#Rupert Campbell-Black

[daenerysmacfarlane]

Rituals - Rupert Campbell-Black

Rupert Campbell-Black x fem Reader 18+

Authors Note: Another smutty RCB fic from meeee. Also this is incredibly long and FILTHY, much like our dearest Rupert. The man has a death grip on me I swear. Smut warning, you are responsible for the media you consume. Spoilers for Jilly Cooper's Riders and a teeny tiny Rivals spoiler (I think?). I don't own any character from Riders, all belonging to Dame Jilly. Snippets from The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien. Ayrton Senna was a brilliant F1 champion in real life who was taken from us far too soon.

If you ask an athlete if they have a ritual before they compete, most often they’ll say they do. Those that say they don’t most likely do, but don’t know it. Athletes are also naturally superstitious. Those that say they aren’t superstitious are usually fucking liars. 

You could say the most superstitious of all are show-jumpers and all the greats had a ritual they completed before they rode into the ring. Most of them, like Billy Lloyd-Foxe, turn to booze before their number is called. Fenella Maxwell, who is now Fenella Ferranti, studied the other riders before her, the faults they made and the strides they took to make the most impossible jumps. Jake Lovell puked everything in his stomach until he dry-heaved. And my hero, multi-Olympic medalist Rupert Campbell-Black, would mount the nearest, most attractive girl and then crash all the jumps in the practice ring so that his horse will jump extra high to clear the obstacle by feet. 

I, however, read to my beloved horse. 

Senna picks up the sound of my feet before I step around the corner and begins to whinny and stamp his hooves. 

“Alright, I’m almost there.” I call. 

The very last stall at the end of the corridor is where my thoroughbred Arabian waits for me for our latest adventure. Named after my favourite Formula One driver, Senna is very much the horse equivalent of his namesake, brilliant and determined, having won absolutely everything this season. I grab an empty bucket and undo the latch of the stall. Senna backs up and trots on the spot, he knows what’s about to happen. His coat shines and his mane and tail are impeccably braided. I can tell he’s raring to go and dominate the ring and show his competition who the true champion is but he has an hour and a half to wait. I turn the bucket upside down and plonk myself on it. Senna rests his head happily against my shoulder and I open the book. 

“The Hobbit or There and Back Again by J.R.R Tolkien. Chapter 1, An Unexpected Party. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…” I trail off, giving Senna a scratch on the neck. 

We both soon get enthralled in Middle Earth and Tolkien. Senna nudges me when we get up to the part where Bilbo meets Gandalf as if to remind me to change my voice for the different characters. I drop my voice for Gandalf,

“‘What do you mean?’ He said. ‘Do you wish me a good morning or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it’s a morning to be good on?’”

Senna lifts his head and gives a sniff. I lift my head to see what’s caught his attention and my jaw drops. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

“Do keep going please, Angel.”

There stood Rupert Campbell-Black with a shit-eating grin on his face. He runs his hand along the length of Senna’s nose. He’s exquisite, curly dark locks, golden tan and eyes as blue as the ocean. 

“Wanted to see our soon to be champion and they told me you’d be here reading to this lovely chap. Been breaking my records I hear, naughty girl?”

I couldn’t speak. Fuck. 

“Cat got your tongue, darling?” He purrs. 

My stomach does flips when he calls me darling and starts to ache in a way I’ve rarely felt before at naughty girl. I pull myself together to answer him, after all he’s most likely here as Minister for Sport. 

“Sorry Sir, this is Senna. Named after Ayrton Senna. He’s the one who’s been breaking your records, he’s a dream.” I smile and rest my hand against my dear companion. 

Senna licks Rupert’s hand and nickers, a dazzling smile breaks out on Rupert’s face.  I can see in his eyes how much he misses show-jumping. 

“How are you finding Crittledon, Minister?” I ask. 

He snorts, “Boring, quite looking forward to you though. Tell me, how does this help you and Senna win?” 

“I’m not divulging my winning secrets to you, sir.” I smile. 

“I quite like you calling me Sir.”

Well… shit. I shift on the bucket. I can feel my face getting hotter, suddenly feeling like I was on fire. A burning need between my thighs makes itself known. Rupert reads me like a book and undoes the latch of the stall. I get up and stumble back as he enters, The Hobbit falling into the hay. Rupert backs me into the wall with his arms trapping me on each side. His pupils are blown, training on me like a predator with its prey. 

“You know what I always found when I competed? That a good fuck goes a long way to surely getting a rosette.” He presses body into mine and I can feel an impressively large, hard bulge pressing into my stomach. 

I gasp. “We can’t, not in front of-“ 

He cuts me off with a deep chuckle. A look of deja vu comes across his face. 

“Oh yes we fucking can.” Rupert drawls and kisses me like there’s no tomorrow. 

I try my best to keep up with the kiss but I get distracted by his hands as they slowly unbutton my blouse. 

However before he can get further than the top two buttons, my chef d’equipe and his former teammate, Ivor Braine calls out for him. He groans as I rush to straighten myself up. Ivor pops his head into Senna’s box and gives him a loving scratch. 

“Hello sweet boy, ah Rupert there you are! I see you’ve met our champion. I dare say she could’ve given you a run for a money.”

“I think she would’ve ended up in my bed instead. Still time for that.” Rupert chuckles. 

Ivor narrows his eyes. “Please leave her alone until after she jumps?”

I must look like a tomato with how much I’m blushing and Rupert exists the stall with his hands up in mock surrender. He turns around and winks at me before following Ivor out to the seating area. I take a deep breath and look at my watch. Half an hour before I’m called. Senna looks at me and snorts, totally judging me. 

“Oh shush. Now where were we?” I sigh. 

I pick up The Hobbit again and make myself comfy on the bucket. 

“‘All of them at once,’ said Bilbo. ‘And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine!There’s no hurry, we have all the day before us.’”

Senna jumps clear that day and breaks another one of Rupert’s records. I can still see Rupert’s grin from the stands as I take Senna for a victory lap around the ring. I didn’t see him afterwards though and my heart sank a little. 

“He got called away, hooligans are causing mayhem at the Man United game.” Ivor says, “But I have incredible news, you’ve been chosen to represent us at the World Championship in France!”

As I look back on that day fondly while brushing Senna down after a ride, the sound of Silverstone brings me out of my reverie. Ayrton Senna has had gear box failure and is out of the Grand Prix. The cameras pan to the audience for a reaction and they stop on a very familiar and dashingly handsome face. Fucking Rupert Campbell-Black, standing there in his capacity as Minister for Sport. He has a grimace on his face.

My groom, Elsie who’s a literal godsend, sighs. “Even with a face like a cat’s arse he’s ravishing. Makes you take ‘Fuck the Tories’ quite literally.” 

I nod in agreement. The tv is in the stall across from Senna in my home stables. Elsie and I both like to watch F1 and keep up to date with the latest equestrian news. Elsie and Senna also like to watch Dynasty and pretend I have no idea about it. She hands me a parcel. 

“This came for you, along with two dozen roses. Who have you been shagging? I want roses!” 

I roll my eyes, “Have a dozen, Else. Lord knows you more than deserve it.”

“Don’t you forget it.” She smirks. 

I open up the parcel to find the most exquisite red coat with little union jacks on the lapels. A note falls out of the box. 

‘Looking forward to see you break that fucker Lovell’s record, also looking forward to seeing how ravishing and fuckable you look in that coat. All my love, darling one. RCB’

Elsie looks at me with her mouth agape. “Get… the fuck… out. You didn’t?!”

“I didn’t, no. We got interrupted.” I begin blushing like crazy and pluck the card out of her hand. Senna sniffs the card and nickers as he picks up Rupert’s sent. 

Not long later, the World Championship at Les Riveux came rushing around the corner. Elsie and I had made our way up to France early with Senna and Skywalker, my other horse. Today is the big day. The Final four. My new coat fits me like a glove and my hair is slicked back in a low bun. Elsie finishes the last touches on Senna’s tail braid. Having made our way through The Hobbit, I pick up The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Senna snorts and nudges me as I open the book. 

I walk around as I read to him; “Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone. Nine for the Mortal men doomed to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne in the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them, one Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. In the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.”

Senna whinnies and stamps his hooves in excitement. Skywalker picks up his friend’s energy and begins to do the same. I look up from the book to see what the fuss is. Coming towards me and Elsie is Rupert and Ayrton Senna. 

“Get fucked…” Elsie breathes. 

Rupert puts his hand out and my dear horse puts his head in it, sighing in contentment. 

“Red is most definitely your colour, Angel. Ayrton, meet England’s next world champion show-jumper and her horse. Senna has more power than your Lotus I fear.” Rupert drawls and gives Senna a treat from his pocket. 

Ayrton rolls his eyes at Rupert and smiles at me. “Your horse is lovely, I am very honoured to meet you both.”

Elsie elbows me in the ribs and I regain my composure, beaming at my most favourite driver. Well, apart from Niki Lauda. “Please the honour is all mine, the horse next to him is mine as well. His name is Skywalker. This is my groom and best friend, Elsie. I couldn’t do any of this without her. How are you feeling about Germany?”

“Hopeful. The team have been working constantly to repair the gearbox in time and so far so good. I’m there in two days. You should come to a race soon.” 

“Oh yes most definitely!! I want to go to Monaco!” Elsie blurts. 

I shake my head. “She’s not wrong, Monaco or Silverstone are at the top of my list.”

Ayrton gives us a massive smile. “I look forward to seeing you both there. We better let you get prepared, shall we Rupert?” 

Rupert pouts but agrees with the Brazilian driver. Rupert stops in front of me. 

“Best of luck, Duckie. Can’t wait to fuck you senseless in that coat afterwards.” He gives me a long kiss, taking my breath away. 

He saunters off with Ayrton to the stands. Elsie looks at me with her eyebrows raised, Senna snorts and judges me like he did at Crittledon. Ivor comes around the corner and sighs at the sight of me. 

“Bugger, you saw Rupert didn’t you? Well never mind about that now you’re up in 10 minutes. Several riders have disqualified themselves so you got moved up. Come along.” 

I can see how they got disqualified. The jumps are massive and complex and the ground is still slippery and muddy after the rain in the morning. This was where Senna excelled, however, just like Ayrton. Senna looks around and memorises the jumps. The announcer, former Team Great Britain show-jumper and now BBC Sports Presenter Billy Lloyd-Foxe, calls my name and my horse and I trot in. I take my helmet off and bow to the officials. Running my hand down Senna’s neck, I silently begin to pray even though I’m the least religious person on the planet. 

“Come on. Show them how it’s done.” I whisper taking the stirrups in hand. 

It’s all in a blur but he makes the course look like child’s play. His corners are tight and the jumps are cleared by feet, fully relaxed throughout the whole thing. A massive cheer goes up as he clears the final jump which was actually a triple. It becomes clear as I look up that we broke another record. I pump my fist and cheer, reaching to pat Senna on the neck. Rupert, Ayrton and Elsie are on their feet, Elsie jumps into Ayrton’s arms in joy. The presentation begins shortly after with Elsie walking beside me and Senna. On the podium, sashes and prizes are handed to me one after the other. Rupert, filling in for Prince Phillip it turns out, shakes my hand and presents me with a gold medal. He kisses my cheek as he places the medal around my neck. 

