenty past eight.”

“Oh, shit,” you groan, finding your underwear and pulling them up your legs.

“I wish I could stay,” he reassures as he kisses you again sweetly. “You know I do.”

You nod, running your fingers through his sweat soaked locks to move them out of his face.

“Promise I’ll repay you next time.”

“I’ll hold ya to that.”

The phone ringing startles you both, your heart jumping in your chest. You pick it up quickly, wrapping the cord around your finger.

“Hello? How are you? Ah, good. Yes, fine. Alright, I’ll see you then. Yes, see you soon. Mhmm… I can’t wait either.”

You put it down just as quickly as you picked it up, finding your dress from the floor and pulling it over your head.

“That was Patrick. He’s at the train station, about to start the drive back here. He won’t be long.”

“I best get going then,” Declan says as he buttons up his shirt. “Don’t need a family reunion in your living room now, do we?”

You shake your head, scoffing at his attempt at a joke. Walking him to the front door, you press his tie from the coat rack into his hand so he doesn’t forget it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? You’re coming for lunch at the house?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you say as you lean up to kiss him, sighing at the taste of his lips. “I’ll wear that lacy white lingerie under my dress just for you.”

“Great,” he groans. “Now I have to think about my son seeing that on you when it should be me.”

“You might,” you tease, smoothing out his shirt. “There’s a lot of rooms in that house, Declan.”

“You’re a minx.”

He kisses you once more, big hands cradling your face as he pulls you in.

“See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you will.”

You watch him go from your front step, making sure no one sees him leave. As soon as he’s out of sight, you’re shutting the door, trying to tidy the living room frantically. You open the windows, lighting a candle and picking up everything that was knocked to the floor in the lust filled frenzy. You’re covering your tracks as best you can, just like you’ve done countless times before.

You don’t need Patrick asking why the room smells like his dad’s aftershave.

You don’t need Patrick asking questions at all.

a little gift for you, as promised…

@do-it-for-kicks @whytheylosttheirminds @laverna-fanfictions @graceflorence

and of course, if you enjoyed this - throw me a little reblog if you so wish… help a girl out… <3

[stellamarielu]

Leave it on

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: when declan finds you wearing his sweater he can’t hide how much he loves seeing you belong to him in such a domestic way. it's a sight that has him on his knees for you.

content: nsfw, 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), penetration, dirty talk, possessiveness??, riding that thing like a mechanical bull

author's note: so sorry but I've been thinking of declan and that slutty little turtleneck sweater since episode 5 of rivals

—

The night sky was hiding evidence from the first snowfall of the year and your little apartment heater couldn’t quite catch up with the dropping temperature outside.

Due to your already cold disposition being exaggerated by the snowy night, you found yourself cozied up on the couch reading a book underneath a slew of blankets. 

Your current comfy state, however, was mostly due to the sweater adorning your body.

Declan’s sweater to be exact.

He had left it with you a few weeks ago after a quick hookup that ended with him hurrying out the door in his t-shirt and jeans, completely disregarding the freezing temperature and the sweater he had worn overtop his t-shirt for warmth. 

You don’t know why it was still here, seeing as though you could have easily returned it to him one of the last times you met. 

While you both agreed on keeping your relationship a secret due to the town’s constant need for gossip and drama, you and Declan still managed to spend quite a bit of time together.

Whether it was late nights at your apartment or afternoon’s at the priory while Taggie was in town, you were both constantly showing up at each other’s front doors overwhelmed with need. 

Tonight however, Declan had told you he was going for drinks with Freddie and Rupert and would be out late.

With his promise to visit you tomorrow, you allowed yourself to have a cozy night in, and when you saw his sweater still sitting in the chair in the corner of your room you couldn’t help but slip it on.

The smell of sandalwood and menthol cigarettes were embedded in the wool. It made reading nearly impossible when every inhale filled your head with him. 

Just as you were putting down your book and heading to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea, there was a quiet tapping on your door.

Your face heated at the sound, because you had grown to associate that knock with the handsome Irishman that often stood behind it. You were classically conditioned to grow aroused by the sound.

Not even attempting to hide your excitement you ran to the door and began fidgeting with the locks.

“Hi there.” You popped the door open to see your favorite older man leaning against the door frame wearing one too many layers for your taste. 

“Here I was thinking guys night would keep you from me”

You felt giddy seeing him here. While part of you was surprised, there was another part remembering the undeniable passion shared between you two, so strong you could rarely stay apart for long. 

“I don’t think there’s a thing in this world that could keep me from you.” With his words he took a step forward wrapping an arm around your waist.

 As soon as his hand felt the rough wool material underneath it, his eyes were scanning your body, taking in the sight in front of him.

You were wearing his sweater.

The way it was haphazardly paired with a pair of pajama shorts almost too short to be seen underneath it had him taking a deep breath.

He had put so much effort into keeping his relationship a secret. It was something you both wanted, something that would make things easier for your respective careers and personal lives. And while he was happy to share these undisclosed moments, he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to walk you around town hand in hand.

He imagined what it would be like to sit across from you at dinner or to introduce you as his girlfriend. Such trivial things but he often found himself longing for them.

So, to see you wearing his clothing drove him a bit insane.

It was like he was silently claiming you. The sweater on your body telling the world that you belonged to him without anyone having to say a word. He liked the way it made him feel like you were proud to be his. 

“Found yourself getting’ a little cold huh?” He was now toying with the sweater at your wrist, rolled up because it was much too long for your arms. 

“I must say I like this abundantly better on you.” He trailed a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know Declan, I think you look very handsome in this sweater. Some might even say irresistible.” You were smiling up at him, bringing your arms around his neck desperate to close the gap between you and feel his body pressed against yours. 

“Mmm is that right? You think I’m irresistible?” His lips were so close to yours, you could nearly taste the whiskey on his breath.

“I said some people don’t get too cocky now Mr. O’Hara.”

You enjoyed toying with Declan. A man so strong willed and rough around the edges, but you held him like putty in your hands. 

His hand that was once at your ear was now ever so slight gripping your neck brining you into him so he could whisper in your ear.

“What a shame. If you would’ve told me how good you thought I looked in this sweater, I just might’ve insisted on gettin’ a taste of you while you wore it.” 

His seductive words humming in your ears sent a rush throughout your body.

The sudden need to feel Declan’s tongue on you was far more important than teasing him. 

“Oh Declan, you are so unbelievably sexy. In this sweater-“ You moved your hand down to the wool material of your top as you spoke.

“and in that coat-“ You motioned to the clothing on his back.

“And your tight t-shirts you’re always wearing around town.”

You kept complimenting him, and you could tell he was growing entertained. Smiling wildly at you his head cocked in amusement.

