#rupert Campbell x reader

[g1rlken]

I'm so excited you're taking requests for Rupert Campbell-Black!!

Do you think you could maybe fo #15 from your prompt list about him showing up for the reader bc they don't have anyone else?

Idk if just love that trope and I think it works with him.

If you don't feel inspired by that one no worries!

Someone in the crowd

prompt15 Rupert Campbell Black x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k+

warnings: parental neglect, mild swearing, hurt comfort, FLUFF

AN: Ahhhhhhh ANON I love you this is my fav prompt I was initially planning on the same one anyways thanks for platform ing my Rupert obsession you’re the first one

The chronicles of the country side for a veterinary sciences PhD student included more than just animals, main reason she selected a university so far from the hustle and bustle of the city. Peculiar animals in their natural state, she came across more than just peculiar animals.

Trespassing loses its meaning for the engrossed researcher, she didn’t realise when she passed the forest to a private estate land whilst following the slow worm. The most advanced high end camera, that Rupert had only seen with those media folks and proper film production. However he assumed the girl in a camouflage jungle vest to be an intern in a tabloid firm, trying to prove herself to be ever so efficient to her superiors by sneaking in to his property for a few pictures. Too naive to realise he could sue her for all her fortune perhaps. Rather an amateur at her job perhaps, she was there to snap him yet her attention didn’t avert to him on his horse before he approached her himself, “Young lady” he cleared his throat sternly “You do realise you’re trespassing here?”

“Oh?” She looked out of her camera lens to the voice that called out her and in an instant she lost sight of the slow worm she was following. “Fuck!”

“And if you don’t delete the pictures and get off of this land right this second I will be suing you for all the jobs you don’t already have.” Rupert threatened, he truly misliked this breach of his privacy to no end. But because the girl seemed unskilled and gullible to her supposedly first job he felt he could let her get off easily.

“I’m not deleting any pictures I barely got two” she said with a heavy sigh, her eyes frantically searching for her subject within the grass again not too bothered by his threat. “And I don’t have any job as it is”

“Oh” he amused, getting off of the saddle of his horse to level with her, “are you one of those fans then? How many times do I have to tell you people-“

“What?” Her attention broke from her subjected reptile to the man this time, “a fan? I don’t even know you…”

“Oh right” he scoffed placing his hands by his hips, “surely you don’t.”

“I truly don’t. I was following my subject for today from the forest lands and I ended up here it was an honest mistake” she explained herself as she opened her camera to show him the pictures, they were all reptiles and not…him.

“You were following a snake?” He asked rather confused and somewhat intrigued as to what would bring her to this.

“It’s not a snake, it’s a is a legless lizard. Anguis Fragilis” she corrected the man, ever so casually as if it were the most common of knowledges to attain.

The man just burst into laughter letting go of the horse chain to contain it, his hand on his chest he could find the joke in the name and the scenario extremely comical. “You have got to be kidding me!”

Y/n felt a bit embarrassed as if she’d said the wrong name so she went through it in her head again and she wasn’t, wrong. It was perhaps like college again, info dumping on the wrong set of people who poke fun at peculiar passions. But the man seemed to be too old to be like those immature college kids who mock others so she was left rather confused “what is so funny?” She asked hesitantly, “it’s rather rare and native to this area we don’t come across them in the city…” she trailed off trying to fill in his boastful laughter with something to feel less uncomfortable.

“Oh is it now?” Rupert asked as his laughter subsided and he realised the girl was an enthusiast in a true fashion. He just found the name of the godforsaken reptile to have a double meaning to it, he thought she made it up but when she got awkward and explained further he realised she wasn’t joking. “My apologies, are you new here?”

“Yes Ive actually moved here for research, I’m studying veterinary sciences for PhD… ” she said still feeling a bit self conscious after he’d laughed like that.

“Anus Fragilis huh?” He repeated trying his best to suppress another set of laughter but he failed at it ever so evidently.

“Anguis…er-slow worm.” She cringed as she picked up on the joke that had him loosing his composure like that. Perhaps she judged him to act his age which he looked so fast. “It’s also called slow worm. I lost him regardless, so I’ll get going. Sorry to bother you.”

“No, no hang on a second darling” he said gripping her elbow as she attempted to leave but as she returned to face him again he left it just instantly. “Since you’re already here, allow me to indulge you in a coffee or so? It would be very disappointing if I don’t get to learn more about…” he wanted to say it, the joke. But the awkwardly offended look on her face of feeling small wasn’t worth it so he kept it to himself “slow worms and legless lizards”

“They’re the same.” She briefed him feeling his ignorance, the PhD aspirant did not seem to have time to entertain his indulgence. “Forgive me but I have to go, I’ve walked too far from my car.”

“Well then allow me to drop you?” Rupert offered with his usual charm which didn’t leave to phase a lot.

Not her perhaps, “It’s not that far” she said curtly. Packing her camera equipment in a hurry. “Thanks. And sorry for trespassing.”

Rupert watched as she hastily packed her lenses and the rolls. Just when he thought he could work on himself to not offend people on first impressions, he generally didn’t do so with ladies so perhaps this was a first. “I’m Rupert Campbell Black” He put his hand forward for a handshake, “Sports Minister.” He introduced himself.

She had both her hands full with her books and camera, which she could rearrange back in the bag to accept his handshake but she’d rather not so she just nodded shortly. “Yes, Mr. Rupert, so nice to meet you.” She said with half a smile, then paced away not even waiting for his reply.

“I suppose I’ll see you around?” He said with his usual grin but she was already pacing away back to the path she’d come from.

That is how the two first met. Not her most memorable nor pleasant interaction but surely intriguing for the minister. The next time he met her, late early evening at a cafe. It took a second to recognise her with her head down in a book but there was enough lighting cast on her against the window where she sat. “Slow worm!” He exclaimed as he approached her causing her to avert her attention from the book to him.

“You…” she trailed off however her tone didn’t match the same enthusiasm as his. “Hi.” She said as he gestured to the chair across her on her table, asking if someone was there but she shrugged and nodded “Please, go ahead” she said being polite, internally bracing herself for another awful interaction.

“I was hoping I’d run into you” he told her leaning forward on the table crossing his arms, “turns out, your little bugger is a frequent visitor of the stable sheds back at the estate.”

“That explains yeah” she nodded closing her book, the size of it gigantic and hardcover it made a small thud, “it eats slugs and snails, spiders too…”

“Wonderful aspect” Rupert complimented, under informed on the subject he didn’t know what to say. “Did you get proper observations for your research?”

“Superficially yes” she nodded, “I’ll run into more of those one of these days.”

“You can always just visit my place again…I would be honoured to help out a bright mind.” Rupert offered leaning back in the chair, unbuttoning his blazer.

“That is so kind of you, I’m very sorry for trespassing that day” she said it again, obviously not friendly enough with him to take him up on that offer.

“Well you could make up for it by telling me your name.” He shrugged as his lips formulated a smile.

“Y/n.” She told him. As the conversation progressed, learning more of him, telling him more about her research and the subjects she’d come across so far. For someone in a vastly different field he was such an attentive listener. She’d told him a lot, about the animals, her thesis, her lectures and sessions, being a TA, moving here.

“And what of your friends?” He asked her over his second cup of coffee in the same conversation because he wanted to keep it going.

“I don’t live on campus so I don’t have roommates to be friends with, then I’m a TA but everyone else is a bachelors and third year student. Had I done college here I’d have those friends…I do have friends from college back home but as of now it’s only my professors.” She informed him, very casual with it but as she formulated the picture in his head it seemed to be a rather isolating experience.

“And what do you do for fun around here?” He asked her to see if it was as isolating as he realised.

“Trespass estates.” She joked with a small giggle, but in truth she did absolutely nothing for fun because there wasn’t anything.

“Greatest hobby ever” he joked back. But as she didn’t follow up with another activity he realised that if he pried about it he’d just force her to admit she led a boring and somewhat lonely life. He wasn’t judging her, she was fresh out of college and had to move a whole place and seemed to have no friends here. Well except for him if she’ll have him. “Are you struggling?”

“Of course not. I love my work, I can easily afford rent too it’s not a problem.” She replied honestly, if only financial was all of her struggles.

“Don’t you think you’d save more if you lived on campus?” He questioned unsure of her choice to stay in a boutique flat in one of the most expensive neighbourhoods.

“My father wouldn’t allow it. He’s a bit of a tone deaf classist that way.” She admitted, rather casually.

“Allow?” He repeated, surprised. He didn’t know her precise age but by her educational status and the looks of it someone in their early twenties didn’t need their father’s permission on how to live.

“It’s just a bit complicated, he wants all of his children to take the right step that is work in our family business, his company. I tried, it’s soul draining and very unlike me” she sighed “So I just extended education.”

“To get far from him?” He perceived, perhaps not the way she saw it.

“—To explore my options. I don’t want to disappoint him when I can avoid it.”

“And is this the way to be?” He asked, his tone guarded and expression curious.

“Perhaps.” She replied, but on the inside she was so hyper aware that anywhere farther from the family business as all the way to be. She didn’t want to distanced from her father nor her family, she may not be the golden child but she wanted him to be ever so proud of her even though she didn’t walk on the road he chose for her.

“Your spirit likes the fight doesn’t it?” It was more of an observation than a question.

“I don’t indulge in self awareness that well” She replied with a bemused shrug and he just let out a low laugh that. And that was her first friendship in Rutshire. To Rupert’s likeness the cafe was another one of basil’s side quests but he visited there less frequently given the bar was his primary. Regardless, Rupert got him too. The prime customer and his newest friend, studied there most of the time because she lived close by and Rupert felt drawn to her company.

She had no other and he found her growing to be his favourite one. He fancied the conversations with her so much, in her absence basil teased him about it. This one afternoon, Rupert visited as his usual time, or perhaps y/n’s usual time which he picked up on but she wasn’t there. “The coffee can’t be that good.” Basil said with a small scoff, as he found Rupert with a disappointed expression in the girl’s absence.

“I’m just trying to reduce the alcohol intake” Rupert said nonchalantly, well aware he didn’t the caffeine he’d been consuming just for the conversations with her.

“I wasn’t talking about the coffee” Basil added with a devious grin hinting at the double meaning joke he was referring for.

“Piss off” Rupert rolled his eyes at the man with a heavy sigh of irritation sitting down at the table, rolling up his sleeves and facepalming. “This is her usual time to come and study here” he mentioned.

“Which you don’t let her do.” Basil said, the entire time indulging the poor girl in conversations and spontaneous outing plans. “She’d have to be extraordinarily brilliant to keep up with her courseworks with all the detours you put her up to.”

“She is extraordinarily brilliant.” Rupert briefed him.

“I suppose you’d know.” Basil shrugged leaning against the table where he was sat, “Does she have a boyfriend?”

Seemingly offended at the mere thought of that Rupert’s expression disgusted, “Of course not!”

“Of course not?” Basil repeated surprised with his affirm expression. “So you are sleeping with her.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.” Rupert emphasised on the word ‘not’ and it was probably the tenth time that Bas had asked him that this moment.

“Of course not” Basil humoured him mimicking his tone when he said that.

“I’m not, it isn’t like that with her.” Rupert tried to explain that to his friend who found that to be such a foreign concept. It was a very strangely unknown and unspecific feeling for Rupert himself too.

“You don’t want to sleep with her?” Bas questioned not believing nor understanding the prospect “she’s rather pretty.” besides he’d sleep with anything.

“She isn’t just pretty Bas, she’s beautiful, a bit too much even on the inside.” He paused “She is precious.” Rupert spoke with such genuine passion that basil had to lay off of the joke he was brewing.

“And what of you?” Basil asked, it was something Rupert hadn’t even questioned himself for well not yet anyways.

“What of me?” He answered the question with a question feigning innocence. Before basil could further explain himself, even though well aware that Rupert understood him. The bells of the door jingled announcing upcoming presence in the nearly empty cafe causing the men to turn at the voice.

“Hello-Hello, Gentlemen!” Y/n exclaimed in the most enthusiastic Sunday morning tone possible but it was a cloudy afternoon on a Tuesday. To Rupert she always sounded like a Sunday morning with her little giggles and all the mannerisms but today she seemed way more lifted with spirits.

“Want to bet a tenner she ran into a coyote.” Basil said as she made her way to their table sitting across Rupert whilst basil was still leaning against the table.

“I bet you a twenty its a pine marten.” Rupert said, he picked up on everything from their conversation. This week she was in search of that specific animal from her list or so, he kept track somewhat subconsciously.

“It’s neither” She said with a smile still plastered on her face as she sat her bag down to the side placing her hands on the table. “I’ve got great news, well not great but perhaps good, great to me.” She went in an adjective discourse and shook her head coming back on track “My professor submitted my thesis to this government honorary publications department and I’m getting an in-kind research grant!”

“The government is giving you money?!” Basil matched her enthusiastic tone leaning forward on the table.

“No, no it’s an in kind grant…as in-they present me with an award but the big thing is that I get policy access, lab space, government authorised datasets…” she explained further with her eyes so lit up Rupert wanted to bottle this warmth of emotions he felt in just seeing her happy like this and drink it like water.

“You are getting an award?!” Rupert said with loud earnest passion for her excelling. “Y/n! That is marvellous news!”

“You fucking genius!” Basil added further, giving her a side hug and kissing the top of her head, giving her hair a ruffle as he walked across the cafe, “this calls for a celebration!”

“Thank you” She replied with a toothy smile. Feeling very heart warmed. Then Rupert took both her hands in his, he looked just as lit up as if it was his award.

“My darling, you absolute mastermind. Your mind is a wonder, y/n I am so so proud of you!” He said, he didn’t have to reaffirm or reassure more so because out of everyone she’d come across, Rupert had been so supportive, a subject and felt so unfamiliar yet he’d reassured and let her know it so constantly that she’d always have him to be cheering so hard for her. “You deserved this!”

“Rupert, that is so kind! Thank you, seriously” she replied with a glint in her eyes he could feel coloured by. Just about on time, basil blasted the confetti cracker he happened to have lying around. He turned the open sign to closed at the door of the cafe and returned to the table, slowly she let her hands out of Rupert’s.

“Didn’t have champagne in the cafe but this should do” Basil said as he presented their table with a small cake.

“You didn’t have to close the place” y/n said with a small giggle as she saw the cake, a sign in red jam crossing out the name ‘Einstein’ and Y/n in its place. Classic Bas.

“Oh please love, I deserve this celebration.” Bas said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, any reason to not work was reason enough.

“Right of course since he worked so hard.” Rupert joked clearly forgetting he owed the man in staying the cafe for him to keep it open just in case y/n might come in. They kept congratulating her over and over again as the trio dug into the cake.

“So when exactly is the award function?” Rupert asked, it was going to be event of the week for him more than it was for y/n.

“It’s on this Friday, I get one visitor pass and my father is flying out to attend it!” She said, ebullient. It did irk him somewhat because he’d wanted to see her receive the award but he knew how much her father’s approval meant to her so he was happy in her happiness regardless.

“That is great news, what did he say?” Rupert asked keeping his disappointment for not being able to see her at bay.

“His assistant put me through in the very second call so he must really be impressed, he asked me about the function and he sounded very positive of it.” She told them about the seemingly brief phone call.

“You have to talk to an assistant to get to your fath-“ basil was quickly interjected with a small shove on the leg from Rupert to take a turn in that observation. Rupert didn’t want it to rain her parade, “It’s so nice he’s coming all this way.”

“He’d probably stay a day or two after that you should meet him!” She added, it seemed as if she was somewhat more joyous with the fact that her father was pleased than the actual award to her name. It was a grey line.

“I would be delighted to.” Rupert said, he would be. At least for her sake despite having his internal doubts towards the man.

-

The award function was an extremely formal event, you could barely tell apart the professors from the bureaucrats. Rupert could tell the difference easily though, he simply knew the later group, almost all of them. But he wasn’t there for any of those people. Taking his seat at the round table, next to the faces he knew very well but he was way too focused on the happenings of the stage to indulge in small talk. And then there it was.

The lady of the evening. At least for him, her research dissertation was called out and he recognised it was her turn before they presented her name as well. White shirt with several pins of animal welfare and her educational institution. Simplicity and grace, ever so precious. As she received the medal and the award plate Rupert clapped perhaps the loudest, standing up even. The stage wasn’t so far but she didn’t spot him because her eyes were searching another direction and the procession was short lived before she could avert her gaze.

Finally after all the names were done, she was free from the stage back to the softly mingling crowd. “There she is!” The enthusiastic exclamation caught her attention from her lost trance.

Adhering the man in suit with flowers in his hand, surprised and radiated expression, “Rupert?!” She was baffled and so relieved she didn’t understand the later feeling. She rushed to him, their distance getting closer as he opened his arms for her.

“Congratulations, darling” he said bringing her into a tight embrace both of them so joyous, hers was rather infectious. He easily lifted her from the ground out of glee, kissing the side of her face. “You were wonderful out there!”

“When did you get here?” She asked once he put him down and she pulled away yet kept her arms entangled with him. Enough to just see his face, “also how?”

“I’m an MP you thought I wouldn’t be able to get into a government function?” He amused, surprised she did not see it coming, perhaps she wasn’t expecting him but her reaction seemed as if she would rather prefer him. “I got here an hour before yours was announced.”

“I am so glad you made it!” She told him, the effort was so heartwarming to her. He’d came to an event which wasn’t initially his, making more arrangements to even get in for her. She didn’t want to voice it because he’d always reply with such a strange concern as if being loved more than to be sustained wasn’t optional, she wasn’t used to this concern nor sentimental support.

Rupert could tell her kind, wide eyes in a sort of turmoil of something she couldn’t figure out by even herself but he didn’t pry on it, “where is your father?” He asked looking around shortly.

“Oh he…he isn’t here. He could not make it.” She said with a small shrug, that is how casual his absence was to him.

“—How come?”

“Probably his flight, I forgot to notify him about our time zones or so. If he were skipping he would’ve called prior” there was a small hope tugging at her heartstrings trying to believe this wasn’t like the other times. “He would be here anyways, would just be missing the event.”

“I suppose” he replied curtly, being presented with two choices of either being truthful with her of her father’s harsh and uncaring constitution or hold the hope she held out for the man with her. None of the two seemed befitting to him. As the event progressed she introduced him to some of her professors and people that she worked with, he did the same with the other officials that he knew of. She grew tired of the socialising and asked him if they could leave the event, she wasn’t as tired as she was growing disappointed of a man who wasn’t even in the room.

Even though Rupert and her came to the event from a different place and were going back in difference directions it was a given that they leave together. At least to him it was, she’d just informed him she felt like leaving and he stood up in an instant. He was dropping her back to her place because she didn’t driver herself to the function. The two were walking, to his car in the chilly night with his suit blazer draped over her shoulders, flowers and his hand in her hand, he carried her award with her bag for her and a light hearted conversation. Serenity which ran away once they came across a pay phone call booth. “Do you mind if I go make a call?” She asked him, he nodded but he was well aware who that call was intended for.

Rupert leant against the phone stand with the small door of it open, close to her as she pressed the numbers inserting coins. Anxiously awaiting the other line to answer she replied when a voice answered “Hello, this is me, y/n. Did dad leave yet?” She asked, he hated to see her in such distress and was afraid the conversation ought to make it worse. “What? What do you mean—the event, my award he was going to be here for…like he promised.” Rupert could only hear y/n’s side of the conversation but he could pan out the other side, which wasn’t even her father just some office assistant. “Just let me talk to him…please…two minutes perhaps?” It was difficult to watch, begging for the scraps of her father to an assistant. After a few moments the call ended and she couldn’t even stomach the courtesy of a goodbye.