“Wear that too.” He whispers. 

The celebrations go on for hours into the night back at the hotel. Ayrton joins Elsie and I and we all become fast friends. The medal and the red coat have stayed on but I exchange my jodpurs, blouse and boots for a sleek black dress and heels. I feel Rupert behind me and his hand expertly traces my spine to my lower back while the other holds a flute of champagne. 

“Christ what a ride! I think Ivor was right, you would’ve bested me.” He grins. 

My eyes widen at the compliment. “You got a team gold with a damaged shoulder. But I will say I think we might be on par.”

He hums and his eyes take in my dress. They stop at my very revealing cleavage, emphasised by the gold medal. 

“I wonder what other skills we’re on par with.” His hand drops to my behind. 

“Get a fucking room!” Elsie shouts, Ayrton laughing beside her. 

“Shall we?” I smirk. 

Rupert takes my hand and leads me back to his suite. He wastes no time in pushing me against the door and kissing me. I feel his cock press against my stomach through his pants and I moan, finally able to fully savour the moment. His hand slides my dress up, pushing my panties to the side and he finds the opening at the apex of my thighs. His talented fingers ease in and out, in and out. My hips buck as he finds that sweet bundle of nerves and plays with it. Rupert drops to his knees and takes my underwear off with his teeth, never breaking eye contact. I whimper. His mouth joins his fingers, my fingers burying themselves in his hair, legs shaking. I begin to lose control when his tongue starts moving against that nerve, I cry out as he pushes me over into that blissful release. We both look at each other. His eyes totally dark except for a faint blue ring around the pupil. 

“Fuck me please.” I beg. 

“As you wish, Angel.” 

Rupert picks me up and takes me to his bed. The jacket comes off briefly but only to get rid of the dress. 

“I meant it when I said I wanted to fuck you in this jacket and I most definitely will.” 

I moan at his words as I claw at his belt buckle. He unbuttons his shirt and reveals the most incredible chest I’ve ever seen. I run my hands down it, memorising every inch of him for my dreams. My fingers find the loops of his trousers and I pull him to me, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. He pushes his tongue in as I moan and quickly sets a punishing pace. I can taste myself on his tongue. His trousers come down along with his boxer briefs and my eyes widen at the sight of his length. 

“Fucking hell that won’t fit!” I slap my hand over my mouth, my brain filter completely failing me in that moment. 

Rupert laughs. “I don’t know Angel, I thought you like a challenge. I know I do.” 

“Well when you put it that way.” I smirk. 

He grabs a condom from the bedside table and puts it on. “Absolutely no unwanted pregnancies, you need to represent us at the Olympics. I’m speaking to the Olympic committee tomorrow. You ride like that, I want a fucking medal.” 

I’m shocked, grabbing his face and kissing him again. He pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. Lining himself up, I slowly sink down on him. Stretched and full to the brim, we both moan at the feeling. Already he’s the best fuck I’ve ever had and he hasn’t even started moving. I start to raise myself up and down with his hips meeting mine. The gold medal bounces as I ride him and the sound of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Rupert’s hands alternate between my breasts and my behind. The pace gets faster and faster in a savage fuck. It doesn’t take me long to find that lovely release several times over. He changes position, my legs over his shoulders as he drives me into the bed with each thrust of his hips. Feeling every inch of him, my hands twist the bedsheets. He grabs my face and kisses me. He places my legs around his hips and resting his forehead against mine, thrusts harder. I look into his eyes and see he’s coming undone. I start to buck my hips as I once again feel him bring my pleasure to a boiling point. The release hits me first, Rupert following closely behind as his hips stutter and he groans. He gives me a long slow kiss and then eases out of me. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” I sigh, getting my breath back. 

Rupert pulls me into his chest. “I think you mean today.” 

I look at the clock. 3:30 in the morning. I snuggle into his chest. His soft snores hit my ears and I feel my eyes closing. I wake up a bit later with Rupert wrapped around me and the need to use the bathroom. I look at him, completely out cold with a wisp of black hair curling on his forehead and still snoring. I can’t help but think how angelic he looks. I untangle myself from him and enter the bathroom, my body creaks with a sweet ache from last night. My hair was somehow still in the bun but messy. I pull my hair tie out and it falls down my shoulders. I silently walk out of the bathroom and start to pick up my clothes from the floor. 

“Just what do you think you’re going, Angel?” 

I let out a shriek and turn around. There Rupert lies with his head propped up, eyes sleepy yet already full of mischief. I hold my clothes close to my naked body. 

“Thought you might-“

“Not want you here when I woke up?” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “I was looking forward to a bite of your crumpet for breakfast. Now come back to bed. Seriously darling, you would have been back in your room already if I was done with you.”

“But what about the Olympic committee?” I shift my gaze to the floor. 

“You are the best rider Great Britain has ever seen, you’re a fucking shoe-in. They can bugger off so I can bugger you until Olympia.”

I smile. “This isn’t a one time thing?”

He returns the smile, an honest expression on his most beautiful face. “Consider me besotted, Angel. So, are you coming back to bed?”

I drop my clothes back to the floor and saunter back to the bed. Rupert grins, throwing the sheets off his magnificent body. His lips quickly find my neck. I hold him against me and his arms quickly embrace me too. 

Perhaps this means my ritual will include Rupert now. 

[honeylullaby]

masterlist 🩷

hello guys!! it’s meeee, jam3sacaster! if you’re new here, i’m a rivals fanfic writer with an always open ask box for requests for any scenario, any character! 🫶🏽💋 thank you for all your lovely comments so far & i appreciate you all sm 🥹 i will update it here every time i post 🫶🏽

rupert campbell-black

smut/vague smut

• “i can’t breathe without you.”

• “i’ll be gentle, angel.”

• “you’re such a dirty girl.”

• “i think i rather like that.”

• “let me warm you up, darling.”

• “i will never forget your touch. it will linger on me.”

• “the lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

• “bubbles hide a multitude of sins.”

• “i pray you, do not fall in love with me.”

• “say my name.”

• “well, i am a member of the clitory party.”

• merry christmas, angel (continuation)

soft/protective rupert 🥺

• “what did you fucking say?”

• “i can’t sleep. i just think of you.”

• “just breathe with me, darling.”

• “you just don’t see it, do you?”

• “you belong to me.”

• “let me take care of you, darling.”

• “you must be careful, angel.”

• “you have the body of a goddess.”

• “you can ride my pony anytime, darling.”

• “she’s the one, lizzie.” no reader in this story.

• “happy new year, angel.”

• “forever yours, r.”

• “i’m a heartless man at worst, babe. and a helpless one at best.”

• “i’m a great stress reliever.”

• “well, you couldn’t possibly dance alone.”

• “don’t worry about it, angel.”

• “i have waited for the day.”

• was i just a fool? / breakup with rupert :(

• “you deserve a real man.”

• every breath you take / proposal!

• you have bewitched me, body and soul.

• merry christmas, angel.

storyline

• i don’t believe in god, but i believe that you’re my saviour. PT 1

• i don’t believe in god, but i believe that you’re my saviour. PT 2

• oh, the whole world, it is sleeping. but my world is you.

declan o’hara

smut/vague smut

• “i’m gonna have ‘ta punish ya’.”

• “i think you know…”

• “ya’ want me to touch ya’ like that?”

• “how does it feel, my girl?”

• “how beautiful you are, my girl.”

• “don’t think i’ll go easy on ‘ya.”

• “what do ‘ya want me to do to ‘ya?”

• “time for a new one.”

• “do ya’ know how wrong this is?”

• “your turn.”

• earned it.

• all i need.

soft/protective declan🥺

• “for he would be thinking of love..”

• “how does it feel, huh?”

• “i can’t stand to see ya’ with someone else.”

• “i’m slave to her, slave to her love.”

storylines

• “miss baddingham, you are bad news.” PT 1 smut

• “miss baddingham, you are bad news.” PT 2 protective

• “you have no idea what ‘ya doing to me, do ‘ya?” PT 1 smut

• “there’s just something about ya’.” PT 1 angst

• “there’s just something about ya.” PT 2 romance

rupert x taggie

smut/vague smut

• “daddy, can you…”

• “show me what you do to yourself, darling.”

rupert x reader x declan

love triangle storyline/smut

• “don’t waste your time with him.” PT 1

• “don’t waste your time with him.” PT 2

basil baddingham

smut/vague smut

• “jesus christ, you’re enchanting.”

soft bas🥺

• “well, my love…”

• “thank god you’re here.”

lizzie x freddie

• “i wish i could stop thinkin’ about ‘ya.” soft

taggie o’hara

• because i knew you, i have been changed for good. PT.1 platonic

• because i knew you, i have been changed for good. PT.2 platonic

random titbits (tony, lizzie etc)

• “well, she’s quite some lady…” rupert x reader ft tony

• “you have so much celestial light.” patrick o’hara x reader

• “that was gloriously naughty.” tony baddingham x reader

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

I have now finished Rivals. It is one of the most deeply unserious television programs I have ever seen. I want ten seasons.

[aidanturner]

just rupert and declan being chaotic

Video: lvnareditss, TikTok

[fabiolajyx]

RUPERT CAMPBELL-BLACK AND BASIL "BAS" BADDINGHAM Rivals - S01E08

[batmanlovesnirvana]

— ‘the frenchwoman.’

RUPERT CAMPBELL-BLACK x FEM!READER

words : 4k

synopsis : You’re no journalist, but a last-minute favor thrusts you into an interview with Rupert Campbell-Black, the infamous Olympian-turned-MP. You hate everything aristocratic, a sentiment no doubt rooted in your French ancestry and your country’s history with the elite. Still, the lines between duty and danger blur with every word.

A/N : English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. I’m not entirely sure what I just wrote, but I hope it’s still enjoyable! :)

THE RUTSHIRE COUNTRYSIDE unfolded before you like a scene from a postcard: undulating hills, pristine fields, and the occasional splash of wildflowers in vivid hues.

It was undeniably beautiful, yet to someone who’d grown up in Paris and now lived in London, where beauty was always wrapped in the chaotic buzz of life, it felt unsettlingly perfect—almost too serene.

You weren’t a journalist—not by any stretch. Your expertise lay in veterinary medicine, not in chasing headlines or conducting interviews.

But when your friend had called, her voice trembling with desperation and barely holding back tears as she tried to explain why she couldn’t make it to England for an urgent assignment for her boss at a high-profile media firm, you hadn’t been able to say no. She’d stammered through her plea, insisting it was a last-minute decision, that none of her colleagues could take her place, and that you were the only French person she knew living in England—making you the perfect stand-in.

She wasn’t famous, but the company she worked for certainly was. Thankfully, they didn’t have a photo of her on file, just the knowledge that a French journalist was coming to interview the infamous womanizing MP.

You fit the role perfectly—or at least well enough to fool them.

