wheres-mylove

[wheres-mylove]

may the new year bring you everything you’ve been hoping for! i'm wishing you all a hot dilf in 2025 <3

take my breath away | declan o'hara x fem!reader

Summary: New Year's Eve party brings you and Declan a promise of much more. Sometimes, all you need is a slow dance with your best friend's father, right?

Word count: 1.7k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Declan O’Hara knew it was wrong—so deeply, utterly wrong—that the sight of his son’s best friend could leave him breathless.

Yet it did. His mind, sharp and disciplined, tried to keep his heart in check, but it was a losing battle.

A few days ago, he’d been smoking a cigarette, staring out of the window of his study, when your car rolled up the driveway of The Priory.

“Love of my life!” Caitlin had screamed at the top of her lungs as she dashed out of the house with Taggie trailing behind her. “Finally!”

The youngest daughter had nearly smothered you in an enthusiastic embrace before you even had a chance to step out of the car. And when it was Taggie’s turn, you saw Patrick appear in the doorframe, probably alerted by the noise. 

“No one in this family greets me that affectionately,” Patrick remarked, his tone dry but his eyes kind. “But alright, it is good to see you.”

It was more than good to see you. Declan had been hoping, against reason, against everything he knew was sensible, that you’d stop by his study to say hello. Even though he also knew he should avoid you, that the distance between you two should remain not just respectful but absolute.

Because you had power over him. And the worst thing was, you didn’t even realize how much.

He’d been halfway through his cigarette, his thoughts spiraling between reason and foolishness, when you knocked on the door.

“Mr. O’Hara? Good morning,” you said softly. “Thank you for letting me take advantage of your hospitality.”

“Declan,” he corrected instantly, almost in reflex. You tilted your head.

“It’s nothing of the sort. You’re always welcome here,” he added, far too quickly for his liking.

“Even so, thank you. It’s a few days, after all. I hope I won’t be any trouble.”

“Absolutely not.”

But you were. Oh, you were. Trouble in every way that mattered. Your laughter was too infectious, your voice too sweet, your kindness too disarming. You tested Declan’s limits in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

He clenched his fists, bit the inside of his cheek to keep from staring too long.

He’d watched as his daughters adored you. And Declan understood. What he couldn’t understand, not for the life of him, was how Patrick could feel nothing more than friendship toward you.

If Declan were younger. If he weren’t married. 

He wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a single, fleeting moment.

New Year’s Eve came and it was unbearable.

He had almost walked straight into you in the darkened hallway, just as you were leaving the bathroom.

“Caitlin, the lip gloss was in–Oh, sorry,” you murmured, your words rushed as your hand instinctively reached out to steady yourself.

It landed on his chest.

Your touch was light, but it branded him like fire. Then you pulled your hand away.

Please. Touch me again.

He studied you, his gaze raking over you before he could stop himself. The little black dress you wore was devastating. It made his chest tighten almost painfully.

“You look lovely,” he said, his voice lower than he’d intended. He wanted to say more, but the words stuck in his throat.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, but before you could respond, before you could even blush, Caitlin’s voice rang out from the other room.

“Hey! Are we finishing this makeup before midnight or not?”

Declan exhaled sharply as you turned and hurried toward Caitlin’s voice. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway, his heart thundering in his chest.

He knew he was a fool. He’d known it for days, for weeks, maybe even longer, ever since Patrick first introduced you. But he didn’t realize how far gone he was until later that night, when he failed to notice the grand entrance of Maud on a camel.

He’d been too busy watching you, your face lit with joy and surprise.

When Declan saw your name on the little place card beside his at the dinner table, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

You placed a hand on the chair to his right, frowning slightly as you glanced at him.

“Shouldn’t I be switching places with your wife?” you asked, your tone laced with genuine uncertainty.

The unfortunate choice of words did not escape Monica Baddingam, who let out an elegant little laugh.

“I’m sure the lady of the house wouldn’t object,” she murmured, her sharp eyes flicking toward Maud, who was currently engrossed in some weird performance of charm for Rupert.

“Do you want to sit next to me?” Declan asked simply, his voice a whisper, as you slid into the seat assigned to you, your cheeks faintly flushed.

“I don’t mind,” you said in an almost shy manner, still thinking about your words.

“That’s already more than enough, darling,” he replied, his lips curving into a wry smile.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to Maud, who was laughing too brightly at something Rupert had said. A flash of irritation crossed his mind, but it didn’t last. Instead, he turned to exchange a few words with Monica, all while aware of the way you fidgeted slightly in your chair, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

“Where’s Patrick?” Declan asked quietly after a moment, tapping you on the hand with his finger, voice pitched just for you. “He’s abandoned you to the mercy of old bores.”

“He’s with the gentlemen club,” you replied with a hint of sarcasm, eyes landing on his son across the room. “And you’re not an old bore.”

Declan raised a brow and looked pointedly to the side, his expression amused. The gesture made you laugh, an honest, unguarded sound that you stifled behind your hand.

He wanted you by his side the entire night.

You wanted a kiss at midnight. But that was impossible. Instead, you settled for Taggie and Caitlin pecking you on both cheeks as the clock struck twelve.

The one person who couldn’t complain was, of course, Patrick.

“Will you hate me if I abandon you?” the younger O’Hara asked, his expression apologetic. “I know we were supposed to get smashed together, but…”

“Celestial light?” you guessed, already knowing the answer.

“Celestial light,” he confirmed with a resigned sigh.

“I’ll manage,” you said with a small smile. “That nice lady already offered to adopt me for the night.” You motioned discreetly in Lizzie’s direction. 

“Perfect,” Patrick replied with mock relief, giving you a wink before he disappeared into the crowd.

You ended up dancing with Lizzie for a good portion of the night. You couldn’t complain—she was delightful, the hours slipped by easily.

And Declan couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Like a man in trance.

It wasn’t the way you moved on the dance floor, though that was mesmerizing enough. It was the way you seemed to glow.

Maud had vanished hours ago, and for once, Declan didn’t care where she’d gone. It didn’t matter. 

He saw his chance when you excused yourself, telling Lizzie that you needed a break as you headed to the kitchen.

Declan didn’t think; his body moved before his mind could catch up, his legs carrying him after you like they had a will of their own.

You sat on a stool in the otherwise empty space, a small grimace on your face as you slipped off your heels. The music from the main room thudded faintly even here, a constant pulse in the background. You glanced around for something to drink, ideally champagne or something much stronger, but instead, your gaze collided with Declan’s as he stood in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and almost tender.

“Sure,” you replied with a small laugh, lowering your eyes. “Lizzie has much more vigor than I do, apparently.”

“You two dominated the dance floor,” he observed, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

He stepped closer, leaning against the counter opposite you, his eyes steady and focused on you.

“Well, I had to find some way to entertain myself,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “My so-called friend decided on other pursuits. As it turns out, once again, you have to trust girls to have your back.”

“Men might be disappointed back there,” he replied lightly, though his gaze didn’t waver. “You did not grace even one with a dance.”

“Men don’t exactly fall at my feet,” you teased, chuckling as you waved him off.

“They should,” he said softly.

The words hung in the air, simple and unadorned.

I would, he thought, though he dared not say it aloud.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. You held your breath, unsure of how to respond to what was clearly meant as a compliment.

From your best friend’s father. The last person who should ever say something like that to you.

The opening notes of Take My Breath Away by Berlin drifted in from the other room.