As she walked out of the booth he searched for her to meet his eyes, narrate to him the happenings of the call. “His plans changed” she said but nothing further. He could tell she didn’t feel like talking so he stopped walking and also held her back from the track, pulled her into his arms. Resting his chin on top of her head as he held her, enlacing his arms around her tightly. He could definitely stay like this for rest of the night. Even life? A small voice suggested and he quickly dismissed it as he was pulled back to her, she didn’t feel relaxed in his arms even though she hugged him back and her face so steady, he felt his shirt getting sprinkled with dampness, as if in smallest portions.

“Y/n…” he trailed off pulling away to confirm if she was crying, “are you crying?” He asked as she lowered her face so he couldn’t see it but he leant in her direction to see. “Hey..hey, it’s alright” he pulled her back to him letting her weep onto his chest as he ran a hand through her hair.

“I don’t understand why I feel so bad” she said through her tears, holding onto him like she would fall apart even more if he let go. Perhaps she would.

“It is alright darling just let it out” Rupert said as he continued to sooth her in his arms, trying to provide a present, grounding support.

“He promised me…” she trailed off crying harder, all those events where her father should’ve been present but wasn’t came back to her. Fancy dress competitions at school where the chauffeur that dropped her off would have to attend the show out of pity for the child, birthdays where he would have to be bothered a multiple times to come attend cake-cutting, evidently sad over a test but he simply couldn’t be bothered to ask his daughter if she was alright. So much life spent in I-promise-you-I’ll-be-there. So much disappointment and you’d think one would learn. “I just feel stupid-I thought this time would be different.”

Rupert held her face in his hands “look at me” he said forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are not stupid for what you feel, you are not at fault for someone so detached and irresponsible towards their own child.” He spoke whilst wiping her tears, “he will forever be an incomplete, deficient man for the kind of father that he is. But you my love are beyond him and how he treats you, you’re brilliant and kind and funny and you have a heart big enough to hold a planet. You are going to go so far, your suffrage of his conditional love and inflicted anguish will heal for the better. I promise you that.”

This was a better hope than the one she was always latched onto, hoping that he would change, come around for once. But letting go and a promise for a softer tomorrow seemed so much more beautiful. “But I am so tired”

“You have been so gentle through so much…you must have been tired too. But persevering is constant and you, you always do. There is so much life within you, those around you are infected with it, I know I am.” He confessed, he hadn’t voiced it out especially not like this even to himself but she was more than a lively feeling, more than a chase or a rush for attraction. No. She was life.

Such admission made her heart flutter, she felt the drumming in her ears and it wasn’t the anxious kind. This felt like a sunrise after a good dream, but she had no words for it because her eyes spoke enough and so did his that wandered down to her lips and back to his. Reciprocating the course of gaze when he leant forward, face so close she didn’t move even by the slightest tired of awaiting him to inch to the closest extent she caught a soft grip of his shirt, lowering her gaze right when he crashed his lips onto hers. She kissed him back and it felt heavenly, as the kiss deepened he felt like he had reached there.

Smiles glued to their faces once they pulled away to catch a breath, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear he said “you are not the only one who’s won something tonight.”

“That means I’ve won twice” she said with a small giggle adding to his exaggeration that kissing her felt like a win.

“That isn’t the same.” Rupert corrected her, going in to kiss her again with a slower passion, taking his time letting the sweetness of it linger “for me this is centuries worth of wins.”

—

IVE SO MUCH MORE OF HIS STUFF COMING SOMEBODY SEDATE ME…next his enemies to lovers let me know if you want to be tagged

PLEASE comments are my fuel I am HUNGRY for validation please if you like this please please let me know

[luvvyouforever]

i am my father's daughter - declan o'hara x rupert's daughter!reader

synopsis: you knew you shouldn't be doing this, flirting with your dad's friend and business partner. but he's so irresistible!

content: age gap relationship (ages not specified), maud doesn't exist au, not very canon compliant just ignore it, nsfw themes, dbf trope, accidental tense switching (ignore it)

author's note: declan is sooooo hunky #needthat also this is a rather short piece but if you'd like to see a continuation of dbf declan, i would absolutely provide <3

you're quite positive that nobody has looked as good in a t-shirt as declan o'hara does now in the front of the priory's living room, leading an open discussion about what is next for the budding production company. his biceps flex underneath the thin material when he lifts his arm in a gesture and despite your efforts to remain focused on the conversation at hand, it's difficult when all you've been able to think about since he moved in is declan.

for a month or two after he and his two daughters moved in, he had been the sole object of your daydreaming. he was so strong, so intelligent, so witty on the television, so...everything.

however, there was little that you could do on that front, considering the last name that appears on your birth certificate and the fact that rupert campbell-black, your father, and declan hated each other. it was a rather difficult watch, the night declan interviewed him, but with rupert bonding with declan over their love for their small families, it became much easier to slink your way into his presence. thankfully.

then, it became regular to see declan in your home, or to see you and rupert in his. he was hard to depart from, what with his deep, thick accented voice and his wavy hair he kept running his hands through, and that t-shirt, that damn t-shirt. you lived in pure, unending agony for a while, having to be so close to him all the time without being able to give in to this torturous desire.

but then he started blatantly running a large hand over your back as he passed behind you and then he started making eye contact with you across the room and then he helped you with car troubles where he stood tantalizingly close behind you while showing you how to check your oil.

your father doesn't need to know that you've kissed and made out with and sucked off his friend and business partner. right?

when declan finishes his speech in the front of the living room, he makes his way through the crowd to the table in the back with a few drinks and refreshments laid out by taggie where you just so happen to be standing.

his eye contact with you is unwavering as he comes closer and closer to you and there's a smirk growing on his lips.

"could you be any more obvious with your ogling there, dear?" he says quietly once he reaches your side.

you scoff, but you know what he's saying is true. "i wasn't doing anything of the sort, mr o'hara. i'm just admiring your leadership and passion for venturer, is all," you whisper.

he leans against the table, then, watching as the crowd before him mingle with each other, completely oblivious to the conversation happening between you and him. even your father seems to be swept up into conversation on the other side of the room. he turns his neck side-to-side, clearly aware of the way that his shoulders and back tense underneath the tight shirt. your eyes betray your previous statement as they immediately flick to the sight, then flick downwards.

he chuckles and takes the smallest of steps closer to you. "so you like the shirt, then, i take it?"

a small blush overtakes your cheeks and you refuse to meet his eye. suddenly, you feel his body tilt towards yours, lips just before your ear.

"i can let you take it off me if you come over tonight."

his deep voice reverberated through your body, sending chills down your neck and spine. subconsciously, your back arched from the table you were learning on and he let out another laugh.

a few hours later, you found yourself slipping quietly out of penscombe, positively giddy. the walk to the priory was one you had done plenty of times and you knew it like the back of your hand, really. slowly, the centuries old building came into view and several feet up the wall was a window with its lights still on. declan's.

as he'd done before, he met you at the back door of the home, one that leads into the kitchen, a smug look on his face.

"you took my offer quite readily," he said. his big frame leaned against the door and he crossed his arms. still adorning him was that damn t-shirt.

"as if you weren't kicking your feet waiting for me," you retort, then come to stand before him.

he shakes his head then and a sly smile tilts the corners of his mouth up. he removes his body from the frame and steps to the side to let you inside. as you pass him, a firm hand comes down on your ass, making a small yelp escape your lips.

you turn suddenly and shoot him a glare. he just pats you again, a gesture to keep you moving forward. "get on up there, little minx. before your daddy realizes where you've gone, huh?"

you turn then and head for the stairs that lead up to his bedroom. declan didn't have to tell you much twice.

[4ever-feral]

I CAN LOVE YOU BETTER THEN SHE CAN DECLAN 🧎🏽‍♀️😩

[jam3sacaster]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•

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

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

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

•

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ozarkthedog]

𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

summary: Declan introduces you to a friend.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x afab!reader / Rupert Campbell Black

warnings: 18+ mdni. filth. unspecified age gap. oral sex (m). Declan calls the shots. fingering. edging. no m/m. slight anal play. dirty talk. squirting. rough sex. Rupert pushing the boundaries aka he’s a menace. cuckhold of sorts. male masturbation. cream pie. light, barely there after care. ep 8 spoilers. w.c: 2.4k

author’s note: i'm a Declan girlie but I had to write something feat. Rupert.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Soft golden rays bleed through the aged windows of the O'Hara estate. Its owner, Declan, sits comfortably on a worn chair in the middle of his study. Books and papers litter the room, even on the small sofa adjacent to the chair. As the fireplace crackles, the bright orange flames warm your skin as you kneel naked between your employer's thighs.

Declan groans as he feeds you his cock. His thighs widen, as much as his unzipped trousers will allow, on the tattered chair, giving you more room to swallow him down. His heart beats steadily under his lush brown sweater as you suckle his cock while looking up at him under your lashes.

Declan enjoyed times like these when the house was empty, and he got you all to himself. With Maud gone, leaving everything to Taggie was unfair, so he caved and hired a housekeeper. Little did he realize he'd fall head over heels for you.

You both took your time dancing around one another like nervous teenagers at a school dance. Harmless flirting and late-night conversations over the meals you'd cook for him led to Declan taking matters into his own hands.

He was used to control. He enjoyed it, really. The power felt comfortable, and he had no issue wielding it.

Declan was still on edge one day after a trifling day at Coriniuim. His usual soak and cig in the tub wasn't helping. The radio was blasting ear-aching songs, and the water was getting too cold too fast, but that all changed when you walked in on him with an armful of fresh towels.

He took a chance, one that could've ended with him locked up, but you didn't run. You followed his dubious commands and let him exert his dominance, allowing him to reign over you.

Since then, you two have been inseparable.

"Ah, right on time," Declan notes, looking at the clock perched on the mantle in his study as the large front door creaks open.

Declan mentioned inviting a friend over earlier in the day, but you didn't think he meant now.

The sight of your wide doe eyes makes his gut fervently twist. He's always appreciated someone yearning after what was his, especially an individual so well-loved by the women of Rutshire.

"Don' stop, Love," Declan instructs. His Irish accent dips low as he curls a solid hand around your head when you start to draw back. Your wary, garbled sounds vibrate Declan's cock eliciting a hiss from his lips. He sends you a pensive look and keeps you locked as the steps draw near. "You know I like people ta watch, but I wan' to try somethin' new."

Your heart lodges in your throat. Declan had divulged this kink not long after the two of you began dating. It was harmless fun flirting with other men while Declan observed from the shadows like a deviant; the journalist grew feral until he could no longer hold himself back, scurrying off with you in his arms, leaving the poor target in a stupor.

No one could ever come close to Declan; you never want them to.

"I seem to have come at a rather inconvenient time, have I not?" A pondering English baritone fills the room.

Rupert Campbell Black.

With arms crossed, the affluent man leans on the rustic doorframe. He catches your uneasy gaze with a cheeky smile, prompting a wildfire in your belly.

Declan shakes his head, his thick mustache ticking excitedly, "Not at all. Come in."

You try to move again, but Declan doesn't budge an inch. Your brows knot in confusion as your hands fly to cover your exposed bits as best you can.

"Say hello, ta Rupert, Swee'heart," Declan instructs, his dark chestnut eyes alight with devilry.

Your gaze trails from the man's supple leather loafers and pressed lined slacks to the sepia colored dress shirt that exposes a svelte chest as the top two buttons are undone. Rupert oozes high society and overt confidence, the kind of man you'd go dumb even looking at.

"My, my, where has Declan been hiding you?" Rupert croons. His azure orbs fixate with dark intrigue at your naked, shivering form.

As you greet Declan's neighbor, a slight garbled noise barely registers to the men. Tauntingly, Rupert leans over and puts a hand behind his ear, "Sorry, Angel. What was that?"

Your belly flips, and butterflies flutter carelessly in the wake of being so degraded. Still, your cunt produces a wave of arousal and clenches around nothing.

Knowing he doesn't have much patience, you chance another look at Declan and wish you hadn't. His white teeth bared, and his lips pulled back into a light sneer, like a wolf facing down prey, waiting for you to heed his command.

Declan bites back a moan at the hedonic sensation of you stringing together a messy greeting for the affluent man.

Rupert snickers. "Aren't you cute."

"Thatta' girl." He praises before thrusting his length into your throat and cutting off your air.

He waits for a beat, relishing in the watery glaze that coats your eyes and how your chest heaves. Fidgety hands dig into his darkened slacks, knocking the loose ends of his belt. Drool spills down your chin and settles at the base of his cock.

"Ya know ya waited too long ta give Rupert a warm welcome." He fumes, his expression twisting lightly with displeasure.   

With a soft growl, Declan eases his grip. You fall back on your heels, a blight, coughing up spittle and trying to suck down fresh air at the same time.

"Might I say, you've got a real treasure here," Rupert leers down at your messy face and spit-soaked breasts that make your nipples shine in the light. "Lovely to meet your acquaintance."

"Though' you migh' like a taste." Declan offers, looking up at Rupert like you weren't perched at their feet, anxiously awaiting their next move.

"Would I ever." A Cheshire grin tugs at Rupert's lips. He makes a show of folding his button-down sleeves over his muscular forearms as he stalks around you.

Declan beckons you with the tilt of his head, "C'mere, Love. I ain't done wit' your mouth."

You sniffle before taking your place between his knees once more. Declan can sense your worry as Rupert traces a finger down your spine while he crouches behind you. "Don' worry abou' him. He won' do anythin' out of line."

Declan taps his bulbous crown against your swollen lips, drawing your attention away from the blue-eyed beau. His sturdy thighs are a protective shield, enveloping you like a fortress from harm.

As curious fingers tickle your sticky thighs, your lips part with a gasp, allowing Declan to thrust into your warm, wet mouth.

"Jesus Christ, she's soaked." Rupert husks as he softly skims your glistening folds. Your cunt throbs from his unfamiliar touch, coursing a frightening spark of arousal up your spine.

"She's not 'ad much experience." Declan hisses as his crown breaches the tight confines of your throat. Your hand tugs at the thick base that's peppered with dark curls, fingers barely overlapping, pumping in time with his languid thrusts across your tongue.

"You don't say." The Englishman trails off, no doubt thinking of all the crude ways he could defile you.

As you start a slow rhythm, bouncing your head up and down Declan's cock, making the older man unashamedly moan, Rupert swipes his fingers across your seam and gathers all your shiny slick, drawing it up to your clit before lazily circling the tender bud.

Bright lights erupt under your eyelids. Blood rushes south, pooling in your core, heightening your suffocating lust as your body bends to his will.

"Ah ah, Angel." Rupert tsks, grabbing hold of your wriggling hips. His grasp keeps you stock still, unable to evade his voracious touch.

The pads of Declan's fingers press into your scalp as a soft warning. "Be good ta Rupert."

Being pushed and pulled between the two older men was agony of the luscious kind. You only knew of Declan's touch, the succulent highs and lows. The amorous sublime.

A gentle hand glides over your ass before massaging the plump cheek. Your frantic cries are a mumbled mess as you're pushed higher and higher into the pleasurable abyss from Rupert's caress.

He winds two fingers into your core, cursing from your tightness, and splays his dexterous digits along your walls. His thumb lands square on your clit, swiping back and forth with prowess. "So sweet and responsive. Such a good girl." he curls his fingers along your walls, drawing pathetic noises from your chest.

Your body rolls like waves, back and forth between the two men. Rupert's teeth sink into the tender skin of your ass before a gentle tongue soothes the marks and trails down the valley of your cheeks, causing you to choke around Declan's cock.

A wad of spit lands directly on your rosebud just before a wicked tongue ravishes the tight, untouched hole.

Your belly drops at his vulgar touch. No one ever touched you there before. A heavy wave of arousal slips from your cunt as you fight the urgent need for release. Rupert moans hungrily as he laps the rim of your ass.

Your incessant wriggling alerts Declan to Rupert's perverted actions.

"What'd I say, ya daft cunt?" Declan fumes. His mustache twitches as he shoots daggers at the man posed behind you.

Rupert swirls his tongue one final time before leaving your rosebud with a loud pop. "Sorry, chap. I forgot you haven't filled all her holes yet." The tug of his lips says otherwise.

Declan mumbles under his breath and leans back in his chair, focusing on you. "What'a fuckin' sight," he grunts, yanking your tear-coated face off his girth. His large hand completely cups the side of your face, making you feel like a doll with glossy, swollen lips as he stares at you like a man possessed.

Rupert twists his wrist, and your eyes grow wide as saucers. The need to come moves to the forefront of your mind. Declan can tell you're fighting, doing everything you can to hold back as you're slowly dragged to the edge.

Your jaw goes slack, and eyelids flutter; you're willing to endure any repercussions for coming without approval, but then Declan stamps your orgasm out just as quickly as it started.

"No, no, no. Don' be greedy," he tsks, shoving your dumbstruck face back down onto his length.

With Declan's cock stretching your lips and drooling pre cum over your taste buds and Rupert curling his fingers into the spongy spot behind your clit, your nerves scream for release.

The insides of your thighs are soaked, slick from want and a need held so close yet so far away. A soft cry falls from your spit-stained lips as Declan snatches your head off his cock and curves a large hand under your chin, holding you like a precious piece of art.

His opaque orbs sweep across your face, wild and feral; he's on the edge of breaking but holds steady like the stubborn man he is.

"Come on, Declan, let the girl come," Rupert implores to the stoic man holding captive your utmost pleasure.

The corner of Declan's lips tilts. He knows what'll happen. He can see it in your face, how truly gone you are, how nearly close the dam is to breaking.

"Go on, show 'im what he's missin', Swee'heart." Declan encourages, finally allowing you the taste you've wanted all this time.

Your body writhes in their combined hold with unkempt ecstasy as a ravenous cry fills the large study. You come like a geyser, locking like a vice around Rupert's fingers, forcing a curse from his lips as you coat his wrist and trousers with your creamy release.

"Jesus-" Rupert moans, dark and depraved, watching with rabid fascination as your core pulses in time to the beat of his heart.

Declan gathers you into his arms, away from the still man, propping your knees on either side of his thighs. "Sit on the couch and watch," he orders a dumbstruck Rupert before easing you down on his swollen cock.

A whimper catches in your throat from the obscene stretch as his girth widens your channel for the first time that day. Declan grabs your ass and steadily bounces you on his length, helping you rise and fall since your legs have turned to jelly.

"Gone so dumb, ya can' even move," Declan mocks. Coarse whiskers chafe your skin as he nibbles your chin, pouring filthy praises against your jaw, "Still so tight. Maybe two cocks'll do the trick," he drives his girth into your exhausted body. "Wan' your pretty cunt gapin' fa' me."

The seam of his brown sweater grazes your clit on every thrust; the fibers are soft yet overstimulating, your body boils, on the verge of combusting, and there's nothing you can do.  

A low moan catches your attention, dragging you from your frenzied state. As you turn your head to find the strange noise, you see Rupert with his swollen cock in his hand, barely out of his trousers. His cock weeps, the bulbous tip pulsing red, while he sucks your juices off his glistening fingers like a man starved for days.

His animalistic gaze bores into where you and Declan connect. You can imagine how obscene it is. Declan's sticky balls thwap immorally against your ass. Sticky sounds bounce off the walls as he draws more slick from your core, staining the base of his cock in a creamy ring.

Rupert's eyes flit to yours. You silently mouth his name, playing with the man who's used the women of Rutshire like a kid with infinite toys. The subtle action pushes the posh man over the edge.

Biting his knuckles, Rupert spills over his other set with a ragged string of grunts. The image sets off a chain reaction. You follow suit, crying as you come around Declan's cock, and dragging your other half with you. Declan's thick brows furrow, groaning his ecstasy as he fills you with ropes of white.

The three of you gradually come down from the hedonistic scene. Your hearts beat to their natural rhythm as the birds outside sing a dusk setting song.

"T'was lovely to meet you, Angel," Rupert flirts, cleaning his cock with a handkerchief before tucking himself into his trousers. "Hope to see you again real soon."

"Fuck off, Rupert," Declan quips, jutting his chin toward the door.

Rupert sends you a wink before rounding the couch and exits with the fattest smile you've ever seen.

