tangled in his heartstrings.

murphy. twenty something. she/her. writer.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Welcome to my Masterlist 💌

hi, i'm murphy. my requests are always open - feel free to send any ideas or thoughts you have - i'll always read them all.

note - all of my fics are reader insert. no use of y/n. i don't write for real people, only characters <3

Last Updated - May 23rd

❁ - over 1k notes

✯ - a series

Characters I Write For.

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist. 3k Celebration Masterlist. Valentines Masterlist. 5k Celebration Masterlist.

Moodboard Masterlist. My Ao3.

 ⊹ 　 ✫ 　　 · 　　 ✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵  　.　 ✦ * 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　　　

Top Gun: Maverick

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

The Orange. ❁

You and Jake share an orange. He's in love with you.

For Eternity. (Part 2 of The Orange.)

You and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more.

North Star. ❁

It's New Year's Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

I Know Places.

Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Why Choose?

A drunken game of spin the bottle gets a little heated. Why choose, when you can have both?

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Dr Cupid. ❁

Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Lessons in Love. ❁

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Honey Girl. ✯❁

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Trick or Treat.

You love Halloween. Bucky loves you.

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

Stucky

Letters to the Moon.

Steve is gone. The love you and Bucky have for him isn't.

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Frank Castle

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Multi Talented. ❁

Frank shows you exactly what you deserve.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Criminal Minds

Luke Alvez

Wherever You Are. That's Where Home Is.

Luke might be a mind reader. Only with you, though.

Vice. ❁

Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Spencer Reid

Web of Lies. ✯

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep one from you.

Cowboy!Spencer ✯

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Narcos

Javier Peña

Self Control. ❁

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Western Nights. ✯

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Jealousy, Jealousy. ❁

Javier Peña doesn't share.

Two Murphy's and a Peña.

Javier knows Steve's sister is off limits. He's never been one to follow the rules.

After Hours.

You and Javier are stuck in the office in the middle of a heatwave. You're hot in more ways than one.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Triple Frontier

Time. ❁

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will each have their own ways of helping you heal.

Tethered. ❁

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Tranquility. ❁

You're not good at keeping secrets from the boys. Turns out, Will isn't either.

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to the four boys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the guys told you they loved you.

Will Miller

Champagne Fuelled Confessions.

You come home drunk, and have something burning you need to tell Will.

Best Friend's Brother.

You've known Benny for years. You've had a crush on his brother Will for years, too.

Frankie Morales

Find You.

A bad date brings Frankie Morales to your door at the perfect time.

Rain Soaked Romantic.

Frankie will run across town in the rain if it means finally telling you how he feels.

Santiago Garcia

This Is The Way It Always Goes.

Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.

Precious Girl.

A chance meeting with your Dad's best friend at 2am.

Benny Miller

Adrenaline. ❁

Ben needs a way to work off his post match energy. You.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Pretty When You Cry. ❁

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Succession

Stewy Hosseini

Clandestine. ✯

You and Stewy know it's wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?

Fully Clothed.

Being Stewy's assistant has its perks.

Consequence.

Stewy's actions have unexpected consequences.

Needy.

You've been waiting all day for Stewy to get home. He loves it.

Play Pretend.

The classic fake dating trope, with a twist.

The Place Where It All Began.

You reunite with Stewy at your high school reunion. Turns out, he's been waiting for you, all this time.

Risky.

The thrill of being caught makes it all the more exciting.

Kendall Roy

Me and You.

You quit as Kendall's assistant. He's been waiting for this day.

Illicit Affair.

You're Matssons wife. You're also in love with Kendall Roy.

Forced Proximity.

The classic only one bed trope, this time with your emotionally unavailable boss.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

The Roommate Collection. ✯❁

A collection of fics based on being roommates with Carmen.

Vienna.✯

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

Carmen. ❁

Carmen. Your Carmen.

Denial. ❁

Carmy can’t keep pretending.

Mechanic!Carmen.

Inspired by that picture of JAW in a crop top.

Perfectionist. ❁

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks. Especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

9-1-1

Evan Buckley

Lightning Strike. ❁

The two of you deal with the aftermath of Bucks trauma.

Fire Hazard. ❁

The story of your firehouse nickname - and Buck unable to handle you in a sundress.

That Old Cliche. ❁

You swore you’d never give in to the best man and maid of honour cliche. And then you met Evan Buckley.

Eddie Diaz

Best Seat in the House. ❁

Blame it on the moustache.

Evan Buckley & Eddie Diaz

The Look of Love. ❁

You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

Heatwave. ❁

You cut Jax's hair. He can't keep his hands to himself.

Sundress Season. ❁

It’s sundress season. Jax can’t keep his hands to himself (again).

Sitting Pretty. ❁

Unspoken desires can only stay unspoken for so long.

Filip 'Chibs' Telford

Teach Me How to Ride. ❁

Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

Handled. ❁

You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Challengers

Two Can Play That Game. ❁

You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Steve Harrington

Cherry. ✯❁

The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue. ❁

An engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. What could go wrong?

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Rivals

Declan O’Hara

Forbidden Fruit. ❁

That’s the thing about Declan - he always gets what he wants. It might be wrong… but it feels so right.

Daddy Dearest.

It’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

Shut Up and Drive. ❁

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

Man of The Hour.

The sexiest thing about a man is his moustache morals.

Paradoxical.

You currently can’t stand the sight of each other. And yet, in this moment… yours is the only face he wants to see.

So Wrong It’s Right.

You’re convinced it’ll end in disaster. And yet here you are, once again.

Rupert Campbell Black

February Sky.

The highs are so high, but the lows are so low.

Golden Girl.

After years of keeping your private life private, everybody’s suddenly talking about your new boyfriend. When it rains, it pours.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Pitt

Jack Abbot

Stress Relief. ❁

You usually get along so well. But today, you just can’t seem to see eye to eye.

Who’s Your Daddy?

What’s that saying about mixing work and pleasure?

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Your Declan fic was SO good. That’s how u discovered your account and I can’t wait for the other Rivals fics you have coming up!!!

