anonymous requested: olitz in the pilot for the 14th anniversary.
SCANDAL | 1.01, Sweet baby.

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Peter Solarz
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@mungoed
anonymous requested: olitz in the pilot for the 14th anniversary.
SCANDAL | 1.01, Sweet baby.
SCANDAL | 2.08, "Happy Birthday, Mr. President".
Hugh Grant in Champagne Charlie (1989)
Maurice (1987), dir. James Ivory - deleted scene
HUGH GRANT in ABOUT A BOY
i hate his stupid face UGHHH
HUGH GRANT in ABOUT A BOY
dream blunt rotation
â Out of context Hugh Grant : Vogue [July 1995] interviewed by Candace Bushnell - 'Rake's Progress' â
HUGH GRANT as DANIEL CLEAVER in Bridget Jones's Diary
they showed benoit x phillip fanart to actual daniel craig lmaoooo
pretty sure the art is from @petite-madame btw :))
The irony of this is thick
HERETIC (2024) dir. Scott Beck, Bryan Woods
ABOUT A BOY (2002)
Hugh Grant falling asleep at Wimbledon is a mood.
TWO WEEKS NOTICE (2002) dir. Marc Lawrence
Beneath The Surface, Part 2
Rating: 18+, mature
Word count: 3.8k
Part 2.
(Also available in ao3)
Warnings: Power play, power imbalance, age gap, degradation, praise, coercion, public humiliation, sex toys, cunnulingus, fingering, no sex.
[I... have no words. On god, never expected this. Please enjoy. Also, very sorry.]
--**--
Hand in hand, you step out of the office with shaky knees.Â
The hallway is dark and silent, except for the taps of your footsteps and his. Each step echoes, verberating in the dark corridor. With your heart pounding in your ears, blood pumping to your headâ you wonder if youâve gone crazy.Â
His firm warm grip tells you otherwise.Â
It's grounding you to reality, telling you that it really, truly happened. His touch, his lipsâ the look in his eyes. Your throat feels stuck, dry, and you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat as he leads the way, his grip in yours hot to the touch.Â
You recall what just happened. Truly, youâre a brash idiot. Coming up with a half-assed excuse , to meet him, an assignment? At this ungodly hour? Crazy. A stupid plan. Yet here you are, your palm in his, rough and warm. Walking towards uncertainty.
As you both walkedâ your legs struggling to catch upâ he walked past the intersection toward the exit.Â
Mouth agape, you struggle to speak up, to mention that heâs going the wrong way, but his silent figure kept it shut. He pulls you closer, fingers curling tighter in yours, his walk clear and purposeful. Finally, you reach an unassuming door labeled âmaintenance roomâ, its print faded to the point of almost unreadable.Â
It was conspicuous, and you can't believe you've never noticed the door before for however long you've been in the university.
He turns to look at you. A small smile tugged on his lips. The door swung open with a push, and you see cleaning items stacked neatly on high shelves, tightly packed. It was small, crowded.Â
You look at him quizzically, wondering why he brought you here before he pushes you inâ your shoulders hitting the sharp corner of the metal shelves.Â
Closing the door behind him, his body pressed flush against yours, you suddenly gain awareness of the situation youâre in. His warm breath on your lips, the barely lit fluorescent light above illuminates his sharp features, looking down on you.Â
You open your mouth to speak, but a finger presses on your lips. âNow, now.â He hums, âYouâre a good girl, arenât you?âÂ
Your clothes rustle against each other, the warmth beneath radiating, seeping into your skin. He had a leg between your thighsâ pushing, grindingâ contrasting the tender touches of his hands on your lips, thick fingers pushing your hair back. Â
He drinks you in, his eyes dark with lust. âTell me something, little miss persistent.â His voice low, the one that demands an answer. âDo you trust me?â
Your breath catches. The weight of his gaze, his warm touchesâ it all coils around you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.
â...Yes.â
His lips twitch. Not enough.
âDo you really?â His thumb brushes your bottom lips contemplatively.
You nod. But it still isnât enough.
âSay it properly.â
âI trust you.â You murmur, barely more than a whisper.
His other hand reaches down, slithering to your neck, your throatâ grazing the column of the soft flesh between, feeling the thrum of your pulse. He doesnât squeeze. Well, not yet. His head tilts slightly, wisps of hair covering his forehead and you muster the will to not push it back, to touch it again; and his voice soft.
