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rivalsispunk · 2 days ago

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

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

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

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

Word count: 11.4k

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

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

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

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

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

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

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

Liar, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

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

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

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

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

“I’m not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

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

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

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

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

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

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

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

“Oh, yeah?”

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

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

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

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

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

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

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

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

“Be crazy not to."

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

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

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

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

“For God’s sake, read what?”

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

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

Yes, poor Declan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course not!”

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

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

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not fair. On either of us.”

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

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

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

“You think I don’t feel it, too?”

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

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

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

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock knock knock.

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

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara imagine #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x you #rivals smut #declan o’hara x female #best friends dad!declan o’hara #boss!declan o’hara #declan o’hara x assistant!reader #declan o’hara x reader #declan o'hara #rivals imagine #rivals fan fic #rivals fanfiction #declan o'hara fanfiction #sexy jealous declan #filthy filthy irishman #aidan turner

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lowkeyremi · 2 days ago

Text

BLOCKED ! (part 5) (smau series)

Summary: As a student of class 1-B, the first time you really saw Bakugo Katsuki was at the sports festival. That’s when you decided you would pursue him. It’s not easy though, because he absolutely hates you. Content: crack smau, just teens being teens, angst, miscommunication between bkg and reader, Bakugo is bad at feelings, reader might be a little ooc(?) she’s scared of confrontation (like me), stuff will clear up in the next part :3 Masterlist

(Written from Katsuki’s point of view for the explanation)

Ever since his little falling out with you, the both of you have made it your jobs to avoid one another. He doesn’t like it one bit, not after you confidently stepped into his life.

He really didn’t mean to avoid you after inviting you to his dorm. It just turned out that way, because he sucks at talking about anything that has to do with emotions. He definitely felt something too, when you were sitting on his bed making little jokes while eating with him. He felt warm inside and that scared him a little bit. So, he did what he does best and just ignored it, blocked it out.

Obviously that wasn’t the best route to go down, because you’re not talking to him at all now. Katsuki will never admit it, but he misses your annoying little texts, and honestly he’s not sure how to get you talking to him again…

The boy can only hope that you’ll give him an opening, an olive branch. He hopes you’ll be brave enough to make the first move because he’s too scared to.

You invited Kendo over to watch your favorite series. She was a little mad, because you watched a few episodes without her, so now you’re going to get her caught up.

“Thank you for coming over, Itsu.” She smiles and waves her hand.

“No problem, you know I’m always there for you.” You move in to hug her and it feels good to be in her embrace. Those same hands she uses to hit Monoma, bring you great comfort as she rubs them up and down your back.

“I forgot the snacks in the kitchen, so I’ll go grab those real quick.” You say, letting go first from the hug. She nods, her ginger ponytail swinging as she does.

A giggle escapes your lips, “Hey, what’s so funny?”

“it’s just, your ponytail is like an extension of you, I rarely ever see your hair down.” Kendo’s arms cross and she fake pouts.

“I like my ponytail, so what?” She questions playfully.

“No shade I promise, I just think it’s cute.”

She smiles. “Okay okay, you can go get our snacks. I’m ready to start."

You nod your head in agreement, walking out of your dorm to go down and grab your snacks.

Kendo waits a little bit until she thinks you’re downstairs. She quickly grabs your phone and sends a message to Bakugo. As soon as he replies she deletes all the messages from your view and from your phone. Perfect.

Taglist (Taglist is closed! Sorry loves)

@katsukota @nemisimp @herefor-tojis-tits

@haechansbbg @rcveriees @hearts4heidi

@kodzubaby @kiritokunuwu @xerophyides

@wisecatmentality @1ndee @call-me-prodigy

@harryzcherry @defnotriri @kxllanxtdoor

@sukunaspillow @djlance-rock @mouthymha

@ita606 @chemiru @msjaeger @katthekat1234

@ssrcsm @ilovemushroomss @sadgenderfluidmaniac

@cielito--lindo @dreamybabbyy @mrssiida

@cheriiepies @luvvvarmy @spooky-cupid

@marsilis @ndgshsns @welpydonut

@thoughtswithbbg @tenthmilo @aikojwhpa

@dqni31a @peachesvault @justforyou-18

@holobean

sorry to those who couldn’t be tagged!

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

#©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bnha fluff #bnha angst #mha fluff #mha angst

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sturniololuvz · 17 hours ago

Note

could you do one where marylou needs help getting 2-3 year old sister to sleep and matt steps in, getting her tired and then tucking her in all the good stuff lol

yessss!

“Matt to the Rescue”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings: none

The Sturniolo house was always a little loud, a little chaotic, and full of love. But tonight? Tonight was just exhausting.

MaryLou let out a tired sigh, rubbing her temples as she paced back and forth outside Y/N’s nursery. At two years old, her youngest was proving to be impossible to put to sleep. Every time she thought Y/N was finally dozing off, the toddler would suddenly sit up, wide awake and ready to play.

She peeked inside the room, where Y/N was sitting in her crib, babbling to herself and tossing her stuffed animals onto the floor. It was already past bedtime, and nothing—lullabies, rocking, stories—was working.

Defeated, she walked down the hall toward the living room, where her three eighteen-year-old sons were sprawled out on the couch, half-watching a random movie.

“Guys,” she sighed, hands on her hips. “One of you has to help me. Y/N will not go to sleep.”

Chris groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Mom, just let her stay up. Maybe she’s nocturnal.”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, or maybe she just thrives on making your life harder.”

MaryLou shot them both a look, but before she could argue, Matt sat up and stretched. “I got it, Mom.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, already getting to his feet. “I’ll get her tired.”

Chris snorted. “Good luck, bro. She’s built different.”

Matt just smirked. “Watch and learn.”

With that, he walked off toward Y/N’s room, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for battle.

When he opened the door, Y/N perked up immediately.

“Matty!” she squealed, bouncing on the mattress.

Matt leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You do know it’s bedtime, right?”

Y/N grinned at him like he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. “No!”

He chuckled. “Okay, fair. But what if we made bedtime fun?”

Y/N tilted her head, intrigued. “How?”

Matt stepped into the room and scooped her up, spinning her around. “We gotta tire you out first.”

Y/N let out a delighted giggle as he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He carried her into the hallway, where Nick and Chris turned to watch the chaos unfold.

“Is this your master plan?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Matt said, plopping Y/N onto the floor. “We’re gonna have a dance party.”

Y/N gasped. “Dance?”

“Yeah, but only for five minutes,” Matt said, squatting down to her level. “Then we gotta go to sleep. Deal?”

Y/N considered this very serious offer before nodding. “Deal!”

Matt pulled out his phone and blasted a song, immediately starting to wiggle his arms in the worst dance moves possible. Y/N erupted into giggles and started mimicking him, her little legs bouncing as she twirled around.

Nick laughed from the couch. “Dude, you look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, she’s having fun,” Matt shot back, continuing his ridiculous dance routine.

For the next few minutes, Y/N jumped, spun, and clapped to the beat, her giggles filling the house. By the time the song ended, she was worn out, panting and stumbling slightly.

Matt grinned. “Alright, sleepyhead, time for bed.”

Y/N yawned dramatically. “Nooo…”

“Yeahhh,” he teased, scooping her up again. She rested her head against his shoulder, her little arms draped around his neck.

As he carried her back into her room, she mumbled sleepily, “Matty, stay?”

His heart melted.

“Of course, bug,” he whispered, gently laying her in her crib and tucking her in. He grabbed her favorite stuffed bunny and placed it beside her.

She blinked up at him, eyes barely staying open. “Sing?”

Matt chuckled softly. “You really know how to get what you want, huh?”

But he stayed. And he sang.

A soft, quiet melody—nothing fancy, just something to soothe her.

Before he even finished, Y/N’s tiny hand went slack against his arm, her breathing slow and even.

Matt smiled, brushing a stray curl from her forehead before standing up and tiptoeing out of the room.

As he shut the door, he turned to see MaryLou standing there, watching with a warm smile.

“You’re really good with her,” she whispered.

Matt shrugged. “She’s my baby sister. Someone’s gotta keep her in check.”

MaryLou kissed his cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He smirked. “Told you I had it under control.”

Chris, who had been watching from the couch, scoffed. “Okay, yeah, but at what cost? That was exhausting just to witness.”

Nick grinned. “You are kinda like the baby whisperer, though.”

Matt just smiled to himself as he sat back down. He wouldn’t admit it, but spending time with Y/N like that? It meant everything.

And, if she asked him to do it all over again tomorrow night?

Yeah, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sister sturniolo #sturniolo series #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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gyllenhaalstuff · 3 days ago

Text

Free Sample

- Pilot Kelson ☆

Summary: You meet up with your dealer who offers you a free sample, however this sample does more than relax you.

Warnings: Weed, weed as an aphrodisiac, dry humping, piv sex, unprotected sex, cumplay.

Word count: 1382

Notes: This is a need.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Walking into Pilot’s house was like walking into a club. Dimly lit and filled with smoke, you came back out with 50% less brain cells than you had before you entered.

You sat on his worn-out couch as he yapped about the new strain he was pushing. “Smoked this last night, and I swear I saw God.” He had to hype it up; it was a business after all. “I’ll let you try it out before you pay. You’re a loyal customer after all,” he offered, holding up the small bag. “Why not?” you shrugged. You’d never pass on a free high.

Pilot sat down behind you before propping up the weed and papers on the living room table. His hands worked confidently; he had done this more times than he could count. Your eyes lingered on him as he licked the paper and sealed it before twisting the head.

He lit it up, took a drag, and passed it to you. “This won’t kill me, right?” you asked before accepting it. He shook his head and let out a breathy chuckle. “You’ll be fine.”

And he hadn’t been lying; this was good stuff. “Aren’t you wasting money by doing this?” You weren’t complaining; it was just a bit unusual for a dealer to give out free samples like this. “Doing this with you is not a waste,” he said as smoke pillowed out of his mouth. He smiled, and his heavy eyes thinned even further.

