#sinclair bryant

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems ~ Lionel/Reader

Chapter 2. Everything Good Happens After Midnight

Summary: It's time for Lionel and Sinclair's mums' birthday party, and you're invited.

Word count: 10.8k

warnings: violence, fist fighting

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

1989

It had been another quiet day. Your business was keeping afloat and you made a tidy profit, but there were still days when you didn’t get a lot of customers coming in.

The hours ticked by, and come fifteen minutes to closing time, you decided you might as well close up now. You turned the sign on the door around to show you were closed, though you left the door unlocked. You pulled out your sales ledger and had just opened the drawer to take out your calculator when you heard the bell announcing the door had been opened.

Fifteen minutes. Well, if they knew what they wanted, you could get them out in that time.

You looked up to greet the customer, and you had to control yourself to stop your jaw from dropping.

Multi-millionaire media mogul Lionel Shabandar was in your shop.

Your ex-boyfriend Lionel Shabandar was in your shop.

“Do you know how long it took me to find you?” he said with wry amusement. “All this time, you were less than a mile from my office. I should have my PI fired.”

How long had you spent wondering what you would say if you ever saw him again?

“I’m closing in fifteen minutes.”

That certainly wasn’t one of the lines you’d rehearsed in your head.

“Oh, I’m not here for a picture frame.”

Lionel stepped further into the shop, his hands clasped behind his back, looking over the frames with mild curiosity.

“Why picture frames?” he asked. “Of all the business ventures we used to talk about… I’m certain you never suggested picture frames.”

“I thought you weren’t here for a picture frame.”

“I’m not.”

He approached the counter, and looked at you for a long moment. He smiled.

“You’re still beautiful.”

You folded your arms.

“I don’t think you came here to check me out either. Unless you’re intending to put me in the ‘Hot or Not?’ section of Heart Magazine, in which case the answer is no.”

Lionel’s smile didn’t falter. “You’ve kept up with my work,” he said proudly.

“It’s hard not to, you seem to own everything these days.”

“Not quite everything. Your number, for example — I don’t seem to have that.”

You scoffed. “Does that line work on all the girls, or just the ones with fluff for brains?”

Lionel laughed and shook his head. “I’m not trying to pick you up, [Y/n].”

“Then you’d better explain yourself, and quick. Don’t think because you’re a bigshot now I’m not kicking you out at closing time. You’ve got twelve minutes left, by the way.”

“I have a promise to keep, and I’m a man of my word.”

You laughed then. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Lionel. You’ve never kept a single promise you made to me.”

Lionel leaned across the counter, smirking, his voice lowered as if what he said next was top secret.

“Then let me keep this one. The first promise I ever made to you.”

“You’ll have to remind me,” you said bitterly. “I stopped keeping track of your broken promises a long time ago.”

“I promised you a kiss at 36.”

He really, sincerely, truly and honestly seemed to think he was being suave.

You slapped him.

“Fuck off, Shabandar,” you spat. 

Lionel stood up straight and raised a hand to his cheek in shock.

“A simple no would have sufficed,” he muttered as he rubbed his sore cheek.

“No. Will you leave now?”

You grabbed your ledger and calculator to take them into the back room, but Lionel didn’t seem to get the message.

“How on earth did you end up selling picture frames?” he asked, apparently changing the subject.

“Well, I have more picture frames than I need, and there are people who have less picture frames than they need, so they give me money in exchange for my picture frames. It’s the basics of business, Lionel, I thought you were supposed to be a bigshot in that now?”

“You know what I mean,” Lionel persisted. Now he was following you into the back room! “You had so many brilliant ideas, and the brains to make them happen. You could be doing so much more than picture frames.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have the fucking resources, do I?” you said bitterly. Why wouldn’t he go away?

“You did. I would have given you the resources. I would have given you everything.”

“And I did give you everything!” you shouted, whirling on him. “I gave you my heart, my body, fucking everything. I gave you my whole life. And you — you treated it like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. And now you come in here eighteen years later and expect me to drop everything to give you a snog? Like — like some sort of IOU you’re cashing in on? No. Fucking no. Get out of my shop, Lionel. I don’t want you here, and I don’t want you in my life. Get out.”

“[Y/n] —”

“No! There’s nothing I want to hear from you. If you’re not out in ten seconds, I’m calling the police.”

Lionel threw his hands up in surrender.

“Alright. I get the message. I’m leaving.”

He turned to leave, and you followed him to the front door to make sure he left. Hand on the door handle, he turned back to you.

“You seem to have forgotten how we left things, [Y/n]. You broke my heart that night.”

“And you broke mine long before that. Now, leave.”

With a sigh of frustration, Lionel swung the door open and stormed out. You watched through the shop window as a man standing next to a black Range Rover stood up straight and opened the car door for him.

Just as Lionel climbed inside the car, the shop door opened again.

“Who’s the fancy man?” said the new arrival.

You turned to him and plastered on a smile.

“Nobody important. How was your day?”

- - -

1971

Sinclair drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. He could see his destination up ahead, the pub he’d agreed to pick Lionel up from after his date, but the traffic was at a standstill.

For once, Sinclair wasn’t going to be late for something — or he wouldn’t have been, if it weren’t for the traffic. Now, he was fifteen minutes late.

In the distance, a figure came out of the pub, looking around. Sinclair recognised the outline of his cousin, and the navy blue shirt they’d picked out together earlier that day.

Impatient to hear the full report of his cousin’s date, Sinclair leaned over to the passenger side and rolled down his window.

“Lionel!” he called.

Lionel looked over at the sound of his name, spotted Sinclair’s car, and hurried down the road to get in on the passenger side.

“Sorry, I swear I was actually going to be on time, but this traffic hasn’t moved! How was it? When’s the wedding, and can I be your best man?”

Lionel responded by leaning forward and resting his head on the glovebox.

“…That bad?”

“She’s amazing,” Lionel groaned.

“Oh… but that’s great! Isn’t it? I’m confused.”

Lionel sat back in his seat with a sigh.

“I fucked up. I absolutely fucked up.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t — oh, hey, a green light!”

Sinclair prepared to drive forward, and managed to get about halfway up the road before the light turned red again. He groaned impatiently and parked the car again.

“What makes you think you fucked up?”

“Sinclair, you are — and do not let this go to your head — but you are my best friend.”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up, and he grinned. “Aww! Thanks, Li! You’re my best friend too!”

“Well, yes, obviously. But how often do I talk to you? I mean, really talk to you. About, you know, feelings and things like that.”

“Umm, not often,” Sinclair said. “But that’s okay, I do enough talking for both of us.”

“I told her everything,” Lionel groaned, placing his head in his hands. “Fucking hell. I told her about my father.”

“…Oh.”

“It was so easy, like… I’d been holding it all inside to tell her. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. And she — Christ, Clair, she listened. She actually… listened. I thought she’d find an excuse to leave, but she didn’t. She stayed, we finished our drinks, and we went for a walk around Hyde Park.”

“Wait, so you didn’t fuck up! If you had, she’d have found an excuse to leave! That is so cute that you went for a walk. Did you hold hands?”

“Yes.”

Sinclair gasped excitedly. “Well, then, I repeat my earlier question! When’s the wedding, and can I be your best man?”

“Shut up,” Lionel grumbled, but Sinclair of course continued to vibrate with excitement.

“Okay, okay, no wedding bells yet. But did you kiss?”

“Sinclair, the light’s green.”

“Don’t avoid the question!” Sinclair insisted, although he quickly jumped into action to move the car forward, and they both cheered when they finally made it past the traffic lights and Sinclair was able to drive at a consistent pace again.

“So? Did you?”

“No, we were having so much fun just talking, then suddenly it was time to come and meet you. I kissed her on the cheek when we said goodbye, but that was it. Bloody hell, I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? I dumped all my child of divorce trauma on her and didn’t even kiss her. I’ll be lucky if I ever get to see her again.”

“You will, I know you will! Did you ask her on a second date?”

“No, I just said I’d call her. I didn’t want to pressure her into agreeing to anything.”

“Ask her to the party this weekend!”

“Absolutely not. I’ve probably frightened her off, the last thing I should be doing is asking her to meet my mother.”

“It’s not formally meeting her. Just, you know, bringing her to a party that your mum just happens to be at.”

“She doesn’t just happen to be there, Sinclair, it’s her bloody birthday party. If I show up with a girl in tow, everybody’s going to think she’s my girlfriend and start treating us as if we’re much more serious than we are. If by some miracle I haven’t scared her off today, that definitely would. No, absolutely not. I will call her after the party.”

“Oh, fine. You are such a bore sometimes, Li,” Sinclair said with a huff.

Lionel grunted. “That’s me. Now, tell me about your car show.”

“Ohmygoditwasamazing! So first there were some really old Peugeots…”

- - -

The wait for Lionel’s call was the most arduous wait of your life.

Every time the phone rang, if you were home alone, you ran to answer it. If your mum was at home, you had to pretend not to be listening when she answered it. And every time, you were met with disappointment.

When the phone rang on Saturday night, you didn’t answer it, as you were busy washing up after dinner, and your mum had gone upstairs to run a bath. When it rang out, you heard the voicemail click, and a voice came out of it, recording a message.

“Hello, this is a message for [Y/n]. This is Sinclair Bryant. I know it’s last minute but are you free tonight? We’re having a party and Lionel’s completely lovesick — ow! What? It’s true! — sorry, anyway, if you get this message, call me back on —”

But Sinclair didn’t need to leave a number, because you’d dropped the plates in the sink as soon as you heard his name, and dried your hands as quickly as you could before dashing over to pick up the phone.

“Sinclair, hi! Sorry, I was doing the dishes.”

“Oh, [Y/n], hi! That’s okay! So do you want to come? It’s our mums’ birthday party. It’s in Windsor, but we can send a car to pick you up.”

“Isn’t that a bit far? It’s like an hour to pick me up and another hour to get me there…”

“Sorry, I should have been more specific. I’ll call a taxi in Winchester to take you here. You can stay with us for the night afterwards, or our driver can take you back.”

“Does Lionel know you’re inviting me?”

“Yes, he asked me to call you! He’s too nervous to call you himself because he’s so in love —”

“Sinclair!” you heard Lionel protesting in the background, and you laughed.

“Alright, I’ll come. Wait — what should I wear? Is this a really fancy thing?”

“What’s the fanciest dress you have?”

“Um, probably my prom dress?”

“I bet it’s perfect! Okay, get your prom dress on, I’ll get a taxi to you in twenty minutes! Oh, wait, hang on — what’s your address?”

You made a deal with your mum: you’d answer all the questions she had about Lionel until the taxi arrived, if she helped you get ready in time.

“Well, alright, he sounds like a nice boy. Just don’t do anything stupid,” she said, putting your shoes on your feet for you while you applied make-up to your face. Reusing your prom dress was a good idea, because you already knew what make-up and accessories went with it.

“What, like get pregnant at eighteen? Don’t worry, Mum, I won’t make your mistakes.”

“No! Well, yes, don’t get pregnant. But you weren’t the mistake. Rushing into things, that was the mistake. Remember, you have all the time in the world. Get to know him before you make any decisions, that’s all.”

“Okay, Mum.”

You tucked your make-up into a clutch bag, and on your way out, you also grabbed your toothbrush from the bathroom, in case you took Sinclair up on the offer to stay over.

When you arrived an hour later, you couldn’t help gawking. The party was at some large manor house that had gardens that went on for miles. The taxi driver drove up the long driveway and dropped you off at the front. You asked about paying, but he said it would be charged to the Bryant family’s account, so you stepped out and let him drive off while you stared up at the imposing house.

The party seemed to be going on mainly in the grounds, since it was so warm. There were gazebos and tents set up, and you tried not to look too nervous and out of place as you headed for the largest tent, hoping you’d find Sinclair and/or Lionel somewhere.

You found Sinclair at the buffet table, loading up a plate of food. He looked up when you called his name, and he grinned.

“[Y/n]! You made it! Oh, wow, you look amazing!”

You glanced down at your dress, then shot a look around the tent at the other guests’ outfits. To your relief, you didn’t seem to have made any fashion faux pas.

“Oh, thanks. I’m just glad I get another use out of this, to be honest.”

“It’s lovely! Here, do you want some food? It’s all free, Mum and Aunt Georgie go all out on their birthday.”

“Thanks, maybe later, I’d just had dinner when you called so I’m still full. Erm, so where’s —”

“Lionel? Oh, he’s — right behind you! Li, look, [Y/n] made it!”

You turned and saw Lionel walking over with a drink in each hand. His face lit up when he saw you, and you blushed.

“[Y/n], hi. Give me a moment, I’ll get you a drink too,” Lionel said as he handed one of the drinks to Sinclair.

“What are you talking about, Lionel, this is [Y/n]’s drink,” Sinclair said, passing the drink onto you as if you were playing pass the parcel. “I’ll go and get mine. Bye!”

He scurried away, and you laughed.

“How thoughtful of you to get me a drink not knowing I was here,” you said to Lionel. “What am I drinking?”

“It’s a gin and tonic. We can swap if you’d prefer.”

“Hmm, let me test it.”

You took a sip of the drink.

“I’ll stick with this, thanks. So was the party that dull without me?”

“Yes,” Lionel said immediately, and you laughed. “I’m serious, [Y/n]. Every year it’s the same. Our mums and their friends get drunk, and as the sons of the hosts we always had to entertain the other kids. Somehow, all of our mums’ friends have managed to have extremely boring children.”

“Well, you’re eighteen now, you can join the drunk adults,” you said as Lionel led you out of the tent and towards the house.

“You’d think so, but we’re still expected to host them, just with alcohol. Which makes it a little more bearable, I suppose. Instead of playing card games, we’re playing drinking games. I am sorry to drag you into this, but it was the only way I could get through the night without killing myself.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that. Besides, I’d rather be here than at home.”

“You won’t say that once you meet this lot,” Lionel said, his voice low as he held the door open for you.

“I dunno, you’re here, so it can’t be all that bad.”

Lionel smiled as you slipped your hand into his.

“Come on. Let’s get through this together, then.”

He led you down the hallway, and you couldn’t help looking around in every direction at the architecture of the building, the luxurious furnishings, and the artworks on the wall.

“Oh, you have Starry Night!” you commented as you passed the Van Gogh work.

“Mmm, a reproduction. Here we are.”

Lionel led you into a room that you supposed would be called a sitting room, as it appeared to have no function other than the chairs and sofas dotted about, which had been pushed into a haphazard circle for the dozen or so occupants sitting around chatting with drinks and cigarettes in their hands.

“Oh, finally!” said one boy as the two of you walked in.

“Sorry, Sinclair got distracted by the buffet table again,” Lionel said.

“Did it turn him into a girl as well?” said another boy.

“Very funny, Thomson. Sinclair’s on his way. This is [Y/n], she’s a friend of mine. Come on, [Y/n], you can sit here with me.”

He showed you to a three-seater sofa, where he sat confidently in what was presumably his usual seat at one end. You hesitated, then decided to sit next to him, rather than at the other end. Lionel smiled and put an arm around your shoulder.

“Are we still waiting for Bryant?” said a girl who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a boy who was sitting on another sofa. She was fiddling with an empty champagne bottle, and you realised there was a lone book sitting in the middle of the group.

“Spin the bottle crosses all class barriers, it seems,” you said, and Lionel chuckled.

“It doesn’t matter who your parents are or how much money you have — we’re all pawns at the whims of the bottle,” he said wryly. Louder, he said, “If we wait for Sinclair, we’ll be here ‘til morning. Just spin the bloody thing, Molly.”

Molly placed the bottle on top of the book and spun it with a flick of her wrist. It landed on another girl, who squealed excitedly at being the bottle’s first victim.

“Dare!” she proclaimed.

Molly looked at her thoughtfully.

“I dare you to… finish your drink, while doing a handstand. Sanders can hold it to your mouth.”

“Okay!” Squealing Girl agreed. She jumped up and gestured for some boys to move away from the wall. You watched as she executed a perfect handstand, her feet resting against the wall.

“Olivia’s a gymnast, as you can tell,” Lionel said to you.

“Why are the boys Thomson and Sanders while the girls are Molly and Olivia?” you asked curiously.

Lionel shrugged. “That’s just how it is. At boys’ schools we call each other by our last names. Girls’ schools are more informal.”

“Why?”

“[Y/n], you’re going to have to just accept the weird things rich people do. We don’t really know why either, we just do it.”

“Doing what everyone else does because it’s the done thing and you don’t have the courage to question it?”