Declan mumbles under his breath and curls his arms around you. He tucks your head under his chin, letting you unwind comfortably before the crackling fire.

"Was that okay, Swee'heart?" Declan's asks with softened eyes.

With a satisfied sigh, you snuggle deeper into his hold, seeking the warmth and protective embrace he can only give. "More than."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | RIVALS

summary: Declan O'Hara is intrigued by Cassandra "Cassie" Jones, Freddie’s niece, who’s trying to carve her own place in the Rutshire media world. After her bold broadcast challenges the status quo, Declan finds himself unexpectedly drawn to her unapologetic spirit and the fight she's ready to wage. Will their paths collide in ways they hadn't anticipated?

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Some political and media industry-related themes, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo)

w.c: 9.8k

notes: would you want me to continue the series?

oo. what the hell was I doin'?

The air in the radio station’s office was stagnant, thick with the mingling scents of stale coffee, damp paper, and the faint tang of cheap cleaning spray. The room was cluttered—stacks of forgotten paperwork teetered on desks, old coffee mugs lined the corners, and a dusty fan in the corner rotated half-heartedly.

A cluster of staff milled about near the break room door, chatting idly as they shuffled papers or scrolled on their phones.

Cassie stood apart, her notepad clutched tightly against her chest, a contrast to the chaos around her. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, though a few stray strands framed her face. She wore a plain navy blouse and slacks that were practical but pressed, betraying her effort to maintain a professional appearance in an environment that hardly seemed to care.

Mr. Crawford sat slouched at his desk, a man whose very posture radiated disinterest. His graying mustache twitched slightly as he leaned back in his chair, fingers laced over his stomach, the top button of his shirt undone. He smelled faintly of sweat and cigarette smoke, with an undertone of something sharper—perhaps the remnants of last night’s whiskey.

Cassie’s eyes flicked to the desk in front of him. It was a mess of coffee-stained papers and pens chewed down to the plastic, with no sign of the kind of attention she hoped to command.

“Mr. Crawford,” she began, her voice calm but firm despite the tightness in her chest. She gestured slightly with her notepad as she spoke, “I’ve done the research. This story—about the council’s missing funds—it’s got everything. Corruption, negligence, people suffering because the money meant for community projects vanished into thin air. Listeners would eat it up.”

Crawford didn’t bother glancing at her notes or meeting her eyes. Instead, his gaze drifted lazily to the window behind her, as if the striped sunlight cutting through the blinds offered him more intrigue than the words she’d painstakingly prepared.

Cassie sighed, her grip tightening on the notepad as she shifted her weight. She watched him for a moment, taking in the deep-set lines of his face and his air of detached superiority. A pang of doubt gnawed at her resolve, but she quickly shoved it aside.

“It’s not the right fit, love,” he said finally, his words accompanied by the faint wheeze of his breath, “People don’t tune in to your show for all that doom and gloom. They want something lighter. Cheerier. Something that makes them smile while they’re making dinner.”

Cassie’s stomach churned at his words, a familiar mix of frustration and resignation settling over her. Lighter. Cheerier. The phrases clanged in her mind like hollow bells, reminders of how often her ideas had been whittled down to something palatable, something safe.

Her show—once a source of pride—had become a shadow of what she’d envisioned when she first started. She’d imagined herself uncovering stories that mattered: injustices, hidden truths, the kind of reporting that made people sit up and pay attention. Instead, her work had been boxed into a mold. Segments about bake-offs, local fairs, and feel-good community spotlights.

To her credit, she’d done her best to inject some life into it. Her voice carried a natural rhythm, a way of pulling people in even when the content was mundane. If the story was about a garden club’s latest flower show, she’d spin it into a tale of passion and rivalry. If it was a town charity event, she’d find the human angle, weaving a thread of emotion through the narrative.

Her listeners seemed to love her for it, but it wasn’t enough—not for her.

This wasn’t the kind of work that made a difference. It wasn’t the kind of work that could.

“I can make it engaging,” she said, her voice firmer now, her hands gripping the edges of her notes, “It doesn’t have to be doom and gloom. It’s about accountability, about the truth���”

“Drop it,” he interrupted, leaning forward slightly as he spoke, his eyes flickering with annoyance. He rubbed his temple, as though her persistence was giving him a headache, “You stick with what you’re good at—human interest, fluff pieces. Now, for tonight, you’ll cover that story about the charity bake-off. The station promised them a mention.”

The lead weight in her chest grew heavier. Stick with what you’re good at. The words stung, a sharp reminder of how small her ambitions had been made to feel.

Her mouth opened to protest, but she hesitated. This was the game, wasn’t it? Push too far, and she’d get a reputation—difficult, too ambitious, “not a team player.” She let the words die in her throat, swallowing the frustration that threatened to rise.

“May I at least drop it with you?” she asked instead, her tone even but tinged with determination. She held out her notes, “Just give it a glance before dropping the idea completely?”

Crawford didn’t even glance at her. He busied himself straightening a stack of papers with a theatrical air of importance.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug, though his tone betrayed no real intention, “Leave it on my desk.”

Cassie placed the notepad down carefully, the motion deliberate, almost defiant. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her mind racing through every frustration she’d swallowed working here. She thought of her show—the one she’d once been so proud of.

It was supposed to be hers, a reflection of her passion for storytelling. Instead, it had been molded into something safe, toothless. Segments on community bake-offs and local fairs. Puff pieces designed to please advertisers and offend no one.

And yet, even in that confined space, she’d tried. She’d poured herself into every script, every broadcast, weaving intrigue where there was none, giving even the dullest stories a pulse. Her audience deserved that much.

But what about her?

Cassie straightened, her eyes meeting Crawford’s impassive expression one last time.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice clipped.

She turned on her heel and left the office, her pulse a mix of anger and resolve.

The studio felt colder than usual, the faint hum of the equipment doing little to fill the oppressive silence. Cassie stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. The gesture felt more like shutting herself in a cage than anything else.

Her seat creaked as she sank into it, the familiar sounds of the studio offering no comfort tonight. The charity bake-off notes were already on her desk, neatly arranged, as though mocking her with their pristine lines.

She picked them up, her hands moving on autopilot. She read through the bullet points about the local bakery donating proceeds, the heartfelt quotes from participants, the token mention of the funds going to a children’s hospital. It was the kind of story that would barely take five minutes to write, but she couldn’t bring herself to put pen to paper yet.

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the control board in front of her, where the green lights flickered faintly.

This wasn’t why she’d chosen this path. Journalism had always been about chasing the truth, shining a light where others dared not look. But here she was, with her voice reduced to narrating bake-offs and community fairs, as though the world didn’t need accountability or courage—just distraction.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as her mind drifted. She thought of the council’s missing funds, the questions no one else dared to ask, the answers that could have made a real difference. That story could have mattered, could have uncovered truths that changed lives.

But instead, she was here.

With a deep breath, Cassie forced her focus back to the present. She adjusted the microphone, the familiar motion grounding her.

Flipping the switch, she spoke into the void, her voice steady despite the resentment simmering beneath the surface.

“Good evening, Rutshire!” she began, her tone warm and inviting, practiced to perfection, “This is your host, Cassandra Jones, but as you all well know, you can always call me Cassie! Always bringing you the stories that make our little corner of the world shine.”

It wasn’t just words. It was how she said them, the little pauses, the way she adjusted her tempo, making it sound effortless. One time, one lady at the mall had stopped ehr when she recognized the Jones' voice, telling how listen to her voice always made her day.

And, well, her show usually started at 4 PM, so that was something.

“Tonight, I want to tell you about a community coming together for something truly special: the annual charity bake-off. Bakers from all over Rutshire have gathered to compete—and to give back. This year’s proceeds will go to the Rutshire Children’s Hospital, providing resources and care to the kids who need it most.”

Her voice filled the space with an easy warmth, the facts rolling out with a smoothness that made them seem lighter, more immediate. Even in her dissatisfaction, she knew how to shape a story, how to give it weight when needed.

“This isn’t just about the competition,” she continued, a slight shift in her tone adding a layer of sincerity, “but about the kindness and generosity that make Rutshire such a special place to call home.”

Her delivery was careful, but not forced, as though she was telling a friend a story she didn’t mind repeating. She wasn’t changing the facts—she was simply breathing life into them.

And as she knew how to do it, she continued to deliver the news, despite the anger lingering in her chest.

The streetlights flickered as Cassie drove through the quiet, familiar streets of Rutshire. The sound of the tires humming against the asphalt felt almost too loud in the silence that surrounded her. She turned the radio dial absentmindedly, tuning out the stories of community events and local happenings. She’d heard them all before—enough to make her feel like a bystander in her own life, watching the world pass her by through the windshield of her car.

Her phone buzzed in the cupholder, and she glanced at the screen. It was her uncle.

“Hey, kiddo,” his voice greeted her warmly through the speaker. She smiled instantly, the sound of his voice always bringing a momentary relief, even if it couldn’t erase the tension curling in her chest.

“Hey, old man,” she replied, the words more automatic than anything else.

“You were great tonight, Cass,” Freddie said, his enthusiasm practically spilling through the phone, “I swear, you made that bake-off sound like the bloody Oscars.”

Cassie glanced at the radio, hearing her colleague's voice spill into the car. The words blurred together in a familiar, comforting hum, but something inside her had already tuned out. She wasn’t sure whether it was the exhaustion, the frustration, or just the monotony of it all, but she felt herself disconnecting from it all, like she was hearing it from a distance.

She responded quietly, “Thanks, Uncle Freddie,” her tone calm, but there was a touch of distance she couldn’t quite mask.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. She could almost picture Freddie’s face, that half-grin of his, layered with the usual care he always tried to hide.

“I mean it, Cass. You’ve got something they don’t understand. The way you tell a story—you give it life! It’s like… You make people see the world differently.”

Cassie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened almost imperceptibly. Freddie was right—she had always known how to make the smallest detail come alive, to make people care. It had been her strength, her passion, the reason she’d chosen journalism.

But tonight? Tonight, it felt empty.

The bake-off story—it was just noise. Safe. Easy. The same thing every year.

Cheerier.

“You’re just saying that,” she murmured, the words slipping out more quickly than she intended.

“No, I mean it,” Freddie’s voice was insistent, a little softer now, “I just wish they’d give you more of a chance. You’ve got a lot more to say than just… Fluff pieces, you know? You deserve the stories that matter. You deserve to be out there, really making a difference.”

Cassie shifted in her seat, her eyes momentarily caught by the reflection of her car in the store window. The soft glow of the streetlights cast long shadows across her face.

“I know,” she said quietly, though the words felt like a knot in her throat.

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to him, to herself, or to the version of her who had walked into this career full of hope. The one who still believed in making an impact. That person felt like a stranger now.

“You’ve got a future ahead of you, Cass. You’ve always been someone who stands out,” She could lsiten to his smile as he said that, it made her smile a little more too, “Don’t let them box you in. You’ve got the kind of talent that can really change things. Don’t forget that.”

Cassie let out a slow breath, her hands pressing against the wheel a little harder. She could feel the familiar stirrings of something—determination, maybe, or something like it. She wanted to be the person Freddie thought she was.

She wanted to be more than this.

“Thanks,” she finally said, her voice quiet, the words slipping out before she could second-guess them, “I’ll figure it out.”

Another long pause on the other end, and then Freddie’s easy chuckle broke the silence.

“I know you will. You always do, just don't blow anything up.”

Cassie chuckled, “Yeah, I'll try. Talk to you tomorrow, Uncle.”

“Take care of yourself, Cass.”

She hung up the phone, feeling the absence of his words linger in the air for a moment longer than she expected. The road ahead seemed endless, but for a fleeting second, she couldn’t help but wonder if Freddie was right. She had more to say. Maybe she always had.

But that didn’t make the choice any easier.

The radio continued to chatter in the background, her colleague’s voice now a steady hum as Cassie kept her eyes on the road. She wasn’t sure how to get from here to where she wanted to be, but as the glow of Rutshire faded into the distance, she knew one thing for certain.

She wasn’t going to stop trying to figure it out. Not yet.

The bar was quiet for a Thursday morning, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the soft clink of glassware being set down and the low murmur of the few early risers. It wasn’t the busiest time, but it never really was. The regulars were there, still half-closed in the warm haze of sleep, some nursing their first coffee of the day, others leaning over papers or whispering in low tones, trading stories or reflecting on the night before.

The wooden floors creaked softly underfoot as Cassie made her way to the bar, the familiar sound echoing through the empty space. The air smelled faintly of old beer, with a hint of stale cigarettes lingering in the corners, mixed with the sharper scent of freshly brewed coffee. It was a blend that, for her, felt as comfortable as her own breath.

The radio filling the background quietly.

She slid onto a barstool with practiced ease, her body instinctively relaxing into the worn leather of the seat.

The lights above were dimmed just enough to give the room a cozy, intimate feel, casting shadows across the shelves stocked with bottles that had seen more than their fair share of nights like this one. Behind the bar, Baz moved with a rhythm born of years spent here, every motion fluid, like he was a part of the place itself.

She didn’t need to ask for her drink. Baz, like always, seemed to know exactly what she needed.

He set a pint of something dark in front of her, the foam just right, and it took her a second to realize how much she’d been waiting for it. She didn’t say anything, not at first. She just lifted the glass to her lips and took a long sip, the bitterness of the beer almost too fitting, like it was somehow tied to the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She let it settle in her chest for a moment, her eyes scanning the room, but it was more to avoid looking at Baz than anything else.

He had that way of making her feel seen, even when she wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

“How’s the radio business these days, darling?” Baz’s voice was soft, but it carried a weight she couldn’t ignore. They both knew she’d been struggling with it lately, but it was easier not to talk about it. Not yet, anyway.

Cassie shrugged, swirling the beer in her glass, her fingers brushing the cold surface as she considered how to answer. Her mind was a mess, but she wasn’t about to unload it all here, not when it felt like everyone else in this room had their own things to ignore.

“Same as always,” she said, her voice flat, “Same stories. Same people. No one cares about the real stuff. It's all fluff.”

Baz didn’t respond right away, just watched her, like he could tell there was more beneath that statement. She could feel him studying her, but she refused to meet his eyes.

She wasn’t ready to talk about it—not yet. The last thing she wanted was his pity.

“People like fluff,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “It’s easy. It doesn’t make them uncomfortable.”

Cassie didn’t say anything at first, letting his words sit aside as she took a breath. The frustration inside her bubbled up, but she swallowed it down.

She didn’t need another lecture today. She didn’t need him to tell her how hard it was for everyone, or how nothing ever really changes.

“That’s the problem,” she muttered, finally meeting his gaze, “People don’t want to hear the truth. They want the easy stuff. And I’m tired of giving it to them.”

Baz raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter as he wiped down a glass, “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, her voice tinged with irritation, “But I’m not gonna sit around hoping that one day someone decides I’m good enough for the stories that actually matter.”

Baz tilted his head, studying her again. He wasn’t trying to offer solutions. That wasn’t his style.

He let her say what she needed to say, and gave her space to feel frustrated. That's why he was a damn good bar owner.

“Maybe they’re just not ready for it,” he said, his voice softer now, almost as if he wasn’t talking about her job anymore.

Cassie let out a short, bitter laugh, “And maybe I’m not waiting for them. I’m done with that.”

She tasted her words as they left her mouth, bitter. The truth was, she didn’t know what she was waiting for anymore.

Maybe she just wanted a break. Maybe she was tired of always trying to make people listen. But she couldn’t say that out loud. Not to Baz.

He leaned back, watching her carefully, his face unreadable.

“Alright. So what’s your plan?” His hand moved almost absentmindedly to the radio dial, turning it until a voice crackled through the static.

The sound was unmistakable—a voice she recognized instantly. One of her colleagues, mid-monologue, delivering the day’s take on whatever sensational headline they’d latched onto. It was faint, almost drowned by the static, but the cadence was familiar: deliberate pauses, calculated inflection, designed to hook listeners and keep them invested.

Cassie felt the prickle of discomfort at hearing it, even slightly. The words blurred together, more noise than substance, but the undertone of it all—performance, rather than authenticity—was clear to her. She tried not to let it distract her, but it was there, a quiet reminder of everything she’d been wrestling with.

She looked down at her drink, swirling the liquid in slow, thoughtful circles.

The question hung heavy between them. What was her plan?

Did she even have one? Cassie didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn’t keep doing this—circling around her own indecision, feeling like she had to apologize for wanting more.

“I don’t have one,” she admitted finally, the words coming out quieter than she’d intended, “But I’m not just gonna keep... Doing this. I can’t.”

Baz didn’t say anything for a moment, just let her have the silence. The low hum of conversation from the other side of the bar, the clink of glasses, all of it felt like a world away. Cassie’s fingers tightened around her glass, her mind racing, but somehow, she felt just a little bit lighter now that it was out in the open. Maybe it didn’t solve anything, but at least she could stop pretending.

She glanced back at her friend, meeting the pity she knew she would face. The way his lips turned up and his brows furrowed.

She hated it.

“I mean—Sometimes, I think it’s all pointless,” her voice was barely above a whisper, almost like she was talking to herself, “We keep doing the same thing over and over, pushing the same stories, and nothing really changes. It's like no one even wants to hear anything different.”

She paused, a fleeting thought crossing her mind. “What if we gave them something that actually mattered? Would they even acknowledge it?”

Baz didn't respond immediately, his focus on wiping down a glass. His hands moved methodically, as though the task required more attention than it really did. Cassie could tell he was listening, though—she could feel it in the way the air in the room seemed to hold still for just a beat longer.

He gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his eyes not leaving the glass as he set it down with a faint clink.

“Does it matter?” he asked, thoughtful, “You give them what they want, or you give them what you think they need. But in the end, they’ll either care, or they won’t. Can’t control that.”

“It does matter!” she answered, her voice firming with resolve, her frustration bubbling to the surface, “It’s about giving them something that goes deeper than just the surface. No more chasing headlines. No more easy, shallow stories. I’m talking about something real. Real pain. Real stories. Something they can actually connect with—something that doesn’t sound or look fake.”

Baz raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned back slightly, clearly entertained.

“You mean like… Venturer?” His tone was playful, but the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes wasn’t lost on her.

He had always known that Cassie had a sharp mind, a hunger for real stories—the same hunger that Freddie, Rupert, and Declan had been searching for two months ago. But Cassie had never been one to engage directly with Venturer.

She had always preferred to keep her distance from the spotlight, staying on the outside where things were quieter, less exposed—at least publicly.

A little thing in the shell, as Baz himself used to say, back when she had first come to Rutshire. She’d always been the one who stayed in the background, content to watch rather than dive into the drama.

I don't want my face in the screens, she had told him once when her uncle first brought up the possibility of her joining the team. It was a simple, firm declaration. She’d never wanted that kind of attention.

But Venturer was different. It was a project created by her uncle and his well-known friends. She’d never spoken to them directly about it, except when her uncle and Baz mentioned it.

She had been watching from afar, keeping an eye on their ideas as they slowly began to take shape and go live on TV.

“I watch it sometimes when I get the time,” she said, her tone measured, almost as if she were brushing off the question. But there was something in her voice, a subtle shift, that didn’t go unnoticed.

Baz paused, his smirk softening just a touch. The playful teasing faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of genuine curiosity behind his eyes. He leaned back slightly, considering her words.

“You don’t just ‘watch it,’” Baz said, a knowing glint in his eye. “You’re paying attention. Venturer might not be your thing, but you’re still watching.”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his gaze but refusing to back down.

“It’s hard not to notice something that’s everywhere,” she replied, though her words were lighter now. “But I’m not exactly in the business of playing their game. It’s not my scene.”

Baz raised an eyebrow. He didn’t press her further but lingered on the point, his curiosity deepening. He knew her well enough to see that there was more beneath the surface—more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

Baz chuckled softly, his lips curling into that familiar smirk, “Now I’m curious, what do you think? You think we’re actually doing something worth watching?”