So, with a deep breath and every ounce of courage you could summon, you stepped into her shoes, ready to play the part.

The house—no, the manor—loomed ahead, a lavish testament to old money and unchecked arrogance.

Stepping out of your worn-down car, your high heels crunched against the polished gravel of the estate’s driveway of the Campbell-Black estate.

Already, you regretted your choice of footwear, but it was necessary—you had to look the part.

Dressed in a sharp, polished red blouse and matching skirt, you quickly verified that the notebook containing the questions your friend had painstakingly prepared was still tucked safely in your bag. Adjusting it under your arm, your fingers tightened momentarily as you glanced at the grand manor towering before you.

God, you just hoped you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or blow the cover entirely. The sheer weight of history and expectation seemed to hang in the air, pressing down on you as you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the charade that lay ahead.

“Ah, and here she is.”

The voice, smooth and laced with amusement, came from your left. You turned to see him leaning against a sleek sports car, arms crossed and radiating an air of smug privilege.

Rupert Campbell-Black.

He towered over most, tall and broad-shouldered, with an air of infuriating self-assurance that seemed to demand attention without even trying. His smile, sharp and knowing, was the kind that could either make you want to roll your eyes in disbelief or, if you were feeling particularly bold, slap it right off his face.

Everything about him screamed aristocrat, from the crisply tailored blazer that looked like it had been made for a throne to the way he carried himself with an effortless arrogance, as if he owned the world and was simply letting the rest of us pretend we had a say in it.

It wasn't that you hated him—not exactly. It was more the idea of him, the things he represented, the polished, perfect image he projected of old money, entitlement, and an almost offensive ease with the luxuries of life.

You despised that.

But your irritation with him had mostly been built from the things you’d read in the tabloids. You didn’t want to buy into the gossip, but it was hard not to when everything you read painted him as the worst kind of privileged, pompous snob. Still, like everyone else, you couldn’t help but feel a certain curiosity toward him.

And when you saw him in person—standing there with his smirk and that goddamn perfectly disheveled hair—you had to admit, he was more handsome than you'd imagined. The kind of handsome that made you want to look away just so he wouldn’t notice how much you were looking.

Of course, you wouldn't let him know that.

“You must be the journalist,” he said, his voice smooth and rich, like the kind of tone one might use when speaking to someone far beneath them.

He straightened up, his movements calculated and assured as he began to saunter toward you with that predatory grace, as though he had just spotted an interesting mouse.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms with deliberate calm. “And you must be the aristocrat who thinks it’s still 1815,” you fired back, taking in his perfectly polished shoes, the tailored cut of his suit, the way he walked as if he were the only person in the room worth noticing. You couldn't help but scan him from head to toe, that critical, discerning eye you had well-practiced over years of dealing with people like him.

He halted in his tracks, his smirk widening as though your words had delivered precisely the challenge he’d been anticipating. “French, then?” he asked, his tone laced with a hint of amusement, underpinned by that ever-present air of casual superiority.

Of course, Rupert already knew the journalist was French—he would have done his homework before agreeing to the interview. No, this was just him, toying with you.

“Oui,” you replied with a quick glance and a little more bite than usual, your arms still crossed tightly over your chest. "Is that going to be a problem?" you added, the challenge in your voice clear, daring him to say something, anything, that would prove your impression of him wrong—or, more likely, confirm it.

“Not at all,” he said smoothly, with a flourish of his hand toward the house. His voice carried a casual, almost theatrical quality as if he were performing for an audience. “In fact, it’s quite refreshing. Most journalists they send are painfully polite. You, on the other hand, seem… different.”

You rolled your eyes, a small, exasperated laugh escaping you. “If by ‘different,’ you mean I’m not here to stroke your ego, then yes, I suppose I am.”

Rupert’s laugh rang out, deep and assured, as if he were privy to some private joke. The sound both irked and intrigued you. Without missing a step, he fell into stride beside you as you neared the entrance. “Miss Duvallet, is it?” he asked.

You opened your mouth, ready to correct him with your real name and a sharp insult, but then it hit you—you were supposed to be Miss Duvallet.

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you simply nodded and replied with a curt, “Yes.”

“Tell me,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, taking on a hint of curiosity, “why take this assignment if you’re so clearly opposed to everything I represent?”

You shot him a look, your response as blunt as ever. “Work,” you said simply, shrugging as if that were the only answer that mattered. “Not all of us have the luxury of inheriting a manor.”

“Touché,” he replied, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, before he opened the door for you, ushering you inside.

The manor greeted you with all the grandeur you’d expected—high, vaulted ceilings, furniture so polished it seemed to shine even in the dim light, and walls adorned with heavy portraits of ancestors whose eyes followed you as you moved. It was all so… much.

You paused, taking it all in, trying to stifle the small twinge of awe that prickled at your insides.

“Impressed?” Rupert asked, his voice light with amusement, clearly savoring the effect his surroundings had on you.

Yes, you were impressed. It was a beautiful place, no denying that. But you would never let him know that.

You glanced at him, your expression flat, even though a part of you was bristling with the impulse to give a biting reply. “If by ‘impressed,’ you mean mildly nauseated, then yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Rupert’s laughter rang out again, deeper this time, full of genuine surprise. The sound was so unexpected that it caught you off guard, making you wonder if you had misjudged him. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, clearly entertained by your response.

Shaking your head, you redirected the conversation. “So, where do we start? I assume you’ve prepared some kind of agenda.”

“Of course,” he said, leading you down a grand hallway. “But first, let me clear the air about one thing.”

You stopped, turning to face him. His tone, while still light, carried a sharper edge.

“I don’t know what you’ve read about me, but I’m not quite as terrible as I’m made out to be.”

You tilted your head, a small, skeptical smile playing on your lips. “Let me guess. You’re not like the other rich men?”

His grin widened, wolfish and unapologetic. “I’m worse.”

You hummed, clearly skeptic about him. "Very well, Mr Campbell-Black."

“Rupert,” he corrected smoothly. “If we’re going to spend time together, you might as well call me by my name.”

“Fine,” you said with a shrug, keeping your tone professional. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m here to work, not to feed into whatever thing you think this is.”

“Perish the thought,” he replied with mock solemnity. “But I should warn you—things around here can get… unpredictable.”

You sighed, the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders. Already, you were questioning your life choices. “Wonderful,” you muttered under your breath, yet you forced a polite, practiced smile—one honed through years of dealing with difficult interview subjects.

Rupert led you into another room, as grandiose as the first, if not more so. He referred to it as the green tea room, a name that seemed almost as carefully curated as the room itself. Emerald green walls framed the space, accented by high ceilings and sculptures that, if you had to guess, cost more than a year’s salary. The furniture—rich, heavy pieces that seemed to whisper of luxury—only reinforced the wealth that dripped from every corner of the manor.

He guided you to a plush, velvet-red canapé, the cushions soft beneath you as you sat. “Drink?” Rupert asked smoothly, uncapping a whiskey bottle and beginning to pour himself a glass.

“No, thank you,” you answered, your tone firm.

But Rupert, ever the charming host, wasn’t easily deterred. “Not even wine?” he pressed, his gaze flicking toward you with mild amusement.

“I don’t drink,” you replied, trying to maintain your focus.

He raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. “Tea, then? I can call the maid to prepare us some,” he offered, as if suggesting something as simple as breathing.

You leaned back slightly, your patience thinning. “With all due respect, Rupert, I’m here to discuss politics. Shall we start?”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, his posture shifting as he registered your refusal. His usual easygoing charm was momentarily unsettled. “Straight to business?” he asked, amusement creeping into his voice. “Not even a little foreplay? Do all French journalists lack a sense of occasion, or is it just you?”

You didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with an evenness that only made his grin widen. Then, uou inhaled deeply, willing yourself to remain professional. “Again, If you think I’m here to flirt or fawn, you’re mistaken. Let’s just say I’m not your usual… audience.”

Rupert’s laugh was low and lazy, like a cat stretching in the sun. “Oh, I like you. Sharp. Refreshing, really. Most people who visit spend the first ten minutes fawning over the place.”

“Then let me save us both the trouble,” you said crisply, gesturing vaguely at the ornate surroundings. “It’s very big. Very… lovely. Now, can we start ?”

Perching on the edge of the overstuffed armchair, you pulled out your notepad, determined to stay focused.

“So,” you began in a neutral tone, “the Tory Party. What inspired your allegiance to them?”

Rupert leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, yet his confidence radiated with every movement.“Allegiance? That’s a bit strong for my taste,” he said with a faint smile. “Let’s just say I appreciate certain efficiencies, the kind that get results. I’ve always been drawn to winning teams, the ones that know how to play the game and come out on top.”

His eyes sharpened, the casual tone shifting into something more calculating. After a brief pause, he swirled the liquor in his glass, the crystal catching the light. “And as for ‘inspiration,’ that’s a bit too lofty for me. I’ve always believed in the importance of tradition, in maintaining order. That’s what keeps everything running smoothly.”

You jotted his response down but didn’t look up, deliberately keeping your tone sharp. “Do you think the party reflects the realities of modern Britain?”

His eyes sparkled with a challenge as he met your gaze. “That depends. Whose reality are we talking about? But you’re French, aren’t you? Tell me—what do you think of it all?”

You met his gaze without flinching. “I find the British fascination with monarchy and class structure quite intriguing, especially for a country that prides itself on being ‘modern,’” you finished, emphasizing the word with two fingers forming quotation marks.

His smile sharpened, full of challenge. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like a revolutionary.”

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Don’t worry. I left the guillotines at home.”

“For now,” he added, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “If we’re done with the banter, let’s get back to the topic. Do you believe your policies address the needs of modern Britain, or are they focused on preserving this… tradition and order you mentioned?”

His expression grew thoughtful, though the amused glint in his eye remained. “A good politician knows how to balance the old and the new,” he said. “The past is what grounds us, but the future… that’s what keeps things interesting.”

You jotted down his words, biting back the urge to challenge him further. Rupert Campbell-Black might be as infuriating as he was charming, but he was certainly keeping your interview lively.

“Are you always like this, or do you save the charm for interviews?”

“Only when the company’s as delightful as this,” he replied smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “But tell me, do all French journalists enjoy poking the British aristocracy, or is that just your particular specialty?”

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to be drawn in. “I ask questions. Whether or not they’re uncomfortable is up to you.”

His chuckle was low and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. “Fair enough. Though I do hope this isn’t all business. You’d miss the best parts.”

You ignored the bait, your pen poised over the notepad. “Let’s stick to the topic. How do you think the Tory Party’s policies address the concerns of everyday citizens?”

Rupert tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before he responded. “That’s a rather broad question. Perhaps you’d like to narrow it down. Or would you prefer I give you the polished party line?”

"Why don’t you surprise me?” you countered.

His lips twitched in a faint smirk, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as if weighing his options.

"Minister of Sport—it’s quite the title. How did that come about?” you pressed, switching tactics.

He relaxed further, his expression a mix of amusement and pride. “I suppose you could say it was a natural fit. My background in racing and polo gave me some credibility, and my, shall we say, people skills helped me secure the role.”