Your legs were turning into spaghetti, and a chill ran down your spine. “This is really good,” you pointed out. You had no idea how you were going to drive home in this state. “Turns you on too,” he joked, or so you thought. But it slowly started sinking in.

He put it out on the ashtray and let his head tilt back against the cushion. “I can’t drive like this,” you said, half laughing. “Guess you have to stay a bit then.” Pilot turned to the side to look at you. His eyes flickered up and down.

“You weren’t lying,” you said, looking back at him. “About what?” He grinned. “About it turning you on,” you admitted unashamedly, something you wouldn’t have done in a clear state. “That’s something I could help with,” he spat back; the hope building in his chest ran straight down to his cock.

“Yeah?” You looked at his lips, red and slightly agape. “Yeah,” he nodded before closing the space between you. It was sloppy from the start, but slow. It felt as if your mouths melted together into one as his tongue grazed yours. Your thighs clenched without you meaning to. Pilot’s hand went to and settled at your waist, covered by nothing as the hot California sun had forced you into a crop top earlier that day.

You moved to sit on his lap. It all felt automatic, like your brain had checked out for the time being and your body had its own conscience. His hands grabbed at your hips and pulled you down against the tent in his pants. Even though his muscles felt slack, the grip he had on you was strong.

His thumbs went inside your waistband. “I want them off,” he breathed out against your swollen lips. You undid the button of your shorts and pulled them off before leaning down to kiss him again. His cargo pants rubbed against your clit, still covered by your thin cotton underwear. Your breathing gained a voice, and you moaned into Pilot’s mouth. This seemed to spur him on further, and he bucked his hips up against you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you,” he mumbled and moved down to kiss your neck. He mouthed at your skin, and his saliva cooled you down as the air hit it, sending shivers through your body. His mouth reached your neckline, and he pulled your top off, exposing your tits. He gawked at them before placing his tongue on one of your nipples. The taste of your sweat drove him wild, and he felt as if he’d explode.

Your eyes fluttered as he bit down on your sensitive skin, and you involuntarily rolled your hips against him. “You’re gonna have to get undressed; I feel exposed here,” you half-joked.

He proved to be a man of action. He sat up straight and tore his t-shirt off and started unzipping his pants. “You’re very obedient,” you teased, making him blush. “As long as it gets me where I want,” he responded and pressed his clothed cock against your clit. He smiled boyishly as your eyes closed in pleasure.

You moved your underwear to the side. Shame had left you long ago, and all that remained was desperation. Your wetness left a damp spot on Pilot’s underwear as you rolled against him. You almost forgot he was there, as if you were humping a pillow or your hand.

Pilot broke your trance by pulling his underwear down enough to free his cock. It slapped against his pale stomach, dripping precum. Your hips lowered back down, and you covered his shaft with your juices. It slid between your folds, and with each roll, it threatened to slip inside you.

“Don’t be mean,” Pilot whined. “I gave you a free sample, didn’t I?” You smiled at his desperation. It was sweet. You lined him up before sinking down on him. Pilot dug his nails into your skin as he tried his best to gather himself. “Jesus,” he huffed when you had taken him all in. It bordered on being painful, but the overwhelming pleasure cancelled it out.

“All good?” he checked in. He was a nice guy for being a white trash California dealer. “Just big,” you chuckled, immediately cringing at your choice of words. Though, Pilot didn’t seem to mind. Instead he looked grossly proud.

You started slow, rising before slowly sinking down on him, upping your pace as you went. But your strength wasn’t reliable, and your body quickly turned into a useless lump of jello.

“Can I?” Pilot asked, wanting to take control. You nodded, ashamed of your incompetence. But you quickly forgot about it as he rolled you over on your back. He stood on one level and perched the other on the couch. He placed his hand on your lower belly and pushed himself back in. He shuddered at your grip around him before thrusting again.

The sight from your point of view couldn’t have been better. Pilot's silver chain dangled from his neck, and his baby hairs stuck against his forehead. His brows were knitted together as he concentrated on not instantly cumming. He wasn't going to be a one-minute man.

What were the effects from the joint blurred and Pilot couldn’t tell if he might have gotten high off you too. The room filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other. Your legs wrapped around Pilot’s back in an attempt to make him hit deeper. Your mind was a cloudy mess, and if you were to take a look inside, it’d probably look the same as the room did.

Pilot pulled out before he came. He twisted his hand around the head of his cock a few times before cumming on your belly. He hunched forward as he did, and unintelligible curse words fell from his lips. He didn’t waste any time before running his fingers over his cum and placing his wet digits on your clit, rubbing circles against you.

You writhed and trembled beneath him, grateful he cared enough to make you cum too but much too out of it to tell him. Your hips moved against his diligent hand, and whimpers slipped out of you with each breath.

Your legs shook as you came, your whole body tensing before falling through the earth. Poor Pilot didn’t have a single thought in his head and licked a stripe up your cum-covered skin and kissed you deeply, pushing it into your mouth. You accepted and swallowed.

He got you a glass of water from the kitchen. “Will you buy any then?” he asked as he plopped down beside you. “I’d much rather come back for another sample,” you said with a smile and nudged his side, “deal?”

“Deal.”

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal smut #fanfiction #smut #pilot kelson #pilot kelson smut #pilot kelson fanfiction #pilot kelson fanfic #pilot kelson x reader #highway #highway 2002

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jessicaloons · 23 hours ago

Text

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

Chapter 11

Masterlist - Previous - Next

Miss Americana

"Maman!" Charles said in a hushed voice but his mother only grinned, her eyes darting between her son and her young assistant.

"What? You did talk about her…" Pascale just shrugged her shoulders "Where is my gorgeous, little Ava?"

Lauren just then noticed the stroller behind Charles.

"You were right, by the way…" he said, looking at her.

"Umm-…?" Lauren was confused.

"I gave her a warm bath later on when she was still a little restless." Charles replied and she remembered their conversation again "She had a little cold back then… but she’s umm-… she’s better now."

"That’s good to know, I’m glad." the girl smiled at him, watching Pascale gently picking up Ava from the stroller, giving her the chance to see the little girl from close up "She’s gorgeous."

"That she is…" Pascale cooed.

"Yeah, she really is…" Charles agreed, although his eyes weren’t on his daughter but on Lauren, who didn’t seem to notice.

"Are you done with everything? Ready to close the salon for the next 3 weeks?" Charles asked his mother and Lauren looked at Pascale with big eyes.

"Oh god. I totally forgot to tell you… I’m so sorry!" the hairdresser gasped.

"Oh… umm okay… well yeah, I mean, I was wondering why I couldn’t set up new appointments for the next weeks although the calendar seemed to be empty, but I thought you blocked them because of our little project." the young girl smiled at her boss who sighed.

"No, it’s not okay… you could’ve planned something beforehand for the next weeks and now I leave you behind and all alone just like that…" Pascale said sincerely.

"It’s really okay Pascale. I probably wouldn’t even have planned something. Just stayed here… also, I scheduled the delivery of the new sinks and some other supplies for tomorrow, so yeah, maybe it’s better when we’re closed!" Lauren tried to reassure her "You go and enjoy your holidays with your family. I take care of the delivery tomorrow and then I watch over the salon… maybe I start with the remodelling…"

"No! We’re closed due to holidays! I cannot let you work while I do nothing… and I can’t let you be here all alone when they deliver all this new stuff tomorrow!" Pascale shook her head.

"You can and you will. Please let me handle this, Pascale. After everything you did for me…" Lauren meant what she said, looking at the other woman hugging her granddaughter close to her chest.

Pascale sighed, looking at her young assistant, the girl that got so close to her heart over the last weeks. She didn’t want to leave her all alone. Especially not in her makeshift bedroom in the storage room. The thought of Lauren all alone in the dark room with only one tiny window made her heart clench and she shook her head.

"Charles, how about you come in tomorrow morning and help Lauren with the delivery? We’re not leaving before noon so there’s enough time for that…" she smiled mischievously at her son "I would feel bad if I’d let poor Lauren handle it alone…"

"That’s really not necessary!" the girl in question protested but was shut down by just one look of the older woman.

"You know how these delivery people are! They will drop the stuff right at the entrance and you have to carry around those heavy packages all by yourself! So no, Charles will help you, right?"

"Of course! Yeah… Maman is right, you shouldn’t carry all of that alone. That’s- umm no, I’m coming. Just tell me when I should be here…" Charles said hastily, looking at Lauren.

"Umm-… the mail said they’ll be here at around 8 am so… yeah at 8?" she replied shyly and Charles nodded.

"I’ll be here then."

"Perfect!" Pascale clapped her hands gently, making Ava giggle.

Lauren was tossing and turning, not able to fall asleep. No matter what she did, when she closed her eyes she saw Charles blueish-green eyes and his dimply smile in front of her. His loving eyes whenever he looked at his daughter. Ava. The most gorgeous baby girl she has ever seen. She had her father’s eyes and dimples. A cute little button nose, chubby cheeks and a bright smile that was giving her father’s a run for its money. Lauren was nervous meeting Charles all alone. No Pascale to bridge the awkward silence. Only the two of them. Alone. She didn’t even know why she was nervous. Just that she was. Which was weird. She never felt that way before and she didn’t know if she liked it or not.

"Get yourself together, Rachel." she mumbled into the dark room, sighing after a moment "Lauren. I’m Lauren."

She checked the time and groaned. 1 am already. She turned on her side. Closing her eyes taking a deep breath, Charles face in front of her immediately. But this time she ignored it. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, there were some weird feelings stirring inside of her. But it didn’t matter. He was Pascale’s son. He had a daughter which probably meant he had a beautiful girlfriend or wife as well. Out of her league. Not that she even thought about anything like that. She already had a long enough list of problems. A crush on an unavailable man who’s also the son of her boss wasn’t going to make it on that list. And still it was Charles face she saw when she fell asleep. Unfortunately it wasn’t his face that made her wake up. Sweaty and heavy breathing. Heart racing. She had a nightmare that her father and even worse Tony had found her. Taking her back home against her will. Threatening her life and everyone who was kind to her if she wouldn’t come back. Lauren felt sick. It wasn’t the first time she had a nightmare like this. The first one or two weeks after she ran away were filled with nightmares. But since she arrived in Europe, brought a whole ocean between her and her old life, the nightmares were gone. Or at least she thought so. Lauren sat up and grabbed her water bottle, gulping it almost down in one go. With one hand she was brushing her hair out of her sweaty face, with the other she was searching for her phone to check the time.

