#declan o'hara fanfic

[futuristicphilosopherfun]

How it feels to try and find non Ruppert/Taggie fics on ao3

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hate to Say I Told You So

Pairing: Declan O'Hara x OC x Rupert Campbell-Black Warnings: Explicit smut, m/f/m threesome. There are horrible 80s British politics, but also this is so unnecessarily lewd. I hope Jilly Cooper would be proud of me. Word count: ~8k

Summary: Political activist, Lori Price, is campaigning to discredit the Conservative Party. When she hears that TV journalist, Declan O'Hara, will be interviewing her local Tory MP, Rupert Campbell-Black, she leaps at the opportunity to ensure his humiliation. Little does she realise the size of the egos she's involving herself with.

Author's note: A (very belated) birthday gift for @bottlesandbarricades <3

Lori lounged in the armchair of the sitting room, back pressed against one arm rest, while her legs dangled over the other. Her long, dirty blonde hair was still tousled from sleep, falling around her shoulders in messy waves. She hummed contentedly to herself, licking strawberry jam from her fingers as she swallowed down the last of her toast crust. She was not focused on her breakfast though, her eyes were glued to the screen of the small TV that sat upon the lace tablecloth draped over the sideboard, mere inches from where she sat. The Corinium Morning News held her captivated, just as it did every day, but this morning there was a particular segment she was eager for; the news of Margaret Thatcher’s shops bill that would allow Sunday trading.

She bristled as the broadcast cut to footage of Margaret Thatcher waving to the press as she moved from her car to the door of 10 Downing Street.

‘Horrible, old cow,’ Lori thought to herself.

Allowing her slipper to fall from her foot, she reached her leg forward, pressing the volume button on the front of the television set with her toe, in order to turn it up, as James Vereker began his reporting of how the bill had been voted down due to backlash from the Christian right.

“I’ve told you not to do that,” Lori’s mum tutted from behind her, as she came into the room cradling a steaming mug of tea, “you’ll push the buttons through with your feet!”

“Shhh!” Lori hissed, not tearing her eyes away from the screen, though she drew her foot back. “I’m trying to listen!”

“You know Rupert’s going to be on Declan?” Mary Price asked, paying no mind to her daughter’s request for quiet as she came to stand behind her. “Rupert Campbell-Black, that is.”

Lori scowled at the mention of their local Tory MP, twisting her upper body around in the armchair to look up at her mother, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared up at the older woman. “How do you know? I’ve not seen it advertised anywhere.”

Mary huffed, leaning over Lori to retrieve the empty toast plate from her lap. “I saw James Vereker’s wife in the post office the other day, overheard her saying so. I don’t think it’s been announced officially yet.”

“Lizzie,” she interjected, reaching her foot forward once more to turn the TV off, earning another annoyed tut from her mother. ‘Good’, she thought, she was glad to have annoyed her, she hated how old fashioned her mum could be, reducing women to the mere counterparts of the men they were involved with. She often wondered how much of an identity her mum considered herself to have, outside of being a wife and a mother. “Her name’s Lizzie, Elizabeth Vereker, and she’s a published author, not just a wife.”

“Oh, my darling girl,” Mary sighed, as she turned and walked back towards the kitchen, “I will be all for your demands of equal rights when you’re as prepared to stick your hands in a sink full of washing up water as you are to poke your nose into politics.”

Lori hadn’t always been political. It had only been in the last couple of years that she had become an activist for left wing ideals. Her father had been a miner, and had taken part in the strikes in Yorkshire when Thatcher had moved to close the mines and abolished the unions that were supporting them. He had been in poor health, and Lori was certain that the stress of losing his livelihood had contributed to his rapid decline and eventual death. She had grown to despise the Conservative Party and all it stood for, though this had exacerbated when her grandmother had passed away. Her grandmother had left her house in the sleepy little Cotswolds village of Rutshire to Lori’s mother in her will and, wanting a fresh start, Mary had upheaved them both from the grey skied familiarity of Maltby and moved them down to the rolling green hills and middle class pomposity of the Cotswolds. Lori was twenty, old enough to stay behind, but having suffered so much loss already, her and her mother were keen to stay close, rather than at opposing ends of the country. The South felt like another world to Lori. She enjoyed the fresh air, the quaintness of her grandmother’s cottage, but she hated how unfriendly the people were and she loathed their politics even more. Those that lived in the village all seemed fairly normal, though it was obvious they weren’t cut from the working class cloth of terraced houses and industrial estates, it was people who lived further out in the countryside that got under her skin. They were the people that held the real power in Rutshire, lording it over the common folk who delivered their milk and newspapers from their acres of farmland and mansions, the listed status of which prevented them from being renovated into any state other than dilapidated. 

Lori’s opinion of Rupert Campbell-Black was not a good one, the one and only encounter she’d ever had with him had not been a good one. When she had first moved to Rutshire, she had decided to visit him in the hopes of convincing him to vote no to the privatisation of British Gas, and had received a less than warm welcome.

She prickled at the memory, her brow furrowing involuntarily into a scowl as she clenched her teeth. The anger burned hot and humiliating, just as potent as it had on the day she'd first met that smug bastard.

Her mum’s tiny car that she’d borrowed had manoeuvred its way around the tightly winding, hedge lined country lanes of Rutshire. Lori had craned her neck over the steering wheel, her fingers gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her heart thudded at the prospect of meeting another car head on, or worse yet, a tractor – there simply wasn't enough space for her to pull any further over, and she didn't trust the posh twats that lived in this area not to speed around the roads as though they owned them. She supposed, in a way, they did.

When she'd finally made it to the address she had found listed for Rupert she was disgusted yet unsurprised by the sprawling estate his enormous stately home was settled upon. It was every bit the indication of old money, of someone whose standing in society was so far removed from that of the working classes that they couldn't possibly ever understand the rights and quality of life they were voting to strip away from them -- they'd never be affected by it.

She had been taken aback by who had answered the door – she had anticipated a blustering, red faced toff who appeared as ugly as his moral compass, instead she was met by a tall, dark and handsome man, whose gaze had raked so slowly over her figure that it had made her flush crimson, squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

“And how may I help you?” he’d drawled with a smirk, when she failed to say anything.

She had blinked, realising that she was gawping, and stumbled over her words. “Oh…um…right, sorry! I’m looking for Rupert Campbell-Black..?”

“You’ve found him,” he’d replied, studying her intently as he crossed his arms over the crisp white shirt pulled taut across his chest and leaned against the doorway.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she didn’t miss the predatory flash of pearly white teeth as a flicker of amusement passed across his features. “I wondered if you had a few moments to talk about the privatisation bill?” she’d asked, composing herself, “If I might open your mind to the possibility of voting no against it?”

All friendliness had left him and he’d straightened, pulling himself to his full height as he’d looked down his nose at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you one of Kinnock’s lackeys?”

She shook her head. “N–no…my name’s Lori…Lori Price. I just wanted to ask if you’d taken time to consider how putting British Gas into the hands of shareholders would lead to unregulated–”

“Bugger off, before I have you arrested for trespassing,” he’d coldly interrupted, before slamming the door in her face.

Lori had since learned that Rupert had no real place in politics at all – he was an ex-Olympian show jumper, whose wealth and status were inherited, and he had bought his way into politics when his Olympic career had met an abrupt end.

She knew his appearance on Declan would be an explosive one – Declan O’Hara wasn’t a man who minced his words, and he had built his reputation as a chat show host who made his interviewees squirm when in the hot seat.

Struck by an idea, Lori sprung up from the armchair, bounding into the kitchen. “Mum, if I do the washing up, can I borrow the car this afternoon?”

A few hours later, Lori leaned against her mum’s navy blue Mini in the carpark of the Corinium studios. She had no idea of what time Declan O’Hara arrived for work each day, or even if he was here already, she just knew that here was the only place she had any guarantee of running into him. 

Almost an hour had passed as she leaned, drumming her fingers against her jeans, when the door to the building finally swung open and Declan stepped out. Lori sighed audibly in relief – she was dying for a piss, and had gotten bored of waiting around almost as soon as she’d put the car into neutral.

She rushed towards him, and Declan paused, eyeing her suspiciously as she stopped breathlessly in front of him. His thick moustache framed the tight smile of his tired looking face as he looked at her. “I don’t have a pen if it’s an autograph you’re wanting,” he said gruffly.

“Actually, I have something I’d like to give you,” she said, producing a folded up sheet of paper from the bag that was slung over her shoulder.

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, eyes moving from the paper to her face, “And what might that be?”

“I hear you’re going to be interviewing our local Tory MP,” she replied, holding out the piece of paper for him to take, “and I’ve got some questions I think you should ask him.”

Declan scoffed, eyes crinkling in amusement as he held up his hands in polite refusal. “I think I’ll be fine in that department, actually, it’s my job after all.”

“Please just take them,” Lori insisted, thrusting the paper towards him, “I know Rupert knows nothing about politics, if you ask him these you’ll make him look stupid, people will see him for how incompetent he really is.”

He relented, taking the sheet of paper from her and unfolding it, his eyes scanning over the page.

“You don’t have to ask all of them – or any of them,” she added hurriedly, “just say you’ll think about it? My name and number’s at the bottom in case you wanted to talk any of them over.”

“Lori…” he said the name slowly, as though trying out the feel of it in his mouth, before turning his attention back to her.

“And you’ll think about it?” she asked, as she began to walk back towards her mum’s car.

“I might,” he answered, his expression unreadable as he folded the paper back up and slipped it into the inside pocket of his blazer.

It was two days later when the phone rang, the sound of it shrill and unpleasant in the afternoon quiet of the cottage. Mary had popped out into the village to go shopping, meaning Lori had the place to herself.

She walked to the phone table in the hallway, lifting the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“These questions are terrible,” a thick Irish accent snapped back at her.

Her stomach did a flip at the realisation it was Declan calling her. He’d read her questions. “Which ones?”

“All of them,” he huffed through the receiver, “you do realise that they come across as incredibly anti-Conservative?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” she admitted, shrugging though she knew he couldn’t see it.

“What are you thinking? All of Rutshire are Tories, Tony fucking Baddingham, the man who pays my wages, who owns Corinium is a Tory. He’ll pull the plug on this if I ask any of these.”

She toyed with the coiled cord of the phone, twirling it around her index finger as a sense of disappointment washed over her, making her shoulders sag. “Why bother phoning if you can’t use them?”

“I don’t want to not use them,” Declan admitted, his tone softening with a sigh, “they just need some work. Are you free for some rewrites?”

“Yeah, but my mum will be back from shopping soon and she’s a fan of yours, so best not to do it at my place.”

“That’s fine,” Declan told her, “you can come to mine.”

Having scribbled his address down with a promise not to share it with her mother, Lori hauled her bike out of the shed and made her way to Declan’s house. If she had thought trying to navigate the country lanes in her mum’s Mini had been scary, it paled in comparison to traversing them on two wheels. She pedalled as though her life depended on it – and, in this case, it genuinely did, afraid that she would be launched into a ditch by a Land Rover at any moment. By the time she reached the stately home, her legs were shaking, both from exertion and from the fear of being mown down on the cycle there.

Lori did her best not to gawp as Declan led her through the house towards the kitchen, but the place was enormous and it was impossible not to turn her head, her eyes sweeping over the vaulted ceilings and parquet flooring. There was a grand sense of opulence and antiquity that made her feel as though she was walking through a museum, and not someone’s home.

He gestured for her to sit at the table, once inside the kitchen, before producing a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses. Lori gratefully accepted hers, taking a large swallow of the amber liquid in the hopes of calming her fright from the ride there. She regretted it almost immediately as it burned the back of her throat and she fought the urge to cough. 

“Do you live here alone?” she asked, keeping her hands wrapped around her whiskey as her eyes wandered the kitchen, trying to get a feel for the man opposite her.

“Just alone for today,” he responded, sliding her sheet of questions between them, the creases from where it had previously been folded now spread flat. “My wife’s gone to London, my youngest is away at boarding school, and my eldest is out with the dog.”

