#edit: i added a few more lines to the end | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Not-So-Scary Moments With The Yan. Genshin Boys (Sumeru + Fontaine Edition).

Characters: Alhaitham, Neuvillette, Kaveh, Tighnari, Cyno, and Wriothesley.

Word Count: 2.7k.

TW: Borderline Shitposting, Prolonged Imprisonment, Varying Levels of Emotional and Physical Abuse, Codependency, Mentions of Stalking, and Unhealthy Relationships.

Alhaitham

It took Alhaitham about ten minutes to drag himself out of bed, his staggered footsteps audible through the thin walls of his apartment.

It took twenty for him to haul himself through his morning routine – water running somewhere in the distance and porcelain clattering against marble countertops as he washed his face and tried to work some life into himself. Alhaitham usually wasn’t so lethargic, but he’d had a rough week. There’d been a sudden influx of paperwork for the Akademiya’s sole scribe, and every second he didn’t spend buried under new legislation and requests for increased budging was, instead, dedicated to one of his many personal research projects. By the time he’d gotten home last night, it’d been all he could do to make sure you hadn’t starved to death and drag himself to bed.

He usually would’ve kept you waiting for a few more minutes, but an agitated grunt marked an end to his normal patterns. In a moment, he was braced against the doorway to his own study, his eyes narrowed half-hearted towards where you sat in his leather-padded chair, your feet propped on his desk. There was an book open in your lap – one of his, something about metaphysics and ley line abnormalities and how both tied into the Inazuman politics. He eyed it wearily before speaking, his voice still deep with exhaustion. “Where did you put my hearing aids?”

His tone was accusatory, his irritation visible. You put on your sweetest smile. “Where did you put my novellas?” you signed, thinking for a moment before adding, “Bitch?”

“They aren’t ‘novellas’, they’re—” He cut himself off with a scoff. “They’re filth. I don’t want you rotting your brain with smut.”

“The plots are very—”

“The plots are half-baked excuses for paper-thin characters to fondle each other in locations you can tell the author didn’t take the time to properly research and—” His gaze flickered to you, his frown deepening. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You’ve read them?”

There was a long beat of silence.

Finally, he let out a labored sigh. “The dozen or so I couldn’t be bothered to throw away are in a cabinet underneath the kitchen sink. It’s locked – the code is your birthday. Now, where are my aids?”

“You fell asleep with them on last night,” you said aloud, abandoning his glorified textbook and pushing yourself to your feet. His hand shot to the side of his head, finding the metallic cuff only slightly displaced by having spent the better half of the night on his head. As you passed him, you paused, pressing a kiss into the corner of his scowl and pretending to ignore the muffled groan he let out in response.

Neuvillette

Of all the sights you thought you might see after arriving in your wonderous new nation, the Iudex of Fontaine standing over your drained bathtub with a look of potent remorse written across his expression was not one of them.

You’d imagined yourself strolling through the walls of the Opera Epiclese in vivid detail, been able to picture exactly what you might’ve seen standing below the Tower of Ipsissimus or above the bottomless pit that was the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, but even after you’d found yourself in the smothering care of Monsieur Neuvillette, you never would’ve been able to conjure this sight. He usually insisted that you bathe together, going so far as to have an in-ground tub that could’ve easily been mistaken for a hot spring installed in his (until recently neglected) personal residence to better indulge the habit. Thankfully, the trial he’d been presiding over had run long today, and you’d been able to save yourself an hour of his calloused hands running over your body, of his eyes burning into your skin with a nearly inhuman focus. You knew he’d be disappointed. Irate, even, depending on how his trial swung.

You hadn’t expected him to be so… sulky about it.

Half-lidded eyes, a slight pout tugging at the corner of his lips as he lingered idly in the doorway between your shared bedroom and the in-suite bathroom. Steam and silence laid heavy in the air – the latter you were eventually forced to break as you fiddled with the hem of your robe. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, hoping more to break the tension than to make him think you were genuinely apologetic. “It was getting late, and I didn’t know when you were coming home. I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.” When he didn’t respond, you braced yourself for the worst. “If you’re angry, please say so. I… I’d rather get this over with now, if it’s all the same to you.”

His expression softened. He let out an airy sigh and, with only a moment of hesitation, closed the space between you. “I’m not angry.” A pair of lean arms wrapped around your waist, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale, and did what you could to suppress the shudder that ran up your spine at the thought of him basking in your scent. “I’ve just been… looking forward to it, I suppose. Your taste relaxes me.”

Immediately, you went rigid. “My… taste?”

“Mhm.”

“Neuvillette,” you started, very slowly, giving your own mind time to catch up to the dread slowly building in the pit of your stomach. “Have you been drinking my bathwater?”

He was quiet for a not inconsiderable amount of time.

Finally, he pulled away from you just far enough to speak. “…no?”

For your own sake, you decided to believe him.

Kaveh

“Kaveh.”

“Not now, treasure.”

“Go to bed.”

“I will, in another hour.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“I’ve already told you – I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes, expression contorted by concentration. “Knight to B4.”

“Kaveh,” you repeated, leaning across the table. “You were showing me your blueprints.”

“Oh.” He blinked several times, looking over the sheet of blue paper marked with chalk drawings and near indecipherable hand-writing. “Were you impressed?”

Your frown irked, but you swallowed back your exasperation and pushed yourself to your feet. Slowly, you took him by the hand and, when he failed to protest, guided him out of his own seat and towards the room you were usually restrained to, when he wasn’t home. He’d kept himself awake for the past two nights, every moment of the past forty-eight hours devoted to finishing his proposal for a wealthy commissioner’s summer mansion before its upcoming deadline and, now that the coffee had been drained from his system and his adrenaline had been given time to fade, he was practically a shell of a man – all dark circles and hunched posture and disheveled blonde hair.

Sleep deprivation was, by far, the worst thing he could inflict on himself. At least he was happy after he drunk himself into oblivion. This was just depressing; as miserable for him as it was for you.

With a dutifulness you shouldn’t have had to show to your lover-turned-stalker-turned-captor, you brought him to his bed and watched as he collapsed onto it, what little strength he had to hold himself up immediately dissolving. With a sigh, a roll of your eyes, you turned to leave, but a hand lashed out from the crumpled heap and caught you by the wrist. “Stay with me?” His voice was muffled by layers of sheets and blankets, but clear enough. “Please?”

Usually, his bids for affection were met with bitter neutrality or, on your worse days, spiteful condensation. Usually, you would’ve torn yourself out of his hold and made sure he knew that he’d ruined any chance of living out his little domestic fantasy the second he decided his obsession was worth more than your happiness. Usually, you would’ve hated him that much more for daring to ask.

But, he could barely hold his eyes open and when you failed to immediately recoil, the sloppiest, most lovesick smile you’d ever seen plastered itself across his lips. It was his turn to pull you forward, this time; to drag you onto his bed and into his chest. With a satisfied sigh, he slotted his chin against the dip of your shoulder and draped his arms around your waist – an old position. A relic of better times you’d never been strong enough to completely dicard. “When it’s time to draw up the plans for our home,” he mumbled, only half-audible. “I won’t so much as breathe until its perfect.”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t say anything.

He’d already fallen asleep.

Tighnari

He glanced once at the thick packet of ink-marked parchment you’d slammed in front of him before looking back to you, his expression disparaging. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“A custody agreement,” you answered, grinning. “Alhaitham put it together during his last visit.”

“We don’t have any kids.”

“It’s for Collei. If I ever leave you,” and, to be clear, you would be leaving him, as soon as you figured out how to get away from a man who poisoned your tea whenever you so much as suggested entertaining a future that didn’t include him, “I want weekends and summers.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Which is why we’re letting her pick who she wants to spend holidays with.” You tapped the front page with your knuckles. “Honestly, dear, if you weren’t going to so much as read the documents, we could’ve scheduled this for another day.”

His ears twitched, his tail sweeping across the floor in irritation. “Even if this was legally binding – which, by the way, something assembled by a scribe would not be – I would never give you weekends. That’d be too much travelling for a girl in her condition, and I don’t want her to feel like she comes from a broken home. Moreover, according to Regulation #531 as passed by the Grand Sage last year, you would have to get Collei’s signature before—”

“Check page twenty-seven.”

You watched him scowl as he thumbed through the pages. A second later, his ears flattened against his scalp, and he took to muttering under his breath. “Traitor.”

“If you don’t want your aggression towards the dependent party used against you in court, I’d suggest you sign on page four, seventeen, and thirty-two.”

You left his villa half an hour later with a with a new imprint of his fangs on the side of your throat and a signed document in-hand.

Cyno

“You have kidnapped me.”

“Technically, I was only—”

“You’ve blackmailed me, imprisoned me, and tortured me.”

“You can’t still be hung up on—”

“You’ve branded me with your name, forced me into your bed, and made me play out all your delusional, fucked-up fantasies—” You took a deep breath, pursed your lips. “—but if you show up to a black-tie event wearing that, it will be the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

He looked down, as if considering his attire for the first time. He was in his usual uniform – which was to say, shirtless and barefoot, his hair windblown and a fine layer of sand still coating what little he was wearing. You could only be thankful his polearm wasn’t slung across his back, but you knew he’d make it past the door without it. “The way I dress has never been a problem before.”

“There’s a difference between hunting down rouge scholars and going to a banquet being held by a literal god. Archons, Lesser Lord Kusanali herself might be there.” You gasped, dragged your hands over your face. “Everyone who’s ever gone to the Akademiya will absolutely be there.”

For all his many faults, he could never stand to see you in pain. There was a brief delay, a moment of unsure shuffling, then his arms were wrapping around you, his chest slotting against your back has he pulled you against him. “It’ll be alright,” he muttered, speaking into your shoulder. “If anyone so much as attempts to insult you—no, if anyone tries to talk to you at all, I’ll strike them down in the blink of an eyes.”

His comfort was stale, but you forced yourself to relax. At least enough to speak. “You know,” you mumbled, letting your hands drift to your temples. “Dehya was hired by an up-and-coming scholar, a few weeks ago. I’m not sure how long her contract was, but there’s a chance we’ll see her tonight.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

“Cyno?”

“I’ll change.”

Wriothesley

You could hear him trudging up the metallic stairs to his office; his footsteps heavy enough to drown out the soft music flowing out of his century-old gramophone. His head emerged from the curving staircase, first – his hair somehow more disheveled than its usual state of barely-tamed chaos – then his chest, his tie undone and his collar terribly mangled, as if he’d spent all day indulging the worst of his nervous habits. He was baring his teeth, his pale cheeks flushed with anger and his eyes narrowed into a pointed glare. It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for (in your wildest dreams, he would’ve managed to sink his beloved fortress before he ever reached you), but it was close enough.

You moved to stand, to greet him with the warm embrace he usually demanded, but he was already in front of you, already pinning you to the back of the lounge you’d been splayed across with a single fist planted less than a hair’s width above your shoulder. “You,” he growled, leaning in close enough for his breath to fan over your skin. “Do you know how many journalistsI had to deal with today? They were everywhere. I couldn’t go a step without tripping over some— over some glorified tabloid.”

“So, your meeting with Monsieur Neuvillette went well?” His scowl deepened, and you let out your most faux innocent laugh – a chiming, bubbling thing he’d never been able to stand. “You shouldn’t scowl like that, love. All those photographers will have to find a new model if you manage to give yourself frown lines.”

He jolted, but forced himself to shut his eyes, to let out a long, ragged breath. When he did face you again, he’d regained a degree of his composure – just enough to meet your smile with his own tight-lipped grin, more teeth than anything. “I’ll let you off easy if you tell me how you did it now. Before I decide it’d be faster to strangle an explanation out of you.”

“I didn’t break any rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You paused, folded your hands over your lap. “It was all thanks to our great and benevolent duke. Contacting people outside of the fortress has gotten so much more efficient ever since you decided prisoners should be able to send letters without administrative vetting.”

He buckled visibly, his shoulders falling as he lean towards you, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” There was a raspy chuckle, a hand on your thigh, squeezing just hard enough for his anger to shine through the playfulness of the gesture. “I think I’ve earned the rest of the day off, and I think you’ve earned—”

The door to his office swung open before he could finish, a masculine voice calling up from the voice below only a moment later. “Your grace, t-there’s a reporter here to see you! She says she’s been told not to leave until she speaks to your partner!”

“That’ll be Charlotte,” you half-sung. “She seemed like such a nice girl in her letters. It’d be a shame to keep her waiting.”

When he failed to answer, you brought up both hands and cupped his face, cooing as you used your thumbs to quirk the corners of his mouth upward.

“Just remember to smile for the camera this time, alright?”

4K notes · View notes

jonnywaistcoat · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Jonny! Re: your latest post, did you mean that guest writers are also involved with the metaplot portions (with Alice and Sam ans Gwen and the others), or just the case file/"statement" parts? Inquiring minds would like to know. Really enjoying Protocol so far!

So, the detailed answer to this is very complicated, as it's all about parallel production pipelines and varies quite a lot between guest writers, as they all had different schedules/availability. We'll probably dive into it more on a Q&A at some point.

