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rivalsispunk · 3 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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whizzing-fizzbee · 2 days ago

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I have a doozy of a work week coming up, so I don't anticipate having much time to write. So enjoy this little Valentine's Day angst-fluff-smut combo I’ve been sitting on for a while. Thank you for reading and have a splendid Valentine's Day if you celebrate - regardless, you are loved! ❤️

XOXO, Anonymous

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, profanity); all characters are 18+ Words: 6,323 Tags: friends to lovers, Valentine's Day, love letters, misunderstandings, mutual pining, angst, fluff, Seb is extra stupid in this one

Summary: Sebastian Sallow has been hopelessly in love with Annalisa Lark since the day they met during fifth year. So when he discovers a love letter to Ominis seemingly sent from her, he begins a downward spiral. Once the truth comes out, he'll realize actions sometimes speak louder than words.

Notes: This one's split into two parts in case you want to skip the smut. Part I is angst and fluff. Part II is smut. All characters are 18-year-old seventh years. MC in this one is a Ravenclaw named Annalisa Lark.

Read on AO3 or both parts below the cut.

Part I

Sebastian Sallow trudged into his dormitory, exhausted after a particularly grueling quidditch practice. The room was empty, presumably because all his roommates were already elbow-deep in their dinners.

Sebastian would have gone straight to the Great Hall to join them, but he’d been neglecting a Potions essay that was due in the morning. He just needed to grab a book and he’d head to the library for a few hours of writing.

Except Sebastian’s Potions book was nowhere to be found. He cursed under his breath as he realized he’d left it in the locker room. With no desire to make the trek all the way back to the quidditch pitch, Sebastian decided he’d merely borrow Ominis’ book. Surely Ominis had completed the essay ages ago.

The book sat on the desk next to Ominis’ bed, resting on its back atop a neat stack of parchment. Sebastian picked it up and moved to gather some parchment and quills of his own when a folded sheet slipped from the book’s pages. It fluttered to the floor and landed face-up, open, as if its contents were meant to be seen.

Typically, Sebastian wouldn’t dare read his friend’s mail. He would never willingly violate Ominis’ trust, not after it had taken him two years to regain it after the events of fifth year. But a few choice words scrawled on the parchment caught Sebastian’s eye as he bent down to retrieve it. He paused, his hand hovering above the letter until he finally gathered the nerve to pick it up and read it.

His tired pout morphed into a full-fledged frown.

Dearest Ominis,

Your last letter made me smile. You have such a way with words that I always find myself re-reading your letters over and over again. I hope they never stop, even if we can one day be together.

Speaking of, have you given any further thought to discussing our potential relationship with Sebastian? I know you’re worried it could sever your friendship, but please don’t. He cares about both of us far too much, and I truly believe he merely wants to see us happy.

I love you, Ominis. I love you, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t. After everything that happened to me during fifth year, I’ve realized life is far too short to be separated from the ones we love.

Please give what I said some more consideration. See you soon.

XOXO, A.

It took a moment for Sebastian to realize his hands were shaking. His palms were sweating and his stomach churned. He couldn’t even pinpoint which emotion had taken charge of his body – disbelief, surely, but what about the betrayal? And the pain… my god, the pain. It slammed through Sebastian’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

He read it again. Call him a masochist, but he had to be sure he understood correctly. He prayed his eyes had somehow managed to trick him, that it had all been a projection of his own deepest fears, or perhaps some cruel prank Ominis cooked up.

But Ominis wasn’t a prankster. And he would never joke about something as complex as Sebastian’s feelings – not when it came to her. Or so he thought.

Sebastian had loved Annalisa Lark since the day she absolutely dismantled him during a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She was stunning to him in every sense of the word, and while their friendship was sometimes turbulent, Sebastian flocked to her like children to candy. He’d never admit to it, though. The only person who seemed to understand was Ominis.

But now, it seemed Ominis understood more than he’d let on. Sebastian stilled himself, the letter still in his hand. Had his best friend really stolen the love of his life? Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. She wasn’t Sebastian’s to steal. He was certain she didn’t even have those kinds of feelings for him. Still, surely Ominis knew about that unspoken gentlemen’s rule about not romancing your best friend’s love interest.

Sebastian’s shock shifted to fury. His conniption swelled as he mulled the situation over. His best friend had swooped in on her. The one and only girl he couldn’t bear to lose.

He had to toss the letter aside to stop himself from crumpling it into a ball. Knives clouded his vision. He could choke Ominis until the life left his eyes. She said she loved him. She told Ominis the only words that could likely save Sebastian from a tragic demise.

And worst of all, they’d kept their romance a secret from him. They didn’t deem him worthy of sharing their secret. They thought it’d be easier to keep him out of their equation. He wasn’t meant to be a part of their secret society.

Sebastian sank onto his bed, his gaze wavering in and out of focus. He didn’t know what to do. Should he storm down to the Great Hall and demand answers from them? Should he keep quiet and pretend he didn’t know? Should he make a last-ditch effort love declaration in hopes of stealing Annalisa back to her rightful place?

All of those options made sense in Sebastian’s mind, but Sebastian Sallow rarely made sense when it came to the most important matters of the heart.

Dinner and Potions essays be damned, Sebastian decided to retreat to the Undercroft.

---

“Sebastian! There you are.”

For the first time in nearly three years, Sebastian was dismayed to find Annalisa in the Undercroft. She was curled up on a sofa she’d conjured during their fifth year, a book open across her lap.

Even from where he stood, Sebastian could see it was a romance novel. She was always reading those, as if she enjoyed the escapism into a world of longing stares and declarations of desire. She didn’t know she was living inside one of those novels; though this one was currently creeping toward an angst-ridden, tragic ending as far as Sebastian was concerned. The trope of his life was morphing from secret pining to the one that got away.

“There you are,” Sebastian replied. It was their routine greeting, a symbol of their bond since they were fifteen. Even in crisis, he wouldn’t stray from it. He needed its familiarity.

“Where’ve you been?” Annalisa asked curiously as she shifted to one side of the sofa to make room for him.

“Quidditch practice.”

“Did you eat? I didn’t see you at dinner. I have some apples in my bag.”

Sebastian shook his head as he took the other half of the sofa. His posture betrayed him. He typically slouched into his seat, his knees parted while his hands absentmindedly twirled his wand. But tonight, he was rigid, his spine far too stiff and straight to fool her. “I’m not hungry.”

Annalisa frowned, her book now forgotten as she set it aside. “Since when have you ever turned down a meal?” she demanded with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian lied.

Annalisa scowled at him. “Sebastian Edward Sallow, do not play with me.”

Sebastian nearly barked a laugh at the irony of it all. If anything, she was the one playing with him; sneaking around behind his back with his own best friend, penning him passionate love letters while Sebastian had been none the wiser.

He wanted to be disgusted with her, to lash out and demand answers. He wanted her to know how hurt he was by her decision to omit him from such a significant portion of her life. Even if she didn’t choose him, she could have at least filled him in on her stirring new romance – especially since it involved their mutual best friend.

But Sebastian could never be repulsed by her, even if he felt slighted. She was too much of all the good things Sebastian admired in life – a stunning little spitfire compressed into five feet of fearless conviction. She was compassionate and complex; she didn’t view the world in black and white the way so many others preferred to. She understood the frayed seams between good and evil and light and darkness.

That realization was the moment Sebastian was certain he loved her. She stood by him after Solomon’s death and offered him unwavering support, because she knew the nuances of right and wrong. She had blood on her hands, too. The difference in their bloodshed was hers was an effort to quell darkness; Sebastian’s bloodshed had embraced it.

Still, Annalisa understood Sebastian at a level that transcended mere friendship, and because of that, Sebastian had grown certain she was his soulmate. But now, he wasn’t sure he knew her at all.

“Sebastian…” Annalisa was still peering at him expectantly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted, his tense posture still exposing his discomfort. “I’m just exhausted, is all.

Annalisa opened her mouth, fully prepared to interrogate him into a confession, but the entrance to the Undercroft clanged open again, revealing Ominis’ arrival. Sebastian stiffened even more.

“Ominis!” Annalisa greeted. “Sebastian here was just about to tell me why he’s so moody.”

“Sebastian, moody? I can’t imagine,” came Ominis’ dry reply.

Sebastian was in no mood for teasing remarks. Not when he was the third wheel to the two people he thought he trusted most. His irritation surged, and before he could suppress it, he was on his feet.

“I’ll just leave you two to it then, yeah?” he snapped.

“Sebastian, what-”

Sebastian brushed past a stunned Ominis and sulked from the Undercroft.

---

Sebastian hated Valentine’s Day. What a stupid, sordid excuse of a holiday, he thought. He slouched over his corner of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall as he watched his classmates exchange jovial greetings and giggles over romantic gifts. It was positively nauseating. The arrival of Ominis taking the seat across from him didn’t sweeten the day.

“Brooding in the corner on Valentine’s Day,” Ominis mused. “How very cliche of you.” Sebastian didn’t reply. Ominis sighed and set his stack of books on the table between them. “Going to share with the class what’s had you so bent out of shape?”

Again, no reply. Ominis was no stranger to Sebastian’s tempestuous moods. They always became particularly stormy when Annalisa was inundated with attention from their classmates. Today, she sat at the Ravenclaw table with a short stack of valentines and an assortment of sweets surrounding her. Truthfully, Sebastian could cope with that – he’d witnessed their classmates’ attempts to court Annalisa on countless occasions. He was used to that. He wasn’t used to the nauseating knowledge that his own best friend was the one who had secured her heart, and in secret nonetheless.

“Alright, mate,” Ominis sighed as he gathered his books again and stood. “But Cupid’s arrow isn’t going to find you while you’re commiserating by your lonesome self in a corner.”

As he retreated toward the doors of the Great Hall, Sebastian considered chucking a potato at his head. But something else stole his attention.

Another letter. Ominis must have left it accidentally in his haste to flee Sebastian’s orbit of agony. Sebastian snatched it off the table immediately, took a quick glance around the Great Hall, and read.

Dearest Ominis,

Happy Valentine’s Day, love! Thank you for the gorgeous flowers. They look positively stunning at my bedside. I look forward to gazing at them as the last thing I’ll see before I fall asleep. You are always the last thing on my mind at night anyway.

I am so looking forward to seeing you tonight. I hope it will be just as special for you as it is for me. See you at 7:00.

XOXO, A.

The edges of the parchment curled inward as Sebastian’s hands shook. They had a secret date planned for the night. They were going to have a romantic night together and neither of them felt any obligation to tell him. Their friendship was no longer a trio. They were a pair, plus one, single fool.

Sebastian crumpled the letter and stashed it in his pocket. He prayed Cupid would choke on a pumpkin pasty.

---

Sebastian’s sour mood didn’t stop there. It devolved by the afternoon, until all who crossed his path were at risk of a terrible lashing.

Finally, Annalisa found him pouting beneath the Transfiguration Courtyard fountain.

“Sebastian,” she said sternly, her green eyes drilling him with impatience. “What is the matter with you? Ominis says you’re positively insufferable. What has happened?”

Of course Ominis called him that. Ominis was a treasonous, back-stabbing traitor who was too cowardly to even admit he was in love. If Sebastian had Annalisa, he’d tell the whole world, and would burn it down if anyone dared to question him.

“Ominis knows exactly what he’s done,” Sebastian snapped.

“Clearly not,” Annalisa challenged him. “All we know is something has you upset. Stop isolating yourself and tell us. Tell me, at the very least.”

How rich. She was begging him to tell her, when she hadn’t bothered to tell him about her new little love affair.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian said, rising to his feet as he gazed at her with a pointed stare. “I’ll tell you my secret when you tell me yours.”

Annalisa blinked at him. “Secret? Sebastian, I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Sebastian slipped past her to head inside the castle in search of someplace more secluded. “Then neither do I.”

He wasn’t proud of his prickly behavior. It was reminiscent of his fifth year, when his obsession with curing Anne’s curse pushed him into a manic state, void of any logic. He wasn’t that far gone now, but he certainly was allowing his emotions to control him.

Fine. If Ominis and Annalisa were so into writing silly little love letters, he’d do the same.

Sebastian retreated to his dormitory, where he was relieved to find himself alone. He sat at his desk with two blank sheets of parchment in front of him.

Ominis,

It has come to my attention that you have entered into a romantic partnership with Annalisa. To say that I feel betrayed and slighted is an understatement. I thought you were aware of my feelings regarding our mutual friend and would use better judgment. It’s clear the two of you have chosen each other over me, so consider this my resignation from our friendship.

Sebastian E. Sallow

He snatched the parchment up and crushed it in his hand. This was meant to be a deeply personal declaration of deception and distress, not a polite invitation for afternoon tea.

He tried again.

Ominis–

I know your secret. Consider this the final fallen pillar of our friendship.