“I told you this lot were boring.”

You looked at him curiously, ignoring Olivia trying to drink her drink upside down.

“But not you?”

Lionel looked at you and smirked.

“No, not me. Growing up with Sinclair, you get used to the question ‘Why?’ — I just have a better sense of when to ask it and when to play along.”

A cheer came up from the others as Olivia managed to finish her upside down drink, and she came out of her handstand much less elegantly than she’d gone into it.

The boy to the left of Molly leaned forward to spin the bottle next, just as Sinclair squeezed through the gathered teens to join you on the sofa. He had a fresh gin and tonic in one hand, and a plate of snacks in the other.

“We’re drinking the same drink, what a coincidence,” you said.

Sinclair winked at you. You felt Lionel’s hand on your shoulder move further down your arm, and you smiled as his thumb absent-mindedly stroked your skin. You took a sip of your drink, hoping you weren’t blushing too hard.

As the game went on, you became more and more comfortable sitting with Lionel. When you leaned forward to take your turn spinning the bottle, he took the opportunity to move his hand down to your waist as you sat back.

“Oh, finally!” Molly said with relief as the bottle chose her as its next victim. “I thought it’d never land on me. Dare! And I warn you, new girl, there’s nothing I won’t do.”

You steepled your hands thoughtfully, looking at her with narrowed eyes as you tried to think of a dare. Molly was clearly a boastful showoff, and you wanted to test her limits.

“That boy behind you, is that your boyfriend?” you asked.

“Steve’s my fiance!” Molly announced excitedly, holding her hand up to show off her ring.

“Okay, then. I dare you to… kiss the one boy in this room you’d date if you didn’t know Steve.”

A chorus of oooohhs went around the room. Molly’s mouth dropped in shock. You thought for a moment you’d messed up, but then she burst into laughter.

“Oh, new girl, I like you! I hope my next spin lands on you.” She turned around to look at Steve. “It’s either this or chug, babe,” she said, holding up the bottle of vodka she was apparently drinking straight. “And you know how I get when I drink too much too fast.”

“Go on, Anderson, let her at it,” one of the boys called out. “Easy way to pick your next third, eh?”

You had no idea what that meant, but many of the others did, judging by their laughter.

Anderson, who was himself quite drunk, just shrugged. “Whatever.”

Molly squealed and clapped her hands together. She turned back towards the room and looked around at the other boys, clearly thinking very seriously about it.

“She can’t pick just one, she wants all of them,” giggled one of the girls.

“Shush!” Molly snapped. “Okay, I’ve made my choice. It was very easy, actually.”

She pushed herself up to her knees, wobbling a little, and shuffled across the carpet… to Sinclair.

“Do you mind?” she asked him.

You tried to stifle a giggle as you, and everyone else in the room, looked at Sinclair, whose face was bright red.

“Oh! Erm… no, I don’t mind, I guess.”

Maybe a little too eagerly, Molly leant forward and kissed him. Sinclair, who was expecting little more than a brief peck, was taken by surprise when she grabbed him by the back of the neck and did her best to French kiss him.

While the others hooted and hollered, Lionel leaned across you to grab Molly by the shoulder and pull her back.

“That’s enough of that,” he said. “[Y/n] said to kiss him, not rape his mouth with your tongue.”

Molly just giggled and scooted back to her seat in front of Steve, who, despite his “whatever,” was now staring daggers at Sinclair.

“You okay?” you asked Sinclair quietly.

Sinclair nodded, his eyes wide and his face flushed red. You reached into your purse to grab a make-up wipe.

“Hold still,” you said, and you wiped away the lipstick that Molly had spread over his face.

“Thanks,” Sinclair said quietly when you declared his face free of make-up.

“Alright, my turn,” Lionel sighed. He leant forward and half-heartedly spun the bottle around until it landed on one of the boys. He sat back into the sofa and put his arm back around you.

“Truth,” the boy decided.

Lionel looked at him appraisingly.

“Ever wanked over someone in this room?” he asked, and you almost choked on your drink you’d very unfortunately just brought up to your lips.

A few turns later, the bottle landed on you.

“Truth,” you said.

The girl who’d spun looked between you and Lionel, and giggled.

“Has Shabandar got a big dick?”

“No!” one of the boys said immediately, earning him a round of laughter, and giving you a moment to collect yourself as you hoped your cheeks didn’t flush red like Sinclair’s had.

“I don’t know, we’ve never… we’ve never done anything like that,” you said shyly.

“The answer’s yes, by the way,” Lionel added. “And it’s definitely bigger than yours, Coleman,” he said to the boy who’d just spoken.

The turns finally came full circle, and Molly had the bottle in her hand again. She held it on the book, but instead of spinning it, she simply turned it and pointed it right at you.

“Hey, that’s no fair, you can’t choose!” you protested.

Molly ignored your protests and looked at you gleefully.

“Alright, new girl. You chose truth last time so you have to do a dare this time. And I dare you to…” Her eyes drifted over to Lionel. “Suck Shabandar’s cock.”

As the gathered teens laughed and cheered for Molly’s dare, you felt Lionel’s hand tighten on your waist, and Sinclair piped up, “Molly, you can’t ask her to do that! Come on, you have to give her another dare.”

Molly shrugged. “Those are the rules. A dare, once spoken, cannot be revoked. Either suck Shabandar’s cock… or chug. And you’re out of drink.”

You glanced down at your glass, which was indeed empty as you’d been sipping on it as the game went on.

“Are there any more drinks?” you asked, glancing around. Some of the people in the room had to still be underage, which meant they couldn’t go to the bar, so there had to be some bottles that had been snuck in.

Olivia the squealing gymnast reached down the side of the sofa she was sat on and produced a bottle of Sambuca.

“How about this!”

“[Y/n] can’t chug that!” Lionel insisted. “Has anyone got any wine?”

“Oh, boring!” Molly groaned.

“[Y/n] hates wine. You’ll get your fun and she won’t get alcohol poisoning.”

“Yeah, and we won’t have to see Shabandar’s tiny dick!” Coleman added, laughing as if calling Lionel’s dick small was the funniest thing in the world.

“I’ll do wine,” you agreed. You were going to embarrass yourself, and Lionel and Sinclair by extension, when you inevitably spluttered and choked trying to get the bitter taste of wine down your throat, but it was better than spluttering and choking trying to get Lionel’s dick down your throat.

Someone produced a bottle of wine and poured it very generously into your glass.

With one hand on Lionel’s knee to brace yourself, you brought the glass to your lips and began drinking to the sound of “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” being chanted by everyone except Lionel and Sinclair, who were both watching you with concern and waiting to support you if you choked.

The crowd cheered when you brought the empty glass down from your lips. You brought your hand to your mouth to cover a burp.

You stared at the glass for a moment, then said, “I think my mum just gave me shit wine.”

Lionel grinned and took the glass from you to place it on the table. The alcohol going straight to your head, you leant into him and rested your head on his chest. He rubbed your back soothingly.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled.

Lionel chuckled. “And you’re adorable.”

The rest of the night was blurry. The truths and dares became dirtier as people got drunker, and when someone got revenge on your behalf by daring Molly to suck Anderson’s dick, Lionel and Sinclair seemed to simultaneously agree it was time for them to get some more drinks from the bar, and you decided to come along with them when it became quite clear that Molly fully intended to fulfil the dare.

“Your mates are weird,” you said as you made your way back down the hallway, your arm looped through Lionel’s.

“They are not our mates,” Lionel said firmly. “Even Sinclair can’t stand them, and Sinclair likes everybody.”

“Some of them I like,” Sinclair said between hiccups as he stumbled along with you. “But, yeah, not all of the people in there are in my good books. Sorry, [Y/n]. I suppose you wish we hadn’t invited you, huh?”

“No, I’m having fun,” you insisted. “I like you two, so that’s enough for me.”

“Aww, we like you too!” Sinclair beamed. “Although I think - hic! - sorry. I think Lionel likes you more. Not that I don’t like you! I like you loads. But Lionel reeeeally likes you.”

“I get the message, Sinclair, thank you,” you laughed. “You like me but you don’t like-like me, but you reckon Lionel like-likes me.”

“Yeah, exactly! And I don’t reckon, I know.”

“For the record, I like you too, Sinclair, but I also don’t like-like you. I do like-like Lionel, though.”

“Oh, awesome! You should tell him, ‘cause he’s been agonising about it for ages.”

“I am still here, you know,” Lionel said.

“Oh, Lionel, hi!” Sinclair said cheerily, as if he’d genuinely forgotten you were holding onto his cousin’s arm. “[Y/n] has something to tell you. And I have to go! Bye!”

Sinclair ran off, leaving you and Lionel behind in the hallway. You laughed.

“He’s funny,” you said. “He clearly loves you a lot.”

Lionel didn’t answer. Instead, he steered you through a doorway instead of towards the front door, and you found yourself in… some other apparently pointless room with no function but sitting. He slipped his arm out of yours and turned to face you, his expression serious.

“[Y/n], I have to tell you something. And I have to tell you now, before I sober up too much and lose my nerve.”

“…Okay,” you said, wondering where on earth this was going.

“Sinclair’s right, I do like you. A lot. Our date the other day was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I feel so comfortable with you. And I’m… sorry if I opened up too much too quickly. Telling you about my father, that was probably too much. Definitely too much. Can we pretend I didn’t do that?”

You chuckled and took Lionel’s hand in yours.

“No, Lionel, we cannot pretend you didn’t do that, because you did. You don’t need to apologise. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to open up. I get the feeling you don’t do that very often.”

Lionel shook his head.

“There is one huge, glaring error you made the other day, though…”

Lionel’s eyes widened in alarm. “There is?”

You stepped closer to him, the alcohol in your system giving you a boost of confidence.

“You didn’t kiss me.”

His expression softened, then that confident smirk that looked so cute on him came back.

“You’re right, I didn’t. Let me make that up to you.”

It wouldn’t be the best kiss you’d ever have, since you were both drunk — it was sloppy, uncoordinated, and you both had the smell of alcohol on your breath. But it was a kiss, and it was sure as hell a better kiss than whatever the hell Molly had done to Sinclair earlier.

You began to laugh, which forced you to break the kiss, and Lionel frowned.

“Something funny?”

“Sorry, it’s just — what the hell was that with Molly and Sinclair earlier?”

Lionel snorted. “That girl is the biggest slut known to man. She got halfway through fucking every boy in that room before she suddenly decided she’s marrying Anderson. She says she’s in love, but knowing her father, he probably found something out, if not the whole truth, and forced her to commit.”

“And Sinclair was her next target, was he?”

“Oh, she already targeted him. Many times. But you could hold up a sign in front of Sinclair’s face saying ‘Sinclair, I want to fuck you,’ and he’d still miss it.”

“And… which half are you part of? The fucked half or the ones she didn’t get around to?”

“I… have never been with a girl.”

“Oh!” you said in genuine surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed. You’re so hot, and you have such confidence, I guess I just assumed you had loads of experience with girls.”

“I’ve been on dates, and I’ve kissed girls. Quite a few, if you must know. And, ah… one very unenthusiastic handjob from a girl who came out as lesbian a few months later. But nothing more than that. And I certainly… haven’t liked anyone as much as I like you. This is all very new to me.”

You grinned. “Would you even say you like-like me?”

Lionel rolled his eyes, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer.

“Yes, [Y/n], I like-like you. Very much so. And I very much liked kissing you just now, until you started thinking about Sinclair.”

You laughed and clasped your hand over your mouth.

“I’m sorry! Can we try again? And I swear, I’ll only think about you this time, and the very important question raised earlier about how big you are down there.”

“If anyone’s going to find out the answer to that question, it’s you,” Lionel growled. His eyes bore into yours, something deep and intense stirring inside you. “But not tonight, not while we’re both pissed. If we’re to do anything like that, I want it to be a perfect, romantic experience for you, not a quickie over the back of a sofa. But we can most certainly kiss again.”

The second kiss was better than the first — you both still stank of alcohol, but it was gentler, as if you’d got your hunger out of the way and now you were just enjoying the taste of each other. His lips were a lot softer than you’d thought they would be, and when he tightened his grip on you, you felt a jolt of something run through you.

You heard the door opening behind you. You went to pull away, but Lionel kept his lips firmly on yours.

“I’ll just leave your drinks here,” you heard Sinclair’s voice whisper behind you. There was a soft thud as the drinks were placed on a surface, and the door closed again.

Only once Sinclair was gone did Lionel release you from his grip, both of you gasping for air.

You glanced over at the drinks waiting for you, another beer and another gin and tonic.

“Sinclair’s a great wingman,” you chuckled.

“Mmm. How about we take these drinks upstairs to my room? Nothing nefarious, just… some peace and quiet.”

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

You each picked up your drinks and you followed Lionel up the stairs and down the long hallway until you reached his bedroom. It was very neatly organised and everything was put away. There were no clothes strewn on the floor like in your bedroom. On the walls were some art pieces, but you were most intrigued by the framed photos. You picked one up from the desk to examine it; it was in black and white, and it showed two identical women standing back to back in a garden, both of them sporting large baby bellies.

“That’s my mum,” Lionel said as he came up behind you, and he pointed to the woman on the right. “And that’s Sinclair’s mum on the left.”

“Aww, and there’s baby Lionel,” you laughed, pointing at Lionel’s mum’s belly.

“The first photo of Sinclair and I together. This was about a week before I was born. Sinclair followed three days later.”

“You’re only three days apart?”

“Mmm,” Lionel replied absent-mindedly. He had his hands on your waist now, and he leant down to plant kisses on your neck. You put the photo back down on the table and put your hands over Lionel’s. He was holding you close against him, and you could feel something hard pressing into you from behind.

“Lionel…”

“Mmm…”

“I thought you said nothing nefarious?”

“Is it nefarious to kiss you?” Lionel muttered, his lips against your ear now.

“No, but… I can feel your, um, excitement.”

Lionel chuckled. “You can say the word, [Y/n].”

“Your… erection. I can feel it.”

“Can you blame me when I have such a beautiful girl in my bedroom? Don’t worry, he won’t come out to play tonight. Not least because I’ve had far too much to drink. But I can still kiss you, can’t I?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You tilted your head back and to the side so your lips could connect, and Lionel tightened his grip on your waist. Just as you parted your lips, he pulled away. He took you by the hand and led you over to the bed to sit on the edge. He expected you to sit next to him, but you surprised him by instead hitching your skirt up slightly to allow you to straddle his lap.

You kissed him again, and he wrapped his arms around your torso to hold you close. Your fingers threaded through his hair as your lips parted to allow his tongue entrance, and he explored every inch of your mouth with his tongue. All the while, Lionel was fighting the urge to do something about the erection that was straining to come free of his trousers, and you certainly weren’t helping with the way you were wriggling on his lap as you kissed him.

He retracted his tongue and pulled away with the intention of kissing your neck again, but you got there first and he let out a very unrefined whine when you pulled his head back so your lips could connect with the bare skin of his neck.

“[Y/n]…” Lionel hissed through gritted teeth, “[Y/n], I need you to stop moving your hips like that if you don’t want me making a mess.”

You giggled, and you raised your head to look at him with a cheeky grin. “Is it that easy to set you off?” you teased.

“When I have a beautiful girl on top of me? Yes.”

Lionel grabbed you by the hips and flipped you over, causing you to squeal as you landed on the bed.

“That’s better,” he growled, climbing on top of you to trap you underneath him, his hands resting either side of your head. “I’d much rather have you underneath me.”

He kissed you again, hard and passionate, and you found it surprisingly comforting to be trapped beneath him, his kisses hot on your face, as if the world outside of the two of you ceased to exist.

He kissed you down your jawline and came back to your neck, before moving his kisses down your collarbone and to the neckline of your dress. He kept his hands next to your head, both to keep you trapped and to resist the temptation to run his hands all over your body.

“I know I said nothing nefarious,” Lionel said in a low voice when his kisses came back up your neck and his lips reached your ear. “But I really want to touch you.”

“Where?” you breathed, though you weren’t quite sure there was anything you’d say no to at this point.

“Your chest…”

“Now who’s avoiding saying a naughty word?” you said with a giggle.

Lionel chuckled. “Alright, then. I’d really like to touch your boobs.”

“…Okay.”

His hand couldn’t move fast enough, as if he were worried you’d change your mind in a few seconds. His large hand enveloped your breast, and although he was only touching you over your dress, you felt a tingle shoot through your body as he squeezed, causing you to gasp slightly.

Lionel hummed thoughtfully.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes. You can — you can go underneath the dress, if you like.”