Lori nodded, drumming her fingertips against the glass, feeling awkward as she realised she didn’t know what to say. Her eyes met his, and a moment passed in silence, as he stared at her with a scrutinising intensity with eyes so dark she worried she’d fall into the depths of them.

“So, what’s your agenda against Rupert?” Declan finally asked. “You look a bit young to be someone he’s done the dirty on.”

Her mouth dropped open at the insinuation, her skin heating up with shock and embarrassment. “I haven’t…I wouldn’t…does he…does he do that?”

Declan grinned in response, before sipping from his own whisky. “He’s a virus that all wives catch sooner or later, according to local legend.”

“Well, I’m not a wife,” Lori said haughtily, straightening in her seat, “I’m a political activist.”

“Rupert’s no politician,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m well aware, and this isn’t personal, even though he was bloody rude to me the one time I met him, but I need for people to see that the members of parliament tasked with looking after their interests are incompetent. I need people to wake up to what’s happening in this country. There’s a general election next year, and things could change, maybe…”

Lori trailed off her voice began to wobble, feeling herself growing misty eyed, and took another swallow of her whisky. This one burned less.

The neck of the bottle chinked against the rim of her glass as Declan topped it up. “That’s heavy stuff. I’m not sure a single talk show episode will quite achieve that.”

“So, what are you hoping to achieve then?” Lori asked, “What’s your axe to grind with Mr. Campbell-Black?”

She heard his tongue click against his teeth, before he lifted his glass to his lips, and Lori leaned across the kitchen table towards him. “Is he a virus that your wife caught?”

There was an anger that flashed so intensely within Declan’s eyes, that fear ran in an icy chill up Lori’s spine, making her regret the question the moment it had left her mouth. He set his glass heavily down upon the kitchen table, swallowing thickly.

“I know she’d like him to be,” he finally admitted quietly.

A wave of sympathy washed over Lori, her head tilting in sadness for the man sitting opposite her. She longed to reach out, to squeeze his hand for comfort, but knew it was too forward of a gesture for a person she was only meeting for the second time. Instead, she reached for the question sheet, sliding them towards herself.

“Right, let’s get cracking on these questions then.”

By the time afternoon had bled into early evening, Lori and Declan had drank two thirds of a bottle of whisky, and settled on two questions to use of the ten she had offered him originally, with slight rewordings - they now read ‘what assurances can British Gas customers be provided regarding the stability of prices now that the company has been privatised?’ and ‘what measures are the government taking to provide affordable housing?’

It was a happy compromise - Lori was satisfied that the questions were complex enough to subtly discredit the Conservatives on live television, and Declan had retained autonomy of his interview, while feeling confident that Lori’s input would provide adequate humiliation for Rupert.

Her cheeks were flushed, her mind fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol as she slipped her original sheet of questions back into her shoulder bag, while Declan walked her to the door, the heat of his hand burning like a brand through the fabric of her t-shirt as it rested on the small of her back. She knew it was unwise to cycle home while tipsy on unfamiliar roads, but Declan had been drinking too, so she couldn’t ask for a lift, and there was no way she’d ring her mum and ask her to fetch her – it would mean giving her Declan’s address.

“You should come,” Declan said, glassy eyed with inebriation as they both hovered on either side of the open front door, “to the interview. Come to the studio and watch.”

“Yeah?” she grinned, blue eyes lighting up as she grinned up at him, “I’d really be allowed?”

“I can’t see why not,” he shrugged, looking fondly down at her.

“I’d love that, thank you.”

She rose up onto the balls of her feet, pecking a drunken kiss against his cheek before turning and walking to her bike that she’d left leaning against a hedge in the driveway.

Her balance was wobbly on the country roads going home, her centre of gravity fighting against the heavy desire in her body to simply slump to one side. She was clear minded enough to know to cycle in the middle of the road, not trusting herself to go too far over to the side, in case she wobbled her way into a farmer’s field.

She cursed under her breath at the roar of a car engine and the dim glow of low lit headlights illuminated from behind her. Attempting to shift to the side to allow the vehicle to pass, it was too late before she noticed herself begin to lose balance and she hit the ground with a dull thud against the grass verge, the air forcing its way from her lungs with a forced ‘oooft’ sound. Her bicycle wheels span uselessly in the air as it lay on its side next to her, and she huffed frustratedly, slowly pulling herself up into a sitting position, as she unclipped her helmet and looked bleary eyed at the papers that had fallen from her shoulder bag and were fluttering softly across the tarmac. 

“Christ!” a familiar voice called from behind her, “Are you alright?”

She had failed to notice that the car she had attempted to pull to the side for had stopped when she had fallen from her bike. She turned slowly, looking up into the handsome face of Rupert Campbell-Black. His trademark smirk was nowhere to be found, instead replaced by a look of concern that furrowed his brow and widened his eyes ever so slightly.

If he recognised her, he didn’t make it apparent as he crouched down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Lori giggled softly, tugging her helmet off of her head. “I’m okay…don’t think the contents of my bag are.”

Rupert drew back, regarding her with a cock of his head, his eyes studying her as a cat might look at a mouse before swiping at it. “Are you drunk?”

“I’d hate for this to be how sober feels,” she groaned, raking a hand through her hair.

He chuckled softly. “Get off the road and sit in the car. I’ll retrieve your things and then we’ll get you home safely.”

“You could be a sex attacker,” she slurred.

“I am a member of Parliament,” he said with mock earnestness, placing a hand over his heart.

“Exactly,” she grinned, earning one from Rupert in exchange.

“So, what were you doing cycling pissed in the middle of the road?” Rupert asked, as they drove back towards the village. Her bag now rested by her feet in the footwell of the front passenger side of the car, its contents now back in their place. He had loaded her bike into the boot.

“Was coming back from a friend’s,” she murmured sleepily, her head propped against her hand as she rested her elbow on the window ledge of the car door, her eyes fixed on the blur of scenery as they drove past it.

Drunk as she was – though slightly more sober since she had toppled off of her bike – it felt strange to have accepted help from a man she was supposed to hate, stranger still that he would offer her help at all in the first place. She always assumed that Tories were the sort of people who would sooner mow cyclists down than pick them up off of the roadside when they fell.

“They ought to have called you a taxi,” he said, glancing over at her disapprovingly, “terribly unkind to leave you to fend for yourself like that. You’re lucky I found you.”

“Mmm, lucky me,” she muttered, earning an amused smirk from Rupert. They spent the rest of the short drive in silence.

“You’ll be alright from here then?” Rupert asked, setting Lori’s bike down in front of her as they stood in front of the cottage she shared with her mother.

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a tight smile. The more she sobered up, the more embarrassed and uncomfortable she felt.

“Well, goodnight then, Lori,” he said with a polite nod, stepping back towards his car.

“How do you know my–”

“I’m your local MP, it’s my job to know,” he interrupted, shooting her a wink before climbing back into his car.

She felt annoyed with herself for accepting his help, for not seizing the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind. How dare he come to her rescue?!

“Bloody Tories,” she muttered under her breath as he drove away.

A week later, the day of Rupert’s appearance on Declan arrived. When Lori turned up at Corinium studios, she was met at reception by a bespectacled lady who introduced herself as Deidre. Her demeanour was almost as sharp as the shoulder pads of her jacket as she walked the younger woman quickly through a labyrinth of corridors. Lori had to hurry to keep up with her, feeling that if she hesitated for even a second then Deirdre wouldn’t wait for her, and she’d be lost to the seemingly endless maze they navigated. 

She was led to a windowless meeting room, white walled and grey carpeted, with the Corinium logo plastered across the far wall of the room. A large circular table was placed in the centre, with multiple office chairs positioned around its circumference. Off to one side was a wheeled TV stand with a large television set resting atop it.

“Declan asked that you watch the broadcast in here,” Deidre said, not bothering to look at her as she wheeled the TV stand to the head of the room, so the screen faced the table. “He’ll come and find you afterwards.”

“I’ll be in here by myself?” Lori asked, watching with uncertainty as Deidre switched the TV on.

“Yes, he requested that you not be seated in the audience, and we wouldn’t simply allow a fan backstage to watch from the production area,” she said, her tone clipped with annoyance as she fiddled with the remote control, adjusting the settings.

The more Lori thought about it, the more sensible an idea it seemed. If Declan had sat her in the audience, there was a chance that Rupert would spot her and recognise her, better she was kept out of sight. There was a part of her that wondered if she might have been more comfortable just watching at home, suddenly feeling overdressed in her two toned black and navy blue mini dress. She was quick to silence the thought, tugging at the hem of her short chiffon skirt as she reassured herself that it was exciting to watch a live TV show in the very studio that it was being broadcast from.

“I see, thank you,” Lori replied with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Deidre nodded, walking back towards the door. “I’ve set the TV up so that the program will play automatically as soon as we start the broadcast. Ladies is three doors down on the left. Are you alright for refreshments?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine, tha–”

“Wonderful, enjoy the show,” Deidre interrupted, before hurriedly closing the door behind her.

Lori stood frozen in the empty meeting room, as she listened to the older woman’s footsteps grow quieter as she retreated along the corridor.

‘She seemed nice,’ she whispered sarcastically to herself.

Taking a seat at the circular table, she tapped her fingers impatiently against the laminate wood surface as her eyes fixed upon the standby screen of the TV. She wondered what sort of preparation both men were putting into the impending interview, whether Rupert felt nervous at all, and how far down his list of planned questions Declan had placed her ones. She suddenly felt nervous herself, filled with a restless energy that left her wanting to pace the length of the room, as though there was static crackling through her veins. However, she remained rooted to her seat out of fear she’d miss the interview. It was due to start at 7pm, but she had no idea how much time had passed since she had arrived at Corinium. 

‘What sort of a meeting room doesn’t have a clock?!’ she thought unhappily.

Eventually, the TV screen flickered to a countdown from three, before the opening music and logo for the show appeared on screen with rapturous applause from the audience. The camera zoomed in on Declan, and Lori was unable to fight the small smile that tugged at her lips as she watched him sitting comfortably in the onset chair, looking smart in a crisply tailored black suit, one leg crossed over the other to reveal a lurid pair of yellow socks. Lori’s smile turned to a grin. She leaned reflexively closer to the TV set, her chest pressing against the table’s edge as her forearms rested atop it.

Declan introduced himself and the show, before teasing the audience regarding who he would be interviewing. Lori’s eyes narrowed as Rupert walked out on set to applause and even wolf whistles.

‘Is there not one fucking Labour voter in the whole of Rutshire?’ she muttered to herself.

As much as she hated to admit it, Rupert looked good. He was dressed impeccably in a well tailored black suit, similar to the one that Declan wore, the only difference being the royal blue tie that blazed bright around his neck – Tory Blue. She wondered if she were to slice him open if blood of a similar colour would spill forth from his veins.

Declan stood, greeting Rupert with a firm handshake before the two men moved to their respective seats. Declan placed the ankle of his left leg across the knee of his right, leaning back in his chair with his question cards held loosely towards his chest. Rupert kept his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankle, as he practically lounged, his hands resting comfortably upon the arms of his chair. He looked like he owned the set, there were no nerves at all in his body language as his eyes moved slowly over the audience, a lazy smile upon his face. Lori was suddenly glad she was shut away in a meeting room, hidden from the predatory look that always seemed to twinkle in his eye.

You look a bit young to be someone he’s done the dirty on.

Declan’s words from their previous meet-up echoed in her mind. She wondered precisely how many women Rupert had ‘done the dirty on’. He could so easily; he was handsome in a way that was disarming, and charming in a sense that meant that even when he was being vile he could get away with it. How many hearts had he broken and then left the women feeling as if they were at fault? As he made small talk with Declan, answering non-committal introductory questions about himself, Lori found herself thinking that she could very easily allow Rupert to use her. It made her shudder to remember how readily she had accepted his help, how eagerly she had climbed into his car, and all he had had to do was smile and pretend as though he cared about what happened to her.