See you in hell, Sebastian

Much better. One down, one to go. But the second one wasn’t as simple.

Sebastian was certain he could be romantic, right? He’d been on his fair share of dates, had plenty of experience with girls. In truth, he had his pick of most girls at Hogwarts. Sure, he didn’t have the family name and wealth that Ominis had to offer, but he had a bright future as an early acceptance into the Ministry of Magic’s Auror program. He was charming and intelligent, charismatic enough to sway most people he encountered to his side.

Surely he could pen one simple love letter. But for as silver-tongued as he was when it came to getting himself out of trouble or convincing his classmates to help him with various endeavors, Sebastian had no idea how to tell a girl he loved her.

He sat glued to that spot for a good hour until the reject pile of letters not good enough for Annalisa’s eyes had formed a small stack on the desktop. No words could convey what he felt for her. No words were pretty or poignant enough.

Annalisa,

I know you’re in love with Ominis and I don’t want to stand in the way of the happiness you deserve. But if there’s any chance I could ever compete for your heart, please know that I won’t go down without a fight.

I’ve loved you since that first day in Hecat’s class. I know I haven’t made life easy on you, but loving you’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

Tell me I have even the slightest shot at being yours and I promise you’ll always have my full effort.

Forever yours, Sebastian

It wasn’t good enough, but it was the best he could manage. He wasn’t meant to craft eloquent prose like Annalisa’s favorite romance novels. Because this was real, not a fictional work intended to entertain the masses, and Sebastian wanted to be sure she knew that. This was his brutal honesty, raw and real.

He sighed as he decided these two letters would have to do. He pocketed Annalisa’s and placed the other on Ominis’ nightstand before slinking off to the kitchens to eat dinner in solitude.

By the time he was finished, his pocket watch indicated it was 6:30. Ominis and Annalisa would be heading off to their date soon, likely at some romantic restaurant where they could cozy up to one another away from prying eyes. Sebastian couldn’t stand to picture it.

He had originally planned to send Annalisa’s letter via owl, but impulse control was never Sebastian’s strength. So in an act of desperation, he trekked up to Ravenclaw Tower and lingered outside the common room.

In a serendipitous act of fate, Samantha Dale was just returning from dinner.

“Samantha,” Sebastian breathed in relief. The Ravenclaw stopped in her tracks and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Sebastian? What are you doing here? Meeting Annalisa?”

“Oh, er, yes. Except I was hoping to surprise her,” Sebastian said, hoping he was convincing.

“Ooh, are you finally taking her on a date?” Samantha squealed. “It’s about time.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, but it’s a surprise. Can you let me into the common room?”

“Of course, right this way.” Samantha led Sebastian inside and gestured toward the girls’ dormitories. “Pretty sure you’ve been up here before, yes? You remember the way?”

Sebastian nodded and thanked Samantha, who continued into the common room. He strode hastily toward Annalisa’s dorm, praying she’d still be there. He knocked gently and felt his stomach contort at the sound of her voice inviting the visitor inside.

“Sebastian?” Annalisa blinked as he creaked the door open. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Sebastian was more confused than her. She was wearing pajamas and she sat up in bed, cozied beneath the covers with a book open. She certainly did not appear to be preparing for a romantic date.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asked stupidly. Annalisa snorted.

“Sebastian, I live here.”

“But… you have a date.”

“I do? That’s news to me.”

That’s when Sebastian also realized there were no flowers on her nightstand. What was going on? Was this some sort of prank? A bizarre dream – perhaps an astral projection? He felt sick.

“But… but you and Ominis…”

Annalisa tilted her head, perplexed by the entire interaction as her eyes narrowed in concern. “Ominis? What does he have to do with this? Sebastian, what is going on? You’ve been acting so strange lately.”

“I…” Sebastian’s entire frame deflated, his shoulders slumping forward and his knees threatening to buckle. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Annalisa motioned for him to sit on the side of the bed. She watched him carefully as he did so, his hands resting atop his knees. He looked exhausted.

“What’s this date you were talking about?” Annalisa asked as she tossed her book aside.

Sebastian sighed. There was no recovering from this. Even if he wanted to get out of this, to sweet talk her with some excuse, he knew he’d only leave with despair in his heart. “I thought you and Ominis had a date,” he said.

Annalisa looked like he’d slapped her. “You’re not serious.”

“I saw the letters. Your letters.”

“What letters?”

“The ones you wrote to Ominis.”

Annalisa felt dizzy, which was alarming because she was certain Sebastian was the one who’d gone loopy. “I didn’t write Ominis any letters,” she said. “Why would I? I see him every day. I don’t need to write him.”

Sebastian’s chest constricted. A flush crept from his neck into his cheeks. His lungs screamed for air. He didn’t understand.

“You’re not dating Ominis?”

“What?!”

Oh no. Had he really gotten it all wrong? How? He’d seen the letters with his own eyes. It all added up in his head. Had he really let himself spiral into an episode of assumptions and self-doubt?

“Sebastian,” Annalisa continued, her voice a breath of laughter and perplexion. “What the fuck are you on about? Who told you I was dating Ominis?”

“No one told me. I accidentally saw letters written to him – love letters.”

Annalisa was clearly intrigued, another indication that she had nothing to do with said letters. “Love letters? To Ominis? From whom? And what made you think they were from me?”

“I only saw two of them, but they were both signed by the initial A,” Sebastian explained. “And one of them talked about a date tonight.”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t me,” Annalisa laughed. “This book is my hot date for the night.”

“But then, who…”

Annalisa giggled, her eyes glinting with a facetious, knowing smile. “Sebastian, come on,” she said. “Think.”

“But I don’t-”

“Anne!” Annalisa continued.

“Anne?”

Sebastian froze as all the mental pieces shifted in his brain. Merlin. It made perfect sense – more sense than Ominis and Annalisa.

“You mean Ominis and Anne are in love?”

“Yes, silly,” Annalisa snorted. “Anyone with two eyes can see it.”

“But Ominis has two eyes and can’t s-”

“Sebastian, that’s beside the point.”

“Right, sorry. But… you knew? About them?”

“Not for sure,” Annalisa said. “But it’s always been pretty obvious that those two love each other. They share everything and they really only trust each other… they’d do anything for each other. Of course they’re in love.”

“Oh.”

Annalisa stared at him with exasperated eyes. “You really thought I’d date Ominis?”

“I mean, the two of you adore each other.”

“Yes, because we’re great friends. Surely you know we’d never consider each other romantically.”

“I didn’t think so, but then I saw those letters and… I just thought maybe I’d overlooked something between you two,” Sebastian explained.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Annalisa said. “Obviously I’m not on a hot date with our mutual friend. I didn’t have a date tonight, so I’m enjoying a cozy night in.”

“Oh.”

Annalisa’s brow furrowed as her gaze locked in on the folded parchment in Sebastian’s hand. “What’s that?”

Sebastian swallowed. There was no going back, he reminded himself. But this wasn’t how he wanted to tell her. He wanted to woo her with melodic words and grand gestures symbolic of his feelings. He wanted to make a case for himself she couldn’t refuse.

But if he had to convince her to love him, it wasn’t the right kind of reciprocation anyway. Still, his nerves were getting the best of him.

“It’s nothing, spare bit of parchment,” he tried to say with a shrug. Annalisa shot him a look.

“What is it?” she demanded.

Sebastian frantically scanned his brain for the right words. He only had one shot at this. He had to get it right.

“It’s a letter.”

“One of Anne’s letters to Ominis?”

“No. A letter from me to you.”

Annalisa tilted her head quizzically. “What do you mean? Why? What does it say?”

Sebastian averted his gaze, his eyes on the parchment in his hands. “Before I hand this to you, before I allow you to read it,” he started. “I want you to know that it was a result of a severe misunderstanding. When I thought you were in love with Ominis… I felt like I was going mental.”

“Is that why you stormed out of the Undercroft and have been sulking so much?”

“Yes.”

“Sebastian, why didn’t you just say something to us?”

“Because I thought you were trying to keep it a secret from me.”

“Why would we do that?”

“To avoid my wrath, apparently. Judging from the letters, it sounds like Anne wants me to know but Ominis is afraid to tell me.”

Annalisa’s lips curved in another knowing smile. “To be fair, I can’t say I blame him,” she said. “This is your sister we’re talking about here.”

“I know, but if there’s anyone I do trust to date my sister, it’s Ominis. He’s the only person I’d trust with her.”

“Well then, it sounds like you both have been making some inaccurate assumptions,” Annalisa mused.

“I suppose so.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair. “Look, when I thought you and Ominis were together, I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Sebastian,” Annalisa laughed. “I just don’t understand why it had you so upset.”

“Because I don’t handle jealousy well,” Sebastian answered.

“Jealousy? Sebastian, don’t tell me you’re struggling to find a girlfriend. You-”

It was a good thing Sebastian was absolutely smitten with Annalisa, because for as brilliant as she truly was, she could be quite dense when it came to personal matters of the heart. “I thought Ominis had taken the only person I’m interested in,” Sebastian cut in. He maintained his gaze on the parchment, terrified to watch as the understanding settled within Annalisa.

“Sebastian,” she breathed.

“Here,” Sebastian said as he extended his arm to offer her the letter. “Now you can have this.”

Annalisa reached tentatively for the letter, as if she knew reading it would change everything. Sebastian didn’t look as he listened to her unfold it. The room fell silent as her eyes scanned his penmanship. When he heard her inhale sharply, Sebastian considered flinging himself out the window.

He wasn’t prepared for her reaction. He had long accepted the reality that she could never possibly love him mutually. She might love him as a close friend, but she’d never understand the magnitude of her presence in his life. She was more than his shoulder to lean on and partner in crime; she was the gravity that grounded Sebastian to this world. If he lost her, he’d lose the anchor that kept the sea of dysphoria from sweeping him away again.

Sebastian decided he’d start by apologizing. He’d tell her he never meant to jeopardize their bond. He hadn’t even meant to fall for her. But he wasn’t sorry for loving her. It was the most genuine emotion he had.

Then he’d assure Annalisa that their friendship didn’t have to change. He was determined to maintain it. He’d fight every one of his emotions tooth and nail for her. She had to understand that he’d never expect anything more from her than the privilege to merely be a part of her life.

“Sebastian,” Annalisa breathed. He finally turned to look at her and was stunned to see tears welling in her eyes. “Sebastian, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not really a casual topic for dinner discussion.”

“Sebastian, really.” Annalisa sniffed. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian averted his gaze again, riddled by guilt and fear. He fiddled with a loose thread on the blanket while both seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Sebastian,” Annalisa repeated. She slipped from beneath the covers to sit next to him. Sebastian fought desperately to think about anything other than the way her silk pajamas clung to her body. “Sebastian, look at me.”

He exhaled slowly as he turned to face her, awaiting his fateful sentence. He assumed she’d let him down gently, tell him they were better off as friends. She was far too kind to raise her voice at him, though she was also fiery enough that she might slap him.

Instead, she threw her arms around him. Sebastian’s lungs deflated as he stilled, stunned by her sudden embrace.

“Sebastian, you fool. You know I love you too,” she mumbled, her words muffled against his neck. It ignited a new heat that coursed through his limbs. He swallowed as her words clashed with the feeling of her soft lips against his skin. It was a staggering juxtaposition of sweet relief and untamed desire.

She loved him? Had he really managed to overlook that major detail in his life? Had there been signs? Sebastian blinked in disbelief. He'd orchestrated his fair share of stupid events, but this one took first place.

Annalisa closed her eyes as she continued to cling to Sebastian. “You really thought I was in love with Ominis?”

“Ominis is brilliant,” Sebastian offered with a shrug. “Girls seem to like that whole polished and proper thing he has going on.”

Annalisa snorted against his neck and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile in spite of his nerves. “Sebastian, when have I ever been the prim and proper type?” she murmured. The more she spoke and the more her lips buzzed vibrations across his skin, the more Sebastian squirmed.

“That’s true,” he answered, forcing his words until they sounded steady. “You do seem to have a proclivity for chaos and dramatics.”

Annalisa drew away just far enough to peer upward at him with a pointed gaze. Her green eyes gleamed with coquetry. “It’s not like I go looking for chaos,” she huffed. “It just seems to find me… sort of way you found me. Sometimes it’s good to attract chaos.”

“Are you calling me chaotic?”

“Are you denying it?”

Sebastian chuckled. “No. Can’t deny that.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you so tense?”

“Because I just confessed to being in love with you and now you’re pressed up against me.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Oh. Oh.

“I… don’t know.”

Annalisa offered him a bemused smirk. “Boy, Seb, between that letter and all of this, you sure have a way with words,” she teased. “Lucky for you, you won me over years ago.”

“Years?”

Annalisa rolled her eyes, her impatience evident. “Yes, years,” she said matter-of-factly. “Which is why you should have told me.”

“You could have told me!”