He sat up slightly to shift his weight back, then placed a hand on either strap of your dress and pulled the fabric down from your shoulders, pushing the dress down until your breasts were uncovered, and Lionel let out a low groan as he stared at them.

“Fucking hell…”

He placed a hand on each breast, letting out little gasps of pleasure as he fondled them, completely mesmerised by your chest. He squeezed one of them again, causing you to squeak, and he grinned.

“I like the noises you make,” he purred. “So fucking gorgeous, love. I wonder what noise you’ll make if I do this?”

He lowered his mouth to take one of your breasts in his mouth, and when his teeth grazed your nipple, you let out another squeak.

He took his time with you, carefully exploring every inch of your breasts, sucking and kissing and grazing his teeth, eliciting every noise he could from you. When he was satisfied he’d explored them fully, Lionel pushed your breasts together, and buried his face between them. His fondling became suddenly erratic, and you noticed that his hips were twitching against the bedsheets.

Lionel let out a long moan, muffled by your breasts, and the twitching from his hips stopped. He let go of your breasts quite suddenly as his moaning stopped, and he raised his head, panting, face flushed.

“I, um… excuse me,” he muttered, and he quickly slid off the bed and hurried into his en suite, but not before stopping at his drawers to grab a pair of boxers.

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, stunned. You realised suddenly that you were practically naked, your skirt pushed up around your waist and your top pulled down. You pulled your top back up, and you giggled to yourself when you saw red marks on your boobs from Lionel’s excitement.

You knew exactly what had just happened. You’d heard about it from friends, giggling about their boyfriends cumming in their boxers while making out. You stood, pulled your skirt back down, and approached the bathroom door.

You knocked tentatively. “You okay in there, Lionel?” you called.

“I’m fine,” Lionel replied, his voice sounding slightly strained. “Just… give me a minute.”

“Okay.”

Lionel heard your footsteps walking away, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d cleaned himself up, but he was currently stood slumped against the wall, trying to shake off the utter embarrassment that had overcome him.

He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. All his talk of not wanting to rush you into sex, and instead he’d just cum in his boxers from the excitement of touching your boobs.

His wallowing self-pity was cut short when he heard your voice suddenly, urgently calling his name.

“Lionel!”

He stumbled as he pulled his trousers up, then opened the door and saw that you were at the window, watching something outside.

“What is it?”

You turned back to him, panic in your eyes.

“Sinclair. Look.”

Lionel hurried to join you at the window and looked down into the gardens. His bedroom faced away from where the party was happening, so the area was empty — except for Sinclair and another figure, a male with his back to them so Lionel couldn’t identify him, but he could certainly recognise Sinclair’s body language, the defensive stance, the gesturing arms as he tried desperately to explain something.

His explanation apparently wasn’t good enough, because the other guy pulled back his fist and punched Sinclair in the face.

You had no idea anyone could move as fast as Lionel did then. He was already halfway out the door when you turned your head, and you ran after him, hoping he wasn’t about to do something stupid like punch the other guy back.

Lionel burst through a side door, quickly followed by you, and you clasped a hand to your mouth in shock at the sight you saw. Sinclair was on the ground, unable to fight back as his assailant had him pinned down, knees holding his arms down as the other guy punched him repeatedly.

Lionel was like a rabid dog. He launched himself at the assailant, surprise more than strength giving him the upper hand as he knocked the guy over. As the two boys tussled, you ran over to Sinclair and held your hand out to him.

“Sinclair, come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Sinclair just mumbled in response, so you grabbed him by the waist and did your best to sit him up.

“Sinclair, please, you’re too heavy for me!”

“Lionel…”

“Sinclair, move!” you shouted. You wrapped your arms around him and did your best to pull him aside, dragging him across the grass like a useless lump until you at least managed to get him behind a bush.

You looked around desperately. The crowd of teens were huddled together watching the fight, but nobody was doing anything.

“Why are you all just standing there?!” you yelled. “Somebody call the fucking police!”

They ignored you, too mesmerised by the fight, and a tear ran down your cheek as you heard Lionel’s grunts. You had no idea if he was winning or not.

“Get — get Mr Parker, he’s a police officer,” Sinclair mumbled.

“I have no idea who that is! I’ll find your mum. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?”

Sinclair nodded.

“Alright, I — shit, I don’t want to leave you on your own. God, why are they all just staring? Okay, just — just hang on, okay? I’ll be really fast.”

You stood up and ran back around the house to the front, where the drunk adults had no idea what was going on. Most of them seemed to be in the tent the music was coming from, so you ran in there, and saw that most of them were dancing, drinking or both.

You grabbed the nearest person and said, “Where are the birthday girls?”

“Over there,” the woman replied, pointing to the corner of the room, where you saw two identical women chatting with someone, both laughing, with no idea what was happening to their sons.

You ran up to them, pushing past several people, ignoring their protests as you did so. You grabbed the arm of one of them, and she looked at you with a frown.

“Excuse me, what are you —”

“Lionel’s in a fight,” you panted. “Someone was beating Sinclair up. Left side of the house.”

“Oh my god, Sinclair!” the other twin exclaimed - presumably Sinclair’s mum - and she ran off immediately.

“I’ll find Parker,” said the man they’d been speaking to.

“Show me,” said Lionel’s mum, apparently much calmer than Sinclair’s mum, but you could see the panic in her eyes.

You led her out of the tent, and she waved off the concerned guests you passed who turned to ask questions.

“What happened?” she asked urgently.

“I don’t know. I just looked out the window and I saw Sinclair arguing with someone, I couldn’t see who it was. Then the other guy threw a punch and Lionel went running. I followed him out and Lionel jumped on the guy. I managed to get Sinclair out of the way but they were still fighting.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You were overtaken by a man in a suit running past you, fast and disciplined — probably Parker the police officer.

When you turned the corner, Parker was on top of the assailant, who you now recognised as Anderson, handcuffing him. Lionel had sat himself down next to Sinclair, and both boys were now being fussed over by Sinclair’s mum. You ran over to Lionel’s side.

“Lionel, you idiot, what have you done?” you said, raising a hand to stroke his face softly where it was red and raised.

“You should see the other guy,” he replied with that stupid confident smirk that you realised now was a defence mechanism as much as anything else.

Behind you, Lionel’s mum whirled on the gathered group of teens.

“What are you all doing?! Enjoying the show? Get the fuck off my property! All of you go, now, or Jim’ll arrest all of you for trespassing!”

You’d never seen a woman in her forties inspire such fear. The teens all quickly scattered, hopefully running to find their parents and tell them it was time to go.

“I need their statements, Gina,” Parker said gruffly. He had Anderson on his feet now, a hand firmly on the boy’s collar, though you suspected he wouldn’t get far if he tried to run.

“I know their names, you can find them later,” Lionel’s mum snapped. “Just get this piece of shit off my property. Hel, I’m going to call an ambulance.”

Parker began leading Anderson away, and you turned your attention back to Lionel and Sinclair.

“Sinclair, what happened?”

“He followed me outside… guess he thought — ‘cus of Molly — ah!” he hissed in pain as he tried to sit up straight. “I — I think I might have broke something, Mum…”

“Shh, it’s okay, we’ll get you to the hospital,” his mum said, patting his hair soothingly. “Georgie’s gone to call an ambulance.”

You tried to suppress a sob, and Lionel took your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault,” you sobbed. “That stupid dare…”

Sinclair shook his head weakly. “Not your fault, [Y/n]. You couldn’t have known.”

“Anderson’s an arsehole,” Lionel agreed.

“What dare?” Sinclair’s mum asked.

“I — I dared Molly to kiss the boy she’d want to date other than Anderson. She picked Sinclair, and I guess — I guess Anderson took that as a threat. I’m sorry, Sinclair, it was so stupid!”

“It’s not the first time Anderson’s thrown punches over her,” Lionel said. “I should have known he’d react like this. I shouldn’t have left you alone, mate.”

“Will you two stop apologising?” Sinclair said. “He’s responsible for his own actions.”

“Ambulance is on its way,” Lionel’s mum said as she came back over to you. “Fucking hell. You okay, cub?”

Lionel nodded. You glanced at him and tried to suppress a giggle.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You decided now wasn’t the best time to tease him for his mum’s pet name.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?” Lionel’s mum asked you.

Lionel laughed, but he cut himself off with a hiss of pain.

“Ow! This isn’t how I expected to introduce you, but Mum, this is [Y/n]. She’s my g —”

He looked at you, hesitating. You smiled coyly and gave him a small nod.

Lionel looked back up at his mum.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

His mum looked you up and down appraisingly, and in that moment you saw the resemblance very clearly.

“Girlfriend, huh? Well, we’ll deal with that later. Although I still don’t remember inviting you to my birthday party.”

“That was me,” Sinclair admitted. “I called her tonight and asked her to come.”

Sinclair’s mum sighed. “Clair, I’ve told you about inviting random people to parties.”

“She’s not random, she’s Lionel’s girlfriend, he just said so! And she’s my friend too. We are friends, right, [Y/n]?”

You laughed. “Yes, of course we are, Sinclair.”

“And you’ve met her too, Mum! She was the girl in the café, remember? I went back to get her number for Lionel.”

“Well, it seems everyone knows you but me,” Lionel’s mum said in amusement. “Lovely to meet you, [Y/n]. I wish it were under better circumstances, though with these two it’s never likely to be anything usual.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you too. Um — sorry, what should I call you?”

“I’m Georgina, I’m Lionel’s mum. This is my sister Helen, she’s Sinclair’s mum. You can call us by our first names, we don’t mind.”

“Just don’t call us Mrs Shabandar or Mrs Bryant,” Helen added. “We don’t like being reminded of our ex-husbands — Christ, Sinclair, look at your wrist!”

Sinclair had pulled back his sleeve slightly to examine a wound on his wrist, which was sporting a very large, angry bruise.

“I think it’s broken,” he said, as if it were a curiosity and not a severe, probably painful injury. “He pinned my arms down with his knees, and he’s heavier than he looks.”

Helen swore under her breath and shook her head.

“George, can you go and wait for the ambulance?”

“Course I will. I’ll make sure everyone leaves as well. The place could burn down and this lot would keep eating our food and drinking our drinks until they were forced out.”

You shuffled over to sit down next to Lionel, your hand still in his.

“Is this shoulder okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Why?”

“I want to make sure I won’t hurt you if I put my head on it.”

Lionel chuckled. “Go ahead, love.”

Even though he’d said it was fine, you were careful with the amount of weight you put on Lionel’s shoulder as you leaned on it, and in turn he leaned his head on yours.

“Aren’t they cute?” Sinclair whispered.

“We can still hear you,” Lionel said, and you snickered.

“Oh, sorry. You’re very cute together! Aren’t they cute, Mum?”

“Just adorable,” Helen said with a smile, and Lionel stuck his tongue out at her. “When are you going to get a girlfriend, Sinclair? Your father’s always calling me to suggest some girl or another. Now, I don’t mind when you get a girlfriend, but it’d be nice if you had one just to shut him up.”

“Mum, I’ve just been beaten up, now is not the time to ask about my love life!”

“Now’s your chance, Clair,” Lionel said wryly. “Girls find bruises very attractive. Case in point.”

He held up your connected hands, and you laughed.

“I liked you before you got beaten up, actually," you said.

“Yeah, she wouldn’t have been eating your face earlier if she didn’t,” said Sinclair.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Helen, and you all laughed, just as Georgina came back around the house, pointing some paramedics your way.

“Alright, off we go to hospital,” Helen said as she pushed herself to her feet. “Can you boys stand?”

Lionel nodded, and you helped him to his feet, though he insisted he was fine. Sinclair, meanwhile, hissed in pain as soon as he tried to move, so the paramedics laid out a stretcher for him.

“He’s probably fine, he just wants a go on a stretcher,” Lionel said wryly.

“Lionel!” you admonished him, but you laughed. “Come on, let’s get you to the ambulance if you can walk so well.”

Even so, you put your hand on his elbow to support him as he made his way over to the ambulance, which had parked right in front of the house, and you let the paramedics take over as they sat him on the back of the ambulance to examine him.

Nearby, the guests had all left, and the staff were taking down the tents. You stepped out of the way as the paramedics carrying Sinclair approached, and you found yourself standing next to Georgina.

“I promise you, our parties are usually a lot less violent than this,” she said to you. “I hope this hasn’t put you off coming to the next one — and I certainly hope it hasn’t put you off Lionel.”

You thought back over the evening and smiled.

“No. No, it hasn’t.”

- - -

It was almost 4 o’clock in the morning by the time you emerged from the hospital. Sinclair was sporting a cast on his arm, which he was wearing proudly, because, he said, it was a conversation starter, and he could tell everyone how his big brother protected him.

Lionel hadn’t been lying; he really had come out of the fight much better off. He had some bruises and a few cuts, but that was it. He was more concerned about Sinclair, and about you, which you found very endearing considering you were absolutely fine, just exhausted and cold, as you were still in your dress. All of you were still in your party outfits, so when you went out into the street to meet their driver, you, Georgina and Helen, all being in less layers than the boys, started shivering.

Both boys, as if trained, took their jackets off and dropped them over their mums’ shoulders. Lionel stood behind you and put his hands on your bare arms, rubbing them to generate heat.

“I’ll be your jacket,” he murmured in your ear, and you giggled.

“Thanks, Lionel. You’re a very warm jacket.”

Once he was satisfied he’d warmed up your arms, Lionel wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to share body warmth.

You could see, out of the corner of your eye, that Georgina and Helen were pointedly looking away from you both on the pretence of watching for the car. Sinclair, meanwhile, didn’t know the meaning of the word “subtlety,” and you could feel him watching you. You glanced over at him, and you saw a knowing smile on his face.

Helen spotted the car and flagged it down. You and Lionel helped Sinclair in, and the three of you sat in the back row of the seven-seater, with Georgina and Helen in front of you in the middle row.

You sat between Sinclair and Lionel, and within moments of the car moving off, you were falling asleep on Lionel’s shoulder.

The car ride was quiet. It was forty minutes back to the house from the hospital, during which time Georgina and Helen both fell asleep, leaving Sinclair and Lionel sitting in silence.

“Hey, Li…” Sinclair murmured after a little while.

“Mmm,” Lionel grunted in response. He might not be asleep, but he wasn’t entirely awake either.

“Thanks. For what you did.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No, I have to. It was really scary, Lionel. I couldn’t even fight back. Everyone was just watching… I thought I was going to die. Every time he hit me, I thought he was going to crack through my skull. He might have done if you hadn’t stopped him.”

Lionel looked up at his cousin, a serious look in his eyes.

“If he had, Clair, I swear, I would have cracked his head open right back. Nobody hurts my baby brother.”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “Did you just —”

“Don’t make a fuss of it,” Lionel said firmly.

Sinclair bit his lip to keep himself quiet, but he wriggled in his seat in excitement.

“It was worth it just to hear that,” he grinned.

Lionel rolled his eyes and shook his head. You mumbled in your sleep, and he carefully manoeuvred his arm to place it around you, his hand resting on your waist. Sinclair smiled.

“You really do like her, huh?”

“Shit, I fucking do,” Lionel admitted. “Is this what it feels like?”

“I wouldn’t know. But…” Sinclair lifted his hands and made a square with his fingers and thumbs to look at you and Lionel through it. “I wish I could take a picture to remind myself. This is what it looks like.”

“I always thought you’d be the first.”

“I thought I would too. But I’m really glad it’s you. You deserve it, Li.”

Lionel smiled, and planted a kiss to the top of your head.

“I don’t know. But I swear… I’ll do everything in my power to deserve her.”

When the driver pulled up at the house, Lionel gently shook you awake, and you zombie-walked more than anything into the house and up the stairs, letting Lionel lead the way. You said a sleepy goodnight to Sinclair as he veered off into his bedroom and continued down the hallway, Georgina and Helen ahead of you heading towards wherever their bedrooms were.

“We have fresh pyjamas in every spare bedroom,” Georgina said, stopping at a bedroom door as Helen went on ahead to her room. “Toothbrushes, underwear, all unused —”

“Mum,” Lionel said firmly.

Georgina looked back at you and realised you were still standing with Lionel, hand in his, outside his bedroom door. She seemed to consider protesting, but apparently thought better of it and sighed.

“Whatever, you’re both adults. Come in, though, [Y/n], let me show you where the guest things are. Where you sleep after that is none of my business.”

You let go of Lionel’s hand and followed Georgina into the spare bedroom. She opened a drawer and pulled out a set of pyjamas, clean and neatly pressed.