“So so so irresistible.” You finished speaking and gave him a coy little smile hoping that he would stay true to his word.

“There we go darlin’. Not so hard yeah?”

And just like that, his body was flush against you pushing you fully inside your apartment.

His lips found yours and his hand reached behind him to push the door shut.

As soon as you heard the slam of your front door Declan had both of his hands on your cheeks, holding your face in his palms. The kiss shared between the two of you was desperate and hungry. The desire you felt for one another was like an electric current constantly running. 

His hands left your face for a moment to remove his coat. Tossing the jacket to the floor.

You reach for the hem of his long sleeve shirt signaling that it needed to come off, and he huffs out something of a laugh that’s muffled by your kiss. Breaking your contact and pulling his shirt over his head you were met with the sight of his broad chest, bare and heaving. Before jumping back into the kiss, you begin to take your own top off to match his level of undress. 

“Don’t.” before you can even lift the sweater from your waist his hands were gripping your wrists. 

“I want you to leave it on.”

Your eyebrow quirks but you can’t deny the throb you feel between your legs upon his request. You just nod your head and go to pull his lips back on yours. 

The kiss was deeper now as he maneuvered your bodies further into your living room. Before you knew it, the back of your legs were hitting the couch causing you to stumble backward, falling onto a pile blankets and throw pillows. Leaning back on the couch you watched Declan slowly lower himself to his knees before you, sliding off your pajama bottoms and underwear while keeping his eyes fixed on yours. 

He leaned in, placing gentle kisses on the inside of your thigh, one by one making his way up to your center while keeping eye contact with you as he went.

You let out a breathy moan, it was the closest thing you could get out to say please stop teasing and get on with it. Hearing the impatient noise coming from you made Declan smirk. You watched the smug little smile take over his face and the sight of him like this between your legs made you even more wet than before. 

He finally broke the agonizing eye contact to look at you spread out before him still wearing in his clothing.

What a sight.

Your gorgeous body nearly naked and desperate for him, clad in only a sweater. The only thing you had on was his— like a piece of him resting on your body. 

Without warning he brought his hand to your center, the tips of his pointer and middle finger just barely gliding against your sopping core. 

“You’re soaked darlin” His fingers were practically dancing at your entrance; it was his turn to tease now and he was enjoying himself. 

“Declan please.” Your voice was a silent plea.

“Say it again.” His tone was truly sadistic as he let the pads of his fingertips barely dip inside of you.

“Christ I love hearin’ you beg for me.”

“Pretty please Declan” You do your best to give your words a playful quality, but the way they fell from your mouth sounded more like a desperate whine. 

“Anythin’ for my girl.” He immediately pushes his fingers into you knuckles deep as he places one last kiss to your thigh, dangerously close to your center. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him press a gentle kiss right on your clit, completely contrasting the assertive movement of his fingers sliding in and out of you.

His kiss on your core then turned into small steady kitten licks, and you had to keep yourself from shamelessly grinding your hips against his face.

His touch had you in a trance, but you were starving for more. More more more, you were convinced you could never have enough of Declan. You reached your hands down to tug at the curls on his head knowing that it drove him mad when you pulled his hair. 

Just as you suspected the pull on his hair had him groaning into you. It took him no time to find your sweet spot, curling his fingers against your soft walls eliciting a primal moan to build on your chest. 

Declan knew your body like the back of his hand; how to kiss your jaw to make you whimper, where to run his hands on your body to have you melting into his touch, the way to hit that spot inside of you that almost makes you scream out for him.

You were his to touch; his to study, his to play with.

Knowing he had you a writhing moaning mess for his touch, and only his, made him smug.

Realizing he had you like that wearing nothing but his sweater, added a level of pride and possessiveness that had his dick swelling in his jeans. 

With his arousal progressing Declan decided to be a little more assertive with your bundle of nerves now alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue sending you into a state of euphoria.

You could feel your body reacting to the touch of tongue and the fullness of his fingers, your chest growing hot and your core pulling tight.

Fuck- he knew just how to keep his pace, having you intoxicated by his touch.

You could feel yourself unraveling with every second that passed. His movements working together to make your core clench, and your eyes squeeze shut. Practically panting, you could feel the rush of your orgasm ripple through your body allowing your grip on Declan’s hair to tighten. The hum that came to his lips caused you to cry out as you came. 

“Could eat you like that everyday for the rest of my life.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Although the words were dirty, his tone was light and sincere.

“I might just let you.” While you weren’t joking in the slightest, you grinned at the man between your legs.

You abruptly sat up on your elbows, pulling Declan from his spot at your core and urging him to sot back against the couch cushions.

“Need these off.” You leaned into him, fumbling with his jeans. You were still so hungry for him. You needed him inside of you, it was almost instinctual. 

The same desire coursing through your veins was clouding Declan’s mind as he forcefully pushed his jeans off his body.

Before they could even hit his ankles you were straddling his hips, ready to feel the familiar stretch of him. You could sense his tip just at your center so close you could feel it throbbing.

Just before you pushed down on him allowing you both sweet relief, you paused. 

“You’re so hard baby.” You pout down to Declan, the never-ending teasing match between the two of you continuing. 

You move your lips to his neck but keep your hips positioned just above his tempting erection. 

“Can’t believe I got you this worked up just by wearing your sweater.” You giggle softly, still lightly sucking and nipping on his neck. 

If you knew two things about Declan; he hated being teased, and he always needed to be in control. He could dish it but he couldn’t take it.

So, given the way you were currently straddling him and the words coming out of your mouth, you knew he wouldn’t let you keep up this charade for long. But he would always let you have a little fun- even just for a minute. 

And as those last words left your mouth, you realized your minute of fun was over.

Your harmless amusement took a turn into something far more pleasurable. Declan gripped your hips hard pulling you down onto him.

As you sunk down, a whine of gratification slipped past your lips. The stretch of him so satisfying you didn’t think you would ever get used to it. 

“This fucking sweater.” He grabbed the material pooling above your waist.

“My sweater.” His hands found your hips again, guiding you down onto him at a relentless pace.

“You’re mine huh sweetheart? My girl.” It must be a rhetorical question because you don’t think you’re capable of forming words as you moved against him.

“Yes. God- yes.” You honestly couldn’t tell if you were answering his question, or if the response leaving your lips was due to the way Declan was bucking into you each time you came down on him.

You were a whimpering mess, and he had only been in you for maybe sixty seconds. 

Sensing your state of overwhelm, Declan couldn’t help but push you closer to the edge.

He took his hands off your hips giving you a moment to set the pace. Running his fingers lightly underneath your— his sweater.