“And ruin the absolute spectacle of you making a fool of yourself because of a couple love letters to Ominis? Never.”

That was enough talking, enough words for one day. Sebastian had spelled it all out, albeit rather awkwardly, but the swell inside his chest made it all worth it. He finally kissed her, which told her more than any stupid letter ever could.

Part II (Smut warning)

“Sebastian,” Annalisa whimpered. “Sebastian, please.”

Her hands were presently tangled in Sebastian’s hair as her legs were tossed over his shoulders.

Annalisa was quickly learning that Sebastian may not always have a way with words, but he was certainly skilled with his tongue. His letter to her lay on the floor, having fluttered off the bed amid the frenzy of hungry hands and greedy kisses.

“Sebastian, don’t stop,” Annalisa begged as his tongue pressed patterns over her clit. He hummed in response, certain he’d go mad by the way she begged him for more. Her whimpering pleas, the taste of her arousal and the aftermath of their declarations of love had Sebastian teetering on the edge of an insanity that could only be stoked by adoration.

Sebastian’s tongue traced tiny heart shapes across her clit until Annalisa’s thighs tensed and the pitch of her moans spiked. “Oh fuck, Sebastian!” she cried as her nerve endings seared with pleasure. Her back arched off the bed and her fingers tugged at Sebastian’s hair until her orgasm subsided, leaving her chest heaving and her entrance soaked.

Sebastian, still stunned by the day’s revelations, sat back on his heels to admire her. She wasn’t in love with Ominis – his own sister was. But he’d wrap his mind around that part of the story later. The part that mattered now was Annalisa had been his the entire time, and she was eager to prove it to him. After he kissed her for that first time, she had practically climbed into his lap until they were tearing their clothes off.

Once she had caught her breath, Annalisa sat up to pull Sebastian into a long kiss. “Stand up,” she ordered.

Sebastian blinked. He was enthralled by this bossy new side of her. Of course, one doesn’t save the world from a goblin rebellion by being a timid pushover, but Sebastian hadn’t anticipated this level of dominance from her. It made his cock twitch desperately.

He obliged and scrambled to his feet, holding his breath as he watched Annalisa fall to her knees on the floor in front of him. She took him into her mouth and tightened her lips around his shaft. Sebastian had to lean one hand on the back of her desk chair to support his weight. The suction pulling against his cock was dizzying.

“My god,” he groaned as he gazed downward to watch her work. Her hands snaked their way to the backs of his thighs, fingers pressing into his flesh as she used only her mouth to make him moan.

Annalisa’s lips released their vice grip to make way for her tongue. She dragged it from the base of Sebastian’s cock upward, over and around the tip, leaving it slick with saliva. Sebastian whimpered at the sight of it.

“Annalisa, please,” he begged. “Let me have you.”

Annalisa nodded in understanding and rose to her feet to pull Sebastian into a kiss. She nudged him backward to guide him toward the desk chair.

“Sit,” she commanded. Sebastian obeyed and dropped into a seated position. Annalisa climbed over him, hands clutching his shoulders as she lowered herself. She held her breath, astounded that her quiet Valentine’s Day was ending in such a way. Much better than any of her romance novels.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into her waist as he felt his cock make contact with her entrance. He tensed as she sank slowly, a low whine escaping her throat as she stretched around him. “Sebastian, you’re big,” she whimpered.

“Take it easy,” Sebastian said gently, though every nerve ending in his body was electrified. The scorching heat surrounding his cock was surreal.

Annalisa lifted herself and dipped downward again. The friction made both of their breaths hitch. Sebastian fought to control his body’s response while Annalisa found a steady pace, her cunt gliding over his cock until the room echoed with the sounds of their slick union.

“I love you,” Annalisa whispered, her eyes meeting Sebastian’s as she studied his expression to ensure he was content.

“I love you too,” Sebastian growled, his hands still pressing into her sides. He marveled at her; the way her full breasts bounced, her cheeks flushed, and her tight walls embraced him. He was desperate to feel her release. He had to know how she’d feel when she collapsed on top of him, her thighs shaking and cunt swollen from the intrusion of his cock.

Annalisa’s eyes fell shut as she worked, her hips rising and grinding as she rested her palms flat against Sebastian’s chest. The chair creaked beneath them.

“You feel so fucking good,” Sebastian breathed.

She rocked her hips and let out a sharp moan as Sebastian’s cock speared her soft, sensitive spot. “Oh, right there,” she groaned. She repeated the motion, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she lost herself in the sensation stimulating her core. “Sebastian, I’m close.”

Poor Sebastian was hanging on for dear life. His mind was presently reviewing spell patterns he’d learned in Charms class to divert his attention. He didn’t find himself in such a drastic dilemma very often, but this was pure desperation.

Annalisa slammed herself hard down onto him, driving the depths of her walls around Sebastian’s cock until she could feel the familiar flutters. She squeezed and rocked until her walls gave way to her climax, throbbing with relief as she wailed and threw her head back. She collapsed her full weight into Sebastian’s lap, allowing the tip of his cock to settle deep inside her until the final twitches of her cunt evoked his orgasm. He swore as he gripped her hips and spilled within her, earning one final moan from her.

The room’s erotic echoes were replaced with their recovering breaths. Annalisa slumped against Sebastian, her body exhausted from bouncing on top of him, and her head hazy.

Sebastian was utterly spent. His forehead rested against Annalisa’s bare shoulder as the weight of the day’s overwhelming epiphanies settled within him.

Things had taken a turn for the better; a monumental shift in events that he never could have predicted. He felt foolish and guilty for his presumptive behavior, but elated that, finally, for once, things had worked in his favor.

Annalisa was watching him with soft eyes. “Alright?” she asked. Sebastian grinned, his hands tracing light lines up and down the small of her back.

“Alright,” he answered. “Just… thinking about how mental this day was.”

“Only because you’re mental,” Annalisa said as she climbed off him and began fetching her pajamas from the floor.

“Sorry,” Sebastian said with a sheepish smile. “I guess I owe you and Ominis an apol-” He froze, his eyes widening until Annalisa drew back in alarm.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“Ominis,” Sebastian said hastily as he scrambled to his feet and began redressing. “I- I wrote him a letter too. I have to go. I have to get rid of it before he sees it.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Sebastian flashed her an apologetic grin as he buttoned his shirt. “I might have told him we were no longer friends and to go to hell.”

“Sebastian!”

“In my defense, it was all for you, love.”

“It was downright foolish.”

“I know. Apologies, love. I’ll just go fetch and destroy it and then I’ll come right back, yeah?”

Annalisa sighed and crawled back into bed. “Yes, alright. I’ll be here.”

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her forehead and sprinted back to the Slytherin dungeons.

#mdni #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow #whizzing fizzbee fanfic

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love-byers · 8 hours ago

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i've seen a few anti-byler people say they view byler the same as percy and nico from percy jackson, meaning that both dynamics are just a tool to reveal one character's sexuality. and i think that's interesting because i've always thought the opposite

if you're not familiar with percy jackson, percy is of course the main character, and nico is a recurring side character introduced in the third book (there are 5 books total). in the sequel series, heroes of olympus, it is revealed in the fourth book (of five total) that nico once had a crush on percy.

nico's crush on percy was undoubtedly just a tool to reveal the fact that nico was gay. so let's go through the several differences between these two dynamics, because it's actually in byler's favor

first of all, percy and nico have a four year age gap. when they meet in book 3 nico is 10 and percy is 14, so this comparison is automatically garbage. will is literally 2 weeks older than mike. needed to get that out of the way at the beginning lol

aside from that, mike and will are best friends of 7 years when s1 begins. they became best friends on the first day of kindergarten, they are extremely close, they hang out every day. mike's entire arc in s1 is about finding will. we see how he defends will behind his back, how devastated he is when he thinks will is dead, how he clings to the first bit of proof that he may be alive even though no one believes him, how happy he is when will is found. he runs into will's hospital room and lays his head on will's chest. and we all know about s2 byler...

in the first pjo book, we have no idea nico exists, and neither does percy. percy bonds with annabeth (his love interest) for the entire story (as well as every book besides the third because she was kidnapped at the beginning, and percy's sole motivation was to save her. sounds familiar...).

pjo spoilers ahead (its been out for 20 years come on...)

in the third book, nico is absent for the majority of it because percy leaves camp on a quest with bianca, nico's older sister. bianca dies on the quest, and at the very end of the book percy tells him what happened. nico is devastated and blames percy for her death. the few times percy and nico interact in the 4th book, their arc is entirely centered around nico accepting bianca's death and the fact that it wasn't percy's fault. in the final book they briefly team up at the beginning and make peace, and nico fights on the good side in the final battle. percy and annabeth have their first kiss in the 4th book and start dating at the end of the 5th (looooong situationship)

nico doesn't appear in the first book of the sequel series. he does briefly appear at the beginning of the second, and then leaves to go off on his own business. he is absent for basically all of the third book because he was trapped in a jar by a titan (long story). but percy and the others save him at the end. in the fourth nico is a main character for the first time. he's present for the whole story (while percy and annabeth are stuck in tartarus) and heavily involved. this is the book where we find out nico had feelings for percy. nico and another charcter, jason, are attacked by cupid and cupid forces nico to admit that he had a crush on percy, therefore admitting that he is gay, outing himself to jason. then in the fifth and final book, nico narrates about a quarter of the chapters so we get his more insight on his thoughts and feelings. he feels like a mistake for being gay and feels like he'll be alone forever. when he had a crush on percy he viewed him basically as a superhero. percy was an older, stronger, powerful demigod that protected him, and nico idolized him. but at this point in the story nico is essentially over it. near the end of the book, nico teams up with a guy his age named will solace. and there's a scene in nico's last pov chapter after the final battle is over where nico tells percy that he used to have a crush on him, but that he's over it and percy isn't really his type anyway (lmfao). and then nico walks over to will who had been waiting for him, obviously symbolizing him moving on from percy and choosing will. and in the trials of apollo series we find out that nico and will are dating. (solangelo my bookies<333)

how is this in ANY way shape or form similar to byler??

percy and nico do not have the depth and backstory that mike and will do. percy does not give nico a tearful monologue about how asking nico to be his friend when they were children is the best decision he's ever made. percy and nico do not agree to go crazy together. percy does not tell nico that home isn't the same without him. percy doesn't emphasize that they are just friends. nico isn't the one to push percy into confessing his love to annabeth. nico and percy don't spend every single book attached at the hip. percy doesn't choose to stand with nico instead of following annabeth when the world is ending. percy and nico barely bond at all. their relationship is complicated. they are borderline enemies in the 4th and 5th books (the hate is one sided, but nico has also yet to earn percy's trust), but they become allies and friends in the end.

percy and nico are a good example of a character's feelings for another solely being a tool to reveal their sexuality. byler would be an awful attempt at that. there is unnecessary depth and development. mike and will's bond is a plot point every single season, which would be pointless if they don't end up together. nico had a crush on percy. a crush. it is only every referred to as a crush. will is in love with mike. deeply, devastatingly in love, and always will be. percy was not the only person capable of making nico not feel like a mistake. nico never said he needs percy. nico never says that he's lost without percy.

IF I EVER HEAR P*RNICO EQUATED TO BYLER AGAIN I WILL DRINK BLEACH ON INSTAGRAM LIVE FOR EVERYONE TO SEE AND I MEAN IT. miss me with that bullshit

#byler #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #byler endgame #mike wheeler i know what you are #byler analysis #milkvan is bones #anti milkvan #pjo #percy jackson #nico di angelo #heroes of olympus #hoo #solangelo

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mistercrowbar · 1 day ago

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Terribly sorry if you've answered this before, but what would Companion Aldiirn's greetings be, at those varying approval levels?

(I only ask bc I'm writing my character's rn and im curious lol)

I did write some ages ago but I could never figure out any for flirting/partnered stages because I am bad at that. So thank you for getting me to dust them all off and add more:

Negative Approval: has the air of a retail employee who cannot leave their post under threat of reprimand.

Hello.

Did you need help with something?

Is there something you need?

May I be of service to you?

(contextual) Yes, Mistress?

Neutral Approval: Chipper, retail voice.

Whatever you need, I can provide.

Aldiirn, at your service.

Good day, saer!

Every moment is a brand new opportunity!

(contextual) What does the mistress require?

Positive Approval: More cheeky and animated in his movements, but isn’t dropping the bit.

My favourite client! What can do for you?

Whatever you need, I can provide - terms and conditions apply please check regulations with your local outpost before placing an order.

G’day, mate!

Whatever you ask, you’ll have the Iaurrhen Guarantee.

(contextual) May the mistress be pleased with my service.

Flirting: Not too different from Positive.

Bright one today, isn’t it? But there’s always opportunity.

The Aldiirn Guarantee, just for you!

Many hands lighten the load. How may I unburden you?