“Here you are.”

She handed you the pyjama set, and you opened your mouth to thank her, but the way she looked at you told you she had more to say first.

“[Y/n], I am about thirty seconds away from passing out on the floor if I don’t get into bed soon, so I’ll make this quick. You seem like a lovely girl. I’m still not sure who you are or where you came from, but the boys seem to like you, and that’s enough for me. Just… don’t hurt my son.”

“Of course I won’t. I haven’t known Lionel that long, but I really, really like him. I swear, I’d never hurt him.”

Georgina smiled. “Good. Now, as a single parent, I often have to play both mother and father. That was the mother’s plea. As for the father’s warning… I’m very rich and powerful, and I will ruin your life if you hurt my son.”

You froze, unsure if she was joking or not. Georgina just turned back to the drawer and pulled out an unopened packet of fresh underwear.

“Right, underwear. Toothbrush…”

“Oh, I have mine in my bag.”

“Oh, good. Well, then, get to bed, I think you and I are both about to pass out.”

“Right. Um, thanks.”

You turned and left as quickly as you could. You crossed the hallway into Lionel’s room, closing the door behind you. The room was empty, but you could hear the tap running in the bathroom.

You put the pyjamas down on the bed and reached for the zip on the side of your dress. You pulled it down, but it got caught, and in your sleepy haze you struggled to fix it until a hand appeared and managed to fix it in a few moments.

“Thanks,” you mumbled sleepily.

Lionel responded by kissing your shoulder as he pulled the straps of your dress down, and his hands wrapped around your torso to fondle your boobs as you pushed the dress down past your hips.

“Lionel!” you giggled.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. They’re fucking phenomenal.”

“Careful, you might make a mess of your nice clean boxers.”

Lionel froze.

“Oh my god, I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed. I thought it was very cute that you were so embarrassed. I didn’t realise my boobs were that powerful.”

“Are you kidding?” Lionel growled. His temporary embarrassment apparently already over, he resumed groping you, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck as he did so. “You know, I pride myself on my self-control, but one look at your tits and that’s out the window.”

You laughed. “Lionel, come on, let’s get some sleep. I’m exhausted, and you must be too. The sun’ll be up soon.”

Lionel groaned reluctantly, but he let go of your breasts, and you were finally free to get into the borrowed pyjamas, which were extremely soft and comfortable — just like, you discovered, Lionel’s bedsheets.

“Oh my god, this bed is amazing. I might just never wake up.”

Lionel chuckled as he turned the light off and climbed into bed with you. Neither of you having slept with anyone else before, it took you a little bit of shuffling to find a comfortable position, but eventually you figured out you liked to be the little spoon while he held you.

“No pyjamas for you?” you muttered, noticing as his legs tangled with yours that they were bare.

“I usually sleep naked. I put boxers on, though.”

“Good idea. Don’t want to accidentally make a mess of my bum.”

You snickered, but Lionel just held you closer, and rolled his hips against your arse.

“Trust me, there’d be nothing accidental about that.”

“Lionel! Stop it, I’m trying to sleep!”

Lionel grinned and placed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Goodnight, [Y/n].”

“Goodnight, Lionel.”

[neick-hitlz]

study Alan Rickman's (my husband) face for my soul ! ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

[muiitoloko]

Oioi, quero compartilhar uma ideia que eu tive: Lionel começa a pensar que ele precisa de um herdeiro pq ele já não é mais tão novo e a Shabandar Media precisará de um outro CEO no futuro, ele passa em frente a uma loja de roupas de bebê e vê roupas com tema de safari na vitrine e a de leão chama muito a aten��ão dele, ele tem o baby fever ativado e o breeding kink aguçado pela ideia de "manter a empresa na família" - baby fever + breeding kink = 🔥

A ideia foi essa, pode mudar, editar, fazer o que quiser com ela pq eu devoro todas as fics que vc escreve de tão boas que elas são, obrigada por ser uma das únicas pessoas que escreve fics do Colin e do Alan ♥️

Title: The Heir to the Shahbandar Empire

Summary: A chance glance at a baby store sparks an unexpected obsession in Lionel: an heir. His wife is in for a wild ride—starting that very night.

Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Obrigado pelo seu pedido! Espero que goste disso 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Lionel tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, exhaling sharply as he sat at yet another red light. He had dismissed his driver for the day, deciding to take the car himself—a rare indulgence. He hardly ever drove, always being chauffeured from one event to another, from one extravagant business deal to the next. But today, he wanted the feel of the car under his hands, the control, the freedom. It was an unfamiliar yet exhilarating experience, despite the absolute disaster that was London traffic.

His sharp, dark eyes flicked to his phone, resting in the mount on the dashboard. Nothing particularly interesting. No urgent calls, no pressing messages. A rare quiet moment in the whirlwind of his life.

He sighed and looked out the window instead.

That was when he saw it.

A small boutique nestled between two towering buildings, its window display carefully arranged by a young shopgirl. She was adjusting the tiny outfits on display—delicate, soft fabrics in pastel hues. But it wasn’t the quaint charm of the boutique that caught Lionel’s eye. No, it was the baby clothes. More specifically, the safari-themed ones.

And, of course, the lion outfit.

Lionel’s fingers tightened slightly on the wheel as he took in the sight of the miniature costume—a tiny, golden onesie with a fluffy mane around the hood, little ears poking out at the top. It was ridiculous. Adorable. Nostalgic.

He had one just like it when he was a child—though his had been an actual costume, not an outfit. He had worn it constantly, roaring around the grand halls of his childhood home, declaring himself “King of the Pride Lands.” His poor nanny had spent more time coaxing him out of that costume than teaching him any proper etiquette.

But Lionel didn’t think about that time, about his own childhood.

He thought about an heir.

His heir.

Something stirred deep in his chest—an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation. He wasn’t getting any younger. He was already older than most men who started thinking about such things. His empire, his fortune, his legacy—it had to go somewhere. He could leave it to one of his distant cousins, or even to you, his brilliant, beautiful wife. But a child… a son, a daughter—his blood— was suddenly an idea that lodged itself in his brain like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

And the most ironic part of it all? He had never wanted children.

He despised them. Couldn’t stand their incessant whining, their sticky hands, their unpredictable tantrums. He had spent years relishing his freedom, his untethered, indulgent lifestyle. A child was the last thing he had ever considered.

And yet, here he was.

Sitting at a red light. Staring at a baby store.

Thinking about breeding you.

A sharp honk from behind jolted him out of his thoughts.

Lionel’s hooked nose flared as he snapped his gaze to the traffic light. Green. Bloody hell. He had been sitting there too long. With a low growl of frustration, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his luxury car surging forward.

But his mind was elsewhere.

His fingers gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw set with newfound purpose.

The idea of a child—the very thought of you, his wife, his lioness, swollen with his heir—had ignited something deep within him. It wasn’t just possessiveness. It was more than that. It was primal. A need that had been lurking beneath the surface, unnoticed until now. He had built an empire, ruled his kingdom. Now, he needed an heir to inherit it. To carry his name.

And if he was going to do this… he was going to do it tonight.

He pressed down on the accelerator, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. He had to get home. Had to get to you.

Because tonight?

Tonight, he was keeping the business in the family.

You heard the familiar hum of Lionel’s car as it pulled into the driveway, the sound as recognizable as the man himself—powerful, controlled, yet always on the verge of breaking the rules. You smiled to yourself as you hurried to greet him, as you always did, your steps light with anticipation.

But the moment Lionel stepped inside, you knew something was different.

His sharp, dark eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He barely let the door shut behind him before he was on you, sweeping you up in his arms in one fluid motion. A gasp escaped your lips as he carried you with effortless strength, spinning around and setting you down on the nearest surface—the ornate dresser in the hallway. The wood creaked slightly under the sudden weight, but neither of you cared.

“Lionel!” you laughed breathlessly, your hands bracing against his chest, your pulse already quickening. “What the hell has gotten into—”

Your words were swallowed by his lips crashing into yours.

The kiss was desperate, bruising, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he tilted his head, deepening the contact. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was consuming you. His hands gripped your hips possessively, fingers digging in like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tugging at his own clothes, not bothering with his usual meticulousness. His jacket was the first casualty, ripped from his shoulders and tossed to the floor with no regard for its expensive tailoring. His tie followed, yanked loose with a growl, the silk slithering to the ground like a discarded snake.

“Lionel, what—” you started, half laughing, half gasping, as he moved between your legs, his hands already sliding under your dress.

He didn’t answer immediately. He just kissed you harder, his baritone voice muffled against your lips as he muttered, “Time to make a baby.”

You froze for half a second, your mind scrambling to process what you had just heard. Your fingers instinctively pressed against his chest, pushing him back just enough to look into his dark, feverish eyes.

“A baby?” you echoed, blinking. “Lionel, you—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hands moved to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he pulled you closer to the edge of the dresser, spreading your legs around him. His fingers hooked into your panties, tugging them down with purpose.

You caught his wrists, stopping him, though amusement curled in your lips. “Wait, wait, wait—” you laughed, still breathless. “A baby? You? The same Lionel Shahbandar who once declared that children are sticky, loud, and should be kept at least fifty feet away from him at all times?”

Lionel huffed, rolling his eyes, but his hands remained firm on your thighs, his grip unyielding. “I might have said that,” he admitted, his smirk betraying no shame. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

You scoffed, arching an eyebrow. “Oh? And what brought on this sudden… paternal epiphany?”

He exhaled sharply, his hands roaming up your thighs, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “I need an heir,” he said, his voice a mix of arrogance and something dangerously raw. “Someone to inherit everything I’ve built. My empire, my fortune—hell, even my bloody art collection.”

You stared at him for a beat before bursting into laughter. “So, what? Mufasa has decided it’s time to produce a Simba?”

Lionel tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against yours. “And if I have?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate rumble that sent heat pooling between your legs.

You grinned wickedly, lowering your voice to a deep, exaggerated tone, imitating Mufasa from The Lion King. “Everything the light touches will be yours, my son.”

Lionel let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding under your dress again. “Christ, you’re ridiculous,” he muttered, though the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. His smirk turned wicked as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of your neck. “But you’re also fucking perfect. And you’re going to look even more perfect carrying my child.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your teasing expression faltering just slightly. “You really want this?” you asked softly, searching his gaze.

Lionel pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. For once, the mischief in his expression was overshadowed by something deeper—something almost reverent.

“I do,” he murmured, his baritone voice softer now, but no less intense. “I want to see you swollen with my child. I want to know that I’ve left something behind in this world that’s mine. And not just anything—ours.”

Your breath caught at the sheer sincerity in his words, your heart pounding against your ribs. He wasn’t just saying it to rile you up—he meant it.

And God help you, but you wanted it too.

You swallowed hard, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders. “Then don’t just talk about it, Lionel,” you whispered, a teasing smirk playing at your lips despite the heat coiling in your belly. “Prove it.”

His eyes darkened.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he tugged you flush against him. “You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.”

With that, he hooked his fingers into your panties and tore them clean off.

You gasped, but before you could say anything, Lionel was already undoing his belt, the sharp clink of metal sending a thrill down your spine. His trousers followed, pooling at his feet, and then he was pressing against you, his thick cock already hard, already leaking, already desperate.

“Gonna fuck my baby into you,” he growled, his voice rough as he lined himself up. “Gonna fill you up so full of me, there won’t be any doubt.”

You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, teasing, taunting.

“Say it,” he ordered, his breath hot against your lips. “Tell me you want it.”

You moaned softly, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it,” you gasped, your body aching for him. “I want you to fill me up, Lionel.”

He groaned at your words, his control snapping.

Without another second of hesitation, he thrust inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, possessive stroke. You cried out, your nails raking down his back as he stretched you, filled you, owned you.

“Fuck, love,” Lionel groaned, his hooked nose flaring as he watched you take him. “So tight, so perfect. Like you were made to carry my child.”

He pulled back, only to slam into you again, setting a brutal, claiming pace. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers bruising as he fucked into you like a man possessed.

“Gonna breed you,” he rasped, his voice a dangerous growl. “Gonna keep you full of my cock, my cum, until it takes.”

You moaned helplessly, your body arching into his, every hard thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“You like that?” he taunted, his baritone voice dripping with arrogance. “Like the idea of me knocking you up, love? Of everyone seeing you round and knowing you belong to me?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, your legs trembling as pleasure coiled tighter in your core.

Lionel grinned wickedly, one hand slipping between you to rub at your clit. “Then come for me,” he commanded. “Come on my cock, love—let me feel you.”

You shattered around him, your release crashing over you in waves, your body convulsing as his name tore from your lips.

Lionel cursed, his grip tightening as he fucked you through it, his thrusts growing erratic. “Gonna fill you up, love,” he growled, his voice barely more than a breathless snarl. “Gonna put my baby in you.”

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned, his entire body tensing as he came, spilling deep inside you, his heat flooding your womb.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing.

Then, Lionel smirked, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to your shoulder.

“That’s one,” he murmured. “Best be ready, darling. I don’t intend to stop until I’m sure it takes.”

The living room buzzed with quiet conversation, the warm glow of candlelight flickering off the crystal glasses and fine china Lionel had insisted on using, despite your protests that it was just a private family gathering. You sat with Sinclair, Lionel's cousin, and your father, along with a few other close relatives; the air was thick with anticipation.

“Where the hell is he?” your father grumbled, checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes. “It's just my grandson's birthday party, not the coronation of a damn king.”

You sighed, leaning back against the plush couch. “Oh, you know Lionel,” you said, waving a dismissive hand. “He always likes a bit of drama.”

Sinclair, lounging beside you with a drink in hand, smirked. “A bit of drama?” he echoed. “Darling, the man treats every moment like he’s starring in his own personal Shakespearean epic. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made an entrance on a golden chariot.”

Just as the words left Sinclair’s mouth, the first notes of The Circle of Life blared from hidden speakers.

Your heart sank.

Sinclair’s eyes widened in pure delight.

“Oh, God,” you muttered, already burying your face in your hands.

The doors to the living room burst open with dramatic flair, and there stood Lionel, dressed in what could only be described as a monstrosity of theatrical excess—a golden robe, billowing as if conjured by unseen wind, cinched at the waist with an absurdly ornate belt.

In his arms, your one-year-old son, Liam, was decked out in a plush lion onesie, complete with little ears and a tail. His tiny fists waved excitedly in the air as Lionel lifted him high, mimicking the famous scene from The Lion King.

“NAAAAANTS INGONYAMAAAAAAA BAGITHI BABAAAAA!” Lionel bellowed, voice rich and baritone, completely committing to the performance.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Your father blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly turned to look at you.

“This,” he said flatly, “is the man you married.”

You groaned, massaging your temples. “Unfortunately.”

Meanwhile, Sinclair, the absolute menace that he was, immediately got into the spirit of things. With a grand, sweeping motion, he slid off the couch and bowed deeply before Liam, arms outstretched in a display of reverence.

“The heir to the Shahbandar dynasty has arrived!” Sinclair declared, his voice filled with mock solemnity.

Your mother covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Lionel, grinning like a mischievous fox, slowly turned to face the assembled guests, his expression positively regal. “Behold!” he proclaimed. “My son, my heir, the future ruler of the Shahbandar empire!”

Liam giggled, wiggling in his father’s grip, completely oblivious to the spectacle.

Your father exhaled sharply. “I need a drink.”

You nodded. “Same.”

“Would you like to hold your grandson?” Lionel offered grandly, lowering Liam to your father’s level.

Your father reached out, but just as he was about to take Liam, Lionel dramatically snatched him back at the last second, holding him high again. “NOT YET!” he declared. “THE CEREMONY IS NOT COMPLETE.”

“Oh, for—” Your father clenched his fists, looking dangerously close to throttling Lionel.

Sinclair, meanwhile, had abandoned all dignity and was now kneeling on one knee, arms raised as though awaiting divine blessings. “We pledge our loyalty to the young lion!” he cried.

Your father shot Sinclair an incredulous look. “Are you seriously encouraging this?”

Sinclair, without missing a beat, simply shrugged. “Might as well lean into it.”

Your hand smacked against your forehead as Lionel continued. “With this child, the Shahbandar name shall live on for generations! No longer shall we be merely a legacy of wealth and power!” He thrust Liam slightly higher. “WE SHALL BE A DYNASTY! ”

Liam giggled again, kicking his chubby legs in delight.

Your father let out a long, pained sigh and turned to you. “Divorce is always an option.”