The speed of your movements were much slower than Declan’s, you wanted to savor how he felt against your sensitive walls.

Meanwhile, his fingertips were ghosting your abdomen at the same tempo, ever so slowly moving his touch higher and higher until he was tracing lazy patterns into the skin of your breasts.

You felt his fingertips find your nipples, lightly pinching and playing with them, sending your body trembling in his touch. Your eyes squeezed shut and your head was thrown back in pleasure. 

“Declan” His name fell from your lips in a moan.

“Declan fuck me please.” Of course, you knew he was already fucking you, but you wanted him to stop being so nice about it.

You wanted him to stop letting you tease him; to stop letting you go so slow. You wanted him to have his way with you. After all you were his. 

And there it was.

The switch instantly flipped and Declan ran his hands back down to your hips lifting them so his length was resting just at your entrance. His hold on you was deliciously tight, the feeling of his fingers digging into your flesh was enough to make you dizzy. 

“Anythin’ for my girl.” He repeated the phrase from earlier, his voice a mix between a groan and a whisper with a smile behind his words. 

He meant it, because his hips were snapping up to meet yours with a sound so loud and filthy you thought your neighbors might be able to hear it.

But you couldn’t even begin to care because Declan was thrusting up into you at a fixed pace. Each time he made sure to push deep, hitting the exact spot that he knew would have you coming undone in moments.

Your body felt frozen in place as Declan held onto your hips, using you for his own pleasure. You allowed yourself to meet his gaze, knowing your fucked-out expression would give away how close you were to unraveling on him. 

“You’re close baby, I can feel it” He was practically growling as he continued relentlessly pressing himself into you. 

His length was filling you completely and with each thrust the pressure building inside of you threatened to finally snap. 

“C’mon my girl give me another, let go.” Declan’s words always had a way of finishing you off. 

Plus he was looking into your eyes with such deprivation, that you can’t deny him what he wanted.

You felt the tension finally overflow and the surge of your second orgasm of the night came crashing down on you. 

As you were moaning his name, Declan finished simultaneously.

His eyes squeezing shut and profanities spilling from his lips in an Irish accent so heavy you could hardly understand him. You knew he was holding off his own release for you. Such a gentleman. 

“I think you ought to keep this.”

After a few moments of restoring your bodies to a somewhat calm state, you were still sat on him, both of your chests heaving as he gripped the material of the sweater once again. 

“Maybe just weekend custody?”

He chuckled at your joke, but you were dead serious. You were still convinced the top looked better on him, plus you desperately needed it to keep smelling like his cologne.

“Deal.” He was still laughing as he brought your face down to his, planting a kiss on your forehead. 

my masterlist

[foli-vora]

under pressure

declan o'hara x f!reader

A/N: is this how I imagined returning to my little corner of the internet? No, but I'm not mad about it. Look at him. I've been in love with him ever since he showed up uninvited at Bilbo Baggins front door. It's been a hot minute since I've written smut angels, so this may be a mess - be gentle with me as I somewhat work my way back into my old groove lmao. And as always, enjoy!

Word count: a bit over 1.7k I believe

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY: a deep and sloppy blowjob. The man fucking needs one. Also swearing, brief mentions of oral (f rec) and edging, masturbation (f), dirty talk, praise kink - having this man murmur these words to me would be my entire physical, mental, emotional and spiritual undoing I swear to god. Not really proof read so YOLO I guess.

His gruff answer through the closed food of his study is exactly what you expect. Not Now. Now now, he says. Not now, not an hour ago, not even two hours ago… not at all today, it seems. He’d been locked away since breakfast, and quite frankly, you’d had enough. 

You open the door with a scowl. “Yes now.”

Declan sighs, pen dropping to the papers strewn across his desk as he rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Love—”

“I’m not here to harass you,” you soothe, stepping into the study and closing the door firmly behind you, “I know you’re busy. I’m here to help.”

He frowns at you, watching you walk your way deeper into the room and around his desk. He doesn’t have time for this. God, he’d hang the fucking moon and stars for you but right now? Not a good time. Not with everything happening with Ventura, with Tony fucking Baddingham… 

“Help? I appreciate the thought, but this isn’t really your forte—”

“Not the kind of help I was offering.”

One look into your eyes and he thinks maybe he has five minutes to spare. Five minutes of those lips, that body, and that fucking space between your legs that seems to forever have his fucking head in a spin. All the times he’d wake with the taste of your cunt still lingering on his top lip, the very essence of you soaked so far into his moustache he’d smell you throughout the day…

Shit. Maybe ten minutes.

He reaches for you, hands already fisting and tugging at the cosy knit jumper snugly hugging your frame and the flowy cotton summer dress beneath it. You laugh softly, fingers wrapping around his wrists and halting his attempts to find a way under your clothes. He pauses, staring up at you as if you’ve just slapped him right across his handsome face.

“I’m here for you, Declan.”

He groans deeply, face pressing into your stomach and letting his voice melt into the material. “Please, love. All I want is to sit you on this desk and lose myself in you.”

“And have me make a mess all over your hard work? Do you really think that’s practical, darling?”

“Fuck practicality.”

“No, I don’t think so. Now back,” you reinforce your demand with a shove to his chest, the old chair creaking under the sudden shift of weight, “and relax, alright? You’re in good hands here, Mr O’Hara.”

He watches as you slip down onto your knees between his legs, tongue sweeping along his lower lip as you reach for his belt.

“I promise not to take up too much of your time,” you tease, fingers nimble as they pull at his trousers.

He doesn’t help you wrangle denim out of the way, simply content with watching you paw at him until you get what you want. You always get what you want in the end. He can’t find it within himself to be irritated by it at this moment, not when your warm fingers finally wrap around his cock and send pulses of heat to stir in the pit of his stomach.

Time? He doesn't give a shit about that anymore.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and you can have as much time as you like.”

Research could wait, or maybe he could pass time doing research of a different sort. How many times could he make you finish with his fingers? Mouth?

How many times could he drag you to the edge, promising a sharp drop into ecstasy, only to pull away before the inevitable descent? The only problem he’d have was not giving into your hoarse pleas, begging for more. A few harsh cries of his name and he’d do anything you asked of him—

“Fuck, love.”

The hot encompass of your mouth over his steadily hardening cock steals whatever thoughts he had left swirling in his mind, and his head falls back to rest on the chair with a light thud. You fight a smile as he melts under your touch, wet tongue soft and soothing as you run it over salty skin.

He hardens fully in the heat of your mouth, lips now straining around the solid thickness of him as his cock slides back and forth in between them. 