âHow much?â
Your body is burning, every nerve on edge. âCompletely.â
His thumb presses on your pulse, testing.
âCompletely,â He echoes, rolling the word on his tongue, as if savouring it. âThatâs a dangerous thing to say to me.â
His eyes gleam, something dark lurking beneath. His hand curls behind your neckâ a cradle or collar, youâre not sure.
âI suppose that canât be helped.â He mused, âYouâre young. Naive. And very, very desperate.âÂ
His lips ghost over the lines of your hair, his voice now soft. âIf I told you to do something, youâd do it? No questions asked?â
â...Yes.â
A long silence stretches between you. His thumb rubs against your throat idly, and thenâ
âKneel.â
It isnât barked. It isn't demanded. Itâs a whisper, an inevitability.
And you obey.
A chuckle bubbles up within his chest, low and dark. âGood girl.â
A finger caresses your face, tracing your lips, your cheeks, and tucks a stray hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. âYou listen so well.â He hums contentedly, almost affectionate.
âNow, letâs see.â He muses, pulling your chin upwards. âIf I told you to stay like this until I said otherwise, would you?âÂ
You nod again, but his grip on your chin tightens. Holding you still.
âWords.â
âYes.â
His smile stretches, pleased. And when he crouches, his palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your skin with something eerily close to affection, his next words come as soft as a prayer. âThen letâs begin."
He motions his fingers, flicking it upwards. âStand up.âÂ
You rise on shaky legs, hands gripping the shelf around for stability. He remains crouched, head resting on his palms as he looks up at you, a mischievous look on his face.Â
âGood girl.â He says, voice calm and steady. âNow,â
He flicks a finger downwards, a playful smile still on his lips. âOff, please.â
Your heart beats faster. His gaze stays fixed on you, unwavering. The overhead light casts sharp shadows on his face as he stays crouched before you. Although beneath you, the weight of his gaze was enough of a reminder of his control over you. Your fingers hesitate on the waistband, but his chuckles make your stomach twist in knots.
âWhatâs wrong?â He muses, eyes raking over you lazily. âItâs too late to be embarrassed.â
He held a hand out, caressing a finger down your leg, trailing it down, causing goosebumps to rise along the way. âDonât tell me you want to back away now?â
Taking a deep shaky breath, you steady your resolve; hastily gripping the waistband of your pants, pulling it down. Your chest feels heavy, every gasp you breathe in feels like breathing in thick fog as the legs of your pants reach your ankles, leaving you feeling naked; your top and panties the only protection against the growing shame in your chest. You feel his gaze raking over you, heat crawling wherever it lands.
He hums appreciatively, a hand latched on your ankles, fingers circling it in slow, languid motions. âGood,â His touch trails higher. âClever girls know how to take orders.âÂ
He caresses your skin, worshipping your thighs; large hands gripping it firmly yet soft, and each time his finger clenches, you could feel something warm pool in the pits of your stomach, churning. He's facing you, kneeling now, holding onto you, feeling every inch of your skin. Rubbing. Caressing. Digging in. Warm breaths ghost over the lines of your panties, and he looks up at you almost adorably; big blue eyes catching yours through thin eyelashes.Â
âWould you like a reward?â Your heart drums inside your chest. You nod, frantically needing more of his touch. Anything.Â
He tutted, wagging a finger in mock disappointment, a sly smirk on his lips. âIâll give it to you, but you'll have to earn it, little miss.âÂ
A soft whimper escapes your lips.Â
âOh, I know dear but trust me.â He cooes, his thumb circling your inner thighs almost comfortingly. âIt'll be worth it.â
He snuggles his nose in the crook of your thighs, peppering small light kisses, making your knees weak.Â
You want to reach out, to grab him by the hair and lead him to where you wanted his lips to be, but you refrain. With great difficulty. His teeth digging into your neck still in the back of your mind. Instead, you latch on the corner of the metal shelves for dear life, the sharp edges digging into your palms, etching deep red lines into your skin.
His eyes caught yours again, and your breath hitches.
âShow me that you'll be a good girl, yeah?â He kisses your inner thighs, keeping eye contact as he does. âProve to me just how much you need this.â
You nod again, heart racing in anticipation. A sharp smack on your thighs almost blinded you as your nerves frazzled.