My new friend, always delighted to work at your side.

Partnered: Sappy and sing-songy, big eyes just looking at the player.

Ussta alurlsrin.

My love, my loam, my home away from home.

I will forever wade in the shadows of your wake. To where shall we go?

Yes, my brightest cap?

Being sent back to camp:

Has my performance not been satisfactory? Give me the chance, allow me to make it right.

[on confirmation he must go] Oh… well, then… I’ll be counting inventory.

Spoken to by someone other than the player:

Pardon me, I’m currently busy with another client.

#aldiirn ask #bg3

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 1 day ago

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Oh my God I'm such a twilight girlie you write him so good!!! Like I'm a blushing mess here giggling kicking feet the whole nine yards. Also making him thic is such a accurate power move 🤭🤤 one of these days I'd love to hear all your thoughts on the different 🍆 sizes for the links I just know it'd be glorious until then I shall devour all your writing repeatedly while imagining hot blondes (your four rut one is my absolute favorite I must confess)

Anon you flatter me!!

Hyrule: 4.9 inches. Now, before you come at me in the comments for making our fairy prince smaller than Four, hear me out: like I've said before, and continue to say, penis size is heavily affected by both genes and external factors, and even a slight discrepancy in either one can had mixed outcomes. 'But Fyre, we came here for sin, not a biology lesson!!', some of you may gripe, but I promise there's method to this madness. Ever since starting his first adventure at the ripe age of 9 or 10, Hyrule has been on constant alert because of 1) the literal cult trying to steal his blood to reincarnate a giant pig man and 2) the fact that his world is quite literally a wasteland with minimal food/tainted water/and all sorts of other nasty things. I can't even imagine the stress he was under during those frankly crucial developmental years, so it's highly likely that his body just... didn't fully develop due to a combination of him not getting enough to eat/drink and being on the run for most of his life (i.e lots of stress + probably a horrific sleep schedule). Moreover, both of these factors are what's known as endocrine disruptors, which can heavily affect mental and physical growth.

But now onto the dick-cannons: while he may not be the largest or thickest, I like to think Hyrule has a pretty good handle on what he's doing regardless*. Definitely not circumcised, considering his background (someone please tell him how to wash).

*(I once saw a headcannon that Hyrule probably used sex as a form of payment when things got tough, which I think is very underrated and absolutely true.)

Four: 5.5 inches. So I DEFINITELY did too much research on Four's, but I think y'all need to hear this. While I love the headcannon about Four's dick being 4 inches because his name is quite literally 'Four', I'm not sure anyone has tried to tackle this conundrum with his heritage in mind. Typically, penis size is influenced by parental genes, the person's own unique genes, and a combination of other external factors. For Four, we know for certain that he has Hylian parents, BUT he's also part Minish because of the events of Minish Cap. The Minish are typically described as anthropomorphic mouse people, so we can comfortably use mice as the basis for this genetic addition. Now, mice typically have a penis size of 10% of their body length (tip of nose to base of tail), which would concurrently put Four at 0.458333333 in feet, or 5.5 inches.

Dick-canons: probably circumcised. He's got the vibe of being pretty unassuming, but then he whips it out and everything suddenly makes sense. Balls* are on the bigger side (BREED), but no one's complaining.

*(Have you seen mice balls?? They're fucking [tee hee] massive. View at your own risk, but I couldn't have stopped the idea of Four like this if I tried. Yes yes I know this is a rat, but close enough!)

Wild: 5.6 inches. This one was probably the most difficult, because Wild's just... an average guy*. He doesn't have any non-Hylian transformations or crazy evolution history under his belt (tee tee), so all that really leaves is his height–which isn't a truly reliable measure of penile length, BUT we take what we can get in this blog–and background. It's somewhat implied that his father was a knight/someone who worked for the kingdom, which means he and Warriors were likely raised in very similar situations, though Wild's likely was a bit more stressful. For one, he pulled the Master Sword from its pedestal at the ripe old age of 12, and was immediately shipped off to guard Princess Zelda while she attempted to awaken her powers. While not as extreme as Hyrule's backstory, this is still a great deal of pressure for a child who arguably had a very peaceful life before finding the Master Sword, but I don't think he suffered any developmental conditions; even with the stress of finding out you're the Hero of Hyrule before you even finish puberty, it's reasonable to assume that Wild was physically cared for by the royal family, if only for the fact that his destiny was to defeat Ganon. Not just that, but there's the whole other issue of being stuck in a shrine for 100 years after dying; I'm no doctor, but that doesn't sound like favorable conditions for anyone. Obviously, the shrine heals him, but is that all it does? It's a well-known fact that water isn't good for skin**, especially considering he laid in it without moving for a century, so it's hard to imagine how his dick looked after the bath to end all baths.

Dick-canons: it glows– assuming he actually does have a penis, it's fairly average looking. Probably circumcised for military/cleanliness reasons, but he does have a very lovely vein running up the side of the shaft that always looks like it's about to pulse out of his dick. He should probably get that check out. Average sized balls, maybe a bit on the small side due to 100 years of cold water exposure.

*(I'm just going to come out and say this: all the Links are, at their core, average guys. Twilight was a goat herder. Time may or may not have been birthed by a tree and raised by tree people. Hyrule is just a simple traveler. Wind wasn't even chosen, he just wanted to save his sister. That's why they're so likable... they're not born special, or heroic, or anything. They're just dudes. Regular, selfless, boring, amazing dudes. Anyways enjoy the rest of my insanity.)

**(Is it wrinkly? Dried up? Completely and totally detached?? Laying in water for even a few days can cause severe medical complications, such as open sores, loss of skin elasticity, bacterial and fungal infections, and tissue decomposition. Cold water can temporarily slow the effects of decomposition because of adipocere formation, which is a phenomenon in which a waxy substance forms over the skin as a byproduct of fat decomposition, but not for 100 years. By this logic, Wild shouldn't be on this list because he shouldn't have a dick.)

Legend: 6 inches. Y'all already know where this is going. Unlike his successor, Legend didn't begin his first adventure until the age of 12, and lived a fairly stable life before hand thanks to his Uncle. This means that there likely wouldn't be too many developmental factors to worry about in determining the dick-cannons, so now we must turn to his rabbit-ifying encounter from his first adventure. I'm going to use the eastern cottontail rabbit (Sylvilagus floridanus) for this example because they're one of the most widely studied/available rabbit species. Now, cottontails typically reach 14-19 inches in length, but I'm going to go with 20 inches for Legend because he is CHONK, and also 20 is a lot easier to do math with. Keeping this in mind, WikiVet has informed me that rabbit penises can range from 20 to 45 mm in length. I'm going with 45 mm (4.5 inches) because he's a big boy and I also want him to have a big dick, so, when paired with the 20 inch body length, you'll find that approximately 8.86% of a rabbit's length is dick. Now that we know dick-to-body ratio, all that needs to be done is put that against Legend's height of 5'6", which leaves us with 5.8476 inches, but I added an extra 2 in to account for the fact that he is also hylian. It just feels right.

Dick-canons: Definitely a good choice if you're not sure what you want; bunny boy has many talents. Definitely has some breeder balls*, and I firmly believe he's curved just right for maximum pleasure. Probably circumcised because of his uncle, but he's secretly glad because it means he doesn't have to clean it like he would if he wasn't.

*(Yup, we're doing this again. Scientifically, rabbits have some of the highest sex drives of any animal, and are capable of breeding six hours after giving birth [WTF], which means this absolutely applies to Legend. He is never not down for a fuck.)

Sky: 6.3 inches. Prepare yourself because this one is very speculative. So, Sky was born on Skyloft, a set of islands in the sky. He was trained as a knight for most of his life and had a generally very peaceful life, so no endocrine disruptors or developmental discrepancies to worry about. Moreover, we know he started his journey at seventeen, which means he's at the tail-end of development. Now, instead of turning to some type of animal encounter, I'll turn to his Hylian heritage to answer this conundrum. I doubt there's anything out there with Skyloft's exact elevation, but it does appear to be a decent few thousand feet above the cloud barrier, which I've discovered are most likely altocumulus clouds, which typically form at an elevation between 6,000 to 20,000 feet. To calculate this, I watched a Skyward Sword gameplay video and determined that, in-game, it takes approximately 1:02.87 to reach the surface, and, assuming Sky/Link, is going at terminal velocity (the fastest an object can go while in motion, which happens to be 120 mph for belly-to-earth skydiving), this would put Skyloft at a roughly 7,544.4 foot elevation, which aligns with the altocumulus cloud prediction. There are only so many places on Earth that match such a high elevation, but I'm going to choose the Himalayas (which are inhabited by the Tibetan people, which are already known to have more capillaries and a more specialized hemoglobin function due to living in higher altitudes) as our comparer-region. Using this information, we can safely assume that Skyloftians, though fictional, who evolved in a very similar environment, may exhibit some similar traits to the modern-day Tibetan people.

While researching, I also discovered an incredibly interesting phenomenon called "airplane boners", which is a scientific occurrence where changes in pressure can cause erections (i.e. flying on a place), and decided that this would be perfect fuel for my scholarly degeneracy, which leads me to my next point: Sky has a big dick as an evolutionary response to what is colloquially known as the 'airplane boner'. Not convinced? Let me explain. When a penis is erect, arteries in the pelvic/penile region dilate to allow for greater blood flow, which thus increases the size of the penis itself. Now, imagine being at a high elevation for your whole life, surrounded by people whose ancestors have never lived anywhere else. I firmly believe that Skyloftians are well-endowed as an evolutionary response that allows the sustainment of larger blood vessels as a sort-of defense against high air pressure. Natural selection favors these traits because they ultimately lead to reproduction, which is the single-most important characteristic of evolution. 6.3 inches was a bit of an educated guess, but I believe that because the people of Skyloft evolved in a closed high-altitude ecosystem, it's entirely reasonable for Sky to be THICC because his body has a adapted to handle a greater hemoglobin factor and increased vascular capacity, likely in the penile region.

Dick-canons: due to the blood-vessel evolution, Sky's dick is likely thicker than average, with some very visible veins running up the sides; so many that it likely makes his dick appear incredibly flushed when erect. Contrary to what some of you may think, I don't think he has large balls, because it is likely more advantageous to have a smaller scrotum to combat the elements/conserve heat. So no breeder balls for him, but that doesn't mean he can't breed you just as good ;)

Twilight: 6.8 inches. I feel like this goes without saying, but he's a country boy. He's hung. Twilight grew up in Ordon, a close-knit community where everyone takes care of everyone, which means he most definitely had a very good childhood. Like some of the others, I see no reason to bring up developmental challenges due to being chased by a cult or some similar bullshit, so we're going to skip right to his transformation of a wolf at the beginning of his journey. Contrary to Legend and Four, I do not believe that this transformation affected him significantly in terms of penis appearance/size. Twilight was 17 when his adventure began, which means he already is at the end of physical development from a biological standpoint, and, in Linked Universe, his tattoos appear to be the only true physical mark on his hylian body, so it's safe to assume that we don't need to take this into consideration. Now, some of you may say: "Fyre, but your theories were so crazy for the other ones and now you're saying Twilight's hung because he's country??" Yes. Yes, I am saying that.

BUT.

There's a pretty solid theory running around that Twilight is a very small part Gerudo, due to Talon (Malon's father) having married/banged a Gerudo woman in secret. In LOZ, it's fairly obvious that the Gerudo are supposed to emulate modern-day Middle Eastern culture, which a study by the National Institute of Health states have an average penis length of 14.34, or 5.6 inches. Obviously, this is nowhere near 6.8, but this is also a race of mythical female warriors, so everything's a little skewed. However, in every iteration we see of the Gerudo, they're always tall, somewhat aggressive, and visibly muscled, which are all indicators of above-average levels of testosterone. This is highly important because, in addition to being required to build muscle mass, testosterone is heavily responsible for penis growth during puberty, meaning that Twilight could very well be the way he is because of this naturally-increased testosterone production (i.e why he's so visibly muscled compared to the other Links), plus an assumed more efficient vascular system due to his heritage. Adding on to this, Twilight likely already has booming levels of testosterone due to his very physical, very labor-intensive occupation as a rancher, plus the fact that he's in the prime of his life. In short, he's doing everything right: he eats well, works out, and has fairly decent emotional and mental health, all of which can be correlated with optimal penile development.

Dick-canons: Breeder balls to the MAX. All that extra testosterone has got to go somewhere, and it ain't his head. Fairly girthy, so prep is a necessity. Has one big vein right under the head that honest-to-god throbs when he's turned-on. Probably not circumcised because Ordon is fairly closed-off and I can't see them as being sticklers for that.