Oh, perfect. Just perfect.

“How bad are your feet hurting?” Declan asked quietly, his gaze flicking briefly to the shoes discarded at your side before returning to your face.

“Oh, I’m not going back out there,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall. “These heels have murdered me.”

“I’m not asking you to go back out,” he said gently, extending his hand toward you. “We could dance here.”

You blinked at him, staring at his outstretched hand, weighing the offer.

Dancing with Declan O’Hara was one thing.

Dancing with Declan O’Hara, alone, in a quiet kitchen to a slow song, was something entirely different. Intimate. And a bit scandalous.

But of course, you took his hand.

How could you not?

You stood, placing your fingers lightly in his. He didn’t let go; instead, his other hand found its way to your waist, while yours rested tentatively on his shoulder. His touch was firm but gentle, his palm warm through the fabric of your dress.

The eye contact was deadly. His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent your pulse racing. Your breath hitched, lodging somewhere in your throat.

He began to sway, guiding you easily in time with the music. You followed, letting him lead, your movements in sync as if you’d done this a hundred times before.

There was no midnight kiss for you this year. Instead, there was a dance at two in the morning.

A dance that didn’t promise anything good. And yet, somehow, it promised all the right things.

[wheres-mylove]

take my breath away | declan o'hara x fem!reader

Summary: New Year's Eve party brings you and Declan a promise of much more. Sometimes, all you need is a slow dance with your best friend's father, right?

Word count: 1.7k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Declan O’Hara knew it was wrong—so deeply, utterly wrong—that the sight of his son’s best friend could leave him breathless.

Yet it did. His mind, sharp and disciplined, tried to keep his heart in check, but it was a losing battle.

A few days ago, he’d been smoking a cigarette, staring out of the window of his study, when your car rolled up the driveway of The Priory.

“Love of my life!” Caitlin had screamed at the top of her lungs as she dashed out of the house with Taggie trailing behind her. “Finally!”

The youngest daughter had nearly smothered you in an enthusiastic embrace before you even had a chance to step out of the car. And when it was Taggie’s turn, you saw Patrick appear in the doorframe, probably alerted by the noise. 

“No one in this family greets me that affectionately,” Patrick remarked, his tone dry but his eyes kind. “But alright, it is good to see you.”

It was more than good to see you. Declan had been hoping, against reason, against everything he knew was sensible, that you’d stop by his study to say hello. Even though he also knew he should avoid you, that the distance between you two should remain not just respectful but absolute.

Because you had power over him. And the worst thing was, you didn’t even realize how much.

He’d been halfway through his cigarette, his thoughts spiraling between reason and foolishness, when you knocked on the door.

“Mr. O’Hara? Good morning,” you said softly. “Thank you for letting me take advantage of your hospitality.”

“Declan,” he corrected instantly, almost in reflex. You tilted your head.

“It’s nothing of the sort. You’re always welcome here,” he added, far too quickly for his liking.

“Even so, thank you. It’s a few days, after all. I hope I won’t be any trouble.”

“Absolutely not.”

But you were. Oh, you were. Trouble in every way that mattered. Your laughter was too infectious, your voice too sweet, your kindness too disarming. You tested Declan’s limits in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

He clenched his fists, bit the inside of his cheek to keep from staring too long.

He’d watched as his daughters adored you. And Declan understood. What he couldn’t understand, not for the life of him, was how Patrick could feel nothing more than friendship toward you.

If Declan were younger. If he weren’t married. 

He wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a single, fleeting moment.

New Year’s Eve came and it was unbearable.

He had almost walked straight into you in the darkened hallway, just as you were leaving the bathroom.

“Caitlin, the lip gloss was in–Oh, sorry,” you murmured, your words rushed as your hand instinctively reached out to steady yourself.

It landed on his chest.

Your touch was light, but it branded him like fire. Then you pulled your hand away.

Please. Touch me again.

He studied you, his gaze raking over you before he could stop himself. The little black dress you wore was devastating. It made his chest tighten almost painfully.

“You look lovely,” he said, his voice lower than he’d intended. He wanted to say more, but the words stuck in his throat.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, but before you could respond, before you could even blush, Caitlin’s voice rang out from the other room.

“Hey! Are we finishing this makeup before midnight or not?”

Declan exhaled sharply as you turned and hurried toward Caitlin’s room. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway, his heart thundering in his chest.

He knew he was a fool. He’d known it for days, for weeks, maybe even longer, ever since Patrick first introduced you. But he didn’t realize how far gone he was until later that night, when he failed to notice the grand entrance of Maud on a camel.

He’d been too busy watching you, your face lit with joy and surprise.

When Declan saw your name on the little place card beside his at the dinner table, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

You placed a hand on the chair to his right, frowning slightly as you glanced at him.

“Shouldn’t I be switching places with your wife?” you asked, your tone laced with genuine uncertainty.

The unfortunate choice of words did not escape Monica Baddingam, who let out an elegant little laugh.

“I’m sure the lady of the house wouldn’t object,” she murmured, her sharp eyes flicking toward Maud, who was currently engrossed in some weird performance of charm for Rupert.

“Do you want to sit next to me?” Declan asked simply, his voice a whisper, as you slid into the seat assigned to you, your cheeks faintly flushed.

“I don’t mind,” you said in an almost shy manner, still thinking about your words.

“That’s already more than enough, darlin',” he replied, his lips curving into a wry smile.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to Maud, who was laughing too brightly at something Rupert had said. A flash of irritation crossed his mind, but it didn’t last. Instead, he turned to exchange a few words with Monica, all while aware of the way you fidgeted slightly in your chair, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

“Where’s Patrick?” Declan asked quietly after a moment, tapping you on the hand with his finger, voice pitched just for you. “He’s abandoned you to the mercy of old bores.”

“He’s with the gentlemen club,” you replied with a hint of sarcasm, eyes landing on his son across the room. “And you’re not an old bore.”

Declan raised a brow and looked pointedly to the side, his expression amused. The gesture made you laugh, an honest, unguarded sound that you stifled behind your hand.

He wanted you by his side the entire night.

You wanted a kiss at midnight. But that was impossible. Instead, you settled for Taggie and Caitlin pecking you on both cheeks as the clock struck twelve.

The one person who couldn’t complain was, of course, Patrick.

“Will you hate me if I abandon you?” the younger O’Hara asked, his expression apologetic. “I know we were supposed to get smashed together, but…”

“Celestial light?” you guessed, already knowing the answer.

“Celestial light,” he confirmed with a resigned sigh.

“I’ll manage,” you said with a small smile. “That nice lady already offered to adopt me for the night.” You motioned discreetly in Lizzie’s direction. 

“Perfect,” Patrick replied with mock relief, giving you a wink before he disappeared into the crowd.

You ended up dancing with Lizzie for a good portion of the night. You couldn’t complain—she was delightful, the hours slipped by easily.

And Declan couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Like a man in trance.

It wasn’t the way you moved on the dance floor, though that was mesmerizing enough. It was the way you seemed to glow.

Maud had vanished hours ago, and for once, Declan didn’t care where she’d gone. It didn’t matter. 

He saw his chance when you excused yourself, telling Lizzie that you needed a break as you headed to the kitchen.

Declan didn’t think; his body moved before his mind could catch up, his legs carrying him after you like they had a will of their own.