“How fuckin’ wet are you right now?” He rumbles deeply, his fingers gentle as they stroke along your cheek and to where your lips stretch around him. “I bet you’re fuckin’ soaked, just from having my cock in your mouth.”

You are, and he damn well knows it. 

Humming lightly, your tongue drags against hardened flesh until his cock softly pops out from between your lips. “Maybe I’ll let you find out.”

A slight tug of a smirk stretches beneath his moustache, and your body practically thrums under his heavy lidded stare. “Oh, I’ll be findin’ out, love. Don’t you worry about that. Now open your mouth, take me all the way—show me how good you are.”

Yes, sir.

Taking him back between your lips, you slicken his skin with another teasing stroke of tongue before taking him deeper and deeper, until you start to feel the push of resistance at the back of your mouth.

A large hand curls around the back of your head to goad you on, your cunt tightening at the firm pressure of it. You fight the first wave of a gag, swallowing thickly around him and digging your fingers into the worn denim covering his thighs in an effort to ground yourself.

“Just a little more, love. That’s it, attagirl. Just like that. Relax, open up for me.”

It’s a struggle, his thick cock throbbing heavily and uncomfortable in your throat, but the more he rumbles away with those pretty little words of encouragement and you don’t care.

You don’t care that tears begin to build and spill from your eyes, tracking hot streams down your cheeks. You don’t care that your lungs are burning, that you’re on the verge of retching from the solid intrusion.

All you care about is the way he watches you take it all, eyes heavy and chest heaving. All you care about is getting that last bit of tension out of his shoulders, about making him proud. You want to be the one to break him, to have Declan O’Hara shatter and fall apart at your touch.

“Such a pretty little thing you are,” he murmurs, his rough thumb brushing along your cheek and smearing your tears over your skin. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, always so good t’me.”

Oxygen floods your lungs when you pull back enough on his cock to inhale sharply, eyes fluttering closed as the large hand steadying your head turns to a more guiding approach, fingers digging into your scalp as he pulls and pushes your face against him as he wishes.

Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth from the relentless press of his cock meeting the back of your throat, spilling from your lips and sliding down your chin in a messy trail. He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re making a mess, eyes dark and zeroed in on the way his cock disappears between your plush wet lips. 

“Just a little more, love. Just a… oh, fuck. You’re so fuckin’ good, so good—”

Your brows pinch together with an effort to stay composed, to not let the utter fire consuming your body distract you from why you came here in the first place. You can’t help that your body is so damn responsive to every little thing this man does and says to you.

The long soaked fabric of your underwear sticks to your weeping cunt, walls fluttering around the disappointing feel of nothing, and clit throbbing with the need for just a little bit of attention from either you or the man fucking your mouth.

A slight shift and you’re able to drag one of your hands away from his thigh and under the hem of your dress, fingers soft and soon slick as soon as they dive under the thin cotton and swipe eagerly through your slit. You waste no time running the pads of your fingers over your swollen clit, circling again and again until you couldn’t help but slide one, and then two, fingers deep into your hot cunt and curling. 

He catches the twist of your features, the way a hand is suddenly missing from his leg and he groans softly at the idea of you needing to touch yourself while sucking him off. He's watched you plenty of times, knows exactly what you like and how you look giving yourself everything you need.

Another choked moan falls from your throat and he’s fucking desperate for it.

“Give me your hand,” he orders hoarsely. His eyes narrow at the remaining hand you lift from his thigh, and his head tilts towards you. “Not that one, your other one.”

You whine softly around his cock in vague disappointment as you slide your wet fingers from your cunt, attempting to keep your pace bobbing your head up and down his thick length as he all but snatches your wrist.

His lips wrap around the two fingers glistening in the sunlight pouring in from the window and he groans deeply around the length of them, the sweet tangy taste of your cunt settling right into his taste buds and dragging him right up and over the fucking edge.

He erupts thickly on your tongue, sharp salty cum filling your mouth and spilling from your lips as you desperately try to swallow him down. Your tongue catches and swipes up what cum remains on his now softening cock, his hips jolting and jerking with every teasing lick and soft suck you give to his sensitive flesh.

You pull away with a playful smile, your hand still caught up and now intertwined with his as his chest heaves from the aftermath. His eyes open after a moment to find you, the edge in his expression now softened.

“Feel better?”

“Not yet,” he breathes before swiping a hand across his desk, the flutter and slap of paper and files hitting the floor soon following. His hand taps the now vacant surface of the desk twice, his head briefly nodding to the space made for you, “but I will after this—get up.”

[rivalsispunk]

Professor O'Hara

Professor!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (unidentified, reader is legal and in university), mention of male appendages, mention of male and female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, slight brat tamer Declan, light bondage

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Your university professor is looking a lil' too good, but he doesn't appreciate you teasing him mid-lesson.

Today, Professor Declan O’Hara’s opted for a more casual look, a little removed from the sports coats and ties he usually wears to teach. No, today it’s brown slacks and boots paired with a Levi’s denim button down that’s splayed open at his collarbone, tufts of dark chest hair creeping up the bare skin there. He always looked good, but his current outfit elicits murmurs of appreciation that rifle through the classroom as he speaks passionately about — God, you don’t even know what. You’re no better than your peers, stuck lustfully on the whole chest hair situation.

“That’s all for today, guys,” Declan eventually announces, and the sound of shuffling of feet and closing of textbooks is almost immediate. Then comes your name leaving your professor’s lips, all drenched in that delicious Irish lilt of his while he stuff his belongings into his briefcase.

“Can you stay behind a few minutes?” he asks flatly. “I just have some feedback for you about your midterm essay.”

You nod curtly at his request, trying not to let a grin escape your rolled lips.

“God, that sounds grim,” one of your classmates whispers as you stand from your seats in the front row. “I’ll meet you in the quad in ten minutes?”

You glance from her to Declan, then back to your friend. “How about I catch up with you later? This might take a while.”

Because what she doesn’t know, what nobody knows, is that your professor has no intention of discussing any coursework with you. You and him are both well aware you’re hardly in need of feedback when it comes to your studies. No, what Declan wanted from you was far more intimate than a discussion about notes in the margin of a page.

