#sinclair bryant

[neick-hitlz]

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

[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.

[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.

[ang3l-bear]

Beep bop art drop

[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.

[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

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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...

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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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[saehapark145]

Sinclair deserved better.

[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!

[randomcreator-09]

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[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.

[elysiamus]

Sinclair Bryant -

Our loving Golden Retriever boy.

[korpuskristae]

I wrote a Hans Gruber fanfic but it didn’t get the attention I wanted it to, so it got me wondering, what Alan Rickman characters do people want to read about? Besides our dear dungeon bat ofc.

[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. 

[smilingformoney]

Top 10 Alan Rickman characters as voted for by you

[ang3l-bear]

Imagine mornings with Sinclair and then you’re getting ready for the day and smell his aftershave and then he hugs you and makes pancakes with his sleeves rolled up and causally humming to himself. And then you read at the breakfast table and he asks about your book and is ACTUALLY INTERESTED in what you’re reading because that man cares too much and loves a lot. And then you ask about his book that he’s reading and you both realise that you’re big nerds. Then you eat breakfast and take a walk around by the lake.

Not to mention the voice messages he’d probably leave you throughout the day when he is taking a break in his office. You just get a random fact or question, something as simple as ‘ what do you want for dinner’ or something as drastic as anthropodermic bibliopegy. I mean, with Sinclair, you never know.

And then when you both get home after a long day you shower together and make love afterwards??? Hello? Omg. And then you make a simple dinner with him and sit down to eat. He’d tell you about his day and ask about yours.

Like he cares about you and you care about him and you know that you’re safe.

[muiitoloko]

I just read Elliott fic when they have some domestic discipline and firstly I love it !!! Secondly, I read someone in the comment talking about Lionel and Turpin and it could fit them but what about a character no one would think about ??? Like Sinclair ! It’s so out of character and in the same time, I can imagine him and his partner having it as a fun sexual game because of course Sinclair is not a punisher, but he needs spices in his sexual life after his bitchy ex !

Title: Bedroom Boundaries

Summary: The exploration of new boundaries in the bedroom reveals Sinclair's hidden desires and deepens the connection between lovers.

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, BDSM.

Author's Notes: That's an interesting idea! I have to admit, it's a bit challenging to picture Sinclair as a dominant because he gives off such Golden Retriever vibes. But I went ahead and wrote about it, doing my best to keep the essence of Sinclair intact. Hope you enjoy it! 😄

Also read on Ao3

Sinclair was quite silent that night, you noticed as you brushed your hair in front of the mirror. You looked at him in the reflection, watching as he moved his fingers silently. He was reclining on the bed, his back against the headboard and the sheets pulled up to his lap. Sinclair always played with his fingers and was silent when he wanted to tell you something but wasn't sure if he should say it.

"What's on your mind, Clair?" you asked softly, putting down the brush and turning to face him. His brown eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and desire.

He hesitated for a moment, his blond hair slightly tousled, and his hooked nose casting a shadow over his intense gaze. "It's just... I've been thinking about something," he began, his baritone voice low and hesitant. "Something I want to try with you."

You walked over to the bed, sitting down beside him and taking his hand in yours. "You know you can tell me anything," you encouraged, your voice gentle.

Sinclair took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around yours. "I want to explore something new with you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something a bit... dirtier than what we've done before."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. "Tell me more," you urged, your own voice filled with curiosity and excitement.

He looked at you hesitantly before finally starting to speak, his fingers nervously intertwining with yours. "I bought a magazine about, well, sex," Sinclair began, his voice shaky. "And in the magazine, there was an article about BDSM. It caught my attention, so I did some research about it—about dominance and submission."

Sinclair paused, his brown eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. Seeing none, he continued, his voice gaining a bit more confidence. "I really want to experiment with you. But I won't insist if you don't want to."

You stopped, absorbing his words, a little surprised. You couldn't imagine Sinclair as a dominant man. He was like a Golden Retriever—innocent and eager to please. Even now, when you lived together, he still asked permission to kiss you. The idea of him being dominant in bed was a surprise.

"What exactly do you want to do?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Sinclair's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't look away. "The spanking part caught my attention," he admitted. "I really want to have that with you. I want to spank your ass, and you'd be submissive to me. Of course, not for real. We'd have a safe word, and you could use it if it ever became too much."

Your heart raced at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you. "And... you'd make some rules in the bedroom?" you asked, trying to picture the scenario.

Sinclair nodded, his fingers tightening around yours. "Yes, I could create some rules for us to follow. Like, you would address me as 'Sir' during our sessions, and I'd expect you to obey my commands. If you misbehave, you'd get spanked as a punishment."