You sat on a stool in the otherwise empty space, a small grimace on your face as you slipped off your heels. The music from the main room thudded faintly even here, a constant pulse in the background. You glanced around for something to drink, ideally champagne or something much stronger, but instead, your gaze collided with Declan’s as he stood in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and almost tender.

“Sure,” you replied with a small laugh, lowering your eyes. “Lizzie has much more vigor than I do, apparently.”

“You two dominated the dance floor,” he observed, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

He stepped closer, leaning against the counter opposite you, his eyes steady and focused on you.

“Well, I had to find some way to entertain myself,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “My so-called friend decided on other pursuits. As it turns out, once again, you have to trust girls to have your back.”

“Men might be disappointed back there,” he replied lightly, though his gaze didn’t waver. “You did not grace even one with a dance.”

“Men don’t exactly fall at my feet,” you teased, chuckling as you waved him off.

“They should,” he said softly.

The words hung in the air, simple and unadorned.

I would, he thought, though he dared not say it aloud.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. You held your breath, unsure of how to respond to what was clearly meant as a compliment.

From your best friend’s father. The last person who should ever say something like that to you.

The opening notes of Take My Breath Away by Berlin drifted in from the other room.

Oh, perfect. Just perfect.

“How bad are your feet hurting?” Declan asked quietly, his gaze flicking briefly to the shoes discarded at your side before returning to your face.

“Oh, I’m not going back out there,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall. “These heels have murdered me.”

“I’m not asking you to go back out,” he said gently, extending his hand toward you. “We could dance here.”

You blinked at him, staring at his outstretched hand, weighing the offer.

Dancing with Declan O’Hara was one thing.

Dancing with Declan O’Hara, alone, in a quiet kitchen to a slow song, was something entirely different. Intimate. And a bit scandalous.

But of course, you took his hand.

How could you not?

You stood, placing your fingers lightly in his. He didn’t let go; instead, his other hand found its way to your waist, while yours rested tentatively on his shoulder. His touch was firm but gentle, his palm warm through the fabric of your dress.

The eye contact was deadly. His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent your pulse racing. Your breath hitched, lodging somewhere in your throat.

He began to sway, guiding you easily in time with the music. You followed, letting him lead, your movements in sync as if you’d done this a hundred times before.

There was no midnight kiss for you this year. Instead, there was a dance at two in the morning.

A dance that didn’t promise anything good. And yet, somehow, it promised all the right things.

[wheres-mylove]

i don't know girls, i felt like writing a very quick angst and this Man is my current hyperfixation so. i'll just leave it here. sorry.

died in your arms | declan o'hara x fem!reader

Summary: It must have been something Declan said. Or done. Maybe both. You'll be dying inside, but at least in his arms.

Word count: 1.3k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Falling for your boss was a very, very dangerous thing.

Especially when he was older. Married. With a family.

Especially when he had those sad, beautiful eyes.

You could lie to yourself, pretend his gaze lingered on you in a way that was different. Special. Not like you were some naïve girl who’d drop everything for him.

You would, of course.

It was foolish. But foolishness had a way of compelling you. That’s how you found yourself standing outside his house late at night, the cold seeping into your bones. The sound of your restless shifting on the wooden steps could be heard from a mile away.

Taggie’s voice had been trembling when she called. “Can you come? Please?” she’d said, words rushed, and just like that, you were here.

You raised your hand to knock again when the door creaked open. The faint glow of a lamp spilled out, and your chest tightened.

The day had already been chaotic. Declan had swept through the office like a storm. He’d tossed a curt, “I’m taking leave. You should too,” over his shoulder as he walked out. Before you could respond, Tony had strutted in, telling you that Mr. O’Hara’s throwing one of his tantrums again.

He’ll cool off eventually.

“I’m worried about him,” Taggie sighed when she let you in, her words tumbling over each other. “And Mom…” She hesitated, eyes darting away as if she could evade her own thoughts. “Mom doesn’t care.”

“Hey, Tag,” you said gently, wrapping her in a hug she didn’t ask for but desperately needed. “How bad is it?”

“He locked himself in the study to watch that stupid interview with James...” 

You crouched to scratch behind Gertrude’s ears. 

“Interesting form of punishment,” you’d tried to joke, but the attempt fell flat against the worry etched into her face.

Taggie’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I’m scared this time. Something’s wrong.”

Something was always wrong. Maud cheated. Maud left. Maud returned. Declan picked up the pieces, only to watch her break him again. It was a cycle you’d seen too many times, and yet here you were, stepping into its center.

“It’ll be fine,” you lied, the words tasting hollow. “I’ll try to fix it.”

“He’ll listen to you,” Taggie said, her voice almost inaudible. “You’re the only one he listens to.”

And now, as you stood in the threshold of the room, that burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your chest. The study was suffocating. Heavy curtains cloaked the windows, and the faint scent of whiskey hung in the air. Declan lay sprawled on the worn leather couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned. 

The flicker of the television bathed his face in pale light. James Vereker’s smug expression visible on the screen, Thatcher’s practiced responses echoing faintly. That was before you came closer and turned it off.

Declan’s bleary eyes slowly turned toward you, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He blinked once, twice, as though trying to place you in the haze of his mind.

“Turn it back on,” he rasped, his voice a whisper that scraped against the stillness.

“No chance,” you replied, moving to pull a chair closer to him. “What are you doing to yourself? I wouldn’t let my worst enemy watch that shit, let alone you. Enjoying the torture?”

“Torturing myself has always been my specialty,” he muttered. A bitter smile graced his lips, but his eyes remained dark. “I’m an expert, I’m-”

“You’re drunk,” you observed, your voice firm but soft.

He lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquid with exaggerated care. “And?” he asked, his tone teetering between defiance and despair. “Will you take this from me too, love?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said, lips twitching.

He laughed, short and hollow, shaking his head. It was the laugh of a man who’d stopped expecting anything good.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

“Taggie called me,” you said simply. “She’s worried about you. And so am I. This interview meant so much to you. And when you left, I could see that...” You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. “Declan, are you alright?”

His only response was to push himself to his feet. His movements were unsteady, restless, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of standing still. He paced the room with the agitation of a caged animal, his fingers running through his hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to wake himself.

“Leave,” he said finally, his back to you. His voice cracked, fragile. “Please. Just leave. This is torture. Not the interview. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed seated, your gaze steady. “I’ll leave when I know you’re okay,” you said gently. “Right now, you’re just rambling.”

He turned to you then, his expression unreadable, his eyes clouded with something that might have been pain or might have been fear. “Do you want to hear something funny?” he asked, his voice hollow, devoid of humor. “Tony blackmailed me with photos of Maud. You know the kind. Documenting the affair.”

Your throat went dry. You had no idea.

“My hands are tied because of my wife’s betrayal. And oh, how beautifully it’s been photographed,” he laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the room like a shard of glass. He took another sip of whiskey, the amber liquid trembling slightly in the glass.

“I’m so sorry, I–”

“Of course you’re sorry. With your fucking compassion and damned understanding,” Declan said, his words tumbling out in one breath, raw and jagged. Then, as if the weight of everything became too much, he sank to his knees by the chair where you sat, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “Maybe that’s why I’ve sinned in my thoughts. Because you’re kind to me.”

Your head was spinning, the walls of the room seeming to close in around you. You looked down at him, the tears that welled in your eyes blurring the edges of his face.