Cassie paused for a moment, weighing her words carefully.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, her mind wandering back to her uncle’s involvement in the project, the high-profile connections he had cultivated, and the way the whole thing had grown into something she hadn’t expected, “I mean, yeah. I think there’s potential. It’s raw, unfiltered... Something real.”

Baz raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now.

“And you’re just gonna keep watching from the sidelines? Not gonna get involved yourself?”

The question rang in the air, a challenge, but Cassie wasn’t ready to answer it just yet. Instead, she shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with how personal the conversation had become.

Yet, she narrowed her eyes at him, getting a glimpse of his smirk... Now it made sense why he had mentioned Venturer for starters

“I already have a job, Baz.”

“A shit one,” he pointed out, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar. His voice was calm, but the words hit with precision, “Your colleagues don’t appreciate your talent. I’ve seen the way they sideline your ideas, and I’ve heard the segments they let you do. It’s filler, Cass. They don’t take you seriously, and they never will.”

Baz leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished wood of the bar. The faint overhead light caught the edges of his smirk, giving him an almost mischievous air. He let his words linger between them, studying her reaction.

Cassie tilted her head, her brow arching slightly. She wasn’t about to let him needle her without a fight.

“And would you?” she asked sharply, leaning forward just enough to close the space between them, “TV is more misogynistic than radio, and we both know that.”

Baz didn’t flinch. He always enjoyed a challenge, Cassie remembered.

“Sure, it is,” he admitted, “But at least there’s a chance to be heard. Right now, you’re stuck spinning your wheels while everyone around you is taking credit for your work.”

The voice of her colleague on the radio grew clearer, the words breaking through the haze of static. Cassie’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t fully register it yet.

“And you think TV’s the answer? Let’s not pretend it’s any different. Bigger platforms, bigger egos—it’s the same game, Baz… A worse game.”

“Maybe,” he said simply, shrugging, “But if you’re gonna fight the fight, why not fight it somewhere familiar?”

The radio crackled again, the voice cutting through more clearly now.

“... An in-depth investigation into the council’s misallocation of funds...”

Cassie’s fingers froze on the glass, her breath catching in her throat. The words were faint, still mingled with static, but they pierced through her thoughts like a sharp knife.

Her eyes snapped to the radio, her pulse quickening. Baz followed her gaze, his brow furrowing slightly.

It couldn't be, could it? Cassie’s mind drifted back to days ago, what she had written in her notes as she listened to her colleague—Dan’s words. Each one of them felt like a stone sinking into her chest, heavy and unavoidable.

The bar suddenly felt too small. The low hum of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the faint music from the jukebox seemed muffled, distant, as if the world outside the static of the radio had faded to nothing.

Cassie’s breathing hitched, shallow and uneven, and for a moment, she thought she might choke on the frustration swelling in her chest.  

The air around her, once familiar and warm, now felt stifling. She looked down at her glass, still in her hand, the amber liquid trembling slightly as her grip tightened. The sharp scent of beer mixed with the faint aroma of fried food coming from the kitchen, but it was all background noise to her racing thoughts.  

Baz’s voice came through the haze, low and careful.

“Cass? What’s wrong?”  

Her eyes snapped to him, wide and searching. The concern etched on his face barely registered. Instead, she pointed toward the radio, her voice tight.

“Turn. That. Up.”  

Baz hesitated for a fraction of a second, then obliged, twisting the knob until the words filled the air.  

“... Our findings reveal years of systemic negligence, with ties between high-ranking officials and private contractors raising serious questions...”  

It was all there. Her angles, her research, her work. Her chest tightened painfully, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, though it felt like dragging air through a straw.

Her grip on the glass loosened, and she set it down carefully on the bar, the slight clunk louder than it should have been. She straightened, her mind a storm of disbelief and simmering rage.

Her surroundings came back into focus, but only just—the stained wood of the bar beneath her hands, the creak of an old stool shifting as someone moved nearby, the flicker of a neon beer sign casting a faint red glow over the wall.  

“That’s my story,” she said, the words escaping her lips before she even realized she had spoken.  

Baz frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of her reaction, “What are you talking about?”  

“That’s my bloody story,” she repeated, her voice firmer this time, but trembling slightly at the edges, “The council, the mismanagement, the contractors—it’s all mine. I pitched it yesterday. Crawford told me it wasn’t ‘cheerier” to air.”  

The weight of it hit her fully now. She leaned on the bar for support, her hands pressing into the smooth surface as her mind raced.

How did this happen? How had her work ended up on the air, delivered by someone else?

Baz leaned forward, his expression darkening, “You’re sure? I mean... Maybe it’s just a coincidence?”

“No,” she snapped, “It’s not a coincidence, Baz. I know my work. I know every word of it.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly, and Cassie shook her head, trying to clear the haze. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as though the betrayal wasn’t just professional but personal.

Cassie straightened, her jaw tightening as fury replaced the shock. She grabbed her bag in one swift motion, the strap digging into her shoulder as she turned toward the door.

Baz stood up straighter, his hands resting on the bar.

“Cass, hold on. What are you going to do?”

She paused, her hand gripping the edge of the chair she’d just abandoned.

“I’m going to the station. He doesn’t get to do this.”

“Cass, think about this—”

“No.” She cut him off, her voice steely, “I’m done thinking, Baz. It’s my story, my work, and I’m not letting it slide.”

The bar’s warm light felt glaring as she strode toward the exit, each step sharp and purposeful. The cool night air hit her face like a slap, grounding her just enough to keep moving.

Baz watched her go, her sharp movements cutting through the warm haze of the bar like a blade. For a second, he considered following her, but the determination in her stride stopped him.

Instead, Baz turned toward the phone mounted on the wall behind the bar. The old rotary clattered as he picked it up, his fingers moving with practiced ease to dial the number.

He waited, glancing toward the door she had just stormed through, her words still ringing in his ears.

The line clicked after a few rings.  

“Freddie,” Baz said quickly, his voice lower than usual, tinged with urgency, “It’s me.”  

“Baz?” Freddie’s voice came through, “What’s going on?”  

Baz leaned against the counter, one hand running through his hair as he glanced toward the door again.

“It’s Cass,” he said, the words coming out in a rush, “I think you better head to Crawford's radio station right now.”

A longer pause this time, Baz guessed he had probably awoken the man, “What do you mean?”  

Baz exhaled sharply, gripping the phone tighter.

“She will probably throw a bomb and explode the place, Freddie. They had stolen her story.”

The pale morning light filtered through the windows of the station's parking lot, casting long shadows against the asphalt. Cassie pulled her car to a sharp stop, the tires crunching on loose gravel. Her pulse raced as she stepped out, the crisp morning air biting at her skin. Everything about the scene felt surreal, the stillness outside a stark contrast to the storm building within her.  

The station was already buzzing with its usual morning energy. The faint hum of muffled voices and clattering keyboards carried through the slightly ajar front door. Cassie pushed it open, her steps firm and unrelenting as she entered. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow over the cluttered interior—a mess of half-empty coffee cups, stray papers, and tangled wires.  

Her boots clicked sharply against the tiled floor as she passed the break room. A few of her colleagues turned to glance at her, their expressions ranging from vague curiosity to mild discomfort. They must have sensed her fury, the way her jaw was set and her eyes burned with a fire they hadn’t seen before.  

Dan’s voice drifted faintly from the studio down the hall, calm and self-assured as always. But to Cassie, it sounded smug, taunting, every syllable dripping with betrayal.  

She reached the studio door just as the ON AIR sign flickered off, signaling a break. Her heart pounded as she pushed the door open, stepping inside to find Dan, Crawford, and a sound technician huddled together.

Crawford leaned lazily against the control panel, his disinterest palpable, while Dan adjusted his tie, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, if it isn’t our rising star,” Dan drawled, his voice dripping with condescension, “Come to bask in the glory of our latest hit segment?”  

Cassie’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

“That segment,” she said evenly, though her voice trembled with barely-contained anger, “Was my pitch. My research. My story.”  

Crawford sighed, rubbing his temple as though this confrontation was an inconvenience rather than a betrayal.

“Look, Cassie,” he began, his tone patronizing, “it’s not about ownership here. It’s about the station putting out the best possible content. Dan’s delivery works for the audience. He knows how to connect—”  

“He knows how to steal, you both do!” Cassie snapped, cutting him off, “You told me my story wasn’t good enough to air, and now suddenly it’s headline material because he’s the one presenting it?”

Dan chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, come on, Cassie. It’s not like you were going to do anything with it. Consider it a team effort.”  

Her vision blurred with rage. Every patronizing word felt like a slap, each excuse twisting the knife deeper.

“You don’t get to take credit for my work,” she said, her voice rising.  

Crawford straightened, his expression hardening.

“Lower your voice,” he barked, glancing toward the technician, “We’re going back on air in two minutes.”  

That was all the time Cassie needed.  

Before he could finish, Cassie moved. Her body acted before her mind could second-guess. She shoved Dan’s chair aside, ignoring his startled yelp as he stumbled. Sliding into his place, she locked the door with a sharp twist and adjusted the microphone in front of her.

“Cassie!” Crawford bellowed, pounding on the glass partition, “What the hell are you doing?”

She ignored him, her fingers flying over the console to flip the switch. The red ON AIR light blinked on.

Behind the glass, Crawford was screaming at the technicians.

“Get her off the air! Now!”

One of them shook his head, panicked, “We can’t. She’s got full control of the board.”

There were two or three good things on being Freddie Jones’ niece.

Her voice filled the airwaves, clear and commanding.

“Good morning, Rutshire. This is Cassandra Jones, and I’ve got a story to tell you. But it’s not the one you just heard. No, this one is about the station you’re listening to right now—the lies it tells, the stories it hides, and the people it silences.”

Crawford was livid, his fists pounding against the door as he barked orders at the technicians.

“Cut the feed!”

The lead technician hesitated, sweat beading on his brow.

“Sir, we’d have to shut down the whole station.”

“And lose every listener we’ve just gained?” another technician added, pointing to the monitors that displayed the surging audience numbers.

Crawford froze, his fury replaced by a flicker of fear.

The air in the O’Hara kitchen carried the sweet warmth of butter and vanilla, the scent clinging to every corner like a comforting memory. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden streaks over the marble countertops and glinting off Taggie’s delicate array of mixing bowls and utensils. She worked with precision, her hands deftly folding batter as she tested a new recipe.

The rhythmic scrape of her spatula against the bowl mingled with the faint hum of the radio in the background.

Rupert sat at the breakfast table, a picture of calculated ease, the newspaper spread before him like a shield. His brow furrowed slightly as his eyes darted across the columns, though his attention seemed to wander.

Declan leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, his stance casual but his gaze sharp, fixed on nothing in particular. The radio had been little more than background noise—a familiar companion to their morning routine.

But now, the sharp edge in the voice crackling through the speakers commanded Taggie's attention.

She paused, her hand hovering over the mixing bowl, her brow furrowing as she caught a particularly biting phrase.

“Turn that up,” she said abruptly, setting down her spatula.

Rupert raised an eyebrow but complied, folding his newspaper neatly and nodding toward Declan. With an easy motion, Declan leaned over and turned the dial, the static fading to bring Cassie’s voice into sharper focus.

“...And then, they gave it to someone else,” she was saying, her tone laced with indignation and barely restrained anger, “They handed my work, my research, my hours of effort to someone who didn’t earn it. All because they thought it would sell better with his name on it, it would be more profitable if it was told by a a man.”

The room fell still, the normally comforting buzz of kitchen activity replaced by the biting truth in her words. Taggie wiped her hands on her apron, her lips pressing into a thin line as she listened intently. Rupert leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin, his expression shifting to one of genuine interest. Declan remained by the counter, his focus sharp on it, his notes forgotten as his journalist instincts stirred to life.

The words coming from the radio didn’t just cut through the air; they lingered, deliberate, each one a carefully aimed arrow.

“Last year, we buried a story about toxic waste being dumped into local waterways—because the company responsible was a top-tier advertiser. Families got sick, kids missed school, and what did this station do? Nothing. Because money speaks louder than people’s lives here.”

Taggie paused mid-motion, her hands hanging limp as Cassie’s voice seeped into the room. She exchanged a glance with Rupert, who had set his paper down entirely now, his features tight with unspoken thoughts.

“This station silences voices,” Cassie continued, the edge in her tone palpable, “It buries stories that challenge you, stories that could make a difference. It’s not about the truth here. It’s about control—about keeping power in the hands of those who already have it.”

Rupert sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his jaw, his posture tense as though her words had struck a personal chord.

“She’s playing with fire,” he muttered, his tone cautious but far from dismissive, “Crawford’s the type to hold a grudge, and he won’t forgive this. He’s too protective of his image.”

“She’s brave,” Taggie countered, her voice steady and soft, though there was no mistaking the steel underneath. She held Rupert’s gaze, her expression calm but resolute, as though daring him to dismiss her opinion, “It’s reckless, yes, but sometimes that’s what people need to hear.”

Rupert raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t agree—not entirely, anyway—but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he let her words linger in the air, the kitchen momentarily quieter as though everyone was considering them.

If not everyone, him. His gaze lingered on her for a second too long, his smirk fading into something softer.

Declan, leaning against the counter, remained silent, his brow furrowed slightly as his focus stayed fixed on the radio. The steam from his untouched coffee curled lazily upward, but he didn’t notice. His mind was elsewhere, still tethered to the sharpness of Cassie’s voice.

“Who is she?” he asked after a beat, his tone clipped but carrying a subtle curiosity that he didn’t bother to hide.

“Cassandra Jones,” Taggie replied, her voice quiet but sure, “Freddie’s niece. She’s been here for a few months now—moved from Chicago.”

“Oh, Baz told me about her,” Rupert chimed in, the smirk returning as he leaned back slightly in his chair, “Thought she’d be too meek for a place like this, but... Seems I underestimated her. She’s got a sharp tongue, I’ll give her that.”

Taggie’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a subtle light in her eyes as she straightened slightly.

“I listen to her show at night,” Taggie said simply, her voice steady, her eyes lingering on the now-silent radio, “It was time for everyone to listen to her. I’ve always liked her opinions. She has a way with words.”

Rupert chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he turned his gaze between Taggie and Declan.

“Well, you’ve got a knack for spotting wildflowers with potential, I’ll give you that,” he said, his tone teasing but not dismissive. There was a trace of warmth in the way he looked at her, an acknowledgment of her insight even if he wasn’t quite ready to say he agreed.

He liked it when she spoke with certainty, even if it rubbed against his own instincts. And he didn’t miss the way she looked back at him, a smile creeping out of her teeth.

Declan didn’t join in the exchange, his brow furrowed as he stared at the coffee cup in his hands. His grip tightened slightly, a subconscious response as Cassie’s voice echoed in his thoughts. She’d been bold—too bold, perhaps—but her precision, the deliberate weight behind every word, lingered like a static charge.

Declan’s lips twitched faintly, but he didn’t take the bait. His attention stayed fixed on the now-fading voice, the static swallowing the last of Cassie’s words.

As the room settled into silence, Rupert glanced at him, one brow raised, “You’re awfully quiet, O’Hara. Something on your mind?”

Declan set his mug down, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter.

“She knows how to get attention,” he said simply, “That’s half the battle.”

Rupert’s smirk widened, “And the other half?”

Declan didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking to the window as though searching for something just out of reach.

“Making sure it’s not wasted,” he said finally, his voice quiet but resolute.

Taggie sighed, resuming her whisking, though the motion was slower, her thoughts clearly divided between the batter in her bowl and what her father had just said.

“—Let me tell you about the sponsors,” Cassie pressed on, her tone dropping into something colder, “The ones who dictate what you hear, who decide what stories matter and what gets erased. We’re not reporting the news—we’re selling it. And the price? Your trust.”

The kitchen was silent save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock and the faint crackle of the broadcast. Taggie moved mechanically now, her hands resuming their work with a distracted air. She caught Rupert’s eye briefly, the unspoken question hanging between them: Is Freddie’s niece insane?

Declan, still silent, felt the faintest flicker of something sharper stir in his chest. It wasn’t anger, exactly, though it wasn’t far off. It was recognition—of a battle he had seen too many times in his own career. She wasn’t just fighting a corrupt system; she was taking a wrecking ball to it, piece by piece.

“She’s naming names,” Declan muttered, almost to himself.

“And burning bridges while she’s at it,” Rupert countered, though his usual air of superiority was absent. He tapped his fingers against the table, the sound rhythmic and deliberate.

Declan’s gaze stayed fixed on the radio, his smirk fading as the weight of Cassie’s words settled over him. The easy posture he had held moments before shifted, his arms crossing over his chest as though bracing against the storm her voice carried. The kitchen, once bustling with the hum of morning tasks, had gone eerily quiet. Even the faint scrape of Taggie’s utensils ceased, the air heavy with the raw intensity spilling from the radio.

The cadence of Cassie’s voice had changed—deliberate now, each word like a match striking against flint. It wasn’t just anger fueling her, Declan realized. It was something deeper, sharper. Conviction.

“She is burning, for sure,” he murmured, his tone low but deliberate, “if you want people to see the light…”

Rupert raised an eyebrow, his amusement faint but present. “I didn’t peg you for being an optimist.”

“I’m not,” Declan replied, his voice clipped, his gaze unwavering. His fingers tapped absently against the counter as if keeping time with the rhythm of Cassie’s words. “But I know what it takes to shake people awake. And she’s doing it.”

On the radio, Cassie’s voice dropped, slower now, as though the weight of her decision was settling over her in real-time. The ticking clock above the stove seemed to grow louder, filling the gaps between her sentences, each tick amplifying the tension.

“I can’t stay here,” Cassie’s voice rang out, steady but carrying the weight of exhaustion, each syllable laced with unyielding defiance, “Not in a place that values profit over principle, that rewards complacency and punishes integrity. This is my last broadcast. Consider this my resignation, live on air.”

There was a brief pause, the kind of silence that felt alive, as if the entire town had stopped to hold its breath. The rustle of papers and panicked murmurs on the other side of the broadcast began to rise, chaotic and desperate.

“Get her off the air!”

“That’s enough!”

“Someone call the police!”

The background noise crackled through the radio, growing louder as the urgency escalated. Rupert leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing as he absorbed the cacophony.

“And one last thing,” Cassie’s voice cut through the static again, this time tinged with a grim sort of triumph, “Fuck you, Charles Crawford!”

Declan’s brows shot up, amusement breaking through his otherwise unreadable expression. Rupert, on the other hand, let out a low whistle, shaking his head as though he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or exasperated.

“Crawford’s probably tearing his hair out by now,” Rupert remarked dryly, his tone carrying a trace of grudging admiration, “Can’t say I envy him.”

The tension in the room was palpable, lingering in the air like smoke after a fire. Taggie, who had been meticulously smoothing the edges of her apron, paused mid-motion. Her fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying the concern that clouded her otherwise calm expression.

“Do you think they’ll arrest her?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual, hesitant.

Rupert didn’t answer, his attention briefly caught by the steady drip of a coffee pot on the counter. His silence wasn’t unusual, but the shift in his expression—an uncharacteristic tightness around his mouth—hinted at unease.

Declan’s silence, however, felt heavier. He remained still, his brow slightly furrowed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He wasn’t ignoring the question; he was somewhere else entirely, his mind dissecting every word Cassie had spoken, the deliberate rhythm of her sentences still echoing in his ears.

She hadn’t just revealed truths. She’d weaponized them, sharpened them into blades that now hung in the air, slicing through the fragile facade of the station. He imagined the chaos unfolding on the other side of her microphone—Crawford’s voice, raw and furious, barking orders; the panicked scurrying of technicians trying and failing to regain control. It was the kind of pandemonium Declan had seen countless times in his own career, though rarely so publicly.

Publicly, people called him the 'Irish Wolfhound'. The moniker stuck for good reason—he was relentless, tenacious, and unyielding in the chase. But Cassandra? She wasn’t hunting like he did.