Broadly speaking, the shape and story of the overall metaplot is all me and Alex. We'd have loved to get some of the guest writers involved for a bit more of a writers room feel, but time and logistics simply didn't allow for it. Once we'd sculpted the seasons, we sent out the episode briefs to the guest writers, along with a prompt for a possible case. Some of them used the prompts, others created the whole thing themselves. A few did a pass at the dialogue scenes, but most of these ended up being heavily redone by me and Alex when we were going through and weaving the story together and making the characterisation consistent (it was all being written pretty much simultaneously, so when drafting the guest writers really only had the pilot to go on in terms of writing the cast). Then there were a couple rounds of feedback/edits for the cases, and me and Alex adding in bits to tie the case into the metaplot a bit more and make the tone a bit more cohesive.

Like I say, it varied heavily based on the guest writer (and which of myself or Alex had the first edit pass on an episode), but if you're trying to guess how likely any given event/line was to be written by someone specific, the chances are generally something like

Overall story: 50% Jonny, 50% Alex

"Written by Jonny" episode: 80% Jonny, 20% Alex

"Written by Alex"episode: 80% Alex, 20% Jonny

Guest writer episode (case): 80% Guest, 10% Alex, 10% Jonny

Guest writer episode (scenes): 20% Guest, 40% Alex, 40% Jonny

To be clear, these numbers are purely illustrative, but they give you a rough idea of at least how it seemed from my end. April's been doing a fantastic job of organising the production, so apologies to her if I'm talking fully out my ass :p

#plucking numbers out of the air #collaborative writing is complicated #but very rewarding #tmagp #the magnus protocol

2K notes · View notes

merry-death · 1 year ago

Text

on my second watch of the new hbomberguy video (I was not totally sober when I watched it last night) and I just remembered where I know James Somerton from. A few months ago I ended a friendship because she kept talking about how excited she was to play the hp game, and at first she genuinely didn't know how bad r*wling was, but even after I explained and sent tons of resources so she could see for herself, she still eventually said something along the lines of "oh well, I still don't think it's bad enough to stop me from buying the game". Then she sent me James Somerton's video about why he was still going to buy and play the game and said "His thoughts are basically mine". I had never watched his videos, but I was immediately suspicious of him for being able to lay out the clear transphobia and antisemitism but still justify purchasing the game. And now, I guess we know that his thoughts weren't even his. And no wonder he was fine still giving r*wling money, he's also fine misgendering trans people if it means he can be more misogynistic

EDIT: so i decided to fact-check myself since it's been several months since that conversation, but he does say he "probably" won't spend more money on the franchise even though he totally understands and supports people who want to.

And in a turn of events shocking no one, aside from that conclusion that he thinks it's fine to still support hp, the vast majority of that same video was also plagiarized:

EDIT 2: I've seen some people in the notes saying he even plagiarized the transphobia, so I'm going to clarify this. Most of the video was about all of the transphobic, antisemitic, or otherwise awful shit r*wling has done. That is the content that Somerton seems to have plagiarized from Katelyn Burns.

The only part of the video that doesn't appear to have been stolen is the conclusion, which is where he said it's understandable and fine for people to still financially support the franchise. So he did not plagiarize the transphobia, he plagiarized the proof of transphobia and then added in his opinion that it's still cool to give your money to transphobes if not doing that makes you sad

#hbomberguy #james somerton #i know it wouldn't be a good idea but the spiteful part of me really wants to send her hbombs video #like is that really the guy you want to align yourself with there?#long post #<-ive seen this tagged as such enough that i might as well add that tag myself

2K notes · View notes

nonbinoclard · 1 month ago

Text

>>> TUNES TO LOSE YOUR MIND TO <<<

KEEP IN MIND: This is a living playlist! Songs may be added and removed at times to further curate the vibe I'm going for. I'll try to keep this post updated, but you can just check out the link for an up-to-date track list.

(EDIT: Song discussions are not finished! I have a lot more to say. I'll reblog when I've updated.)

This is set in a sort of nebulous time between Harry's life right before Martinaise and the night before he lost his memory. I wanted this playlist to feel erratic-- full of manic energy one second, then slow and bleak the next, dreamy, unreal, then right back to ridiculous.

(In no particular order. Shuffle for full emotional whiplash effect.)

I Don't Like My Mind - Mitski

I don't like my mind, I don't like being left alone in a room [...] And then I get sick and throw up and there's another memory that gets stuck / Inside the walls of my skull waiting for its turn to talk / And it may be a few years, but you can bet it's there, waiting still

The days before cleaning out the rooms... also, eating an entire cake and throwing it all up again feels very harry-esque... Overindulgence

A whole cake, so please don't take / Take this job from me

End Of The World - Hether

I mean, I could just post the entire set of lyrics as evidence, tbh. Struggling to find meaning and purpose in his life in the wake of heartbreak (5 year old heartbreak, but who's counting anyway)

I wake up in the morning and I wonder / Why everything's the same as it was I can't understand / No I can't understand / How life goes on the way it does

Cane Shuga - Glass Animals

Baby, don't go / I'll stop breathing coke / No more bloody nose / No more John Does Burn through my love / Just like your drugs / I've had quite enough / Or lack thereof

This is about the last moments of Harry and Dora's relationship to me. The chorus (a kind of circular, endless, self-aggrandizing internal monologue likely fueled by stimulants, implied in the song) continuing after the second verse kind of reflects the solution for Lonesome Long Way Home.

"11 Voyager Road. You no longer live there. Those times are gone, and so are those people. Why did you come here? Why are you still here? And where’s the dealer? You have to get back to work. That’s all you have now."

Hot Venom - Miniature Tigers

Hot venom is mixing with my blood / I can feel it on my fingers and taste it on her tongue / It feels so good to fall in love with you

I've heard a lot of people say this song is about heroin addiction, which is thematically appropriate for this playlist, but also. Harry's unhealthy obsession with Dora/Dolores Dei. Adoration (and hatred) so strong it's killing him.

Her venom makes me strong / Stronger than I am on my own / Before too long, I'll wake up to it gone / Wondering how I ever was happy [...] You can't go back now; that's not how this works / And as long as she's gone, I can never be happy

Who Is She ? - I Monster

This is just straight up about Harry's recurring dream to me. Just. Gestures at the lyrics.

Oh, who is she? / A misty memory / A haunting face / Is she a lost embrace? Am I in love with just a theme? / Or is Ayesha just a dream?

I feel like it falls in line really well with the idea that Harry's mind has been affected by the Pale-- a lack of memory, or maybe mixed memories, in a misty haze beyond the boundaries of reality. (and maybe Dolores Dei has started haunting him via Pale? Like some theories I've read.)

Somewhere across the sea of time / A love immortal such as mine Will come to me / Eternally

I Don't Miss You at All - FINNEAS

Dummy - Portugal. The Man

F the World - The Northern Boys

You Stupid Bitch - Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV Show)

These shards are a metaphor for my soul Won't stop the self-pity 'cause I'm on a roll

This song perfectly captures the inherent melodrama of a mental downward spiral imo. Catastrophic and all-encompassing. This is what I think it sounds like in there (Harry's head).

You ruined everything / You stupid bitch / You ruined everything / You stupid, stupid bitch / You're just a lying little bitch who ruins things / And wants the world to burn / Bitch / You're a stupid bitch / And lose some weight

Oleander - Mother Mother

Intermission - Scissor Sisters

Skit #2 - Kanye West

Self explanatory. He's got no money. He's got no clothes. He has no car and he has no hoes.

We broke, broke broke phi broke We ain't got it Broke, broke, broke phi broke We ain't got it Don't spend no money, ain't got no clothes Ain't got no cars, ain't got no hoes

Nobody - Mitski

My God, I'm so lonely, so I open the window To hear sounds of people, to hear sounds of people

This one is more about the feeling of the song itself rather than the lyrics specifically; I love the upbeat tempo that continues through the song (trying to remain steady, continue working), how the beat is simple at first then builds into a kaleidoscope of sound by the end of the track (overwhelmed by the world), then ending in a distorted loop (trapped in a cycle). This song has always felt really authentic to my own experience with mental spirals. The themes of loneliness tie it all into a nice bow.

I'm A Broken Heart - the bird and the bee

Not Allowed - TV Girl

Party Time - The Northern Boys

Comfortably Numb - Scissor Sisters

(Do The) Act Like You Never Met Me - TV Girl

Novocaine For The Soul - Eels

Basket Case - Green Day

Do you have the time / to listen to me whine About nothing and everything all at once? I am one of those melodramatic fools / Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it

I just think this one fits him well during Martinaise... just shaken up and unloading trauma onto unsuspecting strangers like a can of soda (bad analogy lol), depending on the dialogue you choose.

I went to a shrink to analyze my dreams She says it's lack of sex that's bringing me down I went to a whore, she said my life's a bore So quit my whining 'cause it's bringing her down

Sometimes, I give myself the creeps / Sometimes, my mind plays tricks on me It all keeps adding up / I think I'm cracking up Am I just paranoid, or am I stoned?

Also it's just a little pathetic, which just... it fits. Sorry Harry.

Labyrinth - Miracle Musical

#disco elysium #de fanart #disco elysium fanart #de #harry du bois #my art #jams #character playlist

226 notes · View notes

dominiquelucalover · 1 month ago

Text

Center of Danger | Dominique Luca x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Your Tuesday plans are put on hold when you're caught in the middle of a bank robbery, but as if that didn't put a damper on your day, going into labor in the middle of it certainly did.

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy, labor, hostage situation, guns, death threats, death, blood, mild descriptions of violence, pre-established relationship. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please do not read. Your wellbeing is so important.

A/N: I tried to make reader a behavioral analysis expert who works with S.W.A.T. but I don't know how well I incorporated that. ( not me trying to flex my Criminal Minds knowledge like a fucking nerd.) PS: I spent four straight hours writing this lol. and nother hour and a half proofreading and editing (and adding a whole 'nother fucking thing to the end of this jfc) (I'm having fun lol)

Your day had been going well. You went to one of your final doctors appointments before you were supposed to have the baby, you'd grabbed some of the last minute things on your baby list, and you were going over what you needed from the grocery store while you stood in line at the bank. It was one of those errands that you couldn't put off doing anymore, especially with the impending birth of your child, so it seemed easy enough to get out of the way today while you were already out and about. Unfortunately, a group of greedy, grubby-handed robbers decided to ruin those plans.

You couldn't lay on the ground like they wanted everyone to, which already irritated not only them but you too. The floor was uncomfortable as you sat against one of the desks while everyone else was forced to lay face down and not to move. It was a tense situation as the three robbers made the tellers fill their bags, one you wished would be over soon.

However, the robbers had already fucked up and got themselves stuck in the bank. A teller had sounded the silent alarm and in a fit of anger, one of the criminals shot the security officer dead. Another one freaked out because "no one was supposed to die" and seemed to be on the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell because they were all wearing plastic Halloween masks. This was turning out to be the worst bank robbery you had ever witnessed, not that you had ever actually witnessed a bank robbery but you had studied plenty.

"Shit, man! The cops are here!" one of the robbers all but growled. He turned his weapon on the tellers with a nasty glare from behind his ghoul mask. "Which one of you sounded the alarm, huh? Fucking idiots!"

He shot at the ceiling suddenly, causing people to scream. You jumped and held your belly protectively, taking a deep breath as you tried to stay calm. However, your blood pressure was already up and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. The baby was kicking, sensing your distress, and you rubbed your bump in an attempt to soothe them.

"Cool it!" another of the robbers chastised his buddy, seething with anger behind his devil mask. "You're gonna need those bullets. So chill the fuck out."

"I'll do as I damn-well please," the first one said, then walked away, seeming to look for another way out.

The freaked-out robber stayed out of the conversation, seeming more subservient to the other two. He just stood the to side, watching over the hostages like he'd been told to, hiding behind his clown mask. You knew from that if any of them were going to break first, it was him.

As things around you began to calm down, you leaned your head back on the desk and took even, deep breaths. Of course, the quiet couldn't last long.

A couple were whispering to each other a few feet away and as soon as the robber with the devil mask, who seemed to be the leader, caught wind of it, he stomped over and pointed his gun at the woman's head. "I said to keep quiet! You want me to blow her head off?"

"No, please! We'll be quiet!" the man begged.

"I should make sure you stay quiet for good," the leader said, teasing the trigger of his gun. The grin of his devil mask made the scene more unsettling.

At that moment, you felt a sharp pain in your belly and let out a heavy groan. All eyes turned to you and watched as you withered in your spot. You were caught between pain and confusion, hoping that you weren't going into labor. You weren't due for another three and a half weeks. Your baby couldn't come now, this was the worst-case scenario. Anywhere else but in the middle of a robbery would have been ideal.

The devil walked over to see what you were doing, letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give me a break!"

You looked up at him as the contraction passed, irritated and not ready to give birth. You spat, "Sorry to ruin your parade!"

He pointed his gun at you but the clown ran over and pushed it down. "Dude, you can't shoot a pregnant lady!"

The leader looked at him, then walked away muttering under his breath about how this was going terribly and how the last thing he needed was a baby to mess it up further.

It was about that time one of the phones rang and he walked over to answer it, knowing it was the police outside. It was about time, but you thought that perhaps they needed a negotiator to show up, which was unfortunate for you. A few minutes earlier and you might not be in the early stages of labor right now.

"What do you want?" Devil asked brashly.

You couldn't hear who was on the other side of the call, sitting too far away. You watched closely, hoping your boyfriend was outside with his team. It would be the perfect fantasy if he came to your rescue; besides, they were the best S.W.A.T. team in LA. What were the chances that they weren't here?

The phone call only lasted about two minutes before the leader hung up having made no demands. He laughed, shaking his head. "They think I'm an idiot."