You patted his arm sympathetically. “I’ve thought about it.”

Lionel, apparently satisfied with the ceremony, finally lowered Liam and kissed his chubby cheek. “Ah, my little lion,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “You have no idea the empire that awaits you.”

Sinclair wiped a fake tear from his eye. “That was beautiful, Lionel. Truly. Shakespeare himself is weeping from beyond the grave.”

Lionel turned to you, grinning. “Admit it, love. This was far more entertaining than some dull little cake-cutting.”

You let out a long, suffering sigh but couldn’t quite suppress the fond smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

Lionel smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And yet, you married me.”

Your father groaned into his drink.

Sinclair raised his glass. “To the heir of the Shahbandar dynasty!”

The rest of the family laughed and clapped, the initial shock giving way to amusement. Even your father eventually softened, shaking his head with a chuckle as he finally took Liam into his arms.

As the music faded and Lionel draped an arm around your shoulders, he leaned in close, his baritone voice low and teasing. “I was thinking we should start working on another heir and a spare. What do you say, love?”

You arched a brow. “Lionel.”

“Yes, darling?”

“Shut up and cut the damn cake.”

Sinclair clinked his glass against Lionel’s. “You heard the lady.”

Lionel sighed dramatically. “Very well. But next year, we’re doing a full reenactment of The Lion King. I shall require elephants.”

You groaned.

Your father choked on his drink.

Sinclair, already scheming, grinned. “I’ll make some calls.”

[unclosetedrickmaniac]

Today we mourn the 9th anniversary of this sweet sweet man's death. Rest in peace to the soul that owns a mighty large chunk of my heart

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 3 - A TREAT

Pairing : Sinclair Bryant x OC

Summary : It's December, Sinclair's favorite time of year, at least before his divorce. But this year, it will be his first Christmas with a woman who truly loves him for who he is, not for what he represents. She is his special treat.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Smut. Fluff.

A/N : And here the third story for this intense Rickmas. It's challenging but it brings me a lot of joy. Thanks for it @deepperplexity

This is the part 2 of I am yours

Part I

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Two months. It had been two months since you had finally offered yourself to Sinclair for his greatest happiness. Officially, you had been a couple for eight months, but it had taken you time to offer yourself to him and to feel comfortable enough to tell him your little secret. Well, you hadn't really told him, Sinclair had guessed and you had simply confirmed.

It was now the beginning of December. The week before, you had celebrated your birthday, a drizzly day in November but that Sinclair had managed to brighten up with his presence. And with a chocolate cake, your favorite. He hadn't forgotten. Some people like to make fun of him by saying that he always talks without ever letting anyone else get a word in edgewise, but that's not true, he knew how to listen too.

Today, you were both busy decorating the tree that stood in the beige-toned living room. The warm atmosphere of the room, illuminated by the garlands and the small colored lights that blinked all around you made the living room even more comforting than usual.

"This tree is a little too big, isn't it ?" you asked, laughing softly.

"It doesn't even touch the ceiling," Sinclair replied, kissing your temple.

This was your first Christmas together. The fifth for him since the divorce with the one-who-was-no-longer-named. Well, in your head, you nicknamed her the bitch who had fucked her brother.

"What do you normally do at Christmas ?" you asked, hanging a glass ball on the tree.

"When I was a kid, we had big, lavish parties. My parents' whole house was decorated: big trees, luxurious dinners, expensive gifts. The kids stayed in the playroom most of the time. Honestly, it was kind of boring."

You looked away, a little embarrassed. It was obvious that you and Sinclair didn't come from the same world, even if it had never bothered him.

"With... With you know who, it was always very cold. If I threw a big party, she told me she felt left out, if we were invited to my parents' house, she said he made fun of her - which is totally false ! - and if it was just the two of us... well, I wasn't enough for her. And nothing I could offer her was ever enough," he said bitterly.

He fell silent, his cheeks slightly red, as if he regretted talking about her. You took his hand in yours and gave him a small smile. Sinclair tried not to mention his ex-wife in front of you so as not to hurt you, but sometimes, it was stronger than him, he needed to talk about it. You didn't mind, you understood that he was still terribly scarred by what she had done to him and you appreciated knowing that he trusted you enough to open up and share what was still hurting him today.

"But after the divorce, and after an exorbitant amount of therapy, I learned to love the holidays again like I did before... her."

"At home, we didn't really have any traditions," you said to lighten the mood and distract Sinclair from his gloomy memories, "it was just my parents and I. We'd eat a simple meal and then spend the evening in front of the TV watching Christmas movies. But it was never really a big holiday in our house."

"Do you regret it ?" Sinclair asked sincerely.

You thought for a moment before shaking your head. 

"Not really. When I was little, we spent Christmas at my grandmother's house with my father's whole family and it was so... hypocritical. Everyone pretended to get along and smiled at each other falsely. Of course, I was too young to understand, but once I was a teenager, those Christmas parties became heavy. When my grandmother felt too old to host us all, we started to do it just the three of us and it was fine like that... And then... as an introvert, big crowds tire me out quickly," you added with a small smile.

"I know, and I am eternally grateful to you for accompanying me to all my professional parties," Sinclair said with a smile even brighter than the garland he was diligently hanging on the wall.

"It's normal, I want to be with you. That's what good girlfriends do !"

Sinclair's smile widened even more. 

"Are you glad your parents are here for New Year's ?"

"Yes, they love you," you replied, handing him a thumbtack.

Your parents had met Sinclair shortly before you moved in with him, and your mother had told you that it might have taken you a while to decide, but at least you had chosen well. Your mother never made a mistake, and you had known she was the right one. As for your father, all it took was for Sinclair to start talking to him about sea fish for him to fall under her spell.

"I'm glad to spend this Christmas in a simpler way," Sinclair said in his deep voice as he stepped down from his stepladder.

"Really? I don't want you to change your ways for me."

"Not at all. It's you and you alone that I want to be with. This will be our first Christmas and I love this simplicity."

He kissed you tenderly before deepening the kiss. He lifted you up with ease and as your legs wrapped around his hips, he led you into the bedroom to share a tender moment under the sheets filled with caresses, tender kisses and sweet words whispered in your ear.

The following days, you began to create your own traditions. You walked in your favorite park on a sunny and dry but particularly cold afternoon at Sinclair wrapped you in his wool scarf when you started to shiver despite your own scarf and your wool coat lined with silk that he had given you for your birthday.

You had also spent an entire afternoon preparing gingerbread cookies and cupcakes with delicious and colorful decorations with Christmas music in the background and in the evening, to accompany your pastries, you had prepared a hot chocolate garnished with marshmallow.

There had been Christmas movie nights of course, but also board game nights and many reading nights during which you took turns reading your favorite novels, sometimes introducing the other to an author they would never have thought of reading before.

And slowly but surely, the days had passed until December 24th. Sinclair, who had worked all month, was finally enjoying a well-deserved day off. In the early morning, you had left him to enjoy a restful sleep and had gone to prepare his favorite breakfast: fried eggs with sausages, bacon and warm toast. You had also prepared a hot chocolate that you hoped would soothe his irritated throat and you had left a bar of honey-filled chocolate, your favorite.

You woke him up with a series of kisses on the back of his neck, but without you expecting it, Sinclair turned you over with a fluid movement and you found yourself pinned to the mattress, Sinclair pinning you before his solid body. 

His lips crushed gently on yours as one of his hands moved up the t-shirt - his t-shirt - that you had worn to sleep. His lips traveled down your throat and, in one movement, Sinclair removed your t-shirt to let his lips travel down your almost naked body.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered in your ear.

"Keep going," you told him as you buried your fingers in his dark blond hair.

His lips traveled down to the bottom of your stomach as his fingers played with the edge of your pajama pants. You lifted your hips slightly and he slid your pants and panties down your pale legs before throwing them to the floor.

You placed your cold hands underneath Sinclair’s shirt, making him shiver slightly but, far from turning him away, he continued to explore your body, his tongue gently caressing your clit.

“Sinclair, please,” you whispered as one of his fingers teased your entrance.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to tease your clit, his eagle-beaked nose pressing just where it should have been to make you moan without giving you the release you craved.

Just as you were about to come, Sinclair stopped, chuckling softly when you let out a small frustrated groan. He then got rid of his boxers, and positioned himself at your entrance, his hard member teasing your soaking pussy, ready for him.

He gave you a tender look to make sure you were ready. A nod from you, and he was already slowly sinking into you, his slow and calculated thrusts sending shocks throughout your body.

"Faster," you said in a breath.

Sinclair didn't need to be asked twice, his movements intensified, but still with a certain reserve. His member was longer than average and even if since your first time you had shared several nights together, you remained inexperienced and you were still learning to recognize what you liked and didn't like while he guided you with patience and love.

"Sin... Sinclair," you stammered as you felt your orgasm building inside you.

"I love you, [Y/N]," Sinclair said breathlessly.

"I love you too," you replied, one of your hands gripping his hair and the other sliding down his back.

Sinclair picked up the pace a little more, his eyes closed as if he was trying to stay focused as your toes curled against the sheets and your nipples hardened with each new thrust from Sinclair.

"[Y/N], I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

Sinclair didn't have time to finish his sentence as his orgasm caused shockwaves into your vagina, triggering your own orgasm. Feeling your tight pussy contract against his cock, Sinclair let out a grunt of satisfaction, a primal grunt that made your own chest vibrate.

Sinclair kissed you one last time, then pulled out, leaving you with an empty feeling that he quickly filled by holding you close to him.

"Thanks for breakfast," Sinclair whispered, making you laugh softly.

The rest of the day passed in relative calm. You were wearing casual clothes. You had nothing planned and no one was going to disturb your little cocoon of warmth and intimacy. In the living room, the tree was shining brightly, on the TV, "Die Hard" was distracting you and the cinnamon and orange scented candles added a pleasant touch. You were wrapped up in a fluffy blanket, leaning against Sinclair's chest, who was totally absorbed in the movie, so much so that he had forgotten his bowl of popcorn.

Well sheltered, protected from the cold outside and the snow that had started to fall at the end of the morning, covering the garden and the windowsills with a white blanket, you felt good, safe in each other's arms. And for the first time in a long time, Sinclair felt serene.

After the movie, you headed to the kitchen. You had taken care of the main course: vegetarian lasagna, and Sinclair of the dessert, a surprise you knew nothing about. The smell of tomato sauce and grilled cheese perfumed the entire kitchen. Sinclair was busy preparing the table while you watched the lasagna. When you came back with the dishes, you saw Sinclair's effort to prepare a pretty festive table. He had laid out a pretty white tablecloth decorated with gold snowflakes. Candles provided an intimate atmosphere and in the background you could hear Wham!.

"I can't wait to taste your lasagna !" Sinclair exclaimed as he sat down at the table with an almost childish excitement.

You had done well to have planned two large dishes of lasagna. Sinclair had several helpings and he was already looking forward to knowing that there would be some more for the next day... or for the evening if he ever got a little hungry.

"Please, this is my first try so don't make fun of me if it's inedible," he said as he arrived with his dessert.

It was a Christmas Pudding that looked... unappealing. But you said nothing, waiting to taste it to give your opinion. If the visual aspect was not the most inviting, the taste was exquisite.

"You're too demanding of yourself, Sinclair. It's delicious," you said between bites.

Your sincerity, your happy and loving gaze, erased all his fears. With you, he didn't aim for perfection. All he wanted was to see that glow of pride, contentment and reassurance, mixed with the obvious love you had for him.

You shared a hot, foamy bath enhanced with lavender essential oil accompanied by champagne. You dozed gently against him as he told you how sparkling white wine had become champagne. He continued by telling you about Henry II and how his conquest of Gascony had allowed the introduction of viticulture in the United Kingdom while wrapping you in a thick bathrobe.

A few hours before Christmas, you settled back into the living room, both of you covered with a blanket. Sinclair was reading Emily Bronte's work out loud while you absently stroked his arm, wondering how you had managed to be so lucky, to have met such a man and for him to have let you into his life without knowing that Sinclair was asking himself the same question.

"A hot chocolate?" he asked suddenly, making you jump slightly.

You nodded and smiled gratefully. Except that when he came back, Sinclair was not only holding a steaming cup in his hand, but a small package that he handed to you with barely contained excitement.

You opened the velvet box under his watchful gaze. Inside, there was a gold mesh bracelet with several small pendants.

"Sinclair! This is too much!" you exclaimed, moved.

"Nothing is too much for you," Sinclair answered sincerely, taking the bracelet to put it on your wrist. "A book, because you were reading Sense and Sensibility the first time I had the courage to talk to you, a cup, for the milkshakes you drink every day, a car so that you have one of my passions with you, a clover so that you always have luck and a heart," he listed as he presented each pendant to you one by one.

"My heart," he added almost shyly, a rare occurrence for Sinclair.

You kissed him without hesitation and he hugged you.

"I'm a little ashamed to give you my gift now," you said with a little redness in your cheeks.

"I'm sure I'll love it !" Sinclair exclaimed excitedly.

You went to get it, hidden among your beauty products, and handed it to him a little shyly. You had spent weeks and weeks to finish it on time. It was only yesterday afternoon that you had finally managed to complete your work, albeit imperfect. 

You would have liked to give Sinclair something more beautiful, but he already had all the books in the world including first editions - not that you could have given him a first edition on your meager salary as a receptionist for a private school - and you had never seen him wear jewelry.

"[Y/N], it's beautiful," Sinclair said as he unwrapped a hand-knitted scarf.

You weren't really convinced, but nothing could have made you doubt his sincerity, especially when he wrapped it around his neck without hesitation.

"I know it's not much..." you started, but he interrupted you almost immediately.

"It's perfect ! Just what I needed to keep warm this winter."

And just like I will always protect your heart, Sinclair, you thought without daring to say it out loud.

He hugged you and you settled back on the couch. Sinclair turned on the TV just in time to see the beginning of Little Women, a movie he knew you loved. He absently played with the bracelet that hung around your wrist, smiling to himself. There, in the comfort of your home, in the warm caring embrace, he felt at peace.

Nothing mattered anymore. Past failures, loneliness, Natalie and Richard, nothing. Except you. You and the calm with which you surrounded his existence, soothing the demons of his past that had haunted him for so long, reminding him again and again of the burning pain of the humiliation he had felt.

As midnight struck, announcing Christmas, and the snow fell harder, Sinclair observed your peaceful face on which the glow of a candle danced. You had finally fallen asleep, totally abandoned in his arms, in full trust. His heart swelled with love. You had become, in a short time, the center of his universe, his source of joy, peace, love. 

You were his present and his future. You were his special treat.