She was circling, sharp-eyed and calculating, waiting for the exact moment to strike.

He exhaled sharply, breaking his stillness as though the weight of realization had settled more deeply over him.

Her voice wasn’t just a broadcast. Cassandra was declaring war.

Declan inhaled sharply, breaking his stillness.

Rupert considered the question for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as though pondering a move on a chessboard.

“Oh, they’ll arrest her,” he said, his voice laced with certainty, “Crawford won’t let something like this slide. He can’t afford to.”

“She’s forced their hand,” Declan said, his tone calm but deliberate, “He’ll want to make an example of her—show everyone what happens when you push too hard.”

Declan, leaning against the counter, let his arms fold loosely across his chest. His posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze, a flicker of something darker beneath the surface.

Rupert hummed thoughtfully, folding his paper with deliberate care and resting his hands on it, as if weighing something unseen. There was an unspoken suspicion behind his narrowed gaze as he studied Declan—a sharpness that cut into the quiet space between them.

Rupert’s gaze flicked to Declan, a subtle spark of curiosity glinting in his eyes.

“And yet,” Rupert began, his words slow and deliberate, “you don’t sound like someone who thinks she’s in over her head.”

Declan’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“She’s not,” he said simply.

Declan’s gaze set over the radio, his expression unreadable but far from indifferent. The static-filled silence that followed Cassie’s broadcast had settled over the room, heavy and charged, like the air before a storm. He rolled his shoulders slightly, as if shaking off the weight of it, but his thoughts stayed fixed on her words.

It wasn’t just what she’d said—though that had been sharp enough to leave a mark—it was how she’d said it. There was precision in her delivery, the kind of unyielding conviction that struck a nerve. Declan knew that tone. It was the sound of someone who’d spent too long being told to sit down and shut up, finally deciding they’d had enough.

He sipped his now-lukewarm coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly as Taggie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“You sound like you admire her,” she teased, her smile faint but knowing as she turned back to her bowl.

Declan gave her a sidelong glance, his smirk half-formed.

“I don’t know her,” he replied, his tone light but carefully neutral, “Hard to admire someone you’ve never met.”

Taggie’s laugh was soft, her focus returning to her batter, “Doesn’t mean you can’t be impressed.”

Rupert chuckled quietly, folding his newspaper and leaning back in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

“Oh, he’s impressed, all right,” he said smoothly, casting Declan a sly look, “Rarely seen the Wolfhound so quiet after hearing someone on the air.”

Declan shot him a look, more amused than irritated.

“She’s reckless,” he said, his voice steady, as if stating an undeniable fact, “That kind of move doesn’t just burn bridges; it torches the whole damn village.”

“And you respect that,” Rupert countered, leaning forward slightly, his sharp eyes glinting.

Declan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he set his coffee down with a deliberate slowness, the soft clink of the mug against the counter punctuating the silence. His thoughts churned, though he wouldn’t have admitted it outright. There was a spark to her, something raw and untamed that he hadn’t expected.

He’d seen plenty of people with ambition—had worked alongside them, had watched them rise and fall, often under the weight of their own egos. But Cassie’s drive didn’t seem rooted in vanity or ambition for its own sake. It was sharper than that. Purposed.

She reminded him of someone—maybe himself, years ago, when he still believed in tearing down the walls instead of navigating them.

“Reckless doesn’t mean wrong,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

Rupert tilted his head, watching him with an expression that bordered on amusement.

“Interesting,” Rupert murmured.

Declan ignored him, his thoughts still circling. Cassie Jones. Freddie’s niece, apparently. That explained part of it—Freddie was nothing if not sharp-tongued and stubborn. But there was more to her, something he couldn’t quite piece together yet. She wasn’t just loud or brash; she was precise, deliberate, and unafraid to be messy if it meant getting to the truth.

He could still hear her voice, cutting through the static with an unshakable conviction. It wasn’t easy to pull that off—to sound angry and controlled at the same time. It took skill.

Talent, he corrected himself silently.

“Think she’ll stay in Rutshire after this?” Taggie asked, her tone light, though her curiosity was evident.

Declan tilted his head slightly, considering.

“If she’s smart, she won’t,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, “Crawford will make sure she’s blacklisted. She’ll have to find somewhere else to land.”

And yet, as he said it, he found himself hoping she wouldn’t. There was something compelling about her fight, her refusal to accept the constraints of her situation. He didn’t know what she’d do next, but he had the sense it would be something worth watching.

Declan’s smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. She’s not going to fade quietly, that’s for sure.

The air in the kitchen had grown heavier, the faint crackle of static from the radio fading into the background as Cassie’s voice disappeared. Declan stood by the counter, his coffee forgotten as his gaze lingered on the now-silent speakers. The energy of the room shifted, a quiet tension filling the space like the lull before a storm.

Rupert stretched his legs under the table, his smirk widening as he tilted his head to watch Declan.

“You’re planning something,” Rupert said, his tone light but knowing, “You always get that look when you’ve found a new target.”

Declan’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though he didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied smoothly, lifting his coffee mug again, though he didn’t drink, “I’m just thinking.”

“About a voice you just heard on the radio,” Rupert added, teasing. Taggie glanced at him from her bowl, her hands resuming the rhythm of her whisk.

Declan shot a sideways glance at both of them  but didn’t respond, letting the words hang in the air.

Taggie tilted her head slightly, her whisk pausing for just a moment.

“Did you like her?” she asked, her tone gentle but curious, as though she already had her own answer but wanted to hear Declan’s.

Declan shot a sideways glance at both of them, his expression guarded.

“I don’t even know her,” he countered, his voice calm but with a faint edge of irritation, “She’s Freddie’s niece, not a bloody headline.”

His daughter raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile, but she said nothing. Taggie had learned long ago that her father’s defenses ran deep when it came to matters of people getting under his skin.

“Maybe not yet,” Rupert interjected, leaning forward in his chair, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement, “But she’s got the spark for it. We all heard it. She knows how to make herself heard.”

Declan didn’t respond immediately, though Rupert’s words hit him right away. He could feel them, like a distant echo, her voice still hummed in his head.

His gaze shifted briefly to the radio, now silent, as though it might still hold some faint trace of her words. He could see it—hear it again in his mind. Cassie Jones wasn’t just speaking; she was carving something from thin air, her words deliberate and measured, each one leaving an impression, like fingerprints on glass.

It had been a long time since Declan had felt this… Intrigued. Intrigued by a woman’s voice on a radio, of all things. Not just any voice either, but one that demanded attention without raising it too high.

She was clear, unwavering, the kind of person who knew what they were saying and made sure you heard it. The kind of person who didn’t need to scream to be heard.

Just shove a door and hit her feet into the ground.

He exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly. His hands were still, but the irritation now felt more like a defense against something else, something unfamiliar that he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

“Well, she must have locked herself in the station room to make that happen,” Declan said, his tone dry and dismissive.

He didn’t mean it; not exactly. It was just a reflex, the kind of armor he put on when people were asking too many questions that he didn’t know how to answer. But even as the words left his mouth, there was something deeper beneath them—a grudging acknowledgment of the effort, the willpower it must have taken to command that kind of attention.

To make those words land the way she did. Well, if they pressed him, he would admit he admired her indeed for being brave enough to be reckless.

Rupert smirked, leaning back in his chair with the ease of someone who had already sized up the situation.

“And you respect that,” he said, his tone lighter now, though his gaze didn’t waver from Declan’s face.

Declan didn’t look at him immediately. His gaze was fixed on something distant, the fleeting memory of her voice still running through his mind. He could feel the tension in his chest, a strange knot that wasn’t there before.

It wasn’t anger, exactly—it was something else. Something unspoken. Something he was still trying to conceive.

“She’s got something,” Declan muttered, his tone quieter now, almost reflective. The words tasted different in his mouth than they did when he first said them, no longer a dismissal but something closer to recognition. There was a shift in him, something subtle but undeniable.

“And you respect that,” Rupert repeated, his smirk softening into something more genuine. There was no mocking tone now, just the faintest trace of admiration—something Declan could sense without needing it spelled out for him.

Declan finally met Rupert’s gaze, his expression unreadable, but the flicker of something new in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence between them spoke volumes.

Cassie Jones wasn’t just another voice on the radio. That was a fact.

And for the first time in a long while, Declan wasn’t sure what to do with that.

[urwarriorangel]

<3 urwarriorangel’s writing challenge <3

hello my darling angels! i have started a writing challenge because i want to read more of what you write. i’m calling this a challenge because that’s what i’ve read others call it? rules are listed below! all submissions will be read by yours truly and (if they follow the p basic rules) i will post them all on a masterlist! i will reblog them and give you feedback because that’s what should happen regardless and also i love you guys! (gif not mine!)

rules

*no rape/incest/underage sex/etc.

*if you choose to write smut, you must be 18+!!! the characters you’re writing for must be 18+!!

*must be character x reader! you can write for multiple characters, but it still must be a reader insert!

*it’s first come first serve for characters, meaning there are character limits. multiple people can write for the same character, but they are capped. so please message me as soon as you see a character you want to write for!

*only one prompt per fic! (bonus points if you use any of my original prompts lol!) (also prompts can only be used once)

*triggers must be tagged. if there are any triggers in your fic, you must have a trigger warning. i cannot emphasize this enough.

*fic should be at least 500 words, if it’s longer (which please make it as long as you’d like!) you have to add a ‘read more’

*must tag me in the fic and use # urwarriorangelwritingchallenge <3

*fic should be a new original, not an old piece being resubmitted or a part of an already existing series. (you can write a series for this challenge if you’d like!)

*bonus points if you’re a poc!writer with a poc!reader <3 <3 <3

*you must respect the sexuality of the character! if you would like for an lgbtq+ character, their sexuality should not change in the fic. thank you!

*please send me a message with the character(s) you’d like to write for and the prompt!

example: damon salvatore + “i don’t know how much longer i can go on”

~the masterlist will be posted on august 13th! (if this goes well aka if people participate i would love to do this more often!)~

categories allowed:

anything your heart desires. if you’re going to write fluff please keep it compelling! add a few different styles together! give me some angst, some smut. make it a mystery! i mean absolutely no disrespect to those who write/read only fluff, but personally i find fluff a little more fun when it’s got multiple components! (if you write only fluff, please go ahead and write fluff! i will read it and i’m sure i’ll love it! these are just my personal preferences!)

i love aus very much, so please don’t shy away from them!

characters & prompts under the cut!

characters (five slots for each character)

agents of shield

al mackenzie antoine “trip” triplett daisy “skye” johnson grant ward jemma simmons lance hunter leopold fitz lincoln campbell

brooklyn 99

amy santiago charles boyle gina linetti jake peralta raymond holt rosa diaz terrence jeffords

buffy the vampire slayer

angel buffy summers cordelia chase rupert giles william the bloody aka spike

criminal minds

aaron hotchner david rossi derek morgan elle greenaway emily prentiss jennifer jareau luke alvez penelope garcia spencer reid

defenders-ish

billy russo frank castle jessica jones luke cage matt murdock

friends

chandler bing joey tribbiani monica geller phoebe buffay rachel green ross geller

game of thrones

arya stark benjen stark daenerys targaryen eddard stark jaime lannister jon snow khal drogo robb stark samwell tarly sansa stark tyrion lannister

gossip girl

blair waldorf carter baizen chuck bass dan humphrey nate archibald serena van der woodsen vanessa abrams

harry potter

draco malfoy fred weasley george weasley harry potter hermione granger remus lupin ronald weasley sirius black (young) tom riddle

hawaii five-0

adam noshimuri chin ho kelly daniel williams kono kalakaua michael noshimuri steve mcgarrett

jane the virgin

adam alvaro jane gloriana villanueva petra solano rafael solano

lucky number slevin

slevin kelevra

mcu

bruce banner aka hulk brunnhilde aka my valkyrie queen bucky barnes aka winter soldier clint barton aka hawkeye drax aka the destroyer erik stevens aka killmonger gamora aka um need we say more? janet van dyne aka wasp loki aka loki m’baku aka you already know mantis aka mantis aka a fucking cutie may parker aka ailf nakia aka loml okoye aka incredible badass peggy carter aka kickass peter parker aka spider-man peter quill aka star-lord pietro maximoff aka quicksilver sam wilson aka falcon scott lang aka antman shuri aka an angel stephen strange aka dr. strange steve rogers aka captain america t’challa aka black panther thor aka thor tony stark aka iron-man wanda maximoff aka scarlet witch

new girl

coach nick miller

pretty little liars

aria montgomery caleb rivers emily fields ezra fitz hanna marin jason dilaurentis mona vanderwaal noel kahn spencer hastings wren kingston

reign

francis mary stuart nostradamus sebastian

riverdale

archie andrews betty cooper cheryl blossom fangs fogarty fp jones fred andrews jason blossom josie mccoy jughead jones kevin keller malachai charles!reggie mantle ross!reggie mantle sweet pea toni topaz valerie brown veronica lodge

shadowhunters

alec lightwood clary fray isabelle lightwood jace herondale lucian grey magnus bane simon lewis

teen wolf

allison argent chris argent cora hale derek hale isaac lahey jackson whittermore jordan parrish kira yukimura liam dunbar lydia martin malia tate peter hale scott mccall stiles stilinski theo raeken

the 100

bellamy blake clarke griffin echo finn collins jasper jordan john murphy king roan lexa lincoln monty green nathan miller octavia blake ontari raven reyes wells jaha

the originals

davina claire elijah mikaelson freya mikaelson hayley marshall kol mikaelson lucian castle niklaus mikaelson marcel gerard rebekah mikaelson

the vampire diaries

bonnie bennett caroline forbes damon salvatore elena gilbert jeremy gilbert katherine pierce malachi parker mary louise matt donovan nora hildegard olivia parker tyler lockwood stefan salvatore sybil

x-men

alex summers aka havok charles xavier aka young!professor x erik lehnsherr aka magneto hank mccoy aka beast jean grey aka phoenix logan aka wolverine peter maximoff aka quiksilver ororo monroe aka storm raven darkholme aka mystique

prompts (once someone requests a prompt, i will update the list! list will be updated once a day, if multiple people ask for a prompt in between updates, i will give it to the first person who sent me an ask. i realize that there are more character options than there are prompts, i did this because i don’t think too many people will participate. if we ever run out, i will add more prompts! example of request: klaus mikaelson + “give me a chance”)

(rfaimagining)

angst

1: “ give me a chance. ”

2: “ not you again.. ”

3: “ leave me alone. ”

4: “ i don’t love you anymore. ”

5: “ why do you hate me? ”

6: “ i lost the baby. ”

7: “ i thought you loved me. ”

8: “ i don’t need you anymore. ”

9:“ i can’t believe you! ”

10: “ we can't keep this up forever. ”

11: “ you’re a monster. ”

12: “ i hate you. ”

13: “ don’t leave me… ”

14: “ you’re a disappointment. ”

15: “ don’t die on me– please. ”

16: “ i never meant to hurt you. ”

17: “ are you upset with me? ”

18: “ i wish i’d never met you. ”

19: “ i’m going to kill you! ”

20: “ please don’t hurt me like this. ”

21: “ thanks for nothing. ”

22: “ dont call this number again. “

23: “ why did you spare me? ”

24: “ you need to leave. ”

25: “ i’m sick. ”

26: “ i’m dying. ”

27: “ i wish i’d never met you. ”

28: “ i thought we were family!”

29: “ there was never an us. ”

30: “ so that’s it? it’s over? ”

31: “ i fucked up. ”

32: “ i came to say goodbye. ”

33:“ he’s dead because of you. ”

34: “ i don’t deserve to be loved. ”

35: “ about the baby… its yours. ”

love

36: “ i’m so in love with you. ”

37: “ dance with me! ”

38: “ isn’t this amazing? ”

39: “ i wish we could stay like this forever. ”

40: “ will you marry me? ”

41: “ i’m pregnant. ”

42: “ i need a hug. ”

43: “ you’re special to me. ”

44: “ i’m going to keep you safe. ”

45: “ do you trust me? ”

46: “ can i kiss you right now? ”

47: “ you’re cute when you’re angry. ”

48: “ i’ve liked you for awhile now. ”

49: “ let’s have a baby. ”

50: “ we’d make such a cute couple. ”

51: “ i want to take care of you. ”

52: “ can we cuddle? ”

53: “ it’s lonely here without you. ”

54: “ i can’t stand the thought of losing you. ”

55: “ shut up and kiss me already. ”

56: “ are you flirting with me? ”

57: “ is that my shirt? ”

58: “ how did we get here? ”

59: “ you own my heart. ”

60: “ you’d be a great dad. ”

61: “ you’d be a great mom. ”

62: “ i want to protect you. ”

63: “ what's the matter? ”

64: “ you’re so beautiful. ”

65: “ did you do something different with your hair? ”

66: “ is that a new perfume? ”

67: “ stop being so cute. ”

68: “ you’re making me blush! ”

69: “ you’re teasing me again… ”

70: “ this is why i fell in love with you. ”

71: “ you’re the best! ”

72: “ they’re going to love you, don’t worry! ”

73: “ oh, are you ticklish? ”

74: “ of course i remembered! ”

75: “ you’re one hell of a girl. ”

76: “ you’re one hell of a guy. ”

77: “ are you jealous? ”

78: “ hold me and never let me go. ”

79: “ stop hogging all the blankets! ”

80: “ lets run away together. ”

misc

90: “ catch me if you can! ”

91: “ i’m fine. ”

92: “ are you drunk? ”

93: “ are you high? ”

94: “ we can't go in there… ”

95: “ give it back! ”

96: “ well this is just great. ”

97: “ don’t touch me. ”

98: “ not sure if you could tell, but i’m not exactly a people person. ”

99: “ this was fun— let's do it again sometime!”

100: “ i didn’t do it! ”

101: “ i did it… ”

102: “ i don’t remember that! ”

103: “ well that’s pretty rude of you to say. ”

104: “ get that thing away from me! ”

105: “ you owe me. ”

106: “ do you believe in aliens? ”

107: “ do you believe in ghosts? ”

108: “ are you hitting on me? ”

109: “ why are you naked? ”

110: “ you did what?! ”

111: “ you have… superpowers? ”

112: “ why are you bleeding? ”

113: “ where did all these puppies come from?”

114: “ don’t make me come over there myself! ”

115: “ that wasn’t funny. ”

116: “ this tastes horrible. ”

117: “ this is delicious! ”

118: “ are you mad at me? ”

119: “ stop ignoring me… ”

120: “ i love that show too! ”

121: “ can i borrow that book of yours?”

122: “ let's blow this joint. ”

123: “ let me help you with that. ”

124: “ take that back! ”

125: “ wanna go see a movie with me? ”

126: “ no way, that’s so lame. ”

127: “ what are you listening to? ”

128: “ i brought you your coffee. ”

129: “ don’t fuck this up. ”

130: “ run! ”

131: “ lets run away together. ”

132: “ i haven’t slept in four days… ”

133: “ your turn to do the dishes. ”

134: “ was i really that drunk? ”

135: “ was i really that stoned? ”

136: “give me back my phone! ”

137: “ you’re an asshole. ”

138: “ are you cold? ”

139: “ this place gives me the creeps. ”

140: “ i swear my house is haunted. ”

141: “ did you hear that? ”

142: “ it’s just your imagination. ”

143: “ just how stupid do you think i am? ”

144: “ stop being such a baby. ”

145: “ go back to bed. ”

146: “ are you okay? ”

147: “ i can take care of myself just fine.”