The ghoul came back into the room and grunted. "They've got the whole place surrounded! They probably have snipers ready to kill us if we walk outta here. What do we do?"

Devil thought for a moment, then gestured with his gun at the people laying on the floor. "Put them in front of the doors and windows. Use them as a shield. They won't shoot in here with hostages in the way and it'll give us time to think."

His accomplices nodded and started getting people up, guiding them with their guns to form a line around the center of the bank. The patrons followed orders dutifully and linked their arms together, their lives put further in danger by their captors.

The leader came over to you and grabbed your arm, but the clown came over and asked him what he was doing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting her off her ass."

"She's pregnant, man," he said, his voice a little more confident than before. He didn't seem to like that you were there at all, but as soon as his bossy friend came near you, he jumped to your aid. "Just leave her alone."

"You questioning me?"

He seemed to think on his feet. "I'm just saying, if the cops know we got a pregnant lady in here, thye're gonna get more aggressive. They'll try harder to get in here. Think about it, man."

"Kid's got a point," Ghoul said, looking over. "She'll be our secret weapon."

Devil looked between them and shook his head, letting you go. "Fine, maybe you're right... this time. We'll see."

He walked away to make sure the wall of hostages was cooperating, looking out the glass doors and windows at the front of the bank to evaluate what his next move should be. He took slow, calculated steps, taunting the police and the hostages at the same time.

Another contraction hit you and you whimpered, holding your stomach and slightly curling up. The clown crouched down beside you, looking at you with wide eyes from behind his mask. He stuttered, "A-are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" you asked through clenched teeth. He looked down, almost ashamed for asking the question. You would feel bad if he wasn't hiding his identity and holding a large automatic gun on his back. Once the pain passed, you breathed out. "How old are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered.

"Sure it does. They called you kid," you told him, making him look up at you. "Means they don't respect you."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked away, but looked back at you as he did. That was how you knew you did it. You planted that seed of doubt in his mind.

The next call came in not that long after, but Devil made one of the hostages answer the phone, a terrified older man who had been there to help his son open a bank account. He instructed the man on what to say, telling the officer on the other end that they wanted an armored car and a one way trip out of the country for the three of them, all within the next hour. It wasn't possible, you thought, which you were sure was what they were told before the hostage was made to hangup the phone with the promise that if their demands weren't met by that time, someone else was going to die.

The time seemed to pass sluggishly. You wouldn't have known it was going by at all were it not for the contractions picking up speed. You had read all your books about pregnancy and birth, so you knew that wasn't a great sign in this particular situation. Your labor seemed to be fast approaching, but you didn't want it to be. Were this in line with your birth plan, that would be ideal. However, a speedy birth was not on your agenda for the day.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Devil taunted as he walked the line of hostages again. He'd been pacing behind them to needlessly remind them of his presence. It was cruel and having to watch him was intense. "Five more minutes."

"What if they get us what we want?" Clown asked, looking at his friend.

The leader shook his head. "They won't get us what we want. They'll try to bribe us with less than what we asked for just to get us outside."

"So you're just gonna kill one?"

"Yup."

A woman in line cried out at hearing this and she was snapped at to shut up by the ghoul. He held a gun to her back and laughed at her terror as she tried to muffle her cries.

Clown watched, clutching his gun to his chest, before looking at Devil. "Wasn't killing the guard enough?"

"Not until we get out of here with the money and our lives," the leader answered, then shoved him. "Now shut up and do your job."

You watched as the 'kid' shook his head and walked away, listening to the devil without another question. Paying attention to everything else around you was the only thing keeping you from going insane from the pain. It was more persistent now and you felt the baby had moved lower. It was getting harder to keep your cool as all you wanted to do was yell and kick your feet at these guys who had forced you into early labor.

You were trying not to think about the time passing, watching Devil pace back and forth behind the line. He was looking at them, gun pointed at their backs. Then, suddenly, another sharp contraction shot through you and all you could do was scream as he shot a woman in the back.

She would have dropped to the floor were it not for the two people on either side of her whose arms were linked with hers. They were told to drop her as she cried and writhed. Then Devil went to stand over her, watching her squirm on the ground and bleed, before lifting his gun and shooting her in the head. Everything stopped and grew quiet except for your cries. They echoed off the high walls of the bank, violently reminding everyone there that life came with pain.

Sweat and tears slipped down your face as people were forced to listen to you until you quieted down. The contraction passed and you were slumped against the desk once more.

The devil turned to Clown and motioned toward you. "Go make sure she's alive."

"Okay," he said and walked over to you. He put his gun on his back and crouched beside you, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You're, uh, you're getting closer to, um, having the baby, aren't you?"

You nodded, keeping your eyes forward, watching the way Devil made two hostages move the woman's body closer to the door. They were going to use her as a block in front of the door incase S.W.A.T. came running in, which made you sick to your stomach. You'd seen a lot of malicious shit, but that was a new low.

The phone rang, but no one moved to answer it. Then the devil chuckled.

"Get her on her feet," he said, looking over at you and the 'kid.'

Clown puffed up his chest. "She can't possibly-"

Devil got angry. "Don't question me! Just do it!"

Clown looked at you apologetically and put an arm around your back and hoisted you up. You cried out as you felt the baby shift lower. It was hard to walk, awkward really. But he held you up and guided you to the phone as it rang. Just as you reached the desk, it stopped, and you wanted to scream but managed to hold it in. You knew they would call back. They had to.

The clown leant you against the desk and brought its accompanying chair over to you. He helped you sit in it as his buddies scolded him, but he didn't argue back or justify his actions then. Only when you were seated did he turn to them and bark back.

"You're making a pregnant lady do all this shit when she's about to have a goddamn baby! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Devil got in his face. "I'm the one calling the shots around here! You do as I say, and if I want that fat bitch to answer the damn phone, she will, or she and that baby won't-"

"Oh, so you're gonna kill a lady and her baby?"

"Wait a minute!" Ghoul interrupted, looking at the devil, "Who died and put you in charge?"

"I've been in charge, numbnuts!"

The argument would have continued on from there, but the phone rang. They all looked at your tired face and waited for you to comply with what Devil wanted. So, you did.

"Hello," you said.

The voice on the other end of the phone made you feel some relief as he said your name. It was Hondo. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer immediately, not wanting to put the robbers on edge or clue them in to anything.

He seemed to understand. "If you are who I think you are, say 'where's the car?' if you're not, say 'please help us.' Okay?"

"Where's the car?" you asked, eyes trained on the robbers. Devil nodded at you, seeming to like that you were apparently smart enough to understand the situation at hand - you got right to the point of things and had been paying attention. Little did he know...

"We're gonna get you out of there, okay? We're working on it," Hondo told you.

"Well work on it faster," you told him, wincing in pain. You held your belly with your free hand. You kept your mouth shut about being in labor, knowing the robbers didn't want that detail known to anyone outside. "They've already killed someone else."

"We know, we saw," he said, letting out a regretful sigh. "But our eyes can only see in through the windows. The camera system is down. How many people are left inside with you?"

You looked around the room, trying to count the number of hostages, but it was harder to concentrate on something like that. "I don't know."

"What did he say?" Devil asked.

"They want to know how many people are alive."

Ghoul huffed. "Why does he want to know?"

"I don't know," you groaned, feeling another contraction rearing its ugly head. You did know, but there was no way you could strategize what the right thing to say to them was at that moment. "They-they probably- ahh!"

Hondo said your name several times, keeping his voice even. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on in there?"

Devil came over and seethed at you, "Tell him to get us what we want or we're gonna kill another person. Then hang up."

You spoke through the pain. "Get them what they want-"

"Are you in labor?" Hondo asked, hearing the strain in your voice.

"Or they're going to kill again," you said. "Please, please hurry."

Ghoul took the phone from your hand shook, slamming it into the holder. He watched you as you grabbed the arms of the chair, digging your nails into the hard wood. You scraped it and he shook his head. "Pregnant people are weird," he mumbled.

He and the devil moved on, talking to each other about what to do next. They began to argue about it but it was short lived as they parted ways. Ghoul slammed his fist on a desk and stomped away to try again at finding a plan-b escape. Devil leaned on a desk out of view of the windows, near you, and waited.

Clown stayed with you and talked you through the contraction. His voice wavered with fear and nervousness, seemingly never been in a situation like this before, as far as pregnancy went at the very least. Once it passed, he wiped your forehead again. "What-what's going to happen if you give birth in here?"

You looked at him, unsure yourself. "Well, there will be a baby in here and we'll both need immediate medical attention. If at that point they know about that, S.W.A.T. might just do anything to get in here."

Now that Hondo knew you were in here, there was more pressure on him to get inside and ensure your safety. You knew he wasn't going to tell Luca that you were one of the hostages because it would cloud his judgement, damned be the third generation S.W.A.T. officer that he was. His girlfriend and unborn child were in the center of danger and he'd do anything to get you out of there.

Clown got you water and helped you drink it as you continued to wallow in pain. As you sat there, you knew the situation was dire. You could see out some of the windows, seeing S.W.A.T. officers gearing up. You knew that sooner or later, they were going to come inside. You also saw an armored car pulling up, but it was a great distance away from the doors.

Ghoul came back, a little bit of a skip in his step. "They got our car! Let's go!"

"Wait!" Devil said, standing from his position and walking up behind the hostages. He took a man from them by putting his arm around his neck and pointing his gun into his side. They slowly made their way to the windows so he could peer out. He seethed. "They're trying to lure us out."

When he got back to the safe zone, the devil scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. He knew they were in deep, and with your timely reminders about the impending birth of your child, their odds of getting out of here was getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Wait for them to call," he said, turning to his friends. "We tell them we're going to take a hostage with us to ensure our escape."

"Dude, they got the fucking car, why do we gotta wait?" Ghoul asked.

"Because as soon as we step anywhere near those windows, they're gonna gun us down," Devil said, shoving him. "This is why I'm in charge, because you don't think!"

"I think better than you!" the ghoul yelled. "It was my idea to come here, remember?"

"And look at where that got us! You could of picked any other bank, but it had to be this big fancy one in the middle of town!"

"The cameras are out! They can't see in here, dimwit!"

You were about to yell at them to shut up when the phone rang. Devil looked at you and nodded. As you picked up the phone, Ghoul tried to continue the argument, but the devil shoved him away and told him to be quiet.

"Hello," you said.

Hondo sighed with relief at hearing your voice. "Say 'what do you want?' if you're okay. Say anything else if not."

"What do you want?" you asked.

"Tell the brothers we have their car ready for them," he said, which peaked your interest. You looked at the robbers in front of you and it clicked. Their arguing and dynamics made sense now.

They were brothers.

"Your car is ready," you told them.

Ghoul leaned against the desk in front of you. "Tell him we want it closer!"

Devil shoved him away again. "And that we're taking a hostage with us, so if they shoot at us, they'll be killing the next innocent person."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "They want the car closer so that they can get in with a hostage."

Hondo grunted. "Of course they'd try that trick. Listen to me, okay, we're not gonna let that happen. But tell them that we have to make room to move the car, so it'll be a minute."

"Okay," you said and sighed, rubbing your belly. You were in the last stretch of contraction. You could just feel it. "They have to make room for the car to get closer, so it'll be a few minutes before you can leave."

Devil didn't say anything, only took the phone from you and hung it up. "Get ready to get out of here, boys. Make the hostages take our bags to the door."

Then he walked away.

Ghoul took control of that mini mission, bossing two of the men in line to move and hustle to get their bags full of money to the door. They dropped them off and promptly got back in line, seeing the robber's finger ever-present on the trigger of his gun.

You were leaning forward on the desk, head laying on your arms as you whined and tried to breath deeply. You tried to hold your legs closed, preventing the progression of labor in anyway you could. You cursed having worn a dress today. You tried to think about anything else but where you where in that moment and what was happening. You tried to put yourself at home, in your baby's nursery that you and Luca had spent the last few weeks putting together and decorating. It helped distract you for a few minutes until more yelling broke the illusion.

Looking up, you saw Devil and Ghoul arguing about which hostage to take with them, which was the stupidest thing you had ever seen. It made you angry as you sat there, in labor, having to listen to this. Devil wanted to take you but Ghoul wanted to take anyone else. You were at your breaking point.

However, Clown snubbed out your lit fuse. He came with more water and helped you sit up so he could bring the cup to your lips. You sipped it, thankful that he was the kindest of the brothers. From what you had observed, he had to be the baby of the three and didn't want to hurt anyone there. He was there to rob a bank, not kill anyone, and each time you were in pain, he came to your side. He took care of you as much as he knew how. Something inside of him was redeemable, you thought so at least.

"They're both idiots," you whispered to him.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I can't believe I agreed to do this. I should have never let them talk me into this."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

He leaned against the desk, staying close to you as you both listened to the argument devolve, once more, into who is in charge. It was beginning to sound like they were a broken record, but as they continued the back and forth, you heard how similar their voices were, how similarly they spoke, and you could picture them as brothers more and more. It was in contrast to the 'kid', who seemed a little more mild mannered and quiet. He only spoke against the other two when he was passionate about whatever he was fighting them for, be it the lives of the people there or your wellbeing. It made you wonder how he was a part of this family.

Suddenly, everything came to a head.

"I told you to stop questioning me!" someone yelled, followed by a round of rapid pops from a gun.

You couldn't process anything for a moment, stomach tightening and making double over, leaning onto the desk again. You held your belly, screaming with the other scared people trapped with you. The moment passed quickly, but you couldn't look up.

