#hazy-n-dazy-confuzed

[jacks-valentine]

"This is not reality. It's a Romance. So take a breath. Enjoy it. It's for you."

- Alan Rickman 🎀🌷

I made these Alan Rickman wallpaper collages a while back, and I thought it would be a great idea to share them here🎀💕 feel free to use them as you wish, just please give credit where it's due my loves 🎀💕🌷

[jacks-valentine]

Hi everyone! This is my first time posting one of my fanfics here on Tumblr, and I thought it would be great to share it ♡ As a fellow Rickmaniac, I thought it would be great to put it out there.

(This is dedicated to Sinclair Bryant, who is by far one of my favourite characters Alan portrayed) 🎀

I'll be posting future fanfics here and on AO3 (under the pseudonym of Jacks_valentine)

A Helping Hand

Title: A Helping Hand

Summary: After an emotionally draining day while struggling to complete the manuscript for her first novel, Olivia Lockhart finally breaks down, and confides to her partner Sinclair Bryant regarding her negative feelings. Their regular night routine takes an intimate turn as Sinclair decides to explore their sexual activities in a more erotic manner for a change…

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant x Original Character

Warning: Angst to fluff to smut

Author's Note: MINORS DNI 🔞 *This fanfic takes place in today’s day and age, as opposed to 1991, when the film was released*

Although I wrote this fanfic with an original character and in first person perspective, I can always rewrite the fanfic in Y/N too ♡

*inspired by DeepPerplexity's Rickmas 2024 challenge; consider this as my late entry ♥️

Also available on:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62372701

☼ ☾ ☼ ☽ ☼ ☾ ☼ ☽ ☼ ☾ ☼ ☽ ☼ ☾ ☼ ☽ ☼ ☾ ☼ ☽ ☼

Two Years Later

After a long day having yet to overcome my writer’s block, I figured a soothing bubble bath would melt away the day’s frustrations. As I stepped out of the shower, with a fresh towel wrapped around my chest, I settled on a plan for the rest of the evening: reading a few chapters before bed, and an early night’s sleep accompanied by cuddles from Sinclair would do the trick. 

He was laying in bed, wearing his white shirt and navy blue boxers, and reading his worn-out copy of Remembrance of Things Past, Part I. Besides kissing me every chance he gets or eating, Proust is the only other person who actually shuts him up for a while. He looks up from his book as I enter our bedroom, a worried look dawning on his face. He places the bookmark to mark his spot, and hastily gets out of bed to approach me.

He’s fully aware about the kind of day I had; me not having been able to break my writer’s block for the past six months. He’s also aware of the pressure I’ve been under, trying to complete my novel with the deadline fast approaching. It was evident by how red my eyes were from crying all day, as it was the first thing he’d noticed when he returned home from work. 

He knew not to ask me so many questions about my emotional breakdowns, as it tends to trigger me every time. Instead, he suggested I relax for the rest of the evening, while he took care of me. From making a delicious dinner - despite me not having much of an appetite but still encouraged me to take a few bites - to having a disastrous encounter with the dishwashing machine, he reassured me he would take care of everything. 

“Are you feeling a tad bit better after your relaxing shower, my angel?” He said with a hint of concern in his voice. 

“It helped a bit, thank you for asking. I figured today was not my lucky day to continue with my manuscript. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have better luck.”

He placed his book back on the nightstand, got out of bed, and enveloped me in a warm embrace. It’s easy to forget about the glaringly obvious height difference between us, but something about the way Sinclair embraces me always fills my heart a little more than the previous one. 

“I know you’ve been struggling to break your writer’s block, Libby,” he whispered in my ear. “No need to worry, my love. I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day.” 

His words, accompanied by his soothing, rich voice slowly melts away my anxiety. In that moment, after fighting back the tears I fought so hard against in the bathroom, I finally got everything out. Sinclair holds me tighter as I continue to sob in his chest. 

“Let it all out, my love. I’m here for you. I know how stressed you have been. Everything will be alright. I promise,” he says softly.  