âWords, dear.â
âI will!â You gasp out. âI'll be a good girl. Anything. Just pleaseâŚâ
âPlease⌠what?â
âTouch me. Mr. Reed, please.â
His eyes flutter close for a moment, as if he's savouring words he'd been wanting to hear. After a while, you saw his baby blue irises again, this time with a wild glint flashing through. âTake it off.â
You obey immediately, slipping it down to your ankles along with your pants and he immediately runs a finger through, touching your wet, sopping cunt. You gasp, gripping the metal shelves tighter as he rubs a thumb over your clit, moving it slowly, rough yet excruciatingly slow. His warm breath ghosts over your crotch, your senses heightened as he nudges his nose over it, teasing you.Â
âCan I touch you?â You struggle to whimper out, fingers itching to lace on his thick grey hair, deliciously tempting from your view.
âHmm⌠no.â He hums, continuing his onslaught of feathery touches and teasing lips. âNo touching unless I say so, understood?â His other hand lingers on your thighs, not waiting for a response. He held it in his grip, lifting it up to rest on his shoulders.Â
âCome here.âÂ
Resting one of your legs up on his shoulder, spread wide, he finally stops his teasing. Keeping his gaze locked on yours, a finger slips inside.Â
You inhale sharply. It only took one finger for you to fall apart, sanity crumbling, greedily needing more from your college professor. It burrows deep inside you, digging in and searching, but also gentle, giving you a moment to take in the sudden intrusion.Â
Your chest tightens as you struggle to gasp in air as his fingers fucks you faster. Your insides tighten and twitch, your sopping wet cunt squelching with each thrust as the only thing you could hear is the race of your own heart beating in your ears and your own moans of pleasure.Â
The metal shelf behind you squeaks and shudder along with your own twitches of pleasure, as you desperately try to rein in your own lust.Â
âMore,â The thought rang out. âI need more.â
But you canât, and you know it. His orders are absolute. Youâre a good girl, arenât you? Mr Reedâs fucking your cunt, surely, that would be enough?
But your clit throbs, aching to be touched. Heâs so close. His mouth just a few inches away, his soft pink lips, his hot warm breath caressing your skin, and you remember the way his teeth and tongue biting into you, suckling your neck.
And before you knew it, your hand releases the sharp metal shelf, the lines it created stinging red and pulsing, and lands on the back of his head. Your fingers clench, grabbing a fistful of his soft grey locks and you pushed him forward, forcing his lips onto your begging cunt.
And for a moment you were lost in ecstacy.Â
His protests were muffled, with you pressing him closer, and your thighs squeezing tighter around his shoulders. Your hips grind and buckle, riding his lips and sharp nose, smothering any groans that escape his lips.Â
Riding the high, you stopped to notice the absence of his fingers inside you. With both your hands laced inside the thick curls of his hair, you fail to recognize the tension growing thick. You were too deep in, too mindless, to feel his nails digging in the flesh of your thighs, clawing deep marks inside your skin.Â
A sharp pierce of teeth startles you out of your euphoria, and you finally realize the aftermath of what youâd done.Â
Mr Reed sat there, unnervingly silent, glaring deep into your soul with swollen lips and crooked glasses.Â
â...Mind letting me go?âÂ
You scramble to stand upright, releasing him from your cage of limbs. He stood, adjusting his glasses straight whilst you spew out apologies, trying to catch his eyes which he refuses to give.Â
You stood there, feeling vulnerable and naked, waiting for Mr. Reed to say something, anything, instead of this suffocating silence.Â
Mr. Reedâs voice felt deafening after a solemn silence filled the musty room.Â
âYou.â He hissed, pushing away a strand from his otherwise neat hair. âDid I not say you were not allowed to touch me?âÂ
âIâm sorry! I justâ I was too lost in pleasure that Iââ
âEnough.â He cuts you off. âNo excuses, missy. You canât even follow simple instructions.â His blue disappointed eyes pierces into you, hurting deeper than you'd thought.Â
He takes a step forward, pressing a hand onto your chest, pushing you onto the creaky metal shelf, hitting your head on a box. It squeaks and moans as he pushes harder, his large hands engulfing your chest. The edges of the metal shelf digs sharply into your back, rougher than you expected. It chokes you, making it harder to breathe as his anger rolls out in waves, suffocating.Â
It wasnât sexual, his touch doesnât feel as sensual as it was before.Â
This, it was pure malice. If he wanted to, he could just strangle you dead.Â
Goosebumps rise at the thought of Mr. Reed leaving your dead lifeless body in this dark, musty room for the janitor to find in the morning.