"Bobby, what did you do?" Clown yelled.

The devil, Bobby, turned and criticized his kid brother. "Shut up! Don't say my name, you idiot!"

"But-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled and pointed the gun at him. "Now stop asking stupid questions or you're next."

You peeked up from your arm, seeing how far Devil had devolved. In the beginning, he was semi-organized (given how shittily the robbery was planned, there was at least some effort on his behalf), but the stress of the situation and his brother's mouth had finally snapped his last nerve.

Clown backed down and slowly sank to the ground beside your chair. Bobby began pacing again.

The phone range and you answered it.

"What's happening in there?" Hondo asked.

You could feel the devil's eyes on you. "You need to hurry."

"What happened?" he said again, fearing the worst.

You let out a breath. "Someone else is dead."

"Tell them we're going as fast as we can," he said.

You looked over at Bobby. "They're going as fast as they can. Please don't shoot anyone else."

"I'll shoot whoever I damn-well please," he said and took the phone from you, putting it to his ear. "You listen here, buddy. You don't tell me what to do, got it? Now, if that car isn't at the front door in five minutes, I'm killing everyone in here."

He slammed the phone into the holder before ripping it off of the desk and throwing it across the room. He stomped off, going back to his look out position from behind the line of people. He watched the doors impatiently, seemingly unbothered by the crying people before him. Their anguish brought him no joy, unlike his now-dead brother, as it was obvious that the people were merely pawns in his game. He didn't care about them whatsoever.

You laid your head down and whispered, "He's gonna kill you."

Clown made a worried noise in the back of his throat. "No-no he won't. He-he's my brother..."

"You blew his cover. Everyone here knows his name and it won't be hard to track down a Bobby in an armored car," you said, pausing to moan and shift your seated position. You couldn't hold your legs together anymore, knowing it was dangerous. It was a feeble attempt anyway. "He's already angry and you're the only one left brave enough to stand up to him."

He whined. "I-I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are," you told him, hoping to break through to him. "You've protected me from him this whole time. That took a lot of courage, I know it did."

"But... he's my brother... The only family I have left now," he said.

You looked at him, meeting his sad eyes past the mask. "Family wouldn't put you in this position."

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then looked away in contemplation. He didn't say anything for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and then he looked at you again. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter now?" you asked.

"Because if I'm gonna die, I'd like to know the name of the lady I protected," he said.

You didn't understand what that meant, it could mean many things, and as you felt the pain getting worse, you couldn't think very well anyway. You told him your name between heavy breathes.

He gently wiped your forehead again, talking you through the pain. Then he took off his mask, revealing his face to you, and you were saddened to see how young he was. There was no doubt he was in his early twenties but he still had a baby face and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen a man have, giving him a deer in the headlights look.

"I'm Eric."

Then he stood up and moved away from you, walking over to another desk quietly. He moved out of your sight and you couldn't move much anymore, too tired to do much of anything as it were. Despite the situation, all you wanted to do was get this over with.

Then, there was a loud thud from where Eric had disappeared to.

Bobby turned around and marched over to you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You groaned, looking up at him. "Nothing."

He seethed again, "I've about had enough of you and you're whining."

"I'm about to push a watermelon out of me, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut u-" BANG!

He fell to the ground in front of you, his blood splattering on the desk. Looking over, Eric had his gun trained on his brother from behind the desk a few feet away, eerily still, like he was trained for this. It made your heart ache because your stomach was already twisted. What kind of life had this kid had that led him and his brothers to this?

As he walked over to you, he yelled at the other hostages, "Go! Get out of here! Go! Get out!" They listened without hesitance and ran screaming and crying for the door.

He crouched down beside his brother's body and took the gun off of him, sliding it across the floor. He then took his own gun and push it to follow. Then he turned to you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "More or less."

Eric couldn't say another word before S.W.A.T. came into the bank with guns at the ready. They aimed at him and he put his arms up, already on his knees. You screamed in pain and he turned to look at you, making Hondo yell at him to stay still, but he didn't seem to hear him. If he did, he didn't listen and reached out to you.

He took your hand and let you squeeze it as the pain made you sob.

You managed to cry out, "He's unarmed!"

The team got closer and saw the truth in your words. They pulled his hand from yours despite your tight grip and handcuffed him, getting him onto his feet. While Chris and Street patted him down, Luca and Hondo came to your side.

"Fucking hell, I could kill this guy for all this," Luca grunted, clearly angry. He took your hand into his.

You shook your head. "He's a hero, believe me."

"How is he-?" Hondo asked, but was cut off by your guttural scream.

Deacon shook his head as he watched. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

The paramedics came in with their gurneys and attended to the bodies on the floor, but by the time it was decerned that they were beyond saving, everyone was busy and there was no room for you anywhere. Luca picked you up and carried you outside in hopes of finding an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, but they were all tending to the injured who had run outside earlier.

Tan opened up the back doors of Black Betty and called out to Luca, ushering the team over. Street helped get you inside while Tan and Chris ran to the side doors to get in. Once you were laying on the floor, Luca behind you and holding you close, everyone else piled in and closed everything up, turning on the lights and sirens.

You were screaming the whole time, crying as it became too much. Your body was telling you to push and that was all you could think about doing. Luca was trying to soothe you, telling you that you would be at the hospital soon and that it would be okay. But your baby had other ideas, they had waited long enough.

"The baby's coming!" you cried out.

"We know, we're gonna-"

"No! Now! The baby's coming right now!"

You let out another scream as you pushed. Deacon slide onto the floor and pulled your legs up onto the seats on either side of you, pushing your dress away. He ripped your underwear to get a look at how things were progressing and then looked up at Luca, Street, and Hondo, "She's right. She's crowning."

Hondo called out to the front, "Tan, pull over!"

Luca held your hands as you rested you head back against his abdomen, crying as your body guided you. Everything you'd read and come to understand was nothing compared to the way your body told you what to do.

Black Betty came to a stop on the side of the road, but it only took three more powerful pushes that the ended the pressure. You ached, but the pain was lessened dramatically. You opened your eyes to see Deacon picking up your baby, who was a little chubby for a newborn and rather long, aka big like their daddy.

Deacon gently held them and patted their back, getting them to cry and clear their airways. He smiled at them and happily said, "Welcome to the world, Baby Luca."

Street rummaged around for anything to wrap the baby in, only for Chris to pass a fresh shirt to him from the front. He thanked her and helped Deacon wrap your little angel up to keep warm before they were laid on your chest. You took her, Luca's arm coming under yours to support you both.

"It's a girl," Deacon told you and you smiled. He smiled too, knowing that joy and pride well. "Congratulations."

Tan put Black Betty in gear and let everyone know he was going to start driving again, as you and your daughter needed to be taken to the hospital. After that, no one said anything. They just let you and Luca have your moment with your daughter.

Luca couldn't even speak. He had spent the day tirelessly trying to save hostages from a bad situation that only got worse as the minutes passed by, only to learn from Hondo that you were one of them minutes before they stormed in there. He ran to you as soon as he could and wanted to burn the robbers to the ground with how angry he was because you were caught in the middle of their idiocy. Then, as soon as he saw you were in labor, he was scared, too. However, now, all that stress and anger and fear was erased. You were safe in his arms with your daughter. He had a daughter! He was nothing my happy.

Street inevitably ruined the precious moment, but lightened it at the same time as he broke the silence. "I can't believe you gave birth in Black Betty."

The team didn't react until you laughed, which let them know they could laugh too.

"I'm just glad it wasn't in the bank," you said, the ache still in your heart for the people who were lost and the kid brother who had saved you. You looked at Hondo as you remembered him. "I wanna be there for Eric. He really did save those of us that he could."

Hondo didn't question you, because you were tired and hormonal and he knew you knew what you were talking about. He just nodded and said, "I'll talk to the DA, but for now, you just worry about that cutiepie you got, okay?"

"Okay," you said.

When you got to the hospital, you were taken to a room immediately. Not only because you were wheeled in with a baby in your arms, but because you had a team of S.W.A.T. officers escorting you. Luca went back with you and ensured you and your baby daughter were okay.

Despite being three and a half weeks early, she was healthy. She would need to stay a few extra days for observation, but that was okay with you. Both you and Luca wanted the best for her, so you knew she might need a little extra watching over because of her early arrival and the stress you were under, and you needed to recover as well. It would work out, you were sure.

Once that was cleared up, Luca sat beside you with your daughter asleep in her basinet at your bedside. He watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. He'd only been talking about how excited he was for her to 'hurry up and get here' in the months leading up to this moment. He hadn't cared if she were a boy or a girl, as you'd left finding out to be a surprise at the birth, because he was going to love his kid no matter what. You knew he was going to be an amazing father.

You watched him, tired as all hell, but couldn't fall asleep. Even after the day you'd had, you laid awake on some pain killers with a soft smile on your lips. "I love you."

Luca turned to you and chuckled. "I love you, too." He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know that?"

"You only tell me that at least once a day," you laughed softly, careful not to wake your sleeping angel.

"Well, I mean it so much this time," he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "You're so strong and smart and brave. What you went through today was a lot and you powered through it like a champ. And you see the good in people even in situations when it's hard to see anything but bad."

"What can I say?" you asked, not really sure what there was to say. You just read the situation like it was. And it helped you and several other people get through it. "I'm just a woman."

"Nah, you're more than that," he said and leaned in closer, kissing your head. Your eyes closed and this time they were too heavy to lift back open. "You're Superwoman."

"If you say so," you mumbled. You then fell into a dreamless sleep, getting the much needed rest your deserved.

Lowkey, I'm now attached to the backstory I accidentally gave Bobby, Ghoul, and Eric, so here it is if anyone cares. Bobby, Ghoul - who's real name is Terry, and Eric were born in a less than ideal home. Raised by a worked to the bone mother and a father who had lengthy arrest record, they were doomed from the start. Bobby and Terry were closer in age to each other than either of them were to Eric, often getting into trouble and leaving him out. When they weren't getting suspended from school, they were pushing Eric around metaphorically and literally. They would often use Eric as a punching bag when they weren't getting into fights with each other. They mother wasn't around a lot as she worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When she was around, she was frustrated and tired, often getting angry at them for little problems like leaving their shoes out for her to trip over and bigger issues like getting kicked out of school. Their father was in and out of jail for most of their lives, but when he was around, he taught them how to shoot, steal, and hot wire cars. Averse to these activities, Eric was once again the odd one out and often the target of his brothers' criticism. Their father often got drunk and ranted to his sons about his drawbacks in life, often blaming others. Due to this unstable environment, it was no wonder the brothers turned out the way they did. Bobby followed in their father's footsteps, often helping their old man with his criminal endeavors when he could. After their father's untimely death at the hands of a homeowner protecting himself after he broke into the house, Bobby was angry. He went on a bend of drinking and crime, ending him up in jail where he made friends. Once he was out, he started robbing houses and small business. Terry at least finished high school and got a job as a mechanic, which was stable enough for a while. He started to doing shotty work for cheap and got fired once his boss found out. He did a number of odd jobs after that. Eric was on the right track but couldn't catch a break. With a grant, he was able to start college but had to leave after his mother became ill. He was almost done with college when he dropped out to take care of her, but it was fruitless. He didn't blame his mom but rather the bad hand life had dealt him, but didn't grow very bitter. He got a shitty job and went about his life. However, their mother's death is what brought the brothers back together. It was several months after the funeral that Bobby came around with the idea to rob a bank. Terry was crashing on Eric's couch at the time and liked the idea, immediately liking the idea of free money and getting to go anywhere they wanted. The two oldest brothers talked Eric into it, telling him they could go live their dream lives and get out of the shambles they called a life. Plus, they were brothers, the only family he had left, was he really gonna left them do it alone?

And yeah, that's what I got for the bank robbing brothers. If it doesn't make any sense, I came up with all of this over the span of 8 hours and little to no sleep.

#pregnant reader #tw birth #tw pregnancy #tw violence #tw death #swat 2017 #swat cbs #swat x reader #swat #dominique luca #dominique luca x reader #swat luca #luca x reader

213 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 19 days ago

Text

Prey Animals (Masterlist)

— Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

— Subgenders: Omega! Reader, Beta! Yoongi, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Jimin, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Hoseok, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin

— Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt and Comfort,

— Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

— Words: 80k so far

— Warnings: Violence, Blood, Murder, sexual and physical abuse, PTSD, themes of healing, suspense, mute character's, depictions of eating disorders, healing, hospitals, epilepsy, assassins, spyies,

Before you read:

This is the second version of this story, it's better, edited and longer. But if you want to read the first (near complete) version of this story you can read it on tumblr here, or on Ao3 here. there's like a million words of it lol.

not everything is tagged in this version. there is quite a bit of triggering content. i go into much more greater detail about the m/c and the abuse that she suffered at the hands of Geumjae in this version. if there is anything that doesn't get a tag and you feel it needs it, please don't hesitate to tell me!

This version is a lot longer than V1, and because of that the chapters don't line up, chapters 1-13 cover chapters 1-4.

While there are only a few things that have been taken out/restructured, but yoongi and the m/c get a dedicated slow burn love story in this now. i've also added 60k to what we did have so please give this tons of love!

i will not be reblogging these parts nearly as much as the others, because i want there to be less crowdedness on my feed. i will try my hardest to respond to comments if there are any this time around.