The first time you laid eyes on Declan in the flesh was orientation week of your final year of university, when campus was buzzing over the news that a TV star had joined the faculty, the famed journalist and TV host’s name on everybody’s lips. You, for one, were thrilled to see his name on your schedule, Declan — Professor O’Hara — now taking this term’s advanced media ethics lecture. Growing up, you loved watching his BBC program, then followed his career when he made the leap to Corinium. Now that Venturer was an up and running well-oiled machine, Declan decided to take a step back from the network for a term to add teaching to his resume. He felt he ought to try his hand at shaping the next generation of journalists, and as a budding one yourself, having someone so experienced and respected in the industry was just what you needed to give you the leg up in your future career. You’d arrived at the first class exceptionally early, eager to get a front row seat. You’d poured through all of the compulsory readings and stuck it out through the optional chapters too, so you were prepared if Declan called on you. Given the excitement over his arrival, you’d expected at least a few other students to have the same idea as you, but when you swung through the ornate timber door, the lecture hall was empty, cold. Aside from Declan O’Hara, who ignited the room with a lopsided smile at the sight of his first student. It warmed you from head to toe and spread to far more sinister places as you took in his form, so much taller and handsome than you’d anticipated after years of watching him on a grainy television screen.

That smile was the first of many you’d share as the weeks of classes unfolded and though he’d never let it slip, you very soon became his favourite pupil. Switched on, intelligent and mature beyond your years, it was no wonder he’d first thought you were another staff member when you entered his classroom. He’d hoped you didn’t notice his smile falter after you introduced yourself and took a seat in the front row of the tiered seating, solidifying your status as a student. If you were another faculty member, he could get away with flirting. He could go about his lectures without fumbling over his words because you giggled quietly at something your friend had whispered to you, a grin pinching a beautiful flush on your cheeks. 

You were a student. He was a professor. There were rules about that. Rules Declan knew he should uphold. That he tried to uphold. But after weeks of you being so fucking smart (a turn-on for Declan if there ever was one), after you’d signed up for his optional professor-led study groups and blown your peers out of the water, after one session ran particularly late, leaving just you and Declan once the other students ditched for other plans, those rules went completely out the stained glass window of the library room you were sat in. You were all hands and crashing mouths, a tidal wave of tongues and knowing smiles, not unlike the one Declan is giving you now as you wait for the last few students to trickle out of the room.

“Get on the desk,” he says as soon as the door creaks shut with a heavy thud.

“What?” You’re taken aback at his demand, eyes darting wildly between him, the desk and the door. “Right here? Anyone could walk in.” At least when you hooked up in his office, the room could be locked.

“Yes, right here,” he confirms flatly. He rounds the desk…. Stalks towards you, forcing you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the cool timber. “You don’t get the privilege of privacy when you’ve been sat there taunting me with your bare pussy.” He cups you roughly under your mini skirt and you gasp at the sudden contact.

You’d purposely gone without underwear today, knowing full well that from his spot at the front of the hall, Declan would have the perfect view. However, you didn’t think he’d noticed. He’d remained his usual poised and charming self the whole hour, eyes occasionally meeting yours for a fleeting second, no differently to any other student.

Oh, but he’d noticed. As soon as he launched into his introduction into the intersection of culture in media, you’d spread your knees just so, holding in a moan as the cool air hit your core. Declan’s cock jumped to life behind his slacks but he kept on with his train of thought, although the remainder of the class came from behind the cover of his desk.

“You think it’s cute to tease me like that when you know I can’t do anything about it?” he growls down at you, hand unwavering despite the pool of arousal forming between you. You cant into his hand, desperate for friction against your bundle of nerves. You knew your little act of rebellion would infuriate him, get him riled up to the point he’d be unforgiving with you. Still, you feign dumb, peering up at him through your thick eyelashes.

“Hmm? Do you?”

“No,” you say quietly, writhing to no reprieve.

“No, what?”

“No, Declan.”

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, already dark eyes almost black. “No, what?”

“No professor,” you relent, the title he loves so much falling out amid a sigh.

Declan’s moustache quirks, satisfied. “Good girl.” Then he sinks his thick middle finger into you, right to the knuckle, immediately probing your G-spot. He repeats the movement over and over, drawing barely-there whimpers from you. Once he’s warmed you up, he slips an additional finger in and his thumb latches onto your clit, rubbing circles in tandem with every pump of his wrist. 

“Oh, God,” you whisper, legs seconds away from buckling as Declan speeds up. His lips come to brush your own, gently, and you keen into his touch, needing a taste of him. But just as quickly as he leaned in, he’s rearing back. As he does, he withdraws his fingers from you, taking a pathetic whine with it. 

You’d slap the smug grin off his face if it wasn’t so goddamn sexy. 

“Teasing’s not so fun when you’re on the receiving end of it, is it, darlin’?”

Takes fingers into his mouth, eyes locked on yours, drags them out at what should be an illegally slow pace with a pop. The act is so simple yet so inherently sexual, you watch him in such awe, as if he’s just defied gravity right in front of you.

“So sweet, f’me,” he whispers, then jerks his chin at you. “On the desk. I’m not asking this time.”

You do as he says, hoisting yourself up so you’re teetering on the edge, ignoring the scuffling of shoes and chatter buzzing in the hallway. Declan fills the space between your thighs, his hips nudging them even more widespread as he brings his mouth to yours. His moustache grazes like steel wool on your upper lip, his tongue fighting for purchase against your own, the taste of yourself mingling with the hazy aftermath of the cigarette Declan huffed down before class. His hands have a tight grip on either side of your faces until one comes to fist your hair at the back of your neck, scalp tingling as he snaps your head back to lick a stripe up your throat. You’re writhing on the desk now, needing Declan to fucking touch you down there while he sucks a kiss into your pulse. 

“Are you gonna behave now and stop being a prick tease?” he wants to know

“Depends,” you counter. “Are you going to stop being a prick and let me come?”

Cheeky fucking girl, Declan thinks and, as if he couldn’t get any harder, his dick strains against his trousers, battling his zipper. “I’ll take that as a no then.”

Dropping to his knees, he pays no mind to the pain that shoots up his back when his joints hit the hardwood floors. His hands grip your knees, pushing them apart as far as they’ll go as he begins the assault on your cunt. You can’t keep up as he alternates between nibbling and sucking your clit like he’s been starved for weeks and you're the only thing to cure his famine. Your hands are pitched against the desktop behind you, steadying yourself while you lean backwards so Declan has full access as he relentlessly laps you up.

“Declan,” you pant, still jerking your hips to meet his mouth. “So good.”

He smiles against your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit harder, faster, as two of his thick fingers press back into your hole.

“Oh, fuck.” The combination of tongue and fingers pushes you closer to the edge, pins and needles rippling through your toes. “Declan… Gonna come,” you seethe through ragged breaths, eyes closing at the pleasure mounting deep in your stomach. You’re nearly there, on the brink of your orgasm wracking through you and—

Nothing.

Your climax recedes, your cunt immediately missing Declan’s warm mouth when he pulls back and cool air stings your moist centre. Again, you whine, this time at being denied the ecstasy that was right there. Your eyes flutter open and you glare at him, brows drawn together, silently asking what the fuck? Declan leers back up you, moustache glistening with your slick.