If you are still taking requests, I would die for protective Declan O’Hara in any situation. Love your stuff!!

man of the hour.

the sexiest thing about a man is his moustache morals.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - cursing. a little violence and a quick injury description.

word count - 2k

authors note - I truly believe that one of the sexiest things about declan is the fact that he stands up for what he believes in… don’t underestimate the aphrodisiac powers of strong morals, ladies and gents. need him to stand up for me sometime🧎‍♀️‍➡️. anyway this ended up much softer than I meant it to be (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing) <3

masterlist. inbox.

“Can I get you another drink?”

You laugh as the man swings an arm around your shoulders, the heavy weight of it almost taking you down.

“You’ve asked me that four times in the last five minutes, Bas. Thank you, though.”

“Just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

He’s yelling into your ear, both of you fighting to raise your voices above the noise of Bar Sinister.

“I’m always having a good time with you,” you tease, leaning into his side. “I’m alright, Bas. Promise.”

“You need to let loose for once in your life.”

“I’ll let loose on a day I’m not working.”

“You’re always working.”

“What can I say? He’s hard fucking work.”

You both look over to your boss, who’s currently animatedly telling Declan a story. Rupert’s gesturing so exaggeratedly that people are ducking out of the way, both men laughing and completely oblivious as beer and whiskey splash all over the floor.

Bas presses a kiss into your hair, squeezing you tightly.

“I don’t know what he’d do without you.”

“Well, he never has to find out. We’re stuck with each other,” you chuckle. “Best job I’ve ever had, surprisingly.”

“I won’t tell him you said that,” Bas winks, laughing.

The sound of multiple glasses smashing has the both of you whipping your heads around, trying to find the source of the commotion.

“Shit. I’ll see you later, darling. Come and find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Course.”

Bas disappears into the bustling crowd, leaving you standing at the bar. It’s absolutely manic, people packed in to the rafters and bumping into each other left, right and centre.

You’re about to make your way over to Rupert when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you backwards so hard that you stumble over your own feet. You tug your arm away, finally getting a good look at the person who’s responsible.

“Spencer?”

“Oh, so you do remember me then?”

“… What? We were together for six months, and I don’t have short term memory loss, so… yes.”

“I just meant because you’re hanging around with the elite now. The rumour is that you’re working for Rupert Campbell Black.”

“I am working for Rupert Campbell Black. It’s not a secret, Spencer. I’m his aide and assistant. I’m working for Venturer, too, helping with their public relations. And you are… what? Still pretending to work for your father when you really just spend your days drinking and betting?”

“I do work for my father.”

“Of course you do.”

He steps forward, getting into your personal space.

“What are you doing in here, Spencer? You don’t even live in Rutshire.”

“Thought I’d pop in, see if you were here. Wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumours.”

“Well, you’ve put the rumours to bed now, haven’t you?”

“Not the only thing that’s been put to bed,” he murmurs, just low enough so you only catch half of it.

“Pardon me?”

Your entire body is taut with tension, nerves alert and heart racing. You can only imagine how uncomfortable you must look, praying that someone notices sooner rather than later.

“Which one are you sleeping with, then?”

“Spencer-”

“No, come on. You finished things with me, so there must be another man. Who is it?”

“I’m finished things with you - eight months ago, mind you - because you’re an immature prick who’s so pretentious it makes you deeply unlikeable. There was no other man, I’d just rather be single than be with you.”

His chest puffs out as he starts to go red with rage, anger bubbling up in his veins. You know that you’re not completely unsafe here in this room full of people, but that doesn’t calm your anxiety in the slightest.

“Which one is it, hmm?” his voice is raising, getting louder with every passing minute. “Which one looks like your type?”

He points at Seb first, quirking an eyebrow.

“Him?”

When you don’t respond, he moves on to pointing at Patrick.

“Him?”

You shake your head almost imperceptibly, wishing that the ground would swallow you up.

“Oh my god… it’s him, isn’t it?”

His eyes have landed on Rupert, who’s still stood across the room. Your boss is looking at you, now, quickly assessing the situation you’re in.

“You’re fucking Rupert Campbell Black?!”

The entire crowd of people goes silent as he practically screams it, everyone’s heads turning to look at you.

“She’s… what?” Rupert, Declan and Bas all ask at the exact same time, hilariously in sync.

“Fucked your way up to the top, did you? Classy as always.”

Spencer goes to continue his sentence, but hits the floor suddenly with a heavy thud. You look up to see Declan shaking off his hand, chest heaving with adrenaline. Your ex boyfriend has a busted lip, blood dripping down his chin and onto his awfully unflattering shirt.

“It’s called hard work, you arrogant little prick. Not that you’d know.”

Declan’s Irish accent sounds stronger than usual, coloured with fury and aggression. Bas has dragged Spencer to his feet, both him and Rupert holding him upright.

“If I ever catch you anywhere near here again, I’ll do more than just split your fucking lip. You understand?”

Spencer nods, clearly still dizzy from the impact of the punch. He’s dragged outside before anyone can say anything else, the crowd returning back to their drinks as if nothing ever happened.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

Declan links his fingers with yours before you can register what’s happening, pulling you through the bar and out of the back door. You take a seat on the brick wall, legs dangling over the edge as you kick your feet.

“You okay?” he asks as he sits down next to you, just close enough that you can feel his body heat.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You don’t really know how to feel, confused by the whole ordeal.

“He seems like a nice boy.”

You laugh suddenly at the bad joke, shaking your head as Declan laughs with you. It’s not a sound you hear from him all that often.

“Sorry you had to punch him.”

“I didn’t have to. Kinda wanted to, though.”

“Me too.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, looking at you carefully.

“I didn’t just hit him for a laugh, you know. I was worried he was going to hurt ya.”

“I was too,” you whisper, vulnerability bleeding into your tone.

“I’d never of let that happen. I promise, sweetheart.”

His hand finds yours again, fingers gently sliding in between yours. He rests your intertwined hands on his thigh, thumb rubbing patterns on your skin.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You sit in silence for a long moment, enjoying the way the warmth of his palm seeps slowly into yours.

“I didn’t think anyone had even noticed Spencer was there.”

“I saw as soon as he walked in, because I knew I didn’t recognise him. I tried to give you some space, thought maybe you were friends or something. Didn’t want to intervene and embarrass ya.”

“Ex boyfriend, if you haven’t already guessed. We were only together about six months all in all, about eight months ago. Don’t know what I was thinking, really. He’s fucking awful.”