~-~

Prologue: Omens

Summary: you watch your husband murder someone, and try not to make it worse

Part 1: The Beta

Summary: Seokjin meets Yoongi when he's at his lowest.

Part 2: The Funeral

Summary: The death of a king pin makes the whole picture come crumbling down. In 120 days, Yoongi will decide who rules the criminal empire.

Part 3: The Alpha

Summary: Seokjin meets Namjoon when things are finally getting good, will the introduction of an alpha disrupt his and yoongi's little pack?

Part 4: Of Violent Dogs

Summary: Kim Namjoon will kill. That is a fact that you can count on.

Part 5: The Pups

Summary: Namjoon meets Jungkook in the Emergency room. "he's sick Joonie, and you can't make him better." that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

Part 6: Prey Animals

Summary: A death and A dinner party (a woman that yoongi can't take his eyes off of.)

Part 7: Hoseok

Summary: Yoongi brings home a stray, but luckily he's going to stay. (Yoongi won't, Yoongi is going to leave)

Part 8: Just Not her

Summary: Yoongi cannot decide if he trusts you or not. After being followed, he interrogates you to figure out your motives.

Part 9: Ribbons

Summary: A dinner at the Moon house prompt Yoongi to get closer and closer to you. But how close can he get before he pricks his finger?

Part 10: Junk Drawers and Daydreams

Summary: Yoongi just wants to figure you out. Just that. He promises.

Part 11: Warm Monsters

Summary: Yoongi's attraction gets harder to ignore, as does your suffering.

Part 12: The After

Summary: In Yoongi's absence the pack sort of falls apart.

Part 13: Bruises and Butterflies

Summary: One life doesn't equal seven.

~-~

Commonly asked questions:

Why the different name? because i thought it would be confusing to have two series's by the same name on the same page

Why are you editing this story? because i want to put it up for physical purchase either on amazon (ew i know) or some other alternative, the beginning of the story had always bugged me because it was not paced the same as the rest of it.

302 notes · View notes

austinbutlerslovers · 26 days ago

Text

Rebound Romance

Label Mature 18+

Summary After filming a movie where you and Austin become too intimate, the lines blur causing rumors swirl at the premiere about you together following his recent breakup.

🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin enduring a break up • Austin trying to remain professional • catching feelings • undeniable chemistry•filming a sex scene• unexpected orgasm during sex scene • denying feelings • acting indifferent • reuniting • rekindling romance • sneaking away • semi public sex •sex hidden in a theater during a premiere • P in V • against a wall • rushed orgasms • cream pie.

Inspired by multiple messages written asap (edited )

Rebound Romance

It’s the night of the premiere, and everyone in the cast should be buzzing with excitement. The flashing cameras, the glamorous red carpet, and the thrill of the audience seeing the film for the first time should make for an electric atmosphere.

The historic theater, draped in shimmering lights, looms behind you, its marquee proudly displaying the film’s title. The night should feel like a celebration of months of hard work and anticipation. But instead, it is overshadowed by the swirling drama surrounding Austin’s recent breakup.

Austin, stands a few feet away on the red carpet, his piercing blue eyes flickering under the relentless camera flashes.

His hair, once buzzed for another role, is now growing in soft waves that frame his sharp features. He looks striking in his tailored black suit, the crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sense of ease. But his smile, the smile that usually lights up a room is hidden tonight.

He’s the male lead of the film, and every interviewer seems more interested in prying into his personal life than asking about the movie. “How are you holding up after the breakup, Austin?” “Any chance for reconciliation?” “Do you feel the film’s themes mirror your personal life?” The questions come rapid-fire, their tone more probing than sympathetic.

Austin, usually so composed and charismatic, looks tense. His easy smile falters as he navigates the minefield of invasive questions.

“I don’t think there’s anything I want to share about that, but thank you for providing the space,” he says, his voice calm but firm. His professionalism is evident, but so is the tightness in his jaw, the faint tension undeniable.

You watch from a few steps away, your heart twisting at the sight of him trying so hard to hold it together.

You’re no stranger to the spotlight yourself. Draped in an elegant white gown that hugs your figure perfectly, you’re every inch the Hollywood starlet tonight.

The shimmering fabric gleams under the lights, the dramatic slit along the leg adding a touch of allure. Yet, the weight of the night dulls any confidence the dress might have inspired.

Your own breakup, though quieter and far less public, has been a shadow trailing you for weeks, making your questions just as relentless, though they take a different angle.

“Do you and Austin have real chemistry off-screen?” one reporter asks. “Your scenes together feel so authentic—was it hard to leave those emotions on set?”

You smile politely, keeping your composure despite the way your heart races. “Austin and I worked incredibly hard to bring these characters to life,” you answer smoothly, your voice calm but firm. “We had amazing chemistry as co-stars, and that’s what you’ll see on screen. We’re both just excited to share this story with the world.”

“With both of you ending your relationships after filming, is there something more than just on screen chemistry there?” another chimes in.

Your eyes flick to Austin briefly before you return your attention to the reporter. “I think speculation is natural, but for both of us, this project was always about the work. We’re proud of the story we’ve told and are excited for everyone to experience it.”

The reporter nods, satisfied with your answer, and your publicist steps forward, urging you to wrap up the questions due to time constraints. “Thank you, everyone,” you say politely, nodding at the reporters before stepping away from the line.

As you walk past Austin, your eyes catch his again, and the dimness in them tugs gently at something deep inside you. He isn’t himself tonight, and you can’t help but feel awful for him.

You had gotten to know Austin well during the months of filming. Though your on-screen time together was relatively brief, your off-screen bond was immediate and undeniable.

He had a charm that made it impossible not to laugh, and the way he listened, really listened, when you talked about your life made you feel seen in a way few people managed.

Between takes, there was always a spark—flirty teasing, lingering touches, stolen glances that neither of you could deny. Yet neither of you addressed it, letting the tension build with every passing moment to bring more depth to your scenes.

The intimacy coach had pulled you both aside more than once to encourage a more genuine connection between your characters, urging you to bring more authenticity when the cameras were rolling.

“It’s about making a fake scenario feel real,” she reminded you both, her gaze shifting between you and Austin after you both hesitated to give in during a particularly steamy kiss scene.

You nodded, Austin doing the same, and slowly you began testing each other’s boundaries, seeing how far you could push a scene to make it believable,

Until the lines began to blur.

Your kisses deepened, becoming far more real, lingering with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. His hands moved with confidence, grazing over your curves with an intimacy that felt far beyond the script.

When the director yelled “Cut”, neither of you pulled back as quickly as you should, the charged silence between you like a confession neither of you dared to admit.

It didn’t take long for the tabloids to catch wind of the chemistry between you two.

Photos of you laughing together on set or walking shoulder-to-shoulder to your trailers began circulating, and while it wasn’t scandalous on its own, it stoked the fires of gossip.

Headlines speculating about your relationship began appearing everywhere, feeding the public’s growing fascination.

But everything paled in comparison to the biggest turning point of all.

Your sex scene

You both knew it was coming, the intimacy coach had worked closely with you for weeks, helping you establish boundaries and create a space where you could perform without crossing personal lines.

The goal had always being to make a fake situation look real. But when the night of the shoot arrived, neither of you could have predicted how real it would feel.

You stood just off-camera, dressed in a red crop top and mini skirt that left little to the imagination. Beneath it, you wore only a modesty cover designed to keep your lower half technically covered during the topless scene.

Your breaths came heavy as you ran through the scene in your head, trying to ground yourself. You trusted Austin. You cared for him even him. You wanted to get the scene right and you were more than prepared to do it.

When Austin approached you, his easy charm was on full display, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low and playful, “if this doesn’t make the tabloids, nothing will.”

Despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. His words were light, and as you looked up at him, you couldn’t help but feel an unspoken comfort in his presence.

His touch was casual but warm as it landed briefly on your arm, and he leaned in closer, his voice softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, your mind clouded with more thoughts than you could explain. “Yeah. I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered just slightly.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, scanning your face as if to make sure you were telling the truth. His gaze, always focused, softened slightly as he smiled. “We’ve got this,” he said, his voice low and reassuring as his hand trailed up your arm, stopping just shy of your shoulder.

The rig was set up—a complex swivel system designed to pan from the wall to the bed—and you took your places. Austin stood close, wearing a simple tee and jeans that held to his frame just enough to hint at the physique underneath as the thought crossed your mind unexpectedly, that you’d be seeing it all for the first time tonight.

When the director called, “Action!”Austin’s lips met yours, and you fell into the kiss as you had so many times before.

Your hand moved to his neck as his hands found their mark on your waist. The choreography came naturally, each of your practiced kisses and touches on cue.

But as he peeled his shirt off, your eyes locked onto his physique in awe, and when he slipped your crop top off, his breath caught at the sight of you.

It was a sound only you noticed, just before the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours for the first time, the intensity of the scene immediately overwhelming you both.

Your focus wavered as his skin pressed hot against yours, his heart pounding harder than your own. His kisses grew more insistent, his breathing shallow, and the way his hands roamed your body felt like a discovery for both of you.

When he lifted you onto the bed, his touch became firmer, more powerful. He stripped both of you down to your modesty covers, the last thin barrier between your bodies. As his hands grasped your curves, his body pressed closer, his narrow hips settling between your thighs with a physical precision that was maddening.

Your breath caught as your eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt real—too real—as the world narrowed to just the two of you. The cameras, the crew, everything else faded into the background.

His lips brushed against your neck, his breaths hot on your skin as your fingers tangled in his hair. His hips rhythmically pressed against you harder, his kisses unrestrained as you felt yourself begin throbbing with need, the thin barrier between you doing little to dull the maddening friction on your clit. You wanted to stop, to break the moment, but you couldn’t. It was too good, too consuming.

Every movement of his body was fueled with desire, his restraint barely holding on, as though he was on the edge of losing himself completely to you.

Your body betrayed you, your hips tilting to meet his as he ground against you, intensifying the sensation for you both. Your breathless moans grew louder together, the heat between you unbearable.

Your heart pounded as his grinding grew more focused, his hardness pushing against your clit with intimate precision until your core was throbbing beneath him.

And then it happened.

You began to orgasm in front of the crew, the camera, everyone. Chills spread across your body, soft cries escaping your lips as your fingers clutched at him instantly. Your eyes locked onto his, blown wide, pupils dark and full of heat, mirroring the intensity of his own.

The flush across your skin deepened as he rocked against you harder, faster, his movements desperate, giving you exactly what you needed—what you both needed—and for a fleeting, reckless, moment, you wanted it to be real.

Then he slowed, his body stilling above yours as realization dawned. The tension in the room shattered like glass, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, his voice filled with shock and disbelief at what you both had just done.

Your eyes were blown wide, breaths panting as you stared at him, wondering how you would ever recover from this as your gaze locked onto his, desperate and unguarded.

The director’s voice broke through the haze. “Cut!” he called, his tone sharp, but you barely registered it, and Austin didn’t move, his body still shielding yours as he processed what had just happened.

An assistant rushed over with a robe as Austin finally began to sit up. Carefully, he lowered one hand to cover himself as he slid off you.

You couldn’t help but glance down, catching a glimpse of him, completely hard in the modesty pouch, before quickly tearing your eyes away, your cheeks flushing hot.

You sat up slowly covering your chest, your body still humming with the echoes of his touch, the intimacy of the moment lingering long after it should. The air felt heavily charged as everyone waited for the verdict.

The director’s sharp gaze was locked on the playback. “That,” he said, pointing at the screen, his voice cutting through the tense silence, “That is cinema.” His tone brimmed with excitement. “It’s raw— it’s real. It’s going to leave people speechless.”

The director turned to you and Austin, his eyes wide with unrestrained enthusiasm. “It’s visceral, it’s unhinged, it’s… it’s perfect.” He praised.

The director’s words did little to ground you as you glanced over at Austin. He was still catching his breath, his face flushed, his eyes remaining on yours longer than they should. You couldn’t tell if he was thinking about the success of the scene or what had just happened between the two of you.

An assistant slipped your robe over your shoulders, snapping you back to reality, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing about this moment felt right.

As your eyes met Austin’s again, his expression mirrored your own—uncertain, searching.

Something had changed, shifted irreversibly in your worlds, and no amount of acting could ever make it go back.

After that moment on set, you and Austin reacted as though the intimacy of that scene, the rawness of what had happened between you, was just part of the job.

Neither of you wanted to acknowledge what it meant or the ways it had already started to change you.

On set, you now kept a professional demeanor, giving the crew nothing more to gossip about.

Outside of work, you avoided personal conversations entirely. The blog sites and tabloids, however, continued to speculate, fueled by the way the two of you had once looked at each other on and off camera.

By the time you reached the final scenes of the film, you’d both mastered a calm detachment.

You delivered your lines with precision, but the reality of what fueled your connection was always still there.

You had both learned to bring intimacy into a scene without even touching, communicating volumes through a glance, or a shift in your stance —because you both knew you could physically never let it happen again.

Then came the final day of filming, the last scene, a climactic kiss on a windswept beach as the sun dipped below the horizon .

You were both standing barefoot on the cool sand, the golden light casting everything in soft, dreamlike hues. The waves crashed gently in the background, the salty breeze tugging at your hair. The scene was meant to capture a reunion, a moment of undeniable love after so much struggle.

The director called, “Action!” and you moved toward each other, your steps hesitant, your breaths shallow. The dialogue was simple, sparse, but every word carried weight.

“I was scared I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your eyes searching his.