"Fuck!" Lauren let out, scrambling out of the bed. 7:58 am. "Why? Why last night? Out of all nights I had to have a nightmare last night!" she mumbled.

Lauren left the storage room, her heart sinking when she saw Charles waiting through the storefront, talking with what looked like the delivery guy.

"I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t hear my alarm!" Lauren unlocked the door, pulling both sides wide open "I hope you didn’t have to wait too long…"

"Oh no, it’s alright..." Charles began with a big smile "We didn’t even wait for…" his smile faded immediately and worry was etched on his features "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Lauren turned, looking at him.

"You’re awfully pale…" he replied and she just waved him off.

"Oh-… umm… of course. It was just a little stressful when I realised that I’m too late!" she tried to reassure him and then quickly turned to the delivery guy "But now I’m here and we can start…"

"Sure." he nodded and started to unload 3 big and heavy looking packages, dropping them off at the entrance, followed by a handful of smaller packages "That’s all, I need you to sign here… and here…"

"I didn’t even know that Maman planned on remodelling the salon…" Charles said after he sat down the last of the 3 big packages.

"We talked about it and well one thing lead to another…" Lauren shrugged, opening one of the smaller packages "We made a mood board, looked up some stuff online and then we already ordered it…"

"Wow, my mother usually isn’t the spontaneous type. She takes her time making decisions, thinking everything through. You must have made quite the impression on her."

"I told her that the salon looks amazing, there is nothing that needed to be changed!" Lauren quickly replied "I didn’t tell her that she should do it…"

"No! That’s not-… I didn’t mean it like that. Umm- like you talked her into it! I know her, talking her into something doesn’t work. I just meant that the ideas you had must’ve been amazing, otherwise she wouldn’t be on board that quickly!" Charles looked at her with wide eyes.

"Oh. Well, she knows what she wants. And I was just lucky enough ti find the perfect stuff online…"

"Can I see it?" he asked "The mood-board?"

"Oh? Sure…" she searched through her phone, handing it over to Charles "That was the vision…"

He didn’t reply immediately, looking at the design, the different textures and colours.

"Wow…" Charles let out, looking at her "I understand why my mother agreed. It looks amazing, Lauren."

The way he said her name made the girl shiver, taking her phone back.

"It’s nothing…"

"It is. Really. You have an eye for details."

"My mother and I, we used to watch HGTV all day long. The home renovation shows were our favourite. It was either nurse or interior designer for me…"

"Why did you choose being a nurse then?" Charles asked curiously.

Lauren was silent for a moment. Thinking about the best way to answer his question.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…" he added but she shook her head.

"I wanted to help people. People that got hurt or are sick. So yeah… nurse it was." Lauren replied, swallowing hard.

The truth was, she wanted to become a nurse because she saw what her father and his line of work did to people. A part of her was hoping she could get rid of the guilt she felt over the pain they’ve caused. Another part always had to think back at her mother and the night of their accident. How helpless she felt.

"Lauren?" Charles soft voice made her flinch "Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" she looked at him confused.

"You were a little- umm… absentminded…" he took a step closer, looking in her eyes, noticing the tears gathering.

"Yeah…" she replied, her voice hoarse.

"You sure?" Charles asked when a single tear rolled down the girls cheek and without thinking about it he gently wiped it away with his thumb, cupping her cheek.

"I was just thinking of something…" Lauren breathed out when the door to the salon opened and Pascale walked in, followed by a boy carrying Ava, making Lauren taking a step away from Charles, looking at her boss.

"Are we interrupting something?" the boy, who looked a lot like Charles just younger, asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ferme-la, Arthur!" Charles hissed, making Arthur held up his hand.

"Lauren, this is Arthur, my youngest son… and you know little Ava by now…" Pascale introduced Lauren to Arthur.

"The famous Lauren. I’ve heard so much about you already!" he grinned at her.

"Hopefully good things?" Lauren said nervously.

"Only good things, no not even good, my mother was praising you. Basically everything about you… but saying you’re a really pretty girl was a total understatement…" he winked and Lauren felt herself blush.

"Stop it, Romeo!" Pascale rolled her eyes but had to smirk at the look Charles was giving his younger brother "I brought some breakfast for my little hard workers."

"I’m starving!" Arthur exclaimed.

"I wasn’t talking about you. What did you do besides carrying your niece around? Right. Nothing." Pascale put down a paper bag and two cups on the counter "This is for you two." she smiled at Charles and Lauren.

"That wasn’t necessary!" the girl mumbled.

"Don’t think I didn’t notice how little you eat! You really should’ve accepted my offer and move in with me instead of living in the storage room with no way to cook an-…"

"What? You sleep in the storage room?" Charles made big eyes, looking at Lauren "But-… that room is tiny! And dusty! Is there even a window?"

"It’s fine! There is a window. It’s not dusty. The bed is comfy. It’s just until I got my feet on the ground…" she replied hastily.

"Yeah and you could’ve done that at my place just as good…" Pascale sighed.

"Maman is right! This is just a salon! It’s not safe! Do you know how often there has been break-ins here in the shops?" Charles said, his voice laced with worry "It’s dangerous!"

"This is Monaco… not Nice!" Arthur laughed but stopped as soon as his brother looked at him "But still. Yeah. Dangerous. Living in a shop."

"It’s fine. Really. As soon as my French is better and I can do my qualification and start working as a nurse I’ll look for a flat! Until then, the store is just fine!"

"I don’t kn-…" Charles got interrupted by his phone and he pulled it out of his pocket "Hang on a minute, I gotta take that call…" he groaned groaned, stepping out of the shop.

"Arthur? I need your height!" Pascale voice came out of the storage room and he got up looking around.

"Could you hold her?" he looked at Lauren.

"Of course!" she smiled and took Ava out of Arthur’s hands "Hello, pretty girl." she cooed at her, making the little girl smile "Aren’t you adorable!"

Ava looked at Lauren with her big, bright eyes, cuddling into her chest, making adorable sounds that made Lauren’s heart swell. The little girl was grabbing the strings of her hoodie playing with it, happily chortling.

Outside of the salon Charles ended the call, sighing frustrated when he looked through the storefront, seeing his daughter smiling brightly at Lauren. His heart skipped a beat and his insides began to warm up. Holding Ava looked so natural to Lauren. Like she never did anything else in her life and Charles smiled. He quietly opened the door and walked inside, leaning against the wall, watching his daughter and Lauren. She cooed at Ava, gently caressing her cheek making the little girl snuggle up into her arm, happily giggling. Like in trance Charles watched the scene in front of him, not able to interrupt it.

"Oh wow, look at that, she loves you! Normally she’s super fuzzy with strangers! But with you? Charles, I think you have some competition…" Arthur laughed, walking back in and Lauren looked up, spotting Charles leaning against the wall.

"Yeah… I think so too, she seems to like you a lot…" he replied, looking at her with an intense gaze, making her blush slightly.

"She’s a perfect little girl. It’s easy with her…" Lauren smiled at Ava who yawned a little.

"A tired little girl. Come on sweet girl…" Arthur began, holding out his hands, but Ava turned her head away, snuggling even more into Laurens chest "Hey! You stole my niece from me!"

"I’m sorry." the girl chuckled and looked down at Ava.

"Don’t be… he’s just jealous. Ava has good taste in who she likes, that’s all…" Charles pushed off the wall, walking over to the two girls and his daughter lifted her head, hearing her fathers voice this close.

"But no one beats her dad…" Lauren smiled right as Ava held her hand out for Charles and she carefully handed the little girl over "Understandable…" she whispered underneath her breath.

After a few moments of silence, Pascale came back from the storage room, seeing Charles with Ava in his arms standing close to Lauren while Arthur sat on the counter, scrolling through his phone.

"Alright, I guess we’re done here…" she began "We just have to figure out where Lauren will stay…"

"Here! Like I said. I’ll be fine!" the girl in question protested again.

"No. I should’ve insisted when you moved here in the first place! You’re coming to my place!" Pascale said with a finality in her voice.

"But you won’t even be here for the next weeks! I can’t possibly just move into your apartment without you being there! That’s not right…"

"How about Lauren joins us at our holiday and you can figure out where she stays after? This way she’s not all alone for the next weeks. The house we’ve rented has enough rooms!" Arthur suggested and Lauren looked at him with big eyes.

"What? No-… that’s no… I can’t! This is family! I can’t intru-…" she stammered but stopped when Charles looked at her, a soft smile on his lips.

"You know what Arthur? I think that was the best idea you ever had!" he winked at his younger brother who shrugged his shoulders.

"Then it’s settled. You’re coming with us. No discussion… now come on… let’s pack!" Pascale excitedly clapped her hands together.

Lauren stood in front of the big yacht. Sedici. Sixteen. She turned to Charles, eyes big.

"How rich are you? Renting an entire yacht this size? That must cost a fortune!" she said shocked and he laughed.

"Now imagine how rich someone has to be to own it…" he winked and held out his hand for her to take.

"It’s yours?" she whispered shyly, carefully walking over the gangway.

"Yeah… I bought it last summer…" he nodded.

Lauren was at a loss of words, standing on board of the beautiful yacht. She knew that people in Monaco were richer than usually, it was Monaco after all. But she didn’t expect people to be that rich to have yachts like this. Or at least not normal people. Celebrities? Yeah. Millionaires? Of course. But Pascale had a hair salon. She knew that she wasn’t making a ton of money with it. So she didn’t think she was part of Monaco’s high society, so why would her son be?

"Lauren?" Charles gentle voice coaxed her out of her thoughts and she shook her head "You want me to give you a little tour?"

"Yeah. Sure…" she replied and followed him inside.