“You can say that again,” he chuckles, hand squeezing yours. “Not sure what you ever saw in him.”

“Neither am I, anymore. I don’t know, maybe I just liked having someone really like me, as sad as that sounds. Dating is fun and exciting and… well, it’s supposed to be. God knows it isn’t, for me.”

Declan slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side to keep the evening chill at bay. You can hear the ruckus from inside, everyone in the bar carrying on as usual.

“I think you just keep choosing the wrong men, darlin’. Don’t swear off dating just because of a few bad apples.”

“I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since Spencer, and that finished eight months ago. I’d rather stay single than date any more of these posh boys who’ve never worked a day in their lives.”

He laughs, and the vibrations of it rumble through the both of you, settling into your bones. All you can think about is how warm he is and how good he smells and how if you leaned in an inch to your left, you could kiss him right on the cheek.

“What if it’s me?” you can’t help but ask quietly. “What if I’m the reason I can’t find someone?”

“What?”

“I mean, I work for Rupert - which I love - but my job is my life now. He’s a handful as it is, and now with all the Venturer stuff… all I do is work. And I know I’m not pretty like Taggie or powerful and bossy like Cameron but-”

“You’re beautiful.”

Declan stops you in your tracks, his interruption derailing your train of thought completely.

“I- what?”

“Sweetheart, the only reason I noticed that prat Spencer earlier was because I was already looking at you.”

“You were?”

“I always am.”

“… Why?”

“I don’t know, exactly. It’s like this… gravitational pull. You light up a room.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” you chuckle nervously.

“I wish it was.”

You don’t know what to say, so you lean further into his side, resting your head on his broad shoulder and breathing him in.

“I would have said something sooner,” he murmurs, “but Rupert would fucking kill me.”

“He’s not my keeper, Declan.”

“No, but he’s your boss. And for all intents and purposes, your big brother.”

He rests his head atop of yours, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“How’s your hand?”

“Perfectly fine,” he laughs, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make a full recovery.”

“Thank God for that.”

Declan turns his body so he can look at you properly, big hands coming up to cradle your face. Neither of you say anything, waiting with tense anticipation for the other person to move first.

You surprise yourself by leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips, chaste and testing the waters. You begin to overthink everything the minute you pull back, worried that you’ve misread his kindness. As if he can read your mind, he tangles a hand into your hair and tugs you back into him, kissing you with a passion you’ve never experienced before.

His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily as you let him take the lead, happy to surrender the control to him. You’ve dreamt about this, late nights in bed spent wondering if the real thing would live up to your imagination. It definitely does.

Eventually, you both pull away, panting and flushed. You can no longer feel the chill in the air, the warmth of Declan keeping the cold at bay.

“Don’t tell Rupert,” he whispers, dirty smirk written across his face.

You can’t help but laugh, giddy off of the weight of the moment. Before tonight, you’d begun to accept that you might have been slightly delusional when it came to Declan - reading into his fingers brushing yours when you handed him something, him winking at you across the room, his palm pressing into your back as he walked past. Now you know - it wasn’t delusion. They were signals.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Secret’s safe with me.”

He pecks your lips again quickly before standing up, outstretching his hands for you to grab so he can pull you with him.

“You wanna go back inside?”

“No, think I’m done for the night.”

“Will you let me walk you home?”

You look at him smiling down at you all soft and sweet, and realise instantly that you’re in trouble. This isn’t something either of you are going to be able to just brush past. This’ll be haunting both of your memories every single day until it happens again.

“I’d like that.”

“Come on then, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

Declan links his fingers with yours, happy to let you steer him in the right direction. Neither of you say much. You don’t need to.

The way his palm fits perfectly against yours tells you both everything you need to know.

@lostinthefandoms11 @prettycoolgirl @buzzcutlip

don’t make me give the reblogs are invaluable to your writers speech again… i’ve given it one too many times… but you know the deal… reblog if you enjoyed and I shall write more for you <3

[luvmoonie]

so now season 2 is here i’m going to be needing plenty more of this thank yew all

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

your wish is my command 🙂‍↕️

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

i’m writing a jack abbot fic inspired by a song from noah kahans new album and I want to know… would anyone be opposed to me throwing robby in the mix too and making it a rabbot x reader ??

if you guess the song i’ll give you a kiss and a bonus point

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

this is taking me a while but I think it might be something special. <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

daddy dearest.

it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.

word count - 2k ish maybe ??

authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.

masterlist. inbox.

“Oh fuck, you feel good.”

His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.

“Look at me, gorgeous.”

You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.

“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.

“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”

“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

OBVIOUSLY Jax teller. Treating his old lady like his little toy, degrading her and shit. It’s a NEEEDDDDDDD

smut warning - mdni !!

YES oh my god he’s got you bent over the bathroom sink, one hand on the back of your neck and the other one gripping your waist like his life depends on it. his hips are slamming into yours and the porcelain lip is digging into your stomach but you couldn’t care less because all you can think about is Jax Jax Jax.

“You’re disgustin’, you know that?”

You’re whining and you want to question him but you can’t seem to find the words and your brain isn’t working.

“I haven’t even showered yet, and you’re jumping my bones like you just can’t help yourself. I’ve been in the house for two minutes, and you’re just so desperate to be fucked that I can’t even take a shower first.”

He grabs a fist full of your hair, twisting and pulling so you’re looking at him behind you from an awkward angle.

“Filthy slut,” he’s shaking his head like he’s disappointed, but you both know it’s the opposite. “Just a whore at heart.”

You go to protest but the sound that comes out of your mouth dies instantly, making you pout and Jax laugh.

“Pathetic but so pretty,” he says as he leans in to press a kiss to your spine. “How lucky am I, hmm? My very own little toy waiting for me at home, drippin’ wet and desperate for it. Is this all you do all day? Sit around and touch yourself?”

“Didn’t,” you choke out. “Waited.”

He chuckles cruelly, the sound vindictive but so sexy.

“My stupid, beautiful girl. Doesn’t care about anythin’ as long as she gets to come.”

“Not true-”

“No? So you don’t wanna come?”

“No, I do-”

“Shut up then.”

He makes you come with one hand yanking your hair and the other slapped over your mouth, occasionally covering your nose for a second to make your vision go all fuzzy. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your knees buckle, back arching and mouth open in a silent scream. Jax holds you up but stays inside you, manhandling you like a ragdoll.