Austin’s voice was low and trembling. “You’ll never lose me. Not again. Not ever.”

When his lips met yours, it was supposed to be a kiss of triumph, of love finally won. But the second his hand found your cheek, the second your fingers slid into his hair, it all came rushing back.

The chemistry, the longing, the unspoken yearning. Everything you had buried came to the surface in that moment. His lips pressed to yours like a plea, his touch possessive but gentle, and you couldn’t hold back the tears that welled in your eyes knowing it was over.

As the camera panned around you, capturing the fiery sky, the lapping waves, and the raw emotion etched into both of your faces, the lines blurred again.

For those few seconds, it was everything you couldn’t say to each other spilling out in one final kiss and when the director called, “Cut!” the confusion in your chest was unbearable.

The set plans for your lives were already written, and you both followed them precisely.

You finished the wrap party with polite smiles and distant goodbyes, each carefully avoiding anything that might complicate the delicate balance you had both worked so hard to maintain.

The risks were too great, the potential fallout too devastating and you walked away, pretending the connection you shared was just part of the job—no matter how much it lingered in every quiet moment after.

Now, at the night of the premiere, the lives you once knew lay shattered in the aftermath of what you both tried so hard to ignore.

The choices you made, and the ones you didn’t, were cemented, the weight of it all hanging heavily between you, unspoken but undeniable.

The theater was buzzing as the cast made their way to their seats. You were ushered toward the middle row, where you’d been assigned to sit, but just as you were about to lower into the chair, Austin’s hand gently caught your arm.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Sit with me” he said with a calming reassurance.

You looked to him in confusion as he stepped past you and leaned toward the director standing in his row. “Do you mind if I sit with her?” Austin asked, his tone casual but sincere.

The director’s face lit up with amusement, clearly enjoying the spontaneity of the request. “I love that idea,” he said enthusiastically, already signaling to a nearby producer. “Let’s see how we can make it work.”

After a brief exchange with the producers, adjustments were made, and Austin turned back to you, his hand still lightly resting on your arm. “Come on,” he said with a boyish grin leading you to the now empty seat beside him.

“What is all this about?” you whispered as the two of you settled into the middle of the row, surrounded by murmuring audience members and the rest of the cast.

“We don’t have dates,” he smirked casually, his eyes glinting as he looked at you. “Might as well keep each other company.”

You couldn’t help but smile, resting back in your chair as the lights dimmed.

For the first time in months, you felt the warmth of his teasing banter, the ease you’d missed so much.

As the opening credits begin to roll, your eyes briefly flick over to Austin, catching the faint smile on his lips. You know the story playing out on the screen isn’t the only one unresolved, but for now, you let yourself enjoy being next to him again.

The movie is fast-paced, edgy, and captivating, and the audience responds with gasps and laughter at all the right moments. Austin leans in close every so often, whispering his thoughts about certain scenes.

His voice is low, his breath warm against your ear, and you find yourself looking forward to his comments each time.

He points out details you hadn’t noticed during filming, his passion for the craft shining through, and the familiarity of it makes you feel like nothing has changed between you.

But then, the scene begins—the two of you standing in front of the apartment building at night, neither of you willing to part ways without a proper good night.

The kiss unfolds on the massive screen, larger than life. The camera lingers on every detail, the way his hand cradles your face, the tilt of his head as his mouth moves against yours.

His lips press hungrily devouring you with a desperation that is both overwhelming and impossible to look away from.

On the massive screen, it’s almost too much. Every sigh, every gasp, every subtle shift of your bodies together is magnified, filling the theater with an intensity that leaves the audience silent.

You can feel the weight of Austin beside you, his stillness matching your own, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. The tension is too heavy between you.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, knowing exactly what’s next. The tension in your body rises, unbearable, until you can’t take it anymore.

Quickly you stand before the sex scene starts, whispering a quiet apology as you excuse yourself, weaving through the row and slipping out of the theater.

By the time you make your way to the hall ramp at the side of the theater, you’re gasping for breath. You don’t know if you want to go back in or leave entirely, but the weight of it all presses down on you. You lean against the wall, hyperventilating as you try to regain your composure.

“Hey,” Austin’s voice breaks through the haze. You look up to see him standing in the dim walkway, concern etched across his face as the movie flickers off to the side behind him. “You okay?” he asks softly, but you shake your head, unable to speak.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice steady and gentle. He reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you as he leads you down the ramp to a secret entrance. Pushing open a black door, he steps into an even darker space under the theater and guides you inside.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you follow him up a narrow flight of stairs.

“You’ll see,” he says, his tone calm but laced with something unspoken. He pushes open another door, and you step inside, realizing you’re in the projection room.

The space is larger than you imagined, dark and humming with the faint noise of equipment. The only light emanates from the gigantic projector system that dominates the room with a large vent on top channeling the heat away. Rows of digital storage towers line the walls, blinking faintly, while a white control screen displays the movie times and automation settings.

You can’t help but look around in stunned silence. “How do you know about this?” you ask.

Austin smiles faintly. “I studied everything about film. The technical side always fascinated me.” He reveals.

He leads you to the front of the room, where the flickering lights of the movie illuminate the glass.

From the window next to the projector, you have a clear view of the entire theater below. The audience is engrossed, watching as the sex scene you filmed together begins playing in vibrant detail across the massive screen.

“It’s better watching it from up here,” Austin admits, his voice quiet and reflective.

You nod, the intensity of the moment easing slightly as you take in the scene from a different perspective. The emotions that had been swelling within you begin to fade, the distance from the audience providing a strange sense of detachment.

Austin’s gaze remains fixed on the screen, watching the two of you together. The way the camera lingers on your bodies, the intense eye contact, and passionate touches. You both look beautiful—perfect, almost unreal, but the hidden truth of filming the scene lingers in both your minds.

“I could never stop thinking about us,” Austin confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still on the screen.

“Neither could I,” you admit, your voice quiet, tinged with vulnerability.

The air between you shifts as Austin’s hand brushes lightly over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says, his voice laced with regret, his eyes searching yours.

“Don’t be,” you whisper, the words soft and honest.

His eyes look into yours , and you feel the weight of everything between you, the unspoken emotion that lingers. He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, pausing as though waiting for you to pull away.

When you don’t, he gently pulls your face to his, pressing his lips to yours in a feather-light, kiss. The softness of it lingers, your breath catching as his lips move tentatively against yours, testing the boundaries.

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment, and his kiss deepens, building gradually, your mouths moving in sync as the tension that’s been simmering between you begins to spill over.

His hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as the kiss grows more intense, his lips parting against yours, as you feel the warmth of his tongue brush along yours.

He presses his body closer, pushing you back against the small side viewing glass, his breaths quick and uneven, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own.

The air between you is charged with unspoken need, heavy and undeniable as the tension that’s been building for so long finally begins breaking. Every inch of him radiates desire, and you can feel it in the way his hands linger on your hip, hovering just above your exposed skin.

Reaching for his hand, you guide it to the slit of your dress, feeling his breath stutter against your lips. His fingers graze the edge of your thigh, tentative at first, and then he exhales a deep, shuddering sigh as his palm slides further.

He’s lost in you, his touch becoming more confident, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties. The teasing pressure sends a jolt through you, your breaths growing shallow as his lips graze down your jaw to your shoulder and trailing upward hungrily until he finds your neck again.

His kisses grow feverish, his lips parting against yours as his hand lingers, his fingers gliding over your clit above your panties testing the limits of your desire.

Your body responds instinctively, moving into his touch, the tension between you reaching its breaking point as his name falls softly from your lips.

You feel him press against your thigh, his hardness evident, his body trembling slightly as he fights to keep control. Both of you are panting now, your bodies pressing instinctively against each other.

“What are we doing?” he whispers, his voice raw and laced with need, his lips brushing against your ear.

You tilt your head toward him, your voice soft but steady. “What we should have done a long time ago.”

His eyes search yours, full of want, full of the unspoken need that’s been simmering between you for far too long, and without hesitation, his thumbs hook into your panties, sliding them down until they fall to the floor.

His breaths fan over your neck, warm and uneven, as he grips your thigh and wraps it around his waist, pulling you close.

The way he holds you, the intensity in his gaze, speaks volumes. His desire for you is overwhelming, raw, and all-consuming.

He positions himself, the pressure building as the feeling of him pressing into you steals your breath.

He groans softly against your lips, your slick wetness making his need is for you overwhelming , almost too much for him to contain.

He’s incredibly hard, the feeling of him stretching and filling you inch by inch making your head tilt back against the glass.

He pushes into you slowly leaving you gasping, your body clenching tightly around him, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he claims the deepest part of you.

His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he pushes further, the tension between you almost unbearable until he’s fully inside.

He waits with his body finally flush against yours, the sensation overwhelming and utterly perfect, his breaths heavy as he grounds himself in the reality of having you.

Then he pulls back thrusting in devastatingly deep, each time like a silent promise, a claim that he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into you.

His hand slides up to your face, cupping your jaw as his kisses grow hungrier, deeper, his need growing with every stroke as he holds your thigh around his waist.

Your hands find his neck, your nails grazing his shoulders as he picks up his pace rocking you against the wall, thrusting so hard it makes you gasp.

His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your thigh, sliding down to grip your hips and pull you even closer, then he locks you in place as his thrusts grow increasingly deeper and more relentless.

Each movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

A moan escapes your lips, louder than you intended, the raw sound filling the room, and his hand cups gently over your mouth, muffling the noise as he continues thrusting.

His eyes meet yours, dark and filled with lust, as if the sound only spurs him on, his movements becoming even more intense.

His hand moves from your mouth, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. His grip tightens on your thigh as he thrusts into you with a force that presses your body flush against the wall.

His cock hits the perfect place deep inside over and over again, until you feel yourself tightening around his cock, your moans turning into soft cries against his ear.

His hand trails down, slipping between your bodies as his fingers find your clit. He circles it with perfect precision, teasing and applying just enough pressure to make your body arch into him. The sensation builds, your hips leaning into him as every stroke and thrust pushes you closer to the edge.

“Austin,” you whisper, your voice breaking as pleasure coils tightly within you. His lips press to your neck, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you steady as he keeps thrusting, his fingers never relenting. The combination is too much, and with one hard thrust he presses his thumb against your clit as your orgasm crashes over you immediately.

The sound is stolen from your throat as your body presses against him, tightening every muscle as waves of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you shakily breathing in his arms.

Seeing you fall apart Austin groans deeply, his control slipping. “I’m gonna come,” he rasps, his hips slamming into yours as his rhythm falters.

A deep groan escapes him as he buries himself fully inside you, his cock twitching as he empties himself completely. The warmth of his release fills you, and for a moment, the world goes quiet, the only sounds your heavy breaths and the movie on screen.

Austin stays still, his arms wrapped around you as his lips press soft, lingering kisses across your neck. “What do we do now?” he whispers, his voice hushed, as he holds you closely.

You tilt your head toward him, your voice steady but soft. “We have to go back,” you say, nodding toward the monitor where the movie still plays.

He straightens up his chest still heaving as his eyes lock onto yours for a fleeting moment, filled with something raw and unspoken. Slowly, he pulls out, the sensation leaving you breathless, the emptiness almost unbearable after the intensity of being so full of him.

His hands linger on your hips as though he can’t let go just yet, and before the moment can slip away, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss savoring every last trace of your closeness together.

As you both move to fix yourselves he helps you pull your panties back into place as you pull down your dress. The urgency of the moment returns as your eyes flick to the monitor, and you both realize the movie is entering its final act.

Austin adjusts himself quickly, and together, you make your way out of the projection room. The cool air of the stairwell greets you as you tread quietly back down the narrow steps. At the landing, Austin slightly pushes the door open to ensure no one is nearby.

“I’ll head to the ladies room, you head back into the theater,” you tell him, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions still lingering. He grins softly, and leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips, then he heads one way, and you the other.

The entire theater is locked down for the premiere, the halls empty save for the occasional usher or security guard stationed at the front.

You make your way to the ladies room, pausing when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror.

Your cheeks are flushed, your hair slightly disheveled, and your lips swollen. You look like someone who’s just had the wildest, most unforgettable sex of their life and you smile.

Quickly, you fix your hair, and pat your face, trying to regain some composure before heading back to the theater.

The usher’s flashlight guides your path as you return to your seat. The room is dark, the audience engrossed in the movie. As you pass Austin, his hand grazes your hip, subtle but deliberate, and you bite back a smile, sliding into your chair beside him.

As the movie plays, you steal knowing glances at each other in a quiet, an intimate reminder of your stolen moment together.

As you watch the ending of the film, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Come with me after this,” he whispers, his voice low and full of meaning as he plants a soft kiss just below your ear.

The theater lights raise as the credits roll, and the room erupts with applause.

All eyes turn toward you and Austin, the stars of the night, and you quickly slip apart, trying to maintain composure. You stand as the cast rises to their feet, and the cheers grow louder as you all take in the standing ovation.

Austin glances at you, his smirk unmistakable as he takes your hand, his grip firm yet playful. He leads you out of the theater, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As you walk together, people congratulate you both, praising the brilliant performance and the film’s success. “Incredible work, you two,” one of the crew members says. “The film is a masterpiece.”says another.

As the praises come flooding in, Austin only smiles, his attention only on you, as if nothing else matters in the moment.

You step into the flow of the crowd in the lobby, surrounded by the excited energy of the cast and audience alike all swept up in the afterglow of the film’s success.