You jerked, feeling his hand move up to your neck. His thumb presses hard against your trachea, squeezing the air out and your pulse spikes, panic rising.Â
No, it canât be true. You try to reason with yourself. Youâre over-reacting.Â
You try to calm yourself down, and when your gazes lock, his dark unreadable eyes catching yours, you try to keep it steady, not letting your panic show.
He seemed to study you, searching for a sliver of fear in your eyes with his head tipped slightly. Finally, after what felt like forever, a small smile ghosts his lips.Â
âIâll give you a chance.â His grip over your neck loosened, giving you a chance to take deep, ragged breaths of sweet, sweet air. Flickering his eyes over you, he rolled his eyes. âOh, donât be dramatic.â He turned away, muttering flippantly.Â
Rustling inside the pockets of his bag, he pulled out a tear drop-shaped toy. If it werenât obvious enough what it was, the bright pink colour certainly helped. He dangled it in front of your face, a devious smirk painting his lips.Â
âI assume you know what this is?â He mused, âA dirty girl like you, of course you would.âÂ
You were too stunned to answer. Where did he even pull that out from..?Â
âRight. See, youâve been a really, really bad girl.â He tutted, âAnd bad girls need to be punished, donât you think?âÂ
âSo, letâs play a game.â His smile stretches ominously. âSee what I have here?â He shakes the toy in hand. âThis pretty thing is a sex toy thatâll help you feel good. Much better than any man can give you. Usually, itâs rarely used but itâll suit our current circumstances just fine.â
âIf you win, Iâll forgive all your⌠past transgressions.â His voice was dark, but his smile remains ever-present. âAnd if you lose, youâll be punished. And trust me, you wonât like it.â He says, his voice threatening.
What other choice do you have? Trapped between a creaky shelf and a man with your panties between your ankles; you reluctantly agree. Half-scared of what heâd do, yet also the other half aroused, anticipating how this would go. This scary and psychopathic side of him made you surprisingly horny, scaring yourself a little.
Getting your approval, he nods. âCome here.â
Putting his hand between your legs, he positioned the toy on the entrance of your still sopping wet cunt. You gasp as it penetrates, the thin end of the toy reaching deep inside, reaching your g-spot. The other end of the toy rests on your clit, and you wonder how itâd feel turned on.Â
Adjusting the toy until satisfied, he reaches down to pull your panties up, placing it snug on your hips. He pats your cunt, sending jolts of pleasure through you as he smiles, satisfied.Â
âGood. The rule is simple. Orgasm,â A pause. âand you lose. Understand?âÂ
âY-yes sir.â
âVery good.â He coos, satisfied. âNow, come along!â He gestures, turning his heels to head out, bag in hand, leaving you in the room alone, trembling, stuffed and a hot, sweaty mess.
Hurriedly pulling your pants back up, you scramble to keep yourself presentable before chasing after Mr. Reed, not wanting him to leave you behind. Â
Stepping out of the room, you find him leaning against the wall beside the door, waiting. He flashes a smile, enamouring you, before turning his heels forward, leading the way towards the exit.
You follow wordlessly, struggling to match his pace, taking small yet hurried steps behind him with clenched thighs. You both walk in silence as your mind races, still throbbing with the memory of his touch and toy inside of you. It was a struggle, but soon enough you got used to it being inside.Â
It didnât take long for you to reach the exit, and soon enough, the wide glass paned doors came into view; giving a view of the near empty parking lot, with orange street lights illuminating the melting snow outside.Â
He pauses for a bit, contemplating, before turning to you. âItâs going to be quite cold today. Do you have anything to wear?â
You nod, taking out a jacket out of the backpack you picked up from where you left it before.Â
âGood. Wouldnât want you to catch a cold now, do we?âÂ
Pushing the door open, the gentle almost-spring breeze slips through, softly caressing your warm cheeks and pushing your hair back. He doesnât bother looking back at you, instead walking straight down the steps toward the parking lot.Â
It doesnât surprise you to see his confident stride, plowing through the pathway without any hesitation as if he knew just where to go. It was a normal occurrence to see Mr. Reed walking in-campus, his usual messenger bag in tow, and large strides as he often walks to-and-fro home.