You bit your lip, the idea of submitting to Sinclair sending a thrill of anticipation through you. "And what would you do if I obeyed?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sinclair's eyes darkened with desire, his voice dropping to a low, seductive rumble. "If you obey, you'd be rewarded. I could make you feel so good, give you pleasure like never before."

The thought of Sinclair taking control, of being both your punisher and your pleasure-giver, sent a shiver down your spine. "I'd like to try," you said softly, your own desire evident in your voice.

Sinclair's eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement. "Thank you," he murmured, his fingers caressing your cheek. "We'll take it slow, and remember, you can always use the safe word if you need to stop."

You nodded, feeling a rush of anticipation. "What's the safe word?"

"Let's use 'red'," Sinclair suggested, his voice filled with affection. "If you say 'red', everything stops immediately."

"Okay, 'red' it is," you agreed, feeling a sense of security in the clear boundaries being set.

Sinclair smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he moved to sit up straighter on the bed. "Now, let's start with something simple," he said, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone. "Strip for me."

Your breath hitched at the command, but you felt a thrill of excitement as you began to remove your clothes, piece by piece, under his watchful gaze. Sinclair's eyes roamed over your body, his desire evident in the way he licked his lips.

Once you were fully naked, Sinclair's eyes darkened with lust. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Now, come here and lay across my lap."

You moved to obey, your heart racing as you draped yourself over his lap, your bare skin pressed against his. Sinclair's hand rested on your ass, his touch gentle yet possessive.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and tenderness.

"Yes, Sir," you replied, the title feeling strangely natural as it left your lips.

Sinclair's hand came down in a firm, controlled spank, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. He continued, each spank growing slightly harder, his other hand caressing your back in a soothing gesture.

But Sinclair wasn't used to this, you noticed, because every time you made a strange noise, he would stop and question if you were okay and if you wanted to stop. This amused you; it was clear that Sinclair was not used to being dominant, although he tried. So, you decided to provoke him a bit.

"Is everything okay?" Sinclair asked for the third time, his hand hovering over your reddened skin.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. "I'm fine, Sir," you replied, your voice a mix of reassurance and challenge. "Is that the best you can do?"

Sinclair's eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing as he processed your words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You wiggled your hips slightly, pressing yourself more firmly against his lap. "I mean, I thought you wanted to punish me, Sir," you said, your voice dripping with playful defiance. "But it feels like you're holding back. Maybe you're not cut out for this."

Sinclair's eyes darkened with a mix of uncertainty and determination. "Oh, really?" he murmured, his voice low and slightly shaky. "You think I can't handle being in charge?"

You smirked, enjoying the way his fingers tightened on your skin. "I think you're too gentle," you teased, your voice a seductive whisper. "I don't think you have it in you to really dominate me."

Sinclair's expression shifted, a spark of resolve igniting in his eyes. "Is that so?" he said, his voice gaining a bit more confidence. "Well, let's see about that."

Without warning, Sinclair's hand came down in a firmer spank, the sharp crack echoing in the room. You gasped, a mixture of pleasure and surprise coursing through you. "That's more like it," you moaned, your voice laced with encouragement.

Sinclair's hand continued to spank you, each slap growing harder and more deliberate. "You're such a naughty girl," he murmured, his baritone voice filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "You need to learn your place."

You arched your back, pushing your ass up to meet his hand. "Yes, Sir," you gasped, the thrill of his newfound confidence sending waves of pleasure through you. "Teach me, Sir."

Sinclair's hand paused, his fingers tracing the red marks on your skin. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and desire.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, your eyes filled with lust. "Yes, Sir," you admitted, your voice breathy. "I love it when you take control."

Sinclair's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his hand resuming its rhythmic spanking. "Good," he murmured, his voice gaining a more commanding tone. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

As his hand continued to punish you, Sinclair's other hand moved to caress your back, his touch both soothing and possessive. "You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "All mine."

You moaned in response, the mix of pain and pleasure driving you wild. "Yes, Sir," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "I'm yours."

Sinclair's hand stilled, his fingers trailing down to tease your entrance. "Tell me how much you want it," he demanded, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

"I want it so badly, Sir," you whimpered, your voice filled with desperation. "Please, take me. Use me."

Sinclair's eyes darkened with lust, his fingers slipping inside you, his touch firm and demanding. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Now, beg for it."

"Please, Sir," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "Please fuck me. I need you inside me."

Sinclair's smirk widened, his confidence growing with each passing moment. "That's more like it," he murmured, his fingers pumping in and out of you with increasing speed. "You're such a good little slut for me."

You froze in his lap, and so did Sinclair. He had never called you that before, and it was a surprise for both of you. Sinclair remained still, his fingers paused inside you, his face flushed with a mixture of shock and regret.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Sinclair began, his voice shaky and filled with panic. "I shouldn't have said that. You're not a little slut. It was wrong of me to say that. I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have even proposed this game of submission and dominance. I—"

You silenced him by pushing yourself against his fingers, ignoring his excuses as you looked at him with intense desire. "Shut up, Sinclair," you whispered, your voice dripping with lust. "I am your dirty little slut."