You snorted softly, scribbling in your notebook. “People skills. Is that what we’re calling it?"

“Well,” he said with a self-assured grin, “knowing which hands to shake and which backs to pat is half the battle in politics, isn’t it? Or did you imagine my ascent was purely a matter of sporting excellence?”

You smirked, meeting his gaze head-on. “I imagine most ascents, political or otherwise, involve a little grease on the ladder.”

His laughter was warm, though tinged with challenge. “I suppose your right. Do you apply the same cynicism to journalism? Or do you reserve that for the likes of me?”

“That depends,” you shot back lightly. “Are you going to give me a real answer, or keep playing the charming aristocrat?”

“Ah, but why not both?” he replied smoothly, his grin widening, leaning slightly forward. “I’ve always believed in a balance between charm and substance. Something I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”

You gave a small, knowing nod. "I’m starting to see that."

"Careful," he warned, though his tone was light. “I might start to think you’re underestimating me.”

“Never,” you said, matching his smirk. “But I am curious—what’s your vision for British sport? Surely it’s not all polo matches and champagne receptions.”

Rupert’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of genuine focus. “It’s about more than just the elite sports, though they’re important. Grassroots programs, improving facilities, getting kids involved in physical activity—that’s where the real work is. If we want to compete on the world stage, we need to start at the bottom and build up.”

It was an unexpectedly thoughtful answer, but you weren’t about to let him off the hook. “And yet, critics have accused you of focusing too much on prestige projects—Wembley renovations, international events, things that benefit the few rather than the many. How do you respond to that?”

He chuckled, but there was a sharpness to his gaze. “Critics always find something to complain about. But let’s be clear—those ‘prestige projects’ bring in revenue, jobs, and attention. They’re investments, not indulgences.”

You tapped your pen against your notepad. “Fair point, but how do you balance that with ensuring access for underprivileged communities? Because from where I’m sitting, the gap between elite and grassroots sports seems to be widening.”

Rupert’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d pushed too hard. Then he nodded, as if conceding the point. “It’s a fair criticism. And it’s something I’m working on. But change takes time, and unfortunately, not everyone has the patience for that.”

You leaned forward, deciding to test the waters further. “And does your political affiliation ever get in the way? The Conservative Party hasn’t exactly been known for prioritizing social programs.”

His laugh was low and sardonic. “There it is! The classic dig at the Tories. Tell me again, do all French journalists come armed with clichés, or is it just you?”

You shrugged, unfazed. “I call it like I see it.”

“Well,” he said, his tone softening, “to answer your question—yes, politics complicates things. But if you spend too much time worrying about what everyone else thinks, you’ll never get anything done. My job is to fight for what I believe in, even if it ruffles a few feathers.”

“And what do you believe in?” you asked, genuinely curious now.

He hesitated, a rare moment of vulnerability crossing his face. “Opportunity,” he said finally. “The chance for everyone—no matter where they come from—to excel at something. Whether it’s sport, business, or, hell, journalism.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t peg you for an idealist.”

“Don’t let it get out,” he replied with a grin. “It would ruin my reputation.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not in the habit of sharing state secrets—yet.”

Rupert chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Good to know. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

You smirked, tapping your pen against the notepad. “And what exactly does that reputation entail? The charming, polo-playing, politician with a knack for public appearances?”

His eyes twinkled, but there was a hint of seriousness behind his smile. “I’d say it’s more about the vision—being able to see the bigger picture and making things happen, no matter how tough it gets. The rest is just...window dressing.”

You studied him, weighing his words. “So, you’re not just about the photo ops and the VIP events?”

“Not by a long shot,” he said, his tone firm. “But sometimes, you need the spotlight to shine on the issues that matter. If it means people pay attention for a moment, then so be it.”

You nodded, impressed despite yourself. “Okay. But what happens when the spotlight moves on to the next shiny object?”

Rupert’s gaze softened, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if he was weighing your words carefully. “Then you keep working, quietly if necessary, until the next opportunity comes along. The real work doesn’t stop just because the cameras are elsewhere.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the silence stretch between you both.

Then, with a deliberate motion, you snapped your notebook shut, the sound cutting through the still air like a signal.

Rising to your feet, you extended your hand, offering a final gesture of professionalism. “Thank you, sir, for the meeting.”

He looked at your hand for a heartbeat before raising an eyebrow, his voice tinged with amusement. “We’re back on formalities, then?”

“The interview is over,” you said simply, your voice unwavering, though there was a subtle shift in the air around you. You felt the pull of something lingering, a moment that hadn’t quite finished yet.

But then, in a smooth, almost predatory motion, he reached for your hand. Instead of shaking it, he pressed it gently to his lips, his breath warm against your skin. It was an act of such quiet intimacy that it caught you off guard, the sudden closeness making your pulse quicken.

For a split second, you hesitated, caught between politeness and a strange surge of discomfort. But before you could think too much about it, you jerked your hand away, the movement sharp, almost defiant.

Rupert chuckled lowly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Touchy, aren’t we?” he remarked, the words laced with amusement but underpinned with something else, something harder.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you turned away, taking a breath to steady yourself.

The conversation, the unspoken tension—it was all unraveling, leaving behind the brittle veneer of professionalism that had kept you in check.

Despite your protests, Rupert insisted in accompanied you to the grand entrance of the Campbell-Black estate, his presence beside you unexpectedly warm despite his usual aloofness.

There was a slight tension in the air, an unspoken undercurrent that made the walk feel longer than it should have.

Perhaps it was the way his casual remarks seemed to chip away at your defenses, or maybe it was something in the way his eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary. You couldn’t decide.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you’re really not going to tell me anything about your life in Paris?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sudden shift. “Paris?” you teased, a grin forming on your lips. “Do you know that I live in England? In a town, not far from London.”

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose Paris could get a little too chaotic. But I imagine life in an English town must be… more peaceful?”

You shrugged playfully. “Peaceful, yes. Maybe too peaceful. I mean, quiet streets are more my speed than the… vibrance of Paris.”

He smiled, clearly amused.

Before you could reply, a loud bark interrupted the moment, followed by the pitter-patter of paws on the marble floor. Two large, slobbering dogs came bounding around the corner of the hall, tails wagging enthusiastically.

They spotted you instantly, and before you could react, one of them lunged toward you, nose twitching excitedly.

You froze, your eyes wide and your heart pounding. Dogs. You hated dogs. It was strange, considering your work as a veterinarian, but when it came to dogs, you always braced yourself. Most of the time, they were calm, and if not, someone was there to help. But seven dogs charging straight at you? Yeah, no.

“Woah!” you squealed, taking an instinctive step backward, hands raised in a panic. “Oh my God—”

Rupert’s laughter boomed through the hallway, but there was no mockery in it, just pure amusement. He quickly stepped in front of you, guiding the dogs back with a firm but gentle hand. “Sorry about them. They’re a bit enthusiastic.”

You were still frozen, trying to suppress the irrational panic building in your chest. “I—I’m not really… a dog person,” you managed, your voice tight.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful curiosity in his gaze. “Really? Then what do you like?”

You were still half-hidden behind him, trying to avoid the dogs, and your brain, in a panicked scramble for an answer, came up with something entirely ridiculous. “Cows.”

Rupert blinked, clearly taken aback. “Cows?”

You rushed to explain, the words tumbling out in a flurry. “Yeah, you know... they’re calm, low-maintenance. I grew up on a farm... in the countryside, and—” You trailed off, realizing just how absurd you must sound.

Rupert’s smirk returned, though this time it was softer, less mocking, almost like he was seeing a different side of you. “Well, that’s a first,” he said, the amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’ve never had a woman tell me she prefers cows to dogs.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, embarrassed, but oddly relieved by the absurdity of it all. “It’s the truth, though. Cows are just... easier to handle.”

“Fair enough,” he said, stepping back to give the dogs a little more space. They sniffed you cautiously, their noses twitching in curiosity but respecting the invisible boundary you’d created. “I’ll make sure they keep their distance from now on.”

The dogs seemed to sense the shift, obediently sitting beside Rupert, their tails giving a lazy wag, as if in approval. The air between you both lightened, the earlier tension dissolving into something a little more comfortable, though still charged with an undeniable undercurrent.

Your eyes met his briefly, and in that fleeting moment, there was something unspoken between you—a spark, perhaps, or just the ridiculousness of the situation. You couldn’t tell. 

As you walked toward the door, Rupert’s presence beside you was oddly comforting, though you couldn’t quite shake the awareness that something else lingered in the air between you.

Just before you reached the door handle, one last bark echoed from behind you, and you turned to see the dogs sitting, tails wagging furiously.

Rupert glanced back, a grin spreading across his face. “They’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, then added with a laugh, “And for the record, I’m still more of a cow person.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “I’ll remember that. Cows, not dogs. Got it.”

The door clicked shut behind you, an uneasy feeling lingered in your chest. The awkwardness, the subtle tension, his smile that never seemed to falter—all of it replayed in your mind, leaving you wondering what just happened and how everything had shifted so quickly.

You shook your head, trying to push the lingering thoughts away. It was over. You’d never have to face him again.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Still, a quiet, persistent voice deep inside whispered that this was only the beginning.

As you glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the manor shrink into the distance, you whispered to yourself, A bientôt, Monsieur Rupert.

[coterieofroses]

the bluebell wood

Taggie O’hara x Rupert Campbell-Black

part one | part two

Summary: Taggie and Rupert navigate their feelings post 1x08, canon divergent, an excuse for smut really

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, pet names, gagging, kissing, cheating, oral sex (male and fem receiving), praise kink w/c: 2.2k

Also available on AO3

The Bluebell Wood

​​It was mid-April, the first April since Rupert Campbell-Black had acquired the Bluebell Wood from her father. Settling his debts in the early onset of their bid for the franchise had left the woods with a new air for Taggie as she passed through the fresh blossoms.

The woods were still the same, yet the air felt different. As if the land had taken on the form of the man who now owned it. Where once the air had been serene, calming even, there now lingered a faint trace of unease. Taggie felt it like a weight in the air, heavy and undeniable, as she walked beneath the canopy of budding trees.

Each step she took on her walk drew her further into the heart of the woods that had been her sanctuary since her father had moved the family west. But today, even the familiar smell of damp earth and fresh blossoms couldn’t calm the restless stirring in her chest.

Things had been left complicated between her and Rupert.

The memory of his touch lingered on her skin, the brand of heat where his fingers had brushed over her as they’d stood together in the kitchen, a moment that had felt like forever. She could still feel the pulse of it, as if his fingers had never left her, leaving a mark that refused to fade.

But it was her confession that truly haunted her, the words that traitorously spilled from her lips.

Far too late, she heard the crunch of gravel beneath boots behind her and stiffened, waking from her usual daydream to realize she was no longer alone with her thoughts. The sound had been too soft at first, drowned out by the rushing pulse of her heart, her wandering mind. But now, it was unmistakable.

Her breath hitched, and before she could even think of turning around, she already knew who it was.