“Declan–” you whispered, your voice unsteady, the name barely making it past your lips.

“Do you think if someone took a photo of me when I look at you,” he began, his voice low and shaking, “they’d have proof of an affair? Because I have so, so many thoughts. And I think you can see them. If you look close enough.”

His fingers brushed your jaw, a touch so soft it felt like it might shatter you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Your heart raced, the beat of it a deafening drum in your chest.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re drunk. You’re married.”

“And you’re good to me. Even though you’re not mine, I feel like I have you, like you’re with me, like you’re for me.”

Then he kissed you. His lips were warm and tasted of whiskey, salt, and something achingly desperate. The kiss was messy, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

And yet you couldn’t tell if he truly meant it. In the way you wanted him to mean it.

That’s why you pushed him away.

“We can’t. Maud–”

“Maud doesn’t give a shit. She has been unfaithful, love. From the very beginning.” His voice cracked, the admission heavy in the air between you.

“So you want to make it even?” you asked, the words sharp despite the tears sliding down your cheeks.

He looked like you’d struck him, his eyes wide, the pain in them unmistakable.

“I don’t want to be some twisted sense of comfort and justice to you, Declan,” you said, standing quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. The movement felt like the only way to keep from breaking entirely. “This means more to me than it does to you. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, rising unsteadily to his feet. His face was pale, his voice thick with emotion. “My sweet girl, I’m so, so sorry.”

When his hand reached up to wipe the tears from your face, you froze. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and it felt like it might undo you entirely.

At that moment, you knew.

You wouldn’t be able to say no to him, no matter what you were to him.

Consolation, revenge, or love.

It didn’t matter, as long as you were something to Declan O’Hara.

[wheres-mylove]

died in your arms | declan o'hara x fem!reader

Summary: It must have been something Declan said. Or done. Maybe both. You'll be dying inside, but at least in his arms.

Word count: 1.3k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Falling for your boss was a very, very dangerous thing.

Especially when he was older. Married. With a family.

Especially when he had those sad, beautiful eyes.

You could lie to yourself, pretend his gaze lingered on you in a way that was different. Special. Not like you were some naïve girl who’d drop everything for him.

You would, of course.

It was foolish. But foolishness had a way of compelling you. That’s how you found yourself standing outside his house late at night, the cold seeping into your bones. The sound of your restless shifting on the wooden steps could be heard from a mile away.

Taggie’s voice had been trembling when she called. “Can you come? Please?” she’d said, words rushed, and just like that, you were here.

You raised your hand to knock again when the door creaked open. The faint glow of a lamp spilled out, and your chest tightened.

The day had already been chaotic. Declan had swept through the office like a storm. He’d tossed a curt, “I’m taking leave. You should too,” over his shoulder as he walked out. Before you could respond, Tony had strutted in, telling you that Mr. O’Hara’s throwing one of his tantrums again.

He’ll cool off eventually.

“I’m worried about him,” Taggie sighed when she let you in, her words tumbling over each other. “And Mom…” She hesitated, eyes darting away as if she could evade her own thoughts. “Mom doesn’t care.”

“Hey, Tag,” you said gently, wrapping her in a hug she didn’t ask for but desperately needed. “How bad is it?”

“He locked himself in the study to watch that stupid interview with James...” 

You crouched to scratch behind Gertrude’s ears. 

“Interesting form of punishment,” you’d tried to joke, but the attempt fell flat against the worry etched into her face.

Taggie’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I’m scared this time. Something’s wrong.”

Something was always wrong. Maud cheated. Maud left. Maud returned. Declan picked up the pieces, only to watch her break him again. It was a cycle you’d seen too many times, and yet here you were, stepping into its center.

“It’ll be fine,” you lied, the words tasting fake. “I’ll try to fix it.”

“He’ll listen to you,” Taggie said, her voice almost inaudible. “You’re the only one he listens to.”

And now, as you stood in the threshold of the room, that burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your chest. The study was suffocating. Heavy curtains cloaked the windows, and the faint scent of whiskey hung in the air. Declan lay sprawled on the worn leather couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned. 

The flicker of the television bathed his face in pale light. James Vereker’s smug expression visible on the screen, Thatcher’s practiced responses echoing faintly. That was before you came closer and turned it off.

Declan’s bleary eyes slowly turned toward you, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He blinked once, twice, as though trying to place you in the haze of his mind.

“Turn it back on,” he rasped, his voice a whisper that scraped against the stillness.

“No chance,” you replied, moving to pull a chair closer to him. “What are you doing to yourself? I wouldn’t let my worst enemy watch that shit, let alone you. Enjoying the torture?”

“Torturing myself has always been my specialty,” he muttered. A bitter smile graced his lips, but his eyes remained dark. “I’m an expert, I’m-”

“You’re drunk,” you observed, your voice firm but soft.

He lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquid with exaggerated care. “And?” he asked, his tone teetering between defiance and despair. “Will you take this from me too, love?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said, lips twitching.

He laughed, short and hollow, shaking his head. It was the laugh of a man who’d stopped expecting anything good.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

“Taggie called me,” you said simply. “She’s worried about you. And so am I. This interview meant so much to you. And when you left, I could see that...” You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. “Declan, are you alright?”

His only response was to push himself to his feet. His movements were unsteady, restless, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of standing still. He paced the room with the agitation of a caged animal, his fingers running through his hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to wake himself.

“Leave,” he said finally, his back to you. His voice cracked, fragile. “Please. Just leave. This is torture. Not the interview. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed seated, your gaze steady. “I’ll leave when I know you’re okay,” you said gently. “Right now, you’re just rambling.”

He turned to you then, his expression unreadable, his eyes clouded with something that might have been pain or might have been fear. “Do you want to hear something funny?” he asked, his voice hollow, devoid of humor. “Tony blackmailed me with photos of Maud. You know the kind. Documenting the affair.”

Your throat went dry. You had no idea.

“My hands are tied because of my wife’s betrayal. And oh, how beautifully it’s been photographed,” he laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the room like a shard of glass. He took another sip of whiskey, the amber liquid trembling slightly in the glass.

“I’m so sorry, I–”

“Of course you’re sorry. With your fucking compassion and damned understanding,” Declan said, his words tumbling out in one breath, raw and jagged. Then, as if the weight of everything became too much, he sank to his knees by the chair where you sat, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “Maybe that’s why I’ve sinned in my thoughts. Because you’re kind to me.”

Your head was spinning, the walls of the room seeming to close in around you. You looked down at him, the tears that welled in your eyes blurring the edges of his face.

“Declan–” you whispered, your voice unsteady, the name barely making it past your lips.

“Do you think if someone took a photo of me when I look at you,” he began, his voice low and shaking, “they’d have proof of an affair? Because I have so, so many thoughts. And I think you can see them. If you look close enough.”

His fingers brushed your jaw, a touch so soft it felt like it might shatter you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Your heart raced, the beat of it a deafening drum in your chest.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re drunk. You’re married.”

“And you’re good to me. Even though you’re not mine, I feel like I have you, like you’re with me, like you’re for me.”

Then he kissed you. His lips were warm and tasted of whiskey, salt, and something achingly desperate. The kiss was messy, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

And yet you couldn’t tell if he truly meant it. In the way you wanted him to mean it.

That’s why you pushed him away.

“We can’t. Maud–”

“Maud doesn’t give a shit. She has been unfaithful, love. From the very beginning.” His voice cracked, the admission heavy in the air between you.