The yacht was beautiful. Simple, yet elegant. Everything shiny and sleek. The sofas looked soft and comfy. The beds in the cabins even more so. The upper deck with the steering wheel was her favourite place tho. It had a padded sundeck from where you could overlook the entire yacht.

"We’ll arrive in Ajaccio tonight and tomorrow in the morning we head to Olbia… or rather near Olbia…" Charles explained the route and Lauren looked at him "Don’t worry, I’m a pretty decent captain." he laughed.

"I’ve never been that long on the water…" she mumbled.

"Don’t worry, in the first aid kid we’ve got something against seasickness."

"That’s good to know." Lauren smiled when Arthur climbed up the stairs next to them.

"Everyone on board, we can take off." he said and Charles nodded.

"So, Lauren, will you be my co-captain for the day?" he asked her in a serious tone, too serious, and the girl laughed, a sound that made his heart flutter.

"It would be an honour, captain!" she replied and Charles smiled before he started to explain her the different buttons and displays on the dashboard.

Lauren watched Charles steer the yacht out of the marina onto the open sea with ease, a soft smile on his lips. It didn’t take long and the coastlines of Monaco and France were long gone behind them and after a while there was only the Mediterranean sea on the horizon. Lauren was fascinated with how at ease Charles was, almost as if he wouldn’t do anything else in his life then sailing the oceans. The light breeze in his hair, the dimples on his face, it made him all look even more handsome.

"Alright, we’re on the right course now…" Charles checked the displays and got up from his seat "Let’s go downstairs, meet the rest of the group."

"Yeah… sure…" Lauren nodded and followed him down the stairs.

She was nervous, meeting the rest of the family, Ava’s mother and Charles’ best friend, as he told her would be here as well, but she put on a brave smile and entered the cabin.

"Ahh there you are, we were just getting everything ready for a little lunch!" Pascale smiled at them "I was about to send Arthur up to come and get you…"

"I’m starving!" Charles said, kissing his mother’s cheek "Where’s Ava?"

"Charlotte is changing her diaper." Arthur replied when he walked in, a pretty girl following him "Lauren, this is Carla, my girlfriend. Carla meet Lauren."

"Hi, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name!" Carla smiled at her, pulling her into a light embrace "Pascale talked a lot about you!"

"Yeah, I heard about that…" Lauren replied, smiling at Carla.

"Oh don’t worry, she only said good things about you!"

"There are only good things to say about her!" Pascale added, smiling fondly at her young assistant, making her blush.

The door to the cabins downstairs opened and a breathtaking beautiful young woman walked out, cradling Ava to her chest. Lauren was sure that she must’ve been her mother. Ava didn’t look particularly like her, but just from how beautiful she was, her big smile, she was sure.

"All clean again!" she said in French "Oh, sorry! Hi, you must be Lauren! I’m Charlotte." she switched to English and smiled at her.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Lauren replied.

"Enzo will be out in a minute he had to change, this little one here peed on him…" she chuckled.

"Not funny!" a young man, Enzo probably, said, walking through the door "Hi Lauren! It feels like I already know you from how much Maman was talking about you! I’m Lorenzo, or Enzo, the older brother."

"The oldest. It’s just us…" Arthur whispered.

"Anyways. It’s nice to finally meet you in person!" Lorenzo smiled at Lauren.

"Nice to meet you too." she replied and watched how he gently slung his arm around Charlotte’s waist, pulling her to his side.

The movement felt intimate, lovingly, and Lauren wondered if her assumption, that Charlotte must be Ava’s mother and therefore Charles girlfriend, was right. As if Charlotte sensed her confusion she smiled at her.

"I’m Lorenzo’s girlfriend."

"Oh, okay… I thought that… umm- never mind…" Lauren said hastily when Ava turned her head a little and the moment she spotted Charles and Lauren she began to happily babble.

"Oh, sure, you see your dad and the rest of us is long forgotten…" Charlotte joked and walked over to Charles, but right when she wanted to hand him his daughter the little girl held her hand out to Lauren, chortling "Ohhh look at that…" Charlotte handed Ava over to Lauren and she immediately snuggled into her chest, sighing contently.

"Ouch… looks like you’re not her favourite any-…" Arthur laughed but stopped when Charles looked at him.

"It’s like I said… she has good taste in who she likes…" he smiled, gently brushing over Ava’s cheek "Really good taste."

"Sorry…" Lauren replied and he looked at her confused.

"For what?"

"I don’t know… she umm- she probably wanted to you… not me…" she said quietly and Charles began to laugh.

"Oh stop it, really." he smiled "She likes you, that’s not a bad thing!"

Lauren nodded slowly, feeling relieved and then looked down at Ava, half asleep.

"Oh wow, look! She’s almost asleep! This fast! Lauren, you’re a natural!" Arthur said impressed.

"Who’s a natural?" a dark haired boy walked inside, a plate of veggies and a basket full of bread in his hands "Ohhh the famous Lauren is here! I was wondering when Charles would finally come down and let us all meet you! He wanted you all to himself as it seemed…"

"Very funny, Joris…" Charles rolled his eyes "Lauren, this is my best friend, Joris. He thinks he’s funny… which he’s not…"

"You’re right… I’m not funny, I’m hilarious!" Joris wiggled his eyebrows and smiled at Lauren "It’s nice to meet you, Lauren… these boys went crazy about you, from all the things Pascale has told us about you!"

"Okay, okay, stop now! Leave her alone. That poor girl has to hear from all of you how much I talked about her all the time and feels uncomfortable if you people can’t tell!" Pascale stepped in and Lauren blushed a little "They are right, dear, I told them about you because I wanted you to meet them all. And now that that happened, let’s stop hogging at her like that, will you?"

Everyone mumbled in agreement and Lauren smiled shyly.

"It’s okay…" she said, looking down at Ava who made a little sound, but was still fast asleep.

"Here, you can put her down…" Charles lewd her to the side where a little crib stood and Lauren gently placed the little girl in the middle of it.

"She’s really gorgeous…" she whispered, loving the way Ava’s nose was scrunching up a little.

"She is…" Charles agreed and smiled at the way how Lauren looked at his daughter "Now come on, let’s eat…"

Lauren sat on the deck, stargazing when a shadow to her left caught her eye and she watched Charles making his way onto the deck.

"I guess I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep then?" he said quietly and she nodded slightly.

"Yeah, I guess I first have to get used to the rocking of the boat while sleeping…"

"Oh. Yeah. That takes a few nights…" Charles chuckled looking at the girl next to him.

Lauren wore shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair a messy bun on top of her head, but to Charles she looked breathtaking and he had to force himself to look away, to not keep on staring at her.

"Can I ask you something?" her voice hesitant.

"Sure."

"It’s really private and you don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable."

"Ask me." he knew the question already.

"Umm-… where is Ava’s mum?" Lauren looked at him and he kept his eyes trained on the dark horizon.

Lauren knew that she went too far, Charles was too quiet and right when she wanted to apologise he sighed, tilting his head to look at her.

"She’s not in our life. She never was… she didn’t want to be a mum, didn’t want to keep Ava, so I decided to take care of her alone. As a single dad…" there was some bitterness in his voice "It was a one night stand. A stupid mistake I made and when Ava’s mother came to me for help we wanted to give her up for adoption right after she was born… my life… my job, it’s hectic, stressful. I’m never for long in one place. Always on the road… I had to focus on my career, being a father didn’t fit into my lifestyle. And she didn’t want to be a mother. Not to a child with me at least. She’s from a religious and conservative family, they would’ve disown her if she was pregnant unmarried. Not in a relationship with the child’s father… so yeah, we had a plan…"

"But then you saw Ava and couldn’t do it?"

"No… it was even earlier… I saw her heartbeat on the ultrasound screen and I knew this little thing was mine… and I would do everything for it… flash forward and I have this beautiful little girl…" his voice wavered a little when he held up his phone that showed Ava sleeping in her crib.

"I would say you made the right decision. Ava… she’s wonderful…" Lauren smiled at him.

"Yeah… I know I made the right decision, but it’s hard… being away so often… leaving her behind all the time…"

"Okay, I have to ask this, what do you do for a living?" Lauren looked at him and Charles made big eyes.

"You don’t know?"

"No? How?"

"You’re living in Monaco?"

"And?" she was confused.

"And? Maman? She didn’t say anything?"

"No…"

"Okay… umm- well I’m a Formula 1 driver… for Ferrari…"

"Oh. Wow. That’s cool… I guess?"

"You guess?" Charles snorted and Lauren looked at him sheepishly "I guess you’re not into Formula 1 then?"

"No- not really… some of my family were but I never cared for 20 guys driving in circles…" she shrugged and Charles looked offended.

"Driving in circles? We are not driving in circles!" he gently nudged her shoulder "Ouch. That really hurts!"

"I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!" Lauren chuckled, a sound Charles loved to hear.

"Yeah I can hear that! Unbelievable…" he shook his head laughing "Driving in circles… unbelievable… thank god you’re cute, otherwise I would’ve thrown you overboard!"

"Now you’re exaggerating!" Lauren laughed, although she felt her cheeks reddening.

"Absolutely not!" Charles shook his head.

"I’m very sorry for not knowing who you are, what you do and how big of a thing it is. Please accept my sincere apology." Lauren smiled at him.

"Apology accepted… but I’m coming back to this conversation and then-…" he began when Ava’s faint cries were heard from his phone "She saved you. For now…" he laughed and got up "You should also try to get some sleep…" he held out his hand and Lauren sighed, taking it.

"I guess I have to try and get used to the waves…"

"You definitely have to. We spent a lot of time on the water… and as part of the Leclerc clan, you will too." Charles smiled at her and when Lauren climbed into her bed, she couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about Charles words.

She was part of the Leclerc clan?

Lauren stepped off the dinghy onto the dock, looking at the big house in front of her and she gulped. Never before did she see a house, no mansion, like this before. It was huge. Beautiful. The pool alone was bigger than in some hotels she’s been before. The lawn looked so fresh, green and soft, she just wanted to lay down on it.