“I asked if you were going to behave.”

“Declan—professor—I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll—” “Too late for that, love. You’ll come when I tell you to come, and not a second before,” he tells you, voice gravelly as he stands, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. “Got it?”

You nod incessantly, head bobbing so quickly you’re surprised it doesn’t fall off. Whatever, anything, as long as he just keeps touching you.

“Alright, then. Stand up. Face the blackboard.”

Scrambling, you follow his instructions, staring at his notes from class scrawled in chalky handwriting. You’re already wobbly on your feet, both from the orgasm stolen away from you and your nerves, as you remember the fact that anybody could walk in at any given moment. If you got caught, you’d get expelled. Declan would be fired. Not to mention he’s married. But right now, you can’t find it in you to care, not when the jingle of his belt buckle echoes through the empty classroom and he yanks your hands together at the base of your spine. Soft leather wraps around your wrists, and you gasp, pussy clenching, then hiss when Declan pulls the belt so tight it wears against your bones.

“Be good,” he snips from behind you, quietly, his hands coming to rake your hair over your shoulder before his fingers start trailing feather-light lines down the back of your black, skin-tight sweater. The gesture is intimate, soft. Relaxing if not for your heart galloping in your chest, shattering against your ribs. He roams to the front of your body, bearish hands pawing at your tits as he ruts his steely cock against your arse cheeks. “Been absolutely aching for you all mornin’,” Declan whispers against the shell of your ear while he kneads your chest. “Seeing you so wet f’me… Couldn’t get that class over with fast enough.” As soon as the words come to a halt, a hand goes to the base of your neck and snaps you forward so you’re bent in half, right cheek flush against Declan’s desk. The eye closest to the timber waters, squashed half-closed in the position as you stare at the ginormous door that taunts you while your professor yanks your green skirt over your arse, brandishing it with a slap that wracks your entire body. “Little fucking brat.”

The slaps stings your skin but feels so fucking good at the same time, your arousal sticking the apex of your thighs together. Declan doesn’t sooth the pain with a soft hand or a kiss where a raised, red handprint is undoubtedly forming, just unzips his slacks, the generally mundane sound deafening as you await the inevitable.

Declan watches your body rise and fall with heaving breaths, his cock, sprung free of his boxers, a hardened red rod aimed directly for your weeping cunt. The pre-cum that’s formed at his top glistens under the hall’s fluorescent lighting, and he uses his palm to spread it down his length, pumping languidly, once, twice, before lining himself up at your hole. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip, feeling him just inches away from where you need him most. He’s stalling, if only for his own gratification. You can practically feel him grinning when you groan, your bound hands pulsing helplessly in the air as you try to reach for him.

“What do you need, love?” Declan asks.

“Need you. Need you to fuck me,” you plead, wiggling your legs apart. “Professor, please.” It’s the please that does it for him, your begging single handedly burying Declan’s cock inside you to the hilt. You’re immediately full and fluttering around him, and he wastes no time in dragging himself in and out of your cunt at an unforgiving pace, his hands creating bruises at your hips while he snaps his own against your arse.

“Fucking missed this. Missed your tight pussy. Made just f’me,” Declan grunts, every word punctuated by each pump of his cock. You moan, completely pathetic and pliable for the older man hunched above you. Your eyes loll closed while your body slides against the desk with Declan’s rigorous movement. One of his hands comes to your cheek, sprawling flat palm pushing your head against the treated wood, completely deafening you on one side while your other ear is assaulted with grunts and expletives. “Good girl, fucking take it from your professor. You like that, huh?”

You nod, as much as you can under the weight of his hand, your moans a jumble of yes and please and don’t fucking stop I’m gonna come.

Declan’s close too, already tiring of the pedantic pace he’s set, and every single one of your whines threatens to tip him over the edge.

“You ready to come, darlin’?” he asks, though he knows you’ve been waiting and ready since you chose to go sans underwear this morning. Since you decided to tease him. “Go on, let me hear it.”

His permission is all you need to let go, a pathetic squeal wrapped in a fuuuuck tumbling from your lips as you spasm beneath Declan, sweat pooling between your tits, his fingernails digging crescents into the flesh of your hips. Not five seconds later, barbaric grunts sound above you as Declan shoots ropes of hot come inside you, your orgasm milking him of his own. The hand that had you pinned down comes to stroke your hair as your shuddering slows down, Declan sighing as his last drop seeps out of his swollen head. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says, mourning the feeling of your warm cunt as he slips out. He gently slides your skirt back over your arse and undoes his belt from your wrists, quietly slipping it back through the loops around the waistband of his trousers. You remain facedown on the desk, waiting for instruction while your heart thrums down to a regular rate. Declan finds your forearms, gently lifting you to stand and face him. You both look completely fucked out, your mascara smudged one eye, sweat beading in the chest hair visible under his shirt, moisture seeping in the material where its covered.

Declan rakes his left hand over his face, wedding band glinting in the light when he drops his arm to remove a lazy smile. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

You shrug, trying to remain nonchalant despite the pride swelling in your chest at the backwards compliment. As you lean down to grab your bag from where you’d discarded it on the floor, you feel Declan begin to leak out of you. You shudder, partly from the aftershock of your climax, partly because of the fact you’ve been in here so long you’re going to have to go to your next class full of your professor’s come. Not to mention the whole no underwear situation.

“You got literature next?” Declan asks, as if he can read your mind. The comment’s casual, too, like he didn’t just fuck your brains out in the middle of a lecture hall.

“Yeah,” you respond, slipping your bag onto your shoulder. “Next building over.”

Declan nods, sly smile sliding onto his face. “Good. My office hours begin after that.”

“I know.” You’ve been making good use of those office hours for quite some time.

“Make sure you come by,” he tells you. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Masterlist

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Not a Creature Was Stirring

Declan O’Hara x Reader

Words: 2677

Summary: Christmas at the Priory gets more complicated with Maud can’t make it back from London. As Declan’s girlfriend, you try to step in to still make it a perfect holiday for him and his kids. Needless to say, things don’t exactly go according to plan. 

Notes: With my love for Aidan Turner, you guys had to know Declan would be joining my list of stories eventually! I love him so much and I’m happy to have him as the subject of my Christmas imagine this year. I hope you all have a happy holidays, whatever you celebrate and a wonderful new year! (and if you recognized the Poldark quote I totally stole, no you didn't)

-

T’was two weeks before Christmas and all through the Priory, everyone buzzed with holiday spirit. Patrick and Caitlin were back from school, Taggie was busy making hors d’oeuvres for all of the holiday parties she’d been hired to cater and you were enjoying a book by the fireplace. The only one who seemed unable to enjoy the season was Declan. He stomped about, going through receipts and orders and cards. His brows furrowed and his mustache curved with the harshness of his frown. 