At the front of the theater, the scene is chaotic. The red carpet glimmers under the bright, unrelenting lights, the velvet ropes barely containing the swarm of photographers and reporters, as cameras erupt into flashes.

Austin looks to you, his eyes filled with mischief. “You think the headlines tomorrow will be about our incredible movie?” he asks leaning in closer, his tone filled with that familiar charm. “Or about us?”

END 🎥

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me List @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika@feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @megangovier@magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @thejeywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1@ @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader/3 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @stars-remain2 @skulliecadaver-blog

#austin butler #austinbutler #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction #smut #austin butler x reader #fanfic #austin butler fic #austin butler smut fic #austin butler reader #austinbutler x #austin butler imagine #one shot #one shot smut #austinbutlerslovers

229 notes · View notes

rivalsispunk · 18 days ago

Text

Driving Miss Crazy (Chapter 3 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), mentions of male orgasm, pussy pronouns, Tony being a grot, more warnings added per chapter.

Word count: 5.5k !!!

Chapter summary: Working alongside you proves far more difficult for Declan than he anticipated and you're noticing that your handsome, moustached boss is getting a bit antsy.

A/N: This is a chonky chapter!! But hopefully it is well worth the wait. I am livingggggg for tortured Declan and him not being able to keep himself together. As usual, proofread but can't promise clean edits. Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Driving Miss Crazy

Your Vauxhall Cavalier’s steering wheel is slick with sweat. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t end up with blisters on your palms from how tight you’re gripping the leather as you make the short drive from your flat to Corinium for your first day as Declan’s assistant. You hadn’t laid eyes on him since you fled the hot tub several days ago, save for watching his show on Thursday evening, brittle embarrassment nestled in your bones after your late-night encounter. Though Taggie’s snoring subsided when you both returned to bed, you were kept awake for hours at the thought of another O’Hara. The finger of whiskey you’d downed buzzed through your veins. Still, Declan’s bourbon-brown eyes boring into yours over the glass seemed to have intoxicated you further to the point where you were unable to close your eyes without seeing his moustache quivering over a miniscule smile.

Though you were up before the birds the following morning, Declan had already made for Corinium, his Mini Clubman Estate already gone from the drive. It was purposeful, his early leave. After you’d escaped back upstairs with his daughter the night before, he’d made his way to his office, polished off his bottle of whiskey and shamelessly fucked his hand to the image of your lithe legs stretched over the hot tub, and the echo of you promising him you could handle it. The moment he spilled himself over his fist was the moment the mortification consumed him. Mortified at himself for disrespecting his albeit fragmented marriage like that. For disrespecting you like that, and he couldn’t bear to run into you in The Priory’s kitchen the next day and pretend like he hadn’t done so. Luckily for him, you didn’t cross paths all weekend either, thanks to being off shopping for workwear with Taggie, just as he’d requested. Being privy to your usual everyday attire and how uncomfortable you seemed in Maud’s clothing was the only thing keeping Declan from pulling the plug on your hiring. He knew you’d opt for something no-fuss. Conservative, even. Something that would keep his regretful, wandering eye at bay. He just didn’t expect you to make conservative look so fucking sexy.

“Knock, knock,” you greet him, materialising in his office’s doorway. You’re dressed head-to-toe in black: black wide-leg trousers, matching blazer and black Rolling Stones concert T-shirt stamped with the band’s trademark logo. Your hair falls in loose waves, and you’ve accessorised with black pumps, and a megawatt smile lined with crimson red lipstick.

Declan’s breathing hitches. He never stood a bloody chance.

Despite the awkward note you ended your last encounter on, you bury the uneasy feeling as you step into your new boss’ quarters. “Is that mine?” You gesture to where Declan had Seb set up a desk for you in the far corner. He naively thought it would be more efficient to have you work from his office than out on the floor with the rest of the staff, but his cock throbbing against the inside of his zipper now said otherwise.

“Er, no,” Declan says, scrubbing at his freshly shaven jaw. “That’s just—it’s not… I was just trying something out. Redecorating, or something.”

He keeps bumbling excuses while he ushers you out the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a desk that clearly belongs to someone else, littered with spreadsheet papers stained with coffee cup rings.

“You can set up here. I’ll have a couple tasks for you soon. I just need to take care of a few things first,” Declan snipes, stalking back to his office before you can get a word in. You tail him, his pert arse in his slacks barely a blip on your radar.

“Are you alright?” you question, your mind straying to the hot tub.

“Yeah, fine. Just grand,” Declan feigns, refusing to meet your eye while he pretends to busy himself with tidying his desk.

“Can I get you anything?”

A new assistant. “Just a coffee. Black, one sugar. Thanks.”

You can hear Tony Baddingham’s scaly laugh all the way down the hall as you return to Declan’s office. The Corinium director is sprawled out in his chair while his star talent leans against the window frame, cigarette hanging idly from his lips.

“Ah, hello again,” Tony croons your name and you recoil at the sound of it on his tongue. You can feel his eyes trained on your body as you cross the room and place Declan’s coffee beside him on the window sill. He doesn’t thank you, just grunts around his durry. It pisses you off. If he’s uncomfortable around you after what happened at The Priory, so be it. But you’re being professional. Would it kill him to do the same?

You turn your attention back to Tony. “Lord Baddingham. How are you?”

“Better now,” he confesses, rising from Declan’s seat. His stature is imposing as he moves around the desk towards you until you have to tip your head back to look up at him. “It’s good to see Declan made the right decision with his assistant. Though I have to admit, I was hoping you’d wear something a little more like what you had on the last time we met.” He edges closer to Declan, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow like they’re sharing an inside joke. “A little less Boy George, if you know what I’m saying?” Tony chuckles like he’s just cracked the world’s most hilarious one liner. Your tongue burns to scold him. If it were a grimy git at the local pub who had tried that, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell him where to shove it. While Tony Baddingham was a grimy git and then some, he was also the one to sign off on your future paychecks. So, an obligatory smile will have to do.

Declan isn’t as forgiving. “It’s not a fucking fashion show, Tony,” he snaps. “She’s here to do research, not walk a bloody runway.”

“And I don’t disagree with you, Declan, but this is my station, she’s my staff and I’m telling her to wear something more appealing. Just like what you wore to your interview. Now, that,” he leers down at you, and you wonder if he can see the fury buzzing through you. “That was something.”

“Alright, Tony, that’s enough.” Declan flicks his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk and steps between you and Baddingham. He keeps his eyes on you over Declan’s shoulder, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Declan squares his shoulders, jutting his head toward the door — a silent instruction to his superior. “I’ll see to her, okay?”

As Tony moves out of your immediate vicinity, his gaze rolls down your entire frame before huffing a one syllable laugh. “I’m sure you will,” he tells Declan, then: “My office. Five minutes. Cameron has some evil genius plan for ratings.”

You spend the better part of the morning waiting, making yourself a coffee, then waiting again for Declan to reappear from Tony’s office. He’s yet to return by half-eleven, at which point you stalk back into his office to make yourself at least somewhat busy. You begin emptying his ashtray and clearing his desk of empty coffee cups (and the occasional whiskey glass) before making a start on organising the tree of papers scattered across the rich timber. Half word-processed, the majority strewn with Declan’s skittish handwriting. At the bottom of the mess is some semblance of a to-do list with bullet points in no rational order.

Research agriculture.

Follow up Rupert Campbell-Black wife.

Lunch. Sinister.

Details. Westland. Michael Heseltine.

You doubt Declan has time to even touch any of those tasks with him being MIA all morning, so you park yourself in his desk chair and get to work.

“If I didn’t love this bloody job so much, I’d have half the mind to quit.” The string of Irish twang startles you from your notepad, and Declan appears equally as surprised to see you perched in his place. With a furrow in his brow, he scans the room. “You cleaned up?” He can’t recall a time his office had been as tidy.

“Thought I’d better make myself busy,” you tell him, popping up from the leather seat with your notes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made a few calls based on your to-do list. No answer from the former Mrs Campbell-Black but I might’ve got somewhere with the Westland research.” You tilt the yellow paper pad in Declan’s direction, thrusting it into his hands despite the scepticism that paints his face. You chew the inside of your cheek while he reviews your notes, only stopping when he looks at you blankly. You can’t tell whether he’s going to thank you for your patience or fire you for sifting through his things.

“You did this? Today?”

You nod.

“Christ almighty. What on earth have I done without you all this time?”

You grin, warmth flooding through you with the inadvertent praise. “Suffered?” you jest.

“I’m afraid suffering is part and parcel of the job,” Declan counters, not mentioning how much suffering is ahead for him with you now a part of his team. “You should head home. It’s getting late.” He looks at the window, where the late winter sun has set.

“I was always told to never leave before your boss.” “Darlin’, if that was the case, you’d be here ‘til morning. So, go on,” he swats at your arm with the notepad. “Get home.”

Without another word, you gather up your things — not much, a water bottle and small assortment of pens scattered across Declan’s desk — and throw a small bye in your boss’ direction.

“Don’t worry about Tony,” Declan calls after you. “He was bang out of order.”

You swivel, lean up against the doorframe.“And if he barges in again demanding I wear something more likely to land me on the cover of Playboy?”

A glimmer of you in black garters and barely there lingerie snaps through Declan’s brain. “That’s not what he meant.”

“Isn’t it?” Your arms fold across you. You had a point, and Declan knew it. Tony would have every woman in this office under the age of forty strutting around in nothing but heels and a thong if he could.

“I’ll deal with him,” the Irishman settles on. He’s rather you covered up for him than dressed down for someone else. “You have my word.”

You bid Declan goodnight with one final, tight-lipped smile, offering the same to Deirdre and Daisy on your way to the elevator.

Outside, the sky is littered with stars, though their brightness is dulled by the stadium-worthy fluorescent lights beaming down on the carpark. There are far fewer cars left in the lot than there were this morning, so you make a beeline across the concrete to where your plum-coloured Vauxhall is sat on the outskirts. You savour the tiny bit of warmth the cab has preserved over the day as you shove the key into the ignition and—

Nothing.

You turn the key over again and get nothing but a singular clank from somewhere under the hood in return.

You try three more times only to get the same result.

Shit.

You scan the carpark for someone who might be able to help but at this time of night, the chances are slim. Sliding out from your seat, you round the front of your car and unclip the hood, though you have zero clue what exactly it is you’re looking at. You didn’t grow up with a father who’d taught you how to refill your oil or check for leaks. You don’t think you ever saw him with a tool in his hand once. Your parents always sent away for things to get fixed and now, you were cursing them for not imparting an integral practical life skill on you.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

“Jesus Christ!” Your hand flies to your heart as Declan falls into position next to you. “You really need to stop doing that.”

A chuckle wracks through him, his shoulder jostling up against yours. “Car troubles?”

“I think it’s carked it. The ignition won’t turn over.”

“Shove over.” He motions for you to step aside, handing you his briefcase as you comply. A few minutes pass as Declan jostles metal pipes and knocks his knuckles against others, black grease working its way onto his skin. Eventually he steps back and pushes the hood closed with a clatter.

“Yeah, she’s knackered,” he declares, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Grab your things. I’ll drive you home tonight.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking favours on my first day,” you mutter, thanking Declan for what feels like the tenth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting in his Clubman.

“You’re not askin’. I’m offerin’,” he tells you without taking his eyes off the road. You study him as he drives, all stoic and permanently etched with determination. His knuckles are white as large hands grip the steering wheel, silver wedding band glinting under the streetlights. In the small confines of the car, Declan’s overwhelmed by the soft jasmine scent of your perfume. It reminds him of a breeze through a sunlit garden in summer — fresh, but warm. Inviting, even, making him want to pull over and nuzzle into the crook of your neck so he drowns in it. He clears his throat as the need sets in, filing through his thoughts for something to distract him.

“Your family visit you much?” is what he decides on when he realises he knows little to nothing about you.

“Not at all,” you tell him, a sad laugh tumbling out after your admission. “My father’s a lawyer and my mother’s a psychologist, so they don’t really get much time away. When they do, they’d rather jet off to Spain or Greece or somewhere equally as picturesque.”

“You’re joking.” Declan’s disbelief tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You, coming from the likes of Baddingham and Co?” He had a hard time placing you within the wealth of the city. You were just so humble. So grounded.

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, kind of.” “Don’t hold it against me.”

Hold your parents against you? No. Though there were other things that could tempt Declan if he just let himself go.

“But you’re so…” He steals a peek at you, then back to the road, considering his words.

“Go on, I can take it,” you say, anticipating a verbal blow.

I bet you can, he shamelessly admits to himself. Then, out loud: “You’re just not an arsehole, that’s all. Rich folk are usually right pricks.”

You can attest to that. Your parents easily fall into that category. “That might just be the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“And you don’t have a boyfriend? No uppity intellectual waiting for ya back in the city?” Declan doesn’t know why he asks. You’ve not sent away for anybody, not that he would’ve noticed, but he was sure he’d have heard about a boyfriend in all the hours you spent at The Priory.

“Not anymore.” You say quietly, trilling over the dry skin peeling away at your thumb. Not anymore. Your admission shouldn’t send Declan’s pulse galloping like a racehorse.

You continue to divulge about Samuel, who you’d met in your second year media law lecture at university.. “His ego didn’t allow for two smart people in the relationship. You know, he told me that my intelligence is what drew him to me in the first place, but turns out he couldn’t handle it in the long run. Everything became a competition and it rotted our relationship from the inside out.”