Rupert Campbell-Black.

She could feel his presence before he spoke, the shift in the wood personified, embodied, and standing before her.

"Angel."

His voice was smooth, and low, with a subtle edge that sent a flicker of unease coursing at the sound of the pet name she hadn’t heard for weeks.

They hadn’t been alone together since the incident in her kitchen, the whirlwind of the bid consuming them both. Simultaneously dousing their flames, and pulling them back toward other companions.

The weeks since that moment had been a blur, meetings, negotiations, and social obligations. Each day bleeding into the next. Rupert had been a constant presence, but whenever their paths had crossed in the chaos of the bid—at dinners, in crowded rooms, there were far too many onlookers for them to have another chance.

“Rupert,” she answered. Her voice betrays her, and surprise and unease are evident in her tone.

Taggie could feel her heartbeat in her throat as she faced him, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t know how to breathe. She had spent the last few weeks convincing herself that she was in control, that the chaos of the bid was more important than whatever unspoken connection had simmered between them for so long.

But now, with Rupert standing in front of her, there was no denying the pull. It was as if the universe had decided to make them confront it. He didn’t speak for a moment. His gaze held hers, the intensity of it cutting through the space between them, almost like a weight. A soft, charming smirk played on his lips after a brief moment.

“We shouldn’t…” she finally croaked out, unsure, her voice faltering. “Linger out here alone.”

“I know.” His voice was softer now, his dark fixing on her. Reflections of the bluebells beneath them gave a cool tint to his gaze she could see with his approach. “We can’t, but that doesn’t change what we feel, does it?”

Taggie took a step back, her mind racing. She had to get away, had to pull herself together. But the spring ground was slick and far more yielding than she had expected and she began to slip.

 Rupert reached out and grasped for her, his movements sure. His hand closed around her waist, pulling her toward him with a strength and precision that seemed to steady them both. The suddenness of it left Taggie breathless, her pulse racing as she collided with him, the heat of his body engulfing hers.

He was careful with her, but there was something in the way he held her that made her feel both protected and exposed all at once.

His breath was shallow now, but his eyes never left hers. There was something different in the way he was looking at her, something raw and unguarded. Their faces were so close that Taggie could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.

“Taggie… just one moment,” he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of the words they both feared to speak.

“We shouldn’t…” she murmured up to him, but now, entrapped in his hold, she hardly could bring herself to pull away from his touch.

Rupert didn’t respond right away. His thumb brushed gently over the curve of her waist, a soft, almost tentative movement as if he were waiting for her to make the decision. But even as the tension pulled tighter, he didn’t lean in.

The stillness lingered, a moment feeling like an hour. The sound of their breaths and the soft breeze through the trees is the only thing an onlooker might catch. But for Taggie, all she could hear was her quickened pulse pounding in her ears.

“I…” she started, but the word came out like a wisp, dying on her lips.

Rupert’s hand moved then, sliding from her waist to gently cup her cheek. He leaned in and his lips brushed against hers softly. It was a whisper of a kiss, a question more than an answer.

Taggie’s heart, already racing, pounded harder in her chest. She answered him by leaning in, deepening the kiss, warm and gentle. She still held some reservations, but they began to melt away as they lost themselves in the moment. Lips locking with an increasingly frantic nature.

Rupert, a rake known for his many dalliances with women, was crumbling to youthful trappings in a way he hadn’t in many years. Frantic searching kisses that were more commonly exchanged between adolescents who were searching more due to lack of experience than a burning desire to quench a long pushed-off thirst were freely traded between himself and Taggie.

Taggie gasped softly into the kiss, breaking it only to catch her breath. Her hands moved to rest on Rupert’s chest, a gesture that caused him to pause. Their eyes locked and he wore a devilish smirk as they looked at each other. His thumb moved to idly trace over her kiss-swollen lips.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of Rupert's shirt, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. The rational part of her screamed that they were treading on dangerous ground. Exposed in the woods, where anyone may wander across them.

"Taggie," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Tell me to stop.” he offered softly, a broken plea that was pure evidence he’d like to do anything but.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, her voice once again betraying her true feelings. Feather light and escaping before she could give them a second thought.

Without hesitation, Rupert pulled her closer and captured her again in a searing kiss. No gentleness or hesitation reserving him any longer. The months of pent-up longing poured into a single moment. Her hands slid up his chest, wrapping herself around his neck as she pressed her chest flush with his. Feeling his rapid heartbeat matching her own.

With a gentle but firm hand, he began to lower her into the soft bed of bluebells that carpeted the ground beside the gravel path they had been walking on. Eyes filled with an intense desire he seemed transfixed as he looked down to her as her hair spread out and haloed around her head.

The scent of freshly bloomed wildflowers being trampled and squished began to fill Taggie’s senses, nearly overwhelming as she felt Rupert’s searing gaze.

“I need to taste you.” he rumbled, a betraying admission of his own.

He chased such with action, however, unlike Taggie would. His lips pressed kisses over her freckled cheeks as he deftly moved to unbutton her trousers. Her sweater drifted to scrunch up over her stomach as she reclined, her hands grasping at the grass beneath her.

Rupert’s kisses drifted down her cheeks, over the crest of her jaw, the side of her throat, and dipped over the top of her breasts. Revealed to him by the v-neck cut of her sweater. Taggie was left breathless with his insatiable kisses, heaving breaths coming as her eyes drifted shut.

“Please, Taggie.” he sighed against her pale skin, tugging at the waistband of her trousers, now hovering to press soft kisses to the exposed skin of her stomach.

In answer, she arched her back and lifted her hips. For Rupert, that seemed to be all the answer needed to his plea. He swiftly tugged down her trousers and panties, revealing her slick petals to him.

The cool breeze through the woods caused her to shiver, and attempt to press her thighs together shut, something Taggie found impossible, as Rupert was both in the way and eager to hold her open to his lust-filled gaze.

“So beautiful, Angel,” he growled softly, eyes fixed on where her thighs were pulled apart. “Always such a good girl for me, aren’t you Tag?”

Taggie could feel the heat of Rupert’s breath on her sensitive flesh, a sensation that caused her to arch her back and let out a soft gasp of arousal. His teasing, however, was short-lived. A man so starved was eager to devour her whole.

He pressed several open-mouthed kisses to the swell of her slick core, a brief preamble before the muscle of his tongue found her clit and eagerly swirled around it.

“Rupert, what if...?” Taggie let out with a desperate, keening whine.

Rupert let out a soft snerk, a chuckle through his nose as he relented only to lean back onto his haunches slightly. His fingers move to part their way gently through her folds.

“I will feel no shame about being caught drinking from the fount of a forest nymph,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips before he eased a few fingers slowly inside her eager walls.

A gasp left Taggie as her eyes squeezed shut and her back arched. Overwhelmed as his fingers gently began to pet at her inner walls, driving her through pleasure further and further.

His mouth returned to her folds, lips surrounding and suckling eagerly on her clit. Feasting and hardly easily sated, he drank from her until she was bounding toward her peak. His eyes fixed up toward her face as he attentively watched every quirk of her expression with rapt interest.

Feeling his gaze upon her, Taggie’s cheeks flushed red, and she draped an arm indelicately over her eyes. Hiding from the outpouring of whines and mewls of pleasure that spilled from her lips. If she could concentrate on any feeling but overwhelming pleasure she would feel the prickle of embarrassment at being pleasured so openly, only making its way in as Rupert’s mouth parted from her for a moment.

“Let me see you, Angel. Look at me and let me watch you fall apart.” he husked her, tone broken, and his pupils blown wide with lust.

A whine, petulant and greedy ripped from her. Loud enough any onlookers would certainly be clear about what was transpiring. Her growing need clearly ate away any hesitation as she pulled her arm from her face and her fists tightly grasped the grass again. The soft snapping of roots was heard as she squirmed in a desperate act to seek more friction mindlessly.

A smile, genuine and warm spread over Rupet’s face before he redoubled his efforts. Fingers, lips, and tongue greedily bring Taggie churning toward her climax. His eyes never left her.

In nearly no time at all she was brought through her peak. Waves of blissful ecstasy wracked her form as she cried out in pleasure. His fingers worked her through her climax, pushing through her inner walls as they clenched around him.

Only when he was satisfied did he part from her core, leaving Taggie gasping for her breath. A soft chuckle left Rupert as he pulled her panties and trousers back into place. Leaving them unbuttoned as she caught herself. 

“Beautiful, beautiful thing,” Rupert murmured, mostly to himself as he delicately used his still slick-covered hand to push some of her wild hair out of her face. Taggie reached out to grasp at his silky shirt, weak, as she clung to him for strength for a moment.

“We shouldn’t linger,” he warned, righting himself onto his feet, and save for the slick over his lips, and the grass stains on his knees, evidence of their tryst barely affecting him at all, whereas Taggie laid back in the bluebells, wrecked and dazed as he held his hand out to her from above.

[luvvyouforever]

saw your post about declan x reader x rupert and i can't stop thinking about them in their slutty little venturer tshirts ugh need to be sandwiched between them while they're bickering over who can make you feel better

ughhh the slutty venturer t-shirts! just for you anon <3

challengers - declan o'hara x reader x rupert campbell-black

synopsis: rupert believes he can make you feel better. declan disagrees and thinks he can. there's only one way to find out.

content: threesome (kinda?), afab reader, no m/m, rupert's got a thing for legs, no maud au so there's no infidelity, oral sex, handjob kinda, hickeys, praise, squirting

word count: 3k oops

author's note: this fic has been sitting in the drafts for a whileeeeeee. like before season 2 was even confirmed. enjoy! (ps i haven't watched challengers i just thought the title was fitting)

you think that maybe rupert and declan have forgotten about you sandwiched between them, but perhaps there were worse places to be than leaned against a doorframe, the heady scents of their cologne filling your nose.

"i just find it interesting that every time i come to look for our dear y/n, she's always right by your side, hmm?" rupert's posh accent echoed above you, his chest puffed.

"have you thought that she just prefers my company to yours, rupert?" declan's thick accent was so different to rupert's, but they mingled so well together. you briefly wondered how long you could still there still and quiet until they acknowledge your existence again.

"considering you're tipsy half of the day, i have reason to doubt that."

you would be standing there quietly for a long time.

it was painfully obvious to everyone, not just you, that rupert and declan harboured crushes for you. it had started when freddie managed to poach you from corinium to come work for venturer instead, and small gazes as you left turned into something you weren't even sure how to handle.

"you guys do know i'm standing here still...right?" you managed to slip out between the incessant firing off of insults.

their heads turned downwards, eyes meeting your own.

"of course, doll," declan said at the same time as rupert's, "could never forget you, sweetheart." they glared at each other, then returned to their attention to you.

it was a bit overwhelming, sure, but you held firm in your resolve to attempt to solve this issue. "i thought i could just let you both fight till you came up with a solution, but the plan has not worked evidently. and a girl can only take so much lustful staring and touches on the knee before she need something."