Warriors: 7 inches. While height isn't directly correlated with dick size, it is reasonable to assume that Warriors would be a bit higher on the list because of this, as well as his overall health in comparison to Hyrule and/or Legend. It's hinted that Warriors was raised in a very military-esque lifestyle, so it's not a surprise that he wouldn't have any true developmental setbacks in terns of penile length. Now, that doesn't mean we can't analyze the reasons why he's like this. Being raised in a militant environment means he was fed appropriately, participated in training regularly, and was likely taught stress-regulation habits (does he use them? no, but at least he knew them during his developmental years). Like Twilight, increased muscle mass is typically linked to elevated testosterone levels, and since Warriors has been training his whole life, it's reasonable to assume that these factors had a positive impact on his penile development. He and Twilight are very similar in this regard, except Twilight's size comes a bit more from favorable, wack genetics, though they both make sure to take care of themselves. However, Warriors is shown to be somewhat vain in Linked Universe canon (to the point that the other heroes have a running joke on it), which means it shouldn't be put past him to try more... under-the-table methods to ensue his 'perfection' reaches all aspects of his body, dick absolutely included. I'll leave it up to y'all on whether it's actual herbal/medical enhancements or sheer force of arrogance, but it's still a fun thought!

Dick-canons: Definitely circumcised (if not, definitely obsessed over keeping that shit squeaky clean). He's not as girthy as Twilight or Sky, but it'll definitely feel like he is from the way he wields it* during the deed. Doesn't have the biggest balls, but they'll definitely smack against any ass he can get his hands on.

*(There's a lot of speculation on whether Warriors is a manwhore or not, but I believe he's got experience. Definitely not in relationships, but one-night stands? Tavern hook-ups? He's done more of those than he's [un]willing to admit, but when it's someone he honestly, truly cares about? Slap a blush on him and call him a virgin, because he sure acts like it!)

Time: 7.3 inches. I saved the best for last. I want to preface this by saying that Time is HUGE, so obvious he's got to have a bitchbreaker in those britches, right? Right? Not exactly, because the version of Time we see in Linked Universe is the 'second' version; the one who got sent back in time by Zelda for Majora's Mask. This is HUGELY relevant because, honestly? Time likely took terrible care of himself over the course of Ocarina of Time, or at least somewhat neglected his needs in favor of completing his quest. Then, when he was sent back to being 12 years old in a new timeline by Zelda (Majora's Mask), you cannot convince me that he didn't have a major epiphany on how to actually take care of himself now that he was literally given another chance to get it right. He still trains, hard, but also knows his limits and, for the first time in his new life, he actually makes a point to start eating vegetables and drinking milk*, which give him all the essential nutrients to bridge the gap between surviving and living, especially during these crucial developmental years. Time genuinely makes an attempt to try. For himself, this time. And it pays off in the form of that fat-ass cock ;)

Dick-canons: a true bitchbreaker that will rail you six ways to Sunday. Not circumcised (bro was basically birthed by a tree), and definitely has breeder balls; he basically acts like he's in rut, and Twilight's got to get that trait from somewhere. Probably pretty veiny, like his hands (HNNNN), with just the slightest curve that'll have him hitting all the right spots.

*(Lon Lon milk all the way, my good readers.)

And, of course, I had to consult google:

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no-phrogs-in-hats · 3 days ago

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Death and the Fool

Chapter 1: The Tower--Reversed

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: Where the personification of Life believes she has no chance with Agatha Harkness after Death gets to her first

content: childbirth, takes place at the beginning of episode 9

A/N: Hi! I received a request for a oneshot by @hannah-0730 and decided to turn it into a whole fanfic so lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

Spotify playlist for this book can be found here Ao3 link here

“The Tower–Reversed: Internal chaos, avoidance of change, delaying disaster.”

April, 1750

April has always been your favorite month–even when it wasn’t called ‘April’. Hibernations are ending and new life is being born. Bulbs of daffodils are breaking through the warmed soil. New souls are being introduced after remaining at your fingertips.

This day was no different. The first birth of the day was a baby girl in the New Hampshire colony. Born at twelve–ten in the morning, she had a full head of dark hair and when she opened her eyes they were the darkest shade of blue.

“Welcome to the world,” you’d whispered, wishing her luck on her journey with a kiss on her head before moving on to the next soul.

You have a special place for every soul. Each one is unique in their own way: each one has their own path, their own personality as they age, but your favorite type of soul will always be the new souls.

With so much potential, there’s an endless amount of possibilities. You’re able to help guide them to their first life, able to see how they flourish and succeed. And then, you welcome them back to the Soul Plane with open arms.

Each soul is molded by the other souls around it. Every one of them is connected by a string, and you find it extraordinary and utterly beautiful. You have watched every single soul grow. You’ve watched them from the birth of their light, expertly crafted by your skilled hands, all the way to their final life centuries later.

You’ve never played favorites, but these two were an exception.

You panted heavily as you ran beside her, cloak flowing behind you and your hood falling away from your head. “Agatha, we need to stop!”

As if on cue, she gripped your arm and doubled over in pain. You held her up, wrapping your arm around her back and guiding her off the path. “Come down here, to the river.”

Her breaths were heavy and labored as you removed your blue cloak and laid it out on the pine needle strewn forest floor. Agatha removed her own quickly and tossed it aside, leaning against the tree.

You knelt on the grown, taking the knife strapped to you from its harness and cut off a decent sized piece of your cloak. You quickly moved down to the riverbed and soaked it in the cool spring water before making your way back to Agatha.

She was drenched in sweat when you pressed the cloth to her forehead and neck. You let her grip your hand as you continued dabbing the sweat off her, “It’s okay…It’ll be okay…”

But, in truth, you didn’t know if it would be. Death–Rio–she had never been interested in the making of souls. In her words, it was too complicated and she’d rather stick to her “job description”.

When it came to this soul however, she was insistent on helping.

“It’s my child,” she tried to reason. “I think I have the right to at least help with the creation of their soul!”

You weren’t stupid. You knew how it would end, whether or not she helped make the new soul.

The grip Agatha had on your hand tightened even more as she cried out in pain. “Something isn’t right,” she managed to get out. “Something–Oh, God!”

You looked up from her and ten yards away was a figure. She stood there, quietly observing you both in her green cloak.

“Rio,” you mutter.

Agatha turned her head toward Rio as she cried out again. “No! No! I told you not to come!”

Rio began walking towards you. Mud stained her cloak as it trailed behind her, and though her presence felt threatening, you could see it in her face that this was the last thing she wanted to do.

Rio stopped a good distance away, “I had to…”

Agatha’s nostrils flared in frustration and her jaw tensed, “If you do this, I will hate you forever!”

But that didn’t seem to shake Rio outwardly. Instead, she offered a subtle nod, almost saying, ‘I can live with that’.

“Please let him live!” Agatha sobbed. “Please, my love!”

Rio looked at you with regret in her eyes and you sighed, “Rio, just this once, please! At least offer time.”

Rio closed her eyes as Agatha once again groaned in pain. She had a decision to make and it needed to be made quickly. She let out a sigh and opened her eyes. “Okay,” she said softly, “but it is inevitable.”

When Agatha’s eyes opened again Rio was gone and she sighed, her thoughts muddled as she tried to speak, “She…what…”

“She’s given you time, Aggie,” you whispered. “Your son will live.”

A relieved sigh was let out and it turned into a broken moan as another contraction washed over her. You quickly pulled the hem of her chemise up and over her thighs, reaching to the side to grab her own cloak and place it in front of you.

“Okay, Agatha,” you huffed. “I need you to give one big push.” You reached your hand up and she took it, squeezing it hard as she screamed. “Good,” you said. “Just one more to get the shoulders out. Squeeze my hand.”

The shrill sound of a baby’s cry echoed through the woods as you grasped the child with the cloak in front of you.

“Welcome to the world,” you smiled.

You had never seen Agatha cry, but the moment her son was placed on her chest her walls broke. As she held him close, you picked up the wet rag again and brought it to his skin. You cleaned off what you could before cutting off more squares of your cloak.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, standing up and making your way back down to the river.

You went back with cloths dripping water and sat down in front of Agatha, beginning to clean her son off.

“I think,” she sighed, “I think I’ll call him Nicholas.”

You smiled softly and continued washing him off, “Maybe you could call him Nicky for short.”

“I like that,” she mumbled, smiling down at him. “Nicky.”

When Nicky was finally clean, you managed to swaddle him loosely in Agatha’s cloak. You settled beside them closely and since meeting her, you had never seen her so happy.

“How much time did she give him?” Agatha’s voice was meek and her smile had dropped when she turned her head to look at you.

You took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes, “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you, but I won’t know until it happens.”

Her voice was strained, “Okay.”

After a trip to the river to help Agatha clean up, the two of you sat peacefully against the tree for at least an hour. It was quiet, the sound of birds and the rustle of leaves lulling both Agatha and Nicky into a light doze. You didn’t want to wake them, and you certainly didn’t want to leave them, but you knew you had to.

You placed your hand on Agatha’s shoulder. “Aggie,” you whispered, pulling back when she startled awake. “Come on, we have to go.”

You managed to create a sling out of your cloak, allowing Agatha to hold Nicky close to her while holding onto you for support.

The sun was setting as you walked a path through the woods. With the direction you were walking, it was directly to Agatha’s left and the sight nearly made you weak. Her silhouette was illuminated in golden light as she walked and it made her look as if she were glowing–she was completely and unequivocally beautiful.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

You grinned, “Well, sometimes, the Soul Plane gets a bit boring, so Rio and I made ourselves a little cottage. There’s a garden there so I’ll grow you some fruits and vegetables, and a stream runs right by it so you’ll have water.”

“Sounds like paradise,” Agatha chuckled.

The sun was almost entirely set and the air had grown chilly by the time you reached the cottage. When you entered, you immediately lit a fire in the hearth, smiling to yourself as you heard Agatha groan while sitting down.

“There are two rooms,” you said, “Mine is on the left, so you’re free to take clean clothing if you’d like.”

After gathering fruits and vegetables from the garden and replenishing it afterwards, you made your way back to the warmth of the cottage. In front of the fire, Agatha sat in a chair, holding Nicky close to her chest as she fed him. Her dirty chemise from earlier was replaced by a shawl and one of your own chemises, pristine and white as if it had never been worn before.

“I picked some apples from the tree,” you said, setting a basket down on a wooden table. “And some potatoes, carrots, peaches, strawberries, and peas. I grew some more of everything, so you should have a few months worth of food.”

Agatha smiled softly, her eyes giving way to her exhaustion. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome…” There was a beat of silence before you continued speaking. “If you’d like me to, I can stay the night, but–”

“Will you?” Agatha asked.

You tensed up, not actually expecting her to ask. She was always alone, liking to be by herself–a covenless witch, she called herself. “Oh…yes. Of course.” At the sight of her smile, you relaxed. “Well, I hate these dresses, so I’m going to change into something more comfortable.”

With your own underclothes on a shawl to add an extra layer, you fixed a fire in both of the bedrooms and rejoined Agatha with a book in your hand. “The bedrooms are ready and…I think Rio suspected we’d come here because there’s a cradle in her room…”

Agatha looked at you with a mix of emotions in her eyes, “There is?”

You nodded. “You and Nicky are more than welcome to sleep in there, Aggie.”

The night was quiet after Agatha went to bed early, politely declining your offer of dinner. You stayed in front of the hearth reading until the clock showed it was half past ten and you put the embers of the fire out.

Before you could make it to your own room, lit candle in hand, crying pierces the air. You walked across the room to Rio’s room and just before you’re able to knock, Nicky’s shrieks stopped. The door is cracked and through the cool air and the crackling of the fire in her room, you can make out the sound of humming. And then, the sound of singing.

You felt warm, to see this side of her that no one else has seen–not even Rio since she had left earlier in the day. This was a woman whose tongue could cut sharper than a knife, whose wit was beyond measure, and who had never dropped her stone-cold mask for anyone.

And she was singing.

Agatha Harkness was singing a lullaby.

You leave her be and walk back to your room, unable to shake the picture of Agatha. Once settled into bed, you find that sleep doesn’t come easily. Your mind lingers on Agatha and no matter what you do, nothing helps. You toss and turn, but still, you think about Agatha and her perfect lips and her perfect eyes and her dark hair and the lullaby and how maybe, just maybe, one day she’d feel the same way about you.

Perhaps you would no longer be the Fool in the deck. Perhaps you would be the Ten of Cups. But for now, you would remain the Fool, naive and hopeful, chasing after your Sun and preparing for the grief that would inevitably turn her into the Three of Swords.

#agatha all along #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #fanfiction #mutual pining #slow burn #friends to lovers

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hees-mine · 22 hours ago

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My neighbor- L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, cum eating, cursing, dirty talk, alcohol, oral, age gap and the gap is gapping so if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read.

WC: 4,247k

You sighed for the thousand time while you sat on the couch watching whatever boring show that was on the tv.

You much rather be out having fun, partying, and enjoying yourself, maybe even getting fucked.