“Well, now I’m gonna have to punish you for coming without my permission. Hope it was worth it, darlin’.”

You think, initially, it was. You realise later, when you’re dripping with sweat and so overstimulated that you can’t stand up, that maybe it wasn’t.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi! i love your writing and was wondering if you could write more for chibs? plots completely up to you, i just feel as if i’ve read every single fic of him already

I loved writing chibs!! if you have any requests in mind, let me know. there’s a very limited amount of chibs fics on here </3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

first off, sending all the hugs bc i just saw the breakup post :( second, CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE PITT??? RAHHHHH i need like all the men??? hello? like the cast is criminal omg!!! anyway, im trying to catch up on the pitt, that one jfk jr show (even though i hate ryan murphy), mega excited for the f1 season coming up, and thats like all my life updates hehe hope youre doing well diva <3! - 🏁 anon

girl this got LOST in my inbox for real, i’m sorry!! I hope you’re doing good!!

THE PITT THE PITT THE PITT THE PITT !! obSESSED !! need jack need robbie need frank even need whitaker these days damn

I can’t stand ryan murphy but damn that man does know how to make tv. like 911 is so bad but so good and that one doctor odyssey show that got cancelled?? I fucking loved that. and ahs and scream queens. I was obsessed with scream queens when I was like 14 omg

how are you finding the f1 season?? canada was such a shitshow I was cackling the entire time (wasn’t cackling at ln1 dnf until I saw that pic of him laughing on the back of that scooter and then I was)

oh also this is making me realise that I never mentioned that the breakup was called off lmao I am so sorry that I forgot to tell you this vital info. we lasted like 2 weeks maximum broken up oops

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

I NEEEED NEW DECLAN SOOO FUCKING BADDDD you’re bloody brilliant and I’m obsessed girl

I will give you new declan!! always!!

my declan comeback fic was a flop lmao but we keep moving forward 🫡

i’ll definitely be writing for him more as the episodes keep coming out. thanks for being so kind MWAH !! 💋

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hii can I get whiskey w Steve Rogers for oral/face riding?

Adjusting.

warnings - smut. cursing.

nomad steve makes me feral. that's all. I was feeling this one.

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

He's adjusting, to this new life.

He's shy. Taking it one day at a time. Reminding himself to breathe when things get overwhelming.

Soon, he finds his feet. Regains his confidence. Starts asking for things, setting boundaries, taking what he wants a little more.

He keeps surprising you. With his knowledge, new slang he uses, his ability to use a phone. He's a fast learner.

He's braver, now.

He's adjusting.

Trying to get used to the fact that women aren't as seemingly fragile as they were. They run the world more openly, now, and Steve loves it.

He loves you.

Tries to show you how much when he's got you between his sheets, kissing every inch of skin he can find. Gentle, tender, careful.

You tell him that you know he loves you, no matter what. He doesn't have to be so tentative. It doesn't change the way you look at him.

He's in a lust fuelled haze when he finds the courage.

"Sit on my face."

You choke on your breath, gasping for air.

"What?"

"You heard me, honey. Sit on my face. Now."

You've never seen him like this. Frayed at the edges, feral almost. His eyes are as dark as the wet spot between your legs.

You quirk a brow at him in challenge, but he doesn't back down. So you grant him his wish. Crawling up his body until you're hovering over his pretty face, deep gaze focused on you.

"Is this what you want?" you whisper.

"More than anything."

He's practically growling, voice lower and rougher than you've ever heard it. You owe a thanks to whatever has got him so riled up.

He tugs you down to his mouth with two strong hands around your thighs, grip hard enough that you know you'll bruise tomorrow. You can't wait.

You tangle your fingers through his golden blonde locks and tug, whining when he groans, from the depths his chest. The two of you are animalistic, finally tapping into the carnal desires that have been there all along.

You're practically riding the gorgeous ridge of his nose, reveling in the way his tongue slips inside and curls. He might not have much experience with this, but he's always been naturally gifted. He's one of those people that's good at everything.

He's groaning, humming, murmuring, enjoying this just as much as you are. Your hands almost splinter the headboard, skin pulled taut across tense knuckles. You're so close you can taste it, honey sweet and saccharine.

"Good girl. Good fuckin' girl. Come on my face, honey. Please."

It's the broken please that gets you, the desperation in his tone and the tightening grip on your hips. You see stars, dizzying and clear, blood rushing to your head. Steve doesn't let up, determined to see how pretty you look when he finally pushes you to your limit.

You collapse against his chest, leaning into his touch like a kitten. Rough fingertips trace patterns across your back, your arms, your hips. He's waiting for you to give him the green light.

You kiss him with force, tongue sliding into his mouth with no room for protest. You bite his lip and grin. America's golden boy. Lying under you with your come smeared across his face.

He leans up to whisper in your ear, rough tone filled with promise and mischief.

"I love you," he murmurs, tongue gliding across your neck. "Let me fuck you like I don't."

You've never been one to deny him. You're not about to start now.

He's adjusting, after all.

[bees-library3]

“Let me fuck you like I don’t.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

😛😛😛😛😛

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Author's Note - oh boy. buckle in. this is entirely inspired by the fitz / scandal edits that are all over my tiktok currently. i'd be very interested in politics if javier was my president <3 as always, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated x

Pairing - President!Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 2074

Masterlist. Requests.

You've always been a sickeningly good liar.

"I'm just bringing some papers he requested," is what you tell the security guard at the end of the hallway as you push past.

I'm about to get railed by the President of the United States in the Oval Office, is what you mean.

Your kitten pumps click against the wooden floors as you stride fiercely towards the heavy wooden door. Luckily, security posts themselves at the end of the hallway. Javier has told them time and time again that he feels smothered when they stand right outside his door. It works in your favour, anyway.

You knock four times in quick succession - your secret code.

"Come in."

His low, booming voice permeates through the wood, settling in your bones. Oh, that voice.

You enter the room and lay eyes on him immediately. He looks so broad, sat in his leather chair. His shoulders fill it out completely, dwarfing the back of it. His shirt sleeves are pushed up and over his forearms, the top few buttons undone. He looks delectable.

"Hi, hermosa," he drawls. "You bring me those papers I wanted?"