“How will everything be alright?” I whispered in between sobs. “I feel like an utter failure… I thought that giving up my teaching career to focus on my book would make things easier. Instead, it has been the opposite! What’s the point? What if it doesn’t work out? I would have invested all my energy and time for nothing. It would’ve all been a fucking waste. And all I’d have to do is to either return to teaching or working a bookshop once more as a failed aspiring novelist. ” The tears continue to stream down my face uncontrollably. The floodgates have burst open and they refuse to be shut. 

Sinclair gently tilts my chin up to make eye contact with me. His hazelnut eyes place a gentle gaze at my tear-stricken face. With a delicate touch, he gently rubs the tears off my face with his thumb. 

“Look at me. Don’t you ever say that about yourself again. You’re not a failure, Olivia Lockhart. You’ve always been hard on yourself because you’ve always been a perfectionist. You wouldn’t have come this far without it if it weren’t for the support and encouragement from myself and your closest friends; your family. Myself, Jenny, Amelia, Erica, your father, your former students: We all know what a talented writer and artist you truly are. If you hadn’t shown me your old writings, I wouldn’t have known your work needed to be shared with the rest of the world. Please don’t be hard on yourself, my love. We believe in you; I believe in you.”

As I sniffed back the tears, I managed to stop crying. Sinclair accompanied me to the bed. He continued to hold me close in his arms, while placing a compassionate kiss on my forehead.

“I have a confession to make,” Sinclair mumbled, then cleared his throat. “The day you went out for brunch with Jenny and Amelia, I had a squint at your manuscript.” I stare at him, wide-eyed and my cheeks flushed beetroot red. 

“I know you don’t like it when I take a sneak peak at your writing; at the same time, I wanted to find out more about what you were writing about. You were scheduled to be out with your friends for the whole day, and I just wanted to see the progress you’ve made. Little did you know, I spent the morning and afternoon reading it, and to my surprise, it moved me to tears. You know that I don’t get emotional from reading books, or even watching films. But you should know it’s a good thing you managed to make this old man cry.”

I let out a soft chuckle at his last comment. I wanted to say something, however, I struggled to find words to respond. 

“At the start, you told me how you’ve always wanted to write a novel inspired by your life,” he continued. “I honestly had no idea of the pain you have been through before. I know you’ve always had a difficult time trusting people. That’s why I have never, and will never pressure you into opening up about your past. I wanted you to tell me yourself in your own time. I know what I did was wrong, but I’m not sorry I did it. You possess a strength not a lot of people possess. Despite the difficult circumstances you have been in, you chose not to give up and let your past define the rest of your life. What you wrote is a love letter, and not just any love letter. A love letter to your younger self; reassuring her that with time, things began to look up for you. You’re still so young; yet you had no choice except to grow up early at a young age. You have such a powerful voice, and a beautiful story that urgently needs to be shared with the rest of the world. And when this book is finally published, not only will it be a critically acclaimed success, you will unknowingly create a community with readers who will find solace in your writing.”

I take a deep breath in. A single, stray tear trickles down my left cheek. “I had absolutely no idea it made an impact on you, Sinclair. And to be clear, you’re not that old, you just happen to be 15 years my senior, my darling.” 

“Hmm, I’m not so sure about that, Libby. You are 24 years old, and since I am 39 years old, I’m absolutely certain that makes me old, in the manner of being qualified as a pensioner,” he said sarcastically. 

I let out a loud snort, only for my face to turn red once more due to the embarrassment. Sinclair couldn’t help but laugh alongside me. His hazel eyes brighten up and his smile widens at the sight of me giggling at his statement. 

“You are not a pensioner, Clair. You still have a long way to go,” I remarked. As I clear my throat, I calm down from my giggling fit. 

“Did you truly mean everything you just said; you truly believe I could be considered a good writer, the kind who can one day be successful?” 

“Absolutely, my dear. Not just good, be that as it may, a prolific writer. One thing you have known about me since we first met over a year ago is that I’m incapable of telling false truths to anyone,” he remarked. 

“You’re well aware I specialise in forecasting business trends. My job entails that I guarantee future success for my clients’, for businesses to flourish; whether I’m right or wrong. And I, for one, can recognise a future bestselling book when I see one. As for someone who prefers reading 18th Century philosophical literature, I thoroughly enjoyed reading your manuscript.”