[snowblossomreads]

🌸- Denotes Smut

December Moon - Sinclair Bryant

Secret Watching - Severus Snape x OC (Celestine Faye)

A Treat - Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader

Darkest Night - David Friedman

Open Doors - Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

Wrapped Tightly - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Quiet Wishing - Judge Turpin x OC (Mary Taylor)🌸

Never-ending Consequences- David Friedman x Fem!Reader

Unwanted Solitude - David Friedman x Fem!Reader🌸

Lingering Touch - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Out Of Reach - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader

Missing Mirth - Jamie and The Metatron

To Belong - George Sheriff of Nottingham

Deceptive Kindness - The Interrogator x Fem!Reader

Decorative Obsession - Eli Michaelson x Fem!Reader 🌸

Thoughtful Gifts - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Truthful Longing - Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader, Lionel Shabandar & Fem!Reader

Secret Visitor - Severus Snape x Fem!Reader

A Helping Hand - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader, Lionel Shabandar & OC (Angie Huang)

Wrongful Perceptions - Judge Turpin x OC (Caroline Bell)

Heartfelt Confessions - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader, Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Shivering Certainty - The Interrogator x Fem!Reader🌸

Eve Of Revelations - David Friedman

Christmas Party - David Friedman x Fem!Reader🌸

🎊🎄🎁Bonus Rickmas Fic 🎊🎄🎁

25. It's 'Koala' not 'Kola' - Elliott Marston x OC (Mary Taylor)

[ang3l-bear]

Beep bop art drop

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

NSFW Alphabet - Sinclair Bryant

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sweet and gentle. He’ll hold you as you come down from your high, running his fingers through your hair and giving you gentle kisses. Later, you’ll cuddle up against his side with his arm around your shoulder as he reads. If you ask him he’ll read out loud for you and you fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s not actually given it much thought for himself before. Maybe his hair? For you though, he loves your waist. His hands always find their way to your waist, his hands resting against your hip or arms wrapped around your middle.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's a pretty clean person in that regard, he likes to come deep inside you. He dreams about having a baby with you one day too, which only makes him want to be inside you more.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’d love to see you do a strip tease for him, but he doesn’t know how to ask you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's decently experienced. But he's not had many partners before and is more on the vanilla side.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Side by side, facing each other. He likes being wrapped up with you, being able to look in your eyes and have as much skin contact as he can.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You can make each other laugh very easily. Something like fumbling with clothes or stumbling into something while making out or trying to get undressed will start you both with a fit of the giggles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his personal grooming, but he's not overly concerned with it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a very romantic person. Making love with you is something special and wonderful to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If he's been apart from you for a while, he will. Or if you ask him to while you're in bed so you can watch him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Two words - Food kink. From kissing you at breakfast to taste the jam on your lips, to in bed licking chocolate sauce off your breasts, you are his favourite desert.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed, on the couch, in the shower. The most adventurous place was under a willow tree by the river.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you're just at home being comfortably domestic, like cooking dinner or curled up reading a book. It makes him so happy, and part of him was afraid he'd never be so happy, he wants to just lavish you with all the love he feels. Also, how you listen when he starts rambling about something. He knows he waffles on and is used to people tuning him out, but you actually listen, you find him interesting, and it makes him want to actually stop talking and kiss every inch of you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He'd never share you with anyone else (not that you'd want too anyway). And nothing public either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn't mind receiving, but he really likes giving.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual, all the way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers being able to take his time and be comfortable, but you've indulged in quickies a few times. Usually in the shower before he goes to work.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's up for a bit of experimentation. His curiosity will have him trying something at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually once is enough to satisfy you both, but you can go two or three times if you're both in the mood.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You've played around with vibrators sometimes. Either he would use it on you, or you'd use it on yourself while he watched.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's not really a teaser, not deliberately anyway. When he's taking his time with kisses and touches, it can feel like teasing to you, but he's just enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not really loud. Gasps and moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's got some sub tendencies, and he turns to putty in your hands when you get playfully commanding. One time you told him to "get on your knees and put your pretty mouth to good use" and he almost tripped over a coffee table to get to you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Like, 7in and decently thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty medium. Like, thoughts of sex don't occupy his mind constantly, and sometimes he's happy with just kissing and holding you. But when he's in the mood he can be very eager.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually, it takes him a little while to fall asleep afterwards, unless you've really worn him out.

[saehapark145]

Sinclair deserved better.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 9: Unwanted Solitude [D1]

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Roughly 1.5 years after the end of the movie and Sinclair has divorced the it’s-absolutely-not-cheating-fucking-one’s-brother-while-married-to-a-sweetheart-bitch but he’s now lonely and has not been as outgoing or social ever since the summer it all came to light. This Christmas, as it is December 9th, feels beyond lonely and you miss him. Natalie slander ahead btw!

Special Thank You: to @snowblossomreads for checking this fic to make sure I did an okay job on Sinclair as it's my first time writing for the man and Blossom is a certified super fan of him 🤭

A/N: I have never written for Sinclair, or been a particular fan of him as I’ve not really watched his movie more than once - I could not stand everything else about it so once was enough for me despite Alan being in it - yet still I have been asked numerous times to write for this yapping, open sweetheart so why not give it a go? << this was written BEFORE I started writing….

I’ve now written the thing and… >> Well, this is no longer a One-Shot, I’ll have to split it into two 😂 It takes quite a bit more words to write for this yapping man than any other and I’m honestly finding that I don’t mind. I’m not sure how much I’ll write for Sinclair in the future but at least two parts of Rickmas will be for him - so, yay on trying new characters! 😂👌

Tags/TW’s: Natalie SLANDER, Talk Of The Infidelity, Talk Of The Incest, Secret Pining, Long-Time Crush, Unplanned Honesty About Feelings/Thoughts, Yapping,

Word Count: 2.2k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Unwanted Solitude

He had not been the same ever since that strange party where Natalie and her brother had returned all banged up and bruised. You’d not thought to ask about it, it seemed like a private matter, but lately you hadn’t been able to avoid connecting the dots. Sinclair had chatted with you about his now ex-wife cheating on him — while it was happening and he tried to find out with who it was happening — but then after that party he never spoke a word about it again.

Actually, he spoke less and less while he seemed to withdraw and no longer find life as lovely or interesting as before. After all, he was not the sort of man who ever shut up about anything he saw or found interesting — or even just something he knew something about no matter his interest level or the relativity to any given topic currently underway. If he had information or something to share he’d simply do so.

When the divorce was announced — after everything was done and Natalie had already moved out — you’d been there for him as much as he allowed but what had actually happened was never really talked about. You understood the infidelity had been too much to get over — valid as fuck if one asked you — but there seemed to be even more to it as Sinclair had changed so much. That it suddenly was like pulling teeth to get the man to talk only worried you all the more.

He used to never ever be quiet, which you found quite endearing and since you weren’t the most talkative person yourself it was rather nice just to listen and be able to hold a conversation with less work from your side which allowed you to be comfortable in your quietness. You weren’t shy, of course, nor adverse to socialising but it was utterly nice to just listen to him. His deep voice, hearing his tone change depending on his interest level, watching him smile or move his facial features in accordance with how he felt about any given subject.

It had been nearly a month since you last saw the man, or even heard from him, which you weren’t really happy about. A sort of unwanted solitude had been bestowed on you as he was one of few you ever really talked with or enjoyed the company of. Well, truth be told you did a little more than enjoy his company, you had quite the crush on the man. It had started from the moment you met him — you had never said anything about it as the man had been married, and then the divorce happened, and now he had almost shut everyone out. The weekly gatherings, the outings, the restaurant dinners with friends and family, the fun parties he threw and the garden gatherings had all gone out the window after that summer party and the chance to confess never seemed to come.

You sighed, trying to focus back on what you were doing — reading a book in bed as it was despite the evening being young — you jolted when the phone rang in its shrill tone. Picking it up, you held it against your ear. “Hello?” “It’s overflowing!” shouted Sinclair, even if his shouting wasn’t quite like any other person’s shouting. “The blasted thing is filling my kitchen again!” You held back a smile at his frustrated, exasperated voice as you remembered the last time the dishwasher had gone bonkers and the cheating bitch had been out fucking her brother and Sinclair had called you for help with it.

“Have you unplugged it?” “Have I— Of course I have! The blasted thing keeps pumping out suds and bubbles and water and everything is covering the floor and it’s nice flooring with the honey-waxed mahogany—” “Yes, I know, I remember the last time it happened,” you said while flinging off the cover and pulling down your pyjama pants. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.” “Oh, it’s spewing water now! It’s like a fountain! They were made already back by the ancient Romans for decorative purposes, before Christ even, but I don’t want one in my blasted kitchen in this modern day!” he shouted and you could hear his sloshing footsteps through the receiver.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming, just cut the water supply! Bye,” you said and hung up before scrambling out of the rest of your comfy pyjamas to throw on the outfit you’d planned for tomorrow’s workday — it happened to be a very pretty ensemble of clothes that highlighted all your favourite features of your figure so that wasn’t too bad when rushing out to go over and save the man you were dreaming of from the broken dishwasher.

So, as you walked up toward the beautiful house now dusted with snow, your nerves got the better of you despite you never slowing down. It had been over a month and seeing him again was long overdue. However, when you opened the door all you could hear was cursing, water sloshing, and banging. This can’t be good, you thought as you hung up your coat and headed straight for the lovely kitchen with slightly outdated appliances.

“There you are!” Sinclair exclaimed as you entered the kitchen while rolling up your sleeves. “Here I am,” you replied with a smile as he looked at you with distressed puppy eyes. “Out of the way, let’s fix this thing. Again,” you continued with a pointed look and the relief was instant in his handsome features.

He helped you pull the dishwasher out before he sat atop the counter as he usually did. He was soaking wet, and you did all you could to keep your eyes at head level and not allow them to wander down the nearly see-through white shirt.

“Got the wrench?” you asked, it really wasn’t a hard thing to fix the dishwasher. Just a bolt needing tightening and the liner needing straightening but Sinclair wasn’t a handy guy. You’d been on your own for a long time so little things like that weren’t too much of a bother. You’d learned as you went through life with minimal help from others.

“Here,” he said and handed it to you. “Thanks—” you crawled behind the dishwasher “—you really should replace this. Isn’t it the third—” “Fourth,” he corrected. “—yeah, the fourth time it breaks. Get a new one.” “I will, eventually, but society today is too focused on replacing things rather than repairing them. One can’t throw away everything in a rush just because it’s a little broken. You know, it’s only in recent times society has started moving away from creating things that last and are repairable to consumers having to buy new things at a higher rate.” “Oh yeah?” You already knew this, of course, but Sinclair sounded happy talking about it.

You tightened the bolt connecting the dishwasher to the water line as he kept talking. “Yes, as a matter of fact, the light bulb is the earliest example of this. They lasted too long so a meeting was held, by the Phoebus Cartel no less, and all of a sudden the time was cut in half for how long a bulb should work. Suddenly, consumers had to purchase new bulbs at a higher rate and thus the companies made more money. Now it has infected our whole society, planned obsolescence was born out of company greed and we’re all paying for it. Terrible, really.”

You hummed and fixed the liner. “Yeah, that is terrible. That was quite evil of the cartel.” You honestly just wanted him to keep talking, it had been so long since you enjoyed a flowing conversation with him yapping away as he had done before.

You crawled back out and found Sinclair watching you with a smile. “What?” “The cartels of the world have done many bad things, creating planned obsolescence is probably one of the worst things, though. I mean, the mafia did help create best-before dates on foods but that’s more of a good thing for food safety and regulations — for the general health of the public. Alcapone wasn’t all bad, it seems as he got milk bottles to have markings of dates in such a way. Quite smart, really, to lobby for it. It is, however, not a fact fully proven but it is fully believed — for different reasons. One being his niece getting sick and the other being he would profit off it with the businesses he had a hand in.” “Alcapone? Wasn’t that around 1902?” you asked, remembering him mentioning something about the mafia man and milk bottles in another conversation a long time ago.

For a moment there was silence, then he smiled most warmly before a broad and teeth-flashing grin turned his handsome features absolutely gorgeous. “You listened? And remembered? That was years ago when we talked about Alcapone and the dairy industry.” You nodded and he kept chatting while you wiped your hands. “Now that I think of it, you always seem quite sharp and attentive when I talk. You don’t talk much but you’re always listening and I have never had to repeat the same thing twice to you. Got a good memory?” “Ha!” you laughed, hanging up the towel. “Not really, but I like listening to you.” “To me? Specifically?”

Your fingers halted just before releasing the towel, your cheeks heating and your shoulders stiffening. You hadn’t meant to let it slip out like that. You’d never told him of your interest or really showed it as it had never been a good time for it. “Well, yes…” “Huh, that’s nice to know. I am talkative, very aware of it, too. But how can I not share the many bits and facts being housed in my head when so many opportunities arise for it?” he said with a happy voice as you turned and nodded. “Yeah, exactly. And it’s interesting to know things.” “It is indeed. One can never know too many things— Ah, well, I guess one could but— Never mind.”

His shoulders slumped and the slight gloom you had seen in him ever since that damned party returned. “Well, I’d rather know and deal with things than live in false bliss. Wouldn’t you?” you asked, giving him an opportunity to pick up the conversation as you leaned against the pulled-out dishwasher, ignoring the water seeping through your socks. “Now there’s a truth if I’ve ever heard one. Quite right,” he said. “But some things one doesn’t want to know.” You simply had to know, had to make sure, so you jumped at the chance. “Like if one’s wife is fucking their brother?”

Sinclair stiffened, his face turned ashen and you knew you had been to the point and awfully brusque. But, then again, Sinclair had always seemed to be the type of person who could better deal with that than people not spitting things out when needed.

You stood still, held his gaze and waited. “You know…” “Well, I suspected, but yes, basically.” “Well, that makes things awkward.” “Not really.” “No?” he asked, arching a brow while his stiff posture remained. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Staying with her perhaps but I know you and you always try to work things out. I mean, if I was your wife I’d do my best to make you the happiest man alive. You’re fantastic, you know.” Better just spit it all out while we’re at it. “Not that you don’t have your bad sides and bad habits but, I mean come on, that’s no excuse for infidelity or partaking in incest. Sorry, but gross as fuck and so wrong.”

Sinclair watched you, silent for once in a pondering manner. Your stomach was in upheaval and your fingers squeezed your upper arms as you held them crossed under your chest while pretending to remain calm. “If you were my wife?” he asked. “Anyone, if anyone was your wife I think, except that bitch— Sorry, but, I never liked her at all.” “I noticed. You hid it well, though.” “I tried.” You sighed. “Not to say you were the best match for her at all times either, I mean she changed a lot about herself for you, so maybe the wife you had wasn’t at all the person she really is but that’s even worse. Fraud, basically.” His eyebrows shot up. “I never knew you held such strong opinions about her, or our relationship.” “Not my relationship, not my place to say.” You seemed happy with her until the cheating, too. I’d never wanna ruin anything that makes you happy.

Sinclair scooted off the bench and you straightened. “Push it back?” he asked and put his hands on the dishwasher, right by your hip. “Sure.” You took the other side and as you pushed the old thing back in place you couldn’t help but dread whatever he was about to say next. You had utterly exposed your own thoughts and feelings, not something you often did.

“I think we need a mop,” he sighed, looking at the water and your wet socks. “Some rags and a bucket, too,” you added and he nodded. “And perhaps a longer conversation, over tea and in dry clothes,” he continued with a strange depth to his voice and a weird but captivating look in his eyes. You merely nodded, mute at the moment while your heart thundered in your chest.

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

NEXT PART » Prompt 12: Missing Mirth [D2]

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this, darling! I'm quite pleased with my first attempt at writing for this man - not sure how much I'll be writing for him but we'll see in the future. At least one more fic, though, as this requires a second part 🥰

Got any plans for the week? ❤

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[smilingformoney]

After Work Activities | Sinclair/Reader

Summary: You're tired of waiting for Sinclair to finish work, so you take matters into your own hands.

AN: This is a birthday present for the wonderful @snowblossomreads who said all she wanted for her bday was thighriding with pupper ❤

Warning/content: thighriding, sexy times in the office, boss/employee relationship

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

It was a quarter past five on a Friday, and Sinclair still hadn’t come out of his office. You sat on a chair outside his closed door, huffing and puffing as colleagues streamed past you on their way home, and you were still waiting for your boyfriend to finish work, even though home time was fifteen minutes ago.

While he was always busy, being so high up in the company, you had a smaller role and sometimes had very quiet days. This had been such a day, and you’d spent most of the past few hours passing the time by fantasising about Sinclair and all the things you wanted to do to him at the weekend.

With a sigh of impatience, you stood up and let yourself into Sinclair’s office. He was bent over some files, a frown on his face as he stared intently at the reports on his desk. You knew exactly what was going on - he was so hyperfocused on his work, he probably hadn’t even looked at the clock, let alone thought about packing up to go home and spend the weekend with his girlfriend.

You cleared your throat, and Sinclair glanced up. He smiled.

“Hi, [Y/n],” he said, clearly glad to see you, but his eyes drifted back down to his reports.

You rolled your eyes.

“Clair, you know it’s quarter past five, right? Everyone else has gone home.”

“Is it?” Sinclair replied absentmindedly. He looked up at the clock and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So it is! I had no idea. I’m nearly finished here, then we can go home.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. You were bored, you were horny, and you wanted him. You had to snap him out of his bubble.

You crossed the room and came up behind his desk to wrap your arms around him from behind.

“Pay attention to meeeeee,” you whined, and Sinclair chuckled. He straightened up and pushed his chair back a little, and you took the opportunity to jump onto his lap, straddling him in his office chair.

“Can I sit here while you finish work?” you asked with the cutest pout you could muster. “I’ll be really still and silent and I won’t disturb you, promise. I just wanna hold my puppy.”

Sinclair smiled coyly, and you knew you had him. He couldn’t resist you, especially when you called him puppy .

“Of course, my darling,” he agreed, and shifted you in his lap slightly so he could still see his papers.

You were trying your very best to be quiet and still as you’d promised, but you had a big problem. Sinclair had moved you to the side so you were in just the right position for his thigh to be pressing between your legs. You were wearing a skirt and no tights thanks to the warm weather, so you could feel the texture of his corduroy trousers pressing up against the very pussy that had been aching for him all day.