"Sure did," you purr, making your way over to him. You throw the documents onto his desk and hitch a leg over so you're straddling his lap on the chair.

"Missed you," he mumbles against your lips, warm hands grabbing at your hips to pull you closer so you're chest to chest.

"You saw me this morning," you chuckle, resting your forehead against his.

"I saw you in a foreign affairs meeting this morning. It's not the same."

He leans in and presses his lips to yours, revelling in the content sigh you let out. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. He groans, and the vibrations of the sound settle in your core.

You grind your hips forward, searching for any friction you can find. Javi helps you, rocking you over his lap.

"Oh, you look so pretty like this, honey," he drawls. "You love this, don't you? The thrill of being caught turns you on, doesn't it?"

All you can do is whine in response.

"It'd be a national scandal," he continues lowly. "I bet they'd all think I seduced you. But that's not the truth, is it, baby?"

When you don't answer, he grabs your hips roughly, holding you so you are no longer able to move.

"Answer me, pretty girl. That's not the truth, is it?"

"No," you whine.

"No, what?"

"No, Mr President."

Hearing his title fall from your lips all pretty makes him moan, head thrown back and gorgeous neck exposed. You lunge forward and attack it, pressing kisses into the spots you know he likes.

"Walking around here in your tight skirts, those button up blouses. Batting your eyelashes at me like butter wouldn't melt. If only they all knew, huh? If only they knew how filthy you are."

Your hands fly to his shirt, fingers trembling as you try to undo the buttons. He chuckles as he watches you struggle, making no move to help you.

"You need help, sweetheart? All you have to do is ask. I'll give you anything you want. Anything."

You know he means it.

"Yes, sir. Help, please."

"Good girl."

He makes quick work of his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders before doing the same to yours. He presses you into him, revelling in the skin on skin contact. He's so warm and you're so soft and you both sigh at the feeling.

"Been thinking about this all day," he mumbles against your neck. His hands trace patterns up and down your spine, enjoying the feeling of your skin underneath the rough pads of his fingers.

"Me too," you whine. "You looked so big stood up there today. So broad and powerful. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in front of everyone."

He groans at your confession, and the vibrations settle in your core.

"Come here, honey," he half requests, half demands, grabbing your thighs to hoist you onto the desk in front of him. He remains sat on his chair, wheeling closer to where you're now spread out, legs apart.

"God, you look good enough to eat," he winks, rucking your skirt up and over your hips.

Javier leans forward and presses his nose into your core, inhaling deeply. It's so filthy and so intimate that you'd be cringing if you weren't so turned on.

He sucks at you through your underwear, groaning at your muffled taste. It's the one thing he can never get enough of.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," he sighs. "And to think that I'm the only person in the world that gets to taste you like this. Such a shame."

"It's not a shame," you whimper breathlessly. "It's all yours. All for you. No one else."

He moans unashamedly, gripping at the waistband of your underwear to pull them down and off. He tucks them into the pocket of his slacks, revelling in the way he can feel how wet they are against his thigh.

Without a second thought, he dives into you, tongue licking an eager stripe from bottom to top. You jolt upwards when he sucks on your clit, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him work.

You've always been turned on by the way Javi enjoys himself when he eats you out. It's as if he enjoys it as much as you do. He hums and groans in contentment the entire time, and the vibrations drive you closer and closer to the edge.

You can feel your climax licking at the base of your spine, warming you up from the inside out. Javier can feel it too, doubling down on his efforts. He's always taken pride in how easily he can get you off with just his tongue, no fingers needed.

"That's it, pretty girl," he mumbles into your core. "You're almost there, I know you are. You can do it. Come for me, honey."

You tip over the edge, back arching and hips canting. He uses a strong hand to push you back down, fingers splayed over your stomach. The other hand keeps your thighs apart, determined to prolong your orgasm for as long as possible.

You finally come down, slumping back against the desk. Your chest is heaving, breath coming in quick pants. Javi stands up and leans over you, kissing your lips gently.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You'd let me do whatever I wanted, wouldn't you? As long as you get to come, you don't care."

As humiliating as it is, he isn't wrong. It's nothing to do with the fact he's the most influential man in the world. No, it's more to do with the fact that you feel like you've known him your whole life. The minute you met, the two of you clicked. There's always been an undeniable, unavoidable chemistry between you, buzzing away underneath everything. You're genuinely surprised no one has caught on yet.

"Javi," you whinge, grabbing at him to pull him closer.

"What is it, hermosa? What do you need, huh?"

You thread your fingers through his hair, ignoring the way your heart sings when he leans into your touch like a puppy.

"Need you," you mumble against his lips.

He kisses you again, tongue sweeping into your mouth. He bites your bottom lip, making you gasp in surprise. Chuckling lowly, he unbuttons his suit trousers, reaching into his underwear. You watch his every move, practically salivating. When he doesn't immediately do what you want, you whimper, trying to get his attention.

"You need something, pretty girl?"

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his arrogance. You'd think that being the most powerful man on the planet would get exhausting, and that he'd want to give it up in his downtime, but no. He loves to have all the power in the bedroom, his authority not relenting for a minute.

Javier moves back to standing in between your legs, grabbing your hips and pulling you forward so you're at the edge of the desk. He swipes his length through your folds, seeing how far he can tease you before you'll break. You wiggle your hips, willing him to get the message.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" he asks, condescension dripping from his tone.

You nod your head frantically, but Javier won't let up.

"Beg."

You think, for a second, that you've misheard him. Usually, all you have to do is whine a little, pout your bottom lip, look at him with your big doe eyes. His long day has clearly taken its toll on him.

"... What?" you ask meekly.

"You heard me. Beg."

If this was any other man, any other situation, you'd be laughing in his face and storming out of the room. But this isn't just any man. This is Javier. Javier Peña, President of the United States of America.

You relent embarrassingly quickly.

"Please," you whine. "Please, Javi, baby. Fuck me. Please, I need it. I need you."

His gaze sweeps you up and down slowly, surveying you carefully. He must be feeling generous, because he decides to take mercy on you.

"Okay, sweet girl. Only because you asked me so pretty."

He slides home in one smooth thrust, connecting you in more ways than one. He rests his forehead against yours, kissing you gently, tenderly.

"There we go," he coos. "That's what you needed, isn't it?"