I took his right hand to my lips, and placed a compassionate kiss. “Thank you for your words of endearment, Sinclair. I hadn’t realised how hard I’ve been on myself until now. I imagine the saying is true, one can be their harshest critic. The reason why I’ve had a difficult time completing my manuscript is because I have been struggling to come up with a satisfactory conclusion to my book. I have a few ideas in mind; however, none of them made sense for the storyline. I’ve shared some of my ideas with my agent; however she felt none of them felt authentic to the story, and I fear she may be right.”

Sinclair’s heart skipped a beat at the simple gesture. He turned his face to me and asked, “What sort of ending did you have in mind, Libby?” 

“I’m having a hard time deciding whether my book should have a bittersweet ending, or perhaps a melancholic one,” I whispered softly. He senses a hint of defeat in my tone. 

“May I make a suggestion, if you would allow me, my love,” he responds enthusiastically. 

“Please do, I could really use all the help I can get.”

“I think you should conclude your story with a happy ending. Just think about it: Between you and me, no one else knows your book is inspired by your own lived experiences. You have endured so much trauma, it would make sense to end it on a more positive note. In other words, I long for the protagonist to finally receive her ‘happily ever after’. Not only her, but you included,” he responded. 

Without a second thought, his fingers found their way to my left inner arm. He gently pushed his fingers along my scars, and placed a compassionate kiss on them; the evidence on my arms, reminding me of the painful past I once had. And all of a sudden, he went silent; melancholy creeping up slowly. A single tear shed from his face, and guilt slowly creeped into my heart once more. 

“I cannot begin to comprehend the emotional and mental affliction you’ve had to endure over the years,” he whispered softly, as his large fingers linger over my arm.

“I know I have this awful tendency of talking about how my marriage with Natalie failed from time to time. Constantly wondering what I did that led her to having an affair with her own brother, of all people. Questioning where exactly I went wrong. However, as we continue to grow closer, I realised how pathetic and inadequate my problems are in comparison to yours, darling.”

I fight back the tears pricking my eyes and take in a deep breath. As I softly wipe the tear off his face, I tilt his head gently to face me. I gaze into his beautiful hazel eyes, contemplating how I could take away the torment behind them. 

“Now you listen to me carefully: There’s no need for you to compare our past experiences, Sinclair. What we both went through was unforgivable; even so they made us better people today.”

His wide-eyed gaze falls upon my eyes, taken aback by my sudden yet unanticipated assertion. “Think of it this way; if it weren’t for the individuals who fucked us up, and for us acknowledging and accepting their transgressions, we wouldn’t be here together. Right here, in this moment in time,” I whispered softly, still maintaining solid eye contact. 

“What I’m trying to say is, if it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t have known we’d save each other from further heartbreak and/or ruin. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. I fell in love with you simply because you saw me for who I am. I always feel heard, seen and safe whenever I’m with you. I truly hope you feel the same way too, my love.”

At this point I couldn’t fight the tears any longer. “I love you so much, Sinclair Bryant. Even if you were the last man on this godforsaken planet who didn’t have a single penny to his name, I’ll still choose you every time. Meeting you, befriending you, and inevitably falling in love you has and will always be an honour. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I need you to remind yourself of that. Every. Day. A reminder of how I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with you. And don’t you ever fucking forget that! ”

Without a second thought, I delicately press my lips onto his. Initially he was taken by surprise, until he reciprocated. The kiss takes a passionate turn, with both of our tongues meeting, fighting for dominance. The sweet moans he makes in my mouth catapults me into a haze of euphoria. 

In the heat of the moment, I find myself gently pushed back onto the soft mattress, with Sinclair following suit. He hovers above me, taking in the view. As he examines my body, our eyes connect once more.

His eyes appear to be engrossed with a look of adoration and fervent desire combined. His hands make their way over my body - still covered by the towel when I stepped out of the shower earlier. With his head nuzzled on my neck, his soft lips rain down sensual kisses, creating a trail leading to my shoulder.  A tent within his boxers has formed, and  his cock pushes against my opening, begging to be released from its constraints. I moan at the intimacy of it all. My hands find their way to his shirt, itching to remove his shirt. We can’t help ourselves giggling at my feeble attempt to remove his shirt, whilst I try to be as inconspicuous as I could in the heat of the moment. 