In a bid to distract yourself from your lewd thoughts, you asked Sinclair what he was working on, hoping that listening to him ramble on about something as boring as work would stop you from being so horny. But as you listened to him talk about P/E ratios as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, all you could focus on was the way his chest rumbled when he spoke, and the cute way his amber eyes lit up when he was talking about something he thought was very interesting.

“So really we need a P/E lower than twenty - hey, what are you doing?” Sinclair interrupted himself when he noticed the way you were squirming on his lap.

“Need you,” you mumbled.

Sinclair frowned, confused, then his eyebrows shot up when he clocked your meaning.

“[Y/n], are you… horny?”

“Desperately!” you whined. “I know your work’s important, Clair, but I’ve been thinking about you all day. See?”

You lifted your skirt to show him your wet panties, which were beginning to soak through to his trousers.

Sinclair gaped like a fish, his cheeks flushing red.

“Darling, you should have said, I - I can come in and finish these tomorrow —”

“No!” you protested. “I don’t want you coming into work tomorrow, I like our Saturday morning lie-ins. You finish your work, Clair. I’ll just suffer.”

You sighed dramatically as you collapsed against him, head on his shoulder, and Sinclair found himself torn. You were right, if he didn’t finish these reports now he’d have to come in tomorrow and neither of you liked it when he worked on a Saturday - but his girlfriend was on his lap begging for him, he couldn’t just leave her like this!

His leg began bouncing, as it often did when he was anxious or uncertain about something, and it just so happened to be the leg you were pressed up against.

You let out a surprised oh!, which prompted Sinclair to stop.

“Keep doing that, I liked it,” you giggled.

“Oh - erm - like this?”

He bounced his leg again, and you made another happy noise.

“Mmm, yes, Clair, keep doing that - you keep working, I’m quite happy here, thank you.”

Ever obedient, Sinclair kept bouncing his leg, which was causing the texture of his trousers to rub against your clit through your wet panties. You began wriggling back and forth on his leg to increase the friction, and you let out a whine as the pleasurable feeling shot right up into your core.

“Keep telling me about the P/E ratios,” you begged, your voice hoarse and dripping with lust.

“Do you find P/E ratios sexy, [Y/n]?” Sinclair asked, half joking but also wondering if you really did find it arousing.

“No, but your voice turns me on so much,” you told him between moans. “Keep - keep talking, Sinclair, please…”

“Okay, well, um… the problem with P/E is it doesn’t account for growth, so then you need to look at the PEG ratio…”

God, your mind was deranged. You didn’t know what PEG ratio was, but you did know that peg —> pegging, and suddenly you were thinking about bending Sinclair over his desk and taking him with a strap-on. He’d probably turn the colour of beetroot if you suggested it to him, but he might come around to it eventually. You’d learnt very early on when dating him that he’d only ever really had vanilla sex, but you were slowly introducing him to new ideas, some of which he liked and some he didn’t, but he was always willing to try.

Like what you were doing now - he’d probably never considered that you found his voice sexy no matter what he was talking about, or that you could get yourself off just by riding his thigh, but he certainly knew it now, because you were humping his thigh faster and faster, chasing that high you’d been fantasising about all day.

At some point, although in your ecstasy you couldn’t say when, your gyrating and moaning became too much for Sinclair to resist, and he tossed aside the report to worry about on Monday. Instead, he focused on you, and the way you were pleasuring yourself using just his thigh was unbelievably hot. He could feel his trousers getting tighter as his cock grew in response to your movements and your sounds, and although he’d sworn never to do this at work, that thought was tucked away quietly in the corner of his mind as he unbuckled his belt to pull his cock out, even if only to get some release from the tightness of his clothing.

You giggled happily when you saw his cock was out, and you adjusted yourself on your lap to slide down onto him, both of you groaning with relief as he slid past your soaked walls.

“It’s been a long week,” Sinclair sighed as you settled onto his lap, knees either side of his hips and his cock hilted inside you.

“You want me to make it better, baby?” you cooed.

He looked at you, his pupils blown with lust, breathing heavily as he let his walls fall down with you.

“Yes, please, darling.”

You smiled triumphantly and happily obliged, riding him as hard and fast as you could.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all day, thinking about this?” Sinclair asked between gasps. “I don’t think that’s - ah! - what I pay you for.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve got to admit it’s hot, right? Knowing while you’re sitting in here in your meetings, taking calls, reading reports, whatever - that I’m a few doors away, thinking about how I’m gonna make you cum tonight?”

Sinclair just whined in response, and you knew you had him. Fucking him good was one of the few ways to shut him up, and certainly the only one exclusive to you.

“We should do this more often… maybe I’ll schedule meetings with you in the day, just to fuck you senseless.”

Sinclair nodded eagerly. You took his hand and guided him towards your clit; ever quick on the uptake, Sinclair pressed his thumb against your sweet spot, causing you to let out a low groan of pleasure as he flicked his thumb back and forth just the way you liked it.

“Oh god, Sinclair, just like that!” you cried out. “Fuck, Sinclair, I’m gonna cum - gonna cum all over your cock… fuck, yes, yes - Clair!”

You cried out his name as you came, legs turning to jelly on his lap, and Sinclair quickly took over thrusting as he held you close, mumbling your name as he chased his own peak, and when he came, it was loud enough that you had to be grateful the office was empty or you’d have multiple HR complaints on your hands.

You stayed in his lap, cuddling up to him as you felt his cock softening inside you and the two of you came down from your highs, sticky and sweaty and still mostly in your office clothes, and as the oxytocin wore off, the reality of what you’d just done set in.

“Sinclair, do you remember when we got together and we agreed to keep it professional at work?” you asked as you sat up sleepily.

“Mmm,” he responded absentmindedly, his brain apparently still empty of words in his post-orgasm bliss.

“This doesn’t count if it’s past the end of the work day, right?”

Sinclair blinked his eyes open and looked up at you, a blissed-out smile on his face.

“I’ll have to report this to your boss,” he teased.

“Oh nooo, not Mr Bryant!”

Sinclair grinned, then pulled you back towards him for a kiss.

“You’ll get away with it,” he murmured when your lips parted. “I’m pretty sure your boss is in love with you.”

“Only pretty sure?”

“Well, actually, no. I’m certain your boss is head over heels in love with you.”

You both laughed, and when you both emerged from his office ten minutes later looking completely innocent as you giggled together like schoolchildren about what you’d just done, you thought it would be absolutely worth getting fired over fucking a coworker in the office so long as it meant you had Sinclair.

Besides, who’s going to fire you for fucking a coworker when the coworker you’re fucking is your boss, who is, in his own words, head over heels in love with you?

Sinclair sure wouldn’t.

[neick-hitlz]

- We miss you ❤️‍🩹

[muiitoloko]

I saw that you've written some stuff about Lionel and Turpin being fathers (which by the way I loved reading them and am still waiting for more content), that made me wonder what Sinclair Bryant would be like if he were a father

Title: The Playful Heart

Summary: Sinclair Bryant’s childlike spirit shines as he and his son embark on imaginative adventures, bringing warmth and laughter into their home.

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant × Fem! Reader & OC

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much! I'm thrilled you enjoyed the Lionel and Turpin dad content! 😊 As for Sinclair Bryant being a father, oh boy, that would be something! I imagine he'd be the kind of dad who's equal parts loving and totally clueless. Like, he'd give his kids books on advanced science when they’re five, and when they cry because they don’t get it, he’d be like, "But it’s fascinating, don’t you think?" He'd probably also lose track of time reading and forget that his toddler is still sitting in their high chair... But his heart would definitely be in the right place! 😅

I might just have to explore that more—thanks for the idea! 😄

Also read on Ao3

You stood in the doorway of the living room, hands on your hips, a bemused smile tugging at your lips as you watched the two men you loved most in this life—your husband, Sinclair Bryant, and your two-year-old son, James Bryant—crawling around on all fours, completely engrossed in their game. The sight of them together, both blond heads bobbing up and down as they moved across the carpet, filled you with warmth. But there was also a fair amount of curiosity as you tried to figure out exactly what they were doing.

“What are you two playing this time?” you asked, amusement lacing your tone as you tilted your head, trying to make sense of the scene before you.

James, ever the enthusiastic little boy, looked up at you with a wide grin, his hazel eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re dogs, Mommy!” he declared proudly, his voice bubbling with joy. “Daddy says we’re playing pretend to be dogs!”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the declaration. Before you could fully process the idea of your husband and son playing pretend dogs, you noticed Sinclair by the couch, and your confusion deepened.

“Clair?” you called out, your voice carrying a note of disbelief as you saw him crouched near the armrest, his expression entirely too serious for someone involved in such a ridiculous activity.

Before you could say anything else, Sinclair, in all his child-like exuberance, proceeded to lift his leg as if he were a dog marking his territory—on the couch. Your eyes widened in shock, and without thinking, you quickly approached him, your hands pushing against his shoulder as you urgently hissed, “Stop it, Sinclair! What on earth are you doing?”

James, who had been watching his father with rapt attention, burst into a fit of giggles, his laughter filling the room with an infectious joy. “Daddy’s being a doggy!” he squealed, clearly delighted by the absurdity of the situation.

Sinclair looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his blond hair slightly tousled from all the crawling around. “What?” he asked, his tone completely guileless. “Dogs do this all the time, don’t they? I was just showing James how to—”

You quickly cut him off with a mix of exasperation and affection. “Clair, sweetie, we don’t need to teach James how to pretend to pee like a dog. Especially not on the couch.”

Realization dawned on Sinclair’s face, and a sheepish grin spread across his lips. “Ah, right,” he said, his baritone voice tinged with a touch of embarrassment. “Probably not the best idea.”

James, still giggling, crawled over to you, tugging at your pant leg as he looked up with a beaming smile. “Mommy, Daddy’s funny!” he declared, his little face glowing with pure, unfiltered joy.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the situation too ridiculous not to find humor in it. You bent down to scoop James into your arms, pressing a kiss to his soft blond hair. “Yes, Daddy is very funny,” you agreed, your eyes meeting Sinclair’s with a mix of amusement and love.

Sinclair, ever the good-natured father, straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, still grinning despite his earlier misstep. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to find a different game to play,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Maybe we could be cats instead? They don’t mark their territory quite so… noticeably.”

James clapped his hands in excitement, clearly thrilled at the prospect of a new game. “Cats! Let’s be cats, Daddy!”

You shook your head, still smiling as you watched the two of them. Despite his occasional naivety, Sinclair was a wonderful father—kind, patient, and always willing to dive headfirst into whatever imaginative world James wanted to explore. Even when his ideas went slightly off the rails, as they had today, his heart was always in the right place, and that was what mattered most.

You interrupted their game with a playful smile, stating, “Alright, my little pups—or should I say, cats—it’s time for dinner.” The mere mention of food instantly caught the attention of both Sinclair and James, their heads snapping toward you with identical expressions of eagerness. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how much alike they looked at that moment, their shared love for food shining brightly in their eyes.

“Dinner!” James exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly as he scrambled to his feet, ready to race toward the dining room.

Sinclair, ever the enthusiastic father, followed suit, his long legs easily keeping pace with his son’s hurried steps. He shot you a grin over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’ll be the fastest cats to the dinner table!” he declared, his baritone voice filled with playful determination.

You shook your head, laughing softly as you followed them into the dining room. Once there, you gently lifted James into his high chair, securing him with practiced ease. Sinclair took his seat next to James, his expression one of eager anticipation as he watched you with the same child-like enthusiasm as his son.

“Smells delicious, love,” Sinclair remarked, his hazel eyes shifting from brown to green in the soft light of the dining room. His nose twitched slightly as he caught the scent of the meal you had prepared, and he offered you a warm, appreciative smile.

“Thank you, Clair,” you replied, feeling a rush of affection for your husband as you served the food. Since your maid was on a well-deserved vacation, you had taken it upon yourself to prepare dinner, and you were glad to see that your efforts were so well-received.

You placed a plate in front of Sinclair, who eagerly leaned in to take a closer look. “Oh, is this your famous shepherd’s pie?” he asked, his tone bordering on reverent as he inhaled the savory aroma.

“Indeed it is,” you confirmed with a nod, moving to serve James his own portion—cut into smaller, manageable pieces for his tiny hands. “And for you, James, I made your favorite—mini shepherd’s pie just for you.”

James’s eyes lit up at the sight of his plate, and he immediately reached for his fork, though his small hand fumbled slightly in his excitement. “Yummy!” he declared, beaming up at you. “Thank you, Mommy!”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie,” you replied, pressing a kiss to the top of his blond head before sitting down to join your two favorite boys.

As the three of you began eating, the dining room filled with the pleasant sounds of clinking utensils, satisfied hums, and, of course, Sinclair’s chatter. He regaled James with stories of dinosaurs, punctuating his words with grand gestures that had James giggling between bites of his dinner.

“And you know,” Sinclair said, leaning closer to James with a conspiratorial air, “Tyrannosaurus Rex had teeth as big as bananas! Can you imagine that? Bananas, James!”

James’s eyes went wide with wonder, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth as he stared at his father in awe. “Really, Daddy?” he asked, his voice filled with amazement. “Bananas?”

“Absolutely,” Sinclair replied with a firm nod, his own eyes twinkling with amusement. “They were big, strong, and very hungry dinosaurs. Just like us when we’re ready for dinner!”

You watched the exchange with a fond smile, your heart swelling with love for your little family. Sinclair might be a bit naive at times, but his ability to connect with James in such a genuine, playful way was one of the things you cherished most about him.

As dinner came to an end, you couldn’t help but notice how much James had eaten, his little tummy full from the meal you’d prepared. He looked up at you with drowsy eyes, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Mommy, that was so good,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleepiness.

You smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you liked it, darling,” you said, reaching over to gently stroke his cheek. “Now, how about we get you ready for bed?”

James nodded, his head already drooping slightly as he leaned against the side of his high chair. Sinclair, ever the doting father, was quick to scoop his son up into his arms, cradling him close as he stood from the table. “Let’s get you into your favorite pajamas, buddy,” he said softly, his voice soothing and full of love.

You followed them up the stairs to James’s room, where Sinclair gently laid him down on the bed. He then walked over to the dresser, pulling out the pair of dinosaur pajamas that James adored so much. The moment James saw the familiar green and blue pattern, his eyes lit up, and he wiggled in excitement.

“Dino jammies!” James exclaimed, holding out his arms eagerly for Sinclair to help him into them.

Sinclair chuckled as he dressed his son, carefully guiding James’s small arms and legs into the soft fabric. “That’s right, little man,” he said, buttoning up the pajamas with a smile. “The best pajamas for the best little boy.”

Once James was dressed, Sinclair lifted him into his arms again, holding him close as they played a little game of “dinosaur growls,” with Sinclair pretending to be a T-Rex while James giggled and tried to imitate the sound. The room was filled with the sounds of their laughter, a pure and joyful moment that you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt.

But as the playfulness began to wind down and you noticed James’s eyes growing heavier, you stepped in, placing a gentle hand on Sinclair’s arm. “Alright, time for bed, both of you,” you said softly, your tone laced with amusement. “James needs his rest, and so do you, Clair.”

Sinclair looked up at you with a sheepish grin, clearly reluctant to end the fun. “Just one more minute?” he asked, though he was already lowering James into his bed.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss Sinclair’s cheek. “One more minute,” you agreed, your heart full as you watched the two most important people in your life share this special moment.

Sinclair tucked James in, pulling the blankets up to his chin before leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, little dino,” he whispered, his voice full of affection.

James’s eyes fluttered closed, a contented smile on his face as he murmured, “Goodnight, Daddy… Goodnight, Mommy…”

You stepped forward, placing a soft kiss on your son’s cheek as well. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

As you and Sinclair left the room, closing the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Despite his occasional naivety, Sinclair was a wonderful father, and you knew that James was lucky to have a dad who loved him so fiercely.

With James now asleep, Sinclair wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked down the hallway together. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I think tomorrow, we should play pirates. Or maybe astronauts. What do you think?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as you walked. “Whatever you decide, I’m sure James will love it,” you replied, knowing that Sinclair’s enthusiasm for playtime was one of the many things that made him such a great father.

As you reached your bedroom, you turned to face him, your eyes filled with love. “You’re an amazing dad, Sinclair,” you said softly, standing on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “James is so lucky to have you.”

Sinclair smiled down at you, his hazel eyes filled with warmth as he held you close. “I’m the lucky one,” he murmured, his voice deep and sincere. “I’ve got the best family in the world.”

And as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a loving embrace, you knew that there was no place you’d rather be than right here, in the arms of the man you loved, in the home you had built together, with the son who had brought so much joy into your lives.