“So you want to make it even?” you asked, the words sharp despite the tears sliding down your cheeks.

He looked like you’d struck him, his eyes wide, the pain in them unmistakable.

“I don’t want to be some twisted sense of comfort and justice to you, Declan,” you said, standing quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. The movement felt like the only way to keep from breaking entirely. “This means more to me than it does to you. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, rising unsteadily to his feet. His face was pale, his voice thick with emotion. “My sweet girl, I’m so, so sorry.”

When his hand reached up to wipe the tears from your face, you froze. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and it felt like it might undo you entirely.

At that moment, you knew.

You wouldn’t be able to say no to him, no matter what you were to him.

Consolation, revenge, or love.

It didn’t matter, as long as you were something to Declan O’Hara.

[wheres-mylove]

I've had a small scenario in my head for modern!cregan for a while now, but its pretty much only a draft🫢 So reader is an "high-end" escort, maybe with hard limits regarding her services or maybe it varies with her customers, pretty much up to you. And Cregan is a respected and well known businessman, in what line of business well that I dont know 😂 But basically its all very Pretty Woman, he needs a date for appearances/some company to boring events and reader comes highly recommended. He's maybe strictly transactional with their agreement, compensation for company but nothing physical and reader respects that. Though both find each other attractive and their personalities clash in a good way so things might get a little steamy along the way 👀 In my mind Cregan is early to mid 30s and reader late 20s, but thats all up to you obciously 🤗 Cregan might also have Rickon in this scenario or he might not, I couldn't decide 😆

dear anon, now that's a request!

hope the fic will meet at least some of your expectations 🥰 this was also my first attempt at writing a teeny tiny explicit scene, so i apologize in advance for its quality 😭🙏

oh, pretty woman

[wheres-mylove]

oh, pretty woman - modern!cregan stark x fem!reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a business deal. Pretty woman's company in exchange for Cregan Stark's money. No feelings, no fooling around. But it's always easier said than done.

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.5k

Contains brief smut at the end!

Cregan Stark had never sealed a business deal at the Three-Eyed Raven club before, but there was a first time for everything. 

The club wasn’t his usual scene—too much noise, and too many people who had forgotten what self-restraint looked like. Yet here he sat, tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the VIP lounge, watching the chaos below as neon lights flickered through the darkness, casting strange, shifting colors across his face.

Cregan pressed a cold glass of whiskey against his forehead, the chill offering a bit of a relief from the headache brewing inside him. He glanced at his watch. She was ten minutes late. And he hated being kept waiting.

They hadn’t met yet, hadn’t even exchanged a word. It wouldn’t matter if he just got up and left. But just as the thought crossed his mind, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking against the floor drew his attention. He sighed, already knowing it was too late to back out, and turned his head.

There was a woman. A little younger than him. A very pretty woman.

A martini balanced in one hand, a small purse hanging effortlessly from the other. She wore a fitted leather skirt that stopped teasingly at mid-thigh. For a second, Cregan’s gaze dipped to her legs, his eyes betraying him. He quickly looked away, cursing himself. Focus, Stark. This is business.

She reached the table and paused, giving him a slow once-over. 

“Mr. Stark?” she asked, her voice velvety smooth.

Cregan nodded, shifting slightly in his seat.

“That's me,” he said, already standing up to greet her, but she waved him off dismissively and sank into the chair opposite him.

“(Y/N). Hi,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. Bold lipstick marked the glass, obviously. “Interesting. You’re not that old.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. So this was how the meeting would go.

“Excuse me?”

“Most of the men I work for are... older,” she said with a shrug. “Overworked grandpas, rich, and eager to brag. You're not what I expected.”

“I'm just overworked," he replied, rubbing his temples and resting his elbows on the table. “And that's why I need your help.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “Handsome men like you usually don’t need help.”

Cregan felt a flicker of heat rise to his cheeks and cursed himself for the second time this evening. He cleared his throat awkwardly, desperate to steer the conversation back on track.

“As I said, I don’t have much time. Or the skills, for that matter, to keep long-term relationships.”

“Skills can be developed,” she teased, her eyes twinkling as she tossed him a playful wink.

This was exactly what Cregan feared.

“Can we just focus on the agreement, please?” His tone bordered on pleading.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” She chuckled softly, clearly entertained by his discomfort. “But out of pure curiosity… Who gave you my name?”

He tapped his whiskey glass a few times, weighing whether or not to answer. Finally, he said, “Daemon Targaryen.”

She let out a low whistle. “Daemon, huh? Haven’t heard that name in a while.He was… something. But he’s married to Miss Driftmark now, so I can’t really talk shit.”

Cregan sighed, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. 

“This is my offer,” he said simply, pushing the check forward.

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the numbers. She blinked, stunned for a moment before returning her gaze to him.

“Man, what exactly do you do again?”

“I own a few ski resorts up in the North.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smile creeping back onto her lips. “So you rip those pretentious wealthy people off? I like it.”

(Y/N) looked at the price again and wet her lips.

“But just so we’re clear. That’s a lot. And you shouldn’t expect me to sleep with you just because you paid me…”

“Gods, no, I would never assume that you owe me sex, don’t worry,” Cregan rushed with an explanation. “The arrangement is simple. I’ll send you a list of social events. Business dinners, banquets, and other stupid ceremonies. You’ll accompany me, purely for the presentation aspect. Your payment is covered by the check, but I’ll handle everything else. Dresses, shoes, jewelry. Whatever you need. You name it, and you’ll have it. I also have a driver on standby.”

“Sounds really good. Exactly what I have an experience in.”

“One last thing,” he added, his voice taking on a more formal edge. “This is strictly professional. We meet at events, and that’s it. No personal involvement. Nothing outside of what’s required.”

She gave him a slow, approving nod. “Perfect. I can work with that.” She extended her hand across the table. “It’s a deal.”

He reached out, his grip firm, sealing the agreement with a brief shake.

“It’s a deal,” he repeated, though something told him that managing this relationship would be anything but simple.

Our businessman had seen his fair share of beautiful women, but (Y/N) seemed to outshine them all. At every event with glittering chandeliers and whispered secrets, she was the one who caught all the attention.

And Cregan Stark knew, deep in his gut, that bringing her along was his smartest decision. 

She was his complete opposite, and perhaps that was why the invitations kept flooding in. 

If only she were a bit kinder to him.

“Cregan Stark is famous for his work ethic, which, in less than two years, has made him one of the top innovators in the field,” she read aloud, voice dripping with mock seriousness as she flipped through a glossy brochure.

They were on the way to the 'Entrepreneur of the Year' award ceremony, a fancy night that Cregan classified as one of the other stupid ceremonies. Unfortunately he had been nominated, so here they were.

(Y/N) was dressed in a jaw-dropping red gown that clung perfectly to her curves, hair styled into an elegant updo that left her neck bare, save for the diamonds glittering along her collarbone.

“If he wants to be respected in this harsh world, he needs to smile more,” she mused, still scanning the brochure with a smirk.

“That’s definitely not in there,” Cregan grumbled, adjusting his tie for the third time.

“It is. In big letters. Right there. Mr. Stark, take the stick out of your grumpy ass,” she teased, leaning in with a wicked glint in her eye. 

“Ladies shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Is that why you never say anything interesting?” she quipped.