“Hope you sent him packing.”

You shake your head. “He cut me loose, can you believe it? Got the shits when I got the internship at The Times over him.” As you roll over the hill leading to the village, the Clubman splutters when Declan changes gear, masking the fucking idiot that falls from his lips. How could any man not want you? The notion was beyond him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Boys never know what they want,” Declan imparts.

A scoff scratches your throat. “What, and men do?”

You have Declan on that one. He glances at you in the passenger seat, then thinks of the years’ old snapshot of Maud that lives in his wallet.

No, no they don’t.

“I’m just up here on the left.” You gesture to the strip of shops on the left a few moments later. Declan pulls the Clubman to the curb and flicks the engine off. He arches over the steering wheel to get a look at your building through the windscreen, scepticism colouring his features.

“You live in the butcher’s?”

“I live above the butcher’s.”

“Must smell like a slaughterhouse in there.”

“Sometimes. It’s not all bad. The man who runs it, Mr Green, gives me a discount on meat. Chucks in a few extra sausages free of charge.”

“Free sausages, eh? Living the life.”

“Well, they’re Lincolnshire, so I’ll say.” That earns a chuckle from your boss, followed by a too right in agreement. You click off your seatbelt and gather your bag in your lap. “Well, thanks again. I appreciate it, Declan.”

“No bother. I’ll swing past in the morning and pick you up.”

You rear back at his offer. “You don’t have to do that. I can get a taxi. Catch the bus.”

“The buses around here are as late as a pregnant woman’s period. Taxi will cost you a small fortune. I’ll pick you up.” There’s no room for discussion or pushback as the Clubman roars back to life. “Seven forty-five, alright?”

Declan wasn’t expecting to have a heart attack before eight AM the following morning, nor was he expecting you to heed Tony’s suggestion, when you step out from your flat in a skirt that cuts mid-thigh, sheer tights and a skin-tight red turtleneck sweater, paired with knee-high black boots. You won’t lie: complying with Tony’s request made your skin itch, but you had a job to do, and you couldn’t do it with Tony constantly breathing down your neck. Declan’s eyes trail over the sheen of your thighs when you slide into the Mini, mouth going dry at the view. He’s about to chide you, make a comment about you already bowing down to the big boss. Then you bring up Michael Heseltine and the Westland notes again, offering your thoughts, and he’s taken again by how fucking clever you are. He can practically hear the cogs in your brain working as he drives you both to Corinium. You sing along to Paul Simon and Heart between ideas, your manicured nails thrumming on your knee in time to the music.

Declan tells you he’s organised for your car to be towed and fixed up by a local mechanic — a friend who owes me a favour, he says when you protest — and that the work will take a couple of weeks. And so, Tuesday marks the first time in a long time that Declan consistently leaves the office at a reasonable hour, and driving you quickly becomes his favourite part of his days. The pair of you chat about everything under the sun, from your upbringings — you in upper class London and he in backwoods Ireland — to your favourite musicians — George Michael for you, Nat King Cole for him. You don’t ask about Maud and Declan makes no mention of her either, diverting the conversation when anything rears too close to their relationship. He’d much rather talk about his kids; complimenting Taggie’s cooking and homeliness, repeating some crazy story he’d heard from Caitlin when she’d called from boarding school, or bragging about Patrick’s accolades at university. While he was certainly stubborn and sometimes cold, Declan’s love for his children pared all of that back, revealing a proud and honest father. It was one of, if not, your favourite thing about him.

The two weeks your car was in the shop went by too fast for either of your liking, the drives to and from Corinium just not quite feeling right without the other. Your perfume lingers in the Mini, the result of your constant presence, every bit of you woven into the fabric of the seats. If Declan just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, it’s like you’re still right there next to him, humming along to the radio or trying to pitch him wild guests for his show. You miss his dorky dad jokes, and Declan misses you giggling at them, your laugh a melody that warmed him from the inside out. You were still at The Priory often enough, helping Taggie prepare catering or the two of you lounging about watching Four Men Went To Mow, but it wasn’t the same for Declan. He much preferred having you to himself.

While you became more comfortable with each other outside of hours, you and Declan also settled into a rhythm in the office. You fed off one another’s creativity, bolstering ideas and show notes until they were airtight. It only took a week for Declan to relent and set you up at the spare desk. It was easier having you nearby rather than constantly moving between his office whenever you had something to add to your findings. You’d also kept up your more put-together wardrobe; tight skirts, and blouses, and high heels. Not that Declan was complaining, but it made his life just that little bit harder, made him more than a little hot under the collar, whenever you bent over to retrieve a box of files or leaned over his desk to show him some of your findings.

There was a lot you loved about your job — the ability to ogle Declan across his office being up there — but you lived for Thursday nights when Declan’s show aired. Watching it from home on your TV set was one thing, but seeing it unfold live in the studio was beyond your imagination. It was incredible seeing your work behind the scenes put into action, and it was made all the better by Declan; always charismatic, stern and unwavering when the time called for it. He was magic, and no matter how hard you tried, you never could seem to wipe the grin off your face while you stood watching on the sidelines, and Declan loved to see it whenever he glanced in your direction.

It was rare, unheard of, even, for someone to receive praise from Declan, the journalist’s standards so high that he rarely found anyone who could meet them. But somehow, you did. Your research was thorough, always annotated with further notes and references. You weren’t afraid to get on the phones and track down sources. His show, already a success, was made infinitely better by your addition. Not to mention, your coffee was fantastic. Not even in twenty years of marriage had Maud managed to perfect his preference. Still, he rarely raised his satisfaction with you, a simple good or thanks sufficing. No, he saved his satisfaction for moments he was alone. He’d officially given up willing his throbbing cock to flaccidity when thoughts of you creeped in during the quiet hours, allowing himself the quick gratification before the shame set in.

About a month into your tenure at Corinium, Declan was in a foul pit of a mood. He’d barged into his office already on the warpath. He barked orders at you and spent the better part of the morning criticising an upcoming guest, when he’d spent the previous day praising him. He even had you remake his coffee four times after complaints that it was too sweet or too cold or some other ridiculous excuse, despite making it the same way you did everyday. By the time four PM rolled around, you could count on one hand the times Declan had actually looked at you, each time egged on by a scowl. In your short time at the company, and with Taggie’s advice, you’d learned to let your boss be when the stress of the job got to him. Even if you’d built enough rapport to tell him to pull his head in.

It wasn’t until you were leaving for the day that Declan spoke to you without a growl in his voice. “You did grand today,” he says, the comment shocking you as you stood up from your seat. “I know I’ve been an arse all day. I’m sorry. You did a fantastic job, really.” His dark features were soft as he peered up at you from his desk.

“Mr O’Hara, are you paying me a compliment?” You feign shock, hand flush against your chest as you pretend to be scandalised.

“Don’t get used to it,” he tells you, a smile ghosting over his lips. He turns back to his notes, but unbeknownst to you, he’s unable to read the muddled words on the page, his brain fixated on the way you cooed Mr O’Hara. All breathy and innocent and unintentionally sultry. You made his name yours.

He hates how much he loves it.

When Declan pulls up to The Priory that night, your Vauxhall is in the drive, and his one thought is that he can’t do this tonight. Can’t do you tonight. It’s late, already half-ten by the time he’s slugging through the door, temples throbbing with a Baddingham-induced headache only made worse by the Duran Duran blasting through the house.

“Taggie!” he booms, dumping his briefcase and corduroy jacket on a chair by the staircase. All he wants is a shower and a whiskey, maybe a cigar, in bed, and he’ll be damned if he does it with the walls of his home rattling to the soundtrack of his daughter’s mixtape. Declan trudges upstairs, lethargy weighing his legs down as he stalks down the hall towards Taggie’s bedroom. Light pours out of the half-open door, followed by your laughter. “Taggie, Jesus fucking Christ, can you turn that bloody racket—”

The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue when you step into view, your back to the door. The black dress you’d worn to the office is discarded on the floor, the full expanse of your body of full display, safe for a plain black bra and matching high-waisted underwear.

“I don’t know, Tag,” Declan hears you say over the music. “Red or black?” You stretch your arm out of sight to retrieve two short dresses that you then hold up against your body. Freddie Jones had invited all of the neighbouring families and friends to Bar Sinister on Friday night for drinks and karaoke, and you were struggling to decide what to wear. Your usual jeans and tee getups were too casual, and your work attire was too, well, work. The stereo clicks, swapping out Rio for Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat.

“I love this song!” you announce, pipping up and down to the beat. Your back arches slightly with each little leap, the ripple of your muscles accentuated every time you hit the creaking floorboards. He feels like a creep, lurking in the shadows, continuing to watch you through the ajar door as you dance around the room in nothing but your underwear, but he can’t tear his eyes from you. Declan worries his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of your legs, looking impossibly longer now without clothing, and where they stretch into the sweep of your arse. He wants to take you into his mouth, bite down on your supple flesh, hard, before soothing the inevitable red mark with a sloppy kiss. His cock rouses at the temptation, the feeling of his pulsating tip pushing against his trousers making it difficult for him not to march straight into Taggie’s room and swoop you away to his own so he can show you what he thinks about all day while you’re across his office.

Reality wracks the back of Declan’s mind. What the fuck is he doing? He if had a pound for every time he caught himself leering at you, feeling that heat coil in him until there was nothing left to do but steal himself away to privacy and relieve himself like a sex-obsessed teenager, he’d have enough to pay of his family’s London leaving debt and then some.

Sometime later, once Declan had gathered enough sense, enough strength, to tear himself away from his post outside Taggie’s door, the music in her room recedes low enough that you and your friend can hear each other without yelling.

“I’m going to head home,” you tell Taggie, sluffing out of the robe she let you borrow and back into the ribbed black dress you’d picked out that morning. “Early morning tomorrow and I do not want to catch your dad in another one of his moods again.”

“Fair enough,” your friend relents, passing you the outfits you’d narrowed your options down to. You shove them into your bag, which is already busy with notepads and teabags you bring from home, and tug Taggie into a hug, whispering a farewell into her mess of tawny hair. You slip into the hall and pull her door shut, the walkway enveloped in darkness aside from the small flood of yellow light beaming around the corner. As you head towards the stairs, you notice the light is coming from Declan’s bedroom, where he was probably reading one of those many memoirs or pouring over notes for his show tomorrow night, during which he’d interview the Bishop of London, Right Reverend Graham Leonard. He definitely had a whiskey in hand or by his bedside, and you’re put in mind again of that night the pair of you were in the yard. The memory elicits goosebumps as you pass through the sliver of light and by Declan’s quarters. It’s not until you’re nearing the top of the staircase that you hear a grunt that halts.

What was that?

The noise rouses again, though this time it’s more like a groan, echoing from the room you just passed. You backtrack a few steps — you know you should just be on your way, but you can’t help yourself — and peer into Declan’s room through the slight crack in the door. He’s turned away from you, bracing himself against the dresser by the window. He’s shirtless, and far more tanned than you’d expect for somebody living in England, his back all corded muscle and shoulder blades that pinch together with rigorous movement. His trousers hang low on his hips, low enough that the top of his arse is visible over the waistband, a sparse trail of coarse black hair blooming on his lower back. Under the light, sweat prickles on the back of his neck, and another moan slips from him as he pumps his right arm up and down. It’s only then that you realise what you’ve stumbled upon.

Declan’s none the wiser that you’re watching him the same way he’d done to you not much earlier. His eyes are clamped shut, shielding you from the anguish and pure filth they’re laden with while he lets desire run its course. His breathing is turning almost whimper-like with his frantic movements, while yours shakes deep in your stomach. Saliva pools around your dumb tongue, mouth lax as you observe Declan fist himself with so much savagery his whole body is shaking. It’s like a trainwreck you can’t look away from. A delicious, sordid trainwreck hurtling towards an explosive end.

Then you hear it. Only just. Your name slips from his lips so quietly you wonder if you made it up.

It’s not the first time Declan has allowed you ownership over him as he tugs himself raw. He’d tried to deny it, tried to morph your image in his mind into Maud’s but it was no use. He was stupid for you. If it’s just him, his hand and his mind, who is it hurting? Nobody has to know.

But now you do. You know what Declan looks like coming undone, and it’s abundantly clear that it’s you spurring on his animalistic display. An odd sort of pride shoots through you, heat blooming at your core, pussy clenching around nothing as Declan seethes oh, fuck, your name flying out his mouth amid a string of obscenities as he comes. Hot, white ropes spurt over his fist and down his aching length, and his heart bucks against his ribcage as his climax rolls through him, vision flanked white from the intensity of his orgasm. It takes Declan a few moments to gather himself, to come down from his high. He has to squint once he opens his eyes, the well-lit room a stark contrast to the dark corners of his mind. His back burns, as if someone’s stare is boring into him, and his attention snaps to where he foolishly left his door ajar. But the hallway is empty, and he hears your car chug to life in the driveway, followed by the unmistakable crunch of gravel under its tyres.

Eeeeeeeeek, now we're getting somewhere! Thank you for reading! Don't forget to like, comment, reblog if you loved this chapter as much as I did writing it hehe

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara imagine #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x female #declan o’hara x you #declan o’hara x reader #declan o’hara x assistant!reader #best friends dad!declan o’hara #rivals smut #boss!declan o’hara #declan o'hara #rivals fanfiction #rivals hulu #rivals disney+#rupert campbell black #aidan turner #declan o'hara fanfiction

159 notes · View notes