Sinclair's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to process your words. "But—" he started, but you cut him off with a fierce look.

"Call me that again," you demanded, your voice firm and commanding. "I want to hear it from your lips."

Sinclair's breath hitched, his fingers instinctively moving inside you again. "You're... my dirty little slut," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of hesitation and desire.

You moaned, pushing yourself harder against his fingers. "Yes, Sir," you gasped, your voice thick with need. "Your dirty little slut who loves being used by you. Please, Sir, fuck me like the slut I am."

Sinclair's eyes darkened with lust, his confidence returning as he watched you writhe in his lap. "You really are a dirty little slut." he murmured, his voice gaining strength. "You love it when I call you that, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," you moaned, your body trembling with anticipation. "I love it. I love being your dirty little slut. Please, Sir, fuck me harder."

Sinclair's hand moved faster, his fingers thrusting in and out of you with renewed intensity. "You want more, don't you?" he growled, his baritone voice filled with dominance. "You want me to treat you like the slut you are."

"Yes, Sir," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want more. I want you to use me, to fuck me like the dirty slut I am."

Sinclair's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his confidence growing with each passing moment. "You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "All mine. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

With that, he pulled his fingers out of you, his hands moving to position you on the bed. "On your hands and knees," he commanded, his voice filled with authority. "I want to see you begging for my cock."

You obeyed without hesitation, your heart racing with excitement as you positioned yourself on the bed, your ass raised high in the air. Sinclair moved behind you, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight before him.

"Please, Sir," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "I need you inside me. I need to feel your cock fucking me hard."

Sinclair's smirk widened, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned himself at your entrance. "You want it that badly, huh?" he teased, his voice filled with dark promise. "Well, you're going to get it."

With one swift, decisive motion, Sinclair thrust into you, filling you completely. You cried out in a mix of pleasure and surprise, your body arching against him as he began to move.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and lust. "My dirty little slut, ready and waiting for me."

You looked over your shoulder, your gaze locking onto Sinclair. He seemed quite different, nothing like your Golden Retriever that he normally was. His blond hair was slightly tousled, his hooked nose casting shadows over his intense brown eyes. You still weren't sure if dominance suited him, but damn, he was so hot now, all dominant and talking dirty. You had never heard him talk dirty before, and you didn't even know he was capable of it. A brief thought flitted through your mind, wondering if his cheating ex-wife, Natalie, had ever heard him talk dirty like this.

Sinclair's grip on your hips tightened as he continued to thrust into you, his voice filled with a mix of authority and raw desire. "Look at you, taking my cock so well," he growled, his baritone voice sending shivers down your spine. "You're such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir," you moaned, your body arching against him. "I'm your good little slut. Please, don't stop."

Sinclair's smirk widened, his confidence growing with each passing moment. "You love it when I fuck you like this, don't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You love being my dirty little whore."

"Yes, Sir," you gasped, your voice trembling with need. "I love it. I love being your dirty little whore."

Sinclair's thrusts grew harder and more deliberate, his hands roaming over your body as he claimed you completely. "I want to hear you scream my name," he demanded, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "I want everyone to know who you belong to."

You cried out, the intensity of his words and the pleasure coursing through you driving you wild. "Sinclair!" you screamed, your voice filled with ecstasy. "Oh, God, Sinclair!"

"That's it," he growled, his baritone voice filled with satisfaction. "Scream for me. Let everyone know who fucks you like this."

You pushed back against him, your body trembling with the intensity of your need. "Fuck me harder, Sir," you begged, your voice thick with desire. "Make me cum. Please, make me cum."

Sinclair's eyes darkened with lust, his grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you with relentless intensity. "You're going to cum for me," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "You're going to cum so hard, and I'm going to fill you up with my cum. You're mine, all mine."

You moaned, the pleasure building to a dizzying peak as Sinclair drove you closer and closer to the edge. "Yes, Sir," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. "I'm so close. Please, don't stop."

Sinclair slapped your ass, and you screamed at the blow, which made Sinclair flinch slightly. His worry overcame him as he thought he might have hurt you, and the idea killed him. You noticed his hesitation and looked over your shoulder, pushing yourself against him.

"Sinclair," you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of challenge and curiosity, "have you ever done something like this to your ex-wife, Natalie? Did you fuck her like that? Did you talk dirty to her?"

Sinclair's face flushed a deep red, his fingers tightening on your hips as he processed your question. "No," he admitted, his voice shaky. "I never did anything like this with her."