He rolled his eyes, still wrestling with the knot of his tie, clearly losing the battle. She glanced over, half-annoyed, half-amused, before offering a hand.

“Need help?” (Y/N) asked, a trace of pity in her tone.

“I’m afraid you’ll choke me.”

“Oh, darling, I’d choke you and run off with your money in a heartbeat,” she shot back, tossing the brochure aside before setting to work. Her fingers moved quickly, straightening his tie in no time. “There, now you look almost as good as me.”

The limousine pulled to a stop in front of a towering, modern building. Their chauffeur opened the door, and as they stepped out, a sudden gust of wind made (Y/N) shiver. Without a word, Cregan slipped off his jacket and handed it to her.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, wrapping it around her bare shoulders.

“You should really invest in a fur coat,” he commented, observing the people gossiping in tight circles, sipping champagne. His gaze settled on a particular figure, and his expression soured. “Oh, perfect. Think he’ll recognize you?”

She followed his gaze to Viserys Targaryen, his red-haired wife right beside him, looking very unhappy. 

“Well,” she whispered back, rather unbothered, “that little business with his brother was ages ago. And honestly, I doubt he’s in touch with reality much these days.”

“If he says anything mean…”

“Can I kick him? Doesn't look like a fighter, I might stand a chance.”

“I was thinking more like you telling me, and I’d sort it out.”

“That’s cute, my knight in shining armor. I could always play the ‘controversially young wife’ card. Or maybe the one about his alcoholic son? His daughter’s alleged affair?”

Cregan sighed, placing a hand gently on her back to guide her forward. “I forget how much of a menace you are in social settings.”

Viserys ended up recognizing her, but couldn’t quite recall where he had seen her before. (Y/N) simply lied about once being a waitress at several high-society events. The oldest Targaryen was totally convinced. 

Later, when Cregan finally stood on stage, accepting that ridiculous award, he heard her cheers cut through the noise of the crowd. (Y/N)’s voice was loud and proud, as she was ignoring the sideways glances from others around her.

Something inside him warmed. It was a feeling of embarrassment, surely. Or maybe it was the air conditioning?

She was, after all, only doing what was expected of her. 

And it was dangerous to build your hopes up on a lie.

She knew all too well that a situation like this could happen, but she wasn’t prepared for it tonight. (Y/N) stormed down the long hallway, her heart racing as angry tears kept on building up.

She had come with Cregan to an exclusive party. Little gathering hosted at the mansion of a wealthy investor, the one Stark hoped to sign a contract with soon. 

A certain man was also there—someone she had once accompanied to an event. The moment he saw her, a revolting smirk spread across his face, and he didn’t hesitate to call her a whore as she returned alone from the restroom.

She shouldn’t have felt hurt. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and that guy was a disgusting piece of shit. So why did she feel so bad?

(Y/N) burst into the first room she could find, an office filled with heavy, dark wooden furniture that spoke of old money and privilege. The walls felt like they were closing in on her as she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it.

“What’s wrong with you? Get it together,” she murmured, her voice shaky as she fought to steady her breathing. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It was so frustrating. The insult was just the last straw.

She wanted Cregan. Fuck the deal.

But she also knew she had told him not to expect anything from her, and deep down, she remembered the promise she made to keep things professional and uncomplicated.

A large window was wide open, inviting the cool night air inside. She stepped closer, leaning out to let the gentle breeze wash over her reddened face. With a deep breath, she adjusted her black mini dress, a reminder of the confidence she’d tried to project all evening, and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

She was on her fourth attempt to light that damned cigarette, hands trembling, when the door creaked open. The man who had been haunting her thoughts slipped into the room.

“There you are,” Cregan’s voice was low, almost soothing, as he stepped inside. “I was starting to worry. You’ve been gone a while. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she shot back, the words automatic. “Actually, you know what? Something is wrong. This party—this whole thing—is wrong. It’s a joke. I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re right, it’s stiff, but you look too upset for it to just be about the party,” Stark replied, his voice calm but concerned. “And that,” he said, and without missing a beat, he reached over, snatched the unlit cigarette from her fingers, then tossed it through the open window. “That is bad for your health.”

“Oh, now you care so much?” she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “You think you know me so well? I’m done, Cregan. This has gone on long enough. I’ll go back there and do whatever you want, but this is the last time.”

“Do whatever I want?” Cregan repeated with disbelief. “Hey, I’m not forcing you into anything. I thought this worked for both of us. If I’ve done something wrong, then I’m sorry.”

“Stop with your fucking good man behavior,” she hissed, looking up and blinking furiously. “To hell with this arrangement. I’m bored of your meeting, bored of pretending, bored of you. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’re lying,” Cregan said, his voice quiet, like he was stating a fact rather than accusing her of something. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

“What?” she snapped, but her voice wavered.

“You’re not looking me in the eye, and you’re scratching your left elbow.”

(Y/N) cursed under her breath.

“Do you want to end this arrangement?” he asked, his tone even softer now.

“Yes!” she blurted out, but the word hung in the air, heavy with doubt.

Cregan stepped forward, his voice dropping lower, each word more deliberate. “Let me ask you differently. Do you want me to give you a ride home, forget about you, and never speak to you again? Or do you want to end this arrangement?” His eyes flickered down to her lips for the briefest second, the tension between them now almost suffocating.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to find her voice.

“The second one,” she whispered.

Next moment his lips were on hers, kissing her with ferocity she hadn’t known before. Cregan’s big hands were exploring her body, too eager to stop in one place. She could feel him everywhere, his touch on her waist, kiss on the lips, hair tangled in her hands. 

Stark stopped for a second that seemed like eternity and took a deep breath.

“Listen, I… If you want me to stop, I know you said I shouldn’t…” he tried to keep his composure, but his arms held her firmly, with strength and desperation. “Sorry, I can’t really form a coherent sentence right now…”

“I know what I said. What I meant was that I wouldn’t fuck you for the money,” she explained, nearly breathless, touching his lower lip with her thumb. “This is different. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear. Cregan’s lips found their way back, this time to her neck, leaving behind feather-like kisses. His fingers traced patterns on her thigh. Higher, and higher, but not there yet.

“Are you gonna hurry up or not?” (Y/N) asked, all riled up and losing her patience.

Cregan stopped kissing her neck and looked down at her with a shit-eating grin.

“Consider asking nicely now. Do you want to cum or not?” Cregan asked, mocking her previous question.

“Didn’t know you had that in you.”

She had to remind herself to be quiet. Biting her lip to stop the moans, seated at the edge of a wooden desk, legs wide open, Stark’s head between her thighs; she forgot all about the party taking place in the living room.

“I would ask you to bend over, but I need to look at your face this time. Please? ”

(Y/N) had never been fucked on a desk in some stranger’s office before, but there was a first time for everything.

[wheres-mylove]

This might sound so boring, but Modern!Cregan, who owns a wolfdog and said dog, takes an immense liking to neighbour!reader.

dear anon, that's not boring at all! thank you so much for requesting 🩷

hope it turned out okay, probably would be a lot better if 'can i pet that dawg' stopped replaying in my head while i was writing...

puppy love

[wheres-mylove]

puppy love - modern!cregan stark x fem!reader

Summary: Searching for peace in a quiet town takes an unexpected turn when your neighbor’s dog decides you have to be his new best friend. One look at the neighbor and you’re totally fine with getting a two-for-one deal.

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.5k

A large painting of a wolf pack hung over the fireplace. (Y/N) stared at it, biting her lip.  