"What do you say?" Charles asked her and she tilted her head, looking at him with big eyes.

"I have no words…" Lauren replied and he laughed.

"I take it that’s something good?"

"It is… it really is…"

"Wait until you’ve seen the inside!" Carla took her hand and pulled Lauren with her "When Arthur showed me the pictures I was just… I was speechless!" the younger girl was excited and didn’t stop until they stood in the big living room and Lauren looked around.

It looked straight out of an interior design magazine. Everything was in warm shades of cream, beige and white. The huge windows let in the bright sunlight. The sofas looked like they were made out of the softest of fabrics. But what caught her eye was the big book shelf that spanned across the entire wall. It was like a library, from Shakespeare over Emily Brontë to The Lord of the Rings, a wide variety of different books were to find and she couldn’t stop herself from carefully pulling out a book here and there that piqued her interest. She completely forgot about where she was, or how long she was already looking through the books when Charles voice behind her made Lauren flinch and she turned around.

"What do you say?" he repeated his question from outside again.

"Wow…" was all she could say and he smiled.

"Wow indeed…"

"I was already saying to your mum that I need to find a bookstore so I could buy a book or two because… well this vacation was on such short notice that I didn’t have anything to read… but I guess that won’t be necessary anymore…"

"Nope, there are enough books for you to read…" Charles replied "Ready to see your room?"

Lauren only nodded and followed Charles through the house when he lead her to a hallway with 3 doors on each side. He opened the middle one on the right and walked inside, Lauren right on his heels.

"And this is your room…"

"Always when I think it can’t get any better this place surprises me even more…" she let out and walked over to the big French doors that lead onto the terrace with a beautiful view of the pool and the sea.

"My room is next to yours. I let you unpack and get settled… if you need anything, just let me know." Charles smiled and turned around, ready to leave the girl alone.

"Wait!" she went after him and when he turned around again Lauren hugged him "Thank you. Really."

"You don’t have to thank me!" Charles whispered, gently stroking her back.

"Yes I have to. You didn’t have to take me here with you…"

"I told you last night. You’re part of the Leclerc clan now…" he chuckled and Lauren pulled away a little, looking into his eyes.

"Well… then thank you for that…"

Lauren stood in front of the mirror, pulling the flimsy fabric into place. When she bought the bikinis a couple of weeks ago she didn’t think that she would spent a family vacation with her boss and her sons in Sardinia. But now that she looked in the big mirror in the bathroom she wasn’t sure if going out with what she was wearing was appropriate. She groaned frustrated and tried on the dark red bikini, that covered slightly more but still felt too exposed. She could hear some commotion outside at the pool and carefully pushed the curtain to the side, looking outside. She saw Charlotte sitting on a lounger and she wished she could see what she was wearing and if she was worried for nothing.

"Where’s Lauren?" she heard Carla’s voice from somewhere and stepped away from the window "Lauren?" she knocked on the French door.

"Come in…" Lauren replied.

"You’re missing out on all the fun!" she said when she stepped into the bathroom "Everything okay?" she was looking her up and down.

"It’s inappropriate, isn’t it?"

"What do you mean?" Carla asked confused.

"The bikini, I saw how you looked at it…"

"What? Oh god… no…" she laughed "It’s a bikini? What’s inappropriate about it? I was just thinking that I have the same one, but in a different colour."

"Isn’t it like a little too revealing?"

"And what am I wearing? Half of my ass is out!" she turned around showing Lauren the tight fit of her bikini bottoms "It’s a normal bikini. Were you hiding in here because of that?"

"I… Pascale is my boss… that’s her son’s out there… there’s a baby!" Lauren blushed and Carla gently patted her arm.

"It’s cute that you’re this considerate, but don’t worry. It’s all good! And now come on!" she pulled Lauren with her and together they stepped outside.

It was easy to fit into the group of people and it didn’t take long for Lauren to truly believe into Charles words, that she was a part of the Leclerc clan now.

As the sun was slowly starting to set over the horizon, Lauren stretched a little, soaking in the last rays of sunshine when she decided to have a quick shower before dinner. Only Arthur and Carla were still at the pool, the rest was already getting ready for dinner.

"See you later…" she smiled and got up, making her way over to the terrace, walking straight into, what she thought, was her bathroom. She didn’t notice the lack of her toiletries on the vanity, or the dark swim shorts that were hanging over the towel rack. She only wanted to wash the day off of her and pulled off her bikini top, then stepped out of her bottoms. She stepped inside the shower, starting the water stream and closed her eyes, relaxing. Her skin was hot and dry and she knew that she needed to moisturise her whole body after her shower but for now she just enjoyed the spray of the water. After a couple of minutes she grabbed the bottle of body wash that was provided, lathering her whole body up, it smelled masculine, pine wood and bergamot, but the scent was somehow familiar. She washed the last remaining bubbles off her body and grabbed one of the towels from the shelf, wrapping it around her, before she stepped outside of the bathroom, colliding with a warm, muscular body.

"Oh shit… shit… oh my god… I’m so sorry! I- I must’ve taken the wrong door outside… oh god…" Lauren’s face was flushed, her breathing ragged. She clutched the towel tight to her body, hoping that everything was covered "I’m- I’m so sorry!" she repeated.

"It’s okay… really! Umm- I- I didn’t even look, I didn’t see anything! I mean how? You’re wearing a towel! Do you say you’re wearing a towel? Sounds weird, no?" Charles rambled nervously, turning around and feeling all his blood rush down between his legs, just like when he saw Lauren stepping out in her bikini for the first time earlier today. That damn red bikini that made him feel like an aroused pre teen.

"I just grab my bikini and then I’m leaving! I’m so sorry, Charles…" he heard her walking back into the bathroom "I can’t believe it, this is so embarrassing…" she mumbled.

"Please, don’t be embarrassed! It’s okay, nothing happened…" Charles tried to reassure her but she didn’t reply, after a minute of silence he turned around, Lauren was gone "Damn…" he groaned and let himself fall into his bed, taking a deep breath.

It was only the first day and he was already wondering how he should manage to contain himself for the next two and a half weeks.

"This will be funny…" he sighed.

Chapter 11 - it’s summer break ☀️🕶️🏝️ and the family + Lauren need a little time to relax. They deserve it… and what can I say, Charles will have a hard time watching this gorgeous girl fitting into his life so effortlessly wearing nothing but cute bikinis… more next week 🤭

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osxmui · 3 days ago

Text

‘ life can be cruel , if you’re not a dreamer . ’

summary : you start your first day at the cafe, and learn of a certain bandaged barista, unknowingly kidnap his cat, but it was somewhat worth it when he and another barista come over to the cafe the next day searching for his ‘beloved’ cat and thinks that one of your friends stole it as revenge.

AUTHORS NOTE : hai !! first chapter is done, and i had so much fun writing this. unfortunately, i did struggle at some parts, like the rent thing and had no idea what to do for the plot😭 so, let’s all just act like its a good excuse and its just for the plot !! and characters might be ooc, and unfortunately for everyone, i highkey dgaf and this is for fun so if u come in my ask box to say “omg this is so ooc!!” YES I KNOW GET OUT OF MY ASKS I KNOW anyway if u do wanna be tagged in future updates, just lmk i will gladly tag you :3

GENERAL WARNINGS : reader is afab / fem, she/her pronouns will be used when needed. cussing (obviously), sometimes i will specify outfits but you can just imagine your outfit any other time lol , college stuff, substance abuse mention in other chapters, self harm mentions at times (dazai), dazais siblings r elise and yumeno, and oda, mori his dad.. the slowest slow burn of all of the slow burns, rare sex jokes because i can not resist, and just typical dazai behavior .. also, it has been awhile since i have written like this, so i might be bad at first so. um. ignore that.. + some time skips so we can get to the good part :) tried to speed this chapter up so we can get to the better part of the fic ! anyway, have fun reading!

you had set a routine for yourself once you left the comfort of your home for college; sleep, wake up at 5am to get ready, go to class at 6:30am, study after class, go to more classes, go back to your shared apartment around 4:30pm, relax a bit until 10:45, sleep, and repeat. you were not planning on changing that at all, until your landlord decided to up your rent, and you were forced to work with your friend, chuuya, who was working at a local cafe. originally, he had been paying the rent, and you paid the bills with money your parents gave to you as a little startup, and you could not pay rent with the money, and did bills until now.

you had felt bad for him once the rent raised, especially since the rent was now almost 1,950?? you possibly couldn’t let him pay by himself! so, you got a job at the cafe he worked at with your friend group.

and, you seriously regretted that after seeing how chaotic it was..

⌢ time : 4:30 pm . ⌣

you and chuuya were walking to the cafe after class. the heels of both of your shoes clicked against the pavement of the sidewalk, the sound of your voices quietly echoed through the air of the already loudness of the campus, other students chatting away and the sound of the occasional laugh registered in your mind.

“you’ll be fine, the cafe is a really nice place. you’ll do great, i’m sure.” chuuyas voice suddenly came through, breaking the momentarily silence you two shared for a bit.

you never really worked in a cafe. a fast food place? sure. but a cafe was new, but you knew everything since your mother owned a cafe, and you sometimes came over and watched her work. but this was new, you are ACTUALLY working at one, and doing all the things you saw your mother do.

“i know i’ll do fine, it’s just new, y’know?” you reply to him, but you were grateful for his assurances either way. a small hum left him after you spoke, and you could feel him offer you a small look. “just don’t stress about it, yeah? if you need anything, i can help you.”

after alot of talking, you two had started walking out of campus grounds and walked down the sidewalk towards the cafe, and you could see the little building in the distance after a few minutes of walking.

⌢ time : 5:39 pm . ⌣

luckily, there weren’t any customers since apparently, customers rarely came in at this time unless it was game day for the college, and then the cafe was packed since it did have a tv where they could watch the game.

but that wasn’t all that important, you were just glad that you didn’t need to deal with ‘bitchy’ customers. chuuyas words, not yours.

you were in the middle of putting on your apron as your friends spoke, their voices overlapping the faint sound of music playing from the speakers.