"You're a menace," you laugh breathlessly, adjusting to him.

"You wouldn't have it any other way," he teases, kissing you again before withdrawing his hips and slamming forward.

Javier sets a steady, bruising rhythm, fingers digging into your hips to stop you from sliding off the desk. You're suddenly very grateful security are at the end of the hallway, and not directly outside the door.

One of his hands moves to rest at the base of your throat, holding you in place. As if you'd want to be anywhere but here.

"Fuck, princesa," he breathes. "Can never get enough of this. Of you."

His hips pick up in pace, fingers tightening on your neck. The lack of oxygen is making your vision fuzzy around the edges, allowing everything to feel more intense. Your climax is building rapidly, racing through your veins.

"Can feel you squeezing me, honey," Javier groans. "You're so close. Almost there, baby, come on. You gonna come with me? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, Mr President," you pant breathlessly. "Please, Javi. Please."

"Come with me, pretty girl. Let me feel you. That's it, atta girl."

Javier releases his grip on your neck at the exact moment your orgasm hits you. The oxygen rushes back into your lungs and you see stars, gripping onto his biceps for dear life. He finishes with you, groaning as his head falls forward to rest on your shoulder.

The two of you are panting, chests heaving and sweat dripping down your backs. You run your fingers through his hair, revelling in how soft it is, how the ends are curling because it's getting longer.

After a few minutes, you come back to reality, realising it's probably much later than you initially thought.

"What time is it?" you whisper against his temple.

He pulls back to check the clock on the wall behind you.

"11:18pm."

"Shit," you groan.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Javi pulls out of you with a wince, and tucks himself back into his trousers. He wraps a strong arm around your middle and helps you off the desk, setting you on shaky legs. He finds your shirt and buttons it up for you, before doing his own. Sitting back down in his chair, he runs his fingers through his hair.

"I should go," you admit reluctantly. "We've got an early morning tomorrow. I can't meet the Texan Senator looking like I haven't slept."

Javier chuckles, eyes boring into yours. He smiles at you so genuinely it makes you want to cry.

"Goodnight, hermosa."

You gather your stuff and slip your shoes back on, making your way towards the door.

"Oh, and Mr President?"

His head immediately whips around to look at you, giving you his full attention.

"Yeah, baby?"

You turn around, one hand on the door knob. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you rake your gaze down his body and back up again.

"Say hi to your wife for me."

@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@soaringcloud

@reuss7

@pedrobaby

@mrsquill

[saralovesjoelmiller]

GASPED at the ending, so scandalous and HOT!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

ahhh I love this one!! so glad you enjoyed <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

daddy dearest.

it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.

word count - 2k ish maybe ??

authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.

masterlist. inbox.

“Oh fuck, you feel good.”

His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.

“Look at me, gorgeous.”

You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.

“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.

“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”

“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

daddy dearest.

it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.

word count - 2k ish maybe ??

authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.

masterlist. inbox.

“Oh fuck, you feel good.”

His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.

“Look at me, gorgeous.”

You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.

“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.

“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”

“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

daddy dearest.

it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.

word count - 2k ish maybe ??

authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.

masterlist. inbox.

“Oh fuck, you feel good.”

His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.

“Look at me, gorgeous.”

You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.

“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.

“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”

“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

here it is!! tried to post it last night but it got lost for some reason.

reblogs are like gold dust, lovers!! so please reblog if you enjoyed. mwah. <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

daddy dearest.

it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.

word count - 2k ish maybe ??

authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.

masterlist. inbox.

“Oh fuck, you feel good.”

His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.

“Look at me, gorgeous.”

You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.

“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.

“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”

“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

i’ve already devoured all three episodes of rivals and i don’t know how it's possible that Declan O'Hara is even hotter now. i need to know if you plan on start feeding us with more fanfics about him, please. you’re amazing!

he ages like a fine wine baby 🙂‍↕️

yes!! I have a half finished one in my drafts right now that’s set in the same universe (that we are affectionately calling the fatherfucker universe) as forbidden fruit. and i’m sure you’ll get loooooots more from me as the episodes come out <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

the fic is almost done!! I wanna try and finish it ready for a new episode dropping tomorrow <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

it’s done!! you can have it tomorrow because I love you and I love declan and you love declan and we all love rivals <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

i’ve already devoured all three episodes of rivals and i don’t know how it's possible that Declan O'Hara is even hotter now. i need to know if you plan on start feeding us with more fanfics about him, please. you’re amazing!

he ages like a fine wine baby 🙂‍↕️

yes!! I have a half finished one in my drafts right now that’s set in the same universe (that we are affectionately calling the fatherfucker universe) as forbidden fruit. and i’m sure you’ll get loooooots more from me as the episodes come out <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

the fic is almost done!! I wanna try and finish it ready for a new episode dropping tomorrow <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hey it's me again hi !! i was thinking about rupert campbell black in a secret relationship with younger!reader who's an actress and she's known as the good girl of uk's cinema like well mannered never partied much such a sweetheart to everyone and so so talented. also very private about her personal life, never had any scandal at all but then pap pics of her and rupert together (kissing etc) come out and it's all over the newspapers and tv. and everyone goes crazy because he's not exactly the type of guy they expected her to go for and she's so scared of the public's opinion idk ...

thank you <33

Golden Girl.

after years of keeping your private life private, everybody’s suddenly talking about your new boyfriend. when it rains, it pours.

rupert campbell black x female reader

warnings - cursing. age gap. reader is a ball of anxiety. discussions of the british media (which needs its own warning).

word count - 3k

authors note - banger after banger, erica. I had immediate inspiration when I read this request, so thank you!! I could kiss you. i’ll let rupert kiss you instead. mwah.

masterlist. inbox.

The first thing you do when you see Rupert Campbell Black is smack him square across the face as hard as you can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

His hand flies up to his cheek, jaw flexing as he tries to breathe through the sting of the impact.

“You said we’d be fine!”

“Darling… what?”

His confusion is so genuine that it only makes you angrier, ready to hit him again right here on his front step.

“You said we’d be fine, remember? You said it was a friend’s pub, that you’d never ever been photographed there, that we were safe from prying eyes. You said we’d be fine, Rupert. Does this look like fine to you?”