148: “ thanks for helping me back there. ”

149: “ since when have we ever been friends? ”

150: “ what on earth are you wearing? ”

151: “ i can’t feel my legs! ”

152: “ stop texting me weird stuff so late at night. ”

153: “ put me down! ”

154: “ there’s only one bed… ”

155: “ it isn’t what it looks like! okay.. maybe it is… ”

156: “ how did i lose it? ”

157: “ i read your diary. ”

158: “ this is awkward. ”

159: “ didn’t you read the sign? ”

160: “ do you think you can teach me that? ”

nsfw

161: “ bite me. ”

162: “ make me. ”

163: “ fuck me. ”

164: “ stop teasing me so much… ”

165: “ do you like it when i touch you like that?”

166: “ okay.. this is new. ”

167: “ want to head back to my place and have a little fun? ”

168: “ you’re in trouble now. ”

169: “ what a pretty sight. ”

170: “ bend over. ”

171: “ on your knees. ”

172: “ the food looks great but.. there’s something much more delicious i’d like to eat right now. ”

173: “ lay back. ”

174: “ take off your clothes. ”

175: “ well, fine; just this once. ”

176: “ i’m waiting. ”

177: “ you’re so beautiful. ”

178:“ as you wish. ”

179: “ first one to make a noise loses.”

180: “ you have no idea what you do to me. ”

181: “ if you’re bored; wanna have sex? ”

182: “ i've wanted this for so long. ”

183: “ car sex looks so much more easier in the movies. ”

184: “ can i touch you? ”

185: “ open up. ”

186: “ no strings attached. ”

187: “ already? do i really have that much of an effect on you? ”

188: “ mine. ”

189: “ the nights still young. ”

190: “ we can't do that here! ”

191: “ behave. ”

192:“ what did you just say? ”

193: “ good girl. ”

194: “ good boy. ”

195: “ come here. ”

continued nsfw from misc sources

196: “are you going to come here, or are you going to make me come get you myself?”

197: “don’t look at me like that, you brought this on yourself.”

198: “stay still, squirming will make it worse.”

199: “keep count. if you lose it, we’re starting over. understand?”

200: “go get me the cane.”

201: “take your shirt off and put your hands up against the wall.”

202: “open your mouth. i’m putting the gag in so your screaming won’t alarm someone.”

203: “did you disobey my orders?”

204: “i thought i told you not to touch that?”

205: “have you finished everything i told you to do?”

206: “if you don’t stop acting like this, i’ll be forced to use different tactics.”

207: “your skin turns so red under my palm.”

208: “bend over the back of the couch.”

209: “you might want to bite something, the whip has a bite to it.”

210: “come here and bend over my lap.”

211: “i’m tired of your smart mouth.”

212: “you’re really hot.”

213: “oh, don’t mind me. just enjoying the view.”

214: “you know, those/that ______ of yours are/is pretty distracting.”

215: “hot damn.”

216: “so, you come here often?”

217: “well, well. my night just got better.”

218: “is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

219: “you have got a great ass.”

220: “hey, i’m open minded.”

221: “you enjoying the view over there?”

222: “keep sweet-talking and this could go a whole new direction.”

223: “don’t be bashful. you know you want to.”

224: “you can have me any way you’d like, baby.”

225: “you wanna move this conversation someplace more private?”

226: “i’m off in a few minutes, you know.”

227:“it’s been a long day. why don’t we help each other unwind?”

228: “i think it’s about time we stop avoiding the obvious.”

229: “i’m gonna be honest with you. i’m really horny, and you’re really hot. can we fuck? like, now?”

230: “i wanna see you get naked.”

231: “you like how i bend over for you, huh?”

232: “you’re getting me all worked up.”

233: “what do we have here?”

234: "i see someone’s happy to see me.”

235: “play your cards right, and i just might have to put you on speed dial.”

236: “you like that, don’t you?”

237: “how do you want me?”

238: “i’m sure we can put those lips to better use.”

239: “i want you. right here. right now.”

240: “god, you’re perfect.”

241: “i really like a man who’s good with his hands.”

242: “i’d be more than happy to show you a good time, if you’re looking for one.”

243: “i saw that. you just checked me out.”

244: “you look real good in that suit/dress/skirt/outfit.”

245: “you wanna help me out of this ___?” (insert article clothing here.)

246: “can i keep you?”

247: “you’re such a tease.”

248: “oh my, looks like i/you dropped something.”

249: “i love it when you talk dirty.”

250: “i can’t stop thinking about your hands on me.”

251: “i think you’ll be happy to know that i’m not wearing any underwear.”

252: “i really want to take you home and get you out of all those clothes.”

253: “it’s like you want to ruin men/women for me.”

[g1rlken]

too sweet 1.

Rupert Campbell Black x fem!Baddingham reader

Summary: niece to, godfather Tony Baddingham, returns back to Rutshire after finishing her studies as a lawyer in the city and finds herself in…several…situations at once

word count: 5.6k+

warnings: deceased parents, mild swearing

an: there will be 2-3 chapters to this and consider this like an introductory chapter

-

Chopper fan whirled at a distance just above the grand lawn Tony Baddingham held another one of his evening tea grandeurs at. Some celebratory gathering for another show at Corinium, Rupert couldn’t care less but he had a knack for petty drama. The heads turned at the sound of the whirring, quite the way to crash a party. Bracing himself internally excited for the agitation on Tony’s face of someone disrupting his party like this he smirked at Bas, next to him, lazily rearranging his hung blazer by the crook of his finger over his shoulder. But Bas just shook his head, situational awareness as to who the person may be was about to bring Tony joy instead of annoyance.

Landing the chopper and out of it with a duffle bag across her shoulder the lady ran across the gardens to the public, Rupert’s intrigue at the unfolding scene turned to confusion as Tony’s face was lit up, “Y/n?!” He exclaimed pacing out to her and enlaced her into his arms. “I thought you were getting here tomorrow.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” She giggled returning his hug as the ever stone cold, ruthless Tony Baddingham was cheery like a child on a Christmas morning.

“Ah, kiddo!” He exclaimed, heartened by her gesture and surprise did have him. Kissing the top of her head he turned back to the party where everyone was staring at the interaction. “Y/n right here just got back from London….you send off your little darling girl and she comes back as a lawyer!” Tony flaunted announcing her surprise, putting his arm around shoulder just so proudly.

Rupert had no idea that the mystery Baddingham niece had grown so much. He had been aware of her existence and they had had brief meetings here and there but this was a new wonder to him. Watching her interact with the group, graciously. Exchanging hugs and small talks, sweet homecoming. “She is like the son Tony never had.” Basil commented letting out a puff of smoke which pulled Rupert out of his trance. “No offence.” Basil said in a small voice to Archie who did, get seemingly offended and dismissed himself with an eye roll. Basil simply shrugged that off.

“Swinging city ought to swing her back in no time.” Rupert replied, someone educated and meek seeming like her would not indulge in Rutshire chronicles for all.

“Oh no not this time, she is Corinium crown. Tony is placing all the Corinium lawsuits in her hands which is very trusting for him given this is first job.” Basil briefed Rupert of it, letting out a sigh.

“Family business eh?” Rupert commented as the two of them cackled at the same time, Tony’s values of family business were as grey as his morales. It did seem uncharacteristic for someone well educated and learned from London would work here under Lord Baddingham of all people.

“Tony has a will, should he fall under immediate tragedy…she is to inherit corinium.” Basil said with another inhale of his cigarette he couldn’t pan out of he was jealous or pitied the girl.

“Fuck off” Rupert said somewhat taken aback Tony even thought of something that far. Or the fact that he thought of inheriting that ugly business out to someone.

“Apparently it won’t die with him” Basil said with an exaggerated sigh, “And well…the darling girl gets whatever the darling girl wants. She has changed three boarding schools on whims, has had a chopper licence since 17 because she hates waiting for pilots, basically she was raised the same way as you if you were well educated.”

“I am well educated!” Despite of adhering the rest of information on the surprise guest’s life the last sentence really struck a nerve. Sure he did not have a law degree but he was educated enough.

“Precisely.” Basil said with a dismissive shrug “you do have good enough years on her just lack the Lord Baddingham influence.”

Rupert knew familial histories so well enough, especially with the ever poking Tony Baddingham. Whose elder brother and sister in law, y/n’s parents died in a tragic accident years ago. Leaving her with the eldest of the house, Tony as her godfather. “Godfather is as godfather does.”

“Had I been her godfather she would have turned out less of a cunt don’t you think?” Basil amused with a small smirk.

“She doesn’t seem like one.” Rupert answered, maybe she did not take so much after her godfather’s upbringing because Rupert was friends with her father initially, a respectably content man unlike Tony.

“Oh watch this” Basil said putting his cigarette out as he called after her. “Baby Angel! Long time no see” he said greeting her with a kiss on either side of her face well aware she did not like being referred to with such childish nicknames.

“My uncle from another grandfather.” She replied with a smile on her but it was more of a taunt.

“That relation has nothing to do with you yet you bring it almost every time!” Basil was irked to his core but he did not let it show, mirroring fake enthusiasm to be meeting her.

“Makes a good joke, doesn’t it?” She asked patting his shoulder with a unfazed smile. When Rupert clearing his throat redirected her attention.

“So nice to have you back.” Rupert said as he took her hand in his and planted a kiss on her knuckles, his eyes boring into hers as he let that ever intimate short lived gesture go on. She was quick to retrieve the hand.

“I am not sure I know who you are…” y/n trailed off as Rupert shared a puzzled look with his mate on the side. She may not have recollection to their brief meetings but simply being unaware of who he was? She let a beat of pause go on. “Please, I was kidding, Minister.” letting out a low chuckle she continued, “I just love the look of entitlement, ‘does she live under a rock! How dare she not know who I am!’”

“No, I’m sorry no I didn’t mean it as-“ Rupert began trying to make a save of yet another blow but she stopped him mid way. Just so bitter in the most caramel way possible this woman.

“oh no you don’t have to apologise and make it awkward” she shook her head slightly with as she interrupted him, “I get it. I too would want to be known well for my successful marriage and wobbly athletic career, wait or is it the other way around?” The joke was so well crafted even basil had to suppress a chuckle.

Rupert just started her, he had to take a moment to let that brutal joke in. He was at loss of words but not his charm as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “You have quite the humour there, angel.”

“It’s y/n.” for you, she didn’t say that part out loud and then excused herself as the gentlemen nodded at her exit.

“She obliterated you.” Basil commenced without looking at Rupert, he could bet the man rarely met someone to puncture his pride like this.

“You don’t say!” Rupert said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes, catching one last glance at her as she left them be.

-

The days went slow and hectic living back here for the new lawyer. She found it easy to deal with her uncle most of the time, she had done so all her life and contrary to popular belief he wasn’t as difficult, that was until she had to work for him…telling herself that this is her first job and the ringing words that not-everyone-gets-such-opportunity-handed-out-to-them. Fresh out of college she was just finding it hard to settle into workspace that was all. She had to keep reassuring herself.

“Morning uncle! Can we talk?” She said as she caught Tony hurriedly putting on his blazer for the day.

“Yes darling what is it?” He answered as he sat down on the small chair by the shoe rack to put on his shoes. Straightening his socks as he prompted the girl to go on.

“All these…cases. I have gone through 39 case files this entire time. Don’t you think that’s a bit of an alarming number?” She asked leaning against the staircase pillar.

“Are you sure you aren’t adding legal notices with case files?” Tony inquired, somewhat unfazed with the number he was briefed upon.

“No of course not” she said with a blank expression that he assumed she wouldn’t know to differentiate notices form cases, “Legal notices are somewhat…more alarming.”

“How so?” He scoffed as he lazily tied the laces of his boots.

“I can’t talk to you about this in the office, but have you by any chance committed tax frauds?” Y/n asked keeping her tone light not to sound accusing because she believed he wouldn’t obviously be doing that.

“By any chance?” He asked with a stifled laugh as though finding it absurd that it wasn’t already given. “Oh you sweet summer child. Tax frauds are a part of my business strategy—any business strategy. Matter of fact it’s my favourite hobby”

The colour in her face neatly drained at that admission. She was waiting for him to drop the sarcastic act and scold her as to why she would even bother to ask him such a question. He would surely never do such a thing, she kept waiting and waiting for a several moments for him to tell her otherwise. Leaving her wide eyed and stunned, “are you not joking?”

“Why would I be joking about money like that?” He asked and this time he was genuine with his tone which was even worse.

“Corinium has received a notice-! That is serious…thank god it is our first notice and came in my attendance, that near blind Ancient Greek grandfather of a lawyer Mr. Barnes would have practised sudoku on it and threw it in the trash!” She referred to the Corinium lawsuit ‘team’ which was a few of trainee students and this extremely outdated Mr. Barnes.

“Now Mr. Barnes has been with us for all these years and Corinium has never seen a dark day.” Tony shrugged, “and what really is a notice? A piece of paper at the end of the day.”

“By the government.” Y/n emphasised adding to his sentence feeling more and more distressed at the weight of this conversation. “I can push back one more notice, then another one but after that they could freeze our accounts and all provisions until we pay it back with the appropriate fine.”

“How much is it anyways?” Tony asked with an exasperated sigh as though he wasn’t aware how much he had evaded.

“It is a number so big I can’t even fathom so say it out loud.” She said leaning off of the staircase pillar. “…and I talked to the accounting team, turns out we are already in debt? Which makes us in triple debt.”

“As long as it’s not bankruptcy” Tony said with a breath of exhale, as he stood up. But she didn’t answer and just looked at him, silence speaking way more than any other way she could have conveyed that. “It is not bankruptcy…right?”

“It…could be.” She said with a downcast look which was enough to send the man into a spiral. Kicking the shoe stand he facepalmed himself.

“FUCK” he nearly roared but so used to his antics like this the girl barely flinched, he was a visual representation of her inner turmoil.

“Don’t speak of this to anyone at the office…it’s not a tax fraud. You don’t know a tax fraud—admission is like digging your grave. I could buy us time push the notice further back but just be nonchalant about it.” She advised him, he seemed to not be digesting it well.

“Can we call this a tax mistake? Do a jury duty? Put on a shitshow or something?” Tony proposed as he was pacing back and forth.

She let a moment slip by for him to reconsider that prospect before coming up with an answer, this isn’t kindergarten: she wanted to tell the man. “It’s the government…” she trailed off hoping that held some account for him.

“Right right yes.” Tony nodded hoping that could go on, all these years they haven’t received a notice to the extent of bankruptcy but perhaps this is all the years pilling up then?

“We can find a way out yeah? Just go to work like it’s any other day and don’t mention to anyone. Especially not that hag Mr. Barnes” She instructed her uncle as he left with a distasteful mood. Leaving her with similar with addition of distress for the problem at hand as well.

In order to clear her mind, fresh air ought to make do being the freest source perhaps. Strolling about the stables she came upon the horses, her long forgotten hobby of polo. Quite the phase, basil had picked up what put down so the horses were well kept. Initially she had just taken herself out for a walk, then it was a horse ride and somehow some way she had just found her way back to the old polo practise ground. She thought of blowing the dust away from her polo days, practising on the side lines leaning over with the mallet. Swinging the ball from the top of the saddle, recalling the way she was taught.

Y/n was out of the main pitch for others to be practising because she was just doing swing practise on the horse and didn’t want to get in the middle of bigger runs going on at the side. It was somewhat earlier in the morning still, not crowded at all you could say. People mainly practiced in teams at the ground.

Regardless, to her blossoming luck another such practiser was present at the same time. Rupert, the silhouette from afar was perhaps Bas to him since he recognised whose horse it was. Wanting to rile him up for banter, he sped up Rocky in the other horse’s, (supposedly Bas’s) direction. As he got nearer and nearer he realised that wasn’t actually Basil but it was his horse though, he was confused but Rocky spun around so fast the other horse neighed, swaying to the side in a frantic state. Which causes the rider, y/n to loose her balance as she fell off the saddle into the ground.

Rupert quickly retrieved the strings from Rocky’s saddle as he looked back, by now he had recognised exactly who he had mistaken basil for and felt uncharacteristically bad, “I am so so sorry my love I thought you were bas-“ he said as he paced towards her trying to hold her up from her arms but she was quick to yank away and stand up herself.

“Piss off.” It wasn’t that hard of a fall, but today had begun off to such a poor start she had come here to clear her head and yet fell on her face. By him, of all people.

“It was a mistake, it wasn’t my intention that you fall—are you alright? Are you hurt?” He asked refraining from touching her but leant in closer bending a bit to her frame to examine if she was hurt bad or not?

“I am fine.” She said with an exhale, brushing off dirt from her clothes and taking a step back, curt reply and a frown on her face. Y/n realised she did not have to tolerate this bloke since they were not in a societal setting.

“You know you don’t have to hold your uncle’s disdain towards me? We are both completely different people are we not?” He said trying to make direct conversation to get to the root of her problem with him.

“I don’t hold his disdain against you.” She said, this man was so out of touch almost as if no one had ever not kissed his arse in every conversation that he’s had.

“Then why must you act so crude.” He pointed out as he crossed his arms casually.

“You just made me fall off my horse when I was on the sidelines.” Y/n replied with a raise of her brow to the obviousness in her answer and she did get his point, she did hold disdain against him. It just baffled her that everyone did not.

She had been around for over a month now and every party or run ins the both would have with another she subjected such scrutiny of his character over and over again. Uncalled for insults when he didn’t even say anything to prove that in the first place. He knew that she was aware what he was referring to, “I meant in retrospect, it’s like you have it out for me.”

“Have you considered that you may not be as likeable as you think?” She pondered straight the saddle strings back in its place as she pet her horse to calm down after the quite figurative jump-scare.

“See, see you’re doing it again!” Rupert pointed out exclaiming as if it would win him some reputation in her eyes.

“I just don’t want to entertain conversations with you” scoffing as she looked away from him stepping forward to the horse gently caressing the slope of its face.

Following her steps Rupert did the same and got in front of her eye sight again, “afraid you might find me likeable if you did?” He said

reciprocating her action of caressing the horse, putting his hand just a bit above hers “perhaps more than likeable?”

“I’m afraid of wasting my time because you disinterest me and bore me to death.” Replying plainly she withdrew her hand and maintained an arm’s length distance yet again. This time she ought to exit before this man ruins her pre-ruined day even more.

“Come on, my love it was only a joke.” He sighed with his classic charismatic smirk on his face as he watched her get on the horse. She didn’t even deem him worthy enough for her last word as she muttered a curse word under her breath and turned away with her horse leaving him to himself and Rocky.

-

A week since the tax scandal at Corinium, moreover a week since the scandal had come to light to the newest and the only functional lawyer the company had ever had. All the paperwork, the account meets, crippling debt to the company really distressed her to no end, obviously there was an entire family fortune at stake.

Announcing hurried and frantic presence at Basil’s pub, calling after him on the slowest hour of the day. “Basil!” She exclaimed, depending upon the day she added the term uncle optionally, today was not that sort of a day.

“In here” the man answered lazily, yet again to add to her marvellous day Rupert was present with him. Lounging by the window as basil was on the barstool, drinks and smokes.

If she were to conclude that the two of them came in a package deal she wouldn’t be wrong. “How much is the revenue for this place?”

“If you are looking to partner up with him, get back in line because I was the first to propose that and I have already been refused.” Rupert commented as the pair of best mates shared a snicker. Every time he would study y/n that week, it would seem like the weight of the world she was carrying on her shoulders was increasing more and more.

“Another family business you want to get into baby angel?” Basil asked leaning back on his seat, couldn’t miss the joke despite the urgency in her tone.

“No, I am seriously asking you.” She told him as she opened the file, tucked to het arm side. To recalculate something, the pile of pages she had filed were humongous. “What is the revenue?”

Basil just laughed, unapologetically and looked at Rupert who could not hold it back either. Both of them laughing like some inside joke she wasn’t in on, “Revenue? For this place?” Rupert laughed even harder “you know it’s adorable that you walk about in Knightsbridge tailored suits and blazers and that inherent frown but these big words…” he laughed catching his breathe. Basil said “Revenue” again and he lost his composure the second time.

“You earn nothing from this place?” She inquired from basil completely disregarding Rupert’s opinion.