“god, i hate those people. they constantly try to one-up us with their deals and purposefully got a bigger tv for game day. you know, one of those days, i’ll break that tv in front of them..” chuuya grumbled, his narrowed eyes focused on the cafe that was actually across the road. if it was not obvious that he hated the cafe across the street, then the look in his eyes was definitely an obvious sign.

“oh, calm down. it’s not like they do it on purpose.” higuchi spoke, rolling her eyes at his complaint while she wrote on some of the paper cups, something their cafe made them do to show that it was a welcoming spot or whatever the manger said. “oh, they definitely do it on purpose. have you seen how smug they looked when they got that tv? what bitches.” tachihara spoke up, standing next to chuuya as they both glared at the cafe across the street.

“aren’t you all being dramatic? it surely can’t be that bad.” you eventually spoke after getting your apron on and went to help higuchi, who gave a grateful look and continued. “she’s right, it’s not that bad, you’re all being dramatic.” higuchi agreed.

chuuya and tachihara glared at you and higuchi in sync, the two boys clearly judging you both. “you two have no idea what those idiots are like. even in class, they’re so bitchy. i am unfortunately cursed and have a class with the freaky bandaged one.” chuuya sighed, looking back at the cafe across the street.

you sighed, shaking your head at your best friends words. “you say that like it’s a bad thing, he might be nicer than you think.” you reply, trying to be optimistic since chuuya did have the habit of being a little dramatic with his opinions of people. “chuuyas right, the bandaged one or whatever his name is, is weird. dude looks like a mummy of sorts.” tachihara had spoken up, also looking back at the cafe.

chuuya immediately scowled once he saw some of the workers from the cafe across the street walking up to their own cafe, a few of them in a group as they started opening up their cafe.

you looked up and watched, examining the small group of people who seemed to go at the same college. there was a blonde man, a woman with dark hair that had her hair in a messy bob of sorts, a younger guy who looked to be a first year with white hair, one with brown hair and glasses, and another guy with brown hair that had bandages around him.

“what are their names?” you whisper to higuchi, not wanting to interrupt chuuya and tachiharas glaring. “hm? oh, the blonde is kunikida, the woman is yosano, the one with white hair is atsushi, the one with brown hair and glasses is ranpo, and the bandaged one that chuuya hates is dazai.” the blonde woman whispered back, to which you nodded in response.

“they seem nice, why is that they’re hated?” you ask again. you were confused, the group seemed genuinely nice, so you had no idea why most of your friends seemed to hate the cafe. “oh, chuuya got into a fight with dazai a few weeks ago and their cafe and ours seemed to have a war of sorts ever since.” she had whispered back, shrugging as she continued to write on cups.

ah, you had heard about that. chuuya had come back in the evening one night, and said he got into a fight with some ‘idiot from class that looks like hes cosplaying a mummy.’ .. you didn’t know why you didn’t realize that until now, but it made sense since chuuya had an obvious grudge.

⌢ time : 8:27 pm . ⌣

you and chuuya were now walking home after work, it had been a nice day, the cafe wasn’t that busy, and it was a good first day. now, you were walking home.

but, you stumbled upon a pretty, somewhat fluffy black cat, who seemed to be freezing in the low temperatures of the night. you were immediately going to help it as chuuya followed.

you looked back at chuuya as you sat on the pavement of the sidewalk, then at the cat and quickly took your jacket off. “what are you doing?” chuuya quickly asked as you slowly approached the cat, smiling at how the cat was snuggling up to your hand. “i’m not letting a cat freeze up in the cold. i would feel horrible if i left this poor thing in the cold.” you reply to him, slowly getting the cat to come closer.

the cat was the sweetest thing ever, you could hear small purrs come from it as you gently pet it, but you quickly wrapped it in your jacket and slowly picked it up, smiling at how it easily allowed it. the cat was obviously accustomed to humans, and trusted them easily, so it was pretty easy to pick it up.

“come on, we’re going to the store first and buying it some food until we figure out what to do with it.” you suddenly announced, already walking in the direction of the local store. chuuya sighed, already knowing he couldn’t stop you when you were determined and simply followed. “you’re insane. what are we going to do with a cat we found on the street? we can’t keep it!” he spoke, crossing his arms as he walked next to you.

“well, we’re not keeping it forever, dumbass! just until we figure out what to do with it or some missing pet poster pops up.” you remark back, a small huffy sigh left you as you continued your walk, and eventually made it to the store.

the two of you walked into the store, both of you offering polite smiles to the workers who greeted you both. you and chuuya walked to the pet aisle, and went to the shelf of cat food as you held the purring cat in your arms.

“do we get it wet food or?” chuuya whispered to you, you shrugged and just decided to go with wet food and dry food. you were sure wet food was the answer, but you wanted to be safe and not buy something the cat wouldn’t eat. “get both, just in case, y’know?”

chuuya hummed in response, grabbing a small can of wet food and a small bag of dry food before you two walked to the shelf checkout area. you watched how he scanned the items and put them into a plastic bag, and then decided to spare him of trying to find his card and offered to pay (more like forced..). “grab my card from my bag, it’s in the second pocket.” you spoke to him, smiling at the sigh he gave and went to your crossbody bag.

he went through the pockets, looking for the card in the pocket you said it would be in, and after a few moments, he eventually found it and grabbed it, and went to pay. and after a few seconds, he returned the card and closed your bag, then went to grab the plastic bag with the cat food.

after a few minutes, you two were now walking home with the cat and the cat food. you ignored the cold air biting at your hands, and you were suddenly grateful that you were wearing a warm, long sleeved shirt since you definitely didn’t want to get sick from this. but the cat definitely seemed warm.. lucky.

“what are we going to do with the cat when we go to work?” you suddenly ask chuuya, remembering that you actually had to work tomorrow and you didn’t necessarily trust a cat you picked up from the street to be alone in your house. “we can give it to koyou? she’s not busy and can watch the cat while we work.” he suggested with a shrug, knowing that his older sister, koyou, could probably help.

you nodded in agreement, knowing koyou could be trusted rather than all of your other friends. “yeah, we can go to koyous house before class, and after work, we can pick up the cat.” you agree.

⌢ time : 6:15 am . ⌣

you and chuuya were currently walking down the hallway of a familiar apartment building, walking to a door that had the number ‘629’ , the same apartment that chuuyas older sister lived in. as you held the cat with one arm, your free hand went to the door, giving a few knocks.

after a few moments, you and chuuya could hear the door lock unlocking, and the door opened to show a woman with redish hair, and was still wearing her home clothes. “oh, hello. did you two need something?” she spoke up softly, giving a polite smile, and a curious look.

you both immediately smiled back at the woman before you. “hey, koyou. we’re wondering if you can watch this cat for the day, and we’ll pick it up after work?” you ask her, seeing how she immediately nodded in agreement and you handed the cat over. “sure, i can watch it for the day. just get to all of your classes, yes?”

you mentally sighed in relief, mostly because you weren’t really expecting her to be that nice, and she seemed to be in a good mood. “thank you, koyou.” chuuya spoke before you, giving his sister a grateful smile before she nodded and closed the door with the cat in her hold.

well, at least you got that out of the way..

⌢ time : 5:08 pm . ⌣

you and all of your friends were at work, you and chuuya had arrived first, then tachihara, then higuchi. all of your other friends were busy with night classes, so they worked the morning shift, while you and the others worked the late afternoon to night shift.

anyways. you and chuuya were in the back, simply talking while chuuya got a smoke break, but then, you two heard yelling from the front. you immediately went inside while chuuya shortly followed after taking a big hit of his cigarette before putting it out, and quickly followed after you.

the moment you walked in, you were witnessing the weirdest scene ever. dazai and yosano were at the counter, talking to tachihara.

“i already told you, i didn’t see your stupid cat nor did i take it!” tachihara yelled back at dazai, who was looking at tachihara as if he killed his whole family. “bullshit, i know one of you took it as revenge!” dazai replied quickly, clearly unhappy and was certain one of you took it.

you and chuuya walked up to the counter, and chuuya crossed his arms as he interrupted. “what’s wrong now, dazai? why the hell are you yelling at my coworkers?” chuuya spoke, glaring at dazai, who focused his attention to you and chuuya as yosano sighed quietly and just watched.

“i know one of you took my cat, there’s nobody else who would steal it but you and your idiotic friends.” he easily replied to chuuya. the brunette took out a paper and waved it in chuuyas face, showing a missing poster of a fluffy, black cat. the same black cat you saved from the cold so it didn’t freeze to death.

well, fuck. you didn’t really mean to steal this guys cat, and the cat didn’t have a collar, so you just sort of assumed it was a stray.

you and chuuya immediately shared a look, before chuuya gave a cocky smile, and before you could speak and admit you had the cat, chuuya cut in and looked back at dazai. “nah, didn’t see your stupid cat anywhere. but i did see another cafe down the road take in a cat that sort of looks like that inside.” chuuya lied through his teeth, shrugging as if it was nothing.

dazai narrowed his eyes, shoving the paper back in his pocket, keeping eye contact the whole time. “osamu, if they said they didn’t take the cat, then they didn’t. no need to be this protective over it.” yosano suddenly spoke, then dazai sighed and softened, realizing he was being dramatic, but he couldn’t help it. the cat was the only thing making him survive the hell that was college.

“fine, if you say that you don’t have it, then you don’t. but if i find out that you or any of your friends stole it and you’re lying to my face, i will—” he spoke, but you quickly cut him off, and decided to just go with chuuyas lie since you two were way too deep into this now. “is it really necessary to threaten? how about this; if we ever see the cat, then we can come find it and give it to you, personally.” you had cut in with a polite smile, noticing how he looked at you, his mood changing immediately as he saw an opportunity to be playful with someone.

dazai smiled, suddenly perking up and becoming all nice. “is that so? personally? how sweet.” he replied with a hint of playfulness. chuuya immediately looked at dazai with a narrowed gaze, wondering how the fuck dazais mood changed.

you, tachihara and chuuya were both confused on how dazais mood quickly changed, how it was like he changed in a blink of an eye. first, he was all stressed and frustrated, then, he was suddenly cheerful and playful? what the fuck?