You slap the newspaper onto his chest with slightly more force than necessary, almost knocking him backwards. He stares at the cover for a moment that seems to stretch on forever, reading the headline again and again and again.

Nation’s Sweetheart Caught With Serial Love Rat!

There’s a huge picture on the front page of the two of you, blown up and magnified. Rupert has his arms wrapped around your back, kissing you like his life depends on it. You’re kissing him back with just as much passion, hands tangled in his hair as you pull him closer, bodies plastered together.

There’s no denying it’s you. There’s no denying it’s him.

“Look at us, Rupert. Clear as day.”

“Well, fuck.”

You look at him incredulously, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what you have to say? You’ve potentially ruined my career, and that’s what you have to say?”

“Darling, no one has ruined your career. You’ll be alright. You know what the newspapers are like - they’ll forget about this in a week, or when a juicier story comes along.”

“No, Rupert. You don’t understand. God, I knew you wouldn’t.”

There’s a lump in your throat that you’re trying to swallow down, tears welling in your eyes. You’re determined not to stand here and cry on Rupert’s driveway at six in the morning, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult.

“I’m still confused, sweetheart. You’ve been on the front page of the newspaper dozens of times, haven’t you? It’s no big deal. It’s bound to happen with a job like yours.”

“You’re not listening to me! You don’t get it, and you know what… maybe you never will.”

Your cheeks are wet suddenly, emotions bubbling to the surface unwittingly. Turning on your heel, you storm off, tired of trying to get him to see your point of view when he clearly can’t. You’re halfway across the huge expanse of driveway when fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you backwards.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he pants, perplexed. “You can’t leave until we’ve talked about this. I’m not letting you go home upset.”

“I’m an idiot,” you sob, trying to wrench your arm away from his grip. “Everyone warned me. What did I think would happen?”

“Darling, you need to stop speaking in riddles and just talk to me straight. Explain to me what I’m missing here, because clearly I don’t understand. But I want to. God, I so badly want to.”

You stand and stare at him for a moment, trying to decipher if he’s telling the truth. He’s looking at you with nothing but distress in his eyes, desperation written all over his face.

“Please,” he whispers, the final nail in the coffin.

You’re throwing yourself forward into Rupert’s arms before you can think twice about it, tucking into his chest and breathing him in. He holds you as tightly as he can, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as he soothes you.

Pulling away and wiping your eyes, you inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down so you can talk to each other properly. You wander across the driveway and towards the house, sitting down on his stone front step. There’s something in you that doesn’t want to go inside, knowing that the familiar comfort of his home will only make you cry harder.

Rupert sits down next to you, his hand settling on your knee. The heavy weight of it helps to settle your nerves, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin.

“We’re very different, you and I. I always knew that, it’s strikingly obvious,” you begin, staring out into the rolling gardens of his property. “We’ve each got our own reputations, that are arguably on completely polar opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Are you calling me a bad boy?”

“Yes,” you chuckle, matching his smirk. “You are. But you know that. That’s your entire public image - notorious ladies man, badly behaved but charming enough to get away with it.”

“It’s carefully crafted,” he grins, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Not everyone can do what I do, though God knows they try.”

“Anyway. My reputation is entirely based on being the UK’s golden girl. That is literally what they call me. Golden Girl.”

“I’m aware.”

“Good. They love me, Rupert. Everything I do, they romanticise it. I went to that premiere on Saturday night - for a film that I wasn’t even in, mind you - and on Monday morning I was on the front pages of the newspapers. Golden Girl Dazzles in Sparkling Silver was the headline of The Telegraph. Golden Girl Shines Like A Diamond from The Guardian. The Sun, The Mirror, The Daily Star… all of them had a huge picture of me in my ballgown on the front page.”

“Because you are a star.”

“Exactly. The entire British public idolises me. I am this perfect woman to them - innocent, untroubled, well mannered. I don’t party hard, I don’t sleep with the entire film industry, I don’t ever turn up looking less than put together. I’m perfect.”

“And so humble.”

“No, Rupert. Jesus Christ,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I don’t think I’m perfect. They do. And I have worked hard to keep that image intact, because that image gets me roles in the biggest films of the year, every year.”

“And I don’t fit with that image.”

“You’re a rebel. You’re tongue in cheek, you’re not afraid to speak your mind, you’re brutally honest. You drink, you sleep with beautiful women, you turn up to Parliament hungover and in last nights clothes. And people love you for it. Well… most people.”

He laughs, shaking his head at the psychoanalysis.

“We have our public images that work for us, Rupert. And it just so happens that they don’t fit with each others at all. Well, I fit yours, but you don’t fit mine.”

“Do you think everyone is up in arms because you’re dating me, or because you’re dating in general? You’ve never had a public boyfriend before. Maybe the people feel like you’ve betrayed them.”

“I do think that’s a part of it. It also just doesn’t help that it’s you.”

“Ouch. No offence taken.”

You roll your eyes at him, placing your hand over his where it rests on your knee still.

“Just being honest, Rupert. Taking a leaf out of your book, you know.”

He chuckles all warm and soft before leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, shuffling over so his side is pressed into yours. You both gaze out over the vast expanse of his gardens, looking over to the fields where the horses graze when they whinny.

“Is this a choice for you?”

When you look at him with confusion written across your face, he continues.

“Do you have to choose? Between me and your public image? Or can they coexist?”

“…I don’t know. I mean, they can’t coexist, clearly,” you gesture towards the discarded newspaper on the ground at your feet. “It’d be a sacrifice for me. I’d have to become a completely new person, adjust this persona that they’ve created in the media. I’m not a Golden Girl - I have flaws just like anyone else. But obviously, flawed doesn’t sell films. Gold does.”

“They wouldn’t have to know. We could make sure that we’re never seen together, never photographed again. It could be our secret.”

Your heart constricts at his tone of voice. He sounds like he’s bargaining, borderline pleading that you don’t walk away.

“We both know deep down that wouldn’t work. That’s what we tried - and what put us in this situation. Nothing stays a secret for long, not with the British media.”

“Well then we embrace it. Say yes, we’re together, and we’re happy.”

“And the minute we break up, they all say I told you so on the front pages, and my image is ruined forever.”

The man next to you flinches as if you’ve hit him again, body tensing up where it presses into yours.

“The minute we break up?”

“Rupert.”