“I can’t make sense of any of this,” he huffed. “Everything from the last ridiculous party she planned and I still don’t know what to do.”

You set your book aside. Even though Declan and Maud were no longer together, you knew her approval still meant a lot to him. That, and now that he was the face of Corinium, he was expected to be a bit of a socialite as well. 

“Why doesn’t she plan it herself?” You asked. 

He hated getting into the details of these things. As long as there were good drinks and decent music, he seemed happy. 

He ran a hand through his dark curls and collapsed onto the sofa beside you. 

“Because she won’t get here until Christmas Eve.” Declan blew out a long, tired breath. “And the kids have been hounding me about having something here for weeks. I think they’re too cooped up. Tired of the house. Tired of me.”

Caitlin had complained more than once about her ongoing boredom. 

You brought your legs up, draping them over his lap as you turned to face him. His hand found your calf, rubbing circles to soothe both you and himself. 

“Why don’t you let me do it?”

“Do what?”

You flicked his arm. “The planning, silly.” 

“You want to plan Maud’s party?” He scoffed. 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

Declan grinned, snickering.

“What?” You asked. 

He just shook his head and kissed your cheek, pulling you closer as he stared into the fire. 

-

He’d tried to warn you. From the moment you volunteered to take over, Declan had told you it was not a task for the faint of heart. Especially since you were convinced the party had to be as extravagant and special as Maud’s would be. He wanted to tell you there was nothing to prove. That you didn’t need to dazzle everybody and put on some grand show. But you seemed excited to help, so he didn’t say anything. Besides, it was nice to focus on his work rather than invitations to people he’d rather not have to see more than he already did. 

Taggie knocked on the door of his office, apron covered with flour. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Declan glanced up from his papers. Bills he couldn’t pay and assignments he didn’t want. 

“She isn’t here?”

Taggie shook her head. “I was going to ask what she wanted me to make for the party.”

They looked at each other for a while until Declan shrugged.

“I have no idea,” he said. “She hasn’t told me anything.” 

“You mean you aren’t helping?” 

Declan scoffed. “I haven’t exactly had time, Taggie.” He put the papers aside. “And she won’t let me.”

“She won’t let you?”

“No. She won’t let me.”

She sighed. “Reminds me of me.” 

Taggie muttered, while it was nice not to be in charge for one, she felt a twinge of guilt thinking of you trying to throw everything together on your own. 

“If you find her, tell her I want to talk to her,” Declan said. 

Taggie snorted. “Right. Talk.”

“Your sister is rubbing off on you,” Declan groaned. "Run off."

Taggie left snickering. 

Declan tried to focus back on his work, but couldn’t. Maybe Taggie was right. Was he expecting too much of you? He wasn’t exactly known for his observation skills when the subject wasn’t an official or celebrity he wanted to tear apart. He didn’t want a whole fuss of a party anyway and now he was letting you bend over backwards to make it happen. He sighed, running a hand down his face. It was too late, of course. Declan knew if he said anything, you would assume you’d done something wrong. 

Your current situation did little to help. Having spent the last two hours haggling over second-hand decorations, you still didn’t have enough for both the entry hall and the dining room, not to mention other areas of the house. Plus, you’d need to repaint most of the wooden tree decorations, patch up the banners, and glue the ceramic snowman back together. The rest was a haphazard collection of string lights, ornaments, and brass angels you bartered for a steal. For you, it was enough. But for the O’Hara’s? For Declan? 

It was hard not to feel cast into a shadow when his ex was who she was. 

“Why couldn’t Maud be a minimalist?” You groaned. Maybe the girls could help you dig up some more decor from storage. Surely they had a snow or two tucked away somewhere. 

Stars… 

Now that gave you an idea. 

-

12 hours. That’s all the time you had left to prep the best Christmas party Declan’s family could have.

No pressure, right?

With the decorations set- you nearly broke your neck putting them up- now all you needed to do was make enough food for all the people you invited. Taggie had offered to help, but you insisted she spend Christmas Eve about town with her siblings. Of course, this left you standing in front of a dozen empty pans and no idea how to fill them. 

“How does she do this?” You muttered to yourself, looking over the recipe for the thousandth time. Mince pies, cranberry tarts, figgy pudding… it all could have been delivered, but making it yourself was cheaper. You knew money was tight, not that Declan would ever admit it. So it would be the best- and most affordable- Christmas party. 

Declan walked into the kitchen just as you were putting the first round of mini pies in the oven. 

“Maud called,” he sighed. He smoothed his wild curls only for them to pop out again. “She can’t make it.”

You almost dropped the pudding. “What?” 

“She can’t come home for Christmas.” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but you heard it all the same. “Apparently there’s a big party with lots of directors who might cast her, so she’s staying in London.”

“Oh.” You turned away so he wouldn’t see your face fall. It was silly, really, to be upset. But you hadn’t realized how much you wanted to impress her until now. 

“I’m sorry, love.” Declan came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I know how much work you’ve put into all this.”

Secretly, a small part of him was relieved, though it was a shame the kids wouldn’t see their mother on Christmas. 

Your back stiffened against his chest. 

“This is all the more reason to have this magnificent party,” you said, shrugging him away so you could get back to work. “It’ll be good for Patrick and the girls.”

Declan stood to the side, watching fierce determination overtake your features. 

He exhaled, surrendering. “Alright, love.”

-

The kitchen smelled like smoke and blackened fruit. Coughing, you pulled the tray of unsalvageable tarts from the oven and set them aside. You’d been so busy finishing up the decorations that you’d forgotten about them entirely. You opened the window despite the chill to let out some of the black clouds and godawful odor. 

Just half an hour before guests would start arriving and you’d just ruined half of the desserts. Pouring yourself a glass of whatever was closest, you just hoped they’d be content with free liquor after dinner. Maybe they’d get too drunk to care. 

“Are you setting fire to the entire neighborhood, because if so, at least spare my dogs.” A familiar snark sounded from behind you.

“Rupert? What are you doing here this early?” You gasped, wiping your hands on your apron. “Declan hasn’t had enough whiskey to tolerate you yet.”

“Then you should have invited more people,” he teased. Rupert entered the kitchen, leaning on the counter. “Why don’t you have Taggie help you? She’s perfect at this.” The admiration in his voice was hard to miss, but you ignored it.

“Because she deserves to spend Christmas with her family, not stuck in here with me.”

He raised a finger to point out you counted as family, but you interrupted. 

“And what do you mean, invite more people?” You put your hands on your hips. “I invited half of the Cotswolds.” 