“yes, personally. now, if you and your friend don’t mind, we actually want to work.” chuuya scoffed, rolling his eyes, and dazai looked back at chuuya, seemingly calmed down and shrugged. “fine, then. enjoy your 4 customers.” he said with a mocking grin, then turned around, grabbed yosano and dragged her out the cafe.

tachihara watched the two leave the cafe in disdain, before the bell atop the door rang, signaling the door being opened and closed. “god, what a fucking mood swing that was.. jesus, that guy needs to get checked out and put on some pills.” tachihara mumbled, before going back to setting the coffee machine up.

chuuya was happily smiling once dazai and yosano left, clearly glad that dazai was finally out the shop. that was something he was grateful for. “we are not giving him back that cat until the end of the month, i must drag out his misery.” chuuya whispered to you with a happy sounding sigh, finally finding something to hold over dazai.

you sighed quietly, realizing that you couldn’t do anything since you just lied to that guys face about his cat, and was now holding the thing hostage. “we are so fucked.” you mumbled quietly under your breath.

you had no idea how you will keep your mouth shut about it, but it was too late now to go back..

small authors note : sneaking in my hc of dazai having very, very sudden mood swings hehe.. Though, i do apologize for how rushed this chapter was! just trying to get to the good part quicker ^_^ + reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated <3

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strangerthingsfanworkrecs · 2 days ago

Note

I would love to recommend @tomtomslongdong as a *reader* highlight. It is always such a joy to see what they’re reading but also to read whatever comments and tags they leave behind. Let alone to be a writer and receive their feedback. One of the greatest supporters in the fandom, truly if no one else cares for a fic I wrote but they enjoyed it, it’s like the ultimate stamp of approval.

This week, we're highlighting @tomtomslongdong as a commenter! All recs this week will be from her recs.

Tomtom answered some questions about what she does to find fics and to leave great comments under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

I went from casual watcher in anticipation of season 4 coming out to falling in love with all the characters in the space of a few weeks. Friendship, loyalty and messy family dynamics are such a core part of st, which is something I latch onto when I’m watching anything. And maybe.. there were some characters(Eddie) that I grew even more fond of(definitely Eddie). I even remember seeing edits of Eddie at the picnic table but it wasn’t until I had watched that first episode of season 4 that I truly got it. It’s been 84 years but I’m still in love with that man.

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to read?

I read x reader the most but I adore platonic stobin and I wanna read about them more. Their dynamic is everything to me. Infact Robin with any of the st girls too. I look up this one fanart of robin and Carol Perkins a lot. A LOT.

How do you typically find fics?

At the start I would brave the tags more and I do still do that but genuinely it’s from blogs I like and follow reblogging them. I’ve curated my own little balance of people reading stuff I know I’ll like and also being introduced to fics I might not have even thought of reading before seeing their reactions.

Are there other forms of fanart you enjoy? How do you find them?

Fanart that’s been inspired by fics or concepts, just witnessing one artist inspire another is so joyful. Also when an artists self inserts themselves into their art! It’s seriously one of the coolest things ever. My favourite thing to do is trawling the tags of an eddie blog as I go on a deep dive. I scrape the barnacles off that boat allllll the way back to the start. I find all sorts of fanart and work that maybe I’ve never seen as I didn’t gravitate back to tumblr till later in summer ‘22.

What's your tip for leaving comments on works?

Just tell them how it made you feel man. Scream it at the writers. I’m no good at articulating myself at all but sometimes you read the exact thing you needed to read and all is right with the world. Let them know they’re very much to blame for your emotional state when they post. And who knows those writers might occasionally grace you with the biggest gift of all (more lore on the world they’ve built directly from their mind via an IV drip known as the DMs)

Is there any fanwork that really stood out to you?

hockey!eddie has an iron tight grip on me and if anyone could find the stats on how many times I’ve viewed dr-aculaaa and hearsegrrl art on him, you’d take my phone away

Is there anything we didn't ask that you'd like to add?

Just that it’s wild, there’s this little community in my phone that’s so smart? So talented? And I’ve formed what I hope I can call genuine friendships from this and yet no one in my day to day real life knows I’m just kicking around in here haha! I get to be my weirdo self with my weirdo friends in peace and I think that’s lovely.

#commenter highlights #tomtomslongdong #strangerthingsfanarthighlights #artist intro

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thatonesonicfanfictionwriter · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, me again😁 Just wanted to thank you for making my requests and for all your work in general💜 I was kicking my feet to the AU one you made🥰

Also, guess what - I have another request! I was kind of hoping to see more of the AU that I sent you. Like life with them on a daily basis. Doctors being doctors, some of them fighting with each other, maybe one of the doctors or Nine trying to get the Earthly Emerald, you know, just stuff like that🥰

“No Way Back…” (Part 2)

AU: “Keepers of the Crystals”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader (though it's not mentioned much in this one)

Requested: Yes (by @grapegirlpoland ).

Description: You live in a house full of Mobians and a group of humans. Shenanigans ensue.

Notes: Heheeee, this’ll be fun to write. Hope you enjoy!

(Like before, Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

“I HATE YOU!” you hear Knucks yell.

“WELL NEXT TIME, DON’T STEAL MY MONOPOLY!” Sonic yells in retaliation.

You let out a sigh. This was normal, unfortunately, for you.

You walk into the room where the (former) resistance is playing your game of Monopoly, alongside Sonic and Dread.

“I don’t really understand this game,” Dread says. “Why not just steal all the money from the bank? Then ye win.”

“That’s not how it works, Dread,” Sonic states. “You gotta have the most money without stealing.”

“Though there is a Monopoly where that’s part of the game,” Shadow mentions.

“Having fun, you guys?” you ask.

“Not really,” Sonic mutters. “Knucks refuses to pay me.”

“Because you’re in jail! Criminals don’t get money,” Knucks replies.

“It’s just part of the game, Knucks,” you state.

You scan the room for a moment. Everyone seems to be in here except for Mangey, the Chaos Council, and Nine.

Which makes sense, considering Mangey is out sleeping on the couch, along with Dr. Babble being asleep in his crib.

As for the other five…You had a feeling this would be some trouble.

You suddenly jolt, your irises glowing green for a second.

“I’ll be back,” you say. “Shadow, make sure no one destroys anything.”

Shadow does a two-fingered salute your way with a green tint on his muzzle.

Cute.

You snap, and that teleports you down to where you have the Earthly Emerald hidden. Seems Nine and the rest of the Council are near it.

Nine seems to be in a defensive position in front of the Emerald, while the Council seem to be trying to take it.

You snap once more, teleporting in front of the Emerald.

“Care to explain why you all are down here?” you ask.

“Well, you see-” Doctor Eggman starts.

“I saw these four head down here, didn’t trust them, and found out they were trying to take the Emerald,” Nine states. “You’re welcome.”

You let out another sigh.

“Thank you, Nine,” you say, patting him on the head gently, causing his fur to puff up. “As for you four, head upstairs before I force you to.”

“Oh, wah-wah! The keeper is gonna force us upstairs! Whatever shall we do!” Dr. Done-It mocks.

You press a button on your wrist, which causes the four members of the Council to get shocked.

“Okay, okay! We’re going!” Doctor Eggman states, being the first up the stairs, the rest trailing behind him.

You shake your head in disapproval before turning your gaze to Nine.

“Good job protecting it, bud, but make sure you come get me next time, okay?” you tell him. “I don’t want you to get hurt because I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

“Why do you care? There are other mobians you can care about,” Nine spats.

“You remind me of an old friend,” you say. “You’re not them, but I want to protect you. All of you.”

Nine goes quiet for a moment as you set up a protective shield around the Emerald.

You hear another yell again, along with the sound of something shattering.

Time to get the spray bottle.

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic fanfiction #sonic prime #sonic characters x reader #sonic character x reader #shadow the hedgehog #x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #sonic oneshots #sonic oneshot #oneshot #requested oneshot #requested #etc #insert tag here #tosffw writes

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witchygagirlwrites · 3 days ago

Text

Connor Rhodes x Reader

You loved Connor but when you noticed him getting close with Ava you knew something was off. He can't make up his mind who he wants so when Sam Carver asks you out, you accept. By the time Connor figures out he does truly love you, it's too late because that ain't his truck in your drive anymore.

Connor Cheats, Carver gets the girl

The sound of the alarm had you burying your head further into the pillows. You heard Connor chuckle lightly behind you as he reached over you to kill the alarm, kissing your bare shoulder as he did so. “Come on sweetheart you gotta get up” you groaned and stretched out. At least he’d stayed at your place the night before so that meant you didn’t have to go home to grab anything. You rolled over to face him and he smiled, pulling you into a kiss “I love you”

You grinned “I love you too” he kissed you two more times before moving to climb out of the bed, grabbing his jeans from the night before. You tossed the blanket off of you before climbing out of the bed yourself. You had to be at work in an hour. If you were late Violet would never let you hear the end of it.

You walked to the dresser to pull your uniform out along with a bra and panties. By then Connor was fully dressed so he walked over, pulling your still bare frame against him “I’ll see you later” you cut your eyes over your shoulder at him “Probably in a couple hours at most” he laughed lightly “That is true. Be safe” you nodded “Always”

He let himself out, locking the door behind him as you headed for the shower.

You parked your car next to Stella’s jeep and headed into the station house. The moment you walked into the bays Violet was running at you “You’re late woman!” you glanced at your watch “One freaking minute!” she laughed “A minute is a minute”

You shook your head “Christ, let me put my stuff in my locker and get some coffee before the crazy starts babe, ok?” She rolled her eyes “Fine” and slipped her arm into yours. The two of you headed to walk inside about the time Sam was coming out so he held the door open “Thank you Carver” you told him and he nodded “You’re welcome Darlin”

______________________

You and her headed for the locker room and you tossed your bags away then you headed for the kitchen, hoping like hell Capp and Tony hadn’t drained the coffee yet.”So, how are things between you and paging Dr sexy?” she asked with a smirk. You shrugged “Fine. He stayed at my place last night” she nodded “He better play nice. I’d hate to have to make it look like an accident”

“Violet” you gasped and she shrugged “What? Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same for me” you shook your head “Of course I would but I’d never risk saying it outloud. Don’t know who might be around and hear it” “Hear what?” Stella asked, walking up behind you. Violet grinned “That if Rhodes doesn’t act right with our girl I’ll make it look like an accident” Instead of Stella reprimanding Violet any she grinned “Oh yeah, I’d help you” and nodded at the coffee pot in your hand “Is there enough I can get some?”