But no.

Instead, you’ve sat two cushions away from your neighbor while he “kept an eye on you.”

It was ridiculous you were old enough not to need someone checking in on you, but your parents insisted that it’d make them comfortable knowing a trusted adult was watching over you while they went on a romantic getaway.

You looked over at him with a glare while he laughed at something on the screen that you weren’t paying attention to. You eyed him from head to toe, and there was a look of disgust on your face. If it wasn’t for him, you could be out having the time of your life, but you calmed yourself down, reminding yourself it wasn’t heeseung’s fault. After all, he was a good friend of your parents. After moving into the lot next to yours a few years ago, he hit it off with your parents right away and soon became a staple in your household, coming over on weekends for dinner and family game night.

He was nice, and you enjoyed his company, don’t get it wrong, but right now, you didn’t, especially when you tried to sneak up to your room with hopes that he wouldn’t notice. Maybe you could escape out your window and enjoy your night after all, but alas. “Ah ah ah, sit down, missy.”

You sighed again, plopping down on the couch after he caught you.

A smile tugged at heeseung’s lips. He’s a bit too old to be fooled by your tricks. He’d been in your shoes before, so there was no way anything you did would get by him tonight.

“Come on, don’t be like that. It’s only one week,” he says as if that wasn’t like a thousand days to a teenager. “Are you hungry? I’m not much of a cook, but I could make some tomato soup, or we could order out whatever sounds good to you.”

You appreciate his offer, you really do, and you should happily accept, seeing how he’s taking time out of his week to make sure you’re safe fed and taken care of, but that itch of defiance and frustration overpower you, and you find yourself declining.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” You slouch down in your seat, folding your arms over your chest and getting a pouty look on your face.

Such a crybaby, heeseung thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud, knowing you’d hate it if he called you that.

“Well, I’m starving, so I’m gonna order a pizza,” he announced and pulled out his phone, ordering everything he liked.

It only takes twenty minutes for it to arrive again. You attempted to run off, but sadly, the transaction between heeseung and the pizza delivery guy was too short for you to make your great escape.

You don’t know how long it’s been now, but long enough to get you even more agitated because you could be at the party you were invited to. It’s been started for an hour or more, but instead, here you are, stuck with your neighbor while he sits across from you, dining on his pizza like it’s a delicacy.

“Can I please go out, heeseung? I promise I won’t tell if you let me,” You give in, pleading with him to let you go out.

“No can do it. It’s my duty to make sure you stay here. Besides, your parents trust me, and I wouldn’t want to break it,” he says strictly.

You throw your head back exaggeratedly, and he can’t help but laugh, making your head snap back to look at him with eyes that could kill.

“What’s so great out there anyway?” he asks, taking a sip from his pop.

“Music friends drinks,” you list out all the things you’re missing out on. “Dick,” you mutter, but he hears you anyway, nearly spitting out his drink.

“You drink?!” He asks wide-eyed because you’re underage, and that’s why he’s so shocked.

“Duh, get with the times, old man.” You roll your eyes at him.

“I’ll have you know I’m only thirty-eight,” he replied, unamused by you.

“Yeah, old.”

“I’m gonna ignore that comment since you’re an emotional teenager figuring yourself out.” This time, you look at him unamused by what he said. “What? Fair play.” he shrugged, both of you, knowing there was no real harm meant by your exchange. “Anyway, I’m still not understanding your problem because everything you want is right here,” he says nonchalantly.

You looked at him weirdly, wondering what he meant by that.

Noticing your confusion, he elaborated.

“There’s booze in the cabinet. I can play some music. We’re friends, I think? And well,” he sets his food aside, spreading his legs on the sofa and facing you. “I have a dick,” he says casually.

He couldn’t help the slight smile that graced his features by your shocked reaction. He didn’t know why you were so surprised. He supposed his idea was a bit outlandish, but it kills two birds with one stone. He’ll know for a fact. You’re safe, and you can have your little party at home with him.

“Heeseung, stop joking.” Laughing nervously, your eyes shifted away from him, unable to comprehend what he said. You understood it perfectly fine, but you couldn’t quite grasp that he was actually being serious.

“I’m not. besides, this solves our problem. I know that you’re safe with me, and you can get everything you want.”

Okay, as good as that sounded, you have to decline. That would be stepping over boundaries you could never uncross.

Besides, it's heeseung you couldn’t. He was too near and dear to your parents. You couldn’t risk it and muddy up their relationship by fucking your neighbor. You don’t know how they’d feel if they ever found out something like that. “Heeseung, we shouldn’t my parents trust you.”

“Oh, so now you understand my point of view,” he laughs. “But it’s alright.” he places his hand on your thigh, scooting closer to you. “I’m sure you can keep a secret, isn’t that right, little alcoholic?” he teases you about your drinking habits, giving your thigh a light pinch.

“Stop it,” you giggled, pushing at his shoulder playfully.

“It’s up to you, Angel.” You nearly lose it at the nickname, his voice going straight to your core.

Since when were you attracted to your neighbor?

“What if I say yes?” You ask, your hand placed on his chest and trailing down to his stomach.

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.” he leans in his hot breath, fanning your face. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“Yes,” you whisper, lips brushing across his from the proximity.

Read full story on my Patreon

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mariacallous · 1 day ago

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A short note here on what I’m covering and why. The political changes we’re seeing across the world are underpinned by technological ones that are now accelerating. For more than a decade, I’ve been trying to investigate and expose these forces. Since 2016 that’s included following a thread that led from Brexit to Trump via a shady data company called Cambridge Analytica and the revelation of a profound threat exploit at the heart of our democracies. But what’s happening now in the US is a paradigm shift: this is Broligarchy, a concept I coined last summer when I warned that what we were seeing was the proposed merger of Silicon Valley with state power. That has now happened. Writing about this from the UK, it’s clear we have a choice: we help lead the fight back against it. Or it comes for us next. Please share this with family and friends if you feel it’s of value. Thank you, as ever, Carole

Let me say this more clearly: what is happening right now, in America, in real time, is a coup.

This is an information war and this is what a coup now looks like.

Musk didn’t need a tank, guns, soldiers. He had a small crack cyber unit that he sent into the Treasury department last weekend. He now has unknown quantities of the entire US nation’s most sensitive data and potential backdoors into the system going forward. Treasury officials denied that he had access but it then turned out that he did. If it ended there, it would be catastrophic. But that unit - whose personnel include a 19-year-old called “Big Balls” - is now raiding and scorching the federal government, department by department, scraping its digital assets, stealing its data, taking control of the code and blowing up its administrative apparatus as it goes.

This is what an unlawful attack on democracy in the digital age looks like. It didn’t take armed men, just Musk’s taskforce of boy-men who may be dweebs and nerds but all the better to plunder the country’s digital resources. This was an organised, systematic, jailbreak on one of the United States’ most precious and sensitive resources: the private data of its citizens.

In 2019, I appeared in a Netflix documentary, The Great Hack. That’s a good place to start to understand what is going on now, but it wasn’t the great hack. It was among the first wave of major tech exploits of global elections. It was an exemplar of what was possible: the theft and weaponization of 87 million people’s personal data. But this now is the Great Hack. This week is when the operating system of the US was wrenched open and is now controlled by a private citizen under the protection of the President.

If you think I’ve completely lost it, please be advised that I’m far from alone in saying this. The small pools of light in the darkness of this week has been stumbling across individual commentators saying this for the last week. Just because these words are not on the front page in banner headlines of any newspaper doesn’t mean this isn’t not happening. It is.

In fact, there has been relentless, assiduous, detailed reporting in all outlets across America. There are journalists who aren’t eating or sleeping and doing amazing work tracking what’s happening. There is fact after fact after fact about Musk’s illegal pillaging of the federal government. But news organisation leaders are either falling for the distraction story - the most obviously insane one this week being rebuilding Gaza as a luxury resort, a story that dominated headlines and political oxygen for days. Or…what? Being unable to actually believe that this is what an authoritarian takeover looks like? Being unsure of whether you put the headline about the illegal coup d’etat next to a spring season fashion report? Above or below the round-up of best rice cookers? The fact is the front pages look like it’s business as normal when it’s anything but.

This was Ruth Ben-Ghiat on Tuesday. She’s a historian of fascism and authoritarianism at New York University and she said this even before some of this week’s most extreme events had taken place. (A transcript of the rest of her words here.)

“It’s very unusual. In my study of authoritarian states, it's only really after a coup that you see such a speed, such obsessive haste to purge bureaucracy so quickly. Or when somebody is defending themselves, like Erdogan after the coup attempt against him, massive purge immediately. So that's unusual. I don't have another reference point for a private individual coming in, infiltrating, trying to turn government to the benefit of his businesses and locking out and federal employees. It is a coup. I'm a historian of coups, and I would also use that word. So we're in a real emergency situation for our democracy.”

A day later, this was Tim Snyder, Yale, a Yale professor and another great historian of authoritarianism, here: “Of course it’s a coup.”

History was made this week and while reporters are doing incredible work, to understand it our guides are historians, those who’ve lived in authoritarian states and Silicon Valley watchers. They are saying it. What I’ve learned from investigating and reporting on Silicon Valley’s system-level hack of our democracy for eight long years and seeing up close the breathtaking impunity and entitlement of the men who control these companies is that they break laws and they get away with it. And then lie about it afterwards. That’s the model here.

Everything that I’ve ever warned about is happening now. This is it. It’s just happening faster than anyone could have imagined.

It’s not that what’s happening is simply unlawful. This is what David Super, an administrative law professor at Georgetown Law School told the Washington Post.

“So many of these things are so wildly illegal that I think they’re playing a quantity game and assuming the system can’t react to all this illegality at once.”

And he’s right. The system can’t and isn’t. Legal challenges are being made and even upheld but there’s no guarantee or even sign that Musk is going to honour them. That’s one of the most chilling points my friend, Mark Bergman, made to me over the weekend.

Last week, I included a voice note from my friend, tech investor turned tech campaigner, Roger McNamee, so you could hear direct from an expert about the latest developments in AI. This week I’ve asked Mark to do the honours.

He’s a lawyer, Washington political insider, and since last summer, he’s been participating in ‘War Game’ exercises with Defense Department officials, three-star generals, former Cabinet Secretaries and governors. In five exercises involving 175 people, they situation-tested possible scenarios of a Trump win. But they didn’t see this. It’s even worse than they feared.

“Those challenges have been in respect of shutting down agencies, firing federal employees and engaging in the most egregious hack of government. It all at the hand hands of DOGE, Musk and his band of tech engineers. DC right now is shell-shocked. It is a government town, USA, ID, the FBI, the Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, CIA, no federal agency will be spared the revenge and retribution tours in full swing, and huge numbers have been put on administrative leave, reassigned or fired, and the private sector is as much at risk, particularly NGOs and civil society organizations. The more high-profile violate the law, which is why the courts have been quick to enjoin actions. “So yes, we've experienced a coup, not the old fashioned kind, no tanks or mobs, but an undemocratic and hostile takeover of government. It is cruel, it is petty. It can be brutal. It is at once chaotic and surgical. We said the institutions held in 2020 but behind institutions or people, and the extent to which all manner of power structures have preemptively obeyed is hugely worrying. There are legions ready to carry out the Trump agenda. The question is, will the rule of law hold?”

Last Tuesday, Musk tried to lay off the entire CIA. That’s the government body with the slogan ‘We are the nation’s first line of defense’. Every single employee has been offered an unlawful ‘buyout’ - what we call redundancy in the UK - or what 200 former employees - spies - have said is blatant attempt to rebuild it as a political enforcement unit. Over the weekend, the Washington Post reports that new appointees are being presented with “loyalty tests”.

Musk’s troops - because that’s what they are, mercenaries - are acting in criminal, unlawful, unconstitutional ways. Organisations are acting quickly, taking lawsuits, and for now the courts are holding. But the key essential question is whether their rulings can be enforced with a political weaponized Department of Justice and FBI. What Mark Bergman told me (and is in the extended note below) is that they’ve known since the summer that there would be almost no way of pushing back against Trump. This politicisation of all branches of law enforcement creates a vacuum at the heart of the state. As he says in that note, the ramifications of this are little understood outside the people inside Washington who study this for a living.

And at least some of what DOGE is doing can never be undone. Musk, a private citizen, now has vast clouds of citizens’ data, their personal information and it seems likely, classified material. When data is out there, it’s out there. That genie can never be put back into the bottle.

Itt’s what it’s possible to do with that data, that the real nightmare begins. What machine learning algorithms and highly personalised targeting can do. It’s a digital coup. An information coup. And we have to understand what that means. Our fleshy bodies still inhabit earthly spaces but we are all, also, digital beings too. We live in a hybrid reality. And for more than a decade we have been targets of hybrid warfare, waged by hostile nation states whose methodology has been aped and used against us by political parties in a series of disrupted elections marked by illegal behaviour and a lack of any enforcement. But this now takes it to the next level.