"i'm sorry if declan's made you uncomfortable, love," rupert said slyly, hand softly grazing your upper arm.

declan immediately lost the control he was exerting and faced rupert again with a loud scoff. "i'm making her uncomfortable? if anything, you are! who'd want a man that's slept with half the countryside giving her fuck-me-eyes?"

rupert couldn't help himself. "who'd want a man that hasn't slept with anyone in months giving her fuck-me-eyes?"

"oh, i'm sure i could make her feel much better than you ever could. just cause you're easy doesn't mean you're good."

with every word spat at each other, their shoulders squared and jaws clenched. if you didn't know any better, you'd keep watching the way their t-shirts flexed against their skin, swooning at the knowledge that it was you they were fighting over. but you had to do something.

it seemed crazy the second it popped into your brain. like something from one of those erotica books lizzie wrote. but the way rupert and declan were so naturally competitive, it might be the only way to solve this before they irreparably damaged the friendship they'd been building through venturer.

first you tried to clear your throat loudly which didn't work. they continued to mumble about their respective skills. then you tried saying their names. didn't work either. finally, with a huff of pure frustration, you grabbed each of them by the collars of their t-shirts and drug them further inside declan's home, effectively shutting the door behind you with your foot.

"jesus christ, you're like toddlers," you near-shouted. "you'd think a teacher told you that you have to share the toy the way you're arguing with each other. we have to solve this one way or another." you paused for a beat, letting the two men gather their composure. declan leaned against the kitchen counter, while rupert stood with his arms crossed. "i want you to listen to every word i have to say without speaking, okay? and when i am done, you are allowed to give me a response."

you waited for them to nod and once they did, you continued speaking.

"in full honesty, i can't choose between the two of you. you're both handsome and intelligent and i've enjoyed getting to know you. but i know you can't share. that would never work with the way you both square off like gorillas in a jungle," you said. your next words needed to be chose carefully. "however, i can't make a decision without test driving. so, we can settle this like adults in declan's bedroom, or i will walk out the door and forget that i ever found the two of you attractive in the first place."

true to their word, neither of them spoke until you gestured that you were done. declan was the first to speak up. "how long have you found me attractive, huh?"

"good lord," rupert whispered to himself, though both you and declan heard it clearly. "so when you mean settle this like adults..." he trailed off, posing a question for you to respond to.

"d'ya need her to spell it out for you?" declan asked, shoving himself off the kitchen counter. he sauntered towards you and his scent flooded your senses once again. his hand came to your lower back, dipping down just enough to graze your ass. "she wants us to prove which of us is better."

you let out a soft gasp, followed by a bite of your lip when his hand lifted then came back down on your ass, more harsh than a love tap, but clearly not as rough as he'd like to go.

declan chuckled. "think i'm already ahead of you."

"jesus, get in the bedroom already," rupert said, coming up behind you and replacing declan's hand with his own, pushing you towards the stairs.

the next few moments were a blur. before you knew it, your figure was posed on the middle of declan's bed, with declan and rupert waiting patiently at the foot.

"are there rules?" rupert asked.

you thought for a second. it was an impulsive plan, one you hadn't put much thought into. you shook your head. "nope. want you both to show me just how good you are since you're talking all that game."

declan and rupert looked at each other perhaps the most amiably the whole entire evening. while it was a competition, they seemed to have a silent agreement that your world would be forever changed after this.

declan moved first, his eyes already lowered and darkened with desire. having this view of you in his bed was driving him mad, pushing him to do that much better so he could always see you sprawled on the flannel sheets that smelled like him.

"can i take this off of you, love?" he asked quietly, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. you met his dark brown eyes and nodded, biting your lip as his hands deftly removed the fabric. you could hear the hitch in both his and rupert's breathing.

suddenly, rupert's frame was on your other side, fingers barely touching the skin on your side. "you're so beautiful," he said. though declan made the initial move, rupert took it one step further and brought his head down to offer you a sweet kiss on the lips. declan could've growled, but he knew you wanted to end the fighting. he had to just find his own way to touch you.

as rupert continued to expertly move his lips against yours, declan's own mouth met your neck and upper chest. he left hot, open-mouthed kisses on your delicate skin and you whimpered into rupert's mouth.

declan continued his ministrations as rupert pulled away and tugged off his venturer t-shirt, revealing his toned, tan body underneath. he then slid his belt from around his waist and threw it down onto declan's carpet. he took a few seconds to figure out his next plan of action and when he saw just how enamoured you were with declan's kisses, he opted for the same strategy.

rupert leaned down and started trailing his lips along your stomach, up to the edge of your bra, around the seam, then back down again. he was careful not to invade declan's space while also losing himself in the way your noises reverberated in his ears.

declan, too, rose from kneeling and took off his own shirt. you managed to open your eyes and the sight before you could've sent you reeling immediately. rupert was toned and muscular while declan was broad and, for the lack of a better word, big. in that moment, you considered yourself the luckiest girl on the planet.

your hands flew to declan as he leant back down, fingers roaming the broad expanse of his chest. desperate to have him kiss you on the lips this time, you moved your hand to his chin and tugged him towards you. he picked up the message easily and moved his lips against yours eagerly.

so far, you distinguished that declan and rupert had two distinct styles. declan was desperate and eager and ready to take you as his own. his kisses were passionate and you could tell from his touches that he was exerting a lot of restraint. rupert, on the other hand, was more calculated. his kisses started delicate, like he was teasing you, drawing you in, making you crave more. it would be a harder decision than you thought.

once he was satisfied with the trail of kisses along your body, rupert ducked down, fingers teasing the band of your pants. you looked up at you, somehow meeting your eyes past declan's head, and asked a silent question. you nodded as best as you could, then turned back to declan. as rupert's hands tugged down your pants, revealing your bare legs, your fingers tangled in declan's curls.

you had become so lost in declan's overpowering kiss that you let out a sudden gasp when rupert's mouth met your thighs. you could feel his breath against your legs, hands squeezing your flesh. you realized his weakness then as he groaned with every inch his mouth met.

eventually, you pulled away from declan, desperate for breath. he looked at you with a powerful look, one that you could hardly tear away from. you did, though, and gestured to his pants. "don't leave me alone here," you whispered. he smirked and stood to undo his belt, then tug his pants off.

as if his arousal was not already evident, the bulge barely concealed by his boxers revealed it tenfold. your eyes roamed his body and with a smirk, your hand reached out to his core. at the sudden contact, he groaned, no, growled.

you let out your own noise of surprise at rupert's hands meeting your own middle. your eyes flew to his and he met them confidently with his own smirk.

"she's so wet for us," rupert said, drawing declan's attention towards your center. both of their eyes didn't leave your face as declan's hand reached out to feel for himself.

"absolutely soaking, doll," he added.

"please," you pleaded, though you weren't sure what you were asking for.

"what do you need, love?" rupert asked sweetly. his fingers replaced declan's and they teased past the hem of your panties.

"what would you like us to show you?" declan asked. it was evil, the way they seemed to suddenly team up with the purpose of torturing you. it was as if every ounce of their fighting left once your body was available to them.

"y-your mouth, please," you squeaked out, cheeks flushed both from embarrassment and pure heat. "you first," you added, gesturing to declan.

"don't mind if i do, pretty girl," he said, moving to situate himself between your legs. rupert went to move, but he couldn't help himself but watch as declan slowly removed your panties. "fucking gorgeous."

rupert moved to your side again, one of his arms propping up his body by yours, the other snaking around and entangling his fingers in your hair. he came in close and you could smell the spearmint on his breath from the gum he chewed. "i don't think i could ever tell you enough how beautiful you are," he whispered.

had it not been for declan's mouth being dangerously close to your pussy, you would've reeled at his romantic words. you hoped that your shining eyes would convey your appreciation enough. he seemed to have gotten the message and smiled as his hands moved to wrap around your back and undo your bra.

once you were fully bare before them, rupert offered the same vulnerability, moving upwards to take his pants and boxers down.

"fuck," you choked out, both at the sight before you and at declan's tongue licking a long stripe up your core.

rupert smiled and returned to your side again. "like what you see?" he asked, fingers curling under your chin. you nodded enthusiastically, as it became difficult to form words from declan's ministrations between your legs. you couldn't do much else but reach towards rupert's body, hands exploring the muscular build of his chest and shoulders and torso and everywhere. he offered the same, soft hands teasing up your sides and breasts.

declan's mouth was beginning to draw you close to the edge. he was close to making out with your pussy, and you were positive both he and you were soaked. despite the slight burn coming from his thick mustache, your back arched from the bed ever so slightly, offering rupert more surface to explore.

everything came crashing on you all at once, though, as declan's finger slowly entered you, curling up to the spot that made you shut your eyes so tight you saw swirls of color. to add to the torture, rupert's mouth had wrapped around your nipple, tongue teasing and slow.

"fuck!" you shouted. "s-so good. so good, declan." your praise egged him on further and he added a second finger. his tongue didn't let up until your thighs squeezed around his head and you came around his fingers with barely intelligible groans of his name.

reluctantly, he pulled away, leaving your hole clenching around nothing. you were correct about him being soaked. he was a vision of pure sin, nothing else. it had to have been one of the sexiest sights you'd ever see in your life.

"think you can do better than that?" declan asked.

rupert released his mouth with a pop and smirked. "of course i can." ever the gentleman, though, he looked at you first. "ready for me now, love?"

despite your better judgement telling you to breathe first, you nodded eagerly. they switched spots then, declan moving to your side. before he got comfortable, though, he stripped off his own boxers. you whimpered. how could you have possibly gotten this lucky?

rupert situated himself between your thighs and instead of diving in immediately like declan, he teased you with his fingers first. it was torturous, but so methodical, like he wanted to play you like an instrument. for a second, you watched him with lust blown eyes, before averting your attention to declan's hard cock just before you.

you felt greedy receiving all the pleasure from the two men. you looked at declan with the best puppy dog eyes you could muster and he chuckled lightly at your pleading. he inched closer, getting comfortable at your side.

"all yours, darling," he said quietly. you bit your lip and outstretched your hand. declan groaned as your skin met his and he was sure that he had never been so needy for someone before.

rupert's mouth finally fully latched on to your clit and you gasped instantly. your hand continued to stroke declan and he leant down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. his breath tickled your ear and his moans were like music. down below you, rupert's mouth worked expertly on your pussy, which was an entirely different sensation than declan's sloppy, but deliciously overwhelming mouth.

your thighs squeezed around his head, but it only made him that much more eager to please you. his tongue moved up and down, then teased your entrance. your stomach squeezed with the feeling of another orgasm coming on quickly.

"fuck, rupert. please keep going," you moaned out, arching your hips into his face further.

declan could feel himself getting closer too, but he didn't want to finish then and spend time gaining back his energy. he gained the strength to pull your hand away from him and offered a sweet kiss to your palm instead. he craned his neck down to place more kisses on your neck, and once he found a spot that seemed to draw an extra whimper from you, he bit down and sucked.

your moans were surely loud enough to hear across the countryside. it didn't matter though with the way declan and rupert were lavishing endless attention on you. it was the best you were sure you had ever felt. that knot in your stomach only grew tighter and you weren't going to last long.

rupert wasn't letting up, though. in fact, he copied declan's move and slipped two fingers in, curling them upwards over and over. with every pull, that knot tightened and tightened. if he didn't pull away, you were sure you'd pass out. he didn't though.

declan's mouth continued to leave hickeys down your neck and suddenly, waves of pleasure overtook every part of your senses. before you knew it, rupert's chest and torso were soaked.