She wasn’t even sure she knew how to light the damn fire.

Was this whole thing a bad idea? Trading in her modern King’s Landing studio for a tiny house in Winterfell? A big city girl in a small town. Yeah, she might’ve officially lost her mind.

“I hope it’s to your liking, dear,” came the sharp but grounding voice of Mrs. Glover, snapping her back to reality. The elderly landlady was already fastening her fur coat.

“It’s... cozy,” she replied with her best smile. Didn’t want to admit to herself that she was feeling wildly out of place.

“Good.” Mrs. Glover nodded, satisfied. “Now, remember, once the snow hits, you’ll need to keep that fireplace going. Northern frost is a bitch.” She placed the house keys on the small wooden table. “Rent’s due by the tenth.”

“I’ll remember,” (Y/N) said quickly. “Thanks again for lowering the price.”

Mrs. Glover waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t even mention it. I’m in a hurry to get to Essos, and these silly umbrella cocktails are calling my name.”

The old woman paused at the door. “You sure you can handle moving everything in on your own? I have to head out, but the Stark boy lives just across the street. Strong lad, good arms, I’m telling ya. Handsome, too. He’d help, if you ask nicely.” She winked. “If I were only a few decades younger…”

“All good, ma’am,” (Y/N) cut in, her face heating up. “I don’t have much. A few boxes, really.”

“Well, if you say so, Miss Independent. Good luck!”

With that, Mrs. Glover disappeared with a screech of tires in her flaming red car, leaving (Y/N) standing alone in front of her new home.  

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She could absolutely do this. She’d unpack before sundown, get settled, and everything would be fine. Better than fine, even. This place was going to be a fresh start. An escape from the Big Disaster, also known as her last relationship.

She’d find the meaning of life in the wild North or however that saying went.

She was currently standing in front of her open trunk, debating what to take first. And then something licked her hand.

Slowly, she turned her head, still not fully registering what was happening, and met the gaze of big brown eyes belonging to a fluffy creature as black as the night. A light pink tongue paused halfway, as if waiting for her reaction.

“Oh, gods,” she whispered, frozen in place. “Are you a dog or a wolf? Please, be a dog. A friendly one.”

Her new friend barked in response and rolled onto its back in the universal gesture of please love me.

“You’re a dog,” she sighed in relief, dropping to her knees to give him a good belly rub. “A boy, huh? A beautiful one. But where did you come from?”

Animals don’t talk apparently. The girl glanced around instead. She’d left the gate open, sure, but he had to come from somewhere.

The dog let out a low grumble, tail thumping against the ground. She scratched his head, laughing softly. After a few minutes, he got up, shook off the dust, and placed one paw on her car.

“I’m moving into this house,” she informed him, picking up one of the smaller boxes from the trunk. She liked talking to pets, even though they couldn’t offer much in the way of conversation. “I’ve got a lot to do, but after that, we could—”

And just like that, the dog vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared. (Y/N) stood there, blinking at the empty yard.

“Bye?” she called out, shaking her head in disbelief. He probably went home.

She continued unpacking, but on her third trip to the car, she saw him again, this time with a tennis ball clamped between his teeth. He had so much hope in his eyes.

“Do you want to play?” she asked, amused. The moment she said the magic word, his ears perked up in excitement. “Where are you even from?”

She should have been unpacking. She knew that. But how could she say no to a cutie like him?

“Good boy!” (Y/N) laughed as the dog leapt into the air and caught the ball in his mouth, mid-throw.

“Excuse me, is he harassing you, lady?” she suddenly heard a low, masculine voice behind her.

The dog dropped the ball from his mouth, adopting a tragic, martyr-like expression.

She spun around, heart pounding, and found herself face-to-face with a man who looked like a classic Northern lord from the past. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark, wild hair and a beard that framed a strong jaw. He had these gray eyes that were both piercing and soft.

“He’s mine,” the stranger explained with a half-smile, clearly catching her staring.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to steal him, just so you know” (Y/N) finally spoke up, cheeks flushing. “He just... showed up. With the ball. So, I thought…”

Her awkward explanation was interrupted by his laugh, loud and kind.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were kidnapping him,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I was just making sure he wasn’t bothering you. He must’ve jumped the fence. I saw you two from across the street.”

Ah. The young Stark. 

“No, not at all,” she reassured him, finally getting her words in order. “He’s well-behaved. What’s his name?”

The dark cloud of fur came closer and laid at her feet, cementing their new alliance.

The man hesitated for a moment. (Y/N) looked at him expectantly.

“Frosty,” he finally mumbled, looking at the ground.

It was the girl’s turn to laugh.

“You named this huge black wolf-ass looking creature Frosty?” she asked, scratching the dog behind his ears. He was absolutely delighted.

“He likes the cold,” Stark offered with a small shrug, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And you are…?”

“(Y/N). I’d shake your hand, but I’m doing something important. Nice to meet you though.” 

“Cregan,” he said, placing a hand over his heart with a grin. “Nice to meet you too. Frosty’s obviously on cloud nine. He’s usually not that trusting. Friendly with other dogs, sure, but picky with people. You must be special.”

Her heart swelled at those words. What an honor.

“He’s my first friend in Winterfell.”

Cregan smiled and looked at her car, noticing the boxes still inside.

“So, renting from Mrs. Glover?”

“Yeah, I just moved in from King’s Landing today.”

“City girl, yeah?” He whistled, leaning against the side of the car with a thoughtful look. “You’ve come a long way. But hey, I’m not complaining. We’re neighbors now. I live across the street.”

(Y/N) flashed a smile. “I’m not complaining either.”

“Please feel welcome to ask if you ever need anything. I’ll give you my number, just in case.”

Smooth, Cregan, smooth.

Rolling up his sleeves, Cregan walked over and hefted the biggest box out of the trunk like it was nothing.

“Now, let’s help you with that.”

That old hag was right. He had good arms.

The Northern frost was, indeed, a bitch.

But the warmth of the fire, the soft couch beneath her, and Frosty’s massive, fluffy body draped across her lap made the afternoon bearable. (Y/N)’s hand had long since gone numb from petting the dog, but his fur was addictive.

Her phone suddenly rang, breaking the peace. Frosty, naturally, didn’t move a bit. Not even a nuclear explosion could wake him.

Sighing, (Y/N) reached for her phone on the table, already knowing who it was. 

Helaena Targaryen.

“How’s the grass-touching and vet-seducing going?” came Helaena’s voice, sugary sweet and teasing, before she even had a chance to say hello.

“First of all, the grass is frozen solid,” she shot back, shifting slightly to keep her lap from completely losing circulation. “And second, again. There is no seducing happening.”

“Sure, smarty-pants. And you’re totally not babysitting his dog right now.”

“I mean,” the girl sighed with a reluctant smile. “said dog kind of invited himself here. And Cregan gave him a backpack full of snacks and toys, like he was dropping him off at daycare.”

He had also scolded him earlier for having dirty paws, saying that’s not how he raised him. The dog liked her, and she liked both him and his owner. Cregan turned out to be a veterinarian with a small clinic in town. He was working late today, so she had offered to look after his friend. Home office benefits.

Hel snorted loudly on the other end. “Oh my, he’s ridiculous. I love it. By the way, I did a tarot reading for you,” she announced, suddenly taking on a serious and spiritual tone. “The message is clear. Go after Cregan, let him chop wood and start the fire in your—”

(Y/N) groaned, facepalming. “You’ve got to stop. I’m not ready for this. And he’s just kind.”