You nodded “Yeah, I swear I’m best friends with two maniacs” they both smiled “But we love you” you laughed “and for that I am forever grateful”

_____________________

The three of you were sitting together out in the bays watching Cruz lose miserably to Kelly in a card game when a call rang out for an ambulance to respond to seventh and wabash to a heart attack. You slapped Violet’s leg “C’mon babe”

You winked at Stella “Catch ya in a few Kidd” before the two of you jogged for the rig. You slid into the driver’s seat and Violet hopped into the passenger seat.

_________________________

The patient obviously needed to be transported to Med so you radioed in while Violet rode in the back with her. When you pulled into the ambulance bay you backed in and spotted Will come out to meet you. You hopped out and walked to the back to open the door then climbed in to help her get the gurney out “Female patient, forty nine. Presented with pain between the shoulders and a headache. Luckily her sister knew the signs of a heart attack in a woman versus a man”

You pushed her inside with Violet next to you as you told Will what was already done on the ride. “Take her to trauma one” Maggie hollered so you nodded. You pushed her in, April coming in to assist a transfer from your gurney over to one of the hospital beds. Once she was secure you nodded to Will “Catch ya later Halstead” then looked at your patient “And hope everything goes well Miss Moore”

You walked back into the hall and was almost out the door when you glanced up to see Connor talking to the new doctor. What was her name? Ava, Ava Bekker. Normally it wouldn’t bother you but that? He was leaning on the counter, body turned towards her. You felt your stomach twist. You hadn’t realized you had stopped moving until Violet called your name. She turned around and followed your line of sight “Oh hell no”

She started in that direction but your hand shot out and grabbed the back of her shirt “No, let’s just go back to house” she waved a hand “Babe, that’s fishy” you shook your head “We could be reading it wrong” she raised an eyebrow “And fifty shades of grey could be a self help book. Let me slap him” You shook your head “Please. For me” she huffed “Fine but if we aren’t reading it wrong, I’m slapping him”

You looked back once more and saw Ava laugh and put her hand on his chest. Your heart dropped. You had to be reading it wrong. Connor loved you, didn’t he?

You were half asleep across your bunk when your phone lit up with a text from Connor Will said you were in Med three times today. Why didn’t I see you? You hadn’t realized Violet was awake and had basically climbed over into your bunk. “Maybe because she saw you with another woman yesterday” she whispered and you shushed her, looking around. Sam was asleep right next to you and god you didn’t want to wake him up.

Shift’s been hectic you texted back and could practically hear Violet roll her eyes. You laid the phone down and she cut her eyes at you “Let’s go to the roof” you nodded and slid out of the bed, grabbing your phone and jacket as you did.

_____________________

You pushed open the door to the roof and laughed when Kelly and Stella separated like two kids getting caught by their parents “You two are married. It’s cool if you make out” Kelly grinned then looked from you to Violet “Uh oh. If you both are up something is wrong so I’m gonna head in” he kissed Stella once more then winked at you and Violet before heading inside.

Stella turned her attention to you “What’s up” Violet waved a hand “Tell her or I will” you sighed “I think we saw Connor flirting with Ava Bekker” “You think or you did?” she asked, cutting her eyes at Violet who answered “Did”

“That son of a bitch” she cursed. You felt your face warm in embarrassment “I can’t break off a two year long relationship on thinking I saw him flirting with someone else” she crossed her arms “You do realize I’m an expert on shit relationships and making excuses for them? That’s the first red flag sweetie” you sighed “I know” about the time another text came through from Connor Ok, I love you

Violet read over your shoulder and reached for your phone “Let me call him” you pulled your phone back “Down girl”

You had two days off but apparently Connor was busy. You were watching a movie when Stella called you “Where’s Connor?” you paused your movie “Said he had something with that father of his” she scoffed “Unless his dad has gotten a lot shorter, younger and turned female no”

A photo came through on your phone and it was Connor at a local coffee place, talking to Ava. “I think you may have to call a cat a cat” she spoke gently” you swallowed hard.”Thanks Stel. I’ll um talk to you later” you hung up and sat there staring at the photo before forwarding it to Connor then turned your phone off.

About half an hour later there was a knock at your door so you uncurled your legs from under you and walked over to the door. You checked the peephole and wasn’t surprised to see Connor on the other side. You opened the door and crossed your arms “Yes?”

“Baby I ran into Ava at the coffee shop. I don’t know who sent that photo to you but that’s all it was” you nodded slowly “Then why do you look worried?” his tell when he lied was his eyes got wider and boy was his eyes wide. “I love you” you nodded again “And yet you were too busy to see me today until I sent you that photo” “Yeah because someone is trying to make it seem like I’m doing something I’m not” he replied and you nodded “Ok, I’ll believe you this time” he stepped forward “Can I kiss you?” you put a hand against his chest “This is the last time I’ll believe you Connor” he nodded “I promise you, I just ran into her” then brushed his lips against yours.

_______________________

You were half asleep when Connor’s phone woke you up. You sat up and looked to see he was getting dressed. “Where are you going?” he held up his phone and you saw it was med’s number “got called into surgery” you nodded sleepily “Ok” and brushed a kiss against his lips “lock the door when you leave” then rolled back over and was asleep before he got out of your apartment.

“Kelly took you dancing?” you gasped and Stella grinned “He did” you fell over against the couch dramatically “I love going out dancing” Violet who was still very much in the “let’s kill connor” camp cut her eyes at you “The good doctor doesn’t take you anymore?”

You shook your head “Seems like anytime I’m off he’s working” “Hmm” she replied, rolling her eyes. Then turned to face you “I love you” you nodded slowly “I love you too” she smiled “You do know that he’s bouncing between you and Ava, right?”

“What?” you asked and she nodded “Ava told a friend of mine Veronica who works in Pediatrics how she has to call Connor from Med a few nights a week so he can get out of his father’s because then he thinks it’s work. I got her to be nosy and babe they all line up with your days off” you blinked back tears “So he’s been fucking me then leaving my bed to go to her?” she nodded “And taking her out on actual dates while he’s not making time for the woman he swears he loves and that he’s been with for two years”

You nodded slowly and she grabbed your hands “Talk to me” you shook your head “I um I’m gonna get some fresh air. Thank you honey, truly. I love you but I can’t be around everyone right now”

You stood up and quickly walked outside, through the bays and didn’t stop until you were across the street under the trees, only then did you actually cry.

_______________________

Sam stood in the bays, watching you wanting nothing more than to go after you but he didn’t want it to seem like he was taking advantage of a bad situation. “You’ve had a thing for her for a while” Violet spoke from behind him and he turned to face her “You’re a creepy little thing, sneaking up on people like that”

She laughed “Says the man harboring a crush on my best friend and watching her cry over her cheating boyfriend” he looked back over his shoulder at you “She deserves so much better than that asshole. His heart’s split but if that woman gave me half a chance mine would be hers fully” Violet stared at him for a minute then nodded slowly “She wants to go dancing. I’ll get her to that bar on fifth street Friday night. You just be there” he raised an eyebrow “What’s that?”

“You heard me. I love that woman like a sister. I’m sick of seeing her hurt. If you mean that, truly mean it then I’ll get her there” he smiled “I mean it”

“Vi, I don’t know about this. Hell I haven’t even broken up with Connor officially yet” she nodded as she pulled you into the bar “Yeah, cause you can’t get the asshole to make time for you. Now come on!” you let her pull you into the door. She’d done your hair and makeup and even thrown you into low heels. It was the first time in a while you’d had a reason to get all done up and you had to admit you felt good.

She pulled you behind her to the bar and you figured she wanted to order so you stepped up next to her and started to look around then your eyes landed on Sam and a smile slipped onto your face “My oh my Carver. You sure do clean up pretty” He was wearing a black button up shirt and dark blue jeans and with his build you had to admit he looked fucking gorgeous. Hell Sam Carver was a fucking beautiful man inside and out if you were being honest.

Violet leaned over your shoulder “You wanted to go dancing. I found you a partner that may appreciate you a little better” you looked from her to Sam. He stood up off the bar stool and offered you his hand “I know Rhodes has dragged your heart through the mud darlin. I ain’t trying to romance ya, well not tonight anyways” he shot you a smile before adding “I just want to dance with you and see if I can put a smile on your face because it’s been a little too long since I’ve seen a genuine one out of you”

You put your hand in his “Ok”

Why hadn’t Connor been able to see it? What the hell had he been thinking? He loved you, he’d loved you for years. He never should’ve crossed a line with Ava. He’d tried to call you so many times over the last couple weeks but you never answered. When you rolled into Med and he happened to be on duty Violet would put herself between the two of you and usher you out of the door.

He had to see you, had to explain and beg for another chance. He’d fucked up so bad but he could fix it. He stopped when he got in front of your place. Sitting in your driveway, next to your car was Sam Carver’s pickup. The living room shade was up and he could see the two of you through it. Sam spun you around, a laugh falling from your lips as he did. He sat there watching as you danced with Sam. You looked happy, you looked in love. You looked at Sam like you used to look at him,before he fucked everything up when you were his.

When you pulled Sam down into a kiss he felt his heart crack, finally realizing just what he’d done to you. How dare he come here asking for a second chance. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t even try to screw up your life anymore. If he had ever cared about you the best thing he could do was leave you alone, let you be happy and you obviously were.

Carver's POV

#connor rhodes x you #sam carver x reader #chicago fire imagine #chicago fire fanfic #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago med fanfic

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