As our hands battle for control over who gets to have the honour to remove the other one’s clothes first, I finally concede. With a helping hand, Sinclair removes my towel, leaving me fully exposed as I lay on the bed, trying to catch my breath. 

“My God, you have no idea how heavenly you truly are, my angel,” he whispers in my ear. My cheeks turn rosy at this endearing comment. “You have been, and will always be the love of my life, Olivia Marie Lockhart.”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” I giggle softly.

“I meant it. Every word. You possess a power that persistently brings me to my knees, whenever I’m in your presence. You have no idea of the power you possess over me, my love. ”

His signature smile appears on his face, with an understanding of how I’m still getting used to the idea of receiving compliments and words of affirmations from him. Two years since we reconnected, confessed our love for each other, and finally together as a couple. Still getting used to this feeling…

His lips crash landed back onto mine once again; this time more gluttonous than the last. I continue to moan at the sensation. As our lips and bodies part once more, a sense of sadness slowly creeps in; only for it to be replaced with insatiable lust as Sinclair got up to remove his shirt. 

Fucking hell, he’s beautiful! And to think Natalie insisted he needed to be on a diet during their marriage, is beyond comprehending.  

As my hands roamed all over his bare chest, my eyes couldn’t help but wander towards his boxers, and how his cock was already hard and waiting to enter inside me. I couldn’t help but let out a breathless gasp. “You have no idea how much I need you right now, Sinclair…,” I said, with seduction laced in my tone. 

“Don’t worry, my love. You’ll have me soon. Nevertheless, you should lie back, relax, and let me take care of you tonight,” he responded with a sultry tone. I hate to admit it, but that response alone sent tingles straight to my centre. 

‘Tonight will be about you, my dear Libby. I desire to take in each and every moment with you. Right now, my main priority is to ensure you feel every bit satisfied with what I’m about to do with you, and that is to make love to you.”

He positioned himself with his face between my legs. Without a second thought, he began planting tender kisses on my thighs. It was a deliberate yet effective tool in his arsenal; his special power to get aroused even more.  Just the kisses alone puts me in a haze.

His Aquiline nose gently tickles me, as he continues with his gentle kisses. Watching him from my vantage point stirs a sensation of exhilaration in me. Bit by bit, his trail of kisses etches dangerously close to my centre.

“Oh my God, Sinclair!”

I let out a soft cry at the intimate moment; he murmurs as he continues his expedition, with his face hovering mere inches away from my cunt. 

“I take that as a positive response, darling,” he commented whilst flashing a wicked grin at my disheveled state.

“”You’re..uh…ahh.. bloody right about that…”

As he continues to feast on me, my hands instinctively caress his soft blonde tresses. All of a sudden, he slips two of his fingers inside me. Here’s a fun fact: Sinclair’s aware of the fact his fingers curled inside, coupled by his tongue working its magic on my clitorus simultaneously are my biggest weaknesses.  

I softly moan at the intimacy of it all, causing his cheeky grin to appear once more on his face. Fearing that wouldn’t be satisfactory, all of a sudden he proceeds to perform cunnilingus on me. Taken by surprise, my moans increase in volume. 

He groans in ecstasy as he continues to feast himself on my folds, devouring me as if I were a rare delicacy. Have I mentioned he's quite the expert in the field of cunnilingus?

“Ahh! Holy fuck! I don’t think I can hold on much longer, Sinclair…” I pathetically whimper as he continues to curl his fingers and eat me out simultaneously. 

“Just lie back, relax, and enjoy this, my dear Libby,” he playfully interrupts. “As always, I need to be absolutely certain you can take all of me when I’m inside you once more…”

I had a sneaking suspicion Sinclair was indeed getting a kick out of this. Me, laying stark naked on the plush bed, with a first-class view that could rival any natural or historic wonder in the world: having the man I love right in-between my legs. Savouring and expressing his admiration  for my most intimate parts of my body. Worshipping me in his own loving way. Why? To him, he regards me as a high priestess; a powerful deity that he believes he’s not worthy of sharing the same presence. Unfortunately for me, I struggle to retain whatever sense of self control I have left in me to keep my orgasm at bay. 