“No, darling. Is that what this is? You had one foot out the door already, and this is just good reason to make it two?”

He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth anxiously. The gravel crunches under his feet, the only sound that can be heard besides the birds chirping as they wake.

“I know what you’re like,” you say quietly. “Every time you’re on the front page of a newspaper it’s because you’ve been spotted with a new woman. I’m under no illusions - I’m not special, and I’m not different. I like you a lot, I have since the minute I met you. But I’m not stupid.”

“Is this in regards to the interview my ex wife did a few weeks ago?”

“She said she thought that she’d be it for you, Rupert. That she’d be the one to change you, that you’d finally settle down and put your party boy days behind you. And she did have that, for six whole years. Until… she didn’t.”

“So what, I can never change? Every woman I ever date is just waiting for me to fuck it up with her?”

You stand up now so you’re on the same level, not enjoying being sat beneath him while his voice raises.

“You have a reputation! You’re not oblivious to it and neither am I. Every single woman thinks that she’ll be the one, that she’ll change you and tame you and settle you down. And every single woman so far has been wrong. What makes me different? What makes me special? What makes me the exception?”

“You really don’t know?”

“What?”

Rupert takes a deep breath, striding across the driveway so he’s stood in front of you, towering and strong.

“I love you.”

You sway backwards as you struggle to stay steady on your feet, the weight of the words knocking you over.

“You… what?”

“I’m in love with you, darling.”

“Are you?” you whisper, conflicted. “Do you say this to all of them?”

He sweeps your face into his big hands, cradling your cheeks as he forces you to look up at him.

“No. This… this never happens. That’s why I’m fighting so hard for you. I have never wanted something to work as badly as this.”

“I’m not trying to paint you as a villain,” you say lowly. “But how am I supposed to know that this isn’t the speech that you’ve given a dozen women before me? You can understand where I’m coming from, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. And I’m kicking myself, because it’s my own fault that you don’t believe me when I tell you these things. My reputation has done irreparable damage to relationships in my life.”

He leans in to rest his forehead on yours, breathing each other in for a moment.

“Rupert.”

“Darling… we’ve been speaking on my driveway for an hour. You knocked on my door at six o’clock in the morning and smacked me in the face. And I am still here. I’m trying to show you that I am going to fight for this. For you. For us.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess gently. “I just want to curl up into a ball and cry.”

“The only thing you can do is trust me, I suppose. Trust that I won’t let you down, trust that I’ll look after you, trust that I mean it when I say that you’re it for me.”

“I want to. I want to trust you.”

“I know. I can see you do.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, soaking in the warmth that’s radiating from him. He’s in his pyjama trousers and a t shirt, all soft and worn and threadbare, and you want to burrow yourself into it and stay there for as long as he’ll let you.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks, all muffled into your hair.

“Not yet,” you mumble into his chest. “I like the fresh morning air. And listening to the birds.”

Rupert tightens his arms around you, one hand cradling the back of your head to keep you close to him. He keeps kissing the top of your head, wishing that he could accurately convey the way he feels in the words that you’ll believe.

“Darling… do you know how many women I’ve said I love you to in my life?”

You pull away to look at him, smiling when he intertwines his hand with yours so you don’t go far. You shake your head, waiting for him to carry on.

“Two.”

“… two?”

“Two.”

You think about this for a moment, studying the gravel beneath you. A finger hooks under your chin, forcing you to look into tender eyes.

“And do you know who they were?”

You shake your head once more.

“My mother and my grandmother.”

You don’t know what to say, taken aback by Rupert’s sudden vulnerability. You’ve opened up to each other many times in the past, but never quite like this. It feels like you’re baring your souls to each other in the morning light, raw and exposing and so, so beautiful.

“What about your ex wife? All your girlfriends?”

“Nope. Never said it to them.”

“You never told your ex wife you loved her? You were married for six years, Rupert. You had two kids.”

“I know that. She’d tell me she loved me, and then she’d ask ‘do you love me too?’ and I’d say ‘of course I do, you know I do.’ I never once said the words I love you to her. I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought it’d come with time. She said it to me quite quickly, quite early on in the relationship, so I thought I just wasn’t ready. I supposed that it’d come to me eventually. And it never did.”

“But you’re saying it to me.”

“I am,” he smiles, his gaze begging you to believe him. “You’re the only woman I have ever fallen in love with.”

“I remember the episode of Declan. When you said you’d never been in love.”

“Then I met you. And it all changed.”

A tear slips down your cheek as you look at him, his eyes full of hope and sadness in equal measure.

“I believe you,” you whisper. “And I trust you. I promise you, I trust you.”

Rupert leans in to kiss you, all soft and sweet and full of adoration. It’s the most tender kiss you’ve ever received, on screen or off. You’ll remember it forever.

“So what if they don’t have their Golden Girl anymore?” you grin when you pull away, sweeping your thumbs over his cheekbones. “We’ll just have to show them who we are. They’ll adjust.”

“They’ll take one look at us together all gorgeous on a red carpet and all will be forgotten. We’ll be the Couple of the Hour in no time, darling.”

“We do scrub up well.”

“Very well.”

You peck his lips once more before grabbing his hand tightly, interlinking your fingers.

“Can we go inside now?”

“Your palace awaits,” he chuckles, gesturing towards the house and pulling you along.

“Oh, Rupert?”

“Darling?”

You stop in your tracks, feeling the first rays of the days sun sparkle down onto your skin.

“I love you too.”

He looks at you for a long moment before barrelling into you, picking you up and spinning you around while you both laugh in utter joy.

“She loves me! Your Golden Girl loves me, ladies and gents!”

You’re shrieking, laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. He puts you down eventually, both of you stumbling towards the house with stars in your eyes.

“Sorry for smacking you earlier, by the way.”

“It’s alright,” he grins, slipping his hand into your back pocket. “It might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chide, but you can’t wipe the beaming smile off your face.

You close the front door behind you, kneeling down to greet all of the dogs that come bounding out of the kitchen. Rupert watches you from across the hallway with the softest look on his face that you’ve ever seen.

“I’m insufferable, and you love me.”

“You’re insufferable. And I love you.”

you know what i’m gonna say… reblogs are gold dust, baby!! support your favourite writers and they’ll write more for you!! simple!!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

well this ties in with the current storyline rather nicely, doesn’t it…