The tone of the interview shifted, and Declan’s line of questioning focused more on Rupert’s political career. Lori’s ears pricked up, practically holding her breath as she stared at the TV, trying not to blink, as she waited for the moment her questions would be asked.

“I’m sure everyone is now aware of the fact that British Gas is no longer a Government owned entity,” Declan began, “with the utility company now privatised, what assurances can you provide customers who might be worried about the potential instability of gas prices?”

This it was. One of her questions. Excitement fizzed inside of Lori, her entire body going rigid as her fingernails dug into the tabletop, waiting with bated breath for Rupert to flounder, to embarrass both himself and the Conservative Party on live television.

Rupert smiled, and Lori felt dread form a sickly pit in the depths of her stomach. Why was he smiling? Why did he look so calm?

“Well, customers can now buy shares in British Gas, so in passing the company into the hands of shareholders it allows customers to benefit in the long run. If higher prices mean that British Gas is turning a profit, then so are the people making use of its services.”

Rupert cast an appraising glance towards the audience as his response earned a few claps, before he smirked and turned his attention back to Declan.

Lori’s lips parted in shock. It was a terrible, cookie cutter press response, but it was a competent one. She was stunned. He wasn’t rattled at all.

The second question never materialised, as Declan’s line of questioning moved towards Rupert’s show jumping caree. Lori seethed. Why hadn’t Declan asked the second question? And how had Rupert managed to answer so competently?

She paid no attention to the remainder of the interview, simply wanting to leave. She didn’t remember the way she had come though, and Deidre had made it seem like she wasn’t even supposed to be here.

He’ll come and find you afterwards.

Remembering Deidre’s instructions, Lori sighed, slouching back in her seat as anger stewed hot and volatile inside of her.

What felt like an eternity passed, but as soon as she heard the door handle move, she sprung to her feet. Cooped up in the meeting room, with nothing but Rupert’s smug, self aggrandising interview for company, had allowed Lori’s anger to fester. It radiated off her in waves as she stood, facing Declan head on as he entered the room.

“What the fuck was that?” she spat, barely giving him a chance to close the door behind him, before she advanced upon him, blue eyes wide with fury as she stared up at him.

“Calm down,” Declan attempted to soothe, reaching for her forearms as she raged at him.

It had the opposite effect, further incensing Lori as she backed away from him, raising her voice. “Calm down?! You didn’t even ask both questions. I can believe you, is your ego so big that–”

He crowded into her space, grabbing her waist and backed her up until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the table. It silenced her immediately, but Declan stared into her eyes, ensuring he had placated her before he spoke. “It was Tony, okay? I had Tony in my earpiece telling me he’d pull the broadcast if I kept the questions political, it wasn’t the agreed upon angle of the interview. I didn’t have a choice.”

Lori sagged against him, grasping the front of his shirt – somewhere between the set and the meeting room, Declan had dispensed with his suit jacket. Her voice was smaller, weaker sounding, and wobbly with emotion as she spoke. “How can I ever make a difference now? It was all for nothing.”

Declan moved a hand from her waist, gently grasping her chin between his thumb and his forefinger as he tilted her face up towards his. “Do you think I’d be where I am now if I’d let myself give up after the first setback?”

Lori didn’t answer. She just knew she felt sad and defeated, and wanted something to distract herself from the sensation inside of her that made her feel insignificant and useless. The man currently standing in front of her, who had taken a chance on her political ideas, who was being nice to her and comforting her in the face of her failure seemed like the perfect something. Before she could talk herself out of it, she stood up on tip toes and pressed her lips to his.

She had anticipated that Declan would feed further into her self loathing, push her away, ask her what on earth she thought he was doing, tell her he was happily married and had no interest in her. Instead, he used the hand still on her waist to tug her closer against him, as the other cradled her jaw, his lips pressing back insistently against hers.

He smelled of musky cedarwood, the heady scent of his aftershave almost intoxicating as she wound her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a soft sigh as he lifted her to sit upon the edge of the table. His tongue licked against hers in a sticky click of saliva, as the hand that was upon her waist now inched up the skirt of her dress as her inner thigh pressed against his hip.

“This looks cosy.”

Declan sprang away from Lori, leaving her breathless and wanting as her hands dropped uselessly back to her sides and she remained seated upon the table. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked upon Rupert with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” he smirked, closing the door behind him with a quiet click as he moved towards them both.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Declan demanded, running a hand over his dark curls in an attempt to compose himself.

Rupert huffed a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow at Lori, before focusing his attention back to Declan. “Forgive me, I should probably do away with the preamble and just get to the point. I know what you two have been plotting behind my back, and I can’t say I’m best pleased about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Lori asked, flustered, attempting to pull her skirt back down.

Rupert sighed, coming to stand beside her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The brief contact sent a shiver down her spine. “Your little sheet of questions, darling,” he drawled, “I found them when I was picking your things up off the road the night you tried to cycle home drunk.”

Lori’s eyes widened as bile rose up in her throat, and Rupert grinned, though there was no friendliness to it.

“A sheet of questions proves fuck all,” Declan interjected angrily.

“Oh, I think Tony might disagree with that, considering you asked one of them on tonight’s show,” he said, casting a sideways glance at the other man as he ran the tip of his finger down Lori’s arm. “It wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, considering the nature of the questions and the direction Lori was cycling from the night I gave her a lift home. Tony’s a smart man, I think he’ll reach a conclusion perhaps even quicker than I did.”

She hated the way her body betrayed her. She loathed this man and yet the slightest of touches from him had every nerve ending screaming for more.

“What have you told him?” Declan asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“Oh, nothing yet,” Rupert replied smugly, “I’ve been busy ensuring I had my responses prepared for all of your thoughtful questions. Isn’t it a pity you only asked one?”

“Rupert..” Declan glowered, a silent warning in the angry narrowing of his eyes as he stared down the man standing before him.

Rupert chuckled, his eyes lighting up in a way that suggested he’d just uncovered something he enjoyed immensely. “Oh, was it Tony whispering in your ear that made you stop? Imagine his reaction if he knew you’d been colluding with a socialist to get your interview questions. You’d lose all credibility.”

“Please don’t tell him,” Lori begged, her voice barely above a whisper, as she gazed up at Rupert with imploring eyes. “I don’t want Declan to lose his job.”

“How adorable,” Rupert said, cocking his head, as he addressed Declan instead of her. “It appears our little leftist has developed a soft spot for you, old chap. I wonder what Maud would make of that? I’m assuming she’s aware of your little meeting room trysts?”

“You are the very last fucking person that should be passing comment on my fidelity,” Declan gritted out.

“Whatever it is, whatever you want, I’ll do it, please, just keep all of this to yourself,” pleaded Lori.

Rupert finally looked at her then, and what she saw in the depths of his hazel eyes caused a throbbing between her legs despite the fear that fluttered wildly in her chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured, moving closer. He trailed his hand up her side, leaving a blaze of heat in his wake, before roughly turning her so that her back was pressed against his chest, while she still perched upon the table. “At least one of you has the sense to listen.”

In spite of herself, Lori found herself leaning back against Rupert’s chest, her body chasing his touch. He chuckled quietly, before shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of the nearest chair. He placed his hands on Lori’s hips, giving them a firm squeeze, before turning his attention back to Declan.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen if you want to keep my silence; I’m going to do something about the ‘fuck me’ eyes that this one’s been shooting at me since the day she came knocking at my door, and you can leave, stay, join in for all I care, but you’re not going to try to stop me. Is that clear?”

Lori’s breath hitched at the realisation that he did remember her. Her eyes fell upon Declan, he stood uncertainly before her, a shadow of shame hanging over him, though he didn’t move to stop any of what was happening.

“Is this what you want?” Declan asked her.

Yes, god, yes, more than anything

She wouldn’t dare speak that thought aloud, even if this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her in her life, so she simply nodded. “If it means you won’t get into trouble because of me.”

Declan simply nodded, to which Rupert manhandled Lori onto all fours on the table, dragging her by her hips towards its edge. Her cheeks blazed with heat as she tried her best to disguise her mounting arousal, keeping her eyes fixed upon Declan. His gaze was soft, almost sympathetic, though he could do little to hide the growing excitement that strained against his zipper.

Lori sucked in a sharp breath as Rupert pushed the skirt of her dress over her hips, before running his index finger over the seam of the gusset of her tights. She squirmed beneath his touch, uncomfortable at the stickiness gathering in her underwear, though the sensation was rapidly replaced by shock as fingers latched into the material, ripping the nylon open.

She whimpered as the cool air hit her bare skin, and reached a hand forward towards Declan. He quickly took it in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. As Rupert hooked his index finger into the elastic of her knickers and tugged them to the side, Lori swallowed a moan as he dragged the digit through her slickness, humming in approval.

“Is this all for me?” Rupert asked, roughly palming the globe of her arse as he examined her wetness, “Or can O’Hara take some of the credit?”

She bit her lip, her flesh felt ablaze with shame. She wanted him to stop, but at the same time she was sure she’d die of the primal need he’d stoked within her if he didn’t keep going. Her fingers clung to Declan’s like a lifeline.

“I don’t really expect an answer, don’t worry,” Rupert whispered softly, and Lori tensed as she heard the clink of his belt being undone behind her.

She wanted to focus on literally anything else, not to think about how turned on she was by a man she ought to despise. Letting go of Declan’s hand, she palmed at his erection through his trousers, earning a soft grunt from him. Encouraged by his reaction, her fingers moved for his zipper as she felt the head of Rupert’s cock line up with her entrance.

“Are you sure?” Declan murmured, placing his hand over hers, stopping her momentarily. He let go when she nodded.

Freeing his hardened length, she didn’t even stop to admire it, simply wrapping her lips around its swollen head, humming softly at the salty taste of him upon her tongue.

“Starting without me?” Rupert tutted, pressing forward, causing Lori to moan around Declan’s shaft as he stretched her open. “That’s very impolite.”

He kept a firm grasp of her hips as his pelvis settled against her rear, pausing and giving them both a moment to adjust. She felt impossibly full, the tip of him almost kissing the opening of her cervix when he pushed to the hilt.

“Jesus christ,” he hissed through his teeth.

It spurred Lori on, and she bobbed her head faster along Declan’s shaft, almost gagging as he repeatedly knocked the softness of the back of her throat. He sighed softly, his hand coming to tangle in the hair at the back of her head. He didn’t force her movements, simply allowed her to take things at her own pace, as she reached up a hand to stroke the thick base of him.

When Rupert began to move, Lori’s vision flashed white, the sensation of him drawing all the way back just to slam back in again almost too much for her to bear. She whined around Declan’s cock, feeling him twitch against her tongue as Rupert set a steady pace, pistoning into her as he began to pant softly.

“It doesn’t matter the political stance,” he said, voice breathless with pleasure, “red or blue, they all feel incredible to be buried inside of.”

Lori hated the way her core squeezed around him in response to his filthy degradation, her watery eyes lifted up to meet Declan’s, who stared intently down at her as she serviced him. He gave an affection tug to her hair as she continued. “You’re doing so well for me.”

She keened at his praise, which earned her a sharp swat to the bottom from Rupert. Pleasure-pain blossomed hotly against her flesh, and he chucked at her muffled squeal, his thrusts becoming harder and more rapid. He was getting close.

‘At least he hasn’t made me come’, she thought. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she was enjoying this.

As though Rupert could read her mind, he snaked a hand around the front of her, his fingers seeking out her sensitive bud, and began to rub tight circles on it. She gasped and gagged around Declan’s cock, and she knew from the tightening of his hand in her hair that he was close too.

The knowledge that she was pleasing him, combined with the way Rupert touched her so expertly, caused the coil in her lower belly to tighten rapidly. As Declan’s head fell back with a groan and she tasted the first spurts of his release upon her tongue, the coil snapped and Lori came. Her world narrowed to the white hot sensation of pleasure that wracked her body in waves of warmth, as she tightened and spasmed around Rupert’s pistoning cock.