"had to be such an overachiever and make her squirt?" declan asked, releasing from your neck with a harsh bite. you were breathing heavily, attempting to come down from the intense high you had been feeling. declan and rupert bickered quietly, before realizing that your head had lulled against the pillow.

"seems like i won that one, huh?" rupert asked, moving up the bed again to caress the hairs that had stuck along your forehead.

"oh, please," declan said. his large palm met your cheek and you looked at him with eyes that made him fall only deeper for you. "we haven't even fucked the pretty girl yet."

[jomiddlemarch]

And tears are heard within the harp I touch

“You play, Miss O’Hara?” Lord Campbell-Black said from the threshold of the music-room, a chamber Mama had insisted in decorated in pale green as it set off her hair. She refused to wear a lace-trimmed cap when they were at home at the Priory, though Agatha knew the other ladies of the parish frowned over it. Lady Elizabeth, the daughter of a marquess who’d married beneath her station when she wed Viscount Vereker, had spoken of it, most gently, most politely, but Agatha knew there was nothing to be done. Mama would have her own way and Papa wouldn’t hear a word against her. Prinny had granted him the title himself for his various victories against the French navy, but at the Priory, it was Mama who was lord and master and Agatha thought even Napoleon would quake in the face of her ire.

It was Mama who had decided on the pale green, the cherubs clustered in the molding, the great gilt harp set between the windows, for the light, darling little fool, it’s most flattering.

“A little, sir,” Agatha replied. It was best to say least, she’d found. She’d gotten herself into trouble when she said more and there was no one who promised more trouble than Lord Campbell-Black, whom everyone in the Ton knew to be the greatest rake of his generation. It was said he had a dozen pair of boots from Hoby and had fired a dozen valets for their inability to tie his cravat as he liked.

It was whispered among the unmarried girls making their come-out, that he’d ruined over a dozen gentlewomen, and one had even become a nun.

“I should like to hear what a little sounds like,” he said. He looked the very devil, his eyes dark, his shoulders broad, his fashionable clothes not disguising in the least his form, the dangerous, powerful grace of his every gesture. It was said he only loved his hounds and his stallion Havoc and his old nanny. She ought to find some polite way to excuse herself, to explain she was wanted elsewhere, and she found she couldn’t and wouldn’t and didn’t want to.

She played, from memory, her favorite works, Burns and Dussek, Parry and Bach. Her fingers flew across the strings, the melodies so evocative she forgot herself, forgot demonically handsome Lord Campbell-Black, forgot Mama’s cutting remarks about what a muddle-head she was and Papa’s silence. She played and the harp sang. It was as close to Heaven as one might get in Rutshire in 1811.

“A little more and I’d be in Heaven, angel,” Lord Campbell-Black said, the words intended to be provocative, unsettling, Agatha intended to blush and drop her eyes, flustered and easily plucked, but his tone was reverent, surprised, and his expression, when she glanced up, was serious and impossibly tender.

“That’s heresy, sir,” Agatha said.

“Blasphemy, actually, but we shan’t argue over it,” he replied.

“I’m sure you know better,” Agatha said.

“Perhaps not, angel.”

Posted for @janeuary-month day 2 prompt: harp

[juuliaa-gooliaa]

Okay I know that there are SO many rupert & taggie playlists on Spotify right now (which I’m loving) but here I am throwing mine out there if you’re looking for one with a mix of genres and decades.

I am constantly updating and adding songs based off of lyrics, vibes, my unsolicited opinion, or all of the above!!

The rivals brain rot lives on

[massdefibrillation]

the thing about watching Rivals as someone who likes seeing awful people get to have completely fucked up sex with each other (e.g age gap hate fucking) is that whilst i do really want Taggie and Rupert to get together i kinda don't want him to be a better guy first??? i want it to happen whilst he's still a total asshole and really doesn't deserve this beautiful angel and it would be completely wrong?????

[daenerysmacfarlane]

Wonderful Christmastime - Rupert Campbell-Black

Rupert Campbell-Black x fem Reader 18+

Authors Note: You know the brainrot is real when you write smutty fanfic for the first time in fucking forever. Annyywayyyy... enjoy. Smut warning, Helen Macaulay warning. Spoilers for Jilly Cooper's Riders and Rivals. I don't own Marcus, Tabitha, Rupert, Helen or Malise. Characters belong to Jilly Cooper. First time publishing my writing on Tumblr so please be kind :)

One couldn't really say that not a creature was stirring on the night before Christmas at Penscombe Court. Rupert's horses were frolicking in the snow earlier and probably still are. The pups are running around like crazy having just been washed except for Beaver, the black Labrador, who is sniffing the presents under the tree to see if there's any treats wrapped up for him.

I hum along to Frank Sinatra on the radio as I place the final touches of the Christmas decorations in Penscombe's massive foyer. I hear Rupert chuckle as I struggle to reach the last shelf and place a piece of holly and ribbon.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Help me, I'm short." I smile looking back at him.

Lo and behold, Rupert is standing there in a Santa suit but bare chested with a very wolfish grin on his face. He sighs and helps me put the decoration on the shelf. He pulls me into his arms.

"It looks incredible my love. Very well done."

I hum and look around. "Yes the back pain tomorrow will be very much worth it"

The foyer sparkled, especially after all the new renovations. It had been a banner year for Rupert and for Venturer. Not only had we married but Venturer had retained its franchise license and signed a new multi-year contract, the first in its kind unless you're the BBC.

After getting rid of Helen's godawful decor, the Georgian Penscombe looks as it should. Classic and regal. Mahogany wood and forest green walls accompanies the Cotswold stone floors, the Christmas tree lights gleaming off them, with a red runner carpet just to give a little bit of grip. I couldn't wait to see the look on Haughty Helly's face, as Rupert and I call her. She's pompous and spoilt with the most ridiculous taste.

Rupert's hands pull me out of my thoughts, roaming my body before slipping under the waistband of my pants. I gently place mine over his and he immediately stops. Rupert's lovely face begins to pout.

"As lovely as that would be, Tab and Marcus are going to be here soon." I chide. As per the new rules in the divorce agreement, Rupert and Helen alternate years for Christmas and this year they would be spending it with us. The last thing my stepchildren need is the sight of their father getting naughty and naked, under the Christmas tree.

He nuzzles my neck and presses gentle kisses. My resolve slowly crumbles and I turn in his arms. My hands run down his sculptured chest and I kiss him, passionately. He looks up and I follow his eyes to the mistletoe I hung up two hours ago. He begins to back me up against the wall next to it and slowly makes his way down my body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake until he is eye line with the zip of my pants. Undoing the button, he slowly unzips me and pulls them and my underwear down. He groans at how wet I am, the wetness betraying my noble thoughts to be good in case we're caught. Hooking my leg over his shoulder, he begins to eat me out like a man starved. It feels like he's been there for ages and I gasp and moan as his incredibly talented tongue makes patterns on the little bundle of nerves. Just the feeling of that brings me close to the sweet release and Rupert smirks as he reads my body and reaction.

I thread my fingers in his dark hair and growl, "Pull away and you'll be having a very blue Christmas."

He moans in response and the vibrations tip me over the edge, body shaking out my release. He makes his way up my body taking my shirt off in the process. His face lights up when he doesn't see a bra.

"Oh Mrs Campbell-Black! How naughty..."

"That's not what you said last night, Rupe." I unbutton the Santa pants and push them down, finding him sans boxer briefs, intimidatingly large and standing at attention.

He picks me up by my thighs and instantly slides into me. We both moan as he sinks into me and I feel that oh, so familiar stretch, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Christ I'll never get over the feel of you, my love." He mutters earnestly and begins to roll his hips in the most delicious way possible.

I grip on to the back of his coat as his lips come crashing down on mine, hips still rolling as if he was cantering across the field. My fingers grip harder and harder as the familiar pressure builds and my muscles clench around him.

"Fuck, do that again and I'm not going to last." His hips stutter for a moment before falling back into rhythm.

Moans and the sound of skin on skin ricochet around the foyer. He slips a hand between my legs and rubs my little nerve while increasing his pace, fucking me senseless. The pressure builds and builds until I tumble over into bliss. With a great thrust, Rupert follows suit. We hold each other and catch our breath. He kisses me deeply and gently bites my bottom lip.

"Merry Christmas Mrs Campbell-Black." He smirks.

"Merry Christmas Mr Campbell-Black. Thank you for that wonderful gift." I smile.

"I always try to give you exactly what you want."

"This year I want a corgi."

Just as he's about to respond, the sound of tires on the gravel outside filters in. We look at each other.

Rupert scoffs, "Talk about timing. Oh fuck and she's early too."

We both rush to make ourselves presentable for Helen and the kids and make it just in time, Tabitha barreling in. She looks around with her mouth agape.

"Wow who did the tree?" She asks.

I smile at my dear stepdaughter. "I did, do you approve Ms Tab?"

"Yeah looks way better than Mummy and Malise's." She nods and giggles.

"Looks like she got her fine tastes from me. I always knew she was well and truly mine." Rupert snorts.

We hear a familiar shake of an asthma puffer and Marcus joins his sister in admiring the tree and decorations. Rupert's ex-wife, Helen and her new husband, Malise Gordon, who was Rupert's chef d'equipe when he rode for Team Great Britain, follow closely behind. Helen looks around at the changes we've made, replacing everything trace of her and the lands on our disheveled appearance. Her face sets hard, looking like she's almost popping a blood vessel.

"The renovations look lovely. So do the decorations." Malise smiles.

"Thank you, Malise." I return the smile.

"Looks a bit dark and gothic, quite primitive actually if you ask me." Helen sneers.

"All wifey's wonderful choices. Sets the tone perfectly for a nasty, hard and hot fuck not that Penscombe's last decorator knew what that was." Rupert retorts and his hand slides from my back to rest on my behind. He gives a gentle squeeze.

Helen is seething and Malise takes her arm to lead her outside, saying goodbye to the children at the same time to not ruin their Christmas with Rupert. Tabitha sighs at the sight of her mother.

"Poor Malise. Mummy's going to lose her shit in the car."

Marcus takes his puffer. "Bad words, Tab."

"Oh shush, now which one of these gifts has my pony in it?" She says as she picks up the gift neatly labeled Tabitha.

[honeylullaby]

“Don’t waste your time with him.” PT 1.