“Kind of having a crush on you. You’re still hurting after that Gwayne situation, aren’t you?”

The mention of his name made her feel sick. “It’s not about him. I’m just... done with dating for a while.”

“Well, he was a moron,” Helaena said bluntly, her tone shifting from teasing to fierce in a heartbeat. “For the record, we all stopped talking to him. Aemond wanted to beat him up, but I told him karma would do the job.”

(Y/N) winced, though she appreciated Targaryens’ loyalty. “I’m tired of men.”

“You’re not tired of men,” Helaena corrected her. “You’re tired of idiots. Is Cregan an idiot?”

She knew he wasn’t.

“Hey, if you don’t make a move, I will.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Kidding. But please, please, for the love of gods, make him chop some wood for you.”

A strange noise woke her up.

It sounded like something was scratching at the front door. (Y/N) rubbed her eyes, groaning as she crawled out from under the warm blanket. A quick glance at the digital clock. 5:58 a.m. The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet. The scratching persisted.

“If this is some kind of monster, I swear I’m not in the mood,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. Then came a familiar bark, and she frowned.

Frosty?

She cracked the door open, and sure enough, there on the porch stood Cregan’s dog, barely visible in the early morning gloom. Frosty barked again, hopped down the steps, and turned to look at her expectantly.

He wanted her to follow him.

“Hold on, buddy, let me grab my shoes,” she promised, her voice a mix of anxiety and sleepiness. She hurriedly slipped on her shoes, her mind racing. What if something had happened to Cregan? Was this a “dog leads the way to an emergency” situation? With a quick grab of her hoodie, she went after the dog. Frosty kept looking back at her to make sure she was keeping up.

In no time, they arrived at Cregan’s house. The door was slightly ajar, and her heart raced as she stepped inside.

“Cregan?” she called out hesitantly.

“Yeah?” came his voice from the right, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Cregan Stark stood by the kitchen counter, looking mildly confused with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He was clad only in gray sweatpants, the silver wolf pendant around his neck glinting in the soft light.

“Are you okay?” she blurted out, still trying to catch her breath.

“Feeling great. Want some coffee?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

(Y/N) pulled out a chair and plopped down, staring at Frosty, who was wagging his tail like he had just saved the day.

“Am I a joke to you?” Frosty tilted his head, giving her an innocent look. "He came to my door like some heroic rescue dog. I thought—” She sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. “I thought something had happened to you. I figured you’d, I don’t know, passed out or something. I’m pretty sure I just aged ten years.”

Cregan cast a side glance at Frosty, lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face. "Frosty, man, what’s the deal?” he asked the dog, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “This is not funny.”

“You really got that worried?” 

“Yes! And here you are, in perfect shape. Alive,” she muttered, her eyes trailing over his very much alive form, pausing on his very defined abs. “And half-naked. I might cry.”

That did it—Cregan turned away quickly, but she saw the grin he was trying to hide as he moved to make her coffee.

“Should I put on a shirt?” he asked, a little more serious now, glancing back over his shoulder. “If it bothers you.”

“No, you’ve got some nice muscles on your back,” she blurted out without thinking. Frosty rested his head on her knee, looking up at her with his big eyes. “And you,” she added, giving the dog a playful glare, “are lucky you’re cute.”

Cregan placed the mug in front of her.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he said with a smirk.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she replied, feeling the tension melt a little.

Cregan sat across from her, watching her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You look good,” he said finally, sounding genuine. “Want some breakfast?”

Suddenly, it hit her. She was here, no makeup, hair a mess, and still in her pajama pants. She cringed, remembering her earlier comment about his fucking back.

“Uh, no, I’m good,” she mumbled, suddenly self-conscious.

“Dinner, then? Later. With me. I know a place. If you’d like, of course,” Cregan suggested quickly, his tone slightly tentative.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise. Was he... blushing?

“Are you asking me out?”

He let out a soft laugh. “I’ve been trying to ask you out since the first time I saw you. Not sure if you noticed,” he admitted. Just then, Frosty went up to him and nudged the owner’s hand with his nose. “Oh, great, emotional support,” Cregan muttered, scratching the dog’s head affectionately.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yes.”

“Yes?” he echoed, hopeful.

“Yes,” she affirmed, her heart racing. “Just let me know what time, and I’ll dress up.”

He flashed her that charming grin, but then his expression shifted. “I’ve got an appointment with a chihuahua that bites people. I’m actually not sure if I’m gonna make it.”

She liked him so much.

“Do you think it’d be alright if I kissed you before the date, Cregan?” 

“Oh, please do,” Stark replied, voice and expression desperate.

Without overthinking it, she ended up sitting on his lap, being kissed like there was no tomorrow. Held by the strongest pair of arms that were also so gentle.

Frosty placed an approving paw on Cregan’s leg.

Well done, human.

[wheres-mylove]

hiii! im the anon who requested the modern cregan with jace’s sister and i LOVED it it was literally perfect!

that's so nice of you to reach out!! i'm happy you liked the fic ☺️💗

[wheres-mylove]

modern cregan secret relationship with jace’s sister 😁🤭🤭

dear anon, you haven't specified the plot, so i just took the trope and came up with something. hope it's alright! 🩷

ice-cold revelations

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[wheres-mylove]

just checked the asks and they are all great ideas!! i can take up to 2 more for now, so that's the last call. can't wait to write it 🙂‍↕️

i have an irresistible urge to write something for modern!cregan or jace or boaf. requests are open for these baddies - hit me up if you would be interested! 🫣🩷

[wheres-mylove]

i have an irresistible urge to write something for modern!cregan or jace or boaf. requests are open for these baddies - hit me up if you would be interested! 🫣🩷

[wheres-mylove]

i keep getting notifications from this post, not sure why now, but thank you guys for liking 😭💞

silent love song | sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

Summary: A pretty lady is convinced that Sihtric hates her, a pretty warrior is terrified of confessing his feelings more than fighting the most dangerous enemy, and the pretty boys simply have to spring into action, because you can’t be more oblivious than these two.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language!

Word count: 2.5k

Czytaj dalej

[wheres-mylove]

get to know me!

rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get know better and/or catch up with!

thanks for the tag @split-spectrum <3

favorite color: green

last song:

currently reading: unfortunately still recovering from reading my abnormal psych textbook...

currently watching: house of the dragon s2

currently craving: some peace (and chocolate ice cream)

coffee or tea: i am a morning tea & afternoon coffee enjoyer, so both, do NOT make me choose

tags: anyone who wants to join the game :)

get to know me!

rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get know better and/or catch up with!

thank you for the tag @janaispunk 💜💜💜

favorite color: purple (duh)

last song: World in my eyes - Depeche Mode

currently reading: Your summer dream by @swiftispunk - I'm on the last chapter and I'm not sure if I will survive

currently watching: started rewatching the Alien movies

currently craving: 20 hours of sleep and a brown eyed hunk in his late 40s 👀

coffee or tea: Tea!

no pressure tags: @djarins-cyare @djarins-wife @beefrobeefcal @zaddymandalorian @pedroswife69 @immarocketman @colleenispunk @thefrogdalorian @roughdaysandart

[wheres-mylove]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[wheres-mylove]

my biggest accomplishment