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.
