You pushed back against him, feeling a thrill of excitement at his admission. "Then show me, Sinclair," you urged, your voice dripping with lust. "Show me how much more you want me than you ever wanted her. Fuck me like you never fucked her."

Sinclair's eyes darkened with a mix of desire and determination, his grip on your hips tightening as he resumed his thrusts, harder and more deliberate than before. "You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "All mine. And I'll make sure you know it."

You moaned at his words, the pleasure and intensity of his thrusts driving you wild. "Yes, Sir," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "I'm yours. Only yours."

Sinclair's confidence grew with each passing moment, his hand coming down in another firm slap on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the room. "That's right," he growled, his baritone voice filled with satisfaction. "You're my dirty little slut, and I'll fuck you harder than I ever fucked anyone else."

You cried out at the intensity of his thrusts, the mix of pain and pleasure sending waves of ecstasy through your body. "Please, Sir," you begged, your voice thick with desire. "Don't stop. I need you so badly."

Sinclair's hand moved to your hair, gripping it firmly as he pulled your head back, forcing you to look at him. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and dominance. "So desperate for my cock. So eager to please."

You whimpered at the intensity of his gaze, the pleasure building to a dizzying peak. "Yes, Sir," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. "I love it. I love being your dirty little whore."

Sinclair's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his thrusts growing even more intense. "You want it that badly, huh?" he teased, his voice filled with dark promise. "Well, you're going to get it."

With each powerful thrust, Sinclair drove you closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. "Fuck, Sinclair!" you screamed, your body trembling with anticipation. "I'm so close. Please, don't stop."

"You're going to cum for me," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "You're going to cum so hard, and I'm going to fill you up with my cum. You're mine, all mine."

You moaned, the intensity of his words and the pleasure coursing through you driving you wild. "Yes, Sir," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "I'm yours. Only yours."

Sinclair's grip on your hair tightened, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his own climax. "Cum for me," he demanded, his voice thick with desire. "Show me just how much you love being fucked by me."

With a final, powerful thrust, Sinclair pushed you over the edge, sending you spiraling into another mind-blowing orgasm. You cried out his name, your body convulsing with the intensity of your release as Sinclair continued to pound into you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

Sinclair's thrusts stuttered before he came, filling you with his seed. You moaned at the sensation, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he groaned in pleasure, his fingers digging into your hips. As he calmed down, Sinclair pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed next to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He pulled you into his chest, his shirt now stuck against his skin from sweat, having only taken off his boxer shorts to fuck you.

You watched as the dominant Sinclair disappeared, replaced by the familiar, gentle Golden Retriever demeanor you knew so well. He began to chatter, his voice filled with a mixture of worry and affection. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he blurted out, his brown eyes wide with concern. "I didn't mean to cum inside you without asking first. I got so caught up in the moment, and I—"

You silenced him with a kiss, your fingers tangling in his blond hair as you pressed your lips to his. "It's okay, Sinclair," you murmured against his mouth, your voice filled with reassurance. "I wanted it. I loved it."

Sinclair's expression softened, his cheeks flushing as he looked at you with a mixture of relief and affection. "Really?" he asked, his voice still tinged with uncertainty. "I just... I never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

You smiled, caressing his cheek with your thumb. "You didn't," you assured him. "You were amazing. I loved every second of it."

Sinclair let out a relieved sigh, his arms tightening around you as he nuzzled your neck. "I'm glad," he murmured, his voice returning to its usual chatty tone. "I was so worried. I've never done anything like that before, and I wasn't sure if I was doing it right."

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the remnants of your earlier moans. "You did great, Sinclair," you replied, your voice filled with genuine affection. "You were perfect."

Sinclair's eyes lit up with a mixture of pride and happiness. "Thank you," he said, his voice warm and filled with emotion. "I really enjoyed it, too. It's nice to try new things and explore together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you as you lay in his arms. "I agree," you murmured, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "I love exploring with you."

Sinclair smiled, his hooked nose casting shadows over his intense gaze. "There's so much more I want to try," he admitted, his voice filled with excitement. "I want to keep exploring, keep learning about what we both enjoy."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with affection. "I'm looking forward to it," you said softly, your voice filled with anticipation. "I love you, Sinclair."

Sinclair's eyes softened, his expression filled with genuine love and affection. "I love you too," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "And I promise, I'll always make sure you're comfortable and happy."

You smiled, feeling a sense of warmth and security in his embrace. "I know you will," you whispered, your voice filled with confidence. "And I'll always be here, exploring and learning with you."

As you lay there, entwined in each other's arms, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you lost in the sweet afterglow of your shared passion. The night had been intense, filled with a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, but in that moment, all that mattered was the connection between you and Sinclair, the man who could satisfy you in ways you had never imagined.