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by my sweet heart anon 🫶🏽 / Your uncle, Freddie Jones, introduces you to his new business partners, and you end up wishing he didn’t…

18+ FANFIC / SMUTTY, angsty, hot, in love. Longer than usual so I apologise and hope you don’t take a nap halfway through. Reader character aged 21. As always, request what you wanna see in my asks 💋

Desperate to escape the exhausting bustle of London, it had been agreed some weeks ago that you were to stay at your uncle, Freddie Jones’, Manor House in Rutshire. He had mentioned, vaguely, over the phone about his new business idea and that your expertise in marketing would provide a real asset. Pulling into the extravagant driveway at 8am sharp, you slam your car door shut and pull three substantial cases from the boot. “Darlin!” The familiar accent chimed as your moustached uncle threw open his front door, walking towards you with outstretched arms. Dropping your cases to the floor, you ran to meet him, embracing in a tight, meaningful hug. “I’m so glad you see you.” You exhaled, already feeling the stresses of London melting away. You had always been incredibly close to your uncle, but his newfound wealth and social status and upheaved him from his family and everyday life and plunged him into Rutshire. “Leave the cases. Someone will bring them up for you.” He nodded, taking your hand and leading you into his remarkable home.

“Hello, darlin!” Your auntie Valerie peeped from the doorway, momentarily giving you an uncomfortable, cramped hug. “You’ll have to excuse Fred Fred for an hour, he’s having a business meeting.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. Embarrassed, Freddie looked down at his feet, but still mustered a smile for you. “Don’t worry about that, come in and meet them. I can tell you all about our new business plan, it’s fuckin’ incredible.” He spoke, beaming to himself now as Val pottered her way outside into her lavish garden. Opening the door to his office, Freddie ushered you in and boomed to the two men standing inside. “Gents, this is my beautiful niece, she’s staying with me for a while and she was an absolute marketing genius down in London. Darlin, this is Rupert-Campbell Black, Minister for Sport, and Declan O’Hara, former star of Declan on Corinium.” He introduced you. Declan tutted at the very mention of the C-word.

“Hello.” You spoke gently, awkwardly glancing between the two men. They quickly exchanged the necessary response to you, and gathered Freddie round the table, mumbling statistics that were far beyond understanding. “Sit, sit.” Freddie tapped the seat beside you, and you hesitantly obliged. Scanning your eyes over their scrawled out business plans, Rupert took the seat beside you, leaning over you slightly to point at some arbitrary on the paper. The potent, saccharine aroma of his aftershave wafting into your nostrils. As he retreated his hand, it brushed across yours softly, making your jump gently in shock. “Sorry.” He muttered, looking up at you and presenting you with a faint smile. Time stood still for a moment as your eyes interlocked contact — Rupert’s eyes softening in lust, yours in affection. “So,” Freddie’s hands slapped against the wooden desk, “We’ll have lunch, a couple of drinks and then get back to it.” He rubbed your shoulder and grinned at you, mouthing shortly after ‘You okay?’, to which you nodded.

Standing up from your chair and making your way into the garden, you breathed in the soft fragrance from the luxurious assemblage of flowers — Soft, pastelled hydrangeas, electric primroses, and properly preened roses of scarlet red and crisp white. You wrapped your soft, knitted lavender cardigan around your torso and squinted slightly under the subtle early morning sun. “London then, eh? Whereabouts?” An aristocratic voice sounded from behind you, cigarette smoke clouding the aroma from the flowers. “Kensington. I worked for a marketing agency, but they ended up thinking I was some kind of businesswoman so I ended up marketing a few television shows.” You reply, turning around slightly to see Rupert Campbell-Black stood, top button of his pastel blue shirt undone.

“Hmm. You’ll be a great asset to the team then. We could use your expertise.” He internally rolled his eyes as he spoke. There was nothing more dull and droning than boring a beautiful young lady with business. “Declan seems nice.” You reply, cheeks delicately glowing a rosy hue. To this, Rupert raised an arched eyebrow — appearing confused but a painful tinge of jealousy coursing through his veins. “Don’t waste your time with him. He’s… emotionally unavailable. His wife just fucked off back to London.” He chuckles abruptly, taking a long puff of his cigarette. Your supple lips pouted, feeling a rather strong wave of sympathy for Declan — partly for his wife leaving, partly for Rupert divulging such personal information to you. “I’m up at Penscombe Court, should you ever need to visit. To talk business and such. Or maybe more.” He winked, and you snickered, shaking your head softly. “Thank you. I’ll-umm… remember that.” You respond, making your way back inside.

Back in the office, Freddie was pacing up and down on his mobile, hand struggling to clasp around the thickened brick of a phone, and the antenna wafting around after him. Declan, muttering to himself under his breath, was sat at the desk, scribbling on an a5 piece of paper. “Drink?” You ask him, and he takes a moment to respond. “Sorry, love. Umm… yes, please. Just a soft one.” He replies, curling his bottom lip into an awkward smile. Temporarily migrating to the kitchen and walking back with a teeming jug of lemonade, laden with ice cubes and slices of fresh lemon, alongside four glasses. Pouring one out for everyone, Declan thanked you as you sat bedside him. “Sooo… what are you working on?” You ask, leaning into him to look over his shoulder. “Just a few pitch docs, jus’ throwin’ some ideas around.” Declan replied, but placed his pen back onto the table and sat back in his chair. “How old are ya?”

“21.” You meekly squeak, his presence intimidating. “And you’re already a marketin’ expert? Ya’ must be really good.” A reassuring smile plastered across his face as he spoke, and took a quick swig of his lemonade. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think Uncle Fred has made me seem a lot better than I actually am.” Freddie looks as you as you speak, smiling through his tedious phone conversation. “I’ve been propositioned already by Mr Campbell-Black.” You sigh, to which Declan shakes his head in disbelief. “Honestly, that man. There’s not a woman on the planet that he wouldn’t ride. Don’t waste your time with him.”

As the evening grew piercingly cold, the budding Venturer team roamed to the living room — television on, fire crackling and tumblers of amber whiskey flowing. You felt small amongst the room of men, talking too loudly and laughing too obnoxiously. Freddie was talking Rupert’s ear off, and that now familiar look of disinterest on Rupert’s face gave it all away. You grinned at him with twinkling eyes as he screwed his face up jokingly towards you at your uncle’s surely riveting conversation. “Whenever ya’ free, and ya’ wanna talk strategies, let me know and we can call a meeting.” Declan spoke, now drunk and stumbling over his words. “This isn’t your way of trying to flirt is it?” You ask, rolling your eyes and pouring yourself an offensively large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. “Trust me, darlin’, you’d know if I was trying to flirt.” All of a sudden, it wasn’t a joke anymore. His tone was low and gruff, and his eyes sharpened. “Maybe we should talk business now?” You suggest, inching your voice towards his. Without responding, Declan rose from the sofa and entered the office. To avoid arising suspicion, you get up a few moments later, with a half-arsed excuse about needing to use the bathroom. Barely waiting for you to close the office door behind you, Declan crashed his lips into yours, pinning you to the wall as the sounds of your colliding lips fought for dominance over your passionate groans.

•

Sliding his hand under your blue floral frock, Declan rubbed his thumb over your slit, the friction of your pants sending a jolt through your body. “Wet for me already?” He asked into your ear, before pulling your pants to the side and gliding two fingers inside you. You yelped in pleasure as his fingers immediately curled towards your g-spot. The frantic passion of the seductive man increased your groans, as you brought your hand down to rub his growing cock over his jeans. “Do you want me on my knees?” You asked with a smirk. Declan opened his mouth to speak, but —

The doorknob turned, and you both desperately panicked to straighten yourselves out. Smoothing down your dress as Declan turned around, in attempt to hide his hard-on from whoever was to enter the room. “Darlin?” Your uncle asked, and you perked your head up innocently. “You okay?”

“Yes, Uncle Freddie. Declan was just… picking my brains.” You chime, turning around slightly to check for his reaction. He suppressed a smirk, and nodded in agreement towards Freddie. Unsuspecting as always, Freddie smiled in contentment and closed the door behind him. “Fuck, that was close. Jesus feckin’ Christ, you turned me into an animal.” Declan wheezed into laughter. You stepped towards him and lifted his hand, sucking his brutish fingers that were, moments ago, inside of you. “Fuck.” He growled in response, running a course hand over his hair. You opened the office door and stepped out, Declan following close behind and giving you a playful snack on your behind that made you yelp. Freddie stood by the door, phone to his ear and speaking nonsense to a pretend caller. He was watching, and keeping a close eye.

•

“Cigarette?” Rupert’s voice spoke from the kitchen towards Declan. You hear Declan decline, and make your way into the kitchen to refill your drink. “You?” He asks, and you nod your head in response as you take a few, very-needed sips of wine. Pulling your uncle Freddie’s lighter from the countertop, you follow the suited man into the garden, taking a quick seat on the frosted wooden bench as Rupert stood above you. He lit his cigarette, and leant down to your level, lighting yours with the blaze within his.

“Finding us insufferable already?” He teased, taking a step back. Shaking your head and puffing your cigarette, your mind could barely muster a response as you envisioned the sound of Declan’s groans and the way his fingers hooked inside of you. “Umm… no. You’re both very nice, actually.”

“Hmm. Declan’s a bit of a cunt but we fair well for ourselves. Think any more about my offer?” He asks, sitting beside you now. “Not yet. How do I know you’re not some chauvinistic Casanova that wants to add me to your long list of conquests?” Raising an arched eyebrow as you speak. Rupert raises his hands in defeat, chuckling to himself that he’d been completely rumbled. You chuckle half-heartedly, semi-believing your own joke. “Well, let’s forget business. I don’t believe in waiting for something you desire. You’re a beautiful girl, and I’d like to take you to dinner.” He declared, taking a long drag of his cigarette and rubbing his thumb over your silky cheek. Taken aback by his rather attractive forwardness and gently biting your lip, you tilt your head upwards at the gentleness of his touch. The bitter evening silence in the garden was comforting — solemnly tranquil, interrupted only by autumn leaves tumbling in the wind and the occasional croaking of a frog in the grass. Even more beautiful still, the heavens opened up to unleash a downpour of of rain. Luckily, the bench was tucked under the porch, but one could still admire the serene display of nature.

Keeping your head tilted towards him, he ran his thumb from your cheek to your lips, lining the top lip, and then the bottom. So enamoured with desire, you could barely breath. He gently pushed his thumb into your mouth, making contact with your tongue. Keeping it there for a moment, he paused and spoke .. “You are magnificent.”

“Darlin’? Are you comin’ in? It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there.” Freddie’s voice beckoned you from the kitchen window, catching a slight glimpse of the scene unfolding on his garden porch. Taking his time, Rupert removed his thumb from your mouth and stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall. “You know where I am, angel. Don’t hesitate.” He expressed solemnly, as you collected yourself and went to join your uncle.

“Be careful, darlin’. You’re playing with fire.” Your uncle Freddie warned.

[aquitainequeen]

Taggie has to sift through the roiling of her thoughts to scoop up something worth far more than ‘abhorrent’ and much easier to say in anger or scorn. Like lifting out a boiled egg with a slotted spoon, she has it: ‘He’s vile.’

Or: How Taggie Didn't Stop Worrying but Learned to Love the Rake.

[aidanturner]

Declan and Rupert, from enemies to friends 🤗

Photo source: weibo.com