It facilitates a concentration of wealth and power - because data is power - of a kind the world has never seen before.

Facebook’s actual corporate motto until 2014 taken from words Mark Zuckerberg spoke was “Move fast and break things”. That phrase has passed into commonplace: we know it, we quote it, we also fail to understand what that means. It means: act illegally and get away with it.

And that is the history of Silicon Valley. Its development and cancerous growth is marked by series of larcenous acts each more grotesque than the last. And Musk’s career is an exemplar of that, a career that has involved rampant criminality, gross invasions of privacy, stock market manipulation. And lies. The Securities and Exchange Commission is currently suing Musk for failing to disclose his ownership stock before he bought Twitter. The biggest mistake right now is to believe anything he says.

Every time, these companies have broken the law, they have simply gotten away with it. I know I’m repeating this, but it’s central to understanding both the mindset and what’s happening on the ground. And no-one exemplifies that more than Musk. The worst that has happened to him is a fine. A slap on the wrist. An insignificant line on a balance sheet. The “cost of doing business”.

On Friday, Robert Reich, the former United States Secretary of Labor, who’s been an essential voice this week, told the readers of his Substack to act now and call their representatives.

“Friends, we are in a national emergency. This is a coup d’etat. Elon Musk was never authorized by Congress to do anything that he’s doing, he was never even confirmed by Congress, his so-called Department of Government Efficiency was never authorized by Congress. Your representatives, your senators and Congressmen have never given him authority to do what he is doing, to take over government departments, to take over entire government agencies, to take over government payments system itself to determine for himself what is an appropriate payment. To arrogate to himself the authority to have your social security number, your private information? Please. Listen, call Congress now.”

It’s a coup

I found myself completely poleaxed on Wednesday. I read this piece on the New York Times website first thing in the morning, a thorough and alarming analysis of headlined “Trump Brazenly Defies Laws in Escalating Executive Power Grab”. It quoted Peter M. Shane, who is a legal scholar in residence at New York University, “programmatic sabotage and rampant lawlessness.” It was displayed prominently on the front page of the New York Times but it was also just one piece among many, a small weak signal amid the overpowering noise.

There’s another word for an “Executive Power Grab”, it’s a coup. And newspapers need to actually write that in big black letters on their front pages and tell their tired, busy, overwhelmed, distracted, scared readers what is happening. That none of this is “business as usual.”

Over on the Guardian’s UK website on Wednesday, there was not a single mention on the front page of what was happening. Trump’s Gaza spectacular diversion strategy drowned out its quotient of American news. We just weren’t seeing what’s happening in the seat of government of our closest ally. As a private citizen mounted a takeover of the cornerstone superpower of the international rules-based order, our crucial NATO ally, our biggest single trading partner, the UK government didn’t even apparently notice.

The downstream potential international consequences of what is happening in America are profound and terrifying. That our government and much of the media is asleep at the wheel is a reason to be more not less terrified. Musk has made his intentions towards our democracy and national security quite clear. What he hasn’t yet had is the backing of the US state. That is shortly going to change. One of the first major stand-offs will be UK and EU tech regulation. I hope I’m wrong but it seems pretty obvious that’s what Musk’s Starmer-aimed tweets are all about. There seems no world in which the EU and the UK aren’t headed for the mother of all trade wars.

And that’s before we even consider the national security ramifications. The prime minister should be convening Cobra now. The Five Eyes - the intelligence sharing network of the US, UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada - is already likely breached. Trump is going to do individual deals with all major trading partners that’s going to involve preposterous but real threats, including likely dangling the US’s membership of NATO over our heads all while Russia watches, waits and knows that we’ve done almost nothing to prepare. Plans to increase our defence spending have been made but not yet implemented. Our intelligence agencies do understand the precipice we’re on but there’s no indication the government is paying any attention to them. The risks are profound. The international order as we know it is collapsing in real time.

It’s a coup

We all know that the the first thing that happens when a dictator seizes power is that he (it’s always a he) takes control of the radio station. Musk did that months ago. It wasn’t that Elon Musk buying Twitter pre-ordained what is now happening but it made it possible. And it was the moment, minutes after Trump was shot and he went full-in on his campaign that signalled the first shot fired in his digital takeover.

It’s both a mass propaganda machine and also the equivalent of an information drone with a deadly payload. It’s a weapon that’s already been turned on journalists and news organisations this week. There’s much more to come.

On Friday, Musk started following Wikileaks on Twitter. Hours later, twisted, weaponized leaks from USAID began.

This is going to get so much worse. Musk and MAGA will see this as the opening of the Stasi archive. It’s not. It’s rocketfuel for a witchhunt. It’s hybrid warfare against the enemies of the state. It’s going to be ugly and cruel and its targets are going to need help and support. Hands across the water to my friends at OCCRP, the Overseas Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, an investigative journalism organisation that uncovers transnational crime, that’s been in Musk’s sights this weekend, one of hundreds of media organisations around the world whose funding has been slashed overnight.

It’s a coup

By now you may feel scared and helpless. It’s how I felt this week. I had the same sick feeling I had watching UK political coverage before the pandemic. The government was just going to ignore the wave of deaths rippling from China to Italy and pretend it wasn’t happening? Really? That’s the plan?

This is another pandemic. Or a Chernobyl. It’s a bomb at the heart of the international order whose toxic fallout is going to inevitably drift our way.

My internal alarm bell, a sense of urgency and anxiety goes even further back. To early 2017, when I uncovered information about Cambridge Analytica’s illegal hack of data from Facebook while the company’s VP, Steve Bannon, was then on the National Security Council. That concept of highly personalised data in the control of a ruthless and political operator was what tripped my emergency wires. That is a reality now.

The point is that the shock and awe is meant to make us feel helpless. So I’m telling a bit of my own personal story here. Because part of what temporarily paralyzed me last week was that this is all happening while my own small corner of the mainstream media is collapsing in on itself too. The event that I’ve spent the last eight years warning about has come to pass and in a month, 100+ of my colleagues at the Guardian will be out of the door and my employment will be terminated. I will no longer have the platform of the news organisation where I’ve done my entire body of work to date and was able to communicate to a global audience.

But then, it’s all connected. We are living through an information crisis. It’s what underpins everything. In some ways, this happening now is not surprising at all. Moreover, many of the people who I see as essential voices during this crisis (including those above) are doing that effectively and independently from Substack as I will try to continue to do.

And, the key thing that the last eight years has given me is information. The lawsuit I fought for four years as a result of doing this work very almost floored me. But it didn’t. And I’ve learned essential skills during those years. It was part of what powered me to fight for the rights of Guardian journalists during our strike this December.

The next fightback against Musk and the Broligarchy has to draw from the long, long fight for workers rights which in turn influenced the fight for civil rights that must now power us on as we face the great unknown. What comes next has to be a fight for our data rights, our human rights.

This was former Guardian journalist Gary Younge on our picket line and I’ve thought about these words a lot. You have to fight even if you won’t necessarily win. Power is almost never given up freely.

If you value any of this and want me to be able to continue, I’d be really grateful if you signed up, free, or even better, paid subscription. And I’d also urge you to sign up also for the Citizen Dispatch, that’s the newsletter from the non-profit I founded that campaigns around these issues. There is much more it can and needs to do.

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gilbirda · 2 days ago

Text

How to Write Women, a quick guide by me

Hello! I was recently inspired to write a series of educational posts so I thought maybe it would be useful for someone.

I want to preface this that there is no criticism intended. I understand that female characters in general have been neglected in media, and I don't blame fandom for not understanding how to write a woman if there hasn't been a good reference in their lives.

My objective is that you, the reader, finish this post with a basic structure and few questions to ask yourself when writing a female character; and with the terms and curiosity to research more if you'd like to expand.

I'm no professional writer, but I've been writing for more than 20 years at this point, and I specialize in writing female protagonists and writing organic romantic storylines.

Here we go.

I want to write a woman, where do I start?

Writing women, at the end of the day, is no different than writing a man. Really, that's the trick.

Disappointed I'm not giving some kind of hot takes about this?

Good.

Because it should be that simple, but to get to that point we should unravel some baseline thought process that can and will get in the way even if you try to write a good female character.

A few questions to ask yourself are:

Why am I writing this character?

Does she have agency in her own story?

Does she have her own goals and aspirations?

Let's break them down:

Why am I writing this character?

What do I like about her? Is she annoying? Is she a hero? A villain? An antagonist? What thing do I like about her canon characteristics (for fanfic writers)? What would I change?

As mentioned at the beginning, female characters usually are not very well written. They are usually fridged or used only as a reminder that MC (usually a man) has emotions and vulnerabilities.

Take a moment to think about it. Think about the feelings her character gives you, and what are the things you do know about her. Think about wasted potential, or unanswered questions about her actions and plot lines that left you wanting more.

If you find her annoying, wonder why — usually, a female character being "annoying" or "not interesting" is tied to her not being developed enough, and pushed into a one-dimensional role. Pay attention at how many speaking lines she has, that usually gives you a clue of how much her character is developed.

Once you have decided who you want to write, this is where it gets interesting.

What kind of story do you want to tell? What role does she play in it?

When making the structure of the story and developing the plot, wonder about how exactly the female character(s) add to the table. Again, female characters can fulfill any role in a story, but watch out!

Bitchy mean girl lesbian

Motherly mommy mom/sister/friend that takes care of everyone

The "healer" of the team

These 3 roles have been used as boxes to fit female characters for ages. Be careful if you think you are pushing her into one of these.

But how can you avoid the tropes?

Does she have agency in her own story?

Or: if you remove her from the story, nothing changes?

Go into your mind palace, and remove the interactions and scenes the female character is in. Does the story still work? Could her lines be easily delivered by someone else?

If the answer is yes, then she doesn't have any agency.

It doesn't matter if she is a main character or a supporting character — she should have a say on the events or some kind of influence in the development of the plot.

Maybe she has a skill that is needed multiple times during the story, or maybe she has past experiences that are a mystery and unraveling her secrets reveals a plot twist, or maybe turns out she was the traitor all along. Make her MATTER.

Does she have her own goals and aspirations?

Or: Is she existing for someone else's sake?

This one is useful for the "mommy" character or the "healer" character.

Go into your mind palace again and think if you remove the female character's loved ones from the equation, does she have something to do?

If the answer is no, then she doesn't exist for herself.

She could still love and take care of others, but she has to exist for something else than that. Make her dream and yearn, and make mistakes, and sacrifice thing for selfish reasons.

Romance is usually a goal given for female characters (and that's a whole other topic I hope to write another post about), and it's a good one! Just be careful with falling for the trap of swapping the people (usually men) she exists for.

Give her hidden agendas, convoluted selfish secret reasons, make her want to destroy the world! Make her want to pursue the truth, chase someone for revenge, be a thrill seeker. Make her HUMAN.

In Conclusion

A quick trick I use when I write female characters is: If I swap her gender, nothing changes?

Of course there's nuance, but that keeps me grounded when even the questions I went over in this post are not enough for me.

Again, writing female characters should not be that different from writing men. If it feels different, ask yourself why and try to understand where the thought comes from.

NOTE: If the point of the story is to discuss the problem of codependency, or portray a toxic relationship, by all means skip checking about agency or her having goals. Rules are there to break them, but first you have to understand them.

I hope this helps someone and I will add and edit this post as needed, maybe to add useful links.

Happy writing!

#gil's informative posts #writing tips #writing

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kroommii · 2 days ago

Text

If I Say I Love You

characters: Xavier x y/n genre: fluff

It all began last year’s Winter-Fest. It was yet the biggest celebration Xavier had ever seen and of course he would be helping his town to make it successful. The preparation was grueling, stressful with many revisions and re-checks but it was all worth it. Because of the preparation, the town’s income from the Winter-Fest would double last year’s according to the town’s treasurer and that’s great news to Xavier and the townsfolk.

Winter-Fest is a week-long celebration so the townsfolk would take turns in supervising the celebration, especially the town’s snowball field which is an absolute warzone. Tourists and townsfolk alike take part in the exhilarating snowball fight, where nobody is an ally and everyone’s open to fire. On this particular day, Xavier got the short end of the stick and was in charge of keeping the area injury-free.

Amidst the chaos of flying snowballs (and getting hit with some snowball himself), his attention falls onto a particular person. A young woman around his age, with mesmerizing eyes and flawless beauty. Instantly his attention zeroed in on you. It was like his mind was pulled towards you, ridding anything unimportant (everything but you) and filling his brain with you, you, you.

In that moment, he couldn’t feel anything but his beating heart, his fogging breath and your soft voice. Your cheerful face, the bounce on your step as you evade and run away from your friends who were throwing snowballs at you. Your bright laughter as you yourself throw snowballs at them. It was a scene he had seen countless times, but it just felt different when he saw you doing those gestures. It looks like a scene straight out of a fairy tale. A tale in which an angel from heaven (you) went down to earth and graced him with your ethereal presence.