With a strained curse, Rupert pulled out of her, stroking himself to his finish across her lower back. As her senses returned to her, Lori swallowed down Declan’s seed, pulling off of him with a wet pop as she felt the warmth of Rupert’s spend against her skin.

Declan was quick to tuck himself away, gathering Lori’s trembling form into his arms as he slumped down into a chair. She clung to him, curling up in his lap, feeling vulnerable and dirty for what she had just indulged in. Wordlessly, Rupert redressed, shrugging back into his suit jacket.

“I hope my performance means that the Conservatives can now count on your vote next year,” he said to Lori with a playful wink.

Rupert didn’t wait for a response. Declan’s angry glare followed him out of the room as he left, closing the door softly behind him. 

Lori remained cuddled against Declan, clutching his shirt. Just as she’d known she would, she had allowed Rupert to use her. She just had to hope that he had had his fill of her, as she knew that if he were to proposition her again, she’d cave just as easily as he had this time. She didn’t think it was possible, but somehow it made her hate the Tories even more.

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[venusstorm]

𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐒𝐢𝐫

Declan O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Declan's assistant is hurt and confused by his sudden departure from Corinium. Upon a visit to his home, feelings unfold and truths become known.

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, pet names, daddy kink, spit kink, bathtub sex, breeding, mentions of reader having hair, claw marks, and bruises, finger fucking, choking, gagging, kissing, spanking, adultery

w/c: 3393

‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵

"Where the hell is Declan!" You burst through the doors of the O'Hara household, loud and furious. You didn't buy the "He’s sick" claim for a moment, no matter how often Baddingham kept spewing the lie out of his mouth. And when you questioned his truthfulness, he sent you down the hall to Vereker's office, alerting you that you would no longer be Declan’s assistant. 

But you'd pull every last strand of hair from your head if you had to spend another second working for that asshole. And when that's gone, you'd start on your legs and then your arms, and perhaps a few eyelashes too. You ignored Tony's shouts as you left the office building searching for your true boss.

Which led you speeding through town, barreling through the countryside until you arrived at Declan’s grand estate. You banged on the door and when you were met with silence, your hands wrapped around the handle, pleasantly surprised when the door opened wide. 

Without hesitation, you stride through the foyer and march up the staircase. The long corridor witnessed you shout his name, scanning every room until you find his office. The doors cracked open which obviously means he’s welcoming you right in. 

"Declan! I swear to–" but his chair sits empty. A slew of papers and empty liquor bottles covered the surface. You squint your eyes in pure annoyance. If he's the reason you spend the rest of your week drowning out Verekers moans by fiddling your ears and banging your head against the desk, then he's in for it.

You sigh heavily as you turn around, heading for your next best guess. You envisioned him sneaking out drunkenly to a pub. Probably annoying the hell out of the bartenders because after his third drink, the man can’t shut the hell up. Or perhaps he's thrown himself into the woods to get eaten by wolves. You knew Declan, and when he hit rock bottom he crashed hard.

"That little shite doesn't know a goddamn thing."

The slurred words of Declan O'Hara ring through your ears. Like a siren call, you follow. He curses a fit of words, not once taking a breather. You follow the crude sounds until you reach another door. You don't bother knocking, he's far past the courtesy. 

"Found me," he slurs.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Declan!" You shield your eyes from the obscene view. He sits in a bathtub, legs sprawled open with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. A bottle of beer is held tightly in his grasp and he doesn't seem to have any plans to let go of it.

"I didn't tell you to come in here" he grumbles. "Heard yer stomps from a mile away."

"Well, I was worried. And also pissed you left me with that blonde-haired devil. He fucks like a rabbit and not in a good way. Wouldn't be surprised if he catches a damn itch."

Declan scoffs. "He’s already infested."

Your hands remain shielding your vision, leaving you blind to the way he stares off into space, taking the final swig of his drink and muttering beneath his breath. 

"Just come back please." You sigh.

The sound of glass clanking and rolling to the ground echoed around the bathroom. You jump from the sudden noise, tightening your hand around your vision. He rolls his eyes while delivering a mocking laugh.

"Hand me another bottle o'er there and I'll consider."

You stand firmly, scowling at his impossible behavior. 

“Standin’ there won’t help, darlin’. Don’t know why you’re tryin’.” He exhales a cloud of smoke, the scent wafting towards your nose and meshing with the woodland scent of his bath soap. 

“Just tell me where to walk” you quip. 

Declan’s eyes dart towards you, his lips curling into an amused grin. “Y'might need to be able to see for that.”

You shake your head in defiance, “Just tell me where to walk.”

He’s no longer interested in the shitty beer he kept hidden in the bathroom. Instead, he focuses on how easily you fall into line for him. 

"Go to the right."

You follow his command, stepping to the right without hesitation. 

"Now go straight about five steps."  You don’t question his directions, placing your full trust in his judgment. 

"Yes, Sir." You do as you’re told, taking five small steps and pausing. "Now what?"

He groans softly at your admission, his length stirring as you patiently wait for his next directions. Your tone unleashed fantasies he kept hidden within the depths of his mind and if you stayed for another moment, he’d happily release every last one. 

There's a moment of silence before he continues. "To the right once more and you've got it."

You blindly reach your hands outward but defeatedly grasp open air. "Declan? I don't feel it."

"Bend down a little, it's on the second shelf."

His eyes widen as the hilt of your skirt rises against your ass, revealing the lace garters decorating your legs. He takes a long drag, watching shamelessly as you shimmy to adjust the length, struggling to do so single-handedly.

Finally, you touch the slim neck of a glass bottle. "Oh! I found it!" You giggle excitedly.

Declan smirks. "Atta girl."

If you weren't too busy shielding your eyes from the outside world, you'd notice the way Declan scans your body. His gaze dropped from your face to the white blouse you wore. Half the buttons were undone but it wasn't like you could check. You stood in front of him like a temptress, all precaution flying out the window the moment he heard your soft laughter.

"Now how do I get back?"

He laughs breathlessly. "Same way you came."

"Uh okay." You attempt to retrace your steps. Mouthing his previous directions aloud until you're semi-close to the door.

"Now walk forward a few steps" he ushers.

You nod, walking carefully toward the sound of his voice. His eyebrows furrow with mischief as you approach, your steps growing wider and far too close to the edge.

The next sequence of events occurs in a blur. You tumble forward and the water splashes over the edge, coating the tiled floors as you fall into the bathtub. You squeal as the hot water warms your body, soaking your attire and revealing everything underneath to Declan's eyes.

"Asshole!" You shout. You attempt to stand only to wind up slipping and falling right back into place.

He presses his cigarette butt against an ashtray before grabbing your arms. He steadies you, dragging your body up against his with ease.

"And that's why we don't walk with our eyes closed."

"You didn't tell me to stop!" You're so enthralled in fury and he can't help but to revel in it. He can only smile as you curse, attempting once again to stand before accepting defeat.

"How much goddamn soap did you put in here!" You shake your head with bitter laughter. You lay back against him, your heart racing out of your chest as his arms find themselves on your waist.

An evident shift in mood affects the room. "Why won't you look at me?" He questions.

"Simple. You piss me off."

You shut your eyes even tighter, ignoring the way his length ghosted across your stomach. His chest hair was surprisingly soft, pillowing your head and causing your heart to beat a skip faster. You stay quiet as his hands drift away from your waist and towards your thighs, forcefully gripping them and dragging you closer to him.

"Then why'd you come here?" He retorts rather quickly.

"Tony. I'm sick of being ordered around by him."

Declan hums. "You didn't seem to have a problem taking orders a few seconds ago."

You whimper as he palms your ass, kneading it roughly. You place your hands against his chest, fighting the desire to give in.

“That’s different. I was helping a friend.”

His lips broaden into a smile at your select choice of word. “Friend?”

“Yes, Delcan. You’re my friend but clearly you could care less.”

He doesn't miss the bitterness in your tone. There was a hint of resentment that clouded your features. He saw it in the way you turned your head further away, limbs tensing against his touch.

"I care," he reassures.

"But you left me.” The vulnerable words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. “You caused complete chaos and rightfully so but you left without a word. I know I’m your assistant but I care about you, Declan. You always said we’d get out of that shitshow together and you left me.”

Truthfully, you grew attached to him, infatuated with a man whose brain met the greatness of his kindness. An unrequited love. You knew it was impossible for him to feel the same way but witnessing him leave without a word solidified your fears. You were merely his subordinate and nothing more. 

Your disappointment reaches your tear ducts and unshed tears of despair begin to descend your cheeks. Declan doesn't hesitate to wipe them away, his thumbs swiping across your skin in comforting movements. 

"There ya' go, darlin'. It's okay to be upset. I deserve it."

“Did you forget about me that quickly? You hadn’t even called.” You burrow your head into the crevice of his arm, still unwilling to face him. 

Forget? 

How could he forget when thoughts of you ran rampant in his head? He wasn’t one to take orders but anything you said rendered him defenseless. Despite being your superior it often felt as if he was learning from you. He’d do whatever you wanted without question. 

He spent nights thinking of you, his hand wrapped around his aching size as he dared not to wake his sleeping wife. Muffling his moans, he thought of how you’d look in her place. How he’d tilt your head backward, kissing you languidly while pushing past your folds. He envisioned your sensual tone calling out his name, begging him to push harder, deeper, to which he’d obey. Following your every command because that’s all he craved to do. Gritting his teeth, clenching the satin sheets until he dreamt of filling you with his seed, no longer caring if his wife heard him murmur your name. 

“I could never forget you.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that shutters your core. 

Slowly you break free from your darkened corner, at last meeting his heated gaze. He stares at you with pure desire, eyes dark and glimmering with something farther than lust.

You take in his naked form, staring at the dark hair that danced down his stomach and covered his shaft. Water dripped from his hair, his typically sleek curls jostled and free. You couldn’t see what lay beneath his waist but you felt his heaviness against your stomach, throbbing with unmet need.

“You’re drunk” you rebuttal weakly. 

He shakes his head, “M’perfectly fine.” He sobered the moment reality hit that your body was laid against his. 

He waits for your next argument but it never arrives. The two of you stare in silence, subdued desires coming to light. Slowly you begin unbuttoning your blouse, stripping the wet cloth from your shoulders and tossing it onto the mat. Declan assists you wordlessly, his hands pulling down your skirt before reaching to unclasp your bra. He takes in this moment. Kissing your skin every time another item is removed until you sit exposed before him.

His hand caresses the back of your head, drawing you close enough for your lips to graze. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You nod, stopping the furthest thing from your mind. 

“I need words, darlin’. Are you okay with this?”

“I’m okay, Declan. Just…” Your brain turns into a foggy haze as you search for what you’d like to say. He grips your jaw, tilting it upwards to better meet your gaze. 

“Just, what? It’s okay. I won’t be mad.” 

You can’t seem to formulate the words to describe how you felt. His touch overwhelmed you in the best way possible. The fresh scent of his skin drowned your senses and feeling your most intimate parts glide against him took the entirety of your focus. 

“I just need you.” Your soft tone stirs something animalistic inside of him. Without another wasted second his lips meet yours. It starts impulsively rabid, his tongue wrapping around yours while he pushes your head further into him. He groans into your mouth, eyelids fluttering closed as he gets lost in your taste. But then he goes slower, savoring the way your hips begin to grind into him as your kiss grows messy. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth until he drags his lips back over them.

Calling him desperate would be an understatement.

He pulls away regretfully, brushing the pads of his thumbs over your lips to clean his mess. You whine from the loss of connection, lips still parted and demanding him for more. 

Declan chuckles, granting your wish and delving into your mouth once more. Your hips rock against him, willing his length to rise. The water sloshes back and forth as you grind against his stomach, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest eagerly. Your hand rests against his unshorn chest hair, envisioning gliding your wet cunt over it until he’s drenched. 