“Not yet, this place is a passion project.” Basil explained vaguely which basically meant zero revenue.

“We are the ones who usually drink up everything, then there’s those prekend parties, the weekends, Monday blues, terrible things Tuesday and Wednesday is off mainly yeah?” Rupert recollected the entire schedule for Basil’s ‘passion project’.

“But it’s still got potential, besides it was never intended for income”Basil said with a dismissive shrug.

Could not be bothered more to be dragged into this family business mess further, adhering this information was reason enough why they were nearly bankrupt. “Bas, can you just go back home and explain that to uncle Tony it’s a bit urgent.”

“Sure is” Basil said making no attempt to move from his seat and leave home to visit Tony.

“No it, is.” She emphasised again, had the place any financial potential that conversation would not be difficult to be relayed on Tony but since that wasn’t the case, Basil can have at it and explain himself. “Urgent as in, if the only revenue this shithole brings is by selling the place, then we are selling the place. And if you mean to change that you have to go and have that conversation for yourself.”

“What could be urgent to that extent?” Rupert asked puzzled and the scenario because Lord Baddingham was not at all into having business conversations with his dear younger brother so it must not be business. Not at this extent anyways.

“Can you stop treating your nose like your cock and stop poking it everywhere?” Y/n retaliated very rudely this time to a simply curios question. But she could not care this was the third button he had pushed in the same conversation.

Alarmed and frustrated at that Basil stood up with a heavy side from his seat finally. “Y/n don’t be uncouth.” He corrected her as if that held any weight for her.

“No offence taken.” Rupert said lighting up a cigarette regardless, he was used to the uncalled for dialogues now.

Basil went ahead to grab his coat and remembered a set of instruction, “also, Tony happens to have fired the stable staff for some apparent reason now do not forget to put the horses back in there place properly. Ryder and Ranger have wandered off twice because of you!”

“—because of me?” She did not take well to any kind of accusation, true or false.

“Yes! You.” He said as he put on his coat to leave ever so urgently. “Horse of the week is one thing but must you take a different variety out everyday?”

“Hypocritical how you didn’t have the same sentiments with your friend here and women. Could’ve saved a marriage or two…” and trailed off to dismiss and pass around the blame. Knowing he couldn’t win this Rupert just rolled his eyes exhaling puff of smoke, as did Basil. Accepting his defeat and exiting the revenue-less place.

She walked across the bar counter to get herself a soda, sugar rush would not help her nerves but it could at least try. Not drinking on the job nor in general. Popping the soda can she came across the island again, “you know love if you plan to carry the weight of the world all the time you might want something stronger than that.”

“I am still working.” She told him in between big sips from the can, without even bothering to look at him.

“Running Tony’s errands is work?” Rupert amused trying to hold her short gazes. Ever insulting and poking conversation that he had with her seemed to pull him to her, but to what end? He couldn’t clarify himself.

“This, this isn’t an errand. I am collecting possible family incomes and land worths to keep the company afloat. Basil would tell you anyways so fuck it, Corinium is on the verge of bankruptcy and this pub, two out of seven helicopters because Tony wouldn’t budge, the old abandoned garden on the other side of town…they all could barely make ends meet and the amount of notices I push and write back to everyday is ridiculous-“

The mention of old garden made him interrupt her in a second, “you don’t mean the garden, the one by the stream do you?”

“Yes, that one…” she trailed off with little significance to its name. “God willing someone buys that stupid chunk of land.”

“You can’t possibly consider selling that off y/n, that was your father’s favourite place.” Rupert mentioned, well away Tony would have filled her ears of the fact that the old garden land was insignificant to keep his greedy share of the helicopters. “That is your true inheritance.”

“How would you know that?” She asked with a hesitant scoff, how could he be more informed of her father’s favourite places in this town. If so her uncle would have told her.

“I was close friends with him at one point, that stream…the wonders of it in the summer were other worldly. He loved that place like a second house.” Rupert told her and the sense of genuine admiration in his voice made her think otherwise.

“You were?” Y/n was confused, having lost her parents at a formative age she did not know much about either of them other than relatives telling her. “What was he like?” She asked not like suspecting him or cross checking but for actual enlightenment.

“He was a force of nature, everyone’s problems were his problems, he would jump in head first to help out anyone. Even people he barely knew.” He narrated reminiscing about the man, “A senior to your uncle, me, even bas…so wilful and steady in his mind, he poured his soul into everything.” He paused to let that sink in, by studying the look on her face it was new information to her. “It was after your birth I saw him less and less, I’d just started off training back then I barely came here. He was very fond of you, your mother too. Their loss was truly tragic…they would have been very proud of you, though you take after your uncle.”

His words were very heartwarming and captivating until he compared her to Tony, her uncle was very dear to her but he knew Rupert did not mean it that way. He only meant to highlight the bad bits of Lord Baddingham and associated her in the very same poor light. “Right, thanks.” She replied abruptly to stop him from going any further. A trip in the past to meet the characters of her parents at the cost of harsh perception of his eyes. No thanks. “I have to get going.”

-

The entire day after that amongst the pre existing mess, y/n thought of Rupert’s words. He did not even know her so well yet he associated her to be taking after Tony, as though carved out of all his evil. She did not turn a blind eye to her uncle’s flaws. She had been hyper aware of those even growing up. She knew how everyone else saw the man, cold and deceptive. Is that how Rupert saw her? She pondered to herself out for a walk at night, did it matter what he thought of her? Surely not. But it did not cease to bother her, she held her own obvious reasons of him being a deceitful, boastful and arrogantly proud man against him. But she was none of that? She wasn’t any of Tony’s vices either. Then why must he characterise her as such. She came upon the wide open stable doors on her stroll out and noticed Ryder missing from his place. “Oh gods not again.” She sighed heavily, realising she forgot to put him in his place properly again and the horse wandered off.

Couldn’t have gone so far, y/n thought to herself hugging her cardigan closer to herself as she walked through nearly three estates looking for the stallion. “Ryder!” She exclaimed wearily having no success of his sight so far.

“He wandered off again?” Rupert’s voice asked from behind as he approached from his gardens. All the sights but the godforsaken horse.

“Yeah…” she trailed off with a deep exhale meaning to squirm out of this conversation as fast as she could.

But he would not let her, “how long have you been looking for?” He asked walking up to her, in his gardens it was almost as if the crazy what-ifs in his mind were appearing outside.

“Not so long, it is alright I will find him” she replied with a courteous smile and nodded meaning to walk out his beloved property.

“Not so long and you just happen to end up here in my gardens, calling out for a rider?” Rupert said with a flirtatious undertone, she never entertained this behaviour which motivated him to do it more.

“Ryder is his name.” She said emphasising on the proper noun even though he knew that initially. “And you aren’t the 8th wonder of the world for me to walk across three estates to come and see on such a cold hour of the day.”

“I could potentially sue you for trespassing” He quipped proposing a hoax threat just to get under her skin.

“And I would gladly surrender, one gets 4 months for trespassing I would gladly fight for 4 more so I don’t have to see your smug face nor be in this hellhole!” She exclaimed draining out all her pent up frustrations altogether.

“Oh darling take a breath” he guided her motioning an inhale himself. “Do you want to come in for a drink?”

“Fuck off!” Letting out a frustrated huff she sighed slumping her shoulders “i don’t even like you, matter of fact I don’t even like talking to you and you do this every time” she said closing the distance between them pointing at his chest. “You-you get in my head you plant all these ridiculous doubts that someone like me should not be taking from you. I’m nothing like my uncle, I’m also nothing like you! I’m not like those wives of emotionally depriving husbands that are swooned by you! I personally, despise you!”

“You might not be any of those things but I am a very emotionally invested in you, I am swooned by you, you! You are at fault. You get not only inside my head but my heart and you’ve walked all over my sense of self and peace! You treat me so poorly and I’m this enthralled by you and yet you starve me of your good side-you starve me of your genuine smile and your laughter—“ he went on letting his pent up feelings all out because she got confrontational.

“Stop it-stop it I don’t want to hear this” she said turning away to leave knowing well enough this was another one of his jests and unserious remarks to toy with her. But he tugged her to himself holding her by her wrists.

“No you will hear this, personally, I despise you too!” Rupert repeated her words gripping both of her hands in just one, bringing them to his heart, “You make my heart beat so much faster and then you speak of me like I ought no hold no value in your world-“

“Stop talking—!” She wanted him to stop talking yet each one of his words were getting engraved in her brain. The sleep of this night, should it come will be long bothered by this very scene replaying over and over and the worst part was that she did not want to back away from him. How easily he held her to himself and how right she fight in his stature, so unknown to her composure.

“-that hurts. And it hurts that I hold such strong feelings that are so insignificant to you. It is perhaps not your fault but my foolish heart to fall for someone so taken to their own world—“

Before he could go on talking more and more she crashed her lips onto his raising a bit on her toes to reach up to his face. Rupert did stop talking, in the best way possible in his idea, smiling into the kiss he let go off her wrists and held her closer by her waist, placing his other hand by face. Deepening the kiss as he poured all his feelings out. Y/n held him, gripping his shirt for support as the two shared a overdramatised, angsty, passion filled kiss.

Situational bliss could last only for so long as y/n pulled away, to catch a breath, their eyes boring into each other. Even though reaching back to her senses…he did not let her out of his embrace yet. Sharing a moment in tranquil silence with the drum of their hearts beating in their ears. “No…” she trailed off with a heavy sigh breaking eye contact with him, “I have to go” she said pulling away.

It was no use calling out for her to wait because she was already sprinting away. Quite literally. All he could do was watch her leave and think to himself, she is going to be the death of me.

—

SORRY if this is fast paced man I am v fond of this format for some reason…next parts soon enough

@counterculture-aesthetic @nebulastarr @melancholicandmessy @sleepyyizzy @yentroucnagol

Let me know if you want to be tagged AND STAY HYDRATED

[luvvyouforever]

rupert campbell-black - nsfw alphabet ♡

→ a collection of nsfw headcanons about rupert campbell black! → hopefully this satisfies everyone asking for rupert until i can actually post the draft i have <3 it's coming guys don't worry!

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

the levels of aftercare he provides really depends on what you just did! quickie before he leaves? he offers a kiss and wipes you down then texts you once he's left about how great you are. if it's a long night that leaves you spent, he's much more attentive and caring and wouldn't let you go to bed without cleaning you up, offering you some water or a snack and a little pillow talk! holds you close to his chest and you whisper about everything until you drift off.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he's pretty proud of his body and knows it's attractive! realistically, i think his favorite is his dick, but besides that, he likes his chest and torso! as an olympian, he's done a lot of work to stay toned and keep up his physique!

his favorite body part of yours is probably your legs, every part of them. i imagine he really loves when his partner wears heels and it elongates them and shows them off perfectly. he revels in the feeling of slipping your tights off or pulling your skirt or pants down and seeing more and more of the skin being revealed.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

likes to be pretty clean with cum, but has a thing for seeing it on your face definitely. loves when you're going down on him and he pulls out from your mouth and releases on your pretty skin. thinks it's the most sinful sight and enjoys seeing someone as sweet as you look so dirty because of him. yum.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

wants to take off your underwear and tights with his teeth. fantasizes about it. he wants your skirt thrown on the floor and he wants to crawl up your body, attach his teeth to the tights and pull them down, letting your scent engulf him. then he'll do the same with your underwear. it's an incredibly attractive sight, watching him do these things like you're a goddess to him.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

very very experienced. clearly. rupert knows just what he's doing and it shows. he maneuvers you and approaches your body like an expert. i'd say he's open to feedback though and wants to adapt whatever he's doing to feel good for you. this especially applies if he's in a longer term, committed relationship and it's not just a one-night stand. let him know that you like this one certain position and not the other and he'll immediately apply it.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

has a big thing for quickies pushed up against walls and doors. wants to wrap his arms around you and grip you. in bed, he loves laying you down on your back, lifting your legs over his shoulders, and pushing into you where he can reach so deep into you. it feels phenomenal for the both of you and he can show off his favorite body part and grip and kiss on his favorite of yours.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he can be pretty goofy in the lead up to sex, but when he's actually fucking you, that's all he can focus on. he can't help but crack a few jokes with his cheeky smile while he's eating you out. he's also such a big tease with his words and likes poking fun at you when you're extra needy. makes himself laugh sometimes.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

impeccably groomed. i see him more clean-shaven or at the very least, closely trimmed. he takes a lot of care to maintain his physical appearance and down there is no different.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

if he's saving sex with his long term partner or someone he genuinely cares about and loves, he can be very romantic! he wants to make sex a special thing with a partner because he's spent so many years seeing sex as a pretty casual occurrence. wants to do the whole rose petal and candle and careless whisper thing so pleaseeee let him!

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

i don't think he wouldn't jerk off, but i feel like he has better ways to make himself feel good than his own hand. like you for example! why bother jerking off in his big bed alone when he could call you and come over instead? i do think that a modern rupert with video calls would be unstoppable. he's several hours away on some kind of business and you're desperate but alone in your big bed, so he calls you and guides you while he pleases himself too ughhhh

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

i think he loves a strong woman. people throw themselves at him all the time, but having someone that fights against them and puts him in his place? woof. body worship is wayyy up there. wants to praise and kiss every part of you, but wants to receive that attention as well. such an exhibitionist. wants to fuck you on balconies or in front of windows or in backyards where anyone can see. likes roleplay and sexy outfits and cheesy stuff. schoolgirl outfits or a nurse's costume or something like that. orrrr wear his shirt over top of sexy lingerie.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere. seriously. the bed, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, the backyard, the tennis court, the balcony of your hotel, the bathroom of a plane, the backseat of a car, the bathroom in a club. he will make it work if he wants you then and there. if he had to pick though, he probably likes his own bed a lot and quickies in a closed room where people are just outside of it.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

a lot can get him going. seeing you be strong and stand your ground or just see you confident is a major turn on. loves skirts and dresses that cling to your legs and make them look long and smooth. his arousal grows to an impossible amount when he starts undressing you and reveals the lingerie you picked out for him underneath. will love hearing you talk about him to other people.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

probably wouldn't hurt you! isn't the smacking or choking type. a playful tap on the ass is definitely in bounds though. isn't the type to tie you down completely or restrain you. he loves feeling your hands all over his body and in his hair and would never want to deny himself that pleasure. he doesn't have too many turn offs. definitely prioritizes hygiene and regular maintenance so would appreciate the same in a partner and would be turned off if not.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he prides himself on being great at giving. he can have you coming undone on his mouth sooo fast, but will absolutely drag it out to hear you yell his name as loud as possible. knows just what gets you going and can adapt to your reactions easily. he also loves receiving! would enjoy a partner who can make him feel good solely with their mouth so much. wants to feel you wrapped around him and enjoys the sight just as much too.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he can be both very easily! when he's holding you against a door, he'll be rough and fast, leaving you to make scratches down his back and tears forming in the corner of your eyes. however, when he's set on making you feel as good as you can through the night, he's slow and sweet with it, dragging in and out of you at a slow pace, pushing in so deep it makes you groan.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves them!! finds just as much pleasure in them as slow, normal sex. if your hand starts floating up his thigh and he's been staring at your body in a tight dress alllll night long, you will be pulled by the hand into the nearest bathroom and fucked on the counter. some of his best days have started with quick sex in the bedroom before he leaves, where he has to redo his tie. he's so busy that this is the best way to make sure he and his partner are fully satisfied!

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's down to experiment and try risky things! with his experience, there's likely not much he hasn't really tried, so just talk to him about whatever you're interested in trying and he'll make it a date. he loves taking risks too. will make you take a phone call while he's eating you out or fingers you underneath the table at dinner. he's very willing to be freaky and wild. just tell him!

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can last for a really long time! not only is he a little older, but he's athletic and has had plenty of time to build up his endurance. he can hold off until he genuinely can't anymore. he can go for a few rounds too and even thinks the second round is always better than the first!

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn't personally own them, but certainly doesn't mind if his partner does! he wants you to feel as much pleasure as possible and he'll see it not as competition but as support. while he typically likes to drag out your orgasms, he'll apply your vibrator for an extra source of pleasure in addition to his fingers or whatever might be working on you. also hot take but modern rupert would have a devilishly amount of fun with those bluetooth vibrators that he can control from his phone. sits in front of you at dinner with this awful smirk on his face as he watches you try to act civilized.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he loves to tease. come on now. it's not that he wants to be mean about it. he just wants you to feel the best you can and if that means latching on to your clit for an overstimulating amount of time, just to take his mouth away as you're almost there, then so be it. he likes driving up your arousal through the night too like "accidentally" running his hand over your ass or whispering dirty things in your ear at a fancy event.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's a dirty talker. his groans turn into breathy comments about how beautiful or hot or good you are. if he's feeling reallyyy good though then he is not ashamed to moan. he doesn't suppress his feelings during sex and he doesn't care who hears. his partner feels great and everyone should know.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

would have so much fun in a somewhat submissive capacity. not all the time, but he certainly doesn't mind if his partner takes control at night and pushes him into the bed, takes what they need from him, and oozes confidence. goodness he'd get so turned on if you pushed him onto the bed, tore open his button down, and needily push your core over his face.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he's bigger than average, but not untakeably large. like, i feel like he's the perfect size because he fills you up and stretches you out justttt enough, but it doesn't hurt. he's not gonna bruise you or pound right into your cervix so he's just perfect for your pleasure.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

pretty damn high. he can go all the time, anytime. he won't always initiate you, though, especially if he can tell that you're tired or not feeling well or not up for it. he can suppress it and move about his day. but if you're feeling it, he can start running his hand along your legs draped in your lap and very shortly after, he's fucking you on the couch.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

it doesn't take him too long, but he wants to make sure you're well taken care of first. water, snack, shower, anything you need he'll provide for you first. and once you're both situated, he'll hold you tight. he's such a big fan of talking right after though and will keep you up for a little longer just to chat about your days or the show you just watched or how good the other just did. and then he'll feel his eyes getting droopy and he'll fall to sleep still holding you.

[jam3sacaster]

“She’s the one, Lizzie.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black & Lizzie Vereker (in regards to reader!)

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Rupert confides in his best friend, Lizzie Vereker, that he plans to propose to you…

18+ FANFIC / Super Soft Rupert 🥹🥹 And his gorgeous friendship with Lizzie!! 🫶🏽 As always, request what you wanna see in my ask box 💋

The dim winter night pierced the atmosphere surrounding Penscombe Court as violent rain lashed against the concrete. In the lounge, the grand fireplace roared and hissed, and Lizzie Vereker’s raucous laughter filled the air. “Oh darling, your laugh is just magnificent.” Rupert Campbell-Black chuckled after his best friend. “More wine?” He asked, already pouring a generous amount of crimson red wine into her glass. Leaning his head against her shoulder, Rupert sighed in contentment. Lizzie was one of the only people, besides you, that he felt he could truly be himself around. An extension of his own self.

“How are things going with you and what’s-her-name, anyway?” She asked, breathless from her maniacal giggling. You hadn’t yet met Lizzie, but he’d told you ever so much about her. “Ah, Lizzie. A gentleman never tells.” Rupert tutted in quiet response. “Do excuse me, one must use the men’s room.” He sighed, pulling himself from the sofa and exiting promptly. Delirious from intoxication and wobbling as she walked, Lizzie also rose up and decided to take a covert sneak around the lounge. There was nothing of any importance really. Delicate, marble ornaments — un-dusted and uncared for by Rupert — and mounds of paperwork, sworn into secrecy by Rupert’s other life. As she lifted one of his unnecessarily heavy camouflage jackets from his coat stand, painfully tempted to try it on and perform a fashion show, a small velvet-coated black box fell onto the stoned floor with a marvellous thud. “Oh goodness.” She fussed, scrambling onto the floor to retrieve it and place it back before Rupert returned.