Rupert winced. “Yes, well, that explains this then.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket. A stack of filthy, water-stained envelopes. “I didn’t find them til this morning. Postman must have dropped them in the garden when he got chased off by the dogs.” He handed the ruined invitations over. 

You stared at them, a lump forming in your throat.

“You mean… no one is coming?”

“I’m afraid not, darling.” He plucked a not-charred tart from the tray and popped it in his mouth. “But isn’t this better. A more intimate gathering with your mustachioed man?”

You shook your head, running your hand through your hair, breathing starting to pick up.

“Maud is staying in London,” you blurted. “So the family is without their mother for Christmas and I thought I could-”

“Replace her by throwing some ridiculous party?” He chuckled. His face fell, however, when he saw your lip quiver. “Darling, you know no one expects you to be Maud, don’t you?”

You looked away. 

“Nobody wants that.” He stepped forward. “Y/N, I’m sure they don’t. I’m a little relieved she’s not here, to be honest. She was always a bit much.” 

Shaking fingers struggled to untie your apron. You tossed it aside. 

“I have to go.” You hurried for the door, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. 

“Y/N-” He started. 

The door slammed shut behind you. 

Rupert watched you go, sighed, and stole another tart. 

-

As the O’Haras piled into the main hall, Caitlin pinched Taggie’s arm, spotting the Minister of Sport coming out of the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she whispered excitedly, earning a stern glance from their father. 

Taggie gulped. “Neither did I.”

Both watched their father put on a tight smile and approach the other man. 

“Rupert.”

“Declan.” Rupert’s smile was genuine, if not a bit arrogant. “I’m afraid I’ve been the bearer of bad news to your lovely Y/N,” he said. “All her invitations were lost to my flower bushes, left undelivered.”

“So there’s no one coming?” Patrick frowned. He’d hoped to meet some of his father’s good-looking TV hostess coworkers. 

“First mummy, now the whole town. Whatever will we do?” Caitlin said, eying Taggie and scooching her forward. When that didn’t work, she poked her brother. “Patrick scared them off with his terrible poetry.”

Patrick rustled her hair, making her squeak in protest. 

Declan ignored them. He ran a hand down his face and looked around at all you’d set up. You hadn’t even gotten to turn the lights on. 

“She seemed rather upset,” Rupert said, noticing Declan’s concern. “Ran off into the night. Very dramatic.” He leaned forward. “Perhaps you should go find her, hm?” He gave him a knowing look. 

Declan’s heart sank. He knew this wasn’t about the party. Not really. He just wished he’d realized it sooner. And before Rupert Campell-Black.

Starting for the door, he stopped, grabbing Rupert’s arm. 

“Don’t-” He narrowed his eyes, “-touch anything.”

He hurried off.

Rupert turned to the remaining O’Haras. 

“So,” he clapped his hands together. “Who knows where Declan keeps his best scotch?” 

-

He found you sitting on a snowy stump at the edge of the property. Declan watched the deep, shimmering green fabric of your dress sparkle in the moonlight, shifting as you lifted the bottle to your lips. You didn’t seem to see him approaching, eyes trained at the stars. 

“You look-” He sat beside you and kissed your cheek, “beautiful.”

“I don’t feel beautiful,” you muttered, taking another swig. The wine stained your lips a reddish purple but you didn’t care. Nobody would see it anyway. “I failed, Declan.”

“You didn’t fail.”

You scoffed. “The dessert is burnt, the decorations are literally hanging by a thread, and- oh yeah- none of it matters because no one is coming.” You raised your arm for another drink, but Declan grabbed the bottle, bringing it to his lips instead. 

Despite your efforts, your lip trembled. 

“I just wanted your family to have the perfect Christmas,” you said. 

“Is that what you think I care about?” He asked. “The extravagant party? The guests lined up down the pather?” Declan took your hands in his, trying to warm them from the chill. “Y/N, you’ve gotten me to look forward to a holiday for the first time in ages.” He brought your hands up for a lingering kiss. “Just by being you.” 

Your shaking stopped, tears chased away by his soft smile. You snatched the bottle back.

“Flattering will hardly make me feel better, Mr. O’Hara,” you teased. 

He raised a brown and leaned forward. 

“Does this?” He kissed your lips. “Or this?” Your jaw. “Or maybe…” The spot behind your ear. 

“Declan,” you breathed. 

He kept his lips by your ear, whispering. “You don’t have to be any more than you are, to be enough for me.”

Now, your tears returned for a different reason. Throwing your arms around him, you crashed your lips into his, forgetting what you’d been so upset about. Your hands found his hair, tangling those perfect black curls around your fingers. He reached one hand around you to hold you closer while the other rested on your thigh, creeping ever upwards. 

“If nobody is coming, can we start to eat?” Patrick called out over the lawn, making you jolt apart. 

You bit back a laugh, Declan’s face turning pink. “Go ahead!”

“Little bastard couldn’t wait ten more minutes?” Your frustrated boyfriend whined. 

“Ten minutes?” You stood, holding out your hand to help him. 

Declan pinched your upper thigh and scooped you up, both actions eliciting a squeal from your lips as he carried you back. 

-

“Ready?”

“Yes!” They all cheered, impatient.

You giggled, holding the switch captive in your hand. “You don’t look ready.”

“Get on with it, Y/N,” Caitlin whined, “turn them on!”

A chorus of pleas joined her. Declan just laughed, giving you a wide grin.

“You heard them,” he said.

“Alright, alright.”

You flipped the switch. All at once, the main hall lit up, and not just around the tree. Lights strung up above their heads created a canopy of color. Rupert turned on the speakers, filling the space with music. Exclamations of awe and excitement sounded all around you.

“Come on,” Caitlin said, dragging her siblings out to dance with her. Taggie glanced at Rupert, blush flooding her cheeks. He simply motioned for her to go on and dance.

Declan grabbed your hand.

“It’s perfect.” He kissed you deeply, making your knees weak as though he held you up in his embrace.

Caitlin made a teasing sound of disgust, but Taggie couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her father so happy.

Rupert leaned over to you as he strutted to join the others. 

“Told you so,” he whispered. You reached to smack him, but he shimmied out of the way.

“Told you what?” Declan asked. 

You curled a black strand around your finger. 

“That I didn’t have to prove something to be loved by you.”

He pressed a kiss to your palm.

“For once, Rupert and I agree.” He lead you out to dance, swaying slowly despite the cheesy song. 

“Merry Christmas, Declan.” You kissed him again, nuzzling closer. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

And so you all spent Christmas dancing to overplayed tunes under flashy, colorful lights. 

And it was perfect.