He was so mesmerised that he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings when a ‘thud’ hit his face right on his cheek and it instantly froze him and brought him back from cloud nine.

“Hey bunny boy! Whatcha thinkin about that got you so out of it, huh?” Grandpa Howard’s voice shouted some meter away from him. He was probably the one who threw the snowball towards him.

“Oh Howard, don’t bother the poor boy. He’s already worked enough to be handling your noisy nose!” Grandma Julie, Grandpa Howard’s wife scolds him. “Xavier, darling, don’t pay him any attention. I’m sure you’ve had a hard time with us oldies, why don’t you go have some fun yourself, we’ll watch the crowd for you.”

Grandma Julie is always so kind to the youngsters around her. Xavier smiles, “No need Grandma Julie. I was just a bit distracted. I can go have fun later. Now, why don’t you and Grandpa Howard have fun? I see the others are waiting for you,” Xavier points out to the other seniors who’re looking at them.

“Oh such a sweet boy you are. Good luck on your job and don’t hesitate to tell us when you’re tired of it, don’t want you going down on us now would we, Howard?” Grandma Julie nudges Grandpa Howard.

“Sure, sure. Keep up the good work bunny boy!” He hollered to Xavier.

Watching the couple go back to their friends, Xavier had momentarily forgotten about you, the girl he fell head over heels with. Whipping around his face, his eyes frantically search for your figure. Alas, you have gone away, presumably with your friends, to continue your busy agenda in Winter-Fest. Xavier could only sigh as he already misses you, his eyes dropping and the cheer that was in his face diminished just a tad bit. He guessed he could see you more in the following days of Winter-Fest. It wasn’t a big town and it was just the second day of the celebration, you two would definitely meet again.

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

Except you didn’t.

Somehow, in the small area of Xavier’s town, he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of you at all. It didn’t make sense to him. In what chance would the world have for you two to not meet again for the rest of the week? Xavier already visited each stand everyday, loitering around the town when he’s not on duty and yet he still didn’t see even a strand of your hair. It was truly a slap from reality for Xavier. He knew you were not from around here (he had some info gathering) and you could leave any day, but when it was the end of the week and he hadn't met you at all, it really felt like a wake up call to him who wished too much (you).

Now, under the spring sky and the spring breeze dancin around his face, he couldn’t help but be gloomy about the circumstances of his love life. His hands unmotivated arranged the season’s flower into a pretty arrangement, but not as pretty as he would usually do. Usually, all the stems would be cut to a precision and the leaves are systematically cut and presented, but now the stems are cut neatly, not as precise and the leaves are more free and wild than what he usually presented. He was on a new low energy no doubt.

“If you’re keeping that up better for you to mess around in the garden rather than the station,” A warm voice and hand took the arrangement from his hands and distanced it from him.

“Ah… Jeremiah, welcome to the shop,” Xavier answered with the most bored voice ever.

“Seriously, what is wrong with you right now?” He nudges Xavier’s forehead with his index finger, causing Xavier to stumble back a bit. “You’ve been off since the Winter-Fest. Any news I’m supposed to hear about?”

Xavier huffs, “No. No news you need to be aware of.”

“Cut the crap. You’re clearly down from something and it’s dragging your performance down too. I need my assistant to be in tip top shape, so speak up, what got your heart all tangled up?” Jeremiah impatiently claps his hand and busy it with another arrangement.

Xavier huffs again and rests his arm on the counter to hold his head. He really doesn't want to share his little heartbreak-crush with his boss. Sure Jeremiah is his friend but he’s his boss right now and it makes him feel very weird about sharing his love life with his boss.

“You know I’ll wait here all day if you don’t spit it out soon. The sooner the better xavi. Also I’m sure you’re just itching to arrange another bouquet, don’t think I don’t see your hand playing with the scissor.” Jeremiah chipped in while focusing on his own arrangement.

“Fineeeee. I’ll tell you about my little thing, but just so you know it’s really weird to be talking about it with your boss.”

“Nothing’s weird. I’m your friend first and foremost. Being your boss is just a bonus so I can tell you to do things I don’t want to,” He smiles.

Xavier could only groan to the confession of his friend-boss. Still, he couldn’t hide the smile blooming on his face. His fondness for his friend-boss Jeremiah. A friend who had been there since they were little boys and a caring boss who teaches him everything he needs to know.

“If you’re really that curious, I just saw this pretty girl last Winter-Fest and couldn’t even introduce myself to her.”

And with that, the snipping that was rhythmic from Jeremiah stops. A couple of seconds later he chipped in, “So… you met a pretty girl and didn’t introduce yourself?” He said confused.

“No, no, no, it’s worse,” Xavier now fully hides his head behind his arms. “I just saw her. Didn’t even interact with her at all!”

While Xavier is lamenting his poor love life, Jeremiah was stifling a laughter behind the big flowers he’s arranging.

“Are you seriously laughing right now? I am heartbroken here. I couldn’t speak to the love of my life! It’s tragic Jeremiah! Not comedic!”

Jeremiah laughs more louder. “It’s just- it’s just so stupid!” He turned his head down, having trouble with containing his laughter. “You just saw her and didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not that I didn’t say anything. I saw her while I was on duty and before I could talk to her I was handling something and the next thing I know I couldn’t find her at all over Winter-Fest!” Xavier is now more animated than before, feeling strangely offended at Jeremiah laughing at his predicament.

“Oh, my man. You are a comedic genius, truly.” Jeremiah patted Xavier’s shoulder after calming himself down which was returned with a glare.

“Sure you weren’t able to talk to her then and couldn’t find her for the rest of the week, but you are really falling hard for this mysterious pretty girl aren’t you.”

“She is the love of my life, you don’t understand. She’s not from here and the only reason she was here was because her friend who was interested in Winter-Fest. She’s from the big city and there’s just no guarantee I would ever see her again in my entire life! It was a one in a million chance and I let it go.” he sulked.

Jeremiah groaned, “You can’t be serious Xav. You met her, what? One time and suddenly you’re soulmates? Honestly I thought you were more logical than romantic.”

“But she is my soulmate! I’m telling you, I have to find her again or I will never be able to live with myself ever again!”

“Then find her.”

The sudden statement snapped Xavier up from his rant. He looked at Jeremiah with big eyes and a confused look. “I will go to the city to find her?”

“No you dumbass,” Jeremiah sighed, hands itching to pinch the boy’s cheek. “She was here for the Winter-Fest right? Then wait until it’s Winter-Fest again and then try to find her.”

“But what if she’s not coming!? Again, she’s not from here and the only reason she was here was because of her friend.”

“Then hope she comes again.” Jeremiah concluded, before looking at Xavier. “Look Xavi, I’m really glad you finally have a crush, but it can’t derail you from your life. How about this, next Winter-Fest you won’t be a staff member? You’ll be a normal person enjoying the Winter-Fest just like her. That way, you can try to find her for a full week without any interruption, that good?”

Xavier stares at Jeremiah with hopeful eyes, “You promise that? But what about the labour? I know you can’t handle them all, even with the elders' help.”

Then, Jeremiah flashed a smirk, “That’s what the kids are for. I’ve been waiting for a chance to work them out. They’re too energetic for their own good. I mean, they were destroying all of my flowers all year round! Don’t think they can get away scot free from me.”

With that, Xavier relaxed his stance, his mind no longer running a thousand miles per hour. He can finally think clearly with the crashness of Jeremiah and he finally doesn’t feel like he’s running out of time to find you. “Thank you Jeremiah, you’re a real good friend.”

“That I am,” Jeremiah nodded. “But now, we have a shop to run, orders to process, and flowers to trim, so get your game in loverboy before I take back my words.”

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

Days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months. Within a blink of an eye, it’s once again Winter-Fest and the town is flocked with visitors from the pasts and new ones.

All the time away from you had given Xavier all kinds of ideas in his mind on how to approach you when you meet again. From flower arranging to making a full on song, Xavier had done it all. However, it was never the perfect gift from his perspective. You were his one in a million and he wouldn’t be content with giving you such normal gifts when you finally come back to him. The song he made was the best he could think of giving you and although he put a lot of time and all his efforts into it, he put it as plan b if he doesn’t come up with a better idea.

With Winter-Fest around the corner, he had no more time to think and he already ran out of ideas. Pacing around the shop, he brainstorms for another ten minute before Jeremiah shooing him out of the store. In his words, ‘Better be out there to see her than miss her in here. I do not need a year of your heartbreak’.

Amidst the white and blue hues of the snow, Jeremiah’s flower shop stands out with vibrant colourful flowers lining the front. Purple, yellow and pink are dominant as they are the freshest flowers in season. He gently cradles the flower heads, feeling their soft cold petals on his fingertips, caressing them as his mind was taken off from the anxiety of an imperfect first meeting.

Thud, a snowball came for Xavier’s head before crumbling onto his coat. He turned his head onto the source and found kids, teenagers, and adults playing in the snow field, specifically the ‘war area’. Every year the town would dedicate an area for snowball fights where all kinds of covers — battalions and base — are available. Xavier skimmed over the faces present in the field, all faces of joy. Some smiling, some grinning, some laughing maniacally as they hit another person right on their face, and some grimacing at the impact of the cleverly thrown snowball. Snowball fight might just be the most distinct part

“Hey you idiots! Don’t throw the snowballs here dammit! Stay in the war area for that!” Jeremiah’s booming voice called out to the kids in the war area who had thrown the snowball towards Xavier. His shouts were met with giggling from kids and some apologies from their guardians.

Reaching for the yellow flower that he was holding, he poked Jeremiah, “Hey, can I get some of these flowers.”

“Huh? Well you can buy it, sure.”

“How much do i need to be able to win a girl?”

“That,, why the hell are you asking me that???”

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

It took Xavier a couple of tries but thankfully he managed to do it before all his flowers were used. Xavier holds in his hands three snowballs that are just bigger than your normal ones. He sits on a bench away from the hectic festival life with discarded flower stems scattered around him on the bench. Also around him are crumbling snowballs and half made snowballs with a ruined yellow flower in them. He stares sadly at the ruined flower-snowball before gathering them to throw to the side of the road.

Now, the only thing he needs to do is to find you. His perfect gifts for the perfect first encounter is already in his hands, cradled carefully from the roughness of the world. He began his walk slowly to a more crowded area while also carefully maintaining his distance from other people in favour of protecting the snowballs filled with flowers he painstakingly made.

A couple of roads and areas later, he had not found you yet. He sadly had apparently lost one of the special snowballs when someone bumped into him and made him drop one of them. He started to think that maybe his thinking was just a delusion. You were an uptown girl, you went here once, why would you come here again. His spirits are truly in the down low now. He drags his feet as he circles around the war area, trying his best keeping his snowballs safe.

Just as he is ready to let you go and discard the special snowballs, he heard it. Your laughter, your voice, your magical spirit that just lights him up in an instant. He can see you now, more clearly than before thanks to your bright voice. There you are, standing in the war area, laughing while dodging snowballs and creating your own snowballs from the abundant snow around the area. You who are so happy throwing snowballs at each other with what he assumes are your friends, unaware of the boy who had yearned for her for the last year.

In an instant, without any thinking, he steps into the war area. His body doing its own thinking, moving his legs faster than he would normally, running through the area in hopes to get to you. His senses were like on fire, suddenly aware of everything around him, the coldness of the winter wind hitting his face, the soft snow under his boots slowly sinking under his weights, the whizzing air that follows after a snowball is thrown. His two hands tried their best at keeping the special snowballs intact.

Suddenly, he moves like a track and field athlete, cleverly dodging snowballs, leaping over fallen kids and makeshift barriers, ducking over an outstretched arm that is reaching or blocking a snowball from hitting their body. In the end, he is breathless, realising he doesn’t usually do much cardio while working in the flower shop. He is painfully aware of how pathetic he looks, hair and clothes messy because of his recklessness in crossing over the war zone, his hands that are now just holding one of his special snowball, the other one had been lost somewhere when he was rushing over, his erratic breaths trying to get oxygen in his lungs.

You now notice him, Xavier standing at arms-length from you. Your eyes wash over him like a blessing, lifting him spirits the more you see him. He knows this is far from the perfect first encounter he imagined but at this point he will take anything the world (you) will give him. Slowly, his hands stretch to show you the snowball. He slowly and carefully nudged the snow little by little until the petals of the yellow petal peek over the snow it was buried over. The yellow is like a splash of colour before the monochromatic cold tone around him. He smiles and your hand goes to receive the flower.

He opens his mouth to introduce himself…

[end.]

#xavier lads #love and deepspace x reader #fluff #imagine #lads xavier #xavier x reader #love and deepspace #lnds #lnds xavier

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