You follow behind him, carefully stepping on the pavewalk to avoid slipping from melted snow. With his back obscuring your view, he chatters, making small talk; asking about your classes. How is it? Not too packed, surely? Some small jokes. You wonder if he really truly cared.Â
The walk was pleasant enough, with the exception of the vibrator inside your cuntâ which, for the most part, hasn't been turned on yetâ thank god. The night was chilly, with buds of wild flowers littering the sidewalk; illuminated by a warm orange glow from the streetlights.Â
Walking past the staff building, through the near empty faculties, and past through the main university gates, the silent night was filled with his soft, chittering voice.
He had a hand gripping the strap of his messenger, pressing it close to him, and the other holding a smartphone.Â
You almost had your guard down, thinking heâd forgiven you, and that you are, indeed, still a good girl. Slowly yet surely, you grow more comfortable being with Mr Reed.
For the most part of the walk, it was quiet, just the two of you through the path home from uni, not a surprise since it was quite late at night. Barely any other passerbys passing through, only some security guards cruising around, whom Mr Reed mostly ignored if theyâd hadnât greeted him first.Â
Mr Reed still kept up the small talk, even as youâve both reached downtown, the late-night crowd and bright lights could be seen from afar. The noise stretches, growing louder as you get closer, with Mr Reed leading you forwards, right into the crowd.
Drunkards, late-night shoppers, rowdy teensâ you canât believe thereâs still this many people at this time of night, especially in this small townâ and you swam through the crowd, barely keeping sight of Mr Reedâs grey locks as he marches on forward, barely giving you a glance.
Then, you feel a tingle on your nethers.
God, fuck.
It was slow, but noticeable. You push through it, trying to keep up with Mr Reed, until it dialed up to eleven, sending shocking waves of pleasure through youâ that you almost fell over if it werenât for a stranger bumping into you, eyeing you with concern.
Wide-eyed and shocked, you look over to him, hoping for an explanation; and he smilesâ that devious and sly smileâ and you knew. He had planned this from the start.Â
Weak-kneed and shaking, you pushed through. Looking away from the crowd, you feel shame growing tighter inside your chest. You can feel yourself trembling as he sets the setting higher. Pulling your jacket closer, you try to keep your composureâ hoping that the strangers passing by wouldnât notice the flush of your cheeks, nor the cold sweat and soft moans escaping your lips each time the vibrations spikes, hitting your g-spot in just the sweetest way.
It cycles and ranges from soft, weak vibrationsâ especially when there wasnât much people around; giving you enough time to compose yourselfâ to fast pulses and intense vibrationsâ scrambling your brain enough that you canât even keep a coherent thought.Â
As the setting turns higher and higher, pulsating in rhythms back-to-back without stopping, you know you just had to stop. The pleasure was too much to bear, and as you squeeze your thighs together, the toy presses tighter against your cuntâ making your brain short-circuit.Â
The shrill of screams and voices overstimulates your senses, and it feels like youâre barely over the edge. The feeling of your cunt being fucked, the blood rushing in your earsâ you canât feel your legs; like youâre floatingâ youâre barely holding up, swaying as shame and pleasure intertwinesâ on the edge of cumming your brains out when a shrill whistle catches your ears.
You look up to see Mr. Reed standing there, a statue in the midst of the flooding crowd, his grey locks the first thing you caught eyes on, and he whistles again, a finger upâ beckoning you to come.Â
And you do, like a pet dog running towards its owner.
An invisible leash pulls you forward. Itâs humiliating, having invisible eyes on you, with the uncertainty of whether they know youâre getting fucked by the man right in front of them.
Sometimes, heâd stop the toy, just to keep you from crashing outâ cumming your brains out in publicâ which is a relief. Sometimes though, heâd crank it up on purpose whenever someone was passing byâ making you gasp with your eyes rolled back, earning the stares of their inscrutable eyes.
Heâd strip you down from your dignity, layer by layer as you push throughâ a twisted pleasure starting to form with each humiliating act. Heâd pull your leash, and youâd like it.Â
You beg him, barely a whisper on how much further itâll be.Â
Heâd just hum, âSoon.â
Finally after what felt like an eternity of edging and torture, you arrived.
--**--
[Worked on this for months and almost never gonna publish but thought better this than never. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to continue I love you all <3]
@fhdjdhdkdjdn @klovercrown @tripledotsrandomfandoms
my favorite movies (in no particular order) 24/50)
Bridget Jones's Diary (2001)