“That’s it, darlin’. Use me.” He moans into your mouth, uncaring of how loud he was being.

“Hurts” you whimper. He pulls away once again, his hands finding yours beneath the water and directing them towards your heat. You jolt as his fingers graze your aching clit, “This what hurts, baby?” he hums. You nod, directing his fingers toward your puffy folds. 

He tsks, “I think that’s your job, darlin’.” You hadn’t quite understood what he meant until you felt him direct your fingers inside yourself. Your face contorts with pleasure as you shove them inside without question, using his chest as leverage while you ride. Declan watches you carefully before sliding his fingers back against your clit, pressing it roughly.

“Your pretty button’s so swollen. Just wanna make it feel better.” He rubs small circles around your clit, slapping it roughly when he notices your eyes rolling backward.

“Look at me when you play with your pretty cunt.” Declan ignores the way his cock jolts against his skin, desperate to be buried inside of you. All he cared about at this moment was your pleasure, physically reassuring your place in his world. 

“M’gonna cum” you whine.  

You say his name continuously as he continues to toy with your clit, tugging and slapping it until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Declan wraps you in a confining hug as you shake against him, his hands rubbing the back of your neck as he talks you through your orgasm. You nuzzle into his chest, allowing his huge frame to provide you comfort. “D-” Your tongue teeters on the line of murmuring a word you knew you mustn’t say.

“Did so good for me, baby. That’s it, I’ve got you. Just ride it out, I’m right here for you.”

But your mind slips and the word comes flowing from your lips. “Daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper but Declan caught it nonetheless. He watches you curl into him, a level of trust in your actions that he knew he had to maintain forever. 

You’re shaken from your haze as Declan taps his length against your cunt, a newfound look of pure hunger darkening his gaze. 

Pre-cum drips down his length, the water washing away any evidence of his sin. He rubs his reddened tip against your folds, groaning loudly as you spread your thighs wider for him. 

He drags you onto his cock, holding you upwards as you take his size. Your moans blend into one continuous sound as he fills you, stretching your walls as you claw at his back. 

“C’mon baby, know you can take more, can you do that for me?”

You shiver as you allow yourself to bottom out against him, muffling a scream as he breaches you entirely. His eyes roll as he embraces your warmth, his arousal growing heavier. He stares down at where the two of you connect, your walls choking his cock and leaking downwards.

A wave of adoration washes over him before it becomes tainted with angry realizations. You sat beneath him, his perfect match. Someone who balanced him, calmed him, put up with him. And yet, he’s had to push his feelings away in the name of not causing a stir. 

He’s angry that he’s trapped in a loveless marriage riddled with infidelity and fueled by his income. Trapped in this goddamn house that he could care less about. Angry that Tony dangled his career in front of him like a chew toy. And most of all he was livid that you weren’t the one sleeping next to him every night. 

Declan shoves his hips forward, bouncing you on his length. “So fucking tight” he grits through his teeth. You clench around him, your wetness welcoming him even further. The noises were obscene, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as your pussy squelched. He revels in it, fingers finding your sweet lips to shove them in between.

You witness the furrow in his eyebrows and undoubtable frustration. You meet his gaze, lips wrapping around his fingers and sucking. You take them deeper until they’re practically shoved down your throat. 

“Should’ve known you’d be a fucking slut. You like this, don’t you? Bet you wish you were choking down my cock instead.”

“Uh huh,” you whine. You’d thought about it all the time. When he’d arrive to work angry, sitting at his desk with a pout. How you’d wanted to sink to your knees beneath him, hiding beneath his desk while you slid him down your throat. Muffling your gags as he answered the phone while stroking your hair.

He hooks into your cheek, widening your mouth so he can spit into it. He taps you, commanding you to swallow to which you happily oblige. You shake against him, tits bouncing freely. He grips onto them, slapping your sensitive nipples until they pebble in his fingertips. 

“How does it feel, baby? You like being stretched out? Can barely keep your eyes open, can you?”

Pressing against your womb, Declan feels his length shatter your walls. He watches you fall into his broad chest, clutching onto his back while he holds you closely. 

“Feels so good, daddy.” You whimper. 

“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s got you. Gonna be my little cock whore amn’t ya? Surprised your little cunt could even fit. Just shows you're perfect for me, hm?”

“M’hm, perfect” you repeat.

He knows you're close, he feels it when your nails dig into his skin. Surely leaving marks that he wouldn’t feel the need to hide. 

“You need to cum, don’t you, baby? It’s okay, nobody’s here. Just us. Let go for me, let Daddy feel you.” His pace becomes slower, pounding into you with deep thrusts.

Your vision blurs as you reach your high, shouting Declan’s name as you gush around him. He follows suit, your pulsating walls unleashing his heavy orgasm. He doesn’t relent as he shoots his load into you, locking you down as he fills you with his seed. He could care less about the consequences, nothing else mattered at the moment.

He captures your lips in his, taking short breaths to whisper how good you were for him. He suckles on your collarbone, leaving definite bruises to match the claw marks you undoubtedly left on his back. 

“Let’s get you dry” he murmurs. 

You nod, too tired to reply or move. Declan slides out of you, saddened by the loss of connection. He carries you out of the bathtub, his spend dripping from your pussy and leaking onto his leg. He clenches his jaw, fighting the desire to fuck it right back into you.

He wraps you in a towel, drying your skin before taking you into his bedroom. He sits you on the bed while he scourers his closet for something you could wear. Landing on an old college shirt that he refused to throw out. 

As he slides it onto your body, he presses his lips against your forehead. A million words silently transcribe between the two of you. He’s unsure of what the future holds but he’s certain that you belong in his.

[prettycoolgirl]

adicto

pairing: bfd!declan o'hara x f!reader.

summary: declan, your best friends dad can't wait any longer to be alone with you

a/n: small fic to celebrate that i finished my finals, i just watched rivals too and guys i loveeee declan, but this was a small one shot feel free to send me concepts! & requests are open as always, oh and breeding kink with declan fic coming soon!

warnings: 18+. smut. cheating. age gap once again (reader is in her 20s). fingering. dirty talk. definitely more warnings…

word count: 1k

as the party flowed, you became more drawn to declan once again. It felt so wrong to be eyeing him especially because his family and friends were present all around. yet you also couldn’t help but notice how he looked at you, affection and desire plastered over him. taggie, your best friend was busy chatting with rupert, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve been sleeping with her father for the past couple of months. 

night slowly creeping in, the tension between you and declan had eventually had enough. he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "meet me in the bathroom in five minutes. i need you, alone." his voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for you to even argue. with a nod, you eventually managed to slip away from your conversation with lizzie, heart racing with anticipation.

you quickly slipped into the bathroom, with your flushed cheeks. meanwhile, declan is already there. his presence filling the room, his voice a low whisper, "shut the door." he turns to face you, his eyes darkening possessively as he sees you. "declan, i promised taggie i'd help her finish up the pastries. i can’t be gone for too long" you whispered, biting your lip as you approached him. he reached out, hand cupping your face possessively. "we’ll be quick angel," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. he knew it was all wrong, that their secret affair could ruin everything.

yet he couldn't stop himself. his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. "lock the door," he ordered gruffly. as the lock clicked into place, he unbuckled his belt, eyes locked on yours. "come here," he said, patting his lap.

you hesitant for a moment, heart-pounding and body betraying you. as you moved forward of its own accord. sitting directly on his lap, short dress riding up to reveal your bare thighs. 

declan groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly. "i've been bloody hard watching you all night. seeing you in this dress, christ," he muttered, hands already working on the zipper of your dress. you carefully bit your lip, trying to be quiet as he pulled the dress down your arms, leaving you just with bra and panties. he stood up, holding you in his arms, and setting you on the counter. "spread your legs,"

he instructed, his voice low and commanding. doing as what you were was told, as your legs trembled slightly. declan stepping between your thighs, his large hands hooking into your underwear. "lift up,"

"christ, you're wet," he growled, his fingers brushing against your already damp panties. "always ready for me, aren't you?" his other hand reached up to cup your breast.

declan hooking his fingers into your underwear and slowly tugging them down your legs, revealing yourself to him completely. spreading your legs wider&stepping closer. "look at me," he ordered gruffly, his fingers splaying on you. "god look at you, you're dripping,"

"so fucking tight," he muttered, running his calloused finger along your slit. "always so tight for me, aren't you? like you were made just for my cock."

he brought his finger up to his mouth, sucking your juices off his finger before pushing two inside you. quickly you let out a quiet gasp, back arching off the counter as he fingered you roughly. "love when i have you like this,"

he growled, adding a third finger and pumping them in and out of you quickly. "I can't wait to bury myself in you, and fill you up." He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a rough kiss as he continued to finger you.

“fuck, i need you declan” you whispered.

"shh," he murmured against your lips, whilst fingers curling inside you. "not yet," he warned, straightening up and wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull your legs over his shoulders. "i need to make sure you can take me," he growled, pushing his fingers deeper.

declan with his fingers hooked inside you, stretching you out. "look down," he ordered gruffly. you peering down, watching as he fingered you open. "i want you to look at me while i stretch you out,"

"fuck, i can't, it's too much," you panted, squirming on the counter as he stretched you out. “you can” declan growled, once again slamming three fingers inside you and scissoring them open wide.

"oh god, oh god, oh god," eyes rolling back as he stretched you impossibly wide. "declan, i can’t" you whimpered, hands scrabbling at the counter.

"too bad," he snapped, fingers once again curling up inside you. "spread your legs wider," he demanded, his voice thrumming with barely contained anger. "there we go, good girl ."

"fuck, declan," you hissed, legs shaking as he forced you open. "declan, we have to hurry someone gonna suspect," you begged, voice cracking with desperation. but declan just ignored it, fingers moving faster and harder inside you.

"you should've thought about that before you bent over in this tiny dress," he growled, pulling his fingers nearly out before slamming them back in. "spread those knees wider," he commanded, pressing his thumb against your clit hard enough to make you cry out.

"declan!" you shrieked, back arching off the counter. "i-i'm going to- fuckk" you were cut off by a loud, wracking sob orgasm crashed over you, while you clenched around his fingers.

both of you trying to catch your breaths, faces inches apart, declan nuzzled into your neck. "you're absolutely perfect," he murmured. you smiled, arms wrapped around him possessively. "and yet you're still the worst," you giggled. 

declan zipped up your dress back up, and gently pulled your panties back up your thighs, adjusting them carefully. "love, are you sure you're alright to walk out like this?" he asked, eyes crinkling at the corners as you nodded, face flushed.

he helped you fix your hair, straightening your dress once more. "ready?" he murmured, his hand gently patting your thigh. "ready," you said. he watched as you took a deep breath and prepared to go back out to the party.

as you both walked through the halls with loud music blasting, declan sure to keep a discreet distance behind you, eyes never leaving your back. both soon found themselves face to face with rupert, who looked at you two with a knowing glint in his eye. "well, well, well," he chuckled, gaze flicking between you and declan.

[coterieofroses]

scent of embers and amber

Declan O’hara x Reader

Summary: Declan gets a phone call from London, one that leaves him brooding. When his secretary happens upon him at home, she shows him just how far she would go to prove how much he means to her… in a way.

Warnings: 18+, angst, pet names, kissing, cheating(?), drinking, fingering, praise kink, sex

w/c: 2.7k

also on AO3

You had grown used to the smell of the man who seemed to occupy every moment of your waking life. Cigarettes and whiskey, permeate the air, seeping into the wool of his sweaters, and his suits. You knew when the bite of whiskey was stronger, things usually were worse with his wife. He knew that when he’d been researching a critical guest, a reek of tobacco would sit in the natural fibers of his clothes, sometimes even staining the sleeves. The antiseptic of his particular brand of aftershave even became familiar. Declan was a passionate man, and the rhythm of his artistic temperament was something you grew to dance easily around. And for that he was always generous and kind, working as his secretary was rewarding, if there was a world where you had no bills to pay, you may have worked for his praise alone.