“There’s no need for you to hold back from releasing yourself, darling,” Sinclair suggested in his sultry yet assuring tone. “Let it all out, my love. I want the whole world to know I’m the only man who has the ability to elicit such salacious sounds from you.”

With his commendation, I whimpered in ecstasy as I let the wave of orgasmic pleasure wash over me. Usually I prefer to have some semblance of control when it comes to me experiencing pleasure of any kind: whether it’s me enjoying an ambrosial strawberry parfait, or having succeeded in writing more than five hundred words for my manuscript on a good day. However, in this instance - and many others whilst making love to Mr. Sinclair Bryant - I just simply acquiesce all sense of control. 

As the wave of indulgence draws near to a close, I finally regain my composure. Feeling satisfied with his accomplishment, Sinclair’s fingers and tongue parted ways from my centre, accompanied by a sense of isolation left in its wake. 

He rises up from his previous position, his eyes locked with mine, and a seductive smirk appears on his beautiful face. To add more fuel to the burning flame that is our shared libidinousness, he brings his fingers to his lips, licking the forbidden juices he had solicited from me. 

“How do I taste, my love?” I questioned him, a smirk forming  across my face, and with the flames of passion gleaming in my eyes. 

“Mhmm…undoubtedly heavenly, my angel. It’s no wonder why you’re my favourite sweet treat,” Sinclair ruminates, followed by his low humming of gratification. 

I rose my head up from the silk pillow to plant a fervent kiss upon his rosy lips, swollen from the activity of devouring my most intimate part. Still tasting the remnants of my arousal on his lips. He slowly breaks away from my hold as he rises up from the bed, whilst retaining his loving gaze with me. 

“Seeing how you’ve been so patient, and you’re just about ready to take all of me now…” he breathlessly observed, as he proceeds to remove his shirt, “I believe it’s about time I provide you a helping hand in relieving all the pent up stress you’ve been dealing with all week.” 

Sinclair exhales in relief as he frees his penis - rock-hard, pulsating and leaking with pre-cum - from the constraints of his blue boxers. He opens the drawer of the bedside table and reaches for a condom.  

“My goodness, Sinclair. You look like you’re just about to burst!”

“Oh, you have no idea my love. No fucking idea,” he replies, his baritone voice sounding composed and sultry, despite his current predicament.

Just as he’s done slipping on the condom, he proceeds to make his way back into bed. His soft lips find their way back to mine, transforming a sweet peck to a ferocious attack, with our tongues tangling each other. 

I feel his aching cock pressed against my opening, not that the friction isn’t making it better for either of us.

As he positions himself in preparation, his tender gaze falls upon me once more. Just as I was going to say something cliché, he beats me to it with his impeccably-timed response: “I love you so much, Olivia Marie Lockhart. You’re perhaps sick of me saying this to you, even so it is the ineffable truth. You have been, and will always be the love of my life.”

A stray tear quietly escapes, followed by a twinkle that shines in the candlelight in my eyes. He wasted no time by wiping the tear away. 

“I love you too, Sinclair Bryant,” I whispered back softly,  resulting in a loud gasp escaping my lips as Sinclair’s length advances inside my walls, bit by bit.

“A-are you alright, sweetheart?” He stammers, with a sense of panic creeping in. It’s always endearing how concerned he becomes when it comes to my well-being.

“Of course, no need to worry. I’m okay, just my body’s involuntary reaction,” I reassure him. “It’s nothing to be alarmed about. Just keep going, Clair. I desperately need you at this moment.” 

With a sigh of relief, Sinclair’s cock resumed sliding deeper within my walls. He let out a soft groan as he bottomed out; his cock fully sheathed in me. 

He adjusts himself, making sure he and I are in the most comfortable position, followed by my legs wrapping his waist, bringing him closer. Giving me a small window of time to familiarise myself with his length and girth once more.  

“Ahh! Fucking hell, Olivia! How is it possible that… every time we make love, you always feel… so delightfully… tight…?” He breathlessly mutters as he proceeds with his slow, yet hard thrusts. 