“Lizzie, darling, what on Earth are you doing?” He questioned, leaning against the doorframe with a wicked grin painted over his face. “I’m so sorry!” She panicked, fingers trembling in embarrassment as she attempted in futile to return the box to his coat pocket. Rupert’s grin quickly diminished, his eyes widening in shock. He stomped over to the coat stand and snatched the box from her fingers, opening and promptly slamming it shut after he had confirmed the contents of the box was safe. “What is it?” She asked, leaning towards the coffee table and gulping down a mouthful of wine. “Sit.” He demanded, clicking his fingers towards the sofa. A small ‘oop’ left Lizzie’s mouth as she drunkenly toppled onto the sofa.

After a few moments of careful consideration, Rupert sat beside her, holding the small box in his unsteady hands. Pausing for breath, he lifted the lid of the box. Lizzie clapped her left hand across her mouth and gasped thunderously. “Rupert!” She gasped, spluttering on her wine and slamming the glass onto the coffee table, sloshes of scarlet immediately staining the darkened oak.

Inside the box sat the most exquisite, elegant ring — the most immense rock of diamond clung onto the daintiest silver band. The jewel glinted mesmerisingly against the flames of the fire. Lizzie’s orbs enlarged at the allure of such luxury. “Bloody hell, Rupert!” She panted and Rupert’s gaze followed her every move, running his tongue over his teeth in expectant joy. “I know. Rather something, isn’t it? Definitely brought a tear to my eye buying it. That’s £55,000 I’ll never get back.” He tutted jokingly. For the twentieth time tonight, Lizzie spluttered over her words again. “Fifty-five thousand pounds? Jesus, that’s more than I’ve ever earned in my entire lifetime.” She bantered back to him. “What’s the plan?” Lizzie asked again whilst biting her nails in anticipation.

Rupert stood now, closing the box gently and placing it back into his coat pocket. He paced around the room, gesturing his hands to and fro as he set the scene. “I’m thinking… picnic in the bluebell woods, when the weather’s brightened up a touch. All of her favourite foods, lay a blanket down and stay there until the evening. Watch the sunset and just surprise her with it.” That smug expression of self-pride invaded his face. It drove Lizzie up the wall. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you? You’re doing that weasel-y little smirk you do when you’re proud of yourself. I hate it.” She rolled her eyes, prompting a snigger from her companion. “Don’t be jealous, darling. It’s terribly uncouth.” Rupert jested back to her.

Tutting to herself, Lizzie grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the sofa. Once more, Rupert rested his head tenderly on her shoulder, and she raised her right hand to pat him affectionately. “She’s the one, Lizzie. I’m sure of it. For the first time in my life, I feel terrified. She looks at me like she sees right through me. Very sexy, I must say, but utterly terrifying.” He exhales. “I think that’s just love, darling.” Lizzie remarks.

“I think so.” Rupert mutters.

[jam3sacaster]

“You have the body of a goddess.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by my sweet @nebulastarr 🫶🏽 / It’s yours and Rupert’s first time together and you can’t help but feel insecure. He proves to you that you shouldn’t be…

18+ FANFIC / Smut-ish & SOFT Rupert. BODY CHECKING & WEIGHT MENTION! Reader character aged at 21. As always, please leave any requests in my ask box for any character/scenario 💋🫶🏽

Standing in front of your bedroom mirror, you meticulously inspect your body, and the lingerie that clads it — an exquisite set of a white lace bra and pants, with matching white stockings held up with a suspender garter belt. Typically, you would feel beautiful, sexy, unstoppable. However, you couldn’t help but scrutinise every inch of yourself. What if he hates the pouch on my stomach, the odd spot of cellulite on my thighs? What if Rupert thinks my boobs are too small, or my arse is too big? You shake your head to rid yourself of these unwanted thoughts. Grabbing your black silk robe from the tall, oak coat stand, you wrap it around yourself and wait in your en-suite. He should be home soon, and he knows what you have planned. He’ll be expecting an incredible body, but you’re not sure you have that.

It seemed like a decade until you heard the lock twist in the front door downstairs. Forever and day, as you listened for him kicking his boots off and hanging up his coat. An eternity, as he trudged up the stairs and opened the bedroom door. “Angel?” Rupert called, already unbuttoning his pressed shirt. Creaking open the door and tip-toeing out, Rupert’s jaw audibly dropped, just at the sight of you wrapped in your robe. “Well, it seems as though you’ve been expecting me.” He purred, motioning for you to come towards him. You didn’t, and watched as he threw his shirt to the ground and got started on his trousers, unzipping them and kicking them from his ankles. The sight of his ripped, tanned body, held together only by a pair of tight white boxers, was most certainly a sight to behold. “Rupert, I think we should wait a bit longer. Just a few more weeks. I just want to tone up a bit first.” You sigh, scrunching your robe tighter to your body in an attempt to cover your figure.

“Good things seldom come to those who wait.” Your boyfriend remarked with a smirk. Despite your anxiety, you couldn’t help but chuckle along with him. He, somehow, always knew what to say. “I’m just nervous. I’m not entirely thin. I have stretch marks, and cellulite, and rounded edges and just-“ You begin to continue your frantic rant but Rupert ceased it with three firm shh’s. “Are you wearing lingerie?” He questions, furrowing his brow. You nod in response. “I assume it was paid for with my card?” The interrogation continues. Eyes darting around with a small grin, you nod once more. “So let me see.” He probes.

Following orders, you slip the silk robe from your body, revealing the magnificent lingerie you had on. Rupert gawps at you, jaws dropped and eyes widened. His thumping heart pulsated in his chest, and the bulge in his tight boxers expanded instantaneously. “Darling… You have the body of a goddess.” He breathlessly muttered, taking a few steps closer to you and running his hands over the entirety of your body. His thorough inspection left not an inch of skin untouched. “Look what you’ve done to me.” Rupert inched back slightly so you could observe his growing cock fighting for release from his boxers. “Show me what you’ll do to your goddess. Show me what you think of my body.” You mumble, crawling onto your shared bed and laying on your back. “Darling, I would kiss every square inch of your body for you to see, just for a moment, how magnificent you are.” Fell from his lips so smoothly.

That was enough for you. Drawing yourself to him, you kissed him softly at first. But your yearning for each other transformed it into a slow, passionate kiss, tongues fighting for dominance in each others mouths. Rupert moved his right hand to your waist, squeezing softly and making you twitch. “Are you okay?” He asked, pulling his tongue from your mouth. “Yes. I’m just… not used to it.” You mutter, still trying to relax yourself with him seeing you in your entirety. Sticking to his promise, he began to place soft kisses — from your shoulder blades to your ankles, across the width of your stomach to your thighs, your forearm to the tips of your fingers. “The smell of you sets off something carnal within me. I need you.” Rupert growls, kneeling above you and beginning to unclip your stockings.

‘But I don’t know what else that I would give than try to kiss the skin that crawls from you, then feel your weight in arms I’d never use.’ - Hozier

[jam3sacaster]

I'm really loving all your Rivals. You write all the characters so damn well! I love your fluffy Rupert ones♥️

I do have a Rupert request if that's alright?

Could you do something about Rupert x reader and horses? (I ride horses so him on/around horses just makes me melt lol)

But maybe they met while out riding or on a foxhunt or reader is a former showjumper as well? These are just ideas so please feel free to take liberty!

hello darling, thank you so much!! it means the world! you know where i am if you ever wanna see anything else 🫶🏽💋 i must say, i have tried my very best but i have 0 knowledge of horses so if i get any equine terminology wrong, pls inform me and i shall wash my mouth out with soap!!! 🧼

“You can ride my pony anytime, darling.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by this sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Whilst out riding his horse, Rupert encounters a woman after his own heart…

Short Work.

18+ FANFIC / Soft 🥹 Rupert 🥹 Reader character aged at 21. As always, request what you wanna see in my ask box for any character 🥰

The utterly pleasant sound of galloping could be heard throughout the secluded bluebell woods of Rutshire village. It was undeniable that your favourite pastime was riding your outstandingly beautiful chestnut Dartmoor pony — truly a thing of regal beauty. The serene surroundings of the bluebells filled you with tranquility. You cackled with laughter as you bolted through the woods, smoothing down the chocolate mane of your beloved pony.

Turning a rather sharp corner, your pony suddenly rears and lets out the most shocking neigh. “Woah, girl, steady.” You belt out, leaning forward and gripping onto her to steady yourself, terrified of being tipped off. Surveying the area ahead of you, you spy the most beautiful horse— an Irish Draught, dappled in white and grey. Atop of him, was a particularly chiselled face that you didn’t quite recognise. “Sorry about that,” The man spoke, “We did rather appear from nowhere.” You learnt forward again to whisper in your pony’s ear, stroking the top of her head and giving her a gentle kiss.

“What’s her name?” He asks, grinning at the magnificence of your horse. “Cadence.” You beam with pride, slipping your feet out of the stirrups and jumping down onto the wooded ground. “Yours?” You question in return. The man takes a moment to stroke his horse’s snowy mane. “Love Rat.” He replies. You snigger slightly but suppress it and push out an uncomfortable cough, realising he was being deadly serious. “Rupert.” He introduced himself, removing himself from Love Rat’s back and slowly making his way over to Cadence, stroking her face softly. You introduce yourself in turn, and watch with a solemn smile at the man’s gentleness.

Taking your opportunity, you make your way to Love Rat and give him a gentle kiss just above his nose. “You’re a gorgeous boy, aren’t you?” You whisper in adoration towards him. “Thank you. I know.” Rupert replies, smirking in self-righteousness. Rolling your eyes at his humourless joke, you tut and hoist yourself up on the stirrups. “Hopefully I’ll see you here again. You can ride my pony anytime, darling.” The enchanting man winked towards you as you clicked at Cadence, bounding off in the opposite direction, your heart twirling something crazy.

[jam3sacaster]

hello darling!

absolutely adore your writing and your rupert specifically. If I may, and if you arent too busy, J was hoping to request something rather self indulgent for him. I am a major sucker for some domestic rupert and especially hurt/comfort is quite lovely with him. Is possible, maybe something about reader (being a bit older - around 25 or so) cooking dinner for them after work and maybe she cuts her finger or something and he takes her to an urgent care and the two of them have that moment of panic but, also knowing it would be okay bc their together.

WHEW THATS LONG LOL SRY! Hopefully that works w you lol

💫🪽 - salem, she/hers, from america

Hello Salem,, thank you for stopping by!! I’m so happy you enjoy my work 🥰🥰 Funnily enough, I’ve actually done something really similar to this with reader cutting her finger but I can do something with the same kind of topic but just a lil different ! 🥹

“You must be careful, angel.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Short Work

Suggestion by this sweet anon 🫶🏽 / You hurt yourself whilst coming a romantic meal, Nurse Rupert comes to your aid…

18+ FANFIC / Soft 🥹 Rupert 🥹 Reader character aged at 25. As always, my ask box is open for any requests for any character 💋 or even just to have a chat lol.

Today was yours and Rupert’s sixth month anniversary. You wouldn’t typically celebrate something so unsubstantial but the way he has treated you throughout these six months — supplying you with lavish jewellery, your own purebred Appaloosa, endless meals provided by private chefs — was something that deserved to be celebrated. His closest friend, Lizzie Vereker, had praised you for being the first and only person to transform his Lothario lifestyle.

“What’s on the menu?” Your lover asked, snaking his hands around your waist as you piled chopped onions into a pot. Your response was haltered by sloppy kisses being planted up the length of your neck. “Well, it’s French onion soup for start. And I was thinking to do truffle risotto for main.” You inform him, keeping a close eye on the kettle you had begun to boil, anxious to get a start on making the perfect meal. “Mmm, my favourite.” Rupert purred, taking a seat at the dining table behind you and poured you both a large glass of cherry-red wine.

“Just don’t disturb me,” You warn, “Everything has to be perfect.” The muscular man breathlessly sighed — intoxicated on copious amounts of wine and lighting up what must be his 10th cigarette of the hour. “Yes chef.” He remarked, coughing through his first drag. As the kettle had sufficiently boiled enough, you raised it with an unsteady hand, already stirring your onions with the other. Lifting it high enough to pour, you splashed the hot water over the now-simmering onions but subsequently caught yourself in the process. Hand seething and swelling instantaneously, you let out an excruciating yelp and dropped the kettle onto the counter top. Like a flash, Rupert was raised to his feet, stubbing out his cigarette. “My word, what have you done?” Bouncing on his heels in a frantic panic.

Floods of tears expelled themselves from your eyes as you held your limp wrist, blowing air onto the burn in a futile effort to eliminate the pain. “Burning, burning…” Were the only words you could push out through your thickening tears. Taking a firm grip of your wrist, Rupert pushed open the cold tap and held your hand underneath it, the instant cool providing a blessed relief. He settled a tender kiss on your forehead, his own mouth pouting in empathetic gloom. “You must be careful, angel.” He scalded in absolute disbelief at your self-inflicted injury.

Snatching his car keys from the counter top, and instructed you to get an ice pack from the freezer. Doing as you were told, you wrapped the ice pack in a tea towel and kept it pressed firmly on your scalded hand. “Where are we going?” You ask, watching your boyfriend pull on his coat, following him as he stomped towards the front door. “A&E. Sit down.” His firm voice instructed again, finger pointing towards the stairs. He grabbed your slippers and placed them gently over your feet.

Just over an hour later, you were both sat in the eerily melancholic A&E waiting room. You tried your best not to look at the people sat around you, already taking heed of someone clasping a blood-soaked towel to their head. “Rupert, I’m scared. I really don’t feel this is necessary.” You whisper, eyes firmly affixed on the floor. “There’s nothing to be scared of, angel. When I’m with you, you needn’t be scared of anything. We just need to get your hand checked.” He whispered back in response, rubbing his hand softly across your thigh. Taking a deep exhale, you rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped up tightly in Rupert’s jacket. He just made everything okay.

[jam3sacaster]

Masterlist 🩷

hello guys!! it’s meeee, jam3sacaster! if you’re new here, i’m a rivals fanfic writer with an always open ask box for requests for any scenario, any character! 🫶🏽💋 thank you for all your lovely comments so far & i appreciate you all sm 🥹 i’m so sorry that i didn’t think to do a masterlist before but here it is! i will update it here every time i post 🫶🏽

Rupert Campbell-Black

• “I can’t breathe without you.” / Vague SMUT.

• “I’ll be gentle, angel.” / SMUT.

• “You’re such a dirty girl.” SUPER SMUT.

• “I think I rather like that.” SMUT.

• “Let me warm you up, darling.” / SMUTish.

• “I can’t sleep. I just think of you.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “Just breathe with me, darling.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “You just don’t see it, do you?” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “You belong to me.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “Let me take care of you, darling.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “You must be careful, angel.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “You have the body of a goddess.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “You can ride my pony anytime, darling.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “She’s the one, Lizzie.” / Soft Rupert 🥹 / No reader in this story.

• “Happy New Year, angel.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

• “Forever yours, R.” / Soft Rupert 🥹

Rupert x Reader x Declan

• “Don’t waste your time with him.” PT 1 / Love triangle

Rupert x Taggie

• “Daddy, can you…” / Short work

Declan O’Hara

• “I’m gonna have ‘ta punish ya’.” / SUPER SMUT

• “You have no idea what ‘ya doing to me, do ‘ya?” / PT1 Smut

• “I think you know…” / Smut

• “Ya’ want me to touch ya’ like that?” / SUPER SMUT

• “Miss Baddingham, you are bad news.” PT 1 / SMUT

Basil Baddingham

• “Well, my love…” / Short Work, Soft

[jam3sacaster]

hello darling :)

can’t stop thinking about rcb w a daddy kink and i think we all need that in our lives tbh lol

okay but why is that 100% his biggest kink and why do i love it??? 🤭 i agree, this is very needed. thank you for the request!!! 💋💋

“I think I rather like that.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by this sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Rupert discovers, halfway through your night, that he has a new kink…

18+ FANFIC / SMUT from the offset! Short work. Reader character aged at 21. Thank you for your request ml 🩷

Candles dripping hot wax onto your darkened oak chest of drawers beside you, and casting an amber glow across your bare skin, Rupert leans over you. His had his right hand cupping your tender breast, his lips depositing compassionate kisses across your neck and was thrusting into you slowly, savouring every second. Whilst you spent many occasions fucking each other senseless after a few too many whiskies, you both took more pleasure from your intense, intimate sessions such as tonight. You both moaned simultaneously in euphoria, breathing heat onto each others skin. Rupert’s steady thrusting pushed nail-bitingly against your g-spot as you pursed your lips to speak.

“Fuck, daddy. You feel so good.” You whimper, sharpened fingernails scraping down the length of his muscular back. Rupert halted his motion for a moment, arms shaking and blinking at you with a bewildered. “What did you just call me?” He quizzed, grinning at you with softened cerulean orbs. “Oh, umm… I called you Daddy. Is that okay?” You ask, keeping his hand pressed firmly on your tit. “Yes, I think I rather like that actually. You’re feeling rather naughty tonight, aren’t you?”

Gripping his wrist and moving it from your breast, you relocate his hand to your throat and he instinctively squeezes, gently constricting your blood flow and bringing a delicate glimmer to your eyes. “Keep going, daddy.” You beg, and he happily obliges as you spread your legs further apart. Pushing his entire length inside you, you wince faintly as you feel him stretch you out. Gyrating your hips towards him — begging to be fucked harder - he increases his tempo and pulses a gentle squeeze on your throat again. “Yes, daddy. Like that. Give it to me, daddy.” You groan and watch Rupert’s sultry expression.

“Tell your daddy how much you want it, angel.” He grunts.

[jam3sacaster]

Hey sweetheart, could you do a fic of Rupert x plus sized! fem reader? 🤍🫶🏻

where Rupert fell out with Declan and comes to you for comfort❤️

Of course my dahhhling, I’d be happy too🥰🫶🏽 Thank you for stopping by! 🤭🩷 I didn’t want to mention body type too much, just as much as I do with any of my other fics, but there’s some subtle soft mentions that would melt my heart 🫶🏽🥰

“You drive me wild.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by this lovely reader 🥰 / Rupert always turns to you first for comfort..

18+ FANFIC / Soft Rupert 🥹. Short Work. Reader character aged at 21. Requests will be back open soon! 🩷

“Good girl, Prudence.” You spoke adoringly to your Jack Russell Terrier, curled up together under a mountain of colourful woollen blankets. You ran a hand over her coarse tri-colour fur and exhaled in tranquility. The tiny box television in the corner played tonight’s episode of Coronation Street, and your fireplace snapped quietly in the corner. You reached down to your coffee table to take a swig out of your mug of hot, sweet tea. As the evening drew to a close, the indigo sunset painted intricate patterns of clouds in the sky.

“Fuck off, bastard.” An enraged voice bellowed from the front door, accompanied by a swift bang. Prudence howled at the sudden noise, and only settled after a few soft hushes. Ploughing into the living room and collapsing on top of you, Rupert sighed angrily and rested his head in your lap. Overjoyed that her favourite person had returned, Prudence rested her sleepy head on Rupert’s shoulder. “Bad day?” You ask, twiddling with his jet black locks between your fingers.

“That fucking bastard Declan. I am absolutely at the end of my tether with him.” Rupert spits, but his shoulders relax under your touch. He reaches his hand up to place his outstretched palm on the soft pouch of his belly — his favourite way to relax. “Well, just try to relax. You’re here now. Just… free it from your mind.” You state calmly, taking a loud inhale and exhale to force him into peaceful breathing.

“Down, Pru.” You snap your fingers gently, and your tiny companion bolts from her position on the sofa and curls into a ball beside the fireplace. Rupert flips himself over to lay on his tummy, and squeezes one of your thighs with both his hands, subsequently resting his head down. “Hmm, angel. You drive me wild.” He sighs, breathing in your scent. It was no surprise that Rupert was wholeheartedly infatuated with your body — your rounded, soft stomach, your thighs that provided him with the perfect place to grip and the soft curves of your hips. In this position, he could stay for eternity.