It made sense when you followed him when he left Corinium. Knowing full well work might be hard to find again if he should fail. Then when Maud stepped out, following after where her own heart took her, you braced for the fallout. Knowing the coming days would be hard on a man who’d you’d had such a growing affection for. You tried to dismiss it as a schoolgirl crush, but there was so much more affection for this mentor, more than any fleeting feelings for past teachers.

You returned to the Priory late one night, a thick folder in hand, knowing he would be up. His office was the only illumination left in the vast residence. That and the porch light he always left on. You had wondered a few times if it was for you but never grew the courage to ask. Instead of knocking and waking the dog or Taggie, you quietly let yourself in the front door and made your way to his office. Your hand was raised to knock but the shattering of glass you heard caused you to abruptly stop, and pause. You could hear Declan on the other side of the door, a gentle, lightly intoxicated ‘Fuck’, leaving his lips before you pushed inside, and shut the door behind you.

A whiskey glass was in pieces on the floor, and the bottle on his desk was, rather thankfully, only half gone. He sat at his desk brushing the glass aside with his slippered foot. Without a word you approached, setting the folder on his desk. As you turned to move for the dustpan, Declan reached for your wrist. His firm holds causing you to turn and face him.

You’d been polite enough several times before not to look when he’d worked himself up like this. The flannel he wore was loose and had a few more undone buttons than was fit for the company. His undereyes were darkened with a lack of sleep. But he fixed you with the same kind, sad gaze he almost always did, despite his stupor.

“Why?” he asked you simply. His voice was a deep grunt.

“Why, what, Mr. O’hara?” you replied, your brow knitting together with confusion.

“Don’t call me that, you never call me that,” he grumbled softly, uncomfortable with your choice for propriety at this time. “Why bother with me? I’m sure you’d be better paid, better suited, with a better man. Maybe any other man. Probably in London,” he drawled, clarifying his question.

“I don’t want another man, Declan,” you sighed at him, and his hold on your wrist relaxed slightly. Seeming to cling to you for comfort loosely. You were telling the truth, your last boyfriend had broken up with you due to your dedication to the job. You’d hardly sought out another. You had even less ambition to abandon him for another boss.

“You’d be the only one,” he gruffed, ignoring the subtext of your words, or missing them, you couldn’t quite tell. “I got a phone call from London,” he offered. The frown you replied with letting him leave it at that. You knew it was Maud already. Knew it was attention from another man. As the silence lingered he sniffed and looked pointedly away toward the darkened windows that acted more like mirrors in the dim glow of the desk lamp in the room. His hand dropped limply from your wrist, falling to his knee. If you’d looked out the window, you’d notice he was looking at your reflection, standing close to his.

A gentle sigh left you as you lifted your hand. You hesitated a moment before placing it gently on one of his broad shoulders. “You’re good to me Declan. You deserve the loyalty you inspire,” you attempted to soothe him softly. Your words had struck an off chord, causing his jaw to clench and a disgruntled frown to form under his mustache.

“Loyalty,” he refrained, looking back at you with simmering anger. The kind you’d seen directed mostly at Rupert or Tony. Never you, the look alone made your skin crawl, your hand slip off his shoulder as you swallowed back any pride you had left.

“I’ll just leave that here, and come back another time…” you attempted hurriedly, all while Declan rose to his feet. Before you could scurry out, or even take a step back he’d let his fingers comb into your hair, grasping you perhaps not so gently by the nape of your neck and tilting your head to look up at him. Your eyes met his gaze that looked much more sober than you’d expected, and still far too intense.

“Have you thought how far you’d go for me? What you’d endure?” he questioned, hard, unreadable.

“I’d do anything you needed me to, Declan.” you attempted confidence, but it came out in more of a whisper. The answer seemed to make him let out a soft laugh, or perhaps a scoff.

“So I’d have to need it then?” he replied, clearly rhetorically. He let out a soft sigh, gently shaking his head from side to side.

“Anything you wanted, Declan,” you admitted softly in return, eyes wide and earnest. You felt the fingers in your hair tense, a soft pulling at the root that pulled a gasp from you.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” he warned you softly, the anger in his gaze seeming to melt into something else. “Y’don't mean it,” he grumbled, mostly to himself before you attempted to shake your head in disagreement, leading to effectively only tugging your hair and loosening his grip.

“Of course I do,” you attempted, but further protests were silenced by Declan leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Suddenly your senses were flooded with the taste of the scent you’d memorized. The taste of whiskey and tobacco on your tongue, mixed with the sharpness of the menthol in his aftershave. It made your head spin and give in to him. A culmination of thoughts you’d let wander far too many times. When your thoughts came back, your hands planted firmly on his chest, the coarse feeling of his flannel on your palms as you pushed him back.

“You’re drunk,” you offer softly, attempting to give him an out and let him decide it was a mistake he could forget.

“I’m not,” he replies bluntly, confirming what you knew, but letting you get away if you wanted. “Sorry, love,” he mumbled, beginning to part from you, detangling himself from his hold on you before you grasped his collar and pulled his lips back to yours.

When it hits him that you’re just as eager to kiss him back, he’s like a man possessed. Hands move to your waist as he holds you close for a moment, lips searching yours hungrily. The prickle of his unshaven cheeks chafed your skin slightly. He groans into your mouth before lifting you up and setting you to sit on the edge of his desk, using a forearm to shove more papers out of the way.

His haste causes him to break the kiss, and for a soft giggle to leave you. It’s clear he’s desperate for you. Once he’s satisfied, he gently cups your face, savoring looking down at you, his pupils blown wide with lust as you look up to him, lips slightly agape.

“Need you…” he admits softly, broken and wanting. When you nod it’s enough for him to rush to begin helping you undress.

“Take me then, Declan.” you encourage him as you slip your trousers down your legs, your panties along with them as you sit bare now on his desk’s surface. Your words elicit a feral growl from his throat as he nudges between your knees, spreading them slightly. A soft hiss when he gets sight of your slick petals.

“Pretty girl.” he coos the praise, aimed more at your cunt, than you, causing a blush to flood your cheeks. He traces his index and middle fingers on your lips until you open your mouth further, and then he wets them on your tongue. All until you wrap your lips around his thick fingers and suckle around him. Your eyes meet as he lets out a soft groan. “‘another time,” he grunts, a promise at your suckling before pulling his fingers free from your mouth and tracing them down your body to play along your slit. The heat and texture of his calloused fingers causes you to squirm involuntarily under his touch.

“It’s alright darlin’, just need to be good to you first,” he rumbles soft praise to you before stepping closer. You’re engulfed by him as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers slipping through your folds to gently prod at your entrance, sinking slowly in. A soft growl leaves him when you give in and shift so your sensitive pearl brushes against his palm. Needy gasps leaving you as you press yourself harder against him, seeking the friction as he eases his fingers into you, filling you gently, starting to curve and work them into you in earnest.

“Always good to me, Declan,” you whined back, high and needy before you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths, the scent of him filling your lungs and making your head swim. “So tight…” he grumbled in reply, continuing to lavish you with praise as your walls fluttered around his fingers, adjusting to their thickness. Your hands on his chest grasp onto him greedily, pawing at his shirt as you whimper into the meat of his shoulder.

“God, please Declan,” you began to beg. At first, he only answered with a groan of his own, fingers picking up their pace as his palm dragged against your clit.

“I know, I know, but I gotta get you ready first,” he replied, pleading with you. It seemed to go on deaf ears though, your nails digging into the cotton of his shirt and barely dulling the sharpness as you whimpered little aimless pleas as he worked you up until you began to sob out in pleasure. Noises of release were only muffled by his bulk as he used his free hand to gently stroke your hair. Your hips bucked against the hand buried into you. All the while he soothed you through your climax.

As you came down from your high Declan slowly pulled his fingers from your slick walls. He eased you to sit up as he put them to his lips, suckling your slick clean off them. Leaving you to gaze over his face, dazed with lust and the culmination of your tamped-down affections, your hand that’s been clawing at his chest drifted down to reach for the bulge tenting his trousers. Grasping at his hardened length, and getting a clear idea of the size of him, big, but more so thick. His insistence on warming you up is more than warranted.

A grunt left him as his hand fell from his mouth at your groping. “Not gonna be able to stay sweet about it if you keep that up,” he warned, thick and gravely. Hands come to rest at your hips and scoot you to the very edge of the desk.

“Don’t want you to,” you breathed, head still spinning. “-want you to take what you need,” you reminded him, kneading once more over his bulge as you sat up slightly to press kisses to his stubble-covered jaw.

You think you heard him curse under his breath at your continued pleading with him. It seemed your encouragement was enough to cause him to snap, unzipping his trousers and relieving his hard length from his boxers. Taking your chance your hand slid down his chest, popping the snaps of his flannel shirt to leave his broad, hairy chest bare to you, the garment loosely hanging over his shoulders.

He grasped the base of his cock, reddened and already leaking with evidence of arousal. Lining himself up with your entrance he let out a soft hiss as he bullied his way into your tight heat, your inner walls fluttering as they struggled to content with his size. Even considering his attempt to warm you up. By the time he bottomed out you’d been left breathless, your arms moving rest at the back of his neck as you held him close. Once fully seated he eased you back further onto his desk, taking each of your thighs in hand and pressing them back as you were laid open and exposed to him. It gave you just enough time for you to be able to catch a few shallow breaths before he took you in earnest.

He draws his hips back just to snap them back into yours, filling you somehow deeper than before. It rips a sharp gasp from you, a desperate whine breaking from your throat, you’d know if you weren’t so impossibly wet the stretch would sting.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me,” he praised, “Takin’ it so well, darling,” he continued between grunts, building up a brutal pace as his hips pumped into yours, any resolve to hold back or be gentle melting as he had you effectively pinned down on his desk.

You laid back, over the piles of papers and envelopes, ignoring them entirely as he leaned forward, pinning his hands down on the surface, and trapping you with your legs draped over his forearms. When you met his gaze you could barely see the warm brown of his eyes, too filled with lust as he dragged his length through you with every thrust. The whimpering moans that left you only spurring him on, every few pleasured whimpers being answered with a throaty grunt of his own pleasure, becoming more beast than man.

“I’m gonna,” you warned softly between wrecked-sounding moans, your voice broke and crackling as you neared another peak. “Don’t stop,” you begged, a broken whimper as you locked your arms around his neck.

Holding Declan close was hardly a struggle; he tucked his face into the crook of your neck and let out a growl into your skin as your walls fluttered around his length. Your thighs shivering with the intensity of the pleasure that overtook you, you were left gasping out, eyes rolling back as the searing heat overwhelmed you. Declan’s thrusts stuttered as you clamped down hard around him, his pace faltering as he hit his own peak. He attempted to lean back and pull out, but with you clamping down around him, and holding his face into your chest he spilled his release into your eager cunt.

“Shit,” he grunted in a mix of satisfaction and frustration under his breath, finally snapping from your daze enough to let go of your hold. He took his chance to lean back up, let you lower your legs, and pull out. His spend dripping out of your twitching walls in his wake.

“It’s okay,” you only offered softly in reply. “L-like it, even,” you admitted before using your forearms to prop yourself up slightly, and watch the maddened glint in Declan’s eyes only be fueled by your admission. A soft sigh left him before he leaned in and cupped your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks.

“Perfect, darlin’,” he practically cooed before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

[beingalive1]

𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝟏

Rupert Campbell Black x Oc (Francesca Wellington)

Summary: Francesca Wellington was everything Rupert Campbell Black was and more. A successful show jumper with a title and an estate, she had it all. She was a constant reminder of the man he once was. He couldn't help but hate her for it and yet, he loved her for it just the same.

Part One: The making of a rivalry.

Part Two: here

July 1984: Los Angeles Summer Olympics

The day Lady Francesca Wellington met Rupert Campbell Black he could've been stark naked dancing around in circles and she still wouldn't have noticed him. 