“Ahh���I, uh, suppose it has something to do with the Kegel exercises I do every now and then,” I gasp in between his passionate thrusts. “Do you mind if - ahh - if you could p-p-please, uhh, pick up the pace, S-Sinclair?”

He chuckles softly against my collarbone as he slowly increases the pace. “It must be - mhmm - working, darling. I aim to - ahh - please you, always.” 

I cling onto him tightly, my nails leaving track marks all over his back. His thrusts continue, with our moans, gasps and  the symphonic sounds of our bodies filling the bedroom. Just the two of us, getting inextricably lost in our moment of sexual love and desire. And as he continues with his intoxicating thrusts, all the tension that has been pent up in my core begins to gradually unravel. Slowly but surely, plunging me closer over the edge. 

“I take it no man has fucked you the way I have, not even your ex-boyfriend?” Sinclair growled in my ear, his pace becoming insatiably calculated and punishing. 

“Ahh, not at all,” I whimper at his statement. “None of them come close to you, the same applies to Eli Michaelson. I had a short-lived dalliance with him while he was a guest lecturer during my studies at Cambridge.”

And that’s the God-honest truth. Of all my past relationships (my ex and Dr. Michaelson), none of them will ever come close to being the kind of man Sinclair Bryant is. As for Natalie, she never deserved him, especially not after what she did to break his heart. I’ll be damned to ever put him in that position.

“I-I don’t think I can hold out any much longer… Sinclair,” I moan breathlessly, as I feel the impending orgasm coming over me. 

“Ahh, Libby, it - uhh - appears that neither can I,” he acquiesces; his moans and whimpers threaten to push me over the edge. 

“Don’t worry darling,” he reassures me. “Just enjoy it, and let me do the work. Just - ahh- a little bit more…” 

He continues increasing the pace, and our moans grow louder and louder. Through instinct, I run my hands through his hair, and gently tug at his blond locks. Knowing how it drives him mad with fervour and desire. 

“I-I don’t think I can hold out much longer, Libby,” he implores, as his thrusts become a bit erratic. “How about we  - ugh - ride this - ahh - wave together, huh?”

“Anything for - ahh - for you, my love.”

“Let it - ahh - all out, my angel. Ahh - oh fuck… Libby, I-I’m so close…” 

Without hesitation, I finally let the orgasm wash over me, sending shockwaves of sensual gratification through every part of my body. 

“Fucking hell, Sinclair!” I cry out, still possessed by the orgasmic experience. He wasted no time in chasing his own orgasm; within two or three final thrust, his cum filling the condom. 

We hold each other tightly, our bodies still connected, as we both come down from our shared orgasm. “Please stay inside me a bit longer,” I whispered bashfully. “I just need you to hold me close in your embrace.” 

“Anything for you, my darling,” he reassures me, holding me tight, as we lay down on our sides. Gazing at each other with tenderness, he plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. 

“Do you remember the first time we made love, darling?” He murmurs in-between the kisses he’s trailing from lips, neck, and to my chest. 

“Of course I do, Clair. Despite how reticent I was at first, you made the whole experience not only enjoyable for me, but it's how safe and pleasant you made me feel throughout the whole experience,” I softly replied.

“Well, I have a secret to share with you,” he confesses, as he slips out of me. “Every time we make love, I always try my best to make sure every exploit of ours is as enjoyable and memorable as the last. The truth is, I’ve never truly had an indelible experience with my ex girlfriends, Natalie included. Not until I met you two years ago.” 

“I had no idea how considerate you truly are, my love. I’m profoundly honoured, Sinclair,” I commented sincerely whilst I placed a loving kiss on his Aquiline nose. 

“Of course I am,” he replies, reciprocating a kiss on my nose. “I’m a man of my word. Now, please do me a favour and closer so that I can hold you tight and shower you with more love and affection.”

“And one more thing: please don’t stress about your book, Libby. Everything will work out just fine. Like I said, I’m a professional forecaster. I’m never wrong when it comes to making predictions. Especially ones with great potential for success in the long run,” he reassures me. 

“You’re right, I know all my hard work will pay off very soon.”

"How about I read for us just one more chapter from Sense and Sensibility before we drift off to sleep?" He suggests as he grabs my first-edition copy he gifted me for my birthday. 

"That would be wonderful."