[randomcreator-09]

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[evans23]

Always and forever

Pairing : Sinclair x Reader OC

Summary : You’re sick and Sinclair takes care of you.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : fluffy puppy Sinclair ❤️

A/N: Hello dear 😁 Hope you will enjoy the best boyfriend a girl could wish for ! No time to proofread but don't hesitate to point out any too obvious mistake.

Also read on AO3

You had begun to cough yesterday afternoon but you were so sure it was nothing. You helped your colleagues to reorganise the library of the school where you worked. You thought it was probably all the dust you had inhaled but this morning your throat was aching, your head was pounding, your eyes were swollen and you were cold. Atrociously cold. You turned over, spreading your arm in the hope of hugging your husband but all your hand met was the mattress sheet.

You whined, disappointed to not find some relief in his arms before realising that if Sinclair wasn’t near you anymore, then you had better wake up and rush or you’d be late for work.

You jumped off the bed and walked briskly to the bathroom where you could hear the shower running down. Sinclair was still doing his morning routine, so you weren’t as late as you thought. 

He smiled at you Wilde going out of the shower, wrapping himself in a plushy towel. You tried to smile back to him but you lamentably failed, your eyes fighting against your strong will to keep them open.

“I forgot to set off my alarm,” you said with a hoarse voice. “And you didn’t wake me up,” you added with a cute pout on your lips.

Sinclair chuckled at your theatric acting. He leant on and his lips brushed your forehead. Normally, you woke up together, and took a morning shower together, when you were ahead of your time you indulged yourselves with a quickie in the shower, and then you wandered about your feminine routine which consisted of doing your hair, moisturised your face and put a good amount of sunscreen on your fragile face. No makeup, not since Sinclair told you how beautiful you were with your bare face and that beautiful face of yours.

During this long preparation time, Sinclair ate his breakfast and then he drove you to your work, even though you had already told him it didn’t bother you to take the tube, he definitely couldn’t let you be in the midst of the hot and stinky train when he could drive you there as the school where you were an English teacher was only at 15 minutes from his workplace. As you finished working around 4.30 in the afternoon, you walked every day to his place and waited for him either at the little cafe in front of his building or, when you knew he didn’t have any meetings, you went up to his office where you read or did your teacher stuff while he was working. 

Sometimes, he couldn’t finish work as usual and you had to wait until late in the early evening to go home with him but you didn’t mind. You knew how much he liked having you around him and Su Ying, your housekeeper but also your friend now as you were so fond of each other and often went on a spree shopping together was taking care of your dog, the one you had before meeting Sinclair and who has immediately been accepted by the man when you move in with him years ago, and most important, when you came back home late, she made sure the dinner was prepared for both of you and easy to reheat if needed. Not that you were into food so much, you had a petite appetite but Sinclair was really into his food.

Yet, today the mere idea of eating made you want to bring up the bile in your stomach.

“Honey, you’ve been coughing and snoring all night. I called in sick your boss and he wishes you a quick recovery.”

“I don’t snore,” you said, gently hitting his arm, ignoring momentarily his thoughtfulness.

He knew you all too well. If he hadn’t called your boss to tell him how sick you were, you would have gone to work, bravely, oblivious that your symptoms would only get worse the day after. 

“ Yes honey, when your nose is stuffed, you snore,” he chuckled, rubbing your cold arms. “And now please, indulge your thoughtful husband and go back to bed. I will bring you a cup of tea and some medications before leaving the house.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice, you came back to bed, smiling when you saw your dog had taken Sinclair place in the bed, not that your husband would mind it. He loved the dog and enjoyed the happiness your four paws friend had brought into the house.

He had such a hard time after his divorce. Not that the fiendish woman had made the divorce difficult, she knew all too well her action could send her to jail if Sinclair revealed the truth behind the divorce to his solicitor, but it had let him totally distraught. He was in his mid thirties at this time and all the future he had imagined with Natalie had been turned off. Yet, the worst for him was the culpability he felt for not having noticed signs of Natalie's unhappiness.

At the time, he also was afraid to be alone his whole life. He met you at almost 40 while you were 31 and what he didn’t know at this point in your relationship was that you felt exactly the same as him. Since the beginning of your story, you had told him multiple times that it wasn’t his fault if his stupid ex-wife was unable to talk with him about any of her troubles. Sinclair loved that about you, you were easy to talk with, and a good listener to with he could always confess everything as his secrets were yours and you never judged him for anything. He thought Natalie was his soulmate at the time but he realised how wrong he was after her affair and even more after meeting you. You came with your own failures and insecurities but together you came across everything, becoming stronger as your love for each other made your soul merge as only one. 

He came back to you with a cup of tea and a slice of fried bread with some avocado on it and medication for your throat and cough.

“Sorry honey, we don’t have anything for your nose but I’ll get you some stuff from the chemistry after work. And yes, I know you don’t eat breakfast but please, just this once, for me, eat something, it’ll do well to your throat and you need strength to get quickly over it.”

You were going to protest but his hopeful eyes and the pride on his features for taking care of you make you relinquish. 

“Thank you Sinclair. You are a really good husband.”

“Of course I am,” he answered playfully, watching you take a bite of your toast with a sense of relief as you weren’t a too difficult patient.

“I brought you water too, don’t forget you have to stay hydrated, even more when sick and it will alleviate the aching of your throat and your head. Oh, and I asked Su Ying to make you some soup for lunch. I know you’re not hungry when sick but please, make an effort and try to eat a bit. If not for you, for me, honey,” he said while looking at you with adoration.

“I will. You’re going to be late Sinclair.”

“Yes, you’re right. If you need anything call my direct line and Su Yong is there until 4 but I will come back on time today.”

“Don’t worry Sinclair, it’s just a cold, I’ll be fine very soon.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t like seeing you so sick.”

“And I don’t like you telling me I snore. Please, keep that kind of information for you, I like to believe I’m a real lady,” you teased before a violent coughing fit made you shrink in the bed.

“Here, here,” said Sinclair, holding out a glass of water for you. 

You thank him with a nod, sipping the water while he ran his hand across your hair.

“Sleep now honey, you need it. And I swear to never reveal you snore when sick,” he added playfully.

He kissed you goodbye and you let out a contented sigh, acknowledging your chance to have such a kind and thoughtful husband. You were so lucky when you met him by chance, not knowing that the rambling man who gave you information about everything and anything in less than 20 minutes would become your husband and best friend for the rest of your life. 

You woke up at the sound of Su Ying footsteps when she brought you the soup recommended by Sinclair. You did your best to drink it, knowing that Sinclair was educated and wise enough to give the best advice to make you feel better. You then drifted away again, only waking up at the sound of Sinclair’s car getting parked in the front yard, noticing he was home earlier than usual. You were sure he had brought some of his work with him to carry it out during the weekend while he would watch over you. 

You felt so much exhausted that you didn’t have the courage to go down and welcome him. You nodded on and off several times before he came to your shared bedroom to check on you. 

“Feel better honey ?" he asked genuinely worried for you.

You didn't know how pale you looked but you were clearly unwell and Sinclair was relieved to know the next day was your day off and then you will have the whole week-end to recover.

"Not really," you muttered.

"I should call the doctor."

"No, it will be…" you didn't finish your sentence as Sinclair cut you off.

"I will call the doctor and bring you another cup of tea and I've some medication for your nose too," said Sinclair firmly.

You didn't protest, you hadn't the force to do so anyway. You dozed on and off while Sinclair had a shower. You did your best to drink your tea, which alleviated a bit of your aching throat and after the physician's departure, you fell fast asleep again. You woke up by hearing your name being whispered by your husband. You open a weary eye, feeling the back of his hand against your forehead. 

"I think you have a little fever. I will run you a bath. Do you know how good is it to take a hot bath when sick ? It will help to bring down your slight fever and I am sure after that you'll feel better."

He continued rambling about all the benefits a bath could have with a sicker while you listened absentmindedly to him. When the bath was ready, he came back to help you walk to the bathroom.

"Do you want me to go away ?" he asked, eager to give you intimacy if you needed it.

"No, stay. I don't want to be alone,' you said, sinking into the steaming bath, revelling when the water has relaxed your muscles, muscles you didn't know were so strained. 

Sinclair smiled fondly, his heart swelling with affection as you took his hand. He liked how childlike you could be when sick, more clingy than usual, desperate at the mere idea of being alone while unwell. When you came out from the now lukewarm water, he wrapped you in a thick towel and dried off your long hair.

"We don't need you to be more sick," he said while fighting with the dryer cable. 

He gave you another pyjama, your previous one was wet with sweat and he ordered you to come back to bed. You didn't need to be told twice, you were too tired to even remember your own name. 

"Honey, time to eat," he announced cheerfully. 

You weren't really asleep or awake. You were in this in-between where your brain was fighting the sleep but at the same time, you weren't really conscious. 

"I'm not hungry," you groaned.

"I know, but you have medication to take and you can't do that with an empty stomach," he answered with a chuckle.

"I already ate this morning. Solely to please you," you answered back, your voice groggy. 

"Please [Y/N], just a slice of bread," he insisted, sitting down beside you with a trail that had his own food on it. 

You sighed, annoyed, even though you knew he was right and his insistence was just the proof of his concern and thoughtfulness towards you and inwardly, you felt lucky to have such a man at your side. 

"I'm not sure my stomach will keep it," you muttered, leaning up against the headboard, your head poring over his shoulder.

"Try anyway. You'll feel better after eating something more consistent than just some soup."

He started explaining to you why eating, even though sick, was important and yet again, you did as he said, knowing perfectly how right he was. 

"Good girl," he praised you with a smile.

He knew how you hated being in such a weak position but he was trying his best to make you feel better and to let you feel taken care of. 

"Do you want to watch some TV ? Or do you want me to read for you ?" he asked as you snuggled into him, finding solace in his arms. 

"Either," you answered, "choose what you prefer, anyway I'll probably fall asleep no matter what your choice is."

"Then I think I'll read a bit."

He grabbed his book, smiling when you asked him to read out loud for you. After ending up two chapters, he looked down at you to see you were still awake.

"Do you need anything ? Water ? Painkiller for your head ? Do you want me to turn off the light and stop talking ?"

"No, all I want is to be in your arms."

He held you tighter against him, kissing the top of your head.

"Continue reading Sinclair, please,” you asked gently, closing your eyes.

He continued for another hour, even though you had fallen asleep after ten minutes. He bookmarked the page he had arrived at, looking at you with a surge of love and affection, thinking how lucky he was to have you in his life. After Natalie, he thought he could never be happy again but you had proved him to be wrong. 

"I love you," he whispered, kissing your forehead and making sure the duvet covered you well.

"I love you too," you answered quietly.

Sinclair's smile widened. Yes, he was definitely lucky to have such a wonderful woman in his life, his arms, his bed. He couldn't be thankful enough to have the chance to call you his wife. 

Then, his smile transformed into a silent laugh as you began to snore slightly. Yes, you were definitely screwed up for the weekend and maybe even next week as the doctor was quite sure you wouldn't have recovered for Monday. 

But eventually, you'll get over it and he'll be taking care of you until you are better and even after that. Because you were his everything as he was yours and for you, he would do anything. Because before you he was incomplete but now, your two souls were one, always and forever. 

[snowblossomreads]

Day 1 - December Moon

Pairings: Sinclair Bryant and Miserableness (LOLOL)

Summary: In where Sinclair decides to step away from the thing that has hurt him the most.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Mentions of an affair, angst

A/N: AHHHH IT'S RICKMAS AGAIN YALL!! WE ARE BACK FOR ALL THE ALAN FICS!🎉🎉🎉 As always thank you to the v awesome and v talented @deepperplexity for hosting and coming up with the amazing (and very difficult) prompts💖💖💘! Lets start this year off visiting our sweet pupper🐶 (even if he is quite sad)

He didn't think it would have come to an end so soon. Truthfully, when he married her, he didn't think it would ever end with how happy he was. 

Especially not like this. 

But just like the bitter chill of the English wind during winter, his marriage had turned cold and bitter. He should have known that after the summer affair, it wasn’t going to last.

How naive was he to think that they could just go back to what they were? Pick up the pieces of his shattered heart that she had left lying on the ground. 

He waited for an apology. Anything from her that showed that she regretted what she had done. Hell, he had even asked her if it was something he had done to make her want out of their marriage. He would change, he would do it for her if she told him because he loved her. She was his wife, and he wanted to make it work.

Yet there was nothing. She went on as if nothing had happened.

At his suggestion of maybe some couples counseling, she agreed to it, yet when it actually came time for it, she was unresponsive. Dismissive of everything when the counselor tried to bring up what may have caused her to try to find someone outside of their marriage to fulfill something in her. 

Yet nothing.

He remembered afterward, she had told him she would see him at home and went off back to work without a word. Not even staying to discuss the session, or even caring to go to lunch with him when he asked.

He cried in his car that day. 

Their marriage was effectively over at that point. Not even two years in and it had imploded. Was he really this bad at love? It was embarrassing really.  Even his playboy cousin's marriage lasted longer than his, it even ended more amicably than his was probably going to. 

Yet, it took him months to decide that he had had enough. Enough of the pitiful looks that his friends would send his way when they thought he wasn't looking. Enough of the constant worrying that when she was out, she was cheating on him. Enough of the unwillingness to acknowledge what had happened, and how much pain he was in every day not having even received a single apology.

He was tired of being tired and he had enough. If she didn't want to help fix what was broken, then there was no point to this anymore.

"I need a favor," he stated plainly when the other person picked up the phone.

"A favor or a solicitor?"

He had an appointment for the next day by the end of the call.

Francis was the name of the solicitor. Older, stern looking as if he never smiled before, and extremely qualified. With how much he was charging for a consultation he better have been. 

They talked for probably no more than an hour. All his questions were to the point and no unnecessary filler words were spoken. The complete opposite of Sinclair really.

"On what grounds are you attempting to file for a divorce?" "Children?" "Prenup?" "Trusts?"

The twinge of annoyance, or more like the look of when you don't want to tell someone what a daft decision they had made, that was on Francis' face when he replied there had been no prenuptial agreement signed would have been comical if it wasn't for, well….everything else.

By the time they were done, Francis had accepted his case, and told him that he would be in contact by the end of the week on how they would move forward.  He was thankful for the speed, yet still in his heart, he was unsure. Logically, and he prided himself on being logical, he knew it was the right thing to do. There was no use pursuing something that couldn't be fixed. 

Yet in his heart, he wanted to fix it. But what could you do if the other person didn't care enough to try and do the same? Marriage was a partnership, and you were a team. But when someone didn't want to play ball anymore, then it was over

It still hurt though.

He said good night to Frances. Thanking him for meeting on such short notice, and staying later than normal to discuss the process. 

Stepping out of the office and into the crisp London air, he couldn't help but look up and notice that the sky had been awfully clear recently for December. Usually, it was dreary day in and day out but today, along with the Christmas lights that sparkled and illuminated the streets with joy, the bright moon was also shining down on them.

It was majestic. Beautiful. And he thought about rushing back to the estate just to be able to look at it from the backyard.  Bask in its light as it reflected on the river that ran behind the house.

A smile, a sad one, found itself on his lips at the thought of being more excited to return home to look at the moon than to see her. Who would have thought things would have turned out like this?

Gazing at it for a bit longer, a memory, hazy at some points yet clear at others, formed in his mind. He remembered someone he loved years ago telling him that a December moon meant letting go of things that no longer served a purpose. That it ended a cycle, so that you could start anew and fresh in the new year.

He had audaciously retorted that it was a rubbish idea and that you should start anew whenever you wanted. A calendar shouldn't dictate that. Time was a man made concept considering she was used to celebrating two New Year's in one year.

She had laughed so hard at that. 

A sigh left his lips, the warmth of it lingering with the chill, allowing him to see it as he glanced at the moon for a second longer. 

It was in looking at its beauty and remembering what his friend had told him, did he decide, that even if it was painful, even if there would be more gossip. Even if his parents were disappointed in him after wanting him to marry for so long.

He didn't care. 

It was there on the sidewalk next to his solicitor's office did Sinclair decide with finality that he had to let go of his marriage. 

For himself. For his happiness. He deserved it.

Didn't he?

A/N: Ahhh poor puppy, he didn't deserve such heart break and very much deserves happiness 😭😭😭 I promise he'll be getting some!! Anyways that's a wrap! Please let me know how you liked it and how much puppy is a cutie!! See ya tomorrow for another story!