Standing upon a podium in the middle of the prestigious arena belonging to the Santa Anita Racetrack, Francesca felt her skin burn under the heat of the sun. Unlike in England, the sky of Los Angeles was clear. The Californian heat bared down upon her without mercy. She felt the collar of her blazer rub uncomfortably against her neck; the red material becoming damp with sweat as time continued on. Her riding hat shifted slightly as she looked upon the cheering crowd above her. 

The crowd that was cheering for her. 

The uncomfortable heat did nothing to subdue her feelings of utter euphoria. Her body felt like it had been set alight. Her veins were filled with fire. Sweat beaded down her forehead; its salty path flowed from the tip of her head and settled on the edge of her upper lip.  Her mind was chaos: her thoughts bounced between her ears.

She couldn't think; she couldn't breathe. She didn't care one bit. 

She was given the  gold medal by a man. His tan fingers graced the side of her face as he placed it around her neck. It was heavy, heavy with the weight of accomplishment. She didn't look at the man, her eyes were fixated upon the medal as he briskly stepped away. 

She lifted the medal from her chest and placed a cheeky kiss upon its golden side. The cameras flashed excitedly as Lady Francesca Wellington's lips grazed the cool surface of the medal in glee. 

Every eye in that arena watched in admiration as Lady Francesca Wellington claimed her title as the first woman to win an Olympic gold in individual showjumping. 

Every eye except Rupert Campbell Black. 

The day Rupert Campbell Black met Lady Francesca Wellington she could've been Mother Theresa reincarnated and he still wouldn't have liked her. 

Being given the "honour" of handing out the gold medal for show jumping in the first Olympics since he had retired felt like a knife jabbed directly into his stomach. He had been coerced into it by his old riding friends, the Tori party and a few members of the Olympic sports committee. They told him it would be good for his image as an MP to remain present in the riding community. He felt as if it was all a cruel joke reminding him of his failures. 

His failure as a rider forced to retire. His failure as a husband, a father,  a politician. 

His failure as a man. 

Rupert stood in the sand of the blistering hot arena. His ears rang at the sound of the adoring crowd as he was faced with the man he used to be. A rider, a star, a man who dominated show jumping with ease. He was greeted by memories: memories of him as a boy riding ponies around his estate to days spent galloping with his friends.  

He watched her with a diplomatic smile as she claimed the first place position on the podium.

It felt as if he was bearing witness to the erasure of his legacy. 

The British anthem sounded on the loud speakers as he picked up the gold medal from its designated case; the very same anthem they played for him four years prior. The soft skin of her cheek grazed the side of his hand as he placed the medal around her neck. She looked down towards her medal with glee. He looked at her with jealousy. 

Only a few selected riders in the world could understand the high of winning a gold medal for showjumping. A high he would do anything to feel again. He stepped away from the podium in haste and marched out the arena, his assistant running behind frantically. 

All eyes were on Lady Francesca Wellington as she reached the epitome of her riding career. 

No one noticed Rupert Campbell Black walk away from his. 

[nastasya--filippovna]

Read on AO3

I blame @davidtennantgenderenvy thoroughly for this. had they not encouraged me I would have never- (so I guess this chapter is dedicated to you.... also for another reason but you'll figure out 😉)

But it had to happen. Thanks to @princeloww 's idea that led to some silly yapping and mooting..... here it is!

[joelssweetpea]

ok...so, i just finished my most important college essay and I'm seriously thinking about going back to writting! but this time, instead of nice girly short stories it will be dirty, filthy and delicious smut (mostly with joel miller and maybe some other pedro's characters and some random ones like declan o'hara from rivals cause i can't see a fucking handsome old man with a thick mustache without falling to my knees)

that's it, i must be a little rusty and my english is not exactly the best but i have a very dirty mind and some free time, so...

coming soon, I guess

(btw i’m taking suggestions on scenarios, so tell me if you have any idea! xoxo)

(gifs by @trashcora and @hunnam)

[nasty-quillz]

Daddy's Girl

Maud is gone. Patrick’s an adult. Caitlin is at boarding school and Taggie has all but moved in with Rupert. The only one left is you.

Y/n, who’s as pretty and dark as the mother Maud had convinced him to play with, that night so many years ago.

Who came to live with them, after your American mother died in a car crash, leaving you a name and a photograph of the three of them in a pub, a year ago.

He secretly admits to himself he was relieved  at your timing, the hurt and guilt of Maud’s affair fresh and loud upon your arrival. He’s not sure what would have happened if it hadn’t been. 

His ex-wife(No not yet. There’ve been no papers drawn.) had given in as retribution for her sins.

And now Declan was the sinner.

Because here he was with his barely legal long lost daughter’s barely legal cunt sitting on his face. 

Keep reading

[someofusarequeer]

Reading Between the Lines

Fake Dating Rupert/Taggie Fic

Fandom: Rivals

Rating: E (eventually)

Words: 14,230

Chap: 2/?

Chapter 2, I know I shouldn't be jealous (you aren't even mine)

Plot: Rupert's reputation is a problem for the franchise, the solution? Fake dating Taggie to show he's a changed man.

Chapter Summary: Rupert throws a party with all of Venturer and company as an excuse to show off their new fake relationship and get some good press. The night doesn't exactly go as planned.

[futuristicphilosopherfun]

The fact that I can't even find photos of Patrick on Pinterest is depressing.

My shaylaaaaaaaaa

At least I have tiktok edits

[bullet-prooflove]

Rivals Masterlist

Declan O'Hara Masterlist

Rupert Campbell-Black Masterlist

[erotictalesofjackson]

New Rivals Fanfic alert!

The Fox in the Hen House

Rupert Campbell-Black had done many despicable things in his time. Delicious, despicable things. But he'd never fucked a mother and her daughter.

The odds, after all, were entirely against it. He was a man of wealth and taste. Not quite the devil, but he knew how to tempt and he knew how to sin. He could afford to be choosy. And let's face it, there weren't many fuckable mothers old enough to have fuckable daughters. Not that he knew, anyway. Mind you, he didn't actually know that many mothers full stop.

Regardless, here was quite the proposition. Maud O'Hara, beautiful, flirtatious, easy. And here was something else altogether. Taggie O'Hara, reserved, shy, awkward even. Beautiful of course, but not in the studied, calculated way of her mother. She looked so innocent, so unsullied by life, and he couldn't wait to get his metaphorical teeth into her. And when he was done...

Well, together they would make quite the prize.

Read on ao3 here

[erotictalesofjackson]

Declan wasn't blind. He knew Maude wanted other men. Everyone could see it. In a way she had a naivete that belied her age. She wasn't a woman who could hide her feelings or suppress her desires. It simply wasn't in her. She was too wild, too free, too untamed. Her hunger was there in her eyes, in her lips, in the sway of her hips. As soon as she saw a man she liked, everyone in the room knew it.

Declan also knew other people thought she treated him badly. He knew Maude felt this too. It was why she thought he was punishing her, taking her away from London to this big house in the Cotswalds. But he wasn't punishing her. Not even a little bit. He was simply following his own hunger which was for his work, for political freedom to prosecute his agenda on the TV screen. Maude was never a factor in his thinking. Or if she was, it was as an after thought.

So no, she wasn't treating him badly. No more than he treated her at least. And no, he didn't mind her flirtations. Far from it. The truth of the matter was they turned him on. He liked seeing other men desire her. He liked seeing their desire reflected back in her wide, playful eyes.

So when she went after Rupert... he actively kept out of the way. And that night when she came to him, he had her play out her fantasy. He let his body, his hands, his cock, substitute for Rupert's so she might feel a taste of what might have been.

"How would you have had him touch you?" he asked, trying to contain his excitement.

Confused, she didn't answer. Her fear of saying the wrong thing, her anxiety about being a bad wife, overcoming her power to speak her own mind.

She hesitated.

Then she took his hands and showed him.

The lust writ large across his face encouraged her.

"Like this?" He asked, caressing her breasts.

She nodded.

"And what would you have done to him?" Declan asked, a breathy quality making his voice catch.

Silently she wriggled down and with shaking hands she drew Declan's cock into her mouth.

"You'd really have sucked his cock?" Declan gasped in surprise. It was the first time she'd done that for him in years.

"Yes," she said quietly, "it's what I do for men who are brave enough to take me from my husband."

"Oh god," Declan moaned, almost cumming there and then.

"And then," she suggested, her confidence building with the strength of his reaction, "he'd push me back on the bed and I'd open my legs for him..."

Declan complied, positioning himself over her and sliding deep into his wife's wet pussy.

"Like this?"

"Yes," she moaned. Then she corrected herself, breathing softly into his ear. "No actually. Not quite like this. He'd be bigger and I'd be moaning his name as he fucked me harder and deeper than you."

"Do it," Declan moaned as his thrusts became frantic, "moan his name."

"Yes Rupert!" Maude moaned as her husband started to cum. "Rupert Rupert Ruuuuupereert..."

How would you have had him touch you?

[daenerysmacfarlane]

Friends Will Be Friends - Rupert Campbell-Black and Declan O'Hara

Rupert Campbell-Black x Bestie Reader, Rupert Campbell-Black x Taggie O'Hara, Declan O'Hara x fem reader 18+

Authors Note: Another Rivals fanfic from me?!!! What?!!! Told you the brainrot is real. Spoilers for Rivals, you’ve been warned. This one is not a full smut warning just a little bit of spice with our dear Irishman, Declan but also Rivals does not do Rupert as a bestie justice. The books go into great detail about how he can actually be an amazing friend, especially to Billy Lloyd-Foxe. Inspired by a shit week in my world that only didn't get to me because I'm moving in with my bestie soon. Readers nickname is Snow White which is what my nan used to call me because all animals love me hehe. Characters belong to Jilly Cooper. Enjoyyyy!!!!!

Rupert Campbell-Black was worried. It was a strange feeling, he was never worried. His time as a show-jumper taught him how to be calm and collected at all times. But the woman he called his little sister, his best friend since her birth, his Snow White on account of all animals wild and domestic loving her instantly, wasn’t “feeling great” and cancelled Friday family dinner. 

Something was wrong. She cancelled dinner. She always has Friday family dinner no matter what. If she was having a bad week, it was the thing that always healed her. Especially since Taggie had joined. She was the first one Rupert told about him and Taggie and she was over the moon, after all he loved her most besides Taggie and the animals. Rupert’s hands trembled dialling the O’Hara’s number. A sweet voice belonging to his other half answered the phone. 

“Rupert what is it?” Taggie’s voice calmed his thumping heart but only a little. 

“It’s Snow, she cancelled dinner.” His voice cracked. 

He heard Taggie call out over the phone. “Sorry Freddie, Caitlin and Daddy are watching the football. Maybe she just needs a night to herself. Daddy said it’s been rough at work and he caught her crying in her office.”

Rupert sighed, feeling guilty. He was the one who recommended Snow for Venturer. She was the perfect employee, insanely talented, hardworking and everyone adored her. Declan was more besotted with her than anyone and always singing her praises. Rupert suspected Declan’s feelings were always a little more than professional towards her.  

“I’m going over there. She wouldn’t leave any of us alone if we weren’t okay. You’re coming too, don’t bring any food I’ll grab a big greasy pizza on the way.” He said. 

Taggie hums. “You know she might be sick so the pizza might not be a good idea. And I have to start dinner for Daddy, Caitlin and Freddie. I assume that he’s staying, Valerie’s not much of a cook.”

“She’s not fucking sick, Tag. I know her! Fuck the dinner, bring them too. And Gertrude. Love you darling, see you in a bit.” Rupert put down the receiver. 

He winced. She wasn’t sick. She would’ve told him if she was, she’s told him about her bowel movements before for Christ’s sake. He thought back to the day she was born. Rupert was ten, waiting in the hall with his dad. Snow had been born around about three hours earlier. Her dad ushered them in and told his father to say hello to his new goddaughter. Rupert fell in love with Snow the minute he saw her. A real sibling love that he never felt with Adrian. Everyone joked that Snow was his favourite sibling and she was in many ways. All the girls Rupert ever brought home were insanely jealous of her, everyone except his Tag. 

He promised her dad to protect her when he passed six years ago but Rupert had been protecting her from the moment they met. 

But he couldn’t have protected her from this week. It was just a week that everyone gets, that makes them tilt their head to the sky and ask any deity ‘why?’ 

To begin the week off, it rained sideways whenever Snow went outside. Then she had to fire an assistant audio engineer. The little shit was incompetent and it was her job as Venturer’s head of Audio but she hated conflict. She then stayed at the studio and worked until the wee hours to fix up the mix on Declan’s interview with Princess Margaret. All in all, she was sure she’d only got around 8 hours sleep all week. After a tense meeting with the rest of the consortium, Rupert’s dearest Snow White fled to her office and just sat in her chair. It was only when Declan O’Hara, absolute angel he is, came to check on her after that everything just got far too much and she had enough. 

Declan sat there, brows furrowed at the bawling, snotty girl in front of him. He felt a bit guilty himself having been a bit of an ogre lately waiting for his and Maud’s divorce to go through. He felt a little selfish too as he’d actually come in to ask her out on a date… and a possible shag. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she clung to him and moaned in his ear in their late night tryst last week. Fuck, Tag and Rupert were going to kill him if they found out about that.

He was brought back by her mentioning that his daughter and Rupert were due at her house that night for family dinner night. 

“I just… I can’t remember the last time I had a night all to myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever have one ever again!” She cried even harder than Declan thought a person could. 

“Cancel the dinner.” Declan said. 

“What?”

“You heard me. Fuck em, say you’re sick. Run a bubble bath and watch a movie.”

She sighed. “Wonderful idea, Declan but I’m a terrible liar.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep Taggie occupied. Football’s on tonight and Caitlin is home, I’ll just invite Freddie over. Take tomorrow off as well.” He smirked. 

“I could kiss you.” She sighed. 

“Could ya do more than that, darlin?” 

She did exactly what Declan said, hoping to all the gods above that Rupert believed her and took Tag out to Bar Sinister like she suggested. Snow snuggled up on the couch in her fluffiest dressing gown post bubble bath, having just put a tape of Young Frankenstein in the VCR. She’d order some takeout in an hour but she just wanted to destress and enjoy the silence. She knew she’d have to thank Declan later. 

Not ten minutes into the movie, there was knocking and doorbells going off. She had the latest VCR courtesy of Rupert which came with the game changing feature of pause. She paused the movie and went to the door. Snow was met with a chorus of her name for there were her friends. Rupert, Taggie, Caitlin, Freddie, Lizzie and Bas who were bored and tagged along once they found out where the group were headed. Behind them was Declan with a sheepish grin on his face. The bunch were holding all sorts of treats and drinks and Rupert gave her the biggest bear hug. 

“I’m sorry it’s been a shit week, Snow. You should’ve told me.” Rupert sighed. 

Her arms tighten around her best friend. “Would you have still shown up if I had?”

“Of course. You would done the same for us.” Taggie joined the hug and squeezed her. 

She moved aside and the others filed into her house. Lizzie noticed the movie first. 

“Ooh what are we watching?” Lizzie asked

“Young Frankenstein. I’ve only just started it. The remote is on the coffee table. Rewind it and I’ll get some of the snacks ready.” She smiled. 

Declan held up the popcorn and headed to the kitchen. Snow began to follow behind when she heard Bas in the living room. 

“Right how the fuck do you work this fucking thing?” Bas mutters. 

Freddie’s laughter ran through the house. “Oh giz it ‘ere. They don’t call me the King of Electronics for nuffink.” 

In the kitchen, Declan and Snow got the bowls out and put the popcorn in the microwave. Declan had a cigarette hanging precariously between his lips and was taking in Snow’s gown and fuzzy slippers. She looked back at the handsome man and frowned. He gave an apologetic shrug. 

“I tried darlin’, I really did.”

“Oh yes I’m sure you did.” She laughed. 

He smirked. “Ya got anything on under there?” 

She smiled and pulled the Irishman close to her. 

“Were you going to come by later to find out?”

“Nah, you needed tonight to rest. But tomorrow… you heard Maud and I are finally done?” He held the lovely girl close. 

She nodded. Tag had told her earlier, glad to finally be done with Maud and her mess. It had explained why Declan had been incredibly foul all week although she knew he’d make it up to her later and she was most definitely looking forward to that. He could do that while she was thanking him. She plucked the cigarette from his lips and took a puff, something she only did in times of stress and once every six months. 

“Christ, you’re magnificent.” He sighed. 

Declan leant down and captured her lips. She moaned instantly, her hands going straight to his curls. The pair pulled apart and rested their foreheads together. 

“Can I stay tonight, Snow?” He asked quietly. 

“What about Rupert and Tag?” She replied. 

He shrugged once more, not caring in the slightest. “They’ll have to find out sooner or later.” 

She sighed as his hands roamed her body, resolve crumbled by the second. She met his lips again as they waited for the popcorn to cook. However it’s not the ding of the microwave that pulls Snow White away from her Prince Charming, but rather Rupert’s anguished cry after what he’s just witnessed. 

“What the fuck is going on here?!” He seethed. 

Snow looked between her lover and her best friend. “Well shit, cat’s out of the bag now dearest.”

[beingalive1]

𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

Rupert Campbell Black x Oc (Lady Francesca Wellington)

Summary: Francesca Wellington was everything Rupert Campbell Black was and more. A successful show jumper with a title and an estate, she had it all. She was a constant reminder of the man he once was. He couldn't help but hate her for it and yet, he loved her for it just the same.

Part one : Here

Part two: Coerced by a friend

As the tyres of the O'hara's family vehicle graced the gravel of the Priory's driveway, Francesca Wellington was doing what she considered a valuable part of her daily regiment: 

dancing in her underwear to Donna Summer's 'Bad Girls.' 

The athlete sighed blissfully as cigarette smoke wafted from her pink lips, her feet shifting rapidly along the fluffy carpet set upon one of her home's many living room floors. Her tan skin glimmered in the sunlight that poured through large bay windows overlooking her estate. Green grass and flowers hypnotic with scent played a delightful background to her mildly risqué dancing. Her body moved along to the beat of the music, her curtain of dark curls swayed in time with each of Donna Summer's lyrics. 

She was in absolute bliss. Nothing could spoil her mood. 

Not even Freddie Jones, who, for the last ten minutes had been knocking loudly on the door of her home. The portly man wiped his forehead in annoyance, his moustache twitching. He knocked once more. No response. 

He huffed as he pushed the door open. It was unlocked, as always. His ears were promptly assaulted by loud music wafting from the large home's second lounge. He minced forward, his eyes taking in the many familiar pictures of horses and other animals displayed proudly upon the tall walls of the entrance hall. The dogs greeted him at the door: two Saint Bernards, a golden retriever and a basset hound. Their tales wagged in sink as they hounded Fred, a usual guest. He stumbled forward, his mildly ill-fitting suit now covered in copious amounts of hair. He wandered towards the living room, catching sight of Francesca in her state of undress. 

"Jesus Christ!" The man spouted out, his hand jumping to cover his eyes from the sight in front of him: Francesca dressed in only a pair of red panties and a silk cami. 

"Freddie." Francesca greeted calmly as she moved towards the stereo to pause the music, her tan legs slowly stepping across the carpet with grace only possessed by swans and athletes. "No Valerie today?"

Freddie sighed, his eyes now fixating on the rug below his feet. His eyes staring deeply at the blue pattern of the carpet as he slowly made his way to the couch. "No Frank, not today." he replied. Thank god. He could only imagine his wife's face if she too had walked in on the antics of one of his closest friends; he figured he'd swiftly be banned from ever seeing Frank again.

Francesca, or Frank as Freddie referred to her as, disposed of her now finished cigarette into an ashtray before wrapping herself up in a silk gown and placing herself next to her dear friend. She had met Freddie Jones the week she moved to Rutshire. She had been on a run, training for the next riding world championships when Freddie had very nearly ran her over with his bright red sports car. He apologised and offered her a ride home; she told him that she'd only accept his apology if he could secretly bum her a pack of cigarettes behind the back of her riding instructor, Marty.

They became good friends swiftly after that.  

"So Fred-Fred," Frank mocked gently, "not that I don't enjoy your visits but why exactly are you here  disturbing my afternoon cigarette and session of dancing in the nude?" Due to the strict regiment of an olympic athlete assigned to her by her multiple trainers; coaches; and Marty (who she more feared then respected): Frank was only allowed one cigarette a day. To disturb her whilst she smoked was either a considerably brave act or, considerably stupid. Freddie Jones was definitely not a stupid man. She couldn't help but wonder why exactly he was so desperate to speak to her at this hour. 

Freddie shifted uncomfortably, his back leaning against the copious amounts of pillows set upon Frank's couch. He tried his level best to avoid her eyes. He knew, with one look into that sharp stare of hers he would be instantly coerced into talking. Freddie swallowed deeply, his hands finding comfort in stroking the hair of Barnaby: Frank's Basset hound who too had found himself on the couch. The basset  lying blissfully asleep between Frank and Freddie's laps, acting almost as a protective barrier between Freddie and the spitfire he affectionately called his friend. "...Tony Baddingham is having a garden party at his estate in the next two days. Valerie is desperate for us to go and I was wondering if you could maybe come with? I know you must have been invited and-" He was swiftly cut off by Frank jumping off the couch and walking towards the other side of the living room. He watched her worriedly, his hand still stroking Barnaby who now appeared frustrated at his owner for disturbing his slumber. 

"Absolutely not I don't do press Fred." Francesca shook her head, her curls flapping ferociously along with the movement. Freddie often thought, despite her gracious and humble disposition in front of the cameras and the Olympic committee, that his friend resembled a  fire. Just as warm and as comforting  as the flames but also just as dangerous. She looked like every other Lady: with aristocratic features and a slim athletic body, but her hair was as wild as her soul. 

Freddie continued to pet Barnaby slowly, his eyes watching Frank as she looked outside towards the fields containing her horses. Fred knew Frank only looked towards her horses or her dogs when she felt uncomfortable. The confident and strong-minded woman only ever felt true peace within the company of her many animals. "Frank," he started gently, "it's only one party and you could avoid the photographers at the front gate by sneaking inside within the boot of my car?"

Francesca smiled slightly, the mental image of her body draped in some ridiculously expensive dress being stuffed within the confines of Freddie's car boot made her want to giggle. "You couldn't fit me in that ridiculous sports car of yours."

"No," Freddie chuckled slightly "I couldn't. But I doubt Val would mind you being stuffed in her boot beside her party gift for the Baddinghams."

Frank outwardly laughed this time, her thoughts drifting towards lying in a boot parallel to some ridiculous gift basket Valerie would purchase for Tony and Monica Baddingham. "Fine," she conceded. She could never say no to the sweet smile of Freddie Jones. "But I'm not buying them a bloody gift."

"Darling." Freddie began, walking from the couch towards her and placing his hand upon her shoulders. "Your presence is more than an appropriate gift." 

She snorted, lightly slapping the lapel of his suit. Her feet stepped away from Freddie and walked across the blue carpet towards her pack of cigarettes. She lit another one, smoke puffing its way from her lips and swirling around the large room. Freddie opened his mouth to protest but was swiftly stopped by Frank's manicured hand lifting up into the air. "Uh-uh, I deserve this if I'm going to be spending my weekend conversing with Tony Baddingham and all of his entitled friends." 

Freddie nodded in begrudging agreement, a smile perched upon his lips as he gazed at her in thanks. "Thank you Frank." He said genuinely. 

"It's alright. Better you and I face those sharks together than you alone." She said, shrugging off his thanks as she often did. "Besides, how bad could one afternoon listening to Tony Baddingham beg me to join Corinium's board be?"  

If only she knew.